#and the only other person who understands being displaced in time is that lady who did it to herself so she could launch you into the sky

[conceiteddemon]

Been playing Tears of the Kingdom

#the legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #zelda breath of the wild #imagine being locked into an eternal cycle with your soulmates who are basically Jesus and the Devil #and the only other person who understands being displaced in time is that lady who did it to herself so she could launch you into the sky #and build iPads and blow stuff up #I know link & Zelda and ganondorf aren’t like Immortal immortal they reincarnate #but like apparently Zelda was fighting off calamity Ganon for 100 years while Link took a nap and didn’t age a day so #I choose to believe these bitches are immortal

[emotionallyattachednerd]

Estrella | RotB Mirage x f!human reader | NSFW 18+

Word count: 2600+

Warnings: Smut ( oral and spike penatration ), robot on human, language, some angst and mentions of abuse. NSFW 18+.

Notes: I've really been wanting to do a story for Mirage for so long. Thanks @lonetile for sending in your request. Hope you enjoy the read and sorry for the delay. Estrella is spanish for star, just thought I'd point that out.

Understand Mirage is already smallish for a robot but decided for him to use mass displacement with reader for this story.

Who would've thought in an attempt to escape your shitty life you would end up falling from your low level apartment level window and would end up falling into the lift of a giant alien robot?

You couldn't take it anymore, the yelling, the abuse, you were losing your mind within the people who were meant to be your family and yet treated you worse than a dog.

In an attempt to escape you somehow get thrown into the new discovery of robots, despite just how hurt you ended up, the blue and silver guy had a much more tender face than anyone you've met before. As crazy as it sounds, you felt safe with him.

Your neighbour, Noah, was in on this secret as well and pretended to own the flash car when it was really an alien robot. Sure, why not? Both Noah and who's name you discover is Mirage both escort you to a hospital where you're treated before being given the all clear. All you were going to do was call someone you knew, not family, but you knew you would be safe with them if you don't piss them off.

Hanging out with a gang wasn't your smartest move but you are limited with options. Although you're surprised to find Mirage waiting for you. Noah has offered you to stay with him and go home to set up a spot for you to sleep. Might be close to your old home but at least they couldn't hurt you anymore.

You settled with Noah and his alien robot friend. Very normal.

Estrella. That's what Mirage keeps calling you. You try to tell him that's not your name but he only responds with a casual 'I know'. A nickname perhaps, but you've never been given a kind nickname before, so you weren't fully sure how to react or feel about it. He always looks out for you, making sure you are well and drives you to wherever you want. At first it felt like your own personal bodyguard, which quickly grew into a friend, and before you knew it you were gaining stronger feelings for Mirage. Probably not wise you thought to yourself.

There's no way you'll confess this to Mirage, convinced he'll think you're weird and that's it, friendship broken. It became harder though the more time you spent with him, how affectionate he was and funny, everything about him was the perfect boyfriend you think to yourself.

But that won't ever happen.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Mirage's voice echoing through the radio as he drives. "Estrella? This handsome guy is talking to you, and you're ignoring him and it kind of hurts?" Mirage sings along with a hint of playfulness.

"Shit. Sorry, Mirage. What were you saying?" You give a sympathetic smile as he now has your full attention.

"Well, firstly, what made you so distracted to not hear me? There better not be anyone more important in your life." More teasing. He always has such a strong effect on you.

"Just thinking about everything, my life before and how I ended up here, with the most badass robot ever." You nudge back through your words.

"Now that's more like it!" Mirage ends up giving a loud toot from his horn making you giggle faintly. "Now, as I was saying, Noah is busy with other things and I'm rather lonely, so I'm taking my favourite lady somewhere nice. Care to give this handsome guy some attention?"

His words always make you warm and fuzzy, an effect no one else has ever made you feel better, and it was so addictive. You craved more.

"You have my full attention now, Mirage. That sounds amazing. Where are we going?" You can't help but feel like he was taking you on a date. You can only imagine that, because surely it wasn't.

"It's a surprise." The rev from his engine sounds like a purr.

"I can't wait."

The drive was peaceful, even more with the soft jazz blues he was playing over the radio for you, the time with him is just what you needed and wanted. Upon arrival he asks you to close your eyes and you do. You hear him transform before gently guiding you forward. The salty smell hits your senses along with the silky feel of sand beneath your toes under your sandals.

"The beach." You give a broad smile while keeping your eyes closed.

"Oh what gave that away? I think you took a peek." He gives a sound like a pout.

"Nah ah. How did you know I love the beach?" You question curiously.

"There's a lot I know about you, y/n, my lovely estrella. Alright, open those beautiful eyes."

You do that. The beach, just as you knew, but you still give a giddy excited jump. You really do love the beach. There's a calming peacefulness in the air whenever you come to the spot, though this spot was new to the locations you already knew. He seemed to read this from you.

"This is our own private spot, no one ever comes here."

"Oh? Are we getting up to mischief?"

"So much mischief. But I have something else for you."

"Mirage, you didn't have to go through the trouble." However you did feel very spoilt.

"It was so troublesome, and I wanted our night to be perfect."

You did wonder what the guy was thinking. He was so fond of you and did so much just to try and keep you happy. Do friends just do that? Yeah, they could. Another gasp leaves you when you see what he has made.

A small sheltered spot just big enough for him, though he was already small for his size, with fairy lights and soft plush blankets covering a large mat above the sand. Your own little cubby house.

"This is incredible! I could just kiss you!" You burst out suddenly causing you to shrink down and try to hide your flushed cheeks. His answer caught her by surprise.

"Oh I wouldn't object to that." Mirage smiles before crawling under the cubby and sitting down with his legs stretched out, waiting for you to join him.

Standing there for a bit you let this process through your mind before giving a nervous smile and following in to sit beside him on the blankets.

"This...this is beautiful, thank you." You find your voice before looking at him. However, you are very surprised to find Mirage was now your size, maybe a little bigger, but human size. "Holy shit."

"You like? All for you, estrella." Mirage looks like a happy child.

"Me? I'm not sure what you mean..." Deep down though, you sort of had a growing feeling about all this tonight.

"Y/n, I really like you." The confession from him was so cute, and almost looks like he's blushing. "-

The silence between them hits, and only the sounds from the ocean can be heard while it adds the calmness between you both. Nibbling your bottom lip a little you ponder over your thoughts and go with what your heart was screaming.

"I would appreciate it, if you would kiss me right now.”

The second the words left you, you feel the warm metal of his servo against your cheek and turn your head to face him. He's so beautiful, like a dazzling star, though he might disagree and say you're the dazzling star.

He leans closer and much to your surprise his lips are warm against your own, slowly moving into your own as you kiss him back with a little hunger. It's you that deepens it as you gently push your tongue between his lips to coil with his own, an odd sweetness hitting your taste buds. Mirage let out a soft sound that might've been a moan but you're not very sure, although you are sure that he likes what you're doing because both his servos are holding you against your waist and roaming up and down your sides.

You find yourself laying on your back with him on top of you but keeping his weight off. Even though he was downsized, he didn't want to hurt you with his weight. Once the kiss breaks it gives you a chance to take a breath and gaze up at him lovingly, his smile shining down on you.

"So, was this a date?" You ask through a whisper curiously.

"Maybe..." Mirage was always so smooth, the dork.

"Well, care to make this the best fucking date ever?"

Mirage doesn't answer with words, but he does through his kisses and touches against you, laying you against against the blush blanket while looming over you. You don't care what others might think. Whatever happens tonight you hoped will happen again, and again, forever and ever.

It's only your clothes that need removing. Mirage tugs at the fabric, curious and wondering just how to get them off without ripping them, so you decide to help and toss them aside. You didn't think you could undress so fast.

"Oh sweet Mami." Mirage lets out a steamy vent as his optics gently rank across your perfect exposed body. He leans over and you watch as his glossa darks out, flickering across your perk nipple making your back arch and a silent gasp to leave you. "Does that feel nice?"

"Y-yeah, very." You manage to answer, voice shaky and full of lust.

Mirage lets out a satisfied hum that vibrates against your skin before he closes his mouth over your nipple and sucks, glossa swirling around the sensitive area. Letting out a moan you hand grip into the metal plating of his shoulders for leverage, toes curling into the blankets as the pooling arousal boils through your body. You're moist between your legs already, but honestly you've been like this since the car ride. It's just how he made you feel, you couldn't help yourself.

"Mirage, holy shit!" Your curses make him smirk against your nipple, his free servo massaging across your other round breast. Never did you imagine a robot to feel so warm and tender. Mirage is able to prove that theory without struggle.

"Y/n, I've always wanted to taste you, can I?" Mirage asks against your skin, optics looking over your breasts and assking a soft baby blue glow against your skin.

"Sure..." Your breath hitches when he suddenly moves down and you feel his heated vents against your thighs.

It happens so fast, and before you know it you feel his thick glossa dive into your core. You cry out, not caring who might hear, and hands grip at his helm as you start to rock yourself against his face, moaning lowly as your legs shake through the burning arousal that continues to build.

His glossa coils against your inner walls and lets out a moan that pulls from your bud up through your quivering body. If he kept doing that, you knew you'd cum very quickly, and you didn't want that just yet. So, you held out as best you could, riding through the burning pleasure he delivers.

Just when you thought you were unable to hold out for too much longer, he stops, causing you to whimper out like a wounded puppy.

"Oh don't worry my pretty estrella, I have something else better for you." He's purring, at least that's what it sounds like to you. He climbs like a snake up over you again, pressing himself between your legs and you hear metal plating shifting. The next you feel is something long, warm and pulsing sliding up against your thigh.

Looking down between you both you're enthralled by the beauty he possessed. You've never seen anything like it before. His length pulse lively, small ridges running along the base and what looks like veins brightly blue coloured made him look incredible. He notices your reaction and giggle softly. "Like what you see?"

"It's beautiful." You say through a heated breath before meeting his optics. "You're beautiful."

"Naw, thank you, but you're more beautiful darling." He gently pressed his tip against you, keeping his stare on your face. Shifting forward he enters you, slowly filling inch by inch and giving you a short time to adjust.

Despite being human size, he was still quite thick as you feel yourself being stretched more than you've ever felt before. It's not your first time, though you wished it was, just so you could've given yourself to Mirage. Opening your legs you give him as much space as possible, watching him move further forward above you before feeling him flushed right up against you. You can feel everything, every pulse and hear every sound coming from him as he keeps still to savour you.

"Oh y/n, so perfect, tight, feels nice." Mirage vents out before lowering himself closer and sharing a kiss with you, slowly withdrawing a little and thrusting back in, setting a slow and gentle pace.

Your head tilts back against the blankets with your neck stretched out, giving him the invitation to kiss and softly nip at the soft skin against your neck as he rolls his hips against you over again. Moving your hands around you place them behind his neck, still moaning as you feel yourself being filled gently over again.

Each ridge tugs at your inner walls as does every pulse shakes through, causing you to clench around him more and tighten your thighs.

"Mirage...oh fuck! You feel so good....fuck!" You chant over again.

"Oh primus, beautiful estrella, I've got you, Mirage has you always." He moans before he starts to pick up his speed, causing you to let out another lingering moan, gasping at each firm thrust he delivers.

This won't last long, you already knew this, because he's just so damn perfect and you are already worked up from before. Your thighs tighten around his waist, fingers digging into his soft metal feeling each thrust and hearing the clapping of his armour hitting against you over again, but it only added to the boiling arousal that's about to overflow any second.

"M-mirage...Mirage!" You chant his name before your body stiffens and you tighten around his thrusting spike buried deep in you, cumming hard and riding out the flooded arousal spilled from you.

Mirage is chanting himself, words you don't understand, and you guess are words from his language which you find quite alluring in your tired and blurry state. His optics shutter close and he's rutting against you, hard, before stilling and letting out a choked yelp that you find kind of cute.

Feeling his sticky warmness filling your core you feel every throb from his spike as he slowly pulls out from you, every bump tugging gently before he is gone, and you feel pretty empty without him. Though you do feel what he left behind pooling in your belly and that's a beautiful satisfaction.

He rolls and gently holds you close against him, planting kisses against your skin as his servos roam softly across your backside.

"I think destiny wants us to be together, and you should never argue with destiny.”

"You know what? I agree with that." There's no way you wanted to refuse this moment with him, or a chance to be his.

"If you be my star, I'll be your sky." Mirage whispers fondly, pressing his face gently into your neck while you caress his warm metal cheek plating under your hand.

"I'll be your star." You declare back softly, loving the idea.

"My beautiful estrella."

#transformers #rotb #mirage #mirage x reader #reader insert #robot x human #transformers rotb #fanfiction #transformers rise of the beasts #writing #smut #sugarrusheag

[azsazz]

Feyre is helping others in poverty, though. In ACOTAR, she gave away the gold that Tamlin gave her to the people in her village. In ACOFAS, she mentioned that she worked for multiple charitable organizations to help people displaced or impoverished by the war until the organizers literally had to tell her to go home. She donated the money that Polina’s family wouldn’t take when she bought her studio to a charity that helps artists who don’t have money for food or shelter.

She’s literally had like one year to figure out how to compartmentalize the trauma from dying, fight her first war, start learning how to be a High Lady and all the necessary knowlege that must come with it, and have a child. I don’t know that I’d be so hard on her yet when she’s really just taking her baby steps & we only get fleeting glimpses of her after the POV shifts to Nesta’s.

I think ensuring she was in a position of equal power with Rhys when she married him was a smart move on Feyre’s part. She can learn as she goes and having a partner with experience means she doesn’t have to make all the hard decisions on her own until she gets that political training, but she probably wouldn’t have been able to reclaim that power in a hundred or two hundred years after marrying Rhys and being publicly known as just the Lady of Night for that time.

This is good, thank you for explaining some of the facts that I've def overlooked/forgotten about.

i think what we're also trying to say is that this is a lot for her to be doing for only being there like a year or whatever. i personally don't see all of this happening in the span of a year as baby steps (fighting multiple wars, turning into a fae, becoming high lady, having a baby), like that's also a lot for someone to go through.

i def do see your point tho, and how it would be good for her to be in this position. i felt like there was some tension between the two on a lot of the decision making that was happening. feyre seems to want that power and to have a voice even if she's not fully understanding the consequences etc, and same goes for rhys, they both come from different places and they should absolutely try and see where the other is coming from on certain topics within court.

and i see what you're saying at the end here but wouldn't it show everyone who has that much power by not keeping her becoming high lady a secret? i feel like keeping it a secret makes it more like rhys is the main powerholder/decision maker than she is

[incarnateirony]

There she is! I knew if I pointed out her silence she'd belligerently post to pretend to be normal.

I mean, good for her for having an independent thought that involves no transphobia, blasphemy, plagiarism, or proven magical stupidity, but she's still doing the catloaf stubborn bitch thing of pretending not to understand what she has to do.

Only took you 29 hours to come up with something this time!

Guess it's game on. That woke me up. I was about to shrug and take a real nap, but nah, guess it's time to get to Work since she's still On Her Shit. Good timing, sis.

Oh by the way, Mark's gonna die.

Like not today or tomorrow, but he's gonna. Like before a full life span, not in the 'we all die' way.

And it's not even me, it's gonna be Hermes. And he's gonna wait until it hurts most. Because Mark killed his goddess, and is an unrepentant vulture.

I don't know if that means tomorrow, or in five years, but whatever it is, is going to be a thing of nightmares. And you know, having seen the other side, I promise you, being escorted by a pissed off psychopomp claiming you? The death is only the beginning. At least Shealyn may get the freedom of being completely eliminated depending on who wins the epic rap battle of history, Mark isn't gonna be that lucky.

Your fate is promised sooner, or at least within a bracket. So maybe you won't have to see it.

Not that either of you actually care about each other. You care about the comfort and attention the other gives you, and that's not the same thing.

No man that loves his wife runs interference in her accepting her inner goddess. That's a selfish bastard. Someone that has as much to lose as she does if the lies come tumbling down, and neither of them trust negotiating their mistakes with each other. Cuz frankly deep down they've both known, individually, they're full of shit the whole damn time, lbr.

And how can you trust your spouse if both of you made your choices on lies and personal selfish wants? On delusions and shadows? How can you displace the blame if the divinity comes from within?

You can't. You want your shadows and lies. Without them, you're both abusive shitheaded manipulative criminals, Shealyn's a plagiarist, rapist and a false teacher, and you've done lied your entire way into and through your relationship.

Oops.

But yeah, I'm sure every sage of the ages of every religion or practice ever are all wrong about the divinity within thing, only shealyn's bad roleplay knockoffs hold the supreme truth, somewhere between neurotic reblogs conflicting with themselves trying to find something to save her ass while missing every point, As She Does, while having to choke down handfuls of pills to stop ripping her hair out as a new development since I left.

Miss Lady Doesn't Even Know The Seven Axioms Of A God She Swore She Followed. Actually doesn't know anything. Miss 'is peanut butter wet or dry'. Miss denying gender in everything to fuck up your bird worse. Miss violated half of the tenets during this entire fiasco but hasn't read a single goddamn actual text of value to even understand that. Miss 'didn't tell Mark trying to bind a collective unconscious is definitionally retarded'. Yeah, you. Crackbear. In the wet fursuit that keeps slipping onto me. You.

Hm. Actually. This stage of work will require an AFK.

Anyway time to go make more demiurgic hell in your broken little universe of lies until you're honest on main. BUH BYE.

Shealyn was probably never honest with Mark about how He can get when it comes to revenge. Not with her romanticized takes rechewed like old cud. Naw. Naw, it's time to start remembering that, sweetheart. Bye now.

#Youtube

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

soulmate au?????

Soulmate Au where things that people love/hate appear tattooed on their soulmate’s body. If they love it it’ll be on their front, and if they hate it it’ll appear on their back. The more important it is the closer it is to the heart. They can also move around/disappear over time.

Tim Drake is two years old when he receives his first soulmarks. There are two: the names Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain are found in elegant script over his heart.

He was alone when he’d found it, attempting to learn how to button up his shirt, and they’d sprung from his skin. He didn’t bother crying. He’d long since lost hope that someone would come for him if he did.

Instead, he’d waited for a maid to come into the room on her rounds and called her over.

The woman had smiled kindly as she explained soulmarks. How they were actually a good thing. How they meant that he was going to fall in love one day and one day he could get married! Like his mommy and daddy!

He’d seen how his mom and dad were sometimes. He wasn’t all that impressed.

Tim decided that the whole ‘soulmate’ thing could wait. He had a shirt to learn how to button.

~

On the other side of the world, however, Marinette Dupain Cheng is born without any tattoos on her body. Her parents don’t think much of it. She was just older than her soulmate, then. Or maybe she didn’t have one. That was fine.

But then, three years later, a computer appeared over her heart.

Marinette didn’t even notice until she was pulling off her shirt for a bath.

She hadn’t been shocked or scared like Tim had been, instead she’d beamed and waddled over to her mother with the widest grin on her face.

“Maman! Maman! Look! I have a soulmark!”

Sabine had smiled and turned to look but, much to Marinette’s confusion, it quickly morphed into an anxious expression.

Then her mother brought the smile back and she figured it must have been her imagination. The woman had reached out to ruffle her hair.

Marinette had finished getting ready and gotten in the bath, and her mother looked her over for a soulmark as she cleaned her. But there wasn’t one. There wasn’t one on her back and, outside of the one that had just formed, there wasn’t one on her front.

Then what was going on? Even abused kids tended to have their parent’s names somewhere on their bodies. But there was nothing.

The next guess was that her soulmate’s parents were dead. Usually, orphans had their housemates’ names on them, so the kid would have to be on the streets. Could a street kid really get enough access to a computer that it appears over their heart?

Sabine finished toweling off her daughter and pressed a kiss to her head after pulling her shirt on.

“Want to watch Pere bake some?”

The little girl’s eyes lit up and she nodded.

~

Whoever Tim’s soulmate was, they were really good at making friends. His chest was littered with names by the end of their first year of school.

And then there was one name on his back, right over his heart: Chloe Bourgeois. He frowned when he saw it.

For the first time since his first soulmark had appeared, he found himself curious about what was going on.

He pulled out his computer and looked up the name, not expecting to find much.

But, it turned out he did. After running an article through google translate (which didn’t work great) he managed to gather that she was the daughter of the mayor of Paris.

So... his soulmate was French.

(Unless they just had a vendetta against a random 3-year-old. Unlikely, though.)

He pulled up a new tab. It never hurt to learn a new language.

~

Their likes and dislikes slowly cropped up on their bodies as time went on.

Tim had smiled despite himself when he saw the pictures cropping up. A whisk was found on his shoulder, and then a video game console popped up on his stomach, and then a sewing needle and buttons could be seen under their parent’s names. On his back, he could find what appeared to be homework and broccoli. Whoever his soulmate was, their life seemed quaint and pleasant.

Marinette had been happy to see all the little things popping up over herself as well. A circus tent on the sole of her foot, a skateboard on her neck, a camera by the computer. On her back, she could see what looked like playing cards. She thought all their hobbies sounded cute (if a bit random). She was just concerned about the distinct lack of names on her body; she hoped that they were at least getting enough social interaction.

~

When she was twelve, it finally happened: a name appeared!

She stared at the script that had displaced the computer and her eyebrows knit together.

Batman.

Maybe a pet’s name? Human names tended to give a first and last name, so...

She typed it into her phone to try and translate it to French and her eyes widened when it actually gave information on someone in this place called Gotham.

A vigilante?

She laid back in her bed and frowned to herself.

In order for a person to show up as a name, there had to be a personal connection. If there wasn’t, like a celebrity crush, it would show up as a picture. But this was text, so…

Well, she hoped that her soulmate was safe.

Over time, more names appeared. They were all just as odd.

Nightwing?

Batgirl?

A simple google search showed they were vigilantes, too. She frowned slightly.

As long as they were okay, she supposed she should just be happy that they were talking to good people.

Besides, being friends with vigilantes seemed kind of cool. She could understand the appeal. She wished that Paris had something like that.

~

When he was fifteen a polka-dotted yoyo appeared over his heart, displacing their family’s names slightly. He stared at the yoyo for a minute in the mirror and then snickered to himself.

“Damn. They must really like yoyos.”

He laughed to himself and glanced at his back to see if anything changed, and was surprised to find that Chloe’s name had been moved away to make room for…

Was that a butterfly?

“And hate butterflies, apparently.”

~

She stared at the tiny bird over her heart.

Computers, skateboards, circuses, photography, and… birdwatching?

Whoever her soulmate was, their hobbies had range.

~

Tim had been changing out of his Robin costume when the names started disappearing.

Panic filled him. He’d heard before that, when your soulmate dies, your tattoos start to disappear.

But a few stayed, as did their hobbies.

He looked over the remaining names.

Their parents were still there, right next to the yoyo. Their family life was okay…

He stared at the other name and his eyebrows knit together.

Who names their kid Chat Noir?

He shook his head slightly. Maybe his soulmate had a black cat and wasn’t good at naming things.

Tim checked his back, mostly out of habit more than anything, and frowned to himself.

The butterfly had disappeared, and in its place were two names:

Lila Rossi and Hawkmoth.

~

She grinned as she twirled around in the dress she’d made. She was rather proud of it, it had a nice red and black color scheme.

She started taking it off, only to realize something.

Everything was gone.

She looked over her skin, running her fingers over where all the tiny tattoos had once been and felt tears form in her eyes.

Her soulmate was…

And then, slowly but surely, something appeared on her chest.

She wiped her eyes and looked at it, only to frown.

A gag gun that said ‘BANG’.

Nerves rattled around inside her. Something was definitely wrong, she could tell. But how could she fix it?

Maybe she could convince Master Fu to give her the horse miraculous? She could drop into Gotham as Ladybug for a little while and check up on them? Sure, she had no idea who her soulmate was, but she knew who they hung out with. She should at least make sure they’re okay.

A few hours later she was dumped unceremoniously onto a Gotham rooftop.

She looked up at the portal Master Fu had dropped her through and made a rude hand gesture, then pushed herself to her feet. She walked to the edge of the roof, dusting herself off as she went, and looked over the side.

Wow, this place definitely looked like the most dangerous city in the world. She could see a guy holding a gun while walking an old lady across the street it was so bad.

She pulled out her phone and looked up a picture of the vigilantes that she’d seen on her chest. Nightwing… Batgirl…  Batman…

Man, did they have to wear such dark colors? It was night! How dare they do the smart thing and make it hard to see them!

Fine. Time to wonder around and pray, she supposed.

She had been considering detransforming and seeing if she could buy a coffee when she heard a click behind her head.

Ah. Fuck.

~~~

Part 1/21, 34k words in all

Next

The version on AO3 was edited by me to make it better (in my opinion) but this is the original version if you'd prefer that

You didn’t really give me any specifics so I’m sorry if this didn’t turn out like you wanted. You were probably expecting fluff but uhhhhhh,,, don’t know why you were asking ME for that --

#sumbitted prompt #timinette #timari #marinette dupain cheng #laybug #red robin #tim drake #soulmarks #maribat #adribat

[epiphany333]

Sophie is trans bare with me for a moment

I have the idea that Sophie’s character arc could be read as trans-coded. While her experiences are not necessarily just an issue for trans people, her character arc can be read as a trans woman trying to find a place in society to fit in. Sophie starts out the movie looking a little masculine, especially if compared with the other two people around her age, her sister and Howl himself, whose facial features are softer (also, could Howl be through lgbt lens demiboy or nonenby masculine-presenting?). I think that at the start of the movie, Sophie is incorporating herself into society as a lady, already knowing that she is a woman and presenting herself as one. Yet she is deeply insecure about her appearance and her worth, and she won’t listen when other people tell her otherwise. She feels different from women like her sister and mother, and this makes her think that, if she’s not like these other (cis, standards of traditional femininity) women, she’s not as valuable and she’s absolutely not pretty. She doesn’t accept herself, and she doesn’t think nobody would fully accept her. From her point of view, how could anybody love her or find her beautiful? Even if she tried being like them, everyone would notice, she notices. Especially if the place she lives in resembles Europe during those times, she must doubt she’d find a person who’d understand her identity despite her being born with a male body. She doesn’t try feminine things, she doesn’t want to wear a better dress or try using make-up. While this must be in part because of her practical and down-to-earth personality, to me it’s clear that she’s also disillusioned with herself.

And then she falls in love with Howl, and he actually loves her. He treats her with affection and trust, and while she’s not ready to trust his words and denies them, he expresses that she is beautiful. Even when she has a literal curse that makes her age, this gorgeous person finds her beautiful just as she is, not despite it. And I think this will stick with her even after she tried to get rid of his praise by rejecting herself again. Despite everything she tells herself, she wants to be beautiful. She wants to love her appearance. She’s such a courageous person throughout the movie, yet (understandably, internalized transphobia) this is the only thing she didn’t dare/ let herself do until now.

And at the end, she has found a family where she feels understood and important. A family of people who have also no place for them (isn't this something a lot of lgbt+ people have experienced, finding people who understand you better because they know what's like to be displaced?). When she lets go of her self-deprecation, she does become a little more feminine because she lets herself be. In the ending scene, she wears a prettier dress, in a bolder color than her old blue, yellow, and the new hairstyle fits her better. She hasn’t become as luxurious in her wardrobe as her family, and she’s okay with it because her new look fits her personality and identity. She lets herself try something different that makes her feel better, but she doesn’t feel the necessity to emulate other women in her life to validate her womanhood either. By the end of the movie, she truly becomes herself.

#sophie hatter #howl's moving castle #trans sophie #i'm just rambling sorry #but i love seeing things through lgbt lens #especially in a movie with a queer coded love interest #and sophie's arc just fits well #i love her even more now #that's my girl #sophie hatter icons

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write Day 1

Foster – “encourage or promote the development of (something, typically something regarded as good)”

“I still cannot believe you built a bloody airship! I mean, I’ve done maintenance work on them under Cid or Stephanivien’s tutelage, but you BUILT one, from practically nothing!”

Tataru looked up from the pile of paperwork she was dealing with and grinned at Franks. “What, you didn’t think little old me could do it all by myself? No, wait, that’s not it, is it?? You’re JEALOUS!”

Franks threw down the cloth he’d been using to clean his gun and tools only moments before. “Of COURSE, I’m jealous! You know how many times I’ve tried to make time with either one of them to learn more about magitek engineering? I’ve lost count, because every time, without fail, either I have to cancel because the star’s in peril again or one of them has some company emergency or other to deal with! And now here you are, buildin’ an entire AIRSHIP! Hells yes I’m jealous!”

Tataru spasmed as she tried to hold back her mirth, covering her mouth, but there was no hiding the look in her eyes. First a few giggles escaped her, growing more numerous and loud, until she released peals of laughter, falling over in her chair. Franks eventually joined in, the pair enjoying a simple moment together.

Eventually Tataru managed to get herself under control. “Well, hopefully one day, this will all be in our pasts and you can spend the rest of your days building and maintaining magitek, if you wish. Think you’ll open up Cid’s first competition? Or maybe work for him? Wait, can you stand to be around Nero that much?”

Franks chuckled as he resumed cleaning a wrench.”Honestly, once you recognize and accept that his boundless arrogance is an attempt to mask both his profound fear at having to essentially restart his life in a formerly-hostile land AND trying to sort out exactly how he feels about Cid, he’s really not that bad. But while working at the Ironworks would certainly be enjoyable, I think my place is in Ishgard, in the Machinists guild. I want to be at the forefront of that discipline, both training new recruits and helpin’ Stephanivien come up with new tools for them to use. I foresee workin’ closely with the Ironworks to make that happen, though, so it’s really the best o’ both worlds.”

Tataru nodded. “I don’t know what the Scions will do once this is all over. I don’t even know if there’s really a place for us once the world is saved, if such a thing is even possible. But I might quite like working for Cid, I think. There’s a lot of upsides. Good pay, constantly getting to learn, don’t have to leave Mor Dhona…”

“Not to mention being in constant proximity to a certain Lalafell engineer…” Franks added, smirking as he looked over in her direction.

Tataru flushed and quickly looked away from his knowing gaze. “Y-yes, I suppose being near my good friend Wedge would be a nice perk!”

“Uh huh” Franks replied, not at all sounding like he was buying that description for one second. He finished wiping down the last piece of his aetherotransformer, and with practiced ease, began reassembling the components. With a final click, the device came together and lit up from within. Giving it a final examination, he returned it to its place at his hip and began reassembling his gun. “So…this next question might seem cruel, and if it’s hurtful please tell me so I can apologize, but I’m curious. You’re clearly a good engineer, which means math isn’t a problem for you. So why have you had such a problem with arcanima?”

Tataru had returned her attention to her paperwork, but the question stopped her mid-sentence. She looked back at Franks, her expression one of sad acceptance. “Thank you for saying it like…. that”

“Tataru, I’m so…”

“No no, it’s not bad. It’s nothing I haven’t asked myself and wrestled with, but I came to an answer a while ago.” She picked up a small clock that adorned her desk. “When I’m building, anything from constructing an airship to something simple like sawing wood…the math is there, a physical object in front of me. When I can see, can feel, the results right then, it all makes sense in my head. But with Arcanima….it was all in my head for me to unravel before it would manifest the magic. That’s harder for me. Not impossible, I don’t think I could have manifested a carbuncle or a Ruin spell otherwise, but I was a lot less confident, doubly so when I had to fight with it. I think that confidence, or lack thereof, is why my carbuncle didn’t do what I want.”

Franks nodded. “That absolutely is understandable. Everyone learns differently after all.”

Tataru’s smile brightened. “And really, I’m somewhat glad it didn’t work out! I wouldn’t have been able to find my talents as a crafter and intelligence gatherer for the Scions if I hadn’t accepted defeat with a grimoire!”

Franks laughed. “Absolutely true. I’ve no idea what would have become of the Scions if you hadn’t! We probably would still be wondering how we’d pay for the fare to Kugane! Definitely wouldn’t be eating as well, that’s for sure!”

She had to laugh at that. “Oh, I get it, I’m just your bank lender and chef, is that it?”

“In all seriousness, do you still wish you could join us in the field? Fight alongside everyone?”

She paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “I won’t deny the idea doesn’t STILL have some appeal, but I know I’m way more valuable to the Scions in my current role. I do wish I had a more reliable way of defending myself, especially should the Garlands attempt another Waking Sands massacre, though. I suppose I’ll just have to hope the people of Revenant’s Toll are more capable of defending us than the citizens of Vesper Bay were.”

Franks looked back down to his gun, nodding. “Mmm, makes sense. Even if you aren’t in enemy territory, as it were, traveling around isn’t always safe. We might just have to….” he stopped, nearly dropping the assembled firearm.

“Have to what, Franks?”

“I can’t believe I never thought of this. How did it not occur to me?”. Franks stood up, slinging his weapon across his band into the holster that held it in place. He looked to Tataru with an almost manic gleam in his eye. “Go get something warm to wear, Tataru! We got someplace to be!”

Tataru looked confused “W-where??”

Franks grinned. “Ishgard!”

A bell later, the air around the Ishgardian aetheryte gave a slight pop as it was suddenly displaced by the appearing forms of Franks and Fearless. Both shivered, if only briefly, before their bodies re-acclimated to the colder temperatures that they had grown used to those many moons they’d spent in the city.

Both were quickly recognized by practically everyone they passed by, and while Franks had little hope of recognizing most of the people who spoke to them, Tataru seemed to know everyone, able to call them by name and ask personal questions that she’d had to have learned about on those random evenings in the Forgotten Knight. More than once, she was able to recognize fully helmed Temple Knights by voice alone. Franks, for his part, hurried them both along, seemingly eager to reach their destination.

“So where ARE we going, exactly?” Tataru asked in between a conversation with one of Hilda’s people in the City Watch and a noblewoman of a minor house. Franks didn’t reply aside from a grin on his face until a few minutes later when he stopped in front of a building and pointed. “There!”

Tataru bid one more person farewell and stopped to take in where the pair had arrived at. Sounds of rhythmic thumping filled the air, which smelled of flame and metal and soot. She looked up at the building. “Skysteel Manufactory? What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see!” Franks called back, already having made his way to the corner where one needed to turn to enter the Manufactory’s font door. Tataru squeaked and started after him as quick as her smaller legs could carry her. By the time she rounded the corner, Franks had already thrown open the wooden doors of the entrance and strode in.

“Franks, my old friend!” a voice cried out from within. Tataru quickly ran to catch up, and as she entered the door, the eyes of an Elezen man quickly jumped to her. “And mistress Tataru! What a surprise!”

“Good to see you too, Lord Stephanivien!” she replied, smiling.

“Whatever brings Ishgard’s savior, and most importantly my best machinist, and the Scion’s….erm…what IS your official role within the Scions of the Seventh Dawn these days, milady? If half of what Franks tells me is true, “secretary” would seem a woefully inadequate title! Perhaps ‘the very hull on which the entire ship is built’? No? Too long?”

Tataru giggled. “Oh no, milord, ‘secretary’ is just fine. I like it, makes people underestimate me! And that’s how I get em!”

“Who’s come calling, milord?” came a voice from the upper levels of the Manufactory. A woman’s head peaked over the railing, her blond ponytails dangling from the sides of her head. “I thought I heard….TATARU!” With that, she bolted for the stairs that led to the entryway, sliding down the rails. Tataru ran for the woman and lept right into her arms, hugging.

“What’re ye doin here, girl? I thought you were busy keepin’ them Scions from fallin apart!”

“I don’t know, rightly! Franks dragged me….” Tataru trailed off as she noticed that Joye’s braids had somehow completely undone themselves, and her hair was a wild mess. “Are you ever going to tell me how you do that??”

“Dunno what yer on about! FRANKS!” she turned and yelled at the man who’d been quietly conversing with Stephanivien. “Why you dragged this poor lass all the way out into the cold arse o’ this time o’ night without tellin’ her what’s goin on?”

Franks smiled, leaning away from Stephanivien, and crossed his arms. “Well, Joye, I’d like to introduce you to someone that, well, you don’t really need introduction to! That lady you’re hugging is Tataru Taru, Scion of the Seventh Dawn, the glue and rivets that keep the very organization held together, and-“

“We know who she is, ye daft sod!” Joy interrupted, setting Tataru back on the ground. “Ya literally just watched us have a mini-reunion!”

“-AND, assuming she’s amenable, the newest member of the Machinist’s guild!” Franks continued, as though he hadn’t been interrupted.

THAT got everyone’s attention. Both Joye’s and Tataru’s jaws dropped. Stephanivien simply smiled.

“Wait…this is your solution to me wanting to increase my martial skillset?” Tataru asked.

Franks threw his arms out, gesturing around to the manufactory around them. “It’s a perfect idea! Think about it! You’re already proficient with magitek, you’ve certainly proven that by now! You already know what I’m guessing is about 80% of the members already! You don’t need any extensive training in magic or heavy melee arms, all you really need to learn is how to shoot! I don’t doubt you can get the hang of that, especially with Joye teaching you!”

Joye looked down at Tataru. “Aye….aye I can! Tataru, this’ll be great!”

Tataru still appeared in shock. “But…I don’t…I don’t have a gun! And I bet they don’t keep ones sized for Lalafell around!”

Stephanivien knelt down to face her. “As it turns out, my dear, we actually made a custom one for a colleague of ours from Garlond Ironworks. He frequently comes to collaborate with our fair guild and commissioned a carbine with which to recreationally shoot. He keeps it here, as well. I believe you are acquainted with one Wedge? His weapon should suffice for you to practice with until we can build a custom one for you. I daresay he will not object either, would you not agree?” He winked almost conspiratorially.

“I know where it is! Come on Tataru, let’s go blast some training dummies!” Joye practically dragged Tataru behind her as she ran outside. Tataru didn’t require TOO much prompting, however, as pretty soon, she was running full steam out the door behind Joye under her own power.

Stephanivien turned to Franks. “Seems you have a knack for fostering talent in people, my friend. I heard of the fortune that befell the Baroness de Jervaint, and now you’ve added a new member to our guild’s ranks as well! I know you must wear any number of metaphorical hats, but I am quite glad the Machinist’s goggles are among them!”

Franks smiled. Whatever the future held, he was glad to keep building towards making it better.

#Final Fantasy XIV #ffxivwrite2021 #oldmanfranks

[magz]

2, 12, and 80 please?

2. Do you mourn for a place or person you’ve never known?

The different homelands of my predecessors that I have not had the opportunity to go to, I mourn. To be disconnected from and displaced from the memory, the land, that is inscribed in your genes -- memories, their adaptations to survive, history, the other family that splinters off -- is akin to nostalgia for something you hadn't the opportunity to know. Generational trauma, generational happiness, generational sadness, that's etched into my bones and blood and skin and hair. But I do not know it. Not truly. The people in my dreams that feel so real, that I had in those moments, loved like any other real thing, I mourn. Interacting with other loved ones, and in that moment I wouldn't even question if they belonged. A ghost of someone forgotten. Remembered in the quiet moments with my eyelids shut, wherein the dark of closing them brings images and feelings immaterial. I can only come to the conclusion that they exist, just in a different sense, or that I simply do not know them in the flesh now or simply forgot.

12. Do you have the feeling you’ve lost something you might have had in another life - whether it be a person, a place, a world, a language, etc.?

With reincarnation already being presumed, I feel like it'd be a common thing to come across people from a different life again. Doesn't have to be mystical. The old lady that would braid your hair, your child that you cradled in a hand-me-down blanket, a childhood friend you lost contact with, a first crush you shared secrets with but didn't end up with, the person who was kind to you after bad news broke out. They could be with you again in this life. The hard to pin mumbles in the mind that don't register as any particular language, could be the babblings of a child yet to learn their mother tongue.

I feel sentimental when I lose the representations of my old memories, the proofs of it, still. My love and complicated feelings held in a mundane object. But it'd be different in the case of reincarnation, since... it'd possible I hadn't truly lost them. Yet I wouldn't know.

80. Is your music organised by mood or sensation or do you just listen to everything at any time?

Not organized in any way. I listen to what I need to. I almost always am listening to music. It is almost my lifeblood, to have rhythmic noises even when I do not understand them. I haven't felt a need to put them in categories, it'd only go badly with my compulsive needs.

#hitmanapologist #response #ask meme #ask post #long post #existentialism

[lovewillthaw-j]

Frozen II/RBTI discussion (1/2)

I’ve been encouraged by the recent likes on my Elsa/Ralph+Vanellope parallels post to finally finish this post which I started more than half a year ago. @super-mam-te-moc contributed ideas and encouragement for this post, thanks dear!

I can’t help but notice the parallels between Frozen 2 and Ralph Breaks The Internet (RBTI, also known as Wreck-it Ralph 2). These are both sequels to fantastic movies where the first installment established an incredibly strong bond between the two main characters (Elsa/Anna; Ralph/Vanellope), but by the end of the sequel, the two main characters are separated.

This first part will discuss the parallels between the movies.

The parallels

1. Fun times at the movie’s introduction

As the movie starts, we see the pair having fun and enjoying each other’s company. Ralph and Vanellope drink root beer at Tapper’s, race in Tron and spend hours talking with each other. Elsa and Anna have fun at the harvest festival and enjoy a game of charades.

2. Ralph/Anna don’t want things to change

From their very first scene, Ralph and Anna express that life is perfect and that they don’t want things to change. (Ralph more strongly so than Anna)

Anna: I dont worry [that nothing is permanent] because... well I have you and Elsa, and Kristoff, and Sven and the gates are open wide and...and I'm not alone anymore... // I’m holding on tight to you...

 Ralph: Why would I wonder if there's more to life when the life I got is perfect? ...  I wouldn't change a thing.

3. Early signs of Elsa/Vanellope feeling unsettled where they are

Also early on in the movie, Elsa and Vanellope express that they feel unsettled where they are. (Vanellope much more so than Elsa) Vanellope is outright bored, Elsa feels a pull but is unsure and afraid.

Vanellope: doesn't the very nature of our existence make you wonder...if there's more to life than this? ... // A new racing game would've been cool. ... // every bonus level's been unlocked [in Sugar Rush]. I know every shortcut. Man, I'd kill for even just a new track.

Elsa: ♪ I'm not sure I want things to change at all ♪ ...// ♪ Who knows deep down I'm not where I meant to be? ♪♪ Every day's a little harder as I feel my power grow ♪♪ Don't you know there's part of me that longs to go ... ♪

4. Big event happens!! 

A big event occurs in each movie; in RBTI, Ralph’s actions lead to the steering wheel being broken and Mr Litwak (the arcade owner) pulling the plug on Sugar Rush. In F2, Elsa awakens the spirits and there are huge disturbances within Arendelle (the wind, the earthquake) driving the people out and preventing them from returning.

In both, there are irreversible consequences - the candy characters and racers of Sugar Rush are displaced, similar to the Arendellians. There are well-animated sequences of the massive exodus. And, since Vanellope is the “princess-ruler” of Sugar Rush, she is responsible for the well-being of all her subjects, just like Elsa is the Queen of Arendelle. 

And of course, the big event forces the pair to go on a journey, to a new world.

5. Ralph/Anna start to display insecurity over Vanellope/Elsa

Again, Ralph does this much more than Anna; Ralph’s insecurity is, after all, the subject of the movie’s big climax and the title of the movie (his insecure “clones” break the internet) He starts by asking Tapper incessantly every 30 seconds whether he’s seen Vanellope.

Ralph: she said...being friends with me wasn't enough for her. Not enough? I'm a great friend! Right, Tapper? Right?

Anna: You've been hearing a voice and you didn't think to tell me? ...  // You are not going alone. ... // I won't let anything happen to her.

6. The journey starts

Elsa and Vanellope are shown to be enjoying the new world (the forest, for Elsa and Slaughter Race, for Vanellope)

Elsa: This forest is beautiful.

Vanellope (talking about Slaughter Race): I know. It was so exciting! 

Whereas, Ralph and Anna are preoccupied with not getting separated, and worrying over Vanellope/Elsa.

Anna: Where’s Elsa? I swore that I wouldn't leave her side.

Ralph: Hey, wait for me! Kid, come back! Wait! Hey! Don't leave without me! ...  No, no, no. Me and the kid are like shoes and socks. Or peanut butter and bacon. One cannot exist without the other.

7. The third party (the Voice/Shank)

The third party isn’t introduced at the same time for both movies. In F2, the Voice is heard very early in the movie, when Elsa is standing at the balcony. In RBTI, Shank (Gal Gadot’s badass character) is only introduced in Slaughter Race, about 1/3 into the movie.

The third party is attractive to Elsa and Vanellope. (This is the point where I expect Elsamaren shippers to tell me that the third party is Honeymaren, which I’m totally cool with)

Ralph and Anna are aware of the third party and respond to it, albeit slightly differently. Ralph openly dislikes Shank; Anna can’t understand it, but respects that Elsa is hearing a voice.

Ralph: Oh, come on. I don't trust that Shank one bit.

8. Inevitably, conflict happens between R/V and E/A

As the journey progresses, Elsa and Vanellope are shown to have changing priorities and they don’t seem to mind the dangers of the new world. Ralph and Anna just want to protect their counterparts and appear chagrined that they (E/V) are so attracted to the “wrong” things (by their definition). Ralph openly says that he thinks V has been brainwashed. This clash leads to misunderstanding and conflict. 

Here’s Ralph and Vanellope disagreeing over Slaughter Race and Shank:

Ralph: Man, oh, man, that place was scary. Vanellope: I know. It was so exciting!

R: No, exciting is when you smile. Scary is when you clench your butt, and my butt is still clenched.

V: Oh, come on, are you honestly telling me... that Shank lady wasn't the coolest person you ever met? Ralph: Cool? Name one cool thing about her.

V: Um, let's see, she looks cool, she talks cool...she drives cool, her hair is cool, her car is cool... Ralph: Wait a minute, are you saying my hair isn't cool?

In F2: Elsa tames Bruni and for a moment becomes mesmerised by the Voice and starts walking after Bruni (almost as if she’s forgotten that she came here with Anna and the gang), leading to the first heated exchange: “You don't want me to follow you into fire, then don't run into fire. You're not being careful Elsa.” Elsa also encounters the Earth Giant and again is mesmerised and starts following the giant, leading to another heated exchange: “Please tell me, you were not about to follow them!”

9. The big “betrayal”

In RBTI, Ralph realises that Vanellope has gone to Slaughter Race by herself and is talking to Shank behind his back (through the convenient plot device, “Buzzzface”, a video chat app) and he cannot deal with it. He feels betrayed and abandoned and fails to hear the wise words that Shank is dishing out. This leads him to formulate the plan of infecting Slaughter Race with a computer virus.

In F2, Anna gets pushed away by Elsa in the ice boat/sled outside the shipwreck. Anna is angry and feels that Elsa has broken her promise to “do this together”. I must confess, even as an F2 lover, I really didn’t like Elsa’s actions in this scene. Poor, poor, poor, poor Anna!! I have an idea for re-writing this scene to achieve the same final outcome with better treatment of Anna and more “realistic” behavior from the sisters, let’s see if I have the drive to complete it. (your encouragement would be helpful!)

Thanks for reading part 1!

#frozen #frozen 2 #ralph breaks the internet #Disney Frozen #elsa #anna #ralph #wreck it ralph #vanellope von schweetz #disney

[ravioxhilda]

Happy Four Year Anniversary!

Wow, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild is four years old already! Who would’ve thought March of 2017 was already that long ago? While I didn’t play Breath of the Wild until January of 2020, I will always be grateful for the fun times the game has given me, before and during quarantine. I have written a prompt with Mipha having amnesia and Revali helping her with it, which was meant to be short, but ended being around 4,000 words, though I hope you enjoy nevertheless!

“What has happened to my daughter?!”

Revali winced at the booming voice of King of the Zora, who was quite obviously distraught about his daughter.

Muzu, the King’s attendant, stood by his leader in the Throne Room of Zora’s Domain, the tranquil splashing of the waterfalls outside a polar opposite to the tense atmosphere within the room.

“The enemy had somehow infiltrated her mind and blocked off all of her memories with magic. We don’t...exactly know how he managed to do it, but I will help her get her memory back, whatever it takes.” He declared, glancing behind him towards the square.

Mipha was standing around looking utterly perplexed and in awe of her surroundings, which was painful for him to see as this was her beloved home she loved to sing praises for, now foreign and strange to her eyes.

King Dorephan followed his gaze towards the square and smiled sadly at the sight. How his Mipha would have loved to see Revali looking at her like that.

“Master Revali, I know you hold my daughter in high regard, but will you be able to carry through on your promise to restore her memories, if you cannot even determine what exactly has caused it?” He asked, causing Revali to snap his attention back to the problem at hand, nodding in affirmation.

“I care about her very much, I will do everything I can to bring her memory back. That is a promise.” He said, and Muzu snorted derisively.

“If anyone were to get our Lady Mipha’s memory back, it would be a Zora, not a Rito of all things.” He said, and both Revali and Dorephan glared at him, though Revali was more than willing to launch Muzu outside the Throne Room.

However, a warning look from Dorephan calmed his temper slightly, but Muzu smirked as he could see he had succeeded in riling him up.

“Now, now, there’s no need to get so flippant with our guest, Muzu. I have the utmost faith that Master Revali will restore Mipha’s memory, and we must assist in any way. Is that understood?” The King said firmly, and Muzu huffed but nodded.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I understand.”

Muzu then walked to Revali and held out his hand to him with his palm closed.

“This item here is an heirloom that has long been treasured by our kind, used as an engagement ring for the Zora Princess to her beloved in times past. Lady Mipha has been tinkering with it for quite a long while, so while it may not restore her memory fully, it may bring back a small portion.” He said, opening his palm to allow Revali to take the item.

Revali examined it closely, the heirloom turning out to be a gemstone, or three, as there were three pentagon-shaped sapphires connected by gold, the sunlight reflecting off the gems much like the sun reflects off the surface of the water.

He felt a soothing sensation emanating from the object as though he was being wrapped in a comforting hug, which made him desperately wish that he could hug Mipha right at that moment.

“Do you know what Mipha was doing with this?” Revali asked, and Dorephan shook his head sadly.

“I do not. She has had it for months after she disassembled the Zora Armor, though I know not why she has been focused on it. Perhaps she will tell you one day if she ever regains her memory.” He said sadly, Revali nodding as he pocketed the Zora Sapphire and bowed.

“I won’t let you down, Your Majesty.”

He then left the Throne Room, allowing Muzu the chance to huff as he walked out.

“Are you sure it is wise to allow a Rito of all people to help our dear Princess? She would be in better hands of a fellow Zora than an outsider.” Muzu said though Dorephan waved him off.

“My daughter loves that Rito with all her heart, regardless of whether or not she is ready to admit it. He may be the person she needs in her life to finally give her what she deserves, and will support any choice she makes. It is for the good of our people, Muzu.”

Revali soon arrived at the square where Mipha was waiting, Princess Zelda and Link beside her to make sure she didn’t wander off.

They both perked up when Revali arrived, though Mipha simply stared at him blankly with no recognition in her gaze, which sent a cold needle through Revali’s heart.

“What did the King say?” Zelda asked, and Revali sighed as he pulled out the Zora Sapphire from his pocket.

“He had me promise to restore Mipha’s memory, and his attendant gave me this,” Revali said, holding out the stone for Link and Zelda to examine.

“I cannot say for sure where I have seen this, but the shape is oddly familiar. Did they tell you anything about it?” She asked, holding the Sapphire to the sun as if the radiant light shining down upon them would give them the answers they needed.

“Only that it used to be what the Zora Princesses in the distant past used to propose and that Mipha has been messing with it in some way. Do you believe any of that information is relevant?” He asked as Zelda handed him back the Sapphire, though her thoughts seemed to be running rapidly in her mind.

“I do believe that information may have some relevancy, but I wouldn’t show it to her now. It is clear that she must have some sort of strong emotional attachment to this artifact, and we cannot risk stressing her brain when it is under the effect of such potent magic. Purah and Robbie are working on technology to restore her memory, though it may take quite a while.”

Revali sighed dejectedly as he pocketed the stone, turning instead to face Mipha, the one he cared so much for not even able to recognize his face anymore.

“Mipha?”

She turned to look blankly at him, though her face held no recognition.

She felt as though this place she was in was...familiar, though she couldn’t quite place why, and the people around her seemed familiar as well, especially the blue-feathered one that stood before her.

The Zora supposed that Mipha was her name, but no recollection of any of the other’s names came to mind, not even with the overwhelming feeling of familiarity towards them all.

“Yes? Is something wrong?” She asked politely, and Revali could have smiled at the fact that even though she may not have her memories, her sweet graceful nature was still present.

“No, nothing is wrong, but do you recognize this place at all? Do you recognize any of us?” He asked, and Mipha shook her head sadly as a feeling of guilt began to form, weighing down her heart.

“This place does seem...familiar, but I know not why, and I know that I feel very strongly about this place and you three, but the reasoning escapes me. I apologize for not knowing more.” She said, Zelda and Revali looking at each worriedly before Zelda placed a hand on her shoulder, a reassuring expression upon her face.

“It is alright if you cannot remember, it is not your fault. We’ll be here to help you, I swear.”

Zelda then turned to speak with Revali, holding out the Sheikah Slate to him.

“Link and I must return to Hyrule Castle to speak with Robbie and Purah and see if they have made any progress with restoring Mipha’s memory. Will you be alright in taking care of Mipha until we return?” Zelda asked worriedly, Revali waving a wing to brush off any concern.

“Princess, I know Zora’s Domain as well as my own home, and Mipha even better. I’ll do my best to show her any places that may jog her memory and that she doesn’t get killed in the process by the monsters around here.” He said reassuringly, though it did little to ease Zelda’s worries but she nodded nevertheless.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can. Take her to any places you think may displace the magic infecting her brain and restore her memories.”

Zelda then reached out to tap away at the Sheikah Slate, and within the blink of an eye, Zelda and Link were gone, transported away by the stone tablet’s mysterious technology.

Revali was relieved he didn’t have to travel by Sheikah Slate at that moment. While Zelda had sworn up and down that utilizing the ancient tech was the best way to keep the enemy on their toes, Revali much preferred to travel by his own two wings.

He turned to see Mipha staring placidly at him, causing him to sigh as he hooked the Sheikah Slate onto his waist. There was no doubt in his mind that restoring her memories would take some time and serious effort, so he decided it would be best to start right away.

“Mipha, I’m going to show you around Zora’s Domain, and you can meet everyone here and see the sights. How does that sound?” He asked, causing her to raise her hand to her chin as a show of thought, which Revali had always found so endearing, happy to see that particular mannerism hadn’t faded.

“That sounds...interesting. Where did you want to take me first?” She asked, and Revali thought for a moment, before pointing towards the Throne Room.

“It is customary for any guests to Zora’s Domain to meet with King Dorephan. Perhaps we should start there?”

Mipha nodded with a small smile on her face as she held out her hand to Revali, an impulse that she hadn’t even thought about, but it felt...right.

“Shall we go then?” She felt herself asking, Revali staring at her with a moment of shock. She hadn’t reached out to him since losing her memories, but here she was, smiling at him with her hand outstretched.

He returned the smile and gently took ahold of her hand, the both of them feeling a bit more at ease once they touched.

“Of course, My Lady.”

~~~

The entire day at Zora’s Domain had been spent with Revali showing Mipha around, her eyes taking in all the wonder of a home she did not remember.

If one did not know better, it may have seemed that the Zora Princess and the Rito Champions were merely sightseeing all around Lanayru, in the way they carried a conversation with seemingly little effort, even with Mipha’s memories gone.

Mipha looked around their surroundings, the area so achingly familiar but yet the reasoning why was out of reach, how she so wanted to know why she knew this place.

However, she couldn’t complain about holding the strange blue-feathered one’s wing, the feathers plush against her palm as he led around, acting as a sort of guide for her, which she was grateful for.

The two had soon descended the pathway from Zora’s Domain and were met by a pack of pesky Lizalfos roasting fish over a fire by the river.

Revali had dispatched of them easily with his bow, displaying marksmanship that Mipha had never seen before, and while she wanted to congratulate him on his obvious skill, she still could not quite figure out his name and did not want to ask him, lest she make things awkward between them.

The two Hylians that had spoken with her a few hours before were friendly towards her, though both of them seemed quite awkward for a reason she could not quite pinpoint, and the others the feathered one had mentioned had yet to show themselves.

Revali looked back at Mipha to see her staring at him with awe, a look he would never get tired of seeing from anyone, but was slightly relieved to see it from her.

“Are you alright?” He asked, Mipha nodding, her face starting to grow warm as he looked at her with that smile. She had a feeling she had felt this way before about him, but when?

“I-I’m fine. Thank you...for defending me.” She mumbled, causing Revali to smirk as he placed his bow back on his back. Her personality from before was shining through, he could tell.

“I was glad to be of assistance, My Lady. Shall we be on our way?” He asked though something had caught Mipha’s eye, passing by Revali as she reached out towards it.

One of the fallen Lizalfos had been brandishing a Zora Spear as its weapon, and though Mipha did not know why, she felt a connection to the weapon, as though she and it were one and the same.

She picked it up from the ground, marveling at the spear’s beauty and elegance as she ran her hand up the long metal pole that made up the majority of the weapon.

“What is this?” She asked, and Revali grinned as he saw her examining the weapon closely. It seemed that even with a wiped memory, her love for spear fighting could never be erased.

“That is a Zora Spear, a weapon typically used by those in the Zora Guard, albeit low-ranking soldiers. What do you think of it?”

She turned away from the spear and smiled at Revali once more, clutching tightly onto the weapon in her hand, as if she was afraid that if she let go of the weapon, it would just disappear.

“It is magnificent. I believe I’ll hold onto it, at least for now. Who knows what other monsters we may encounter?” She said and though it was a sound argument, Revali wondered if she remembered how to use the spear from years of fighting with her trident, or if she did indeed just think it was pretty.

“That is a good idea. Here, I know of one last place I can take you, it has the most widespread view of Lanayru that you will ever see.” He said, kneeling onto the ground, though Mipha was slightly confused.

“What would you like me to do?” She asked, and Revali sighed as he held out his wing to her.

“I’m going to fly us there. Is that alright, My Lady?”

Mipha nodded hesitantly, placing the spear in a holster on her back and took his wing, allowing him to pull her closer though he let go as he instructed her on how to position herself and where to hold onto him. She did it with ease as if she had gone through this process so many times.

“Are you ready?” Revali asked as he looked behind him to see Mipha still shifting around on his back before settling into place and nodding.

“I am. Let’s go.”

Revali nodded in affirmation, pressing his wings firmly into the ground to activate his Gale, before pushing off and launching the both of them in the air.

He felt Mipha scream as she held tightly onto him, and he felt as if he was having a flashback to the first time he had taken her flying.

Mipha was terrified out of her mind from the sudden jump into the mid-air, the only comfort being to bury her face in the Rito’s neck, the feathers providing her a slight escape from the high drop beneath her.

Revali supposed that it would make sense that amnesiac Mipha would be more scared than the Mipha he had known, she had trusted him to not drop her but that was formed over time, which he and the Mipha now did not have anymore.

She wasn’t panicking though, which Revali was appreciative for. A flailing passenger was the last thing he needed, but her silence worried him.

“Are you alright?” He asked, and Mipha nod against his neck as she cautiously lifted her head from where she was hiding, suddenly in awe of the view.

“I’m...fine. This region is so beautiful, how did you know it was here?” She asked, and Revali looked away, a sad look upon his face.

“I knew it because...you invited us all here before, me, Daruk, Urbosa, Zelda, Link, to help defend it against Calamity Ganon. I was in awe of how beautiful it was, and I thought...even though you don’t have your memories, you’d still like to see what your home looks like.”

Mipha looked at him worriedly as she buried her face again into his neck.

The two soon arrived at the top of the highest point in Lanayru: Ploymus Mountain.

Revali softly landed on the ground, allowing Mipha to change clamber off his back, though she seemed to hesitate as she did. Something was wrong with this place, but she did not yet know why.

Revali sensed something was off as well, causing him to pull out his bow from its holster into his hands, just in case something amiss did occur.

“Here, the edge of the mountain is just a little ways away. I didn’t want to get too close to the edge so we landed here instead.” He said, and Mipha nodded.

“Of course, that is sensible. Could you...lead the way? I have a feeling I’ve been here before, but something feels wrong. Perhaps I’m just imagining things?” She said nervously, pulling out her spear and holding onto the handle tightly, afraid that someone would attack.

“Alright then. Follow me.” Revali said as he began walking towards the main part of the mountain, Mipha trailing behind him.

Shock arrows were lodged in trees, rocks, even the ground, small sparks of electricity crackling around the magical tip of the arrow.

Suddenly, Mipha felt a memory slip in between the cracks, and she suddenly realized why the place felt wrong.

“Look out!” She yelled, and Revali turned to see a Lynel aiming an arrow directly at his chest. He cursed to himself for being so careless, how could he have forgotten there was a Lynel?

“Mipha, get away from here! This thing has shock arrows!” Revali yelled, nocking an arrow in his bow and launching it at the Lynel.

The Lynel stumbled back as it howled in pain as the arrow landed in its head, causing it to drop the Shock Arrow it was about to shoot at Revali, though it immediately readied another arrow.

Mipha could only stare in shock as Revali launched himself into the air, shooting flurries of arrows at the beast, somehow managing to dodge each arrow that went arcing through the air straight at him.

Every cell in her body was telling her to run, to get away from the electricity-wielding monster because she knew that one shot from it would prove to be fatal.

But she couldn’t just leave him. He meant something to her, but she didn’t know why. She so desperately wished she knew why.

A name came to her suddenly, with a kind smile and those green eyes looking back at her so endearingly. Those feathered wings holding her close as she felt tears run down her face, him whispering to her that everything would be alright, that he would always be there for her.

“Revali!”

Revali froze, turning to see Mipha reaching out her hand towards him, but he could still hear her voice calling his name in his head, reverberating and bouncing around. He was shocked.

“You...you remember my name?” He asked, and Mipha nodded hesitantly, the way he was looking at her making her feel all warm inside.

However, the Lynel saw Revali’s distraction as an opening and charged forward at full force, its sword ready to strike.

Revali heard the triumphant howl of the Lynel and could only watch in horror as it ran towards him, its sword aimed at his head.

“No!”

As if it was slow motion, Mipha ran past him with her spear raised, holding the pole between her and the beast, leaving Revali in shock.

Revali saw something shining in his pocket, pulling it out to reveal the Zora Sapphire, and he could see that Mipha was slightly glowing.

However, the Lynel was still barreling at them so he pocketed the stone once again, though he made a note to ask Mipha about it later.

“Mipha, what are you doing? This thing could kill you in five seconds just by shooting you with a Shock Arrow. It’s too dangerous!” Revali demanded as the Lynel slammed down on the pole, its curved sword trapped around the thin pole.

Mipha used the moment of weakness and pushed all her strength into pushing the spear towards the Lynel, causing it to stumble backward as it lost balance from being shoved so suddenly.

“If you think that I would abandon you while we’re facing a Lynel, then you would be terribly wrong. I’m not leaving you behind.” Mipha said, twirling her spear until the pointed tip of the weapon was aimed at the Lynel.

Revali smiled as he readied three arrows and nocked them in his bow as the Lynel regained its balance, quite angry that its target was taken from it by a tiny Zora.

“Did you regain your ability to fight, because your spear-wielding skills would be quite nice right about now?” Revali asked, and Mipha grinned and nodded.

“I never lost the ability to fight, my mind may have taken all my memories away but it could never take my spear fighting away. You cover me while I try and find its weak point and not get shot by Shock Arrows. Keep it distracted.” Mipha ordered, and Revali grinned as he knelt to ready his Gale.

“Your wish is my command, Princess.” He said with a smirk, waiting for Mipha’s signal.

She made eye contact with him and nodded before speeding towards the Lynel, Revali already up in the air and circling above her.

Revali had already begun raining down arrows upon the Lynel, though allowing enough time for Mipha to zip in between them and end up underneath the belly of the beast, a very dangerous place to be while fighting a Lynel.

The Lynel itself was not happy about being shot at with arrows and readied its own bow to shoot at Revali. However, Mipha aimed her spear upwards and thrust the weapon into its stomach, causing it to howl in pain once again as it dropped its bow.

Mipha pulled the spear from the Lynel’s body and ran out from underneath its body before she could get stomped by its hooves, though it allowed Revali the perfect time to aim his bow and shoot a bomb arrow at its head.

The arrow exploded as soon it landed in the Lynel’s head and when the smoke cleared, the beast had already begun dissolving into a pool of Malice, a defeated look upon its face before it disappeared completely.

Mipha could only stare in shock at what she had done as Revali cautiously landed beside her, though it wasn’t because of the now-dead Lynel.

“Mipha?”

She turned to see Revali standing beside her, though he seemed a little nervous.

“Revali, is something wrong?” She asked, and he nodded hurriedly, though she could see tears welling up in his eyes before he quickly wiped them away.

“Did you...did you regain your other memories?” He asked, and Mipha thought for a moment before sadly shaking her head.

“I have not regained memories about anything else, but I remember some things about you.” She said softly, reaching her hand out to him as he pulled her towards him, as though this was something that came naturally to them. Perhaps it was.

“What do you remember about me?” He whispered, and Mipha giggled as she placed her arms around his neck as he held her up closer to him.

“I remember that you are the greatest archer in this entire kingdom, even better than Link, and that you would always take any chance to show it. I remember you care so deeply about your home and our fellow Champions, even though you never showed it or expressed it directly. I remember that I have been working to imbue my healing power within a Zora treasure from ages past to help you in times of need. But I also remember one more thing.”

Revali shuddered as he could feel her breath tickling his skin even through his feathers, her voice giving him butterflies.

“And what is that?” He asked, and Mipha smiled as she moved back enough to look him into the eyes, placing both her hands on both sides of his face, wiping away the tears from his face.

“I remember that I love you, with all my heart and everything in my being.” She said, leaning upwards to kiss the tip of his beak, though Revali was shocked.

He had never expected to hear those words from anyone in his life, but here Mipha was, saying what he had always desperately wanted to hear.

“I love you, too.”

#miphvali #mipha #revali #revamiph #mipha x revali #revali x mipha #happy anniversary #happy breath of the wild anniversary

[mzminola]

I have just bumped into your pool noodle for the first time and I am fascinated by it

It’s so!!! Like obviously as someone with so little canon factoids let alone characterization, Regulus/a has a lot of wiggle room to fit a story! But what little we do get leads to a lot fun contrast with this ship?

Because like...there’s some stuff where they look similar at first glance, but then the underneath is different. Both dedicated to their families, right? Trying to make their parents proud? But Regula, arguably, is that way out of fear (of being treated like her brother was (waves cheerfully at your Zuko icon)), while Percy’s coming from a healthier place...that still blew up spectacularly.

Then we get superficially different, potentially similar: canonically Reg joins Voldemort with parental approval, then turns on him. Percy joins the Ministry...and when his parents tell him to turn on the Ministry he tells them to piss off. But interestingly, Percy’s parents told him to reject the Ministry based solely on the word of...one single powerful old charismatic wizard who was raising a personal army. Hm, that sure would sound familiar to Reg, wouldn’t it?

SUPER not sure yet how that all changes with the timing on this (they go through Prisoner of Azkaban as fiancés, getting their NEWTs* before marriage) and the fact that Reg is 100% sure Sirius is innocent, so like...uh...how the fuck do things blow up if Percy still gets the job as Crouch’s assistant? The man who convicted Reg’s brother without a trial??? Reg only SEEMS like she has chill because she was raised to be a Polite Young Lady but this is still the person who left Voldemort a Fuck You note so I imagine Reg meeting Crouch is NOT PRETTY.

~

Meanwhile, Reg & Percy’s different upbringings and eras they came of age in exacerbate the Displaced In Time dynamic.

The wizarding world in generally is pretty old-timey compared to ours, and the Ancient & Most Noble House of Black sure was very old-timey. Whereas the Weasleys are very progressive! They’re also working class, which I get the impression helps with the progressiveness. Wealthy Purebloods can ignore the world changing if they want, the family of the man who heads the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department can’t.

Then there’s how the idea of arranged marriages would’ve been presented to them. Granny Relly is the one who came up with the idea, Arthur and Molly accepted it but are VERY CLEAR to all the kids that this is an OPTION, not an OBLIGATION. Percy even saw Bill & Charlie reject the idea, with zero consequences! He knows he can Nope out and have his family’s love and support still.

Regula has known she’d likely have to marry someone her parents picked her whole life. That Granny Relly up there? That’s Cedrella Black who was held up to Reg her whole childhood as Who Not To Be because she run off and married for love. Reg wakes up from her magical coma, gets told by Grandmama Mel that she’s got a fiancé now and just accepts it. Maybe if Percy was a Voldemort supporter, Reg would have objections! But he’s not.

(Arthur is genuinely horrified by how non-questioningly accepting Regula is of the engagement.)

And then less then two decades difference means they grew up in completely different eras:

Percy was five when the war ended. It affected him, I firmly think “sometimes Mum or Dad will tell you to do something Right Now that you don’t understand, and if you disobey you or your siblings could get hurt” is why he’s so attached to jumping when an authority says jump. But he grew up in peacetime. The war was over, the victors decided, problems lingered but no one’s being told to pick sides. His worries are normal peacetime worries.

Reg grew up in the war, and was recruited into it before graduation. All her classmates knew they’d have to pick sides, debated it with each other. Were hearing about disappearances, deaths, possibly from within their own families. I’m going with the idea that Reg set off to destroy the locket in October of her 7th year, after having joined the Death Eaters months or even years before that, dragged in by her cousins during school holidays. She’s been in skirmishes, not known who to trust, and came to the conviction that stopping Voldemort was worth dying for.

It honestly feels more like Reg is from a hundred years ago than just fourteen.

~

Percy: I need to support my fiancée as she adjusts to the changed world. I will tell her about Quidditch matches she missed and ask the professors about changes in the curriculum, we can study for NEWTs together :) :) :)

Reg: so while I was unconscious everyone found out that I was a Death Eater and that I betrayed Voldemort. I need to make allies ASAP to keep from being shanked by either side, including my own extended family. Yes, do tell me all about cauldron bottoms and Muggle factoids.

Also Reg: WHAT DO YOU MEAN I MISSED GWENOG JONES PLAYING FOR WALES AGAINST NORWAY IN THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP.

Percy, sincerely: I know, this is the definitely most tragic thing about your coma, you have my sympathies and condolences.

~

*Sirius as Padfoot sneaking around campus, seeing a 7th year Slytherin that’s a dead ringer for his dead sister: THE FUCK. Sirius thinking about it: No probably just a...a weirdly similar cousin. Sirius hearing someone call her Regula: WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK.

#behold my pool noodle #Percy Weasley #Regulus Black #Regula Black #I need a tag for this fic verse #HP tag #fic ideas #steel runner #editing tags to add #having come to the conclusion that Percy and Reg #are both people who try to act like they have chill but really don't #I'm gonna tag their stuff with #Negative Chill ship

[fuckyeahharryhart]

THE ART OF SEDUCTION  PART 2 Harry Hart Fan Fic

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED (Main Fic)

HARRY HART/ ORIGINAL CHARACTER M/F

WARNINGS: Mature, lust, light D/s, sex. Very explicit, but tasteful.

Words: 16800 (it’s very long)

SUMMARY After their initial encounter in the manor lounge, Kingsman quarterly reviews find Harry Hart and Gwendolyn alone together again. This time in Harry's office. What starts out innocently enough turns into a challenge of wills, tradecraft, trust and surrender.

NOTES: This is part of my main series for KINGSMAN 3, but since this is the erotic part that many of us enjoy the most, I decided to also separate it so it's easy to find and read on it's own. If you're looking for the whole story, check out my other fics. Still in progress though.

-----

Harry Hart was a man not easily distracted. If a task required his focus, there was little of the outside world that could pull him away. There was even less temptation in his internal world, where he was the master of his thoughts and emotions. But recently, the image of Gwendolyn, watching her as he pleasured her with only his eyes and the suggestion of his hands, squeezed its way to the forefront of his mind, even with all the walls he put up against it. She made him question the identity he had inhabited for so long he didn’t know if he had the capacity to be anything or anyone else. Was he be a man who could be with a woman half his age? Who happened to be the daughter of his closet colleague? One who had sacrificed himself to save Harry’s life. The thought was unsettling.

An obvious rationale against getting involved was the age difference. He was almost exactly twice her age. Which wouldn’t be inconvenient in all circumstances. But recently, the thought of Gwendolyn watching him when she was younger had him feeling disconcerted. She apparently had spied on him, along with her own father for years. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or disturbed. How old was she when she hacked the Kingsman network? A lot of information, sensitive information had been transmitted through those comms over the years. If she had access to his files, she would know more about him than anyone else on earth. Had she gone through his files? She had never brought up any of its contents. That didn’t mean she hadn’t seen it. The possibility was discomforting.

She had mentioned she young when she started learning computer technology. But she had also mentioned that she wasn’t able to spy on Merlin until she was a teenager. Tracing though her father’s computer network helped her survive her teens. Age difference had less significance when one was almost 60 and thirty. Though some may not find it appropriate, it was essentially, the business between two fully mature adults.

But a thirteen year old girl spying on a 26 year old man? He had never known her at that age. He didn’t even know she existed. But what kind of observations of him had she made at that impressionable age? It was not just a difference in age. It was a difference in maturity and mindset. Gwendolyn mentioned that she had taken a particular interest in Harry because he was her father’s closest colleague. Had she placed him in some kind of surrogate father role? Or was she hanging on to what was no more than a teenage infatuation?

Though by all appearances, Gwendolyn seemed perfectly stable, mentally sound. No evidence of PTSD, no emotional scarring that hindered her personal performance as an agent. She was more taciturn and reserved than most, but same could be said of Harry. She was surprisingly well adjusted for having such a harrowing past.  Was anyone able to adapt that well after that kind of tragedy?

Mostly he feared that she was attracted to him because of displaced feelings for her father. Not that she saw him as a father figure, but perhaps she was filling an emotional void that was left when her father died, using the person who reminded her of her father the most. She certainly didn’t treat him as she would a father. She often seemed to suggest she was interested in Harry beyond a professional relationship. He was finding it harder to resist and at the same time more troubled at the the thought.

He was certain that she was attracted to him. All the signals were there. The subtle touches and physical contact she made. Her hand on his forearm to politely ask for his attention. Fixing his tie if it was crooked or smoothing stray hairs that got caught in the wind. The pleased smile that she always gave him when he appeared. The way she would end up by his side with this tea the way he always prepared it.

Then doubt would creep in. A lack of confidence that he rarely had to contend with. Was she the one initiating contact, or was it he? He couldn’t recall her actually actively seeking him out. He always was the one to come into her space, whether it be running into her on the shooting range, or joining a briefing, or finding her in the sitting room for afternoon tea. She was always the one who was there first. There was no way she could have possibly predicted his location for all of those times. She was an excellent spy, but that was mind reading level. Perhaps he was the one that was making himself available to her.

He knew she was fond of him, respected him, and at times admired him and equally found him exasperating. She was a little bit of a flirt when the mood struck her, but so was Eggsy and he was married. Had she actually made any overt moves that suggested she was interested in him as more than a mentor and a friend? Anything more than the harmless flirtation all the Kingsman engaged in? One would think the agents were ALL sleeping together at times, overhearing some of their conversations. On the rare occasions that she participated in these sessions, he discovered she could throw down as well as the best of them. She had never been that suggestive with him directly.

He prided himself on being a man without internal conflict. A man who did not doubt his words or actions. Then Gwendolyn had appeared, carrying doubt in one hand, conflict in the other, and handed him both.

——

It was late evening at Kingsman HQ. Harry leaned back in his office chair, interlaced his hand behind his head, stretched out his shoulders, unfolded his legs and let himself ease into a slightly less decorous position. It was quarterly review season for Kingsman agents and support staff. That meant long days for everyone, but most of all for him now that he was, in addition to Galahad Sr., part time Arthur as well.  Most everyone had already completed their reviews. The expected issues reared up. The standard responses were given to placate.

How long was Harry going to be playing two roles, Galahad Sr., and Arthur? Weren’t they going to do something about the two Galahad situation? Would agents be assigned new titles since most of table was empty?  Some of the agents had put in request for different names. Would new recruits have to go through the standard process or were they foregoing that tradition because of the dire need for new blood? They had questions about the new faces currently filing spots on the Kingsman’s roster. How long was the cowboy going to stay? It wasn’t going to be permanent, was it? How much sense did it make to have an Agent Tequila at their table of Knights. Shouldn’t he be required to take a new moniker as long as he represented Kingsman? And where did Gwendolyn fit in the scheme of things? Was she the new Merlin? She definitely could be. In time, she could almost be as good as her father. But she was also indispensable in the field as well. Would a new role be created for her? Would they just keep calling her Gwendolyn? Was she a permanent addition? Was she going to be assigned a code name?  The kingsman agents worked best with a grounded foundation. Which had a place for everything and everything had its place. Including all the agents and support staff. An organisation based on decades of tradition, customs and heritage was understandably thrown off when unknown variables suddenly appeared without established roles, boundaries, and expectations.

Harry had his own similar questions as well. He wasn’t sure what to do about Gwendolyn. The last time he had broached the subject of what she was looking for at Kingsman and what her future plans were, he suddenly found himself talking about the details of her next mission he had set up in Portugal. She could skilfully divert almost any conversation in the direction of her choice. It was both charming and exasperating. He was charmed at her skill and exasperated that even he could not resist swerving the conversation in her direction.

She seemed to be wary of any thing that committed her to the future. Not with her work. As an agent, her best work was in planning. But, rather in her personal life. On the occasions that it had come up in conversation, she elegantly avoided talking about her future, what she had planned, what she wanted, or if she had goals for the following years. Most Kingsman were upwardly mobile, looking for advancement. They were ambitious and had designs, targets, aspirations. Whereas Gwendolyn seemed to have little concern for what lay in her future besides the next mission. Harry didn’t know if it was so much living in the present or avoiding future disappointment.

His mind began to wander outside the borders of propriety. The way she looked on the evening they shared in the Kingsman’s lounge took residence in his head. Innocent and seductive simultaneously. Naive yet lustful. It seemed to take up physical space. Moving thoughts aside to make room to stay in the forefront. He desired her. Intensely. She was a study in contradictions. At first glance she seemed like a sweet, lovely young lady. But as he knew first hand she was a skilled operative, an expert in weaponry and tactics, marksmanship, with the ability to think on her feet and engage in even the most unlikely scenarios. Her ability to disengage her emotions in the field would be a stark contrast to her thoughtfulness and kindness in her everyday interactions. Usually reserved and reticent, she could be so direct at times, so forward, that it was unnerving.

He often recalled that night during the times he could not will his arousal away. Rather than satisfying him physically, it seemed to stoke his need for more. Would it ever happen again? Or was it simply a curiosity, an amusing thrill for her that was now satisfied.

He was sitting in his office, long after the other Kingsman agents had gone home, contemplating just that, when she appeared in his doorway.

------

“I was just finishing up.” She help up her last field report. “I emailed you the file. But here’s a printed copy in case you need it.”

Harry held out his hand. Gwendolyn walked across the rug, her heels slightly sinking into the nape and passed the papers across his desk. She wasn’t wearing a Kingsman suit, but she looked very Kingsman nonetheless. The hem of a dark blue and green tartan kilt brushed her legs, the pleats ending just above her knees.  She had matched this with a navy velvet blazer with grosgrain trim, a ruffled white blouse and black court shoes. A navy ribbon was tied around her neck in a small bow, the long ends falling along the front of her blouse. And matching black knee high stockings that he chose to ignore. Her long black hair was done in waves, gathered and pinned at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was, as usual, undetectable, except for a wash of color on her lips. A soft rose red.

He reached for the papers and felt a moment of friction when their fingers grazed. Had she felt the same? He thanked her and set them aside on top of the ever growing stack of reports on the edge of his desk that had found  residence there ever since he had taken over as a temporary Arthur.

He gestured toward the comfortable deep chestnut leather upholstered arm chairs in front of his desk.

“Please, take a seat.”

She walked around to the chair on her right, tucked her kilt under her as not to wrinkle it and sat properly, but comfortably. She smoothed down the front of her blazer. Knees together and slanted to one side, simultaneously elegant and demure.  Her hands were folded lightly over her thighs. She sat up straight with her shoulders back and a firm set to her chin. It reminded him of how she looked that first night, when she was recounting her story.

She looked at him with another one of her inscrutable expressions. Of no significance or consequence. Her face was pleasant, attentive, but revealed absolutely nothing. She could be in her head committing murder or rescuing kittens. She had it down to an art form. She was waiting for him to speak first.

He sighed inwardly. Now that she was here and he had her attention, she had no legitimate reason to leave as this meeting was scheduled in advance and she had nowhere else to be.

“How are you feeling?”

He kept the question purposely vague. Left it open for her to interpret as she would like. He was curious to see what direction she was going to take her answer. All of a sudden, the sight of her, prim and proper in her kilt and blouse, aroused him. He felt himself stir and he adjusted his position accordingly.

“How so?” she asked.

Harry gestured with his hand, palm up and swept it toward her. The floor is yours.

——

She sighed to herself. She was pleased to be seeing him this evening. She had even dressed specifically in the demure, ladylike, but still alluring style that she knew he preferred. Especially with the other agents mostly gone, she would have him without interruption. Often, during meetings in his office, a knock on the door would interrupt them and distract her from whatever part of Harry she decided to concentrate on for that meeting. Whether it be his hands, his eyes, or even the dimples that would appear when he did his half smile of pressing his lips together with amusement. She had once even spent a full hour staring at his forearms, and imagining she could feel them under the wool of his suit. She had purposely scheduled her review for the end of the day, hoping they could have some time without her concentration being broken every five minutes. Maybe even share a drink. Though she hadn’t had a drink with him since the night she tried to play a game of eye contact with him and he played with her, an entirely different game altogether.

Everyone seemed to want to know what she wanted for the future. She would prefer in the future that they stop asking her this question. Plans were an indulgence she had no patience for. She had absolutely no desire to voice a want or a need that she had no control over. Why did everyone seem to insist that she define everything in her life? Define her role, her place in Kingsman. Was she here indefinitely? Define her work. Was she a field agent or was she tech support? Why didn’t she have to wear the Kingsman suit if she didn’t want to. Define her past. And an evening in which she had hoped would include some harmless flirting and maybe staring at his mouth, was now turning into a discussion about her feelings.

Why couldn’t she just do her work and let it be that? She was an exceptional agent and handler. She took after her father when it came to tech support. She had the skills to perform many roles. They couldn’t accept that she had no plans.  She had but one goal, one mission, and she completed it. To get to Kingsman London and take her father’s place. Well, two, if she was being honest. Second, to meet her father’s friend and colleague, Harry Hart. That made two things that she planned and had accomplished.

She was mostly content ensconced in the daily grind that was life as a Kingsman agent. And she had Harry Hart when she wanted someone to share company with. If she was feeling a little more amorous, she was more than satisfied imagining being with him, but only when she was alone in the privacy of her own bed. After he had watched her pretty much imagine herself to climax while he played with his scotch glass like it was her, anything more than the most harmless flirtation, threw her off kilter.

She wasn’t quite sure if this evening would qualify as flirting. It seemed to feature a lot of talking. Perhaps this was Harry’s way of flirting. It was quite exasperating. He was really the only person she would even tolerate, anyway, aside from maybe Eggsy. She didn’t want things to be awkward with him. That other evening definitely fell into the awkward territory. Apparently, her father had also been the same, Not with the awkwardness, the “able to tolerate” part. Otherwise, she was more than happy to let fate lead her where ever it wanted to.

In the meantime, she was satisfied with her work. Now even Harry was asking her to define her feelings. Under the guise of a review. But she knew that he wouldn’t ask an open ended question during a meeting with an agent. Not when he had five more agents waiting in line for their turn. Questions that could be interpreted in many ways were inefficient. She had the feeling he was asking her on a personal, “I’m concerned about you,” Harry level. Not an Arthur, “so let’s get this over with,” supervisor level. She decided to skirt around the subject until she could guide the conversation to a more comfortable place. Preferably over a drink.

“You don’t have to worry about me, sir.”  She equivocated.

“I know that.” He replied. He felt himself stir again when she addressed him as sir . “However, you didn’t answer my question.”

Because your question is stupid, she thought. Instead she said.

“I feel like a drink.” That was easy, she thought. She neatly stood up and walked over to his small bar with the crystal decanter of scotch.

“May I pour you one?”

“I appreciate you offering me my own scotch.” He said with slight sigh. “And that was a very weak diversionary tactic.”

“First of all, I asked whether I could “pour” you a scotch. There is a difference.”

Without a reply from him, she splashed a finger’s worth in a second glass. Walking over toward him, she passed it over the desk as well. Her agitation at being questioned when all she wanted to do was listen to him talk so she could stare at his mouth was making her bristle.

“Second of all,” She clinked her glass against his and then raised her drink. “It worked. It got the job done. Here’s to feeling like a drink.” She took a sip.

“This would be the actual diversionary tactic.” She sat against the arm of one of the chairs. Lightly perched on top she said,

“The last time we shared a scotch was when you were schooling me on the finer points of the art of seduction.”

She felt awkward about the whole episode and she dealt with awkwardness by trying to make the situation more awkward for the offending party. Or in tradecraft terms, Detecting Threats and Preemptively Engaging Attacks.

“How did that make you feel?”

Hmmmm. Harry thought. She was walking a fine line, hoping that if he followed, she could throw him off balance and then direct the conversation toward a topic of her choosing.  A good way hide one’s emotions was by making one’s opponent experience stronger ones. If she believed this train of thought would derail him, then it most likely had her flustered as well. So apparently, it had been on her mind, too.

Harry seemed to be deciding something in his mind. She could see him turning something over, pausing, and turning it over agin. She took another sip of her drink and waited for him to speak.

She admitted that she was being unnecessarily difficult. He probably had a long day after the back to back reviews. He was simply showing concern. She enjoyed spending time with him and would usually look forward to meetings where she could be alone with him. Maybe she was frustrated. She didn’t want to say anything that would jeopardise their relationship, friendship, or whatever he wanted to call it. She just saw them as two people who enjoyed each other’s company in whatever way they wanted to.

His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, a micro expression that said he was looking at something he had been trying to make sense of and finally had. The look added on a firm set to his jaw.

“It would be in our best interest if you locked the door.”

It was a statement. Not posed as a question. She wasn’t sure what to make of this voice. Firm, decisive, a little demanding, a little authoritative. It sounded vaguely familiar. Under different circumstances, she would have automatically asked “Why?” But this evening was filled with little pockets of uncertainty. He was changing her game again. He was seeing her diversionary tactic and raising it, but to what?

For a spy, a room with even just one other person turned it into a potential event. An event was a scenario in which the occurrences could be manipulated or influenced for the agent’s own agenda. This was suddenly feeling like an event. The question was, should she engage? She had been trying to divert him so she wouldn’t have to discuss her feelings or why she didn’t have anything planned for her future. Now he was countering her diversion, but in an unknown direction.

If he just wanted to circle back to the review, it would have been an exasperated, “For goodness sake, Gwendolyn. You have your tipple. Now sit your arse down and answer my bloody questions.”

Whenever she was caught off guard, she always reverted back, remember your training.

-----

“Reading a room” in the spy world was deliberately observing a room to understand the overall emotions and thoughts of the persons in it, i.e. herself and Harry. Her assessment would help her calculate the best method of engagement of the situation in said room, i.e. what was turning into a bizarre agent review session. The art of awareness was the understanding group dynamics in small, confined spaces, i.e. Harry’s office, which was actually quite roomy and well appointed. On-the-fly situational judgments and character assessments from mere moments of observation and interaction. The goal to obtain actionable intel. He was just trying to prove that his diversionary tactic was much more effective than hers. It worked. Now she just felt awkward and uncomfortable.

The problem of using strategy to read the room? It was only Harry Hart. And Harry Hart was impossible to read.

Avoid engagement in unknown situations, she thought. The energy of the room had shifted and she didn’t know what to make of it yet. She pushed off her chair and walked over to the large wooden door. She would play along. She didn’t want to disturb the air by stirring it with further misdirection.

The door was like an anchor, a tether that kept her grounded. A single point of focus she could concentrate on rather than speculating on all the reasons why Harry would ask her to lock the door. Why didn’t he just lock it. Why did he want it locked in the first place. Why did he phrase it “in our best interest”? She need to stop with all the questions, and just act until she had a clearer idea of what Harry was up to.

It was frustrating. She could analyze a life and death situation, narrow down the problem, decide on a course of action, engage with the enemy all under direct threat and then act without hesitation. When she tried that with Harry, aside from the first night they met, she kept on slipping down the rabbit hole of “what if’s”.

Just focus on the door, she thought. The door was carved with an intricate design along the edges. Hmmm. She had never noticed it all the times passing in and out of Harry’s office.  Taking much longer than any spy needs to lock a door, she turned the brass knob above the handle to the right. It made a little click as the locking mechanism fell into place. The tiny sound seemed to echo through the quiet air. Without knowing why, she slid the bolt into place as well.

Could it be possible he was actually upset that she kept disregarding his concern? The last thing she wanted to do was upset Harry. She had always been able to veer around answering his questions if she didn’t feel like the question was a necessity. He had been so tolerant with her episodes of obstinacy. Had she pushed his patience too far? Was he going to scold her in private? Disappointed Harry was worse than upset Harry.

After Harry heard the bolt lock into place, he continued.

“Come over here. Please.”

Though the words were polite, the tone indicated that it was not a request. He spoke with a new inflection. His words carried a note that others most likely would miss. But she had been getting better at discerning the different shades of his voice.

She pressed her lips together. Before she turned around, she wanted to find the right expression. None of them fit. She composed herself the best she could, took a few deep breaths and relaxed her shoulders. She relieved Harry the trouble and scolded herself lightly. They went through so much classified information in this office, she was surprised it wasn’t a vault. Harry was just going to go over sensitive information and needed privacy with no risk of interruption. Whatever she was feeling was just her, not Harry.

Or most likely, she was going to turn around after spending all this time analysing the situation, he was going to smile and say.

Now that is what I would call an effective diversionary tactic.

That would be such a classic Harry Hart thing to do. Believing herself to be more presentable, she turned around and what she saw startled her to the extent that she dropped the small handful of confidence she was able to collect.

-----

Harry was in his white dress shirt and was in the process of rolling up his sleeves. His jacket, set aside on a hanger so as not to wrinkle, hung from a hook on the wall behind him. He was just in the middle of removing his set of gold cufflinks. One of his sleeves was already open at the wrist. The link was sitting on the desk in front of him. After he freed the second link, he picked up the first one and placed them both in a small silver tray. Whose only purpose might be, she thought, to make sure his cufflinks were safe and never separated.

Now this was unexpected. Don’t disturb the air. Determine the before you engage. She talked herself through the walk from the door toward his desk. She paused at the two chairs with a question. He tilted his head in his direction. All the way, it said. He was rolling up one sleeve as she walked.

As she stepped around, he rose from his chair. She met him on his side of the desk. She realised she’d never been in this proximity to Harry in his office. In this space. His space. He was always behind the desk. Agents sat in a chair. Without fail it was business. Always Kingsman.

She stood in front of him as he rolled up his other sleeve. This was as relaxed, “unclothed” as she had ever seen him on Kingsman property. The most relaxed anyone saw him was without his suit coat.  Oh, for fucks sake. He still had his leather shoulder holster on. With a gun in the sheath.

She was slightly unsure, hesitant, watchful. It was rare that she stood so close to him without a legitimate reason, like reaching behind him for more ammunition on Kingsman’s shooting range. Or trying to tip toe for a book at the HQ library, only to have him appear at her side to reach it for her. Personal space didn’t exist in the field when not being seen was a life or death scenario. More than once had they been squeezed together in extremely tight spots. But there has always been a reason. A legitimate and proper reason.

Here, he was just looking at her. She didn’t try to hold his gaze this time, but she didn’t shy away from making eye contact.  I know what that leads to, she thought. Damn her for bringing it up. She let her eyes move where ever they felt like. And they ran up and down the length of Harry Hart.  All of a sudden, she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

“I would like…” he took an undefinable pause. He was deciding on something. Contemplating an idea. He was making a choice. It was as if he needed to complete the thought in his head before he spoke out loud.

He started again, with assurance.

“I would like to bend you over my desk.”

——

She almost choked. 

If she had been drinking, she most definitely would have choked. She almost choked anyway.

What the fuck? Of all of the words that could have come out of his mouth, “I would like to bend you over my desk” had to top the very top of the least likely list. She was completely and utterly caught off guard. A rare sensation for her. She had no trained reaction she could fall back on in this scenario. Her resting heart rate started to rise. A heated flush rushed up to her cheeks. She suddenly doubted herself. Was that really what he said? Or did she just hear him wrong. Did he forget to finish his sentence?

Didn’t he really say, “I would like to bend you over my desk so I can use your body as a unit of measurement to determine the distance from one edge of my desk to the other?

It would have been no less bizarre a request.

Yes, of course she had imagined what it would be like to be with him. What he would do to her, what would he feel like. How he would take her. How could any woman not? He was Harry Hart. But as she knew, shooting under live enemy fire was much different than practice shooting at the range. While she wasn’t under any danger, her body’s response was the same as when she was on her first real mission. It was her fight or flight response. Her automatic physical response to a perceived threat that activated her sympathetic nervous system and triggered an acute stress response that prepared her to fight or flee.

She knew exactly how the fight or flight response worked on a physical level. In this case, Harry was the perceived threat, the catalyst. Upon hearing his command, a sudden rush of hormones began a chain reaction causing the release of adrenaline, which increased her heart rate, blood pressure and breathing rate. It was also however, very similar what the physical body experienced when sexually aroused. At the present moment, she wasn’t sure if she could tell the difference. Not that it mattered. It had the same effect in the end.

She wanted to add a third response, fight, flight, or freeze. She was trained to fight anytime her fight or flight response was activated without hesitation. She knew how to engage with an enemy, depending on the circumstances of the fight. Was it hand to hand combat, a fire fight, urban warfare? She could handle that.  She did not have any training scenario that instructed her on how to engage with Harry Hart when he asked, no, scratch that, when he commanded that she bend over his desk. None whatsoever. Absolutely nothing. She was out on a limb, swinging on all the tiny branches.

The dots were refusing to connect. She was having a very hard time linking the statement she just heard, to the man who said it, to the action it led to. And she was shivering all over. She tried to stop it, but couldn’t and she was very, very anxious about it. Now she knew why earlier she thought that his tone sounded familiar. It was the voice of the man that had sat across from her one evening in the club. Playing what she thought was a silly game of wills. He had a glass of scotch in his hand then, too. He hadn’t said a word during that episode, but if he had, she knew that this is what it he would’ve sounded like. It was Harry’s voice, deep, smooth, powerful, but with an added layer and additional edge.  It was the voice of a man who was going to have sex with her. Statement.

THIS. She remembered. THIS was how he felt that night. He was Harry, but more. Harder, more intense, demanding. And completely assured. And aroused. She was feeling dizzy and trembly as well as anxious now.

Fuck. Scratch that. Holy fucking fuck. Fuck. She added a final one for emphasis. Fuck.

The image, let alone the thought, of her bent over Harry Hart’s desk, him behind her, being taken by Harry Hart, completely rearranged her mind. Nothing was connecting. She, who could control nearly every emotion and resulting physical reaction out on the field, was helpless in his presence. Her imagination could only get as far as being bent over Harry’s desk and then her mind would short circuit.

His mouth was moving. Oh, God, she thought. What is he saying now?

She tried very hard to concentrate on his words, but she was vibrating and didn’t know if his words would land.

“But first,” He said, “I am going to kiss you.” He was looking down at her, curious and amused. “That is, unless you object.”

Her head shook from side to side without any direction from her.  Why would she object? He was only the most perfect, charming gentleman spy and the hottest mentor that she had ever had who was equal parts devastatingly handsome and achingly sexy.

“I can’t hear that.”

What? She thought. Her head shook again before she had the wherewithal to speak out loud.

“I don’t object.” she returned with much more confidence than she felt.

Ohmygod, I am going to be kissed by Harry Hart. The phrase repeated on a quick loop in her head.

No, she thought again, there was nothing that could have prepared her for this as she short circuited again.

——

Harry Hart could tell that nervousness was not usual for her and ascribed her anxiety to both the surprise of the situation and the way it was presented.

He knew that he was to blame for all of that. He had arranged it purposely to do so. His intent was to catch her off guard. Not only off guard, but completely unexpected and totally unprepared. Having your mentor request that you bend over his desk, in his office, in his place of work, was not high on the list of things you expect to happen during an employee review. Especially if your relationship up to that point had been exclusively mentor and colleague. Her bewilderment would prevent her analytical mind from automatically activating and analysing the situation.

She was a secret agent, with work and life experience that could overwhelm a hundred people, let alone one. Her background was steeped in risk, loss, danger, and uncertainty. She had the grit to handle all that life had delivered and come out on the other side. She had the physical control to reduce the effects of shock. It was part her natural resilience, her capacity to adapt, and her training, that conditioned her to act under the most unlikely scenarios.

Part of the exhilaration, frisson, and the charge of being intimate with a new partner was the aspect of the unknown. And if that unknown was unexpected or even slightly shocking, it could elevate the experience. He was certain that a fine dinner and a return back to his flat for an evening of lovemaking would be lovely. But he didn’t want lovely for this evening. There was plenty of time for lovely. One had only a single chance for an unforgettable first time.

He did not know how sexually experienced she was, but from observation he suspected that her experience was not very extensive. First of all, she didn’t seem like the type of person who sought esteem or worth through being sexually desirable or one who found validation through sex. She also didn’t seem like a woman who would find pleasure in sleeping with random people to fulfil a purely physical desire.

All agents could take care of themselves if they found themselves needing physical release for one reason or another. For male agents, he knew that it was an excellent way to fall asleep quickly in the field where every second wasted may be the difference between a successful mission and a failed one. She would have to find her partner interesting and attractive and desirable in some way, or else she would not find the experience pleasurable. Judging from how many people she kept company with, or how little, her standards were very high.

One-night stands were possible. Agents also had a way of charming a person for only a night or an evening. If the chemistry was strong enough, agents most definitely could organise encounters on the side. In his experience, a one night stand was fairly similar to the one before it and the one after it. It didn’t give one enough time to delve into the desires of the other person. Most often, it was a way to find some temporary pleasure and company, if company was even desired. One night stand sex was fairly predictable, making sure whatever technique, position, location had the greatest chance of pleasing both parties, which often were the most standard.

Rarely, if ever, did an agent find someone who they connected with so strongly, intensely and quickly that they could trust them to explore more intimate sexual pleasures.

He found it amusing. Most of Kingsman would be shocked if they knew of his, at times, unconventional views on sex. Gwendolyn obviously was. He enjoyed exploring outside the box in life and in work. Sex was no exception. If both parties were not only in agreement, but in tune and in a space of trust, there was a freedom to be experienced in sex, and there was little he would be opposed to trying with the right partner. But one did not build that brand of trust in a single encounter. It took knowing the other individual on an extremely personal, extremely intimate level.

No agent wanted to seem or feel vulnerable, but to Harry, that was the exhilaration of good sex. It was the only place he would allow himself to feel vulnerable. Vulnerable meant being exposed, open and sensitive. And if that didn’t describe sex, he didn’t know what did. If you knew the fears and desires of a person who was capable of being vulnerable, then the pleasure you could provide them would be unlimited. The most important factor was trust. Something that spies were notoriously bad at. Both at gaining and giving.

He was very attracted to her, sexually and personally. She was equal parts alluring, and seductive, but without effort. She fascinated him. People rarely did. But most of all, as a man who valued his private time and personal space, he found that he sought out her company whenever he had an opportunity. That behaviour was telling. He could picture her in his space, without it feeling like an intrusion. Typically, whenever he had company, no matter how much he may be enjoying himself, there would always be that moment in the evening where he wished his space was his own again.

It felt like she could just be. Be in his space and he would not be bothered by it. Not that she could easily be ignored. The point wasn’t to feel like she wasn’t there at all. It was recognising her presence and not having to feel any kind of demand or expectation for him to do something different or be someone different. Basically, that he could be himself. He could imagine sitting in his favourite chair in his flat, a fine old leather piece, well made, that had held up for years and still had many more years left. He would be reading a book or a newspaper. She would be quite relaxed on the floor with a pile of pillows as that was how she preferred to rest, but near his chair. Close enough where she could bracelet his ankle with her hand, the other hand holding her own book or more likely her smart phone. Close enough where if he let his hand fall over the side of his chair, that he could touch her hair, or cheek and perhaps find her hand brushing against his. Simple touches, not requesting more, not requiring more than just acknowledging the existence of the other person. Companionship. Something he never had truly experienced before.

He sensed this was possible the evening of her little battle of the wills. Well, prior the seduction portion of the evening. She was perfectly comfortable and natural being seated together in silence. He was fairly sure that she had not even spoken a word, though she had communicated much during the time they had shared.

Which was another reason he determined that she had limited sexual experience, but was very sexually open in the right circumstance. That evening helped him decide how he would approach her, how to initiate their engagement, so to speak.

Her surprise when he lifted the challenge up to its proper level suggested that she was fairly new to the game of seduction, or at least in the actual physical practice of the game. He was quite sure she was attracted to him. But most of all, was her willingness to be controlled and allowing him the freedom to control her. That said trust to him. Her reaction betrayed her surprise, but also her desire and her enthusiasm, if not eagerness for the experience. And also, the evidence of her enjoyment that merely the idea of being controlled by Harry, aroused her.

He suspected that she had some slight D/s tendencies, even if she did not consciously recognise it. D/s could be misinterpreted, and often was, but dominance and submission was not exclusively about inflicting or enjoying pain. It was not akin to degradation or humiliation. But it did revolve around humility, or being humble, which was a different affair all together. It was centred on being pleasing ,and thus, giving pleasure and receiving pleasure. If that included pain, well then, it was a mutual understanding. If a man treated a woman well, with respect, if he honoured her and treasured her, there would be little she wouldn’t do to please him. What many people didn’t realise is that the man didn’t choose the woman in D/s relationships, the woman chose the man based on his worthiness.

That encounter led him to believe, as little experience as she may have had, her willingness to stay with the challenge, which some may, feeling embarrassed, would have halted, that she was extreme in ways that she might not recognise. She was certainly extreme in most other aspects of her life. And also, that she had enjoyed herself immensely when faced with an unexpected scenario that surprised her and she was unprepared for. He thought that may have even heightened her response.

The key was, if she was vulnerable, she would be open to receive all of the pleasure he knew he could give her. And seeing her pleasure would be pleasing to him as well.

She may find the situation that he arranged for their first time together extreme and unorthodox, unusual. Her preconceived notions of sex may tell her that this was improper or strange or inappropriate, but he knew, ultimately, that if she allowed him, he could pleasure her in ways that she didn’t even know existed. Just the thought of it aroused him.

He only need to catch her before she was able to put her guard up and behave and react in the way she thought she should, not the way she wanted to. He wanted her to react on a purely instinctual, visceral level. This was one scenario where analysis would work against her, not for her.

He placed his hands to the sides of her face, ever so gently, barely touching, passing smoothly over her features. He could sense the slightest tremor through her entire body. She was still responding on a physical level, not an intellectual one. He didn’t want to give her a chance to think herself out of this situation, so he leaned down and kissed her in the way he wanted to, and in a way he knew she would enjoy.

——

Your knees really do go weak, she thought. With one small step, Harry entered her space. Sexy and commanding in his shirt and shoulder holster. He seemed larger than she remembered. He positively towered over her. Her eyes could not meet his gaze but she knew that he was looking down at her.  He lifted his hands to her face. Each palm cupped the curve of her jaw, lightly, tenderly, almost touching her, but not quite. The warmth of his hands and the heat from her cheeks closed the distance between them. Her skin burned and tingled in anticipation.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she held back a sound that was part sigh, part moan when she felt Harry’s gentle yet firm hands caress her face. His palms, fingertips, knuckles, the back of his hands, traveled every curve and hollow as if memorising her features through touch. He explored her lips, very slowly brushing across her cupids bow with his thumb, barely touching. Gwendolyn couldn't help herself. She parted her lips, her tongue instinctively trying to making contact, before he lightly glided over the soft skin of her cheek.

The wait was excruciating. Harry Hart was going to kiss her. She was going to be kissed Harry Hart. That was her last thought as he bent down and brushed her lips with his own in the most tender of kisses. The contact was soft and warm.

That slightest touch made a shudder run through her body. His hands still gently braced the sides of her face. His hold was exquisite. The anticipation was devastating. His lips parted and his tongue began to press against her with a soft but firm insistence and her mouth opened to him. The woodsy, smokey, slightly sweet taste of scotch still lingered as he kissed more deeply, slowly swirling his tongue around hers. He knew, very well, what he was doing.

Sensation flowed through her entire body, pulses of pleasure reaching every inch of her, prickling her skin. Thousands of synapses were sending messages from Harry’s mouth to hers. They traveled to her brain, which translated her desire in a language her physical body could understand and shot the directive to every last nerve ending.  Hundreds of thousands of electrical connections manifested as lust, as longing, as need. She felt her muscles twitch involuntarily. For this man, she thought, and this man alone. For Harry Hart.

He only had his mouth on hers, his hands on her face and she felt consumed by him. Overwhelmed by him. One of his hands traveled to the nape of her neck and nested his fingers within the twist of hair that was gathered and pinned there. His other hand traveled down her side and pressed into the curve of her waist. Her neck was gently but insistently bent backward. Gwendolyn’s breath caught in her throat. Harry demanded more and she yielded to him, letting his mouth claim hers. His grip tightened, her scalp prickled, but it wasn’t painful. It was just persistent. The room seemed to be spinning in slow motion. She felt herself begin to melt into him.  A shudder ran through her body.

Gwendolyn’s resolve was demolished as his lips crushed hers. She relinquished herself over to him. With a single heady kiss, her self-control was washed away in a flood of passion.

When at last the kiss ended, Gwendolyn’s breath was heavy, her head light, her body trembling. Opening her eyes, time stood still. Gwendolyn saw the corners of his mouth slowly turn into a smile.

She realised their faces were just inches apart. Harry’s golden brown eyes reflected the dim light of his office.  They journeyed along the curves and angles of her face and stopped until she dared to look up and meet him. The warm intensity of his gaze made her heart pound in her chest. Pulsating anxiety mixed with devastating pleasure.

Seconds, minutes, passed as time meant nothing to her. She still didn’t know what to do with her hands. Her hands had hung by her side as if her brain was too occupied with what was happening to her mouth, it didn’t have the capacity to consider what any other part of her should be doing.  She was still afraid to touch him, as if the slightest contact might sear her like dry kindling ready to go up in flames.

As he pulled his face away, his hands were still in place.

“I believe it’s your turn.”

He took her wrists, raised her hands to his face and laid them gently on his skin. “I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

Gwendolyn’s heart was pounding in her chest as she caressed his face as gently as she could. She trailed her trembling fingertips along his strong jaw, down his neck, feeling the beat of his pulse. He was warm. And masculine. Hard muscle under smooth skin. Back up she traversed, tracing his cheekbones, his brow and the wide planes of his forehead. She lowered her hands to his chest, with only her fingertips touching his shirt.

He opened his eyes, staring at her and smiling softly. He reached up and took her hands in both of his. She swallowed again but it was no use. Her mouth was completely dry. She couldn't have spoken even if she knew what to say.

“Now, you may think that door is locked,” he nodded in its direction, “to keep you from leaving. It is not. It’s merely for privacy. You are not bound here by me, nor by anyone else. I want you to be here, because you want to be here. I may have initiated this meeting, but it’s both of us that are needed, consciously, and voluntarily for it to be worthwhile.

“You may stay, or you may leave. I cannot say that I won’t be disappointed, but that is only because you are flawless, and I want you. But my physical needs are not of your concern if you leave. I have stated as clearly as I can, what this evening will entail. There are no repercussions if you chose to leave. There may be another opportunity at a different time. But do not let the future influence what you decide at this moment” his gaze softened in understanding. “Is that not what you believe?”

One of his hands released hers. He reached up to touch her face again. Simultaneously, there was a hardness and a softness in his eyes that was riveting. Arresting. It took her breath away. And when he spoke, his words were all that mattered. His voice dropped, low and intense.

"There is much I want to show you, to tell you, and to be for you. And there is much I want you to be for me.  But that is not up to me. For you, there will always be a choice. So I will ask you now. Would you like to leave? Or would you like to stay.” He added, “And be with me.”

To Gwendolyn, there was no question. This man, always smart in his suit and tie, freshly shaven, …always a gentleman.  His thoughtfulness, his patience and his nature, a kindness that was at the same time gentle and firm... His face, his eyes, his hands strong and capable. His intelligence, dedication, his passion...

It all added up. The answer was obvious.

“I would like to stay. And be with you.”

She felt the strength of his arms, arms that had already been around her for so many different reasons, envelop her now for only one reason. Allowing herself to finally be close to him, she eased herself against him, laying her cheek against his chest. She closed her eyes. She could hear and feel the beating of his heart. It relieved her when it sounded almost as quick as hers. He was affected, too.  He leaned down a little, brushing his cheek lightly against her forehead. Her inhalations carried the scent of his cologne, blended with whatever was essentially him and it was intoxicating. She wrapped her own arms around his torso and she could feel his strength through his familiar white dress shirt.

Harry never failed to amaze and surprise her. She knew that there was more to Harry Hart than the Agent Galahad he presented to the world. She simply hadn't expected the intensity of all of who he was. There was always an undercurrent of harmless flirting. As it was, the Kingsman agents were already uncomfortably close and personal with each other, a little too much for her tastes at times. Other than the evening that she attempted to challenge him to a staring contest, which turned into something quite different, nothing of her experience with him could have prepared her for the Harry Hart she was witnessing this evening.

He was always considerate, proper, polite. A true gentleman. But he was still being a gentleman, she thought, even under these unusual circumstances. Just an extremely forward and sexy one.  She could only judge his actions according to how it made her feel. And so far, everything that he had said and done hadn’t made her want to run out of the room. His words and his actions caused a surge of electricity that flooded her senses, waking every urge, every need, every desire within her.

He was still Harry Hart. He was still a man of integrity. He was just more. But it was so much more he was almost completely different. While Agent Galahad made her feel protected and safe, this Harry made her feel exhilarated in a way that was both thrilling and dangerous. But looking up at him, the familiar benevolence was still there. She could see it in the brown eyes that were staring back at her. Strangely, in spite of the torrent of passion brewing, Gwendolyn felt secure with him. He would look after her. Like he always did. She would let him take the lead.

Harry continued talking to her almost the entire time, explain things so she wouldn’t have to guess. Telling her how he felt and what he thought. In her delirious state she listened to him as if she were in in a waking dream. Aware of everything going on around her, but not being able to react.

He took her hands again and guided her over to the desk. Her heart began to race.  She knew he could feel the shaking in her fingertips. He led her over and first slightly lifted her so she was sitting on the desk, facing him so she could see him as he spoke.

“Regarding the desk. Not as conventional, I must admit, especially for our first time together. But I determined this to be the position that you would enjoy the most and receive the most pleasure. Not that other positions aren’t pleasurable, but I chose this purposefully for you.”

She looked confused.

“I should explain. Please be assured that I will no doubt, find all the ways we will be together, as thrilling as this. Though one must admit, the view, from my perspective lends a certain charm.  Perhaps you think it’s a little impersonal. Not being face to face. I do realise that eye contact adds a bit of intensity to the act. Not to worry.”

He tipped his chin toward the far side of the room.

She turned her head. Fuck. She had forgotten about the mirror next to the door. As exacting that the Kingsman suits were, there was a full length mirror placed next to every door of every office so every agent could make sure he or she was presentable before representing their organisation.

She turned back to face him.

“I will be able to see you, darling. As you will be able to see me. You will also be able to see yourself. And you will also be able to see me watching you. The possibilities are quite endless. I have the suspicion that this is something you will take pleasure in.”

Now this was just too much, she thought. When Harry Hart did something, she had to admit, he sure made it memorable.

Every time she thought that the standard had been set and the situation could not possibly become more intense, something would happen and Harry would level up. She wasn’t sure if she could go up that high. Harry seemed to breathe rare air. He must be breathing something else up where he stood.

He called for her attention.

“This evening should be less talking and more doing. But I want to emphasise that we will be communicating the entire time. I will be watching you, making sure you are ok, that you are enjoying yourself and also looking for ways to pleasure you even more.”

“Do not hide your reactions for fear of judgement or pretend to feel something that you don’t because of expectations you may think I have or that you have for yourself. If you find that you hate what I do with you, you will know right away, and I will know right away.”

He placed her hands on top of her lap and placed his palms on the backs of her hands. He was caressing them reassuringly.

“Now I didn’t select this by random. After observing you for many months, watching your behaviour, listening to you speak, the way you approach your work. And our little encounter in the lounge told me that you would respond more intensely, more physically, more emotionally to a situation that pushed you, that challenged you, that was unexpected. If I was able to catch you unawares, you would be more willing to let yourself explore your own needs and desires.”

Harry was very frank and honest with her.

“Do not fake, do not pretend. You will not be hurting my feelings or offending my manhood or abilities as a lover. I am more than secure in that regard. For some women, no matter how much they may enjoy being taken in this position, they are not able to climax.  If we find that to be the case, I will be able to tell and  I’ll move you in ways you will find more satisfying. If it so happens that release isn’t in the cards this evening... I am also aware that the female orgasm is much more complex than ours. But I am sure we will both enjoy trying and perhaps allow me to opportunity to enhance my repertoire.”

She highly doubted that would be the case, but she was impressed that he was comfortable and at ease enough to bring up a topic that would make most men cringe.

“Also, as I female agent, I understand you are on birth control.”

She nodded. The last thing a female agent needed to be surprised with on the field was her period.

“Being that all Kingsman’s reviews are preceded by a complete physical, I know that I pose no risk to you. Are you the same?”

She nodded again.

“Lastly, that doesn’t mean that you want to be unprotected. I have means here available. I will let it be your choice. A man should be pleased, either way, that it is happening at all. Do you require additional protection?”

She smiled and this time, shook her head.

“This is not me, having you in the way that I want. It is us, being together in a way that enhances the experience, for both of us. One doesn’t work without the other.”

“Do you have any questions that I haven’t addressed? I understand that these are not the most romantic of topics, but I’ve found that if all areas of doubt or uncertainty are handled beforehand, one has that much more freedom to enjoy the experience.”

She shook her head again.

“I want you to relax, trust yourself, and let me help you. Trust me. Trust me to guide you. Would I ever lead you wrong?” His voice was sure. Steady. Firm.

He didn’t just look at her. He saw her. He saw into her and he knew how much he could be for her. And what she could be for him.

“Is this still something you want?”

She nodded. Her nervousness and anxiety eased into something that felt less uncertain, much more natural and just as intense.  All of a sudden, in her head, everything seemed completely normal. He had addressed all her concerns without even needing to be asked. He made it seem like such a reasonable request to ask her to bend over so he could take her over his desk.

“Yes.” She replied.

There was no man that she trusted, nor respected more than Harry Hart. This was just another part of the same man. And Harry Hart was the sum of all his parts

Anxious with excitement, she was less apprehensive and more eager. She had spent the majority of her life avoiding intense emotions, being in control, thinking rather than feeling and it had served her well as an agent, and she thought, in the rest of her life. But here he was, telling her to let go, to feel, to be vulnerable, everything that she had been trained to resist. Even just the idea of being with Harry set her heart pounding, let alone over his desk. It felt thrilling and dangerous and foreign, but she had to admit she had imagined similar scenarios in her head. But she thought them to be fantasy. He was right though. She really had no defence. When she was stripped away of all her uncertainties, as Harry had done, this was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.

All her misgivings were becoming undone, the knot of doubt and uncertainty in her core, slowly coming untied. Its grip loosened by Harry’s considerate words, his understanding gaze, his warm touch, the press of his lips, his strong hands, by his entire being.

She would follow his lead.

—-

He sensed that she was gathering her thoughts. When she looked up at him, she took a deep breath in and a long breath out. Her energy, though still prickling with anticipation was more settled, less scattered. It hold him she was fully present and she was ready. She was looking to him for guidance.

He would take things slowly, with ease and patience. Always aware of his responsibility, not only as a mentor, outside of this space, but as a protector, here, together. He was asking her to expose all that she was, both physically and emotionally. He needed to keep her safe so she had the freedom to let herself, not lose control, but to realise and release all that she was. And the confidence in him to keep her guarded and secure.

He placed the palms of his hands under her own and helped her slide off the desk and onto her feet. With her hands still in his, he bent down and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger along her hairline breathing in the clean scent of her shampoo and the more complex notes of her perfume and that which was her. The smell was feminine, but not girlish. It was elegant and sophisticated, just as she was. With one last brush of his lips against her own, he kissed her. Pressing his cheek against her hair, he let go of her hands and placed is own about her waist, gently, but deliberately turned her to face his desk. He helped her with her jacket and hung it from a hook behind him. Then just as gently, just as firmly, with one palm between her shoulder blades and the other resting at the small of her back, pressed down on her until she bent over, first from the waist and then hinging from her hips until her entire upper body was lying on the smooth, clean surface of his polished wooden desk. She turned her head to the left, letting her right cheek rest on the wood. She let out a soft sigh.

Never one for rushing, Harry took his time. Making sure there was no hesitation. That the only tension she felt was from anticipation, from desire, and not from doubt or uncertainty.

Also, if something is worth doing, it is worth doing properly. He stepped in behind her, just barely leaning the weight of his hips into her own. He massaged away her misgivings, helping her relax and he rubbed slow circles on her lower back with the palm of his hand. His other hand reached up her spine, searched through her hair for whatever was holding it up. His fingers landed on a pin and he smoothly pulled it out, letting her hair waterfall down around her shoulders. He swept it to one side so he could see her face. Her eyes were closed, her breathing, though still deep, began to slow down to match the motion of his hand.

He was going to move at her pace, only moving forward until her face, her body, her movements told him, not only that she was ready for more, but that she wanted more. His other hand remained at the nape of her neck, massaging the base of her skull more firmly, with consistent pressure, like waves rolling in and out of the sea. She began to roll her neck slightly to one side, he concentrated his movements there. When she turned her head in the opposite direction, turning her head to the right, resting on her left cheek, he worked on the other side.

The hand on her lower back moved in continuous circles, with slightly more pressure. As he was doing this, he continuously leaned a little bit more weight into her. Only by fractions. So slight she may not even be able to tell. Definitely not having her bear the full weight of his body. Simply allowing her to feel his presence behind her, but not actively pressing into her, or be close enough that she could feel his arousal. He was a patient man and he was enjoying himself thoroughly.

He would have been satisfied, well perhaps not physically, with simply massaging her all evening. Then he began to see the signs he had been waiting for. Just the slightest arch of her lower back. It moved her chest into the desk and tilted her hips toward him. He kept his movements the same. Slow and sensuous. Rhythmic. She began to roll her neck out more, gazing straight down with her forehead resting on the desk, before rolling again to the other side. Still he waited. He heard another sigh as he continued to move his hands over her. Her breath began to quicken once more. Then she gave him what he wanted from her. She pushed her hips back, just the smallest bit toward his pelvis, until she was arching and lifting into him, completing their contact. And her hands. When they first began, she rested her arms shoulder height, bent at the elbows, like one does when sleeping face down. Her hands were soft and relaxed. As she leaned back into him, she made little fists and drew her arms under her, so she could bear weight on her forearms, helping to push her back. And still he remained with his smooth firm circles. He wasn’t waiting for her to want him. He was waiting for her to need him.

When she actively began to seek contact by moving her hips toward him with the same circles that he was making on her lower back, he stopped and pulled away from her. But kept his palm on her back, not moving, just a firm downward pressure. Stay still. She started to lift her head and turn back, but he shushed her, murmuring words to sooth her and keep her relaxed. Her body eased back onto the desk and she stilled, though her breath remained fast and heavy.

Once she had done as she was told, he unbuttoned her kilt. Reaching underneath her, he felt for the buttons that secured her tweed kingsman tartan skirt. He felt her tense at this new progression so he spoke low and softly, how beautiful she was, how lovely she looked, to see her on his desk, that seeing her need aroused him. That she was perfect. As he spoke, he unbuttoned the two that secured the waistband. The last one that secured the overlap and lastly, unclasped the large pin that kept the kilt from blowing open. He had worn them before and was very familiar with their placement.

Not until she relaxed again, did he continue to unwrap the skirt from around her body.

“Lift your hips.”

She did so and he pulled the kilt from underneath her. She was lovely. Even more so just half unclothed was extremely arousing. Having her top half clothed only accentuated the bareness of her bottom half. He hardened at the sight of her, over his desk, half naked, simply waiting for him, allowing him to pleasure her and needing that pleasure.

His chair was already pulled out. He grabbed it by the handle and rolled it in front of her, well, behind her.

She lifted her head slightly, turning back at the sound of movement, when she saw that he meant to take a seat. Her eyes widened. He gave her a small half smile, half smirk like she gave him the night of the scotch glass. He spun his finger in a circle. Turn around. She did so, closing her eyes and resting her cheek to one side. Understanding that was she simply to wait, she held still and quiet. There was no doubt or uncertainty on her face by this time. Only desire, only need.

He walked away for a moment to reach the rest of his scotch when he looked back toward her. The sight of her with her eyes closed, her little fists and arms still tucked toward her chest was both breathtaking in its sensuality and heartbreaking in its vulnerability and trust. Taking a swallow of his drink, he set down his glass on the desk to her side, far enough away that it wouldn’t get knocked over if things got a little too heated, but close enough for him to still reach.

She was still covered with a black lace thong, minimal but still covered and her stockings, which he no longer had to ignore. Placing one hand on her hip, he pulled the chair closer underneath him and relaxed into it. He could feel the tremor of her excitement trembling along her thighs. The tiniest shiver continuously ran up and down the length of her legs.

He was confident in his skills as a lover. Years of practice honed his technique, just as it did with the rest of his training. But he sensed that he was going to get just as much pleasure from this as she was going to receive from him.

The smooth palm of his hands ran lightly down from the tops of her hips, over her bottom and down her legs. His fingers traced a line up the inside of her legs and thighs, almost touching her center, barely, like a pulse of air, floating up the line of her backside to the top of her hips. He repeated this movement, with unlimited variations, pausing in certain areas to linger, rubbing soft circles with his thumb, palming her flesh with his entire hand. He would purposefully hover over her core, almost touching every time, but moving on before she could close the space by shifting her hips. He was pleased to find that she was more than wet. Her need left her almost dripping and pulsing as she further open her legs for him. Muscles twitching and contracting involuntary when he skimmed over a sensitive area. She was responding the way he had hoped and expected and he was pleased.

He saw that her desire for contact rise through the almost constant leaning into his touch, his hand, his fingers. He continued to layer sensation upon sensation upon sensation. He rested the side of his face against the back of her thigh. She tensed suddenly at this unexpected change, but again, he just continued to touch and caress and stroke as if nothing had changed and felt her relax back onto the desk. He felt her start again when he added his mouth, his lips, his tongue, but then immediately her surprise transformed into yet again, pulses of desire. Her small moans and sighs were coming at a regular frequency, little cries that told him she was ready for more.

He decided it was time to intensify. Grazing at her opening with the back of his knuckles, wet through the mesh of her thong, he continued to use his mouth just to the side of his hand. Concentrating the sensation to this smaller area, but not specifically giving her the contact that she ultimately desired. He kissed and tongued and sucked the flesh around her, all over, everywhere but there.

Part of the pleasure of sex was the feeling of wanting, the process of asking, begging and the anticipation of waiting, ultimately knowing that gratification will come, but the tension of not knowing when and how, enhanced the wait.

He slid his fingers under the thin waistband of her thong and with aching slowness began to pull them down her hips, over her bottom and half way down her legs, to the top of her stockings. All of her trepidation, hesitation was gone. All that was left was her desire for him. For him to have her in all the ways he wanted and imagined. She let out a stronger moan of anticipation. Her thighs pulled the tiny slip of material tight across the distance between her legs, her need to continue to spread herself wider for him kept them from falling down.

Without the whisper of fabric between them now, he began the brush her lips with his knuckles, circle her with his thumb. At the direct contact, she cried out loudly. The sound of her continued to arouse him, but as he did before, he set his own arousal to the side, not ignoring it, but ignoring the desire to do something with it, to act on it, which would be to take her here and now and simply thrust into her until he came. Rather, he used that power and channeled it into every inch of her that he could possibly reach. His own desire, knowing it would not yet be sated, hummed in the background. He continued to pleasure her with his hands, just as she imagined he had with a glass of scotch in his hand. By her movements and her throaty whine told him that she recognised the movements, she was now literally feeling him with her own body, not just imagining him. When he finally slid a finger inside her, he felt her tense around him. He could feel her wetness grow.

But this time, he added his mouth.

——

Something inside of her had taken over, not only was Harry controlling the waves of heated pleasure crashing over her with increasing intensity, she was responding with a freedom and a willingness to surrender to his expert touch. Not holding back her need for more, to be touched more, to feel more of him. She was fully turned on and if he wanted to take her while she was in a panda suit, she would ask him where she could change. She was open to him and did not hesitate to express what she felt in response to what he was doing to her.

When she realised that he was using his hands, his fingers just like he was the night in the lounge, she was afraid that just the idea of it happening for real, might push her over the edge. Her mind kept flashing back to that evening, and even as she felt his fingers around her, touching her, circling her and then, oh God, finally, slipping into her, she could see his knowing stare, his cockiness at seeing her pleasure. But to see him in her mind and then feeling him behind her was intoxicating. She felt tipsy, like she had too much of Harry Hart, but she still wanted more.

She moved against his hand. She squeezed his finger as he moved it in tiny pulses deep within her. She was crying out with every breath now. Small whimpers of need, moans of pleasure, at times almost screaming with it. She couldn’t help it.

And then she felt something change. Not quite change. She felt something more. Something soft and hot as wet like she was. It was his mouth and she almost died when she realised it. If he didn’t stop what he was doing back there, she was going to come. She could feel it growing like a garden he was tending to with his lips wrapping around her own erect little bud. His velvet tongue sliding into her body, using his mouth, tasting her, devouring her. He was everywhere now. Though his hands, his mouth, his lips and tongue were concentrated on her most sensitive areas, she felt him with every surface of her body, with the tip of every nerve. With the same continuous movements, over and over he continued to suck, rub, circle and pulse, until her body started to tremble and tense and release and tense even more.

Even as her orgasm grew momentum like a wave moving to shore, Harry pulled away before it could crash until he saw that the wave had retreated back into the sea. But he maintained contact with her. He cupped her between her legs with his palm. Not moving, not sexually, but almost like he was hugging her or holding her until she settled. She didn’t have enough time to find it odd before she began to enjoy the pressure and the heat in an almost soothing, calming way. It was a touch that told her he was there.  Just in a very personal way, in a very intimate area.

If she had been standing now and he told her to bend over his desk, she would have hit the wood so hard and fast that she might have knocked herself out. As it was now, her entire being was waiting for it. Asking for it. Begging for it.

She felt him rise from his chair. His hand was still cupping her gently.

“How are you feeling?” He asked. There was a smile in his voice.

If she had the voice to call him a cocky bastard, she would have. Since she didn’t think she could actually form words, she replied with a sigh that turned into a moan.

“Good.” He paused. “Are you prepared to receive me?

Oh, god fuck, why did he have to say it like that?

Just the way he said it made her clench involuntarily. She nodded her head. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her to speak because her throat was so dry she couldn’t make out any words. Luckily, this time, he took her lack of words, more as speechlessness in the moment, rather than reticence about the near future.

There was another whisper of a zipper being pulled down, a rustle of movement.

“So you’re not surprised.” He said.

She was confused for a split second. Surprised by what?

He reached for one of her hands and guided it toward him. She lifted up onto one elbow so she could brace herself. He placed her hand on his erection and then wrapped his hand over hers.

Fuck. She was screaming internally now. I’m touching it! He just put my hand on it. He’s in my hand. I’m holding him! Calling it “it” like she couldn’t even think that she had her palm around that part of him. She wrapped her fingers around as much as she could. Holding him felt like holding an iron bar wrapped in something smooth, pliant and warm. Not just warm. Hot. Her hand was burning. She wasn’t just surprised, she was slightly shocked. He was big. He was more than big. Thick and heavy. Has he been walking around with this the whole time? She had never had something that size inside of her before. Holy shit.

All the adrenaline surged again into her blood stream, her heart beat quickened and her blood poured into her core. What was left flooded her cheeks. Apparently, her body had no doubt she could accommodate a man of his size. Her hips were moving back to take him inside of her. One hand halted the move of her hips.

“Be still.” He said. “Allow me”. It was his way of telling her he was in control.

She stopped, but as she tried to spread her legs even further apart, thinking of the sheer size of him. He didn’t say I couldn’t move this way.

——

Harry didn’t want her moving back onto him. He would penetrate her properly, at the right pace and speed, with the right adjustments so his entry wasn’t painful for her. Women, in their haste, in their desire to please, and their eagerness for more, or excitement at his size, would often try to take him all at once, faster than they were ready for, making the experience unpleasant. It would burn and they would accept it as something to bear through, with the pain still lingering even as most of it subsided. Or men, focused on only their own need, would force themselves into their partner without finesse or technique. It was not that he was huge, he was just larger than average. He felt bigger to them because he knew how to use his properly.

She had shifted her legs wider. He had told her to be still, but he would let that slide since he did want her spread as wide as possible. She was definitely wet enough for both of them. More than enough for him to cover all of him. She cried out very loudly, when she felt him slide, not into her, but along the length of her as he coated himself. He could see that she was trying not to press into him.

Good girl, he thought.

He took his time, finally enjoying her slick hot wetness, the velvety the feel of her against his entire length. His own desire threatened to take over. How quick and simple it would be now. One quick, hard thrust and he would be fully into her. He twitched at the thought, but held fast, thinking, if a man treats a woman properly, he will have all the pleasure he can desire and more.

A gentleman, even during slightly kinky sex, Harry continued to pace himself. After he was just as slick as she was, using one hand to guide himself, the other hand pulled her bottom on one side, pulling her flesh away from her opening, and then the same to the other side. Holding his head firmly against her center, just the slightest pressure making her whimper and moan. He twitched again at the sound. Using his other hand to keep her pulled open, he slowly pressed into her, with a slight downward movement. He didn’t want to surprise her by slipping into the wrong hole. Once he made a little movement, he pulled out and repeated, making sure her skin wasn’t caught and dragged with him. He repeated this movement over and over, making sure she was sufficiently wet the entire time. On one of these pulses, his head slipped fully inside of her and locked into place. He stopped and let her simply feel him inside of her. She writhed before him, obviously stretched wide. He was most likely a size she had never taken before. She was very tight, extremely tight and even still squeezing him even harder, causing him to involuntary move inside of her as well. While he was still, while she was getting used to him inside of her, he took the time to just enjoy her in this space, in this position, being with her like this and being able to witness her surrender. It was truly an exquisite sight. He let his eyes travel over the soft skin of her back, the inward curve of her waist, the swell of her bottom. And the sight of him entering her, seeing her spread wide as she took him inside of her.

When her body began to relax and soften, making sure she was wet, using his hand to pull her open wider until he could push himself farther into her. Stopping when she again, cried out, this time louder, with more arousal, more pleasure, more intensity in her voice. Her spasms were more intense and this time he had to concentrate not to let her push him over his own edge. He kept himself in check, not thinking of something else, not distracting himself, but letting his own desire hum in the background. She had taken most of him. The only furrow in her brow was from pleasure that was close to pain, but not pain itself. He didn’t sense her tense or brace at all.

He glanced forward at the mirror and saw himself taking her. All men should be able to experience a woman like this, be with her in this way. But unfortunately, most men were only concerned with their own needs, never knowing the pleasure that one can receive, the possibilities that exist when a man properly attends to his woman. He always heard complaints about men’s wives or girlfriends, that they didn’t desire sex, or were frigid. He assumed that most men didn’t know how to satisfy a woman, and therefore, left without the opportunity for a true intimate physical relationship.

Simply attuning to the needs of a woman, no matter how reticent or hesitant, if they were assured, listened to, both their words and their actions, felt safe and protected and respected in a man’s company. Like Gwendolyn, could give and receive pleasure most men and women only fantasise about.

When her body told him she was ready, he made his final push into her. She received him like she was a wave on the ocean, her body fluid and relaxed and responsive with no resistance.

Perfect, he thought.

“Gwendolyn.” His own voice was now deep and rough and low. “Look in the mirror.”

When she looked up, he felt her spasm around him. At first she simply gazed at herself like she was an entirely new creature that she had never seen before, unrelated to her. So he pulsed a little within her and as he did so, she watched herself react in pleasure. He did it again. She responded.

He would have continued to move, but he held still with his entire length inside of her. He simply let her experience the intensity of purely having him inside her. Still. Motionless. While she had him inside of her, still looking in the mirror, she looked up at him, seeing everything. The way he stood close behind her, the flex of his forearms as his hands gripped the sides of her hips, his shirt, tie removed, unbuttoned down the front. The way his blood pulsed in the side of his neck, and then up to his face. To his eyes. And this time she caught his gaze and held it. Now her experience was heightened by this additional contact.

Sex wasn’t always about thrusting, hard and fast. Granted there are times when that movement takes precedence, but if that is all a man has under his belt, so to speak, he is denying himself and his partner a whole other world of pleasure. As he expected, just the stillness of him inside her, allowed her to experience him in a way she had never felt anyone else before him. For, through this kind of pairing, for the receiving partner, there is no other sensation that is akin to taking someone inside of them, of being opened and of being filled.

Their eyes were still locked. When she started to subtly roll her hips into him, he spread her one more time, from her bottom and from underneath, between her legs, pushing in so he was in contact with her little bud. Every inch of skin that had the possibly of touching him was firmly connected against him. There was plenty of her wetness to spread all around these areas that touched. With this contact in place, he placed his palms on her outer thighs and closed her legs around him as he pressed into her, his legs now behind and bracing hers. She would be in a better position to instinctively squeeze her knees and thighs together during climax, and have more contact with the front of his body.

Not quite so much thrusting, as it was rocking with her, he pushed against her without pulling out her, never losing the skin to skin contact between the front of his hips and the backs of hers.

She was calling out freely. He was glad it was late and there was no one to hear her except him because she sounded as beautiful as he thought she would. She held his gaze until finally, the pleasure was too much for her that she had to close her eyes. He kept his pace steady, only changing the angle of his movement inside of her, or rotating his hips into her in a circular motion, just as he did with his thumb, but this time with his entire pelvis.

---

Oh my dear god. She thought. Or did she scream it? She couldn’t tell. She was positively panting now. Oh, fuck. Oh, god. She felt as any control over her mind or her body was given over to Harry. She was completely helpless do to anything other than let her entire body tremble as waves of pleasure crashed over her. This time, rather stopping, he rode the waves to intensify them, until her the whole of her began to tense, her grip on to him tighter and her pleasure bore down on her. With one firm and final motion that now she pushed back on to fully, grinding her hips against him. Her orgasm began as she helplessly cried out his name over and over. Tears flowed from the corners of her eyes and dampened her cheeks. She shuddered and arched back against him as she was overcome by a pleasure so intense it was almost painful, almost too much for her to bear. How could she ever have considered walking away from this? From this feeling, from this man. It was unthinkable. She spasmed against him longer and harder than she ever had before. More than she thought was physically possible. And, oh my god, still, it kept coming. She kept coming.

It was Harry. She had no doubt that no other man could have brought her to this level of pleasure, this state of existence, as Harry Hart. Not only because of the things he was doing to her physically, but because of who he was. Because of the man he was. Because it was him she was giving herself to. He was still fully inside of her, pushed up against her as deep as possible. She trembled around his entire length as she writhed in ecstasy. Over, and over and over. She was still crying out his name even as the last swell of unimaginable sensations crashed into her.

-----

When he felt her begin to climax, he thrust fully into her and held himself against her, but he released her hips so she could now move as freely as she wanted to. While she was overcome, he concentrated on her pleasure, how she looked how she moved. How his name sounded on her lips as she screamed because her experience was so intense it needed even another way to find release. The look of pain on her face, that was not from pain, but her desire finally realised fully and completely and thoroughly. He felt her pleasure just as deeply, but he didn’t let himself physically release, not yet. Not until the last spasm wracked through her. Not until she was done. It was a pleasure that was pain for him as well. Even though he wanted to close his eyes against it coursing through him, he kept watch on her, memorising every angle, very curve of her body, every expression on her face.

As she slowed and her body calmed, still inside of her, he folded his body over her own. His chest against her back. His face next to hers. He kissed the side of her face, her cheek, the line of her jaw. He smoothed her hair away from her forehead and rested his mouth there. Her skin was flushed and hot against his lips. He felt the wetness of her tears. Tears that she had never let herself cry in sadness or vulnerability, not in his presence, now dampened her cheeks when she let her self be overcome by him. He rested against her like this for as long as he was able after she had relaxed.

Her eyes remained closed. He brushed the side of her face with the back of his hand. With the intent to move with her permission, he asked.

“And my dear, how are you feeling, now?”

She responded simply, with such emotion, such feeling, the vulnerability and with notes of tenderness that he had never heard from her or ever heard in her voice.  With no defence she simply whispered his name with as much feeling and warmth as a thousand fires.

“Oh, Harry…”

It was all she said. But the sound of his name from her lips, in all of her vulnerability. That it would be his name that she would say first, touched him in a way that he had never been touched. In a place he had never been touched. It said to him, he was here in this moment with her. That, as he knew this experience was not about him, she recognised that her experience was not only her’s alone. That it was also his. And he knew this was the kind of connection that he was always searching for in relationships and in sex, but never felt at this level.

All of this manifested in his body as pleasure. For a man, one of the times he is most vulnerable is during sex. Most men will guard themselves and never achieve the full state of arousal that vulnerability will invite. However, if he is able to express that vulnerability, it will be the purest, most pleasurable sex with the most intense climax he will ever achieve. For Harry, that time was now. The experience was his. Every single fibre of his being, not just his length inside of her began to move both with her and within her again. Her cry only fanned the flame of his desire.

He wanted to feel her skin against his. He reached underneath her to unbutton her blouse. Realising what he wanted she lifted her chest to help him. Harry continued to unbutton the rest of his shirt and flung it to the side as he never did. The same time, Gwendolyn’s blouse slipped over the side of the desk. He leaned completely over her, feeling her nakedness as much with his entire body as he drank it in though his eyes. He slid one arm underneath her, his forearm around her chest, holding her even tighter into him as he pressed his himself into her bare back and shoulders. It was as if the closest he could get was still not close enough. His need was immense and the feel of her, being inside of her overcame him. He let himself thrust into her, giving into her and giving himself to her.

——

This was different, she thought. Harry was different. Even more different, if that was possible. It seemed like the more time she spent with him, the more of him was revealed and every time it was a revelation. He wasn’t simply finishing. This was much more. The feel of him was huge. Not only the part that was inside of her. Whatever he was feeling was huge, for him. When he was giving her pleasure, he remained in complete control. Impressively, so. Not that he wasn’t in control now, but there was a new element, a sensitivity, a receptivity. It was a willingness to receive as well as give. She knew that he enjoyed every moment with her, but this was different from enjoyment. Even more than lust or passion, though those were the physical elements. It felt like devotion. If cherishing someone could take on a physical expression, it would feel like this. She was moved by this even more than when he had his full attention on her physically and mentally. Before, he was making sure she had a wonderful, memorable experience. Now, he just wanted to experience her. Was it that she was losing herself to him? And him in her?

This was being together, she thought, before his movements, the feel of him, the heat of his skin against hers both inside of her and out, both pressing their entire length in to her an against her, carried her off with him. He rocked into her with a brutal passion, making her cries sound from the base of her throat.  His own jaw clenched in silence as she found herself responding just as fiercely, insisting, demanding more from him as she pushed her hips to meet his.

——

His other hand was everywhere. He wanted to feel her beneath his palm, her hair, her neck, her back, her side, her legs, her bottom. And the more he felt, the more he ached for her. The space between them was stormy, tumultuous, both experiencing from each other a pleasure that was so powerful it was almost violent. It wasn’t simply pleasure. A sensation so forceful, so overwhelming, it was at the cusp of unbearable. It was otherworldly. When he pushed her over the edge once more into her climax, as she convulsed helplessly against him, she cried out his name again and again with total abandon, just as fervently as before. The sound of his name from her lips, the way she pulsed around him and against him as she cried out, made him call out his own desire for her. It drove him far, far outside what he thought was his edge and crashed into heights of pleasure that was close to death. Together, they rose up and rode each swell and they came together. Over and over and over far beyond the realm of what they thought possible.

As it was, on that evening, two of the most guarded, reluctant and isolated hearts at Kingsman, lost, and then ultimately found themselves in each other.

----

I pretty much wrote all of my fanfic so I could justify writing this part about Harry Hart taking Gwendolyn over his desk :) Hope you enjoyed! Comments are always soooo appreciated. Especially for a newbie writer. Was it too long? Would it have been better in chapters? Cheers!

#Kingsman #Kingsman The Secret Service #kingsman fanfic #Kingsman AU #kingsman fanfiction #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman fan fiction #Kingsman Fan fic #Kingsmanfanfiction #kingsmanfanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fan fic #fandom #Colin Firth #colinfirth #harry hart #harryhart #agent galahad #agentgalahad #harryhartfanfic #haryhartfanfiction #harry hart fanfic #harry hart fan fiction #smut

[cartoonfangirl1218]

If Bombshells ever returned, maybe to explore the aftereffects of the war. Here are some superheroines and supervillainesses that could join the fight into the new era. The Cold War.

Jesse Quick; Jesse would totally join the families providing their homes to the displaced Jews of Europe while at the same time protecting her city from all sorts of crime. But her storyline might come with learning that in her need to help everyone and solving everyone's problems since she has the technology and the privlege, well... kinda appears as a white savior. At least to Lisa Snart which brings me to... 

Golden Glider: Well I think we can all guess that Lisa has a Jewish-like last name and while her big bro, Captain Cold, Leonard was working with the Nazis, I am so arguing that he was just conveinately converting in order to save his skin and his sister's. Anyway with her brother in jail and Europe in shambles after the war, Lisa can travel to America with other displaced Jews. Some families were kind enough to "foster" these peoples which is where Jesse comes in. Well Lisa isn't the type to accept the "pity" and dislikes how priviliged a life, Jesse leads. Then comes a whole new yet classic Flash vs the Rogues rivalry.  

Nyssa ah Gul: How can we forget another misplaced Jew. Well not Jew but Ra ah Gul's other daughter, Nyssa, whose entire adopted family died in the concentration camps while Ra was off whatevering with the Lazerus Pit. But since Ra's long gone from the picture, I suppose Nyssa will have to seek answers from Talia about why she didn't try to help her or contact her after finding out they were sisters. 

Mya: Meanwhile after WWII, India is revving up for a revolution after being used and abused by the British Empire in a war they didn't even want to be in. And after being in the war, STILL treated like second class citizens. That's why Myra, prodigy of Shiva is up to lead a revolution for her people.

Gypsy: Let’s not forget about all the other groups that Nazis were prejudiced against. Cynthia Reynolds or "Gypsy" as the SS slurred against her and her Romanian family. But with Europe's landscape in disarray, Cynthia can use her earth-bending powers to help and educate people that she is more than the fortune telling, pick pocketing stereotype that the world believes.

Volcana: Now I know we didn't really get into Italy's part in WWII, but someone with volcano powers would totally be working in Italy, specifically Pompeii. The one issue is that, like in her origin story, she was working for Mussolini against her will and the Italian still wants their "super weapon" under lock and key in case of WWIII. 

Thorn: Meanwhile the late 40s-early 50s is totally not a time to be woman with a mental illness. Especially when the "understanding" doctors try to lobtomize you. So Roselyn Forrest's double personality disorder is a big problem in her life. Especially since her second personality is a scythe weilding maniac and her uncle wants to put her in an institution. Added to the fact that she is still suffering under Irish discrimination. Hopefully the Batgirls can help, not only change child labor laws, but views on mental illness too.  Giganta: A gorilla turned into a girl. Why shouldn't that be an experiment by the crazy Americans or Russians in a way to beat each other as the world superpower. Well technically the Russians wanted to send a gorilla into space and beat the Americans, but they thought a woman astronaut (or as they called cosmonaut) would make them look better. (All true look up Valentina , first woman in space). But besides being part of the space race, Giganta can bring spotlight to Africa where she was born, and which is being divided by the major world powers for exploitation. 

Crimson Fox: Constance D' Amis, French heiress would be part of the small army of woman workers during the YALTA conferance trying to get their say into how to rebuild Europe for the benefit of all. Who knows, maybe she even talked to Selina Delgatti. Hey French heiresses and Italian heiresses must know each other. Plus she expels hormones that can make anyone under her thrall which leads me to...

Queen Bee: Another pheromone expelling woman. A villainess though. Africa wasn't the only one being exploited and colonized. The former Ottoman Empire was being exploited for its oil and Lebenon is taken over by the French (Basically ample reason for Constance to go to Lebenon and fight Queen Bee). And the former queen is certainly not above going to the Russians to fight the US/Europe to get her country back. Or just team up with Lex Luthor to take down Supergirl and get her country back. I just imagine Lex and --- to be like an evil Mr.Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet okay. All suave, witty banter. It makes sense in my head.

Catherine Colbert: A bit like Lois Lane, Catherine is an everygirl. Well if the everygirl was a daughter of an dimplomat and had her sights on making a name for herself in NASA and trying to avoid the pressures of mysgonistic men that woman aren't fit for government. Being told that she is too emotional and should stay in the kicthen, Catherine rebelled by becoming a stone faced, cutting ice queen in the diplomacy track and also a horrible cook. Artemis and Cheshire: I'm taking a bit from the YJ story in that Artemis and Cheshire are half-french, half-Vietnamese. Since their abusive father was loyal to the Nazis, he disowned them and cast off their Vietnamese mother in Japanese concentration camps. While Artemis made it to America and tried to stay on the good ol American democratic way (while fighting petty looters in the streets of Gotham as one does), Cheshire went to Vietnam where she works as an assasin, for the communists and the non-communists. It doesn't matter to her as long as she gets paid. But times are changing in Vietnam as the fights about communism between the North Vietnamese and South escalate. 

Lady Blackhawk: Zinda Blake, hero of WWII and the Blackhawk brigade comes home to nothing. No money. No pension. No respect. Life as a veteran has no perks since no one has money to pay in Europe. Plus she'd still be trying to adjust to civilian life after nonstop combat and the inevitable PTSD while the Germany she loved is split into two. Hopefully Rudi and Helen will help to keep her in a safe place until she can get back on her feet.  Miss Martian: While I don't know whose in Harley, Ivy and Viktoria's circus, I feel like Miss Martian would find a safe haven there. While she did not experience the WWII, she did experience a similar prejudice and genocide on Mars being a white martian so I bet she can help with reprations. Or just join Starfire on the fire squad...wait nevermind. Fire is Martian weakness. Well at least have her and Starfire being alien girlfriends exploring the strange Earth world together.

Rocket: Again, haven't had the joy of reading the final vol of Bombshells United so I don't know exactly what Bumblebee has been up to nor the racism she had probably experienced. But Raquel would be in a similar boat. An African American teen in an unjust pre-Civil Rights movement society with the added difficulties of teen mom hood. I really want some spotlight on her whether she joins the Batgirls or strike out on her own or helps Icon just like in the comics.

Mercy Graves: Alongside Lex wherever he is, I want a similar debut to what Mercy did in JL. Mercy takes over LexCorps during Luthor's absence, absolutely crushes it and makes it more of a success than Luthor ever did because she is not obsessed with the Kryptonian heroes. Maybe she even teams up with Waller? Who knows? Or even have two heads, Mercy Graves and Lena Luthor, making millions and making plans, evil or no, always ending on top.

Silver Banshee: A woman whose screams causes people to age. How they could NOT use her in a war, I do not know. But I picture Siobhan's arc going something like after her family dies in battle or something or other, she taps into her genetic banshee powers. Fueled with grief/cynicsm/vengeance she travels around the Iron Curtain, causing death since death is a mercy compared to living in destitute misery.

Plastique and Roxy Rocket: One is a Canadian explosives expert, another just really, really loves rockets. Both would be very useful on either side of the Cold War. They're traditionally illanesses so I could see them as double agents like Cheshire, working for whoever pays the most for their time.

Roulette: Roulette’s big thing is gambling on illegal cage fighting activities. Well lets up the ante by having her big gamble being stoking US/Russian tensions. After all the longer the war goes on, the more she gets paid for her information on the other side, her contacts for weapons, her spies etc. She'd be rolling in dough, and loving it even when under threat of nuclear destruction.

Fire and Ice: No idea how the heck they would fit in to a post WWII world. But let's suppose they want to escape Brazil and Antartica respectively to be able to help out in the aftermath after doing nothing during the war. Jessica Cruz and Aresia vs Star Sapphire Meanwhile with Hal Jordan out of the picture, let's have the infamous Green Lantern vs Star Sapphire rivalry again.

Lady Shiva: Street fighter, assassin, mother of the future Batwoman, Cassandra Cain. Lady Shiva must be part of the Cold War. She is bit of a anti-hero so I doubt anyone would know where her loyalties truly lie, but she'd be on the side of whoever her daughter wishes to protect.

Cassandra Cain: The new Black Bat, continue Katy Kane's work, and the Batgirl's work, and all the work that needs to be done after WWII. She's the new heroine.

#dc comic bombshells #dc bombshells #golden glider #lisa snart #nyssa ah gul #mya #jesse quick #cassandra cain #black bat #lady shiva #cynthia reynolds #gypsy #claire selton #roxy rocket #volcana #jessica cruz #green lantern #carol ferris #star sapphire #fire #ice #roulette #cheshire #artemis #plastique #silver banshee #mercy graves #miss martian #rocket #catherine colbert

[welcometomy20s]

February 8, 2021

Welcome to the final part of the Introduction of Nijisanji. Thanks for going through all of them, if you did. It was pain to work with so much and so little. This part would cover everyone who has debuted in the year 2020.

Nijisanji IN 1st Gen

Aadya - The name means beautiful. 21 year old, who likes to play games and sing. Does dancing as a day job, so acts as a gaming nightingale. She has a knack for games in my cursory view, but that might be just the competitiveness.

Vihaan - The name means breaking dawn, kind of. Likes gaming very much, and plays them very loudly and complaining... which to be expected from this crew.

Noor - The name means light. Likes BL, coffee and beer, BL to the point she learned chinese from watching a BL drama. Basically a middle-aged man at heart, including a very nice husky voice. Does talks and games. Sings randomly and looks up to Rion, of all people. Ange mentioned her, Ange likes to mention foreign people.

Nijisanji KR 1st Gen

Min Suha - Knows the culture through their parents and has a nice voice. Sister Claire likes him, and who doesn’t? He’s freaking cool, man!

Shin Yuya - College student in virtual Seoul. Always has a smartphone at hand, does self-searching on a constant basis. Definitely has otaku knowledge, likes singing, drawing and cute things. Doesn’t like horror games, but played a lot on stream.

Plays a lot of different games, including FPS like Apex, and this is where she gets to collaborate with Japanese senpais, which is always fun to see.

Gaon - Originally Moarin’s brother, but Moarin left, so the lore changed. Has a twintail for attention purposes. Only member of Nijisanji KR to work as a job, but quit as the end of 2020. He’s pretty cool. Not nice, but definitely not a mean person either.

Han Chiho - He’s a time-displaced psychic, and so speaks with a high register. High register is usually seen as old, people don’t use it anymore, but it’s usually perfectly understandable... it’s an interesting quirk. Other than that, pretty normal streamer.

2020 Part 1 (Jan-Apr)

Furen E Lustario - During debut, expressed a liking choking oneself... so we know who we are dealing with. Has to add using fingers, as to illustrate her math prowess. But overall a fun person to watch, and has a pretty good variety of streams.

Melissa Kinrenka - Wants to be a songwriter, but still needs help. But she is a great singer, and can write and mix songs. Usually called Meli. Has a deep side, basically.

Ibrahim - Originally an oil prince, but now runs an onsen. Acts like a child at times due to his supposed past, and he is muslim, as the lore and name implies. But overall, fits right in with the child-like male of Nijisanji... kind of.

Nagao Kei - He’s an exorcist, but really does any job. Pretty good at all kinds of fighting. Pretty old in terms of human member at the age 26. Very much like Ibrahim, but much more bishonen, which melts a woman's heart. Oh, he’s good at learning stuff. Like he tries to learn morse code, and completely memorized the KTANE manual. Just to make Fumi, one of his seniors, happy for a while. That’s some big dedication.

Genzuki Tojiro - Works as a secretary for the gods. Has that unmatching haircut. Very good at making songs and does mixing for Nijisanji events.

Kaida Haru - A demon researcher, but too lazy. Quiet and nice voice leading the viewer to see him as a mother figure, but as you guess, he doesn’t like it due to the work. Oh, said a slur on stream but got banned less than Yumeoi, which is quite sus.

Nijisanji ID Gen 3

Azura Cecillia - An alien angel. Has a sword with a really long name, but calls it Chonsuke for short. She’s pretty cute and a little bit ditzy, from what I remember. Got mistaken as a boy, which is such an odd thing, but maybe it’s the deep voice?

Nara Haramaung - A princess of a tribe. Originally released as part of 1st gen, but got delayed here, but the gen mates fit together very well. Sings spontaneously sometimes.

Layla Alstroemeria - Time-traveling history major. Definitely more airheaded of the group and most child-like of the generation. But she’s pretty fun to watch, regardless.

Nijisanji KR Gen 2

So Nagi - Traveling virtual Japan, speaking fluent Japanese with a nice clear voice. Likes Ange Katrina, which she readily repriocates. Seen as the top seed in Nijisanji KR.

Lee Siu - A female kitsune, and yes from the same illustrator as Fubuki. Likes dad jokes and an endurance player and does speak three languages. Roha likes her. Occasionally can hear the apartment announcement, which is always a fun moment.

Chae Ara - She’s an angel, and a great singer. And likes to people-watch. Has a cute voice, and good at hosting. I really liked her in the streams that I watched. There’s something about her personality that speaks to me.

2020 Part 2 (May-August)

Sorahoshi Kirame - Made her name through twitter, and traded fan art with KR members. Has the same illustrator as Kanata. Couldn’t stream due to money purposes for four days, got his PC after a month of hard work. Overall a poor and diligent girl.

Asahina Akane - 1st year high-schooler. Very energetic and follow people well. Likes a Jpop band, and likes to travel as well. Also does a lot of collabs with senpais.

Suo Sango - The youngest member of the theater club, which is the theme of the latest generation. Has a wide range, and likes Sanrio and tomato. Very motherly calm voice.

Like girly anime, you know Pretty Cure and stuff. Likes western pop music as well.

Todo Kohaku - Third-year high schooler. Said she’s a lady, but she’s definitely just a normal girl. Had a good cover of Mela, and overall a decent streamer.

Kitakoji Hisui - Middle-school transfer student. Likes a lot of different things, but Minecraft is what she is most known for... I guess it makes sense.

Nishizono Chigusa - She’s the troublesome one of the theater group. Very frequently makes sexual quips. Also I thought she was a boy when I first saw her. Definitely my favorite of the newest group, and also did a stream with Matsuri as well.

And that actually has a history. You see this is not Chigusa’s first rodeo... as it is apparent, and during her previous life Matsuri and her did a sleepover, and was quite close as well... so this is actually a really nice reunion. I didn’t know that until now.

Nijisanji KR 3rd Gen

Nun Bora - A second-year high schooler, likes drawing and playing the recorder which she has a battle with So Nagi. Quick learner, apparently. Plays APEX and Fall Guys, but is competent in pretty much any game. Definitely top tier APEX player.

Akina Ray - Japanese streamer who streams in virtual Seoul. Does a morning talk show, likes baseball, since she’s from Hiroshima, and Shadowverse. She’s actually an art student and a meat lover. But overall, the most seiso art student of Nijisanji.

Lee Roha - Idol trainee from outer space, a mixed race. A bit of a ditz, with the appropriate thumbnails. Streams in Japanese on YouTube, in Korean on Twitch. Does a lot of League of Legend on twitch, and does evening piano stream. Likes Lee Siu.

Nijisanji ID 4th Gen

Etna Crimson - Half supernatural, likes to make everyone happy. Definitely not Amber from Genshin Impact, because Amber is Kizuna Ai. Okay, bad joke. Yeah, she’s good.

Bonnivier Pranaja - Originally a fisher, but quit after being swindled. Usually appears with KR streams, actually. Maybe likes Hana? Who knows.

Siska Leontyne - Security officer for shady company. Pretty good at games involving killing... make sense considering her profession. Pretty cool and laid-back.

Nijisanji KR 4th Gen

Ryu Hari - Likes to collect nightmares, likes reading and playing the electric guitar.

Shin Kiru - A 25-year old NEET, has an odd way of speaking and strange topics. Likes Rock and horror movies. He seems pretty laid-back as well.

Yang Nari - 19-year old girl from a different world who now lives in the countryside. Pretty good at hosting with her cute voice. Likes sewing, and talks in high status. She has a thing of suffering, and that kind of comes out from lore.

Oh Jiyu - She’s a female vtuber, although she looks and sounds boyish. Third-year college student representative. Speaks Korean and Japanese, and like gacha and also singing... so maybe a boyish Suisei? I’m sure she’s more normal, though.

Nijisanji ID 5th Gen

Nagisa Arcinia - Wannabe fashion designer, speaks a bunch of languages... but that’s normal for ID... yeah, she’s cute and might be a little psychopathic. Typical.

Derem Kado - 16 year old girl going to magical school, always looking for a cat, but a special cat that makes contracts and stuff. High pitched scares and gets lost.

Reza Avanluna - He’s a world chronicler, he visits and chronicles worlds in his dreams. Has a ship going on with Hana, I think? I’m not sure. Please correct this, if untrue.

There you go! All 139 extant members as of February 8th, 2021, which is the third anniversary of Nijisanji... that was a long post... even though it was in three parts. Sorry for filling the days with this... I have been busy with collecting data and so on. But I hope you have a good inkling of the landscape that is Nijisanji.

#nijisanji #vtuber #long post

[qoreprojects]

The Party Whip, or Lilith in the 11th House

Not long ago, I paid a visit to my 11th house to speak with Lilith. She lives there, along with my South Node - a tiny golden compass that points toward the past. It was the past that I wanted. Lilith had lived in this house alongside it for so long that I believed she’d be able to help me understand what it meant. 

“You thought that I would be angrier?” she laughed sharply. 

Lilith was perched on a window seat, half her face bathed in the single stream of light in an otherwise shadow-filled room. She wore a simple red shift dress. Her hair was loc’d and tumbled towards her leather-belted waist on one side of her head, exposing a shaved opposite side to the dappled sun. She held an orange and a pocket knife in her hands. 

I nodded slightly. Every movement in this room could be felt in ways that did not exist in the material realm. Palpable waves rippled away from the tiniest gestures. Shadows danced in the corners. The air was possessed, and every shift had meaning.   

“That’s funny,” she said, flicking a peel onto the floor, “I don’t know why people only recognize Lady Regret when I am in my war clothes.” She used her own title with a touch of irony. 

Several crows called to one another outside, and a light breeze stirred the distant treetops. This movement agitated the shadows in the room. All was as it should be - in flux. 

“You are here because you want to know about your greatest regret,” Lilith stated presently. 

“I suppose so, yes,” my breath rippled away from me in the cool, dark air. “At this point, I’ve run out of reasons not to know.” 

Lilith smiled a lop-sided smile and continued peeling, one foot on the sill and one on the floor. “Are you familiar with the term ‘true believer’?”

“Yes,” I said quietly, knowing where this was going. I could feel the conversation as a tangible thing, like a strong westerly wind. The shadows and the dust particles organized themselves accordingly. Lilith tilted her face to look me directly in the eye. “What about the term ‘party whip’?”

The wind of conversation changed directions, and the shift was slight but sudden. I marveled at the subtle switch, and a sense of dread overcame me. The life inside the room absorbed my response as an addition to its moving chorus of shadows. 

She paused to eat one section of orange, and then began peeling again. “The party whip is a different thing, isn’t it? Let’s examine the two…”

The True Believer and the Party Whip

The life of a True Believer can easily be confused with personal sacrifice on behalf of others. This is because, from the outside, it looks as if the True Believer is willing to give up a great deal for their party. They may give up relationships, time, effort, money, or freedom to make certain lifestyle choices. Observers who consider the party a worthy cause call the True Believer “self-sacrificing” and “a saint”; people who dislike the cause say the True Believer is silly and “voting against their own interests”.

In truth, the True Believer sacrifices little for the party because the party’s goals and the True Believer’s goals are almost exactly the same. If a True Believer does sacrifice anything for the party, it is minor and without much pain or hesitation. There is no real conflict between their motivations and that of the party. The True Believer may recognize some problems or contradictions within the party, or they may lack the critical perspective to do so. In either case, the flaws of the party and the flaws of the True Believer are largely the same. There can be a kind of innocence in that.   

A Party Whip is not the same thing as a True Believer. (A Party Whip can also be a True Believer - but for the purposes of this conversation we will consider them separately.) Unlike the True Believer, the Party Whip does not necessarily align with everything the party says and does on a personal level. They may notice glaring flaws and issues within the party. They may believe that the party’s words and deeds do not match. They may long for previous versions of the party, or hope for future ones, while considering the present party to be a mere shadow of itself. They may think of the party’s goals as good general rules that will benefit the world, but that should not be applied in every situation without nuance. 

The only things necessary for the role of a successful Party Whip are a sincere belief that the party is the best way to get things done - to have a hand in the creation of the world, to make things happen - and that the ends of this goal justify the means. For the sake of those two beliefs, the Party Whip can modify their own behavior and offer themselves up to be ‘borrowed’ by the party, in the hope that they can ‘borrow’ the party’s collective power for themselves at a later date. 

Say, the leaders and vanguards of the party have decided that its collective goals will be best served by oranges. Under no circumstances can there be apples. Other fruits are fine, though less than ideal - but absolutely no apples. The Party Whip shows up to work and receives the party line: everyone in the party is to vote for oranges, and it is the Whip’s job to ensure this outcome.

The intelligent Whip has their finger on the collective pulse and can understand exactly why the party agenda is supported by oranges. They also know that competing parties are out there voting for other fruits - sometimes even apples. This is unacceptable. The party must win, which means that oranges must win and apples must lose.  

The skilled Party Whip may not personally enjoy the taste or texture of oranges. They may even feel sympathetic to apples. However, the Whip is quite accustomed to viewing their own tastes and desires as a secondary concern to more important matters: the party line. They know how to either conceal or surgically remove the parts of themselves that are not convenient to the party and its goals - unlike the True Believer, who has never had to change very much about themselves in exchange for membership.

Therefore the Party Whip is assigned a role: to go out among members of the party, keep track of everyone who might vote for another fruit, and get them to vote for oranges instead. To accomplish this, the Party Whip is going to use whatever tools they already use to keep themselves in line with the party’s interests. 

These tools vary, and may include: 

Shame and guilt

Reasoned arguments

Coercion

Information

Misinformation

Bribery

Cost-benefit analysis

Promises of future reward for current sacrifice

Appeals to duty, loyalty and obligation

Not all of these methods are equally ethical. A Party Whip is only able to be as ethical when whipping the rest of the party to consensus as they are when whipping themselves in private. 

Lady Regret in the 11th House

Your biggest regret is being a very skilled Party Whip. 

You were good at living your life according to the party line. This earned you such compliments as ‘inspiration’ and ‘example’, which made you feel safe and valued. You were gifted at being able to distance yourself from your own instincts so thoroughly that parties rewarded you with protection and support in exchange for your skill at keeping their dissenting or individualistic members in line. This was not questionable for you - you participated in this exchange because you believed it was good and righteous, and that the party’s ends justified the means.

You privately exulted in your own savvy. You believed your differences from the True Believer - your ability to perceive the group’s flaws and issues with a bit more perspective - made you more ethical. In reality, it made you more culpable. Your clarity was a gift meant to inspire you to take risks and speak up, valuing the truth over any attachment to the party’s reaction.

You did not speak up. 

You chose to improve the party by sacrificing your unique perspective in exchange for access to the collective’s power; you were shocked when improvement never came. When push came to shove and the party’s power was threatened, for one reason or another, they abandoned you. Perhaps the abandonment was purposeful. Perhaps they simply no longer had enough clout to protect you. In any case, the party name was no longer able to get you into the rooms you wanted to enter. Your persuasiveness on others’ behalf was no longer in demand. The recognition in strangers’ eyes when you flaunted your membership card dwindled. Circumstances may have even become so drastic that mentioning the party put you in danger rather than keeping you safe.    

A lone, displaced ruler must rely on personal power and instinct. They cannot rely on an ever-present council or party membership to get things done. You were suddenly alone - the sole authority of your life. You were not prepared for this. The years, or even lifetimes, you spent living outside of your own will have taken a toll. You don’t even know how to have a thought or emotion without examining it for its usefulness to some group, even when there is none present. You walk around barefoot and in rags with panic behind your eyes. You roam the streets waving a saw and rasping through dry lips, “I will saw off anything for friends in high places! Fingers, feet! I will cut off anything for friends in high places! Eyes, face! I have experience, will work for connections!”

Most people are horrified and cross the street when they see this display. Some see you as a temporary tool and take advantage of you until you have nothing left to give. Some people see your true heart better than you do and try to connect with it, but by this time you are jaded and assume that all anyone could want from you is your skill as Party Whip. They try to love you, but you are too preoccupied with trying to dutifully serve their interests in exchange for power and validation.

Dreams shrivel and die like old fruit under these conditions - again, again, and again. This is the loop, the hoop that must be mended. 

Resolution

Lilith rose from the windowsill. Her full height compelled the room’s darkness to rearrange itself. Dead orange peels lie on the floor at her feet, glowing in the patch of sunlight that streamed through the window. 

“Who are you when you are alone?”

I sat down on the dusty floorboards and stared into the shadows. 

“What are you capable of creating - or destroying - when you only do so from your heart?”

The shadows gave me nothing but constant shifting in return. 

“As long as you sacrifice your dreams for others’ out of fear that you cannot accomplish them alone, your efforts will go to waste. Parties are not forever; empires fall and agendas shift like the wind. Learn to build true alliances based on raw love - which can only happen when you are clear and unashamed of your own desire.”

I looked up just in time to see her toss me the last slice of orange. My hand shot up to catch it, and I carefully considered its juicy ripeness against my fingers. 

It felt delicious. 

#11th house #lilith #south node #astrology

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Washington D.C: Day 1

Our first stop on our trip was to Lorton, more specifically the Occoquan Historic District. The Occoquan Regional Park is on the land where the inmates of the Lorton Work House Prison worked in the brick kilns. Only one survives today, but it gives you a look at what once took over the large park space by the river. After eating at the cute riverside spot Brickmakers, we walked up the hill to see the nearly complete Turning Point Suffragist Memorial. According to the park’s website, over 150 women were imprisoned at the Lorton Work House in relation to the women’s suffrage movement from June to December of 1917. The “Silent Sentinels”, as the monument described, were the women who peacefully demonstrated outside the White House, but were detained and charged with falsified information. Those charges led them to be imprisoned at Lorton or in the District of Columbia Jail. These brave suffragists, like Carrie Chapman Catt, Alice Paul, and Lucy Burns, were the sparks of change that paved the way for women's rights. Paul and Burns both endured much pain fighting for their rights, like with the notoriously long hunger strikes they would enact when imprisoned. The statues done for Paul and Catt are beautiful depictions and show their strengths as activists. Alice Paul is holding her famous picket sign, MR. PRESIDENT HOW LONG MUST WOMEN WAIT FOR LIBERTY, to greet you at the beginning of the memorial. After you have rounded out the beautiful garden path, you end with seeing Carrie Chapman Catt with a big bouquet of flowers to symbolize their success. While Paul took the more radicalized approach with Burns which they picked up from British suffragists, Catt was a peaceful activist who took a more amicable approach. Another interesting piece of the memorial was the original White House Fence from Wilson’s time in office on display. It was powerful to see the large black fencing these brave women stood in front of almost daily to fight for their rights. The goal of women’s suffrage never would have been achieved without all of these brave women.

Unveiled in 1876, the Emancipation Memorial (also known as the Freedmen’s Memorial) has been controversial since its unveiling. Though the sculpture of Lincoln and a former enslaved person was funded by free African-Americans, there was some shock during the dedication ceremony in response to the deification of Lincoln and the stance of the African-American male. In his keynote address, Frederick Douglass expressed some criticism for President Lincoln. In the end, Douglass acknowledged an “earnest sympathy” for Lincoln. When talking about this statue in the spring semester, we knew that a stop at this memorial was essential. During a hot afternoon, Lincoln Park was packed with families with their children and their four-legged friends. We took a close look at the statue that has garnered more-recent criticism from activists like Glenn Foster of Palm Collective, who we were fortunate enough to talk to just a few weeks ago. Foster believes that a hidden narrative exists with the statue actively marginalizing African-Americans. “What does it mean for an African-American child to see the statue?” Foster asked. As we saw it with our own eyes, we understood why the memorial was so controversial. Though Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation freed enslaved persons in the South and made the cessation of slavery the goal of the Union during the Civil War, we were taken aback by the depiction of the man kneeling at Lincoln’s feet. It is problematic, to say the least, and requires a sign for historical context if the city does not take it down. Just across from the Emancipation Memorial is a statue that honors Mary Bethune. As a child of formerly enslaved persons, Bethune became a notable educator, civil rights activist, philanthropist, and feminist. She was the leader of many organizations like the National Association for Colored Women and was an adviser to President Franklin D. Roosevelt. She most notably started a school for African-American students in Daytona Beach, Florida, which became Bethune-Cookman University. Throughout the life of “The First Lady of the Struggle,” she never gave up in standing up for the right to improved opportunities for African-Americans. The Bethune monument, which was unveiled in 1974, stood in direct contrast to the feelings we had with the Emancipation Memorial. We may not know what should be done with the depiction of Lincoln, but it certainly requires some sort of action. Lincoln will always be one of the most consequential presidents of our history, but our society must be honest in interpreting his legacy along with that of African-Americans.

We took a quick ride on the Metro over to the L’Enfant Plaza stop to see the memorial for Dwight D. Eisenhower in front of the Department of Education. A statue of a young Eisenhower raised in Abilene, Kansas can be seen looking towards his future of being the General that commanded the D-Day invasion in Nazi-occupied France and the 34th President of the United States. All depictions of Eisenhower and his close allies during his time in the military and the Oval Office are beautifully done. The memorial shows the powerful presence that Eisenhower had in every role that he had. We made sure to also read through the speeches on the back of the marble pedestals, which included his famous farewell address where he warned of a military-industrial complex. During his presidency, Eisenhower sent in Federal troops to ensure the integration of schools in Little Rock, Arkansas. His largest project would be the Interstate Highway System, which has been the way that most Americans get around ever since. One can understand why Eisenhower is seen as a President of a higher echelon. We certainly did after viewing this memorial.

In response to the murder of George Floyd in 2020 and in support of calls for justice, Mayor Muriel Bowser of Washington D.C. supported the renaming of a section of 16th Street NW to Black Lives Matter Plaza. This section of the street is located at the Lafayette Square end of the White House. This action may have been a jab at the former president, who did not look favorably upon calls for police reform, but it was also a move to show that the city was listening and understood where people were coming from. The vast majority of protests were not composed of “thugs” and “looters” as charged by the media, but involved peaceful calls for ending police brutality and systemic racism. We were able to walk on the bright yellow letters that spelled Black Lives Matter. Though it has been over a year since most people were out in the streets of Washington protesting, the street still felt like a pilgrimage place for all Americans. Saying the words “Black Lives Matter” should not be treated as taboo and it is not claiming that other lives do not matter. BLM is all about the issue at hand, which is that African-Americans are disproportionately targeted by police, even when they are unarmed. Unwarranted killings and attacks by those meant to protect must end, and they must end now. As evidenced by our stop at this living memorial, the movement is here to stay and legislation must be passed in favor of fulfilling justice for all.

After seeing Black Lives Matter Plaza, we took a stroll to Lafayette Square just across from the White House. Just like BLM Plaza, this park is a social hub for tourists and residents alike. It was great to be able to walk upon this park to see the beauty of the White House up close. With the previous President, no one had been able to get very close for a while. Music, voices, laughter, footsteps, and the whirr of the sidewalk scooters filled the air. The beautiful weather made it an even better atmosphere. The one statue that took us off guard while enjoying the grounds was of Andrew Jackson. He is one of the most controversial presidents in American History. His fame originates from being a famous soldier in the wars against Native Americans. Later the “common man” became more popular as he was not an elitist running for president. Duels were something he took part in quite frequently as we have learned. Rebecca Grawl, an alumnae from Randolph-Macon Woman’s College and our tour guide for part of DC, told us that he actually had been shot at around 12 times and had 2 bullets lodged in him from previous duels. The worst part of his legacy was the Indian Removal Act of 1830 that led to the infamous Trail of Tears. Thousands of Natives were displaced, died of disease and exhaustion, and were forced out of their homes. Another one of his blunders was his dismantlement of the National Bank. It is ironic that the man who destroyed and hated the national currency of the United States resides on the twenty dollar bill. Another fact learned from Rebecca Grawl was that his equestrian statue is wrong. There is a rule for when there is an equestrian statue built for someone - the front two feet symbolize how the rider passed away. Two feet on the ground means that they died of natural causes, one foot off of the ground means they died due to an injury or disease from battle, and two feet off the ground means they were killed in battle. Jackson’s horse has two feet off of the ground, yet he was not killed in battle. Despite his title of being an American president and winning the popular vote three times for president, his legacy is troubling to say the least.

Our last stop for the day before heading to Shake Shack (YUM!) was the World War I Memorial. It is unfinished, but what is complete is absolutely stunning. A statue of John J. Pershing towers over the memorial representing his incredible military leadership of U.S. troops during The Great War. Beside his grand statue are maps engraved in gold, red, and blue on black granite with descriptions of each campaign. This is a place for reflection and education as many of those lost in the war may only have distant descendants living and those who visit are mostly coming to learn. The largest unfinished part of the memorial is right behind the small pool of water. A Soldier’s Journey is a large sculpture that follows a young male soldier through the “myth of a hero’s journey” from home, to the battlefront, and his return home where he is changed from the war. This part of the memorial will be complete in 2024 and we all are eager to return to see the finished product.

#Washington DC #Virginia #monument #black lives matter #Eisenhower #wwi #turning point #suffragist #lorton