#apparently there is a traditional undo if you will

[crab-in-elliotts-shirt-pocket]

T’was a god sketch

[m3llowm1sh]

anthro ottos, luckys, cocole, and a leo 4 @granat-sof + blade bros 4 @sirwow :3

[nmyphomania]

╰┈➤ ❝ [Kinktober Day 12: Exhibitionism]

Summary: He appoints his closest advisors to watch him raw dog you the night of your wedding.

Warning(s): F! Reader, exhibitionism, finger sucking, snowballing?, spit as lube, oral sex (f. receiving), full nelson, doggystyle, mouth spitting, rough sex, sloppy kissing, vaginal fingering, choking, squirting, breeding but only a lil bit, cervix kissing, public bedding ceremony, handjob (f. receiving), possessive Zuko, not proofread

WC: 2.6k+

•𑁍•

Your mouths were on each other in an instant, leaving no room to waste time in front of the four political advisors in the room with the both of you. Tongues flicked out, circling the bland taste of saliva that glossed over the surfaces of pink. It was so uncomfortably hot in the room, it was hard to differentiate whether it was from you and Zuko getting busy, or if it was the intense stares from the four accompanying people inside the chamber.

Zuko licked a deep stripe up the inside of your mouth, grabbing the back of your neck to hold you still into his demanding kiss. Pressing a firm thumb against the crook of your neck, urging your head to the side, leaving hot, wet trails smacking onto the surface of porcelain skin. The way he cradled you in his arms was so dreamy it enhanced the scent of subtle arousal dancing in the air of the room.

A sudden turn in events of Zuko now bending you over the side of the mattress of the bed, growing ravenous by all passing moments of this small gathering. Leaning to hover over your form lying on the mattress below, he stared into one of the male advisors’ eyes whilst swiftly undoing the careless knot in your robes. Your clothes were immediately snatched bare from your helpless body, leaving you to yelp in surprise at the state you were now left in, now a sight for four pairs of wildly unfamiliar eyes.

“You all want to see me fuck her don’t you?”

His suggestive voice alas cut the deathly silent interior of the room, the man in particular shifted around in his breeches, swallowing thickly at his lord’s unprecedented words. Yanking at the back of the latches that fastened your bra together, it slapped back down, leaving a fleeting sting to burn on the surface of your back. He scoffed, pushing you forward with his clothed hips to spur you on the bed completely.

Of course you still wore on your undergarments, the intimate clothing clinging to your frame so endearingly, no doubt in Zuko’s mind that the other four were growing hot in their pants over you. Yeah he could be jealous and petty all he pleased, but these perverts loved tradition and were as passionate about it as anything else. You know they would never, ever, admit how hungry they were for the scene before them to unfold further, fearing their firelord’s judgemental remarks about their dignity. It’s obvious as the sun in the sky on a clear day, but he guessed he could be a little less, mean. Making work of his own clothes by sliding off his own deep red robes off of his broad shoulders, he seems over this whole situation already.

You situated the lower half of your body up in the air for him, assuming the position in front of him on the bed as he undressed. Now he was only covered up by his own pair of pants that contained his painfully hard sex, straining just behind his fly. Taking his index finger, he dragged down your underwear so damningly slow it irked you. Your clit was then sandwiched between his two rugged fingers, stroking steadily in up and down patterns. Zuko took in how very apparent you were when you would grow more and more wet for him, relishing everything that came out of your body by messily massaging your damp pussy then giving it a teasing slap.

“Already? I barely even touched you.”

Those words sent shivers of embarrassment cascading down the longevity of your back. A few breathy sighs from you being rubbed down on your core in between your thighs, leaving you to run your tongue over you lips before going to bite down on the bottom one. He placed his free hand to thumb over your other entrance as he eased his hand around to prep you for his sudden intrusion. It pressed so deliciously on the resistant ring of muscles, it sent every firm press straight down to take effect below.

Small droplets strayed away from your arousal, sounds of wet suctioning from humping along the roughness of his palm urged your eyes backward, flattening out his hand nearly drove you to insanity. Your ears were filled with cotton, even delirium whining out for him to keep going or right there. Body nearly lurching from the intensity of his palm thrusting on it repeatedly, more so perfectly wiping the top of your cunt where the most nerves seemed to reside.

Zuko gave no warning, suddenly grabbing your right shoulder, pressing you down on his experienced pointer fingers without taking any mind to your tightness. Flinging your head up only to meet the heated stares from the four men that advised your husband’s actions, a distressed noise of surprise was eased out in their direction. His fingers curled inside somehow angling accurately on the oozing spot that was the center of your pleasure. Feeling the blunt tips of his finger rutting into you with the help of his left hand levering you back into them by keeping an unwavering hold on the curve in the middle of your shoulder and neck.

Bucking back to counter the precise movements of his fingers made you squirt all over the digits and the sheets, heat flooded over the expanse of your face for growing so needy. Especially in front of the guests present in you two’s shared chamber. Swirls, turns, and spins danced in the base of your convulsing stomach, pulling yourself impossibly tighter to embrace his knuckles within the confines of your greedy pussy. Words fell amidst the chain of incoherent moans that just wouldn’t stay deep inside your chest, not even properly able to register them in the heat of the moment.

“Zuko?” You gasped out, hand flying to find his hand, in an attempt to grab onto something, or some part of his body that could be found within any means of reach. Shoving in another two digits drawed out a foul keen rooted from the depths of your diaphragm. Being so full led you to fall down back forward, pressing your face flush against the crimson sheets to drool out whatever your brain could come up with. Toes curling, body jerking away and struggling from overstimulation, pleas in every type of sound possible. Goodness you were a mess underneath him, you couldn’t even think to compose yourself to have some decorum, but Zuko made it so damn hard. On the crumbling edge of a worthy finish, your eyes snapped open, wild with desperation to find his hand and push him in deeper.

Zuko wasn’t having it, he didn’t like being rushed no matter how much you begged for something deeper or faster; he went at his own set pace. Everything he did had a reason even if he didn’t directly tell you, that’s law for everyone involved with him. Including you. He took your wrist and pinned it down on your back as a warning for moving too fast, a hum of disapproval was met with your hurried actions.

“Stay. There. Don’t get impatient.”

That low warning sent you over the edge, with him burying his digits down to the knuckle to make your finish bubble up and out of her more than stretched out opening. He smoothed his fingers out of you with a small suction noise from her walls bordering him inside securely, moving the four to grip the interior heat of her mouth. You sucked vigorously, lapping and savoring and cleaning every drop of yourself off of his digits longingly.

Easing himself down onto his knees to meet the sight of your gaping pussy from the earlier entry, he began to make out loudly, smacking his lips from kissing your worked lips, and fixating on sucking all of your cum from out of you. You moaned around his fingers, taking in the sweet wet sensation of his tongue hooking and retreating continuously between your folds. He welcomed it to drip from the capacity of his mouth, sliding down from either side of his strong jaw.

Groaning in a mix of adoration and satisfaction from the taste and sopping wet mess on his face, he’d drain everything from inside of you that spewed unashamedly, holding the fluid in his mouth for a moment. Before you could react to his finger being freed from your mouth, a slap landed on the bottom of your ass, startling the men across the room from the filthy spell the two of you put them under. Their hearts beat so hard they all thought it’d come right out of their chests, it was so heated in the room, the smell of sex already settling in their nose before even getting to the real part of all of this.

His eyes caught sight of your bra that was latched onto your body around your upper half after all this time, saliva-slicken hand going to lightly tug the fabric, prompting you to take the clothing item off. A pair of pretty, pedicured hands reached to teasingly undo the latches in a way that’ll test Zuko’s patience, a way to get back at him for not allowing her to be needy herself. They fondled with the back hooks, slowly coming undone for his prying eyes to watch over. The man decided to waste no time with you, ridding himself of his own pants to work towards a mutually pleasing moment.

The slightly taut clothes were removed from his body to fully reveal himself confidently to everyone in the room, and once all of the buckles on your bra were undid, he never snatched something off you faster in his life. In fact, he grabbed you by your neck to force you off of the bed on all fours and positioned his pulsating length just outside your gasping orifice.

Sucking in his cheeks to gather up all of her juices he drank in from her previously, Zuko leaned backwards to intricately spit out the substance over the surface of his cock to easily slip inside of you. Breeching past your loose and slicken up hole, he let a loud groan utter past his lips and into the thickened air of the chamber’s atmosphere. Both of your heaving breaths came together in sync as the both of your bodies met each other at an accelerating pace, every thrust punched out shared pants and curses of all sorts. Sweat trickled across the vastness of each other’s skin, cores burning with an urgency that was unmatched and burned a heat the couple could ever understand.

Going to rest over on his forearm on one side of her body below resting all of his weight in that one arm, he made quick use of the opposing hand to strain around her neck to pull her into a discordant kiss. His mouth nearly went dry at her clenching walls cornering him in inside, Zuko could barely conjure up a petty wad of saliva to share back into her mouth just before parting away from the kiss

Holding her up by keeping a hold on the length of her neck, he shifted impatiently to shove the crest of his dick in to hit the very middle of her stomach cruelly. Your wails wantonly hurt to cry out due to the pressure of his hands on your neck, it was so much all at once you could sob. Not much air came in through your windpipe, maybe once you’d get a good intake of air to support your noises of pure rapture. It never appeared to phase him, the raunchy roll of his hips caused one of the men on the adjacent side of the room to pass out from locking his knees in place. That didn’t seem to phase him either.

Nothing would ever take his gaze away from your red laden eyes, glittering up at him with a quiet beg for some type of mercy on your body. Those lips were parted screaming all of her thoughts, obscenities, his name. Like a chant, he didn’t want to ever stop pleasing you, making you cry, it was his motivation to continue to be your center of ecstasy. The vibrations of her strangled whines went nowhere but straight to his dick, making him twitch violently in the midst of your body he knew best. Better than the back of his hand he knew how to read you, how to ruin you just right for the entertainment of his advisors.

“You’re….you’re gorgeous. You’re all mine- I-.”

He could hardly utter the praise beyond a hoarse whisper, letting your neck loose from his crazed grip. Pulling out immediately made you exhale wholly, releasing the air that rested within your throat, you took advantage of the fact that you now could take a simple breather until he decided what else to do to you.

You were gently pulled up by your elbow, leading you to the front of the bed, enhancing the firelord’s men's view over the vulgar scene unraveling in front of them. She was pulled into his lap, face barely flushed with a red present all over her body, sweat drenched and all of her naked glory. The both of them adjusted into a rather dissolute position, his length now resting once more inside of her cunt, Zuko locked her legs back with the strength of his arms all the way until they were straddling her own upper half. Her entirety was on display to the four men, the two’s connection was undeniable and now formally presented to them.

You could barely take the situation, all of your active thoughts were drained out of you the second you started to squirt uncontrollably. The world spun dizzyingly in your head as Zuko fucked you from underneath, to spread your oozing walls all over him. A pair of soft lips you were so familiar with crashed on the side of your face and trailed down to the crook of your neck, bringing you down from the temporary high created from feeling the crest of what physical euphoria felt like.

He panted loudly at the knots pulling together tighter any time he’d throw his hips up to jolt back into her, stomach clenching hard to keep up his consistent rhythm. That jet black hair of his clung to his forehead, now damp and even mused from the work he put his body through that night.

“Mine, mine, all mine. I promised to fuck her didn’t I?” A rhetorical question restated to himself while his head craned back to display the compelling reddened flesh of his neck. Rough, and gritty his voice happened to be reduced down to, he virtually gave a half-assed whine from bottoming out in his movements just moments leading up to his overloading finish.

Losing yourself to the scent of sex and the renewed humidity of the room, you didn’t realize you and him came at the same time, him doing it so deep, coating the surroundings of his steadily softening shaft, pushing in a few more times before lowering your aching legs down to rest. They felt like complete jelly, nothing could possibly get you to stand up from the events of your honeymoon night.

One of the advisors tried to swallow down a large lump created in his throat, going to speak up in the moment of silence. He bowed for the rest of the group of men, showing his still foregoing respect towards the Firelord and wife, the now declared Firelady.

“The marriage process is now complete, congratulations to the newly wedded royal couple.”

•𑁍•

Tags:

[satoruhour]

geto and reader sneaking out from jujutsu high school

have good day/night ! :)

a/n: apparently geto doesn’t have a least fav food bc he consumes curses so often that he’s content to eat anything. sigh. / 1.7k ☆ / @crysugu @lvlybee @na-t0

“nah, you’re lying.” it wasn’t peculiar for geto to hang out in your room after classes (if you could even call them that with gojo usually interrupting them or him getting called out of class to complete a mission). it’d be left with the two of you, and while shoko is not opposed to participating in the (vastly different) insanity you two would usually bring, she prefers to watch from the sidelines with a burning, shortening cigarette and an amused smile.

“like i— for one, love pineapples on pizza and, cherry tomatoes, but i just hate it when they don’t choose the right ones, you know?” geto leaves you to ramble until you realise your voice is simply countered by low hums and nods, “you don’t have any food you hate, do you?” you sit up on your bed after a long time of quelling the loud beats of your heart, looking incredulously at him still lying down, long legs going past the footboard, long hair and all. it grows faster in the summer, you realise — jet black hair that flows like a blackened river right down to his nape — and you find you’ve noted it down in your head a bit too often.

the repetitive memory is paired with reminders to give him the silly star clip you found at a corner side store and plain black hair ties (you steal them sometimes, he doesn’t ask for you to return it). it all but muddles your focus, these thoughts, all because you find it terribly difficult to look away from geto suguru’s unprecedented beauty. the graceful slant of his eyebrows to his hair, right down to the stubborn strands of feelers on the left side of his face that won’t stay in his bun—

“i’m not lying; i really don’t,” the dark-haired sorcerer laughs breathlessly, and he doesn’t notice your daze or the way you jerk at his chortle. his eyes come to rest on you, looking soft and gentle, a gaze even he doesn’t give gojo, and you think he looks the prettiest when his spread out locks converge as he sits up to rest on his elbows.

but besides the warmth of these domestic scenes through rose-coloured glasses, you can make out the underlying sorrow that pools beneath the light-hearted laugh. sometimes you can feel its heaviness, weighing suguru down more than it could ever do to you, and though he’s never lets you in, you had an inkling on what exactly tears at his mind.

it’s how every curse geto exorcises ends up in him, tainting his system with the harrowing taste similar to a rag that’s used to wipe up vomit and feces. it’s how he stifles gags each time a mission is completed, swallowing the curse with scrunched up eyes and a permanent frown. it’s how he’s ingested curses so much that he would be content with any type of food.

“then… let’s go out and find what food you hate then. process of elimination,” you offer softly with a giggle, pushing his legs off your bed before getting up yourself and stretching your limbs. it was late afternoon after all, causing the room to bathe in a general laziness and orange hues to prepare for sunset. you pull on his pants, leaning over him that teases the line between love and friendship.

geto mumbles, “like… right now? don’t we have a meeting with yaga-sensei soon?” and you’re prepared to get rejected with that reason (“oh shit, i forgot—”) until he takes your hand in his and surprising you with the idea that he’d disobey authority for a stupid idea of yours. he thumbs the back of your palm like he’s done it a million times before — c’mon, he says, and then the walk out is silent, hand loosely clasped in his as he skillfully manoeuvres through the traditional architecture of jujutsu high so well you’re convinced he skips classes.

it’s like you undo the tiring climb up the foothills of mount mushiro when you’ve finished an early morning mission, feeling the tug of geto’s hand on yours. it feels like it goes on forever too, but you bask in his occasional turns to look at you to check if you were still there: as if your hand in his isn’t enough, as if you were a reverie in his eyes, as if he didn’t have the sun in palm of his hand, in all her glory in this late, blinding glow. there’s a familiar manifestation of a stingray about three quarters through, the little creature floating beneath suguru’s hand.

“won’t you get caught by the school?” you laugh, but you climb onto it anyway — there’s a small humming sound that emerges from the curse and your stroking, ghosting hand only draws more pleased exclamations from the stingray.

it’s here where he sees how his akaei reacts to your touch and voice that geto thinks maybe collecting curses isn’t so bad. it’s on days like this where he think it might be worth it if little moments like this could clear the tainted, blurry cataract that mixes up who he should be protecting in this fucked up world.

the akaei jerks you forward and you let out a little yelp, face resting just inches from suguru as you clutch onto a fin of the creature — geto swears he hears a cackle from the curse and simply clears his throat, ignoring the pounding of his heart and the way he could smell cherry lip gloss on you. he wouldn’t put it past you to get cherry tomato flavoured lip gloss, but he imagines no matter how much you liked the vegetable (fruit?), you probably wouldn’t be putting that on your lips.

“shall we go?” 

beyond the school, he realises he’s not sure where you want to take him and he dispels the curse, already thinking of the lecture he’d get but instead he’s allowing you to drag him out of the heavy foliage and into the humble shops lining the bustling town. with this, geto is able to see your person without feeling like his heart is going to burst out of his chest, pushing down words that he wasn’t sure you’d reciprocate whenever you turned around to point out the stores you would frequent.

and geto certainly is able to get that little piece of heaven and normalcy that he craves, letting someone he cherishes pull him through throngs of people to find his least favourite item, just because. he lets you sift through convenience stores and family businesses, eating with the unforgivable rays of the setting sun dancing through your features and his bowl of wanton noodles at the chinese shophouse that it convinces him any type of food could be his favourite as long as you’re stuffing your face with waffles or initiating a brain freeze with a 7-eleven slurpee.

and years later, geto somehow still has a bit of trouble categorising foods into ‘favourites’ and ‘non-favourites’, a sorting system that’s black and white, years later. he much rather place (almost) all of them in the grey simply because experiencing dessert and starters and main courses now with your mere presence was enough to make everything delicious against his repulsive palate.

“still thinking?” geto’s thoughts are interrupted by you as you call from across the table, a hand reaching out to hold his. 

he only nods with a languid smile, reminiscent of the mornings when that’s all he has energy for — and except maybe your teasing and lovesick voice. he’d have all the energy for that. “i’ll have what you’re having.”

you giggle, “again? okay… don’t blame me if you spit out the escargots like you did on our last date.”

geto stifles a laugh and only sends the confused waiter off with both of your menus and soon he’s pulling lightly on your hand and he makes you burst out laughing like he usually does, “what did you order again?”

the food turned out… mediocre to say the least. for such a renowned restaurant, you’d expect phenomenal tastes and combinations, except they were overrated too much by critics with only the plating to praise — but still, the night doesn’t end when the bill is hastily paid and geto buries you in his embrace.

“coat’s warm,” you smile. it’s the winter, he’s got you engulfed in his large coat as your nose crinkles at the snow brushing upon your cheek — unbeknownst to you, you wouldn’t have this reality in another universe where christmas was so near — but you would die before you let geto slip from your grasp again. you hoped it would be like this for every other time someone such a yourself crosses path with a certain dark-haired, lovely and kind person like geto suguru: in love, holding his heart in your hands, like sending out a message (“i’ve got him — have you?”) to all the you’s in every other realm.

“what do you say we finish the leftover pizza in the fridge?” his grin is blinding, something you never thought you’d see past high-school, but slowly, you’ve picked up the pieces and cleaned off its rough edges. you’ve polished them and melded them back together bit by bit. in the 55 by 63 refrigerator at your small shared dorm in your alma mater, all of geto’s pineapples were littered messily over your side of the dough, ingraining that dramaticized display of how, to geto, pineapple on pizza tasted worse than swallowing curses.

though, it was one of the favourite foods he’s developed a taste for after eating it with you a few times. sure, he at first hated the sweetness that contrasted with the saltiness of the dough, although seeing the fullness of your cheeks and how well you ate; it was simply that, that made him love it — but he’d never tell you that, not while you also loved it, because if anything meant more than his rediscovered love for food, it was your love for the same exact things that would make him order all the hawaiians in the world.

as geto’s lips meet with yours (smelling like cherry tomato lip gloss, he stands corrected!), he thinks that lecture and temporary suspension from his old teacher was worth all the days spent with you — pineapples and (right) cherry tomatoes and all.

[houserautha]

honestly don’t really remember if you’ve done this trope already BUT “who did this to you?” WITH FEYD?? I NEED

I haven’t but WHY HAVENT I??? IT WORKS SO WELL FOR HIM

My instant thought is that this would fit well with a mini fic I’m slowly working on, where Feyd acquires a Fremen wife after killing her husband in an Amtal Rule fight.

TW: mention of abuse

���Who did this to you?”

The darkness, thankfully, obscures your face from him. Yet you still turn away.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say softly.

“Tell me.”

The tone of his voice suggests that you ought to listen. Your throat works as you swallow, doing your best to curb the memory of your deceased husband’s hands on you. “Drafir,” you tell him.

Feyd stiffens behind you.

You had been perched on the edge of the bed together when he reached to loosen your stays for you, the protest that formed on your tongue dying before you could even utter it — Feyd’s fingers were deft, confident, and it had taken no time at all for him to undo the laces. And as the dress fell away, you clutching it to your chest, he got a glimpse of the crisscross of scars on your back. You had avoided any opportunity to see the aftermath of the abuse, but you supposed there was no hiding it now.

A sob catches in your chest when you feel the feather-light brush of his fingers across the raised surface of your scars. There’s no lust in his touch, not that you can detect, just quiet curiosity.

“If I would’ve known, I would’ve made his death much, much worse,” Feyd rasps finally.

“It doesn’t matter,” you reply, attempting to subtly cover yourself again. You suddenly feel too exposed, too vulnerable, like a kangaroo mouse under the gaze of a hungry vulture.

“Don’t hide from me,” Feyd says, firmly but not unkindly nudging your hand away. “I want to see what he’s done. I want to see every strike that I should’ve given him in return.”

“You don’t have to avenge me,” you tell him. “Like you said before, I am not your wife in any matter but tradition. My pain is mine alone to bear.”

Feyd launches to his feet and at first you believe him to be angry at you, which is paralyzing. But then you realize that the cause of his pacing is Drafir, the dead man, the one that he had killed but apparently not violently enough. He stops abruptly, standing before you, indecisive and torn but ultimately sinking to his knees at your side.

His hands are large, warm, enveloping yours, rough with callouses but surprisingly gentle. “I know this is not the life you wanted to live, but I do not regret killing him. My only regret is that I didn’t make him suffer how he deserved.”

[hartlesshart]

I have something to say - If you aren’t going to read the whole thing, then skip it. But I really hope you do. My intention is not to cause drama. I just felt this was important to say because I love this community and I want it to be the best it can be.

A few days ago, a very unfortunate thing happened on a certain post about Talanah and Seyka. I called someone out on what was a case of weaponizing a racist incident. Instead of having a meaningful discussion, my comments were deleted and called “inappropriate accusations.”

Long story short - several reblogged and commented on this post about how Talanah was constantly being tagged as Seyka. To be clear, this is not a good thing and I believe every single one of those post to be valid in their frustration. But I have also seen it happen the other way around to my own work (Seyka tagged as Talanah). None of this is okay but while it is exhausting, remember that mistakes do happen.

So I made a comment about my experience and my comment was dismissed because apparently it “hadn’t been seen.” I responded to this with an honest truth of how dismissals of experience affects people like me.

The thing about racism is that it doesn’t happen in a vacuum. You don’t get to pick and choose who it happens to just to fit your narrative. Dismissing it because you didn’t personally see it is harmful, especially to fans from marginalized groups who may not feel comfortable sharing their experiences in the future.

My comment was deleted and later referred to as an “inappropriate accusation” and “harassment.” Was it an accusation? Yes. Was it inappropriate? No. Was it harassment? Absolutely not - I took time to respond so it wouldn’t be seen that way. However, the comments involving Talanah mistags were kept. The comments defending a fictional character. To be clear, I am not saying these comments are not justified. It is incredibly frustrating to work so hard on a piece only for it to be tagged as another character. However, the fact other comments (including my personal experience), that challenged the narrative that these mistaggings were only happening to Talanah, were being deleted is problematic and a form of silencing. Intentional or not - this is a racist microaggression - and yes, I do deal with stuff like this in real life.

It became immediately clear to me that the goal here wasn’t to raise awareness or do anything about the racist misnaming but instead use it to put down a group in this community. And judging a whole group by the actions of a few bad apples is literally where prejudice begins. All of this pettiness stemming from - let’s face it - an unnecessary shipping war in a FICTIONAL STORY. I was incredibly disappointed and saddened because I know we are better than this.

I am not speaking out because I want to cause drama. Undoing systemic racism is something I am deeply passionate about because it affects so many people in my life. If someone calls you out on a problematic take, please take a moment to listen and reflect, even if it makes you uncomfortable. Do not follow the impulse to block or delete. This work is extremely exhausting for everyone, but it is SO important. We all carry prejudices and biases. We are human. But we can also learn because we are all human. I have been called out many times in life by my friends. I have made so many ignorant comments and mistakes. And I will still make them. Hearing I have is not easy at all but it is all part of growing.

Speaking out like this isn’t really my thing but I felt the need to make a comment that can’t be deleted by anyone. I love the Horizon community and I want it to be a safe and inclusive space for everyone no matter where you are from. That is what these games are about. Understanding people from different backgrounds, opinions and traditions in order to work together. 

You don’t have to be fans of the same characters. You can love or be disappointed with the canon. You can respectfully give and listen to critiques of these characters. And you can celebrate representation even if it’s not the direction you wanted Horizon to go in.

Whatever these games have given you is yours to keep.

Just don’t be an asshole about it (at least in public, what you do in private is none of anyone’s business so…) -> that goes to all fans in all groups. It is never okay to harass or hurt anyone - and especially over fictional characters.

(Also please respect the devs - we are lucky they are able to pour their hearts into this game for all of us to enjoy and frankly the direction is their creative choice)

This vibrant community is full of so much talent and love for this amazing series. I have made some truly incredible friends, worked on some hilarious and delightful collaborations and have seen wicked talent come together to make something special. Just look on the horizon, and you’ll see a certain 100% fan-made game coming soon, which has a little something for everyone!

Keep creating. Ignore the bad apples. Don’t be an asshole. I’m going back to drawing silly things. - from the hart 

[balkanradfem]

So I decided to learn to knit! I've never before found a way to ethically and cheaply get yarn. I found a little ball of yarn outside at some point, as one does, and saved it, but beyond that I didn't have any other tools. Then I saw a video showing how you can take a thrifted machine-knit sweater, and undo it back into yarn, and then just knit with that. Incredible, since I have a full box of old sweaters, I just need to figure out which ones are easily undone.

So I grabbed my little ball of found yarn, and then I needed some needles. I looked up what I could use instead, and found there's plenty of alternatives; pencils, chopsticks, wooden sticks for barbecue. Looking around my room I realized I had some very long paintbrushes; I tried to use them, and immediately realized they need to have a pointy end. I grabbed a pencil sharpener and sharpened them; only this made them very rough and splintered. I needed to sand them down, but I had no sandpaper, and then I remembered that recently someone gave me a flat tool that removes dry skin from feet. I sanded them down with that, and it actually worked, they worked perfectly like knitting needles. They're even the same size.

The knitters probably already know this, but if you start knitting for the first time, especially if it's winter and you're under a blanket, some ancient human instinct will activate and you will feel that you are doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing and everything is well and right with the world. Creating fabric is a powerful thing to do, in a society where everyone needs fabric to stay alive, and go outside, and I like having this power to myself.

I found out there are two basic types of stitches; knit stitch, and purl stitch. I liked the knit stitch better, on the basis that purl stitch had 'bad vibes'.

It knew before that most fabric will be woven, or knitted, or in some cases, crochet, so I got little curious, and studied each layer of clothing on me, and every single item of clothing was knit, and it was all a purl stitch. I got fascinated by this, wondering if this is true for most clothing, or if I just somehow prefer knit things on me because they're nice and stretchy. Looking into other fabrics, I could easily tell that all of the sheets, pillowcases and kitchen cloths were woven, and that they were much sturdier and less stretchy for it.

I looked at stuff in my closet, and found that I had a scarf, hat, and pants that were woven, but in very soft and warm fabric, and they were very sturdy and non-stretchy as well. I then wondered what was the logic behind it, and is there a traditional type of things that will be woven, that isn't just bedsheets and cloths?

I tried to find a video on youtube detailing that stuff, but no female-made video was found, so I'm now downloading several women-written audibooks on the topic of history of textiles. I think we should just take the power to make textiles back to us, because back when women were the maker of the cloth, it was just something we 'did out of the goodness of our hearts for our families' but it was also environmentally friendly, practical, sustainable and a beautiful, powerful craft. Now that m*n decided it's something to make money off, they created fast fashion, tons of waste and environmental damage, new types of slavery for workers, and the clothing isn't even practical anymore, it's made to fall apart.

So, back to my knitting, I have to say it's not happening very fast, I thought by the end of the day I would be done with that little ball of yarn and be able to tell how much fabric it can make, nope, did not happen, in fact I've been working on it two days and by this time I've barely made any progress. Apparently the 'purl stitch' is faster, well, I'm still refusing to do it. Boo purl stitch. The yarn I found outside is some of the worst quality yarn I've ever seen, not only it's different in thickness everywhere, but in some places there are 3-4 different threads distangled from each other, and it confused me so much while knitting that I kept adding stitches on the brush unnecessarily, until the entire thing could barely fit on one.

One thing that surprised me was how incredibly soft, stretchy and comfortable the fabric feels when made. I genuinely expected the fabric to be as horrifying as the yarn quality, nope, it's nice and comfy I absolutely love it.

There is a movement in online spaces for being mindful of environment when purchasing clothing, and making our own wardrobes, which is absolutely delightful; seeing people gain new respect and fascination for clothing, sewing and textile making, and then doing it themselves and becoming non-dependent on capitalism, it's the change the world needs. I didn't think I would try to join in, because I get so much discarded and unwanted clothing from others, I wouldn't need to buy any ever, but I did get fascinated by looms, natural fibers, and women doing all that work, that I can't resist trying it out.

[libraryofloveletters]

The Mystery Gift

Yassine 'Bono' Bounou x Fem!Reader

Warnings: sweetness, the boys are lowkey terrible at secret santa, bono also can't really keep a secret, thoughtful gifts,

Word Count: 554

Author's Note: takes place while he's still at Sevilla and if you know about bono, you knowwwwww

--

The Sevilla players have a tradition of playing secret Santa amongst themselves. You're a bit confused when a gift ends up on your desk.

Every year one of the employees from the physio team helps the Sevilla players organize their secret Santa.

This year was your turn.

You had the boys come into physio one by one to pick a name and you wrote them down to ensure that there were no doubles. Once everyone had picked their names, you gave them a deadline. If you hadn't, everyone would be getting their presents at different times.

At some point, the gifts started piling up in your office and after the boys had gone home, you dragged the wagon you had put them into down the hallway and to their locker room.

It took you a while to go through the stuff but eventually you got everyone's gift into their cubbies and you double checked the list to make sure you got everyone.

Wagon now empty, you returned to your office. You almost missed the box on your desk, it was small and wrapped up in red wrapping paper and ribbon.

You're certain you didn't miss anyone's gift, you make the check through the list one more time just to make sure but everyone had a check mark next to their names so you weren't sure who's gift that was.

Upon closer inspection you see your own name on the label.

to y/n

love, secret santa.

You were a bit confused, who'd get you a gift? And you're certain that wasn't on your desk before you left to drop off the presents.

Nonetheless, you carefully undo the ribbon and set it on your desk before taking the wrapping paper off. It was a small box and when you take the lid off, you find a necklace inside.

There's a heart shaped pendant on the silver chain, a stone in the middle; your birthstone.

It's beautiful, dainty enough not to draw attention but big enough to sparkle in the light.

Carefully, you take it out of the box and undo the clasp. You put it on and redo it, admiring it in the mirror hanging in your office. As you admired it, you tried to figure out who would put this on your desk.

A knock on the door startles you, Bono smiling at you from the doorway.

You wave him in, the man walking over to you and leans on your desk, watching as you fix your necklace. "What are you doing here so late? I thought everyone was gone."

"Forgot my phone in the cafe," he chuckles. "That's pretty," he says, you smile and turn to face him.

"Thanks, apparently it's from my secret Santa."

He nods, "figure out who it is yet?"

You shrugged, "not a clue. No name on the paper."

"That's how secret Santa works, y/n." Bono laughed, reaching forward and straightening the necklace for you. "Let me show you something," he says, getting up and standing behind you. He moves you to the mirror again, he reaches around you and flips the heart pendent over, there's a small inscription on the back.

xo, B.

Your eyes widen slightly, glancing at the inscription then to the man behind you. "You?" You asked him quietly, he smiles and nods.

You can't help it, turning to pull him into a hug. "It's beautiful, thank you."

"Anything for you." He whispers, giving you a good squeeze.

[emmettkane]

Fallout New Vegas represented a subtle evolution from FO1 and 2, from a world where people did whatever they needed to do to survive, to one where they tried to rebuild according to their resources and needs. It explored how, under the gun, people would hold onto their traditions, how the old ways that destroyed the world would attempt to insidiously weave their way into the new one.

It also explored how, despite that insidious instinct, things would change for the better, or that, at the very least, they could change for the better. New traditions would arise, new practices, and eventually, the old ways would either fade or mutate into something unrecognizably different.

The fallout show chose to erase those ideas, set things back to zero, undo the growth that had already happened and replace it with a civilization that was neither stuck in their traditions nor willing to advance, a hopeless tale justified by a shadow-government of hyper-competent, hyper-intelligent billionaires who cannot be reasoned with or overcome, and who apparently do not make meaningful mistakes.

---

The intense narrative regression that takes place between Fallout: New Vegas and the show is frustrating, but what's even more frustrating are the people who so gladly embrace it.

In a recent interview, Todd Howard asserted that Fallout games would never be set outside of America, and noted that "It’s okay to leave mystery or questions..." and that 'Americana naivete' was core to the identity of the game franchise.

I'll try to ignore the fact that they felt the need to 'answer the mystery' of 'who dropped the bombs' in the show, a mystery that, given the miserable, myopic answer (evil billionaires oh nooooooo) would have been better left unanswered.

The more egregious idea is that Americana has a deep relevance to the themes of any of the official stories in the setting. Even in Bethesda produced titles, it is, at most an aesthetic element.

Anticommunism, consumer culture, American exceptionalism, rugged individualism, western chauvinism, and other ideas that could be explored through the lenses of retrofuturism and Americana are roundly ignored in Bethesda titles, where those lenses are used entirely to generate advertising and nostalgia-bating appeal instead.

In earlier titles, those subjects are expressed, but are either not the main focus of the games or are simplified. The intro cinematic to the original Fallout includes a shot of an American soldier executing a soldier of annexed Canadian and then waving to the camera, followed by a power-armored head placed proudly before an American flag. The opinion here is not clarified further because it doesn't need to be: American imperialism is bad, and was likely a contributing factor to the apocalypse.

---

Some people think that Liberty Prime from fallout 3 and 4 constitutes a commentary on something, or espouses some value or philosophical ideal.

If it does, and if you agree with it, congratulations, you are the commentary.

[coldalbion]

Narc

"I am available to provide information or quotes to media, law enforcement, governmental, or non-governmental organizations"

Really? Good to know you'll narc on anyone and their spiritual practices if there's a buck or exposure in it for you. Mate, law enforcement could conceivably come knocking at your door in a resurgent Satanic panic, but you, a white guy in the US, are publically admitting you'll give quotes to cops because you think Vodou is uniquely responsible for human trafficking in some way, and not that folks would, and do use any particular religious, spiritual or social belief or orthopraxy as a method of social control. Again: you, an American white guy, are publicly saying you'll talk to cops about an Afrodiasporic Religion's 'role' in modern slavery, a religion practiced by millions - the majority of whom are people of colour (but not all).

Look, it's obvious you had an intense magical and spiritual experience 20 years ago. You were loud enough then about how you were thrust into a world of what you described as hostile and dangerous spirits. You were loud enough about how you believed the problems of Haiti were down to the lwa as apparently insectile-iike beings that were larva - masks of dead and ancestral people being worn by Horrible Things. You were loud enough about how you believed they sucked the souls out of people: fed on fear, pain, and suffering. You were called out for your racism then. You are being so now, by others. You won't see this, but by all the gods that ever were, mate, of course modern slavery is a problem. But its not just Vodou. There's Christian-trafficking operations, Falun Gong trafficking, etc etc. You've had a massive magical experience that's inflated some ego biases and made either personal or cultural biases come roaring out and distorted your perceptions. That shit happens. One deals with it. One processes. Or one goes full on David Icke. I believe that you believe this. I know you won't see this as anti-blackness influencing you, that you are repeating colonial propaganda. That if anything got into you, it's cultural fear of a non-western spiritual ontology has been riding you for decades. And I also know you'll see this argument as being an apologia for enslavement - that I'm in denial. I'm not. As I have said, this stuff happens. But solely focusing on Vodou, your fervour inspired by a bad magical experience 20 years ago? That's fucked up. It truly is. And then, to set yourself up as an authority. To say you'll give quotes? To media. To governments. To NGOs. To cops.

You, who set yourself up as a teacher? Who has a website that has as its banner: Unleash Your True Self.

Master Magick, Master Your Reality.

A website with "thousands of video lessons on the core teachings of the world's sacred traditions. " We know you've appeared on media, worldwide. On podcasts. On sodding Netflix. Sure. Its your business. I wonder what'd happen if the police took all the data you have on your students? This isn't sour grapes - this is pure practicality here. What would happen if folks who were quietly practing magick were outed in a hostile environment But it's OK to give statements on Vodou and slavery to the powers that be. Isn't it? Because you're saving people. People can make their own judgments. Me? I view that as fundamentally untrustworthy. I wouldn't be happy placing my undoing of standard western materialism in such hands. Like I said, there's a word for that.

[moki-dokie]

so, hozier concert on thursday (yay!) that i am perhaps a little too excited for. i made a sign, as I'll be basically front row, just asking andrew to collab with another, very small and practically unheard of irish artist whom i adore (sam kelly & the lost boys, you're welcome). it's a pretty basic sign overall but...

it took me 3 days to complete it. i didn't realize how bad my tremors had become until now. i can't draw a straight line at all anymore. anything thicker than a pencil i drop very easily. lost count of how many times i dropped the markers. guess thats probably why i've been dropping my silverware more often lately too.

a couple of very depressing realizations hit me while making this. one, even if i wanted to, i'll never be able to do traditional art again. i rely so heavily on stabilization and undo anymore. unless i went and took a dramatic shift into abstractism, which lmao is not happening, then that's just done for. and two, if it continues progressing at this rate, i might actually be disabled to a degree in the not so distant future. like, 5-10 years. i'm seriously hoping it doesn't get much worse. i mean as long as i can still hold my hands steady enough to type that's all that truly matters to me. if i have to give up art altogether that'll suck but writing is my life. i write every single day. a lot. i think the longest i've gone without writing over the last 25 years that i've been doing my own little stories or roleplays or fics is... a little over a year? mainly because of meds. and i had to slow it down considerably last year from injuring my wrist. from writing so much. lmao. but so far i don't have any issues with the keyboard so fingers crossed it stays that way.

idk why it feels so embarrassing either. like most of the time i can't notice it much unless i'm physically writing something (which I don't do much at all anymore) or, apparently, when playing with markers trying to draw letters lol but then like, i'll be watching a show with my ex or something and he's like "you good? you're shaking like mad" and apparently my head is just wobbling around like a absolute lunatic. liiiike fuck me i guess. i hate being perceived most of the time and now i have something that makes me highly noticable. gross. i hate it. i don't even particularly care what people may think, i just don't like attention drawn to myself. i exist in everyone's periphery and i prefer it that way. now i get to be all fuckin weirded out and embarrassed over being noticed as mcwobblyfuck over here. ugh. like i wasn't already reclusive enough. less incentive to be out amongst people now.

but man, what a strange feeling this is. and all from making a silly little posterboard sign lol. i generally don't like to warn people away from antidepressants, different things work for different people and all, but absolutely fuck welbutrin and stay away from it if you can. sure, permanent tremors after discontinuing it is rare but, fuck, i was on it all of like three months, about 8 years ago, and it fucked me up for life. and, as per usual, i was not taken seriously when i first brought it up to my doc. not that anything can be done about it at all, but it's just frustrating.

[ooops-i-arted]

filoni called anakin "the greatest jedi of all time" in the ahsoka sneak peak lmaooo that's wild. just the cherry on top of the slop he's been serving us in recent years.

is that why other jedi in his works are often trashed and his darling favorite oc ahsoka is so elevated in importance? is that why he doesn't know jack shit about attachments and constantly misrepresents it, because to him, jedi are the big meanies that tried preventing anakin from boning padme? someone please stop this man.

Ah, anon, did you sense a disturbance in the Force that brought you here? Instagram forced me to look at the new Ahsoka trailer about forty times today and I'm sure my saltiness is palpable. Every time I hear that orange fucktart say "Heir to the Empire" I could rip up his stupid notebook emblazoned with Ahsoka's symbol I saw in a behind the scenes post with my bare hands.

I think Filoni's Anakin (not canon Anakin, not the one in the prequel films, because TCW Anakin is NOT Anakin* and I will die on this hill) is a dear OC to Filoni, but of course not on the same level of Ahsoka. So of course he's speshul just the way Ahsoka is. The Jedi ~just don't understaaaaaaand them~ and they DESERVE special treatment and to break the rules like many an amateur writers' OCs.

*Apparently the TCW Anakin voice actor was told to "do a mix of Luke and Han" so clearly staying in-character for Anakin was never on the radar.

I did see a post I can't find now that was directed at Anakin stans, not Filoni, but it was interesting because it said basically Anakin is called the greatest Jedi of all time by his stans but they really mean "the most powerful Jedi of all time." Because he possibly/probably was, whether you go by midi-chlorians or just demonstrated power with the Force. But the post went on to say the Jedi don't value power like that, don't measure by it, so it's a fandom projection to say Anakin was the "greatest of the Jedi." Which makes sense to me, because the greatest of an organization wouldn't be the one who destroys them. And how are we measuring "greatness" anyway? Overall accomplishment? Skill with the Force? Number of people helped/saved (and do you get a penalty for people you hurt/kill)? Does Yoda win by default just because he's had longer than everyone else to rack up Jedi Greatness points and longer to practice his skills? Personally I would pick Revan, powerful in the Force, made a huge impact in her day, and her redemption (if you play Light Side like I did) was actively undoing the damage she did and defeating Malak for good, not just killing a Sith to save her own loved one and then dying. And of course I'll freely admit part of that is because she's one of my favorite characters. The point is, it's subjective. And Filoni has shown again and again he cannot be subjective about his faves. Just look at TCW Character Bo getting the Darksaber literally handed to her by the main character being shafted in his own show.

Oooo, since you're here, wanna hear an absolutely RANCID crack theory I had today? What if the whole Din Grogu thing is setting up some obscure Outer Rim tradition of taking on another's name with your own so that Filoni has an excuse to have Luke say "Oh Ahsoka, you are so wise and perfect and the Best Jedi Of All Time Who Truly Embodies What Filoni Thinks A Jedi Should Be, I would like to go by Ahsoka Luke now! Who's Padme anyway, no one important." While Filoni claps and honks like a seal as Ahsoka Luke Skywalker appears in the credits. Okay it's very silly but I put nothing past him.

[teejaystumbles]

Who will fix me now? Dive in when I'm down? Save me from myself Don't let me drown Who will make me fight? Drag me out alive? Save me from myself Don't let me drown 'Cause you know that I can't do this on my own

(Bring me the Horizon - Drown) (only listen if you like angsty emo rock ballads - but the lyrics are great for this kinda mood haha)

So apparently this is turning into a bit of a series or at least a BmtH trilogy (I have one more planned for Follow You). I’m having fun (as much fun as one can have while listening to things like the above and drown in fangirl angst) with my sketchbook and it’s been a long time since I enjoyed traditional drawing. :) HERE are the other two in this series: [1] [3]

but I’m not that happy with his face. meh. can’t hit “undo” :/

[thekatebridgerton]

Okay but imagine a Bridgerton AU, taking place in a fantasy world where dragons, knights, mermaids, and fairies live. The Bridgertons are a royal family and have a tradition where the princes find their true love by rescuing them. Cue ABC going on their journey and hearing rumors of a beautiful maiden who lives trapped in a tower/works for an evil step family/being held prisoner in a castle surrounded by thorns by a beast. Except when the brothers come to "rescue" said maidens, the girls claim they don't need to be rescued and they have the wrong maiden.

Kate: Is an enchantress who uses the tower in the woods to test our her latest spells and tends to stay so late that she just sleeps there overnight a lot. Her latest spell caused her to have extremely long hair and that wasn't a witch coming to see her, but her step-mother bringing her food because Kate forgets to eat when she gets into it. If only that arrogant prince would listen to her and stop trying to get her to leave!

Sophie: Ran away from her evil step family and works for Kate's family who are amazing employers and treat her like family. She has a comfy bed, good clothes, and gets paid to just help around the house! Please leave her alone Prince Benedict. She's pretty sure Cinderella from the next town over would suit his hero complex and she even has an evil step-family!

Penelope: Her grandmother was apparently a fairy and Penelope seems to have inherited her powers. Marina's children also inherited these powers and consequently turned their wizard father into a beast and now she's figuring out how to reverse the spell while training them (wizard magic can't undo fairy magic apparently). The thorns? Oh Phillip put those up because people kept stealing his flowers which is very rude! Plus why would she want to leave when her best friends home has the most amazing library? The green eyed prince is handsome but she's pretty sure he's got the wrong house.

Cue various misunderstanding, bickering, and magic as these couples somehow fall in love.

Aka the: YOUR HIGHNESS, THE PRINCESS IS IN ANOTHER CASTLE! AU

You have no idea how much I love all twisted fairytales au stories

I wish someone would write this. Because I love the idea of Penelope being the fairy who is hanging out in Phillip's castle encouraging adventurer princess Eloise to "break the curse" while also trying to convice Prince Colin that no she is not a princess herself and she doesn't need rescuing, the beast is her FRIEND can't he see that she's trying to help him!!. Does he think someone of her height is completely human? why won't he leave her and her library alone.

I would love for Sophie to just lay her frustrations up on Benedict like "You want to rescue me?? EXCUSE ME where were you four years ago when I was actually being abused by an evil step mother? here's the law dude, I had to rescue myself, no prince did it for me! now I got a nice job, a nice cottage in the back of these nice witches castle and manage a lot of money, because they have a Dragon and I'm in charge of all their accounting! So kindly buzz off Prince Benedict, I have a couple hundred of rubies to put in the bank"

And I love how you guys agree with me that in every fairytale au Kate has magic powers. this woman was not born to be a princess. Kate is a good witch! the whole hexing a whole country to sleep for a thousand years is just a rumor! she just wants to be left alone in her castle in the woods with her friends and her dragon. Yes she adopted a kid that's young enough to be her baby sister, but Lucy is there voluntarily because her parents traded her for some magic lettuce that Kate grows in her garden. And Kate figured that if her parents were okay with selling Lucy off to a witch in exchange for fertility lettuce then the little girl was better off with her. Who knows in the future those weirdos might find someone worse to sell Lucy to, who wouldn't treat the child well. Kate is NOT evil. And also, she likes her hair long okay. She's burned herself bald too many times playing with her dragon. She's a fan of hair growth spells and that's not a crime.

So what if Kate played a prank on a knight or two and made them believe the tower in the woods didn't have stairs and the only way up was climbing her hair. She didn't expect the actual guy sitting on to the throne, to be the one stupid enough to TRY. What is wrong with King Anthony?? is he seriously that bored ruling his kingdom?? why won't he leave her alone?? You know this is why arrogant guys like him end up as frogs. They go around bothering witches in their towers and one day she loses her patience and he loses his human body. Kate can relate to whoever did that to King Edmund in his youth. If the man was half as annoying as his son, then the spell was well deserved.

(One day Kate is going to end up as THAT queen that everyone thinks is out to offer poisoned apples to her own kids if they don't behave and the rumor will be Anthony's fault and she will turn him into a donkey as payback)

[gayscifi]

my Biggest star wars beef is that no one gets the fucking point of return of the jedi

like does Luke return a fully realized Jedi dressed like all the Jedi we've seen previously??? NO he's dressed like a Sith

Luke has Always rejected the rules of being a Jedi!!!!!

he was too old to begin the training(brainwashing), he held on to his attachments to others(his friends and family) , he cares deeply for the resistance, he is constantly showing us(the audience) that the rules of the Jedi order is what made Darth Vader who he is: a person without attachments or feelings; besides hate and resentment.

Now Luke shows up and he has attachments, he has feelings for others(which apparently leads to the dark side) but NO his love for others is what defeats Darth Vader. By unmasking him(undoing all of this fucking brainwashing) and showing him love and compassion.

Jedis aren't the fucking good guys.

Luke is a force user of a new type. I feel like even in the sequel movies they didn't even fucking get the point.

They have him dressed in the traditional Jedi garb living alone where the Jedi temple was???????

Like, how did you miss the fucking POINT!!!!!

[saviolum-sanguineus]

ode to joy

It isn't that Esme doesn't love dancing. It's simply that this is a new kind for her to burn into the memory of her body.

tw: canon-typical violence/blood/gore

The hand at her back drifts a touch lower before coming up to adjust one of the ribbons laid flat along Esme’s ribs, nudging it over the tiny constellation embroidered there.

The performance goes well, if joylessly: Esme’s calculations as to how much gunpowder to secret are perfect down to the milligram, rewarding her with an easy spectacle as she spins, bared spine blurring to the eyes of the company assembled. She’s barefoot, dust floating just above the ground before being sucked back down by the sigil she’d laid down beforehand, and clothed in a mockery of dress traditional to a town to the southwest of where she’d grown up—a special request from the colonel in charge of this brigade. Aixois was apparently a favourite summer destination of his in more officially peaceful times.

Esme’s mouth twists wryly in the half-heartbeat of shadow she can afford to, before she turns a blinding smile back to her audience and whips her arms out, followed by a wave of flame coloured the perfect, smooth blue of the imperial crest.

Things blur after that—it’s not comfortable but unnervingly familiar, the feeling of the colonel’s eyes lingering on her as she curtsies. Memory doesn’t make it any easier to look at him through soot-darkened lashes as she rises and catch him on the slim hook of a smile.

“A marvelous performance, Lady Odile. I was pleased to hear we were due one of your visits.” He’s standing close enough that Esme can feel the calculation in his gaze as it slides over her, heavy where it lingers on the signs of Enoch’s possession—protection, as futile as it may now be—on her body: jewels at her hand and deep blue silk sheathing her torso. “There was some question whether or not your schedule would allow for such an extensive tour out.”

“It’s always a pleasure to serve in what ways I can,” Esme says. Where her knife presses low into her stomach beneath the taut, reinforced lining of her bodice, the metal is warm with anxious promise—the colonel’s palm sears impatiently on the bare skin between her shoulder blades, contact lasting a prolonged handful of seconds before he smiles and glides his hand down to the small of Esme’s back, pleased with how easily he’s drawn her a step closer.

“And we are grateful for your service.” The hand at her back drifts a touch lower before coming up to adjust one of the ribbons laid flat along Esme’s ribs, nudging it over the tiny constellation embroidered there.

“Before this deployment, a beautiful specimen of Aixoisi handicraft came into my possession. Particularly fine tapestry work of red lavender—as I understand it, the model landscape is one you were raised by. It must be difficult, to be so far from familiar fields and faces. Perhaps it would be of some comfort to view, over a bit of light evening conversation.”

In the dim light of a far-off torch, the colonel’s eyes are colourless, easy to imagine clouding over in death. Esme tips her smile like a spilled wineglass and sets her golden eyes to drift towards his tent. “Lead the way.”

She draws from the amethyst reservoir at the back of her hand to cast a silencing ward as they walk in, polished purple facets glinting. The colonel watches her, mouth curved up as he pours out two glasses of wine—a ridiculous luxury, this near the border, but Esme isn’t sure why she expected anything less.

His eyebrows lift slightly when Esme double layers the ward, golden sigils shimmering over the beaten-down grass. “Such caution, my lady. Another gift from our illustrious Lord Ward? I’d heard how extravagantly he outfits your desires, but not how closely he guards his.”

“Lord Ward doesn’t know what I want,” Esme says lightly, turning to face the colonel and slowly undoing the clasp at her wrist, drawing the gold ring and chain off. It hits the ground with a quiet, metallic clink, echoing the swell of hunger in his smile as Esme closes the distance between them, one arm draping over the olive drab of the colonel’s fatigue coat to pull him closer before trailing down his side. “And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

She pulls the colonel’s hands to the lacing at her back, voice stinging sweet as she smiles up at him and murmurs, “I do love a man who takes instruction as well as he gives it.”

“So the rumours are true. What a delightful piece of enlightenment you are.”

The colonel laughs, Esme’s bodice loosens, and the balisong falls into her waiting hand, handles flipping together with a muffled click—it’s heavier than any prop she’s ever handled, insisting on a rigid tendon in her wrist when she drives the winking blade into the soft flesh at the crook of the colonel’s neck. The rip of flesh is wet and drags at the knife when she yanks it free to plunge down again, artery and muscle turned to slick, hot shreds.

His ruined dominant shoulder jerks, stilted motion instinctive before quick abortion and abandonment—the colonel is fast enough with his other hand to grab Esme’s arm and jerk her to the side, but not fast enough to anticipate that she’d pivot her armed side to slice along his forearm and follow the arc of the cut to find purchase once again in the mess of raw flesh and blood at his shoulder.

His body slumps over her, blue silk soaked through to black with blood. Esme grunts at the shift of dead weight, a grimace flickering over her features as blood smears salty and thick over her cheek.

She drags the corpse close enough to the low cot that he could have been sitting on it when stabbed, then shoves the weight off herself to thunk against the ground. One of the wineglasses donates half its contents to rinse the blade of its gore and the remaining half to Esme’s dry mouth; its twin follows the colonel directly to the ground, glass shattering, wine flooding over the bloodstained earth. Esme swallows, runs a hand over her side, and sits on the cot.

Vital organs here, and here, but most stab wounds are so dangerous because of blood loss or shock. The memory of Joel’s voice is warm, though Esme’s hands are cold when she traces two fingertips over her lower abdomen, tracing over a scar that hasn’t been left yet. The blade is just as cold and just as steady through the drag of soaked-through silk.

I hope you’ll never need to know this. I’m glad you’re safe here with me now.

Blade raised away twice its own length. One deep breath. Joel had taken her hand then, brought it to his mouth to kiss the knowledge into her fingertips. Esme brings the knife plunging down into her side.

The pain shatters her glamours and rips a scream from her throat that sets the silencing ward shimmering. Esme falls from the cot, knife falling from a trembling hand as she struggles to think past the searing gush—the colonel’s blood had spurted out hot, but this burns like every fear she’s ever had made flesh.

She’d meant to drag the body onto the cot, meant to make the scene look as perfectly convincing as all her performances on and offstage have always had to be, but the shake in her limbs is uncooperative, shallow rasps of breath and the pound of blood in her ears overwhelming everything else.

Enoch’s gift is still warm from the earlier heat of her hand when she wriggles it back on and cinches the clasp in place with her teeth. The ruby flashes—she’d never quite liked how wearing them at her throat made it look like it was slashed open, but what could she do when the court knew her as a woman of crimson and fire—and the balisong blade burns clean of blood, magic unscented. Under her feet, the earth had been relatively solid; it sways now, grit sticking to her palms, sticky-slick with a mixture of blood and sweat.

Esme’s fingers slip the latch of the knife back into place and she leans back against the cot, panting, to hike her skirt up and fasten the balisong against her inner thigh. She presses her hands to the gash in her side, pulls the magic from the silencing ward back into the gems at her hand, and screams until black, fuzzy-edged spots begin crowding her vision.

It’s almost like watching a curtain draw over a stage—the rapid footsteps approaching are a kind of applause too, a small voice in the back of her mind whispers, before the darkness shushes that too.