#law of diminishing returns and all that

[sennenpharaoh]

Nice try anon, but his magician has that card now.

It's in better hands, and it will stay that way.

[wyvernest]

cold nights by the fire

cregan stark x betrothed f! reader

cw: smut, piv, creampie, fluff, slightly typical-medieval sexist views, loss of virginity

summary: your soon-to-be husband keeps you warm on your first cold night in Winterfell

Ever since the war ended, nights have grown colder in the regretted absence of most dragonfire in Westeros. High and sharp winds have started growing in the North, sweeping far south of The Wall and clawing at the gates of Winterfell.

Tonight was no different. You had asked your handmaiden to build a fire in the hearth for both your comfort, but with little gain. As soon as you stepped away from the red, licking flames, the cold took over like shadow vanquishing light.

“It’s all in vain.” you mutter, defeated.

“I shall bring more furs, m’lady.” your handmaiden insists, getting up from her spot by the fire.

“Don’t.”, you chuckle, “Any more and I’ll suffocate. They’ll have to send all the guards to come looking for me amongst them come morn’.”

Your companion lets a shy laugh escape her trembling lips, although short-lived as a tall, broad shadow appears by the door. 

“My lady.” Your heart flutters wildly at the unmistakable sound of your betrothed’s voice, so gentle and concerned. “Are you well?”

Nodding for your handmaiden to retreat to her own chamber, you now become aware of your condition; kneeled on the rough tapestry, crumbled into a ball of pelts, hands above the flames. Sour shame washes over you, for having dared to believe you were one of the toughest of your family during harsh times, yet now conquered by the cold on your first night in Winterfell. 

“Cregan.” you shuffle to raise to your feet but your freezing legs aren’t eager to heed your intent. “I must admit, my northern blood has betrayed me tonight, for the first time.” 

You are startled amidst your struggles to flee from the furs as he braces you with a firm hand on your back, before his other comes around your waist, easily lifting you off the rugs. He walks back, placing you on the soft bed and sitting beside you, the covers rigid with night’s chill underneath.

“I will not have my lady wife quiver in my own keep.” He rids himself of his cloak swiftly, draping it over your smaller frame. The hastiness of the gesture makes a newfound warmth pool in your veins, reminding you of the same way he is to soon cloak you as his lady, in sight of the Old Gods. 

“Thank you,” You whisper, surprised and stunned, as you cuddle closer into his embrace. His body heat soon seeps into you, your trembling diminishing as his strong arms faintly squeeze more and more. 

‘Exhilarated’ didn’t begin to properly describe how you felt when Lord Cregan started courting you not long after he had returned from the southern war of the Targaryens. Your house is pledged to the Starks, but with the safety of the North now secured, he did not deem it necessary to strengthen alliances with marriage anymore, not when he could follow his heart so freely.

A giddy shiver rouses you from oncoming slumber, as the last slither of cold leaves your body in a sneeze you wished you could suppress. 

“Come closer.” You can feel his hot breath on your face as he moves you over his lap, his right arm running up and down your back in hopes of keeping you warm.

“Is this proper? So soon, before the wedding?” You do not wish to so easily disrespect customs and laws, but it wasn't rare that you found yourself fantasising about finally being his.

“I am merely looking after my beloved. I already vowed to shield you from harm.” You cannot tell if there was a trace of amusement in his tone or if it was just your mind jesting.

“Not before the gods.”

“The gods knew of the pledge before I could speak it. The ceremony will be held, but my loyalties will have been with you for long before.” The hold around your waist tightens, affectionate.

You look up at him, pondering your next words carefully; but before you could muster up a word, your eyes drift to his lips, only for a moment. He doesn't need a clearer impulse to proceed.

His mouth meets yours with a warm exhale that seems to bewitch you, all senses and shock diffusing into the need of being with him. Your face is hot, the skin of your waist is buzzing under his touch even through thick clothing. Your kiss is shy, despite his growing hunger. He nips at your soft lips, his right hand cradling your face, warm and calloused, yet so tender.

His left palm grazes your thigh, a reassuring safety seasoned with soft need. 

You cannot dream of stopping him. Your only concern is him ceasing at an awful time, only to return to his usual, honourable self and leave you desperate until the wedding. But he does not back away, more and more enraptured with you, the scent of you, your skin and your soft sighs. 

He kisses down your jaw, down your throat, wet, hot and open-mouthed. Your body has forgotten all about the sting of cold, leaning back onto the furs. He follows without breaking away, climbing on top of you slowly yet steadily. You moan in surprise as he begins to toy with the back strings of your dress.

“If you wish me gone, I will be gone at once, wife.” He vows.

Returning into view, he looks at you from atop, his brows soothing at the realisation that you are about to welcome him.

“Warm my bed tonight, husband.” You utter, a feather’s puff aways from his lips.

With that, he descends upon you, tasting your words on your lips, his hands cradling your liquified body like softened candle wax. You're burning up and twisting with excitement under the blazing flame of his heat. 

His hands slowly rid you of your garments, leaving you in your white shift, before slipping underneath and grabbing your waist. His touch leaves your skin aching and burning behind, his kisses mark you in a scorch palpable only to you. His touch climbs past your waist, coming to fondle the soft flesh of your breasts. Your heart beat is so strong you swear he might feel it as he softly squeezes your tit.

You shuffle in his hold, seeking to press yourself closer and closer into him, as if to become one. He indulges, himself wanting to wrap you up entirely in his embrace. Your soft breasts come flush against his hard chest, legs curling up around his waist as you receive him between your parted thighs. 

His breathing gradually becomes laboured as he moves against you, pulling the covers over you both. As he continues to caress the curves and dips of your shape, his groin brushes up against your flower and your hips betray you, dragging back up against him. With a low grunt, he frees himself from his breeches with one hand, and you pull at his chemise to fully undress him.

“Are you certain?” You inquire, out of breath.

“Always have been.” He soothes your worries with another heart-stopping kiss, sealing the premature bedding with an undoubting vow.

You feel him guide himself into you, the tip of his manhood prodding at the pink petals of your unplucked rose, claiming you. He pushes in and you gladly accept him, wet and wanting. 

“Gods, you feel amazing.” He groans above you, finally settled completely into you, before pulling back out and starting to roll his hips, steady yet hard enough to have you tensing at the sudden feeling of kindles in your womb. 

He sinks deep into you with every thrust, breathing heavy on your neck, groaning in your ear, whipping at the cold and dark of the bedchamber. You can smell the pinewood and musk on him, closer than you’ve ever been before, and it drowns out your senses, reducing you to the rapid waters of a river, bending and breaking against harsh stones of mountains, willing and united. 

You gasp out his name as the air is filled with your moans and pleas, the wood-carved bed frame ramming into the bleak stone walls of Winterfell with an echoless rhythm. 

He worships your body like you were a godly grace bestowed upon him, listening to your every sound and heeding every sign that he could do more for your pleasure. Eventually his thrusts grow urgent and scattered in between breaths, and before he can muffle your ecstatic whines with another kiss, you come, your delicate flower quivering around him, pushing him into the peak of his own satisfaction. 

You feel him throb inside, filling you with a strange, new sensation. He collapses by your side, tenderly dragging you with him. He strokes up and down your back, his breaths calming with a deep sigh.

“Is my lady still in discomfort?” He jests lightly, proud with himself and immensely content.

You snuggle at his side, head on his chest. “No. But I'm afraid I will be in need of your aid every night, my lord.”

[euthymiya]

You believe in soulmates. Alhaitham does not. It’s not as though he loves you any less for his beliefs, but he certainly doesn’t entertain your baseless theories.

You’re determined to change his mind.

“What would you do if we never met?” You ask, staring up at him with your cheek pressed against his chest.

He glances down at you, sighing as he shakes his head. Here we go, he thinks silently. “I probably wouldn’t do anything, considering I wouldn’t know you existed.”

“You wouldn’t be sad?” You frown.

“How can I be sad about something that I don’t know exists?”

“Well, you could know of me,” you insist, “just because you don’t know me doesn’t mean you don’t know I exist.”

“In that case, I probably would not do anything,” he snorts. You don’t like that answer, glaring up at him as he adds, “I wouldn’t know what I’m missing if we never met.”

“You’re a real romantic, has anyone ever told you that?” You grumble. There’s a vibration of his chuckle through his chest, right under your cheek in a soft, rhythmic feeling that you’re so used to, you think it might be familiar from another life.

Over the course of the Akademiya’s years, there have been two prominent theories that have been debunked about soulmates:

1. The law of conservation of mass-energy states that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed—but only transformed. When a person dies, their body decomposes, breaking down into atoms that return to the earth, air, and water. These atoms then get recycled by nature, eventually becoming part of other living organisms, thus reincarnating from their previous life forms. It is possible, then, that two individuals could fundamentally be linked to reincarnate together from the same set of atoms in every lifetime.

It was later debunked by a scholar named Lamiya. Atoms themselves don’t retain information about where they’ve been or what they’ve been part of. They are interchangeable at a fundamental level, which means there is no difference between an atom in a human and a rock.

2. The heart and brain generate electromagnetic fields that extend outward from the body, with the heart’s field reaching several feet. Studies suggest these fields may be sensed by others nearby, subtly shaping feelings of comfort, attraction, and connection. It is possible that certain individuals’ frequencies may naturally align, creating a sense of harmony between electromagnetic fields, thus indicating that two individuals are naturally connected and could be labeled soulmates.

This theory was later disproven by a scholar named Dharmakirti. While human bodies do generate electromagnetic fields, there is no evidence that these fields influence interpersonal attractions or emotional resonance. Fields produced by the heart and brain are exceptionally weak and rapidly diminish with distance, making it unlikely they could be sensed or create harmony between individuals in measurable ways.

They fascinate you enough that Alhaitham pulls strings to allow you access to the archived files, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you how he scrunches his nose in distaste as he sifts through them himself.

Soulmates have no plausible evidence of existing, he argues.

Lots of things have no plausible evidence, yet they exist, you always argue back.

You like to think despite all the differences, you and Alhaitham are soulmates—that some form of you, outside of your physical bodies, exists for each other and each other alone.

You think it must be the case when your eyes seem to find his in a crowd without even trying. What are the odds that in a sea of people, they always happen to come across his by chance? And what other explanation would there be for the way he always seems to just know you’re staring at him while he sleeps every morning, waking up not too long after your eyes fall on his face in admiration? And how else would you rationalize the fact that you could tell his presence apart from anyone. You’re certain that if two bodies were standing behind you from a distance, your heart would know which one belonged to him.

Soulmates, you argue. That has to be the answer.

“I think we were always meant to meet,” you murmur quietly, tracing a finger along the pale skin of his chest. “Don’t you?”

“We’ve shared numerous classes together and have offices within within the same hall,” he states blandly, “I think the chances of not meeting would be rather improbable.”

“Or maybe,” you huff, “we were always meant to meet because we’re soulmates.”

“I think that theory has been sufficiently disproven—”

“You never know! We believe in the divine even if we’ve never seen them, haven’t we? Who’s to say Celestia aren’t fake—”

“The Archons have spoken of them multiple times, and The Gods, in fact, do exist for us to see, so I think we can trust—”

“Maybe Celestia decide soulmates,” you reason, raising a pointed brow at him, “how will you disprove that? There’s no evidence that they haven’t, and you can’t collect much evidence about them, so I think it’s safe to say that it’s possible.”

“But then it’s equally as safe to say it’s not possible by that logic, as well,” he says smugly.

“Fine,” you huff, glowering up at him through puffed cheeks, “I guess you’re just too stubborn to convince.”

“I’m not stubborn,” he argues (which he does quite stubbornly, you want to say), “I apply logic and reasoning to my theories. Which is why they are hardly disproven.”

“Do you at least think we’d be soulmates in another world if they did exist?” You ask hopefully.

He looks like he wants to argue about the likelihood of another world existing altogether—it irritates you enough that it pulls a frown on your face before you grumble a quiet forget it, shuffling out of his arms and turning away to face your back at him.

He chuckles, shaking his head. Something fond blooms in his chest, like a fresh padisarah in May.

“If,” he emphasizes as his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest once more, “if in another world we existed where soulmates were real, then yes. I do think it would be you and I.”

“Really?” You ask quietly.

“Yes,” he whispers. Suddenly, he sounds rather sure about a theory he never even believed in the first place.

“I wonder what we’re doing in that other world,” you hum thoughtfully.

He sighs, bringing the blanket back up to cover both of your bodies and mumbles, “I would hope we’d be sleeping at a reasonable hour before a work day.”

—————

Stay tuned for them being soulmates after all in another world *wink wink* ;)

[spaceorphan18]

The Contessa (Polin Fic)

Rating: E for very explicitness

Summary: Colin returns home one evening to find Penelope reading his journal. She has some inquires about some undocumented time, and he tells the story of the infamous Contessa...

Notes: I've had this idea forever and just needed to get it out of my system. It's one part slice of domestic life, one part porn without plot, all of it full of love and emotions because how can you not with these two? There's a little pregnancy talk as it takes place in the months between the Butterfly ball and the epilogue.

For anyone wanting to read on Ao3 Here is the Link.

Thanks for reading!!

****

The Contessa

It’s evening when Colin arrives back at the house.  He shuffles through the door, flushed a little from the warm, late summer air, a little from the half bottle of brandy he and Benedict had finished off not an hour earlier.  It is still somewhat a foreign sensation -- leaving the family he had spent a happy afternoon with and the house he had grown up in to return to a place where the halls he now walks feels new and unfamiliar.  But it’s not a bad sensation.  In fact, he relishes the fact that he now has a place of his own.  A home.  A home for his own family. 

He grins, and it’s not just the alcohol that makes him a little dizzy. 

“Pen!” He calls out.  They spend a considerable amount of their time together but on days they’re apart, he’ll usually find her at the desk in the study.  Curiously, she’s not there.  “Penelope?” 

“She’s retired for the evening, sir.” Penelope’s hand maid, Rae, passes him in the hallway.  She points back to the bedroom. 

Colin furrows his brow.  His wife has been fatigued more often than not as of late, and it has had him concerned. “Is she well? Perhaps I should have stayed…” 

Rae holds one hand up, and shakes her head with a smile.  “She is fine, sir,” she assures him.  “And doing well for one in her condition. Besides, her mother was with her most of the day.  Nothing to worry about.  She only wanted the comfort of her bed for reading.” 

“Thank you, Rae,” he says, giving a nod to dismiss her.  

He isn’t entirely comforted.  Lady Featherington has been a source of contention recently; wanting to be at Penelope’s side more often than not.  Never in her life, Penelope has complained to him, has her mother shown her so much attention.  Perhaps it has to do with Prudence and Phillipa giving birth to two, sweet little girls that now Lady Featherington’s sights are set on her third daughter to produce the heir she so desperately desires.  And it would give Colin a slight sense of satisfaction if he and Penelope were the ones to bring that heir into being.  But Penelope’s comfort has always come first, and Lady Featherington’s unusual form of mothering is often too much.  He can only hope that she hasn’t pushed Penelope past exasperation.  

Colin is indignant as he enters their bedroom.  He doesn’t care that it’s evening, or that it might be seen as improper, he’ll head straight to the Featherington estate to give his mother-in-law a piece of his mind if he finds she’s been the source of his wife’s discomfort.  His emotions are easily bubbling to the surface but the minute he catches his wife’s reflection in the mirror, they shift from discontent and worry to… something else.  

He pauses, watching Penelope in the mirror.  After a day of being apart, his chest tightens at the sight of her.  She’s sitting, soundly, on her side of the bed, legs curled under her as she reads.  She is already in her pale, pink nightgown; her red curls down and resting gently against her bosom.  Her skin glows softly in the candlelight.  He has wondered that maybe after months of marriage if the deep desire he felt upon looking at her would eventually diminish or change but it has not and instead he has accepted that it will always be a part of him, always simmering in the back of his mind, waiting for an appropriate time to be unleashed. 

Penelope is too engrossed in her reading to look up.  He notes that it’s his journal that she’s reading so intently, a thought that brings a smirk to his lips, and he can’t help but wonder what part of his journeys has her so captivated.  She scratches a note in the margin, then continues reading, the feather of the quill lightly dancing teasingly against her lips.  He watches, mesmerized.  

“I can feel you staring at me,” she says, suddenly.  She doesn’t look up from her reading, taking the moment to jot down another note, but a smile climbs on her lips.  

Colin crosses the room, over to her side, bending down to give her a kiss on top of her head.  “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to stare at one’s wife.  Especially, when that wife is as beautiful as you.” 

He goes to move away, but she pulls him back, looking up at him with that same mix of wonder and slight disbelief she gets whenever he compliments her.  “You are really too much sometimes,” she says, tugging him down for a quick kiss.  “I am ghastly.  Bloated with child.  Sweaty, swollen, and uncomfortable…” 

Concern crosses his face.  “Is there anything I can do?” 

“I think that you have done enough,” she says.  It’s a gentle tease.  Despite any worries he has, she seems in good spirits, tenderly cupping his face as she draws him in for another, quick kiss.  “Mmmm, you’ve spent a considerable amount of time with Benedict tonight.”

It’s the alcohol on his breath.  No denying that.  “He’s a nuisance, really.  Insisting that we celebrate Gregory going off to Eaton with cards and a drink.”  He moves away, sliding into the chair near the bed and begins unlacing his boots.  

“So he coerced you into it?” Penelope asks, her eyes bright with humor.  

“Of course,” he jokes.  He’s only half in jest about Benedict.  Lately, his usually free spirited, energetic older brother has become listless.  Colin is glad, at least, that Anthony is away in India, handing over the household duties, giving Benedict something to do. Otherwise, he worries Benedict would attempt to find his purpose at the bottom of every bottle.  He tells Penelope as much, but leaves out the part that before them, before her , he had felt the same way. 

“I’m sure Benedict will find his own happiness,” Penelope says, as if she can read his thoughts.  “But what of the rest of your family? Is your mother well?  How is Eloise? I feel terrible that we haven’t seen each other much in the past few weeks.  I do miss her.”  

“Mother is good,” he replies. He takes off his jacket, hanging it on the stand next to the dresser.  “Hyacinth sends her regards.  Eloise is… as Eloise always is.  She talked my ear off about some book that she said I must tell you about.  Some horrific novel about a scientist who creates the perfect man only for it to be a disaster.  She called it a literary masterpiece, and claims that you must pick it up when you have the chance.”  

“That sounds thrilling,” Penelope says, delighted.  “Will you be able to pick me up a copy?  Reading might be the only thing I can do soon, and one can never have too many books.” 

“If it is your wish,” Colin replies.  “It does sound like an absurd tale.  But that might be the way Eloise described it.  She’s always had a flair for the dramatic in her commentary.”  

“And that is why we adore her,” Penelope says.  “I think I’ll try to have tea with her at Bridgerton House.  The fresh air would be nice and I would very much like to get out of this house.” 

“But your condition…” 

“Is fine,” she lets out a laugh.  “I am not bedridden yet.  There is plenty I can do…” 

Her eyes remain fixed on him as he undresses.  He enjoys the way her gaze lingers as he casts off his layers, preening a bit as he unbuttons his shirt and discards it onto the chair.  Her eyes are wicked with want, and after a four day disruption due to her not feeling well, maybe they could return to their usual nighttime routine.  

Pen licks her lips as he approaches the bed, but continues with their conversation.  “It’ll have to be Thursday,” she says. “Friday, my mother wants all of us girls and their husbands for a dinner.”

His trousers remain on (for now) and he comes to the bed, flopping down on his back to stare at the ceiling, letting out a protesting groan as he does so.  “Are you sure we need to be there?” 

“You won’t be forced into conversation with my sisters,” Penelope says, reassuringly.  “You can spend time with Mr. Dankworth and Mr. Finch in the drawing room as you always do.  I promise to keep my mother busy so to keep the two of you apart.” 

He grumbles, turning on his side.  In truth, Albion and Harry have grown on him some.  They’re two of the biggest dolts he’s ever known, but they’re kind and amusing and seem to have embraced him as their leader in the secret club reserved for men who adore the Featherington sisters.  It’s charming, really.  And while he much prefers his own brothers, he’s well aware he could do much worse when it comes to brother-in-laws.  

“So, you mother…” he broaches the subject carefully.  Penelope’s relationship with her mother is fragile but mending, and he treads carefully.  “Was she too much for you today?” 

“She’s too much any day,” Penelope says, though her demeanor remains light.  “She just wants what’s best for me.  She did try to force me some horrid, green drink that’s supposed to manifest a boy instead of a girl.  I really doubt it, but even Varley was swearing by it.” 

“I dare say,” Colin says, “as much as I would revel in you having the heir to the Featherington estate, I would be pleased in having a girl, because it would annoy her so.” 

“Colin!” Penelope says, chiding him playfully.  

“Well, it would.” 

She rolls her eyes at him.  “Let’s move on from my mother.  You’re right, I have had too much of her today.  Besides, there’s something else I wish to discuss with you.”  She looks down to his journal, nervously playing with the pages.  

His curiosity is piqued, and he scoots closer, trying to see the page she’s on.  He can’t quite tell what passage she had been reading, and only sees a few words marked on the page here and there.  “What is it?” 

“I have been reading all evening,” she says.  He takes a beat of pride in how fondly she speaks of it.  “Your words are beautiful.  The way you talk about the moonlight shimmering on the Mediterranean sea; the bustle of Paris and Madrid and Rome; the shady, mysteriousness of the forests of Eastern Europe… It’s like I’m really there.  I can feel it.  Only, I’ve never even stepped foot outside of London.”  

He takes her hand, laces it with his own.  “I promise I will take you, someday.  I’ll take you to see the world.  Wherever you want to go.”  He kisses the top of her hand, as if to seal his promise.  

“I would love that,” she says.  She smiles but looks down at the journal.  There’s more she’s not saying.  “There’s something else that I noticed, though.  There are some dates that don’t quite add up.”  

“Oh?” 

She narrows her eyes, as if she’s hesitant about asking.  “Here you write about Rome, but then here,” she flips a few pages forward. “You are in Milan over a week later.  And yet you don’t speak at all of the journey.  Clearly it didn’t take a full week, did it?  What happened in that time that you do not wish to speak about?” 

He takes the journal, scanning it, wanting to refresh his memory, but there had been so much that had happened in such a short time, he could scarcely remember every detail.  

“Is that when you met her ?” Penelope asks.  He gives her an odd look, unsure as to who she is talking about.  “The Contessa.  I have read all of your journals now.  Twice.  And I haven’t read about her at all.” 

Oh .  He bites his lip to refrain from laughing.  Oh, his dear Penelope.  “How do you even know about her?” 

“Lady Whistledown hears everything eventually,” Penelope explains, she tickles his nose with the end of her quill.  “I have heard stories…” 

“Lady Whistledown…” he lets out an exasperated sigh as he takes the quill from her, and places it in the journal.  He snaps it shut.  “There’s not really anything to tell.”  

“You write extensively about your exploits in Paris, in Berlin, in… every city.  And you never mention her.”  She looks at him, unsure.  “Is the reason you don’t write of her… was she your first?” 

“No,” he says easily, reaching over her to place the journal on the nightstand.  “That experience was bought and paid for.  I have told you about that already - Rosalita...” He shudders to think of his first bumbling time.  Awkward and inexperienced and very short.  But at least she had been kind.  

Penelope’s eyes go wide with amusement.  “The Spanish woman! The one you said had the delectable bosom.”  

He grins, admiring her ability to recall such details, then leans in, giving her a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth, while he brings his hand up to cup her breast.  “Mmm, you know I can’t resist a delectable bosom.” 

“I will not be distracted so easily,” she says, it’s a playful warning.  “But how is it that you can boast about this Contessa to the entire male population of the ton and, yet, not tell me a single word about her?”  

He grins as he considers.  There is a reason he’s never shared this with her… And despite whatever she may have heard as Lady Whistledown, no one knows the actual story.  “Okay…” 

“Okay?” she stares at him, wonderingly.  There’s something special about the way she looks at him, so eager to hear any of his stories abroad, becoming especially attentive the more intimate in nature they are.  He once thought he’d never share such private thoughts with anyone, but she makes him want to open up, to share everything.  He could never really withhold anything from her.  Not even if he tried.  

He takes a moment to trace her forehead, her cheek, her chin, wanting to feel close to her.  He combs his fingers through her hair as he begins.  “She had red hair…” 

“Red hair?” she tilts her head in disbelief.  

“Orange-ish, really,” he says, with a small laugh, curling the end of her hair around his finger.  “Wild and fiery.  She was one of our hosts on the long trip from Rome to Milan, which did take nearly a week, now that you’ve got me thinking about it.  One of our horses had trouble and she kindly took us in.  It was a rainy night, but at least not a chilling one, and her cook made us the best stew I’ve ever had.  That evening, we stayed up to talk.  She was an impressive conversationalist.”  

“Oh, was she?” 

“She was,” he continues.  “She was a widow.  A young one.  But she knew things.  Had seen a bit of the world herself.  And I found her captivating.”  He cups her chin and uses his thumb to trace along her bottom lip.  He wants to kiss her. Wants to scoop her up and make up for all the days they’ve missed.  The desire he’s kept carefully at bay is coming front and center again, but he refrains.  

“So you talked?” 

“We did - late into the night.  The others, they one-by-one went to bed, but the two of us.  She said we had a connection and so I stayed.  And talked.”  

“Just talked?” It sounds like disappointment.  

He comes in close, cupping the back of her head carefully, as he whispers into her ear.  “There are plenty of things two people can talk about.”  

“Tell me.” 

He begins to give her feather-light kisses.  “The weather.”  He kisses against her cheek with a grin.  “Embroidery.” Another kiss against her jaw.  “The likelihood of winning at a game of cards.”   He travels down to her neck, but keeps his touch light.  

“Did you kiss her?” She asks.  

He pauses, breathing against her skin.  “I did.” 

“Show me.”  

He kisses her lips.  It’s gentle and tender and as easy as every fleeting kiss they’ve given each other over the past few months.  It’s not enough and he knows it.  

“Show me,” she says again, a harder demand.  

He kisses her harder this time, firm and strong and lingering.  It’s connecting and the heat of his desire begins to grow.  But it’s still not enough.  

“You’re holding back,” she challenges.  

“I am not,” he grins.  

“Don’t tease me,” she says, it’s almost a plea.  

“I assure you, I am not…” 

“Kiss me like you kissed her.” 

“I--” 

He can’t. As much as this had been almost a game between them, he realizes he can’t follow through with that request. Because kissing her is unlike kissing anyone else.  The gentlest brush of skin against skin lights his body aflame in the way that passionate kisses with anyone else does not.  

He pulls back to look at her -- really look at her.  The remarkable thing that he’s discovered since they’ve been married is that there are two of her.  Not her and Lady Whistledown, those are one and the same.  But there is the Penelope whom he fell in love with.  The one he’s always been in love with on some level.  The one who makes him laugh, who grounds him, who always has his best interests at heart.  His dearest friend.  

And then there is the other Penelope.  The woman who looks at him with those darkened eyes; whose lust for him is beyond anything he’s experienced with another partner.  She makes him feel raw and exposed and wanted in the most intimate of ways, even without the shedding of all their clothes.  And he wonders if he’s ever able to fully satisfy her hunger.  

“I cannot kiss you like her,” he says finally.  She looks at him confused.  “Because kissing you is an experience unlike any other.  Nothing feels as good as kissing you.” 

She gives him a proud look as she lunges at him, kissing him fervently.  And this… this is a kiss.  The world melts away, and there’s nothing but her, and her lips against his, her tongue sliding against his own, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer.  He deepens the kiss, feeling her everywhere.  

His own desire is becoming achingly apparent and if he had wanted to, he could end it all in a matter of moments, but he stops himself.  And pulls away, giving them a moment to both catch their breath.  

“This had to have happened after Spain,” she says, breathing heavily, still able to follow the narrative he had been laying down.  “And after France, as you visited Italy after both of them.  You’ve gained some experience by then, so I assume you did not stop with just a kiss.  Tell me, did she have a delectable bosom as well?” It’s her turn to tease, but she does so with the most sultry look upon her face.  

He admires her cleverness.  “Of course,” he gives, and tugs down on her nightgown, exposing her breast.  “As if I would settle for a woman with anything less.”  

He wastes no time latching onto her nipple.  She rakes a hand through his hair, encouraging him to kiss and suck and lick.  He reaches into her nightgown, to grasp at her other breast, squeezing it, causing her to moan and shiver under his touch.  

“I need more,” she manages to cry. 

He keeps his mouth firmly on her, sucking hard, as his hand travels underneath her nightgown.  Her legs fall apart, and he finds her wet and ready for him.  He’s soft at first, teasing where she would like him to be most, then pushes in with two fingers, while his thumb circles her most sensitive of spots.  She lets out a guttural groan that completely undoes him.  He never thought he’d be able to deliver such pleasure to someone else, but she closes her eyes and bucks her hips and lets him take control.  

He begins to kiss up her body as he works her, loving the fact that she has become so familiar to him that he knows exactly the right place to touch, the right pace to move, the right crook of a finger to push her over into release.  She is close, so close and all she needs is a little extra push.  “Let go, Pen,” he whispers into her ear.  “Let go, for me.”  

She screams his name as her release rips through her. He kisses her through it, wanting to feel her everywhere.  

He then pulls away, giving her a minute to come down, and he takes a moment to drink her beauty in.  Her hair is dark red across the white pillow, her breasts out and pink and raw where he’s kissed them.  Her nightgown is a knotted mess that he’ll have to untangle her from.  She has never looked more desirable.  

It doesn’t take long for her to sit up, intense and determined.  She pushes him back, giving herself a moment to free herself from her nightgown.  

“Did she touch you like you touched her?” she asks.  

He scoots back against the headboard, allowing her to undo his trousers.  “...Yes.” He lifts up, allowing her to pull them down and with a few kicks, he manages to cast them off.  

“Like this?” She wastes no time grabbing him.  It’s rough and the angle is awkward but he needs her touch.  

“Yes…” he gasps.  

“What about this?”  

“Penelope, you don’t have to…oh…” 

Her mouth is over him, sucking him down with a sense of determination he’s never seen from her before.  It’s almost too much.  

“Pen…” he says, almost losing himself over to the pleasure of it all.  “Pen, I need you to stop if…”

She pulls off, then straddles his lap.  “Did you lie with her like this?” 

“You really are still comparing any experience with…” 

“Did you lie with her like this?” she repeats. 

“No, but to be fair, we are sitting, not lying down.” It gets her to crack a smile.  “Are you sure you want to continue? Your condition...” he rubs a hand over her stomach.  “I don’t want you to push yourself more than you need to.”  

“Please do not speak to me as the mother of your child,” she says, staring at him deeply.  “Talk to me as your wife.  Your wife who needs you.”  

He nods.  “Okay…” 

They reposition some so he’s sitting on his legs.  She still straddles his lap, reaches between them to grab him, then lowers herself on him inch by delicious inch.  It is ecstasy feeling her around him, warm and tight. She begins to roll her hips, torturously slow.   He wraps his arms around her, pulling her as close as possible, wanting to feel connected in every sense of the word.  She brings her arms around his neck, drawing in for a deep kiss as they rock together.  

They pull apart, and he watches her, lets her lose herself in her own pleasure, lets her use his body for her own needs.  His body aches for its own release, but there’s something beautiful, something satisfying about watching her come undone over him.  

He senses when she begins to tire, when her legs begin to give out and lifts her up to lie her down on the bed.  

“Are you still okay?” he checks in.  

She nods.  “Don’t hold back.  I want to feel it.  I want to feel you .”  

He doesn’t. 

He begins to piston his hips, pushing into her frantically.  She moans into his mouth as they kiss and touch and get lost in each other.  There’s nothing in this world that feels as good as her, as feeling deep in her, as if she’s fully encapsulated him and they are one and the same.  There is nothing outside this room, this moment.  Nothing but her.  His thrusts speed up, become more erratic, and it’s not long before he’s pushed over the edge, spilling deeply inside of her.  

“Colin!” she screams.  His name on her lips, needy and desperate makes him dizzy and he crashes their lips together for another long kiss.  

Coming down, he pumps his hips shallowly a few more times before pulling out. He reaches between them to feel her, to touch her, to let her have her second release that evening.  Her body spasms around his hand, wildly and unyielding.  She calls out his name again, as she clings to him, letting wave after wave of pleasure wash over her.  

He remains over her as they both settle, catching their breath.  She reaches up, cups his face, runs her hands over his arms, his chest, his back. Neither quite ready to be done.  He kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips, sweet and gentle, just wanting one more taste before he rolls to his side, collapsing beside her.  

“Your time with the Contessa,” she says, “was like that?” She giggles as she says it.  

“Penelope…” he laughs, taking her hand, lacing their fingers together.  He doesn’t have to say it.  She knows. 

She shifts, curling up into his arms, cuddling against his chest. 

“Thank you,” she says.  Her voice is soft and sweet and the first Pen has taken over again.  “I needed that.” 

“I could tell,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  He remains quiet for a moment, holding her tight, enjoying the press of her body into his, the sweet smell of her scent she has after they’ve been intimate, the feeling of deep emotional connection that remains even after the physical connection has ended.  

“I think I’ve figured it out,” she says, a bit unexpectedly.  She looks up at him, her eyes bright and engaging.  

“Figured what out, love?” 

“The Contessa,” she gives him a grin.  “I know your secret.” 

“Oh?” 

“She does not exist,” she says plainly.  “You’ve made her up.”  

He gives her a smirk.  “Have I?” 

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Penelope says, as if it’s the most obvious answer.  “There’s no real woman with fiery red hair who happens to be a great conversationalist and has a delectable bosom and can satisfy you so thoroughly.  Not one in Italy, anyway.”  

He chuckles into her hair.  “Oh, I assure you, she is very real.”  

“Real in your imagination.” 

“Real in my bed.”  He leans down to kiss her.  

“What did happen in that missing week then?” she asks.  

“I did tell you,” he says, with a grin.  “We had to get a new horse.  And then stayed for days in the most boring lodge waiting for a storm to pass.  There was nothing to do but stare at the wall…” 

“And create a fake Contessa?” she teases. 

They share a laugh together.  

“Oh, how I love you, Pen.” 

“And I love you .”  

After all of his travels, after all the adventures, he’s glad he’s there now with Penelope; his love, his best friend, his home.  He snuggles her close as his eyes flutter shut, and lets sleep take over.  

[reasonsforhope]

"It was widely described as the week that India’s beleaguered democracy was pulled back from the brink. As the election results rolled in on Tuesday [June 4, 2024], all predictions and polls were defied as Narendra Modi lost his outright majority for the first time in a decade while the opposition re-emerged as a legitimate political force. On Sunday evening, Modi will be sworn in as prime minister yet many believe his power and mandate stands diminished.

For one opposition politician in particular, the humbling of the strongman prime minister was a moment to savour. Late last year, Mahua Moitra, one of the most outspoken critics of Modi and his Bharatiya Janata party (BJP), found herself unceremoniously expelled from parliament and kicked out of her bungalow, after what she described as a “political witch-hunt” for daring to stand up to Modi.

The murky and allegedly undemocratic circumstances of Moitra’s expulsion from parliament was seen by many to symbolise Modi’s approach to dissenting voices and the steady erosion of India’s democracy. She was among several vocal opposition politicians who were subjected to investigations by government crime agencies.

But having won a landslide re-election in her home state of West Bengal, Moitra will return once again to parliament, part of the newly empowered opposition coalition. “I can’t wait,” said Moitra. “They went to egregious lengths to discredit and destroy me and abused every process to do it. If I had gone down, it would have meant that brute force had triumphed over democracy.”

While he may be returning for a historic third term, many have portrayed the results as something of a defeat for Modi, who has had to rely on coalition partners to form a government. The BJP’s campaign had been solely centred around him – even the manifesto was titled “Modi’s guarantee” – and in many constituencies, local BJP candidates often played second fiddle to the prime minister, who loomed large over almost every seat. He told one interviewer he believed his mandate to rule was given directly by God.

“Modi’s aura was invincibility, that the BJP could not win elections without him,” said Moitra. “But the people of India didn’t give him a simple majority. They were voting against authoritarianism and they were voting against fascism. This was an overwhelming, resounding anti-Modi vote.”

During his past decade in power, Modi and the BJP enjoyed a powerful outright majority and oversaw an unprecedented concentration of power under the prime minister’s office, where key decisions were widely known to be made by a select few.

The Modi government was accused of imposing various authoritarian measures, including the harassment and arrest of critics under terrorism laws, while the country tumbled in global democracy and press freedom rankings. Modi never faced a press conference or any committee of accountability for the often divisive actions of his government. Politicians regularly complained that parliament was simply reduced to a rubber-stamping role for the BJP’s Hindu-first agenda.

Yet on Tuesday [June 40, it became clear that the more than 25 opposition parties, united as a coalition under the acronym INDIA, had inflicted substantial losses on the BJP to take away its simple majority. Analysts said the opposition’s performance was all the more remarkable given that the BJP stands accused of subverting and manipulating the election commission, as well as putting key opposition leaders behind bars and far outspending all other parties on its campaign. The BJP has denied any attempts to skew the election in its favour.

“This election proved that the voter is still the ultimate king,” said Moitra. “Modi was so shameless, yet despite them using every tool they had to engineer this election to their advantage, our democracy fought back.”

Moitra said she was confident it was “the end of Mr Modi’s autocratic way of ruling”. Several of the parties in the BJP’s alliance who he is relying on for a parliamentary majority and who will sit in Modi’s cabinet do not share his Hindu nationalist ideology...

Moitra was not alone in describing this week’s election as a reprieve for the troubling trajectory of India’s democracy. Columns heralding that the “mirror has cracked” and the “idea of India is reborn” were plastered across the country’s biggest newspapers, and editorials spoke of the end of “supremo syndrome”. “The bulldozer now has brakes,” wrote the Deccan Chronicle newspaper. “And once a bulldozer has brakes, it becomes just a lawnmower.” ...

“This was not a normal election, it was clearly an unfair and unlevel playing field,” said Yadav. “But still, there is now a hope and a possibility that the authoritarian element could be reversed.”

Harsh Mander, one of India’s most prominent human rights and peace activists who is facing numerous criminal investigations for his work, called the election the “most important in India’s post independence history”, adding: “The resilience of Indian democracy has proved to be spectacular.”

He said it was encouraging that an “intoxication of majoritarian hate politics” had not ultimately shaped the outcome, referring to Modi’s apparent attempts to stir up religious animosity on the campaign trail as he referred to Muslims as “infiltrators” and “those who have more children”.

“The past decade has seen the freedom of religion and the freedom of conscience and dissent taken away,” said Mander. “If this election had gone fully the BJP way, then India would not remain a constitutional secular democracy.”"

-via The Guardian, June 9, 2024

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: A Human’s Oath

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The Praxis Prefecture was one of the few galactic powers that held on to the notion of kings and queens even as they reached the star faring age of their people. Praxians were largely bipedal species much similar to humans save for their skin being varying shades of crimson and their eyes cold black.

Every few years they would hold a series of games meant to entertain the masses of their realm and dissuade them from thinking about their diminishing lifestyle. At the end of these games was the creme de la crème event known simply as “The Gauntlet” which was the main focus for all who attended.

Comprised of a series of brutal and harrowing challenges, with some even resulting in death should one fail, the reward for passing through “The Gauntlet” and reaching the end alive was the most special prize one could ever dream of; a royal wish granted by the reigning family themselves. A winner could ask for anything should it be within their power, not go against the laws of their realm; nor impact the royal family themselves. That last one was instituted after several winners tried to directly marry into the royal family as their prize.

It had been several long years since “The Gauntlet” had produced a victor and many this year were expecting the same. The bodies quickly began mounting as contestant after contestant failed and died during the trials which only further scared away the previous applicants until only one remained; a lone alien hailing from a species that identified themselves as “Human”.

This seeming paragon proceeded to survive challenge after challenge with nary a scratch on them as they edged ever closer to the end of the deadly encounters. When the final Gorgonuk lay dead, its head caved in from repeated blows from a common rock, the human stood victorious to the cheering throngs who had watched their journey.

A hush fell over the crowd as the royal family descended to the human atop their floating platform and congratulated their victory.

“Name your wish.” The elderly king said.

Without hesitation the human replied “I wish for a place in your honor guard.”

The crowd was silent; perplexed by the insanity of the human’s wish. They could have asked for a fortune so vast it would take three dozen generations to spend, or be given an entire world to rule as a king in their own right, even should they have a darkened heart ask for every first born to swear loyalty to themselves; yet they had instead asked to join the royal family’s personal guard.

No human had ever joined the honor guard as it had been an institutional rule that only Praxians could join. However, this rule was not an official law and as such did not violate the rules of agreement for the wish granting.

“Very well,” the king spoke, “kneel.”

The human dropped to one knee as the king withdrew a slender sword from his cane.

“By the decree of flesh and blood,” the king began as he stabbed the right shoulder of the human and withdrew it dripping with blood, “do I bind you to my family’s service, until the end of time itself. Arise now, and take your rightful place.” The human rose to their feet, blood running from their shoulder wound and gathering as a small puddle at their feet, and nodded thanks to the king as the crowd cheered once more.

The oath had been made and accepted.

 With that climactic ending the games were finished and the realm returned to their day to day lively hoods. The human was inducted into the ranks of the honor guard as was promised and immediately began training.

It was a grueling affair made worse by the general disdain the present honor guard held towards the human. Many had spent their entire lives in service to the royal family and had descended from long family lines whose loyalty had stretched back to the founding of their galactic realm. Yet now here stood a common cur in their eyes, who won their place by sheer luck.

Days of training became weeks, weeks became months, and then finally months became years until finally the human was deemed ready and was given a suit of royal power armor.  Armed with the latest weaponry, armor, and generator systems; the royal power armor turned any individual into a walking tank capable of leveling entire armies by themselves.

Though the human was jubilant at finally donning the armor, times outside the palace were far from pleasant.

The wealth and prosperity of the kingdom had fluctuated greatly and the common citizen now openly questioned the wisdom of their rulers. Some even dared to openly ask if they needed a royal family and if they could not govern themselves better.

Idle tavern talk grew to marches in the streets until one day an angry mob that stretched out to the horizon stood in front of the royal palace and demanded the end of the royal family.

What was worse was that at the head of this violent host stood several royal guards clad in their armor who had defected to the mob’s side. Within the palace the royal family feared for their safety and wept at the notion that this would be the end of their legacy. To their surprise the lone human who had won his place in their guard stepped forward and proclaimed that they alone would handle the crisis and that they had nothing to fear.

Striding outside the palace alone, the human came before the masses and demanded to speak with their former comrades. The gathering slowly parted as the traitor guards stepped forward and faced off with the human.

There were five in total, led by none other than the former leader of the royal guard Dem’va’rok.

“Stand aside human.” Dem proclaimed; their voice booming from the speakers built into their armor. “Your blood is not what we seek this day.”

The human said nothing as they slowly looked across the helms of their once allies.

“Does he speak for you all?” the human asked softly. “You would forsake your oaths of duty to your king?”

One by one the traitors nodded and Dem grinned.

“What is duty compared to needs of our people?” Dem asked.

The human’s hands tightened around their weapons.

“A question you will take to your grave.”

With a swift motion the human lashed out and removed the heads of four of the traitors leaving Dem alone. The clattering of helmets filled with severed heads echoed across the crowd as they watched the purple blood flow from the open neck wounds; the bodies collapsing like puppets whose strings had finally been cut.

Several onlookers from the crowd screamed out in horror and recoiled from the violence. From there it set off a wave of panic that flashed across the mob like wildfire until all of them were scattering across the hills. Dem could hear their screams as they fled in panic, yet his eyes lay focused on the human who stood before him.

Unlike his alien compatriots who had grown lax and slothful with their duties, the human had spent every day training hard to prove their worth and their right to stand amongst them. What had once been a glorious order of wardens and guards of the royal family had become decadent and a mockery of what it had once been.

Dem drew his own sword and prepared to face the human but was surprised when they instead drove their sword into the ground.

“I won’t need that for what comes next.” -----------------------------------

An hour later the lone human returned to the throne room followed by four leaders of the mob.

The royal family watched in horror as each of them carried a severed head of a traitor royal guard with the human carrying the bloody remains of Dem’va’rok’s head. Their gantlets were stained with still fresh blood from where the human had used their bare hands to pull the former master’s head from their body.

“My lord,” the human spoke as they bowed and presented the head of Dem’va’rok “, the fools who cast aside your generosity have been dealt with and shall trouble you no more.”

They motioned to the cowering leaders behind them. “These are some of your subjects that wish to present their grievances to you and seek your wisdom in their resolution.”

Fear compelled all of the former ring leaders to nod their heads rapidly as they held back tears of fear.

“Do not be afraid.” The human counseled them, “For our king is as wise as he is compassionate. He will hear the words of his loyal subjects, but I will suffer none of those who have betrayed such kindness.”

With that the human stepped away and the ring leaders spoke their grievances and to their surprise the king listened to them and did not have them slain on the spot. What had been the day to end a kingdom became the day of a kingdoms evolution into something new.

Not all of the demands were met, but not all were dismissed so easily. New governing bodies were formed under the king to assist the well-being of his citizens while the king remained in complete control. As a result the overall situation of the realm began to slowly lighten and improve as years went by until the loyalty to the royal family was once more shared in every dwelling.

Yet none could say if it was from true love of the king, or from the fear the piercing gaze of the new leader of the honor guard instilled upon all that looked upon them.

[weenwrites]

Can I have a cybertronian S/O with TFP Shockwave who’s really REALLY into weaponry and is really invested in his canon arm? Like, analysing and taking notes and asking questions about it, even manoeuvring it to look it up and down but carefully enough to not distract from his work (when he’s working at least)

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

"Ooh, a vented barrel shroud—or perhaps that's a compensator?"

Y/N leaned over his shoulder here and there, observing the new device as they strode here and there to fetch all the necessary tools to assist him with the new upgrade.

Shockwave reached for the ammunition belt and and detached it from his arm, setting the end of the cord down on the table before he answered, "A fusion of the two devices, in order to ensure that my armament works to its fullest capacity with minimal interference due to recoil or muzzle movement."

"Both in one?" They repeated, passing him a tool as he held his hand out, before laying the rest out all over the table, "Given all your preexisting modifications, I feel like you're going to get less of a return with each new change to your hand gun."

"The law of diminishing returns indeed renders the percentage of the return into an infinitesimal value." He confirmed, attaching the device with ease before tilting it here and there to observe the weapon as a whole, "As such, any further efforts to improve the firearm would prove futile."

"Would? Let me guess, you've already made some ground-breaking discovery that will drastically improve its performance, haven't you?"

"Your hypothesis is a gross exaggeration, yet you are correct." He picked a device from the sea of tools in front of him, "I have engineered a device that will increase fuel efficiency and decrease the time spent reloading the gun, thus increasing the number of shots fired per round of ammo supplied by the ammunition belt."

"And you don't have to make any sacrifices for it? No switching out parts or anything?" They asked as he simply began to install the device without a hitch.

"No, it functions in conjunction with the rest of my modifications seamlessly." He held his hand out, and naturally they passed him the correct tool he needed.

"You have to make me a gun just like that one day. I won't accept anything less if you're planning on making me your official conjunx endurae somewhere in the future." They joked.

"You say that as though I would not give you the magnum opus of my work, that notion is illogical." He momentarily set his tool down and met their gaze, "As my equal, you will be given gifts naturally appropriate for someone of your caliber. Anything less would constitute as unacceptable."

"And here people say that you don't have a way with words!" Y/N smiled bashfully, "ah, they just can't understand your mind the way I do."

[sccpmccabe]

"Women will not be allowed to practice sports that go against their nature, and for this purpose, the National Sports Council must issue the necessary instructions to the country's sporting entities”, said decree-law 3,199 of April 14, 1941. The article was created during the Vargas Era and was in force until 1983. During all this time, he banned, among the sports considered masculine, the practice of women's football in Brazil".

These were years of oppression. Years of struggle, losses, achievements, tears, sweat and lots and lots of blood. It has only been 41 years since the practice of football by women was allowed in Brazil and all the investment and visibility of this sport came in even more recent times, but still and as always, we overcame all adversities.

With just 41 years of freedom we managed to create a name and reputation for our women's team, we brought in important names that entered the history of the sport such as Sissi, Formiga and the most known of all, Marta. With all this history, we have two silver medals in Olympic games, third places in World Cups, several Copa América titles and football that enchants almost everyone.

Tonight, once again, we make history and exceed the world's expectations. After 16 years, the women's football team returns to compete in an Olympic final, beating France, the home team (and this being the first time in history that Brazil has won) and even more recently the current world champion, Spain, a team with countless strong and highly skilled players.

I can't express in words all the pride I feel for these women just for the fact that they exist, but even more so now that we're back to a time of glory even after a terrible group stage, but football is like that, at some point you're at the top of the world and in the next second you could be on your knees on the pitch, shedding tears over a lost game.

Minutes after the match, Jenni Hermoso gave the following statement to Spanish radio: "We conceded four goals from a team that, for me, doesn't play football. But in the end what matters are the goals. I believe these were our faults. We don't play our football. They study us, they know how to hurt us, for me it's not football. I don't like this type of football. Obviously, they gained minutes, they lost you time, and for them, that was worth it. They're in the final and we're going for bronze."

Even with everything we have achieved in such a short time and with immeasurable difficulty, they still try to diminish us, our achievements, our struggles. But the message at the end of all this is this: You may not like us, how we play, how we vibe, how we cheer on and off the field, our celebrations and seeing us at the top, but that doesn't matter because back in 1941, the majority didn't like it either, but still Here we are. In search of glory, once again.

[ifindus]

I didn't know norway has interacted with HRE, could you tell us more about that?👁️

Of course!! Don't mind the essay below ✨

A direct relationship between Norway and HRE is difficult to find due to many reasons. One reason is that while HRE existed (962-1806) Norway was for the most part bound to Denmark and becomes non-existent in international relations. Another reason is the way that HRE was organized made it difficult to have a linear and stable relation. We mainly see potential interactions between HRE and Norway in two different ways: the Hanseatic league, and through wars and treaties.

The Hanseatic league.

The ­Hanseatic League was a guild of German tradesmen founded in the early 1100s, growing into a large organization for all German tradesmen by 1282. The guild was a result of common interests in trade and a need to protection; a network of alliances. They were essentially tradesmen based in the German area (HRE at the time) who banded together to make more profit in other cities and nations. Some foreign cities even getting their own areas where the German tradesmen lived and functioned as they would have under German rule. Bergen is a great example of this, and was the only Norwegian city included in the Hanseatic League trading network with an office, where still today there are areas referred to as the German dock. The League had their own laws and rules their members had to align with and had its high point from the 1300s to the middle of the 1400s.

The Hanseatic League founded the German office in Bergen at a time the Norwegian nation was weakened by the Black Plague. The access to grain from the Baltics was important for Norwegians and in Bergen the Germans got access to dried fish that came south from Northern Norway as well as fish oil, beer, iron, and certain fabrics. From around 1560, however, the Hanseatic League’s power in Bergen diminished as the Norwegian townspeople got a stronger trading position. Still, the Hanseatic League dominated the trade in Bergen until the middle of the 1700s. The Hanseatic office in Bergen was one of the last sold in 1754. The German population living in Bergen interacted with the locals through cooperation, competition, and conflict and had a great influence on the city.

The Hanseatic League was a major force in Northern Europe during the middle ages and more or less controlled all trade in the North, stretching from the Baltics to England. Middle Low German dominated the trading sphere and such has had a great influence of the Norwegian language and terms connected to trade. The Hanseatic League also made it easier for Norwegians to get access to continental goods and a more steady access to grain.

Wars and Treaties.

Firstly, there’s the German-Danish War of 974, where Norway fought along side Denmark against HRE. This is perhaps the only time we see a direct interaction between the nation Norway and HRE. HRE wanted to crush the Danish rebellion and prevent Viking raids further south. Denmark and Norway moved into German territory to ransack, and the first battle ended with a surprising Danish victory. After this battle, Norway returned home. A year later, HRE attacked again and this time they were successful, bringing the war into Denmark and even claiming Danish territory. The wat was a Danish loss.

Then we have the Treaty of Speyer in 1544 where the HRE Emperor recognised Christian III as the rightful king of Denmark and Norway and fully supported him against his rivals (just so far as to not aid them). In return Denmark-Norway would become pro-Hapsburg and respect the rights of the Teutonic Order, as they had had some disagreements over land previously.

Then there was the Danish-Norwegian involvement in the Thrity Years’ War (1618-1648) started in 1625. The war was in large related to a religious conflict within the borders of the HRE, and a want for European dominance between the Hapsburgs (Spain and Austria) and the House of Bourbon (France). The possibility to gain territories and seeing the war as a threat towards protestantism was what prompted Denmark-Norway to enter the war. Denmark was already present in German area due to trade and control of rivers leading into the sea around Denmark. The Danish intervention was financed by the Dutch and the English against HRE. The following battles were a massive failure for Denmark.

The Danish-Norwegian participation in the Thirty Years’ War ended with the treaty of Lübeck, signed in 1629, between HRE and Denmark-Norway. After the treaty, Denmark-Norway contributed to the war on HRE’s side and had to relinquish some territories. HRE and Denmark-Norway also ended up on the same side in the Franco-Dutch War (1672-1678), fighting against France, though they were both occupied in different areas of the war and never fought together.

HRE and Denmark-Norway were on opposing side in the Napoleonic Wars (1803-1814), which led to the dissolution of HRE in 1806) and a cede of Norway to Sweden in 1814, but never engaged in any battles against each other.

Summary.

The most extensive and influential interaction between Norway and HRE was within trade and contact through the Hanseatic League, with extensive cultural exchanges affecting language and norms and even local Norwegian politics.

They rarely dealt with each other directly in wars and treaties as the treaties were mainly organized by Denmark and to avoid fighting each other in the wars. The one time Norway as an independent nation fought against HRE in battle, Norway won. And Denmark lost.

[night-raven-tattler]

Hello Mx Tattly! I really enjoyed your ideal types post involving Heartslabyul characters. I like the idea of Riddle liking his significant other being someone earning his respect. So in this request, if they are open, of Riddle having a Yuu!Female reader s/o that is naturally gifted prodigy in fencing & swordsmanship, making her a bold, fiercely talented swordswoman who usually wields double swords (but is just as well with one). Both mostly got closer after his overblot since she was involved in defending him (somehow).

Just headcanons of Riddle having a s/o that is physically stronger than him (and affectionate when just the two of them since she also isn’t much of a pda person)

Extra: After getting to know a bit more of Diasomnia, she also manages to go under Lilia’s training after finding out he trains Sebek and Silver because she wants to continue sharpening her skills and seeing any form of improvement.

(She’s originally an OC of mine but idk if you take OC requests and didn’t wanna assume, so 😭)

Anyway thank you! I’m sorry if I wrote a lot.. 😭

Hello anon! Mx Tattly appreciates your kind words! Currently they don't do OC requests, however she might consider answering such requests in the future. He is sorry if the writing is not what you envisioned, especially since she didn't include Riddle being "protected" per se by the reader character, as they considered their narrative choice is one Riddle would appreciate more. He is also grateful for the brainrot you caused, as they are an enjoyer of sword weilding characters themselves. Hopefully you can still enjoy!

A knight fit for a queen

Characters: Riddle × F/GN!Reader* (romantic, pre-established relationship)

*the reader character has no gender defining charactersitics mentioned

Warnings: swords, book 1 spoilers, violence, mentions of hospital-like settings

By opening the document, you agree to Mx Tattly's terms of source confidentiality.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Ace laughed in your face when you told him, Deuce and Grim to wait in front of Ramshackle for you to get something, and you came out of the dorm with a pair of swords dangling from your waist, supporting your dominant hand

“Why are you bringing a sword with you? Where did you even find that thing?!”

It was an older pair of swords you found abandoned in one of the Ramshackle rooms, mere days before Ace and Deuce decided to challenge Riddle for his housewarden spot

Something about them told you they would be useful in the situation at hand

But even after hearing your reasoning, Ace still laughed in your face

Boy, was he proven wrong not too long after...

Riddle was just punched by Ace and, before your brain was able to catch up to what was happening, Riddle spiraled out of control

Everyone was trying to reason with him, yet it seemed as if he completely shut out everyone around him

Everyone turned from disobedient students into living targets of his fury

The gravity of the situation finally sunk in when Riddle summoned the rose trees all around the maze and ordered them to attack Ace

Yet, before thinking in through, you jumped in front of Ace and sliced away the threatening branches

They detached from the trunk, turning into cut pieces of cards as they flew past you and your friend

If you wouldn't have stepped in, Trey’s signature spell would’ve kicked in too late

The sky darkened as Riddle’s inner world started to collapse, bringing chaos and destruction to the outside world as well as he overblotted

“In my world, I am the law. I am order made manifest! The only response I will accept from you is ‘Yes, Housewarden Riddle’! All who defy me will lose their heads!”

And, while your Heartslabyul friends and Grim decided to face Riddle head-on, you decided to stay back and protect any incoming danger towards the students the Headmage was evacuating

The crowd of students around the magic mirror diminished, so you returned to the main place of action

Which turned out to be a good call, as a lot of flying debris caused by rogue spells kept flying towards the students

And you managed to redirect any incoming danger with your mysterious swords

Just in time to see Riddle collapse to the ground

You stayed close to Riddle when he woke up and was taken to the nurse's office, and visited him as often as you could

While you felt a personal duty to help out Ace and Deuce repair their destroyed labyrinth, you also wanted to keep Riddle company, mostly to assure him there were no hard feelings between the two of you after what happened

…But your intention were not as clear as you intended initially

Riddle was mostly silent and cautious, and so were you, which made things kind of awkward

Compared to his wary nature, you were trying to be at least a little bit comforting

And he finally realised your intentions when you brought him some tea in a thermos

He was truly astonished by your gesture, even touched by your small kindness

It was some milk tea with herbs he didn’t quite recognise, sweetened with a bit of honey

Bits and pieces of a memory of his crying about milk tea with honey flooded his mind, piecing together the puzzle of your intentions

Not only did you remember such a small thing, but you also went out of your way to cater to him while he was still atoning to his mistakes

Shortly after, Heartslabyul started getting back to its orderly peace as the unbirthday party put together was fast approaching

And you were very satisfied with the peace and quiet

What you didn’t expect, however, was Riddle’s sudden summon to his room directed to you and you alone

You entered Riddle’s room, and he turned around in his chair towards you, leaving the paperwork he was looking over unattended

He was back to working as diligently as ever, something you weren’t sure was appropriate so early in his recovery

But Riddle’s face looked serene and at peace despite his serious eyes, and you decided not to comment

“I believe it is time for the two of us to have a proper conversation about what happened. I know your visits while I was bedridden were… not the most conversation-filled, but I would rather not leave any rocks unturned.”

As gentlemanly as ever, Riddle guided you to an empty seat in his room, and he sat down only after you sat down yourself

“I want to apologise to you for what you witnessed.”

You wanted to interject, but Riddle stopped you with a gesture of his hand

“As a housewarden, my duty is not only to maintain order within the group of students under my guidance, but also to ensure their safety during a moment of crisis. As I was the, um… ‘crisis’ in this case, I was unable to do so. I apologise for falling short on my duty, and for having you make up for my mistakes.”

You were taken aback by the apology, but Riddle was not done yet

“I would also like… to thank you.”

You listened as Riddle poured his heart out to you

“I have heard you were a main participant in ensuring the safety of the student body. It might be hard to believe, but…”

Something in Riddle’s eyes softened, before his gray eyes regained their composed coldness

“I am not cold hearted. I may be harsh, but I care about my card soldiers.”

And you were aware of that

While you helped the Heartslabyul students put themselves together, you’ve heard the grateful stories of a relieved group of students who praised Riddle for his dedication and meticulous nature

They told many stories about Riddle taking time off his schedule to tutor struggling students, who always did his best to offer guidance and who never raised his voice while explaining to students how to tend to the Heartslabyul animals

“I may have fallen short, but you have proven yourself to have a good head on your shoulder in times of need. I thank you for ensuring the safety of my card soldiers.”

You took a few seconds to process his words before formulating your response

“I was just… fulfilling my duty.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean, I am the ‘prefect’, right? I also have a duty to the students. I just did my best to act according to my role.”

Riddle’s eyes widened slightly, and something sparkled in his eyes as a proud smile blossomed on his face

And your heart couldn’t help but skip a beat, being witness of the first time you gave Riddle a reason to smile

“That’s a very elegant answer. You sure are an interesting person, Prefect.”

As time went on, you and Riddle became good friends

Your friendship mainly consisted of you finding your way to Riddle and striking conversations as you followed him around

You didn’t have a particularly threatening aura, but the swords you used during the Heartslabyul event became a permanent part of your uniform

Initially the teachers were not too on board with a permanently armed student, especially since the student body was filled with rambunctious individuals

Yet, Riddle vouched that you knew when it was appropriate to use the swords, putting the professor’s minds somewhat at ease

Lines started blurring little by little as your attachment to Riddle became more obvious, and Rook’s teasing towards Trey about him “losing his spot as Riddle’s knight” started reaching your ears

But you didn’t quite mind

And neither did Riddle

He was, if anything, in awe at your abilities

Riddle was amazed at how natural swords looked in your hands, how your sways and slashes were always forceful yet elegant, wide yet precise

And the sweaty sight of you after a training session did, admittedly, leave Riddle with a racing heart and mind

But, above all, he admired your dedication to improve despite having no guidance

And, with a little push from Ace and Deuce, he put together a plan to help you in that regard

You just entered your dorm when the most unusual gathering of people was seated in your living room

While Ace and Deuce were around often enough to become honorary Ramshackle members slash dorm decoration, Riddle, Sebek and Silver were not part of your usual guest list

You were surprised to hear the invitation extended by a sleepy Silver and a very reluctant Sebek for you to join their training sessions

And it was revealed how Riddle used his connection to the two guards as fellow equestrian club members to ask them for a favor

After you all settled some details with the guards, they took their leave, and exited the dorm as Sebek kept yelling about not allowing you to fall short

And being the teasing pieces of work that Ace, Deuce and Grim were, they left you and Riddle alone as they winked at you

“Is this your way of making sure I keep ‘fulfilling my duty’ as the resident day saver and Hearstlabyul knight?”

Your teasing made Riddle throw you an unimpressed glance that was quickly replaced by a smile

“I am quite sure this will do nothing to diminish the use of your newly acquired moniker, but my priority is to ensure you keep honing the craft you are so obviously proud of.”

Riddle’s words were truly touching, and it was so like him to go out of his way to help the people he cared about…

“Besides, I don’t really mind the moniker. It must mean the students are starting to recognise your skill and dedication.”

That statement really made your heart skip a beat

You hesitated before you took Riddle’s hand into your own

“Well… If you don’t mind the nickname, then I don’t mind it either.”

And you brought Riddle’s hand to your lips, leaving a kiss so soft Riddle almost though he only imagined the soft press of your lips to his knuckles

He took his leave soon after your biggest show of affection yet, but you didn’t mind

Despite Riddle’s reddening face usually being considered a bad omen, you quite enjoyed the brilliant glow of red on his cheeks as he left your dorm

[ranwing]

It's after midnight and I've been watching the election returns since I got home. To say that this night has not gone the way I wanted (or hoped) is a tremendous understatement. It feels like a significant portion of my country has developed amnesia about just what happened during a first Trump administration and decided that all the chaos and the trampling of our democracy was less important than a few cents on a gallon of gas.

I am not at all blind to what Trump will do with another four years in the White House. The Supreme Court will be lost for at least a generation. A nation-wide abortion ban is more than a probable prospect. Marriage equality and trans rights will be dragged back decades. Ukraine will be left to fend for itself against Russia and the NATO alliance is more than likely to be diminished. This bodes very badly for our allies like Taipei, who are facing off against an increasingly hostile China. We can forget about making any kind of meaningful progress on climate change. Israel will have the blessing of the US to continue it's attacks on Gaza and Lebanon.

I'm past the point of being upset. I'm positively numb. I can't help from looking at what is happening like its a slow moving car crash that I'm helpless to stop. This is going to reverberate far beyond my country and I can't begin to wrap my mind over just how devastating this will be for the world.

The political scientist in me will take time later to figure out why this went so wrong. How a man who was found in a court of law of sexually assaulting a woman, who has been convicted of felonies and faces multiple other criminal charges will soon be the President again. How the very people who will suffer the most under a Trump presidency were the ones who helped put him back into office. I want to hold on to hope and keep fighting, but right now I just don't have it in me anymore.

[celticcrossanon]

Ffs. OF COURSE the underlying energy of why she won’t extract her avaricious, lazy, good for nothing claws out of him is because of the ten of pentacles. It’s the ONLY reason why she married him in the first place. God I’m sick of never seeing justice when it comes to this repugnant bottom feeding parasite. Even though her entire fraudulent life is a miserable facade she’s probably still quite chuffed with herself for pulling off this atrocious smash and grab. It could not have happened to a person more undeserving in the entire universe.

So if the BRF despises her so much then why don’t they do anything to bloody get rid of her?!!! She is a brazen and shameless, inherently dodgy, thieving crook and a grifter and a con artist - and an actual criminal who has broken the law. As a taxpayer it makes me so angry. Why is someone this vile seemingly always ‘winning’ - and I say winning because she never has to face consequences for anything. I want to see this useless piece shite blindsided and penniless and back in the gutter she belongs in. Anyone else would be in prison by now. AND if anyone bothered to investigate anything properly believe me they would find all sorts of nefariousness - especially with finances where Meghan is concerned. If Harry wasn’t completely compromised intellectually and severely emotionally damaged she would be so utterly f***ed. If Camilla loathes Meghan as much as she does I can only imagine how William feels about that worthless piece of trash that weaseled her way into their family with the intention of stealing from them and laundering said stolen money. I am so GD sick of what she gets away with. Nothing serious like what is happening with diddy for example ever happens to HER. We’re all sitting here like chumps waiting for a divorce that will never blooming happen. I’m just so sick of it all - so thank you for letting me rant.

Hi Nonny,

You sound very fed up and frustrated. You are welcome to rant here any time.

It is very frustrating to see Meghan do all this dodgy stuff and seemingly get away with it. I think that she is facing some consequences, but they are not as severe as her actions and as many of us would like. Part of this is people's refusal to prosecute her for her actions, and I have no idea why that happens, and part if it is that she is always careful to keep her hands clean while others do her dirty work for her.

I think that part of the reason she never seems to face consequences is that she literally has no shame - things that would have another person curled up in embarrassment have no effect on her and she is out the nest day, grinning and hustling as per usual. Another part is that most people don't care about her, so reporting on her brings in diminishing returns, although that seems to be changing at the moment.

I don't know if Meghan will ever face all the public consequences of her actions. I think that she will have consequences, and she will have her actions turn around and bite her, but I don't know how public that will be. I believe that justice will be done, but whether in this world or the next, I do not know,

[talonabraxas]

The Dream Sabbat

‘The true Sabbat is simultaneously a state of Dreaming-consciousness and an extradimensional locus where the convocation of the living and the dead occurs and the Great Return which leads to a new becoming is achieved. The celebrants of the Sabbat gather in the twilit forests and the mist-shrouded meadows of Elphame and through the averse formulae of the infinite return, deliberately ’go backwards’ to that which lies behind all phenomena and consciousness, the ineffable source of all creation glyphed in the Witch-Mysteries by the Cauldron and the Cavern.

This mystical self-reversion or initiatic regression to the root of All is synonymous with the Horned God’s law of Misrule. It provides the inner metaphysic of ritual reversal, symbolised by the Backwards Prayer, the Widdershins Dance, and the black tapers ceremonial inversions characteristic of the Sabbat-Rite. All these infer the way of initiatic return and self-reversal to the ground and matrix of primeval unity which is the true state of Sabbatic ecstasy.

…The Dream-Sabbat is the supreme rite of the Witches, a total actualisation of the Great Mystery - all restrictions and bonds are overcome there. The separations between god, human and beast dissolve in a polymorphous inferno of extasis, the secret rapture of inner Witchdom. Thus the Sabbat is a dream, a dream of such potency that the profane world seems pallid and unreal by comparison. To enter into this sacred world of paradaisal night-revels requires consummate agility of the Dream-Body and the employment of techniques to sidestep and diminish the hold of profane perceptual conditioning, enabling the leap or flight to the ’Other Side’ to be effected.’ --from Masks of Misrule by Nigel A. Jackson

[certifiedskywalker]

She Keeps Me Warm - Rhaenyra Targaryen

nyrathecruel asked: Could I request Rhaenyra x handmaiden!reader where they’re drawn to each other from the moment they meet and bond over their mutual trust issues regarding losing loved ones while slowly falling in love on Dragonstone? Like Nyra is cold and distant with everyone else, hesitant to let anyone in, but she just clicks with reader and whenever they’re alone, Nyra just melts and goes all soft, all affectionate touches and sweet nicknames and tender looks? (Two of my fav nicknames she’d call reader are: my little one, and Perzītsos (little flame) Maybe even a bit of soft smut, though it doesn’t have to be smut if you’re not comfortable

Anonymous asked: Could you do a Rhaenyra x fem stark reader pls :)

A/N: I had TWO IDEAS for these requests! So stay tuned for another fic publishing soon!

They were not well-kept secrets, Daemon’s unsavory proclivities. So, in turn, Rhaenyra went to neither effort to hide her misery nor how you, a simple handmaiden from the North, seemed to be its only remedy. 

“Enter, perzītsos. He has gone.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the low sound of Rhaenyra’s voice and you pulled your ever-listening ear from the ironwood door. Your hand, fumbling with the wiry giddiness of a lightning bolt, found the cool handle and pushed with a turn. Tongues of yellow and orange greeted you with licks of diminished warmth along with the sight of Rhaenyra, bathed in the same glow. She sat, body spread and extended over the plush armchair before the fireplace.

“Apologies, my Princess, I did not wish to intrude on-”

“What have I told you?” 

Her voice was low still, her eyes still fixed on the dwindling flames, as she addressed you. Heat rushed up to your face and washed down like the tides of the Narrow Sea. Your mouth opened slightly before you closed it, your muscles suddenly all-too-alive. Luckily, the Princess of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne, clarified. 

“You must call me Rhaenyra,” she turned to you then, light eyes darkened by the colors of fire and smiling softly. “I will not have you hiding behind formality or dutiful, Northern niceties.”

“Apologies,” you echoed, swallowing hard. “I did not wish to intrude on your lawful husband…having you.” 

Rhaenyra’s smile faded, ebbed into a flatline of stone sternness you recognized from meetings with the maester. “He left before dusk on Caraxes, an hour or so before by which I told you to arrive. There was no having of any sort.”

She moved to her feet then, her shoes knocking against the heated stone floor of her chambers as she approached you like the Blood Wyrm in her crimson gown. Her eyes were squinted slightly, focused on you, your face, reading how your eyes slowly widened with her every careful step. It was the same manner in which she approached you the first time: calculated, a predator eyeing prey. The lightning returned again, sending you into a brewing storm that culminated in Rhaenyra’s lips.

When she stood full before you, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the column of your neck. Your breath hitched immediately, and trepidation caught in your throat.

“Princess,” you whispered, though it sounded more like a gasp. Rhaenyra immediately pulled away from your neck, revealing her furrowed brow and playful scowl. “I still do not understand.”

“My perzītsos, what more is there to understand?” Her hands raced up the bodice of your gown to your neck. Her hands were warm dancing along your most sensitive skin. 

“Prince Daemon-” “Is off sowing dragonseed,” Rhaenyra said, though the ease with which she used the term alarmed you. “Just as my court remains adrift gathering council. All men, all cold, making me colder and I will not have that. I will have you.”

Rhaenyra pressed her lips back against your neck, closer to your jaw. You shivered again, your body knocking against hers instinctively, careening into her warmth. The tip of her nose tickled your skin as her lips went lower, nipping at your collarbone. Your hands rose to her waist, the whaleboning of her corset bodice. Beneath the fabric, you could feel her breathing grow more erratic. Your own breathing grew shallow with excitement, so much so that you pushed the Princess gently away. 

She gave you a worried look, her hands caressing your flushed cheek. “Do you not wish to have me?”

White hot, dragon fire panic shot through your veins. “No, no, I-”

But Rhaenyra was recoiling despite your manic clarification, already reigning in herself, her want. She was cooling into her hardened self, the soul sent off to Dragonstone by the eyes of the critical court in King’s Landing. You had seen it too many times before. How practiced Rhaenyra was as holding parts of herself back.

You reached out, just as she had, with your lips finding her neck first and your hands on her gowned hips. She was stiff under your touch but for a moment until she quickly melted into you as your mouth moved up. You pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek before pulling away, eager to see her pleased, unworried; eager to see the Rhaenyra she only seemed to show you.

“I don’t understand what it means,” you breathed out, not entirely knowing what you yourself meant, only that whatever it was made your heart sing.

Rhaenyra seemed to reach and read the most clouded part of your mind, obscured to even you. Her smile returned in glorious full and you felt your heart tickle in your chest. In turn, you felt your own lips quirk upwards, ready to swallow the newness of it all.

“You mean perzītsos?”

You nodded, unsure at first, but, sure in how it made Rhaenyra smile.

“Perzītsos. Little flame. You burn in me. You keep me warm,” Rhaenyra softened, then, her smile ebbing ever-so-slightly. “In the darkest moments, you keep me alive.”

Without wasting another second lost in the storm, you barreled through and crashed your lips into Rhaenyra’s. It felt like you were falling until you actually were as Rhaenyra pulled you down onto the silken sheets of her bed, and the rest was warm.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Above: the sheet music for Shakin' the Blues Away. Photo: ebay

The Ziegfeld Follies of 1927 was the first Follies to feature a star performer--Eddie Cantor--and the first to have all its songs written by a single composer--Irving Berlin. Although it received tepid reviews ("His formula has never failed," wrote Time magazine. "But as nothing subscribes more unreservedly to the law of diminishing returns than [a] succession of splendors, this last superbly heralded Follies achieves only another anticlimax."), it was a hit, running for 167 performances from 1927-28.

In addition to Cantor (who appeared in nearly half the numbers), the show featured Claire Luce, Cliff Edwards (aka Ukelele Ike; 13 years later he was the voice of Jiminy Cricket in Disney's Pinocchio), Ruth Etting, and the Brox Sisters.

"Shakin' the Blues Away" was the show's big number, and Etting made her breakout appearance leading it.

Above: Shakin' the Blues Away, led by Ruth Etting. Photo: Songbook

There was also a jungle scene with live animals, in which Luce entered riding an ostrich. One night the bird left the stage in a flurry and, instead of depositing Luce in the wings, kept on walking, out the stage door and onto West 43rd St.

Below is the first page of the program for the October 17, 1927 performance. Note the sententious legend, "He who glorifies beauty glorifies truth." Would Keats have approved?

Above: the first page of the program for Oct. 17, 1927. Photo: Playbill

The 1927 Follies was the last of 21 annual shows. It was revived briefly in 1931, but didn't continue. The Follies were essentially vaudeville, only much more sumptuous. Later in 1927, Ziegfeld produced Show Boat at his own theater, and it heralded a change in Broadway musicals.

[catrinauthor]

The Faces of Desire Part 1

Being the Curse of Desire sounded a lot more alluring than its reality. It was born from the bubbling tar pit that was human desire. Desire. The word itself held a primal need for more. More flesh, more money, more food, more sex, more power, more satisfaction. More, more, more.

As millenia passed and human desire evolved as quickly as the world around them, it evolved with them. A powerful, fiercely primal need for things both novel and old. It fed off the desire of humans like a cat lapping up milk straight from the teet of a cow. It grew in power and size until the abstract form it once had changed and molded into their likeness.

Hands, fingers, feet, toes, legs, face, mouth.

It learned to change your form to extract the most desire from its surroundings. Its appearance was always fluid. Male on day, female the next. Short, tall, long hair, short hair, skinny, voluptuous. It was always changing, yet it was always beautiful.

It collected desire from the energy that leaked off of humans as they wanted more and more. That was a steady stream of cursed energy it caught in a wide net. Yet the meat of its power came from fulfilling more specific desires. The desire for money, for position, for status. It fed for years like a parasite on humanity giving humans what they wanted and consuming their desire for it.

It was a constant stream of cursed energy for years. All the power in the world, yet none to itself. The chains of Heavenly Restriction bound it firm to the ground. Always to fulfill the desires of others, but never its own. It tried to use fulfilling humans desires to its advantage but it was never a straight path forward. It was a maze of calculated steps and dead ends. However, It wasn’t without its advantages. The curse could choose whose desire they fulfilled and in return it was indestructible as long as that one condition was fulfilled. It would never use its own cursed energy for its own desires. Centuries of adhering to its restriction had created a reverse cursed technique that had become unmatched. No amount of cursed energy or hand could hurt it, as hard as they all tried. Its skin was never pierced, it never felt pain. After so long it never felt any emotion or feeling. The materialization of humans' desire for more couldn’t feel a thing. An interesting dilemma.

Constantly granting others wishes, it garnered many names among humans. Fairy, genie, goblin, siren, demon, devil at the crossroads. Some wishes it granted changed the course of human history, others did nothing. What happened after the desire was fulfilled didn't matter as much as the quality of desire it provided. There was always a double edge to the desires it fulfilled, but the consequences of having desire fulfilled was not for the curse to decide. The universe had always found a way to balance what it created and per the laws of the universe the pendulum swings both ways with equal strength.

It wasn’t just humans who began to seek it out, but curses began to beg at their feet. They wanted more power, more strength. It was to be expected, curses were born of humans so desire was a part of them as well.

There were many small curses clinging to its legs, begging for this and that on the curses travels but over time the Curse of Desire had become selective. A gourmet of desires. With humans becoming increasingly plentiful the need to fulfill others desires to sustain itself diminished. It could solely feed on the passing glances of humans who found it alluring and maintain its current being without effort or straining itself. Even the specific desires which used to feel like a feast soon turned to sand in its mouth with the constant monotony of variety. Power, sex, beauty, money, power, sex, beauty, money.

In its long life there weren't many interactions which left a lasting impact, only a few. One of most impactful was when it was traveling through a small island. It met an interesting human in a small village in the mountains. There was only one man in the village. It didn’t matter if the human could control their cursed energy or not. When humans learned the curse could grant their deepest of wishes they normally asked for the same things; Power, sex, beauty, money.

Not this one.

The man was a sorcerer, and a powerful one at that. The curse asked what the man wanted, if he could have anything in the world. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the mountains, reaching down the peaks and valleys like long fingers. Even the curse recognized the beauty of the landscape. Deer spotted the valleys and birds sung in the trees which darkened with each second.

Tha man sat on the porch of a small house. His head leaned on his hand lazily, propped up by his knee. He looked at the curse of Desire with a gaze that made the night sky look bright as day. The setting sun seemed to get lost in his eyes, unable to escape.

“I want to consume everything.” He said in a bored tone.

The curses eyes widened as the taste of the man's desire flooded its senses. Until that point it had never tasted such desire. It coated the tongue with an tantalizing viscosity. Like thick wine mixed with blood and dirt. It held a spiciness that brought heat to the curses’ cheeks and caused it to smack its mouth in dryness. It was so deep and held such a body, to find such a delicacy in the middle of nothing was worth the trek up the mountain. Where such desire came from it did not know, nor did it particularly care.

Yet, it had to be cautious. The man's desire was too great to fulfill without draining its own cursed energy to a level that would place itself in dancer. It wanted to fulfill this man's desire for no other reason than to see the sweet wine produce a feast of other flavors. The thought of the other delicacies that would emerge from him laid the soil for a new emotion to flower, excitement.

“You wish to consume everything? You wouldn’t be able to do that with your lifespan. To consume everything you need to be able to survive long enough to taste the things which haven't yet come into being. Unless you only want to consume only that which is right now, but that seems a little dull and limiting doesn't it?”

The man's eyes squinted into crescents as he chuckled deeply. “So what do you suggest that I don't already have?” He leaned his head back and asked. His hair that matched the color of the setting sun fell across his forehead. He remembered the curse of a flower they had seen years ago. It was a bell shape and had the most beautiful colors. Its sweet aroma attracted many insects which flocked to it in droves. As they went into the flower curves they lost their footing on slick petals only to fall to their death in stick nectar below. Devoured by the very thing they wished to consume.

“If you offer me more power you might as well fuck off now.” he said dryly.

“Power given is meaningless because it cannot grow.” The curse walked around the man, studying him. He didn’t even acknowledge the curse's presence as it circled him.

“Then what can you give me? Or are you just wasting my time?”

“What a human expression, ‘wasting my time.’ Time is so precious to humans because it is finite. It limits everything.” The curse leaned closer in causing the man to grimace. The curse thought it had made itself beautiful for the man but his reaction suggested it was the ugliest creature he had ever laid eyes on. No matter.

“That's what I can offer you.” It purred.

The man's eyebrow raised and his pupils sharpened. “Time?”

The curse nodded.

“How?”

“It won't be without its difficulties.” It teased. “Even with your abilities I’m not sure if you could handle it…”

A wave of cursed energy flew by its head at lightning speed. A hand reached to grab the curse by the throat but the curse was quicker, and like a snake it slithered to the shadow which now surrounded them in the absence of the setting sun.

“How?!” He roared, staring directly at the curse. The normal sorcerer wouldn't have been able to sense it at all but even hidden in the shadow of the trees the man had a phenomenal ability to sense its location.

“I will offer you the key but to unlock it will depend on you.” It spoke from the shadows.

“If it depends on me then it will be a certainty.” He growled.

The curse gave a chuckle. With immense effort it took a sizable portion of its own cursed energy and molded it like clay until it produced what looked to be a small marble. It was the missing piece of a greater whole, something the man would not have been able to produce even with all his ability. The curse felt like Prometheus, giving fire to man.

The marble was gold in color and covered in small intricate carvings of an unknown language. It rolled out from the treeline.

The man picked it up and felt the weight in his palm, surprised at its heaviness. He held it up to his eye and studied the markings. He could feel the immense cursed energy coming from it in waves.

“What is this?”

“That is your key.” The curses silhouette became just visible in the treeline.

He threw it up in the air a couple times, against the dark sky it glistened like a star.

“My key, hm?” He studied it once again. “Is there any way I can get you to stop talking in riddles?”

“Unfortunately this is where my help ends. If you can use it correctly you will never be constrained by time again. You will be able to consume to your heart's content. Do use it well.”

Under the moon the man smiled wickedly and held the marble tightly in his palm. He let out a maniacal laughter which echoed across the valley filling the silent night.

“Don't you want to know the name of the calamity you will unleash on the world?” His voice sounded like a child gifted with their first toy.

“If it pleases you.”

“Ryomen Sukuna. Make sure to remember it, we will meet again.”

The curse slipped away into the trees, the taste of the man's desire still stuck to its tongue. It almost made it feel drunk with its potency. Only the crickets made noise in the dark, a soft applause to the curses greatest transaction.

If the man wasn’t successful in using the gift it had given then at least it had a decent meal, the first in many years. If the man was successful, the curse was unsure if the world would not be ready for him.

Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. The curse hoped he could taste more.