#a nearly coherent political opinion? from me?

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

Shout out to the young women of color at the bus stop going around asking if everyone was registered to vote. And the Indigenous people on the local issues talk segment of the indie radio station reminding everyone how wonderful it is that they're allowed to vote now, how much power they have, how proud their ancestors would be to see what they're able to do. And the Black volunteers tabling at last year's pride event in the deep South encouraging everyone to check that they were registered to vote and offering help if you weren't, I'm sure they'll be there again this year.

If you're a white person reblogging the "voting is just too depressing to bother with, who cares if we get the worst candidate possible bc the other guy is also not great" posts I think you need to consider your privilege.

Neither candidate is a good person (politics, what's new) but one is bad in a few specific ways and one is much worse in all of those same ways and also additionally terrible in 50 other ways. One specific candidate will actively attempt to destroy this country and you're saying it doesn't matter? People live in this country. Other countries have to deal with our policy.

You can't just opt out of politics in the place where you live because it feels uncool... Well, you could, if you're a very specific type of person who is (or believes themself to be) completely immune to the negative effects that A Certain Orange Man will bring to the country. But that's not a good way to live.

Immigrate elsewhere if you feel that strongly about not being part of the trash fire, I get it. But are you going to do that? Really? If you have family here, friends here, history here, a home here, beautiful nature that you love and want to conserve, consider that other people have that too and it's all at risk if the bad man and his goonies get the big seats and implement project 2025. If you fucking live here get off your ass and vote.

[sugarrookiedesign]

A Date So Bad, I Made A Tumblr Post About It

I'm sorta just listing events from the date off but its not entirely in order, and I most certainly forgot a few details bc it was all so stressful and chaotic

Mostly posting this for myself and my friends to gawk at (hi! 💓)

We met on the hellsite grindr. They're conventionally attractive, a bit odd and confusing through text, but were nice and seemed chill overall. We exchanged socials prior to meeting up and they had no local friends or much online community at all despite living in the area their whole life but I chalked it up to being newly trans.

These were the red flags I shouldn't have ignored, if you're keeping track lmao

I agreed to come to their place and my boyfriend dropped me off

First off I aint judging, but their house was completely empty besides their room even tho they claimed to have roommates and werent moving/recently moved?? unrelated but justa odd vibe and potential red flag lol

They were so erratic from the moment I met them they just kept talking n talking, and were clearly not all there bc I couldn't understand alot of what they were sayin. It made conversation so hard.

We sat on the floor of their bedroom and smoked wii'd

They got very emotional about everything and would like jump up and like grab n shake me by the shoulders to emphasize the shit they were babbling 😭

Throughout the date they gave lil signs that they were a volatile person like they explained how they have had frequent fall outs w friends and family, their exs have called the cops on them on numerous occasions(explained in bits n pieces throughout the date during their semi-coherent rambles), and they had spicy reactions to me, just like, saying anything.

Thoughout the date they said the R word 3 times even after i told them it upset me, both to be funny and because they were mad at someone in their head, they made fun of muslims(amongst many others), told me "i dont go too far left, my political opinions will get me in trouble" and didnt elaborate when I tried gently asking about it.

They asked if I wanted to have sex like 4 times like out of nowhere in different ways and I had to say "Ive told you no 4 times, absolutely not, please stop" and kept pushing questions about my kinks. They also really hammered on how confusing polyamory was and made it clear that they thought it was dumb and funny that I have an asexual partnership w my fiance even though I explained it all to them prior ro meeting. :')

Like 6 times throughout our 4 hour date they made themselves so mad from talking(basically to themselves) about their traumas that they were like yelling at themselves while staring at the ground??

Surprisingly the thing that made me text my boyfriend to pick me up ASAP was they asked me to buy them food like over and over and made me explain why I didn't want to do that it was so creepy and weird and upsetting, ik it sounds dumb but just the way they were saying shit n pushing it really triggered my anxiety 😭

(obviously manipulative voice that i notice immediately): "aw you know I could really go for some icecream but ive been broke recently and i have no food in my fridge"

me, knowing whats coming, already so sick of them: "Ah I feel you I love icecream, and I've been nearly broke recently too"

"..please buy me icecream?"

"uh no im sorry not today"

"please?"

"uuuuh, what? I dont really feel like it i already bought us snacks and i dont have alot of money"

"you said *nearly broke*. Can you please?"

"no"

"why not you have money"

and just kept going and was like asking how much I had in my bank account 😭

i try to ignore my phone when im w people to be respectful so the first time i texted my bf was to get rescued right after they begged me for food money and they just stared at me silently for like 15 seconds while I was texting before angrily saying "Oh so do you talk shit to your boyfriend when your grindr dates aren't going well? Is that it?"

for my safety I had to pretend like I was willing to go on a second date but I blocked her everywhere except grindr before I was even out of her driveway 😭😭

its hard to fully explain how fucking weird and bad this date was

One last small thing lmaooo when she put a youtube video on for us to watch she just straight up unblinkingly stared directly at my face to gauge my reactions to it FOR THE ENTIRE VIDEO I STG IF THAT ISNT SERIAL KILLER VIBES DUDE

Im tired, I just wanted headpats but I put myself in danger instead uuuugghhh

Part of it was absurd and almost-funny, I couldn't believe what was happening at times, but it was also mostly just super stressful. Lots of thoughts n anxiety swirling through my silly kitty brain 😖

Im not judging them for being clearly mentally unwell and I really hope they heal and get help for the stuff they're going through.. but also they were an objectively bad person who I need as far away from me as possible!

[spamtonology]

I have made a theory and would like your take on it

I do think that the acid lake incident has altered his voice because he may have accidentally breathed or inhaled some acid into his mouth, damaging his vocal cords, causing voice glitches (a.k.a glitched ad text or nonsensical words in brackets) and no volume control, hence the loudness of his voice.

His throat still burns from the acid to this day and no one remembers what his original voice sounded like as an Addison. He only has his current voice.

I will be perfectly honest with you, I don't think this is the case at all. I've explained why I don't believe nor like the acid theory very much with the specifics including contradictory canon evidence and further mischaracterization of his character including needlessly demonizing Queen and Swatch (Now, if he had a dream where such a thing happened, I could see that. Dreams are strange and irrational.)

The intervals in which he “glitches” out and says/does strange things is likely connected to whatever emotional state he is in at the moment. The bracketed ad-speech he utilizes is a remnant of his days as an Addison, though he will also use regular words and phrases in brackets too. He is capable of talking “normally”, especially as NEO, and is not always loud.

At the end of a neutral or pacifist fight with NEO, he notably speaks lucidly, addressing the others in a way that’s coherent. So, he absolutely has the ability to speak with volume control and to attempt to control his glitches. If the player’s inventory is full, he will go right back to his usual glitchy ad-speak, not sure how this works besides simply being Rule of Funny (and it works). He tries to make himself sound more coherent while giving Kris instructions to the basement, sounding very stilted with frequent pauses (punctuation marks).

So, yes, he has some control over how he talks. Not full control, maybe, but he can do a little bit of tuning with some effort.

If you want to be realistic, acid damage would not just stop at the vocal cords if ingested. The game is very much not realistic so this kind of scenario could happen, but it still wouldn’t sufficiently explain how his voice works.

I would also imagine that such damage to the vocal cords would render the user nearly unable to speak, rather than making them have no indoor voice. I choose to believe he is naturally loud, and always has been, but it’s gotten worse over time as his mental health deteriorated.

This is not to discourage you from making your own headcanons and stories, but you did ask me for my opinion, and this is what it is. It’s not really plausible. I hope I was polite in my tone, that usually doesn’t come off well online.

After all, you could make an AU where this is the case. Alternate Universes are a “go nuts” type of deal. But I don’t think this would work in canon.

(It also feels like more unnecessary suffering for the character, as mildly hypocritical it is of me to say that.)

[the-art-block]

I love all your VTM OCs! (And now I want to make one for my culture whoops) Do you have any fun facts about Merril?

Hey! thanks for the questions!! (Also you totally should, do it DO IT!! DO IT THEN SHOW ME)

Merrill Longriver Fun Facts!

In 1965, Merrill was deployed to Vietnam with other U.S. Marines, and would return in 1967 - short an arm.

He was living in Dallas, TX when he was Embraced in 1980. He encountered his Sire while waiting for a bus that never came to take him home from a late-night solo bar hop.

His Sire, a Salubri, known to him only as "Redder", did not remain with him for very long. Merrill recalls that Redder only stayed with him for a handful of weeks, long enough to issue key advice and warnings, before they vanished. He has not found Redder again.

Merrill has lived in many states since his Embrace, and moves every few years to stay ahead of local Kindred politics.

Whilst in transit to the Moonrise Nation in 2019, Merrill would nearly be killed by Sabbat that located his daysleep hideout. He nearly perished on the following sunrise, but was saved by Revenant "Diving Cat", an escort sent by the Moonrise to aid him.

The Best of Clans, the Worst of Clans

I won't lie, I really adore all the clans in VtM. I love the dynamics between them, I think they've all really come into their own with recent lore updates, and I can think of interesting ways to play each of them.

That said

Nosferatu are the best obviously

I also really enjoy the Ventrue, Brujah, and Giovanni. Such fun such fun.

My least favorites? I feel like I don't really connect with the Tremere like I maybe should... Sorry warlocks. I also don't really vibe with all the random variants of Cappadocian. They've always felt really shoe-horned in, and in my opinion the offshoots aren't really that coherent with the rest of the canon.

Pisanob and Samedi should be their own damn clans, tbh. Indigenous folklore should be treated like it's special, not tacked onto the end of the italian mob clan like accessories.

[ladyspaceradio]

Population: Me + You

Summary: The last thing on Ryders mind was having kids. She didn’t even have a significant other, let alone a romantic interest. However when Tann proposes something to help the colonist with repopulation efforts, asking Ryder to be the forerunner of it, she wasn’t sure how to take it. But now she's got a missing Sage, a grumpy baby daddy, a convention that might change everything, oh and she has to figure out how to tell Evfra he's going to be a father!

Warning: NSFW SMUT

AO3 LINK

                                                 Chapter One

“I’m-I’m sorry can you repeat that?” Ryder sat there stunned, eyes unable to focus on the Asari doctor whose name she couldn’t remember. 

Stepping closer, the doctor placed their hand on Ryder's shoulder. “You’re pregnant, congratulations.” 

Ryder’s head tilted to the side, glazed eyes stared at the asari though she wasn’t exactly seeing her. “I’m...what?” She breathed, mind swirling in chaos not really able to grab on coherent thought. “Pregnant.” The asari spoke slower, softer, there was a frown marring her expression. She probably wondered why the human pathfinder wasn’t jumping for joy. 

She’s gotten it wrong. Ryder clings to that thought. Because she couldn’t be pregnant. Not her. Because if she was-

Not possible. 

“That's not possible.” Ryder sinks deeper into the bed, the white paper sheet crinkles under her. She takes note that the asari is young, not even having her matriarch marks yet.

“You would think,” The asari beamed.  “Andromeda is full of surprises. We’re still looking into what exactly dissolved the blockers. Some think it's a bacteria, but I’ve been looking into those vaults. If they can make planets viable, just imagine what else they can make fertile!” Her excitement starts to dwindle as she studies Ryder’s pale face. “Erm, I’ll go get you a cup of water.”

“I can’t be pregnant.” Ryder slid off the table. Her feet feel light, and head lighter. Something turns in her stomach. “It’s not possible.” “Pathfinder,-” “Your tests are wrong.” She waved a hand. “I can’t be….” She shakes her head. The asari studies her. “If you need proof.” She opens the door to the hallway. “Follow me.”

Ryder stands in the mouth of the doorway, swaying. Her stomach twisted into knots. Lexi would probably say she’s in denial, some psychological trauma from her childhood. But then Lexi wouldn’t be lying to her. 

“Come on.” The asari smiles, it seems false, twisted in Ryders opinion. Perhaps this was just another one of Tann’s tricks. He was the reason she was here to begin with. 

He had contacted her, pestered and nagged her into this. Coming into the clinic to remove her blockers, to be a leading light for colonists to follow. 

“They need comfort to know that it's safe.” Tann folded his spindly fingers, a smile stretched across his leathery skin. “It is your job to lead them down the path of the future.”

The future.

Her eyes dropped to the trashcan by the door, she just might vomit into the bag there. 

“Pathfinder?” The asari dipped her head catching Ryders eye.

Lifting her chin she stepped forward into the dim hallways. 

                                     ----3 weeks earlier-----

The humidity on Aya was a hell of a thing. Paradise that came with a price, already she could feel the droplets of water clinging to her skin. It wasn’t that it was hot, but rather misty. Sighing Ryder ran a hand over her deflated curls and eyed the surrounding Angara celebrating with pride. Their joy, while delightful  to watch, gave her a splitting headache and rattled the teeth in her jaw from the burst of concentrated bioelectricity. This was the reason she chose to sit at the bar. 

And because Evfra was currently nursing another cup of Taavum looking spiteful.

“Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating?” Ryder leans against the bar, her tall cup of Taavum, a lovely smelling angara beverage, cupped between her hands. She knows how potent this stuff can be and has no desire to get drunk tonight. 

So she tilted her head down, letting the red curls cover her face as she studied the obviously displeased angara general who was hunched over his third glass of Taavum dissuading any of his soldiers from coming up and speaking with him. 

“I am.” Short and concise, but his sour face made him look as if he’d been sucking on lemons and not being adored by his people over what they thought was the last Kett ground base on Voeld being defeated. 

“Truly?” Ryder slides into the seat beside him, giving Roaan a small wave across the bar. “And is that true joy I hear ringing in your voice?” She puts her elbows on the counter, angling her body to look at him.

“It is...” He pauses looking at her, the dark blue of his iris look darker against the contrast of the white rofjinn wrapped and his broad shoulders. A gift from the initiative, one Evfra hadn’t enjoyed considering the small initiative logo stitched into the corner. He was likely to wear it tonight only for political gain, and destroy the offending material later. 

A pity considering how handsome he looked in it. 

“Hard.”

She blinks looking into his eyes and away from his physique. More than once Evfra had been a star player in some fantasies she had brewing in her subconscious. “What is hard?” Her voice is low and husky, she does not think he gets the innuendo.

“To believe this war is almost over.” 

Almost

It’s been three years since she killed the Archon. In that time they’ve worked together to build alliance between their people, cultivate a culture of respect and peace, and fuck the kett up so hard they wouldn’t even think of coming back for fear of getting their asses kicked again. 

“Hard to believe I slept over 600 years just to hear you bellyache about my cooking.” She tossed out, feeling a high as the slow releasing alcohol ran through her veins. 

His face contorted in disgust. “Your food is bland, tasteless, and should have been used against the kett.”

“Hey now! I’ll have you know Prime Rib is a delicacy, you should be thanking me for sharing.” She huffed out a small laugh and nudged his foot beneath the counter. “Your people have a future Evfra, and it’s thanks to you.” 

“Our people Ryder.” Evfra reaches over and touches her bare shoulder. She shivers at the power in the one hand that spans over half her back. “This is all possible because of you.”

She licks her lip, tapping the countertop. “And to think, in the beginning you stole all my credit-I’m kidding wipe that look off your face.” He’s not looking at her but rather something behind her. 

Turning her head she surveyed the crowd of angara when her eyes landed on the odd couple drawing everyone attention.  

Tilting her head to the side she watched Evfra observe the woman, who held the hand of a human male. It wouldn’t be such an odd sight except she was heavily pregnant. It seemed all the angara had taken notice. This was a rare sight considering there were delays on the repopulation efforts. Most to do with the fact that colonists wanted safety and security before starting a new family. Another part that so many families had been ripped apart by the war before. 

The woman stopped and smiled at the man who touched his hand to her expansive stomach. 

Ryder hummed softly and peered at Evfra’s face, noticing his eyes were slitted. He looked ready to shoot something. “Something wrong?” There was a noise of disgust that left his lips as he spoke. “Your people do not recluse during late stages of pregnancy?” He turned looking at Ryder, dragging his gaze down her face then form, settling on her stomach. Something fluttered inside her womb at the gaze. 

Or it was the alcohol. 

“Nah, we’re social butterflies.” She picked up her drink, sipping it, taking any excuse to not look at his face. “Not the same for your people, I’m guessing.” Now that she thinks about it she definitely never saw a pregnant angara. 

At least she didn’t think so. She knew that the angara had pouches, and that pups were small. 

“No.” He snarled, lips peeled back, his scar wrinkling under the expression. He turned back to the bar and downed the cup in front of him. 

She waited to see if he said more he just stared at his hands. Silently brooding. 

“I can’t imagine being cooped up.” Ryder swiveled in her chair grinning at the obviously happy pair making their way through the market. “I’d probably put a knife if anyone tried to cage me.”

Evfra snorted. “Like you did the Primus?” He offered. 

She pursed her lips. “Wish I did more to her.” She muttered, taking a gulp of the drink. It had a heady salty taste that ended in a sweet tang. 

Primus had been a Devil, far worse than the Archon since she had not desire to waste time gawking at the Remnant. She was pure evil, seeping a dark claws into Heleus seeking to erase everything but the Kett. 

In the end it had been her pride that led to her demise. She had wanted to see Ryder die by her own hands, for the ‘glory of the Empire.’ 

But there had been no glory in her death as she choked on her own blood watching Ryder stand over her. 

Taking another gulp of the drink, Abigail shook away the memory. Smacking her lips she looked at Evfra. “You ever just think about how you're getting older?” Eyes crinkle in the corner when his face delved into a sour expression.

“No.” 

“L-I-A-R,” She sang angling her body towards him. “You think about it. I think about, we all think about it. Its like waking up one day going, huh my life's half over and what do I have to show for it? A whole lotta nuthin’” She slapped her palm on the table. “Sure I’m the savior of the galaxy but that jazz is worth what?” “Millions of lives.” Evfra offered, looking almost amused as she swayed in her chair.

“Exactly! And do you know how many of those lives I’ve had in my bed?” She threw her hands in the air, nearly knocking over her drink, if Evfra hadn’t grabbed it. “Not a one!” She sinks into the counter, both arms stretched out in front of her.

“Why would you want that many in your bed?” Evfra moves her cup to the other side of the bar. 

“I don’t want a million dicks.” Ryder grumbled, lifting her head to glare at him. “I want one. One glorious dick to be my dick forever.” 

“Perhaps you should speak with your doctor about this obsession-” He grunted and caught Ryders flailing hand as it smacked him in the chest.

She stares at her tiny hand in his massive one. Completely swallowed. She shivers at the heat radiating even through the glove. 

“No one needs a Pathfinder anymore.” She murmurs looking up at him. “And what will I do then?”

They’re both silent for a moment before he sighs. “You find something else to occupy your time. Your nose is large enough to be in everyone's business.” He’d seen how she sought out even the little task to perform. Just the other day she stopped to show a recruit how to take apart a milky way gun. 

“I have a beautiful nose.” She grunted looking at him, said nose wrinkled. Much to Evfra’s annoyance however her eyes began to mist over. “Why can’t anyone recognize that?” Her bottom lip jutted out starting to quiver. 

Evfra cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with this situation. “Your nose is the right fit for your face.” He offered.

“Really?” Ryder squeaked looking up at him. “I thought it was too big.” She touched her face and sagged. 

His hand touched her jaw, turning her to look at him. “You are perfect.”

Three words. Three simple words that came from the most unlikeliest of people. 

Ryder stared at him even after he pulled his hand back and looked away. He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable from her silence or her staring. 

“You're handsome.” She blurts as he starts to speak, her declaration silencing him. He turns to look at her, eyes roaming over her flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “You are drunk.” He decides with a sigh. “I will call the tempest and have Jaal fetch you.”

“I’m not drunk.” Ryder pushed her thick hair back. “I’m high on liquid courage.” She smiles at him, though she is inclined to think she might be drunk when her mouth continues to spew thoughts from her brain. “I always thought you were handsome. Scar really adds to the good looks.” She nibbles her lips looking at him now, eyes tracing along the scar.

How many times had she fantasized kissing those twin lines that defined his features. Oh how she pictured nibbling them down to his lips that looked so plump that she knew they would cradle her own against them. 

Ryder shuddered leaning forward. He’s studying her expression when she reaches over, laying a hand on his muscular thigh.

“If you weren’t so walled off, Evfra, I’d almost suggest we hook up.” Ryder wiggles her brows.

He lets out a soft snorting chuff, his hand grabs hers and pulls it away before it could wander up to the crux of his thighs. “I think you’ve had enough.” He rasps in a husky tone, one that makes her thighs clench together as heat floods her core. “I will walk you back to your ship.” He slides out of the seat in a smooth motion that makes her head a bit dizzy.

“No thanks,” She jerks her arm out of his grip. “I don’t….I don’t want to go back there.” She curled an arm around her waist. “It’s lonely.”

They had come to Aya for more than this celebration, she’d come to say goodbye to Jaal as he and Avale were uniting their families and starting a life together. Just a few months prior Drack had left as well to be with Kesh and her second clutch of baby Krogan. Peebee had one foot out the door, Ryder could feel everyday she was itching for more than what the Tempest was doing. She knew that their time together wasn’t forever, but watching her family drift apart little by little was harder than she expected. 

Evfra was silent as she slumped down in her seat, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Let me crash at the resistance.” She grumbled.

“That isn’t something I can do.” He took hold of her arm again, and she allowed herself to be tugged out of the chair, though she misjudged the distance from her seat to the ground and landed directly into his chest with a soft  ‘oomf.’

His hand settled on the back of her neck, the other holding her arm ran down to cup her hip. She looked up at him, breath caught in the back of her throat. She was pressed tightly to his chest, breast molding to the hard plains of his, nipples stiffening as she felt a knot of arousal bubbling in her stomach. 

Gasping she watched his nose wiggle, eyes slitting as he bent his head. “You’re…”

She doesn’t think about it, in the future she’ll blame the alcohol running through her system, and the mix of Evfra’s heady scent, but she lunges, cutting off his words, smashing her mouth against his in a teeth clicking kiss that is more pain then pleasure. 

Evfra hisses, hand on her neck tangles with her hair, pulling her head back. Her lip is busted and bleeding, eyes glazed. Ryder sucked in a breath, her last bit of dignity began to shrivel as her hazy mind grasped at the lingering sanity pointing out she just kissed Evfra De Tershaav and likely ruined any type of friendship they have built over the past 4 years. 

“Evfra,” She twisted in his hold, hands pushing on his chest. “I’m-“

Her wobbly tone cut off as he bend his head, brushing his mouth against her nose, down her cheek, and ghosted over her lips. “You are too impatient, Ryder.” His husky tone sent a thrill down her spine that settled in her stomach. 

She tilted her head back trying to catch his mouth. She mewled softly when he pulled away.

“Not here.” He tugged her into his side tucking her against him, chuffing softly.

He doesn’t seem to mind her wandering hands this time. In fact she can hear the faintest sound of a purr thrumming deep in his chest. She almost calls him a pussy she’s willing to stroke when he suddenly tugs her off the main road and presses her up against the wall. 

Massive hands span over her hips as he dips his head towards hers. Letting out a sigh as their lips touch, he takes control keeping her head tilted with a fist in her fiery hair. He laps at the seam of her lips, but doesn’t go deeper despite her wiggling and whimpers of protest. 

“I’m starting to think you enjoy torturing me.” She gasp fingers curling around the straps laying against his chest. Her body’s pressed against his, hips grinding into his front. She makes needy keens in the back of her throat.

“Are you always this impatient Ryder?” He chuckles against her skin, lips igniting a fire beneath them.

“Call me Abigail, Evfra.” She panted against his mouth. She hadn’t the will power to extract herself from those delectable lips. Oh how she pictured kissing him! The reality blew all those lusty fantasies away. She made a wanton noise in the back of her throat as he nibbled her bottom lip. 

“Ahbee-gal” He purrs against her ear. The reverberating sound of his voice sends twings of pleasure down her spine, settling at her contracting core. He inhales deeply, chuckling at her reaction. “I’m going to ravish you.”

“Oh god yes!” She mewls  digging her fingers into his rofjinn, tugging to bring him back to her. 

He laughs, a deep throat thrum that she’s never heard before. If she had been more clear headed and less horny she would try desprately to remember the sound. Though that isn’t what is keeping her focus at the moment while ehr hands trail southward. Not that they get very far when the wall behind her suddenly disappears. 

Letting out a small wail, she nearly tumbles down to her ass if Evfra hadn’t snatched her waist. 

“Rude!” She huffed, craning her neck back to stare at the room behind her. Not that she can see much through the dim interior lighting. What she can see is a spare room filled with only the essentials. 

Of course her mind isn’t on the surrounding area long when a hot mouth presses to her shoulder sucking the the flesh there. 

“Clothing off.” She mewls hands tugging at his shirt trying to magic it off him with each tug. Why did angara clothing have so many buckles! Ryder begins to pout at the sight, muttering dark words about forbidden treasures being locked away. 

Chuffing in amusement he gently extracts her hands. “Let me.” His fingers make dizzly fast work of all the buckles and clasps. 

Hands free she starts work on her own clothing, while following Evfra as he tugs off his Rofjinn. Of course wanting to be naked soon as possible she attempts to take the shirt off without properly unbuttoning it first. 

Ryder stumbled into the bedroom door, her arms caught up in the sleeves as she tried to rip off the blouse she wore. She could hear Evfra huffing at her. Grinning she shimmied out of her shirt and tossed it onto the floor and wiggled a brow at him. 

“I would say your seduction talents needs some work.” He stated dryly folding the rofjinn and setting it aside. 

Licking her bottom lip she greedily drank in the sight of him shirtless, taking in his broad chest to his tampered waist. She especially appreciated the hard muscles that moved beneath his deep blue skin. Letting out a groan she moved toward him, hands out stretched to touch his skin. 

Catching her small hand by the wrist, Evfra let out a soft chuffing sound. “What happed to undressing?” He lifted her wrist and kissed the racing pulse beating beneath the skin. 

“I got caught up wanting to touch this perfection.” She whispered, swallowing back the saliva that built in her mouth. 

“Mmm.” He nips her skin before letting her go. “Are all humans so easily distracted or is it just you?” 

She let out an indignant huff. “Oh no it’s just me when there’s a particularly inviting male….” She steps closer, hands on his stomach stroking up and down grinning as his muscles contracted at the touch. “Needing to be stroked.”

He had scars across his skin, faded blue colors, almost white. She couldn’t resist leaning in and licking the one across his ribs. He let out a shuddering purr and yanked her into his chest. 

“Abigail.” Her name is a deep groan that leaves his mouth. 

And then he was kissing her again. Tongue sliding against her own, tangling together as his palmed her heavy breast. The skin of his palm sends electrical current through her breast, making her nipples stiffen and pleasure rock down to the clenching of her core.

Abigail moans against his mouth, enjoying the feeling of his touch too much to even notice when it became skin to skin contact. Until he breaks their kiss to pull away the tattered remains of her bra off her body. 

“Did you just he-man my bra off?” She spread her fingers against his chest, using his imposing unmoving form to steady herself. She thinks the alcohol has hit her system. She feels all warm and tingling. There’s a heat that starts in her stomach and pulses down. 

“I am unsure of your word,” He presses his mouth to her throat sucking on the skin there. “But yes, I did just rip that flimsy fabric.” He licked at the hollow of her throat, paying special attention to her jumping pulse. “I will buy you another, better, one.” 

“Mmm.” She tilted her head back, fuzzy brain can’t really focus on his words only on the sensation of his mouth making a path up her throat to her jaw, then his breath ghosted against her ear.

“Hold onto me.” He lifted her hands to his shoulders. And before her bogged mind could grasp his order he hefted her up, with one arm, wrapped around her ass. 

Squealing she hooked her thighs around those slim hips, pressing her heated core against his side. Her eyes rolled back at the sensation of his hip brushing against the wet crux between her thighs. 

Silencing her soft mewling noises he dropped her to the bed suddenly making a shriek leave her lips as she bounced against the mattress. Propping herself up on her elbows Abigail huffed at him, glaring up at his smirk. “Evf-”

Suddenly bending he grabbed the legs of her pants and yanked. Dragging them off her hips, along with her underwear. Which was left dangling of her ankle as he tossed her pants aside. They were less than flattering being the initiative issued clothing. A bland cotton cloth that  as Liam described  it, were ‘whitie tighties.’ 

If she had known the night would have gone differently she would have gotten her her red thong-

These thoughts abruptly disintegrated as Evfra lifts her ankle, looping a finger through one of the leg holes and holds the pair of plain undies up.

He drank in her scent with huffing breathes, large hands gripping the thin strip of clothing covering her soaked core. He growled as she let out a soft noise of disapproval. 

With a fangy smirk he lifted the soaked cloth to his nose. “Sweeter than pairpo.” Evfra purred, licking the panties then dropping them to finish ridding himself of his own pants. 

Abigail's eyes were glued to the movements, watching the fabric slide down his hips, lower and lower until Evfra was completely revealed to her. 

Lips parted in surprise, she stared at his cock. It was a darker blue and violet color, speckled with white across the underside of the shaft. He was thick and similar to a human male: if you didn’t count the fluttering ridges, the tapered head and bulbous base. The thing that shocked her and had her inching up the bed was that is was writhing against his stomach as if it had a mind of its own. 

Abigail didn't get to study him much before he grabbed her ankles and pulled her forward to the edge of the bed. 

Kissing each ankle Evfra placed the on his elbow, spreading her wide open for him like a flower blooming in spring. His eyes glued to her flushed skin. Pupils dilated, lips curled upward, he made a low snarling sound. 

Abigail flushed shifted against the bed feeling utterly vulnerable being spread before him like a feast. Which is how he was looking at her. She could even see him drag his tongue across his lower lip. 

“I must look alien to you.” She whispered self-conscious of her nudity. She curled an arm over her breast and sucked on her bottom lip. 

“You are….” He swallowed audibly, drawing his gaze from her pink cunt to her eyes. “Beautiful.” He purred, kneeling between her thighs. “I have never seen anything close to you.” 

“I’ve been curious,” his tone has taken a raspier note. The ‘r’s of his words dragged out in a sound that makes her shiver.  Warm hands drag along her thighs. Her muscles quiver in anticipation as he settled between her parted legs and inhales. 

Mewling she arches into him, head tossing back and forth in frustration. She wants him to touch her-why wasn’t he touching her. 

“Your kinds coupling is violent,” He strokes a hand down her skin. Petting her with the lightest touches on her stomach, hips, arms. But no where she WANTS him to touch. 

There is a tiny thought that wonders at what he’s seen to make such a judgement but it’s swept away in the tidal wave of arousal beneath his gentle touches. 

“Please!” Ryder keens softly her own hands trail up her body cupping the gentle slopes of her breast. 

He watches her but does nothing to end her torment as he speaks with slow decisive touch’s over her skin. “Your softer than any Angara I’ve been with.” As if to emphasize this point he groped the fat of her hips. She sighs as the touch, undulating beneath him. “I will not take you as your people do.” He bends tongue drags across the divot of her hip bone up the planes of her stomach. 

“Don’t care!” She cries out pinching her nipple watching him taste her skin with small licks traveling up her body. Everything throbs at the sight. She can feel herself spasm with need, a yearning to feel him slip between her thighs, to fill her to the edge of pain. To fuck her into this mattress till she can no longer move. 

“Evfra!”

He smirks leaning over her. “Responsive.” He stops her hands gathering both wrist. “Much better then the vids.” He murmurs softly against the swell of her breast. She’s holding her breath, nearly vibrating with wanton need.

A small thought bubbles in the back of her mind, that she’s edging the point of no return. That this was going to be a bad idea that spirals into a pit of despair if she didn’t stop. But that little bubble popped the moment his tongue sweeps out against her pert nipple. 

Crying out she arches into him, hands twist in the hold that has them. “Sensitive.” He growled lapping at the pink nub, circling it with the tip of his blunt tongue. Her toes curl at the feeling, his tongue had a texture to them and seemed to vibrate against the peak of her breast. 

He nibbled down the slope of her puffy breast, switching to lavish the other with attention. 

“I like how soft you are.” He growls squeezing and molding the breast to the palm of his hand. “How incredibly soft.” His mouth seals of the taunt peak, making her arch up into the sucking of his hot mouth.

He’s making a wet slurping sound while he suckles the peak of her nipple. His hand spanning her ribs moves down her side, cupping her rear that is pressed against his clavicle bone, which she’s been rutting unconsciously again.

She let out a moan as his finger slid along her cunt. He let out a rumble, seemingly surprised at how wet she was. Abandoning her breast with gentle kisses he travels down her stomach. Stopping to lavish attention to each of her small scars, freckles, and stretch marks. He grins at her as he nibbles her hip bone.

“Your scent is driving me wild.” He noses her red curls purring when she jerks against his hold. “It always drives me wild.” He lets out huffs parting her lips and stares at the pink clutch dripping with arousal. “I have longed to taste.”

“E-evfra.” Abigail wiggles in his hold, mind hazy with arousal. She mewls, trembling in anticipation. He seems to be taking his time savoring her scent that has her flushing with embarrassment. That doesn’t last long when he opens his mouth and licks along her slit with a decisive stroke. 

She mewls softly, hips jerking against his mouth. His spans a hand against her stomach, keeping her in place while his tongue makes feather soft touches across her cunt. It was light and gentle touches that were driving her wildly mad.

Thighs kept spread with his shoulders, he had full control of her body. She let out a deep cry, body shuddering. “Evfra!” She grabs his sheets jerking up into his mouth, trying to grind into him. 

He lets out a purr, vibrating that tongue against her clit that sends her spiralling down. Eyes rolling back as a slow building orgasm trickles into her system. Every muscle in her body quivers beneath the slow lazy licks of his tongue. Gasping, her knees fall open, hips ground up into his mouth. Rocking in time with his broad strokes. 

“Evfra, Evfra evfra.” She chants feeling the burn of overstimulation but she can’t stop rocking into him, can’t stop the second orgasm building as he audibly gulps at her cream. She lets out a sharp yelp when he presses a thick, blunt, finger into her weeping entrance. 

“Look at how you grasp me.” He purrs. “Greedy.” He sinks his finger deeper into her swollen, pink, clutch. Cooing at the way she grips his digit. Like a hungry mouth suckling him back in. 

Moaning, her head tossed side to side as he filled her up, opening her wide with slick wet noises as he moved his finger inside of her. It had been a long dry season since she last been with a man. At the moment she couldn’t even remember it, only what Evfra was doing to her body as he shifted pulling her hips higher. 

Nibbling her outer lip he thrust his finger deeper, both groaning as he did. “So soft.” He rasped. “How can any male leave this body.” His eyes met hers. “I’m going to make you sing for me.” 

Singing wasn’t what she felt her throat was doing. Opera more like it as she shrieked at the powerful orgasm that made her body arch and clench. She practically bowed off the bed while her vision went dark. All the while she could feel him still working his finger deeper into her cunt while loudly licking up the cum dripping out of her. 

“Stars.” He rasped  looking at her flushed body and shaking limbs. 

Abigail certainly felt like she saw stars as she went limp against the mattress. Her body jerked against him as he withdrew his finger. Drowsiness edged into her consciousness as she stretched languid. 

Of course two orgasms later and Evfra was nowhere near done with her. He chuckled as he kissed up her body, saying hello to the girls before he was fully looming over Ryder. 

“I hope you aren’t about to fall asleep.” He nudged his nose against her chin, urging her thighs to wrap around his waist. 

“Mmm.” Ryder cracked an eye open suddenly far more awake as something rolled against her sensitive lips. Breath hitched when he nudged her entrance with the head of his cock. 

“Oh!” SHe gasped as the odd sensation of being filled by something that wasn’t entirely human. 

Thighs quivering against his hips, she attempted to roll away from the burrowing entity that was Evfra’s cock, only to feel the first set of ridges slip into her and go completely still. She was instantly melting into a puddle of pleasure as they rowed against the walls of her. Especially tickling her g-spot. Making her clench around him with a groan. 

Scar wrinkled he closed his eyes holding her hips, soft a mewling noise left his throat. “Stars.” He looked down at her then, eyes slitted. “The way you grip me…” He rubbed the mark he left on her skin, breathing hard. 

Drool was dribbling out of her mouth while she gazed up at Evfra, hips rolling against the thick cock. Toes curling, heels digging into his back to spur him on. But Evfra seemed determined to drive her mad. He moved in a slow pace, until he was completely sheathed within her warmth. 

“Tight.” He growled against her skin, he was making many marks against her collarbone, sinking his fangs into the yielding skin. Ryders own nails were clawing at his back as she felt the bulbous base popping into her cunt. 

“Evfra!” She cried so sweetly, tears leaking out of her eyes as he began to pull out of her at the same slow pace. He could feel her climax as he pushed in, feeling the way her walls clenched and pulsed, beckoning him to seed her. 

How he thought of her swollen with his child, like the human he saw before. His lips peeled back in the though as he pulled her hips flush against his, sinking into her depths. A hand span up between the valley of her bouncing breast and lay over her vunerable throat. 

She gasped, tilting her head back giving his hand more room as he cupped her throat, thumb stroking over her racing pulse. She murmured how she couldn’t give him another one. But she would-oh she would cum again on his cock, and he would fill her womb with his seed. And once she was limp beneath him he would slide down her body to taste their coupling, coax yet another orgasm from her. 

Maybe then he would let her rest, but he would spend the night between her thighs.

“You’re a treasure.” He bent over her, hips gliding along her thighs, sticking to the steady pace. Those ridges rubbed against her walls. He can feel the tells of his own climax coming as the ridges began to row, seeking to interlock with a female angara’s grooves. They would become thicker as he climaxed, ensure that none of his seed escaped. 

He watched as Abigail’s green eyes widen at the feeling, her wet lips parting with a soft ‘Oh!’ as a shudder rocks her body. She orgam’s against him, he can feel her soak him as a wordless cry escapes her. He growls bending down to capture her lips, sinking deep into her cunt as spurts of his seed coat her womb.

-----Present-----

She chewed on her nail, biting into the skin but not breaking it. 

How did one tell the grumpy resistance leader that his one night stand led to a new life? 

She hadn’t even seen Evfra since then. Much less spoke to him. Her hands threaded together behind her head as she let out a low sigh staring at the screen of the empty email. Twice she started typing, both started with an apology neither made past the second sentence. She wanted to be a coward, send him an email, throw the proverbial ball at him and wait. 

Turning in her chair she pulled out the glossy black and white photo. Though it was hard to discern what exactly the picture was, she could make out the small pea like blobs in the photo as her children. 

Multiple...

She shuddered, a sour taste filled her mouth, her stomach rolled. Taking gulping breathes she warded off the nausea. Apparently the Doctor, Y’lusia, Sara remembered her name after leaving, said she was in 10  weeks along. Funny considering she’d slept with Evfra 3 weeks ago. But Ryder hadn’t said a word, just numbly taken the photo. 

Y’lusia informed her that she would be sending the file over to Lexi, who was her main doctor, but thought it best for her to set up another appointment at the clinic to see a specialist. She wouldn’t be returning to that clinic, Ryder thinks with a bitter expression. 

It was a shame Lexi was attending the Nexus seminars at the moment, and Harry was acting at the Tempest replacement. 

Gave her plenty of time to avoid, ignore, this predicament a little longer.

::Ryder, Director Tann wishes to speak with you.:: SAM popped up at his router, to the left of her elbow. She let out a low noise of discomfort thinking about talking to him.

“Any way I can put him off?” She leaned back into the chair, putting the ultrasound photo into a draw where it was to be forgotten for a time. ::I can tell him you are occupied with personal matters.:: SAM offered. 

“Uuuugh no,” She stood and pulled her hair back into a bun. “It will only make matters worse.” She stood and looked at the Orb. “How do I look?” ::Like Abigail Ryder.::

She snorted softly. “Remind me to have Jaal teach you some sauve lessons SAM.’ She took a few breaths shaking her hands out. “Maybe I should change.” She glanced down at her sweat stained sleepshirt. She hadn’t bothered dressing, as there was no one needing her attention. They’d just gone to Eos, dropping Peebee off. 

It had been a sad, and regretfully sober, party for Ryder. While Peebee bounced around the remaining tempest crew wishing them good tidings, Abigail had been preoccupied with thoughts of what her future was now going to look like. 

Groaning she tugged her shirt off and ambled over to her messy wardrobe. She shifts and sniffs each article till she finds a decent one and tugs it on. It's here she glances at the mirror and frowns as the material stretches thin across her abdomen. A hand settles across the swelling between her hips. 

Letting out a slow sigh she turns away from the mirror quickly and heads to the door. 

She is lucky that she can play it all off on the removal of the blockers for the time being.  

“Ryder,” Tann’s eyes blinked one just slower than the other. Abigail tilted her head to the side, was it old age? Perhaps he was having a silent seizure. She almost wanted to call a doctor just to end this meeting.

“Tann.” She says his name in a slow draw, blinking her eyes one just slower than the other. 

“I see you have gone into the clinic, I will be setting up a meeting for you on Nexus, we’ll get this ball rolling. Addison will be in touch shortly, she’s eager to begin this campaign. The colonist need something to look towards.” His babbling seemed to cause the spiking ache behind her eyes. One that had her stomach turning. “Mmm.” Ryder replied, rubbing her temple. “I’ll be stopping at Aya first.” She had to speak with baby-babies-daddy about something. 

Like the very impeding existence of being a baby daddy.

“That’s perfect! I’ll send the reporters there,” Her stomach drops as she tries to speak but Tann prattles on regardless of her protest.  “Good scenery, the angara are good place to start. Being all about family as they are. It will be a good start, very good Ryder,” She wonders if good was the only vocabulary he knew when he waves his hand in a wide arch.  “I will let Addison know. Tann out.” 

Then he was gone, and she was left there, feeling bamboozled. 

How did my life become this?

She sucked in a sharp breath a gurgle logged in the back of her throat and she stumbled away from the vid coms racing to the crosswalk where she jumped down and shoved Liam out of the way. 

“Hey!” He hollered. “I have to piss.” 

Ryder didn’t answer as she bent over the sink and vomited.

“Never mind.” He backed out of the bathroom and turned away.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you Enjoyed this please leave me a like or comment! 

[radiantmists]

i feel like this is gonna be an unpopular opinion but i sometimes see people talk about grizzop as a sort of paragon of logic and morality and it always bugs me.

bc like. yes, i love grizzop. and i think it’s clear that he is very much trying to be good, and he’s very committed to doing what he sees as the right thing. 

but the same are true for azu and hamid and plenty of characters, and i don’t think he’s any better at moral reasoning than most of the rest of the party. i think the impression that he is comes from his unshakeable confidence and his mastery of what I’ve started to think of as catholic logic. 

(this is fairly stream of consciousness and i’m not gonna tag it bc it’s not gonna be entirely coherent or especially well argued, i’m just getting some thoughts down. but my understanding is that sometimes untagged stuff shows up in search, plus ig i have followers, so feel free to reply and discuss this, i’d actually love that. but not much i say here is stuff i’m super confident about so... please don’t get too offended by my wrongness. just tell me why you feel im wrong without aggression, or move on.)

the first bit is the confidence. we don’t ever see grizzop have a moral crisis in the way that most of the other characters do. I can’t think of a time that he’s appeared to look back on something he’s done and wonder if it was wrong; the closest that occurs to me is when he regretted shooting the guy’s legs off in the cairo bar, but tbh i think that was more of a judgement error where he expected to hurt the person much less than he did. we don’t see him question things like flooding the orc town near damascus or dragging sasha into the politics of ancient rome when she didn’t want to be, and honestly, i think this lack is mostly to do with how short a time he was with the party.

most of the arcs he were present for were focused on hamid and sasha’s growth. where he played respectively the accuser and the protector, both roles that made him look good because they cast him as the arbiter of who was right. 

i think hamid, especially, bought into this in the cairo arc, because i think hamid is very consciously in the process of recalibrating his moral compass at the time and he has a marked tendency to do so based on the people he admires-- and the loudest voice in the room. hamid really doesn’t like people he admires having a problem with him, and he already felt that he wasn’t necessarily a good person, so he was very open to seeing grizzop or azu as the authority on whether he could be good, and since grizzop pushed where azu prevaricated, grizzop was the one who got the final say.

but in the same arc, you can see sasha and azu starting to question grizzop’s moral compass; sasha notices how legalistic grizzop’s judgement is, and that it really ought to condemn her too, while azu takes issue with how brutal grizzop’s methods are (see punching wilde). but neither of them are willing to press the issue with him at that point, and so he’s never really confronted with something that contradicts him.

and notably, grizzop’s confidence comes from the obvious source: he believes that artemis is inviolably good, and he knows she approves of what he’s doing because his powers still work. but there’s an arrogance here, too, a very strong belief in his own moral superiority with the slightest confirmation; look at rome, where he refuses to listen to azu and ed’s assertions that there’s something wrong with the gods there, because he was able to bull through to artemis the one time he tried, so obviously he must just be a better paladin of a better god, right?

grizzop has very strong beliefs and opinions, and he takes whatever route works best to fulfill them-- both in terms of actions, and in terms of logic. take his decision to forgive/endorse hamid near the end of the cairo arc: by his own assertions, people should experience consequences for their actions, and we know he knows what manslaughter is because he brings it up when hamid first starts talking about accidental murder. but where saleh and carter belong in jail because they’re ~bad~, hamid is allowed to continue on because he’s ‘trying to be better’, never mind that that  was hamid’s whole argument about why saleh didn’t deserve to go to jail. plus, saleh’s one goal when he thought he’d killed someone was to resurrect them, which imo makes a lot more sense as a redemptive gesture than going around killing entirely unrelated people. the rules are different because grizzop likes hamid (and probably a bit because ben didn’t want to break the party, but shhh).

this twisting of the logic to fit what you’re trying to prove is what i mean by ‘catholic logic’ (i’m catholic dont @ me); it sounds really good if you don’t think about it too hard, but in fact it’s generally post-facto rationalizations for decisions that have already been made.

grizzop is very enthusiastic about poking holes in other people’s moral reasoning, as we see with apophis, but i think his issue is that he’s got a blind spot when he looks at himself and his own decisions. in grizzop’s world, grizzop is right as long as artemis is still with him and everything else comes after.

now i’m personally of  the opinion that alex doesn’t bother/want to engage with the idea that gods take away powers, post-poseidon nonsense, which if true i sympathize with; doing so is either going to lead to the sort of inscrutability zolf had a meltdown over, or put a player in the weird position of making their character do what alex has decided their god would require or having to entirely reinvent the character without those divine powers.

on another meta level, my understanding is that grizzop  was designed to be very resistant to doubt because of ben’s difficulties playing zolf, so i think he might have been nearly as resistant to growth on that front as bertie was in general, because believing unshakeably that he’s right is a core element of his character. 

but i think if grizzop had lived longer, alex absolutely would have done some hammering at that absolute conviction. that might have come in the form of vesseek and the fact that grizzop is apparently an absentee father; even if he is sending home money, i can’t imagine that not being something that gets mined for angst. 

i also think he would have eventually come into a similar sort of conflict with azu, sasha, or cel (whoever was there) that zolf is in right now, where he absolutely believes that whatever killing he’s committed/intending to commit is not only right but a moral imperative, and they disagree. 

now whatever side you fall on in the barrett debate, i think grizzop ought to be a lot less willing than zolf to say ‘i’m not gonna go through you lot to do it’, not because i’m convinced grizzop would be hugely more willing to physically fight the rest of the team over it, we know that despite his practicality he seems to overlook some ‘’’wobbles’’’ in people he already cares about,  but because zolf is capable of giving up on something in a way that grizzop just isn’t. i dont know how that would play out; chances are, it would get interrupted by a fight, but. who knows.

[st-just]

Semi-coherent Thoughts on the Poppy War Series

(Because I really need to start forcing myself to write semi-consistently again)

So I’ll say outright that I actually liked the series quite a bit, which does mean I actually got engaged and invested enough to start turning it over and picking it apart in my head after I finished it. So, like, this is probably going to come across as more negative overall than my actual opinions of the books.

Anyway, first off I really do adore Rin as a protagonist (I’d say ‘heroine’, but, well, no). Now partially this is because I always love even minimally sympathetic morally grey (..grey like coal soot, in this case) protagonists. But she’s just also such a complete garbage fire of a person, it’s kind of endearing. Well, that’s a bit callous – her entire personality is more or less a conflict between different kinds of unhealthy responses to powerlessness and trauma. Be she’s also just such a mess, and when she really starts leaning into delusions of grandeur you can’t help but root for her and hope things do actually turn out okay, regardless of how many fivers of blood she’s currently fantasizing about creating.

A big part of that is just how thoroughly awful the entire setting is, and how terrible everyone in it are, of course. Like, there are basically exactly three developed character in the entire trilogy who are unambiguously at least mostly good people (Chen, probably Venka, specifically the amnesiac and semi-delusional version of Jiang, but that’s being generous), and the fact that they stick around with Rin right to the end kind of puts that into doubt, honestly. Beyond that – almost every family has negligent or abusive parents, and literally every political figure is a bloody-handed tyrant ruling through violence and fear. The Hesperians are racist imperialists convinced they have a divine mandate to conquer the world, the Mugenese are every horror story from the IJA during WW2 translated to a pre-industrial fantasy setting, the ruling elite of Nikara are so many racist, scheming, power-hungry snakes with no concerns except their own position....

And, part and parcel with how terrible the setting is, Kuang does an incredible job of making all the worst things Rin does (until the final act, anyway) incredibly cathartic and badass and fun-in-a-fucked-up-way to read. There’s a terrible sort of awe while she turns the main islands of not!Japan into a pyroclastic hellscape. And whenever she gets a chance to enact any of her numerous revenges on some of the many people who abused and betrayed her it’s always poetic, in a Count-of-Monte-Cristo sort of way, and so kind of sickly compelling, even beyond it being some of the only times Rin’s really hopeful and happy. (Also, there are fun villainous monologues and quippy post-murder one-liners!)

Also, all forms of love are a terrible idea 100% of the time and is only going to end in at least one of the parties dead, abused, or (more or less literally) killing themselves in order to keep up with the other/earn their approval/try to keep them together. (I mean, Rin mostly had horrible taste in men, but Chen wasn’t able to stay mad at her for longer than a few months even after the whole ‘genocide’ thing, which he’s just about the only person to react to with any horror whatsoever. And look at how that ended up working out for him, so-)

I’m sure comparing grimdark fantasy to A Song of Ice And Fire is thoroughly out of fashion by now, but the overall perspective really did strike me as incredibly similar to Martin’s, a lot of the time. ‘Legitimate’ power and ‘lawful’ authority are ultimately nothing but polite fictions maintained by violence, terror and brutal oppression. War is a hell suffered most keenly by civilians with the misfortune to live and die in the middle of it, and least of all by the people with the power who actually start and end them. A flawed and unequal peace is very often preferable to dragging everything to hell with you as you die for the sake of freedom. And so on.

Now, to start the nitpicking – this is entirely personal and aesthetic, but it was kind of annoying how each of the first two books ended in moments of megalomaniac grandeur and terrifying empowerment, and then the next book started with a timeskip of things having gone to shit and her back under someone else’s thumb, and then a solid majority of the text is spent getting manipulated, betrayed, and finally crawling and clawing her way back out to the same point (both emotionally and in terms of independence/vision) that she had been at the previous book’s climax.

This isn’t anything even close to unique to TPW, of course – everything going to shit between the end of one story and the start of the sequel is kind of endemic to a lot of genres, really. And it is frankly incredibly in character for Rin to go through cycles flipping between resentment at being manipulated and used, and desperately craving authority figures to tell her what she should do and give her validation as valuable or useful. Still a bit annoying to read, though.

I’m sure it’s more me than the books – not like they didn’t put in the effort – but I could just never get really invested in the whole enemies-to-almost-lovers-to-enemies-again-to-? Thing with Nezha. Like, he’s interesting in that you can do a 180 perspective flip and he’d clearly be just as suitable a protagonist as Rin is, and his life’s very sad and everything. But, like, we get a front row seat to Rin’s internal monologue, and she gets thirsty for plenty of terrible men (and one awful woman), the only thing that makes Nezha special is that he’s not at least twice her age. So I never really got nearly as emotionally invested in them as the books seemed to expect me to. Which does kind of hurt the whole final act of book three.

Speaking of – okay, the ending isn’t awful or anything, but it is kind of disappointing in being exactly what you would expect it to be, as far as Rin’s character arc goes? Which might be just because I was already primed to compare this to ASOIF and she just literally pulls a Daenerys (fire-aligned vengeance/justice character with revolutionary impulses and an autocratic sensibility is willing to burn down the world in the process of freeing it, goes mad with power and paranoia, needs to be put down for the good of the country), but still. Her reading Venka throwing her to the ground to avoid an assassination attempt as a betrayal and burning her to death before she realized what was happening was just really heavy handed, you know? Same with turning on Kitay, who at this point is her actual literal soulmate. (Also sad in a broader sense, because those two are like literally two of the only characters in the entire series I’d actually peg as worthy of/capable of being trusted with political power.)

The specifics aside, I’m a miserable enough person to appreciate how unsatisfying the actual resolution at the end of the book is – imperialism wins! Literally no choice but to sign those unequal treaties and hope you’re eventually able to grow strong enough to force them out! Everything is the same as before this forty-year cycle of wars except much, much worse! - but yeah, I really just don’t actually care about Nezha enough as a character for it to really land. Also Kitay and Venka deserved better, even if literally no one else did.

Anyway, yeah, good series. Would recommend if you like the genre and can stomach all the, well, everything.

[first-empire-fancy-boys]

Review of Military Life Under Napoleon by Elzear Blaze, translated by John R. Elting

Post-it-o-meter: 106 post its to 216 pages

I feel like the proportion would be slightly different if the book was more novel-shaped/sized like my other memoirs. The Meras version is 310 pages despite more cuts and the original French is 437 pages.

Score: Recommended if you love anecdotes of various amounts of usefulness. Elting's footnotes may make you rage.

People who criticize Blaze's memoirs consider him as a guy who rambles too much about useless things.

In my opinion, it is a feature not a bug. Blaze is great. But if you want something more chronological and to the point about more big-picture events, Blaze is not your man.

The book is loosely split into topics rather than by time so he does jump around the timeline and despite the title, also talks about post-Napoleonic time a bit and occasionally goes into history and fiction.

Unfortunately for those of us that can't read French well, both English translations of Blaze's memoirs have some issues.

John R. Elting is a man who writes footnotes that aren't helpful a portion of the time, and because he also uses old American slang, which already confuses me, a native English speaker in the USA, so I can only assume it could be even worse for people from other backgrounds. There is a footnote for "petty details² of garrison service" that explains it as "2 with us, chicken, Mickey Mouse, or less polite terms." ....what am I even supposed to do with that? It's literally less coherent than what was literally said.

Some of the footnotes also tell you to just reference his book Swords Around A Throne, so you might want to have that on hand.

He trimmed out three different instances of Blaze's diversions. The book also has a number of typos such as dropping letters off the end of words. Whoever at Emperor's Press was doing the editing did not go over it nearly enough!

E. Jule Meras's version of Blaze, Recollections of an Officer of Napoleon's Army, seems to have trimmed away even more, but as this was published in 1911 rather than 1995, it is easier to get for free if you use Hathitrust. His footnotes seem less wacky at a quick glance, but I have not read it in its entirety.

Despite these problems, Blaze still shines through with an amusing recollection of his time in the army and it isn't too difficult to read. I find him very appealing due to my interests in ordinary soldiers and I feel it's easier to connect with history when I have some of the more "guys just going through it" type stories in addition to more drily factual material. It doesn't need to have a world-changing point to be interesting.

Some excerpts of Blaze that I have posted on the blog:

Blaze Recovers Because Gil Blas Did

Setting Up Huts

[doshmanziari]

Musical Offerings for the New Year || What is “Radical Music” in 2021?

Near the end of 2020, a bunch of musicians populating a chatroom, including myself, each submitted ten minutes’ worth of our work to another musician, Chimeratio, who generously compiled it all into a set totaling nearly ten hours.¹ The work didn’t need to be new; just what we thought might best represent our abilities/style(s) and/or perhaps what we were especially pleased with. The set premiered in late January. Since I have some tentative plans for reorienting Brick By Brick this year, while not overriding its emphases, I wanted to share that music with anyone who’s interested.

I compiled the four videos into a playlist, although you can also access them individually: here (1), here (2), here (3), and here (4). If you care to, and are on a computer, you can also view the accompanying chatlog and read people’s responses from when they were listening to the live broadcast.

The compulsion for this project was sparked by excited discussions over and usage of the term “digital fusion”, most helpfully propagated by Aivi Tran, designating a computer-based body of work that for years lacked the rooftop of a commonly agreed upon genre-name. While describing my music has never been a big concern, even if it’s usually felt impossible (what, for example, is this? or this? I dunno!), I’ve appreciated how the spread and application of this term has brought together people who may have felt isolated.²

As “digital fusion” gained designative traction, I witnessed the activity in the aforementioned chatroom explode over the course of a few days. Before, a day’s discussion might’ve been a few dozen messages; now, there were dozens of messages every half-minute. This had positive and negative ramifications, the negative being that conversations often proceeded at a pace of rapidity which precluded concentrated thought. Eventually, I bowed out because the rapidity exceeded my threshold for meaningful interaction; but I was glad that significant invigoration was going on.

I wanted to share this music also because it intersects with thoughts and talks I’ve been having stemming from the question, “What is ‘radical music’ in 2021?” This was stimulated by a 2014 talk given by the writer Mark Fisher, wherein he contends that, were we to play prominent “cutting edge” music from now to people twenty years ago, very nearly none of it would be aesthetically shocking, bizarre, or revelatory (think of playing house music to an audience in the early 1960s!). Fisher also observes a trend of returning to music which once was seen as the future -- as if, deprived of a shared prograde vision, imaginations turn hazily retrograde; ergo, genres such as synthwave or albums like Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories.

It isn’t my goal here to argue about the “end of history.” Fisher’s time-travel hypothetical, however, rings loud and true to me. Visible musical radicalism has, for at least a decade, been strictly extra-musical, in the sense of songs like “This is America” or “WAP”, where one’s response is primarily to the spectacle of the music video, the performer’s identistic markers, and/or the manner in which the lyrics intersect with (mostly US-centric) ideological hotspots. Musically, there is really nothing radical here. Any vociferous condemnations or defenses of a song like “WAP” deal in moralizing reactions to semantics or imagery: how progressive or regressive is the political aspect? how propelled or repelled are we by the word “pussy”?

It would be a mistake, and simply wrong, to assert that the only music one can enjoy escapes the parameters outlined above; and my inability to coherently categorize some of my own music hardly raises that portion to the status of radicality. But the question here pertains to what is being made, and I think that if we’re going to seriously consider the nature of truly radical music today, we do need to question if such a quality can prominently exist when our hyper-fast consumerist cycle seems to forbid not just sustained, lifelong relationships to artwork but also the local, unhurried nourishment of creative gestation. Now, in my opinion, there are good, even great, examples of radical music still being made in deep Internet-burrows, and for evidence of that I would offer some of the material contained in the linked playlists. Moreover, I’d say that this quality can exist in part because these little artistic communities are so buried.

Let me share a quote that another person shared with me recently:

For culture to shift, you need pockets of isolated humanity. Since all pockets of humanity (outside of the perpetually isolated indigenous people in remote wilderness) are connected in instantaneous fashion, independent ideas aren’t allowed to ferment on their own. When you cook a meal, you have to bring ingredients together that have had time to grow, ferment, or decompose separately. A cucumber starts out as a seed, then you mix it with the soil, water and sunlight. You can’t bring the seed, soil, water and sunlight to the kitchen from the get-go. When you throw those things in to the mixture without letting them mature, the flavor cannot stand out on its own. Same thing with art and fashion. A kid in Russia can come up with a new way to dance, gets filmed on a phone, it goes viral quickly but gets lost in the morass of all of the other multitudinous forms of dance. Sure it spread far and wide, but it gets forgotten in a week. In the past, his new art form would have been confined locally, nurtured, honed, then spread geographically, creating a distinct new cultural idiosyncrasy with a strong support base. By the time it was big enough to be presented globally, it was already a cultural phenomenon locally. This isn’t possible anymore. We’re consuming too many unripened fruits.

The main impression I have here is that radical music today will, and must be, folk music. Our common idea of folkiness might be the scrappy singer strumming a guitar, but my interpretive reference rather has to do with the idea of a music being written, first of all, for one’s self, and then shared with a small-scale community, which in turn helps the artist grow at their own pace. This transcends a dependence upon image, the primacy of acoustic instrumentation, or the signaling of sincerity versus insincerity. It is a return to the valuation of outsider art, so rare nowadays. As someone who I was recently in dialogue with wrote, “Where can you find new genuine folk music? Pretty much just with your friends, imo. Even then, the global world is so influential and seeps into any crack it can find. I think vaporwave was radical and folk for a while. Grant Forbes made that music way before the world knew about it.”

Sometimes, a lot of fuss is made over what’s seen as “gatekeeping” within certain communities. It can be, depending on the context, justifiable to question and critique this behavior. At other times, the effort of maintaining a level of exclusivity, of retaining an idiosyncratic shapeliness to the communal organism, can be a legitimate attempt to protect the personal, interpersonal, and cultural aspects from the flattening effect of monoculture. Hypothetically, I welcome the Castlevania TV series and Super Smash Bros. Ultimate having introduced new and younger demographics to Castlevania. In actuality, stuff like “wholesome sad gay himbo Alucard”, image macros, and neurotic “stan” fanfiction being what’s now first associated with the series makes me want to put as much distance as possible between my interests and those latecoming impositions.

The group-terminology David Chapman uses in his essay “Geeks, MOPs, and Sociopaths in Subculture Evolution” is kinda cringey, but some of the cultural/behavioral patterns he lays out are relevant to the topic. Give it a look. If we cross his belief that “[subcultures] are no longer the primary drivers of cultural development” with our contemporary consume-and-dispose customs, we’re left with the predicament of it’s even worth attempting to bring radical/outsider art beyond its rhizomatic habitat. This is troubling, because it would mean that artistic radicality no longer might not only refuse to but cannot encompass cultural upheaval. It would be like if dance music were invented and -- instead of progressively permeating nightlife, stimulating countercultural trends, and ultimately being adapted as the basis for pop music globally -- only were listened to via headphones by a few thousand people on their own, stimulated a group meeting once a year or two, and never affected music beyond a niche-within-a-niche. That’s a very sad picture to me.

⁂

¹ Chimeratio has also maintained an excellent blog on here dedicated to looking at videogame music written in irregular time signatures, far preceding higher-profile examinations like 8-bit Music Theory’s video on the same topic.

² For myself, creative isolation has had its uses, because it has led me down routes that are highly personalized. The isolation can be dispiriting too. Although a lot of my music is videogame-music-adjacent, almost none of it uses “authentic” technology, such as PSG synthesizers or FM synthesis; and the identification of those sounds is fairly important for recognition.

[vvorldtours]

do max please for the character thingy!!! (i love love your hcs and art in general🥺)

YESSS THANK U!!

First impression: i thought this little guy was so so cool. i really cant explain anything more than that other than i thought max getting to wear a dress to his wedding was absolutely delightful and so so nice

Impression now: i still very much love him i love that hes crazy insane but genuinely caring as well and his soft spot for kids is really sweet. i love the funny married gay rabbit and he holds a special place in my heart alongside sam

Favorite moment: hmmm. this is such a minor one but i love the interaction at the end of 204 where he and sam are about to go into the portal and the animation there is just so fluid and good and so sweet as well. i think another good moment is one of the side conversations sam and he can have in 202 where they talk about their favorite colors and say how great it is that they dont know everything about each other. its such a small but sweet moment. and also orange is my favorite color as well and i was so excited to hear it was theirs too

Idea for a story: i wont lie aside from the noir max stuff i dont think i had anything else but there was a short dissection i was doing about how max's interior rooms in 305 were most likely based off of the 70s retro interior/nuke towns in vegas and its most likely used as an ironic choice since the 70s was height of cold wars and nuke towns still existed then but its also a little bit of a stretch lol

Unpopular opinion: i think max is chubby. i love the chubbier max in the first snm comics and i think people should bring that up more often. i think max is part of the men over 200 club which is an awesome and epic club. also he is soooooo not white. i think when people make max gijinkas they should make him a p-oh-sea (poc) because i really dont think hes white at all even if it tends to be popular in human max designs. ok one last thing is that i think he uses nearly any pronouns because someone tried being polite asking him what pronouns he used he refused to answer and they started listing pronouns off while he answers yes to all of them. its a test to see how long someone can go on for and i promise he does not ever say no

Favorite relationship: DOGY

Favorite headcanon: oh i probably should've put the pronouns thing here. im not copying it im also wriitng this in between fortnite matches which is why these arent coherent im on an abhorrent gamer grind right now but ummm. i like to think that max is nicaraguense. i like to make a lot of my favorite characters nicaraguense because it means a lot to me

[reddieorrnot]

short soulmate au where richie is a little bitch :)

“So... I finally heard him last night.”

Eddie snapped his head up from his book and glanced over to Beverly. The redhead was perched on her bed, looking right back at him. It took him a second to realize what she meant, his eyes widening when he finally connected the dots. 

“Your soulmate?” He exclaimed, setting down the piece of fiction and crawling up to her bed to sit beside her body. She giggled at his excitement and gave him a small nod, her hair moving along with her head. “Well? How’d you do it?”

Everyone knew that when the time came, you could hear what your soulmate was hearing. It all came at its own moment though, if it was too early in one’s life or one of the soulmates weren’t ready yet, you wouldn’t be able to hear anything. But if it was the right time, communication could be done by talking out loud. The idea always excited Eddie, and it made him a tiny bit nervous at the same time. He, like most people, was a little anxious that their soulmate wouldn’t like them. Beverly always told him that was impossible because it would be his literal soulmate. He was also scared he would just never hear anything, that he just didn’t have a soulmate. 

Late at night every day, when he was positive his mother had fallen asleep, Eddie would lie in his bed looking up at the ceiling. He would close his eyes, and put all his focus on his hearing, listening to everything around him. He would try to find some sort of noise that sounded like it couldn’t be coming from his room, like some sort of cough or sneeze or anything. He would have taken anything at that point. And when he didn’t hear anything, Eddie would gently whisper into the night a small greeting, just in case his soulmate was too shy to speak first. He would do that daily and had done it for a while. But there was a consistent rate of failure. 

His personal disappointment, fortunately, did not cloud his happiness for Beverly, though. 

“Well, I just knew somehow when I started hearing him. Like even if there had been a highway next to me, which there wasn’t because I was just in my room, I would have heard even the quietest pin drop from his side.”

Eddie listened to her, lips parted in a tiny gasp, hanging onto her every word. Maybe it was because her words were so enchanting, or because she was so beautiful, but Eddie couldn’t tear his attention away no matter what. Beverly and he had been friends since sixth grade, now going onto 5 years as they started Junior year. Eddie would never understand why such a cool girl would ever want to be his friend. She wore the coolest clothes, listened to the coolest music. And Beverly even carried around gum and a small perfume for after she smoked, just for Eddie’s behalf. It was incredibly kind, and made Eddie feel like his opinion mattered. Beverly was one of the best things to ever happen to him. 

If I wasn’t gay, Eddie thought, I would wish for you to be my soulmate. 

“He was writing a poem, something about the seasons, and I guess I must have heard him proofreading it out loud. I was so freaked out, Eddie, you don’t understand,” By this point, Beverly had sat up and now was facing Eddie, clutching his hands on hers. “And then, I finally spoke. I was like, ‘Hello?’ and he immediately stopped talking. Probably from like... shock or something.”

“Then what?” 

“Then he replied, and he couldn’t believe he could hear me! He’s got the sweetest voice, I swear. We stayed up so late talking, just about ourselves and our lives. He actually doesn’t live too far...” Beverly’s gaze drifted from Eddie to out her window, it reminded Eddie of some cinematic moment, the way the light hit her eyes that you could see them twinkling. 

“Bev, what’s his name?”

She giggled again, “Oh gosh, I forgot to tell you that part, didn’t I? His name is Ben, Ben Hanscom.”

Eddie smiled and brought Beverly in for a hug, “I’m so happy for you.”

“I'm just not quite sure if he can always hear me, or if he just tries to? It’s all very peculiar.”

“You’ll figure it out, you always do.”

She pulled away from the hug and took Eddie’s hand within hers once more. “You’ll hear yours soon, Eddie. I know you will.”

“I hope.” 

- Three Months Later -

It was while he was sitting on his bed one afternoon, doodling on his AP Chemistry homework. Eddie’s day had been long, and excruciatingly boring. Mike, Beverly’s friend, had invited Eddie to go along with the two out to the town. Eddie had politely declined, even though it sounded fun, he’d much rather prefer simply relaxing at home. And that’s what he was doing, and he was, in fact, enjoying it very much.

Suddenly, Eddie heard the sound of a pencil dropping. The impacted surface sounded like wood, which didn’t make sense because Eddie’s room was carpeted, but he still leaned over the bed to check if one of his pens had rolled off. Seeing no indication of such, Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, leaning back into his old position. 

A few minutes later, Eddie heard the sound of something falling on the ground once again. This time it did not mirror the previous sound, differing from the phantom pencil that must have dropped. It was more hushed, something lighter. Eddie immediately jumped from his bed and looked all over his floor, searching for what had grabbed his attention. That’s when he heard it. 

A soft whisper filled Eddie’s ears, “Oh, you motherfuck, just land in the can.”

Eddie nearly jumped, desperately looking around his room for some intruder. Perhaps he could have chalked it up hearing his mother pass by his thin room walls, but the voice was too different from hers, even in its quiet state. That revelation prompted Eddie to realize what was occurring. His soulmate. If he hadn’t been nervous beforehand, when he believed someone was in his room, he sure as hell was nervous now. He moved to the edge of his bed in a rather slow fashion, leg bouncing as he sat down. As quick as he could, Eddie then mustered up enough courage to speak into the quiet environment around him. 

“Hello?” 

There was no way Eddie could deny he heard a sharp inhale be taken right after he said that simple word. Something told him that his soulmate was most probably as nervous as he was now. Silence returned and Eddie was about to start convincing himself he was going crazy when a voice filled his ears once more. 

“Holy shit, I mean, hey?”

They were definitely a guy, Eddie thought. It sounded like someone his age, but Eddie had a hard time painting a mental image of him in his head. 

“Hi... I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what to say...” Eddie struggled to come up with a coherent thought, phrases sprinting into his mind and leaving just as rapidly. In all honesty, he wouldn’t be surprised if the only reason he had spoken again was to hear his newly found soulmate’s voice. 

“I, uh, I actually know exactly what to say to you...” The sentence made Eddie’s breath get stuck in his throat, as he located the shy tone coming from the other boy. The shyness didn’t do any diminishing toward his deeper voice though, it wasn’t Mike deep but definitely not Eddie’s higher voice. He felt a little self-conscious for a second about how possibly sounded but quickly shook the thought away. 

“You know exactly what to say to me?” Eddie leaned back into his bed, hugging himself, trying to knot away from the nerves in his stomach. What could his soulmate have to say? Had he planned it out for the first time he would hear Eddie? Was Eddie really that important to someone, where they had prepared for their meeting? All these questions made Eddie’s brain buzz, as he couldn’t focus on anything. 

“Yeah... I’ve been waiting to hear you,” Eddie’s thoughts were confirmed.

“Really? Tell me what you have to say.”

“Okay, just listen, though, alright?” 

The verb use made Eddie chuckle, “As if I wasn’t already doing that?”

“Okay, whatever,” The other boy was laughing too, “Just... listen...”

Eddie nodded, then remembered no one could see him, so he mumbled a small, “I understand.”

There was quiet for a second, then the small noise of gentle tapping. He couldn’t pinpoint what could be making the noise, perhaps Richie had written what he had to say on some note. It was all Eddie could assume, as he was a little lost. He continued to do as said, keeping quiet and simply focusing on his sense of hearing. 

Then some familiar music began to play, it had some beat filled intro, and once again, Eddie couldn’t pinpoint what song was. It had a piece of upbeat music and it was so familiar. 

Then it hit him.

“Are you fucking-”

“We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I,” 

“I cannot fucking believe-” 

“A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy,”

“Do you know how goddamn annoying-” 

“I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand,” 

“Holy christ, please turn it off before it gets to the-”

“Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you,“ 

It was a few lyrics afterward where the boy ended up pausing the song, to which Eddie believed he only did because his so-called soulmate started laughing so hard both of them could barely either Rick Astley at that point.

“I wish there was a way I could hang up on you after that,” Eddie said with an exhausted sigh. This only made the other boy laugh again. 

“Well aren’t you fun, I’m Richie,” The name gave Eddie butterflies, and hearing that voice made him melt right back into the previous puddle.

“Richie, you are incredibly annoying.”

“No, I’m not annoying, I just told you I’m Richie!” When Eddie groaned in response, Richie continued, “Okay, now tell me your name.”

“Why should I?”

“Because we’re soulmates, duh.”

It was obviously a good reason, but Eddie still rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. 

“My name is Eddie.”

“That’s absolutely adorable. Eddie... Eds.” 

“Don’t you dare call me that!” 

“Too late, you cutie.”

Even though he had instantly refuted it, Eddie knew that deep inside he actually hadn’t hated that nickname as much as he had let on. And he also knew he definitely didn’t find Richie all that annoying.

But hey, he wasn’t about to just say that, was he? 

[labyrinth-runner]

Love and Support

This one goes out to all my friends struggling to get through finals and online learning BS.

Obi-Wan tried his best to be quiet as he read on the couch. He knew you were studying. He watched your fingers fly across the keys as you typed. You were so impressive, so hard working, diligently getting through the stack of homework you were assigned. Had he been in your position, he would have been struggling at adapting to the new “normal.” 

You massaged your temples as you stared at the screen in front of you. This essay was supposed to be easy, any other semester it would have been easy. You would have gone to the library or plopped down in the school café and you would have got it done. But now? Now you had to try and do homework in what was certainly not a “home work space” when all you wanted to do was watch Netflix and lament over all the things you had lost due to quarantine while snuggled in your boyfriend’s arms. You missed your friends, you missed your teachers, you missed the sense of normalcy that was gone. It made you feel like a failure, like your brain just didn’t want to work the way it normally would. You let out a groan of frustration.

Obi-Wan looked over at where you sat at the dining room table. He gently took off his glasses, placing them and his book on your coffee table. Swiftly and softly, he made his way over to you. He massaged your shoulders as you let out a sigh.

“Darling, what’s the matter?” 

“Everything, Obi. I can’t focus on my homework. I can’t see my friends. I can’t graduate. I just feel like the days are all blurring together and my brain isn’t working at its full capacity,” you ranted. “Had I been at school, this would have been done two weeks ago, not the day before it’s due.”

“Maybe you need a break?” he gently suggested.

“I don’t have time for a break. If I lose momentum, I’m liable to stop,” you sighed, leaning your head against the back of the chair to look up at him. “You are a glorious distraction, love.”

“If I’m distracting, I can go if you think that will help,” he hastily replied. He didn’t want to hinder your progress.

“It’s not that. It’s just... hard to recreate the kind of environment and energy that I have at school,” you explained.

“Well, what would you be doing if you were at school right now?” he asked.

You turned your head to see the clock on the kitchen stove. 1:45. You’d normally be eating lunch with your friend and discussing your assignments. “I’d be talking to Padmé about this paper and asking her opinion on it.”

“So, talk to me,” Obi-Wan said as he walked into the kitchen. He quickly made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and placed it in front of you. “You need to eat, and talking about the assignment means that you are not taking a break so you won’t lose momentum.”

You looked at him pointedly as you picked up one of the sandwich triangles. He went back to the kitchen and returned with two mugs of tea. You took a bite as you contemplated how to explain the assignment. “I have to discuss the impact of the different constitutions of the core and inner rim worlds on the Galactic Constitution.”

“That sounds tedious,” he replied, taking a sip of tea.

“It is,” you laughed, “But, I have all my talking points. I’m just worried they don’t sound coherent. I usually talk through these things with Padmé, but there’s been so much holo comm interference that I can’t reach her. I won’t bore you with the details since I know how you feel about politics.”

“Darling, if it helps you with your schoolwork, then I would discuss the rate at which paint dries with you,” he smiled over the rim of his mug.

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely.”

You felt your heart swell at how much this man was willing to do for you, how much he supported you. You placed the half-eaten sandwich triangle back on the plate before turning the laptop screen so that you both could see the very rough outline you had made. You started broad, discussing why the topic matters and giving him the necessary background to follow along before getting into the real nitty-gritty of it. Occasionally, you’d stop to jot down something that you said that you knew would be great in the paper. 

He was amused, watching you talk animatedly about a subject that you knew so much about. However, there was something different on his face that you couldn’t quite place for a while until the realization hit you. Pride. He was proud of you. He was proud of how well you were learning and how much work you had put into this. Most of all, he was proud that you were his.

You continued on this way for another hour, running your ideas off him until you were confident in what you had. He brought his book out to the table to read while you worked. Every so often, you’d interrupt him to bounce an idea off him or to hash out the wording of a particular sentence. Eventually, he set off to make dinner for the two of you as it had gotten later and later as time went on. The clock on the stove read 7:00 when you finally finished your conclusion. Wearily, you rubbed your eyes as you pushed the laptop away from you. 

“Obi, would you be willing to read this over after dinner and tell me what you think?” You asked, the pressure on your eyes causing spots to appear.

“Of course, love,” he replied. 

You got up to stretch your legs, making your way to him. You wrapped your arms around his middle, burying your face in the apron covering his chest. His arms wrapped around you as he kissed your forehead. 

“You’re amazing, little one,” he murmured. “If I were in your position, I doubt I’d be coping nearly as well as you are.”

A wry smirk found its way onto your face as you looked up at him. “I’m barely hanging in there sometimes. If it weren’t for you, I’d barely get out of bed.”

“Oh, darling, I find that very hard to believe considering the amount of time we actually spend in the bedroom,” he chuckled. He gently cupped your cheek, wiping away a tear that had slid down it. “I know you’ve lost a lot of things that you have been looking forward to, but I want you to know that you will make other memories that you’ll cherish. Milestones in their own right.”

“It doesn’t make it any easier,” you said softly.

“No... I’m afraid it doesn't, but just know that you won’t be alone,” he smiled softly. 

“Now, try this and tell me what you think.” He picked up a wooden spoon that he had rested on the counter and dipped it into a delicious smelling sauce bubbling in a pot on the stove. He gently blew on it before holding the spoon up to your lips. It was the best pasta sauce ever.  “Honey, that’s amazing,” you commented. 

“I tried out a new recipe I found online,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I know how much you love spaghetti.”

You looked at him, having an epiphany. He was right earlier, when he said that you would make new memories, even though they weren’t the ones you had expected to make.  You thought back to the past couple of weeks. You had been trying new things with each other, things that you probably wouldn’t have tried had you been at school. You smiled, giving him a quick kiss. 

“I’m going to quickly edit my paper while you’re finishing up in here.”

“Whatever you need, darling. I’ll be here for you, whatever you need.”

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

You Can’t Replace Me

The Loki one, ladies and gents! Also seriously, I have a badass beta who is making sure these don’t suck ass, so thank them. And coming around the corner will be Part3 to Steve’s angst and Part2 to Sam’s fluff. Keep a look out!

Summary: Various Avenger x Reader one-shots with songs from musicals. In this one — Loki has returned from his attack on New York, seeing you for the first time since he “died”. The two of you didn’t exactly have the healthiest marriage, but apparently Odin sees fit to leave you, a woman married into royalty, in charge of him. What could possibly go wrong? (Song is “No Way” from Six.)

Warnings: Bit of fluff in the end, arguing, time to put a bitch in their place, cussing (obviously), Loki’s gonna get a bit soft in the end. Bout time he listened to someone, right?

Everyone says that marriage comes with its ups and downs. You can take all the advice in the Nine Realms and someone might have experienced something similar enough where you can tweak, adjust, and fix it to your problems, but no. Not this time. No one had a marriage like mine. So watching him walk down the hall, nothing but the sound of his chains rattling with every step, I found myself unable to form a coherent string of advice. There were no pleas, no questions, nothing. All I could do was stare because my husband, someone everyone thought was dead, was grinning from ear to ear.

“I don’t see what the problem is.”

Of course, he did. Loki was many things, but oblivious? Never. No, he was playing the game intending to rattle the man that sat on the throne just to my left. The Allfather, Odin, had thought an arranged marriage might help keep Loki reigned in. However, that was when he first saw the God of Mischief’s rebellious streaks. No one expected my husband to do retaliate in such an extreme manner. Not even me, someone everyone believed Loki warmed up to. Yeah, keyword in that sentence? Belief.

Everyone wants to believe in something. The smallest bit of hope for control meant that Asgard would prosper. It meant Odin would remain in control of the Nine Realms. It made sense for them to fall to blind emotion rather than a simple fact. The fact of the matter was that Loki detested me and had ever since Thor bested the Destroyer. Speaking for myself? I loathed him, accepting it wholeheartedly the moment he spat at my feet, calling me an ungrateful, useless wife. Everything was an act. The smiles, the parties — the marriage in itself was a sham, but I had a family to care for. Odin promised that my family would want for nothing if I just kept him on a leash.

“Your birthright was to die!”

I flinched at the sound of Odin’s booming voice, a shudder running down my spine. He always had a way to pull a person from their most personal thoughts. Part of me didn’t want to look at either of them. If I managed to stay a shadow then maybe I could get out of this unscathed.

“And what of your wife?”

There it was.

I looked up, surprised to meet Loki’s bright eyes. They normally held a gleam, a promise of mischief, but this was perhaps the first time I saw something different. Was that regret? Remorse? From him?

“I didn’t ask to marry her. That was your game, Odin. Not mine.”

He looked away and I grit my teeth. Of course, he wouldn’t care what any of this meant for me. It was Loki. He was selfish. In the past, you’d seen glimpses of the man he could become, but that hope vanished when he attacked Midgard. Everyone knew that Midgard was Thor’s to protect and Loki spat on the very idea, disgusted that Thor could have a soft spot for mortals. I thought it was endearing.

“You have no respect, Loki. Not for yourself or for anyone that could love you.”

“Love?” Loki laughed at his father’s words, that wicked smirk curling his thin lips in a way only he could do. “I recall discussing such a basic emotion with a mortal back on Midgard. Tell me, Odin, do we believe in such ridiculous fairytales? Are we as weak as Midgardians?” Silence fell in the room and every part of me just wanted to scream at him that he was stupid, ridiculous, acting like a child! But I know better. Loki is a prideful man and being called out on his flaws never ends well. Least of all for the person calling him out. Sure, I’m an Asgardian, I have some strength and live longer than the mortals he referred to, but I was nowhere near as strong as he or Thor. It seemed all hope was lost. Loki would do nothing to make amends with the man who hid his lineage. I tried explaining that to Odin, but I was still seen as a peasant. No man in the royal family listened to me. “If I’m for the axe,” Loki said, that careless tone peaking out once again. God, he was so foolish. “Then swing it. Enough of these trivial conversations and attempts at politics.”

I didn’t need to look at Odin to know he was getting riled up once again. At the rate Loki was going, I’d be beheaded right alongside him at the end of the day. And if that happened, I swear to the Gods I will haunt his ghostly ass beyond the grave.

“Frigga and Y/N are the only reasons you are still alive.” I didn’t have to look up to know all eyes were on me. How unsettling was that? Knowing a peasant fought for your life? Loki was indebted to not only his mother but me. “I would have had Heimdal kill you upon your return, but both thought there might still be some good in you. Because of them, you will live the rest of your days in the dungeons. You will never see Frigga again, but Y/N will be in charge of your meals, your guards, everything.”

Wait, what?

I looked up at Odin, brow furrowed because that couldn’t be right. He was leaving me in charge of the God of Mischief? A peasant married into royalty? Was this a punishment or a reward?

“Allfather —“ I started to speak, my voice wavering, but he held up his hand. No, now was not the time to speak. Looking back at Loki, I grimaced. When he realized this wasn’t a trick, Loki looked to me. I knew that look, had it memorized since the day we were wed. The crinkle of his nose, the squint of his eyes…He was disgusted that we were still stuck with each other. Gods, why couldn’t I have been married to Thor?

—

It had been a week since Loki was brought to the dungeons and it took only one day to realize that this was far from a reward. This was the highest level of punishment that Odin could inflict without outright hurting me. Loki whined about any food brought to him, reminding me constantly that my commoner palate wasn’t nearly as refined as his higher tastes. He went out of his way to argue with me that he didn’t need the books Frigga brought. Or the chair. Or anything else in the room that reminded his fellow prisoners that he was higher. He was equal to a prisoner but higher than a commoner. I didn’t understand.

Exhaling slowly, I gathered my wits and nerves as the guards opened the doors. Walking inside, my footsteps fell silent, but Loki was already looking my way. With anyone else he stared at the floor, disinterested. With me? No, why do that when he could drive me to the brink of insanity with all his complaints?

“Developing a routine?” he asked, tilting his head as if he were genuinely curious. I knew better. I heard the tone of his voice. There was nothing, but a level of mockery waiting to taunt and irritate me.

“Counting down the hours till I return?”

He frowned at that and I smirked. Usually, I kept my comments to myself, but if this was our life? If I was destined to serve him even though he was a murderer and a traitor, then I was going to be a little more open with my opinions. I was cursed to have a loveless marriage and, because of who I was married to, no one dared talk to me except the royal family. Everyone thought I was no better than Loki, a traitor to our people. At the rate the rumors were flying, soon enough everyone would think I was a Frostgiant. So yes, sarcasm was going to be a huge part of our relationship.

“Your mother wanted me to bring you these.” Digging around in the satchel attached to my hip, I pulled out two new books. He was a fast reader, constantly needing new material. I could feel his eyes watching me, studying my actions. Waving my hand, the books appeared in his cell, dropping with a loud thunk.

Loki raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting to the leather-bound material. “You’re learning magic.”

It wasn’t a question. Loki never asked me questions. That would mean he was interested in me. “I’ll be back later with some food.”  

Turning on my heel, I made my way back to the entrance, finally able to breathe as the distance between us grew. “What have you learned?” I freeze, looking back at him. His gaze is still intently fixated on those books.

“Only that. I don’t have much time to practice.”

“Why?”

Because I’m babysitting you all the damn time. Sighing softly, I turned to face him. One hand came to rest on the satchel while I tried to figure out a way to explain the situation. I hated lying before I married Loki but came to make a point of always telling the truth when I realized just how much he lied. The false stories he wove, painting them like some sort of intricate picture, those were enough. One of us had to be honest.

“It’s because he always has you running down here, isn’t it? Always at my beck and call?”

“He might have ordered that Loki, but you’re the one taking full advantage.”

His gaze shifted, those blue eyes finding mine even though I was shadowed by the dim lighting. Each cell was so brought that they cast their source of light, but if one found the right spot, like me, then they could stick to the shadows a little better. It seemed he noticed I was doing this intentionally. Sitting up more, he propped his arm on his knee and watched every move I made. It was a little unsettling. “Are you saying I’m no better than Odin?”

“I’m saying you both make poor decisions without considering the consequences.”

He smirked. “Since when do peasants think lowly about Odin?”

“It’s not a matter of a poor opinion, Loki. It’s an honest one and believes me if peasants saw the royal family as I did?” I bit my tongue, looking away. Yeah, that’s crossing lines.

“What?”

“Nothing, go back to your books.”

“I’m not interested in them.”

“Because they aren’t a game?”

Loki’s smirk dropped, replaced by that scowl I’d come to know very well. Rising to his full stature, he walked towards the glass, closer to me, and noticed how I refused to back down. Was that respect I saw? “Because they aren’t interesting.”

“I’m not a toy to fascinate you, Loki.”

He grinned at that and immediately a chill ran down my spine. It felt like he was practically breathing down my neck with the intensity of his arrogance, his smile. “You most certainly are.”

It seemed reminding him of our marriage woke him from whatever sneaky plot was running through his head. He often forgot that I wasn’t just some servant, but rather the woman he was pledged to for the rest of our days. I didn’t blame him. If I were in his shoes, I’d probably do the same. It’d make it easier to think that way, to act like I still had some control over my future. But we both knew the truth. There was no escaping this.

“You could discuss a separation with my mother. After all, it wouldn’t make sense for us to remain…attached.” The word sounded like poison on his tongue as if admitting he had any relations to me might make him pass out. Gods, he was dramatic.

But offering a separation? That surprised me. Catching his gaze before he could hide any true emotions, I searched his face. This didn’t seem to be a trick even though Asgardians didn’t think about divorce. It didn’t exist here. The only reason I knew the word even existed was because of Thor telling me stories about Midgard. Still, why would he offer me that? Freedom? Didn’t he know what our marriage ensured for me?

“I can’t.”

He raised an eyebrow. There was that confidence again, but this time it seemed to be clasped hand in hand with confusion. He didn’t even have to voice his question. It was written all over his face. If I hated him as much as he hated me, why stay wed? “Warming up to me?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then why not? Do you enjoy being the link between me and Odin?”

I bit the corner of my mouth, knowing I had to tread carefully. Loki didn’t like how Odin tried, and often succeeded in, controlling people. Though I wasn’t his favorite person in the universe, he wouldn’t like that for me either. However, I couldn’t bring myself to add to his resentment. I was too tired of his dramatics and how draining they could be. So instead, “I’ll have food brought to you later.”

This time, I turned and was successful in my attempts to walk away. He didn’t call my name or repeat his question. No, Loki would never. Though I did feel his gaze staring burning holes into my back as I left, the doors finally breaking any sort of connection between us.

—

It was three days later when I finally came back to him, thinking that enough time had passed that he lost interest in figuring me out. He didn’t need to understand me or whatever our relationship was going to become. Not now, not ever.

Hearing the doors close behind me, he was already standing and taking long strides towards the glass. There was an energy about him that hadn’t been there the last time I visited. His features were contorted, revealing emotions he often hid behind a mask. Guilt? Shame? However, as I came more into his line of sight, they shifted to irritation and annoyance. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

“Frigga told me.”

My blood ran cold as I shifted the tray of food in my hands. Balancing it in one hand waved and watched it shimmer away before reappearing on his small table. On the outside, I looked fine, normal even. He didn’t need to know about the goosebumps currently running up my back. “What happened to call her your mother?”

“She’s not. I have no ties to the royal family. Odin is not my father nor Thor my brother and her? She is not my mother.”

“Cutting ties everywhere so I see,” I murmur, not looking at him as I took a seat on the steps nearby. This was how it normally went. I’d sit, talk with him while he ate, then be on my way. Yet watching him now? Seeing the way he was poised and ready to strike like a cobra? Part of me wondered if I should’ve run for the door.

“Cut this charade, Peasant. She told me what Odin did.”

“Y/N. You know my name. You said it during our vows, did you not? So use it.” He snarled and I rubbed my temples, trying to calm down the racing thoughts and fears that seemed to be circling each other. “What did the Allfather do?”

“Marry me to a paid whore.” I froze, unable to control the lurch in my stomach as I stared intently at the ground. He. Did. Not. There’s no way he’d be so — “Tell me, what was the price, Y/N? A night with the noble Thor? Riches beyond your wildest dreams? Maybe some fine silks and jewels? Or was it all promised as a means to have you spread your legs for me? No, maybe it’s more. Maybe being a whore is so natural to you that you didn’t care who you wed and I just happened to have the best title.“

“Shut. Up.” Finally looking up at him, I rose to my feet and walked closer to him. He listened for once, clamping his mouth shut, but puffing out his chest like he was still the bigger person. Bullshit. He was far from it. “Do you know anything about me? About my family?” Silence. The look in his eyes showed exactly what you thought. He was ignorant, oblivious. “You must agree, baby, in all the time I’ve been by your side I’ve never lost control. No matter how many times you lied. I have my golden rule, got to keep my cool, but no. Hell no, not for this.” Standing straight, I finally let him know everything about me. “I was cast out from Asgard as a mere child, Loki. My mother was Hela. Do you remember the stories about her? The Goddess of Death? She sent me away to live on some random planet on the other side of the galaxy. I only was brought back when Frigga learned about me. Upon her request, Odin decided to let me stay on Asgard, but Hela was long gone. I was made to stay with a family who didn’t want a child but grew to accept and love me. When I got older Odin saw an opportunity to control you because I was his granddaughter. He thought he could manipulate me based on that alone, but I said no. Then he threatened my family.”  Loki was silent, taking in every word as if he were a thirsty man offering you the only water left in the universe. “And that family didn’t deserve that. They didn’t deserve their newborn being hurt or taken away because of someone that was thrust upon them. So I did the mature thing and stepped up. You should try it sometime.”

Turning, I started walking back to the exit, my only way for freedom, but…I stopped. There was so much more that I could tell him. I could give him the verbal tongue lashing of a century and he deserved it. He accused me of being a whore, of being someone that could be bought with a lavish lifestyle. Meanwhile, during our marriage, we slept in separate rooms and I got to hear all the servants fawn over Loki who took them to bed one right after the other. I’d been silent for far too long. Facing him, I was surprised to see that he was still watching me. “And even though you’ve had your fun running around with every pretty young thing? And even though you’ve gone and killed, fought against your kin as if it were nothing? No matter what I heard or what you did, I didn’t say a word. I put up with your shit like every single day!”

He opened his mouth to speak, but your glare quickly silenced him. Instead, you walked closer in long strides. These past couple days you’d been practicing that spell of yours, making it stronger. And with a small shimmer making you vanish, you reappeared right behind him and shoved him up against the glass. “Now it’s time to shut up and listen when I say, I know that you’re crazy. You wanna replace me? Baby, there’s no way. If you think for a moment I’d grant you annulment, just hold up. There’s no way. I’m protecting my family and you don’t get to be all butt hurt about it because you have a peasant for a wife. You don’t get to be upset because you put yourself in this mess, Loki.” Taking a couple of steps back, you added some much-needed distance between you two as you took a slow, steady breath. “So you heard a verse that I’m cursed ‘cause Odin decided to make me your wife? You say it’s a pity ‘cause quoting your feelings, I’ll end up a whore all my life? Hey, weren’t you there when I didn’t fuck you that night?”

Clenching my jaw, I ran a hand through my hair, feeling it come undone. It fell down my shoulders, framing my face and I saw that there was not only regret in his eyes but a bit of something else. However, I wasn’t sure that I could place the emotion. “You’re just so full of shit, must think that I’m naive, but no, I won’t back down and no, I’ll never leave.” Blinking away tears, I asked him, “Did you know that I was the one that defended you after you tried to rule during Odin’s sleep? Or that Thor had to hold me during the nights I mourned your death? It didn’t matter how you treated me because I was loyal to you. Even though you treated me as less than your equal, less than a commoner, I cared for you enough to mourn when we all thought you to be dead. You are the most infuriating, aggravating, revolting —"

“Y/N.”

His voice startles me, forcing me to stop the emotional tirade that I had slipped in to. Catching myself, I rested a hand on my now queasy stomach as I realize that this was probably the most I’d ever said to my husband. And it was a lashing, a moment of abuse for a man that didn’t care. All I had done was vocalize the pent up emotions that I had locked away all this time. Knowing him? It all fell on empty ears. Clearing my throat, I smooth out the fabric beneath my hand and walk past him. No, no more talking. No more sarcastic or snide comments on his part. No more emotional outbursts on mine. No way. I had to be done with this — with him.

“My apologies, Y/N. You’re right, I had no idea.”

His voice cut through my inner thoughts as if finding a way to freeze my feet to the floor so that I couldn’t leave. If this was some spell of his, I swear to the Allfather that I’ll — Wait, did he apologize? Did Loki apologize? Clenching and unclenching my fists, I took another slow, shaky breath. It didn’t matter if he apologized. He was using me as an emotional punching bag for all the shit he couldn’t process regarding Odin. Enough was enough. I’m a person, not a pawn. I deserve to be treated decently.

“You’ve got me down on my knees.”

Raising an eyebrow, I spun around. Sure enough, there he was, staring up at me from his spot on the ground. He looked genuine as if his apology truly meant something to him. No manipulations or anything? From the God of Mischief? “So now that you know, please tell me what you think I’ve done wrong,” I murmured, my voice only loud enough for the both of us. I’m pretty sure the rest of my rant was enough for the fellow prisoners. “I’ve been humbled, been loyal. Hell, I’ve tried to swallow my pride all along. If you can just explain a single thing I’ve done to cause you pain…I’ll go.”We both knew the answer to my request. There was nothing I’d done. I was a tool created by Odin. Nothing more than a leash to contain a rabid dog. It was that connection that made him mock me and treat me as less than who I was. If I was anyone else? If Odin hadn’t arranged our marriage? This relationship might have been entirely different. Even so, we knew that wasn’t the case. His animosity towards Odin dictated everything. He was a child reacting blindly based solely on emotion and didn’t realize that every attempt to hurt Odin did nothing to the ruler of Asgard. No, each attempt was deflected by Odin’s shield. Me.“No? Nothing?” Of course not. I’d been a good wife despite our arguments and weaker moments such as this. The only thing I never offered to the man was my body. Instead, I offered so much more in loyalty, faith, and being a committed ally. “You’ve got nothing to say because you know the hatred you hold for me is uncalled for. So I’m not going away. There’s no way.”“I’m not asking you for that. At least not anymore.”“Then what?”“I…I would like to propose a truce.” He rose to his feet, quickly moving so that he towered over me. I recoiled, instinctively taking a step back as that weird emotion in his eyes returned. “I won’t pin you between myself and Odin any more. There will be no more accusations or referring to you as anything less than what you are.”“And what’s that?”“My wife and, it seems, my only friend.”Then it clicked — what that emotion was. Trust.“Will you accept my sincerest apologies, T/N?”——The throne room was cold, sending a chill up my spine as I took every slow step down the hall. It felt as if the distance between myself and the ruler of Asgard grew with every step, but I knew it was my nerves. Anxiety always had such a way of working wonders. However, that feeling vanished when I saw Thor step out from his hiding spot, walking near the throne seemingly in stride with myself. “Father,” he greeted, voice booming throughout the golden room as we both bowed our heads.

“Allfather,” I greeted, my voice meek in comparison.

“I called you both here to discuss Loki. My promise to Frigga ensures that he remains a prisoner on Asgard, but I want to ensure that he is kept under lock and key. I want to know everything he reads, eats, and does.” Why wasn’t this brought up sooner?

“Is this because of the Aether?”

I kept quiet, listening as Thor and Odin mentioned the Infinity Stone and how it was possessing a Midgardian, Thor’s girlfriend. Jane something. How did she possess it? And what did this have to do with Loki?

“Loki has already come into contact with the Tesseract. If he hears that the Aether is within his reach, I suspect that he’ll do everything in his power to get his hands on it.”

“Father —“

“That is why I’ve entrusted Y/N to keep us informed as to what is going on in the mind of our newest prisoner.” I clenched my jaw, feeling my stomach churn. All I wanted to do was throw up. He was using me yet again to be a pawn, something to control Loki. Glancing at Thor, I noted how apologetic he looked and was sure that this wasn’t his idea. At least that made me feel slightly better. Though I wish it helped more. “Is that understood, Y/N?”

Swallowing thickly, I bit the corner of my mouth and kept my head bowed. What could I say that wouldn’t wind up with me in a cell next to my husband? When could I simply stand up for myself and be treated as something more than a toy? A leash? A peasant? I just wanted to be treated as an Asgardian. So far the only person that even attempted to take that step with me, albeit a little late, was Loki. Could I just turn my back on that so easily?

“Y/N!” I looked up, eyes wide as Odin struck fear to my very core. He repeated himself slowly as if talking to someone that was not his equal mentally. I wanted to take his scepter and shove it up to his — “Is that understood, girl?”

“No.” Where the hell did that come from? Shifting my gaze to Thor, he gave me a bewildered look that no doubt matched the one currently etched on my face. So I was the one who said that. Great.

“Excuse me?”

Clearing my throat, I straightened my back and turned my attention back to Odin. This man had controlled my mother — a woman he kept locked out of Asgard’s history — and now was attempting to do the same with me. I was sent away, cast aside by family because he decided to lie to Thor and Loki about Hera’s existence. He forced me into an arranged marriage, forced me to join my blood family under the pretenses that I was a peasant and nothing more. He tried using me to manipulate Loki’s emotions and only realized Loki wasn’t one to be controlled until it was too late.

Well, neither am I.

“No.” Tilting my chin up, I met his steely gaze with one of my own as I told him, “You made me his wife. You enforced a level of trust and respect for myself and Loki to hold for one another. With that in mind, I will be his wife, his queen, to the end of my life. And there’s no way that I will continue to answer your demands concerning my husband’s wellbeing. If you wish to see what he is doing, you may go down to the dungeons yourself.” Turning, I knew I had to leave before I took it all back. After that little speech, I couldn’t simply lose my nerve and apologize. No, not for Odin. Instead, head held high, I continued towards the grand doors, keeping my back to the two men staring speechless at my retreating form. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. “Oh!” Why am I talking? Looking over my shoulder, my lips curved into a smirk that would rattle even Loki. “You might want to visit him before you find yourself stuck to that ridiculously obnoxious thrown, Allfather. I hear magic can be such a tricky business nowadays.”

Opening the door, I slipped out without so much as another word. The only sound left in my ears was the closing of the door and my obnoxiously loud heartbeat. When I made sure that neither Thor nor Odin or even a guard would follow me, I went on my way and came around a corner. Every bit of adrenaline and nerves left my system as my knees shook and I collapsed against a wall. It was the only thing left to hold me up as I tried to gather my wits. Did I seriously do that? Where did that courage come from?

Leaning my forehead against the cool marble, I tried to calm my breathing and pounding heart. Thinking of Loki seemed to do the trick. However, I couldn’t tell him about this. No, no way.  He would never let me live it down and then it would be an all-new level of teasing in our relationship. No, I didn’t want that to happen. There was simply, “No way.”

[creaturedom]

Miscalculation (Part 4)

You didn’t think this was over yet, did you..? 😎

I’m thinking there’s gonna be oooone more part after this, but thank you all for the continued support as always! This part is a tiny bit sexual, I guess..? So tiny warning there technically, but I don’t think it’s bad, hope you guys enjoy!

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

“Huh’tschhuuh!”

“Five.”

“H-Heh-! Tschhoo!”

“Six-“

“—Ptschh, tschhh!”

“Eig.... Fuck is that eight or nine, I lost count.” Crowley grinned as Aziraphale glanced up with great annoyance, behind yet another soaked handkerchief. Once more his face was redder than an apple, eyes streaming with tears almost as quickly as his nose was.

A day had passed since Crowley invited Aziraphale and consequently Dog to stay in his lovely flat away from the Young’s cleverly protected home. After some time near the window and another shower it seemed Aziraphale was doing better, but it seemed every time he was able to breathe again he would find some way to fuck it up.

“He needed a walk,” Crowley heard the night before between two wet sneezes “He has to be walked in the morning and afternoon, and I forgot!” Other excuses included Dog needing to be fed, played with, and more than anything attention. The angel made it sound as if the hellhound would roll over and die if he didn’t have his tummy rubbed every five seconds, and at this point it was really hard to gauge considering he was just caught again with his hands on Dog. At first there was a bit of chiding, but seeing as he was putting this on himself, it seemed Crowley needed a different approach.

“No no, don’t stop on my account! Your record is twelve, you’re real close ta beatin’ it!” Aziraphale coughed a bit into the handkerchief before pulling it away, moving to wipe his nose, only to wince as the tender skin was brushed against “Crowley, please...”

“Nooo, I insist! How’s about you get a few kisses from your new boyfriend, I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you coax out some more before brunch~.” Aziraphale glared a moment before his shoulders sank in utter defeat. It wasn’t his fault, Dog was whimpering at his side of the bed, clearly chilly and alone without his true master... Aziraphale couldn’t leave him, that would have been cruel. Though, at the moment, the fact his nose and sinuses were throbbing seemed crueler than letting the little one sleep on the floor.

“It’s d-dot... Hdghh, dot fuddy, Crowley!”

“Ohhh, I have to disagree with you there,” he crossed his legs and reclined in his throne “I personally think it’s hilarious to be startled awake by wet sneezing and the scramble of little paws all over my nice sheets. I think it’s even funnier that you’re not learning your lesson, but that’s just my own opinion..”

Aziraphale merely sighed, pushing his nose into the handkerchief once more and forcing himself to blow as hard as he could. Problem was, with how stuffed up he was, it made it difficult to get out much of anything with just a blow. He looked absolutely exhausted, but was hardest to ignore was just how unsteady he looked on his feet. Crowley couldn’t tell whether it was due to being lightheaded or simply a lack of rest between sneezes, but now felt like the time to ease up a little. “Let’s just get out of here, have a nice breakfast in town, you and me..”

“You dow I... I caddTSCHhxx!” He painfully pinched his nose shut, at the last moment, pulling back with a weary sigh “Gotta... G-Gotta watch Dog... He wod’t leave be adyway...” The demon huffed softly and stood to take the other by the shoulders, nuzzling his cheek with the tip of his nose tenderly “Then let’s go back to my room, or go on a walk, or something... Aziraphale you’re only getting worse, you need to take a break.”

“Do, I— Hih’tscHHhxx-! Ngh-gHHhtt, tSCHhxxhuhh-!” Crowley lifted a hand to pull away Aziraphale’s, who had pinched his nose once more. The result was a shudder and a soft whine, and that oh so tear filled look in those gorgeous eyes of his “Let em out, you’re gonna off yourself keepin’ em in like that. I won’t count this time, promise... Though that must have been eleven on the count.” Aziraphale shoved him a bit, but Crowley caught a glimpse of a small smile. “Just a small break, just you and me. Dog’s not gonna go anywhere, and I do think it’s a little sad we haven’t so much as touched the wine collection...” That, and a lingering kiss was enough to get the angel wiggling and smiling again.

“I’b a bess, by voice is dodexistadt, add you really wadt to play this gabe..?” Crowley’s nose wrinkled playfully as a smug grin split his lips “Could be worse: could be the start of the Industrial age, all that itchy soot floating in the air, your new suit nearly as ruined as your dripping face...” Aziraphale’s eyes widened and once more he shoved Crowley, looking utterly mortified as he tried to squeak something out. Unfortunately he was thwarted by another soft cough, pausing to grasp at his throat with a pained groan. Taking the cue Crowley kissed the crook of his neck and brushed back a few loose curls “Wash up and meet me in the study.”

Nothing sent a chill up the angel’s spine quite like the tender actions Crowley pulled every now and again. He may have stumbled over his words sometimes, even struggled to express his true feelings when he needed to most, but he was just so good at the little things in life... Shaking his head and gasping with a sudden “Hrrh’TSCHhhoo!” He drug himself into the bathroom for yet another steamy shower, with Dog thankfully waiting outside for him to re-emerge. When Aziraphale did emerge, he looked at least more aware than before. Hair nicely dried and bouncing once more, a suit that wasn’t too dressy, but still nice enough to be presentable, and a fresh handkerchief tucked in his pocket. The only thing that hadn’t really gone away was the pink hue against his nostrils, which looked at least a little less aggressive compared to before, but no doubt it was still quite sensitive.

Dog sat up and began rushing around the angel’s feet as usual, even hopping up onto his hind legs to spin excitedly, but as much as it pained Aziraphale his antics were not rewarded. Instead the angel did his best to smile at him and walk ahead, which proved to be a bit difficult. Dog almost looked insulted by him passing, and even started skipping in front of him as if trying to trip the angel on his way. But with great determination and lots of side stepping Aziraphale managed to make it to the study, where Crowley was already standing in the doorway with two wine glasses in hand.

“Angel, lovely to see you, please hurry inside!” Aziraphale smiled and took the glass, stepping inside with great haste. What he didn’t expect was to hear the slam of the door, followed by a thud and yelp. When he turned back, Crowley was reclined against the closed door, looking elsewhere and sipping his drink quietly, with no Dog to be seen “... Did... Did you just slam the door in his face?”

“Hm? Whose what now?”

“Crowley-!” The angel moved to grab the doorknob and was stopped by a firm, but well meaning hand “Ah-ah, he’s fine, you promised you’d take a break the moment you stepped into the shower.”

“But what if he’s hurt, or worried, or-!” He was cut short by a frustrated yapping.

“Well, I’d say you may be right, but if he’s got the energy to do that I’m pretty sure the little runt is doing just fine.” He held up his glass to the other “To a sneeze free afternoon..?” Hesitation, silence, it was all settling in. But this just made the clink of their glasses sing against the quiet walls of the study “Just... Just one glass. It’s still distasteful to drink in the morning...”

“It’s eleven, Angel, I’m sure someone will find time to forgive us.” Smiling back at one another their arms locked and they began to drink together. It always started with one glass, and then another because Crowley would insist he couldn’t feel the first. Aziraphale would then say he wanted to try a different kind of wine, and Crowley would be more than happy to oblige. This is how their system was, and this is what lead to the two of them laughing and snorting away on the couch, Crowley leaned back as usual and Aziraphale against one of the arms of the couch with his feet propped against the thinner man’s lap.

“Gabriel never even said thank you, can you believe that? I pass along his message, tell- hic-! Tell Mary very puuhh... No, politely the news, and when I come back, he’s taken the credit, not even resting his ‘broken’ wing!”

“Ooof, that basssstard...” Crowley caught his own slip and snorts out a laugh “S’better than Beelzebubahhh- fuckin’ comin’ outta nowhere an— an, an doin’ that- bzzzzt thing, with the face an- face!”

“What on earth are you talking about..?” Aziraphale grins at the shocked look on Crowley’s face, the poor thing stumbling horribly over his words before forming anything nearly coherent again “Flies, the damn buzzin’, gettin’ all over an in your mouth- I’ve seen where those things ‘ave been, it’s terrible!”

“There’s no flies here, nooo, shooosh...” Aziraphale puts his glass on the coffee table and holds out his arms for the other. This in turn makes Crowley pout as he shifts and wriggles to rest on top of Aziraphale’s soft body, held securely as he continues to ramble “They’re everywhere Angel, in the fillin’ room, the, the- damn break room, all over...”

“Mm, and you never have to see it again...” Crowley shot him a confused look, but that soon turned into wide eyes and a hearty laugh “Never, ever!”

“Never’s far as I can see it, and same with m’self.. Hic!” The two laughed together, Aziraphale’s body shaking with each wonderful laugh and in turn shaking Crowley’s thin frame as well. As they settled though Crowley was staring at him in a haze, still smiling all goofy and reaching up to trace his fingers over Aziraphale’s tender cheeks. “Why’d we have to wait so long ta meet... Y’coulda helped with a galaxy, maybe two, we coulda run off in the stars, away from all that mess...” His fingertips came up the side of his nose and traced the bridge ever so slowly, making Aziraphale shiver “JuuUUuuust the two of us...~”

Aziraphale couldn’t help sniffing a bit, glancing away a bit nervously with a chuckle “O-Oh come now, if we did that we probably would’ve gotten lost in the stars...”

“N’what’s so wrong with that? I like the stars, I helped make em pretty...” Idly his fingers were playing with the other’s nose, just light brushes to the side and a little to the nostrils. He could see them quivering, feel the little puffs of warm air starting to push out “You’re adorable, when yer nose gets all scrunched an pink, and ya get that little glaze in yer eyes...”

“C—Crowley, waihhihht...” Aziraphale’s features contorted, quickly turning his face away as a sharp gasp sounded “Hih’pTSCHhh! Guhh... I thought you said no sneezing this afternoon...” He teased the other, though he noticed a little glint in those round yellow eyes. “Bit of a silly rule, if you’re just gonna prod like that...”

Crowley merely smiled at this and brushed against Aziraphale’s nose again “It’s like a game... I start strokin’, and soon enough...”

“C-Crow— Crowley- hAH’TSCHhhoo!”

“Ya go off again...” He chuckles, amused by the fact Aziraphale forced his face to the side again. He scoots up higher to plant a few kisses against his cheek and jawline, working his way to the angel’s lips with a toothy grin. Of course Aziraphale wasn’t about to complain, even readjusting himself so the two of them could rest more comfortably while the kissing continued. Crowley felt the others fingers brushing back his thick hair and moaned softly, wrapping his arms around his neck and pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “I wanna stay like thisss... Right here...” He cooed, rubbing his nose teasingly against Aziraphale’s. A huge mistake, in the angel’s book.

His eyes screwed shut, breath hitched almost painfully, but as his face moved to turn away, he was stopped by two hands. And, too late to hold back, he sneezes towards Crowley’s chest in a fine mist “Hurrtschhhh! Hatschhhoo!” The only interesting thing was, he couldn’t tell if the moan he heard came from himself, or his companion. But, he seemed to have the answer when he looked up to apologize, only to be met with a passionate kiss.

Whatever had possessed the demon Aziraphale couldn’t be sure, but in this moment, he couldn’t care less. The two were intertwined once more, and even with the lingering tickle it seemed it wasn’t going to be enough to tear the two of them apart. It only seemed to push them closer, with the exception of tearing off their suits and whatnot...

By the time dinner rolled around the two of them finally stumbled off the couch and removed the alcohol from their systems. Nails scratching against the floor outside the study indicated that Dog was up and alert of the new movement again, but they both took a moment to straighten up. “So... How much longer is the hellhound staying?”

“Adam left Friday morning, so it’s Saturday now.. We should have until Monday morning, if I’m not mistaken.” Aziraphale glanced over with a small grin, Crowley seeming to blush and quickly move away to open the door for Aziraphale “Right, right, sounds good...”

“Would you like to accompany us on the next walk, after dinner then..?” Crowley looked the other up and down, smirking at the sight.

“Think they let mutts into the Ritz?”

[whitehotharlots]

Elizabeth Warren is a weak candidate

It’s hard to believe it’s already been a year.

Last October, prospective presidential candidate Liz Warren stopped by the ur-#Resistance podcast Pod Save America, a program in which several former Obama staffers named John talk about which Gryffindor house Trump administration members belong to, and helpfully explain why Andrew Cuomo is actually way more progressive than Cynthia Nixon. They talked about how Trump had taunted Senator Warren by referring to her as Pocahontas, a cruel play on her claim to Native American heritage. Why, they asked, don’t you try and shut that bully up? Why not take this test from our eugenicist friends at 23 and Me? 

“By golly,” said Liz. “That sounds like a real dandy of an idea!”

Now… this is actually stupider than the mainstream narrative suggests. Because even though it turned out Liz had a smaller percentage of Native American DNA than basically every other American white person, simply taking the test reified an offensive precedent of blood quantum, which is more or less universally rejected among actual Native Americans. Even if it turned out she was 50% Cherokee and had little feathers floating in her piss, the entire spectacle still would have made a mockery of the intense, material struggles faced by Native Americans to this day. 

Now, normally on this blog, I’d go on for several paragraphs about how I don’t actually care about Warren’s heritage (I don’t), how it’s more important to note that she and the rest of the Democratic establishment only care about Native issues to the extent to which they can exploit them, how her refusal to take a stand against DAPL was not just concerning but disgusting, how she can write as many “Pow Wow” recipes as she pleases but at the end of the day she’ll just be another shitty Democrat who expresses solidarity with oppressed people but does nothing to prevent their water being poisoned or their land befouled. But that’s jumping the gun. We’ll only have to worry about being gravely disappointed by Warren if she manages to beat Trump in general election. And I’m sorry to tell you, but she doesn’t have what it takes to get that done.

Warren is a goon. I’m sorry, but she is. She can’t answer softball questions about her recent political history without coming across like a teen who was just caught shoplifting and has been asked why there’s Playstation-sized bulge beneath his shirt. (“D-did I support gay marriage? Well, umm, jeeze louise who can remember something like that? Uhhh. There might be notes? Maybe? But there isn’t. So, I… I guess, well, who can say, really?”)

Warren isn’t nearly as a self-certain as Hillary was, and that’s a problem. It wouldn't be a problem if she actually were a leftist and actually did plan on proffering material solutions to the material problems facing nearly every American. But she’s not. Policy-wise, she is somewhat better than Hillary or Biden. That’s fine. But that’s not enough. She’s already spent too much time courting the Democratic establishment and their corporate base. She knows, therefore, that when a dying cancer patient asks her if she supports Medicare For All, that she has no choice but to lie to his face, that she’s prioritizing corporate cash over helping suffering people, but she lacks Hillary’s soulless cruelty and so she can’t simply laugh away the man’s concerns as naive bro stuff. This causes her to stutter and panic, which makes her (rightfully) appear disingenuous. 

Warren’s plans are likewise a degree or two more progressive than what was being offered by Hillary in 2016. But they’re not straightforward. They are cloaked in the maddening layers of equivocations, loopholes, and means testing that have infected every Democratic proposal since the early 90’s. This is the unavoidable consequence of party seeking to appease two diametrically opposed interests. You can’t satisfy the profligacy of capital while helping everyday people. It cannot be done. And so Democrats rely on Rube Goldberg-style labyrinth policies to obscure this fact, to make it look like they’re trying to help when actually they’re not, they are at best attempting to add a little sugar to the arsenic so that we won’t fight back so much when they pour it down our throats.

Obama could pull this off. We all knew Obama was lying in 2012, but he was appealing enough to make us rationalize away his lies. Same thing with Bill Clinton. If you’re not old enough to remember, check out this debate clip. The man looked like he was going to crawl through your TV and fuck you, and most of us were cool with that. Hillary lacked this appeal. Warren lacks it even moreso. And, yes, I guess this is essentially affective and subjective--just my opinion and whatfor. But any soberheaded person should be troubled by the fact that Warren’s campaign as already absorbed the most viscerally annoying people from the Hillary campaign, and is already aping HRC’s most repulsive and alienating tactics.  

These are people like Sady Doyle and Amanda Marcotte: neurotic, celibate scolds who engage with politics primarily as a way to actualize their petty grievances and insecurities. These people are incredibly unappealing to everyone who isn’t immediately inclined to like them, which is about 90% of the American electorate. And this unappealingness has nothing to do with their gender or their physical appearance. It’s because they are liars who are running a manifestly cynical grift, and they don’t have enough charm or intelligence to trick voters into thinking they’re doing something else.  They are electoral poison, and their outsize presence with the Democrat establishment is a big reason why the Democrats get their asses beat so consistently even though they are supported unanimously by the American media and cultural classes. 

Their grossness was encapsulated very succinctly yesterday, in the misadventures of Ms. Ashlee Preston. Preston is a large black trans woman who works as an official Warren campaign surrogate. She took to twitter to do what these people do: lie about Bernie Sanders and his supporters. They need to lie, because they are working for a candidate who is manifestly more regressive and less electable than him, but they still want to position themselves as the most radical in the field. So she lied. She said that Sanders hadn’t done anything to support gay rights since the 70’s, and that therefore it was actually good that Warren voted for Reagan twice during the AIDS crisis, because that means she grew into her present woke state.

This was all par for the course. Liars lie. Preston is paid to lie. So she lied. 

Also par for the course: Bernie supporters asking her what on earth she was talking about, and doing so politely. And then, once again par for the course, the liar claiming to have been viciously harassed by Bernie Bros, which is meant to validate the lies that warranted the response--which actually wasn’t a lie since it was just, like, sarcasm that y’all folx was too hateful to understand. 

This process has been going on pretty much non-stop since the middle of 2015. Anyone who pays cursory attention to it knows what’s happening, but the weird rules of political decorum make it so we all have to pretend to take it seriously. But yesterday there was a twist. Preston, apparently, had a bunch of semi-coherent tweets in which she said all kinds of neat stuff about Mexicans and Asians. These got posted. She reacted by saying she was kinda sorry but also still right and that it was harassment to bring up that stuff. And… that was it. Cancel Culture’s denizens applauded her apology (a courtesy often provided to those who are willing to lie about leftists). She is still employed by the Warren campaign. The incident wasn’t discussed in any mainstream news sources. The outrage over her old tweets was actually co-opted to smear those who unearthed them. 

The simple observation here was made by hundreds of people online: if this were a Sanders surrogate, they would have been fired immediately, the affair would have been discussed on cable news, and it would have been held up as proof that Sanders should drop out immediately. And when I say hundreds of people posted something along these lines, I might be understating this. The duplicity on display here is manifest to everyone who isn’t on the take. Everyone can see how rotten this is. There’s no question about it. No argument to be had. I’m sorry to say, but this kind of brazen cynicism does not go over well with most voters. It is, in fact, incredibly alienating. The people who claim universal healthcare is inherently racist and attempt to ruin people’s lives for using imprecise language can’t just turn around and demand immediate ablution for their own hateful acts. Or… I guess they can, since that’s what just happened. But they shouldn’t be able to. And the fact that she was able to, so completely and so easily, proves just how much of a shitty fucking grift this whole thing is. You don’t need to be a genius to realize that. You don’t even need to be well-read. You just need to pay a little attention and possess a little bit of self-respect. And that’s why Warren is going to lose.

[shaslayyy]

“I understand,” Hermione started politely, almost patronizing, “that you have all known me as a big-toothed, know-it-all, Mudblood.” 

Her elegant black dress swayed behind her as she addressed them all.

“However, that girl has been purged. I was sent back in time and have learned more about magic than even our illustrious Lord. I have learned to acquire what I desire, ” she spoke and as she walked past each of them they were forced in a kneeling position. “I want to ensure it’s perfectly clear that if I wanted to force you to do my bidding, I could.” 

They were all smarter than to try to fight against it, especially with Tom standing behind her. Only Luna was able to look up to watch Hermione. It was all a formality.

They were all abruptly standing, Crabbe looking red face, although the others seemed pale.

“However, I do not want slaves. I want allegiance, I want your council, I want you because you are among the best. My word is final. You will never lie to me, do as I bid you, and die, if necessary.” her eyes traveled over each of them coldly.

“But,” her voice lightened. “The higher the risk, the higher the reward. Draco Malfoy.”

Hearing the command, he stepped forward. After a moment of looking to the ground, and not hearing a response, he met her eyes. Fear washed through him. 

This was not Hermione Granger. This was a predator.

“You have a prestigious name, endless vaults, and extensive knowledgeYour father has recently been placed in Azkaban, and your family name has been dragged through the dirt. How would you like to change that?” she asked, her smile not spelling lies.

He seemed to glance at her with fear and doubt... but also hope. 

“Theodore Nott, your father was also placed in Azkaban. Additionally, you and he were also made to believe your mother was dead. You also have... extra-curricular activities that are labeled so viciously in our community.”

“My mother has been dead since I was young. You’re going to change an entire society? And.. break into Azkaban?” he asked, trying to be as humble and nonthreatening as possible.

She gave him a level, measured stare.

“Don’t believe me?” she asked with the hint of a smile.

She snapped her fingers, and Lucius, as well as a shapely woman with ebony hair, seemed to pop into existence at the sound. Lucius looked around wildly as his eyes met, first, Hermione before turning to see the others and then Draco. He trembled as his father staggered toward him, pulling him into a bruising embrace.

Theodore Nott stood stock still as his eyes fell over the woman. No matter how powerful they were, they couldn’t bring anyone back from the dead. This couldn’t be this mother.

“Th-theo?” the woman’s voice trembled.

“My boy?” she asked, almost fearfully.

“Your mother was sent away when she developed an advanced strain of dragon-pox, although treatment was found, it caused her memory to slip. I have restored those memories of you and your father.” Hermione’s cool voice came from beside the woman.

She stepped over gingerly and when she finally laced her arms around him, he pushed his face into her hair and held her. The woman even smelled like his mother.

“While I do find these rather heartwarming, we do have an agenda.” she nodded to the two surprise guests and a house elf came to escort them to somewhere more comfortable where their spouses waited for them.

“Pansy Parkinson, you run in some of the most influential circles our society knows. You know the pure-blood housewives, you know their values. You want a good husband, but that’s not all. You also deserve an esteemed position. Should you choose to pledge your service, I believe the youngest Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Prophet would suit you quite well.” 

Pansy’s eyes fixed on the witch in front of her. She knew to disagree would be suicide, and why would she? How had Granger known? How had she figured out what each of their deepest desires were before any of them had a clue what they really meant?

She moved on.

“Neville,” she gave him a once over. His eyes betrayed his calm posture. There was weary distrust lingering with something else. “You know what I’m going to offer you, don’t you?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Hermione.” he noted stiffly.

A slow smile curled his lips and with a snap of his fingers, his parents were there, confused, disgruntled, but there, coherent. 

“M-mum? Dad?” he stuttered out, causing them to turn to him.

“Neville? Neville! Oh my God! Oh my God!” his mother nearly screamed as she ran to him, arms clutching him, her father not far behind.

She shooed them away just as fleetingly has she had with Malfoy’s and Nott’s kin, and moved on to Luna, but the girl spoke the moment Hermione stepped in front of her. 

“We are all slaves to our desires.”

A broad smile took over Hermione’s features, and even Tom, who had been disturbingly silent behind her, began to bask in her radiance.

“Luna, I find no matter where you go, I shall find a use for you, even if it the simple act of your company.”

Hermione moved on to their last recruit.

“Ginny Weasley.” she stepped towards the girl, her expression as unreadable as it had been with the rest. “I understand you harbor particular... opinions about Tom. They are valid.” 

The girl seemed to look between the two, trying to decipher the catch.

“Your deepest desire is to save Harry. I understand very well. However, your deepest desire is already being fulfilled because I refuse to let Harry die. Should you choose to sit at my table, you and your family will be heavily rewarded and cared for. You, as well as your siblings, will be allowed a spot on the Reformed Wizarding Council. That goes for any of you who wish to be on it. I will not force you to vote a specific way. I will simply tell you my plans and if you disagree, then vote against it.”

She turned away from them, sending a glance at Tom before circling on them and held up her arms.

“This is the world I am determined to build. One where the elite are based off merit and skill. Power will be our goal, power will fill your veins. I cannot keep all my promises if you are not willing to bend the knee, so to speak, but I will not take away the loved ones I have bestowed. Now, who will join us?”

Theo and Neville were the first to kneel, Luna falling gracefully after, then Draco and Pansy, until only Ginny stood, staring pleadingly at her hands.

Hermione was behind her in an instant, settling her hand on the young red-head’s shoulder.

“I am asking for your fealty, not your soul. I am trying to create a better world, Ginny. To do this, I need power. Aren’t you tired of the sneers, the jabs at your hand-me-down robes and torn up textbooks? Don’t you want power?” her voice was soothing, and if she’d added to it by wrapping her magic pleasantly around the girl, no one but Tom noticed.

A moment later, Ginny’s hands stopped shaking, and she knelt as well. Hermione slowly wet her lips, thoroughly pleased with the outcome.

“We will not be doing any kind of branding. I have selected rings for each of my banner men. Another house elf apparated into the room, holding a lengthy mahogany box.

When it opened, six rings sat perfectly placed and shining, each gem was cut into their familial crest. They each placed the rings on their fingers before Hermione released them, telling them she would call their first meeting tomorrow night. 

Today, they would reap the rewards of loyalty.