#i have rather unkind and violent thoughts about this

[inkskinned]

she had taken all of the pronouns in my poems and turned them masculine. every she was he. every her was him. i wrote about women dipping their hands into the honey of my chest and she had changed it in this stark, violent way. men now, in my work. in my ribs, i guess. how odd, to stare at it.

i write a lot about worshipping at the knees of my girl. what sapphic can resist the allure of chapel-talk, the divine nature of what is ours and ours alone. her hair in your shower. her chapstick melting in your car. when we say holy here, it is a different meaning. it is the smithing of our own haloes from mix-tape cds. no hammer to the anvil - only our own palms, skin scorching. forging every astral ray with the prayer please don't leave. our bible a history that is never taught in high school. we shape a church from the tent of her arched back. what other word for hymn but her voice. her moaning.

a poem can be stripped of its component parts, maybe, but can it still breathe? is it still the same ship? the words this woman changed, biting and spiraling up at me: my man is holy. i worship at his feet. he is the divinity of saturdays and the wheat of my communion and he is the hushed summer's glorious release.

it's common knowledge that you can say a word too-many times, and then it loses meaning. but here was something new: it wasn't that the words had lost meaning, but rather that they had shifted in the air somehow and turned radioactive to me. all of my words were otherwise unchanged, except for the unkind and glowing eye of him.

ivory-tower glowing in my aorta, i thought about talking to her on the sanctimonious and erudite level. telling her: a poem can be changed, can be erased or added to or demolished or reconfigured; but we do try to respect the original author. i would tell her i would have preferred her not change only the pronouns; that her actions felt like censorship rather than collaboration.

in front of me: you cannot cut him out of me, i was made to love him. no scrubbing, no penance. i will always come back to this house, come back to loving men.

i thought about telling her why her actions were cannibalism, not care. i would tell her about being 18 and pressured by my catholic family to accept a man as a partner; how i'd dated him for 5 years before being able to escape. how abusive he had been. how he had made me kneel in front of him - that i wasn't using the word worship idly, but rather as a reclamation. how i had to be re-taught even the concept of faith. how when i learned peace again, it was by the hand of a woman.

i thought about telling her about the wound behind it, the unceasing loneliness. i thought about telling her shape of the small and quiet hours; the fear; the endless and unpretty nature of just being queer. i thought about saying: all of my work comes from a place of pain.

i thought about telling her everything. when i finally found the words, it was only one: why? in that was the summary of all i felt: why not write her own poem? why change it so violently? and why choose my work, if she disliked it so much? why me?

i imagine she shrugged when she responded. all i got was a single sentence: "i really like your work but i want to be able to enjoy it without being made uncomfortable."

on her insta, her pinned post is of her boyfriend - now husband - proposing. they were married in 2023. congratulations. i really do hope she's happy.

i hope one day it stops hurting.

[divinecrashingcourse]

We know Trina was fully aware that godhood would be a prison for Miquella.

The thing about prison is, you don't get what you want in there. You don't get to be who you want to be, or spend your life with your loved ones, or save anyone outside while you can barely save yourself. You don't get to avoid violence just because you have good intentions because violence is all around you and prison itself is part of a violent cycle that never breaks from within.

We know Trina was Miquella's other self, literally "half of the body". Surely Trina's knowledge used to be Miquella's knowledge too.

We know Trina thought Miquella must be killed and in fact instructed us to kill him. We know Miquella wanted to kill her too and in fact left her behind to bleed, wither and die, likely after having pushed her down a cliff.

When half of you and the other half took actions to kill each other, it's not murder. It's a suicide.

Many agreed the whole "no cost too great" mindset for ascension in the DLC felt very disconnected and disingenuous. Indeed Miquella showed no interest in becoming a god in the base game, since abandoning fundamentalism they have been more focused on materials - physical, tangible things rather than wrestling with concepts and philosophies. Instead of relying on their identity as an empyrean, they preferred using their own hands and knowledge to practice crafts as a sage and a scholar.

Then we were told what they thought of godhood via Trina. We followed their blood trail of literal total self destruction and reached the spot where they attempted suicide. We saw and heard them hold back a desperate cry when they said "I will become a god", alone in a memory space that's stripped of all colours.

Yet many still believed this was what Miquella wanted all along. I find that extremely unlikely.

Why abandon doubt and vacillation in the first place? If there weren't multiple alternatives to begin with, they wouldn't have had to abandon vacillation i.e. the inability to make a choice among two or more options.

We know for sure one of the options was to kill Mohg and use his body as a vessel to contain Radahn's soul to return as a god, which was what they eventually went with, although they didn't kill Mohg themselves.

It's very obvious that Miquella wouldn't want to go down this path. If you look at how they thought of Marika even after knowing about the Shamans:

(Count Ymir dialogue)

They despised her. It was unkind, given Shamans' history, but they were too angry to even pretend they had any compassion for her in front of Ymir.

Many people more or less sympathised with Marika after the DLC but even with the same knowledge Miquella's verdict was that Marika was simply wrong and insane, and she was the one to blame for everyone's pain that came after. This aspiring god of compassion, who sought to embrace all, couldn't embrace what their parents did. They resented her so much that they were determined to abandon everything they inherited from her, to give away every last strand of their flesh and bleed themselves dry, just to cut all ties with her, and her age of the Erdtree.

Even after the charm broke, the vengeful hornsent who was eager to kill all Erdtree denizens still fully acknowledged Miquella's redemption. This could not have simply been done by their charm.

Leda said to us:

A seduction and a betrayal. Hornsent grandam also spoke about being "betrayed" by Marika, who she referred to as a "wanton strumpet"; a low blow, at Marika's private history. Likely, Marika "seduced" a significant member of the Hornsents to gain protection, then forsook their soul and used their body as a vessel for her other partner, and it's therefore such a personal, despicable betrayal in Hornsent grandam's eyes. If it was irrelevant, she wouldn't have made such an emphasis on how Marika was sexually unrestrained.

Miquella clearly knew this. Whether they knew it was the only way to return as a god is another matter - I tend to believe Miquella only found the secret rite scroll later on - otherwise it wouldn't have been a secret rite (hidden in the corner of s secret library) for a sealed away tower hidden in the super secret shadow lands - and when they "spoke of the beginning", they only thought it was due to Marika's cruelty and insanity that she heartlessly used someone who fully trusted them for her ascension.

They condemned Marika so much that they tore their own body apart to show everyone their determination to never even come close to Marika's path, that they would be on the side of the downtrodden. As many have rightly pointed out, killing Mohg and using his body as a vessel would just be repeating Marika's doing which renders all their sacrifice and redemption pointless. Their promises to the Hornsents would become the biggest lie that haunts them for life.

No matter how they felt towards Mohg, they would for sure hate the idea of being even remotely like Marika, not to mention doing the similar deeds as her to ascend and return as a god. They also couldn't afford having their bloodline tainted again by themselves and having their future children think of them the same way as they now think of Marika. Think about all the omen children who would eventually figure out what happened to their father. It's not possible to rely on their charm (of which the extent of power was obviously limited) forever and ever. They came here to make things right, not to start another vicious cycle.

Naturally, one of the other options would be to not go ahead with the secret rite, although if they so choose, they'd be lingering in the LoS as half flesh half spirit forever, breaking their promise to Malenia that they'd return to her.

The vessel must be a sacred, horned body, and it must be emptied and refilled with a lord's soul. It's kept vague in the English version, but relatively clear in Japanese that the vessel and the soul need to be from two separate sources.

I don't think using Mohg's body as the vessel shows how indifferent or hateful they were towards Mohg - committing a thousand years' companionship with someone's body itself is incredibly sexually intense, and says something about their preference.

We can clearly see it from their attitude toward Marika that when they truly resent someone, they would not hide it, and they would want nothing to do with them. They also believe the ways they treat flesh and bones bear meanings and emotions. Abandoning their own flesh means cutting ties with their origin. Retaining Mohg's flesh should hold the same weight. There might be other options, but they'd rather it be Mohg's body that's by their side, if it must come to that.

Only the choice between two betrayals - two loved ones - can be so impossible.

In a way, Miquella mirrored each of their followers' qualities: they were academic like Ansbach, youthful like Freyja, charismatic like Leda, and determined to be the best in their craft like Dane.

They could also be hesitant like Thiollier, indecisive like Moore, and resentful like the Hornsent. This was when they faced the exact same questions as Moore:

Should I stay sad forever (about the fact that I must betray one of them) or put it behind me (do it, and get it over with)?

They had been choosing "I don't know" for so long that they eventually abandoned the very feature of vacillation itself to get it over with.

Now the new Miquella thought without doubt and vacillation, that maybe they could accept killing Mohg, and reviving Radahn's soul. They could betray the horned people a little for now and say a big sorry later. Mohg loved them so much that he would give anything they asked for anyway.

But they didn't actually kill him. I believe when Mohg was felled by the tarnished, Miquella's blood ran cold.

Entertaining the idea of betraying someone who wholeheartedly trusts and supports you and going against everything you believe in and represent is one thing, executing such a plan and staring into the aftermath is another. They were like those who joked about killing hundreds of people a day but in fact couldn't even make themselves shoot a cow.

Out of love and respect towards themselves, they thought it was best to die.

Even without the ability to think critically, the loss was simply too much to bear. They knew they must stop now, as they haven't managed to save anyone so far, and they wouldn't be able to save anyone if they carried on as they were even more dangerous than before. Hell, they didn't want to become a god to begin with, merely saying it out loud almost made them cry as a child.

I disagree whenever someone says Miquella was cruel. They were kind enough to decide they should spare the rest of the world from themselves.

But they failed at dying too. The thing that climbed up from the bottom of the fissure wearing Miquella's face, was not Miquella or Trina anymore. It was mindless, heartless, bodiless, and so very afraid.

The final boss was only titled "Promised Consort Radahn" & "Radahn, Miquella's Consort", instead of "Radahn and Miquella" for a reason.

The last remembrance only spoke about Miquella's innocent youth, a broken memory from when they didn't even know what asking someone to be their king fully entailed, as if the rest hundreds years of their life as a prodigy and a brilliant craftsman didn't exist, for a reason.

For Miquella was not there. Just like Mohg, Miquella's soul had also been torn into pieces and mostly forsaken by themselves. Descartes said "I doubt, therefore I am; in other words, I think, therefore I am." He was quite right.

Without doubt, vacillation, love and fear, without their very being, what exactly was there left?

Only blind ambition and violence, like every other power hungry man - as reflected in Light of Miquella - submit to him, or be annihilated.

This is why killing this last bit of them was mercy and forgiveness - Miquella themselves would have hated to exist like this. It would be cruel not to put them down. We were essentially their war surgeon in the end.

We reached their voice mail, a faint echo of them from yonks ago, stripped of all nuances. The lights were still on, but they would never be home again.

[katheriensapple]

Soo, I guess I have a TAWOG AU now

Still learning how tumblr works so i'm probably breaking like a thousand rules of tumblr etiquette or whatever. But fuck it, i'm currently obsessed with TAWOG and all its fucking terrifying lore (the void, the missing characters, Rob, etc).

I just write a fic that takes place in an AU in where Gumball (of all people) is fully aware of the nature and fate of his world and super bitter about it. I love how it gave me the opportunity to explore the mind of a borderline sociopath with a huge ego but also an abuse history and depressing thought process.

sooo, there some of thoughts about this Gumball.

Diagnosed with CD (conduct disorder) but really full blown ASPD.

He hates TV's, radios and anything that has any form of static. But is, in fact, pretty good fixing and rewiring TV's when needed, and has a huge deal of training in hardware operation. Usually the first detecting signal problems or interferences.

He's willing to sit down and watch TV with Darwin, but won't do it out of free will.

Doesn't like studying for principle, but is pretty good at hearing or detecting crucial but completly random details and memorizing them. This advanced or educated vocabulary can make people think he knows more of a subject than he really knows.

A professional bullshitter. Good at telling lies and remembering them. Can ocasionally gaslight Darwin or Penny to make them accept and tell different versions of certain events.

Biromantic with preference for boys, may be ace but too young to know.

Demiboy/Bidemigender.

Has a really unclear/foggy vision of gender/gender identity. Those problems are probably related to trauma but he refuse to work on them. Uses he/him pronouns in person but any pronouns on internet. He try to not think to much of it.

Has the unexplicable skill to know when he's 'acting for an episode' or when 'the cameras are on', so his behavior can vary from a moment to another without any explanation.

Sometimes he is forced to remember himself that he's the main character of a 'for children of 7 or older' cartoon and has to tune it down. His secret wish is to be on Adult Swim. He's angry at the world for take away his 'stabbing previleges' and want them back.

Physically imprudent and without any self-preservation instinct.

He's in love with Rob and has no problem admitting so, the problem is that, for him, love and hate are basically the same.

Extremely possessive with his loved ones.

Usually don't like to describe his feelings as love or, for the contrary, uses the word carelessly or even with strangers. Almost always confused about it.

Not heartless, but yes shameless and ruthless and respectless. Violent, but not always.

Little to no emotional empathy and a huge deal of cognitive empathy.

His only consistent prosocial behavior is trying to no harm his friends or family.

"Rules are no more than pretty dumb suggestions that I ocassionally follow 'cause i don't have ODD". (being ODD, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, other disorder he just read about in a DMS-V copy he stole from his psychiatrist).

Not in treament anymore because it's pretty useless for him. He has learned to behave in a socially accepted way for most of the time.

Try to do morally good things only for Darwin's sake.

Recognizes himself as an 'unkind creature' or as evil by nature. In some ways try to keep people (specially Rob) away because he knows he will hurt them eventually if them get too close. This is the main cause of his lying and pretending.

Emotionally shallow, superficial, but sad and angry to the core. His emotional outbursts tend to be brief, intense in some way but utterly infected with a persisting layer of numbness. He recovers from them rather quickly and returns to a normal, calm state for the rest of the day.

Doesn't care about the 90% of people he knows. Very fond of his family and some of his friends, however.

[chronicle-of-isha]

Chapter 30: Political Realignment

"Leetu. Leetu! Wake up now." Neoth watched glumly as Erda knocked against the Space Marine's helmet. Her knuckles made a loud clanking noise when they rapped against the beaked helm.

The Space Marine in question was swaying groggily from side to side, a side effect of being exposed to the aftershock of almost an hour's worth of divine nagging.

"Poor boy." She tutted. "Neoth, can't you apply that psychic warding you gave to the soldiers you sent to fight the Cognoscynths?"

"I wouldn't suggest it." He muttered. "The anti-psyker warding I applied to them dulled their senses to the unnatural. On top of making them more oblivious to things from the immaterium, LE-2 might no longer see you as before."

"He will recognize me." Erda said as she patted the side of the Space Marine's helm. "Even if he doesn't, it won't matter. All my children outgrow me eventually."

Neoth remained silent at that. LE-2 was just a prototype to him. He was pretty much the standard for all of those who would come after him, making him unremarkable amongst his future peers. The one thing that made him special was his attachment to Erda. He would never betray his own mother, and that loyalty made him a useful bodyguard and manservant for her. If he removed that loyalty by accident, the one thing that made LE-2 special would disappear.

Erda may be able to accept that. He could not.

"LE-2's only worth is his attachment to you. You need a guard at all times."

"Oh, you are such a worrywart." Erda huffed.

"Should I help?" Isha spoke as she walked up to the Space Marine.

"It depends on what you will do." Erda said as she knocked on LE-2's helmet again.

"Nothing much, besides activate his fight or flight response." The long-eared goddess poked the Space Marines right pauldron. "A boost of adrenaline should awaken him. He is a soldier. He wouldn't end up like this if he had his war mask on. If he can be reminded of what it means to survive, he should be able to shake this off."

"That would be a bit much." Erda sighed. "I would rather splash him with a bucket of cold water, or use some smelling salts."

"Both would require removing his helmet." Isha's ears flicked with irritation.

"And that can only be done by Leetu." Erda said as she pulled back her hand and began tapping her chin thoughtfully.

"Then how about this?" Isha stopped prodding the Space Marine and reached for Erda's shoulder.

Immediately the Space Marine shoved himself between Erda and Isha then raised his bolter, finger on the trigger, only to stop when Erda's hand covered the barrel.

"I always imagined the Aeldari to be more elegant." She huffed.

"He clearly views you as his mother." Isha shrugged. "Even at his worst, he would prioritize your protection and honor over everything else."

"Even so, using faux blackmail to wake him was unkind."

"It was the only non-violent way to wake him quickly. Why wait when it's obvious there is no other path?"

"I see." Erda sighed. "You and Neoth might be more agreeable than I thought."

Isha shrugged at the accusation. "If we weren't I wouldn't have decided to work with him."

Erda chuckled at that while LE-2 calmed down. His bolter lowered as he shook his head. The grogginess hadn't fully been dispelled, but he was at least aware of his surroundings.

"Neoth." Erda said as she turned to her other son. "Where were you planning to take your new partner after this?"

"To Khangba Marwu." Neoth answered.

"The Imperial dungeons?" Erda asked back with a raised eyebrow.

"It is close to the Imperial Palace, isolated, and gives me an excuse to see her." Neoth replied, listing off his reasons. "There are still a few of Narthan Dume's lieutenants there who I could be questioning, as well as other artifacts from Old Night that might provide cover for my presence there."

"She is to be my guest upon Terra. I will not have my hospitality sullied." Erda paused for a moment in thought. "We shall take her to the Sanctum Imperialis."

"Like this?" Neoth gestured to the obviously alien goddess before them. Besides her appearance, her nature meant any mortal who saw her would be heavily affected by the psychic emanations that came from her.

"You can change your size and form, can't you?" Erda asked as she turned towards Isha.

"For the sake of deception, then yes." Isha replied.

"Then I have a plan. We will go to the Imperial Palace aboard my shuttle. There you will follow me as a handmaiden, temporarily." She flashed a small smile towards the other goddess. Although minor, this ruse was an expression of dominance. A handmaiden was subservient to her mistress. Thus, symbolically Isha would be at Erda's mercy.

"Fine." Isha nodded as she returned the smile. "As a guest upon your body, I suppose I can pretend to be your servant."

Tacit agreement was provided to the arrangement. As the guest, Isha would agree to follow Erda's house rules. So long as Erda was hospitable, she would feign obedience to the maternal goddess of humanity.

"It's only a ruse until Malcador and the others are informed." Erda chuckled, accepting and providing a time limit to their agreement. "I wouldn't want to have you tailing me every moment like an actual handmaiden."

"Good." Isha nodded, then turned towards Neoth. "See? This is what hospitality looks like."

"What sort of hospitality did you expect me to extend after mind-wiping an entire planet?" He grumbled back.

The catatonic Xenobiologis would have to be unloaded from the Bucephelus and smuggled back to the Imperial Palace over the course of a couple days. Other arrangements were being made for the rest of the materials he had stolen or scavenged.

But, there was another reason for his mention of them. It seemed Erda and Isha had formed some sort of bizarre rapport with each other, and he didn't like it. Hopefully the mention of what Isha had done would put a wedge between them, but Erda merely shrugged in response.

"They are still alive." Isha huffed. "Just cursed with knowledge."

"Although unfortunate, that is the fate of any mortal who attempts to tamper with a deity." Erda sighed. "At the very least, they were able to satisfy their curiosity before losing their personality."

Neoth turned away, rubbing his temples as he did so. "I don't understand your definition of love."

It certainly wasn't the same as a normal human's.

"I am Terra. Storms, earthquakes, and all other natural disasters came from my body and rained down upon my own children. Those disasters may have come regardless of what I wanted, but it is because of that I can accept the death of the individual." She put a hand on the table, and the clay turned to dust as did the interwoven plant fibers of her chair. "To be mortal is to die. Humanity has always overcome this by leaving behind a legacy, and passing along hope to the next generation." She turned and gestured with her head towards Isha. "I may not devour my children like her, but simple death is not cause for mourning."

Neoth sighed. He had had this conversation with Erda before, and this was usually where it ended. Death was the end of the story. After that, it was either apotheosis, damnation, or dispersion into the immaterium that awaited the soul.

Until now, he would denounce her and say that gods truly didn't understand mortals before storming away.

Today, he continued the conversation.

"So, it is only meaningless death that you mourn over?" He asked.

Erda blinked in surprise for a moment, then smiled.

"It is absolute death that I abhor." She said quietly. "When there is nothing left to pass on to the future, that is when I mourn my children."

Neoth remained silent at that. Erda was a naturally spawned goddess. Her name had two roots. One was for the ancient term for Earth. The other was from Urðr, or the eldest of the trio of Norns; the three women who decided the fate of all mankind.

The Norns didn't exist, but the concept of a being that watched over all humanity existed. This was what Erda was. A wild deity created by the first humans who could consider abstract concepts.

She was the answer to their question for where all humanity came from, and her existence grew as humanity grew more complex. At first, she was simply the concept of Mother Earth. A loving bountiful being who was both kind and cruel.

As the first humans gained the ability to think and plan for things far in the future, their realization of certain patterns in nature added on the idea that there was a preset path for all things. Hence, she became associated with the fate of past, present, and future.

After those concepts were envisioned to be part of her, the first group of primates that would become mankind separated out into different tribes. These offshoots eventually made towns and cities, creating new cultures from the same old sources. Thus, she remained in the psyche of humanity even when they came up with new names for her. Even when humanity began to subdivide various functions of her into different idols, she remained intact.

Gaia. Terra. Erda. Inari Ōkami. Jörð. Moirai. Norns.

No matter how many times humanity changed her name, she remained mostly as she was first envisioned and absorbed all the thoughts and beliefs that fell into the original mould that was made when humanity was unified.

This is how all wild gods form. They are born when the first group of sentient species envision them. Then, as that group breaks apart and divides, they remain as proof of a once unified people. After that, they take in bits and pieces of the new myths and legends that are closest to them, growing but remaining the same. Yet, they are also powerless as the divided minds that spawned them pull them in every direction at once.

"Enough philosophy." Erda's voice interrupted Neoth's musings. "Now, let me explain my plan for getting Isha off this ship and to the Imperial Palace." She pointed at Neoth. "First, Neoth will inform Velor about our disembarkment. Then, we will all exit the Astropathic Choir. Neoth will be carrying a bundle of chains to pretend he's carrying the 'terraforming device' off the ship, and I will carry the shrunk down Isha under my cloak. Once we get to my shuttle, Isha can return to her original size and disguise herself as a human. That way we can pretend that the weapon has been removed from the ship, and provide an explanation for why another person has joined us."

"I'm fine with that plan." Isha nodded.

Neoth was fine with the plan as well, but before that he had a complaint to make.

"If you could shrink, why didn't you do that before?" He grumbled. If she could shrink herself down small enough, he could have simply shoved her under his chest plate. It would have been far easier to pretend he had just destroyed her and smuggle her onboard in his armor.

"Besides being terribly uncomfortable." Isha replied, nose wrinkling. "Surface area to volume ratio would be the biggest problem. The smaller one is, the less volume one has compared to their exposed skin. Being in your presence is painful. Making myself smaller means your essence can penetrate further into my being. Being Aeldari sized is the bare minimum if I want to stand near you. Erda doesn't have that same immaterial hating touch you have, so I can shrink myself down near her if necessary. Although, it is demeaning."

Neoth snorted at that. Although her explanation sounded logical, he also remembered Isha could express his Truth on her skin. Therefore, she should be able to reflect his immaterial hating touch to some degree. In other words, he was convinced that the main reason she kept quiet about being able to change her size was for her own personal comfort.

"Do you have any other complaints, Neoth?" Erda interjected before he could point that out.

"No." He sighed. "Let's get this over with."

—-------------------------------------------------

"Thank you for your hard work, Captain Velor." The Emperor saluted the Captain of the Artax. "Inform Commodore Lysander that the recovered device will be returning with me to the Imperial Palace."

"As you will, my Lord." Captain Velor returned the salute.

They were in the hangar bay of the Artax. A large bundle of golden looking chains was on the Emperor's shoulder. Behind him, Erda and LE-2 were entering the shuttle. He was stuck exchanging the barest of niceties with the nervous captain in order to appear as normal as possible.

"I will be leaving for the Imperial Palace. Return to Commodore Lysander's command. Dismissed."

"Yes My Lord." The Captain stood to attention with a strained smile as the Emperor turned and entered the shuttle.

Once inside with the hatch shut and sealed behind him, Neoth dispelled the bundle of chains and turned towards Erda.

"Have you notified Malcador and the others?" He asked as a doll sized Isha jumped out of the back of Erda's cloak and returned to her normal size.

"Leetu is contacting them right now." Erda replied as she sat down in one of the shuttle's seats. The entire ship shook as it took off from the hangar floor and exited the ship. "Valador, Astarte, and Malcador are gathering at the Whispering Tower."

"It is Malcador's retreat now." Neoth warned.

"It is the last surviving artifact of the Cognoscynths." Erda sighed. "At least let its name live on."

"Even if it is the name left by an enemy?"

"Even more so."

The two locked eyes. Meanwhile Isha stretched her limbs out in the background.

"It's no use arguing, Neoth." The Aeldari goddess said as she rolled her shoulders. "Whether it be an enemy or ally, humanity's legacy is irreplaceable to her. That's just how she is as a deity. If you want to get her to change, you're going to have to engage her in a divine debate. Of course, that would probably kill her in her current state. If you don't want to kill Erda, then you're just going to have to accept her."

Neoth turned to glare at Isha, then relaxed his gaze. He had already fought enough times with Erda. He could not change her mind anymore than she could change his back then.

"Just be careful when you speak in public." He finally said.

"Do not worry." Erda replied softly. "You know I keep to myself."

Neoth nodded then changed the subject. "So, what have you told the others?"

"I only requested their presence. This matter is quite sensitive. I'm not comfortable talking about it, even on encrypted channels." Erda's tone turned serious. "The Whispering Tower's Cognoscynth designs should keep what we discuss secret from any attempt to eavesdrop from the materium or immaterium. Malcador requisitioned it for his personal use after the destruction of the City of Sight for precisely that reason."

"And I'm the one who has to explain everything?" Neoth grumbled.

"Who else is going to do it?" Erda shrugged in return before turning towards the Aeldari goddess. "Isha, show me your human disguise."

The goddess's ears shortened and rounded themselves as her height lowered itself to the average height for a human female, taking 40 or 50 cm from her original form."Here. Perfect, isn't it?" She said proudly.

Neoth and Erda both remained silent for a moment.

"You've only gotten shorter and rounded out your ears." He finally pointed out.

"Is there a problem?" The goddess raised an eyebrow. "There are blonds amongst humans."

"Yes, but it is unusual to see a human with silver eyes, not to mention beauty such as yours is very rare amongst humans." Erda said as she put a finger to her chin in thought.

"Are you asking me to make myself look ugly?" Isha said as she narrowed her eyes.

"Well, that would be a st-" Neoth's comment was cut off as Erda raised a hand, covering his mouth.

"Don't Neoth. I can already tell that her definition of beauty and ugliness are totally alien to ours. It would be easier to hide her features physically." She turned and rummaged around in one of the overhead lockers of the shuttle. "Here, take this cloak and these shoes. Make yourself shorter and keep the hood on at all times. Nobody should be able to see your face that way. We can get a veil later to be doubly sure nothing is revealed."

"Fine." Isha said as she shrank again and took the cloak. "As a guest and handmaiden, I suppose I can do my best not to outshine my mistress."

"There are many types of beauty." Erda chuckled. "Not all are attracted to the vibrant and wild. Sometimes, it is the calm and quiet that draws the interests of others."

"But, both should have their thorns." Isha replied as she put on the cloak and shrank herself some more.

"Of course." Erda nodded. "True beauty is found in endurance; the strength to keep on moving forward to a better tomorrow."

"Do you like each other or hate each other?" Neoth interrupted.

Quite frankly, watching these two circle each other was getting exhausting. At this point, he would settle for them hating each other if only to get a clear cut answer as to how to deal with them.

The two of them looked at each other before looking at Neoth.

"I have to hate her. She fills the same niche for a different species. It is because we are alike that I must." Isha replied matter-of-factly.

"However, both of us value the future of our respective children, and believe in the importance of passing on hope to the next generation. It would be hard not to agree with each other under those circumstances." Erda added on.

"I see…" Neoth muttered.

They had the same values, and hence would often come to the same or similar conclusion. Thus, they agreed on many things. Yet, when it came to the implementation of said agreements, Isha would always prioritize the Aeldari and Erda would always prioritize humanity. Therefore, they would always be opposed to each other despite their similarities.

On the other hand, they seemed plenty capable of working together at needling him. That probably meant that cooperation was possible between the two, so long as there was a third party that they could both target.

In a sense it was representative of how every alien and human alliance formed during the golden age of humanity. But, in hindsight that was to be expected. These two were formed from the thoughts and prayers of entire species. Their actions mirrored the broad strokes of their respective children's possible paths.

'Then I guess I can take this as a good omen that the children of Isha can work with the children of Erda.' He thought to himself. He could only hope that the third party the Aeldari and humanity would be united against was the Ruinous Powers or some other alien.

—-------------------------------------------------

"We have arrived, mother." Leetu announced as the shuttle landed on one of the pads sticking out of the upper levels of the Sanctum Imperialis of the Imperial Palace.

"Thank you, Leetu." Erda replied, stroking the massive pauldrons that covered her son's shoulders. "You may do as you wish for now. I will send for you when I wish to return to your brothers."

Isha pulled the hood of her borrowed cloak down over her brow and bowed her head as the hatch of the shuttle opened. A welcoming party of Custodes was present, standing to attention to either side of a red carpet embroidered with the golden insignias of the Imperium.

The Emperor exited the shuttle first, followed by Erda and then Isha herself.

"So, this is the heart of the Imperium of Man." Isha whispered as she looked around.

The gold and marble white Sanctum Imperialis, the central portion of the Imperial Palace, towered over the Himalazia mountains it was built into. Numerous smaller abodes and towns had sprouted up around it like lichen growing on the exposed roots of a great tree. However, the rest of the Imperial Palace was still incomplete. She could see large sections of flattened land beyond the walls of the Sanctum Imperialis. It was a clean slate for a future builder to impose their vision of what the seat of power for the Imperium should look like.

"Hush." Erda whispered back. "Your voice alone betrays what you are, even when spoken with a human tone."

Isha frowned, then reviewed all the information she had taken from Neoth.

'Is this fine?' She signed with one hand towards Erda.

'It will do.' Erda signed back.

The three of them traveled into the central domed tower of the Sanctum Imperialis. There was a certain Persian influence in its design, although the color scheme was closer to Greek or Egyptian architecture with its marble white walls and golden inlays. The outer parts of the Sanctum Imperialis were a combination of Greek and European designs. Massive interconnecting bridges in the shape of aqueducts spanned between steeples and spires the size of skyscrapers.

This mass of towers and bridges darkened the lower levels with their shadows. If it were not for the electric lamp posts placed at regular intervals, those beneath the top 9 or 10 floors would be living in perpetual dusk or dawn. Golden statues of the Imperial Eagle were perched on various monument gates upon the bridges or on the outside of the towers like gargoyles. Each one seemed to glow with the light reflected off of their auramite feathers. All of them looked downwards at the people below with their realistically sculpted avian eyes. Cold judgment seemed to radiate from them as they stared down at the populace below.

'Isn't this a bit much?' She signed to Erda, referring to the oppressive feeling of the city-sized structure that was the incomplete Imperial Palace.

'They are a reminder of the legend of Prometheus.' The dark haired woman sighed as she signed back. 'The legend describes an eagle that came to tear out the nightly regrowing liver of the thief who stole power from the gods. This was where the Cognoscynths' last city was located. Nothing of it but the Whispering Tower remains, not even its people. Still, the architecture of the Sanctum Imperialis was designed to incorporate elements of that symbolism to ensure the new populace would remain humbled.'

'So, the eagles watch the populace so they no longer steal power above their station?'

'That is what these symbols mean, although there is a practical reason for the design.' Erda signed. 'Each eagle acts as a psychic ward. They muffle the whispers of the Warp, but stifle the soul in the process.' She gestured with one hand to the people on the bridges below. 'The touch of various Warp creatures marks the people on this planet. Even long after the destruction of Shang Khal's armies and wrathsingers, zealot priest-kings and Ethnarchs have risen up again and again from the ruins of ancient Ursh's client states.'

'Banishing Pharaa'gueotla made no difference?' Isha asked. The creature she brought up was one of several Daemon Princes who had taken residence on Terra during Old Night. It entertained itself by egging on the destructive and treacherous tendencies of humanity.

When the Emperor returned to Terra, Pharaa'gueotla and its minions were the first Warp denizens to be defeated with his gene-enhanced warriors. Additionally, a psychic weapon dubbed "The Angel' was let loose. The results of the conflict were mixed. Although Pharaa'gueotla and its mortal thralls were defeated, the Daemon Prince managed to flee from Terra. This forced the Emperor to leave his home planet again to chase it down and finally seal it on the abandoned world of Karis Cephalon.

'The Daemon Prince merely exacerbated what was there. Even after his imprisonment, humanity has continued to tear itself apart on this planet.'There was a rather noticeable slump in her shoulders, showing a great exhaustion in the mother of humanity as she replied. 'Then again, there may be other daemons of various nature hiding within the minds of the people. Another justification for the extreme measures Neoth has put into place here.' She signed back with a shrug. 'On top of that, there are some who can come with the mere mention of their name. Thus, educating the populace has its own risks of daemonic infiltration. With humanity's current cultural, societal, and psychic levels of development on Terra, mass-ignorance is one of the possible countermeasures against them.' Erda's lips were pursed, as if she had bitten down on something sour as she signed the last sentences.

'But, you disagreed with him, didn't you?' Isha signed back.

'You already know the answer to that if you took all of Neoth's information.' The hand motions of Erda were quick and irritated.

'I want to hear your side of the story.'

'Are you that bored?' Erda snorted as she signed.

'My children view me as the one to help the downtrodden and the defeated.' Isha shrugged. 'Although Eldanesh masked what that truly meant after the War in Heaven, I still find myself aligned with the weaker side of any conflict. Oppression and domination strangle diversity, and as the Goddess of Life, I dislike that.'

'Of course you would feel that way.' Erda flashed a tired smile in Isha's direction. 'You don't deploy an Exterminatus weapon when you have won the battle normally.'

Isha didn't reply, and instead waited for Erda to answer her question. Finally, Erda sighed and began to sign again.

'I asked him to trust them. He, like humanity, has made mistakes. Therefore, I asked him to allow at least the children of those he defined as sinners to be free.'

'And his answer?' Isha asked.

Erda sighed again and made a quotation sign to indicate she would be repeating his words verbatim.

'There are no more second chances. The people of Terra made their choice, and have shown they can no longer be trusted. We no longer have any time to waste.'

Isha shot a tired look at the back of the Emperor's head. However, she had his perspective from the information she had taken.

'The Omnissiah was still free back then, wasn't it?' She signed to Erda.

The Emperor was dealing with several crises at the time. Terra was but one planet in a crumbling federation. AI rebellions, civil war, and out of control psykers had descended upon humanity in relatively quick succession. Of course, the Ruinous Powers and other daemons tagged along for the spectacle, making things worse wherever they could.

'It was, and things were dire.' Erda admitted. 'But, if it was the choice of my children, I can accept the result. As a mother, you should know how I felt.'

Isha frowned at that.

'I do, but I made a different choice.'

Erda snorted then signed back. 'I fail to see the difference between our outcomes. You allowed your children to fall to temptation, just as I watched my children destroy themselves.'

'Perhaps…' Isha's reply came slowly. 'But, I still believe my children can return to what they were.'

'Hope…' Erda signed. 'can be a dangerous thing. I have learned that the hard way after watching many struggle in vain. At times, one must accept fate as it is. If my children wish to take the next step, then they should be allowed to do so. It is their choice, and it is not my place to stop them when I can no longer support them.'

A small smile tugged at Isha's lips.

'You remind me of my own mother.' She signed. 'She too was a goddess of fate. She too always stood back, merely reading and not controlling the strands she had in her rune skinned pouch.'

'That is the side effect of having a hand on the past, present, and future.' Erda replied. 'I love watching my children make their own choices. If I interfered, I would no longer be myself.'

There was a slight pause between the two as they walked deeper into the Sanctum Imperialis. Marble pillars and golden decorations lined the walls of the corridor, while a red carpet made of interwoven metal and resin fibers lay in the center of the floor. Any other fabric would have been flattened by the armored boots of the Custodes long ago. Naturally, all visitors to the Palace had to wear shoes at all times. Otherwise, the red staining the fibers would have been blood instead of dye.

'By the way…' Isha asked, changing the subject. 'I was wondering about the name of your shuttle. Who named it?'

'Neoth.' Erda shrugged. 'I originally wanted it to be named the Past, Present, and Future. But, he said that was too obvious.'

'So, why did it change to the Emperor's Grip?'

'It comes from a quote by George Orwell 'Who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.' It was the compromise we reached. As it is my personal shuttle, the ship's name symbolizes Neoth's control over humanity's fate.'

'I wouldn't call that much of a compromise.' Isha snorted.

'By making the name seem to be a reference to him, he makes himself responsible for all that shuttle does.' A small smile crossed Erda's face. 'It was his way of standing in front of me to take the brunt of whatever was to come. You may imagine a controlling fist from the name, but it was intended to be a shielding hand cradling a small object in its center.'

Arrogant on its surface. Fascistic and despotic in sound. Yet, even as the Emperor, there was an attachment that only those who knew him could see.

He was a tyrant due to his nature, but he envied Enkidu who walked with humanity. Now, it was hard to say whether it was simply his nature or necessity that made him take the mantle of the Emperor.

'So, he still loves you.' Isha signed with a sad smile. There was a hint of envy in her expression. She did not wish for the Emperor's love, but this conversation was a painful reminder that Erda's children were still with her. Lilieath and Eldanesh were both out of her reach.

'He will always love me.' Erda replied. 'I have watched him since before he became what he was. I watched him as he wandered off into the desert after murdering his uncle. When he stumbled under the heat, a cooling wind brushed against his brow. When he dug into the earth out of thirst, water welled up from the moist dirt.' She paused to take in a breath of air. Despite speaking silently, the emotions depleted the oxygen in her blood rapidly. 'I am the mother he and all humanity sprang from. That fact has never changed, no matter how many times we have fought, nor how many times he has hurt me.' Her brown eyes looked up at Neoth's armored back. 'Even when he lost all control and became the burning figure upon his golden path, he has cared for me.'

Erda turned her head towards Isha, brown eyes meeting silver ones through the fabric of the hood. 'I have said it before, but allow me to say it again. Thank you, mother of the Aeldari, for restoring a portion of his sanity.'

A tired smile spread across Isha's lips. She could tell Erda was truly thankful, but she could also empathize with the other maternal emotions that were no doubt bubbling in her breast.

'There is no need to hide your feelings from me.' She signed as she shook her head. 'I know the black hatred in your heart that wishes to consume the both of us.'

Erda sighed softly then nodded.

'Yes. I hate you and myself.' Her eyes were fixed on the floor as her hands formed the words. 'I hate you for doing something I was not able to do for tens of thousands of years. I hate myself for being proved powerless in helping my son. Yet, I am indebted to you in this regard.' Her right arm blurred, then split into three. The young and old hands were superimposed upon each other, forming the hand signs necessary to communicate, but the soft feminine hand of the mature woman extended itself towards Isha. 'So long as you do not stand in humanity's way, I will swallow these feelings as I have swallowed the bitterness and anger that I felt towards the Emperor.'

Isha took Erda's hand in her own, accepting the handshake gently.

'Do not worry, I would have felt the same if it was my Eldanesh marching before us.' She replied after they let each other go.

'A mother's love is possessive to some degree.' Erda raised a hand to cover her mouth as she chuckled. 'But, there comes a time that we will have to let go, no matter how much it breaks our heart.'

Isha remained silent. That was the decision Erda made, and she could not agree with it. She may have abandoned the path where she decided what was right and wrong for her children, but she had never stopped trying to help them. If she had let go, she would have never broken Asuryan's edict.

But, that was a freedom Erda did not have. What can a dead world give to things that require life?

"We have arrived." Neoth interrupted their conversation. They stood before a set of blast doors decorated with the Imperial symbols and colors. There was the electric hum of a machine receiving a code, then the locks within the doors began to undo themselves. There was the sizzle of a dissipating void shield as the doors slid into the walls and floor to reveal a hanging corridor made of plexi-glass. It was attached to a thin stone gray tower; knobbly and crooked like an outstretched arthritic finger pointing at the roof of the Sanctum Imperialis. Dirt was still smeared across parts of it, as if the tower had shoved its way out of the very ground during its erection. The Imperial Palace walls surrounded it on all sides, forming a small courtyard around the tower. Several hanging corridors attached to the tower at different heights. All of them varied in length due to the tower's uneven surface. It was as if this part of the Imperial Palace had been built around the tower, confining the ancient architecture within marble walls inlaid with gold.

The three walked across the hanging corridor towards the tower. Isha looked around, and saw several half-spheres attached on the outer roof and upper sides of the corridor. They were proximity triggered melta-charges that would be primed to detonate should the doors be forced open. There were several other defenses outside the corridor as well. One was composed of prism-like focussing crystals disguised as gem-like objects on the very bottom of the courtyard. They would fire up into the plexi-glass corridors whether the melta-charges detonated or not. Whoever was caught in the focal point of these lasers would meet a grisly end. If the melta-charges destroyed the corridor, whatever survived the inferno would be cut apart. If any intruder managed to disarm the melta-charges, they would be swallowed by molten plexi-glass as the lasers liquified the material the corridors were made of. Of course, the disarmed melta-charges would detonate at point-blank range from the heat after that.

The entry point to the tower was also covered by a blast door, but she could see it was a later addition to the building's architecture. This part of the corridor was attached to the tower like a boarding tube of a void-ship; pressed up against the stone like a leech's mouth on skin.

Once again the electric hum of a code being transferred came, and the void shields and blast doors opened to reveal a hole bored into the tower itself. Smooth edges reminiscent of solidified lava flows showed that this hole had been cut open with extreme heat.

Isha looked around as the doors and shields sealed the tower again.

The interior of the tower was amenable to human habitation. The floor was made of the same gray stone as the tower, but the furniture consisted of ordinary looking tables and chairs. Cogitator screens and data tablets hung or lay on some of these. Two individuals were sitting at one of the tables, with two more standing slightly behind them.

One was an old man in a hooded cloak with an ornate staff in one hand. This was Malcador, the Imperial Regent and 6000 year old Perpetual. He was of mortal birth, but his psychic gifts and ancient technology kept him alive far longer than any normal human.

One was an old woman with virtually no hair remaining on her head and perhaps even less flesh on her bones. She was clothed in a pleated shift of victorian style. It was white in color, and the only other item of clothing upon her was a sturdy belt and las pistol holster at her waist. This was Amar Astarte, a gene-sculptor of Terra who had served many techno-barbarian Warlords. Creating mutants and monstrosities was her specialty, and she had survived this long only because her patrons had been satisfied by her wares. She herself, however, viewed all she made as mistakes and mishaps. It was only after witnessing what the Emperor himself could do with the surviving gene-tech on Terra that she pledged her loyalty to the Imperium to learn more secrets of gene-crafting.

One was a towering giant in golden armor with an ornate spear in his right hand. This was Constantin Valdor, Captain-General of the Custodes and officially the first of their number. He was in charge of the Imperium's progress in the Unification Wars, handing down strategic directives to the Thunder Warrior legions while giving direct orders to the regular Imperial army. But, he was no armchair general. He had stormed across the battlefield more than once whenever it was tactically or politically necessary. As all Custodes, he was a soldier and statesman both.

The final individual was not among those requested by Erda. She appeared to be a maid in an apron dress, but none of the psychic beings were deceived by her physical appearance. This was Lady Callidus, the Imperial assassin that was tangentially useful in the realm of politics. Technically, it was the Vanus Temple infocytes that were meant to infiltrate and investigate in secret. However, as it was occasionally useful for those assassinated to appear to be alive, Lady Callidus and her skills struck a unique balance between deception and violence that was useful within the Imperial Palace.

"Malcador." Erda said with narrowed eyes. "There are more here than I asked for."

"Lady Erda." Malcador replied as he bowed his head slightly. "I sensed that this matter would be political to some degree, hence I thought it important that all parties involved be represented."

"And you chose the one who can change their face at will?" There was a slight tinge of sarcasm in Erda's voice. Representation often meant recognition. To choose a Callidus Assassin for that role was oxymoronic if not down right paradoxical.

"Who better to represent an organization that should not be recognized?" Astarte interjected with her raspy voice as she eyed the hooded Isha curiously.

"Well said." Erda nodded. "But, I have a guest here. I will not have one with those questions in her mind before her."

Astarte snorted as a strained smile crossed Malcador's face. One did not need to be a psychic to guess what the assassin was thinking if they knew her for long enough, and everyone in this room had been acquaintances or partners for at least 300 years.

"Lady Erda…" Malcador said as he sent the Emperor a pleading look. Imperial Regent he may be, but when it came to Erda it was only the Emperor who could override her orders. Yet, the Emperor remained quiet this time.

"It is fine." A musical voice sounded through the chamber, causing every remaining muscle in Astarte's body to tense. She was the only non-combatant in the room, and ironically the youngest of all the people there. But, she had not survived this long on Terra without picking up a few tricks. Line after line of memorized chemical reactions and genetic code went through her mind, allowing her to hold onto herself by using her obsession with knowledge to shut out the warbles of birds and trickle of creeks.

Isha pulled back the hood covering her face, while returning to her Aeldari height and form. "So long as she gets her answer, she should be well behaved."

Silver eyes crossed over each individual, reflecting each one as she gazed at them.

Astarte fixed her eyes on the table before her, well aware of the dangers of interacting with any psychic being. Not much was needed for them to worm their way into the mind of their victims.

The other three returned her gaze with varying degrees of emotion.

Malcador gave her a weary look, before shooting another at the Emperor. Bringing an alien deity to Terra was out of character for the Emperor. As his oldest friend, the Imperial Regent was worried about what this change in behavior meant more than anything else.

Constantin Valdor did not blink as her eyes met his. He hadn't blinked once since she had entered the room. His eyes had remained open to ensure he wouldn't lose sight of her for even a nanosecond. Yet, there was no emotion in his gaze or face. It was impossible to tell whether he was wary of her, or merely acting as any Custodes would. After all, the Custodes are not human enough to blink.

The assassin remained immovable, still taking the form of a maid. Even after being called out, her pride as a shapeshifter caused her to refuse to return to her original form. But, the burning question in her mind seemed to grow as she felt Isha looking at her.

"Fine." Erda sighed. "Satisfy her curiosity."

Isha walked up towards the assassin, who merely bowed her head and curtsied. The alien was a guest of Erda's and her disguise demanded she treat her as such.

Isha's right arm blurred, and there was a small spray of blood.

A long needle, slightly bloodied, was grasped in Isha's right hand. On the maid's body, a small pinky-sized hole had opened in her side. It was the exit wound where Isha had plucked the poisoned needle hidden underneath the assassin's skin.

Isha's hand flipped the needle around, holding it like a dagger, then slammed it into her own eye. There was the dull sound of warping metal, then the Aeldari goddess lowered her hand.

"This is your answer." Isha said gently as she slipped what remained of the poisoned needle into the front pocket of the assassin's apron dress. It had split apart down the center, spreading open like a whisk. The Aeldari's silver eyes were unblemished, without the slightest hint of irritation or reddening.

'Can I kill that?'

That was the question that always appeared in the assassin's mind whenever she saw something or someone new.

She couldn't react when the alien had plucked the needle from her body, and any physical attack might as well be useless against whatever the alien was made out of.

Lady Callidus bowed again, still keeping the form of the maid. She had her answer, and expressed her thanks in the only way she could with her current form.

"I know you think you're lowering your communication skills to our level…" Erda huffed. "But, a physical demonstration like that just makes you look barbaric."

"Oh. Was I that obvious?" Isha snorted as she turned back towards Erda. "Even more so, am I wrong?"

"No." Erda replied. Lady Callidus was the one who was rude first in that regard. She had appeared before Erda's guest with dangerous curiosity. "Thank you for your succinct answer." She said sarcastically before turning to the assassin. "You can stay now. Take whatever form you wish."

"Thank you, Lady Erda." The assassin finally spoke as her face and hair returned to their original shape and color. The hole in her body closed up as she reformed her flesh, staunching the bleeding.

"To think, I'm the one closest to human." Astarte said with dry laughter. Out of all of them, she was the one who looked least human with her almost mummified appearance. However, compared to the psyker, the Custodes, the shape-shifting assassin, as well as whatever Erda, the Emperor and the alien were, she was just very old.

"My Emperor." Malcador said, rising from his seat with his staff before turning to his friend. "May I assume you will share the reason for your decision with us?" He bowed his head, ensuring his question would not appear insolent or sarcastic. His free hand gestured towards Isha, indicating what the decision in question was.

"Rise, old friend." The Emperor replied. "Although I understand the situation is odd for many of you, I shall share with you what has happened to lead us here."

—-------------------------------------------------

The room remained silent after the Emperor finished speaking. Naturally, he had omitted Isha and Erda's conversations, as well as his attempt to re-wrap Isha in chains when they reached Terra. He also left out any mention of gods or god-hood and his own history.

To summarize what he did share; he discovered Isha on one of the planets he intended to recover some more gene-tech from. She helped him lure the Aeldari refugees into a trap while preparing a trap of her own for him. The two of them fought to a stand still, and read each other's mind entirely during the fight. Then, Isha had agreed to help him unify humanity in return for future assistance with her species' war against Chaos.

Of course, his definition of salvation also remained hidden as well.

"My Emperor." Astarte was the first to speak up. "How much Xenos knowledge may be shared with me?" Of course, her one concern was her craft. Although she specialized in operating and recovering artifacts from the Dark Age of Technology, she would gleefully take anything else she could get her hands on. Seeing Isha's physical and psychic abilities had also aroused her interests. The Space Marines were lesser copies of the Emperor's genetics, yet they were superior to any natural born human. She could not stop wondering what she could create if she had access to Isha's genetics.

"None." The Emperor replied firmly. "You have not reached my level of expertise in gene-crafting. You do not have the right to ask for more when you have yet to master what you have been given."

"As you say my Emperor." Astarte replied. It was a long-shot, but she expected the answer. "Lady Isha." She said, turning to the Aeldari. "What can I offer for your knowledge?"

Malcador and Erda both sighed simultaneously. This was to be expected. Astarte had always served the warlord with the greatest access to gene-tech and Dark Age of Technology artifacts. Until now, she only had the techno-barbarian warlords of Terra to offer her services, but it appeared she truly didn't care who or what she pledged her allegiance to.

"Nothing." Isha replied. "But, I commend your bravado and fool's bravery for asking to serve another before your current patron." Sarcasm and amusement was mixed in the Aeldari's tone, but Astarte only shook her head.

"I have neither, Lady Isha. I ask now because now is the only chance I have."

"Oh?" The Aeldari raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"I speak before Lady Erda and her guest." Astarte answered. "The Emperor cannot harm me if you, the one who fought him to a stand still, accepts my service. He cannot stop me from speaking at this meeting convened under Lady Erda's orders without tarnishing her hospitality. Therefore, it is only now that I can speak freely without fear of punishment."

"Clever little creature." Isha chuckled, amused by her political guile. "And arrogant as well. You think yourself valuable enough to survive slighting the Emperor after this meeting and its protections end?"

"Should you reject me, I have nowhere else to go." The over-aged woman shrugged. "I do not fear death or torture at this age. I know too much to be thrown out of the Imperial Palace. Thus, the only threat available is the withholding of knowledge and restriction of my craft. Both are counterproductive to the Emperor's goals. Besides, I have no choice but to be loyal to the Emperor. He has known this from the day we met, and it is because he knows that I only serve my craft I will never betray him. Although…" A proud smile pulled her wrinkled lips back to reveal pearly white teeth. "I do admit I believe I am still useful to him."

"Interesting." Isha laughed. "But, I have no interest in you or your services, human. Although, I suppose it may serve your Emperor if I answered the odd question about gene-crafting in general. But…" She fixed Astarte with a cold stare. "Do not pester me. Charity should only be accepted, and not asked for."

Astarte bowed her head quickly, sending the few strands of white hair attached to her bald scalp fluttering like cut kite-strings in the wind.

"I shall await you in my laboratories should you find yourself in a gracious mood."

"You will only talk to her after I have heard what you are going to share." The Emperor ordered Isha. "Astarte serves me, and I will decide what she needs to know."

"So your master says." Isha shrugged, speaking to Astarte. "But, as his student and disciple, you should show reverence to his decision."

"I do every day by serving him and no other."

"How very human." Isha laughed as she turned towards Erda. "Arrogant, obnoxious, unrepentant, and avaricious to no end."

"Indeed." Erda gave a tired sigh before smiling softly. "But it is those traits that make them endearing."

"Quite." Isha nodded. "Perhaps I should have said it was child-like instead. I could have used those words for many of my children as well."

"Enough." The Emperor interrupted. "Malcador, do you have any comments?"

The Imperial Regent remained seated, stroking his staff with one finger. He was the most directly involved in this, as he was about to lose his 'friend' Ael Wyntor to the Aeldari.

"If she has all your secrets, my Emperor, then there are only two ways to ensure that data breach does not destroy us." He stated calmly. "If silencing her is out of our capabilities, then cooperation is the only option."

"An obvious observation." Isha snorted. "So, you say to my face that you trust neither me nor Erda's hospitality."

"It is my responsibility to doubt." Malcador said with a polite smile. "It is the ones closest to the individual that must ask the most questions."

"So he says." Isha flashed a sarcastic smile towards the Emperor. "You have a good friend, Master of Mankind. Despite ignoring him so often, he still does his duty as confidant." She turned away from the entire group and readorned her hooded cloak. "Erda, shall we leave the rest of them to debate what they shall do to me?" She spoke as she shrank and ears rounded.

"Well, if they have no intention of sharing their thoughts with us, then it cannot be helped." Erda shrugged. "Come, assassin. I have a favor to ask my guest, and I will need your help with the details."

The female assassin reassumed her disguise,  and followed the two woman-shaped beings as they exited Malcador's retreat.

Neoth sighed internally while his physical form kept up the persona of the Emperor. He could still tell where Isha was at all times, so her leaving his sight did not do much to hide her activities. Additionally, Erda seemed to have some sort of agreement with her as a kindred maternal deity that restricted her actions. Still, that wild personality of hers and unrelenting tongue was exhausting.

"I shall return to my laboratories." Astarte said as she stood up. "Ezekiel has free reign there while I'm away, and I'd like to reclaim my position there."

"Amar." Malcador called out.

"I know when to keep quiet." The old woman croaked back. "You don't survive as many warlords as I have without knowing when to keep your mouth shut and when to speak."

The blast doors and shields opened and shut, leaving only the Captain-General, the Imperial Regent, and the Emperor in the room.

"I must ask." Malcador began. "Could you not have killed her?"

"Do you think I did not attempt that?" The Emperor asked back.

"I believe you did, once." Malcador replied. "But, I cannot see how she can resist even one blow from you now."

Malcador was an accomplished psyker, and was capable of reading the strength of metaphysical beings to some degree. The Aeldari goddess was far far weaker than the Emperor as he was now. In fact, she was barely equal to Erda who was on her deathbed. A sufficient number of greater daemons could overpower them, which was part of the reason Erda remained either near the Emperor or under the protection of one of his wards.

"The Aeldari do not die easily." The Emperor repeated the adage all survivors of any conflict with the Aeldari often repeated. "She would find a way to make things worse for her killer than her jailer."

"And is that what we intend to do to her?" Malcador said as he turned towards the Emperor. "Imprison her here with you?"

"Not at the moment." He shook his head. "Erda has invited her as a guest, and that means something to the both of them."

Malcador sighed, then gave a tired smile.

"Having another secret we cannot expose to anyone is not a major issue. We have billions of them already." A thoughtful expression crossed his face then. "But, I do not trust Xenos."

"You do not trust anyone." The Emperor stated bluntly.

"You have me there, old friend." He said with a laugh. "I question everyone and everything, and it is that feature that has allowed me to be your confidant."

"That is the privilege of having the same dream as me."

"A dream on the cusp of becoming reality." Malcador stood up from the chair and summoned one of the data tablets towards him with a bout of telekinesis. "We have come far. Conquering Terra with the same resources all the other factions have theoretical access to has taken time, but the conquered peoples do not question our power. The fear of thunder has been firmly ingrained in them." A map appeared of a single legion of Thunder Warriors 5000 strong patrolling the wastelands of the Franc. "After Avelroi, Urartu, and the Ethnarchy the changing of the guard can commence. We can finally shed the last dependencies of the techniques from Old Night, and begin a truly human reconquest of the stars." Malcador's wrinkled hand tightened its grip on the data tablet. "We are so close, old friend." He whispered.

"Do you fear that my change in behavior jeopardizes everything we have done?" The Emperor asked quietly.

"I do not fear. I question." Malcador replied as he put down the data tablet and looked into the brown eyes of the Emperor.

The two stared at each other for a while as the Captain-General of the Custodes watched the both of them quietly.

Finally, the Emperor flashed a small smile that was returned by his friend.

"Reading the mind of an alien while being read by it was taxing." He said, rephrasing what had happened between Isha and him. "I have seen things from different perspectives, and learned how to say the same thing with different words." He put an armored hand on his friend's shoulder. "Yet, my goal has not changed. Salvation, for all humanity."

Malcador let out a small sigh. He believed his friend's words. He had to, or there was no point to his questioning.

"But you might have changed how you want to get there." He said as he patted the armored hand upon his shoulder.

"Yes. I have." The Emperor said as he withdrew his hand. "Perhaps I have grown soft through the experience. I find myself considering Erda's pestering to use dialogue instead of destruction."

A dry chuckle came from Malcador's throat. Pestering was not how he would have described the fights between the two of them. It was only his psychic gifts that allowed him to watch the two of them argue.

"There have been times that I too have asked for your leniency, and been refused it." Malcador added on, pulling another data tablet towards him. Upon it were several proposals on countering religious zealotry. Legislation based around regulation rather than prohibition were written down in detail, but all of them had been rejected by the Emperor in the past. "If you wish to take a softer style in your rule, I will serve you as I always have as the Imperial Regent."

A frown crossed the Emperor's brow as he took the data tablet from Malcador. Religion was a touchy subject on many levels for him, but it was also the most draconian portion of his rule. Many churches, covents, monasteries, temples, and shrines had been burned to the ground at his direction. More than once, the people who lived there remained inside as stone ceilings collapsed from heat stress-fractures created by the Promethium streams launched from Heavy Flamers.

"Knowledge corrupts." The Emperor said quietly, handing back the data tablet to Malcador.

"To be forewarned is to be forearmed." His friend countered.

Spirituality and religion were intertwined with the beings of the Warp. The multitude of Priest-Kings and Ethnarchs that plagued Terra with strange boons or mutations was proof of this. Yet, to be completely oblivious to the concept of the immaterium was like living in a sterile bubble. One perforation, and those inside would be exposed to infections and disease they had no immunization against.

Malcador had proposed several means of immunizing the populace against religion beyond simple prohibition. Allowing minor cults to grow and eventually self-destruct in a controlled manner would allow the religious to sully their own image for them. Letting a few false prophets more interested in selling 'power crystals' and 'healing bath waters' than any actual belief loose for a few months before arresting the fraudsters and revealing who they were could also nurture a healthy skepticism against all those who brought strange promises of salvation. Whether such mundane tactics would have any effect against the temptations of the Ruinous Powers was unknown, but it would be better than nothing. After all, such social events were what gradually drained the strength of religion from before Old Night.

Enlightenment dispelled the need for religion to explain things, but skepticism was also required to reject and renounce all those who brought temptations of eternal salvation.

However, to experiment with spirituality risked looking into the depth of one's soul. Since the soul was connected to the immaterium, to look deep into one's self risked peeking into the realm of thoughts and dreams. For almost all individuals, what they would see would be harmless or so incomprehensible it would be as if they had seen nothing at all. Yet, it was still a risk that the Emperor had not entertained until now.

Failure was impossible for him, so leaving the entirety of the Imperium unimmunized was a non-issue, so long as the bubble of ignorance remained unbroken.

The Emperor's brow creased even further, then relaxed as he let out a sigh.

"I will contemplate the matter." He said softly. "Thank you. Malcador."

"I am your friend, my Emperor. I will stand by you regardless of whether I agree with you." The old man bowed his head. "No matter how harshly you treat me or the insults you may throw at me, I will remain." Malcador's voice dropped to a whisper as he said the next sentence. "If I do not do so, I have no right to be at your side."

The armored hand of the Emperor patted Malcador's shoulder gently twice in thanks.

"Valdor." The Emperor called out to his Captain-General, who had remained immobile this entire time. "Do you have anything to say?"

"No, my Emperor." The Custodes replied in a surprisingly dulcet tone. There was nothing for him to do here. Isha could not be killed with Valdor's spear, and the politics here operated with a different mental arithmetic to that of the Imperial Palace. There was a more emotional touch to it that could not be mimicked by the Custodes. Therefore, the correct answer to this problem of statecraft was to remain silent.

Constantin Valdor had no emotions, just like any other Custodes. Everything was a problem that required a solution, and he was here to appraise what sort of problem the Emperor's partner and Erda's guest was.

At the moment, he had no solution to provide, and there was no extra-information the Emperor would give to elaborate on the situation. Hence, he had nothing to say.

"I see." The Emperor replied, as if he had expected Valdor's answer. "Both of you, follow me to my office. We shall discuss what to do with Avelroi and the Thunder Warriors."

[riding-palominos-every-day]

Hyperfixation isn't back but I still think about the Spot and Elmer brothers AU a lot so here's another bit of writing for it

One thing every newsie in New York knew was to never get on the wrong side of Spot Conlon. Everyone knew what Spot was capable of if he felt he or one of his gang had been wronged, and when the Brooklyn leader was on the warpath you knew to steer clear.

Spot was currently on said warpath, and it was taking him over the Brooklyn bridge and straight to Duane Street.

"Kelly!"

Jack felt the whole building tremble from the force which the front door was opened with. Although 'opened' was something of an understatement; 'violently kicked in' would describe Spot's method of entry more appropriately.

"Easy, Spot. What's the problem?" Jack kept his tone light, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

"Y'know damn well what's the problem!" Spot snarled, stretching up to his full height and getting in Jack's face as best he could, "I ain't had much time to chat with your boys lately, thanks to your little speech at the rally, an' of course we've been busy since then, but d'you care to tell me why my little brother's head was wrapped up like that last time I saw him?"

Jack paused, choosing his answer very, very carefully. The knowledge that Elmer was Spot's younger brother was still a surprise, and it came with a whole host of trouble- for Jack, at least. Now the information was at least semi-common knowledge, Spot had no qualms marching over to Manhattan and making sure Elmer was being looked after properly whenever he felt like. He couldn't convince his brother to move back to Brooklyn with him, but he'd made it very clear to Jack what he'd do if anything happened to Elmer.

"The cops got involved during our first strike attempt, you know that Spot. Crutchie got arrested-"

"Yeah, yeah, like y'said, I know that." Spot interrupted, "Your boys got bloodied up pretty bad. What I wanna know is why you had the littluns involved. I'd rather die than let Vince or Pips anywhere near a proper fight. You took kids younger than them into a situation you knew could be dangerous."

Jack didn't have a response for that.

Spot nodded slightly, before pushing Jack roughly aside.

"Now let me see my brother."

Jack stayed out in the hall, his heart pounding. He almost wished Spot had gotten properly angry; he could handle being hit, even by Spot Conlon. It was the reminder he'd put his kids in danger he hated having to think about.

Elmer had been relatively unharmed aside from a cut on his head, but Jack had learned very quickly just how fiercely protective Spot was of his little brother. He prayed to no-one in particular Spot didn't inspect the still-healing injury too closely.

"Don't get mad at Jack, Spot. Please."

Elmer's voice drifted from the bunk room, breaking Jack from his thoughts. He didn't like to eavesdrop, but the fact Spot had left the door open implied they weren't too bothered about having a private conversation.

"I'll get as mad at him as I like." Came Spot's reply, "It's his job to be lookin' after you, not puttin' you in the path of strikebreakers or bulls. Lemme see that cut."

"I'm twelve, I don't need lookin' after! And I wanted to be there anyway." Elmer protested, attempting to push Spot's hand away from his head. The bandages were off and the cut was healing, but Spot still swore when he saw the size of the injury.

"Yeah, you're twelve. Still a kid last I checked." Spot muttered. He gave Elmer hair a brief ruffle before sitting back.

"You sure I can't convince you t'come over the bridge? You'd still be allowed to come visit here, and I'd-"

"I'm sure, Spot." Elmer's tone wasn't unkind, but it had an edge of finality, "These guys took me in, I... I don't wanna just up and leave. We both know how hard that is. I appreciate your offer, you know I do, but..." He trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Spot wrapped an arm around him pulling him close to his side. In most cases Elmer would squeal and twist away, but this time he let himself lean against his older brother.

"I get it. I don't mean t'fuss over you so much." He said, "Well... I do, but that's 'cause it's my job. You're my brother, I'm s'posed to look out for you."

Elmer shifted closer, relaxing.

"I'm glad you're my brother."

[legaciestold]

@everythingheard (enzo) continued from x

no, bella supposes not all vampires do have the best manners, her dark hues scrunching up as she peers for anything in reach through the bars, enzo's words finally processing when her gaze comes up empty. she's seen what so called ripper vampires could do. she's seen what vampires who held control and chose not to utilize it could do. and, she's seen what vampires who did have control enough to be a doctor could do. though, perhaps, that vampire did have rather impeccable manners. strangely enough, if bella was going to miss any of that family, she thinks perhaps she misses that vampire most. or in the least, harbors the least upsetting feelings toward him because he had always been kind and even welcoming to her but he had also always been assuredly honest with her when she'd asked him things, even things edward or alice would usually skirt around. she was also pretty sure he wouldn't have approved of the whole leaving her to get lost in the middle of a massive forest thing.

he was edward's father too, in every way that mattered, and she didn't blame the man for following what seemed to be what his son wanted, to leave. and, despite the struggle she imagined befell him every time he went into the hospital, he strove forward to help others. carlisle was a hard man to hate or even feel ill will toward. she'd enjoyed their talks even if she didn't agree with some of his views. she rather thinks what'd happened with jasper was a point in favor of her argument on refraining from human blood (that could be gotten in a safe and unharming manner) wasn't doing anyone favors in relation to maintaining control. then again, she wasn't a vampire so what did she know? in any case, that man's family had been an anomaly and the majority of vampires she came across lately, present company exempted, lacked any form of manners. strange the tangents she allowed her mind to wander onto when her nerves were playing upon her at the notion of what she'd offered a moment prior. she'd never been bitten when she was willing, would it feel different than when it was forced?

enzo's next words bring her mind back in focus, throwing her for a loop. alright then, maybe feeding was off the table, at least until the bullet was out. "that's not surprising. i doubt he'd hit a bullseye on a dartboard." perhaps the comment is unkind toward maxfield, however, she didn't really care and well, if she was going to hate anyone other than victoria, maxfield was a prime candidate. she'd broken a pencil in half that one time he'd been spouting his hate and she'd had to sit there and pretend she agreed with him. she wasn't an inherently violent person under normal circumstances but a part of her had really wanted to shove it into his eye. "that makes sense. i really should have thought about that though, the healing around the bullet thing." a pause and then she speaks again. "i think we are well past the just met stage, after all, i did attempt to jailbreak you and now we're locked in a cell together." an attempt to bring some levity to the situation, if only to calm herself. "ask me again next time you get shot and i'll give it a go." she watches for a moment, seeing him lean against the wall and begin to pick at the wound. that's when she has to look away for even if she has conquered some of her aversion to blood that was too much.

frankly, she'd been more concerned with taking down vampires than how they healed lately. at least in respect to those victoria sent calling upon her and the campus. she turns around a moment later once she's fairly certain the bullet is out, and it was, though his wound seemed to fail to heal causing a frown to cross her features. so she wasn't completely wrong then. he would need to feed. as if he read her mind, his next words reveal as much, her dark hues meeting his and her heartbeat quickening. she had meant what she said, though her earlier ponderings also still apply. she isn't sure what to expect from a bite like this though she does, however much her father would have her head for such reckless faith, believe enzo won't actually harm her in any real way. he just needed to feed to heal. he wouldn't kill her.

"i did-- i do mean it. i want you to heal." bella states, a breath inhaling before she lets it out, allowing her feet to propel her a few steps toward him and giving him her hand. was he going to feed on her arm then and not her neck? was that how this was going to work? "i, um, where are you going to--" suddenly she feels more awkward than nervous, shifting her weight. "is it going to feel different because i'm giving you it willingly?" different than it did when she'd been bitten by james, she wonders and she thinks maybe he can infer from her previous statement. bella can't help her curiosity even if she knows she's going to find out in a few seconds anyway. "i won't change my mind either way. take what you need." and there was that trust again, the implications clear: she trusted he'd take what he needed to heal but not so much that it'd actually harm or hinder her. why did she trust him? bella wasn't sure, but she did trust him all the same.

[writingwrittenwriting]

Growing up, I always felt like I was missing something. In multiple ways, I sensed this. But this isn't about just missing things going on around me. Very young, I began to feel as though something were missing from me. I didn't know what it was, nor did I understand the feeling for many years, but a part of me always knew this. I was made with something important missing from my soul.

I tried to act the way I thought I was supposed to. I remember always thinking I had to act a certain way, even if I did forget myself a lot when I felt caught up in the moment. Some of my earliest memories are practicing laughing, or being told I wasn't smiling right. I seemed to lack whatever part of a person was supposed to learn these aspects. It seemed to come so naturally to others, but took conscious effort for me. It was always like this.

I was roughly five when I started to really feel as though I wasn't just missing little pieces, like a puzzle at a daycare. But rather, I was missing a whole chunk of my soul. As though my body was only partially filled with the essence of humanity, and the rest was hollow. There was something deeply wrong with me, and if anyone found out... I didnt know what bad would come when I was five. No one wanted to be my friend. The other kids ran away from me and laughed at anyone who was forced to play with me. I felt stupid and alone. I began to feel that hollow filling with anger and pain. It festered inside of me, an infected cyst in my soul.

When I was seven or eight, my world was very unkind in general. At school, I would see how the "special" kids were treated. I feared I would be labeled as such and further ostracized if my inner "rot" was acknowledged by parents and teachers. I was already on thin ice with the school, I was terrible at math and became upset and angry very quickly in social situations. I would be pulled out of class for "tutoring" sessions that were just the "slowest" or more disruptive kids being removed from the classroom and put in an unused office so the "normal" kids could do their work. I wasn't "retarded", I didn't need to be kept in a "sensory" room all school day! This was back in a time where any diagnosis of mental difficulties meant being labeled as "special" and seen as a disgusting dangerous problem. I had once been targeted by a boy during recess who was known to be violent on occasion. His "aid" had pulled him away during tag after he'd become obsessed with catching me. Instead of anyone explaining the situation to me, I was instead scared by this boy screaming in a rage that he was playing tag and being good while his aid unanimously decided he was getting aggressive and dragging him away. In hindsight, he likely wanted to be friends and was hyperfocused on showing me how fast and cool he was, and got caught up in his fun. Instead of the ad creating a teachable moment for either of us, I saw a dangerous freak get hauled away. And he likely got to feel like a criminal as he was dragged to the screaming room. I didn't want to be put in the screaming room.

Around the age of ten, the evangelical influences of my rural Snow-America town dug its way into me. I didn't believe in its religion or preachings, but it certainly created an environment where I felt the importance of... Im not sure what words to use to describe the idea of a good and proper human by evangelical American standards. Their definition of humanity, I suppose? Whatever label to call it by, I didn't fit. I wasn't a retarded freak with medical issues, there shouldn't have been anything wrong with me. But my soul didn't feel right. I felt so different from humanity, I began to question if I were something else. I began to wish I were something else. It would be easier to discover I was, or to become something inhuman, than to live among humans while missing such a thing as proper human soul. Remembering the fear the child I was back then had felt over the prospect of anyone knowing how they felt... I feel so much pain for that child, and any like them, who had to grow up feeling that way.

I couldn't tell anyone about my worries. About how I felt incomplete, broken, hollow, malformed and masking it. The few times I told the adults who were supposed to care for me had always ended in punishment. I was scolded for being different. Scolded if I didn't perform well enough to hide myself. I wasn't a monster, but they would treat me as such if they ever knew. There were already times I was treated as a monster...

If I couldn't act their stupid little plays out right, I'd be punished and gossiped about. With family, in public, at school... It's no wonder that hole inside me continued to fill with anger. It was filled with years of resentment, jealousy, fear, pain, and a loneliness that will never leave me as long as I live. I was born with a hole in my soul to hold the wonders the world could pour into me, but I was unfortunate. The little world I was born into filled that hole with nasty things. With uncertainty and doubt. With fear, despair, self loathing, and anger. Where I was meant to learn love, I learned I was a burden.

So if you feel like you're hiding a twisted horrible secret inside. That there's a darkness you cant let anyone see. You might be like me. You might be an Autistic or otherwise neurodivergent individual who was neglected and/or abused. That darkness inside of you, you weren't born with. It was put inside you by unpleasant people. Unfortunately it's a part of you now, but its only a part. It's not you. It's not in control of you. Think of it as a weird benign tumour that occasionally makes it hard to take a shit. Its annoying and you hate it, getting rid of it isn't easy because insurance and medical care is a nightmare. If you're close enough with a friend to tell them you're going to be in the washroom at the bar for 30 minutes cus your ass tumour decided shits going sideways right fucking now, well the friendship is strong enough to handle the truth. The darkness inside you always comes from somewhere, and it doesn't define you. How you handle that darkness it up to you, but if you can trust someone enough to discuss mental health stuff, they're most likely going to stick around.

And if they dont stay? If they freak out and say you're weird and dangerous and that your feeings are not normal? You don't need or want them as a friend. They're either hiding their own darkness, denying their own darkness, or brainwashed by a rural North-American evangelical cult. If its the last one, run far and run fast. They will rationalize anything and its scarier than your dark twisted secret evil ass tumour.

you ever feel like you were born with something rotten inside you and if people get close enough they’re gonna find out

[kitty-is-writing]

Lorepost: The Witch Queen pt 6

here is the penultimate lorepost on Witch Queen Philippa of Oakshire! this one looks at the rumours and conjecture that led to the moniker of 'Witch Queen'.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Witch Queen rumours

The first stirrings of talk about Philippa’s supposed magical abilities came with the announcement of her first pregnancy. At the time, her recorded birth date of 1687 would put her at 89 years old when Princess Mary was born in 1776. This could have been explained by a record-keeping error, but with several of the Eastern records damaged by flooding in the 1730s, there was no way to be certain.

While the official version of events has the 1687 Philippa being another of the DuRizas, a sister of Christopher tragically lost in infancy whose name was given to his daughter in memory, the fact remains that Queen Philippa had fallen pregnant rather late in life. Taking her age as 23 at her first wedding in 1755, her first pregnancy came at the age of 44. Not impossible by any means, but generally considered the age for a last child instead of the first.

Rumours flew around the kingdom, from her having bargained with a witch for a child, to her being a witch who had gained the throne through magical means. Edward DuRiza leapt to his sister’s defence, providing details of other women in the DuRiza line who had birthed healthy children in their later years. A scattering of others also came forward, either the mothers themselves or their children, giving evidence of late childbearing being more common than it was thought to be. Despite this, the rumours persisted.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, much of the suspicion and unkind words came from those few among the nobility who had resisted Philippa’s changes. While the public at large would gossip about her supposed magical powers, few of them held any ill feeling regarding it. In one interview, shortly after the birth of her third child in 1784, she was quoted as saying: ‘If I am a witch, I hope I have been a good one. The people seem happy with me, at the very least, and that is enough for me.’

Further fuel for the rumours came with Philippa’s long life, ending in 1818, making her 86 years old from her official birth year of 1732. Speculation remained, however, that her true birth year had been 1687, lining up with the only verified record of a Philippa DuRiza anyone had been able to find. This would put her at 131, an age beyond anything considered possible for a human even with today’s medical advances.

Despite all the conjecture, no proof was ever seen of Philippa having any unusual abilities beyond her vast capacity for empathy and skill in diplomacy. In fact, it has been suggested more than once that if the Queen had been a witch, she would likely have used her magic to prevent the civil war, or at least to protect herself by keeping Robert’s violent behaviour under control.

tag list below cut!

@eli-t-spoon @write-with-will

[equinoxbloom]

Fleeting Friend

[FFXIV Write 2024 | Day 3 | Tempest]

The rain fell in a torrent, a cleansing rush from the heavens, and turned the dusty roads to mud. It wasn’t monsoon season, but the levin darted white and purple across the sky. She tucked her knees to her chest, bare toes wriggling against the smooth wood underfoot. She had not stayed a night in the Bokairo Inn in… how many years now? She exhaled, long and slow, and the sound disappeared into the percussion of the storm. Even under the shelter of the eaves, the wind whipping in from off shore skated across the surface of the hot springs and set long hair lashing against her cheeks.

“Imagine my surprise, seeing you step off that ship. Nearly that of seeing you in Ishgard,” Kyokuho was saying, his voice half lost to the gale. It was hard for her sensitive ears to focus, but it afforded them privacy too. Not that their familiarity was a secret. Rather, she had the sense that it was easier for her traveling companions to simply accept she’d arrived miraculously from the East and who, or what, she’d been before they’d pulled her into their fold was fine left at a distance.

She didn’t blame them, really. There was only so much humanizing anyone wanted to engage in when it was rapidly becoming clear she would be sent off to die again and again. Because she wouldn’t die. Because anybody else would be better off if they did. It didn’t really matter if they cared about her on some level. It might be worse if they did.

“It doesn’t rain like this as often in Eorzea,” she said. Kyokuho paused - he’d been saying something else - to stare at her, lips parted. 

“You haven’t changed at all, have you?” he laughed, quiet with a passing affection that settled familiar over her shoulders. He’d always been so quick to call someone, ‘friend,’ and to mean it. Years hadn’t snuffed that warmth; she’d felt it, instant and sure, when he’d recognized her under the wide brim of her hat in the lamplight of the Astrologicum.

“I like to think I have, a little.” It would have been unkind to the memories of those she’d lost if she’d not been changed. He didn’t know the half of what she’d seen. He didn’t know the half of what she’d done. “It doesn’t snow here like it does in Coerthas.” But she was still just herself, as singular and impotent as that felt.

“Does it feel like home across the sea?” he asked. She rolled the thought over once, twice.

“The storms are different, but they still feel familiar. The dark nights still feel familiar.” Where she was speaking of, exactly, she wasn’t sure she could have answered. She had been told the places she would exist. Here and there. Had she found home in anything that wasn’t fleeting? Minfilia’s welcoming embrace. Haurchefant’s warm hand around hers. The weather that descended, violent and aether rich, and stole her breath away along with the rest of the world. Wind, snow, levin, rain.

“Have you found companions you trust? Miss Leveva seemed fond of you.” He kicked his legs over the edge of the engawa, letting the water spilling from the sweep of the roof drench his ankles. “I worried about you when you left,” he said. She frowned. He was younger than her by a couple years. He’d felt like a child when they’d parted ways. In truth, she’d never considered them close. She’d never considered anyone close, besides her brother.

“I have,” she said, though, and found she meant it. The sensation coiled deep in the pit of her stomach. A fragile happiness, a resounding dread.

“And the goddess…” he began, and she shifted to push a finger against his lips. In the rush of the storm, their words were lost as quickly as they were spoken but she stopped him still. The storm wind howled along the hall and set the folds of their hakama fluttering. 

“The rain will leave as quick as it’s come,” she said with a fleeting smile. He nodded slowly. And so will you.      

[footsiepop]

The nature of the immigrant is any food they make is inauthentic, neither "authentic" food from their homeland nor "authentic" food from where they live. This is of course, not xenophobic in the slightest.

[justanotheryapper]

Literally my thoughts and I was gonna make a post about this exact observation but you beat me to it by *checks calendar* A WHOLE YR lmao😭i left this manhwa to marinate and just got back to rereading it and wanted to add onto this analysis!

I believe Ludovicas final words to Johannes heavily influenced how he ended up handling everything concerning Shuri and how he ends up treating her horribly during mental episodes when his illness gets worse.

Ludovica was (this is the way I interpreted her and her actions) greedy when it came to her future and relationships with others.

When Johannes finally confesses and she sees the truth for what it is, she gives him an ultimatum, not words of regret or hope, or any sense of comfort or realization. She suspected his feelings long ago yet when he didn't have the courage to face her and tell her the truth, she moved on and went for the greater prize/outcome (the emperor, his friend). It was HER WAY or the HIGHWAY. She even coveted a rose that she knew he had because of her. His love wasn't enough and it would never be if he wasn't willing to lay everything down for her.

Anyways, back to my point: Ludovica's harsh words and craving to have it all was so strong that Johannes slowly becomes just like her with his new fixation on Shuri, which is ironic considering how much he adored her and how he hated feeling during his final interaction with her (Ludovica).

I believe that she didn't have eyes for the emperor, nor did he have any for her until Johannes' feelings became obvious and he didn't make a move. It's almost implied that she slowly curried the emperors favor (seduced him), because he was going to marry the current empress up until that point and her actions complicated things and changed the outcome. Which is also why currently the empress and emperor are still on rocky terms.

Ludovica was never really a loving or caring person, because in the end she was gonna get what she wanted at whatever the cost may be.

Johannes is quick to find out everything about Shuri and marry her, because as has been proven in the past, if he misses his opportunity he will regret it and never get another one like it again.

So he snatches it up and keeps it in his grasp, sometimes loosening his hold when things seem to be alright and calm (moments where he teaches Shuri about her future duties and just getting along with her in general) and at other times he crushes his hold so tightly he harms her (the flower) in the process (his creeping doubts becoming too big to ignore and leading him to confronting her and physically harming her/the necklace incident).

There's even a panel of a lion, clearly acting as a stand in for him, that showcases focused eyes, indicating that he's on the hunt rather than caring about Shuri's situation when he tasks the knight to find out about her.

In the end, he knows what he's doing and how insane it must be that he acts this way, yet is still met with her gentle smile and kind demeanor, a direct reflection of how Ludovica cruelly treated him and how he could only ever respond/react mildly to the situation at hand because of the image he so firmly holds of her in his mind. Ludovica was never like the woman he longed for in his mind.

He constantly projects his updated image of Ludovica onto Shuri (immediately thinks she's scheming and conniving , just like Ludovica, when the necklace incident occurs) and its why he's so reactive and violent.

He literally grooms her to be the perfect wife (everything he thought Ludovica should be like) but that later changes as he gets closer to death and prioritizes grooming her to be the perfect head of household instead.

Despite knowing that they aren't the same person and that she's long gone he continues to have unkind moments with her, and this is probably the closest he gets to knowing how Ludovica felt having power over him.

It's also why he feels horrible for what he'd done and seeing how she is just like how he was towards Ludovica, quick to forgive because this was one of the few times he was ever a bad person to her and the good outweighed the bad in their eyes.

I think Ludivicas' cruel nature and sharp words affected him so much that he never forgot about them, burying them deep, until they resurfaced later in his life. She still held power over him and what might've once been a pure love was now tainted and unwilling to let him go.

What I really think is that he had been so psychologically damaged by her emotional manipulation of him and it depicted her emotional abuse of him, which then started a cycle of him being the same towards Shuri until she broke it/forgot about it but she didn't leave unscathed by the effects of it (ptsd). The abused becomes the abuser.

Ludovica is not a manifestation of his love or regrets or anything of the sort, at least I don't think she is. She was abusive and toxic and left a mark on him and held him hostage in his final days. A very clear depiction of how victims will never forget their abusers or what they'd done to them. That despite having a loving family and things to live for it just wouldn't leave him alone and he was in denial over the reason it clinged onto him after all those years.

She was also implied to have not been a good person in general judging by the fact that the palace has no clear records of her or anything that she'd done in her time in the palace when she was alive. I think this is also a reason why the emperor makes up with the empress and finally decides to forget about her, he saw that she wasn't who he thought she was and will not be the one to be hung up about it.

All in all, I like that this part of him was heavy and does a good job of showing male victims of abuse. However, I would like to add that this does not justify his actions towards Shuri. It's an explanation as to why but it does not excuse it.

I was lowkey pissed that this is how Ludovica haunted the narrative and how she was the catalyst to Shuri's suffering, but I will not discredit Johannes part in it, as he's the adult in the situation and was the one who triggered the series of events that started off the story.

During their small interaction, and later during their marriage, Johannes never saw Shuri as a person. ORKA did a really good job showing that. For Johannes and the reader, Shuri was presented as a flower. Her words seem to pale in comparison to her beauty, and she looks so enticing, so bare and without thorns. You just want to pluck her out.

Shuri wasn't even ten feet away when Johannes commanded to start an investigation about her. Without knowing who she was, he started to write the letter and scheming plans. Who cares that he traveled to reassure his children — he had gotten the most precious thing in the world right in front of him, raising from the dead. He was not going to let it go a second time.

[alucarddear]

What do you think turn-ons and turn-offs would be for our pretty vampire boy

Alucard’s kinks*

[You] *CW: contains sexual themes, namely turn-ons and turn-offs. It gets specific.

Note: Ooh! Listen, I love this. I feel like our Sunshine Prince might’ve been a full-on Sub if the Taka+Sumi incident didn’t happen. I HC him to be a switch because of the need for some semblance of control!

Subject me to your thoughts and violent reactions. 😪

Turn-offs

He’s not a big fan of an overly potty mouth, in general. You can cuss here and there, but every time you speak is just too much. Please, have some class.

If you’re overly flirty with everyone, that’s also a no because he is a monogamous lover. He wants you all to himself and likewise, he gives his all to you. Being overly flirty with everyone can make him feel like he’s not special to you after all.

He will never fall for someone who is unkind or sadistic in any way at all. He will not even pay you any attention. That also goes for someone shallow who only likes him for his looks or status.

Bondage. Yes, you saw that coming, didn’t you? Anything that restricts his movement, he’s uncomfortable with for obvious traumatic reasons.

Facials. He’s not all about cumming on your face. He’d rather stuff himself deep inside you instead. He’s not one for degradation of any sort and doesn’t feel the need to do that to you. He gulps on that respect juice. However, he doesn’t mind cumming elsewhere—butt, stomach, etc.

Turn-ons:

Intelligence. If you’re well-spoken and your thoughts are logical and you’re not afraid to speak your mind, he might just fall in love with you. He wants someone who won’t shy away from discussions, but can remain respectful about it. Someone creative and intellectual who can match his energy.

He’s putty in your hands if you are caring and understanding yet also capable of being headstrong; someone with both conviction and compassion is someone he can admire.

When you wear his shirt and it looks like a dress on you cause his frame is much larger—the way it’s falling off your shoulder, the V-neck cut of it so deep on you that he gets a good view… It makes him want to take you then and there.

Hair-pulling, back-scratching, those little things you do that gives him a tiny bit of pain that’s also pleasurable. When you show him how much you’re letting go when you fuck.

A partner who fully trusts him, fully submits to him. He finds it so hot when you let him do as he pleases, when you show him how much you want him. When you let him roughly bend you over his desk and fuck you from behind, the wet slapping sounds echoing throughout the castle. But at the same time, when you take control and dominate him, when you ride him til he’s quaking and your legs start shaking, that’s just as hot.

To some smaller degree—breeding kink. Adrian isn’t sure if this is a vampire trait, like some sort of natural hunger to procreate, but… the thought of pushing himself balls-deep in you so he can cum deep inside you turns him on more than he lets on. Especially when you clench around him tightly and milk him for all he’s got as he’s cumming. The thought of putting babies in you, you carrying his offsprings… that’s hot. Needless to say, he is also crazy for a good creampie. 😌

When you moan his name… Honey, it’s over for you and him both.

[sweet--sweet--muffin]

Ben 10 Aliens As Their Own Characters (Original Series)

This has been on my mind for a looooong, long time and I finally decided to share this here.

I’ve seen some cool concepts for the “Ben’s Omnitrix glitched out and caused the aliens to have their own sentience” AU (like @thisunknowngenius’ take on the AU for example, as well as @justmenoworries​‘ glorious @omniglitch-au​) and I thought of sharing my own take for this.

Gonna call this AU of mine Ben 10 Alienated.

Let’s start with the Original 10 here because I have no idea where to start with the others lmao.

Wildmutt - Considered as the family pet, he’s just like any other normal man’s best friend. He always strive to be close with his family (especially Ben) to show how much he loves them.

Four Arms - an extremely violent, short-tempered, and very brash berserk who tends to be quite unkind to others around him, especially towards the people who dare hurt his loved ones. He seems to think that punching things, including people, is the best way to solve problems and his hot head can sometimes get him into trouble.

Grey Matter - tends to be boorish, and sarcastic with a dry sense of humor. He usually has a stoic frown, though he does smile from time to time. Grey Matter is very honest and blunt about what is on his mind. His brutal honesty isn't so much out of a sense of morality, but because he doesn't want to waste brain space by making up a lie. Regardless, he’s willing to help his family with any problem that only relates to knowledge and tutoring.

XLR8 - an energetic and upbeat Kineceleran who loves to do all sorts of bizarre things and dislikes "dull" things, like reading and studying. He’s a menace in the pranking field, but thankfully, his pranks are all relatively harmless. XLR8′s also a good sport and loves doing some competitions with his siblings. Well, unless you’re cheating then you’re really asking for a pie in the face.

Upgrade - literally the nicest alien you’ll ever meet. Upgrade possesses emotions and acts more like a human than a normal Mechamorph. He’s a bit shy but is generally a very kind-hearted individual who speaks in a polite manner and is sensitive to others' feelings. Despite his typically shy behavior, Upgrade occasionally demonstrates more assertiveness, confidence and can stand up for himself without resorting to anger (Heatblast joked that Four Arms should take notes about this). He’s pretty much seen with Grey Matter in most cases as he is more like an assistant of his.

Diamondhead - If someone were to look up “father figure”, then Diamondhead is sure to appear in those results. He is very responsible and talks formal. He rarely loses his nerve and can maintain clarity in any situation. He’s like the loving father figure of Ben, Gwen and the aliens and has a closer relationship towards Max due to sharing the responsibilities of being the parent figure of the fam.

Ripjaws - Not exactly the most intellectual member of the aliens, as Ripjaws is clueless, easily confused by complex words and misinterprets insults and figures of speech. He is also very gullible, often easily believing things people say and is surprised when others tell him that they're lying. In general, his mood can shift very quickly. He can bounce between bored, to happy, to angry, and to happy again. Despite his easygoing and aloof personality, Ripjaws is a good-natured and well-meaning alien.

Stinkfly - the very definition of “lazy” and a good-for-nothing couch potato of the family. He may be laid-back, but he’ll do anything to help the world in need and protect his family. Despite this, there’ll be times that he can be cynical towards others, even to the aliens and Tennysons.

Ghostfreak - he’s quite hard to approach given his quiet, deadpan and distant demeanor. But that’s because Ghostfreak is simply not good at expressing his emotions and would rather do so through his poems. It does help with giving him ideas on how to express his emotions more. Regardless, he has a heart of gold to the people he truly trusts; his one big family.

Heatblast - he’s a sporty athlete with a fiery personality and is always eager to challenge someone when he’s being challenged. Heatblast is one of the more mature aliens unless he ends up getting himself caught into the childish antics of his siblings (mainly XLR8).

[archivedjuice]

okay listen daredevil noir fucks me up because i'd never noticed how much comic!matt on a whole depends on his ability to know when people are lying either to him or other people and i've never seen a writer explore what would happen if matt weren't there when a lie was told on a scale in which it's never revealed to matt, those the lie was told to and the reader whether or not what was said was actually a lie or was the truth. like i really sat, read this again today and realized eliza killed halloran before he could really ever reveal whether or not him telling fisk he was the one who killed jack was a lie or not.

it reads like waid's run where matt is made to question his sanity (which is funny since this came first) but instead he's made to question his ability, faith in himself and everything that's come before this in relation to 'how many times have i fucked up and didn't know it? how many people have i neglected to save because of my blind confidence and anger'.

this is a matt murdock new to daredevil and he's coming to terms with the fact that he won't be able to save everyone. he thinks he's already made peace with that but really, deep down he's been thinking that he can but it'll be done one person at a time and when he learns -- in this unfortunate, violent way where he falls in love with the idea of a person and they turn out to just be the worst of what's plaguing hell's kitchen -- that he isn't perfect in protecting hell's kitchen it uproots every belief he's ever had. (strangely close to s1 matt's conflict hmmm would the marvel's dd writers like to explain this?)

there are a lot of other aspects to this version of matt's story i like as well: foggy being more of a mentor, older brother or near father figure for matt rather than a best friend with usually less conflict. on a surface level, it might seem like it removes more of foggy's character for tethering him more to matt but this time in a more intimate way but i think if noir ever gets a full run (unlikely since it was published in 2009 and i think it's left better off finished there and never picked back up) it'd be cool to explore foggy's character from an elevated pov. i'm so in love with the ending, the conversation with foggy. foggy is dragging up every thought he's avoided, every thought he's refused to admit and shoving them in his face but because of the role foggy plays in his life it isn't unkind; it's this indifferent reality that weirdly comforts him in the sense that what he's just experimenced with halloran, fisk & eliza hasn't happened before but it will again in the same or another form and foggy will be there for all of it.

and then there's the fact that this matt's elektra is just straight up bullseye ('bull's eye'). like that's fucking genius? i don't think i'd ever seen such a clever use of an existing character or plot in such a new, unique way in an almost completely unrelated story since i first read soule's mike murdock arc. my favourite part about it was the motif of thin ice over moving water that turns into black water. i love how her character isn't directly tethered to matt (like elektra) but still she's a foil for him and challenges the way he thinks and feels for other people and himself.

[silkeared]

it  was  so  unkind.  it  was  so  unjust.  why  did  death  strike  those  that  deserved  it  the  least ?  ender  wasn’t  perfect,  she  would  be  the  first  to  admit  it.  in  her  life  she  had  been  a  little  bitchy,  self - absorbed,  full  of  herself  …  but  she  had  been  kind,  and  the  first  to  take  those  that  were  struggling  beneath  her  wing.  she  became  a  mother  when  her  own  passed  away,  and  it  was  her  responsibility  to  raise  not  just  her  older  brother  but  to  make  sure  her  father  didn’t  entirely  break  down.  then  koda  left,  and  then  ender  fell  victim  to  the  cruelty  of  the  world  …  a  man  that  thought  she  owed  him  something,  and  a  man  that  believed  ripping  her  life  away  was  adequate  payment  for  that.  there  were  still  plastic  flowers  strapped  to  the  wall  where  she  had  been  found  in  that  dark  alleyway.  ender  couldn’t  fathom  going  back  there,  to  the  dark  and  rainy  streets  of  london  that  became  her  grave  before  she  was  buried  beneath  the  ground.  in  body,  she  was  back  in  england,  six  feet  deep  under  loam  and  soil.  but  somehow  she  was  there  opposite  a  friend,  with  her  chest  mimicking  breathing  as  if  she  still  needed  the  intake  of  air,  with  her  body  going  through  the  motions  of  somebody  a  little  more  …  living.  she  reached  for  the  water  for  tea  and  slowly  started  pouring  herself  a  mug.  the  water  was  a  coppery  kind  of  brown,  and  she  tipped  a  little  water  into  the  mix.  it  dispersed  like  a  drop  of  ink  in  water,  a  whirling  spread  until  the  drink  balanced  to  a  biscuity  tone.  “i  know.  i’m  still  getting  used  to  it.”  ender  smiled.  she  wasn’t  sure  whether  it  was  the  friendship  she  was  getting  used  to,  or  the  notion  that  she  was  no  longer  alive.  “it’s  approaching  busy  piercing  season  at  the  studio.  everyone  wants  a  belly  bar  for  the  summer,  you  know  —  even  though  the  summer  looks  like  this  …  ”  the  ghost  gestured  to  the  windows.  outside,  portum  was  dark  and  overcast  and  thick  with a  fog  that  obscured  the  shapes  of  buildings  and  brought  a  violent  wind  along  with  it.  “  …  so,  other  than  busy,  i’ve  been  okay.”  ender  wondered  whether  her  voice  was  convincing.  she  had  spent  her  entire  teenagehood  pretending  — wearing  confidence  like  a  mask  until  she  truly  believed  it  —  but  over  the  last  few  weeks  she  seemed  to  have  lost  her  touch.  “my  full  time  job  right  now  is  babysitting  my  older  brother.  i  haven’t  seen  him  in  a  while.  he  could  be  anywhere.  i’d  rather  not  think  about  what  he  could  be  doing  —  violating  his  doggy  boyfriend,  probably.” was  she  bitter ?  yes.  was  she  hopeful  that,  soon,  she  could  have  her  own  person  to  flaunt ?  absolutely.  but  if  portum’s  end  was  coming  thick  and  fast,  would  she  need  to  consider  moving  on  before  the  flower  truly  bloomed ?

SUCH A YOUNG LIFE, taken so soon. she still had so much to do. noa had certainly become familiar with the phrases often used by those as a reaction to sudden death. however, she was often familiar with the reality of these words. moments before she was to leave for the biggest concert of her career -- she was gazing out over the cityscape of paris. seconds later, she was flying. and then, without warning -- she was engulfed in blackness. without a choice, her body didn't belong to her anymore. what a tragedy it was, when she had just begun to love it again. because for a fraction of her present day, she was finally in control. where she was lucky, however, was that she had become a seasoned professional in the eyes of death. had she ever considered herself to be the mentorship kind? no, not particularly. a recluse in her own right, if she had been forced to spend this limbo between life and afterlife on earth -- she'd endure it alone. however, a pull buried deep within her chest told her otherwise. if no one was there to usher the young into such a drastic change -- they'd have to endure it all alone. carry the gravity of the situations they'd found themselves in.

for if anything, death does not wait for you. it does not watch from around corners -- waiting until you punctuate the final page of the story of your life. it is swift, it does not hesitate. but, above it all -- it is fucking cruel. noa wasn't going to force ender to spill her entire life story, as if it was something she was owed -- but she had always extended a hand for her to grasp to. meetings like these fell under that category. a gentle, not forceful life preserver amidst unknown waters. for the last thing noa wanted for either of them? to let death win. for this time to be the eternal misery the universe believed they deserve. while both of them had been lucky enough to find portum, what greater punishment could there be -- than to be doomed to watch their loved ones grow old, while they stayed the same? in their eyes, the dead would forever be a certain age. those who loved them would never see them age -- time taking hold of their features. a beautiful thing, if one is fufilled.

" of course, ender. you know you're always welcome -- wherever i am. " the elder ghost smiles, shaking her head with laughter at the mention of advantage. while music for a time had not paid very well, considering her status -- the portum performing arts center was sure to make sure her compensation was hefty. " it's almost like that's what i wanted, darling. " after a moments pause thanks to the arrival of a freshly-brewed coffee pot and another with hot water for tea -- she nods to the waitress in thanks before her focus returns to ender. " how have things been? the performing arts center has kept me plenty busy these days, i want to hear everything. "

[maldarchive]

the bad marriage of my body / the bad mirage of my body / the image I slipping into and out of like a spoon, gentle, willing, unfortunately bound by duty / it is perhaps true that I would rather live through than remember; it is perhaps true that my wants are childish, disrespectful, unkind; it is perhaps true that I do not know what I would rather because I have never had a choice / the violent tremor of my body / the trembling violence of my body / a body that I would in a second discard if I could, a body that I would love deeply if I could / a body that I have come to be unfamiliar with the further I go from trauma, the only thing that feels real about it is its pain / split down the middle like a snapped zip I am thinking of all the things I could try to forgive if I knew how / I remember everything: the way the light from the moon glimmered in the corner of your eye and I thought it was so beautiful to be full of grief, charged with it, a whole body glowing with misery / I was never evil even though I tried to compete with those around me, the best I could do were these silly thoughts / coming & going as if I have the strength to be anything but stationary / perhaps I would be wrong to say that I don't -