#coterminity

[neopronouns]

flag id: two images of the same flag with a dark silver background. in the center of the flag are 6 slightly wavy stripes, which dip down near their left edges and go up near their left edges, forming the shape of a waving flag within the flag itself. they are medium light purple, light turquoise, very light yellow-green, cream, soft golden yellow, and tan. in the center of the left flag is a simple, stylized, dark silver symbol of a pencil, which is angled to the right, writing on a piece of paper with its edges rolled like a scroll. end id.

banner id: a 1600x200 teal banner with the words ‘please read my dni before interacting. those on my / dni may still use my terms, so do not recoin them.’ in large white text in the center. the text takes up two lines, split at the slash. end id.

comuniterm: a neogender umbrella for terms conceptually related to participating in mogai/liom community

[pt: comuniterm: a neogender umbrella for terms conceptually related to participating in mogai/liom community. end pt]

concepts included under comuniterm:

coining terms

creating flags

archiving terms

requesting terms

collecting/hoarding terms

using neopronouns, identifying as neolabels, etc.

making edits of flags, masterlists of terms/pronouns, etc. (basically any other types of mogai/liom posts not listed above)

helping others find terms that fit them, either through locating existing terms or coining new ones

knowledge and preservation of liom/mogai history

neolabel, subtliden, and liom inclusionism

running mogai/liom blogs

feeling connection with other members of the community

the joy, community, and creativity found in mogai/liom spaces

and more!

derived terms:

niol: a comuniterm person. plural is niolae.

comut: a comuniterm gender. plural is comuts.

ctin: comuniterm-in-nature (ex: ctingender)

cotermine: having comuniterm qualities. noun form is coterminity.

transcotermine: transitioning towards coterminity/a comuniterm identity. can be shortened to transcoter.

termaic: gender alignment to comuniterm/coterminity.

comu, comut, muni, munit, iterm, term, coter: optional/potential prefixes and suffixes for comuniterm genders.

the term is 'comunité' (old french for 'community') + 'term'! most of the derived terms are just various permutations of 'comuniterm', but 'niol' comes from 'neolabel' and 'liom'!

i've been thinking recently about just how the liomogai community has affected my identity over the years and how those effects feel like aspects of my gender in themselves, so... here's a neogender umbrella!

i took inspiration from the coinergender, requestgender, archivigender, and flagmakergender flags, so i went with cool colors, warm light neutrals, and golden yellow. the flag is meant to look like a flag in an editing software, post editor (as a new post or reblog), or other site/software (ex: being put into a rentry or carrd)!

here's the template if anyone wants to coin comuts!

the symbol is a pencil and paper, inspired by both the flag creation and writing (definitions, tags, lists, etc.) aspects of the community! i made the pencil myself and the paper is edited from scroll (2) in this folder. here's the symbol by itself:

[image id: a simple, stylized, dark silver symbol of a pencil, which is angled to the right, writing on a piece of paper with its edges rolled like a scroll. a blank image is next to the image so that it doesn't take up the whole width of the post. end id.]

tags: @radiomogai, @liom-archive, @macchiane, @genderstarbucks, @sugar-and-vice-mogai

tags cont: @freezingnarc, @skrimbliest, @seraphtrix, @en8y, @spadescrewcoining

tags cont: @mogai-sunflowers

dni link

[finelythreadedsky]

i do think a muppet version of a greek tragedy would get at something deep and essential about the way a character is created and understood on the ancient stage as a construct of costume rendered voiced by a concealed body, something that is perhaps impossible to capture within modern unmasked theatrical traditions

[captainkingsley]

dropping the m9 into Eberron and just doing loredumps while I write because I just really love Eberron

[scholarhect]

np is so funny btw. it’s like “if we could do a infinite things at exactly the same time then this problem would be really easy!” like. sure. i guess!

[badlywritingmagazine]

Wanna help a by-and-for transfem journal?

Wanna get involved?

Thank you everyone for your interest so far! If you have a sec, I’ve written a quick post about a few ways you can help. 

Lili Elbe, painted by Szív királynő, serving “journal reader” realness Do you have trans female mates?

Let your girl friends know. Share it amongst your networks. 

Can you read? 

Wonderful. Subscribe to this substack to be notified when an issue is released. 

Can you think?

If you’re a trans woman and you have feelings about something, send it to us. If you’re developing an idea, come chat with us over email (or arrange a phone call) and let’s figure it out together. 

Do you sell books and zines? 

Wonderful. Email me. Stock it. Perfect. I can also send you a poster version of our invitation to submit to print out. 

Have you written?

If you’re a trans woman who writes about things relevant to our lives, send it to me. If it is online and you worry that it won’t stay up forever, it’s affecting your job and life prospects, or that it is a reflection of its time and not 100% wise anymore, send it to me and get it archived. Archiving is part of the goal here. We’re not uncurated, but that doesn’t mean you should shrug and let the internet, time, transmisogyny and linkrot eat your hard work. 

If you’re a trans woman with jobs and obligations and you don’t like having your essay ‘Why dickgirls should commit more assassinations’ or ‘transgender materialism: towards a de/coterminous understanding of post tipping point transmisogyny’ or whatever attached to your name then send it to me and get it re/published under a pseudonym.

If we get a large number of submissions like this we will publish it as a separate supplement, but else it will come as a section within WBM.

Do you know grants?

Rates for unfunded zines and pamphlets suck. We want to pay the women well. Let us know if you know of funds or grants you think we fall under. We’ll be sending off applications. 

Can you help us host a launch party in a major city?

We envision low-cost evening events with discussion, trans women, and piles and piles of essays to talk about. (Can we crash on your couch?) We’re based in the UK, but are happy to come anywhere Ryanair goes where there’s a willing audience. 

Got an idea I don’t have? 

Ultimately, I want to keep this dirt simple. Essays come in, paper goes out. No columns, shite graphics. Couple core editors. Schedules loose enough to spend half the year depressed and still get it out. Stolen printer paper. Something that won’t collapse after two years. Posterity. 

That said, if you have an idea (and maybe if you want to do it), email us. Think you know enough people to get this translated and shipped somewhere else? Can you translate and know of a non-English language transfeminist text that’s not got much attention in the anglosphere? Maybe we can submit an application for a grant and distribute your translation? Understand distribution better than me? Do you have the wherewithal to manage a personals board? Something else? Anything except an agony aunt section. I’ve called dibs on that one. 

Do you have agonies? Issues? Want bad advice?

Write to the agony aunt. writingbadlymag snail symbol gmail dot com.

Do you have something to say which won't make a whole essay but is still worth saying?

Write a letter to the editor. Same email.

Addendum: Can you help us set up a website?

Websites we think are beautiful are dirt simple. Low-tech Magazine has a beautiful low-energy website. Filmmaker Margot McEwan has a lovely fitting website. Any thoughts or suggestions should be sent to the same email.

(update: we're all set now! Check out badly.press!)

See a good stack cutter?

If you see a cheap paper stack cutter for cheap, let me know. :)

Thanks all!

Forthcoming posts: information for writers, extracts from the issue.

[transmutationisms]

How do you feel/think about euthanasia as an option provided by medical care for mentally ill or disabled people?

As much as I want to support bodily autonomy in an absolute way and think ultimately it’s a persons choice whether they want to live (i also have first hand experience with the “care” after suicide attempts, which is punishment, not care) and comfortable effective options should be available for that. it also is deeply, deeply upsetting to me, as someone who probably would have chosen to die years ago but found out i want to live — and infuriating, since they make it so fucking hard for disabled people to live, i don’t think making it easier for us to die is the answer.

being disabled feels like a death march from the start. we are isolated, have very little community, were tortured, neglected until we want to die. then it’s like “ok if that’s what you really want :)” as if that wasn’t the plan from the start? it’s just eugenics. not even with extra steps. but they make it think it’s our idea.

how would you reconcile these 2 ideas in like, a grounded materialist kind of way ? if that makes sense. or whatever i am asking your opinion

i actually answered this before but now i can't find it. i agree with everything you've said about the potentially eugenic function of physician-assisted suicide under capitalism; however, i think the problem is the capitalist context and its attendant ableism, not the PAS itself. people will and do kill themselves regardless of the legality, and i believe it's important to offer them as painless and controlled a method as possible, while simultaneously toppling the capitalist ableism that makes this fraught from a disability justice perspective. since we are in the context we are in currently, for now i do also support laws forbidding PAS from being suggested to patients (ie, they must be the ones to bring it up and pursue it) and i think there are ways to build in some checkpoints to the system without excessively restricting people's ability to end their lives. but i do not support making suicide illegal, whether by physician or otherwise.

incidentally, this would also be an issue where you can see how the biopolitical remits to make live and to let die exist coterminously to one another: though the state is more than happy to let disabled people die on the grounds that it views them as economic liabilities, legalising suicide is still not exactly a slam-dunk from its perspective because in general its interest also lies in promoting the continued existence of its healthy [wealthy/white/abled] labouring population. this is the actual material reason why in most jurisdictions PAS is still strenuously objected to by openly ableist, otherwise eugenically motivated reactionaries, and why it's often proposed only for terminally ill patients or with other such extremely narrow eligibility criteria.

[thecreaturecodex]

Dream Lord, Manus

"Artorias vs Manus" © twitter user Max58Art, accessed at The Art of Video Games here

[Sponsored by Soluman Blevins. Manus is the Bonus Boss of Dark Souls, whose lore is deeply woven into the game but can only be fought in an expansion. In universe, his title is Father of the Abyss, but the Abyss in Dark Souls and the Abyss in D&D/Pathfinder are two very different things. So I struggled for a while of where to put him. As a nascent demon lord? As a Great Old One? I finally decided on Dream Lord, a category of my own invention, which at this point is made up of demigods from video games whose lore and magic systems do not intersect nicely with any form of Pathfinder canon. The Plateau of Leng seems like a reasonable place for the litany of nightmares From Software creates.]

Dream Lord, Manus CR 25 CE Outsider (extraplanar) This creature is vaguely humanoid, but its form has clearly been warped and distorted past the point of caricature. His head is small, with a leering demonic face and a set of antlers. His shoulders are enormous, and multiple sets of rib-like appendages grow from his shoulders and along his upper back, studded with luminous red eyes. His right arm is proportional and carries a staff with a scythe-like blade. His left arm is as thick as his torso, ending in a massive hairy paw with spikes on the underside of the fingers. Shaggy fur, or perhaps simply ribbons of gray-black skin, coat his thighs and a long, lashing tail.

Father of the Chasm, God of Primal Darkness, the Dark Soul CE male Dream Lord of loss, negative energy and obsession Domains Chaos, Darkness, Evil, Madness Subdomains Entropy, Insanity, Loss, Shadow Worshipers denizens of Leng, hoarders, stalkers, vampires Minions mutants, nightshades, shadows, sorrowsworn Unholy Symbol An oversized hand Favored Weapon ogre hook Obedience in complete darkness, spend one hour cutting, whipping or otherwise tearing your skin while meditating on an object or a person you once had in your life but have lost. Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws versus positive or negative energy. Once this choice is made, it cannot be reversed Boons 1: darkness 2/day; 2: enervation 2/day; 3: harm 2/day

Manus is a nightmarish beast of darkness, an infection that seeks to cause the horrors of Leng to overrun the Waking World. He was also once a man. The original Manus was a powerful magic user, according to his cult the first mortal to manipulate negative energy. Although his methods were cruel and his goals covetous, he was considered a great hero by his people and was buried with high honors. When his grave was robbed, however, his pendant was stolen from it. The pendant was broken, and whatever magic it contained had long seeped out of it, but Manus’ obsessive desire to reclaim his property caused his soul and memory to go wild, transforming into a creature of pure nightmare. Manus’ mausoleum is now the heart of the Chasm of the Abyss, a demiplane coterminous between Leng and the Material Plane, and it is here where the Father of the Chasm resides.

Manus wants things. His broken pendant most of all. His cultists sweep the planes searching for this relic, and whatever they find instead, they offer as tribute. Manus’ lair contains piles and piles of valuables, the riches of a dozen realities and a thousand kingdoms, and he cares for none of it except his amulet. Of course, it is the nature of his madness that if Manus ever retrieved his broken pendant, he would certainly find a new indignity to focus on and object or person to obsess over. He also collects hostages, although he rarely exchanges them and more often warps them into mutants or madmen through his very presence. Manus’ worshipers are as obsessive as he is, and his faith is attractive to stalkers, hoarders, social climbers and other people with warped and envious desires.

Combat is one of the few things that allows Manus to forget his pain and obsessions, and tends to attack first and ask questions of the corpses of his victims later. Although he is a powerful spellcaster, he usually leads with his physical attacks. He uses his channel negative energy ability to empower the Manus Catalyst, his signature hooked staff. Against multiple opponents, he tries to spread his attacks out, enjoying the suffering he causes before finishing them off with a mighty swat of his grotesquely hypertrophied hand. He usually doesn’t use his signature supernatural attack, in which he fires globes of cold and negative energy at his enemies, until reduced to below half hit points. Manus has not needed to flee a combat for thousands of years, and his arrogance and obsession is likely to lead him to fight to the death.

Manus Catalyst (minor artifact) Slot none; Aura strong necromancy; CL 21st; Weight 20 lbs. The Manus Catalyst is Manus’ signature weapon. It is a Large +1 unholy brilliant energy ogre hook that acts as a void scythe for the purposes of channeling negative energy and consuming the bodies of those it kills. The wielder can activate its brilliant energy property or dismiss it on command. A creature that holds the Manus Catalyst gains a +2 to the save DC of all spells and spell-like abilities that it uses of the necromancy school.

Manus CR 25 XP 1,640,000 CE Huge outsider (chaos, evil, extraplanar) Init +10; Senses blindsense 120 ft., darkvision 60 ft., Perception +42, see in darkness Aura lost humanity (240 ft.)

Defense AC 43, touch 23, flat-footed 37(-2 size, +6 Dex, +9 deflection, +20 natural) hp 585 (30d10+420); regeneration 20 (lawful) Fort +24, Ref +23, Will +26 DR 20/lawful and epic; Immune bleed, charm, compulsion, cold, death effects, disease, poison, sleep; Resist electricity 20; SR 36 Defensive Abilities fortification (50%), freedom of movement, negative energy affinity, shield of dreams

Offense Speed 50 ft. Melee Manus Catalyst +45/+40/+35/+30 (2d8+19/19-20 x3 plus 2d6 unholy), slam +46 (4d8+36), gore +41 (2d8+9), tail slap +41 (1d12+9) or slam +46 (4d8+36), gore +46 (2d8+18), tail slap +41 (1d12+9) Space 15 ft.; Reach 15 ft. Special Attacks awesome strike, channel negative energy (10d6, DC 34, 14/day), dark orb barrage, frenzy (30 rounds/day), oversized arm, profane channeling Spell-like Abilities CL 25th, concentration +34 Constant—freedom of movement, tongues At will—arcane sight, call spirit (DC 24), confusion (DC 23), deeper darkness, enervation, inflict critical wounds (DC 25), psychic reading, unhallow 3/day—blasphemy (DC 26), finger of death (DC 28), greater dispel magic, quickened harm (DC 27), hungry darkness, insanity (DC 26) 1/day—curse of night, divide mind, energy drain (DC 30), gate (to Plateau of Leng, Chasm of the Abyss or Material Plane only), summon (1 advanced nightcrawler, 100%, 9th level), wail of the banshee (DC 30)

Statistics Str 46, Dex 23, Con 39, Int 24, Wis 29, Cha 28 Base Atk +30; CMB +52 (+54 bull rush, overrun); CMD 77 (79 vs. bull rush, overrun) Feats Awesome Blow, Blind Fight, Charge Through, Combat Reflexes, Extra Channel, Greater Vital Strike, Improved Bull Rush, Improved Critical (ogre hook), Improved Initiative, Improved Overrun, Improved Vital Strike, Lucid Dreamer (B), Power Attack, Quicken SLA (harm), Stand Still, Vital Strike Skills Appraise +40, Climb +48, Intimidate +39, Knowledge (arcana, planes, religion) +40, Knowledge (dungeoneering, history) +37, Perception +50, Sense Motive +42, Spellcraft +40, Stealth +39, Survival +39; Racial Modifiers +8 Perception,+8 Stealth Languages Aklo, Common, Necril, Shadowtongue, tongues

Ecology Environment underground (Chasm of the Abyss) Organization unique Treasure triple standard

Special Abilities Aura of Lost Humanity (Su) Any humanoid that spends 24 hours within 240 feet of Manus must make a Fortitude save or gain the mutant template. The save DC starts at 10, then increases by +2 every day until it reaches its maximum DC, 34. If a creature is transformed in this fashion, it must make a Will save at the same DC or become chaotic evil in alignment. The save DC is Charisma based. Awesome Strike (Ex) When Manus uses makes a single attack using his Vital Strike chain of feats, he may make a combat maneuver as if using Awesome Blow if it hits with this attack. Channel Energy (Su) Manus can channel negative energy as if he were a 20th level cleric. He does not gain other cleric class abilities, such as spells or domains. Dark Orb Barrage (Su) As a standard action, Manus can fire a barrage of orbs of destructive darkness. Manus makes a single ranged touch attack against all creatures in a 60 foot cone. A creature struck takes 25d6 points of damage, half of which is cold and half is negative energy. A creature struck by a dark orb must succeed a DC 34 Fortitude save or be blinded for 1d4+1 rounds. This save DC is Charisma based. Manus can use this ability at will, but must wait 1d4 rounds between uses. Dream Lord Traits (Ex/Su) Manus is a dream lord, a powerful outsider native to the Dimension of Dreams. Dream lords gain the following abilities:

Immune to charm, compulsion, disease, poison and sleep effects

Immune to one energy type and resistance to another two energy types. Instead of being one of his resistances, Manus is immune to bleed and death effects.

A dream lord’s natural weapons, and any weapon it wields, count as chaotic and magical for the purpose of overcoming damage reduction

Occult (Ex) A dream lord gains Lucid Dreamer as a bonus feat, and can use  occult skill unlocks even if it lacks other psychic magic

Shield of Dreams (Su) A dream lord adds its Charisma modifier as a deflection bonus to its AC and CMD

Summon (Sp) Once per day, a dream lord can summon a CR 19 or lower encounter of thematically appropriate monsters.

Dream lords can grant spells to worshipers as detailed in their divine information. A worshiper can gain boons from performing an obedience to a dream lord, as per the Deific Obedience feat, but the boons granted are simple, appearing as a 2nd, 4th and 6th level spell usable as a spell-like ability twice per day.

Frenzy (Su) Manus can act as if under a haste spell for a number of rounds a day equal to his Hit Dice. Activating or ending this ability is a free action. Oversized Arm (Ex) Manus’ left arm always makes slam attacks as a primary natural weapon, even when Manus is wielding manufactured weapons. He deals twice his Strength modifier to damage with his slam attack. Manus’ slam deals bludgeoning and piercing damage. Profane Channeling (Su) Whenever Manus uses his channel negative energy, he can choose to do so as a swift action, to maximize the damage dealt (or healed), or double the area of the effect. Manus can choose only one of these enhancements at a time.

[gothhabiba]

Hi! Sorry, I read your discussion of women + femmes. I use that term sometimes to include my partner (transfemme nb). Like I was talking about having difficulty finding cute shoes in big sizes and said like "all my love to women+femmes with big feet." Only online though bc irl id just say like "girls" and everyone would know what I meant. Anyway, what would you suggest in those cases? Sorry again. I know you said go back to square 0 but like. I don't get it. I just mean to say feminine enbies as well as women (cis + trans obviously). I know I'm being dense. I want to do better.

If you're speaking in specific consideration of one person then of course you should use whatever term makes them comfortable & is accurate to them.

When I say that "finding another phrase to use" is insufficient, what I mean is that we shouldn't just keep all of the assumptions that go into the phrase "women and femmes" intact while merely changing their wording.

Perhaps you're familiar with a criticism of the way that a lot of people use the term "afab" as though it meant "women"—despite the fact that the phrase is meant to challenge dominant assumptions about sex, gender, and gendered ideology (the idea, for example, that gender is 'essential' or 'immutable') by pointing out that gender is coercively assigned at birth based on only one attribute (the appearance of the genitalia), some people collapse the term back into whatever they already meant by "women" and so fail to actually rethink what they believe about gender in light of that critique.

For example, when talking about medical care, they'll say "afab" when they actually mean "person who menstruates" or "person who can get pregnant," when these groups of people are not coterminous. Or they will assume that one gender always neatly aligns with one type of "socialisation," but instead of saying that someone was socialised "female" they will say "afab socialization"—which changes none of the essentialist and transmisogynist ideas about birth assignment being destiny, but merely shifts the wording a tiny bit. So what is recommended instead is to actually think about what you mean in any given instance and then say that, rather than assuming that one phrase will always be sufficient and accurate to express what you want to say across different contexts (and that what you want to say will always align neatly with whatever beliefs you already held about the group "women").

This is sort of like that. Saying "women and femmes" makes a gesture towards respecting people's identities, but (besides the other issues I outlined regarding viewing "womanhood" as somehow dependent on "feminine" presentation and aligning with transmisogynist and lesbophobic arguments that women who don't meet the wobbly, uncertain standards of whatever they mean by "femme" are masculine oppressors or w/e—where you will see people outright talk about "masculine people" and "feminine people" instead of "men" and "women") it collapses distinctions and wrongly assumes that overlapping groups are coterminous in the same way that using "afab" to mean "female" does.

Take your example about shoes—by "cute shoes" I assume you must mean "women's shoes," as in "shoes which are intended for and marketed towards the consumer category labelled 'women'"—because by specifying "cute" you're implicitly contrasting it with something else (presumably 'men's' shoes). But do all "women" coincide with the consumer demographic 'women'—that is, do all "women" wear 'women's' shoes? No, obviously not. So thinking about what you actually meant in this instance may have led you to say something more like "feminine-presenting people with big feet."

This is just for the sake of trying to explain what I mean by 'collapsing distinctions'. I'm not suggesting that everyone must do all of this thinking from scratch when casually speaking, which would be silly (like you said, there's a point at which you can just trust the people who know you to know what you mean).

But, like I said, I do think that certain uses of terms such as "women and femmes" or, worse, "women and afab people," (or "women and people perceived as women," or "women and [whatever phrase that must be tacked on because 'women' is insufficient somehow]") indicate a view of gender that is ill-considered, in line with dominant essentialisms and truisms about gender, and therefore implicitly or overtly transmisogynistic. Why would it be necessary or useful to group "women" and "afab people" together as against everyone else? Is "women" actually understood to include "trans women" here—and, if so, how can that be squared with the assumption baked into the term that one's birth assignment always coincides meaningfully with one's experience of gender? How can the internal 'essence' of 'identification' as a "woman" be grouped together with the external experience of being "perceived" "as" a "woman" as though these indicate meaningfully similar things? What are we suggesting about women who are not "perceived" "as" "women" when we use this phrase? What are we suggesting about the nature of gendered perception (is it really always binary and static—you are always perceived either as "woman" or as "not-woman" and these categories never overlap or shift)?

As soon as you start to dig deeper into any of these phrases they devolve into incoherency. An actual ("from square 0") consideration of how gender operates, how 'gendering' occurs (on the part of medical institutions, the family, the public, the individual), &c., will reveal them to be basically useless.

[neopronouns]

flag id: a flag with 7 stripes, with the fourth being twice the size of the rest. they are tan, very light yellow-green, light turquoise, medium light purple, light turquoise, very light yellow-green, and tan. end id.

banner id: a 1600x200 teal banner with the words ‘please read my dni before interacting. those on my / dni may still use my terms, so do not recoin them.’ in large white text in the center. the text takes up two lines, split at the slash. end id.

ctingender: an umbrella term for all genders that are comuniterm/cotermine in nature. can also be used to refer to either a gender that is not fully defined, but is definitely comuniterm/cotermine, or a gender in which coterminity is its defining feature.

[pt: ctingender: an umbrella term for all genders that are comuniterm/cotermine in nature. can also be used to refer to either a gender that is not fully defined, but is definitely comuniterm/cotermine, or a gender in which coterminity is its defining feature. end pt]

ctingender flag! colors are from the comuniterm flag in the format i use for in nature gender flags (based on mingender, fingender, etc.)

tags: @radiomogai, @liom-archive, @macchiane, @genderstarbucks, @sugar-and-vice-mogai

tags cont: @prettypinknarc, @skrimbliest, @seraphtrix, @en8y, @in-nature-archive

dni link

[quirinah]

the ninja interests are coterminal, im afraid 🥷

[frostironfudge]

Conversations With The Devil (Part 2) - Bucky Barnes

Summary: For the week 2 writing game by @the-slumberparty i chose to continue one of my first one shots submitted to a challenge, Conversations With The Devil (part one) can be read here. My opening line prompt was 'He was at a crossroads and whichever path he chose would ruin someone’s life.'

Pairing: Soft!Dark!Devil! Bucky x Desi! Female!Reader

Word Count: 6.9k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, seances gone wrong, Oral F and M receiving, horror themes, smut, having sex with the devil?, a smidge of demon cock (nothing explicit just demon p grinding against human v), overstimulation, p in v, multiple orgasms, magic, sort of god complex, a little dark, whump, possession of a family member of the reader (not very horror-esque), protective bucky, horny bucky, devil bucky is a menace. please proceed with caution, you are responsible for your media consumption.

Masterlist || AO3

He was at a crossroads and whichever path he chose would ruin someone’s life. Not that he ever cared for either kind of critters that littered the realms he roamed. Bucky was more so concerned with himself, always himself and his concerns.

Even months ago when he stumbled across those three little humans during the seance. 

He stares at the gold gleaming around his wrist, it was surprising this piece of magick. Remaining uncut by the most demonic and angelic of swords. The fire of hell did not melt the gold. Incantations that would have worlds collapsing did not break the chains.

A curse or blessing upon the human’s family. He scoffs, at least they were no longer binding his neck and right hand. Only one remained around his left wrist keeping the two of them coterminous across realms. He licks his lips remembering her taste on his tongue. His cock hardens, then Bucky focuses his eyes back on the demons arguing in his court. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at their repetitive blabber.

Tear apart limbs this, possess little red haired ragdoll that; Bucky groans internally. 

Then a wicked smile stretches across his face. He should check in on his own little Doll. She did just tempt him. It had been days since he teased her from his throne. The tendrils bellow softly beneath his throne, making their way to the portal he had hidden.

Closing his eyes, Bucky visualises her, hmm, a different outfit than he’d seen her wear before. The long skirt shifts delicately with each step. 

His gaze takes you in, your brows furrow as you turn in the empty corridor trying to discern why the feeling of being watched creeps up your spine. His fists clenched as he stopped himself from allowing you to feel his touch.

You would have to wait.

You’re at yet another boring pre wedding dinner with the entire family. Distant cousins, uncles and aunts all gathered around. The loved by all elders and hated by all cousins, cousin Shaiyana, beams brightly as she shows off her man. 

Only the women in the family can see the faint gold chains that extend from her own bracelet to the boy’s neck and hands. You bite the inside of your cheek.

No one knew yet of Bucky or the fact that the chains had reduced from three to one over the span of six months. His intermittent visits and the one instance where he–no, he wasn’t there because of you. He had to cage that demon. He wasn’t there for you. 

Your mind still brings forth that night, from four months ago. 

Four Months Earlier.

Martin shrugs you off yet again, saying this time the seance would be foolproof. Lesser candles and Misha’s confidence lured you into the plan yet again. So there you all sat, fingers on the planchette. 

Dread filled every crevice of your chest. The hairs on your body rising as the temperature dropped enough for you to see Misha’s breathy exhale followed by Martin’s sniffle.

“Why does this happen to us?” Martin questions, the planchette moves to the letters.

The two of them stare at you with accusatory gazes as your name is spelled out.

“What–,” Your words are cut off as the three of you are yanked into corners of the room. You wheeze out as a pressure builds upon your chest, your hands placed down an invisible force holding you down. 

Misha’s voice echoes with the prayer followed by three claps, you breathe hard as the pressure vanishes. 

“What the fuck was that?” They ask you. 

You shake your head, “I don’t know.” 

Checking your hands, three long lines manifest across your forearm as though scrapped. No words or responses form. Wordlessly you help them fix their living room and leave for your own home.

The studio apartment greets you as you had left it. Every little common sound, reasonable thump has you on edge. Part of you wonders if Bucky would know what that was, if he would even appear again. 

The last time you saw him was when he raised his head from between your shaking thighs and licked his fingers and lips. Then he left. You knew he was still bound when your bracelet gleamed with three chains that seemingly went nowhere. As it did every day since that night two months ago.

You stare at the bracelet yet again and sigh a part of you sought him out. Wanting to know more, wanting to talk to him, feel him pressed against you again. Shaking the thoughts away, you go through your routine before bed.

Soon enough your earlier dread returns just on the cusp of sleep. Before you can utter the little prayer to defend yourself, the weight on your chest returns, heavier than before and you can hear the low growl above you. 

Your bracelet shifts closer to your palms, your folded fingers brush over the chains. Your mind brings forth his deepening azure eyes. 

The presence yet again holds your hands down. It reminds you of sleep paralysis only occurring when you’ve had the most tiring of days. 

“Please–,” You rasp, “Let m-me g-go, p-please–,” The pressure adds onto your throat the tears pooling now brim over. 

You can feel one breath remaining, it's a long shot you know. 

“Bucky.” You whisper into the room, only resulting in the pressure intensifying on your chest.

There is a snarl from the edge of your apartment, darkness shrouds a tall looming figure. Your eyes widen fighting the urge to close. Your struggles increase and the figure moves closer, the shadowy tendrils move across the space wrapping around above you, around nothing and they pull. As soon as they pull away you cough the ability to breathe freely returns.

The darkness now towers above your bed. You watch the invisible creature appear with crooked limbs and bottomless pits for eyes. It is pulled to the ground and a portal closes just as it is dragged under ground. 

You look up at the darkness, it clears, a horned creature watches you, its face covered in cracks as though marble damaged. The colour of its skin is a mix of grey and the cracks seemingly gold.

Its eyes blazing red with a catlike shape, trained upon you as it levitates upside down, you watch the gargoyle-like wings not open to their full expanse given the space, its lower body still covered by the bellowing tendrils. The demon settles across you on your bed. 

It saved you. 

Tilting its head it observes you silently. Lips unmoving just watching you. 

Your hands move to where the other demon’s scratches grave your forearm, its eyes follow the movement. It grabs your forearm and pushes up your sleeve. The demon’s face morphs into surprise you think. 

Maybe it wondered why you were not screaming? Or reciting pages of a holy scripture at it. 

Your brows furrow, its touch is familiar. The long fingers with dark nails begin to morph as they hold your hand, its eyes once again angry. In a practised sequence the horns and wings disappear, then the body, hands and face turn more human.

“Bucky?” Your surprise makes him look away from the scratches. His eyes still red, he blinks and you’re greeted by the familiar azure.

“I’ll make him pay.” He assures, before the tendrils wrap around him, his hands begin to disappear.

You panic again, “No!”

“What is it?” His voice sounds irritable.

“I,” you swallow before meeting his hard gaze, “I wanted to say thank you for answering my call…”

“Your call?” He snorts, you feel his hand better again, “I’ve been trying to find that demon, he’s fucking up all my plans. Made a mess in hell. You think I would answer a mortal’s call? Isn’t that what your almighty above is for?” He sneers, thumb tracing delicately over the scratches a stark contrast to his words.

You watch as they fade, “Oh, well, thank you for um, getting rid of it?” you change the words around. He rolls his eyes.

He stands creating distance between the two of you. 

“Don’t do anymore seances.” He warns, his demonic form taking over yet again before he disappears.

As Bucky stands before the bound demon, he raises his hand and forms a fist. The demon cries out in pain as all three hooked fingers on each of its four hands are crushed.

“You do not touch what is mine. You do not scare what is mine.” Bucky speaks calmly but his threat is clear.

“I’m sorry, Sire. My King I didn’t know that stupid mortal was your plaything–,”

The click of Bucky’s tongue has the demon cower back, the circle engraved onto the ground would not let the creature escape.

“You do not insult what is mine.” Bucky inhales, then closes his eyes, smiling as the demon’s pained screams surround him.

Days later Bucky watches as you go about your day, he’s noticed how you look at your bracelet with a sense of longing. Each time you do, there is a soft tug on the chains on his end. He was surprised when the other demons and creatures could not see the chains. It appeared only you and him could see them.

He follows you around, when one of your co-workers gets a little too close and reaches for your shoulder his unheard to you growl has the man retract his hand. You tilt your head as the co-worker scurries away. Bucky looks down at himself in disgust, what kind of human emotions was he resorting to, jealousy? He glares at you now and claws at the stupid chain around his neck. 

When you return home, you squeak in response to seeing him lounging on your bed, legs crossed and arms behind his head. A pleasant yet devilish smile on his features. If he was stuck with you might as well have some fun.

“What are you doing here? Another demon escaped? Is Cerberus not guarding properly?” You set your bags down on the table.

He chuckles, “It's cute you think I have a pet dog.” 

“What are you then? A cat person–creature?” You correct yourself, trying not to laugh at his exasperated look.

Blue eyes narrow and then rake over you, he did like the outfit. Your leggings tempt him to tear them away. One of his tendrils wraps around your ankle caressing it. You look down at it.

“Bucky, why are you here?” 

The tendril moves higher, wrapping around your thigh.

“You didn’t thank me properly the other night.” He reprimands you, more tendrils superimpose the earlier one, you’re lifted off the floor and brought to him.

“I said thank you.” You tug at the hold on your hands.

“Hmm, I’d prefer if you thank me by getting on your knees.”

“I’m not–,”

“You know I can feel you because of these?” The chains appear then, then fade away, “Every little emotion that overtakes you,” He levitates to meet you above your bed, “Your joy, sadness, pain,” his eyes move to your bare forearm, “Even your arousal.”

Your chest tightens and your clit pulses at his words. He licks his bottom lip, teeth sinking into the pink flesh. Teasing you. 

“Just as right this moment, she misses me doesn’t she?” Bucky chuckles as he feels your arousal permeate through his own body. He cups your mound, warmth seeping through your clothes, the tendrils make you grind against his palm. 

You whimper, trying to close your legs.

“Admit it.” He urges, the tendrils tear apart your top, your bra tattered too, his tongue swirls against your nipple and you feel it circle your clit too, you cry out.

“Admit it, Doll.” He moves to the other, hardening it into a peak as well.

He rises above you, tendrils supporting you, your hands behind your back making you assume a kneeling position. You’re face to face with his cock, leaking precum. Your body thrums in remembrance. 

“Admit it and you can have anything you want.” He cups your cheek, pushing away the stray locks. 

“Want you.” You lean into his touch.

“Open your mouth, Doll.” 

Your lips part, Bucky traces your bottom lip with his tip then sinks into your mouth inch by inch. You moan around him, his hand grips your head. 

“Breathe, Doll. Taking me so well. So pretty with your mouth full.” 

“You better keep that jaw slack, Doll. Gonna fuck your pretty face and then I’ll fill you up.” He promises, “Now,” He grunts as he thrusts and guides your mouth over his thick and veiny cock, “Remind me once we’re done to ask you about the little thought you had about my demon form.”

Your eyes widen, your body betrays you gathering more arousal over your folds. Bucky laughs. He guides your head over his cock, “Fucking velvet, so good. Fuck.”

He pulls out completely, “Oh, I’ll fuck you in my demon form too.” For a moment he morphs into his demon form, his cock thicker that your thumb and fingers wouldn’t meet wrapped around his cock. 

You swallow at the size of him, “It won’t, it won’t, um, fit.” Your voice a rasp, his thumb traces your bottom lip.

“It will fit, you were made for me weren’t you?” He questions, ignoring as the chains glow.

You nod, the two of you are turned, he slides his cock over your folds, the more prominent veins rub over your clit and folds you jolt under him. He morphs into his human form, repeating the movement, drawing out the same response. 

“Oh I’ve missed this pretty pussy wrapped all around me.” He taps your clit with his cock, making you shudder. 

Your hands grip his arms, Bucky sinks into your waiting pussy, both of you moan in unison. Your walls pulse around him. The chain from around his neck fades away as he begins to thrust into you. 

One leg around his waist the other thrown over his shoulder he sinks deeper, you cry out as each thrust is against your gspot, he builds your orgasm, his mouth around your nipple and one tendril tweaks the other. You feel his tongue flick your clit as well, all in tandem with his thrusts. 

Your lips part in a plea of his name as pleasure floods your senses and you arch off of your bed, against Bucky. Your nails rake down his chest, marking him. He hisses.

Your walls spasm around him, coating him in your cum. He smirks as you thrash in his hold, he doesn’t allow you respite, repeating the same movements sending you barrelling into your second orgasm. Tears brim over your eyes, down your cheek to your neck. 

Bucky lets go of your nipple, licking your sweet sweat-slicked skin and moaning at the taste of your pleasured tears. 

“So good, Bucky–,” Your words cut off by a cry as you’re turned, now on top of him, his cock buried deeper, your arms reaching for his shoulders. Bucky watches as you meet his eyes with glazed over eyes, he cups your cheek. Leaning in he kisses you, bruising the tendrils and his grip on your hips guide you over him. 

The tendrils tug and pull at your nipples, “One more sweet Doll, so fucking pretty, such a good girl aren’t you?”

You nod through the pleasured haze, “Your-yours,” You sob as his thrust is deep. Pleasure blooms like hellfire from your toes to your head.

“Mine, all mine.” He growls nipping at your flesh. 

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky–,” Your third orgasm shatters through you, “Fill me up!” You cry out. 

Bucky gives a few more hard thrusts before he moans your name, his cum coats your walls, you slump against his broad chest, sniffling as the aftershocks run through you. 

“You’re still milking me, Doll.” He groans as your pussy clamps around him, keeping him inside you. Taking all of his seed. 

You only hum in response, your head nuzzled into his chest. Taking in his scent your hands tracing over him lazily admiring him. 

“You’re pretty, both forms.” You whisper, he laughs.

“I belive I’ve fucked you stupid.” He declares making you frown. Pulling away to look at him.

The urge to quell your sadness overtakes him,

“Doll.” He warns. This, what the fuck was all this emotion?

“I said you’re pretty.” Your index finger presses to his chest.

“Find a better word than pretty.” He bargains.

“Can’t think too much cum.” You shrug, if he could act coy so could you.

“Is that right?” He raises a brow, “Too bad, I wanted to go a few more times.”

“Hmm, I do have to thank you properly.” You agree with him, “So are you a demon or a devil?” You ask, holding onto him as you’re turned again laying on your back.

“Pillowtalk? Buy a devil dinner first.” A tendril tugs on your nipple and you swat it lightly.

“A few minutes more.” You pet it, Bucky blinks at your actions.

“What? I don’t have any pets of my own.” You shrug the tendril wraps around your wrist, you smile.

Bucky shakes his head, after round two, he’d leave. Create distance again. 

He could not have your emotions meddle into him. 

He is ruthless, calculative. 

He is cunning. 

He takes what he wants; he cares for no one but himself. 

A king of Hell.

When you fall asleep, he gently moves away from you. 

The tendril you petted pulls the blanket on you better. Bucky stares at it, hands on his hips.

“What part about no attachments isn’t understood?” He whispers. The tendril turns towards you then back at Bucky. “We are not involving ourselves with a human.” He warns the tendril.

The tendril points to your bracelet. As if to say we’re already involved. 

“Just, open the damn portal.” Bucky huffs, as he descends into his realm, he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest and the way your hand sleepily seeks him out, you shifting closer to his residual warmth.

Present.

Warmth floods you at the memories. 

It had been three weeks since his last appearance. Your legs begin parting under the table, the familiar tendril stokes your inner thighs and the remaining drag your lehenga upwards. 

You shut your thighs, pushing the fabric down. 

That blue and red eyed menace. 

“Still three chains?” Your grandmother tuts, your eyes snap to her. 

“I, it’s just been five months—,” Shaiyana stutters, her blonde highlights flailing around her, “It takes time…”

‘Hmm, we’re down to one chain, Doll.’ Bucky’s deep baritone whispers against your earlobe; you feel his teeth graze your flesh. You shudder; he isn't actually here. 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, this is one of his horny tricks. 

“Stop it.” You whisper, his lips ghost over your neck. 

‘I quite like the neckline of this outfit, your chest looks fantastic and this skirt, hmm, could bend you over and just—,’

“Bucky.” You chastise, reaching for your bracelet, the thin gold chain appears and you yank it. 

Bucky’s arm tugs him sideward on his throne. He grasps his end of the shared chain and yanks it as well. 

His court of demons stare at him. Silence takes over the court. 

“What are all of you looking at? What's next I don’t have all the time in the underworld.” He roars at them. 

They look at him and then scutter about before resuming the arguments. 

As a result you knock into the waiter putting the entrées onto your cousin brother’s plate, “I’m so sorry!” 

“I’m not.” Your cousin beams as more food is dropped onto his plate, “These are my fave chicken tikkas.” 

‘Where is my apology Doll?’ Bucky asks, you swat at the tendril on your knee. 

“Y/N?” Your aunt looks at you with a raised brow.

“Oh just a fly.” You swat the other tendril you feel. You glare at the tendrils, they know you mean no harm.

‘You’re being a brat.’

“You were supposed to be here, we had a deal.” You remind him, trying not to let the disappointment get the best of you. 

‘First explain about the chains. Also, I’m busy ruling.’

“You need to be here to ask grandma about it. And stop trying to demon mode sex if you’re so busy ruling a part of hell.” You grit out in a whisper.

“Who needs to ask grandma what?” Your grandma eyes you from where she stands coming to greet everyone at the table. 

“Um just about the ch-,” Bucky’s ring circles your clit, “ah-chains.” You grip the seat of your chair cheeks heating. Oh this little devil of yours is going to pay. 

‘It's cute how you think you can get revenge on me. You're getting tied up today, Doll.’ Bucky warns, all traces of him disappearing. 

“Well?” Your grandmother asks yet again. 

“Why do the chains—,”

“Grandma, if you could just see how good we are together.” The apple of everyone’s eye pleads cutting you off. 

Your cousin brother mimics her whining, the cousins at your table suppress a laugh but giggles escape.

Your aunt shushes everyone.

“The chains are important dear. They tell everything.” She pats her head and then turns her eyes to the empty seat next to you. You wince. Her questioning came from her astute intuition. 

“He’s preoccupied.” You answer, “Meetings, on his way though.” 

She eyes you warily but moves on from your table. 

You slump in your seat. You meet the gaze of your parents and they are disappointed. For an open minded desi family they are disappointed in the lack of presence of your love life compared to your cousins.

What would you tell them? 

A devil creeps into your bed every few weeks? 

That you wish he would stay? 

That you googled how Persephone went to Hades just to know if it's viable for you to move there to hell? 

You’ve laughed to the point of tears over this situation. You could only hope the lesser number of chains meant he would be freed. 

Your theories of the chains fading because of sex was disproved earlier, the second only faded when he had appeared at the club your friends had dragged you to, where you got sick, the nausea from those weird mocktails and greasy food hadn’t agreed with your system. 

All you remember from that night was Bucky carrying, well flying you home after your friends had disappeared with their various hook ups. You had woken up to him scowling at you all while thrusting tylenol, water and then your favourite food in your hands. 

You didn’t think a devil would or could lecture you about parties, but there he was, eyes flickering between red and blue. Voice switching between demonic and human. The tendril you had befriended first had wrapped itself around your wrist offering comfort and Bucky glared at it.

“You cannot possibly think she isn’t to be told off.” He stares at the tendril.

It raises its body then lowers it like a shrug.

“Oh, alright, hm what if she got hurt?” He pauses then, masking his worry with ire.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry.” You look up at him, doe eyed. He inhales then exhales. The worrisome thought crosses his mind yet again. You feel his worry in your chest.

“I was not worried.” Bucky yells, voice fully demonic, you look away from him. His gaze softens.

He cups both your cheeks, “You need to be careful. We don’t know what these chains mean, I try to keep myself out of trouble too. You need to do the same, Doll.” It was the first time he used your nickname without a sexual context.

You both had watched then how the chain undid itself from around his right wrist. 

Something in Bucky’s chest cracks, he swiftly ignores it. The little pang of worry that he may lose you sooner rather than later. 

The hall doors swing open murmurs break out in their presence. You’re pulled out of your thoughts. You watch as Bucky walks in, crossing the threshold that held sacred verses over it with ease. Your jaw drops at his navy traditional sherwani attire. There are intricate velvet patterns on it that give it a raised emboss look. He dressed like that one Indian Film actor did in that one movie that you can no longer recall. All other images gone from your brain apart from this one.

The women of the family all turn to look at you. The chain speaking for Bucky and you before you could. Your grandmother takes your name as she eyes Bucky. He smiles at her. You stand walking to meet him halfway.

“I apologise for the delay, Grandma.” He takes her hand kissing the back of it. Her eyes narrow between the two of you.

“One chain?” She questions.

“We wanted to ask you about that–,”

“After the festivities. Enjoy the dinner, James.” She cuts you off then moves to her original table.

He raises a brow but only gives her a half smile. Bucky turns to you. 

“You like?” He winks, admiring the way your cheeks heat.

“I-, you came?” You ask, Bucky hides his own mirth at the happiness blooming in your heart replacing the earlier loneliness he could feel.

Bucky wants to say something else, you feel his hesitation, “We had a deal.” He runs his hand through his hair, his ring gleaming in the light.

“Let's meet your parents.” He suggests taking your hand and leading you to their table.

The lies flow easily from Bucky’s mouth.

Who is he? 

How the two of you met? 

What does he do with his free time? 

He even has pictures of his white fluffy cat on his phone– Alpine. You raise a brow.

“Cats are nice, misunderstood but nice.” He whispers, his lips brush over your earlobe, “You better not forget what your punishment is,” One arm moves to rest across your chair, his other rests on your thigh. The tendrils begin to work their way up again. 

Bucky’s face is inches from yours, you look up at him. He smiles at you.

“Smile.” He says, you blink, “Smile, Doll.” The tendrils tickle your side, you giggle and the flash occurs. Bucky’s smile widens, taking over his face at the sound of your laugh.

Your younger cousin hands you the polaroid, it's still developing as you lean closer to him.

Your breath ghosts over his neck, “My little devil,” you giggle yet again as you feel his irritation, 

“I’ll show you what’s little–,” He takes a sharp breath when you tug his earlobe and kiss the spot on his neck you had discovered the third time he slept with you.

“As I was asking, will you be in the picture?” 

He sighs exasperated, your questions about all of this ranged from actually fun to answer to can he shut you up in creative ways using his mouth, fingers or cock?

“I’m not a vampire.” He shakes his head, the arm resting across your back softly traces over your arm.

“Hmm, cranky like a hungry one.” You tease.

“Well I haven’t eaten my favourite meal in days. I could eat and no one would know, well if you keep quiet, Doll.” His eyes switch colours, darkened with red rims.

Your brows furrow as you spot a bead of sweat. Before you can stop yourself you wipe it from his temple.

“This sherwani is warmer than I anticipated.” He brushes it off, the waiters place food on Bucky’s plate as well. You don’t look away from him.

“Is it the scriptures?” You ask, he chews the kebab then nods, eyes shifting to the books kept.

“You all prayed before this, correct?” 

“I’m sorry, Bucky I didn’t realise it would be more than what is comfortable, do you want to go outside?” Your hand is placed on his chest.

He licks his lips, “Let me eat my dessert, it's a sin.”

“Are you sure it will help?” Were you actually considering this?

“Hey man, it's so nice of you to come down, she was getting all lonely staring at her phone.” Your cousin interrupts the conversation. 

“Ah yes I was texting her minute by minute.” Bucky nods, you want to laugh. 

You didn’t even have his number. 

“So what do you do?” Bucky questions your cousin. Your mind blanks momentarily as you feel Bucky’s lips ghost along your inner thigh. 

Your cousin replies but you hear nothing, you feel Bucky’s tongue delve through your folds. You grip his hand resting on your thigh. 

‘Not a sound, Doll.’ He warns, ‘So fucking sweet. All for me.’

His moan reverberates against your core, you bite your lip as you feel his fingers delve into you. Thick digits curving deliciously. You reach for the glass of water, your fingers clamp around it as you feel yourself stretch around his ring. 

‘Could stay between your legs for aeons, Doll.’ 

You feel him suck on your clit and you whimper, Bucky next to you presses his lips to your temple. Grounding you. 

‘You love it when I get like this, taking you apart then putting you back together.’ 

His movements gain pace, sweet oblivion within reach and he stops. Your lehenga righted and he kissed your temple again. 

“Seems like we aren’t the only sinners here.” He murmurs. You look at Shaiyana and her partner. The chains are down to two from three. Her hair dishevelled. 

You glare at Bucky. 

“Oh, no this is part of the punishment.” He grins. 

“Bucky.” You all but whine. 

“Needy little Doll aren’t you?” He whispers, “For each orgasm I deny I’m going to reward you.” 

Around you both dinner continues, Bucky teases you relentlessly during the entire time. Thoroughly enjoying the way you squirm for him. Turning into his needy little mess. His greedy little, Doll. 

The fifth time he edges you. You can’t take it, you know distance doesn’t matter he can always use his powers on you. You still excuse yourself from the table, heading to the washrooms. Your cheeks warm, flushed because of Bucky. You fix your dupatta’s draping in the mirror. 

“You have got some nerve.” Shaiyana observes exiting the stall. 

You raise a brow. 

“Oh come on your boyfriend suddenly appears just as I debut mine and one chain? How many times has he fucked you?” She turns to face you. 

“They don’t disappear just because of sex…” you trail off. 

“Oh please, Grandma’s rules clearly state about bonds and binds. How they forge forever and how they break.” She scoffs, flipping her hair back. 

“Shaiyana, how does the bond break?” You swallow, wondering if it is what you wanted, to lose Bucky. 

She looks back in the mirror meeting your gaze through it, “Finally you’re away from, Sire.” 

Her eyes turn fully black, no whites nor her dark brown irises visible. You take a step back. 

“You have him distracted. We don’t like distractions. The only thing good about you? Your mortality.” Her voice haunts you, gooseflesh raising across your skin. 

“He won’t appreciate you hurting me.” You warn, moving towards the bathroom door. You try not to let fear consume you. 

You try to reach out to Bucky through the bond. You feel nothing. 

Shaiyana cackles, “Aw, he isn’t your knight in shining armour.” She steps closer towards you. Her voice is akin to chalk screeching against a board.

You look at the bracelet, the chain does not manifest. You look back at your cousin just as her hand comes in contact with your cheekbone. The force of it pushing you against the granite counter, you groan as the corner hurts you.

Bucky’s brows furrow, you aren’t back yet. The side of the bond that allowed him to reach you was subdued. He walks up to your Grandma, she turns sensing him. 

“I see your curiosity cannot wait.” She smiles standing up, he offers her his hand. She grasps it, leading her towards the balcony. His gaze everywhere trying to find you. 

The tendrils move along the edges of the room, taking over the venue to find you. 

“How did you know my name?” He questions her, there is a thrum around her, iridescent old magick exuding from her aura. 

“I know quite a bit about the demons and Kings of Hell, boy. What I should be asking is what made you choose a mortal?” She raises a brow at him. 

“I didn’t know about the curse until the binds—,”

“You know what I mean.” She gives him a knowing look, “You do know before the binding you were asked if you will explore this with her.” 

Bucky looks out onto the city lights. He remembers the ancient words, he remembers his affirmative reply. He wanted you. Then reality seeped in. Bound to a mortal? Bonds that work across realms? Forcing himself to not seek you out for two months.

He looks back at her, “She was not supposed to become more.”

“And now? You want to break it?” Your grandmother watches him.

“What do the chains mean?” He questions.

Unease trickles across him as the tendrils return with no news. He looks at her. She senses his emotions.

“I have to find her.” Bucky returns to the hall then out into the hall.

He frowns, there was a corridor to the bathroom here why can’t he see it?

“You’re going to break the spell you have on our Master.” Shaiyana’s nails dig into your cheeks. The water overflowing from the taps, the cold seeps into your back. She was slamming your hand into the floor trying to get the bracelet to break. 

There was something possessing her. You had to do something.

“I didn’t!” You cry out in pain that breaks across your knuckle. Moving up your palm. 

“He keeps visiting this realm. He tortured demons over you. His own kind.” Shaiyana snarls and you feel the sting of a slap. 

“He wants the bond gone.” She tells you. Your tear stained eyes meet her obsidian ones.

“How to break it?” You ask, “Did he send you?” 

She smiles, “He did, oh you fell in love? You fell for the King? You, a mere mortal? Be worthy of him?” She laughs. 

In her distraction you begin to pray, she takes her hands away as if burned by your skin. You push yourself away, slipping as you make your way to the door. Shit, shit, shit.

Shaiyana stands again, you pray again, slamming your hands against the door hoping someone would hear you. “Bucky!”

“Stop calling his name!” She warns moving closer to you.

Bucky hears a thump, he turns to the seemingly placed wall. He places his palm on it. It scalds his flesh. His eyes turn red. A seal placed upon the door. He presses both palms to the wall. 

It begins to give way, he hears your pained cry of his name. 

“Doll!” He calls out.

“Bucky!” 

The tendrils slither through the cracks, the seal was drawn outside the door. As the tendrils latch onto it, “Get away from the door!” He yells. You step back, pausing the prayer. Shaiyana yanks you back by your hair.

The door burns as Bucky steps through it. The flames disappear, behind him the cream coloured door now blackened. He stands there anger coursing through his veins. The image of him right now exudes power. 

You whimper as Shaiyana smiles up at him, her nails digging into your scalp, “I did as you said, Sire. The way to break the bond? Break the bracelet or kill her.” She adds.

“When did I place such a command? Are you trying to overthrow me?” He raises a brow, “Release her.” 

“Bucky break it–,”

“No.” He cuts you off.

“I fear it is worse than we thought. He cares for her.” She taps her foot thrice.

A portal opens beneath the three of you. Bucky sends the tendrils forth to break your fall. He switches to his demon form. The tendrils pull you to him. Tucking you to his side. He snarls at the demons gathered around. Shaiyana lays on the ground, unconscious. 

“You have to make a choice, Sire. A bewitching mortal or your duty as King.” The demon that was possessing her procures a blade. Your eyes widen. 

Your hand grips his forearm, he looks down at you, “They would kill you?” 

“They wouldn’t dare.” He looks back at the demons.

“Bucky, let me break it.” You plead.

“Why? Do you not want–,”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“I won’t.”

The glimmer of the blade shines through the fires burning, you do the most mortal thing Bucky expects. Covering his form with yours, “Are you insane?! I need you alive!” He yells.

The blade is stopped by his hand. It burns his flesh.

“What is this sacrificial human bullshit? You do not die for love! Be selfish! Stay alive damn it.” He yells, throwing the blade back at the demon. His wings expand, covering the two of you and Shaiyana from the blades and hexes that are sent your way.

“But–,”

“No. I don’t want the bond to break. Do you know I was asked before the binding. If I wanted this? I agreed.”

“Then why were you gone?” You demand, the tendrils begin to branch out. 

He raises the cracks in the ground. The demons around you stop their attack. All pausing because of the sigils made into the ground.

“I wanted you, Doll. Do you see this? The insubordination?” He glares at all the demons, he turns back to his human form.

“I kept a watch on you. I wanted to know what the chains meant. I dived into research but this is heirloom magick passed down between generations. Not kept in any scripture.” He explains, you blink several times.

“Wait, you said love?” You ask him, he stares at you.

“Just, just sit here and do not look at or touch anything.” He makes you sit on his throne before stepping away. 

“Bucky?” 

He turns back to look at you.

“I don’t want the bond to break too.” Your words make him smile, the familiar tendril wraps around your wrist.

The gold chain around his left wrist disappears, in its place a gold chain bracelet remains. 

The two of you share a look, the bond thrums steadily between the two of you. 

“Now let me go take care of these fools before I return to have you ride me while I sit on my throne.” He winks at you before turning yet again.

Your grandmother looks at Shaiyana asleep on the couch of the hotel lobby, then you, then Bucky. 

“She was possessed?” Your Grandma questions. 

Your devil and you nod.

“She was taken to hell?” 

The devil and his human nod again.

“You both verbalised not wanting the bond to break?” 

You both nod yet again.

“I see. Well I’m not going to deal with the six month crap Demeter had imposed.” She stares at Bucky.

“She’s free to travel realms.” He answers, thumb stroking over your hand.

“Hmm, trust the one who loves horror to snag a devil.” She teases you, “Alright now head on home. I’ll get someone to help with her.” Your grandmother heads back to the banquet hall.

Bucky chuckles, lips pressing to your temple. You close your eyes, when you open them you’re back in the throne room.

“I have to reward you.” He says sitting down on his throne, the tendrils help your lehenga bunch around you as you straddle him, his length pressing to your core.

“That you do, my little devil. My King.” You nip at the skin of his neck, he growls hands gripping your hips.

“Doll.” He warns, moaning as you grind against him.

“Yes?” You continue tracing your lips over his flesh leaving your own little marks upon him.

“After what you achieved today, exposing those who stand against me? You’re going to make a fine Queen and your first order of business?” He lifts you up, clothes melting away from your bodies, slowly he guides you down on his hard length. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you moan against his lips.

“You are to scream your King’s name, my Queen.” He tugs on your bottom lip before kissing you deeply, as he pulls away, “Did you know ancient heirloom magick is one of the strongest forms?” 

You feel so full, the tendrils tease your nipples, “Bucky–,”

“I sensed the magick in you the minute I saw you.” He raises you and has you slide down on him again, controlling your movements. 

You meet his eyes, they have red rims around the darkening irises. Bucky smirks, as he brings you closer to him. Your clit grinding against his trail of hair. You moan, he grasps your chin. 

“You and your magick are both to be mine.” He kisses you then as you feel yourself fall backward, landing on a soft mattress, Bucky’s hands move over your skin. From your hips over your sides one hand remains around your neck, the gold chain of his bracelet gleams. 

“All of it was for the magick?” You rasp, he studies your features. 

He thrusts into you, your walls quiver around him, “Always so fucking beautiful and tight, such a good girl for me.”

Your nails leave little indents into his biceps, “James, answer–Oh–,” 

You moan as his tip brushes over the spot that sparks the pleasured waves to thrum through you.

“All of it,” He thrusts into you deeper, rutting against you, your legs wrapping around him tighter, “Was for you, Doll.”

AN: i never thought i'd get to writing a part 2 for this one shot but here we are, i'm quite proud of it and i hope you enjoyed reading!

Permanent Bucky Taglist: @slutforsexyseabass

[fatehbaz]

[C]olonial policies to monitor and restrict Indian cattle were coterminous with policies to monitor and restrict Indian humans. [...] [T]he ‘milk-line’ [...] has been said by [colonial] scholars since the nineteenth century to bisect the region. [...] [This] reified and naturalised what remains a contentious division between South and Southeast Asia along the western borders of Myanmar. [...] [D]enaturalise [...] this border by uncovering the colonial history of how milk became entangled in the immanent political geography of British Burma. [...] As part of imperial writings on the distinctiveness of the colony's cultural landscape, milk informed the imaginative geography of Burma as a place distinct from India. [...]

---

[T]he turn-of-the-century writings of colonial scholar officials and travel-writers [...] generated a particular imaginative geography [...]. These authors rendered Burma a ‘unique geographic entity’ [...]. Being unable to acquire milk whilst travelling Burma was a frequent gripe in imperial writings. In this it stood in contrast to the rest of British India. [...] Imperial writings on dairy consumption – or, rather, the lack of it – in Burma reified this geography [...]. Burma was where you could not get milk in British India. [...] But the difficulty of milk did not end with the cow. Once produced, the milk itself was liable to adulteration and infection necessitating state and scientific intervention. Limiting the mobility of dairy cattle and removing them from urban areas through policies designed to order and police space were central to colonial schemes for improving milk production [...]. By the twentieth century most of the dairy production in the colony was conducted by Indians who had migrated to Burma with their own cattle. [...]

The rendering of cattle as lively commodities in the milk industry was seen to be in tension with their commodification in a different economic sector, the rice industry. 

This was overwhelmingly the most important part of Burma's colonial economy. 

The late nineteenth century saw a rapid expansion of the deltaic rice frontier. By the opening decades of following century the Burma delta had become the largest rice producing region in the world. The importance of plough cattle was reflected in their market value, which doubled between the end of World War One and 1930. [...] 

In particular, they worried that the bloodlines of the Burmese breed of oxen, apparently favoured by cultivators, were at risk. [...] Indian milch cattle were considered a particular threat. This imperial imperative to protect a so-called ‘Burmese’ breed of ox reified and naturalised Burma as a geographic entity, with Indian cattle figured as invasive.

These concerns were entangled with colonial policies regarding the human Indian population in the colony [...].

---

[There was] a growing recognition of the importance of [Burmese] cattle to the production of rice in the Burma delta. [...] The stocky, strong Burmese ox [...] was thought to be especially suited to labour in paddy fields [...]. Burma was imagined as being constituted of upland areas where cattle were bred and the southern deltaic region where they were worked [...]. This was an animal geography that was transgressed by mobile herds of milking cattle imported from India residing along the sides of waterways and in the railway towns [...]. Following the colony's transportation network, migrant Indian cattle penetrated the spaces [...] To many officials, by the start of World War One the existing measures for protecting Burmese plough cattle from the ‘evils’ of Indian milch cattle were deemed inadequate. The push for greater controls began in 1915 with an agricultural and cooperative conference held in Mandalay. [...] ]C]olonial officials came to frame Indian cattle as a problem breed. The conference was attended by over nine hundred people from across Burma, including [...] state officials. It unanimously agreed that action had to be taken to protect [Burmese] cattle from Indian cattle.

Their suggested course of action was three-pronged: taxation, prohibition and segregation. [...] Attitudes to Indian cattle in the colony were conterminous with attitudes to Indian people.

The interventions [in cattle segregation] [...] can be considered as part of a wider range of state controls placed on Indian migrants to Burma. The timing of these committees was synchronous with inquiries into the sanitary conditions that Indian workers travelled and lived in [...]. At the same time [...], the state introduced compulsory medical checks and vaccinations on human arrivals from the subcontinent. In addition, the concerns expressed by officials contributing to these reports on cattle in Burma were indicative of British officialdom's paternalistic attitude towards the Burmese people, viewing their role as protecting the Burmese from the Indian and Chinese populations. The administrative view of the colony, which by the turn of the century held it to be culturally distinct from India, was increasingly imagining it as a separate geo-political entity. Officials began planning for it to be separated from British India.

During the interwar years anti-Indian sentiments gained ground [...]. Indian migrants were figured by some as a threat [...]. There were a number of anti-Indian riots in the 1930s [...]. The 1935 Government of India Act was enacted in 1937 separating Burma from India [...].

---

All text above by: Jonathan Saha. “Milk to Mandalay: dairy consumption, animal history and the political geography of colonial Burma.” Journal of Historical Geography Volume 54. October 2016. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[athena-xox]

Get ready for me to fucking kill myself 😁😁

Also look at this lesbian icon

Does she have the same va as briar / Frankie / Barbie litdh? I can’t tell since my laundries too loud

This is only the second webisode I’ve watched. And the first one she was awful close with that bunny girl and they were going to have supper together

I SMELL SAPPHICS

Theyre cuties together. Ship ship ship

UghasifglUSghKJdjjAHHHH [mini rant ahead] I’m locked out of my Netflix so I can’t like .. rewatch the pixie scene in dg. I could probably just like find it on internet archive but that’s too much work 😫 (says this as I am making a diagram of enchantimal enchantments used) I should also probably (definitely) go through what the dg junior novel and doaeq says about pixies + go through all the books for fairy lore in general. But like also it’s a weekend and pre cal is making me want to kms (when I understand coterminal angles it’s over for you bitches). Actually though I am going to have to actually do some math for the enchantimals -> eah analysis, since as rae so kindly informed us the fairies are boob height. So I’ll convert their world for that. I should also also maybe perhaps work on the timeline … or the map … or the character dives … or MY FREAKING FAN FICTION. This was in my tags but it was too long 😓😓 tumblr why’d you gotta do me like that

[bandit-o-s-oc-arch]

taking what is salvageable, growing new flesh from old bones, prioritizing the roots and trunk branches will follow after

"A Playlist that seems to be a meditation on the intersection of joy and sorrow that invites those listening to gently debate the semantics of those two things existing coterminously."

Poorly cleaned, rusting and corroding scattershot, blasted into shore-stones that eases down and drifts, sinks and sheds into deep fresh river water that won't stop flowing, crumbling into sandgrit that poisons the veins below the earth with fresh iron.

a conclusion into an shaky epilogue into misguided confidence forward. all with love of course.

i made a new playlist, Already Faded Sunshowers Of Oilslick, it's a direct follow up to my last one to close out a very strange summer. both can be listened seperately, of course, but you can listen to the last track of the first one, Stripped Flesh Summer: VOLUME 1 - Growing Rhyzome On Fire, and it transitions really smoothly -- feels appropriate for the healing feelings that August brought in from woundful June and the scabbing July. I like writing expressive words for these, which is what you read first.

thank you, enjoy

♥️ erra

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

It’s Week 3 and I promised I’d commit to my theory for Season of the Seraph’s story arc if hubris didn’t come knocking for me before then, so time to put my money where my digital mouth is. I’ve seen folks talking about the first part of this theory, but not the second, so here goes: 1) Clovis will try to make himself the new Warmind and 2) in the process breach the Ascendant Realm and open the way for Xivu Arath.

Clovis, by the way, gave away the game like two minutes in because he can’t keep his dang mouth shut. Clovis couldn’t resist a good smug gloat. He gave it all away when Ana said god, fine, hop on this disk and we’ll go. He said, “Once I am in control, all will be as it should be. The Warmind will rise again.” 

As it should be? That line stopped me cold. Clovis hated that Rasputin was in charge. He couldn’t believe he, the genius Clovis Bray the first, was expected to take orders from a jumped-up calculator he used to own. A restored Rasputin is not “as it should be” in Clovis-land. What is “as it should be?” It’s Clovis, so that’s easy: the way things should be is with him in charge. He doesn’t say, “Rasputin will rise again.” He says, “The Warmind will rise again.” Clovis is going to get all the subminds together except put himself at the center instead of the Rasputin core Ana has, and try to make himself the new Warmind. All of which would just be fun to watch as we wait for Red to break him, but: there’s Xivu Arath to deal with. 

We’re all worried about Xivu getting into the warsats. I don’t think she wants them at all. In the Judgement of Kelgorath lore she doesn’t order Kelgorath to go get her some warsats. She says: possess the Warmind. Xivu Arath has plenty of weapons already. What she needs, as Mara points out, is a way in. Mara comments in the encounter dialogue that moving an army through the ascendant realm is very hard. But Xivu did it over Torobatl. How? Sav showed her the way: she did it by getting someone on the other side to build her a gate.

I was surprised in Season of the Hunt by the extent of control Xivu displayed. I thought her unlikely to go for subversive powers like Oryx’s Taking or Sav’s manipulation. But she’s a lot smarter than I gave her credit for. Her Wrathborn contagion is effective, coercive, and quick-spreading. It makes sense metaphorically: violence is a kind of disease, an insidious way of thinking that spreads and snares people till they see everything as a conflict to be settled by force. Xivu invaded the Cabal by infecting Caiatl’s co-ruler Umun’arath, general of the Cabal legions. Driven further and further into obsession with the conflict Xivu Arath makes herself synonymous with, Umun’arath invoked her in the rituals of warfare - the same ones Eris and Eido were discussing - opening the way for Xivu’s armies to pour into the skies over Torobatl. 

For Xivu to repeat that trick in our solar system, she needs another Umun’arath. But Umun’arath was a singularly convenient target: the military chief of the war machine of a huge conquering interstellar empire, or in other words, someone you might call...war-minded. When scouting our solar system Xivu probably heard the name “Warmind” and thought hell yeah, that’s my ticket in. Except it’s not, because Rasputin’s a) not coherent right now and b) not fundamentally the personality she needs. That’s what we’re already exploring this season: at his core Rasputin was never a martial system. He was a pretentious art nerd who got drafted. They made him a Warmind. Xivu Arath needs someone coterminous with war for its own sake, with conflict as the apex of existence, with the supreme violence she represents. And ironically it turns out the Warmind Rasputin is not sufficiently war-minded. 

But Clovis is.

Clovis Bray already sees life as endless contest and conflict via his pseudo-evolutionary legacy bullshit. He’s Xivu’s dream target. When you first see her forces attacking him Clovis is like “they want my precious braaaaaain!” and Osiris goes, “no, they want him. Brought to submit.” That’s exactly what Clovis wants of Rasputin (and to a lesser extent Ana and Elsie): brought to submit. He’s neck deep in Darkness on his own, no convincing needed. And he’s a coward. If Clovis hasn’t cut a deal yet with either Xivu or the Witness to ensure “humanity’s” (his) survival in exchange for his allegiance, he will as soon as he has the reins. After all, let it not be said that he left humanity to fend for itself, right?

So that’s her plan: Xivu Arath attacks the warsat infrastructure to force us to go to Clovis and give him access to Red’s enclave. She waits while we do all the hard work of laying out the subminds to conjure back Rasputin. Clovis inevitably betrays us to slot himself in instead and take control, rousing Rasputin’s entire apparatus of violence to impose his own command on the solar system, helped along by the Wrathborn contagion already brewing in his subconscious. In doing so he invokes such immense rites of war that he opens the way for Xivu to step through. It’s Torobatl all over again...except I don’t think trying to “become the Warmind” is going to work out the way Clovis thinks. 

Clovis still doesn’t understand what Rasputin is, and he still doesn’t understand - as he doesn’t understand with any of his kids - that Rasputin is no longer as Clovis designed him to be. Even Ana hasn’t fully gotten there yet. Both Brays are still thinking of Red as a sort of jigsaw puzzle to be pieced back together. But assembling himself was the first thing Rasputin ever did. Ana still hasn’t cracked the real reason “plug engram into Exo, receive Warmind” isn’t working: because Rasputin is a distributed intelligence. He lives in connections, literally and metaphorically - between warsats, between worlds, with Ana, with humanity. He’s a creature fundamentally built on network and communication. Rasputin is already still out there. He’s in that engram, but he’s everywhere else, too. He’s still in the warsats. He’s talking to us through the Sleeper nodes. He’s going to fight Clovis for control of that Exo Frame; that’s why the frame has red eye-lights in all the season art even though Clovis uses blue ones. 

And in the larger paracausal sense our entire solar system still bears the marks of the Warmind’s influence. He’s synonymous with the Golden Age. The same way Oryx conjured back Savathun and Xivu Arath by recreating the shapes they made, Rasputin will be conjured back by the shape he traced out in a huge web of connections and actions and effects on others that Clovis, an isolated point, fundamentally doesn’t understand. So Clovis is going to pull his little coup, possibly smashing that engram along the way, and he’s going to think it’s working, too - right before Rasputin cracks him open like an egg, because the Warmind never left. I think this season ends with us fighting Clovis in full Wrathborn mode while Xivu Arath’s armies stand ready just on the other side in the Ascendant Realm, hammering to get in, and Rasputin will deliver the final blow from inside - or maybe not, since killing Umun’arath completed the ritual last time, maybe we just wedge Clovis into his own Pillory engram - stopping Xivu from getting her beachhead and leaving her angry but stranded in the Ascendant Realm. 

Hopefully. Either way I can’t wait to see what happens.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Similar problems arise with Vettese and Pendergrass’s contention that “the easiest—and perhaps only—way to achieve large-scale reforestation and feed the world at the same time is through widespread veganism.” They defend this contention by feeding into their model per capita estimates of land requirements for different dietary regimes based on agricultural figures within the coterminous United States and multiplying these by global population numbers. Notably, even the article from which these estimates are drawn observes that a smaller total number of people can be supported by a vegan diet than a vegetarian or low-meat mixed one, as the former is unable to use land suitable to grazing. Although this may be less of a problem in the context of the United States—as even the lowest estimate of the maximum population fed by U.S. agriculture is 1.3 times the size of the 2010 U.S. population—it becomes a much more dangerous assumption when applied to more arid regions, such as parts of Africa, Latin America, and Asia, where attempts to impose sedentary agriculture on Indigenous populations have undermined pastoral livelihoods with disastrous social and ecological consequences. It also runs counter to the nonprofit organization GRAIN’s contentions that struggles around agriculture and sustainability need to start from the premise that “farming communities should also be able to decide by and for themselves, and without pressure, the type of land tenure they want to practice”—a sentiment echoed by movements such as La Vía Campesina and in the Marseille Manifesto. These complexities do not negate the fact that shifting that portion of the world’s population presently consuming large quantities of industrially produced meat to a more vegetable-based diet would have numerous health, ecological, and ethical benefits. Rather, a more comprehensive ecological approach suggests that there are problems with assuming that experiences and conditions based on a single U.S. metropolitan view are directly translatable into global realities. As Rob Wallace and Max Ajl point out in response to a piece co-authored by Vettese that advocates Half-Earth Socialism, planetary veganism, and synthetic meat in response to the COVID-19 pandemic, many vegan criticisms of the social-ecological effects and suffering inflicted by industrial animal husbandry are valid. Nevertheless, they lose their moral and empirical backing when they adopt a series of settler-colonial biases that facilitate the careful drawing of distinctions between industrial and sustainable cultivation of plants while treating industrial and peasant animal husbandry as an undifferentiated whole. That is, the differences between peasant and pastoral animal husbandry practiced by countless peoples around the world and industrial livestock operations are as great as those that Vettese and Pendergrass recognize between industrial and organic agriculture, in terms of their ecological consequences, their contributions to and imbrications with cultural identities, and the amount of harm inflicted on the animals involved. In this sense, Vettese and Pendergrass’s universal condemnation of all “animal husbandry as one of the most consequential and dangerous ways humans shape life on Earth” is both inaccurate and reflects what Wallace and Ajl refer to as “specific values, specific devaluations, and pathological externalizations” undergirding a project “that consents to the brute confiscation and erasure of peasant and pastoral particularisms in the name of ‘universal’ ideals: rewilding Earth upon the bones of supposedly atavistic peoples poor and brown.”