The verdict is in: you're pregnant, man

BlazeOnMars is a unique specimen, and by unique I mean someone who's going to be entering the professional field as an SJW in years to come. For Conservative Inc, who wrongfully believed these people will 'grow up when they enter the real world', individuals like BlazeOnMars will be a force for change in all the wrong directions. She is a future law student. Her past time is writing Mpreg, and reporting people who ask her why men get pregnant.

This is her bar entrance exam. 

From the author's note:

This is going to be a very, very slow burn. Ezio isn't even in this first chapter, except as an infant. Unfortunately, it means we've got a long way to go before we get to the romance because I absolutely love stories where it's the slow building trust of friendship to lovers and this is absolutely my own wish fulfillment.

Wish fulfillment can come in many forms, but ultimately, the attachment issues are what determines it to be within the realm of 'healthy' to 'obsessive'. For Blaze, as a 'bigender', 'aromatic', 'asexual', writing homosexual romance shouldn't be on her list at all. As author Xazz once wrote:

'Asexual' used to mean someone who can either reproduce asexually, or, in social terms, has zero - and I mean zero - interest in sex. A few examples of true asexual characters are Sherlock Holmes (Cumberbatch version), and Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins version). It's one of the biggest mysteries of the universe why people with allegedly no interest in sex write and consume pornography. But eh, I guess I should be tolerant...or not, given how Blaze is fine with punching women who say dudes with inverted penises are women.

(Just remember, this is a woman who says it is unfair women like Daenerys Targaryen couldn't rule because of her sex, yet thinks transwomen are women.)

Desmond comes aware in a moment, in the space between his rabbiting heartbeats, with the headache is still pounding behind his eyes. He's never felt pain like this. It feels worse than the hangover after his real twenty-first birthday, worse than the heat sickness during his second heat, when he'd been sixteen and homeless and stupid. He wants to throw up from the pain but his iron stomach makes that impossible. It takes him several slow, deep breathes before he can think but, when he can, he realizes two things simultaneously. 

Before this paragraph, it is merely a rehash of what Desmond experiences during the first scene of AC1. I should also like to mention that Warren Vidic doesn't speak with a 'nasally' voice, nor do I think Blaze knows what a nasally person sounds like.

This fic takes place in the Omegaverse, where Omegas - allegedly a small number of the population - are normally men who can get pregnant. They are also complete sexual slaves. They go through 'heats' like an animal, and without suppressors, alpha males - always larger, more masculine, and the 'man's man' - will swarm them and try to rape them. Omegas seldom have any rights; in many cases, they are the 'women' living in a fiercely misogynistic world. Women do exist in the Omegaverse, and despite there clearly being a binary sex, no mention is made of why women would even need to exist, or why men would be needed. Or, better yet, the consequences of a Malthusian trap if 75% of your population could breed.

His instincts kick in, remembering the man and woman who had spoken to him, and he pulls for the scents in the air around him, immediately getting two. Both are faint, pale, lacking the added wash of pheromones that make alpha and omega scents so distinct and powerful. Betas, then. The first scent he gets is, for a beta's scent, overpowering with antiseptic and cleaning chemicals, and Desmond nearly coughs. He gets the other scent on the next breath and goes perfectly still. Lightly floral, nothing distinct. And over the top of that— 

I should also mention people in this universe have a wolf's sense of smell, where they can detect pheromones at a sharper rate than modern humans can. While IRL human pheromones tend to be subtle, Omegaverse pheromones have all the lasting smells of a bottle of Febreeze after someone has taken a nasty shit: it's everywhere, you can't get rid of it, and you really do wish there was an open window.

In short, as an Omega, Desmond has no choice over his life. His alpha will always 'top', and it should be mentioned that an Omega cannot top an Alpha, nor can an Alpha go with another Alpha. The most powerful being has to go with the most submissive one - and need I remind you the people writing these stories are largely women who despise the real-life variants of these dynamics?

Desmond sits up with a groan, one hand coming up to grip his aching temple reflexively, and he pulls for the scents around him again as a distraction. These two must both be betas and he curses silently that a beta's scent is too thin to carry many markers of their emotions, and they must both spend a lot of time in this room because Desmond can't filter out which scent belongs to the blonde woman and which one belongs to the older man. 

If you're born as a Beta in this universe, you struck a good deal: you are seldom bothered and you won't get gang-raped when your 'estrus' sets in. Usually, betas are the people at the back of the bus: otherwise not bothersome, unless they want to make a statement.

The man turns, slowly, to look at Desmond with the kind of blankness in his eyes he'd seen too often growing up, not just on the Farm but in the slums of New York as a recently presented teenager with no place to go: dismissive, calculating, disdainful. Desmond's life means less to this man than the dirt under his fingernails, to be put up with until it's time to use and then dispose of him. 

Ah, how nice. Desmond had to 'present' - AKA, show his ass - in order not to get molested. Can't have an Omegaverse story without some form of prostitution, eh?

There is exactly one thing that comes to Desmond's mind that this man could be talking about: his presentation. If they kidnapped him because he's an omega, his life is effectively over; even in 2012, alphas and omegas who were too blatant about their presentation could be killed by their neighbors, by the police, by their doctors, and nobody would stop it. In a medical research facility, omegas are little better than the womb inside them, and Desmond fights the urge to wrap his arms around his waist. Nine years in New York, moving from place to place, never setting down roots, never making friends, never having a backup plan, and somehow these people have managed to discover what he'd learned to hide so well. 

And there you have it: you have a minority segment of your population that lives in abject fear every day of their life, because these 'strong Alpahs' retain the right to rape them and use them at will. Forced bondings are common, and if an Omega tries to break free of the bond they are subsequently hunted down and killed. These don't make for romance stories, but psychological horror/dystopian ones.

Desmond, a man, magically has a womb. Why? Well Reasons, that's why. Men have both sets of organs and are not considered true hermaphrodites. When asked, Blaze angrily said it was her story, and she had the right to do whatever she wanted, dammit! Removed comments and reports galore. Oh, and Blaze is a woman with no desire to get pregnant. That is a blessing - but this story is not.

He'd never believed anything his parents had said growing up; how could he, when he never left the Farm, didn't have any experience beyond what he'd been indoctrinated into? The tales of how Templars would torture an Assassin for information, how the Templars were always watching, always knew.

How much they wanted to control humanity. 

That is the most ironic thing, considered Alphas control Omegas and society in general - regardless of Templar influence - refuses to see Omegas as human. Once again, the best part about these stories is that the people who write them cry foul over ethnic minorities being treated the way Omegas are. Yet, not a single one of them puts two and two together.

To be fair, having the Templars control humanity when humanity in this verse is pretty fucked up and is constructed out of a true rape culture.

That his father's crazy ravings are now the cause of his kidnapping and not his secondary gender… The omega swallows hard. 

Now, this is where Blaze's wish fulfillment comes in. She says she's 'bigender', which is utter nonsense as it doesn't exist in humanity (though she'll probably sue for it in American legislation, as is the case for non binary people). Desmond is both male and female, albeit only with female reproductive organs. It's too offensive for her to say Desmond is a true hermaphrodite, because that's such 'archaic language'.

Desmond has spent more time as Altaïr than as himself, feeling more and more unmoored inside his head with the endless, snide input the Syrian beta adds about nearly everything when Desmond is not in the Animus. 

I am surprised Altair is not written as an alpha. In other stories, Edward Kenway is written as an Omega (a real shocker), and Arno virtually is always one to take it up the ass. Altair gets the beta male treatment, pushed to the back as always.

The look Lucy gives him stills the air in his lungs and she enunciates each word carefully; Desmond is used to being talked over, by now, but the dismissal still hurts. "I'm pretty sure you should shut up. If they find this treasure that Altaïr had seen, they'll use it to change the world, and not in a good way—change the way we live, the way we think. The way we are. You've heard Warren's… lectures, how we need 'order' and 'control,' and they're going to give it to us whether we want it or not." 

There's that glorious irony. Or should I say hypocrisy? This is a world where Omegas have to take pills not to be molested. You really think using a PoE to change that would be bad? You're living in a sexual caste system, and if Blaze isn't aware of how it works, she is free to look at how Untouchables are treated in the Indian caste system.

The lectures that had only confirmed to the omega that the older beta is far from sane, indoctrinated to these ideas that somehow people need order, need direction, that the atrocities being committed now are somehow worse than the atrocities from years ago. Desmond's not sure he agrees, really; some places are bad, certainly, but to say that everything is? It's the same all-or-nothing mentality that drove him from the Farm: either humanity has no controls, the way the Assassin's want, or they're going to be controlled by one group, the way the Templars do. 

You're living in an atrocious world right now. The Assassins aren't fighting for humanity's freedom - they are enabling it, because everyone lives in a world (yes I am repeating myself) where your future is decided based on the way you were bone. You don't have a choice or free will. You're Alpha, Beta, or Omega, and if you aren't Alpha, you're getting fucked by someone else. Literally.

Because he doesn't have any control here, doesn't have any way to keep these people from trawling through his mind; he's a body to fill the Animus, and the fact that Abstergo doesn't even want him for his breeding capacity… 

Here, I'll refer you to Maury Povich.

But I'm not an Assassin, Desmond thinks hollowly. And he doesn't miss that she's not giving him a choice in the matter, but then again, why would she? Omegas are meant to obey, so Desmond tucks his chin into his chest, and stays two steps behind Lucy all the way down the hall. He still doesn't know where he is, he doesn't have any resources, and he can't trust that getting out of Lucy's hold won't land him right back with Abstergo. Better to go along, play it safe.

We just had Desmond clean up a whole underground garage of goons - like an Alpha - and yet as an Omega he has to obey whatever an Alpha orders him to do. Mate choice? Nah. Reproductive freedom? Nah. Almost as if Blaze and the other A/B/O writers subconsciously create a world where one sex/group of people is subjugated and used only for their wombs...hell, they're even silent when those 'transwomen' want them.

The British man sneers at him and his tone goes a little mocking, "Ah, yes. Mister Miles. Where are my manners." The hairs on the back of Desmond's neck raise at the beta's subtle emphasis on Desmond's gendered title, but he can't point to anything in particular about why he doesn't like it, only that he doesn't.  

Oh no, misgendering. Call the UN Declaration on Human Rights! Oh, and by the way, Desmond looks like a male, acts like a man, and has a build like one. No one even knows he has a goddamn womb, unless they 'smell' it. He's getting pissy at being called a dude the same way Blaze no doubt gets offended when called a woman.

 It has all the added pheromones the young alpha, recently presented, can put out, driving his men into a flurry around him. 

Seriously? Vieri is an alpha? That utter weasel of a man?

Well, colour me blue and call me a Smurf. I'm shocked.

The remaining man growls something out but he is only a beta and when Ezio snarls back with the full richness of an alpha, the man flinches and Ezio quickly slams his knuckles into the man's temple. The man drops unconscious without a noise. 

Why am I reminded of this?

Federico straightens, turned serious faster than a blown candle, and though shorter than Ezio by less than a hand's span, he is certainly more powerful and skilled, though the younger alpha is loathe to admit it.

Faster than a blown candle? That's a new metaphor I haven't heard of. Of course an alpha loathes meeting someone equally in skill: men are the brutal, vicious species after all. No wonder Blaze won't touch men (yet will write them fucking!).

The figure laughs at him again, the lingering sorrow surrounding him lifting long enough for the slim man to raise his left hand from its place and wiggle his fingers back in a sort-of wave. It is an odd gesture, more suited to a woman 

Figures.

With a low growl, vision washing red with a sense of alpha, instinct rides him and the young alpha coils himself to lunge after his fleeing rival, baring his teeth ferally.  

Again, I can't get over on how this is supposed to be 'badass'. He just sounds like that dude on Australian television, snapping and growling like a dog. It's pretty damn hilarious.

Ezio grinds his teeth and grumbles to himself that this would all be much easier if his apparition did not project his emotions so strongly that Ezio can almost feel them as if they were his own: that first day was melancholic, interactions with Ezio's family brought forth wistful longing, and now the meeting of Leonardo da Vinci drowns him in shock and awe. 

Blaze's method of story-telling is copying the plot of AC II. Whenever canon dialogue is mentioned, it contradicts with her overly emotional, rainbow-hue seeing interpretation of Ezio. He's melancholic, to snarling like a pitbull, to feeling morose. Please get back on your meds, Blaze. BPD needs to be treated.

This whipcrack of a man, even skinnier than Ezio first thought and a handspan taller than Ezio himself—already taller than most—has the sort of face an artist might try to render in sculpture for a young god.  

I cannot tell you how many times I've read the 'sculpted like a god' simile. It gets grating after a while. In any case, while there has been some debate among the fandom around how tall Ezio is, his Soul Calibre profile puts him at 5'9 - which is the average height for Italians today. However, fans noticed how Ezio stands roughly the same height at Desmond, who is suspected of being near six feet tall, so it wouldn't be unusual for him to be six feet or near Desmond in height. Height is largely genetic, and Altair stood at the same height as Ezio. Either Desmond is really 5'9, or 6'0.

Inside Desmond's head, the Syrian Assassin starts up again, hissing with fury and rage, and Desmond wraps his hands around the fronts of his knees and grips. That sort of comment isn't the first that he's heard—not by far, not even the worst—but he thought he might be among allies. All it does is summon up old wants, old aches, old fears, and Desmond forces himself not to long for the uncomplicated cat and mouse relationship he has with Ezio. 

Ouch. Imagine being called a whore by the Britbong. That has to sting. Also, you barely know Ezio, Desmond, so it's not really a cat and mouse game or relationship. So much for 'slow burn'.

This story is only three chapters in, and Blaze plans on writing 24, possibly more. So this is definitely one I'll be keeping up on. I'll confess I do like the idea of Altair sneaking around Desmond's mind, letting Desmond know what he thinks and the genetic memory leftovers provides an interesting perspective. However, Blaze doesn't possess a high level of creativity. One, she more or less copies the plot. Two, she doesn't realize she contradicts her own plot by making it seem terrible how the Templars want to rule the world when the world they live in is a sexual caste system.

Blaze couldn't answer why Desmond was not a true hermaprodite, because it was too offensive. She makes it a plot point on how Desmond was 'misgendered', despite him being in all cases male - with the exception being his magical vagina. This will be a slow burn romance story, and already Ezio is making goo-goo eyes at Desmond, who at that point is a phantom in the Animus. It's not established how Desmond is actually physically present in the Renaissance; it is simply a 'Just So' excuse.

As the story goes on, I'll have to see if Blaze is capable of writing her own content. For now, this 'agender, aromantic, asexual' writes romance, child birth and sex while complaining about misgendering and how TERFs are shit. A real snowflake, this one. Think I might make a snowglobe out of it.