#Out of their homes. Could ever make them into second class citizens.

[vamptastic]

Quite frankly everybody I have seen talk about this that does not actually live or has lived in the region has been a dumb callous asshole about it. Yes on 'both sides' and the first person to tell me saying that makes me either an evil zionist or a race traitor self hating jew antizionist is getting exploded with my mind. More than anything I just hope this peace lasts and that we can all realize that the vast vast majority of this discussion has been people trying to come up with a peaceful future

[buryustogether]

lilac - chapter 1

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: the father of one of your students is acting rather strangely - but when he smiles at you, you can’t help but forget your own name.

wc: 6k

warnings/tags: mentions of blood and violence, swearing, pining, stripping, strip club, sex workers, sexual fantasy, smut, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f! receiving), pet names, dom!miguel, single father!miguel, teacher!stripper!reader

author’s note: set in the universe where miguel replaces his father!variant with himself. ps - planning on turning this into a series/full fic.

New York

Earth - 9193

Since you could remember, the sky above the city, flecked with struggling stars and choking on itself over clouds of smog like cigarette smoke, had been deep purple. Some called it violet. Others named it plum. They were trying to make a prettier picture of an ugly reality, desperately ignoring the real world that held them captive. The purple held every soul in this city on a taut leash; each time someone was given a little slack, they wandered too far and discovered that, really, they hadn’t ever wanted to stray in the first place. Car bombings every week. Shootings. Back alley guttings. Innocence all but a foreign language to the citizens of New York.

You wished with every bit of you that one day you’d be able to escape and see the real color of the sky. Because deep down you knew, wanted to believe, wished and prayed… that it was not this shade of dark.

Your classroom was one of the only lit rooms here in Washington Elementary School, a beacon through dimly-lit hallways and the even dimmer streets outside your windows. A long, silent exhale managed to escape your lips as you continued to grade your third graders’ spelling tests, using a pink pen to correct their mistakes instead of a red one. You figured it was less harsh, more inviting to be open to learning from where they first failed. Your back was beginning to cramp from sitting in these damn little-kid chairs, your knees practically hugged to your chest due to how low to the floor you were. You would have been at your desk - hell, you would have been home getting ready for your second job right about now - had it not been for the young girl sitting across the table from you.

Gabriella O’Hara was, in your opinion, one of the most intelligent children you’d had the pleasure of teaching. She was quick and clever and friendly, not to mention, captain of her little soccer team funded by the taxes of PTA parents and the grumbling millionaires of the city. She was a frequent flier on your good-behavior list, and her name had made a home for itself on the principal’s honor roll long before she’d landed in your class.

She was a sweetheart, to say the least. She had been raised well by her father - who, uncharacteristically, had been a no show when it came time for pick up two hours ago.

Glancing up from your papers, you smiled gently at Gabriella as she scribbled along her homework page. “Briella, honey,” you said and leaned your chin in your hand. “Why don’t you check to see if your dad texted at all.”

Obediently, Gabriella dug her phone - a little flip-type, despite there being hundreds of smartphones out these days - and clicked the button to scroll through her recent texts. You watched as her face fell, thick brows and full lips pulling downward. “Nothing,” she said and placed her phone back. She looked to you, and it was obvious from the way she squirmed in her seat that her nervous stomach was starting to get the better of her. “I’m kind of scared, Miss Y/N. My daddy’s never late.”

Setting down your pink pen, you reached across the table and placed a hand on her small forearm. You’d stayed late before when parents were late for pick up, or they forgot, or they were too stoned out of their minds to bother, but you had to admit, you were rather worried, as well. Her father had never been late once, not even by five minutes. So two hours was, really, something to bat an eye at. “I’m sure everything’s fine,” you assured her and offered a gentle smile. “He probably just got held up at work. Maybe his phone died.” Your gaze flickered briefly to the windows behind her, strung across with colorful drawings and decorations, as a number of wailing police cars zipped past. When she started to follow your eyes, you added quickly, “I bet he’s on his way right now. Why don’t you finish up your homework so you can have the rest of the evening free when you get home.”

As she went back to her work, you found yourself tapping your fingernail against the table, your gaze stuck to an empty corner across the room. Miguel O’Hara was nothing but punctual, not just to everyday events like after-school pick up, but to every single thing he did. Soccer practice and games. Parent-teacher conferences. Hell, you wouldn’t put it past him to be an hour early to that fancy job of his at Alchemax every Monday through Friday. He was a perfectionist, signing every grade card check and permission slip with the neatest signature you’d ever seen. And it was a feat to marvel at, considering he was a single father.

Once, at a soccer practice, you’d heard from a few of the mothers who had nothing better to do than gossip that he’d moved himself and Gabriella over from Queens years ago when he was hired as a geneticist. Her mother had apparently left them when she was born, and he’d done everything from that moment on for the good of his little girl.

You weren’t afraid to admit to yourself he was, by far, the best-looking man you’d ever laid eyes on. Cheekbones placed high on his face, wide, broad shoulders, a sinewy frame that nearly challenged the doorframes he walked through. He was friendly, sure. But that was all you knew. You’d never been able to get close enough to know much else. An enigma to your curious mind, Miguel was nothing short of a puzzle that you desperately wanted to put together and see the bigger picture for yourself.

Shaking your head slightly, you forced yourself to wind back into the present. God, you needed to get a fucking grip. Crushing on the father of one of your students? Fucking pathetic. You had a boyfriend, for God’s sake.

You had just begun to grade your papers again, nearing the end of your stack, when there came the sounds of footsteps pounding against the tile floor of the hallway outside. They were jogging, approaching your room at an alarming rate. You stood, thinking it was the janitor having locked himself out of his closet again, and prepared to fetch your keys when a much different - yet no less welcome - figure filled the doorway.

“Hi, daddy,” said Gabriella as Miguel O’Hara entered your classroom.

You looked up, lips parted as you took him in. God, he was stunning. Somewhere around six feet with dark, somewhat-tamed hair that matched his tan skin and the thick brows sitting above his sloped eyes, he stood with a chest that rose and caved rapidly, like he’d run through the entire school searching for your room. Which he shouldn’t have - he knew the classroom his own daughter was in. Didn’t he?

“Oh, baby,” Miguel said and rounded the table so quickly you could have blinked and missed it. He hauled her up into his arms like she was nothing but a sack of flour and hugged her tight to his chest, almost like he was trying to mold the feeling of her to himself. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I lost track of time. I’m so sorry.” As if just realizing you were in the room, watching the pair with a small smile, he set his daughter back down and pulled her backpack from the back of her chair. “Pack up your things, okay? We’ll go home in just a minute.”

He approached you where you stood beside your desk loading your purse, and you swore your heart skipped a beat as he towered over you. Thick, corded muscles and a frame that made your stomach churn excitedly, he was the perfect picture of a fucking masterpiece. “Hi,” he said in a low tone, meant for you to hear and not Gabriella. “I’m so sorry for keeping you here. Time got away from me, and when I got here, the front doors were locked.” He took a breath. “Thank you. For watching her, I mean.”

Forcing your heart to calm its thundering in the confines of your chest, you grinned up at him brightly. “It’s not a problem, Mister O’Hara. I was happy to.” You decided to say nothing about the fact that it was unlike him to lose track of time. He wore a watch that you recognized as one of the latest, expensive versions that were magnetic, not electric, so it was incapable of stopping. How exactly did time get away from a man who revolved around it? “I’m sure she’s going to crash when you get home, anyway. She had a big day.”

Miguel blinked a few times and placed a hand on his hip, jutting it out slightly. Fuck, you wished he wouldn’t do that. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. We had a soccer scrimmage against one of the other classes today and she pulled the winning goal. Then there was the assembly over fire safety, but I’m sure you saw that in the handout last week.”

His lips remained parted for a long moment as his dark, umber gaze traveled across the stack of next week’s announcement handouts. “Right,” he said after a moment or two. “Right. Do, uh… do you think I could have another one of those? For this week. And maybe next week’s, too. Has that been sent home already?”

Giving him a rather crooked smile, you opened a drawer in your desk and produced the light green paper with last week’s announcements. Then you stacked it beneath next week’s and extended it toward his hulking frame. “Sorry if this seems a little… personal, Mister O’Hara,” you said as he took the papers, “but are you feeling alright? I really don’t mean any offense, but you seem a little… off.”

Tilting his head slightly, Miguel seemed to hesitate, fumbling with his answer in his head. He was frozen for a brief moment before your attentions were drawn across the classroom, where Gabriella zipped up her backpack and began to trudge toward the door. “I’m alright,” he said as he turned back to you. “I just, uh… I hit my head this morning. Been a little out of sorts, but I’ll be alright.”

“Daddy,” whined Gabriella under her breath. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, princesa,” he said and met her at your door. After slinging her backpack over his own shoulder and taking her hand, he glanced back at you. “Thank you again…” You watched as his eyes flickered to your name written across the whiteboard. “...Miss Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Mister O’Hara.” A few more words sat on your tongue, desperately trying to fight against your lips and jump out before the moment escaped. You tried to fight them down, but eventually they won the battle and spilled forth. “And - and you can just call me Y/N.”

Miguel stared at you for a moment, and you thought briefly that you had crossed a line you had been unable to see. Then he smiled gently, his full lips spreading into a gentle grin. He opened his mouth to say something in return before Gabriella pulled him out the door and into the hallway. You listened as their voices and the sounds of their footsteps grew quieter before silencing, then turned away and finished gathering your things.

On your way out of the building, while slipping through the front doors, you noticed the steel bolt lock keeping them shut after dark had been snapped entirely in two - as if someone had pulled on the door hard enough to break the lock on their own.

You figured it to have been a couple students who got their hands on their parents’ bolt cutters and made a mental note to ask the janitor for a replacement.

Once you got to your car and flipped the engine, you took a breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. In that breath, you willed yourself to switch into the alternate persona you took on after the school days, after the sun had set and the night really came alive from its demented, hungover state during the lightest hours. You pushed your students into the back of your mind, your plans for tomorrow and upcoming projects and due dates into the recesses of your brain. You shoved back thoughts of Miguel O’Hara and everything about how much you wanted to fucking reverse time so that he could smile at you like he had tonight all over again.

It was time to really work, now.

The Menagerie was a club on the northeast side of the Financial District, where the warehouse fires and muggings weren’t quite as common. Police forces cruised through here more often than, say, Harlem or Queens; the people who ran the city had to keep their most well-paid workers protected and thriving, right? Who else would steal from the hands of the poor and throw it all away the first chance they got?

Thrumming, thundering music like a pulse, like the club itself was alive with the blood of money and alcohol pumping through it, pounded from speakers and shook the walls in their very foundations. Neon lights like jilted, water-colored sunlight shone from corners along the ceilings, creating shadows like both nightmares and dreams along the walls and the faces of the patrons. The bar was overflowing. Security was chasing their own tails. The place was packed. Everyone who was anyone wanted to get into The Menagerie, because between its four walls and roof, you could be anyone you wanted to be.

It was law in this gilded cage that everyone was to wear a mask, its paint and diamonds and ribbons designed to depict animals. Security wore the full-bodied faces of lions. Bartenders and servers played dress-up with rimmed eye gaps as raccoons. Guests were allowed to pick a mask ranging from creatures that roamed the sky to those that crawled the earth. And the girls - the girls were exotic, majestic things that no one would mistake for anything else. They were tigresses and peacocks, they were arctic foxes and lynxes, any animal that had long since gone missing or extinct in this world of yours. Why go searching for the real thing, when they could come here and find the women?

The Menagerie was not a club. It was a cage, for animals so desperate to get out they had bent the bars in an attempt to escape.

Staring at yourself in the mirror of the dressing room, you gingerly affixed the golden mask to your face so that it would stay spread across your features while you danced and entertained. The hard, fake porcelain covered your forehead and nose, leaving your mouth free for the lips and tongues that would attempt to claim yours as their own. Orange and gold butterfly wings blossomed from the center of the mask, disguising you as the endangered insect everyone else seemed to have forgotten about; the Monarch. Fluttering and beautiful upon the wind, never easy to catch.

That was, unless they flew right into a spider’s web.

To your left, a few of the other girls were perfecting their makeup and adjusting their outfits - what little outfits you all had. Zara, known throughout the club as the Panther, caught your eye in the mirror and flashed you a sharp smile.

“You seem quiet tonight,” she said and ran a stick of gloss over her lips. She examined herself close in her handheld. “Something on your mind?”

A few of the other girls tried to inconspicuously listen in, able to sniff out gossip from miles away. Perhaps in here, you all were a little bit more animal than human, after all.

Forcing yourself to smile gently, you waved a ring-garnished hand in Zara’s direction and turned back to your reflection. You hardly recognized yourself like this, despite seeing this version of you all week long. You hoped you never did recognize it. “Oh, it’s nothing,” you brushed off.

Across the dressing room, Shawna, the Owl, tisked her tongue and hummed from deep in her throat. “You know you’re an awful liar, girl,” she said from where she sat scrolling through her phone. “We all noticed when you came in an hour later than you do. Something happen tonight?”

Well, fuck. Now everyone was waiting for your answer, waiting to see if it was worth listening into or not.

Pursing your lips in an attempt to show that it was no big deal, despite how much your stomach and your heart and your brain screamed that it wasn’t, you shrugged a shoulder and tried to avoid their gazes. “Nothing too big,” you replied and began to absentmindedly twist the ribbon keeping your mask in place. “Just… had a student stay a little later. Her dad lost track of time.”

“It couldn’t be that Alchemax hunk you’ve been telling us about.”

Fuck - you really learned to keep your cards closer to your chest.

Your silence must have been enough for them to connect the pieces, because a few of them tittered and giggled. A newer girl, who was still earning her way up to being on stage, piped up. “Have you ever talked to him?” she asked. “I mean, besides school-related stuff. Find out if he’s attached?”

“Absolutely not,” you forced out and stood to straighten out your costume. Your breasts were barely covered by the flimsy top and your ass hung out of the bottoms, both orange and black and white, like a monarch butterfly’s designs. Gold fishnet stockings lined your legs, leading down to a set of heels that had taken weeks to not tip over in. You were supposed to wear a cape, a gown-like train, but it was stepped on too much for you to bother with it. “He’s not there to cruise teachers, he’s just trying to help his kid through the third grade.”

“More than you could’ve asked from my dad,” Zara puffed.

God, you thought, yours, too. And your mother, while you were at it. They’d never come to meetings and games and plays like Miguel did. Hell, they hardly ever even remembered to pick you up from school on their good days.

Gabriella really had hit the father lottery.

Shawna shrugged her shoulders as she rose from her seat and picked up her own mask. “Even if that’s all he’s there for,” she said, then pulled the owl-designed porcelain over her face and fixed you with a stare through the eye holes, “doesn’t have to hold you back from at least trying.”

Her words rang in your ears as you carried on with your work that evening. They stuck with you as you danced for drooling men and women who oggled at you from behind their masks, as you ran your fingers down arms to chase bigger tips, as you followed a man who paid top dollar for a private dance.

Her words rattled like bells in your head as you mindlessly ground yourself against your customer, allowing yourself to get lost in your own imagination while you willed yourself to work. You shut your eyes behind your mask and let yourself fall into a dangerous little scenario you cooked up just for yourself.

You imagined not your boyfriend, who was out there in the city somewhere playing with his stupid fucking band to a crowd of three, not of any celebrity crush or model, but of Miguel O’Hara. You imagined him beneath you instead of some man whose breath smelled like expensive alcohol. You thought of him, and his hulking frame, and his powerful thighs you had found yourself staring at anytime he entered your line of sight.

Mind running away with this little fantasy of yours, you ground yourself a little harder against the lap beneath you, pushed your chest further against the chest parallel to yours. In your head, Miguel let out a huffy breath and rested those large hands of his on your hips, slowly but surely guiding your movements until you were riding his thigh. You tried to imagine, so intensely and desperately, how such an event would go.

He would gently, but firmly, help move your hips so that your exposed clit rubbed perfectly against the rough fabric of his jeans. You would keen and arch your back into him, hands running over his sinewy shoulders, as he hitched his leg and sent a powerful jolt of pleasure running through you and right to your core.

“You like that, pretty girl?” he would murmur in your ear, lips brushing along the shell before his tongue, warm and soft and pink and wet, licked against your lobe. “Ride, querida. ‘Til I say you’re done, and then I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”

You would grind your hips against his leg, moaning aloud and unabashedly when he tensed his corded muscle so that you’d have something to hump into. His hands, wide and spread, would wander along your bare back, memorizing the skin there like it was his and his alone, and he would dip his head to attach his lips to your nipple. He’d suck the nub into a hardened bud, then kiss and lick and nibble the skin around it until it was marred with love marks that would darken the following morning, and then he’d switch and give the other one the same kind of attention.

“Miguel,” you’d whimper in a certain kind of tone, and suddenly you’d be on the bed, pulled to the edge so that the globes of your ass hung off and when he kneeled he had access to your cunt bared for him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he would say as he pressed open-mouthed kisses up and up your inner thighs, getting closer to where you needed him most. “All for me and me alone. Isn’t that right, bebe?”

You wouldn’t be able to give him a clear answer at first, not when he would lick a long, wet stripe up the center of your folds and up to your clit. He would expertly find that little bundle of nerves, wrapping his lips around it and fondling with his tongue until you couldn’t do anything but sigh and moan and card your fingers through his dark hair to pull him closer. He would suck on your sweet spot for a while, alternating between licking stripes and adorning it with kisses, before he would slowly drag his long, thick fingers toward your sopping folds.

But he would stop just short.

“Say it,” he would tell you, dark, impenetrable gaze fixated on you from where he kneeled between your legs like a devout believer praying to his one and only love - his goddess. When you would whine and cry from the pausing of his ministrations, he would take his mouth, his wonderful, hot breath, away from your aching cunt. He would cock his head, allowing a bit of hair to fall across his face. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to, chica.”

“Miguel,” you would say again, because, really, that was all you could think of to say. “Miguel, please… need you, please…”

He would pull his fingers from your heat, gaze stony and immovable as a mountain standing tall in the midst of a storm. God, not even that could sway him. “Tell me,” he would demand again, this time in a low baritone that made your cunt clench around nothing because goddammit, even his fucking voice could send you into heat like a damn dog. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to. Now.”

“You,” would come the small, high-pitched answer, tumbling from your lips without another thought that did not involve him. “You, Miguel. Belongs to you. All for you, no one else.” You would babble, desperate to reach your climax before he let you fall back down that incline so, so cruelly, yet so, so deliciously. “Please, Miguel, need you. Need your fingers, anything. Just fuck me, please, handsome, fuck me ‘til I can’t remember my own name.”

He would tilt his head even further, like a predator toying with the prey he’d been chasing after for miles upon miles, before placing a gentle, feather-light kiss upon the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl,” he would say, then attack your clit with his full, thick lips, plunge two of his fingers into your heat, and begin to fuck you into oblivion.

The sound of his fingers constantly edging in and out of your dripping pussy, so wet you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs and your ass, would pull the most wonderful and pornographic-sounding moans and whimpers and whines of his name from your throat. Your own slick would coat his digits like honey, so sweet that for a moment he would stop his assault on your divine bundle of nerves and crane his neck to lick up a bit of it from where it dripped down your ass. The flat of his muscle would raise goosebumps along your skin as you cried out for him, one hand gripping his hair and the other buried into the sheets of the bed.

“Miguel,” you would cry and begin to rock your hips to meet the thrusts of his fingers, practically humping his face. He would take it like it was his last meal, returning to his sucking and licking and circling of your clit to send bolt after bolt of pleasure and heaven and everything else in between. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“That’s it,” he would murmur between licks through your soaked folds, feeling as your slick dripped down his wrist. “Say my name, bebe, tell them who’s making you feel this fucking good.”

He would angle his fingers then at just the right angle, his fingertips hitting that perfect, fucking perfect spot deep inside you. Stars would dance in your vision as your mouth would open in a silent scream, unable to get anything out but a tiny wail of heavenly pleasure. You would swear you’d never felt this goddamn good in your life, like you would gladly trade everything in the whole world just to stay here forever. His pace would pick up, aiming for that spot inside of you, and he’d lap at your cunt in a feverish craze, like it was the only thing that would save him from losing his mind.

All too soon, your thighs would begin to tremble and you would feel that beautiful, familiar coil tightening and winding deep within your soul. “Miguel,” you would cry out for the whole world to hear. “Miguel, m’close, I’m so close!”

“Come on, pretty bebe,” he would say between your thighs that would try to wrap around his head in a feeble attempt to pull him closer. “Cum f’me. I want it. All of it.”

His words would send a shockwave of pleasure through you, one that would white out your vision so intensely you would have thought he’d killed you and sent you on your way to the pearly white gates, and you’d have been okay with that. He continued to work you through your orgasm, his pace slowing but never stopping, his mouth pressing hot, wet kisses along your thighs, your hips, your naval.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl. Taking it so well, all for me. Look so pretty all laid out like this, like I could just eat you up. Would you like that, hmm? You want me to just devour you ‘til you’re left shaking and crying my name?”

“Miguel. Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“...My name’s not Miguel.”

Your eyes flashed open, suddenly brought back to the real world, pulled away from your fantasy. Through the holes in your monarch mask, you looked down to find your customer staring up at you with wide eyes and popping a boner put there by your mindless rocking against his hips. Feeling your cheeks flush, you slipped off of him and consciously tugged your outfit lower over your ass.

You pursed your lips, attempting to hide how mortified you were. “...That’s going to be another twenty bucks.”

It wasn’t until around one in the morning when you got home to your little apartment squished in a dilapidated little building wedged between two office towers because the landlord had refused to sell the place when they steamrolled the others ten years ago. The lights were off when you slipped inside, and a little piece of yourself inside wilted.

At once, you threw up a wall and dismissed that sinking feeling. Of course he wasn’t going to wait up for you. He’d had a show tonight, and he had another one tomorrow. He was tired.

Not nearly as fucking tired as you, though.

After wiping off your makeup and pulling off the fake little diamonds stuck on your temples, after changing into your pajamas and brushing your teeth, and after pinning a new drawing from one of your students on the fridge despite the fact you knew they’d never see it, you tiptoed back to the cramped little bedroom. You poked your head inside. Ferris, your boyfriend of six months, was spread out across the entire mattress, snoring gently into the fabric of the crumpled sheets.

You swallowed thick. You didn’t want to disturb him. He needed his rest.

You grabbed your phone charger from the wall and your pillow from beneath his arm, then slid on your socks back into the tiny living room. Plopping yourself down on the couch and plugging in your phone, you rolled yourself onto your side and stared at the dark screen. Willing something to happen. Something to come up, someone to reach out.

Because in reality, though you would rather throw yourself off the Brooklyn Bridge than admit it… you had never felt so alone.

[memories-of-ancients]

The Sad Fate of Roman War Veterans and How the Punic Wars Destroyed the Roman Middle Class

There's no question that Rome's victory over Carthage during the Punic Wars drastically changed the Roman Republic. Perhaps the most apparent change was Rome's ascendancy from a smaller power in Italy to the dominant power in the Mediterranean. In other words, a big fish in a small pond, to a big fish in a literal big pond. In the span of 120 years Roman territory expanded by vast amounts followed by further Roman expansionism resulting in Roman territory stretching from Spain and North Africa in the west to Greece and Anatolia in the east.

While the Punic Wars would transform Rome into an (e)mpire militarily, it also transformed Roman socio-economic structures. The early Roman Republic had no standing professional armies. Instead to wage war Rome used a militia system with citizen soldiers who were called up as needed. Since the state had no role in equipping soldiers, it was up to soldiers to equip themselves. Roman lower classes were exempt from military service since they could not afford weapons, armor, or supplies while the Roman upper class served as officers or elite cavalrymen. Thus, the responsibility for providing the rank and file infantry of the army fell to the Roman middle class. The Roman middle class consisted of some skilled artisans and small business owners, but by far most of the Roman middle class were farmers who owned small plots of land.

Up until the Punic Wars, this system worked fine as war was a small, short, local event that occurred within the confines of central and southern Italy. A Roman soldier didn't have far to travel from home as the enemy was within easy marching distance away. War was also a seasonal affair where the fighting occurred on the off season, then a truce was called so that soldiers could tend their farms during the growing season, with the war resuming once the crops were harvested. Now Roman soldiers were expected to be shipped to far off places such as Africa, Spain, Greece, Macedonia, and Anatolia. Whereas before wars were short seasonal affairs, now wars seemed to last forever with no recesses so that soldiers can tend their farms. Both the first and second Punic Wars nearly lasted two decades each. And war was everywhere as the Punic Wars involved multiple fronts all over the Mediterranean. No longer were Roman wars short, small, localized affairs. In the meantime while soldiers were away fighting, their fields were fallow and their businesses had fallen into disrepair. The Republic tried to mitigate the financial strains of the Punic Wars on its soldiers by paying a stipend. However it was not enough to prevent financial disaster. When the war ended and Rome's veterans returned home in triumph, they were broke and impoverished.

In order to make ends meet or pay off debt, most had to sell off their land to wealthy landholders, who consolidated that land into large estates and plantations. Many who sold their land became tenant farmers on the land that they had previously owned. Others moved to the city and tried to eek out a living as a laborer, however the price of labor was plummeting as Rome had taken tens of thousands of slaves during the Punic Wars and were taking tens of thousands more in various wars across the Mediterranean. War veterans found that there was no place for them in Roman society. Their farms and businesses were gone, and there was no need for their labor due to the sudden influx of slaves. Wealthy Roman elites had taken control of most of the Republic's land and wealth while a large percentage of the middle class were booted into poverty.

The result of everything I have previously described was a massive and ever growing rift between the rich and the poor as wealth became more and more concentrated at the top. This event became a hot button issue in Roman politics with Roman government being dominated between two unofficial political parties; the optimates, or those who supported the interests of the Roman elite, and the populares, or those who supported the interests of the common Roman. The clash between the optimates and populares led to increasing political instability resulting in the rise of demagogues and dictators. Civil war became common, and eventually the Roman Republic fell, giving rise to the Roman Empire.

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

Little Dove

I'm hoping to make more than one part as I am getting brain rot for Caracalla now as well as Geta. This is just to set up the tension. @byronking as promised

Part two

Life in the Roman court was tedious, surrounded by withered old men talking about politics that would never affect them, having to smile and fetch them some wine whenever they asked.

Your father started bringing you into court a few moons ago, he told you it was to satisfy your thirst for knowledge, yet after the first few meetings where all he did was introduce you widowers and wifeless men, you knew what you were really here for. You were to be essentially sold off to the highest bidder, whoever could grant your father the highest position in the Roman court.

Luckily for you your mind was sharp, where your brother's got to wield a sword you were able to wield your mind. The senators did not want a smart woman, they wanted a loyal servant whom they could use as a fuck pig to breed as many heirs as possible. Your intelligence threw off many men, you could see the way they screwed up their faces as you questioned their politics and their theories.

Your father was not happy with your antics, he could see what you were doing, even if you tried to play stupid about it at home, yet he had no proof to punish you with, all he could do was keep dragging you to court, forcing you to mingle or even on occasion be the cup bearer and pour wine for men who considered you a second class citizen.

Court was due again today, this was a particularly special one as the emperors would be in attendance as it was nearing an election for new senators. Your father had specificaly warned you today to be on your best behaviour, that just meant no arguing with anyone. An eye roll as his back was turned is all you responded with, you never sought out the arguments, it was the senators fault for probing you for your opinions.

As ever it was a dull affair, once again as the wine bearer you had to walk around the table filling the cups of lecherous old men that probably couldn't satisfy you even if they tried. You held a smile on you face and kept quiet as you felt your father's gaze on you, waiting for the Emperors to finally arrive.

You were stood quietly in the corner, wine jug in hand when the doors swung open, watching the two figures walk forth. This was the first time you had been this close to the Emperors, you had seen them at the games in their podium but this was different, you would pour them wine and be within touching distance, it made you nervous, scared that you would overfill their cups and be target to their wrath.

The twin emperors took their seats at the head of the table, the tension between them was thick, you could sense that neither wanted the other one there, resenting that they had to share their title. Geta was tall and imposing, clearly trying the be the leader of the two of them, you knew many a girl back home who had dreams about him, fantasies of being his wife. Yet your gaze lingered elsewhere.

The smaller of the two is where your gaze lied, upon Caracalla. He was less imposing yet something drew your gaze to him, it was like magnetism, you could not look away. Caracalla sat there next to his brother, looking no less regal in his golden attire, what did make you smile was the monkey upon his shoulder ruffling up his hair. It was a cute display and the confidence it took to sit there with a monkey making you look disheveled was something else entirely.

Time came once again for you to deploy wine for the decrepit senators sat before you, smiling your best as you did so, trying to ignore the hands that would find the small of your back as you bent forward to pour the wine, giggling at them as if it was all a joke, daring not to upset your father in front of the emperors now.

The walk around the table took some time, you were on your third pitcher of wine by now and you had not even reached the head of the table. You reached for your final pitcher as you approached the emperors, steeling yourself with a deep breath and approaching them cautiouly. Geta's goblet was the first to be filled, he barely acknowledged you, moving himself away from you as you poured his wine so he could carry on speaking down the table.

Next was Caracalla's, he had been mostly quiet this evening for some reason, little did you know it was because he had been watching you in the corner, chuckling at every eye roll you made, hearing the senators speak. You bent forth to fill his glass when the monkey upon his shoulder jumped onto your back. You gasped slightly before giggling as she started playing with your hair, picking it up and placing your long locks over her own head pretending to be you.

"You'll have to excuse Dundus my lady, she has always been a cheeky one" Caracalla spoke softly to you, enjoying the joyous display and the smile upon your face as Dundus climbed over your shoulders. You lifted your hand to hold the monkeys own and guided her back to Caracalla with a genuine grin plastered over your face.

"Not to worry my emperor, it is a fine delight from this boring affair" Your statement caught his attention, as did your eye roll that you did not mean to do, it had been a boring affair but never had a woman noticed or cared to comment as such. He held his hand out and took one of your own in his heavy jewelled hands, cradling it as he spoke to you. "And what might your name be my little dove" he spoke as he looked you up and down, the name little dove making your heart flutter and almost rendering you speechless as you looked at him, taking in his handsome form, trying not to be affected by his smile.

This interaction caused you to blush somewhat, unable to refuse eye contact with the emperor you could not hide it from him. "My name is Y/N, your majesty" you bowed slightly before him, custom normally dictated for a full curtsey however it would be impossible with your hand still held in his own, feeling it would be more offensive to remove your hand without permission.

"Well Y/N, you are a delightful change from the bore of these trivial affairs, I hope I can see more of you soon to keep me entertained" Caracalla placed a light kiss on your hand before letting you go. You could still feel the smirk against your skin as you walked away from him, the tingle of his lips lingering.

The court moved on without much incident after that, yet you both kept steeling shy glaces at one another throughout the session. Your father had noticed this, the sly man that he was and kept the information in the back of his mind, especially after he saw Caracalla speak privately to one of his guards, watching how his eyes were on you for the entire exchange. He knew something was afoot and would use it to further his favour in the senate.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Reign down on me - Part 5

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, violent scenes

-🐺-

You fought back a sneeze, eyes going teary as your body pathetically fought the sand that had risen and invaded the wind. Suddenly you were finding yourself wishing for the ridiculous glasses that Ghost and the rest of the boys had been wearing earlier. Though you recognised that even if you had some of those monstrosities, it’d do you no good by that point. There was barely enough light to see by, the little half moon above was winking down and barely casting much of a glow over the night sky. 

Price had dragged you all into a briefing room earlier that day and gave you all the run down on a new target, Razin, a man suspected of manufacturing bombs for the militia you were after. From there you were shown pictures of him, raising your brows at his scrawny features, and given a little intel about the town you were now stalking through. Even at the time you’d quietly groaned at the mention of the little desert town, you hated having to put up with the sand getting caught in your fur and eyes, not to mention how it made it so much more difficult to scent things as well. 

The only benefit of the place was that the houses were small and usually that meant that there wouldn't be very much to sweep. That is if it weren’t built over a tunnel or extensive secret basement, which Price was heavily theorising could be a possibility. 

From what you’d been shown it was only supposed to be two floors tall, with a roof that allowed for people to be positioned on top of it, set against the backdrop of the rocky hills beyond. It was close to the outskirts of town but still enclosed by other houses, positioned on the side that crept nearest to the small river that snaked nearby before disappearing into the rocky outcrops beyond. It would’ve been a sweet little place if it weren’t owned by the chef boyardee of bombs. 

“Y’good, Pup?” Ghost murmured through the comms.

You looked over at the spot you knew he was positioned at, secreted away on the balcony to the right of you with his rifle, and huffed out a breath. Define ‘good’, you thought. It’d been a while since you’d been so far away from him. Now that you’d been hiding out by the open window for a few hours at least, you’d been blasted with sand and bored to death enough to make you want to cling desperately onto your handler’s leg and beg him to go home. 

“Affirmative,” you whispered back instead.

“Good. We’ve got movement on the road outside of town - you two might be set to move soon, so get ready.”

“Yes, Sir,” you answered. 

You rolled your tired shoulders and looked over at Soap, noting that his dark eyes were still flitting from the target location and to you, watching carefully like a fretful horse. He still looked barely more comfortable left alone with you than when you first arrived. The man had been none too pleased when Ghost explained his plan on arrival, frowning when he was told about your little team up. Couldn’t be helped when Soap was the best equipped to deal with explosives and someone had to play sniper and keep watch.

Of course Soap had continued to train with you in the week leading up to then, slowly getting better at not flinching whenever you got close to him. However he’d never had to be around you without Ghost as a buffer yet. Now that it was just you both in the small room across from the house, he was the most tense that you’d ever seen him. Not that he was trying to be obvious about it, he clearly felt he was being sly with his darting looks and slow sighs. For that you gave him some slack. 

“I’m thinking the window on the right side is the best entry point for me,” you said, looking meaningfully across at him. “I can sweep the first floor while you go around to the side door and I can make sure it's unlocked for you.”

“You wanna go in alone?” Soap questioned, narrowing his eyes at the house.

“It’s what war dogs are for,” you shrugged. “No point waiting for you to come in with me, I can get in and check the place out quietly before you come clomping in.”

“I don’t clomp,” Soap snorted, giving you a withering look. 

“Sure, tell that to all your heavy gear and your big boots. Trust me, if I go in and get a feel for the place then I can tell who or what we need to watch out for before we go sniffing out the target.”

“And you say ‘What’ meaning?” he questioned.

“Other hybrids, bombs, guns…etcetera,” you listed, shifting your sights to the window you’d pointed out.  

“You can tell all that just from going in and getting a whiff of the front room?” he asked dryly. 

“Well I can’t give exact information, but I can give a good guess. It’s just like when we’ve been training, if you let me get ahead of you then I can check the place out first and let you know what you’re up against. That’s how I keep myself useful.” 

“Ghost, you good with that?” Soap asked doubtfully, frowning over at the balcony from the corners of your vision. 

“The house has been quiet enough,” Ghost noted. “If Pup wants to go in first, I trust their judgement.”

“Pup’s way it is then,” Soap grunted, almost absolving himself of anything that might happen. “I’ll wait for you to open the door, furball.”

You nodded your head, forcing down your instinct to growl, keeping your focus on the window instead. You’d show him who was a fucking furball. 

This was it. It wasn’t lost on you that this job would prove to the team that you could be an asset - not just a stupid wolf that ploughed through training exercises. Someone that could be used as an effective tool if given the chance.

This was your chance. You anxiously ran your hands down your vest, breathing in measured lungfuls of air while you took stock of your inventory and grounded yourself. There were three knives held securely in the right side, new ones that Ghost had gotten for you ahead of the mission, and a small first aid kit and canteen stashed in the main pockets on your left. You were wearing your gloves, and your ear protection was on and looped round your ears, the rubber circlets had thankfully stopped feeling as aggravating against your fur now that they’d been on for a few hours. They always pressed up so uncomfortably against your helmet, though it was always better to face a little discomfort than being killed by a shot you might’ve avoided. 

“The car’s approaching the building, this is it.”

The old guard troupe would be coming out and a new one would be entering, however as the intelligence operatives had noted in their previous findings, the 2am group would never get to their posts on time. They'd opt instead to routinely drink and talk shit on the roof, presumably thinking that Eugene wouldn’t know about it, and would stick around for roughly a half hour before sluggishly making their way to where they should be - giving you and Soap time to get in, search for your target and hopefully get out before anyone was any the wiser. 

You heard the engine grumbling through the winding streets long before it reached the other side of the house, but as soon as the headlights illuminated the street over, they cut almost instantly with the noise. Doors slammed and snide voices carried out into the night, mingling together in two distinct groups, one set growly and tired and the others playful and light. It was impossible to make out exactly what they were saying, but you were sure that the group leaving were probably being very obvious about how happy they were to be getting the fuck out. 

“G’on, Pup,” Ghost murmured. “Make me proud.”

You shook your head and paid no more mind to the group on the other side, you were going to move forward out of view of them anyway. With Ghost’s encouragement strengthening your confidence, you were eager to press on. You nodded your head toward Soap as a ‘see you in there’ gesture and jumped out the window, stealing your way through the street and into the next window ahead. It was easy for you to spring up, tilting your tail a little to the left so that it wouldn’t smack against the frame.

As soon as you were inside you spotted the dancing shadows of the men toward the front of the building and found a decent hiding spot behind a side wall to wait in so that the new group of guards could pass by you. Your tail swished idly as you waited for them to come in and your ears twitched, listening out and rotating like little satellites as you took in your surroundings. The livingroom and kitchen were all one room, but there was a hallway to the bottom left that would allow entry into the house and up to the stairs beyond. 

The guard opened the door before long, letting the cool air breathe a sigh into the house, and luckily they trudged up the stairs in short order. Their steps were muffled and soft, attempting to be light so that their boss wouldn’t be alerted. You heard them all the same. Your ears could pick up so much more than any of theirs could, which means you knew the exact moment you were safe to launch yourself to the other side of the room and get the door for Soap. He raised his brows at you when you made a sweeping motion with your hand to welcome him in. 

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” he whispered. “How many guests we got?”

“We got about six men tonight I think. No hybrids - you’ll be glad to know,” you said just as quietly, grinning when you caught his guilty wince. “Can smell the explosives, think Price was right on his basement theory, they don’t seem like they’re upstairs.”

“Y’hear that Ghost?” Soap said, purposefully looking away from you. 

“Copy. I’ll keep an eye on the guards, you two track down that sly bastard,” Ghost answered, growly voice tickling your ears.

“Lead the way the way then, Pup.”

You nodded and lifted your head in the air, getting a good feel for the scent trail then turned toward the hall. The plastics clung at your nose and tugged you toward the stairs, but you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you needed to get below. Every instinct was telling you that you needed to go there, that someone’s steps had passed over them, but they hadn’t ascended. 

A soft growl tore itself from you. You needed to get closer to the source. You knelt down and took a tentative sniff of the floor, the steps creaked lowly like a clearing throat as you shifted your weight onto them. Bingo.

“The fuck are you doin’?” Soap hissed. 

You tilted your head up at him and smiled sweetly. 

“The nose knows,” you shrugged. 

“What’re you on about?”

Soap’s eyes were so wide you thought he might explode. You would’ve giggled if you weren’t conscious of how much noise you’d made already. No, it was important to try to be as quiet as possible in those next few seconds. 

You hooked your fingers onto the first step and pulled up, huffing out a breath as they turned out to be heavier than expected. Though in seconds the first three steps came away and rose up, revealing a concealed stairway below - leading down to the dingy basement. The smell continued through the shadows, air thick with that heavy plastic smell. 

“Fuck me,” Soap breathed. “You can smell secret entrances as well?”

“Oh yeah, they always smell fishy,” you smirked. 

“Jesus. Ghost’s humour is rubbin’ off on you,'' he groaned.

He had a point. Normally you weren’t one for pointless chatter, but you were in your element that day and after training so much with your new team you felt more relaxed than usual. Of course you weren’t operating under the assumption that Soap would be diving in front of bullets for you, but at the very least he had your back. 

“We’re heading underground, Ghost. See ya on the other side,” Soap noted, patting you on the shoulder just like Ghost normally would. 

You felt your tail give a slight swish against the backs of your legs. 

“Copy that, Sergeant,” Ghost confirmed.

Ghost was quiet compared to usual, focused on his targets you figured. It spurred you on to focus too. You quietly slipped forward down the stairway, nose raised in the air as you proceeded. Soap followed at your rear, quietly closing the stairway and bathing you both in almost pitch darkness. There was only a little light to see by, its source hidden round the corner. Things smelled and sounded clear, but nonetheless you braced, ready to duck and dive if you needed to. 

When you turned the corner however, there was no need for any quick exits. There was just another hallway with some candles stuck in hastily hammered in holders, the flames lazily flickering as the stale air kept them standing bolt upright. You frowned and pressed ahead, boots softly pressing into the runner carpets until you almost hit a chain, only just avoiding it as you’d caught the shine of it in the corner of your eye. 

You stuck a hand out to your left and kept Soap behind you, narrowing your eyes so that he’d know to be quiet. He caught on fast, not saying a word as you took another careful sniff around the air. Among the scent of burning wicks and aged dust there was something else, something earthy. There was a low droning sound as well now that you focused, a bassy groan that drifted through the walls.   

Hybrid, you mouthed. Attack dog. 

Soap’s eyes narrowed and he raised the pistol he’d unholstered from his side, the silencer reaching out into the hallway and past your body. You stepped off to the right and allowed him to push forward and round the corner, watching with dull interest as he shot the wolf man that had been resting by the next candle. After a soft pop sounded the man slumped off to the side and left a smear of crimson as he went, eventually thudding to the ground and rattling the chain once he reached the floor. 

“That’ll be the alarm system then,” you whispered. 

“Just him? There’s not anymore?” Soap asked, looking round warily for other signs of life. 

“Not that I can detect,” you said carefully, taking another cautious breath of air. “He’s in pretty bad shape though, probably been kept chained down here a while. Can’t imagine Razin would want the hassle of having to get by more than one hungry mouth on the way in.”

“Aye…probably not,” Soap said, lingering doubt heavy on his voice.

You turned and smiled to yourself, again wondering why the Sergeant was so afraid of your kind. He had a gun, two guns in fact - one strapped to his back. You and yours only had teeth and claws to defend yourself with. Every fight you went into was one that tipped your scales ever closer to death, yet he walked around sometimes like he was standing with the grim reaper himself when he found himself with you. 

There was no point getting caught up over it though. You advanced forward again and rounded another corner, this time greeted by muffled voices and sounds of implements working away. You getting closer. You were overwhelmed by the scent of a new person, baring your teeth at the thick coal like scent. It flooded your system and set your vision alight, peripherals shrinking as your wolf instincts came rushing forward. You were ready to attack, ears pinned back and tail sinking low. 

“Pick somethin’ up?” Soap murmured, voice sounding so loud in your sensitive ears you wanted to snarl at him. 

However, knowing your target was so close by, you silently turned instead and let Soap get a good look at your face. He seemed to visibly pale when his eyes met yours, but quickly remembered himself, raising his gun and holding his position behind you. Had you been more lucid, you’d have congratulated him for not flying off like a scared bird. 

However, you walked forward instead, sticking close to the walls and keeping yourself on high alert. It wasn’t long until you were greeted with the sight of a new entryway and the drowning scent of explosive materials. Your entire head was on fire, every little instinct screamed danger, but you followed your training and ignored the rising need to get away.You peered around instead, widening your eyes as you saw Razin right in front of you. He was working away with his back turned, too distracted by whoever he was speaking to on his tablet to be able to pay any attention to either of you. 

Soap slunk next to you and looked around, mouth set in a grim line as he sized up the target. All around him, littering his workshop were multiple prototypes, tons of different kinds of bombs that Soap would know far more about than you. The only thing you knew for sure was that you’d have to be quiet, take down the target as fast as possible - that was the only way to know none of them would go off. 

Soap gently patted your head to get your attention. Wait, he mouthed. 

You wanted to snap at him, mouth watering in anticipation of a bite, eyes narrowing as his hand drew close to your throat. However you wrenched yourself away from him and breathed out as quietly as you could, anxiously glancing between Soap and Razin as you waited for your ok.

It took every ounce of self control just to stand there. Soap didn’t look like he was in any rush to let you move. He listened to the conversation instead, jaw set and head tilted while he kept you suspended in the shadows, right on the precipice of an attack. You just wanted to go, needed to fly through the room and tear at something. 

The conversation between Razin and the deep voiced stranger on the ipad drew to a close before you lost it, ending with Razin cursing before swatting at the tablet and sending it flying. You followed the movement with your eyes and turned to Soap, almost barking with glee when he tightly nodded and gave you the go ahead to go capture your target. 

You had no clue what curses Razin was shouting when you landed on top of him, but you could hazard a guess that they were some of the worst profanities he could muster. His face scrunched in fury and his whole body flailed as he fought to get you off of him, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake you off. 

Your main priority was ensuring his hands couldn’t reach for anything and set something off, so as you secured yourself over him, you bit harshly into one of his arms and growled when he swatted at you with his other hand. Before he could do any real damage Soap came to your aid and wrenched Razin’s free hand behind his back, securing it in a cuff before taking the other arm from you and settling the other cuff round that one. 

“Release,” Soap commanded, voice wavering as he caught your eyes.

Your vision was almost completely darkened, indicating to the last sane shred of you that you’d gone nearly completely feral. Every limb in your body shook and your back felt like a lightning rod as the familiar instinctual tremble worked its way through you. Maddox’s voice rattled in your ear, the ghost of him ever present when you found yourself losing to the wolf. You are an attack dog, you will bite, you will kill, this is the only way to survive. Bite mutt, kill! Do what you’re meant for, dog!

“Pup,” Soap said carefully, trying to maintain eye contact. “You good?”

You growled in response, watching with displeasure as Razin continued to struggle beneath Soap. You wanted to put a stop to it. Not part of the mission, you reminded yourself, internally struggling with the angry beast inside your head. Need this one alive. 

“Pup,” Soap said again, voice a firm roar. 

“Yes,” you snarled, shaking your head and backing off. “M’fine. Lets go.”

Kill, mutt! 

You shook your head again, walking forward and dispersing any last traces of Maddox, fighting to regain control of yourself. Normally you weren’t so prone to falling back so badly on the wolf instincts, as much as you often did use them to get in the right headspace you were usually still in control of yourself.

Now you felt untethered. It felt as though any threat to you and the team had to be treated with the utmost hostility. And Razin was a threat. It had you frowning back at Soap, watching as he struggled to force Razin forward while his feet tried to plant against the floor. You growled when Soap was knocked back by him. 

Protect. Mine. Kill threat. 

You almost stopped in your tracks when the thought hit you. For once it wasn’t Maddox’s voice spurring you and forcing you to do terrible things, this wasn’t any outside voice at all. The low growl that rushed through your head like a chemical injection was your own. Normally your instincts kicked in for self preservation,your body doing whatever it needed to in order to get through a job alive. Now they were directed at Soap, more specifically, towards ending the struggling and kicking from the man he was holding. 

“I’m going on ahead,” you said, voice pitching up as you rushed forward. 

If you spent anymore time looking over at Razin and his flailing feet you were going to kill him. It wasn’t a speculation, it was a certainty. One that had you wide eyed and running terrified down the hall. 

You reached the top of the stairs in record time, pausing at the closed exit to listen out for anyone that might be coming down on the steps above. 

“Ghost, we’ve secured the target. Are we good to exfil?” you rasped, hearing Soap cursing as he manoeuvred the hallways a lot slower than you did.

“The men are finishing the last of their drinks, one of them went down already. You’ll need to take him out and get out of there as fast and quiet as you can,” Ghost supplied, voice level as usual.

“I can manage that. Soap, I’ll go find Razin’s buddy. You good to get him out?” you asked, looking back into the darkness for your answer. 

“I’m almost through the hall, fashioned a little gag for the bastard so I reckon we’ll be good on the staying ‘quiet’ part. Go ahead, Pup, clear to move,” Soap answered, voice echoing through the halls and on your comms. 

“Alright then.”

-🐺-

You were shaking terribly by the time you made it back to transport. Razin was properly secured now, hooded and gagged before being taken away to another section of the hold with an armed guard. He was safely out of view from your stabbing glare. Meanwhile Ghost and Soap ushered you toward the opposite corner, serious looks in both their eyes as they exchanged low whispers. 

Your head was filled with cloying fog. All you wanted to do, for whatever reason, was to get close to Soap, but you feared him retaliating too much to be able to do it. You wanted to make sure he was alright, but even you weren’t sure why you were so obsessed about it. It was Soap afterall, he was a highly trained SAS soldier, he was fine. 

Not to mention, when he’d seen your blood covered face come into view behind him in the safehouse, he’d almost screamed bloody murder. The last thing he needed was you to go barreling up to him. You swore you could hear his heart thumping even when you stood just across from him, it beat so loudly. It hadn’t eased much since then and getting to the plane either.

Mine. Safe? Hurt. 

Your chest held a small flame, body keeping it roaring as you anxiously wanted to check Soap over. You could smell his blood, could smell the copper tang that was corrupting the soft sage of his usual scent. It burned at your nose and caused you to whine when you got close. Ghost’s hand prevented you from getting nearer. 

“Pup,” Ghost said softly. “Pup, can you look at me?”

You tore your eyes away from Soap and dutifully looked up at Ghost. His face was still covered by his balaclava and his eyes were darkened from the black paint. You huffed as you focused on his pupils, taking in the spiced citrus and the sound of his infectiously steady pulse. 

Your panting breaths eased. 

“You did good, Pup. Kept Soap safe and took down Razin and got that guard. You did a very good job,�� Ghost rumbled, petting between your ears as he normally did. “Can you come sit down for me?”

You nodded, feeling almost in a trance as you complied with his request. You sat on the solid bench next to your Lieutenant, stopping to anxiously look back at Soap, until Ghost firmly gripped your jaw and tilted your head back to him. You whined. 

“Shh, Pup. Shhh. Just give me your attention for a sec, ok?”

You gave him a little growl, but as soon as the look in his eyes hardened, you hushed up immediately. Have to be good for him, you thought to yourself. You closed your eyes for a second, and continued to work on your breathing, calming down with each evening heartbeat. Ghost watched you the entire time, never letting his gaze wander even for a second. 

“Good, Pup,” Ghost praised after a moment, making sure to pet your back and over your ears. “That’s my good Pup, listening so well. Now…Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

You froze at his question. Biting your lip when you knew he wasn’t going to let you get away with a lie. 

“Soap’s bleeding,” you said simply, finally letting your eyes drop down to the floor. “Want to know he’s ok.”

Ghost tipped your chin back up with his hands. You could see his eyebrows were raised under the mask. You desperately wanted to look away again, but Ghost wouldn’t allow it. Soap snorted from behind your shoulder, he was still standing away from you both. His nervous steps across the metal were like their own heartbeat in your ears.  

“I’m fine. The fucker bashed my nose in while he was strugglin’,” Soap explained. “A wee bit blood is nothing to get so upset over.”

You whined. You already knew logically that he was fine. It wasn’t your logical mind that was worked up though. Otherwise you’d be able to actually explain the problem to Ghost. However, as it was, you had no idea what the problem really was. All you knew was that Soap had been bleeding and you were absolutely beside yourself with worry over it. 

Ghost seemed to have an idea though. He nodded to himself and petted your head for good measure, giving you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder before he went to his pack. You watched his movements, cataloguing every step he took, trying to work out what he was doing. Sometimes when you got too worked up you’d get sent for a sleep, injected with a cocktail of drugs to force some calm into you.

Was Ghost going to knock you out?

You watched carefully as he pulled what looked like a bottle of water and a cloth from his bag instead. He untwisted the cap and carefully wetted the cloth, not letting too much liquid flood the material before he turned back to you. 

“Stay still for me, darlin’. Keep your mouth closed,” he ordered.

You frowned, not sure what he was about to do until he began wiping at your face, smoothing the cloth over your skin until it turned red with the other men’s blood. He was cleaning you. The realisation had you untensing yourself and for a few moments longer you sat still and let Ghost work his magic until your face felt clean and light. All the grime was gone, your skin felt a little raw, but still it was better than before. 

“Soap, you trust me don’t you?” Ghost said, putting the bottle down and looking over your shoulder.

The pacing behind you stopped. 

“Not when you bring it up like that,” Soap retorted. 

Ghost rolled his eyes.

“Come sit down.”

“Why?” Soap asked suspiciously. 

“Just come.”

It took a second, but soon Soap complied, coming to rest beside Ghost. Ghost wasn’t someone to argue with, even to other humans. You saw Soap now, pupils dilating so quickly that you could feel your eyes actively adjusting to shut out light. Oh no, not again, you thought. You were losing yourself to instinct, wanting to surge forward and get closer - wrap yourself around him like a scarf. You looked away, trying to lessen his horror (and yours) as he shifted back a bit to get some distance. 

“Soap, you’re not gonna like this…but please trust me,” Ghost said, bringing you close to his armoured chest. “I need to ask you to do something.”

You gratefully wrapped yourself round him, only barely able to get your arms fully round his vest so that you could hug into the man like he was your only source of warmth. It helped. Fully shutting your eyes against Ghost’s black tac gear and trying to distract yourself from the man next to him was the next best thing to whatever your instincts were screaming at you to do. 

“Spit it out,” Soap said through gritted teeth. 

“I need you to take Pup and let them…well essentially give you a hug,” he said awkwardly, clearly unsure of how to ask.

Soap snorted out a dark laugh and you were sure if you looked up you’d see a disgusted expression. 

“I don’t think nows the time for having a fucking laugh, LT.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I thought you were in any danger,” Ghost said, voice taking on an edge as his body stiffened under you. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important either, I don’t want to hurt you. You know that.”

“Ghost, look at their fuckin’ eyes, I don’t see why-”

Soap stopped before he could finish, huffing through his sentence like he’d been asked to diffuse a bomb with five seconds on the clock. Your ears flicked as you picked up a new sound filling the space, something soft and forlorn that rattled through you.

Your own sobs, you eventually realised.

You were losing yourself again, you hadn’t even realised you'd started crying. It became more than evident as the hot tears drifted down your cheeks.

“Pup, it’s ok,” Ghost said gently, stroking your ears. “Shh, you’re ok. Why’re you cryin’?”

You shook your head, head feeling dizzier than if you’d spun in an endless circle. Words were too much. They were too human.

“Ey?” Ghost continued, smoothing his hand over your back. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head again. Your body lurching with a growing dread. 

“If I-” Soap began, freeing on his words as he tried to figure out what to say. “If I take Pup…will it help…this?”

Ghost took a pause, trying to coax you from where you were squishing your face under his chin. 

“I reckon so,” Ghost said. 

Soap sighed, pushing you to cry harder. The only rational part left of you couldn’t be sure of why his reticence was so upsetting to you, but then again you weren’t even sure what had caused any of the upset in the first place. So many men had been hurt while you were with them, and most of the time you couldn't give a shit - the rest of the time you were happy even to watch them bleed or sometimes cry through some of the worst injuries. Now Soap had a bit of a nosebleed and you were practically choking as if you couldn’t take on air anymore. 

You couldn’t make sense of it. 

You especially couldn’t make sense of it when Soap switched places with Ghost and sat at your back, ending your little crying fit when he took you from your handler and held you to his front. Your sobs quietly retreated into your throat and your tears turned off like a tap had been yanked. Instead of breaking down, you focused on burrowing into his chest. Your body completely calming when you picked out the sound of his heartbeat and got closer to the fresh scent of sage, nuzzling your nose just shy of his collarbones. 

“What the hell…?” Soap breathed, body tensing as you finished getting comfortable. 

It took a little moment until he was able to slowly relax his muscles. His arms came first, settling around you, and then his thighs slowly dipped down. His pulse was the last to die down, beating insistently against your ears like a timpani drum before it gently became more of a wing beat.

You sighed contentedly and felt yourself getting very tired, closing your eyes just before your vision fully faded back into focus again. 

“You have no idea how much you’ve just helped,” Ghost said gratefully, voice sounding distant as you continued to float into what felt like a different plane of existence. 

“Are you gonna tell me how I helped?” Soap asked, voice sounding insistent as his heartbeat picked up again. “You tellin’ me that whenever one of us gets hurt that pup’s gonna need a bloody emotional support buddy to get through it?”

Ghost laughed throatily.

“Not likely,” he assured, leaning forward and stroking your back. “Learnt about this way back in training, but I’ve never seen it so strong so quickly - Pup’s pack bonded to us, but its not a secure bond right now. I’m guessing they got upset because they thought you being hurt and keeping your distance was like a rejection. Basically like you saying that they don’t need to be concerned about you getting hurt because you’re not part of the pack.”

“Well how was I supposed to kn-”

“You weren’t,” Ghost soothed, calming Soap down before you could properly stir again.

You hummed against Soap’s chest and frowned at his quickening heartbeat, attempting to slow it with a gentle nuzzle. Though it didn’t do much to calm him, so you soon stopped and found that worked better instead.

It was only when you went still that they resumed talking again.

“So what does pack bonding mean?” Soap asked, sounding unsure as he shifted around you. “Pup doesn’t even know that much about me and now we’re in this- a pack.”

Ghost chuckled at that, the material of his clothing loudly buzzing at your ears as he shook. 

“It’s not like a forced marriage Johnny, you don’t have to sound so frightened, it mostly just means their instincts’ll tell em’ to keep us safe. It’s probably down to all the protection work Price has had them doing while we’ve been in the beginning stages. Pup’s had a rough life, no ones ever cared for em’ like we have, even in the short time that’s been. Even when you’ve been handling Pup like a feinting nun, you’ve probably been nicer than most people they’ve met.” 

“Fuck you, feintin’ nun,” Soap spat, laughing despite himself. “You told me the other day I was doin’ well!”

“You have been doing well. Better than I thought you would,” Ghost said softly, a smile weaving its way through his voice. 

“Well enough to be in a pack apparently,” Soap huffed, absentmindedly running his hand over your back. 

You practically purred in pleasure at that, letting out a low happy sound in your throat. Soap startled, but still held onto you, hand freezing in place however. He clearly didn’t understand that the noise you were making was supposed to be something nice. 

“Why’re they growling at me?” Soap squawked. “What’d I do?”

“Relax! That’s not growling, not per se,” Ghost laughed, “It’s a good growl. Mean’s they’re happy. Untwist your knickers, you don’t wanna work Pup up again.”

“Fuckin hell…pack bonding…happy growls. What’s next? My poor heart could’ve done with a warning before having to hunt a terrorist and deal with all this,” Soap huffed. “And you say all this is because we’re nice? How bad has a life gotta be for a hybrid to wanna hug me? How’s this even helping?”

“It’s not about the hug itself. Being close like that is just letting them hear your heartbeat and get your scent. Pup knows you’re ok because you feel and smell healthy - that’s all they needed. It doesn’t help that the Branhaven arseholes condition them to surrender to their instincts on the field. It’s good when it comes to hunting people down, doesn’t help so much when they get all panicky because one of their own’s been bleeding.” 

“And they don’t train that out?”

“Wouldn’t have had to before. Like I said - we’re the only ones that’ve been nice to em’,” Ghost said, voice quietening when he said the next part. “We’re the only team that’s ever applied for guardianship in the entire time they’ve been working. They got stuck in the military when they were ten and got signed away under a DNN contract. Even though it’s only been a week, we’re all Pup has. It’s only natural for them to feel like this.” 

“What’s a DNN contract?” Soap asked.

“Do not notify,” Ghost said, the words making you whine softly  as you thought back to when it was first explained to you. “Means Pup’s parents didn’t want contact after they dropped them off. No phone calls or letters from them, no contact, no notice if they ever get killed or captured.”

“That’s fuckin’ bullshit,” Soap growled.

“Mhmm,” Ghost hummed, stroking his hand over your back again. “Such a sweet Pup too. Got us to be good to you now. Our good Pup, huh?”

You whined in agreement and settled into Soap fully, happily letting yourself drift off to thoughts of citrus and sage. Theirs, the raspy inner voice whispered - just before you could fully lose the battle to sleep. Mine. Theirs. Mine!

-🐺-

The next day, after the debrief had reached its conclusion, Soap asked Ghost if he could have five minutes with you. You’d bitten your lip, anticipating that he might want to chew you out for you’d acted with him, and sadly nodded when Ghost said he’d be waiting across the corridor in Price’s office for you. 

As soon as the door had clicked closed, you waited for the shouting to begin and wrapped your arms tightly round yourself, as if to keep your heart in your chest. Soap didn’t roar or hit the desk, or make any moves you’d been waiting for, not right away at least you’d figured. No, he gently tugged the seat in front of you out from the table and sat down across from you.

You peered over at him and felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, still not completely past the fact you’d insisted on curling round him like a little lap dog. Things were a bit foggy from that day still. Ghost had had to explain on the way back to his that you’d succumbed to your instincts and Soap has helped you calm down, but sure enough once he had, you remembered what you’d done and felt deathly self-conscious. No matter how much Ghost had tried to insist that it was ok, you’d gone to bed that night without speaking another word.  

“Look, um…I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Soap said nervously, arching his body down so that he could speak on your level. 

“You’re sorry?” you repeated, not sure you’d heard right. 

Did he mean to ask for an apology from you instead? You had no idea what he could possibly need to apologise for. As far as you were concerned his behaviour had been completely justified, you had acted like a crazy person. It wasn’t normal to need to sit and sniff people and hug them after they’d suffered a very common injury in the line of work you were in. Yet he still wanted to apologise to you? 

“Yeah,” Soap breathed, pursing his lips before he could explain himself. “I’ve been treating you like a threat when you haven’t deserved it. It’s not acceptable, I’m a grown man and I’ve been acting like a scared kid around you. So I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Uh…” you trailed, not really sure how to respond. “Thanks?”

It wasn’t often that anyone apologised to you, especially not when they hadn’t even done anything that you deemed bad. For that reason, you were left scrabbling for something to say and unfortunately left wanting, letting the sentiment of gratitude hang in the air instead. Things were even more awkward now. 

“You don’t need to worry about yesterday as well…Ghost said you were feelin’ awkward and I-”

“It won’t happen again,” you assured, swallowing a thick lump in your throat. “I’ll get better control of myself.”

“Well, you weren’t really yourself, so…It’s fine. You had your reasons.”

It wasn’t fine. However you didn’t really want to disagree with him, so instead you nodded tightly and looked away from Soap instead. 

“I know you have your reasons for how you are with me,” you said softly. “Something to do with your scar, right?”

“How’d you…?” Soap trailed off, rubbing his thumb along the cracked keloid on his chin. 

He almost seemed to realise the answer to his own question as he did it. You nodded when his eyes widened. It was almost comical really, he seemed like he was caught doing something awful when it wasn’t even a big deal. You were used to people being distrustful of you, had had your own parents accuse you of being ready to turn into a rogue beast at any moment. Being feared wasn’t anything new.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged. 

“No, look…You should know - I don’t think you’re gonna do anything like this to me and even then that’s not really why I- It’s not- ugh fuck it,” he sighed, body growing heavy as he sat back in his chair. “My little brother was jumped by a hybrid when we were young. He was playin’ football in the street and ended up kicking the ball too far down the road. I was supposed to be watching him and I was too busy chattin’ to my friends and- well all I heard was him screamin’ bloody murder and when I got there he was knocked out and his arm had nearly been chewed clean off. I managed to get the wolf- i mean him off my brother, but then he turned and scratched me- tried to bite- I… well anyway - I got him away and my brother ended up in hospital for a long time and it was a really fuckin’ dark time for my family.”

You watched his impassioned expressions as he told his story and nodded along, wincing as he tried to use the right words to try and explain to you what had happened. He didn’t need to explain it to you, not really. He looked down right pained as he remembered back to what must have been an awful day for him. 

Now you both sat in the heavy silence of the now cavernous room. 

“I’m sorry that happened,” you said awkwardly.

“I didn’t tell you that because I wanted you to feel sorry for me,” he said in a reassuring tone. “I just wanted you to know I have some shit to work on, and I that I am trying to work on it. I don’t want you to feel any less a part of the team because of how I act. You’re just as much a part of the 141 as I am, don’t doubt it for a second.”

Your ears pinned flat to your head and your chest swelled with emotion. The drum inside your chest beat quickly out of time and you struggled for a moment, feeling a light tingling at the back of your neck. Part of you tried to convince yourself that it was all a mean trick, but just one look into his soft blue eyes told you that he was genuine. He really didn’t want you to feel bad.

“Thanks, Soap,” you murmured, fighting the lump in your throat just to speak. “That’s really kind of you.”

“Just the truth,” he grunted, trying to inconspicuously clear the emotion from his voice. “You should probably go get Ghost now, yeah? You’ve probably got some runnin’ around to do.”

You broke at that, nodding and letting your eyes clear of the growing wetness. Soap had only in the past few days started referring to your training as ‘running around’, and it was a fair way to sum it up, but no less insulting. Playfully insulting at least, the kind of thing  teammates would say. 

It made you smile then. 

“Yeah…” you laughed, slowly rising from your chair. “Best get to it.”

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (20) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: the ton learns of how its king adores the queen.

word count: 1,992

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: implied smut, fluff, pet name (petal), not proofread

When you first learned of Coryo’s intent to marry you, you had expected a life as Queen would be spent focusing on building a robust social life—planning and attending balls, organizing dinners, entertaining the rest of the ton, overseeing the social season. In your downtime, you would read in the library or stroll the gardens. Forever stuck in a loveless, unsatisfying marriage. Coryo, however, defied your expectations at every turn. Not only was his love true, but he wanted you to rule by his side. He didn’t wish for you to be a mere figurehead—he wanted you to be Queen in every sense of the word. 

You quite liked it, if you were honest. You liked sitting at the desk with him, flitting through papers, sorting out the important needs of Panem. You liked being able to tell him your thoughts and know that they were being heard. You had heard too many horrible stories of men belittling their wives, thinking themselves better when they received the very same education. There men in this Capitol that got off on treating their wives as second-class citizens. You were forever grateful that your Coryo was not one such man. 

And, of course, you and Coryo got up to plenty of revelry in that very office. 

Coryo pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he helped you back into your dress. Though it would be easier to merely push up your skirts and settle between your legs, Coryo insisted on seeing all of you. You were his beautiful wife, he’d say, and he would never deprive himself of admiring such grand beauty. 

“We need to add social engagements to our calendar,” you said, carding your fingers through his hair. He nipped at your neck. 

“I prefer monopolizing your time. Those people do not deserve you in all your brilliance.”

“We rule those people, and we should try to remain in their good graces,” you countered. Coryo conceded by placing a kiss against the same spot he bit. “Just a few balls, perhaps a luncheon or two with the Electors and their families.”

“Very well. Let me know which ones you have a preference toward, and I shall make the arrangements.”

It was ordinarily the woman’s work to deal with social engagements. A smile tugged at your lips. For Coryo to so easily take on the task, without you even indicating for him to do so, warmed your heart. How did you ever get so lucky? How did you ever think poorly of him? “My mother is throwing a ball this week. I suppose we should attend, at least to keep up appearances with my family,” you said with a roll of the eyes. “The ton would not take kindly to a woman who forsakes her family for the Crown. They would spread rumors that I am a power-hungry wench, intent on making you my little puppet.”

Coryo barked out a laugh. “If only they knew how much power you hold.”

“Oh yes, I do quite well at tugging at your strings.”

“You may tug on them for however long you like.”

Though your dress had just been pulled back on, it soon found itself pooled on the floor moments later.

Thought it had been your suggestion, you dreaded the idea of returning to your family’s home—if you could call it that anymore. After having been away from them for the last month, you came to realize you were scarcely more than a pawn to them. If your father wanted you to be well-cared for, he could have allowed Coryo to court you when he came into money again. The Snow family was not a family known to squander their wealth. Had it not been for the war, they still would have been living off of their fortune for generations to come. And your mother…The way she pushed you to act like someone you were not in hopes that it further along Coryo’s proposal…It just made you sick. You once thought that they cared for you, in their own strange ways, but now you weren’t for certain. 

Coryo watched as your lady’s maid pinned back your hair in preparation for your mother’s ball. You were tempted to tell her to stop, that you would no longer be attending, but you also wished to show them, show the entire ton, that you had their King wrapped around your finger. For every thing that they chastised you for, Coryo loved. Nay, he adored. You were certain there was very little you could do that would be wrong in his eyes. 

“You are exquisite,” he said, coming to your side as your lady’s maid stepped away from her elaborate creation. He leaned down, pressed a kiss at the junction where your shoulder met your neck. “The ton will have never seen a more beautiful Queen.”

“You shouldn’t let me stray far from your side then,” you teased as you rose from your seat. You turned so you faced your husband and looped your arms around his shoulders. “The ton can so easily devolve into animals when they see something shiny and new.”

“Oh, trust, my petal, I do not intend for you to ever leave my side.” Coryo kissed your forehead. “I already nearly lost you once when I was least expecting it. I won’t allow it to happen again.”

Your heart clenched. It had been so long since Sejanus was mentioned. You nearly forgot about him entirely. For him to have been so close to both you and Coryo, it didn’t feel so strange for him to not be around anymore. What would have happened if he didn’t come to convince you to run away with him? Would you all still be close? Or would he have still tried? 

You hoped Sejanus fared well with the Peacekeepers. Despite what he attempted, the friend he was willing to hurt, Sejanus was a kind and gentle man. Coryo had told you little about his time in service with the Peacekeepers, but you knew enough to be certain that Sejanus would emerge a changed man. You only wished that he was still kind. 

“And you should not worry about such a thing,” you said. “I am yours just as you are mine.”

Coryo hummed, and pulled you in for another kiss. You let him, letting your worries melt away. 

The worries did not stay away for long, unfortunately. As your carriage rolled up to your parent’s home, your heart thump’d, thump’d, thump’d in your chest. You hated having to let go of Coryo when the carriage came to a stop. At least it didn’t last long, for Coryo soon was helping you out and your hands were reconnected. 

Like when you arrived at the palace, Coryo let you take the lead. But, unlike at the palace, those who bore witness to this soon began to whisper. You expected as much. The tradition of the no one walking ahead of the King was one long upheld. No one ever dreamed of stepping into his path. You swallowed, lifted your head high and squared your shoulders. This was going to be a long, arduous night, but you were not going to let the gossip of the ton ruin your evening. 

Your mother’s eyes were on you the second you stepped foot in the ballroom. You took a breath and turned away from her gaze. Coryo stepped beside you and took your hand. “Come,” he said, “let’s take a turn about the room.”

You nodded. 

Her eyes never left you, though. You moved your hand to hold onto Coryo’s arm, hoping for him to steady you. He looked at you curiously, but said nothing. At least you were distracted by the ton as they flitted around you and your husband. They were so eager for the approval of the King and Queen. It was almost laughable. 

Finally, though, you couldn’t take it anymore as your father joined your mother’s side. 

“We should go say something,” you whispered to Coryo as another young lady sunk into a low curtsy in front of you. “Appearances and all that.”

“Are you certain? I believe we will be quite fine if we continue to ignore them.”

You stifled a laugh. “Perhaps. Think of it this way, though—if we speak to them now, we can ignore them the rest of the ball.”

“Very well. Lead the way, petal.”

Your heart thump’d harder as you crossed the room to your parents. You didn’t have the first clue what you were going to say to them. What they would say to you. They had enough tact, you were sure, to not incite an outright fight with the King and Queen. But they had enough audacity to insult their daughter. They did it as easily as breathing.

“Mama, Papa,” you greeted when you reached them. Neither dropped into a bow or curtsy. Your lip curled at the disrespect. It did not matter that you were their daughter—there was still social etiquette to be followed. “The ball has been lovely so far.”

If they were going to stoop so low, you would not meet them at their level.

“It could be lovelier if there wasn’t so much…whispering among the ton,” your mother said. 

From the corner of your eye, you watched as Coryo’s hands clenched and unclenched. You gave his arm a squeeze, but that did not stop him from saying, “The ton is full of idle gossip. It always has been.”

The warning in his tone did not stop your mother from continuing it, “Still, it is improper for a wife to lead the King.”

You ground your teeth together. Is that all you were to her now? A wife to the King? Oh, if only she knew the true influence you had. If only she knew how highly your Coryo regarded you. She may be trapped in a loveless marriage—and you would forever pity her for that—but that did not mean she could dismiss your marriage so easily. 

“Queen,” Coryo corrected. “Lesser kings have killed for lesser slights against their queens. I would tread carefully if I were you.”

Your father looked between your mother and Coryo. In an attempt to diffuse the situation, he tried, “What my wife means to say is, we would hate for the Crown to be ruined by such silly gossip.”

“The Crown could not be ruined by such things,” Coryo dismissed with a wave of his hand. “What would damage the sanctity of the Crown is to allow such disrespect to go by unchecked.”

“Of course,” your father said. “We did not mean to—”

“I am tired of this conversation,” you announced. You turned into Coryo and smiled up at him. “Would you like to dance?”

Your mother guffawed. “Women do not ask—”

“Whatever you wish, my Queen,” Coryo said. He kissed you softly, snorting a laugh as your mother continued to blubber in the background. “I would dance with you forever if you should ask for it.”

Coryo led you out to the middle of the dance floor, ignoring your mother’s antics and prying eyes of the ton. He took one hand in his, letting the other settle on your waist. Your free hand came  to rest on his shoulder and the band began to play. As he twirled you around the room, everyone seemed to melt away.

Good. The ton could spread rumors and stories all they like. Your parents could look down on you if they so pleased. But none of that would change the fact that your Coryo looked at you like you were the most brilliant diamond ever mined. None of that would change the fact that, in a society where loveless marriages were commonplace, you found the very thing you dreamed of since you were a girl. 

“I love you, my King,” you said. 

“And I you, my Queen.”

[galaxies-lit-up-blue]

Kai: The courier and the savior of the N.C.R's expansion

Prologue:The nights were the worst when you had no one to spend it with, so Kai always hung around the bands of N.C.R soldiers since he'd become a pseudo member himself. Ever since the battle at hoover dam he'd spent most of his time with 1st Recon Alpha in Forlorn hope, after all Ten of Spades made a hell of a drinking buddy and Bitter root was always fun to hang out with, though he still enjoyed wandering the waste more than staying still. He'd even got permission from high command to do some work with local factions to disperse food and supplies for the locals, even non N.C.R citizens but they said whatever went wrong with them would come out of his pocket. Only time anything ever went wrong was a rebel group of Kings started to take outpost in the strip. The only bad part of house dying was his robots getting deactivated with him 'cause damn would those things make for some good security.

Kai had entered the strip three years ago for the first time, at least to his memory. He might had entered it before being shot in the head but he doubted it. All the lights and music and drunks in the streets drove him slightly crazy, and to add to the was it reeking of upper class hatred of humanity. He couldn't stand half of the people on it but a few were ok.

He remembered smiling as he shot House's mummified corpse of a body after all of the stories House had said to him about being the only hope for humanity while shooting any poor person who dared tread on the door step of his castle town. He laughed at the thought as he entered the Tops casino, He had been sent by the republic after they had heard a tip that someone was planning to take over the strip from their noses. Once again their lack of resources bit them on the ass. Even with the Dam in their hands their recruitment numbers were down and God knows what'd happen if they tried to start a draft. So they brought the Savior of Hoover Dam back out to fix a problem. Kai didn't mind though, afterall this was much easier than almost dying to Praetorians in that damned fort. He walked up to swank and smiled.

"Been a while, swank, How've ya been?"

"Tell ya the truth Kai, I ain't never been bettah. Since Bennie started swinging with the Angels he left the old head spot for me. He wrote it in his damn will if you'd believe me."

[Speech 75] Kai looked at him with a raised eyebrow not believing his story.

"Gimme a hug ya dumb Bahstahd." Swank said pulling kai into hug and whispering. "I wrote his will two months ago but the finks under me thought it was real. Can you believe it?" Kai hugged back to sell the act and whispered.

[Confirmed Bachelor]"With the people Bennie hired I'd believe just about anything you told me."

Kai stopped hugging him and looked around for a second. "The republic's been hearing strange tales coming from the Tops. Someone plotting a take over of the strip. So they sent me to check and see if there was any funny business. Say you wouldn't know anything about that.

[Perception 9] Swank looked around the room and seemed to nod at the cameras which he tried to play off as him stepping back. "No, I haven't heard of anything like tha-"

[Guns 75] Before swank could finish his thought he felt a bullet wiz by his ear from Kai's silenced .22 which he had silently taken from his jacket. "I don't think Mccarran would enjoy hearing of someone trying to kill the 'Savior of The Republic' now would they, swank?" Kai put the gun back in its holster under the jacket courier 6 had given him after they had walked out of The Divide.

Swank looked at the camera and shook his head. "Alright I called them off."

"Good, I'm going to Bennie's suite. If I'm followed you won't be going home tonight ok?"

"Yes sir." So Kai went up to Bennie's suite unfollowed only to find a robot.

"Allow me to introduce myself! I'm a PDQ-88b Securitron, but you can call me Yes Man!" Bennie was smarter than any had expected, Kai thought as he went through asking him what he was there for. After learning that he was made by Bennie to take over the strip and that he couldn't do anything but follow the orders you gave to him, Kai thought for a second.

"You're gonna come with me and take over the Securitrons. But you're gonna serve the N.C.R, You got that."

"Well, I mean if we'd have done this earlier you could be running the strip yourself but since I can't say no lead the way." And so Kai did and he put him in the lucky 38. Finally with the securitrons operational again they brought back order to the strip, and with the extra man, well robot, power from the securitrons the Republic finally was able to properly control the mojave.

[linkspooky]

Hello! I Just discovered your blog and you did a lot of interesting work on jjk(I want to fully read your Fanfictions soon!) Since you did a lot of work on jjk side characters I wanted to ask how did you come to the characterization of the secondary/background characters especially the members of Zen'in family and If you had any tips about writing them. I'm plotting a Fanfiction with them as the main villains(except Maki and Mai that are "positive" characters) but I'm a bit scared to make them ooc.

Thank you! If you do end up reading my fics soon let me know what you think and leave a comment. As for the Zen'in, Gege killed them a little too fast before we could ever really learn what the Zen'in family was like in story, so I can describe my process for writing them if that helps!

There are inspiration I took from other media when expanding upon the Zen'in Family dynamic, the first is the Washuu Family from Tokyo Ghoul. In the manga Tokyo Ghoul the Washuu are an extremely rich and traditional patriarchal family who are also the heads of the CCG or Commission of Counter Ghoul the government sponsored organization that hunts down ghouls. Basically, they fight ghouls like the Zen'in Fight curses, but ghouls are sentient with human emotions so they're an even more brutal and unsavory family.

Over the course of the story we learn the Washu isn't just the main house, there are several branch families who are all considered a part of the "Washuu." The house in order to maintain their power commits the ultimate taboo of arranging marriages, some of them even consanguineous marriages in order to breed for stronger child soldiers to fight ghouls. These children were then raised in a place called the "Sunlit Garden" solely for the purpose of becoming ghoul investigators when they were over. However, only the really good ones got to join the CCG, the rest of them had to be secret agents only working in the shadows. They also, as a curse only got to live short lives.

So, you can see the parallels with the Zen'in Family right away.

"If you're not a Zen'in then you're not a sorcerer, if you're not a sorcerer then you're not even human."

If you're a member of the Zen'in Clan you basically have no choice to be a sorcerer, according to Mai the other option is being treated like a household servant, which also implies women are seen as second class citizens who are only there to support the home if they don't become sorcerers.

Which means just like the Washuu, if you're born into the Zen'in you are going to be a child soldier, you'll be sent to Jujutsu High with little choice for the direction in your life. The Zen'in are also the most militarized of the three families. It's one of the few things Gege emphasizes about them in extra-canon materials.

"The Zen'in Family: Sorcerers who place an emphasis on ability above all else. They will even oppress their own family and relatives. They hold a self-righteous and old-fashioned ideology but their battle strength is high: they construct their unique battle organization in order to support the Jujutsu World."

Here we have more parallels to the Washuu, they are basically producing sorcerers / child soldiers to support the Jujutsu World the same way the Washuu creates ghoul investigators. There's also a very regimented caste system, only the best of the best get to be actual sorcerers, those without cursed techniques get shoved down to the bottom while the elite serve in the Hei with Naoya. The Zen'in also value inherited technique above all else, which is why they cast out people like Maki and Mai and yet elevate Megumi who's a complete stranger to clan head. This is an extrapolation but considering that Naoya makes offhand combats about marrying his cousins, then arranged marriages to produce children with better cursed techniques is probably a thing too.

The only reason I draw long comparison between the Washuu and the Zen'in though is because they are both families that basically exist to produce sorcerers / ghoul investigators and raise them up. All of their power and privilege in their society is given to them because of their ability to do this. All prestige in the clan comes from sorcerer technique and ability, which is why if you're not a sorcerer you're not even human. You weren't born as a child to be loved, you're born to be useful to the family.

The Zen'in is a place for raising sorcerers not children, which is why it's such an extremely loveless environment. Men marry women to take care of the household and raise up children, men only pay attention to their children who are sorcerers, children are all raised with the expectation of being a sorcerer or they're failing their parents. The Washuu and the Sunlit Garden particular have a theme that it's such a toxic environment that every single person who's raised there is poisoned. Everyone. There are no exceptions. No matter how kind or soft a person you are, if you are raised from birth to be a child soldier and shown no real empathy or love you're not going to be able to function as a person. There are characters who actually rebel against the Washuu, but they're still very much showing signs of the environment they were raised in, they're still toxic, violent and use power to get what they want.

Which is why whenever writing the Zen'in I used the maxim "There are no good Zen'in" which means no matter how good-intentioned they are, even if they have more sympathetic traits, no one can come out of the Zen'in unscathed. Y

Yes, even Maki. Remember, she murdered a whole bunch of people. She recreates the violence of her clan the same way everyone else in the clan does, even when she's trying to break that cycle she repeats it.

The exception would be Mai who never wanted to be a Zen'in in the first place and only wanted to a normal life, but Mai can be toxic in her own way. She's codependent, she blames others, she's incredibly self-loathing and dysfunctional and in canon in the end she chooses to kill herself. So the one example we have of an "innocent" Zen'in literally dies and is consumed by the whole clan.

Now, this is the part of the post where I'm going to blow your mind, a character doesn't have to be good or even redeemable to be a good character. They just need to be complex. The biggest problem of Gege's characterization of the Zen'in is not that they're all irredeemable people, but that they're irredeemable and one-note.

Ogi wants to kill his daughters to become clan-head. Jinichi was apparently Toji's brother, has a face scar, and wanted to go along with that plan. In extra-canon materials it's mentioned that most of Jinichi's direct subordinates think he's a nicer guy than Naoya.

Naoya's the most complex character out of the bunch, and he works as a good example to outline how you can make a character complex while having them be completely unsavory. Naoya, despite being spoiled is as tragically a product of his environment as much as any other Zen'in is. As I outlined above no one comes out of the Zen'in untouched, if you're raised in an incredibly insular clan with no access to the outside world, and every male figure around you is a misogynist then you're going to turn into a misogynist too. You are educated and taught to behave by the adults around you in your life.

Naoya is really the ultimate foil to Maki in that they are both the ultimate products of the Zen'in Clan toxicity, it's just Naoya was the golden child of the entire clan and Maki was the scapegoat. It's obvious Naoya's upbringing has ruined his entire personality and made him the embodiment of entitlement. One thing I like to say is that Naoya acts like Gojo, but he doesn't have the swag or charisma to back it up so while Gojo gets away with it Naoya continually gets his ass kicked. But in that sense Gojo is also the person who he is because he was spoiled and the golden boy of the Gojo clan.

Let's look at who Gojo is. Emotionally stunted. Incredibly lonely. Thinks no one can connect to him because no one is strong / good enough. Despises the sorcery world and the clan system. Full of barely restrained anger that comes out in fights. Isn't particularly liked by the people around him but they all still need him. Has no life outside of being a sorcerer.

Naoya has all these qualities too he's just an asshole so the audience is less inclined to sympathize with him. Think about Naoya this way, he despises everyone around him, his own family, his fellow sorcerers, he has no friends and no connections to other people. He openly mocks everything and laughs and constantly makes quips like "my brothers should just hang themselves and die" but a person so full of hatred isn't really enjoying their life. He wants to become clan-head beause he thinks he's entitled to that position and he's been told since birth that it's his... but why does he even want it? He hates the Zen'in, he knows their full of shit for looking down on Toji, he hates the other sorcerers around him. He follows and repeats the toxic Zen'in Ideology despite knowing that it's bad for him, but why?

Naoya becomes a very nihilistic character in that light, there's no love or happiness in his life, there's nothing he likes, he just believes in his elitism because that's all he has. He's the perfect Zen'in set to inherit the clan but he's nothing else, he's nihil as a person, he has no identity outside of being a sorcerer and he doesn't even seem to really like anything.

He longs to be as powerful as Toji and Gojo, but once again why? Does he think being able to look down on everyone from above would at least liberate him from the toxic cesspool he was raised in? Would that validate him somehow because he derives no real enjoyment from life?

While not sympathetic a person like that is pitiable. It's impossible not to feel bad for someone miserable, even if that person is the architect of their own misery. Anyway, you can draw a lot out of a character even Naoya who's basic role in the story is just "Naoya always talks shit and then immediately gets his ass kicked."

As for the rest of the clan, like I said they have no canon material so it's basically impossible to write them as out of character. They have no characters in canon.

For Jinichi I chose to focus on his relationship with Toji, because it would serve as a good parallel to Mai and Maki. My idea was to show Toji and Jinichi actually caring about each other as rothers to show how the Zen'in can ruin relationships even when there is love. The Zen'in Clan is a poisoned earth, everything that grows in that garden is poison so even loving sibling relationships are poisoned.

Jinichi can care about his brother, he can be much nicer to him than their father, but eventually their father's mistreatment of Toji and their father pitting them against each other is going to drive a wedge in their relationship no matter what. As much as they want to be they can't be a proper family, because the Zen'in Clan aren't a family they're a bunch of soldiers.

Which again parallels to Maki and Mai who love each other clearly, but are inevitably driven apart by their family circumstances. All the love in the world doesn't make a difference for the both of them because number one they are pitted against each other by the clan and outside environment and number two they are two different people coping with their trauma in different ways.

For Toji and Jinichi, and then Maki and Mai I chose to basically show that these are two twins who are inevitably unable to have functional sibling relationships with each other despite the love they might have because despite being twins they are not the same person. They are inevitably two different people reacting in different ways and therefore they're driven apart by it.

Ogi is the last one I gave any real characterization in my fic, by not actually giving him characterization at all. That makes sense I promise just let me explain.

Ogi's the kind of man who is willing to murder his own daughters for what he thinks is a shot at getting him clan head. These are children he's spent sixteen years of his life raising, and he has no hesitation whatsoever in doing that. Sure, Jinichi goes along with it but those aren't his kids so he's at least got a reason for being impersonal.

What kind of person can do that?

Well my idea was that Ogi's just not really much of a person to begin with. At least Naoya is grappling with inner turmoil and negative emotions whereas Ogi just seems to only care about his standing in the clan and his desire for clan head.

He probably never formed an attachment to his daughters, so he handed them off to his wife to raise. He probably didn't want daughters and twins on top of that in the first place, but when they turned out to both be worthless as sorcerers he probably stopped regarding them as his children whatsoever.

So everything in Ogi's life is just about playing a role in his clan. His marriage is probably arranged, and one where he has all the power in the house considering how Matsuko is scared into just going along with his plans. He only had children out of obligation to produce more heirs to raise up as sorcerers, and those failed so they're not even his children anymore. He doesn't have anything he wants, besides his desire for clan leadership but only because he believed he was unfairly passed over.

He's someone who perfectly fits the role of a traditional man of the Zen'in, but he's absolutely nothing else. He's got no personality, no motivations beyond ascending the ranks, he's just a cog more or less. Which is why in the end he's not even that important or complex a character, Maki just kills him in an instant because he's a nobody.

Those are the ideas I came up with in fleshing out the Zen'in as a household, I hope that helped you even a little bit, anon!

[street-corn]

January 29th, 2024 marks the 28th anniversary of the Star Trek Voyager episode "Threshold." This episode is often heralded as one of the worst episodes of Star Trek ever made and I've previously made the observation that everyone seems to dislike the episode for entirely novel reasons. While it's easy to predict that someone will dislike the episode, I find that the exact reason why can only be found by asking. Is it how it ruins established cannon? Is it the bad scientific understanding of how evolution works? Is it plot related as the crew avoids using an easy way home? Is it the poor parenting? Is it dialog and writing? Is it the lizard sex? There's usually a mix of reasons that I suspect one could use as the basis of Some Kind Of MBTI quiz.

However, rather than reveling in the episode itself, I want to address a bigger issue of how Star Trek fandom approaches its "worst ever episodes" lists that are a mere Bing search away. Too often I see episodes like Move Along Home (aka Allamaraine!) and Threshold at the top of "worst ever episodes" lists and I think its lazy or disingenuous to let these episodes dominate the conversation. Sure, the episodes are cheesy or campy, but they distract from the genuinely terrible episodes. The episodes that celebrate human rights violations, the episodes that propagate white supremacy, the episodes that teach the audience the wrong lesson, or the episodes that can cause physical discomfort to the audience. I would like to shine a light on a few of these episodes so we can properly discuss what it means to be a bad episode of Star Trek.

Tattoo Tattoo is an absolutely rotten episode. It's drizzled with misinformation and misconceptions about indigenous Americans. It states that indigenous people didn't have language, fire, and barely had any stone tool use (and implies they were too stupid to not migrate away from the cold.) So aliens, depicted as tall and strong, with blonde hair and blue eyes, taught them the basics of human civilization because there was no way this particular group of humans could figure it out on their own.

The Fight This episode is painful to watch. It's all of the worst parts about the Prophets of DS9 but without any allegory. It ruins cannon by making Boothby the Most Important Human To Ever Live. The episode, while late into the production of Voyager, continues the vision quest aspect of Chakotay, which ties it back to Tattoo. While not as offensive as other entries, it is worth putting on a list of actual bad episodes.

Cogenitor The NX-1 Enterprise meets some aliens with three genders. 98% of them are male and female but they also require a third gender to procreate, called the cogenitor. The cogenitors are kept as second class citizens. Their lives are owned by the state and their bodies are traded around to married couples that want to have children. They cannot own property, cannot vote, cannot socialize, are forbidden to become educated or literate, and are forced to wear gray drab clothing. Trip Tucker sees this and thinks its wrong. He teaches a cogenitor how to read. Unfortunately, the cogenitor uses this new skill to learn how oppressed their life is and how they are trapped in a system that cannot change, so they end their own life. Trip Tucker is treated as the villain of this episode. Gross.

Skin of Evil and Tears of the Prophets I'm bundling these episodes together because of their poor treatment of women and actresses behind the scenes. From a plot and writing perspective they do not treat their characters well. They can be summed up as "WTF moments." Behind the scenes it's extra terrible. From writing this I found out something fun and new…

Retrospect This is the episode where Tom Paris is convicted of murder and has to relive the memories of the murder over and over again. Behind the scenes, a certain producer was trying to spin that "women lie and never believe them about sexual assault allegations" while contract negotiations with Terry Farrel were going on. The plot is interesting, but the lessons the episode is trying to teach are wrong.

There are many other well known episodes that involve obvious racism and mistreatment of women, and I think they should make up the entirety of Star Trek's worst episode lists. But bundling campy and cheesy episodes like "Let He Who Is Without Sin…", "Sub Rosa", "The Way To Eden", and "Threshold" with the likes of "Code Of Honor" and "Turnabout Intruder" really confuses what it means to be a truly, awful, no good episode of television.

Anyways, let's watch some salamanders eat pepperoni pizza.

[highladyluck]

Vorkosigan Saga Readalikes

I was going to wait to write this until I had three options, but I haven't yet thought of a third series that really gives me those Vorkosigan Vibes, and I don't want to sit on these any longer. Both the Earth Girl series and the Merchant Princes series remind me of the Vorkosigan Saga in various ways.

It's some combo of similar themes, characters, setting, multiple installments, and compulsive readability. Like with the Vorkosigan saga, I eventually lost the ability to wait for friends/the library to deliver the sequels to me, and I ended up buying later installments/the whole series on my ereader so I could have them on-demand.

Vorkosigan Saga…but YA The Earth Girl series by Janet Edwards

2788. Only the handicapped live on Earth. Eighteen-year-old Jarra is among the one in a thousand people born with an immune system that cannot survive on other planets. Sent to Earth at birth to save her life, she has been abandoned by her parents. She can’t travel to other worlds, but she can watch their vids, and she knows all the jokes they make.

Jarra is a historian-in-training with a lot of experience excavating ruins on Earth, who joins a class of newbie offworld students under false pretenses, basically to show them up and get proxy revenge on the galactic society that's made her a second-class citizen. Then the false military background she concocts for herself- and the relationships she makes with her classmates- turn out to be more real than she ever intended.

Like Miles, Jarra is desperate to prove herself and does all sorts of stupidly heroic nonsense. Her disability is maybe even more of a cultural construct than Miles's is, while still having enormous influence on her psyche, childhood and career goals. The military in this series, which Jarra hero-worships, is (now) strictly a space exploration/terraforming force.

Hilariously, this series also has a Beta (sector) with a cultural tradition of looser sexual mores/trio marriages. There's also a sort of 'second career' arc for Jarra that's very satisfying, after you get lots and lots of fun and suspenseful archeological excavations (I'm not being sarcastic, they're fascinating!) The secondary cast is also really interesting, and there are installments in the series that explore their backstories and post-Jarra paths.

I read this as an adult (it was a tumblr rec!) and thoroughly enjoyed it, so I would absolutely recommend it to adult Vorkosigan Saga fans. It is firmly in the YA bucket in terms of being a coming-of-age story, so you could also gift it to somebody who might be too young for the Vorkosigan Saga and its' bucket-o-content-warnings, but who you otherwise think would love Miles. (This is not really a Vorkosigan similarity, but I also want to give the series a shoutout for realistic-seeming teen slang, which is harder to do well than you'd think.)

Vorkosigan Saga…with extra Cordelia please The Merchant Princes series by Charles Stross

By the time we meet them at the dawn of the 21st century the Clan of five families who by careful arrangement can produce offspring who world-walk [to parallel universes] have become, in their home world, richer than Croesus. But all this wealth comes at a cost, and envious eyes are watching them just as a business journalist in Boston loses her job and discovers a family heirloom that topples her straight into a cliché that can only end badly in real life: the orphan who discovers she’s the long lost daughter of a noble house, and the subject of all their expectations.

Miriam Beckstein reminds me of Cordelia- a high-tech, driven woman who suddenly finds herself enmeshed with a group of literally feudal relations and embroiled in their political/personal schemes. Like Cordelia, she also sets out on a modernization process for her adopted culture(s), although she has less oblique strategies at her disposal than Cordelia does.

There is also a thematic focus on genetics in this series, and some of the power dynamics connected to that are explored in even greater detail than in the Vorkosigan Saga. The world-walkers have a complex arrangement of arranged marriages to keep the genetic ability to teleport to other timelines, and so like on Barrayar (and Cetaganda), the grandmothers who arrange these marriages are the ones really running the genetic show. (There's also a similar plot thread of 'culturally traumatic nuclear bombings'.)

My favorite part of this series is the latter half, when Miriam meets a political dissident in yet another alternate timeline and works with him to transform his world, and hers in the bargain. If you wanted to see Cordelia winning on a faster timeline, you'll love Miriam and her 30-year plan. There's also a sequel series that explores another member of the family, which has a lot of spy thriller elements and a lesbian romance. (Not going to say too much there, because spoilers.)

My spouse says this series is too 'of its time' for him to really enjoy it, by which he means that the ultimate villain is Evil Mastermind Dick Cheney. This doesn't bother me, but I mention this in case you, too, think Evil Mastermind Dick Cheney is a somewhat dated plot element from the vantage point of 2023. It's definitely more of a Cordelia-and-Aral readalike than a Miles readalike, although the sequel series has some superficial similarities to the introduction of Mark, now that I think about it!

I hope this gives you some new books to check out, all 10 of you Vorkosigan fans that might see this.

[makethatelevenrings]

i am jewish, i support a two state solution, i support peace, and i support freedom for palestinians. being pro palestinian is not antisemitic.

you, however, ARE antisemitic and it's disgusting how you dismiss and brush off jews that have tried to point out the anti-Jewish sentiment in your posts.

For God's sake, you even just responded to another anon by saying it's okay for Jews to die because less have died than Palestinians. It shouldn't be acceptable for either to die! But Jewish lives don't matter to you.

The least you could do is be honest about that.

literally when have I said that!!!!

It’s so concerning that people read “hey Palestinian children are dying en masse and losing health care” and “world leaders who have been antisemitic in the past are not your friends” and go!!! This person is antisemitic!!!

And no one has TRIED to educate me about antisemitism, they’ve only gone “hmmm, you support Palestine and therefore you want all Jews dead.” Never have I said that and never have I believed that! My stance is and has been clearly stated:

- permanent ceasefire

- Palestinians receive full citizenship

- Israel stops arresting Palestinians simply for existing and stops tear gassing mosques

- Israel stops taking Palestinian land and homes and forcing the owners out

like ???? guess what! Here’s my stance on Russia and Ukraine!

- end of war

- Ukraine is recognized in their sovereignty

- Russia stops bombing them and taking POWs and treating Ukrainians like second class citizens

- Russia stops trying to take Ukrainian land and homes

And Azerbaijan’s genocide of Armenia!

- end the blockade

- stop murdering Armenians

- recognize Armenians as citizens and give them rights

- stop destroying their land, homes, and identity

Criticizing a government’s aggression towards another population isn’t antisemitic if it’s the same damn criticism I place on other governments.

I never said “it’s okay for Jews to die because less have died than Palestinian”. I never fucking said that. I showed statistical evidence that THOUSANDS of Palestinians have already died in comparison to the Israeli population in the past decade as a retort to the argument that Israelis are the main victims of this. Because they aren’t. The IDF is the one pointing guns into peoples homes, shooting journalists in the streets, and tear gassing mosques during Ramadan.

No one should die! That’s the whole fucking point! But people have twisted this narrative into this fucked up idea that “well in order for Palestinians to live, Jews (note: not Israelis and neither should die) must die!” Okay, let’s expand that argument that everyone wants to make:

If Jews must die in order for Palestinians to live( I feel like I need to put a disclaimer that I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS), then what needs to happen in this argument for Jews to live?

p.s. have you ever noticed that I use the term Zionist or Israelis and never Jews? It’s because many Jews reject Israel and many, many Zionists are American Christian ethnonationalists. Yeah. Zionists =/= Jewish. Stop being antisemitic and equating them as such.

[randomtwfan]

hey i was wondering can you write a Disney descendants flash back story to how Alexander from Pinocchio met his first wife Princess Eilonwy from the Black Cauldron ?

Alexander is the smart and reasonable one in the group.  He is usually dragged in the crazy bullshit that his friends take part in. 

Princess Eilonwy is  sharp, snippy, strong-willed, and sarcastic, but at the same time talkative and often scatterbrained. How They Met: Eilonwy was off on some sort of royal business and went out on a walk on her downtime. Alexander was on his way home from school. (He goes to Auradon Prep) They agreed to stay in touch. Pen pals to lovers!

Heyyy!!! So, your story is FINALLY out!!!🥰🥰🥰 If you don't like it, I can rewrite it, but I really hope you do. Enjoy!❤

NOTE: I didn't know how to add the royal buisness thing so I changed that???? Sorry if you don't like it, I swear I'll try again if that's the case.

Characters: Princess Elionwy (The Black Cauldron) × Alexander (Pinnochio).

When Princess Elionwy enrolled at Auradon Prep, the school was still living it's first years. With Belle and Adam's idea to unify the Kingdoms and celebrate the victory of good over bad, it was only ideal for them to build a place where their youngest citizens could learn about theis stories and about the basic subjects. Enlionwy was excited about going to school -after upon years of living under the power of the Horned King, she was now finally free; free to make friends, learn new things, tell her story to people and show them who she was.

But Auradon was not what she expected. There was this 12 year old girl, who had been the leader of her own rescue mission, surrounded by people who kept trying to shape her into a damzel in distress. She had gone there thinking that being a princess meant being a warrior, a ruler, and ended up being taught... Good manners? "Your dress is not long enough", "your manners are not delicate enough", "you're not tender enough", every single day she would hear statements like that from all of the adults around her and from the other students. To say that she was frustrated would be an understatement.

One year later, she had already learned to accept reality: those people weren't there to tell her how to rule her state; they were there to tell her how to dress, how to walk, how to eat, how to talk, how to laugh, how to be a good lady who would meet a good prince. But accepting reality didn't mean that she had to strictly follow every rule; oh, no, this now 13 year old princess would make herself heard, and very loudly. She was no damzel in distress, and nobody would ever turn her into one. This is how Elionwy became known as the trouble girl of Auradon Prep; skipping good manners classes, arguing with FMG about things she considered outdated, ocasionally doing something wild with her hair and often sneaking out of the school to take a walk around the woods at night.

On the other side of that story was Alexander, also 13 years old. He had the habit of quietly watching whenever Eliowny was getting herself in trouble and showing off her rebelious persona. She reminded him of who he used to be; that little boy who hated school until he got tricked by the Coachman. Before that man made hell of his and his friends' life for years, before they were tortured. He wasn't that person anymore.

Alexander was, in that matter, the opposite of Elionwy. He was an example student, always on line, never the one to start trouble (though sometimes being dragged into some by his good old friend Lampwick), never loud. Maybe, being turned into a donkey for years does that do a guy; being rebel had been the cause of his torture, and he would not make that same mistake ever again. Life had given him a second chance, and he was taking the best out of it.

But watching Elionwy... It made him want some of what she had. That energy, that fire she carried in her was so beautiful to see. She was unafraid, she was a lot like the boy he would have become if he hadn't been shut down. He admired that about her; that, and her beauty. Her flawless blonde hair, big blue eyes and bright smile. Everything about her was amazing. But he would never talk to her; no, she was way too busu in her own world, and he was way too caught up in his own mental walls for that to happen. Or so he taught.

It was a friday night when he was walking through the halls of Auradon Prep, one of the last students out of his room before cufew, that this changed. There he was, making his way to his dormroom after a little snack, with his head in the clouds, that he bumped into a figure. The shock brought him back to reality, and when he lifted his head to see what on Earth had that been, he was staring at thos blue eyes. Elionwy's eyes.

She was wearing a black cape that covered her head and... Leggings??

—I'm sorry, dude. —She appolagized.

—It's ok. —He assured. —Wait, what are you doing out here?

—I could ask you the same.

—I'm not the one dressed like a spy. —He chuckled. —But I'm going back to my room. And you should be in yours.

—Yeah, I should. —She stated.

—So...

—It's Alexander, right?

—What?

—Your name.

—Oh. Yeah, that's me.

—Nice to meet you. —She smiled. —I'm Elionwy.

—I know. —He mirrored her expression. —You have a reputation.

—I know. —She said proudly. —You too.

—I do?

—Yeah... Your grades are enviable.

—Thanks. -He felt his cheeks gerting warm.

—Now, may I go?

—Not before you tell me where.

She playfully rolled her eyes and looked back at him. He was really cute, now that she thought about it. Green puppy eyes, short blonde curls, a pink-ish shade to his face... And if we're being honest, she had always found his intelligence quite charming.

—I found a little cottage in the woods a few months ago, and it's full of magical objects. I go there every now and then to test some of them.

—Magic is not allowed in Auradon. —He alerted.

—It's only forbidden if I get caught. —She winked.

—That's not how it works. —He replied, unable to keep himself from smiling at how natural she seemed.

—You know, you could really losen up a little bit, Alexander. —She said. —You seem like a nice dude, but you would be even nicer if you allowed yourself to have fun sometimes.

—I've tried that once. Didn't really work out for me.

—Well, I'd love to hear that story. So how about you join me and tell me on the way there?

He froze at that. She was asking him, aka top student and slightly nerdy, to join her in one of her adventures. To not only break the school rules, but also the Law.

—Elionwy, I'm not sure that's a good idea.

—Come on. —She insisted. —You could definitely use someone to teach you how to have fun again. And maybe, just maybe, I'll let you be, let's say, a "good influence" on me.

His brain was saying no; screaming, actually. But there was a little voice just begging him to say yes. To take on the chance to let this beautiful girl be the person who would help him figure out how to balance fun and seriousness, and to also let him teach hed the good things about being focused.

—I hope I don't regret this. —He cracked a smile, finally giving in.

—You won't. —She took his hand. —Follow me.

And so they went on what would be the first of many adventures they would face toghether, as friends and then as somethibg more. Turns out that opposites do attract after all.

[kakusu-shipping]

mafia AU for koro-sensei👀

mafia AU: who is the ruthless leader? who is their loyal second in command? give one headcanon about you and your f/o’s relationship in this AU!

-@i-put-the-s4p-in-s4pphic

Tecnecally I think it'd be Yakuza sense we're in Japan... but also old school Mafia aesthetic my beloved <3

These designs were the most fun I've done thus far, ESPECIALLY Koro-Sensei. Maybe I should draw him in pants more often...

Koro-Sensei - The boss, currently the most wanted man in Japan. Recently though he lost someone very important to him and, in attempting to carry out her final wishes, is attempting to make amends. Now his gang is basically a non-profit. They clean up garbage off the streets, plant flowers in public gardens, help people carry their groceries home, play vigilante at night in areas with low police density, and are all and all upright citizens when you ignore all the crimes of the past. The scar over his eye is fake, he draws it on himself every morning.

Karma - Koro-Sensei's loyal right hand, was kicked out of junior high for picking fights and picked up by Koro-Sensei for his brilliant mind and ruthlessness. He swears he'll follow Koro-Sensei anywhere, and while he thinks this whole cleaning up the neighborhood is stupid and pointless, he'll keep that promise. He still itches to fight, and thus is usually on vigilante patrol. In junior high he never hit anyone who didn't already have it coming, and he is actually rather relieved to be living by those morals again. Koro-Sensei also signed Karma's legal documents to get him back into school, though now he's stuck in E-Class.

Emile - Runs a No Questions Clinic in the neighborhood Koro-Sensei's gang run around in, and is their main source of medical aid. He asks no questions and doesn't answer to cops, making him the perfect place for the mob to turn to when they need help. The only patient to ever pass in his hospital was Aguri, he still dwells on what he could have done better that might of saved her. Sense Koro-Sensei went clean he's had less patients, which he doesn't mind. Koro-Sensei still drops by to chat, and invites him out to local places to eat for fun often.

Nagisa - A student of class 3-E, he's also an amateur detective on the side. He'd been keeping track of the local Mafia for a while now sense suspecting his teacher, Aguri, of somehow having a connection to them. Sense she disappeared he's been hot on the case, along side her little sister, Akari, searching for answers. Karma purposefully avoids Nagisa's questions, and tells him to ask the Boss himself what happened. Koro-Sensei would answer Nagisa and Akari truthfully, but they just can't ever seem to catch him to ask.

Karasuma - Local Police, he's been working his ass off for YEARS now trying to catch Koro-Sensei to put him away for good, just for the bastard to suddenly scrub himself clean of Mafia activity and start acting all Good and Pure by using his wealth to clean up the neighborhood. Something shady is happening, Karasuma is sure of it, and he will not let it stand. He's constantly antagonizing Koro-Sensei, trying to find anything wrong in his actions to bring him in. It never works, and Koro-Sensei walks every time...

Aaaah I've never drawn Karma or Nagisa before so this was fun!!! Loyal Right hand didn't suit me, but Karma for sure follows Koro-Sensei around like a lovesick puppy <3

The original idea was to split the class between Mafia and Police, but they're just kids... They shouldn't be involved in such things... So the majority of them are just regular Class E students. Who's their teacher sense Aguri is still dead this AU? A handful of various Volunteers from Koro-Sensei's gang of course! Various assassins from canon who graciously give their time to teach Aguri's kids best they can. Koro-Sensei's just too busy to do so himself.

[empathetic]

Honestly I don’t think people in leftist communities are talking nearly enough about cis women’s issues anymore. And I don’t mean cis as in relation to trans women, I’m saying cis women in reference to the fact that misogyny and patriarchy are very real things that do affect cis woman on the basis of their sex. And this shouldn’t be a controversial or TERF-y thing to say because it’s literally true.

From a personal experience as an Indian woman raised Muslim: a few years ago, two of my female cousins my age who live in India had to get married as soon as their dad passed unexpectedly because their mom was unable to get her own education to provide for the family, and they needed the support of potential husbands. My cousins were 19 and 20 when they got married. The 19 year old has barely turned 22 and already has 2 children. She had to stop going to school and her entire life is about her marriage, kids, and family. And another cousin said that her husband doesn’t let her watch TV so she has to watch when he’s not home. And when I went to india I’ve had every single woman I’ve met and talked to for more than a minute in passing ask me when I’m getting married. For fucks sakes my grandma even tried to arrange marriages for me without my permission and I’m barely turning 22 this month, and wants me to try to marry my fucking COUSIN so that i can be further controlled.

I had a convo w my mom about how rampant misogyny is in her home city in india. How she was asked what her husbands name was so she could pick up her own medicine from the pharmacy, and she asked “why do you need that information?” so the guy at the counter then asked her (a 50 year old woman) for her FATHERS name. About the women she and I know.. women who had to quit their jobs because their husbands don’t want them working, even if it means that there is less income to provide for their families because the husbands a deadbeat and still expects his wife to do all the domestic labor for him too while he literally does nothing. Women who are forced to lose their entire lives for their families and husbands’ patriarchal expectations and have children they didn’t truly want or stop going to school. Women who can’t get a divorce from abusive men because it will deem them worthless and damaged so nobody will want to marry them or even their daughters.

Women who can’t go out alone or without a man because they’ll get harassed or assaulted by men. Women who wear niqab or burqa because they get harassed and assaulted by men, but it not mattering because the men already know what their body shape looks like and what their eyes look like and what shoes they wear. Women who get assaulted anyways. Women who are made to believe that they need to cover up and be ashamed of themselves because men are perverted monsters that can’t help but rape every woman he could get his hands on. Women who don’t know what marital rape is because it’s completely normalized and that’s just what sex is, right? Women who are abused by their husbands when they don’t meet their demands, sexual or not, and comply because they don’t want to keep getting beaten or berated. Women who are deemed impure when they’re on their periods. Women who are constantly treated like second class citizens, born as property of their fathers and then passed on as property of their husbands, because they are just seen as baby-making machines and sex dolls.

And there is obviously so much more than this.. this is purely what I’ve seen and dealt with personally. And it’s infuriating that it seems like nobody ever really wants to talk about this because it’s somehow controversial to even acknowledge that cis women are treated as inferior to men under patriarchy due to their biological sex. They are treated as inferior because they have vaginas that can be penetrated and uteri that can carry a fetus. This is how patriarchy operates in the first place, whether we like it or not. In an ideal world, patriarchy wouldn’t exist and we wouldn’t have to think of cis women’s oppression on the basis of their genitalia and reproductive organs because.. well.. that oppression wouldn’t exist. But it does! And so we might as well fucking talk about it and find ways to empower women who are unable to do so. There’s more we can do besides online discourse that such women can’t even participate in because they aren’t even allowed to!!!

[dasozelotvonnebenan]

1, 7, and 11 for whoever you'd like!

I let the dice decide and the dice would like Doss, Other Aki and Aerana. :>

1. Your character is now the leader of their species, whatever that looks like for them (Arcane Councilmember, Imperator, Royalty, etc). How do they govern and what sorts of changes would they make if any?

Doss: Government subsided corpse donations (Government gives your next of kin money if they get to have your corpse) and complementary requisition system for necromancers and people who keep pet grubs.

Other Aki: He would find the quickest way to have someone replace him. That really isn't his thing. Not that he could ruin much, the way I think Norn run their society would simply mean people won't listen to him if he makes stupid decisions.

Aerana: Oh boy. Her dream come true. The entire asura society has now become her lab assistants. She has the wealth of rata sum to build, requisition and fabricate everything she ever needs in her studies. For the rest of Tyria she basically becomes Inquest 2 Quest Harder.

7. Do they have any skills or abilities that their class wouldn't normally have/just go about their class differently in some kind of way?

Doss (Harbinger Necro): The Flesh Wurm is now an animated arm. The Bone Fiends is tutle body, walking on skritt tails with two small arms holding guns sticking out the back. The Flesh Golem is a crocodile with Norn legs and arms. He can hold six weapons at once.

Other Aki (Elementalist): He can't actively do anything. He's just always warm when it's cold, and always cool when it's warm. Perfect cuddle temperature in any circumstance. He can walk on water if he doesn't think about it, but the moment he does it consciously he falls in. He can jump really far with wind assist.

Aerana (Tempest Elementalist): Aerana has a very low power past which she loses control and just blasts everything around her with lightning until she collapses from exhaustion and or knocks herself unconscious. And with low level of power I mean like, she can give you static shocks over a few meters, or heat a teapot. With the right focus a little more. But everything we see in the game as combat skills would be an instant air overcharge.

11. How accurate is their reputation/image compared to how they really are?

Doss is known as a good but not exceptional alchemist, whose work is interesting but nothing to write home about. He could be voted average citizen of the month if it weren't for the fact that the average citizen has at least four limbs less than him. This is entirely accurate. He is just some guy.

Other Aki: Known for being the best (or second best, depending on the week) friend one could have. Great hugger, great to hug, always down for adventure, but also always down to just sit down and hang out. This is accurate. He and his brother are indeed theatrically competing over who can be the bestest friend.

Aerana: Stylish, dangerously intelligent, easily distracted, slightly mad, ruthless, cold, and vengeful. The first three definitely, the latter three only to outsiders. The madness? Nobody knows, not even her.

[randombrainwritings]

The King’s Bubble

(1,804 Words)

(NOT A HORROR STORY)

This was a school assignment in my 11th Hon. Lit Class and I wanted to share. The assignment was based off an image of a bubble being used as a leg of a wooden chair. (Couldn’t find the image) We had to make it first POV of the bubble. I made a 95 on this assignment (I originally forgot a title 💀)

Enjoy! Story under the cut!

I sat on a tree, surrounded by snow. There was a little child who came to me, his eyes lit up when he saw me. He poked me with a gloved hand, his head tilted in confusion. He poked me again. I did not pop. The boy then reached out his arms, covered in warm thick cotton. Picks me up, his smile could blind a man. He held me in his arms and just stared at me.

“I never thought I would ever hold a bubble in my arms, I wonder if its glass?” He looks up at the sky, “I wonder what strange thing I do next…”

I glow, I feel myself making images. The boy looks down and sees himself older, sitting on a throne, with a big, beautiful crown on his head. He gasps and opens his arms in shock. I float in place in front of him. His eyes are wide, until he sees a group of big men all in black coats.

“Hey that is the king’s child!”

“Get him! We can hold him up for ransom!”

One of the men starts to load his bow. The little boy grabs me and runs, they pursuit. The man with the bow fires close to the ground, trying to hit his legs. He trips over a root, then falls on me. He gets up and sees that he is in me. I surround his legs, an arrow hits me, it just bounces off. He smiles and holds me there as he runs.

He makes it home safely and he puts me on a lovely wooden chair. His parents find me enticing. They ask for fortunes. I show them. His father poked at me in anger when I showed him a gravestone. He poked me with a red, bubble wand with the arrow-like end. The son, Whitson, stops him and the bubble wand falls next to me.

Years later, my Whitson grew into a good king, his people are happy. He shares me with his citizens letting people know their fortunes. I was even used in battle as a shield, that’s how the other kingdoms learned out about me. An unpoppable bubble that shows fortunes is a rarity. When hearing this news, I felt like how Whitson did as a child, but now I feel like a second king because of my wooden throne, with a crown engraved on it, right next to Whitson. On the left of Whitson is his beautiful wife, Marie, a woman who teases. People broke into the castle many times to retrieve me. I have been locked away in other worse castles for days. Thankfully I have been retrieved every time. My kidnappings would last longer since Whitson had a child. So, I started to get saved by knights instead of Whitson. I’m happy to be saved but I feel like there is more heart when Whitson comes. As I sat on my safe throne Tommy, the king’s child who got his brown hair from his father and blue eyes from his mother, looked at me. I saw a lightbulb over his head. He grabbed his father’s old bubble wand. Placed it on me then blew into it. I grew another bubble inside me it moved out popping out of my side, it fell on the arm of the chair. I have a son! I feel overjoyed. Tommy runs to tell his parents. They see my son.

“Tommy, how did you do this?” Whitson asked.

“I took a bubble wand and blew into it, and bubble now has a friend!”

Whitson looks at me hard.

“Son do not do that. The bubble has gotten smaller, and we cannot have that, but I do find it interesting. I’m going to test something.”

Whitson pokes my son. He does not pop. He asks for a fortune; my son gives it to him. It is him cutting the leg of my throne. Whitson raises an eyebrow.

“This is amazing son! You made another! But if people learn that you could make multiple of our prized possession, they will come and try it for themselves. Then no bubble for us!”

After the conversation the king paces up and down the royal halls. He makes small sounds when he thinks. He looks out of a window. I cannot see what he is looking at or for, but I know he found what he wanted by his bright smile.

It’s now after dusk. Whitson leaves the castle with me in his arms. He walks through the town, as he walks my son bounces slightly on my head. He reaches a brick, viny wall. He kicks the wall in a rhythm, a door appears. I see a woman that looks like any witch: grey hair, covered in wrinkles, the whole thing. Even the shop looks like a witch house. Bookshelves covered in mystery things: bottles, books, containers full of who knows what, cobwebs. I feel like I’m reading a book.

“The king! Oh, what do you need your highness!?” Even a witchy voice too.

“You see these bubbles in my arms?

“Yes, wait there is more than one?!” She takes a closer look at me and son.

“My son Tommy found out how to make more, yet the bigger one shrinks.”

“Ooh, very intriguing. You know if the wrong people find o-“

“I know, that is why I came to you. I need to ask you how I would protect my most prized possession, and if you can. What is my most prized possession?”

“I am not sure, but I do have an idea on how to get people to protect it.”

“What is that?”

“Maybe make the people not want the bubble or a pain to carry around.”

“How would I do that?”

“We’ll find out, but I must ask where you found this bubble?”

“In a tree when I was a child.”

“Anything interesting about this tree?”

“I remember I saw this red, bubble wand, with an arrow like tip at the end near it on the snow.”

The woman’s eyes widened.

“I think I know exactly what you’re talking about! Do you have it, did you ever get it?”

“I do have it, my father had it, he threw it on the ground, and I grabbed it.”

“Is it with you!?”

The king quickly runs back to the castle and comes back to the secret shop. He bust in the door with a huff.

“I have it now!” He huffs, “Why must I need it?”

Whitson sits down on a chair with me in his lap. The woman grabs it and looks at it.

“It was mine! I tried to do a fortune spell and it flew away!”

Whitson had a frightened look and held me tighter.

The woman chuckles. “Don’t worry you can have it. I now know what I can do to it.”

“What is that miss?”

“You could do a binding spell on it, combine it with something hard to carry.”

“How do I do that ma’am?”

“Simple you take a piece of the thing you want to bind with it into the potion and you use it like glue. Here is the binding spell recipe!” She hands him a yellowish piece of paper that looks ripped from something.

“Oh, thank you so much! How much do I owe you? Name your price!”

“It is free dear.”

“Nonsense! I am the king I can afford your prices!”

“You don’t have to I insist.”

“You want a fortune?”

The old woman gave a lovely, sly smile. “If you want.”

“Of course!”

I do my magic. She sees herself in a shop much nicer than the one now. Her clothes are so rich and smooth. She giggles in pure happiness.

“Oh, thank you your highness!”

“No thank you!”

The next day Whitson is in the kitchen with his wife and child. The kitchen is huge, full of chefs, the family surrounds a pot on the stove. They toss in herbs, spiders, glue, and sap into the giant black pot. I watch as I am on the shelf.

“Honey what will our bubble stick to?” Marie asks.

“Oh dear of course the bubble will be on his throne. That’s why I sawed off a leg of it. I ripped a piece of carpet as well; just in case I choose the floor.”

“We’ll need that bald patched fixed huh?”

“Yes!”

Tommy giggles as he stands on a chair to see the pot from above. They throw the leg of a chair and the piece of carpet in the pot. The potion went from a green to a cream color. Stirring this potion is rigorous, even Whitson is breaking a sweat. When it is done, they put a funnel on a bottle and pour the thick substance in.

“It is done!” Whitson said in an excited tone.

“It looks like we made glue with extra steps.” Marie giggles.

“It is but magic!”

“Father where do we put this?” Tommy questions.

“In the corner of me and your mother’s room.”

“Can it be in my room?”

“I don’t see why not, son.”

The king held me in his arms. His wife has the binding potion, and his son holds my son. We go to a corner of Tommy’s red room. His whole room feels like you’re in a velvet cake. I feel the stick of the potion on my head, if I could, I would shiver. Beneath me the substance gets put on, it feels disgusting. I experienced a new weight on me. It is my own throne with the potion on the three other legs. My son only had the potion on the bottom. I wonder how he thinks. We never talked but I know everything about him. My son is stuck to the carpet next to me. Now they glue the red bubble wand onto the floor next to my son. My son and the bubble wand both blend into the carpet well. The family stands and admires their work.

“You know Tommy I am glad we stuck them here. No one will check a child’s room. They would check mine. Keep my greatest possessions close to me. But because of you it will be even safer!” Whitson comments while rubbing Tommy’s back.

“Thank you, father.”

The stick dries invisible on me, my son, and the bubble wand. It looks like you could easily remove any of us. Thieves have tried, backstabbing castle staff tried, even my family tried. We all stay the same. Every day for the rest of eternity you will see a wooden chair with a crown engraved on it, half a leg missing, I will fix the other half. My son was next to me, along with his bubble wand friend. All in a red corner, forever.