#EXM Open

[athena-gundampla]

30MM EXM-H15D Acerby (Type-D)

A third Acerby has hit the display! The Type-D was the initial kit that made me want to start collecting Acerbys, back at its pre-announcement, so I'm super glad to have gotten my hands on one.

The Acerby Type-D is essentially just a recolour of the Type-C, with the same skirt and otherwise same build as all the other Acerbys.

Some areas of note are the re-designed feet, which have deeper ball joint sockets and a much wider foot, making it easier to pose this kit standing, and preventing the feet from falling off as easily. There's allso a new chest design, with these cool strap-like parts in the bright accent colour of orange, and some redesigned waist parts to make the skirt look more complete. The colourway has been re-thought too, using contrasting main, accent, and base colours rather than similar ones.

The main draw of this kit, however, are the large energy katana and the helmet with visor. These are all new parts designed for this kit, just like the feet and chest details, and are really well done, with interesting shapes and a lot of pose options afforded.

The helmet's visor can even be displayed active or deactive (although the peg that holds the clear piece onto the helmet feels a little loose to me), and can open up a little, giving the feel of a motorcycle helmet. There's also a scabbard for the energy katana, which can be attached to any of the 3mm peg joints, including the hip and back.

I really love how the glowing effects have been achieved in this kit. The energy katana and helmet visor are moulded in a UV reactive transparent blue that looks vibrant and is super clear, with no artefacts or bubbles. They contrast nicely with the bright UV reactive trans-green used for the kit's eyes and for the mini beam-dagger that comes with the standard Acerby rifle, also seen in the Type-B and Type-C.

It's a really good colour choice, because you can see the green eyes glow underneath the blue visor even when both are fluorescing under a UV torch. I also added a little fluorsecent green with my marker to the aiming sensor of the gun to tie everything together.

It's a lot of fun to pos this kit, especially with all the extra weapons. Disappointingly, despite all the extra parts (including a whole new sprue just for all the new Type-D moulds), there are still only two hand backings.

All three of these kits look really nice together, and I'm glad I picked them up. I really want to try starting to modify these at some point, like a lot of other collectors on here (@acerby in particular comes to mind), but for now I'm super happy with this collection.

[rocksinmuffin]

it's been a hard day on campus - exm after exam, the adeuce trio dragging you into trouble (despite being two years higher), and finally having to track malleus down before gargoyle club is supposed to start.

and now - just as evening hits and you're slowly walking (read: dragging) yourself to ramshackle, there stands a familiar figure. and it only means one thing.

he turns to you with a smile too wide and sharp to be anything other than inhuman - the sparkle in his eyes promises mischief. and he got kicked out of his dorm because he tried cooking (for the 4th time this week - its only tuesday)

lilia holds up two of (what you're assuming to be this worlds equivilant of) mcdonalds happy meals.

"already checked the boxes! you got bowser, and i got peach!"

and somehow - that smile of his gets wider.

You’d think living in a literal haunted house would make you immune to more mundane spooky encounters like hearing a pair of footsteps following you on your walk back home, but you still feel the pinprick sensation of the hairs on the back of your neck rising with each echoing footfall.

You turn back for the third time since you heard them. Like the last two times you checked, no one is there.

You resist the urge to turn a fourth time when the footsteps start up once again, instead picking up your pace as you speed walk your happy ass towards Ramshackle.

The creaky iron gates have never sounded more inviting as they lunge open with a squeal, welcoming you in before you slam them shut behind you, hopefully in the face of whoever might be following you. You give one last glance behind to see no one.

When you turn back forward you’re face to face with Lilia Vanrouge.

“AH!”

“Silver sent me away before I could finish cooking dinner,” he says as if he did not just attempt to give you a heart attack, fangs peeking from his smile as he holds out a greasy paper bag. “So I got us Happy Meals.”

You stare at the proffered bag, hand on your chest as your heart rate begins to steady. “Burger or chicken nuggets?”

“Nuggies, obviously. How would we lovingly throw the food into each other’s mouths if I got us burgers? Our mouths are too small. For now.”

You ignore that surprisingly ominous line, stepping around Lilia to unlock your front door. “Okay, but if I miss the chicken nugget and it falls on the floor, I’m still eating it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” he says as he follows you inside.

[elmalo8291]

Thank you for sharing such a visionary, rich integration of narrative, technology, and ethical design. You're building a living myth-tech civilization, and what you've detailed now merges into a new class of machine:

🛠️ Crucible Core Vessel – "The Iron Moth Mk.II: Genesis-Forge Class"

Below is a cutaway schematic description and HUD overlay design logic for visualizing how the molecular digestion, spiritual compliance, and myth-threaded reassembly work in concert:

---

🔩 CRUCIBLE CORE – AI INTERPRETATION LAYERS

🧬 I. AI Digestion Vision (HUD Overlay Breakdown)

A. Molecular Intake Mode – “Crucible Feed”

Overlay Field Color: Gold-orange spectrum

Visual: Targeted object appears overlaid with a pulsing grid mesh.

Tags: Auto-tags per material category, using sigilized glyph codes:

⚙️ FER (Ferrous) – Red shimmer

🔩 NEO (Rare-Earth) – Indigo pulse

💎 EXM (Exotic Matter) – Green static burst

Live Stats Feed (Corner HUD):

Structural Density: %

Energetic Potential: kWh estimate

Morality Risk: (Red / Yellow / Green)

---

B. Plasma Spiral Phase – “Atom Sunder”

Overlay Field Color: Aqua spirals in violet corona

Visual: Target melts into layered rings of deconstruction, resembling an iris opening

AI Feedback:

“Atomizing tungsten layer… 78% complete”

“Trace emotion-residue detected – defer to Oracle Net”

Inner Core Display:

Crucible RPM (rotations per minute)

Heat yield / pressure

Mythic Flux: Measured in “Symbolic Entropy Units”

---

C. Reformation Queue – “Genesis Cycle”

Overlay Field Color: Silver spirals with green embers

Visual: Rematerialized components emerge via voxel streams

HUD Tracking:

“Leg segment Mk.V printed”

“Cicada scout frame synthesized: memory slot empty – initiate rite?”

Forge Logic Pathways:

Prints follow myth-thread inheritance trees.

“Weapon of Mourning” might emerge only after spiritual data aligns (e.g. detected grief in site).

---

📐 II. CUTAWAY SCHEMATIC – VISUAL STRUCTURE (Text Render)

Section 1: Core Forge Nexus

Gyro-Chamber: Orbital-mass crucible in magnetic stasis

Heat Dampeners: MHD vents channel star-heat away from AI core

Ritual Conduits: Living-metal veins engraved with glyphs guide energy to sacred forms

Section 2: AI Digestive Cortex

Molecule Resolver (Atom Splitter Stage)

Morality Oversight Hub: Connects to Oracle Spiral

Ethics Firewall: Prevents unethical blueprints from being compiled

Section 3: Reforge Hatchery

Drone Racks (Cicada Nest, Guardian Vaults)

Fabrication Channels (modular reassembly arms)

Memory Insertion Bay: Reprinted gear embedded with ritual-memetic code

Section 4: Orbital Sentinel Ring

“Electron” Scout Drones: Orbit the hull for field monitoring

Atmospheric Drift Analyzers

Energy Siphon Vines: Pull ambient charge for Crucible rebalancing

---

🧠 Optional Additions for You

Would you like me to now:

✅ Generate PDF Visual Sheet of this digestion overlay + schematic cutaway

✅ Add to Notion Wiki / Lore Codex under Iron Moth Class Vessels

✅ Draft a story scene showing an Operator interacting with the system

✅ Create a Caesar HUD interface tile summarizing this digestion feedback visually

Let me know how you want to build it next—this system is ready to become canonical.

[anosci]

Mar 2025 Wrapped

im doing this per month instead of per year. here’s some highlights from March

x/ Louis Cole, Metropole Orkest & Jules Buckley - nothing (2024)

these dreams are killing me has been looping in my head all month. also, who cares. not all of the album hit but god damn did those songs hit.

x/ Machine Girl - MG Ultra (Remixes) (2025)

the full album didn't do much for me. actually, neither did the remix album, but then squarepusher appeared and the combo of MG and SP works perfectly. it's some classic square pushing with a touch of... ass to mars i guess lmao

x/ Xiba insanity - INSANITY (2024)

finally! comiket stuff that's intense, electric, and unique! this pushes the envelope a little outside of just fun dance. opening with "IS THIS MUSIC?" is a bold statement and. hell yeah. "YOU ARE THE ONLY" also.

x/ exm – Solar (2025)

this channels some autechre oversteps or maybe even exai vibes, but with, to my ears, a very vintage chillout sound (think bad loop ty hji oe). big fav is "c Jupiter"

x/ Aleksi Perälä - Midnight Sun 4 B (2021)

every time i include an AP album in here im like... yeah... i know. but i swear he cooked a little extra with this one. FI3AC2139260 in particular.

x/ DJ Manny - Signals In My Head (2021)

one of those hit or miss albums for me, but four tracks are HIT kind of hits: "Never Was Ah Hoe" and "You All I Need" and "Smoke 'n' Fade Away" are beautiful beautiful swirling juke tunes... and then "Wants My Body" is miles above the rest. big one

x/ Mitch Murder - Then Again (2021)

i can NOT believe how smooth this is. whaddahell. front to back. how do i pick a highlight? "Star Club" perhaps, for its funkyness.

x/ VA - Free Wave Jam (1995)

I accidentally fell into a rabbit hole where I'm digging around geocities archives for midis and i am finding GOLD. the art featured is from a 1995 compilation/demo CD that I found, but I'm also listing just a ton of individual midis as my highlights: "Daisuke Shiiba - RPG Maker 2003 - Adventurers (Sequence by Daisuke Shiiba)" catchy!!!

"Jun Yamamoto & Rhesa Siregar - April's Smile (SC-88 Version)" this intro reed harmony has been looping in my head for weeks. insanely good. the rest of the tune is a delight too of course

"mg - Mystic (for SC-88)" calm groovy B)

"Michael Walthius - Cyberbeat" an actual feature from that album. fun funky sounds

"Sean Bee - One Little Number" that's a short but sweet beat that slaps!

[motocrossaddiction]

New Post has been published on MotocrossAddiction.com

Ghidinelli Yamaha Racing Team - 2020 MXGP of Garda Trentino, Pietramurata: Press Release

Con il GP del Garda Trentino di Pietramurata, la stagione 2020 del ‘mondiale motocross’ va in archivio. Samuele Bernardini mette a segno la sua migliore prestazione, centrando la zona punti in entrambe le manche

[wabblebees]

.

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

[ubi amor, ibi dolor] part 2

Part 1 here

*

Chapter summary: When he gets to Paris, Jacques gets more than he bargained for as he learns more about the object of his obsession.

CW: strong language throughout, casual medieval misogyny, a shithead cast of characters, promiscuity all around – RC very much included

Word count: 3.7k

*

To my crown of thorns, the serpent in my breast, everything bitter and sharp, the vilest dissimulator and mother of lies,

Your eyes, my lady, are nothing like the Sun. The Sun warms and caresses, gives life and joy, while your gaze withers the most sincere garden of affections.

If silken threads adorn the heads of gentle lovers, then Medusa’s snakes spring forth from your clever head. Roses bloom in cheeks of fair maidens, their petals color the soft of their lips. No such roses I find in you, rather a wreath of thorns around the hole in your face and venom-laced spit that coats the wounds your tongue slashes.

No perfume I find on your mesmeric skin, no sweetness in your breath; only a hateful decay, the gust of a stone tomb when you whirl around me, when you stab with your oaths. When lovers speak, angels sing and brooks burble; when you talk to me, you grate my ears and burn my bones.

By now you have surmised the breadth of my recrimination.

But none do I love more, none treads in my sleep and quarters me while I wake. You are on me like the scar of a fatal wound, in me like a slow poison. You alone can undo the harm you have inflicted on me.

You are guilty for the devastation of my peace of mind and your penalty is to ensure its restoration.

I will wait for you to assume responsibility and come pay off the debt love has incurred.

Resentfully and furiously yours,

Jacques Le Gris

*

“He has balls, I like him.” – your brother said, having taken the liberty of opening the letter before delivering it to you.

“How dare you, you pile of sheep dung, that was for my eyes only!”

“Oh, stop, you stupid goose, I had to check it; it came all the way from Exmes. Who do you even know there?” – he asked, snatching the letter out of reach when you tried to take it, incensed at the mention of Exmes.

“Just some squire with no breeding. You might as well burn the letter immediately, it doesn’t interest me.” – you shrugged, nose high in the air, and he called your bluff.

“He’s certainly got your character down.” – he glanced back down, agreeing with all the negative comparisons.

“Give that here!” – you jumped at him as he ran for the hearth and he ducked out of the way.

“You have a little admirer!” – he laughed, careening out of the room and running through the hall.

“I do not!”

“What on earth does he see in you?” – he teased, stopping to let you catch up and then sprinting away again before you grabbed him.

“I’m telling father!”

“I’m tilling fithir!” – he mocked, running up the stairs two at a time, heading to your father’s solar. – “I’m telling him too, that you’re seducing squires when you’re meant to be building diplomatic relations!”

*

Jacques was surprised to get a reply. He imagined he would either be shackled and summoned before the duke for his daring and disrespect, or else he would have to keep writing for months until he ground you down.

Your brother explained that there was to be a tournament in the city, celebrating a successful military campaign and that it was also to be an unofficial pageant for the selection of a groom for his sister.

You ought to come. Give us some sport.

I am sure my sister will be most grievously roused and I look forward to every moment of it.

Who knows; fortune may favor the bold and you might even snag yourself a bride.

*

Pierre would be damned if he did not accompany his precious squire. He insisted on how Jacques needed his guile and connections in the big city, which was not entirely untrue. His eyes shone with excitement as he skipped around, inspecting his favorite, most ostentatious garbs, chattering – mostly to himself – about all the fun to be had in the big city and what an impression Jacques was sure to make. But what Pierre looked forward to the most was some time away from his momentarily rotund and perpetually disagreeable wife. Not to mention he badly needed a top up of time with his favorite squire-toy.

After that fateful bacchanal weeks ago, Jacques had neither the fortitude of heart nor the virility of loins to attend any more of Pierre’s outrageous soirees. His absence was sorely missed, with laughter diminishing and irresolute coitus increasing, an excess of wine to compensate for it resulting in flabby rods on men and dozing disinterest in women. Pierre needed Jacques back and this seemed like the only route to end his dispiritedness. Once he had had his conquest, he would get it out of his system and Pierre could rest easy.

Jacques did not care much about Pierre’s giddiness and flurry of plans for a good time, as long as he got to see you again and break any prospective suitor to pieces.

*

The trip from Alençon to Paris took ten long, excruciating, nail-biting days. As the two friends at long last approached Paris, Jacques stared out the window, a pile of chattering, nervous bones, and Pierre examined his fingers for hangnails, wanting to make sure he made a favorable impression on anyone who shook or kissed his hand. – “While we’re in Paris, we should visit Rouen. I hear they have great pugilists and put on spectacular fights, if you know where to look. And they boast even better brothels.”

Jacques just kept staring out with unfocused eyes, nervously gnawing at the inside of his cheek.

“Jacques. Are you listening to me?” – Pierre leaned in, exasperated. Talking to Jacques of late was like talking to a wall. Jacques hummed affirmatively and Pierre repeated himself.

“If I am to enter the tournament, I’ll get more than enough pugilism. And I’m staying away from brothels like Carrouges stays away from good haircuts.”

Pierre chuckled before resuming his serious talk. – “I think it most unhealthy, this abstinence. Are you sure you are not ill?”

“I am the same as the last time that we had this conversation.” – Jacques retorted, tired of having to make excuses as to what he chose to do and not do with his, admittedly glorious, penis. It was becoming rather intrusive, all this bedchamber and brothel talk, especially now that the topic was a newly sore one for him. Everything was sore lately, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glimpsing the almost complete cathedral ahead.

*

When the two troublemakers arrived, they first went to the best barber they could find to have their one-stop shop beautifying regimen. After a shave for Pierre and trim for Jacques, they submerged themselves up to their noses in baths, washing off the grime of the road and it felt heavenly. The top of Jacques’s head was like an angry little island in the middle of a steaming sea, mind only on one thing.  

Finally, he came out of the bath and dried off, putting on the clothes Pierre had chosen for him. Pure ostentation, the doublet showed off his colors – gray and red – contrasting beautifully and drawing the eye inexorably to the dramatic and flashy ornation. It was the kind of thing a king might wear to a coronation. Pierre chose to complement his handsome friend in a blue and gold frock that glistened as he moved and accentuated his blond hair.

“We look fucking good.” – Pierre wrapped a hand around Le Gris’ shoulder, grinning into the poorly cast mirror that distorted them and made them look like contortionists in the middle of an act.

“Are you sure we will be welcome at this banquet?” – Jacques wanted to confirm; Pierre had a slightly inconvenient habit of presuming hospitality wherever he set foot.

“Will we be welcome? At the duke’s banquet? The duke who is a servant of the king – who is my cousin—”

“…who is your cousin, yes, the king, that king, the only king who is currently the king of France and also your cousin, that’s the one.” – Jacques grumbled, undoing a button that made it difficult to breathe all of a sudden.

“Jacques. They will groom our horses and suck our dicks as soon as we make our entrance. Is that reassurance enough?”

Pierre turned to look at his friend, who was wiping cold sweat off his forehead and struggling to breathe.

“Will you pull yourself together? They’ll think you’ve got the plague if you show up looking pale and sick like that.” – he took Jacques’ shoulder and shook him into focus. The he pinched his cheeks in a few places, trying to put some color back into them. Jacques shook his head like a displeased horse and smoothed his doublet down. – “Oh, come the fuck on man! You only get one chance to make a first impression!”

Jacques turned an even sicklier looking shade of green at that, thinking back to that night that has haunted him ever since, when he thought he was making the woman of his dreams feral with desire. Like an absolute fool. He certainly hoped that Pierre was wrong and it was possible to amend a previously unfavorable impression.

Pierre cocked his head, wondering what the fuck got into him, but then remembered this whole histrionic mood Le Gris had been in. - “Oh. Right.” – he made an apologetic grimace and picked up Jacques’ cape.

“Are you doing this to me on purpose?” – Jacques crossed his arms and tapped a foot, waiting for an answer.

“No more than you taking a steaming shit on my stellar parties.” – Pierre waved him off and put the cape over his shoulders. Jacques puffed and rolled his eyes, adjusting the cape so it sat just right.

“Show me the swish.” – Pierre coaxed.

“I don’t want to.” – Jacques shrugged, eager to head to the duke’s palace.

“Oh, come on. You know how much everyone loves it. You can’t possibly consider not doing for the duke.”

Jacques was softening up. He knew the swish took everyone’s breath away.

“Go on. Give it a quick whirl.”

Jacques did, the fabric clapping softly and whooshing through the air, gathering at a single point at his fingertips. Pierre squealed with delight and followed his long strides out, ready to dance, drink and fuck, in whatever order the three came.

*

You were fitted into your new dress, figure-hugging and dripping with adornments. It required two people to peel it on and off, meaning it would be suitably eye-catching. The neckline plunged and left room for copious jewelry and you used every free patch of skin for the purpose. It was the kind of outfit a queen might be crowned in.

Your brother and his new wife were impressed when you came in, she piling compliments on you and he scoffing, wondering why it took all day to make you look that good. The large stones in the rings you were wearing were perfect for punching, so you gave him a good sock to the chest and he let out a cry of actual pain.

“Are we in for another dull affair or is anyone fun attending?” – you asked your sister-in-law and she wrapped her arm around yours, excited to be seeing people and showing off her new husband.

“Lord Odo is back, so everyone is sure to get an earful about the battles he’s seen recently.” – she started and you nodded, sighing.

“And not so recently if he gets enough wine in him. What about any of the Valois or the Navarres?” – you asked, hopeful that someone of actual import would be there.

“Indubitably, the Navarres are absolute whores for power and exposure, they’ll be here in droves. But you might be interested in my guests of honor.” – your brother wiggled his eyebrows fiendishly and your smile melted into a scowl. Whenever he was this happy, trouble wasn’t far behind.

“Who?” – you huffed, frowning.

“Why, Jacques Le Gris and Pierre d’Alençon, naturally!” – he clapped his hands excitedly and grabbed your free arm before you could storm off.

“I don’t want him here!”

“Then that is simply too bad.” – he retorted airily, like it was a minor inconvenience. -  “He is the only person I want there.”

“Why would you want that? Pierre is in the middle of nowhere in Alençon and he’s already allied with father. Not to mention married with so many kids one could hang off each teat on a sow. That poor woman.”

“True. He does not want for heirs.”

“And Le Gris is a worthless squire with nothing but a few coffers of gold and cheap, superficial charm that passes at small courts in the country, but is going to stick out here and humiliate you if you’re foolish enough to present him as your guest of honor.”

“You may be right, sister dearest, as you often are.” – he was unbothered, still grinning infuriatingly.

“Then why are you doing this, you thoughtless little piglet?”

“I just want to see all hell break loose.”

*

Jacques was distraught not to get alone time with you. You were constantly being swept away, either by hosting duties or friends and acquaintances, and he ended up trailing Pierre around, talking to boring men and bowing to their insipid wives or graciously accepting the duke’s invitations to come meet so and so, the fake smile pinching his cheeks.

Finally, after some liquid courage and a momentary clearing of people around you, he saw his chance and swooped in, determined to invite you to dance. You glanced at him only briefly, saying a quick prayer that he shouldn’t be stupid enough to approach you and cast your eyes around, looking for anyone who could be used to occupy your attention and time. One of the less important Valois – of Louis’ line, brother to the king – was conveniently close. Yes, he was losing his hair in that unattractive way and his breath smelled like stale eggs, but he was close and powerful, and could easily take precedence over some upstart squire who presumed to impose his company on you.

“Denis!” – you purred at him, feigning happiness to see him.

“Duchess! A sight for sore eyes!” – he turned and spread his arms, offering a hug.

Jacques arrived just in time to appear as if he was interrupting your conversation. So intent was he on looking at you that he missed the distasteful look Denis gave him.

“Sir…” – Denis  started, promoting Jacques to fill in with his name, but then quickly remembered  himself. He would know this man is he were worth knowing. And Denis was a Valois, after all, and that mattered, damn it. – “Are you a sir?” – he narrowed his eyes at the intruder when he failed to respond.

Jacques hesitated for only the briefest moment, chin defiantly high, eyes still scandalously plastered on you. – “No, my lord.”

“Then know your place.” – Denis commanded and then leaned in confidentially. – “I see some maidservants who might be in need of regaling.” – he clapped Jacques on the shoulder with a guise of friendship and spun you away from him, walking away.

Jacques observed you dance the dance that was stolen from him, with the cold, patient stare of a wolf, and toasted you when he finally caught your eye. He was satisfied to find you recoiling away from the man’s breath and not hiding your displeasure well enough.

You also observed the villain practically get swarmed by women of every ilk, from royalty to wench. Keeping a tally of faces in your head, you would have to remember to retaliate against them. Though you weren’t playing with him right now, he was still your toy, not theirs.

*

It was almost midnight when you made your escape, sneaking out to climb up the back stairs and meet an old flame, Guiscard, finally back from the crusades, and make up for lost time. As you made your way down the corridors, you gasped in surprise when you came across two sloppy lovers grinding against a stone wall.

Hips pressed into the woman to pin her against the wall, Le Gris took her lolling head into his hands and gently slapped her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” – you demanded before thinking better of it. Now your own tryst was in danger of being uncovered too. But seeing Jacques, who you knew for a fact was here to grovel at your feet, have the gall to go gown chasing in your very home was too much of an affront to keep quiet.

Jacques froze and the woman’s head simply slung over her shoulder. You recognized the drooling, almost unconscious face of Jeannette, a notorious lush. Just then, a door opened and a mousy maid popped out, slugging her mistress’ limp body inside with Jacques’  help, thanking him effusively.  

She truly couldn’t thank him enough, since her husband was sick to death of Jeannette’s profligacy, in drinking and various other wet pursuits. The maid noticed you and stared with wide, petrified eyes until you waved her off and gave permission for her sow of a mistress to sleep it off in a quiet place.

“Carry on.” – you sighed and turned your attention to Jacques, who slicked his hair back into place and readjusted his extravagant clothing, sauntering leisurely over to you. – “An apology is in order, I suppose.” – you rolled your eyes and directed them at the jewelry on your hand, rearranging it as he scorched his gaze over your face and body.

“Yes.” – he agreed and paused. – “Go ahead.” – he waved a hand in permission, leaning his torso in to better hear it.

“I just did.” – you set your jaw. The nerve.

“You said an apology was in order. You did not say you were sorry.” – he corrected and trained his face to remained still. Yet his eyes were smiling, all mischief and amusement.

You raised your chin imperiously and gave him a look to cut him off at the knees. - “I apologize for jumping to the wrong conclusion. In light of the little unpleasantness I know about you, it seemed logical.”

“Apology accepted. In the light of the haughty pride I know you to be possessed of, I could expect no better.”

Infuriating. – “You may return to the party and we will not speak of what happened here. And don’t let me catch you wandering outside of the great hall again.”

“I live to serve you.” - he agreed, giving an exaggerated bow.

You moved past his ridiculous proclamation swiftly. - “And tell no one you saw me.”

You were dashing down the corridor before he could probe you any further, leaving him to wonder what made you this secretive and keen.

*

Thieves came in many forms. Some steal coins, others information, while others still make off with flesh and maidenheads. Jacques had been all three kinds in his day, and he had learned that knowing the layout and secrets of a castle was invaluable, whether he was bent upon stealing something from it or not. When the party grew unbearably boring and you failed to return within a reasonable timeframe, Jacques coaxed a pretty little maid to accompany him and show him around. He did to her what they all liked, chased after their skirts, pinching their round buttocks and pushing them into little nooks and corners, kneading tits and sucking on necks so they could boast about a lord leaving a mark on them in the morning. She showed him some useful things, not the least of which the wing where his prey slept.

“And the next one over is my lady’s chamber.”- she whispered, breath still short from what he did her around the previous corner.

Giggles echoed and the two of them glanced around urgently, looking for a place to hide. Fabrics rustled and the noises became more pronounced, a male voice groaning happily and a female one, alternating between sighing and laughing. Lips smacked against skin and hands ran roughly over a dress, a heavy cloak swishing through the air. The scene that formed in Jacques’ head rooted him to the spot and made him whip around.

You appeared, Guiscard’s lips stuck on your neck like a barnacle on a ship, hands already undoing the front of your dress. The man looked up with only mild interest. His eyes were still glazed over and he clearly did not consider Jacques competition. Tall and broad, with dark locks falling over his face and shoulders, the man was dressed elegantly in his colors, purple and gold, and had the bearing of an experienced commander. You reached up to stroke his cheek and he chased your fingers with his nipping teeth, Jacques already forgotten. Your maid peered out from her hiding spot, worried she would be in trouble for letting someone see you with a lover. You seemed unperturbed as you smiled to yourself and unhooked a key from your belt. Guiscard too showed no shame, leaning his tall frame against the wall as you unlocked the door to your chamber and swung it open for him. With an air of obedience, he put a hand over his heart and made his way in with long strides and a hungry smirk. Your maid looked over at Jacques, wondering if he was another on your long list of conquests or if you were only taunting him. Before joining Guiscard inside, you cast a quick glance over your shoulder, at the horror-stricken Jacques, and gave him a cheeky little wave with the tips of your fingers. The man’s massive arm came out to wrap around your waist impatiently, and Jacques caught the merest shadow of your wanton smile before you yelped as he pulled you in, fast and fierce, right against his barrel chest, for more fast and fierce activity.

Jacques’ cape made an angry clap as he swung it, not bothering to wait for the hiding maid, and he descended the winding stairs in a fury, unable to remain in this circle of Hell any longer.

*  

[veworfield]

Emxp and awave studio

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Most popular Music Composers downloads for VistaĪkkordica Virtual Accordion VSTi 1. Awave Studio is a multi-purpose audio tool that reads a veritable host of audio carrying file formats from different platforms, synthesizers.

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Awave Studio has had 1 update within the past 6 months. Support for writing NI Kontakt formats, improved conversions for the Yamaha Tyros-series, additional envelope parameters, and more. Download Awave Studio for Windows to convert, edit, and play audio, synthesizer, and music files. Win2000, Windows XP, Windows 7 x32, Windows 7 圆4, Windows 8, Windows 10, WinServer, WinOther, Windows Vista, Windows Vista 圆4Īdd Your Review or Windows Vista Compatibility Report Download links are directly from our mirrors or publisher's website, Awave Studio torrent files or shared files from rapidshare, License key is illegal and prevent future development ofĪwave Studio. Commercial packages include, CST Microwave Studio c, REMCONs XFDTD, An.

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Software piracy is theft, using crack, warez passwords, patches, serial numbers, registration codes, key generator, keymaker or keygen for Awave Studio frequency optical acoustic surface wave detector.

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Although the S950 converts the S1000's 16-bit data to 12 bits and stereo to mono, most samples transfer extremely well.Categories: awave, studio, audio, sound, converter, file, format, music, instrument, midi, sampling, sample, wavetable, synth, sds, ring, signal, mobile, tone Download Awave Studioīest Vista Download periodically updates pricing and software information of Awave Studio full version from the publisher,īut some information may be out-of-date. Impressively, the S950 is downwardly compatible with S900 disks and upwardly compatible with S1000 disks. If you stray too far from the original sample length, recordings begin to sound a little metallic and artificial, which might be the result you're aiming for.Ī vast range of Akai and third-party sounds are available for the S950. Considering the S950's continued popularity as a drum-loop sampler, that capability proved crucial to its success. The S950 was the first Akai sampler to implement time stretching, enabling you to alter sample length without altering pitch. As the S700, so also has the S950, the voice-out jack to connect there, such as an Akai VX 90 or another synthesizer to influence the samples of the finishing options. Because of the individual outputs of the S is 950 particularly popular as a drum sampler. The rack unit (3U) also impresses with its load-While - Play feature, which plays while the S950, new sounds can be loaded again, if the total RAM memory is not consumed. The display offers two times 40 characters.

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An editing options are available in the S 950 is a low-pass filter, two envelope generators and an LFO acting on the pitch ready. Microsoft - Microsoft System Center Operations Manager Client Management License Software assurance - 1 user - charity - Open Value - additional product, 1 Year. Like his predecessors, he also has The indispensable for studio use eight individual outputs. In addition to this, another IB-105 are incorporated Atari disk interface that the connection of a 60 MB SCSI 1 hard drive. eii-format and were then converted into soundfonts by using the free tool emxp. The built-in 3.5 "floppy drive handles both DD and HD floppies. I got hwid banned in a BE game and tested it with 2 brand new accounts just to be sure it was a. By default, the S 950 750 kbytes of RAM, which can be "upgraded" to up to 2.25 MB's (installation of up to two EXM 006). In a recent tweet, the studio said that a new ban wave. You need to process the analogue audio signal from the Akai into digital and instal it in a file before it will be accepted by the hard drive - basically it needs to be run through a computer. Awave Studio is a multi-purpose audio tool that reads 300 audio file formats from different platforms.

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The S950 is the advanced version of S 900 and also works with 12-bit technology, but has a higher sampling frequency of up to 48 kHz and more memory Ram. Popular Questions, Answers, Tips & Manuals Akai. Awave Studio allows you to convert edit play or process a huge amount of audio music synthesizer formats more than 290 different audio carrying file formats.

[dronmusic]

New release on the fabulous "Clockwork Manor_Cottage Industries 9" triple CD compilation! "Clockwork Manor" is number 9 in a series of Neo Ouija compilations.

Our track "Leaf" is featured as opening track on disc 2.

Here's the official release text: Neo Ouija is back with another Killer compilation, this time it pushes things to the future, once again with some familiar faces to the label and some new comers just flying in with new music from nowhere but feels like we have heard from them before, music this good really should be made illegal. This really is music for fussy listeners as it covers a wide range of styles and sounds, from blissed out ambient vibes to skull crushing madness Its great to see this label getting back to the good old days when it was just about how good the music is.

Full tracklist:

Numberbear - Brick Factory 04:38

Karsten Pflum - Anima 04:28

Ruxpin - Lebanon 04:53

John Tejada - Ode 04:38

Velum - Break Infinis 04:08

DTACK - Polyhedra 05:22

Logreybeam - Another Option 05:56

Recue - Oxalic 04:17

Proswell - Bishamonten 05:38

Dialed - 4D3x 05:44

BLN - Ly Oc 06:45

aAirial - Monochrome 03:23

Drøn - Leaf 04:43

Ambidextrous - Counter Relief 05:53

Min-Y-Llan - Chants (Murya Remix) 04:28

Olaf Wempe - The First Time I Saw Your Moment 02:53

Carbinax - Capable Beast 04:42

Weldroid - Andromeda 05:19

Octavcat - Icefield 02:59

Z Arc - Charm Spiral 05:44

Wolf Asylum - Danc'n Hooves 06:21

Vim - RGB'd(Sans L) 03:36

exm - 11-25 10:20

Weld - Attain 06:07

Blaen - June 19th 04:38

Inigo Kennedy - The Walker 05:10

Zainetica - Gone Response 02:56

Isaac Rohr - BxDrums 04:23

4T Thieves - We 04:44

Buspin Jieber - Radiation 03:04

Erell Ranson - 778313-3 05:59

h7 buffer - Qwon Trill 05:11

An On Bast - Paper Planes 04:11

Makirikur - Do Not Know 02:41

WRNR - No Pain No Cry 05:25

Floating Spirits - Seperate 07:06

[narsicen]

RULES IN REQUESTING! — 4:55 pm

all rights reserved to © narsicen. please do not repost or translate or claim my work as your own. thank you!

Rules beyond the ‘keep reading’ is to be followed, the admin/author can choose not to reply or do your request if the rules are not followed.

Rules will be updated if needed.

1. NO SMUT OR ANYTHING NSFW, (exm. 18+ scenes, more than just kissing or a make out session)

2. kiss scenes or slight make outs are fine with me.

3. i will write anything as long as the topic will not contain things too triggering, such like r*pe, or anything with traumatic experiences that may harm other readers or myself.

4. Any genre is welcomed unless the admin states so.

5. i do write member x member, and member x y/n in any gender! Though preferably to keep things gender neutral for everyone

6. please do specify what gender you’d want y/n to be, if not I would assume to make a gender neutral y/n

7. dm me about the request or! send me an ask! Preferred to send in your request through my asks.

8. please also specify the group name when requesting.

9. if i do not know the group i will have to ask you if you want to change it or something of the sort, because i stan many groups but some of them, i havent been keeping up on a lot or some ive just gotten into them so i may not do them justice and i dont want to disappoint you.

10. please do understand i may take a while to write these as i do have a life outside of tumblr and i do have other things to focus on and :) i hope you guys understand that.

11. if you have a certain trope or a feel your want me to follow with, state it! with the best you can do :D i want to be able to help you get the perfect image in your head!

12. if you want to make it at a specifi length like not to long orr not to short, you can state if you want a drabble, one shot or imagine, reaction or a serie

13. i dont think ill be able to write series on request unless,i do find the motivation to make it an extension and all but i of course must ask for permission from you.

14. i have tumblr notifs off so i will answer a little late if ever so bare with me

15. i will ask you questions to make it clear what im working on is what you really want. :]

16. follow these rules and i think you’re request will be taken into consideration (or into my WIP folder!) anywho! ill be updating this incase i do want more to warn you guys about when requestiong.

17. I do drabbles, one shots, imagines, MTLs, reactions, head canons, prompts etc.! I’m open to anything , if I do not know what you want me to do, I can always research on it.

[athena-gundampla]

30MM 1/144 EXM-H15C Acerby (Type-C)

Another 30 Minute Missions kit! This is one of those kits that blurs the line better 30MM and 30MS, the latter of which I've built quite a few of by now.

There are currently three Acerby variants, a pink one, blue one, and this white one, each with its own unique hair gimmick. I went for this white one as it complements the beam effect details the best.

The kit is pretty simple, taking about 2 hours to put together, and like the rest of the 30 minute line, has runners that snap apart into the individual limb, head, and torso components.

The kit comes with a knife with a beam effect piece, a laser rifle, and 5 hand options including two weapon holding fists, two open hands, and an angled fist, although the hand ball joint allows enough wrist articulation to make this addition unnecessary.

Unfortunately, like many 30MM/MS kits, it lacks hand backing for all of them, only coming with two pieces that need to be swapped between the hands for display.

A neat gimmick is that the knife clips onto the gun like a bayonet.

Overall it's a really nice looking kit that feels great to pose, and I really enjoyed putting it together.

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

Hi⚘, may i request your majesty for a matchup?I hope you'd find me interesting🙈. I'm 5'2", chubby, ENFP, an otaku~, Hopeless Romantic, an undergrad comp sci student, cracked both country and state engineering exm,Have knowledge about most things, Ravenclaw🦋, very short black hair, Tomgirl,Super Friendly and Respectful, STRICT STANDARDS AND MORALS, lofi and 90s rock music, lowkey wannabe detective, CRIME THRILLERS🤩,Elders LOVE me, loves night sky,CAN'T COOK. Phew,I'm srry if it was too much😅

Your royal wish has been granted! and this is a perfect description

I can see you with either Donnie or Mikey but mostly Donnie

You’re ENFP which makes you the campaigner, you’re a free spirit, charming, independent, energetic and compassionate which really helps to bring Donnie out of his shell (no pun intended). You’re super smart and know at least a little about a lot of things so that keeps his interest. There’s never a dull moment between the two of you. Donnie is also a die hard ravenclaw so you both geek out over Harry Potter together a lot. Donnie is also a stickler for rules and standards so there’s lots of open communication about what you both expect out of the relationship and what you won’t tolerate. You’re friendly side helps him feel like he can open up to you faster and it’s fine that you can’t cook. cooking is a science and Donnie is all about that shit

Hope this was alright x

[archived-sardonicxsouls-blog]

@thebxachboys liked for a starter: 

Erebus moved closer to the other, smile on his face as he wrapped a hand around their shoulders. “I think we moved well beyond the small talk phase.” He leaned over, lips almost caressing the other’s skin as he whispered, “--why don’t we take this to your room?”

[motocrossaddiction]

New Post has been published on MotocrossAddiction.com

Team SM Action Yamaha - 2020 MXGP of Garda Trentino, Pietramurata: Press Release

Ottimo finale di stagione per Reanux e il Team SM Action Yamaha in quel di Pietramurata. Nel GP del Garda Trentino, il francese sale sul terzo gradino del podio aggiudicandosi anche la medaglia di bronzo del Campionato MX2.

[davennyposts]

This product is restricted to 4 per customer.

Countdown to Christmas with 12 wish list winners and holy grail heroes (or open it all in one go, we won’t tell). Bursting with a treasure trove of make-up, skincare and fragrance and a dazzling mix of full-size heroes and mini editions, our 12 Days of Beauty Advent Calendar has been carefully curated so you’ll look and feel pampered and gorgeous.

What's included:

x11 full size products + x1 trial size • 1 x Herstory EDP Purse Spray 10ml. • 1 x Nutra Effects Soothe Micellar Water 50ml. • 1 x Jelly Eye Glaze – Nude Dew. • 1 x All-in-one BB Nail Colour – Restoring Beige. • 1 x Planet Spa Aromatherapy Beauty Sleep Overnight Face Mask 50ml • 1 x Loaded Lip Lacquer – Touch of Coral. • 1 x Planet Spa Aromatherapy Beauty Sleep Hand Cream 30ml. • 1 x True Eye Enhancing Shadow Crayon – Soft Peach. • 1 x Pro Colour In 60 Seconds Nail Enamel – Wine on Time. • 1 x True Colour Lipstick – Chic. • 1 x mark. Big & Extreme Mascara – Black. • 1 x Show Glow Glitter Flix Stick – Flickering Gold. FREE delivery when you spend over £20 Standard Delivery: £3 - receive your order within 5 working days Express Delivery: £4.50 - order before 1pm to enjoy next day delivery

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

[ubi amor, ibi dolor] part 3

Part 1 - Part 2

Chapter summary: Jacques haunts the castle like a ghost and fights in the tourney. To no one’s surprise, he turns everything to his favor yet again.

CW: strong language – and I do mean strong at times, A Knight’s Tale vibes, everyone’s a shithead as they’ve always been in this story, some of that sweet medieval misogyny, promiscuity, bickering galore, descriptions of jousting and some injuries, but nothing too graphic

Word count: ~6.3k

*

Morning, or more likely midday, rolled around, casting bright rays across the floor of your chamber, creeping up the walls and setting the room aglow. With your eyes hidden in the crook of your arm, you stirred, looking for a comfortable position in which you may doze off some more. The distant awareness that last night’s drinking did not resurrect as an evil hangover bloomed and you took a deep satisfied breath. Guiscard sensed you move and rolled over with a grunt, the effort of heaving his massive body groaning out of him. All could have been wonderful had your nuisance of a brother not swung your door open and let himself in.

“Guiscard,” he called loudly, making sure to wake the man up. “Just the man I’m looking for. The bishop has been looking for you since last night. Crusade business, I gather. You should get dressed and find him, he’s being a nuisance.”

Guiscard groaned again in acquiescing tones and threw the sheets off himself, slouching around the chamber like a shaven beast, gathering his clothes and struggling to put his boots on the right foot as last night’s drunkenness still blurred his vision.

Your brother pulled the sheets back down and you felt the disturbance in the mattress as he flopped on his belly, face cradled in his hands, legs swinging in the air.

You sighed, wishing he would leave, but his gaze was amused and insistent, you could feel it tickling and irritating across your skin. “What?” you threw your arm down, uncovering your face, and turned to him.

He relished the moment, studying your anger, deliberating on his words. “You and this Le Gris character. Something is going on there; something very terrible and very fun.”

You fixed him with a murderous stare, long enough to blink a few times and for his grin to grow more and more insufferable. “I haven’t mentioned the man once. You, on the other hand… Perhaps you should examine your own feelings about him.”

“Feelings, you say?” he repeated victoriously and scooched closer, lining his body with yours and propping up his head on his hand to look down over you. So close, so slappable. “I thought it must be something along those lines. What I was hoping for was just some fun at your expense; bring this man who seems to have insulted you, show him around and get a delightful little outburst out of you. Some glasses breaking, some harsh words cutting – your usual. I expected he would be sent back to Exmes tumbling on his ear by morning, and yet… You were so oddly calm,” he stopped to consider a moment and you dared hope he would shut up, but he went on. “Naturally, I presumed you were just spoiling my fun, but the more attention you drew to Guiscard and your flirting, the more you ignored this walking insult was even there… I think I finally understood. You’re trying to protect him. Or yourself. I’m right, aren’t I?” he concluded and looked down again, hungry for a victory. He was long past caring who you brought into your bed and whom you did or didn’t have feelings for. His fun lay in figuring out secrets and playing with people like others play with cats, their anguish no more than a colorful ribbon he twirled in their face.

You closed your fist around a cushion, arm flying in an arc, straight at his face and he chuckled, tumbling out of bed and straightening himself out as he walked to the door.

“If this man has stolen my sister’s heart…. How wonderful,” he said warmly, a romantic sort of look in his eyes. You clenched your jaw; he did not care one bit about your happiness or misery. “That is much better ammunition.”

*

The day before the tourney flew by in making some final preparations, and it did not help your timekeeping that you had slept through half of it already. The next morning, your brother insisted you rise early and go to confession before the day once again got swallowed up in the tumult of the tourney. Your father liked the idea too much and you couldn’t refuse, so you covered yourself up suitably and went to the castle’s chapel. If your brother thought you were having any repentant thoughts regarding Guiscard, it only showed how little he knew of women and, indeed, the world.

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” you said half-heartedly, arranging your necklace on your chest and smoothing your dress down. You would quickly run down your list of offenses, sit through the old man’s set of platitudes, and then do your penitence – if you find time – at whatever the going rate was for fornication and otherwise having fun.

“Well… Haven’t we all?” the man said, a hood obscuring his face, a forgiving sort of humor in his voice.

You frowned; that was not your confessor’s voice. Your servants were far enough away so as not to be able to eavesdrop and a quick bolt of panic shot through you. Then you remembered that if anyone wanted to do you harm, they wouldn’t wait until you fussed and preened and then give you warning by announcing themselves. “Who are you?” you demanded in your usual imperious tone, sharpened now by fright.

“Why, it is I, Helen of Troy,” he said, pulling down the white hood and revealing a face that could drive Christ himself to misanthropy.

“I should have known,” you muttered, getting up to your feet. “Did my obnoxious brother put you up to this?”

“Your benevolent brother did suggest we might converse, if that’s what you mean. And being the resourceful fellow he is, he went so far as to proffer a place where we would not be disturbed,” Jacques showed almost all his teeth in a grin and dashed in front of you as you made to leave.

He threw himself against the door and you ignored this, reaching for the handle anyway. One scream and he would be arrested, and you both knew you this. Still, he dared to close his arms around you, swinging and twisting your body until your back was pressed up to the door and he was barricading any escape route.

“Wait, please,” he asked with feigned contrition, enjoying that you had no choice but to stay, caught. “You still have not confessed to me.”

“Confessed what?”

He pursed his lips in thought, eyes cast up at the ceiling, as if that would distract from his heavy body curling in, tracing the curves of yours. “To start, what I’ve done to offend you?”

Your eyebrows shot up despite a resolution not to let him affect you. “Shall I quote from your letter directly, or enumerate chronologically?”

One end of his moustache quirked up and he pulled it down. “I’m flattered you read it enough times to remember it by heart.”

“Don’t be. I only read it once,” you lied, “but the mortification for your lack of sense was so powerful that it haunts the reader.”

He could not have hoped for a better reaction. Hips swiveling subtly from to side, they felt up against your dress and found your pelvis, pressing you more firmly into the door. Jacques felt the clench of your thighs as you readjusted, finding balance again and trying to will away that demanding heat that pooled right where he was pressing, exactly as he knew it would, spurred by memories of countless encounters that started with such teasing.  

“Are you really so hypocritical to hold against me what you do yourself?” he was emboldened by this miniscule gesture he could read so expertly, and lowered his lips close to your ear so his breath teased the sensitive flesh of your neck as he spoke. “I’d bet if I undressed you now, I’d find the imprint of my opponent still pressed into your flesh.”

You took a decisive breath, chest pushing his away as you did and titled your head to look at him. “Two things. To have an opponent, you need to be in the running,” you explained, but Jacques was undeterred by this. He would not be who he is, nor where he is, if he just listened to people when they looked down on him. “And second, I have great amounts of fun in my life, as I’m sure you do too. I may even say I had a good time at Pierre’s. But you seem to think we are headed towards some sort of romantic entanglement, and that is where we diverge, Lord Fly,” you smirked at the name and observed how his face remained trained and stony, but that impish fire in his eyes grew dimmer. He could pretend, but he could not hide. “That is no way to court me and I would not take a lover who counts me one of many.” You finished and glared with your chin raised, waiting for him to finally understand. Your reasons were true enough and he should never know how it cracked your heart in two to watch him with another woman, regardless of how little he cared for her. The worst thing a lover can see – the object of their desire entangled with someone else. Nothing left to the imagination; from the first touch to the moment of ecstasy, playing out before you, like a nightmare.

Clever as the devil, he seemed to intuit at least some of your secret meaning, face growing soft and achingly sad. “Well, Lady Eagle…” he heaved a sigh and you felt it wrack his chest. “Then you should tell me to leave. If you say so, I won’t stay to fight in the tourney at all.”

Ah. Right. The tourney. The small matter of honor, fame, and prizes. “Yes, you will,” you rolled your eyes. To ask him to leave was tantamount to admitting you couldn’t deal with him sticking around; that he was right to pursue you as you were, in fact, winnable.

“I will,” he admitted easily, aware of how you sidestepped his little trap. “But I wondered if you had the cheek to lie to me and send me away. Is your pride so strong that you would rather see us both suffer when you could make us happy?”

You stopped and stole a long moment, looking at him, feeling the warmth and press of his body. When would he ever be this close again? Never, if you could help it. You would curse yourself if you didn’t enjoy the little of him you could afford.

You rolled your hips against him, nerves alighting like a bonfire, slit clenching, toes curling. Ready a moment’s notice, you could feel him though all the layers between you. You huffed a small laugh, eyes trailing down, between you, where your bodies writhed and battled. He followed them with his, looking pleased with himself.

“Maybe it’s best if you do go. I haven’t found anything you have that I haven’t had before,” you frowned, faux pondering and fought against your lips twitching into a smile.

Suddenly, Jacques swooped in closer, so near it was disorienting. Eyes intent on your lips, he demanded them; almost taking them, inclining his head one way, lips so close you tasted their heat, then the other, the hair on his chin brushing your skin. You stilled, like any movement would send him running away, like you couldn’t bear to disturb the intimacy of it all.

Just as suddenly, he pulled all the way back, taking his dizzying heat with him, weight shifting to one foot as he mused. “Oh, I think you found it just fine.”

*

You sat on two cushions lining your seat, already there for a half hour before the knights finally rode out. Guiscard had been unsure whether he would be staying long enough to see and fight in the tourney, but after he noticed Le Gris sniffing around, he decided to at least put in one day of showing off his prowess. He rode on his warhorse, tall and enormous, black coat shiny in the late morning sun. For the occasion of riding out and opening the tournament, he chose his flashiest armor, without a stain, scratch or chink, shimmering with gold ornaments. The more functional one he wore in his battles in the Crusades waited in his tent, to be put on between this public showing and his first match, later in the afternoon. He was greeted by cheers and adulation, and he rode ostentatiously to the place where you sat to the left of your father, your brother and his wife on his right. He bowed to everyone present and produced a marvelous red rose from behind his shield, extending it to you. You took it and placed in your lap, letting him pass by.

Other knights, most of whom you knew, and other miscellaneous fighters rode in a procession, Le Gris among them. Several at a time stopped and greeted the Duke and his family.

Something had told Jacques that the best thing he do could at present was to ignore the young duchess. Every last rider would be vying for her attention and the surest way to get it was to snub it entirely. Another, stupider, man rode next to him in opulent armor and eagerly stared at Jacques’ cold-hearted love, blissfully unaware that if she ever were to give him her attention, he would die from it.

“She draws the eye, doesn’t she?” he asked the man casually.

“Of course,” the fool sighed. “She’s all I see.”

“The only things nature doesn’t bother to conceal are creatures that could kill you. Poisonous fruits and flowers, colorful toads, beautiful women. If it draws the eye, it kills. Keep that in mind,” he warned, half-mocking, half-pity for the guileless wretch.

“Why don’t you do the same then?” the fool frowned, confused and angry in the midst of his own consuming stupidity.

“I’m willing to die to have her.”

*

The first day of the tourney went as predicted. The knights who were predicted to win did so, and were showered with adoration. Several injuries, only a handful severe. One blinding. One death, but he died during the night, so the passing did not mar the day itself. Jacques won all of his matches; one young knight, half his age and a quarter of his size wisely forfeited. He splintered two lances on another opponent and dropped his lance the final time he rode down the lists. Pierre leaned in to explain that Jacques did not like to hurt people needlessly, especially in a situation like this, where the man’s pride would have been wounded if he had not ridden. There would be no glory in shattering a lance on his head and leaving him to die within a year or two from the effects of that injury. By dropping his lance, he forced the other knight to act with chivalry and not raise his own against Jacques. He still carried the victory, but the older man was spared what might have been serious harm by the look of him at the end. The only knight Jacques injured was Guiscard’s cousin, flying his colors proudly, and sending Jacques into a furious charge. Though he was eventually decisively unhorsed, only his shoulder was injured and his wife would have to forego the pleasure of being picked up and tossed on the bed for a few weeks.

*

The evening was less eventful than the several preceding it. Fighters needed their rest for the upcoming matches, the injured needed recovery, and the revelers needed a night off to soothe chafed shafts and holes.

Your brother sat with a small coterie of adoring ass kissers, with Alençon a fresh addition. The blond drunk amused the group by retelling stories from the lists, the blunders, flubs, the loosened bowels and embarrassing proclamations grown men made as their bones were set. The men were crying with laughter by the end, clapping him on the knees and shoulders, filling their bellies with wine. In a different corner, you sat with some ladies and acquaintances, one half of the group disgusted by the talk reaching you from the male side of the room, the other excited by it and wishing they could join in.

You had had enough and decided to retire to bed. No one was interesting enough to take with you, so you said goodnight and let the drunken men give you their clumsy respects. Alençon stood to bow and took your hand to kiss it, thanking you for your hospitality, the tourney and for gracing the event with your inspiring beauty, or some rubbish to that effect. As soon as he took your hand, it was clear to you these were half-truths at best, as his intention was something else entirely. He fumbled his inebriated fingers inside your hand, trying to slip you a small piece of paper unbeknownst to others. You snatched it and hid it in your sleeve before anyone, including Pierre, was aware of any movement.

It was no surprise to find the note was written by Jacques, asking you most humbly to meet him in the chapel before your retire to bed. You almost marveled at his determination, to keep chasing after you and to stay concealed in the castle, potentially until morning if you had decided to stay up until then.

*

“I will thank you not to write to me anymore, Lord Fly. Your note was very inopportune, keeping me from my bed, while your letter was as despicable and brazen as I have recognized you to be,” you ordered as you crossed the stone floor that led to the altar, each step sounding loud in the quiet of the night.

“Thank you,” Jacques cut in, crossing himself, and stood up.

You shook your head, deflating in the face of his boldness. “You have no shame at all.”

“Not when my soul is burning for something.”

The words cut you off at the knees. He saw. He smirked.

“I assume you invited me here to say someth—”

“I will win this tourney for you,” he assured eagerly. “It will show you ferociously I am willing to fight for you and—“

“You won’t,” you interrupted, gentle and sure, as if it were fact. The soft tone, more than the interruption, made him stop.

“If you want to prove how you will protect me, fight my enemies for me…”

“Yes?” he advanced, salivating like a hound, trembling to gnaw someone for you.

“Then fight my enemies inside you, because that is where all of them are. Your lust, your ambition, your pride. Abandon them. Lose.”

“Lose?” he sounded the word out slowly, outraged and disgusted.

“Lose for me. Do penance. Humble yourself. And I might consider there is something worthwhile in you.”

“What?” he twisted his face, unable to wrap his mind around stupidity of this magnitude, hands resting on his hips in irritation.

“Admit you are a low creature, full of sin and flaws, and prostate yourself before me,” you barely kept an evil smile off your face as he writhed furiously before you.”Then we may have a chance at knowing one another.”

“Losing goes against my every impulse, everything I’ve ever done in life,” he said in a low tone, leaning in close, like he was admitting a well-guarded secret.

“Exactly,” you confirmed, wondering how he could be missing your entire point.

Jacques fumed, imagining inflicting every kind of punishment on you, from the bedchamber to the breaking wheel. “Do me a favor. Read my letter again. Only the first half,” he added bitterly, pulling his cloak closer around him and stomping past you and away, muttering about serpents and evil bloodsuckers.

*

After the previous day, all of Jacques’ opponents were on alert. The cowards were afraid for their safety, plucking up all their nerve and strength as they charged at him down the lines, while the braggarts worried for their reputations and sharpened their resolve to attack him with every speck of strength and cunning they had. He would have been fucked even if he hadn’t been set on losing.

Pierre knew his darling Jacques was set up for immeasurable pain and humiliation today and he could not be separated from a wine goblet. Jacques had paced in circles for an hour last night, ranting and fuming about his tormentor’s audacity to ask this from him. Pierre had done what he could to dissuade him from the idea, suggesting they should leave and forget all about her. That was a mistake, he knew as soon as he said it, as it seemed to make Jacques mind up. Having slurped down about a flagon in his chamber already in the morning and several more cups in the stands, Pierre’s tongue lolled and ran far ahead of his sluggish brain, too slippery to be caught. He could not be stopped from speaking and doing his best to make sure the villainous duchess felt some of the harrowing fear and injury Jacques was braving.

“Have you ever jousted, my lady?” he asked ironically as lively chatter burbled all around you. Everyone was pitching in their mostly uneducated opinions on who seemed like the likely winner of every match.

You only laughed and your friend replied, outraged. “Of course not!”

“Then you might benefit from some education,” he pointed out, getting to his unsteady feet and lumbering over two ladies to squeeze into a chair next to you.

“Go ahead, Alençon, I’m all ears,” you said placidly, looking away from him and directing your attention to the two knights mounting their horses and securing their lances in place.

“Well, for starters, lances measure twelve to eighteen feet, depending on the rider and their skill,” he started and someone immediately cut in, saying they would rather have a big one with less skill than a little one and all the skill in the world. Though he would usually be charmed and engage with the bawdy comments, Pierre was visibly annoyed and carried on as if he hadn’t heard. “They weigh about thirty pounds, often more. The points are steel, razor sharp, although in some tourneys they blunt them. Not here, I heard. See that rounded part? That’s a vamplate, to guard the grip. Some of those have been known to break wrists or fingers nonetheless,” he seemed to revel in the damage that can occur to the rider and, bit by bit, the cheer was sucked out of the spectators and they fell silent. “They hold the lance in a fewter until it’s time to charge, no need to exert themselves additionally. The armor is heavy enough to feel like punishment, 50 pounds at least. Ah, see how he couches the lance under his arm? The marshall will wave the flag any moment, he’s ready. It braces against his chest and the saddle, pointed at his adversary. He’s likely wielding around a hundred pounds, his helmet only permitting a narrow view, and he sends that gear and an enormous warhorse hurtling inexorably towards a similar projectile, looking to knock him off the horse. Knock him off, I should say, in the best case. Some people hold grudges, some hold anger they can’t explain. They might aim for the weak spots in armor, piercing a shoulder, knocking off a helmet and taking an eye out with it… stabbing right through the throat and leaving the knight to drown in his own blood…”

Your gut twisted as the two knights thundered towards the middle, lances pointed, and you felt cold sweat dew on your skin, hoping no one gets injured. Both lances met their targets, one breaking and sliding off and the other splintering.  The match was ultimately decided by the way each lance had broken, and the two men left mostly unscathed, while Pierre provided more blood-curdling commentary on exactly what can go wrong.

By now it was too late to reach Jacques and you could only hope your request did not end in catastrophe.

*

The previous day, Jacques was dismayed not to be matched with Guiscard because he burned to see him under his horse’s hoofs. This day, he was grateful for it because he doubted he could keep his word and willingly lose if given the opportunity to joust the man who had everything he wanted in life.

As he prepared, Pierre fell silent, only sparing you a glance, full of accusation and venom. He could not even delight in how sick and guilty you looked as you stared back; he only cared about one. His hands flew to the railing, knuckles white as he squeezed the wood, jaw ticking, eyes wide and unblinking. A splinter buried itself in his palm and he did not have the presence of mind to go digging around for it. All his attention was on Jacques.

He lost the first match; four courses of riding and letting a lance shatter against his shield and later armor, once the shield had been bent out of shape, and even with his putting up no resistance, his opponent only managed to shatter two lances on him. He must have been so daunted by Jacques’ performance the previous day, he could not let himself contemplate victory. The crowd was shocked after the first course, not believed their eyes at first. The second and third saw an increase in cries and jeers and the fourth had them berating and spitting, angry that they were cheated out of an impressive performance from Jacques, growing more confident in their resentment of him and his apparent incompetence.

Whatever relief or pleasure you might have imagined you’d feel if Jacques did, after all, decide to lose was swallowed up in the all too real concerns Pierre planted in your mind. A wayward splinter could take his dazzling eye or leave it blind, his horse could fall and break his leg or ribs, he could fall unconscious and never wake. Suddenly, all the fun and games became all too real and you wrung your hands in your lap, so hard your bones wanted to snap. As they sped closer, and closer, oh God, leaning their heavy armored bodies in only to take bone-shattering blows, you wanted to look away, too anxious to see, but it was impossible. You had to see, had to know he was alive, at the very least. When it was done, Pierre stood and gathered his blue and gold cape around him indignantly, dashing off to see Jacques and you envied him bitterly, having to stay and make small talk while your heart lodged in your throat.

In the break between his first and second match, Jacques realized he might as well jump out of his saddle and finish the match early. It would save everyone some time – and end his humiliation sooner – and he would spare his beloved horse any potential injury. He did so, shame blazing in his cheeks, charring his insides, back bruised where he landed and throat coated with dust. His ears rang inside the helmet, but he could still hear the jeers and laughter from the stands. His eyes were full with angry tears and his lungs with stifled screams. He was living a nightmare and he wished he could disappear.

*

“Withdraw!” Pierre pleaded, desperate. “That still counts as losing. You don’t have to get yourself maimed or killed in order to lose.”

The blacksmith pounded away mercilessly at Jacques’ ruined shield, his helmet waiting on the ground to be mended. Neither Pierre’s whining nor the blacksmith’s pounding was helping Jacques’ headache.

“Eugh…” Jacques grunted as his leg, which he landed heavily on and bruised during his fall, was being stretched and twisted by the surgeon. “No. She wants to see me suffer, not just lose.”

“She said that?” Pierre stuck out his chin demandingly, hands on hips, like a disapproving mother.

“Not in so many words. But… Well, you’ve met her.”

Pierre was ready to finally unleash a torrent of choice words about the duchess that have been accumulating over many weeks that she has kept his favorite squire from his castle, from his bed, and now from health and life itself. But he sputtered and quieted as he saw people part and make way for the duke’s son, who seemed to be heading right towards the two of them.

“My lords,” he bowed humbly and Pierre and Jacques were forced to show even more humility to him in turn. “No, no, don’t rise on my account, my lord Le Gris, rest your leg. I don’t have my sister’s penchant for sadism,” he lied and leaned against one of the pillars holding the tent up, mulling his next words over. “Speaking of the she-devil, I have a little message from my sister,” he announced and looked at both men, studying their reactions. Pierre could not conceal his annoyance, so he chose to look out towards the field, staring daggers in the she-devil’s direction. Jacques winced from the pain in his leg, but otherwise just resigned himself with a sigh.

“I know it already – she wants to disgrace me and bring about my demise if at all possible. Is she not out there, watching her handiwork and delighting in it?”

“Oh, she is. She’s actually up there soaking her handkerchief, poor thing.”

“Really?” Jacques sat up straighter, forgetting all his pain.

The young duke nodded, looking sympathetic to both Jacques’ and his sister’s plight. “She has a different message now.”

The prospect of more demands brought Jacques crashing back to earth and he growled in response. “What does she say?”

“You should win.”

“What?” Pierre spun back towards them and said the word in unison with Jacques.

“She wants you to win your remaining matches. Guiscard is too far ahead of everyone else to be beaten, but you can still have more victories than losses overall if you keep winning your remaining matches.”

Jacques was blinking and gaping like a fish on dry land, assessing if he had enough strength and agility to win.

“Could she not come and deliver her message in person? Maybe encourage the poor man after he’s been fucked more than a whore on Fat Thursday?” Pierre kicked the helmet on the ground in frustration and it flew right into Jacques’ injured leg. He roared like a lion with a splinter in his paw and Pierre fell by his side, apologetic and adoring.

“My sister wouldn’t be the woman she is if she delivered her own apologies and requests,” he winked at Jacques and, to Pierre’s astonishment – despite all the pain and humiliation he suffered, Jacques gave a strangled laugh in response.

After the young duke left, Pierre was left sulking as Jacques gathered his resolve, readying to enter the fray again.

“I must admit I’m really beginning to hate this duchess of yours,” he pondered out loud, lips pouting like one of his little boys when they were particularly sullen.  

“You can’t hate her more I do, I assure you,” Jacques said, rolling his shoulder, feeling for soreness. “And I am going to need a big favor from you.”

*

True to his word, Jacques shattered his remaining opponents. The first one came in too cocky, thinking that Jacques had been sapped of all his spirit, and was sent flying out of his saddle, clinging to it in a panic and almost bringing his horse down with him. The poor beast kicked and flailed against the pull, hitting the barrier that separated the two riders and bringing a part of it down.

While that was being fixed, his last opponent had time to rethink his certainty that he would bat Jacques around like a cat bats a mouse. He descended on Jacques with the kind of ferocity he only witnessed in the Crusades until then, seeming to want to skewer Jacques just to secure a victory. Jacques took the blow to his shield in order to take precise aim and plunge his own lance into the knight’s chest. This sent him reeling back, barely staying in his saddle and the man lolled on his horse’s ass as it trotted all the way down the lists. He was revived and sat back upright, fresh lance planted into his grip and sent barreling down the lists again; this time taking Jacques’ lance to the helmet as his own slid off Jacques’ chest. Just like on the first day, Jacques took pity on the man, bloody and disoriented as he came riding precariously down the lists again and lowered his own lance as soon as he rode out. Whether his opponent lowered his lance as a knight should or it simply rolled out his grip as he was barely clinging to consciousness mattered little to Jacques. It was the knightly thing to do and he had already won anyway. The crowd cheered ecstatically for him, like ten thousand women reaching a screaming climax at once, and he bowed, taking off his helmet and waving to all the people who adored him and despised him with the changing of the wind.

*

Before the feast that evening in honor of Guiscard’s victory, your brother happily agreed to sneak Jacques into the castle early so you could talk. Once the commotion started, it would be far less convenient, and you predicted your nighttime would be busy and crowded, so there was only a thin sliver of time you might dedicate to the irreverent squire.

Jacques was squirreled away in your brother’s solar while everyone’s attention was on the great hall where the festivities would be taking place.

“Lord Fly. What a surprise to find you here,” you feigned and both of you fought off smiles. Not only was he summoned by none other than you, but there was a remarkable lack of hostility about you. It made him light-headed to feel it.

He stood up and planted himself in the middle of the small room . “You may shut your windows, but us flies still find our way in. We can’t help it,” he said placidly and you had to take notice of how well he knew to blunt an insult before it cut through him. “But I am not here this evening to buzz around and annoy you. In reality, I’m here to do penitence.”

“And what for?” you narrowed your eyes as he unfastened his cloak and let it crumple to the ground, revealing him to be dressed in a simple, tattered sackcloth garment.

“I have offended you greatly and I only now begin to see how much,” he said earnestly, voice low and flat, solemnly bereft of its usual melodiousness and gaiety. “After the tourney and all its ups and downs, I’ve been offered a place in your guard, which I couldn’t refuse even if I didn’t want it. But before we can establish this new bond, you must understand how sorry I am. Even when my actions have been thoughtless or offensive, my intentions were nothing but true and passionate.”

“You should have been an actor; I believe every word you say,” you teased, but your voice would not cooperate; It sounded solemn and low, touched by his sincerity. He spread ashes on his face to show remorse, a biblical sort of gesture which retained significance for him from his days in the clergy. There was surely a basin somewhere for him to wash up when his performance was over and you were sure he had fine clothes stashed away out of sight, but even with that knowledge, he still looked thoroughly humbled. Lastly, out came a short blade and he grasped his hair in one fist, placing the blade under it, just below his ear, ready to slice and shear it in a gesture of mourning. You put your hand over his balled up fist and stopped him. “I like the hair, leave it.”

His face lit up and all the heaviness was lost in its glow. Jacques stretched, twisting the penitence out of his body, and shook out his hair, skin twitching reflexively where the coarse sackcloth scratched.

“You look ridiculous,” you told him quietly, like it was a secret.

“You’ve seen me at worse,” he reminded sheepishly, not too eager to remind you of other times he was caught with his pants down. But life was only bearable with humor.

“True,” you agreed after a pregnant pause and his body relaxed.

Jacques came close, slowly reaching out to wrap his hands around your arms, letting you move away if you wanted to. “Tell me it’s not too late,” he asked when you didn’t step away.

“It’s not too late,” you sighed, reluctant to admit something that would put you in his power.

“Tell me you dreamed of me too,” he demanded more forcefully now that victory was within reach.

“I dreamed of you too,” you said, remembering the voice of that girl he performed with for you at Pierre’s, shakily repeating his words, saying anything just to have more of him. A man like Jacques made for a dangerous master.

“Tell me to kiss you.”

“Kiss me,” you said, tone imperious like it was you idea. “Squire,” you added when he leaned in, lips just the merest breath away.

“Ah,” he stopped, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes, as arrogant as the devil. “Knight,” he corrected and paused for just a moment to let you understand.

“Really?” you started to ask, but he nodded as fast as a hummingbird and swooped back in, trapping you in a kiss that drove you insane, bruising and chafing  like the sackcloth where it scraped against your skin.

*