#unsparingly

[autobahnmp3]

back from the cinema i really liked the documentary!

[dandelionjack]

inspired by fifteen trying to say shit and getting censored by the nanny filter, here’s a complete table of every doctors who and whether or not they use strong language

1 - no

2 - yeah

3 - rarely, but accurately and directly, in a dignified and sarcastic fashion

4 - ABSOLUTELY all the time. the tardis filter barely copes. we’ve all seen the K-9 clip, that’s what the character sounds like without the kids show censorship

5 - no. does he look like a man who swears to you? maybe some esoteric combination of words like fuckadoodle shitnozzles

6 - yes. duh

7 - he doesn’t enjoy it, but occasionally, sparingly, when the situation calls for it

8 - definitely . not too frequently, though. for emphasis, or for a laugh

9 - that man is a working class northerner from the 2000s and a jaded war veteran. draw your own conclusions. he knows elaborate insults you’ve never heard of

10 - cheeky little ‘fuck’ here and there with rose & martha, ALL THE TIME with donna, and swearing like hell when he starts going off the rails in the s4 specials

11 - lol no. well… he’s got an example to set to the companions that he treats like children. he’s a storybook character and he wants to be perceived as an imaginary friend, a kind almost victorian whimsical gentleman in a bowtie, and a person like that wouldn’t use crude language. with river song though? now THAT’S a whole other story

12 - the scene in dark water with the psychic paper tells us everything we need to know. twelve in series 8 was straight up pg13ified malcolm tucker. shuttity-up-up-up without the tardis filter sounds like fuckity-bye. he swears liberally, frequently, unsparingly and unceremoniously, at everyone without distinction, including clara’s students at coal hill. personally i think that’s one hell! of a fucking! bird!

13 - no. she’s all famalam hipster mum cringy kindergarten teacher. it doesn’t fit her ~vibe~. the master makes fun of this trait in the timeless children when he’s goading her about her superiority complex. says it’s such a step down from her previous self, at least that one was honest about his emotions

fugitive - she gives no fucks and takes no shit

14 - yes from time to time, like a normal human being would, nothing excessive. donna does bring it out in him though. his mouthy side

15 - this guy says cunt and serves it

[satorurize]

18+, Satoru and Fem!Reader, reader has a flu and satoru is horny asf, creampie, spooning sex, i can't write anything but vanilla sorry :D

People would generally avoid getting too close to sick people, be grossed out, but not your boyfriend, Satoru. If anything, he turned even more clingy and touchy especially when you were sick.

Satoru feels bad for getting turned on while you're sick, stuffy nose and coarse throat, but he really can't help it when he sees you letting out cute moans as you are making your futile attempts to breathe properly. Or perhaps it's the way you have not been wearing any bras underneath your sweaters, the peaks formed by your pebbled nipples underneath the fabric leaves so much to his imagination and he can't help it but feel his pants get unbearingly tight.

He insists on making you the little spoon to keep you warm, going against any fight you put up saying that he'll get sick too. "Me and sickness? Baby that's like south and south of a magnet, just let me warm you up.."

You don't know what sorcerery Satoru does but he manages to get you in the mood by cooing in your ears, nuzzling his nose at the side of your face while the icy tips of his fingers draw patterns on your belly making your feverish body feel like it was ablaze. "Toru please...more.." you cloy and he feels nothing but accomplishments with how much more whinier you sound from the flu, he smiles dimpled, tooth to tooth.

"I've gotchu baby..patience..gonna make you feel real good" without much warning he slips his fingers inside your panties, a synchronised moan fell out from either of your lips, Satoru felt so connected with you even as he drew generous circles on your clit, letting his fingers gather all your nectared sweetness.

He had his fair share of teasing you in the bedroom when you weren't sick, but now that his baby was dependent on him, even just a little, he wanted to give you all, even the most scorching aspect of his love for you. It was beyond logic to understand why he felt this way just because you were sick.

Satoru slowly but unsparingly pumped his fingers into your heat, his hard on unapologetically pressed against the swell of your ass, which he slowly but surely started grinding against you. You with your eager hands couldn't wait any longer, fumbling single handedly with his trousers to take his cock out, your beloved let out a throaty laugh at your avidity, aiding you by pulling it out and discarding his pants away.

He pulled you in roughly, with a playful raspberry blown on your neck. You were onto peeling off your sweater the moment your boyfriend was completely bare, but he held you down, sneaking his one hand underneath your sweater, pinching and flicking your sensitive nipples while his other held his cock, teasing his angry leaky tip onto your glistening folds as you both spooned.

"Don't you dare take that sweater off baby.. you're so fucking hot in that.."

He bottomed out slowly with a soft grunt, holding your body so impossibly close that even merging together felt distant. He fucks you steady and slow, restraining himself from being frantic and each thrust makes you blissfully feel every inch of him, you're a teary, moaning mess and it was exactly what he wanted to achieve.

He presses you down with all his weight, snaking his arm to entangle his fingers with yours, confining your hand tightly against the mattress. Meanwhile, Satoru is on cloud nine, with the aggrevated warmth of your body, the building balmy environment in your bedroom and the way you were squeezing him.

"Fuck yeah baby...keep doing that, gonna fill this pretty cunt up.." He whines and you nod frenzied from the pleasure, reaching your hand to rub rapid circles on your puffy clit—his moans becoming high pitched indicative of his orgasm.

It only takes a second or two after that he cums, releasing his thick ropey ejaculate in your womb and you clench with an orgasm of your own at the sensation of being filled up, milking every last drop.

He pants with a euphoric grin at your fucked out face, nibbling gently on your cheek before he connects your lips in a tender kiss. He keeps rutting his hips into you, seeing how you are oozing out his cum stuffed in you and it makes him rock hard all over again.

And he didn't mind at all waking up with a fever and a stuffy nose the next morning himself.

[bsd-bibliophile]

Or take the case of an educated man with an awkward conscience, intelligence, heart. The mere ache of his own heart will kill him by its torments sooner than any punishment. He condemns himself for his crime more unsparingly, more relentlessly than the most rigorous law.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The House of the Dead

[mimble-sparklepudding]

OC "Secrets and Lies" Ask List.

What was the first lie your OC ever believed? How did they come to learn the truth? Or have they yet to do so?

Would your OC ever read the private diary of a friend or lover, if they had the opportunity?

What is your OC's view on "lying by ommision"? Is it as bad as outright lying in their view?

Has your OC ever had a secret crush on another person? Did they ever confide in anyone else about these feelings? Or were they buried too deep?

Does your OC ever tell "white lies" to spare someone's feelings, or to protect them from an upsetting truth? Or are they unsparingly blunt and uncompromisingly honest?

Is your OC secretive about their wealth? Or are they open about their financial or material resources?

Are there any secrets held by your OC's culture of origin that are held to be sacred? What are the punishments for revealing these to outsiders?

How good is your OC at telling when someone else is lying? Are they able to judge by someone's body language or facial expressions? Or are they easily fooled?

What is the funniest lie your OC has ever told? What made it so comical?

Does your OC have any dark (or not so dark) family secrets? Did they learn about them by accident or were they told?

Is your OC secretly a lot better at something than they let on? If so then what is their reason for pretending otherwise?

Has your OC ever been lied to and forgiven the person who deceived them? How long did this take them? Do they trust them now?

Does your OC feel guilty about lying? Or does it come very easily to them?

Has your OC ever taken on a secret identity or used a disguise to achieve their aims?

Has your OC ever found themselves having to keep lying to cover an original lie? How far did this go?

Has your OC ever pretended to like or enjoy something that they really didn't? Was this to impress others? To avoid causing offence? Or to please a friend or lover?

What would be the consequences that might follow the revelation of one of their deepest secrets? How far would they go to prevent this?

Is your OC a good liar? Or do they stutter or otherwise show they are struggling with the charade?

If your OC has a particular secret (or several) then how does this impact their day to day decision-making and life choices?

Has your OC ever shared a secret in confidence and then been betrayed by the person in whom they confided?

Has (or would) your OC ever blackmailed someone else with compromising information? To what end might they do this?

Has your OC ever engaged in a secret love affair? What was the reason for keeping it secret?

Does your OC have any fears or phobias which they keep secret from others? Is this because they are embarrassed? Ashamed? Or perhaps even guilty?

Has your OC ever had a secret crush? What stopped them trying to act on this?

Is your OC open about their past or do they prefer to keep such things a secret?

Does your OC have a tendence to exaggerate their accomplishments or sexual prowess? Has anyone ever challenged them on this?

What is a lie that your OC knows to be untrue, but prefers to try to believe? What would be the implications of accepting reality in this regard?

Was your OC ever told lies as a child (such as if they pulled a face and the wind changed, it would stay that way)? What age were they when they realised they'd been lied to?

Is your OC prone to false modesty? Is this from a genuine wish not to appear boastful? Or do they have other reasons to conceal their true capabilities?

If your OC was cursed to only be able to tell the complete truth then what would be the consequences? How long would it take them to get into a fight?

Has your OC ever been influenced by propaganda? How did this affect their behaviour? What are their feelings about it now?

Has your OC ever bought something that turned out not to be what was advertised? (perhaps a forged treasure map, a poorly-made replica of an expensive item, or a fake religious relic) What was the outcome of this?

Does your OC have any secret sexual fantasies or kinks? Do they ever plan to explore these in reality? Or are they very much never ever going to discuss these with anyone else?

Has your OC ever lied to let someone down gently? Perhaps by telling an admirer that they are already taken, or that they would love to try their cooking, but they have only just eaten....

What is the darkest secret from your OCs past? Do they keep it secret for their own sake or someone else's?

If dividing up resources (perhaps rations or treasure) then would your OC always be scrupulously fair? Or would they be happy to keep as much back for themselves as possible?

Your OC is asked by a close friend or partner to give their view on a new outfit or set of clothing. It really doesn't look at all good on them and possibly even looks utterly awful. Would they lie and tell them it looks amazing? Bluntly tell them that they look ridiculous? Or tactfully suggest an alternative might suit them better?

Has your OC ever lied to get someone into bed? What did they promise? And what was the fallout when their deceit was revealed?

Is your OC always honest with children? Or does the occasional (or even frequent) lie to scare them into obedience feel quite reasonable?

Has your OC ever been cheated on by a romantic partner? What was the impact of this? Could they ever forgive this infidelity?

Would you OC ever sabotage someone else's success by spreading rumours or dropping a lie in the right ear? What might motivate them to do such a thing?

Has your OC ever broken a promise to another person? Did they ever intend to keep this promise? What made them break it?

Does your OC cultivate a public image that is entirely at odds with their true agenda? How far would they go to maintain this fiction?

Will your OC willingly admit when they are frightened or in pain? Or have they trained themselves to remain stoic at all times?

Does your OC distinguish between groups when it comes to their willingness to lie? Perhaps they would never lie to members of their family or tribe, but outsiders are fair game? Perhaps they instinctively distrust certain people based upon their sex or race or nationality?

What secret completely changed your OC's worldview once the truth was revealed? How did this revelation affect their sense of identity?

Who was the person who made a promise to your OC and then let them down? Have they ever forgiven them?

When it comes down to it, does your OC even believe that there is such a thing as the objective truth? Or is the world just a morass of conflicting beliefs, convenient lies and subjective opinions?

Can your OC handle the truth? Or would they prefer to live in blissful ignorance if given the choice?

How important is it to your OC that they maintain a certain image to those closest to them? How far would they go to maintain this image? What secrets do they conceal that might change how their friends or family view them?

Art by Michael Lang.

[dangermousie]

I almost never do modern cdramas, but two eps in, Tender Light is AMAZING and is very likely to be added to a vanishingly small number of moderns I love (though it's set in 2000 so maybe not so modern?)

This is dark and grinding in a way few modern cdramas I've seen are. These are unhappy people in a small town, desperate, prejudiced, mean, or a combo thereof. Nothing is slick or easy or Polyanna.

The story is set in motion when a beautiful woman, Nan Ya, murders her husband. She claims he was abusive and this was self-defense as he tried to murder her, and the new detective in town looks into this.

What strikes me so much is how unsparingly the people's attitude is shown. Almost nobody is neutral, let alone sympathetic to her. Nan Ya is too pretty, too flashy, she doesn't fit in but also it is all of course her fault - everyone knows she sleeps with men for money say some (clearly salivating over the possibility,) why would her husband beat her - she had to have cheated or something, he is so charming to everyone else say a bunch of others, "he never beat ME" says an ex, she shouldn't have provoked him say ALL.

Even the policeman in charger prior to the new guy wants to treat her as an unrepentant murderer because what self-defense, this looks dumb for his record and also the man is the head of the family, she was trouble etc etc.

Zhang Xincheng's character is about the sole town dweller we see express sympathy - he witnessed the murder but he's also seen the abuse. He's not even saying she should get off or not - as he puts it, the law can determine this - but he sees her as human and as justified and her husband as a monster. He's the only one who does not see her as a flashy weird siren but a woman with burdens - a person. But perhaps it's because he also doesn't fit in - he is also subject of rumors and gossip because he came back from university to retake a year and he can't be gooooood if he did that, can he? Clearly anything away from the 100% norm is judged harshly.

(There are also little touches like his lying to the cop about his timeline and you think it's some big deal but no it's him being in a computer chatroom wishing people across the world happy new year on a board for that, as it gets to 2000, but it's a foreign chatroom and he doesn't want the computer lab owner to be in trouble. It's realistic and dramas rarely do that.)

Anyway, this is vvvvvv good so far. As I was telling @aysekira this is very much BBC prestige show in vibe but very very much a cdrama.

[smuttysabina]

COMMISSION: A Discourse on Disgust

(Male Reader x Jaime, 1000 words) Harsh Femdom, verbal humiliation, pegging, anal, fisting, cumplay, some peeing

"I wasn't expecting much out of you, loser, but this fucking pathetic!" an exasperated Jaime lets your cum-covered cock flop messily back down onto your chest, "I've only been pegging you for like, a minute, and you've already cum, like what the fuck? Like, should I even keep going, you paid me for an hour and its been less than 5 fucking minutes and you've busted. You know, I dont actually care what you want, I'm just going to keep fucking you anyways to teach you not to waste a girls time. Yeah, maybe you can learn some stamina, because I bet you can't even stick this worthless thing in to a girl without busting in like ten seconds. Stop fucking whining! You deserve this! Taste your failure!" Enraged with disappointment, Jaime messily scoops up your load and shoves it into your mouth, spastically plowing you with her strapon all the while. And it had all started out so well...

You had saved enough to meet with Jaime, in private; after all, she is more than happy to fuck her fans during meets or on the streets. But to be with her alone, comes with a cost; with her rapacious appetites, she wants to be compensated for time she could have spent getting gangbanged. So after hawking up the required amount, Jaime was vaguely pleased to discover that you wanted her to dominate you, its a method she is well versed in, and one she enjoys immensely. So off went your clothes, up went your legs, and in went in her strap-on, without much in the way of polite introductions. And now a rather unhappy Jaime is teaching you exactly why you should be careful about what you ask for. She is going to get an hours' enjoyment out of you, whether you like it or not.

Snarling with vicious glee, Jaime continues to fuck your vulnerable ass with gusto, slamming into your prostate mercilessly. Your cock gradually begins to harden once more due to her attentions, until it is flopping uselessly against your stomach once more. Jaime slaps it in disgust, cruelly batting it from side to side as she verbally abuses you, "Well, at least you managed to get it up again, you fucking two-pump chump! Honestly, it would have been better if it stayed small and floppy, because then it wouldn't PISS ME OFF!" Jaime brutally spanks your throbbing manhood, unsparingly punishing it, "I thought that I would get a nice fuck in this afternoon, but instead I just get to abuse you. I was even going to ride you, but I wont even bother, your fucking cock doesn't deserve to go inside a girl's pussy. Oh, you're enjoying this aren't you, you dirty little pervert! I bet you just love getting violated by a hot girl; well unluckily for you I'm not a fucking sadist like Jodi, so I really don't give a shit about what you enjoy."

With that, Jaime suddenly pulls out, leaving your bruised asshole gaping and sputtering foully. She clambers atop your still shuddering body, squatting down above your cock contemptuously. With a depraved giggle, Jaime pisses all over your twitching dick, humiliating it with a golden shower of smelly urine. Sneering with derision she stand back up and daintily steps on your slick manhood; grinding her heel against your balls as she shows her scorn. Rolling her eyes at your piteous moans, she yells at you to stop complaining; rubbing her now dripping foot all over your face, forcing you to savor the flavor of her bladder as well as your semen. Jaime makes a great production about pondering what to do next, thoughtfully holding her chin as she pretends to think about what to do next. Then with a burst of frantic energy she is pulling you over, forcing your face into the covers while hauling your ass into the air. Her tiny palm spanking you in a wicked mockery of your manhood, while a soggy foot keeps you pinned.

By the time she is finished, you are mewling pitifully into the sheets, your cheeks bruised and throbbing painfully; but Jaime isnt finished with you yet. She purrs in delight as she forcefully rubs her hands along your exposed taint, relishing in her her work up until this point; yet still unsatisfied that you learned your lesson. Her lithe fingers quest into your already well-used ass, followed soon after by her knuckles until her whole hand is buried in your whorish asshole. Ignoring your groans, Jaime proceeds to fist you, punching your guts repeatedly as you writhe around her arm. She still has more than enough attention to spare for your mockery of a cock though, her spare hand kneading and squeezing it mercilessly as she urges you to cum. "Awww look at how fucking pathetic your dick is! It's all hard and bulging but it doesn't have a warm hole to enjoy... if only it wasn't attached to a worthless pervert like you! Mmm look at you squirm, you just love getting your ass destroyed, don't you? We could have been having some nice, wholesome sex, but no; you wanted to get fucking abused! How about it this, if your useless balls don't drain themselves into your sheets within... five minutes, I'll mount it. That got your attention! I can see your sack fucking twitching already, are you going to cum just from thinking about sticking your filthy dick in me? Do it! Doitdoitdoitdoitdoit!"

Jaime jackhammers your innards with cheerful brutality, grunting with effort as her other hand ruthlessly jerks you off. She squeals in delight as your seeds voids itself onto the bed, she knew you wouldn't be able to last! Scooping up your leavings, she abruptly yanks her hand out of your now gaping ass, only to dump your own seed within you. She playfully slaps your sore balls, "Later pervert! Maybe next time I'll actually get to enjoy myself, its no fun not getting fucked. Call Jodi instead okay!"

[missbubblesoda]

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (24)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (25) | (26) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 4.4k

As it turned out, taking the post-winter inventory was just as tedious as the winter stockpiling itself, if not a little worse. Your entire arm, from the shoulder down to the pinkie, hurt from holding the heavy logbook; your eyes, from counting every dusty bolt of unused cloth; your back, from bending over to pick up all those fat boxes of untouched grain; and your hand, from writing down all those confusing numbers that had been relentlessly thrown at you all afternoon.

Yes, spending all day inside the storage shed was taxing enough, but you weren’t sure it was worse than what awaited you in your office: The daunting, dragging, and without doubt, ridiculously time-consuming task of condensing all those jumbled up numbers into a detailed log, one that was extensive and comprehensive without turning incomprehensible, so that it could actually be of some use to any ill-starred soldier who found themselves in such dreadful time of the year, when the consultation of dusty old records became inevitable. But hey, the dusty old records left by your predecessors had definitely saved you a frustrated cry or two, so it was only fair you kept the chain going. It was the fair, decent thing to do. Especially when life was so generous to you.

Generous like the orange beams of light seeping through the wood cracks, shining unsparingly on the old cabin walls, as the sun presented its final act of the day. Generous like the ample chorus of cicadas, or perhaps katydids… insects had never been your area of expertise really, performing for free outside the window, announcing that dinner was most likely being served at the castle right now. And you didn’t need to be there to know that the banquet would be generous too, as plentiful and bountiful as the pain all those poor soldiers who spent their day with you at the shed must be enduring at the moment, wincing in pain as they sat down in front of warm meat pies and creamy onion soups. And again, you didn’t need to be there to know that the first comment of the conversation would be something about their feet and how bad they hurt and throbbed inside their boots.

Just like yours did right now.

Yours hurt and throbbed too, but you couldn’t complain.

No, you didn’t feel like doing so. Not even when everyone had already left for the castle and you were still in the shed, in the middle of the woods. Not even when, according to the setting sun and the sudden temperature drop, your shift was supposed to be over by now.

No, you couldn’t complain. Not at all. Definitely not. Especially not when he would kiss you like that, softly and unhurriedly, like the early spring breeze playfully disheveling the tree crowns outside. Not when he would pull away slowly, a smile decorating his glossy lips, admiring you like you belonged in one of those fancy museums your father liked to pretend he visited often. And then, when he seemed to be done memorizing your features, he would pull you in for another kiss, only for the cycle to start all over again. And no matter how many times it had repeated that afternoon, the flutter of butterflies in your stomach was very much ever-present. Without fail, they would show up just as you were about to close your eyes, exactly when his lips were only a hair’s breadth apart from yours. That’s when the butterflies would flutter the most, tickling your insides, and making you giggle.

Making you giggle despite the uncomfortable pile of hay you were sitting on, and the way it was poking your skin through the fabric of your jeans; despite the chilly wind furtively slipping through the cracks of the wood and the way it was making your skin bumpy.

Or maybe it was him the one responsible for that. Maybe it was him, and not the cold, the one responsible for making your hairs stand on end. Yes, maybe it was him and the comfortable hand he kept on the small of your back, gently holding you as yours held his face. Or maybe it was the pleasant way in which the warm sunlight would shine in through the window behind you, artistically gilding the prominent bridge of his nose, masterfully tracing the sharp contour of his jaw, delicately sprinkling the mesmerizing blue of his eyes with gold, making them look like the forest stream from your cabin fantasy, happily glimmering under the sun.

Is this how it was going to be in there, in your little cabin? Kissing in the kitchen, after he comes back from work. His lips on yours the moment he walks in, effectively cutting the words ‘welcome back’ short, promptly trapping them between your lips and his. A reassuring arm wrapped around your waist, telling you how much he missed you. And your hands, cupping his face, telling him how much you did. A wide smile present on your lips the whole time he kisses you, tempted to call it a day already and retreat to the room you share, where you could cuddle under soft, warm covers for the night, but deciding not to when you remember about the pie in the oven. The pie in the oven, you better go check on it. Old-fashioned apples for dinner, because you know how much of a sweet tooth he has, and even though he never asks for it, you always bake something to surprise him with at the end of every meal. Sometimes sugar cream, sometimes orchard pear, sometimes layered pumpkin when you have some extra time, or simple rice pudding when there is none. But always something sweet, sweet like him.

Sweet like the gentle way his lips were cherishing yours back at the dusty storage shed. Softly, unhurriedly, naively, like you had all the time in the world. As if there were no flesh eating giants lurking behind a wall not too many miles away. As if he wasn’t the Commander of the Survey Corps. As if he was just your lover. Simply your beloved and nothing more, the owner of those soft lips now making wet pops against yours, those velvety lips now softly trapping your bottom lip between them, pulling away deliciously slowly, just to start all over again.

Yes, when he was standing between your legs like that, warm chest rising and falling against yours, hand gently holding you close to him, and yours lovingly caressing the bristly skin of his cheek as if it was the softest thing you’d ever get to touch, he became less of a military leader and more like your lover.

“We should get going before it gets too dark.” You said somewhere in between the sugar pecks he was lavishly indulging you with.

“I could kiss you the whole day.” He said, lips puffy and a little red from dancing with yours.

And I could kiss you my whole life. You thought as you stared into his eyes, allowing yourself to travel back to your fantasy cabin for a moment, running a finger across his swollen bottom lip, moist and coated with your saliva. “Well, you can keep kissing me in the office. I happen to have all night as well as a very nice boss who, I’m sure, will understand if I don’t finish this report today.” You smiled cheekily, tapping the papers you had placed in the pile of hay next to you.

“Is that so?” He smiled back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Is he good to you?”

“Very good.” You smirked, emphasizing that last word with a sultry whisper. “He buys me my favorite treats, takes me to fancy parties and then walks me home, doesn’t like it when I work extra hours, puts more wood on the fire as soon as he notices I’m getting cold; oh! and during expeditions, he lets me hug him if I’m scared.” You reminisced fondly of that day, wondering if sometimes he too found himself thinking about the first time you were in each other’s arms, in the Forest of Giant Trees. “He treats me like I’m his princess. Especially when I lie bare on his bed and he makes love to me.”

He stared at you in silence, his attention shifting between your eyes and your lips, and his smile mirroring yours. His demeanor reminded you of the strategic leader he would become at the meeting room, always unpredictable, always ahead of everyone and everything, an experienced chess player meticulously evaluating what his next big move should be. And for a moment, you thought it would involve his lips colliding with yours again, devouring you, your face, your body, as well as your clothes in the process. Making you his right there in the middle of the storage shed, on top of all that prickly hay, like in one of those steamy novels your mother would pretend she didn’t keep under the bedroom mattress. But no, he was too much of a gentleman to do so when you were still in the middle of a conversation.

“Well, maybe because you are.” He finally said, his hand traveling back to your waist and, in a sudden and rather possessive manner, bringing your body closer to his, causing an excited whimper to escape your lips. “His princess.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, the words tickling your ears and making you feel as giddy as you remembered your teenage years to be. And like so, you let yourself melt into his embrace, head resting on his chest, and his lullaby heartbeat tempting you to tell him.

About the cabin in the woods.

Who knows? Maybe he knew of a vacant one, where you could move together. Maybe he had also been thinking about it lately, about moving somewhere quiet and remote. Somewhere where the title of ‘13th Commander of the Survey Corps’ didn’t mean anything. Somewhere where he could wake up after eight on rainy Sundays, grab that old history book, or that blue one with the golden title he was always re-reading, a warm cup of something, and lose himself until lunchtime. Somewhere where he could settle down. With you. The white ceremony in the garden, and maybe later, not too long after that, the very same garden becoming the playground where blonde-haired, blue-eyed toddl-

“Would you be interested in visiting the capital next weekend?” He asked, the sudden question pulling you back to the present moment, and making you sit straight so you could come eye to eye with him. He didn’t have any scheduled meetings in Mitras until the end of next month. “My good friend Hansel will be celebrating his Golden Birthday and he asked me to join.”

You knew he wasn’t particularly keen on those types of gatherings, not only that but, with so much on his plate, he didn’t have the disposition nor the freedom to attend that sort of event. So you figured Lord Koch must be a truly remarkable friend for him to consider attending.

“When he came to deliver the horses last week, he also extended his invitation. Admittedly, I did find it odd at first, that he came all the way down here instead of sending his nephews or assistants like he always does.” He explained, his warm fingertips absentmindedly drawing patterns on the small of your back.

Having grown up listening to your father’s stories about Lord Koch, and never really meeting him formally until recently, you had formed your very own ideas about the man. He seemed to be one of those people who would gladly sell their soul if it meant sorcery could multiply them. One of those folks who wished they could, and since they had money… always could, be a part of everything, everywhere, at the same time, and multiple times. Cutting the ribbon at the latest museum inauguration in the morning, accepting the community leader award at his local temple before noon, participating in both a regional chess tournament and a charity auction by four in the afternoon, feeding the poor in the underground cities at six, attending his grandkid’s academy play before speaking at the annual gala for his family foundation, and then finally getting to take his wife on that lavish trip they planned for commemorating their over-thirty years of marriage. Yes, it made sense he never came down here.

“I was told the bearer of the invitation could bring a companion.” His husky, velvety voice gently brought you back to the shed. Once again, you had gotten lost in your own head. It was particularly easy to do so these days.

“Is that so?” You teased, the butterflies in your stomach already flapping their colorful wings, as your heartbeat began to mirror those of a hummingbird. But he would never be able to tell, if the only thing he had to go by was the manual dexterity your fingers displayed as they straightened up the collar of his shirt. “Are you going to invite Captain Levi? I’m sure everyone at the reception would be delighted to meet Humanity’s Strongest.”

“They most certainly would, but Levi would be less than thrilled.” He smiled innocently, clearly playing along with you. “Not to mention the unfortunate remark I found at the bottom of the invitation, which only acts as yet another deterrent to Levi’s participation: ‘feasting and dancing to follow, the right company is advised.’” He looked you in the eyes, a serious expression suddenly taking over his previously soft, amused features. “I’m afraid Levi doesn’t enjoy dancing.”

You let out a hearty laugh that your mother would have undoubtedly found inappropriate, tickled by both the words as well as the disappointed tone he had chosen for delivering them. And he just looked at you the whole time, letting your laughter fill the room, allowing your joy to warm up the frigid evening air. A sweet smile on his lips as you struggled to regain your composure; once again making you feel like the most absorbing of art works, and making it even harder to forget about your forest fantasy.

“That’s why I’m asking my princess.” He said a little later when your laughter faded down. “For the pleasure of her company.”

You weren’t sure he could hear the champagne popping, the frenzied flutter of the butterflies, or the fireworks show he had started inside you; but you knew, because of the way your ears started burning, that he could definitely see the flustered pinks that had taken over your face, as well as the beaming smile you were trying to hide. Yes, you had made love a couple times already, his lips had spent entire nights on yours, his fingers had explored and conquered places no one else’s had before, he had met you at times of the night where friends, and let alone bosses, never do. But this… this was the first time he had straight up asked you to go somewhere together. Not only that, but in the place that husbands usually reserve for their wives. So all things considered, you couldn’t blame your lungs for their sudden inability to hold air, nor your imagination for all the crazy detours it started to take.

“What does she say?” He asked softly, a small, irresistible smile on his equally tantalizing lips as he pointlessly re-tucked an already perfectly tucked strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hmm.” You raised a finger to your chin and pursed your lips, pretending to think. As if there was something to even think about in the first place.

You weren’t too keen on that type of social gathering yourself, or any type for that matter, but you had endured your fair share of frivolous socializing and marble ballroom occasions during your teenage years, for no reason other than your mother telling you to attend. So, why wouldn’t you do it one more time? This time for him, and for the rare opportunity to see him gift-wrapped in something other than his uniform, for the chance to feast on the sinful way the fabric would most definitely cling to his firm biceps, his rock-solid chest, that delicious ass and the matching pair of perfectly designed thighs that came with it. And when your mind began to explore the possibility of seeing his hair slicked back again, a pulsating warmth started radiating from between your legs

“I think you will encounter no difficulties at the party, Mr. Commander.” You said, your eyes watching your fingers as they fiddled with the emerald oval in his shirt. “Bet there will be lots of fair ladies eagerly waiting for you to extend your hand and lead them into the dance floor.” Your lips curved slightly, enjoying the feeling of his hard muscles under your hands as you glided them down his broad chest. “I don’t know. Maybe even some old lover, trying to make up for lost time.”

“I don’t consider any of those to be likely scenarios.”

“Really? No past lovers wishing to pick up the threads? I don’t believe that.” You smiled, feeling his eyes on you, but choosing to keep yours on the patterns your fingertips were now drawing on his chest. “Something tells me you were quite the charmer when you were a cadet.” You said, finally looking up to meet his eyes before comfortably wrapping your arms around his neck. “Tell me, did you break a lot of hearts back in training camp?”

“Quite the opposite actually.” He replied, something about his demeanor, probably the contrived innocence you found in his eyes, making you question the veracity of his answer.

“So, you’re telling me that all those skills are the result of sheer talent, and that assiduous practice wasn’t a factor at all?” You asked, unable to believe that all the skill he displayed in bed, all the delicious things he did to you, and all the delightful ways he made your body feel, all that came from natural talent alone.

“It’s a long story.” He answered, his hand going back to the spot he liked, at the small of your back.

“I have time.” You said, despite the logbook and the fat pile of papers beside you suggesting the complete opposite. “You can tell me about it now, or…” Your smile mirrored the one that suddenly took over his features, telling you that he already knew what your words would be. “You can tell me next weekend, when you walk me home.”

His eyes traveled back and forth between yours and your lips, reminding you of both your late-night chocolate cravings and a wolf stalking an innocent prey. And then, reluctantly letting your arms drop from their comfortable position around his neck, you added:

“Oh, my bad. How pretentious of me to assume without asking first. Would you please be so kind as to walk me home this time too, Commander Smith?” You asked, already knowing the answer, but pretending to wait for it, as your fingers fiddled with the strings of his bolo tie.

“Even if you lived on the other side of town.” He replied, his rich, irresistible voice making you think of crackling campfires under vast, starry skies.

“Really? I heard Lord Koch’s Mitras estate is in the very outskirts of town.” You teased, playfulness making your lips curve into a mischievous grin.

“I’d walk you home even if it was in Wall Maria itself.”

“Wow, that’s very far to go for someone, Mr. Commander. Especially when that someone is just your assistant.”

He shook his head lightly before replying. “I’d think of it as another felicitous opportunity to spend time with her, which would be heaven-sent indeed, considering I just miss her all the time.” He confessed, bringing your body closer to his, and making the tips of your noses touch. “Even now.”

And you had to fight the overpowering urge to kiss those lips, the urge to behave in very unladylike manners and ask him, beg him, to do equally indecorous things to you with those beautiful, perfectly round, sinfully soft lips that were smiling so prettily at you right now.

“Is that so?” You smirked, wrapping your legs around his waist and trapping him between your thighs. “There, now you can’t escape her.”

“Wasn’t trying to.” He whispered, his voice so deep and so smoky it made you think of the fireplace back at the castle, not the one in your office however, but the one in his room. In front of his warm, soft, tempting bed. As familiar and homelike as the one in your very own room back in Mitras.

And you stole a peck from his smiling lips, before happily returning your arms to their favorite position around his neck, where your fingers started playing with the short hairs on his nape.

You weren’t the biggest admirer of Leon’s uncle. Not that he had done anything bad to you. In fact, you had barely interacted with the man. Admittedly, you did remember cursing his name on an occasion or two, but that had been so long ago. So long you had almost entirely forgotten about it.

You started to reminisce, discovering your own reflection in the beautiful sapphires now staring back at you.

During your academy days, perhaps? When you were still living back home, and your father used to come back late every Thursday. Because Thursdays were his anticipated ‘chess nights’ with Lord Koch, which you had always suspected to be just a façade for their conspiracy theory club. You see, there was only one thing, other than your mother’s green tomato pie, that would make your father’s eyes sparkle the way they did on Thursday nights, and that was royal conspiracy theories.

He believed King Fritz was just an impostor, a very apathetic an alcoholic one, a puppet king placed on the throne by the council for some questionable reason, for the sake of some secret agenda they were trying to hide from the common folks. And that very reason, and not chess, was what his little club sat down to discuss every Thursday. There was no way your father would enjoy a chess club, because if there were two things everyone knew about him was that, one, he hated losing, and two, he never won at chess.

But that’s besides the point. You remember growing to dislike Lord Koch over the years because he used to keep your father for far too long at those so-called ‘chess meetings’, which usually translated in your stomach growling for hours until he finally decided to come home, because your mother always insisted that ‘eating together as a family’ was important, and that the loss of such tradition was slowly leading to the demise of society. But those days were long gone and forgotten, and you liked to think you weren’t good at keeping score or holding grudges against random people.

So no, it definitely wasn’t that. The disfavor you, inadvertently, still regarded Lord Koch with was more irrational than anything else, similar to when you would find a classmate, either from academy or training camp, insufferably annoying but could never give a valid reason why. Maybe it was because Lord Koch always wanted to be a part of everything. Maybe it was because everyone seemed to be obsessed with him and you didn’t understand why. Or maybe it was because he had happened to show up then, when the Commander and you were going through difficult times. Yes, maybe it was that. Maybe it was your brain unknowingly associating him with the bad memories from that day: the Commander coming back after spending the whole day riding out in the field with him, asking you if there was something between you and Leon. Why would he even-

“What is it?” He suddenly asked, bringing you back to the dark shed, making you realize that night had fallen over you, and that the moonlight sparkled way more prettily on his eyes than it ever did on the surface of the water. “You’re so quiet.”

“Nothing.” You replied, the corners of your lips instantly lifting at the sound of his voice. “I was just thinking about how much my father sucks at chess, about the King’s seemingly worsening alcohol problems, about how nicely the moonlight complements your features, and about my dresses and which one would be the easiest for you to take off me.”

“Wow.” He blinked a couple times as if trying to understand how were all those things related to each other. “That’s- that’s a very interesting, very peculiar association of ideas. Each one more thought-provoking than the other. Especially the last one.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled.

“Erwin.”

“Mhm?”

You weren’t sure if this was the moment to talk about it, but you found the loving way his eyes were studying your features, as well as the soothing thumb he was running across your cheek rather encouraging. So, you decided to go ahead.

“Did-” You took a deep breath. “Did Lord Koch tell you something back then?”

He didn’t respond and you took his silence as an indication that you could ask more.

“Did he mention anything that made you think there was something between his neph-”

“That doesn’t matter.” He hushed you just like he had back then, when you had tried to ask about the same thing. “All that matters to me is what we have.” He took your hand and brought it to his lips. “Right now.” His eyes were crystal clear, and what you saw in them was exactly what he was telling you. “Whatever happened yesterday, whatever happens tomorrow…all that matters to me is that we had today.” He kissed your knuckles, letting the pleasant warmth of his lips linger on your skin, closing his eyes tightly as if trying to carve the moment into his memory. “And I will always remember it.”

“Me too.” You said, nostalgia suddenly infusing the air of the cabin, creeping into your heart and burdening it with unexplainable melancholy.

I love you.

You confessed in your head as your fingers played with the soft, golden strands on the back of his.

Perhaps all that matters is that I love you. That I love you even if you didn’t say it yesterday and even if you don’t say it tomorrow.

You said in your thoughts as you pulled him closer.

Even if I never get to hear it back from these very lips.

You told him without words, as your lips welcomed his.

Even if they never return these words.

You surrendered without a fight as his tongue claimed what was rightfully his.

I love you just the same, Commander.

You promised him in silence, tasting in his kiss both the bitterness of the lemon and the sweetness of the honey you never forgot to add to his warm cups in the morning.

And I will always do.

Including busy mornings like today's, when it remained forgotten on his desk, still silently waiting for him in the middle of the cold, dark office.

-

next chapter

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[soapels]

mutualism

simon “ghost” riley x female reader ♡

content: sfw, ghost is soft for reader but also tsundere and has little to no idea of how to express it lolol

jupe’s notes: hope u enjoy this lil blurb thing. :] its inspired by an otome i played like seven years ago lol. (dont ask why chocolate keeps appearing in my ficlets) also pls pls show sum love if u like it >_> reading yalls thoughts and comments cheers me up, fr makes my day hehe 💗 enjoy babes

all hearts, reblogs, & comments are very appreciated! ♡

“You hungry?”

Ghost huffs, “Aren’t you?”

It’s harmless, and he’s never unwittingly harsh with the intent to hurt you- it’s just who he is, and you know that.

So you swiftly brush away the flustered pang in your chest, deciding to inch closer to him instead, the burly man settled at the bank of the river.

Gases spill over the tree-line up at the village, tucked away behind poppies and pines on the mountaintop. The two of you won’t be getting out of here for a while- the heli crashed, pilot’s dead. The radio (or the general connection out here in the boonies) is so fucked up that nobody’s responding over it to all the calls for help you tried to make.

Regardless. You fix yourself down beside him, drawing your knees to your chest as a small hand digs through your breast pocket.

“Lieutenant, I—“

Before you can even properly pull it out, (and his prediction skills are beyond you) he’s giving you an uncivil shake of his head, wrapping his gloved fingers over your forearm to stop you.

“Save it, sergeant…” As if realizing his curtness, and the slightly-dejected flicker of your wide eyes, his grip on you loosens, and he murmurs softly. “Rather you eat whatever the hell it is than give it to me.”

You pause for a fleeting moment, thinking his words over.

His dark, chestnut hues sweep over you in uneven waves from beneath his mask, slowly, taking in every movement and micro-expression on your end.

(You wonder what it is he sees.)

When he releases you entirely, you clutch the small, wrapped food tighter in your palm and carefully hold it in your lap.

And for a few weighty, silent seconds- just the sound of fresh water rubbing at the pebbled shore, the pines rustling in the breeze paired with your and Ghost’s shared breaths- Simon thinks you’ve yielded.

He’s wrong.

“But—“

“No buts, pup,” he chastises, tossing you a lingering glance from the side of his eye. It makes you stiffen up some, your own gaze darting away to the lush swathes of grass beneath you.

But it’s not quite enough to sway you, or stop you entirely.

“Just take it, Lieutenant,” you near beg, flashing him that daunting, slow little smile that carves up into the apples of your cheeks. (Never knew something so sweet could be so haunting to Ghost- how ironic.)

He intakes a long, gruff breath.

And scoops it out of the dip of your gracious, eager palms. He looks down at it, the thing even smaller in his big, gloved hands.

Makes a half-amused sort of sound.

A Hershey’s Kiss.

The wrapping crinkles, breaks, Ghost stuffing the flimsy strings of it into one of his pockets before he pauses. And you hope he doesn’t hear the rather-obnoxious grumble of your tummy, observing him carefully, quirking a brow at the odd, foreign glitter to his umber eyes-

Wordlessly, he rucks up the bottom half of his mask and pops the small chocolate into his mouth.

Your scrutiny softens, then, your smile deepening as you linger on him for a moment more, relief billowing in your chest (you were so happy you’d saved the sweet, realizing you could do some good for your Lieutenant out here stranded in the middle of nowhere) as you turn away—

A gloved thumb finds your chin, snatching your attention in as his lips brush with yours.

Ghost’s tongue grazes the roof of your mouth, and amidst the initial shock of it all- the hot spark creeping down to your guts- you don’t even realize the sweetness that invades your tastebuds until he’s already leaning away, licking unsparingly at his lips.

You swallow.

You… swallow. The sugary remnants of the treat you virtually begged for him to eat.

…Dammit!!

Your face is going mad warm and you’re grabbing for his stupidly-strong arm before you can even think to stop yourself-

“T-That’s not fair!” You blurt out, brows furrowed into a cute, flustered pinch that does no favors for the sensual storm stirring in Ghost’s belly. “You cheated- that was supposed to be for you, Simon!”

Simon.

“Well, pup,” he punctuates rather harshly, eyes flickering away briefly- holding some unreadable twinkle to them- before they find yours again.

“It benefited the both of us, didn’t it? …Mutualism at it’s bloody finest.”

(Because he enjoyed it- fuck, probably more than he should’ve… His head spins like he’s been dealt a good blow.)

You spare him one last thoughtful, riled-up huff before turning away, tucking your chin to your knees as you curl in on yourself.

Your heart’s hammering.

Simon’s is drilling holes into his ribs.

But he doesn’t tell you that. And you’d never know, only if he chose to let you—

“Though…”

his low, thick voice strikes up again, and that’s when you realize his gaze never really broke away from you.

You glance over and his fingers are working at his right glove, those dark, inscrutable eyes set dead on you. You, you, you. It sends a chill right down your spine, down to your tummy, to your everything, and your breath stutters.

His does, too, as he suddenly dips in. A large, warm palm swallowing up the soft curve of your cheek.

“I think I’ve got an idea to sate the both of us- properly, this time.”

[chloe-spade]

A Rose Sword Act Three: The Sleeping Curse

Amore and Silver walked hand in hand as the faeries led them toward the royal castle, the sun casting a warm glow as it slowly set behind them. But the way Silver's grip on Amore's hand spoke volumes that words could not convey.

"Silver," Amore whispered.

"Don't," Silver mumbled, his voice strained with an unspoken burden. "I can't think too hard if I speak."

Amore felt bad. Even when he was gone, he knew Silver was distraught about everything that had happened; he was, too. He looked over back at Dew, who was fidgeting with his wand. Amore didn't know how badly he must've felt, but he knew it was pretty bad. Dew was like a father towards him and was a father to him. Amore felt like he had stabbed Dew in the back.

Which makes things worse.

"Remember, dear children," Wisp spoke softly. "We want you all to have a great time tonight, and please don't worry about us. We will still be here, and….where is Lilia?"

"Hiding among the shadows again," Mitah sighed. "He thinks the queen will not like him there; however, call him, and he'll be there."

"Classic father," Silver spoke fondly as they entered the castle.

The castle's ivory walls spoke volumes about the royal family's power, with pink cloth draped alongside them and candles lit in the hallway. Family portraits were also there, and Silver couldn't help but feel like the portraits stared down at him.

The guard ahead looked back at them.

"State your name, business and reason for being here?"

"Madam Wisp, I have the two royal princes, and we decided to bring them back from hiding and bring them back to the King and Queen," Wiap explained. Please, I assure you, please let us in."

"Ah, yes, I have been told of your arrival today." The guard coughed. "Please follow me and our royal announcer will be of service to you."

The guards led everyone towards the golden gates, and the royal announcing gasped in delight.

"Oh, happy day! The royal princes' have returned and look at both of you, as beautiful as your darling mother. Both with such purple eyes and fair skin, like how we thought you two would look like! Please, tell me your names so I can announce for the ball!"

"Uh, should we?" Amore whispered.

"I suppose so," Silver shrugged.

"Ah, well, go on, my dears," Wisp smiles. "Please."

"I'm…Amore."

"And I am Silver."

"Ah, thank you!" The announcer cleared his throat. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Lords and Ladies, King and Queens! I am happy to announce Prince Amore!"

Amore gulped as he fixed his crown and walked forward, everyone clapping happily. He only managed to wave, though very, very nervous.

"Ladies and Gentleman, Lords and Ladies, Kings and Queens! I am happy to announce Prince Silver."

Silver followed Amore and walked towards the king and queen, who looked happy to see them.

"Our dear sons," Daniel spoke happily, rushing to hug them. "Oh, I can't believe it's been this long since you two were taken away. You have your mother's beautiful eyes."

"Heh, thank you," Amore smiles and eases into the hug. "I can see that."

"I appreciate the compliment, your highness," Silver said, backing away from the hug. "And I thank you for the party you created for us."

"Please, do not be shy, Silver," Serena beams. "We are just so happy that you both have returned home to us after so long."

"I do get that, my queen," Silver gulped softly. "I am not comfortable with parental formalities yet."

"That's alright, Silver," Daniel spoke up. "You grew up with the faes for a long time, and I do not mind that you are not ready. You just got back."

"Speak for yourself," Amore heard Serena grumbled.

"Please just enjoy yourselves, it's your birthday," Daniel invited.

Amore and Silver could only look at each other before walking toward the ballroom, ready to greet the guests.

🖤

Sebek felt his heart race as his grandfather led him towards The Mistress's throne room. Baal was unsparingly silent, but he spoke with Sebek in such a dark tone that he suspected something was wrong. He only said that The Mistress had requested him, and they needed to speak about something essential.

"Ah, Sebek Zigvolt," laughed The Mistress as they entered.

Sebek looked to see Malleus, who looked unnaturally scared.

"Your Majesty," Sebek bowed down towards her.

"Glad you were able to join us," The Mistress spoke as she stood. "Your grandfather has spoke to me about something. And I do value your honestly of this matter."

Sebek couldn't hide his confusion as The Mistress's hand summoned a picture. The same picture of Sebek and Amore that day of the village, and once he saw it, Sebek's own heart sank.

"Your Majesty," Sebek gulped.

"Oh, so you do know this is yours?" The Mistress laughed. "Such an adorable picture, I was almost jealous. But I couldn't help but notice your beautiful friend with his golden locks and aurora-colored eyes, like one of the missing princes."

"He is merely a friend of mine," Sebek spoke up firmly, still shaking.

"I could tell, but do tell me," The Mistress walked forward. "Are you aware of this boy being a prince?"

"I…," Sebek felt his voice caught in his throat.

Sebek had a clue after that old woman told her tale about the twins, but they didn't suspect Amore about it until he returned home after that day in town. He knew it was wrong not to alert The Mistress, but he wanted to protect Amore, which he did see as odd considering his relationship with them was tainted, but Amore made it clear that most humans wouldn't even care about a fae's existence, which was true.

He couldn't bring himself to let Amore come to harm.

"Why hesitant, boy!?" The Mistress scowled.

"I did not know," Sebek stuttered. "He was merely a boy, and I did not know about his royal lineage."

"Sebek," The Mistress rolled her eyes. "Of course, you knew, but you refused to speak. You know I made this mission to find them before you were even born. You know that my lifetime is to make sure that the royal family suffers from their disrespect! Now that I have found them, they will die underneath my palm like I cursed years ago! But now I see that my own grandson's knights have mingled with one, and to hide him from me?! That is a betrayal that I do not forgive! And you know I punish those with a lifetime in the dungeon until they die underneath my hand!"

With a snap of her fingers, knights appeared and grabbed Sebek.

"Grandmother!" Malleus protested. "What if Sebek truly didn't know? I do not think he should be punished for this."

"Malleus! Defending a traitor? I would have half a mind to send you there myself!" The Mistress scoffed. "As far as I am concerned, Zigvolt is a traitor! A nasty little worm who deserves it for lying to me!"

Sebek could only stare at Baal's cold expression as he was taken away, meeting the cold area of the dungeon. As the metal bars surround him, he could look at the night sky, now worried about Amore's safety.

"Please be safe," Sebek prayed as he sat down.

🌹

"Allow to announce King Metis and His two sons, Prince Dustin and Derek!"

"Oh, good joy," Serena smiles.

A plump man approached, already drinking a cup of wine, his sons behind him, and he laughed.

"AH! Daniel! It's been so long!" The king laughed, patting Daniel's back. "So nice of you to invite us after so long! And look at these beauties! Beautiful princesses to marry my handsome sons."

"Excuse me?" Silver raised an eyebrow.

"Don't mind him, he looks…intoxicated," Amore whispered towards Silver.

"I noticed,"

"Then let our children dance together," Serena offered. "Might help them get along."

Dustin, the eldest, walked towards Amore and raised his hands. "You don't mind if we have this dance, your highness?"

Amore took his hand. "Lead the way."

Dustin and Amore walked toward the ballroom dance floor and bowed before going into a slow dance, the music starting again.

"Sp, tell me," Dustin began to speak. "Tell me about yourself."

"Oh, well, I like to garden with my family, sewing, and cooking. I find it quite peaceful and helps me clear my mind," Amore answered. "Perhaps I could make some berryful pancakes for you soon."

"They seem like nice hobbies, but aren't they a little too feminine for you? Don't you ever want to get dirty? Or prank people?"

"Oh heavens no! I learned that being kind can do a long way in life," Amore gasped. "And I happen to get dirty when I was a mere child playing hide and seek. And another thing, I don't think you could judge me here."

"No," Dustin shrugged. But I do think cooking would be phenomenal once we get married."

"…Oh? You are asking me? So sudden," Amore commented.

"You didn't know? We have been engaged for years now," Dustin explained. "It was an agreement with my father and your parents."

"But that's…." Amore stammered.

"Amazing? I know. I feel fortunate to have someone like you as my partner."

"Excuse me! Are you telling me this engagement happened while I was away at a cottage, not knowing who you are until now?" Amore clarified. "And now that I am back, we have to wed?"

"Right away," Dustin answered.

"No," Amore scoffed. "Absolutely not. I have no right to agree with this. I barely know you and you are no more than a stranger to me. And a single dance isn't enough time to make me fall for you, and I just don't think I could. And I already…love someone else. And I will continue to love him, even I am forced to marry you."

"Then where is he?" Dustin mocked. "If he truly loved you, he should be here celebrating your birthday."

Amore felt his face burn as he pointed at his necklace. "He gave me this! And what have you gave me exactly? Other than a dumb and worthless proposal."

Amore turned to leave but felt Dustin pull him close, his hand tight around his waist.

"Sorry to break it to you, princess, but you are marrying me, even if you hate me for all of eternity."

"Let me go of me!"

"Pardon me," a masked stranger said. "Did I hear this man ask you to let him go?"

"Back off, swine, he and I are to wed soon," Dustin snarled.

The man's cold eyes glared down at Dustin as he softly took Amore's hand. Amore couldn't help but pull away, walking towards the stranger and ignoring Dustin.

"How about we go outside together, my dear?" The masked stranger speaks softly. "You need fresh air."

Amore nodded, and the stranger led him away towards the gardens.

"Sebek," Amore whispered. "How did you get here?"

"It's a long story," Sebek said, taking off his mask. "But are you okay? That human seemed to give a hard time."

"That was supposed to be my future husband," Amore scoffed and sat on the bench. "It turns out my actual parents gave them permission to wed us when we returned. But don't see how wrong it is, being used like you were nothing. I mean, I wouldn't mind getting to know Dustin, but he acts like I'm some sort of pet. I can't help but get upset about it."

"Good thing I came along," Sebek said, sitting beside Amore.

"I'm so glad you did. I was worried that Dustin might do something drastic." Amore looked over at Sebek. "But what are you doing here? I thought you didn't want to be here?"

"That was until I found something out, and I was trying to look for Lilia, but I couldn't find him yet."

"Why?"

"…um…"

"Oh, am I interupting something?"

Sebek and Amore jumped as Lilia appeared in front of them.

"Ah! Lilia! Thank the stars I have found you," Sebek got up. "It's about The Mistress! She found out, and she may strike soon!"

"Pardon? How?" Lilia asked, now panicked. "How did she found out?"

"Well, I happen to-."

"Who's The Mistress? And what do mean she found out? About what?" Amore questioned.

"Ugh, Amore, this is private, and I cannot taint you more than that woman has," Lilia said.

"Please, I am 17 years old, and I dont need to be talked down like I am a child." Amore huffed.

"Remember that old lady and her tale?" Sebek reminisced.

"About the twins…who got cursed when they…" Amore trailed off. "It was about Silver and I? We were cursed!"

"Yes," Lilia spoke. "The Mistress was not invited to your christening, and as a result, she cursed you both on your 18th birthday that you would die. you were spared, but the curse is still ongoing. But doing it a year early was our plan to avoid it. I was there myself, and I was the one who suggested taking you far way into the woods. But thats only half of my story."

"Half?"

"Twins are considered a bad omen, and one tradition that stopped was bringing one twin as a sacrifice to us, faes. But it..it didn't sit well."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I am quite happy about my choice but I know how much Silver doesn't want to be here."

"Silver?"

⚔️

Silver couldn't even spend a few minutes with Derek. Derek is self-centered and treats Silver horribly. It didn't help that he boasted about hunting animals and claimed to be one of the best hunters in existence.

Silver managed to walk away to the food court. He managed a sigh of relief as he took a small donut to munch on.

"Ugh, such a pompous man," Silver managed. "He's almost such a carbon copy of his Father. If he wasn't so drunk, he might actually be the same. I can't believe I managed to get away without him noticing. But I definaly need to get away before he sees me again."

Silver walked away but couldn't help but notice a knight who was munching on some of the food. He couldn't see a pair of hyena ears that twitched when he took another bite of a donut.

Silver couldn't help but walk forward and carefully pet the ears, causing the knight to jolt.

"Hey-!" gasped the knight. "I might be off duty at the moment, but that doesn't mean you can pet my ears!"

"But you never minded when I did so before," Silver spoke.

"Gh-! Silver?!" Ruggie gasped and took off his helmet. "Wow…you look…you look gorgeous."

"Thank you," Silver blushed.

"But how are you here? I mean, it's not a bad thing that you are but…I uh," Ruggie blushed. "I'm sorry but you look amazing."

"Thank you, and as a prince, I should look presentable."

"P-prince?! I mean, you were one of the twins? Oh shoot, no wonder that you and Amore looked do familiar."

"You didn't hear the announcement?"

"I was by the east tower," Ruggie chuckles. "So I didn't hear it. But I guess that makes my knight shift exciting. I know the prince personally, maybe that could give me such an adventage."

Silver giggles. "Maybe. But this ball is getting boring and I frankly have nothing to. So, I must be lucky and I saw you."

"Well, I do have some ideas," Ruggie smiles and takes Silver to the dance floor. "We didn't finish our dance back in the woods."

"We didn't?"

"Nope, so may I have this dance, my prince?" Ruggie bowed and took Silver's hand.

Silver smiles and holds Ruggie's hand. "Of course."

Silver felt Ruggie start the dance, and his heart beat as Ruggie's hands held him close. Silver couldn't help but hold Ruggie's metal hand tight and refused to let go, especially after what happened. He loves Ruggie with all of his heart; maybe it should be a time to tell him. Who knows when this might be the last time they see each other?

"Ruggie," Silver started, but a door slammed open, revealing an angry Amore.

"You are absoloute lowlife of royalty!" Amore screamed towards the king and queen. "You are the lowest of the low and I have never been so disgusted to be here and to be your son right now."

"Amore, what is this about?" Serena asked. "Don't make a scene, you are a prince."

"I don't think you have a right to talk to me after your actions." Amore snapped. "Not only did you start a war with the faes, you murdered their queen, and even after all of that, you still didn't invite the actual queen to the christening?!"

"Because that women is a monster," Serena calmly spoke. "Unlike the kind fae that took care of you, she harmed you."

"Because you didn't invite her, which is disrespectful to the faes," Amore added. And you…you wanted to…"

"Wanted to what?" Serena snarled. "Speak properly if you are going to lecture me on what I thought was right for my twins, who I love dearly."

"Not enough to name one, and would instead leave them for the faes!" Amore spilled.

Serena and Daniel gasped and looked over at each other.

"Amore, what could you possibly mean?"

"…Mother wanted to get rid of him, all because he was my twin brother."

"Who could've told you such a ridiculas tale?" Serena scoffed.

"I did, your highness," Lilia grinned as he appeared behind her.

"You! How dare you spread lies to my son!" Serena screamed. You want to ruin my reputation because I didn't invite your queen? How low can you go, General Lilia?"

"I haven't lied about anything," Lilia shrugged. "I told everything from my perspective of the event, especially since I was the one who named Silver, My Queen."

Serena's face turned pale, and she glared down at Lilia.

"Father, what is this?" Silver finally spoke up and walked forward.

"Father!? You want to call this decrepted fae as a father?" Serena snapped at Silver. "He stole you as a child, and yet you call him Father?Faes like him have no heart, killing those humans without much a hesitation."

"Serena, please calm down." Daniel begged.

"Pardon you, byt my father has been a nice fae to me and everyone else," Silver defended. "As far as I am concerned, he is my Father and he's the only person I could say is my Father and will always be my Father. He is the man who raised me."

"My point, exactly," Amore added. "I love my own Father so much that I can't even call you mother and Father yet because of this. And now here you are, just badmouthing the very faes you trusted to take care of us."

"Well, they may have raised you, but I am your mother, no matter what circumstances," Serena exclaimed, then she glared at Silver. "Ugh, I should've just gave you up when I had the chance. None of this would have happened if I left you with those faes!"

"Serena!! Watch what you are saying!" Daniel gasped.

Serena gasped as she felt Silver push her away.

"Stay away from me.." Silver whispered before walking out of the room.

Amore quickly followed but was soon shown a door with muffled crying inside.

"Silver," Amore sighed sadly, knowing he couldn't intervene.

"Allow me," Lilia said softly. "You go on and calm down, Amore. You have done enough already, and I thank you for that, but focus on yourself for now."

Amore nodded and walked to the opposite tower, looking at the kingdom below.

He felt horrible for how he reacted, but Amore knew that even if he wanted to, he couldn't keep it a secret and that his life before was the life he wanted to return to. He hated being part of a corrupt royal family, and the way Serena spoke of the faes hurt, considering how much he learned about Faes.

But some time to himself may do him good.

"Amore….," a soft voice echoes behind him.

"Who's there?"

Amore looked behind him, and a green orb appeared. He didn't even know what had happened, but he felt himself moving toward the green orb, and he couldn't control his body.

"Amore?" he heard Sebek call out.

But Amore couldn't even say anything as he started to walk up the stairs, following the orb until he found himself in the same room as a spindle and a needle so enticing that Amore stepped forward and lifted his finger towards it, getting closer and closer.

"Amore!?" Sebek gasped. "Amore! No!!"

But it was too late for Sebek as Amore's finger touched the needle, and the blood stained it. Amore gasped in pain and fell into Sebek's arms.

"….Sebek…" Amore yawned. "I…I love you."

With that, Amore fell asleep, the start of the eternal sleep.

"No..," Sebek sobbed, holding Amore close. "..I love you too."

🦇

"Silver?" Lilia knocked on the door.

"…..come in."

Lilia opened the door, and his heart broke when he saw Silver's head down on the vanity, just sobbing. Lilia had never seen Silver so devasted, so upset to the point that he was sobbing. He carefully rubbed his son's

back, letting him cry.

"I am so sorry…I never wanted you to find out like that," Lilia started. "I knew that one day that you would return to them and I didn't have to heart to tell you the truth, even when I wanted to. And It's my own fault, I know."

Silver didn't say a word as another sob left his mouth.

"I just want you to know that I am so glad that you see me as your Father like I have see you as my own son. I love you so dearly that it pained me let you go," Lilia confessed. "Being your Father was the best thing that could've happened to me, and I know that it's a little too late to say that, but ever since I held you in my arms, that faithful knight, I knew that I wanted to give you a life that I knew Serena would never give you. And that was a promise I made to you then…and I will keep now."

Lilia kissed his forehead. "I'll be outside the door when you are ready to talk."

Lilia took one more look before closing the door, leaving Silver alone.

"Silver…." a quaint voice echoed, and a green light reflected onto him.

Silver slowly lifted his head in a trance-like state as he saw a shadowy figure. The fireplace slowly became a staircase, and a green orb appeared, leading Silver up the stairs. It was like his body was moving independently without much thought. Even when he heard Lilia calling his name in a panic, Silver couldn't even call out to his Father. He found himself at the top of the west tower, and the green orb turned into a spindle, with the needle shining bright and his hand lifted, a finger getting closer and closer to the needle.

"Silver!"

Silver gasped and looked back at Lilia, who looked horrified, but it was too late; Silver's finger made contact with the needle, the blood straining it as Silver felt his body fall down, and luckily, Lilia caught him.

"Father…I'm sorry," Silver yawns.

"F-for what?" Lilia spoke, tearing up.

"…for saying I love you back. I do. You're the best Father what I have had…I'm sorry that I didn't say it."

"…Silver, just hang in there, alright…"

Silver didn't respond, officially falling asleep.

"I'm so sorry, my son," Lilia sobbed. I am so sorry. I should've protected you, and I let you down."

"You are such a fool, Lilia," he heard The Mistress's mock. "You think that you could fool me?! The Mistress of all Evil?! Now, that human you call a son is now under my curse now. No one will stop me!"

Lilia glared at her and held Silver close as he watched The Mistress disappear, her laugh echoing in the tower halls.

[imall4frogs]

“What will stick will be the videos of grandmothers dragged into captivity, children shot dead, young women stripped naked, corpses desecrated. For many Jews, the echoes are primal, and go back to the two-and-a-half-millennia-old Book of Lamentations: ‘Her virgins are afflicted … Her young children are gone into captivity … The youth and the old man lie on the ground in the streets … Thou has slaughtered unsparingly.’ The scenes are ones that scar so much of Jewish history, from the massacres of the Crusades to the pogroms of the 19th and early 20th centuries, to the ultimate horror of the Holocaust. They are deep and indelible in the psyche of even the Israeli who surfs on Saturday and doesn’t mind a ham sandwich; they will color everything that follows hereafter.”

—Eliot A. Cohen for The Atlantic

[paperandsong]

Les Demoiselles

From Légendes rustiques, illustrated by Maurice Sand, written by George Sand, 1858

Original French at Project Gutenberg

J'en viyons une, j'en viyons deux,

Que n'aviant ni bouches ni z'yeux;

J'en viyons trois, j'en viyons quatre,

Je les ârions bien voulu battre.

J'en viyons cinq, j'en viyons six

Qui n'aviant pas les reins bourdis

Darrier s'en venait la septième,

J'avons jamais vu la huitième.

Ancien couplet recueilli par Maurice SAND.

We saw one, we saw two,

They had neither mouth nor eyes;

We saw three, we saw four,

I would have liked to beat them.

We saw five, we saw six

Tired from leaping,

The seventh came up from behind,

We have never seen the eighth.

Old couplet collected by Maurice SAND

English translation:

The Demoiselles of Berry seem to be cousins of the Milloraines of Normandy, whom the author of “Normandie merveilleuse” (Marvellous Normandy) describes as gigantically tall beings. They stand still, and their shape, too indistinct, allows nothing recognizable as limbs or faces. When one approaches them, they flee in a series of leaps, uneven and quick.

The demoiselles, or “pale girls” are everywhere. I do not believe they are of Gallic origin, but rather French, from the Middle Ages. Whatever the case may be, I shall report one of the most complete legends of them that I have been able to collect.

In the last century, a gentleman from Berry named Jean de la Selle lived in a castle deep in the woods of Villemort. The country, sad and wild, becomes a little livelier at the edge of the forest, where the ground, dry and flat and planted with oaks, slopes down to the meadows; these are flooded by a series of small ponds which are nowadays rather badly maintained.

At the time of our tale, water already filled the meadows of M. de la Selle, the good gentleman not having much money with which to clean up his land. He had a fairly large area, but of poor quality and little yield.

Nevertheless, he lived happily, thanks to his modest tastes and wise and cheerful character. His neighbours sought him out for his good humour, great sense, and patience in the hunt. The peasants of his estate and the surrounding lands considered him a man of extraordinary kindness and rare delicacy. It was said that rather than do the slightest harm to a neighbour, whomever he was, M. de la Selle would rather have the shirt torn off his back and his horse snatched from between his legs.

It just so happened that one evening, M. de la Selle, having gone to the Berthenoux Fair to sell a pair of oxen, was coming back along the edge of the woods, escorted by his tenant farmer, the great Luneau - a fine man with a knowing air - and he was carrying, on the thin backside of his grey mare, a sum of six hundred livres in large, flat bills bearing the likeness of Louis XIV. This was the price of the cattle sold.

Being the good country gentleman that he was, M. de la Selle had dined beneath the leafy boughs of the trees, and, as he did not like to drink alone, he made the great Luneau sit before him, and poured himself the vintage wine unsparingly in order to set an example and to put Luneau at ease. He poured so much that the wine, the heat, the day’s fatigue, and, above all, the rhythmic trot of his grey mare put M. de la Selle to sleep atop his horse, and he arrived home without really knowing how long it had been or which way they had gone. It had been Luneau's job to lead them, and Luneau had led them well, for they arrived safe and sound; not a hair on their horses was wet. M. de la Salle was not quite drunk. In his life, he had never been seen out of his senses. As soon as he arrived, he told his valet to take the valise of money to his room. He then had a very reasonable conversation with the great Luneau, bid him goodnight, and went to sleep without even looking for his bed. But the next day, as soon as he opened his valise to take out his money, he found nothing but large stones, and, after searching in vain, was forced to admit that it had been stolen.

The great Luneau, sent for and consulted, swore upon his chrism and his baptism, that he had seen the money well-counted and placed into the valise, which he had loaded and secured himself on the mare’s backside. He also swore on his faith and his law that he had not gone the length of a horse away from his master all the time they had been on the main road. But he confessed that once they had entered the forest, he had felt a little sluggish, and had been able to sleep atop his beast for about a quarter of an hour. He had found himself all of a sudden near the Gâgne-aux-Demoiselles, and, from that moment on, had not slept or seen another Christian soul.

“Come now,” said M. de la Selle, “some thief will be laughing at us. It is more my fault than yours, my poor Luneau, though neither of us has anything to brag about. I am the only one who suffers, since you did not share in the sale of the cattle; I can bear the brunt of this, even if the whole thing bothers me. That will teach me not to fall asleep on horseback again!”

Luneau tried in vain to cast his suspicions off onto some poachers active in the area.

“No, no,” said the kind country gentleman, “I do not want to accuse anybody. All the people of that area are honest. Let's not talk about it anymore; I've gotten what I deserve.”

“But perhaps you are rather angry with me, Master…”

“For having slept? No, my friend; if I had entrusted the valise to you, I am sure you would have stayed awake. I have only myself to blame, and well, I don’t intend to punish myself too hard. It's bad enough to have lost the money, let us save our good mood and appetite.”

“If you trust me, though, Master, you would have the Gâgne-aux-Demoiselles searched.”

“The Gâgne-aux-Demoiselles is a grassy pit half a league long; it would be no small project to stir up all that mud, and besides, what would we find? My thief will not have been so stupid as to sow my money there!”

“Say what you like, Master, but perhaps the thief is not what you think!”

“Ah! Ah! My dear Luneau, you too believe that the demoiselles are malicious spirits who enjoy playing evil tricks!”

“I don't know about that, Master, but I do know that, being there one morning with my father, before daylight, we saw them as I see you now; and that, returning home quite frightened, we had neither hats nor caps on our heads, nor shoes on our feet, nor knives in our pockets. Come now, they are clever! They seem to run away, but, without touching you, they take all that they can and must use it, for it is never found. If I were you, I would have the whole swamp drained. Your meadow would be better off, and the demoiselles would soon be flushed out; for every man of good sense knows they do not like dry land, and that they fly from pool to pool, from pond to pond, as the fog on which they feed fades away.”

“Luneau, my friend,” responded M. de la Selle, “draining the swamp would certainly be good for the meadow. But besides the fact that it would take the six hundred livres I lost, I would still think twice before dislodging the demoiselles. It's not that I believe in them, exactly, having never seen them, nor any farfadet  or creature of the sort; but my father believed in them a little, and my grandmother absolutely did. When we spoke of them, my father would say, ‘Leave the demoiselles alone; they have never done harm to myself or anyone else,’ and my grandmother would say, ‘Never torment or ward off the demoiselles; their presence good for the land, and their protection brings good luck to a family.’”

“Nevertheless,” said the great Luneau, “they have not saved you from thieves!”

About ten years after this adventure, M. de la Selle was returning from the same Berthenoux Fair, bringing back on the same grey mare - now very old, but still trotting without a stumble - an equivalent sum to that which had been so oddly stolen from him. This time, he was alone, the great Luneau having died some months ago; and our gentleman did not sleep on horseback, having forsworn once and for all that unfortunate habit.

Once he was at the edge of the woods, along the Gâgne-aux-Demoiselles, which is situated at the top of a rather high bank and covered in bushes, old trees, and tall, wild grass, M. de la Selle was taken with sadness in remembering his poor tenant farmer, whose absence he felt keenly, though the man’s son, Jacques, tall and slim like his father, and like his father fine and sensible, seemed to be doing all he could to replace him. But one does not replace old friends, and M. de la Selle was himself getting old. He had dark thoughts; but his good conscience soon dispelled them, and he began to whistle a hunting tune, telling himself that, when it came to his life and death, all would be as God wanted.

When he was about halfway across the marsh, he was surprised to see a white shape, which he had until then taken for a wisp of those vapours which hang over still waters, move around and then leap up and fly away, tearing through the branches. A second, more solid shape came out of the reeds and followed the first, stretching out like a floating web; then a third, then another and another; and, as they passed in front of Monsieur de la Selle, they evidently became the enormous figures they really were - pale, dressed in long skirts, with whitish hair dragging rather than fluttering behind them - that he could not but know these were the phantoms about which he had been told in his childhood. Then, forgetting that his grandmother had warned him to pretend he did not see them, he began to greet them like the well-bred man he was. He greeted them all, and when it came to the seventh, who was the tallest and most solid, he couldn't help saying, “My lady, I am your servant.”

The words had not quite left his mouth when the tall demoiselle appeared in the saddle behind him, embracing him with arms as cold as dawn, and the old grey mare, terrified, took off galloping, carrying M. de la Selle through the swamp.

Although greatly surprised, the good gentleman did not yet lose his head. “By the soul of my father,” he thought, “I have never done any harm, and no spirit can do any unto me.” He supported his mount and forced her out of the mud in which she was struggling, while the grand’demoiselle seemed to try to hold her back and grind her in the marsh.

M. de la Selle had pistols in his holsters, and it occurred to him to use them; but, considering that he was dealing with a supernatural being, and remembering, too, that his parents had cautioned him not to offend the demoiselles of the water, he simply said, “Really, my lady, you must let me go on my way, for I have not crossed your path to upset you; if I have greeted you, it is out of politeness, not mockery. If you wish for prayers or masses, make your desire known, and, on the faith of a gentleman, you shall have them!”

Then, M. de la Selle heard, above his head, a strange voice saying: “Say three masses for the soul of the great Luneau and go in peace!”

Immediately the phantom figure vanished, the grey mare became docile again, and M. de la Selle returned home unimpeded.

He thought then that he had had a vision; nevertheless, he had the three masses said in Luneau’s honour. But how great was his surprise when he opened his valise and found, in addition to the money he had received at the fair, six hundred livres in flat bills, bearing the likeness of the late king!

It was often said that the great Luneau, repentant in his last hours, had entrusted Jacques with the restitution of the money he had stolen, and that Jacques, so as not to sully the memory of his father, had made the demoiselles seem responsible for it… M. de la Selle never allowed a word against the integrity of the deceased, and when one spoke disrespectfully of the matter in his presence, he was bound to say: “Man cannot explain everything. It is better for us to believe than to reproach.”

George SAND

[centrally-unplanned]

Read the latest volume (6) of JK Haru is a Sex Worker in Another World and it was really bad! Sad!! This was one of the better plot-heavy ero-isekai out there due to its commitment to the bit: our main girl is a powerless nobody who got side-apparitioned into fantasy-land alongside a dweeb who actually got isekai-powers, so is forced to become a sex worker to survive. Which it does extremely unsparingly without being maudlin (most of the time), she doesn't hate her job, doesn't love it, the realism makes how it shapes her identity over time very compelling.

But in this volume it turns out she actually just had super-uber-god powers all along and just wasn't using them? Just decimates an entire legion of soldiers because they killed her friend, and some demon-monsters on top. So then why on isekai-earth is she a sex worker still? Why did she let her friend get murdered, and the endless parade of abuses at her workplace occur? It would be fine to tell that story, like a more comedic tale where really she is a sex addict and loves the job but it would rock the social boat to be explicit about it so she fakes the typical powerlessness of a brother worker, but that isn't the story they told. Haru is now a total lunatic, none of the previous story makes sense anymore.

A classic example of sacrificing coherency for a plot twist reveal; many such cases!

[mist-touchedxiv]

Does your OC ever tell "white lies" to spare someone's feelings, or to protect them from an upsetting truth? Or are they unsparingly blunt and uncompromisingly honest?

For the most part, yes. However, when it's something that is too important to conceal, he'll be honest. When he was younger, being blunt with the truth had fewer consequences, but the wisdom of age has taught him that simple kindness isn't wasted... but also it can spare unnecessary bruises.

[whileiamdying]

The Settlers review – ultra-violent study of Chile’s butchery of its indigenous people

★★★★☆ Europe’s early 20th-century exploitation of Tierra del Fuego is told in an unsparingly bloody drama-thriller by first-time director Felipe Gálvez Haberle

Brutish … Alfredo Castro (left) and Mark Stanley in The Settlers. Photograph: Quijote Films

his almost unbearably brutal and violent western drama-thriller from first-time feature director Felipe Gálvez Haberle was a prize winner at Cannes and Chile’s official entry for best international feature at the Academy Awards. At once explicit and yet mysterious and elliptical, it dramatically recreates some of the story behind the exploitation and colonisation of Tierra del Fuego by European commercial interests and the Santiago political establishment at the beginning of the 20th century. This involved the genocidal slaughter of Indigenous peoples by the now notorious businessman José Menéndez, a kind of Latin American oligarch who had been granted land rights for sheep farming, and used mercenaries to hunt and butcher Patagonian natives; these hired killers included ex-British Army soldier Alexander MacLennan, known as the “red pig”.

Chilean character actor Alfredo Castro plays the cold-eyed Menéndez, and Mark Stanley is the brutish MacLennan who still wears his red military tunic and affects the title “Lieutenant”. An ugly scene suggests that his capacity for violence, always substantial, escalated at least partly due to being brutalised himself. Haberle imagines an American “Indian-hunter” called Bill (Benjamin Westfall) who goes out with MacLennan on their murderous expeditionary adventure into the vast and forbidding southern wilderness and they have a tracker called Segundo (Camilo Arancibia), who is a “mestizo” – part indigenous – and resented by Bill who fears Segundo will turn on them.

There is a scary encounter with another British soldier-for-hire, played with dark menace by Sam Spruell, who appears to have the same vocation as MacLennan, but for whom the violence and alienation have become (even) more normalised. With a terrifyingly empty landscape shot by Simone D’Arcangelo and crazed, clamorous, timpani-clashing score by Harry Allouche, The Settlers is really unsettling: an evocation of the violence and colonial brutality mixed into the foundations of Chile’s nation state, and which, it is implied, provided a lesson in political violence for later on.

And what is worse is the history rewriting and legacy management: a sequence in which Indigenous peoples are forced to pose for semi-official photographs in demure western clothes, coerced into erasing their own distinct identity and appearing to cooperate in a new voluntary submissive absorption into white culture. It’s a fierce, stark, almost primitive parable of cruelty and power.

The Settlers is released on 9 February in UK and Irish cinemas.

[grandhotelabyss]

What do you think of the new Ethel Cain

I respect it. I believe I understand what motivated it. The desire to go deeper into the most alien and alienating possibilities of your chosen art's form; the desire to explore more unsparingly the least social or salubrious sources of your inspiration; the desire to wrong-foot a fandom that thinks it knows you too well; the desire to repulse a popular audience that translates your work into pabulum. Astringency of form and content to abrade the social order in the complacency of its damage: just what Dr. Adorno ordered, except that Adorno wasn't quite imagining (what I take to be the psycho-sexual theme here, signaled by paratextual recollections of masturbating to Brutalist architecture in Coraopolis, about 15 miles from where I now type) the sublimation of the perverse into an eros de-fixated on the vulnerable corpus of the pervert's potential victim and cathected onto, well, the sublime. Nearer my God to thee, indeed: "Heaven has forsaken the masturbator / It's happening to everybody." Thus masturbate to or at heaven. What does the drone "pull"? Drone music as goon accompaniment, gnostic-tantric plateau of ecstasy, sustained vibration. Thatorchia: torture and death of and by the testicles. Spiritual orchiectomy. The long-attested proximity of sex and death. Étienne = Stephen = the first martyr. (On here she says it's some French architect, but let's go with my interpretation instead; trust the tale, not the teller.) "I will claw my way back to the Great Dark and we will not speak of this place again." Thus the pervert's only possible redemption is to return to the light/dark origin outside this imprisoning cosmos from whence he and we fell, if he/we can, extinction only in and only through the victimless orgasm:

Only God knows, only God would believe That I was an angel, but they made me leave They made me leave

I respect the aesthetic integrity of the project—what she has, also on here, defined as an "erotic project." Poetically a hymn to the autoerotic reminescent of a darker Whitman, of a Poe/Whitman collab. Musically, I'm not sure it's for me. One may learn something about eros in general by observing somebody else's fetish ("I have always possessed the insatiable need to see what happens inside the room"), but it doesn't exactly guarantee one's own pleasure.