#and the nuances of when consent is able to be given

[snakeautistic]

One of the reasons I believed I couldn’t be autistic for so long was due to a fundamental misunderstanding of my social struggles. This being that I am not by any means incapable of memorizing social rules. Through observation and direction I can construct a broad framework of ‘socially acceptable or not.’ For example, I’m well aware that making physical contact with someone without consent isn’t acceptable. Or that stating blunt facts in a way that implicates someone negatively isn’t allowed. I know to avoid interrupting others if they’re already talking, to not walk away when I’m in the middle of a conversation. Crying, being unusually quiet and frowning indicates sadness. Someone smiling at laughing at what you’re saying means they probably are enjoying their time with you. An increase in speaking volume indicates excitement- either positive or negative. Sarcasm is often indicated by someone saying something absurd that you know they would never say, or you know to be factually wrong.

The fact that I had learned these broad rules made me think autism wasn’t a possibility for me. But being autistic doesn’t stop you from obtaining and applying information. (I mean that’s why so many interventions that ‘treat’ autism do result in the autistic person being able to pass as neurotypical.)

The difference comes from lacking the subconscious nuances and exceptions that come with those broader rules. For example- when is it okay to actually be honest? Some people will not be bothered by physical intimacy- but how would I know this? How can you tell if a group wants you to join in with their conversation? How to tell if this person is smiling and laughing politely or genuinely? How to tell if someone who you know very little about is being sarcastic?

There are not direct, easy to apply ‘rules’ for this, and yet clearly there are ‘right’ options. When the appropriate reaction must be determined by subtle body language or small shifts in tone of voice, ones that are near impossible to teach- I become completely lost.

That’s something I always find lacking with the general social skills advice given. It’s helpful to a point, but the truth is everyone is an individual. People express themselves differently, and react to your same actions differently due to past circumstances or temperaments. There is no one set of rules you can use for everyone, unfortunately. The majority of neurotypicals, while of course having miscommunications and the like, can rely on their subconscious to parse out any subtle changes they might need to make to their demeanor for a particular situation. My brain is much less adept at focusing down broader experience/rules into unique circumstances. (This is actually something that extends past social cues for me and I might make another post talking about it because I think it’s interesting)

Anyway rant over but yeah this was a huge mental barrier to seeking out a diagnosis for a while because at some level I ( ironically enough) took struggling to understand social cues too literally…

[mythsandheather]

What I hate the most about LO is that Rachel is making the romance between actual gods backward. Aphrodite and Hephaestus were a couple but Aphrodite found him repulsing so she cheated on him with Ares. Even after that cheating on Hephaestus, Ares, and Aphrodite were the only sane couple in Greek myths. Apollo had his fair share of lovers (if you exclude Daphne) with him being in love with BOTH male and female and how does Rachel do justice to his character? By making him a R*****

The saga of Ares, Aphrodite and Hephaestus is often terribly misunderstood and LO is no exception, except that she weaponises it in her narrative and portrays it arguably at its worst.

The original story of these three is often stripped down to the bare basics along the lines of either “star-crossed lovers and ugly loser dude who got in their way” or “bad slutty woman cheats on poor helpless (but still ugly loser) dude with angry frat bro” and it’s wild. It’s a story, at least how I see it, about love, pain and compromise for what you need for yourself.

Hephaestus is hurt, angry and traumatised by his parents abuse of him, specifically Hera, and so he traps her in his specially made throne. He has a point to make and for the first time in his life, he will not be ignored.

Aphrodite is offered as the prize for freeing Hera, without her consent, and so is also hurt, worried and angry, especially when Hephaestus wins her hand. She is handed off to a man she barely knows, let alone loves, and can’t do anything about it

Ares is both not strong to free his mother, nor able to keep the woman he adores from being handed off to someone else — his own brother, no less, and has to just sit and watch. He is humiliated, he is hurt, he is angry.

The retelling I like the most is from Stephen Fry’s Mythos, where Aphrodite and Ares are already engaged when the throne incident happens, Zeus assuring them that surely since Ares is the strongest, he’ll be the one to free Hera. Even Zeus is humanised. Aphrodite’s hand being offered is him making a rash decision to motivate the other gods out of his desperation to free his wife.

When Hephaestus arrives and frees Hera, it’s not what anyone expected and Hephaestus makes it very clear that he’s not doing this to get the girl, so much as to make it clear he’s a force to be reckoned with.

He had Aphrodite seperate shortly after their marriage and she goes on her way with Ares while Hephaestus goes about his work, now with the respect he wanted for his craftsmanship. Ares, Aphrodite and Hephaestus are all on relatively amicable terms as later stories unfold too, especially compared to the fighting of the other gods.

In some versions, Dionysus intervenes and convinces Hephaestus with some alcohol both to free Hera and not to pursue Aphrodite, and Hephaestus agrees.

Now, you might be looking at all this and thinking “wow, what a nuanced tale and what a mature way everyone ended up handling it! Everyone here is flawed yet you like and relate to all of them! Surely this would make a great adaptation for a ‘feminist retelling’!” You’d be wrong.

Ares is a douchey dudebro who is obsessed with Persephone cuz reasons and exists to say every oversexualised, gross, objectifying thought Rachel herself has while drooling over her self insert but can’t make Hades say cuz he’s supposed to be a gentleman.

Aphrodite is a petty caricature of influencers and Kim Kardashian and her hyper sexualised nature is a bad thing and entirely her own fault when something bad happens to her. She’s also purple. I will never not be mad about Aphrodite not being pink.

She and Ares break up because -insert slut-shaming, not like the other girls logic to defend Persephone- here and she marries Hephaestus.

Hephaestus is set dressing, at best. Every cool attribute he has is stolen and given to Hades and instead of being ugly due to injury or physical deformity and this being a source of how mistreated he is, he’s just…black-coded and with prosthetic legs. If that made you slightly uncomfortable, it should.

Speaking of minorities being taken, chewed up and spat out by Lore Olympus, that brings us to Apollo. Poor, poor Apollo. One of the most beloved and influential of the Theoi, literally unrecognisable and reduced to being the self-insert’s r*pist because, you guessed it, reasons.

Let me add to all the people saying it, because it needs to be repeated; APOLLO DID NOT ASSAULT PERSEPHONE IN THE MYTHS OR ANYWHERE EXCEPT LORE OLYMPUS.

I know it’s probably not intended to be homophobic how Apollo is treated in LO, but fuck it, that’s how it smells to me, so that’s what I call it.

Every character, every relationship, every story serves to boost the Rachel x Mads fapfic Persephone and Hades love story and it’s nasty. How the fuck are you gonna call yourself a folklorist and do this?

[ironskyfinder]

How much of what you post represents your actual views? What is ur actual real world opinion on feminism, women outperforming men, and so on?

This is the million-dollar question, and I’m going to answer it seriously.

Honestly, up to and until the beginning of this month I wasn’t planning to answer this with any real depth, but I want to illuminate my thoughts and positions in the hopes that either I can light the path for others to comprehend these things, or at least provide a degree of clarity for those trying to understand me.

What I post is, at its most basic core, erotica, and I view it as such; I pull from my personal life and dramatize or embellish as the situation demands, but my goal is to make certain every piece of writing I put out into the world can bring someone to the height of their desire - whether that’s an edge, or an orgasm.

That being said, it’s only natural for my audience to wonder about the artist, especially when my content is so glaringly problematic - genderfuckery, questionable consent, TPE/ownership, kidnapping and dumbification and antifeminism - and while I have generally been content to let people wonder, I now feel I should be somewhat more transparent on this.

You ask about women outperforming men; there are definite physiological differences between the sexes and I think those are undeniable. Men are stronger and faster than women, on average; there's good evidence that women have the edge when it comes to endurance and tolerance events. That being said - in nearly every type of sport and olympic event, the men hold the record by a notable margin. Again, physiologically speaking, this is widely understood;  intuitively, everyone knows that men are, on average, substantially stronger and faster than women. When it comes to intelligence - the male brain is about 10% larger, with more flexibility with high working memory load and superior visuospatial skills; it’s well known that women retain stronger, more vivid memories of emotional events, as anyone who has ever argued with a woman can attest. Given these undeniable differences, the question has to be asked - is real equality between the sexes even possible?

Now, with that said - am I a raging misogynist that can’t fathom the idea of a woman possessing personhood, or am I a believer in neoliberal feminism?

Do I believe that women are people who should be respected and valued and treated  equally in society? Or, do I believe that women are inherently inferior, that being female makes them sex objects, that cunts are objects that should be owned? 

Bluntly: both. 

I think there's nothing wrong with a world that includes and celebrates women's contributions to society; I also think I should be able to pick an unowned bitch up off the street and register her as property, like adopting a stray. I want to wake up with my cock jammed down a cunt’s throat as she bruises her tonsils on me, because the shock collar training worked so well it's second nature for her now; I think it's insane that women aren't guaranteed more substantial maternity leave. I don't think women should be permitted to make their own decisions, but I do think they should be smart enough to willingly give up their rights. I hold both of these views in equal measure, and I don’t see any fundamental conflict between those viewpoints.

I do essentially believe that way that both neoliberal and radical feminism articulates on behalf of women without providing room for the nuance of individuation and without any examination of the successes of historical or traditional gendered socialization has been its own undoing; not everyone wants to have to act as a singular agent in society without the benefit of an external guiding force, and modern feminism has essentially guaranteed that nearly any other approach to interpersonal relationships beside absolute brutalist ‘equality’ is seen as abhorrent and unacceptable. Fundamentally, while I believe that in theory there’s nothing wrong with empowering individuals to live in a way that deviates from the norm, that socially normative traditions began for a reason beyond the basic “men are big and muscley and scarey and rapey and mean and think girls are icky”-type assumptions that are generally prevalent within feminist circles; my philosophy is that those traditions wouldn't have  been created or been able to be maintained over the long term without it providing positive structural and social benefits, and while I again have no issue with exceptional individuals being able to function outside of those structures I do think that, statistically speaking, the socially acceptable norms are ultimately beneficial to the most of the people, most of the time. Additionally, I think that there is a growing sentiment among modern women that this state of affairs is not the outcome they were looking for; we see this with the advent of ‘girl jobs’ and the obsession around having a ‘sugar daddy’ or a ‘provider boyfriend’, and the increasingly common rejection of modern feminisms for traditionally feminine values. If the system isn’t working for most people, why continue to endorse it and prop it up against its failings?

And for cunts that do most of their thinking with their clit, I don’t think they want or deserve rights, so why should they have any? When a cunt isn’t even halfway through a smoke sesh and she’s shifting and grinding in her seat, why would I do anything besides grope and overstimulate her more before forcing her to take another hit? Is it really disrespectful to default to giving tasks to and demanding obedience from someone who opens a conversation with a picture of their tits and face? 

All that to say - my views, or my anti-feminism, however you would prefer to imagine it, comes from a place of seeking an equitable place for those who deserve it, and the subjugation of those who search for that instead. 

Now back to your regularly scheduled kinkblogging.

[doll-elvis]

Hi! First of all, I love ur blog it’s one of my favourites and I really appreciate your nuanced takes and the research you put in to your answers. :)

I wanted to ask you — I read today that EPE didn’t allow Sofia Coppola to use any of Elvis’ music in her movie. I figured he wouldn’t be depicted very positively in it but I kinda hoped it would be a realistic and human depiction of both of them, not like sort of a condemning ‘he’s the villain of their story’ vibe lol. I guess we still won’t know until it comes out… Anyway it got me feeling like perhaps the depiction will be more negative, but maybe EPE just didn’t consent to his music being used because they weren’t included in the movie. Hard to know. Wanted to ask for your thoughts/take on it.

Also, what do you think Lisa would think about this movie being made?

this just made my day 😭, you are the sweetest <3!! I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to show your appreciation, it truly means the world to me that you get something positive out of my posts

also thank you very much for the ask, I really love to be able to have open discussions on here with fellow Elvis fans, especially regarding all the recent events that are taking place 🤧

as for your question, according to the latest interview with Sofia Coppola and Priscilla Presley, it was “Authentic Brands Group” (who owns 85% of EPE) that denied the request to have Elvis’ music featured in the film. As Sofia tells it, it was because ABG only endorse projects that they have originated as they are protective of their brand ⬇️

(quote from the “Hollywood Reporter”)

so I don’t think Elvis’ music not being in the film is indicative of how he will be portrayed, the decision seems more business based than anything else (hopefully 😭). I’m also wondering if this was a funding issue as this film doesn’t seem to have had the biggest budget (they only had 30 days to shoot) and I would assume the rights to use Elvis’ music would be rather costly 👀

as for how Elvis will be depicted… I think I speak for many other fans when I say when this movie was first announced my heart sank 🤧 the 2022 film accomplished so many amazing things for Elvis and his legacy and I think we all felt like this Priscilla movie would jeopardize that. But this recent interview with Priscilla, along with the film’s official synopsis, has given me more hope that this movie will be more nuanced

Priscilla telling Cailee Spaeny, the actress portraying her, to be sensitive towards Elvis honestly made me breathe a sigh of relief 😩

(quote from the “Hollywood Reporter”)

But I think the reason so many fans are still currently dreading this film and biting their nails over the release of it is because of the reception it has received online… particularly by non-Elvis fans

if you have Instagram or Twitter (especially) you know what I mean 😭

people are literally praising Sofia Coppola (even Priscilla) because they think this film is going to be a hit piece against Elvis and will expose how he “groomed” and “abused” her

I can almost guarantee these people and anyone else who have made similar comments have never even read Priscilla’s book, or have ever read about Elvis besides what they see on social media through things like twitter threads on how he was a “predator” or how he “stole” music from black musicians

their dedication to believing whatever they see written about him just proves their ignorance to me. If they haven’t taken the time to research the claims made about him then I just disregard their opinion🤧 I’ve really struggled with disengaging from people who hate Elvis but I’ve begun to learn that nothing we say as fans will change their opinion of him, and no matter what they say, it cannot change who we know he really was

and whenever I do see these people reference Priscilla’s book I’m like… did we read the same book? did y’all not see how 90-95% percent of that book praised who Elvis was? and do y’all not see how Priscilla still defends his actions to this day and says things like “he was the love of my life”? I’m just confused as to why these people think Priscilla wants Elvis to be “exposed” 😭

and like the majority of people who have written about Elvis, Priscilla’s book has the good, the bad, and the ugly, and I expect the film to be that way as well. However, I hope the good completely outweighs “the bad” and “the ugly” just as much as it did in Priscilla’s book

People always hyper-inflate the “bad” stories (of which there are very few) that are mentioned in Priscilla’s book. For example the story where when they were pillow fighting he accidentally gave her a black eye, which is also referenced now as proof that he “abused” her. But they won’t mention how Elvis profusely apologized and felt incredibly guilty, nor do they mention how Priscilla blamed the pills they were taking for Elvis’ temper in that moment, as opposed to Elvis himself

(excerpt from “Elvis and Me” by Priscilla Presley)

I feel like a lot of anger has been misdirected towards Priscilla lately regarding stories like this but in all honesty you cannot blame her for people taking what she wrote out of context. I’ve seen some fans say that she is only out to make Elvis look bad but she very clearly states he was remorseful for the incident

Like I mentioned above, I think 90-95% of her book puts Elvis in a good light, and shows how truly good his character was

One of my personal favorite stories is the lasagna incident, where Priscilla insisted on cooking for the whole group and in her nerves for proving that she could do such a thing, she forgot to boil the noodles before assembling the dish 💀

and this story is just one out of dozens that show how sensitive Elvis was to Priscilla

(excerpt from “Elvis and Me” by Priscilla Presley)

not to mention the very last paragraph of her book where she has nothing but good things to say about him… yet people who hate Elvis think this film, that is based on her book, will be out to “expose” him 😩?

(excerpt from “Elvis and Me” by Priscilla Presley)

obviously we can only really speculate on what the film will be like but I’m just hoping and praying this film will be a massive disappointment to anyone who is thinking it will affirm their opinions about how Elvis “mistreated” Priscilla… that would heal my soul 😩 like if this film is just a total love letter to Elvis I will be laughing my way out of the theater lmaoo

at this point the only reason I’m not excited about this film is just because I don’t think it was done in a way that would reach it’s full potential. That recent review of it that came out of Reddit was kind of what I expected the film to be (lackluster, lacking depth and Jacob not really capturing Elvis’ essence… Coppola’s reasoning for casting Jacob was that since all the females in the audition room were enamored by him he must have had a similar charisma to Elvis but I just do not get that vibe😭 (no offense to Jacob stans)

as for what Lisa Marie would have thought of this film being made, I’d imagine she would act in a similar way to how Riley is. Supportive but not involved perhaps? This film is really Priscilla’s story. Not Elvis’ story, not Lisa Marie’s story etc. etc. so I don’t expect as many people in the Elvis world to be involved with it as they were with the 2022 film. Like I don’t expect to see Jerry Schilling doing interviews for this movie or girlfriend’s/friends of Elvis to give their review of it

I really really wish Lisa Marie was here, I miss her terribly and I still haven’t fully processed her passing, but I believe that Riley is doing everything her mother would have wanted, and I wish the best for her and her sisters 💗

[avengerscompound]

The Interview - Chapter 3

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Drinking, sexual innuendo

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count:   2108

Summary:  Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America.  Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

Chapter 3

“Rough night?”

Melody blinked up bleary-eyed and foggy-headed, right into the smiling face of Steve Rogers.  She was mortified.  Now on top of the killer hangover, she was nursing, she also had the supreme embarrassment of Captain America seeing her like this.  It was completely unprofessional given that she was on your way to interview him right now.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she groaned.  “You weren’t supposed to see me like this.” 

Steve chuckled and shook his head.  “Don’t worry about it.  We’ve all been there.  And I’m friends with Tony Stark.  I’m not thrown off by someone struggling after a night on the town.” 

“I know but - oh god - it’s so unprofessional.  It wasn’t planned.  My cousin wanted to take me out to congratulate me for the interview and then she served me absinthe…”

Steve immediately started laughing.  “Well, that was your first mistake.”

“You’ve had absinthe?” she asked, a little surprised. 

“Well - no.  I mean - yes.  Okay, it’s complicated,” he said.

“We have a train ride to Brooklyn to talk,” she said.  “It doesn’t have to be on the record.”

“No, it can be,” he said.  “I’ve tried it.  I know the whole process.  But I was a super soldier by then, which means I metabolize things fast so I didn’t experience the effects, but I did get to witness how it affected the soldiers I was drinking with.”

“Was that during the war?” she asked.

“Yeah, we were in France, having some time off.  It was - well - soldiers, you know?” Steve said.

The thought of the war and soldiers drinking hallucinogenic cocktails made another thing pop into her head.  “Hey, when you were a kid did they still have cocaine in Coke?”

“Trace amounts from memory.  Not enough that you could feel it.  I’d have to look that up though.  But if you’re asking because you’re wondering if Captain America has consumed cocaine, yeah - I have.  They used it as pain relief.  Heroin too.  And those asthma cigarettes you talked about last time often had cannabis in them.  Things were different back then, but we’ve spoken about that.”

She shook her head.  “And how…” she laughed.

“I am just a guy.  I’m not perfect. I try to do the right thing, but I can’t pretend I always know what that is.  I have a moral compass, and sometimes when I learn more information that compass changes.  I’ve always believed consenting adults should be able to love each other freely and without interference.  I have always believed that people should have a minimum standard of living that’s met even if they’re unable to work.  That means homes, food, electricity, running water, and medical care.  I have always believed that people should be free to worship whatever god they choose - or not - as long as that worship doesn’t interfere with others or harm them.  But the nuances of those things - they’re not always clear.  Things aren’t black and white.  And I’m not an altar boy.  I drink.  I go to parties with my friends.  I even swear.” 

“And you talk about circumcision with strangers,” she said.

He started laughing and his cheeks flushed pink.  “That too.”

“Does it bother you that people see you as some kind of perfect angel?” she asked.

Steve paused to think about the question.  “No.  Generally, I don’t mind how people see me.  They can love me or hate me.  They can think I’m secretly a complete deviant.  What bothers me is when they do that and corrupt the message.  I don’t like when they think I’d be against immigrants because I wear a flag.  Or worse, they think that because they believe I wouldn’t do something, it means I would stop other people from doing it.  Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” she said.  “Like say them decided you wouldn’t have an abortion, and therefore others can’t get an abortion…”

“When I’m pro-choice,” he said.  “Exactly,”

“And are you pro-choice?” she asked.

“I am.  We have body autonomy in this country.  It extends to that too,” he said.

Melody smiled up at him, the conversation had gone a long way to alleviate the hangover.  It was like taking a two-dimensional picture and having it fill out into three-dimensional space.  She liked how the full picture looked.  It was funny, she hadn’t realized that she had formed her own biases toward the man that carried the shield.  The fact he was pro-choice surprised her, but if she thought about it, she wasn't even sure why.

She wondered if there were any other biases she was holding about him.

Melody and Steve switched to more casual banter for the remainder of the trip and got out together when they reached Brooklyn.  “So what’s the plan?” Steve asked as they headed up the stairs and into the sunshine.

“We’re meeting the staff photographer at a bagel place a few blocks down.  He wants to take some photos of you in places you recognize.  I don’t know if the building you grew up in is still here or your school maybe?  Anything that gives you strong feelings of nostalgia I guess?  As for the interview - well you’re welcome to just tell me stories or I’ll ask questions to prod you.  I’m looking for the story of Steve Rogers before he became Captain America and what led you to sign up for the program.”

Steve nodded.  “That’s doable,” he said.  “I’ve got plenty of stories to tell.  I should have brought Bucky with me.  Maybe he’d have helped.”

“You’re more than welcome to bring him along to one of these if you want to,” she said.

“I’ll let him know,” Steve said.  “Well - the first thing you should probably know is I got into a lot of fights.  You point to a spot and I probably started something I couldn’t finish there.”

“Don’t tell me Steve Rogers was a bully?” she said.

Steve laughed and shook his head.  He had shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched forward a little like he was trying to make himself smaller and less noticeable.  Up until now, he’d done things to disguise his features.  He’d put on a hat or glasses, but he walked tall.  This was the first time he seemed to want to hide his size.  “No.  Not at all.  I didn’t like bullies so I was always stepping in when I saw something that didn’t seem right.  Bullying.  Harassment.  That kind of thing.  But I also got bullied a lot.  You know being the little runt that I was, my parents had me selling newspapers when I was only very young.  And kids from the neighborhood would often jump me for them and the money I was making.”

“Why were you selling papers when you were so young?” she asked, knowing full well the larger overarching answer but wanting him to tell the story without being led.

“My parents moved here from Ireland after my dad served in World War I.  They both had work and things were going well, so they had me.  Then later they had another son.”

She pulled a file out of your messenger bag and flicked through it.  “I don’t remember you having any siblings.”

“Ah - only the really big Captain America fans know that little tidbit.  My folks didn’t even get a chance to name him officially.  He died after a couple of days.  It hit Dad hard.  He was already disappointed by how sick I was, and then to have another son die so soon - it destroyed him.  He started drinking.  Then the depression hit and he was the first to lose his job.  There wasn’t much work going for people like him and so he spiralled.  He was angry all the time.  He hit my mom regularly.  So I tried selling papers to take the burden off her.  He died in 1926 from the flu.  I was eight.”

Melody put her hand on his arm, forgetting for a moment she was interviewing him, and seeing him just a man who’d had a violent childhood that was opening up to her.  “I’m so sorry, Steve,” she said.

He turned his head and smiled at her.  There was sadness in it, but there was more than that too.  Gratitude maybe?  Hope?  “That’s something I wish I could help more with.  I want to help people trapped in abusive family situations by making it safe and easy for them to leave.  The way things are now, that’s not often the case.  I feel like America has come forward so much since I was born, and yet I also feel like there are people who are trying to push it back into the dark ages again, and in many ways, they seem to be winning.”

“Yeah.  Two steps forward one step back.  People rail against change,” Melody agreed.  “And the more accepting one part of society gets, the more closed off and angry the other side gets.” 

They arrived at the bagel shop and looked around for Peter Parker, the kid who’d be taking photos of Steve today.  True to form, he came running around the corner and down some steps he had no reason to be on in the first place and was pulling on his clothes like he forgot to dress on the way out of his house that day.  “Hey!” he called. “I’m here! I’m here!  Sorry!”

“It’s okay, Pete,” Melody assured the mousey teen.  “We just got here.”  She turned to Steve.  “Steve Rogers, this is Peter Parker, our photographer.  Pete, this is Steve…”

“I know,” Peter said, holding out his hand to shake Steve’s.  “Of course.  It’s such an honor, sir.  I’m Peter.  Peter Parker.”

“Yes,” Steve said, stifling a laugh as he shook Peter’s hand.  “She said.”

“Oh right.  Of course.  Sorry.”  Peter was making no move to stop shaking Steve’s hand and Steve looked at him, bemused.

“Peter.  Are you ready?” Melody asked.

Peter looked down at his hands and then up at Steve before quickly dropping them.  “Right.  Sorry.  Yep.  Where do we want to do this?”

“Well right down there is where I met Bucky,” Steve suggested.

“That’s a great idea,” she agreed.  “Lead the way.”

Steve led them down to a small alley.  “I was getting beaten up by some bullies who wanted me to pay them for crossing the street.  Bucky came in swinging and we have been friends ever since.”

“You two are very close.  The two of you have to be so different from when you first met.  Was rebuilding that relationship hard when you found him again after all those years?” Melody asked as Peter snapped some candids of Steve.

Steve frowned and his hand went to his hair.  “It was.  You’re right.  We both have changed so much.  People often say he’s a different person now, but so am I. But deep down we have those core things that made us who we are.  He sometimes thinks he doesn’t have it, but he does.”  He paused and looked down the alley.  “He still steps in and saves those little guys who are being picked on by people much bigger than them.”

Peter guided Steve into some posed shots by the alley and then both men looked at Melody.  “Where to now?” Peter asked.

“What do you think, Steve?  What about where you went to school?” you asked. 

“Sure.  George Washington High is here but I’m not sure about Auburndale Art School,” Steve said.  Peter got out his phone and started googling it right away. 

“You went to art school?” she asked.

“Oh yeah,” he said.  “Besides getting my ass kicked, art was my real passion.  I still draw.”

“Really?  Do you think I could see some of your art?” she asked.

“Sure,” Steve said.  “I’ll bring some next time.  Though you need to be nice.  I don’t show too many people.”

“Don’t worry,” she said.  “I don’t want James Barnes to come kick my ass for bullying his friend.”

Steve started laughing and he nudged her arm.  “Thanks.  I appreciate that.”

He paused for a second and looked between Melody and Peter.  “I just had an idea,” he said.  “I might be able to find the spot where they gave me the serum in the first place.  What about that for more photos?”

Peter looked as excited as Melody felt.  She did still want to go to the building he grew up in and his school, but if the secret headquarters for the Strategic Scientific Reserve was still there - it was too good to pass up.  She grinned at Steve. “Let’s do it.”

// NEXT

[hyperlexichypatia]

respectfully, i’ve noticed a hole in ur statement re: life doesn’t have to be coercive. if u r interested, we can discuss it. either way, i contemplated it and got myself into a dead end. here’s what i’ve came up with:

i’ll say upfront that i totally agree that we should strive for a society without coercion and do as much as we can to put that in practice. the person themself should be the ultimate authority in their life, body autonomy must be as absolute as possible.

that said, there always will be a significant power imbalance in a field of such complexity as medicine. ideally, i should be fully informed about my current situation and given full autonomy to decide what to do with my body. ideally, i should have a solution that fits my life the best, and i should have access to all the necessary medical treatments to make my life better.

realistically tho, there will (almost?) always be a specialist with more knowledge, experience and expertise on any given issue my body might be experiencing at any given time. i won’t be able to gain that same knowledge and experience a specialist has after decades of study and practice. even with all the consent forms, the one with the knowledge and the skill becomes the one with power. i end up depending on their explanations, and they end up being in power when they translate their knowledge to a simpler form for me to grasp. they’re technically are withholding information from me, information about my body, thus taking away all the potential choices i could be making.

and, to make things worse, i might not lack just the necessary education to have that specific nuanced knowledge to make my own truly fully-informed choices, i might be physically and even cognitively unable to access it due to things like illiteracy, inaccessibility of information, my cognitive impairments or intellectual disabilities, and etc. i might be in too much pain to study my condition, or i might even be unconscious and thus fully unable to comprehend the information provided, or to consent to any procedure whatsoever, unless i’ve consented to and legally validated it way prior.

also, i might want what’s better for me but have the wrong information forming my opinion, i might be refusing the correct treatments and procedures while demanding the ones unsuitable or downright harmful for me.

in the end, i end up relying on the experts to teach me what’s happening with my body that is causing my suffering and i end up having to trust their expertise due to my incompetence or inability to know everything at any given time, and thus i’m being coerced in practice.

Yes, you're right that complete freedom from coercion is more of an aspirational goal than something we can ever fully attain.

In addition to the points you brought up, there are babies and young children who may need medical procedures before they're old enough to give informed consent.

But even though those cases may occur, I think we can (by "we" I mean "society as a whole") try to minimize them as much as possible, in all the ways you already mention. But also by recognizing that these situations are inherently problematic, even when they can't be avoided, and should be handled very carefully. There's a whole mindset difference between "This person can't give informed consent at this time, so we should be very careful, and limit interventions to what's minimally and immediately necessary" and "This person can't give informed consent at this time, so we can do whatever we want," or worse "This person can't give informed consent at this time, so, quick, do it before they can wake up and say no."

There's been so much discourse about sexual consent and how "Consent is a process, not just a checkbox or a barrier to overcome" or "'No' does not mean 'convince me'" and that's great, and I wish there were that much emphasis on medical consent and general "help" for disabled people consent.

And yes, as you point out, the "informed" part of "informed consent" can be a gray area, because the doctor usually knows more than the patient (not always! *waves in fat* but often). But the goal can still be "as informed as possible." Which gets back to the provider's attitudes, too: Are they assuming that "some people" just can't understand? Are they trying? Are they bringing in interpreters, using plain language, using alternative/augmented communication? Is their goal "Get them to sign the paper," or is their goal "Ensure that they have as much information as they need to make their decision"? Are you recognizing that even if you are the expert on whatever medical condition or procedure, the person whose body you're dealing with is inherently the expert on xyr own body, and knows the subjective experience of living in that body better than anyone else can?

Final point -- to be clear, I absolutely do not believe your question is in bad faith at all, but I did write a brief response to bad faith hypotheticals that you might find interesting: https://www.tumblr.com/hyperlexichypatia/700783138556821504/hypothetical-and-actual-autonomy

[snackhobi]

About your fic straight shooter, can you tell me why y/n gets angry at yoongi when he showed up? On which part did yoongi treat hoseok like dirt? Sorry for being dumb, I can't picked up a clue😅 love your fics

hi lovely! you're not the first person who's asked something similar to this, so looking back I perhaps wonder if I should've made it a bit clearer.

the reason y/n was angry is because she'd given him a huge level of trust and privilege (being able to go into her new workshop without needed prior confirmation + knowing where her new address was), and he walks into a meeting between y/n and hoseok and rather than waiting for them to finish interacting properly, he asserts himself in a way that he shouldn't, even though he knows both of them. in the past when he's been at the workshop he's been silent in the background when y/n interacts with other customers, so it's more obvious that he's doing it for A Reason.

the way he treats hoseok like dirt is a bit more nuanced, hm. in the underworld in this story, a lot of people go by a pseudonym/moniker, so revealing someone's true name without their consent goes against the implicit "code" they have. especially in this instance as yoongi is incredibly taciturn and never reveals his hand, or his emotions, or how he thinks/feels/who he knows, so it's quite a big deal. he interrupts their conversation by revealing he knows Hoseok personally, and that he's close enough to know the Hope Broker's real name, so it's twofold.

(and then when y/n asks him why he did that, rather than apologise or explain or whatever else, yoongi butts heads with her, which is what riles her up even more. so yeah! that's why.)

I hope that makes sense! reading back now I realise I could have expounded on it a bit and that y/n's reaction seems a bit OTT if the context isn't clear, as a lot of it is implicit but I didn't take the time to explain that implicit nature as much as I could have 💕

[guidedlawgen]

Understanding Sex Offence Lawyers: Roles, Responsibilities, and How They Can Help

Sex offence cases are some of the most sensitive and complex cases in the legal world. Allegations alone can have serious, life-altering implications for everyone involved. This is where sex offence lawyers play a critical role. These specialized legal professionals are trained to handle the nuances of such cases, ensuring a fair trial while respecting the rights of both victims and defendants. Here, we’ll explore what sex offence lawyers do, the skills they bring to the table, and the essential factors to consider if you or someone you know is seeking legal assistance in this area.

1. What is a Sex Offence Lawyer?

A sex offence lawyer is an attorney specializing in defending individuals accused of sex crimes or, in some cases, advocating for victims. They navigate cases involving charges like sexual assault, indecent exposure, sexual harassment, possession of illegal content, or misconduct involving minors. These lawyers must have extensive knowledge of criminal law, state-specific statutes, and federal regulations regarding sex crimes.

2. Types of Cases Handled by Sex Offence Lawyers

Sex offence lawyers often work on a wide range of cases, including:

Sexual Assault: Includes both physical and non-physical forms of unwanted sexual contact.

Rape and Sexual Battery: Charges involving forced sexual acts.

Statutory Rape: Consensual acts where one or both parties are below the legal age of consent.

Sexual Harassment: Includes workplace harassment, verbal, physical, or psychological abuse of a sexual nature.

Possession and Distribution of Illegal Content: Involving explicit materials that are deemed illegal, especially when minors are involved.

Each of these cases has distinct definitions and legal parameters depending on jurisdiction, which is why a lawyer specializing in this field is essential for effective representation.

3. Roles and Responsibilities of a Sex Offence Lawyer

The role of a sex offence lawyer extends beyond the court proceedings. Some of their critical duties include:

a. Case Analysis and Evidence Review

Sex offence lawyers scrutinize all aspects of the case, analyzing police reports, witness statements, and any physical or digital evidence. This is a meticulous process where the lawyer seeks inconsistencies or areas for further investigation, especially in complex cases where evidence can be unclear or circumstantial.

b. Providing Emotional Support and Legal Guidance

Given the sensitive nature of these cases, sex offence lawyers often provide clients with emotional support, explaining each legal step clearly and helping manage the stress that accompanies such serious allegations.

c. Negotiating Plea Deals

In cases where evidence may be stacked against the defendant, a lawyer might negotiate a plea deal, aiming to reduce sentencing or alter charges. This can prevent a more serious conviction and a lengthy trial.

d. Defending Clients in Court

During court proceedings, the lawyer develops and presents a defense strategy based on their client’s account and case evidence. Defense tactics may involve challenging evidence admissibility, cross-examining witnesses, or questioning procedural lapses in the investigation.

e. Protecting Client Rights

A key responsibility is ensuring that the accused person’s rights are upheld. This includes preventing unlawful searches, ensuring proper representation during questioning, and monitoring that the trial is conducted fairly.

4. Skills and Qualities of Effective Sex Offence Lawyers

The best sex offence lawyers are characterized by a combination of technical knowledge and soft skills. Some essential skills include:

In-depth Knowledge of Criminal Law: A thorough understanding of both state and federal criminal laws related to sex offences.

Strong Analytical and Research Skills: They must be able to investigate, analyze, and interpret complex evidence, finding areas for defense or cross-examination.

Empathy and Sensitivity: Because they often handle sensitive cases, these lawyers need compassion, respect, and a non-judgmental attitude to build trust with their clients.

Excellent Communication Skills: Lawyers need to clearly communicate complex legal matters and provide clear advice to their clients.

Negotiation Skills: Especially valuable in plea deals, negotiation can lead to more favorable outcomes.

5. How to Choose a Sex Offence Lawyer

Choosing the right lawyer is critical, as sex offence cases have high stakes. Here are some tips to help in the selection process:

Specialization and Experience: Look for lawyers who specialize in criminal defense and have experience with sex offence cases.

Track Record: Research the lawyer’s track record, case outcomes, and whether they have successfully handled cases similar to yours.

References and Reviews: Check testimonials or online reviews to gauge the lawyer’s reliability and client satisfaction.

Consultation: Most lawyers offer an initial consultation; this is an opportunity to discuss your case, understand their approach, and assess if you feel comfortable working with them.

Transparency in Fees: Sex offence cases can become financially demanding. Choose a lawyer who is transparent about their fees, payment plans, and any additional costs that may arise during the case.

6. What to Expect in Legal Proceedings

The legal process for sex offences generally follows a structured path, beginning with an investigation, followed by formal charges if enough evidence exists. Here’s a typical outline:

Investigation: Police investigate the case, often interviewing witnesses and gathering evidence.

Charges and Bail: If charges are filed, the defendant may face bail conditions or detainment.

Arraignment: The defendant appears in court to hear charges and enter a plea.

Discovery: Both parties exchange evidence.

Pre-Trial Motions: Motions may be filed to exclude evidence or dismiss certain charges.

Trial: Both sides present arguments, and a verdict is reached.

Sentencing or Appeals: If convicted, sentencing occurs. In some cases, the defendant may appeal.

Throughout this process, the lawyer is crucial in advising, preparing, and representing the defendant or victim at each step.

[dumbdomb]

these out-of-line anon people are so invested in me being an allocishet white woman who loves misogyny and conforming to the status quo... like, they don't even care how many women they have to disrespect, dehumanize, and degrade to make Me become this unrealistic fantasy person in their head. there are books, movies, fanfic, ai chat bots, and it seems nothing compares to telling some random person online that they need to change and be exactly what someone else wants and tells them to be...

they call me a misogynist for not being interested in misogyny kinks. they tell me i'm kink-shaming when i use the language of those who ARE into so-called "hard, gross, icky, dark" kinks - i've never used those words as my own or as my opinion. (that is what the people who are interested in those kinks refer to them as, and it would be unusual for someone into those kinks to not be aware of what everyone in the room is saying they are... plus, the words tend to change after awhile. like how people talk about "proship" now instead of using the term "map" etc etc.)

personally, i do think it makes it difficult to consent to viewing or interacting with those blogs when they are not specifically or plainly stating what content they post or reblog. it's not informative, i'm not aware of what i would be consenting to by viewing their blogs when it is given a vague "hard kinks" label... (like, what does that mean?! you understand? what is "hard" to one person may not be to another.)

i've had to add more and more to my dni section ONLY BC people with these kinks would NOT accept that i simply was not interested in it, or in participating in rp about "icky kinks". i have no investment or concerns with what other people are into, i just don't want someone to send asks or message me in degrading, misogynistic ways bc i'm not into those kinks. AND PEOPLE GET SO MAD AT ME for NOT having the same kinks as them!!! seriously!!! that is literally abusive behavior, and not at all tolerable in bdsm...!!!!!

it's like they're upset that i'm not the made-up character in their head and am a fully grown, autonomous person living in the real world and i don't want or need to do any of those things they keep messaging me about. i've tried having my neutral pronouns be respected, and they weren't - until i added "HE"/they, only then did people stop using "she/her" exclusively when messaging or referring to me - but then mostly it would only be "he/him" and that's not what i wanted, either... so, eventually, i changed it back to they/them, and at least my usual followers have been more respectful about this.

i don't get why so many people here are so quick to be negative, hateful, and unwilling to have genuine talks with other people. it's as if every time there's an interaction, it means one person is right and one is wrong, with no nuance or complexity or room for growth, learning, mistakes, understanding, compassion... i like to keep things slow and honest, to try my best to understand someone else's pov. it feels like, more often than not, people aren't interested in being authentic and sympathetic with anyone who is not an actual, literal clone and hive mind.

idk, just voicing some thoughts... i've changed my age limit from 18+ to 25+ now. if we're mutuals, it's all good, and you don't need to worry about that. i'm considering making another account somewhere - not leaving this one, though. i want to get more into some old hobbies, but i'm not sure where the best place would be to share. it's starting to feel like the wild west online lol (ah, ab3080 et al...)

i'd like to be among more people who appreciate allies and don't require everyone to be exactly the same person they are. i don't need to COMPLETELY agree with LITERALLY every unspoken thought and opinion another person has in order to be in alignment with our values, etc. i'd like to be able to learn from others and not always be shunned for not having the EXACT experiences as they've had, and so on... it feels really strange writing this bc it really seems like the most basic, early childhood development learning skills and i don't understand why it's so hard for so many to be in a room with other people and it not be like a war room where everyone is your worst most secret enemy or something even more awful...

idk, like. can people be just a little bitsy tiny bit normal about other people existing...? (i keep getting that part from one of marina's songs in my head while thinking about this concept: "...not everyone is out to screw you over..." and i get the sense that maybe a lot of people are feeling this way lately; acting from a place of high-alert fear, anxiety, paranoia, insecurity...)

[lutawolf]

Kinnporsche is a Mafia Series

I'm getting a lot of grief for considering the kiss between Kinn and Porsche consensual. I'm coming from the book where it was full on force almost every time Kinn kissed Porsche in the beginning. To the point that I don't even count those as kisses. So yes this is consensual especially in the Mafia world. I mean Kinn asked for a hell of a lot more permission when going in for the kiss than when he choked Porsche and nobody is losing their shit over that.

Was Porsche drunk? Yes... So was Kinn. They were both drunk and yet they were able to have a very emotional and vulnerable conversation. They showed each other a large amount of trust in disclosing the information they did. When Kinn kissed him he didn't hold him down. He literally isn't even using his hands so Porsche can push him away at any time. Porsche didn't say no, like he did several times in the book, instead he kissed Kinn back.

What is consent? I appreciate and value the discussion of consent that is being had in today's day and age. But I also feel that consent can be given in different ways other than just verbal. Honestly, I feel like people are purposefully trying to ignore the context and nuance of KinnPorsche just to be able to bash the series without consequence.

Co-Written by @victooooorious

Again, this is our opinion, don't come at us.

[epochryphal]

just saw someone crediting me for coining xenogenital and clicked through to a post where i indeed mark it as i coined it, and

i completely fucking forgot that i did

doubly hilarious given i was just thinking “i bet all these definitions focusing on Imagination are just same phenomenon as quoi and originally it was more nuanced and could indeed fit Transition” (answer: yes)

apparently i originally described it as Conceptualizing and linked it to alien… whereas now i would emphasize it as a Relationship To Body and that it should be understood as agnostic about physical transition/modification, but certainly not understood as Unaltered or as Just Fun Fiction Narrative (nor about “always a dream, alas, definitely physically impossible, mustn’t get hopes up, let’s preempt any innovation and always specify it is hopeless wish”)

which of course is the whole. issue. and probably requires more intentional careful pushback (but also, is simplification and flattening just inevitable)

how do we open up the cognitive space to think about “hey, some people have genital setups that don’t occur naturally”

(without activating dysphoria and anti-trans cooptation along the lines of “-plasty surgery results are never ~real~ genitals”)

and this is where eunuchs and nullos are obvious but often forgotten examples. assumed archaic, or always only coercive. no thought about changes in healthcare experience or needs (eg risk of osteoporosis after gonadectomy unless on a hormone therapy; i wonder what preventative care some folks may still need and get denied because it’s tied into assumptions about organ inventories; how much does disgust reaction activate and prevent life-saving care)

but even then, how do we avoid the sort of “male / female / neuter” trinary?

i’ve been about removal (literally, blockers-and-ectomies) of sexed organs and tissue and traits, and it’s led me to yearn for transmutation into something visibly notably unrecognizable

and i don’t know what “not penis, not vagina, not a smooth doll crotch either; not scrotum, not labia, not smooth skin either” looks like, still — even as i literally have it, lmao.

like… how does this visually, conceptually (there’s the original word i used again) register? and how do we create the possibility to register something new? something possible. literally able to be noted/noticed.

i think a lot of xenobio designs focus on the physically humanly impossible for the foreseeable future - prehensile, especially.

probably all of this is very directly tied to phallocentrism. and it generates a binary yes/no, where further details are irrelevant (beyond coercive intervention to reinforce and reify that binary).

and anyway for all discussion there’s this looming spectre of “it’s sexual harrassment to discuss your own genitals, tmi inappropriate predatory creepy, can’t hide behind the veneer of fictional and have to be explicit (anything less gets misunderstood and elided back into penis/vagina/neuter) so that makes it real life sexual boundary crossing” - when uh how does one “get consent” to arguing with a paradigm of what can/does exist

mm. i threw this in my drafts for two weeks trying to think further and/or encourage myself to Formalize this into a bigger Plea For Paradigm Shift Around Genital Reality, and i hope i’ll be able to articulate that better in the near future but i’m gonna share this now as is

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Not a complete list, but here are my additions:

• Getting left out of the mind link by M'gann, either on purpose or accidentally. It's not a secret that M'gann can be petty and even aggressive when she's angry, so I wouldn't say it's an impossibility that she would exclude her if the mission wasn't pertinent.

• In addition to that, M'gann going through her thoughts and memories without consent. It's intrusive and demeaning, but the reader would be too nice to say anything about it.

• Making her powers seem less potent than they are to make Zatanna look good (don't ask me why I think this I just do)

• This is also a no-nuance addition, but her solo accomplishments and missions being deflected for her failures. Think of Wally's solo mission for the heart transplant. Even if it was a successful mission, all they would be able to talk about was how she almost failed, and what she could have done right. Robin is most guilty of this. Wally does it without thinking.

• Superboy's anger is taken out on her if there isn't a proper outlet to let it out. Not physically, but he's aware enough to know he won't get in trouble for it. I'm not sure if this was mentioned before, but it's Superboy, so it's obvious.

I have to shut you down for the first 2 because I really want to emphasize that they aren't necessarily bad people. M'Gann is my fluffly baby and she can do no wrong (lmao no) but I honestly don't want to make it seem that any of this was intentional. M'Gann gives the same boundaries and respect to reader as she does to the others but she doesn't give the same nurturing and love to the reader as she does to the others, that's where it's different.

I see your third point and I raise you that her powers get less potent without reader's realization because she simply believes that she's less than her. her confidence goes down, she feels more unsure of herself and her powers. she genuinely believes that she's simply not as powerful as zatanna and because she doesn't try, it doesn't come forth. because until klarion tells her, she has absolutely no idea she could incinerate zatanna if she wanted to.

oh her solo accomplishments would most definitely be overshadowed by her flaws. IF SHE WAS GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY IN THE FIRST PLACE. they already have a sorceress on hand. one that they believe is better at the job. so zatanna gets picked for everything before baby y/n even has the opportunity to volunteer. on the off chance that she does, she's monitored very carefully by batman and with a comm set, he gives her clear instructions that she follows like an avatar in a game

superboy's anger is most definitely taken out on her. he's an asshole (s1). take the candle for example. boy won't even let our baby girl light some fresh ass champagne toast candle when he's literally stinking up the entire place with his bo and bs.

[isozyme]

:salt: what do you think fandom generally gets wrong?

belatedly: more salty opinions

this one goes out to both the untamed and fandom in general, none of y’all are free from sin

every damn one of you vanilla ass virgins and diehard BDSM hall monitors needs to quit it with the handwringing “but where are the safewords” shit.

safewords aren’t the be-all end-all of kink safety! and nobody is handwringing this much about “but condoms” or “but where’s the shears while they’re doing rope bondage in case somebody panics” or “how long have those nipple clamps been on?” because for those things people seem to understand that it’s porn and “you have to be careful with abruptly pulling long hair because you might fuck up someone’s neck” isn’t fun and sexy to read about. smut is for fun! the author controls whether or not there’s accidents, so if i’m reading something that’s just a kinky pwp, i assume that no inconvenient practicalities are going to rear their head the way they always might irl. included in “inconvenient practicalities” is being prepared someone might need to safeword out. 

sometimes there’s a good reason to put in a safeword discussion: maybe badwrong sexy bit includes someone starting to have a bad time and the presence/absence of a safeword gives the sex scene tension. maybe one character is kinking on inexperience and enjoying leading their partner through the basics in detail. some story justification! something more than “oh right and i need to be a Responsible Porn Writer and include the safeword discussion”

fanfiction isn’t sex ed anymore than pornhub is! you can learn stuff from it, sure (there’s some creative stuff out there on the internet) but it’s not a how-to guide.

but all that isn’t even what i’m most steamed about!

the thing that makes me insane is the idea that you have to have a safeword for all kink activities. safewords are for consent play! there is absolutely no reason that saying “no” or yanking yourself away shouldn’t be sufficient outside of roleplay. otherwise, you know what is a good way to make your partner stop hitting you? saying “stop hitting me.” 

if you’re using a safeword as the big consent marker, then there’s only one way to say stop. if you’re not, there’s a thousand ways to say no. body language! tone of voice! a very wide range of vocabulary! there are also a thousand ways to say yes that aren’t “green,” and you can add “stops conveying yes/enjoyment” to the ways to say no. you don’t have to remember a special vocabulary word to be able to say “hey, bad spot, back off.” more importantly, the person hitting you has no excuse to not pay attention to that signal because it’s “well it’s not a safeword sooooo.....”

there’s just such a big difference between how somebody enjoying themselves acts and someone who isn’t! it’s almost always fucking obvious. people who try to convince you it’s all subtle and confusing are not good people. 

like: “ah, fuck, that hurts so bad, i can’t, i can’t -- oh my god, no, not again, please please please!”

versus: “whoa, uh-uh, that was too much. ow. i need a five minute break.”

one of those examples has the word “no” in it. it’s not the one that should bring things to an absolute screeching halt. the difference in tone is stark, and would be even starker with an actual voice behind it.

another example with consent play!

compare: “oh no, it’s so big, don’t put it in me! i won’t be able to take it! if you touch me there i’ll be ruined forever!”

to: “wait, i’m getting freaked out, let’s stop playing.”

most fic is writing about characters who know each other really well and should be able to read the body language of their partner. a lot of rules and safety precautions are most applicable when two people who don’t know each other super well are having sex and needing to have things you can point to and say “you agreed if i said red, you would stop, and when i said it you didn’t stop” with no room grey areas. if you have a bad actor in the room, they’ll take any chance they get to say they got mixed signals and how could they have known. two characters who love each other should be different! and in that vein: a lot of kink irl is done with dominant men and submissive women, so the dom is physically a LOT stronger than the sub. so many m/m ships are between characters with basically equal strength and there’s an element of fear that just isn’t present the same way.

a safeword is a big stressful thing to use -- there’s a lot of weight and seriousness put behind it. plus if it’s some cutesy thing you have to remember it under duress, that seems hard! there’s not enough nuance in a single word to easily make the difference clear between “i’m getting a leg cramp” and “if you touch me one more time i’m going to feel traumatized.” in some ways, this obsession with safewords makes me worry about the false safe of security given by following the rulebook. ticking off all the boxes on the consent to-do list isn’t a substitute for using your goddamn human social skills that you’ve been developing for 18 YEARS AT ABSOLUTE MINIMUM! 

personally, asking if someone is “green” is also deeply unsexy in my book, akin to my arbitrary hatred of the word “panties,” but that’s less serious, and you’re free to disagree. the rest you can fight me about if you want, but i’m right and you’ll lose

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Part 3

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated. 

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue     Chapter 1   Chapter 2  

Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus.

The mad Prince of Notaleveale.

Remus was coming here. Remus was coming to Steveange and if Romulus saw him-

Roman had to leave.

Which was easier said than done; when the streets were crowded with hoards of shoppers and revellers all pressing against him, blocking his path, stealing the air out of his lungs-

“Roman!”

He needed to go. He need to find Virgil and Patton in whatever rooms they’d managed to find, collect his belongings and-

No. That would take too long – he could replace the clothes and books, he already had his sword-

“Roman, what’re you-”

- but he needed his lute. To make any kind of living he had to be able to perform. It was the only thing he was good at and once he’d got away he’d be -

He could do it. He’d run away before. He survived alone, without anyone, he could do it again and-

“Roman! Stop!”

He stopped.

Logan. Heading towards him. But he hadn’t given a time frame and if Roman grit his teeth and pushed past the spike of pain he could start to move again in just a second-

“Wait!”

Dammit.

Roman waited. Fists clenched by his side, until Logan was next to him.

“Roman.”

His chest was tight. His brain wasn’t -wasn’t working right and Logan looked so odd, with his glasses askew and his face flushed – had he been running?

“I thought I saw Patton.” Roman blurted.

It was the first excuse that popped into his head and it was clearly not – not good enough. Logan was frowning at him, a pinched expression, studying him like an experiment and-

Roman hated him, suddenly.

Logan was an upstart swot with ideas above his station and a chip on his shoulder. He poked and prodded and lost them jobs with his terse words and his better than you attitude. He reminded Roman of the tutors who snap at him for his lack of understanding and bark orders for him to recite, repeat, remember, to be better, smarter, stronger: someone worthy of his title.

He reminded him most of all of Julius. His fathers closest advisor, who had been charged with unravelling the Princes’ curses. He was the one who had helped Romulus learn how to push against his curse. He would give him orders that were almost impossible to follow and watch with cold eyes as Romulus struggled to disobey. Together they’d categorised how much pain he could withstand, what orders could be navigated and misinterpreted and which ones he was truly helpless against.

Once, he’d bid Romulus to stand on one leg. And left him there until his muscles started to cramp and shake, waiting to see if gravity or the curse was stronger. Romulus had been in tears by the end. Had even wondered, briefly, about complaining to his parents. But is was such a silly, innocuous order compared to other experiments. What had truly upset him was how Julian had just stood there, not speaking, his eyes distant and cold and calculating as he noted down every twitch and whimper from the boy. Even when he circled him, Romulus could feel those eyes boring into the back of his neck like a-

“Princey.”

Roman blinked. Julius’ practice room disappeared, replaced with the sights and sound of the Steveange street. Logan was in front of him and his eyes were far from cold. When he spoke it was with the same gentle tone that Roman had heard him use when Virgil’s worries overwhelmed him or when Patton woke from a nightmare and didn’t know where he was.

“Did the cro- the woman. Did she say something to you?” Logan was holding his hand. Gently but firmly, he tugged at Romans tightly clenched fingers, encouraging them to unfurl. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at the deep crescent marks he’d made in his palm.

Slowly, Logan released his right hand and reached for his left, repeating the process.

Roman felt shame ripple through him.

Logan wasn’t Julius. Logan would never push him so far he broke.

Logan was his friend and Roman has made him worry with his silly behaviour and his slapdash lie. But he could fix it.

He forced a smiled. Flexed his fingers and straightened up his full height. Made a show of looking around him.

“I swear I saw him. Big man, big sword, big smile – he’s hard to mistake!”

Hesitantly, Logan glanced around too before quickly refocusing on Roman.

“Are you sure you –“

“Ah well, the mind plays trick I suppose – must be hunger getting to me, speaking of which…”

Roman reached forward and deftly snatched the bag from Logan's grasp, reaching in blindly and shoving the first pastry he found into his mouth.

“Mmmm so good!” He beamed at Logan with berry stained teeth, flakes of pastry flying through the air. “Aren’t you going to have one?”

Logan stared at him. Roman kept his smile sweet and his eyes clear. He held up the bag and wiggled it enticingly.

Hesitantly, Logan took the bag and selected a tart. Keeping his eyes on the bard the entire time, he ate his treat with much more refinement then Roman had shown. “Holding back?” Roman asked, teasing, “I’ve seen you eat jam before, there’s no point pretending to have table manners now.”

Logan just hmphed but his shoulders relaxed slightly and Roman decided to take that as a victory. “We should get going” Roman said and started walking, Logan easily falling into step beside him.

The streets were crowded enough that none of the sellers seemed to feel the need to call to Roman specifically, and so this time he was free to investigate the stalls he was actually interested in.

But instead he stayed by Logan's side

Logan was a good friend. For all he claimed to lack an understating of emotional nuances he was letting Roman have his space. He’d even distracted him earlier, when his biggest concern had been the a spike of homesickness after meeting their northern customer.

He was nothing like Julius.

Roman was going to miss him so much.

***

Roman kept up his performance of normality all the way back to the main square, where they had agreed to meet the others once their mission was done. The sky was beginning to turn dark by the time they got there, though it was easy enough to navigate from the sheer number of stalls still in operation, each one boasting its own selection of colourful lanterns.

“This is fantastic!” Roman gasped theoretically, spinning on one foot to take in the whole spectacle.

“It’s a fire hazard.” Logan muttered with a frown.

They found Virgil waiting for them by the central fountain. He had manged to find a seat on the fountains edge but was wedged between two young couples who had clearly taken the romantic festival atmosphere to heart. The healer’s shoulders were up by his ears and his cloak was wrapped so tightly around himself it looked constricting. When he saw them he sprang to his feet so quickly he almost knocked one of the young ladies into the water.

“Took you two long enough.”

Roman and Logan glanced at each other.

“Logan got lost-”

“Roman kept wandering off.”

“-We brought you baked goods!”

Virgil took one of the two remaining pastries with minimal grumbling and led them out of the square. They took the north east road, a path that curved its wary upwards into the higher levels of the city. Here the buildings were all built of a blush-pink marble that sparkled in the evening twilight. The streets were wide, with neatly arranged flowerbeds and street lights which had the steady glow of Arkazeii glow lamps rather than the flicker of oil. There were certainly no traders spread out on blankets. Logan looked distinctly unimpressed.

“Was this inn you found an…economical choice?”

“It was a ‘the whole town’s rammed and this was the only place with a room left’ choice.” Virgil snarked “and don’t worry – its one room for all four of us with no breakfast included, if you were worried about getting too… bourgeoisie…or whatever."

Logan raised his hands for peace.

“I’m sure you did the best you could.”

“Well …we were lucky.” Virgil told him, and then glanced over at Roman, his lip twitching.

“Apparently they give discounts to performers.”

***

The inn was certainly a cut above their normal haunts. With brightly painted walls almost obscured by well pruned climbing plants, outdoor seating, and a wrought iron gate leading to spacious stables behind the building.  Even the doors were of better quality then your typical village tavern – made of wood heavy enough to make a satisfying crash when Roman stormed in.

The room was crowded, but Patton really was hard to miss. Roman shoved his way through to the back table where the big man sat waiting. Leaving other customers cursing in his wake.

‘Hey kiddo!’ Patton greeted him with a wide smile “Did you-“

“Key.” Roman snarled.

Patron blinked and him, shock writ large on his face. “Sorry?”

“The key. To my room.  Give it.” Roman snapped. “It is mine right? Since you seem happy to pimp me out in exchange for-“

“Hey!” That would be Virgil. Roman half thought he had left both men behind in his rage after Virgil’s little announcement, but the elf at least seemed to have kept up. He’d reached the table just in time to hear the start of Roman’s rant. “What the hell is your problem Princey?”

“My problem? Oh I’m sorry, I’M not the one signing other people up to sing for their supper without permission Virgil.”

“You like singing for your – we thought you’d want to!”

“Well it would have been nice to have a choice!”

“Virgil. Roman.” That was Logan, it had taken longer for the shorter man to force his way through the crowd but he wasted no time now in inserting himself into Romans business. “whatever this is… it’s not about putting on a show.”

He turned to the other two. Virgil scowling, Patton wide eyed.

“He had an…episode in the market.”

“Excuse me?” Roman shouted.

“Roman, whatever disturbed you, you practically ran away.”

“Well perhaps I had simple grown tired of looking at your face? Had you considered that?”

He turned his back to Logan, rounding on Patton again: “Now, give me the-“

Patton already had his hand out, wrought iron key resting loosely in his palm.

“We’re on the fourth floor.” he said calmly as Roman snatched it from him. “First door once you get up the stairs.” Roman spun on his heel only to find Virgil blocking his path.

“Move.” Roman hissed.

“What is wrong with you?” Roman narrowed his eyes. Virgil looked angry. Looked one second away from telling him to sit down, shut up, stop causing a fuss. He wondered if he could get past him without using his sword.

“I’ll bring you up some food in a bit,” Roman blinked glancing back at Patton, startled. The warrior still hadn’t moved from the table - admittedly no easy task in the cramped corner- and was looking at him calmly.

“I don’t want anything” Roman muttered, sullen.

“But you might later.” Patton smiled at him. Not knowing how to respond Roman turned back to Virgil. The elf glanced between the two, chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before sighing and stepping to the side. Not fast enough to prevent Roman from knocking his shoulder with his own as he pushed past however.

It wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped.

**

At a guess, the room was normally meant for storage not guests. Two rickety looking beds had been shoved in, so close together they might as well have been one. There was one small table forced between the end of one bed and the wall, with a basin of water perched on top. Someone,  presumably Patton, had organised their bags neatly at the end of the beds. Roman’s was at the far end, closest to the window. Then Patton, then Virgil with Logan closest to the door, next to the only built in shelf where a candle had been left for the night. Roman would be able to wake with the dawn, as he liked to do, and Logan would have light for the longest to stay up and read.

Romans lute was not on the floor with his pack.  Instead he found in had been placed on the bed itself, propped up on his pillow, away from any potential harm.

Whatever righteous anger he had been able to hang on too as he stomped upstairs dropped out of him now like a stone from a cliff. Without it, the despair he had felt in the market came rushing back. He sank down right there by the door, bringing his knees up to his chest as he’d done in the forest. As he used to do in Julius’ room.

He almost wished Julius was here – at least he would tell him not to cry.

The through was so absurd he let out a weak snotty laugh and buried his head in his arms.

He needed to leave Steveange.

He didn’t want to leave them.

But they had planned to stay for a week at least, hopefully longer.

Convince them to leave early? Except he couldn’t explain why. Find them a job out of the city? How? When the coronation and accompanying celebrations were over it would be easy enough to find a traveling group in need of a little extra protection, but for now no one was leaving.

They’d been excited to come. Virgil want to try the city baths, famed for their heated pools and soothing water. Logan had been talking about the library for half the trip. Patton was just excited to explore the city itself, meet the people and try the food. He loved when they stopped in busier towns but it was a rarity.

There was no way Roman would be able to convince them to leave just because he wanted to.

Roman did what other people wanted. It was all he knew how to do.

And even if he had a convincing reason…well, they probably didn’t want him around anymore anyway.

He scrambled up, grabbed the first pillow he could reach and buried his face in it to muffle a scream of frustration which turned into more sobs.

He was so pathetic.

Since he’d left home, he’d kept his memories, kept Romulus, buried as deep as he could. But now it was like Romulus was just under his skin. Ready to jump out If he let himself slip. With all his anger and hurt and fear.

Romulus was a liability.

Romulus was a murder. Or would be. If Roman couldn’t think.

He stepped over to his pack, still hugging the pillow to him like a teddy bear, and started to review the contents. He didn’t need to take all of this with him, surely? Half of it wasn’t even his, their belongings having become more and more intertwined the longer they travelled.

The healing salve was rightfully Virgil’s, the soft shirt he wrapped himself in during cold nights was actually Patton’s, at least one of the notebooks belonged to Logan.

He opened the nearest book to check, but instead of Logan's neat lists his own sloppy scrawl stared back at him. Song lyrics and passing thoughts and, on the next page, an unfinished sketch. It was of Virgil, hand covering his mouth but eyes betraying his laughter. The other pages, he knew contained scribbles of all three of them. He flicked back and found his favourite, the page marked with a yellowed leaf he couldn’t remember picking up.

It showed all three in one sketch. Logan, sleeping and so looking years younger, head pillowed on Virgil’s thigh. Virgil was turned towards Patton, rolling his eyes as if to say ‘can you believe this?’ but making no move to actually shift scholar off him. Patton was laughing, he was the most well rendered of the three figures, you could almost see his shoulders shaking.

Roman looked at it for a moment. Then slowly replaced the book mark and closed it. This would have to come with him.

A knock at the door startled him so badly he dropped the book, which bounced under the bed.

“Kiddo? Can I come it?”

Fuck.

Patton. He had -he had been so, so unbelievably rude to Patton.

His first instinct, which was admittedly not a good one, was to jump out of the window.

Roman took a deep breath. Focusing on the mundane task of sorting items had cleared his head somewhat. He was still a little shaky but his eyes were dry. He knew what would be expected of him now - Romulus had spent most of his life apologising.

“Come in.” he croaked and stood, squaring his shoulders.

Patton entered alone, two bowls of something that smelled delicious cradled in his arms.

Roman ignored the sudden spike of hunger – the fruit tart seemed a long time ago now- and bowed from the waist. He kept his back ramrod straight and bent low enough that it quickly became uncomfortable. It was the kind of bow Romulus would only have given his father or elder brother.

“Patton, I owe you my most humble apology I-“

“Roman I am so sorry.”

“The way I spoke to you was the height of disrespect and unprin- ungentlemanly behaviour I – wait, what?”

He straightened up and looked at Patton, confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“Roman, I – wait hold on.” Patton handed him one of the bowls and turned to close the door. “Do you mind if we sit?” he asked and Roman nodded, smiling despite himself. Patton was the politest person he had ever met.

Once they were both seated, Patton’s bad leg stretched out in front of him, Patton looked at him seriously.

“Roman you were right downstairs. We should never have promised you’d perform without asking you first - no it's true!”

But Roman was already shaking his head. “Patton you were fine, you know I love singing! I was the one acting like, like some sort of beast I-“

“I know you love singing but that doesn’t mean we get to pick and choose when-“

“But I wanted to perform as much as possible whilst we were here- I’d told you that!”

“-especially after travelling all week. We were, er, presumptuous.”

Roman stared at him.

“Unlike this soup, which is pre – scrumptious.”

Patton beamed at him. Roman groaned.

“Anyway I’m sorry for letting you stew-“ he held up the bowl again waggling his eyebrows “- up here for so long, but we needed to make things right with the landlord.”

Roman, who had been starting to relax under the force of two puns in a row, tensed again. “What things?”

Patton smiled. “We paid the difference – you don’t have to perform! Uhh unless you want to of course, but it’s your choice.” He nodded decisively whilst Roman gaped.

“b-but isn’t it expensive?”

Patton just shrugged, “Well, the last job paid well didn’t it?”

“Not that well!”

“Aw c’mon kiddo, what’s the point of having money if we don’t spend it? Right?”

Not knowing what to say. Roman shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth without tasting it. Guilt turning the meal to ash.

“Patton…how many days did you pay for?”

“The rest of the week! And there’s still enough to have some fun at the markets, don’t worry, we can all have a – hey!” Patton put his bowl down, shuffling closer to put one warm hand on Roman’s knee.” Roman, hey kiddo, buddy what’s wrong?”

Roman found, quite to his surprise, that he was trembling. He followed Patton's example and put the bowl carefully on the floor before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I…can’t Pat. I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

“Go?” Patton looked at him with confusion clear in his big brown eyes, “But why kiddo? You don’t like the inn?”

Roman groaned shaking his head “not the inn. The city. I’m not – I can’t – if ‘m here it- “ he let out a whine of frustration, hating his curse heavy tongue.

Never tell anyone about our conversation.

“I just-“ My brother is coming and if I see him I-

“If – “ my brother is coming and he won’t be alone. There are people who know who I really am and I –

“Okay.”

Romans head snapped up.

Patton still had a frown on his face but when he looked at Roman his eyes were as serious as Roman had ever seen them. “If you can’t tell me the details it’s fine but-“ he lent forward, “Roman, are you safe here?”

Without breathing, Roman shook his head. No.

Patton nodded and squeezed his knee. “Well then of course we’re not staying.” Hesitantly, he lifted his arm and rested one large hand on the back of Romans neck. Forcing their eyes to meet. “Whatever it is – we will help you. You know that don’t you?”

Embarrassingly, Roman felt his eyes filling with tears.

“We’ll leave in the morning.” Patton told him. Patton stood up, taking Romans congealing stew and his own empty bowl and headed to the door. He paused, one hand on the door handle. “Everything’s going to be okay kiddo.” he smiled, “We love you.”

And he was gone.

For a long moment Roman sat frozen, staring at the closed door.

“Yeah.” He agreed, eventually. “Right.”

Except. They didn’t. Not really.

They loved Roman.

Roman had screamed and insulted them and instead of kicking him out of their group like they had every right to do, they had given up what little money they had just to make Roman feel better.

And Roman was a lie.

Roman was Romulus with a bad haircut. And Romulus was everything they weren’t’ – a stupid, pampered, prince with no power or pride.

Patton might be willing to upheaval their lives just on Roman's say so, But Logan and Virgil were more practically minded. They would want explanations. Might even demand them.

Never tell anyone about your curse. Remove yourself from anyone who might ask you about it and put as much distance between you as you can.

Romulus was a liability.

One they shouldn’t have to deal with.

He strapped his lute to his back and secured his dagger in a hidden pocket that Virgil had taught him how to sow.  Everything else he left, including, after a moments hesitation, his sword. He had been training Logan to use it, on and off, and whilst the scholar was no solider he was improving. At the very least, it would be some source of protection until they could hire another swordhand for their travels.

The climbing plants he had noticed on the way in made getting down from the window much easier than he had originally anticipated. Dusting off his hands he skirted the building, taking care to avoid the large windows of the main hall, until he found the entrance to the the stables.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he had stolen before when he first left home. He would have to again now in order to put some distance between the city and himself.

It wasn’t his worst plan.

And it might even have worked, had they not already been waiting for him.

When Romulus was eleven, and had taken to following the young Marquis de Orenlla around like a love sick puppy. Even now, under the weak light of a covered lantern and with almost fifteen years distance from the memories, he still recognised him instantly.

“Good evening, your highness.” The Marquis smile was as dazzling as he remembered, although his eyes were colder.

He had no army with him, and no weapon that Roman could see. But then, why would he need one?

“Come with me.”

Roman went.

part 4

[clockworkswans]

Heather can ask you your opinion on something I remember your run on posts they were always very thoughtful I loved them- Its about ABP some people are saying that SH shouldn't kiss back YS because she wasn't able to consent I don't know how to feel I start watching the drama bc of them but now I don't know what to think I feel bad ngl and worried about next eps too bc if they do the do :/ I even have doubts to continue watching idk how u feel?

Hello, of course, you can!

Note: please don't interact with this if you're going to be rude, I am happy to discuss things but we are all adults and not twitter stans so let's remember we're all people.

So, I do have thoughts on this but overall, I saw no issue with the kiss and that's because of a) context and b) nuance within realistic set-ups. as in my experience with similar events.

Context: both characters are clearly attracted to each other and are constantly shown to be respectful humans. SH literally chased down a gross man and helped bring him to justice in the same episode. YS has also been shown to be a confident pursuer. If anything, she has been the one 'crossing the line' as SH said before. Because of this context, the kiss is an accumulation of their back and forth. They have feelings and shockingly, when alcohol is involved, your brain says GO FOR IT.

Nuance: idk if anyone here has drunkenly kissed or confessed to a crush but...you're still in control of your actions. Being drunk doesn't equal a lack of ability to consent. If YS was unable to speak or literally asleep and he kissed her, yeah that's gross, but she took the first step and kissed him, and if anything, SH was surprised lol?

Personally, having been in similar situations, I've never felt my consent was disrespected. And I believe SH is a character who would never take advantage of a woman, given the effort he went through to assist her and help other victims of said creepy dude.

I do understand if people have issues with this because of their own experiences, that is a different thing entirely. But my opinion concludes: they're both consenting adults in a situation where feelings were heightened. In real life, a lot of the time you don't get a simple exchange of 'hello, i like you, please may i kiss you' ...wait for 5 seconds....kiss politely'. Consent is not just that, it is evident in your actions and feelings and trust of the other person. This is once again, my experiences of it, and although I am able to see other sides, I do not see any issues with the scene.

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 56

Masterlist

A/N: We're so close to the end, guys!!! I can't believe this is almost done.

----

The dinner has been going on for over two hours already. It is a formal event, with everyone dressed in their finery, even though there are only four people in attendance.

Nakia’s chosen successor, a woman named Zarina, died in battle three weeks ago, and now that Nakia has chosen a new successor, tradition demands that she introduce the woman to her fellow queens. She announced her choice yesterday, and now, for the five following evenings, her and her chosen heir will dine with each of the other queens in turn. With Angolere being one of the most influential human countries alongside Scythia, it is Andromache the first dinner is held with. She was allowed to bring one companion, and as her own successor, Ania, is busy elsewhere, she chose Mor.

The dinner has been a tense affair so far, though more because of the nature of the meeting than because of the company. It’s meant as an opportunity for Andromache to get to know Elmira, Nakia’s successor, and so the conversation is more of an interrogation.

“And how do you feel about the treaty for after the war we are currently working on?” Andromache asks between bites of her dessert.

Elmira shifts a bit in her seat, whether from a show of nerves or restlessness, Andromache cannot tell. Either way, diplomacy isn’t her greatest strength, as Andromache has been quick to notice. It isn’t necessarily a problem – Scythia’s main role within the human realms is traditionally a military one – but it is of concern to Andromache, whose country is far more involved in foreign relations. She needs to know how well she will be able to work with Elmira, especially since the younger woman seemed rather brash even if she tries to hide it.

“I am unsure,” Elmira says. “There are many good things about it, but I’m other parts worry me. For example, I am in favour of the freed humans being granted territories of their own, but I worry about them being so far away from each other. Our countries all border each other, but these new countries, while relatively big, will be scattered throughout Fae territory. Should they be attacked, getting help to them will be difficult.”

Andromache nods. That has been a common cause of worry amongst the human leadership, and it makes sense for someone as involved in the military as Elmira to bring it up. “And what would you propose instead?”

Elmira hesitates. Very clearly swallows the reply she had on the tip of her tongue and instead says, “I have no viable alternative, I am afraid. It’s just something we will have to keep in mind, but I don’t like how this leaves us at the mercy of the Fae.”

“A valid concern,” Andromache says. “Ideally, human and Fae countries are supposed to grow together more closely over the next years through trade and diplomatic relations.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Elmira mutters. Nakia shoots her a disapproving look and she quickly adds, “I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad idea, just very optimistic? Don’t get me wrong, I have worked with Fae in the cavalry, and they aren’t all horrible, but it’s the Loyalists who worry me.”

“We’ll certainly have to remain on our guard,” Andromache concedes. Elmira makes good points, although Andromache probably wouldn’t take her along the Alliance meetings anytime soon. “What would you suggest as possible precautions we might take?”

From there on, the conversation continues in the same manner for about half an hour. Elmira does a good enough job. She raises many valid concerns, although she tends to miss out on nuances and the reasons why certain ideas are not viable, but she always listens when Andromache corrects her, which is the important thing here. Being wrong is no problem – insisting on an opinion after having been proven wrong would be.

As the dessert is being cleared away, Elmira takes her leave so that Andromache and Nakia can discuss the meeting in private. Mor is about to leave as well, but Nakia motions for her to remain seated.

“Stay,” she says. “I have another subject to discuss with Andromache, and your input might be needed.” Mor sits back down, and Nakia turns to Andromache. “What do you think?”

“She’s talented enough,” Andromache says. “A good leader, from what I hear, and she already seems to have more talent at military strategy than me.” Elmira spent the last few years of war leading one of the flanks of Nakia’s cavalry and made quite a name for herself doing it. “She’s a bit too brash, but given time, I’m sure she will grow out of it.”

Elmira is not necessarily the choice she would have expected Nakia to make – too wild, too young, for the other queen’s taste – but Andromache has no concerns that would be major enough to withhold consent.

“If you want to choose her, you have my blessing,” she says. “But Nakia, are you sure you want to leave your country to someone this young? She’s only twenty-five.”

“I don’t exactly plan on dying tomorrow,” Nakia replies dryly. “Besides, Elmira is fully qualified. She studied and served her time in the army.” She picks up a cup of tea and takes a sip before glancing at Andromache again. “And twenty-five is the age you were when the war began, Andromache.”

Andromache sighs. She knows this and certainly doesn’t want to imply that Elmira is incompetent, or that Nakia chose badly. It’s just that Elmira is so young. It might be that Andromache first met her when she was still a teenager, but she has a hard time imagining her as a ruler.

“The age Miryam is now,” Mor adds unhelpfully, making Andromache wince.

She generally tries to ignore the fact that Miryam is actually almost seven years younger than her. Miryam certainly doesn’t act like it, and thinking too hard about it only makes Andromache feel bad about… well, a few things, really.

“Now that you mentioned Miryam,” Nakia interjects, firmly shifting the subject away from her chosen successor’s age, “that was actually the other subject I wanted to discuss. You two wouldn’t happen to know what her plan for the Black Land is, would you?”

Andromache quietly shakes her head, Mor mirroring the movement. Miryam and Drakon announced their plan to march on the Black Land earlier today, causing no small amount of confusion in the council. It is no secret that Drakon won’t ever be able to muster enough soldiers to take the Black Land, yet they didn’t request aid from the Alliance, which was enough to raise alarms with Andromache.

“Great,” Nakia says. “And you have no idea why she’s refusing the Alliance’s help either, I assume?”

“I’m sure she has a plan,” Mor says.

“It doesn’t matter how good her plan is – she should still have enough soldiers with her, if only as back-up,” Nakia replies. “She spent nine years working for this. I simply don’t believe that she would start getting cocky and throw all caution to the wind this close to the end. There’s some reason behind this, and I want to know what it is.”

“You could ask her?” Mor suggest. Her tone is just light enough that Andromache can’t quite tell if she is being ironic or not. She decides to interpret it as irony and grins at her.

“Or we could try to track down a seer somewhere and see if they can tell us. Might be more likely to get us answers.”

Nakia snorts and Mor seems hesitant for a moment before smiling back at her.

Andromache grins as well, but quickly sobers up. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she says. “I wish I could come along.”

Truth is, she doesn’t know why she is this worried. Maybe she shouldn’t be. Miryam is acting strange, yes, but it’s hardly the first time, and so far, she always got herself out of any trouble she landed in. Maybe it’s some lingering guilt for letting Miryam deal with so many parts of politics (mainly the ones Andromache doesn’t want to deal with).

Or maybe it’s because Miryam and Jurian are painfully similar, and if this story ended badly for Jurian, there’s no saying the same won’t happen to Miryam.

“You are needed in Hybern,” Nakia says. “We can’t have you running around on the other side of the Continent, and we can’t spare anyone else, either. At least not anyone Miryam would listen to.”

“I could go,” Mor says.

“You?” Nakia raises an eyebrow.

“Why not?” Mor shrugs. “I’m not really needed anywhere, Miryam and I are friends and I’m powerful enough to be able to protect her. I could make sure nothing happens to her.”

Nakia shrugs. “Good idea. Why not.”

“Yes. Thank you, Mor,” Andromache agrees.

And it is a good idea.  Mor is a brilliant fighter, more than capable of protecting Miryam if necessary, and on top of that, she’s trained enough in Continental politics to be able to possibly figure out what reasons Miryam has for not wanting anyone from the Alliance with her.

Still, Andromache is a bit uneasy about this idea. Part of it is worry for Mor, but the other part… She hates to admit it, but she doesn’t feel like Mor if best-suited to this task. The problem, she thinks, is that Mor tends to be fooled quite easily by any act Miryam puts on.

She doesn’t blame Mor, really. Miryam is very good at pretending that everything is fine and she is perfectly in control – what happened with the wall spell effectively shattered that illusion for Andromache, but it’s still easy to fall for. And anyways, it probably won’t matter at all. Chances are everything will go well and she’s just fretting needlessly.

----

The timeline for their invasion ends up being far tighter than Miryam would have liked. The spell she plans to cast (hopes she won’t have to cast) needs to be cast at a full moon, so by the time the preparations are done, they have exactly eleven days left to get to the centre of the Black Land, or at least close to it. Either that or wait another month, possibly losing their advantage in the process.

It is a right timeframe, but Sinna says that it is manageable, assuming that Ravenia will withdraw her soldiers to protect her capital instead of trying to defend the outer towns – which is likely, since the majority of Ravenia’s army is still in Erithia and she will likely want to wait for them to return before risking battle. So eleven days before the full moon, Miryam, Drakon and two thirds of the Seraphim army leave their hideout in the mountains.

They reach the border of the Black Land a day later. Mor joins them just as they set up camp, dressed in ornate golden armour and with a bag slung over her back. When she spots Miryam and Drakon, she waves.

“Nice armour,” Drakon calls out to her. It is indeed. With the breastplate inlaid with gold and the shimmering swords Drakon gave to her for her birthday, she looks truly luminescent.

Mor grins broadly and hurries over. “Thanks. My uncle gave it to me.”

Miryam arches an eyebrow. “Your uncle not only allowed you to come along to this, but also gave you this fancy armour?” She laughs. “Are you sure he wasn’t replaced by some shapeshifter?”

“Yes, well…” Mor blushes. “I may have implied that I would report back to him on… you know. Things that might interest him.”

“Ah.” Miryam tugs a strand of hair back behind her ear, smile fading. “So you’re here as his spy.”

Mor blushes an even deeper shade of red. “Sorry. Yes, kind of. But if there are things you don’t want him to know, I won’t tell him.”

Miryam looks around to see if anyone is close enough to listen. Fortunately, no one seems to be in hearing distance. What is Mor thinking to address this subject out in the open? On the other hand, her uncle’s spymaster is one of her best friends, so maybe she doesn’t need to worry about being overheard.

“It’s no problem,” she says. “I doubt you’ll stumble upon any secrets I don’t want your uncle to know during this trip, but we can still talk it over once everything is done. Just to be sure.”

Mor nods, a relieved smile spreading over her face. Fortunately, that is also the end of this rather absurd conversation as Mor turns to Drakon and begins to ask about how things are going back in Erithia.

They cross the borders that night and things go smoothly for the first couple of days. Like Sinna estimated, Ravenia decided against defending her borders with the few soldiers she has left and withdrew her army to the capital. She probably hopes that Miryam will be busy working her way through the countryside long enough for her to bring up the rest of her army from Erithia.

Unfortunately for Ravenia, the local governments of her cities don’t seem particularly happy to be serving as a distraction for an enemy army. Undoubtedly, they know what they stand to lose if they fight, and that Miryam has a reputation for being extremely lenient with anyone who agrees to let their human slaves go.

Most of the villages they reach appear to be abandoned, the citizens likely fled from the approaching army, but when they reach the first city, it already has white flags hanging from its walls. The delegation the city sends to negotiate with her is all bows and pleasantries and they nearly fall over themselves in their haste to accept Miryam’s offer.

There are well over eight thousand slaves living in the city and every single one of them makes it out unharmed.

Miryam stands and watches as they walk out of the main gate in a huge group, crowded tightly together like they hope their numbers will offer security. They look so scared. Miryam certainly can’t blame them. They may have been told that they are being freed, may have heard of Miryam, but they still see an army of Fae soldiers waiting for them when most of them have no reason to associate Fae with anything other than death and suffering.

Miryam did her best to instruct the Seraphim soldiers on how to behave around the humans in advance – unthreatening, careful, polite and respectful being the key terms. Don’t touch people without permission, make sure to be clear that requests are requests and can be refused, keep your power in check. She has faith that the Seraphim will try their best, but she certainly doesn’t expect it to work out without problems.

As it turns out, she was right. For all that she tries to help, to calm people down and mediate, she can’t be everywhere at once and wherever she looks, things aren’t quite working out. She can’t even blame the Seraphim for not doing everything quite right, even if she occasionally feels like snapping at them for speaking too loudly or not keeping enough distance. The only humans they ever spent any amount of time around are the human soldiers fighting for the Alliance – Jurian’s soldiers, for the most part - and they are anything but scared of Fae. Besides, the Seraphim are soldiers in the middle of a war being made to deal with a group of terrified civilians, which would be difficult even under normal circumstances.

She really should have found a way to bring some humans along. But all the human armies were otherwise occupied and she didn’t want to put any civilians at risk by asking them to accompany her to a war front.

The only solution, Miryam and Drakon decide after the first hour made it painfully clear that their current approach isn’t working, is to mostly split the two groups. The army camp stays an army camp, and they set up a second camp for the humans next to it to mostly run itself. Miryam lets the humans select their own leaders, and then helps them with setting up a way to run their own camp – distributing food, sewing tents, digging latrines.

From there on, things get easier. Really, Miryam should have figured out this would be the better approach right away. Of course, these humans would prefer to be able to run their own camp and organize their own lives than to be helped by a bunch of faeries they neither know nor trust. Miryam would certainly have preferred it that way if she had been in their situation.

Things continue the same way as they march on. Each new group of humans integrates itself more easily, mostly because there are other humans to help them along. Miryam meets with the leaders the humans elected thrice daily to see if any problems come up, but there are hardly any, and if there is anything, the humans usually deal with it without needing any assistance.

Miryam spends most of her time in the human camp now (usually without Drakon, who doesn’t want to intrude on the humans). There is always some fire where she can sit, some people who are happy to accept her into their company. In the beginning, they treat her with a strange almost-reverence, which is more than a little uncomfortable, but things quickly get easier. She is one of them, after all, no different than they are. She isn’t special, she just happened to be the one lucky enough to get out.

While she is with them, it is easy to forget what is about to come. She is so happy, so relieved and so proud that there are times when she finds herself forgetting entirely where they are. Now, here with her people, it is so very easy to imagine the world they will build once Ravenia is defeated, and the idea that they might lose seems outlandish. Besides, everything is going well and with each day that passes without problems, it seems more and more like this luck will last forever.

Reality rears its ugly head on the seventh day when they meet the first resistance. They reached another city, this one called Rahine, set up their camp a mile or so away from the city walls and send a messenger to the city heads.

After a bit of back-and-forth, they decide to meet in the middle ground between the army and Rahine. No guards, four people from each side meeting in the exact middle. Miryam and Drakon choose Sinna and Mor to accompany them (the decision made partially because together, they should easily be able to fend off any attackers). Rahine sends four members of the city council, all of them High Fae and all glowering even before the meeting begins.

The introductions are done quickly enough, and Miryam recites the usual terms of surrender. The members of the enemy delegation let her continue before one of them shakes their heads.

“We have no interest in your offer. We will not surrender.”

Miryam knew it had to happen sometime. Still, her stomach twists. From the first day, she was scared of what would happen when the first city resisted – of the danger it would put the humans trapped in the city in, and of what she would have to do after the battle.

“Allow me to be entirely frank,” she says, “you don’t stand a chance and we all know it. We have more soldiers than your city has people, you cannot expect to win this. The terms I offer are beyond generous. You’d be mad not to take them.”

“Better to die than to surrender to mortal scum,” one of the councilmembers hisses at her, and, as if to emphasize her words, spits at her feet.

Miryam sighs. “If this is your problem, you are free to surrender to Drakon instead. Or surrender to Mor, if a faerie isn’t acceptable either and you will only accept defeat from a fellow High Fae. I don’t particularly care as long as my demands are fulfilled.”

This is completely ridiculous and unnecessary. It doesn’t matter that Miryam knew it would have to happen – some city was bound to test her resolve before they reached Lako, the Black Land’s capital. Still, Miryam hates this, hates that she already knows that this will only ever lead to hundreds of unnecessary deaths.

“No.”

Nothing she could say will change their minds, but still, Miryam gives it one last try. “You realize,” she says, “that you are the first city to fight back, and once we’ve defeated you – which, I guarantee you, we will – we’ll have to make an example out of you.”

“We will fight,” one of the councilmembers simply says.

Miryam nods, turning back towards their camp. “Then you will die.”

----

The battle is over, the outcome as predictable as the casualties were unnecessary. Drakon’s army lost less than two hundred soldiers. Enemy casualties are at least six times as high, plus several civilian deaths. The city leaders refused to surrender far too long, way after it was already clear that they didn’t stand a chance and it caused hundreds of people to die needlessly. Even worse, their insistence to fight a hopeless battle now forces Miryam and Drakon to make an example out of them.

They sit together with Sinna in a tent outside of the city where Drakon’s soldiers are just busy securing their position. The city council is already in custody and has been brought into the Erithian camp for safety, the captured enemy soldiers have been tied up and are kept under guard. Now, all that’s left to decide is what to do with the city.

“There’s a number of options,” Sinna says. She sounds casual, but Drakon knows her well enough to see the tension in her stance. She doesn’t like this either. “You could torch the city.” Drakon flinches, and she lifts her hands. “Without the people in it, obviously. Just the buildings. Or at least get the people out and allow the soldiers to loot for a few hours if that’s what you’d prefer. The soldiers would like that, I think. Of course, executions are always an option as well, but I thought you’d rather avoid that.”

Miryam doesn’t even turn from where she is standing at the tent’s entrance, staring over at the city. Drakon can’t tell if she is listening.

Sighing, Drakon turns back to Sinna. He knows what’s expected of him: To pick one of the options and do so quickly, without a fuss, the way a good general, a good leader would. Not to flinch from a hard choice. What would you suggest? That’s what he should ask, that’s the question that won’t make him seem like a child unable to make the necessary decisions to Sinna.

But it feels so wrong. There is no practical reason why this city needs to be destroyed – it’s just punishment, a political show of power. And Drakon doesn’t think that’s a good enough reason at all. If it was necessary to save the humans living in the city, he’d do it without hesitation, but they are already freed. They aren’t facing enemies there – this is a city full of terrified civilians that completely at their mercy, and Drakon doesn’t want to be unnecessarily cruel.

Still, wouldn’t some sort of punishment be fitting? These people are slave owners, they have committed such atrocities and never once faced consequences for them. They would deserve punishment. But because there are so many of them, there is no way they can ever be punished, no way any justice can ever be just.

There just isn’t a good option. Their ideal outcome would be that no one gets hurt. They leave with the freed humans, the Fae in the Black Land get to continue on with their lives, Ravenia gets exiled. But even that isn’t just. The Fae will just get away with everything they have done. How can that be justice?

The other option though… Well, Drakon tries to tell himself that if all goes well, no one will die. They will be uncomfortable, sure, but they won’t die. (Unless something goes wrong. Unless Ravenia decides to be unreasonable. Unless the spell Miryam has planned doesn’t work the way she intended.)

There is no perfect outcome, that much is sure. But randomly punishing the people living in Rahine certainly won’t make anything better.

“Is there no other way?” He asks.

Sinna sighs through her nose. “If there isn’t some sort of retaliation for this, nothing will stop the other cities from trying to resist as well. After all, why wouldn’t they? And while I am fully aware that this war isn’t about us, many of the soldiers do feel that this is some sort of revenge for them losing their homes.” She glances at Miryam who still doesn’t seem to be listening. “I know it isn’t, of course,” he says, “but that won’t keep them from growing dissatisfied if they don’t see their enemies punished in some way.”

He knew this was pointless, of course, but still he had to ask. Now he has his answer, though, and he can’t push further. Asking once is forgivable, but doing so again, knowing he’s risking more death and mutiny, would not be a show of mercy but of stupidity.

Only what is he supposed to do next.

“I can deal with it in your stead if you’d prefer,” Sinna says. “It will bother me far less than it would bother you.”

“No, I – “

“I’ll do it,” Miryam says from her place at the tent’s entrance, finally turning to face them. She presses her lips together, face grave. “This is my war. It’s only fair that I should deal with the fallout.”

-

They hold judgement the next day, on the battlefield between the camp and the city walls. The captured soldiers have been herded into a group at the camp’s border, the other prisoners – including the members of the city council – stand a good distance away, all of them chained up. The civilians have been ordered to watch, some standing on the walls, others down below. Drakon’s soldiers are positioned throughout, making sure that no one gets any stupid ideas. (The freed humans aren’t in attendance, although many of them are watching from their own camp, a safe distance away from their former masters.)

Drakon stands at the front of the assembled crowd, flanked by Miryam and Sinna. His role in what is to come is minor – all he has to do is watch without letting on how uneasy this entire situation makes him. It should be manageable.

Miryam waits until everyone is assembled, then steps forward.

“I will not bore any of you with unnecessary introductions,” she says, “as I assume everyone knows what happened yesterday, and why we are here today. Hundreds of people died needlessly,” she says. “I assume it goes without saying that there needs to be some sort of repercussion.”

Rahine’s civilians seem to get more nervous with each word. By the time Miryam comes to the word repercussion, many of them seem downright terrified and Drakon really wishes Miryam would make it clear that she doesn’t intend to kill any of them.

“But I realize, of course, that most of the people here did not have a say in this.” She smiles in a way that can only be interpreted as mocking. “I am sure that many of you were in fact fiercely against the choice your city council made and would have ended slavery years ago already if it had been up to you.” She pauses before continuing, serious this time. “And considering that we did manage to liberate the humans living in this city, and the large majority of them is unharmed, I have chosen to be lenient.

“The only people who will be punished are those who actually made the decision to resist.” She turns to face the members of the city council. “My lords and ladies,” she says. “I believe that decision was yours. I also believe that you made it knowing fully well that you stood no chance, and thereby deliberately caused any deaths that followed. Youare therefore sentenced to death.”

Drakon had told himself that he wouldn’t look at Rahine’s nobility as their death sentence is spoken, but he still finds his eyes straying towards them. They look so shocked. Some of them manage to keep their faces blank, but most seem caught somewhere between disbelief and terror.

Most of them, this much is obvious, didn’t so much as consider this outcome. Understandably so. While it is common in the aftermath of a successful invasion to punish cities or territories that resisted, that punishment doesn’t usually hit the nobility. It is the general population that suffers, while nobles are often offered a second chance by whoever defeated them.

Drakon finds Miryam’s approach far more just. That way, at least, the punishment hits the people who actually made the choice instead of the hundreds or thousands of people who weren’t given a voice at all. Horrifying as the entire situation is, this is the most merciful option by far.

Many of Rahine’s citizens don’t seem to agree. Muttering rises amongst the people on the walls, amongst the captured soldiers. Then, one voice rings out over the rest.

“This is unjust!” Someone shouts.

The muttering dies down, heads turning, eyes searching the crowd of captured soldiers for the speaker. Hustling ensues, then, a young man steps forward. He is trembling so hard it’s visible even from where Drakon is standing, but keeps his head high.

“This is war. We were fighting for our freedom,” he says. “You don’t get to name us murders, execute us and call it justice.”

Drakon looks over to Miryam to see how she reacts. She is watching the young soldier, not a hint of anger on her face. If anything, she looks vaguely curious.

“No,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “You weren’t fighting for your freedom. You were fighting for your perceived right to own other people as property, to take away their freedom and their lives. You are murderers and deserve to be punished as such, and the fact that you don’t see that only goes to show that you refuse to acknowledge an entire group of people as people for your convenience.”

She tilts her head to the side ever so slightly. “I’m not surprised by this,” she says. “However, I still thought you might agree with my judgement, if not for the sake of what is right, then at least as some sort of retribution for what happened during the battle.” Stunned silence falls. Miryam lets a few moments pass before she abruptly turns to the chained members of the city council. “My lords,” she says with a mocking incline of her head. “Would one of you be so kind to inform these people of what terms I offered to you during our meeting yesterday?”

The lords remain silent for a moment. Most of them don’t even seem to hear her, too busy staring at the ground or looking around for some kind of help. But then, one of them lifts her head.

“You demanded we free all slaves living in and around our city,” she says. Drakon remembers her from the meeting – she was the one who spat at Miryam’s feet. “We were to allow them to take any goods they could carry as compensation and sign a contract to never own slaves again and to not offer Ravenia assistance against you.”

Miryam nods slowly. Around them, the enemy soldiers and defeated civilians begin to mutter amongst themselves. Drakon frowns slightly at them. Could they not have known what the terms for surrender were?”

“Yes,” Miryam says. “That would have been the terms.” She turns back to the soldier who first addressed her. “Far more pleasant, I think, then getting killed in battle. And you lost more than two thirds of your numbers, didn’t you?” She asks. “And over two hundred civilians on top of that. And yet, it looks to me like your city heads who sent you to die in a pointless battle, knowing you could not win, are all still alive. As are their families.”

The muttering grows louder, making it sound like Drakon is standing in the middle of an angry swarm of bees. Now, most of the people seem angrier with their own leaders than with Miryam.

“You don’t seriously mean for us to believe that you are doing this for our sakes,” the soldier says, but he sounds unsure.

“No, of course not,” Miryam says, voice hardening. “In fact, you may rest assured that I will never do anything for your sake, or that of any other slave owner. I do not wish to harm you, although that is more out of personal kindness than anything else, and you might want to thank the god of your choice for this. Still, I guarantee you that we wouldn’t be having this conversation, or any conversation at all, if you had harmed the humans living in your city.” She looks around the crowd. “You are alive because they are, and because I do not enjoy repaying suffering with suffering,” she says. “It’s simple as that.”

No one questions her this time. Drakon doesn’t know if it is because the people are angry enough at their leaders that they now agree to their deaths, or if they are scared that Miryam will have the next one to argue executed alongside them. Either way, chances are word of this will spread. If all goes well, the leaders of the next city they reach will think twice before refusing them.

The city leaders are brought up to the city walls, nooses tied around their necks. Drakon knows he should be watching – this is as much his order than it is Miryam’s – but he has little experience watching executions and isn’t sure if he’ll be able to hide his unease, so he instead keeps his eyes trained on a spot on the city walls slightly left from the soon-to-be-dead Fae.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Fae be pushed forward. The bodies twitch for a while. Drakon very stubbornly does not look. Soon enough, they fall still.

Miryam is silent for a moment longer. Then, she raises her voice into the ensuing silence. “You may take them down and see to it that they get a proper funeral,” she says and turns away without waiting to see if anyone will follow her order. Drakon follows after her.

As soon as they are in their tent, Miryam rushes over to the bowl of water that has been set out on the table. She sprinkles a bit of water in her face, then starts rubbing at her hands like she is trying to wash off some invisible stain.

“I hate this,” she finally says, voice small. “I hate having to act like this.” She spins around, water splattering to the ground, and shakes her head. Strands of hair are coming loose from her braid. “I don’t want to act so indifferent, so cruel. These people deserve it, they do, but I…” She shakes her head. “Just because they deserve death doesn’t mean I want to play executioner. But if I don’t, they’ll think me weak, and then, things will just get worse and even more people will die.”

“I know,” Drakon says softly. He is well aware that Miryam needs to show resolve now so that later, when they negotiate with Ravenia, she will take any threats Miryam makes seriously. “But it’s almost over. We’re so close to winning.”

“I know, but I’m scared,” Miryam says softly. “Of what Ravenia might do, of what I will have to do if she refuses to surrender.”

Drakon doesn’t have a response to that – it scares him as well – so he just takes her hand.

----

The next cities all surrender without a fight, so what Miryam did in Rahine must have been enough to convince the leadership of the next cities that surrendering is the smarter option. (Miryam is glad. If another city had resisted, she would have taken more drastic measures, and she is certainly glad to have avoided it.) The further they advance, the bigger their group becomes, and the bigger it becomes, the slower they travel. They started out with a few thousand Seraphim soldiers plus a few hundred people working around the army camp. By the time they approach Lako, they have almost ten times as many people, far more civilians than soldiers by now.

Even better, the further the march, the more things seem to calm down between the humans and the Seraphim. The faeries are beginning to learn what they can and cannot do, while the humans grow more confident with each day that passes without incidents, and before long, the first mixed groups are sitting together by the fire, still tense but talking.

They move as fast as the size of their group will allow. There are other cities and villages to either side of their path, but they never try to take those. Much as leaving the humans there behind pains Miryam, they need to get to the centre of the country as quickly as possible. Then, things will either work out or they won’t, and no amount of fighting they do in advance will change anything.

They make it just in time. Having marched through the night, they set camp half a day’s march away from Lako on the morning before the full moon. While her tent is being erected, Miryam finds a messenger and hands him a letter he is to deliver to Ravenia.

Miryam already wrote it long before they ever got to the Black Land, but the rules demand that she only sends her request for a meeting now that battle between their two armies seems imminent. While Miryam was simply taking city after city, it would have been up to Ravenia to initiate negotiations, but now, Miryam is free to take the initiative.

Ravenia’s answer arrives within three hours. As expected, she agrees to hold the meeting and invites Miryam and Drakon to the palace come sunset.

Miryam nearly sags with relief. Had Ravenia decided to only receive them tomorrow, she would have had a problem. Holding the meeting before the full moon is vital to Miryam’s plan. Well, perhaps not vital, but it will make things easier in the long run if the assembled Black Land nobility heard the offer she made Ravenia as well as the queen’s refusal. Besides, she really wants to at least offer a surrender before having to resort to more drastic measures to get what she wants, even if she doesn’t truly believe Ravenia will take it.

There isn’t much left to do in preparation for the meeting, so Miryam and Drakon invite Sinna, Nephelle and Mor to their tent for a late lunch. It’s a light lunch, mostly vegetables and some corn bread to go with them. Still, Miryam only picks at her food, eats a few bites but hardly tastes it.

“So,” Mor says. “This is it.” She sits cross-legged on her pillow, golden hair tumbling loose over her back, and is currently wolfing down her second helping.

“Looks like it.” Miryam pushes a piece of paprika from one side of the plate to the other.

“Now that we are here, are you finally going to tell us what you have planned for when the negotiations go wrong?” Sinna asks.

Miryam shakes her head, even knowing that she isn’t being entirely reasonable. But she is nervous enough already, and having to talk her plan through with people who might not agree, possibly getting into an argument over it, will only make it worse. Besides, there is always the risk of being overheard.

Sinna must be thinking about that as well, because she rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Miryam returns to pushing her food around on her plate, leaving Mor, Nephelle and Drakon to hold the conversation, the latter evidently distracted as well.

After half an hour, Miryam gives up on her attempt to eat anything and pushes her plate towards Sinna who already finished her food. “Want mine?” She asks.

“Sure.” Sinna quickly switches their plates and starts wolfing down Miryam’s food as well.

“Are you sure you don’t want anyone to come along when you go to the meeting?” Mor asks. She had been eying Miryam’s uneaten food, worry drawing lines onto her face, and now looks up at Miryam.

“All the guards in the world won’t be able to protect us if Ravenia decides to attack us in the middle of her palace,” Miryam says. The words draw even deeper lines onto Mor’s face and she is quick to add, “She won’t, though. She’s far too attached to her particular brand of honour.”

Drakon nods. “We met with her before, and she never did anything.”

That settles the matter. Mor refills everyone’s glasses, then sits back down in her chair.

Sinna, Nephelle and Mor leave two hours before sunset, leaving Miryam and Drakon to get ready alone. They do so in silence, each occupied with their own thoughts. Miryam assumed she would be shaking with fear, but somehow, she is strangely calm, almost distant. She spent so long working towards this moment – it finally being there feels just as unreal as the idea of marching straight into Ravenia’s palace.

Drakon is quicker to finish dressing up, but his clothes are less complicated. Miryam chose a human dress, long-cut and with lots of layers, and she ends up needing his help to get into it. She vastly prefers the more modest human fashion to the revealing dresses the Fae tend to favour, although she usually wore Fae fashion to any political meetings. No longer, though. She is past the point of needing to play by their rules, and today, she doesn’t want to dress up as a faerie.

With half an hour to spare until sunset, they leave their tent. Both Seraphim and humans stop to stare as they walk towards the edge of the wards surrounding the camp. It seems like word of where they are going has already gotten around. Miryam takes Drakon’s arm and he winnows them both away.

They reappear one of the inner courtyards of Ravenia’s palace, one of the only places you can winnow into and reserved for foreign dignitaries. There are guards standing all around, hands on their weapons, but they make no move to intercept them. Still, just being back here is enough to make Miryam’s earlier calm evaporate. She grips Drakon’s arm a tad harder and can feel him tense as well.

One of the guards steps forward, their face obscured by a helmet, and inclines their head. “You may proceed to the throne room,” he says. No address. Chances are he isn’t sure which of them to address first, or how to address Miryam at all. “Her majesty says you know the way.”

Miryam gives him a curt nod and brushes past him towards the door leading into the palace. Ravenia likely meant to insult her by not sending an escort to bring her to the throne room, but she actually did her a favour. At least this allows Miryam a few moments to catch her footing before she faces the throne room.

The hallways they walk through are deserted, not a single Fae or human to be seen. Miryam glances over at Drakon who is walking next to her, wishing she could have kept holding his arm. She badly wants to say something to him, but she doesn’t doubt for one moment that they are being watched.

They pass the door leading down to the dungeon and Drakon’s steps falter. He pulls his wings closer to his body as he stares at the door. Miryam decides that she doesn’t particularly care if anyone watches and puts a light hand on his arm. Drakon tears his eyes away from the door.

“It’s fine,” he whispers, straightening. Miryam nods and they continue on towards the throne room.

There are two guards posted in front of the huge double doors. They do not stop Miryam and Drakon, merely reach for the doors, moving in perfect unison, and pushing them open.

Nervousness quickly shifting to fear, Miryam has to force herself to keep walking, to not pause in the doorway and take in the throne room she hasn’t seen in almost nine years. Back straight, pace unhurried, she walks through the doors and into the throne room, Drakon following half a step behind her.

She resists the urge to look around the throne room as she makes toward the dais, instead keeping her eyes trained on Ravenia. From what she can see from the corner of her eye, though, the room hasn’t changed much since she has last been here. The murals and carvings on walls and pillars are still the same, as are the courtiers. Fashion seems to have changed a bit, moving towards looser clothes, but the faces are familiar. Everything is just like she remembers.

She wishes it wasn’t. Maybe if everything looked different, this would be easier.

With each step she takes, her body seizes up further. Every instinct is screaming at her to cower, to duck her shoulders and bow her head. She manages to keep her back straight, but her posture ends up far too rigid and she doesn’t dare relax for fear of losing control of her body. Even her power seems to have disappeared, like it’s hiding from the woman sitting on the throne at the other side of the throne room.

This was a mistake. On neutral ground, she might be able to face Ravenia, but this is the heart of Ravenia’s territory. Here, Miryam doesn’t know how to be anything but a terrified slave girl.

She stops in front of the throne, just below the dais. Ravenia is lounging on her throne, absent-mindedly picking up dates from a plate a human slave holds out to her. All the while, though, her dark eyes remain focused on Miryam.

Drakon, who stopped half a step behind her, shifts a bit closer to her, either sensing her discomfort or feeling uncomfortable himself. His presence calms Miryam a bit – at least enough that she no longer feels like bolting.

“Go on, then,” Ravenia finally says, sounding almost bored. She crosses her legs at the ankle and rests her chin on her hand as if to show the entire world that she finds Miryam and Drakon only marginally more interesting than two bugs crawling at her feet. “Say what you have come to say.”

Miryam swallows. Her eyes travel away from Ravenia and towards the group of human children standing behind her throne. (Ti, the human boy they met when they were freeing Drakon, isn’t among them. Miryam didn’t expect him to be – she knows how quickly Ravenias slaves tend to die – but it still stings.)  All of them have their heads bowed, eyes downcast. Miryam could easily imagine herself standing there in their place.

The silence drags on too long. Miryam knows it is up to her to say something now, but the words won’t form. Behind her, the court begins to whisper, clearly wondering why she isn’t saying anything. She has to say something, but she just can’t –

“We’re here to accept your surrender,” Drakon says. Miryam makes to turn around to him, then stops herself.

Ravenia’s mouth twists into a smile and she lets out a soft laugh, her court quickly falling in. “Have you, now?”

It should have been Miryam answering Ravenia’s challenge, Miryam stating their demands. Damnit, this is not the time for her to start messing up. She breathes in. Breathes out and looks around the room, searching for something that might steady her.

What she finds is dozens of humans watching her. They are standing by the walls of the throne room, all of them dressed in servants’ clothes. And all of them are staring at Miryam, eyes wide and shining with hope.

They believe in her. They trust that she’s going to free them.

For them, Miryam can be brave.

Slowly, she looks back at Ravenia. “The terms the Alliance offers to you are favourable,” she says, actually managing to keep her voice even. “You will free every single slave living in your country and sign a contract that the Black Land will never again practice slavery. Every human will receive a certain amount of money or other goods as compensation, and a proportional part of the Black Land will be given to the humans to live in under sovereign human rulership. As for you…” Miryam falters, choking on the next words.

You will be allowed to live. Those are the terms she is to offer to Ravenia. She will be exiled, never to return to the Continent, but she will live, and this, Miryam isn’t sure she can bear.

She wants Ravenia to die. She wants her to die the way Clythia did, painful and slowly, and then, she wants her body burned, the ashes strewn into the wind, the bones dumped into the ocean. For what Ravenia has done, to her and so many others, she deserves that and worse. And Miryam cannot bear the idea that she will instead spend her time in exile on some pleasant little island, tended to by servants, while Miryam wakes up screaming every night for the rest of her life.

But this isn’t about revenge. It isn’t about Miryam at all. The reason she is here is to free her people, to get them out of this alive. That is the only thing that matters, the only goal she can consider. What does it matter if she will spend the rest of her life feeling Ravenia’s shadow looming as long as she manages that?

“You will abdicate,” Miryam continues. The words burn in her throat. “And you will be sent to exile. You will never again step foot on the Continent, but you will be allowed to live.”

If Ravenia is smart, she will take the offer. For a war like this, it’s highly unusual to allow the leader of the losing side to live. The only reason the exile is being offered is that Miryam knows that Ravenia would never take a deal that includes her own death.

“And you expect me to take this offer?” Ravenia asks lightly, as if she is amused by the mere idea. It seems her strategy for this meeting is to make it abundantly clear to the entire world that she doesn’t care what Miryam has to say, doesn’t take her seriously at all.

Not smart, then.

Some courtier behind Miryam snickers. She ignores it. Let them laugh. Should Ravenia refuse the surrender Miryam is offering, their laughter will die soon enough.

Today, they might mock Miryam, might laugh at the foolish mortal who dares challenge their leader. A few days from now, it will be Ravenia they think a fool for not taking the offer when she had the chance. Miryam gives them five days at most until they hate Ravenia for being too proud to surrender.

“You should,” Miryam says. “You won’t get a better one.” Slowly, she starts walking towards Ravenia. The guards standing in front of the throne tense but make no move to stop her. “You’ve lost, Ravenia,” she says softly. “I have beaten you at every turn. My Alliance has defeated your Loyalists, more of your allies surrender to me every day, your High Witcher is dead at my hands. I told you that you would lose, that you could only ever lose, that I would win against you, and I have. I also told you I would destroy you. I suggest you take my offer now, or I can guarantee you, I will do that as well.”

Now, no one is snickering anymore. Ravenia is still lounging on her throne, but her posture no longer seems relaxed. It’s more like she is frozen in place. After a moment, she stirs.

“A nice little speech,” she says. “I might even be impressed, if only you had the soldiers to back it up.” She offers a small smile. “Really, Miryam, if you were going to sell yourself for an army, you should have picked someone who at least has enough soldiers to pose a threat to me.”

Drakon tenses, but Miryam ignores the jab. It is a cheap attempt to get a rise out of her and as far as she is concerned, it isn’t worth a reply. Does Ravenia really think unfitting slavery-allusions will be enough to get her to snap.

“What makes you think I need an army at all?” She asks instead.

Now, Ravenia laughs outright. “You grossly overestimate how scared I am of you,” she says.

Miryam shrugs. Let her laugh. “This is over, Ravenia. You cannot be too blind to see it. Just take the offer while you still can.”

Not quite daring to breathe, she stares at Ravenia. Say no. The thought comes unbidden but all the stronger for it. Come on. Give me an excuse.

A heartbeat later, Miryam’s mind catches up and guilt rises, strong enough to drown out the anger. What is she thinking? She knows what will have to happen if Ravenia refuses, the lives that will be at risk and the ones that will be lost. No revenge in the world can ever be worth this. She didn’t mean that. She didn’t.

Ravenia rises. Slowly, she walks over the dais towards Miryam until there’s only a few feet separating them. Miryam resists the urge to take a step back and instead stares unflinchingly back at her.

“There seems to be some confusion on your part, so let me be entirely clear,” Ravenia says. Her voice is soft, but in the silent room, she might as well have shouted for how loud her voice rings. She takes another step towards Miryam who remains standing where she is – whether out of bravery or fear, she can’t say. “I will kill every single human under my rule before I let a single one of them walk free.”

“Is that your answer?” Miryam asks. Her voice is a tad breathless; her heart is thundering in her chest.

“Yes.” The word snaps through the room like a whip.

Miryam nods. “Then what comes next is on you.” With that, she turns around and walks back to Drakon. He nods to her and together, they walk back through the throne room. At the door, Miryam pauses and turns back to face the assembled crowd.

“Remember,” she says to no one in particular, “that I made the offer. Some of you might wish to reconsider your stance soon enough.”

----

The moon is full tonight. It hangs high in the sky as a silver orb, not a cloud to be seen, casting its cold light down on the sand below. It is the only one to watch as Miryam and Drakon walk away from the noise and activity of the army camp and out into the desert surrounding it. They’ve ordered their guards to stay behind, ignoring their complaints. For what’s about to come, it’s better if they are alone.

Miryam could have gone entirely alone, of course, but she wasn’t quite brave enough for it. She doesn’t want to be alone for this. Besides, should she lose control, Drakon is probably the only one who stands a chance of talking her down.

Miryam turns to him now. “You know what you’re going to do if things go badly?” She asks.

“I think it works best if I improvise,” Drakon says. The ghost of a smile flickers across his face. “A pity there aren’t any mountain goats around.”

Miryam laughs shakily. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find some antelopes.” She stops and looks around. They have reached a small river, branching off the bigger Klei river that supplies the entire Black Land with water. “Here, I think,” she says and lets the bag she packed slide off her shoulder.

She brought all of her spellcasting supplies, candles and bones, gemstones and salt. She takes care when setting up the circle, checking the position for each piece twice and drawing the symbols with steady hands. It takes twice as long as usual, and by the time she is done, her left arm is entirely stained in blood. Miryam double-checks everything one last time, then turns to Drakon. He has been sitting in the sand outside of the circle, watching, but now, he rises.

“Ready?” He asks.

Miryam nods, unable to speak. He nods back.

“You’ll manage,” he says. “I know you will.”

Miryam nods again. She has to manage. There is no other plan to fall back on.

A whispered word activates the circle. The flames flicker to life all at once, the gemstones start glowing. The moon has reached its zenith now, and Miryam can almost taste the power in the air.

She closes her eyes and thinks back to the throne room. Then, she pushed the memories away, locked them up. Now, she asks them in. For the first time, she truly allows herself to remember, remember each moment of pain and despair and suffering, all the death and blood. It hurts. It hurts so badly that she feels she might fall apart, but pain is fuel, as is the anger that comes next.

So Miryam lets herself burn, hotter and brighter. Only when she is so full of pain and anger that she feels she might combust right there, she opens her eyes and begins to speak.

The beginning of the spell is unusual. Normally, you start with a demand, some kind of declaration for what you want. This time, though, Miryam begins with a story. She begins with a feeling.

The strings quiver around her, shaken by the force of her emotions, waiting for her to tell them why she calls upon them. She bids them to listen. The story she tells isn’t a pleasant one. She speaks of death, of suffering and pain. Of injustice and slavery. Blood drips from her hand into the sand as she speaks, swallowed up far more quickly than natural; the words burn her throat.

Around her, the strings grow restless. Tell us what you want, they seem to ask, confused, but it isn’t them Miryam is talking to.

Under Miryam’s feet, a tremor seems to run through the ground. More and more strings manifest, glowing in the air around her, and Miryam feels like something is rising around her, watching, waiting. The power in the air increases until it feels like tons of stone are pressing down on her, until a frantic energy runs through her body.

Miryam barely dares to breathe. It’s working. It is truly working. She has called – and the land is answering.

The Fae might claim this land, this world, belongs to them, but it doesn’t. Maybe it belongs to the humans, or maybe it belongs to no one at all, but either way, it has a memory. And this land is drenched in human blood, its earth bursting with their suffering, the sand full of skeletons of humans. Their anger lingers, as does their pain, a restless energy that has never been let loose.

It remembers. It recognizes the story Miryam tells. And it answers.

She could have sworn there are eyes watching her. It is a comforting thought – that all these humans who came before her are here, watching her, helping her. Maybe finally getting their revenge.

The strings are still waiting, impatient. There are more of them than Miryam has ever seen, the air so full that Miryam can no longer make out her surroundings. Miryam pauses for a moment to look around, to take in the power thrumming through the air, the anger and pain cursing through her, echoed by the land.

Miryam draws her knife from her belt and runs it over her arm, causing fresh blood to well up. It drips into the sand, red on gold, and the earth that is so drenched in human blood already rumbles in answer. Miryam can’t tell if it’s truly the spirits of dead humans answering or the land itself, but whatever it is, it is angry. It has had enough.

When Miryam finally makes her demand, the strings jump to do her bidding. They move into place more easily than ever before. All it takes is for Miryam to nudge them and they move into the right direction, the land still rumbling under her feet.

It’s so easy. Miryam doesn’t need to turn the land against the Fae because it already hates them. Its anger overshadows even her own, the sum of millions of people, millennia of suffering. All she needs to do is point its anger into the right direction, tell it what to do, weave helpless fury into a plan.

The power around her surges. Miryam is vaguely aware that there is blood running out her nose, out of her eyes and ears. Power is thrumming through her, drenched in pain and anger and a revenge that never happened.

Again, blood runs down Miryam’s hand and drips into the sand. This time, it isn’t swallowed by the earth. Instead, more blood seems to well up from there, like a great wound is bleeding under Miryam’s feet. It runs over the sand in a small stream until it reaches the river below.

The water turns red. It spreads far more quickly than blood normally should. Miryam blinks once and the stream is entirely red, like the earth is spitting out all the blood it had to soak up over the years. It runs down the small river, turning it red as it goes, until it reaches the river Klei. From there, it continues to spread.

By the time the circle around Miryam flickers out and she slides to the ground, Drakon rushing over to catch her, every stream and river in the Black Land is already running red with blood.

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed @aileywrites