#is a great way to get everyone to resist and undermine everything you want to do

[fictionadventurer]

Belle's first scene as a nurse in The Artful Dodger is a masterclass in how to get every nurse in the hospital to hate your guts immediately. They should show it to new grads as an example of everything not to do.

[phoenixyfriend]

The MILFnevka AU

Once again something that was brainstormed en masse on the GG fanworks server.

I was... very much spearheading this one, but I dragged in @professorsparklepants for a lot, because Anevka, as well as input from @fenerismoon, @purronronner, @gelpenss​, and @whirlibird. The original conversation took place mid-September of 2019.

AU where Tarvek's side of the family squeezed in an extra generation or so.

Aaronev was still Lu's generation, but he had Anevka young, and she was an only child who was already an adult by the time Lu disappeared. As a result, Aaronev let her married before she ended up in the machine (because he wasn’t desperate yet), and he couldn't risk drawing the attention by the time Agatha’s gen is being born.

So instead of being Tarvek's SISTER, she's his MOM.

Anevka formed her own faction, separate from the Aaronev and vaguely aligned with Terabithia’s.

She insisted Martellus and his branch hang out with Tarvek because being an only child is lonely, and also it keeps Tarvek out of his grandfather's sights and vague plans of body-hopping.

She is a Protective Momma who is a little TOO down with murdering anyone who threatens her child.

Agatha: you're just going to listen to your evil mom? Because no offense but that's worked out really bad for me so far. Tarvek: She's not EVIL, just... Valois... anyway the Baron knows what she's like and mostly he just rolls his eyes and tries to keep her away from Queen DuPree.

Anevka is definitely the mom that uses her position as mother of the king/heir to stockpile as much power as possible and control everything behind the scenes. Tarvek is currently trying to undermine this and wrestle back control as secretly as possible.

Wine mom with eighty hidden stabbing implements.

When Agatha is discovered, Anevka still kills her dad, but it's not like she can steal Agatha's voice in this AU, so she just settles for aggressively matchmaking her with Tarvek.

Anevka's managed to rein her dad in, mostly, because she's a powerful spark with an Undefined Husband who nonetheless has enough good connections to cause a ruckus if he finds out about the Summoning Throne, and he's too sparky to wasp.

This did lead to his early death and no siblings for Tarvek, but not before Anevka managed to fight her dad down to ONLY trying to throne the girls who were legitimately likely to be Agatha.

And then Agatha's in Sturmhalten and Anevka's just like. Well. Time for plan A. And kills her dad.

Regarding Gil...  She kinda wants to pat him on the head and tell him to try harder.

I'm not wholly convinced Tarvek got kicked off of Castle Wulfenbach, depending on how Anevka married and decided to approach things. She might have warned Tarvek to AVOID stealing information, even, if she was worried about Aaronev trying to do something.

Less "do whatever you can to help us gain power" and more "do whatever you can to stay out of Sturmhalten."

Tarvek: My mom is a bitch and I love her so much

Klaus hates it when Anevka comes to CW because she acts like some unholy cross between Lucrezia, Terabithia, and Zantabraxus and she keeps hitting on his top enforcers but with knives and pretty dresses.

Unstoppable Divorce energies

Anevka: Do you like my new dress? Klaus: Your bodice is far too low cut, please stop visiting me dressed like my ex. I'm the same age as your father. Anevka: I know, it's really fun to watch you suffer as you fail to resist the urge to tell me to put on a sweater.

Tarvek: MOTHER YOU'RE EMBARRASSING ME IN FRONT OF ALL MY FRIENDS PLEASE STOP HITTING ON THE BARON AURGH. Anevka: I'm not HITTING on him, I'm trying to make his face turn puce. Anevka: I am, however, hitting on Von Pinn. She looks like she knows how to have fun. Tarvek: MOTHER.

Tarvek, to Gil: the baron can't be your dad, he's old enough to be your grandfather. Gil: He’s at a solid age for both.

Anevka and Klaus have zero actual attraction to each other but there's definitely A Dynamic that's eerily reminiscent of his relationship with Bang, with slightly less "I did a violence, be proud of me" and slightly more "I did a sexy and/or politics, be proud of me."

Tarvek: I have a problem. Gil: What's up? Tarvek: All of our friends want to fuck my mom. Zulenna: I don't. Tarvek: That's because she used to put you in time-out when we were five.

Anevka is prime Dangerous Widow material. She didn't actually kill her husband but a hell of a lot of people think she did.

Seffie thinks her Auntie 'Nevka is the COOLEST

Anevka having an intermittent fling with that "darlingly stupid young hero, Tryggvassen" makes me laugh way too hard and also dips into my nonsense love of Otharnevka.

At one point we did sidle over into “what if Single Father KB tho”

Like they met at some point on vacation while the kids were still kids, which does lose us the “Anevka aggressively ships her kid with Agatha” thing, so I’m not sticking with this but there’s some hella fun tidbits.

Anevka: Guess what. Klaus, very tired: What. Anevka: I'm getting married. Klaus: Again? Good for you. I hope this one lives longer. Anevka: He has the same name as you. Klaus: Get out of my house.

KB isn't a widower, things are just complicated and everyone blames Lu. There's time travel involved, of course.

"So your daughter--" "Sister." "...how--" "Just... just blame my mother."

He's LEGALLY Agatha's dad, maybe? Their dynamic is parent-child. Just, you know, as far as blood goes...

Anevka wants KB to help her bag Othar again. KB thinks she means finally killing him. Anevka: I might. Haven't decided yet.

Overall, though, including KB is too complicated without undermining the entire premise I want. Which is mostly canon but Anevka is Tarvek's embarrassing, mysterious, prone-to-assassination mother.

Seriously though, the entire attraction here is Anevka having the Dangerous Widow Whom No Man Can Tie Down vibe

She's a solo act. Some flings, sure, but overall? Chaos. Refined, elegant chaos.

Anevka as Bang’s sugar mom was suggested. We were obviously all on board.

Bang doesn’t need a sugar mom, but it makes the vein in Klaus's forehead throb, and that's very important.

Bang absolutely tries to get Tarvek to call her “mom” while she’s ‘dating’ Anevka. One time he does call her that and it throws her for SUCH A LOOP because no wrong.

Anevka occasionally daydreams of a world where she could have both Othar and Bang at the same time without them IMMEDIATELY trying to kill each other. Only occasionally, though, she has evidence to plant and blood to spill.

BACK TO ANEVKA SHIPPING HER KID WITH HIS POLITICALLY-APPROPRIATE CRUSH.

Anevka: Oh look, my future daughter-in-law. Tarvek, tired: Mother, she doesn't like me. Anevka: Whyever not? You're clever, handsome, politically apt, charming, sensitive, heir to a throne, you are EVERYTHING a maiden could wish for. Tarvek: You just think that because you're my mom. Agatha: No, no, she's not wrong. You're just not someone I trust. At all. Especially since you say you've been a honeypot before. Anevka: See? A simple hurdle, dear, I'm sure you could whip him into shape in no time. I could even loan you the whip. And the harness, perh-- Tarvek: MOTHER.

Anevka sends Tarvek out with Othar for “field trips.”

It’s great!! Multi-purpose! Absolutely helps boost Tarvek’s image if he’s associated with Known Hero, gets Othar out of her hair for a little bit, sometimes he can be pointed in a direction that’s useful to her.

Othar refers to this outings as “stepfather-stepson bonding times.” Tarvek absolutely hates it. Detests it, really.

Somehow something goes wrong and like 50% of the time and he ends up getting accused of murder, probably.

It’s so unfair. Especially since of the two of them, Othar is more likely to murder than him. (It’s because everyone knows what those Valois types are like, and Othar is a hero.)

Gil: What's so embarrassing about your mom? Your mom's nice. (To me.)

She gives him head pats and lollipops. His own dad certainly never gives him head pats OR lollipops.

Anevka: Well I WAS going to push him towards dear little Seffie, but he seems to be quite enamored with YOU, darling. Tarvek: Mother, PLEASE stop getting invested in my love life.

Anevka’s job is to meddle, he’s lucky she isn’t drawing up contracts and going Full Arrangement.

I also love the idea of Anevka having one of those "sunshine embodied anime mom" smiles as she says "Oh Tarvek, dear, look at all your little friends!"

She's genuinely enthused but Klaus is heavily disturbed by Anevka smiling like that.

"Is she going to sacrifice them?" "Uh, no, it isn't Sunday."

Human sacrifice is actually garish and passe these days, haven’t you heard?

Just imagining one of those Stately Child and Parent portraits with Anevka and Tarvek here.

When Tarvek was born, Anevka has an "I've only had my son for an hour and a half" moment... and then just shrugged and rolled with it.

Anevka "Hot Mom" Sturmvoraus is one of the MANY banes of Klaus's existence, but she's definitely one of the friendliest on the list... as much as he may resent that, at times.

Anevka: Is the Baron in? Boris: Actually... [Crashing noise] Boris: He just left. Anevka, pulling on the rocket boots she stole from Othar and heading towards the broken window leading to the outside of the ship: That's alright, I'll catch up.

(I love how Anevka's name just lends itself so well to AU portmanteaus.)

Anevka definitely susses out Gil's identity but she doesn't actually DO anything about it other than angling for Useful Connections.

She's always telling Tarvek to bring his friend along, and Klaus doesn't want Gil anywhere near that family but he doesn't want it to look like he has any particular interest in Gil.

Imagine Klaus actually encouraging Gil to persue Agatha with the idea that it will put some distance between Gil and "that damn woman and her spawn." Anevka for her part is pushing Agatha towards Tarvek. Meanwhile the three of them are working it out between themselves.

She just has This Energy, folks:

Tarvek: Oh no. Theo: Whats the matter? That's your mom, right? Tarvek: Oh NO, she's wearing her 'NEWLY WIDOWED BUT OUT ON THE PROWL' OUTFIT Theo: ????? She hasn’t been widowed- Tarvek: SHES AFTER THE BARON AND I'M GOING TO DIE OF EMBARRASSMENT, THEO

The one thing here is that Anevka's not into Klaus and he's not into her but by GOD is she going to fuck with his head about it.

She’s just doing this for the Big Dick Energy of trying to Get Baron Wulfenbach.

Embarrassing mom of the deadliest degree.

Tarvek: YOU’RE GOING TO RUIN MY LIFE. Anevka: Don't be so dramatic, let your mother have a bit of fun. Besides, he's not expelling you anymore, is he? Tarvek: I almost wish he was-

Also Gil and Tarvek reconciling early on due to the immense power of being Embarrassed By Your Parents.

Anevka and Klaus getting increasingly bitchy at each other at dinner, and Tarvek and Gil are just. Bright red and glowering at them.

They’re DESTROYING their COOL TEEN CRED.

Tarvek doesn't ever wants to marry a woman who has been married before, not because of some weird distaste of so-called "sloppy seconds," but rather that he's just scared that they're going to be like his mom, and planning to kill him for his money.

Tarvek, waking up in the middle of the night: What if they really do get married and I have to have Gil as a stepbrother. Tarvek: (screams internally for a few hours)

Anevka is also that Sailor J contouring video

While Otharnevka is... this thing

Some more relevant Vibes: Divorce Court Half-Mourning Upper East Side Widow

Everyone always assumed she had murdered her husband. It was a natural assumption, but ultimately wrong. She had had plans in place to kill him if the need arose, but in the end she hadn’t needed them.

Most people grossly underestimated how complicated it was to arrange for someone to be t-boned by a semi carrying flammable chemicals.

Othar as Anevka's second trophy husband and Tarvek's annoying stepdad has a very specific energy.

That energy is at least 20% "the lovebirds take anniversary honeymoons every year" and 60% "Tarvek hates being in the room with them because they're gross and embarrassing."

This is partly fun because Othar being Tarvek’s stepdad is... a lot.

But honestly, I'm also just enjoying cougar Anevka with Trophy Husband Othar. They're actually in love!!! BUT. Cougar with a trophy husband.

Anevka makes sly comments about Othar and Klaus having sexual tension.

Also I have headcanons about NB Tarvek and like

I think she'd be supportive up until the point of "you want to be Storm King, don't you?"

Less "this isn't natural and you shouldn't be this way" and more "this is going to cause you trouble due to social norms."

"Keep it under wraps until your throne is secure, then you can come out in a blaze of glory." No dresses in public until you're king, then do whatever you want. After all, “Your Majesty” is gender neutral.

Anevka caught Tarvek playing dressup in her closet one time and just criticized the color relationships.

And you must try to avoid wearing that particular shade at all, my dear, it really doesn't look imperial.

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Unmasked

Spider-Man is forced to fight the Sinister Six while he’s sick, which leads to his enemies making unexpected discoveries about their arch nemesis.

Chapter 2

Doc Oc’s notoriously dull and empty lab was filled with bodies and excitement that evening. The Sinister Six piled eagerly into the large room as Octavius dumped a bloody, unconscious Spider-Man onto one of the examination tables. An uproar of cheers and laughter followed.

“The spider is finally squashed!”

“Is he still alive? No way he’s still alive.”

“Heart’s still beating, according to the computer.”

“Who cares? The little bitch finally got what was coming to him.”

“I wanna break his other leg. Can I break his other leg?”

“Now, now, listen, my comrades.” Octavius rose above the group on his metal limbs, tapping a glass against a bottle of champagne until the room fell quiet. “Before we continue, I think a win this spectacular deserves to be celebrated accordingly.”

Using the prehensile pincers at the ends of each tentacle, Otto poured and distributed the alcohol with ease, and everyone raised their glasses.

 “A toast to us, the greatest super villains to ever grace history!”

“Here, here!”

“And a toast to Spider-Man! The biggest, most obnoxious pain in all our asses—vanquished at last!”

Laughs and shouts preceded the communion. After downing his drink, Otto wiped his lips with a grin. 

“And as the leader of this great and glorious team, I am nothing if not giving to my loyal followers. Since you all deserve personal retribution for the many, many grievances this wretch has inflicted upon us, I promise each of you at least two minutes of reparation time to do to Spider-Man whatever you feel he deserves. Once we wring his throat dry of whatever information he possesses, he’s all yours. So long as I get to deal the final blow.” He chuckled. “Well, if he survives that long, anyway.”

“I’ll snap off all his fingers!”

“I’ll gag him with his own webbing!”

“I’ll pop his head like a grape!”

“I’ll zap him ’til his heart stops, then zap it back to life, then zap him dead again!”

“Revenge is sweet,” Octavius concurred, walking around the table to stand behind Spider-Man’s head. The rest of the Sinister Six went silent and gathered on either side of the fallen hero, with Rhino at his feet. “But first,” Doc continued, reaching forward with one of his mechanical tentacles. The tips of the metal prongs pinched the fabric at the top of Spider-Man’s mask.

“Let’s have a look at our arch enemy’s face.”

In one quick yank, the mask peeled off the hero’s head. Six pairs of eyes absorbed the bruised, pale face lying lifelessly before them—the face of their sworn nemesis. A face none of them were anticipating. Gradually, the grins and snickers faded away, replaced by furrowed brows and puzzled glances.

“Wait…” Electro said, breaking the long stretch of silence.

“I’m…confused,” Scorpion added.

“Is he—does he look—?”

“Like…a kid?”

Everyone’s gazes rose to Octavius. The brilliant scientist looked between them and Spider-Man bewilderedly, his mouth hanging agape.

“I…” he began, rolling the hero’s head to the side. An ugly gash marred his left cheek; dried blood was smeared all the way to his hairline. “I don’t…understand.”

Spider-Man had the soft, innocent face of a child. It was the kind of face grandmas couldn’t resist pinching and puppies just had to lick. His hair was a wild mess of brown curls that was sticking up all funny because of how long he’d been wearing his mask. He severely lacked the sharp, signature features that defined man from boy. Hell, he even had acne: tiny constellations of it dotted across his chin and forehead. No way was he considered a legal adult by the state of New York yet.

Spider-Man was no man at all. Spider-Man was, in fact, a Spider-Kid.

Otto lifted his eyes to the others. He didn’t know what to say.

“It’s not him,” Scorpion suggested.

Sandman scoffed. “What do you mean, ‘it’s not him’?”

“Maybe this isn’t Spider-Man,” he said. “Maybe the real Spider-Man sent a double. Someone to stand in his place while he’s busy or whatever to keep us at bay.”

“Spider-Man’s despicable if he’s sending some kid to fight his battles for him. Doesn’t sound like his style.”

“I don’t know! I’m just brainstorming here! I mean, you saw how pathetic he was today. Spider-Man normally puts up a better fight than that.”

“Yeah,” Electro said nervously. “Maybe it’s not him.”

“He was sticking to things and shooting webs and mouthing off just like the real Spider-Man always does,” Shocker retorted. “I’m pretty sure this is him.”

“Silence!” Octavius shouted, holding up his fist. He turned to the large screen on his right. “Computer, run biological and forensic diagnostics on Spider-Man.”

A series of beams and lasers scanned across the hero, gathering and analyzing information. About a minute later, a robotic voice spoke up.

“Facial and DNA match confirmed,” the A.I. replied. “Subject is Peter Benjamin Parker. Born to parents Richard and Mary Parker on August 10th, 2001. Age: fifteen. Address: 42-42 80th St, Queens, NY 11373. Current occupation: Intern at Stark Industries and sophomore high school student at Midtown School of Science and Technology.”

Stinging disbelief pricked all of them. Rhino’s jaw fell.

“Fifteen?”

“Sophomore?”

“High school?”

It was strange to finally be able to put a name and face to someone they had all known only as a masked caricature for so long. Peter Parker. Peter. And yet, the face still had everyone reeling to the point that the name hardly registered. Otto slammed a metal arm against the table.

“Shut up, all of you!” he spat. “Computer, relay back all the biological data you’ve gathered on Spider-Man.”

“Confirmed,” the A.I. said. “Subject’s current heart rate is 52 bpm. Subject’s current blood pressure is the 79mmHg. Subject’s current temperature is 105.8 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“None of those sound normal,” Sandman said with a snort.

“Relay DNA findings,” Doc Oc barked impatiently.

“Confirmed. Subject’s DNA is mutated and abnormal. Subject’s blood emits low levels of gamma radiation. Subject’s genome is human combined with an unidentifiable species of arachnid.”

Everyone’s eyes snapped up at once. The realization drizzled over them like baleful mist.

“Oh my god,” Sandman breathed. “It’s him.”

“You mean he’s actually part spider? Gag!”

With a scoff, Electro stepped away from the table, cupping his hands against the back of his neck. “You’re kidding me. You’re shitting me. You’re telling me this is the person I’ve been trying to kill this whole time? This is the guy I’ve been frying like a mozzarella stick?” He kicked a trash bin across the room. “Dammit! I do a lot of bad things, but I’d never knowingly hurt a child!”

“Spider-Man is just some fifteen-year-old high school brat?” Rhino said, pouting his lip. “Geez. I can’t believe we just beat the shit out of some kid.”

“Spider-Man is not just some kid!” Otto roared. “Who cares about his age! Have you all suddenly forgotten how much this bastard has antagonized every last one of us? How he’s foiled our plans and ruined our lives again and again for the past two years?”

Sandman pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. “Oh my god. Does that mean I’ve been beating him up since he was fourteen? My niece is three years older than him, and I can’t imagine putting her through what I’ve done to him!” He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. “What kind of monster am I...?”

“I broke his damn leg,” Shocker said distraughtly. “And I enjoyed it.”

“Hell, guys…this is so messed up…”

Five members of the Sinister Six stewed in a sauna of shame and guilt. Octavius refused to join them.

“You spineless morons! All of you! Our enemy lays defeated in front of us, yet you choose to wallow in remorse! We should be celebrating! Nothing has changed! He’s young—so what? That doesn’t undermine all the frustration he’s caused us, or our glorious victory over him! Come on, now! Raise your glasses with me! To the Sinister Six! Guys...?”

Nothing he said could wipe the queasy looks off all their faces, or the guilty stickiness he felt in his own gut. Everything—all of this—it just felt wrong.

Sandman stood over Spider-Man and gingerly placed his hand against his forehead. It was startlingly hot and damp with sweat. “Computer, why is Spider-Man’s temperature so damn high? What’s the cause?”

A couple seconds later, the A.I. pinged. “Confirmed,” it said. “Subject has a norovirus infection. It appears subject has been infected for at least twenty-four hours. Norovirus is commonly diagnosed as gastroenteritis or the stomach flu. Symptoms include fever, cramps, dizziness, lightheadedness, and nausea.”

A groan swept through the room. Scorpion crossed his arms against the table and buried his head between them.

“He’s sick. That’s why he seemed so sluggish and off during the fight. Because we were beating up a sick kid.”

“Shit. Last time I had the stomach flu, I didn’t leave my bed for two days. He really thought he could take us on in his condition?”

“Not like we really gave him a choice,” Shocker murmured.

“The little punk probably didn’t even think twice about it,” Sandman said miserably. “After all, his dumbass adolescent brain is still developing.”

Rhino sulked. “Yeah, as long as we didn’t permanently damage it...”

The Sinister Six fell into a dreadful silence.  

At that moment, Spider-Man coughed. The group jumped and gasped, automatically assuming defensive positions with their fists raised, weapons drawn, and muscles coiled.

Spider-Man coughed again, his head lolling to the left, but he didn’t wake up. A collective sigh passed everyone’s lips. Electro went lax, his hands falling to his sides.

“So…um…what the hell do we do now?”

Scorpion frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“Like, what do we do? We have him here, beat to a pulp. What are we going to do with him?”

For the first time, Spider-Man was at the complete mercy of his most powerful enemies. And for the first time, none of them wanted to chop off his head and impale it on a spike. 

Sandman gazed across the bruises on his face, the road burn striped across his limbs, the bloody puncture wound in his chest. His swollen leg, his black eye, the charred fabric and flesh. He hadn’t allowed himself to take all the damage in for what it was until now. A truly abominable and grisly sight.

“He won’t survive long if we just leave him like this,” he said quietly.

Again, all eyes rose to Dr. Octopus. Otto grimaced between their pitiful looks, their reluctantly pleading stares. Pathetic! he wanted to shout, but he couldn’t find the will to conjure the word—any words.

Soon enough, he felt his own callous facade melting away. He sighed.

“I…I suppose keeping him alive is in our best interest. For now.” He cleared his throat and pulled the goggles off his face. “I’ll clean and treat his injuries as best I can. At least to the point that they’re not life-threatening.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Go—get some rest, all of you. We’ll, uh—we’ll regroup in the morning.”

The Sinister Six exchanged nervous looks with each other, then turned back to the face of the half-dead fifteen-year-old in front of them. Hesitantly, they filed out of the room and up the stairs, shooting a couple anxious glances over their shoulders before climbing out of sight.

The room was eerily quiet now that it was just the two of them. An evil scientist and an unconscious super-child in spandex. The only noises were the beeps from the monitor on his right and the kid’s shaky, labored breathing.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Octavius scoffed. “Of course, now that we’ve finally bested you, this is what we end up with. This is what you are.”

With a thought, the claws at the end of one of his tentacles reconfigured into large shears. The material that made up Spider-Man’s suit was tough, but with a few strategic cuts and snips, Doc was able to tear through and peel the clingy fabric off his body. Now that he was stripped down to nothing but his boxers (which had tiny cartoon Iron Men on them, a sight that made him snort, despite his efforts not to) the devastating harm they’d inflicted upon him was painfully evident. The ratio of undamaged flesh to damaged flesh was sickeningly skewed toward the latter. There was so much to tend to, he wasn’t sure where to start. And it wasn’t like his doctorate had been in medical care.

“We really did a number on you, didn’t we Spider-Man?” Otto murmured. He looked back at the screen. “I mean…Peter. Peter Parker.”

The name felt salty on his tongue. He didn’t like how it humanized him, transforming the famous vigilante from vexing public figure to baby-faced teenager. He’d always dreamt of unmasking the scourge that was the elusive Spider-Man. Now he wished the day had never come.

He left Peter’s side to grab the medical kit from under the sink. Then he got to work, undoing the damage they had reaped.

___________________________________

“Computer, summarize what you’ve gathered on Peter Parker’s personal life.”

Roughly four hours later, Octavius flopped into a chair by the kid’s side, exhausted. He had treated all the wounds he had the capacity to treat, hooked him to an I.V. full of fluids and electrolytes, and was now monitoring his steadily improving vitals. The kid was a suture-filled, burn cream-lathered, bandaged-up mess, but at least he was on the mend instead of his death bed. Seemed like a good time to take a break and do some research on the person behind their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

“Confirmed,” the A.I. responded. “Compiling personal file.”

A slide with pictures and lists regarding Peter’s life materialized on the screen.

“Peter Parker was born in Queens, New York and still lives there today. He lived in a house in Forest Hills until 2005, then moved into the apartment complex he currently lives in now.”

“A house in New York City?” Otto scoffed. “How lavish. Why the downsize?”

The A.I. enlarged a photograph—a man and a woman holding a bright-eyed, squishy-faced toddler sporting a familiar headful of brown curls.

“Peter’s biological parents, Mary and Richard Parker, died in a plane crash in March of that year.”

A knot formed in Otto’s gut as he stared at the happy family portrait. “Oh,” he said.

“Orphaned at age four, Peter was then adopted by his aunt and uncle, May and Ben Parker. They couldn’t afford to live in the house in Forest Hills, so they moved Peter into their apartment nearby.”

Another picture floated up, this one of a different couple hugging a slightly older version of the curly-haired toddler. After that, a series of images flashed across the screen—young Peter at Central Park, at a science fair, at the zoo, at home, on the subway, on the Brooklyn Bridge, passed out on a couch. With each new picture, he got bigger, older, but not by much. Sometimes his aunt and uncle were with him. Sometimes he was with others his age. Sometimes he had on glasses as thick as windshields. His smile was wide as the sun and just as bright.

In the last picture, he was standing next to Tony Stark, holding an upside-down certificate congratulating him on his acceptance as a Stark Industry’s intern.

“Barf,” Otto muttered, but he couldn’t displace the warm, uneasy feeling he got when he looked at Peter’s smiling face. He really was just a kid. A young, dorky, stupid kid. A kid they’d beat into the dirt ten times over.

“Last year, May Parker became Peter’s sole guardian.”

Octavius blinked, his shoulders tensing. “What happened to the uncle? Ben Parker?”

“Ben Parker was murdered last April by an unknown shooter. The culprit was never caught.”

Octavius swallowed, staring at the photograph of Spider-Man’s uncle. Then he turned back to the mummified teenager on the table beside him. For an instant, something he never thought he could feel for the spider-themed superhero brushed his heart. 

Sympathy.

With a huff, Otto stood from his chair. “Come along then, arachnid,” he said, lifting the kid and the I.V. stand in his metal arms. “Let’s find you a more comfortable spot to rest.”

It was well past 4am by the time Octavius slumped into his own bed.

[babeyvenus]

The Wolf Among Us

Bigby x OC

Summary: Sonya Blaze, A.K.A. Hell Rider, is a half fable, half mundy girl who comes to Fabletown to learn more about her side of the folktales. She works alongside Sheriff Bigby Wolf's as his newest partner and together they strive to find out who's behind the unexpected murders in Fabletown.

TW: Mentions of death, gore/blood, alcohol, smoking drugs, sex implications, suicide, guns and ofc language.

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Chapter 12: Witches and Bloody Who?

1284 White Plains Ave

2:14 AM

14 minutes late

“Bigby! Sonya!”, Snow shouted, catching up with the two as they walked down the hall. “We’re late.” Snow said.

“Yeah, we know.”, Bigby said as they walked up to a door with the number 23. “This is it.”, he said as the three of them stood in front of the door. “Alright. How do you want to do this?”, Snow asked them. “We’re not storming inside, that’s for sure. We have no idea who this A.G. person is.”, Sonya said.

Bigby puts his ear on the door to listen for anything. “Anything?”, Snow asked him. “If anyone’s in there, they’re being awfully quiet….”, he says and knocks on the door. Right after, the door opens to reveal a little girl in a yellow dress and her black hair in pigtails. “Hello?”, she greets, drowsily.

Sonya covered her mouth at the sight of the little girl as the other two stared in shock. “Hi…” Snow greeted. “You woke me up.” The girl said. “Uh, sorry about that.”, Sonya said, kneeling to her height. The little girl rubs her eyes. “Sorry, there. Wasn’t aware this was a munchkin’s house.”, Bigby says, making the little girl make a confused face.

“Well, Dorothy, it isn’t.”, she responded with a smile, making Sonya snort. “She got you.”, Sonya says, making Bigby give her heel a nudge. “If I wasn’t so secure in my manhood, I’d have taken that as an insult.”, he says, smiling. The little girl giggled.

“What’s your name?”, Sonya asked. “Rachel. Who are you?”, the little girl responded.

“Well, I’m the Sheriff. And this is my partner,” Bigby started but Snow cut him off. “Uh, boss.” Snow said, annoyed. Bigby frowned at her, “I was referring to Sonya.”, he said, hushed. “Pleased to meet you. How do you do? Is there….Is there anything you need?", Rachel says.

"Is anyone at home? Does your mom live here?”, she asked her. “Does she ever…you know, make the nightstand levitate? Turn frogs into cats, that kind of thing?”, Bigby asked her.

“Is she a witch, dear?” Snow corrected. “Oh no, I would never call my mommy that. She treats me alright.”, Rachel says with a head nod. “Rachel, do you mind if we take just a quick peek around?”, Bigby asked.

“What are we looking for, specifically?”, Snow asked Bigby. “Crane. He could still be here.”, Bigby says, sniffing around the room. Sonya looked at the huge tree in the room. “This is ginormous for a house plant…”

“We’ll be super quick, and we won’t touch anything.”, Sonya said to Rachel and walked past her, looking around the cramped living area. “I’ve been here all night! Nobody’s been here!”, Rachel shouts at the three adults.

Bigby glances at her with a raised eyebrow. “Ok, Sheriff, I’m gonna trust you not to break anything…don’t get me in trouble.”, she huffs.

She glances at the record player and looks at Rachel. “Lemme guess, big band or...classical?” Rachel smiles, “Honky Tonk.”

“No accounting for taste….”, Bigby mutters, making Sonya gape at him and tap his arm a bit, earning a smile from him. He looks at a picture. “That your mom?”, he asked. “Uh huh.”, Rachel said, proudly.

“It’s pretty rare to see a burner like this.”, Sonya says, crouching down with a content smile. “Dowdy. That’s how we like it.”, Rachel grins.

Bigby sniffs around again. “Not here.”

“Your mom a hunter?”, Bigby asked as he looked at the deer skull. “Oh, no, she’d never…that was found in the woods around Dix Mountain. I think.”, Rachel responds.

“Why does she have such a huge tree?”, Sonya asked as Bigby turned to look at the tree. “Mommy uses that to carve her trinkets. It’s from the old world.”, Rachel says excitedly. “Trinkets? Like glamours?” Snow asked her, making her shrug.

“There’s no one here but me.”, Rachel repeats.

Bigby walks back over to the divider and looks behind it but sees nothing. “There’s nothing that looks like Crane was here, either.”, Bigby said.

“Great...”, Sonya mutters. “See?” Rachel said, smirking.

Sonya goes to the back of the room and sees a closet door. She opens it and sees a box with a label.

Deliver to Aunty Greenleaf

Return Address The Butcher

“A.G….”, Sonya steps back to look at Rachel. “Your mom’s Aunty Greenleaf?” She nods.

Bigby walks over to her. “The Butcher.”, Sonya muttered. “What?”, Bigby asked. “A package having to do with someone called The Butcher.”, she says, closing the door.

“Damn it.” Bigby mutters, shaking his head as if he was trying to get something off his face. “I keep getting whiffs of that aftershave of his.”

“Is that a glamour tube?”, Bigby asked, making Sonya and Snow stop. “Mommy really doesn’t let anyone play with that. Trust me, I’ve tried.”, Rachel warned.

Sonya sniffed in the air, frowning a bit. “I do, too.” Snow nods, “Me too.” Rachel rubs her eyes. “Can I go to bed now? Please?”

Sonya yawned. “It is pretty late…”, she said and started to follow Snow, who walked towards the door. Rachel follows, along with Bigby, but he stops once he notices a glamour tube on the work table.

Bigby walks up to the table and picks up the tube. “Oh, no no no no no, please please please just put that back exactly where you found it. No one is allowed to play with that.”, Rachel said, her eyes widening. “It’s alright, honey, Bigby’s not going to break it.”, Snow reassured her.

“No, you don’t understand. She will freak out if she discovers I’ve let people in here and let them touch her stuff, okay? She checks all the time to see if things move. I don’t wanna get in trouble.”, Rachel said, fearfully.

“I’m not gonna break it, I just want to open it.”, Bigby said, and started messing with the tube. “No! Put it down!”, Rachel shouted. Her fearful scream caused the room to shake which made Sonya and Snow look at her then at Bigby. “You’re pissing her off.”, Sonya mouths to Bigby. Snow holds Rachel back. “Please! Don’t! This isn’t what you think! You’ve gotta believe me, that guy isn’t here! I promise!”

“It’s gonna to be okay, Rachel.”, Sonya reassures her as Bigby starts to mess with the tube again, curious this time. “Please. I’m begging you. I don’t wanna…I don’t wanna get in trouble.”, Rachel begged sadly.

Bigby opens the tube, causing Rachel to scream in pain and transform into an old woman, “Auntie Greenleaf.”, Snow says in shock.

“It hurts…when you do it that fast.”, Greenleaf said, irritated as she rolled her shoulders. “You think we have time to waste on this shit?” Bigby asked, angrily, storming up to the woman. “You think this is some kind of game?”

“No. I don’t. But congratulations on winning it…if that matters to you.”, Greenleaf says, sarcastically.

“Look, now. We don’t have time. Start explaining! And from the beginning. ” Sonya says, crossing her arms as the old woman walks over to her couch and sits down. “I was born in the woods to a jackal and a deer….” Greenleaf started to explain but Sonya cuts her off, looking at Snow. “She thinks we’re joking around. You better get her.”

“Please, Greenleaf. Just help us catch Crane. That’s all we care about.” Bigby said, exasperated. “That’s not all we care about.”, Snow tells him, angrily. “I ain’t a fortune teller, Wolf. I have no heavenly idea where he went.” Greenleaf shrugs.

“You have to know something.” Snow said.

“You’re an accomplice to a goddamn murder, do you not realize that?”, Sonya fussed. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t help you. I have no interest in being turned into a skink and crushed under boot heels. There’s powers at work here beyond your pathetic authority.”, Greenleaf says.

“Whatever it is, Greenleaf….whatever it is that’s keeping you from saying something?” Snow said.

“We can protect you, okay? Whatever it is you’re afraid of….we can make sure that it won’t come to pass.” Bigby says, reassuring her. “You have no idea what’s going on, do you?” Greenleaf asked, making Sonya sigh harshly. “Y'all keep saying the exact same shit. We’re asking questions so we can know. We want to help.”

“Okay, you know what I think? I think we’ve been more than patient with you.” Snow said, angrily, storms up to Sonya and Bigby. “This witch has been selling illegal glamours that continue to undermine everything we’ve built….she’s harboring a fugitive that took advantage of it, and now she’s resisting every attempt to make things right. I frankly don’t give a crap if she’s afraid for her life, we can at least make sure she never hurts us again.”

She walks up to the tree and looks at it before she says. “We’re destroying the tree.” Sonya’s eyes widened. “Now, hold on-”

Greenleaf abruptly stands up and shouts. “No!”, she yells, causing the room to shake. Sonya stumbles to a knee, looking up at Greenleaf as she looks between the other three in anger.

“How dare you come in here and threaten to take from me the one thing that-” She takes a breath. “That tree is ancient, it’s part of the family, and it’s the only thing paying for this shithole apartment! And the Fables who can’t afford the glamours from you come to me for help. Without them, where do you think they could go?”

“Don’t give me that! You’re making money off of other peoples’ misery. Two Fables are dead because of this crap!”, Snow shouts, turning to Bigby and Sonya. “It’s too dangerous leaving this stuff with her.”

“You think I like being the old woman in these stories? The men are heroes, the ladies are whores…and the old hags like me get to watch everyone they love die!”, Greenleaf growls

Snow was about to say something but Sonya cuts her off. “Hear me out. You aren’t exactly in any position to want to destroy someone’s work, okay? Hell, I’m the one who should want her tree to burn but I won’t.”, she says, looking at Greenleaf. “There’s a better way to handle this.”

“We have very different ways of handling our fate.”, Snow said. “Very different means to handle it, too.” Greenleafs retorts.

“We’re not burning the damn tree.”, Sonya says, making Snow and Bigby turn to her.

Snow looked at her in shock. “You want this to continue?” Sonya hardened her look. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I said there is a different way to handle this.”

Bigby walked up to the tree. “Sonya’s right. Isn’t there another way? She’s a witch, can’t she just….work for us? That way she’d be official….”

“You want to reward her for criminal behavior? We can’t trust this woman on the Thirteenth floor.”, Snow said.

“It doesn’t matter cause I’d never do it. I’m not a house cat and I don’t play well with others.” Greenleaf said. “Oh, trust me, no one would confuse you for a cuddly animal.” Snow sneered at the witch. Greenleaf glares at her, making Snow turn to the other two. “Bigby, Sonya….this is an order. Burn the tree.”

Greenleaf runs in front of the tree and confesses. “No! Look, look, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you…Crane was here, he was here and he left. He went to the Pudding n’ Pie to try to use my ring on the girls over there to get information.”

“What does the ring do?”, Sonya asked her.

“He thinks it’s the Ring of Dispel….you know, that it will pierce the protection around the girls’ speech. He says pulling the truth out of them will prove his innocence. It won’t, though….damned thing lost its power decades ago.”, Greenleaf informed.

“I’m sorry, but….we still can’t let you keep the tree. It wouldn’t be right after what’s happened.” Snow said. “Guys?”

“Please, Sheriff...Deputy….”, Greenleaf begs, looking at them sadly. “We’re not burning the tree.”, Sonya says.

“Today is your lucky day, Greenleaf. I’m hiring you as the Business Office’s newest witch in residence.” Bigby said.

“Bigby!”, Snow shouted in disbelief.

“The witches over there will keep her out of trouble, and–and we have a glamour shortage as it is. It makes the most sense, Snow.”, Bigby explained.

“Snow, people are out there without glamours. If anything, she can help us since apparently giving glamours aren’t working without her help. Because Toad still hasn’t gotten his, right?”, Sonya asked Bigby. “Just because you’re disappointed with Crane’s actions, doesn’t mean we have to punish her for his bullshit.”

She turns to Greenleaf. “You’re working with the other witches.”, she says, finally and walks to the door. “Don’t expect me to bow down to your queen over here.”, Greenleaf said to her. Bigby sighs, walking next to Sonya. “Don’t think for a second that this is over.” Snow threatened, following the other two.

“So what, are moving trucks gonna show up here or something?”, Greenleaf asked. “Something like that.”, Snow said. “We’ll call you.”, Bigby says and opens the door and lets Sonya and Snow out first before he leaves.

The cab pulls up to the curb of the Pudding n’ Pie, and hurriedly, Sonya and Bigby climb out. “I suppose you two can handle this. Get Crane and bring him back to the Woodlands.” Snow ordered before rolling the window up and letting the cab drive off.

“For fuck’s sake…”, Sonya grumbles. Bigby looked over and saw a familiar car. “That’s Crane’s car.”, he said, catching her attention. “Let’s go.”, she says, rushing to the door.

“No, it’s nothin’ you need to concern yourself with. I don’t think so, at least.”, they hear Georgie say pacing and talking on the phone. Georgie sees the two and rolls his eyes.

“Shit. Hold on.” He said to the phone and he removed the phone from his ear. “What do you want, Sheriff? Decided you wanted a taste of the wares?"

He glanced at Sonya with a smirk. "Oh, I see…come to audition your bitch.” Before Bigby could retaliate, Sonya socked him square in his nose. “We don’t have time for bullshit, Georgie.”, she growled.

“Tell me what you know! Now!” Crane’s voice shouts from the dressing room. Sonya and Bigby glare at Georgie, who gives a wavering shrug.

Sonya shoulder checks him as they rush to the door. “Hey! You can’t just go in there!” Georgie shouts after them, getting ignored.

They see Crane shaking Nerissa by her shoulders as he shouts. “Tell me who did it! Just tell me who did it, I know you know!”

“Mr. Crane, please, she can’t help–”

“I know you know what the plan is.”, Crane yells at Nerissa. Bigby glares at Crane, his teeth bared. “I won’t be held accountable for this!” Crane shouts. “I can’t-I can’t–I’m sorry, I-” Nerissa said, panicking.

Bigby storms up to Crane, spins him around and grasps the front of his shirt, raising his right hand into a fist. “Oh my God! Bigby!”, Crane exclaims, surprised to see him. “Wait!!”, Sonya yelled at Bigby. He looks over at her then lets Crane go.

Crane steps back, his hands raised. “I-I didn’t do anything! I promise you, I didn’t do anything! These girls— th-th-the girls, they’ll back me up, I j-just have to get this stupid ring working, that’s all!”, Crane explained, shaking his right hand that had a ring on his ring finger. “They can’t talk because of that spell, but once this ring gets through, I’ll know what’s going on and this whole thing will be over.”

“Th-That’s all, please. I’m innocent, completely, completely innocent!”, Crane exclaims. Bigby rolled his eyes and slapped Crane, leaving a large, red handprint on his face.

Crane cowers back and yells, “W-Wait, I’ll show you!” He raises his arm while Bigby holds him back, effortlessly. “Damn you, c'mon! Please! Tell me who killed her!”, Crane shouts as he points his arm towards Nerissa.

“My lips are sealed.”, Nerissa replied as Vivian held her. Crane crumbles to the ground and begins to weep in sadness and fear. “How long?”, Sonya asked Crane. “W-what?”, Crane asked, looking up at her. “How long has this been going on?”, she growled out her question. “Far too long...” Crane replied, looking away.

“But–I didn’t kill those women, Bigby, please, I had nothing, nothing to do with that. I just—I-I just….Oh God…”, Crane cries. “We found the photos of you and Lily.” Bigby said, crossing his arms with a glare. “I know, I know, but that’s—that was–I just…” Crane whimpers then he looks up at Sonya.

“I just love you, Sonya! I love you, I love you, and—and I’m sorry I’m not a mundy, okay!?”, Crane grovels as she stepped back. “I’m sorry I don’t do things that Mundies do! Its just- You’re so different and innocent! To know you were a half fable excited me, and I-”

Sonya had to stop herself from gagging. “I’m gonna stop you right there. What made you think that I’d ever get with an old creep like you!? And secondly, you’re not so different from Mundy men. This stalking, the pretending, they do that too. You’re fucking disgusting.” Her words made her lower his head.

She squatted down to glare at him. He looks her in the eyes for a moment then turns away to weep silently, making her eyes widen. She stood back up. “Bigby…I don’t think he did it."

"You’re shitting me, right?”, Bigby asked, shocked and confused. “The guy’s a complete coward. Look at him. Do you really think this man-" She paused. "Lemme rephrase that. Do you really think this child murdered these women?”, she asked him as she pointed at the sad man.

“He’s not…he wouldn’t be brave enough….”, she said, glaring at Crane.

“We’ve been chasing this guy ….why now?”, Bigby asked. “That’s my point. He sent us on this wild goose chase, pretended not to know anything, and cowered away the entire time. If he really was a stone cold murderer, he wouldn’t be here freaking out.”, she said.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Did you see how he was acting when you showed up?” Vivian asked her.

“Yeah, I get it–”

“Why would he even come here if he wasn’t covering his tracks?” Vivian asked.

“He thought he was being framed. And maybe he is.”, Sonya replied.

“This fuck-up knows more than he’s saying.”, Bigby said. “I don’t! I don’t!” Crane shouts. “Yes, okay, he probably does. But there’s a difference between being involved and being the guy who did it.”, Sonya says, shaking her head.

“Okay, but if Crane didn’t kill Faith and Lily, I’m sorry, but who the hell did?”, Vivian asked. “This whole thing is bigger than Crane. He wouldn’t have the stones to send the Tweedles after us. Somebody else is involved.”, Bigby said. “Well, shit.”, Vivian mutters.

“I didn’t intend for any of this to get so–”

She took a deep breath. “Ichabod Crane. You are under arrest for disrupting Fabletown's funds and the suspicion of murder. You’ll have the right to counsel and the right to depose witnesses. But as of right now, you’re coming with us."

“I don’t wanna hear your weak ass apologies. You’ve done so much screwed shit, you’re lucky you’re not down that damn well!”, Sonya yelled.

He looks at her fearfully then lowers his gaze to the floor. “We’re not going to kill you. So quit your shivering.”, she growled.

Sonya glanced at her boss. “Easy, Bigby. We don’t need the princess to have another thing to hold above our heads.”, Sonya rolls her eyes, making Bigby glance at her with a softened frown.

"You are extraordinarily lucky Miss Blaze was here to save your ass. Because if it was up to me….I’d have your head swinging from the Washington Bridge.”, Bigby snarled.

“You think…she has what it takes…to run that office? You think I didn’t make sacrifices? I made sacrifices! And Miss Snow won’t be in that chair one minute before she has to give up something she cares about just so the wheels don’t fall off the goddamn wagon.” Crane stands up and continues to fuss. “I did the best that I could with what I had. And the town took everything it could out of me. If I maybe took a little something back in return…then so be it. I have no regrets.”

Sonya frowned. "You took more than just a little. You went to a man who now gives you no choice but to pay him back or people get killed. That's not a little thing." Crane's eyes widened. "But-"

“Yeah, and see, the thing of it is….” Bigby starts, and grabs Crane’s collar, pulling him closer to him. “We’re also better at this than you are.” He turns Crane towards the door and pushes him forward.

They went through the side door, out to the alley. Sonya sighs, pulling her hood over her head as it was raining again. Crane walks out after her until Bigby shoves him off the stairs. Crane falls on the ground. He stood up and dusted himself off and muttered. “Stupid girls and their preposterous schemes….”

Sonya paused to glare at him over her shoulder. “You got something you wanna share?” Crane cowers and walks in front of her and Bigby. Suddenly, a car drives up and blocks their way out. The three of them looked at the cars in shock and stopped as the car started to slowly drive towards them.

“Back. Now.”, Bigby says as he holds his arm out, pushing her behind him. She walked around the other way with the two men only for two more cars to come up and block them.

They stop as the Tweedles climb out of one car while a woman, with short black hair with red highlights, climbs out of another car.

“Hi. Whatcha got there?”, The woman asked in a childish tone. Sonya's eyes began to glow a scarlet hue as the Tweedles pulled out their shotguns. Bigby growled lowly, watching them intently.

The woman pulls out a gun and loads it. “Look, it’s recently come under our attention that you’re, how shall I put it, attempting to claim what is the personal property of the Crooked Man.” She gives them a slight smile. “He’s about yea high, a hundred and twenty odd pounds, pissed his sheets until he was fourteen….sound familiar?”

“I haven’t told them anything!”, Crane cried in fear. “Not now, not now, shhhhh, the grown ups are talking.”, the woman says, mockingly.

“Who are you?”, Bigby asked her.

“No, no, no, no, no, that’s not how this works.”, The woman said, mockingly as if she were talking to children. “How this works is you are going to walk Crane over here….like a good doggie.”

“It wasn’t my fault!”, Crane exclaims. Sonya growled and punched him in the stomach. “You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” She steps up to Bigby’s side. “You’re interfering with official Fabletown business. Step aside.”

“Tweedle Dee, what’s the, uh, y'know, that thing the mundies call me?”, she hummed. “Wh–What?”, Dee asked in fear. “My nickname. You know what I’m talking about.” The woman said as she gave a side glance at Dee.

“Uh…Bloody Ma–”

“Bloody Mary, that’s it. Thank you.” Mary said, making Sonya’s eyes widen.

“And do you know why they call me that? Because some of them, they think it’s funny to have their little sleepovers and go into their little bathrooms and say my name five times in the mirror." She frowns.

"They find it less funny when I actually show up and feed their lungs to the family dog.” She lets out a small bark and smirks evilly at Sonya and Bigby.

Sonya gritted her teeth, “This night just can’t get any better.”, she muttered.

“And I do that for a hobby. Like golf, to relax. This is my job, I like my job. So think about what I’m gonna do to you, your girl, your princess and the rest of your friends if you don’t hand over the sockpuppet now!”, Mary said to Bigby.

“This was really the wrong day to try and pull this shit.”, Bigby growled.

“I told you he’d never just give him up.”, Dee smiled at Mary. Mary glared at him then looked back at the other three and shrugs. “Fuck it.” She walks away while the Tweedles step forward and raise their guns.

“Oh boy…”, Sonya muttered and was suddenly pushed out of the way once the Tweedles started shooting, missing Bigby purposefully before loading him with buckshots.

Bigby was pushed back until his back hit the wall and he slumped down. The Tweedles stopped to smirk at each other much to Sonya’s horror. She teared up. “B-Bigby?”, she whispered.

Bigby moves his head as he lets out a groan. He opens his eyes which were now red as he slowly gets up on his feet, shocking the twins. Bigby begins walking towards the Tweedles as they fire multiple bullets at him until one bullet hits Bigby's side, making him lean against a box as he regains his composure.

He falls to his knees only to get up, now transformed as a gray wolf. Bigby reaches to his left and grabs the dumpster and throws it at the twins. They fall and dodge the dumpster and get back up while Bigby goes to the right and grabs the high voltage container and throws it at them.

They dodge that as well and Bigby uses that as a chance to charge at them and jumps on Dum. He shoves his clawed hand into Dum’s chest and slams him in the air conditioner box multiple times. Dee shoots Bigby in the back, making him slowly turn to him and drop Dum.

Bigby back hands him hard and grabs him to look over at Mary, who was leaning against one of the cars with a smirk. Bigby throws Dee at her but she moves, causing Dee to hit his car. Mary stands there unfazed.

Dum goes to hit Bigby with his gun but Bigby grabs the gun, throwing it away. He grabs Dum and slams him against the wall and holds him up.

“Fuck….you….Wolf….”, Dum gargled as Bigby pondered about killing him. He lowers the Tweedle harshly and looks over at Sonya with a solemn expression. She looked at him, shocked that he stopped.

He opened his mouth but a shocked look crossed his face as he was shot. He felt a searing pain on his side. Sonya whimpered to see him stumble to the ground, glancing over the attacker. It was Mary who shot him, wearing a large grin on her face. “Bigby!”, Sonya yelled, in a panic.

“It was a good show, but, you know. It just didn’t know when to end.”, Mary shrugs as she puts her gun away then walks to the limo, opens the back door and pulls out Woody’s axe.

Sonya’s eyes widened and illuminated brighter as Bloody Mary walked over to Bigby. She pulled out a chain to whip at her, only for Mary to dodge the end that hit the limo behind her.

She rushed to stop her from getting close to him. Bloody Mary smiles wildly, clashing her forearm with Sonya’s. “Look at you, protecting your poor little puppy.”

Sonya growled as her face melted into a skull, the rain peppering her flamed engulfed head into steam. “You’re not touching him.” Bigby’s eyes widened to see his deputy shielding him. “S-Sonya…”

Sonya pushed her and sent a punch towards her face. Mary dodged and pulled out her gun and shot Sonya in her thigh, hardly fazing her at the time. Mary tried shooting her again, but Sonya caught her hand, preventing her from shooting at all. She tried swinging the axe to her side but Sonya caught her hand a little late, causing the axe to gash her side a bit.

Sonya winces before she kicks Mary’s knee, making her drop to the ground in pain for a moment before tackling Sonya and breaking her arm, causing her to let out a yell of pain.

She growled in pain, not wanting to move her bent arm, watching as Bloody Mary picked up the axe and walked over to Bigby.

“You know, you wouldn’t think silver bullets would work on anything but a pure werewolf, but…as it turns out….that’s just not the case. Right. Wolfie?”, Mary says, laughing as she places the axe on her shoulder.

Sonya looked into Bigby distant but pained eyes and turned over to grab Mary’s ankle, heating her hand up to burn the woman’s skin. Anything to stop her from killing him...

She looked down at her kicking her over on her back and stomped Sonya’s face, breaking her nose. Sonya chokes on her blood, coughing some out to breathe as much as she could.

“I mean….hey, look, I know it sounds ridiculous, but….really guys….Can you argue with these results?”, she asked as she kicked Bigby to lay him on his back. “Cause I know I can’t.” She aimed the axe at Bigby’s neck then raised the axe high over her head.

“WAIT! STOP!”, Sonya yells and coughs. “Fuck…” Mary looks over at her as Sonya glares at her. “Just….take him, okay? Take Crane.”, she coughed out. “Just stop. Please.”

“Mmmm….yeah. I don’t know.”, Mary said as she pretended to think, before placing the axe on her shoulder again. “Sonya….mmph–don’t….”, Bigby groans, stretching his arm a little to reach her.

Mary notices a certain hand motioning her to come. “It’s your lucky day, kid. The Crooked Man says it’s okay with him.”, Mary said, smiling. “Bigby.”, Sonya whispered, looking at him. “I’m sorry…”

“Hello, Ichabod. Got a stomach ache?”, Mary asked Crane as he tried to sneak away. He stops, turns around and walks towards Mary. “Oh, and just between us girls….Crane ain’t no killer.”. Mary says as Crane walks up to her.

“I mean, look at this face. Couldn’t stick a pig if his life depended on it.” She grabs Crane’s ear, pulls his face close to hers to give him a grin then lets him go. Crane begins to walk to the limo as Mary watches him.

Before she leaves, she turns to face Sonya and Bigby. “Kinda like your boyfriend here. Too pussy to ruin a Tweedle’s day.”, she says, walking up to Bigby and stomps her foot down on his left arm.

Bigby lets out a roar of pain, making Sonya glare at Mary for causing him more pain. She looks to see a bone sticking out of his arm and bares her bloody teeth at Mary.

“Well, this is gonna be….a beautiful relationship we have with you guys. Really. I mean it. I’m jazzed about it.” Mary bows.

“Out with the old….in with the new. Long live the Queen.”, she said as she walked away from the broken duo.

She turned her head to look over her shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch. See you around.” She salutes and gets inside of the limo and the two cars drive away.

[yelena-bellova]

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Two: Plans and Proposals

Series Masterlist

Plot: The Resistance discusses how to move forward in rebuilding.

Warnings: blood, injuries

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: Everything’s a mess but have no fear, the fic is here. Enjoy your escape into another world because Heaven knows ours is a flaming pile of garbage right now.

————

“What in the hell?” Poe mumbled as me, Shriv and him arrived at the fight. One of the pilots that Wedge Antilles had recruited slid across the floor. Teza Nasz stood next to us bleeding, but seemed unconcerned with her wounds. The ex-Imperial began to charge forward again but Jess reeled her back, begging her to cease the confrontation. Wedge went to help the young pilot up to his feet, his blood was still smeared across the stone floor.

“Poe Dameron,” Wedge called, “Y/n Solo.”

“Antilles,” Poe said, “What in the hell is going on?”

“Agoyo swung first,” a woman next to Wedge said. Judging by her age and the fact that she hadn’t left his side since we’d arrived, I took a guess she was Norra Wexley.

“I don’t care who started it,” I spoke up, “There’s no sense in fighting each other, we’re on the same side. Why did this even start?”

“You should care!” Agoyo shouted, rising back to his feet. His Phantom Squad uniform was stained now with blood.

“Identify yourself, pilot.” Poe ordered. Agoyo faced us, crossed his arms and took a defiant stance.

Poe impatiently repeated himself, “Name, pilot.”

“Pacer,” the young pilot seethed, “Pacer Agoyo.”

“Pacer,” Poe nodded, “You know who I am?”

“Poe Dameron.”

“No, I’m your commanding officer. And frankly, right now I’m not impressed with what I see. I understand you’ve come a long way to join us…”

Pacer answered that he was from Nuja and his late father was a Phantom Squad pilot. He’d come in his place.

“I appreciate your father’s service, and your willingness to join the Resistance,” Poe said, “But unfortunately, it looks like you’re not a good fit for this mission. You’re free to leave.”

Some of the gathered crowd let out gasps as Poe turned his back on Pacer. Even I was confused as to what he was trying to do. I watched Pacer shift awkwardly as my boyfriend tilted his head, he was waiting for Pacer to speak up.

“Poe...I mean, Commander Dameron. I-I want to stay, sir. Please. It’s just...”

“It’s just what, Agoyo?” Poe asked as he finally turned around.

The young pilot was no longer looking at Poe, his eyes were locked onto Teza Nasz once again. I could feel the anger radiating off of him, no one was this full of rage for no reason.

“Do you know each other?” I asked, taking a step forward to reiterate my presence.

“She murdered my brother!” Agoyo revealed, he raised his fists once again and took a step in Nasz’s direction.

“Agoyo!” Poe snapped, Pacer turned back but still wouldn’t meet Poe’s stare.

“Eyes on me,” he said, the pilot finally looked up, “You will stop menacing Teza Nasz, or I will have you thrown in the brig until you can cool down. Is that understood?”

Pacer looked embarrassed and slightly intimidated by Poe’s threat. Wedge put a hand on his arm and whispered something I couldn’t make out, whatever he’d said was enough for him to let Wedge pull him back. Poe then turned to Teza Nasz, “Well?”

“It’s possible I killed his brother, but I don’t remember. It’s possible,” the warlord said as she scanned the crowd, “That I killed all of your brothers. And cousins. And mothers and fathers and former lovers. It was my job.”

“Then why are you here?” I inquired, crossing my arms.

She looked jolted by the question I’d posed, “Because it was wrong. But I didn’t know it at the time.”

“You were young and ambitious,” Poe guessed, “So you joined the Empire.”

Teza nodded, “Mostly hungry, but yes.”

Never in my life did I think I would ever feel sympathy for an ex-Imperial warlord. Yet here I was, a little bit of my heart going out to the woman. She still intimidated me, but I understood her a little better now.

“You joined the Empire,” Poe finished, before turning his gaze to Wedge, “Just like you.”

“It’s no secret I attended Skystrike Academy,” he said to the crowd, his hands spread out with a shrug, “But I left once I realized what the Empire was doing.”

Poe nodded in reply before turning to Zay, “And your mother.”

“My mother was an Imperial officer,” Zay answered softly, “But she defected. She and my father. They died for the Resistance. Ask Leia. She knows.”

“Suralinda?” I called, hoping I wasn’t stepping on Poe’s moment by calling on one of his squad members.

“I didn’t give a care about either side much,” she said easily, “I was ready to sell Resistance secrets if it would get me what I wanted. Oh wait, I did.”

The shocked faces around her did not match with her laughter, “Relax, I came around.”

“And you?” Poe turned finally to Finn, who I hadn’t noticed was standing to the back of the group with Rey.

“Used to be a stormtrooper,” Finn answered as he came forward, “But now I’m rebel scum,” his fist hit his chest so loud, the thump echoed, “Until the end.”

We shared a small smile, he’d become one of the most devoted pieces of lovable scum I’d ever met in such a short amount of time. I was proud of him.

“My point,” Poe said as he turned back to Pacer, “Is that many of us have dubious beginnings, but it is how we end that counts.”

“My father was Darth Vader,” Mom’s voice rang out through the hanger, “Is there anyone who wants to question my loyalty to the Resistance?”

I’d never heard a more silent room, damn right…

“Now, is there anyone else with a grudge that needs airing?” Poe asked loud enough for everyone to hear, “Something that’s bothering them? Someone in this room that they can’t wait to knife once their back is turned?”

The tension eased up as a couple people laughed. Just as Poe was beginning to gesture for Mom to take the floor, a voice that hadn’t been heard yet rose.

“I got a question!”

The voice belonged to a bald, grey skinned man. Immediately you could tell that he was an older pilot, just as cocky as he’d probably been his whole life. This was going to be fun.

“Go on,” Poe acknowledged.

“What about you two?” the man wagged his finger at Poe and I.

“What about us?” I confusedly asked.

“I heard the stories,” he continued, “About what happened on the Raddus. To Holdo. I fought with Holdo. She was a good leader.”

My stomach lurched, but I tried to still appear calm as every eye came to rest on us. I felt Poe’s anxiety which only heightened my own nerves. I wanted to throw myself at the feet of the crowd and let them all have a free punch. I deserved it. But it wouldn’t do much good. Maz’s emotion provoking questions and Poe’s ‘we fix it’ answer played in my head at a dizzying speed. Everything I did from here on out was about trying to make amends for what I’d done. Just as Poe and I had promised Black Squadron.

“I agree,” Poe finally said.

“Me too” I immediately followed.

“You agree?” the veteran smiled cruelly, “That’s not what I heard, that’s not what any of us heard.”

He motioned to the rest of Phantom Squadron plus Wedge and Norra. Snap must have told them what had happened, he was right to have done so. They deserved to know what they were walking into, gut-wrenching details and all.

“You two are the ones who should be in the brig,” the veteran went on further, “Or better yet, tossed out of an air lock.”

There were quiet agreements coming from the crowd, I had to fight to keep the heartbreak from reaching my face. I’d disappointed so many people. One look at the tears I was holding back and Poe instinctively took over.

“You’re right,” Poe said loudly, garnering everyone’s eyes on him, “You’re absolutely right. We disobeyed a direct order, we got people killed, we undermined our commander, and led a mutiny. And if you don’t think that eats both of us up, that it haunts us every day, every minute, then you don’t know a damn thing.”

I blinked back my tears and watched him keep going, “And yeah, you could lock me up, throw me into space, but you tell me how that helps the Resistance? How that brings down the First Order? Because, trust me, if I thought my death would bring them down, I’d sacrifice myself in a heartbeat,” he snapped his fingers before pointing to me, “And Commander Solo already tried. She was willing to die at the hands of the First Order just so the Resistance could live.”

“Poe,” Finn said to my side, shaking his head in disapproval of the images Poe was painting.

Jess came forward suddenly, “Poe’s my squad leader and I trust him with my life. There’s no one else I want leading Black Squadron. Y/n too, she’s one of the best commanders the Resistance has got.”

“He saved our butts over Grail City just a few days ago,” Karé added.

“And he saved mine on Jakku,” Finn said, “Y/n did too on Takodana.”

“And mine on Crait,” another voice called.

“And mine.”

More and more people spoke up with instances where Poe and I had been competent commanders. It was overwhelming, I let a stray tear fall in gratitude. The belief that the Resistance still had in Poe and I was not deserved, but I had no choice but to accept it.. Poe’s head was ducked, it was hitting him just as hard.

After a moment, the room settled down and Poe looked to me. He was silently asking if I wanted to say anything, I shook my head slightly and let him take the floor once again. He had always been better at public speaking than me, he was altogether a more confidant leader even in his worst moments.

“We’ve all made choices. Choices that caused harm, led to destruction, even at times death. We are all responsible for our deeds. The great and the terrible. But if we define ourselves only by what we’ve done, only by our failures, then this Resistance, this spark? It dies here and now. We’re all here because we have a chance to change things. A chance to change the galaxy. A chance to change ourselves. But we have to make that commitment. That choice. A choice...”

He stopped, searching for the words to cap off his inspiring speech.

“A choice to be better,” Zay finished his sentence as she stepped forward. She was so young but was lightyears ahead of others with her passion for the cause.

“A choice to be better,” Poe echoed.

As I scanned over the crowd, there were smiles and nods of approval. One person even clapped. Wedge said something I couldn’t hear but it had roused laughter from the people around him. After that, everyone started to break off in their own groups and conversations.

“Hey,” I touched Poe’s arm, “I’m proud of you.”

The corners of his mouth quirked up slightly, “They’ll want to hear from you too at some point.”

“You’re better at rousing a crowd than I am,” I complimented, “Besides, according to Zay, everyone already knows what they need to about me.” I shot him a wink as he chuckled, “I’m gonna go talk to Mom.”

I broke away, surprisingly my mother wasn’t surrounded by people for once. I had a hunch she was waiting for me.

“Not too bad,” I said as I approached her, “We’re not a fleet but we’re not nothing.”

“It’s hope,” she replied knowingly, “That’s more necessary in a war than a fleet. Although, a fleet would be nice.”

I smiled, attempting to mask the pain I’d been trying to hide all day. It had broken me down in the ship with Poe, but I couldn’t fall apart a second time in front of people.

Mom, as usual, sensed it. “I miss him too. I could use him right now.”

“He’d just want to run headfirst into the fight,” I chuckled sadly, remembering stories of my father charging into battle with little to no plan.

“You’d be surprised,” Mom raised an eyebrow and smiled nostalgically, “He was a better general in the war than you’d think. Now,” she squeezed my hand warmly, “Let’s get to work, Commander.”

I was thankful for the snap back to the present, that’s where I needed to be. We went around gathering the people Mom wanted as her new leadership team, including our gracious host, Yendor.

“Commander,” Mom called out to Poe, he abruptly ended his conversation with Zay to join us, “I would like you all to join Ambassador Yendor and me for tea. There’s much we need to discuss, and little time to do it.”

————

We made our way into what was formerly Yendor’s library, it had now been converted to a war room. There was a large round table in the middle of the room with a holo readout that contained inventory lists of our resources, people and supplies. It was shockingly low, all of it.

“Hey,” Rey greeted me quietly as I stared at the lists, “How’d things go with Maz?”

I puffed out my cheeks and exhaled, “Not great.”

“She can’t help?”

“She won’t help,” I turned away from the holo and began to stroll the room with her, “I don’t pretend to understand how Maz works. She usually speaks so cryptically but what Poe and I got was a flat out rejection.”

“Maybe she’ll still find a way to come through,” she suggested as we planted ourselves in a corner of the room.

Rey hadn’t been there, she hadn’t heard Maz’s callous words. How she’d simply sat back in her lounge chair while we were struggling to keep our heads above water. “You’re much more hopeful than I am.”

A smile flashed across her face, “Someone I know told me something about the people I place my hope in. They won’t always disappoint me.” 

“You have to be careful who you take your advice from,” I teased, bumping my hip into hers.


After sharing a laugh, Rey’s expression sobered quickly. “Y/n, there’s something I didn’t get to tell you about my visit with Luke. It’s something that concerns you.”

“What is it?” I asked, pushing off the wall we were leant against.

“He told me that when you-“

“I’m sorry,” Wedge interjected, tapping me on the shoulder, “Y/n, we’re about to start.”

Damn everything, I wanted to hear what Rey had to say. What Uncle Luke had told her. It could’ve been something to do with his vision, something about my future. But there were more pressing matters at hand and I needed to prioritize.

I sighed frustratedly before pointing to Rey, “We will finish this conversation.” I turned with Wedge to go join the group, trying to put the subject of my uncle’s post-humous words anywhere but the forefront of my mind. I spotted Poe and headed for the empty spot next to him. He was, shockingly, in pleasant conversation with the veteran pilot who had wanted to throw us into spaces moments ago. I only caught the last thing Poe said.

“It’s a deal.”

The large man gave Poe a hearty pat on the back, sending Poe stumbling forward. I caught his arm and steadied him, “Do I want to know what bet you just made?”

“A race,” he answered in a low tone, “That I’ll win. If I weren’t the better pilot, he’d get to shave my head.”

I shot him a disapproving glance but didn’t get time to voice my thoughts as the room went hush. Poe had never been in the habit of betting credits like a normal person. But then again, he never lost if it involved flying. 


“I’m glad you’re all here.” Mom’s voice echoed in the large room, all attention was given to her, “I know many of you came at great personal cost with small hope of success. I can’t promise that we will survive this. That we will all still be alive tomorrow, or the day after. But I can promise you one thing. I will fight beside you until the end.”

“If I may,” Norra Wexley said after a few seconds of silence, “Everyone in this room knows what they signed up for, General. This isn’t our first battle, although it might be our last. We’re done with ‘homes.’ We’ve made our choice. This,” Norra gestured to our team, “This is our home now. The Resistance is our family. And just like you, we’re ready to die for it.”

Mom looked touched enough to cry, but instead ducked her head, “And the rest of you? Is that how you all feel?”

A resounding chorus of agreements came from each person around the table.

“Then we have work to do. Yendor?”


The aforementioned Twi’lek came forward, he looked almost regal. “Welcome to Ryloth,” he greeted us, “Like Leia, I thank each of you for all that you have sacrificed. We are all here for the same purpose: to stand against the tyranny of the First Order. Those of us from Ryloth know a thing or two about standing against tyranny. I and my children and those who are part of the Ryloth Defense Authority offer you all we have, but as you can see, we are few.”

“You called the Resistance’s allies from Crait, did you not?” General Rieekan addressed Mom, “Others will come.”

She frowned as she remembered the disappointment on Crait. “So far the only allies we have been able to reach are the ones you see in front of you. We suspect that the First Order has been rounding up and imprisoning those sympathetic to the Resistance, and we think that they’ve figured out how to block our frequencies, but we aren’t sure. We can’t rely on reinforcements. Not at this point.”

There was more discussion about the subject, it was made clear that General Rieekan was unaware of just how large a threat the First Order had become. Contrary to what he thought, they were 100% capable of taking prisoners.

“Besides, what do they need?” Wedge asked, “A few local governments to look the other way, a few dark holes to lose people in. It’s not hard.”

“Speaking of local governments,” Charth, one of Yendor’s children, spoke up for the first time, “you should all understand that while Ryloth welcomes you in your time of need, there has been a complication.”

“Complication?” I asked.

“The First Order has come to Ryloth,” Mom answered, “Not because of us. As far as we know, they aren’t aware of our presence here.”

While it was worrisome, I was secretly relieved for personal reasons. I couldn’t sense Ren’s presence on the planet. Charth went on to explain that the First Order wanted to tithe their shipping lanes to raise money to rebuild the ships they’d lost, ironically, fighting us. It felt good to have put the tiniest dent in their fleet.

“I suggest we act quickly,” Mom went on, “Given our time and our limitations, I am most concerned with rebuilding our forces, giving us another week, another month. A foundation. I had hoped for time to find more leadership, but...I want ideas.”

“Ships,” Poe answered quickly, pointing to the holo inventory list that detailed our ships, “Is this up-to-date?”

“Yes,” Rey answered from where I’d left her, “I saw Rose account for the arriving ships before we met here.”

Poe nodded to her before turning back to the table, “I see a handful of starfighters, a few transports, a yacht. It’s not a fleet, and we can’t fight much less expect to win any kind of battle against the First Order with equipment like this. We need ships.”

“I agree. How do you suggest we get these ships?” Mom asked.

“We could steal them,” Norra suggested, “The First Order’s actively building fighters. You just said so,” she finished, gesturing toward Charth.

“The rumor is the Corellian shipyards are running continuously to meet the quotas,” the Twi’lek confirmed.

“Then we go to Corellia,” Poe said with a clap, as if it was an easy task.

“Too high-profile,” Wedge said, “And we don’t have enough people to stage a raid.”

“Send me in with a handful of pilots and I’ll get your ships for you,” Poe continued his urging, these were the moments where he needed to slow down.

Mom shook her head in rejection of the idea, “Wedge is right. We can’t risk the few pilots we have to liberate a handful of ships. We need a more strategic plan.”

She waited a beat, expecting Poe to argue that he could get the job done. I was proud of him for staying resigned, he was actively trying to do better at following orders.

“Bracca,” Shriv spoke up, “It’s just a thought.”

I’d never been to Bracca, but Pacer explained that it was a junker planet. Not exactly what we were in search of.

“It sounds like a waste of valuable time,” I commented, hoping Shriv didn’t take too much offense, “Time we can’t spend stealing junkyard scrap, we need functional ships.”

“Bracca has become the place that the First Order sends any and all claimed New Republic ships to be decommissioned and junked,” Finn countered from nearby, “It’s bound to be a treasure trove of the kind of ships we want. Parts, too. We could fix up those X-wings out there. Besides, beggars can’t be choosers, and let’s face it. We’re beggars.”

Connix entered the room, out of breath. “A message came in on the Millennium Falcon,” she announced, looking to my mother, “From Maz Kanata. She said you’d want to see it immediately, or I wouldn’t have interrupted.”

Poe and turned to each other in confusion, what did Maz have to say that she didn’t say to us?

“Can you patch it through?” Mom asked.

After Charth helped Connix connect, Maz’s face replaced the inventory list in the center of the table.

“Greetings, Leia.” Maz greeted loudly as she looked around the room, “I see you’re doing well collecting your allies to you.”

“We would be better if you had joined us.” Mom replied, I had a feeling she was trying her hardest to be polite. After Poe and I had recounted our encounter with Maz, Mom was just as confused and slightly offended.

“Ah, of course, of course,” Maz said passively, “But the ways of the Force are mysterious, and it was not my time.”

“I hear you have news for us, Maz,” Mom continued, trying to propel the conversation forward.

“Yes!” Maz exclaimed, “Did Dameron and your daughter tell you of the list?”

“A rumored list of First Order political prisoners and dissidents,” Mom answered.

“It’s not just a rumor anymore. I’ve seen it. Well, parts of it.”

Everyone began to talk amongst themselves, Mom silenced them with a wave of her hand, “How?”

“A rule I live my life by: If you have anything worth stealing,” Maz said, “Someone will eventually steal it.”

“Someone stole the list?" Mom asked with a lightness to her voice.

“Fortunately, the thief who has acquired it is an old acquaintance of mine.”

“Will they give it to us?”

“Hard to tell. Nifera can be mercurial. She likes games,” Maz answered with in a playful tone.

“We have to play a game for it?” Mom raised a brow.

“Not exactly, but then again...” Maz went on, “She’s holding an auction at her birthday party. Invitation-only to the party, and the auction will happen sometime during the event. List goes to the highest bidder. You know how thieves are.”

“When and where?” Mom asked, we were finally starting to get somewhere.

“The party will be held on Corellia, in Coronet City,” Maz explained, “As for when, you’ll just have to be ready to move quickly when the information comes in. I should know soon.”

Poe and I connected the dots at the same time and shared a smile before he addressed the group, “As long as we’re in Coronet City, might as well pick up some ships.”

Mom muttered something I couldn’t hear, but I made out the word ‘Force’. She turned her attention back to Maz, “Maz, you said it’s invitation-only? Can we-”

“I’ve already taken care of it,” Maz waved a hand, “Two invitations secured. One for a handsome but unscrupulous profiteer from Canto Bight, his wife and his junior business partner, and one for the ambassador of Ryloth and guest. It’s the best I could do under the circumstances. You’ll have to improvise.”

“Who’s the profiteer from Canto Bight?” Poe questioned with a scrunched brow, “There’s no one like that with the Resistance.”

“Well, of course not, Dameron. I made him up. Pick someone, whoever you like. But,” Maz said with a devious smile sliding across her face, “I was thinking of you when I said he was handsome.”

Maz flourished her sentence with a wink, my entire body went rigid as I tried to contain my laughter. I rubbed a hand over my mouth to conceal my grin. It became harder to hide when the veteran pilot Poe had been talking with slapped him on the back and said, “The little woman has you there, you are a handsome man.”

“Thank you, Maz,” Mom jumped in, “We accept the invitations.”

“Leia,” Rieekan quietly said, “How do we know this list is even real?”

“Who said that?” Maz asked, leaning forward in the holo, “Hmm...it’s real because I just confirmed it’s real. Didn’t you hear me? I’ve seen it.”

“You said you saw a partial list,” Rieeken corrected, “So even if we concede it’s real, how do we know it’s useful?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s useful or not” I strongly stated, “There are good people being kept prisoner for doing nothing more than disagreeing with the First Order. We have to help them.”

“They could be friends and family,” Norra supported me with a firm nod, “Y/n’s right. We should help them.”

“And we will,” Mom confirmed, “But Rieekan has a point. Our funds are limited. Before we commit to spending them at some thief’s auction, we should know more.”


“We could just steal it,” Shriv suggested, “I mean, the list is stolen. We could just steal it again.”

“Is that really the best idea?” Poe asked.

“We’re talking about stealing ships, aren’t we?” Shriv shrugged, “What’s the difference?”

“Lifting a few First Order fighters is payback,” Norra said.

“I’d rather not turn the Resistance into a den of thieves,” Leia sighed, “But we’ll do what we have to do.”

“You’ll have to pay the reserve to be allowed into the auction,” Maz noted, “After that, it’s up to you. But if you get caught with your hand in the biscuit bin, there won’t be a nice trial and punishment, you know. These people will kill you.”

“Fun,” I whispered under my breath.

“Your friend sounds charming,” Mom said dryly.

“Meh,” Maz shrugged, “Rich, yes. Charm? Charm was never her strong point.”

“I still think we should see who and what is on this list before we commit to any action,” Rieekan objected once again, “Maz, can you share what you have?”

“It will come over encrypted,” Maz said before a sudden noise interrupted her, “Have to go, hope I see you in Coronet City. Especially you, Dameron. And wear something nice. This Canto Bight fellow is quite dapper, I hear,” Maz blew a kiss to Poe, “Tah!”

She disconnected and I leaned over discreetly to my boyfriend, “Looks like I’ve got competition.” The comment earned me an elbow in my side, it was well worth it to watch his face change ten shades of red.

“Did we get the partial list?” Mom asked Connix.

“She just sent the invitations,” she answered as she searched her data pad, “No list yet.”

“Thoughts, while we’re waiting?” Mom asked our group.

Eventually, with a little more discussion, it was decided that Shriv would take command of a squadron and head to Bracca. They were to collect as many star fighters as they were able to. Wedge had pulled Mom and Poe into a conversation where I overheard him proposing he should be the one to go to Corellia and get the list. Mom was just suggesting we wait and see the list when Connix announced it was transmitting. The holo appeared, branded with the First Order logo. Sure enough, there was a partial list of names and last known locations under the title ’Subversives’.

“Hey, Poe,” Finn said as he came to stand with us, “You’re finally on someone’s most-wanted.”

I quickly scanned down the list to see Poe’s initials with the word Crait next to it. A chill ran down my spine, I’d always known with our reputations that we were both high on the First Order’s kill list. But knowing and seeing were two different things and seeing his name made what we were doing feel all the more real. My own initials rested at the very top of the list, I wasn’t sure if it was organized by most wanted. If so, I knew exactly who wanted me dead that bad. I’d always feared for Poe’s life more than my own, but Crait had been a sobering experience. It had shown me just how much I didn’t want to die.

The tips of Poe’s fingers brushed the back of my hand lightly, just enough to let me know he was there. Had we not been in a room full of people, I would have been seeking comfort in his arms.

“This is an assassination list.” Norra’s voice broke my thoughts, “This is why we can’t find our allies. They’re hunting them down, one by one.”

“Well, they’re not going to get us,” Finn said confidently. I wished I was as steady as he was in the moment.

We looked over the rest of the list, it included the names of those currently detained and those they were planning on arresting. Next to their initials were their reason for arrest, which all sounded ridiculous. Something as simple as questioning a directive would get them imprisoned.

“So Maz’s friend can decode these names for us?” I asked, finally having drained the fear from my voice.

“That’s my understanding,” Mom said quietly, her eyes were still scanning the list.

“It’s smart,” Wedge observed, “The auction list, I mean. Offer enough information to make people think that someone they know is on the list but with no guarantees.”

“People will pay their last credits for even the possibility of finding their missing loved ones,” Norra added.

“When it could all be a false hope,” Snap voiced the , fear we were all trying to ignore, “Foolish people and foolish dreams.”

“Nothing foolish about hope,” Rey mumbled from nearby, I turned and we shared a knowing smile.

There was more talk and guessing as to who the initials might belong to. There were titles like senator and diplomat all the way to celebrities and athletes. Those thought dead now stood a chance at being alive. Poe turned to Mom to ask if we would go through with the plan. She suddenly appeared much older than she actually was, trembling and silent with her eyes glazed with tears. Poe and I were on each side of her instantly.

“What is it?” he asked with a protective hand on her shoulder, “Are you okay?”

“Mom,” I whispered, holding onto her waist, “Talk to me. Do you need to rest?”

She looked up with tear streaks painting her face, her lips curved into a smile. “It’s the list” she said in disbelief, “I-I never knew. I thought he was gone.”


“Who?” Poe asked.

“An old friend,” she said as she patted our hands in reassurance that she was alright. We cautiously let go and went back to our spots next to her, keeping a close eye on her. “And if I’m reading it right, he’s being held on Coronet City."

As we discussed the possibility that it could all be a trap, it began to feel less like one. Mom now had another fire lit under her at the thought of being reunited with her old friend and though it was risky, it felt like a chance we needed to take.

“So we’re going after the list?” Poe asked after a moment.

Mom looked around the room and gauged everyone’s reactions. For the most part, we’d reached an agreement. “Yes, and the ships. And if you can, Senator Casterfo.”

“Leia,” Yendor said, shocked, “Do you think it could be?”

She gave a single nod. Whoever this person was, he meant something to a lot of people.

“And if we can’t?” I asked, hating to be pessimistic and dash my mother’s hope, ”What happens if it’s not him?”

Mom let out a heavy breath, “Then I’m a fool. But it doesn’t change our mission. We rescue those prisoners, anyway.”

I wanted it to be the person she was searching for. She needed a win after all she’d been though the past week. We all did.

Shriv confirmed that he had his team together to go to Bracca. Charth said that he would join Poe at the party with the invitation for the Ryloth ambassador. Wedge and Norra volunteered to go to Coronet City and retrieve the ships we needed. As Poe dismissed them, the pressure amplified. Three teams with three missions and the survival of the Resistance resting on their backs. While I still had doubts and there were a million ways any one of the plans could go wrong, I had faith. More than that, I had hope. I was so wrapped in my thoughts, I didn’t even realize there was a conversation happening next to me until Mom bumped me with her cane.

“Where’s your head, Commander?” Mom asked, Poe was beside her watching me carefully. Probably to make sure I wasn’t ready to fall apart, but I was far from it.

“In the future,” I answered firmly, “With the Resistance thriving.”

Mom smiled proudly, “Good answer.” She turned to leave, but Poe’s call of her name stopped her.

“What you said, about the First Order being on Ryloth,” he said, “Do you think it’s safe for you and Rieekan and the others to stay?”

She shook her head, “No. But there is no ‘somewhere safe’ for us anymore. We’ll stay as long as we can, monitor the missions and give tactical support.”

The fear was gnawing away at my stomach at the thought of the First Order figuring out where we were. I didn’t want us to get hit just as we were gaining a little bit of ground. “What happens if the First Order finds us?”

Mom sighed and patted both our arms, “Then we do what we always do, fight.”

Poe and I were left in silence, a few conversations continuing softly as people left the war room. It was a heavy thought Mom had left us with. But it caused another surge of determination to run through me, failure wasn’t an option.

“You good?” Poe asked, sliding a hand up my lower back.

“Yeah,” I replied, looking up to meet his wondering gaze, “C’mon, we’ve got work to do.”

“Hold on, speedy,” he laughed under his breath as he pulled me back to my spot, “We’ve got an important matter at hand.”

I narrowed my eyes in confusion as he took hold of both my hands. I quickly looked around to see that we were the last two people in the war room.

“It seems like I’m in need of a wife,” he said, referencing the invitation, “And I was wondering if you would do me the honor of…wait.”

Poe dropped to one knee, keeping my hands locked with his. The sincerity in his eyes made my heart flutter as we took advantage of a few seconds of intimate silence. “Y/n Solo, will you do me the honor of being my wife for the evening?”

“Poe Dameron,” I grinned, “I would love to be your one night wife.”

He let out an exaggerated exhale of relief, clutching his chest as if he’d thought I would decline. I laughed and began to pull him up, but he stayed planted on the ground. 

“I think you’re forgetting something,” Poe said teasingly, squeezing my hands before releasing them. He reached around to the back of his neck, undoing the chain that lived permanently against his chest. He collected his mother’s ring in his palm and grabbed my hand again.

“Poe,” I protested hurriedly, “I can’t wear-“

“Yes,” he argued with a content smile, “You can. Even in a fake marriage, this is the only ring I’d ever consider giving you.”

I went silent as he slid the ring onto my fourth finger. It fit too perfectly, like it was made for me. I knew the history of who’d worn it before me and I hoped that had she still been alive, Shara would have approved of me. I had to remind myself it wasn’t a real proposal, no matter how much it felt like one.

Poe and I smiled softly at each other as he rose to his full height, pulling me into his arms for the hug I’d longed for since we’d arrived. I dug my head into his shoulder and took a deep breath, inhaling his comforting scent and trying to exhale every anxious thought I had.

“We need to get going,” Poe murmured, reluctantly pulling back from me.

“No, just a little longer,” I pleaded as I tightened my grip around him, “Please.”

Poe responded to my request silently by sinking back into our embrace, his warm palms seeping through my clothing to my skin. He face found its favorite place buried in my neck, pressing a few light kisses against the skin. My hands fisted the orange fabric of his flight suit. It felt like the galaxy had frozen time momentarily for us to simply hold each other. Just a few more seconds, I told myself, then we’d come back to our problems.

————

A/N: If you only knew what a chaotic trio there will be in next week’s chapter...😂 I’m not even going to mess around with adding the taglist because I know tumblr will mess it up again so I’ll place it in the comments. Hope you enjoyed! 🧡

[thoseofgreatambition]

smoking

smoke and roses | prologue | pt 1. get well soon | pt 2. smoking

summary: george is glad to have you back. overjoyed in fact. he writes about flowers now. the nightmares are going away. it would all be perfect, if you would stop trying to sneak in cigarettes. 

a/n: it’s nice to be back and making this series again. i missed it a lot, and i’m happy to be revisiting the topic of grief again and what healing can look like. if you liked marry me, i think you’ll like this. let me know what y’all think please. i love feedback :) 

George’s quill danced across the page, a small smile upon his lips. 

you’re back. 

you’re back you’re back you’re back. 

you’re here. 

you’re here. no kisses is fine.

waiting is fine. 

you’re walking.

you’re smiling. 

you’re joking. 

He stopped writing for a moment, sniffing the air out in the garden as you came closer. George frowned at you as you came closer to him. 

He wrote one last line. 

now if you’d stop fucking smoking. 

“You smell terrible, Y/N.”

The scowl you gave him would have made a weaker man wither. “Want to say that in a nicer way?” 

“No, you said you’d stop smoking.” 

“It was my first cigarette in a week and a half! I think I’ve done very well.” 

George however seemed less than impressed. “You’ve just gotten out of the hospital.” 

“Two months ago--” 

“After being in there for a year.” 

It seemed that a stare down was in order, as you refused to break eye contact with the man. 

“I’m doing my best.” 

“It’s a terrible habit.” 

That you couldn’t deny. You’d picked it up in your sixth year, and Fred had picked it up from you.

George had always been the one to scold you for it. He’d ratted out Fred to Molly which had gotten the poor boy into a great deal of trouble. He’d gone to tell your parents and had found that both of them were incredibly avid smokers. 

You’d been punished for smoking before you were 17, and giving cigarettes to your friend. It’d been enough to have you quit for a few years. You’d apologized to Molly and gone cold turkey with Fred. 

Then the war happened. And you’d reckoned that there were worse habits you could pick up to deal with the stress. Fred still snuck off with you every once in a while to light one up. 

George had been less than impressed. 

“Pop a mint, Y/N. And no more smoking here. Mum hates it.” 

Your teeth ground together for a moment before you nodded and popped a mint into your mouth. “’m sorry George.” You sat down next to him and leant your head on his shoulder. “Don’t mean to make you worry.”

Like always, you made it hard to stay mad at you. “Show me you’re sorry by stopping it.” 

With a nod, you reached into your coat pocket and handed him the carton of cigarettes “You can take ‘em then. Won’t be needing them.” 

George stared down at the box with a frown, remembering how unhappy he’d been cleaning out Fred’s room and finding an empty carton of cigarettes. “Terrible habit.” 

“It is.” 

“Stupid thing to do when you’re recovering.” 

His voice lacked any real anger behind it. He spoke a great deal like when he was chiding his siblings on something they ought not do. A gentle voice that still remained stern enough to get a point across. 

“You’re right.” 

“What made you want to smoke anyways?” George reckoned he was undermining his point by pulling you closer and wrapping an arm around you. But the smell of roses from your conditioner was quite nice, and it truly was impossible for him to keep you at an arms length. 

Your silence spoke volumes. He glanced down at you with a larger frown. This time his tone was worried. 

“You’ll be cross with me if I tell you.” there was an odd thread in your voice that he couldn’t quite tie to an emotion. 

He used the same tactic he had when he was younger. A joke. “Can’t be that bad can it? Sure I’ve done worse. Surely you remember me and Fred’s exit from Hogwarts.” 

Tears stung your eyes and your chest seemed to tighten up. A rather painful thing now. When you’d been in the hospital your strep throat had turned into pneumonia pretty quickly, which had led to a whole host of other problems. Any tightness in your chest just served as a reminder of that time. 

Really, you’d been quite stupid for smoking. 

“When I got sick it was just three months after the war, you know? Not that long. And I was in there for a year...” your voice trailed off, unsure of what you were really trying to say. “And everything is different now, you know? It feels like everyone’s moved on and I don’t know how or I’ve missed the boat... and I just...” 

Again you fell silent. Truly you felt awful for bringing this up, especially when George was having such a good time adjusting to it all. 

It was almost a year and a half now, and to you it felt like a much shorter time. 

“I’m sad about it all.” your voice fell even more quiet. “And I really miss Freddie.” 

You’d expected to be chided about how silly that all was. What a foolish reason to pick up a bad habit. Instead you found yourself being hugged so tightly you lost your breath for a moment. Tears welled in your eyes as you gently gripped George’s shirt. 

“Why would I be cross about that?” his voice was muffeled against your neck. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s normal to be sad. I’m sad too.” 

Your eyes burned for a moment. “I thought you’d think it was silly because it’s been so long since it happened.” 

“Eighteen months isn’t long at all, Y/N.” he held you even tighter against him. “We knew him for years. Probably going to keep being sad for a while.” 

When the tears finally began to fall you gripped onto him even tighter. You weren’t even sure what there was to cry about if it was okay to be sad. The tightness in your chest scared you, and resulted into you gripping onto George painfully tight. 

Gently, he rocked you back and forth, allowing his own tears to fall. “Why don’t we go inside and you can lay down. You’re still getting better. A nap will help out.” 

There was a small nod from you. “Can I nap in your room?” Something about being closer to George made the tightness in your chest feel smoothed away. 

“‘Course. I could use a nap too.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

You had fallen asleep incredibly quickly. Immediately asleep as you hit the pillow of Fred’s old bed. 

George’s brow knitted itself together as he watched your breathing even out. Just why would you think he’d be cross with you? 

Some days seemed like everything was back to normal, and other days you seemed close to tears. Perhaps you didn’t notice yet that most everyone else felt the same way too. 

There was quite a loving look on his face as he spoke softly, “Numpty.” 

He tried to write once more and simply found that his words wouldn’t come out right. Hot tears began to escape him, which he simply did his best to wipe away. When he’d smelled the smell of cigarettes as you came towards him before, he’d half expected to have Fred trying to hide behind you, making jokes about what a terrible influence you were and that George shouldn’t be mad at him. 

Then you would laugh and try to push Fred in front of you and say if he was so brave he should be able to resist temptation. 

He’d been so frustrated before when that would happen but now it seemed to be a rather fond memory. 

You opened your eyes and found yourself staring at a crying George.

“Are you sad too, Georgie?” 

He wiped away his tears the best he could and gave you a smile. “Yeah. ‘m sad too.” 

You held out your arms from underneath your blanket. “Need a cuddle?” 

George nodded silently before crawling underneath the blankets and wrapping his arms around you. A rather squished fit seeing as how small the bed was, but you nuzzled into him and any discomfort faded away. “Yeah. A cuddle sounds good.” 

With a hum you closed your eyes. “Do I still smell bad from the smoking?” 

His chest vibrated underneath you as he laughed. “A little. But that won’t be a problem anymore, will it?” 

He was rubbing circles onto your bath as you shook your head. “Nah. Not a problem anymore.” 

George still found himself crying, but still managed to smile up at the ceiling. 

“Good.” 

He needed you healthy, after all. 

George wasn’t sure how he would handle you getting sick again. 

“’ts really good, Y/N.” 

He half expected a response before realizing you were asleep again. 

You weren’t perfect, but he loved you for it. 

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[ishkah]

A Love Letter To Failing Upward

Failing upward is simply the concept of failing by mainstream standards and yet achieving more fulfilling outcomes in the long run. Often this is connected to a feeling of unlocking opportunities you didn’t even know existed.

-

Power – Failing to take every opportunity to lead from the front

Due to the unfair distribution of power in society in the hands of very few, the good any one person can strive to achieve is immense, because one can imagine wielding the kind of power those at the top currently have to do good. But this power is unnatainable to many.

So, like how a figure like Bernie Sanders could have harnessed the position of presidency to do lots of good, how he did educate the masses on the positives of socialised government institutions and, if he’d gotten into power, mobilise a grassroots movement to demonstrate and strike to push through bills.

But, most importantly power can be a mirage. It’s the carrot dangled in front just beyond our reach. We need to create opportunities for ourselves, to achieve great acts of good on our own, like the personal heroism of people flying to Syria to fight Islamic Fascism or organising edible gardens in low-income neighbourhoods.

As well, even though we may cherish those opportunites to do great deeds today, counter-intuitively, the goal should be to move to a world where grand feats of good deeds aren’t necessary or possible. So that more people get a chance to strive to do good.

So a move to devolve government power to a multi-party system through preferential voting, to… Some local government positions being elected by sortition, to… The majority of society being so content with worker-co-ops and syndicalist unions that we transition from representative democracy to direct democracy. So, a chamber of ministers to federated spokes councils.

We all know the experience of living under a conservative culture that accepts bigoted assumptions.  And we all know of certain unproductive actions which some counter-cultures have dogmatically valorized as the best form of resistance.  Both cultures incuclate their members with a ‘willing epistemology of ignorance.’  That is, a conspiracy to fail to view the world as it is, in exchange for the benefits being a member of that cultural group.

In response, we can simply work hard to fail to be swayed by the fear of what embracing radical compassion will turn you into.  Therefore, we must avoid the pitfalls of an illusory politics of resistance which wears its activists out faster than it inspires lasting change.

-

Time – Failing to rush to achieve a bunch of outcomes without fully considering the value.

With the ever expanding knowledge each new generation is able to harness, the hard material outcomes of our goals in life will always be out performed better or faster than before.

So, while some people fret about failing against others, which makes them feel their life is not worth living, you, by failing to set strict goals for yourself and instead giving a leg up to those around you, can just observe everyone acting around you, contemplate your time and place in history and experience a peace of mind knowing you’re part of the fabric of everything.

We were nothing before we were born and we’ll be nothing again after we’re dead. The zoomed out size of the universe and length of time we aren’t around for overwhelms the blip of time we are here. This not-self follows us like a shadow throughout our life, like a chalk outline on the pavement, with every less able iteration of ourselves in between, refracted along a scale and merging back into the universe with other people’s similar layers.

A philosophical denial is just a view, a theory… it does not get one actually to examine all/ the things that one really does identify with… as ‘self’ or ‘I’, / This examination, in a calm meditative context, is what the not-self teaching aims at. It is not so much a thing to be thought about as to be done.

Finally allow ideas to percolate to the surface, don’t rush to nail down what an experience meant to you for time in perpetuity.

-

Authenticity – Failing to modify your behaviour to be more comprehensible

It can be annoying or hurtful for others to presume they know everything about you, but rather than assert their wrongness and make them defensive, you can acknowledge it as a common human failing and find nice creative ways to hold a mirror up to what life experiences they’ve had that lead them to jump to that conclusion.

One way is a kind of playful authenticity, telling a lie about a lie, to get back closer to the truth. So don’t outright challenge the idea, but don’t live up to it either, in fact live down to it. Playfully undermine the idea by failing to live up to the glamour of what it would mean to be that person, then find a way of revealing that it was a misunderstanding all along, so they needn’t worry about it applying to you.

-

The Middle Way – Failing to achieve short term gratification

Take satisfaction in starting a project with the tools at your disposal in which you have no idea whether it’ll ever be valuable to others, just that you learnt something new and that you really enjoyed the process.

There’s a quote I really like from the Tao Te Ching which explains how we can harness our higher inner character through acting with a conscious awareness about the way the universe works:

The way of heaven is like the bending of a bow. The high is lowered, and the low is raised. If the string is too long, it is shortened; If there is not enough, it is made longer.

The way of heaven is to take from those who have too much and give to those who do not have enough. Man’s way is different. He takes from those who do not have enough to give to those who already have too much.

.

Knowledge – Failing to keep track of every piece of information

It’s great to live with people who are observant of clues as to your mindset and can offer suggestions to help you or give you the room to learn from your own mistakes where the consequences aren’t dramatic.

It’s less useful to try and acquire every piece of gossip about a person and come into interactions with funny presumptions about who they are and why they act the way they do.

-

Meaning – Failing to live up to expectations

Through having an accurate accounting of some of the worst possible outcomes at any moment and having a healthy way of coming to terms with that, we can truly decide if the road we want to be on us is as much ‘our choice’ as anything can be.

Compassionate comedy for the wholesomeness of peoples mistakes is one really great way of feeling comfortable in your own skin. In being able to laugh at ourselves, we can feel freer to experiment and enjoy a culture with more complex forms of expression being understood.

-

Vulnerability – Failing to avoid pain

Love is the feeling that you almost had no other choice than pursuing the road you’re on. It’s both a scary feeling for opening yourself up to pain and a wonderful feeling for realising a passionate interest you may not have even been aware you had. Embrace it.

-

[naerwenia]

Face of the Empire

So, here's a fic I wrote one night after getting an idea, where Eshka is recruited by Thrawn to work for COMPNOR, to be a face for alien acceptance in the Empire. This was supposed to be a longer story, but I realized I don't actually have a plan for the plot, so this is all for now. Maybe I complete this one day. For now, it's just an unfinished idea without a point, about Grand Admiral Thrawn and my OC/Star Wars rpg character Eshka Kith'lya (who's actually full Bothan rather than just half like in this fic). I tried to smooth out some weird sentences, but I am just a human. When she thought about her future, she didn’t see herself as someone who would ever work for the Empire. She was an anarchist, educated, and more importantly, alien, a half-Bothan to be exact. Not someone who would ever look to work for the Empire, yet here she was, smiling for a picture as the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order crafted the next poster to be spread around, with Eshka as the face of lies.

University of Bar’leth was not the Hutt's first choice for Eshka. He wanted her to continue her studies in Coruscant but new policies prevented that. Credits would have solved that but what good would forcing an alien into an all-human university do? All the politics working in that situation would undermine the core education she was there to get. Her major was medicine, not political science. All social skills and charm were to be learnt on the side while maneuvering in the social circles of university life. Even Eshka knew she wasn’t there to just learn, she had to gather life-long connections, knowledge, and make sure her name would be known. Even if she didn’t have to do all that, her loyalty to the Hutt meant she had to obey his every word. If she didn’t, there was no reason for him to keep her around, she just cost him credits and sometimes gave him a headache, but soon she would take her place in the high society and get to pay back the Hutt’s kindness.

It really was kindness that made him take her under his wing, if any Hutt ever happened to have such quality. He had promised her parents that the girl would get an education and everything she needed, but she’d have to pay back in the end. No amount of credits would pay back the life Eshka was given, but information and favours might, and she was sure if need be, she would be shipped to a foreign lord to secure an alliance. Eshka had her own life until she didn’t, and she was aware of it. This deal, however unbalanced, didn’t come without positives though. Her freedom had been exchanged for fancy dances, extravagant gowns, education, and a name she could drop to get herself out of trouble: Marlo, Leader of the Hutt Council. There was, however, an acknowledgement that if she used that name frivolously, she tied her own name to him even more, and being known as one of the Hutt’s women was not what she wanted. Eshka was a doctor, a half-Bothan, taken care of monetarily by Marlo. That was the lie Eshka told herself, and got most to believe.

That was the first sentence Eshka learnt to tell without it sounding like a lie. She learnt to twist words, to make up the truth she wanted. The way she told everyone what she wanted them to hear, what she wanted them to know, just choosing not to tell the whole truth, just the words that the audience needed to hear. This was the lesson Eshka had learnt from Hutts. If nothing else, she knew how to speak and find her way up the social ladder. Each and every word had such a weight to it, and Eshka hated it. No matter how good she was with the words, she didn’t know how to express her feelings, to give words true meaning. It probably had something to do with the fact she never had a chance to do so. She had friends, caretakers, people to look up to, but also a distant Hutt as the closest thing to a twisted father-figure, so she learnt to keep her distance, to give people what they needed to keep them indebted to her, to have their trust, yet not show what she truly wanted, because she didn’t know that herself.

Not a sound escaped from the lips of the debutantes, the ballroom just stood in silence after Eshka’s impromptu speech. Her voice shook, as the weight of the words shattered any mask she might have been wearing that night. This was not the place she was supposed to be in. This was not her place. She had just told a hall full of young Imperial officers and privileged university students that the only way to peace is through understanding and encouraging societies to govern themselves democratically through local governments, that the Empire may overlook the small, the helpless, less fortunate who were also looked over by the majority, the Emperor is not omnipotent and governing from this ballroom full of gold and crystals is madness, we don’t even know what happens underground at Coruscant, even one floor below, not to mention at the Outer Rim. Too much, she had said too much and at the wrong place. Soon the guards would take her away, she may have been under the protection of a Hutt but spreading rebellious propaganda was a crime. She was an alien, they would take her away, she would lose everything, and these words were her last action, not to be remembered by anyone. An act of resistance in the ivory tower, tears drowned in rain, not even a ripple to be seen in the great ocean of consequences.

“And the only way to prevent this ignorance and lack of oversight is through you, Officers. You are the hands and ears of the Empire, through you, there is peace in the Galaxy”, said a male voice next to Eshka, turning her resistance into Imperial propaganda with just a few words. Eshka knew that voice. It was made of the same weight as hers usually was, one to omit words to tell the truth they wanted in a way that furthered their ideals. Calculated, thought through, precise. They knew what they wanted and Eshka’s sudden outburst only furthered their goals in attending this god-forsaken ball. She was left deciding if she wanted to embarrass herself even more or go with this new narrative. But there was no choice to make as applause arose from the audience, cheering, as the poignant and uncomfortable truth was turned to a morale boost of the century, only assuring the Imperial cadets of their own importance. Only when her hand was taken by the man next to her did she realize that she had just stared blankly at the crowd, and quickly turned her head to see who had taken her hand, the one to lead her out of the trouble she had created for herself. A man in a white suit, red eyes smiling at her. No, she thought, wanting to cry out and run. No, she yelled in her mind as he guided her down the stairs to the dancefloor. No, she screamed yet no words could escape her dry lips. There was no air to fill her lungs so she could express the abject horror she was feeling in the arms of Grand Admiral Thrawn. His grip was tight around her waist, his skin warm against her back, his hand in her hand even hotter, his eyes burning. This is my end, she thought, making peace with herself that she would die in the hands of her enemy, being whisked away after a dance for the greatness of the Empire. Ironic.

As the music stopped, he bowed but did not let go of her hand. “My lady, you look awfully pale. May I offer you some refreshments, and maybe let you sit down?” he said, leading her to the back. He could smell my fear, Eshka said to herself in a haze. He led her to a small room with a chaise lounge, made her sit there and ordered a maid to bring drinks for “my lady”. Eshka wanted to throw up, but only closed her eyes to help herself to gather her own thoughts somewhere else. At least the Grand Admiral gave her the time to catch her breath, then water. Just then she realized, embarrassment crept to her; she, a common student, was keeping Grand Admiral waiting. As soon as the moment really hit her, Eshka had a choice to be made: mask or truth. This time, she decided to let the man talk before she wanted to make her decision, but she had a feeling the Chiss might be already scheming.

“I am terribly sorry for my outburst, Grand Admiral, I may have, no, I stepped over my line, and embarrassed everyone. You saved me as my nerves got to me, and I couldn’t get a word out. You even saved my pride, danced with me, like I hadn’t just fallen into the back of my…” Eshka rambled, but Thrawn silenced her with one look and a hand movement. Nothing got past him. He knew.

“After your insolent speech and blatant propaganda in front of the finest of the Empire…”

“You don’t believe that”.

A smirk on both of their faces.

“But you could make it true”.

That caught Eshka off-guard. What on the Galaxy did he talk about?

“You clearly have a way with words, and know how to make your speech heartfelt, even if misguided for now. So I propose an offer in exchange for me sweeping any accusation that may arise from tonight, you join the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order. You have a human face, which humans find the most appealing, but have features of an alien. The posters…” the Grand Admiral says, looking for the word.

“Propaganda” Eshka suggested, still not exactly knowing what he was going for.

“Propaganda, or information war, needs to appeal to aliens too. You are both. Human and alien, delightfully both.”

Eshka didn’t quite understand, and the word “delightfully” was used so casually she wanted to question him even more. Delightful? She took a deep breath before answering, looking at the floor.

“I’m sorry to inform you that I am not in a position to accept your offer. I am in debt to Marlo the Hutt, who has decided in his great wisdom that I must study medicine and serve him..”

Thrawn seems slightly confused, seeming not to quite catch the meaning of your words though he understood the meaning of each word, so Eshka tried to extrapolate.

“He has given me a life, I am in debt with my life”, she added, and he nodded, understanding the depth of the issue.

“In that case, I still have an upper hand. Either he lets you go to prison, have you disgraced, or lets you join. Then you have the same choice.”

“I… Have a choice?” Eshka asked, not quite believing it, but was put back down immediately.

“No”, Thrawn snapped, his eyes watching her breathing stop and demeanor withdraw back to one of a cornered animal. Interesting. Delightful.

“Then my life is in your hands, Grand Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo”, she said in Sy Bisti, with the final chance to plead and beg, and to get one last word in the conversation. The situation was bad, but it could be worse. He might not care at all about her and just liked to play some holochess with her mind, maybe thinking there’s others that shared her beliefs and she was a way to get to them, or he just wanted to save the face of the ball. Probably that, and some sadistic pleasure he got from making her submit. Submit.

------------

“Do you wish to know your value?” Thrawn asked as he escorted Eshka to the Lambda shuttle, ready to leave Bar’leth and move back to Coruscant, this time in service of the Empire rather than a Hutt.

“If it is in credits, no”, she answered, a bit annoyed, thinking it wasn’t worth knowing she was worthless, especially to a Hutt or to her new employer. However, Thrawn just smiled to himself.

“You underestimate yourself, miss”, he said, “You are worth much more than a chip with numbers, in fact, you have proved useful already, so I must thank you on behalf of the Empire”.

She shuddered. Empire. Useful to the Empire.

“You understand loyalty, so you will learn soon enough.”

“Is this a way for you to play mind games or rid out resistance before it has been born? Because either way, I am only here to enlist my help to the Commission and pay my debt to you the best way I can. No matter what you say, I do not think I will change my mind about the Empire”, Eshka retorted back, letting the Stormtroopers carry her luggage to the back of the shuttle, and sat on an isolated seat, yet when Admiral took the seat next to her, it felt cramped. And only four troopers were with them. The flight wasn’t long, at least it wasn't supposed to be.

“So, I believe you have questions. May I inquire what you are thinking?” Thrawn asked, with a voice that sounded almost soft for him. Eshka took note of that, replaying the sound of his voice to remember it, as she hadn’t heard him talk enough to make an educated guess about his thoughts that made him say those words.

“I was hoping you would have clear instructions for me, and what is my relationship with you, if any, “ Eshka said looking down, then raising her gaze to Thrawn, who, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, looked relaxed, yet his gaze met Eshka with piercing intensity. Shuddering, fear striked right into Eshka. Death was no longer an option. This was the gaze of a man who knew the outcome of this battle, and used this moment only to understand the advantage they had better. Lowering her gaze, she submitted, and this gesture didn’t go unnoticed by the expert tactician.

“You submit to your faith, I see.”

“I have no battle here, so I can not be defeated”, she said, slightly smiling.

“You choose your battles well.”

“Thank you, Admiral”.

A sigh from the Chiss was unexpected, yet a weirdly humanizing touch. “You may address me as ‘sir’ from now on. Unless you are in a formal setting, then Grand Admiral Thrawn. If you wish to call me by my full name, you may, but I assume you know the right situations for that.” Sentimental reasons, he keeps me close, too close, Eshka thought.

“You have been given a position in the Commission as an alien relations specialist, you will serve as the face and spokesperson in that area. Your position will include information influencing campaigns, which will have you attending balls and giving speeches. You will be an exemplary Imperial civilian to others like us, someone to look up to.

“You are just an insolent child, privileged and rich, a teenager who is trying to rebel and does not understand what troubles their parents went through to secure your position in a society that has nothing but contempt for you. So what I am giving you is an opportunity to change the system from the inside, just like your parents did, but with more support. The success of a system is not on the shoulders of the leader as much as it is on the ones who serve. The lead gives the command, but the success depends on the ones who carry out the order.” Silence filled the room between the two of them like a thick fog, clouding the true intentions of Thrawn.

“I didn’t think you would care that much about politics”

“I do not, but some changes are inevitable for the system to work better in the future. I do not care for politics, pleasing others is not in my nature, but this is something that has to be done in order for the Empire to win this war”.

“The Empire values the needs of the many over the needs of the few, how does propaganda help my kind?”

“You misunderstand. The majority is the only one who may give betterment to the minority, but if the minority rebels against the majority, there will be no acceptance, and no moving forward. At the moment, species other than humans see their options as joining the Empire, which does not care for them, or active resistance with the Rebellion. But there is a third option. Compliance. You will be the face of compliance and order. Comply to the orders and you shall be rewarded.

“With basic rights?”

“At the moment, yes. But isn’t it better to comply with one unfair order so that you may live to the next day and then receive what you deserve?

“Or your oppressor takes your compliance as a sign that the order is not unreasonable, and continues with that.

“Could be, but do you not want to see what you could do to change that sentiment?”

“I could never side with the Empire”

“But would you join me, Chiss?”

“You work for the Empire, you line your ideals with the Empire.”

“My goals line with the Empire, and my loyalty is towards the Empire. But I am a Chiss, I serve my people too. Even after they exiled me, I will see that they are safe in the Galaxy.”

“I admire your loyalty, sir” Eshka responded, with soft fondness for the Admiral at that moment, as she had to face the fact that she was not really part of any group. Not human, not Bothan, not a Hutt, definitely not part of the cartels or any organization. Any place she ever lived in was not her home planet, she never really had a home. There was no sentimentality, there was only logic governing her life, she understood that, but now, as an alien soldier who

“So, who are you?”

“I’m sorry, what?” The question caught Eshka off-guard.

“You want so many things for those around you, yet don’t talk about anything related to who you are. So tell me, who is the Eshka sitting next to me?”

Who am I? “I’m… Eshka, I’m … “ and silence filled with anticipation on behalf of Eshka, who was trying to find anything to answer with. Yes, she studied to be a doctor, but that was not on the table anymore. Saying half-human, half-Bothan sounded weird. “A girl?” she continued, looking at Thrawn, expecting him to tell her if this was the right answer.

“No no, you have to know that for yourself. Now, you may continue, or do you wish to keep me waiting until you realize yourself?” he said snidely. Embarrassment coursed through Eshka’s veins, infecting her cheeks and tongue, making her unable to respond in any other way than just saying “I’m sorry, sir”.

---------

Grand Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo watched the sad and small woman lie in her recliner, sleeping soundly in the vastness of space. A canvas for a different kind of art found lost in the galaxy. Emotional to the point of being a flaw, yet unaware of her self. Chaotic, yet logical and smart. Lonely, but altruistic. She needed guidance, and he needed someone to be a force for acceptance. No matter how well Thrawn did in the military and kept to himself, the world he was fighting for was not always kind to him. Order and peace were what he was fighting for, but if Eshka could soften the Imperium’s people’s attitudes towards both of them, his position might not be questioned so often and he would be able to focus on fighting the rebellion. Humans liked cute things like Porgs and doves, and Eshka seemed to fit the idea of cute, but had some visible Bothan features like nose, eyes, and ears. Otherwise her body reminded him of paintings from Togruta: colourful, sweet, vibrant.

Eshka tossed and turned, clearly distressed in her dreams now. Thrawn sat up and got on his feet, taking one step towards the sleeping lady, only to kneel next to her and putting his warm hand on her shoulder. Simple trick to calm humanoids, and it worked on Eshka. Her breathing calmed and her shoulders relaxed. A moment later Thrawn turned back to his chair. Maybe he should catch sleep too, even if his metabolism didn’t really need it. What he needed was a clear idea of what he wanted Eshka to be. The lack of self-awareness she had played into his hand, and the way she was trained by Hutts was good; always ready to please, understanding of her own lack of agency, loyalty to the contract, but it also made Thrawn angry, the way she was denied any closeness and made to grow up without a strong sense of self. No culture, no customs, nothing but humans of Coruscant and Bar’leth who ostracized her and made her build herself to fit in wherever she went. She was a blank slate, and Thrawn would build her to a perfect woman who would no longer submit to anyone but him. She was not a slave, but he wanted her to wear chains of diamonds. What a weird thought, Thrawn stopped. Maybe it was related to the conversation he had had with Marlo the Hutt. It had been the first time Thrawn had to interact with a Hutt, and he surely hoped it would be the last. Arrogant and cunning, almost catching Thrawn's intentions, yet not useful in the long run, as he got a crash course in the politics within the cartel and now knew to limit any contact with them unless absolutely necessary. It was funny how well the Hutt knew the value in Eshka, yet could keep the knowledge so out of her reach. Just telling Marlo Eshka was going to be executed for treason didn’t sway him, he even laughed straight at Thrawn’s face, telling him no one could touch her for such a small thing, and why would such a high-ranking officer come there just to inform him? No, it had to be more personal, and if Thrawn wanted the girl, he had to give more than credits, in fact, credits were useless in this matter. Frustrating, but fruitful conversation ensued. The puppet changed owners, and there were new plans on the works.

------------

Eshka put her hand on the glass, watching the view in front of her, city lights dancing in her eyes. When taking the job, she thought she was going to be living somewhere underground, with low-class officers if she was lucky, but here she was, in the same building with high-ranking officers. She could see the sky, star destroyer’s lights, the roofs of smaller buildings. It was beautiful, but the loneliness grew in her. There was a whole sky to share, yet here she was, alone above everyone.

Perfect, she was perfect. A gown made of stars, extravagant to many but tasteful for Coruscant. Lights reflecting from the velvety fabric made it look like the whole galaxy was moving as she moved and danced. Eshka, however, felt weird. It wasn’t the first time someone else chose a dress for her, but she didn’t think the Grand Admiral would be the one to do so. Yet his love for control was enough to explain this, but not why she was invited to a banquet for Imperial Officers and socialites of the city. When moving, Eshka had sold her formal dresses to get some money for savings, as she wasn’t sure how much she would be compensated for her work, and she thought there was no need for formal attire, or at least hoped she could hide from the public eye as she was working in her position, but she should have known better. Thrawn wanted her to change the perception humans had of aliens and be the face of the Empire, so why would it not include actual face-to-face meetings or larger events too. She only knew Thrawn and the director of COMPNOR there, maybe some officer she had brushed by at other social gatherings, but if most were military personnel, she had no idea what she could talk with them about. Small talk, flirt? Those should be enough for this time, just feel the atmosphere and plan for the next event. Lose a battle to win the war, and so on. Even if she didn’t like what she was doing in relation to her employer, she had to admit not everyone had the same opportunities to choose sides in the Galaxy, and if she could change some views in the higher ups, she had done something right.

A deep breath, name said aloud, and Eshka stepped in a tall room with chandeliers illuminating the glass cage high above the city. Curious looks were exchanged between guests as Eshka moved inside the room, looking around for a good guest she might be able to introduce herself to. She kept a soft smile on her face, bowed her head as she maneuvered around people already deep in conversations, not letting a single one of the guests to think for a moment she was intimidated. She didn’t know anything about the military, she would say to herself, she was there only to have fun and drink the Corellian wine people spoke so highly of.

An officer with six blue and red taps, probably an admiral or a marshal, was standing by himself with a whiskey in his hand by a window looking a bit uncomfortable in such an open space with people other than military troops. A good start, Eshka thought to herself and joined the gentleman. Starting the conversation with a quip about whiskey seemed to work in Eshka’s favour, just like a light-hearted joke about not taking alcohol well opened the older man to Eshka, and she was just happy it was working. Marshal Kof’ral was surprisingly sweet, considering he was one who had dedicated his life to the military, nowadays commanding his own ground fleet. With whiskey in one hand and Eshka’s hand in the other, he took her to the bar to tell her more about the whiskeys. Few younger officers joined them, clearly new to the setting, but the Marshal knew them and invited them to join the lesson on whiskeys around the galaxy. The officers, however, weren’t too enamored by Eshka, in fact, they seemed to enjoy the jokes they could make at her expense than the whiskey, but let their hands wander down her back. Marshall just laughed with them, so Eshka did too even when it hurt a bit. This wasn’t the place to confront them, this was just to introduce herself to the high society. Thankfully, the dinner was to start soon, so Eshka got the chance to excuse herself from the situation, telling the men she needed to add some face powder before the dinner.

Just a few more hours, I can make it, she told herself, looking at the mirror in the bathroom. Maybe there’s no need to have a conversation with the one next to me, whoever they may be. A racist who hates me, they wouldn’t talk to me, or someone nice, it’s going to be just fine.

When she finally stepped back to the hall, she was escorted to the dining room and seated. Next to Grand Admiral Thrawn. Both relieved and nervous, she didn’t know how to react. There was a lady next to him on his left side and Eshka thought it might be his date. Before Thrawn could even say a word to Eshka, a council member was seated next to her, taking her attention with a flirty greeting. Bail Carivus, a politician from a long family line of legislators and senators, and him talking to Eshka with such empty praises was infuriating to Thrawn, yet Eshka didn’t seem to mind, only blushing and giggling.

“And who is this serious man you are next to?” Carivus asked, flashing a condescending smile to Thrawn, and pure hate flashed in Thrawn’s eyes before Eshka could see it.

“Oh, he is Grand Admiral Thrawn, the captain of Chimaera”, Eshka said, glee in her voice, like she was proud to introduce the two of them, the opposites of each other. Tension between them just grew with the realization they were from very different worlds.

“It is very nice to meet you, Admiral”, Carivus said, clearly disregarding military ranks, yet offered his hand to Thrawn for a shake. Thrawn took it, if only to not embarrass Eshka.

“As it is to meet you”, Thrawn replied, coldly.

Before the tension grew too much or the silence between them stayed longer than appropriate, the first course was served.

Few times during the dinner Thrawn caught Carivus’ hand laying on Eshka’s thigh, his eyes wandering down her chest, hand “accidentally” brushing her neck, ass, ears. Sleazy, infuriating, with a lack of taste in art, Thrawn thought, trying to keep his cool, but as Eshka got more and more uncomfortable, Thrawn wasn’t sure he liked this part of his plan. As the dinner came to a close, Eshka excused herself, and as soon as she was out of the room, Carivus leaned over to Thrawn with a grin, ready to ask something, but another Admiral came to talk to Thrawn before he could hear the trashy words the sleazebag was trying to say. For a moment, Thrawn forgot that the politician existed. But when the Admirals shook hands, he took notice that Eshka hadn’t returned and Carivus was not there either.

Thrawn didn’t know where Eshka might be, but he had to find her soon, before that poor excuse for a human touched her. He would not tolerate that. A new rule for Eshka to follow was now in order, as soon as she was away from Carivus’ hands; no one was allowed to touch her, no one, there was no social climbing with her body, no matter how beneficial it might be. She may fight and be defeated, but her submission was reserved for Thrawn.

[arcticdementor]

When the old guard goes out of its way to crush a new endeavor, you have to wonder what’s at stake. Nick Solheim and Saurabh Sharma of American Moment are young, devoted, and driven to “forge a cadre of aligned and dedicated young people to serve in government and public-policy organizations to support strong families, a sovereign nation, and prosperity for all.” Why should an editor of National Review—a publication whose very reason for being is ostensibly to energize and guide the conservative movement—want to undermine and discredit this exciting new endeavor in the eyes of his movement conservative audience?

“If you believe the people behind the new organization American Moment,” writes Butler, “the main problem with the Swamp is simply that the wrong people have been in charge. In case you were wondering, they think they are the right people.” How dare they.

I know it’s hard but imagine an organization on the right actually trying to “identify, educate, and credential young Americans who will implement public policy that supports strong families, a sovereign nation, and prosperity for all.”

Imagine if that organization is “not adherent to the morally bankrupt system that is American higher education, so college degrees, as well as prior political experience, are not requirements for admission.”

Imagine if it practices what it preaches, reaching out to find real talent outside of fancy schools or wealthy families: “generous funding is designed to make the fellowship livable with no external income, so young people of all economic means are encouraged to apply.”

It’s—it’s exactly what we need.

The implicit conceit here is that National Review, by contrast, has hardly any aspirations to influence public policy or install conservatives in positions of political power. Judging by the waning influence and failure of establishment conservatism over the last decade or two, we will not fault anyone for believing this to be true. But the clear implication of the snipe is that in the purity of their small-government piety, National Review simply wants to eliminate as many of those positions as possible. This is an impossibility, as well as a lie.

…

The real reason some in the old guard feel threatened by American Moment is not that Solheim and Sharma want to influence politics. It’s that they accuse Conservative, Inc.—that dependable stable of campaign consultants, op-ed writers, and think tank wonks who have dominated intellectual conservatism since the ’80s—of having institutionalized failure. Those accusations hit home.

…

In defense of this outrageous attack, David French said the quiet part out loud: “millions of Americans aren’t doing their best. Indeed, they’re barely trying.” Leave aside for a moment the pure blinkered prejudice of these astonishing statements—their blithe disregard for global economic trends, the ease with which they wave away the constant verbal abuse that poor white Americans receive from well-heeled Democrats and Republicans alike, their unwillingness to entertain the notion that any of this meaningfully contributes to the suffering of middle America. Bracket the evidence crashing down around downwardly-mobile Americans’ heads that their bipartisan elite has spent over twenty years putting their country at odds with their interests and at war with their identities. Even tabling all that, the fact remains: Americans—lots of them—are hurting. Badly. What do establishment conservatives propose to do about that?

The answer is: nothing. No, really. They tell us that government and political leaders can do nothing. “Government Can’t Heal Us, Tucker Carlson,” Kyle Smith insisted in National Review in 2019—as if Carlson’s now-famous monologue suggesting maybe Republicans should craft policies that, you know, actually help their own voters was some form of sacrilege. Smith went on to say that leaders who actually care about us ackshually can’t help us. “Leaders may want” good things “for us, but we should have no illusion that they can provide those things for us,” chided Jim Geraghty. Shut up and lose, in other words. As we said a few years ago, “[t]his anti-politics of principled loserdom is a secular form of homiletics, preaching unheard to the unwashed.”

So perhaps there is one thing that they have elected themselves to do: preach scornfully to demoralize and disparage Republican voters, hurrying up the day that so many have died, retired, or sunk into oblivion that their whole icky demographic has disappeared and been replaced. In other words, exactly what the woke-led Left is doing. But look, our superiors in Conservative, Inc. know they are better Christians and citizens than millions of their fellows, as they like to remind us all daily. For them, tough love for your actual citizen neighbors means telling them how they are responsible for everything bad in America, from racism to the spread of COVID-19.

…

This suicidal “messaging” hasn’t worked electorally in the past and it won’t work in the future. Unless the Republican party prioritizes the ruled classes—not the ruling ones—in its campaigning and policy proposals, we risk squandering the major inroads Trump made, ones that won the Republican Party an unearned second chance at survival. The result will be obsolescence and irrelevance, which are exactly what Conservative, Inc. seems to welcome in its heart. Republicans can keep gaslighting and abusing their core constituency—that “credulous boomer rube demo,” those “childless single men who masturbate to anime”—but it’s not going to end well for the party. Why not do something for the people you’re supposed to be championing, for a change? Why not fight to claw back their trust?

Perhaps because it’s just too late. Maybe Conservative, Inc. is simply too old, too tired, and too compromised to close its yawning credibility gap. In which case, the younger generation of conservative leaders like Sharma and Solheim are to be thanked, even celebrated, for stepping into the breach, and not a moment too soon. Here, on the front lines of restoring the Right to greatness in our time, we support their endeavor unreservedly. How tiresome that anyone who shows initiative of this kind is faced with vicious resistance from movement police lording shamelessly over decline. But if the old guard is really committed to its self-defeating obstructionism, so be it: we don’t need them anyway. In their hearts, conservatives know the new Right has already taken the lead.

…

Spare us the mumbling about William F. Buckley. That was a long time ago now. What Buckley accomplished was to bring a coalition together and lead it forward into battle. When National Review publishes dumb and vindictive attacks on American Moment, the Claremont Institute, and all those mendacious poor whites voting for The Donald, it reveals it is incapable of that task today. This is no longer about “having the debate” or hosting various viewpoints. This is a rudderless ship.

At first, we gave our detractors the benefit of the doubt—these are trying times, and people disagree about what is to be done. But it’s been five long years, and it is still not clear where they stand. It does not matter whose fault it is that NR doesn’t even seem to understand or be able to explain to its readers where the fault lines on the Right now are. We hope they eventually figure it out. But the upshot is this: Conservative, Inc. is no longer the gatekeeper or standard of anything, and everyone knows it. This American Moment has passed them by. If they remain alarmed and confused about the outlines of the consistent, coherent popular agenda the energetic young new Right is proposing and developing—if they continue to blindly oppose it—well, let the dead bury the dead.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight ch 6

Morgase serves tea and makes a choice

Chapter 6: Questioning Intentions

Oh man Morgase POV is always sad.

Though I suppose her situation now is arguably better than it’s been in…oh…ten books or so, so maybe it will get better for her.

Right now, she’s serving tea.

Tam al’Thor, the simple farmer with the broad shoulders and the calm manners.

And also your in-law. Well, sort of. I mean, it’s complicated.

Okay sorry now I’m distracted by the thought of how absurd those family dinners would be. You’ve got Rand, Elayne, Min, and Aviendha (we’re just going to count that bonding as a marriage because to all intents and purposes…), then Tam, Morgase, Min’s aunts (are they alive? Why can I not remember this?), probably Amys given the sister-bonding ceremony, and if she’s there Rhuarc and Lian probably would be as well. Then Birgitte and Niella and Galad and Gawyn, and that’s just the immediate family but would you also have to extend a courtesy invite to Alanna, and therefore also Ihvon? And if we’re extending courtesy invites based on ‘has real estate in Rand’s head’ then we’ve got to invite Moridin as well, and at that point even without additional plus-ones I don’t envy the person who has to make that seating chart.

That was a tangent.

Of course, Morgase had seen Rand al’Thor once, and the boy hadn’t looked much more than a farmer himself.

Okay I do sort of want to be a fly on the wall when Morgase finds out that Elayne is pregnant with his child.

Speaking of seating charts, we get a roll call for this meeting but it does not add up to 23. Yes I will be looking for that everywhere now.

Very little about that time in her life made sense to her now. Had she really been so infatuated with a man that she’d banished Aemlyn and Ellorien?

Oh Morgase. If she can get one thing out of this mess, let it be the knowledge of who Gaebril really was. Because sure, sometimes it’s better not to know. But one of the cruellest things he did to her, in that whole mess of cruelty, was to leave her with absolutely no way of knowing this was not, truly, all her fault. He took away her self, her trust in and certainty of who she is. He undermined her nation and banished her friends and made her believe, even after his death, that it was by her hand and by her choice.

As if the physical and mental violation wasn’t enough. He found a way to violate her on another level as well, by twisting her own sense of herself, by leaving behind a ruin and leaving her no way to understand that it wasn’t of her own making. The Queen is married to the land, and for all she knows, she has betrayed that in every possible way, and she can’t possibly know that her choices were not her own.

Knowing that it wasn’t her choice, and that there was nothing she could have done… I mean that won’t be fun either, but it would at least give her something of her self back.

Meanwhile, Perrin’s annoyed at how long it took the Wise Ones and Aes Sedai to burn that village. Listen, people, you can’t keep judging these things by Rand. Just because he could take out a city in a matter of seconds doesn’t mean everyone can. Do I need to invent more units of measurement here? The Therin: potential mountains created or destroyed per unit of time.

“You wetlanders would have much trouble dealing with something as deadly as the Blight.”

“I think,” Faile said, “that you would be surprised.”

Yeah. Also don’t say that in Lan’s hearing.

Oddly, Faile’s sense of leadership seemed to have been enhanced by her time spent with the Shaido.

Nope, sorry, still not here for halfhearted attempts to pretend that storyline was All For Her Benefit, Actually. Especially because if we do take that on faith, it leads to some… okay no I’m not rehashing all my issues with the Malden plotline here; none of us need that.

Suffice it to say: ughhhhhhhhhhhh.

At times, being a servant seemed to require more stealth than being a scout. She wasn’t to be seen, wasn’t to distract. Had her own servants acted this way around her?

Morgase and Siuan could have an interesting conversation about dramatic changes in social and political status in a short space of time. And also, you know, extreme trauma and other fun pastimes, but especially the way they both then look at and try to come to terms with their new situations. They both do the same sort of thing of looking at all the ways in which they can still exercise power, only more subtly. The advantages of being overlooked and underestimated. And some of it is likely a kind of denial—a way to not feel like everything they knew and everything they were is lost. To try to focus on the advantages because that makes it hurt less. And the way in which they approach that is the politician’s way: turn it to your advantage, look for lines of power that weren’t there before. And also to think through the implications, and see things they may once have overlooked.

It's a hell of a price to pay for a change in perspective, but the fact that she can look at it that way, and think along some of those lines, is in its way a testament to her capability.

It discomforted her that the two Aes Sedai no longer seemed to resist their station.

Pretty sure we’re not really talking about the Aes Sedai here, Morgase. Because this is the other side of that acceptance of a new role: the fear that, in accepting it, she will lose what remains of herself. Oh look, we’re back to that central idea of identity and self and what it means to hold or lose or change that, and the fine balance between those possibilities.

Pouring tea was more complicated than she’d ever assumed.

This is something Jordan occasionally did as well: centring a chapter—especially one told from the viewpoint of a more minor character—around a motif or touchpoint like this, returning to it as a way of anchoring the rest of the chapter, and giving it more shape, especially when much of it is introspection or observation rather than action. Ornaments comes to mind, from Crossroads of Twilight, but there are quite a few others.

And of course I’m never going to complain about tea being used as a device for focusing a chapter.

It gives us a point from which to segue into Morgase’s thoughts on Perrin, which boil down to a solid ‘it’s complicated’. Mostly because by the standards of the Queen of Andor, he’s technically a rebel.

Alliandre’s cup was half empty. Morgase moved over to refill it; like many highborn ladies, Alliandre always expected her cup to be full.

And so we see the function of the tea: it’s a focal point for the chapter, but more than that it’s the method we’re using to get Morgase’s thoughts about and insights into the various people gathered here. Little bits of character and personality in… not so much how they take their tea, but the considerations around it. The things Morgase has to think about and keep track of, even for so simple a task. And so we get insight into Morgase’s new role as well, and into some of what she’s learning: that even in a position where she is largely unnoticed, there is a great deal she can and must see, and know, and understand about those around her. To pick up on those cues and know what they mean, and how that gives her insight into far more than how they take their tea.

Morgase was no longer the person she had once been. She wasn’t sure what she was, but she would learn how to do her duty as a lady’s maid. This was becoming a passion for her. A way to prove to herself that she was still strong, still of value.

In a way, it was terrifying that she worried about that.

And really fucking sad. But also entirely true to who she is and her situation. She’s lost everything. Her role, her nation, her friends, her sense of self, her sense of autonomy, her name, her identity. And she believes most of it to be her own fault, through her own poor choices and decisions. And now she’s here, under a new name and a new role and everyone believing the person she was to be dead, and Morgase herself came pretty close to making that true. How could she not feel lost, and uncertain of who she is, and desperate to prove that she’s still…someone. To prove that she was right to let Lini draw her away from that open window. Which, yeah, that gets dark fast, but Morgase’s story is not a happy one.

With all she has lost and all she can no longer be, she’s left in this space of not really knowing her purpose, or her place, or even who she is, anymore. And that’s hard enough, but then we add in all the self-loathing stemming from what she thinks she did, and failed to do, and the choices she’s had to make, and you end up here: with Morgase struggling to find any sense of self-worth. And so believing she has to prove—to herself, to others—that she is worth something, because there’s so much in her mind telling her she’s…not.

Meanwhile, Perrin still seems to think he can just send everyone home and everything will go back to normal. Speaking of denial.

“I’m not trying to recruit,” Perrin said. “Just because I don’t turn them away doesn’t mean I intend to enlarge this army any further.”

That sounds oddly like Lan’s resignation to Nynaeve recruiting him an army on a technicality. The difference being Lan at least recognises that’s what’s happening.

Perrin please.

“I didn’t make this banner,” Perrin said. “I never wanted it, but—upon advice—I let it fly. Well, the reasons for doing that are past. I’d order the thing taken down, but that never seems to work for long.” He looked to Wil. “Wil, I want it passed through camp. I’m giving a direct order. I want each and every copy of this blasted banner burned. You understand?”

Two steps forward and one step back.

I mean, I suppose you could make an argument on either side of this: on the one hand seriously, Perrin? You have been trying to deny this banner and your place as leader of these people for nine books now. Has it ever worked for you before? And do you really want to take away that focal point, that symbol to these people of what they’re fighting for and who they’re loyal to and why?

On the other hand… giving up his claim to Manetheren wasn���t a popular decision but I think it was the right one, because it helped focus them on what was truly important and prevent unnecessary tension between those who should be allies, by getting mixed up in the politics of raising a dead nation from the land of existing ones. And you could maybe argue that this is a similar angle, and that he’s trying to get them to focus not on him but on the larger purpose they all need to serve. But that feels like I’m trying too hard.

So, in summary: sigh.

Faile is also very much not convinced. I do sort of get where Perrin’s coming from, that if these people want to fight, they can do so for the Dragon Reborn because he’s the actual champion of the Light. But in reality, delegation is important, Perrin! That’s why you have a place in this as well! That’s why the Pattern dumped leadership superpowers and also wolves on you! Someone needs to actually do the groundwork of leading these people and Rand doesn’t have time or capacity for all of it.

And these people know you, Perrin. You’re the one they chose to follow; Rand is… well, as in so many things, more a force than a person at this point, in the eyes of most. They can fight for his cause, sure, but they’re not really fighting for him the way they’ll fight for the one who helped save their village or their people, and the one they see day to day and choose to give their loyalty to.

“Son,” Tam addressed Perrin, “the lads put a lot of stock in that banner.”

That pretty much says it all. This isn’t a time to be taking that kind of symbol from people, or messing unnecessarily with their sense of identity, or their foundations. In a weird way I’m reminded of Egwene’s approach with the Aes Sedai, and all her thoughts on how to reforge the Tower without breaking it. Making some compromises where needed because while there are some places where she can push, she can’t afford to completely shatter their sense of who they are. Not now, when there’s so little time.

And with Perrin, it’s that same sense of… work with what you have. Forge the metal you’re given. This is the situation, and maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s what you have. That loyalty is a part of the toolset you’ve been handed, so see it for what it is and work with it rather than trying to force it into a different shape and risk breaking the metal entirely.

Literally no one thinks this is a good idea.

“Husband,” Faile said, her words clipped. “Might I suggest that we begin with the ones who want to be sent away?”

And so it comes down, like so much else, to choices; Perrin wants to send them away but these people have chosen to follow him. He’s not keeping them here; they’ve decided to stay. And yes, you can flip that around and say he should also have the choice not to lead, and… yeah, okay, that’s a bit like how Rand technically has the choice not to fight. It’s a choice but not one either of them could really live with themselves for making, and so it becomes a question of framing and perception.

But also, Perrin does lead. When it comes down to it, he takes on that role. That is the choice he makes, over and over, in the moment. It’s in the time between those moments of action, when he is his own worst enemy in a way: he doubts and he fights against it and he looks back on past choices and questions himself and his role and his purpose. In the moment, he leads and he fights and he uses what he has. But in these periods of inaction he thinks himself into a tangle of ‘I’m only a blacksmith’, even when all his actions say otherwise. He just needs to get to a point where he can acknowledge and accept and own that.

Instead, he keeps wavering. And keeps trying to make it stick, but he’s trying to make the choice for those who follow him, rather than making his own choice, and so it doesn’t work.

The Pattern’s bringing maths into it now as well: they literally can’t keep large enough gateways open long enough to send everyone away. A hint, Perrin. Take it.

“Also,” Faile said, “perhaps it is time to send messengers to contact the Lord Dragon”

Someone suggesting proactive communication? If we didn’t already know the apocalypse was near…

“I…” Perrin seemed to flounder. Had he a source of information he wasn’t sharing?

Morgase. Please. Do you even need to ask? Does anyone in this series share anything?

Though in this case ‘I see swirls of colour and sometimes a bit of context whenever I think the names of my friends’ is, understandably, the sort of thing you might want to keep quiet until you can think of a way to frame it so that it doesn’t sound absolutely absurd. Although ‘absurd’ is sort of a moot point when the sky is full of black and silver clouds and the Blight appears in villages that don’t actually exist, so. It’s all relative.

Edarra suggests linking with the Asha’man and on the one hand yes! Cooperation! Good! But on the other hand why would you make it easier for Perrin to continue to try to send everyone away?

I suppose she’s thinking more of the refugees who do actually want to go home, though, so… okay fair enough.

“What would it cost me for you to try this?”

“You have worked too long with Aes Sedai, Perrin Aybara,” Edarra said with a sniff. “Not everything must be done at a cost. This will benefit us all.”

On that last, she is absolutely right. This is what they all need to be doing, and finally we’re starting to see it: cooperation, collaboration, setting aside old divisions and realising that perhaps if they work together they will be stronger for it. Small steps, and all that.

“Burn you, woman, why didn’t you bring it to me earlier, then?”

“You seem hardly interested in your position as chief, most of the time,” Edarra said coldly. “Respect is a thing earned and not demanded, Perrin Aybara.”

Ouch. On both sides there, because they both very much have a point. Edarra should have brought this up earlier, to someone even if not to Perrin.

But Perrin… this is where he kind of tries to have his cake and eat it: he says he’s not a leader, that he’s only a blacksmith, that he wants to send people away or let them fight for Rand rather than him. Tries to deny his role during the times when it’s not absolutely imperative that he claim it. But at other times he is quick to take command, and to make the decisions, and to give direction. And now, he wants to know why she didn’t bring this to him. Because he is, after all, the authority here.

If you would have that, Perrin, you have to accept all the aspects of it. You can’t keep leading these people and then saying you’re not actually their leader, but then also expect them to abide by your decisions—whether that’s to send them away, or to expect them to come to you with information.

There’s an interesting irony in how, by trying to be responsible and not take on a role he doesn’t think he’s suited for, he ends up doing something arguably irresponsible by neglecting the duties of a role he has in fact taken.

It’s not easy. It doesn’t seem like fun. But Perrin, you have to make the choice and claim it and understand what it means, and stop denying yourself.

To his very great credit, Perrin takes the admonishment seriously.

Aiel were people, like any other. They had odd traditions and cultural quirks, but so did everyone else. A queen had to be able to understand all of the people within her realm—and all of her realm’s potential enemies.

I like this about Morgase, and it’s something we see in Elayne as well: this acknowledgement of the importance of cultural understanding. They don’t always get it right, of course, but they understand the importance of it, and while we haven’t seen as much of Morgase in general, we do see Elayne try to follow through on this whenever she’s faced with a different people or group or culture, and I think this is where she gets it from.

Ah, so Balwer wants to visit Rand’s academy in Cairhien. What exactly are you hoping to find, Balwer?

Would [Balwer] tell Aybara who she really was?

I…huh. I hadn’t even thought of that. The others in that group obviously didn’t want or intend to tell anyone who Morgase is, but Balwer has given his loyalty and service to Perrin, so it is actually kind of interesting that he wouldn’t have said anything. But then, if Perrin hasn’t asked, and Balwer also has no specific desire to betray Morgase, I suppose he wouldn’t necessarily bring it up either. And it’s not like people here default to communication when there’s any other option, so… okay, that checks out.

Besides, think how much more fun it will be for this all to come out when Perrin and Galad run into each other. And by fun I mean probably the opposite of that for nearly everyone involved. But fun for me, which is of course the important thing.

She should have approached the dusty man earlier, to see what the price would be to keep his silence. Mistakes like that could cost a queen her throne.

She froze, hand halfway to a cup. You’re not a queen any longer. You have to stop thinking like one!

Oh, Morgase. There’s just… that’s quite a lot of pain packed into a few almost-offhand thoughts.

Especially because, again, it brings it back to this question of self and identity and who is she, now that she’s not a queen? To the point where she’s trying to remake the very patterns of her thoughts, to make herself into someone else because she can’t be who she was before, but if that person is lost then what is left?

Also, on a somewhat less sad note, there’s another small irony here: Morgase, a former queen, trying to force herself out of those habits of thinking, while she and everyone else around her is trying to push Perrin into them.

Of course now Morgase is thinking about how she can’t really go home, because people have to continue to believe she’s dead and Elayne has to be able to stand on her own otherwise it’s a political nightmare and she’s not necessarily wrong but man, Morgase’s story is fucking sad.

Why had she done such things?

I know I’ve already said this at least five hundred times but please, please just let her find out. Of everything, and there’s a lot, I think this is the worst. Bad enough she’s lost everything else and suffered everything she’s suffered and is now adrift, effectively an exile, and trying to find her place—how can she do that when she doesn’t even have her own self to hold on to? When she can barely even trust that? And especially when it comes with the consequences of those things she thinks she did of her own volition, because it’s not just that she doesn’t trust herself; for some things she hates herself.

Perhaps she should have done the noble thing and killed herself.

Wow.

Okay. So that’s.

Yeah. That got dark.

I mean, it’s not… a surprise, given that we very much watched her near-suicide, but…damn. For her to think that would have been the ‘noble thing’. For her to think that her survival is not in and of itself a victory.

She doesn’t even know if Elayne is queen yet, or even in Caemlyn. And politics aside, how hard that must be to not know where her daughter is or even if she’s alive.

Apparently she officially likes Tallanvor now, which… okay sure she deserves whatever happiness she can find, at this point, but this one has always sort of weirded me out. Then again that’s true of a lot of the romance in this series, so okay sure whatever.

Looking into those beautiful young eyes of his, she could not entertain the notion of suicide, even for the good of Andor. She felt a fool for that. Hadn’t she let her heart lead her into enough trouble already?

Okay, there’s a lot to unpack here and I don’t know that I’m going to even try with all of it, but I’m… not a fan of the way it plays to this whole he’s-what-keeps-her-from-killing-herself angle. I just find that an uncomfortable space in general, for any number of reasons.

But the part that hurts, here, of course, is the last part. Hadn’t she let her heart lead her into enough trouble already. Because again, she thinks this is all her fault. Everything that’s happened; she thinks it’s just… her own poor choices, when the truth is that she had no choice, for so much of it. Which… I mean I don’t think I need to make the obvious real-world connection here, but it plays very true to that tendency for those not at all at fault to blame themselves, and how devastating that can be.

Perrin of course knows none of this but does know there’s something going on with Morgase and Tallanvor, because Tallanvor in particular is not exactly subtle.

Morgase raised an eyebrow. From what she’d seen, Perrin himself had followed Faile around lately nearly as much.

Point to Morgase.

PERRIN. NO.

“I was given a suggestion back when you first joined us,” Perrin said gruffly. “Well, I think it’s about time I took it. Lately, you two are like youths from different villages, mooning over one another in the hour before Sunday ends. It’s high time you were married. We could have Alliandre do it, or maybe I could. Do you have some tradition you follow?”

YOU. ABSOLUTE. IDIOT.

Hang on a second, I need to go find a wall to hit my head against repeatedly.

I just. Perrin. No. Why would you even. Think this was a good idea. Pause for five seconds and consider.

Even without any of the knowledge of how awful Morgase’s life has been for the last year or so, Perrin should know better, damn it. You can’t just tell two people to get married as if they have no say in the matter! Especially when it’s not even like he’s taking one of them aside to have a quiet word about ‘this is getting in the way of your work; sort it out’, which would be kind of awkward but just about skirting the edges of acceptability. No, he’s saying it to both of them, when he has no confirmation from either that this is actually what they want. But he’s in charge here so now it’s hard for either of them to refuse him, and of course that would mean publicly rejecting the other, and in short this is the worst idea you’ve had in a while, Perrin.

And then of course—not that Perrin has any reason to know this—there’s the reality of Morgase’s recent past, which makes having her agency taken away (again) in the context of marriage and all that entails (again), even more of a glaring Do Not Want.

Morgase felt a sudden panic

I mean yeah, that’s probably the understatement of the fucking Age.

“Gather any you want to witness and be back here in an hour. Then we’ll get this silliness over with.”

So it’s not enough to take away any choice they may have in the matter and assume you know best; now you need to trivialise it as well? Perrin Aybara you are better than this.

“Well?” Perrin asked.

“No,” Morgase said.

Such a small, quiet thing, but it’s everything in the context of her story. That at last, after so many kinds of violation, after so many instances of her choice or her agency or her name or her will taken from her, she can say no. And she does.

It’s not precisely subtle but it’s also not precisely loud; it’s just a turning point and a reclaiming of self after so long of having that taken away from her. That now, she can stand as herself and say no, I will not.

She didn’t want to see the inevitable disappointment and rejection in Tallanvor’s face.

Which is the other reason you don’t just drag two people into a room and tell them to get married! Because even if they might want to marry each other, one or both might have some objections on principle to being told to do so! And then you’ve just created unnecessary tension in the relationship itself because now she’ll have to explain that ‘it’s not you, it’s that for once in my damn storyline I want to be able to give or deny consent of my own damn volition’.

I’m just very, very here for Morgase Trakand finally having a chance to stand up for herself and say no, because that has so long been denied to her in so many ways. And to find it in herself, even with all that has come before, to do that, because it would be so easy to just…accept it. But instead she stands her ground and in doing so, in asserting herself in front of someone else, it’s almost like asserting herself to herself as well. That she is here and she is someone and she has a choice and she will make it.

“Why, the Queen herself wouldn’t demand this!”

Ha. Okay, you’ve earned that one, I think.

“Forcing two people to marry because you’re tired of the way they look at one another? Like two hounds you intend to breed, then sell the pups?”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“You said it nonetheless.”

Yeah, this is… very much not Perrin’s finest hour here.

Whereas for Morgase… everything about this carries so much more weight than meets the eye, given all she has been through, and I’m just very here for it.

Pulling herself up to her full height, she almost felt a queen again. “If I choose to marry a man, I will make that decision on my own.”

Reclamation of identity! In reclaiming all the choices that have been taken from her! So much of what came before, all those times she couldn’t choose, was just this long agonising process of stripping away everything she was and everything she could hold on to in herself. And she’s been so lost for so long, and so here, in claiming that choice again, she finds some part of herself again as well. She may no longer be a queen but it’s not really about the crown, it’s about feeling like herself again, and finding something there.

Really, Tallanvor, in this case it’s honestly not you; it’s… a whole pile of other things. Don’t take it personally.

Morgase measured Perrin, who was blushing. She softened her tone. “You’re young at this yet, so I’ll give you advice. There are some things a lord should be involved in, but others he should always leave untouched.”

I do like that we get this—it was important for Morgase to be able to draw a line and stand by it and say, unequivocally, no. And to make it very clearly understood why Perrin was crossing a line.

But she also acknowledges that there was no malice in it; it was fucking stupid, but he did mean well. So let him feel painfully awkward for a few minutes, let it sink in, and then grant him this to soften it.

Man, that was awkward.

I mean, again, absolutely here for Morgase finally getting to make a damn choice, but would kind of have preferred if it weren’t at the cost of Perrin being written into quite this level of uncomfortable idiocy. Which I suppose is part of why I’m glad it ends on that sense of ‘you meant well but no’, rather than letting it escalate.

Basically: great character moment for Morgase but overall not a particularly well-done scene, I feel like.

It seemed she had some spark left in her after all. She hadn’t felt that firm or certain of herself since… well, since before Gaebril’s arrival in Caemlyn!

That pretty much sums it up. She needed this, needed to find that within herself.

And now enter Whitecloaks, stage left. This’ll get interesting.

Next (ToM ch 7) Previous (ToM ch 5)

[handball-tatsumichi]

I took Rep’s test an’ here are my results!!! I think they’re real fittin’!!! I hate fightin’ an stuff!!!

Primary Type Wiring

9

Starring Roles

Mediator, Peacekeeper, Diplomat, Pleasant Person, Modest Person, Humble Person, Pacifist

TrueType Wiring

9-7-2

Personality Type

The Peacemaker

Instinctual Wiring

Social

Instinctual Stack

Social, Intimate, Self-Preserving

Overview

You are an easy-going, kind, and accepting person who strives to be in harmony by accommodating and supporting what is essential to others. Your gift for seeing many sides of an issue enables you to mediate differences and bring peace to people around you.

On the other hand, your desire to remain comfortable and “ok” can cause complacency, inactivity, and difficulty making and voicing personal decisions. Your keys to growth include seeing that your opinions, needs and desires are just as valid as anyone else’s, and taking a stand for your own preferences in the present moment.

What You are Great At

Coming forward to mediate when people are in conflict.

Being accepting, trusting, all-embracing, and receptive.

Being creative, fanciful, and entertaining.

Being optimistic, unflappable, adaptable and steady.

Good listener, making everyone feel honored.

Seeing and supporting others’ perspectives and points of view.

Bringing about harmony, wholeness, and connection.

Finding points of agreement and achieving unity with others.

Being supremely unselfish and working hard for a good cause and to keep peace.

Being good-natured, kind, friendly, sweet, innocent.

Bringing a healing and calming influence to others.

Being humble, unpretentious, genuine, trusting, simple, likable.

Core Wiring

You want to be peaceful, relaxed, comfortable and natural; but most importantly, you want to be agreeable and avoid conflict at all costs. You are a nice person and go along to get along. You want harmonious relationships.

You are very receptive and a good listener. You are patient and prefer to take your time in whatever you do. You may have problems with inaction.

Under stress, you may be passive-aggressive, neglectful, unresponsive, and indifferent to the needs of others. At your best, you are steady, kind, accepting, and possessive of the universal connectedness necessary to restore harmony.

What Drives You

Driven by core fears of loss and separation from others, you seek to achieve feelings of wholeness, union, inner stability, and peace of mind. You are highly motivated by what you don’t want-- which is conflict, tension, disharmony, disagreement, pressure, discomfort or complications with others. Striving to create a harmonious, stable, peaceful and comfortable environment, you minimize your own needs and try to create and maintain trouble-free relationships.

Inner World of Type 9

Core Fears

Your core fears are related to loss, separation and being overlooked which can lead to a fear of being “loveless”- both because your feel others might ignore or neglect you, and because you might shut yourself off to such a degree that you can no longer feel love or let it in. You might start to feel unimportant, or less valuable relative to others-- especially if others around you are strong, dramatic, needy, or demanding.

This leads to your conflict avoidance. You also fear complication because when things are complicated, more things can go wrong which can cause discord and disharmony, which is uncomfortable.

Core Desires

To be comfortable, harmonious, peaceful, whole, complete, and feeling at-ease with others.

Core Needs

You need simplicity, harmony, and the appreciation of others. Because you are highly empathetic, you need to know that the people around you are relaxed to relax, yourself. To truly be at-ease, you need your creature comforts and are likely unwilling go without them. Publicly, you may go along to get along, but when in private you make sure that you have what makes you feel happy and comfortable.

Core Beliefs

The world, people and situations can be demanding and divisive. In most situations, it is best to avoid conflict and look for middle ground rather than to take a solid stance: that might create problems and disrupt my peace. Everything will work out if I stay calm, amiable, and connected.

Likes

Agreement, peace and harmony.

Unity, merger, and togetherness.

Comfort and ease.

Being in intimate relationship.

Distractions (e.g., romance novels, college football, social media).

Connection.

Feeling included, loved and accepted as you are.

Familiar routines and activities with clear structure.

Holding many sides of an issue open.

Reflecting, musing, and considering things.

Having your position acknowledged.

Satisfaction in accomplishments and jobs well done.

Dislikes

Conflict, confrontation, and disagreement.

Anger and disturbance.

Change, making personal decisions, saying “no”.

Separation.

Independence.

Feeling discounted or overlooked.

Being forced to take sides on an issue.

Unknown, unfamiliar, or unpredictable situations.

Emotional intensity, controversy, drama, chaos.

Having your opinion or position opposed.

Loneliness, ending a relationship.

Discomfort, looming deadlines.

Outer World of Type 9

Strategies

You seek to avoid conflict, asserting yourself, or taking a stand. You "go along to get along," sublimating your own needs and preferences to create a sense of peace and harmony.

Impact of Strategies

When there is no pressure, conflict or discomfort, you have neither deadlines nor demands. For you, it's just peace and harmony.

What's Great About You

You are warm, gentle, humble, agreeable, kind, pleasant and enduring.  You are the calm in the storm.

Attention goes to...

Your attention goes to identifying with and merging with others. You look for what others want and need in an effort to keep the peace. Your soft, pillowy energy tends to spread outwards and become diffuse.

Because you sense and champion the needs and feelings of whatever group you are in, you are a natural group anchor. To avoid feeling tension and conflict, you may reach for substitutes for love by eating, focusing on the minutia or getting lost in unimportant tasks.

Operating System of Type 9

At Your Best

You are a humble, patient, allowing and permissive diplomat who focuses on keeping the peace in any given situation. Because you strongly value connection, agreement, and unity with others, you like to keep things harmonious, stable and comfortable. When you are tuned in to what others want, you easily set aside your own needs to accommodate, appease or satisfy them.

You have a natural gift for patiently listening to all points of view and building consensus before making decisions. Most people feel heard, understood, accepted, included, nurtured, and valued in your presence.

You can be a wonderful mediator, naturally bringing people together by genuinely seeing, acknowledging, and honoring each person’s perspective. This makes you an asset to any team in the areas of listening, shared vision, consensus, healthy conflict, trust, appreciation, collaboration and support.

Under Stress

When you feel separate from others, you may go to sleep to your own needs and focus on the needs of others. You may feel the need to maintain a sense of connection, peace, comfort, and stability at all costs but in so doing may undermine your own value and worth. Your need for “okness” can at times cause you to minimize problems which can be interpreted as calloused, insensitive or indifferent.

You may numb yourself to the realities of your situation at home or work and fall into inertia rather than focus on what is important. In an attempt to have “peace at any price,” you may actually become resentful, stubborn, and resigned, feeling powerless to change anything.

You may resort to appeasing others on the surface but objecting in passive-aggressive ways that leave others frustrated, neglected and angry. You may appear disengaged, inattentive, unresponsive and complacent. You may lose focus and initiative, escape into a mental world of fantasy, or zone out with any number of numbing, mindless activities.

What Holds You Back

Avoiding conflicts and potential backlash of your own self-assertions. Wanting “peace at any price”. Going along with others to get along and losing your own voice.

Oversimplifying problems to minimize what is upsetting. Becoming stubborn and slow-moving when in disagreement. Being neglectful, passive and self-effacing.

Shutting down and imploding when threatened/ afraid. Merging with others and losing touch with who you are. Numbing out and being a creature of habit or ritual – repeating familiar solutions.

Escaping into comfort and ease; going on “autopilot”. Becoming disengaged, inattentive, and unreflective. Being indecisive; saying “yes” when you want to say “no”.

Coping Strategy

In order to cope with underlying fears of being disconnected from others, you may minimize your own needs and focus on others. This can take many forms: “forgetting yourself;” distracting yourself with routines and mindless activities; accommodating others; and putting your own needs aside to be accepted and comfortable in relationship with others.

You may keep fears at bay by seeking to maintain peace at any price and being seen as the easy-going, “nice guy or gal”. You may also avoid conflict or loss by suppressing your own opinions, “going along to get along,” or being pleasant and agreeable. You use patience, persistence and resistance to handle problems and might “check out” or become unresponsive if you fear it will cause separation from another.

Defense Strategy

Your primary defense mechanism is a form of “dissociation” which can be any strategy that cuts you off from feelings that seems overwhelming and intolerable. This may be as subtle as escaping into seemingly safe or pleasant feelings, or in more obvious ways such as using comforts and distractions to “wind down” or relax. A secondary strategy is “diversion”.

When something important feels overwhelming, you may distract your attention with something easier and less stressful. You may also “numb out” by throwing yourself into work or projects or escaping into unproductive or unimportant activities-- anything that distracts you from negative feelings and needs. You don’t like being direct and tend to obfuscate to avoid naming any differences or preferences that can cause conflict or dispute.

Hot Buttons & Triggers

Feeling overlooked, not seen, or irrelevant.

Others being recognized or validated in ways you crave but would never want to draw attention to for yourself.

People being treated unkindly or unfairly.

Feeling pressured to make a decision without knowing the whole landscape, different options, or all of the key details.

Being pushed to reveal your own feelings or desires when you are unsure or don’t feel safe with the other person.

Being in a tense, highly emotional, or volatile atmosphere.

Feeling under-appreciated or undervalued.

Being in an unfamiliar, new, or uncomfortable environment.

Having to choose sides between important people in your life who are not in agreement (e.g., your mother and your spouse, your children, or valued people on your work team).

Others seeming to move away or withdraw in relationship.

Others demanding your attention or response and not being able to zone out or numb out in comfortable/typical ways.

Not being validated, supported, or backed up when you take the risk to voice your own perspective, feeling, or opinion.

Blind Spots

By shutting yourself off from your preferences, you can lose sight of yourself in many important ways. You may negate or be unaware of your own preferences, positions, needs and desires, and not realize that you’ve “gone to sleep to your true yourself.” You may identify with being agreeable and easy to get along with, so you may not recognize when you are withholding or being passive-aggressive or stubborn.

You may also see yourself as humble and disown your desire for attention. You enjoy your habits and routines and may not see when change is called for in relationships or work. You prefer to maintain the status quo to keep things feeling stable and comfortable.

Mistaken Beliefs / Trap

It is a cognitive mistake to believe that if you avoid conflict, you won’t have any or that you won’t be disconnected from others. Ultimately, ignoring conflict will cause additional conflict and greater disconnection. It’s also a mistake to believe that if you convince yourself that you don’t matter, that others don’t matter, or that actually nothing really matters, you will avoid emotional pain.

Seeking a sense of ease and comfort can be a trap because your own truth and your own needs will not be suppressed forever and you’ll eventually become angry and irritable. Another mistake is believing that not taking action isn’t an action and not making a decision isn’t a decision.

In reality, taking no action is an action and making no decision is a decision. And finally, maintaining “peace at any price” is a trap because it can never bring real, lasting peace.

Growth Journey of Type 9

Transformation Journey

Your transformation journey involves: 1. Realizing that you are important and that you matter. 2. Letting go of the fear of conflict, speaking your truth, and experiencing your sense of being. 3. Taking the time to tune into your heart, discovering your preferences, deciding what you really want and actually going for it!

Under Stress

When you feel separate from others, you may go to sleep to your own needs and focus on the needs of others. You may feel the need to maintain a sense of connection, peace, comfort, and stability at all costs but in so doing may undermine your own value and worth. Your need for “okness” can at times cause you to minimize problems which can be interpreted as calloused, insensitive or indifferent.

You may numb yourself to the realities of your situation at home or work and fall into inertia rather than focus on what is important. In an attempt to have “peace at any price,” you may actually become resentful, stubborn, and resigned, feeling powerless to change anything.

You may resort to appeasing others on the surface but objecting in passive-aggressive ways that leave others frustrated, neglected and angry. You may appear disengaged, inattentive, unresponsive and complacent. You may lose focus and initiative, escape into a mental world of fantasy, or zone out with any number of numbing, mindless activities.

An Average Day

As you begin to see that tuning out from yourself and life to try to stay comfortable can only bring discomfort, you start to “wake up to yourself” and find your own voice. Realizing the trap of forgetting yourself to try to stay in peaceful relationship with others, you now see that deep and lasting connection requires your authentic presence and may involve moments of tension and disagreement. You are less self-effacing and accommodating, and less prone to idealizing others and automatically going along with their agendas.

You think carefully before saying “yes,” and practice saying “no” when you don’t agree. Your natural affinity for mediating and dispelling disagreement is able to truly connect and unite others in your community, family, and work environments. You are genuinely positive, reassuring, and supportive to others, bringing a healing, harmonizing, and calming influence and greater understanding to any team or group you are connected with.

In The Zone

Seeing through the false beliefs that numbness brings connection and that your own humanity can possibly be less valuable or important than others’, you are now deeply attuned to yourself and come into an even greater harmony with others. Spontaneous and present in each moment, you are truly accommodating and flexible to life as a whole, rather than to the whims of others. You become a powerful force for others with your immense acceptance, compassion, stability and serenity.

You now trust all of life, and see your own feelings, intuitions, and intentions as keys to establishing deeper connection with others. You no longer take yourself out of the equation but put yourself in the middle of the flow of life.

Others feel at ease with your innocence, simplicity, patience, sincerity, and kindness. You are self-accountable, autonomous and content with yourself and relationships. You become a great healing presence in the world, able to be profoundly present, validate divergent perspectives, and resolve conflict in a spirit of real peace.

Keys to Growth

Pay more attention to yourself and develop greater attunement to what you actually feel, want, think, and need.

Practice expressing your feelings, needs, and ideas even when they may be in opposition to others; take risks and notice how authenticity (not self-forgetting) brings connection.

When tempted to zone out, consciously become more dynamic, active and assertive rather than escaping into numbing activities or being passive with others.

Notice yourself not agreeing with others and how you handle this uncomfortable energy internally before speaking/acting.

Practice saying “maybe” before making commitments you may regret later, and become more comfortable saying “no”.

Become more aware of your fears around conflict and disagreement and tune into your own energy when facing tense people or situations; breathe and let it move through.

Use your natural abilities to mediate and validate divergent views to appreciate conflict and deal with it directly, seeing that embracing differences actually brings people together.

Become more aware of and comfortable with the natural movement of “negative” emotions and energies, such as aggression and conflict; open and allow them to pass through.

Ground yourself in your body and become more active physically in whatever way feels natural (exercise, walking); more rigorous activity can help fear and conflict move through.

Practice “radical self-care” and place your needs before others (perhaps in ways that seem extravagant to you at first).

Watch the tendency to deflect praise or attention and try to take it in positive regard, even if uncomfortable at first.

Notice wanting to merge with others and any dependencies, resentments, or tendencies to blame that arise.

Type 9 In the Workplace

Working with Others

You can be dedicated, hard-working and very productive in a supportive environment with clear expectations and the flexibility to work at your own pace. You tend to “go along to get along” and avoid making waves. You are very approachable and enjoy camaraderie and pleasant exchanges with coworkers.

You help your team to stay positive and to consider or embrace diverse opinions and alternative viewpoints and you are able to add a meaningful perspective. On the other hand, you tend to hesitate in making decisions. Your ability to listen and understand people’s positions can often lead them to believe that you agree with them and will back them up.

They are then surprised and disappointed when they discover you were just listening, not actively agreeing. You are good at mediating and helping to mend fences when others disagree, but have a harder time mending your own. You might secretly want recognition, but you avoid bringing attention to yourself and may appear uncomfortable and become self-effacing when it comes.

Ideal Environment

Your ideal work environment is calm, predictable, and harmonious. You relax and work well when the team is getting along and things are running smoothly. You thrive with familiar routines, regularly scheduled meetings, and clear deadlines that give you plenty of time to work steadily at your own pace.

Not wanting to ask for validation, you expect rewards and promotions to be fairly given and clearly contingent upon merit and productivity. In the flow of a project, you readily put your own needs aside to work for the greater good of the team or organization. It is particularly important for you to feel good about your job and the work you do.

Typical Challenges

Because you like the familiar, you may get thrown off course if things change rapidly and unpredictably with no time to adjust. You may not like having to make decisions yourself, but you don’t want decisions or changes forced upon you either--especially if they feel arbitrary. You may procrastinate and struggle with inaction when you need to make a decision that impacts others or might trigger a reaction in them.

You would rather wait for agreement and consensus. Feeling overlooked or discounted at work may trigger your fear of being unimportant, and cause you to act as if the opinions, ideas, and agendas of others are more important than yours. When upset at work, you are unlikely to voice your concerns, but may instead slow your pace in silent and stubborn objection that can frustrate others.

 Taking Guidance

You appreciate a collaborative mentoring relationship and work well under well-defined lines of leadership because you tend not to like the pressure of decision-making. You may be particularly responsive to, and work well with, a dynamic and charismatic boss who values your contributions. You also appreciate a manager that is congenial and brings a sense of connection and synergy to the team.

Carried by the energy and enthusiasm of a strong supervisor, you will work tirelessly with little consideration of your own needs. At times you may feel ambivalent about authority.

You may have trouble self-starting or staying on task and resent feeling pressured to make a decision or take an action before you feel comfortable to do so. You may become inactive or stubborn and become resistant to authority.

Leadership Style

As a leader, you have the ability to see all points of view and are adept at mediating differences and settling disputes when there are difficulties between team members. You also engender a naturally kind, accepting, and inclusive atmosphere on the team. You are careful, thoughtful, thorough, and able to weigh many sides of any issue presented, but you can get stuck in needing extensive data and wanting to think too broadly before making a decision.

To avoid conflict, you may announce major decisions without warning or sufficient discussion, which can evoke confusion and resentment. You may have difficulty managing distractions, and might be prone to getting caught up in unimportant tasks, which can make setting priorities and deciding what is most essential difficult. Other challenges you may face in leadership include not wanting to take sides, having “peace at any cost,” being vague or obfuscating in strategic planning, wanting to stay in the comfort zone or the familiar, and avoiding taking risks.

Famous 9s

Famous People with Your Type

Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, Beyoncé, Loni Anderson, Annette Bening, Tony Bennett, Matthew Broderick, Sandra Bullock, George Burns, Kate Bush, Art Carney, Julia Child, Gary Cooper, Kevin Costner, The Dalai Lama, Jeff Daniels, Clint Eastwood, Dwight Eisenhower, Queen Elizabeth II, Gerald Ford, Mahatma Gandhi, John Goodman, Tipper Gore, Elliott Gould, Charles Grodin, Woody Harrelson, Mariel Hemingway, Audrey Hepburn, Anjelica Huston, C.G. Jung, Grace Kelly, Nancy Kerrigan, Lisa Kudrow, Abraham Lincoln, Andie MacDowell, Mr. Magoo, Dean Martin, Jerry Mathers, Dan Quayle, James Earl Ray, Ronald Reagan, Ralph Richardson, Carl Rogers, Roy Rogers, Martin Sheen, Ringo Starr, Mary Steenburgen, Daniel Stern, James Stewart, Billy Bob Thornton, Andy Williams, Renee Zellweger, Joe DiMaggio,George Lucas.

[hieromonkcharbel]

In the following quotes Paisios warns of the great cataclysms which await us in our Apocalyptic times. His counsel of spiritual preparedness and how to achieve it will be of use to all those who strive to do good while maintaining spiritual equilibrium in a world growing increasingly hostile to our salvation. Paisios seems to have foreseen everything: the ever more frequent and senseless wars and the downward slide of our modern, globalized world into licentiousness and madness, the approaching Last Judgement.

“There’s a war on today, a holy war…”

“If the Metropolitans are silent, then who will speak?”

There is something that unsettles me is the reigning mood of tranquility. Something is in the works. We still haven’t understood properly either what’s going on, or the fact that we will die. I don’t know what will come of this. The situation is very complicated. The fate of the world depends on just a few people, but God is still putting on the brakes. We have to pray a lot, and with pain in our hearts, so that God will intervene: our times are very hard to understand. A lot of ash, rubbish, and indifference has accumulated, and a strong wind will be needed to blow it all away.

It’s frightening! The Tower of Babel is upon us! Divine intervention is needed: Great upheavals are happening. What a bedlam! The minds of whole nations are in confusion. But in spite of the ferment I feel a certain consolation inside, a certain confidence. God still dwells in a part of the Christians. God’s people, people of prayer, still remain, and God in his all-goodness still tolerates us and will put everything in order. Don’t be afraid! We’ve gone through many storms, and still haven’t perished. So should we be afraid of the storm which is now gathering? We’ll not perish this time either”

God loves us. In Man there’s a hidden power which comes out when necessary. The difficult years will be few. Just a lot of thunder.

Don’t get upset in the least, for God is above everything. He rules everyone and will bring all to the defendant’s bench to answer for what they’ve done, according to which each will receive his just desserts from God. Those who’ve in some way helped the cause of good will be rewarded, and those who do evil will be punished. God will put everyone in their place in the end, but each of us will answer for what they did in these difficult years, both in prayer and in deeds.

Today they’re trying to destroy faith, and for the edifice of faith to fall they quietly pull out one stone, then another. But we’re all responsible for the destruction; not just those who destroy but we who see how faith is being undermined and make no effort to strengthen it. As a result the seducers are emboldened to create even greater difficulties for us, and their rage against the Church and the monastic life increases.

Today’s situation can be resisted only spiritually, not by worldly means. The storm will continue to rage a bit, will throw all the flotsam, everything unnecessary, onto the shore, and then the situation will become clearer. Some will receive their reward, while others will have to pay their debts.

Today there are many who strive to corrupt everything: the family, the youth, the Church. In our day it’s a true witness to speak up for one’s people, for the state is waging war against divine law. It’s laws are directed against the Law of God.

But we are responsible for not letting the enemies of the Church corrupt everything. Though I’ve heard even priests say: “Don’t get involved in that. It’s none of your business!” If they had reached such a non-striving condition through prayer I would kiss their feet. But no! They’re indifferent because they want to please everyone and live in comfort.

Indifference is unacceptable even for laymen, and all the more so for the clergy. An honest, spiritual man doesn’t do anything with indifference. “Cursed be he that doeth the work of the Lord deceitfully”, says the Prophet Jeremiah (Jer. 48:10). There’s a war on today, a holy war. I must be on the front lines. There are so many Marxists, so many Masons, so many Satanists and assorted others! So many possessed, anarchists and seduced ones! I see what awaits us, and it’s painful for me. The bitter taste of human pain is in my mouth.

* * *

The spirit of lukewarmness reigns. There’s no manliness at all! We’ve been spoiled for good! How does God still tolerate us? Today’s generation is the generation of indifference. There are no warriors The majority are fit only for parades.

Godlessness and blasphemy are allowed to appear on television. And the Church is silent and doesn’t excommunicate the blasphemers. And they need to be excommunicated. What are they waiting for? Let’s not wait for someone else to pull the snake out from its hole so that we can live in peace.

They’re silent out of indifference. What’s bad is that even people who’ve got something inside have begun to grow cool, saying: “Can I really do anything to change the situation?” We have to witness our faith with boldness, because if we continue to be silent we’ll have to answer in the end. In these difficult days each must do what’s in their power. And leave what’s out of their power to the will of God. In this way our conscience will be clear.

If we don’t resist, then our ancestors will arise from their graves. They suffered so much for the Fatherland, and we? What are we doing for it?.. If Christians don’t begin to witness their faith, to resist evil, then the destroyers will become even more insolent. But today’s Christians are no warriors. If the Church keeps silent, to avoid conflict with the government, if the metropolitans are silent, if the monks hold their peace, then who will speak up?

* * *

Give thanks to God for everything. Try to be manly. Pull yourself together a bit. Do you know what Christians are suffering in other countries? There are such difficulties in Russia! But here many exhibit indifference. There’s not enough disposition to kindness, love of devotion.

You see, if we don’t begin to make war against evil, to expose those who tempt believers, then the evil will grow larger. If we throw aside fear then the faithful will be emboldened a bit. And those who wage war against the Church will have a harder time.

In the past our nation lived spiritually, so God blessed her, and the saints helped us in miraculous fashion. And we were victorious against our enemies, who always outnumbered us. Today we continue to call ourselves Orthodox Christians, but we don’t live Orthodox lives.

* * *

A lukewarm clergy lulls the people to sleep, leaves them in their former condition so they won’t be upset. “Look”, they say. “By all means don’t say that there’ll be a war, or the Second Coming, that one must prepare oneself for death. We must not make people alarmed!”

And others speak with a false kindness, saying: “We mustn’t expose heretics and their delusions, so as to show our love for them.” Today’s people are water-soluble. There’s no leaven in them.

If I avoid upsetting myself to protect my fleshly comfort then I’m indifferent to holiness! Spiritual meekness is one thing, and softness and indifference are quite another. Some say: “I’m a Christian and therefore I have to be joyful and calm.” But they’re not Christian. They’re simply indifferent. And their joy is only a worldly joy.

He in whom these worldly seeds are present is no spiritual person. A spiritual person consists of nothing but pain. In other words, he’s in pain at what’s going on, he’s in pain for people’s condition. And divine comfort is bestowed upon him for his pain.

[wannacontribute]

The final blockade begins

2020/10/30 Tonight, U.S. stock index futures continued to fall, and U.S. stocks opened at the same time. In particular, the U.S. stock market plummeted continuously in recent days, which defeated the last bit of bullish sentiment in U.S. stocks, and Trump's re-election campaign cast a growing shadow. The plunge in the U.S. stock market was also the start of Wall Street’s final blockade against Trump. It is already obvious that Wall Street is doing everything possible to prevent Trump from continuing to serve as President of the United States.

According to data in the U.S. history, once the U.S. stock market rises significantly in an election year, the presidential candidate of the ruling party will often win the next presidential election. This must be basically verified in the U.S. election year. This is also a special feature. One reason why Lampe is confident in his next election.

Because in 2020, by the time the U.S. stock market crashed, the U.S. stock market had risen by about 5%, which is also a relatively obvious increase. Therefore, fate seems to be waving to Trump: The White House still belongs to you, and the United States in the next four years You still have the final say.

However, there are unpredictable circumstances. In the past few days, the U.S. stock market has undergone sudden changes, and there have been continuous sharp declines. The decline has exceeded 6%. The increase in the U.S. stock market this year has become negative. This is a fatal blow to Trump. , The last reason to support Trump's re-election is no longer valid.

In this case, if Trump wants to turn the tide, he needs to carry out an emergency rescue, that is, let the US stock market soar in these days, so as to attract more votes. This is the resistance of Wall Street in the United States and Trump's The counterattack is destined to be very cruel. However, it is really difficult for Trump to rescue the US stock market and win this counter-blocking war.

First of all, to rescue the market, a new economic stimulus plan needs to be reached with the Democratic Party. As long as the new economic stimulus plan is agreed, the US stock market will surely rise, but it seems that it has become a bubble and it is impossible to reach a new economic stimulus plan.

The Democratic Party hopes that the scale of the new economic stimulus plan can reach US$2.2 trillion, while Trump is only willing to reach a US$1.8 trillion economic stimulus plan. Trump hopes to reach a small-scale economic stimulus plan first before he is re-elected as President of the United States. After success, a major economic stimulus plan was launched. However, the Democratic Party refused to do so, believing that it was kidnapping American voters to vote for Trump.

In this way, the two sides have been arguing in the negotiations, and finally missed the best time to launch a new economic stimulus plan. The US stock market also fell because of this. Only after the dust settled in the US election, the Republicans and Democrats continued to negotiate on a new economic stimulus plan.

Second, Trump wants to rescue the U.S. stock market urgently and needs the Fed's strong support. The Fed needs to launch greater liquidity to rescue the U.S. stock market. However, the Fed has not only stood still these days, but deliberately said that the Fed has run out of water and is unable to save the market. This is simply a stab at Trump and stabbed Trump.

After Trump came to power, the contradiction between Trump and the Federal Reserve became more and more public. Trump has repeatedly bombarded the Federal Reserve, which broke the historical tradition of the United States. In the past history, the US President has almost never publicly criticized the Federal Reserve. As an elite organization in the United States, it has never publicly fought back against such rogue attacks by Trump. Instead, the four outgoing chairman of the Federal Reserve spoke publicly for the Federal Reserve and criticized Trump for interfering in the work of the Federal Reserve. This is historically The above is also unique.

Although the Fed has not made any public counterattacks against Trump’s bombardment, the Fed’s internal opinions on Trump are very large. Therefore, at the critical moment of the election, the Fed tends to support Biden and oppose Trump. Therefore, it is absolutely impossible to want the Fed to rescue the US stock market publicly at this time, so as to save Trump’s precarious election. Fed officials publicly stated that the Fed is unable to rescue the market, which is pushing Trump to failure. .

Finally, the most important and most important thing to save the US stock market and save Trump is that the United States controls the new crown pneumonia epidemic, which is completely impossible for Trump. This time the U.S. stock market plummeted because the new crown pneumonia epidemic in the United States has further deteriorated. The number of patients and deaths infected with the new crown virus has skyrocketed in a short period of time, which has panicked the entire US stock market.

It can be said that this time the United States completely lost to the new crown virus. However, the root cause of this consequence is Trump. This person who only knows bragging and lying has never thought about doing something seriously. He is concerned about the new crown pneumonia epidemic. Just let it go, and the result was that the United States was completely defeated by the new crown virus. At this time, the US White House spokesperson also stated that the White House would not control the new crown pneumonia epidemic, which made the American people even more angry.

Moreover, as Pfizer of the United States publicly stated that the new crown virus vaccine cannot be launched before the general election, Trump’s last straw is gone. Trump has publicly stated at the presidential election rallies that it will be in November. The new coronavirus vaccine was launched before the general election on the 3rd, but the last hope was shattered. This has intensified the panic in the US stock market and the American people. They can only rely on themselves to protect themselves. The White House and Trump are unreliable, and the US stock market has fallen again and again.

If Trump wants to save the market, especially in the short-term, and save his election, none of the above points can be done. This makes the US Wall Street short the US stock market like no one. Why Wall Street is against Tron Is Pu so opposed?

First, although Trump cares about the U.S. stock market very much, he has brought great turmoil, division and unrest to the United States. This situation is unwilling to see Wall Street. If the U.S. stock market wants to rise, the American social environment needs to be stable. However, since Trump came to power, there have been riots in the United States. The new crown pneumonia epidemic has completely out of control, social conflicts have become increasingly sharp and confrontational, and the economy has fallen into recession. Under such circumstances, it is very difficult for the US stock market to get better in the long term. For a fundamental change in the U.S. stock market, Trump needs to step down. This is in line with Wall Street's fundamental interests.

The second is that US high-tech companies are almost completely opposed to Trump. The power of Wall Street now includes not only traditional financial institutions, but also increasingly powerful high-tech companies. They have become the power of Wall Street in the United States. These American high-tech companies need globalization and free trade. Trump China’s anti-globalization and anti-free trade have seriously harmed the interests of American high-tech companies, and these high-tech companies are secretly undermining Trump.

This time, the plunge in the U.S. stock market marked the start of the final fight against Trump. Wall Street, the Federal Reserve, and the U.S. high-tech community are almost all blocking Trump. Trump wants to fight so many people. The future is dangerous. No one can be an enemy of everyone at the same time.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Of Dust and Ashes (chapter 25)

Sorry for the late posting, I intended to post it Friday but well, life happened. We're surprise moving at the start of next month so things may get a little crazy but I intend to keep at least biweekly posts.

Chapter warnings: Violence

Clint x ofc (Deanna). 

Series warnings: Legit, if it’s a trigger it’s probably in here at some point...

Rated: M for mature themes

Masterlist Kofi

Chapter 25: Into the City

Clint watched the world around them. Cold air bit at his cheeks and ears, made colder still by the breeze. Sun warmed the top of his head. He was alone on the roof with only the wind and the slight ringing in his ear to break the silence. Absently. he rubbed at his ear as if he could somehow rub away the sound that had been with in for much of his life. There were only so many blows to the ear and explosions one could experience without some sort of lasting damage. All things considered, he was lucky. It could have been worse.

In the cold, he sat watching and waiting. He’d left Dee on the top floor, inside and safe from the cold air to care for baby Elsa. It wasn’t a place for her or a baby, not when they didn’t need to be. The desire to protect her, to isolate Dee from any harm burned inside him. He'd rather her never be on this roof but she wanted to help. While he didn't like it, having eyes in the sky and ranged attacks would provide a useful distraction.

She didn't need to be out there right at that moment, at least. For now, she could be warmer and safer than he was. Later, he could show her what she needed to see. Right now, it was better that she rested and cared for the little one. Anxiety ate at him though.

He did the best he could to cut the top floor off from the rest of the building but there was only so much he could do. He did his best while maintaining his own path to get to the roof and back. He wouldn’t hear it if someone where to fight through his makeshift barricades and Dee was sleeping.  

He was proud of her for how well she handled the amount of walking they had done but now she needed to rest. They’d covered miles of ground today and would likely cover miles again tonight, assuming they didn’t die. She’d done little complaining and had earned her rest. It was a lot that she was putting her body through for someone who wasn’t a trained agent.  

In his pocket, his phone vibrated. Slipping it out, he looked at the name. 'Natasha' flashed on the screen next to a picture of a spider. In the top corner of the screen, next to the date he’d been trying to ignore was a small satellite symbol. They’d not gotten cell phone service returned yet but Stark's satellite phone services still worked.  

“Hey.” He hadn’t wanted to answer but he had been ignoring her for longer stretches of time. It wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t her fault.  

Except, it kind of was.  

She was there. She was at the battle. She didn’t call him. She didn’t tell him. She went to space. She was there when he died. She saw his blood. She didn’t bring him. She failed to save them. She failed to bring them back. She failed. She failed.  

“How’s it going?”  

Clint cleared his voice, pushing the turbulent thoughts away as he always did. “It’s going.”

“I wanted to check on you.” She started, sounding more like she was talking to a wounded animal than a friend, comrade and the man who had at one point saved her life. “I know today’s-”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t mean to snap. “Sorry- Just a bit cold. I’m getting to be a grouchy old man.”  

“Are you sure? I can take a few days, fly out… I worry about you, being alone in the house and today’s-”

“It would have been 15 years.” Clint offered, knowing damn well that she was calling to make sure he hadn’t gone off the rails.  

“That’s a long time.” Nat offered.  

“Not nearly as long as I had planned on being married.” There was nothing he could do to keep the ice from his voice.  

“I know.” He could hear the regret in her voice. She didn’t mean to pick at the emotional scab. “I just worry about you. You don’t have to be alone right now.”

“I’m not.” His attention was divided between the phone call and the men walking down below.  

“You’re never worried.” Natasha teased, or at least tried. “But I mean it, you don’t have to suffer alone. I’m here for-”

“I’m not.” He snapped.  

Below, men pushed women out in the open. They had pots in their hands. One tripped and landed in a heap on the ground. What looked to be a soup or stew spilled onto the ground. Another woman tripped over the first and dropped the loaf of bread she had been carrying.  

“You’re not? Who’s with you?” He hadn’t told Nat a whole lot of what he had been up to.  

“It’s not important.”  

Men appeared to be yelling at the women. There was a stark difference between the way the two groups of people were dressed. The men had heavy coats, gloves and hats to protect against the bitter cold. The women, by contrast were lucky to have even a light jacket over their shirts. Many had rips in their clothes.  

Regardless of if they were men or women, all were dirty. Their hair was unwashed. Men kicked at the woman who had been carrying the soup. Mouths contorted in anger. The woman who had carried the bread was pulled to her feet only to be thrown back onto the ground. Clint watched as her head connected with the ground and her body went limp. The first woman was still being beaten by the others.  

“What have you been up to?” Clint asked. “How’s things on your end?”

“We’ve got order in the East coast established again.”  

“That’s good.” Clint sounded as if he wasn’t sitting on a roof watching a woman get beaten to death. “Was there much resistance?”  

“Not much.” The squeak of wheels pierced his ear. He could close his eyes and picture the exact chair she was sitting in. It’d always had the wheel that would squeal if it wasn’t oiled often enough.  

Tony would often get annoyed and take care of it himself though she was plenty able to ignore it. Tony was back and had made great strides in the physical aspects of his recovery. At least, that's what Nat had told him before. It seemed that he still wasn’t hanging around the compound enough to notice that Nat’s chair was crying for some oil. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore.  

“How’s Tony?” Clint hadn’t intended to ask. What he wanted to know was more details about the state of things on the east coast.  

“Pulling away.” Nat’s breath washed over the phone in a sigh. Clint could imagine her leaning back in her chair, turning and looking at the wall behind her. “He came back and he just- for a while he was angry and shut down. And that made sense, you know? But then he started getting better. Pepper being pregnant seemed to help a lot. He’d get in the suit and even if he was going it alone, he’d go clean things up. Set up power for the hospitals and fire stations. It took a while to realize he was working himself into the ground.  

I don’t think we wanted to see it. I was doing what I could to locate the mayor or find the president or whatever. I could do that because Tony was doing so good making sure people in the city were not killing each other over Cheetos.  

I assumed everything was okay, that he was getting better. It was easier to assume that, I guess than question if he was ready. We didn’t really have time to question that.  

Once New York State was re-established, he slowed down, started pulling away from the service. He bought a house outside the city and has been decking it out. Sometimes we don’t see him at the tower for weeks at a time.”

“Pepper- she’s what, five months along now?”

“More like six.”

“Nat.” Clint shifted, almost falling on his ass. Below a feast was being staged by what he grew to understand were slave women under the watchful eye of guards. The stage where the bodies hung was not even twenty feet from where the chairs were being placed around a series of long folding tables. “He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t doing any of that to help others. He was doing it to help himself. He needed the area safe for Pepper. Now that it is, he’s got no reason to keep helping.”

“It’s Tony. He’s all about helping everyone else. That’s who he is.”

“That’s who he was.” Clint stressed. “And what did that get him? A fractured team? A world that wouldn’t listen to him? Half the goddamn universe turned to dust? A failed battle? Being selfless didn’t do shit except cause him pain, so why keep doing it?”

“Is that what you’re doing? Checking out and taking care of yourself? Letting the world burn? Is that why you won’t come back?”

“This isn’t about me. And for the record: In the last week we’ve saved a baby from freezing to death, provided food to a clinic and we’re getting ready to take down a man calling himself King and abusing people.”

“We?” Again, she pushed.  

“It doesn’t matter.” He dismissed her with those few words. “You didn’t hit a lot of push from those who claimed territory?”

Natasha sighed. “We did.”

“How’d you handle it? Don’t want to be undermining you.”

Seconds ticked by as he waited for Natasha to answer. She was thinking about her words, choosing them carefully. It was something she only did when she wasn’t sure how the one she was speaking to would react. It wasn’t a good sign at all.  

“The president offered them a way to keep the territory in a round about way. Many governors and mayors are just gone. Ones that we think survived abandoned their positions and so many others we can’t account for at all.”

“So what? You just give the position to who ever is in the area?” Clint was outraged though there was a part of him that tried to speak up, to remind himself that he’d probably do the same in her situation. The evil that you know is better than the one you don't in the short term. Once things were established again, they could go back and take out the trash and replace them.

The world wasn’t black and white and in the absence of leaders, they had to make do with what they had. There would likely be less death if they brought current leaders into the fold rather than challenging them and taking the power by force. It’s not like they had a way to be sure that whoever they did give the position to after wouldn’t try to take the land for themselves. He tried to reason with himself but all he could see was the bodies hanging from the beams down below. The United States government and the Avengers were giving power to what could be people like King Jacob.  

“We can challenge them later.”

“Right. Don’t spill blood yourself while you restore order. Wait until it’s convenient than take care of it if they abuse the power.”

“You know it’s more complicated than that.”  

“I’ve got to go, Nat.”  

“Clint-” He disconnected the call and pressed the power button on the phone before she had a chance to finish what she had been trying to tell him.  

The screen blinked once and went dark though Clint’s eyes were trained on the scene below. While he’d been arguing with Natasha, a woman had committed the grave crime of spilling some wine on the man Clint assumed to be King Jacob. The punishment for such a crime was a swift execution, Her blood stained the dirty snow in front of the table as the men ate.  

~~~~~<3

Cold bit at exposed skin. The temperature outside fell quickly as the sun set. Deanna sat alone on the roof with only the sleeping baby strapped to her back to keep her company. The weight of Elsa pressed tightly to her back under the heavy coat was a comfort even as the child slept.

Trust had followed Clint down the endless stairs, much to his dismay. It was a comfort to her at least, to know he at least had Trust to watch his back. Sure, the dog wouldn’t survive a gunshot but they both remembered well how the dog had loyally fought to protect her.

As far as she was concerned, the plan was beyond stupid. Clint had left her high up on the roof with a tactical bow so unlike what she usually used for practice. He’d told her that it would allow her to pull an arrow back and loose it with much more force than she normally would be capable of handling.  

He also left her with his arrows. They’d sat inside as the sun had set while he explained what each one would do. He drilled her again and again, making sure she knew which ones would explode on contact and which were simply sharp enough to split a hair on. He showed her how to use the scope and every single time she expressed doubts, he promised that she could do it.  

In truth, as he worked his way trough the dark city streets, admitted to himself that he wasn’t at all sure that she would be able to hit any intended target from that distance. But what he did know is that it would be hard for them to hit her where she was. That was what mattered most to him. Clint counted himself lucky to have convinced Trust to wait on the bottom floor of the building. Hopefully, if anyone tried to go after her the dog would be able to make enough noise to alert her.

As he moved through the shadows, Deanna did her best to keep her eyes on him. She watched as he made his way through the streets. There wasn’t much she could do when he would have to move behind buildings though. Each time she lost sight of him, her stomach would tie itself up in knots.  

~~~~~<3

Clint moved through shadows every chance he could. His hood was up, hiding his face within the darkness. Dressed in black from head to toe, he was easy to miss once the sun was down. Snow crunched under his boots as he swiftly made his way through alley ways and side streets.  

Anyone who caught sight of him and dared to make a threatening move was quickly cut down. He left men’s bodies in pools of their own blood, hidden only by the shadows. Turning a corner, he came face to face with a woman in rags. Her eyes went wide and she gasped a breath.  

His hand shot out, grabbing her and pulling her into the darkness. Another hand clamped down over her mouth as he pushed her against the wall without a single thought to how the cold brick would feel through her thin shirt.  

“Do. Not. Scream.” He waited until she nodded before removing his hand.

“What do you want with me?” She pleaded in a hoarse whisper. “Just let me go. Please, don’t hurt me. Please, I'll be good. Please.”  

“I’m not going to hurt you unless you give me reason to. There was a woman brought in not long ago- she had a baby recently. Do you know of her?”

“Rachel.”

“Is she still alive?” There was no denying that there was a very real possibility that she was dead.  

“Y-yeah. The King- The King liked her. He keeps her for himself.”

“Are any of the women here free to go? Or are you all kept women?”

“Some are, more kept than not. But the freedom they have is an illusion, I think. Why are you? Am- Am I in trouble? I don’t know you.”

“I’m not from around here.”

“I- I shouldn’t be talking to you. I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to talk to outsiders.” She pulled away from him but he held her in place firmly. “You- Why don’t you have a guard with you? I should leave. I- they’ll beat me if they catch me with an outsider.”

“When I’m done here, there won’t be anyone left to beat you. Where is Jacob right now?” She hesitated. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t cut the head off the snake quickly.”

“He’d be in his house, with his women.”

“For the rest of the night?” Clint asked. He’d caught sight of fire pits being set up in the town square park. He’d wholly expected that the night wasn’t over for the people under the care of King Jacob.

“No.”

“Then what next? I need to know.”

“When he’s done they come out. He passes his best women around to the men he’s close to. They- they- they-”

“You don’t have to say it. I’ve dealt with his kind before.”

“Any women who fight back are killed. Sometimes they kill so many that they have to go outside of the city to find more. They call it hunting. They bring them back in cages.”

“Are all of his men at the town square during this?”  

“Most. There’s a watch at the roads out of town. Always, as far as I know. But not as many now. Most people around are already dead or been brought in.”

“Are there any good men here?”  

“Some.” She chewed on her lips. “The ones that go to the town square are bad. Most of the good ones challenged things and were shot. Or hung. Now they just gave up.”

“If I let you live, will you do something for me?”

“I don’t want to die.” The woman whimpered. “I’ve been trying so hard, so hard to stay alive. Please. Please don’t kill me. Please.”

“Do not tell anyone I am here. Do you understand?” She nodded, tears gathering on her wide eyes. “Carefully, tell every person you trust to hunker down until morning.”

“What are you going to do?”  

“I’m going to cut the head off the sneak and drive out the rats.”

“How?”

“Not your problem. Go.”

As she scurried away, Clint jogged across the alley and slipped between two dumpsters. He waited in silence for a sign that the woman had betrayed him. Minutes passed as kept as still as possible but no one else came into the alley.  

After fifteen minutes came and went, he moved on. He took his time working his way through store fronts and alleys. There was no rush. He moved as if he had all the time in the world, as if he had the rest of his life to spend making his way behind the platform in the town square.

In truth, if it went sideways he would be spending the rest of his life on this walk. This wasn’t how he wanted to spend the last hours of his life and so, he decided that he wouldn’t. He didn’t care what he had to do, but he’d take down the rats in the city on his own and live to tell the world about it. He’d do whatever he had to do to go back home with Dee and keep the battle from her. He’d kill the whole city if he had to.  

~~~~~<3

Tag List: @winterisakiller​, @toozmanykids​, @tnystrk-exe​, @usedtobegoodfriend96​, @theoneanna​, @alexakeyloveloki​, @j-u-s-t-4​, @alcoholic-muffin​, @missaphrodite23​, @bambamwolf87​, @nonsensicalobsessions​, @tinchentitri​, @xoxabs88xox​, @queenoftheunderdark​, @coyotesongwriting​, @carissime72​, @myoxisbroken​, @faemapfae​, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​, @wegingerangelica​,

[variantia]

BELLUM.   everything else aside, in the Hazbin AU, Rose is a very positive force for the hotel once she shows up

Charlie and Vaggie are great gals, but even they admit that they don’t really know what they’re doing

i.e., Charlie’s idea of ‘curing’ a drug addict (   at least in terms of her televised song   ) is to throw away their drugs / burn the drugs in front of them

and Vaggie presumably is on a similar line of thinking

like they think the idea is to remove temptation rather than help someone learn to resist temptation even when it is present

as evidenced with Angel, he’s back to his old ways in two weeks ... not even, when you consider he’s been ‘on a shit load of Bolivian marching powder‘ and honestly, probably never stopped doing drugs

Rose, on the other hand, is a very flawed person who’s had a chance to look back on her life and see where exactly she fucked up.   and where did she fuck up exactly ?   by trying to HIDE things, by denying them, by pretending they didn’t exist, by RUNNING AWAY, instead of addressing any deeper issues.

she knows you can’t just sweep things under the rug and pretend like they don’t exist, and that removing temptation doesn’t automatically ‘fix’ whatever issues were leading a person to temptation in the first place.   that’s something she tries to get everyone to understand, by admitting to everything in her life before and demonstrating that it didn’t work since Steven got sent to hell because of her actions.

deep down, she never addressed her issues, at least not to anyone else.   she never told anyone the truth while she was alive, and even though she changed a LOT, she never fully healed.   and because she never fully healed, because she was always denying her true self, she was never actually redeemed, at least not by heaven’s standards

that’s something she needs the hotel to understand ; that progress and redemption isn’t going to happen because someone is trying to ‘behave’ better.   it needs to happen because their mind has undergone a true change and they’re acknowledging their flaws, not ignoring them, while working to better themselves.   it needs to come from a place of ‘I want this and it’s going to make me happy even if it might be hard‘ rather than a place of ‘I’m doing this even though I don’t want it, because someone says it’ll make me happy, but as soon as I can I’ll just go back to doing what I used to do’ or ‘I’m scared if I don’t do this, or even if I do, that bad things will happen, so I’ll just go along with it even though I don’t want it’

it’s going to be hard.   there will be setbacks, and denying that fact is only going to pressure people and make them feel like worthless failures if they aren’t perfect.   it isn’t going to happen overnight.   it’s going to be long and it’s going to be work and it won’t always be pleasant but ‘quick fixes’ aren’t going to solve anything, especially if the person isn’t ready or doesn’t genuinely want to change.

redemption is difficult.   THAT’S THE POINT.   it’s because you have to EARN IT, and if you’re not earning it, then you’re not really working toward redemption.

moreover, Rose is VERY apprehensive about Alastor.   she doesn’t trust him, and she doesn’t think he has the hotel’s best interests at heart.   he proved that with all his talk about how this is just entertainment and with the fact that his second improvement to the hotel was a BLATANT bar run by a poker-cheating alcoholic who doesn’t want to be there

what she doesn’t know is Alastor’s endgame.   is he really just looking for a cure to his boredom and decided fucking over Charlie’s biggest ever project was a good idea ?   or is this a step to something much, much bigger ?   she’s extremely wary of him, and is always trying to get inside his head to figure out how she can keep him from hurting people or undermining the hotel

her biggest priority is Steven, and getting him out of hell.   when she’s at the hotel, she’s either doting on Steven, talking to him about things, trying to fix their relationship, or, if he needs some space, she’ll be trying to help with anything that she can.   all judgments aside, she doesn’t mind spending some time with Husk, and once the two of them cool off a bit toward each other, Rose actually starts to treat Angel Dust like he’s her son, too

(   if Husk cheats, she’ll laugh and tell him, “Okay! You win!” but she discourages him from taking too many victory shots.   if she hears Angel’s been out with Valentino, she’s going to bring him an ice pop or five while she tends his wounds.   they’re kind of both her kids in a way even if it’s tricky to get them to be vulnerable.   )

if she isn’t at the hotel, she’s most likely out on the streets of hell, trying to get an audience with Lucifer so maybe she can fix this mess, or doing her best to gather information on ways to switch places with Steven.   that’s what she’s aiming to do ; if she can’t get Steven back to the living world, then she’s making sure he gets into heaven where he belongs.   either way she intends to take his place, because it’s not actually his, it’s hers.

whatever else happens, her child is DONE paying for her bad choices.

[ghoultyrant]

Dicing characters up

So I’ve recently gotten back into the swing of developing The Wild Hunt, in between puking and other such happy fun times, and of course I ran into the issue of needing to generate original capes. I moaned, I groaned, I made minor notes about general direction, resigning myself to further massive delays in the writing process because making a properly Worm-like power is actually pretty hard-

-and then I abruptly remembered that I actually have an established process for how to do so, and just haven’t used it in a couple of years for various reasons. And lo, this piece of the writing is coming along much faster and more fun.

Then it occurred to me that I could share this process, and explain the reasoning behind it. Maybe others will appreciate it.

Which brings us to now.

First step: write up all twelve canon Worm power ratings. Or I suppose you could use a different system, such as my own stab at making the rating system function, but the canon set is perfectly fine for this purpose. (I’d only personally turn to my own system if I noticed I’d completely failed to make any Othala-esque support capes in a long streak, and felt that was a problem that needed correcting) The order doesn’t matter, you can do whatever in this regard, just make sure you write up the list you’re using first.

Step 1.5: Decide whether you want rolling high to be ‘good’, or rolling low to be ‘good’. I’ll explain this in a minute, but it’s important you do this before you actually roll any dice. Which direction you choose is irrelevant’ I historically went with low=good, and this last session went with high=good, for whatever arcane reasons my brain changes its mind about such things, and it all works out the same so long as you’re consistent within a given session.

Step 1.75: If you’re making multiple characters together, decide ahead of time which set of rolls will ultimately go to which character. ie ‘this is Parahuman 1, so they get Dice Roll Set 1′. Or ‘this is Angry Parahuman, and they get Dice Roll Set 2′. Don’t do all your dice rolling and then assign batches to whoever you prefer. I’ll explain this more later.

Second step: roll an appropriate number of dice. I personally use this site, but it’s not terribly important. My personal model is to roll 12 100-sided dice; this gives a level of granularity and randomness I find useful.

Third step: Plug the die rolls into your list in the order you made each. Your first die roll goes into whatever power rating you placed first in the order, your second die roll goes into whatever rating was second, and so on. No cheating; I’ll come back to this in a minute.

Fourth step: It’s time to engage in deduction about the character you’ve kind-of-created just now. Treat your die rolls as a combination of two things; an indication of how the PRT would rate them, if they know everything reasonably obvious about their power, but also more importantly as an indication of how relatively dominant each element is in their power.

This is the part where actual creativity is involved, and I’m not going to tell you there’s any ‘right’ way of doing things in this regard, beyond that I’ve been emphasizing ‘don’t cheat’ by shuffling rolls about in any capacity, or allowing yourself to assign rolls after they’re made. The reason I’ve been emphasizing ‘don’t cheat’ is that you’re undermining your own creativity if you ‘cheat’; if you have an Angry Cape in your list of tentative characters, and you find yourself prone to doing stuff like giving Angry Capes Blaster powers that are all variations on ‘elemental blasts’, ‘cheating’ means you’re liable to fall right back into that pattern (Or any number of other patterns you’re trying to avoid falling into) instead of forcing yourself to think outside the box. At which point this whole complicated shebang is a waste of your time, honestly.

Now that’s all a bit abstract, so let’s provide an example! Just one cape, even though I really use this system primarily for producing batches of capes, because this is already going to be long and I don’t have infinite time.

Before I start, I’ll arbitrary say this example cape is meant to be a low-tier villain cape in Brockton Bay who Coil recently hired in an imaginary fanfic due to butterfly shenanigans. I’ll also arbitrarily say I vaguely want this cape to think Coil is a great guy, so I have some starting point of a personality beyond the range of possibilities implied by being a Coil hire.

So first I’ll write up the list of ratings;

Brute: 

Blaster: 

Breaker: 

Trump: 

Striker: 

Stranger: 

Changer: 

Master: 

Mover: 

Shaker: 

Thinker: 

Tinker: 

I wrote that off the cuff off memory, for reference.

Before rolling my dice, I’m just arbitrarily saying high is good.

Then I roll my dice...

90 - 45 - 97 - 56 - 8 - 48 - 20 - 94 - 23 - 88 - 46 - 74

... and what I’d normally do is just enter those in order in the above list, but for the purposes of this example I’ll instead enter them into a new copy of the list right after this sentence.

Brute: 90

Blaster: 45

Breaker: 97

Trump: 56

Striker: 8

Stranger: 48

Changer: 20

Master: 94

Mover: 23

Shaker: 88

Thinker: 46

Tinker: 74

So first I note the extremes: whatever this cape can do, they’re not a Striker. And if there’s any Mover or Changer elements, they’re really low-key, the sort of thing that would get a PRT threat rating of 1 if they made it into documentation at all.

At the other extreme, Breaker is the highest number, followed closely by Master, Brute, and Shaker, in that order. That implies Breaker is the foundation of this cape’s power (In the framework of ‘Breaker states’, to be specific; if you take a different interpretation of Breaker, you’d interpret this differently), with them either having all their states include Brute/Master/Shaker elements, or that their most powerful/useful states are the ones that merit those ratings.

Tinker is also pretty high up, but not the highest up. If it were the highest rating, I’d probably interpret the cape as a Tinker whose devices all come back to breaker effects in some capacity. Since it’s the lowest of the relatively high ratings, I instead infer the Tinkering is somehow an outgrowth of the Breaker rating; maybe they have a state that can copy tinkertech?

That brings us to the middling ratings of Blaster, Stranger, Trump, and Thinker. These are all high enough I’m not willing to write them off as non-existent qualities, but they’re low enough relative to the main high numbers that they’re clearly not of primary importance, either being not distinct powers at all but a side effect of the primary aspects of their power, or being distinct powers that are weak or inflexible such that the cape doesn’t make much use of them. In this case, the high Brute rating suggests the Blaster rating may simply be an acknowledgement that super-strength is a great tool for turning anything in your environment into an impromptu projectile.

Taken altogether, what comes to mind is that Coil Patsy here has a Breaker state they can turn on that lets them suborn people in an area around them while also making them fairly resistant to harm. At this point I interpret the low Mover number not as, for example, ‘Mover 1′, which would be an indication of mildly superhuman speed or super-jumping or something, but instead as an indication that the Breaker state involves a loss of mobility, which in conjunction with the high Brute rating suggests their Breaker state is something solid and slow, such as turning into solid iron. Said aura of control makes it so everyone in their control is capable of low-tier Tinkering, with the overall versatility and quality of the tinkertech rising the more people in their control are working together. The Trump rating is now obvious; actual Tinkers can be tapped for their full Tinker ability, spontaneously providing this cape brand-new options if they get a Tinker under their control. The Blaster rating is now interpreted as an indication they have a propensity for producing tinkertech rifles and other ranged weaponry, which their thralls use reasonably competently, but which are not stupendously threatening. The Thinker rating is interpreted as an indication they tap the senses of their thralls. The Stranger rating seems to require inventing a new power or major Tinkertech specialty in the context of how canon Worm uses the Stranger rating, but here I lean on the advantages ambiguity provides and choose, in this case, to interpret the Stranger rating as indicating that any signs of control are subtle enough Coil Patsy can have eyes on the inside without people noticing if stringent Master/Stranger protocols aren’t in effect.

By blind coincidence, this cape sounds like a really plausible explanation for where canon Coil got his tinkertech underslung lasers. (That never actually got used...) So now I know that in my imaginary fanfic, this cape is supposed to exist in canon and in canon was hired to make some underslung lasers, but the fanfic’s butterflies led to Coil working to get this cape in his pocket in a more substantial way. I also now know that my original arbitrary decision to make him a fan of Coil indicates Coil used the carrot, rather than the stick, as part of the recruitment process; where Tattletale was recruited with a gun to her head, this cape was recruited by Coil solving his problems and throwing wads of cash at him to do the same basic kind of thing he wants to do anyway.

Now, this sounds like a pretty powerful power, which might seem inconsistent with my earlier arbitrary assertion that Coil Patsy is a low-tier villain, but I can take the interpretation that, yes, it is a strong power, but the cape has been lying low in part because creating a long-term operation is insanely risky. At this step I assume he suffers Thinker headaches if he runs his Breaker state for too long, and that his thralls all remember what happened just fine and are liable to hate his guts and try to kill him once he ends the state, in the scenario where he uses his power to gangpress random citizens; he’s been low-tier because it’s dangerous for him to try to freely abuse his power...

... but for this imaginary fanfic, he’s probably about to turn into a big threat as Coil hires a bunch of people to act as his intermittent Tinker thralls.

From there I do more standard character creation stuff of deciding on his basic personality (And gender, for that matter, though apparently at some point I decided he was male without thinking about it in this particular case), assigning a name and possibly cape name to him, and then put a pin on it and am now free to go forward with writing scenes with this character.

And there you go; a methodology for pushing yourself to come up with weird, creative power sets.