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brabblesblog · 5 months

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Ch 11: I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou only makest me dwell in safety.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Astarion and Ban finally strike that balance in their relationship. But however long will this newfound happiness last?

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

Astarion looked over at her at dinner, a smile pasted on his face in a feeble attempt to hide his inner turmoil. These past two tendays, Ban had taken to coming over during the day then leaving for the night. It was an extraordinary thing; he could feel her slowly warming up to him again. Their days had been spent with the same scheming they’d always done, with some modifications to their approach. The Ascendant had been making attempts to increase her public involvement, including her in the negotiations, making sure that she was heard and that the patriars and businessmen who dealt with them knew to pay her respect - if not quite to the same degree they afforded him.

In between these meetings had been passionate trysts, which had also improved; gone was the coldness that had permeated their bedroom for so long. She was there, with him in mind as well as body, and Astarion had almost forgotten how that felt, save for in the depths of his dreams and memories. Their first few times in the wilds had been contaminated by his own less-than-altruistic intentions… and then there’d been those desperate, painful nights after the rite and after the Absolute’s defeat. The only times that had felt anywhere close to these two tendays were those evenings in between, beneath the cloak of the Shadow-Cursed lands, when their relationship had held so much promise.

As a result Astarion found a spring in his step; allowing himself to enjoy moments as they came. He felt less and less need to keep his walls up, his desire to cement his progress at winning Ban back making it easier and easier. For the first time in his life things had begun sliding into place.

He could reach for her, and she’d be there - in meetings, in the streets, in the halls of their home, just as happy to be with him as he was with her. These days had felt like a dream, and he’d often mulled over telling her that it almost made everything else he’d suffered these past two centuries worth it. There was still a way to go yet; her trust in him wasn’t anywhere near absolute, but he thought they were on the right path.

But then there had been the nights.

Tossing and turning, unable to fall into trance. Hours of staring up at the ceiling, begging for rest to finally take him. Nightmares - of Cazador, of Ban’s cold gaze, of waking up that day after the reunion to find her gone.

He’d taken to sleeping on the floor again, carefully hiding the blanket and pillows away at dawn so she wouldn’t see them when she came over; he messed up the sheets and laid on the bed to make it seem like he’d slept there. The floor was, in some ways, a comfortable and familiar presence - reminiscent of those nights inside his tent, those nights when they were actually happy.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” The question slipped out of his mouth before he could rein it in. He quickly took a sip of his wine, hiding most of his face with the goblet.

Ban turned to him, an amused glint in her eyes. “Can’t get enough? I’m not surprised,” she drawled, in a sardonic approximation of his voice.

He rolled his eyes at her over the rim of his goblet, then downed the rest of the wine.

“And if I can’t? If I want you by my side forever - would that be so wrong?”

“No,” she said immediately, still smiling. She thought he was merely playing, and he was glad of it. She needn’t know how miserable these nights had been for him.

“Still. Only for tonight,” she added, not wanting to get his hopes up.

If this hurt him, he hid it exceedingly well, smiling at her in apparent delight.

She tried to smile back, but Astarion noticed something off. Ban’s smiles were a little different than before, he was well aware. The trials of their relationship had all but ensured that. But there was something more to this particular smile.

It didn't reach her eyes.

“There’s something wrong, isn’t there?” He scanned her face, eyes darting over her features, and try as she might to hide away, he could tell he was right.

“You’re not happy. Not really.” It wasn’t a question. He felt the urge to snap, to ask her exactly what more he could be doing for her, but he tamped it down. The feeling, however, brought up the rather unpleasant sensation of his heart being held hostage to her whims yet again.

“What’s wrong?” His tone was colder than he would like. He tried again. “Ban. Please.”

She averted her gaze, fixing her eyes on his chin. “I thought I missed him. I missed what we had,” she finally said, “And more and more often now, I can see him. He’s you. He’s always been you.” There was a pregnant pause as she pondered what she was actually trying to say.

“But then if you’re him… then he’s not really who I thought he was, was he? He hurt me too, because you hurt me.”

Ban was just now realizing she’d put her Astarion on a pedestal, her earlier memories of him being idealized by comparisons to when he’d been at his worst. But he had always been imperfect, at times callous, even cruel. She’d ignored that in her desire to return him to who he’d been.

Her words felt like they were strangling the life from him; his chest tightened and his first instinct was to hurt her back. But it only crossed his mind for an instant, and he shook his head to clear it.

“So.” He thought over her words. “You’re only here because I’m the closest thing to what you thought I was. You’re settling.” The realization wasn’t new; he’d always known. But to finally have it confirmed when he thought so much progress had been made felt like he was being ripped to pieces.

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not settling. I’m just mourning.”

He bristled at that, but mostly kept it out of his voice. “Mourning what? Because I thought we established that I’m not two separate people, Ban.” His tone shifted a little at the end as he couldn’t quite keep the exasperation out of his voice. He waved a hand in frustration. “This is me. You’re grieving something that does not exist - has never existed.”

“I’m just mourning that we didn’t end up the way I thought we would. That you’re not really who I thought you were, even at the start. I’ve always been blinded by your charm,” she admitted, “I bought every lie you threw my way, and with every layer I uncovered, there were more.”

She had been sitting on this for a while, unsure how to bring it up without infuriating him. But she needed to say it before committing herself further.

“I accept you. All of you. Your light, your dark. I see you - I see kindness and goodness, but I also see selfishness. Ruthlessness. I can’t help but be sad about it at times. Is that fair?”

She watched as his expression changed from indignation to one that he rarely showed unrestrained, even with her - anguish.

“It’s fair,” he concurred. He reached out to take her hand, squeezing it.

“Ban.” He weighed the words he was about to say, then steeled his nerves. “I’m not… good. Never was. But I do try, at least when it comes to you.”

Because she deserved it. Because if she left him again, there would honestly be nothing else to live for. But that didn't mean it didn’t hurt - that the days since his ascension hadn’t killed him as much as they had her.

“Can I show you something, love?” he asked. He didn’t trust his voice to carry the weight of what he wanted to convey. He could feel her pain, comprehend it, and all he wanted was for her to see his.

He tentatively opened his mind to hers; when she allowed him in, he slowly poured his feelings into her - the indignation, the terror, the ache - the shame.

He let her see the overwhelming feeling of power, of being free for the first time, so intense that it had almost eclipsed everything else. How it all soured, burned away by the pain in the memories of her withdrawing from him and finally leaving him that flashed over their shared connection. Finally, there was that gaping, yawning chasm of his heart, a loneliness that had only recently started to abate and that threatened to overwhelm him every time he was parted from her, opening whenever she departed like a festering wound.

She gasped a little at the flood of emotions, then quickly severed the bond. Ban took a nervous drink from her goblet. She’d been so consumed by her own heartache that she had missed his.

“Astarion, I-”

He cut her off, shaking his head. The hand on hers squeezed tightly.

“Don’t say anything. I don’t deserve it.” The Ascendant gave himself a moment to calm. Were he a more selfless person, this would be where he would offer her a chance to leave. As it was, he was completely silent, eyes downcast, staring at his half-eaten dinner.

But even if he didn’t say anything, Ban knew. All she had to do was ask, and he would give it. He would give her anything.

“I’ll stay over tonight,” she repeated, not knowing what more to say.

Ban yawned, fluffing her pillow before settling down. She was exhausted, the day having been full of the most mundane meetings they’d had in a while. Astarion followed suit, lying on his back beside her, a gap between them.

She watched as he stared up at the ceiling and exhaled, closing his eyes. He was positioned in such a way that it made her think he was about to go into trance, but the way his bare chest rose and fell told her he was anything but close to repose. She let her hand rise, hovering over his chest for the briefest of moments, then lowered it to make contact. Her palm gently pressed against the center of his chest; she could feel his rapid breathing and his racing heart.

He opened his eyes at her touch, the tension easing somewhat as he felt her hand on him.

“Apologies,” he said, swallowing. His voice came out rough. “I’m not used to having someone around.” A poor excuse, considering they’d been sleeping in a shared space ever since he’d confessed his feelings in the Shadow-Cursed lands. At the shake of her head and her disbelieving gaze, he exhaled. Sometimes he wished she wasn’t so perceptive.

“Just tell me. There’s no one here.” Ban scooted closer, pressing against his body, slipping the hand on his chest down to his waist. Her head rested on his shoulder.

“No more walls, Astarion. Not with me.” She had an idea of what the problem was, but she needed it to be his choice to open up.

He bit his lip, briefly considering brushing her off, a reaction borne of habit. He pushed the idea away. “I don’t… rest very well,” he admitted, “Not since you left.” Her hand over his stomach felt nice, but it didn’t completely ease the tightness he felt all over his body.

“And so you’ve come to dread falling into trance.”

He nodded at her words, eyes finally meeting hers.

“What do you usually do to relieve stress?” she asked, her fingers tracing over the planes of his abdomen, moving a little lower to trace a hipbone.

“Before we started talking again, I slept with others, as you know,” he began carefully, “I never finished with them. I couldn’t. I would send them away and try to take care of myself. Now that you come see me daily,” he smiled, aiming for seductive but ending up more sweet than anything, “It’s… easier to get my needs met, but I still occasionally do touch myself to just-”

He waved a hand awkwardly, gesturing at himself. To not think. To just be.

“I can help,” Ban offered, her hand stilling on his hip, awaiting permission. Before he could say anything, she continued. “Just this, nothing more. You can come, and then you can rest.” Let me help you.

Astarion considered this for a moment. He wanted nothing more, and yet his mind resisted, resisted the idea that it would be all for him. But he looked to her and saw her eagerness to touch him, to help, and his reluctance faded in the face of it.

Swallowing, he nodded.

Ban smiled, and let her hand drift lower, very gently touching him. She found him soft, delicately wrapping her fingers around his length.

He took a deep breath, eyes locking onto her, a mix of arousal and apprehension evident in his gaze.

“Relax,” she urged, “Close your eyes, and just focus on how this feels.”

With that, the Ascendant, the most powerful vampire in the realms, let his eyes fall shut and surrendered himself to his beloved.

The feeling was delicious. He could feel her hand caressing him from base to tip, his cock rapidly hardening under her touch. He felt a bead of moisture form on the tip; she quickly swiped it with her thumb to spread it, sending shivers through him.

“You’re perfect,” she whispered, kissing her way down his chest. Her lips captured his nipple, suckling, and the sensation made him buck. A low whine escaped his lips at the praise, his cock throbbing in her grasp, his arousal only growing.

Ban took it slow, her strokes soft and almost frustratingly unhurried. Astarion tried to roll his hips, seeking more friction, but she touched his hip with her other hand, a gentle admonishment that had him stilling immediately.

The feeling of her mouth suckling at his nipple and of her hand wrapped around his cock were all that filled his mind. There was no worry about what terrors the night would bring, no worry about what tomorrow may hold. No fear that he’d wake to find her gone again. His cock pulsed almost painfully in Ban’s grasp, wanting, needing more.

“Please,” he whispered, keeping his eyes shut. He no longer found shame in begging when it came to her, knowing she would take care of him and give him what he needed. In response to his plea, Ban’s hand sped up, twisting in the way she knew he liked with every pass. Astarion parted his lips, panting quietly.

His legs spread further apart, thighs twitching and toes beginning to curl. His breathing was a loud, needy thing; his hand rose to cup the back of Ban’s head, gently nudging her off of his nipple and towards the center of his chest.

“I’m close,” he said softly. His eyes opened, fixing her with a gaze so intense she could almost physically feel it.

“Listen, please. To my heart.” She hadn’t done it in so long, laid her head against his center and the memory of when she had last done it without prompting sent a wave of pain through him.

“It’s yours, Ban. It- I need you,” he added.

The last time she had laid on him like that unasked was the night before they’d confronted Cazador. She had held him close the entire time, and had fallen asleep to the slow thrum of his then-undead heart as they’d rested in their shared bed at the Elfsong.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” she said, nuzzling into his chest. “I’ve got you.”

He asked her what she thought, what her ideas were regarding the rite. But she was cagey and rather noncommittal.

“All I ever want is your happiness, Astarion. Whatever shape or form it might take.” She was idly drawing circles on his chest with her index finger, her head rising and falling with his breaths.

“You said we shouldn’t condemn my poor brothers and sisters,” he countered. It irked him to hear her say it, but he’d brought it up in the spirit of honesty.

“Because that ought to be what I want to say.”

“Then what do you really want to say?”

“As long as you’re happy, I couldn’t care less.”

Words she’d ultimately regretted, true, but she’d meant them without reservations at the time.

She had always put him first. Above all - above the gods, above her own admittedly limited morality. Above herself.

Everything had fallen apart after that.

Astarion’s request brought a small smile to her lips. “I’d be more than happy to.” She settled her ear over his sternum, and the speed of his rapidly-beating heart took her by surprise.

The heart that beat under her ear now was the very same heart, but its rhythm was entirely different. It galloped now, as a living heart would. It didn’t faze her - in fact, it sent a small shiver of lust through her, realizing just how much he was enjoying this. Enjoying her. She could feel the vein in his cock pulsing with every heartbeat; she positioned her thumb to feel it better. She increased the pace, his cock hot and throbbing, silky skin pleasant in her hand.

Astarion had fallen mostly silent, small whimpers and gasps the only noises emanating from him. He just existed, just felt. His toes curled tighter, and he shook his head from side to side, biting his lip as he felt his orgasm approach.

“Ban-” It was all the warning he could give before he erupted, his cock throbbing with each spurt of hot, glistening come. His mouth opened in a wordless snarl of pleasure, his back arching. He spilled all over his abdomen and her hand, shuddering weakly, his eyes still shut.

Ban stroked him through his climax, then stilled, her hand remaining wrapped around him as he came down from his high. Her head, pressed against his chest the entire time by his hand, stayed over his heart, hearing it race ever faster as he orgasmed, then slowly settle as he recovered.

He opened his eyes to see her peeking up at his face, and he smiled, breathless. He’d had so many moments with her, but it was almost as if he was seeing her for the first time.

“I love you,” he murmured, and he meant it with every fiber of his being. He had refrained from saying it ever since they had begun trying to repair their relationship, knowing that those words had been cheapened when he’d first ascended.

He’d used them to manipulate her, and he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t use them again until he truly meant it.

Ban smiled shyly, letting go of his softening cock. She shifted, pressing a gentle kiss over his chest. She didn’t answer him, unsure if she was ready for him to hear that yet. But in her mind she thought it back. I love you too.

She’d never stopped loving him. She’d whispered it to him when she’d last slept over. She thought it to herself whenever they parted for the day.

Instead of saying anything, she sat up and cupped his cheek. He leaned heavily into the touch, his eyes beginning to droop, as if he wanted nothing more than to close them and rest.

“Let me clean you up, and then we can sleep.”

Ban left the bed to grab a fresh towel and wet it in the bathroom, then came back to clean him off. By the time she’d finished he was already in trance, his eyes closed and a small smile on his face.

She curled up next to him, took one last look at his peaceful expression, and closed her own eyes.

The next thing Ban heard was a loud, panicked shout.

“Let me go! No!”

It was his voice. Ban opened her eyes, and realized Astarion was thrashing in the bed, attempting to protect himself from something.

She’d seen him have nightmares before, but this one seemed particularly bad. She reached out, trying to grasp his shoulders. “Astarion? It’s okay. You’re okay.” As she moved closer, however, his clawed hands struck out desperately, scratching her face hard enough to draw blood.

“I said let me go!”

The smell of her blood hit his nose, and his eyes flew open. He’d recognize that bouquet anywhere, and it had snapped him out of his nightmare.

It took him a moment. He blinked, staring at her bloodied face, even as the cuts began to heal. His eyes widened as the realization set in. He had hurt her yet again, even as he had been trying so hard to be better. He had failed.

“Ban, I… I had a nightmare… and I didn’t…”

His voice trailed off, panic settling in. His hands cupped her face, trembling fingers tracing over the now-sealed cuts.

Gods, please. Don’t leave me. Not again.

She didn’t hesitate, covering his hands with her own. “It’s alright, Astarion. I know.” As if reading his mind, she placed a kiss over his forehead and murmured “I’m not leaving you,” again and again, until she could feel the tension melt from his body.

A small gasp broke the silence and he hugged her tightly, holding her close to his body, terrified that if he let go she would disappear.

“Swear it,” he said, and there was a hint of the Ascendant’s aggression there. But Ban knew it to be borne out of fear, knew he needed reassurance more than anything.

“I swear.” She contemplated her words for a moment, and then finally said what she’d been keeping to herself for so long.

“I love you, Astarion. I swear I’m staying.”

He met her gaze, drinking in her promise, drinking in her love. That ravenous hole in his heart felt full, for once, and he released the breath he’d been holding. He finally started to calm, and his lips found hers, capturing them in a kiss that didn’t indicate a need for sex, but was rather a gesture of love.

The kiss ended and he pulled his face away with a shy smile. “Thank you,” he managed, arms still holding her close. That was all he intended to say, at first.

But his mind raced ahead of him, and his next words spilled out before he could really think about them.

“Then come home, Ban.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and he averted his gaze, eyes wide and almost tearful. He was awaiting her rejection, his body tensing in anticipation of the blow.

Instead she brought a hand to his chin, turning it so he had to face her.

“Alright,” she said, nodding. “I’ll move back.”

They held each other, and fell into the warm embrace of rest in each other’s arms. There were so many ways this could have fallen apart, and yet here they were - broken souls finding a small semblance of peace in each other. For once there were no games, no manipulation. The masks were gone, and it was just them.

For however long this peace lasted, they were content.

#astarion #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #astarion fic #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x mc #ascended astarion x f!tav #astarion bg3 #ascended astarion x tav #astarion ascended #ascendant astarion #vampire ascendant #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic

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naazaif327 · 8 months

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This episode put sooo many things into place for me that I just hadn’t considered before! Like of course Grandma Ren would’ve told Ame about other witches, of course she would have taken her on missions and given her all of her contacts and allies, of course she would’ve have explained Ame’s future position as Witch of the World’s heart.

Like I knew that Ame was missing some info from Grandma Ren because of the curse in the first arc but I just assumed it would be about like a specific quest. But it truly makes so much sense that Ame wasn’t just doing chores in the cottage and learning a couple basic curses like Command for over a decade after Suvi and Eursulon left. Even without those memories she managed to handle difficult conversations and negotiations with Great Spirits like Orima and Great Mortals like Steel with endless patience and emotional intelligence, but obviously GR would have given her more formal education like this.

All the little glimpses in this episode of the wider world have made me SO so excited for what’s to come, so many little blank spaces filled with context this episode. Ame being part of a coven, each witch in the coven handling their own domain with Ame’s domain being humans, the world’s heart. Suvi’s complexes and need to achieve not just from being put into a highly academic institution that will drop you into obscurity (like Morrow) for failure, but also because she has been entrapped in academia while watching those around her (like her fwb this episode) going to war in the real world, the immense guilt and feelings of uselessness that might come with that. The citadel itself, and how it functions! There’s just so so much I’m so excited for in this arc as the world expands

#worlds beyond number #the wizard the witch and the wild one #wwwo #wwwo spoilers #wbn spoilers #wbn pod #suvirin kedberiket #ame the witch #suvi the wizard #wwwo ep 15

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adracat · 1 year

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GWitch ep 19 thoughts

Every episode is a kick in the teeth with candy boots. A sweet misery you've known like no other. This episode was no different and I relished today's destruction as Mio and Prospera take center stage

That's a loaded statement if I've ever seen one. Really enjoyed this brief intro segment. We get Guel's thoughts on Kenanji; uninspired and suspicious, which are a vast change from his once admiration of the man. Guel also seems surprisingly chill about returning to Earth, but cryptically comments he wants to check the situation there and aid in negotiations. I like how Mio and him have fallen into this friendly rapport after everything. We'd like to see him apologize formally ofc, but it's not necessary for Mio. She's focused on greater concerns than the petty school days of Asticassia

Meanwhile, Suletta is a wreck. She's completely fallen apart after her mother and sister dumped her in space like hot garbo. She can't even plaster on a smile and lie to herself any longer. Earth House just thinks she's upset about the break up, so she isn't confiding in anyone at all. Suletta.exe has stopped working :(

Hilariously, Counselor Secilia has decided to make Martin her servant after listening to his confessional. It's great they make a distinct parallel to Miorine here, with Martin explaining he thought the best way to protect Earth House was to give up Nika. The show is filled with instances of people taking away another person's agency in the misguided belief they're doing 'what's best'. So good!

Real Elan finally gets more dialogue and he makes an excellent point, for once. The quickest and dirtiest way into Benerit's graces would be to forcefully suppress the earthian protests. A gundam, let alone one like Aerial, is a powerful statement of supremacy after all. Shaddiq is convinced Miorine would never allow it, and he's partly right. She wouldn't if she was the one truly calling the shots.

Feng is so cool for a spook. She successfully preys upon Belmeria's cowardice and gains her begrudging compliance. Really enjoyed the dynamic here at this little tea party. It was almost like a date 😳 Love me two older women with some tension. Is this the newest gwitch ship to take flight?

I love how Mio recognized these are peaceful protesters immediately. It's another instance of her demonstrating empathy on a greater level than she once did. Her initial ignorant comments about Earthians in cour 1 seem a distant memory, and much of it has to do with her exposure to Earth House. If not for them and Suletta, her pov would be just as narrow as every other spacian's.

And it's off to a terrible start lmao. I think Mio expected an uphill battle but those are some steep demands. A worldwide ban on spacians is unfeasible but absolutely warranted considering everything the spacians have done. Mio doesn't quite know how to counter, and it's so funny Guel left her here without help after previously saying he doesn't trust her diplomacy skills. I doubt he'd be much help tbh, but I guess he trusts her more than he said? Which is, uh, somewhat appreciated? It's the thought that counts.

Sad widow moment. Norea grieving Sophie's death and expressing her fear of death explicitly has been a long time coming. 5lan bearing witness as the floodgates open and she reveals they share this core dread? God this hit so good. You can't help but feel for these kids. Nika continues to watch on in bafflement as the drama unfolds. When is she gonna leave this level of purgatory?? Only Okouchi knows...

OMG, I AM SLAIN. Defeated. This sad husk of a girlboss misses her (ex) wife so much. Normal people would just have a wallet photo or a locket, but she's reduced to watching this goofy ass promo wistfully. I would find it hilarious if it wasn't so sad. It does give her the strength to continue negotiations so that's neat

More importantly, it reminds her of GUND's ideals and the people who've banded together because of that dream; Earth House. She cleverly points out that fulfilling their demands would also mean removing earthians from space, but she won't because they're her partners at GUND-ARM. Her showing them the medical achievements they've already made together was smart and tips the scales in her favor

I keep saying I love Mio but I really do. She's inspired to grasp the presidency for her own goals, rather than just as a tool for Prospera. She found a path of peace in spite of everything against her. It's bittersweet to know, in a kinder world, this would be the end of her struggles. But Prospera won't be satisfied with peace.

This shot was gold. Suletta raiding the fridge like an unwashed raccoon is perfect on so many levels. We finally get unbound Suletta too. Ugh she looks so good 😭

LOOK AT HER!! Babygirl. She looks like such a sad scruffy mutt here. I love it 🥹 Adored Earth House supporting her in her hour of need and giving her a boost with goat milk too. Really cements the rebirth imagery they had in the last episode.

Martin decides to slink home too and reveals everything going on with Nika. This bit from Lilique says it all. There are times when you are left with only so many options. While you may not choose the objectively best path, you can only pick what YOU feel is best. Miorine, Martin, Aerial. Even Delling and Prospera (Perhaps DoF and Shaddiq as well) It fits all the way across the cast.

I didn't expect to get the Shaddiq real name drop from this shakedown, but I'll take it. Kenanji may be a cop with blood on his hands, but he's a keen one. We learned that 'Prince' is a longstanding nickname and it implicates Shaddiq wholly in the terrorist attacks. 'Whoopsie, all my nefarious plans undone by one kid's rambling!'

(I also think the implication was Shaddiq or Jeru Ogul rather, is the 'heir apparent' to Ochs Earth virtue of his dead family. Not entirely certain tbh)

Looks like Guel will be Asticassia bound next episode along with Kenanji. No idea why Kenanji had to tag along but I guess Mio has enough of an escort. Let's hope this detour leads to Suletta using the Schwarzette! Fingers crossed

You saw it here, everybody. Prospera shot first! I'll admit I didn't fully expect her to go this route but it makes sense. I anticipated her gaining Mio support somehow, but she just cut the BS and said let's do this dirty. Controlling Earthian artillery to mask her intentions and provide an excuse is devious and brilliant

Destroying DoF's secret stache of gundams even more so. She really cut Shaddiq's plan for a cold war at the knees and Guel/Kenanji are on track to expose his duplicity entirely. He'll be lucky to not be jailed let alone president of anything. It's amazing that everything works out for Prospera no matter how many risks she takes or gambles made. Lady Luck must love her nonsense as much as the audience

Cut back to Bel and Feng, their date did not end as well as I hoped. While Bel spilled some details about Quiet Zero, Prospera's second hunts her down and interrupts this powow. Can't risk QZ leaking to the corpo spooks after all. We did learn that SAL is not as unified or well intentioned as we might have thought. Their high council was revealed to be backing Ochs Earth of all corps. Feng seemed to be an outlier in yet another shady corpo-controlled faction. I'll miss her, but maybe she somehow escaped this dire situation? I won't hold my breath. RIP Feng, you were a real one!

Elan Prime seems so smug to be right, even if it means their horse in this race has some real competition. He really is a little shit just like 5lan. That MS shot though. Damn evocative. War journalists eat your heart out. It's visual reference too, I believe?

This is the funniest thing he could've said. Shaddiq is malding just like a pathetic incel. Remember when everyone thought he pulled mad game because he's surrounded by women? But the sad reality is he's the most maidenless person in the solar system. The best outcome tbh.

Beyond the laughs, this line speaks so much about how he views Miorine. He views her little better than a prize only he's deserving of; a 'pure' princess to match his crusading prince. He repeatedly disregards her agency, seen in episode 9 when he acts like Suletta controls Mio and here when he blames Guel for what's happening on Earth. He's such a salty little worm.

Finally, we're left with Suletta and Earth House as they react to the chaos. Suletta recognizes instantly Miorine's innocence and her mother's culpability. This was why Aerial sent her away. This was what everyone is trying to shield her from. It was a moment of clarity I hadn't expected, but a very welcome one. Hopefully, this means she'll be spurred into action now that Mio is in very real danger. Schwarzette time? We can dream~

That next episode is incredibly ominous though. End of Hope? Considering they have that promo where GUND-ARM/earth house are the ray of hope... yikes. Let's hope I'm just reading into things and it's not that grim

Edit* additional musings:

A segment was deleted somehow so here it is

Miorine... You know, I've seen people having a bit of schadenfreude at her expense. 'she's so stupid, ofc this happened!' - that flavor of criticism. My counter to this is what could she have realistically done? She was strong-armed into this agreement and manipulated onto Earth. She dared to imagine a peaceful solution based on ideals she slowly grew to believe wholeheartedly. This isn't her fault, much as she thinks otherwise. I can see her willfully remaining on earth to try and correct this atrocity. Girl needs a big hug from her wife ;-;

#g witch #g witch spoilers #miorine rembran #prospera mercury #suletta mercury #guel jeturk #shaddiq zenelli #elan ceres #elan 5 #norea du noc #gundam witch from mercury #gundam #thank you for the kick in the teeth

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letterstoear · 7 months

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If I may?

Notes: A letter from Rollo! Gn reader, fluff, Rollo x reader, after his stay at NRC he writes this letter to you asking to be his...

Don't forget to check out my shop and the Rollo bear!

Check out Rollo's bear here: Twisted Wonderland Bear

Greetings __,

Over the past few days during my stay here at Night Raven College, I find myself indebted to you. While I prefer to have not set foot here at all, I must thank you for your lovely hospitality during my stay. Throughout the time I spent with you it was beyond anything I had ever experienced. If only you hadn’t approached me, I would have stayed on my righteous path. Instead, I found myself consumed by you only to discover this was only temporary. If only I had played it safe, now that I know how it feels to be with you, I wish you left me as I was.

Then again to say I regret everything we had done together would be unlawful, I grew to enjoy your company. Even your overly familiar greetings brought a slight ring of joy to my ears, I’ll miss those greetings when I leave. For now, I suppose it’s best for me to savor my last remaining moments I have with you.

Before I leave, may I have the opportunity to dance once more with you. Like that dance we shared underneath the dusk of the moon, may I hold your hand again. If you could grant me this, it would be a wonderful memory for me to leave with. The say is up to you.

By any chance would you miss me too? Should I have been clear on my responses to you? Perhaps I could be clear as to my feelings about you.

_________, despite the fact I only stayed here for a short amount of time my curiosity about you has grown exponentially. Everything will be coming to an abrupt stop soon. While I understand in my head the end is inevitable, a small ring of sadness plays. Now that I’ve grown slightly fond of you, I would like to be your acquaintance.

Traveling between both institutions may be tricky to do daily, but I could work around it. I believe crafting a negotiation is presumably easy, so perhaps once a week or even once every two weeks. Exchanging letters would be better for us instead. I’ll be sure to write to you as well.

__________, please be sure to give this letter a timely response or do tell me when we meet later. I promise I’ll be there right on time. I also have a small token of thanks for everything as well. Till then ________.

Sincerely,

Rollo Flamme

#twst #twisted wonderland #rollo flamme #rollo flamm #rollo x reader #letter #fluff #romance #glorious masquerade #event #one of my shorter letters #I gotta write Rollo more

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valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn · 7 months

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There's things I am understand from Tony Stans when they write 'Steve mistake ',

1. They will using reason Steven choose bucky over tony

2. Steve hide / lie the fact about tony parents death

3. Steven is not read accord and not make negotiations about accord

4. Steve recruit clint, sama and wanda and make them in raft. So it's steve mistake

From the four point the third point is bothering me. I am not gonna lie I kind forget the detail civil war but, steve did and the only one that read accord. Also if I am not wrong Ross didn't give chance go steve and everyone to negotiations about accord at all, I meant he said avenegrs onel have three days accept or retired. I menat what kind f&** is that. They have no time to negotiations about accord at all

And Tony said the can make negotiations after they sign the paper, that not how work. You can't make negotiations after to signed the papers, the UN won't considered that they want control, you signed you follow what is inside

So I think it's was weord they blame steve no want negotiations at all. Because there's no time for that, also Steven considered the accord if they for innocent protection and not for government to controlling innocent peoples. So why they keep point that?

I think they need to come up with excuses, half-truths and lies because no matter how hard the Russos tried to paint both teams as equally right, Team Cap is the only one in the right.

To your first point, Steve is against the Accords way before Bucky is even in the picture.

This is something that not only the haters but many fans seem to forget: Not everything Steve does has to do with Bucky. He has a separate life and a mind of his own, and those Accords go against everything that makes him who he is.

To your second point, Steve had no way of knowing Bucky had murdered the Starks. Zola said this:

Zola: "For 70 years, HYDRA has been secretly feeding crises, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed." Natasha: "That's impossible. S.H.I.E.L.D. would've stopped you." Zola: "Accidents will happen."

And this was shown:

This required Steve to assume Bucky had been the only Winter Soldier at the hands of Hydra. He could have guessed but he didn't know for sure. And going to Stark to tell him "I found out your parents were murdered but I'm not sure of what happened", over 20 years after the fact is not exactly ideal. Not to mention Stark had hacked Shield's systems two years prior. He didn't exactly do a good job of digging there, and Steve and he weren't that close.

To your third point, whoever says that is lying. Steve is the only one shown reading the Accords:

My man has perfect memory. He knew very well those Accords were an abomination.

And to your last point, Sam, Clint and Wanda have agency and they knew what they were getting into before they went to the airport. Unlike Peter Parker who was lied to by Stark, Steve was very clear that he wanted his team to know who and why they were fighting, and the consequences of doing so. Even with a stranger like Scott:

They chose to follow Steve because they knew it was the right thing to do. Clint left his family, Wanda risked her life and her freedom, so did Scott, Bucky and Sam. All of them followed and did the right thing because they're heroes, it's what they do.

Ross knew very well what he was doing. As Secretary of State, not only did he keep the Accords under wraps until only three days before the UN meeting, he kept from the entire team that an Accord is not the same as a law and it was a constitutional violation to try and enforce it on the team and the citizens.

They had no time to negotiate. They would have needed to lawyer up and do everything in a short period of time: the meeting was in Vienna and they were in NYC, if you count the time it would have taken them to get there, the time they needed to find a lawyer they trusted to go through the whole thing and come up with a good enough case to stand up not only to the US Senate but the UN… yep, they had no time to do so. That was Ross' plan all along.

Stark telling Steve the Accords could be amended after he signed them was no more than an attempt at manipulation. There is something important to keep in mind here: Stark would NOT be affected by these Accords at all. As shown in the movie, he broke them when he flew to Siberia and nothing happened. Ross called him and he put him on hold, and nothing happened.

Stark is used to doing whatever the hell he wants (like basically telling the government to suck it when he refused to give them his suits. What happened to him? Nothing) and facing no consequences whatsoever. So in his mind, signing these papers means nothing, he can break them whenever he feels like it and he'll find a way to get away with it. For Steve and Wanda, the Accords were a direct violation of their civil rights. It's not the same.

Steve was never against accountability. The Accords were:

#team cap #steve rogers #anti tony stark #anti sokovia accords

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watermelonsloth · 2 months

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Itachi and the Uchiha Massacre

This might be one of the most controversial posts I’ll ever make.

I find myself very undecided about how I feel about Itachi’s role in the Uchiha massacre. It fills me with the same moral indecision and disgust of the trauma olympics (aka the comparing of “who had it worse”). Every time I try to come to a consensus, I immediately doubt my conclusion and question whether I’m giving Itachi too much of the benefit of the doubt or I’m not taking his circumstances into account enough. It’s like asking if him being a child outweighs him killing children. And that makes me uncomfortable.

On the one hand, he did something very very very bad. He killed an entire clan of people, including who knows how many innocent civilians and children. He then proceeded to psychologically torture his seven year old brother with the memories of him doing so. Prior to being met with this specific conundrum, I would’ve said without hesitation that this is a black-and-white situation with Itachi being solidly in the wrong. Even if he wasn’t the only perpetrator, he still would deserve much of the blame for being one of the executors of such an abhorrent act.

I cannot stress enough how terrible the massacre would’ve been in practice.

However, and this is where I might lose a few of you, as more information is revealed, one question nags at my entire fucking central nervous system. How much of a choice did Itachi really have?

To understand the full circumstances, first you have to understand that the context falls under two categories: who Itachi is (and his perspective) and what position he was in when he made the decision he did. First, who he is:

Itachi grew up in a militaristic village that normalizes violence, especially violence being used to solve problems.

This village has also normalized putting the village’s survival over oneself and one’s friends/family.

He was alive to see the very end of the third shinobi war and the nine tails attack, two events that have solidified his belief that war is the worst thing ever and should be prevented at all costs.

Hiruzen, Danzo, Kakashi, and Shisui encourage his belief that war should be avoided at any and all costs. Three of them are authority figures (see the Milgram experiment for why that’s relevant) and one of them is his first and only best friend.

He is a very introverted and closed off person. He’s so closed off that not even his immediate family can read him. Because of this, his inner circle is very small (meaning he has a very small support network).

He grew up with a strict, authoritarian father and entered the anbu at a young age, meaning he grew up being expected/pressured to obey those in positions of power without asking questions.

He’s an introvert who’s scared of conflict and keeps his head down.

Second, his actual position when he was told to kill his clan (I might be missing some, so feel free to add any others you remember.):

He was thirteen. That is a child in grade 8. That is the age of most genin.

Tensions between his family and village are implied to have been rising for a while and are now at the point that, for whatever reason, negotiation is deemed impossible.

Tensions are so high that if the village doesn’t act soon, the Uchiha’s coup will spark an all out civil war.

The Uchiha clan has little to no chance of winning the conflict and will likely have most (if not all) of its members killed in it. Plus, the conflict would’ve also resulted in many casualties on Konoha’s side as well, including civilians, children, and shinobi who had nothing to do with what was happening.

Tensions between him and his father are extremely high as well with the two of them being implied to regularly argue.

His best friend, possibly only friend, died by jumping off of a cliff in front of him after giving him one of his eyes and left the responsibility of handling the entire situation to him.

He’s being suspected for the murder of said best friend (and was flat out accused of it in front of his younger brother by three adult police officers) and is suspected as being more loyal to the village than to his clan, making him even more of an outcast to his clan.

He's aware that his best friend was attacked and mutilated by Danzo, one of the village leaders and his superior. If he wants any action taken against Danzo, he’ll have to fight a solo, uphill battle against all of the village leaders and risk losing all sway over the Uchiha situation (which would still be a ticking time bomb) in the process.

If he doesn’t want to fight a two sided war or lose what little power he has in the situation, his safest option is to follow orders while pushing for a plan where casualties are minimized.

Did Itachi have other options? Yes, I’m not gonna pretend that genocide was Itachi’s only choice. But a lot of people seem to forget how difficult or flawed a lot of his alternatives would have actually been in practice.

For example, I’ve seen a lot of people throw around the idea of Itachi just grabbing Sasuke and leaving the village. First of all, the massacre still would’ve happened, Itachi and Sasuke just wouldn’t have been there for it. Second, Itachi would’ve had to remove Sasuke from the village without being caught by the village or the Uchiha clan when he was under the scrutiny of both. Itachi is a good shinobi, but I don’t know if he’s that good. Third, how would he even get Sasuke to go along with him? Itachi may not have been close to his clan, but Sasuke loved his clan. Yes, Sasuke also loved Itachi, but it’s a pretty big stretch to say that seven-year-old Sasuke would’ve just gone along with it, especially when he wouldn’t have been able to understand the true scale of the situation. (Itachi would pretty much have to kidnap Sasuke for this plan to work.) Fourth (and similarly), people don’t tend to like uprooting their entire lives to leave the home they grew up in, even in emergency situations or when it’s the objectively better/safer option. Itachi and Sasuke, who were both raised to be “lay down their lives” loyal to their home, would’ve been especially averse to this idea. Fifth, even if they got over all of that and got out of the village, Itachi would have to raise his younger brother alone at thirteen years old while being on the run from a world power with no protection in a world where they’re at risk of being killed or getting the attention of creeps like Orochimaru simply for having kekkei genkai. It’s not like Itachi had outside contacts (beside Obito but Obito would not have helped them even if Itachi trusted him enough to trust Sasuke’s life to him) or there was a benevolent nation to take them in. Even if they managed to one day settle into a peaceful life, it would’ve taken years of fighting to survive before they’d have gotten there. Cool fanfic idea, but making Itachi slightly more innocent isn’t a solution.

The idea that Itachi should’ve just told the Uchiha clan what was going on and got help from them is similarly short sighted. The Uchiha clan were the victims in this situation, but they weren’t perfect angels either. Itachi was not close to, or particularly well liked by, his clan. Save for Shisui (who is theoretically dead in this scenario) and Sasuke, he had no emotional connection to the clan, only vague respect and a waning sense of responsibility towards it. And even if he did go to them, Itachi telling them what was happening would’ve just sparked a civil war, the one thing Itachi was desperate to avoid and the thing that would’ve gotten them all killed.

So…

What was the point of all this?

I’ll admit that I hoped typing out my thoughts would somehow end in me settling on an opinion, but right now I’m still just as undecided and significantly more depressed. Because, like, it’s just a depressing, shitty situation where there were victims and perpetrators and Itachi who just so happened to be both. Maybe trying to ask if Itachi is either “good” or “evil” is asking the wrong question. Maybe the entire discussion about how moral Itachi is as a person or all of the other choices he could’ve made is missing the point.

#itachi uchiha #the Itachi morality conundrum #this should replace the trolly problem because OH MY GOD-#a looooong #rambling #i wrote this over the course of two days #naruto shippuden #naruto #the Uchiha massacre #the uchiha clan #discussing the morality within Naruto is exhausting #naruto analysis #character analysis #analysis #my stooff #I know that in the end Konoha is the greatest perpetrator and is to blame #But I thought ending this with that conclusion would be lame and miss the entire point of having this discussion #Though I guess how this ended isn’t all that much better

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books · 9 months

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Writing Workshop Week 3: Stories of a Place

Hello again, my very talented writers of tumblr! I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed reading your work. I’ve seen such stellar craft happening, and I’m eager to see where you’ll take this next prompt.

In week 1, we focused on a single object. In week 2, we attended to the objects in our environment. This week, we’re considering the environment as a whole—setting.

One of the reasons I’ve chosen this order specifically, small to large, is because setting can become overwhelming. But last week we already practiced it in our real environments by observing our surroundings, and putting those details into our work. Setting is not as huge and amorphous as it may seem—when it comes down to it, setting is the interaction between character and place. Notice I didn’t say that setting is the place itself, and that’s because a place is meaningless without grounding it in the personal stakes of a character. It’s like walking around a grocery store and not putting anything in your cart. A setting only exists to hold its contents.

Setting can refer to the largest and smallest of places: universe, galaxy, planet, continent, country, city, home, bedroom, pillow fort. Setting can also refer to time: millennium, century, decade, year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second.

In writing, not all of these things have to be defined, nor should they. The difficulty in setting is the negotiation between our lived reality—in which we have all of this information at all times—and the restrictive nature of writing, in which we not only control all these variables, but we also have to organize and convey them. In reality, events can occur simultaneously. You can drop a plate at the same time you get a text message. But in writing, even if those things happen at the same time in the lived reality of your character, you have to convey the plate dropping and then the phone vibrating in consecutive sentences, linked usually by the word “simultaneously.” Your reader then retroactively crafts those moments happening at once in their memory, but there is a brief moment between those two details where the reader knows the plate has dropped but not that the phone will vibrate. Just as a film is restricted to the width of a camera’s lens, writing is restricted to the sentence. As immersive as writing can be, it is still always a constructed thing.

When it comes to setting, you not only have control over all these details, you also have to figure out the order of information those details are conveyed. Which brings me to…

Decision Fatigue

One of the reasons people think fanfiction is “easier” than original fiction is because there are fewer decisions to make. You have an established universe to play in and so you don’t have to pull up a name generator to figure out the name of your protagonist, or however you make those choices. But that’s not true—fanfiction requires a different type of decision-making and therefore a different (but equally difficult) skill set of creative thinking. The analogy I like to use is a playground versus a beach. On a playground, the equipment is already there, but you can use it however you want. On a beach, you have to decide what to bring with you. One is not inherently better than the other. It’s all play.

I say this because I’ve coached a lot of writers who are transitioning from fanfiction to original fiction. It can be jarring to go from the playground to a beach. And so I see a lot of writers succumb to decision fatigue—the exhaustion of creativity. You have to decide what kind of car your character drives, how old they are, where they live, what they do for a living, their relationships, the conflicts of those relationships, their educational background, and so on. Creativity is making decisions. And that’s why it’s hard.

Relevance

I would argue that setting is the most difficult series of decisions to make. Our entry into a new piece is generally a character, a premise, or an image. Or, as we say on Tumblr, we put a guy in situations. That guy’s environment will affect him and his situations, because that environment will either help or hinder him in some way. A meet-cute, for example, is nearly always related to setting.

I remember doing my first generative workshop on setting. It sent me into a spiral I couldn’t climb out of for four years. The spiral was this:

All narratives, even narrative poems (as opposed to lyrical), exist in a time and place, and the author has control of those factors. The more specific those details are, the stronger the story becomes. The specificity of those details is rendered in imagery. Ergo, I have to develop my imagery.

And now I’m going to tell you the result of that line of thinking so you don’t fall into the same trap: I wrote a totally unpublishable novel. It was too long and not very interesting, and both of those things happened because I was more dedicated to developing my setting than my story.

Although that was great practice, it kind of sucked to spend an entire year working on something only to put it in a drawer and never look at it again. What pulled me out of the spiral was dedicating myself to narration—I decided I was only obligated to describe that which my narrator observed. And because I didn’t want to bother with setting anymore, I made a character who was totally oblivious.

(We’ll be looking at narration next week.)

I began to view the setting through a character rather than around a character. My narrator was narrow-focused and obsessive, so I was only obligated to write that which came into the one-lane bridge of her attention. In other words, I only wrote what was relevant to her. And the only thing that was relevant to her was the object of her fixation.

The big caveat here is that a story isn’t always obligated to its narrator. That’s a choice I’ve made for my own work, because I’m interested in narrators and the development of voice. My prose will never be beautiful or floral. I’ll never have the patience to lovingly describe what it’s like to live in Ohio. I’ll probably only ever write a character who has driven past the HELL IS REAL sign a dozen times and who maybe has strong opinions on corn. It’s the best way I can find to help me avoid the decision fatigue of building an entire world.

Prompt time!

For this week’s activity, I’d like you to think of a place you really love. This can be your home town or the house where you grew up or wherever has brought you joy. (Remember: love inspires.)

Next, I’d like you to write 3 facts of public information and 3 facts of private information about that place.

Public information is anything that can be found, either by researching the place or visiting it. This could be factual—population, square footage, location. It could also involve community knowledge, like legends, cultures, or customs. It can also include major historical events. If you were to show this place to a total stranger, what would you tell them about it? This part may require some research.

Private information is what can’t be known by anyone but you (and maybe the people who were there with you). This includes memories you have of the place, secrets, unknown histories; anything that can’t be understood unless you have intimate knowledge of the place or lived there during a particular moment.

For example, when I taught in the South, I had a lot of students who had lived through Hurricane Katrina. They were all young children at the time. When I had them do this activity, many of them chose to list facts that anyone could find about New Orleans in August of 2005—that there were over 1300 casualties, that Katrina was a Category 5 hurricane. They also shared things that no one else could know, about their families housing total strangers whose homes were destroyed, about living for days or even weeks without electricity. About why their parents chose to stay rather than leave, or leave rather than stay. About loved ones who had died.

Once you have your 6 things, I’d like you to write a piece based on them. Here are some ways you can approach it:

If you want to write nonfiction, tell the story of one of your private pieces of information.

If you want to write fiction, write a story using at least one of the public pieces of information. For example, you can tell the story of a legend, or make a legend up. Or you could do something similar to what we did last week, where you take those three pieces of information and weave them in.

If you want to write a poem, try to capture the sense of place by using one or more pieces of information, either private or public.

If you want to write something experimental, write a story about a piece of private information from the perspective of the place itself.

You don’t have to share your 6 things (unless you want to). While you’re writing, note the details that emerge naturally while drafting, what becomes relevant to the story versus what doesn’t. Like our previous prompts, allow yourself to lean into associative thinking and make connections with your memories.

Questions? Ask ‘em here before EOD Tuesday so @bettsfic can answer them on Wednesday. And remember to tag your work #tumblr writing workshop with betts if you want her to read your work and possibly feature it on Friday!

And, for those just joining us: @bettsfic is running a writing workshop on @books this month. Want to know more? Start here.

#tumblr writing workshop with betts #week 3: stories of a place #writers' room #writeblr #writing setting #writers on tumblr #writing advice #long post #long text post

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shootingstarpilot · 1 year

Note

Do you have any recommendations for fics where Qui-Gon is a good master/dad to Obi-Wan?

Oh, boy, do I!

Author-wise, I really cannot recommend @the-last-kenobi enough. Definitely the best source for some good master/dad Qui-Gon- they were actually the first SW author I started following! You can find their works here.

The vast majority of the works in my bookmarks under the Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi relationship tag have Qui-Gon being a good master/dad to Obi-Wan, so if you'd like, you can browse those here. Some of my absolute all-time favorites are listed below, but I love everything in my bookmarks!

The Melida/Daan Probation series by @trysomecats has some really good sweet interactions between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon as they try to rebuild their relationship.

Memory's Betrayal by @maychorian gets me every time. A oneshot with amnesia and Qui-Gon realizing he has the opportunity to do better.

The Recovery series by @firondoiel, @happygiraffe, @luvvewan, and @sanerontheinside is a masterpiece of long-term recovery from a severe injury- both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon survive Naboo, but Obi-Wan is left severely injured by Darth Maul. An achingly tender read.

I thought I fought this war alone by @stonefreeak, I just-- man, I have no words. It's a oneshot. Go read it. You won't regret it.

the massive machinery of hope by Kilbothtwins (I don't know if they have a Tumblr account) is an absolutely magnificent series- at the end of the war with the Empire, Obi-Wan wakes up in his twelve-year-old body and decides to be an utter BAMF about it. Qui-Gon is not 100% sure what's going on, but he trusts his Padawan and is enjoying himself immensely.

Invitation by @antheiasilva is one of my FAVORITES-- during an awkward Lineage dinner, Obi-Wan finds out that Qui-Gon had a shitty Padawanship and rallies magnificently in his defense. Sweet, well-written, and provides a wonderful glimpse of the budding Negotiator.

Patrilineal by @markwatnae is an absolute delight- with bonus Codywan! General Jinn is dispatched to join the 212th, and Cody can't quite figure out the relationship between him and his General.

I can't imagine that you haven't heard of the Mission Report series by @smilebackwards yet, but just in case, I'll add it here! A brilliantly done series that gets me every time-- Qui-Gon survives Naboo and finally manages to start repairing his Padawan's shredded self-esteem. No lie, this makes me so emotional every time- they care so much about each other and I would die for them both.

Oh, my gosh, and also everything by @deniigi. My favorites are:

Owl Dad Qui-Gon in pines and needles (the follow-up to take flight is equally good, but only mentions Qui-Gon in passing).

poisoned chalice is EXCELLENT for post-Melida/Daan Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon trying desperately to cope.

skipping stones has some fantastic lineage feelings-- Feemor is going absolutely feral over his new Padawan brother. There is a lot of bonding and I am having a lot of Feelings.

And to round it off- sunshine_lollipops_and (also do not know their tumblr) has been putting out some top-notch good dad!Qui-Gon content lately! Learning Curve is, quite frankly, an adorable mission fic, and Tales from Teatime is a series of oneshots that range from hilariously funny antics to heart-wrenching hurt/comfort- all of it equally well-written!

Feel free to add your own recommendations-- I'm sure I'll end up reblogging with more additions soon enough, but I wanted to get this out today!

#good jedi master qui-gon jinn #fic recs #i love their relationship so much your honor #everyone gimme more recs #qui-gon jinn #obi-wan kenobi #star wars

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freisende · 3 months

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Memories Selection: Checkmate Episode 5 - 孤独な玉座 (The Lonely Throne) English Translation - Ensemble Stars

Provided by Happy Elements, あんスタチャンネル on Youtube

Ensemble Stars Memories Selection: Checkmate 『チェックメイト』 Adapted from Ensemble Stars! Story: Checkmate Written by: 日日日 (Akira) English Translation: Freiya

*All copyrights of the stories, scene pictures and writings, all belong to Happy Elements. I only translated the scenes into English to help overseas fans understand the dialogues. I do not own any copyrights other than the English Translation*

——————————————

Izumi: You’re late, Leo-kun!

Izumi: It's basic to be on time, right? Don’t you lack the sense of being the leader?

Leo: Ahaha~! Sorry, sorry. You know… in truth, just now I was negotiating a bit with the unit we’re supposed to be facing off.

Eichi: Negotiate…?

Izumi: *Izumi takes a walk forward* …Now that I think about it, not even one of them has shown up yet, have they? Well, they don’t even have the will to do their activities from the start. So I thought they don’t intend to participate in the rehearsal, and will just go straight directly in the real live, though?

Leo: Hm. They’re really like that, huh? Recently, I have finally understood. Everyone, all of them, I thought they’re my lovely friends. But I wonder what they think? I was thinking; do they also think of me as a precious being, like Sena do? I was very curious about this as of late. That’s why the other day, I had Mama[1] help me negotiate, and I directly faced the former member of Chess regarding this one-on-one. I’m also a boy, so I’m worthless if I am always just being protected by Sena, right?

Izumi: *Izumi puts a confused expression while looking at Madara*

…What do you mean?

Madara: Hmm… let’s hear it directly from Leo himself, okay?

Izumi: …

*Everyone is silent and hear Leo’s explanation deeply*

Leo: …I went all around and asked everyone. I asked them, “What do you think of me? What am I to you?” They gave me various answers. But there is not much meaning in words. “A friend. A comrade, I love you”, you can say anything with your mouth, right?

That’s why I narrowed it to choices.

Izumi: …Choices?

Leo: Yup. Me, or the songs I composed. I made them choose. If they like me, regard me as a friend, and still want to be friends with me, I won’t let them use my songs anymore. But if they choose to be my enemies, I will let them use my songs just like always up to now. When I presented them with those choices, Sena, what do you think happened there?

Leo: Everyone, without any hint of hesitation, with smiling expression on their faces, they directly choose to be my enemies! Ahahahahahaha! Laughable, right, Sena? What they love isn’t me, but my songs! Well, that’s obvious though, because I’m a genius! The songs I made are great masterpieces! Ahahahaha, ahahaha! Hey, Sena, Tenshi, it was steeped in my mind that I was loved. I thought I had spent my youth well happily with these friendful comrades.

Leo: But, it was just me being mistaken by myself! Ahahahahaha, ahahahahahaha, ahahahaha, ahaha!

Izumi: Leo-kun, well…!

Leo: No, wait a moment, Sena! Hear me out! *Leo holds out his hand to Izumi* Starting this point is the climax masterpiece! I said just now that I was negotiating, right? I don’t want them to ruin and make a mess of the live that Sena and everyone else has been preparing well for, so I thought it would be best for them to just back off if they don’t want to do it!

***

–Flashback to the scene of Leo negotiating before–

Chess’ former member A: Don’t stand on today’s checkmate stage?

Leo: Yup. You would still get the pay. Not a bad deal, right?

Chess’ former member B: Okay~! I’ll ride that big negotiation deal.

Leo: …I see…

Chess’ former member C: Yeah. Even if we face off, we can’t win against you guys.

Chess’ former member D: If we don’t need to stand on stage but still get paid, that way definitely would be better for us too.

Chess’ former members: Ahahahahahaha.

Leo: …In truth, I was hoping that they would reject this negotiation. I wanted to explode, “Don’t be ridiculous!”, I wanted to beat and mess them up!

…Hey. what’s up with those guys? Are they really idols? For what purpose do they live? Isn’t it to do their best in things they like in their life?

Izumi: Leo-kun… *Izumi reaches out for Leo’s shoulders*

Leo: …Sena, this is your fault, you know!

Izumi: …Huh?

Leo: You’re the first person I met in this school. You’re the guy that I got close to and you always do your best. That’s why I thought everyone else was like that too…! Idols are amazing, and if it’s here I can definitely make friends. It made me believe that it would be like that, I was made to believe that things were like that. That’s why! Everything, all of it is your fault, Sena!

Izumi: …Why…*Izumi backs off* …Why is it my fault, Leo-kun…?

Madara: …. *Madara looks quietly at them*

***

–Madara calls Izumi out to the archery club’s practice field to talk–

Izumi: …Mikejima, what is it that you need to talk about? It’s about time for the stage to start, I need to do my makeup, change my clothes… I’m busy, though.

Madara: Hm. I thought that you needed to know, see. So I thought of telling you quietly, you know?

Izumi: …Haa?

Madara: On that day, I was passing by this archery club’s practice field. And I heard the voice of a cat crying inside, as if asking for help. I entered here, and I witnessed that appearance of Leo-san.

*Little John meows*

Leo: Hm~♪ Hm~♪ Hm~♪ Hm~♪ *Leo sings a melody*

Madara: …! *Madara was surprised and hurried to rush inside, but stop in the middle of the way, while gritting his teeth*

With the flowing blood from his broken right hand as a writing tool, Leo-san was writing music scores, and composing a song with his blood. While crying, he was saying this:

Leo: I’m happy…! This is the first time I’m feeling such pain! What a fortunate moment, ahahaha! Ah, it’s flowing, it’s flowing here…! Inspiration! Ahahahaha…!

Madara: I rushed to the infirmary to call for help, but when I came back, Leo-san was gone.

Izumi: I see.

(So after that, he came to my place, in the practice room…)

Madara: I investigated, and finally I got it. This place has become a kind of hanging out place for delinquents and those bad guys with no ethic, you see?That day too, they played and did bad things to the cat that got lost here. It’s a very disgusting, bad story, though. They used lighters to burn it, used arrows to hurt it. That was how it came to Leo-san trying to stop them using his body. And the result of it, was like that. The delinquents got scared and they ran off, apparently. Then that’s how I found out. When I saw that appearance of Leo-san, I was too shocked. I thought, perhaps because of the unbearable pain, something has gone off in Leo-san’s head. But the truth, it was not like that.

Madara: Leo-san was trying his best desperately in telling himself: “It’s no one’s fault. This is not a tragedy. If else, I’m feeling happy. Using this experience, I can write out a great masterpiece!” That’s what he must have thought in his head.

Izumi: …That guy… Leo-kun is… an idiot with a good heart of a person, so something like hating other people– he can’t truly hate anyone from the bottom of his heart. And that’s why in Chess, he’s being used delightly by other people.

Madara: Hm. If you have comprehended that much, then I would like for you to watch for Leo-san carefully, closely by his side. That child is fragile. I am trying my best as his friend, but I can’t always remain by his side to watch him. But you, you’re his comrade and his equivalent, aren’t you? So I’m begging you. Please don’t make that good child unhappy.

Izumi: …Even if you told me that…! I am just a fellow unit member… not his family, or even a friend. I’m busy with myself already and have other things to fulfil. I can’t take care of each and every one of his problems.

***

–Back in the auditorium, audiences have begun to gather to watch the stage–

Leo: Aah Sena~! Se~na, just where have you gone off to? The audiences have entered and gathered here, you know!

Arashi: Hey, hey, Izumi-chan. All the members of our opposing units have surrendered, right? Then, you don’t need extra helping members, right? *Arashi looks at Ritsu*

Ritsu: Um. *Ritsu nods his head at Arashi*

Izumi: *Izumi looks around*…Where are Tenshouin and Aoba?

Leo: They have gone back! I asked them to. I’m the leader, you see. I have that much of an authority, right?

Ritsu: Well, us too…

Arashi: Can go back home, right?

Leo: No! You guys should go sing. From what I’ve seen you guys are pretty good. I’m also curious and want to see how your singing voice sounds!

Arashi: Oh my…

Ritsu: …Eehh?

Leo: It’s time to take off! Let’s go, Sena! *Leo stands up and approaches Izumi* What should I do?

Izumi: …even if you tell me what…?

Leo: I’m stupid, so I can’t figure it out by myself. You’re smart, so you should think it out, and tell me what I should do. I will make your dream come true.

Leo: As Knights, together with me.

——————————————

Translator’s notes:

[1] Leo calls Madara with his unique abbreviated name, “Mama” from MikejiMA MAdara.

Note: This episode made me sob so much omg it hurts, Leo-kun!😭

——————————————

!Warning! Please refrain from reposting the translation to other platforms; abide to link back to this post for reference. Thank you.

Memories Selection: Checkmate Directory Chapter Episode 4 - Rusting Heart Episode 6 - The Shine of the Crown

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dailyanarchistposts · 17 days

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“Revolutionary suicide does not mean that I and my comrades have a death wish; it means just the opposite. We have such a strong desire to live with hope and human dignity that existence without them is impossible. When reactionary forces crush us, we must move against these forces, even at the risk of death.” – Huey P. Newton, Revolutionary Suicide

“It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death—ought to decide, indeed, to earn one’s death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life. One is responsible for life: It is the small beacon in that terrifying darkness from which we come and to which we shall return. One must negotiate this passage as nobly as possible, for the sake of those who are coming after us. But white Americans do not believe in death, and this is why the darkness of my skin so intimidates them.” – James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time

Aaron Bushnell, before self-immolating in front of the Israeli embassy in Washington, D.C., sent notice to a few radical platforms including CrimethInc. (henceforth: the Outlet) informing them of his decision to commit “an extreme act of protest” against the ongoing genocide in Gaza. He asked simply that they preserve the footage of his action and report on it. Most complied, but in the face of such a humble request, the Outlet was confused: “All afternoon, while other journalists were breaking the news, we discussed how we should speak about this. Some subjects are too complex to address in a hasty social media post.” It’s telling that they self-identify as journalists.

Still, the white man’s burden of “anarchist” journalism demanded that they not ponder too long before releasing a statement , even if half-formed. Within hours, they hastily published their garbage take. Putting Aaron’s actions in the context of another self-immolation that occurred on December 1st by a woman in Atlanta, (who, despite the Outlet’s misinformation, is still alive) they said: “It is not easy for us to know how to speak about their deaths.” Such dis-ease surely disquieted the spin-doctors and self-appointed spokespeople of revolution. For a project which only contributes to struggle by knowing what to say, the imperative to speak is paramount. In light of what they wrote, it would have been better for them to contemplate a little longer, or just say nothing at all.

After grossly overestimating their importance as journalists “speaking to people of action,” they ultimately write:

“Just as we have a responsibility not to show cowardice, we also have a responsibility not to promote sacrifice casually. We must not speak carelessly about taking risks, even risks that we have taken ourselves. It is one thing to expose oneself to risk; it is another thing to invite others to run risks, not knowing what the consequences might be for them. And here, we are not speaking about a risk, but about the worst of all certainties. Let’s not glamorize the decision to end one’s life, nor celebrate anything with such permanent repercussions. Rather than exalting Aaron as a martyr and encouraging others to emulate him, we honor his memory, but we exhort you to take a different path.”

While it would be easy to dismiss this as the Outlet cautiously mitigating any potential liability if self-immolation generalizes, the rejection of the framework of martyrdom demands attention. The question is not whether Aaron qualifies as a shahid within the Palestinian context, although demonstrators in Yemen have proclaimed Aaron a “martyr of humanity” and an argument can be made for him having become an anarchist martyr in the lineage of Louis Lingg, Avalon, and Mikhail Vasilievich Zhlobitsky. The bigger issue: the Outlet’s assertion that an individual’s death, particularly in the context of the US, is the “worst of all possible certainties” reveals a deep disconnect with the context of this entire decolonial struggle. In the days following October 7th, anti-colonial anarchist thinkers such as Zoé Samudzi argued that the figure of the martyr marked a fundamental contradiction for the secular left’s ability to fully comprehend and act in solidarity with the Palestinian resistance. The martyrs constitute a force in the present for all who live and continue to struggle. Aaron framed his self-immolation as “not that extreme” compared to the ascension to martyrdom of tens of thousands in Gaza. By implying that Aaron’s choice was too extreme, the Outlet dishonors the reality of the struggle within Palestine and undercuts the potential of Aaron’s sacrifice.

In denouncing any action taken with “such permanent repercussions,” the Outlet reproduces the anti-death paradigm of capitalism itself. The philosopher Byung Chul-Han, commenting on an exchange between the filmmaker Werner Schroeter and Michel Foucault, says:

“Schroeter describes the freedom unto death as an anarchist feeling: ‘I have no fear of death. It’s perhaps arrogant to say but it’s the truth… To look death in the face is an anarchist feeling dangerous to established society.’ Sovereignty, the freedom unto death, is threatening to a society that is organized around work and production, that tries to increase human capital by biopolitical means. That utopia is anarchist insofar as it represents a radical break with a form of life that declares pure life, continued existence, sacred. Suicide is the most radical rejection imaginable of the society of production. It challenges the system of production. It represents the symbolic exchange with death which undoes the separation of death from life brought about by capitalist production.”

The fact that an anarchist media syndicate cannot recognize the anarchic nature of a sovereign death, or the symbolic exchange of a uniformed US airman’s self-immolation (which cannot be simply reduced to suicide) is in and of itself a disgrace. Even worse, this conforms to a long established pattern where every time a comrade’s actions pass a certain threshold of intensity, the Outlet is first in line to call for restraint. While Michael Reinoehl was still on the run after shooting a fascist, they wasted no time issuing a hasty social media post denouncing his action and urging their followers to “reject the logic of the guillotine.” The Outlet preferred to remain palatable for liberal eyes, ears, and politicians, rather than express solidarity with a comrade on the run for his life.

In his “Letter to Michael Reinoehl,” Idris Robinson exposes the logic at the heart of the contradiction of those who chose to parse Reinoehl’s actions as nonstrategic:

“What the double-standard with regards to your situation reveals is how violence in America will always necessarily have a profoundly racial dimension. And it is precisely this—the terrifying core of racialized violence—that they are trying to repress when they lie to both themselves and others that their issue with what you did is a question of strategy or tactics. I mean, give me a break: in a country that is literally saturated in violence, from blind mass shooters to murderous police, no one can honestly claim that the few shots that you let off could in some way be construed as an escalation. There is simply no way to avoid the spiral of violence that began at the very moment when the first wooden ships reached the shores of the Atlantic.”

While the Outlet has no problem sanctioning enlistment in the fascist-dominated Armed Forces of Ukraine or calling for the US to keep troops in northern Syria, it seems even a single white death in the United States is a red-line they refuse to cross. For them, the self-sacrifice of a white person in the US military (a fact they fail to ever mention in their response but that was, without question, important to Aaron’s action) in solidarity with colonized people might be even worse. Rather than a liberatory or truly life-affirming position, this timidity betrays a fundamental discomfort with anything that challenges the fragile unity of whiteness and the American racial order. Neoconarchists at it again!

The Outlet quotes Kropotkin (who broke with anarchist internationalism by supporting the Allied imperialists in World War I and is therefore a fitting predecessor to their brand of pro-NATO anarcho-liberalism) on the contagious nature of courage, yet their analysis downplays Aaron’s courage again and again. They call death “the worst of all certainties,” showing that they share Western civilization’s pathological fear of death, yet feel confident in making pronouncements about the impact and efficacy of Aaron’s offering mere hours after it happened. Those who are truly comfortable with uncertainty know that it remains to be seen what the full repercussions will be. The Outlet assumes the universality of a rationalist teleological perspective in the context of a gesture that is best understood deontologically: its essence, independent of outcome, is of distinct and ineffable value.

It’s clear that the Outlet fears any form of struggle that challenges the sanctity of liberal democracy that they feel comfortable operating within. Echoing a line they have often used in the past, they frame themselves as protestors and militant lobbyists, not insurgents or practitioners of direct action (which is not about influencing government policy, but rather creating direct results of destruction and ungovernability.) They say: “The kind of protest activity that has taken place thus far in the United States has not served to compel the US government to halt the genocide in Gaza.” While Aaron did call his self-immolation an “extreme act of protest [within U.S solidarity with Palestine],” the resulting question for anarchists should not be what more effective forms of protest might be, but rather how to honor Aaron’s act of personal refusal through our own deeds. His action was directed towards the rest of us. He looks us in the eye and asks: “What will you do?”

While the authors of the Outlet have called Aaron’s decision “self destruction” and “sacrifice,” we read little in their text of the long tradition of self-immolation as an ultimate form of self-expression against repression and war. They make only a diminishing reference to Tunisian Mohamed Bouazizi’s self-immolation to protest police bribery, which lead to the Sidi Bouzid Revolt and impelled the Arab Spring. In 1965, Thich Nhat Hanh wrote to Rev. Martin Luther King:

“The self-burning of Vietnamese Buddhist monks in 1963 is somehow difficult for the Western Christian conscience to understand. The Press spoke then of suicide, but in the essence, it is not. It is not even a protest. What the monks said in the letters they left before burning themselves aimed only at alarming, at moving the hearts of the oppressors and at calling the attention of the world to the suffering endured then by the Vietnamese. To burn oneself by fire is to prove that what one is saying is of the utmost importance. There is nothing more painful than burning oneself. To say something while experiencing this kind of pain is to say it with the utmost of courage, frankness, determination and sincerity…

The monk who burns himself has lost neither courage nor hope; nor does he desire non-existence. On the contrary, he is very courageous and hopeful and aspires for something good in the future. He does not think that he is destroying himself; he believes in the good fruition of his act of self-sacrifice for the sake of others…”

The Outlet claims that Bushnell, in the rhetorical tradition of the notion of the selfishness of suicide, was “denying the rest of us a future with [him].” But the monks who self immolated in the sixties teach us that perhaps that is the pain we must bear as witness, just as those who chose fire bore the pain of their death or injury for the expression of their will.

“But why does he have to burn himself to death? The difference between burning oneself and burning oneself to death is only a difference in degree, not in nature. A man who burns himself too much must die. The importance is not to take one’s life, but to burn. What he really aims at is the expression of his will and determination, not death.”

Pain can be a motivating factor towards life, just as the witnessing of an autonomous death can inspire us to live deeper into our convictions now.

The question remains: what is the “different path” the Outlet urges readers to take? They admit that no act of solidarity in the US, however massive or targetedly destructive, has been able to slow the war machine. And yet they claim what the ruling class fears most is “collective action.” They give no examples of what said action might be. It doesn’t take too much creativity to imagine how disenchanted members of the US military could strike against the war machine, especially if they’ve overcome the fear of death. We could list those actions of desertion, sabotage, and fragging (and their long history in the anti-war movements of generations past) and theorize on their efficacy. However, we have no desire to reduce ourselves to the indignity of the anarcho-commentariat, issuing self-serving hot-takes about the grave actions of someone more courageous. We can only imagine what they will say when (not if) the war is brought home in even more escalated ways. What are they to do when a revolution based on summering in squats in European social democracies and engaging in ritualized playfights with police is no longer intelligible? Their greatest fear is not of state or economy but of an epochal shift that will render them incoherent.

The Outlet’s pontification on the inappropriateness of Aaron’s action is beyond disrespectful. Faced with such acts of self-sacrifice, the appropriate responses are pause, prayer, contemplation, remembrance, and solidarity. Instead, the Outlet doesn’t fail to make the selfless about themselves: “Choosing to intentionally end your life means foreclosing years or decades of possibility, denying the rest of us a future with you.” Lacking any real other direction, this future seems to amount to years of patient readership and faithfully following the lead of well-platformed self-declared strategists. Their obnoxious tendency to quote their own past texts illustrates their narcissism and self-importance. This self-reference demonstrates a deepening dogmatism on their part, a commitment to stay the course on a sinking ideological ship.

The ill-timed call for recruitment is made explicit in the closing paragraphs: “Prepare to take risks as your conscience demands, but don’t hurry towards self-destruction. We desperately need you alive, at our side, for all that is to come.” Just as in recent weeks they celebrated those who fight side-by-side with the Azov Battalion in the Ukraine, they would prefer active US military personnel alive and well, ready to fight for Western interests at home and abroad.

The time has long passed to dispense with these bloggers who, through their appeals for restraint and moderation, stand in the way of the resistance movements they imagine themselves to lead. The Outlet’s inadequacy was already evident in the “both sides” narrative of their initial coverage of Al-Aqsa Flood. Instead, we choose to act out of affinity and solidarity with the resistance axis of the Palestinian struggle itself. Compare the milquetoast equivocations of the Outlet to the statement of unconditional solidarity with Aaron Bushnell and his loved ones issued immediately by the PFLP:

“The act of an American soldier sacrificing himself for Palestine is the highest sacrifice and a medal, and a poignant message to the American administration to stop its involvement in the aggression.

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine affirms that the act of the American soldier Aaron Bushnell from the U.S. Air Force by setting himself on fire in front of the zionist embassy in Washington, D.C., in protest against the war on Gaza, which he called for the “liberation of Palestine,” confirms the state of anger among the American people due to the official American involvement in the zionist genocide war being waged on the Gaza Strip. It also indicates that the status of the Palestinian cause, especially in American circles, is becoming more deeply entrenched in the global conscience, and reveals the truth of the zionist entity as a cheap colonial tool in the hands of savage imperialism.

The Front expresses its full solidarity with the soldier’s family and all the American sympathizers who took a honorable stance and whose struggle and pressure to stop the genocide on the Strip have not ceased, confirming that the act of an American soldier sacrificing his life to draw the attention of the American people and the world to the plight of the Palestinian people, despite its tragic nature and the great pain it involves, is considered the highest sacrifice and medal, and the most important poignant message directed to the American administration, that it is involved in the war crime in Gaza and that the American people have awakened and are rejecting this American involvement, calling on the American administration to stop this support and bias for the zionist entity.

The Front sends a message to the Arab soldier to take this American soldier who sacrificed his life for a noble cause like the Palestinian cause as an example and role model, and to leave the trenches of waiting, incapacity, and move to the trench of confrontation in support of Palestine and its people who are being slaughtered, besieged, and starved in full view and hearing of the world and just a few kilometers from Arab lands and meters from the borders.

Palestine will be victorious as long as it has deeply engraved itself in the conscience and consciences of the world, and history will record in golden letters the names of all the sympathizers and free people of the world who stood with it and sacrificed their lives for its sake.

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine Central Media Department 26-2-2024″

Those golden letters of history will not record the name CrimethInc., whose version of anarchism cannot hold, comprehend, or move with the young militants taking increasingly bold and dire action. While the pro-Ukraine anarchists continue to stumble again and again over the question of militarism, Aaron’s act of self-negation resolved the contradiction. This is not to say his was the only way to resolve the contradiction, but it was a powerful way that threatens the worldview the Outlet desperately clings to: a view inextricably affixed to Western epistemological hegemony. The decline of the neoliberal consensus indicates the inevitable illegibility of their explanation of the world. The coming days and years will surely see a proliferation of increasingly drastic actions, marked by an intensity which surpasses what the Outlet can accept or condone, positioned as it is. For the Outlet, the death of this world conjures the existential anxiety of dissociation. For others, ourselves included, the end of this world is essential for the legibility of our perspective.

Aaron left us a will. That will, in the many senses of that term, is our inheritance. It reads: “I wish for my remains to be cremated. I do not wish for my ashes to be scattered or my remains to be buried as my body does not belong anywhere in this world. If a time comes when Palestinians regain control of their land, and if the people native to the land would be open to the possibility, I would love for my ashes to be scattered in a free Palestine.”

Whatever Aaron was in the preceding years of his life, he died as an anarchist, and will be remembered as one. His action points to a new organic anarchism emerging out of the present moment, one disconnected from the scenes, subcultures, and cults-of-personality that constitute the anarcho-mainstream. This development threatens the hegemony of the anarchist talking heads as much as the rest. His death is already drawing unprecedented attention, at new levels, to the cause of Palestinian liberation, and likely to anarchism as well. Those who cannot adapt to the changing tides will be washed into historic oblivion, toward which they’re already careening. The rest of us must act within the unsayable. Deeds must speak where words fail.

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sitp-recs · 1 year

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Hi liv! I was wondering if you had any fics with really charged moments between harry and draco? Where they both want each other but are unwilling to make a move? They don't strictly have to be slow burn or ust fics because I feel like I've read some where there's a fast sexual burn but they still contain heavy moments. This ask was inspired by me just finishing little Compton street and rereading some bixgirl fics, and I know you love those authors so hopefully you know the vibe I'm trying to find! Thank youuu

Ohh I love this ask! And I’m really pleased to know that we share some favorite authors and works, LCS has my whole heart ❤️ I also think that Writ and Bix are great authors to binge read if you’re looking for that specific vibe of UST, their fics are sooo cinematic. Here are some recs, I’ll save this list as “intense UST” lol

Take These Lies by @pennygalleon (E, 20k)

There’s a portrait of his godfather in Draco Malfoy’s potions shop and Harry needs to know why. But that’s not why he keeps coming back.

The Venice Job by nishizono (E, 25k)

Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore (E, 28k)

God, he wanted this – wanted it so much he could taste it, a metallic tang of heat and desire. He suspected nothing would ever be the same again – especially when he saw who else was in the room.

War Wounds by SilentAuror (E, 30k)

Some wounds take longer to recover from than others. HP/DM, with background HP/GW. Themes of alcoholism, love triangles, and dubious fidelity.

Us, in Lieu by Tepre (E, 30k)

Teddy needs help and Harry needs funding. Draco sits in the other room and plays the piano.

Expecto Patronum by @writcraft (E, 35k)

As Draco Malfoy negotiates his feelings for the wizarding world's brightest star, he becomes increasingly attached to Harry and unravels the secrets he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi (E, 57k)

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

Criminal by @the-sinking-ship (E, 83k)

Things were going just fine for Draco Malfoy. He successfully conned and counted cards across Europe and America, amassing a small fortune, along with a lengthy rap sheet. That was until he made the grave mistake of returning to England for a high stakes card game and got himself caught – by Harry Potter no less.

Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life.

By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Can't Sit Still by wilteddaisy (E, 193k)

Five years after the war, Harry finds himself drawn to Draco Malfoy by memories that aren't his own. Or, in which Harry hates his Auror partner, Draco flips houses, Pansy sleeps around, Hermione is a magical creatures’ justice warrior, Blaise is getting married, and Ron is just along for the ride.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #intense ust

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princesssmars · 1 year

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love's philosophy

a catherine the great x reader

during a political trip to russia, you meet the rather peculiar emperor and his no less than extraordinary new bride.

wc: 5.779

contains: fluff bc catherine is a cutie who can do no wrong. me hating on peter. peter cheats (boo). catherine almost cheats (yay). i binged the show months ago so some things might not be accurate im sorry yall.

the only thing you could see outside of the carriage window were woods. cold, thin, and mostly dead.

what you guess would be the typical landscape for an russian spring.

but, occasionally, youd catch the patches of green of the rising grass, the small buds of blooming tree blossoms, and the rare small animal making its way from its winter slumber.

you hoped these signs of new and returning life were signs of what was to happen on this trip.

you and two of your most entrusted advisors had been sent to negotiate some new trade deals with peter, the emperor of russia. he had taken the throne after his fathers passing a few years ago, and youd heard many things about him through the grapevine.

(granted, none of the things you heard were very pleasant. in your opinion, he sounded like a bit of a man-child, unfit for the throne after his father's passing. but you kept these thoughts to you. this would help your country prosper, and create a hopefully helpful alliance.)

"i just want to remind you, princess, that things work very differently here in russia," your best friend and first advisor, anna, whispers from beside you, her big fur coat and scarf nearly obstructing your view of her face. her worried eyes peeked out from the gaps and you'd had to try not to laugh when you saw it. "its nothing like genovia here. the people are crass, rude, vulgar-"

"sounds like this will be a fun trip then." you jest, cutting off your dear friends ramblings and smiling when she glares at you. she always was a bit of a worrywart. but it was endearing.

"normally id critique our dear annas worrying, but this time she is right." a deep voice pipes up from in front of you both. the person in question is your other friend and advisor, thomas. he was the more critical and pessimistic of the two, but he was a softie at heart. "things work differently here, so we should tread wuth caution. i should give you some warnings before we enter the palace."

"alright, what do i need to know?" you sigh, relaxing into your seat. this could take a while.

"as you most likely already know, the new czar peter has taken over after the death of his father, also named peter. stop smiling, yn. the boy is much different than his father, known for his rather...extravagant ways. just try not to piss him off. he should be a bit more mello after marrying his new bride."

your head perks up. "bride? i didn't hear anything about a bride. why haven't i heard that hes been married? shouldn't you have told me this?"

thomas' eyes widen as he tries to argue against it before realizing that yes, he somehow forgot to tell you. he tries to ignore anna's teasing face.

"my apologies for forgetting, princess. yes, he has recently married a girl from france. her name is catherine. from what i've heard shes a rather timid girl, at least to russian standards. there should be no trouble on the front."

his knowing stare on you makes you pout. so yes, you might have slightly flirted with the wife of the ruler of italy. and you might have ended up in the same bed with her. whoops. but to be fair, she told you how dreadfully boring her husband was and how she was looking for something exciting and new in her life, looking at you with those big, wanting eyes...

"yn! stop daydreaming!" annas elbow nudges you, pulling you from your memory. your face feels hot when both of your friends laugh at you.

"oh please, you both know me. ill be on my best behavior. princess's promise."

so you might have fumbled with the promise. just a little.

after a long...loooong ride, you all had finally arrived at the russian winter palace, the grand estate nearly taking your breath away. or maybe that was the biting cold. your admiration was cut short by a gruff voice welcoming you. it came from a tall and stout man, his white wig contrasting against his flushed face and permanent frown.

"welcome to the palace, your royal highness. my name is velementov, peters war general. i've been tasked with escorting you inside safely. if you'll follow me."

he immediately starts towards the entrance, forgetting to check if you were following. as hes walking he nearly trips over some of the gravel on the ground. thomas whips his head over to you and anna when he hears a muffled giggle.

"sorry, that one was me." anna whispers, trying to compose herself.

you and your party follow the general in to the palace, walking through the grand halls and admiring the art within them. including the massive statue of peter the first.

"oh, this is just a great piece of work," anna awes, craning her neck up to observe the statue in greater detail. "how long did it take to complete?"

"i don't really remember. maybe two years." the general grunts, taking a pause before continuing on his way. the look on thomas' face makes you think hes regretting this decision.

eventually the peculiar general stops at two large doors, leading to what you presume is peters chambers.

"um, shouldn't we do this somewhere more formal? a meeting room or parlor, for example." thomas says, walking a bit faster while speaking to walk directly next to velementov.

"ideally yes, but first i must check if the prince is ready to meet you. he could still be hungover. or fucking. or both."

the three of you are a bit too stunned to react.

when velementov opens the doors, the muffled sounds of grunting, moaning, and a loud thumping on the walls rings through the hallway leading to peters bedroom. velemontov grunts, whispering something to one of the guards before escorting the three of you back into the wider hallways.

"peters busy. until he's ready you may be escorted by a guard around the toyr of the palace. they will lead you to the meeting room when we're ready. goodbye."

velementov briskly (as briskly as a clearly hungover man can go) walks away, not even checking to see if what he said was alright with you. three guards come up to you, their faces and postures remaining stoic.

"ohhhhhkay. alright, this is fine!" anna chirps, clearly trying to hold herself and the two of you together. "we are just. alone in a strangers castle in a strange country. this is ok. i wont freak out."

"good, because there is nothing to freak out about." thomas reassures her, sounding more like hes trying to convince himself. "we expected this, so lets make the most of it, hm? its a beautiful palace, and we can explore it while each looking for some of peters advisors."

"so try to find the people who hopefully have common sense?" you question, eyeing the way the guards eyebrows raise in shock at your not so subtle disrespect.

"exactly." thomas agrees, the three of you agreeing before heading off in seperate directions of the russian castle.

what you see along your short journey is nothing short of shocking yet amusing. multiple couples unsuccessfully hiding in the shadows while having intercourse, drunk soldiers and children running through the halls, with parents and hungover residents looking on in annoyance.

eventually you pass two large open doors which you can see lead to a library. walking in you see its quite expansive, with practically no one inside.

(to be expected, you didn't think most of the people here could read a paragraph let alone complete a book.)

you walk inside and observe, walking through the aisles and touching the spines of the novels. most of it seems to be in russian, of course, but maybe there was an international section...

while thinking, your mind spaces out and is only brought back when the body of another knocks into yours, the books they were carrying falling to the floor.

"oh my gosh, im so sorry. i wasn't looking where i was headed, here let me help you with those," rushes from your mouth, quickly dropping to the floor to help pick up the books for them; A Guide To Russian History and The Insides of Russian Aristocracy.

"no, no, don't apologize. I wasn't looking where i was headed because i was reading this book about...nevermind." the stranger says before joining you on the floor before also trying to pick up their books.

its only after the stranger speaks and you see their pale, slender hand on top of yours that you look up to meet eyes, your e/c meeting piercing blue.

its a woman, and not just any woman but a gorgeous one. she has fair skin, smooth and with nearly no blemishes at all, surprising since most of the other members of the court you've passed at least had a tint to their cheeks whether it be from sickness, alcohol, or both.

she has a striking face, both angular yet soft. it makes her beauty both intimidating yet welcoming. and at this moment you don't know which one you feel.

the both of you still for a moment, observing the other for longer than what was most likely deemed polite. you were speechless until you noticed one of the most striking things about her - her naturally blonde hair. youve seen a few other women here who were blonde but you could tell they were wearing wigs. with no shame of course, it was a regular among members of court life nowadays. but hers had that growth and effortlessness that let you know it was all hers.

"you aren't from here, are you? im guessing western europe, maybe france, germany?" you suddenly ask, finding yourself intrigued with this beautiful stranger you've met in an otherwise empty library. her face lights up at your question, making you glad she didn't find it rude.

"yes, born and raised in germany, how could you tell?" her questions makes you raise your brow, looking from her eyes to her hair. she catches on and laughs, looking down in slight embarrassment. "right, sorry. silly question."

"it wasn't silly, don't worry. i just asked because i was curious why you don't look like the rest of the court members. are you visiting from your home?" you quickly reassure her, not liking the slightly sad look that appeared on her face when she called herself silly. she looked much better with a smile.

her brows slightly scrunch together, looking to the floor before back to you with a sure smile. "yes, im visiting for a while. sent to study the russian culture and all, trying to help with politics."

"another thing we have in common, and thank god for it. i swear i was so nervous about me and my party being the only foreigners here." you exclaim, resting your hands on the mystery woman's shoulders in excitement. "would you mind chatting with me and telling me what you've learned? im sure there's some things i can tell you as well."

her eyes are wide and her face is bright as she stares into your eyes, nodding along to answer your questions. its just when you realize your hands are still on her shoulders and when she reaches hers up to gently grab your elbows, yet again dropping the books in her hands. you both look at the fallen materials for a second before looking back to each other and giggling.

you had spent who knows how many hours talking with the blonde woman, who you'd come to know was named sophie, about subjects ranging from politics to your home countries to even your favorite foods. you found her point of view on things interesting, her positivity coming off a bit naive but refreshing. but beneath it you sense a bit of sadness.

"are you feeling alright?" your questions cuts her off from what she was saying. she was enthusing about how she misses the landscapes form her home, how when she looks out the palace windows she can feel bits of herself start to wither away just like the outside landscape. she says it so calmly that you cant help but ask the question.

in response shes quiet, staring at you like you just asked her is she preferred to eat chicken eggs or duck eggs for breakfast.

"jesus, when's the last time someone asked you that question?" you put a hand on her shoulder, your tone playful in the hope she wouldn't answer. but the look on her face gave you your answer.

"if im being honest...it's been quite a while. if i tell you this, will you promise to keep it secret?" she asks, her voice unsteady with the hesitance of telling a stranger the problems of her current life.

"cross my heart and hope to die." you dramatically cross your hands over your bust, smiling when she manages a laugh at your theatrics.

she sighs, putting her hands in her lap and closing her eyes. "i have a husband, back home. arranged marriage." her eyes peak open to look at you, and you hurry to fix the look on your face from one of disappointment to understanding. "i was so hopeful before the wedding, but then i met and moved in with him and it's nothing how i imagined it would be. he's nothing like i hoped for. and i know i now have a duty to my country and people but i only have one other person to voice my sadness and just...anger to. but it doesn't feel like enough. i feel like i need to do more to fix my life or i'll go insane."

at the end of her rant she lets out a long sigh, relaxing her shoulders and slumping back into the wall behind you. she looks at you for your reaction to see you smiling at her. "what could possibly be amusing right now?"

"nothing, nothing. it's not everyday you meet a beautiful monarch on the edge of killing her husband. well, i take that back." she rolls her eyes and gently smacks your arm at your jest.

"i just poured out feelings i've only told my most trusted servant and you're going to joke around with me?"

"i've found that during the most dire times, nothing makes me feel better than saying 'fuck all' and laughing."

she sits in silence, staring at you as she seems to think over your words. it feels like the two of you are drifting closer together, her blue eyes flicking from your eyes to lower to lower-

"yn! yn are you nearby?" the loud voice of anna from outside the library causes both of you to flinch and look to the doors, waiting with held breaths as the sounds of annas heels pass by. the sound of her crying out your name grows quieter, but you both know you have to depart soon.

"i suppose that means i have to go now," you groan, standing up and smoothing out the fabric of your dress as you look sophie. shes just looking at you with those big blue eyes of hers until she collects herself as well, "its time for me to see the emperor, i suppose. will i see you around the palace any time soon?"

"yes, you'll be seeing me around. at least i hope so." her gentle admission makes you smile, and she clasps her hands together in slight nervousness. "i don't have many friends here. its nice to talk to someone who understands."

you smile at each other for a few seconds more until the sound of anna's voice rings out in the halls again. wanting to stop her before she causes a ruckus, you sidestep sophie and leave the library quickly, heading towards your duties and leaving her behind in the library.

“where have you been? i've been looking for you all over this god-forsaken palace!” annas harsh whisper spits at you, the shorter woman grabbing your arm and yanking you towards her as she continues walking down one of the wide halls of the palace.

"im sure they heard you over in india, my dear friend," you tease, letting out a squeak when she pinches your arm, "i was just in the library and having a very interesting conversation with a young woman when-"

"dont even finish that sentence. i dont want to to know what you get up to in the shadows with young women." anna groans and stops walking when you get to a quaint but grandiose set of doors. she pushes them open to reveal a grand bedroom, fit with a small area to converse with others over tea and snacks, a wide desk near the window with your bags containing your papers and documents set beside it, and the back of the room contains a large bed and intricate designs on the bedframe and sheets.

“nice of him to give us a grand room after his grand absence.” you deadpan, nodding thanks to anna and flopping down on the chaise near the fireplace. you kick your feet up and let out a long groan, closing your eyes and resting your arm over your eyes.

“dont talk like that, I heard he has spies inside of the walls,” anna jokes, closing the chamber doors and striding to sit in the armchair next to you. “besides, we’ve been formally invited to dine with the emperor, and his wife tonight, along with some of the other important members of his court. this could be your chance to judge his character, see what he's like to plan how you’ll go about your proposals with him for trading.”

you groan louder, smiling over at anna’s burst of laughter. “i have the feeling he'll be too consumed in drinking himself silly and doing whatever else these russians do."

"well then, lets at least get you dressed to the nines so he'll feel completely embarrassed that he turned down the chance to speak to you earlier." anna gets up and moves to your bags, propping them open and pulling out a gown that's not too gaudy but just lavish enough for a dinner with an emperor.

you smile, already imagining the look on the emperors' face when he realizes what an idiot he was for turning you down.

so, it turns out that peter was a bigger idiot than you thought.

upon entering the dining hall you come to see that the room is still mostly empty, save for a few maids preparing the table for dinner and what looks to be the chef getting into a heated debate with another servant.

walking over, the pair seem to stop speaking instantly when they notice you, bowing over as a sign of respect and not moving until you ask them a question.

“hello, i’m princess y/n. i was told i was to dine with the emperor and company, am i too early?”

“n-no your highness, i believe the emperor is a tad bit busy at the moment. he should be joining you soon.” the servant tells you, stuttering over some of his words as he fixes his position to look at you while speaking.

anna quickly takes her place in front of you, clearly able to tell by the shift in your stance that your mood has quickly soured upon hearing that peter has the gall to do this again. shes right in the middle of explaining when noises from the kitchen cause her and the room to go silent. you're on the verge of asking what it was when it comes about again.

moaning.

very damn loud moaning.

if you weren't so furious you'd be laughing your ass off, and by the way anna’s posture goes rigid you can tell she's holding herself back from doing the same. the chef and servant look so red you wouldn't be surprised if they were the tomatoes that were on the menu. you got the feeling that the embarrassment was from you having to bear witness, and that they'd likely been through this before.

“i think…we are going to find our seats now.” you let out a long exhale from your nose and smooth off your dress, putting on an amused and polite smile.

you roughly grab anna’s arm and pull her to the end of one of the tables, you sit yourself down in a chair in the middle of one of the side tables and she sits in the one to your left.

“look, your highness, we can walk through the gardens, w-we can go for another roundabout this damn gaudy castle, but can we please not stay here and listen to russian lovemaking session? and you've got that scheming look in your eye that you know i hate-”

“we’re staying here.” you cut her off, your tone letting her know your say is final. she fake pouts and sits correctly in her seat, staring at the wall ahead of her as you both try to ignore the familiar sounds of skin meeting and the rampant onslaught of moaning and groaning.

it feels like the longest few minutes of your life. as the seconds tick by a few more people slowly start to enter, all wearing posh clothing and powdered wigs that make it seem like they'd walked right out of a cheaper version of france. but you remain polite, smile, and do the basic introductions when they come up to you. you notice how they all ignore the unmistakable sounds of ecstasy from the kitchen as well.

you have to press your lips in a thin line when thomas rushes into the room and sits in the other chair next to you, hurriedly giving his greetings to the other court members and turning to you. he raises his brow in confusion at your teasing look, then follows your eyesight to the timid orlo who had entered the room and had sat near the head table. thomas’s face flushes when he turns back to you.

“stop it, nothing happened,” he whispers,” we discussed what's going to be addressed at your meeting with peter.”

your brow twitches.

“i think emperor peter has his hands full with other responsibilities.”

thomas’s mouth opens to ask you to elaborate when an “oh god, yes!” booms from the kitchen. anna snorts as his face shows mass embarrassment.

“he did tell us russians were very different, y/n.” anna jokes, butting her head from your side to look directly at thomas. “they’re crass, rude, and what was it, T? oh yes, vulgar.”

you’re on the brink of closing your eyes and banging your head on the table when the site of a familiar mop of bright blonde hair grabs your attention and nearly makes you sit straight up from your seat. you don't even hear the sound of your friends asking what the matter is, all you can hear is the sound of your heart beating erratically. it’d scare you half to death if you weren't so excited.

she makes eye contact with you and you smile, nodding politely. she nods back, looking on edge as she moves farther into the room.

“that's the woman i was talking to earlier,” you say, turning your head towards anna. she nods and smiles, and you decide not to acknowledge how it's the you've got another crush don't you bitch smile.

“she’s pretty.” anna whispers.

“she’s sophie.” you tell her.

“she’s princess catherine.” thomas butts in.

what.

you don't get the chance to question him when a man burst through the doors of the hall, his clothes in disarray and his hair even more so.

peter.

his beady blue eyes connect with yours, the man smiling as he would at an old friend and clapping his hands before raising them above his head.

“ah! your highness! welcome to the palace, i hope you've found your stay comfortable so far.” he greets you too little too late, getting distracted halfway through his sentence as a brunette woman in the same state of dishevelment, the pair smiling at each other as she passes to sit next to another man, his smile strained as she presses a kiss to his cheek.

“it’s certainly been memorable so far, your majesty,” you answer, your eyes following him as he moves next to soph-catherine, whose eyes dart between you and her apparent husband. she sits down, seeming to decide there’s no point in making eye contact as she stares at the china on the table.

“well, i hope during your stay you find many more things to remember. boris! bring us our food!” peter shouts, clapping his hands together as he turns toward the kitchen. it's a struggle to keep a courteous smile on your face.

the dinner is odd, to say the least. throughout most of it, peter is boasting about himself and his accomplishments, which honestly don't sound like anything important to you and more like thing your child brother was worrying about the last time you saw him. but he wasn't completely an idiot. just mostly.

the other half of your amusement comes from your new blonde friend. over the course of the dinner she continues to avoid you like the plague, only joining in conversation with you when prompted by peter. you aren't a fool, you know most diplomatic marriages are purely that, but you can help but notice the way she looks at him when he speaks. it's not just fatigue or distaste, its something more. something sharper.

when you and the other nobles have finished eating peter insists on moving the festivities to a parlor room, giving you some semblance of hope for a normal evening. which was quickly thwarted by the dancers and loud music and even more alcohol. its not all bad though, you get to see anna convince thomas to drink some hard liquor, resulting in him spouting from a chair about the history of the wood it was made from.

while laughing you notice from the corner of your eye catherine whisper something to one of the guards near the door before rushing out. looking around you, you see how no one seems to take much notice to the empress’s quick disappearance, so you simply stand up and walk out the door as well.

you underestimate how quickly the empress can walk, only able to catch glimpses of her skirts as she darts around hallway corners. after a few minutes of trailing her you find yourself in the palace gardens, only getting a few seconds to admire the hedges. catherine starts to slow down to catch a breather and you can faintly hear her muttering something to herself before you come up behind her.

“going for a little late night stroll, your majesty?” you question, keeping a cool smile when she turns around and looks at you like a startled doe.

“y/n, i mean, your highness, i didn't take you for a person who admires gardens.”

“and i didn't take you for someone to lie so easily, but i guess today is the day for surprises.”

you both go silent at your rebuttal, only the sounds of crickets in the garden and the faint noise of the still partying emperor in the distance being heard.

“i apologize, your majesty,” you sigh, remembering that you're here to make peace with the Russian and getting catty with them isn't the best idea. “i didn't mean to be rude. I'm just upset that you lied to me about who you were when i made it very clear who i was.”

catherine sighs as well, wringing her hands together as she steps closer yo you. “im sorry as well. for lying to you and avoiding you. its just that…you’re different than the other people around here.”

“i hadn't noticed. was it my complexion or my soberness?” you joke, laughing along with the empress when she giggles.

“more than that, you listened to me.”

the simple sentence felt like a light punch to the gut. it reminds you of the countless times you would sneak away to the village from your palace, conversing with the people in the market so you could have a normal conversation without someone sucking up to you. how you’d even settle for someone telling you off for bumping into their shoulders was appreciated because it was so real. you had to admit you had even found some joy and amusement in peter’s complete disregard for your visitation.

“i understand. truly, i do.” you mimic her previous actions and step closer, the distance between the two of you only about a few feet at this point. you take the chance to take her in more. they fly away hairs that frame her face, the few freckles that dust across her nose, and the softness of her lips…

she starts speaking again, causing you to compose yourself. slightly.

“thank god. it was just that as soon as you started talking to me like a human being i couldn't get enough of it.” she blurts, her lips pursing at the implications of what she said.

“its alright, i felt the same. i still do. I'm up for another chat as we walk if you are.”

she smiles. “i think i’ll take you up on that offer.”

the two of you talk about everything and nothing as you walk, with you teasing her for her rather foolish husband and her laughing along and agreeing. she tells you how often she’s found herself sick of him these past few weeks and that darkness returns to her eyes.

“i mean I've truly met some incompetent leaders but your husband truly takes the cake,” you chuckle as you slightly kick away a pebble. “im surprised no ones tried to overthrow him at this point.”

you keep walking for a few more steps before you notice catherine has stopped behind you, frozen in place. her face is conflicted, her lips in a pout and creases forming between her brows. you gently call her name and are shocked at the sudden intensity behind her eyes. even more so when her head darts to look around in all directions before she rushes to you and pulls you behind a bush and holds you by your shoulders.

“if i tell you something, something that could change you life, do you promise to keep it between us?”

“yes of course,” you answer, and you'd be slightly embarrassed at the speed of your answer if your brain wasn't preoccupied with her closeness.

“if i told you that someone was planning to revolt against peter, what would you say? honestly?”

“that it seems rather overdue at this point.”

her eyes scan your face, looking for something before she lets out a breath. “im planning a coup. against peter.”

you don't reply. you simply look at her, waiting for the crack of a smile or an eye roll or anything she didn't mean what she just said. but it doesn't come.

“you’re quite serious?” you ask.

“deadly. me, my handmaiden, and one of his advisors have been talking about it. we should have one of the generals on our side shortly and i thought with your support as well-”

“my support? catherine as much as i don't think that man should be on the throne, you do realize if this fails i could be targeted and killed?”

“we won't fail,” she states and says it with such assurance you find yourself fully believing her.

“well, how am i supposed to help from all the way in my country? it doesn't seem like peter is much interested in an alliance so me giving you resources isn't exactly on the table.”

“leave that to me. he’s done some horrible things to me in the last few weeks so if i ask for this as a gift i’m sure he’ll accept.” she tells, her grip on your shoulders steady as she gives you a bright smile.

you grin. “you really are something extraordinary, empress catherine.”

“sophie. you can call me sophie.”

her words are no more than a whisper, and its silent yet again. your eyes quickly look from her eyes to her lips to back, and you catch her doing the same. her head starts to lean in, and you slowly start to do the same until her lips graze yours-

“your majesty? catherine where are you?”

its almost violent the way you pull apart from each other, your respective hands quickly smoothing out your clothes to make sure you look presentable. when you finish your eyes look at each other, and she still has that dark look in hers with an added dash of a hunger you know all too well.

“catherine? are you over here-there you are. I've been looking everywhere for you.” orlo comes from around the corner, looking exasperated as he rests his hands on his hips. when he notices you however he resumes an appropriate posture. “your highness, im terribly sorry that i didn't see you. catherine, i will talk to you later-”

“its alright, orlo. i told her and she’s agreed to join us.”

“you what?”

the emperor's discussion room is wide and bright, the sun shining in the windows and creating a warm feeling. it could be because your friends are on both sides of you, or because catherine is sitting beside peter with a barely concealed look of excitement on her face.

“princess y/n! i apologize for yesterday. i was very busy, as you could see.” peter clasps his hands together and smiles at you like you understand his excuses.

“all is well, your majesty. i know that certain pleasures can distract us from our responsibilities. i don't mind. is there a reason you called me here?”

his eyes squint. “why yes. there is. i would like to officially form an alliance with genovia immediately. my wife here was telling me about your encounters yesterday and how you seem like a more than perfect ally.”

you and catherine share a look.

“where do i sign?”

its a rather quick process to sign a piece of paper that changes history, and when its over things feel different. permanent. peter gives you a handshake before departing, just leaving catherine. she warily opens her arms for a hug, and you envelop her in your arms.

“welcome to the winning side of history,” she whispers in your ear, and you can help the excitement that rushes through you.

#the great #the great show #the great hulu #catherine the great x reader #catherine x reader #peter iii of russia #orlo #miriam #the great x reader

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obsidiancreates · 1 year

Text

Smooth Words, Sharp Teeth (Part 2)

Kremy LeCroux has a silver tongue and steady hand, all verbal agreements on his part and written ones on the parts of others. He has no pens, yet the ink of his contracts is always pitch-black. The promises and rewards leap off of the page and the consequences and fees hide in print smaller than an ant.

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Frost observes his companions quietly from where he leans against the wall to the lower decks. Gricko is a familiar enough face, and almost too familiar antics, as he holds a fish in front of Hootsie and moves around in an attempt to train her to do more tricks. Gideon is an interesting watch as he downs grog, his chains scrapping against the deck as he lifts the tankard higher and higher to get every last drop. Frost wants desperately to know more about those chains, about the why, the how, the story.

He could get it all if he wanted to. Just walk right into Gideon's mind and open every door, flips through every memory, glean every intent. And he's tempted.

But this... agreement? Truce? Partnership? Whatever this group is, these two duos come together, it's too fresh and new and easy to break for Frost to do any poking around where he'd not be welcome. It's also not right, morally, of course. But the mystery is so intriguing that Frost needs that extra nudge away.

Kremy is up by the helm, talking to the captain. He's got both hands wrapped around the head of his strange skull cane as he leans over the much shorter human man as the two negotiate terms.

Frost had wanted to, initially. But his two new companions had stopped him in his tracks, literally. Gideon had picked him up like an actual cat, dangling him in the air by his underarms.

"Let Kremy handle the talkin'," Gideon had said as Kremy himself re-applied that ridiculous drawn-on mustache. Up to that point, it was the most perplexing part of the alligatorfolk.

"I'm very good at negotiation," Frost had argued. "And would you mind putting me down? This is embarrassing."

"I think it looks kinda fun," Gricko had said from somewhere below. "Gideon, can you carry Hootsie around like that?"

"Uh... alright."

Frost was set down, Hootsie was scooped up with a happy hoot from her little beak, and Kremy finished touching up his "mustache". He gave Frost a confident smile.

"Trust me Frost, we're dealin' with some shady sailors here! No offense, but you're a little too... good-natured, to handle this."

Frost crinkled his nose. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Depends on who you are and who's givin' it. Make yourselves at home fellas! We'll be on the move in no time." Kremy had given one last grin before moving aboard the ship, the rest following behind.

And so comes the present, with Frost sitting and watching as Kremy talks with the ship's captain. He looks enough in his element, but...

Well. They met Kremy in the middle of a jewel heist, and while it was Frost's and Gricko's first real Big Crime born of a desperation, it had been clear from the get-go that Kremy and Gideon were experienced, to put it mildly.

Frost gets up and, casually as he can, moves his way across the deck. He gets all the way up to the helm, moving to look out over the harbor like he's just trying to get a better view of the goings-on of the dock. The captain and Kremy don't pay him any mind.

"It's a fine deal, lad," the captain says in a gruff voice and thick accent just made for seafaring shouting. "But ye be carryin' delicate cargo, do ye not?"

"Just some odds and ends we're lookin' to trade," Kremy says back smoothly. "Nothin' you need to worry about."

"Aye, aye. O' course, needin' to worry isn't the same as not worryin', is it?"

"What'll soothe your worries than, friend?"

Frost glances back as subtly as he can. He sees the captain grin, and though the man's human teeth are nowhere near the points of Kremy's, his smile is just as sharp. "A bit o' reassurance, lad. A cut of your profits, just to make it worth my risk, you see."

"Oh, insurance. I understand that, in fact I respect it!" Kremy taps his fingers on his cane, his claw 'clink, clink, clink"ing against the inside of the eye socket. "But I'd feel much more assured if I could have that in writin'."

"We push off in less than half an hour, lad."

"No problem there." Kremy raises on hand and snaps.

Something opens. A portal of some kind, but nothing like Frost has ever seen from his masters or in his training. The portal that opens beside Kremy's head is dark, and active.

Wailing. Dreadful wailing. Voices overlapping as they cry out in horrible regret, in warning, but there are too many to make any sense of the words.

The portal itself is strange. It's pitch black, yet swirling. Neon shapes and outlines, horrible and strangely alluring at the same time. Frost's fur stands on end, hidden by his robes and hood. He nearly hisses at the thing.

But it's only open for a second or two as Kremy just reaches in and pulls out a scroll and a pen.

The captain eyes both of them warily. "What kind of magics do ye be bringin' onto my ship, boy?"

"I'm nothin' more than a simple warlock," Kremy assures, putting the hand holding the scroll to his chest. "The Good Baron is my patron, and that means that this contract is an unbreakable agreement. As soon as you sign, our shared interest in an uneventful voyage will be assured."

Frost's tail twitches as he waits for the captain's response. The captain seems to consider it for a moment, and then snatches the scroll away roughly. He reads it over, murmuring to himself as he does.

Frost tries to get a glimpse of the scroll itself, craning his neck. Instead, he catches Kremy's eye.

Frost freezes.

Kremy winks. He taps two fingers against his forehead and then gestures them at the captain, before turning his full attention back to the man in question.

Frost isn't sure why it's been suggested, but he reaches into the captains mind as he assumes Kremy wants him to.

"Would you kindly read a little faster, friend? I'd like to get this locked in before it's time to go."

In the physical realm, Frost sees the captain's eyes glaze over for a moment. In the realm of the mind, Frost feels it halt. He feels every thought stop, fade, and senses Kremy's words take hold.

Kremy is eyeing Frost in a way that's hard to read.

Frost eyes him back. Very easy to read.

"Well, it looks alright to me." The captain clears his throat as he holds out his hand for the pen.

"Good to hear." Kremy hands the pen over.

The captain takes it and puts the contract against the wheel to sign. Kremy watches without moving, casual and calm, as the ink begins to flow. The captain pauses for a moment, and then continues, beginning to sweat even as a breeze picks up and blows past.

It hits Frost's nose.

It smells of iron.

The contract rolls itself up as soon as the captain is done signing and disappears in a puff of neon-outlines shadow smoke. Kremy tips his hat to the man and saunters over to Frost with a gleam in his eye. "Well?"

"Well what?" Frost considers pulling his earplugs out. Would that work in combating whatever spell Kremy used?

"What was it like, being his mind while I used Suggestion?" Kremy is almost excitable as he asks. "Gid says it feels like nothin' but I'm thinkin' that's more on account of, you know, the haze of the magic and all."

"You do that to Gideon? Isn't he your companion?" Frost leans away from Kremy a bit and once again considers his ear plugs.

"We've got an agreement about it, don't worry about anythin'. So? What is it like?"

"It was... halting. Like um, like his very mind hit a wall and complete shut down for a moment. Like a-a snuffed candle flame."

Kremy is grinning as he listens. It's not the same grin he'd had while speaking with the captain. It's less sharp, less conniving, but given the context of why Frost feels no less unnerved.

"And then his mind was returned, but uh, it-it was influenced. Your will imposed like a-a layer over this own thoughts."

"You've got a real way with words, Frost." Kremy pats him on the back. "That was fuckin' music to my ears."

"You uh. Don't plan on using that on myself or my companion, do you?"

"What, you and Gricko? Nah, nah, not unless he opens his big fuckin' mouth and gets us into trouble. No offense meant, he just, seems like the type."

"... I wish I could say you were wrong."

"If you want to guarantee it-" Kremy snaps his fingers, and again that horrible portal opens for a moment. This close to it, to the wailing and neon glyphs and strange magics, Frost can't help him and does hiss at it, his tail poofing up on instinct. Kremy holds a contract in his hand in moments, and Frost tries his best to smooth out his tail fur using his mage hand as he regains his composure.

"No, no thank you."

Kremy chuckles, genuinely amused, and does a quick hand-flick motion that makes the contract disappear in a thin shadowy wisp of smoke. "I was just messin' with ya. I get the feelin' y'all aren't the type I need extra magical assurances for. You seem like an honest, well-meaning type'a guy. And your friend uh, Gricko?"

"Yes, that's his name."

"Alright. Yeah, you two seem like people I can believe won't be turnin' me in anywhere or stabbin' me in the back. I think a nice firm handshake is enough here." He offers his hand out.

Frost takes it, tentatively. He feels no magic along with the act. It's just a regular handshake between two gentlemen.

Kremy tips his hat to Frost. "Well, I'm goin' down below to make sure we get the nicer spots. If we're lucky I can even snag private rooms!"

"Yes. I'm sure luck will be your only factor."

"Look at that, ya already know me like a friend." Kremy winks at him and strolls down to the lower decks.

Frost quickly moves down to meet Gricko and Hootsie on the main deck. "Gricko, do not sign any contacts that Kremy gives you."

"What?" Gricko keeps scratching behind Hootsie's little ears. "What do you mean, Frosty? He seems like a swell guy! A real upstanding citizen! Other than, you know, the whole meeting during a caper thing, I suppose."

"Just, trust me. And not him, for now."

"Well, alright, Frosty. How long will we really be traveling with these guys, anyway?"

#legends of avantris #once upon a witchlight #kremy lecroux #morning frost #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic

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