#please look into other resources within the first and second tags in this post too

[duckiemimi]

i’ve recently come across an insightful video analysis that was reposted on tiktok, explaining the Gaza situation in depth and touching on the geopolitical and economic motivations that background it, along with the potential impact from the ethnic cleansing and the active genocide of Palestinian people by zionists. here’s a summary with some links to more-reputable news articles:

-roughly around a month ago, netanyahu declared his plan for a “new middle east,” an economic corridor stretching from India to the European continent, through the UAE, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and “israel.”

-due to the weakening of the US Dollar, this “new middle east” corridor serves as a hopeful (on their part) counter to China’s new ongoing “silk road.” it’s essentially a move for leverage on world economics, trade, and politics.

-Russia is the country with the largest proven reserves of natural gas. in 2022, Nord Stream 1 and 2 (Russia’s gas pipelines) were both blown up. sanction packages from EU ban Russian gas. no more Russian gas coming into Europe.

-Iran, the country with the second largest gas reserves, signs the Nuclear Deal in 2015-2016. the US backs out of the deal and reimpose harsh sanctions on Iran. Iran is barred from selling its gas and oil to Europe and others.

-with Russia and Iran out of the picture, “israel” (US-backed) proposes itself as a solution to EU’s gas shortages. in 2010, they find the Leviathan—a giant gas field in the middle east (Mediterranean Sea), off the coast of Palestine, Lebanon, and Syria.

-Syria initially declines offers over its gas reserves; the US now controls 1/3 of Syria and all its oil fields, and “israel” regularly bombs it’s most vital port (Latakia). another major port is in Beirut, which mysteriously exploded in 2020. both Syria and Lebanon’s maritime activity are limited, including in trade and gas exploration.

-Gaza, also having its own unexplored gas fields, has been under siege, under naval blockade since 2007. the only working port left in the coast is haifa port in “israel.” “israel” is now the only one able to explore gas and implement an economic corridor, like the proposed “new middle east.” what the US and “israel” have essentially done is killed off the competition, stole their goods, and cornered the market.

-in light of Europe’s gas shortages, to get them gas before winter, “israel” attempts to “stabilize” the region by solving “the Palestinian question”—more than displacement, they’ve resorted to ethnic cleansing and genocide. basically an acceleration of their plan.

-what Palestinian resistance groups have done in response was because they were backed into a corner. tooth and nail, life or death. it did not happen in a vacuum.

it has always been a move for natural resources; Palestine, Syria, Congo—every move for destabilization framed as intervention. it has always been greed for capital.

update:

it’s come to my attention that the video in question might have some more pro-Russian leaning stances, and so i’ve deleted the google drive link to the reposted tiktok and the link to the actual tiktok as i do not wish to platform the denial, partial or in whole, of the atrocities done to Ukrainian people. i will keep the summary up with some parts omitted because i still do think it is an insightful analysis in general and i do think the knowledge is still useful and relevant.

[bluerose5]

The Ghost of Paradise (Exile AU)

Chapter 2: By the Minute

Rating: M

Word Count: 3,796

Tags: Mass Effect: Andromeda, Scott Ryder, Reyes Vidal, Reyder, Pre-Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exile, Flirting, Secrets, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Romance, Rivalry, Engineer/Mechanic Scott Ryder, Jealousy

[Read it here as well on ao3.]

“Our agents say that you were speaking with Reyes Vidal at Kralla’s,” Nola said. She didn’t even give Scott a chance to breathe. The second he was through their gates —which were still a work in progress— Scott was ambushed. “Do I even want to know what you have planned?”

Scott grinned at her.

“Why must I always have something planned?” Scott asked. “Reyes is a good friend. For all you know, we could have been catching up over drinks.”

“‘Could have’ doesn’t mean that you were.”

“Fair enough.”

As she fell into step at his side, Nola led him around while they spoke, appraising their growing community with pride.

“Scott, as governor of Paradise, should I not be made aware of any transactions that might affect us?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Tell me what I need to know then. Nothing more, nothing less.”

As if he could refuse her insistent prodding. Every time he left, he always forgot how relentless she could be upon his return, but only when it pertained to matters that could have both predictable and unforeseen effects in their future.

In a way, Scott was grateful to have someone with that type of dedication on their side. They’re going to need it.

“I swear, it wasn’t anything particularly groundbreaking,” Scott promised. “I gave him some seeds from our latest project in exchange for a long-ranged scanner modification. That’s it.”

“Hmm… A decent enough trade.”

“Glad to have your approval.”

Of course, it was too much to hope that she would leave it at that.

“What is it for?” Nola asked.

Scott knew from experience not to lie to her face.

He sighed. “I’m going to scout out some of the Remnant ruins nearby. See if I can get a read on their bots, or a turret if I’m lucky.”

She cocked her head to the side and considered that for a moment, lips pursed.

“Promise to be careful then. I know you would gladly give your life to protect any of these people, but we don’t need you to throw it away because of pure recklessness,” she reminded him. “If it comes down to an altercation, we would rather have you here than some lousy turret schematics. Besides—” She shrugged. “You would probably be the only one who could make sense of them anyways. You and that stupidly genius brain of yours.”

Scott scoffed, suddenly uncomfortable as he shifted in place.

“Got it from my parents, or so they say.”

Ellen and Alec Ryder. The woman who literally gave her life to perfect biotic implants and the man who created a whole new type of AI. Quite the legacy to live up to.

Good thing Scott wasn’t living his life based on their achievements. Andromeda was a whole different playing field compared to the Milky Way. The work he was doing with Paradise was incredible in its own right. At least, he liked to think so.

If he could change at least one person’s life for the better in Andromeda, then he considered that a success.

Based on the feedback he was receiving from the residents, he was doing a damn good job, and that was enough for him.

But Nola had a point.

People relied on Scott now. As much as he was willing to dive headfirst into danger, he needed to refrain from doing so.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised her. “If things start to go south, I’ll ping you and Nakamoto.”

“Thank you,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Scott hated to worry her so, but there was that one other matter.

“If it’s any consolation to you,” Scott said, trying for a lighter tone yet failing, “Reyes offered to accompany me on the trip.”

Nola stopped short, and Scott skidded to a halt. She narrowed her eyes at him with a sneer curling at her lip.

“No, that is not of any consolation to me. Scott Ryder, you know how he is.”

“Charming and witty?” Scott tried for his best smile, but Nola wasn’t buying into that bullshit, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Flighty and untrustworthy, especially once his back is against the wall.” Then, she amended her statement, taking on a slightly accusatory tone. “That’s assuming you didn’t pay any of his ridiculous service fees.”

“Puh-lease.” Scott chuckled. “If anyone should be spending their credits, Reyes should be the one paying me for my company. I’m a treasure not many can afford.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nola snorted, “but at least you know your worth.”

“They say that time is money, after all. I’ll make sure to charge him by the minute while we’re together.”

“Please do, and make sure to get a picture of his face once you show him that bill.”

Scott was only happy to see her smile again.

“Will do,” he said.

“While you’re at it, drop a few hints here and there that Paradise might be looking to contract out some exclusive deals with top-rate smugglers. Leave out the ‘top-rate’ part, of course. Can’t have that going to the poor man's head.”

“His ego is already insufferable enough without the compliments,” Scott agreed, “but isn’t the whole point of secrecy for you and I not to draw attention to our connections here?”

“A woman can dream though, can’t she?” Nola sighed.

“So much for Reyes being ‘untrustworthy.’”

Nola didn’t even hesitate, brushing off his attempt to use her words against her.

“Skill is skill, and we don’t exactly have the people or resources to be picky right now. Everything is a commodity on Kadara, even integrity. If he betrays us, we’ll deal with him, simple as that.”

Right.

Still, it was laughable to think that the Charlatan would take on a contract with some of his direct competitors.

Although, that sounds like exactly the type of stunt that Reyes would pull. More than likely, he’d have an ulterior motive for doing so, but Scott could see it happening.

Did he support the idea, though? Definitely not. 

“I don’t know,” Scott muttered. “I couldn’t see Reyes limiting his business to one group, especially if we’re only starting to get our feet wet.”

“You would know how he operates better than I, but I suppose that attitude is understandable. Disappointing, but understandable.” Nola grumbled. “Well, if nothing else, tell him the least he could do is give you a discount.”

“Trust me, I’ve been working that angle for a while. No such luck.”

“Greedy bastard.”

As they finished up their routine patrol, they soon switched direction, heading towards Nakamoto's clinic to conclude their meeting. There, Paradise’s leaders convened. They reviewed the requests that their colonists posted on the message boards around the settlement. Together, they decided on what matters they could approve for certain and which ones would be placed on the docket for a community vote. After that, they moved on to logistics, including topics such as requisitions and inventory.

To draw the meeting to a close, Nola relayed their latest numbers for colonial development. Water production was steady. However, food stores would be struggling soon to keep up with the recent influx of residents, so security personnel and all of those who knew their way around a gun were strongly encouraged to increase hunting and foraging activities while out on patrols or while performing their daily tasks. A roster will be posted on the local message boards to look for volunteers who would like to fill a full-time hunter-gatherer role.

Hopefully, what few angaran scientists they had amongst their people would be able to process their first batch of nutrient paste after their next harvest. It wasn’t exactly the tastiest solution available, but it was a necessary one if they were to survive.

In terms of population, there was a rapid spike in enrollment when word spread that Paradise actually got shit done and held true to their promises, but they expected the effect to eventually plateau once people settled in. Angara enrollment was up at the moment, especially after Scott appointed Nola as governor, and they have even seen a few Initiative members join up, having made the journey all the way from the Nexus to be reunited with friends, family, and loved ones.

Scott asked that they spread word for people to be warm and welcoming. The request probably wasn’t necessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Their community would make no friends by tearing people apart, and they prided themselves on being close and tight-knit.

It was important that they not only claimed to be but that they acted like it as well, backing up their words with actions.

Security assignments were then posted. Patrols would have to be upped to make up for an increase that they were seeing with gang-related attacks. Once automated security measures were in place, they would revisit the matter in order to assess which sectors needed heightened security. Emergency drills would be held at the end of the week.

With all of their needs addressed, Nola called the meeting to a close.

Once the meeting was adjourned, Scott approached Nola and their Head of Security, requesting a full census to be done within a day's time. Scott needed names, numbers, faces. Each citizen’s profile needed to be updated within their database.

If Scott was going to make an effective defense matrix for the colony, then he would prefer to program an IFF system that only a select few could remotely activate. For the system to work as intended, all of the colonists' photo IDs and biometric profiles would need to be kept current and constantly updated in real-time.

Nola promised to see to it that Scott got what he needed, shooing him off.

Apparently, he was hovering, but Scott could take a hint. He could tell when he was no longer needed, and he knew that Nola worked best when he wasn’t constantly worrying after her like a mother hen.

Departing from the settlement, Scott cloaked himself the second he went beyond the boundaries of their walls.

He was almost halfway back to Port when he received a message from Reyes. Figuring that he was in the clear, Scott made sure that the coast was clear before deactivating his cloak.

Pulling up his omni-tool’s interface, Scott opened the message. Along with it, there was a set of coordinates, sent from Reyes’s location.

R: Think I’m ready to cash in on those shuttle repairs. Wouldn’t mind the company right about now.

Scott’s fingers hovered above the holographic keys, contemplating his next move before deciding to hell with it.

S: Miss me that much?

R: Am I that obvious?

He didn’t even give Scott a chance to reply before he sent another message.

R: If it’s still in question though, let me put it bluntly.

R: I want to see you.

Scott pursed his lips, cursing his stupid heart for racing in response.

S: Give me a few. I’ll be there.

R: I’ll be looking forward to it.

Before he could embarrass himself, Scott closed out his messages. He quickly made his way to Port, grabbing his bag of tools and gear before venturing back out into the badlands.

From there, Scott followed the coordinates to a cliff, overlooking a nearby valley. The sun was slowly but surely sinking down over the horizon, lightning up the sky in array of pinks and oranges and reds.

Reyes was already waiting for him by the time he arrived, the shuttle powered down for the moment.

However, the second Scott noticed that Reyes was facing away from him, he instantly slowed his walk to a crawl. He bent his knees into a slight crouch and shifted his weight with each step, toe to heel as he snuck his way up behind him.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”

Scott delighted in watching him him jump in shock, only to have a blade at his throat in the blink of an eye.

As soon as Reyes realized who it was, all the blood drained from his face.

“S–Scott!”

Hands raised in surrender, Scott raised an eyebrow at him incredulously.

“You know, I was kind of expecting a warmer welcome,” he admitted, careful of the firaan's sharp edge. Keema must have given it to him. “Have to say, though, would it be weird if I was a little turned on right now?”

Reyes scoffed.

Trailing the blade along the outline of his throat, Scott swallowed thickly when he eventually felt its pointed tip press underneath his chin. Reyes tilted it up, and Scott followed, lest he risk being cut.

Their eyes met, and Reyes smirked.

Bastard was toying with him.

Retracting his knife, Reyes sheathed the firaan while Scott tried to catch his breath. The goosebumps left behind in the dagger's wake soon receded, yet a warm heat lingered.

“Tsk.” Reyes huffed at him. “Ryder—”

Uh-oh, back to last name basis. From experience, that meant trouble.

“You know better than to sneak up on me!” Reyes scolded.

“I do,” Scott said, not even afraid to acknowledge it, “but I love getting a rise out of you.”

“What if I would have hurt you?”

“But you didn’t.”

Scowling, Reyes placed his hands on his hips. Shaking his head, he pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“Scott, what the hell am I going to do with you?” he asked, releasing his nose, half-fond and half-frustrated.

“I’m sure we could think of something.”

Reyes hummed in agreement, watching Scott approach the shuttle with his bag tossed over his shoulder. He dropped it to the ground, then immediately got to work.

Watching him closely, Reyes leaned against the side of his shuttle with a thoughtful look.

“Maybe I could take you on a date?”

While Reyes tried to sound confident, his attempt ultimately failed. Instead of forming the words into a bold offer, they fell flat, sounding more like an uncertain question.

Scott stopped what he was doing. He spared Reyes a brief glance, only to return his attention to the task at hand, hiding his flushed face.

“Wouldn’t Zia disapprove?” Scott asked, being rougher than necessary as he practically took apart the control panel.

Envy curled inside him, spreading like an infection through his bloodstream. There was a sharp squeeze around his heart as it was encased in the feeling.

Reyes called him out on it, way too perceptive for his own good.

“Ryder, are you jealous?” Reyes chuckled.

Scott glared, causing him to throw his hands up in surrender.

“Just asking.”

“And if I am?” Scott retorted.

“Then I’d have to put your mind at ease.”

“It’s really none of my busin—”

Reyes closed the distance between them. Reaching out, he cupped Scott’s cheek, brushing his thumb along his bottom lip. Weak as he was, Scott leaned into his touch for a split second. His eyes threatened to flutter closed, but he had to remain firm about this one matter, if nothing else.

As he started to pull away, Reyes said, “There is nothing going on between Zia and I.” Scott froze into place. “We went out for drinks a few times, nothing more.”

“You swear?” Scott asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I swear.” His voice grew heated, impassioned. “I might be a bad man when it comes to many things, but I wouldn’t ever lie about that to you.”

Scott considered that before replying, “Well, like I said—” He cleared his throat, eyes averted. “ It’s not really any of my business, so I don’t know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

He trailed off, uncertain why he was acting that way.

Reyes furrowed his brow.

“No need to be sorry. If you had crossed a line, then I would have said so.”

“Even then, you’re not mine. Your relationships are your own.”

“I could be.”

Scott regarded him skeptically.

“Could be what?”

“Yours,” Reyes answered instantly, staring intently at Scott. “Just say the word.”

If only they weren’t both keeping secrets from each other at the moment, then Scott might take him up on that.

Turns out, being with the Charlatan would be a huge conflict of interests. Who could’ve guessed?

Silence settled between them. It was as if the whole world was awaiting Scott’s answer with bated breath. Time itself seemed to stand still in anticipation.

“I—” He struggled to find the right words. “Give me time.”

That’s all he could ask.

Reyes’s hopeful expression fell, and that alone felt like a stab to the chest. Scott's breathing trembled a little, as if it was becoming difficult to continue drawing in one breath after another.

God, he didn’t want to hurt him, but neither of them could really afford to rush into things half-cocked.

Scott copied his earlier gesture, reaching out to cup Reyes’s cheek. The change was almost instantaneous, how the tension drained away, only for Reyes to melt into Scott’s touch. He leaned into his hand, starved for affection.

Scott swallowed thickly, unable to pull away, let alone take his eyes off of him for even a second.

“All I ask is that you give me time,” Scott repeated. “That’s not a ‘no.’ I just need to think a few things over, iron out a few details.”

Reyes listened, then agreed.

“Alright.” He pulled away with a small, private smile. “As if I could deny anyone such a reasonable request, especially you.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Returning his attention to the shuttle, Scott got back to work. After all, he didn’t want to neglect the poor bird, and it appeared that the shuttle was in desperate need of a little TLC.

His diagnostics only confirmed his suspicions.

When a couple of sparks resulted from his prodding, Scott chastised Reyes for mistreating their baby. Reyes grew defensive, both of them falling back to old habits as they bickered.

This was the type of work that Scott did on the Nexus after he got sidelined and shafted. Systems repairs, shuttle repairs, routine maintenance… That sorta thing.

It was how he met Reyes to begin with. Few pilots had the energy to hang around and talk shop with Scott while he worked, especially since a lot of them had only recently returned from failed colonization efforts. Understandably, most people didn’t want to entertain idle conversation after watching their friends die out in the field.

That was fine by Scott, but Reyes had always gone out of his way —even then— to make sure that Scott had anything and everything that he needed.

They might have taken his shuttle out on a few joyrides together, gotten in trouble for wasting fuel, but Scott wouldn’t trade that time they spent together for anything in the galaxy.

Even now, it felt natural to settle back into their old routine. While Scott worked, Reyes watched, and they talked about anything and everything.

Time passed, and Scott only got deeper into the repairs and modifications. Despite the setting sun, he still broke a sweat, a light sheen glistening upon his skin.

Eventually, he had to take off his shirt, leaving him in a plain tank top that quickly got dirty along with his hands.

Swiping at the perspiration beading at his hairline, Scott grunted as he came to a stopping point for now. He reached for his bag, but what he was seeking wasn’t there.

“Shit.”

Turning towards Reyes, Scott huffed at him.

The bastard wasn’t even trying to hide his staring. Face flushed, he was biting teasingly at his bottom lip, brown eyes dark as he watched Scott through a hooded gaze.

Getting to his feet, Scott crossed his arms over his chest.

“See something you like?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re shameless.” Scott shook his head in disbelief, tsking under his breath. “You’re just as bad as that one time when Gil Brodie asked for a ‘second opinion’ on some fix he made. Turns out, I ended up doing almost all of the work while he sat back and watched.”

“Smart man,” Reyes noted, giving Scott a thorough once-over. “This Gil must have great tastes.”

Scott snorted.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. If you really want to make me happy, then you would grab your water bottle for me.”

“Did you forget yours?” Reyes asked, slightly concerned. After all, being caught out in the badlands without water was just asking for dehydration or heat stroke.

Nevertheless, he got the bottle for him. Scott placed his hands over Reyes’s, shrugging with a flustered blush.

“Yeah,” Scott sighed. “I thought I had packed it! I don’t know where it could’ve wandered off to.”

“Perhaps you were in a bit of a rush to get here,” Reyes said, trailing off suggestively.

Scott figured that he would allow that.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, “but what else do I keep you around for, if not the water? You wouldn’t want the guy repairing your shuttle to get dehydrated, right?” Scott smirked. “I could get delirious, and it would be very unfortunate if I just so happened to forget to install an essential component.”

Reyes gasped dramatically, relinquishing the water to Scott, who was quick to take a swig.

“You always have to watch out for the pretty ones,” Reyes grumbled. “Always causing trouble, keeping secrets…”

There it was again. That sense of knowing , that sense that both of them were holding something back. It was left unsaid. Neither confronted the other about it, but they knew that the secrets were there.

Before the sudden lag in conversation could get too awkward, Scott took another swig of water and asked, “So, you think I’m pretty?”

Reyes chuckled, glad for the change of subject.

“Kian seems to think so,” he muttered. Leave it to him to avoid the question. “He keeps asking when you’re going to start working for him at Tartarus.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“As a dancer?” He had to make sure he was hearing right.

“Yep.”

“Could you imagine?” Scott scoffed. “Me, shaking my ass for money? A tempting offer. It would probably be more profitable than the odd jobs I take on here and there, but I think I’m fine where I’m at.”

“Damn,” Reyes sighed, “what a shame.”

Scott raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“You saying you would have come to watch me?”

“Not only that, but I would have paid to watch you,” Reyes said, “especially if I could have gotten a private show out of it.”

Scott tried to imagine it, grinning in spite of himself.

“What’s so funny?” Reyes wondered.

“Nothing, nothing,” Scott said, brushing off his concern. “That just made me remember a thought that I had earlier.”

“What about?”

“Oh, you know.” Scott gestured vaguely. “Just that I should start charging you a fee for when we spend time together.”

Reyes winked at him.

“It would be worth every credit.”

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 27

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!gifted!reader Content: All the smut. Be smart about it and use protection unlike some idiots in this story. A/N: Yeah, I’m not posting regularly yet. We got told this week at work that we are in fact NOT returning to our old place (which we had left “temporarily” due to better use of resources during COVID19 wave 1). That sucks. A lot. So I’m still stressed and semi-depressed and now also sad that we won’t have the surroundings needed to complete our job which is to train/rehabilitate people with apoplexia. Anyways...ask or re-blog for tag.

27. Eat Me, Drink Me

...   Reader   ...

The swooping rush in your belly is extended as soon as the blue cloud dumps the two of you on solid ground by Loki pushing you backward. Your back against cold metal, you manage a peek at the surroundings despite the grip the god has in your hair. There’s only a hint of distant light coming through the windows because there’s very little room between the hull and the cave wall, but it is enough to reveal sharp lines in a familiar design.

“The ship.” Is he taking you away from Asgard?

“Yes,” he chuckles darkly, body suddenly flush against you and his other hand digging into your waist just shy of painful, “I intend to have you screaming my name, begging for more as I ravish you.”

Heh. “Words.” Your sneer makes his brows arch beautifully. “Empty words.”

“Have care, [Y/N] -” he begins with a deep growl.

“Or what? You’re all noise, like a mosquito buzzing in the night but just like an insect all you’ve done is leave an anno-”

Snarling at your taunt, he latches on to the tender spot on your neck just below the ear. Teeth graze over your skin, leaving a sting that he soothes right away by kissing his way along your jaw before he claims your mouth. Claim. There’s no better word for it as his tongue dances along your lips and tangles with yours, nearly distracting from the new occupation of Loki’s hands that roughly are untying knots and bows in your clothes before pulling the dress down around your waist. Immediately, he busies himself with your breasts. Long fingers massaging them, pinching your nipples as his mouth draws the first moans from you by sucking, kissing, licking, biting.

Half-dazed, you begin to fumble with Loki’s clothes, enjoying the simplicity of the tunic and leather trousers he has been wearing under the disguise, and it takes little time before his torso is bared to you and your hands skim the smooth skin of his ass (trousers abandoned mid-thigh).

“Impatient, pet?”

You love the smirk on his lips as he teases. Clearly, you’re not the only one wanting more because his erection is pressing against your pelvis, long and hard with the promise of filling the emptiness within. Managing to squeeze a hand between your bodies, you grab his cock and deliver a slow stroke from balls to crown. Fuck, he looks good. The thought makes you smile at the god who’s eyes have closed in bliss at the sensation...but then the trance breaks and he steps out of reach, yanking the dress so it pools around your feet before literally lifting you over his shoulder as though you weigh nothing.

“Enough of your taunts,” he growls against your hip, allowing his teeth to dig in as he carries you to his cabin where he tosses you on the bed. “I’ll ruin you for all other men. I’m a god. You’d do well to remember that.”

“There you go with the talking again.”

Moving up in the bed, you’re hyper aware of the state of undress Loki is seeing you in. The only scrap of fabric clinging to your body is the underwear – a flimsy scrap of silk barely covering you pussy and held on to your body with some lace – and, oh, does he like what he sees! Following you on hands and knees (trousers now discarded), the raven-haired man is upon you mouth first, kissing his way up your legs while paying extra attention to your inner thighs after noticing the sighs it elicits.

The only problem is, every time you reach for him, the god bats away your hands. It’s annoying. I’ve not gotten him this far only to be denied touching. Cool, smooth skin that screams for caresses of fingertips. Ropy muscles, bunching and rolling with each movement as a testament to the strength he possesses even if he isn’t bulky like his brother. No. The god’s body is made for endurance and flexibility. For fucking you into tomorrow in positions you’ve probably not even dreamed of. And you want it.

You’re just about to do something about it when the tip of his tongue delves between the folds, dragging the pooling wetness to your clit where he pauses, adds pressure, and then flicks it with a satisfied chuckle.

“You will get more...if you behave,” Loki smirks.

The taste of pleasure is still buzzing along your spine and you’re almost willing to do anything as long as it gets you more. Wait...You had had a plan before getting swooped up and dropped onto the bed. Push him.

“Of course,” your mocking tone makes him arch a brow, “throwing in some distraction rather than act. I should have known.” You’re aware that he’s allowing you to push him back with a foot against his chest, permitting you to get onto your knees and hover over him. “If I wanted a talker, I’d go to Fandral.”

The sound of the blond man’s name ignites something in Loki. You can see it instantaneously because his eyes flood with the colour of blood and the teeth revealed as he snarls looks more like those of a predator. Large hands grab you by your hips and drag you on top of him, expertly positioning your soaked cunt against the tip of his cock.

“Never...” he pulls you down, the slow drag against your inner walls delicious - “...compare me...” with a last tug and thrust, Loki bottoms out - “...to him.” In a heartbeat, he’s got you back against the wall, lips growling against your mouth. “I’m a god.”

Holding you up, he pulls back almost completely before rutting into you at a pace that has your back arching and eyes rolling. The sheer force pushes you to the very edge because you know that a part of him is still trying to rein in some of the power in an unspoken wish not to hurt you.

... Loki   ...

His breath had been stolen and each attempt to regain it is shattered by the magnificent tightness of [Y/N] and her reaction to every thrust. Warm heat undulates around the Jotun’s cock in an attempt to draw him over the each prematurely while the gorgeous woman arches, presents her bosom for Loki to prey on greedily. Who am I to deny her?

Eagerly, he licks and bites at the nipples but barely manages to coax more than a half-swallowed moan from her lips. Loki grabs her by the jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. I see. The challenge is blazing like a fire in her gaze.

A squelch fills the dim cabin as he withdraws, tossing the insolent woman onto the bunk again. This time, however, he leaves no time for her to taunt but embraces the straight legs against his own chest before leaning over her. For a split second, the male lingers with the tip of his cock at the entrance to heaven as he looks for the moment realization dawns upon her...all he gets is a wicked smile, empowering the thrust of his hips as he slams in.

Ravishing. Open mouthed, yet silent. Perfection. Hands clawing at his shoulders, nails leaving angry trails. Mine. Tight, wet, already quivering with the need for release.

But Loki keeps the speed controlled this time as he sheds the last layer of disguise and reveals the real him. The Jotun. The monster. Ridges rise, flooding his skin with the wintry colour and for once...he embraces it rather than hate it as his claws on one hand curl around her wrists, stretching [Y/N], exposing her even now as she willingly succumbs to the mercy of the beast within. A whimper breaks the relative silence as the Jötun markings have decorated his erection.

“Look at me,” he growls.

She obliges. Had he expected fear? Confusion? What Loki is treated to is an appreciative smirk.

“I see you.” Slowly bottoming earns him a gasp. “Finally.”

Cock punching out a steady speed – fast enough to make the woman breathless and slow enough for her to feel each inch and ridge – Loki fucks her steadily further up the bed until the each roll of his hips elicits drawn-out moans and ragged praises that never could have sounded sweeter than they do coming from the mortal’s lips. Balls tight, abdomen clenched, he drags her to the very edge and keeps her there until...

“Please! Loki!” [Y/N] begs with lust-blown eyes locked on him.

Claws scrape lightly towards her pelvis, drag through the short curls to where their bodies meet and he finds her clit with the pad of a finger. He has to fight himself to keep the pressure steady as the new stimulation sends a shudder through her perfect body. Almost. Aaalmost.

Then it happens. The epicentre of an earthquake buried inside [Y/N] sends the shock waves into Loki too, causing him to thrust deep and hard as she clenches around his cock.

The moan transforms into a scream, “Loki! Yeah!”

The tremors sends the Jotun tumbling after the human over the edge of bliss.

... Reader   ...

Gasping for air, you don’t even feel close to being in a real world. Fuck...that was amazing. Slumped on top of you, resting with his hips between your thighs lies a god whose appearance fades back to the pale person you first met in your own apartment. You had hated him then. Now I love him.

“Mmmm, my dear,” Loki mumbles against your neck, “your scream was sweet music.”

[aelaer]

The Blood in My Veins: Pt 4

Heyyyy I'm back. Now that one of my big fic projects is done/being rolled out I can concentrate on getting this finished (as well as other prompts). Here are the earlier parts if you can't remember what happened in this long-running prompt fic, since my last update was like, the summer.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Prompt (via @ironstrangeprompts that I can’t tag for whatever reason qq): Kidnapped to play doctor for a still unseen other prisoner; Stephen realizes there is only one person on the planet who would have palladium in their blood.

The Warnings: Okay guys, I want to cover all bases for this part and all parts henceforth. The bad guy I've written here really really sucks. He's a complete asshole. Part of his assholeness can include behaviors such as racism, sexism, homophobic remarks, religious bigotry, and overall just being a terrible human being. This terrible human being is not a typical representative of his nation/culture and is very thankfully fictional. There's plenty of Canon-Typical Violence around, too. All of the above are not be in this specific part but could be in future parts (I'm writing this as I go so I truly don't know, I just know he’s a dickwad). I didn't know this section was gonna happen until I finished Part 2, for instance, otherwise I'd have put a note at the beginning. I'd consider the fic a heavy teen fic, if you're looking for a rating, so it shouldn't get to graphical violence beyond what you'd see in high teen rated content. Also, there's going to be Medical Procedures in the future, though more clinical rather than graphic. Hopefully that covers everything, please ask me anything if you have a question.

I always put these longer writings on tumblr into "read more" cuts, but the mobile app does not always work correctly if you're looking at the original post from my tumblr, so I apologise for the length if you're on the app and viewing the original and said cut is not working. Still unbetaed, all errors are mine.

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Part Four: Seeing Red Again

Another three days passed with little change in Stephen’s schedule. He went for his sleep shift at 12:30 a.m. New York time, and was woken up by one of the others between 5:20 to 5:30 a.m. It wasn't enough time for even two full complete sleep cycles, but everyone there—perhaps with exception to Steffen Baar, who was a chemist—had gone through grueling schedules during medical school and residency. So they were, in some ways, used to it.

After waking up, he had fifteen minutes to shower, shave, and change into the clothing about his size, provided for by his captors. From there, he then got to work. His sleep shift ended about three hours before dinner came—about 8:30 a.m. New York time—and a small snack arrived at what he assumed was this place's midnight, but was 2 p.m. according to his watch. Breakfast came twelve hours after dinner, at 8:30 p.m. in New York, and he went to bed again half an hour after midnight. Apparently while he slept, another snack break came for those awake.

The one small blessing in all of this was that the people holding them realized the power of caffeine and provided black tea and coffee every time they brought them food. He didn't think there were any cameras in the showers or toilets, either, which was—hopefully true. There was nothing obvious and, truth be told, he didn't really want to look much further for evidence.

Throughout his waking day, Stephen largely helped prep samples for blood analysis. He tried to strategize with Summer about how to best utilize their resources, should a surgery be required, but they had little to go on. They had yet to receive better X-rays of their patient—of Tony Stark, which still baffled Stephen—so much of their planning was about logistics.

"Doctors in the United States are required to complete a surgical rotation in their third year of med school," Stephen said, "so Jada will know basic surgical procedures. Do you need to do the same in the UK?"

"Yes," Summer answered. "All doctors go through the two-year Foundation Programme which always includes training in general surgery. So Dr Mahajan will be able to assist us as well."

"They can serve as our nurses and techs," Stephen muttered. "But what about Dr Baar?"

Summer pursed her lips together. "No medical training—but I would rather have him on hand than not. If we said we can't use him…"

Stephen grimaced and nodded. "Point. He can certainly hold a retractor." He blew out a breath. "We'll need a heart-lung machine. Those aren't easy to come by."

"None of this machinery is," she pointed out, jutting her chin to the advanced machinery scattered around the room. "I don't think that will be an issue for us. Whoever these people are, they have resources."

He pursed his lips together. "We also need an anesthesiologist."

She paused at that and sighed. "Yes. Yes, we need one of those. Unfortunately, I think we're going to be working with someone on their team if the surgery happens."

Stephen made a face. "What makes you think that?"

"When they first showed me the X-rays, I told them I would need another surgeon for the spinal area—you—and an anesthesiologist. They only spoke about finding me a surgeon, so they must have their own medical team that includes one."

He sighed. "Of course they do. He better be competent."

Summer shrugged. "Not much we can do about it. And there's not much more we can plan on this hypothetical surgery until I have better X-rays."

And so that ended that discussion and, three days later, there were no changes on that end. No new X-rays had come in, so both he and the other surgeon were stuck helping prepare samples and input data. And Stephen hadn't been so bored in years.

One wouldn't think that being captive would be boring, especially if one was doing medical work during that time. But when said medical work was repetitive lab work he hadn't done since med school? And doing it for about fifteen hours a day for three days straight with no music, no reading, no nothing to help bring some distraction or variety to his work? It was absolutely mind-numbing. A small part of him wasn't entirely sure if he could survive like this for—how long did Jada said Stark had to live without a cure or intervention? Two months? He couldn't do this for two months. He was going out of his mind after three days.

It was about halfway through his shift on the fourth day that he regretted ever thinking that he was bored.

He was typing up results from various tests performed by Jada when the door to the room was suddenly slammed open. Startled, Stephen immediately turned towards the sound, only to see five men enter, all of them with guns pointed to the rest of the room. Beside him, Jada immediately threw her hands on top of her head, and he quickly followed suit.

"Come quietly! Do not fight!" said one of the men. Stephen couldn't even begin to guess his accent; maybe it was Eastern European? Russian? Former Soviet bloc in Asia? Somewhere in that rather wide region of the world, which wasn't particularly helpful information considering there were some twenty to thirty countries there.

Summer was the doctor currently asleep, though looking over his shoulder, Stephen saw that she had woken up to the sound and was pushing herself up. But he couldn't look at her or the other doctors long as he was grabbed by one of the men and forced to walk. The gun the man carried quickly negated any ideas of retaliation.

They were led down a hall; he could see Steffen, Meera, and Jada in front of him, all being led in the same rough manner he was going through. The walk itself wasn't very long, perhaps a minute, but to Stephen it felt like every second was dragging. Despite his best efforts, his heart was starting to race at this new development.

The man with Steffen finally stopped in front of a door and unlocked it, then shoved the chemist inside. Within seconds, Stephen was at the door and being pushed forward himself. He took a quick look around, as much as he could without moving much: a large room with concrete walls and no windows, just like where he and the other doctors were being kept. Cot in the corner. Table with a computer and covered in bits of wires and electronics that he couldn't begin to label. Two other men armed with enormous guns—some sort of automatic rifles—and then one man who was crossing his arms and staring at him and his fellow doctors with a look that immediately put Stephen on edge. This man, this man radiated the air of a person in charge.

And then there was him. The famous Tony Stark, or Iron Man as he was calling himself these days. He looked like a former shadow of himself, being several pounds thinner and bearing a sickly pallor that Stephen immediately noticed, even during these circumstances.

A look of surprise was upon Stark's hollow face, but even as Stephen focused more upon him, it was quickly replaced by the cool anger of a man biting his tongue.

All five doctors were maneuvered to face Stark in a line before being forced to their knees. Stephen bit his lip to hold back a grunt of pain from his knees hitting the concrete floor.

"You say you are 'calling my bluff' with your medical team," said the man. He pushed himself off the wall and passed out of Stephen's line of sight. "Here they are." He started at Stephen's right as he went through the doctors. "Steffen Baar, chemist." A step closer. "Jada Ferguson, hematologist." Another step, and he heard Doctor Mahajan inhale sharply. "Meera Mahajan, pathologist."

Another step, and the man was behind him. To Stephen's utter horror, he felt cold metal press against the back of his head. "Stephen Strange, neurosurgeon." The metal then left his head and he heard another step. "Summer Weston, cardiothoracic surgeon." Another step, and he could see the man in the corner of his eye again, this time on his left.

Tony Stark kept his lips pressed in a tight line as their captor went through the line. When he finished, the billionaire swallowed and looked at them all. "Good job keeping me alive this long, docs," he said.

"Not good enough, Stark," the man snapped. "Their solution is only a band aid. They give you but a few more weeks. They are called the best doctors in the world, and they cannot yet make a cure?"

Stephen forcefully held back his retort regarding the man's utter ignorance. It was an outright miracle they found any sort of solution as quickly as they did to delay the spread!

Stark, it seemed, agreed with him, and had no such reservations with holding back. "That's insane, Yusifov. It takes teams of doctors months, if not years to create what you're looking for."

He couldn't see it, but Stephen could almost feel the sneer from their captor, this Yusifov. "In that case, you don't need this many doctors, do you?" A couple steps and he was again behind Stephen, further to the right. "I'm no doctor, but as far as I can tell, these two both look at blood and try to fix the problem. Neither of them fixed it, not fully. So who do you want to keep, Stark? The black American or the Indian Brit? One less woman won't make a difference."

Stephen dared a glance to his right when he heard quick breathing. Doctor Mahajan was visibly shaking and starting to hyperventilate; to her right, Doctor Ferguson was quiet, but her lips trembled and tears pricked her eyes.

Stark stepped forward, and several guns rose at the action. He stopped but held his ground, raising his hands. "Don't do this."

"Why not?" the man retorted. "You refuse to work because you are dying. They have failed you and one will pay the price. Perhaps both; they are both from lesser races."

As Stephen processed the fact that he heard a comment like that in fucking 2010, Doctor Mahajan's breathing accelerated into full on hyperventilation. His medical mind noticed it immediately.

But another was quicker to the draw. "Breathe through your nose, Meera," Summer said lowly. "Try to inhale for one-one thousand, then exhale through pursed lips. You can—"

"Shut up!"

Doctor Weston was smacked on the back of her head hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor.

And Stephen snapped.

Now, if one were to ask Doctor Stephen Strange, he would by no means consider himself heroic or noble. His role as a doctor was one of service, but even within his relatively short time as a neurosurgeon, he had already gained a prestige that recognized his rising star and already people in the medical community were considering him in the top ranks of neurosurgeons. Soon, demand for his expertise would be large enough for him to have the option to turn away those who weren't worth his time, and he felt not a lick of guilt for that. His skills were valuable.

But to hear this brute of a man first throw slurs at two of the most brilliant women—no, the most brilliant doctors—in their fields followed by an outright assault on the other caused a protectiveness Stephen hadn't felt since his sister's death to completely overtake him. He saw red.

He leaped up at Yusifov in a fiery anger, no particular idea in mind except stop him from hurting anyone rushing through his head. At this point there was little thought, only adrenaline and a near primal fury running through his veins. It wasn't like him to be so hot-headed; he was a man who kept his cool under the most stressful of circumstances. But perhaps several days of poor sleep combined with the stress of the situation finally got to him. When he thought about it in the aftermath, even he would admit he had no idea what he was thinking.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision he would come to regret.

In one moment he managed to knock the pistol out of Yusifov's hands and punched him in the face. He recognized screaming, shouting, fighting in the noises behind him, but he was focused on his own target.

Stephen hit him twice more before someone threw an arm around his neck and dragged him back and began to choke him. He clawed at the arm, which did nothing, but then he aimed his heel down right to the sensitive part of his attacker's instep. The man grunted in pain and the grip around his neck loosened. 

A shot shattered through the enclosed space, causing Stephen to freeze in surprise—and that proved to be his downfall. He saw Yusifov raising his pistol just before he was whipped across the face with the weapon. The hit threw him off balance and he fell to the floor and lay there for a second, stunned. He felt wetness on the side of his head.

As Stephen attempted to push himself up, a kick to his back sent him back to the floor. An involuntary grunt of pain escaped him. He closed his eyes, pausing for breath, but was given little time to recover as he was grabbed by both arms and dragged up to his knees. From his new position, he could see the rest of the room once more, and Stephen's heart skipped a beat at what was before him.

There were several alarming sights: Tony Stark on his knees just like him, nose bloodied. One of the gunmen near Stark with a screwdriver sticking in his neck and very much dead. Summer in the corner of the room, holding a shaking Meera against her chest.

And Doctor Steffen Baar on the ground, bleeding out from his stomach as Jada desperately tried to stem the blood flow with her sweater. The red dripped through the fabric and onto the concrete.

Stephen felt ill. He instinctively reached forward towards Steffen, to try and help, but the grip on his arms tightened and kept him in place.

Stark was the one to speak first. "Let them help him. I won't fight further. I'll do what you ask."

Yusifov came back into Stephen's line of sight as he stepped in front of him, though his gaze was on Stark. He said to the engineer, "You killed one of my men. A life for a life—that is fair, wouldn't you say?"

"He did nothing," Stark hissed, pulling against the hands that held him down. Stephen could see the men pull him back and tighten their grip in response. "And he's needed. You wouldn't have brought him here otherwise."

"He didn't do anything," Yusifov agreed, then turned to Stephen. "This one did." He then sent a sharp kick into Stephen's stomach, causing him to double over in pain as far as the men holding him  allowed. He almost missed the next statement. "And I should kill him for it. But the surgeon will be needed. The chemist, though? He failed to make a cure for your ailment with a month of time, and you don't have much longer to live, Stark. The chemist failed, and at this point, he's a waste of medical resources."

Then Yusifov nodded at one of his men, and he grabbed Jada by the arm and yanked her up to her feet.

"No—please, no, don't do this!" she shouted as she was dragged away from Steffen. Their captors ignored her and Yusifov walked up to the wounded man. He aimed his pistol at Steffen's head.

"Don't do this!" Stark shouted.

A shot rang through the room. A loud sob came from the corner before it was muffled. Stephen's ears rang, half deafened from the sound. His stomach churned; he felt like he was going to vomit. He hung his head and closed his eyes, trying to breathe slow breaths through his nose.

All he could smell was blood. He forcefully suppressed his gag reflex. 

Stephen missed whatever conversation came next, too busy trying to calm his breathing, trying not to throw up, and not having the energy to make out the words beyond the ringing in his ears. But then the world was moving as he was pulled to his feet and shoved out of the room, leaving behind Tony Stark and the body of Doctor Steffen Baar.

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I was stuck on what I wanted to do with this part with a handful of ideas and consulted my beta for ideas. She suggested death which I wasn't even thinking of because I'm very bad at killing off characters. I blame her fully :P

Tag list (just let me know if you want to be added/removed with a comment - still not on AO3!): @sobeautifullyobsessed, @tashacumberbitch, @babywarg, @nishtha3012, @ragingstillness, @walkin-in-the-cosmos (I think the reason I can’t tag you is because you’ve flagged your tumblr for sensitive media, possibly), @lafourmii20, @asexualchemist, @iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife, @oo0-will-of-the-wisp-0oo, @animefanfreak45, @rulerofthefandomsnow, @killaspyglass, @renlybaratheon-tyrell, @symmetria42, @kay-lock-key-lock

[bi-rising]

hey I just saw your post about PCOS being a hormonal issue not a gyno one while I was surfing the tag. I was diagnosed a couple months back and all my gyno did was a 2 min ultrasound and then prescribed me birth control. I would like to have actual help and more info on it but I'm not sure who I'm supposed to go to for that. Seeing as you were in a similar situation I'd appreciate your help.

seems like gynos really suck with pcos, don't they? 🥴 warning you now, this is going to be a very long post, because i'm essentially writing out absolutely everything i did and everything i've learned, so strap in for a ride aldksfjasldf

the first thing to do is research, research, research. i spent a whole week constantly on pcos websites (such as pcosaa and this article, tho fair warning, the article does use academic speech so it might not be the easiest thing to read) and watching videos and doing what i could to inform myself. the way you can know if you're looking at a credible resource is how the source defines pcos: does it pose it as a reproductive system disorder? or an endocrine (hormonal) disorder? if it talks about it as a reproductive system disorder, then it's probably wrong.

please note that i am not, obviously, a medical professional, but this is how i understand pcos works. i'll use me as an example just so i can use first person perspective, but it applies to pcos patients in general.

so, my cells are insulin resistant. that means that when i eat, my body releases, lets say, 100 (x measurement) of insulin. because my cells are insulin resistant, they say "hey, i'm only gonna use 50x of that insulin". but they still NEED that 100x to function. so my body releases ANOTHER 100x of insulin, so my cells go "ok i'll take 50x" and so while my cells now have the 100x they're supposed, to i now have 100x insulin floating around.

that extra insulin not only wreaks havoc on many systems of the body, it is the reason why most people with pcos that goes untreated end up with type 2 diabetes. the extra insulin is also converted (or spurs the creation of? i'm not entirely certain on the how here) into testosterone and other androgen (male) hormones. so your body has too much insulin, and now it has too much testosterone, too. that extra testosterone is what fucks with your reproductive system and prevents the follicles on your ovaries from maturing (which is what the 'cysts' are). it also often creates increased facial hair, acne (especially on the 'beard line'), and worse body odor. between the testosterone and the insulin, it's nigh impossible to lose weight.

also note that because your body has to release more insulin for your cells to get an adequate amount, you likely crave carbs and sugars (salty/crunchy things and sweets), and you're likely frequently fatigued, bc your body isn't, well, working correctly and it's taking more energy to perform basic functions.

secondly, take all this information that you know to your doctor. i legitimately wrote down some notes about this process in a little notebook and took it with me so that i wouldn't forget/get too anxious to bring any of it up. i also wrote down the things i had been doing to help up to that point (working out, what my diet was, etc etc) and what i was concerned about. lastly, i also wrote down what medications and supplements i had heard of in my research to see what my doctor thought of them.

my doctor's first 'attack' choice is ozempic--it's a weekly shot that helps to regulate insulin levels and also is pretty good at helping weight loss. be aware though that most commercial insurances don't pay for this, but if your doctor is good, they'll try to work around that so that you're not paying a frankly outrageous amount for it. also look out for sometime this fall, my doc said that the ozempic manufacturers are trying to get ozempic approved for weight loss (it's approved for other things) and that should help bring the price down?? anyway, that's my doc's preferred method, but because of my finances, we currently can't do that.

his second attack, which i'm now on, is metformin. it's a medication mostly used for diabetics that helps with blood sugar levels which, again, is that insulin issue. my mom has been on it for 14 years bc diabetes runs in our family anyway, so it's perfectly safe for long time use and definitely helps with keeping either away from or within the pre-diabetes phase. again, i've only been on it now two days so i can't say anything for me but we'll see how it goes lmao

he also approved of me using omega 3 (fish pills) supplements because they help balance things out in general, not just pcos, and he was good with me using spearmint, too. i'm starting out on one cup of spearmint tea a day and see how that effects me, but i've heard of people having up to two spearmint supplement pills and a cup of spearmint tea a day, too. spearmint is a 'defense', as far as i can explain it: it has (tho limited) research that it lowers the testosterone levels in women with pcos. so while it doesn't help with the insulin so it doesn't attack the source, it can help with the testosterone aspect, aka facial hair, acne, etc. i've also heard of cinnamon supplements and inositol supplements helping, but i didn't get a chance to ask about either of those from my doctor, so make sure if you want to give those a try, you talk about them and make sure they won't interfere with any of your other medications and get your doctor's approval on them, first.

thirdly, ask about what else you can do to help yourself. my doctor stressed the importance of a proper night's sleep, as well as advised to try to cut back on carbs and sugars (IMPORTANT NOTE: some people claim that you HAVE to be on a keto diet to get results with pcos. WRONG. please don't do this. keto diets are entirely unsustainable. and cutting back on carbs and sugars does not mean cutting them OUT, it just means if you want a snack, try reaching for a protein or a vegetable instead of a carb. but don't limit yourself!! please, be conscious about what you eat, and remember that sometimes yeah, a slice of cake or a serving of chips isn't going to kill you or set your pcos back. don't risk getting an e.d. just for the sake of your pcos). he also told me that the best exercise that i personally should do is either HIIT exercises or cardio, and to do at least an hour a day, even if it's 30 mins in the morning, 30 in the evening--and to work up to that so even doing ten minutes a day, then increasing it from there, is healthier and better than jumping straight into a whole ass hour. he also told me to aim for a certain heartrate. i don't remember the formula he used, but for me at 22 (based on age) he wanted me to try to aim for 150-160 bpm. again, especially with exercise, that was what he recommended for me. you're likely different from me, so ask your doctor and see what he says.

fourthly, and perhaps most importantly, DON'T BOTHER WITH A GYNO. all of this that i've gotten done for me was from my family doctor, so just the guy i go to for yearly check ups. see if you can do some routine blood work to give him (or her) as wide of a picture as possible, and then go in and talk with a regular doctor about this. a friend of mine also has a friend who actually goes to an endocrinologist to get her pcos sorted out, so that's also an option. gynos seem to just treat the symptoms; birth control gives you a regular period by helping with your estrogen, but that doesn't decrease your testosterone OR do anything with the insulin. my doc is keeping me on birth control pills just so that i have a regular cycle so we can watch and see if anything else happens to it, so it's okay to stay on the birth control, but ultimately, birth control pills don't do anything for pcos.

i know it's difficult and probably kinda scary/anxiety inducing if you're younger or just have anxiety, but you've gotta advocate for yourself in this case. you have to show the doctor that you know what you're talking about and that you're able to call him out on his bullshit if he doesn't take you seriously. also, if your doctor is helpful, don't be afraid to be frank with him about what your gyno did. like i've said with my experience, i got the validation of knowing that my gyno was wrong by explaining to my doctor how he treated me. you deserve better than what your gyno did, and you deserve to actually be treated as a person and your disorder be taken seriously.

i'm wishing you the best of luck, and i hope that you'll be able to get the help that you need 💕💕💕

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (15)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: I’m almost done!! :D This was really a trip both in the story itself and getting the chapters published. Thank you to everyone who kept staying tuned to the story even if my predicament forced me to slow down my upload frequency. If you guys enjoyed most of the story, then all the trouble I went through was worth it! :3

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 – 13 | Previous: Part 14 | Next: Part 16 | Masterlist

15 of ?

The plan's going swimmingly. Cal hasn't been caught yet.

He had sensed that Cere prayed he needn't to use his saber prior to his inevitable stand-off with you. So far, he's keeping true to that prayer. He carves a path to the nearest entrance he can find, from there, he discovers the southern exit; taking the posted Stormtroopers by surprise, he incapacitated them quickly befire they even realize what's standing in front of them.

"Cere, I'm in the building—I went through the southern entrance," Cal softly spoke through his comm.

"Copy, I found my way in the eastern wing," Cere explains that she managed to get her hands on one of the computers, splice it and fish out a lot of info. "I'm patching in the map to you, BD should've picked up the file by now."

Instinctively, BD-1 flashes the holomap in the air as soon as he received the data; it shows the locations of Cere, Cal, and their two respective destinations—the medical bay where the child is kept and the hangar where the presumed transport ship should be parked. There's a large, empty gap between where Cal stood and the hangar itself.

"I'm looking at the map now. There's a bit of distance to the hangar, it's on the upper levels too," he softly trailed off at the last word.

Cere noted the fading out of his voice, afraid that she's lost contact, "Cal?"

The boy blinked several times to return to reality. He stutters in his apology for spacing out.

"What's wrong?"

Finally, he opens up about his theory about the transport ship, he adds the lone TIE Fighter he spotted earlier and the underlying possibility that the pilot is you—not knowing that you really are. Cere considers the theory but preferred to go with the original plan; if the transport is truly a decoy, then they'll have to move fast in catching up to you before you even hop into the TIE Fighter with the child—assuming that your TIE Fighter is in a completely different hangar.

The silence of their conversation's conclusion was followed by the gloomy, ominous humming of the corridor that laid in front of Cal's eyes. The stale air that entered his lungs put a tugging weight on him, this place carries a certain degree of corruption that it's simply foreboding to anybody—most especially the Jedi. The sole thought of rescuing you is what kept Cal going; he stalked through the corridor, feeling for any activity in the intersections before going around the next corner.

Eventually, he's halfway into his destination but it seems Cere still hasn't put her diversion in motion. 

Cal peeks over the corner to find a cluster of Stormtroopers—a mix of regulars and scouts—in his path. Two scouts block the path midway while the rest of them stay by the door at the end. He hugs the wall, tugs the saber off of his belt, he stares at the weapons around his clammy fingers; after one deep breath, he bolted out of nowhere and rammed his way through, the dazed troopers barely made a proper aim—some cut close to Cal, others he banked right away. 

"It's a Jedi!" One trooper yelped the obvious.

The redheaded Jedi spotted one of the troopers making a run for a button on the wall. Outstretching his arm with his open palm, he hauled that particular trooper away from the button and then towards him, within a saber's reach he was cut down.

"I can't do this by myself!" The surviving scout trooper whimpered out loud, the warble in his voice huffing through his helmet.

The poor scout braved in charging towards Cal, charging up the electric current on his baton, but was denied a shot by a single, successful parry and then the Jedi followed up with an attack—cutting the enemy down instantly. He now stands before a large, sealed door, he checks the map once more and sees the distance between him and the hangar has shrunken. In the next second, a blaring alarm howling across the complex startled him.

"That ought to be Cere, I hope she has the kid."

Upon opening the door, Cal discovers the elevator lobby—which also serves as a control room. Two troopers had their backs turned to him, manning the computers, while a single KX security droid paces back and forth but its scanners immediately detect Cal's presence��causing its head to jerk to the boy's direction, while its emotionless eyes lit up the moment it saw Cal, the troopers felt the abrupt rise of tension and were alerted by the sight of a Jedi in the room.

"Inferior Jedi!" The KX droid monotonously groaned as it raises a pair of fists, ready to swing it down and bash the Jedi's skull.

Fortunately, Cal evaded the clobber and singes the droid's leg joints, literally bringing it to its knees. Shielding itself with its arms proved useless as the Jedi slices the torso in half, leaving only himself and the troopers. The skirmish was done in five minutes, the boy scrambles to the elevator and slams the button of the hangar's floor number. As the turbolift ascends, Cal takes the time to check on Cere, he kept calling, but there was no answer and he gives up when the elevator gradually slowed down.

The rumble signaled that he's reached his destination, the narrow door retracted into the frame, revealing Cal the vast space of the hangar—each wall was lined with light to medium ships, sitting at the center of the hangar is a transport ship, his ears prick up at the faint wailing of a child.

"Oh no…" he thought. "Cere's too late!"

He ran to the ship, the wailing got louder, then his eyes widened at the discovery: a comlink lies on the floor of the entry ramp, a prerecorded soundbite of the cry plays on loop.

It's a trap!

Behind his head, the baritone humming of a spinning saber flings itself towards him, he spun and deflected it at the nick of time—returning it to the sender: you, perched atop the hangar platform, waiting for your prey to take the bait and then strike. You catch your saber in mid-air while descending from the upper platform with a feathery grace. Striding closer to him, he sees you completely without the helmet for the first time: hair fashioned into an elaborate braid, the tail rests on one shoulder, and loose, wispy fringes frame your face.

"I see you've set off my trap," you pointed out, holding the saber close to your face.

"I knew you'd pull a stunt like that!"

Your eyes lit up, impressed with Cal, "Well, you've become quite smarter than I expected!"

Both Inquisitor and Jedi circled slowly against one another, not knowing who's chasing whom, gentle threats exchange with pleas of coming home only to be received with a hard "no," the tension grows in this wide, open space. Cal decides it's now or never, he attempts to talk it out of you.

"[Y/N], let's come home,"

"This is my home."

He hints at the somber tone of your sentence, almost as if you don't mean it at all, and he believed the insincerity of those words. You mask the denial by making the first move in the fight. The swirl of blades caught Cal off-guard, resulting to a flimsy block on his end; he moved away from the ship, luring you into the wider space for a better fight,  not that it changes much on each other's chances of winning this skirmish.

You barely paused from moving—a tireless lightning rod in human form—the swordfight pressed on in the hangar. For each time Cal struggled to put some distance between you so he can take a second to breathe, you always caught up to him—your frenzied eyes were always the first thing he notices the moment you start to dart towards him, with your arm prepped for an overhead strike and ready to attack. The strike lands, you withdrew and quickly follow up with another—thrusting your saber, he parried it with a subpar flourish and you staggered him with a strong Force push.

The boy flies to the farther side of the room, in your peripheral vision his lightsaber clatters away from him, his hand desperately pats the floor in search of the weapon while he had his eyes glued to you—closing the space at a fast rate. Still lying on his back, he affords a split second to catch a glimpse of his saber and pull it towards him; his own blade hovers mere inches above his neck when your strike landed as you crouch on top of him, bearing your weight on him while you've got him pinned down.

"I almost kind of like this position!" You crowed mischievously.

"[Y/N], please!" He pleaded again.

Without your helmet, Cal saw the life in your eyes better—if he saw wrath the first time, now he sees the misplaced anger and sorrow, the exact same feeling he found during his meditation. He even spots a hint of pink swelling beneath the rims of your eyes.

Has she been… crying? He pondered in that small window of time.

"You don't have to do this—your pain isn't strength!"

Your eyes flared again, but with denial you bellowed, "You don't understand the power that the Dark Side has given me!"

Generously, you withdrew, flipping away from him and landing in the same cat-like grace, giving him a chance to scramble back up on his feet. There was a time for a breather, enough for both. Again, the two of you slowly circle one another while a hostile air hangs over your heads, you point your saber at him.

"I didn't want to be as weak as I was before," you gesture your arms wide open. "And here I am."

"The [Y/N] I know was never weak to begin with,"

You paused in your tracks, slowly angled your head to face Cal, absorbing the empathetic gentleness in his voice. He could make his way through your heart faster than you could build a wall between the two of you. Unconsciously, the atmosphere seems to turn docile.

"I hate it when you patronize me!"

As quick as lightning, you attempt to execute a dashed strike but this time, Cal was prepared for it and he had been anticipating such an attack—he's been reading your every move up until you paused to banter with him. You strike again.

One.

Two.

Slash.

And another.

You jab, but he blocks. Another, and he prevails.

Eventually, he gathered enough strength and momentum, and became at par with the pace and dexterity of your technique. The clashing of sabers became more violent and heavier as the moves from both Jedi and Inquisitor became more pronounced—a contest of brute force. This sudden burst of strength wasn't much of a surprise, you keep up the assault and Cal surely isn't backing down—nor does he plan to.

A single beep of his comlink rings, "Cal, the child is secure! I'm coming for you!"

Cal saw your wide, aghast eyes glimmering with fear and panic, and perhaps a desperation that translates to "I need that child back!" which he felt all at once in that piercing glare when you shot him a look—with your bared teeth and furrowed eyebrows. Heeding to your lessons you, weaponized your emotions against the Jedi, you became a dagger in the wind—amplifying the heaviness of your strikes when it lands and the litheness of your body when eluding his saber.

Cere comes rushing into the hangar, saber and blaster in each hand, reassuring Cal in mere seconds that the child has been brought home.

"The Mantis should be on its way here by now," Cere whispered, her voice shuddered at the words.

She glanced to her side and then fixated her eyes to you—dressed in Inquisitor's garments from the neck down. In your periphery, you saw her blaster hand tremble with fearful disbelief; a secretive smirk played on the corner of your lip, as if to ridicule her shock, her first-time reaction amused you.

"Long time, no see, Cere." You crooned.

"[Y/N], good gods…"

"Oh come now, don't act so surprised. This is your second time anyway!"

A second Jedi wasn't any difficult, thought it's a fresh challenge instead of the typical one-on-one.

"Amazing, I get the privilege of seeing a cut-off Jedi fight firsthand!"

During Cere's attack that you held in a block, you examined Trilla's hilt up close—she had likened it with her old hilt by covering the sleeve with leather wrappings—you glanced at yours in its original form: blood red beams gleaming menacingly on either end, mingling with the purified, ice white blades.

You had to give Cere some credit, even after all these years of being voluntarily cut off from the Force, her muscle memory of combat is intact, incorporating her rugged style with a blaster.

"Impressive," you hummed after a parrying strike, and then another. She quickly switched to her blaster and shot twice, much to her dismay you've banked them seamlessly. "Most impressive."

Cere comes charging at you, ready for a jab, and you'd parry; just when Cal thought you have your attention to her, he attacks—more or less, attempt to—from behind but you duck and twirl, evading his lightsaber and planting a kick on his shin. This dynamic of alternating between the two Jedis lasted for more than a minute, a medley of attack patterns used against you—a handful of which have dealt damage on you, some missed you, but you enjoyed this death-defying thrill, it livened you up in this dull hangar.

Your mischievous, insidious grin stretched across your face melted when the entire hangar rumbled under your boots, explosions roared behind your ears; while holding your ground, you turned to find the source of the sound and found portions of the building are being reduced to shrapnel and inferno. Cere steals your smile and paints it with triumph on; you're not even that mad, you shoot her with a snarl of your lip, catching on with her little game, all the while impressed.

"Oh joy, you'll experience how I actually nearly died!"

You pulled away violently from the tangle of blades, pommeled Cere across the jaw with your own hilt, and pushed her at a certain distance.

"[Y/N]!!"

As the ceiling above your heads crumbled and rained dust, your lightning-fast flurry of the lightsaber did not waive; the boy didn't want to be outmatched—he cannot afford to, now that they're all standing inside a building on the verge of collapse—his dexterity and nimbleness spiked, adapting to your own caliber. Cal wanted to finish this as soon as possible, and he had to think fast; in his peripheral vision, he sees Cere bringing herself back up on her feet, dazed from your hit across her face, and then understood the gravity of her damage.

The garrison begins to collapse, any moment the entire roof will fall over your heads if neither Jedi nor Inquisitor shall stand victorious in this duel. In a final, colossal clash of lightsabers, both youngsters were encased in the sheen of their luminous weapons.

“[Y/N], come on, let’s go home,” Cal pleads once more.

“I can’t—” you choked, tears didn’t hide themselves from Cal, they streamed down your cheek as the stability of your grip fluctuated—influenced by the medley of emotions storming every fiber of your being. “I don’t belong there anymore!”

Despite the sheer intensity, Cal’s voice remained soft and gentle to you, as it always has. In a last-minute resort, he encourages, “You always have belonged with us, and we’re waiting for you to come home.”

Another tear streaks your face, your eyelids drooped, and then spoke in the most defeated, somber tone.

“It’s too late for me now, Cal.”

The crumbling ceiling groans, your eyes roll up and saw the reinforcement beam give way to two colossal chunks of debris plummet in a 50-foot drop from the ceiling straight down to a docked TIE Fighter.

“CAL, LOOK OUT!”

He didn’t fully see your reaction at the last minute; you pull him in and then push him away, but in turn,you got yourself closer to the blast radius. The hot wind picked you up into the air and flung your to the floor like a ragdoll, hitting your head upon landing, rendering you unconscious.

“[Y/N], NO!”

A sharp, piercing noise shrilled in Cal’s ears—all the other noises and voices are reduced to echoing gibberish, even Cere’s calling of your names—straight ahead, he saw you lying unconscious on the floor, covered in debris. He desperately crawled towards you, blatantly ignoring the hollow calls ringing behind his ears; he cradled you in his arms, ignoring the crackling heat flaring near his cheeks.

“[Y/N], come on…” he stuttered. “[Y/N], stay with me… I’m not leaving you a second time!”

He shakes you to coax you into waking up, he could’ve sworn he felt your body shuffle in reaction, he placed his forefinger and middle finger on your neck and found a pulse. He snaps his fingers and BD pops out a stim, he injects it straight into the flesh of your upper arm—you jolted and sucked in a lot of air at the same time, as if emerging into the surface from underwater.

Indeed, you were alive, but relatively weakened by the blast. Your voice saying Cal’s name was drowned out by the roaring flames and the thundering collapse of the garrison.

“Cal, we have to go now!”

Bursting with adrenaline, he scoops you up into his arms and followed Cere to the escape route; evading all the explosions as much as possible and keeping the enemy encounters to a minimum. Although, the evacuees are confused whether to engage the intruders—and presumably, in their heads, rescue the Inquisitor from the Jedi, but they’re felled by either the blasts or Cere’s blaster.

Speeding through the corridors, Cere led Cal to an open docking platform. The Mantis waits at the edge of the catwalk in a fly-by, lightly swerving to dodge blaster fire from the ground, and the entry ramp hangs open.

“Come on, you guys!” shrieked Greez.

Merrin waited by the frame of the entry ramp, the strong wind of the ship and the environment whip her fringes as she feels for balance while getting farther out. On the other hand, Cere and Cal—with you still in his arms—are almost to the edge of the catwalk.

“Come on, you have to jump!” cried out Merrin from the ramp.

Cal assessed the gap between the platform and the ship, it was a risky jump—one miscalculated step equaled to a hundred-foot doom.

“They’re gaining on us!” Cal screeched.

“You go on ahead, I’ll cover you and catch up!”

The boy paced back for momentum, buckled his knees when he slightly crouched, he fixed his grip tighter on you, and trusted his heels as he propelled the balls of his feet off the floor. The Mantis hovers at a considerable height by the edge of the catwalk that won’t send anyone hanging onto the edge of the ramp for dear life.

The soles of his boots planted flat on the metal floor and briskly trotted inside, settling you down gently on the couch, and then he joins Merrin by the ramp, watching Cere blast at the incoming Stormtroopers.

“Cere, let’s go!”

The woman produced a detonator out of her belt pouch and set it off. As a finisher, she gathered all the strength in her throwing arm, the bomb rolled towards the Stormtroopers’ feet and encased them in a cloud of fire and smoke. She quickly turned tail and made the jump, she scrambled on fours to get inside the ship and Cal slams the door button once she’s in.

“Punch it, Greez!”

Greez cranked the hyperdrive lever and sent the Mantis flying out of Jeddah, leaving the garrison crumbling to its destruction in their wake.

[justathoughtfulangel]

The One That Got Away (Draco Malfoy Mini Series, Part Two)

Hellllooooo! Here is the second part of my Draco Malfoy Mini Series, The One. If you’d like to see more details about the series as a whole and a summary of this part or the parts to come, you can do so here. If you’d like to read more about my OC, Amara Grimaldi, you can do so here.

PLEASE read part one, The One Who was Lost, before you read this one. You can find it here. 

Word count: 13, 254 (literally twice as long as part one, YIKES)

Please don’t hesitate to message me if you have any questions/comments/concerns or if you’d like to be tagged whenever I post a new part :) 

Whenever you see “~~~”, I’m transitioning to a different scene. If you see “~” instead, we’re in the same scene but different characters are being shown. 

If you have a hard time following the scenes, please use this scenes list as a resource.

Happy Reading! 

Amara Grimaldi stood outside her home, wanting to take it in one last time. Everything was the same. The fountain flowed beautifully, birds chirped happily in the mornings, and her father, strong and unwavering, was always there to welcome her. 

Ambrosi Grimaldi had watched his daughter grow in this house. It was here she discovered her passion for potion-brewing. It was here she took her first steps. It was here where he and his Lucianna had brought her after she was born. Grimaldi Manor is and always will be her home. 

“I’ll see you at the wedding in a few days, Daddy.” Ambrosi smiled as much as he could and held his daughter close. Both of them knew the dangers they were in. Yet, if only for a moment, they were safe with each other. 

Miles away, Harry Potter watched his cousin, aunt, and uncle drive away forever. Elsewhere, Ron Weasley stared out to the horizon, watching the setting sun. Meanwhile, Hermione Granger erased the memories of her parents, walking away from her home with just a small bag in her hand... 

~~~

Amara had been braiding Gabrielle Delacour’s hair when she heard the unmistakable sound of someone apparating. “Excusez-moi, ma petite cherie.” Gabrielle nodded and smiled at Amara. “Merci beaucoup! Je peux finir seule, Amara.” Amara smiled back warmly, ducking to kiss the top of Gabrielle’s head before descending down the long, winding stairs of the Burrow.

~

“Herein is set forth the last will and testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore…” Minister Scrimgeour released the parchment, letting it float near him as he read from it. “First, to Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, a device of my own making, in hope that when things seem most dark, it will show him the light.” Ron reached out hesitantly to take the Deluminator and clicked it once. Two orbs of light from the nearby lamps floated into it, and then returned once he clicked it again. 

Amara smiled softly as Ron mumbled, “Wicked!” under his breath. Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow, but he continued. “To Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard in hopes that she finds it entertaining and instructive.” Hermione took the book, flipping through its pages once. Ron babbled about the stories in the book while Harry and Hermione looked baffled. Amara assumed Scrimgeour was getting impatient, and he was. “To Amara Lucianna Grimaldi, I leave my copy of Hogwarts: A History, in hopes that she finds solace in the knowledge it provides.” 

Amara took the book gingerly. The book was immensely fragile with age and she took great care in opening the cover. Its contents were very different from the copy Amara owned; Dumbledore’s copy was certainly an earlier edition, perhaps one of the first to be written. “Lastly, to Harry James Potter, I leave him the Golden Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch game at Hogwarts as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.” Amara’s head snapped up from the book. She shared a look with Hermione as Harry reached out to accept the Snitch. Yet, when his fingers grasped the cool metal, nothing happened.

Amara was expecting Scrimgeour to bid them goodbye but found he had more to read. “Dumbledore has left you a second bequest, Mr. Potter, the sword of Gryffindor. However, the sword was not Dumbledore’s to give away. It belongs to-” 

Hermione quickly interjected, “Harry. It belongs to Harry. He drew the sword from the hat in our second year. It came to him in his time of need.” Amara knew that didn’t make the sword Harry’s, and she would’ve said so had the Minister not beat her to the chase. In any case, Amara was thinking about why Dumbledore left Harry the sword. 

Dumbledore did not do anything without reason. Everything they had received was given to them for a purpose; who received what item was equally important. 

Amara was brought out from her thoughts when Scrimgeour tried to tell Harry to give up. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Mr. Potter, but you can’t fight this war on your own. He’s too strong.” Amara happened to be sitting closest to Harry and she placed her hand on his shoulder supportively. Harry had always known he would either win this war or die trying; he didn’t need a reminder of how difficult things would be. 

~~~

For now, things were brighter. Bill and Fleur had a beautiful wedding. Laughter and smiles could be seen everywhere, despite the dark times. Amara’s hand went to her bag and she clutched it, knowing she had everything should she and her friends have to Disapparate without warning.

From the corner of his eyes, Ambrosi noticed his daughter’s fingers tightening anxiously around the handbag he bought her for her 15th birthday. His hand rested on top of hers gently. “Amara, everything is fine.” Amara took a deep breath and managed to smile up at her father. Worries still plagued her mind and Ambrosi could see them in her eyes, but he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Dance with me, sweetheart.”

This time, Amara beamed genuinely. Hermione happened to be nearby and took her bag from her, gesturing her head towards the dance floor which at the moment was occupied by Luna and her father as well as Fleur and Monsieur Delacour. Amara took her dad’s hand and still found peace in it. 17 years of life and her father’s hand was still the one she turned to for guidance. It was still what she needed to reassure her when everything seemed strange.

Ambrosi held his daughter close and danced with her slowly, fighting the tears welling in his eyes. When Amara noticed them, she very gently wiped one away. “Don’t cry, Dad. We’ll see each other soon.” Ambrosi smiled and kissed his girl’s forehead. “When did you get so big, my dear? I remember when I would waltz around with you in our living room. Now you’re about to run off and save our world. Before I know it, we’ll be at your wedding.” Amara’s life had seemed to drag on in her mind, but it was quite the opposite for her father. He hadn’t realized when she had transformed into a beautiful woman from his adorable little girl. Time had passed too quickly for his liking. 

“I want you to keep this, angel.” Ambrosi’s hand slipped his heavy golden ring from his finger, placing it in her palm. It bore the crest of the Grimaldi family. “I know you have your own, but I want you to have this piece of me when you’re off with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Return it to me the next time you see me.” It was far too big for Amara to wear, so she closed her hand around it. “Thank you, Daddy.” She reached to unclasp the thin chain she always wore. That necklace had one of her mother’s rings hanging from it, and she slid the Grimaldi family ring onto it as well. 

“This way, you and Mumma will always be close to my heart, no matter how far we are.” Ambrosi’s eyes twinkled as he hugged his daughter. “I’m so proud of you. I know your mother would be too. I love you with all my heart, Amara. Remember that, always.” Amara couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded. Eventually, she was able to speak. “Please stay safe.” Ambrosi smoothed Amara’s hair soothingly and kept his voice calm and reassuring. “I will, dear, I will.”

Before anyone had the chance to say anything else, Kingsley’s Patronus ran right in between Amara and her father, who held her close as it spoke. “Scrimgeour is dead. The Ministry has fallen. They are coming.” Ambrosi gave his daughter one more kiss before letting her go. “Get out of here, Amara. We’ll hold them off.” Death Eaters began Apparating into the tent and Amara frantically looked for Hermione, Ron, and Harry. “I love you, Dad!” 

Ron and Hermione finally reached Amara and Remus shoved Harry to them. Within seconds, they had vanished. 

~

Draco thrummed his fingers against his sleek, mahogany desk. He opened the first drawer to his left, one that he kept locked. Within it was a picture of Draco and Amara from when they were 10, among other memories he wished to treasure alone.

The picture was bright and colorful; Little Amara’s smile shined through her eyes and Little Draco, even then, looked at the camera only momentarily before looking at her. Draco closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, he saw his Amara as she was now: kind, brave, loving, and still beautiful as ever. 

He knew that she was likely at the Weasley wedding. In his cowardice, he was grateful that the Dark Lord didn’t force him to partake in the attack. Draco wouldn’t have been able to stand hurting Amara or those she cared about. He wanted Potter to win. He wanted all of this to be over. 

Just as Draco went to put the picture away, he heard a woman scream downstairs. His first instinct was that the scream came from his mother. Leaving the picture on his desk, Draco Apparated down to his foyer to see his Aunt Bellatrix bleeding from her cheek as his mother hovered over her. Before he could sigh in relief at his mother being safe, he heard his aunt spit out curses and vow to kill every single member of the Order. 

Draco closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. His thoughts found their way to Amara once more. Wherever they were, he hoped that she and her father stayed safe.

Up the stairs and through the door to Draco’s bedroom, Little Draco looked at Little Amara once more, his eyes gleaming with innocence and happiness. Draco hadn’t felt such joy in years, nor did he know if he ever would again.

~~~

A week or so had passed since they had run from the wedding. They had taken shelter at number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry was exploring the house, and Ron was playing Fur Elise rather badly as Hermione tried to teach him; Amara could hear it even though she was in the kitchen. They had nothing much to do until Kreacher came back with Mundungus Fletcher. 

Amara spent most of her time flipping through Hogwarts: A History, simultaneously looking at her copy and the one Dumbledore left her. She wanted to find the difference between the two, needing to know why Dumbledore left her this copy specifically. There was something hidden in here that he wanted Amara to find. She had already found numerous details that weren’t in her edition, such as more details regarding Slytherin’s thoughts behind making and sealing the Chamber of Secrets or a cup that Helga Hufflepuff created which was likely one of the first utensils ever used in the Great Hall. They must have been edited out with time or deemed irrelevant.

Amara was about to give up for the night before she paused. This page was entirely blank. She knew the Ministry had thoroughly examined each object bestowed to them. Whatever was hidden on this page would not reveal itself by a spell. “Hermione!” Amara wracked her brain as the piano keys stopped ringing immediately and Hermione rushed into the kitchen. “What is it?”

She took a minute to respond, the wheels in her mind churning with determination. “You know the Ministry has searched all of the items Dumbledore left to us in his will?” Amara turned the book to show Ron and Hermione the blank page. “They were looking for enchantments, spells, etc. What if Dumbledore hid something on this page using a non-magical method?” Hermione’s eyes lit up in recognition and summoned a lemon, a knife, and some cotton swabs.

“That’s ingenious, Amara. If Dumbledore has hidden something on this page in a non-magical manner, it would most likely be invisible ink.” Hermione was slicing a lemon just as Harry walked in; Ron leaned over to fill him in quickly in the background. When Amara gently brushed the lemon juice over the page, everyone watched with bated breath. 

Gasping softly, Amara saw the message appearing beneath her fingertips. Noticing how faint it was, Harry quickly cast Lumos, his wand hovering over the page. It wasn’t a message, it was a riddle. Hermione read it aloud as Amara finally moved away. The four of them stood around the table, reading Dumbledore’s handwriting as it gleamed up at them. 

“For one destroyed, false security was the answer. 

He first tried with a memory.

Then, he relied on his grandfather.

He craved excellence, wisdom, and victory.

He had one companion left

When he tried to escape his downfall, he left himself there.

In the end, there was only him.”

Ron groaned in frustration. “If he wanted to hide a message, why did it have to be another puzzle to solve?!” Amara said nothing, still reading and rereading Dumbledore’s message. Harry sighed as well, though he was the one who discerned why. “Dumbledore must have known they would search his things. If he felt the need to hide this specific riddle, it must be crucial information Dumbledore didn’t want in the wrong hands.” 

They were interrupted with the resonating crack of Apparation, and Amara slammed the book closed, the words imprinted on her mind. Kreacher and Dobby appeared, dragging Mundungus Fletcher along. “Dobby?!” Dobby began explaining why he tagged along as everyone in the room cornered Mundungus. “Look, I panicked that night, alright’?! Could I help it if Mad-Eye fell off his broom?” Hermione dangled the locket in front of him as Harry shut him up quickly. “While you were here, did you steal a locket- don’t deny it!- that looked like that one? What did you do with it?”

“Why, was it valuable?” He had quite the audacity to ask such a question. “Do you still have it?” Amara chimed in, while Ron scoffed. “He’s probably worried he didn’t get enough money for it.” This time, Mundungus had the sense to look remorseful. “Bleedin’ gave it away, didn’t I? I was scuffling ‘round Diagon Alley when some Ministry hag asked to see me license. Said she had a mind to turn me in, ‘til she took a shine to my locket.” 

“Who was she? This woman. What did she look like?” Mundungus began to respond once more until his eyes fell to an old copy of the Daily Prophet. “Well, that’s her right there. Bleedin’ bow and all!” 

Amara grabbed the paper to set it on the table, and the four of them shared a look. Though the image was black and white, Amara could see the sickening pink of her suit. “Umbridge.”

~~~

The clothes of Marietta Edgecombe’s mother, Madame Edgecombe, were beginning to loosen around Amara’s body while Albert Runcorn’s face bubbled and morphed back into Harry’s. Realizing they had no time to waste, Amara stunned Umbridge and Hermione ripped the locket from her neck. Ron took Mary Cattermole along with them and they sprinted into the elevator before the Dementors got too close. 

Harry cast the Patronus charm and they were immediately off. By then, the effects of the Polyjuice Potion had worn off for everyone besides Ron, and Amara was sure she’d seen a camera flash behind them. Ron spoke to Mary Cattermole, instructing her to take the kids and run. As she pulled her ‘husband��� into a kiss, Ron began morphing back into himself. He looked rather embarrassed, even more so when the real Reginald Cattermole saw his wife kissing a stranger.

“Long story, sorry!” They had no time to indulge this awkward moment. Yaxley shot a spell aimed at Harry, and Hermione noticed that the grates to the fireplaces were slamming down one by one. The four of them managed to enter one, but not before Yaxley got a hold of Ron’s arm. 

When Amara landed on her feet, she saw they had not returned to Grimmauld Place but had landed in some forest instead. Gasping softly as she saw Ron’s torn shoulder joint, Amara immediately opened her bag and dug around for Dittany. She threw the bottle to Hermione and tried to catch her breath. “Hermione, I thought-” 

Hermione was soothing a whimpering Ron, trying to administer the searing droplets of Dittany. “Yaxley must have gotten ahold of Ron, Harry. It wasn’t safe for us there anymore.” Hermione nodded, wiping away some tears. “I had to get us out of there, but Ron got splinched.” Amara’s eyes softened and Harry looked like he was at a loss for words. She patted Harry’s shoulder gently. “The tent is in my bag, Harry. Set it up, please? I’ll do the enchantments.”

Harry was frozen for a few moments. So many people had gotten hurt for him. How many more would before this ended? Amara’s gentle hand to his shoulder broke him from his daze, and he went to begin building the tent. 

Amara glanced back at her friends once more, worry flitting through her eyes. “Repello Muggletom, Salvio Hexia, Muffliato Maxima….”

~~~

Ambrosi sighed concernedly, setting the paper down. Amara was pictured, clear as day, running from numerous Ministry officials who fired various spells at her. When he turned the page, he saw his daughter’s face on a Wanted poster. 

Artemis had come to settle next to him, hooting sadly and nudging Amara’s picture with her talons.  Ambrosi brought his hand up to pet her gently and she nibbled on his finger affectionately in return. He was doing his best to keep his promise to Amara, but it was immensely difficult to stay safe. While Grimaldi Manor was protected, Ambrosi wouldn’t be should he have to leave for any mission for the Order. 

He had lost his beloved wife because of this darkness; he hoped and prayed for his Amara’s safety every day. She would not lose him because of this War, he would make sure of it. 

~~~

Amara was pacing around the perimeter of their safe haven, her arms hugging a black shawl to her body. From her neck dangled the two rings on a small chain, clinking softly as she walked. As she got closer to the tent, she overheard Harry snapping at Hermione for not doing enough for Ron. Amara, too, had been working on brewing a healing potion, but it was proving to be very difficult with the limited number of ingredients she brought with her.

Amara stood in front of Harry, stretching out her hand. “Take it off. The Horcrux.” Harry tugged the locket from his neck aggressively, immediately letting out a loud sigh of relief. “Better?” Harry nodded silently, and Amara clasped it around her neck. “We’ll wear it in turns.” 

From inside the tent, Ron’s radio crackled, and Lee Jordan’s voice rang out clearly. The locket now hung right next to Ambrosi’s ring, chittering maliciously as always. As night fell, Harry, Hermione, and Amara headed into the tent. Amara had made her way into the kitchen, not quite thinking of anything but dinner. Deciding on some quick spaghetti, Amara got a pot of water boiling and dug around her bag for a jar of sauce. 

“And now for some sobering news. We’ve just received word that our beloved friend, Nectar, has been murdered by Death Eaters just miles away from his home. Let’s all have a moment of silence in his memory.” The jar of pasta sauce fell from Amara’s fingers and crashed to the floor. Hermione rushed over to her but faltered slightly. Amara’s face was entirely expressionless.

No one spoke or moved for the next minute. The crackle from Ron’s radio broke the silence. “To those that knew him, Nectar was a benevolent man, an unwavering father, and a strong friend. He died a hero. In Nectar’s honor, the password for our next broadcast will be Grimaldi. Stay safe everyone, Potterwatch will be back as soon as possible.” Amara walked over the broken glass and clung to her shawl, exiting the tent numbly. 

Ron came out from the bedroom, his eyes wet with tears and one trailing down his face. Hermione went over to him and hugged him close, both of them sobbing silently. Harry felt his heart shattering. Of all of them, he could understand Amara’s pain best. Ambrosi was beloved by all. He was one of the few men he trusted dearly, possibly the one he trusted most after Sirius and Remus. 

Amara stood outside the tent, the snow falling around her, contrasting harshly against her black shawl. Silent tears were streaming down her face. The cold air was thinning around her, suffocating her until she couldn’t breathe. Her knees gave way from her shock just as Harry came out, quickly catching her. When she felt Harry’s arms around her, something in Amara snapped. 

She let out a wail, one that could have been heard for miles had they not put up a sound barrier. That wail gave way to broken, choked sobs as Amara clung to Harry. The cold around them couldn’t compare to the shattering grief inside her, threatening to consume her at any second. 

Inside the tent, Hemione placed a hand over her mouth and Ron closed his eyes in pain when they heard Amara’s scream. Harry didn’t know what to say or do besides holding her. He knew this pain, and in this pain, no one could say anything to make it better. Things would be dark until something -anything- gives you a glimmer of hope. Amara had been there for him the most after Sirius’s death, and he would do the same.

~

Bellatrix’s cackles rang through the foyer of Malfoy Manor. Draco gritted his teeth, not interested in another gleeful rant about which Order member or muggleborn family she had killed now. His fingers clutched his mug of tea, burning with the heat encircling them. 

“I told you, Cissy! I told you I would kill that blood-traitor!” Draco managed to take a sip, the hot tea scalding his throat. He stood, about to make his way to his bedroom for the night. “That Ambrosi Grimaldi got what was coming to him.” 

Draco’s mug hit the floor, shattering into tiny shards. The tea swam across the wooden floor. Draco said nothing. He couldn’t. He didn’t trust his voice, nor his ears in this moment. 

In her cheerful reverie, his aunt ignored it completely. Narcissa’s eyes immediately shot to Draco. Lucius, too, hardened as he stood, unreadable as always. Somehow, Draco got his feet to move. The winding staircase to the bedrooms seemed even longer to Draco now, his feet dragging with effort as he moved. 

While Bellatrix danced around the room, her sister’s eyes followed Draco as he trudged upstairs. She wanted to follow him but thought otherwise when she heard Draco’s door slam shut. 

The Muffliato cast over his bedroom would have stifled his scream had he not gone out to his balcony. It rang out across the immaculate lawns, frightening the peacocks roaming around. He lost the man who cared for him just as Amara did. Amara… 

Swallowing hard, Draco closed his eyes, letting himself feel the hot tears streaming down his face. How much more would she have to lose? How much more was this War going to take from them all?

~~~

Amara had been in a daze these past few days. They weren’t making much progress with the search, nor were they any closer to deciphering Dumbledore’s riddle. She couldn’t sleep. Should her eyes droop shut for even just a few minutes, the Potterwatch broadcast played in her mind like a reel on replay. 

Hermione’s rhythmic snipping of scissors was nearly silent as she attempted to give Harry a haircut. Harry found it entirely unnecessary; it was just something to pass the time. His mind was elsewhere: the night of Bill and Fleur’s wedding when he last spoke to Ambrosi. He found it more important than ever to remember these words.

The wedding had transitioned into the reception seamlessly. Harry found himself surrounded by many red-headed Weasleys and members of the Order, the atmosphere high with celebrations. He was sitting at a table alone when he was joined by Ambrosi who put a fatherly hand on his shoulder. 

Ambrosi knew they would be leaving tomorrow; before he went to dance with his daughter, he wanted to come talk to Harry. The war brewing and the lives lost had a devastating impact on Harry. Ambrosi felt the responsibility of lightening his burden as much as he could. “Harry… It can be very easy to blame ourselves for grievances in life, especially when we are there to witness them. For years, even before I knew of Sirius’s innocence and Pettigrew’s deceptions, I did not blame Sirius for the death of Lucianna... I blamed myself. I believed I should have been the one to go to Godric’s Hollow that night in her stead.” Harry swallowed softly, and Ambrosi’s eyes gleamed softly with his wisdom and kindness. It was the same look Amara often had in her eyes. She was more like her father than she knew. 

“In some ways, that feeling has never gone away. And yet… When I think of our world now, I think of the other eleven people who were murdered that night and the countless lives being lost because of the darkness in our world. People leave this world and new souls are created every second. Our proximity to death doesn’t make death our fault.” Ambrosi’s voice never wavered. It was strong and reassuring, and Harry absorbed the words as much as he could. “This war has been building for a long time. Lives have been lost, and unfortunately, we’ll lose others we love as well. Remember who you are, Harry. Not what is happening around you, not what may happen. Remember who you are, and this war will not be able to steal you away from yourself.” 

“Oh my God!” As the scissors clattered to the floor, Harry was pulled away from his thoughts. Hermione rushed to the kitchen, digging through her bag and pulling out one of her many books. Harry followed her quickly, ignoring the incessant crackling of Ron’s radio. Amara stepped into the tent, shivering from the cold outside. Her emotional numbness dissipated slightly when she took in the excitement exuding from Hermione. “The sword of Gryffindor… it’s goblin-made!” Amara’s eyes widened and she went to join Hermione at the table. “That’s amazing news!” 

Harry looked at the two of them in bewilderment, completely not understanding why the sword being goblin-made had anything to do with the sudden cheer (and also because this was the first time he’d seen light in Amara’s eyes in weeks). Hermione exhaled in exhilaration and spoke, “You’ve already destroyed a Horcrux, haven’t you? Tom Riddle’s diary.” 

“With a Basilisk’s fang! Don’t tell me you and Amara have one of those in your bloody little bags.” Harry reached across the table to see the book Hermione was flipping through. “You don’t understand. The blade of the sword does not rust or dull over time... It only takes in what makes it stronger.” A glimmer of understanding shined in Harry’s eyes. “The sword is impregnated with Basilisk venom. Which is why…”

“Why Dumbledore left it to me in his will! You are brilliant, Hermione, truly.” Hermione babbled in her exhilaration, humbly disregarding Harry’s compliment. “There’s only one problem, of course.” Before Harry could continue, the lights in the tent suddenly switched off, plunging them into momentary darkness. When they came on again, Ron was standing to their immediate left, the Deluminator clenched harshly in his fist. “The sword was stolen.” 

Amara was the first to recognize Ron’s anger. “Ron… the Horcrux. Have you been wearing it all day?” He completely ignored her, plundering on as his emotions overruled his mind. “Yeah, I’m still here. But you two carry on. Don’t let me spoil all the fun.” His tone made the girls blanch with worry. “What’s wrong?” Ron scoffed as if Harry’s question was utterly ludicrous. 

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Not according to you, anyway.” Harry’s jaw began to set, hardening with irritation. “Look, if you’ve got something to say, don’t be shy. Spit it out.” The argument escalated; Ron was seething internally, and it was only a matter of time before his anger bubbled over like lava and burned those near him. “Alright, I’ll spit it out. But don’t expect me to be grateful now that there’s another damn thing we’ve got to find.” 

“I thought you knew what you signed up for.” Harry’s eyes were wide, not used to this kind of behavior from Ron. This wasn’t like him at all. “Yeah, I thought I did too.” Harry began to get up and approached Ron, ignoring Amara’s hand as she reached out to grab his wrist and hold him back. “Well then, I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand. What part of this isn’t living up to your expectations? I mean, did you think we were gonna be staying in a 5-star hotel? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you’d be back with your mum by Christmas?” 

“I just thought, after all this time, we would have actually achieved something. I thought you knew what you were doing! I thought Dumbledore would’ve told you something worthwhile.” Hermione came to stand next to Ron, not knowing how to help. Ideas on how to deescalate the situation ran through Amara’s mind, but she wasn’t confident that anything would work at this point. “I told you everything Dumbledore told me, and in case you haven’t noticed, we have found a Horcrux already.”

“Yeah, and we’re as close to getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them, aren’t we?” Hermione reached for the Horcrux, begging him to take it off. “Ron, please... You wouldn’t be saying any of this if you hadn’t been wearing it all day.” He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Do you know why I listen to that radio every night? I listen so I don’t hear Ginny’s name. Or Fred, or George, or my mum.”

“You think I’m not listening to? You think I don’t know how it feels?” “No, you DON’T know how it feels! Your parents are dead; you have no family.” The scathing words thundered around the four as Harry jumped forward, wanting to expel his anger but unable to hurt his best friend. “Fine, then go! Go then!” Ron tugged the Horcrux off furiously, not even faltering when he saw Hermione’s tears. 

Amara’s heart panged, the cracks in it searing her painfully. “And you? Are you coming or you staying?” Hermione looked at Ron and then to Harry and Amara. She couldn’t say anything, but Amara nodded to her softly. Ron would need her with him; it was far too dangerous for him to leave alone, and it wouldn’t be right to leave Harry alone either. 

Hermione wordlessly agreed, and Amara knew she would bring Ron back as soon as she could. Dumping some of her books onto the table, she grabbed her bag with the tears streaming down her face. Harry understood though he couldn’t honestly say he didn’t feel betrayed. Ambrosi’s words came to his mind as they Disapparated. Remember who you are, Harry. Not what is happening around you, not what may happen. Remember who you are, and this war will not be able to steal you away from yourself.

~~~

Harry came to join Amara outside. She was sitting with her back against a tree, her eyes closed as she breathed in the frosty, winter air. When she heard the scuffle of Harry sitting beside her, Amara didn’t open her eyes but rather just leaned to rest her head against his shoulder and made sure her blanket covered him as well. He hummed softly in contentment, asking her what she was thinking about. 

“I was remembering a trip I took with my father and Draco one winter. His parents were taking a vacation and Draco hated being left behind, so he came to stay with us. We would spend the day skiing or flying or building castles of snow… My dad would turn in around an hour or so before we did, and we’d sit by a fireplace, reading together or just talking.” Harry’s arm came around Amara’s shoulder and he smiled softly. That didn’t sound like the Malfoy he knew, but he could hear a smile in Amara’s voice. She truly cherished these memories… she truly cherished him.

“You love him.” Harry didn’t ask a question. He knew, just as she did. “Yes, I love him. Even if he may not show that he loves me too.” They sat together in comfortable silence. A few birds chirped around them and a soft wind blew through the grand conifers. Harry and Amara were both hurting, but just for these silent moments, their pain could be pushed aside. 

~~~

As Amara woke the next morning, the day felt brighter. There seemed to be a palpable hum of energy in the air, something that had all but vanished in the last few months. Harry was nowhere in sight, but Amara heard people talking outside. Shooting out of bed immediately, she grabbed her cardigan and rushed out of the tent, worry clearly etched onto her face. Her feet faltered once she made it out of the mouth of the tent; her features lit up with relief.

Hermione rushed to Amara and threw her arms around her. Harry was smiling for the first time in a while. From the corner of her eyes, Amara saw the Sword of Gryffindor in Ron’s hand, the morning sun reflecting off of the blade and shining onto the destroyed locket in his other hand. “You found it! Where?” Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, both of them remembering last night’s events and Hermione sighed softly as she thought of the locket’s torturous words to Ron. 

The quartet headed into the warm tent and Amara began making some tea as she was brought up to speed with the events. The searingly harsh Horcrux was not a surprise to Amara; she remembered all too clearly how the Horcrux in Tom Riddle’s diary had wanted to kill Harry. It made perfect sense, actually. Twisted, dark souls could only bring pain and destruction. 

Even so, the energy didn’t dissipate from around the four friends. There was a shining sense of hope when they were reunited. No one forgot at how quickly that hope could be torn away from them, but they all clung on to it anyhow. 

When Amara gave Hermione her tea, she handed something to Amara in return: Dumbledore’s copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Amara flipped to the page that was marked, her fingers brushing against the inscription that followed “The Tale of the Three Brothers.” Harry peered over Amara’s shoulder curiously while the wheels in Amara’s mind churned away. Surely this wasn’t a rune she had seen before. 

“I’ve seen that… Xenophilius Lovegood was wearing that symbol at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.” Amara’s eyebrows shot up as she experienced a stifled epiphany. She had an idea about what the symbol could mean, but voicing her idea was not the best way to go about this, not when Ron’s motive for leaving was based on more things they had to find. She would wait for Luna’s father to confirm or deny her suspicions before she brought this up. “We need to go see him.”

~~~

“That treacherous little… Is there no one we can trust?!” Ron’s agitation spilled from his mouth and echoed against the trees surrounding them. “They took Luna, Ron. He was desperate.” Harry was angered as well, but not at Xenophilius. He was angry with himself. The thoughts he often tried to dispel spun around in his head again. He did not want more people to get hurt for him. Before Harry could recall Ambrosi’s words and ground himself, Hermione froze in his peripheral vision. 

Just a few feet from them, Snatchers lounged against the trees, looking for their next targets lazily. “Well don’t hang about, snatch ‘em!” Amara had to take Hermione’s hand and drag her out of her shock. In his shock, Ron stumbled and ran as fast as he could. Even as they began to run, Amara knew they would not make it away safely; they could not Disapparate away together, they wouldn’t get close enough. 

As discreetly as she could, Amara sent a Stinging Jinx in Harry’s direction. His cry of pain was muffled by the bracken covered ground as he tripped. Hermione, now completely back to her senses, grabbed Harry’s glasses and stuffed them into her bag. Harry’s glasses were far too recognizable. At the same time, Amara took up some mud and caked it onto her neck and cheek. She knew it wouldn’t be enough. Amara Grimaldi’s face was next to Harry’s on the Wanted posters. 

Wracking her brain for whatever she could do in the limited amount of time they had, Amara thought of only one spell: Crinus Muto. It was an exceedingly difficult spell, one of the last she had learned from Professor McGonagall. If performed incorrectly, the results would be disastrous. 

Yet, by some stroke of luck (or perhaps by the skill Amara had), she was no longer recognizable. Her long, mahogany locks had transformed into short strands of blonde silk. The Snatchers had thankfully been unable to see Amara’s transformation and were stupid enough to assume that one member of the group got away. No matter. There were four more prizes to collect.

Four of the Snatchers grabbed each of the four friends while the leader sauntered around them arrogantly. He questioned them individually, trying to see which would crack first. Hermione chose to say she was Penelope Clearwater, and Ron said he was Barney Weasley. Amara’s lie had come to her quickly: Marietta Edgecombe, the pureblood daughter of Madame Edgecombe whom she had impersonated a few weeks ago. 

Her breath caught in her throat when the leader, Scabior, paused in front of Harry. His eyes lingered on Harry’s forehead for much longer than necessary. “Change of plans… we’re not taking this lot to the Ministry.” 

~

The days were passing. Each moment suffocated Draco more and more. His thoughts never strayed too far from Amara. Was she safe? What was she doing? When would he see her again? When could she be allowed to properly grieve? When would this all end? Would the two of them be able to walk away from this alive?

Narcissa paused at Draco’s door, observing as Draco’s shoulders slumped forward. Long gone was the laughter that warmed this household. Long gone was the light in his eyes. “Draco…” Her heart broke even further when her son looked into her eyes. Every inch of her was aching to grab her child and shield him from the horrors of this life, an instinct she had been attempting to ignore for years now. 

“Yes, Mother?” His voice echoed his desolation. Draco had lost the capacity to feel anything. “Your Aunt Bellatrix is calling you. We believe you can identify some traitors.” Even before she came to get her son, Narcissa knew that these were no traitors. Traitors to the Dark Lord, perhaps, but not traitors to the good in the world. Amara had transfigured herself physically, which was a remarkable feat in itself, given that she was not a Metamorphagus. Human transfiguration spells were known to be exceedingly difficult and even dangerous to maintain. Amara could not, however, transfigure the mannerisms ingrained into her. How she carried herself. Her facial expressions. The way she pressed the pad of her thumb to her index finger when she lied, a movement so small you’d have to look for it to see it. Narcissa could see it was her almost immediately.

Draco stood and passed his mother. His lifelessness had scared him once, too, but now it was just who he was. It was who he had to become since he rejected Amara in the hospital wing months ago. Narcissa did not have time to warn her son; their house was no longer safe, their walls had ears. His descent down the winding staircase was not rushed. A memory flitted through his mind: Amara at age eight, daring Draco to slide down the banister. Would they ever know such joy again?

“Ah, Draco! So good of you to join us.” Draco looked up at the sound of her voice just out of habit. When he did, his feet faltered. He prayed it wasn’t noticeable. His eyes fell on Granger and Weasley, and then to the blonde girl standing next to them, mud drying on her neck and left cheek, obscuring her features. Draco’s confusion lasted only a fraction of a second. His aunt’s next words cleared them up immediately. 

The Snatchers had not been dismissed. Bellatrix enjoyed an audience. Whether that audience would witness the Dark Lord’s reward to the family or if they would witness a murder by her hands was irrelevant. “I have reason to believe that the imp I am holding is none other than the chosen one himself.” The biting sarcasm tore through her voice, but he no longer heard anything. Noises muted in the background. If this was Potter, Granger, and Weasley… then the blonde girl was Amara. There was no other option. 

Bellatrix tugged on Harry’s hair, revealing the scar which stretched across his forehead. “Well?” She looked at Draco expectantly, growing frustrated when his answer was weak. “I can’t be sure.” Lucius had been listening silently up until this point. His loyalties had never externally wavered, but he, too, wanted this war over. “Look closely, son. If we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, all will be forgiven. All will be as it was, do you understand?” Draco swallowed hard and took a cautious step forward. 

“Don’t be shy, sweetie. Come over.” Bellatrix pulled Draco by the arm gently, bringing him to his knees in front of Harry. “If this isn’t who we think it is, Draco, and we call him, he’ll kill us all. We need to be absolutely sure.” 

Draco was sure. “What’s wrong with his face?” The scar didn’t give him away, his eyes did. Draco had glared into them enough times to know what they looked like. “Yes, what is wrong with his face?” Bellatrix echoed the question. “He came to us like that. Something he picked up in the forest, I reckon.”

Harry was not entirely surprised that Draco had not given him away. He was slowly starting to see the Draco his friend loved. He was there, hiding underneath the surface, just as Amara always said. “Or ran into a Stinging Jinx.” Amara’s heart thudded in panic. Hermione glanced at Amara anxiously, but she held her ground as Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed on her. Narcissa clutched Lucius’s arm, frightened for the girl whom she loved like a daughter. She was unable to protect her, just as she was unable to protect Draco. “Give me her wand, I want to see what her last spell was.”

A pleased, evil giggle came from Bellatrix and she continued to step towards Amara. “Got you.” She paused then, her glee molding into fear. “What’s that?” Bellatrix’s voice was no more than a whisper. Her eyes gestured toward the Sword of Gryffindor which was being held by a Snatcher. “Where did you get that from?” Scabior seemed a bit bored, having seen many such encounters. “It was in her bag when we searched her.” He took the sword and pointed it at Amara. “Reckon it’s mine now.” 

The grin on Scabior’s face was wrenched away with Bellatrix’s spell, casting him back towards the stairwell and the Sword flew into her hand. “Get out!” Exuding a whip from the tip of her wand, Bellatrix attacked the other Snatchers, beating them until they scrambled away. Her eyes came to narrow on Amara. “Cissy, put the boys and the mudblood in the cellar.” Ron, Harry, and Hermione were pulled away by Narcissa and then pulled down the stairs by Pettigrew. Their screams and protests fell on deaf ears. 

Amara’s face had not changed, even when she had a very good idea of what was coming. “I want to have a little conversation with this one.” Bellatrix wasted no time with theatrics now. She made her way to Amara very quickly, pausing only when the necklace Amara wore gleamed in the light. Amara inhaled sharply, and her focus slipped. Her magic could no longer maintain the disguise. Even if it did, it would have been meaningless. The necklace held her father’s ring; the crest of the Grimaldi family was all too recognizable.

When Harry and Ron were tossed to the dungeon floor, they heard Bellatrix’s cackle. It was joyful once again. She had found another motivation for torturing Amara, not that she needed convincing. Amara’s blonde hair reverted to its natural state, and Bellatrix took a handful, using it to throw the girl to the ground. Despite her pain, Amara clenched her jaw shut, refusing to scream or speak. She would not give this murderer any form of satisfaction. “I had hoped to kill you the same day I killed your father, but I suppose that can be taken care of now.” In her taunting, Bellatrix did not see that Narcissa and Lucius had to restrain Draco. Attacking his aunt would only bring more pain to Amara, and a part of Draco knew that. How could he be expected to watch the girl he loved -he had stopped denying it long ago- be torn apart? 

“How brave. Your father was brave too. But bravery doesn’t save anyone, now does it?” Something in Amara snapped. Perhaps it was foolish, she knew it would only invite more torture for her. She stood and grabbed Bellatrix’s wand arm, twisting it behind her back. “Don’t say another word about my father.” In their surprise at Amara’s actions, Draco was nearly able to wrench out of his parents’ arms. They caught him again before he could help her. Bellatrix freed her arm from Amara’s grip and backhanded her with enough force to send her flying to the ground once more.

Amara did not show her pain; her will was no match for the Cruciatus curse, however. Bellatrix’s bloodlust and anger fueled the spell. Amara’s body convulsed as the spell seared through her brain, and she could no longer hold back the screams of agony. It took all of Narcissa and Lucius’s strength to keep Draco restrained, and Amara’s screams were echoed by Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the cellars. “Not so brave now, Grimaldi?” The spell intensified for a moment before it relented. 

Amara gasped, trying to prepare herself for more pain. The cries of her friends grew louder, and it took every ounce of control Draco had to not harm his parents and rush over to Amara. Bellatrix tucked her wand away and grabbed her dagger, harshly flipping Amara over and laying over her. “That sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringotts. How did you get it? What else did you and your friends take from my vault?!” Her voice started out as a whisper and crescendoed to a scream. 

Draco felt unbelievably useless. In all the years Draco had known Amara, he had never heard her sound so broken. “I didn’t take anything. Please… we found it.” He could not stand this. Narcissa looked at her son once he slumped in her arms, sharing a look with her husband as well. Watching Amara writhe in agony was torture for them too. “I don’t believe you.” As silently as he could, Draco took the wands of the quartet and slunk off to the dungeons. His face contorted with pain as Amara’s screams echoed throughout the foyer and down the stairs to the dungeons. It only took seconds to stun Pettigrew and Draco faltered when he saw Dobby. “Dobby?” Luna and Ollivander were gone, to Draco’s relief. The cries were unbearable for all those who loved Amara. It didn’t seem possible, but they got even louder. 

Draco had tears in his eyes, as did Hermione. Harry did not fail to notice them. The five worked on a plan to get them back upstairs and safely away with Amara. Draco had to sneak back upstairs first, leaving the wands with their rightful owners. Dobby Apparated them up to the top of the stairs. Amara lay on the floor. Her blood pooled out of her forearm; the words ‘blood traitor’ were etched into her skin. Bellatrix kicked her once more in anger and questioned Griphook about who could have possibly entered her vault. 

Silent tears streamed from Amara’s eyes. The tears could have been from the assault she had endured, but she didn’t think so. Her heart thudded painfully when she saw Draco’s eyes, broken and helpless as he looked at her. “Liar!” The dagger that had torn through the skin on Amara’s forearm had grazed Griphook’s cheek. Bellatrix was not going to get any substantial answers from him because they had never broken into her vault. “Consider yourself lucky, goblin. The same won’t be said for this one.” 

Amara did not have the energy to defend herself. Not anymore. Bellatrix was slightly disappointed. Having her victims struggle and scream was part of the fun. Just then, Amara’s friends ran from the shadows and attacked. Draco was bound by his love for his family as much as he was for his love for Amara. He pretended to fight against Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Should he concede too easily, his aunt would see and would kill Amara so much faster.

As soon as they came into sight, Bellatrix pulled Amara up to her feet. “Stop!” Hermione, Harry, and Ron faltered when they saw Amara. Draco bit down on his tongue so hard he drew blood. “Drop your wands” The dagger pressed against Amara’s throat. One slice and she would be gone. “I said drop them!” They had no choice but to obey. “Draco, pick them up, now!” Draco picked them up without hesitation, knowing well that he would return them as soon as he could. 

“Well well well… look what we have here! It’s Harry Potter! He’s all bright and shiny and new… just in time for the Dark Lord!” Amara whimpered softly, and Draco had to look away. This was worse than any of his nightmares. “Call him.” Amara’s life was at the mercy of his deranged aunt, and he did not have the strength to watch. Her screams and his sheer helplessness would be etched into him forever, just like the cruel words would be on her. “Call him!” 

Before Lucius could begin calling Lord Voldemort, the silence in the foyer was met with a squeaking sound. Bellatrix looked up to see Dobby on top of the chandelier, not realizing what he was doing until it was released. In her haste, Bellatrix shoved Amara away from her as she dove backward. Hermione caught her and in the chaos, Harry tugged the wands away from Draco who didn’t put up much of a fight.

“You stupid elf! You could’ve killed me!” Griphook had joined their little group and Hermione held Amara upright. It was taking all of Amara’s strength to stand. “Dobby never meant to kill. Dobby only meant to maim or seriously injure.” Narcissa swirled her wand around as if to cast a spell, though her movement made it only too easy for Dobby to disarm her. 

“How dare you take a witch’s wand? How dare you defy your masters?!” Bellatrix’s screaming did not affect Dobby. The only one terrified was Amara. Her voice would haunt Amara’s dreams just as Amara’s suffering would haunt Draco. “Dobby has no master. Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!” They all reached for Dobby and he began to Disapparate just Bellatrix threw the dagger towards the group. Draco’s blood ran cold when he saw the dagger disappear along with them.

~~~

Dobby’s death had shaken all of them to the core. The four spent as much time together as they could, planning and recuperating. Amara spent much time mulling over the riddle Dumbledore left her. There wasn’t much else for her to do. She and Harry would remain hidden with Griphook when they broke into Gringotts. It was certain that Bellatrix was terrified of something else being taken from her vault… they just don’t know what it was. 

Hermione stood at the doorway of the guest room where Amara was, her hand hesitating above the doorknob. She was not going to have her impersonate the woman that killed her father and tortured her, Hermione would do it instead. “Harry! Ron! Hermione!” Amara’s voice rang through the cottage. Her friends burst through the door without wasting another moment. “What happened?” 

Amara was busy scribbling away on some spare parchment. Dumbledore’s riddle finally made sense. “I figured out what the riddle means!” Amara laid the riddle and her incomplete notes side by side. “For one destroyed, false security was the answer. He first tried with a memory.” Amara shook her head incredulously, not understanding why it took her so long to figure this out. “The riddle gives us clues to his Horcruxes.” She had to be careful not to say the name. 

“A memory… his diary?” Hermione caught on quickly, relieved. “Then, he relied on his grandfather. Marvolo Gaunt’s ring.” Harry gingerly lifted the book up and Ron noted the next line. “He craved excellence, wisdom, and victory.” This gave them all pause. Amara took a moment to think not of Lord Voldemort, but of Tom Marvolo Riddle, the child with the dark life and past. Hogwarts had been his home. “Hogwarts. Excellence, wisdom, and victory… the traits of the Hogwarts houses. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor!” 

The four huddled on the bed for another hour, trying to determine what each line meant. “Ron destroyed Slytherin’s locket! But victory… victory could also be a trait of the Hufflepuff house…” Amara was running her mind over what object of the Ravenclaw family could Voldemort have defiled. She was coming up with nothing. “If we know it’s an object of victory, perhaps we’re looking for a trophy… a cup of some kind.” 

By the end of their brainstorming, they had concluded that four Horcruxes remained. One would be linked to Ravenclaw, the other to Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. One was a companion of his… though they were unsure about who this could be. Voldemort had an army of followers; any one of which could be holding a Horcrux for him. 

The last two lines bothered Amara. She believed she understood what they meant. ‘When he tried to escape his downfall, he left himself there.’ Voldemort had gone to kill Harry… A Horcrux was not going to be found in Harry’s old home, he would have already found it when they went to Godric’s Hollow. But what if Harry himself was a Horcrux. Amara didn’t want to entertain the possibility, but her rationality did not allow her to dismiss it. Harry had known for a long time that he may not live through this War; Amara could not be the one to confirm her friend’s death.

~~~

Before they knew it, the quartet was back at Hogwarts. Seeing Neville and all of their friends brought everyone a renewed sense of relief. Quickly, the came up with a plan to find the remaining Horcruxes. Harry explained that the Horcrux they needed to find had something to do with Ravenclaw. The suggestion of the lost diadem was echoed by Luna and Amara was about to leave when students were being summoned to the Great Hall. 

They wouldn’t get away with ignoring the summon. If they tried, it would have brought about much torture. “I have a better idea.” Harry quickly changed into Hogwarts robes as Nigel made a Potterwatch broadcast announcing that the four were at Hogwarts. Amara, Hermione, and Ron were alerting the members of the Order.

The march to the Great Hall felt like a march of prisoners rather than students. Amara swallowed a whimper of pain as she watched. Where was the Hogwarts that was her home? Was it lost forever? 

“Many of you are surely wondering why I have summoned you at this hour. It has come to my attention that earlier this evening, Harry Potter was sighted in Hogsmeade.” A murmur rose from the student body. Harry was beginning to twitch with anger. “Now. Should anyone, student or staff, attempt to aid Mr. Potter, they will be punished in a manner consistent with the severity of their transgression. Furthermore…

“Any person found to have knowledge of these events and fails to come forward will be treated as equally guilty.” Snape left the head of the Hall and made his way down the center aisle, his eyes searching. “Now then, if anyone here has any knowledge of Mr. Potter’s movements this evening… I invite them to step forward…. Now.” His feet stopped. His eyes glanced directly at the old members of Dumbledore’s Army. 

Harry could not stand it any longer. He stepped out from the group of Ravenclaw students as the student body gasped in shock. Snape’s eyes narrowed like those of a snake. “It seems, despite your exhaustive defensive strategies, you have a bit of a security problem Headmaster.” The grand golden doors of the Great Hall opened, revealing Amara, Ron, Hermione, and numerous Order members. “I’m afraid it’s quite extensive.” 

Harry blinked for one moment, imagining Dumbledore at the Head of the Great Hall, where he had seen him daily for many years. “How dare you stand where he stood? Tell them how it happened that night! Tell them how you looked him in the eye, a man who TRUSTED YOU, and killed him! Tell them.” Snape brandished his wand, aiming to attack Harry; before he could, Professor McGonagall stood in front of him.

Amara, Ron, Hermione, and the others took a step forward. A few of the members of Dumbledore’s Army stepped away from the crowd of students. Professor McGonagall threw every spell she could at Snape. In his cowardice, Snape Apparated away. A cheer rang out through the Great Hall, and light returned to the flaming lanterns. Before the joy could last very long, however, a cold, shrill voice impregnated everyone’s mind. 

“Harry Potter…” Harry’s eyes glazed over as he stumbled backward onto the stone steps. Two students began screaming, and before anyone could help them, the voice continued. “I know that many of you would want to fight. Some of you may even think that to fight is wise… but this is a folly. Give me Harry Potter. Do this, and none shall be harmed.” Harry’s face was blank. The words were a lie. They all knew it.

“Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched.” The voice of evil rang clearly, compelling obedience from those it tormented. “Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have one hour.” 

~~~

Before the hour was up, Order members worked to protect the castle. Ron and Hermione went down to the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve another Basilisk fang while Amara and Harry split up in search of the Ravenclaw Horcrux. 

Harry was starting in the Ravenclaw common room. If he brought this idea up to Amara first, she would have pointed out what a fruitless endeavor it would be. Instead, Amara found herself in the restricted section of the library. Perhaps there was some clue here.

Pacing through the bookshelves, Amara looked over the titles as swiftly as she could. One the side of one shelf, she found the crest of the Ravenclaw house. She stopped in front of it. Amara had been here numerous times and had never seen it before. 

Suddenly, Dumbledore’s words rang through Amara’s mind. “Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.” Biting her lip anxiously, Amara brushed her fingers against the wings of the eagle on the crest. “I wish to see what you hold.” The silence in the library was deafening. She waited with bated breath until the crest began to turn, slowly embedding itself into the wood. Above her head, a compartment opened. 

Within it was a diary… the last diary of Rowena Ravenclaw. Amara took the book, gingerly opening it while trying to find anything she could on the diadem. Her fingers stopped on the last page. A drawing of the diadem greeted her; below it were the words “to be bestowed upon my daughter, Helena, after my death.” Her eyes widened. The Grey Lady. Taking the diary with her, Amara ran to Ravenclaw tower as fast as she could. 

The hour was up; Death Eaters had begun attacking the protective dome around the school. It was only a matter of time before they would infiltrate the castle. Just as Amara rounded the corner, she ran straight into Harry. “Harry! You need to speak to the Grey Lady! She’ll know the location of the Diadem.” Harry caught her by the shoulders, stabilizing them both. “I already did. It’s in the Room of Requirement.” Her eyes widened with confusion and recognition both.

~

The battle raged on above them. Hermione and Ron, miles below the ground, had destroyed the cup. For a moment, they just looked at each other. The water trickled around them. Their arms came around each other in a loving embrace; their lips met for the first time. Both knew they might die tonight. It didn’t matter. Hermione and Ron had denied their love long enough. Ron took her hand, vowing to not let it go.

~

Amara and Harry rushed up many flights of stairs. Ginny began running towards him. “Ginny! I-” She cut Harry off with a sweet kiss. “I know.” Amara’s steps had faltered for a second but she continued, letting Harry have a moment with Ginny amidst the horrors around them. She swallowed softly, blinking away tears. It was quite possible she would not get to tell Draco she loved him ever again. 

Within minutes, Harry and Amara began searching the Room of Requirement. They split up to cover more ground, and Harry was the first to realize they weren’t alone. Draco, Goyle, and Zabini were ten paces away from him, all three of them pointing their wands at him. “You have something of mine. I’d like it back.” Draco had willingly let Harry snatch the wands from his hands that night, a fact they both knew. “What’s wrong with the one you have?” This conversation was more for the sake of Goyle and Zabini. “It’s my mother’s. It’s powerful… but it doesn’t quite understand me.” 

  Amara found herself deep into the room when she spotted it. Pixies were hiding within the piles of forgotten items and a few flew out when she tried to grab it. She made it back to Harry just as he asked Draco another question. “Why didn’t you tell her? Bellatrix. You knew it was me.” Amara stepped into Draco’s sight just then, and Goyle urged him to stun Harry. Draco did nothing but slightly lower his wand. Harry was reminded of the night in the Astronomy Tower just a year ago. Draco had lowered his wand in the memory of Amara once again.

Draco looked to Amara. The air was thinning around both of them. Suddenly the few steps between them were like a chasm of miles they had to cross to get to each other. Harry just observed the silent moment, noting Draco’s eyes and reactions. He really did love her. He had no choice. He was bound by his family. Without warning, Goyle shot “Stupefy!” at Hermione while Ron disarmed Zabini. Someone -Amara couldn’t see who- cast Avada Kadavra. In her haste to deflect it, the diadem slipped from her fingers; it flew to the top of a heap of junk as the spell ricocheted off of it. 

Ron ran after Goyle and Zabini. Draco and Amara were both frozen for just one more moment before Harry called for her help. She was the first to tear her eyes away. Draco watched her climb the precarious pile before he, too, ran off. Harry grabbed the diadem and tossed it down to Amara who let it fall into Hermione’s waiting hands. Just then, Ron’s screams and a strange light began to fill the grand room. “GOYLE SET THE BLOODY PLACE ON FIRE.” He grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her along with him, running for the door. 

This was no ordinary fire; this was Fiendfyre, a dangerous form of dark magic. Harry took Amara’s hand and pulled her along, but the fire had a mind of its own. It found them wherever they ran. Before it could corner them, Harry was able to cast a wall from Aguamenti to protect them. Ron stumbled to the ground and fell against four broomsticks. Before they could make their escape, Harry glanced back to see Draco and Zabini clutching onto a chest for dear life as the fire roared below them. “Harry!” 

Amara’s eyes followed Harry’s and she immediately turned around. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS SHE DOING?” Ron screamed after Amara, but she heard nothing. “We can’t leave them!” Harry tried to reason with Ron, quickly following after Amara. “He’s joking, right?” Amara reached them first and tried to grab Draco’s hand without losing her momentum. His fingers grazed her palm before they came down to clutch the drawer once more. “If we die for them, Amara, I’m gonna kill you!” Harry’s hand grabbed Draco’s and Ron grabbed Zabini. Hermione and Amara led them out as the room began to crumble around them. The six hit the ground hard and Amara stabbed the Diadem, kicking it into the Room of Requirement and letting the fire engulf it.

Amara fell backward as the dark soul within it escaped, encroaching on hers. Draco made it to her before her head hit the ground. The pain in her eyes reminded Draco of the night just a month ago, when he listened to the girl he loved scream as she was tortured. He couldn’t do anything to help her then, but she was with him now. “Amara…” A soft sob escaped Amara’s lips as a tear rolled down Draco’s cheek. They were two sides of the same Galleon; they always had been. Draco kissed her deeply, almost furiously, as if he were trying to make sure she was real and alive. Amara clung to his blazer, her ashen fingers clutching the fabric and holding him close. He pulled away abruptly as his arm began to sting.

Walking away from her was the hardest thing Draco had ever done. He let his fingers brush against her cheek just once before he ran off. Hermione and Harry knew of their love for a long time now, and Ron had chosen to ignore it. He couldn’t any longer. When Amara straightened up, she saw Harry’s eyes glazed over as he fell into another vision.

~~~

The castle was silent and desolate. They had lost so many loved ones. Harry was nowhere to be found. Amara, Ron, and Hermione sat on the crumbling stone stairs. Harry was descending them, his eyes blank. “Harry!” Ron was the first to see him. His voice mellowed when he saw Harry’s expression. “We thought you’d gone to the forest.” 

“I’m going there now.” His voice was determined yet lifeless at the same time. Amara and Hermione knew he had figured it out. “Are you mad?” Ron stood in disbelief, staring at the girls who said nothing. “No. You can’t give yourself up to him.” Silent tears began streaming down Amara’s cheeks and she reached for Hermione’s hand. She, too, nodded. Her lashes were decorated with teardrops that threatened to spill over any moment. “There’s a reason I can hear them. The Horcruxes.”

Amara’s breath caught in her chest and suffocated her as if it was being squeezed by a boa constrictor. “I think I’ve known for a while… and I think Hermione and Amara have too.” Hermione’s tears were no longer silent. “I’ll go with you.” Amara ran forward and threw her arms around Harry. He hugged her tight… his best friend… his sister. “No… kill the snake. Kill the snake and then it’s just him.” Hermione moved to hug him too; Harry and Ron looked at each other with broken eyes. Harry had to be the one to pull away. He couldn’t glance back as he walked towards his death. He couldn’t. 

~

Harry walked the empty grounds, looking at the corridor where Fred and George showed him the Marauder's Map. Behind him was the fountain where he launched himself into the sky on his Firebolt for the first time. The Forbidden Forest was where he served his first detention. The Snitch weighed heavily in his pocket. He took it out and read the words once more: I open at the close.

“I’m ready to die.” His breath shook as he pressed the cool gold to his lips. From within it rose a black diamond stone. The Resurrection Stone. Harry took it in his hand and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw his mother standing before him. Next to her was his father. Remus and Sirius stood to his right, and Ambrosi stood to his left. Lily held her hand out to Harry, but he could not touch it. “You’ve been so brave, sweetheart.” 

“Why are you here?” He swallowed softly, turning to look at them all. A soft, loving smile was on his mother’s lips. “We never left.” Surrounded by his loved ones, Harry’s fears began to resurface. “D-does it hurt? Dying.” Sirius absorbed the face of his godson and tried to reassure him as gently as possible. “Quicker than falling asleep.” His eyes fell on Ambrosi standing next to his father. “Ambrosi…. It was hard to remember them… your words. But I had to. I did.” Ambrosi nodded warmly, his eyes gleaming with the wisdom Harry found sanctuary in. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted any of you to die for me. And Remus, your son-” Tears brewed in Harry’s eyes now. They’d been held back for who knew how long.

“Others will tell him what his mother and father died for. One day, he’ll understand.” Swallowing his emotions away, he looked upon their faces -their mirages- one last time. “You’ll stay with me?” James was the one to respond, “Until the end.” 

“And he won’t see you?” Ambrosi denied this, and Sirius pointed to his heart. “We’re here, you see.” A few minutes ago, Harry had said he was ready to die. Now, he was. “Stay close to me.” 

“Always.” 

~~~

As the early hours of the morning came upon them, Voldemort brought his army back to Hogwarts. At the sight of them, people came out from the Great Hall. Neville led the way, the Sorting Hat clutched in his hand. 

“Who is that? Who’s that Hagrid’s carrying?” Tears spilled from Hagrid’s eyes. Nagini slithered at Voldemort’s side maliciously. “Neville, who is it?” Hermione and Ron stood silently, knowing what had happened but not ready to believe it yet. “Harry Potter is dead!” Amara’s eyes closed in pain as Ginny’s pained screams of anguish echoed around the broken stone. Draco held Amara’s hand. His face, too, was crumpled in hopelessness.

“Silence! Stupid girl. Harry Potter is dead. From this day forth, you put your faith in me.” Voldemort was victorious. It was time for his regime to begin. “Harry Potter is dead!” Behind him, the Death Eaters cackled. All but Narcissa and Lucius, whose eyes were on Draco and Amara across the courtyard. “And now is the time to declare yourself.” 

Voldemort’s glee was met with silence. “Come forward and join us… or die.” No one moved. “Draco!” Lucius urged Draco to come, and he didn’t move. His grip on Amara’s hand tightened, and he looked into her defeated hazel eyes. “Draco… Come.” His mother’s voice was one he couldn’t deny. Amara gave him the briefest of nods, but she understood. His hand slipped away from hers once more. Something in Amara hardened painfully. She had loved Draco for years and would love him forever. Yet, he would always be the one that got away.

Draco’s feet felt like lead as he soldiered across the courtyard. Voldemort appraised him, wrapping his arms around him awkwardly. “Well done, Draco. Well done.” Draco went to join his mother, who pulled close to her. Her face was as emotionless as could be, but her eyes spoke volumes. If she could, she would protect Amara too. But she knew the chances of that were very slim. 

Neville limped forward too. Ginny and Arthur Weasley looked at him in shock. “Well, I must say I’d hoped for better.” Voldemort’s followers chuckled again. From behind them, Hermione’s face was etched with pain and the tear stains seemed to never dry. “And who might you be, young man?” 

Despite everything, Neville’s voice was strong as he said his name, once again earning laughter, some of it especially loud at his last name. “Well, Neville, I’m sure we can find a place for you in our ranks.” “I’d like to say something.” Neville all but cut Voldemort off. This manner of foolish bravery amused him. “Well, Neville, I’m sure we’d all be fascinated to hear what you have to say.” 

“It doesn’t matter that Harry’s gone.” If Amara didn’t know any better, she’d have sworn Harry’s arm had moved. “Stand down, Neville.” “People die every day! Friends… family… Yeah, we lost Harry tonight. But he’s still with us! In here!” Neville pointed to his heart and Voldemort’s grin grew wider and wider as he listened. “And so is Fred, and Ambrosi… Remus… Tonks… All of them. They didn’t die in vain. But you will!” 

Voldemort’s smile turned into laughter. Surely there was nothing else left. “Because you’re wrong!” Amara made her way up to Neville, standing next to him in solidarity. “Tom Marvolo Riddle…” Amara’s voice was quiet, but everyone could hear it. “How many of your followers know of your true identity? How many know that your blood is dirty, by your own definition? Do they know that you are the son of a witch and a muggle… one proclaiming himself a Lord?” Voldemort’s jubilation vanished. No one had the audacity to speak to him in this way. Ever. “Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us!” Neville brandished the Sword from the Sorting Hat. “No matter how many followers you gather, they will never respect you the way we respect Harry.” Before Voldemort could attack them, Harry fell out of Hagrid’s arms, attacking Nagini. 

A renewed sense of hope spread across the crowd, a renewed will to fight. They would win. Harry ran, avoiding Voldemort’s attacks. Neville and Amara’s words hit them deeply. Death Eaters began Apparating away. From the corner of her eye, Amara saw Narcissa and Lucius running from the castle. It was then she gave up hope of seeing him again. 

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Amara regrouped in front of the gates. “I’ll lure him into the castle. We have to kill the snake.” Neville ran forward, the Sword of Gryffindor in the air. Before he could attack, Voldemort cast him back and Apparated away with Nagini. Spells were flying everywhere, and at times it was difficult to differentiate who to protect and who to attack. 

Minutes later, when Neville’s eyes opened, he was disoriented as well. Green, red, and white bursts of magic were all around him. His eyes fell on the Sword a few feet behind it. He took it up quickly, rushing to find the snake. Nagini was being distracted by Hermione as Ron attempted to stab her with a Basilisk fang. Before he could, she turned to him, hissing and snapping at him. 

Voldemort and Harry collapsed in the courtyard. This was it. Their wands met, just like they had three years ago. Hermione and Ron were running from Nagini. Amara attempted to cast spells to deter her but it was no use. She could not watch her friends die. Before Nagini got any closer, however, Neville sliced her in two. She exploded into a dark cloud. 

There was just him. Harry felt Voldemort falter as a piece of his soul disintegrated. He cast against him with fervor, and Voldemort could not hold it back for long. He, too, disintegrated, crumbling into dust and ash like any other in the yard. It was over.

~~~

Harry walked through the Great Hall with a serene smile on his face. They had lost many, but they would not lose any more to darkness. Aberforth chatted with Dean and Seamus. Professor Slughorn believed it was his time to retire and was telling this to Professor Sprout. Harry walked to Hagrid, who gave him a loving hug with a chuckle of peace. 

Amara was helping Madame Pomfrey administer healing potions when she saw Harry. Setting the potion down, Amara came to join him; Hermione and Ron did as well. The four walked out onto the bridge. The destruction wasn’t wearing down on them. The sun and the promise of a new beginning were both coming to fruition. 

Harry stared down into the chasm below, the Elder Wand in his hand. “Why didn’t it work for him? The Elder Wand.” Amara sat on the ledge of the bridge, her feet dangling down over the edge. “It answered to someone else. When he killed Snape, he thought the wand would become his. But the thing is, the wand never belonged to Snape.” Harry’s eyes looked down at Amara, pausing before he continued explaining.

“It was Draco who disarmed Dumbledore that night in the Astronomy Tower. From that moment on, the wand answered to him. Until… the other night, when Malfoy let me disarm him at Malfoy Manor.” Amara laid back onto the bridge, closing her eyes and letting the sun sink into her skin. “So that means…”

“It’s Harry’s.” Harry came to lay next to Amara. “What do we do with it?” Ron seemed giddy with excitement. “We?” Hermione was flabbergasted at the insinuation. “Just saying… that’s the most powerful wand in the world. With that… we’d be invincible.” Harry stared at the wand for a moment, watching the sleek wood shine in the moonlight. Then, he snapped it in two, sat up, and handed half of it to Amara. 

Amara twirled it over in her fingers for a moment. The wand once belonged to Draco. She had given up hope of being with him, but she had this small piece of him. They shared a look, and then, at the same time, Harry and Amara threw the pieces of the wand away below the bridge. Ron and Hermione stared at the pieces flying through the air in surprise. They came to sit next to Harry and Amara. Amara’s arm came around Hermione’s shoulders; Harry grinned at Ron. 

It was a real smile. There they sat, hand and hand, just as they had years ago. None of the four friends were afraid. The bright depths spread out below them like the future ahead. 

Our heroes have triumphed and can lead peaceful, calmer lives from now on. 

Thank you to everyone who is reading my story. It truly means so, so much to me to share this with you. The Fall semester of my university has begun, but I am already working on the third and final part of this mini series! 

Don’t hesitate to reach out to me, please! I’d love your feedback/comments/reactions/constructive criticisms :)

Lots of love, JustAThoughtfulAngel <3 

[celosiaa]

Hi! I am back once again, and I was wondering if you had any advice for new writers? You and Taylortut are my icons for sickfics and writing!! I’ve posted a few fics, and was wondering if you had any advice on how to get people to notice them and such?

Oh hi!!! This is the sweetest thing ever!! I am extremely flattered to be asked about writing tips,,, that is so surreal to me since I have only just returned to fic writing for the first time since middle school :,)  thank you so much! I also didn’t know you were writing fics--that’s really exciting, and I’d love to read them!  Here’s a couple things I have figured out along the way—I hope it’ll be at least a little bit helpful. And @taylortut please feel free to add on as well!

Think about what you are trying to say, and write it down.  This might be a little specific to the way I write, but I always want to keep a focus on what my larger ideas are in the fic—whether it’s just sort of a fluffy sickfic, in which case the sticking point is the comfort, or if it’s a more angsty, in-depth character study.  In the case that it’s a longer fic, I try to think more in the abstract.  I’ll usually write down something along the lines of “Focus: learning to care for someone how they need to be cared for after a traumatic experience” or “Focus: accepting the love and care of other people when you feel like you don’t deserve it.”  I think if you start with your goal in mind, it will carry your writing forward in such a way that the reader can feel you building up to it.

Outline.  Again, this is just something I find helpful.  In addition to the above tip, I like to start with laying out the order of scenes I want to have in the fic/chapter.  After that, I fill in, adding bits of dialogue or description I really want to put in, or any specific details that I want to add.  I usually spend an hour or two on this, coming back to it several times to give my brain awhile to mull things over.

Think about the personalities, motivations, and backgrounds of your main characters.  For example, I always write Martin as trans, and I usually have some bit of this filtering into the language or description I use in the fic.  I think this adds a nice amount of detail to help your readers connect with your characters.  It doesn’t have to be anything big!  For example, when I write Martin as trans, I will usually let it filter through in either a mention of binding, some discussion of dysphoria, or a mention of taking T.  If you are writing a character with identities that you do not hold yourself, it’s important to do some research! @writingwithcolor is an extremely helpful resource, and I HIGHLY recommend checking them out.

Think about tone.  This can depend heavily on your subject matter.  I like to set tones through writing the from one POV and explicitly writing that person’s inner thoughts as part of the fic.  The content of their thoughts can often determine whether it’s a sadder fic, an angst fic, or a fluffy fic.  And you don’t have to use this style in order to do that!  You can indicate the motivations of the characters by describing their physical actions or expressions as well. It’s all up to you and your style preferences!

Specific to sickfics, do some research on the illness you are trying to represent.  Some things you may know better than others, such as cold symptoms, but it honestly never hurts to look it up again!  You might find yourself intrigued by a symptom that you hadn’t thought about, or a complication that might make for a great second chapter.  If you’re not as familiar with what you’re writing about, I would recommend reaching out to others about their experiences.  I did this before writing fics about migraines, because I have no personal experience with them, and so many wonderful folks were more than willing to share what migraines are like for them.  This REALLY influenced and strengthened my writing!  Also think about how each symptom you want to portray will impact the character, as well as their own responses to being symptomatic.  Are they embarrassed?  Whiny?  Weepy?  It’s all up to you!

Take your time.  This might be because I’m a bit of a perfectionist, but I will spend time rereading and editing everything I write to make sure the dialogue sounds natural, I don’t use the same descriptor words within too close a proximity to each other, I didn’t accidentally change POV, etc.  For dialogue editing, I really try to hear the voices of the characters in my head as saying the words I wrote, and if it doesn’t sound right, I take it out or change it!  Also, I would try to change up the order and length of your sentences--it will make it sound more flowy and less choppy. :)

As far as getting others to read your works, I would spend a while making sure you write a catchy summary!  That has been helpful to me for sure.  I would also reply to the comments you receive, as this will tend to keep people coming back since they know you appreciate their readership.  I would link things that you write on ao3 back to your Tumblr, so people can come talk to you more informally, get to know you, and send you prompts. 

From a logistics standpoint, I usually reblog my own works at least once at a different time of the day, so I’ll catch more readership.  Additionally, be careful of the tagging system here--the first five tags that you used is what is indexed on Tumblr as a whole.  The first 50 tags will be indexed on your blog.  So put your most important tags first, because then your post will show up to people who search for those tags!  Also, external links on tumblr are ~wack~.  Tumblr eats things with external links to ao3.  That’s why I will post the entire text on Tumblr separately from my work on ao3.

Lastly, I would look for ways to connect with other writers.  Like you’ve just done here!  Pick up a prompt from them, write a collaborative fic with them, or send them a prompt to write!  It’s a great way to make friends, get inspired by other works, and share the fic-writing love <3

Wow this was so long!! I got a little carried away lol.  I hope you find this a little bit helpful, and good luck with your writing!!!

[bettsfic]

reading advice (for writers)

you know those posts that are like, “remember when we used to read books and now we all have no attention span because of the internet.” then there’s the very contrived advice that’s like, “if you want to be a writer you have to read”??

well i think they’re completely true but they also really suck, and we of the youngish adult writers of 2018 have it pretty hard, especially those of us in fandom who enjoy reading fanfic more than original fic because it’s mostly tagged properly and possesses the emotional catharsis we’re looking for, pretty much guaranteed.

that said, i think it’s really important -- whether you write fanfic, ofic, or both -- to read traditionally published work, in part because it can help better inform your fanfic, but also because it will help develop your writing overall. and if you’re interested in ofic, it’s pretty much a necessity to read.

so, i just graduated from an MFA program in creative writing, and contrary to popular opinion, the MFA does not actually teach you how to write. it gives you space to write, and mostly, it teaches you how to read as a writer.

so here is everything i’ve learned about reading as a writer over the past two years:

you do not have to read anything you don’t want to read

part of the problem with “read everything you can!” advice is that there is a lot of stuff out there, and a ton of it doesn’t jive with your interests. moreover, there’s a kind of pressure to read the Classics just to say you’ve read them when in fact a lot of them are boring, irrelevant, and dare i say overrated. so here is me giving you permission: you don’t have to pick up Hemingway or Faulkner or whoever else to be a good writer. life is too short to force yourself to read dead white dudes.

if a book doesn’t grab you by the first 10%, put it down

this is what has helped me more than anything else as a reader, because i found i would commit myself to a boring book and then never want to read it, so i would stop reading for months at a time. so, when you pick out a book, go to the last page and check the number. promise yourself you’ll read 10% of the book. 400 pages? read to page 40 and ask yourself, “do i really want to turn the page? if i put this book down, would i want to pick it back up again later?” if the answer is no, return it to the library or wherever you got it. try the next book in your pile. your TBR list is long; be merciless. 

but if you want to make it look like you read the book...

commit to 25%. then go to the wikipedia article, read the plot summary, and fast forward to the last 10-15 pages. bam. you’ve more or less read the book. bonus points if you watch the movie, too. so if you’re really committed to reading Ulysses or whatever but you don’t want to slog through it, you can digest enough to be able to hold a conversation about it in a few hours and move on with your life. you can even pretend you enjoyed it and found it a formative reading experience that helped shape your understanding of the work of fiction, really, absolutely groundbreaking, etc etc. this is especially helpful if you find yourself anywhere in the literary sphere because other writers will expect you to be familiar with the canon. 

read selfishly and take tools from everything you read

when you read anything, even the stuff you don’t like, ask yourself, “what tools can i take for my own writing?” let’s say you really love the plot structure -- write it down somewhere so you remember to try it out for your own story. if you love the lyricism of the sentences, find a few sentences you really like and jot them down by hand, inspect what about them makes you love them so much. steal aspects of characters you admire, pacing, conflict, stakes. steal as much as you can without stealing the words themselves. you can even use this for things you don’t like by rephrasing the question: “what is it about this story i would like to avoid in my own work?” pivot every single thing you read to be about you and your writing. take notes. mark up and highlight your book if you have to. reading as a writer is not a passive activity but an active one. you’re not being entertained, you’re learning. so let published works teach you. 

carve time out of your day to read

at 7pm every day, i put my phone down and pick up an actual physical book. this is my personal preference -- i have no beef at all with ebooks, but honestly, i get so tired of staring at lit screens all day, and paper books without the distraction of my phone is such a nostalgic feeling for me, back when i was 14 and the library was my second home and if someone wanted my attention they had to call me on a landline. if you had the same upbringing, dedicating some time to read a physical book will do you wonders. if ebooks are your thing, it’s still important to schedule reading time for yourself, not as an obligation to uphold, but as something to do that’s good for you and that you enjoy. 

write letters to your favorite authors!!

seriously. if you love a book, let the author know. they will not be annoyed or upset. they will be thrilled. it’s a good way to network with other writers, and it’s a great practice of literary citizenship.

when someone recommends a book to you, ask why

this is something i’ve only recently learned to do, as someone who gets book recommendations pretty much constantly. if the person knows you decently, i don’t think it’s out of line to ask, “what would i specifically like about this?” because then that will tell if you if the person is only recommending it because they like it, not because they think you’ll like it. if the person knows your writing, it’s fair to ask, “how is this book in conversation with my work?” so you have a head start in the kinds of tools you’ll want to take from it. 

follow your aesthetic instincts

as a writer, honing your aesthetic will always be one of your highest aims, which means constantly seeking out writers whose aesthetics you admire and analyzing what it is you admire about it. “aesthetic” is kind of a vague term, but it refers to your overall vibe -- the things you write about and why you write about them. my aesthetic is more or less “midwestern class warfare meets sexual identity crises with a lot of dark humor,” so i tend to look for other writers who share facets of that aesthetic and i inspect what’s working for them, where they publish, what their influences are, etc. i try to read both within my aesthetic but also far outside of it too. for example, i love historical fiction but i know i’ll never, ever write it. but i appreciate the aesthetic, and i can take tools from it like dedication to detail, internal conflicts, etc.

read short fiction (please)

this is my personal plea. short stories are a great way to find authors whose work is in conversation with yours, so that you can then go check out their novels with a good idea already of what you like about them. short stories are all over the internet via literary and genre mags. they’re a much smaller commitment than novels and tend to have just as much emotional impact (if done well) as novels. more importantly you’ll always have recs for your friends, and it’s a lot easier getting someone to read a 6k story you enjoyed than a 60k novel.

resources

don’t have time to read but like to listen? try the new yorker fiction and writers’ voice podcasts

like marking up books but don’t want to buy them new? check out thriftbooks (my favorite site on the internet -- the link here will get you 15% off!)

finished a book you like but don’t know what to read next? try what should i read next

want to stay apprised of the goings on in the modern literary community? subscribe to the lithub newsletter and arts & letters daily, two newsletters i’ve been subscribed to for years 

as always i’m glad to answer any questions! happy reading!

writing advice tag

[innerpostmentality]

The Road to Gretna Green  Part 7  - Games

This is an AU Fan Fic inspired by the Choices story Desire & Decorum

All rights and many thanks are accorded to Pixelberry Studios.

This takes place immediately after Part 6. Seriously it will be very confusing if you haven’t read the other parts.  Please see my Masterlist if you wish to catch up on the series. Rating: M  Very M Erotica             Warnings: emotional trauma, long post, erotica Word count: around 4000 and a bit Tagging: @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @speedyoperarascalparty @hellospunkiebrewster @tornbetween2loves @gardeningourmet  @melodyofgraves @thequeenofcronuts @symonde

  The Dowager Countess of Edgewater paced in her room in the Edgewater London town house in great agitation. It was the morning of the third day since her granddaughter had run away. This morning she had received a letter from her. Explaining quite politely that she was honoring a previous engagement agreement with Mister Sinclaire of Ledford Park. 

  Dominique had known that Rose wasn’t disposed to Duke Richards and if she was honest with herself; which she always tried to be, she had reservations when the Duke had approached her regarding a betrothal without Rose present. But she also had seen Countess Henrietta conspiring with Bishop Monroe so the engagement to Duke Richards seemed a prayer answered.

  She knew after their carriage ride that evening when Rose had displayed her bruised arm in the entry hall that Rose was upset with her. So she hadn’t pressed it that evening. Knowing Rose’s ire with her, she wasn’t alarmed when she didn’t come down to break her fast. But she never imagined that Rose would be so wayward as to elope.

 It was when the Duke came to call for her to ride in Hyde Park and she sent Briar to call her down to join them that she got the first inkling that something was truly amiss. Briar went and returned after a few minutes and whispered to her that Rose’s monthly courses had arrived and she was indisposed. So Dominique had advised the Duke that she was indisposed for the week and he had graciously if somewhat reluctantly wished her well and left with assurances that he would return in a week to take Rose for the promised turn in the park. After he left she went up to Rose’s room to speak to her. Briar’s protests that Rose was asleep only ignited her suspicions further that Rose was in fact being rebellious rather than actually suffering her monthlies. But it really hadn’t prepared her at all for her granddaughter’s absence.

 Briar declined to reveal anything of her mistress and friend’s whereabouts. Which was aggravating at the same time it bespoke an admirable devotion to Rose. Dominique sent Briar to help in the kitchen as a scullery maid and reflect upon her choices.    Dominique paced and frowned considering her resources. When she discovered that Rose had run away she had asked their Stable Master Harper to go to Grovershire and look for Rose at her old home thinking that would be where Rose would flee to. Harper hadn’t returned yet and he was the best of their horsemen were she to send someone North to try to find Rose now that she knew that Rose and Mister Sinclaire were doubtless bound for somewhere in Scotland.

 Oh this was a disaster. She had lost too much time she knew. Visiting the Parsons and the Suttons thinking Rose might be there. Even having tea with Prince Hamid looking for some sign that Rose might be seeking sanctuary with him. Three days she had been gone. They were half way to Scotland by now. Even if she knew exactly where they were it would take another day and a half of hard riding with lots of horse changes to get to them. And then another four days at least to return by coach.  And she knew well that if Rose could be found she wouldn’t simply return and go through with the arrangement.

  She looked again at the letter Rose had written her. ‘… I must answer my heart and hold to my promise…’ Those words took her back to her youth and a summer nearly fifty years ago when a handsome young man of good prospects named Rupert stole her heart.  Her father wanted her to vie for the hand of the Prince of Cordonia but she would have none of it after she met Rupert. But Rupert was an Earl with title and holdings. Ernest Sinclaire’s legacy was trade and new money. And yes, he had Ledford Park, saved from his father’s and brother’s foolishness with guidance from Vincent. Her breath caught with the thought of her lost son. Too soon. Too young. Her beautiful boy. And then another thought, she knew that Vincent admired and loved Ernest as a son. He would support Rose’s choice. And knowing that, her decision was made.

 She set her jaw and went to her desk to draw up a note to Mister Sinclaire’s solicitor Mister Hartfield.  Dear Mister Hartfield,    I address you as solicitor for Mister Sinclaire of Ledford Park.    I have received a letter this day from my beloved granddaughter Mistress Rose of Edgewater informing me of her favor and previous acceptance of an engagement to be wed to Mister Sinclaire of Ledford Park. I was not privy to this information when Duke Richards made the request of me for her hand and as her engagement was a necessary condition of her father’s will I accepted on her behalf.

In light of new information that has come to me. And with the full knowledge that my late son, Rose’s father held Mister Sinclaire in the highest esteem I would favor their union as I am certain it would be in accord with Vincent’s wishes.  To this hopeful, happy end I would request a meeting with you as soon as possible that we may conspire to navigate these waters to our mutual benefit.  In this matter haste is essential. Sincerely, Lady Dominique of Edgewater  She sealed her note and called for Mister Woods to take it to Mister Hartfield in all haste.

 ****      ****        ****        ****         ****       ****        ****

 It was the first day on their journey that the weather turned rainy. It slowed their pace as Mister Grissom had great care for his rig and the horses. Rose kept a careful eye on Ernest pleading her needs for necessities a bit more than usual when she would note his jaw clenching. A short walk and a sip of wine would ease him and then they would continue.

 Sometime after they had crossed the river Trent and she noted he had settled into a sullen silence she leaned over and kissed him on his cheek. “Ernest, I think we should play a game.”  He lifted a brow and gave her a small smile. “Oh? And what game might we play in the coach with the rain banging like a drum?”  She took his hand stroking it. “A rhyming one to make you smile. Here I will start. Let me think.

 ‘A lovely young Lady from Leeds,

  Her carriage got stuck in the reeds,

  The coachman did ask her…’     Now you continue. ”

 He looked at her a long moment then finally smiled, “A lovely young Lady from Leeds, Her carriage got stuck in the reeds, The coachman did ask her, What caused the disaster?...” Rose grinned, “Her horse, she said had too much speed!” Ernest was smiling so she nodded. “Now you start.” “Ah, I’ve heard similar before. Though perhaps not quite as wholesome.” He lifted his brow and smirked.

‘There was a young Lady from Leeds,

 Who was trying to settle her needs,

 Her coachman implored her….’          Now to you my Sweet.” She considered for a bit wanting to surprise him. Finally with a twinkle in her eye she said,

“There was a young Lady from Leeds,

 Who was trying to settle her needs,

 Her coachman implored her,

 To favor his soldier,

 That was lauded for magnificent deeds!” Ernest burst into laughter groaning and holding his side as he laughed then pulled her in for a kiss. “Rose! Oh what mischief have I created?” He kissed her again til the jostling of the coach made him fear for their teeth. “I love you. I do not ken ever knowing such joy as I have found with you.” Lacing their fingers together she blushed. “It is good to hear your laughter, Ernest.”   Their journey in the rain was long that day and they pulled up to the inn yard at the Salutation posting inn at Doncaster well after dark. Ernest spoke with Mister Grissom thanking him and inquiring if he would be willing to take them on to Ripon. He was amiable to the additional leg of the journey on the condition they would have quarters and meals provided both there and back to Grantham afterwards. She could tell that Ernest was pleased with the agreement at the late hour that saved him having to find another coach to hire for the morning.  She asked Ernest to inquire of the inn keep if they perchance might have some Willow bark that she could brew some tea for her head.

    The inn was fairly busy despite the lateness of the hour and Ernest told her that they were expecting a Post Coach within a few hours. The rain had settled in to a light but steady drizzle and the fires had extra coal to chase the chill and damp away.  It was the first room they had where there was no adjoining room. The inn was practically full with travelers and merchants and there was only one room available on the third floor. Mister Grissom and his men were situated on the second floor in two rooms that were much nicer than the stable but smaller and not so well furnished as the rooms on the third floor.

  Ernest escorted her to the room then excused himself to go below and arrange for their supper.  Rose busied herself sorting the clothes for the next day and laying things out on chairs before the fire to drive the dampness from them. There were two covered buckets of water and a fair-sized kettle which she filled and set on a trivet over the fire to heat. She took off her shoes and set them before the fire then got her brush and sat on the bed to brush out her hair.  Ernest returned shortly with a basket of crusty bread, cheese, a small packet of willow bark, cherries, and figs and a bottle of wine. “I fear our supper is going to be a cold one this evening, my dear. The inn keeper did have some willow bark. He said his mother used it for her teeth.”

 Rose nodded, “My mother used to make a tea with it for her head. I was hoping I could make some for you that it might ease you. I know you have been suffering this day, Ernest.”

 He set the basket down on the wash stand table then carefully removed his coat and hung it on a peg before going to her taking her face in his hands and looking deeply into her eyes. “You are so good to me, Rose.” His kiss was soft, reverent as he bent to taste the fullness of her lips. 

 She sighed into his kiss, “No more than you deserve, Beloved.” She pulled back a little and carefully stroked his hair from his forehead. “I watch you. You care for everyone. Even when you are injured and hurting you still have courtesy for all.”

She grinned at him sassily, “You know, while I was awaiting you I thought of something.” “Oh?” His dimple peaked at her as he smiled curiously at her mischievous tone. She nodded, “A handsome young man named Sinclaire…” “Oh No,” he groaned and she saw the color rise in his cheeks. Her grin deepened and she nodded, “A handsome young man named Sinclaire, Was graced with a manner so fair, The maids would all say, They were dying to play..”

 “Rose!” His voice held a warning that didn’t match the sparkle in his deep blue gaze.

 “Just to touch the gentleman’s hair!” She giggled.  “I should send you to your room for that. Alas, that would be here. Hmmm, what shall I do?” He pressed his finger to the corner of his mouth as though contemplating for a moment. “I know!” He ran his hands up and down her sides tickling her as she squirmed and giggled til she got the hiccups and batted playfully at his hands but didn’t run away.   He was laughing and groaning when he finally stopped tickling her and slipped a finger beneath her chin lifting it for a sweet kiss that turned deeper and left them both breathless staring into each other’s eyes. She blushed. He cleared his throat, finally he brought her hand to his mouth kissing her knuckles. “It’s late. We should eat.”

  She nodded and went to put the willow bark he’d procured in a cup and added some of the piping hot water to it. She smoothed her skirt. “So how much longer do you think it will take?” She heard him open the bottle of wine he’d brought. “Without mishap, we should be in Ripon tomorrow night. Appleby the next. And Gretna Green the evening after that. Three days.”  She felt him behind her as he moved her long russet tresses to the side and placed a kiss on her neck. He nuzzled her, then ever so carefully nipped her earlobe. “Three days. Rose.” His voice was low with need. His arms slipped around her waist and he held her kissing her hair for a few minutes. “Mistress Henley our supper is going to be cold.”  Turning her head she arched a brow at him then burst into laughter. “Why Mister Henley I declare I think you have been bitten by a whimsey moth.”  He turned her stroking her cheek with his thumb and then kissing her nose. “Come. Let’s have a picnic here before the fire.” He grabbed the basket and set it down having a care for his ribs and shoulder he sat on the floor and took his shoes off setting them next to hers on the hearth. Rose handed him the cup of willow bark tea and brought the wine and sat on the floor beside him. He sipped the tea and made a face. “Why does all the best medicine taste so evil?”  She laughed. “Perhaps because it has to be strong to be good?”  Ernest finished the tea then took the knife in the basket and sliced up the bread and cheese putting the cheese on a piece of the bread and offering it to her. She ate it from his fingers smiling at him, “It’s quite delicious. Here.” She fed him a bite and he licked her fingers looking in her eyes, “Indeed, Mistress Henley, utterly delicious.”  “Speak you of my fingers or the cheese?”  “Yes.” He caught her forefinger between his teeth and ran his tongue over the pad looking at her.  Heat rushed to her face and low in her belly making her squirm and drop her gaze before pulling her finger from his mouth.

“Here.” He rubbed a cherry across her lower lip.  She lifted her eyes to him as she sucked the cherry into her mouth. His eyes were focused on her lips as she savored the sweetness before carefully plucking the pit out and tossing it in the fire.     He kissed her teasing her lips with his tongue, tasting the sweetness of her flavored with the cherry. His eyes closing as desire washed through him. He was trembling beneath her touch. Two days ago she would have feared he was getting ill. Now she recognized his struggle with his passion. Recognized her own need gathering, tightening, aching for the glory they could grant each other. She stroked his jaw and breathed his name as she broke their kiss, “Ernest… Help me.” turning and lifting her hair so he could undo her buttons.   His fingers were clumsy as he struggled caught between his need to kiss the nape of her neck and the need to unbutton her. He finally managed and she lifted her arms and bent to him so he might pull her day dress over her head. Then he was at the laces of her stays. Kissing her nape and shoulders as he freed her leaving her in nothing but her white cotton chemise the firelight behind her illuminating more in silhouette. Her beauty stole his breath. 

  She turned and kissed him briefly before pulling back to untie his cravat; then her fingers were at the buttons of his vest. Carefully she helped him remove it. She stroked down his shirt her emerald gaze locking with the sapphire of his eyes silently asking permission. Not sure he had a voice he nodded. Then her fingers were at the buttons of his fall. Then the buttons beneath at his waist and he was free.

 “I want you Ernest. So much.” Tenderly she stroked his length only his shirt separating her hand from his velvet hardness. She stroked him once, then again before stopping and pulling his breeches off completely. She stood then and held her hand out to him. 

  “Rose,” voice was so low it came to her as a growl of need. He took her hand rising from the floor and let her lead him to the bed. His eyes never left her as she turned the covers down for him. “Get a cloth.” He sat on the edge of the bed watching her as she went to the wash stand and pulled a couple of washing cloths out before returning to him. “You are so beautiful. May I touch you?” She nodded her own voice lost in her desire.

  He closed his eyes and reached beneath her chemise running his hands up the back of her thighs as she stood between his legs. His hands were so warm as he stroked over her hips. His thumbs made circles around the points of her hip bones. Then trailed heat up her sides caressing each rib, exploring the silken plane of her back up to her shoulders and neck then beneath her arms. She watched him and didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until his thumbs swept the fullness of her breasts circling the tight peaks and she gasped as his attention sent molten heat to the center of her womanhood.   His eyes opened at her gasp and they were almost black with his pupils so wide only a bright rim of blue remained. “Please Rose… Please touch me.” he moaned his need.    She leaned forward licking his lips with her tongue before tasting their fullness. Her hands delved under his shirt stroking up his strong thighs feeling the tremble in his muscles. She carefully stroked his ballocks, lifting them gently, exploring how they floated in his seed sack. “Is this pleasant for you?” she broke the kiss to whispered shyly.

 “Aye. Your touch on me is heaven.”

 “Teach me, Ernest.” 

  His eyes never left hers but his hands withdrew from her. “Here, sit across my lap with your feet to my left.” He kissed her gently, slowly. “I am sorry… I cannot hold you properly.” He adjusted their clothing so that they were not bound and could be reached under with ease. “I love you Rose. I do not want to frighten you or hurt you ever. Please know that. If I do anything that displeases you… promise me that you will tell me. You must promise me.” His tone was very solemn as he searched her emerald gaze in the firelight.”

   Nodding she murmured, “I will tell you.” 

  He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to settle himself before he met her gaze again. He took her left hand with his and brought it to his mouth kissing it before putting it back under his shirt on his ballocks. “This part of my manhood is most vulnerable. It is a thing for you to know were anyone to ever try to force themselves on you. Punching a man here causes great, incapacitating pain. But your sweet caress here fills me with seed and makes my need for you even greater.”

 “Touching you like this makes me want you even more Earnest. I would never hurt you.” Her gaze was so sincere he thought his heart would burst with his love. 

 “I, I know Rose. But I want you to know you have that power should you ever need it.” He kissed her as he took her hand to his aching hardness.  She smiled and murmured, “Your soldier.” She felt it twitch as he wrapped both their hands around him. “Hello handsome.”

 Ernest couldn’t help but be pleased as she addressed his full arousal with the joyful familiarity of a beloved acquaintance. He took her finger to his tip, wet with his aching desire and ran it all around the exposed sensitive ridge then back, around then firmly down. His breath caught and she felt him throbbing in response as he showed her how to pleasure him. He moaned softly, “Rose… can I, can I touch you?”  She nodded and took his hand under her chemise, “Please…oh, Ernest.” His fingers found her slick folds, her sensitive bundle, her wet, tight passage. He kissed her as he pressed gentle circles around that most sensitive bundle. She was making a mewling purr drawn from her depths as she writhed in her need. “Please… more, Ernest, more.”  He pressed a second finger into her even as she was stroking him to the point of no return. His voice broke, “The cloth… ah” He cried out in his release even as she barely got him covered. He was trembling his hips bucking beneath her as he throbbed in her hand soaking the cloth covering him.  Her tongue was rolling against his as she panted her need for him. “Please, more, I..” She arched her back and begged for more. “I need you in me. Please.” His voice was hoarse, “Rose, Rose, please. I fear I’ll hurt you. Gently, love.” Her pearl was so swollen and she was so wet for him. He pulled his fingers out and she moaned in protest. “Here. Here, straddle me. Gently, gently. Only a little.” He was still so hard but easing. “Just the tip. Rose, look at me.” She pulled her gown off tossing it and got on her knees straddling him. He took himself firmly in hand about three inches down from his tip. And as she lowered herself onto him she cried his name in ecstasy. He filled her entrance impossibly, painfully, gloriously full and she wanted more. Needed more. “Gently. God Rose.” He thumbed circles around her pearl til he felt her stretching even more, her walls starting to flutter around his sensitive ridge. She was trying to lower herself further onto him. A wave of complete panic shook him as his past and another woman’s cries and rejection slammed into him, he rolled them both to the left on the bed shaking his head and weeping. “No. No. Rose, No. I don’t want to hurt you. I love you. Please. I would never hurt you.” The anxiety in his voice pulled her from her passion into concern. She stroked his hair looking in his eyes she realized he was weeping. “Shh, shh, I’m well. I’m well. I love you. Oh Ernest, you didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt me. I love you. Shh. I promise I will tell you if it is ever too much. I promise.” He pulled her to him tightly. She felt him wince as he did but he didn’t let her go. He held her kissing her head, murmuring I love yous into her hair. 

  Rubbing circles softly around his back cooing her love of him eventually she felt him relax. After a bit he murmured softly, “I’m sorry. It is not your fault Rose. I’m sorry.” She kissed him gently then got up to put all their things in order, double checking the security of the windows and doors. Making sure the fire was properly banked for the night before she returned. He had situated himself properly under the covers leaving room on his left side for her. She climbed in next to him and he pulled her into his side.

His voice was soft in the darkness of the room, “You know I came up with something as you were putting things in order.”

  “Hmmm?” She nuzzled him sighing happily.    

“My beautiful Rose so lovely and fine

I long for your kiss much sweeter than wine

I’ll take you away

To Scotland one day

And make you forever more, mine”

------------------------------to be continued-----------------------------------

[sebastiianstan]

Tumblr content school: why you don’t always get notes and how to (potentially) get a bit more

So in recent weeks, I’ve seen quite a few posts floating around that centre around the same subject: content creators, mainly gifmakers, not gaining followers as quickly as they would like to and/or not getting as many notes on their original content as they would like to. Most recently I’ve seen people share their like-to-reblog ratio, with a call to users to also reblog content instead of just liking it, which would result in more exposure and recognition for the creator.

Now, while all of those feelings are perfectly valid and you’re obviously allowed to post whatever you like on your blog, the conversation around this is quite unnuanced and, at times, a bit uninformed. I’m not claiming to be some kind of expert, but having been a content creator (gifmaker) on this platform for quite a few years, with my own small share of popular gifsets floating around and having built both my own blog an two fansites/group blogs to at least moderate success, I do think I have a certain degree of insight re: getting notes, so I thought I’d put in my two cents. Please note that I’m not making this post to be condescending in any way, or even to tell you what to do/how to create content, but I thought I’d help as much as I can, based on my own experience.

Below the cut are 1. reasons why I think gifsets don’t always get the number of notes you wanted/expected them to, and 2. tips on creating and posting content in a way that will potentially get you more notes.

Why you might not be getting (a lot) of notes

So let’s start with some general trends re: gifsets not getting as many notes as you’d like/expect, and not as many as they would have maybe a few years ago.

1. Tumblr is past its peak

Based on experience, I’d say fandom Tumblr reached its peak in 2015-2016, and was riding that out in 2017. I’ve mainly been a Marvel blog in recent years, so I can’t speak for other fandoms, but Tumblr was... wild in the lead-up to and aftermath of Captain America: Civil War (2016). Wonder Woman (2017) was a similar situation on the DC side of things. 

New Marvel releases (like Ant-Man & The Wasp, Avengers: Infinity War and probably most notably, Black Panther) still get a lot of traction and fandom definitely isn’t dead on Tumblr, but I feel like 2015-2016 were definitely peak years. I only recently returned from a year-long hiatus; I stopped being active in late 2017 and even then my dashboard wasn’t quite as active as it was a year before that. Upon returning here about a month ago, most of my mutuals from back in the day had also become inactive and a lot of gifmakers I used to follow were not creating content anymore.

So it boils down to this: I think it’s very likely that the amount of active users within your fandom has diminished significantly as compared to two years ago. A set that may have gotten 10k notes within a few days in 2016 might now only get half of that.

2. The URL thing

This is a sad truth, but it does seem that having a semi-canon or canon url does at least help with getting a larger amount of notes on your content. I have no tips on getting a canon url (I got very, very lucky with this one), but this is a simple observation I have from over the years. Url trading/selling has basically become a genuine business due to this - canon urls are in high demand.

More importantly, what I can say is that it’s smart not to change your url too often. Becoming a popular content creator on this platform is basically the same as building a brand - and a brand has an easily recognized name. Once you have a url you are happy with, try to stick to it for a while. When you change your url, links break on reblogs of your old gifsets, by the way.

3. The like-to-reblog ratio has always been unbalanced

For as long as I can remember, posts have gotten more likes than reblogs. If your ratio is 2-to-1 or 3-to-1, trust me, you are doing perfectly well for yourself! Again, as with my first point, this might have gotten a bit more extreme since 2016, but it’s not a new thing.

4. Popular users support each other

Obviously there’s nothing wrong with this (in fact, I love that we all support each other), but yes, in general big/popular blogs are friends with each other and tend to reblog each other’s content, which can be discouraging for smaller or aspiring content creators on the platform.

However, please be aware that these big blogs built up the following they have by posting content for years and it just takes time. Also, know that most users on here actually really enjoy being tagged in your posts - so if you gif a movie or tv show you know a popular user (that you follow) likes, tag them in it and if it’s high quality content (I’ll touch on this later), they’ll probably reblog it.

Tips on getting more notes

Alright, on to part two: my personal tips on getting more notes. These are strictly based on my own experience, and as a repeat of my disclaimer earlier: I am genuinely trying to share my knowledge; none of this is with the intent of being a condescending know-it-all.

1. Don’t look like you’re complaining

No matter what the intent behind your post about your lack of notes and/or followers is, it’s very likely you’re going to come off entitled or ungrateful. I’ve personally unfollowed multiple users who post consistently about reaching their next thousand, who make angry/frustrated posts when their followers don’t increase as quickly as they’d like to, when they lose followers, etc. I understand that the hustle is frustrating, but posts like these are really quite annoying for your followers; you’re complaining about followers you don’t have to followers you do have, who are then more likely to unfollow you because it looks like you’re complaining. Your mutuals might understand why you’re posting this, but others probably don’t.

When it comes to posts about like-to-reblog ratios, which I’ve seen a fair few of recently, please consider a couple of things. 

When you ask people to reblog your post instead of liking it, you are essentially telling them what to put on their own blogs.

A lot of users on here have carefully curated content; while some users simply blog about everything they like, others stick to a certain set of subjects/movies/tv shows. If they see a post they like that doesn’t fall into those categories, they’ll give it a like to keep track of it and show their appreciation, but won’t put it on their blogs. You can’t tell people to reblog something they don’t want to.

You’re essentially asking people that you do not really personally care about to do something for you. Most of the likes you get on your post are likely from people that you do not follow yourself. I’m not saying that you hate your followers or don’t care for them, but you can’t really ask anything of a user that you don’t even follow yourself.

Look at it this way: Tumblr is basically a mini society, with its own market in the form of content creation. The ones who have a few thousand followers, and who get a few hundred or a few thousand notes on their posts are already the lucky ones. If you’re a user who gets hundreds/thousands of notes on their posts (even if it’s not as many as you like or deserve), you should keep in mind that the vast majority of users on here are small blogs that don’t have the traction that you have. If you post a screenshot of the like-to-reblog ratio on a post that has 2k notes, they’re going to think, “what on earth are you complaining about?”

Posts like these can really only backfire. I don’t think it’s likely that a lot of users will suddenly start reblogging instead of liking because of them. I know those posts are getting traction, because your mutuals and fellow content creators understand your frustration (believe me, I do too!), so they reblog/like/comment on it, but you’re essentially in an echo chamber of content creators. Anyone outside of that circle will not understand it and might unfollow you because of it.

2. Quality

Another disclaimer: I’m not implying that the people who have made posts about notes/followers don’t make HQ gifs. This is simply the “tips on getting notes” section of this particular post, so that’s what I’m doing. Veteran gifmakers can skip this section because I won’t be presenting anything new here.

Here’s the thing: high quality gifsets get notes. I know that what constitutes a HQ gif is subjective, but there is a consensus on this amongst big blogs, so I will summarize it below.

Make gifs from high-quality video sources. If 1080p is available, use that. Don’t gif from videos below 720p. Also, the larger the t*rr*nt file, the higher the quality. If a 1080p t*rr*nt from a movie is under 2GB in size, it’s probably not decent enough to gif from.

Use the new dimensions. Tumblr changed from 500px to 540px over 3 years ago now I believe, and all the big blogs use these dimensions. I rarely see sets like this anymore, but some users do still hold on to the old dimensions. Obviously, you should do what you like, but know that you’ll get more notes if you make the switch.

Do not skip frames. If you use screencaps, extract 25 frames per second. If you are an ‘Import video frames to layers’ kinda gal, like me, import all frames.

Sharpen your gifs! It makes an insane difference. My faq section links to a sharpening action.

Your frame delay should be 0.05. If you have a low amount of frames, you can get away with 0.06, but do not make your gif any slower than that. It will look unsmooth.

Go for natural coloring, where you simply brighten up the gif and enhance the colors (beware of whitewashing tho). I know that using PSD’s from resource blogs is tempting, but it’s very likely they will not work for the particular scene you’re giffing. It’s best if you learn to color yourself and adapt your coloring for every set. Also, it’s up to you what you think is pretty, but extremely vibrant and extremely pale coloring isn’t very popular anymore. Natural is the way to go. (This is with the exception of those gorgeous color edits people have been making recently. Y’all are queens & that shit is hard to make yo!)

If your gif is larger than the 3mb limit, NEVER sacrifice colors in the ‘Save for web’ window. Always delete frames to lower the size of your gif.

Just saying, but Photoshop CS5 has been known to make the best gifs.

For beginners out there, please don’t be discouraged. I’ve been making gifs for years, and they were absolute shit in the beginning. It just takes time to learn, but if you stick to it, you’ll get there.

3. Concept over quantity

Allow me to draw a comparison with YouTubers here - I think we all prefer YouTubers who post one well fleshed out video a week (for example, Safiya Nygaard) over YouTubers who post an okay video every day.

I think a lot of users think the way to get notes and followers is to post a gifset every day. This probably does work to an extent, but I personally think it’s better to come up with original concepts that you post every few days.

When you watch a movie, you can make five gifsets out of scenes from that movie, or you can come up with a concept. For example, parallels between scenes, parallels with other movies, the best lines of a certain character, etc. This takes more work, but sets like these are highly appreciated because they’re original, and they tend to get more notes.

This doesn’t apply to new releases, as you are probably among the first to gif a particular scene, but if you’re giffing a scene from a movie that’s been out for a while, you’re very likely not the first to do it. People will see it, realize they’ve already reblogged something very similar, and keep scrolling. But if you come up with a new idea, that’s what’ll get you more traction.

To give you a personal example; I recently rewatched all of the cap films. Now, I could have giffed popular scenes like “I could do this all day” or “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line”, but that’s been done before... a lot. Instead, I came up with this, and got 6.5k notes. I haven’t posted that many new sets on my blog recently, but posting content like that has gained me some followers and new mutuals.

4. Timing

All this requires is keeping an eye on your dashboard and taking note of when most of the people you follow are online. I sometimes see European content creators posting their sets smack dab in the middle of the day. Lemme tell y’all something: the Americans are sleeping.

I’m in timezone GMT+1. My dash wakes up around 5pm. I never post before 6pm - I’ll post anywhere between then and midnight, so feel free to convert that to your own timezone. The scheduling feature on posts comes in handy if you’ll be asleep or at school/work around that time.

If you post when Tumblr isn’t active, your set will drown in all of the other content, so be smart about timing.

5. Strategic tagging

It seems that a lot of users still don’t know this: only the first five tags on your post show up in tags on Tumblr. Anything past the first five will only be useful for your own tagging/archiving system, but will not show up in any tracked tags.

So first point: always use the most prominent edit tag for the fandom you’re posting in. Examples are #marveledit, #hpedit, #filmedit. These are frequently used, and often tracked by big blogs.

Second point: figure out who the big fansites/group blogs are, and if they track a tag, tag them. Make sure you follow them, obviously. If your post is funny, you might wanna tag bob-belcher (#bbelcher) as well - this blog is popular across fandoms and posts content from all over!

Third: tag users who you think will like your post. Don’t be thirsty with this. Again, only do this if you follow them. Tagging 2-3 users is ok, but don’t be out there tagging 8 to 10 blogs on your post. Not only is that a little pointless (because only the first five tags will show up), it also makes you look thirsty. Users might not appreciate this, and ultimately might not reblog your post because of that. Also, try not to tag the same users on every single one of your posts.

6. Popular content

If your fandom is niche, so is your content. That’s perfectly fine; don’t feel pressured to post about anything that isn’t your passion.

But if your goal really is to get more notes and followers, create content from fandoms that are big on the platform. Examples are Marvel, Harry Potter, Star Wars, film blogs, etc.

7. Join a fansite/group blog

Every big fandom on Tumblr has one or multiple fansites/group blogs. I recommend you figure out who they are for your fandom, and apply to one that’s accepting new members. You’ll likely get in if your gifs are HQ.

I know this sounds a bit counterintuitive, as you’ll be posting content on another blog that will be getting the notes and followers from it, but it actually is a good way to gain more exposure. These blogs have large amounts of followers, and they usually allow you to reblog your own content to them, as long as you’re active. I think it’s a great way to get your content out there.

Alright, time to wrap up this post. I’m not personally calling out anyone who has made posts about followers, notes, like-to-reblog ratios, etc. I’ve seen at least 15 of those posts in recent weeks so I’m just reacting to a trend I’m seeing, by presenting a potential solution to a problem people seem to be having. 

My last tip is this: if notes and followers on Tumblr are making you feel down or frustrated, maybe it’s time for a little hiatus or a step back. In the end, you are not getting paid for this and your popularity on the platform has no bearing on your real life. This is supposed to be a fun outlet for your passions and interests, not a source of frustration and anger. Don’t take it too seriously! You’re doing amazing sweetie.

[pendragonfics]

It's Not The Knife That Hurts, But The Wound It Leaves

Paring: Loki/Reader

Tags: gender neutral reader, no pronouns used for reader, set after Avengers: Infinity War Part 1, post canon, alternate universe - canon divergence, character death, heavy angst, triggers death, fake character death, angst with a happy ending, fluff, reunited and it feels so good

Summary: Loki being dead to the world, to the Avengers, to you; it wasn’t real. It never had been, why would it be now? He never stayed dead for long, and if he was in hiding, you’d find him. 

Please do not read this if you are triggered in any way, shape, or form by Avengers: Infinity War Part 1, the theme of character death, and, heavy angst. Please know that if you have suicidal thoughts, there is help for you out there.

Word Count: 2,554

Current Date: 2019-01-13

There was a notion that there was something freeing, in the idea of death. Perhaps even the event of it, too. But this was to other people, surely, to those who had stared it in the face with their own eyes, a bullfighter to a bull, and choosing to fight onward. To you, death was…a place. A destination? Yes, that was more like it. If life was a train journey, one stop after another, death was the end of the line, simply another place.

Loki being dead to the world, to the Avengers, to you; it wasn’t real. It never had been, why would it be now? He never stayed dead for long, and if he was in hiding, you’d find him.

You just hoped not at the end of the line.

You try your best not to think of what happened, because when you think of it, you dwell, and your thoughts become cloudy, dark. Unsavoury. You try to think of anything else, but like everything else in your life, you keep coming back, to face the facts.

Number one: you survived the curse that Thanos put the Earth under, the snap.

Number two: you weren’t there in Wakanda to fight him, unlike the rest of the Avengers. The cabin you and Loki chose, secluded from society had few ways to contact someone there, and by the time that you heard, it was too late. If only you had been there…

Number three: despite these three facts, none of them would have helped Loki.

It didn’t matter to you that there was no Asgard, no Heimdall to hail you to space to search the Yggdrasil of the nine realms for your lover. With the help of stealth technology, exploitation of weak-link employees of Stark’s own labour, you impersonated him, stole a prototype spaceship Quinjet, and booked it out of the stratosphere to the coordinates that the Hulk had hailed from, before -

But when you got there, there was nothing. Just orbiting space junk that you had to assume was remains of Thor’s ship, lingering, a reminder of the damage caused by the demon who destroyed so many lives. The cold carnage of war left no favours to the losing side.

After that, you flew everywhere. Planets, both artificial and natural, inhabited asteroid belts, ships that were willing to dock with you - all places that your wildest imagination could never have concocted as a child. But no matter what, when you asked if anyone had seen, heard of or knew word of Loki, brother of Thor, the King of Asgard, there was silence that met your ears. It would seem that people did not care for him, nor wanted to care for him, but desperate, with low credits and lower fuel in the tank of your vessel, you spoke another name.

“What of Jötunheim, then?” you proposed.

The rowdy bar went silent in a matter of seconds upon the utterance of the planet of the Frost Giants. You were about to leave when a man, of dishevelled appearance; crooked teeth, patchy hair, wild eyes, approached you.

“Don’t thank me,” he said, speaking in a thicker accent than motor oil, or molasses.

He passed you a note discreetly, folded within your palm, but when you went to ask what he meant by those words, or thank him, the man was gone, disappeared into the crowd of the intergalactic creatures.

Once returned to the Quinjet, you opened the note, imploring, hoping, that it was good news. A lead. But like the last lead, it was simply just numbers, scrawled on the page; coordinates. You tried not to feel so let down; it would have been a long shot if the stranger had written Loki is XY. Like the good soldier you were, you followed your new lead, like the train of life, another stop.

It led you to a place where there was no mistake of the fact that it was Jötunheim. As soon as your ship landed, you felt the strong winds batter the sides of the Quinjet, the insulation doing little to protect you from the outside. But as soon as you made it to the outside, suited up in what extra layers you could find, you found that both you and the ship were surrounded by Frost Giants. Cautiously, you complied, unsure how you felt at being at the other end of the weapon as they herded you like a prisoner. You were an Avenger on your planet, a solider. Here? Fodder for these creature’s wills. A speck.

As you were herded, you had time for your mind to wander, as your body got colder and colder as you moved with the Giants. In the little time that you and Loki had had together, you had heard all his stories, of places like the ones where you had been. From himself, from the mouths of others, it didn’t matter. Perhaps because they were all stories in the end, just like now, you were becoming one. An unwise decision, to escape Earth without telling anyone, just to die on Jötunheim. You had heard stories of Thor the King, the grubby speakeasies and relaxed crime across the galaxy, the planets like Musspelheim and Knowhere, like Niflheim and Jötunheim.

To think that you had thought you were a regular person. Before S. H. I. E. L. D., of course, picking you from your college alumni for your brain capacity, and training you to become one of the best unassuming undercover operatives they had on payroll. From being a spy, you become a soldier, never questioning, always acting for the good of Fury and Coulson. From being a soldier, you became an Avenger, after they formed, and since, life was never the same. You were always helping others, never yourself: the good soldier.

All of this ran through your head as the Frost Giants marched you toward a place that looked nothing short of sinister.

This is how I die, you thought. You had no doubt about it - this was the last stop on the train for you. We’re at the end of the line.

The Jötuns tossed you onto a sheet of ice, your palms catching you sharply as you fell. You looked up at what you were thrown before, and all you could think of, was the word throne. It soared high above you, carved into the snow and ice with shards that caught the light in a terrifying display of defiance of the temperature. There was a Jötun who sat at the top, looking down at you with a red-eyed glare, and frightened, you shivered in anticipation of your fate.

“I know of your kind,” the creature spoke garbled words, but it was in English, and it was loud enough to vibrate your ribcage. You shook once more, this time, you were sure it wasn’t the cold. “Human. What brings your kind to my domain?”  

“I have been searching,” you tell him, unsure if the wind carried your words away, or not. You kept your eyes to yourself, out of fear, and respect. “Across the galaxy.”

The Jötun King laughed, a booming threat. “What makes you think that I care to hear of the words of a human?” the creature retorted, harshly. “I am a King.”

“Evidently,” you reply, the words rolling from your tongue before your mind can think not to, “but humans rarely stray from their planet, if you know. And yet, here I am, searching for the man that I love.” You reiterate, and cautiously, you add, “From what I gather, few visit your ‘domain’, and fewer stay to talk, and that would make anyone lonely, let alone miserable.” You say.

“Bold words,” the King said.

“Please,” you plead. “I looked everywhere, and this planet, it’s…it’s the last place I have to search, it’s…it’s the last place I can be before I run out of resources. “After this,” you sucked in a deep breath, your chest hiccupping in emotion, “I’ll have no choice.”

“My land might be frozen, but not my intrigue.” The King responds, “Leave us be, my Guards. Now, human, your tale. Go on.”

“The man that I love, he is not like me. Like anyone. He has seen Hel itself and yet smiles to me so sweet. He speaks with a tongue to silver and can command all with his words.” You speak carefully, choosing your words with caution. “He…he came from this place. He came from Asgard. And if we had had more time together, he might have called the Earth his home too…”

“What of this man, of yours? Lovers have no cause to flee.” The King spoke up.

You shook your head, “Yes, but he was a warrior. A prince. He would never flee or cower. He hated to think he was noble, and yet he was…my love, he died.”

“Dead men go nowhere.” The King’s words cut you deep, and you felt a fury course through your cooling blood, your numbing hands.

You shook your head. Defiant. “No. He never stayed dead. First, he fell into the abyss on the cusp of Asgard, and yet, he returned. He nearly died at the hands of the Dark Elf, Malekith, but he did not, and with time, we reunited. And Thanos -,”

“A war criminal, unwelcome here.” The King spat.

“He - he can’t have died.” You speak up. “When he survived, he would have been weak, weaker than usual, suspended his Asgardian glamor and appeared to be Jötun, but not a Giant.” You resist the urge to look to the King, but your words, they implore him. “Please, have you heard of him, his legacy? Word, tale, news…?”

The King guffawed, and from the sounds you were hearing, he was dismounting his throne, coming toward you. “Have I, heard word of a small Jötun, who cannot die? Whose tongue is metal, who is noble?” the hope you held so very close to your heart quivers, optimistic despite all circumstance. “No.”

The word parried at your heart, and it shattered in your chest. “No,” you repeated - a whisper, a curse, a plea. From where you sit on the ice, it touched you, yes, but now it crawled inside your bones, into your mind, and seemed to sit on top of all feelings, numbing all but misery. “He - no. No!” you cry out, burying your head in your hands.

“No one survives Thanos.” He says, grim.

You shake you head once more. “I did. And yet, he didn’t. It’s my fault - if only I -,” you squinch your eyes shut, the cold air freezing your tears as they fall. “If I had his seidr, or Doctor Strange’s magic, I could go back, save him -,”

“The dead are dead for reasons,” the King huffed. “And unlike your love, they stay dead.”

“But he - no…” you gape. “I’ve come all of this way. I did all the right things, I was a good soldier!” you exclaim. “This can’t be fair!”

As you open your eyes, you see his feet before your face, close enough to see the markings upon his skin. Scared, you recoil. You feel like all the denial of all of it is floating away, and it’s settling in. Finally. Loki is dead. So many of your friends, so many of the Avengers, so much of your family, so many humans who called Earth their home are dead.

And there is nothing that you can do about it.

“King of the Jötuns, I ask one thing of you.” You shake, the grief breaking you down.

“Only if I can ask the same of you.”

You nod; a simple bargain. “I want you to strike me dead.”

“An odd request, but…only if you tell me the name of the man you love.” The King asks you. A beat passes, and he adds, “Today is momentous. If I have heard your tale, I want all of it, before you die.”

“His name was Loki,” the words tumble out, but you speak his name with care, cradling it with all your heart, like his name could break at any mishandling. “Loki of Jötunheim, of Asgard, of…of my heart.”

The King does nothing, and swaying, you let out a moan, pained, like a wounded animal. “Please!” you screech. “I kept my end of the bargain -,”

“I want to ask another thing of you.” The Jötun King demands. You tremble. “As I do the deed, you must look at me.”

Slowly, you raise your head, eyes closed. You know that he is right before you, and when your head is at the right angle, he will carry out your wish, and you will be looking at the terrifying Frost Giant. Your chin raised, your eyes flutter open, the world beyond your eyelids coming into focus. You expect the breath in your throat to be your last, the same as these thoughts in your mind.

For the train of life to reach its final destination -

To be with Loki. At last.

“Look at me.” He says, and you comply.

Except, standing before you is not the Jötun King that you were expecting. He has dark hair and with every second passing his skin pales from blue to ice white. He has green eyes and bright marks on his neck that look like they hurt still. He wears tattered clothes unlike what a King would wear, and in the corners of his eyes there are tears that have fallen, and threaten to fall again. There is an ache to his soul that you can feel, like he has been to Hel, and survived it.

He was Loki.

“You…” your breath is gone, your whole body without strength to go on. “You bastard.” You might whisper the curse, but there is no malice behind it.

“My love,” he says, taking steps toward you, and you rise only to sink into his chilled embrace. He holds you tight, and hearing his heartbeat, you relax into his chest, “My world.”

“I found you,” you murmur, covering him with kisses. “I - I did it. I flew to the stars for you, and all my wishes came true.”

“I had no strength to return to Earth, to Thor.” Loki tells you. “I heard the news of what Thanos did to Midgard…I had no hope that you survived. He kisses you deeply, cradling you close, your bodies so very near that you might meld into one. “I feared you to be an imposter as soon as I saw your face…please forgive me for my interrogation, my love.”

“I can,” you whisper. “And I will.”

“I would never strike my lover dead.” Loki adds, kissing your forehead. It’s then you feel a tingling sensation throughout your whole body, like every other time that Loki used his magic upon you. There was warmth to your limbs again, and revitalised, you shared it with him. He slides his hand into your own, and the both of you walk toward where the Frost Giants escorted you from your ship. “Let’s go home, my love.”

There might be something freeing in the idea of death. But to be reunited with the one that you love? To live another day with renewed purpose? That was better - a thousand times better. 

[kylosupremeimagines]

Kylo Ren X Reader: Only Everyone Can Judge Me {Chapter Six}

Summary: After falling into a dream, you wake up in a med bay to find a Devaronian watching you. To your surprise, it turns out that you were tracked by the Knights of Ren by the order of Supreme Leader Snoke. 

Word Count: 2015

https://kylosupremeimagines.tumblr.com/post/175992731934/knights-of-ren

Tag List: @rentopia @scheherazades-horcrux @babybluelukex @attorneyl @glitzescape @alladeline @dancewaterdance02 @celiholland @crkylo @celestiaelisia @lyraeluna @peacefulwizardfox @twdlover2000 @cs-please @xultraviolet @xfeathered-serpent @fizzywoohoo @topsykretts92 @ayatimascd

The force was still stirring within you as it tried to wake you up. Your eyes shot open and you jolted up, feeling a cold metal around your wrists. You glanced down to see that you had been restrained, just now realizing that you weren’t back in the quarters of your ship, but rather in what appeared to be a medical bay. It was far more advanced than the one back on the other ship, but it did not appear to be that of a ship such as a flag ship of sorts. It could probably only comfortable house three people for treatment.

You jumped a bit in your bed as your eyes fell onto a red skinned Devaronian. “Ah, I see that you’re finally awake. It’s about time, we found you on your ship unconscious,” he brought up. The man had been sitting across from you on the opposite metal bed - you didn’t understand why it was the standard not to have any proper bedding in a medical setting such as this. “what a sight, things were everywhere! You have to tell me, what did you even do to that room?”

You pursed your lips together as to who this man was and why he was rather enthusiastic about talking with you. He was even leaning forward with his elbows resting upon his knees, a small glimmer of curiosity in his dark orbs. “Umm… you expect me to tell you when I’m being held prisoner?” you demanded to know, trying not to come off as annoyed as you were.

He couldn’t help but scoff a tad bit in amusement. “Oh, you aren’t our prisoner, but we had to restrain you for safety measures. You should understand,” he brought up, leaning back again and stretching his arms over his head. “if you want, I can take them off for you as long as you promise not to hurt me.”

You glared at him to try to contemplate the situation you were in. “Who even are you?”

A small smirk formed across his features. “Now there’s a real story. I may or may not be a friend of a certain man whom you possibly could know,” it was evident that he had to be teasing you, but you immediately knew what he was talking about.

“A Knight of Ren?”

“Precisely!” He expressed, pointing his finger at you. “Volgoth Ren, at your service. As I told you, having you restrained is for safety measures. As long as you won’t try anything, I’m more than willing to take your restraints off, seeing as how the Supreme Leader doesn’t even want us to consider you a prisoner. He actually wants to see to it that you are brought before him.”

Your eyes went wide a little as he had mentioned the Supreme Leader, Snoke himself. Of course, he had grown an interest in you, considering the shift in the force that he must have felt and the report he had received form Kylo. For sure, it would play to your favor. “I won’t attack you, I promise you that.”

“Alright, then let me just come over there,” he stood up to make his way over to you, using the force to unlock the restraints around your wrists. You gave him a look, getting a small laugh from the man. “oh, you could have taken it off on your own. I just didn’t think you would realize that.”

“Are you really a Knight of Ren?” you had to know, there was no way in the galaxy that he could be so carefree. “or do you really just think that I am that stupid?”

“I mean, considering that we found you with things everywhere and injured with a poor patch job, one could argue that you are.”

“Volgoth, stop screwing with the force sensitive,” The force shifted around you once more as Volgoth shifted his head towards the door, for a man to reveal himself. He was rather tall, probably closer to Kylo’s height. “I must apologize for him, he gets like this with a lot of our prisoners.”

“Didn’t you tell me I wasn’t a prisoner?” You gave the Devaronian yet another look.

“But you aren’t one! Geez, I thought that I made that clear!”

The stranger pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, shaking his head before looking back over to the both of you. “Don’t worry, you are not a prisoner. It was never intended for you to be unless you defied our generosity or efforts to help you. We did everything we could with our resources to heal up your blaster wound, you should be fine. I can not guarantee that there will be minimum scarring, but it should heal up in the end.

You glanced down your waist to now realize you had been in a change of shirt, it hadn’t been bloodied or burned from the blaster bold. “I… don’t know what to say. Thank you,” your mind still seemed to be processing it all, and the fact that they had been treating you more like a guest than a prisoner, which is what led you to believe their claims. You lifted up your shirt to get a better look at the wound, it seemed to have been properly dressed with some bandages and bacta patches. Plus, it didn’t hurt much, more of an uncomfortable sensation rather than a painful one.

If they were lying about you not being a prisoner, then there really would have been no justified reason for them to tend to your wound - but you could now sense that they were nothing but truthful towards you. It had come to your full realization that you had been sought out specifically for the purpose of bringing you before Snoke. It was rather convenient all for the fact that it meant you wouldn’t have to seek the First Order out yourself; and even risk getting hurt trying to present yourself to them, a known Resistance member.

Ex Resistance member now.

As you let out a soft sigh, your eyes shifted to the man.”Um, I never got your name…” you mentioned. If you were going to be their guest, you might as well learn of their names.

“Ah, yes. Dralin, Dralin Ren,” he had told you, giving you the impression now that the Knights had actually used the name Ren as a title. It was both in their organization’s name as well as used by three of them thus far. As you thought for a moment, you couldn’t help but contemplate if you had heard that name before. “is something wrong?”  You pursed your lips together as you tried to piece it together, studying his features. But then it hit you

“You were at the temple, you were a Jedi before,” you recognized him from your days at the Jedi Temple when you were still learning under Master Luke. He had been one of the more advanced students, but you never really interacted with him much; you didn't actually with many that weren’t Ben or your Master. “a fellow padawan.”

He let out a small chuckle. “I am indeed, and Volgoth is as well. All of us Knights derived from the Temple with Kylo. We stood by his side with the same ideology that Skywalker was in the wrong,” he began to explain. “we always knew that there was something wrong with him, and it was just confirmed when he tried to end his own nephew. We stood beside him and Master Snoke opened his door to us, seeing as how we had nowhere to go and a sudden loss of real purpose. Hence, we could not refuse the knowledge of power.”

It had never actually occurred to you that there had been others that had followed behind Kylo when he left the Temple in ruins. You could remember the night as if it hadn’t happened long ago, approximately ten years at this point. He had held his hand out to you and begged you to follow behind him, but as you were still questioning your own morals, you refused.

As he couldn't come to kill you as Snoke would have commanded, he told you to leave. No matter how much you pleaded him to come with you and forget about everything - to just travel the galaxy with you - he couldn’t. You made your escape as he had left for the First Order, and that had been the last you had seen of him up close until today with your encounter with him on D’Qar.

“And about how many of you are there?”

“Including Kylo, eight of us in total,” Volgoth added to the conversation. “a real mixed bunch we have. But that’s what I love about our group. Never a dull moment,” he smirked at the idea.

“Mixed?”

“Yeah, we all have such different personalities, but we somehow manage to work so well together. It’s a kriffing miracle but we happen to make it work. You better hope that you don’t run into Orus anytime soon, she’s the one that can send a chill down your spine,” he jokingly shivered at the thought. “she has a glare so powerful that it could probably kill you if she holds it for too long.”

“Well… that’s pleasant.”

“Now, come on Volgoth. You make her out to be some Nexu. She’s only cold if she has to be,” Dralin tried.

“Oh, no. I have to beg to differ. Have you ever heard how sarcastically bitchy she can be? It’s so dark, it’s like the corners of space without any stars!” Volgoth expressed.

Dralin smacked the Devaronian across the back of his head to shut him up. “Why don’t we talk about something else?” he insisted, turning his full attention back to you. “I don’t think that I even need to guess that you have a lot of questions for us about this all. So go ahead and ask us, I will try to answer anything that I possibly can.”

“Why?” you didn’t even need to take a second to think about what you wanted to know, the question was already programmed in your mind. “I want to know why you were ordered to capture me and why you’re bringing me before Snoke.”

They weren’t surprised that you had asked such things. “As far as we were briefed, a report given by Kylo had given him reason to request you be tracked down. Our Star Destroyers had already put a tracker on your shuttle, so it was not very hard to find your location.”

“My guess is that he wants you as an ally, knowing that you now hate Skywalker as much as he does,” Volgoth told you. “what did he even do to piss you off so much?”

You clenched your fist as you were brought back to the memory back from Ahch-to, how he had pushed you away once again. “I still can’t understand why he would refuse to take me back. He abandoned me in self shame and even after ten years, he can’t face me again. He lied to me all this time, apparently, I come from the Blood of the Sith just like Kylo does.”

“Then, he was foolish to become so frightened of you. The Jedi were always so blinded against power, and look at where that landed him,” Dralin admitted. He wasn’t wrong, Luke made a mistake both when he tried to off his own nephew and when he turned his back on you once more. The Knight before you had no idea the true extent of the pain and stirring emotions that your old Master had caused you.

And it was your driving force.

“All I want is for him to pay for all of it, to know the pain that he caused me and Kylo. I won’t let him live for it.”

“We can most certainly make that happen for you,” Volgoth practically interrupted Dralin.

“I know where he is, I want to give that information to Snoke. He has to die.”

[irarelypostanything]

Slice of Life[6]

[Andy]

“There have been some increasingly controversial topics in the news,” began Andy, in the milionth meeting they were holding that week, “and I know that not everyone here is in agreement with regard to personal beliefs.  Though there is some merit to discussing these topics, I would encourage you to do so outside of work.

“So please,” he continued, “for the love of the old gods and the new, stop arguing about the last episode of Game of Thrones.”

“It was kind of bullshit though, right?” asked Jake, to murmurs of approval.  

“I haven’t watched it yet,” complained Kevin.

“Spoiler,” said Jake, “it sucked.”

“Jake, please.”

“There was a shocking twist about Tyrion being the Night King.”

“Kevin, Jake may or may not be messing with you.”

“I did think the part where Eddard rose from the dead was a little out of left field, though.”

“Amy, please proceed with your presentation.”

Amy was standing in front of their conference room’s projector.  Her long, dark brown hair was tied into a bun, and her usual Davis badminton jacket was replaced by a white button-up.

“Thanks Andy,” she said, relieved that the meeting was back under control, “as I was saying, this project is worth roughly 25.6 million dollars, collectively.  As is the usual case, the largest defense contractors are going to take the majority of business.

“But this is where things get interesting.  I’m going to have to be intentionally vague about the next portion of this, since we’re in a nonclassified setting, but we have certain...capabilities...that even some of the largest corporations don’t.  Thanks to some wise decisions we made early last year with regard to our research allocations, we are actually the first team we know of that can use...”

Her voice trailed.  “Well, that’s also classified.  But the figures aren’t.  Look at this.”  The slide changed.  “We are poised to become the government’s preferred vendor for the entire sensor, and all we have to do is give them a taste.  They expect delivery within three weeks.  For this to work, all teams have to collaborate perfectly.”

“It’s really important that we execute this now,” agreed Andy, “that means it’s really, vitally important that we not let our meetings diverge into arguments about petty bullshit.

“Kevin, we’d like a status report from you.  What’s the important software issue you said you wanted everyone to know about?”

“I know we were told not to compile on the hardware,” began Kevin, “but unfortunately, with our system, it’s unavoidable.  The time stamps are messed up, so doing basic things like compilation is surprisingly difficult.”

“Why not code it in Python?” suggested Jake.  “that way you won’t need to compile it.”

“Wow,” said Dan, with mock amazement, “switch programming languages.  Brilliant.  This is the kind of empty-headed bullshit that only a hardware engineer would come up with.”

“Right,” Jake retorted, “because messed up time stamps is a hardware issue.  Do you guys also give your system administrators mops, then give your janitors root access?”

“Switching to python actually isn’t a bad idea,” said Ryan, “but there’s a much more obvious solution to this problem.  You can-”

“Hang on,” interrupted Dan, “care to repeat that comment about root access?”

“You guys don’t understand separation of duty,” said Jake.

“You guys don’t understand fuck about fuck,” said Dan.

The next half hour went about as productively as that conversation.

[Nora]

Saturday.  It was a surprisingly clear morning, for San Francisco, and the sun was just starting to rise.  Because it was San Francisco, though, the morning was ice cold.

Nora made her way up the steep trail of Mt. Davidson.  Kevin said he knew every trail and angle at this place, and she believed him.  The park was tiny.  She reached the peak with ease.  She glanced in the direction of the sun, then turned away to look at downtown in the distance.  She could see the bay, and Castro, and a bunch of major downtown buildings until her view reached Sutro Mountain.

She pulled out her cell phone.  “This is boring,” she told Kevin through the speaker.

“Did you know it’s the tallest hill in all of San Francisco?”

“Highest of the seven hills?”

“Sure.”

“What, because of the giant cross?”

“I admit that the giant cross is cheating, but the point still stands.”

“Not sure what the big deal is, to be honest.  I’ve had a more fun time at Bernal Heights, and that place has some pretty good coffee.”

“Giant blue building.”

“What?”

“Find the spot where Balboa is, look a bit to the left, and you’ll see that giant blue building.  It’s a water tower.  We used to sneak up there, forever ago, when we were young.”

“Okay...”

“I used to love this city.  It’s not the same now.  Whenever I came back it was never the same, always a little different.  So I started to come home every month, then every other month.  The last time we spoke, it was my first time back in almost a year.”

“Well, what’s changed?”

“It’s just different.”

Nora looked at the tower, then at Kevin’s high school, then at the water again.  From a distance, it was all tiny.  Like none of it mattered.

“You used to love this city,” asked Nora, “and now you don’t because it’s changed?”

“Exactly.  You took the words right out of my mouth.”

“So you believe that the city you once loved is gone.  I believe that the city you loved never existed.”

“That’s morbid.”

“Seriously, how much of it had you really seen?”

Nora looked again at the view.  “Oh wait, technically you’ve seen quite a bit of it.”

“Technically.”

[Kevin]

Sunday.  Kevin was at a church.  Again.

After another sermon, a middle-aged person named Leo (whom he had met a couple of weeks ago) sought him out.

“Hey Kevin,” he said, “do you know a lot about social media?”

The question hit him with surprise.  Kevin had once been obsessed with social media.

“I know a little bit,” said Kevin, “why do you ask?”

“I’d like to give our church more of an online presence, but it’s all new to me.  What do you know about Facebook groups?”

“Well,” said Kevin, “not too much.  I know that you can pay to have the algorithm favor you, so you get more traffic.  I also know that you can integrate it with Google Analytics, and I believe the algorithm will favor you if you can rack likes or comments in a five-minute window.

“The whole thing is very calculated.  The emojis you use, whether you use GIFs, whether you use tags...all of these are taken into consideration when considering your post placement.”

“That’s all fine and good,” said Leo, “but you don’t sound super enthusiastic right now about Facebook.”

“Have you heard of Life Church?”

“No.”

“It’s a nice resource, it’s an online church, but it’s just a little bit too good.  It’s hard to describe.  It’s ridiculously high quality video, full Facebook integration, professional band.  You can view the likes and comments in real time.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s weird.  All of this is weird to me for some reason.  Doing that kind of thing for a church?  I prefer sites like Medium.  I can harvest so much sweet, sweet data.”

“Are you okay?  You just turned red.”

“You know, I get crazy about this a lot.  I used to be a normal guy.  A couple likes here, a couple likes there.  I started to find forums where I could get 100 likes a post, consistently, and I started to get a presence.  Click, like, share.  Click, like, share.  It’s no way to live, man.  Every second a feeling of wanting judgment, every act of communication a desperate plea to please the algorithm.

“But this one time, this one night I’ll never forget, I put up an article that went #trending.  It got 36,000 Facebook shares.  Pretty okay, sure, but then I found the real analytics.  3 million hits.  3 million people read it, all around the world.”

For a little while, Leo just stood there.  Finally, he spoke again.

“Kevin, I just want to share some videos.”

“Oh, okay.  Have you considered YouTube?”

“What’s that?”

Kevin walked back to his apartment after lunch.  Part of him wished he could be as enthusiastic about church as he was about technology, but there was still something he couldn’t get over.  It was a belief that was fundamental to him for as long as he remembered.  It was a belief that went against everything he had read in every book of the bible.

Kevin didn’t think it mattered what people believed.  All that mattered to him was what people did.

Some Christians donated to the poor, built schools, saved lives.  Some atheists donated to the poor, built schools, saved lives.  Both Christians and non-Christian people had done great things, and horrible things, but so had Muslims.  And Hindu people.  And scientologists, and probably a million other religions.  But no one thought it was okay to believe that your beliefs didn’t matter.  

Kevin wasn’t sure if he believed in everything or nothing.  He figured it was impossible to believe in nothing, because that would mean that he still believed in something.

[Dan]

Monday.  8PM.  Dan was one of the only people in.

It was a long meeting, followed by a crucial lunch meeting, followed by coding, followed by another meeting.  These past few days had been tough on everyone, but Dan sometimes wished he could just hole up, not talk to anyone, and code.

He finally had a few hours to himself.  This was when he felt most productive.

2, he thought.  2, 4, 8, 16…

Dan’s weapon of choice had always been C++.  He knew bitwidths, 56-megabyte proprietary structs, obscure abbreviations that only meant anything to him, Andy, and the Department of Defense.  He knew 18 different ways to bind to a socket.  He knew 19 different ways to accidentally bind to the socket incorrectly, which is why he was careful who he hired.

He looked at his code.  100 lines.  18 minutes.  It compiled, implemented a client/server, verified that both sides were properly using the data.  Not bad.  He added error handling, comments, varied conditions.  He updated his code like a skilled writer polishing his prose, and like a skilled writer he knew how important every individual unit was.  He knew how significant the difference was between --i and i--.  He knew the implications of using [] on a vector instead of .at()

Having accomplished his main goal, he decided to spend a few minutes making fun of other people on Github issues.

He saw one branch of code where someone failed, failed again, then tried changing all the include statements from using “” to using <>.  Dan laughed.

He saw one branch of code where someone tried to log everything as fatal.  This was surprisingly common, especially for people too dumb to figure out how to set log level.  Dan laughed.

Then Dan saw a branch made by one of his best friends.

Ex-friends.  No one ever figured it out.  Things were mysterious, but for reasons he never understood this friend’s family chose not to mention their company (or Dan) once.  But how did it happen?  This was also mysterious.  Dan compiled a list of all the things he had learned after college, and it was long, but one item stood out:

When an obituary omits cause of death, that usually means it’s suicide.

What appalled Dan wasn’t the act itself, but the sheer indifference that their company displayed.  They just didn’t care.  His cubicle was replaced by an intern’s, then another intern’s.  That’s more or less how he felt the company regarded this death.  It was a name tag change, a commented out line in payroll.  It frustrated Dan to no end, the sheer meaningless and triviality of the ordeal.  

Silently, when he was sure no one was there to hear, Dan wept.

He cried to a timer.  When five minutes passed, he got back on track with coding.

[ofcloudsandstars]

✧ . 🌸Beltane Solitary Rituals🌸 *✧

Bluebells are popping through the freshly sprouted glass, blossom petals litter the streets and flowers burst open to bloom on every lawn and ceramic pot as we approach the pinnacle of Spring. The time of the Spring Crossquarter, Beltane, is upon us! It's time to re-pot house plants and give them plant food, sow seeds in the garden, sow seeds of intention and give back to nature. Beltane is nested perfectly within the earthly season of Taurus and near Earth Day and I feel like it's a second earth day for pagans and witches.

Beltane is the sabbat that mirrors Samhain, though it's celebration is completely opposite (fertility and life vs death and the end) it has the same intensity of the Halloween festival. Instead of spirits, it's the fae that is out and about, mad with excitement at the stirring earth, causing pranks, confusion, hayfever and mischief to their victims as pre festival activities as they prepare for their grand fairy queen ball. With other witches I've celebrated this by dressing up as a fairy or spirit of nature which felt a lot like a halloween yet more etheral and mysterious than spooky, yet this post is for solitary witches that don't have their own community to do a whole fairy ball with.

A lot of witches practice alone and have our own solitary rituals for each sabbat that we observe (or the ones we’ve created just for ourselves that we observe alone!) Like any solitary eclectic witch I do things my own different way but some of these things might line up with others practices. I do refer to some of the equinoxes/solstices/crossquarters by their celtic sabbat names but I celebrate them in a secular animist way and treat the wheel of the year I celebrate as more of an agrarian cycle and celebrating nature. I use sabbat names as a point of reference and also people that do celebrate these witches sabbats more traditionally might find value in my personal practice!  Here is my personal correspondences post and my personal Beltane tag!

When I am alone and casting spells a lot of it is visualization/intent so my solitary rituals are more like activities I like to do then specifically casting a spell. If I am doing a spell with an activity based on it a lot would be listening to music to get in the mood and focusing on a candle while visualizing for a period of time! Eves are also important to my celebration as I like to stay up until midnight to cast a spell then!

Spring Crossquarter’s Eve

Monday, April 30th 2018

Clean litter around your area This is a great excuse to go on a nature walk and enjoy the wonderful spring weather, yet also please the spirits of nature and make our green spaces more enjoyable and safe for the beings that live in it. Wear some gloves and help clean up!

Enjoy snacks while doing crafts like green pepita seeds, red radishes, gummy worms, pixie sticks, chocoshrooms, unicorn inspired anything, fairy floss, kale chips etc!

Watch Fairy Films while doing crafts There are some movies I hardcore associate with this sabbat. Those being: Strange Magic, Thumbelina, LABYRINTH, fern gully and stardust. They help to get you in the spirit!

Make LED flower lights If you are feeling creative and want to cover your space in glowing flowers you should try this craft! If you can get fabric tulips I think the process would be easier and quicker since you wouldn't have to layer.  

Flower tealight bowl If you still want flowers but don't have too much time for crafts, get a bouquet of flowers and cut their stems off. In a wide glass bowl, fill it half way with water, and float the flowers on top. Add tealight candles to light up the piece.

Make paper flowers I have so many of these DIYs saved and they are super pretty. You can add LED's inside too and have large paper flowers glowing in your space! ( 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 )

attach them to a branch! ( 1 , 2 )

make garland  

Hang chimes! Enjoy the fairy festivity by hanging twinkling chimes! It’s a low energy activity that can make the space feel wonderful. Open the windows to let in some sweet spring air and have the chimes twinkle.

Make Flower Water! Simmer lavender petals or rose petals in a pot of water. If it's edible you can use the water in cooking but if not you can use the water as a cleansing wash and to elevate the energy! Get a perfume bottle to put rose water in and mist the air in your space.

Midnight

This night is known as witches night and often has been an evening for ritual dancing and witches flight. It's also a good night to do attraction magic

Bloom Focus on what you'd want to bloom and grow further in your life. Whisper your wishes to the flowers outside and sprinkle full moon water on them as an offering.

Attraction Magic This time of the year things start to speed up and it's easier to get certain outcomes, people or resources to come to you. Use this evening to do spells to attract what you need to create an ideal summer. Candle magic (Bonus if it's floral ) would make a great attraction charm especially for the element of fire on this festival and that you can carve your wishes onto it.

Sex Magic This is a festival of fertility and deep fiery creative manifesting energy. It can pull on the lower energy pools of the body. If you are comfortable with that part of yourself you can tap into that energy and the energy of the stirring earth with masturbation and using it to manifest what you want. Before hand meditate and visualize what you want to manifest. While climaxing focus your energy on that and you will release powerful energy towards that spell while orgasming. You can also charge charms and sigils this way. You can use safe tumbled crystal eggs and 'massage' wands (I always stick to quartz based minerals or glass products since those don't dissolve in water), anoint yourself with oils, burn rose incense, take a self indulging floral bath with flower petals to seduce yourself before hand, light candles, there's a lot of magical tools and magic in general to incorporate into this ritual. It's very self indulging and all about making yourself comfortable and using your own unique energy (plus orgasming on the midnight of Beltane is a great way to bring in the festivity while alone haha).

Spring Crossquarter's Day

May 1st

Dress like a fairy or in florals I love to dress in florals or in flowery lace on this day. If possible you should dress up like a fairy or spirit of nature but if you have to be a functioning human in modern society not many places might accept that so a quieter way would be to dress floral. Wear a flower crown! Make a ribbon wand. Use your own colorology/color correspondences for the ribbons you pick. Tie ribbons in a braid in your hair for knot magic. Wear rose oil or any floral fragrance oil that is your favorite (I am obsessed with hyacinth).

Flower Essences A wonderful form of flower magic is flower essences. It's a gentle way to heal and transform your energetic and emotional body. Is there something you want to let go or manifest within yourself? You can look that up like (thing I want to do + flower essence) and the internet can give you a thorough list. (Examples can be resentment, anger issues, responsibility, courage, feeling loved etc). There are a lot of books on it but flower essence knowledge can be expensive to obtain which I personally find unfair since they can be helpful. A good book if you’d want to invest in it would be the flower essence repertory but google (for now) is free and you can just keep track of flower essence powers in your grimoire and google the ones you need. Find the flower ally that speaks to you the most, order that essence (Bach is the best company) and start today as the first day to take it and note your journey in your book of shadows.

Play fairy-like music I have instruments and music I associate with each sabbat and for Beltane it's harps. They sound graceful like fluttering wings and falling blossom petals. Here are a few soundtracks ( 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 ), fill your space with ethereal music!

Repot plants It's easy to get caught up in life and forget about your green best friends but I like to remember this day as a day to repot your house plants. They will love you and grow bigger and leafier due to it, it definitely honors the spirit of nature within the home and it's helpful to take time to remember to do this!

Make a butterfly feeder Butterflies have come out and about! Make butterfly feedersso they have get a tasty treat!

Make seed bombs Make bombs of local wild flowers (especially the kinds butterflies and bees need) and throw them around in empty grassy lots!

Do fun fairy inspired activities Such as making enchanted bubbles (add a teeny pinch of mica to make them sparkle but not too much or else they won’t hold and add floral fragrance to them) and blow them in a park, play pranks on people you don’t like such as stealing their shit and hiding it in some obscure place, eat sweets (bonus if it’s floral like rose, jasmine or lavender), read poetry and riddles.

Make delicious floral treats The easiest would be to make teas like rose, lavender, hibiscus or jasmine, you can make rose lattes as well (with a milk wand and hot milk with a dash of rose water) or steamed floral milk (pairs best with plant based milk like coconut, macademia or almond). Make floral buttercream to sandwich between cookies or decorate flowery cupcakes with. Enjoy flowery macarons if you don't have time to bake or add gelatin to floral teas on the eve (bonus if you have flowery cake molds to pour it into) to enjoy today.

Have a picnic under a flowering tree The weather is finally wonderful which makes this day a perfect day to celebrate under a blooming tree in a park. Bring spring picnic foods with you like cucumber sandwiches, radish salads, kale chips. Connect with the blossoming trees and do energy work with them. Charge yourself on a carpet of fallen petals on the ground laced with tree roots. Leave some food as offerings to the spirits of nature as well. Let bees and butterflies drink from your bottle cap.

Venture into the realm of nature and plants Massive disclaimer about psychadelics, if you don't know yourself well or don't trust yourself you should avoid them at all costs, but shrooms is incredible and the most wonderful experience if you use them only for sacred and spiritual practices. It attunes you to the realm of plants and the fae, trees will have messages to give you, you can see the earth breathing, the world is alive and we are all connected to this planet. You will remember people you love and you will feel loved, your ancestors will be surrounding you, you can hear the gossip among the fungi, you can feel the stars and planet's gravitational movements in the heavens. As wonderful as it can be, it can be dangerous though to people unfamiliar with it which leads me to say I'm only making this suggestion to the witches that have experience with it and understand it. Beltane is a day a lot of witches "travel" and often sometimes with the use of more intense tools way more complex and dangerous than mushrooms, but anyway on a day to honor blooming nature and the thriving earth, shrooms is an ideal tool to help you access that realm if you have a day off so you can be in a park under a flowering tree and cry over how beautiful tulips and moss are.

Walk barefoot on the earth If the weather is nice, take a walk in a grassy park  or in your yard barefoot. Feel the fertile ground charging your body with energy. Do a grounding ritual and some energy work!

Flower magic Like all plants, flowers are also kind and our allies and are wonderful to do magic with. Learn about the various flowers and what magic they are good in helping you with. Make friends with them, offer them water and sing to them. I made a post a while ago about flowers for love and friendship spells. You don't have to pick the flowers, it's best if they are kept alive or if you grow them. But if you happen to pass a florist or have them already picked, then you can use them in your physical spells as well!

Evening

Feast Cook yourself something lovely to celebrate the pinnacle of spring! A great and simple dish is artichokes since they are a lot to pick apart and eat and are a beautiful savory flower that pairs well with delicious salad dressings and vinaigrettes to dip into. Other wonderful dishes can be beet soup, roasted beet hummus with radish + cucumber and asparagus to dip, white asparagus, literally anything with black truffle on it, chive bread rolls, oyster mushrooms, snails with chive and garlic butter, chopped red cabbage salad, adirondack blue mashed potatoes, truffle risotto, something simple and leafy like a tossed spring salad with radishes and purple lettuce. Endives with chopped boiled eggs and roasted beets nested inside, duck with sugar glaze and fresh edible blossoms. Most countries don't have a midspring feast holiday so many people might not be familiar with midspring food ideas but there are a lot of beautiful and flowery dishes in season this time of year to enjoy alone! Not to mention the desserts! Lemon and lavender pound cake, rose meringues, floral parfaits, rose buttercream cakes, violet and chocolate brownies, lilac sugar dusted cookies, candied rose petals, sakura jellies etc. Bake yourself something wonderful and magical for dessert! Also if you like to drink while celebrating, try creme de violette mixed with anything whether it be rose prosecco, plain soda water or a light wheat beer. There are other wonderful cordials too such as elderflower (St. Germain) that you can mix with a white iced tea (or an elderflower iced tea), and rose and lavender syrups you can mix with soju and sodawater. If you love wines you should try a dandelion or rose wine or steep edible flowers in a light wine over the day to infuse!

Leave offerings to nature Leave a bowl of flower water outside, sprinkle native wild flower seeds, mist the plants or sing to the trees. Let earth know you still love and honor her. Leave any extra food you made to your guides that care about you.

[gothdefined]

Rules and Regulations

People don't really like rules... But they're a necessary evil in order to make things go more smoothly and so we can all get along... So here's my list of things to expect... Not necessarily RULES, per se... but more of a this is my blog and how I might interact or how you can message me about certain things so we can handle it in a mature, responsible way...

I am an Indie RPer, meaning I don't belong to a specific group, never have and probably never will. I do RP with a specific person quite often but that does not make me exclusive or anything. I just have preferences.

If you ask me, I can tag things with a trigger warning, but I'm not going to know to do that unless you ask me to. I don't go snooping and it's not my job to read your mind. You're welcome to go through my tags list and block whatever may bother you, however. If something bothers you and it's not there, let me know and I'll make a tag for it. Simple as that.

If you need to talk, I'm all up for talking. As much as a calculating jerk that my muse may be, I'm actually a really chill individual with a lot of scientific evidence to back up my beliefs. If it's untrue, I'm not going to believe it. If I'm wrong, I'm willing to change myself. If you have a problem, I will talk through it and, if the problem is with me then I'll, compromise. I'm not here to be a dick, I will be honest, however. But if you're looking for advice or someone to listen to you, I'll do my best to provide what neutral voice I have backed up with understanding and science and psychology to give you the best personalized advice I can.

One and only warning... There will be messed up NSFW things on this blog. Sex, cursing, death, dark themes... I tend my best to not shy away from those things because they're a cruel reality and I'd rather face them than lie and pretend they're not there. There is absolutely no way to make them stop. Does that mean we should just stop caring? No. But we should open up conversation and challenge ourselves to explore what we don't like so we can better understand and counteract. I enjoy things that make me think. I enjoy logic. If it makes me uncomfortable, I want to know why and what can I do.

I will not RP mature themes with minors. This is absolutely nothing personal. I was watching horror movies before I could walk or talk and I had sex when I was a teen too... But I'm an adult and it's not my place to work those things out with you. I recommend looking up scientific resources to learn more and exploring in a safe, healthy fashion. If you're of age and want to RP mature themes with age 16 and up, that's fine... But underage muns will have to wait until they're of age in order to RP with me.

That said, realize I am not interested in dating anyone. I am not looking for anything more than platonic relationships here. I have a mate and we've been together happily for years. I'm not a people person, I'm a loner, and I'd rather just have some fun exploring minds than try to flirt. I have no interest in flirting, it actually makes me incredibly uncomfortable... so just don't.

I will not randomly drop threads without discussing with you first. Not unless we come across an issue and you and I are no longer communicating. Then, I will drop them in an effort to leave you be. My replies may be slow, however, because I live in the middle of nowhere, have a life outside of the internet, my internet is incredibly slow, I'm mentally ill, and sometimes I just take a while to respond.

I am AU/Crossover/OC friendly. For OCs or Crossovers into other fandoms, please toss me some information because I will generally have no idea what is going on. My memory is not the best and so it's just nice to have something to work with. I may not always know the fandom, but I'll still work with you because I do enjoy challenges and learning.

I do not generally have icons or gifs that are directly related to te character, but if I find one I may use it. Otherwise, I am an artist and so I may draw/doodle here and there, you are not required to do any of these things, however.

If I reblog a meme or starter post, feel free to reblog and/or send some in. I don't really care/mind either way but I'm pretty chill so feel free to ask whatever.

If you want to do a ton of threads with me but with the same muse or different muses? Feel free. I don't care. I really am a laid-back person so no worries.

My muse is a top, everything-sexual, and Alpha in ABO universes. I will write sexual but if you don't want to, just let me know and we can skip ahead or even just do a platonic thing. I'm not picky.

My Michael is generally NOT a good person though he CAN have a good side. This is to explore my understanding of certain things and have a 3D character to work with. There are things he can and will do that I do NOT agree with (or even am uncomfortable with myself) because it helps me to process and understand in a way I get.

I am mentally ill, I'm not a robot... sometimes I fall behind on things. Just be patient. I'm not gonna bite... and if our RP touches on something that upsets me, I may just be in a spot where I can't handle it at the moment. I will still want to RP it, but some triggers I can only handle at certain times... Like child abuse... I was heavily abused growing up so victim-blaming/gas-lighting and child abuse really hit me hard and I will have flashbacks if I see it on television or real life... and there are times I simply can't think about it... So it is nothing personal, I WILL continue the RP, but sometimes I need to step back a second to remind myself I'm not there and I don't have to protect right now.

I generally do not move asks to a new thread because I am lazy and often forget what I'm doing. I have to write things down to keep track... however, if you want to move it, just tag me so I can track it.

Personal blogs feel free to follow me but don't expect a follow back all the time. Let me know the side blog that you RP with and I'll follow you there.

This is my main blog. I have a side blog for Mike, however, which will be much more tame in comparison... hopefully.

If there is anything you have a problem with... let me know. If you don't want to RP with me, that's fine. I'm not going to stalk you down. If you want to drop RPing with me, let me know and I'll remove the RPs from my tracker and leave you be. I don't really care, you have every right to choose not to interact with me.

If you want to RP but something is bothering you or the RP is taking a turn you don't want to deal with? Let me know. We can avoid topics like the plague, if you want. It doesn't bother me. Same with if we don't agree on something... I can tag that topic so you don't have to read when I post it and I can avoid talking about it with/to you. I have no problem with this.

However, if you want to argue and try to convince me I'm some spawn of Satan and this and that? I'm going to ignore you. I don't care. We will not change each other's minds and I don't have the energy or the care to argue with you. I'm not going to hunt you down, I'm not going to stalk you, I'm not going to bother you. I will avoid you because I just don't care. I study before I speak and if you're going to speak based on feelings instead of facts from trained professionals? I want no part of it. I don't care.

In real life, I don't really do much. I live in the middle of nowhere with my mate and my animals. I spend my time taking care of my mental health and interacting with my animals because I'm not a people person. I like to have deep debates with my mate that makes me really think and question things in order to challenge myself. I love science and studying. I don't generally interact with people in real life because I don't like people. I'm not really a super sexual person. I'm angry but not violent. I prefer to just chill and learn and ask questions.

I have no interest in arguing with people. Too much effort with no reward. If you want to hate me? By all means, go ahead, I don't care. Just do it on your time. Don't waste my time. The time you spend arguing? I could be doing something productive like building toys for my rats or working outside in the garden. I don't really care. My caring goes as far as... This makes you uncomfortable? Okay, let me know and I'll tag it. Then it's on you to block that tag. That's it.

I'm not here to fight. I'm here to open up discussion within myself and challenge myself to new trains of thought. My morals lay at my rights end where yours begin and vice versa. I will not seek you out to cause harm. But if you seek me out and cause yourself harm, that's on you.

I feel like this is dragging on too long... So I'll just end it at that. Those are my rules/explanation. If you need anything to talk about, just DM me and we'll figure out if I need to add anything. I'm not actually an asshole, I just suck at communication and don't care to argue it out with every one.