#terra cruel

[mykristeva]

This Angry Age, Italian-French-U.S. drama (in English), featuring Silvana Mangano, Anthony Perkins, Richard Conte and Jo Van Fleet, dir. René Clément, written by Irwin Shaw and René Clément, based on the novel Barrage contre le Pacifique by Marguerite Duras. 1957. Bad copy but the only one available.

[d4rkh0ney]

My book rule: You can do a lotta things and with enough good writing and develeopment, I could probably forgive you.

You do smth to your sibling and I will wish for you to be obliterated.

[vivalarevolution]

𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓷

Paul Atreides x Reader

Request: „Paul Atreides falling in love with his father's younger wife, whom he recently married for political reasons, yet he remains loyal and in love with Jessica.‟

A/N: Request from anon. A very interesting concept that I thoroughly enjoyed writing. As always, I hope you will like reading my work, especially since this is my first attempt at writing for Paul Atreides.

Please remember that english is not my native language and mistakes might happen.

She reminded him of a goddess , a being from ancient books that survived the destruction of Old Terra. She was beautiful like Aphordite , full of warmth as Hestia and innocent and sensitive as Persephone. Yet her eyes were full of sadness , like those belonging to Oizys.

And the young duke hated it.

He hated her sadness. The sadness which was caused by his own father. Leto Atreides married her , but there was no love between them , there was only darkness and misery that was draining the young woman from the inside. In Paul's eyes, his father's actions were cruel. He did not deserve such a delicate soul , and much less he deserve it to destroy it.

He tried , almost desperately , to understand the man when his eyes followed him with his own mother , but in vain. Because he loved the woman he could not have too much to forgive him for what he did to her.

So he stopped. He stopped looking for forgiveness , which never existed.

Instead, he surrendered to the arms of forbidden desire , surrendered to the feelings he had been hiding so deeply inside himself, surrendered to her will without her even knowing.

His shadow began to follow hers, her steps became his steps , her breath became his breath.

And suddenly Paul Atreides became everything to her that his father never was. He became her protector , her rock , her guardian , her savior.

But that wasn't enough for him. He wanted more. He had to have more.

He found her in her chambers , she was sitting on one of the many cushions, reading. But when she felt a presence behind her she stopped , turning her head to the side , looking out of the corner of her eye at the young duke.

-Paul - she said softly , turning fully in his direction - What brings you to me? - she asked him , closing the book , which suddenly no longer seemed interesting to her.

He didn't answer , not immediately.

But as the silence lengthened between them , the tension begin to grow as well.

-I want you - he replied suddenly , and despite the seriousness of the sentence his voice was composed , remarkably calm.

-What? - the woman whispered, shocked.

His words seemed to cut through the air like the sharpest knife, leaving behind a mark that was impossible to erase.

-I want you - he repeated , slowly approaching her figure.

She watched his movements , stopping only when the brunet kneeled before her.

-But you already have me - she said , placing her hand on his pale cheek.

Paul grabbed her wrist and closed his eyes allowing her addictive scent to dull his senses.

-Not in the way I would have wanted - he confessed , tasting her soft skin with his lips.

At his words, the woman pulled her hand from his hold , moving away from her husband's son.

-We can't. You know it's forbidden - she announced, furrowing her eyebrows.

-I know - he responded , getting up from his knees to approach her yet again - But no matter how cruel the truth is , my father does not love you , he never will. And I hate him for it, I hate him for marrying a woman he is not able to love.

-The world has always been cruel Paul. You cannot change it , you are in no position to. You are not a god - she said with a shadow of sorrow in her voice , feeling tears involuntarily flow into her eyes.

-But I can change the part of the world you belong to.There will be no more misery , no more pain - he declared, approaching her , trapping her between the wall and himself.

-Don't say that. I am begging you , don't say that - she whispered , closing her eyes, trying to push the brunet away from her, but to no avail.

The man kissed her cheekbones , nuzzling his face into her thick locks.

-Tell me the truth - he asked , but was met with silence - Tell me the truth - he repeated , but his voice no longer sounded familiar.

-I love you more than life itself Paul. I'm willing to die if it means I can taste your lips, even for a slight moment - she admitted, but although her words were sincere, it seemed to her as if someone pulled them out of her, without her permission.

-And I love you - he said - And believe me when I say this. I will never stop loving you. My love for you will only cease to exist when the sun will rise in the west and set in the east , when the seas go dry and mountains will blow in the wind like leaves.

-One day , you will regret those words Paul Atreides - she professed , feeling her breathing become more shallow and her eyes more clouded.

-Never - he growled , before attacking her full, pink lips.

His kisses were the opposite of him. They were burning , chaotic , dangerous.

But despite this , she desperately grabbed his shoulders , trying to pull him closer and closer. Their hands traveled over each other's bodies , as their lips tasted one another, never having enough. They seemed to have forgotten about everything except themselves.

Suddenly the mortal world no longer existed. There was no fear , sadness , or despair. In their place came lust , desire and love. Feelings that were forbidden to them.

But they didn't stopped.

They didn't stop when their bodies merged into one. They didn't stop when the first rays of sun appeared on the walls of her chambers.

They didn't stop because there was nothing strong enough to separate Paul Atreides from his goddess.

[tiredneutron]

Terrans

Humanity.

Listen well, for this is a tale of warning and of caution.

When humanity was first observed, many of the council thought they should be eradicated. A tumultuous and violent species who revelled in the destruction of their own kind. It was a close thing, but the council voted and humanity was allowed to develop - under the condition that none were to contact them until they were deemed ready.

Humanity never gave us the chance to do so.

They progressed their technology in timeframes yet unseen. They went from discovering electricity to landing on their own moon in a matter of decades - doing so with primitive technology, but it was a feat nonetheless.

From there they developed their own world - the space around their home planet Terra became a field of haphazard signals and messages, a bombardment of signals that interfered with our observational machinery. Due to this we weren’t ready when humanity ventured into the stars truly for the first time. They blasted themselves out of their atmosphere with controlled explosions of all things, their technology was nowhere near discovering antimatter coupling yet. Despite this they reached the edge of the quarantine zone within a matter of years, and we were discovered.

Despite our initial thoughts, humanity reacted very differently to us than expected. They didn’t wage wars on us, didn’t lay claim to our planets. They met us with unrestrained joy at finding others in the universe. They told us of their numerous attempts to reach out to us, and showed us some of their works of fiction that depicted how they imagined us (though they seemed to hide some others for reasons we couldn’t ascertain).

Humanity was welcomed into the stars, and they became commonplace. Their biology was baffling and their behaviour bizarre, but we accommodated them and they taught us how to work with them.

Centuries passed, and though the initial explorers were long gone, humanity had become a part of the council as low ranking members. Their species had become mostly peaceful, lowering their internal wars to less than skirmishes. Humanity’s violent and cruel nature seemed to have been tempered by the stars.

We were wrong.

From beyond the councils borders, beyond the observable space in the void, a threat appeared. They blasted through our sensors and demolished our border colonies in hours. Our intel on them was near zero due to the ferocity they annihilated our kin.

They reached the inner borders of the council, and the elder members prepared for a bitter battle. To our surprise, humanity asked to join the defence. They told us that their kin had settled on some of the border colonies, and that many had lost loved ones. We allowed humanity to join our last fight, even if we didn’t expect them to affect the battle.

We were wrong.

Many of my comrades who survived the battle have sleep terrors to this day. Not of the void settlers, but of the humans. The cruelty and viciousness we thought had disappeared from their culture came back with a vengeance. Who we had seen as scientists and farmers for centuries, comrades we had known for decades - they showed us that monsters don’t come from the void.

The void settlers never stood a chance. The council was barely able to get in formation before the battle was ended. If the void bringers tactics were ferocious, then the Terran’s were monstrous. For every ship they lost, every life they sacrificed, the void settlers lost a battalion, a planet’s worth of lives.

This loss brought the void settlers much shame and anger. They made a mistake that haunts me to this day. They used their speed to reach Terra before the council could relay to the humans the threat. Humanity watched as Terra split, as trillions of their families and non-fighting members were eradicated.

The fighting ceased. Humanity seemed to have frozen. Their fleets stopped dead in space and their communications went silent. Where humanity had been surrounded by wavelengths and frequencies that interfered with some technology still, the space around them became eerily silent, as though the death of the planet had killed even those off world.

The void settlers continued their attack on the council and disregarded Humanity. No need to worry about a broken opponent… Right?

They were wrong.

The Terran’s weren’t dead, or even broken. It was later revealed that the freeze had been due to grief. Humanity had lost its home world, but worse than that it had lost its peaceable citizens. The ones who should have been safe from the conflict.

All of humanity had watched, and all of humanity had grieved. But they were not broken.

The void settlers learnt this very soon.

Humanity descended on them in ways that made the last defence seem like a diplomatic discussion. We though we had seen the worst of humanity in our early observations. WE. WERE. WRONG.

Humanity has a saying “Hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned”, but the council has adapted it: “The void hath no wrath like a Terran without a home”.

The void settlers were routed from every planet they had taken. They retreated to the void leaving behind their technology and supplies, not even taking the time to recover some of their teams. But the humans didn’t stop.

In a move that the council had forbidden for millennia, the humans flew into the void. The entirety of the Terran race disappeared into the blackness beyond space and wasn’t heard from for longer than we had known of them.

The council mourned their losses, but viewed their final act as something done out of the madness of their loss. The Terran’s were remembered as warriors, as fighters, but also as family. They became known to those of us who’d seen them fight as “The angels of Death”.

I never expected to see a Terran again, assumed that the void had devoured them and their destructive grief with them. But one day a vessel I was onboard, tasked with assessing possible colonies to rebuild in the border planets - it detected something.

The frequencies and wavelengths of data that had only ever been human in nature. They were coming from the void.

The council watched as humanity emerged unexpected for the second time.

The flagship docked with our observation vessel, and the leaders came aboard to see us. I vaguely recognised the captain. Their features so slightly similar to the grief driven warrior we’d watched descend into the void. We asked what had happened, and the captain responded with the most chilling visage I had seen since the first footage of the void settlers. Their baring of their teeth was savage and joyous. So similar to the expression we saw at first meeting, yet so distorted. In that moment I saw what could have happened if the Terran’s had waged war on us.

“We won.”

[probablyasocialecologist]

In place of blanks on the map, we’re now able to see highly cultivated landscapes with massive infrastructure stretching back to the early centuries BCE. Road networks, terraces, ceremonial earthworks, planned residential neighbourhoods, and regional settlement systems ordered into patterns of geometrical precision can be traced across Amazonia, from Brazil to Bolivia, as far as the eastern foothills of the Andes. In certain parts of Amazonia, the forest itself turns out to be a product of past human interaction with the soil. Over time, this generated the rich ‘anthropogenic’ earths called terra preta de índio (‘black earth of the Indians’), with levels of fertility far in excess of ordinary tropical soils. Scientists now believe that between 10,000 and 20,000 large-scale sites remain to be discovered across Amazonia. Similarly startling finds are emerging from Southeast Asia, and we might reasonably expect them from the forested parts of the African continent too. Of course, the same procedures are changing our picture of tropical landscapes that did witness the rise and fall of great kingdoms, and even empires. Archaeologists now believe that in the year 500 CE, between 10 and 15 million people lived in the Maya lowlands of Yucatán and northern Guatemala. For comparison, the Atlas offers a figure of just 2 million for all of Mexico in the same era, including the Indigenous cities of the Altiplano (at least some of which, we now know, were organised not as empires or even kingdoms, but fiercely autonomous republics, long before the Spanish conquest). It is easy, encouraged by works such as the Atlas, to imagine ancient history as a chequerboard of kingdoms and empires. But it is also very misleading. Ancient polities in the Maya lowlands and Southeast Asia had porous boundaries, constantly shifting, and open to contestation. Authority waned with distance from the centre. Warfare and tribute were largely seasonal affairs, after which coercive power shrank back behind the walls of the capital. As the archaeologist Monica Smith points out, only the most naive historian would assume that the claims inscribed on imperial monuments are a simple reflection of political reality on the ground. Of course ancient rulers loved to present themselves as ‘sovereigns of the four quarters’, ‘masters of the known world’, and so on. Yet no ancient world emperor could even have imagined powers of surveillance, such as those now enjoyed by any minor dictator or oligarch. On a global scale, we are witnessing a revolution in our understanding of ancient demography. To ignore it, these days, is to indulge in a cruel sort of intellectual prank, by which the genocide of Indigenous populations – a direct consequence of the planetary revolt against freedom, in the past 500 years – is naturalised as a perennial absence of people. Nor can we just assume that if we want to understand the prospects for our modern world, the only ‘big’ stories worth telling are those of empire.

5 July 2024

[pricetagged]

(don't you know) that death is a very stable job ii

Poor little Dormouse, with her cruel father and labourer's hands. You find an unexpected guard dog in one of the passing Knights. Medieval/Fantasy Knight! Simon AU. 8.9k As mentioned in Part i this was inspired by a scene in 'The Serpent Queen' and @/bi-writes 'a hand for a hand'. Content: mild violence, power imbalance (social hierarchy ew), oral (f-receiving), PIV sex,. Reader is described as a young woman, (generally body-neutral but implied to be plump/curvy).

________________________________________________ -------------------------------------------------------------- ii

As the Palace loomed taller and taller you felt you stomach drop lower and lower. You imagined that Simon's horse must be kicking it up the street by now.

Lady Thamesbury's maid had braided your hair into some intricate crown that Simon said looked 'real pretty on ya'. You let Simon pick your riding clothes and fasten your cloak, content that he wouldn't have you looking a fool. Still, you feared that you could look like many other things to the nobles of the court.

It was almost anticlimactic, reaching the doors and being ushered in by staff who flustered around to welcome the Duke of Northmire and Earl of the Northern Isles. You leaned heavily on Simon's forearm as he walked you towards the throne room, his heavy bootsteps echoing the pounding of your heart. Ornate wooden doors opened to reveal a large hall, bisected by a long, elaborate carpet leading to the throne itself. It seemed rather empty, actually. You had expected to see throngs of corseted and besilked courtiers watching you from over the tip of their noses, waiting to see if the silly little dormouse would scratch up the furniture. Instead, the Heralds announced you to the King who sat upright like a cat on his dais. The only other occupants were a lean, handsome man, an upright, elegant lady, and an imposing, whiskered man by her side.

For all your anxiety, it was rather inconsequential. You stuck like a limpet to Simon, ducking and curtseying as he bowed, nodding and smiling as he spoke. The King seemed only mildly interested in you, offering bland congratulations and agreeing to meet with Simon to close the marriage banns and approve the union. He seemed distracted. You had the distinct feeling that you had walked into something important. Something intense. It hung in the air, heavy and viscous as clay. It clung to the walls, to the faces of those gathered, thick and dark and cracking. You hoped that it would flake off, terra fluttering down as you scurried away and out of sight.

Out of mind.

"Good to see you again, Simon," The bearded man clapped him hard upon the shoulders, familiarity warming his smile. He nodded your way, "I see you’ve been busy."

The corners of your lips twitched, smile sprouting up under the glow of this friendly attention. He was big, almost as tall as your Knight. He stood tall, too, finely dressed and fully armed. There was an ease of movement to his steps, his words, like he was used to stating his will and having it be so. Your keen eyes caught the signet ring snug against his thick fingers, and the decorative scabbard at his hips. The weapon within was doubtless more dangerous than its ornamentation would imply.

"Y'r Highness," there was a note of irony in Simon’s voice. Irony without teeth. Playful. "This is my wife."

His warm hand clutched at your waist, strong forearm steeling your back. You bobbed a little curtsey, flustered at the attention.

At the contact.

"Where did he find you, eh?"

"More like where did she find him?" the handsome man at his side cut in, eyebrows quirking between you and Simon.

"Not loungin’ around the palace playing quoits and collectin’ favours from pretty ladies’ maids," he rumbled over the sound of Johnny’s snicker.

"But Simon, the ladies’ maids know all the best secrets," he shot back, rakish glint undimmed in his eyes. Shaking his head slightly, he continued more seriously. "We missed you, Your Grace. Lot of things happening lately."

The four men shared a look, familiarity and trust allowing secrets to leap between them without words. The unspoken danced in the air, silent and striking. You looked away, unfamiliar with the steps and turns. Not privy to the unutterable brotherhood that bound them.

The outlander, the echo of your father’s voice dripped poison in your mind. Playing pretend at the palace.

Only, that wasn’t quite true.

Cold light filtered through stained glass, turning kaleidoscope on the flagstones. On you and Simon. Simon who had yet to leave your side, arm pressing you to his as you bathed in softly coloured apricity. Your sentinel, shielding you under his shadow from the swill-soaked streets of the lower pits all the way up to the palace. Of course he felt how you stiffened, shrinking in on yourself a little. Of course he noticed your shiver, the slight tilt of your head down and to the side. His fingers stroked gently across the softness of your waist, soothing.

"Well, you still got your courtly manners or wot?" He looked between the two men. "Been ridin’ all day. Want to get to our chambers, settle a bit."

"Me an’ all, cannae feel my legs," Johnny slapped at his thighs, perking up at the thought of a soft bed and warm hearth. "Where hae they put me this time?"

"You’re down in the stables with the other beasts, MacTavish," the handsome man cut in again, cheeky. You could hear the grin in his voice.

Johnny swaggered forwards, clapping his friend hard on the shoulder as they all laughed. Tension swept away, you walked along winding corridors swathed in rich tapestries and flickering sconces. As you went, you got the names and titles of your new companions. The confidence of the bearded man made sense, serving now as a Grand Duke but having worked in the service of the Crown for decades. John was his name, and only he outranked Simon. The final man, charming in both face and manner, was Kyle, Prince of Thamesbury. You could see now the similarities between him and his sister, both tall and lissome. Both blessed with a prepossessing sort of beauty, inviting and familiar.

They bid farewell at your door, all bowing at you with a promise to meet with Simon later. Johnny, naturally, made a show of raising your knuckles to his lips to land a smacking kiss that shocked you into laughter so much that you didn’t even think to be embarrassed of your scars.

Their footsteps grew fainter and fainter into silence.

Just you and Simon, like those first few days. A little thrill warmed your chest, like an ember glowing happily red in its fireplace. You wondered if he could feel it, if the warmth suffused outwards to him through flesh and bone and armour until it buried deep into his chest cavity, ribs and gristle acting as the hearth for whatever this was to grow. To blaze brightly.

The door shut, heavy oak and iron ushering you both into your own little world.

"C'mere."

You didn't even think, just folded yourself into him before the final syllable left his lips. He was still outfitted in riding gear and half armour, cold and hard pressing against your cheek. Strong arms enveloped you, cradling you against his bulk. You tipped your head back, gazing up into his eyes. His face was obscured, but you knew what lay underneath. His eyes, dark but so soft, crinkled slightly as you looked up. You imagined the harsh lines of his gnarled face were soft, too, beneath the mask. Your lips parted, aching to ask him-

The rough pad of his fingertip stopped the words before they could form.

Confused, you blinked up at him. There was a barely perceptible shake of his head, finger still gently shushing you. He leaned down, fabric rustling against your ear as you strained to hear his low rumble.

"Wait. Walls 'ave ears."

Like a cat, you nuzzled your face closer to his. His warmth bled through the mask as your lips traced the valley from cheek to ear.

"When?" you felt him shudder as you whispered, the ghost of your breath almost louder than your voice. "I want to know what's going on. I want to help you."

"Tonight. I'll tell ya tonight. After the feast. Few things I still need t' scope out."

He felt your nod.

"Good girl," he pressed his forehead to yours. You felt, more than heard, the rumble of his voice. "Behave y'rself. And remember, you don' answer to anyone who isn't me."

------------------------------- Simon sent away the ladies maids with a curt nod. They'd come to drop off the evening's clothes, to dress you and braid your hair. He watched all the while, eyes never leaving wherever they touched you. They recognised the warning that lay in his silence, never lingering on your skin or teasing you to draw out stories and gossip. You couldn’t even say that you felt like a doll, because you'd always seen the rich girls talk to theirs as they draped them in little cotton overskirts and twisted their flax string hair. As they plucked and pulled and bundled you supposed that you could be akin to a stump doll. Not the soft, delicate, pretty kind but rather the ones roughly hewn from wood into human form. Harder. Sturdier. And yet, as they lifted your arms and twirled you around you reminded yourself that you were malleable too. You could articulate your limbs, turn your head, and weather through the rough and the cold.

And maybe, as Simon's signet ring glinted behind you in the vanity mirror, maybe the storms had passed.

You stared into the mirror as you watched him dismiss them. It was a big, gold ornate thing. Almost grotesque in with its twisting gilt frame, little cherubic faces and animals warped into the design. It was the largest one you'd ever seen. The clearest, too. You could see each and every strand of your hair, swept back and gleaming as decorative pins glistened like dewdrops above your brow. Your skin glistened too, some of that warm little ember in your chest heating you from the inside and making you glow. You looked softer than you ever had before, even when looking at your reflection in the sudsy, shimmering waters of the river where you once stooped and sweated your labour.

Maybe it was the candlelight, maybe it was the past few weeks of care and good food. Maybe it was-

Your Knight stepped up behind you, too tall to be entirely within frame, and placed his heavy hand softly on your shoulder. He leaned down, cheek against yours as he looked at you through the looking glass. His pale blond lashes trembled slightly, pupils flickering across your image as if he sought to study it. To keep you in this frame, you and him imprinted together on polished silver. You wondered if the superstitions were true, if mirrors really could capture the soul and keep it bound forever in the confines of cold metal and glass. His dark, burning eyes met yours and you flicked the thought away. It wouldn't matter if it were true. There was no frame that could hold a Ghost, and if he couldn't be found there then neither would you.

"Suits ya," he trailed his fingers across the dense, glossy velvet of your cotehardie. "I should dress y'in more than just black 'n white. The colour suits ya."

"I like your colours, though. They suit you."

It was true. Black and white. Dusk and dawn. Beginning and end; it was a study in contrasts, the underlying tones and shades to every colour in existence. You could picture it now, the Squire boy from a township not unlike your own. He must have been tall for his age, some kind of strength burning in him and catching the attention of those who normally wouldn't deign to look at errand-boys and helpers. You could picture him older too, black armour on a pale white horse cutting a swathe of red across a copper-drenched field. And now, his pale, scarred face was free from its usual black mask. Gazing right back at you.

"Would you give me a favour? Something in your colours to carry to the feast?"

He huffed a little, dour expression belied by the warmth in his eyes.

"Isn't it meant t'be the other way around? You granting me a ribbon or a handkerchief or a lock of y'r hair?"

"Well, I don't exactly know how these matters work, Simon. I wasn't raised for it," you felt no embarrassment referencing your past to him now. Here. In your chambers. "But I know enough to say that one normally is granted a favour before embarking on a quest or challenge."

There a was a little archness to your tone, a silly attempt to mimic the cadence of the women you'd heard shuffling around the courtyard.

"I see," he couldn't quite suppress the twitch of his thin, scarred lips. "Cheeky thing, aren't ya. Attending a feast as my wife that difficult, eh?"

Your nose scrunched, protest etched into your nerves before the words formed. "Attending the feast is. I'm not well educated, but I am not stupid, Simon. I know that something is afoot - yes, I know you'll tell me later. I- I'm just not entirely sure what is expected of me."

Instead of answering, you watched as he tugged at the fastening of his surcoat until the thick, black cord slipped free. It was exhilarating watching hands that wrought death move so dexterously. You had never considered yourself an aesthete, but imagined that gazing at Simon would make you so. There was a sort of rawness to his beauty, like a cliff weathered by sea and spray. The valleys and ridges, the pockmarks and scars, stood as a testament to strength and endurance. And now, it was brought low before you.

His reflection dipped lower and lower out of your line of sight, a mountain brought low by a breeze. He still appeared huge, behemoth, on his knees. It caused something to cramp in your belly, watching through the mirror how he matched you height even as he crouched to the floor. You burned, low and furling in your core until it rose languidly up to your cheeks. Your underlayers, the soft cotton chemises, felt suffocating and itchy against your dampening flesh. You held your breath, scared to snuff out this moment, this dizzying feeling that made your face hot and sent your thoughts swirling.

It was excruciating, feeling the heavy drag of your skirts inching up your calf. The rough, uneven pads of his fingers ticked the curve of your ankle as he lifted it to his lap. Cool, woven leather coiled around and around, tying a little piece of him around you. It wasn't tight, just nestled comfortably, but you knew that you'd feel it as you walked. As you sat and listened and talked, all the while pretending that you couldn't feel the extemporal wedding-garter nestled under your skirts. Secret as a whisper.

His hand lingered, fingertips swirling higher above the makeshift anklet, taking in the softness of your calf. How the muscle twitched as you tried not to shudder. You licked your lips and finally, finally, dragged your eyes away from you own blown pupils staring back at you through the mirror. You looked down past layers of tight bodice and velvet skirts until you could see that his pupils were just as blown as yours.

His eyes never left yours as he stood, brushing close to your chest util he towered over you once more. You could feel the rise of his chest through your bodice, his calm, steady breaths belied by the intensity of his gaze on yours. Maybe he could feel your pulse, hammering so hard that it must surely be visible in the delicate line of your arched neck. Maybe he could feel your hitching breaths, just as he could feel yours. His rough, warm hand came to caress your cheek like unpolished wood meeting velvet. You leaned in, held your breath, and let your eyes drift closed.

In the autogenic darkness of your lids you watched shadow turn to phosphene as you felt his face dip lower. The slight tickle of stubble on your cheek wrought a shiver, before you melted into the press of his scarred lips against yours. It was languid, slow, dragging across your lips until they parted. His large hand cradled the back of your head as he tasted you, wet and open-mouthed, until you felt dizzy and weak-kneed. His lips moved up, stopping finally to kiss your forehead as you swayed in his arms.

"I told ya already. Be good, be wary. And don' answer to anyone who isn't me." You nodded slowly, looking up at him with head heavy and hot. He smiled, then, a gristled, toothy thing that twisted his already scarred face. You couldn't help but to smile back. "There she is, my wily little dormouse. Time t'go."

Arriving at the Great Hall was a blur, but somehow he managed to direct your bambi legs across uneven flagstones and winding stairs. Your thoughts cooled as you journeyed through the damp, castle halls, leaving behind something viscous and sticky on your flesh. Between your thighs. You shivered in the cold, stone halls, grateful now for the heavy clothes that earlier had felt so burdensome. How far had you come from the girl who knew nothing of men except to avoid them? The girl who imagined slipping in the shoal of the lower districts, unsteady on the grit of the sandbanks until the water swelled and took her away. In lieu of pinching yourself at the table, you crossed your legs and pressed one ankle into the other, the facsimile of elegance and ease.

Only you knew that you sought to dig the cord around your ankle deeper, let it tear through integument and tendons until flesh healed over top and fused it into you.

Would even that be enough? Would anything?

His meaty thigh pressed into yours.

You smiled prettily up at him, something secret in the curve of your lips and the fluttering of your lashes. The wine at the table was heavy, fragrant, and made you lightheaded almost as much as Simon had earlier. Almost enough to set you at ease, to make you forget about all others in the room.

The bubble burst as feasting turned to frolicking.

You didn't know how to dance. The reason was multifold, the first being that it simply wasn’t a part of your education. People danced in the lower districts, yes, but you imagined it to be a little too raucous, too unrefined for current company. Another reason was that it hardly fit the directive - be quiet, be meek, be sweet - that ruled most of your life as you scurried away from the sight of others. Who had the time, energy, or inclination to dance when each day was spent splitting skin with lye and cold water, working until the body ached and belly rumbled? You hadn't even had the coin for a glass of cheap, tavern swill after handing all earnings over to your father.

You noticed how, during the feast, the threat of Simon's reputationn had killed any attempts at conversion. You wondered, now, if alcohol and music would embolden anyone beyond curious glances and hushed whispers. Hopefully not.

You were joined only by the men you had met earlier. Simon's friends; the Ghost's brethren.

"Dinnae fancy a dance, Yer Grace?"

"Not if y'r offerin'."

"Nae offering you, that's fer sure," Johnny turned towards you after slapping Simon on the shoulder. "What d'ye say, Bonnie? Know how tae jig?"

You shook your head hard, lips pressed together to suppress a smile. You could picture it, sure that he'd be nothing if not an enthusiastic partner, twirling you around the floor like a leaf on the breeze. He was outfitted in a slightly more decorative version of his usual islesman garb, gold threads intertwined with the heavy wool of his tartan. His eyes still shone a little too bright, that same intensity dancing across his face, but it didn't alight your instincts. Simon trusted him. You trusted Simon. There was comfort in the simplicity.

"I'm not much of a dancer, My Lord. I'd only step on your toes."

"My toes can take it, nae bother."

"She doesn't want t'dance. Go bother one of th'other ladies." There was no real heat in Simon's voice, amusement clear in the tilt of his brow.

"Yer no fun. Just plannin' tae glare from the corner o'the hall all night?"

"You could join us, if ya want. Might change the glare t'a glower once the candles burn down."

Johnny chuffed through his nose at that, rolling his eyes at thr approaching Kyle. With a nod in your direction, he addressed his friend.

"Disnae want tae dance, barely will talk without a dour comment. Got any ideas to liven them up, Gaz?"

"Don't look at me, I'm here for some quiet too. Too much chatter, not enough said over there," he nodded towards the group of men he'd just left across the hall. Earlier, the heralds had announced them as the King's military advisors and diplomatic envoys. They looked it, too, standing tall and with the ease that is born of power and prestige. Their swords glinted and mouths smiled even as their eyes remained flat and shifty. Arch and calculating as a gentleman fox.

"Yer all dreich as a ditch in winter," he groaned half-heartedly, winking at you as you tried not to laugh.

Simon caught your eye, too, something playful flickering around him, turning his shock of blond hair into a nimbus. Your mind was already able to fill in the blanks of his face, to paint over the black maw of his mask. You knew that he was smirking, tongue running across his teeth as he savoured what he was about to say.

"I'll tell ya a joke, then, Johnny-"

"-oh, naw, not another one o'those-"

"What do you call it when a wizard's wand is broken?"

"A wizards..? Dinnae ken."

"A spell of bad luck."

Even Kyle groaned at that, shaking his head like a dog shaking off water. "That was terrible. I heard better over there," he nodded towards the strategic envoy across the floor.

"Okay, okay. One more. What do y'call a Knight with poor swordsmanship?" Simon crossed his arms across the wide barrel of his chest and leaned back against the wall, all ease and confidence despite the heckling audience.

"Dinnae know."

"Y'call him John MacTavish," he didn’t wait for the line to land before he let out a quiet hehehe, laughing even as Johnny's face turned red and chest puffed up.

"Yer a roaster, Simon, an absolute roaster. That's my cue tae find Price," he called over his shoulder as he marched towards a nondescript side door.

"You best go and join him, Simon. The Captain was looking for you too," Kyle must have read the hesitation in his frame, the way his face lingered on yours. "I'll be here."

It left you off-kilter, slightly. The heavy weight always balanced at your side was striding across the room, cutting a swathe through revelers as they tried both to avoid him and keep him in their sights. Little flocks of feathery, pecking creatures banding together as the wolf skulked through their coop.

They didn't even warrant a glance from him.

But for you it left you lopsided. Watching as he slipped into the shadows. Missing him. Maybe you'd always feel that way, always need something to ground you. Before, it was the weight of a basket set against your plush hip, digging in and leaving bruises with the heft of sopping shifts and underskirts. Now it was him, wide, warm palm frequently brushing the swell of your waist. Large shadow always in your periphery.

In the future, could that space be filled with something of yours? Both of yours. Something sweet and small and-

could it-?

"It must have been an interesting courtship," Kyle's low, smooth voice cut through your reverie.

"Yes, most unexpected," you turned to look up at him. With just the two of you, temporary wallflowers decorating the fringes, you could take in more of his face. Neat little mustache; big brown eyes. Beautiful. Smart. Like the bloodhounds who stirred around the forest's edge, just waiting to catch the right scent. "But I'm glad for it."

Wordplay was best-served when honest. You were not as skilled as those around you, perhaps, but you had experience in knowing when and where to hold your tongue.

"As are we," he must have caught the slight widening of your lids, the parting of your lips. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, all sincere camaraderie. "No need to look surprised. I've followed him to the bleakest, blood-soaked fields this side of the known world. I've never known him to make a bad decision. Don't let others find room for doubt."

It was strange, this ready acceptance from his men. It was all the more stark when contrasted with the strangers at the palace. You'd seen the glances around the room, yes, the curious eyes. The occasional sneers. The whispers of The Ghost and his captive bride. But you'd grown hardened against rumours over the years, though attention still left you askance.

"Noted, my lord." you played coy - be sweet-. "I defer to your expertise."

He laughed, smile lambent as the light from a candle. "Johnny tried to tell me you were skittish."

"His lordship likes to talk."

"And you don't, I see. That's good. Some things are better left unsaid."

"Yes, so I've seen," you sent a pointed look at the door through which your husband had disappeared.

He looked at you, then, something like respect under the arch of his brows. "Smart too. Though, Ghost was right to keep this to himself." It was silent for a moment before he squinted at something across the ballroom. "You could help, if you wanted."

"Help with what?"

"With a little fishing. The man on his way - yes, him. Blond hair, black tunic - he's been sniffing around all night for scraps. He's very keen to see what Ghost has been doing since the Zakhaev Campaign in the East."

You were reminded starkly that the man who knelt at your feet and kissed you so softly spent most of his life blanketed in the smoke and splatter of the battlefield. It wasn't something that you had forgotten, per se, as you thought back to the circumstances of your meeting. Rather, it was known to you in the same way that you knew the sun would rise in the morning. You saw it from a distance, admired it even, but did not think on it beyond that. Perhaps it was naïve, brushing off the reputation of your husband whilst others whispered it in fear. But you thought back to his directive to you, 'Don't answer to anyone who isn't me,' and turned to regard the approaching newcomer.

It was as clear as the crystal you'd been sipping from all night; you wouldn't leave this hall without speaking to this man.

Rather, he wouldn't leave this hall without speaking to you.

He sought you out. He thought that he anything you would reveal would be to his benefit. You hid your smile behind your wine glass.

"He's important, I take it?"

"You've heard of 'The Shephard'?" he continued at your nod. "The King's advisor. An old war dog. Graves answers to him."

It swirled around, more information clouding the glass rather than clearing it. You weighed it up in your mind, testing the form and density of your thoughts. One stood out, and you cradled it. Let it roll around in your mind and still your tongue-

-Whatever this intrigue was, it truly didn't interest you.

As a girl, when you hungered so deeply that it gnawed at you even in your sleep, you cared nothing for the palace. The Crown meant nothing to you, nothing to the other laundresses, as you pounded stains against rocks in the long, humid days of summer. Knights and Lords and their ilk seldom slid far enough down the tiers to be seen in your village. They meant nothing to you. Not when food, fire, safety were hard to find and hard-won.

But perhaps that's why your interest was stirred a little. With belly-full and body-warm what were you left to think of? When 'Simon' became synonymous with 'safety', what would you do to keep it that way? What would you do to fight for it the way your bone-tired body once fought for basic dignity?

Simon had spilled blood for you. Had painted the cobbles at your feet with the sluggish, rusty ichor of your worthless father.

What would you-?

You glanced at the buffet table to your left, setting down the shield of your wine glass. It slopped over, a little claret stain bleeding onto the tablecloth. You tried not to take it as an omen. You gazed at the excess of the banquet, a kaleidoscope vanitas of fruits, cheeses, meats. Would they be left to rot? Untouched as the nobles twittered and flitted 'til the small hours. Would the servants be privileged enough to feed off the scraps after they'd been left to go stale? You let the rich, heady scent turn bitter and harden your face.

"Your Grace, may I present Philip Graves, Commander of the Shadow Company," Kyle gestured at the newcomer, all ease and neutrality. "Commander, the Duchess of Northmire."

"I believe that congratulations are in order," he bowed, a lazy half-nod in your direction. "Allow me the pleasure of your company with a dance."

"I'm not much of a dancer, my lord. But, you are welcome to keep our company as we observe," you demurred, eying the sharp cut of his smirk.

"Oh, I insist. It is a ball, after all," he licked at his lips, "You can, uh, balter as much as you please."

You played off your sneer as a smile. A little twitch of your nose. "But of course."

As he drew you forth you spent the gallows steps to the floor studying your quarry. He was handsome, yes, but there was something cold and sharp to his face. All angles and slopes in shades of pewter. You thought to handle him like a particularly sharp knife.

"Enjoying the festivities, ma'am?" you let him draw you just close enough to be polite, and slipped into his steps. "How does it compare with the parties back in your lands?"

"It doesn't; this is the palace, after all."

He hummed, dead eyes and charming smile. "That's a real pretty accent. I didn't quite catch where Ghost snapped you up from."

"My father arranged it. Not so exciting as to be the topic of court gossip."

That earned you what must have been a laugh. A soft chuff as he fixed you under his frigid gaze. Perhaps he thought you'd squirm, that you were some simple country lady raised to be sweet and obliging as she was packed off to the palace. You'd scurried from men like him, before. The kind of greasy, nipping dog that was sent down badger holes and rabbit warrens, slick and fast and mean. The kind who was powerful under another's command, crunching through necks and then coming to heel when called.

"I'm not one for gossip, My Lady," something stirred behind his lips, mouth twisting as he considered his next words.

Whatever they were, they were left unsaid.

"Been lookin' f'r ya."

"Ah, Ghost" he greeted your husband like an old friend. "Congratulations. Quite the charming little parvenu you've got here."

You didn't need to look behind you to feel how those words settled about as well as vinegar in the stomach. Sour. Biting.

"Be careful, Graves," his voice was rough, like the words scraped over angry, spitting coals before he released them. The firm, heavy bulk of his body pressed close to your side. You melted into him, leaning close so that the three of your stood in a clumsy isosceles. "Run on back t' Shepard. Heard he's callin' ya, missin' his dog."

"No need for that. We were just having a chat, weren't we now?" You kept your lips sealed, chin held high as you fidgeted out of his grasp and towards Simon. You didn't like the look on his face, the mocking, smug set of his smile as his eyes darted between you both. He sighed, like you'd somehow disappointed him. "You know, Ghost, playing knight-errant doesn't suit you."

Once back in Simon's arms you realised how Graves had left you distorted, shoulders hitched high and neck twisted and taut. Where you'd joined hands felt tacky, like dipping your fingers in the thick, greasy tallow you'd once used to make soap. You didn't look as he strutted away, instead just breathed in the comforting leather and musk of the sentry at your side.

Your eyes found the banquet table again, still glistening with fats and sweets. Only now, you could see the flies hovering around, rubbing their bristly black-stick legs together and burrowing in deep. ----------------------------

You were loath to slip away from Simon after that, now used to having him fill that empty, aching place in your chest. But the walls were closing in.

The air in the room had grown balmy and sweet, spilled drinks and sweat saturating the tablecloths and curtains. It reminded you of the drinking districts, of grubby hands digging into your arm and dragging you down to - to -

-to whatever didn't happen that night. That night Simon showed up.

Still, you needed air. You needed something cold; some sharp, icy breeze to sweep through the foliage sprouting in you mind. You sought to forage through what was left, scrabble over the dead leaves and twigs until you uncovered the verdant little buds below (I belong here. I belong-). You felt unmoored, like a spiraling sycamore leaf battling weather and wind until you were blown into the palace. Ready to be swept away. It was so easy to believe Simon when it was just you and him. You imagined the matter was as simple to him as breathing. The blood of other men spilled because he willed it. Men listened to him because he said so. You were his because he found you.

Simple.

But as you navigated the warren of palace halls in your fancy clothes and borrowed finery, you felt the acetous bubbles of doubt fizzing in your stomach. It was not Simon you doubted, but rather yourself. Little dormouse playing pretend. Talking and walking as if your timorous little heart wasn't fluttering in your chest. As if the petticoats and overskirts didn’t feel warm and burdensome, like the kind that would swell with water and drag you under back when you were nothing but a timid, inchoate shadow under the thrall of your father.

Something of Grave's words niggled at you - knight-errant. You know he meant it as an insult, but it just didn't quite fit Simon. Like throwing a cheap blow against the steely armour on his hulking frame. It just glanced off. But a little scratch lingered. The hint of something accusatory - like he'd slipped the leash, wandered too far and-

Low, rolling voices echoed off the damp stone walls. The sconces flickered as you looked around, boxed in between a heavy tapestry and unlatched door.

"-distracted by that little pony he's picked up from god-knows-where." It was Graves, cocksure and brash. "Now's the time, boys. Order's from on high."

"Allen is already in place with Kingfish. Awaiting your missive."

"That's what I like to hear," you could hear the swell of his chest. Anticipation let his words flow like honey from a hive. "Now, you and your brigade are to, uh, accompany the 141 when they're sent to El Reino de Las Almas in two days' time. Remember, no loose ends."

"Yes, Sir."

"Dismissed."

The blood rushing past your ears drowned out the rest of the exchange. Your whiskers twitched, prickling with unease as you glanced about for an escape. The sound of the door scraping across the tiles killed that hope.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" It was hard to turn your head, like trying to mold stiff wax, but you managed it. "Little far from the Grand Hall.

Your mother's advice echoed in your mind, as familiar and comforting as well-worn clothes. (Be quiet, be meek, be sweet-

-Don't answer to anyone who isn't me).

"You're right," you let out the breath you were holding, hoping to pass it off as relief. "I'm glad to see you, Commander Graves. Perhaps you would do the honour of escorting me? I'm afraid I'm a little lost."

"Don't do that. Don't think that I'll be taken in by that. You're puttin' me in a tough spot," he seemed to chew at his next words, rolling them around as he pinned you down with his dead eyes. "My lady."

Run, you thought. You eyed up the man before you, not as big as your Knight but still not worth underestimating. But a glance down the shadowed, unfamiliar halls had you thinking again. Run where?

He caught your furtive little twitch, tutted at you as he grasped at the meat of your upper arm. "Let's have a little talk, you and I."

You would have tripped over the layers of your skirts were it not for his vice grip holding you up. He let go abruptly, letting you stumble into the study from which he'd just emerged.

This time the door latched shut.

Papers littered the writing desk, all maps and missives that you couldn't read. You watched the slow, rolling drip of the candle wax in the corner as you tried to calm your racing thoughts. Would it burn down before you got out of here? Would someone stumble in, see only you and the cooling puddle of paraffin spilled across the floor?

What would Simon do, you thought. Simon, who was being set-up by the sinewy, sharp-toothed predator pacing behind you.

What would I do for Simon?

"It's real unfortunate you had to hear that." Funny. There was nothing of misfortune in his tone. "See, I don't much fancy what has to be done. But I can't let you go tellin' tales."

You raised your arms to your chest as he approached, letting the sleeves roll down and reveal your forearms. Your tough, cross-hatched labourers' hands.

He raised an eyebrow at your silence, somehow managing to look down at you from paces away. You knew his type. Like the nasty little terriers your father used to bet on, cheering as they tore into the squeaking, scrabbling rats trapped in the ring. It was nothing personal for him, you were sure, but that wouldn't stop him from enjoying it.

"Telling tales implies that my words would be fictitious," you couldn't resist one little dig. Let him chew on that, sniff at the bait you cast as your mind raced with what to do next. What to do, what to-

"Cute," it bought you only a second. "You realise that this is bigger than you, sweetheart. If it were up to me-"

You darted for the letter opener to your right, papers flying as your shaking, numb fingertips grappled to pick it up. There would be no talking him around, no amount of demurring and fluttered lashes that would get him to unlock his jaw.

"Now why'd you have to go and do a silly thing like that?"

It was silent for a beat, your wide, glossy eyes fixed on his unblinking stare. He was cold, focused in a way that tugged at the animal instincts in the back of your neck. You watched as he tilted his head to the side, sure that his teeth were slick and limbs coiled ready to snatch you as you made a mad dart for the door. Only, that wasn't your plan. You weren't the meek little ingenue he written you off as. A softer thing would have swooned as he manhandled her into the room alone, unchaperoned. A gentler creature would have bristled at his familiarity, calling you 'sweetheart' like he had the right. His years surrounded by lesser men and court sycophants had blinded him to one simple truth.

You weren't one of them.

It seemed to catch him off guard, shifted him slightly off kilter as he watched you steel your jaw and brace yourself near the table's edge. You'd hauled heavier loads than the delicate little paper knife biting into your hands. You were soft, yes, but it was a layer built over strength. Years of labour had seasoned you to pain, had hewn muscle and callouses just as valuable as those earned by other means. You weren't strong enough to fight him, true, but you were damned sure you would hold him off.

You tensed low and balanced, surefooted on the tiles as much as you were on the riverbanks. Shadows flicked under the sway of the dying candles, obscuring the razor contours of his face. Ephemeral. Volatile. You gulped down the bile bubbling up your throat as he advanced lazily towards you.

Only, something else emerged from the shadows. Transmuted from black and grey until he was not a shade but a man. A Ghost.

The candle snuffed, sooty trails of charcoal spiraling up. You saw through a haze, achromatic. Felt the shifting of weight, the dull thuds of fists hitting meat. Sluicing through sinew until you scented something metallic and hot. Your racing thoughts and galloping heart couldn't keep up with the scene, uselessly flitting across apparitions as the details struggled through the thick sludge of your mind.

-two shadows, or three? more?

hands grasping at you - no, holding you -

- something soothing -

-someone crying? were they-? -something heavy, trussed up and dragged-

-'We've got it, Simon-'

Your trembling fingers clutched at something slick, solid.

"Easy, easy dormouse," your quivering chin was pressed hard against the soaked fabric at his neck. You tasted salt on your lips, hot and wet and bleeding down your cheeks. Simon. Simon stroking at your hair as he cradled you close. He was so big. How could have forgotten the heft of him, the way he swallowed you up in arms as thick as branches? "I've got ya. You're with me."

You swam through the mire, nuzzled your nose into his neck one last time before peeling back. It was still dark, hazy, in the room. But pressed this close it didn't matter. You reached up, shaking fingertips stroking along the lines of a face revealed only to you. You could just about make out the pale crown of his hair, the whites of eyes that rested heavy on your face. You wondered how you looked to him, if he saw past the shuddering breaths and cracked lips to recognise that it was joy that sprung your tears. More than relief, more than gratitude it was some kind of retrouvaille. You wanted to cup the feeling, let it ripple and glimmer in between your palms as you brought it to his lips.

He'd lap at it - no, he'd drink it down greedily. Your sentry. Your paladin. The man who made you an orphan just to take you in.

How foolish of you to doubt that, to doubt yourself. You, who survived every winter and every famine made harder under the roof of your father. You, who bade the man who told you he wasn't made for anything but bloodshed, yet knelt at your feet.

You pressed your lips to his through the fabric of his mask, let him taste the words that cut through your sobs. "Never again, Simon. Never again."

Doubt. Faltering. Loneliness. Meekness, quiet, skittishness-

Never again. ------------------------------- You didn't flinch from the sight of the red that splattered the finery of your clothes. You'd seen gore before, had scrubbed at it until your fingers burned and skin peeled. Only, that wasn't your job anymore-

The snick of a match snapped you from your reverie. You were back, ensconced in your chambers with your knight. Your husband. You weren't sure of the time, of what happened at the ball or in the study. It didn't seem to matter, not when you were tucked away in the safe little suite where only you and he existed.

"I drew a bath f'r ya," his voice was soft, restrained. That just wouldn't do.

"Simon, look at me, look," you reached for him in a wispy parallel to your night at the townhouse. He was solid, planted to the ground but you felt him give as you tugged him close. You had to arch your neck back just to meet his eyes. "I- won't you join me?"

It rolled between you, this suggestion. You saw exactly when the idea took root, heat blossoming to burnt umber as his pupils dilated. You pressed in close, feeling the soft give of his stomach. If you placed your ear to his chest, would you hear his heart race? Could he want you as much as you wanted him? Did he know about the covetous, greedy thing that quivered inside your chest and cried out for you to bite down on the dense, keloid-slashed muscles until you tasted iron?

Would he let you?

It was scalding, searing heat that had simmered all the while he carried you back. Dizzying and fervent you wondered for a moment if you'd died in that room. That you'd risen some hungry, gluttonous creature driven only by voluptuary urges. But then you remembered the longing from earlier, the heady rush that sapped the strength from your legs as you watched him kneel before you.

"Will you make me beg for it? Make me say please?"

"Never," he spoke it like a promise. "Think I'd leave ya wanting?"

His hand felt cool against your cheek. You closed your eyes and leaned into it, hoping it would douse the flames somewhat.

It stoked them higher.

You reached for the tie of his mask as he reached for your dress. The fabric prickled at your skin as it slid down, laces loosened at the front and revealing your chest to him. Your breasts felt heavy, nipples pebbling in the cool air under they were covered by his palm. You could see his lids dip low, desire making them heavy as he kneaded your sensitive flesh until you arched into it.

"Beautiful," he groaned as he dipped his head down. "Fuck, just need to have a taste-"

His large hand spanned your back, keeping you upright as he knelt before you once more. The heat of his mouth surprised you, wet tongue laving at soft skin as his other hand reached up to squeeze and roll at the sensitive peaks as you gasped and squirmed. You tugged at his hair, nails scratching into his scalp in a way that seemed to spurn him on. He pulled at your skirts, urgency tearing the seams against your hips and making you hiss. He mouthed down the swell of your stomach until he kissed away the sting, sucking new marks atop the ones he just left.

Desire sparks followed his mouth, leaving you sticky and pulpy until you sagged against the bed. It was an ouroboros kind of appetite, where the more he satiated himself the hungrier you grew. You felt raw, winded, as he spread your thighs to make space for his broad shoulders. So broad that the stretch hurt, made you arch up from the bed to paw him away with clumsy fingers.

"Simon, I can't- what are you-?" you whined as his teeth left imprints in the softness near your core.

"Shh," he soothed you with his tongue. "Need t'get you ready f'r me. Just lie back."

His forearm bulged as it banded across your stomach, keeping you pinned. You pressed your lips together, swallowed your cries as you felt him nudge at the wetness between your thighs. Gentler than you expected, he parted your folds, running his thick finger through the wetness that had gathered there.

"Ah-" you bit back a whine as he found the spot where you throbbed, circling the little bud at the apex of your core until your knees shook. Only the bulk of his shoulders prevented you from snapping them shut.

"That's it, love. Don' fight it. Let me see ya," he rumbled over the buzzing in your ears. You felt too hot, too heavy to do anything but twist against the pleasure that he wrung from you. Spread out, naked on satin sheets that stuck to your drenched back. You were open to him, entirely laid bare and thought made you ache. You felt yourself drip against his rough palm, soak the fingers that prodded your fluttering entrance.

"I need you, but I don't-"

"S'alright, I know what y'need."

You tried to follow the pull of his voice, to raise your head off the mattress and watch but the nudge of his nose against your folds had you falling back. His mouth felt hot, tongue laving over your sensitive flesh in a way that had you clawing at the sheets. You keened out, wanting to squirm away and press closer all at once. The noise would have embarrassed you, slick and loud in the quiet of the room. Would have, except you heard him groan into you, felt the rumble of it against your cunt as he feasted. He ate you like he was starving, fingers digging into your thighs so hard that you knew he'd leave an imprint in purple and red. Your thighs shook against his grip, body twisting against the pleasure building and building until it snapped and you surrendered.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you panted towards the canopy. Shivers danced along your spine as you lay limp on the mattress, exposing your hot, wet flesh to the coolness of the night. You were so slick that you felt the air biting at your inner thighs, and Simon's sloppy, lingering kisses at your core had you swiping at his hair.

"Simon, it's too much," there was something whiny, breathy in your voice.

"No such thing as too much of a good thing," he shed the remainders of his clothes, crawling up the bed until the firm lines of his body pressed into the soft lines of yours. He hovered above you, face-flushed and eyes dark. "I'm going t'take as much as I want, and I still won't be satisfied."

"What-?"

"Y'r my wife," he leaned down, let you taste yourself against his lips. "Mine. Never had much that was all f'r me."

You smiled into the kiss, shaking off the shyness that urged you to cover up, hide, look away- "Me neither."

You nipped at his lips, let him feel the indent of your blunt little teeth until the press of his fingers against your entrance left you open-mouthed and slack. His thick, calloused fingers circled your hole, testing how you fluttered and dripped for him. Stretched you out on the width of two fingers until you cried into his mouth. You felt the nudge of his cock, heavy and throbbing, as he made a space for himself inside your body. He was so thick, rocking in slowly so that you felt the exquisite sting of every inch. Your whines caught in your throat, head spinning as you danced the line of pleasure-pain spread open under your husband.

He carried you to the bathtub afterwards, your cunt aching and dripping with his spend. (He had run his fingertips along your swollen folds, scooping up his cum and pressing it back into your stretched hole. Kissed you sweetly as he whispered filth, knuckle-deep in your cunt).

Now, in the lambency of candlelight, he rasped promises and secrets against your goosebumped flesh. His fingers trailed over perfumed water as he knelt by side, content and warm; aeipathy subdued for now, but enduring.

"When I first saw ya, I -" he cut himself off, strained as he searched for the words. You lay silent, patient as his words ripened behind his lips; laconism blooming into ephemeral fruits. "Y'reminded me of the girls back home. Th'ones by the river or in the taverns, too smart or too busy to bother with the likes of me. Familiar, real. Beautiful."

Your breath hitched, heart swelling under your breast as your watched him struggle for the words you were so wont to hear.

"When I first saw you, you scared me," your lips twisted a little, wry, as you confessed to him. "Only, you scared me less than him."

You scoffed, water splashing as you drew your knees to your chest and tucked your head low. You looked at him, needing him to read the truth in your face as you bared yourself just as he had. "I'm sorry, that's not particularly romantic, is it? Being desperate? But it's true. And I'm so thankful for it, since otherwise I might not have- we might never have-"

The words caught like wire in your throat. Painful.

Unthinkable.

But wasn't it beautiful, that brutal honesty? Wasn't it a relief to purge the poison; to dig in and drain the bad humours like rivers swirling into estuaries.

If you expected censure, you wouldn't find it. Not from him, no. You felt his finger chuck under your chin and let him raise your head.

"I know, dormouse. I know" --------------------------------

Well, it is done. Several months later and finally posted. I'm not 100% happy with this, but I can't justify sitting on it any longer. Also, it's December and seems fitting to wrap this up before the end of the year (part i wasy my first ever COD fic).

[zeravmeta]

really does hit the moment that both the bloodthirsty king of vampires and the warmonger nachzehrer king are utterly baffled by the sorrow they feel the moment theresa dies

because that's really the only reason why the sarkaz, why theresis, are declaring this endless war on the world starting with victoria: it's pride, it's suffering, it's anger, it's revenge.

it was cruel of theresa to ask them to forgive and forget, yes. the suffering of the sarkaz is not something that could have been fixed within a single lifetime, the wounds ran too deep. no matter how much they wish they could have believed in theresa, the suffering of the sarkaz would not just vanish no matter how much she did. the core issue between the sarkaz and the rest of terra lies in their ancient grudge, the thousands of years of entrenched bitterness and loss that the sarkaz suffered and still suffer to this day. they have no home, not even kazdel, because the only thing kazdel really is at this point is the reminder that they once did have a home, have dignity as the teekaz rather than just "the sarkaz, the devils".

but even then, theresa was simply born ahead of her time. they were not ready for her future, and they all know this. babel was a dream that theresa tried her damnedest to accomplish, but they were too bitter to accept it. no matter how much they wanted to believe in it, the royal sarkaz court, scareye, the countless sarkaz we see through Babel, none of them could ever see true unity.

it's a unity that neither theresis nor pre-amnesia doctor could conceive.

theresis and doctor have their own roles to play, and their own promises to keep: the sword of kazdel that will revitalize their past glory and strike down all who oppose them, the last survivor of an alien race dedicated to completing the ancient project of a world long past to ensure its future, they are unable to accept another way.

"I can't accept your beautiful and fleeting dream, theresa. not after all the sacrifce."

they were not strong enough to believe in her. no matter how much they loved her, how much they wish they could have seen her dream come true, they simply couldn't.

it was always going to end on that bloodstained floor. they were always going to sleep, and dream that things could have been different. that one could have let go of their past, be it the long held suffering and revenge or the guilt of duty as the last survivor.

we will always be equal. i will always hold your beautiful dream in my heart.

you have to keep going, even if I am not here anymore. you're free now.

[tainbocuailnge]

I'm struggling to really sort out this thought but it's striking to me how for all we're told about theresa as the kindest woman ever, her most defining actions are really very cruel and selfish as well. taking doctor's memories is cruel not just for what that action would mean in a vacuum but because it's a display of unconditional trust right after that trust has already been irreparably broken... doctor made the hardest choice of their life and theresa didn't even have the decency to be upset, she wasn't even all that surprised, her last act was essentially saying "nah, you didn't actually choose that." she calls it a trick she's playing on them, she's well aware that she's making things incredibly more difficult, insisting they not just continue her path but that they go through the process of choosing that path again.

theresa had full confidence that without extenuating circumstances doctor would definitely choose her and terra, which is interesting to me, because priestess seems to hold that same confidence that doctor will ultimately choose her and originum. we know very little about priestess. despite everything, we also still don't know all that much about theresa, and likely never will. civilight eterna outright tells doctor in her files that they will never be able to understand what kind of person theresa was just from reading information about her.

in taking doctor's memory of her theresa also took doctor's ability to grieve her. this is a fine line everyone these past chapters has had to walk, to find where honoring the past ends and being dragged down by it begins. theresa ultimately chose to sever the past of the sarkaz, to sever the connection that allowed all of sarkaz suffering to be stored in originum in perpetuity, and instead allow their pain to fade into history rather than continue to drive them as it has done for millennia. before that she chose to sever doctor's connection to [the information of the past]... perhaps that is what gave her the idea to begin with. doctor has spent the entirety of the story of arknights in the shadow of what theresa must have meant to them, if she meant this much to everyone else. even with all their memories of her gone it's taken fourteen chapters for doctor to begin to move on from her death, because it's taken that long for them to realize and process that the hole that was left in them was theresa-shaped.

and yet after all that effort to sever the past she preserves her own memory in the form of civilight eterna... after all her closest loved ones finally had the chance to say their farewells and move on from her death she decides to actually have her memory quite literally continue to haunt them after all. and this construct feels compelled to remind others she is not theresa, she is merely theresa's wish to watch amiya grow up, yet seems to often forget this distinction herself in casual conversation. again theresa makes it impossible for people to actually grieve her and move on from her death. she must have known that leaving civilight eterna with amiya is cruel and selfish of her as much as it is kind. is she trying to have her cake and eat it too? even after being a forever distant ideal for all of the story she can't be content with disappearing into that distance and instead clings to her own past even as she leaves it behind.

[circletakingthesquare]

this is so stupid and far fetched

ok so i went ahead and searched DRAAG on google and found out about this 1973 science fiction film "Fantastic Planet". DRAAG on this planet, Ygam, are basically blue creatures with pretty long-life spans who can alter their appearances during meditation ceremonies led by the Grand council. So, the DRAAG society is governed by the Grand Council, they represent the hierarchical pinnacle of legislation and direct the spiritual life for the entire Draag civilization. They're kind of the leaders of the planet Ygam. This Grand Council consists of five members.

this is a picture of the Grand Council (which looks prettyyyyy familiar). Also i have no clue where the fifth council member is at in this, this only pic i could find. ANYWAY basically, the Grand Council are cruel and apathetic to the suffering of the Om's - who are a sentient species like themselves however smaller in stature. Oms are not originally from this planet but were brought from the planet Terra.

So, i think they may have taken some inspiration from certain aspects of this storyline. Like maybe The Black Parade was taken to MOAT, similar to how the Oms were brought from Terra to Ygam. On Ygam, Oms are kind of forced to act as pets and inferior beings to the DRAAGS. You could definitely draw a connection to how the dictators portrayed in MCR's recent posts are forcing The Black Parade (IN THEORY IN THEOOORRYYYY), to perform for them (or like perform for people idk just performing maybe not necessarily for them) in MOAT, similar to the role of Oms in the planet Ygam. In short, they both have that inferiority role in the hands of authoritarian leaders, kind of kept captive sort of part in the storyline. They're both captured from one place to another (Ygam and MOAT in this case) for captivity and control. I still don't really know what MOAT means but it could be a different location where The Black Parade has been forced to go?? Idrk

If I wanted to go supppppppppperrrrrr far i could say that IF they used some inspiration from Fantastic Planets, you could predict some things that might happen next. In Fantastic Planets, Oms eventually rebel against the DRAAG dictatorship, which could maybe sort of kind be possible with the Black Parade too? The Black Parade could come together (as the Oms do) and rebel against the DRAAG dictatorship and gain freedom again. This is SO far tho im just thinking. In Fantastic Planets, very similar to MCR's new lore, there are obviously some political undertones about oppression, elitism, and fascism. I cant say what these are exactly in regard to MCR's recent posts, but in Fantastic Planets, these themes are portrayed through the authoritarian rule of the DRAAGS and subjugation of the Oms. So, you could use your own theories and interpretation of the MCR lore to make connections to these themes.

Im honestly not super sure about this AT ALL this isn't like a crazy theory or break through or anything, but I found the connections kind of interesting but ik this is so far-fetched so don't take it too seriously at all LMAO. Also, I've never even watched the movie and there are some parts of it I'm leaving out I just kind of wrote down what I thought related to MCR's new lore. But the general idea of Fantastic Planet kind of struck me as a little similar. Also, it makes A LITTLE bit of sense since Gerard Way is really into sci-fi (not confirming anything just an observation). Who knows tho

[lucrezianoin]

List of Year 24 complete manga work in English or Italian

I made this list mainly to myself, but you can easily use it too. I am on a mission to read every Year 24 group manga available, so here I collected:

licensed manga (in English and Italian)

online scans

Every licensed manga has a the name of the publisher too, and you might find the Italian translation easier than the Japanese.

I added an "online" to the ones you can definitely find scanned online. Every title is linked to where to read the story nearby, keep in mind these websites come and go and might have ads.

If you see a licensed title in italics it means that the manga cannot be found anywhere online and scanned (and translated). Or that some short stories in the collection (if it is a collection) cannot be found anywhere online and scanned.

Let's start!

The authors are (in order): Moto Hagio, Keiko Takemiya, Riyoko Ikeda, Ryoko Yamagishi, Yasuko Aoike, Yumiko Ooshima, Minori Kimura, Kihara Toshie.

MOTO HAGIO

Licensed in English

They Were 11! (JP Oversized and Viz)

The Complete Poe Clan (Fantagraphics, coming out November 2024)

Heart of Thomas (Fantagraphics)

A Drunken dream and other stories (Fantagraphics)

Neo Parasyte m (Kodansha Comics; first chapter is by Moto Hagio)

Lil' Leo (Denpa books)

Otherworld Barbara volume 1 and 2 (Fantagraphics)

A,A' (Viz), impossible to find it seems

Licensed in Italian

Il cuore di Thomas - The heart of Thomas (J-POP)

A Cruel God Reigns, 9 volumes (J-POP)

Star Red (J-POP)

Hanshin, la dea dimezzata, collection of stories (J-POP) (anilist)

Il Clan dei Poe volume 1 and 2 (J-POP)

Barbara, vol1, 2 and 3 (J-POP)

Marginal vol1, 2 and 3 (J-POP)

Online (English only) (chronological order)

-> Full series

The Heart of Thomas (manganelo)

They were 11 (mangadex)

They were 11: Higashi no Chihei, Nishi no Towa (mangadex)

U wa Uchuusen no U (collection of stories) (mangadex)

Silver Triangle (mangadex)

A, A' (mangadex)

Marginal (mangadex)

A cruel god reigns (mangadex)

-> One shots

Bianca (mangadex)

Girl on the porch with puppy (internet archive)

Poor mama (mangadex)

Autumn Journey (internet archive)

11-gatsu no Gymnasium (mangadex)

Unicorn no Yume (mangadex)

Onshitsu (mangadex)

Marie, ten years later (internet archive)

Cabagge Hata no Isansouzokunin (mangadex)

Houmonsha, prequel of Heart of Thomas (mangadex)

Shiro - The Castle (mangadex)

A Drunken Dream (internet archive)

Ragini (mangadex)

Kinyou no Yoru no Shuukai (mangadex)

Kimi Wa Utsukushii Hitomi (mangadex)

Hanshin: Half-God (mangadex)

Egg stand (mangadex)

Angel Mimic (internet archive)

The child who comes home (internet archive)

Slow Down (mangadex)

The false king (mangadex)

Iguana girl (mangadex)

Afternoon sunshine (mangadex)

Yuujin K (mangadex)

Yama e Iku - Going to the mountains (mangadex)

The Willow Tree (mangadex)

Moments of lonliness (mangadex)

With Love to "From Eroica with love" (mangadex)

Neo Parasyte m's short story "Yura no Mon wo" (mangaplaza, first story, which is the free one)

KEIKO TAKEMIYA

Licensed in English

To Terra, 3 volumes (Vertical Inc)

Andromeda stories, 3 volumes (Vertical Inc)

Licensed in Italian

Il poema del vento e degli alberi - Kaze to Ki no Uta, 10 volumes (J-POP)

Verso la Terra - To terra, 3 volumes (J-POP)

Il suo nome era Gilbert, autobiographical novel (J-POP)

Online (English only) (chronological order)

-> Full series

Kaze to Ki no Uta (mangadex)

To Terra (mangadex)

Andromeda Stories (mangadex)

Rintarou Panic! (mangadex)

-> One shots

Sunroom Nite (mangadex)

Hohoemu Shounen (mangadex)

On a snowy day (mangadex)

Star (mangadex)

20 no Hiru to Yoru (mangadex)

Mister no kokori (mangadex)

Natsu e no Tobira (mangadex)

Manatsu no Yoru no Yume (mangadex)

Koufuku no Hato (mangadex)

Toki wo Yuku Uma (mangadex)

RIYOKO IKEDA

Licensed in English

Claudine (Seven Seas)

The Rose of Versailles, 5 volumes (Udon Entertainment)

Licensed in Italian

Le rose di Versailles, 5 volumes (Edizioni BD)

La finestra di Orfeo - Orpheus no Mado, 9 volumes (J-POP)

Anello dei Nibelunghi - Nibelungen no Yubiwa, 4 volumes (Goen)

Claudine (Goen)

Ayako, 2 volumes (Goen)

Caro Fratello - Dearest Brother, 2 volumes (Goen)

Elisabetta - Elizabeth (Yamato)

Eroica la Gloria di Napoleone - Héroïque The Glory of Napoleon, 12 volumes (Magic Press)

Online (English only)

Bara Yashiki no Shoujo (mangadex)

Early Spring Trembling (mangadex)

Porando Hishi Ten no Hate Made (mangadex)

Dearest Brother (mangadex)

Nibelungen no Yubiwa (only 3 volumes, 1 missing, mangadex)

Claudine (mangadex)

Versailles no Bara (up till volume 12, mangadex)

Summer in Cantenbury (mangadex)

RYOKO YAMAGISHI

Online (English only)

Shiroi Heya no Furari (mangadex)

Yasha Gozen (mangadex)

Harpy, collection of stories (mangadex)

Hatshepsut (mangadex)

Hiruko (mangadex)

Medusa (mangadex)

Hemi no Hire (mangadex)

YASUKO AOIKE

Licensed in English

From Eroica with Love (Cmx, unfinished)

Online (English only)

From Eroica with Love (still being translated, currently at chapter 21 (mangadex)

Vampire (mangadex)

The free shooter (mangadex)

Tasogare ni Kaere (mangadex)

Z (mangadex)

YUMIKO OOSHIMA

Online (English only) (chronological order)

No longer male (mangadex)

To Joker (mangadex)

Banana Bread no Pudding (mangadex)

Grass Crown Princess (mangadex)

He His Him (mangadex)

Across a golden prarie (mangadex)

Summertime (mangadex)

Long long cafe (mangadex)

MINORI KIMURA

Online (English only) (chronological order)

Ame (short stories) (mangadex)

Warped mirror (mandagex)

KIHARA TOSHIE

Online (English only) (chronological order)

I'm fine with dying (mangadex)

Diamond Gojiran, 3 one shots (mangadex)

With love to "From Eroica with love" (mangadex)

NANAE SASAYA

none

MINEKO YAMADA

none

[diariodeumdesistente]

a vida na cidade é e cruel. é cinza a fumaça da poluição. não se pode ver o céu. e o clima geral é de solidão.

ônibus, pressa para andar, salário baixo e alienação. retirei-me para o campo, viver de pastorear e da plantação.

sem celular, sem computador, somente foice e trator. é duro o trabalho do campo, e mais dura ainda é a saudade do meu amor.

ao chegar na roça, encontrei-me perdido mas o velho posseiro me ajudou. me indicou uma gleba de terra fértil, e até a plantar ele me ensinou.

hoje planto café e crio cabras. há terra para todo mundo. um dia te trago para cá, e viveremos nosso amor tão profundo.

Retirada I

[rheya28]

♥ Hi guys, today we are building a beach inspired by luxury resorts around the Caribbeans. This beach includes a pool, a bar, changing rooms, seatings, and a small stage.

Link

♥ Lot Details:

Lot Name: Sunrise Beach

Lot size: 40x20

Location: Tartosa

♥ MODS:

TOOL MOD by TwistedMexi

♥ CC LIST:

Note: I have all parts of any sets in this list, so I highly recommend you guys dl them since I frequently use them in all my builds!

Awingedllma – Boho Living

Joyceisfox – Cruel Summer

House of Harlix – Orjanic , Bafroom, Harluxe, Livin Rum, Orjanic, Kichen

The Clutter Cat – Sunny Sundae

Harrie – Spoons, Coastal

Pierism – MCM

Sixam – Stylish wood Fancy Dining, Boho Bathroom, Stylish wood Cozy Guestroom,

CharlyPancakes – Modish, Dinna, Modish

Caiocc – Cozy Setup

Felixandre – Fayun, Kyoto, Shopthelook, Florence, Grove

Max20 – Garden at home, Happily Ever after, Poolside lounge pack

Rusti.co Living – Kaiso

Myshunosun – Luna Bedroom, Sol Kitching, Gale Dining, Midsummer eve garden

Peacemaker – Hamptons, Hinterlands, Terra Tiles

Pierisim – Aunti Vera, MCM, Oak house, Winter Garden

The plumbobsociety – Rustic Romance

Sforzinda – Clutter EP10, Clutter EP13

S imagination – Cottage Kitchen

Taurus Design – Lilith Chilling Areas

Tuds – Rope Lounge, Wave

♥ Trayfile

♥ Origin ID: Applez

♥ Instagram: Rheya28__

♥ Tiktok: Rheya28__

♥ Tumblr: https://rheya28.tumblr.com/

[hood-ex]

i am SO glad you mentioned dick/helena because their dynamic had so much potential and could've been so intriguing in the hands of the right people, in fact it WAS - greg rucka briefly touched upon it in his novelization of no man's land and even that llittle bit was incredible. how she, dick, and bruce all witnessed their families murdered at age 8, how they knelt in a pool of their mothers' blood, how they're all filled with so much love and grief and hunger for something better and the desperation to make the pain to Mean Something...

specifically in NML i love when bruce drops in on helena after she failed miserably as the bat (</3), and he brought nightwing with him as he quietly chastises her - not out of unkindness, not to be cruel or callous, but to push her far, far away from "this life" after he just saw gotham, his home, abandoned by the US government and everything he worked for come to nothing, and he KNOWS how much helena admired batman and the mythos of it but he sees vigilantism as a self-imposed curse and he's determined to martyr himself but no one else and especially not this young woman who admired him so much and whom dick, his eldest son (and new protege, tim), got close to, should be a part of that. but he's so clumsy and wrong about it so ofc helena (rightly) takes it as added insult and humiliation because at this point just the very sight of nightwing makes her feel even more vulnerable, he's the first man she got truly intimate with and close to in gotham as something approaching an equal, and there was a time when she wanted to be like him, both as a hero and as a partner to batman, and she KNOWS batman knows that:

Helena glared at [Bruce], feeling a new humiliation... of course he knew, he knew what had happened in this same apartment over a year ago, and that was why Nightwing was there. So he could see, too, so Batman could show his prodigal son the mistake that had been made, how unworthy she was of him. (~ NML novel)

...like helena basically styles herself as the underdog shounen protagonist to nightwing whom she sees as the established top dog and a goal for her to reach, and she sees them having this rivalry over who gets to serve gotham and batman LOL. having him witness her failure is just something she can't cope with:

“Huntress,” Nightwing said softly. She yanked her wrist free from his grip, not bothering to look at him, glaring at Batman. “Don’t touch me,” she said. Nightwing backed away, silent. For a long moment none of them said anything more, and Helena realized that her eyes had begun watering, that tears were starting down her cheeks, and the humiliation that had, for a moment, been buried behind her rage, reared up again.

... and i love that this is the dick grayson who has just freshly returned to gotham after all the growing up he did at college and with the titans, and he's just recovering from a failed engagement with starfire and gotten betrayed by his teammate terra and seen one of his dearest friends and teammates, jericho, get murdered by his own father, and he just wants something familiar again... like i see people criticize the batman office for "stealing him away" from the titans and i totally get it but if it had to happen i think this was very realistic (and frankly i think this would've been a great time for him to continue college/his studies and interact with a proper civilian supporting cast like he did in the 70s before wolfman decided to make him super emo but whatevs)

it just means so much to me that he doesn't know his place in gotham or in the wayne family's life anymore and he's wondering if any of it was even worth it - i mean a 15 yr old died in his robin costume for goodness' sake - but this young woman is proof that it did mean something to someone, that he and batman were heroes to this woman just like they were to tim drake, and maybe that alone is good enough, but then she's also kinda forceful and angry and desperate for justice and now he's worried that she's gonna get hurt the way barbara and jason and even starfire did!! and even more so, this woman works with children, she's a mentor and a guide to them, just as dick as robin was, and he probably feels like he'd forgotten what that felt like after so many years of having to act as the leader(TM) among even his peers, and he doesn't want her to lose that...

so that's why dick resents that bruce brought him here to witness helena's humiliation but he also can't get angry at him because he KNOWS he does it all out of love and grief even though it destroys himself and the people around him and he knows that deep down bruce is actually terrified of everything like all the time. but it doesn't make it any easier...

“Yes.” Batman paused, and when he resumed, his voice surprised Nightwing, because it no longer sounded the same. It no longer sounded like Batman. It sounded like Bruce Wayne. “I made a mess of it, Dick,” Batman said, softly. “I tried pretending things were the same, that only the terrain had changed. I knew what I was working for—Gotham’s redemption—but I didn’t know how to get there. What’s happened in the last couple months, with Gordon, with Two-Face, it woke me up.”

(...) Bruce would share what he wanted to share, when he wanted to, and that was that. It didn’t matter if Dick was angry or feeling taken advantage of. It didn’t matter that he resented like hell being made to witness the humiliation of Helena Bertinelli. It didn’t matter that he’d known damn well what was up the moment they’d arrived at the apartment, the apartment he remembered better than he thought he would.

like all these conflicting emotions are sooo compelling, i wish writers chose to address the real depth of dickhelena's relationship instead of reverting to the same old boring one-note "we slept together and it didn't work out :(" stuff (looking at you judd winick)

dickhelena anon here - i almost forgot the most important part!! ... which is that both dick and helena love their lil bro tim drake of course <3 it's so funny to me that tim adores both of them like they're his own elder siblings except he has a slightly paternalistic attitude toward helena ("be careful huntress, maybe i should handle it, lemme protect u") vs. his (at this point in canon, in NML) hero worship of nightwing.... for better or worse i think it's realistically how many little brothers see their older sister vs. older brother. and i know some fic/fan interpretations say tim would be weirded out by them two dating but nah i refuse point-blank, like in canon tim has been pretty supportive of all of nightwing's lovers (he's firmly pro-dickkory AND pro-dickbabs) but i think he's got a secret soft spot for dickhelena especially. like at least then whenever he drops by nightwing's apartment he'll also get nice home-made sicilian food!!

Yeah it’s interesting to consider that people like Bruce and Dick inspire other people to be heroes, but at the same time, they’re inspiring others to put themselves in dangerous situations. It’s a double-edged sword.

I feel like Dick could take a step back and see himself in Helena’s shoes as Bruce chastises her. Dick ofc struggles with failure, especially when he thinks he’s failed Bruce, so for him to witness a scene like that, I think he would relate to that feeling of humiliation well. However, Dick has also seen heroes die, heroes he felt responsible for. So while he might empathize with being in Helena’s position, there’s also that part of him that would want her to live a safer life, to not choose the path he went down.

What you said about Tim actually derailed my thoughts a bit to the time in Nightwing (Vol. 2) #112 when Dick asked Helena to let Sophia and Rose lay low with her for a bit. She was the only person he considered at the time. Helena wouldn’t have it, and I think it’s interesting that she knew that even if she wanted to take the girls in, she wouldn’t be able to pry them away from Dick. (Which is really funny when you think about Titans Dick and his… flighty nature at times when it came to Rachel).

But anyway, the reason I brought it up is because you mentioned Helena seeing Dick as the top dog, and you mentioned Tim, and it made me think of how Dick wanted Tim as his equal, and how Dick wouldn’t leave his two charges with just anyone, he’d leave them with someone he thought capable. Someone like Helena. Someone like Amy. But he went to Helena before he went to Amy.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

His Star

Summary: After the Monarchy, the Emperor takes Lorgar's wife as punishment. Lorgar is soon reunited with his love, but learns that his daughter will remain on Terra.

Lorgar/fem!Reader, Emperor and Lorgar's daughter (OC, platonic)

Warnings: angst, kidnapping

Word count: 753

Song: Siouxsie And The Banshees - Cities In Dust

This fic was born because of this beautiful post.

She was beautiful. Like the morning dawn or a starry night. A bright soul who came into this cruel world. She could lead the masses, inspire billions of people. But Lorgar wanted only one thing. Protect her with his own life.

He didn't see his daughter. The news of her birth came from the Imperial Palace along with other unimportant ones. As if she were an insignificant speck of dust. But the daughter of a primarch, his daughter was priceless. Happiness that was born because of the pure and immaculate love of two souls.

Lorgar could only follow the Emperor's orders in the hope of seeing you and his daughter. Hug and hold the tiny body to his hearts. Press his lips to yours. Feel the serene love you showed him.

The Primarch of the Word Bearers was never a warrior. Never been a commander. He was a preacher, priest, shepherd. He never hid it, openly carrying his true and blessed faith in the God Emperor... but in the end, apparently not so true.

His sons, himself, continued to search for answers to questions. Find their way. Their faith. The Emperor refused their worship, destroyed the perfect city, took you, took the unborn child. Lorgar could not hate his father, but it was difficult to extinguish the black flame of resentment and misunderstanding.

At least until the day you were returned.

Crying and tired. You were not tortured, you were not offended. Physically and mentally you were fine. But there was a huge void in your heart that could not be filled. Even Lorgar was unable to help you, because he, being a primarch, almost fell himself.

They returned you alone.

Lorgar hoped that the Emperor simply decided to gradually return his favor to his son. He hoped that after some time, when he had conquered even more systems, the Father would return his daughter. But he was wrong. You dashed all his hopes.

“He loves her, he adores her,” you burst into tears at Lorgar’s shoulder. - “I almost d-didn’t see her. He is with her all the time. Doesn't let go of himself. H-he, he sang to her. He sang to her, Lorgar! Songs in ancient languages. He acted as if she were his daughter and not his granddaughter. He gave her a name!”

It would be better if the Emperor burned Khur to the ground. It would be better if he destroyed every city to the dust that Lorgar built. The primarch is ashamed of such thoughts; mortals are not to blame for anything. But why, why should his daughter be torn away from her parents and live with a tyrant?

A tyrant... that's what the Emperor was. False God. If the primarch had doubts before, he is now firmly convinced of it. The son loved the Father too much, although he did not deserve such worship. He did not deserve the devotion of the primarchs. Didn't deserve the love of a little girl.

You spend days and nights in bed. When you don't sleep, you cry. Lorgar is not angry, no. He is delighted. The connection between mother and daughter, passing through years and centuries. You can't find a place for yourself until you see your child. Which means Lorgar must bind you together. Bring back your beloved child.

The primarch will not hear her first word, will not see her first steps. He will not be the main person in her life. Perhaps they will meet when she is an adult. He will never be her father in the full sense of the word. But this knowledge does not stop Lorgar.

He will still meet her. He will take her hand and lead her to a new world free from the power of the Emperor, who separated her from her real family. He would show her the True God that he had yet to find. His daughter will be a guiding star, illuminating the path through a dark galaxy. Until he finds a way to get back to her.

Lorgar has never seen her, but he knows that she is beautiful. Like the golden sand in Colchis, a light breeze or the murmur of water. She is far away in captivity of the Golden Palace, but even so the primarch feels her. She shines brighter than anyone in the world. Without realizing it, she is waiting for her real father to return his daughter. He will protect her. At the cost of his own life.

And the whole world.

[armoredisopod]

Collab Event PV

New Operators

Senshi, 5* Collab Welfare Guardian Defender

Now, which is the better dish to make...?

Chilchuck, 5* Collab Agent Vanguard

For the record, i'm only a scout, don't expect me to fight.

Laios, 5* Collab Dreadnought Guard

I can't help but notice, but you're actually quite interested in monster cuisine, right?

Marcille, 6* Collab Splash Caster

It's just like what i used to do back in the Magic Academy, I've learned how to use all the magical instruments you have here, so don't worry and leave it all to me!

I just had a full meal and now i have plenty of magical energy to spare.

Operator Outfits Update

Total of 7 new outfits, a new collab outfit, 4 new additions for the Achievement Star brand, 1 new addition for the Raythean Striker brand and 1 new addition for the 0011/Yun brand

Collab Series

Terra & Traveller - Marcille

Achievement Star

The Archivist and Her Pilgrimage - Leizi

The Apprentice and Her Aura - Kroos the Keen Glint

The Adjudicatrix and Her Resolve - Irene

The Zoophilist and Her Mollusca - Vanilla (Event Reward)

0011/Yun

Moon Under The Pines - Wind Chimes

Raythean Striker

Dawnbreak - Coldshot

Coldshot's outfit will be up for sale during Come Catastrophes and Wakes of Vultures Retrospect

Vanilla's outfit is a reward from Vector Breakthrough

Announced a rerun for Akafuyu, Mountain and Wild Mane's Epoque outfits, up for sale at the same time as the new Achievement Star outfits

Operator Modules Update

All the collab operators immediately get their modules including Chilchuck despite being part of a branch that DOESN'T have a module yet

SPC-Y module base effect reduces Marcille's deployment cost by -8 DP

DRE-Y module base effect allows Laios to revive himself and gain a +30 ASPD boost at the cost of reducing his Max HP by -60% once per deployment

The base effect of Chilchuck's module is unknown at the time of writing

GUA-Y module base effect makes Senshi take 15% less damage

Crusher Guard branch gets 1 module type

Irene gets her 2nd module

SWO-X module base effect makes Irene's skills deal 10% more damage

Events and Stories

Delicious on Terra, a limited collaboration side story event

When adventuring with no way back, don't ask where the food comes from, you can't defeat monsters on an empty stomach. "Eat and be eaten", is it a cruel curse, or a natural law? A never before seen place, an unfamiliar menu—— i don't care about all that, let's chow down!

Operator Archives update for Goldenglow, Eunectes, Mitm and Courier

Come Catastrophes and Wakes of Vultures Retrospect, scheduled after Delicious on Terra

Vector Breakthrough, an improved version of Interlocking Competition, scheduled after Come Catastrophes and Wakes of Vultures Retrospect

Misc Stuff

Tuye and her potential tokens along with Myrrh's [Bitter Herbs] Outfit will be available in the certs shop to players that don't have them

Special collab profile icon pack and collab main menu background + UI theme pack sold in the shop during collab event period

[pilot-boi]

How is it when Jaunper and the group arrive in Argus? I want to know reactions from Maria, Cordovin, Saffron, Terra, and Adrian please.

Maria takes it all in stride. She’s fresh off being a rando and then getting dumped head first into The Plot, so she just takes one look at Jaune and is like “This isn’t even the strangest thing I’ve seen TODAY.”

Adrian is too young to really get what’s going on. After the initial freak out because “My uncle! This is my uncle but it isn’t!” he mostly just just wants rides on Jaune’s back, which Jaune is more than happy to provide

Cordovin is Cordovin. She thinks he’s an abomination and shows him the same racism and disdain as she shows Blake, but to a MUCH greater degree. I wouldn’t be shocked if she uses it/its when referring to him, which would ABSOLUTELY set off NPR

Terra is holding it together, she’s staying strong for Saphron. She’s more than a little disturbed and freaked out by Jaune, she mourned him just like her wife. Her brother-in-law is supposed to be dead, so dead they didn’t even have a body to bury. And now here he is as some kind of beast

She’s taking it better than Saphron, but she’s still VERY shaken. She mostly deals with it by focusing on the practicalities of the situation, like working with JNPR to make sure there’s a “nest” set up for Jaune to sleep. He can’t really use beds after all. Also helps that she’s at work most of the time where she can focus on the CCT relay

Saphron, of course, is beside herself. She hen JNPR first arrive, she thinks she’s going crazy. There’s a giant rabbit here wearing her brother’s face and speaking with his voice. Her brother who was burned into ash a year and a half ago is standing here but he’s WRONG, he’s not her brother, he’s a BEAST

She recognizes his teammates from when they visited the family homestead after the Fall. They treat this creature like he’s real, so he’s not a hallucination. But they call him Jaune, ask if she’s his sister. And they’re feeding into her madness. Why would they be so cruel as to bring an amalgamation doppelgänger of her brother to HER HOME and flaunt him in front of her?!

The CCT is barely functioning over short distances, but she just can’t do this on her own. She calls the other Arcs and she doesn’t know how much of her message gets through, but she begs them to come to Argus

It’s not Jaune, it can’t actually be Jaune. He’s dead. She mourned him, she’s STILL mourning him. But his face pinches in the same way she knows when she says he isn’t real, and his hands still have the scars from when he burnt them taking pizza out of the oven, and his voice still cracks when he rushes to comfort her when reason abandons her

It can’t be Jaune. But it is. And if it IS him, then she can’t let him go or he’ll dissolve into ash again. So she clings to him, her little brother who is bigger than her and died before her

And for a few hours she allows herself to indulge in the madness that her brother is alive

It takes a day or so, but Saphron eventually comes around to the fact that this is actually Jaune. Terra’s connections with the Atlas military are able to get him in to run tests (DNA, Aura matching, lie detectors, the whole nine yards) and they determine that against all reason this IS Jaune

It’s impossible, but the science says it’s true. And Terra believes the science. And Saphron believes Terra

Her brother is alive

The siblings spend the next few hours holed up in the spare bedroom in the nest JNPR constructed, just holding each other and crying and laughing. And when they emerge, Saphron looks more whole than she’s been since the Fall