#even if not though i tend to favour her saying it outright herself rather than eiki's 'oh yeah i think i remember someone like that?'

[occasionaltouhou]

does hecatia have any actual duties as goddess of hell, like the admnistration, or does she just do fuckall all day because she's the boss and she can do what she wants

nope! she's not part of the bureaucracy of hell at all. she's "a goddess of hell", not "the goddess of hell", for one thing - we can assume there's a lot of other afterlife deities still down there too. hecate isn't even the major underworld deity of the myths she's from, after all

anyway, as she notes in her afieu interview, hecatia's not involved in the stuff that the yama are doing. she actually specifically notes it's a kind of reactionary movement by them to re-establish order from the chaos of the anarchic "might-makes-right" hell. her stance is more-or-less "sure, whatever" about it, but she definitely doesn't work for them. she definitely does do fuckall all day though

[a-damn-good-medic]

Really Long Character Survey

RULES.  repost ,   don’t  reblog  ! tag  10 ! good  luck  !

TAGGED.  Stolen from: @cromwellharvests​

BASICS.

FULL  NAME :   Charlotte Beatrice Samaritan NICKNAME :   Lottie, Trixie (older brother only), Samaritan, Samari AGE :  21 (1915 – She turns 22 after the Promised Day) BIRTHDAY :   17th August 1893 NATIONALITY :   Amestrian-Aerugian – though born and raised in Amestris LANGUAGE / S : Amestrian, conversational Aerugian SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :  Heterosexual ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION :  Panromantic RELATIONSHIP  STATUS :   Single HOME  TOWN / AREA :  Limoux (based off of this map), South Region, small town roughly 25-30 miles east-north-east of Fotset CURRENT  HOME :   lives in military barracks near to where she’s stationed, she’ll often say she’s “going home” when visiting her family PROFESSION :  a medic to her core

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Black, 2a/2b wavy/curly hair, down to mid-back/the bottom of shoulder blades; pulled into a pony tail or bun for work reasons EYES :  Honey brown – her father’s FACE :  heart-shaped, light freckles across bridge of nose and cheek bones; somewhat baby-faced; fresh-faced LIPS :  slightly thinner than average, upwards tilt on either side COMPLEXION :  warm skin tone, freckles as mentioned above, skin tends to go through patches of dryness every few months BLEMISHES/SCARS :  medium sized one on her left temple acquired from injury during active duty, but it’s mostly covered by her hair; a few smaller ones on other parts of her body acquired in a similar manner including one in the middle of her left pinkie finger TATTOOS :  I have been toying with the idea of having a red cross (like the medical symbol) on the side of her left shoulder HEIGHT :   5′2″ WEIGHT :   112lbs. BUILD :   neat hourglass shape, toned arms and legs, well built FEATURES :   none particularly stand out ALLERGIES :   None USUAL  HAIR  STYLE :  Whilst at work, pulled back into a ponytail or a bun; outside of work tends to leave it down unless doing something where it needs to be/it’s better to keep it out of the way USUAL  FACE  LOOK :  looks either busy in thought or bored, there is no in-between; she’s also an occasional victim of resting b!tch face; however will brighten up when approached by someone USUAL  CLOTHING :   military uniform is worn regularly; she loves her boots and will often wear them with other pairs of trousers; relatively simple clothing, rarely goes shopping for clothes, if she’s wearing something new most likely her mother sent it to her; dislikes long-sleeved shirts and prefers no sleeves altogether, tends to stick to three or four outfits which she cycles through; favours trousers, saves skirts and dresses for special occasions or good weather

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEARS :   despite her profession death is a big one; emetophobia (fear of vomiting, especially in a public place/away from home); despite loving the appearance of lightning, thunder during storms triggers varying levels of anxiety ASPIRATIONS :   to help as many people as she can, to improve awareness and treatment of mental illness which are often overlooked (especially the effects military service has on individuals) even if it’s just on an individual basis, to settle down with someone and raise a family POSITIVE  TRAITS :   sweet, charming, protective, compassionate, level-headed, genuine, dedicated, perceptive, ballsy, cheeky, forward NEGATIVE  TRAITS :   overemotional; gets attached too easily; unforgiving or (depending on circumstance) holds a long-standing grudge; unsure of her position when in a new place so feels she has to justify herself and her abilities/work, leading to her being very short with some people; can be rash and impulsive when it comes to her patients, would rather throw herself into danger with them than leave them on their own MBTI :  ISFJ-A – the Defender ZODIAC :   Leo TEMPERAMENT :   phlegmatic SOUL  TYPES :    server, priest ANIMALS :   turtle, dog, snake VICE / HABITS :    losing track of time and taking very long showers; staying up too late; shakes her head side to side when she yawns, as if waking herself up; chewing on the end of a pen; repeatably pops on/off snap poppers on clothing, especially if they’re on the end of her sleeves FAITH :  agnostic though will often fall back on religion when she can’t do anything to help a situation (e.g. she’ll resort to praying if a situation is dire) GHOSTS ? :   nope  AFTERLIFE ? :   wants to believe in the afterlife but can’t quite bring herself to REINCARNATION ? :  wants to believe in reincarnation more than the afterlife but again, can’t quite bring herself to ALIENS ? :   probably, but accepts that that question won’t be answered in her lifetime  POLITICAL  ALIGNMENT :  wish-washy; goes through periods of being furious with the political climate (often when issues arise) whilst remaining up to date, and times of just ignoring it/not being too involved; however, stands (and somewhat fights) for equality across the board as well as protesting to protect the freedom of choice EDUCATION  LEVEL :   due to growing up in the middle of nowhere, she only attended a small school which obviously limited her education to the point where I argue that she probably left school at 14 (due to context of schooling in the early 1900s) like everyone else who lived in the area; received specific training when she enlisted to become a medic; spends time reading up on other medical techniques/treatments that she wasn’t taught at the academy; some basic knowledge on how the family business is run, but she never expected to inherit it and therefore didn’t spend much time considering it

FAMILY.

FATHER :    Lucian Samaritan MOTHER :    Silvia Violetta Fontana SIBLINGS :  she’s the second eldest of seven with six brothers, Andrew, Samuel, Seth, Kent, Isaac, and Wyatt EXTENDED  FAMILY :   Henrik and Eleanor (paternal grandparents) NAME  MEANING / S :    Charlotte – female version of Charles – meaning “man, army, warrior”; Samaritan – following Arakawa’s lead, she’s named after the FV104 Samaritan, which is an armoured ambulance.

FAVORITES.

BOOK :  fiction, often books from her childhood which are mainly coming-of-age stories; she does also have a soft spot for biographies or journals of people who have similarities to her (whether that be type of job, favourite hobbies, Southern region background/childhood, etc.); keen to read any medical journals that she can get her hands on 5  SONGS :  her favourites tend to be country or folk-songs, songs with a story or meaning; she also holds a soft spot for swing DEITY :   although she relies on religion in dire situations, she doesn’t believe in the afterlife because she doesn’t believe in a supreme being/creator HOLIDAY :   tries to get time off to go home to visit family on holidays, but will conspire with her older brother to make sure that they are either both home or both away; because of this, holidays get ‘postponed’ in the Samaritan household until the two can find time to get away; tends to be a busy household due to numbers, with Lottie being liable to drag a couple of friends with her if they have nowhere to go MONTH :   September SEASON :   Autumn PLACE :    the large barn at Willowbranch Acres, the family home; the narrow top floor was claimed by the kids soon after it was built, with it being full of cushions, blankets, rugs, as well as a couple of hobby items; it’s always there when you need time to think and space away from the likeable chaos WEATHER :    sunny, clear skies but with a mild cooling breeze, not too hot, not too cold; lightning on a dark, cloudy night, despite dislike of thunder that is too close SOUND :   humming from down the hall; light playing of a piano; muffled voices and music of a tavern/pub as you walk by; crunching of leaves and heavy footsteps as you run through the woods SCENTS :    warm bread, lilies, apple blossom, TASTES :    chocolate, orange juice, apple cider, well-done buttered toast FEELINGS :   long hot shower, the first gust of wind after a stifling train journey, a dog curled up beside you, forehead kisses and touches ANIMALS :    love dogs with a passion, wanted one desperately as a kid before she received Sven on her 16th birthday, has a soft spot for donkeys, cows, and horses as well due to their present back in her hometown NUMBER :  8 COLORS :   white, beige, black, all kinds of blue and fall colours (specifically the oranges)

EXTRA.

TALENTS :  deescalating or delaying conflicts; decent with a pistol; scarily good with a bow and arrow; telling when someone is lying or telling a half-truth; coincidentally getting away with only telling half-truths instead of outright lying whilst having the same effect BAD  AT :  keeping herself healthy (well-fed, good sleep schedule, enough liquids); going to bed at a decent time when she doesn’t have to get up at a particular time the next morning; taking out someone in order to ensure her safety; shutting up when someone is threatening her; remaining impartial; cooking or baking more than the three dishes she has down; keeping a straight face after saying something that she thinks is ~hilarious~ TURN  ONS :  really enthusiastic about a hobby; susceptible to gingers/redheads for some reason ¯\_(ツ)_/¯; also susceptible to short beards, van dykes and goatees; confidence; good sense of humour; ideally intelligent (not necessarily academically though, can be on a very niche topic) TURN  OFFS :   when they won’t take a hint that she’s not interested; people who insult the person they were just hitting on because they got rejected; shallow but if they’re shorter than her; honest to god, bad mustaches (the roystache I’m looking at you (≖ ‿ ≖ )  ); HOBBIES :    Soapbox/Baby cart races; swing dancing; violin; piano; running; sparring; singing; walking in the countryside; archery TROPES :   Girl Next Door, Loyalist, Farmer’s Daughter, The Reliable One, Big Brother Instinct, Good is Not Soft, The Heart, Technical Pacifist

[anyakane]

Gift Hunting – An SLBP Fic

Summary: A certain man's birthday is coming up, so Nobunaga drags Akane to find a gift.  

Characters: Nobunaga and Mitsuhide!MC

Word count: Approx. 2600 words  

Genre: Friendship and humor

Rating: T

A/N: This fic has been in WIP hell for 6 goddamn months!! Part fic, part character study, part extensive headcanon. I saw this post and it cemented my ideal dynamics forever. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is mid-afternoon when Akane runs into him; a tall man made taller by his geta and conical hat, pulled low over his eyes. He holds her steady by the shoulder, and for a second she is close enough to smell him.  

"I apologise for bumping into you," she says as she bows her thanks when she's let go.

"It's alright," he murmurs. The lower half of his face is covered by a scarf even though the weather isn't cold at all.

There is an inkling in the back of her mind that she knows this man, like the pieces of a puzzle she is so close to putting together. The man wears a traveller's robe, but it looks far too clean and new for it to have been used even a day on the road. His steps, while smooth and confident, are also very careful in the way someone inexperienced with geta is.

Akane jogs to catch up to him before he can get too far. "Excuse me, are you perhaps Lord No–" She can barely get his name out before the man grabs her by the arm to pull her into nearest alleyway away from the crowds.

"How did you figure out it was me," Nobunaga hisses. He's kept his hat on, but Akane can see his face now.  

There was a lot she could point out that led to her suspicions, from the robes, to the shoes, to the outright suspicious scarf covering his face, so instead she says, "You smell like castella."

"What."

"You smell like castella," Akane repeats. "I noticed you pacing back and forth outside the kitchen as it was baking, Milord." She leans forward a bit to discretely sniff at his crossed arms. "I believe you're carrying some in your sleeves."  

"So the Puppy's friend is a puppy herself, is she?" Nobunaga says. "Should I have kept you as my poison taster? I’ll have you sniffing out poisons instead of cakes."

Akane very carefully ignores Lord Nobunaga's red cheeks and dropped arms. "I'd rather you didn't, Milord. I'm much more useful to you alive and cooking." She thinks about it for a second, then adds, "Also if I had died, I wouldn't be with Mitsuhide, and we both know how you feel about that."

There is an unspoken understanding between them that Nobunaga finds their relationship, and its subsequent effect on Mitsuhide, very, very amusing. He feels that Akane has, in his words, "loosened the stick up his butt". In practice, all that means for Akane is that Nobunaga is about as supportive as a Lord of a clan is expected to be and then some, and every so often makes complaints that she isn't making Mitsuhide relaxed enough for him to skip work. For her part, Akane makes his desserts extra sweet and drops hints at him whenever Mitsuhide is too busy to take care of himself properly.  

"Anyway, what are you doing in town?" Akane asks. She frowns as she recalls his plans for the day. "No, more importantly, don't you have an important meeting to attend?" That was the impression she got from Mitsuhide, who had spent better part of the morning running around the castle preparing for it.

"Not so important that Mitsuhide can't handle it without me," Nobunaga says. Mitsuhide must be back at the castle now, handling it. It's no wonder Nobunaga is in town without a care in the world; only Mitsuhide can drag him back. Akane glances at his smirk and knows instantly that it is part of his plan.

And she wants nothing to do with it.

I'll just tell Mitsuhide I saw him in town and he can come get him, Akane decides. "Then, if you'll excuse me, Milord."

"And let you tattle to that mother hen? You're coming with me." Nobunaga turns with a swish of his cloak, marching out of the alley and onto the main road without so much as looking back.

May the gods give me strength, she prays.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their first destination is a familiar bookshop, so Akane heads straight for the cookbooks while Nobunaga interrogates the bookseller for the how-to guides.

She flips through a book of illustrated dessert recipes: a new publication containing recipes for desserts from all over the country, and even a few European ones. Nobunaga would love these, she thinks.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Nobunaga pull out several books and flip through them before angrily shoving them back onto the shelf. When he finds one he deems suitable, he stalks over to shove it in her face.

"This looks like this would help in that inane quest of his," Nobunaga says.

Nobunaga had explained, on the way to the shop, that he was looking for a gift for Mitsuhide. He did not necessarily use those words, but Akane had nodded and agreed in all the right places and seen underneath the underneath. Personally, Akane thought Mitsuhide would be happier if Nobunaga wouldn't try to escape his meetings so often.

101 Skits: The Complete Guide to Comedy! says the cover in bold and bright kanji once it's at a reasonable distance from her face. It looks effective enough, considering the smile on Nobunaga's face as he reads a passage.  

There is but one problem.

"I'm sorry, Milord, but Lord Mitsuhide already has that book," Akane says.

"You can't be serious," Nobunaga says incredulously. "It was only published a couple weeks ago."

"It's a recent purchase. I caught him practicing to the garden cats once or twice." And to Inuchiyo and Hideyoshi, but Nobunaga doesn’t need to know that.

Nobunaga's look of absolute disgust is a sight to behold as he returns the book to its original spot. "It's amazing he managed that without any disgusting baby talk."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Mitsuhide had made valiant effort to deliver his performances seriously at first, only for his speech to devolve into baby talk the more the cats curled around him. When he got his bearings back, he arranged the cats before him to act as an audience, but even they were unimpressed. Akane witnessed the entire spectacle from behind a corner and redirected passing retainers so he could have his precious moments of practice.

Akane goes back to studying her recipe book, while Nobunaga ignores the  guides in favour of perusing books of poetry. He bribes the shopkeeper's child with castella to bring him his favourites.  

Nobunaga comes back with a deeply unsatisfied look on his face.  

"Nothing caught your attention?" Akane asks, not looking up from the book. She's trying to commit as many recipes to memory as she can.

"Nothing's good enough," he says decisively. Then, noticing the book, "What have you been looking at this whole time?"

She hands him the book opened to a recipe for a European cake with honey. "It's a recipe book for desserts."

"Are you going to buy it?"

"It's a little out of my budget," Akane confesses, "and the ingredients aren't easy to get so I won't have much use for it anytime soon."

Nobunaga flips through the book a little more, stopping whenever a particularly tasty looking dessert captures his attention. He slaps the book shut as if he's made a decision.

"Shopkeeper!" Nobunaga calls out as he waves the book in the air. "I will be making a purchase!."

"Wait, what? You don't have to– I mean, that's not necessary–"

"Don't be mistaken," says Nobunaga, cutting off her protests. "This is for my benefit, not yours. You're just the one making them for me." He grins haughtily at her. "Do you doubt my power? I can get any ingredients in the land."  

Stunned, Akane watches as Nobunaga hands over the money. Is this a gift? Can she accept it as a gift? She didn't consider herself as particularly irreplaceable (especially not to Nobunaga, who could get any chef he wanted), but there is a quiet thrill in her heart at the thought of being important enough to warrant a personal gift, even if he said otherwise.

"Thank you, Milord," she says, only it comes out softer than she intended.  

"Right," he says and –are his ears red? Can't be; that's just his hair– shoves his purchase into her chest before striding out of the store.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They continue hunting for a gift.

"Does this look like him?" Nobunaga asks, holding something that resembles a plate.

"In what way?" Akane asks back. It is a hideous plate. Akane is insulted on Mitsuhide's behalf, but also afraid to hear the answer on the off chance she ends up seeing the resemblance.  

Akane has come to the conclusion that Nobunaga's taste in gift can be summarized in three words: rare, expensive, and if possible, foreign. It's not necessarily bad taste; things that are rare and expensive tend to look aesthetically pleasing, though this plate-like thing is an exception.  

It's just that Nobunaga has rejected each and every item out of hand.  

"Are you sure you didn't want to get him that nice tea set?" Akane asks as they exit the store. Rather than a gift for Mitsuhide, the result of their outing is a recipe book, a new obi pin, and a crate of fresh fruit to be delivered first thing in the morning.  

"Mitsuhide doesn't need another tea set," Nobunaga says. "He's got too many tea cups as it is."

He is, unfortunately, right.

"That doesn't change the fact that you're still without a gift, Lord Nobunaga," Akane points out. "Shall we try one more time before returning to the castle?"

It's nice that Nobunaga is going at it so earnestly. It means he values Mitsuhide too. It makes her want to help him, even when she really needs to get back to prepare for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Predictably, Nobunaga doesn't find anything that fulfills his mysterious requirements. Too boring, he says. It's ugly, he says. He aims a long contemplative look at a strange jar, before returning it to the shelf with a sigh.  

Now they're sitting across from each other in an expensive tea house where Nobunaga is spoiling his dinner and his dessert. There is a plate of colourful mochi between them to share. They look delicious, but Akane is having mixed feelings about this entire thing.  

While Akane has always been aware of the difference in their stations, and has acted accordingly, she's never been wary of spending time with him, the few times he's asked her to. It's not that Akane is unafraid of Nobunaga, because he inspires a healthy amount of fear in anyone. If she's allowed to be honest, she'd say she doesn't see Nobunaga the same way Mitsuhide and Inuchiyo and HIdeyoshi do.  

And therein lies the difference.  

No one's ever asked, but Akane doesn't care for unification. It's Mitsuhide's dream, and Mitsuhide's dream is her dream, but Akane has never desired anything but a peaceful life without war. It's just that they seem to think unification is the only way. So to her, Nobunaga is less the lord of her clan and more of an employer, and occasionally something like a friend who can kill her at any time without remorse. Does Nobunaga know of her potentially treasonous thoughts? She hopes not, although she likes to think he's a bit more relaxed around her.  

It's a moot point now though, because Akane has decided that she'd follow Mitsuhide into hell if that's what his heart decided to do. And if following Mitsuhide means following Nobunaga as well, so be it.  

That being said, the mochi has nothing to do with her loyalty, but rather...

"If you wanted mochi, Lord Nobunaga, you could have just told me so. I would have made them for you," she says, pouting. She's retained as his personal dessert chef, damn it!

"What are you upset about; I eat everything else you make, don’t I?" He pushes the plate towards her. "Eat the green one; the owner says they flavoured it with something foreign." There are two of each flavour, and sure enough there is a green one left for her. "If you can recognise the flavour, you can ask for the ingredient the next time the foreign traders come. That is what I keep you for, after all."

As expected, the mochi is delicious, and Akane relaxes despite herself. Nobunaga is being unusually kind to her today. Now that she thinks about it, hasn't everything he bought today been for her? The recipe book she was reading, the obi pin she was eyeing, even the rare fruits she's always wanted to try.  

"Thank you for today, Lord Nobunaga. I'm very grateful." And she really is. Not just for the day, either. For Mitsuhide. For Inuchiyo. He is as necessary to them as they are to her. And maybe she's only realized this now, but Akane does like him. Perhaps not in the way Nobunaga expects from his retainers, but she does.

"Hmph. I reward all my retainers who serve me well." He takes a sip of his tea. "You're too easily satisfied, besides."

"Maybe I am," Akane laughs.  

Nobunaga orders another round of tea and sweets, and tells her to choose as she likes, so Akane lets herself enjoy his company, and pretend for a moment that they are simply a pair of friends.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, Mitsuhide catches them on the road to the castle, the Hand of Judgement bearing down on Nobunaga's shoulder as he sneaks up on them without a sound. Akane leaps an embarrassing three feet into the air, while Nobunaga shifts into an attack stance.  

"And just what was so important than you ran away from your meeting, Milord?" Mitsuhide asks with only a hint of anger. "We are quite lucky the meeting went well even without you."

"As if I'd expect anything less from my Right Hand," Nobunaga says, rolling his eyes.

It's cute how happy he looks at the praise. "Right, well, did you at least find what you were looking for?"

Akane and Nobunaga share a glance, an unspoken conversation in the split second of eye contact. "I'm not going to tell you," he declares.  

"Lord Nobunaga!" Mitsuhide starts, scolding his liege lord all the way back to the castle while they walk together.  

As their shadows stretch in the setting sun, Akane feels content.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue

Akane snuggles into Mitsuhide's chest on their shared futon, seeking his warmth. She missed him. Mitsuhide tucks her head under his chin and holds her tight.  

"I'm sorry I went out with Lord Nobunaga without telling you," she begins.  

Mitsuhide squeezes her tighter. "Knowing him, I'm sure he didn't give you much of a choice. And you don't have to apologize; I don't want to be the kind of man who doesn't let you live your own life." He chuckles self-consciously. "But I will admit that I feel terribly jealous."

Akane maneuvers herself until she is on top of him. Now it is Mitsuhide who is looking up at her. "Then, my darling, would you like some reassurance that you're the only one in my heart?"  

"If you please," he breaths as their mouths meet for a kiss, and sets the tone for the rest of the night.

(The next morning, Nobunaga announces Mitsuhide's gift: a week-long vacation, to be accompanied by Akane.)

[aelaer]

Whumptober 20: Trembling

Guess who's back in this story.

This fills @stephenstrangebingo​ for "Curse" (and my first bingo on that card, finally).

If you want to get a feel for Narrator before diving into this, you can read his unpleasantness in #2: Explosion and #7: Isolation. It's not required to read those to understand this story, though.

Warnings: Nothing I can think of in particular, other than that the narrator delights in the suffering of others.

20. Trembling

Oh, you won't believe what happened— I mean it! You won't believe the gift I had dropped right in my lap just now. Sit still and listen for a second. I mean, time hardly matters here anyway, does it? So just— just listen. I need to share this with someone.

Now as you know, I get a lot of calls for favours and deals. It's what I do, what I look for, and it certainly keeps the place populated, which is the entire point of the business. Without a population, this whole dimension would eventually wither and fade, and where would that leave me? You get it.

Souls are what keep the realm going. While minor demons are useful, it is the souls from mortal planes that have power, though most mortals are completely oblivious to the vast amount of energy within their souls. And me, well, I have found that I have a taste for human souls. There's something about their capacity to be so good, only to fall to the most depraved acts imaginable that makes my metaphorical heart sing in joy.

Take the human I just met. He was rather bitter about being kicked out of his little group and wanted revenge on the leader. This is rather par for the course when it comes to those calling upon my dimension for some sort of task or power, so I let one of the grunts handle it.

The grunt came back and gave me the details and I nearly danced in joy. Gave the grunt a soul to play with; grunts that just know when I'm not needed and when I am needed are hard to come by, and I want him to know I appreciate it; can't have him being poached by some other entity.

So here I go up, putting on the shape the grunt was wearing for the job (which turned out to be more human-like than I usually go with, but that's fine), and to the human that reached out to us it doesn't look like anything's changed at all. For all he knows, he's talking to the same demon.

A quick review of the conversation so far later, I offer the summoner a sympathetic smile. "Tell me more about this Stephen Strange," I said, as if I didn't know anything about him. Play a bit dumb here and there, and humans grow much more comfortable around you, as if you're one of them. It's just adorable.

"He's an egotistical asshole," the summoner spat, "who has no business being the Sorcerer Supreme!"

I admit I had forgotten that they promoted him after that tiff with Nightmare (who's still the same moron he was five hundred Earth years ago, so you're not missing anything with him) and Strange had certainly proved himself capable enough. So for someone reaching out to me to help take down him?

Yeah, you see why I'm just so damn pleased.

Anyway, he went on with this and that, explaining that he didn't deserve to be kicked out of Kamar-Taj, that Strange was an idiot, et cetera, et cetera. You know how summoners can get. I let him rant for a few minutes until he finally stopped for a breath, and then I asked him, "What do you want to do?"

"Make him pay," the summoner replied. 

I must say, I kept my calm quite impressively at his useless answer. No good at blowing up at a summoner before we seal a deal, after all. "What would you like in order to accomplish that?" I asked quite patiently.

The summoner paused a moment, and really, I don't quite understand how some of these summoners are ready to sell their souls without a concise idea of what they exactly want prepared. While vague requests such as "power" and "wealth" are incredibly convenient for me, sometimes something more planned out would be a nice change of pace.

He eventually answered, "He has this doctor friend who knew him from before that comes to the New York Sanctum to still see him from time to time. Once even went to Kamar-Taj. I don't know if they're sleeping together or what, but Strange definitely cares for her. I want her cursed. Take her soul to tear him apart."

I admit, I was impressed by his thinking. I was expecting the usual "powers to destroy him" or something of the sort— you know how it tends to go— but this was a creativity I could appreciate. Curses and soul-taking, however? Two different things. "I can take her with me. Call that the curse." Not her soul alone, naturally, but I didn't say that I'd take her soul. But you know how humans are: they hear what they want to hear. "Do you know her name?"

"Palmer. Doctor Christine Palmer," he confirmed.

I could have found it myself if need be, of course, but he certainly sped up the process. "I will take Doctor Christine Palmer from this world, and in return, your soul comes to me upon your death." I then offered my hand

He didn't even hesitate! He gripped my hand and said, "Deal," and that was that. Soul in the bag. And what a treat to secure it!

Oh, yeah, I've already done as he asked. How could I help myself? It was a simple task and I was already on the mortal plane— and I had a bit of fun in the process, too.

I located the woman quickly in her apartment and put on the guise of Doctor Strange before appearing before her. She jumped and frowned at my sudden appearance, but as she has no skills in sorcery, immediately believed me to be him. "Stephen!" she said with a frown. "I told you not to portal into my apartment! You need to knock unless I say otherwise."

"There's not much time," I said, and her frown turned into a look of confusion. "You're in danger. You need to come with me."

She was worried, of course, and asked me, "What? Stephen, what's happening?"

"We need to go," I said. "Come with me." I then offered her my hand to take. You see where this is going.

Of course she took my hand. Interestingly enough, the moment she took it she realized something was not right; I could see it in her expression. And she told me, "Your hand isn't trembling."

Whoops; my bad, right? But the hard part was already done; she gave me her hand. She tried to pull it away, of course, but, well, it was something of a pathetic struggle on her part. "Stephen, let me go."

I decided to let the guise from my face fall and said, "No, I don't think so," as I looked back at her.

It's been a long time since I've heard such a wonderfully terrified mortal scream. It's really made me consider that I should go out and take a few more summonings rather than having the grunts do all of them, or at least find some interesting fulfillments.

The woman? Oh, she's fine. I just have her sleeping. She's not really important in this, after all. She's only a prop for the real prize. And I left Strange enough hints that I expect he will be summoning me in no time at all.

———— 

Oh, here we go. And a summoning to force me to come in person rather than giving me the ability to send a grunt in my stead; well done, Strange. But I was coming prepared.

A bit of a pull, and I found myself within a very well-warded and power-containing summoning circle. They put up runes to attempt to force my true self, but I've been able to beat those for over a thousand years, now.

So instead of facing the form that I tend to wear in my dimension, Strange and four other sorcerers were faced with the visage of the woman who called herself The Ancient One. And the expression on their faces? Absolutely priceless.

The one I knew as Hamir spoke first. "Reveal your true form."

"I don't think I will," I said, giving the sorcerers a small smile. I ran a hand over my currently bald head; not personally a look I'd go for myself, but I suppose it added to her enigma.

The woman called Minoru tried to cast a spell to remove my form and oh, that was precious. The summoning circle contained my power, but within its bounds? Her spells were nothing.

"What is your name, demon?" asked Hamir.

"It is mine, for now," I said. Let them think they were dealing with a lesser demon for now; I was saving my reveal for later.

Strange, now, Strange was outright trembling in rage. An unexpected bonus; I was expecting something more stoic. "What do you want with Christine?" he asked, and I appreciated his candour. Straight to the point.

"I don't want anything with her," I answered. "Unfortunately for her, someone didn't like her all that much and cursed her soul to my realm."

"No," said the sorcerer named Wong. "Demons can only entrap souls within their realms that deliberately submit to their will. You cannot contain her soul."

"Ah, someone's done their homework," I said, but I admit I was delighted; it is so difficult to come across anything remotely challenging in my existence, and dealing with sorcerers that understood how it worked? What can I say; it was a breath of fresh air. "You are correct; her soul is not mine. But there are no rules against containing her living body within my realm until her soul sees fit to depart. Usually it's not worth the effort, but a curse is a curse." It really wasn't worth the effort; humans had to eat and drink all the time and it was just so much busy work. I'll stick to souls, thank you very much.

The newly minted Sorcerer Supreme was staring at me with narrowed eyes; the trembling had lessened, but it was there— oh, and especially in his hands. I see why the woman saw, or rather felt, the difference. "But this is not a curse in the usual sense of the term. You cannot curse physical bodies to other dimensions. Someone must have made a bargain with you."

Oh, what a true delight! Doctor Strange lived up to his growing reputation. "Quite so."

His eyes remained narrow. "I would bargain for her safe return to Earth." Beside him, Hamir stiffened in dismay.

I gave Strange a toothy grin, which, upon the face of the Ancient One, seemed to disturb the sorcerers gathered; that was amusing. "A small price of a soul would do it in a heartbeat."

Before he could answer, Wong immediately said, "Rejected. A mortal lifetime is not of the same value as a soul for an eternity."

Damn. Well, it was worth a shot. Strange, though, Strange was unable to hide his pain and anger at Wong's comment. Interesting.

"Can't blame me for trying," I said in turn. "Still, I am willing to bargain with you." I set my focus on Strange. "But bargain with you alone and in my own realm. Besides, you want to see your friend, yes?"

He did not answer immediately, and from what I could tell, they were communicating silently with each other. The summoning circle was strong enough that I could not intrude upon their thoughts, sadly, but I knew what the answer was going to be. Even if the other four sorcerers were against him, Strange was more than stubborn enough not to listen to them.

Eventually Strange answered, "I agree to bargain with you within your realm concerning Christine Palmer's safe return."

Carefully worded. Not an idiot. This was going to be fun. "Come with me," I said, offering my hand out.

Strange spared a last glance at the other sorcerers before walking towards me. Sadly he did not take my hand, but again, he knew what he was doing. I have to say I was just a bit giddy for the challenge.

I set my hand on his shoulder and said, "Cut the cord." I could feel Strange exhale under my hand, and with a gesture he extinguished all wards that forced me to the mortal plane. We were pulled through the multiverse together and the blink of an eye later, we were within my dimension.

I let the guise of the Ancient One fall from my visage and I grew in height and my skin reddened as I shifted into my chosen form for my home dimension. Strange was tense under my hand that had yet to leave his shoulder; he looked at his surroundings with a completely stoic expression, but I could feel the despair edging in. And he hadn't even looked at my shifting form yet.

Once I became me again, I finally introduced myself, like a proper host should. "I am Mephisto," I said, and I couldn't help but grin. "Welcome to Hell."

Quick question: Naturally this series isn’t done yet, but I haven’t decided if I want to continue in the Narrator’s (well, Mephisto’s) POV or if I should go back to my usual third person limited with Stephen. Any opinions?

Oh and Mephisto’s characterization is basically all inspired by the Damnation arc. I adore how he was written in that arc.

[imagine-loki]

Speculations Galore

TITLE: Speculations Galore CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One Shot AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine people speculating on your and Loki’s relationship, saying you’ll end up together if not outright assuming you are already. You both hear about it so much that you start to wonder if maybe they’re onto something and you just haven’t figured it out yet, so after some debate you kiss… and feel no romantic spark whatsoever because sometimes friends are just friends. You are both very relieved. RATING: G NOTES/WARNINGS: Sequel to There Was A Process

__________________________

    “Did you hear the news?” Maribel said by way of greeting as she walked towards him along the top of the ridge he was leaning against.

    Loki eyed her curiously. “What news?”

    “We’re getting married!” she replied cheerfully, throwing her arms up and almost toppling off to the side before she managed to catch herself.

    His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Married? Is that what they’re going with now?”

    “So it would seem.” She reached him and he picked her up by the waist and set her down on the ground before him. “Sometime in the spring, if I heard right.”

    “Norns have mercy,” he heaved a frustrated sigh, “I hope my parents do not pay too close a mind to court gossip.”

    She snorted amusedly. “If they did; either you’d be dead or we’d already be married.”

    He slapped a hand to his forehead. “Of course; I forgot, you are carrying my child.”

    “Some father-to-be you are!” she huffed, hands on her hips.

    He fell to his knees, grasping her hands and holding them between them. “I can only beg your forgiveness, my love,” he declared melodramatically.

    It lasted all of five seconds before they burst out laughing, with her unable to stay upright and dropping to her knees as well. When they managed to stop, they moved to sit on the ground side by side leaning against the ridge, her head on his shoulder.

    “You know, as annoying as this can be; I prefer these kinds of rumours,” she spoke up after a while, absently taking one of his hands in her own to toy with his fingers, “They assume we’re already together, as opposed to the other half of them, circling like vultures hoping to catch us at it.”

    “It certainly is less invasive, true,” he replied, conjuring one of the many puzzle cubes Frigga had gotten her from her bedchamber and replacing his hand with it. “It is doing no favours to my actual love life, though,” he huffed in annoyance, “Do you how hard it is to find someone worthwhile when everybody thinks you are already taken?”

    She raised her head to stare at him blankly. “No. No, I do not.”

    He looked down at her and smiled apologetically. “Apropos of nothing; how goes your quest?”

    “Aborted,” she replied with a huff, “He got hands-y after the fourth drink.”

    “Shall I turn him into a slug?” he asked conversationally.

    “Don’t tempt me.”

    Loki chuckled then wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a half-hug. “I’m sorry.”

    “S’okay,” she replied with a slight shrug, “Always better to know the assholes from the good ones before you get too involved.”

    “Too true.”

    “How’d it go with What’s-her-face, anyway?” Loki grimaced in response. “That bad?”

    “I truly have no idea how her family managed to slip her past mother’s screening process, but it was most definitely to my detriment. To call her a vapid brat is an insult to vapid brats everywhere.”

    “Ah, the perks of nobility. Sucks to be you.”

    He scoffed and shifted his arm to pull her face closer to his. “Keep that up and I really will marry you and take you down with me.”

    “Oh, hell no; get off me!” she cried, bringing a hand up and pushing his face aside, earning a laugh.

    Letting her go, he sat back again, prompting her to do the same. After a moment of silence, he spoke up. “I do know someone who has asked after you…”

    “Oh?”

    “She works with the kitchen staff, and has brought my breakfast on occasion. She asked about the rumour that I was courting you, but you had already accepted Reigar’s invitation.”

    “Aw.”

    “She might still be interested, though. You should ask.”

    Maribel tapped her lips in thought then looked up at him. “What did you think about her?”

    Loki breathed a laugh. “She is a palace servant and I have a reputation; do you truly think she would be herself around me? I’m shocked she even approached me about it at all.”

    “You’re really not a very good wingman, you know that?”

    He rolled his eyes. “Isn’t it time for your lessons?”

    Maribel’s eyes widened and she took her phone out of her pocket, glanced at the screen and swore before leaping to her feet, bidding him a hasty good-bye and rushing off back to the palace as he laughed.

****

    As it turned out, his would-be prospect did not take his rejection very well; raising a fuss and attempting to turn the court against Maribel, who she maintained was the reason for Loki’s lack of interest in her. Granted, the higher positioned ones knew better than to even hint at going against the All-mother’s protégé, but the whole thing still had him putting out metaphorical fires for the better part of a month. Maribel, of course, was completely oblivious to it, though it had largely been by his design. She had other things to worry about that an idiot’s misguided jealousy.

    Plus, the less she knew about the situation, the less she could reveal about his revenge against said idiot if asked.

    As he dismounted his horse, having just returned from a quick trip to his favoured apothecary in the markets, he noticed the conversation a group of stablehands nearby were having abruptly stopped, and he rolled his eyes, having a fairly good idea what they had been discussing. He pointedly held out the reins with a raised eyebrow and one of them hastily broke away from the group and rushed to tend to his horse. He looked at each of the rest as he passed them and to a one they looked away; as he left the stables, he decided their fear of what he’d do to retaliate would take care of the matter for him.

    As he made his way to his chambers to finish his current work, he ran into Maribel. Or rather, she ran into him, and it was only his quick reflexes in wrapping an arm around her waist that saved her from the floor. “How many times must you be told to watch where you are going?”

    “All of them,” she replied uncaringly, practically vibrating with excitement as she grabbed hold of his shoulders, “I did it!”

    “Did what?” he asked bemusedly, wondering what she had been up to this time and how concerned he should be about it.

    “It!” she replied unhelpfully, too lost in her accomplishment to bother with proper explanations, then ducked out of his hold, grabbed his hand and tugged him in the direction she had come from, “Come see!”

    “Bel…” he made a token effort to resist, but curiosity had already blown past any defences he might have thought to put up, and he allowed her to lead him.

    She took him all the way out to the gardens, and to a greenhouse that Frigga had set aside for her personal use, which was currently filled with dozens upon dozens of orchids of every colour, and he fully understood her excitement. He had snuck off to Midgard some time ago and brought her back a potted white and red orchid to cheer her up, as she’d been feeling a bit down, and she had later expressed curiosity over whether the flowers could be grown on Asgard. Neither Frigga nor the palace gardeners had any idea if it were possible or not, and so it had become a project of hers to find out.

    “Impressive,” he praised, earning a delighted grin. He walked up to one and touched its petals – pure black with green spots – then looked back at her with a raised eyebrow.

    “I may have gotten a tad carried away with the magic…” she admitted, blushing a bit.

    He chuckled, shaking his head, and let her lead him around the room, showing off her work and rambling about her process, half of which he didn’t even understand. Green magic was never really his forte. When he finally got her to stop long enough to learn she had predictably worked through lunch on the finishing touches of the Working, he dragged her back out to the gardens and to the private dining area where they often ate with the queen, sending word to the kitchens for some much needed food and glaring at the less than subtle looks they got from the servants who brought it.

****

    Maribel wasn’t sure what the feast was for. She’d been told, of course, she just couldn’t remember. It hardly mattered, in any case. She ate and drank and made fun of others with Loki until duty took him away to pretend to be interested in another potential match, after which she mingled for a bit before getting bored and wandering outside. A glowing moth caught her attention, and she followed it across the grounds and up into a tree, which was where Loki found her when he finally managed to escape.

    “Dare I ask?”

    “Moth,” was all she replied.

    “Naturally.”

    She looked around her for a bit. “Umm… I have a problem…”

    “Just the one?”

    “Ha.”

    “You are stuck, aren’t you?” The silence that met the question was more than telling, and he chuckled then moved to stand under her, holding his arms up towards her. “Come on, then.”

    She shifted carefully on the branch she was perched on, making sure the skirts of her dress weren’t caught on anything, then took a breath and jumped down into his waiting arms, clutching him tightly until her feet were safely on the ground again.

    He picked a twig out of her hair with a chuckle. “You, my dear, are an absolute disaster.”

    “Hey, at least I’m cute,” she joked with a shrug, earning a soft laugh.

    “That you are.”

    He brushed her hair back from her face with a fond smile and she smiled back, before noticing some movement behind him, and a look of irritation settled on her features. He turned and found a group of Ladies watching them with looks ranging from smugness to disapproval, and he hastily took a step back from Maribel, wondering just how long they had been there.

    Maribel, for her part, stepped around him to glare at them. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” she snapped, startling them and sending them scurrying off back inside, “Vultures!”

    Loki sighed frustratedly. “Well, that certainly won’t help the rumours.”

    “No, it won’t,” she agreed with a huff. There was a heavy silence and she looked up at him, noticing something was clearly on his mind. “What?”

    “Bel, I have been… thinking…” At her questioning look he glanced away. “What if… they are right?”

    “What do you mean?”

    “About… us,” he looked back at her “What if they are right? This has been going on for so long; what if there is something and we are just not seeing it?”

    “I mean, they’ve also speculated everything from you abducting me to keep as a pet to me bewitching the entire royal family, so…” she reminded him.

    “Well, yes, but…Well, I do care for you.”

    “So do I, but it doesn’t really have to mean that… Does it?” she asked dubiously.

    “But what if it does?” he pressed.

    “I don’t know; I never really thought about it.”

    “I cannot say I have either, really.”

    She frowned, giving it some thought. “Well… I guess… Maybe we should just… kiss?” she suggested uncertainly, “Y’know, just to be sure?”

    “Yes; I suppose it would be an easy way to know,” he reluctantly agreed.

    They moved closer, facing each other nervously, then he took her face in his hands and leaned down, hesitating a few millimetres from her lips before closing the distance. For a moment neither of them moved, simply pressed their lips together rather awkwardly, then she parted hers and kissed him properly, causing him to reciprocate.

    When they parted, they simply looked at each other for a long moment, expressions nearly identical in their anticipation bordering on fear, until finally she broke the silence. “I got absolutely nothing.”

    “Oh, thank the Norns!” he breathed out in undisguised relief.

    “Nothing?”

    He shook his head. “Whatsoever.”

    She let out a relieved laugh. “Oh, good!”

    “It’s nothing personal,” he quickly added.

    “Oh, no, absolutely!”

    “We are just-”

    “Not that,” she finished for him, and he nodded.

    They looked at each other for a moment then laughed, at themselves and the entire situation. “We are utterly ridiculous.”

    “Yes, we are,” she agreed. She brushed down her skirts then held out her hand. “Shall we?”

    “We shall,” he replied, taking her hand and leading them back inside.

    They fell right back into conversation with Thor and his friends, neither paying any heed to whatever gossip was blooming around them this time, or aware of Frigga eyeing them from a distance with a knowing smile.

[magaprima]

Part 1 Episode 6 Thoughts (part 2/3)

“These are very dangerous mines, Sabrina”

This is said in a such a forced and precise and deliberate way, that you can practically hear the message underneath of ‘stalking? Absolutely not. I am here for health and safety reasons, what else would I be here for? You’re being paranoid’. And when she speaks of the rumours about the tunnels burrowing all the way down to hell, Lilith knows perfectly well that is not rumour at all. In fact, I suspect it’s through those very tunnels that Lilith arrived in Greendale in order to scare the life out of Wardwell in the middle of the road.

When Sabrina says ‘consider this your third and final warning’ is this very strong way, clearly fully convinced she is at least equal to Ms Wardwell, Lilith just clasps her hands together, cocks her head and is wide-eyed, putting on the appearance of the student listening to a teacher. In this moment she is literally the embodiment of that ‘i feel like I’m being threatened by a cupcake’ quote. However, it turns to genuine panic when Harvey calls out and Sabrina runs off to him. Her “Sabrina! Wait! I can help!” is very genuine, because if the girl fucks up and dies…Lilith has fucked up and dies. We see how much, whether she likes it or not, their fates are entwined.

When Sabrina comes home to find the three of them on the sofa, the closeness of Zelda (dismissing the fact we know Miranda did this on purpose), the way Hilda is inclined inwards towards Lilith, shows that the woman has clearly wove one hell of a story here, she has drawn both sisters right in into being on her side, they are sat with Lilith facing against Sabrina. In the time the girl has been gone Lilith has managed to make allies of her aunts (Also, as a side note, for them to believe this story so completely, Edward is clearly the type to take in ‘strays’ and people who are on the edge of witch society, to do things without telling his sisters, to not trust anything to one singular person. it makes you wonder if, at some point, they presumed Diana was just another phase). And as Lilith sits there, the way she sits all polite and dainty and neat and ladylike, she is in full Wardwell-is-a-witch-the-unassuming-type mode.

When Zelda is offended that Edward didn’t think she and Hilda were up to the task of protecting Sabrina, Lilith rolls her eyes and says ‘Well, maybe you aren’t’. This is such a quick and natural response, I can’t help but feel this is a genuine opinion, because this kind of confrontation/argument isn’t going to make securing her place here any easier, if anything it risks alienating the aunts and making enemies of them instead. So I feel this popped out almost involuntarily, because Lilith genuinely thinks well if Edward wanted you to keep her safe, you’re sucking, because I am literally right in her school and you don’t even know it.

Yet, the shock Zelda has at Lilith’s dismissal here makes me think Lilith has definitely been working her butt off (yet again) in getting them on side, sharing with them, most likely agreeing with them, bonding with them, that this is probably the first instance since she arrived that she has actually disagreed and/or insulted them. Though you have to laugh at the fact that while Zelda is aghast, Hilda is just nodding and admitting she has a point.

They are all shocked when Sabrina threatens to go to the Catholic church, but Lilith actually puts a hand to her heart. This could be maintaining the unassuing schoolmarm appearance, yes, but considering the fact that Catholic church went even further than Judaism (which demonised her) by just denying she ever existed at all, her horror is probably genuine. Any False God based religion is bad, but one that refuses to admit she exists gets an extra strike in her book, not just because people denying you exist is not very nice, but because this all adds to her constant issue of how she has always been dismissed, pushed aside, replaced by literally everyone. Well, every man anyway; False God, Adam, Lucifer. There’s also the added horror in her reaction that if Sabrina is genuinely leaning towards a Catholic path, then that would put Lilith in big trouble with Satan (look how badly he reacted when she merely suggested Sabrina’s nature tends towards the light).

She looks so stressed and tense at Zelda’s constant interruptions and protests, like the woman will just not let Lilith do her thing and weave her clever words like usual. She even outright challenges Lilith’s story: ‘you claim that your entire raison d’etre is to protect sabrina’. Lilith quickly adds ‘Ah…well it is’ but her whole frown, her pause, is again, her thinking on her feet, quickly adapting her reasoning, that she is protecting Sabrina by helping her rather than letting her do it alone. I just really enjoy Lilith’s whole Wardwell performance here; she’s lightening her voice, making it a little bit softer and higher, she holds her handbag neatly in her lap, sits in ladylike manner, she is doing everything she believes the Spellmans would expect of a witch who is also a teacher at a mortal school.

Lilith looks genuinely surprised when Hilda says she’ll join the exorcism as well. She also looks mildly impressed. I don’t think she expected either sister to go, and if either of them, I doubt she thought it would be Hilda, the quieter one, the one who was at Sabrina’sChristian baptism. It’s why I believe there’s a strong possibility for her and Hilda to get along very well, if they get to have more interactions in Part 3. Hilda is unexpectedly rebellious, she’s a dark horse that everyone underestimates simply because of the way she appears, and Lilith relates to that and would likely admire Hilda always knowing her own mind, even if it means getting excommunicated (we also know from Lilith’s eye roll at Prudence, that Lilith doesn’t think being an excommunicate is a big deal at all).

She goes from being impressed at Hilda to annoyed at Zelda when the woman argues with her sister, saying the Church of Night forbids it. Lilith is clearly thinking Zelda is a bigger hurdle than Sabrina’s stubborness. But when Hilda argues that since she’s already excommunicated she has nothing to lose, Lilith smiles again and looks extremely smug because a successful argument was made in favour of her plan, and she wasn’t even the one who had to make it.

“And on the continuum of witches that predates us all…”

Lilith smirks a little as she says this before sipping her tea innocent. There’s is no way she is not thinking ‘no one predates me. I am the witch that predates everyone’. It’s a little joke to herself. Also, she does seem to genuinely enjoy her tea.

When Hilda, Lilith and Sabrina are all stood together, looking across at Zelda, it’s all very ‘we’re standing on opposite sides of the board’. It’s really interesting because Lilith keeps her eyes on Zelda firmly, almost directly challenging her, even as they start to file out and leave, and you get the vibe that there’s a replacement threat/fear going on here. Zelda is seeing Sabrina off with two older, mentor witches, as she always has, but this time Ms Wardwell is standing in Zelda’s place, someone who also apparently close to Edward, bonding her to Sabrina further. And Lilith looking at Zelda tells she knows all this could be potentially running through the other woman’s mind. There is almost a silent threat here of her taking Zelda’s place with Sabrina (there’s not a chance that would ever happen, of course, but visually and in that moment it looks potential to the characters). Regardless, there is a divide here, one that is rectified by the end of the episode, yes, but you physically feel it in this moment and you know that Lilith is using it and propagating it.

[quillerqueen]

Something “Borrowed”

Prompt 117 of @oqpromptparty: Canon divergent oneshot where Robin crashes Regina’s wedding hoping to steal some jewels and fancy plates but ends up stealing her instead.

(Here it is on ff.net for those who prefer it.)

Robin's fairly new to the trade. Granted, he's always had an affinity for stealth as well as the gift of deft fingers and light feet, performing sleights of hand from an early age--but earning a living and a reputation as a thief? That’s a different matter altogether. The more of a name he makes, the more the royal guard will be after him.

Doesn't it make sense, then, to risk one great heist at the very start of his career?

What he lacks in experience he'll make up for in daring, and cunning, and a bit of good fortune. Should Lady Luck favour him, he'll have enough riches by the end of the night to secure an entire future for himself.

And the royals, with their blasted pride under the guise of grand gestures, only have themselves to blame.

Robin pushes through crowds of peasants lining the streets all the way to the cobblestoned square. He slips past children awestruck by the spectacle soon to come; passes merchants basking in this faint reflection of royal riches and courtly ceremony; ducks surly serfs, the poor and the lowly, who've come for an escape into the world of fancy but mostly just to fill an empty belly at the lavish feast ahead. He presses forth, all the way to the podium in front of the church the newlyweds will ascend to graciously greet the commonfolk. He elbows his way to the very front, then shimmies unnoticed along the edge all the way to the back, where a palace opens onto the square.

This is where the highest nobility make the last preparations for the wedding, and where they will share meat and mead afterwards (they're not eating outdoors with the rabble after all, that would be beneath them!).

It's well guarded, with most restricted access, and it takes time and effort to get past the guards but Robin manages to do so unnoticed despite several close calls.

His garb is nondescript enough to blend in with the servants, though obviously not the liveried ones. No matter--he’s going to grab some fancy plates from the vast selections still being carried out of the kitchens, along with some fine cutlery polished to the point of blinding, and he’s going to nick a handful of jewels from the boudoirs scattered along the way. That should have him sorted for a life in the lap of luxury without the confines of senseless regulations and shameless impositions (it’s an empty pursuit, but a purpose nonetheless).

Robin’s satchel is half-stuffed with bounty when a commotion on the upper floor catches his ear.

He really shouldn't stick his nose where it could easily be snipped off--and his head with it. His curiosity tends to land him in all sorts of trouble, and under the circumstances humouring it is outright foolish. Succumbing to it would be utter nonsense.

Steps hurry down the staircase Robin is hunkered under, and whatever it is that sends him on his way up he'll never know, except perhaps the woman's disappearing back, straight and rigid and bejeweled, somehow exudes a cold and calculating air.

The source of the earlier noise is easily discovered when he reaches the top landing--a frustrated growl, an almost howl of a caged animal betrays it.

Except when Robin picks the lock (she's caged indeed, although he's soon to find out she's far from an animal) and slips into the chamber, nothing moves but a heap of delicate, shimmery white fabric piled haphazardly on the chaise by the window. It rises and falls rapidly, in time with the heaving breathing Robin makes out in the silence of the upper floor.

A tiara lies among broken shards of glass, flung and forgotten beneath the gaping golden frame that was once a mirror.

Bloody hell.

It's her. The queen-to-be. The bride-to-be.

And shit--she’s a sobbing mess for about the three eyeblinks it takes her to somehow sense the intruder. She freezes when she does, sits up straight-backed and tense, voice slightly hoarse with tears.

“What do you want, Mother?” she says with a mixture of resignation and defiance. “What more could you possibly want with me? Come to teach me another lesson? Well, I haven't managed to cover up the last one yet.”

Her words are dripping accusation and betrayal, but not a hint of surprise--this sort of treatment at the hands of a parent isn’t new to her. The realisation strums Robin’s heartstrings--a painful chord, for he knows the feeling, has picked the life of a runaway for a reason after all.

The woman’s half-bare shoulders tense further at the lack of response, and she turns slowly around. Robin should have been in cover a long time ago, but he’s not, and nor does he move now. He doesn’t evade her startled look, but spreads his hands palms up to indicate he’s unarmed and poses no danger to her.

She gasps at the sight of a stranger in her chambers, but recovers fast, like one used to having her privacy invaded. In fact, her whole frame seems to relax a notch at the intruder’s identity being revealed as someone other than suspected. As she tilts her head to study him with narrowed eyes, biding her time, the light hits her left cheek.

A purple bruise blooms across it, painful even to the eye.

Robin frowns.

“Your mother did that?”

She laughs humourlessly.

“And left me the tools to clean up the mess.” She gestures towards the vanity with heaps upon heaps of powders, rouge, kohl, and whatnot. “Like a good little girl.”

Robin stares from her to the vanity, then back to her again.

She’s beautiful, even with the nasty swelling under her eye. Would be beyond stunning if not for the sadness residing in her eyes.

“So she’d, what, hit you again?” he marvels, mostly for the benefit of making conversation rather than staring at her dumbly. “Even though there’s already a bruise you're failing to hide?”

“Because there is a bruise I'm failing to hide.” She shrugs, pulling her lips into a miserable shadow of a smile, and crosses her arms on her stomach. “It doesn’t really matter. She’s going to heal it before the wedding night anyway, lest the king notice. Although he might not be in a state to notice much of anything by then if he keeps drinking the way he has been since morning. Celebrating early, mother says; but the servants whisper he’s drowning his sorrows over his dead wife. It’s almost as if the king wanted this marriage as little as I. Except he actually had a choice in the matter.”

Bloody hell, that’s just fucked up. Revolting, and absolutely heart-breaking. Yet such is the world they live in--riddled with a bunch of societal norms Robin detests. For her, he knows, it’s a dead end. You don’t reject a king’s proposal and live--not much longer anyway, and not well.

But King Leopold is beloved of his people, has always enjoyed the reputation of a kind, goodly, just ruler.

Codswallop.

Here the king is, forcing himself upon a young woman (she looks so bloody young, the more so the closer Robin looks, even though clearly her appearance has been styled in a way that makes her look less alarmingly so in comparison to the greybeard thrice her age she’s to take to the altar with) without the power to exercise her will without repercussions. Granted, her mother’s cruel hand might be in it, and this might be more of the norm rather than an isolated incident by Enchanted Forest custom, but that doesn’t make it right. Nor does it absolve the king of responsibility. If Leopold wants to be remembered and revered as a force for good, he should ruddy well roll up his gold-trimmed sleeves and change the outdated, inhumane system, not perpetuate and benefit from it. No, the man is a coward, and a wretch, and possibly a drunkard.

Unfortunately, despicably, his drinking problem will most likely not stop him from bedding his new bride at the wedding night her heartless mother is pimping her for.

Robin must have given voice to that last thought, because her face falls at that, and she seems to shrink and collapse in on herself, sinking back onto the chaise she’d only recently vacated.

“Yes, she’s--she’s warned me not to have high hopes in that area.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” He didn’t mean to be so blunt and vulgar, or to add to her troubles with his ill-advised statements.

“Yes, you did,” she returns simply, looking up from her hands, her gaze clear and direct again. Her face is hard, and her voice. Her heart may fare the same if forced too often to steel itself, the way it has to now. “I’m not stupid, you know, or some--or some naive princess daydreaming about knights in shiny armour or courtly romances. I know what’s expected of me--and every other girl sold by her parents to the highest bidder. And your language doesn’t bother me. Sugarcoating things doesn’t change the facts.”

Robin blinks, then nods. Despite everything, or because of it, she won’t be coddled. He respects that.

“That it doesn’t. Actions do indeed speak louder.”

“Spoken like someone who knows about that.”

Robin gives her a crooked grin that’s bitter at the edges.

“I may have been a noble once, unhappy with my lot and the world at large.”

Her eyes widen as his words sink in.

“So you ran,” she says, bewildered and perhaps a touch envious. It makes him wonder how many times she’s considered doing the same, or if she’s attempted the feat and failed. “You--you actually got away?”

He nods, tacking on a self-deprecating and now I’m a thief in an attempt to chase away the wistfulness clearly creeping upon her.

She only shakes her head, a flicker of a soft, dreamy smile on her lips as she corrects him: “You are free.”

Robin doesn’t stop to think on it really, doesn’t plan his response or even consciously pick the words; it quite simply feels like the logical, natural thing to do as he uncoils the rope across his chest and tells her without ceremony:

“This will hold us both.”

She blinks, smoothing the glittery, cumbersome skirt of her gown.

Truth be told, Robin’s no clue what to expect. He’s a stranger, making an offer clearly attractive to her in a situation that is clearly complicated, probably more so than he even suspects. She’s been dealt a cruel hand before, and kindness, even genuine, brews suspicion in her. This could go either way.

He does, however, realise one thing--he very much wants her to accept.

“I don’t need your charity,” she says at long last, worrying her lip. “What do you want in exchange for smuggling me out of here?”

“Other than a sense of accomplishment from stealing the king’s bride from right under the whole court’s nose?” he ventures to joke, but she only raises an expectant eyebrow at him, so he amends: “My satchel’s half full. Fill the other half, and we’re even. That monster of a necklace alone is worth more than a wagonful of these trinkets.”

Slowly, she turns to her vanity, and holds out the sparkling necklace picked out to complement her wedding gown. She shoves it into the enamelled jewellery box, snaps the lid shut and grabs it along with two more trinkets from her nightstand, then slips it into the waiting satchel.

“The earrings,” she winks, “can feed several villages. A good thief wouldn’t leave them behind.”

Feeding villages isn’t really something he’d considered before...but he has just condemned a broken system as well as a person in power for not re-enacting change, hasn’t he?

She’s grinning at him now, a teasing glint in her eye, and suddenly he’s suckerpunched by this--this feeling.

The echo of steps has them springing apart.

“Quick, hide!” she hisses, absolutely frenetic, and shoves Robin into the wardrobe, slamming the door behind him just as that of the chamber flies open, and the woman Robin knows must be her mother barges in.

“Regina, why aren’t you presentable yet?”

Robin’s fists clench in the stuffy wardrobe, the lavender smell doing precious little to quell his rising anger. How dare she treat her child like that? How dare any parent?

Regina’s response is quiet enough that he has trouble making it out, muffled as all sound is by capes and dresses, but it is firm nevertheless.

“I’m not marrying the king, Mother.”

“Oh, Regina, we’ve been through this. Now stop being ridiculous and get on with it. Can’t you see? The king is an old, frail man. He’s not going to be around forever--and then you’re going to wield all the power. You’re going to be queen. You’re finally going to achieve what you were born to do.”

“I was born to be a tool in your hands?” Regina claps back, voice hitching before it gains volume and conviction. “I don’t think so. I want a life of my own--and I’m taking it.”

Robin isn’t sure what Regina tries to do; he only hears her gasp in defeat. Her mother goads and lectures, and thinks she’s won, and why isn’t Regina saying anything? How does he know if she’s all right?

There’s more speech still, none of the words Regina’s, and Robin’s mind is reeling, adrenaline rising, and he only makes out an ever so smug you’re stuck with me forever, darling, a thinly veiled threat, before someone screams--a frustrated, enraged aaaargh that makes his blood freeze.

He bursts out of the wardrobe, and there’s Regina now, her face contorted in anger and shock as tendrils of energy sizzle at her fingertips and fizzle out just as her mother loses her grip on the frame of a floor-length looking glass and disappears in its unfathomable depths.

Robin knows magic when he sees it; it’s Regina who can’t seem to believe her own eyes as she stares at her hands, then looks wildly around before glancing his way and then down at her feet.

“Still want to rescue the damsel?” she asks in a way that leaves no doubt in his mind as to what answer she expects.

Well, she’s in for a surprise. He doesn’t hate magic. Doesn’t feel any particular way about it, really. But this woman, Regina? He has a whole lot of feelings about her already--more than he’s ever thought himself capable of.

Wherever her path may lead, she deserves the chance to set her own course.

“The only woman I see,” he says, “is no damsel, and she’s just rescued herself from one evil.” A tentative smile pulls at her lips, and Robin chances a sweeping look down her body and a playful:

“Lose the gown--wouldn’t want to attract unwanted attention.”

She cocks an eyebrow at him, her cheeks tinged a light pink.

“Turn around,” she commands, giving him an appraising look of her own before throwing him a teasing, “thief.”

“Robin,” he grins and offers his hand even though protocol dictates he wait for hers. “Robin of Locksley, at your service.”

Regina grabs the rope instead with a smirk, and races to the window.

###

She climbs with surprising skill, runs with more stamina than most would expect from a woman of her station, and keeps throwing him challenging looks full of amusement when she notices his admiration.

Oh, he likes her.

He’ll be sorry to see her go when it’s time to part ways.

That time comes soon enough--too soon--when they’re deep enough in the woods after a swift and heavy rainfall that they won’t be easily tracked by hound or man.

She turns to him then, shifting a bit as she speaks and closing her eyes briefly when she catches herself fidgeting.

“I know every noble in the land,” she says, then rolls her eyes. “Especially eligible bachelors. Useful if you’re looking for places to rob.”

Robin’s stomach somersaults.

“And what would you ask for in return?” He sounds eager even to himself and hopes she won’t notice, or at least be put off by his very obvious interest.

She shrugs, sheepish all of a sudden.

“Teach me how to not get caught.”

Robin chuckles before he can think twice, pausing when she frowns--and no, he’s not mocking her for her lack of survival skills when until recently he’d had precious little of mastery of those himself.

“Very well, milady,” he easily agrees, raising his hands in defense when she tilts her head to question his choice of address. “Well, Your Majesty hardly applies now.”

Her laughter rings out loud, and clear, and unfettered.

It’s music to his ears.

“Good riddance,” she grins. “I prefer Regina anyway.”

“Well, Regina,” Robin smirks back at her, “it seems we’ve each got ourselves a partner.”

[howlsmovinglibrary]

So I finished ACOWAR

This is in no way a coherent or articulate piece of writing in the same way my ACOTAR/ACOMAF piece tried to be, and I don’t think it even can be called a review, because I don’t tend to review books that already have this much visibility in the booklr community. It’s more just the notes I made while reading ACOWAR, which I kind of felt was the weakest book in the series so far (and if you haven’t already guessed it, I’m not much of a fan to begin with).

This entire piece is basically just spoilers, and salt, so please don’t read unless you already know/don’t mind finding out some major plot points!

First off, can I just say that every time ‘the male’ or ‘the female’ is used as a descriptor, I wince. I think it is a) bad writing and b) cis-centric as fuck. There needs to be more non-binary people in fantasy!

This book was so….bloated. It needed to be edited down a lot – the sheer number of chapters is insane. I had this poignant realisation when I read five chapters of High Fae trash talk at the faerie High Lord meeting and then…the thing they were having a meeting over just…happened anyway? And the meeting suddenly had no meaning whatsoever?

So many abusers are now being made into sympathetic/rehabilitated figures. I took Rhys’ redemption arc in ACOMAF because I kind of suspected that that was the way his and Feyre’s relationship were going to pan out but….both Eris and Tamlin received sympathy, and were made into heroes or forces for good at some point in the plot? Feyre forgave Tamlin? Mor’s abuse at the hands of Keir and Eris is pushed aside because ‘times are hard’ and ‘tough choices have to be made’? And Mor had literally no say or agency in that decision?

Meanwhile we have Ianthe. an abusive woman who’s entire character is one-dimensional villainy and demonised female sexuality. She is portrayed as having not a single scrap of goodness in her soul, not one redeeming characteristic, someone who Feyre has no moral quandary over letting be munched up by the Weaver. Even though her use of sex could realistically be portrayed as a product of internalised misogyny? And yet the men who ‘nailed a message’ into Mor’s womb get nuanced portrayal, the benefit of the doubt in the run up to the war, and even moments of heroism?????

I’m not saying that Ianthe should be redeemed, I just don’t understand why this instance of sexual abuse is so utterly condemned to the point where we watch her smash her own hand in some kind of medieval punishment, and yet the instances of sexual abuse perpetrated by men are all given a degree of either redemption or pardoning because of the circumstances of the plot. Is it because female to male abuse is more taboo and thus seen as more ‘evil’? Because SJM has so ingrained male-to-female sexual abuse into the very fabric of her patriarchal fantasy society, that we and Mor are expected to just accept that this is ‘the way things are’, or even write it off out of necessity as ‘boys will be boys’? I HAVE NO IDEA AND IT MAKES ME UNCOMFORTABLE.

Given my recent essay on the subject, I was interested that SJM tried to problematize and dismantle the concept of mating bonds a little in the conversation Feyre and Rhysand have about Lucien and Elain. It’s made into ‘Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls’ (Chapter 24). There was even the handwave of ‘oh this homosexual relationship may be the product of a mating bond, but they’re probably keeping it a secret from everyone’.

To be honest, I don’t think it succeeded in explaining away the problematic elements of mating. The biological imperatives were still there, ‘the bond is nothing more than...preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring’ (Chapter 24). Aggression was still a major part of the male side of the bond (like when we get the internal monologue of Lucien and witness him fighting his ‘instincts’) and it’s still implied that men are slaves to the desire that the bond generates, whereas women don’t feel it as strongly/can control their physical desires? ‘But the males...It can drive them mad. It is their burden to fight through’ (Chapter 24) This has some serious ramifications in terms of gendered conceptions of sexual drive. In my opinion, mating bonds are still squicky.

I now mostly just want SJM to put her money where her mouth is and follow through on her attempts at muddying the water: if she insists on pairing the spares, have Elaine get together with Azriel rather than Lucien, and show a relationship where the mating bond is terminated not because of outright physical abuse on the side of the male, but because of a romantic attraction overcoming a sexual/biological one. (Yes, I ship it. Or rather, I ship Elaine overcoming her trauma and going on to be a badass seer, building herself a temple and calling out bullshit like Cassandra in ancient Troy. But if she needs to have a boyf – and it’s SJM so she probably does – I want it to be Sad Shadow Man.)

‘Helion favours both males and females. Usually together in bed’ (Chapter 47). I’m not saying that bisexuality can’t work this way, but I gather that SJM has used the hypersexualised bisexual trope before. 

I think that perhaps Mor’s jealousy of Nessian is because she’s attracted to Nesta (a la season 1 Korrasami)? But even so her possessiveness of Cassian and her hostility towards Nesta was horrible and OOC and made me angry every time it happened. I hate it whenever female-female relationships are sacrificed because of a guy, but it is particularly frustrating in a book where male-female relationships are definitely already the priority. And given the way that Nessian is reaching canonical status, even if you do attribute the jealousy to female-female attraction, it’s only going to end badly for Mor.

Feyre used Mor’s sexuality as a weapon against her after she was justifiably called out on reckless behaviour. Fuck off Feyre.

I know that Azriel is a good character. I know this. And yet this book turned his relationship with Mor into this awful poster child ‘friendzone’ dynamic, where Mor feels pressurised to hide her sexuality because of the hurt it will cause *him*. I don’t think this is a fault of the characters, but of the entire treatment of their friendship and SJM’s portrayal of Mor’s queerness as a burden.

No main characters die. In this apparently impossible war that basically ends in an afternoon. No – everyone is magically resurrected after barely five pages.

Bonus points for not even having the courage to keep Amren out of fae form and thus rip up her incipient ship with Varien. You could have written an entire book on the inner circle going off on a quest to find and subdue a superhuman dragon Amren unshackled from the bonds of human morality. But no. She’s ‘in the cauldron’.

DEUS EX MACHINAS (dragon ex machinas?) MAKE ME WANT TO SCREAM. Find a better way to resolve your conflicts. Especially when even the decision to unshackle Amren from her human form in order for her to become the Deus ex Machina in question has literally no lasting consequences.

Speaking of deus ex machinas: is anyone else annoyed that the only death god who survives the battle is Bryaxis, the one who only asked for a window in exchange for his services, rather than freedom and an implicit murder spree? This means that there are literally no consequences to these so-called ‘tough decisions’ that have to be made in times of war, and everything can just go on fine. ‘No evil death gods were permanently unleashed in the making of this war.’

Can I forcibly rip SJM away from the Russian mythology that she is no doubt going to butcher in the continuation of this series? As soon as I read the name ‘Koschei’ I groaned aloud. You can’t just take whatever mythology you like and use it to make your own magic system! You’ve already detached the Morrigan from any semblance of Celtic Mythology!!!

That being said, I did like:

That the Archeron sisters FINALLY seem to be forming a strong friendship rather than the girl-on-girl hate mess it’s been for the past few books. I liked that Nesta was as powerful as Feyre, and had a more integral role in the final battle than she did.

I liked that in Feysand we see a stable ‘after they get together’ relationship. I still think ACOMAF is ‘stronger’ as a book, as SJM is better at writing romance than plot, but at least there was no needless YA angst, beyond Rhys’ martyrdom complex.

And this sounds awful, but I’m glad that Feyre had a PTSD relapse. I felt that in ACOMAF, her recovery from mental illness was equated a little too strongly with her growing romance with Rhys. Love doesn’t cure mental illness, and I’m glad the SJM showed that.

But overall, this book (much like this commentary) was a bit of a rambling mess of little consequence.

[d2kvirus]

Dickheads of the Month: August 2019

As it seems that there are people who say or do things that are remarkably dickheaded yet somehow people try to make excuses for them or pretend it never happened, here is a collection of some of the dickheaded actions we saw in the month of August 2019 to make sure that they are never forgotten. 

When there was the possibility of the parliamentary sovereignty that Leavers harp on about, off sprinted proven liar Boris Johnson to Balmoral to beg the Queen to suspend parliament in order to force through a No Deal Britait - but of course, everyone but him are the “traitors” in this sordid affair, even after Ben Wallace apparently forgot that cameras and microphones exist when blabbing about how Johnson did this due to fearing that his working majority of one wouldn't survive a No Confidence vote

It was so nice of Michael Coudrey to post a blatantly faked screenshot of El Paso shooter Patrick Crusias’ MyLife profile page to try and claim that Crusas was a left-wing extremist rather than, oh I don’t know, a white supremacist who happened to parrot several of Trump’s soundbites about Hispanics, let alone consider that maybe mass shootings are something that shouldn’t happen with alarming frequency

Meanwhile it was equally predictable that Paul Joseph Watson was jumping up and down yelling “See!  See!  A leftist went on a killing spree!” which not only made it obvious he was trying to divert attention from the El Paso shooter, but also drew attention to the fact that while the alt right were tripping over one another to make excuses for Patrick Crusas as he’s some poor innocent victim of society, as soon as it emerged that Connor Betts isn’t one of them the excuses evaporated

So naturally, peak twattery followed when Dmitriy Andreychenko walked into his local Missouri branch of Walmart toting a tactical rifle and handgun while wearing body armor, and when he was arrested for being such a monumental fuckwit he bleated something about testing to see if Walmart respected his Second Amendment rights

Yet somehow the UK couldn’t laugh at Americans trying to blame video games for mass shootings thanks to Priti Patel trying to create a direct link between stabbings and fried chicken

Of course Jo Swinson has taken it upon herself to say she and only she can stop Britait, which was obvious by her rejecting Jeremy Corbyn’s proposal of an interim government out of hand without any reason in spite of the fact that, as Leader of the Opposition, of a vote of no confidence in Boris Johnson does get through the Commons it will be Corbyn who is asked to put together an interim government - but Jo Swinson instead suggested the first tow backbenchers she could think of because she cannot countenance the idea of Labour stopping Britait, as at that point what is she other than somebody who lies about her voting record?

This month it was Arron Banks who wanted to sound triggered to a sociopathic degree by Greta Thunberg with his lovely response to her yachting across the Atlantic by tweeting that freak yachting accidents tend to happen at this time of year, while Julia Halfwit Hartley-Brewer posted some lame tweet gloating about she and her family would be flying across the Atlantic instead, meanwhile Roger Helmer resorted to calling her a “Swedish pixie” during one of the rare occasions he remained awake when in public and Paul Joseph Watson talked about how an autistic girl was being “exploited” - but because Arron Banks has to be Arron Banks, he had to have the most cuntish last word and said it was just a joke...like saying women wearing burqas look like letterboxes

As if proven liar Boris Johnson hadn’t used the NHS as a platform for his outright lies enough in the past three years, he pledged an increase in funding...that was actually funding that NHS providers had been saving up for the past three years, but had been unable to spend in that time as the Tory government banned them from spending it...until it became convenient enough to allow them to spend their own money

If only somebody suggested to Lou Dobbs that, if you see a group of protesters sat in the road outside the ICE facility that employs you, driving your truck just inches from their faces is guaranteed to piss them off - and then using that as an excuse to plow through the pissed off crowd is guaranteed to cost you your job and piss off everyone bar the weirdos who believe it’s not vehicular assault if you run into people with differing opinions to you

It clearly did not occur to Steve King when trying to find a logical reason to say abortions should be banned that saying the human race may not exist if not for cases of rape and incest tens of thousands of years ago doesn’t in any way defend his position, instead make it sound uncannily like he’s on the side of those who raped and pillaged

It didn’t take long before Boris Johnson started reading from the Bannon playbook, stating that he would not take interviews with the press as they’re all biased against him - yes, even the BBC, the Murdoch Empire, the Daily Mail and Daily Express, all of whom have been churning out unthinkingly slanted headlines in his favour

It was so nice that James Cleverly repeatedly wanted to talk about how the Tory MP  William Wilberforce fought to end slavery...even after it was pointed out to him the first time he made that statement that Wilberforce stood as an independent and not a Tory, no matter how many times Cleverly tries to rewrite history

Let’s see if I’ve got this straight: the Lib Dems state that they will do everything in their power to stop Britait...yet Jo Swinson has ruled out going into coalition with either Labour or the SNP, in spite the fact they both have far more MPs than the Lib Dems and just so happen to also be opposing Britait

Similarly, the best idea Caroline Lucas had for solving Britait was for an all-woman cabinet that just so happened to include her, Jo Swinson, Heidi Allen, Justine Greening, Yvette Cooper and Anna Soubry among others - and seemed confused when it was mentioned that not only did her dream cabinet exclude all men but it didn’t include a single non-white MP either, and appears to have forgotten that a woman spent between 2016-19 fucking the process up at every turn

In the latest Priti Patel brainfart, she suggested that migrants earning less than £36,000 a year are no longer welcome in the UK...clearly failing to comprehend that arbitrary figure is higher than the basic salary of any member of NHS staff, any teacher or any police officer - you know, something a Home Secretary should be able to understand...

Walking proof that nominative determinism isn't really a thing James Cleverley could only try and claim that the leaked Operation Yellowhammer dossier was “out of date” and was no remotely relevant to any discussion about what would happen if the UK leaves the EU without a deal...even though the dossier was dated 1st August 2019

There was something deeply sinister about how the BBC described Owen Jones as a “Labour activist” after he was assaulted, as opposed to...oh I don’t know?  A journalist?

With the Leave hardcore now lionising chlorinated chicken of all things, it;s not surprise that Darren Grimes tried to say there’s no issue because we also have chlorinated water...somehow spectacularly missing the point

I have no idea how the Entertainment Software Association managed to bungle so badly that they managed to release the personal information of thousands of people who attended this year’s E3, including games journalists and Youtubers/Twitch streamers, but they managed it nonetheless

In a quite remarkable turn of events there was a controversy regarding Borderlands 3 that didn’t involve Gearbox CEO Randy Pitchford, instead it was Take Two Interactive sending private investigators to the doorstep of Youtuber SupMatto to harass him into keeping quiet, and because he wasn’t keeping quiet they abused Youtube’s copyright system on an industrial scale with over 100 copyright strikes to force him off the platform because of reasons

For a documentarian Stacey Dooley makes an awful lot of factual blunders, the latest of which being a Panorama documentary where she described a Muslim prayer gesture as an “ISIS salute”, leading to the BBC removing the clip from the documentary...on the iPlayer, but leaving it in unchallenged for its initial broadcast

You would think that Microsoft wouldn’t be so dense as to release an update that cripples the computers of everyone using Windows 7 due to somebody typing a 2 instead of a 1 in one line of code, but that’s exactly what happened with the KB4512506 update that was coded by someone who assumed everyone has Windows 10

As it was time for Suzanne Moore to vomit another opinion piece into the pages of the Guardian, she took it upon herself to write a piece that managed to insinuate that Shilpa Shetty somehow deserved the racial abuse she received from Jade Goody, Jo O’Meara and Danielle Lloyd on Celebrity Big Brother back in 2007 because...hold on a minute...because Shetty had servants at home while the others didn’t which apparently makes it alright

The outraged howls from Manchester City fans and football pundits alike all because VAR rightly disallowed what would have been a last-minute winner for City was truly a sight to behold, because apparently VAR exists to make things easier for a small kabal of teams and everyone else can get fucked

...and demonstrated by Mike Dean using The Wenger Defence of “I didn’t see it guv” a week later to overrule VAR stating that Tottenham should have been awarded a penalty

...and yet the depths were truly plumbed when Ian Holloway blamed the EU for the fact he doesn’t understand the offside law, even though as a football pundit (and former manager) he’s literally paid to understand it

Ooblets developers Glumberland decided to double down on their dickheadishness which began with their smug and condescending blog post explaining why they decided to make their game an Epic Games Store exclusive, but they followed that up by acting like complete bellends on their Discord that culminated with them responding to somebody asking when they could buy the game with their own currency by telling them that nobody owed them the game

With both Bury and Bolton facing extinction, trust Sky Sports News to cover this by having a clock ticking down in the corner of the screen all day, as if the possibility (and, in Bury’s case, eventuality) of a club being kicked out of the league was the same thing as Deadline Day

Britain’s most triggered man Piers Moron Morgan was predictably irked by the Meghan Markle guest-editing Vogue because obviously somebody doing that is only after the publicity...a sentiment he neglected to express when Kate Middleton did the exact same thing a few years previously

The sensible thing that Bethesda should have done after the have done after the humiliation conga line that was Fallout 76 was try not to do anything that would irritate gamers further.  So instead they decided that, when releasing Doom - that’s the 1993 original, not the 2016 reboot - it would require players to use their Bethesda account to play the actual game 

I know it’s a cheapshot, but did UKIP really elect somebody named Dick Braine as their new leader?

How the hell did Apple develop a credit card that gets discoloured if it touches materials such as denim or leather, or to put it another way if it’s in somebody’s pocket or wallet?  What are they supposed to do?  Carry it around in their hand at maximum reach?

If you have a name like Michael Buerk it isn’t a good idea to make your name fair game, but that’s exactly what he did when he suggested that it’s potentially a good thing for obese people to die early as it would save the NHS money

And of course, it wouldn't be a month without Donald Trump being a colossal cockhead, and he certainly disappoint with his prioritising schmoozing with guests at Mar A Lago while people in Dayton and El Paso were experiencing the aftermath of their respective mass shootings, and when the Orange Overlord deigned to make a statement he not only demonstrated he couldn’t give a toss by talking about the mass shootings in Toledo and El Paso, but his response to it being plain for all to see that white nationalism was the catalyst for both was to blame video games for all of society’s ills