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lovetwist · 1 year ago

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Veil of Deception (I)

SYNOPSIS: In a world where political alliances are forged in blood and treachery lurks around every corner, you find yourself thrust into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen. Born to be his perfect mate, you grapple with the terrifying prospect of becoming entangled with a man known for his brutality, obsession, and madness. As your union unfolds, you navigate a landscape of deception and dark desires, struggling to find your footing in a marriage fraught with danger and uncertainty. Caught between duty and defiance, summon your strength and resilience to survive in a world where loyalty is a luxury and love is a dangerous game.

WARNINGS (R18+): mildly dub-con, smut, first time, weapons kink, mentions of violence, manipulations, genetic breeding, power play

Word Count: 3.5k

PART 2

Below the towering spires of obsidian and steel, against a backdrop of opulent extravagance that flaunted wealth and power, a tension hung heavy, pregnant with the promise of destiny.

As Lady Atreides, sole daughter of Leto Atreides, you stood poised on the precipice of a meeting that would shape the course of your future. Your heart seized with nerves as you awaited the arrival of your betrothed.

Since your 15th name day, you had known of your engagement to the na-Baron. It was an inescapable fate predetermined by the Bene Geserrit. Your mother, Lady Jessica, had gone against them by giving birth to Paul, a male heir for Leto. Two years later, she gave birth to you – a gift of compromise for both sides. In return, Lady Jessica and Leto achieved the familial harmony they wanted, through the sacrifice of their daughter.

Every year, the Harkonnens requested your portrait to be sent along with a lock of hair. In exchange, they sent House Atreides jewels, gold, silks, and spice; disguised bribes for the upkeep of such a fine lady. They had only sent a portrait of Feyd-Rautha once. It was taken during his coming-of-age ceremony, a lean young man dressed in black fighting leathers. You stared often at the picture, looking to find some clue that could reveal his character. His demeanor was unnaturally cold and collected, yet his dark eyes barely concealed a burning rage. You wondered if Feyd-Rautha poured over you pictures as you did his.

Years passed and the engagement felt more like a false formality than reality. Unlike other noble families, you never exchanged letters with Feyd-Rautha or even met as a courtesy. Having completed your Bene Geserrit training under your mother, you learned that such things did not matter when it came to pairings arranged by the Reverand Mother. You caught whispers of conversation between your mother and her Bene Geserrit sisters. There would be no chance of failure, this union would be perfect. You were genetically engineered to be his absolute mate. Attraction and physical compatibility was assured. Everything about you was designed to lure him in – your scent, your voice, your everything was to be his undoing from the moment he would lay eyes on you.

Yet the thought gave you no confidence as you stood here now in Giedi Prime. Sexual attraction differed greatly from love, he didn’t need emotions to breed you. Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen, was a man followed by countless stories of brutality and wickedness. You heard that he laughed when Reverand Mother subjected him to the Gom Jabbar. He didn’t endure pain, he reveled in it.

Your palms grew clammy, breath becoming increasingly shallow as you pondered the dark fate that awaited you in the form of this formidable man. Would Feyd-Rautha be the embodiment of all the whispered sin that had reached your ears, or would he prove to be an enigma beyond your wildest imaginings? With each passing moment, the anticipation mounted, weaving a delicate web of uncertainty around your heart as your braced yourself to meet the man who held your destiny in his hands.

The grand doors of the chamber swung open with a regal flourish, your heart quickened its pace, echoing the rhythm of anticipation that thrummed through the air. Through the gray haze of incense, you beheld Feyd-Rautha, a vision of masculinity and charisma, whose presence seemed to command the very essence of the room. His eyes met yours across the expanse of the chamber, a charged moment filled with unspoken tension, as if the universe itself held its breath in anticipation of this meeting.

You were ensnared in a tempest of conflicting emotions, thoughts swirling like sand caught in a desert storm. You questioned your own composure, wondering if you could maintain the facade of confidence expected of a lady of House Atreides in the presence of the young Harkonnen and the terrifying Baron. Feyd-Rautha may be your future husband, but he was not required to provide you a good nor happy life. After all, why would he? You were the daughter of his family’s sworn enemy. He may have been bound in marriage to you by centuries of bloodline manipulation, but he maintained a free will.

Would his words falter, betraying the tumult and hatred raging within him? Or would he summon the grace and poise befitting his station, masking the turmoil that churned beneath the surface? Your apprehension mounted, a symphony of doubt and fear playing out in the recesses of your mind. Yet, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a glimmer of determination flickered like a distant star on the horizon, urging you forward into the unknown with a quiet resolve born of necessity.

For in the labyrinthine dance of politics and power that defined their world, you knew that you could ill afford to falter now. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and prepared to face your destiny, whatever form it may take in the guise of a madman husband.

Feyd-Rautha, with an air of effortless confidence, strode forward, his gaze a smoldering ember that ignited a spark within your soul. In that fleeting moment, as your paths converged amidst the darkness and mist of the surroundings, you felt a surge of something unfamiliar yet undeniable��an electric current that crackled between your bodies, binding your fates together inextricably.

Words eluded you as you struggled to articulate the wave of emotions that threatened to consume you. Yet, in the silence that stretched between you two, you found solace in the understanding that this meeting was but the first step on a journey fraught with uncertainty and possibility. He bowed without taking his eyes off you. In greeting, you extended a gloved hand, Feyd-Rautha grasped it with a firm sense of resolve. You knew that your lives were now intertwined in ways neither could fully comprehend nor stop.

And in that moment, amidst the hazy dream of your shared future, you glimpsed the faintest flicker of something akin to desire dance across his eyes. You noticed a dilation of his pupils as he laid a kiss on the back of your hand. Then, his grasp of you tightened and tightened. Your face contorted in pain as a crooked smirk appeared on his features.

In the dim light of the chamber, your eyes traced the contours of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips, searching for traces of the young man you once memorized in a portrait. Yet, try as you might, only a beast stood before you in the guise of a gentleman. When he stood at his full height with his darkened leer, you held yourself back from cowering. His gaze was vicious, his smile vulgar with blackened teeth, and he exuded an air of savagery.

“How delightful it is to finally meet you, Lady Atreides.”

His deep, raspy voice caught you off guard. What a performer he could be! Long gone was the ethereal allure he displayed when first entering the room, now you could see him for what he was.

“Likewise, my Lord Feyd-Rautha.”

Uncertainty lingered like a specter in the room, casting a pall over the impending union that would bind you with him. You let your gaze lower onto the floor as your parents approached to talk with the Baron and na-Baron.

You could feel his intense gaze burning through your body even as you moved away to be with your brother. Could his eyes pierce through your facade, unraveling the intricacies of your soul like fine thread? Such questions gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, casting shadows on your will to remain strong.

As the evening progressed, the tension in the air thickened like a fog, suffocating any semblance of ease. Seated at the long banquet table surrounded by your family, the Harkonnens, and noble guests, you found yourself ensnared in a delicate dance of propriety and peril.

Across from you, Feyd-Rautha lounged in his seat, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he watched you with unabashed fascination. His demeanor was that of a predator toying with its prey, his every movement calculated to instill a sense of discomfort. Your family would leave to Arrakis after the wedding festivities, then you would be truly left alone with him. The precariousness of your position tugged at your heart.

As the meal commenced, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the strained chatter of polite conversation. You forced yourself to engage in small talk with those seated around you, your words measured and careful, lest you betray the fear that coiled like a serpent in the pit of your stomach.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized by those dark, probing eyes. It was as if Feyd-Rautha could see straight through you, peeling away the layers of pretense to expose your most secret vulnerabilities. You found yourself growing increasingly unsettled. You longed to escape, to retreat to the safety of your chambers and away from the suffocating presence of the Harkonnen heir.

But you knew that there would be no reprieve, no sanctuary from the darkness that had descended upon your life like a shadow. For tonight, and every night thereafter, you were bound to him by the cruel machinations of fate, condemned to walk a path fraught with danger and uncertainty. And as you raised your glass to Feyd-Rautha’s toast to your impending union, you couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited you.

“To the most beautiful bride in the world, I will certainly savor tomorrow’s…memories.”

The men at the table chuckled darkly while your father’s and brother’s jaws clenched. You lay your delicate hand over theirs, do not mourn me. If I am to die, I shall do so with honor.

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As your mother lowered your veil, you noticed tears forming in her eyes. You never thought you’d live to see the day the impenetrable Lady Jessica shed tears for you. I must really be walking into my death, you thought.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. There were no words to describe the vision you saw. Crafted from the finest silk and satin, your wedding gown exuded an air of majestic elegance with flowing skirts cascading like waves of moonlight around your figure.

The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and delicate lace, hugged your curves with a tailored precision, accentuating a slender waist and graceful neckline. A row of tiny diamonds trailed down your body, gleaming against the smooth expanse of your back. While the front of the dress was conservative, your back was tastefully exposed through a combination of sheer silk, diamonds and pearls.

Your hair was pinned neatly into a bun with a delicate braid on each side. The veil was gauzy, making your face seem like a daydream. The ivory fabric of your dress pooled at your feet in a sea of frothy tulle and satin, forming a train that trailed behind you like a regal cloak. The wedding dress was embroidered with delicate motifs of growing vines, mountains and ocean waves – a reminder of Caladan.

At your collar, a border of intricate lacework added a touch of timeless elegance, its patterns catching the light in a dazzling display of shimmering beauty. With every movement, the gown seemed to whisper tales of romance and splendor, a clear hope to the love and devotion the seamstress had prayed you’d find. You choked down a sob.

You’ve made me an angel for him to ruin.

The wedding hall was adorned with such grandeur, you’d expect the emperor’s daughter was getting married instead. The flickering silver torches cast dancing shadows upon the ebony stone walls. As guests gathered in hushed reverence, the air crackled with anticipation, as if the very walls themselves whispered of your impeding damnation.

At the front of the hall, beneath a canopy of arched black silk, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stood, an imposing figure in his ceremonial garb. His porcelain skin was stark against the darkness of his clothes as he awaited his bride.

You approached with measured steps, hardening your grip on your father’s arm. Your eyes must’ve betrayed your fear and resignation because you could see Feyd-Rautha biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh.

As you reached the altar, his lips curled into a predatory smile, his voice dripping with malice as he spoke the vows that bound you together in unholy matrimony. The words echoed through the hall like a curse, sealing your fate alongside his.

As you exchanged rings, a union forged in the fires of despair, you vowed that though your body may be bound to Feyd-Rautha, your spirit would remain forever free.

Standing before him, you felt the weight of his gaze like chains around your soul.

With a solemn nod from the officiant, you and Feyd-Rautha were instructed to seal your union with a kiss. He removed your veil, his eyes lingering on your face. As his lips met yours, a shiver ran down your spine.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle, but devoid of love. You gasped when his tongue entered your mouth. It was a macabre dance of dominance and submission, a twisted mockery of affection that left a bitter taste upon your lips. You try to push him away, but he holds your hands firm against his chest. The Harkonnens roar with applause and laughter. As you pulled away, a sense of profound emptiness washed over you, a hollow echo of the dreams and desires that had once burned within your heart.

The rest of the wedding banquet was a blur. As you were led to the high table by Feyd-Rautha's side, you couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, ensnared in a web of malevolence. The guests, mostly Harkonnen allies, noble families, and sycophants, feigned smiles and exchanged whispers, their eyes gleaming with a perverse curiosity at the spectacle of your union.

The feast itself was a decadent display of excess, with platters of exotic delicacies and goblets overflowing with rich wines. But the opulence only served to accentuate the suffocating atmosphere, as the room was closing in on you with each additional piece of ornate furniture.

Feyd-Rautha, ever the consummate host, played his part with calculated charm, his laughter ringing hollow in your ears as he regaled the guests with tales of conquest and murder. You watched him from across the table, his features twisted in a mask of false benevolence, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of revulsion mingled with a sliver of pity. He, too, was playing a part – ever the performer.

Throughout the banquet, you were subjected to the leering gazes and whispered innuendos of the Harkonnen cronies, their crude remarks slicing through the thin veneer of civility like daggers. But you held your composure, steeling yourself against their taunts and jeers, refusing to let them see the cracks in your mask.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed freely, the mood grew increasingly raucous, the revelry descending into a frenzied ecstasy. You found yourself adrift in a sea of faces, each one a grotesque caricature of humanity, their laughter and applause a cruel mockery of your predicament.

And amidst the chaos and debauchery, you couldn't help but wonder what was in store for you, chained to a man whose heart was as black as midnight. As you absentmindedly finished your last sip of wine, Feyd-Rautha stood suddenly, his chair loudly rattling against the granite floors. A chilling silence descended upon the hall.

He extended a hand towards you and you immediately understood his intentions. You departed the hall, hand-in-hand as men watched with envy and women stared with pity. You couldn’t bear to look at the faces of your family, afraid that you might beg them to take you home.

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As you left the banquet hall with Feyd-Rautha, a heavy sense of foreboding settled over you. The echoes of the evening's macabre festivities lingered in your mind, each laughter, each lewd jest, a reminder of the gilded cage in which you now found yourself imprisoned.

You walked beside Feyd-Rautha, his grip firm upon your hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors of the Harkonnen estate. There was an eerie stillness in the air. With each step, you felt the weight of your predicament pressing down upon you, the reality of your situation sinking in like a cold, unyielding truth.

You stole a glance at Feyd-Rautha, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Occasionally fireworks would alight by the window, allowing you to see his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that made you look away immediately.

As you walked in silence, your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions, a storm raging within you. You couldn't help but wonder what awaited in the bedchamber. You weren’t ignorant to the act of consummating a marriage, but your husband was no ordinary man. What horrors lay in store for a woman bound to a man as cruel and cunning as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen… what would satisfy a man like him? But amidst the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of desire burned within you, a stubborn resolve to claim him as much as he claims you.

He led you into a large room with double doors. Compared to the gaudy decorations of the wedding hall, this room was relatively simple: a chamber of dark elegance and understated grandeur. There were only the bare necessities required of a bedroom, but each piece had been impeccably handmade with the most exquisite of materials. At its center, a massive four-poster bed stands as the focal point, its frame crafted from polished ebony wood, intricately carved with motifs of serpents and ivy. Perfectly sized above the bed, stretching over the ceiling was pure reflective glass. You swallowed thickly, this man had no shame.

A grand chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, its crystals casting prismatic rays of light across the room, illuminating the space with a haunting allure.

The walls are lined with dark, navy paneling, adorned sparingly with antique tapestries depicting scenes of forgotten battles and dangerously sharpened weapons. A sleek, black writing desk sits nearby, stacked with books on war strategies and adorned with quill and parchment.

A sense of regal simplicity pervades the space, each element carefully curated to its master. This is a sanctuary of solitude, where one can retreat from the heaviness of the Harkonnen world and immerse themselves in the embrace of peace.

Busy admiring the room, you didn’t notice Feyd-Rautha locking the doors behind you. You tensed when you suddenly felt the coldness of a blade against your back. With one precise slice, he cut your wedding dress open leading all the decorative pearls to fall to the ground. Your hands instinctively went to cover yourself, but his newfound grip on your wrists was even faster.

“You are mine now, pet.” His hands slowly guided yours down as he ripped away the rest of your dress. “Do not resist me, I want to see you in all your beauty.”

Your face flushed as you looked away from him. You knew objecting to his wish was futile, perhaps if you appeased him then he’d be gentler. You learned this was a useless thought the moment you saw his expression – raw, animalistic hunger chipped away at the edges of his sanity. His pupils dilated so wide that his eyes became monochromatic orbs of obsidian.

He removed his own clothes with swift and lithe movements, revealing pure sculpted muscle. Through the rapid rise and fall of his chest, you could see that he was barely holding back his lust. Feyd-Rautha was going to devour you without leaving a single morsel for the world.

“I-I… If you hurt me, I will scream.”

“Go ahead, it’ll only stroke my ego if you do. Scream loud enough for the whole banquet to hear. Let them know what pleasures your husband bestows upon you.”

With each step he took towards you, you took two steps back. When you felt the bed come into contact with the back of your knees, you realize you’ve been trapped.

“Lie down.” he commanded.

Sensing the tonal shift in his voice, you obeyed. You felt his long, slender fingers enter your most intimate place. When he curved against your inner wall, you let out an involuntarily moan – which he quickly swallowed from your lips. You had touched yourself before, but only rarely during occasions when you couldn’t sleep and the moon was hanging high.

However, this was different – he was different. His fingers reached places where yours never could. Your body made lewd sounds as he pumped in and out of you with torturous speed. The way you grind against his hand was indecent, but he rewarded you with such sweet friction. Hearing his low pants against your ear, you couldn't help but writhe into his touch. When you came undone, he smirked and licked your essence from his fingers.

Before you could catch your breath, he was on top of you again; caging you between his toned arms. He reached out to grasp your chin before roughly crashing his lips down on yours. The kiss was all-consuming, he was drinking in every part of you without letting you breathe. Your eyes wandered down to where his member stood unnaturally stiff and enlarged. Your new husband sneered at your expression before his right hand circled around your throat.

“Your throat… it shall be my axis tonight.”

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #dune imagine #dune fanfic #dune fanfiction #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha fanfic #dune x reader #austin butler imagine #feyd smut #austin butler x reader #feyd rautha smut

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re-dracula · 1 year ago

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Welcome to Re: Dracula

We're a bite-sized audio adaptation of the horror classic. Think Dracula Daily for your ears!

Re: Dracula takes the famous horror tale, breaks it up chronologically (every entry of this epistolary novel has a date), and sends the story directly to your podcatcher as it happens. Every time something happens to the characters, Re: Dracula will publish an episode, in real time. This audio drama is a faithful adaptation of the story we know and love, featuring a full cast to tug on your heartstrings and sound design to keep you on the edge of your seat.

We've also adapted Carmilla! You can listen to it in full on the Re: Dracula podcast feed.

We're currently in the process of adapting Frankenstein in the same style! Stay tuned for more info :)

Places to Listen:

Re: Dracula Website: redracula.live

Podlink (Links to all the apps!): pod.link/1679833472

Spotify: open.spotify.com/show/6Mu1ME2CmFi7MpU0YrXcpx

Youtube Channel: www.youtube.com/@redracula

Important Links:

Patreon: www.patreon.com/redracula

Ad Free Feed: bloodyfm.supportingcast.fm/products/re-dracula-1

Merch: store.dftba.com/collections/re-dracula

Website: www.ReDracula.live

Bloody Disgusting Website: www.Bloody-Disgusting.com

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Re: Dracula debuted at #2 on the fiction podcast charts, has seen over two million downloads, and been an official selection of over a dozen film and web festivals. Re: Dracula was featured on Tumblr's 2023 and 2024 year in review, and Tor.com called it "a spectacular podcast." Other Links:

Patreon Store (Digital Merch): www.patreon.com/redracula/shop

Youtube Channel: www.youtube.com/@redracula

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Re: Dracula Tea (proceeds to charity): www.adagio.com/signature_blend/blend.html?blend=210196

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Tal's Bandcamp (misc songs): sidequesting.bandcamp.com/

Newt's Bandcamp (misc songs): newtonschottelkotte.bandcamp.com

#new pinned post!#re: dracula

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kindredspiritsandgoodomens · 9 months ago

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"Even memory is an act of imagination, you never tell the same story twice, not even to yourself" ~ Michael Burkard

This quote showed up on my dash and reminded me of The Rashomon Job and how interesting I find it that many people can watch the episode and walk away with the impression that we've been told the 'correct' or 'true' version of what happened that night, specifically by Nate.

And I get why. The team certainly lets him have the last word, and structurally we are used to the 'Nate's Eye View' dénouement being the point where we see a complex web of events finally make sense as a designed structure. But the multiple thefts of the dagger weren't part of a unified whole arranged by Nate, or by anyone - so maybe we should approach the usual conceit of revealing the scheme as seen through the eyes of the mastermind rather differently in this episode.

As an audience, we depend on Nate's ability to pull off the impossible just as much as the team do, and even though we (and the team) may roll our eyes at his god complex it's important for our continued investment that we (and they) manage to almost believe he's Just That Good. But the tell that his version of this particular story is not entirely without colour is that it's all just a little too neat.

When the storytelling starts, Nate's delighted. The minute he realises he can scoop them all, and even retroactively be the mastermind who puts it all together, he's just pleased as punch. "Why don't you all come over and I'll tell you what really happened." He says. You know, like a liar.

The first thing of note about Nate's Version is that he never went into the party, but still takes it upon himself to give them an authoritative reconstructed version of what went down based entirely on his own sense of how it would have happened, based on his understanding of the team and his assumptions about their behaviour. Naturally in Nate's Version Eliot and Sophie don't flirt even a little. Naturally in Nate's version it's going to be Eliot who takes Sophie's adulterated champagne glass, intended for Hardison, from Parker's tray, despite nobody else having specified anything about this detail (Eliot - the gastronome - wouldn't remember spitting out foul tasting champagne? Sophie wouldn't have noticed a key part of her plan going awry?). But this way it fits it all together like one of his plans, so naturally it's all going to be nice and neat.

Not content with imagining the entirety of the party sequence, he also entirely constructs a conversation between Coswell and the securty guard locked in the store room. Based on Nate's own description of his movements there's simply no way for him to know what went down in that room. We know from Parker that Coswell made his way into the vents, and we know how he got the climbing equipment, but would the Coswell of Nate's Version really go climbing into ducts? It's neat, but it's thin.

Coswell is really where we have to question the neutrality and authority of Nate's version the most. Not only because - even if we allow that IYS jackass Nate Ford did in fact perceive this security guy (probably most security guys) as an ineffectual irritant - he's clearly reacting to Sophie's contemporary jibe about Coswell's potentially superior intelligence by making the man a buffoon in his retelling. But, also, because believing him about Coswell's buffoonery requires us to accept that Parker, Eliot, Hardison and Sophie all massively overestimated an opponent on a job. Is that really plausible? Even if we allow for a percentage of exaggeration because they're thieves swapping stories in a bar, it doesn't add up. Hardison and Parker, who were young and mostly there for clout, maybe. Eliot and Sophie? No.

When they describe Coswell as brusque, efficient, and suspicious - and they corroborate each other, we should be very wary of Nate's entirely re-written character sketch of the man. Especially the idea that his behaviour could all be explained because he had a crush on Sophie. Sophie Devereaux - who can pick a mark's weakness of a driving license photo - not notice when the head of museum security has a crush on her? Not bloody likely.

Everything Nate remembers Coswell as actually saying could just as easily have been said by the version of Coswell the others describe. For instance, "I don't know much about gold but I know it's not meant to do that." Could be silly - could be sardonic. Nate thinks he's an irritating pleb, so it's recounted as silly. But even in Nate's Version Coswell makes a good point about the dealer running. Again, it's neat, but it's thin.

As for the idea that the dagger fell from a vent directly into his hand? Well, as Hardison says, nobody's that lucky. Nate's showboating. He's embellishing and neatening his recounting of his own (biased) recollections just as much as the others, and he's doing it to reinforce his team's (and maybe his own) perception of him as slightly beyond the laws of chance, reason, and even physics. This episode is also one of the last times he denies that he's a thief - a tell if ever there was one.

Eliot and Sophie both express reservations, but they let him have it, because on some level they know that they need him to be that lucky. The whole house of cards only stays up if Nate really is That Good.

Plus, of course, none of the team's versions are without colour - and they all know it. Firstly, all perception is shaped by biases. So Sophie remembers different details than Eliot or Parker, because they look at the world differently and prioritise different kinds of contextual awareness, reasoning, and value judgements. Secondly, and more importantly, they're not just remembering and recounting what happened that night - they're all thieves telling stories to other thieves, to friends they want to wind up (the accents getting worse and worse, Sophie saying Coswell was maybe even smarter than Nate), impress (Hardison being the centre of female attention, Sophie getting a round of applause), or correct (Eliot and Sophie both claiming the other was the one doing all the flirting, when if we take Hardison's word...) But their descriptions of the sequence of events all line up reasonably well.

Ultimately they're all right about parts of it. Nate's probably right about Coswell being ineffectual by IYS standards. Sophie's probably right about his personality. Hardison's probably right about Eliot and Sophie flirting outrageously. Parker's probably right about her encounter with Coswell in the vents (she's not going to misremember vents). But we, the audience, don't see the One True Version of what happened that night.

That's why it's so nice when the episode ends with them all going to steal the dagger, properly, together. Because that's where the truth is. The truth that they're all thieves, telling stories in a bar. Even Nate. But when they're stealing things together they can defy the laws of chance, reason, and even physics. That's where they'll really see and understand each other, and that's what matters.

#leverage #the rashomon job #long post #sorry #I just had thoughts #also to be very clear I think Parker's version of Sophie's accent was BOTH accurate to how Parker perceives things she doens't care about #AND an opportunity for her to continue a bit and tease her friend

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whysoblue2 · 4 months ago

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The God of Health

As Shamura planned their conquest and the re-arranging of the Pantheon, they thought they calculated every outcome, strategized every single move and spun a thick sturdy web of plots around the chessboard, so that each little piece would fall exactly as they envisioned. But as time passed, they were put in front of the chilly realisation that they couldn’t, in fact, foresee everything. The boy had come of age, growing into a skilled strategist, a formidable warrior, competent in every weapon he had been trained with. Yet, the power hidden within his Crown remained locked, still beyond his reach! At his age, Shamura had already slain their first god. A disappointing outcome for one with such potential, but that wasn’t what troubled the spider most. He had grown to be beautiful, disarmingly so. His cult was gaining plenty of followers each day passing, a good trait, but the young God of Health had caught the attention of many, mortals and gods alike. And with attention comes trouble, with such beauty the peril of objectification, with enchanting blue eyes the risk of meeting the wrong gaze. Shamura dragged Kallamar with them on the battlefield and saw him hurt more times than they could count, but they had never felt so concerned. A young god coming to age, a juicy apple ripe for the taking, how could they shield him from the rest of the world? He wanted to be independent, the stubborn boy, but didn’t know traps lay in waiting, hungry maws ready to snap at his first weakness. The God of War was ready to face the odds on a battlefield with weapons, armies and war machines, but was unarmed against this. For the first time, Shamura was afraid. That was their little brother… No one must ever touch him.

A little HC in my AU about a very toxic sibling relationship.

Ofc, in the end, Kallamar did go ahead and slay gods, using weapons Shamura had no idea how to use. That made the two of them practically unstoppable. But Kall became the one laying traps and ensnaring prey... so much that one would ponder: who is the spider?

Thank you for reading all my ramblings about my AU... I have so much stuff cooking. This idiot is in the middle of the cauldron! Story aside, I finally finished his design and I am pretty proud of how it turned out, mostly that face and jewellery omg. I have never coloured so much gold. Ever. Lineart here!

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl kallamar #cotl fanfic #cotl fanart #kallamar #kallamar fanart #bishop kallamar #cult of the lamb kallamar #cotl au #cult of the lamb fanart #my artwrok #my art #Kallamar please release me #he is my doom #i'm gonna go die over there #please stop smiling like that #that smile #that damn smile

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msparkerazzi · 6 months ago

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Website Redesign | chucksandheels.co

🎨✨ Exciting things are in motion! The NEW chucksandheels.co is on its way, featuring bold visuals, sleek functionality, and a seamless brand experience. Stay tuned as we bring creativity to life! #WorksInProgress #WebDesign

#Branding #eCommerce #Web Re-Design

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happywebdesign · 11 months ago

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(re)vive

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zarvasace · 3 months ago

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Portfolio day! :D

My commission info is a little out of date—I've refined and streamlined some styles. The idea is thus: Cheapest option, low-res doodles at $15usd. Medium option, single full body character no bkg at $60usd. Most expensive option, full composition at $120usd.

I also do design, for print or web, and if you feel like a custom spreadsheet, we can work something out! ;D

#my art #portfolio day #portfolio day 2025

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saphushia · 1 year ago

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helpful (free) utility programs for artists

Allusion

reference image organizer. shows all the images in any folders you assign it to look in, and provides an easy interface for tagging and searching them. you can nest tags within each other, and when you apply a tag to an image it also applies all the parent tags. so if you tag 'tank top', and tank top is in the 'shirt' tag, it'll include that image when you search 'shirt'. also open source!

compatible with windows, mac, and linux

Pureref

reference image viewer. can create reference image collages, add notes, lock the window to stay on top, set the window to be partially transparent, and save 'scenes' so you can quickly pull up whatever character ref you need without searching for all your references images and re-adding them every time. supports loading images from file and copy-pasting from web.

compatible with windows, mac, and linux

WhatColor

color describer. shows you details about the color your mouse is over. it's designed for colorblind folks, and I mostly use it because I have strong color filters on my screen 90% of the time for health reasons. however it's also helpful when you're learning to dissect color palettes and are trying to see how the perception of a certain color is affected by the colors surrounding it. use it to see how often ur brain gets duped into seeing purple when it's actually blue

compatible with windows 7/8/10

#talking #ngl made this mostly bc i found allusion a couple days ago and i'm still living off the hype of finding it #also cause not enough ppl know abt pureref #whatcolor isn't specifically an art tool but i think it's useful as one

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dusterbishop · 10 months ago

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two thousand years of chasing taking its toll (and it's coming closer)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 2.5k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. i have crushed on gambit since the animated series in the nineties so the new movie brought back a lot of feelings.

part one. || part two.

An endless spread of worlds to wander into, and this is the one you choose: Gambit crouches next to you, his breath staggering out of him in pained wheezes, his hand clasping protectively over the nape of your neck.

It is getting harder to see past the blood dripping into your eyes and the sheen of unshed tears. Your abdomen throbs in intermittent waves of little agonies, needling deep in the pit of your stomach. The shots had gone wide, at first, until you had stepped right into them. Gambit had caught you as you stumbled, swearing too fast for your mind to unjumble past the desperate rush of French.

An endless expanse of possibilities, and you are living in this one, dying in his arms. It almost makes you laugh, except it hurts to breathe, and Gambit is supporting more of your weight than he was just a moment ago.

“Now don’ go doing that again,” he manages in English. One hand on your neck, his thumb pressed over your pulse, and the other pressed tight enough against your wound to make the shadows flicker around the edges of your vision. “Mais la, there ain’ gon’ be next time, chér.”

No. There isn’t. You know it as sure as you know how much he’s hiding his own hurt. He had been blown back twenty-five feet and hit the pavement hard enough that he had laid there, stunned, unarmed. His armor had been designed to take the weight of a blow, but he wasn’t dressed for a fight. Neither of you are. So they had aimed at him, and you had made sure it wasn’t him standing there when the guns went off.

Like one breath and the next. In, and you saw his impact, saw the weapons being raised towards him. Out, and you flickered across realities as smooth as Gambit shuffled his cards, every timeline fanning out before you in a sea of possibilities. Endless, countless possibilities.

This is your last Gambit, and you’re killing him just as sure as you’re killing yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp out. Your voice trembles enough to make your lungs seize up. “Remy, I’m sorry.”

“Tant pis pout toi,” he shoots back. “Help Remy get you up, chér, ‘fore they shootin’ us.”

There is no version of you that isn’t broken that still keeps him alive, so you grit your teeth and let him haul you up, steadying yourself in this timeline. It has always been easier to tether yourself to one timeline when you have something to anchor yourself to. He sweeps you up in a bridal carry, and at this angle you can rest your heavy-list head against the warmth of his broad shoulder. He is a solid port of harbor beneath your tethering weight, a rock standing unyielding to the tide around it.

Your second Gambit had been like this, too. That variant had died with a blazing playing card in hand, his mouth twisted in rage, standing before you and the TVA headhunters with all of the bravado and confidence of a hopeless man. A final stand, he had called it. The two of you had gambled and gone all-in only for Gambit to be dead and you to be thrown into another identity.

You had told yourself that you would be better for this Gambit. No vigilante justice or petty crimes. You had gone on your first date to get po' boys and traded familiar barbs while you spun yourself into the web of a narrative that wouldn’t mark you as an oddity in this world. No strange time-skipping mutant here, only a human interested in a man with blackened red eyes and a smooth talking deck of cards.

Playing the odds, raising the bet. Your Remy would have loved that.

This Gambit, though, he dies holding you just like that, cradling you close enough that you feel the breath knocked from his lungs as the bullets find their mark against his unguarded back. You both tumble forward, the impact rattling your bones, your hands lashing out to catch desperately at the sleeve of Gambit’s coat.

Reality warps and trembles around you. You can sense the unfurling of this world’s integrity, like smoothing your hand down the ridge of Oliver or Lucifer’s back and feeling them arch expectantly beneath your touch. Of all your cats, Figaro had always preferred Remy, much to his triumph. This Gambit didn’t have cats; he admitted to being allergic during your third date, and you had to quash the rush of disappointment that rose in you. You had thought to find good foster homes for the boys, at least, in exchange for the sacrifice of loving Gambit. There is some sort of intrinsic symbolism in the fact that they exist just as you two do in every timeline you share.

Not that it matters, now.

“No,” you groan, dragging yourself towards Gambit’s body. Pain lances through your abdomen in arcs of lightning. It’s nearly as debilitating as the sight of him. He’s hunched over on his side, one hand still outstretched limply towards you, the other awkwardly twisted beneath his body. Your voice wretches out of you in a pained wobble. “No, no, no.”

You take his hand and close your eyes at the fading warmth. This is the third time you’ve watched him die. You don’t know what to do anymore. The pain in your abdomen is a vicious throbbing ache in beat with your heart, a clashing crescendo descending upon your head just as disorienting as the footsteps picking their way towards you. They will shoot you in the back and call it a well-fought battle. They will destroy your body with Gambit’s and never speak your names to anyone in this world’s timeline again. As if you are nothing.

As if this version of Gambit, with his purring accent and smooth-striking dealer hands, is nothing more than an obstacle in the way of the true prize of killing you where you lay bleeding.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper to Gambit. You have to let go of his hand so you don’t take his body with you, and then you let reality shift and expand around you, demanding the timeline to come to heel, shuffling the next five minutes into a ribbon-spread of flashing images.

One minute: you come to your feet. This is almost the hardest part. You have to find a version of yourself that is stable enough to handle the staggering weight of the transition. Your body has been operating in survival mode for far too long, especially in this timeline where you met the new Gambit in the throes of angry grief. You hardly recovered before you threw yourself into society with a desperate hope to attract him back into your orbit. This version of your body feels calm and refreshed, which must mean it’s from right after your second date with Gambit, when he escorted you home and wished you goodnight and you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

Two minutes: you see Gambit. His eyes are half-open and glazed with death, staring far into a horizon you can never reach. He would still be alive if you had never crossed timelines to search him out. This world’s version of you had been killed while you were still young and unpracticed in hiding your power. It had been easy to slip into the vacant space and fill it up with a new identity. He had never known your real name, just the mask you wore to allure him closer to you. You see him, laying there, and all you can remember is his shocked laugh when he noticed the way you ate your sandwiches with a fork and knife. Chér, ought’a you honte, non?

Three minutes: you kill them all.

Four minutes: every single one of them. This is the easiest part.

Five minutes: you have to exchange your borrowed body with your current one, and that is the hardest part. You can feel the seams of your borrowed self strain under the weight of your rapid time-skipping, further stretched thin by the pain of your current self. A wounded body decays far faster when you aren’t occupying it. It’s a reluctant exchange, and you stumble beneath the sudden weight of your current self as it wraps around your consciousness. The impact to the ground is faster than your changing, too fast to feel the echo wave of pain. You retch blood and bile, turning your face to avoid choking on it.

You will be nothing more than another corpse beside Gambit’s in a minute. You can feel the timeline of death fogging your mind, muffling your reflexes. You have exacerbated your own death by orchestrating theirs. It’s not a surprise: when Gambit fell, his breath knocked right out from him, you had felt that same jarring finality.

Only this time, only for you, when you close your eyes in death, you open them in another world entirely.

It's a battlefield.

Not surprising. Your hand automatically goes to the small of your back, fingers curling around the cool polished wood of your bo staff. With one fluid flourish, you pull it out from its sheath and extend the length, timelines humming in your hand with the same buzzing tempo of Gambit's kinetic energy. Unlike his power, your staff doesn't glow blazing violet. In one moment and the next, it simply snaps into its full length, the air hissing with displaced energy.

Once, with your Remy, he had settled himself in an armchair in your shared apartment, half-drunk with one of the cats in his lap, and he had demanded to watch you cross timelines. It took small objects, at first. A coffee cup across the room, a pair of your underwear from the bedroom, the cat purring underneath his very touch. You had been a little less drunk from your night out together, but it had been exhilarating to perform for him in a way that affected you far beyond the influences of alcohol. The weight of his black-red eyes lingering over the curve of your figure could take you apart as sure as any timeline.

He had been mystified yet delighted at your display of prowess. Y’a natural Houdini, eh, chér?

That wasn’t quite true, though. You didn’t disappear, you simply… rearranged yourself to exist in a state of your choosing, from a time of your choosing. You had explained it to Remy like this: like choosing the channels on T.V. until you found a show you liked. Except instead of old reruns of some sitcom, you were settling on a state of existence.

Your weapon of choice - the bo staff, much like the one Remy trained you with - comes from another version of yourself. It weighs a perfect balance in your palm because it was made for you, even if you were not the one to personally commission its design. The staff whistles sharply as it cuts through the air, singing its anticipation as you swing into action, adrenaline from the fight with the hunters still raging in your veins. It’s a relief to be distracted from the last image of Gambit, dead.

Instead, you revel in the finesse of an unfair fight.

There seems to be four men surrounding you, their faces a blur of distant familiarity. Some part of you had met them, before, in another time. You could have tried to find the names to their faces if they weren’t fully committed to trying to kill you. Battle comes to you easier, and perhaps you are indulging in the violence when you could have stepped away and gone to another time.

But, perhaps, you are so fucking tired of being anything other than a violent, selfish thing.

It’s all smooth motion, to fight like this. Alone. No need to worry about a Remy LeBeau by your side in case the reckless fool got himself killed trying to protect you. You think to your Remy: I told you nothing was going to happen to me, LeBeau. I exist in so many timelines that it doesn’t matter what happens to me.

It doesn’t matter what happens to you. Not even when one of them strikes you across the face with the sharp bend of their elbow, cutting your cheek against your molars and filling your mouth with blood. You merely shuffle the deck, pull another card, draw a version of yourself with no blood and just as much battle-hardened pain tolerance. So many versions of you can handle the aftershocks of pain that your stride hardly stutters as you swing your staff and sweep his feet out from under him. Another swing, a sickening crack of a wood impact to an unprotected skull, and you keep moving to the next target.

Another hit to your ribs, hard enough to knock the breath from you. Shuffle, pull, draw. Your new borrowed body takes the hit without notice and crushes the faceless attacker’s windpipe, cutting off his shriek of pain in a gurgling wheeze. The next one tries to make a move while your back is turned, and you move to meet him, staff swinging, mouth twisted in a grimace. You can feel the timeline bending to stretch thin around you, taut with the rapid succession of your draw. Your blood thunders in a raging crescendo in your ears. There is a limit to how much you can take before you splinter apart.

You just don’t know if you care to heed that limit, anymore.

Another swing. Shuffle, draw, pull. This version of you switches from the long reach of your bo staff for the more intimate versatility of twin blunt-ended sticks. It works well for close combat. So well that your opponent has to keep to the backstep to avoid your blows, shuffling out of range.

So well, that you forget that there were four.

The pain that cracks across the back of your skull sends you to the ground in an instant. Your hands spasm and release the sticks, but not fast enough to soften the blow of your sudden fall. The timeline whines a high-pitched whir around you, unsteady in the relentless time-skipping.

Too bad, you think distantly. This is a quick life for this timeline of yours. A violent, lonely one. It is grim, but there is a quiet relief in the end beckoning you closer. The quick ones are the easiest. It only really kills you when you have to linger in the shadow of your self’s presence. A living ghost. That’s all you really are. You just haunt the narrative of your own lifetimes.

You, and Gambit.

Blazing purple flashes across your vision, and the timeline whirs again, except it isn’t, because you haven’t used your dealer’s hand. It isn’t your power charging the air with magnetic energy. It is all Gambit’s. Of course it fucking is.

How ironic for you to find him now, in this timeline where he has never known your name, when you are already dead? You close your eyes to silently curse out whatever pathetic higher being found fit to orchestrate your life into this circus sideshow.

“Cherchez la femme,” he says. His accent is lilting in its coyness. “Found ya’, chér.”

#gambit #remy lebeau #gambit imagine #xmen imagine #gambit x reader #remy lebeau x reader #gambit x y/n #gambit fic #remy lebeau x y/n #d&w #dp3

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megatasktech01 · 1 year ago

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Revitalize Your Online Presence: A Powerful Website Redesign

In today's digital age, your website is your storefront to the world. It's the first impression potential customers have of your brand and can make or break their decision to engage with you. If your website feels outdated, clunky, or fails to capture attention, it's time for a website redesign.

Signs You Need a Website Redesign:

Outdated Design: Does your website look like it belongs in a bygone era? Flash elements, clunky navigation, and low-resolution images scream neglect.

Mobile Unfriendly: In today's mobile-first world, a website that doesn't offer a seamless user experience on smartphones and tablets is a major turn-off for potential customers.

Slow Loading Speeds: Nobody wants to wait for a website to load. Slow page speeds not only frustrate visitors but also hurt your search engine ranking.

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Low Conversion Rates: Is your website failing to convert visitors into leads or sales? A well-designed website should guide users towards taking action.

Benefits of a Website Redesign:

Enhanced User Experience: A modern website with intuitive navigation, clear calls to action, and a visually appealing layout creates a positive user experience, keeping visitors engaged.

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Boosted Search Engine Ranking (SEO): Modern websites built with SEO best practices in mind tend to rank higher in search engine results pages, leading to increased organic traffic.

Enhanced Brand Image: A professional, well-designed website reflects well on your brand, conveying trust and credibility to potential customers.

Increased Customer Engagement: A user-friendly website with valuable content encourages engagement with your brand, fostering loyalty and repeat business.

The Website Redesign Process:

Revamping your website requires a strategic approach. Here's a general outline of the process:

Planning and Strategy: Identify your target audience, define your website's goals, and establish key performance indicators (KPIs) to measure success.

Content Audit and Development: Assess your existing content, identify gaps, and develop a content strategy that aligns with your overall goals.

User Experience (UX) Design: Design an intuitive user interface (UI) with clear navigation, user-friendly features, and a visually appealing layout.

Responsive Design: Ensure your website functions flawlessly across all devices – desktops, laptops, tablets, and smartphones.

Content Management System (CMS) Integration: Consider using a user-friendly CMS to allow for easy content updates and management.

Website Development and Testing: Develop the website adhering to best practices and thoroughly test functionality across various devices and browsers.

Launch and Optimization: Launch your new website and monitor your KPIs (traffic, conversions, bounce rate) to continuously optimize and refine your website's performance.

Making Your Redesign Count:

Focus on User Experience: Remember, your website should be designed with your users in mind. Prioritize ease of use, clear navigation, and a layout that guides visitors towards your goals.

Mobile-First Approach: With the majority of web browsing happening on mobile devices, ensure your website offers a flawless experience on smartphones and tablets.

High-Quality Content: Invest in high-quality, informative, and engaging content that resonates with your target audience and establishes your brand as an authority in your field.

Search Engine Optimization (SEO): Optimize your website content and technical aspects to improve search engine ranking and attract organic traffic.

Analytics and Optimization: Continuously monitor your website's performance through analytics tools and make data-driven decisions to optimize your website for better results.

A website redesign is not just about giving your online presence a facelift; it's about revitalizing your brand, enhancing user experience, and driving tangible results for your business. By identifying the signs that indicate the need for a redesign and understanding the benefits it can bring, you can embark on the journey of transforming your website into a powerful asset that engages visitors, converts leads, and elevates your brand image.

#website redesigning #website redesign #website redesigning services #web page redesigning company #website redesigners #website redesigning company #website redesigning services in India #Website Re-Designing Services in Delhi #Website Re-Designing company in Delhi #website redesigning company in India

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