#and instead of politely stating disinterest

[sweetalnazar]

Man i am still reeling over that one person

[hyperactively-me]

regency era!ghost x reader au (part 4)

The ballroom was a whirlwind of activity, the air alive with a large bustling crowd and an orchestra. Candlelight flickered off the gilded walls, casting a warm glow over the assembly of guests as they twirled and sashayed across the polished marble floor. 

You stand at the edge of the ballroom, the soft rustle of your gown mingling with the hum of the music. Despite your best efforts to put your little incident in the park with the Duke out of your mind, his words still echo in your thoughts, leaving you feeling unsettled and off balance. 

But tonight was not the time to dwell on such matters. Tonight was about revelry and celebration, as well as matching up with potential suitors. Your parents wanted you to go in on your best foot forward after noticing you’ve been off the past few days. And so, with a determined smile, you set out to enjoy the evening to its fullest. 

You mingle amongst the guests, making conversation with old friends and new acquaintances. You were introduced to many eligible bachelors, all with some title or another. Some were quite good company, while others were less than enjoyable. Each vied for your attention, eager to claim a spot on your dance card. Every so often, you looked over your shoulder in hopes of not seeing Duke Riley tonight. 

Soon enough, you found yourself twirling from partner to partner, each dance becoming more lively than the next. Yet, amidst the hustle and bustle of small talk and witty remarks, there was one face that stood out. 

Lord Phillip Graves, with his slicked-back hair and predatory grin, was one of the most sought after bachelors of the season. He made his way towards you with all the subtlety of a prowling lion. You felt a shiver of annoyance run down your spine as he approached, his eyes alight with a hunger that made your skin crawl. 

This was not the first time he had tried to court you. Despite his persistence, you had made it abundantly clear to Lord Graves that you had absolutely no interest in his advances. His sleazy demeanor and reputation as a notorious womanizer made you wary of his intentions. Yet, undeterred by your disinterest, he continues to pursue you with a relentless determination that bordered on pitiful desperation.

As he drew near, you plastered on a polite smile, steeling yourself for yet another encounter with the insufferable nobleman. 

“Ah, there she is,” he purred, his voice dripping with charm. “The belle of the ball herself. Would you do me the honor of a dance, my lady?”

You resist the urge to smack him in response to his saccharine words, instead offering him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, Mister Graves, but I’m afraid my dance card is already quite full for the evening,” you reply, hoping to dissuade him from pressing the issue further. 

But Lord Graves was not so easily deterred. With a predatory look in his eye, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your cheek. “Surely you can spare just one dance for me?” he whispers, his words sending bile up your throat.

Before you could respond, a familiar, and not entirely unwelcome, voice rings in your ears.

“The lady’s dance card is indeed full for the rest of the evening.”  

You turn to see the Duke standing right behind you, his expression as unreadable as ever. His intervention was completely unexpected, and you nearly raised your eyebrow in confusion. 

Lord Graves’ eyes narrow, his irritation evident. “And who are you to speak for the lady?” he demands, his voice dripping with contempt.

Simon’s jaw clenches with barely contained patience, his gaze locked with Lord Graves in a battle of wills. 

“I’m the Duke,” he states firmly, his voice authoritarian. “And I can claim the lady’s dance card for the remainder of the evening if I so desire.”

You watch in stunned silence as Simon reaches out and plucks the dance card from your hand, his movements deliberate and possessive. You hold your breath as he scrawls his name across the remaining slots, his actions leaving no room for argument. 

Your eyes flit up to see Graves’ face twist with barely concealed annoyance, but he manages a tight, mocking smile. “Very well, Your Grace. Enjoy your evening.” With that, he turns on his heel and stalks away.

“Come,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. 

Simon offers his arm, and you eye him wearily, yet nod politely anyway. As you settle your hand around his large bicep, your mind races with questions. He guides you away from the crowd and into a secluded area of the hall.  

Once out of earshot of the other guests, you pull your hand away from his arm and turn to face him, your eyes now ablaze with anger. “What on earth were you thinking?” you demand, your voice low but fierce. “You have no right to act so high-handed, and in front of everyone, no less!”

Simon raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your outburst. “I was merely trying to protect you from—“

“Protect me?” you cut him off, your frustration boiling over, all manners thrown out the window. “From what? From a man who, insufferable as he is, poses no real threat? You used me to take a jab at Lord Graves. How dare you!”

Simon’s expression hardens, his own temper flaring up. “Graves is a scoundrel, and I will not stand by and watch him attempt to manipulate you or take advantage of you.”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you retort, stepping closer. “Do you think your actions tonight were any less manipulative? You commandeered my entire evening without so much as asking if I agreed to it! You’ve treated me as if I were your property, and it’s unacceptable!” 

Simon’s eyes darken, a flicker of something like regret passing through them. “I did not intend for you to feel like property. My intentions were to keep you safe—” 

“Safe?” you echo incredulously. “And yet, on top of that, you’ve compromised my reputation. A single woman alone with a bachelor in a secluded corner— do you realize how inappropriate this is as well?” 

His jaw clenches, and he takes a deep breath, struggling to maintain his composure. “I did what I thought was necessary.”

“Well, your ‘necessity’ has only created more problems,” you snap, pointing a gloved finger into his chest. “If you truly wanted to help me, you should have asked what I wanted. Instead, you acted according to your own whims, completely disregarding my feelings and my autonomy!” 

Simon’s eyes widen slightly, taken aback by the intensity of your words. He had never seen you this brutally honesty before, and it stirred something within him. He stands there, shoulders rigid, struggling to maintain his stern facade; something akin to shame crosses his face. He was a man used to command and control, not to be questioned, especially by someone of your stature. But here you were, staring him down with a blaze in your eyes that he found oddly captivating. For a moment, he seems at a loss for words, his usually sharp tongue rendered mute by your reprimand. 

“I… I apologize,” he finally admits, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I acted without considering your wellbeing, and for that, I’m sorry. It was not my place to decide for you.” 

Your anger still simmered, but his apology, unexpected as it was, gave you pause. You sigh, folding your arms across your chest. “I am perfectly capable of handling myself. If I need your help, I will ask for it. Until then, please, respect my independence.” 

His eyes search yours, and for the first time, you saw something beyond the cold, unyielding exterior— a hint of vulnerability, perhaps. It was something you hadn’t anticipated.

“I will respect your wishes,” Simon says quietly, his voice sincere. “But know that my intentions were never to undermine you. I merely wanted to—“

“To what?” you interrupt, but this time your voice is soft. “To ‘protect me’? From what, exactly? Yes, Mister Graves is intolerable, but I can handle men like him.”

Simon’s jaw tightens. “I merely wanted to protect you from anything that might harm you. The world is full of dangers, seen and unseen. And despite my faults, and no matter how you regard me, I do not wish to see you hurt.” 

You raise an eyebrow, surprised at that admission. “Why do you care, Mister Riley? You hardly know me, and ever since we’ve met, you’ve treated me with disdain.”

A muscle twitches in Simon’s cheek. “Perhaps I do not know you, my lady, but you deserve to be honored and protected. Forgive me for my abhorrent behavior. There is no excuse for it. I am not accustomed to this… world of balls and social niceties. I am a soldier, and in war, we act swiftly to protect.” 

You blink, swallowing thickly. There was a raw honesty in his words that left you momentarily speechless. Slowly, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your anger cooling. His sincerity shows you a different side of him, painting a different picture of the man you thought he was. 

“I appreciate your concern,” you say, your voice soft and slow. “But I am not a soldier on your battlefield. I am a woman who is capable of fending for myself. And, if it ever so happens that I do need your help, I will make it known to you."

Simon’s gaze meets yours again, and this time there’s a depth of emotion there that you haven’t seen before. “You’re capable, and I admire that. But that doesn’t mean you should have to fend off predators alone.”

The words hang between you, and for a moment, the tension eases. You study his face, searching for any sign of deceit, but all you find is earnestness. It’s disarming.

“Thank you,” you say after a pause, “Next time, if you would like to help, ask me first.”

“You have my word.”

You let out a small sigh, nodding your head. “Good.” After another moment, you look at him. "I forgive you."

The tension between you eases slightly, though the air remains charged with unspoken sentiments and unresolved emotions. You turn to leave, but Simon gently takes your hand, stopping you in your tracks.

You look down, his thick fingers closing around your hand. You stare at them for a moment too long, a stray thought crossing your mind. 

“I would like to make it up to you,” he says, his voice hard, yet earnest. 

You remove your attention from his fingers, looking up to meet his eyes. His thumb rubs over the satin that covers your knuckles. 

“Allow me to dance with you.” 

Humming, you raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “And if I refuse?” 

“Then I’ll respect your decision.” He pauses, tilting his head. “But I hope you won’t.”

You feel as though the wind has been knocked from your lungs. The uncharacteristic sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you find yourself at a loss for words. 

You consider his offer, the tension between you still palpable. Yet, there’s a part of you that’s curious, intrigued by this side of Simon you haven’t seen before; you decide to take it slow, to not reveal too much to him. 

With a tiny, hesitant smile, you nod your head in agreement. “Well, since you’ve already commandeered my dance card, we might as well make the most of it,” you state simply. 

A flash of something like relief briefly crosses his features, though he quickly masks it with his usual stoicism. “Thank you, my lady.”

With that, he offers you his arm. His bicep bulges under his dress jacket, and an unexpected heat creeps up your neck. The satin of your glove allows your arm to glide through his with ease, fabrics pressing into one another. You never really noticed how firm his muscle is, causing electricity to shoot down your spine. The heat of his body radiates into you as he unexpectedly pulls you closer into his side, leading you to the dance floor in time for an English country dance. (y’all stay with me here, I’m envisioning the dance Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth have together in P&P 2005)

As you and Simon step onto the marble floor, the orchestra transitions into a lively melody, infusing the air with excitement. 

Simon’s hand rests confidently yet gently on your waist as he leads you through the movements of the dance, his touch sending a jolt of warmth coursing through your veins. At first, you were skeptical of this man's dancing skills, certain he would make a fool out of you on the dance floor, yet, to your surprise, he takes the lead confidently.

For a man as lumbering and large as he is, he is uncharacteristically light-footed when it comes to dancing. You would’ve never thought he possessed the skill. 

He never let you mis-step, keeping his gaze locked on your face the whole time. With every meeting in the middle, you swore his face inched closer and closer to yours. With each turn and twirl, you find yourself inching closer to Simon, the space between you narrowing until there's nothing left but the heat of his body pressed against yours. His hand slides lower on your waist, toying with the sash thats wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as the room falls away, leaving only the two of you locked in a rather sensual embrace.

And in that moment, as the music reaches its end and the world fades into oblivion, a terrifying realization dawns upon you: there's no place you'd rather be than in the Duke's arms.

part 3 < > part 5

[thepenultimateword]

Love Thy Enemy Part 6

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

For all Callista's talk of winning Vorrin over, it was surprising that she returned to ignoring his existence. Pins and Switch even informed him that his designated visit to her chambers had been canceled for the week. Usually, Vorrin would've been thrilled, but considering the circumstances... How was he supposed to gain the empress's trust if they didn't see each other?

"Is she busy again?" Vorrin asked as he took a bite of strawberry scone. He kept his tone bland and stared with what he hoped looked like disinterest at the wall.

"I hear she's taking a trip to the border cities," Pins mumbled, sewing needle held between his lips as he turned the half-finished embroidery in his hands. "Probably takes a lot of prep work."

Vorrin had felt rather guilty about his outburst the other day, and remembering Switch's comment about waste, he'd asked the manservants if it was possible to repair the torn shirt. The short answer was no. Nothing could get the shirt exactly back to its original state. The longer answer, with more cloth and designs to hide the stitches, the outfit could be salvaged. So here the pair were, with more work thrust upon them, though Vorrin couldn't say he wasn't grateful for the company.

Vorrin set down the scone, turning full attention to the manservant. "The border cities? Why?"

"I only caught pieces from the soldiers while fetching your dinner the other night, but I think an emissary from Avarose is meeting her there."

"An emissary?"

"She has been out of the country for almost a year now. Maybe she needs an update from Prince Suthand on the state of the kingdom?"

"An update can be sent in a letter."

"You know more about politics than us," Switch said, stacking up some of the empty breakfast plates. "Why do you think she's going?"

Vorrin pondered it a moment. Callista was calculated, and she knew her hold on Totholan was tentative. She wouldn't leave the capital unless she thought it was absolutely necessary.

Perhaps she wanted to check on the strength of the border troops. But she could outsource that to a general couldn't she?" And then there was the emissary. That would be political. But why would she need a representative from her own kingdom? And why didn't they meet her here instead of the other way around?

"I don't understand anything she does," Vorrin said finally, picking back up his scone. He only managed to nibble it a little further before asking, "When will she return?"

Switch raised a brow. "You're certainly eager to see the empress again."

"I wouldn't say eager. Simply...interested."

"Well, she hasn't left yet," Pins said. "She might still come to say goodbye."

As if Vorrin was worried about not receiving a proper farewell. He was her consort, not her lover. He forced a smile anyway. "Maybe."

Pins smiled brightly back and turned the finished tunic around for him to see. "How's this?"

A spattering of golden stars and a large sun now hid the repaired tear. They glimmered against the white fabric like the celestial bodies they were imitating.

"It’s beautiful,” Vorrin said, “it’s a wonder you were hired as a manservant rather than a tailor’s apprentice.”

Pins flushed appreciatively and lowered his eyes to the ground. “I used to do the repairs to the servants' uniforms, back before I was officially hired. My mum said I had a gift. But…apprenticeships don’t pay in money, just room and board, and my family couldn’t really live on one income so…” His face fell a bit, but as he lifted his head again, it abruptly brightened. “When I was offered this position, it paid twice the amount as a regular manservant, and I still get to do sewing, so better off for me, I say.”

Vorrin fought the frown dragging down the corners of his mouth. He knew what it was like to come from humble beginnings. Living day to day on whatever scraps he could get. Going hungry. Survival topping every other thought or desire. The main reason he'd joined the King's army as a boy was for the pay. Squires received a gold piece every month, and the stipend only grew the longer he stayed alive. Not to mention the free board in the barracks. As he’d risen in the ranks, he’d created a comfortable place for himself. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, he hadn't had any family to rely on him, so he’d only had to worry about himself. He could only imagine the pressure of supporting a family at such a young age.

“Is your mother in Totholan?”

“No, she stayed back home. But I send her half my earnings whenever any of the soldiers travel back to Avarose with the Empress's letters.”

“Which they skim,” Switch muttered.

“It’s fine,” Pins said, forcing one of his bright smiles, “I just think of it as a delivery fee.”

This time Vorrin did frown. “That is not fine. They recieve their own wages, they don’t need any of yours.” He doubted it was something Empress Callista would allow either. “I’ll speak to the Empress about it.”

Switch audibly choked.

Pins shot to his feet. “Oh, no! You don’t have to— It’s much too small a matter to bring so high as the Empress.”

Yes, Vorrin understood it was unconventional. King Duras would have imprisoned a servant for wasting his time with such a request, that is if he even allowed it to reach the level of audience, and with the state of the kingdom, Empress Callista probably would brush it off too, but…

“If she cares about me, she’ll care about you,” Vorrin said firmly.

“I don’t want her to think I’m complaining or gossiping about the soldiers. Especially not to you."

"Because you don't want to be blamed for my poisonous attitude toward all things Avarosian?"

Pins pressed his lips together, his lack of denial an admittance all its own.

“If it bothers you, I won’t tell her it’s you.”

"I...well..." Pins slowly folded the tunic over his arm and moved gingerly across the room to tuck it away in the wardrobe. "I guess its ok. If it comes up that is. And as long as it doesn't inconvenience her. If she seems put out, tell her to forget it. And don't make it seem too urgent." He cleared his throat and plucked out a new outfit, lithely changing the topic. "How about this?"

It was another set of robes, this one a couple layers, the bottom a silky vibrant gold and the top a poofed, gauzy white that muted the underlying fabric, almost like looking through fogged glass. Glimmering gold strings hung loosed off the sleeves, ready to hold each one in perfectly puffed sections."

Vorrin grimaced. Where did the empress even get all these clothes from? Had she sent for them as soon as she’d taken him hostage or had she planned for this ending in advance? From what he'd seen Pins and Switch wear, robes were not uncommon for Avarosian men, but the fancy ones in his wardrobe were on another level. Either high-class styles were different, or the empress had some tastes. Maybe a bit of both.

"Well, I was hoping to attend the training grounds today," Vorrin said. "That is if there is a soldier to escort me today."

One of the things he and the empress had agreed upon in their last conversation was that Vorrin should have more freedoms. The training grounds to practice his sparring and more visits into the city were at the top of his requests. Surprisingly, both had been granted, on the condition that he was watched at all times.

"Oh!" Pins put the garment set back and sifted around the wardrobe for something else. "Then this?"

The new outfit was two pieces, a bottom and a top, so that was at least closer to Vorrin's regular style.

The top was a black compressed shirt with the sleeves cut off mid-shoulder and silver-threaded embroidery stretching from the shirt's high throat to the middle of the chest, giving the appearance of a layered necklace. The bottoms...were a skirt. Blue. Long. Plain except for the embroidered hem in matching silver.

"Er...I can't exercise in that," Vorrin said. It was the more diplomatic reply.

"This is a sparring outfit," Pins said. "An expensive one, but still equipped for actual sparring."

"I don't see how I'm supposed to fight in that." Vorrin stepped closer and flicked the hem of the skirt. "It's too long. And constricting. I'm not going to be able to move without tripping, ripping it, or showing everyone everything."

"It's not a skirt if that's what you're worried about," Switch said, setting the stacked dishes on the breakfast tray. The young man was as sharp as ever. He marched up the proffered outfit and grabbed the hem by one side, pulling it up to show the wide trouser legs beneath. "The overskirt is for show. It's split so it doesn't get in the way. Think of it as robes for fighting. Most of the military has switched to more obvious trousers, but most generals still wear this style. I don't know if you've noticed."

Vorrin couldn't say that he had. He didn't really pay attention to what his opponents were wearing in battle, and since becoming Empress Callista's consort, he'd been mostly confined. He assumed he'd seen mostly low-level soldiers since then, but it was also possible he'd missed it, either being in too much of an angry fog to notice or assuming they were robes like any other.

"The outfit's fine," Vorrin said crisply.

"Good!" Pins said. "Then let's get you ready!"

"I'll send for a soldier to escort you," Switch said. A shadow of a grimace crossed his face, but just as quickly it was gone. Replaced by his usual straight expression. "It might take a little while, so I should go now."

"We can go together," Pins offered.

"No, no." Switch drew himself up proudly. "I'm fully capable of finding someone. And it will be more efficient this way."

With a short bow toward Vorrin, he was out the door.

Pins had Vorrin dressed within a half hour. The bottoms were much more comfortable than he'd expected. His hair had taken on a simple style today, tied up into a tail. However, Pins still managed to make the simplicity elegant by using a silver hair ring instead of a regular hair tie.

The bedroom door burst open. Switch stormed in red-faced and hair-mussed, slender hands barely catching the door before its handle could hit the wall.

"I found someone," he said, easing the door shut before sitting hard in one of the dining sets.

"What happened?" Vorrin and Pins said together.

"Nothing. Like I said. It just takes a while to find soldiers who aren't busy."

"Switch, you're shaking," Vorrin said, his voice falling into the firm tone of his old station.

Switch looked down at his trembling hands with a surprised expression.

Switch clenched them. "I'm not scared or anything. I'm just mad."

"What happened?" Vorrin pressed again, this time summoning the authority Switch responded to.

"It's just soldiers being soldiers," the manservant spat. "Being crass and difficult and idiotic as usual. I swear, this is why I dropped out of the military. They're all so stupid. But of course, they can't let it go. I'm a traitor because I didn't fight in the war and even more so because I serve a Totholi consort." Switch's tone grew sharp and sarcastic. "Apparently, it's very unpatriotic of me to be at the beck and call of a Totholi general. Oh, and I think I'm better than them because of my cushy safe job and better pay and face-to-face meetings with the Empress."

At that last part, Switch let out a little gasp and pinned his lips tightly shut.

Another time, Vorrin would have seized that slip-up. He knew that Empress Callista was getting information on his behavior from someone. His manservants had been the most likely suspects, and this confirmed it. However, this was not the time.

"I didn't know you were military," Vorrin said instead.

"Was." Switch looked steadily at the ground a couple feet ahead, clenching his fists harder so the knuckles turned white. Vorrin knew that look. He kept dry anger at the forefront of his emotions, but he was probably fighting off tears. "I only squired for a year. I hate soldiers."

"Is that why you sometimes have a hard time with me?"

Switch flushed a little and a long pause stretched over the room. "Maybe. I don't know. I guess sometimes I see the resemblance. But you're not like them. I know that. Even if you are aggravating." He cleared his throat abruptly. "Sorry."

"Did the oh-so-proper and strict Switch make a joke?" Vorrin said with a mock gasp.

Switch rolled his eyes, but a small smile crept up his face. "Don't tell anyone."

"They're just being jerks because they're jealous," Pins piped in.

Vorrin nodded. "As a once stupid soldier, I have to agree. For men like them, there is a pecking order, and they're worried you're on top. And they hate that, so they're trying to convince you that you're not."

"But I don't want to be a part of their stupid pecking order at all," Switch said.

“Then you need to find the biggest instigator and give them a good punch in the nose.”

“You are a soldier.”

Vorrin shrugged. “It’ll at least show them you’re not going to take their rubbish.”

“But it’s so unrefined…”

“And they are? They’re a bunch of insecure bottom feeders with too much space in their skulls. I’m telling you, the only thing people like that respect is brute force.”

“I’m really beginning to doubt your strategic ability as Totholan’s best general.”

Vorrin chuckled. “Well, I can always punch one for you. I doubt they’re allowed to hit me back.”

Switch let out a long sigh, though it wasn’t entirely exasperated. He scrubbed his tearless face. "I’ll think about it. Pretty sure letting the royal consort get into fights isn’t a much better look. Anyway, the escort is waiting outside when you're ready."

Vorrin stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Time for me to go then. Guess I better show this little guppy who’s really in charge. ”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t worry, Switch. I know how to handle grunts.”

“Seriously don’t.”

Vorrin only grinned, flexing one of his bare arms before sweeping out the door.

As he stepped out into the hall, the soldier leaning against the outside wall stood up straight. He was about what Vorrin had expected: young, a little below average height, and built just enough to have real muscle but still feel uncomfortable in his own skin. Vorrin could see the inexperience in his shifting posture.

“Good morning, Royal Consort,” the soldier said offering a short bow. Obviously, his feelings on a Totholi consort were much different when face-to-face with him. “My name is Raoden. I’ll be escorting you.”

“Yeah, I’m not remembering that,” Vorrin said, stepping past the man without a second glance and starting toward the training ground. “How about I call you Button?”

“Well, er…”

“Perfect. Come on."

The soldier scrambled after him, needing to use his full stride to keep pace at Vorrin's side. As they reached the end of the hall, he angled toward the right, the direction to the main entrance of the arena.

Vorrin turned left.

"Um, I think the training grounds are--"

"I know how to get there," Vorrin said.

He strode the full length of the hall, turning left and then left again. He barely glanced at the other soldiers and servants they passed along the way, only stopping when he reached a worn, narrow door the same grey as the stone around it.

"Royal Consort--"

Vorrin was already pushing inside.

"Hello, boys!"

The whole room scrambled to their feet. A couple of men fell off their beds. One hit his head on the bunk above him as he rushed to stand.

“So this is where you all go to slack off.”

One of the soldiers without his shirt or shoes squirmed. “We’re off duty, your…Royal Consort…sir.”

“Of course. Don't mind me.” He mosied down the aisle, looking idly around with each step, gaze skimming past the soldiers enough that they dropped their heads to avoid eye contact. “I just wanted a look at my old quarters before Button here escorts me to the armory. Well, close enough. These were the squire quarters. You're all full-fledged soldiers, aren't you?"

"Er...most of us," Button interceded from behind. When Vorrin glanced back at him, the man stood by the entrance, looking desperate to lead Vorrin back out. "Military rankings work differently in Avarose. Um...should we perhaps..."

"Really? That's interesting." Vorrin sat himself down on one of the now-empty bunks. He crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned back on one hand. "How is it done in Avarose?"

Button looked around the room, but no one else spoke up. "Royal Consort Vorrin, I really think..."

Vorrin raised his brows. "Yes?"

"Uh...well, in Totholan there are three titled ranks, right? Page, squire, and knight? Though of course some knights can reach the higher rank of Knight General or the highest rank, like yourself, Grand Master."

Vorrin shook his head. "King Duras was the Grand Master. I'm just a general."

Button blinked and glanced toward his comrades and back. "Respectfully, sir...that wasn't what we were told in our briefing. That's why the Empress specifically--" He abruptly cut off and cleared his throat. "My point was Totholi military is more simplistic."

One of the soldiers snickered but stopped before Vorrin could identify who it was.

"Whereas Avarosian military is sort of...complicated."

Vorrin leaned his chin into his hand. "Oh?"

"There are ranks within ranks. Sort of like your knights, but with much more variety." He lifted one end of the wide scarlet sash wrapped around his middle. Looking at the colors may help. The lowest rank is yellow. Children in training wear the palest shade and it deepens as they move up. Green is the next rank, usually utilized as messengers or apprentices to higher-ranked soldiers. Blue is reserved for military medics. Red is for ordained soldiers, again the palest shades are always reserved for those with the least experience. Generals wear black. The sovereign wears white. But only on the battlefield.

Vorrin closed his eyes a moment, tentatively summoning a memory. He could still picture that day perfectly. Empress Callista standing over him, half of her hair escaped from its braid, the long tails of her "white" sash whipping in the wind. In reality, it had only been white in small patches; the majority of it was dyed red with blood. The point of her blade pressed carefully into his throat. He'd swallowed. She'd grinned.

Vorrin's eyes shot back open. He pushed himself back to his feet, shoving the memory's emotions deep down and instead surveying the soldiers once again.

"It seems every one of you carries a red sash. I'm surprised."

"Sir?"

"It took thirty minutes for my manservant to acquire one of you. You do realize that a request from my servants is a request from me?"

Button bowed his head. "Yes, Royal Consort."

"Tell me, how long did you spend arguing, drawing straws, and over me instead of doing your duty."

Button sank so far between his shoulders he resembled a turtle. "Too long, Royal Consort."

A part of Vorrin wanted to punish them further for Switch's sake. But Button had admitted his fault without excuse. Vorrin had to give the man credit for that. Many of the men looked equally chastened. No need to press further when a reprimand was being received.

"I suggest being a little quicker next time," he finished.

"Yes, Royal--"

"You're not in charge of us, Tolothi," another soldier interrupted. The man was all wiry muscle and unruly hair. Vorrin noted that his sash was vermillion whereas many of the other's were crimson.

Vorrin stalked up to the man, gazing down at him from under half-lowered lids. "Am I not?"

"You're a pet."

"Argin," one of the crimson soldiers hissed warningly.

"A dog may be pampered and protected," Argin continued, meeting Vorrin's eyes. " but that doesn't make it less a dog. And a dog holds no authority no matter who it belongs to."

Vorrin only smiled. "You sleep in a bunk bed. I sleep beside the Empress. Maybe I am a dog, but between the two of us, I wonder who has more authority. I suppose if you're really concerned I could ask the Empress what she thinks."

Argin paled a fraction and clenched his teeth hard enough to crack. He ducked away from Vorrin's gaze. "Aren't you supposed to be practicing sparring or something?"

"You're right. Thank you, Kitty."

The man flushed equal parts embarrassment and anger.

"Come along, Raoden."

Button looked a little shocked at the usage of his real name, but he quickly fell in step, following Vorrin through the door at the back of the room into another room of bunks, this one empty. The Knights' old quarters. They passed rows and rows of beds before exiting another door into the armory.

Unlike the barracks, this room had been completely reorganized. Probably so it could hold all the weapons that the Avarosian army had brought with them.

Vorrin ran his hand down the row of spears lined along the wall. "Any limits on which weapons I'm allowed to use?"

"I don't think Empress Callista established a rule." Button looked around the room nervously. "Maybe nothing too sharp?"

Vorrin tsked. "Do you have so little faith in yourself that I need a handicap?"

"When it comes to you, sir, yes."

"Really? You don't think you could stop me if I was armed? A little concerned for the person who is supposed to keep me from escaping.

Button swallowed. "I don't know, sir. But I know it took the Empress to defeat you, and I couldn't win against the Empress." He gathered himself taller. "However, Royal Consort, I don't think you plan on running. Even if I fell, there are at least a hundred guards between here and the end of the palace grounds. They would catch you immediately."

Button's tone begged Vorrin not to try anything. He almost seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as Vorrin. He was right though. Vorrin suspected that having a watch was more about preventing him from stealing weapons than stopping an escape attempt.

"I'll stick with the quarterstaff then," Vorrin said, plucking the long wooden pole off the wall. "I only want to practice some movements today anyway."

Button nodded, relieved, and they exited the armory into the training grounds. A light breeze wafted the smell of the dusty earth, and the musty hay of the training dummies to his nose. Vorrin closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scents. It had been a long time.

The quarterstaff felt a little strange in his hands. Though his hands instinctively gripped the right places, the weapon no longer fit the same against his too-smooth palms.

Vorrin spun the staff a couple times before trying a stab. He stumbled a little and gritted his teeth. He'd overextended.

His immediate reaction was a surge of rage, but he exhaled the emotion slowly. This is fine. Just go back to the basics.

He fell into a defensive stance. Block, parry, stab. Block, parry, stab. He moved slowly, perfecting each movement as he went. After about four times, he picked up speed, throwing in a few dodging movements and thrusting out the pole in low and high attacks.

Button yawned from the sidelines.

Vorrin half-wanted to ask the guard to spar with him, but he doubted that was allowed. Maybe he should asked for two guards next time, one to spar with and another to watch him. Better yet, maybe he could begin bargaining for the release of his soldiers. Not at all at once, but one or two at a time. He missed their familiar company. Not to mention, he’d need them if this uprising was going to work.

Having enough of the repetitive movements, Vorrin imagined an invisible enemy before him. He’d done this all the time as a boy when the other pages refused to be his sparring partner. Having Captain Kenric for a mentor had remedied that, but he’d still found solace in solo sparring once in a while.

He lowered into a defensive stance, holding the quarterstaff diagonal from his body. He circled slowly, searching for weak spots, knowing his enemy was doing the same. Abruptly, he thrust the staff forward. The enemy dodged, swinging back at him violently. He barely stepped back in time, throwing the staff sideways to block the blow. He gritted his teeth and widened his stance further against the imaginary weight. He shoved forward hard, knocking the figment backward. He stalked forward, raising his elbows in preparation for the finishing jab. He thrust the weapon forward, and...

A very visible, very real sword collided with the end of his staff.

Vorrin inhaled sharply, retreating back a couple steps and instinctively throwing out his quarterstaff in front of him. It took a couple moments for him to make sense of the red-and-gold-clad figure in front of him.

Empress Callista glanced at the weapon then casually back to his face with a widening grin. She slid her sword back into its sheath. “Hello, dear."

Vorrin exhaled slowly, doing his best to hide the tension ebbing from his muscles. He'd felt like a hair-trigger ready to fire. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I can't visit my consort? you weren't in your quarters; I was told I could find you here." Her eyes roved back to the weapon. "It's been a while since I've seen you in action. Serious as ever I see."

Vorrin furrowed his brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Some people spar for fun, you know. But you have that same look you have in battle. Fighting isn't a game to you, is it?"

Where did she get off acting like she knew anything about him?

"I spar for fun," he said a little sharper than intended. "But there's nothing fun about swinging a stick around by yourself. Besides, if I'm going to regain all my skills, I can't afford to be lax."

Empress Callista let out a little amused breath. "Well then, we'll need to spar together sometime."

Vorrin's face warmed. "I wasn't implying that I wanted--"

"I like the outfit," she interrupted. "Very classic."

“Well, it was in my wardrobe.”

Empress Callista gasped in mock offense. “Are you suggesting that I gave you those clothes just because I wanted to see them on you?”

“Is that not true?”

“Well, maybe.” She winked, her smile landing somewhere firmly between flirtatious and wicked. However, the sly curve quickly straightened into a more serious expression. “I didn’t know what you looked like until the first time we faced each other in battle. I had no idea what would suit you, so we brought lots.”

“You didn’t think we had clothes here?” Vorrin said.

“Dressing you in our styles was intentional."

"And now?"

"It still is. But your comfort is also important, so we'll find a compromise."

Vorrin let the butt of the quarterstaff rest against the ground. He leaned into it like a walking stick. "Dressing me like an Avarosian isn't going to win over the people. They're just going to be mad that I'm betraying our culture."

"Maybe. But it does show them who you belong to." Her gaze darkened. "And it's not just for your people. Mine need reminders too."

Vorrin's insides went cold. Empress Callista was so confident, so domineering in every action and word, he'd never considered that her people might have as many disagreements with this plan as he did. He was safe...wasn't he?"

"Anyway, darling," she said, shattering the frozen feeling encasing him, "as much as I love our little tiffs, I came to wish you farewell. I'm heading to the border this afternoon."

Vorrin remembered what Pins had said about the Empress saying goodbye. He sincerely hoped that neither manservant had shared his interest in her departure. "You don't need to do that. My servants would have told me."

"Ah. Of course." She cleared her throat and gathered herself up a little straighter. "It's a two-week trip--5 days to the border and another 5 back. I would have felt strange saying nothing at all."

Vorrin didn't quite know how to respond, so he stayed silent.

The empress cleared her throat again. Wait a minute. Did she actually feel awkward right now?

“Is there anything you need before I go?” she said

"I need your soldiers to stop terrorizing my manservants."

The empress's forehead furrowed. Not confusion, or doubt. More...disciplinary. The look of a parent when they're told their child has been caught teaching curse words.

"Explain."

"Pins gets his wages partially stolen whenever he sends money back home to his mother. And Switch gets harassed when he makes requests on my behalf. It has to do with serving a Totholi, which, I would like to remind them, is literally his job."

Empress Callista raised her brows. "Switch and Pins?"

"That's what I call them."

She didn't push it further.

Vorrin continued on. "They're in positions of power and servants to the Empire. They're abusing those positions for personal gain. If it were my men they'd be cleaning everyone's armor for the next week. Or be working directly with me until they wised up."

Vorrin caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps his voice had risen too loud because Button shifted uncomfortably from his post at the arena's edge. His eyes flicked their way, briefly connecting with Vorrin's. The young man's shoulders leaped a little, and he hastily averted his gaze to the empty space ahead of him.

The young man had been properly chastened earlier, but Vorrin wanted him to bring this information back to the others.

"They can't be allowed to act this way, can they?" he said, letting his anger raise his voice even louder.

"No," the empress said firmly. "Their behavior is unacceptable. Unfortunately, I don't have control of every action the people in my employ make. However, I will be alerting my generals and captains of the issue. They should provide some correction. Let me know if it continues."

Vorrin nodded. Despite the many things that bothered him about the empress, the one thing he could count on was that she was fair. King Duras had allowed, even encouraged, a toxic dynamic in his army. One where power and physical strength reigned as dictators. It had taken a long while for Vorrin to clean up once he became Knight General, so he couldn't help but appreciate the empress's standards.

She tipped her head to catch his gaze. "I assure you, Vorrin. The trust I have in my army is critical to me. I allow error, and I allow redemption, but those I deem untrustworthy have no place with me.

"I know. Thank you." The words came out before Vorrin knew what he was saying. To his surprise, he actually meant them.

"Anyway," he said, diverting the attention from his last words. "Why are you going to the border?"

Empress Callista smiled thinly. "There's confidential information I don't want to be written in a letter. At least not one that passes many hands. Not only that, but I'm going to be surveying the area for construction."

"Construction?"

"For the new capital. With the kingdoms merging, I can't stay here. Avarose would be outraged. But I can't return as if nothing happened either, or I risk losing my foothold. We need a neutralized city equally distant between both locations."

"Idosa won't be the capital anymore?" Vorrin didn't know why he hadn't thought about that sooner. Technically, Idosa had ceased being the capital the moment Empress Callista won the war. Yet, everything remained so much the same, the castle, the stationing of the guard, the mannerisms of the city... He'd never imagined this type of reform.

"Don't act so sullen. This will be a massive change for all of us. Streles has been the Avarosian capital for centuries. I'm anticipating a heated argument with every noble and advisor I have over the next few months."

"And me?"

It wasn't a very articulate question, but the empress seemed to understand.

"You'll come with me, of course. Not only to the new capital but to Avarose as well. The new city will take time to build, so we may travel back and forth for some time."

"I could stay here." That was something consorts did, right? Have their own homes? At least, King Duras had gifted his mistresses residences within and without the city. Then again, many of them were not official consorts. Still, it wasn't as if Callista needed him outside Idosa. If she gave him this place, he could fix it. It wouldn't be exactly as it was, but it could be close.

Even as he tried to convince himself of nobler intentions, the truth gnawed at him. He was scared. Outside of battle and expeditions for the King, he'd never lived anywhere else. He'd grown up here. He'd become something here.

Empress Callista shook her head, a little sympathy peeking through her steady expression. "You're my token. A representation of our countries' union. You'll always be with me."

Always?

Vorrin's lungs suddenly felt tight. Like he'd been shoved into a space--a cage--too tight for his body.

The empress's hands found his face, stroking his cheekbones with her thumbs. "It's alright, love. I will take care of you."

As if that was what worried him. Like he was a child who needed consoling about moving away from his friends. As if this was just about him and not everyone in Idosa--no Tothalan! And him a helpless bird with clipped wings.

No. No, don't think about that.

He released a shuddering breath.

He could stop this. None of this had to happen if he completed his mission. Calm. Calm. He just had to endure a while.

Vorrin stepped back out of her reach and looked down at her gold-button travel boots.

"Good luck, on your journey."

Empress Callista's hands dropped to her side, but she stepped forward, regaining the ground between them. "If you need anything, if you have any trouble, send for me. I'll return."

"Ah, so you expect trouble," Vorrin joked, not quite able to summon the humor into his smile.

She gently took his chin, raising his face to her eyes before withdrawing again. Her eyes appeared almost molten in the sunlight.

"I will be back before you know it."

Vorrin wasn't sure if that was meant as a comfort or a warning, maybe both. It made him feel strange.

He took two long steps back this time, properly distancing himself.

"Well, goodbye then. Bring me back something nice." With that, he turned his back on her, striding back to Button. "I'd like to go back to my room now."

Vorrin allowed the soldier to lead him through the proper exit this time. As they left, he felt the empress's eyes following him.

He did not look back.

Taglist:

@whatiswhump, @aprilraine, @ilovescarletwitch, @conniedensazation, @feedthebirds, @bloodinkandashes

[evidence-based-activism]

Vote

We are now only two weeks from the US election. I know a lot of the women who visit my blog may feel politically homeless (i.e., ideologically opposed to the republicans/conservatives, but feeling betrayed by democrats/liberals).

As such, this is reminder that you do not need to agree with every position of a candidate to vote for them. (In fact, I’d argue that agreeing with everything a candidate says/does means you are either under-informed or misinformed about the issues, candidates, or both.)

So, here’s an incomplete list of reasons to vote for Harris/Democrats in this upcoming election:

Despite what you have been (not) seeing in the news, the current democratic office has actually done a lot of very important things that have improved and will continue to improve the lives of many. Making sure these sorts of actions continue, and are not reversed, requires continued Democrat leadership.

While you may not agree with all of her policies, most of Harris’s positions will benefit marginalized people including women, LGB individuals, and the poor/middle class.

In contrast, Trump’s (and Republican’s) policies are explicitly hostile to all these groups.

As such, you will - at the very least - mitigate harm in most to all areas of life (prevent environmental regulations from being cut, prevent further national attacks on abortion rights, etc.).

Demonstrating you are an active voting bloc will make the institutions (the Democratic Party) more likely to consider and compromise with you. Abstaining from voting or voting for a third party does not indicate resistance to the party, instead it simply expresses disinterest. (Perhaps it would be different if Americans were more politically active, at which point abstaining would signal dissatisfaction with the available options. As it is, all it suggests is that you are part of the politically uninterested population who will not vote and is therefore – from a candidate’s/party’s point of view – not worth listening to.)

You will be — effectively — voting to determine if we have a liberal or conservative court for the next several decades.

You can (and should) vote for the other offices on the ticket. Much of your personal daily lives are affected at the local and state level, so these elections are vitally important to you specifically.

The same argument for local/state initiatives. Many high profile topics (e.g., abortion, electoral systems) as well as local budget/tax policies are decided in these elections. Again, these will have a direct effect on your life.

Voting blue in a majority red state signals (1) to other liberals who chose not to vote that voting may be worthwhile (2) to the Republican Party/conservatives that they need to swing more left to maintain an advantage, (3) that your state may become a swing state in the future, which increases the Democrat party’s interest in you/your voting bloc.

Trump is a rapist.

Please allow me to emphasize this: Trump. Is. A. Rapist.

If you like identity politics: Harris is a woman of color. (As opposed to a white man.)

And ultimately, there are only two realistic outcomes to the election: Trump wins or Harris wins. Given this, if nothing else will convince you, just make sure Trump doesn’t win.

Ballotopedia is a great resource for federal and state elections, including a specific page about state ballot measures. They also have a page for municipal elections in some of the most populated areas.

But if you need help with something related to voting feel free to ask me. You can send a message or an ask and I will help you to the best of my ability.

[riddle-rosethorns]

Its Valencia~!!!

Tell me more about Jade and Ismund's love story 🥺

Hi again, Valencia!! Thank you for the ask! I would love the opportunity to ramble about my boys.

Ismund and Jade first met due to sharing their classes with each other. They're both sophomores in Class E, and their adjacent numbers (Ismund being No. 12 and Jade being No. 13) meant that they ended up sitting next to each other in the majority of their lectures.

Ismund wasn't really sure how to feel about Jade at first. He'd never encountered a merman in person before and, needless to say, he found Jade's sharp teeth and striking eyes to be somewhat menacing. However, his initial impression was quickly thrown aside when Jade proved to be very polite and courteous. He was also one of the few students to be neither intimidated or put-off by Ismund's cold demeanor, which piqued Ismund's interest rather quickly.

When the Club Fair eventually rolled around, Ismund knew Mountain Lovers Club was his ideal choice. His kingdom was practically surrounded by mountains and skiing was one of his favorite pastimes. It was only natural he'd be interested in exploring them further, given he didn't have much freedom to do so back home. It just so happened that Jade was the leader and sole member of the club, which led to the two of them spending a lot more time together outside of class.

Jade, of course, was happy to find someone else who appreciated the beauty of nature and the mountains almost as much as he did. Ismund seemed more than happy to indulge Jade's interest in the edible flora and fungi native to Sage's Island; he was eager to learn more, as well as offer bits of knowledge regarding the mountainous environment of his home.

The two begin taking hikes together almost every week and eventually, Jade brings Ismund to his favorite clearing: a lush, grassy area rife with native wildflowers and mushrooms. It's absolutely breathtaking and unlike anything Ismund could've found in the frozen forests of his home. When he glances over at Jade and sees the way the dappled sunlight plays across his smiling face, Ismund feels his heart tighten. As hard as he's tried not to get attached, Ismund is a hopeless romantic at heart, and so is quick to realize exactly what this feeling is: a crush.

Following this realization, Ismund begins trying to distance himself from Jade. He stops attending club activities and refuses to engage in conversation with Jade unless it is class-related. He's grown up believing that he is a danger to everyone around him and that the only way to protect the people he loves is to push them away, so it's only logical for him to do the same with Jade.

Later that school year (for reasons I won't get into in this post), Ismund overblots. Yuu and our typical band of heroes obviously must try to defeat him, but they're unable to figure out where he's gone, as he had previously fled Night Raven following an incident with his ice magic. Jade is the only one with a suspicion as to where he might be and, in exchange for the information, insists on accompanying the group. They find Ismund in the very same clearing where he realized his feelings for Jade, now covered in frost and snow, and are eventually able to subdue him.

Following his overblot recovery, Ismund finally decides to discuss his feelings with Jade. He's taken the time to realize that putting up walls to keep people out is exactly what caused him to reach such a fragile emotional state in the first place, and that fear is no reason to avoid forming close relationships with others. Apparently, a near-death experience is exactly the kick in the ass he needed to be honest with his own feelings.

Ismund, petrified of rejection after all the trouble he's put Jade through, steels himself and confesses to Jade the next time he comes to visit him in the infirmary. He fully expects for Jade to respond with disinterest or disgust; instead, Jade kisses Ismund's gloveless knuckles in a gesture of both trust and reciprocation. How could he not feel the same about someone so strong, beautiful, and willing to indulge his passions?

They've been dating ever since! This is basically their dynamic as a couple.

[eretzyisrael]

by Jonah Fried

B’nai Brith Canada is astounded and appalled by the University of Toronto’s refusal to acknowledge its concerns on behalf of the Jewish community about a pair of problematic events scheduled to take place on campus next week.

“We were disappointed, to put it mildly, by the U of T’s response to a letter we sent last week,” said Richard Robertson, B’nai Brith Canada’s Director of Research and Advocacy. “In the wake of the antisemitism that proliferated at the encampment last summer, U of T committed to securing its campus and creating an environment that is safe for all students. The response we received from the university dismissed our valid concerns and did not even express a hint of compassion for Jewish students, who are concerned that the two events next week will further escalate tensions and incite hatred on campus.”

The first of the two planned events is a Nov. 7 appearance by Francesca Albanese, United Nations Special Rapporteur on the “Occupied Palestinian Territories.” Albanese has repeatedly legitimized the acts of terrorist organizations, including violence against Israeli civilians.

On Nov. 8, anti-Israel radicals intend to host a so-called “Anti-Zionist Ideas Conference.” The panel is set to include Nasser Abourahme, who has described Zionism as “colonialism” and, in doing so, rejects the Jewish people’s ancestral ties to the Land of Israel. Other participants include Daniel Boyarin, who advocates for a no-state solution to the conflict in Israel, effectively calling for the destruction of the world’s only Jewish State.

In response to B’nai Brith’s letter, which cited concerns for the security and well-being of the Jewish community, a spokesperson for U of T President Meric Gertler wrote that the school “does not take positions on contentious social, political or other issues apart from those directly pertaining to higher education and academic research.” The University did not offer any proactive assurances or commitments to mitigate the issues B’nai Brith raised on behalf of Jewish students, faculty and staff.

“Even if U of T feels it cannot stop the events from taking place, it could have done more to acknowledge the bona fide concerns of its Jewish community,” Robertson said. “It could have offered to increase security on campus or committed to monitoring the events for incidents of hate speech or misinformation. Instead, the administration seems disinterested in the impact the events will have on the Jewish members of its community.

“U of T appears to have wiped its hands of the matter, and that is extremely difficult to accept.”

[whats-amata-you]

Man it’s weird being trans. Like yeah I did always know, I did my googling waaaaaaay back in middle school and found the gender vs sex rabbit hole when I was like 11 on ye olde 2004 Wikipedia, I prayed for years for god to let me be some kind of intersex that just looks female so I wouldn’t get boobs or periods, I asked my Texan dad to call me “sir” instead of “ma’am” when I was maybe 7 and he did for a week before he realized I wasn’t going to get sick of it.

But I didn’t always KNOW. I grew up under this weird kind of rock made of autism and whiteness and being middle-class and non-denominational Christian, so I was brought up believing everyone was basically the same, and then there were The Weird Ones, but The Weird Ones were usually fine as long as they weren’t being “in your face” about things. I knew that there were men and there were women and there were intersex people, I knew what was expected of men and what was expected of women. But I didn’t know how the cishets ACTUALLY saw the queers. I didn’t know the consequences of being born in a female body but insisting on being a boy. I didn’t know what my transness would actually cost if I pushed too hard for it.

And no,I didn’t try, because I didn’t know it was an option, obviously. But I’d never seen trans people anywhere before, never heard of them outside that Wikipedia article, never saw them referenced in media (we only got PBS until I was 16 and by then I was disinterested in almost anything outside my hyperfixations). I heard about gay people, and how it was wrong to sleep with someone of the same sex, but it was the lukewarm distaste of casual homophobia that just “doesn’t want to see it.” The biggest cost I actually saw to queer people was just… people not wanting to see them kiss their partner. As an aroace kid, I didn’t understand why that would be a big deal for either side.

I’d only heard of HIV and AIDS in dry, clinical explanations in sex ed. “It’s a sexually transmitted virus so use a condom every time, it also spreads via needles so don’t do drugs. The virus works like this and destroys your immune system so even a cold can kill you. You cannot get it by breathing their air or touching them or using a toilet seat or whatever, it has to be bodily fluids and usually not saliva. It’s incurable and fatal.” In retrospect, I learned WAY more about HIV/AIDS than a lot of kids did back in the late 90s and early 2000s, so that’s a mark in favor of Washington state (or maybe just that particular school district). But I never, not even once, heard queer people of any type and AIDS mentioned in the same sentence. I never heard of “the AIDS crisis” or its impact on the queer community until after I graduated high school and met a queer or two on the internet.

My old mentor Orion would probably have been shocked and appalled. She must have lived through and seen so much that I never knew about up until the last couple years, actively chasing down this elusive thing called “queer history” that I’d never known existed until I created a tumblr account in 2017.

I’m an aroace gay gnc trans masc enby. I could fill an entire book just explaining all the different aspects to my own queerness that I’ve found over the years. Most of it is just stuff I found words for, not things I didn’t already know about myself. And I never, until 2017, had any clue what any of it actually means in the context of society, culture, or politics.

I dunno what to do with that. I’m gonna chew on it for a while longer.

[racefortheironthrone]

Are you in favour of term limits for members of Congress? Like the way that say Michigan has stricter rules on how long you can be in. Or maybe something like they can't serve more than two consecutive terms, but could serve again after another term.

I am against term limits for pretty much all elected offices; I consider it to be the worst of the "good government" reforms, because its actual impact is so directly counter-productive to its intended outcome. After spending eight years in California politics at a time when term limits dominated state politics, I can say with some confidence that term limits had a poisonous and corrosive effect on both the political culture of the state and the policymaking process.

The logic behind term limits is that it is supposed to discourage the formation of a professional class of politicians and encourage the ideal of the disinterested citizen representative who serves his time in government and then goes home, a la Cincinnatus. This did not happen, because term limits doesn't actually change the electoral process to make it easier for amateurs to win elections, nor is it the case that there's a finite pool of professional or would-be professional politicians who will be disbarred from the political process.

Instead, term limits encouraged politicians to spend even less of their time focusing on the business of government and more time raising money and planning their re-relection, because now they had to develop a complicated hop-scotching career path that went from assembly to senate and then to some statewide office and then back down to county supervisor or something else minor, and so on.

Moreover, because the number of elected positions tends to dwindle as you move up the political ladder, this encouraged a vicious culture of musical chairs, where politicians constantly schemed to stab other politicians in the back to clear the field for their own campaigns. This led to some truly ugly primaries and a general low level of trust between politicians that made cooperation on legislation even more difficult.

Finally, let's talk public policy. Contrary to "good government" ideology, in reality being a legislator or an executive or a judicial officer is a real specialized profession that people have to develop expertise (both in the legislative or executive process, and the details of a certain subset of public policies that the politician cares about) over time. Term limits directly attack that development of expertise - if all you have is two terms and generally freshmen politicians spend their first terms with no clue as to what they're doing, you're never going to learn to be very good at your job, and you don't have much of an incentive to get good at your job because you're going to be kicked out permanently anyway. But you know who has infinite amounts of time to learn to get good at the political process and the details of public policy? Lobbyists for wealthy corporations. Very quickly, the lobbyists become the source of expertise that legislators turn to to help them write legislation and tell them how to vote, because they're the only ones who know what they're doing. Moreover, term limits massively encourage revolving door politics, because when everyone's running to keep ahead of the term limit axe, a permanent job that pays much better than legislative office and still lets you stay in politics sounds really good.

[lilypadlys]

Love Is Blind

Summary: Dewdrop has trouble letting go and being vulnerable. Rain and Phantom help take care of him.

Notes: This one was inspired by my roomate/self declared smut dealer. She knows I write fanfic and even though she’s not a ghost fan she’s been giving me general ideas for fics. We were on a road trip together and talking about our favorite smut tropes. She was like, you should write something with a guy dressed up nice and fucking someone on a bed with black sheets. And they're tied up or something. Maybe the room is lit by candles. My brain immediately went to how pretty Dew would look in contrast to black sheets. By the end of the trip not only had I decided to add Rain but Phantom had also joined the mix. This was a fun one. Everyone say thank you to my roommate for making this happen.

--- Rain removes his hands and Dew can hear him step back. “Isn’t he a vision like this?” He hears Phantom hum an affirmative. Dew had forgotten that Phantom was also present. He blushes a little at the reminder that the new ghoul is there to see him so vulnerable, a state he really only allows Rain or Aether. The accompanying arousal is not unwelcome though. “Going to let us help you feel good?” Rain asks. “Please?” Dew whispers. “So polite.” Rain coos. “See Phantom, he can behave. It just takes a special touch.”

Ship: Dewdrop/Rain/Phantom

Word Count: 3,348

Rating: Explicit

Tags: fluff and smut, PWP, light bondage, blindfolds, light dom/sub, quintessence use, cum eating, multiple orgasms, aftercare, cuddles

Horny ghouls below the cut or on AO3

As a former water ghoul, one would think Dewdrop would be immune to the siren song that all water ghouls know the words too. Unfortunately for him, whether due to his severed connection to the element, or the sheer allure Rain possesses, Dew has found himself under his siren’s spell many a time. Tonight is no different.

The evening started out innocent enough. The ghouls gathered for a movie night. Aurora is fully living up to her princess nickname. She got to pick the movie and currently resides in the best spot in the common room, the center of the couch between her girls. Dew sits off to the side. He lays boredly against the wall, not really watching the movie. It's a cheesy rom-com and once you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. He's really not feeling it tonight but Aether asked him to at least make an appearance so Dew humors him.

Rather than paying attention, he shuffles restlessly, tail whipping in annoyance. He’s been here long enough. He’ll sneak out and go do maintenance on his guitars or something. He’s about to leave, already sitting up and stretching in preparation to stand. Then out of nowhere, Rain suddenly glues himself to Dew’s side.

Rain had been cuddling with Phantom all night thus far but now he presses himself into Dew. It’s instead Phantom that stands with a yawn and heads towards the door. He rounds the corner in the wrong direction to head to his room, Dew might have noted, if he wasn't distracted by the water ghoul.

“Geez Rain. You scare Bug off or something?” Dew snorts.

“Nah. He had to go do something. Can I braid your hair?”

“Uhh, sure?” Dew shrugs, feigning disinterest.

It wasn’t an uncommon request. Dew secretly loves it but he’d never admit it. Rain knows though and plays with his hair whenever he gets the chance. Permission granted, Rain curls up behind Dew and begins the task of untangling his rat’s nest. Dew seems lost on the concept when it comes to hair care or even just regular hair brushing. He’ll forever deny that he intentionally leaves it messy in an attempt to get Rain to play with it.

Fortunately Rain has the patience to slowly and carefully untangle knot after knot. By the time he can start freely running his fingers through his tresses, Dew is purring without fail. Rain takes his sweet time braiding. Painstakingly separating the sections so they're even, and then combing through the strands as he braids to make the plait as smooth as possible. Finally, he ties it off with a hair tie conjured from his pocket. He always has hair ties on hand for just this purpose.

When the braid is finished, Rain plops himself into Dew’s lap.

“What’s up with you? You’re clingy tonight.” Dew raises a brow, but his purring somehow gets deeper.

“I’m cold.” Rain pouts.

“There’s like five blankets within reach.”

“Yeah but you’re warmer.” Rain looks up at Dew, eyes big in puppy dog like pleading.

“Ugh fine.” Dew rolls his eyes but without any real bite.

Rain hums and starts to get comfortable. He sits with his back to Dew’s chest; the fire ghoul’s legs straddling his own hips. Over the course of a few minutes, Rain’s torso gradually slides down and in readjusting himself back up, his ass brushes against Dew’s crotch. Dew tenses and huffs out a breath. Rain shifts his hips again and Dew practically hisses.

“Raincloud.” Dew grumbles.

“What?” Rain looks at him with big innocent eyes.

“Stop moving.”

“I’m just getting comfy.” He humphs.

“Well hurry up or find a new spot. And stop grinding on me.”

Rain gets a mischievous look. “Oh, so don’t do this?” He presses his ass back into Dew and the fire ghoul does hiss this time.

“Alright, that’s it.” He growls dangerously, but it’s all for show. If this is his excuse to bow out of movie night early, all the better.

He scoops Rain up, strong despite his small size. Rain just grins as the girls giggle and Swiss whistles. Dew makes to go to his room but Rain tugs his sleeve and points to his room instead. Dew huffs but turns around and goes the opposite direction. He toes Rain’s door open, already cracked, and enters. And freezes in surprise as he takes in the room.

The room is dim, lit only by the fireplace and the black tallow candles spaced around the room. The bed is made with black silk sheets, way more expensive looking than the ones the boys are usually allowed. Blowing out a match after lighting the last candle is Phantom.

Rain hops down from Dew’s hold as the fire ghoul appraises the room. He crosses the room to gently tussle Phantom’s hair.

“Good job Bug. You did great setting everything up.”

Phantom purrs and leans into the touch.

Rain looks back to Dew, spearing him with his gaze. Gone is the sleepy clinginess. It was an act, Dew realizes. Now it’s replaced with something more calculating.

“This can go one of two ways. We can play it straight. Get you off real quick and you can go to bed. Or, we can have some fun. Up to you.”

And how can Dew say no to a scene as delicious as this? “Sure, why not? I’m game. Let’s play.”

“Then kneel for us.”

“Us? Me?” Dew blinks in confusion. So that’s how this is going to go. He thought Rain just wanted to be taken care of. Or maybe that Phantom was the prey. He realizes too late that he is.

He almost protests, in a bratty move rather than one of lack of interest. He's already falling to his knees though. Something about the hungry stare Rain pins him with stops him. Makes his legs weak and his head spin. He knows he’s in for it. In too deep and unable to refuse his siren. He looks up as Rain retrieves something from his desk and approaches. Rain shows him the length of black silk. A blindfold. He raises it in question.

Dew nods and ducks his head without complaint.

Rain gently pulls the silk over Dew’s eyes and ties it behind head, careful not to pull his hair. “How’s that?”

“Good.” Dew mumbles softly; shyly. He feels Rain take his hands and pull him to his feet.

“Now strip.”

Rain helps Dew remove his clothes, full of gentle caresses and coos of approval as his bare skin is revealed. Rain hasn’t touched him in any meaningful way yet, and yet Dew feels himself filling out. It’s the unexpectedness of every touch that has him extra sensitive. That, and the promise of what’s to come. Once he’s naked, he lets Rain guide him to the bed.

“Lie back for me.”

Dew does as he’s told and leans back into the silk sheets, reveling in how luxurious they are. They’re smooth and cool against his perpetually hot skin. He’s interrupted by Rain softly tracing his fingers over Dew’s arm. “One more thing.” Rain wraps another length of silk around one of Dew’s wrists. “Color?”

“Green.” Dew assures after a moment, proffering the other wrist and letting Rain bind them above his head.

Rain removes his hands and Dew can hear him step back.

“Isn’t he a vision like this?”

He hears Phantom hum an affirmative. Dew had forgotten that Phantom was also present. He blushes a little at the reminder that the new ghoul is there to see him so vulnerable, a state he really only allows Rain or Aether. The accompanying arousal is not unwelcome though.

“Going to let us help you feel good?” Rain asks.

“Please?” Dew whispers.

“So polite.” Rain coos. “See Phantom, he can behave. It just takes a special touch.”

Dew feels the mattress depress on either side of him and both ghouls join him on the bed. Someone, Rain from the petrichor taste, kisses him deeply. He feels a hand, probably Phantom’s as he thinks it's Rain’s hands cupping his face, stroking his hair. When Rain pulls away to suck marks into his neck, he barely has time to catch his breath before Phantom is licking into his mouth.

They take turns kissing him until his lips are swollen and spit slicked. He already feels drunk on their kisses alone. He yelps a little when someone rolls a nipple between their fingers. They shush him as they pull and twist on the ring threaded through the bud.

“We’ve got you. Just relax.” Rain purrs.

Their hands wander all over and Dew loses track of who’s who. Both Rain and Phantom run cold and their hands have similar callouses from their respective instruments. He eventually gives up trying to keep track when he swears he feels a third set of hands. The tell tale ozone scent of quintessence magick reveals the extra touches to be a trick of Phantom’s. He just tries to let himself lie back and feel.

As he allows himself to sink into the mattress, the tension in his shoulders and jaw visibly eases. Rain rewards him with a “That’s our good boy. Just focus on feeling good.”

Rain and Phantom are in no hurry. They take the time to worship every inch of his skin with kisses and feather light touches. Dew feels like he’s floating. Head pleasantly spacy and empty. He’s hard before long but he feels no urgency about it.

He barely notices when his thighs are pushed apart. He’s jolted back to some semblance of presence however, when one of them finally gets a hand on his weeping cock. They thumb over the head gathering pre as the other begins to suck and nip at his nipples.

He gasps and thrashes at the sudden stimulation, overwhelming after nothing significant for so long. Hands descend to hold his hips down and keep his thighs spread and all he can do is throw his head back, a line of bitten off curses spilling from him. His orgasm hurtles towards him and he feels a hot breath on his neck.

“Cum Dewdrop.” Rain, smooth, cool, and commanding.

Dew can’t help but comply. He arches his back and makes the most wrecked noises as he cums hot over the hand stroking him and his own stomach. They work him through it, pulling each and every last drop from him until he begins to buck and whine in overstimulation.

When he comes down from it, it’s to someone caressing his face.

“How was that sweetheart?” Rain hums.

“Mmm, good.” Dew hums dreamily.

“Wanna taste?”

Dew obediently opens his mouth, and allows fingers covered in his own cum to pet at his tongue. He laps at them lazily, tasting himself. If he wasn’t blindfolded they would see how his eyes roll back. The soft pleased noises he makes give him away all the same.

“This far gone already?” Rain teases. “I think he can handle a bit more though. What do you think Phantom?”

“Oh definitely. Just a little more Dewy? You can do that for us right?”

Dew nods eagerly in the direction he thinks Phantom is in. “Please. Need it.” He whimpers.

Not seconds later he hears the click of a bottle and the wet squelch of lube. Cool greased fingers tease at his fluttering rim. Two fingers breach him and begin to work him open. A hand, also lubed, returns to his cock to work him back up again. He bites his lip, forcing back a whine from the overstimulation of it all.

Someone straddles him, bracing their knees at his sides.

“Gonna ride you. Is that okay?” Phantom asks.

“Uh huh.” Dew nods, head lolling slightly in his spaced out state.

Without further ado, he feels Phantom lower himself until the head of Dew’s cock nudges his hole. He sinks down and both ghouls moan with it. The slide is easy and Dew guesses that Phantom took the time to work himself open earlier with this in mind. Phantom takes a second to adjust, but Dew by no means gets a break. Rain’s fingers are still hard at work scissoring him open. Rain curls them to pet at his prostate and Dew hisses at Phantom to move already.

Phantom obliges and begins to rock and bounce his hips in a rapid rhythm. Dew’s cock must be hitting all the right spots with the way he’s making noises to envy the ones coming from Dew.

Dew is useless to help, the overwhelming sensations of Phantom’s tight channel and Rain’s skilled fingers causing any remaining capacity to think to utterly melt away. He just lets Phantom take what he needs, along for the ride. He hears the wet slick sound of Phantom taking himself in hand. His rhythm soon begins to falter, a telltale sign he’s on the edge.

“Close.” He whimpers.

Dew can only nod in agreement, the fangs pressed into his bottom lip threatening to break skin. He gasps, a moan escaping as Phantom squeezes tight around him and hot ropes of cum splatter against both their stomachs. Dew can’t hold back any longer and coats Phantom’s insides with his own release.

Phantom eases off, both of them hissing, before flopping down on the bed next to Dew. At some point, Rain had removed his fingers. Dew wonders for a split second if they’re done with him. Instead he feels Rain’s hard length at his entrance. He shakes his head in worry. His head is swimming. Every touch is overwhelmingly electric. He feels like he's going to explode. He’s not sure he can take it this soon. Not sure his body is going to let him get hard again for a while; much less cum.

“Rainy, I...I don’t think…”

Rain senses his dilemma. He feels a cool hand cup his cheek. “Sure you can. Been so good for us already. Just one more?”

Dew takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay.”

Just in case, Rain softens his tone and asks, “Color?”

“I’m green.” He says more assuredly “Need it. Please.”

“Good boy.” Rain praises, giving his cheek a pat. “Give him some help, Bug.” is Dew’s only warning before Phantom’s hand closes around his cock. He can feel the tingle of quintessence and he sobs as he begins to miraculously stiffen up again.

“Ready for me, droplet?”

“Yeah-fuck! Yes!” Dew pleads. The wave of quintessence is accompanied by a fresh tidal wave of need.

Rain plants his hands on Dew’s waist and steadies him. Dew can feel Rain line up and slowly push in. Even worked open by Rain’s skilled fingers, there's a delightful stretch. Dew’s mouth gapes in a silent cry as Rain bottoms out.

“So tight baby. Fits like a glove.” Rain hums, voice husky with pleasure.

Rain gives Dew a chance to adjust before starting slow smooth thrusts, aided by Rain and Dew’s slick. It’s a stark contrast to Phantom’s rabbit quick bounces. Rain goes almost maddeningly slow. Dew can feel every inch as Rain fucks into him lovingly.

Rain keeps up a steady string of praise. “Good boy. So pretty like this. Taking it so well.” It’s making Dew crazy, how relaxed and level Rain sounds. As if he’s not buried in Dew’s ass and melting what’s left of his brain with each thrust.

After what seems like an eternity, Dew feels his hips get lifted as a pillow is shoved underneath him. The angle change is devastating. Rain pairs it with a hard and fast thrust that sends Dew gasping. From that point on, both are chasing their pleasure. The room is filled with desperate moans and the squelch of slick. They find a rhythm, Rain pounding him into the mattress as Dew desperately cants his hips to meet Rain’s thrusts.

Dew feels a hand wrap around his length, likely Phantom, and all he can do is thump his head back into the pillows, so overwhelmed by the onslaught of pleasure to do much else. Rain leans down over him, his body delightfully cool in comparison to Dew’s sweat damp skin. They lock lips as the pleasure mounts, moaning into each other’s mouths as they cum in tandem.

Dew sees stars, and everything goes hazy in the aftermath of his third orgasm. When he comes back to himself, limbs heavy and body pleasantly satiated, he’s pressed between Rain and Phantom. Both pet him tenderly, murmuring praises and sweet nothings. He can see them looking down at him fondly, the blindfold having been removed. Phantom soothingly massages his wrists, slightly sore from the tie.

“Back with us droplet?”

He mrrps in what he hopes they understand as an affirmative.

They seem to, leaning in to press kisses to his face.

“I’m so proud of you. You did so well for us sweetheart.” Rain hums.

Phantom nods. “So good.”

Dew just presses his face into Rain’s chest to hide the flush still coloring his cheeks.

“Oh, feeling shy?” Phantom smiles. “That’s okay. We’ve got you.”

After Dew has shaken off a little more of the haze he squirms a little. “Sticky.” He whimpers.

“I know, baby. Let's go get rinsed off and find some clean sheets, okay?” Rain offers.

Dew sleepily nods.

The three of them pile into Rain’s massive bathtub and soak to their heart’s content; all of them sleepy and relaxed. They keep Dew between them, pressed close to either side. It’s both due to Dew’s clinginess and neither of them trusting him to stay upright on his own. When they feel sufficiently clean, they dry off with fluffy towels and put on pajamas that Rain was sure to have waiting. Then they set up a blanket nest on the floor in front of Rain’s fireplace. Dew and Phantom curl up immediately. Rain replaces the bed sheets with clean white cotton ones before joining them, sliding in on Dew’s free side.

They sit in silence for a while, just cuddling in front of the fire. Suddenly, Phantom turns to Dew.

“You enjoyed that right? Was it okay that I was here?”

Dew blinks sleepily. “Yeah, it was good Bug. Don’t worry about it.” He waves a hand to dismiss the thought.

“Okay good. Rain said he had to wrangle you here so I wasn’t sure.”

Rain chuffs. “Yeah he pretends to hate it but he loves it.”

Phantom tilts his head in curiosity. “Why pretend to not like it then? If you enjoy it, why don’t you just ask for it?”

Rain tenses, preparing for Dew’s inevitable snarky remark. Phantom means well but he’s treading in dangerous territory.

To his surprise however, Dew’s soft, rather than harsh, reply is “I…I dunno…” He trails off.

Rain is ready to jump in but Phantom stops him, gently touching his shoulder and shaking his head as if to say, wait.

Dew sighs and finds his words. “I guess…I'm scared to be vulnerable. Scared to let my guard down.” He shrugs and shakes his head in self directed annoyance.

“But we’re not going to hurt you.” Phantom supplies. “You’re part of our pack. You’re family.”

“Yeah, I know that. It’s just, it took me a long time to adjust to life topside…then when I finally did, the element change fucked everything up for a while.” He rolls his eyes and huffs. “Then, I had to readjust all over again. I guess…I’m just afraid of losing control again. Rain and Aeth have been trying to help. It’s getting better but…” He shrugs again as if to brush it all off.

Phantom thinks over Dew’s words quietly and Rain soothingly rubs the fire ghoul’s back. Finally he says, “Thank you for trusting me and letting us take care of you.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” Dew waves it off, but the slight smile he tries to hide by ducking his head into Rain’s chest gives him away. All the same, he murmurs quietly, “Thank you. I needed that.”

Rain wraps his arms around Dew and Phantom curls closer to press a kiss between his horns.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Just because you don’t hear about something, doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.

Because tragically, too often, boys and men suffer in darkness.

There is perhaps no better example of this than the horrific actions of Boko Haram, and the countless boys and men they have taken, without trace, and to very little outrage.

For it is not just the education of women and girls that the group are implacably against, Boko Haram are against all Western education, for all people, including men and boys.

For years they demonstrated this through enacting unspeakable war crimes onto innocent Nigerian men and boys, often releasing women and girls, and for years they were ignored by a disinterested world.

Boys disappeared. Men were killed. Nobody said anything.

And certainly nobody especially important.

Then things changed in April 2014, when nearly 300 Nigerian girls were taken, and the world woke up to what was going on.

Celebrities marched the red carpets, political leaders spoke up, Michelle Obama fought for justice, god damn, we had China and America working together for once.

#bringbackourgirls rang out, as it should, and the much awaited outrage and long overdue horror finally took flight.

Most of the girls were saved, and the world went about its business as usual…

The following three years saw not 300 boys taken, or 500… but 10,000, and as before, silence reined supreme.

So who will speak for these forgotten boys?

Who will bring back all Nigeria’s children?

~

Study: https://ijoc.org/index.php/ijoc/article/view/20829/4320

Patterns in Making Victims’ Gender Visible or Invisible in News Media Reporting of Boko Haram’s Massacres and Kidnappings

Boko Haram, a terrorist group based in Nigeria, has systematically conducted gender- based mass kidnappings and killings throughout its history, and these gendered crimes have included both male and female victims. This research examined newspaper articles on Boko Haram’s gendered crimes reported from July 2013 to February 2021, with a focus on the relative visibility of the gender of the victims. The genders of male and female abductees were clearly identified; however, the gender of male massacre victims was relatively invisible irrespective of whether they were men or boys. A failure to report the gendered nature of the massacres may contribute to lower awareness and, thus, reduced security resourcing needed to address such severe human rights violations.

--

The name Boko Haram can be loosely translated as “Western education is sin” (Sergie & Johnson, 2014, para. 4). The group has strongly advocated radical social and educational reforms throughout Nigeria (Bello, 2021), aiming at eliminating all Western influences and replacing Western education and standards with “undiluted” Islamic laws and procedures that are identical to Sharia. Boko Haram might have deemed offensive any consideration of improving women’s empowerment through education instead of seeing it as a key issue of human rights and development. Thus, in April 2014, the group gained international notice and notoriety for the kidnapping of 276 schoolgirls and the subsequent #BringBackOurGirls campaign promoted by the then First Lady of the United States, Michelle Obama. The crime garnered international outrage and support to seek the return of the girls, of which at the time of publishing, 90 were still missing (Lewis, 2023). Boko Haram also used female kidnapping and suicide bombers as part of its strategy to increase its media coverage (Zenn & Pearson, 2014).

The gendered nature of Boko Haram’s tactics was used before and after the Chibok kidnapping. Boko Haram has committed gender-selective kidnappings and executions against adults and children throughout much of its history. This insurgent group is believed to have kidnapped up to an estimated 10,000 boys and men to be forcibly conscripted or enslaved (Hinshaw & Parkinson, 2016; Topol, 2017) and kidnapped hundreds of women and girls for pressured conversions to Islam, to marry Boko Haram combatants, to be used for sexual and domestic enslavement, or to be used for tactical strategy (Amnesty International, 2015; Omilusi, 2015; Zenn & Pearson, 2014). While Boko Haram has also engaged in bombings where the killing has been more indiscriminate or done based on religion or engagement in secular education, a significant portion of the abductions and killings were gender based.

Academic literature to date has addressed Boko Haram’s gendered crimes with an almost exclusive focus on women, girls, and children. Barkindo, Gudaku, and Wesley (2013) report on Boko Haram’s violence against Christian women and girls, defining gender-based violence as that conducted by males or male institutions against women and girls, thus definitionally excluding recognition of boys and men as victims. Pereira (2018) and Zenn and Pearson (2014) directed their attention to female victims of Boko Haram’s violence and briefly mentioned that insurgent violence is also directed toward men and boys. Pogoson and Saleh (2019) focused on female vulnerability to violence in Nigeria and argued that Nigeria’s security forces needed to prioritize the protection of women from violence. When discussing Boko Haram’s and al Shabaab’s1 tactics, Matfess (2020) omitted any mention of men and boy victims and compared the violence toward women with violence against civilians, thus comparing female gender identity with noncombatant identities. A report of the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (2015) on Boko Haram mostly excluded recognizing men and boys as victims of this gender-based violence while also acknowledging in other parts that men and boys were specifically targeted to be murdered or kidnapped. Likewise, Boukhars (2020) identified Boko Haram’s gendered crimes as being solely about the kidnappings of women and girls. In an edited book titled Boko Haram and International Law (Iyi & Strydom, 2018), a section containing three chapters focused on the welfare of girls and women in the conflict while the entire book mentioned the word “boys” a total of three times in reference to incidents of their victimization. The Boko Haram academic gendered victim discourse and analysis relates almost exclusively to females and tends to exclude males. To date, there appears little attention and acknowledgment of the civilian male victims in the literature or discourse.

==

"Male privilege" is when nobody noticed or cares that you're dead or missing.

[sterek-unhinged]

Derek Hale is a Sigma Male

Okay so in 4x12, Derek talks about how werewolves can change hierarchical ranks right before he dies and then evolves into a full wolf. One might call this ~ a coincidence~, I say that it was cleverly foreshadowing Derek’s transformation into the Sigma he was meant to become.

I promise I’m going somewhere with this lol:

Definition courtesy of urban dictionary

“Sigma Male: A more internally-focused sibling to the alpha male. While the alpha male quantifies himself on his high position in the social hierarchy, a sigma male prefers to forego the social hierarchy and need for external validation altogether and pursue internal strength instead. Essentially a "loner" or a stray man, although sigma males may have a close circle of friends and loved ones with whom they share a deep connection. The sigma male is not socially inept but simply socially disinterested. Prefers solitary activities where he doesn't have to play social politics and can simply focus on himself. The sigma male accepts that he does not need power over others as the alpha male desires, but rather needs only power to control himself and preserve his own autonomy from others. Sigma males are often pragmatic but may be seen by others as aloof, paranoid, secretive or selfish.”

Being an alpha never felt quite right. He seemed more focused on teaching his betas to be self-reliant because that’s what works for him. Being a beta is fine but kind of awkward. Even when he’s technically Scott’s beta, he acts more as an advisor who helps out when he sees it necessary. Scott comes to recognize that, while not an Alpha anymore, Derek’s authority is no less legitimate than his. It’s just that, he needs solitary time and the pack has come to respect that Derek is going to do things his own way. And he’s not an omega, even if he’s physically alone. He still has a network of people he can turn to for help.

By the end of season 4, Derek doesn't just transform into a full wolf. He develops a total mastery over his internal state which is expressed by a full wolf transformation. Why? Because he's on his Sigma grindset and ready for revenge bitch.

[grison-in-space]

the wretched old t32 is insistently demanding an "anonymous" survey review by the end of day today and I don't really want to lie but I also don't think my actual review is what they want.

"look you were so disinterested in my actual research that I literally asked if you wanted to know what I was doing in the interview, and then on the first day you literally asked me what my diss was and why people would care. then you insisted that you provide actual training and not just let me take the money in exchange for letting you pretend to be training a postdoc, except that you had. literally no one. who could provide field relevant training. because you have no one on this grant who does anything I do. because your slot was empty because you made really bad decisions during a historic postdoc shortage

"also I discovered midway though that big data was a lie and unfortunately the true purpose of the training grant was to aggrandize a field I have major intellectual as well as political but MOSTLY INTELLECTUAL misgivings about. and you got real upset when I provided honest feedback. Especially when I got real damning after I sat down, considered my best, most compassionate self, and got real honest about the state of those students' training and who I actually think is responsible (their trainers). I don't believe you wanted that honesty either.

"anyway I know it kind of made your life more difficult when I hopped ship to the first other training grant that would have me instead of continuing to fill your postdoc slot but uh, you don't want to see the meltdown I was building to about how little patience I had for the weird expectations and hilarious doublespeak, so heeey! Good talk!"

[aronarchy]

[article; not sharing the full original version because it’s racist]

Right-wing antisemitism is allied with the Republican Party and its leaders. The latter dynamic was on display with perfect clarity this weekend when Ron DeSantis refused to criticize white-nationalist slurs.

Last week, Elon Musk endorsed a white-nationalist account stating he was “deeply disinterested in giving the tiniest shit now about western Jewish populations” because “Jewish communties [sic] have been pushing the exact kind of dialectical hatred against whites.” This was not just an antisemitic trope—a metaphor that is connected to, or suggestive of, antisemitic ideas. It was an overt claim that Jewish people are collectively responsible for major social problems and therefore collectively undeserving of sympathy.

Musk, of course, not only endorsed DeSantis but literally staged his presidential-campaign launch. I requested comment from DeSantis’s office on Musk’s antisemitic post last week but received no response.

On Sunday, DeSantis appeared on CNN, where Jake Tapper solicited his thoughts on Musk’s comment. In the face of repeated prodding, he absolutely refused to condemn the comments.

When Tapper asked him the first time, DeSantis claimed he didn’t see Musk’s comment, but proceeded to explain why Musk was actually the victim:

I did not see the comment. And so I know that Elon has had a target on his back ever since he purchased Twitter, because I think he’s taking it in a direction that a lot of people who are used to controlling the narrative don’t like.

Note that DeSantis was not only refusing to condemn the slur but placing it in the positive context of Musk fighting back against the dominant narrative.

Tapper then displayed Musk’s comment, nullifying his excuse that he hadn’t seen it. DeSantis again refused to condemn it. Instead he claimed that left-wing antisemitism is a much greater problem because it has powerful support:

I would say this. The difference is, is that, on the left, that tends to be attached to some major institutional power, like some of our most august universities, whereas I think, on the right, it tends to be more fringe voices that are doing it.

This is obviously a bizarre defense when the supposedly powerless antisemite, Elon Musk, is the wealthiest man in the world and controls its most powerful social medium. (Handing over your campaign launch to an anonymous nobody would have been a weird choice.)

After Tapper generously tried to change the subject (“But let’s turn on—turn to another topic”), DeSantis again insisted right-wing antisemitism is insignificant because “on the institutional side, you have seen this become part of a left-wing movement, a very significant pro-Hamas movement, and it is backed by institutional power.” This prompted Tapper to note again that Musk is hardly powerless, to which DeSantis again claimed, “I haven’t seen it. I know you tried to read it. I have no idea what the context is.”

DeSantis obviously has had plenty of time to review Musk’s comments once again and has still remained silent.

This is not the first time DeSantis has refused to condemn antisemitism on the right. Early last year, a band of white supremacists in Orlando held a rally and roughed up a Jewish student. DeSantis spokesperson Christina Pushaw suggested the reports were unreliable, or that the white supremacists were Democrats in disguise, trying to make DeSantis look bad.

Asked at a press conference about Pushaw’s wild deflections, DeSantis refused to back down. He alluded to “these Democrats who are trying to use this as some type of political issue to try to smear me,” running through a historic list of left-wing antisemites.

DeSantis has claimed he was merely denying oxygen to the white-supremacist cell that was operating (and continues to operate) in central Florida. But his refusal to condemn Musk reveals the hollowness of that excuse. You can’t starve Elon Musk of attention. And you can’t deny Elon Musk’s opinions have any weight when you personally selected him as your campaign surrogate.

The true explanation is that DeSantis grasps with perfect clarity that Donald Trump has activated white nationalists as an energetic Republican faction. White nationalists are far from the majority of the party, but they have a loud enough voice that he feels the need to placate them.

“Blessedly, responsible institutional stewards in the Democratic Party have largely refused to indulge the ugly sentiments expressed by the activists in high orbit around the party. But the same could be said of institutionalists within the GOP,” insists National Review’s Noah Rothman.

The term “institutionalist” seems to be Rothman’s lawyerly way of writing the statement to exclude Donald Trump, a loophole so large it renders the defense almost meaningless. The GOP has become a personality cult in thrall to an America First demagogue who routinely traffics in antisemitism and other bigotry, but at least he’s not an “institutionalist”! (Try our hamburgers, now 97 percent maggot-free!)

But DeSantis and Musk reveal that even Rothman’s almost-meaningless defense is not even true.

Before Trump, white nationalists were largely walled off from Republican politics, and a prominent Republican leader would have had no hesitation in denouncing white nationalism. DeSantis is showing what happens when the firewall collapses.

[grayintogreen]

WIP WEDNESDAY

HELLO AGAIN. I have 6/10 scenes finished for Chapter 25 and holding steady at biweekly updates, so since it's an off-week... Snippet time!

Have some Essek!

-

Ludinus’s clock was exactly on time for the moment and Essek wasn’t certain if that unnerved him more than the alternative annoyed him. Unnerved, however, was his general state of being these days when faced with the Martinet, currently seated at his desk, a quill pen balanced on the edge of a knuckle like a butterfly that didn’t have the sense to fly away.

“The Marchen woman is apoplectic about the Dynasty’s attack on Felderwin.”

Still? That was at least a month ago. “Did she suspect an easier recovery of her asset? The Ashguard garrison is overwhelmed.”

“Indeed. Ikithon’s building an army that he claims is for the war effort, but we know better, don’t we, Essek?”

Essek schooled his expression. That was useful information for the Nein. “He is putting, ah… What is the Empire expression? All of his eggs in one basket, yes?”

Ludinus chuckled, paternally. “Well, he was mangled, humiliated, and his hard work was destroyed. Who can blame him for being distracted? If Miriam were less loyal, perhaps she would turn her anger towards that, rather than Xhorhas, but I’m not in the business of directing ire away from the Dynasty.”

No. Of course not. Essek never asked why Ludinus disdained the Dynasty and the process of consecution and trying to now would likely be spycraft suicide. His disinterest in Ludinus’s personal matters had kept him in confidence for so long- whatever crumbs he was given had to be feasted on lightly while resisting the urge to beg for more.

Still, he felt like this conversation was building to something, so he carefully asked leading questions, tapping his fingers on his knee underneath his mantle. “She scries on her targets frequently, doesn’t she?”

The Martinet’s smile turned predatory. “She does, indeed. She knows they’re in Rosohna, knows that they are responsible for getting the halfling free. She even dropped your name as a possible accomplice.”

Essek regretted never having an anti-scry amulet made and wondered if getting one now would court suspicion. How much had she seen? How much could he spin as espionage? He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. “I would not call myself an accomplice, Martinet. They did a favor for the Bright Queen and the release of the alchemist was what they asked for as a boon. It was transactional.”

He held his breath, waiting for Ludinus to drop something into his lap that was venomous and prone to strike him where it might hurt. Instead, Ludinus flipped the nib of the pen and caught it with surprisingly agile fingers for a man his age. “I would expect nothing less from the Shadowhand.”

He went on, tapping the pen on the parchment on his desk he had yet to write anything upon, leaving drops of ink in strange patterns. “Regardless, his obsession with this has turned his eyes away from me for the time being. Ever since DeRogna’s death, I have felt Marchen’s eye on me.”

“Is that why you refused to approve her promotion to Archmage?” The question was conversational, going back to an older conversation, back when this whole situation was less terrifying for him. Ludinus seemed pleased he remembered that little detail.

“I have no need for another Archmage that does not know their place in the hierarchy, especially not one so entrenched in loyalty to an enemy.”

Essek filed all these details away. It might be enough to take to the Nein, even if it only opened up more questions. He still hadn’t heard anything about Ludinus’s personal goals- the Chantry, those red-robed figures he spoke to often. He had not been offered a seat at the table just yet and he would not be able to back out of this corner he’d painted himself into without the invitation.

Curiosity was a double-aged sword, but Essek knew how to avoid taking the back-end by being an eager learner in the art of political machinations. He saw his opening and slipped into it, a rapier seeking a gap in the armor. “May I ask you a question, Martinet?”

Ludinus looked up at him, canting his head in such a strangely paternal way that if Essek squeezed his eyes shut, he could almost see the shadow of Lord Theylss transposed over him. “Such open-ended questions before teatime, Essek! But you have me curious now. Ask away.”

“If you hate Ikithon so much, then why keep him in the Assembly? He’s half-mad, hobbled and dependent on a system he created that you’ve claimed numerous times is outdated and borderline sycophantic. It would be easy to force him to step down with little political unrest.”

The Martinet considered him and then pushed his chair back to stand, pacing the length of his office in time with the steady tick-tick-tick of his clock. For a moment, Essek thought that he had dived too deeply and would not get an answer- or worse. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as Ludinus crossed behind him and laid on a hand on the back of his chair.

And then he said, “Do you know what the four most terrible words to a politician are, Essek?” When Essek’s silence formed his response, Ludinus’s chuckled, like he’d just made a clever little joke only to himself. “’Don’t they look tired?’ It’s a death knell. Those words would unravel even the mightiest because the second the heralds get a sniff of it, it’s suddenly everywhere. If the public knew of the full extent of Ikithon’s condition, he would not survive it. His career would be in shambles, his Volstrucker disbanded and either executed for treason or sold to whichever members of the Assembly would love an attack dog on their payroll. In a week, they would find him dead with a bottle to his lips. It would be a slow death.”

Essek felt every word as if it was a threat to his own safety. Still he remained, rooted to the spot, as if his mantle was weighted down. He had to fight the urge to shudder as Ludinus leaned in closer, his shadow falling across both him and the desk, backlit by the lamplight.

“But for the same reason a person might keep poison in their own cabinet if they believe an assassin could come calling, so do I keep that sick old man in his seat of power. He is a blunt instrument in my collection- the poison in my cabinet. The ways that he remains useful to me are greater than the inconveniences he causes me. Do you understand?”

There was poetry in every word, but Essek had not survived this long not knowing where to read between the lines to find the meaning. He’s your weapon against your detractors. The shovel you’ll use to bury them.

All Essek said was, “I understand.”

Ludinus remained where he was, his shadow consuming Essek’s like some great beast. It could not have been any longer than a handful of seconds, but it felt like eternity before he patted the back of the chair and stepped back towards his desk. “I’ll ring for tea. Perhaps you would like to stay this time?”

It felt like a test. He swallowed down his fear and nodded. “Yes. I think I will.”

His eyes fell across the desk and he noticed, before the paper was cleared away, that the strange patterns that Ludinus had been tapping out were carefully outlined calligraphy of a single letter.

Specifically, a J.

[funkymbtifiction]

Hi Charity!! I hope you are doing well & enjoying life/2023 :) I haven’t written an ask in a long time but I have been wondering if I am in a loop or a grip (or I don’t even know, maybe I’m another type!)

I’ve been going through a bit of a hard time lately and have had work burnout but have kept going while applying to schools, finishing my current classes, and making time for friends. It’s especially bad for me to get this kind of burnout when I work in something related to educational equity/human rights because it’s so important to me and I would never want to neglect the duties that mean the world to me. However, lately (at work AND school) I’ve been struggling – I’m either super apathetic and trying to show that I feel or super anxious. I’ve always been very warm/gregarious but now I am polite but restrained in an anxious/disinterested way, which is pretty unusual for me.

Could you slow down at all or carve out more time for self-care? It does sound like you are over-worked, extremely stressed, and need to reconnect both to your emotions as an FJ and those around you in a meaningful “feeler” way. Is it vital that you apply to schools while finishing your current classes, or could that wait a few weeks until you are done with this semester? And how good are you at writing down what needs done and prioritizing it? And by that, I mean also making your emotional health a priority. “Time with friends... time to socialize... time to catch up on what’s important....” Start putting that back into your day or week, slowing down and replenishing yourself. Self-care is vital to your mental health.

I am still mostly warm and super friendly and gregarious but I had an anxiety attack while doing something important and was totally spaced out and didn’t seem that friendly. I’m so worried that people might think that I’m dismissing them right now and feel bad, when in reality, my head is just spinning around and around and I feel so worried so much of the time :(

If you are truly concerned about this, tell people the truth -- that you are really swamped right now with work and school and are feeling super overwhelmed; that you really care about them, but are super stressed. They will understand.

I also feel that I am going through the motions and wondering if after all I’m a THINKER (???), since I feel so detached these days. I hate this feeling, because I am usually a very upbeat person but also a strong feeler and now I’m becoming… not those things. I need to be there for my friends and actually do a good job at networking and mentor ships and I just feel like I can’t do anything anymore.

No, not a thinker ;) Just a feeler feeling overwhelmed and anxious.

To make things worse, I’m screwing it up professionally. I’m usually composed and good at professional situations but I got so anxious when talking to a higher level person today at work and feel like I’ve forgotten how to network, even though I’ve become a natural at networking.

These are all irrational fears, but I know they feel “valid” emotionally.

Nobody expects you to be perfect all the time. Nobody expects you to get it right all the time. Nobody expects you to always be on top of everything. You are allowed to have down days, to be rude to people when you don’t feel good, to get flustered, preoccupied, and need time alone. Over-thinking can cause you to doubt your own skills, instead of trusting in them -- so try to slow down, create an environment around you that calms you down, and then trust yourself.

As for my school mentor, I’m scared I’ve driven them away (they’re an INFP 9w1 954) even though they are so nice and patient. I literally can’t stop overthinking and I feel so scared of making another mistake because I’m in this stupid state of mind and potentially being super unprofessional. I just wish I could go back to feeling like myself again.

Talk to them about this and clear the air. Calm down and do what you need to, to make sure you start feeling better. What is that? To take a week off? To slow down? To not do anything all weekend except tidy your room? To go out to dinner with your best friend and just share how overwhelmed you feel? To practice Yoga every morning and get centered? To journal? What do you need? And how can you provide it for yourself?

I think I’m a 639 or a 629 tritype, but I’ve also considered 649.

You sound competency-driven to me, and highly concerned with connections and being professional, so I would think 3 or 2 fixed.

Very unsure of my type now (thought I was EFJ) but I think I’m an extrovert (because I’m going through a slump, I get easily drained now but people still revive my energy in general) :)

EFJ seems right. Some of this also seems like low Ne panicking (ESFJ). :)

[anxiouslyfred]

Husbands at Work

Summary: Now back home, with his new husband from Vegas, Virgil hopes to just spend time getting to know the guy he married while drunk. Remus has other plans that involve tormenting the friends responsible for the situation, and possibly getting a job in order to do so.

Part of my Dukexiety Vegas marriage AU

/\/\

“So why is it you want to work here?” The interviewer had that polite, disinterested look that Remus was sure was intended to intimidate applicants.

He wasn't intimidated. “Well honestly it's hopefully just job for a few months, perhaps a year, while I convince my new husband to move to a more interesting state. I would loathe to freeload on him for the time I'm here.” He began explaining genially, “Besides, it's a lot easier to torture and torment the people who tricked my husband into drinking far more than he was willing to and then abandoned him if I work at the same place as them all.”

He gets a disapproving glare in response for that. “Everything in that second sentence is against company policies and we will call the police if you show any intent to carry out these threats.”

“Honey, there are far more interesting ways to torture and torment than violence, stalking or whatever deprived thing you're imagining. I believe simply being present in the workplace will be more than enough to set them on edge already.” Remus was being deliberately condescending, waving his hand as if to clear any concerns. “Besides the work this company does interests me. It's all about helping and supporting the public in a task many find confusing, is it not?”

The uncomfortable laugh showed Remus his threats had been taken as a joke and the interview moved on easily enough. He knew that for many roles in offices confidence was a large part of the deciding process and was sure he'd got this in the bag.

/\/\

Virgil didn't seem happy, but he wasn't glaring yet, just staring unamused. “You did what?”

“Got a job at the same place as you. No clue if we're on the same team though.” Remus cheerfully replied.

“You're not attacking my friends.” He groaned, already knowing Remus's plans. “I get that they were utter bastards, but you can't attack them.”

Remus shrugged, “No, but I can have them looking over their shoulder worried that I'm going to.”

“Seriously? I knew Roman was being serious when he said you live for chaos. Everything about last weekend shows it, but I am not letting you stay if you're just going to get arrested constantly.” Virgil muttered, scowling now. “How about instead you find a job that's actually similar to the one you were doing?”

“Dealing gets dull, haunting all night dinners gets frustrating and there's seriously only so many sex jokes you can make when working in porn. I need variety in my environment and if that means I've reached the time to invade an office, then hand me the tie dye and water-guns.” Remus cheered.

Virgil blinked, “Um, if I give you my clothes to tie-dye before your first day will you promise not to get me with the water-guns when you start?”

“Won't get you out of the wet shirt contest I'm insisting on doing over a lunch break, but sure, I'll use scissors too, make them even prettier.” The agreement came so easily that the end of the sentence was almost missed.

“I'll keep them, and turn the air con to heating whenever this happens instead.”

Remus shrugged, heading into a different room of the apartment. “Suit yourself. In the meantime are you able to paint this place? The drab walls are vexing me.”

“Anything you do, you pay the amount the landlord claims is needed.”

/\/\

Virgil's boss had mentioned putting the job listing up shortly before the trip he took to Vegas. It was to fill a vacancy caused by one of the women on the team leaving the company for better pay and Hope had insisted on everyone in the team doing more inclusion and equality training as well.

The friends he'd gone on holiday with were still joking about that, claiming Susan had threatened she'd get them investigated for their treatment of her and this was what actually happened. Virgil instead thought that while she would have explained their toeing the line of comments being sexist as a reason she left, there hadn't been anything raised to the HR department. They'd all have been called into private meetings otherwise.

Besides, Hope was now leading Remus over to the team with a smile on her face after telling the team the new hire would be starting today. Virgil knew that the rest of the team would be very quickly taught to respect Hope and all other women the minute they made any comment.

“Gather round everyone! I want to introduce Remus to you all.” Hope called, clapping her hands twice to get their attention.

Virgil easily stood to walk over, along with the few others on the team that hadn't been convinced to join them on the Vegas holiday. He couldn't predict if they'd admit to knowing each other or not, but had assumed they would, given the men now going pale and staring as if they'd seen a ghost as they recognised his husband.

Hope glanced around for a moment, smiling and nodding at those of them who'd come over before gesturing to the circle they were forming again. “Guys, I said I want everyone over here. Hurry up, any reports you're typing up can wait.”

“If you want to introduce the new guy to everyone, shouldn't we wait until lunchtime when Mike gets back from his inspections?” Trevor tried asking, but did stand to walk over, almost immediately sitting on the desk nearest them.

“And when he returns, I'll make sure he gets introduced.” Hope agreed. “But for now everyone else should be, so get over here.”

Remus was clearly biting his lip to hold back his amusement when Virgil looked at him. “I'm so thrilled to meet you all. Completely ready and excited to learn the importance of good safety practices in the work place and everything that goes into it.”

“Quiz question, where does defenestration fall into that?” Keith muttered, loud enough to be heard, but clearly trying to say it only to Trevor.

“If there is any chance of defenestration happening accidentally then barriers should be installed in front of the windows, at the very least to waist height. One would hope there are no jobs or locations where defenestration could be expected to be deliberately done.” Remus replied regardless, before holding his hand out. “I'm Remus, by the way. What's your name?”

Trevor looked a mixture of aghast and annoyed, shoving the hand away. “You know I'm Trevor. You've met me already so stop whatever innocent act you've got going on.”

“Perhaps you've confused me with someone else. I do have an identical twin, you know.” The words were innocently said, but got Hope turning to him curiously, probably hoping to defuse or simply move past whatever confrontation her established team seemed to be expecting.

“Do you really?”

Virgil coughed then, glancing back to his desk. “Perhaps you should explain which of us are in charge of training Remus and if he's going to be paired with someone for their site inspections for a month or something? I have a few preliminary reports I want to get submitted today.”

“Of course, For the morning I want Keith and Andrea to take turns showing Remus the paperwork we fill out both before and after inspections as well as explain the various things they look for as safety hazards in the sites we inspect.” Hope gestured to the people as she referred to them as an introduction for Remus. “And since Mike is out on inspections currently, I'll have Remus sit with him for the afternoon, to learn the evidence we need and what paperwork needs to be filed on the day of an inspection.”

Remus did laugh now, moving to grip Keith's shoulder. “Fantastic. I'm sure Keith is just brimming of knowledge for me to learn.”

Keith definitely did not look like he was brimming with knowledge or any desire to do any form of training with Remus, and met Virgil's smirk with a glare. “Surely Virgil has been on the team longer and should be the one training the new starter.” He attempted to protest.

“Are you saying you didn't listen to him well enough when he trained you?” Hope countered immediately. “Everyone on this team will help Remus learn I'm sure, but I've asked you to do this and you already agreed to train the new starter, said you'd make them the best of the best if I recall.”

With those words, hope gestured back to everyone's desks, returning to her own. “Let's get back to work, everyone.”

Virgil's desk was close enough to Keith's that he heard the other mutter “Memory of an elephant that one. Still need to learn who she's spreading her legs for to keep that role from people with actual brains.”

His smirk widened at the same time as Remus's. Chaos had just been given a new reason to happen, and none of it would interfere with Hope's running of the team.