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kaaytea · 4 years

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So how about Lev, Tsuki, Kuroo and Oiks with a really short and shy s/o. (I'm 4'9 so all i want is for someone to pick me up from under the arms like a cat and carry me on their shoulders 👉👈🥺) - Bug Anon

Jsksndk ✨this~✨

Short s/o

⤷Includes: Tsukki, Kuroo, Lev, and Oikawa

----------------------------------------------------------

Tsukishima

I'm sorry but this is Tsukki, he will clown you

No one else is allowed to tease you about your height tho, he will actually end them with some back handed comment

He's the type where if you walk up to him during the day and start talking he'll kinda ignore you a bit then be like "oh sorry, I didn't see you down there"

He’s so mean about it but at the same time he loves when you ask him for help

He makes a big show about being annoyed that you need him to grab something off the top shelf when secretly it's his favorite thing

Thinks it's the funniest thing when you try to kiss him

Like it's not gonna happen you're way to smol to reach his lips

He'll torture you for a bit but eventually he leans down so he can kiss you

Sorry but he rests his arm on your head a lot 😔

Is probably happy that you're a bit shy bc it's easy to fluster you and he vibes well with people that lean more introverted

Living with tall people is actually the worst, like whY does Tsukki feel the need to put all of your favorite mugs on the tOp!! Shelves when he knOws you can't reach them

You know it's fine, you're used to this and have become a champion counter climber 😌✨

So that explains why you were currently kneeling on the counter reaching up for a mug at 10 pm

"What the hell are you doing?"

".......getting my mug? What's it look like silly"

Why are you like this? Why do you feel the need to put yourself in dangerous situations so much?

Kei sighed and walked over to you, he grabbed your waist and pulled you down from the counter then reached up and got the mug down

"You need to stop endangering yourself when you could literally just ask me to help you"

"I wouldn't be endangering myself if you stopped putting MY things on the high shelves!... I swear you do it on purpose sometimes"

He definitely does it on purpose....but he'll never tell you that :)

Kuroo

God he loves you

Kuroo is such a huge dork so expect him to fawn over you

He won't tease you toooo much like he occasionally will hold something out of your reach to watch you jump around trying to get it back

But he really just appreciates you as you are 😌

Kuroo is used to shy, introverted ppl so he's not bothered by it at all

As long as he can hug you he's happy

He LOVES to rest his chin on your head!!

If you're still too short for him to do that he also LOVES giving you back hugs, so either way it's a win win

You were watching Tetsu practice spiking, most of the team had left, only a few stragglers remained trying to get in some extra practice

You were very content with your spot, you were out of the way and happily sat swinging your legs back and forth. Plus you had a pretty good view of Tetsu and Kenma from your bench meaning you could soak up the pure joy that radiated off your boyfriend

Tetsu looked over to see you watching

"Wanna try spiking, sweetheart?"

"Tetsu, I don't think I can even jump high enough to see over the net"

"We won't know until you try~"

I mean he was right...I guess it couldn't hurt

And ya know he looks really cool when he spiked so maybe you'd look pretty cool too!

You walked over to Tetsu and gave Kenma the ok to set the ball for you

You jumped up and you actually hit the ball!!

But the ball didn't even make it past the net 😭

"DON'T LAUGH AT ME!"

"No no you did really good!... You uh... Looked very cute?"

">:(("

"Here do it again I wanna try something"

You sighed, he was just setting you up for failure so he can watch you make a fOOL of yourself again

Kenma set the ball and you jumped up

ONLY THIS TIME YOU KEPT RISING

NDKDNDK KUROO IS REALLY LIFTING YOU UP RN SO YOU CAN SPIKE

You hit the ball and it shot to the ground with a satisfying slap!

"THAT FELT SO COOL!! I FEEL SO POWERFUL!!"

"Yeah you sure look intimidating having me lift you up so you can look over the net"

"Let me have this moment, Tetsurou"

Lev

If anyone were to pick you up like a cat it's this kid

He is lAnKy and you being smol?

He will pick you up....you physically cannot stop him

Likes to lift you up and spin you around when you come to visit him at practice

It usually ends with you being pretty dizzy and Yaku kicking Lev for treating you like a cat

Lev is pretty oblivious to what he says, specifically to people that are shorter to him

He might say something that’s a little rude and unknowingly offend you but he really doesn't mean it

Like it just doesn't click for him that there's a chance he's being insensitive

Just remember that Lev would never ever hurt you intentionally and if he realizes that he hurt you he'd probably panic and continuously apologize to you for the next week

I feel like Lev would compare your hand sizes a lot. He thinks its funny how much smaller your hands are compared to his he gets this funny feeling in his chest whenever he does, you’re just very tiny and cute

It seems like wherever Lev goes he always finds a cat

It's very odd

You were walking around a park for a date when he suddenly stopped at a tree

"AH A CAT WE HAVE TO HELP IT!"

"......It's pretty far up there Lev, I don't think even you can reach it"

"We can't just leave it!!! Quick get on my shoulders!!"

What

How did this happen?

Correction, How did you let this happen?

You reached your hand out to the orange cat sitting on the branch, it slowly made its way in your direction

"Did you save it?"

"almost, move a little to the right"

That cat gracefully leaped into your arms and started purring

Ok maybe this was worth it bc this cat is really cute🥺

You and Lev ended up playing with the cat for a bit getting it to bat at some leaves

The cat even followed you guys for a bit and you see it every so often on your park dates

You named it apricot

Oikawa

I hate to say it but you know that feeling you get when you see a really cute kitten or puppy?

Yeah that's how Oikawa reacts

You're just.....tiny and he has this overwhelming need to hold you

He honestly loves that you're short

Oiks is, surprisingly, pretty tall. Like man is pushing 6'0 so having a small s/o just makes him :))!!

Oikawa doesn't mind your timidness, he thinks it adds to your charm!

Boy friken loves when you hide your face in his chest

Also king of piggy back rides 😌

He will carry you everywhere if given the chance

You were walking back to Oikawa's place

He just finished practice and it was a Friday so he insisted you come over for a sleepover

Yes he still calls them sleepovers, let him live it's cute

You were walking down the street, hand in hand, and the sun had just started going down painting the sky with warm reds and oranges

To be honest you were kinda tired so you started dragging behind a bit

You took a nap while you waited for Seijoh’s practice to end and you only woke up maybe 15 minutes ago? So you were kinda in that weird state where your awake...but not very aware

"(y/n)-chan?"

"huh?"

"Did you not hear what I said?"

"no....I'm sorry Turoo I'm still a bit tired"

":0!! I can't have my precious s/o wAlking if they're tired!"

He just scOOPS you up bridal style and continues walking like it's nothing

I-

Huh I mean sure I guess, if you really insist Tooru

You wrap your arms around his neck for more stability and he sneaks a kiss on to your cheek

"Won't your arms get tired carrying me?"

"Oh please, you're as light as a feather"

😳 ig Volleyball training has it's benefits bc he really can carry you everywhere and never get tired

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rokutouxei · 3 years

Text

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 13 OF 22

The sadness of rivers is their aimlessness. Though the edge of the world invites them, they refuse to go beyond themselves.

- "The Sadness of Rivers", Maurya Simon

We’ll be able to rent a decent space with the amount, Theo had said.

It was never a we, though. Renting a space, holding an exhibit, submitting it for consideration for graduation requirements—those were all Theo’s ideas. The pool of money for it? All Theo’s—little bits saved from work, those that didn’t go to rent or food or his own needs. Sure, Vincent paid the bulk of everything, bills, groceries, he did part-time too, but for his own little artistic show? No. That was all Theo.

Theo always had good ideas. Somehow, he’s gotten it into his head that all his ideas are good, if his brother was part of it. Because Vincent is always a good idea to him.

But what about Vincent?

Their little study session ended way later than she thought it would.

Well, it wouldn’t have, if Dazai hadn’t spent a particularly astonishing amount of time picking at Isaac for bringing an apple pie to share—“It’s because of your stupid jokes! Now I get gifted nothing but apple things! Commiserate, at least!” “Oh, you don’t have to, Ai-chan.” “Dazai!”—but no matter. One apologetic text message to Theo later, she’s on her way to his apartment instead, to drop off the book she’d promised to lend him. An extra one, besides the one for their book exchange, because you can never have too many books. She would have gone to the bookstore, but at this time it’s already closed, and Theo’s already left to go do some groceries on the other end of town.

One thing about being close with the van Gogh brothers is that now, she can just drop in and out of their house unannounced. Theo will act irritable, as he always does, but he doesn’t really mind. Vincent is always pleasantly surprised. And when their little rented apartment is right in the middle of their small town, it’s just the right spot to hang out and crash.

(A great piece of information for her, and a terrible discovery for Theo.)

Maybe I should go in and chat with Vincent a little, she thinks, as she rounds the corner to the familiar house. Wait, no, Theo said he spends the late hours of the day painting. I shouldn’t bother. I’ll just drop this in the mailbox and tell Theo.

But the slightly-opened front door takes her by surprise.

Not open intentionally, to let the last rays of the sun enter the inside of the house, but just left a tiny bit ajar, as if it had been pulled on too lightly, the door not touching the frame, the lock not clicking into place. From the outside, she notices that all the lights inside are shut off, leaving most of the living room in unnerving darkness.

Vincent doesn’t like the darkness.

She knows because Theo told her.

“Vincent?” she cautiously calls out, gently swinging open the creaky gate door. No response. She pushes it back to place and takes careful steps up the open door, getting nervous with every crunch of snow. “Vincent? It’s me.”

Her hand hovers over the doorknob hesitantly, but then she grasps it and pushes the door open. True enough, the lights in the main area of the house are all turned off; the curtains are drawn; at 5:00pm, there’s barely enough light to see the silhouettes of the furniture.

“Vincent?”

She hears a sniffle.

A small one; hushed and guilty; as if it hadn’t meant to be heard.

Her heart breaks.

“…Vincent?”

She closes the door behind her, doing her best to keep it as silent as possible. The kitchen and dining area are empty, but the door to the studio is open just a peek. She puts the book bag gently onto the couch and then heads toward it. She doesn’t want to spook him; doesn’t want him to be scared of her; she just wants to be there right now. So as she walks down the hallway, she makes sure her footsteps are even, but not heavy. Prepares him for her arrival—tells him that she’s not there to harm him.

But it’s her that’s not ready for the sight she sees.

Vincent and Theo rent a small home in the middle of the university town. It’s not the biggest, but it’s still rather grand for only a pair of brothers sharing it. The most frugal of students could perhaps fit eight people in this house if there were four double-bunk beds with two bunks in each room.

But Vincent needs the art space.

The studio is the bigger one of the two rooms, and it doubles as Vincent’s working space and a small library, with small shelves of the brothers’ books.

The studio is Vincent’s holy place. This is where he spends most of his day when he’s painting indoors, perfecting what he’d started elsewhere. One entire wall of the studio room has been decked out with a ridiculously large corkboard, from which Vincent hangs all sorts of things, sketches and studies and inspiration. This is his art room. This is his safe space.

It doesn’t look like that anymore.

The corkboard has been pulled out of its place on the wall. Small cans and tubes of paint have spilled all over the wooden floor, making it into a multicolored mess, much of it having missed the protective newspapers. A multitude of papers are now unrecognizable, torn up, scattered around the room. The studio light Vincent was so proud of lies sideways on the farther end of the room, its bulb perhaps shattered.

And Vincent sits in the middle of the room, like a survivor amongst the chaos.

Sobbing.

Head in his hands, curled up in fetal position, pulling at his hair.

Hoarse.

“Vincent…”

Where should one begin?

Theo had told her about it. The reason his brother couldn’t finish his last project; why he couldn’t get past all this. The mood swings. The crippling strength of it. The way it turned him upside down, made everything impossible—sleeping, eating. And much less making art.

The cracks.

Vincent looks up at her like he’s been to hell and back; his eyes hollow.

The way he calls out her name as if it’ll break on his tongue.

She knows that expression.

She’s seen that somewhere before.

In a face more familiar.

Like in a mirror.

Making sure not to make much noise, stepping around the paint cans, she finds her way next to Vincent, and he scoots a little to afford her some space on the only dry, unstained bit of newspaper in the whole room. She’s sure her black skirt is still going to have some mad red stain on the butt, and for sure also the soles of her shoes, but that doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is Vincent.

They spend a long, quiet moment together, one minute bleeding into two, three, four. She keeps track of time with the tick-tock of the analog clock across the room, its glow in the dark clock hands proving useful in the quickly seeping night. At the five-minute mark, Vincent has laid his head on her shoulder, the golden mop of his hair ticklish against her cheek.

“Want to talk?”

Vincent doesn’t speak at first. When he finally does, it sounds like he’s pulling out his voice from somewhere deep in him. Like he’s doing his best—the way he always does. “Theo might come home soon.”

“I’ll send him away,” she says, taking her phone out of her pocket. Vincent stares at the screen just long enough for her to type [ don’t come home yet ] before he turns away. She quickly follows up with [ get something nice for Vincent, but DON’T come home yet. tell u later ] before putting her phone face-down on her thigh.

As if to tell Vincent, the world is quiet now. No one will reach us here. It’s just you, me, and this room.

You’re safe here.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits, gesturing at the stack of paintings on the other end of the room. The paintings he’d been making for his project. The exhibition Theo has been looking forward to. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

When Vincent puts down his hands, she sees they’re ink-stained, like they always are. But they look different. Thinner. Has he not been eating? She tries to remember how much of Vincent she’s seen recently. How he looks much more tired.

“Did something happen?”

“I happened,” he says, with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “Theo should stop working so hard for me when I can never get this right. I should just drop out.”

She’s under a different unit, being a literature major, but she and Vincent technically are in the same college—the College of Arts. Sure, she’s in the Department of Humanities and he’s in Fine Arts, but still. She hasn’t been there long, but Vincent has, and he’s become some sort of legend in their already-small department. The genius, they call him, the prodigy; so many of his previous paintings hang in the dean’s hall to serve as an inspiration to current students.

But he had a problem—he couldn’t seem to finish his bigger projects. Couldn’t see his ideas to the end. The paintings get completed, but the entire collection never comes to shape. They’re always only shattered parts of a whole dream of his—a dream that everyone in the department is sure to be beautiful, but cannot rightly prove, because they never become real.

And so Vincent has never made it out of there.

She considers the correct things to say. The right ones, the factual things. Like how he shouldn’t drop out, actually, because he’s actually good. Like how he does have a vision, it’s just a matter of discipline and having faith in it. Like how everyone is watching him—not because he’s a failure, but because he’s so much greater than he thinks.

But then she considers better things to be heard.

The ones she would have wanted to hear.

“Art block?” she prods.

He shakes his head. “I wish it were.”

She nods, careful not to stir him. “It just doesn’t make sense, huh?”

He squeezes his hands into fists so hard, his knuckles turn white. She wants to take them in hers and unclench them, but she knows better. She counts the seconds. In half a minute, he releases them.

“I can’t get it right. It seems alright, and then I get midway through, and then everything crumbles. I’m not good enough for what I can see. For what I want to do.”

Who ever is, though?

She bites her cheek. “What are you afraid of?”

“Letting him down.”

She’d heard the story, but from Arthur, instead of Theo. That Theo was a star-student, gunning for honors. If he hadn’t stopped, if he hadn’t taken a break, he would have had higher chances of getting better awards. But after Vincent failed his first attempt at setting up an exhibition, Theo requested to take lower academic loads for the meantime, allowing him to get a job and to support Vincent. Theo could risk it because while Vincent’s scholarship didn’t cover the costs of an extra year—Theo’s did.

But he’d also lost precious starting years for that.

Which may not amount to much in the long run, but at the moment—it’s all they have.

Their youth.

And Vincent was taking it from Theo.

At least, that is how he sees it.

She knows for sure that’s not how Theo sees it.

She’s 100% sure.

But when in a place like this, a lot of times, what’s true doesn’t matter much—not when you’re chest-deep into the truth you’d made yourself believe already.

There’s no convincing Vincent out of this.

Only sitting next to him.

“What do you need help with?”

An artist to an artist.

“How do you just… keep going?”

She turns to him, his head still on her shoulder. Contemplates for a moment, then presses her cheek against the mop of sunflower-yellow hair. “I’m scared of stopping.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like if I stay in a place too long, I’ll get trapped there,” she says. “It looks like motivation, but it’s not. It’s fear. It is, and always has been.”

Silence, again. But only the kind of silence between two people who understand what lingers in between the words. “Why are you afraid?”

“This place hasn’t been kind to me.”

He reaches out, puts a hand on her knee. A wordless I know what that means.

To be taught art in such a rigid institution is always a privilege, an honor, a badge that says, “I am trained for this”, but it also gets very choking. Very prescriptive—that this is what art is. That this is the minimum of what it should be. In many ways, it stops the very art it wants to cultivate from really flourishing.

Vincent finally breaks the silence. “I’m the opposite. I don’t think I’m ready to go away.”

To send him off—that had been Theo’s dream. To lend his brother wings. He’s always seen what Vincent is capable of, even when his older brother hides behind his fear of the rest of the world, of their eyes on him.

“You’re afraid he’s investing it all on you, but then you won’t be able to give him a good return.”

He hums in agreement, but does not clarify, does not expound. The clock on the other end of the room ticks for what feels like an eternity, as they weigh their words. The sun is long out of the sky. The only sources of light in the room are the clock’s glow-in-the-dark hands and a streetlight across the road; the room is awash in weak gold.

“I want to create something that will matter, to be fair to him. But I can’t. I haven’t ever been able to. I’m wasting both of our times.”

The confession is heavy in his lips and she can feel it. How hard it was to say it. How long he’d been waiting to put it out there, instead of carrying it around. There’s a certain relief when one admits a fault—one that can quickly be lost into its consequences, but a relief nonetheless.

“Whose definition of mattering are you using, Vincent?”

It’s the boldest question she’s ever dared ask tonight, the sharpest of all the knives, but there’s no getting around this: it’s one that needs to be asked. And Vincent knows that, too, if the way he doesn’t flinch or react to it is any clue. He knew it was coming.

Maybe he’d even been asking it to himself on his own, too.

He sits up, as if maintaining any sort of physical contact with her is too much. She takes no offense at it. Clutching his arms against his torso, he answers feebly, “The rest of world’s.” The art world’s. The real world’s. The out there which won’t be as gentle to his art as this small studio room, as his brother.

She takes a deep breath, letting the answer linger in the quiet. The longer it remains there unrefuted, the more and more it sounds silly. Who decides the standards? Who decides what’s art? Who are they to decide on this?

And just like before, there are better things to say, of course. But a good friend doesn’t only coddle. They nurture. And sometimes, nurturing isn’t pretty.

Isn’t gentle.

“The art department… they’re nuts,” she begins, and it gets a small burst of sympathetic laughter from Vincent. “They’re always dreaming up of this or that. I don’t know where our professors get it, but they’re always looking out for something better out there. Even if the ones we currently have and do are pretty alright as it is.”

Vincent nods, but does not answer.

“You know the multimedia arts room? That was the most ambitious project of all. And it seemed great at the start, to have this specific area that said we have to collaborate or else. The film students took all the writing majors who were good at screenplays and just attempted to make whatever came to mind.” She takes a deep breath. “You remember what resulted out of that?”

He nods again. “The film showing last Christmas.”

“Yes! The film showing last Christmas!” She says, laughing as she goes. “They weren’t supposed to show the films, but all the shooting caused such a hubbub about it… the others wanted to see what happened, of course. So the student council set up a film showing, which the head of the department wanted to block.”

“They said the students didn’t get permission.”

“Yes, that’s what they said. But they did! Then they said the films weren’t qualified for showing, weren’t up to standards, but when the students argued, the department had to back off because there weren’t any valid standards to begin with, except ‘if the Head enjoys it.’” She closes her eyes, memories of last year coming back. “And the film students didn’t even have to lift a finger. It was everyone else who was curious about what they’re doing who got it all running. And so everyone who stayed here watched it anyway, the morning before Christmas, and it was such a hit they had to send it to experimental film festivals and—they won.”

“Mmhmm.” The meaning sinks in as Vincent listens. He leans back toward her shoulder.

She lets him stay there silently for a few breaths, before asking, “You get what I’m saying, don’t you?”

And in a soft voice, he begs, “Tell me anyway?”

So she does. “A lot of us will never be satisfied with what we do. I’m never satisfied with what I do. And I’m sure you know that feeling, too.” she sighs. “We’re so engrossed in getting that thing in our heads right, when they come out of our hands, that—we rarely see how closely we’ve come from the nothing they come from. We both always start with blank canvases, Vincent.”

She sees him clench his fists, then release them.

“And maybe we’ll never be content with what we do, but they’ll still be art. If not to us, then to someone else. And there will always be someone,” she says. “I’ll always think your work is art. I’ll always think it matters.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles. Tries to not make it obvious that he’s crying. Tries not to make the sleeve of her shirt damp.

“And Theo will always think your work is art. I know because he never stops talking about it. And maybe—maybe the Theo in your head will say it doesn’t matter, but to the real Theo? It will.” She gently pats his head. At this point, she’s half-talking to herself but she goes anyway, saying, “You’re allowed to change your mind in the middle, you’re allowed to abandon what you do not love anymore but—you’re also entirely allowed to continue to love something even when others do not think it is good enough. Even when you think it isn’t good enough, because sometimes… that feeling just is.” She takes a deep breath. “And sometimes the thing you love, the thing you make, it won’t be as good as the last one. Sometimes it’ll be shit. But it’ll still be a step forward, you know? It still contributes to the bigger ecosystem of all the art ever created. Maybe you’re scared of what you’re going to make, that you won’t be enough for it, that you won’t be able to give it justice, but—you’re the only one who can give it to life the way you can.”

Vincent laughs, the small, amused laugh he usually makes, and this time, it feels lighter than any from earlier that evening. He doesn’t hide the next sniffle he makes, or try to be discreet about wiping his eyes. “Has Theo been making you read his philosophy books?”

She groans. “Yes, I feel like I ended up on the losing end of a bargain.”

He laughs, finally getting back to sitting up. “Well, your poetry books have certainly made him more colorful now, if that’s any comfort.”

“Colorful?” she turns to him. “What does that mean?”

But Vincent only shrugs, that very maddening van Gogh evasion that she’s long gotten used to, just with a different person. But that’s okay. What matters is Vincent is here now. She presses the warm palm of her hand over the back of Vincent’s, and they stay there, in comfortable silence, for a few more recuperative minutes.

She messages Theo, and he’s at the door in three minutes. There’s surprise written on her face but she doesn’t prod, at least not now, as Vincent emerges from the room. She and Theo share a look at each other in understanding: not right now.

It’s heavy and hard to swallow but Theo knows that she’s right. He does his best to swallow down all his questions, as he sees his brother’s red-rimmed eyes, the tenderness of the smile on Vincent’s face. Instead, Theo focuses on the things he can do—it’s his turn now. He serves the still-warm pancakes from Vincent’s favorite shop as Vincent’s appetizer. When the silence begins to thicken, he switches up the banter with her, throwing biting phrases (softened with their mutual understanding) at each other like they’re hot, Vincent unable to keep up with his little reprimands. Theo cooks up an actual meal for the three of them from whatever is in the fridge—and it turns out to be fish, which isn’t his best dish, but it turns out edible anyway, so that’s what matters.

Theo gives her the bigger slice like an unsaid thank-you, and she raises a biteful in his direction in acknowledgment.

When they’re done eating, Vincent turns to Theo as he’s bringing their plates to the kitchen sink. “You should walk her home, Theo,” he says. “It’s late and too dangerous to go alone.”

It’s just eight o’clock, which isn’t exactly that late, but there’s no arguing with Vincent when he goes full big-brother mode. Theo knows that, too.

Instead, Theo says: “Where’s your bike?”

“I lent it to Dazai,” she answers, cringing just a little bit. “Just today, too.”

So after exchanging thanks for the meals and good nights—and a full, tight, caring hug for Vincent, for good measure—she and Theo are already on their way to her apartment building, walking down familiar streets only lit by lamps and the moonlight.

Once they’ve turned the corner, she finally speaks.

“I know you want to ask me about it, but I don’t think I can.”

Theo instantly relaxes—a held breath let go, one he didn’t know he was holding until she had spoken. “It didn’t feel right to ask.”

“It doesn’t feel right to say, either,” she says. “Just… be there for him, okay? I know you’re looking out for him and that’s why you’re doing all this, but you have to be there too.”

Theo doesn’t need to answer for her to know that he will do as he’s asked.

It’s a 20-minute walk from the brothers’ house to hers, and Theo is prepared to only share silence with her the rest of the way. He has nothing to say, nothing to ask, just here to give her the least bit of thanks he can for being there for his brother when he wasn’t. A part of him is panicking about leaving Vincent alone at home. But a larger part of him wants to be here, a foot away from her, like being in her presence might just be enough to clear his head, to help him consider what he has to do.

When they get to the main boulevard at the halfway point, she speaks while they wait to cross the street.

“I can’t tell you what Vincent said, but I can tell you what I think.”

The pedestrian sign turns green.

“Anything,” Theo says, suddenly out of breath. She starts to walk ahead of him and he tries to catch up.

She doesn’t speak for a while, as if rearranging the words in her head. When she finally does, she’s walking next to him so she can give him a proper look in the eye. The feeling of her gaze on his makes Theo feel a little more vulnerable than he would have liked.

“I think… sometimes, even when you have the best in mind… it can read different,” she says softly. “It might feel like you’re saying it’s what you expect. Like you’re saying it’s what you deserve out of it.”

Theo bites back the denial bitterly building on his tongue.

“You’re a cheerleader, not a strategizer.” She turns away from him. “The battle is on the fighter. If they lose, they already face the sting of the loss—they don’t need to carry the excess guilt of disappointing you.”

Theo takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

Punching him lightly on the shoulder, she says with a smile, “You ought to talk to Vincent.”

“How do I talk to him about this?”

She shrugs. “Sometimes even the worst of talking makes the difference, you know? Good difference though.”

Theo hums in agreement.

They walk the last five minutes of the journey idly, pointing at different things they pass by and talking about something or other. Theo has an answer for every comment like he hadn’t just walked out of a situation that made his view of her change altogether. Like he still feels a little raw from how succinctly she’d held his heart in her hands and told him how he could do better. Like he wasn’t still sitting on the look on Vincent’s face when he arrived, the recognition that she could see through Vincent as he could.

Something is changing.

So when they finally get to the front door of her building, he is eager to go and sit alone in his thoughts. Theo mutters a small “Good night” and turns around to leave when her hand encircles around his wrist before he can go any further.

He turns. “What is it?”

“Your brother is the world to you, isn’t he?”

She asks, as if she doesn’t already know the answer. Used to Arthur’s teasing, Theo bristles. “And if he is?”

Her grasp on his wrist loosens; she holds his shaking hand in hers gently. “I just wanted to make sure you know that he’s lucky to have someone as constant as you around,” she says—and then, before Theo can say anything else, she lets go. “Thank you for dinner, see you soon,” she bids goodbye while having already turned away, already going up the stairs.

Theo would have wanted to have something to say, but nothing dares come out of his likely traitorous mouth.

Instead, he looks down at his now-steady hands.

Lets the warm feeling settle in his stomach.

And the fear that comes with it.

Oh, he says, in his mind, as it clicks.

Oh no.

He sighs.

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

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bltngames · 4 years

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SAGE 2020: The Usual Suspects

Hi, folks! Back when I used to work at TSSZ a lot of people really enjoyed reading my articles where I’d talk about various games at the Sonic Amateur Games Expo (SAGE), and I’ve gotten more requests in the last month and a half to continue doing those types of articles than I think I’ve ever gotten about anything else I’ve ever done before. So, here we are!

But I also need to be real with you: there are a lot of games at SAGE. It was exhausting enough when there were 70, 80, or even 90 games. Heck, the one year I wrote about 85-something games by myself, I sort of felt like I was going to die. This year, there are over 220 games at SAGE. It is physically and emotionally impossible for me to talk about everything, and it may even be impossible for me to play everything. Things will fall through the cracks. Most things, probably. Though I am responsible for basically inventing SAGE 20 years ago, I am also a human. I have my limits, and I am sorry it has to be this way.

Structurally, we’re going to be doing things a little bit differently, and you should expect this to be a little fast and loose. Since I’m not talking about every single game on the show floor, articles are going to be broken up into types:

“Usual Suspects” will be for games that either appeared at previous SAGEs or that I’m at least aware of.

“Fan Games” should be obvious, and it’s whatever doesn’t fall under Usual Suspects.

“Indies” is the same deal, but for original games.

And finally, there will be a “Honorable Mentions” article for whatever random leftovers I don’t cover in the first three articles. Looking forward to me talking about your game, but I don’t mention it? Tell me about it and maybe it’ll end up here.

Without any more delay, let’s talk about those Usual Suspects...

Sonic GT

Sonic GT has always been kind of a difficult game to control, but usually it just took a little bit of getting used to. There was always a period of adjustment, where you had to learn the game’s quirks. But, over time, I feel like the game is also just getting… quirkier. Every time I come back to this, I slam head first into the Sonic GT’s learning curve, and it always feels just a little bit steeper. This is one of those games that tries to fit a lot of abilities into a tiny amount of buttons. It works, but it feels like you have to memorize an operator’s manual. It’s all about figuring out which button to hold when to get what state. But, man… when it clicks into place, it’s still kind of magic. And, at the very least, the levels have all been reworked to take better advantage of Sonic’s high-flying, death-defying acrobatics. You’ve just got to be willing to learn. The real downside of this new version is the inclusion of a proper story mode -- I don’t have anything against having cutscenes in your game or whatever, but for the purposes of reviewing these games, some ability to fast forward through the talking heads so I could get back to the gameplay would’ve been nice. You can skip ahead in cutscenes you’ve already watched, but that doesn’t help when it’s your first time through. Oh well. So it goes. (Update: in the process of getting this article posted, Sonic GT has been patched to make cutscenes always skippable.)

Project SXU (Sonic X-treme Unity)

Another year, another Sonic X-treme recreation. This one’s interesting because it seems to be the most “complete” yet, offering the four most famous levels: Jade Gully, Crystal Frost, Red Sands and Death Egg. Intentionally or unintentionally, this also seems to replicate quite a few quirks we’ve seen in Sonic X-treme’s controls in the videos that have been released of the in-development build. Which means that it, uh, kind of sucks to play. I realize that’s kind of rude, but I’m sort of allowed to say that. 15 years ago, I was basically the only person on the internet that cared what happened to Sonic X-treme, so... I started contacting developers, starting with the game's producer, Mike Wallis. He lead us to Chris Senn, and that broke the dam on information about this game. Now, I don’t claim ownership over everything that came out of this, I’m simply saying I was the one who got the ball rolling. I watched the mystery of Sonic X-treme slowly get uncovered with as much intent as one could possibly have. It is a fascinating piece of lost media, but as a game… well, I think it got canceled for a reason. SXU shows us a clear vision of that, with a game that’s disorienting to look at and hard to control. Heck, if you’re using a controller, you can’t even use the analog stick -- you have to use a d-pad, leading to controls that feel frustratingly twitchy. But that's true to the experience. I probably spent almost as long in this demo accidentally slipping into bottomless pits as I did exploring its levels. Again, this more or less feels accurate to what we’ve seen in videos, though I do think Sonic probably feels a little too sensitive, here. Regardless, it’s still absolutely fascinating.

“Sonic Infinity Engine” Games

I’m cheating a little bit, here. This is technically three entries, but it’s in “Usual Suspects” because there’s been Infinity Engine games at SAGE for a few years now. Listen, it’s my site, my rules, and we’re playing fast and loose, baby!

Adventure Pack 2

This claims to be a “pack” of multiple levels, but the one level I played went on for over 25 minutes without showing any signs of ending. The level is… well, it’s the kind of stuff we’ve seen at SAGE for years and years and years, a space previously occupied by SonicGDK and BlitzSonic before it, where somebody is clearly starting out learning 3D level design, has some prefab assets, and goes to town creating a huge, intricate environment… that doesn’t fit a Sonic game at all. Too many tight spaces, too much enemy spam, and too much labyrinthine pacing. This is “Sonic Visits Anor Londo,” and while it looks interesting visually, it’s easy to get lost, or worse, killed because something isn’t functioning right. Like a lot of Infinity Engine stuff, it’s a bit hit or miss.... And now, also cramped.

Infinity+ Colorful Combat

The primary goal of this seems to be to update the Infinity Engine with extra features, something that I think is pretty welcome. The Infinity Engine is okay, but it’s missing a little bit of polish that the original developer neglected to give it before abandoning the project. This helps tighten some of that stuff up, while also introducing Wisp powers and more playable characters. Some of the new characters could still use some work, yet, but given the project is still in active development, that’s pretty much a guarantee. This could end up being the defacto version of the Sonic Infinity Engine.

Sonic Reforge: Red Ridge (Blockout)

This is what’s called a “Grey Box.” Rather than build out a fully-detailed level, you get a rough estimate on how the stage will flow before you put all the graphics in. What’s here is okay, I guess, but the level loops back on itself in ways that can be kind of confusing. There are a few places where it’s not really clear where you’re supposed to go next, and I spent several minutes running in circles. I’m also not a huge fan of the changes to Infinity’s physics; jumping off of ramps is a key part of the Sonic experience, but there are several places here where that doesn’t work -- to get the height needed to progress, you just need to roll really fast. It works, but it doesn’t feel like the Sonic I’m familiar with.

Sonic World DX

I have a bit of history with this game. Or, well, with a different version of this game. I wasn’t kind to some of the original entries at SAGE many years ago, but over time, they’ve cleaned the game up and streamlined it a fair amount. Now we have the “DX” release, a further cleanup effort splintered off from the main project, but to be honest, I’m not entirely sure what’s different from the previous release. The main version of Sonic World supports an absolutely gargantuan amount of content, with 50 playable characters and at least that many levels. It was big, and weird, and impressive. This demo ships with three or four playable characters and eight stages. Beyond that, there’s not much else to say -- it’s still Sonic World, though this release doesn’t work right with my controller. It picks up the controller binds from the main version of Sonic World, correctly assuming I’m using a DualShock 4, but none of the buttons are correct. When it asks me to press the X button, I have to press Circle for it to properly register. Not only that, but the right stick camera control is completely broken. Switching to an Xbox controller fixes the camera issues, but now the face buttons have the opposite problem: when it asks me to press A to jump, I have to press X. Throws my whole vibe off, like wearing your shoes on the wrong feet. The menus are bizarre, too -- while adjusting the volume, you can’t push left or right to adjust the levels, you have to use controller face buttons for some reason. This whole thing feels like I stepped back in time to 2013 in a bad way.

Sonic Freedom

I feel like I’ve been waiting to see a major development from Sonic Freedom for half a decade at this point. The art considerations for this game are no joke, and I do not envy anyone trying to make a proper high-def 2D Sonic game that looks this good. But, well… it’s another year, and there’s not a lot here. It plays fine, I guess -- the controls are decent, at least. The problem is the level design. Does this level even end? I’m not sure. I know previous demos for Sonic Freedom have had more than one level, but the stage you start out in here is a confusing, empty labyrinth with respawning enemies and a finite number of rings. You climb up and up and up, but eventually I reached what felt like a dead end. Visually it will always look incredible, but I’m wondering if it’ll ever actually become a game at any point in the future.

BraSonic 20XX

Here’s a strange blast from the past I wasn’t expecting. BraSonic is an old fangame from probably more than a decade and a half ago. It was so long ago that I can’t even actually remember if I played the old version of the game or not, but I definitely remember the name. What really throws me for a loop playing the 20XX version now is how much it feels like a game from back in the early 2000’s. The artwork, the sound effects, the locations, all of it makes me feel like I’m 19 again. Thankfully, this doesn’t play like a fangame from 2004; physics seem pretty solid, level design flows pretty well, and it generally seems to be fun, weird, and most importantly, unique. There aren’t many fan games here at SAGE that open with their first boss fight being against Sonic the Hedgehog. If you find yourself getting burnt out from so many Sonic fan games feeling same-y, this could be a good change of pace.

Sonic Frenzy Adventure

Maybe it’s the fact that this is the 20th Anniversary of the Sonic Amateur Games Expo, but here’s another very old fangame coming back out of the woodwork for an enhanced modern re-release. This game was a mainstay of the mid-to-late 2000’s SAGE events, after which it disappeared before being finished. Well, maybe it was finished. Again, a lot of this stuff was so, so, so long ago that this poor old man’s memory just can’t recall it. Seeing Frenzy Adventure back warms my heart, though. It’s an old friend in what has proven to be a very challenging year. Admittedly, parts of it still feel a bit mid-2000’s, but I consider those charming quirks. Throwbacks to a simpler era. At the very least, controls have been improved, so it does play better than the old releases did. Good stuff. Glad to see you again, dude.

Sonic Speed Course

This was a game that turned up last year, but in the kerfuffle I didn’t get around to trying it, even though I really wanted to. This is clearly a game inspired by Kirby’s Dream Course, but instead of Nintendo’s pink puffball, we have Sonic and friends. Whereas Kirby gained abilities by bowling through enemies, this adapts a more traditional Sonic gameplay structure of item boxes filled with shields and other powerups. But here’s my deep dark secret: even though I love Kirby’s Dream Course in concept, there’s a part of me that feels an intense hatred for that game. I have distinct memories of renting Kirby’s Dream Course as a kid and getting really far into the game, but trying to play it as an adult I’m baffled at how difficult it is. The main problem I have is that every stroke you take subtracts from your health, meaning you can only hit the ball so many times before you just… die. This makes for a very, very steep learning curve that discourages play and experimentation. Every shot truly, deeply matters and eventually I find myself caught in a death spiral and staring at the game over screen. All of this is replicated in Sonic’s Speed Course, which, much like with Kirby, I find myself drawn to like a moth to the flame -- only to come away feeling dejected and like I’m just not good enough. For fans of Kirby’s Dream Course, this is undoubtedly good news, as this means Sonic Speed Course is faithful to the tone of that game. But I find myself wishing there was a practice mode or something that let me play these courses without the punitive health system, because I’m ready to love them.

Sonic: Triple Trouble 16-Bit

When you write about so many games at SAGE every year, things start to blur together... a lot. I seem to recall that Triple Trouble 16-Bit last year was good, but had room for improvement. Well, this year, this demo feels… really quite good. I’ll admit, I was a little skeptical about remaking this game. Sonic: Triple Trouble was among the first batch of Game Gear games I ever owned as a kid, and while I liked the game, in my adulthood, I feel like I’ve come to appreciate Sonic Chaos more. But so much has been added to this game that it’s really come into its own. It uses Triple Trouble more as a jumping off point to become something fresh and interesting, and on top of that, this demo is pretty polished. This game was kind of always on my radar, but it’s really turning into something special.

Battle Cross Fever

Every year, I download this game hoping for some kind of single player offering, and every year I’m let down. Battle Cross Fever is a fighting game that plays a lot like Smash Bros., but contains elements that pull it closer to traditional fighting games like Street Fighter. It’s the kind of game that can check with the server to make sure you’re playing the latest version, but doesn’t have true online multiplayer -- instead advertising that you should use a piece of screen sharing software like Parsec to accomplish online multiplayer. In their defense, the few times I’ve used Parsec, it’s basically been magic for how well it works. But I just want, like… anything that I can play by myself. Even if it’s just a super basic arcade mode with brain dead AI, anything is better than nothing. But, I suppose, I am an outlier. Judging by the horrific character select music I landed on, Battle Cross Fever has enough of a community that they could get fans to sing along to “Ghost Town” from Sonic Forces -- which is a fun idea, don’t get me wrong, but when you have loud voices over cheap microphones, well… I hope you aren’t wearing headphones like I was. Anyway, this game’s always seemed solid, but I’ve also never played it with another human being, so really, I’m speaking from the perspective of admiring the diverse roster and all of the fun arenas they’ve ported in. Maybe someday it’ll get some single player content.

I’ll be back with another article… uh, eventually. In truth, I was only going to feature five games here, but it ended up being ten, so we’ll see how many are in future articles when we get there!

#writing #SAGE #sonic amateur games expo #review slew #sonic gt #project sxu #sonic infinity engine #sonic world #sonic freedom #brasonic #sonic frenzy adventure #sonic speed course #sonic triple trouble #battle cross fever #review

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padfootagain · 5 years

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A Not So Restful Summer At The Beach (I)

Part 1: A Strange Feeling

Here we go with a new series, this time for our favourite couple the Ineffable Husbands! I hope you like this idea of mine :) It's my first series for them, so please, tell me what you think about it cause I feel very nervous!!!!

There are two timelines in this chapter that I've separated with these ***, while a paragraph break is signalled with these ----

Be prepared for both angst and fluff in this.

Gif not mine

Word Count: 4147

"Where's Crowley?"

It's a mere whisper. Voice hoarse drenched with tears. Red and swollen eyes. He can't believe in the possibility and yet his body is already reacting to it as if it were all true. It can't be, though. It just can't be. The mere thought is unimaginable. The mere thought has his heart and soul both shattering in thousands of tiny fragments full of pain. The mere thought has his world crumbling. The mere thought has him losing faith in everything.

In his hand the gun shakes. His finger loosely rests on the trigger. He points it at the angel before him.

The ridicule of the situation hits him harder than a punch. Or well, not exactly ridicule but… the absurdity of it, at least. He's an angel menacing another angel with a firearm. The world has gone utterly wrong.

But then Crowley is not here. Crowley might never come back. Crowley is… might be…

Of course the world has gone all wrong. His world, at the very least.

"Where. Is. Crowley?"

He repeats the words one last time. His jaw is clenched and he can't how fast his heart beats. He decides then that it's the angel's last chance. If there is no other way to learn the truth, he will do it. Pull on the trigger.

The shakiness in his voice is still strong but he can't control it. He can't control anything. As the tears form in his eyes again, the world turns all blur, until the angel before him almost disappears in the cloudy sky and the grey sea.

"Aziraphale," she tries to reason him, but she already knows she can't change his mind. If he has taken the decision to discorporate her, he will. "Listen to me. We can still arrange everything."

"Arrange everything?!" Aziraphale replies with a voice so full of emotions: anger, astonishment, betrayal, pain… "There was nothing to arrange! We were just minding our own business, why couldn't you leave us alone?"

"Aziraphale, don't do anything stupid."

"Where is Crowley? What have you done to him? Have you… Have you…"

His lips tremble, and he can't muster the words. He can't let them pass his lips, form on his tongue, they taste too much of pain, their meaning is too terrible. He changes them for something still cruel, but that he could at least have a power upon. Words that give him hope, even if only a fool's one. When he finally speaks again his voice is a little more high-pitched than usual.

"Have you hurt him?"

But he's met with only silence for a long while. And when Bénédicte speaks again, it's not to give him the answer he is looking for. He can see the perspiration on her forehead. He can see that she is frightened, but somehow, he knows she's not scared enough to speak.

"We both know you're not going to pull that trigger. You're still an angel. You're still on our side. And Crowley is not. He's a demon, Aziraphale. He's not on your side, but I am. Now, give me the gun."

She extends her hand towards him, and he stares at it for a moment: black fingers that seem to be pointing at the gun, a little shaky, a little too perfectly shaped to be human.

But he doesn't hesitate. He doesn't make a gesture to give it to her.

Instead, he looks up at her again. He can't give her the gun. The only other option is to use it.

In more than 6000 years, Aziraphale has never hurt a living creature. Never intentionally, at least. But then… then he asks himself a very important and yet simple question.

What would he not to do for Crowley?

And as he imagines Crowley's body dissolving in Holy Water, as he hears his shout echoing through his heart and soul, as he imagines the look of pure terror in his beautiful eyes, the answer comes as obvious. It's a very pure truth that will not falter, no matter the circumstances, no matter what is required of him.

He can't imagine anything he wouldn't do to stop Crowley from being hurt. Not a single thing. Aziraphale would do anything necessary to save Crowley.

The safety on the gun makes a little 'click' noise, and on the trigger, his finger is heavier and heavier. And Bénédicte sees the movement and can only wait for Aziraphale's decision.

He moves the gun across her abdomen, from her heart to her stomach and to her shoulder and to her arm…

He has never in his life used a firearm and would have never imagined he would. But then, he reckons that he had always imagined that Crowley would be there to get him out of trouble if need be. But not today.

Today feels unreal. Today looks like a day where pigs could fly and the world could be ending, and Crowley could be gone forever. Today is for unrealistic things. He guesses that shooting at another angel fits perfectly in this theme.

Aziraphale's tears are more powerful again and his hand shakes a little bit more, but the decision is taken and there is no going back.

And on the trigger, Aziraphale's finger gently presses more and more until the shot is fired.

**************************************************

A few days before

"Sit down, Angel. Stop pacing and just… sit down. You’re making me nervous."

"What if… you’ve felt there was a change too!"

"There was a tiny tremor. That’s all it is."

"We should be with Adam… what if they try to hurt the poor boy?"

"He’ll be fine! Why would they try to hurt him? He was the antichrist, but now he’s just a normal kid. Or well, almost normal… normal enough… He’s not a threat to anyone."

"Still… I would feel much better if I was sure he’s okay," Aziraphale argued, finally sitting down again instead of pacing through the aisle of the train, and several people stopped looking at him with an eyeroll that meant 'this man must be crazy or something'.

"Aziraphale, we've made sure he would be safe. We have. He’s with his family, in his house that we have secured against both demonic and angelic attacks. Nothing’s gonna happen to him. And we need a break. We deserve one after 6000 years of loyal service and a full year of treason."

"Oh… no need to use this disgusting word, Crowley."

Aziraphale took the mobile phone Adam and his friends had insisted he’d buy. If the angel had never been much interested in technology, he was glad to admit that this particular device was very useful. Crowley had been surprised at how fast Aziraphale had mastered all its functionalities… or at least, for the most part.

By the window of the train, the green English landscapes were passing by in a blur. The soft movement of the train shook them both from time and were starting to lull Crowley to sleep, his eyelids becoming heavier and heavier.

"We could have come here with the Bentley," Crowley complained out of the blue.

"The point was to be discreet. Your car might be highly stylish, it lacks the discreet element of this trip," Aziraphale replied, his eyes still fixed on his phone.

But there was a frown on his angelic features, and he was soon moving the phone around him, first placing it towards the window, then the aisle, then above his head and finally extending his arm towards Crowley.

"Oh… no…" he said with an adorable disappointed pout. "No signal…"

"Who did you want to call anyway, Angel? Oh no… not Adam again, let the kid breathe! He lived without us for 11 years, he can live two weeks more on his own!"

"It’s not that, Crowley. I’m worried about this… ripple we’re both feeling. We should warn him about it. Tell him to be extra-careful…"

The angel’s face suddenly illuminated from within as a bright idea passed through his mind.

"I can send him a mail instead of calling him. That will be much more efficient. And I love sending mails…"

"Text. Through a phone, you send a text," Crowley corrected him with a half amused, half annoyed tone by which Aziraphale was not fooled at all, and a mischievous smile formed on his lips.

"Well, whatever you say. Anyway, I could send him a text. To tell him to be careful."

"Well, do it then."

"But I can’t! I don’t any signal."

Aziraphale gave Crowley these baby eyes that the demon -although he would never admit it out loud- adored, and to which he could never resist…

The demon heaved a sigh, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Alright. There you go. Send your text and then no more miracles."

Crowley sat a little straighter on his seat, and snapped his fingers. A mere second was needed for all the little bars on Aziraphale’s phone to appear.

"Oh! Thank you," he smiled to his friend, his eyes oozing tenderness.

Which made Crowley smile and his heart beat a little faster than usual. He didn’t reply, and merely gave his angel a soft look.

Aziraphale kept his promise and wrote his text for the boy.

Dear Adam,

Crowley and I have had a rather unsettling and strange feeling these past few days. We are not sure yet if this comes from either of our sides, but we would recommend you to be particularly careful.

See you soon,

Aziraphale.

"You don’t need to sign these, you know?" Crowley reminded the angel just as he finished tapping his name.

"Yes, but I like doing it that way," Aziraphale replied. "It feels more personal, warmer, somehow…"

Crowley tried to roll his eyes, but instead gave Aziraphale one of these you-are-too-adorable-how-can-you-even-be-real looks, making the angel blush ever so slightly.

"But we are supposed to start by ‘Dear Adam’ or… 'Dear Crowley’… right?" Aziraphale asked with a questioning look painted all over his face.

"I suppose so," Crowley shrugged.

"Adam never starts his texts that way… he just straight up blurts out a 'hi’. It feels very impersonal."

"He’s a twelve-year-old kid and the former antichrist, I’m not sure we can so much rely on him to understand human behaviour."

"You’re right… do you think he’s reaching… adolescence already?" The angel carefully asked.

"Nah… this thing is later on, isn’t it?"

"I have never quite managed to define a precise age…"

"He’s not reaching that yet. Don’t worry, angel."

"I hope not. We’re barely finding back a rhythm since… all of it… I am not ready to face a second Armageddon."

Crowley chuckled in response, but the saddened expression on his friend’s face did not escape his watch. There was no need to acknowledge the pain, nor talk about the memories though. Armageddon and the trials that had followed had left a weight on both their shoulders, but even more so on Aziraphale. His trust on his side had been shattered into pieces, if he wasn’t fallen, he was out of Heaven all the same. He could never go back, even of his wings would keep their white shades. He might stay an angel, and maybe more so than most of those in heaven, but he would never again go home.

He never talked about it, at least not with words and sentences and not even with tears, but with distant stares set upon nothing, with longer silences than he used to let slip, through the melancholia that now coloured his features when he lost himself in his thought. For the rest, he was still the kind, selfless and with just a hint of a bastard, as Aziraphale had always been. But Crowley knew him enough to spot the signs. And moreover, he knew enough of the pain of being chased from home that his friend was going through now. He had been chased out of heaven, and now also from hell. Although, Crowley had to admit that his exile from hell came more as a relief than anything else. He wasn’t upset at all at the idea of remaining on Earth forever, as long as he had the right company…

Aziraphale’s phone vibrated and rang a merry little tune as Adam’s answer was received, and all traces of sadness disappeared from Aziraphale’s features as he read the text, a shy glint of excitement passing through his eyes.

"He says he’s fine, and he will be extra-careful. He says Anathema came to visit yesterday, how lovely! And he wishes us some good holidays at the beach."

He let out a content sigh.

"It will be lovely, indeed, I am sure of it."

"We could have gone to a better spot though…"

"Brighton is considered like a very famous place for the summer," Aziraphale argued.

"I was thinking more about Hawaii, Ibiza, Italy, the reefs of Australia…"

"But I’ve never been to Brighton…"

Aziraphale’s voice was almost a whisper, his tone apologetic. Crowley gave him a reassuring smile.

"I know, Angel. It’s alright, I guess. Next time, I’ll pick up the destination though."

They exchanged a smile that could only be described as tender, before simultaneously setting their gaze on the countryside passing by so fast.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Brighton in the summer was full of life, sun and ice creams. Aziraphale loved it. He was sitting on the beach, playing with a handful of little pebbles and eating a strawberry ice cream, watching the children play in the water and on the beach, a happy smile on his face. Wearing a pair of beige shorts, white shirt and a straw hat, Aziraphale was a fair contrast with Crowley’s form splayed on the beach as he drank in the sun, only wearing his sunglasses and swimsuit. A few meters away, a baby started to cry. A couple passed before the two friends, hand in hand, laughing.

Crowley quickly miracled the baby to stop crying, acting as discreetly as he could to avoid Aziraphale noticing.

"I must admit that this idea of yours was absolutely brilliant, Crowley," Aziraphale nodded in appreciation, giving the demon lying by his side a tender smile. "We did need some vacations."

"I knew you would like it," the demon replied without trying to hide his smile.

"I could get used to living like this. No missions from heaven, no soul to save, no destiny to balance… just… being there and looking at the world and living our lives."

The look Crowley gave him was both soft and a little sad. Longing. He moved his fingers a little closer to the angel’s hand, but didn’t reach for it. Instead, he played absentmindedly with a few pebbles too.

"Yeah… I could get used to that too."

"Wait! We must try sun cream!" Aziraphale wiggled a little with excitement as the idea passed through his mind and Crowley couldn’t help but to be both amused and fond of the angel’s excitement.

Aziraphale took out of his bag a bottle of sunscreen and started to apply it on his arms, finding it very funny.

"That was an invention from heaven, right?" Crowley asked, discreetly glancing at Aziraphale while he applied way more cream than needed on his right arm.

Crowley had not spoken of ‘their sides’ since the trials (or the lack of it). Instead, he used 'Heaven' and 'Hell' now. It had been a while since it didn't really make sense to him to do so anyway, but after the trials, the separation between him and both hell and heaven was thorough. The long process was completed the second Gabriel had told the person he loved most in this universe to 'just die already.'

Shut your stupid mouth and just die already.

The words still echoed through his bones every time he thought about that day, and every time the desire to strangle the archangel with his bare hands came rising through him.

He focused on Aziraphale again, who was now putting some cream on his face, white traces remaining on his nose making the demon smile the most tender smile. How could anyone who claimed to be good and serve the will of god want to hurt someone like Aziraphale? It made no sense… But then, Crowley reckoned that his vision of his best friend was rather biased.

Aziraphale though was still talking in terms of 'my side' and 'your side'. He acted like it was just a habit he couldn't get rid of, but the roots went deeper than this explanation. It was a way to connect to something he had lost. And even if he did not regret the choices he had made, if he had come to accept that heaven was not what he had thought it was all his life, if he was more often than not happy to live on Earth, he was still an angel, and Heaven, no matter how blank and cold and impersonal this place felt, was still his home. He knew he didn't belong there anymore, and yet he still yearned for the comforting faith that he was doing everything he did to reach something good, that he was doing the right thing, that every step he took and every decision he made would one day lead to a world that was a little brighter, because he had been there. Questioning heaven had meant questioning what he had done all these years too, and looking back, there were times when he had accepted orders given to him and carried them out without fighting back, and he regretted it. He regretted not having saved the people he could have helped simply because it was part of God's plan.

In contradiction with those regrets, he still believed in Her plan. He believed it would lead to something beautiful and happy and imperfect in the perfect sense of the word. His faith in God was still there, but his faith in Heaven and its system had been destroyed with the world almost dying.

"Of course. Your side pierced holes in the ozone… We had to come up with something."

"I'm not even surprised that the only thing they would think of in retaliation in the ozone breaking up there was 'let's cover the humans with some white sticky cream'."

"You should try it, it's fun!"

"It's not fun. And I'm not trying it."

"Oh, Crowley, please…"

"No way."

Aziraphale gave up, closing the bottle and reached for his bag, but Crowley heaved a desperate (and quite dramatic) sigh before the angel could reach the blue bag, and took the bottle from him.

"This is ridiculous."

He did put some sunscreen on anyway, and had to admit that it was rather… fun… He covered his torso and arms and legs and face, before handing the angel the bottle again.

"Here, are you happy now?"

"You have to put some everywhere."

"I have."

"Not on your back."

Crowley could see that he had not realized the implications of what he was saying, so slowly, with a careful tone, Crowley replied.

"I can't miracle it, Angel. That would not be very discreet on a beach, and I can't reach my back."

Aziraphale's stare was more intense for a moment, he struggled to swallow, his Adam's apple trembling, before he nodded, blush creeping up on his cheeks covered with white sunscreen.

"Of course," he mumbled.

He took the bottle, his eyes still fixed on Crowley's, and for a second, the demon thought that Aziraphale would say something. Say something about… sunscreen on his back… something he could barely turn into full thoughts without blushing and having his heart exploding. And for a moment, the thought lingered in Aziraphale for real as he guessed the strange shape of his friend's eyes beyond the dark sunglasses. Strange… he had never liked this adjective to describe Crowley's eyes. Beautiful had always been something closer to what he really wanted to express.

But he didn't speak. Instead, he put the bottle back in his bag this time.

Crowley lied back down on the pebbles and broke the uncomfortable silence with a joke.

"Anyway, I'm lying on my back here for the rest of the day, so it doesn't matter."

"For the whole day?"

"Why not? It feels good. Relaxing. You should try too. Lie down, Angel."

Aziraphale complied, lying on his back on his towel by Crowley's, and he had to admit that the feeling of the salty wind blowing on his face and hair mingling with the warmth of the sun kissing his cheeks and the happy sounds of the beach embracing him all made a lovely feeling grow in his heart. The place was so full of love and happiness, and he could feel it all.

"It does feel good."

Crowley hummed in agreement, but soon frowned.

There was something off. A strange feeling, something… something was amiss. Something was wrong. What was it? He wasn't sure. But there was something wrong with the world in Brighton right now. Something dark moved the city.

It was just a distant feeling, most like a distant shout through a loud crowd that one can guess and yet not truly hear. He couldn't pinpoint where it came from or what it was, but he knew it was there all the same.

He sat up in a jolt, trying to feel, to smell, to see, to identify by any mean necessary what was happening. But the beach around him was still the same. Still full of sun, and life and ice creams…

The feeling faded a little, just as Aziraphale was looking up at the demon, worried.

"Crowley? Is there something wrong, dear?"

"Did you… did you feel that?"

"I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. Not more than this past week."

Crowley slowly nodded, the feeling disappearing, and he lied back down.

"Oh, it must be nothing, then. Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

They both turned back their attention towards the sun, closing their eyes and letting its warmth run through their bodies. But it seemed that sometimes, the sun was warmer, and sometimes colder, it was a strange change in its heat, as if a cloud passed before the star and blocked its light.

However, there were no clouds in the sky that afternoon above Brighton.

----------------------------------------------------------

Even Crowley would have easily admitted that the view from the restaurant was nice. The sun blazing its last rays of burning light upon the blue of the sea, painting the world in gold and red and purple in a strange spiral mirrored by the sea. The seagulls cried now and then, the salty wind blew through the town and dishevelled a little the demon's and his angel's hair as they ate dinner. Or well, Aziraphale ate, but Crowley had since long finished his oysters. Not that he minded sitting there in the lovely evening while Aziraphale ate. It was always pleasant to share a dinner with the angel.

"These oysters are delicious," Aziraphale said for at least the fifth time. "Are you sure you don't want one more?"

"No, thank you Angel, I'm fine. You can eat the rest."

"I'm glad you chose the hotel, it's a lovely place."

"We've only been there for like… five minutes," Crowley frowned. "We dropped our bags and went to the beach."

"It seemed very nice nonetheless. And I understand now that you had to miracle our free rooms."

"My treat."

The angel paused for a few seconds.

"It was thoughtful of you to book two rooms next to each other."

"Well… it would have been pretty stupid to book them at opposite sides of the building," Crowley carefully answered.

"Of course."

It was more than time to change the subject, at least so reckoned Aziraphale, and he took a moment to find a new subject to discuss.

Aziraphale breathed in the sea air, salty, a touch of the scent of seaweeds, warm sun and he could already guess the faint scent of the stars that were yet to appear in the sky for the night. But then he caught the perfume of something else. Something both foreign and familiar, and he couldn't really explain what it was, at least at the beginning.

He vaguely heard Crowley speaking, but didn't pay any attention to him. Instead, he kept on breathing in and out the air, focusing on this strange fragrance. It smelled both warm and empty, quite… pure in a way, but a little bit in a… an antiseptic way. Too clean. Too empty. Warm but cold as well.

And finally, he realized what it was. It was the smell of…

Crowley merely looked at him with raised eyebrows as Aziraphale jumped to his feet.

"Crowley… I think there's a problem."

"A problem? What is it?"

"I… I'm quite sure that I've smelled something… something that… felt like… Heaven."

**********************

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honeylikewords · 5 years

Note

Gimme your thoughts about Us, I’m still dumb af - You know who it be

I’m putting off an essay to write this but let’s ROCK and ROLL, BABY!

So, spoilers below the cut, just as a warning for anyone who still wants to see Us (2019), dir. Jordan Peele. If you’re unable to see the movie for whatever reason, you can feel free to read this and garner some ideas from it, but I still suggest seeing the film, in the end. A lot of this won’t make sense unless you’ve seen Us!

I normally don’t go out for too much horror, but I do think the Jordan Peele movies are legitimately great works of art, and very culturally relevant, so if you want to be supportive of black artists, black art, and the vocalization of the black experience, I highly suggest going to see these movies or watching them at home.

They’re not actually overly violent or exploitative, and understanding that the violence in the films is meant to be metaphorical for the systemic violence perpetrated against oppressed groups helps to contextualize the stuff you do end up seeing. So, without further ado, let’s get into some Thoughts about some Cinema.

So, first of all, I have to say that I haven’t stopped thinking about this movie since I saw it at, like, 5:30 pm on Sunday. It’s been on my mind non-stop, and I’ve been fixated on the soundtrack, particularly “Anthem” and “Pas de Deux”, along with the “Tethered Remix” of “I Got Five On It”. I love the intentionally jarring combination of sounds, and how “Anthem” is directly reflective of the idea of the “U.S. Anthem”. “Us Anthem”.

Jordan himself has been very open about the fact that the title Us is meant to also represent “U.S.”, and when Red is asked “what she is” and she rasps out “We’re Americans” it just... stuck with me.

The nonsense-singing of “Anthem”, too, fixates me, since the scorer for the film has talked about how it’s the “voices of the Tethered”, and how they’re “angry” and “ready to get free”. We know that the Tethered cannot speak, which is a major and interesting facet of their life, to me, since they’re never given “a voice” beyond this kind of animal screaming and groaning.

It’s what makes a lot of viewers see them as “sub-human”, but always gets to my heart and makes me think about the fact that they are so very keenly human. It makes me think about the repression of “lesser” languages, native languages, “non-verbal” languages. The Tethered DO have a means of communication-- clicks and rasps, cries and screams-- which definitely do pull at the human fear of “unnatural” noises, but also remind me of native languages that utilize clicks or throat sounds often not found in English.

The Tethered are deeply, intimately human. While it is mentioned by Red that two bodies cannot share the one soul, that doesn’t mean to me that the other is soulless. I really don’t think that about the Tethered. I think that they are their own people, and that their rising proves that. They’re not hollow machines that just mimic their “original” on the surface, but are just people with their own souls, people who have been wrongly oppressed and mistreated.

Us is openly a discussion about the way we, as people and as Americans, treat “others”. Whether that means the racial other, the cultural other, the class other, the gendered other, or anything other system we try to dichotomize, binarize, or diametrically oppose to something else, it’s very definitely about the ways we abuse and mistreat people in order to systemically oppress them and gain from that.

Adelaide represents this interesting kind of class-traitor, in a way, because she rises “above the others”, both literally and figuratively, and instead of making an effort to free those around her, she just rises to the top and forgets where she came from. Whether that’s about assimilating into white culture and “rejecting” the culture one came from (joining in the oppression of your own people by claiming to ‘not be one of those kinds’) or about rising to a wealthy position and oppressing the poor, forgetting what it was like to be poor one’s self, or about any number of other things, that’s up for interpretation. But the issue is still there.

Jordan intentionally left the specific meaning of the film open so that every viewer would be forced to engage with it personally. Who do you, personally, help to betray? Who do you, personally, help to oppress? Whose suffering do you, personally, benefit from? You’re forced to grapple with that, and forced to acknowledge the reality that every single one of us is part of the issue. You only climb higher by putting someone below you, and this movie forces you to recognize that.

I’ve heard people complaining that Us isn’t as good as Get Out specifically because it’s more open-ended, but I think that’s what makes both films fantastic and beautiful. Get Out brazenly exposes the direct experience of everyday black horror, and is completely open about it. It’s a one-to-one analogy. But Us is for everyone, making you wrestle with yourself. You are your own Tethered. You are the good and the bad of yourself. And neither one is fully good and neither one is fully bad. Get Out was a master-class in analogy, but Us is more of a metaphor; it doesn’t need to have everything laid out. Its horror and its beauty lay inside of its intentional cloudiness.

I’m really obsessed with the rabbit imagery, too. I love bunnies, and seeing them become symbolic of this horror really was an interesting take. Jordan himself has expressed being uncomfortable with and scared of rabbits, specifically because he can see that they’re “soulless” inside; he says that if you took the brain of a rabbit and put it in a person, you’d get Michael Myers. Totally void, just ready to hurt. And I think that’s an interesting take on them. He also points out that the image of rabbit ears, the shape of their head, mirrors the shape of the scissors that the Tethereds use.

I also love the way that rabbits are largely docile little creatures, but can bite pretty hard if provoked, and I feel that’s a good way to look at the Tethered. I don’t see them as inherently evil or violent, just pushed beyond their own limitations. They did what we all did as Americans: they led a violent uprising against their oppressors, then ‘peacefully’ took their place, all the way across America. They are us, for better, for worse.

The choice to use the 80′s references really often also caught my attention; Jordan talks about how the 80′s nostalgia is this double-edged sword, since everyone is longing to go back, but not realizing the costs and weights of that, the evil lurking under the placidity and “wholesome American image” that the 80′s sought to project.

The all-American, apple pie, small-town fun and games of the 80′s also came with the Reagan administration, the AIDs crisis, the war on drugs, a massive rift between the rich and the poor (with a steadily more wealthy middle class expanding from just middle class into rich, upper middle class individuals and extremely poor lower middle class), and “sublimated racism”. We pretended, as a nation, that we were now post-racial, but that was such, such, such a huge lie.

So setting the memory scenes in the 80′s, using 80′s film references, 80′s imagery, 80′s sound-a-likes, the Michael Jackson stuff: it all points to the duality of what we love, what we are nostalgic for. Michael was a hero of the 80′s, but now...

Speaking of Michael Jackson, notice carefully the costuming of the Tethereds. Red jumpsuit, single glove, ‘the monster is not what it seems’, the “Thriller” t-shirt... why, Jordan, one might think that you made the Tethereds look like Michael in “Thriller”!

Which he obviously did, guh-doy.

I mean, the glove/sharp symbol also is an homage to good ol’ shithead Freddy Krueger, too, but it’s definitely a potent nod to Michael Jackson. We know that Adelaide (now Red) had seen the “Thriller” video as a child, and that she wanted the shirt with him on it, so the image of the Tethered is this combination between the Hands Across America symbols and the Michael Jackson look in “Thriller”. Adelaide (now Red) never forgot.

Also, god, Hands Across America? Talk about 80′s false optimism! It’s incredible how potent that image is for the issue being discussed. For those of you who don’t know, Hands Across America was an initiative in the 80′s to help end hunger and homelessness in America. The idea was that every person in America would join hands and form a line “from sea to shining sea” across the entire lower 48 continental states, and for each person in line, $10 dollars would be donated to the cause.

The event, of course, failed in many ways. First, there’s no POSSIBLE way for people to join hands across the whole continent; the terrain of the US makes it entirely impossible. Plus, the time necessary to conduct that would be incredibly exhausting for people standing in line! But what’s worse? The project did successfully raise ~$34 million, but nearly $20 million of that disappeared into “event costs”: paying the celebrities that endorsed it, paying the event organizers, et cetera. Only around $15 millions made it to the homeless and hungry. While $15 mil. is no small number, that’s.... less than half of what was raised. So where did all that go? Into the pockets of the already rich. It’s such powerful symbolism, especially within the context of the film.

Oh, also, while still on the 80′s talk, the opening shot of the film features a VHS copy of the movie C.H.U.D., a movie about “sub-human underground sewer dwellers” who rose up to eat the surface humans. These “CHUDs” were one-to-one analogies for the homeless and impoverished.

I cannot get over how strong the storytelling is in Us, I just can’t. I’m obsessed with it. I cannot help but wanna talk about it all the time! It’s so GOOD and I’m so FRUSTRATED that I’m gonna cut myself off here to stop from ranting about every teeny tiny thing and every big major thing because no one will know what I’m on about, but, seriously, do yourselves a favor and go see Us.

This movie will make you have to sit down and think about whose suffering you’ve benefited from, and what you need to do within yourself to change this.

Also, before I go, I just gotta say I love, love, love the decision Jordan made about having the 1980s version of the hall of mirrors be “Native American” themed, only to have that “politically corrected” in the 2010s to be “Merlin’s Hall Of Mirrors”, which is just a facade thrown up over a still-racist, exactly the same hall of mirrors. The problem lurks within, never gone, just covered.

Also, that ties to the Kubrick connection (The Shining is a major inspiration for Jordan) and the genocide connection, so, uh, it’s deep out here, lads.

Anyway, I have opinions about movies.

#also lupita deserves an oscar for this role no joke #her 'red' voice? ogh my god... oh my god #HER M II I I I I N D !!!!#messages #long post #us spoilers #Anonymous

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leelee10898 · 6 years

Text

Back to you: Chapter 24 - Colder Weather

Summary: Leo heads to Cordonia to stop Madeline and hopefully get Aria back. Liam has a health crisis and Aria discovers what Madeline is up to. Catch up HERE As always all characters belong to Pixelberry studios... Except those created for the story. Rating: Mature Chapter/title inspiration: Colder Wether- Zac Brown band

Tag List: @bobasheebaby @scarlettedragon @alicars @annekebbphotography @speedyoperarascalparty @greyeyedsmile14 @stopforamoment @mind-reader1 @xxrainbowprincessxx @hopefulmoonobject @katurrade @indiacater @bella-ca @blznbaby @blackwidow2721 @liamxs-world @simsvetements @furiousherringoperatortoad @choicesfannatalie @crookedslimecreatorpasta @coldcollectornight08 @laniquelovely @museofbooks @syltti78 @gennesaret

Leo splashed water on his face, he placed both hands on the sink staring at himself in the mirror of the tiny airplane bathroom. He was tired and run down, dark circles prominent under his bright blue eyes,he looked like shit. His focus was getting to Cordonia and making sure she was ok, he needed to see for himself. He exited the bathroom and sat back in his seat. Leo had been trying all night to reach somebody, anybody, but no one was answering their phone. He couldn’t warn them. He called her number over and over again but it went straight to voicemail each time. Why the hell is nobody answering their damn phones? He looked down at the screen, his thoughts temporarily interrupted by his wallpaper. A photo of he and Aria, the night of the bachelor party. Leo smiling as Aria placed a sweet kiss on his cheek. He stared at that picture until he realized the date. shit, the coronation ball. Damnit, that’s why nobody is answering. He thought to himself. Four more hours until they reached Cordonia.

Liam watched Aria intently, he wanted to make sure she was ok. Praying she was enjoying herself. She had been sleeping a lot, he did not want her to slip into a deep depression. Damn his brother for this. In a perfect world she would want him, but this wasn’t a perfect world, and she loved Leo. “You need to stop staring Liam, people are starting to notice. ” Madeline snapped walking up behind him. “Who fucking cares Madeline” Liam snapped back sitting his glass of scotch down walking across the room to whisper something to Bastian. Anger washed across Madeline’s face as she pulled out the little clear baggie dumping the contents cautiously into his drink, swirling his glass to dissolve the powder. Liam walked back over “Here you are darling.” Madeline cooed handing him the tumbler of scotch. Liam gulped it down in one shot, a smile formed on Madeline’s face that will teach you to speak to me that way she thought to herself.

Aria sat at one of the tables by herself, watching everyone around her having fun. Her best friend came all the way from New York to cheer her up. Granted that may have had a lot to do with the fact that Maxwell had taking a liking to Ellie and vise versa, she watched Ellie laugh as Maxwell spun her around. She caught sight of Hana dancing gracefully with Rashad, she looked so elegant and beautiful. Aria tried her best to put on a brave face but truth be told she was miserable. She missed him terribly, the way he would make jokes about the stuffy older nobles making her desperately try to stiffen back fits of giggles. The way his hand would hold her lower back firmly as they would glide across the dance floor.

“Ok cut the crap, what is wrong with you? ” Olivia crossed her arms as she sat down next to her. “I’m fine, really.” Aria turned her head away avoiding Olivia’s judgmental stare. “Either you’re going to tell me willingly what happened between you and Leo, or I will force it out of you. ” Olivia threatened. Aria sighed, she knew Olivia wouldn’t let it go. “I seen Madeline kiss Leo Accidentally, his door was cracked open and I peaked in.” Aria blurted out. “Mmhmm, and did Leo lean in? Or put his arms around her as well?” Olivia questioned. “Well, no. Not that I seen.” Aria admitted. “You know Aria, you are a smart girl, usually, but you are being incredibly stupid” Olivias eyes met Arias. “Do you not know how much he loves you? Sure Leo has a reputation, but for as long as I have known him he has never looked at a woman like he looks at you.” “No I guess I never really thought about that. I know he claims to love me, then why kiss Madeline.” Aria tried to argue but she was finding the words hard to find. “Why would he? He wouldn’t Aria. But Madeline, She would kiss him. Think about it.” Olivia grabbed Arias hand. Aria sat back in her chair Fuck she whispered. A smile formed on Olivia’s face “my work is done here.” She patted Arias hand as she got up making her way to Drake. He wouldn’t kiss her, not intentionally. Aria thought to herself. But Madeline Aria shook her head Madeline would kiss him. She should have pushed the door open, she should have given Leo time to react before she ran off and left him. Oh god Leo, the letter, what have I done? Her thoughts consuming her, the sound of Liam’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

Liam stood in the middle of the floor. Aria stood up and walked to the edge of the carpet. “I would like to thank everyone for coming tonight, I have an announcement to make.” Cough cough “excuse me.” Liam apologized. Lady Aria.“ Liam held his hand forward. Aria smiled and walked forward taking his hand. "I would like to introduce our newest duchess to court, Duchess Aria Hale of Valtoria.” Liam beams as claps fill the ball room. Aria smiles and curtsies. As the applause dies down Liam continues on with his speech. “ I would also like to make another announcement. ” cough cough cough. Liam clears his throat. “I seem to have something caugh-” cough cough cough. “Liam?” Aria placed her hand on his shoulder in concern. Liam erupts in a fit of coughs and he collapses on the floor.

“LIAM!” Aria screams as she kneels down next to him, checking for a pulse. Madeline runs over falling onto the floor. “Liam? No no no, nooo, you cant die, no to much, I gave him to much, no.” Madeline panics. Aria turns her head to much? She thinks to herself. Her focus shifts back to Liam, his pulse was erratic. Bastian clears the women from Liam as a team of medics rush in, getting him onto the stretcher rushing him to the Hosptial.

“Hale! hale what happened?” Drake rushed over to a distraught Aria. “I.. I don’t know he just, he was coughing, and he collapsed.” Aria stammered. “Ari,Ari are you ok?” Ellie ran up wrapping her arms around Aria. “Physically yes. But we need to get to the hospital, Drake, Olivia please. ” Aria begged. “Yeah of course Hale, lets go. ” Drake started towards the door. Aria gave an unsure look between Ellie and Maxwell. “Don’t worry little blossom, I will look after my little petunia.” Maxwell assured her as he wrapped an arm around Ellie. “Hana are you coming?” Aria asked, Hana nodded her head and they met Drake in his truck.

Once at the hospital the group had to wait for Bastian to come and give clearance. “How is he Bastian?” Aria whispered. “He will be ok, hes stable, and he has been asking for you Duchess Aria.” Bastian informed her as he walked them down the long halls of the hospital and into a secluded area. Her heart was in her throat as she opened the door and walked into the room. “Liam?” Aria meekly said as she walked over to Liams side. His eyes lit up, “Aria, you are here. I wanted to make sure you were ok, the last thing I heard was your voice, you were worried.” Liam sat up in the bed. “Of course I was worried Liam, I do care for you. We may not be together but that does not mean I will stop worrying about you. ” Aria chuckled lighthearted. “Yes, I suppose not. ” Liam gave a half laugh before continuing “The Doctors are waiting on some lab results but, I will be released this evening as long as we do not get negative results. ”

“Thats wonderful news Liam. ” she gave hid hand a reassuring squeeze. A knock came to the door “your Magisty I have your results.” the doctor announced as came into the room, Aria excused herself giving Liam a moment alone. A few minutes the doctor came out to address the group. “ The king will be ok, he was a little dehydrated and had some signs of exhaustion but that was not what bothered us.” “Well, whats wrong doc?” Drake demanded. “You see the king had high amounts of scopolamine in his system.” He continued. “Whats that? scopadolpadoo?” Maxwell tried to pronounce the drug name. “Scopolamine, is a drug that can be used to make people susceptible to persuasion.” The doctor said looking at Maxwell, trying to keep a straight face. “So its a mind control drug.” Olivia blurted out, everyone turned to look at her, their mouths agape. “What? She looked puzzled. "Well,yes scopolamine, or devils breath they call it as well, can be used for mind control. ” “ wait, what did you just call it?” Aria stood up, the name sounding familiar. “Devils breath.” The doctor repeated. As if she were having a vision, the memory of the conversation Aria over heard Madeline and the strange man had in the hotel that day. You’ll have the devils breath tomorrow. It hit her like a ton of bricks, It was Madeline, she was the cause of Liam’s black outs, of his odd behavior, Madeline was poisoning him. She needed proof if she was going to take her down. “Hey Drake, I need a favor?”

**********

“Only one more hour.” Leo bounces his leg in anticipation. He had been sitting in that damn seat for hours, agonizing over everything that could go wrong. He just needed to get there. He cruised the web, looking for any recent breaking news from Cordinia each search returning no information, no news is good news he tried to level with himself.

“I just need you to keep watch Drake. Do you think you can do that without alerting half the palace?” Aria huffed as she picked the lock with a bobby pin from her hair. The door clicked and popped open. “Well I’ll be damned. Remind me to ask you how you learned how to pick a lock later on Hale.” Drake chuckled in astonishment. Aria crept into the dimly lit room, praying Madeline was not there. Madeline disappeared from the hospital as soon as the doctor gave the news Liam had been poisoned. Aria dug through drawers, boxes and bags and found nothing. Defeated she stood to leave, her foot got caught on the leg of a chair sending her into the vanity, her hands hit the top with a loud smack as a hidden compartment popped open. Aria could not believe her eyes. Inside were 5 bags filled with a white substance. “DRAKE” She called out, Drake sticks his head in the door “you ok Hale?” “Yeah drake, call Bastian, I found it.” Aria whispers. She had her, she finally got the evidence to take Madeline down. Aria couldn’t help but smile, a victory finally, if she only knew this was the short game she had played, what Madeline had in store for them next nobody would be prepared for.

#choices trr #trr fanfic #trr #leo trr #king liam #leo x mc #liam rhys #liam x mc #back to you fan fic #back to you trr fic #back to you #cordonia #olivia nevrakis #countess madeline #drake walker #hana lee #maxwell beaumont

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mild-lunacy · 7 years

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Johnlock and the million-dollar question

The fact is, I hesitate to say anything. That's where I am. I'm not ready to really engage with fandom the way it is now, or possibly ever.

The worst part of the TJLC breaking thing for me is the confusion. Like, I was always invested, obviously, but the main thing is that I felt strongly this subtext and the arc and all that stuff about romance and references to Sherlock's sexuality (like, ASiP, ASiB, TSoT and TAB) were important to the show. Not just there for shits and giggles, or even for representation. I'm not talking about subtext or code: sexuality, romantic attachment and embodiment are actual textual themes in the show. That's the 'rifle on the wall' Ivyblossom references being left in TLD in her recent post, but there's any number of such rifles. Way, way too many for coincidence or anything other than intent. That's the heart of TJLC, to me: that assertion that the show is consistent, that it follows its own continuity. Letting that go is more than letting go of a subtextual gay romance; it's letting go of things in the text *making sense*. My point, however, is that I don't necessarily need to *predict* or to be right about *how* all this works. Am I disappointed there's no kiss, no explicit Johnlock? Obviously. But what I really need is a sense that things *make sense* again. So many tiny plot things led to the 'Redbeard as Victor Trevor' thing, for example, you just *know* Mofftiss are well aware of the queer narrative and take it seriously like all the other aspects of the subtext. So, the million-dollar question: what happened?

Anyway, after Ivy said that about the last conversation in TLD vis-à-vis the situation in TFP.... I had one of my Moments. That special sense of enlightenment, haha. And like, so my *initial* read of the sex reference in TFP was to shrug and dismiss Eurus as being wrong, even though she's set up as not wrong by nature ('cause obviously it's like, not true? who exactly would he have had sex with, and when?), but. Irene's theme and Irene in general is definitely tied in with sex, symbolically, so if Sherlock plays it differently, that's a big deal. So we have that plus the John being 'family' to Sherlock thing, plus John inviting Sherlock to watch the video in the first place.... It adds up. Not to mention the odd, easy and mischievous intimacy of planning that Mycroft caper together after TLD. John pretty much bragged about convincing Sherlock to do it. Like... dude. This is presented very casually, matter-of-factly, but it's no casual thing, y'know? John wasn't speaking to Sherlock not so long ago. And yet... so easy, so suddenly. Hmmm. And, of course, there's Mary making that reference to what they 'could be' together, wrapped up in some spiel about how their private lives and selves don't matter *for the story*, for their public 'legend'. And to all this, they didn't bat an eye. And most viewers apparently assumed this all meant there's nothing else there... never a safe assumption on this show. But regardless, you'd think John, at least, would react somehow, or maybe take the opportunity to bluster or roll his eyes or something, which he always had done before.... Always.

But no. Nothing like that. Ho hum, Mary thinks we're in love and both she and Eurus (and Irene, and Mrs Hudson, etc etc)... possibly everyone we've ever met at this point thinks we could be fucking and probably are already. John reliably reacts to this somehow. Outright denies it sometimes (unless Sherlock is there). Unless it's actually true this time, in which case, you know, it's all fine, isn't it? (Well, obviously? But who cares? It's old news, really.)

Anyway, this placid 'invisibility' of their relationship in TFP happens after their talk in TLD, and we know Gatiss thinks that's the ideal 'married couple'-type relationship for a queer detective.... To me, it definitely adds up, as I said. The narrative works beautifully with that reading. It is consistent! Voila! The test is passed. We have continuity lift-off.

Note that this bare bones approach to character development hasn't been unusual in BBC Sherlock; quite the opposite. They *love* using implicit stuff, hints and hidden corners. ASiB is full of it, and so is TAB and TSoT. Moffat is obsessed, obviously, and he wrote TFP. We know what kind of men they are, don't we? Oh, we do. They barely ever have anything be straightforward, honestly. Would they have Johnlock happen implicitly, almost entirely in the interstitial spaces, depending on the fans to fill in the blanks? Yes. You have to admit they would. Certainly they're both pretentious enough, indifferent enough about people's understanding their intent, and just about big enough trolls for that. And as Ivy also said, they *did*, I think. Essentially, I feel like this level of implicitness is their idea of canon Johnlock, though I'm not without hope we'll get a kiss one day in a Special. After the level of subtext-as-text we see in TAB, I'd say it's definitely possible.

Anyway, Ivyblossom generally sees the surface plus the first few layers of Johnlock subtext, which... is the show. And it struck me that this exact line, that type of reading, *this* is closest to the apparent intent for Mofftiss as of Series 4 (given a full canon and hindsight, since Ivy's overall reading of S3 still works mostly unbroken too). Remember, consistency is important, both in the text and the interpretation. And this is just so like them. To literally have Johnlock happen in the empty space between TLD and TFP is... absolutely like them. It makes sense, *given* you don't assume that the nature of the show would or *could* change dramatically after canon Johnlock, more or less, and given you refuse to believe TSoT and TAB are somehow episodes in an entirely different show.

That vision of BBC Sherlock as an actual romance was always a jump, an assumption made because we, the fans, know that most people are heteronormative and we know they *need* to see 'proof'. But would Mofftiss *care* about heteronormative people and their assumptions, about proving them wrong? No. They've often undermined these assumptions, and they may tease them, they have fun with them, but ultimately I get the feeling they don't care about people who're essentially not smart enough to see what they mean to show them (see their attitude re: TAB). So... it *works*. And you literally see it-- that change, that equilibrium-- in TFP, just like Ivy said. Instead of overt intimacy, John and Sherlock just... click. Hilariously, it's just like all those fanfics had it: no sex during cases, more or less. God, that little twinkle in John's eye, though. There was just that tiniest bit more relaxation; a more confident, mischievous mood, just a bit softer and more open, as appropriate to the circumstances. So subtle. So... John. For example, we know there's increased emotional intimacy between them outside casework 'cause he asked for Sherlock when he found Mary's other CD, but he also supported Sherlock emotionally during the case, reminding him of the need for 'soldier mode' along with a subtle hand on Sherlock's elbow. God. I *thought* that John was back in old-school form in TFP. That was my immediate response! And what would magically bring the old John back...? Two options: bad writing... or renewed and increased emotional intimacy with Sherlock. I vote Sherlock.

God, it's so subtle, so subtle, but they don't *do* casual touching, you know? They never have, really, from the very beginning. They don't touch intentionally but casually, even when they're drunk off their asses in TSoT. Their legs nearly but never quite made contact, remember, and we all thought John's deliberate, not-so-casual famous knee-grope was like a strip tease for them. Both their hugs were a huge deal, and even their handshake was a production. It's certainly not something to do sober, during a case. Remember when Sherlock grasped John by the head and seemed to go a bit fuzzy in TBB? Yeah. Not casual. Oh my God, I'm crying and not falling asleep. I'm seriously, literally crying 'cause that tiny, casual elbow touch is equivalent to canon Johnlock. That's Martin Freeman for you, isn't it? That's Gatiss, too. Wow. Wow. Wow.

My only dangling reservation is about the John characterization in TLD and TST, to a lesser extent. I wasn't as thrown by the violence at the morgue as some, and I accepted his irrational rejection of Sherlock after Mary's death, but it took me awhile to see the importance of their last conversation about Mary and romantic relationships to the two of them. I mean, I could tell not all was as it seemed and we were being heterobaited, but I wasn't clear what was being communicated. I hoped and expected TFP would clarify this, but of course it didn't, really (though honestly, stagnation or regression is actually often the initial, surface appearance of emotional development between Sherlock episodes. I mean, we've had apparent regression between TSoT and HLV, and an empty space within John and Sherlock's relationship between that beginning conversation in TEH and their stable relationship at the start of TSoT). So my initial read of TLD and the conversation was optimistic but confused; it was painful and didn't *obviously* go anywhere. Of course I had hoped for more from The Conversation we all expected in Series 4, though (just like with The Kiss). I had a very hard time actually imagining how it would actually go that was 100% stylistically consistent with what came before, however. Remember, we'd have to go beyond TSoT... and TSoT itself was an aberration stylistically. Anyway, I thought this was my lack of imagination. More likely, my instincts in the past were just saying a conversation that went 'full Monty' or an actual kiss would... break genre or existing show convention, maybe, in some indefinable way. Just instinctual on my part, apparently. So, we get just enough conversation to suggest the 'sort of thing' they'd talk about (romance! Irene! who they really are! hmmm) and the 'sort of thing' they'd do afterwards (cry and hug... Hmmmmm....)

I still hesitate about the extent of John's seeming hatefulness in much of TLD. I wouldn't say his behavior really shocked me personally at any point, but it's hard to entirely cast away other people's understanding of John if I respect their opinion, even when it's significantly fluffier than mine. Most people's interpretation of both John and Sherlock seems to go either a lot more or much less fluffy, in equally extreme measure. Either people seem to believe John (or Sherlock) is an abusive asshole and/or sociopath, or they're harmless babs. It's not like I was ever in danger of thinking John was a harmless bab, but he went pretty far in Series 4, even further than Series 3, and people could barely tolerate *that* much as in-character. So it definitely helped when I saw @thecutteralicia's last response on TLD!John, which brought up his adrenaline-driven violence against Sherlock in ASiB. Obviously, yeah, TLD is much more extreme, 'cause John's at the very end of his rope and convinced Sherlock's literally about to lose it and go rogue drug-abusing vigilante. He's already called Sherlock a monster and yeah, seen him kill a man that he probably shouldn't have. And he really isn't a hero in an absolute sense any more than Sherlock is. The entirety of TLD was about breaking that down narratively, and *then* having Sherlock accept him anyway, the way he finally accepts Sherlock.

So does this mean their relationship is abusive and Sherlock is martyred? I agree with the TLD!John post on that, too. They're both messed up characters, and the show has not been shy about this; it's not subtext, and in fact it's part of the very last few things the show tells us about the two of them (the two junkies solving cases for ulterior purposes, etc). It doesn't go one way only, regardless of the tally of their respective offenses against one another, which character fans are so fond of. Besides that, on a more abstract level, suffering for love is not the same thing is being abused, in the context of romantic angst within its genre. That's how it works. You take it or leave it if it's not your bag, more or less. Anyway... this sort of reasoning always came naturally to me, though as I said, I know too many people who've got a much softer interpretation of John (even John at the end of his rope). It's easy for me to connect the dots now that I've started. It's obvious, really.

I'm happy. As far as I'm concerned, we did get canon Johnlock, suuuuper implicit as it is. For all my gushing about loving the cases this series, I'm all about the boys. Of course I'm happy. Am I *satisfied*? Well... such is not the nature of humanity. People think we're crazy now more than ever before, obviously, so I resent Mofftiss just a bit for that. Partly, it's just being seen as insane and/or brainwashed indefinitely, which you could argue I've grown used to in fandom (... not really; actually, it sure gets old, lemme tell you). Yeah, that really sticks in my craw, no way around it. Aside from that, it's a shame that most fans as well as casual viewers-- and even many TJLCers now!-- simply won't appreciate that this is a beautiful love story. Maybe not even in 20-50 years when heteronormativity seems quaint, if they still watched the show, because people will always prioritize the surface narrative. Granted, of course, some special 10 years from now doesn't settle the matter, finally, when no one cares anymore. That seems like Mofftiss, doesn't it? But I'm still the person who wrote all those posts about how I need John to be declared bisexual, after all. I think I've processed a lot of that with my feelings about the representation of Adam Parrish in The Raven Cycle, another undeclared bisexual. I'm sympathetic to both sides of the debate, but the fact remains that I really love the portrayal of both Ronan and Adam in The Raven Cycle, so this can't help but influence my feelings. It works, it's consistent and I enjoyed it: that seems to frequently be enough for me. Obviously, there's a significant difference in that The Raven Cycle actually has an explicit, canonical relationship and an actual kiss between Adam and Ronan (though plenty of people in the fandom still thought they were robbed compared to the het couple). So... that sucks. If you think that's not acceptable, that's certainly a valid way to feel. As *representation*, BBC Sherlock definitely sucks the big one. There's no way around that. As a *story*, though, it's as frustrating and wonderful but as consistent as ever (which... suggests there's plenty of plot holes and/or dangling threads to go around, surely, but not about the things that really *matter*).

Basically, I understand if it's not enough for others, and there's good reason for that. But this is where I am. Not quite thankful, but definitely relieved. And maybe not hysterically blissful, but certainly happy, just because I know that's how Sherlock and John Watson canonically feel... as of the end of TLD and into their future as partners, with their private life remaining firmly private, it would seem. Partners in detectiving, in romancing, and-- God help me-- parenting, too. A family in every way.

PS: because *this* is the thought literally haunting me at night (and it's almost 6am, man): Jesus Christ, I can't believe they've done the do! OMG. John, you dog you. hehe I really wanna see how it all went down, but. I guess if you wanna see something done right, ya gotta do it yourself. Again and again and again (.... right, John?)

PPS, even later at night: hopefully @ivyblossom will write it before I have to take such extreme measures, particularly before breakfast, ehehehehe.

#sherlock meta #sherlock spoilers #series 4 #the final problem #sherlock feels #johnlock feels #tjlc

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totallymotorbikes · 7 years

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Church Of MO 2003 Victory Vegas With the unfortunate news of Polaris shutting down Victory Motorcycles, it only seemed right for this week’s Church feature to be about Victory. Oddly, despite Victory’s beginnings in 1997, it took a few years – and a new millennia – for MO to get its hands on one. We’ve featured some of those models already in past Church features, so for this week we’re going with the oldest Victory review we have yet to showcase: the 2003 Victory Vegas. Ridden and written by Eric Bass, sit back, relax, and enjoy this early road test review of what might become a collector’s item in 20 years. Oh, and for more pictures, be sure to visit the photo gallery. 2003 Victory Vegas Viva (fewer) Lost Wages! By Eric Bass Apr. 20, 2003 Aaaaah Las Vegas! Actually, nobody who lives within striking distance really calls it that. It sounds too ordinary, like Santa Monica or El Monte. The Spanish dictionary I used translates Las Vegas to mean “the fertile plains”, which if accurate, is a hysterical misnomer, as it is by no means fertile nor plain. To those of us well acquainted with Beelzebub’s playground, we know it as Sin City, Lost Wages, Land of the One-Armed Bandit, or simply, Vegas (Baby, Vegas!). And while every man enters town with dreams of Victory, they are usually left trampled underfoot along with the cigarette butts and ATM withdrawal slips. But every now and then . . . Any bike worthy of the name Vegas, needs to conjure a feeling of rakish adventure, “you Da’ That’s right. They have women in there who show off their bosoms. LA is wild, man. With a mighty gnashing of gears Eric `Krav Maga’ Bass sets out to meet kindred spirits. Or, chicks… Here, the illusion of the Vegas in a shimmering pool is somewhat diluted by the parking stripes, but we are MO. There’s only one four-pot Brembo in front, but it’s a good one. Man” swagger, and a sense that something cool is gonna happen . . . tonight! And for the most part, Victory succeeds, and does so at a reasonable price point ($14,999 MSRP) relative to (cough) other American motorcycle companies. Compared to their Classic Cruiser based around the same power plant, the Vegas has been mildly stretched (from 94″ length to 96.3″) and slammed (from 28.3″ seat height to 26.5″). The rear tire (170 60VB/18 Dunlop K591 Elite SP) got fatter (from 3.5″ rims to 4.5″) and the front wheel got taller (from 16″ to 21″) and skinnier (from 3″ rims to 2.15″). Stylistically, the fingerprints of design partners Arlen and Cory Ness are all over this bike, giving it a classic but custom look right off the showroom floor. The oil/air-cooled 50 degree, 92ci (1507cc) Freedom V-twin is split by a V-shaped badge replete with faux bullet-hole indents. This embellishment is repeated on the ends of the handlebar grips. A teardrop shaped, flush-mounted, LED tail light graces the rear fender. The stretched and flowing gas tank dovetails to meet the seat, which has been executed with a chopper-influenced minimalism while refusing to sacrifice comfort. The staggered slash-cut dual exhaust delivers a satisfying note without being obnoxious. I would probably upgrade mine to something obnoxious, but that’s just my personality defect. To summarize, the “a la carte” Vegas is served with the kind of secret sauce typically only found in a . . . well, in an Arlen Ness catalog. The ergos are spot-on and had everyone smiling, from 6’2″ Sean, to 5’9″ moi, to the diminuitive JohnnyB. (Just kidding JB, please don’t bite me on the knee!) The pegs look farther forward than they really are, and the handlebars and seat all collaborate to create a casually kicked back body position that felt universally comfy to a challenging trichotomy of testers. The pegs are low though and will drag around a 90 degree turn if you get too sassy with it, slip into racer mode, and go for a deep-braking approach to the apex. Even the pillion shows consideration for the needs of your sidekick. The seat is fairly plush and slants toward the rider rather than off the back of the fender. Gee what a radical concept! When the wheels start turning, the Vegas offers 70 hp to shove its 615 lbs of dry weight down the highway. After being so recently spoiled by the “performance cruiser” stars while conducting our V-Rod/Warrior comparo, I was braced for disappointment when I opened up the Vegas’ throttle. But for a bike in its class, it moves when you goose it, and Brembo 300 mm floating rotor brakes bring it to a halt with total confidence. The power is administered via a fiberglass-reinforced belt drive, and managed by a 5-speed constant mesh transmission that has a foot feel somewhere in between a metric “click” and an H-D “clunk”. The Vegas’ suspension does an above average job of absorbing pavement errata without incident. In fact, I gave the shocks an impromptu test by intentionally guiding the bike over a mild pothole under fairly hard braking, and squeezed only a tiny chirp out of the front wheel. My sole complaint would have to be that the Vegas likes to whistle while it works. The whirring of overhead cams was a minor aural irritation to me, but went un-noticed by the full-face clad JB and Sean. As MO’s lonely and embattled defender of the steel stallion, I had to retrieve my jaw from my boot tops when Sean and JB actually offered unsolicited praise for the Vegas. Typically, cruiser conversations around here rapidly devolve into a verbal rat-packing by the Hamilton-Burns-Alexander axis of evil, until I feel like Frodo Baggins fighting off a horde of raging Orcs. But apparently the Vegas hath charms to soothe the savage Power Ranger. Phew! That beautiful tank holds 4.5 gallons of fuel before it sweeps back to a seat only 26 inches high. Nice, no? Each cylinder displaces 751cc. You can change the final drive belt without removing the swingarm. Or you can pay someone. While our communal grins surely were derived in part from the bike’s style and stance, the Vegas delivers better than expected performance for a “pure cruiser”. It really does strike a nice balance between form and function, and considering the head start provided by the Nesses, the bike could achieve a truly custom look with very little additional investment. A few aftermarket flourishes and some custom paint and this bike could look as good as a $30,000 machine and probably ride better at just over half the price. Nice job Victory. You may just ruin Lost Wages bad reputation! Tell me More… –John B. Contrary to popular opinion, I harbor no ill will toward that category of dungheaps generally referred to as “cruisers.” All I know is when I ride them, more often than not, instead of the usual euphoria I feel upon hopping on a cool bike after a dull day at the office or a broken heart or whatever, I get kind of bummed out at the lack of agility combined with physical discomfort. Most cruisers just don’t fit me. Take the Yamaha Warrior. I’d heard so many good things about it, I was all set to hop on the bandwagon. In fact I do like most of that bike, but not as much as I would if it didn’t have a handlebar designed for an orangutan. Easy enough to fix, true, but easy things like that tend to take on complicated forms at MO. Most other cruisers put the footpegs too far forward, leaving your tailbone to act as rear suspension. A cruiser with decent ergoes, I’m all over it–the Road King I can deal with, for instance. In general, though, the really stylized cruisers go for form over function, and I’m more a function first motorcycle guy–I got no time to “cruise;” I always have to be somewhere. Which leads me to say, Wow, this Vegas is the first of its ilk I enjoy riding. Excellent throttle response from nicely programmed injection, good power, a positive, short-throw gearbox, crisp controls and a tightly bolted-together feel throughout, ergoes that work for me, pretty good suspension, really good brakes and swoopy looks that steer clear of self-parody. Too bad Victory got off on the wrong foot a few years ago and soiled itself; it takes a while for the stigma to wear off, but conversations with Polaris people, and riding this bike, lead me to believe Victory has turned the corner. They’ve kicked junior engineers upstairs, brought in not only Ness but also some new Art Center people, spanned the globe to find a manufacturer to produce the Vegas gas tank… in short, they’re kicking free of the old made-in-America mentality and joining the global economy to produce a motorcycle which looks more Italian than American, executionwise. Even more interesting, Victory tells us that the Vegas is only one of a bunch of new models scheduled for launch, at the rate of one or two a year, between now and 2008. Oooh, what’s next? Church Of MO – 2003 Victory Vegas appeared first on Motorcycle.com.

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