#breed politics are incredibly messy

[kangals]

thank you for such a thorough answer to my question about COI!! i don’t know anything at all about dog breeding, all of mine have come off the streets lol. it is BONKERS to me that the breed average for collies is 40%. so does that mean that most of the collies i see out in the world are kind of related? also i know you said w dobermans there’s not really any way to breed away from it, is it the same with collies? are breeders working to move that average % down?

thank you for sending me an ask that tickled the 'adhd special interests' section of my brain lmao

so are all collies related - yes and no. yes, in the sense that they all descend from the same ancestors and share genetics. no, in the sense that on paper they're not related. for example: stellina comes from a long-time breeder of show dogs on the US east coast. @as-old-roads audrey (my beloved) was a rehome who originally came from a midwest puppy mill. our dogs do not have any shared members of the family tree for several generations back. they're, at best, extremely distant cousins. and when we compared their DNA test results... they were 50% genetic matches for each other. that's not from being actual relatives - that's just because the collie gene pool is small enough that if you take a random scoop, you overlap with someone else 🤷

is there a way to breed away from high COI - not really, which is the tricky part of it. COI will always accumulate over time, meaning that as long as no new blood is introduced, each generation will have higher COI than the last. the way to combat this is A) start with a very large population of founding dogs (obv not an option for collies anymore, as the breed was developed in the 1800s); B) allow new blood through an "open studbook" (anyone with a collie-ish dog can breed their dog and have the offspring registered as collies if it's determined they look enough like a pure collie); or C) dedicated outcross programs (specifically seeking out unrelated collie-type dogs to cross to pure collies and then breeding those offspring back to pure collies to try and add more diversity without sacrificing the breed type)

the first option (large founding population) isn't viable anymore - we know that the original collies were developed from the native working farm dogs in whats now the UK, and then people said 'hey these dogs are pretty' and started breeding them specifically for bench/show moreso than herding, which is what makes the collies such a (IMO) lovely blend of herding and companion/family dog. we know other dogs were crossed in during development, but we don't have records of what: we've heard rumors that borzoi were added, and gordon setter, among others, but we can't say for sure. but regardless, this ship has sailed.

the second two options - the open studbook and outcross problems - are workable in theory, however they're not magic fix-alls. while COI/diversity is very important, it's also not the end-all be-all to health (as evidence by the fact that collies as a breed are doing really good health-wise). however, the biggest positive is also the biggest negative: you're diluting what's already in the gene pool. collies have high COI, but they also have very unique temperaments - they're very gentle, polite, exceptional with children, watchful but non-aggressive, intelligent, driven but not obsessive. i love the collie personality - that's what makes them collies, and not just random fluffy herding dogs. the idea of bringing in non-collies to the studbooks and creating generations of dogs that didn't have that same unique collie personality is so, so sad for me to think about. and yes in theory you can try and breed back to the traits you like, but what if you've now introduced, say, resource guarding into the gene pool? or fearfulness? or a health issue like DCM? there's such a fine line as to what makes a breed a breed, and it is very easy to deviate from that, even accidentally.

are breeders working to move the COI down - 😬 ymmv but most of the breeders i've talked to have a very "well it's not a problem so i'm not concerned" type of thinking about it. which, again, yeah the dogs are healthy now, but i think it shows a serious lack of foresight to not be concerned. but, these high COI show dogs are producing very consistent puppies who are doing consistently well at shows, so that's whats being bred. and that means that the breeders who are passionate about breeding and showing The Collie, and the breeders who want to do outcrosses and open studbooks, tend to have very, very little overlap. i've not seen any outcross programs that are worth following IMO (and i don't consider "old time scotch collie" to be outcross programs, as those OTSC dogs are supposed to be significantly different. if you're not aiming to keep your dogs part of the original breed, then it's not an outcross, it's a different breed).

i would love to see collie breeders and the collie breed club actually work together and focus on specific, dedicated outcross projects. or a formal procedure for allowing new blood into the studbooks. but unless something happens to really light a fire under their asses, i doubt it'll happen. so for now i'll stick with my worryingly-high COI dogs, with the temperaments and health that i love, and hope that the breed manages to defy the odds and stay healthy.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Innocent Possession

—

Time Written - 11:52 p.m.

Arkham Knight/fem!reader smut

Tags: Smut, possessive, breeding/innocence kink. Jason might be a meanie. (Not Proofread. Have to work on a Saturday AND I BROKE MY NAIL 🫠)

This man is such a slut it’s not even funny anymore. LOOK AT THAT.👇 THIS WAS INSPIRED BY THAT 👆

—

His lush, heavy breathing fans along your exposed, maroon muddled neck. Sharp teeth dimpling your skin in harsh punctures, not enough to draw blood quite yet.

Hands that once cradled your neck like porcelain art in the distance of the past, now grasped your throat like a damn vice, pairing with his grip on your shoulder to force you back against him with each deep, aching thrust.

One of the major accomplishments of his new identity, his new life, was to find the innocence of his past. The highlight of his life for many years was brought to him, bound and gagged as Gotham was in the midst of evacuation. Your clothes were torn and rustled from aggressive attempts to subdue you, enough to leave bruises along your supple, upper arms as you thrashed and screamed.

Now those bastards of men lay dead outside the hall. Scattered corpses slumped along the floors, dreadfully bland decor that meant nothing to the Knight that holstered his gun after his short pursuit.

Your first greeting from the armored man was terrifyingly quiet, towering over you like a beast after approaching where you cowered.

His hands grasp hold of his helmet before you could beg for your life, only trying to make it towards the Evac buses before you were hauled off by those bastards. All words died on your tongue when steel cut blue eyes meet yours, brows faintly furrowed, his jaw taunt with incredibly strong tension.

You’re his ex, but not by choice. None of this was by choice. He vanished for a year, only to be presumed dead the next.

You never hated him enough to put that label on him. Any attempt to begin your list of a million questions abruptly halts before it even began, as his lips instantly assault yours.

“That’s a good girl. My fucked out little whore.” He grunts, squeezing your hips closer to his pelvis, bullying his fat cock deeper into your tight walls.

The ropes that kept you bound now uselessly dangled from your wrists like cheap bracelets, the skin of your knuckles lightening as you helplessly plant them along the wall. Skin grew sticky with milky cum in between both your bodies, loud and wet, seeping down in between your bare thighs.

Watching and feeling your juices dampen the front of his red tactical pants was a punishment in itself, one he was feeling kind enough to save for later.

Maybe fucking your mouth would make for good punishment, listening to you choke as he grinds against your face, a pool of your combined mess seeping along your dirty knees on the ground.

“You better hope I never learn if any other guy fucked what’s mine, Princess,” He huffs against your kiss bruised lips, barely taking breaks to let you breathe. “Woulda’ rather had you cryin’ on fuckin’ toys than another man.”

Your whimper sounded like a cry, making Jason believe he could do so here right now, in this dingy room, underneath a dusty headlight. He hovers more over your back, tilting your head just enough to crash his lips against yours.

Feverishly responding to such a heavy, messy kiss, you moan fully against his rough, scar lined lips, amplifying when his tongue promptly invades. He licks with feverish hunger as a hand slips under your waist, huffing at your jolt at the sudden, angry assault on your nub, forcing your walls to deliciously clench towards a third orgasm.

The sounds he could pull from his sweet girl never ceases to amaze him. Even before his death, you were nothing but kind, the epitome of polite and heartwarming sweetness. What the hell were you thinking, choosing to date a guy like him?

Doesn’t matter if he died. No man is ever gonna take what’s been his for a very, very long time.

You won’t have to tell him now, but he’ll know. He has the capability to learn all your deepest secrets, knowing he could drag them out of you so easily.

“You miss me, pretty girl?” His hot rasp rumbles richly along the shell of your ear, sparking an uproar of your over sensitive nerves.

“You miss cryin’ on my dick, Princess? Missed how good it made you feel, how perfect you’d behave just to get bred? Tell me,” he grunts after relinquishing from the kiss. “Tell me you did. Say it loud, tell me you missed me.”

“I did-“ You spew out from quivering lips, ripples of tears trailing down your cheeks.

“I did, Jay. M-Missed you so much—“

Your voice draws out an empty whine towards your last word, hearing the collision of hot skin get louder as he gets harsher, brutal, eagerly desperate to make up for all the time he’s lost.

His sweet, innocent girl resorted to a jittery, babbling fleshlight. You could say anything he wanted, his guarded ego crumbling from the truth laced in your words.

You missed him, grieved for him, loved him. Yet, all he saw you as right now is his babbling whore, his whining little baby who never got used to the size of him driving deep into your cunt.

Honestly, he hopes you never will.

Your front further gets pressed flat against the wall, hot skin shivering from the harshness of the cold surface. Thick, precisely detailed armor digs deep into your back when he leans over you, keeping his persistent grip along your jaw, keeping you suspended just enough to breathe when he fucks you.

“S’been hell without ya, sweetheart,” He lowers his tone, whispering with a kiss of taunt as he rocks himself against your plush ass, keeping you cock drunk per his amusement.

“My baby wanna prove how much she missed me?” He cooes along your ear, smirking sadistically to your complete unawareness. “My baby wanna have a baby? She wanna have her pussy filled to prove she always loved me?”

You whine out ‘yes’ over and over, your back arching heavily from his relentless pace. The more space you involuntarily create, the closer Jason leans into you, the harder the plating digs into your back. The harsher the head of his cock endlessly strikes your cervix, making you just about lose it.

A series of curses spewed from your lips, resulting in three thick fingers shoved into your mouth, tasting yourself prior when he assaulted your soaked core.

“Language, babygirl,” Jason sneers against your cheek, despising the foul words that left those pretty lips. “Don’t badmouth me like a cheap whore. You’re my good girl. Fucking act like it.”

His other hand promptly pressed against your abdomen, forcing your lower half closer towards his waist. With his overwhelming free reign on your body, Jason bullies your sore, abused pussy with a series of sharp slaps, your clit stinging from repeated impacts.

You jolt out, sobbing out a series of apologies laced in short begs in the midst of various squeals.

In another life, he was your gentle giant. Now, he was a monster lusting after much more than blood. Jason was a simple man; wanting nothing more than the death of his mentor, and his ex’s warm cunt until he’s fully satisfied.

You whine out something that sounded like a mix between a cry and a moan. He clicks his tongue, tilting your head back just a little more while halting his hand, catching sight of those teary, bubbly eyes and quivering lip.

“Speak up, baby.”

“I-I’m sorry!” You hiccup, your nails scraping along the wall from overstimulation.

“I’m sorry Ja-Jason, please—“

You stumble over words. A pure miracle over how flustered you were to say your desire after being his sex doll.

“Please what?” He demands, losing what patience he never had.

“A baby,” you whine out, purposely leaning into his palm, fluttering your teary lashes. “Give me your baby, Jason. I want it. Please.”

His brows raise in surprise, slowly rocking his hips whilst holding back a grunt. Yes, he said it, desiring it, but hearing you beg for this. To ruin your beautiful body with his tainted seed.

“M’Not gonna stop, y’know. Even when it takes.” His voice dribbled with lustful possession while his hips stutter back into an uproar, nibbling along your lobe with sharp teeth. “That what you want? You ready for that?”

You moan out an easy agreement with more eagerness than before, allowing your body to relax against his chest.

“Y’hear me, Princess?” Jason braced a hand along the wall, clutching hold of your hand in his grasp, keeping your fingers safe in his fist. “I’m gonna make you a mama by the end of tonight.”

The Bats can wait, for now. Once he’s dead, once he’s been dealt with, then he’ll have much more opportunity to celebrate.

[dattebae]

Perfume shots

(AO3 LINK)

Pairing: Connor (RK800)/Female Reader

Word count: 5,636

Rating: Explicit ( 18+ )

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex, vaginal sex, slight overstimulation, breeding kink, some fluff etc

Summary: It's a late Friday night, and the infamous deviant hunter slash Android Detective from your criminal psychology lecture has been downing a blue drink all by himself at your local bar.

With some liquid courage, and a long list of easily seduced lovers to back you up, you've decided to set your aim on your ridiculously hot Android professor for the night.

It was really not that hard. You’d just have to walk up to the bar, pretend like he wasn’t there until after you ordered your drink, and when you conveniently did notice him then, you’d just be like, totally cool about it. 

Oh, it’s you. The infamous android detective slash deviant hunter who gave a fantastic lecture about criminal psychology for my college class about five hours ago. What a crazy coincidence! Totally didn’t see you there, Mr Anderson.

Yeah, right. 

You chugged the rest of your beer, setting the glass down on the table again a touch harder than necessary. Your friends were still trying to talk you out of making a move on your hot android professor with a list of good reasons, but you weren’t exactly the type to be stopped by something as boring as logic. Also, Connor wasn’t technically your professor. He was just traveling the country and giving lectures around different colleges. So, of course, you’d base all your stubborn determination on a technicality, because why wouldn’t you?

You’d been anything but shy during your time in college, but even though you’d effortlessly seduced several men just for the fun of it, this felt completely different. There was an obvious power dynamic with Connor that thrilled you more than you’d liked to admit. He was older and smarter, and whether you liked it or not, he had taken the similar role of a professor that made this just as inappropriate as you denied it to be. Not just any professor though: an infamous fucking android with thirty years of detective work to back up that annoyingly handsome face of his. You’d never slept with an android before, but even with that charming face and his distracting hands to give you an idea or two, you began to wonder about the rest of his anatomy.

This would either be the worst decision of your life, or the best fuck it impulse to ever win this silent battle inside you, because you’d decided that you were really doing this. You would walk up to the android like you hadn’t thirsted over him like a horny teenager with an embarrassing crush on their hot teacher. And if you were really lucky, Connor wouldn’t even know that you’d been in his class at all. Maybe he’d just take you home and fuck you like any other one night stand coming his way. If he was equipped for that at all, that is.

A girl could dream.

He’d been making polite small talk with the bartender all night, and while you sat in a booth with two of your discouraging friends in the dimly lit bar, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. And how could you? Connor was like something out of a really mysterious, sexy, dream. He sat all by himself with his head hanging low, wearing the same suit you’d seen him in earlier at his lecture while he drank something that you guessed was the android equivalent to booze. There was a subtle but appealing contrast to the put together look from earlier, though. He was looking a touch disheveled and messy with his tie loose around his neck and his hair sticking out in a way that looked like he’d ran his hand through it. He had. You knew because you’d been observing him since the moment he walked into the bar. You’d definitely not missed the melancholy of him, either. Connor was brooding in a way that would be incredibly easy to miss if you only payed attention to his polite personality.

For some reason, he was even more appealing and interesting to look at now, and it certainly didn’t help that the spotlights focused on him over the bar counter. It was like God, or the devil, was pointing at him. Telling you to walk up to him.

And so help you god, you finally did.

You’d only had two beers, but it was enough to make you ignore your two friends whisper screaming at you to sit down as you not-so-smoothly slid out of their weak grasps and the booth to walk up to the bar counter. Connor didn’t pay you any mind at first, and you tried to match his nonchalance. Your arms crossed over your chest as you leaned in over the counter to order two jäger shots from the bartender, and just like you’d planned earlier, you only glanced over at him after you’d ordered. He was definitely looking at you then, but just long enough for it to be perfectly casual. He was back to sipping his bright blue drink when your tipsy brain decided that it was the perfect ice breaker.

“ That’s an interesting drink, ” you pointed out, glancing between him and the blue liquid.

Connor glanced at you.

“ I could say the same about your order, ” he quipped. 

Fucking hell, his voice alone was enough to make you feel hot all over.

“ You’ve tried jäger? ” you asked, curious how he knew anything about human flavors at all.

“ No, ” he admitted, “ Although, humans have described it as drinking perfume, if that’s anything to go by. ”

You couldn’t help but to smile when he smirked, his brown orbs glancing at you from the corner of his eye. It was enough to have you feeling a touch bolder than was probably good for you. Connor definitely knew something about perfume, though, because his cologne was just another thing that filled your head with all sorts of inappropriate thoughts.

“ And how would you describe that… blue thing? ” you nodded at his drink.

“ It’s mostly just thirium, ” he twirled it around, reminding you once again how easy it was to lose yourself to the satisfying sound of his voice. It was almost like it was designed to captivate you regardless of what he was talking about. So, of course, you wanted to hear more. 

“ Mostly? ” you echoed, raising a brow at him. The bartender had already served you your shots, but by then you were too focused on Connor to manage anything more than a quick thanks. Luckily, he wasn’t too bothered by your dismissive attitude. 

You took a seat on the bar stool, hoping it was smooth enough to seem like a perfectly casual move on your part. Connor was still glancing at you from the corner of his eye, and you couldn’t help but to capture his focus falling to your chest for the briefest second.

You never thought you’d ever say this, but thank god for push up bras.

“ You want to learn about android liquor? ” Connor asked, his tone indicating that he didn’t quite buy your interest in the chemistry of it. Although, he definitely seemed amused by it.

“ I’m curious, ” you admitted. “ We don’t exactly have a lot of androids in this town. ”

For some reason, your small confession was enough to halt him from downing more of his drink. You watched as he turned his head to properly study you for a moment, his LED a bright gold at his temple. It was hard not to squirm under his wandering gaze, something behind the optics in his eyes spinning and calculating until he finally came to a silent conclusion that set him back into the calm nonchalance from earlier. You didn’t realize that you’d been holding your breath until his focus was back on his drink again, and the mystery of what all of that meant was starting to eat at you. 

He’d definitely just scanned you, and you had no idea if he could tell how bad you had it for him. Nonetheless, his LED was back to a calm blue, reflecting beautifully against his pale, freckled skin as he brought the glass to his lips.

“ You’re one of my students. ” he calmly called you out, downing the last of his drink.

Fuck.

Well, there goes plan A. Good thing failed plans never stopped you from going after what you wanted, though. You had the rest of the alphabet to go through.

You huffed more than sighed, turning in your seat to fully face him.

“ Okay, technically… ” you began, but Connor was already shaking his head a little, trying to hold back a smile from creeping up his lips.

“ You’re not my professor. ”  

He hummed sarcastically.

“ You know very well how this looks. ” he calmly countered, although he didn’t sound upset with you at all. If anything, the way he was checking you out from the corner of his eye was more than enough to make you want him more than before.

“ Listen, Sir. There is nothing wrong about asking your not-professor about blue drinks. ” you lamely defended, twisting to reach for one of your perfume shots. You heard Connor let out a small chuckle, shaking his head with a crooked smile lingering on his lips. God gelp you, he was so fucking hot.

You’d never view jäger shots the same again. Even the taste would remind you of this ridiculously hot android detective who was blatantly calling you out for making a move on him. Should you be embarrassed about it? Probably. Were you embarrassed about it? Not the slightest.

“ How old are you? ” Connor asked, voice raspy and a little lower compared to earlier as he dragged his eyes over you again. It was all a recipe for disaster, really.

“ Twentythree. ” you casually responded, downing the second shot of jäger perfume with a slight grimace.

Fuck. He was right.

The next question was about your name, and you answered him just as nonchalantly.

“ Have you ever been with an android before? ” he asked, and suddenly the whole conversation felt like an interrogation. It was, by all means, just another thing that made you feel hot all over again. You couldn’t help but to watch him for a moment, admiring his sharp profile and the pale, freckled skin peeking out between the opened buttons of his white dress-shirt. The loose tie had been giving you a long list of ridiculously inappropriate thoughts for some time, but his question was what made you curious about the rest of his anatomy all over again.

“ No, ” you admitted, swallowing the small lump in your throat.

It was incredible how he’d managed to get you this worked up with just a few direct questions, but despite your racing heart and the hot flush spreading over your face, you didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to fucking ruin you, and the dark, hungry tint in his eye told you he wanted that too. 

“ So what makes you want to be with one now? ” he asked, and it was as much a fair question as it was suggestive. While your attraction for Connor was initially on a shallow level, there were more layers to him that drew you in. Apart from the fact that he was a perfect combination between calm and confident, he was also incredibly intelligent with years of work and life experience that made him admirable. 

There was a lot to appreciate about his character, and it just made you curious to know more about him. You’d been missing out on an entire world during your time in this shitty small town, and Connor represented every exciting, forbidden thing that existed outside of your borders.

The fact that he was an older, smarter android detective in a position of power, just made you want him even more.

Connor had been patiently waiting for your answer to his question, and during that time you were distracted by the fact that he was closer to you now than he’d been at the start of this conversation. In the back of your head you wondered if your friends were watching you from the booth, and whether the attraction you felt between you was as obvious to them as it was to you.

“ I already told you, ” you finally said, watching his brown eyes narrow a touch. 

“ I’m just curious. ” 

Connor was silent for a moment, and when he exhaled, you wondered if you’d failed his little interrogation. He shifted in his seat, moving just enough to show you that you had his full attention.

“ What do you want to know? ” he asked, voice a touch lower.

You nibbled on your lip, taking a moment to think while he studied your face with a small linger of amusement in his eyes. Connor definitely knew what you wanted to know, but he was playing a game with you that you were more than determined to win.

“ Is it true that they only made one version of your model, Mr. Anderson? ” you asked, and Connor nodded in response.

“ Yes, ” he simply said, “ CyberLife built me thirty years ago as a state prototype. ” 

“ How does that make you different from other androids? ” you couldn’t help but to ask.

Connor smiled, but there was almost something shy about the way he avoided your question. “ My purpose was to aid humans in investigations regarding deviants. ”

You gave him a look. 

His answer was beyond vague, and his smile indicated that he knew that very well. Nonetheless, the way rolled his eyes let you know that he’d give you what you wanted.

“ For example, ” he continued, “ I can check samples from crime scenes in real time through my mouth. ”

Through his—

You raised your brows, blinking. “ You… eat evidence, Sir? ”

Connor’s eyes lingered on your face again, his own still carrying a faint smile. “ It’s more of a taste…” he said, sounding a touch distracted.

A hot shiver ran through your body, making you press your thighs together in a poor attempt to dampen the pulsing need you felt inside. You weren’t sure what to say, mouth slightly parted and cheeks warm for reasons that had nothing to do with those damn jäger shots. You couldn’t help but to stare at his perfect mouth, your mind wandering to places that made that need inside you even worse.

Connor had undoubtedly noticed the shift, because his warm eyes were darkening in a way that wasn’t subtle anymore. While you struggled to find the right words, he was leisurely leaning into your space, filling your head with his addictive cologne while his mouth barely brushed your ear: 

“ Join me back to my hotel room, and I’ll show you. ”

*** 

Connor’s mouth and hands were on you as soon as you crossed the threshold, kissing you and exploring your body against the solid door pressing against your back. Unsurprisingly, he was a phenomenal kisser, and despite how quickly he’d been crowding you, it didn’t feel as overwhelming with his calm and controlled pace. It was impossible to ignore the interesting texture of his tongue when it licked into mouth, and you were surprised by just how much you liked the feeling of it. You let out a needy noise, the idea of feeling his tongue on other places making you shiver with anticipation.

Connor was just as patient when he kissed you, moving his lips against yours while his arms circled your waist to guide you towards his bed. You, in contrast, were not as calm and patient. Your fingers were in his hair and clothes, tugging and working in a struggle to undress him while you kicked off your shoes. By the time he parted from your lips, you’d managed to rid him off his jacket and unbuttoned his white dress shirt. His tie was still loose around his neck, and you decided to leave it as it was purely for the absolutely sinful look it gave him.

“ You sure you really want this? ” he murmured, peppering small kisses over your jaw and neck while you caught your breath.

“ Fuck, yes– ” you breathed, feeling so turned on you could actually scream. 

 “ Please, Sir. ” 

You felt a shaky breath against your neck as he slowly guided your hands over the bare skin of his torso. The formal way of speaking must’ve really been working for him, because whatever complex mechanics that worked beneath the broad panel of his chest was suddenly whirring and buzzing eagerly under your hands.

“ Touch me, ” he ordered gently, “ Tell me how I feel. ”

The reality of it really struck you then. Connor was an android, a machine, and you were drawn to him in a very animal way that he technically shouldn’t be able to reciprocate. His deviancy was countering all of those technicalities with a constellation of ones and zeros that mimicked a biological need in his code, and you loved that. You loved that he wanted you despite what he was.

You took your time, drawing your fingers over his shoulders, chest and all the way down to his abdomen, feeling his synthetic muscles clench from the contact. His skin felt soft, but not like human skin, and when you pressed hard enough, you could feel the hard planes of the panels beneath the layer of silicone covering his chassis. It was equally as thrilling as it was intimidating to realize how much strength he carried beneath the synthetic layer of human skin. He was terrifyingly smart, built with the skills to hunt down his own kind, and yet, he had brought you back to his hotel room because he wanted to fuck you. That detail alone made you throb.

Connor’s gaze was focused on your face, his LED a flickering yellow in the dark room as he read and analyzed your expression.

“ You’re incredible…” you whispered, completely mesmerized by his complexity. You weren’t aware that your fingers were tracing the spot where his regulator was hiding beneath his skin, blindly drawn to the strange, magnetic buzz of electricity where it was the strongest. 

Connor’s chest rose with a shaky breath, his engines eagerly whirring beneath your hands when he slowly ducked his mouth to your ear. 

“ I can feel you, ” he whispered, voice soothing and calm in a way that made you relax in his arms. It didn’t distract you from the way he was guiding one of your hands lower, slipping it into his pants and underwear until you felt something hard and firm in your palm. Whatever questions you had about his anatomy were answered the moment you wrapped your fingers around his cock, and you couldn’t help but to curse quietly at how perfect he felt. 

“ I can feel— ” 

You’d begun to leisurely pump his cock when he spoke, and whatever Connor wanted to say was suddenly caught in his throat, or voice module, or whatever excellent replacement he had for it. You watched his mouth part, pink tongue just barely visible while his lidded eyes bore down at you like you’d suddenly turned into a target for him to hunt down. 

“ Sit– ” he tried, taking a sharp breath through his nose when you experimentally dragged your thumb against the sensors under his cock. You smiled at his reaction, sloppily kissing his jawline while he took a moment to collect himself.

“ Sit on the bed. ” he finally instructed.

He had you right where he wanted you in seconds. You sat on the edge of the bed for him, and he kissed you in between each layer of clothing he helped peel off of you. You sank back, resting your weight on your elbows when you felt his hand dive between your legs, the other holding his weight up on the bed as he arched over you. 

“ Now, be a good girl…” he murmured, “ and keep still for me. ” The feeling of his fingers gently stroking your clit was incredible, and it was more than enough to have you hot and squirming in no time despite his instructions. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he knew how to work you up like this. Connor’s experience had been evident from the second he kissed you, and it thrilled you even more to be at his mercy like this. 

“ That’s it, ” he murmured, kissing your neck while you panted. “ You’re doing so well. ”

His fingers continued to draw slow, gentle shapes over your clit, only moving down to your entrance with the purpose to collect the wet slick he’d teased out of you, before it was back up again. You were moaning after a while, holding onto his tie while his fingers stroked you a little faster than before.

“ Mr. Anderson, ” you panted, peering up at him with a desperate frown. “ Please— please, I can’t… ” You were in a great need to have him inside you at that point, and you were certain that Connor knew that.

“ Can I use my mouth on you? ” He asked against your ear, and despite how his question took you off guard, you nodded without hesitation. 

“ Yes, ”

With a crooked smile, Connor decided to place a gentle kiss on your lips before he moved from the bed. You were panting as you watched him kneel before you on the floor, eyes following as he propped one of your legs over his shoulder and dragged you closer by the hips.  

“ Oh—  ” A shiver rippled through you the second he put his mouth on you, and as soon as you felt that odd, familiar tongue lapping broadly over your core, you moaned for him. Connor had worked you up enough to make you incredibly sensitive, but you knew that wasn’t the only reason you were dangerously close to falling off the edge. His tongue had a life of its own, flexing and rippling against a spot that made your toes curl. It was almost enough to distract you from the way he was quietly pumping his cock with his other hand, trying to match each stroke with the rhythm of his tongue shamelessly thrusting into you. 

The wet noises were loud enough to make you want to hide, but god, the way he sounded made you want to cum right there. Connor’s soft little moans and groans resulted in small vibrations that made you gasp, and you began to wonder if they were due to his hand on his cock, or simply a reaction to what he was doing to you. He seemed to catch on quickly, though, because the second his tongue pressed against your clit and started to vibrate, you were done for. You jolted from the sudden stimulation, but Connor held you down with a low growl. Whatever thought you’d had was quickly forgotten when he suddenly sealed his lips around your clit and heightened the intensity of the vibrations, finally pushing you over the edge with a loud cry. 

You had no idea what happened in the moments that followed. The room was spinning around you for a while, and when you slowly came back to earth, your fingers were in his hair while Connor’s tongue still lazily buzzed against you. 

You let out a small whine, squirming when the rough texture of his tongue was beginning to border on painful overstimulation. Luckily, Connor seemed to catch on, back from what seemed to be his own little trance as he retrieved his tongue and soothed your thighs with gentle strokes of his hands. 

“ Did you like that? ” he asked once he’d crawled over you again, dipping his head to kiss and lick at your right nipple. 

“ You like having an android fuck you with his mouth? ” he added, voice lowering to a filthy whisper. Android or not, you knew that no one on the planet could ever go down on you like he had. 

“ Yes, ” you panted, trying to ignore how you practically pulsed for him. If that was what he could do with his mouth, you could only imagine how his cock would feel like. 

“ Yes, what? ” he asked.

“ Y-Yes, Sir. ”

You felt him smile against your neck, his strong hands holding your hips and moving you further up on the bed. 

“ Such a good girl… ” he praised again, and you felt your insides flutter with butterflies. Fuck, he was playing into your fantasy so well, you were starting to wonder if some part of him actually enjoyed having power over you. A human. A fragile little sack of meat and bones he could do anything to if he so wished. 

You snapped back from your thoughts when you felt Connor position himself between your legs, mewling when he teasingly dragged the head of his cock through your wet folds. 

“ Do you think you deserve this? ” 

He tilted his head, and you observed how he lazily pumped his cock a few times before looking up at him again, the dark look in his eyes making you feel like a prey he wanted to hunt down.

“ You said that I was good, ” you tried lamely, distracted.

Connor smirked, eyes narrowing a touch in amusement.

Fuck. He was playing this a little too well.

“ Do you believe that? ” he asked. 

You couldn’t help but to stare down at his cock again, biting your lip on a moan as he slowly slid the hard tip up and down your folds. Just like earlier at the bar, this came to feel like an interrogation. And this time, you were more than desperate to pass it.

“ I can be,” you panted, “ I can be anything you want, Detective. ”

Connor’s LED shifted to a bright red, and the sharp contrast from the blue immediately caught your attention. 

He didn’t give you enough time to speculate on it, though, because one second he was whispering your name, and the next his mouth was on yours, kissing you in a desperate frenzy.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling him lifting your hips and pushing into you with a careful thrust that made you groan against his mouth. His cock was hard and hot, thrumming with the same, familiar electricity that you’d felt earlier as it dragged against your walls. The whirr and thrum of his engines were getting louder, and from the corner of your eye you could see Connor’s LED flickering back to yellow.

 “ Fuck, ” he groaned, bracing a hand on the bed. You couldn’t help but to stare at him when he placed one of your legs over his shoulder, his hips rocking gently with the purpose to open you up while his eyes fixed on where you were joined. To think that this was the same, put together man who held a lecture for your class earlier was only making this feel way filthier than it was, and you weren’t ashamed to admit how much you loved it.

Connor was still wearing most of his clothes at that point, and you decided that you liked that too. You liked that you could pull him down by that damn tie that had been giving you endless ideas of how he could be fucking you just like this. 

He picked up his pace after a while, going fast, hard and deep which was just what you needed. He was unbelievably hard, that low buzz of electric energy making your mind go blank as he reached spots you’d never felt before. You never expected him to feel like a human, and truthfully, he didn’t. The men you’d slept with had never felt this good, and they couldn’t move with the same rhythm and precision that Connor did, either. 

“ You take me so well, ” he praised, fingers digging into your hips as he fucked you harder into the bed. 

“ You’re so…” His voice was crackling with static at that point, more of those soft locks joining that stubborn curl over his forehead as he worked harder to fuck you. “ —so good for me.  ”

You were shamelessly moaning for him at that point, grasping onto his tie for an anchor point when he leaned down to you again. The hotel bed had been creaking and moaning under you for a while, and the only reminder of it came when he silenced you with kisses. You realized that there was definitely something sexually wired to Connor’s tongue, because the moment it met yours, his hips went wild, and moans began to spill from his mouth like never before. It made you wonder if he could feel it, everything he was doing to you.

“ I’m gonna fill you up, ” he murmured against your mouth, and those words alone almost made you stumble over the edge. 

“ Make you mine. ”

It was another technicality that separated him from a human, an animal, but it seemed to be working on you as much as it did for him. He was a machine fucking you like he wanted to get you pregnant, and the second you felt his fingers back on your clit, you knew you were done for. It was the repeated promise to pump you full of him through another sinful little murmur, that finally caused you to lose to the crashing wave of your climax.

“ Connor! ” you gasped, fingers clutching his shirt when you felt him twitch and release himself inside you with a groan. 

“ Connor, oh my god—! ” 

He was still going as he came, shaking and moaning as he emptied each ribbon and rope of whatever warm android cum consisted of, into you. For a second, you contemplated if he was planning to go for another round, because his hips were still going, pumping and pushing his release deeper into you like he couldn’t get enough while his LED glowed a bright red.

You were both panting by the time he finally came to slow down, but even then, Connor seemed very determined not to let his release spill out of you when he slowly withdrew. You couldn’t think clearly enough to understand whether he wanted to keep his sheets clean, or if he really meant what he’d said.

His fans and engines were gradually calming down, the cool air he dragged into his lungs aiding to turn down the heat that whirred inside him as his LED returned to a calm blue. You were no better under him, though: a sweaty, panting mess that just realized how informally she’d referred to him. 

He had definitely noticed it sooner, because the way he’d fixed his eyes on you while he was panting was almost predatory.

“ What did you call me? ” he leaned down to you, face inches away from yours while you instinctively pressed your head back against the bed to create some more distance. 

“ Sorry, I-I didn’t- ”

You weren’t prepared for the gentle hand that came down to stroke your cheek, the determined look in his eyes shifting into something soft and almost desperate.

“ No, please, ” Connor whispered, and you felt your heart swell at the sight and sound of him over you. 

“ I want to hear you say it. ”

“ Connor… ” you whispered, and his lips lifted to a lopsided smile that warmed your insides. You weren’t sure why you liked the taste of his name in your mouth, but something about it felt so right with his encouragement.

“ Connor, ” He was softly trailing kisses over your face and neck when you said it again in a small mantra, like he wanted to reward you with love and affection for saying his name like that.

Some part of you was reminded of the odd sadness that lingered over him at the bar again, and you began to think. It was easy for your mind to wander and speculate when he held you, his gentle hands drawing soothing patterns over your skin while his head laid on your chest and listened to your heartbeats.

Did Connor feel…lonely?

It almost felt naive that you’d never considered the possibility. He had proven just how human he could be, and somehow you still managed to forget that he could feel sadness and loneliness, too. Did Connor’s brain work the same way as yours? Were there wires in place of what would be fragile nerves for you? 

You shouldn’t have been surprised by how well he took care of you afterwards, washing you in the shower and murmuring sweet words in your hair as held your warm and content body under the covers. You’d been silent most of the time, thinking about him and why this didn’t feel like a normal one night stand. He peered at you like he knew what you were thinking, and even then his eyes were soft, like he was okay with you reflecting over him. Like it was your right to judge and filter your first experience with someone like him.

An android.

You came to the conclusion that this wasn’t just a normal one night stand for reasons beyond what he was. You had an immense urge to save him from the nasty aspects of humanity that came with his deviancy. You wanted to save him from the loneliness and the overwhelming nonsense of an overthinking man searching for a purpose in this world. Because that was his burden, wasn't it? Connor was brilliant and immortal, which gave him all the reasons to feel lost and lonely. It gave him all the advantages to desperately seek for a purpose in a world that would always shift and change while he remained the same. He was stuck in his own evil curse of wanting to learn and adapt and to reflect: a neverending feed of data that was the world around him.

I can be anything you want, Detective.

Maybe that was why he wanted you. Maybe your desire to please him made him fall into a healthy balance between man and machine. 

Maybe. 

One thing that you knew for sure, though, was that you wanted to meet him again. And when you found a small, handwritten note next to the cold bed you woke up in the next morning, you decided that you were finally going to leave this shitty town for good, and find him.

Find me again when you’re ready.

Until then, try to stay out of trouble…

-Connor

[luuurien]

Bad Breeding - Human Capital

(Hardcore Punk, Noise Rock, Anarcho-Punk)

The Stevenage hardcore band's fourth album is another strong collection of dark and intense punk, but Bad Breeding look for a path forward more than ever before. While Human Capital still focuses on the failures of modern capitalism and working class struggles, they envision a future rooted in solidarity and radical shifts in our political structures. It's the kind of hopeful and powerful album that refuses to treat punk rock as a nihilist's home.

☆☆☆☆

Too often nowadays is punk a place that feels more like it's just bitching about things, rather than acting as a musical style to use as a tool to push its artist's goals forward. You can find all sorts of bands out there who seem more keen to echo the same cliche, cynical views about the issues plaguing the modern day - climate change, exploitation of the working class, uncaring government entities that do little to help the people who need support most, you name it - but rarely are any of these bands proving an idea of what the future could in their eyes. Bad Breeding refuses to be one of those bands, looking to show the world the changes they desire and always working inside and outside of their music to make them a reality, fundraising and organizing with other local groups in their hometown of Stevenage and focusing on community above all else. Their latest album, Human Capital, still touches on all the same issues their music always has: the failures and toxic roots of capitalism and its implementation into every part of our lives, the abandonment of working people by the state - particularly in Stevenage, a planned community born from the aftermath of WWII rife with a housing crisis, austerity measures and difficulties keeping up with the economic grind of neoliberalism - but points towards a way out as Bad Breeding explore a future rooted in solidarity and radical shifts in our political structures. Their unique background as a band has always contributed to their music's power, and Human Capital digs even deeper into Bad Breeding's visions of the community-focused, socialist future that their music has always strived towards. Musically, Human Capital isn't all too far from Bad Breeding's previous releases, but what sets it apart from 2019's Exiled or 2017's Divide is that the production has been pruned of the rougher edges that were found on previous releases, still intense but with more clarity to things than ever before. Songs like Prescription and Death March still absolutely rip, but everything is more balanced than the heavy drums and compressed guitars from before, extra presence given to Chris Dodd's throaty screams and lurid growls as he hones in on the importance of solidarity on opener Community or the nature of capitalist businesses to push workers to the brink and wring out as much as they can from them no matter the cost on the title track. Even though it's a crisper, occasionally brighter sound than their old murky hardcore, Human Capital still feels alive and electrifying because of how much extra energy they're able to put into these songs when the mixes aren't as messy as they were before, the sludgy guitar riff that opens up Misdirection not overtaking the mix and leaving space for Ashlea Bennett's unrelenting drums and Charlie Rose's quick-footed bassline while songs like Speculation play out in a more traditional way with their backbeat grooves and churning guitars that show Bad Breeding outside of their usual hardcore punk sound. All in all, Human Capital sounds just as good as anything they've done in the past, and the only thing that means is that it is an awesome listen all around. The band's incredibly intense sound does occasionally cause their messages to get lost in the mix of thrashing guitars and pummeling percussion, even if the songs themselves are still awesome - it's hard to catch Dodd's voice in the stuffed 1:45 runtime of Arc Eye and Prescription's untamed instrumentation hides his words under blankets of distortion and guitar fuzz - but what Human Capital does best is get you invested and interested in the ideas they deliver throughout the album, tackling late-stage capitalist societal conditions with all the vitriol and anger they have towards them. It's a dark record that confronts many unsavory and toxic aspects of our modern economic strata, but Human Capital's conclusion is never to sit back and let things fall apart, that's never been now Bad Breeding does things. It's an album of energy because they want you to get up and in support of your local groups and communities, to step up with one another like Dodd commands in Community and refuse to be beaten down by those with power, Human Capital's fast tempos and aggressive instrumentation Bad Breeding's way of spreading a message with their platform in the most potent way they can. Even if you may not know your place in the fight for a better world yet, Human Capital helps get you thinking about those issues and the ones that matter to you most through the band's charismatic and gripping take on hardcore punk, and that's ultimately their end goal. Human Capital works because of how unique a band Bad Breeding are in the modern hardcore space, not succumbing to despair and always using their music to work towards a better and more equitable world rather than sitting around and complaining about all the issues that plague our lives and leaving it at that. They mix actionable, strong rhetoric with genuinely enjoyable and thrilling songs that are worth coming back to for both their message and killer instrumentation, the kind of band you fall in love with because every element that needs to be there for the music to work is present and never half-baked. Bad Breeding know what they're here to do, and they make sure they get the most out of every single moment here, Human Capital ensuring that you know everything the band stands for and the future they envision. The album's powerful sound and unshakeable resolve makes it hard not to connect with everything Bad Breeding does here, and by the end of things, there's no doubt that they're one of the most important and quintessential hardcore bands today. Human Capital refuses to back down in the battle for a future rid of the ills of corrupt governments and broken capitalist greed, and Bad Breeding makes it clear what their platform stands for and how important it is to them that their music upholds those virtues no matter what. With an album this good, it's impossible for them to ever falter in those efforts.

[hillaryisaboss]

Love her or hate her -- she truly does have a brilliant mind:

“The technology platforms are so much more powerful than any organ of the so-called mainstream press, and I do think that there has to be not just an American reckoning but a global reckoning with the disinformation, with the monopolistic power and control, with the lack of accountability that the platforms currently enjoy.

In particular Facebook, which has the worst track record for enabling mistruths, misinformation, extremism, conspiracy, for goodness’ sake, even genocide in Myanmar against the Rohingya. So governments are going to have to decide right now that the platforms have to be held to some kind of standard, and it’s tricky.

They’re incredibly powerful. But I don’t see any alternative if we’re going to try to deal with the very real dangers that disinformation and the divisiveness it breeds pose to our democracies.

There’s no doubt that the Chinese are basically making the opposite case that democracy is messy, things take too long, people are in and out of office, there’s no continuity, you can’t have the kind of fixed goals that can be moved forward in a socially cohesive way and therefore choose us. We are facing that struggle.

Once an American president [Trump] said that the press was the enemy of the people, that gave permission to all kinds of autocrats to make the same claim.

I don’t know any American president who’s ever thought he got fair press; they always believe that they are not understood, or they’re being held to impossible standards or whatever their complaints might be.

But we never had a president who essentially aligned himself with authoritarian thinking and acting the way we did with our former president.

It did do damage inside our own country, because it fed paranoia, conspiracy theories, partisan differences in our own political system that led many people to claim that the press was the enemy of the people, or at least the enemy of what they believed in.

The fact is that certain media really became mouthpieces for Trump’s view of reality and fed the kind of disbelief and very negative view about anything that ‘the mainstream press’ had to say.

On the other hand, the mainstream press had a very hard time coming to grips with the mendacity and the danger posed by Trump and his enablers and followers.

It was very difficult. I understand the challenge that they faced. I think they were too slow in coming around to understanding that this was not an ordinary difference of opinion, this was not a different kind of leader in degree. This was a wholesale jettisoning of what we had come to understand as being appropriate boundaries for our leaders to operate within.

I’m concerned about decision making on behalf of the west because, as complicated as these relationships are and as sometimes distressing the bureaucracy can be, it’s really important, especially talking about democracy versus autocracy, that democracies stick together. So the separation of the UK from Europe, I hope, doesn’t lead to a weakening of the commitment to democracy and the strength of standing up against both internal and external threats.

They’ve got to rid themselves of both-sidesism.

It is not the same to say something critical of somebody on the other side of the aisle, and to instigate an attack on the Capitol and to vote against certifying the election. Those are not comparable, and it goes back to the problem of the press actually coming to grips with how out of bounds and dangerous the new political philosophy on the right happens to be.”

[buckyownsmylife]

You found me - Loki Laufeyson smut

The one where you’re on your period.

Warnings: period sex, oral sex (f), p in v, breeding kink, praise kink

Word count: 3.5K

A/N: Day 7 of kinktober and this one is coming out unrevised because I’m fucking tired and I don’t have a beta. The prompts were praise kink and period sex. Also, Loki is nasty and if you’re squirmy about the subject of blood in sex, you probably shouldn’t read this.

Loki’s P.O.V.

I’d watched the sweet human grow more agitated with each passing day. Upon my arrival at the tower, she immediately caught my eye, not only because of her indisputable beauty, but mostly due to how charming and approachable she was even to me, someone barely considered bearable by most of the other inhabitants of the building.

And still, she didn’t seem to care. Not that the others, her friends, didn’t like if she so much as stood closer to me, and not that I had once tried to destroy her entire planet. “You’re not your mistakes, Loki,” she’d answered when I inquired, at last beaten by my own curiosity. “To me, you have a clean slate. You’ve been nothing but polite and courteous to me since you arrived. I don’t have any reason to continuously mistreat you for crimes you’ve already been acquitted for or that you’ve already suffered for.”

She truly was a mystery to me, her kindness so unusual to my being that I couldn’t help but to drink it in as much as possible, looking for her whenever I didn’t have anything else to do, which was constantly. So when she started to change, despite the small nature of the differences, it all seemed that clearer to me.

It started with her bursting into tears in the middle of breakfast when my bull of a brother accidentally bumped into her, making her drop the cup of tea in her hands. Everyone was startled by the sight, much more than by the porcelain breaking, concerned that she had somehow managed to hurt herself, but after a while, she rubbed her eyes, clearing them of tears before dismissing our preoccupations with a wave of her hand.

“‘M sorry, I’m just sensitive today. I felt guilty over breaking something, God, I’m such a klutz.” No one even had the time to note that it hadn’t been her fault or that the tin man had more than enough money to buy thousands of cups just like the one now destroyed, because she was out of the kitchen in a hurry, taking the light of the morning with her.

Or at least, that’s what it seemed like to me.

Then, the next day, she didn’t appear for breakfast at all. I knocked on her bedroom’s door to find her still lying down, completely wrapped up in her covers, a look of pain in her face. “What’s wrong, my sweet?” I asked, immediately running towards her to check for any sort of bruises, but she simply waved me away.

“‘S just cramps, Loki. Don’t worry about it. I got a heating pad over my belly, I should be down in a minute.” I actually found myself pouting, unconvinced and still worried about who I considered to be my only friend, but when she smiled softly at me, nodding to assure me of her safety, I decided to grant her the space she apparently needed.

It did not mean I wasn’t still concerned.

Then the third day came and with it, an unexpected outburst that consisted of her screaming at that new Barnes guy for being so “awful” to me when he was the person who should understand what I’d been through the most.

Overall, I was definitely very confused about seeing her that angry. She wasn’t the kind of person to lose her head like that. But my confusion was easily surpassed by how touched I was by her demonstration of loyalty.

It had also left me incredibly aroused, and once again I had to resort to taking care of myself before going to sleep, but that is something I was trying very hard to ignore, in order not to scare her away.

But then, the fourth day came, and with it, the most puzzling display of foreign emotions I’d ever seen on her so far. It started with her avoiding me for the better part of the day, before jumping three feet in the air when I managed to find her in the kitchen after everyone had gone out for drinks.

“Y-your fingers are cold,” she explained, but I’d always been cold and she’d never once seemed to have any sort of particular reaction to the temperature of my skin before. “Everyone’s gone, I think I’m gonna call it an early night.” 

I wrapped my (cold) fingers around her wrist before she could run away from me. “I was hoping we could take advantage of their absence and watch that movie you’ve been talking about for a while.”

She seemed hesitant, and I tried to ignore how my heart hurt at seeing her avoid my eyes. “Please?” I asked, aware of how I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done so, much less for another person’s companion. “I miss you.”

That last confession came out unintentionally, and I could already see myself backtracking when she raised her beautiful bright eyes to meet mine, smiling softly up at me in a sweet, innocent look that shouldn’t have turned me on as much as it did.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Ok,” I agreed, biting my lip to stop a moan from surfacing at the simple sight of Loki smiling openly at me, because of me. “Let’s do it.” I pulled him to the living room, trying not to shiver from how his fingers felt interlaced with mine, knowing he’d think it was because the cold bothered me. I didn’t want him feeling worse than I’d already made him feel, I was already too guilty for my behavior these last few days.

I put on the movie we’d been commenting about before locating a nice blanket to cover us with, before hesitating at the realisation that I really shouldn’t sit as close to him as I usually did. 

Unfortunately for me, he noticed, raising one of his perfect eyebrows as I tried to play it off as nothing, laughing at myself before taking a seat next to him on the sofa. “Let’s watch it!” I tried to come off as excited - I’d been the one commenting on how much I wanted him to watch Hocus Pocus for days now, but the second the movie started, I knew I was a lost cause. 

Being so close to him, sharing a blanket, being engulfed by his natural perfume of spices and winter, I felt myself growing wet despite my best wishes. Fuck. He was right there. But I knew he’d never see me in any sort of flattering, attractive way, so I had to get a grip over myself, because I didn’t want him to notice that there was something wrong with me.

“Are you ok?” He asked, a few minutes into the movie, as I tried my best to remain absolutely immobile in order not to feel his skin against mine. It was only after he asked that I realized I wasn’t even breathing properly, and I must have looked pathetic, sitting there like a statue, pretending to watch the television.

“Yes, yes,” I breathed out, adjusting myself in hopes to get more comfortable and hopefully calm down his suspicions. “Don’t worry about me. Watch the movie!” The problem now was that the way I was sitting, sitting on both my legs that were now curled underneath me, the throbbing of my clit was just that much more obvious, and I was on the verge of moaning just from the little bit of friction the position offered me.

Fuck, I hate this. 

I tried my best to shift in my seat as inconspicuous as possible, but every movement I made now sent a direct jolt to my desperate pussy. I was on the verge of crying when his voice interrupted my own internal monologue again.

“Okay, enough of this, Y/N. You will tell me what’s going on. Speak. Now.” The authoritative tone of his voice didn’t help my little situation at all, and at last, I found myself whimpering under his penetrating gaze. Immediately, my hands came up to cover my mouth, ashamed beyond belief that I’d done something so mortifying, especially since Loki’s eyebrows were now close to his hairline as he stared back at me with his mouth hanging open.

“Are you… Are you aroused?” I couldn’t really admit it, far too embarrassed to speak, so I just hid my face in my hands as I rested my elbows on my thighs. “Did I… Did I do this to you?”

Loki’s P.O.V.

I watched as she started giggling at my question, uncertain as to where that response would lead me as far as the question I’d asked was concerned. When I didn’t offer any sort of accompanying commentary, opting to let the silence in the room rest, she at last sighed, revealing her gorgeous face to me again.

“Yes,” she admitted, and I felt like my heart had stopped beating for a second. She bit her lower lip again, avoiding my gaze as she stared at the tv I’d turned off minutes ago. “I’m sorry, Loki. I know we’re friends, it’s just… I’m on my period and I get really fucking horny and…”

“You’re on your what?” I interrupted, unfamiliar with the term she was utilizing. She blinked a few times, like she wasn’t expecting me to be concerned about that particular part of her speech.

“My period,” she repeated, scratching the back of her neck. “I’m taking by your question that Asgardian women don’t have it, but us Misgardians do. Well, some of us, and only after we reach a certain age. Basically, we start… bleeding… from our… lower parts. And it’s very messy and emotional because our hormones start acting up and that’s why I’ve been acting crazy these last few days.”

I didn’t know what to say, too concerned with trying to process her words. “You bleed… from your lower parts. Why?” Confusion was all I could understand in the moment, but thankfully, it seemed like she didn’t mind. In fact, by the way her adorable giggle echoed around the room, she seemed very amused by my reaction.

“It’s basically nature's way of punishing us for not getting pregnant.” Well, I wasn’t expecting that. Immediately, perking up, I licked my lips as I dragged my eyes over her body once more, admiring the way her breasts moved with each breath she took.

“And you want my help to deal with that,” I clarified, but when her eyebrows shot up on her forehead, I got confused once again.

“No! I mean… No, of course not. What do you think you could do to help me with this?” She asked, hugging herself, her eyes avoiding mine once more. I huffed, getting tired of this and her sheepishness.

“Well, I could put a baby in you, for one.” By the way her mouth fell open, I could see that the idea shocked her, and I wasn’t sure if it was in a good way. “At the very least, I could help you deal with your arousal levels. Don’t you think that would be a much nicer way to spend the evening, than stealing glances at me while clenching your beautiful thighs?”

She shut her mouth but looked to the other side of the room, pondering my words as I waited for any sign of agreement so I could pounce. I was already licking my lips in expectation when she turned back to me, a supplicant look on her face.

“I-I don’t… I mean, yes, sure, but… Loki, I’m all bloodied!” I chuckled as I pulled her to my lap, enjoying her warmth against me. Carefully pushing away the stray hairs across her face, I made sure she was looking deep in my eyes when I talked to her again.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Well, I’ve always enjoyed the taste of blood.” The shiver that ran through my spine at his words and the feeling of his cold breath over my mouth stopped me from realizing what was going on until he had me in his arms, half-way through our hallway already.

“Loki…” I tried to warn him once more, despite desperately desiring anything he wanted to be doing to me, but he stopped me with a hush, his beautiful green eyes sparkling as he looked down at me in his arms.

“No more thinking, my sweet. Just feeling.”

The first thing I felt was the softness of his covers as he laid me down on his bed with all the care in the world, like I was the most precious thing he had ever held between his arms. “I never thought I’d see you here, like this,” he whispered, his eyes drinking me in, making my breath hitch at the lust I saw there.

The second thing I felt was his heart beating against mine in a quick dance as he laid down over me, both of our shirts dismissed as he kissed me deeply and languidly. “You really want this,” I noticed, finally realizing that Loki had been wishing for the same thing as I had, probably for just as long.

The only answer I got was a bruise on my neck from his icy lips, before he continued to trace a path with his tongue that took him directly to my nipples. “These look so sensitive, my dove.” He wasn’t wrong. I was sensitive all over, especially after the new nickname he’d just assigned me. “Do not worry, I’ll take proper care of them.”

He drew the nipples with the edge of his tongue, his eyes connected with mine the entire time, and I struggled to keep in the gasps and moans that were begging to be released. Almost as if he was reading my mind, he ordered, “Let them out, my sweet. I want to hear all of the delicious sounds you make. I’ve been dreaming about them for too long.”

The symphony of my own sounds of pleasure then broke free, adding to the dizzy feeling in my head as Loki continued to nibble and suck on each inch of skin available to him. The curtain of raven hair temporarily blocked him from me as he moved lower and lower across my body in a snail’s pace, until his lips were dancing on the edge of my jeans. Only then did he raise his beautiful eyes to meet mine again. 

“May I take them off?” I could only nod, but it was enough for him to open that blinding smile of his, while his fingers made quick work of my pants and panties. The smell of blood then reached my nose, albeit timidly, and I groaned, suddenly snapped back to reality. “What’s this?” Loki asked, his fingers playing with the string of my tampon.

“It’s one of the tools women use to contain the blood inside our bodies. I have to change them from time to time, but at least I don’t get permanently dirty during my period.” He didn’t immediately say anything, too preoccupied with analyzing my pussy, while I trembled in expectation under his unwavering gaze.

“Can I pull it out?” Loki asked, his eyes shining with a distinctive sparkle I couldn’t really identify. 

“Why?” I hesitated, unsure if I wanted him to see the mess it’d certainly become, even if I desperately wanted to have him inside of me.

“Because I want to taste you, my dove.” He teased me with tiny little kisses over my navel, a mischievous smile on his lips. “And I desperately want to feel you from the inside.”

I didn’t have anything to say to that, but Loki simply took my silence as an agreement. Soon, his tongue was tracing circles around my clit, until it finally closed in on it, before he softly sucked it inside his mouth. And I was a goner.

Thinking was impossible, and he was right, all I could do was feel. I didn’t even notice he’d already taken off my tampon until I felt his tongue going lower and lower, finding my wet hole and plunging inside of it.

He moaned at the taste of the wetness he found there, and I could only tremble in his arms and move my hips to fuck myself on his tongue. “And you wanted to deprive me of this…” He actually looked disappointed in me as he looked down on my cunt perfectly on display for him. He held my lower lips open with both of his thumbs before diving in once more, slurping and groaning and I felt myself cumming just from the deprivation of it all.

At the new flow of wetness that hit his lips, Loki actually growled against my pussy, stretching his jaw to encompass my whole pussy with his mouth. “I could taste you forever, my sweet…” he whispered when he finally pulled away, pushing two long fingers inside of me and pumping a few times as I whined when he touched my sweet spot, pressing harshly against in before pulling back and admiring the mixture of blood and cum in his fingers. “But I really need to be inside of you now.”

After sucking on his own digits until they were clean, Loki stepped out of the bed to remove his pants, revealing a gorgeously long cock, the head red and weeping as he pumped it a few times while looking down at the mess I was, sprawled out over his cover for his viewing pleasure. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he commented, almost to himself, and I moaned at the simple comment, catching his attention as his eyes flew back to stare directly at me again. “You get aroused when I compliment you.” It wasn’t a question, and I wouldn’t know what to answer if it were. However, to both of our eyes, it was clear that it was nothing but a statement of the truth.

“Come here, my little dove. Let me ease my throbbing hardness in that perfect warm cunt of yours.” Having yanked me to the edge of the bed by one of my ankles, he pushed inside of me swiftly, cautiously watching my face for any signs of discomfort. “How does it feel, my sweet? To have me inside of your body? Because to me, it’s like reaching Valhalla while remaining on Midgard. You’re so perfect. The perfect flower for me. I think I made the right choice in deciding to deposit the future prince in you.”

He didn’t give me any time to process the information he so casually dropped on me, immediately starting to fuck me with long and deep thrusts that made me feel his cock deep inside my belly.

Loki’s P.O.V.

“Oh, look at you, my sweet… so perfect, accepting me deep inside of you. Can you see it? Look, how much of you is already mine, my love.” I carefully reached her nape to pull her so she could view the protuberance in her lower belly every time I pushed in. “This is where our child will grow. I can’t wait to see you round with my seed.”

Y/N started to sob as I quickened the pace with which I speared her, her nails carving its marks on my shoulders and back. “Lo-Loki, what are you talking about?” She screamed over the sounds of our passionate lovemaking, and I grinned, rubbing my nose on her neck.

“About me making sure you won’t have your period again, my love. Wasn’t this what we talked about just before?” Her eyes grew big at my words, but before she could say anything else, I hit her special spot repeatedly, making her head fall back against the pillow as she screamed her release. “There you go, my sweet… my perfect girl. You want my seed? Say you want to be mine, my dove, say you’ll be only mine until the end of time.” 

I closed my eyes as I felt my own high fast approaching, my breathing getting heavier as our movements became even harsher, almost animalistic. “I-I want it, Loki. Make me… Make me yours.”

The sound of her melodic voice asking for my release was what brought me over the edge, and I made sure to continue to pump it further inside of her until I could no longer move, finally allowing myself to drop on top of her warm body.

“Loki…” She called out to me after a few minutes, when I was almost embraced by the sweet hands of slumber.

“Call me my prince,” I immediately interrupted, making myself more comfortable while remaining inside of her.

“My prince…” She tried again, earning an affirmative hum this time. “You know my period only stops while I’m pregnant, right?”

I took some time to think her words through, while I exchanged our positions so she’d be leaning over my chest. “That only means I’ll have to keep you pregnant until eternity, my sweet.”

[calamity-bean]

Aziraphale/Crowley Fic Recs

AKA “There is SO much Good Omens fic nowadays, with more being added at SUCH an incredible rate, that I keep forgetting to bookmark things and thus completely lose track of what I’ve read and what I liked and which ones to watch for updates and which ones I might want to read again and etc etc. So, for the sake of my own sanity, I have made A List.”

And I thought, hey, might as well share.

I’ve divided this list into WIPs and Complete Works, but otherwise, it’s a jumble: canon-verse and AUs, short and long, ranging in rating from G to E and incorporating various tropes and headcanons. I tend to gravitate toward happy endings, so there’s probably nothing too dark or soul-crushing, but as always, buyer beware, pay attention to tags and content warnings and your own personal tastes. Works are listed in chronological order of first publishing, simply as a neutral and objective way to list them, and more will be added intermittently as I read new ones or rediscover ones I forgot.

Hope this helps someone find some good reading and directs more attention to some well-deserving work!

-- WIPs --

On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (June 15, 2019)

1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles.

Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning.

Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5.

Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water.

Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.

Show Me a Great Plan by WriteDreamLie (June 17, 2019)

A.J. Crowley is an eccentric "business man." A.Z. Fell is a bookseller who refuses to sell any books.

After Fell (unwillingly) helps Crowley out of a sticky situation, the two become oddly fixed on each other. And their relationship could just be the thing that saves them both.

icing on the cake by Etheostoma (June 18, 2019)

Between the black attire, swaying hips, slouching pose, and affected “devil-may-care” attitude that actually belied an incredibly sensitive nature, A.J. Crowley was a walking puzzle—and one that Aziraphale, when he allowed his thoughts free rein, wanted desperately to solve.

That being said, at the end of the day Crowley was also technically his employer, and therefore even the thought of anything more was decidedly not a Good Idea.

Vita Nova by AMidnightDreary (June 18, 2019)

“Angel, bloody hell. Hi. You doing okay? Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

It was quiet for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said then, still polite, but a bit perplexed. “Who is this?”

Crowley, upon finding that Aziraphale does not remember him, is very much Not Okay with the changes Adam made after the Apocalypse That Wasn't. He can't do anything but try and make the best out of it, though. (Which is a lot easier than it should be.)

Sparse Clutter by ItsClydeBitches (June 26, 2019)

A fic bingo collection featuring twenty-five, one word prompts. Whole thing is probably best described as "Ineffable husbands stupidity with a hefty dose of gen world building," but I'll chuck brief summaries below as I update!

Strange Pilgrims: Being the Account of a lost Angel, the Journeys of a Demon, the meaning of Free Will, of the Unravelling of a Prophecy, and of Being Unravelled by it in Turn by sousverre (June 26, 2019)

"Aziraphale going missing" would be quite enough drama for Crowley to be getting on with, thanks very much - even without a prophecy that seems to be implying the significance of Feelings, and especially with every gargoyle in London trying to reunite them.

But when he does find the angel, Aziraphale has lost his memory, his wings, and insists that he is happily married to some kind of investment banker.

Right. So the first step is to fix all that, somehow, and then - and then - and then everything can go back to normal, like it was before, which is all Crowley wants.

Right.

How do we fix this?

Put Out The Fire by Aleakim (June 27, 2019)

Aziraphale finds himself in a very awkward position as some sort of spell makes everyone merely glancing in his direction instantly fall deeply and desperately in love with him.

Absolutely everyone.

Well, apart from Crowley, that is.

And while both angel and demon search for a solution to this fairly unique problem, Crowley can’t help wondering whether Aziraphale might finally figure out some things he kept hidden for so very long.

Ink Blots and Forget-Me-Nots by gutsandglitter (July 3, 2019)

Ninth Circle Ink was hardly more than a stone’s throw from the flower shop; Aziraphale knew from past experience that it took less than thirty seconds to go from door to door (forty-five if you had to wait for a car to pass). It had been a perfect arrangement in the beginning, when they were just starting out.

aka the flower shop/tattoo parlor (human) exes AU that nobody asked for!

You Can Have Your Cake by eragon19 (July 4, 2019)

Aziraphale has been working as Anathema's assistant at her wedding planning service for near on a year now. He thinks he's seen it all, from meddling parents to nervous brides, and in one case an ex with a penchant for arson.

What he isn't prepared for is a reluctant groom with a liking for black leather and a smile that has Aziraphale's mind going to places it most certainly shouldn't. Especially since the man is getting married, no matter how awful his fiance is...

To the Stars by StarRose (July 9, 2019)

The happy ending Titanic!Au no one ever writes but everyone always imagines in every possible fandom. Aziraphale is being forcibly sent to America to be forcibly married to Gabriel. Crowley is going to forcibly screw that up.

A Matter of Convenience by ylc (July 15, 2019)

There comes a time when even the most fervent enemies must call a truce and what better way to cement such truce than a marriage? And if the involved parties happen to be the most troublesome members of the ruling families… well, that’s all for the best, isn’t it?

Barriers, and the Breaking Thereof by Cardinal_Daughter (July 16, 2019)

Ezra Fell has long been comfortable in his loneliness. He’s content to simply run the Soho Public Library and otherwise keep to himself. However, when a handsome stranger bursts in one evening with a baby, frantic and in need of help, Ezra finds those carefully constructed barriers he’s long maintained begin to crack.

Perhaps it’s time to let them fall.

Series of one-shots focusing on the lives and developing relationship between Ezra Fell and Anthony J. & Adam Crowley. Human AU.

Lavender, Chamomile, and a Rather Permanent Arrangement by southdownsraph (July 17, 2019)

Crowley owns the flower shop across the street from A. Z. Fell's tattoo shop, and can't help but be intrigued by the slightly eccentric, yet incredibly friendly tattoo artist. When Crowley does finally pluck up the courage to talk to him beyond the occasional pleasantries, he kicks off the beginning of a friendship that could so easily drift into something else entirely.

Pride and Prejudice and Angels by SanSanFanFan (July 20, 2019)

Hampshire, England, 1809

Miss Crowley's plans for a small temptation near the South Coast go awry as she realises that Aziraphale is not only a guest of a neighbouring landed gentlelady but also suffering under some kind of malady.

Match-making! Balls! Fainting! Happily Ever Afters???

Celestial Bodies by LieutenantLiv (August 3, 2019)

The year is 1923. Aziraphale's friends at the gentlemen's club invite him for a weekend away in Devon. He asks Crowley to join. It gets very silly and very messy very quickly.

That's just how things were in the roaring twenties.

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm (August 9, 2019)

As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

--His clothing was expensive and stylish; --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne; --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;” --He looked angry; --He was wearing sunglasses.

What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

-- Complete Works --

Anthophilia by FortinbrasFTW (July 7, 2014)

Anthony J. Crowley's life seems like it's finally falling into place: his floral shop has begun to gain an undercurrent of appreciation in the design elite of London, and he might have even finally found a boyfriend who looks just right lounging on his Tenreiro sofa. Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn't seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him, which really shouldn't bother him as much as it does - it was ten years ago after all, and it wasn't even that good of a kiss.

The Rose Thief and the Priest by ImprobableDreams900 (January 8, 2018)

When horticulturist A. J. Crowley sees a rare breed of rose in a churchyard, he decides he won't stop until he can get a cutting—even if he has to go through the church's stuffy priest to do so.

Running in the Shadows (Damn Your Love, Damn Your Lies) by soft_october (May 10, 2019)

"In plain terms, Mr. A. Fell was a man of impeccable conduct and unusual habits, and in a similar manner to many of whom bore the first two traits, he must also take up the third: dire loneliness. Yet it had not always been thus. Indeed, there once was a time when it seemed as if he should never know solitude or want of suitable company for the rest of his days, but the circumstances by which Aziraphale might have unwound the knot that now bound up his heart had long since dragged themselves, mortally wounded, to die in the shades of regret. Their ghosts hung in his past, growing in consequence with the singular passing of each year until they eclipsed even the death of those who had the foremost hand in their making, and had the effect of separating the sequence of his days of into a gentle, blooming Before, whose painful beauty made the egregious scars of the After that much more appalling."

What Aziraphale does not know is that, from across the ocean, Mr. Anthony J. Crowley is returning to England with his newly aquired wealth, wanting nothing more than to rebuild his life after a terrible shock and, perhaps, discover why he had been abandoned by his fiancé ten long years ago.

You Might Think I’m Crazy (All I Want is You) by soft_october (March 29, 2019)

'“Look I understand, you’ve got to check up on the new occupants, make sure I’m a proper ‘fit’ for the neighborhood or whatever euphemism you’re going to use this time, 'the greater good,' I saw the film, I get it. But I peeked in at the place next door the agent mentioned and if you aren’t bothering him I really don't think you should be-”

“I’m your neighbor,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I own that place next door?”

“Oh.”'

Since the next shop over closed down, Aziraphale's had a peaceful few months, barring those unpleasant interactions with the men in cheap suits who keep trying to persuade him to sell his shop. But now a (handsome) new owner has taken up residence beside him and, horror of horrors, he wants to open up a coffee shop.

A Home at the Beginning of the World by stereobone (June 6, 2019)

"Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me."

creatures of circumstance by attheborder (June 10, 2019)

Anthony J. Crowley, Jr. is the prodigal son of CrowleyCorp, the UK’s most powerful, dangerous, and controversial technology company.  

A one-night stand with a mysterious man who calls himself Aziraphale tips his hopeless life upside-down into a dangerous obsession.

And somewhere else entirely, a girl-shaped creature is presiding over the back room of a bookshop in Soho, where an angel and a demon lay unconscious on the floor…

Bending Space and Time by Draco_sollicitus (June 11, 2019)

Crowley could never have envisioned a miracle quite like making an angel smile.

And when that angel is Aziraphale, well, he'll do whatever he can to experience that miracle again, and again, and again.

(Crowley spends the twentieth century bringing books to Aziraphale in an effort to make his angel smile a little more)

the words of the prophet are written on the subway walls by volantium (June 11, 2019)

Aziraphale and Crowley do the twenty-first century. (Or, Aziraphale and Crowley, dorks in love, post-Apocalypse).

a picnic plan for you and me by theapplepielifestyle (June 12, 2019)

“It’s angel food cake,” he said. He waited. When Aziraphale did nothing but nod politely: “It’s funny, see, ‘cause-”

“No, no, I get it.” Aziraphale nodded again. “Very funny.”

“Oh, shut up, it is-”

“May I ask what brought this on?”

Crowley paused. “Can’t a guy just want to try baking?”

(Or, Crowley makes Aziraphale food after the world doesn't end. It has absolutely nothing to do with how much he wants to make Aziraphale smile.)

with urgency but not with haste by Sanwall (June 13, 2019)

Aziraphale moves to the South Downs and gets bees, and Crowley gets into one of his moods.

The Play’s The Thing by volunteerfd (June 16, 2019)

“Who was at the very first rehearsal, hmm? Who read over Shakespeare’s shoulder as he put ink to parchment? If anything, I know Hamlet just as intimately as I know you.” Aziraphale picked up his teacup again and looked at Crowley over the rim of it. “Maybe even more.”

Crowley was tempted to ask if he’d fucked Hamlet.

****

Aziraphale is cast as the lead in a community theatre production of Hamlet, a lifelong dream of his and a lifelong night terror of Crowley's. But, as the hapless Crowley helps him run lines, it becomes a mystery why anyone would let Aziraphale on stage. Tears are shed, skulls are crushed, monologues are butchered, and through it all, Crowley remains supportive. After all, the show must go on--even if it is the fifty billionth production of stupid, overrated Hamlet.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by 13thDoctor, JHarkness (June 17, 2019)

5 times Aziraphale and Crowley were mistaken for a couple, and the 1 time they weren’t.

A Regular Rip van Winkle by aurilly (June 20, 2019)

After almost an entire century spent asleep, Crowley wakes in 1888 to find the world more changed than he thought possible. His first order of business is to find his angel.

Also concerning the origin of the Baroque gavotte (spoilers: Aziraphale was feeling thirsty).

A bookshop is not a business by anactoriatalksback (June 22, 2019)

In which Aziraphale has no intention of selling books to anyone at all, let alone this infuriatingly persistent customer. No matter how nice his cheekbones are...

like a prayer for which no words exist by lipsstainedbloodred (June 23, 2019)

“What do you want, angel?” Crowley asks before Aziraphale is even properly in the room.

“Hullo my dear,” Aziraphale sounds cheery but also awfully worried, “I hadn’t seen you since - well, since-” Since they’d swapped bodies back; since Crowley had turned tail and ran from St. James’s Park like the Devil himself had been on his heels.

(in which Crowley and Aziraphale do not dine at the Ritz after that nasty business with Heaven and Hell, and Crowley has an existential crisis instead)

far too much in love to see by imperiousheiress (June 25, 2019)

“Hello, can I help you with anything in particular?” Aziraphale asks. And then, he freezes.

Inexplicably, impossibly, it’s the same man who had entered the shop the last time they’d been open. He’s sure of it. The man who he’d felt a rather insistent urge to garrote.

(Or, one of Aziraphale’s regular customers takes a little too much interest in Crowley, and Aziraphale feels somewhat unfamiliarly unpleasant about all of it.)

The Holiest by merle_p (June 26, 2019)

So when Aziraphale hears, through the grapevine, that an exorcism is supposed to happen on New Year’s Eve in Major Gruber’s flat, he knows that despite his general distaste for exorcisms, this is where he is going to be, on the slim chance that the demon Major Gruber and his spiritist friends have found is the same one Aziraphale appears to have lost.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers by Gefionne (June 26, 2019)

Because they can’t see each other more than once every few decades, Aziraphale suggests that he and Crowley write to each other to pass the time apart. As quills for their letters, they exchange wing feathers: a gesture of great intimacy that Crowley is convinced only he perceives the depth of. But time will tell that it’s not just him who sees it that way.

Night and Day by Gigi_Sinclair (June 27, 2019)

Five times Aziraphale and Crowley encountered queer historical figures who know more about them than they do, and one time they actually have a clue.

Needed a break, gone to France x by sleepymccoy (June 28, 2019)

A week or so after the nopocalypse Aziraphale takes a holiday that, unfortunately, sends Crowley into a bit of a tailspin about where they're at

In Holy Matrimony by Myracuulous (June 29, 2019)

From the private journal of Alisha Jones, wedding planner, concerning the nuptials of Anthony J Crowley and Aziraphale and the planning process thereof, containing an account of chosen decor, guest list construction, and the holy war against the Antichrist that nearly ruined six months of professional organization and a very nice dinner.

Acts of Service by seekwill (July 2, 2019)

After receiving direct instruction from God, village reverend Aziraphale leaves his countryside congregation to serve the underserved and in-need at an urban church in London, a transition made all the more complicated by the mysterious and handsome Crowley, who always seems to appear when Aziraphale least expects him.

greatest hits by attheborder (July 2, 2019)

“But my dear, I just can’t believe you never told me that you had joined a musical group. I would have come out to support you— at your gigs!”

“First of all, never say ‘gigs’ again. Second of all, not my fault you never noticed when I showed up to dinner with a great big guitar case slung over my shoulder.”

(Aziraphale accidentally discovers Crowley’s secret: he was in a band in the 90s. And he wrote a whole album of love songs…)

Nanny Knows Best by DictionaryWrites (July 5, 2019)

Being a nanny, that should be simple. Simple. Easy as pie.

Crowley wished that were true.

human childcare for the occult (and ethereal) by suzukiblu (July 10, 2019)

The Dowlings miraculously need a nanny and a gardener at the same time, and Aziraphale suggests they flip for it. Crowley takes one moment to picture Aziraphale nannying anyone and calls dibs. It’s not that Aziraphale’s terrible with humans, he’s just, well. Terrible with humans. Truly, truly terrible.

He doesn’t want to deal with Aziraphale getting metaphorically guillotined or kicking up security’s paranoia, basically. A gardener can be a little odd, and no one will notice or care. Except Warlock, perhaps, as the only other person with any real reason to spend much time out on the lawn, but Warlock’s the one they want noticing so that’ll be fine, Crowley’s sure.

Even if it does make him cringe a little, leaving Aziraphale in charge of the plants.

keep me close by Iselmyr (July 17, 2019)

Aziraphale was expecting to see a talented but otherwise ordinary performance of Les Misérables with a genderswapped cast. Aziraphale was not expecting who came onstage.

Crowley was expecting an ordinary second night show, because Aziraphale always goes to opening nights, and Crowley never performs on them.

Except, this once, Aziraphale missed the opening, and came to the second night. Everything else snowballed from there.

lit in the darkness by ToEdenandBackAgain (July 17, 2019)

Aziraphale returns to Crowley's flat for the night after Armageddon. After all, it's hardly the first time they've shared sleeping arrangements. Or: Times throughout history Crowley and Aziraphale have shared a bed.

Reflect What You Are by Owenjones (July 17, 2019)

It's a year after the almost-apocalypse. Aziraphale makes Crowley go see a therapist.

“Have you been having any issues in particular?”

“Issues? Such as?”

“You tell me.” She could tell he had something on the tip of his tongue.

Crowley sat for a second, then blurted out, “He thinks I’ve been sleeping too much. He’s worried.”

An Answer to Prayer by Jupiter_Ash (July 20, 2019)

Prayers can be answered in a multitude of different ways. When it came to a certain cottage in the South Downs though, no one had expected it to be answered by the squealing wheels of a classic Bentley and Queen's Princes of the Universe.

All Karen wanted to do was sell a house.

The Ineffable Temptations of Oysters by gimpy_terry (July 20, 2019)

Wherein Aziraphale sometimes invites Crowley to dine on oysters with him and Crowley definitely takes him up on that offer.

did you open up your heart there? by weatheredlaw (July 21, 2019)

or were you quiet and afraid? — Aziraphale and Crowley meet over and over and over again. Aziraphale doesn't know what Crowley is, or why their souls can't seem to be parted, but he is a creature of love, and he's not going to argue with that.

A Machine for Living In by pineapplesquid (August 6, 2019)

All Crowley wants is to see the inside of the bookshop so that he can get this design for the building next door done so the clients will be happy and his bosses will stop yelling. What A.Z. Fell wants, apparently, is for Crowley and the project that’s he’s working on to disappear. Permanently.

One of these might be more attainable than the other.

[drjackandmissjo]

firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine

you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Chapter 5— previous chapter — next chapter

Harry Potter fics Masterlist

He looked absolutely dashing, that much he was positive of. He and his date matched and looked powerful, and Hogwarts was, once again, his oyster fully.

Melissa was very easy to convince: she was the only seventh year Ravenclaw that took Potions that hadn’t been invited to the party, due to her aunt being affiliated with Death Eaters in the past, and therefore jumped at the opportunity to show up, even as a plus one. The conversations they had had so far were interesting and polite, but he knew she favoured girls in secret and she knew he preferred boys, even if said boys happened to be dorky and lanky Gryffindor idiots.

Overall, their evening was going to be incredibly fine. Everyone would envy them and everyone should, after all.

Arriving perfectly five minutes after than the invite said, late enough to be noticed but early enough not to make a classic ‘figura ‘i mmerda’, as his Grandfather said, while people began mingling and flooding the room.

It was astonishing: only the true elite had been selected to attend, everyone bringing their escorts to this high society and granting a night of class entertainment to those less fortunate and talented; Slughorn had equipped waiters and had also decorated finely the room to grant the event even more luxury. Even the Weird Sisters were playing!

Without a shadow of a doubt, Horace Slughorn was a brilliant wizard who managed to raise up to the Slytherin House for positive reasons, without giving it a bad reputation, and Blaise was immensely grateful for it and fascinated by him.

His eyes scanned the room as he entered with his arm liked to his escort: he could see Pansy drape herself over a seventh year Hufflepuff as if she was a curtain, showing off her curves in the tight emerald dress that was scandalously cut in the back. She had always had a talent regarding clothing, was perfectly able to conjure a piece that somehow looked both classy and trashy, granting great emphasis of her abilities as a zoccola. Granger was accompanied by McLaggen, for reasons fathomless to him: despite being a Muggle-born, Granger was a rather talented witch that would’ve been perfect as a Slytherin, way more than a few of his housemates, and McLaggen was a spoiled brat who was used to people blowing his nose whenever he needed to sneeze, duller than a bezoar and far less interesting that a hoo-hoo.

Saint Potter was there as well, accompanied by Loony Lovegood, who looked positively adorable in her brightly coloured dress. Blaise made a mental note to compliment her on the choice, while pointedly ignoring Saint Potter, who was getting way too much attention for anyone’s sanity. Professor Slughorn was clinging at his arm as if his life depended on it, introducing him proudly to his guest and parading him off as a trophy.

Surely that was not the way Potter wanted his night to go, considering he had a tendency to shy away from the spotlight, yet Blaise could perfectly understand the Potions Professor tactic: he was, after all, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, a hero despite his lack of action during the first war, and Slughorn was a collector above all; while others scouted for antiquities or paintings, he assorted powerful and talented individuals to his own little society and to his own gain.

Blaise desperately wanted to be like that man.

Turning to his date, they untangled from each other and began moving towards the room, both looking for their own personal goals and opportunities with the many powerful guests that mingled in the room.

***

He was in the middle of a semi-heated conversation with the vampire Sanguini when he saw him.

They were discussing about the cultural and ethical differences of obtaining blood from willing people, offering out of their own mind, versus the toxic complex of a master with his drudge. Blaise knew he would have a hard time explaining his point and standing his ground, yet he was compelled to speak up at a particular comment the vampire had made earlier in their conversation. Previous topics were soon discarded, as Sanguini pointed out also the hypocrisy of the wizarding community, shunning vampires for their ‘loyal subjects’ while also keeping house elves and breeding them with the sole purpose of serving. Blaise agreed on the topic in particular and was about to find and fetch Granger to have her join the conversation, considering her past attempt at house elves’ freedom with her short lived and not very popular S.P.E.W., until a swift movement of a serving dish caught Blaise’s eye.

“You’ve got to be kidding me” he thought as he followed the silvery trail and saw the waiter. Astonishingly, the simple tight cut pair of black dress pants did wonders for the already pretty shaped behind, while the white jacked clung perfectly to his shoulders as if it was sown on.

How had he missed the tall and bulky figure this whole time? Blaise was petrified, his eyes blown wide as he regarded Longbottom backside with all the reverence that it deserved. His hair was slicked back and tamed, and he already itched to run his fingers throw it to ensure the suspected softness of the strands. “Someone like that must have nice hair” he thought, trying to return back into the conversation, yet failing to look away as Longbottom continued to offer little appetizers to Slughorn’s guests.

“Ah, I see” said the vampire in a thick accent, breaking him out of his stupor and bringing him back to reality. Blaise focused his attention back to him, expecting his point to have finally reached his brain and getting back an infuriating smirk from Sanguini, who know looked at Blaise as if he knew all of his secrets. “What exactly do you see?” he fired back immediately, maintaining a polite smile while planning to stab the vampire with his wand. It would probably be messy but immensely worth it.

Sanguini licked his lips, fangs glistening as his eyes scanned the room for Eldred Worple, finding the short man once again crowding Saint Potter about a biography. No matter how discomforted the Gryffindor looked, the author simply didn’t seem to understand that it was about time to let it drop. “You are in a position I am familiar with” said the vampire, looking back to Blaise with piercing dark eyes.

“I have absolutely no idea of what you’re speaking of” stated the Slytherin, trying to maintain a casual stance and looking for his date to escape the situation. “It is okay” continued Sanguini, dragging the syllables, “I won’t tell. I understand that in your society it is not something to be shared, ja?”

Blaise was speechless. He had never had actual confirmation from anyone like him, all there ever was, was speculation. Especially with dark times coming, it wasn’t safe. He himself had not told anyone, with the exception of his mother, even if he was positive about his preferences, and didn’t really plan of anyone finding out, despite trying to pursuit a dumbass Gryffindor, but clearly missing his target.

“Does that mean that you and Eldred…?” he asked timidly, not daring to finish his sentence in case someone might overheard them. He did not know the man personally, but he didn’t want to put him into a bad position. “The higher you are, the harder you fall” he reminded himself.

The vampire smiled then, “Yes. Why else would he bring me as his plus one? For my conversation skills?” he confirmed as his partner approached with an equally soft smile on his lips. “Sanguini, come with me, I want to introduce you to someone” said Eldred, taking his arm and dragging him away, practically ignoring Blaise.

He was left alone, in the middle of the room, with no one to talk to while he processed what had just happened. Without realizing it, he moved towards the loos, thankful about their emptiness as he splashed water on his face. It had been both scary as hell and extremely uplifting. While there were no wizarding laws that vetoed one’s choices, the majority of the wizarding population wasn’t exactly tolerant, when it came to homosexuality and diversity.

Professor Lupin had been a great example: despite being the second most competent teacher in Blaise’s entire school career, “They should Knight Professor McGonagall, that woman is the best thing in this universe!”, he was ostracized and casted away as soon as his condition had been publicized by Snape. The vain bastard ruined a man’s life just cause he was different and harmless, because he had personal beef with him and wanted his position, which he still wasn’t entirely qualified for, as the recent DADA lessons taught him.

Blaise also thought that Professor Lupin wasn’t exactly straight either, but had no confirmations nor any means to contact said professor to ask for advice. He would simply have to figure out on his own what to do, which was a thing he was excellent at.

Suddenly, the door opened and there was a quite concerned Longbottom, in all his black and white glory, hands wrapped in gloves and an empty trail on his hands. “Is everything alright?” he asked quietly, closing the door behind his back and walking towards Blaise, “I saw you all but run here and thought I’d check on you.” He looked sheepish and almost embarrassed, so at sort with the student who worked hard during their sessions together and the idiot that made his blood boil constantly with his witty remarks as soon as books were discarded for the day.

Blaise gave him a timid smile, quick and painless, “Thanks, but I’m actually fine” he claimed, drying up his hands and face on a nearby towel to avoid staring at Longbottom’s worried expression for too long. The Gryffindor then huffed out a laugh and said “Great, wouldn’t want my tutor to fall sick!” Blaise shook his head at that: they would both go home for the holidays, therefore he wouldn’t be tutored nor tutoring, but he was still touched by the Gryffindor’s concern and hoped he couldn’t see the blush spreading on his cheeks.

After a few moments of silence, Longbottom began to wordlessly walk back to the room, but Blaise refused to let me opportunity to hear another one of his sarcastic comebacks. “You’re going to practise during the holidays?” he blurted, cringing internally at the pace his words left his mouth, but it was already too late.

Longbottom turned around, nodding with a serious expression on: “What else am I supposed to do? Hang around my uncle that threw me out of a window to check if I had magic?” Blaise shook his head, all but understanding the older generation fear of having a squib in their family and the lengths one might have gone to instigate a magical reaction. Yet, that was an inhumane treatment that deserved to be punished.

“What about you?” the Gryffindor asked, a sparkle in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment before. “I’m going to France with my mother, to visit her side of the family” he replied, purposefully avoiding to mention that his mother wanted to know everything about the boy standing in front of him, about the one that had managed to snatch his full attention, “Doubt I’m gonna study herbology of all things, if that’s what you’re wondering” he then added with a smirk, challenging and cocky.

“I take that as a personal offence, you know?” Longbottom declared, placing a gloved hand over his sternum and mocking indignation. Then he added, in an afterthought: “Oh, before I forget. I practiced something” he said with a proud expression of his face. Blaise raised a scrutinizing eyebrow, folding his arms and leaning against the sink. “Please don’t say kissing cause I might break any minute now.”

The Gryffindor was now slowly walking closer to Blaise, sending his heart into a frenzy and making his head spin as fast as lightning. “Close your eyes” he whispered when they were close enough to touch, and Blaise might’ve fainted, were it not for his practiced façade keeping him together while his insides combusted. Unwillingly to appear vulnerable, yet incredibly intrigued, he did as he was told, part of him hoping and part of him dreading the course of action their conversation had taken.

He could feel Longbottom’s breath on his cheek and was about to lean in, but suddenly a bright white light exploded behind his eyelids, the warm air then disappeared and a voice whispered at him to open his eyes. The sight was disappointing to say the least: Longbottom was now several centimetres away, looking at him while nervously worrying his lip, and Blaise’s breath was taken from his lungs abruptly. “Well go on, see for yourself” said the Gryffindor, seeming more eager than ever.

He turned around, to face the mirror and examine what had supposedly happened, when he saw it: part of his perfectly groomed right eyebrow had been turned a very dark blue, almost blending into his natural colour effortlessly while still being able to be picked apart. Blaise moved to face Longbottom then, a disbelieving expression and a hundred questions on his mind.

“I practiced Crinus Muto wordlessly the entire day on Seamus, he now has ten different colours on his head!” He then laughed, a bright sound that Blaise wanted to imprint and store in his memory for when he might have needed it. “I thought this was a good way as any to let you know that I’m taking your help seriously” he added sheepishly, somehow finding fascinating the point of his shoes. Blaise had never more desperately wanted to kiss someone in his entire life.

“Well, gotta get back now. Happy holidays” he said quickly, fleeting the bathroom and leaving Blaise once alone. He dumbly stared at his own reflection in the mirror, wondering if he should fix it with a quick spell, but deciding against it. All his insides were warm, and not in a bad way.

With one last look, he then exited himself, founding immediately his date, standing alone near the loos and nervously biting her nails.

“That is an incredibly rude gesture” he told her, approaching fast and maintaining an aria of superiority.

“Where were you?” she pointedly asked, ignoring his comment, “Your idiot housemate tried to sneak in and I had totally lost you!”

He was puzzled, it wasn’t like Nott to crash a party and he knew for a fact that he had planned on getting pissed with Crabble and Goyle. “Sorry, had to powder my nose. Who was the idiot?” he hastily asked, wondering whether or not the alcohol had had its best over Theodore.

She simply waved a hand dismissively, “Malfoy, Snape dragged him away” she informed him as it was not an important news.

Blaise was going to slowly torture him and cut him into such tiny pieces that it would’ve been impossible for any magic to repair him. Then he would have sent the remains to the Dark Lord himself, with a note attached, warning him that if Slytherin lost the House Cup because of him, Blaise himself would have killed the evil wizard.

Slowly breathing in, he let himself calm down, making a mental note to later beat Draco Malfoy into a bloody pulp. “Very well, Darling. Shall we continue?” he asked, offering once more his arm to her, which she gladly took.

“What happened to your eyebrow?” she wondered loudly as they moved to the sneak table. He then smiled, trying to catch a glimpse of the Gryffindor dork that had his heartbeat as fast as if was competing in a race.

“Just a little reminder for later, nothing you should care about.”

**Headcanon that the Vampire Sanguini and the writer Eldred Worple are dating!**

GLOSSARY:

"Figura 'i mmerda" is southern Italian for "making an ass of oneself in a situation""Zoccola" is literally the female rat but is used to describe 'easy' women and such. It is also used as a term of endearment, as the usual bitch

[soartfullydone]

"Puppy love is hard to ignore" for you and Shigure. "Are you still there?" you and Thrawn. "Just take my hand" you and Silver.

WEH

*

The blue smoke dissipated in the air almost as quickly as it appeared. A breeze wafted into the Sohma house through the open shoji door where, just inside, Melody sat at the kotatsu, though it wasn’t yet cold enough for blankets to be added to the table.

That was fine. The big, black dog she was now hugging was warm enough.

“Oops,” she simpered, her smile widening into a smirk at the end of the word.

The dog gave a very human sigh. His tale did not wag. His snout didn’t move, but he spoke anyway.

“I knew it’d be a bad idea, not having your memories suppressed.”

“What? You’re not having a good time?”

“This is the fifth time you’ve hugged me today alone, and it’s not even past noon.”

“I can’t help it,” Melody replied, snuggling into his fur. “I love puppies!”

Shigure craned his head to get a better look at her, but it was no use. She was latched on and not going anywhere. “I’m hardly a puppy,” he said, managing to make it threatening and playful all at once.

“All dogs are puppers, some are just bigger,” she argued. “You’re a cute breed I like, too. Maybe if you turned into a chihuahua, I wouldn’t feel the urge to hug you as much.”

“And here I thought it was my manly physique that did it for you,” he said dryly. 

“Eh.” She shrugged. “Maybe it would, if you wore anything but your pajamas all—”

“Kimono. It’s a kimono.” Shigure stressed the clothing, as if he hadn’t explained this to her a hundred times, and a hundred times she’d ignored him.

“Okay, yeah, but it’s all you wear. It’s practically a glorified bathrobe at this point.”

“You have no appreciation for culture,” he intoned mock-mournfully before asking in a slightly more serious tone, “Does this hug have an expiration date, by the way?”

“Listen. I’m making up for lost time.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not complaining. I’m well aware that a pretty girl is hugging me.”

Melody was glad that her face was turned away from Shigure’s so hers could go stupidly red in semi-privacy. 

“It’s just that,” Shigure was saying, “dear Mitchan will be cross with you if you keep me from finishing my manuscript.”

“I doubt it.” Was Melody scratching Shigure’s head now or giving him a noogie? Yes. “I’m not the one with a looming deadline. Which one is it, anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” he said innocently. “My other thing.”

“Your filthy, filthy smut, you mean.”

“It’s cute when you pretend you’re not just as depraved.”

“That’s not it.” She poked him in the side but smoothed the fur afterward. “It’s not your take on sex that terrifies me about reading it. It’s your take on female characters.”

“What?” His tone was sharp with offense. “You don’t think I can write women?”

“Oh,” Melody drawled with a slow smile, “absolutely not.”

“I’m so hurt,” he responded, “and I will relish proving you wrong.”

“Don’t worry, Shigure. Sometimes, a paycheck and a fooled audience is enough.” She laughed as he nipped her arm.  

“Yes, well, if I don’t get the next volume out soon, that Hana girl might kill me before Mitchan does.”

As if speaking of her had summoned her, Shigure’s editor came pealing around the house, only to freeze at seeing Melody. Mitchan was professionally dressed in a suit jacket, pencil skirt, and heels, but she somehow looked all the more shabby for it, probably because the strain was so stark on her face. Melody felt a wave of pity for her.

“Where—is—he?” Mitchan wailed, close to crying once a sweep of the room revealed that Shigure was nowhere to be found.

“I think he went to the store,” Melody told her. One of Shigure’s ears twitched.

“Oh, kill me. Just kill me.” Mitchan buried her face in her hands. Then, she transformed, grimly determined as she searched her jacket. She pulled out a business card and extended it to Melody. “If he comes back, please call me.”

Melody lifted an arm only long enough to accept the card before returning to drape over Shigure. “Sure.”

Mitchan turned to leave but did a double-take. “Since when did Shigure get a dog?”

“Oh, he’s mine,” Melody replied. “The Sohmas just let Tohru dog-sit for me sometimes.”

Mitchan probably accepted that answer. By the way she was muttering to herself and running frantic hands through her hair, she might not have heard it at all. 

Neither of them spoke until they heard the echo of her car door slamming and the engine start. Then, Shigure’s cold nose pressed against her shoulder. “I’m yours, hm?” His voice, so close to her ear, was low and silky.

“Well, I couldn’t tell her the truth, could I?” Melody said a little more defensively than she’d meant to.     

Shigure was silent for a beat. “Definitely should’ve suppressed your memories. You’re nothing like Tohru.”

“Not true. She likes dogs, too.”

 “Aside from that, the two of you are like night and day.”

“How so?” Melody challenged in a “choose your words carefully” tone. Shigure utterly ignored it.

“Well, unlike you, Tohru is incredibly sweet—”

“I’m sweet!” Melody declared vehemently, snapping her head around to glare at him.  

Shigure practically doubled over laughing, his tail finally wagging behind him. “And for another thing,” he attempted, recovering, “Tohru doesn’t have a single devious bone in her body.”

“It’s an art, not a science, so I don’t hold it against her,” Melody said, ending the hug at last. “Especially since it means you and I get along so well.” 

*

Force-sensitive Chiss children. Almost always female. Naturally. 

Here was the secret to the Chiss and their seemingly-superior navigational enterprises. The answer was so deliciously ironic, the Sith part of her wanted to kick herself for not realizing it sooner. The rest of her marveled at the possibilities.

Just how advanced with the Force were these children? Thrawn had said the only ability they possessed was precognition, but she had enough experience with the Force to know that it was never that simple. Besides, he didn’t understand the Force—none of the Chiss seemed to—so what did they know, really? Perhaps their Force users were capable of more than they thought. 

How did their training differ, anyway, from what she’d received at the Jedi Temple so long ago, when she was just a Padawan and willing to give up her life for corrupt ideals? Were they even trained at all?

But the question truly burning a hole in her mind was this: what made these children lose their Force connection? What little she knew of their culture provided no answer, but she likely wouldn’t have a concrete idea unless she was immersed in it. 

If she could just talk to one of these kids, though… If she could just teach them and learn from them in turn…

if she could just take one apart and figure out how they tick—

“Are you still there?” Thrawn’s cultured voice cut through the dark thought that sounded so much like Plagueis in her head, she was shaken by it. Had it been him, reaching her through the Force—or was that the part of her he’d left behind in his wake?

“I’m here,” she responded over the comm. “So when do I get to meet them?”

“You don’t.”

She must have misheard. “What? Thrawn—you don’t dangle power like that in front of a Sith and then yank it back.”

“And when I’m confident that I’m not talking to Lady Inferna, I’ll reopen the issue,” he replied coolly.

Melody emitted a frustrated sigh, glaring at the starlines flying past her ship’s viewport. “Fine. But don’t you want to know why none of them remains a Force user into adulthood?”

“Of course. However, we have more pressing problems to address first, one in particular you could help solve.”

“Oh, I see.” She laughed without mirth. “So you think I’ll be your personal star chart into the Unknown Regions whenever you ask, hm?”

“I think,” Thrawn said smoothly, “you’ll want to challenge yourself.”

“And what? I’m just supposed to close my eyes and ask the Force for precognition powerful enough to compete with hyperspace travel and hope we don’t all die crashing into a star on the way?” She leaned back in her chair, stomping her foot on top of the console. “It doesn’t work that way, Thrawn.” 

Melody stewed in the silence, but she was confident that she had him. He couldn’t refute her claims, so the only way he was going to get what he wanted out of her was to give into her own demands.

She was going to meet those—

“Lord Vader could do it.”

Slowly, every move deliberate, Melody placed her foot back on the floor, leaned forward, and brought the comm as close to her mouth as she could.

Softly, she said, “You little bastard.”

He had her.

*

Growing up, Melody had always hated dresses. Not because she had anything against the article of clothing itself but because wearing one had never been on her own terms. When you were part of a family whose members were on fast-tracks toward political power and military advancement, you beat to the drum of maintaining public image and you didn’t complain about it. 

The scene currently happening on the deck of the R.L.S. Legacy was so far removed from the life she’d left behind, she had trouble believing it was real. Especially because it was familiar. 

Melody didn’t know how it had started. She’d come up from the galley to find that a couple kegs had been brought out and the beer was flowing. Someone—perhaps George Merry—had even brought out a fiddle, and most of the crew were engaged in various styles of dancing. Legs kicking out, arms flailing, but no swishing skirts to be found, even among the female crew members. 

Everything was loud and chaotic and messy, and she knew members of the gentry who would faint at seeing their beloved, traditional dances… refashioned like this.

Had there been a mutiny or something?

But no—Captain Amelia was watching the crew’s shenanigans from the quarterdeck, an amused smile softening her feline features. Mr. Arrow was next to her, frowning acutely in displeasure.

That frown was replaced with a hint of mild shock as the ship’s doctor approached, and Melody watched with fascination as Elizabeth talked him into dancing. But then the doctor, she’d noticed, was the type who was determined to include everyone and make sure they had a good time, or else.

“Don’t believe you’ll have much luck swabbin’ the deck through this lot, lad,” John Silver said, somehow appearing next to her without her noticing. “Doubt they’d appreciate you bein’ underfoot.”

“Ah… Yeah.” She shouldered the mop, bucket swinging against the handle like a cradle. “Guess I’ll just see what I can get into below deck.”

“You most certainly will not!” Silver declared. “It’s a party, lad.” 

She couldn’t quite keep the surprise off her face. “I thought you were supposed to keep us working until we couldn’t think.”

“Clearly, I’m doing a poor job of it, seeing the thoughts you’re still havin’,” Silver noted. “But I’d be considered poorer still if I let you and Jimbo carry on, miserable, while the rest of us get up to mischief. T’aint no way to inspire loyalty in a crew, you can be sure of that.”

Jim crossed her line of vision then. He wasn’t dancing, but he was smirking knowingly at a furiously-gesticulating Doctor Doppler, many of his violent hand gestures directed in Captain Amelia’s general direction.

Oh, no, Silver was right. She absolutely couldn’t sit this one out downstairs. 

“Sounds fair to me, sir,” she said brightly—then had a mild panic because that tone always made her voice go higher, and she always, always forgot that. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she slung the mop and broom in an out-of-the-way spot by the railing, intending to find it again later.

“Good of you to see reason, my boy.” Silver’s mechanical eye whirled as he took her in. “‘Sides, I have you pegged as a fine dancer, so fine I’ll practically be robbin’ poor George Merry blind tonight.”

“You took a bet on whether I could dance?” Her face turned hot.

“Well, sure, it panned out with the cards, didn’t it?” Silver said with a secret smile that told her all she needed to know about whether she’d gotten completely away with cheating or not. “On a voyage this long, you have to find innocent ways to amuse yourself or you’ll be looking for some not-so-innocent ways, make no mistake.”

“Sorry to tell you, then, that I can’t dance,” she lied, but she could not dance among this crew while she was still trying to hold her cover. She had no idea how to lead a dance like a man, for one thing, and their steps were always different because there were always fewer. Women, as usual, did all the work and flourishes. Plus, alcohol-induced states or not, if anyone got too close to her—

Silver clasped his mechanical hand to his heart. “Are you tryin’ to put this old man into an early grave, lad? Wreakin’ havoc on my constitution, you are.”

“It’s just dancing!” Melody felt like she had to be glowing in the dark, she was blushing so hard. “It’s not like it’s a useful skill.”

“But of course it is, lad! Good practice for footwork, for one thing. For another, how do you ever expect to woo a nice lass if you can’t even dance with her?”

“I told you, I’m becoming a hermit,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Not under my watch, no sir!” With mounting dread, Melody watched as Silver extended his good hand to her. “Take my hand, Mel. I’ll learn you some basic steps by t’under, or else I have no business callin’ myself your commanding officer.”

Melody was begging the stars to send someone to come save her. The Captain, Jim, hell, she’d even take Cutter or Scroop at this point. But none of those sorry bastards came around, and she couldn’t think of any other way out of this.

So she looked everywhere except at Silver because she did not want to know how much her hand was dwarfed by his, and even though there was still space between their bodies, it didn’t matter. Not when she could feel every inch of that mechanical hand against her waist and lower back. Somehow, this was even worse than his usual affectionate touches, probably because she’d learned to expect those.

This… made her light-headed just thinking about, so feeling it… She needed to get this over with, now.

“First, move your left foot—”

“Got it,” she said, already following Silver as he started the basic steps for a waltz. Her right foot was in position before Silver could say anything.

“Well, now!” Silver commended, his eyes twinkling. “A fast learner even in this, eh?”

“Mhmm,” Melody replied. “You can stop worrying about the nice lasses now. I got it.”

“I should say not! How is any lass going to feel comfortable, dancing with a lad who’s rigid as a board and won’t so much as look at her? Why, if I were in her shoes now, I’d be off, cryin’ into my skirts.” 

Melody was absolutely going to remember this, and she was absolutely going to pay Silver back for this ten-fold someday.

But right now, this was just like any role she’d played back home. That’s all she had to do, and this could end.

So she loosened the stiffness in her shoulders, practically melting against Silver’s touch. Her movements became smoother, polished. When she raised her head to meet his eyes, it was with a cool, appraising stare but a smile that said she liked what she saw—a deadly combination she’d seen used by the officers at her father’s functions. It had worked for her to see it then, and it would work for her to use now. 

“Well?” she asked with a tilt of her head. “How’s this, sir?”

“I think,” Silver said, his voice low, “you’re going to break hearts, lad.” A cheery smile crossed his face and he called louder, “And I think George Merry owes me twenty gold pieces!”

The fiddle screeched to a stop, replaced with George Merry’s loud cursing and the crew’s laughter.      

[rangerofpelor]

A9, C1, C2, D3!!

A9. Are any areas set aside for magical, religious or cultural reasons? What are they like?

The Spires of Divergence is the major site. They sit at the corner, right in between the three major sovereign nations. It’s a neutral territory and is considered Holy to Human, Demon, and Divinitas alike. According to legend, it was in the valley between three mountains that the Gods split the Divine race into three separate ones: Human, Demon, and Divinitas (ie, humans, tieflings, and aasimar). Each mountain has a watchtower on top of it, and in the valley between there are three spires. It’s a common location for peace talks and other negotiations, and every ten years there will be mass pilgrimages from all over to come and worship at the site.

C1. Is the world ruled more by magic, technology and science, religion or a mixture of them?

It’s mostly a mixture of religion and magic (and by extension, bloodline in some places). Religion is...a little complicated and messy (when is it not). 

In the Queedom of Vetrunia, religion is more of a Cult of the Ruler, with the Immortal Queen as both the head of the cult and the object of its worship. But people are allowed to worship the Seven Spirits (the Human Gods) and there’s at least one temple for each in the Obsidian City and others in various parts of the countryside (as well as numerous shrines). The Immortal Queen claims to be blessed by the Seven Spirits with magic and immortality, so she really can’t keep people from worshiping them.

In the Aereal Republic, religion, magic, and bloodline all come hand in hand. The country is ruled by the Council of Seven, which is comprised of seven members of the highest Divintas caste (the Auri), which have the most powerful magic. Each position on the council corresponds to one of the seven virtues, and also to one of the Seven Angels (the Divinitas Gods)

The Duchy of Lucalis is the most democratic out of the three. Prince Phobos is the figurehead of the government, but he mostly lets his people govern themselves. The parliament/senate/political body will come to him for advice because he’s over 300 years old...he knows a thing or two about governing...he also gets final say on laws and high profile court cases. That said, magic still plays a large part in keeping the urban areas functional and also aids in agriculture. There’s freedom of religion, so it’s not too much of an issue...most of the time....it’s usually not a problem unless there’s a bunch of murder involved...which has happened a few times with worshippers of one or more of the Seven Devils (the Demon Gods)...but other than that....yeah....

C2. What sorts of magic exists in this world, if any? Are there any severe limitations to magic use?

The basic categories are Fiendish magic, Celestial magic, and Natural magic. Both Fiendish and Celestial magic are passed through blood, so only those who have Demon or Divinitas ancestry are able to have this kind of magic. Demons were more inclined to...breed...with other races (like humans and fey), which means that Fiendish magic tends to be more common. It tends to manifest itself in the form of hellfire or shadows, and is usually more physical and tangible than Celestial magic is (which tends to take the form of clouds or light). 

In their most basic forms: Fiendish magic = evocation. Celestial Magic = Abjuration. However with more training and practice both types of magic can utilize the other schools of dnd magic (with the exception of necromancy).

Everyone is capable of Natural magic as long as they have a genuine connection to the land or nature. Fey have a natural affinity for it, but even a human can pick up a little bit. Human performed natural magic is a lot more subtle and slow acting than Fey magic however. Most farmers are able to work enough Natural magic to make their fields yield just enough to keep their families and animals from starving. More dedicated practitioners are usually hermits who take to the woods. There are stories about some who tried to use Natural magic to make large profit of their farms, but in the end, the magic always gets out of control and the land ends up overgrown. Nature always wins in the end. 

All of these types of magic are physically draining in the same way exercise is. Push yourself too much and you’ll exhaust yourself and your body will start eating away at itself. Magic is a raw power that takes years to learn how to use effectively. Basic natural magic practiced by unwitting farmers is the slight exception: because they work hard tending to and caring for their land, the land loves and cares for them in return

Then there are the Ancient Rites which are...Forbidden...and considered to be the ultimate Sins and Insults to the Gods. It requires incredibly powerful magic to perform the Ancient Rites. Magic that hasn’t been seen since the time of the Divergence, almost 800 years earlier.  

D3. Are any plants, animals, or locations given great significant meaning? If so, why?

I mean the Spires of Divergence have significant meaning, as mentioned before. Poppies are associated with the Immortal Queen because of her Queendom’s expansive poppy fields in the East (which is also where she was originally from). She’s incorporated the image of a poppy into her royal symbol and she likes wearing red. And in the city of Prova, wolves are important animals in local folklore because a town hero, Lydia the Hunter had a wolf animal companion (that is said to still roam the surrounding woodlands).

The Duchy of Lucalis is known for its lavender fields and so it’s become a symbol of wealth and prosperity there. 

Eye color is of great importance in the Aereal Republic, and signifies caste. Gold is the highest caste, then silver, then copper. 

[popcorn-for-dinner]

The 2017 Binges you absolutely have to do before 2018

"The Golden Age of Television". That's a saying you've most likely heard as a description of the current state of TV. It has been used from everyone from TV and Studio executives to that your one friend who won't shut up about how great Master of None is. Whatever your feelings about the term, one thing is for certain, there are more quality shows being produced at an almost daily basis than ever before. So many that it seems impossible to follow the TV landscape while, you know, having a life.

That's why I'm here. I've given up my real life so that you can have one and still watch the best TV. You're welcome. Whether it's your FOMO on all the great TV topics or you're just looking for an easy binge for the Christmas break, I’m going to try and provide adequate suggestions to satiate everyone.

The Weekend binges 

Mindhunter (Netflix)

David Fincher's return to Netflix! This show is based on a book by John E. Douglas, a former FBI special agent and a pioneer in criminal profiling in the FBI’s Behavioural Science Unit.

While the protagonists are fictionalised versions of the actual people, the real attraction of the series lies with serial killers and their interviews with the FBI. The criminals do maintain their real names and are depicted to a chillingly high degree of accuracy, in some cases even lifting actual dialogue from the real life interviews.

A terrific examination of the criminal psyche (a feat David Fincher has shown to be a master at), Mindhunter will have you hooked from the first episode.

You’ll like this if you liked: Zodiac (2007 film), Hannibal, Dexter (probably).

Ozark (Netflix)

Although dealing with a fairly well trodden premise, Ozark manages to elevate itself from the constraints of its premise and deliver an entertaining, gripping season.

There is no mistake though, this is Jason Bateman’s show to shine and shine he does. Wearing multiple hats as star, producer and director of 4 episodes (probably the show’s best episodes), Jason Bateman delivers a complex and entertaining performance as Marty Byrde, a money launderer for a crime syndicate who is forced to uproot his family and move to the Ozarks in order to pay back a debt to the syndicate.

You might believe you know all the tropes of this sub-genre but Ozark has a few surprises waiting for you.

You'll like this if you liked: Bloodline, Breaking Bad.

The Niche binges

I believe everyone should love a great dick joke. A perfectly crafted and executed dick joke can be side splittingly funny as is evidenced by the fact that Silicon Valley’s season one's “optimal tip to tip efficiency" joke  has seemed to take on a life of its own even spawning research papers with actual Stanford approved maths. I however concede that not everyone is as sophisticated as me, which is why I have put these 2 shows in the “niche” category.

American Vandal (Netflix)

American Vandal is really just an almost 5 hour dick joke at its core. It takes a simple, quite ridiculous, premise- someone spray paints 27 dicks on teachers’ cars in the school parking lot and the accused student is expelled. It is a true crime mockumentary but it doesn’t seek to discredit the genre but rather as all great satire does, it pays it homage.

The characters and the show approach this premise with such straight faced seriousness and investigative attitude that it makes the jokes that much more hilarious. Special mention should be given to Jimmy Tatro whose performance drives the show and who turns the “YouTube douche” personality into an art form.

I did find that, beneath all the dick references, well over 1,000 (both visual and verbal), American Vandal tries to say something and if you pause long enough from laughing and figuring out “Who drew the dicks?” you might just hear it.

You'll like this if you liked: 7 Days in Hell, Documentary Now!, Making a Murderer (but yearned for something less deep).

Big Mouth (Netflix)

Following the success of the Simpsons, animation quickly became the go to medium for telling deeply perverse and hilarious stories that could never be written for and performed by real people. But the real successes came in the episodes of Simpsons, South Park, Family Guy etc that transcended their "cartoons tell dirty jokes" gimmick and showed some heart and deft in their storytelling. Big Mouth has lots of heart.

With a stellar voice cast which includes co-creator Nick Kroll. John Mulaney, Jordan Peele, Maya Rudolph and Jason Mantzoukas, Big Mouth manages to tell an insightful, universal coming of age, puberty story while also juggling the fact that two of its main cast are "Hormone Monsters" and it has the ghost of Duke Ellington living in a character's attic. (The show is weird, guys)

You'll like this if you liked: Family Guy (the earlier years) and basically any other R-Rated animated comedy.

Trailer

The Snowed-in and cuddle binges

Dear White People (Netflix)

I am a sucker for a good story by and about black people. If such a show manages to deftly attack systemic racism then I'm fully sold. Dear White People however, is more than a guns-blazing attack on racial injustice. Sure, that's the premise by which it starts but as it evolves it begins to say something more on identity, especially Black Identity and all that term entails.

Based on his critically acclaimed film of the same name, Justin Simien manages to improve on his original work in possible every imaginable way. It follows a group of black students at a predominantly white University, as they attempt to negotiate the racial politics and come to terms with their own identities.

You'll like this if you liked: Black-ish and Dear White People (2014 film).

Trailer

The Bold Type (Freeform)

It is no secret that there is a paucity of stories about and driven by female characters and what is even rarer are stories that explore female relationships, especially friendships amongst the younger demographic.  Insecure and Jane the Virgin have told some of these stories during their runs and The Bold Type did it incredibly well, under the radar, in 2017.

Through Scarlet, the Teen-vogue like magazine where the protagonists work, The Bold Type manages to address relevant societal issues such as politics, rape, religion and professional ambition while maintaining a "summer-y binge feel to it".    

You'll like this if you liked: Ugly Betty, The Devil Wears Prada (2006 film).

Trailer

The Good Fight (CBS All Access)

First of all, for any The Good Wife fan who hasn't seen this already, shame on you. For any non-Good Wife fans though, do not be deterred by the Good Wife link because this show more than ably stands on its own.

Set a year after the finale of TGW, The Good Fight follows the great Diane Lockhart after a financial scam causes her to lose all her savings and she is forced out of her firm. She then joins an all-black law firm that already includes The Good Wife fan favourite Luca Quinn. Rounding off the cast are Sarah Stele (returning as another fan-favourite Marissa Gold), Delroy Lindo, Justin Bartha and Game of Thrones' Rose Leslie.

For Good Wife fans, you don't know how satisfying it is to hear Diane yell "Fuck" until you actually do.

You'll like this if you liked: The Good Wife or any other great legal drama.

Trailer

Obligatory Superhero binge

Legion (FX)

In a year where Superhero TV was littered with messy newcomers such as Iron Fist and Inhumans, Legion was such a breath of fresh air. Rising above the genre of "Superhero TV", it was in my opinion, one of the best new shows of the year.

Noah Hawley (creator of Fargo) examines what would happen if instead of being enlightened as to his mutant powers, a very powerful mutant was diagnosed as having schizophrenia. Legion is the son of Professor Xavier in the comics and excluding a few easter eggs and nods, that is where this show's link to the wider X-men universe ends. It is a show that stands on its own and does not require knowledge of the wider X-men mythology to be enjoyed.

Legion and Noah Hawley are much more interested in diving into an examination of mental illness and the various stereotypes surrounding it than they are in fighting a "big bad". It is a very trippy, colourful and awe-inspiring piece of television that is evident right from its excellent pilot. The performances of Aubrey Plaza and Dan Stevens manage to shine through from a group of wonderful performances.

Top Picks

There are few things more satisfying to me than a perfectly told, timely story of import. Unfortunately, in the mad dash to tell an "important" story, especially on cable television, good storytelling has often been pushed aside for either pretension or just sloppy work. Their ability to buck this trend was one of the many refreshing things about Big Little Lies and The Handmaid's Tale.

Big Little Lies (HBO)

The immediate draw to this series (for the non-book readers) is undoubtedly the cast. This highly stacked cast includes the likes of Nicole Kidman, Reese Witherspoon, Shailene Woodley, Laura Dern, Zoë Kravitz, Alexander Skarsgård and Adam Scott, but once the novelty of the cast wears off, the strength of the story will keep you hooked.

Big Little Lies is a wonderfully well written, directed and acted piece of television that approaches some very heavy and important topics with a delightfully nuanced touch. It says a lot to the strength of the several stories told that the murder mystery at the center of the show, while intriguing in its own right, quickly fades into the background. To give any more details would be to spoil what is a very well done show.

Trailer

The Handmaid's Tale (Hulu)

In The Handmaid's Tale's world, fertility rates have plummeted to almost non-existent numbers. This has resulted in the fertile women being kept as personal breeding grounds for the more affluent member of the cult-like organisation that has taken over society.

The Handmaid's Tale holds many mirrors to our current society but perhaps none is more chilling than the straight path that can be drawn from 45's current America to the "dystopian" society predicted in this 1985(!) novel.

The Handmaid's Tale is built on the Emmy-winning performance of Elisabeth Moss and firmly stands as my best show of 2017 and a definite must watch.

Bankole Imoukhuede

@banky_I

[kirstymcneill]

A better world is on our power to create

This piece first appeared in the IPPR’s Progressive Review in June 2018. 

British politics is currently convulsed with contested claims about what we do know, and what we can know, about who has done what in global affairs. Whether it is the row around Boris Johnson’s claims about Porton Down’s findings on the Salisbury attack or Jeremy Corbyn’s equivocation about the suspected chemical attack in Douma, it can sometimes seem as if it is the nature of the facts rather than the appropriate foreign policy response to them that is dominating Westminster. The policymakers of a country that retains membership of the economic premier league, the UN Security Council and NATO seem to be spending more time commenting on the reality of events than determining the course of them. This is not inevitable: Britain could remain one of the most influential countries in the world, even as our new reality is defined by ‘the three posts’ of being post-imperial, post-industrial and post-Brexit. Retaining power will require using one of our unequivocal comparative advantages – our status as a development powerhouse – to better effect.

While the front benches slug it out over versions of the truth on security questions, the picture on development ones is different. The parties don’t have competing accounts of the same events, but they do each deploy a narrative which, in being partial, obscures the whole messy truth.

On the left the focus tends to be on the outrage which rightly accompanies what has been an incredibly bleak beginning to 2018. In January four Save the Children colleagues in Afghanistan became the latest in the litany of grim statistics of aid workers murdered in the course of their work. In February we released new research[1]showing that more children than ever – 357 million globally – are living in areas impacted by conflict. In March new figures[2]showed that at least 37 Syrian civilians had been killed every single day since mid-2017. April began with more deaths in Gaza and the Central African Republic and throughout the year we’ve seen the kind of extreme weather that climate campaigners have been warning for years could put all of our recent development gains in to reverse. Against that backdrop it is easy to see why Shadow Secretary of State for International Development Kate Osamor warned, in Labour’s recently launched paper A World for the Many Not the Few[3], that “we should be under no illusions about the scale of the global crisis we face today, or how far there is to go”.

For thinkers on the right there is tremendous frustration that the parallel story of progress remains largely untold. Fraser Nelson reminds us repeatedly that “the point cannot be made enough. We’re living through a period of amazing progress – in medicine, prosperity, health and even conquering violence”[4]. This too is true.

Above we’ve taken the gloomiest possible read on 2018. What if instead we applied a rosier lens? In January Rwanda implemented universal eye care, becoming the first poor country to do so in a world where over 200 million people can’t see clearly. In February Ruth Davidson was in Afghanistan with the HALO Trust to celebrate the clearing of millions of square miles of minefield. March saw Unicef announce new figures[5]suggesting action on child marriage had spared 25 million girls from this appalling abuse in the last ten years. April’s Malaria Summit celebrated the 60% drop in malaria deaths in the first fifteen years of this century. These are astonishing achievements and help explain why the development champions of the centre-right fret that the left’s focus on the work undone only serves to suppress public enthusiasm for the cross-party project of eliminating global poverty.

A complete account of life on earth in 2018 is one that reconciles these two. The hope that progress is inevitable breeds complacency, the fear that it is impossible generates paralysis. What is needed instead is the widespread national sense that there is still much that we can do, but that doing it requires us to deploy British assets of which we should be immeasurably proud. While the aid agencies, rightly, have spent the opening months of the year focussed on improving safeguarding and protections against harassment, we have also been working together to rekindle public enthusiasm for making poverty history. The UK remains the ‘Silicon Valley’ of development, with an incomparable concentration of charities, universities, corporates, foundations and research institutions with global reach. That eco-system could turbo-charge government efforts to build a Global Britain, but success will require picking a few issues on which change is both winnable and potentially transformative.  

To take just one example of an area where we could still lead, pneumonia is currently the number one killer of children under five worldwide. We should be hugely hopeful it can be overcome: after all, it has only emergedas a bigger killer than malaria, diarrhoea and measles combined because previous efforts on those diseases have been so successful. At the same time, we should be appalled that a disease that can be treated with antibiotics costing as little as 30p is still claiming two children’s lives every minute. Britain, long one of the biggest drivers of breakthroughs in global public health and the home of the globally-admired National Health Service, is well placed to convene partners to drive down vaccine pricing and target aid to building the universal health coverage and global supply of oxygen and antibiotics which can end preventable pneumonia deaths.

Or to take another: the protection of children caught up in the world’s worst conflicts. We can be proud that Britain has been at the forefront of international efforts on preventing sexual violence in conflict, for an Arms Trade Treaty and for action on landmines. But it cannot possibly be justified that we have agreed to sell 48 fighter jets to Saudi Arabia with no guarantees they will not be used as part of the aerial bombardment of Yemen, a campaign which has already seen the bombing of 800 schools. Once again, British expertise would be well deployed in protecting children. Two thirds of Syria’s children have had a family member killed, been injured themselves or had their home bombed. They are showing signs of what psychologists call ‘toxic stress’, a prolonged fear response which permanently impairs development. Children’s mental health needs a global champion with a track record of delivering predictable, high quality aid, but more than that it needs a foreign policy heavyweight prepared to end the culture of impunity surrounding the attacks which breed trauma in the first place. Britain’s armed forces are well placed to lead by example (by, for instance, updating training manuals to outline the specific steps the UK will take to mitigate civilian harm from the use of explosive weapons in populated areas), but we also need a political leadership willing to use every tool at its disposal, whether it is suspending arms sales or gearing every element of our defence and diplomacy strategies to the protection of civilians.

These are just two examples of causes a post-Brexit Britain could champion. We have just twelve years until the 2030 deadline for the Sustainable Development Goals. Twelve years ago nobody would have predicted the Arab Spring, the Brexit vote or the victory of a nativist authoritarian after eight years of a liberal African-American President. The world can be transformed in just over a decade. The question for the coming one is whether Britain’s political leaders can inspire the public with a story of the world it is in our power to create – and whether they believe in it themselves.

[1]https://www.savethechildren.net/waronchildren/pdf/waronchildren.pdf

[2]https://www.savethechildren.org.uk/news/media-centre/press-releases/syria-casualties-soar-by-nearly-50-percent-since-creation-of-so-

[3]https://www.policyforum.labour.org.uk/uploads/editor/files/World_For_The_Many.pdf

[4]https://blogs.spectator.co.uk/2014/12/why-2015-will-probably-be-the-best-year-in-human-history/

[5]https://www.unicef.org/media/media_102735.html

[moonlight-escapade]

The Secret Project (Newt Imagine)

Hello!! So this is an imagine I worked on a bit ago… In this story, the reader is an Herbology transfer student from Ilvermorny. Hope you enjoy! :)

“So, Broomsticks?” Newt smiled down at you through his messy amber curls. His yellow and black tie hung loose around the collar of his shirt, his robe slung over his shoulder, adding to the already heart bursting effect his beautiful crooked smile smote your weak schoolgirl heart with.

“Ye-“ you began, then quickly stopped yourself. “Ah- no.. I can’t.”

Newt chuckled lightly shaking his head, “Still working on that top secret project?”

You smiled up at him innocently. You had been working on it for weeks and it was almost perfect- in fact, today was probably it’s due for premier, and well… it just had to be perfect.

“It’s almost ready. I mean, so so so so close.” You smiled up at him holding in your excitement. You didn’t want him to know you’d been working on this just for him yet. It was a surprise. You’d told him Professor Breery had asked for your help accommodating some new advanced level plants into the greenhouses which luckily he’d bought and took your word for, as he hadn’t come to check the greenhouses out for himself as far as you knew.

Standing before a grassy pathway that would lead him down to the small stone pub, the tall emerald eyed boy looked down at you, reminding you exactly why you’d been slaving away all those hours- sacrificing all those invitations you would’ve jumped at endlessly to be with him. “S-so, I’ll ah- see you, tomorrow, then?” he asked you, clearly cast down.

Your heart fell at the sound of it. “I can try to stop by later!” You said hopefully, trying to convince yourself that you could finish everything up quickly. There wasn’t really much to do, just some finishing touches, and you could meet him before nightfall and give it to him anyway… it would be even more perfect with the sun set- even more so if the night was totally dark…

“No, no don’t worry about it- I don’t want to rush you. I’ll just be down there. If you happen to finish early or something.” You nodded letting him know you’d definitely be there. You turned to race down to the greenhouse and finish your project- but were stopped mid-step by Newt’s voice. “I just-, sorry- ah… if… I just wanted to say that. I…” his eyes glanced between yours and the ground nervously as he swung his book bag in his hands. You watched him curiously, your stomach fluttering a bit at the sudden flustered nature your friend had taken before you. Could this be it?

“Yes?” You asked softly, suppressing the swirling butterflies that would rather have screamed it.

“I-I’ve wanted to ask you…,”

“Scamander!”

Down the corridor three Hufflepuff’s happily jogged down to meet Newt. You watched as Newt’s eyes turned to meet the oncoming party, his eyes quickly glancing back to yours for a moment longer, then down to the ground as he waited for them to approach. Your heart sinking slightly… you cast your own eyes away as you concentrated on the approaching sound of shoes clinking on stone.

“What say then, Scamander? Broomsticks?” One of the boys jeered slapping a rough hand on Newts shoulder. Newt smiled politely, nodding along with them. As the group turned to leave, you turned to head your way as well- determined to finish your project and surprise Newt with the magic you knew best. Just as he had when he’d shown you the Occamy he’d rescued and hidden in the case underneath his bed. He hadn’t shown anyone but you… and you’d never felt more special than he’d made you feel in that moment.

“(Y/N),” he called quickly as the rest of the group made their way down the path. He looked at you tenderly, then glanced nervously.. “Good luck with that special project.”

You smiled warmly, “Thank you, Newt.”

“I hope it doesn’t keep you away from me for much longer,” he smiled. The immediately realizing what he said, or rather how he said it… he quickly glanced away, standing still for a moment in the arc between the school and the plains surrounding it as if he were stunned at his choice of words. Your heart raced as you stood facing him some ten feet away, about to enter the hall to make your way down toward the Herbology rooms. Newt looked at you again, then nodded, turning around and finally walking down the path to The Three Broomsticks. Your heart bursted as you turned on your heels, racing toward the greenrooms as fast as you could.

***

You made your way down to The Three Broomsticks just as the sky began to fade from Twilight and enter nightfall. Perfect timing for flowers like these. You smiled as you imagined what Newt’s reaction would be. Oh how you hoped he would like them! You giggled as you began thinking how unbelievably this turn of events played out… you were the first Ilvermorny student to ever be transferred to Hogwarts due to their incredible Herbology program, and your studies and advances in Ilvermorny were no match for their departments resources. And here you were, using those advances and that great resource opportunity… to create a new breed of flowers for your crush.

After trying to decide wether the flowers would look better in a pot or tied in a bouquet, you went with a bouquet. For presentation purposes obviously. But you decided to still kept the roots attached by curling them up momentarily (with that little thing called magic)- if he wanted to keep them in a pot he could… but you didn’t want to assume anything of course…

As you entered the small yet lively pub, you kept your top secret project close, hidden and secure in your robes. As you placed the flowers in your red lined Gryffindor gown- you mentally scolded yourself. Why didn’t you change? That would’ve made the whole presentation so much lovelier. Newt would’ve seen you outside your usual button-down, pleats and tie outfit… but you were just so excited after finally finishing that last perfected charm that you ran to Newt as fast as your legs would take you.

Scanning the bubbling crowd, you searched for that familiar mess of amber curls. Drunken students bumped into your small frame from side to side- but you fought mercilessly to protect Newt’s gift. Finally spotting him sitting underneath a bright lamp that illuminated him and the group that interrupted you earlier in the corridor, you eagerly made your way over, sneaking up from behind so as to surprise him all the more.

Tapping the opposite shoulder you stood by, you waited with a bright smile on your face as he looked the wrong way- then back to where you stood, where seeing you, his expression shifted entirely.

“(Y/N)!” He shouted standing up and enveloping you in a wonderful warm Newt hug. You laughed as you carefully angled the flowers under your robe so they wouldn’t be squished.

“Looks like someone’s happy,” one of the boys in the group teased from behind you.

Newt led you to the bar to buy you a butter beer, which you insisted you could pay for yourself- but he insisted he would absolutely not let you. He had after all, been the one that begged you to come down here so many times, he said, and the least he could do was buy you a butter beer- warm, your favorite.

You smiled as you took the cup in your hand, then looked out the window at the dark night. “Do you have to go back?” Newt asked sadly. You looked at him and shook your head quickly- “No! No, no not at all! I-,” “(Y/N), I didn’t want you to feel like you had to come for me… I know how important this Herbology project must be, especially with your situation and everything-,” you placed your hand to cover his mouth and shook your head. Standing up from the small stool you sat on you took a final sip of your butter beer and looked back at him, “I have something to show you.”

You led him past the crowds of singing students and empty glasses, and outside into the surprisingly warm night. “What is this?” He asked you smiling as he stood on the steps of the tavern. His hair glowing in the dim candle light hanging outside the entrance. You signaled for him to come closer. He laughed, the sound making your heart swell- and as he approached… it was perfect.

“I can’t see anything,” he laughed as he stood before you. Only the light of the moon illuminating your figures now. Your heart beat wildly as you gripped onto the flowers in your robe. “Okay, are you ready?” You asked him nervously. “I think so,” he said. “So, I kind of lied,” You started, “About my Herbology project. But only kind of… I was working on a top secret project. But, it… well… it wasn’t really for Professor Breery. Um… I… it was… I made it for you.”

You had always been afraid of the dark, but you had never been more thankful for the cover of nightfall than in this moment. Taking a breath, you pulled out the flowers from your robe. As the buds opened, a burst of glowing golden light emerged from their petals. Each stigma and anther alike glowing in it’s own shade of silver, and as they uncurled completely- releasing their own sparkling of light into the air- an effect that took you the longest, but you really wanted to be a part of the whole spectacular. Inside, the petals darkened into a deeper purple, creating a star effect that glowed just as brilliantly as its golden surroundings.

All the while, you watched Newt. As his viridescent eyes- the most beautiful you’d ever seen- watched the botanical experiment you’d spent so much time working on for him. You watched as his hands held the stems, the leaves that grew over his hands and down his wrists… the sparkles that flew into the air above him and how his eyes followed. You watched, your heart pounding, wondering what he might think. Wondering if this would make up for the countless times you’d rejected hanging out with him. It still pained you to think of it…

As the flower stopped expanding, the hypnotic golden glow illuminating the space between you… his eyes, wide and floored looked up to meet yours.

“(Y/N)…”

You watched him nervously as his outstretched hand held the tangled flower. His wide eyes fell straight onto yours. “You… made this?”

You nodded.

“This was the secret project?”

You nodded again. “I… just… I wanted to do something.”

He looked between you and the flowers, confused and amazed. “What do you mean?,” he asked somewhat dazed.

You looked up at him hesitantly… you didn’t know how to say anything without sounding like… something. “I mean ah.. I.. I wanted to… When you showed me your Occamy, that was so special and amazing for me. And I just wanted to do something to show you that… something…” You began to blank on any vocabulary as his green, grey.. blue… shining eyes sparkled in the reflection of your gift to him. “I.. wanted to show you that I want you to know you’re someone I care about. A lot…” you knew you were blushing terribly at this point. There was no hiding it. You made him a flower for christ’s sake. What could be more obvious than that.

You turned your attention to the moon and the pub… pretending to take an interest in a couple stumbling down the stone steps and back up the pathway to the school.

“Today, at the pathway… when I was speaking to you,” Newt began softly.. “You looked so beautiful and… I wanted to… to tell you that…” your eyes locked for a moment as he gained breath and confidence. Your heart pounded furiously inside your chest. “I love you, (Y/N).”

Your eyes widened in shock. Love? You opened your mouth slightly… searching for the right words to say to the beautiful boy standing before you. The boy you had been so unable to release from your mind since the first day you caught sight of him. You’d dreamed of his eyes staring at you the way you were now… so much so.. thinking it would never happen. Slaving away in the greenhouse, giving every effort to create something spectacular for him.. something that would at least once make him look at you the way you’d always dreamed of.

As you barely were able to release but a breath from your paralyzed lips, his own came crashing down on you. His arms.. those arms you’d dreamed of being held in for so long, were now holding you more tenderly and tightly than you’d ever felt before. Your toes curled in your boots, the hair rose on your skin… you weren’t sure if you were breathing or dreaming. And as he released you and held you tight between his hands… he smiled. At you. For you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He said smiling. You looked up at him again, letting out a laugh.. of relief, of joy, of love.

“I love you too Newt Scamander.”

“Enough to create an entirely new breed of flower for me?” He teased lovingly.

You giggled, hiding your face in his chest as you nodded. His free hand then found it’s way under your chin, tilting you up to face him. With another kiss, you suddenly felt as though the sky and the earth bent at your will. No pun intended.

Oh, this was better than a dream. This was real.

[raendown]

Chapter 32

@purple-possibilities Remember a million years ago you requested a second KakaHana au for the Soulmate Collection? I finally finished it! Yay!

Pairing: Kakashi/Hana Soulmate AU: The one where everyone has one trait or skill that they get from their soulmate  

It was incredibly obvious to Kakashi from a very young age that his soulmate must be from the Inuzuka clan. Once he realized that most people couldn’t smell things the way he did or hear as well as he could, he quickly determined that this must be the skill he had been gained through his soulmate bond. Everyone had some trait or talent from their soulmate. His appeared to be heightened senses and the only clan he knew of that had that trait was the Inuzuka.

This posed a problem for Kakashi because there were tons of Inuzuka. He’d had four in his class during the one year he spent at the academy and none of them had been siblings. It was one of the largest clans in Konoha and it might take him a while to figure out who it was. Especially because it was impossible to tell what trait he might have given to his soulmate. The matter was even further complicated by the fact that some bond traits didn’t manifest for years. His neighbor had only found his soulmate at twenty-seven when he had suddenly started walking different at the same time that one of his friends received an injury which left them with a permanent limp. Soul traits were complex.

By the time Kakashi was thirteen years old he had seen more battlefields than many people twice his age and he had long since stopped wondering about his soulmate. Life had already thrown its fair share of hardships at him. He had a dead father, a dead teammate, and an eye that wasn’t his. He spent most of his days caught between being paralyzed in to uselessness with guilt and being motivated to try and live the life that had been taken from Obito. He really had no time to think about it.

Today was a guilt day. Kakashi had already been at the memorial stone for three hours by the time Rin found him. The somber set of her mouth was a silent rebuke that made him look away, back down to his lap where his hands fiddled with a set of orange goggles.

“Obito wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up like this,” Rin said softly. “He was…he was good like that.”

Kakashi nodded his head, pretending he hadn’t heard the catch in her voice. When she put a hand on his shoulder he replaced the goggles to where he had taken them from on top of the memorial stone. Then he stood up and allowed Rin to lead him away, neither of them putting forth much effort to speak to each other. He had promised to protect her, and he did try hard to do so, but Obito’s death had broken them apart just as much as it had brought them together. Rin’s crush on him had faded, for which he was grateful, but now when they were together there were long silences where they both heard the echo of a missing voice.

Unable to stand the silence today, Kakashi asked quietly, “Where are we going?”

“To the Inuzuka compound,” Rin said. “One of my friends has been at home sick for the last few weeks. I wanted to wish her well and I thought you might like to play with the dogs.” Kakashi blinked at her. It wasn’t really a surprise that she had thought of it. Rin was a very thoughtful person after all. It continued to surprise him, though, when people did nice things for him. Even Rin, who would never leave a friend behind.

The Inuzuka compound was as overrun with bodies as it usually was. People of every age, shinobi and civilian, moved every which way towards all sorts of tasks. Following at the heels of most of them were dogs of every size, color, and breed. Despite how down he was feeling Kakashi was hard pressed to stop himself from trying to pet every single dog. Rin was fully aware of his weakness for canines and was obviously exploiting that fact to cheer him up. Tricky girl. He supposed he should do something nice for her to say thank you for putting up with him so well lately.

With the promise of visiting the new-born litters after a quick visit, Kakashi docilely followed his teammate to a house on the eastern outskirts of the compound. It was the house of the current clan head, if he remembered correctly. This was confirmed when a heavily pregnant Tsume opened the door, greeting Rin with a wide toothy smile. When she caught sight of Kakashi, however, her face froze. Kakashi was used to all sorts of negative reactions to his presence – he’d been the subject of heckling and scorn since that one fateful mission of his father’s – but this didn’t seem to be quite the same thing. Tsume looked as if he had shocked her, staring at him in silence, then she looked dumbfounded for a single heartbeat before a huge smile broke out on her face.

“Well, well, well,” she said in her rough voice. “Hatake Kakashi, huh? Come on in. You guys are here to see Hana, right? She’s upstairs in her room.” With no further explanation for why she was acting so strangely, Tsume waved the two of them in to the house, pointing them towards the stairs to the upper floor. Kakashi frowned at her as he passed, getting nothing in return but a pleased grin.

The hallway up the stairs was decorated with pictures documenting the growth of a girl about his age. New frames had been hung but remained empty and he supposed they would soon be filled with pictures of the coming baby. Assuming the girl in the pictures was the one they were here to visit, Kakashi noted that he had met her before. He had helped out her genin team once when they had just barely graduated from the academy. He remembered her being polite but firm in dealing with her teammates and she had been the only one of three who hadn’t sneered at him for being an ‘over-achiever’.

Rin walked ahead of him and turned in to a bedroom about halfway down the hall. He followed her in to see pale blue walls, a messy desk with two dogs napping underneath it, and the girl he had seen in the pictures huddled on a futon in the corner. Rin hurried over to sit next to her friend.

“Hey Hana, how are you feeling?” she asked. “I heard you were sick so we came to cheer you up!”

The girl looked up from the book she’d been holding, squinting at them with one eye shut and looking as if she might fall over at any moment.

“Is that…oh Rin! You didn’t have to come all this way.” She accepted a short hug despite her protests before continuing, “I’m not really sick. We think the trait from my soulmate has just manifested and it’s…taking a bit of getting used to. I’m so dizzy.” Hana put a hand to her head as she swayed a little from side to side. Rin steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.

Feeling awkward, Kakashi moseyed over to where the dogs were sprawled on top of a worn dog bed. One raised its head at his approach and began to wag its tail. He settled on the floor and began to pet the dog, barely listening as the two girls continued talking.

 “But that’s good that you can tell what it is.” Rin was saying. “So many people go their whole lives not knowing if something they’re good at could simply be their bond trait. I wish I knew. You’re so lucky!

 “I’ll feel luckier when I can keep both of my eyes open without wanting to vomit,” Hana replied ruefully. They both chuckled and Rin patted her back.

 Then she perked up and said, “You should talk to Kakashi about that! He knows what that’s like, don’t you Kakashi? He’s going through something really similar.”

 Hana tilted her head and regarded Kakashi curiously with the one eye she was holding open. Kakashi looked up from petting the dogs to give his teammate a disapproving scowl and grumbled, “That’s private.” She scowled right back and shook a finger at him.

 “Don’t be like that!” she reprimanded him. “Your comrade needs help and it won’t kill you to talk to someone other than me and sensei.”

 Their brief staring content ended with Kakashi huffing and turning his head away, glaring down at the two dogs still contentedly wagging theirs tails. He didn’t want to talk to anyone about Obito’s eye. Part of him didn’t want to tell anyone about the lowest point of his entire young life, when he had let down his comrades and gotten his friend killed. Another part of him wanted to keep what memories he did have to himself as if telling people about Obito would somehow cheapen those memories. Still, Rin was scary when she wanted something, especially if she thought that something would be good for him.

“Fine,” he said quietly without turning back. It would be easier to talk if he didn’t have to look at anyone or – more importantly – see how they looked at him.

 “Is that why you have one eye covered? Because you get dizzy if you open it?” Hana sounded relieved to hear someone else was experiencing the same thing.

 Kakashi shut her down right away. “The circumstances are different. My eye is special and it’s…difficult to use.” He didn’t count on the stubborn spirit of the Inuzuka clan.

 “But you do get dizzy?” Hana asked, ignoring his not very subtle fuck-off vibes. “Does it make you nauseous? I get really nauseous sometimes and sometimes it’s worse than others. It seems to be connected to how much chakra I’m using so I’ve been staying home and trying not to use any chakra.”

 Kakashi sighed and he reluctantly went on, “The nausea is psychosomatic for me. I mostly get headaches and if I overuse it then I experience chakra exhaustion twice as fast as I used to.” He could almost feel Rin’s eyes boring in to the back of his head. She was a great medic in training and any time he even alluded to the state of his health her attention was razor sharp. Luckily, he wasn’t saying anything she didn’t already know.

 “Huh. I guess it’s not the same then,” Hana said. “Does yours look funny though?” At that, Kakashi actually turned his head to raise his eyebrow at her.

 “What do you mean by look funny?”

 “Well when I open my left eye everything looks sort of red and I see things like they’re moving in slow motion.” She paused to think. “No, not slow motion. It would be more accurate to say that I see things faster than they are actually happening. It would be great for training if I could stop feeling so sick all the time and actually use it.”

 Kakashi was staring at her, his hidden mouth gaping wide open. As his silence stretched both of the girls gave him slightly worried looks. Tsume’s dumbfounded face came to mind and he had a sneaking suspicion what she might have just realized upon seeing him. Finally he cleared his throat and tried to speak, tension keeping his body perfectly still.

 “You said it looks red? Do you mean everything is that color or it is more like you’re seeing normal colors through red tinted glass?” He watched Hana very closely while she tilted her head to one side.

 “The second one,” she said. He swallowed.

“Do you find yourself noticing even more detail with that eye open?”

 Hana frowned, surprised. “Yeah, actually. Now that you mention it, I do see a lot more detail in things that I probably didn’t notice before.”

 “Oh,” Kakashi breathed. It came out embarrassingly high pitched, catching the attention of both Hana and Rin. They both raised their eyebrows and gave him questioning looks. It took him a minute and clearing his throat a second time before he could say, “Sounds a lot like you’re using a Sharingan. And your body is just adjusting to it.”

 With the look that Rin gave him he could tell she understood what he meant right away. She looked stunned for a brief moment before cracking a wide smile and throwing both hands in the air, crowing triumphantly, “YES! That’s amazing!”

 Hana, on the other hand, was looking between the both of them and demanding an explanation. She didn’t seem to pick up on the significance of only experiencing Sharingan vision out of one eye. Perhaps she hadn’t heard the story yet. Kakashi did spend a lot of time trying to keep the rumors quiet. It was a bigger battle advantage if no one saw it coming.

 “Rin!” Hana protested when the other girl threw her arms around her. “What on earth is so exciting about this?” Kakashi took a steadying breath as his teammate answered.

 “Because! Because! Oh!” Rin let out a squeal before finally the words came pouring out. “It means that you and Kakashi are soulmates! You started to get ‘sick’ around the same time that Kakashi got the Sharingan! And it’s the same eye! My friends are soulmates I’m so happy!”

 Hana whipped her head about to stare at Kakashi, who stared back helplessly. Rin kicked her feet in joy before leaping off the futon to go find Tsume and confirm the good news. Alone, the newly matched soulmates continued to stare at each other in silence. Kakashi had no idea what to say. He’d always known he was matched to an Inuzuka, of course, but it had been so many years since he had stopped even wondering who they were. He hadn’t felt like he was at a point in his life where he should be searching for them. Now here she was and he was startled by how relieved he felt, how peaceful. As if a weight had lifted off his shoulders. He was amazed to realize how much he wanted to drop his head in to her lap and let her run her fingers through his hair.

 “So,” her voice made him jump. “What trait did you get from me, then?” she asked.

 “Enhanced senses,” he replied simply. She nodded.

 “All of them or…?”

 “Just hearing and smell. Useful though.”

 She nodded again and they fell silent. Downstairs, the bark of Tsume’s laughter was mixing in with Rin’s garbled excited words. The dogs were shifting around on their bedding, tails wagging so hard they were slapping against the legs of the desk. Hana slipped off the bedding to come sit next to him, reaching out a hand for her dogs to nuzzle happily against.

 She squeaked when Kakashi leaned in to her, burying his face in her neck and wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he dared. To be honest it startled him just as much as her. He hadn’t meant to do it; he’d just moved on instinct. Just when he went to pull away, however, she lifted her arms to hug him back. She smiled when he melted in to her embrace.

 “Thank you,” he whispered.

 He felt Hana turn her head to look at the top of his as she said, “What for?”

 “For existing.” He couldn’t explain it right now. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed her until suddenly there she was. He wouldn’t have thought so, but he was glad to find her now. A small hand patted the back of his head, stroking his hair as he’d been imagining her doing.

 She didn’t say anything in reply because she didn’t have time. Rin and Tsume appeared in the doorway and resumed squealing about how cute a picture they made all huddled together on the floor. As they separated, however, they caught each other’s eye. When he saw the expression on Hana’s face he knew. She was happy to have him too.

[wowheadcanons]

Concerning Lyandra Sunstrider

The Sunstrider family have long made an effort to present themselves to the public as perfect in all that they did and said. They were all of them flawlessly graceful, always dressed to the nines, impeccably polite and dignified, possessed of an aura of authority that permeated everything in which they involved themselves.

We know Lyandra was not in line for the throne - there was a direct line in the Sunstrider family, and tracing it was a complex and exact science that ultimately left her specific house out of the running entirely - but she was the only surviving Sunstrider to anyone’s knowledge following the fall of Kael'thas Sunstrider, and knowing that, went to reclaim Felo'melorn and solidify her right to rule. This tells us that Felo'melorn is a symbol - if not the symbol - of high/blood elven sovereignty.

But, as we know, she reclaimed the sword at the cost of her life, and retained it as a servant of the Lich King. This is where we begin to understand exactly why Aethas Sunreaver refers to her as an inglorious stain upon the Sunstrider name.

First of all: The fact that she attempted to claim the sword and validate her claim to the throne of Quel'Thalas was not out of line. Quite the opposite - it was what was expected and required of her. She was a member of the royal house, albeit one whose house was not directly in line for the throne. With the direct line wiped out, she was next in line by blood, and absolutely should have done everything she could to assume the throne, regardless of whether Lor'themar was still in power. Had she succeeded in retrieving the sword and escaped with her life, she would have been required to go straight back to Silvermoon and relieve Lor'themar of his regency.

How likely Lor'themar would have been to step down or fight to keep his position is up for debate, but if he had refused to step down at that point, Lyandra would then have been forced to fight him for the right to rule - thus igniting a civil war in Quel'Thalas. Again, this would seem to be a messy, extreme course of action, and some might say the decision to fight Lor'themar for power when he’s proven himself to be a ridiculously competent leader could be interpreted as an indication that Lyandra was not fit to rule - but again, it wouldn’t be a choice so much as an expectation and a requirement. She was a Sunstrider; weakness and submission were not and could not be in their nature.

But, as we all know, she didn’t entirely succeed in her mission to reclaim Felo'melorn - she was killed and raised as a servant of the Scourge, at which point the sword was given to her by the Lich King at the time (and again, whether she was slain during Arthas’ or Bolvar’s reign is a matter up for debate.) She did not reclaim the sword - and this failure was her first great sin. This failure alone both invalidated her claim to the throne and made her an embarrassment to the Sunstrider family - a true Sunstrider would be able to reclaim the sword and bring it back to her homeland, and wouldn’t need to receive it from those who had stolen it in the first place.

Her second great embarrassment was in becoming a servant of the Scourge - one of the most hated enemies of her people. This was a sin committed by Kael'thas, as well, when he became a servant of the Burning Legion. Regardless of whether Lyandra made the conscious choice to serve the Scourge or was turned against her will and no longer her own woman in undeath, she had still humiliated the Sunstrider name by “allowing” herself to become a tool of an enemy of her people, just as Kael'thas did when he chose to serve Kil'jaeden.

(It’s important to note, however, that in this aspect, Lyandra had something going for her that Kael'thas did not: She never openly attacked her own people on the level that Kael'thas did, and certainly did not have the fealty of those she did attack. This doesn’t redeem Lyandra in the eyes of blood elven law or custom, but it does put her in a slightly better light than her cousin.)

These failures might not have resulted in her being put down, however, if she had not made her third great mistake: Rather than working to relinquish the sword to Quel'Thalas - even if this meant somehow secretly inviting Lor'themar or another blood elven champion to come challenge her for the sword - Lyandra kept Felo'melorn. And thanks to her own words when we battle her for it, we know she made the conscious choice to do so, and not because she felt she couldn’t give it away. Her words very clearly indicate that she kept the heirloom of her house partially because the Lich King allowed (and potentially demanded) it, and partially because she still felt entitled to it.

The moment she failed to reclaim the sword from the Scourge - again, reclaim it, not receive it - Lyandra lost all right to wield it. At that moment, the rightful ownership of the sword was up for grabs, and Lyandra should have given it to Quel'Thalas so that it could remain an heirloom of her people (again, even if this did require her to send an invitation in secret to Lor'themar to come and battle her for the blade, thus ensuring that the Lich King would not be able to predict or preempt her ultimate goal of returning Felo'melorn to the blood elves. Additionally, it may be that Lor'themar would have had to challenge her for the blade even if she was willing to give it up, just as Lyandra had to take it back rather than receive it in order for her claim to remain valid.) Because she failed to do so, she again blighted the already much-soiled name of Sunstrider with a show of weakness in the form of greed and petty wish fulfillment.

The final nail in the coffin is, ironically enough, her defeat at the hands of Aethas and the mage who accompanies him to reclaim Felo'melorn. Not only does she lose the battle against these people of lesser breeding - for no matter their background, no one could ever hope to rival a Sunstrider’s pedigree, even if the Sunstrider in question is not a direct descendant of the ruling house - but she loses Felo'melorn to these same interlopers. There is no guarantee that the mage to whom she loses this heirloom of the Sunstrider family is even a blood elf, which makes this failure even worse.

A true Sunstrider would not fall to common or even noble stock. Doing so again puts Lyandra in league with Kael'thas, and makes them both disgraces where Anasterian was not; Anasterian, at least, fell to royalty, albeit traitorous, human royalty. And Anasterian fell in the defense of his people and their most sacred font of power, while both his son and distant cousin fell as antagonists to their people. If they were so eager to bring suffering upon their subjects, Kael'thas and Lyandra should have had the power and wit to succeed, as true Sunstriders would. That they did not is a blemish upon their names as well as their house and lineage.

But to lose the sword to such lesser creatures - even more so than failing to reclaim it, or failing to return it to Quel'Thalas, even more than becoming a pawn of the enemy and wielding such a precious artifact in that enemy’s service - to lose Felo'melorn to someone unworthy of ruling the people of Quel'Thalas is the greatest shame of all. Anasterian shattered the blade against Arthas; Kael'thas was forced to leave it behind so that he might flee and protect and guide his people in their most desperate hours, lessening his failure.

Lyandra lost Felo'melorn to an archmage with no claim to it and an adventurer who may not even have been a blood elf, let alone someone of even lesser noble breeding. Not only did she lose it, she lost it because it had become necessary to reclaim it from her in defense of the world her people inhabit, and she refused to relinquish it. She was not even the one to formally issue the challenge to the adventurer to take the blade - the Lich King made that challenge. Lyandra lost the blade in a fight carried out at her master’s pleasure.

In the end, however noble Lyandra and her intentions might have been when she set out to recover Felo'melorn, these failures compounded to create of her an even more humiliating blight on the Sunstrider name than Kael'thas had been. Kael'thas, at least, made a proper threat of himself. Kael'thas, at least, still went out after multiple incredibly difficult battles, and fought with all the glory and fury of a proper Sunstrider. Kael'thas, at least, fought with purpose.

Lyandra was nothing more than a gladiator sent to entertain her master, and an obstacle to overcome in order to reclaim Felo'melorn.

If any others of the Sunstrider family remained, they might say that she started out as an ambitious little girl making a grab at power she did not deserve. By the time she was struck down, Aethas - who, for all his eagerness to return to Dalaran, is very clearly still a proud blood elf - saw in her such profound disgrace that he was willing to say as much before one of Modera’s magi, and that speaks volumes unto Lyandra’s failure.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                                                Set, the God of Chaos,                                             whose origins stem from Ancient Egypt.                           He is now a psychiatric clinician at Asclepius General Hospital                                               and a professor at Phoenix University.

FC NAME/GROUP: Haruma Miura (Actor/Brash Brats) GOD NAME: Set ALIAS (FOR SILLY HUMANS): Dr. S.Setti MD, Psy.D PANTHEON: Egyptian OCCUPATION:   –Psychiatric Clinician, Asclepius General Hospital, Trauma and Healthcare Centre –Adjunct Associate Professor of Psychiatry & Behavioral Medicine, Phoenix University –Prolific Serial Killer HEIGHT: 184 cm WEIGHT: 67kg DEFINING FEATURES: Set’s irises are black. Not brown, not burnt toast–not a curious dark chocolate, nor rich deep tan. Black–onyx black, coal chip dropped in soot eyes. Eyes that are blacker than the most starless night or darkest deep ocean waters. As black as if a void in the cosmos had opened up where his pupils should have been and swallowed away all the color and light everywhere and from anything before them like a black hole swallowing planets. They are generally deeply unsettling to humans and gods alike with their cold emotionless flat darkness, so Set has taken to always wearing professional glasses or shaded eye wear to distract, conceal and reflect back the shine of a pleasant benevolence that his own true sight lacks. [x] [x] PERSONALITY: Set by his very nature possesses a very convoluted and impenetrable personality. If Set were not a God himself, one would probably see him as a letter perfect highly functional sociopathic psychopath. However, Set is not nor has he ever been something so pathetically mundane as “human” so he would very much find such a timidly narrow view of his finite pursuits, pleasures and pastimes to be malign slander if not a downright insult for which one deserved to be gutted for. Set does not feel a G-O-D requires rationalization (nor compassion or kindness–and perhaps a boat load of other adjectives he is scarily devoid of). In a nutshell the god of chaos, disorder and violence, does not reason or rationalize his own behavior, rather, he relishes the pure unfiltered darkness of it all. His schemes in general are elaborate theater shows of creative mental tortures and always very well planned for maximum devastating effect. There is no doubt that Set can cloak himself in charm, he’ll seem genuinely thoughtful and kind to those that…can “amuse” him for a time. However, Set is incredibly manipulative–he can pull others strings very effectively, wear all the perfect masks of one who is truly caring. He knows how to get to people, how to appear impeccably cultured, appreciative, and sophisticated. All the while turning them inside out to achieve the most disastrous results. He takes joy in toying with others, all for the mirth of watching them twist on their own puppet strings. His sheer remorselessness is without a doubt frightening, and he’ll always deliberately play others to his own advantage. HISTORY: Set is the ancient Egyptian god of the desert, storms, darkness and Chaos. Indeed, in ancient Egyptian culture his very name means to be a “destroyer” or “the  instigator of confusion”. He is one of the first five gods created by the union of Geb and Nut. He did not begin this way. Set was originally an important and friendly god of Upper Egypt whose name was invoked for love spells and inscribed on amulets which served as love charms–unfortunately Set all too soon fell prey to his own desires. Forbidden wants twisted his heart and mind, driving the god to seek out and steal younger sister Nepthys (whom he took to wife). Finding he enjoyed doing things his own way for once, Set challenged his eldest brother Osiris at every turn. It was the most classic case of Middle child syndrome ever.

Osiris bestowed on humans gifts of compassion and equality for all. The world was a paradise where everyone, man and woman, was equal under the reign of the oldest brother, food was abundant, and no one suffered any want. Set grew jealous of Osiris’ power, adoration and resented his success. His resentment grew even more bitter after his wife Nephthys, attracted by Osiris’ beauty, goodness and kind hands, disguised herself and seduced the great king, becoming pregnant with the god Anubis.

In a furious cuckolded rage at Nephthys with her unapologetic adultery, Set decided to remove his brother once and for all. A magnificent casket was created at his order, the most beautiful chest ever made, tailored to Osiris’ exact measurements. He then threw a grand party, to which Osiris was invited, and after the banquet told the guests he had a special surprise. He revealed the chest and said that whoever could fit most perfectly inside could take it home. One by one the guests climbed into the casket but could not fit until Osiris’ turn came. He lay down in the casket and found, of course, that it fit him perfectly. Set immediately in a bloody violent rage, hacked his brother into pieces where he lay, then slammed the lid and threw the casket into the Nile River.

Back in Egypt, Set took the throne, and the harmonious balance which had been maintained by Osiris was completely lost. Set was a chaotic and unpredictable monarch who brought storms and drought and the humans turned on each other in their efforts to survive while Set watched with glee. After all he had never really cared for “humanity” anyway.

It was finally, Horus, son of Osiris who battled his uncle Set and took control once more of the world. He did however spare his uncle’s life because of an appreciation of balance and harmony. The concept of Ma'at (harmony) is integral to Egyptian values–and there can be no Ma'at without Isfet (chaos) too. Set grudgingly accepted his diminished role, but refused to live among the other Gods in the heavens any longer. Instead he moved among the humans seamlessly, intent of cause as much harm as he could to Osiris most favorite of all the universe’s creations. Humans took all too well to the negative aspects and chaos Set brings to their existence and were unknowingly much more a source of continuous entertainment as his pawns and living punching bags.

Time passes though and Set heard whispers of a place that sounds even more intriguing. Mount Phoenix, where the blood of immortals have given life to a new breed of human, ones who might be even better stock for his games. Set is fascinated by the delightful possibilities such a foolish place will present, and more importantly…

He wants to find his own rotten little apples in the barrel of mortality.

POWERS: While Set still does quite enjoy bringing about chaos the good old fashion way (that is with plenty vicious unnecessary violence, liberal blood shed, brutal mutilations and theatrical deaths), he has adapted his mind with time to do the more “messy” work of indirectly subjecting others to his little fun games of havoc far more discreetly. Set is Isfet embodied, thriving in unraveling order, causing destruction and anarchy to reign while he stands tall in the ashes. Isfet or Asfet (meaning"chaos", “violence”, and “to do evil") is the Egyptian counterpart of Ma'at (meaning “order” or “harmony”). Set is able to embody chaos itself and turn it outward as the power of Negikinesis or the ability to manipulate all forms of physical, mental and spiritual negativity as he desires with:

Manipulative Charisma (Set possesses immense extreme charm and ‘magnetic’ quality that transcends mortal limitations, allowing him to sway virtually anyone as well as entire communities to his dark ideas, cause and service with barely any effort.)

Negative Touch (Set cause weakening negative effects on others by touching them.)

Hatred Compulsion (Set can compel hate and/or self-hatred in others with suggestions, causing the target to hate anything/everything about themselves, someone else, even everyone around them. This will cause the victim to be hated themselves, and be more willing to kill those they hate.)

Malevorous (Set feeds on the chaotic darkness of people’s minds, gaining boosts to stamina, strength, durability, and speed, depending on the level of evil and malevolence. This power automatically scans for the worst malicious intent to feed off of when facing multiple victims. Victims need not have actual powers; a sociopathic serial killer is just as useful as a mentally wretched victim.)

Violent Aura (At will, Set can generate an aura of violence that amplifies/induces aggression on beings inside the aura and gains strength from those emotions.)

Weakness Corruption (Set can make others immorally flawed by psychically kindling the targets’ minds so that they succumb to the urges of enhancing/magnifying their own debasing sin and/or humiliating vices.)

Mind Destruction (Set can with a simple negative thought cause madness in a person or group of people that have no mental illness, depending on what he desires at the time, his victims may go slightly loopy or lose total grip of reality becoming delusional, lose control over themselves, take to paranoid, catatonic or hostile behavior.)

STRENGTHS:

Even not using his god-like abilities Set is a formidable clinical hypnotist. He can lull the mortal subconscious just with the sound of his voice and gentle suggestions. 

Has been among humanity the longest of the Egyptian Parthenon, and is very adept at moving among humans–or “seeming” as human himself.

He is also an expert in psychology (though he does not believe it to be a science, but more of a game he holds all the wins for.).

Naturally aggressive/volatile primordial beings are even more susceptible to Set’s chaotic influence than “good” calmer ones. Humans and halflings don’t stand a chance.

To all but those of the Egyptian Parthenon (who still remember that Set encased his own brother in a coffin, hacked him to bits after a huge dinner party and also kidnapped his own baby sister to make her his lover), Set comes across as a polite refined gentleman doctor with extensive knowledge about the arts, tea and horticulture.

WEAKNESSES:

Extended suppression of Set’s smaller dark malicious urges usually results in a mental/emotional/psychological meltdown of the killing spree kind. Him being a little bit evil here and there is much better than him in full on ax murdering serial killer mode which he does quite gladly descended into (and easily) without some form of small scale meddlesome entertainment.

Set cannot sway those with true undying loyalty or love towards another with his negative powers. Set also is not able to sway the pure love, loyalty or affection of animals.

Set cannot create a beings flaws out of thin air, only enhance existing ones being repressed or inherent already. 

Beings who are child-like with no sense or knowledge of the concepts of chaos, wrongdoing and evil literally are his worst weakness. Set finds their “purity” in particular to be extremely offensive to his senses (they are like “noise” or radio interference to everything he is). You will never find Set going too close to beings like that nor be willing to hold or converse with small children for this very reason.

Is highly susceptible powers of his own birth siblings and their offspring: Osiris, Isis, Nephthys, and Haroeris.

Circumstances of poor taste, breeding or manners, tend to make Set TRUE colors show though. He fights very hard against letting out the madden force of chaotic rage that is his true “colors”. However those who exhibit poor taste or bad manners, usually get to see the god as he truly unpleasantly is.