#its true ive been so many people and i admire a piece of every one of them I am not who I was yesterday but today I am me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nbapprentice · 4 years

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You said a while back that while Supergiant games (Bastion, Transistor, Hades) was mostly okay, you had some words about them. I was curious as to what those words were, since Hades' full release is soon.

okay. alright. ive been playing hades lately so i definitely want to give my two cents (or dollars by the size this is gonna get). but let’s go Step by Step

the good: i want to throw a whole Endorsement over supergiant games with the art direction and its characters, which is what keeps me coming back again and again, and what i can assume is that most people are attracted to.

gameplaywise, they have a Format they stick to which has become their staple, not to their detriment but to their advantage, like... gameplay tropes, so to speak, that they stick to (such as the addition of special conditions that give a disadvantage in exchange for more long-term rewards)

i fucking adore that they take one concept per game, go for it, and when they’re done they are Done; they don’t bother with sequels, they don’t want to run things to the ground and i fucking respect that. They have their themes, and they stick to them (to various degrees of success).

that said, like every piece of media, they are not perfect and this has to be analysed and spoken about

CONTENT WARNINGS: genocide and ethnic cleansing, antisemitism, misogyny, homophobia, suicide, and mentions of incest, and a general Spoilers warning

bastion: touches on ethnic cleansing, and not in a way i’d say is satisfactory. our narrator and one of our Sympathetic characters is one of the men who worked on a world-ending weapon meant to use against the Ura (a group of people coded as East Asian) which after a bit of googling is literally called “the final solution” if there was ever a war between the Ura and the Cael (who feel like rly tan white people to me). jesus fucking CHRIST.

we also meet more Ura other than our two named characters and we have to kill most of them. so that fucking blows.

the game tries for “being a genocidal monster will get you fucked up and blown up” which duh, but i feel we shouldn’t have had a person responsible for war crimes be one of our friends no matter how bad he feels about the whole thing, or the people victim of war crimes become villains in the latter half of the game. zia’s father could’ve taken ruck’s role ez pz.

transistor: the weakest of their games, imo; the lore and writing are fairly flimsy and i did not come out feeling Satisfied, especially because it had this rly good build-up that did not pay off. not to mention... their villains? 3/4 were gay people. lol. two married guys (not even explicit, you only realize by their shared last names) and the ps*cho lesbian trope (iirc she wanted to kill the protagonist’s lover or something). the female protagonist also ends up killing herself to live forever in a digital paradise with her dead lover. it’s. god.

very Aesthetic, GORGEOUS music, interesting gameplay; had potential, i do not feel like it lived up to it at least as far as the story goes.

pyre: now this one. this one’s BEEFY. where transistor felt flimsy, pyre is rich; lots to sink your teeth into, rich in lore and loveable characters, again w the beautiful music, themes of cooperation and togetherness. my favorite of the cast is volfred sandalwood, the only Black (or, well, Black-coded) revolutionary i’ve ever seen portrayed with this amount of sympathy.

onto the bad: they literally have a Class of character named “Savage”; there’s the “mystical mentally ill person” trope; there is an overwhelming amount of explicit m/f pairs (one of them being. a romance that formed in a single day and then both of the characters were somehow willing to risk it all for each other? PLEASE) while the only hints of gayness are... hints. especially when Jodariel (another of my favs) is teased to have feelings for the player regardless of gender then only gets an ending with a male character with whom she has nothing in common 🙃

hades: and now. this one. music: gorgeous. character designs: spectacular (aphrodite is straight up naked but it’s so... natural and casual, it doesn’t feel sexualized at all). voice acting amazing. character interactions charming and endearing. as a greek mythology nerd, it was nice to see them go for the obscure shit like Zagreus at all, NOT portray Persephone and Hades as a loving couple, AND portrayed the gods as the bunch of petty assholes (some more benevolent than others) that they are. imo they’re too generous with their portrayal of achilles but i’ll allow it.

and finally... it seems all those criticisms about having all the gay characters hidden in the shadows paid off, cuz we got (aside of patroclus and achilles) a bisexual polyamorous protag. Holy Shit! and it’s not even playersexual, romance whomever you want shit without the routes recognizing each other: he explicitly talks about how he’s thinking abt them both (though it’s like “yeah usually mortals take one lover but gods love many huh” polyamory is a human thing too bro!!!!!)

and this is where it all goes, well, at least vaguely downhill lol. ok so the incest warning i gave up there? well. it’s not... outright incestuous. but it has some ugly implications. i want to emphasize: the characters never refer to each other as siblings, nor do they treat each other as such (thanatos, in fact, only recognizes hypnos as his brother, and megaera only sees the other furies as her sisters), but they were all raised by the same woman, Nyx... zagreus and thanatos even grew up together (im assuming megaera didnt meet zagreus until he was fully grown).

this is complicated even worse by the fact that they tried to trick zagreus into believing Nyx was his mother. he realized pretty early on this was not true but like... adoptive mothers, anyone? granted i can believe that bc of the attempt at deception that probably ruptured any attempt at actual familial closeness, and it’s not like hypnos and thanatos saw zagreus as their brother at any point, so they were p much aware of the truth too. with the fact that thanatos even looks like goth miles edgeworth (im not kidding you can google him up right now its literally edgeworth in a cowl) i rly feel they were aiming for Childhood Friend Anime Rival Man than the “surprise kiss bc ur not actually related <3″ shit. zagreus never once refers to nyx as his mother in-game, and also refers to thanatos and hypnos as her sons, never his brothers.

so yeah, like. if one’s feeling generous, zagreus and thanatos are more of a “my father is emotionally closed off and neglects me so my best friend’s mother basically raised me” kind of situation... just pulled off in, perhaps, the worst way possible (why didnt they just say Zagreus was told Hekate was his mom, that’s such an easy fix? or that he was born of nobody other than Hades??? [gestures at athena])

but then, the gods. aaaaaaaahhhhahahahh the gods. demeter shows up! and she calls zeus, hades and poseidon... her foster-brothers. which somehow would make the persephone thing less fucking awful, apparently. they really. really really did not need to do that. she could’ve just said “my fellow gods” or whatever. or my “god-brothers” or something, to pretend it was just a weird god alliance thing??? i dont know but implying that foster family isn’t family is just... bro, the dynamics still exist.

Don’t Like That.

i even contacted supergiant games over this. they reassured me they were even trying to avoid the incest of the original myths bc they didn’t want to mess with such a heavy theme. i believe them... but i really think they didn’t think this through. compared to something like fire emblem fates this is nearly benign, but the implications don’t look good :/

tl;dr of the tl;drs: i admire their artistic philosophy and the heavy emphasis on fresh gameplay, characters and their relationships; i appreciate that it seems that they listen to criticism?; i don’t appreciate that they didn’t think to at LEAST talk to adoptees when making a game about family.

#Anonymous #asks #mod nba #supergiant #supergiant games #bastion #transistor #hades #pyre

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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Can we get the same thing dealing with Uraraka and Momo? People hate on them soooo much and I dont see the reason why. Most of the time its just because they interrupt peoples fave ships, and Ive noticed a lot of the hate they get is from other girls. Like. Though a lot of quieter anime girls get a lot of shit from fandoms, mostly from the girls and with the idea of them interrupting whatever ship they like a lot.

I think... dealing with female characters is very hard in terms of shonen manga. especially for us western fans.

as always this is my opinion on how I see and interpret the manga and anime, you’re free to disagree and hate my interpretation!!!!

number one thing you need to know is that I don’t hate a single female character in bnha. i don’t. my least favorite female character is like... I don’t even know, I like them all really. but when it comes to hating on female characters in shonen manga it’s hard for me to find a true stance.

for us westerners I don’t think we’ll ever be satisfied with female empowerment within shonen unless we have more series like sailor moon honestly. to be honest i’m not well versed in anime and manga, I haven’t like watched more than 5 series and all of them have been popular and mainstream things, so they’re all pretty formulaic in the same way.

strongest male main protagonist, not as strong as main protagonist but can kick his ass still male protagonist, and the female protagonist that’s meant to serve as an equal but is sorely unequal to both her counterparts and will grow to be strong but not that strong but strong — can probably beat up the two protagonist in a playful way but never ever in a serious match.

all things considered from what i’ve seen females are plot devices for one arc and one arc only.

westerns — female fans specifically — want our female characters to be as badass as the men, to be able to go toe to toe, to be loud and obnoxious and still be loved, to be crusty and ugly villains and still be loved. from what I gather people just want female characters to be more than just love devices and hold their own weight and not cry.

we also have to take into consideration that bnha is literally designed for young boys — it is a shonen after all — and while it’s by means no excuse for lack of female character building, this series is meant for young boys to see themselves within these characters. and within our cis heteronormative world that does mean letting these young boys see themselves within these male characters. again, not an excuse, but an insight we do need to take into consideration.

now applying this to bnha we have our main female protagonists within uraraka and momo.

I think that they’re pretty well written all things considered. I know they’ll never be like winry or hawkeye in fma and that’s literally the only anime i’ve seen where the female characters were developed in their own field of expertise in strong ways.

uraraka has been made to be the love interest of izuku, there is no denying it, but I don’t think that’s her only character trait. she’s 16 years old going to a school that people dream of getting into, and is best friends with someone she admires. it’s without a doubt that feelings catch on, but izuku isn’t the one driving her to be a hero.

from episode what 5??? of the anime she states that she’s becoming a hero for her family. she’s becoming a hero so she can use her quirk to help her family and to rescue people. uraraka wants to be a rescue hero (and tbh people often forget that that’s what izuku wanted to be too). she learns a few fighting skills because she experienced first hand that her inability to fight is going to cost her big time. so she thinks “what would izuku do” once gets called out about it from aoyama and suddenly no one can shut up about it.

the entire sports festival battle against bakugou she fucking had him, tbh the fact that bakugou was able to clear the entire air of concrete chunks and only get a 5 second arm cramp is ass. bakugou always says quirks have a limit but that’s the only time we’ve seen him near a limit and it wasn’t even that impactful seeing that he was ready to roll again. but uraraka did THAT!!! she pushed bakugou to the point where she has been the first person to ever really put him at the brink. sure bakugou and izuku go at it many times leaving them bloodied and bruised, but never have they been like: “OMG MY QUIRK IS GONNA BE INEFFECTIVE NOW”

uraraka takes her initiative to do things, and hell if it really bugs you that she’s getting stronger because she wants to be like izuku idk what to tell you. she’s becoming a hero to help her family, and her getting a little side piece along the way isn’t a big deal to me as long as she doesn’t throw her entire life away to save izuku (which she hasn’t). uraraka is a self sufficient queen, she’s dirt poor and is thriving. she’s 16 years old with a crush, that’s not a big deal in my eyes.

now momo is ehhh idk how to explain it. okay, so like, I love momo. but I don’t see her becoming a fighting hero and that’s okay!!!! why do we have to have girls being able to one hit KO other heroes when it’s been made perfectly clear that not all heroes are alleyway boxers. momo is fucking smart, with the ability to create whatever the fuck she wants, sure she can pull gun after gun from her chest and mow down any villain who comes her way — but that’s not who she is. momo is a leader through and through. she is a take none give none, and battling isn’t her expertise but she’s still good at it. momo has scored first in every single UA exam validating her intelligence every time.

if momo becomes a hero similar to todobakudeku, which I severally wish she won’t because that’s not her, I know she’s not going to be the best. her quirk makes her have to be sneaky, smart, and faster thinking than anyone else on the field. I mean look at her fight with tokoyami, her inability to think fast cost her the match really.

to be honest I don’t know much hate on the girls because it’s so stupidly irrelevant to me that I just go “scroll!!!!!”

I do think costumes need to be redone, but like can we also remember that heroes are also superstars in a hero society so looking hot af for popularity is needed. these girls were also 15 years old when they decided on their costumes and idk about you but I would’ve picked a costume that made me look hot as hell!!!! if i’m going to be fighting for living, people best know that I am hot as fuck!!!! besides, these costumes weren’t meant to be fought in outside of training!!!! they should see how their costumes work, how to improve them!!! they have 3 years and even more changes outside of UA to make them the best!!!! uraraka didn’t want her suit to be skin tight, but because the support company took into mind appearance it became tight. momo doesn’t want her costume to be regularly destroyed through her quirk, so she wanted to basically be naked because she thought there was no way to save her clothes!!! I hope hori gives her the ability to make her costume from her hair like mirio did so that way it can phase through her outfit without tearing it into smithereens.

but we also have to remember that female characters don’t have to be like male characters. would I love a female character to be able to best all might, shiggy, todobakudeku??? yeah, what female wouldnt??? but then we’d all have problems with her not being realistic enough and yadda yadda yadda. females not being the best is okay in my eyes as long as they get the proper growth and attention.

undeniably momo and uraraka have been on the back burner but with how the manga is going there hasn’t really been time for them to be on the front, but maybe it’s coming??? idk. I just want another stupid school arc but noooooooooo people hate it when the kids are being kids!!!! why do you want them to suffer all the damn time jfc 😫😫😫

if you want girls to be as strong as the boys I say look at girls like ryuuku neijire mina and miruko, i’m positive these ladies will be your saving grace once japan figures out that mina is amazing and that it’s okay for girls to be on the front lines kicking ass too

#lyssa doesnt shut up

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oh-no-whoopsie · 3 years

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reasons I love kip!! (aka @ghostsingold)

(making this post bc they deserve all the love and my meds have kicked in so im able to be productive today. thanks long-acting adderall!!)

kip I love you for so many reasons and as I fill out college applications im gonna list them out <3 no special occasion its just! you make me happy and I wanted to share that with you and since I have a teeny blog no one will see this but you <3

1.) this response to a post I made on my old blog. it was one of my first positive interactions on Tumblr and this tiny piece of writing made that entire week easier. it was a tiny start to a friendship and it was also a stranger caring for me, which at that time I didn’t think was possible.

2.) every single time that they have been a part of the Brown Eye Stan Club and hyped up brown eyes,,,,dude I can’t you’ve been such a big part of the journey to accept my brown eyes. it means so much to me that you just? say it!! you’re proud of the fact you love brown eyes! hell yeah dude! thank you!

3a.) for sending me songs that remind you of me??? to have someone think of me?? MY HEART?? I- I can’t express how much it means to me I just,, hnnhhh you even made me a fucking playlist (which I listen to CONSTANTLY) (here is the playlist ) just. dude. I love you

4.) one of those songs is Glitter & Gloss by Skott and

a) this song makes me feel like a fucking badass

b) made me feel so appreciated and loved because it was the first time someone had said “this song reminds me of you!”

c). when I was stalking your blog trying to find my old posts I found this post about that song and?? sunbeams through Spanish moss? trees? pretty?? is this how you see me?? im in love????? also this ask I sent you where you describe your love for the sun <3 the implication that I am even a little bit like the sun to you makes me wanna cry happiness

5.) Your taste in music is SUPERB. IMPECCABLE. A DELIGHT.

6.) Someday I will have the strength to do naniwrimo with you and that will be a glorious month (and next September we should be able to be writing buddies!!!!! because now I have meds for attention span so I can write again >:) )

7.) A long time ago (old blog) I asked for people to give me nicknames because I never got cute nicknames and because I could only ever insult myself. for the longest time I forgot what you said but I remembered!!!! it was birdie!!

a). even though now most people call me doe cuz of bumblebee, you were the first person to reply to that post and just because milk suggested fawn/doe and it stuck doesn’t mean I love birdie any less

b.) it means a lot that you suggested it in the first place and while I was finding links for this post I came across this ask where you call me birdie :> p.s. you still mean a lot to me and I hope you’re okay <3

8.) every single time you sent me a picture of a frog :),, also that one post about taking fake shots of water still sends me but I can’t find it to link it,, and also everything you listed on this post including the fact that it is inspired by my post

9.) when you agreed to talk to people for me when I was panicking thinking they were going to die but had to go to sleep. that means so much that you would take that role on and dude I am so so sorry I ever asked that of you.

10). you made me find magic in the sunlight and not just the moonlight, you helped me find that balance and accept that piece of me and it sounds stupid but its really important ok also im just gonna say it: your voice is perfection it is comfort it is warm and all things good in this world. ive only heard you speak like twice but I could listen to you for the rest of my life

11.) sometimes you send me posts that r like “thinking of you!!” and THEY MAKE MY DAY omfg

12.) when you drew me!!!

a.) bc holy shit you are an amazing artist if you let me I want to post that drawing of me on my blog

b.) I was supposed to draw you in return I am sorry I did not,, I still plan on doing it tho

c.) we drew ourselves as fairies and that was pretty fun

d.) you made me see beauty in myself I-

13.) for never once encouraging my ed or bad habits. you were ready to call me tf out and I appreciate that so much dude? you were never subtley pro you also seem ready to stab anyone who opposes you. hell you post callouts against pr0-ana shit and m**nspo and f*tspo and photoshop and all of it. I admire you so much

14.) for letting me ramble on about hermes and offerings and spirituality!

15.) for lighting a candle for Catherine and talking with me that night

(I have the entire conversation copied into a google doc on my phone because it needed to be saved. the things you said are beautiful. it is so touching and breathtaking and if I could hug you I would and I promise not to forget if you won’t forget. )

16.) holy shit dude P O E T R Y, both for being so good at it and for reading mine.

17.) helping validate my arospec questioning and enby questioning,,, it was actually through your blog that I realized oh shit! I might be aro!! and having someone to talk about gender issues and arospec stuff is SO AMAZING and I love you <3 and thank you for talking with me and for helping me and for validating me

18) validating my anger!! or at least helping to do so! you point out when things are unfair! you genuinely want my life to improve! you helped me realize some of my friends are shitty! you helped me accept things!

19.) I love your vibes. I can’t say this enough but somehow you are just so wonderful to me,,, you are amazing I can’t describe it. you are ethereal and terrific and your features could be anywhere from beautiful to cryptic to solid to handsome but I promise you that there is something unique about you. a bit of mystery and magic left over from the days when fairytales were real. you have all the power of the sun and light and fire in both the life giving and the destructive aspects. you are so perfect and wonderful thank you

20.) because you told me “you do not deserve to be traumatized” and in all honesty that slapped me into reality. if i still had my old Tumblr I probably would’ve screenshotted it so I could get the exact quote but I do not know how to make you understand How Much That Helped me

all in all,,,, I must end the list here because I need to go be productive. alas.there is more I didn’t even BEGIN to mention,,, but kip, you are my rae of sunshine. someday we are going to go be cryptic authors in Scotland who disappear into the woods, perhaps to hunt with the faeries, perhaps no, who knows. we will become part of the local lore,, independent and happy and spooky.

I love you so much! also sorry I went through your archive to find all this,,,, to be fair I already did it once to find my posts <3

I would never say that just one person “saved me”. thats too big of a responsibility to share. but kip, you helped save me, in ways I can’t explain, from myself and from death and from an abyss of numbness. you saved me from a thousand tiny deaths and gave me a thousand new pieces of life and I would not be the person I am today without you. I love and appreciate you so much and you bring me sunlight and joy and peace and connection. you are a true friend to me. thank you for being here. you deserve the world and so much more.

#i luv u kip #tw disordered eating #do not think I am a stalker I just really want you to feel appreciated atm #I love you!!!! with all of my being I love you!#and I want to be there for you like you are there for me

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just-another-romantic · 4 years

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Six Times: Part 6/6- The One Time He Did

Series Summary: Five times Bucky wanted to kiss you + the one time he did

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: loads of depressive thoughts from both the reader and the soldier, fluff-so much fluff to make up for the angsty mood.

“We deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we’ve suffered enough.” - Nikka Ursula.

Hands. The workers of our bodies. So many precious moments captured by them. Slender fingers dancing across the bridge of porcelain keys, the magic that sparks when two lovers intertwine their hands together. There’s a reason why old witches read palms, they had seen secrets in ways no one else could. Hands gathered crops, knitted clothing, stitched wounds together again. Hands give life.

Bucky had never liked his hands, for multiple reasons, really. He hated the way his veins popped out on his skin, how calloused they were from working in Brooklyn. He hated that he never had long enough fingers to play the piano or the guitar or no matter how many pretty girls held his hand, they never fit perfectly and there were never explosions of skin on skin.

After that long fall in Austria, he hated how he only had one. And after many cold, sleepless nights in a prison cell when Hydra had to keep him awake, Bucky hated how they were a weapon of war.

Now, sitting on the roof of Avengers tower, looking out on all of New York, Bucky looked down at his hands, blinking tears out of his eyes. He hated his hands more than ever because they had almost taken (Y/n)’s life.

Obviously, Bucky had no recollection of it- memories of the Winter Soldier only came back in dreams, so vivid there was no denying that they were real. He woke up in his bed with a pounding ache in his right temple. Steve sat next to him, a face so grim it made Bucky’s heart drop.

“What did I do?” he asked, his voice raspy and dry.

Steve just whispered, “She’s in Med bay. We could’ve lost her.” The captain might as well have torn the sergeant in half.

That was a month ago. Bucky refused to see her, even when she got out of hospitalization. It was safer that way. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.

But (Y/n) was persistent. She knew it wasn’t him that blocked her airway, it was the ghost of what he had to become many many years ago. She didn’t even need to forgive him if there was no way her heart could be mad at him.

However, she still respected his space. She knew that he was ignoring her for a reason-fear. Fear of hurting. Fear of anger. fear of everything that was unknown to him. Instead, Bucky would find letters slipped under his door, the ink of (Y/n)’s loopy cursive bleeding through, still fresh. She built dreams in paragraphs, telling him how there was no possible way for her to be angry. She signed every letter with I love you. Bucky wished he could believe it.

There was no way she could’ve meant it. Bucky was awake at 3:30 in the morning only because he dreamt of it; he had remembered it. (Y/n)’s eyes red and popping, the way how she had tried so desperately to make reason with him, the way her hand delicately caressed his face before passing out, as if it was a romantic moment instead of deadly.

Just as he was contemplating whether to stay or not, his ears picked up on the soft patter of bare feet against the concrete roof. “FRIDAY still tells me when you have a nightmare,” (Y/n) explained, “guess Tony still has that coded in whatever system.”

Despite himself, Bucky turned to look at her. The first time he laid eyes on her in a month. Her bright eyes were glossy and red rimmed, underlined with dark circles, her hair a mess from sleep and sweatpants and T-shirt wrinkled and lopsided. She was a specimen of true beauty. Her name spilled from Bucky’s lips the same time his did her own. She laughed, as smooth and sweet as honey. Oh, he wished he could smile, laugh along with her as if he wasn’t living his worst nightmare.

“You should go back to bed,” he told her gruffly.

“You say that as if I have been sleeping at all,” (Y/n) replied, standing her own like a force of nature. Wildfire, Bucky thought, she’s made of pure gold. “Buck, what you did, wasn’t you.”

“It was still my hands.”

“Being controlled by the demon those bastards made you into,” she said, voice raising in volume. Bucky’s voice caught in his throat. “Seventy years, Buck,” she continued, voice cracking in bits and pieces. “Seventy years of torment, brainwashing you to the brink of madness itself. Seventy years of doing the dirty work of high men who couldn’t afford to get their hands bloodied, so they hung the price and guilt over your head.” (Y/n) paused, choking down a sob, wiping the evidence off of her face with her sleeve. “You weren’t yourself all those years. You were thrown into the pit of hell and dragged yourself out of it. That was you, Bucky, not that weapon they made you think you were.”

“Is that what you think?” He asked, barely louder than a whisper. “Yes,” she answered. “It wasn’t the Bucky that I know and love.”

He could barely comprehend the fact that (Y/n) (Y/L/n) just admitted that she loved him before she was scrambling forward, boosting herself on the edge of the building next to him. In her charcoal covered hands was a spiraled notebook. Gingerly, she held it out to him, in such a manner that seemed as if she was giving over her own heart. Bucky obliged, the leather of the notebook feeling heavy in his hands. “I don’t know if my words can convince you, Buck, but maybe these will.”

Bucky opened it. The first drawing he saw was a black and white oil pastel. The image so detailed it could be mistaken for a photograph. It was from her point of view, laying on a cold hospital bed (though one could barely consider it a bed), left forearm stretched out, fist clenched, almost painfully tight. The only color on the page was the bright blue liquid that dripped from her IV, flowing into her bloodstream. Hydra’s mixture. Deep breaths, Bucky...

The next page he flipped to was obviously a self portrait done by (Y/n). The image rattled Bucky to his core. It was of her, stuck in the corner of a room, knees to her chest. Zip ties held her hands and feet together, tears streamed out of fearful eyes. She was screaming, but the duck tape against her lips prevented any noise from coming out. But scrawled onto the tape in bright red pen were the words Ready To Comply. Bucky shuddered, a sudden chill washing over him.

He skipped the next few pages until his eyes landed on one that was unmistakably him. His body, tangled in white blankets, only his bare back exposed. His arms used as a pillow for his head, shaggy black hair a mess around him. A image of him during a nightmare, no doubt. Above him, numerous hands reached out to him ominously, blood trickling off of some of the fingers. It was watercolor, brush strokes capturing the beautifully terrifying moment.

There were dozens more. Of him, of her. The last one captured his attention the most. Yet again, its him - pale skin contrasted by long brownish-black locks of hair, limps parted in a whimper. Hands made of smoke cover his eyes and a good portion of his face, the seal of Hydra burnt into the skin in red. He’s trapped, blind, and so vulnerable. Above him, the same red spells out Hail Hydra. The sight made Bucky want to throw up.

A warm flesh hand grasped Bucky’s metal plated one. “That man that I drew, he is not you. You are James Buchanan Barnes, not the Winter Soldier. Not the monster the media thinks you are, or the monster you think you are, or the monster Hydra tried to make you. I love you, regardless of what you think you are and what others have made you out to be.”

Throughout her entire speech, (Y/n) had been moving closer to him, snuggling herself into Bucky’s side for comfort, and when the man turned his head, there noses were nearly brushing. Her features were barley visible in the early morning light, but the warm glow of the lights by the door caught the mountains of her cheek bones, the slope of her nose, and the curves of her lips. Her lips - pink, full, and glossy. The pair’s heavy breathing mixed.

“Bucky,” she whispered, her hand grasping onto the fabric of his shirt. His flesh hand cupped her cheek, admiring the handiwork of God himself, and closed the gap.

Bucky’s mind fell into the abyss that was (Y/n). His mind went blank. She tasted like lavender and honey, with the faintest hint of mint. She smelled like vanilla Her embrace felt like home. It was over a second later, (Y/n) being the one to pull away, shaking like a willow. A tear slipped from her closed lids and Bucky was quick to kiss it away, the salt staining his tongue. “It’s happy tears,” she assured, (y/e/c) revealing themselves from under hoods, meeting steel gray. “I love you,” he admitted weakly, “ever since I saw you in that dress at Stark’s party.”

Her laugh echoed through the night, melodious. “About damn time, Barnes.” They chuckled together in harmony.

“I have a question,” said he.

“I have an answer.”

“How long have you loved me?”

Sighing, (Y/n) leaned against the solid, unmoving man, her head pillowed in the slope of his shoulder. “I was so blind,” she said, barely audible, as if she was afraid to answer. “I didn’t realize I loved you until when you visited me in the hospital, how upset I got when you didn’t kiss me. That’s when I finally began to admit it. But my soul loved yours long before that, maybe even before we met.

“When I first met you,” she continued, “my heart lunged out of my chest. My soul knew yours, no doubt. I kept my distance though.”

“Because you were afraid of me,” Bucky concluded.

“No, because I was afraid to fall in love with you the first day.”

Bucky let go of his metallic grip on her hand, stretching it out. “So...this thing doesn’t bother you?”

She smiled, teeth flashing and light reaching her eyes. “Not in the slightest.” As gentle as a June breeze, she enveloped the hand in her own. “Do you know how it works?”

The childlike curiosity made him chuckle. “If I’m being completely honest, I’ve got no clue.”

She playfully swatted him. “I feel like if it’s attached to you, you should know how it works!”

“All I know is that it’s somehow connected to my nervous system!”

The vibranium plates clicked and whirled underneath (Y/n)’s fingertips. “So, like, can you feel things with it?”

“In the hand, yes,” he explained. “In the arm I just feel pressure.”

(Y/n) lifted his hand to her mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm, then to the pads of his fingers, the coolness enveloping warm lips like a balm. Goosebumps pricked up on Bucky’s flesh as (Y/n) began to leave a trail of kisses, trailing up his arm to his left cheek. The center of his forearm, the crook of his metal elbow, a single tender kiss were scared tissue met bolts and nails, and finally, a soft kiss to the slope of his cheekbone.

“I don’t know how many more times I’ll end up saying this tonight, or how much more in days to come, but oh my god, I love you,” she said with a breathy laugh.

“You can say it as often as you like, only if you do me the honor of being my girl.”

She smiled, pressing a quick peck to his lips. “Of course,” she murmured before leaning in for another.

“(Y/n)…tell me this isn’t a dream.” His whisper was pained, frightened. “I don’t want to wake up from it.”

She offered him another kiss, and he quickly complied. Once pulled apart, she said, “I don’t think my heart would be beating this madly if it was.”

FINAL NOTE

Holy crap. It’s finished. I hope you all love this story as much as I do. Special thanks to @acf2510 for unending love and support on this series. Feel free to message me or comment if you would like to be on my EVERYTHING taglist. I love you all. Peace out, ima go cry now.

SIX TIMES TAGLIST

@acf2510 @sweetcarolinestudies @clarinette07 @amyy-moonlightt @mood-pancakes @buckybarnesprotectionsquads @iamquinn @liesllane @destinydameme @the-wayward-robot @booktease21 @wickedapollo @metoo-desu @authorpocketcow

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel x you #marvel imagine #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes headcanons #bucky barnes fic #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan headcanons #Winter Soldier #winter solider x reader #winter soldier x you #Avengers #avengers endgame

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

pt.2 of yesterday

I don’t want to flood people’s dashes, so hopefully answering your messages here will suffice!

anonymous asked: Hi! I wanted to tell you how much I love your work and how you make me enjoy every Monday thanks to your regular updates ! I saw a previous anon telling you how your writings lacks of emotion and I totally disagree with them... obviously everybody won’t like it but your stories just DON’T lack of love or emotion this is madness I want to thank you for publishing your amazing stories freely here for everyone to read. (Sorry if my English is weird I’m french ejfjekfjd)

“this is madness” LOL

You’re hilarious, anon. And your english is perfectly fine!!!

anonymous asked: Hello! Im the culinary student anon who sent you an ask a while ago and i saw you received an ask about the lack of emotion from your stories. I read kitchen romance and i actually really really like it and don’t quite understand how it lacks in emotions as I interpreted the stories more like the beginning of the oc and jin’s love story and they are only starting to open up to each other so i guess thats why anon might feel like it lacks romantic vibe from both of the characters. (1)

Anonymous said: Just want to tell you that you’re one of the best writer and ive been following you for 2/3 years now, you never failed to amaze me with your writings!! All your stories are so well written that i sometimes wonder how do you come up with such an amazing plot every single time and your stories are always nice to re-read and the effort you pour into creating your stories is also admirable (2)

while i was reading kitchen romance and ive only started s&c (currently on chapter 4) i can say that its pretty similar with how it is irl (and the part where we find out jk is an iu fans reminded me of my ex-crush whose also a culinary student, i would like to tell you a story about it but ill just waste your time lol) , just want to send you a few encouragement and love for you and your writings *sending virtual hugs* (3) -👩🏻‍🍳anon

You’re too kind, thank you (and also, welcome back!). I’ll be frank, there was a hot second I was considering taking down Kitchen Romance but I didn’t cause I don’t want my efforts of editing it to go to waste asdfghjkl. I can’t believe you’ve been sticking around me for so long :’) it’s always nice to know some folks stay. Anyway, I’m glad that Sugar and Coffee is pretty similar to how it works irl since I tried my best to do research. I definitely love a good storytime as well so don’t worry about wasting my time :>

Anonymous said: a good majority of your fics display an unfathomable amount of DEPTH. regarding character development. plot. even the shortest lines of dialogue reveal so much more to the character and unveil their true emotions. i personally think the more REALISTIC side of love may be perceived as 'bland.' ‘emotionless.’ whatever you want to call it. nothing’s wrong with portraying a relationship that isn’t overboard with a whole lot of tooth aching fluff or lowkey annoying pda. +1

Anonymous said: there’s nothing wrong with taking out a bit of emotion to fit the PERSONALITIES of the characters. some people out there don’t necessarily feel a lot of emotions. so it’s honestly not really a mistake if a story lacks it (unless it was unintentional). subtlety is an art that is hard to master, but you’ve done it! and to respond to the anon, sometimes, if you skim through a fic without reading every word the author intended for you to read, +2

Anonymous said: then it’s quite common to not feel the full extent of the emotions you were supposed to feel. just a thought but no hate. we’re all entitled to our opinions. but besides that, kina, you write on a vast scale ranging from hardcore angst to diabetes-inducing fluff. and you do it beautifully. sure there are some stories that are better than others, but i believe a LOT of it comes down to personal preference and taste. +3

Anonymous said: even if you are feeling creatively limited, you work hard to continue writing for your readers, and your determination and diligence wILL NOT GO UNNOTICED. i just want you to know that you write amazingly. your syntax is practically immaculate, your characters feel real… the endings of your stories always wrap something up and the strings are tied—even if it isn’t necessarily a happy ending. you can convey hundreds of different characters through WORDS. +4

Anonymous said: i’ll have you know that it’s hard to write. it’s even harder to write about people who aren’t YOU. so as someone who looks up to you a lot, i want to commend you for your writing. some of your fics that i read on a monthly basis: tears of a villain, a piece of the moonlight, head over heels to hell, ghost in the machine, a mark of betrayal, a kiss of poison, until yesterday, the truth between us and arcadia. +5

Anonymous said: to be fair, there were way more fics but i didn’t want to make this message any longer than it already is LOL. i find these pieces wonderful. heart wrenching. and SO DAMN EMOTIONAL IT PLAGUES MY MIND FOR DAYS. also you’re literally one of the few fucking people who can use the em dash correctly. thank you so much for sharing your talent with us! +6

Oh my goodness. I don’t even know what to say, anon. This is a whole damn thesis and it’s about my fics :’> You know, it’s easy to brush off fanfiction as a ‘whatever’ thing and indeed, it isn’t that big of a deal compared to some things in the world. But I really do take all my stories seriously and put forth a lot of effort - so to see it recognized and appreciated it makes me beyond happy. It’s good to know that my efforts haven’t gone to waste at all and that there are people out there who will support me no matter the endeavours I take. Thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to me.

((Also, honestly I picked up the em dash usage after I wrote The Truth Between Us with gukyi who used it. I’m pretty sure I’m not using it right but to hear that I am, god damn that’s a breath of relief right there))

backtobleuside submitted: Are you kidding me!? Your stories don’t lack love at all. They’re the kind of fics that you read, soak it all in and then come back for more. I’ve cried so much when I read Beyond reach, Boo-lieve in me, A piece of the moonlight, His name, Tell me lies etc. etc, and also laughed and felt the emotions of not just the OC, but also the other characters. Kitchen Romance was also so fluffy and sweet and personally, I don’t think that anything needs to be added to it. Anyway, your fics do not lack emotion—you’re probably the first author I send a message to because your stories impacted me a lot and left a strong impression on me. I even imagine your characters as real people who have real lives that continue on even after the story is done.

asdfghjkl thank you :’) I see you every week and sometimes several times at that. I really appreciate your consistent feedback and following. You never fail to send me a message too which I appreciate a lot. I’m glad you’re enjoying everything I’m producing!!

youngfleurever said: Would just like to say that your fics do in fact make me violently sob to the boy where my eyes are so swollen I have trouble opening them the next day and I wake up feeling like there’s sawdust in my mouth because I’m dehydrated.

oh my god. please keep yourself hydrated hahahahhaha more importantly, how do you know what sawdust in your mouth is like. WHAT have you been doing LOL

Anonymous said: I’ve felt emotions that I’ve never felt before when I read your fics.... so as a person that has read your entire masterlist, I DO NOT think that your fics lack emotion.... I hope you don’t feel disheartened because you’re one of my favourite writers, not just on tumblr but like, evER 💓💓💓💓💓💓

Please, even if I was disheartened, the overwhelming amount of feedback and praise has completely overridden it :’)

joonie-mono said: when tumblr deletes the first part of your ask 🙄😌✌️

LOOOOOOOL

haylo4ever said: Sorry had to add my 10 cents. You're such a talented writer,,, I WISH I could write a smol smol 1/1000000000 that you write,,, like I remember when I followed you bc I was in awe of your writing.... I mean?? Sure maybe not every fic hits it with someone but it's just ridic to name drop (a friend nonetheless) when you're all extremely talented writers.

Trust me, writing comes with practice!! I should honestly just tattoo that on me. God knows my first fanfic was absolutely GARBAGE. I didn’t know pacing, didn’t know that I should separate chunks of paragraphs, how to write dialogue or describe scenes properly. I went in blind. Even my second, third and fourth fanfic was garbage. You could definitely get to “my level” or even far surpass it with enough dedication and practice. I mean I’ve been writing for four years, so thank GOD there’s been improvement. I wouldn’t be natural if there wasn’t. But clearly the more you practice, the better you improve! That applies to anything.

The me in ten years will certainly be better now.

Anonymous said: Hi kina! I’m here in support of kitchen romance! I actually didn’t feel like it was missing a ton of fluffy moments (and I say that as a huGE LOVER OF FLUFF) but the story was just as entertaining in the whole chase of them getting closer to each other! It’s honestly one of my favorite one shots I’ve read lately and I’m not saying that lightly! Also, that anon that said your work lacks emotion has probably not read like half of your masterlist bc oO MAN QUEEN OF MAKING ME CRY- black heart anon🖤

Thank you :’]

Anonymous said: Ok I’m very offended wow the audacity!Specially coming for my baby kitchen romance like that story made me feel so much and it’s only one of the many fics you have written kina like I’m literally baffled like dynasty has made me cry scream happy and hot all at the same time and I was literally just thinking about it that whole weekend and this anon has the nerve to say your stories lack emotions?When you are literally the queen of show casing all types of emotions in your stories!You did it all

Anonymous said: Also 😭😭😭😂😂😩hoooooooow and whereeee did they see any lack of love and emotions like have you read jungle park???? Inside my mind??? FREAKING SUGAR AND COFFEE (like this fic is made with love and I- ) Actually you know what , just read the whole masterlist😩😩💗💗💗

LOL tbh I didn’t expect Dynasty to receive the love it has. I was actually kind of wary when posting it cause it’s kind of Wild.

bangtans-peaceful-piegon said: just gotta say u handled that whole anon thing so well which not only makes me admire u as a writer but even more as a person :] (i mean i knew u were gr8 before the whole deal but yeah love ya 💛)

tbh, I��m not sure how well I handled it cause I was flooded with over 30 messages afterwards (evidently) ;_; which I love and appreciate but I’m not really as hurt as some people think hahaha criticism should be received well but it’s still hard not to take personally tbh. It’s gonna have to be something I work on or perhaps it’ll be one of those things that I’ll take better with age.

#anonymous #👩🏻‍🍳anon #backtobleuside #youngfleurever #joonie-mono #haylo4ever #black heart anon🖤

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expressandadmirable · 4 years

Text

Will I Find My Home? (Sol, Elerian, the Family Lux)

“I’m off,” Halei announced, slinging her pack over her shoulder as she stepped into the sitting room. “I’ll be in Norrikdown for a few days, then heading south on foot to some of the villages. I’ll circle back around and portal home when I’m done.”

Aviva hummed an acknowledgement from the sofa, palming the strings of her mandolin and looking over her shoulder at the Drow. “Did they request you in the villages, too?”

“Mmm,” Halei nodded. “Big property dispute in Fairdale and a murder case in Lionshead. Off to dispense some swift justice.”

“Hopefully there won’t be any tragically uninformed bandits this time.”

Halei chuckled, squeezing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger in exasperated amusement. “What was that, a year ago now? Gods.”

“Thereabouts.” Aviva shook her head in a shade of disbelief that bordered on admiration. “I can’t believe we actually got to say ‘Do you know who I am?’”

“They certainly learned right bloody quick.”

Aviva huffed a wry laugh. “I almost felt bad for them. Of all the people you could attempt to rob on a rural roadside, we were… probably a poor choice.”

“We delivered them to the constable, alive and conscious. Justice was served.” Leaning over the back of the sofa, Halei slid her arms around the Tiefling’s neck and gave her a squeeze. “Be good.”

“Never.” Aviva tilted her head enough to kiss Halei’s cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Releasing her wife, Halei made her way toward the door separating their quarters from the rest of the royal manor.

“Byyyyye!” Aviva sang. “Make Tyr proud!”

“That’s blasphemyyyyy!” Halei replied in similar sing-song as she disappeared into the hall, closing the door behind her.

“Is it blasphemy if we created the Gods?” Aviva wondered aloud, mostly to herself, though the cat at her side responded with a disinterested yawn.

The comment was flip, but once again it got her thinking. There were parts about her place in the grand design of the universe that she knew her mortal mind would never comprehend. She had met Bahamut, the great God of the Dragonborn, and at that meeting he had helped reveal the Heroes of Light’s true origins. She was Flame, the very concept personified, ancient and eternal. They had made and remade existence itself. She was the Mother of the World. Yet Halei still called upon Tyr for strength in battle, and Aviva said nightly prayers to Selen just as she had as a child. It was a discrepancy she could never parse.

With a great sigh, Aviva set her mandolin aside and stroked the soft fur behind Demon’s shoulder blades. “I tried to philosophise before lunch again. I told you to stop me next time I did that. Halei’s not even been gone five minutes.”

Demon of the Abyssal Reach purred.

II.

The roses needed trimming, as did the taller topiaries to the west of the manor. They had needed tending for days, but Elerian insisted on doing the work himself, and so they waited. Celestine had long since given up trying to hire gardeners for the detail work; instead, groundskeepers merely did the daily weeding and watering, allowing the Seer to execute his vision for the rest of the gardens. For this understanding, he was eternally grateful.

Elerian inhaled deeply, the scent of the roses filling the garden around him. It felt like weeks since he had last been able to walk the grounds -- in fact, given his endless list of official tasks, it may very well have been. Slipping the clippers from his belt, he considered the overgrown bush.

As if on cue, the gentle tones of a violin floated toward him from somewhere above the manor. It had taken a few months of residency, but Aviva had discovered several ways to access the roof, and as always, it had become her preferred place to take time for herself. She had eventually requested a trellis be installed outside the windows of their quarters, for well-decorated ease of access. It was then, he had noticed, that she seemed truly and completely at home.

She was working on a new piece, or so it sounded. The music paused every so often, picking up a few bars earlier and continuing until another pause. It matched the mood of the wind, of the warm, white clouds obscuring the sun but never threatening rain. It was the melodic embodiment of a peaceful afternoon, the perfect accompaniment to his task.

Music was Aviva’s true language, the lens through which she interpreted and understood the world. It was one of many things he admired about her.

Elerian smiled. He needed to levitate to reach the tops of the topiaries; when the shaping was done, perhaps he would visit her in her rooftop sanctuary. For the moment, he was content to listen.

III.

“Oh no!” came the wail from the sofa.

Halei stopped cold, the knife she had been using to cut the vegetables for dinner hanging in midair. “What?!”

“I’m too pregnant to play the lute!”

“...What?”

Incredulously, Halei approached. Aviva looked up at her in comical despair, trying in vain to press the rounded body of the lute against her equally round belly. “There’s just too much baby!!”

Suppressing a laugh, Halei ruffled the Tiefling’s hair. “I’ll go get your guitar.”

Aviva smiled. While her misery was (somewhat) feigned, her adoration was not. “You are a goddess.”

“I know.”

IV.

“Headed to bed early; exhausted. Pregnancy still sucks. She kicked today, though. Morgan says hi, hopes to see you. Miss you terribly. Love you endlessly.”

Halei smiled. “Miss you too,” she murmured, the magic of the Sending spell transporting her words all the way back to Aelfheim. “Nearly finished here. Verdict, then home. Tell Morgan I’ll bring pastries. Keep the hearth going and the bed warm. I love you.”

“Nope, sorry darlings.” Mae shook her head as she stood in the doorway to the bedroom, blocking the Elves’ entry with folded arms. From behind her, a string of curses in a variety of languages landed in the sitting room like arrows embedding into a target. “You are not playing this round. Not you--” she pointed to Halei, “and definitely not you.” Her gaze shifted to Elerian.

Startled, the two Elves began to protest, but Mae held up a tattooed palm. “The kid said no, so the answer is no. You can stay out here and if she changes her mind, I’ll have Su come get ya.”

The Elves admitted their defeat with a grumble. They would respect Aviva’s wishes, as much as it unsettled them to do so. “If I may enquire, why ‘definitely not me’?” Elerian ventured, eyebrows raised in stark confusion.

Mae raised a brow in return, her illustrated tail swishing lazily as she leaned against the doorframe. “Because, your royal highness, the situation in there is pretty definitively your fault, and the kid is about to say some things that under normal circumstances would get her done for treason. Best not to put yourself in the line of fire unless she asks.”

“...Fair enough.”

An agonised scream ripped through the sitting room. Halei tensed, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “Brings back bad memories,” she muttered.

For the first time since she’d arrived, Mae softened, messy bun of greying dark hair bobbing as she nodded. “I know. You’ve been through a lot with her. But she’s strong, and once this is over, there’ll be a brand new generation of Lux for you to meet.” She smiled. “She’ll be okay. Trust me.”

“Mari?” came Esperance’s voice from somewhere within the bedroom. “Mari??”

“That’s my cue.” Mae pushed off from the doorframe and straightened. “Fortify, you two. You’re not the ones pushing out a baby!” With that, she turned on her heel and closed the bedroom door.

Halei glanced at Elerian. “I still can’t get over the fact that V’s tattooist is also a midwife.”

“The two are not so dissimilar,” Elerian answered. “There are many many ways to guide someone through pain.”

After a moment of contemplation, Halei shrugged. “Spiritual people are weird.”

With a snort of laughter, Elerian shook his head at the Drow. “You are a terrible paladin.”

VI.

Exhausted beyond words, Aviva held the warm little bundle to her chest, smiling sleepily as Halei and Elerian gathered around her.

“Ada, Nana,” she addressed them in murmured Elvish, “this is Zahira.”

VII.

Celestine glanced at the ornate Gnomish clock on the wall of her office. She had woken at Elerian’s side, had seen him at breakfast, had reminded him of the items on the day’s docket. He had attended the morning’s meeting and completed the first half of the to-do list, then sequestered himself to rewrite a speech and promised to join her again at half past three. As the hands of the clock neared four, Celestine stood. Elerian the Seer was not one to miss an appointment.

Making her way through the busy kitchen and up the manor’s back stairs to the domestic floors, Celestine checked Elerian’s bedchamber, then the study. The speech sat mostly revised on his desk, which was a relief, but its writer was still nowhere to be found. She stepped back into the hall, looking this way and that, her hands on her hips and a confused frown on her face. The manor was large, but it was not that large.

“Celes?”

Rounding a corner, Astos canted his head, dark hair freeing itself from behind one long ear. “You look as if you’ve lost something,” he noted as he approached.

“Our husband,” she responded with a sigh. “We have to finish the plans for next week’s reception and he was supposed to meet me half an hour ago. Have you seen him?”

Astos shook his head. “I’ve not. But if I had to wager, he’s probably with the girls.”

“I don’t believe I’ll take that wager.” Celestine’s smile began wryly, but quickly softened. “I’ll check their quarters. We’re lucky the baby can’t get that far yet, or I’d never find him again.” With a wave, she left Astos to chuckle to himself as she turned down the next hallway.

Reaching Aviva and Haluei’en’s door, she knocked politely. They had given her free reign to enter unannounced long ago, but she preferred an invitation when possible. “Aviva?” No answer. “It’s Celestine. Is Elerian with you?” Silence. “Aviva? Haluei’en?” After one final pause, Celestine pushed open the door and poked her head inside.

Haluei’en sat slouched on the sofa, her head tipped back against the pillows. Aviva lay on her belly with her head in the Drow’s lap, stretched longways across the seat cushions, one arm dangling over the side and brushing the floor. Elerian rested on the floor with his back against the sofa, nearly mirroring Haluei’en but for using Aviva’s hip as a pillow; cradled in his lap lay baby Zahira. All four of them, Celestine realised, were sound asleep.

From atop one of the back pillows, Demon opened her amber eyes and blinked. Celestine nodded at her. “You’re right,” she whispered. “It can wait. I’ll come back later.”

Demon closed her eyes.

VIII.

Blinking away the fog of sleep that momentarily washed over her, Aviva stifled a yawn. Well aware of their vital importance, she could not help but find Elvish ambassadorial meetings to be monstrously tedious and often irritating affairs. Despite Elerian’s marriage to the leader of the Wood Elves and his close working relationship with the new Archmagistrix of the Drow, there was always some petty squabble or long-held grudge from the lower ranks delaying and complicating negotiations. Even Halei’s presence as a neutral Arbiter could do little to keep the table of testy Elves on track. For her part, Aviva represented the Tieflings and other marginalised communities within each of the Elven nations, interjecting on their behalf when necessary and advocating for them to receive the help they needed. Of course, given the pace of the talks, she suspected she would not need to speak up until next week at the earliest.

Zahira stirred in her arms. Tiny golden eyes blinked up at her, framed by an expression of mild confusion that never failed to make her smile. “Hi baby,” she whispered, gently running her fingers across her daughter’s cheek and through her white-blonde hair. Zahira fussed in response, freeing a hand from her blanket and grabbing at the low neckline of Aviva’s tunic. “Hungry again? Okay, okay, hold on.” As a Wood Elven administrator droned on from across the table, Aviva loosened the ties of her tunic, unwrapping one side and shifting the girl into position.

“Excuse me!” barked a voice, cutting off the Wood Elf mid-stream. Looking up to see what had caused such an outburst, Aviva realised the voice belonged to Elerian’s most obstinately old-fashioned advisor, and that he was looking at her as if he had just stepped in something unsavoury. “That is most indecent!” he continued in Elvish. “Revealing, flaunting herself in the middle of an official conference! It’s not proper!” He shifted in his chair to address Elerian. “My Prince, I request she be removed at once.”

Before Elerian could respond, Aviva cocked her head. “I am feeding my child, my lord,” she explained in measured, fluent Elvish. “It is both natural and a necessity, so if there is a law against it, I pray you show it to me. Or perhaps you are cranky because you are hungry too?” She gestured to her chest. “I do have another breast if you need a snack to quell your tantrum.”

A ripple of laughter spread across the table, punctuated by Halei’s sharp snort. Elerian tried valiantly to keep his expression neutral, but the pride in his eyes betrayed him. The advisor’s face reddened and he spluttered a few times before sinking back into his chair, duly cowed.

Elerian spread his hands. “My apologies for the interruption. Please continue, Ambassador.”

From the far end of the table, Halei caught Aviva’s eye, a psychic ‘I love you’ passing through the Tiefling’s head. She gave Halei a wink.

IX.

“Tea?”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Esperance smiled at her daughter, sitting at the kitchen table as if she’d never left, then at her granddaughter, amusing herself with wooden blocks at Aviva’s feet. “Warm milk for the baby?”

“Nah, she’ll have her lunch in a bit. I grabbed some jars of food before we left.” Aviva patted the pack occupying the chair next to her. “I almost miss when I was the only source of food. Much easier to carry.”

“But soon you’ll be able to start cooking with her.” Esperance set two mugs of tea on the table before easing into the closest chair. “And start baking.”

Aviva grinned. “Few more years before we get to that. Things take for-fucking-ever for Half-Elves.” Raising a defiant eyebrow at Esperance’s reproachful look, she sipped her tea. “Did you finally get Pippa to start baking?”

“Nearly,” Esperance answered with a smile that took years from her face. “She managed not to burn the house down. We’re working on it.”

“I’m glad you two got together.” Aviva leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table. “You deserve to be happy.”

Esperance flushed girlishly, gold eyes fixed on the steaming swirls of her tea. “She’s a good woman. I thought it would be strange, such an old friend of your father’s… But it helps that she knew him. That she still misses him sometimes too.” She met Aviva’s gaze. “He would be so, so proud of you. Your music, your family, your friends, your work. The world we know is because of you. Because of your capacity to love and believe, despite everything. He would be… at least half as proud as me.”

It was Aviva’s turn to flush. She looked at her daughter, who bore her father’s name, then at her mother. “I wouldn’t be me without you, Mama.” She reached a hand across the table, finding Esperance’s fingers and lacing them tightly with hers. “Thank you.”

“Mama? Nana?”

Aviva rolled toward Zahira’s voice, bleary-eyed. “What is it, baby?”

“I had a bad dream.” The girl’s voice was muffled behind the plush dragon she held tightly to her chest. “Can I come sleep with you?”

“Of course, my love.”

“And Maergrahn III?”

“Always.”

Before Aviva could shift her weight, Halei had already risen, stepping around the edge of the bed and and scooping Zahira into her arms. Planting a kiss on her cheek, the Drow set her daughter beside her wife and crawled back under the covers. “There we go, love. Have a lie down and your mama and I will make it go away.”

With a small nod, Zahira shimmied beneath the blanket until she could rest her head on the pillows. Propping herself up on one elbow, Aviva kissed the girl, then the stuffed dragon, then kissed the fingers of her other hand and tapped them to Halei’s shoulder. Settling back down, each mother wrapped an arm around Zahira and closed her eyes.

XI.

“Good,” Aviva nodded. “Very good. How did that feel?”

Lowering his bow, Ofer kept his back straight, violin tucked against his chin as he went over the piece in his head. “I’m still having trouble with the third movement.”

“You are, but it was the best you’ve done so far. Remember to hold on to that when you start to get frustrated. Your head knows how to play it. Your hands just need a little more time to get there.”

“Yes, Lady V,” the young Tiefling recited. Aviva could not help but smile. ‘Lady V’ was the compromise she and the boy had come to, delicately balancing his wide-eyed deference to the Hero of Light and Prince’s paramour with her personal discomfort at having so many damned titles. It did occasionally cross her mind that ‘Lady Lux’ would have had more of a ring to it, but what had once been armour had long ago returned to its rightful place as a family surname. ‘Lady Aviva’ was her name at formal ceremonies and on official papers, so ‘Lady V’ was the best she could get from Ofer.

“Do you want to run through it again, or work on your other piece?” Aviva waited; when the boy did not respond, she cocked her head. “Ofer?”

Ofer blinked. “Yeah. Sorry, Lady V. I was…” He shrugged. “I dunno.”

Aviva settled into one of the plush high-backed chairs dotting the manor’s drawing room, watching Ofer’s face. “What’s up, sweet pea? Something’s been on your mind all day, I can tell.” Ofer nodded sheepishly, his shoulders slumping. Aviva smiled. “Then let’s rest for a minute and you can tell me about it.”

“Okay.” With a sigh, Ofer set his violin and bow in the open case at his feet. “My parents… Ever since I got my own room, they make me sleep with the door open. So they can check on me during the night. And last night, I woke up, and I saw my mum at the door, and… I dunno, I just got mad. I got out of bed and I told her to go away and I slammed the door.” He looked at Aviva helplessly. “She didn’t say anything this morning, but I could tell she was sad. I don’t even know why I got mad. She's just so nervous all the time. If I'm not where she expects me to be, she panics, and then dad gets mad, and I just… I don't understand.”

Aviva listened, and when the boy had finished, she nodded. “That's a lot. It's okay to be frustrated.” Ofer started. “It is. My mother used to be like that when I was little, and it was hard. I can get like that sometimes too, and it's hard on Zahira.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “How much have your parents told you about the Calling?” Even after all these years, the word still sent a chill down her spine.

"Not a lot.” Ofer gave a small shrug. “It was scary, and it's why they have scars and why dad has a glass eye. And that you saved them.”

“Not just me. They were strong. They let me help them.” Aviva took a deep breath. “The Calling is a wound, a trauma our people are still recovering from. For many of us, it was the worst in a long line of bad things. There was a time when we thought there wouldn't be any of us left.” A sad smile flitted across her face. “I still get nightmares about it sometimes.”

“You do??” Ofer stared at her, his eyes as large as saucers.

Aviva chuckled softly. “Is it so hard to believe? I get scared too. And when I wake up, it can take some time to reassure myself the nightmare wasn't real. I can talk to my wife or to the Prince, but sometimes I go to Zahira's room and look in on her. Make sure she's still there.” She took one of Ofer's hands in her own. “Our people have lost a lot. Things are better now, but it's hard not to worry about the people and things we love. We want to keep them safe, and sometimes we show that in confusing or unhelpful ways. Your parents mean well; their hearts are in the right place.”

“So what do I do?”

“Talk to them. Explain how they're making you feel. They may mean well, but your feelings are valid, too. Talk to them about what they went through, how it’s still affecting them, and how that’s affecting you. They may not be ready to talk about everything just yet, but you can start the conversation and go from there.” She squeezed the boy’s hand. “What’s most important is that they love you. So, so much.” Tilting her head, she smiled. “Okay?”

Ofer nodded, and smiled in return. “Okay.”

“Okay. Want to take another crack at the third movement?”

“Okay!”

XII.

Aviva loved the light in Elerian’s bedchamber. The delicate curtains drawn across the windows and pinned over the skylights diffused the afternoon sun, scattering and softening the rays into a meditative glow. By contrast, the rich damask canopy of the four-poster bed kept sleepers in the embrace of darkness even at midday. It was a humble place, at least relative to his station; while the public spaces in the manor were for show, the bedchamber was for him alone.

“Reminiscing?”

From her position against the doorframe, Aviva looked over her shoulder, smiling as Elerian approached. “El’an,” she greeted him. “I suppose I was. The first time I saw you, you were asleep in that bed.” She smirked. “A pale little thing, you were. Caused us all quite a bit of stress.”

Elerian laughed lightly, resting a hand on the Tiefling’s hip. “A most wretched sight, to be certain. I imagine I was the very picture of Elven frailty, was I not?”

With a grin, Aviva looped her arms around his neck. “Luckily for us, you’re sturdier than you look.”

“Waiting for you and your Heroic kin gave me the strength to carry on,” Elerian responded with utter sincerity, then broke into a chuckle at Aviva’s raised eyebrow. “I knew you would come. I had seen it many times before. The only information I lacked was who you would be when you arrived.”

“Do you miss it? Being able to See?”

Elerian considered that for a moment. “There are times that throw into sharp relief just how much I relied upon it. When the chapters of one’s life have been laid out for them from their first breath, stepping onto the unknown page is daunting, to say the least.” He slid both hands around her waist, drawing her close, and she lowered her forehead to rest against his. “Which is why I shall forever thank my good fortune that you are one of the writers of these pages.”

After all these years, he could still make her blush. “Gi melin, elrandir.” I love you, star-wanderer.

“Gi melin, feanare.” Spirit of Flame.

XIII.

“There’s my wife!”

Setting her pack down by the door, Halei stepped into Aviva’s waiting arms, burying her face in the Tiefling’s neck. “Hello you.”

“Hi sunshine. Welcome back.” Aviva rested her cheek against Halei’s head. “You hungry?”

“Starving.” Lifting her head, Halei nodded over Aviva’s shoulder to the large basket sitting on the dining table. “Is that what that’s for?”

“It most certainly is.” Aviva released the Drow, who knelt to greet Ladybug of the Line of Demon as she trotted in from the kitchen. “I was away, then you were away; it feels like we haven’t eaten together in ages. El’an has the baby tonight, so I thought we might have a walk in the garden. What do you think?”

Halei smiled. “Nothing would please me more. Let me get my armour off and we can go.”

“Sure. I’ll finish packing.” Aviva paused, then smiled, remembering the first time they had taken a dinner basket into the manor garden. “Wear something soft.”

On her way to the armoury closet, Halei stopped, looking back at Aviva with a knowing smile. “It’s a date.”

XIV.

“Still with me, kid?”

Aviva let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a purr. Mae laughed. “Good. Almost done. Time to come back to reality.”

“I’m here.” Aviva was no stranger to trancing out during tattoo sessions, breathing deeply and evenly as her mind wandered far from where she sat, topless and backwards on a chair in Mae’s tent in Corneria City. “Perfect timing, I was just thinking I needed to pee.”

Mae snorted and good-naturedly muttered for her client to shut up. A few minutes later, she lowered her needles. “There. You want to see it, or do you want to pee first?”

Aviva tried to shoot a withering look over her shoulder, but it quickly melted into a smile. “Let’s see it.”

With a nod, Mae slid a large mirror from beneath the low table at her side and held it in front of her. After cracking her neck and gingerly rolling her shoulders, Aviva peeked at the image freshly decorating her back. A sun, a moon and a star danced across her shoulder blades, connected by subtle, flowing lines that called to mind the night sky, or streaks of flame. She exhaled slowly. “It’s perfect.”

“Of course it is,” Mae scoffed, but her grin was genuine. “Now let’s get you wrapped and get you home.” As she stood to move the mirror and retrieve the oils and bandages, she leaned down to kiss one of Aviva’s horns. “Happy birthday, kid.”

XV.

For all the thrilling adventures she had experienced in her life, there was nothing quite like an audience’s applause. And oh, did they love the Hearthmother.

Aviva grinned, radiant, and dipped into a sweeping bow, the teal-emerald-indigo fabric of her gown shimmering like sunlit ocean water as she moved. She gestured to her side, introducing her friend and collaborator Rhos Liadon to the approving roar of the crowd. Caught somewhere between terror and elation at the sheer size of the Aelfheim concert hall, the Half-Orc sketched a somewhat less fluid bow, then wrapped Aviva in a crushing hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. Stepping back, they selected their preferred instruments from the collection behind them -- they planned to play a great variety of music tonight -- and with a shared wink, they began.

A reel. A waltz. A ballad. A Cornerian folk song, sung in round. A duet of piano and cello. Solo violin. A raga. A chiftitelli. A chaconne. An Elvish sonatina. Lute and illusory drums. Mandolin. Paired voices, a symphony of two. The bards had travelled across the world and back, and they brought all their knowledge and experience to bear in pursuit of musical perfection. They had planned a concert unlike any other, and they would not disappoint.

Finally, Rhos slung a banjo about his shoulders while Aviva tuned her guitar. He told the sea of excited faces that they had written a song together, and asked with a cheeky smirk if they would like to hear it. The response was deafening. Once the cheers had faded, Aviva conjured a set of keys before them, coaxing a gentle melody from the air. Their voices started softly, as did their strings, gradually building until suddenly they burst into an exuberant chorus. The lyrics wondered if they would find their home, even as the notes told them of course they would. A question answered with perfect surety. They knew where home was.

Even through the brightness of the lights, Aviva could see the little boxes built into the sides of the concert hall. Less ostentatious, comparatively, than other theatrical architecture, they sat nearly flush with the wall, providing a clear view of the stage without obstructing other patrons. Ensconced in the furthest box, she might not have seen the occupants at all, had she not known precisely where to look.

Elerian’s head was nodding in time with the music; Haluei’en was bouncing Zahira on her knee. In the box below them, Morgan chatted animatedly with Esperance, tapping her fingers on the ornate wooden railing. Maergrahn danced nimbly about behind them, perfectly content to filter the music into his own little world. Wilhelm, in a rare appearance outside his tower, sat rapt, as if trying to take in every detail of the performance. Zahira noticed her mama glancing in their direction and waved her hands, turning to say something to Halei before resuming her wave. As the song ended, Aviva blew the girl a kiss.

Rhos took her hand and gave her a spin. They laughed, and bowed. Her heart soared.

My home in you.

(Art by @sbeep, @aguydrawsgames and @kimbles)

Endless gratitude and love to SB for playing Sol and for telling this beautiful story with me (and for trusting me to go nuts with the epilogue, and for the exquisite art). Even more gratitude and love to @stonegolem for creating this wonderful story and expansive world for us all to muck about in, as well as playing Elerian and rolling with my schmaltzy story ideas. I’m gonna miss telling this story, but I’m so, so glad it’s been told.

#Dungeons and Dragons #Original Characters #Canon #Aviva Lux #Epilogue #Title: Juniper Vale #Tiefling #Drow #High Elf #Half-Orc

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queenmaracasandlove · 5 years

Text

You’re My Best (Sex) Friend - Roger Taylor x F!Reader - Part III (Smut)

Word Count: +3700 (sorry...)

Summary: Roger and Y/N are friends with benefits. This is perfectly fine until love comes around. Can be read as Roger x F!Reader or Ben!Roger x F!Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex (you know the deal...), alcohol, swearing

A/N: I used to love this chapter and now I’m not too sure ahah... Please tell me what you think about it. Thank you all for the support!

Part I Part II Part IV Part V

MASTERLIST

Permanent Taglist: @reedusteinrambles

It was such a special night, such a special moment. Queen was finally out there, becoming a legend in the British musical landscape. Their newest album A Night at the Opera was already platinum only a few weeks after its release and that was the last night of the European leg of their tour. It was even more special because it was recorded by the BBC and was taking place on Christmas Eve. Nothing in the world could have prevented Y/N from attending this concert.

She had not been able to come to the concerts that Queen had been playing in England’s capital earlier that month because of work but she was here tonight. She was still living in Roger’s flat but when he had came back to London for those few dates she had prefered to stay at the hotel where she was still working. She did not want to just cross paths with him for ten minutes every morning and she still has things to figure out. Y/N was still working in the hotel even though she had finally been casted in a little production but she wanted to earn as much money as she could before the end of the tour. She was extremely grateful but she did not want to ask for more than necessary and wanted to move out before the end of March.

The gig was absolutely amazing. Y/N was overjoyed and full of pride. She could not believe they were killing it so much. They were all owning that stage and the connection with the audience was breathtaking. She felt very special being able to call all those musicians her friends. She was so happy to see them from backstage, smiling every time one of them would look in her direction. She was not alone, she was surrounded by managements, few family members and friends. But now she was between Veronica and Mary and that felt weird. Because she was not one of their girlfriends even less so a wife.

These few weeks in Roger’s flat, away from him had been enough for her to reflect on the situation and to come to terms with fact that she was madly in love with Roger Taylor. She had suspected it for quite a while but never wanted to admit it. Still, as she was surrounded by his stuff, sleeping in his clothes and missing him that much there was no way to deny it. That scared her quite a bit. Because he was first and foremost one her best friend, not many people had supported her the way he did and he knew so much about her and she was terrified by her feelings.

He was so handsome behind his drums, making it look so easy with his falsettos and his blond hair, being the only one not wearing white. The concert was close to an end and Y/N’s heart was racing like mad. She had not talked to him for so long. There had been phone calls but her voice had not betrayed her, yet. Roger calling while he was on tour was unusual, at least that often. They had this little habit to keep each other updated on their lives when they could not talk face to face but it was now once a week. She had also received flowers on the first night of her show and even though the card was signed “Queen” she knew he had been the one planning it. Although she did not want to admit it she wished all those signs meant the feelings were mutual.

She had arrived right on time and had only got the time to say hello while Roger was offstage during Brian’s solo. Thankfully he had to say hi to everybody quickly and hadn’t pay too much attention to her. She had no idea how this night was going to end but she hoped more than anything that her feelings would not interfere with their friendship and behaviour.

Y/N could hear the crowd screaming their names (and Roger’s was shouted more than once) as they bowed one last time. She could not stop herself from clapping her hands or smiling, she was so proud. Roger was completely full of adrenaline because of the show. He went straight towards Y/N and took her in his arms.

“Rog’ it’s disgusting you’re so sweaty” she said, internally enjoying this as much as she could

“That was amazing right?”

“Much more than that” she smiled

And just like that he kissed her. His naked torso against her chest. It was so brief and yet both of their body had been electrified. Roger hadn’t been able to fight against this urge in him. Before they were able to say anything, Freddie’s arm was around Roger’s shoulder as he dragged him somewhere else backstage. They were about to throw a big party, it was Christmas Eve after all and they had to celebrate this incredible night.

Roger glanced at Y/N one last time before he was too far. He was so scared to have ruin everything, he was always so impulsive. He was completely obsessed by Y/N and he had been for so long now. He needed to call her every time he could, hearing her voice and making sure she was doing fine. Roger had had to face the truth too, literally because every time he had slept with a girl during the tour he would always end up picturing Y/N’s face in front of him. So he had stop, because it wasn’t fair for them and because the only thing that could make him get off was imagining Y/N naked in his bedsheets back in London. He wanted more than her body though, because that he already had in a way, no he wanted her, entirely. Because he loved her.

There were so many people, so much alcohol and other things but all felt so alive. Everybody wanted to congratulate the band for their success and the amazing show they had pulled of so it had been impossible for Y/N and Roger to talk. They looked at each other from time to time, making sure that the other was still there, in the corner of the room.

‘So, how are you?” Mary asked Y/N, stopping her from daydreaming

Mary and Y/N knew each other quite well even though they were not extremely close. They usually spent a lot of time together one the days they both attended the band’s rehearsal or parties. They liked each other’s company because they both had the same admiration and respect for the boys. Mary had been kind enough to give Y/N’s discount on new clothes for her to go to her auditions and they had gone for a cup of tea a few weeks ago.

“I’m great thanks. The play was great and I’ve taken on a new project starting in January”

“That’s amazing ! I’m so happy things are finally going great for you. You deserve it so much”

“Thank you Mary, I really appreciate it. And you? How is it going?”

She wanted to ask her about her relationship with Freddie but she didn’t. She had always felt that deep connection between them but still, she knew that something was not right, especially lately. Nevertheless she was determined to be supportive of her friends’ choices no matter what.

“Oh, it’s alright you know. I’m still working and Freddie’s on tour so I’m pretty much alone all the time. Well I have the cats but...”

Y/N could see real sadness in Mary’s eyes. She had been engaged to Freddie for a few years now and it was already they’re third tour as Queen.

“That must be hard for you” Y/N said

“Oh you know… I guess you don’t really have the choice when you’re in love with a rockstar. And if you’re in love that doesn’t really matter” she replied

Y/N looked at Roger, in the corner of the room, joking with a guy she did not know, his ridiculous wig still on his head. Would she ever be able to do the same? In the event of anything serious happening between her and Roger, would she be able to spend months without him? Was her love for him strong enough for that kind of thing? She suddenly realised how stupid it was to think about things like this and yet there had been that kiss between them.

Mary was not stupid. She could see what was going on right under her nose. She would have never believed that Roger and Y/N could be an item when they had first met a few years ago but now it was obvious. The way they had become close could be seen as unconventional but it did not lessen the genuine relationship that had flourished from it. But Mary was also aware of how hard it was to be the partner of a member of the band…

“It makes it easier to know how happy he is when he’s doing what he loved you know. I think it’s just the beginning and that’s all he’s ever wished for” she carried on “when he calls and he tells me how much fun they’re having. When I see the crowds shouting his name. That’s amazing”

“I… Yes I guess so” was all Y/N was able to reply “Let’s have another drink shall we?”

She was already quite tipsy but her brain was about to explode and she needed to find relief somewhere. All that Mary had just said was true. The blond had no intention to create such questioning in Y/N, on the contrary. But all she could think about was the hypothetical life she could have with Roger, how it was just the beginning of a long life of success and months on the road. What did she have to offer that would make him want to go home to her. She remembered what he had said about being ‘happy at home”, not the kind of life he wanted or at least that was how she interpreted his words.

She was in a middle of possessing her thoughts, finishing her glass and pouring herself another one when she noticed someone in front of her.

“I’m sorry I could not come and talk to you earlier” he said with his raspy voice, “I’m so happy you’re here. At least you’re enjoying the little party” Roger said looking at the drink in her hand

His top was still opened and sober was not the best way to describe him right now. He was looking at Y/N as if she was the most delicious piece of cake in the whole world. Y/N was immediately turned on by his gaze and shivered as he put an arm around her waist.

“I’ve missed you Roger” she said

“I’ve fucking missed you too” he whispered in her ear

He had drunk because he wanted to celebrate but also because he was afraid. Scared of how he would behave with Y/N, one of the reasons he had avoided her for so long, but now that the alcohol was rushing through his veins he could not be away from her any longer. His mouth was still next to Y/N’s head and he gently kissed her neck. He wasn’t doing anything wrong after all. They were friends with benefits and it would not be the first time that he would behave this way with her, at least on the surface.

“I want you babe”

“Then just fuck me Rog”

She was now looking at him right in the eyes, as turned on as he was. Without saying any more he grabbed her hand and led her through the hallway to an empty room. As soon as the door was closed their lips smashed against each other. It was more than sexual desire, it was passion. Their tongue were playful and so were their hands. It didn’t take long for Y/N to unbutton Roger’s pants and put her hand inside it, teasing his shaft over the fabric of his underwear.

“Fuck Y/N. You’re really in a hurry aren’t you?”

“I just want you so bad”

They had both agreed with themselves that tonight was not the night to confess but at least they could express their feelings in a way that would not betray them. Roger had now pressed Y/N against the wall. She let go of his pants so she could take off her dress, she wanted to feel his skin against hers. She needed the touch and she wasn’t disappointed. Roger was now kissing every little inch of her body as if he worshiped it. She wasn’t used to that kind of softness with him and that made her go crazier.

He went down on his knees, this time he was facing her clothed core and he immediately saw that she was dripping. A smirk appeared on his face he slowly made the little piece of clothing go down on her legs. Y/N was now completely naked in front of him as he kissed her pussy.

“Open your legs for me love”

She obeyed, moaning in anticipation, letting out a little cry when she felt his tongue lick her slit. At first he just played a little, building up the tension but not providing much pleasure until he frankly pressed his tongue against her clit. Roger made sure he found exactly the right spot before playing with it. The pleasure was to much for Y/N and she felt her knees were about to fail her.

“Rog’, I can’t…”

The drummer looked around him. The room was full of flight cases so he grabbed Y/N’s legs, holding her tight and put her onto the closest one trying not to be brutal in the rush.

“Fuck, you look so hot”

She was there, right in front of him, her legs spread and her look begging for more and it made him feel invincible. He wanted to finish his work and so he did, inserting two fingers inside Y/N before kissing her. He looked at her while moving his fingers, reading on her face the moment he would find the perfect spot and knew he had when she gasped. He started playing with it as she arched her back. Her legs were starting to shake.

“Roger, that’s so fucking good” she cried

“Say my name again love”

Right now he felt so powerful hearing his name coming out of her mouth. It was him who made her feel this way and even if he wanted more it was good enough for now.

“Roger, please” she begged

“Come on, one more time” he asked as her legs began to shake

“ROGER” she screamed as she reached her high

She was out of breath and he felt her juices pouring around his fingers. She looked so beautiful and he wanted to tell her how he felt but he could not. He was afraid to ruin everything. In the madness that was his life right now she was the constant. He needed her and he could not afford to risk everything. And it wasn’t the moment to think about that, he had business to finish. He had dreamt about being inside her for weeks and he could not wait any longer.

“Are you ready for round two?” he asked

She nodded, biting her lips in anticipation while opening her legs for him. He placed himself in front of her going in just with the tip, teasing her. She would not last long so he wanted to take his time. He went inside her and slowly started thrusting. He leaned in to kiss her as she bit his lower lips. She was already close, tightening around his cock. He started rubbing her clit. They were so close, what they were sharing at this moment had nothing to do with all their previous encounters. They were expressing all that was kept inside and it became more intense every second. Y/N’s nails were deep into Roger’s skin as he thrust deeper into her, growling.

“Cum for babe” he said

She indeed came for the second time of the night, letting out a scream. He kept thrusting into her until she was completely done. She had not felt so good for what felt like forever. He knew she would not let him down as she straighten herself up. She wanted his lips, his perfect lips. She knew she would not be able to feel them once this would be over because it would mean something else and it would not have been right. She kissed him passionately, her fingers in his blond hair before going down on his torso and then onto his erected member. She started pumping, their tongue still playing with each other. She could hear some growls escaping from his mouth.

She eventually broke the kiss and went down on her knees. She started to lick the tip of his shaft still pumping with her right hand.

“Fuck Y/N, let me cum in your mouth please”

She complied, she started to suck his length, going faster and faster and taking it deeper and deeper. The hips of the drummer helping her to find the right pace, suddenly stopping as she felt his fluids pouring into her mouth. She swallowed before getting back on her feet. They kissed one last that time, their naked bodies boiling and attracted to one another. And eventually they parted. They had so many things to say but so many reasons why not to say them at this very moment so they did not.

That was it. They silently picked up their clothes, not sure about what to do next. Usually they would go on with whatever they had to do, have a little chat maybe but the tension was palpable even after what happened. Y/N was waiting for Roger to put his pants back on and she noticed what was around his neck.

“Lovely necklace” she said

“Yeah, I bought it on the advice of a person with great taste” knowing that it was her during their afternoon in Camden

“We should probably join the others before they leave the place and we’re stuck here”

Although she secretly wished it would be the case. She would love to spend hours with him, just so they could talk although she knew deep inside that he would become mad and unbearable in less than an hour. He agreed, nodding. He would have like to hold hands but he was sure she would not want to, she had said yes for sex, not for a relationship, at least for now.

They went back to where the party which was in full swing, nobody noticing they were back because nobody had paid attention to the fact that they were gone. They got some drinks and looked at each other before they started talking, as if there was nothing more natural in the world. Everything they had wanted to tell each other, the little anecdotes about life on tour, she told him all about her new job, the little part she had played and she how was to join this new production where she would have a singing role. The phone calls were more regular but they were always very short and they did not have the time to talk about all those things. Roger pointed at some people around the room, most of them wrecked as he explained what their job was on tour. They were so happy for each other, so happy to spend this moment together and sharing.

The night went on with everybody dancing and partying. Freddie was all over the place while Veronica and John left before anyone else. Brian was completely wrecked in a corner and Y/N was laughing out loud because of Roger’s silliness. She started to dance with Freddie, Roger’s wig on her head and feeling happier than ever. At some point she fell next to Roger on one couch, completely exhausted and he took her hand into his. They were so drunk they did not notice and stayed this way for a bit, looking at the mess around them.

But time came for the night to end, he would go back to his family for Christmas day and stay there until he had to leave for North America. They were on their way to go, Roger’s arm around Y/N’s waist as they were waving to say goodbye to everybody.

“Here you are my man. That was amazing!” said one of the roadie

“Thank you” Roger answered

“I bet you’re excited about going back to the U.S right? I hope you kept the numbers of your lovely ladies that kept you busy last time. Not that you can’t find new ones eh” he winked before leaving the room

Y/N was looking at the floor, taking in what she had just heard. There was nothing wrong with it really, nothing she didn’t know and nothing Roger wasn’t entitled to do. But it hurt. Because for a moment she had thought that tonight had been special but it was not. They were just having fun and that was it, she was lucky enough to call him a friend, she could not ask for more.

Roger wanted to say something, to tell Y/N that it was not true and that he did not want to sleep with anyone but her. That he wanted her to wait for him and that as soon as he’d be back he would made her the happiest girl in the world if she agreed to be his girlfriend. But he realised how unfair that was. He could not ask her that, leaving her with just a kiss and a promise, only coming back months later. She was finally fulfilling her dream and he could not be not be an obstacle to that in any way. He would wait, until the end of the tour, and then he would properly asked her on date. He did not want to get ahead of himself and make to many projects. It needed to stay focused on the tour, this could be dealt with later.

“Happy Christmas Roger” she simply said as they were waiting for a taxi

“Happy Christmas Y/N” he replied, hugging her

They went back to the flat together, and slept in each other’s arms without saying anything, without questioning if it was good or wrong, too drunk and too tired, enjoying the warmth of their bodies intertwined.

#queenmaracasandlove #queen #queen smut #queen imagines #roger taylor #ben!roger x reader #roger x reader #roger taylor smut #ben!roger imagine #You're my best (sex) friend #queen fiction #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bohrhap

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mysmedrabbles · 5 years

Text

Broken - [Yoongi x BPD!Reader]

requested: by @edgythiccboi (request is pictured above)

a/n: long overdue and with about the most rough drafts ive ever written for something, its finally here! i hope you enjoy and it takes your mind off of some of the hurt from your past and present. know that the whole of the bpd/ptsd community knows what you're going through and supports you (even though we're all just a bunch of bamboozled and 3dgy kids)

warnings: quite realistic description of a bpd episode, tiny self harm mention, some splitting, self deprecation (it ends in fluff i promise)

-ghost mod alex

-hollowed lungs took struggling breaths in the condensed room, steam and water droplets covering every surface like a disease, a disease from which you could not get away from. you sat on the edge of the bathtub, wheezing into seemingly nothing, chest heaving as you strained against invisible bonds, tying you to the tub, restraining you in your own mind, a prisoner of war against your past.

-a familiar pounding in your head clouded your thoughts, and you could feel yourself spiraling through various personas, each personality you'd tailored for everyone in your life; it hurt too much, it felt like you were being pulled in a hundred different directions.

-who were you today? the bubbly friendly girl in the back of the class? the dark, almost suspiciously angry person, hiding in the shadows? maybe just a quick witted friend, always there with a funny rebuttal, making everyone laugh but yourself. what was the point of "being yourself," and "living life," when you didn't even know who that person was? that person you could have grown into died that day, the day,,, the day it happened.

-you'd been lucky enough to have survived, to live to today, but what was the point of it all really?

-you stared at your shaking hands, and for a second you see blood, draining you of your life as all you can do is sit there and watch; but you blink and its gone, only a thin white line serving as a memory.

-you'd promised him you'd never hurt yourself again, and a part of you knew that you should call to him, for he was only in the other room, no doubt writing another extraordinary song. he was always so smart, so sure of himself and an absolute genius. it wasn't an exaggeration when people complimented him on his music, it came naturally to him, he had a passion and he pursued it.

-unlike you.

-who were you but a stain on his life? he'd be better off without you anyway.

-a wave of rage came over you, and all you could see was red, red red red. How dare he not notice how in pain you were, not be here to comfort you and take care? Did he not care? was it all just a joke to him? did he even...did he even love you?

-you felt yourself spiraling further, physically bending over to the point of pain, the muscles in your lower back stretched from the lack of support. tears had started to pool in your open hands, and staring at them blankly you were only vaguely aware of choked sobs reaching out the doorway, small whimpers mixed in with cries as you tried to feel anything beside the pain.

-a small knock distracts you, cautious and questioning, and you know immediately that its yoongi. yoongi your sweet angel, the one who always made you laugh when you were feeling down, played card games with you when you needed a distraction, sung to you when you couldn't sleep, kissed your tears away no matter how many times they fell. you didn't say anything, rather let him open the door himself to see you sitting there hunched over, looking up at him with puffy eyes.

-he assessed the damage first, scanning the bathroom for anything sharp, any blood or a wad of suspiciously thick toilet paper shoved forcibly into the trash can. upon seeing nothing of the sort his eyes soften, seeing you in your fragile state. he never thought anything less of you, in fact he always thought you were so brave to be alive, to still be fighting after all you'd been through. you were a pair of survivors, people who bonded not only over trivial things like favourite band and your shared humor, but the experiences the two of you had gone through added an extra layer of understanding to the relationship.

-he sits next to you quietly, letting you take a breath before speaking, his voice softer than usual, and yet still with edges of his usual roughness, but he's kind. He looks at you, and you can tell it's taking him all of his energy to not to reach to your face, wiping away your tears and holding you in a tight embrace. he knew the drill, and his main priority was your comfort.

- "can I hug you?"

-it's a small thing, but it's enough to bring you back to tears as you nod shyly, too afraid to speak. you close your eyes and you can feel his arms wrap around you, holding you securely close to his chest, steady rhythm of his heart beating against your own chest like a metronome. steady, present, there. he's whispering tiny comforts to you, affirmations of his love and your worth, that everything was going to be okay. you lean into his touch, closing your eyes hesitantly as your head falls on his shoulder, hiding in the crook of his neck.

-he smells fresh, faint smell of laundry detergent intermingled with his pine shampoo, and something else; he smells like home, the smooth cotton of his plain black shirt on his thin frame under your fingers just adding to the notion of comfort, and your own sobs cant help but die down, calming under his soothing presence. you start registering his voice, his hand tracing soothing circles on your upper back.

- "it's okay," you hear him say, "you're going to be okay. it's over now baby, nothing can hurt you.. i love you so much... i wont let anything bad happen to you.. it's okay... you're going to be okay..."

-his voice drills a hole in your chest, striking a cord and unable to get it out as you struggle to catch your breath. He pulls away, making sure you see where his hands are clearly before cupping your cheeks, stroking away any stray tears. he examines your face soundlessly, giving you a chance to speak if you so choose. you study him right back; he looks tired, like he hadn't slept in a while, soft hair a very definitely natural shade of silver. He saw you revisiting the dark circles under his eyes with your own, and as if reading your thoughts he replies, "work has been a bit long, nothing else princess."

-you open your mouth to make a counterclaim, but he cuts you off gently, "I promise," he says, and yet you struggle to believe him.

-a small pause settles over the two of you, and you could see his sincerity in his words, mirrored by the gaze that falls upon you. sweet kind yoongi with his easily irritable self and cutting humor, his stoic side and his adorable smile which you swear could light rooms.

-did you really deserve him? how could someone as amazing as him be in love with someone like you? Even as you began to speak, you could already feel the guilt washing over you, shame at the notion of manipulation as you asked,

-“Why do you love me?”

-yoongi smiles, just the tiniest bit as he pulls you closer to him, kissing your forehead, taking your hand in his before responding, “why do i love you? ah well thats a complicated question with too many answers,” he looks at you, hoping to notice a change in your expression, but seeing no results he presses on, “I love you because you’re you, because you get up every morning and face the world even though its told you repeatedly to stand down,” he brushes a stray hair behind your ear as he goes on, carefully as to not set you off in some way, “I love you because even though you’re characterized by a mental illness thats seen as horrible and dark you constantly show up with your brightest smile and kindness in hand, and theres never been a day where being by your side hasn’t been a gift. I love you because of the way you’re attentive, how kind you are to complete strangers, your smile when you think no ones looking. the way you doodle in the corners of my lyrics sheet and fall asleep next to me at the studio when im up late working.”

-he shifts, fully facing you, tilting your chin up so you’re looking him directly in the eyes, piercing into your soul, trying to bring back any piece of hope you have to the surface, “I love you because theres that insatiable force pulling us together,” he playfully tugs on your arm, earning a teary chuckle from you as you look away, feeling the tears start up again. damn him and his talent with words.

-he’s just saying that because you asked him that

-your brain, a genius

-guilt courses through you at his words, a stab to the heart marred by the sweet tone of lies. this was manipulation. great. you’d manipulated your way to validation was an excellent girlfriend you were, truly inspiring. You feel the headache start up again, but yoongi catches you, placing his hands firmly where your shoulders connect to your neck, seriousness overcoming him as he cuts off your thoughts, sword at the ready, “I’m a logical person y/n, you know this, you say this to me all the time, and I wouldn’t have said any of this if it weren't true.”

-he searches your expression for anything, a twitch or a change, and is surprised to have you curl up in his arms, burying your face in his chest as you breathe for seemingly the first time since the conversation started, letting a full sigh as you try to clear your head, willing to pay anything to just believe his words. yoongi pulls away, hand running softly through your hair as he admires you. he slowly leans in for a small kiss, not passionate, leading to nothing, but just a kiss to let you know he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere and for now, just knowing he’s here is enough

-after what seems like forever of him holding you, the rim of the tub digging into your thighs, he presses a gentle kiss on your temple, intertwining your fingers with his before he stands up, extending his free arm to help you up. “come on princess, lets go to sleep,” is all he says.

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maniacalmagician · 5 years

Text

Moral Orel vs South Park: adult animation, cynicism & sincerity

So i doubt ive ever written about anything more than I have personally written about Moral Orel. From an essay i wrote years ago about its use of lighting and camera angles to being a regular shitposter for a while. I got around to thinking, once again, what seperates this show in my mind from the hoarde of other adult animation that i remember as more crass and offensive of its ilk.

For that, I had to revisit a source for that comparison to occur. I headed on down to South Park and got around to playing Stick of Truth. A really fun game, certaintly had moments of pure offensiveness of the likes any other creators would have been canceled over? Maybe. The satire was still enough to let me buy the shock value as relatively harmless.

I wish my opinion of this would have stayed as I played South Park: fractured but whole, which on the whole made me very much more uncomfortable than its predecessor.

I cant say i didnt expect it from south park, but i used to remember when their shots at shock value on the whole targeted people who deserved it - only to be horrified upon rediscovering, the vast majority of it hadnt. Not only had it aged poorly from every angle - global warming denial for example - but it made me realize more often than not, the subject of the joke was meant to be at the very principal of giving a shit. It doesnt matter how much nostalgia i had for it because it was all we really had as far as transgressive art back when i was a child.

Now this is a comparison essay which means i will be comparing two things, apples and oranges as they may be. For now. I have a scene in the fractured but whole game that i am getting to be the main point of this essay.

Moral Orels humor wasnt always a hit and it often relied on disgustingly over the top gags - rape, murder, selling your piss as a sports drink (a plot line that south park would later have a very similar one to!) - but when it did get heavily political, it took a very obvious stance: conservativism leads to problems in our society especially built out of evangelical religious idealism... which almost all of it is. Either it doesnt share the same wishy washy opinions as south park did on hot button issues or it didnt get around to them and focused on its more important character building, setting and drama.

South Park has decades on Moral Orel from the start of its run to the end, thus moral orels true identity as something that could infinitely sustain itself on that model cannot really be compared. There are after all, moments in south park that come close to moral orels emotional highs.

Now if you arent familiar with Moral Orel you are going to be confused what i mean by "emotional highs". Moral Orel is really good, short, and you should check it out. Its got some of the deepest, most well thought out dramatic storylines in all of western animation. It has a level of sincerity that ascends to the level of an andy kaufman act, where you arent sure whether to laugh at the awkwardness or admire the genius of the act. It is obvious that someone in the writers room had a goal in mind with the storys message and it ultimately is one that is sympathetic towards victims of child abuse/niglegence due to alcoholism, a subject that in an essay i wrote almost 7 years ago, i mentioned was one of the most heart breaking gut wrenching self identifying moments id ever witnessed in any piece of media.

Then i saw a scene in south park: fracted but whole that was giving me an identical rush of validation, only to be struck by a horrible realization: unlike moral orel where its subject matter was taken seriously and with dignity, i could no longer trust south park would be capable of doing the same.

Even as it showed that it was.

I could tell that later in this game there would be a moment where that trust would be violated.

And personally i dont think a model where your end game isnt a specific message and instead a battle royale of apolitical statements and ideas... well... kinda sucks, especially as it overfloods the market.

As an add endum: tucca and bertie i feel like suffered a very similar fate here as moral orel, a great show's opportunities to continue its plot lines ruined by shit marketing and a lack of understanding that the target demographic was something new.

My main point being if you want to point to the problem in modern adult animation, its this: cynical slogans are easier to slap on a tv shirt than marketing the heart felt emotional reactions of its audiences, and thats why we dont see many good adult animated comedies anymore.

#moral orel #i am afraid to tag the rest of the fandoms

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for-peace-war · 5 years

Photo

art by @idrawbuffgirls

Part VI is the final part of this series prior to its in-game conclusion. It was a lot of fun doing it... thought his one went to an hour and a half because I had to look up a lot of information. All the same, thank everyone that followed the story to this point. It means a lot to me that people found it worth looking at in any regard.

This follows @iamreinhardt‘s Valenso the Zingaran. And as always, thanks Kelzack for the awesome art!

THE GREAT WINGED ONE.

Follows Part I.

Follows Part II.

Follows Part III

Follows Part IV.

Follows Part V.

Part VI.

VALENSO THE ZINGARAN vantage of the vivacious Vendhyan vixen enveloped in velvet violated what vaunted virtues he envisioned for himself. She was an exotic acquisition—black hair that fell like a funeral pall along her lightly toasted features. In motion her body was a series of quiet seductions, which the Zingaran had enjoyed many, many times the nights prior. She claimed that her father was a brahmin of the priestly varna. He informed her that if that was the case, then her father had sinned mightily—for to steal a piece of the heavens and offer it to infidels, now could that be anything short of sacrilege? And then he had sinned mightily with her.

Oh, what a time it had been.

“You do not sleep?” She asked. Her voice was quiet and husky, the sort that made bedroom chatter incline toward bedroom play. Though he spoke enough Vendhyan to get around when needed, Valenso did not care to engage her in the tongue; he much preferred to hear her stumble over Iranistani. It was cute—in a way.

But she was correct in her inquiry—he did not sleep. The air was perfumed not merely in the fading notions of their congress, but spices and the heavy scent of the oils she had placed upon him. Though that haze had seen him clearly to the point of exhaustion, it had not prevented his mind from remaining fixed on one truth: one unmistakable truth. It was not that he had lost Zaliki—it was that he had never had her at all.

The Zingaran moved a hand to slap the girl’s bottom, which clapped to a sound nearly as delightful as that which came of her mouth. She pulled away, the velvet sheets upon her drawn like a whorl in her wake, and revealed more of him to the warm air that infiltrated the ship at its mooring. She looked back at him playful; he ran a hand through his hair and allowed his amber eyes to take in not merely what was before him, but what was not. There was no small wonder why he had picked the girl, of course. She was shapely, with the body of a dancer and the large, heavy breasts of a matron-to-be. Her hips jutted out into vase-like curvature that placed to shape the pottery of the greatest Corinthian kiln master. Along the tops of her breasts and around her midsection, thin lines of a softer shade appeared where her skin had stretched along itself, painting those areas in a pale, though vibrant wave of hues not at all dissimilar from the orange glow of the setting sun. And her eyes—the one that had not been concealed by the sea of black that she swam within, were a brilliant blue so fine that sapphire might well have been carved from them.

No, it was no wonder at all that he had chosen her.

But she was not the wonder that he had chosen.

“I am going to go for a walk,” the Zingaran said. “Try to pretty yourself up a bit for me before I return, yes?” He winked devilishly at her. She blushed a fine color along her brown cheeks. When he drew himself out of bed, he knew that her eyes followed him with admiration. There were few men that could command enough physical beauty to deny a woman’s inclination for wealth, and few men that commanded enough wealth to make a woman forget how hideous he had become in its acquisition. Fortunately for her—and more importantly, every woman that had ever crossed paths with him—he was the possessor of the better part of both qualities. He was born into beauty the same as he was born into wealth. When one was a noble, what else could they expect to know?

She mewled after him. “You do not like what you see?”

His response was to draw her closer by her hair, so that she winced a playful protest, and then kiss her. It was not the manner of kiss that was intended to claim souls—it was the kind that was meant to stoke a fire and keep it well tended in his absence. She warmed against him and her hand, covered in golden ringlets, found his strong jaw and stroked the hair upon his chin. His hand moved from the gentle slope of her neck, down to the full, hanging breasts he had favored with so many affections before, and he carefully squeezed upon nipples as dark as earth, and twisted tenderly until she moaned against his lips. She was heated by his presence, he could feel. If he wanted, it would have taken him no time at all to slip into bed and back into her in an instant. Even had he been a pauper—and perish that thought!—he would have been faced with no great resistance. As a man of the sea, he had learned to navigate all manners of wetness and opened legs were no less wonderful to sail than the open sea.

But, alas, he had business elsewhere—business, and a mind, that though piqued knew it would not be sated on her for the time being. He drew his hand away from her breast and brought it to her chin, where he pressed his thumb against the side of it and his other fingers claimed portions of her jaw. She was made to look at him directly then. He spoke to her, in the slow and patient way a man might have a mule, a child, or any other simple creature not fit to stand as his equal.

“Do not ask whether or not I like what I see, little girl,” he told her. “Pray that I do.”

He did not hurry away from her, but rather dressed slowly in the wake of his command. Her attention was wholly devoted to him and in those moments, the Zingaran allowed himself to become what he knew he never could truly be: free of worry, of the burden of concern. The masks he wore would always prevent him from needing to delve deeper into what pressed against him, and just as he slipped back into his fine clothing he could place on more to protect him from the elements that surrounded him. The warmer climes of Iranistan had made his attire less suitable than it had been previously, so he adopted their garb—a sirwal and a silken coat that followed him as loyally as the Vendhyan girl’s eyes did.

What was her name again? As he snatched a pear up off the table he reminded himself to ask, but had forgotten his interest in the matter by the time he was tossing it away.

Zariba was a lively city. Deeper within Iranistan, near Anshan, he knew that Zaliki had claimed to have a need to speak with someone and though he had been inclined to accompany her there were ways in which the Stygian could make a man forget what his true intentions were. After all, she had convinced him—a proud son of the sea—to make a journey to Iranistan of all places. The coastal condition had made it slightly less daunting to consider, but some part of him knew that even if she had asked to be deposited in the heart of Drujistan, then he would have carried her there.

The streets were filled with the exotic enticements of a decadent world—a world so decadent that even he had made a vow not to enjoy any more of it before he had learned something of what had become of his companion. What had begun as a vigil, set by himself in her name, had devolved into a torrid series of vices that ranged from beauties to brawn to the bestial things that came between them. He had no reservations in most cases when it came to taking what he wanted, but when what he wanted could not be taken, it was a hollowing experience. What was the use of all of his skill, coin, and bravado if he could not acquire that which was on his mind?

Why had he allowed her to leave without much protest?

There were times when Valenso thought that he might have seen her in the streets. At the corner of his eyes, perhaps behind a snake charmer or a rug merchant he thought he saw her, nearly fair despite her heritage and draped along the arm of some rich aristocrat. But each time they turned out to be nothing more than voluptuous mirages, and after he had sampled their wares he always came away feeling as if he had wasted even more of his time. But wasn’t it all just a waste of time?

Wasn’t he being an immense fool, in the end?

Marioso, his first mate, had been as clear as his cordiality permitted him. “If she remains, my lord, then she does not wish to be seen.” Darmino, a cocksure sailor with a golden tooth, had offered his agreement in the form of a muttered vow that his ‘jigglestick’ was sore from its stay in port for so long. “Me sores is sore,” he declared. Valenso had considered their words and with the aplomb of a man that knew his place in the world, promptly ignored them. For what did either know of what they had seen in the Accursed Lands? What did either know of what it meant to survive through determination alone?

It was not merely the entertainment of their voyage that kept him so devoted to his post, he knew. Perhaps in passing when he recounted the tale to another he would say how the temptress, when astride any man on a ship, made the whole world seem a tumult that threatened to swallow him in passions only she could produce—and truthfully, the sight of her ply that secret and dark talent of that came of Luxor’s bosom and undulated as mightily as her own was a sight to behold—but it would have been false. Time spent with Zaliki was less a matter of what one desired, and more one of what could not be obtained. Perhaps they had fucked—and yet, they had not fucked each other.

She fucked him.

He fucked himself.

“What the fuck am I doing here,” the Zingaran said to himself as he strode the streets further. The arming sword at his side, a masterwork of crafting, felt the only thing that belonged to the man that he was. It was not love that bade him, he realized with each step that he took. Nor was it even the devotion of one friend to another. It was something more, something more personal and intimate than even that.

It was that she had promised to return—promised in a way that he knew she could never break. As childish as it may have been, the Zingaran realized that it was belief in another that had kept him in place!

Gods, had he ever fucked himself!

There were more beauties that met the eyes; delicate creatures, draped in fine fabrics that revealed only their eyes to the passing man. Daughters of great men, surely, with big eunuch guardsmen that blocked the way of any that would have arrived at their bedchambers. As he watched one of the women guiding her sisters along the street in detail with her guards, his mind shifted from the sway of her hips to a distant enchantment. He recalled his adventure with Zaliki when they had arrived in Sabeaa, to the south, and provisioned themselves for the final leg of the trip. The portside town was of little interest, but it was a tale that two fishermen had shared with the Stygian—informing her of how her beauty would be appreciated by Mirza Hashem, that their interest was piqued.

“The mirza’s palace,” one of the fishermen said, “is a sea of beautiful flowers surrounded by walls of ivory. Anything that a man could desire can be found within it: wine, women, work—so long as Mirza Hashem has turned his favor upon you, there is no place better to be.”

His friend added, “And considering your beauty, my dear, I do believe you would be right at home among the clouds.”

Valenso had learned long ago how the Stygian’s voice changed when she had something on her mind. She perfumed her words in a sort of trance that made men sway in the wake of her every word. “Does this palace have mangos?”

“I think so,” one of them said.

She turned back to him and offered him a Shemite’s smile.

“I suppose we are going to get a few mangos, eh?” He grinned.

The fishermen had not been lying. In fact, they had undersold what awaited them. In the middle of what should have been desert stood ivory walls that were so pale they made the surrounding sands seem as though mud. Fine music coated the air about them, and the glittering golden armor of the guardsmen at the gate shone with enough brilliance to make him squint. There were any number of reasons not to go into the garden—for a mango, no less—yet Zaliki’s prodding made him feel it was worthwhile.

Oh, how right that feeling had been.

An adventure including an enraged Mirza Hashem, a vow to see them dead, the echoes of pleasure from the mirza’s finest concubine in his mind, several rings that then coated his fingers—and one mango later, they had retreated with laughter back to his ship and enjoyed the spoils of an evening well won. It had been a glorious moment, indeed.

“It is rare you smile so openly,” a woman said to his right. She was tall and golden-hued, shaped as if Ishtar herself, with regal cheekbones and a head of brown hair that fell gently past her shoulders. The turquoise green of her eyes and the way her full lips formed into a familiar smile were unforgettable.

“Zaliki.”

“Valenso.” She stood before him in the flesh—flesh as lovely and pure as it had been when last he saw her. Daylight had begun to retreat from the pale walls of the city and those within it began to retreat into their homes. Zaliki, dressed as a local townswoman, offered him a smile. In some strange way, the cotton seemed far more exotic upon her than the silks he had last seen her in. She was almost normal—and that made some part of his mind want to see the creature inside of her all the more. The smile she offered him was greedily accepted; he devoured her with his eyes.

“I was only thinking of—”

“Mangos,” she finished for him.

He smiled. “Yes, mangos.”

But there was something about the air that was different. Valenso eyed her more carefully. Had she been injured—was she being used as a trap of some kind? Danger did not escape her, neither did a reason for sympathy. She was not the same woman, though. “Are you ready to leave?”

“I am,” she said.

“Thank the gods. I could not suffer much more of this place.”

“Thank you for enduring it as long as you have.”

They walked back to his ship in relative silence, chatting as if she had not vanished off into the darkness one night and returned with the arrival of another ominous might. Reminiscing became a protection against the moment they were in: it was a mask, that allowed them to delight in the off-putting of a heartbreak that he had not yet felt and yet had already experienced a thousand times in a thousand different ways. The moon described a path for them, but where it led was a mystery to Valenso. He could still feel how soft her skin was; knew that her thews were silken sheaths over sturdier stuff. The body of the woman beside him was not one he would ever forget, and yet what was within it—that was what confused him.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Part of it,” she said.

“You should see the woman I found to pass time with in your absence. Your Derketo would find no reason to complain of her.” He thought to compare her to her directly—to perhaps draw a bit of jealousy out of her so that when they fell to play upon the girl, she would be as mean as she was invigorating. Yet that idea felt like an aborted dream, divided by a chasm that denied what was—and what could ever be.

A phantom’s romance floated off of Zaliki’s voice when she spoke. “Did she satisfy you?”

He found that question surprisingly difficult to answer. “In a way,” he said. The Zingaran looked at her and noted her eyes were turned toward the distance as they walked. He looked to the starry sky. “I have had better, I suppose.”

“And worse,” she said.

“And worse.”

“It is always good to remember that. Better—and worse.”

Their conversation became more fleeting. Iranistan’s streets had become empty and for an ephemeral moment, Valenso wished that Mirza Hashem’s golden-scaled men might have emerged from an alley and forced them to fight their way from their midst to his ship, where a speedy retreat would have been met with laughter and lust. But the streets were quiet and the only gold that saw was that which they wore.

When they arrived back at his ship, they stopped.

Valenso spoke first. “You aren’t coming back with me, are you?”

The Stygian was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was of a different world. “No.”

“Then why did you come back at all?”

She stepped closer to him and with a gentle touch, placed her thumb to his chin, and allowed her fingers to claim possession of his bearded jaw. She kissed him, not in the manner that made one’s flames come to life, but in a way that caused the soul to release it had been relinquished at long last. The masks that he wore fell to the floor, and he realized that he no longer cared for the coins he had acquired or the beauties he had known. Truthfully, even the Vendhyan that waited for him hot as the flames that had spawned her could not promise him a moment of what he saw before himself.

“Goodbye, Valenso.”

“Zaliki,” he said her name as if holding her by it. He was a nobleman of fine blood, who had conquered the seas and escaped the Accursed Lands. Saying her name should have been enough—it should have held her fast, as fast as his hands might if he could seized her. Even that act felt helpless, though. He knew that he could not hold her—that man could, in the end. “Where are you going?”

The Stygian’s silence was agonizing. She turned her eyes toward him once more—eyes that joined the craftiness of her Shemitish and Stygian blood, yet somehow were able to convey an earnest concern where neither bloodline would have done so on their own.

“If I tell you, you must promise never to tell another.”

He did so.

She told him.

The Zingaran swore to never tell a soul of where she had gone—or to ask himself how he could allow her to go there, alone.

#conan #writing exercise #valenso the zingaran #the great winged one

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cheekymochiiii · 5 years

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100 Year’s Quest Chapter 18-20 Tea Time

*camera pans to me sleeping on loveseat only to be woken up by my producer throwing a mug at my face*

Me: Mother*beep*! damn it Craig you *beep*! throw that at my mother *beep* face again and I’ll cut your *beep* off and shove it up your—

*screen displays message that says: please stand by*

*screen returns and shows me sitting with my cup of tea cool as a cucmber*

Me: *clears throat* Sorry about that. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately and as a result I’ve been *says through gritted teeth while glaring at Craig* very irritable.*relaxes* I realize I haven’t aired any shows since Chapter 17, but if you haven’t read the new chapter of Fairy Tail’s 100 Year Quest then that is your fault and I’m not bothering to put a spoiler warning right now. Despite my doubts to having a guest on today’s tea time, production—I mean I thought it would be best to have one anyway. Today we’ve got someone who is on Team Natsu and has had a front row seat to all the exciting *beep* that’s been happening in chapters 18-20.

Me: *gesutres to side of stage* Please audience give a warm welcome to the little braveheart Wendy Marvell!

Wendy: *walks in waving with her cute smile* Hi everyone it’s good to see you all!

Me: *admiring her adorable innocence and then remembers I have a show to shoot * Thank you so much for coming on the show Wendy it means the world to me.

Wendy: Well I heard from Panther Lily and Carla that you’re really...*hesitates to find right word* passionate.

Me: Awe that is a very accurate word to describe me, especially considering I’m a Pisces but sometimes I’m an Aquarius. It depends which website you read but for the most part I identify myself as a Pisces more than an Aquarius.

Wendy: *confused* you don’t look like two fish to me or like the terrifying Aquarius I know.

Me: *laughs at her innocence* actually Wendy here in my world our zodiac signs are given to us based on the month and day we are born in. Each zodiac is given a season in the year.

Wendy: then what happens?

Me: absolutely nothing. zodiacs are basically there just to make excuses for ourselves and how we act.

Wendy: so it’s like...alcohol?

Me: *considers this and shrugs* I mean you’re not wrong. Anyway we’re getting way off topic. Let’s focus back on what’s been happening in your world or at least in chapters 18-20. Most of these chapters were pretty *beep* short so there’s that but I’ll take whatever dose of Fairy Tail I can get.

*production tells me in my ear piece I need to stop cursing due to Tumblr restrictions and reminds me I could get flagged for being inappropriate again*

Me: *states outloud* that’s what the beeps are for you mother *beeps*

*production slaps forehead*

Me: Sorry for that interruption Wendy. My producers are being a bunch of *beep*

Wendy: *stunned at language*

Me: *continues casually* I’m not going to focus too much on Chapter 18 because I’ve already briefly talked about it in my last show. I want to give a simple summary of it. For starters I want to talk about you Wendy and what a bad *beep* you were for being able to find a spell that allowed the non-dragon slayers of Team Natsu to actually do some harm to the dragons y’all will be fighting. Naturally, I’m curious about how obtained this spell but I’m assuming you nor the creators will be willing to share that information with me.

Wendy: *genuine tone* I’m really sorry but I can’t share that.

Me: Coming from you, I’m okay with it. So Team Natsu is officially in the battle with the Water God Dragon and boy are y’all struggling. He’s just really letting y’all have it with his magic and this is still only the first dragon y’all have to defeat for this quest.

Wendy: This Quest will definitely be the hardest one I’ve ever had to do.

Me: You guys have been through so much you barely got a breather.

Wendy: I like the adventures with my friends though. It makes my life more full.

Me: Awe

Audience: Awe

Readers: Awe

Me: You are so precious Wendy and you need to be protected at all times. I’m getting off topic again. Chapter 18. Team Natsu. Battle with Water God Dragon. *stops short statements* I mean, that’s basically it. *remmebers* oh yeah Touka defeated all of your guild mates back in Magnolia.

Wendy: I know I was worried about them too. I still am since you guys haven’t figured out what happens.

Me: *waves and says nonchalantly* I’m sure by the next chapter we will. *wonders internally have I been spelling Touka’s name wrong this whole time?*

Wendy: What makes your so sure?

Me: We’ve been focused a lot on Team Natsu these last few chapters, so I’m going to assume with the screaming-into-pillow ending the creators gave us. The scenery will most likely change come next chapter. Anyway, now it’s Chapter 19 and we are still worried about the favorite team in the world, Team Natsu. Y’all are putting up a good fight but it’s not doing much good. In fact, Natsu tries very hard with all kinds of new and secret spells he’s been holding back from us to defeat the Water God Dragon. However, it nearly becomes too much for our favorite pink haired weirdo hero and he begins to be sucked up into a deadly looking whirlpool created by the Water God Dragon.

Wendy: *nods at the memory* I remember. We were all worried about what was going to happen to Natsu.

Me: *sideglances* even Lucy?

Wendy: *doesnt get what I’m hinting at* yes of course she’s always worried about Natsu on missions and if he might get hurt. Natsu too. They both want to protect each other.

Me: *grinning* most interesting *sips tea* Natsu nearly gets sucked into the whirlpool when ta-dah! *makes spirit fingers* a scaley hand snatched Natsu from it. I had a strong feeling from that ending that the hand was extremely reminiscent of a certain dragon we all love...loved.

Wendy: *nods solemnly* Natsu’s father Igneel. All of us lost our parents that day too unfortunately but not in the same way Natsu lost his tragically.

Me: *trying not to cry* I hear that *sniffles* so that’s how we are left in Chapter 19 those bastard creators. *pauses* hey why wasn’t that bleeped?

*production informs me that bastard isn’t that bad of a word compared to the ones I had been using and reminds audience that this show is for mature audiences only despite the bleeped out words because beeping everything is a struggle for the editing team*

Me: okay now it’s on to the most recent update, Chapter 20. We find out that scaley hand that rescued Natsu is indeed a dragon! We, being the readers, also notice how incredibly and unmistakingly similar this dragon and Igneel look.

Wendy: We were all honestly terrified when this dragon revealed himself. We didn’t know whether he was there to help or hurt us.

Me: Understandable I mean look at that thing. However we find out he’s mostly there to motivate Natsu to defeat the Water God Dragon and ultimately decides the best way to help Natsu is to set the fish city on fire using its own fire. While this seemed discouraging the dragon wants Natsu to consume the fire so it will help him defeat the Water God Dragon. The dragon also says he wants to fight Natsu at his best himself. So why does this mysterious Igneel-looking dragon want to help Natsu and also fight and defeat Natsu? Well that’s what the big reveal of this chapter was.

Me: *takes dramatic pause*

Wendy: *smiles knowingly*

Audience: *holds breath*

Readers: *yawns*

Me: *SHOUTS* ITS IGNEEL’S MOTHER *BEEP* SON YALL. *STANDS UP CAUSING TEA TO SPILL* HIS “TRUE” SON. AND BOIIIIII I’D BE LYIN IF I SAID THAT BOI AINT FINE BECAUSE HE IS ONE GOOD LOOKIN DUDE. I MEAN DO YALL SEE THOSE TATTOOS?!? ALSO WHAT THE *BEEP* DOES THIS MEAN? HES A FIRE GOD DRAGON! HO-LY HELL

Wendy: *nervously sips her tea and realizes why Panther Lily and Carla called Me intense*

Me: *still raging* I JUST CANT BELIEVE IT! I CANT WAIT TO SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING AND IVE GOT A FEELING ITS GONNA BE GOOD *relaxes and sits back down* Just wow Wendy I cant wait for what this Quest has in store for us because we are only 20 chapters in and it’s been ridiculous.

Wendy: *still smiling* I know it’s an exciting quest and adventure that truly tests the feelings, will, and strength of our team.

Me: *tearing up* I can only imagine. I can’t wait to get to the end of this long and winding road but I also want it to last forever because I don’t want Fairy Tail to end.

Wendy: *stunned* what do you mean, end?

Me: *saddened* we originally weren’t going to find out what happened to y’all on the 100 Year’s Quest but then, thanks to this super cool and awesome fandom, we were able to push the creators to continue the manga.

Wendy: Wow we really owe a lot to our fandom then

Me: *nods respectingly* yes yes we do. I know I owe a lot to my followers here on the blog, er, show.

Wendy: Why’s that?

Me: Apparently 500 people like my blog, I mean show, enough to follow me for every time I post something new. *begins meaningful speech* I couldn’t be more happy or thankful for every single one of them. I never imagined I would have this many followers because I started with 0 followers and had no connections or friends on here who already had followers and give shout outs to me, right away of course, but now people seem to like what I post and I literally couldn’t be more thankful for them. I post for them.

Wendy: *tearful* that was a really lovely speech.

Me: thanks Wendy. I suppose I should make an edit dedicated to all of them.

Wendy: that’s a nice gift and very kind of you.

Me: no *shakes head and looks off into the distance* how kind of them.

To be continued...

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douxreviews · 5 years

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Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - ‘Homefront’ Review

"I was hoping that this would never happen. But it finally has. The changelings have reached Earth."

When terrorists attack a Federation meeting, and watchers identify a changeling on the site, Sisko is summoned to Earth to help the planet survive. He and his father and son, however, quickly become enmeshed in a web of intrigue.

Which do you like better, freedom or security?

The Federation and the Romulan Empire hold a joint diplomatic conference on Earth which is attacked. Twenty-seven people die. They know a changeling is responsible; someone caught the criminal shimmering away on video. But they're struggling to come up with a way to deal with this on Earth... because people in the future don't want anything to interfere with their hard-won freedoms and submit to blood checks and other types of screenings.

Sound familiar? So much of Deep Space Nine can be political metaphor. We live in a time where people prizing their freedoms too strongly can sometimes put others at risk... and sometimes save them. In this episode, the solution is to call in the expert – and one of the people who can best advise the Federation about Changelings is Benjamin Sisko, and another is a Changeling themselves – Constable Odo. Sisko's Dad is on Earth, and is a great cook. This works out nicely for everyone.

Jaresh-Inyo, the President of the United Federation of Planets, has no desire to be the President who destroys Paradise. He's slowly being convinced, though, that it's a necessary act to protect people from THE EVIL SHAPESHIFTERS. Sisko really comes through, emphasizing how bad it is, and manages to get the President to increase security at least on Federation and Starfleet institutions.

While Starfleet and the Federation are slowly burying personal freedoms under the weight of security, Sisko's father rebels, to the point of getting arrested. He doesn't want to have his blood tested, he doesn't want to have to prove his identity, and he rejects the notion that either of these things can provide security. All he sees is an increasingly more slippery slope. And the price of security is constantly needing more. Sisko's father comes up with ways shapeshifters could get around the "security proceedings." All it takes, he says, is intelligence.

But who's right? Sisko or his father? By the end of the episode terrorists – possibly shapeshifters – have blown up power stations around Earth, rendering the entire planet vulnerable to attack. So who is right, who is wrong, and how do we know? Every time Trek does a story about the Federation or about Starfleet, and the dissension that sometimes occurs in its ranks, I give a little grunt of satisfaction. It has always troubled me, you see, that the government in the show is like a political Mary Sue, never doing anything wrong. It has been my experience that when illusions like this are in place, that's exactly when things go wrong. It's more normal to see a government like what we saw in this episode, with actors each pulling in their own direction. Let's face it, though, after Terminator 2, it's tough to see changelings as anything but scary. I'm with Sisko: seeing shapeshifters everywhere.

Bits and Pieces

I absolutely love the eldest Sisko in this episode. Brock Peters is a true American actor and artifact; we're talking someone who was a backup singer for Harry Belafonte and had a role in To Kill a Mockingbird. He brings his acting chops to Trek in this role but also in Star Trek IV and VI as Fleet Admiral Cartwright. There's still something in me that goes googly by the very theatrical background of the many actors who appear on Deep Space Nine.

The episode opens with the wormhole opening and closing mysteriously seven times. If the Dominion have the power to control the wormhole like this... gulp.

Quotables

Benteen: Odo. That was really something. I've never seen you imitate a lifeform before. Odo: Well, I was just taking a little aerial tour of San Francisco. It's quite nice. Not as ancient as the cities on Bajor but almost as impressive. Benteen: It makes me wonder how many other changelings might be flying around up there. Odo: If all they're doing is flying around imitating seagulls, we don't have much to worry about. Leyton: I doubt that other changelings are wasting their time imitating birds. They don't all share Odo's lack of skill when it comes to mimicking humans. Odo: That's right, they don't. I'm glad you're keeping that in mind. Benteen: Well, if you ask me, that was a pretty convincing seagull.

Joseph: What's that look supposed to mean? Jake: You sat down. Joseph: You're damn right I sat down. I feel terrible. Jake: You should be in bed. Joseph: Jake, the only time you should be in bed is if you're sleeping, dying, or making love to a beautiful woman. I'm not tired, I'm not dying, and the truth is I'm too old for beautiful women, so I might as well be here.

Overall

This is a great set up that leaves you gasping. Five out of five tasty gumboes.

---

JRS

#Star Trek #Star Trek Deep Space Nine #DS9 #Benjamin Sisko #Odo #Jake Sisko #Nog #Star Trek Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

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implosionsprawl · 6 years

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The Missing Piece: Down on the Upside

It’s a quarter past nine A.M. and my playlist hits me with a dose of Soundgarden. It got me thinking of the band and their place in rock and roll history. They obviously have a sound to them. The sludgy riffs, the precise (all the while chaotic) drumming, a sprinkle of weird bass lines, and above all—a cathartic vocal. It is clear where all these ingredients come from. Each has a personality and the band is better for it. Individuality is what makes each member standout, but it is also clear that the ingredients at hand make one solid image: Soundgarden.

With that said, why aren’t Soundgarden discussed in the pantheon of rock music?

Upon further listening to Soundgarden’s discography I found myself enamored with Down on the Upside. There is relatively no discussion around the record today. It’s an album that the fanbase knows, but it’s not a classic. There lies the tricky part of discussing Soundgarden: they are an important band of the late 80s and 90s, yet they’re defined by Nirvana and Black Hole Sun. I’m reminded of the great bands such as The Stooges, The Pixies, and Big Star. But how is a band associated with what many consider the last great rock and roll scene “Grunge” and have platinum records be discussed with the likes of the Pixies and Big Star? It’s essentially a conundrum. One cannot be completely unknown if you're known, but like Jason Lee’s character says in Almost Famous, “I’m one of the out of focus guys” regarding the fictional band picture. In other words, Soundgarden is part of the picture but seemingly are out of focus.

The dilemma lies in that Soundgarden broke up the following year after the release of Down on the Upside. And well, Kurt Cobain’s death. His death essentially haunts every rock band of the time. I bet you if you read an interview from the bands related to the “Grunge” scene, whether they were from Seattle or simply hanged out with them or butted heads with them, they will get asked about Cobain’s suicide. It’s a shadow the looms large in the 90s rock world, but one that shouldn’t define the era of great music.

As for Soundgarden breaking up—it is my theory that Soundgarden would have stayed relevant in the 00s and build a larger body of work that would be undeniable (although I believe the quality of their current music speaks for itself).

But alas, we are dealt with the cards of destiny. Kurt Cobain, unfortunately, committed suicide in 94’ and Soundgarden broke up after their release of Down on the Upside (would reunite 14 years later alongside a fantastic reunion album, but that’s a topic for another day).

So, we are left with a band that debuted in 1988 with Ultramega Ok, helping define the metal-punk hybrid of the 1990s. Followed by Louder than Love, pushing forward Seattle to the mainstream, which then leads to their first true success Badmotorfinger. Soundgarden would then reach the top of the mountain with Superunknown—regarded by many as one of the greatest records of the 90s and Soundgarden’s best album. I would not object to those sentiments. In fact, I would praise the album more, but I digress.

But what of Down on the Upside? What do we make of this album? Is it a forgotten masterpiece? What does it define? Is it simply Soundgarden's last record before their break up?

On June 8th, 1996, Down on the Upside debuts. It is important to point out the year that was 96’. Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill continues to sell like crazy. The year the Fugees released The Score. The year of Mellon Collie and The Infinite Sadness by The Smashing Pumpkins. 2Pac’s all Eye’s on Me continues gangster raps appeal to audiences. All these albums are iconic. It’s also important to point to what follows in the coming years…nu metal, rap metal. In other words, music that isn’t fondly remembered yet in the big picture regarding 1996, and Soundgarden, we are left with their forgotten prodigious album.

How does Down on the Upside go unnoticed? The album falls into the category I like to call: The Hapless albums. In this category, you’d find Guns N’ Roses’ Use Your Illusion I & II, Led Zeppelin’s III, Aerosmith’s Get Your Wings. Albums that should be discussed a lot more due to the added depth those records add to the artist. They might have songs that are known, but these albums are seemingly forgotten in the grand scheme of Rock music. It could be that they were succeeded by a giant record (ala Toys in the Attic and IV), or the Hapless album followed a defining record (such as Appetite). Or in the case of Down on the Upside, it followed Superunknown and Soundgarden broke up. Something for some reason clouds the record.

So why even bother pointing out the fact that Down on the Upside is not a celebrated album? Well, because it should be. And I believe it encapsulates the ending of a period in Rock music. It’s a special album, not only because it’s a great listen, but also because it’s the ending of a sound that would not be heard again. As Radiohead’s seminal album Ok Computer debuts in 97’ we have a new era of music entering the Rock world. We would have Rap Metal, Nu Metal, and Ok Computers progressive art rock (although Bjork and company were doing things like Ok’s sound before). Essentially, in a years’ time, Down on the Upside is dead. Signaling a changing of the guard.

Flashforward to the present day. We have the advantage of time. Legacies have been written and rewritten. I still remember when an artist such as Justin Timberlake and Beyoncé were ridiculed, or how Rap music was not seen as music at all. Nowadays, these are the artist who people and critics admire. Change is inevitable.

In that same regard, I played Down on the Upside on Spotify. I always enjoyed the album, but after listening to it recently I couldn’t help but feel the album aged just right. The record is a repeater, one listen does not justify the complexities of the album. It’s got bite like most great albums do. Unlike most great records though, each song sound of a piece, rather than a unified thing. Yet as the album forces you to listen to it in its own terms, you begin to notice how that may have been the intention. The more you invest in the record the more Down on the Upside speaks as a great album. It’s one of those albums that you listen to it once and it leaves you disoriented, but with a sense that it’s a good kind of confusion. The second time you enter the labyrinth that is Down on the Upside it captures you. Soon after you (at least I did) will throw away the map and simply enjoy the sounds and music Soundgarden created.

Down on the Upside is the missing piece, that if recognized, would push Soundgarden to be discussed amongst the great artist of all time. It’s an album that closes the “grunge” sound, an album that closes a chapter in rock music, but most importantly, it’s an album for all time.

#chris cornell #soundgarden #music #rock #rockmusic #1990s #90s #musician #nirvava #grunge #alternative

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trinity-blood-translations · 6 years

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ROM 6 - Chapter 1 Part IV (english translation)

Translator: Roven, Editing: Lamy

Trinity Blood (by Sunao Yoshida) ROM 6 - Chapter 1 - Link for Part I - Link for Part II - Link for Part III -

Part IV

—Isaak, do you think Esther liked our gift? —I don’t know, mein Herr," —-Panzer Magier replied respectfully to the voice coming from the microphone of the regeneration tank.

All the newspapers were spread out on the table so that the creature in the tank could see them immediately as soon as it came out. —In my opinion Miss Blanchett is very afraid of power. Being a princess besides Saint... I wonder if it’s not too much burden for her.

—No, Isaak. My gift wasn’t to make her a princess, but to make her a queen... Maybe already tomorrow.

The Ritz Hotel was the most luxurious building on Piccadilly Street. Entire Londinium could be seen from the suite. It was so big that a whole house could fit in. In the middle of the vast space was a strange object: a water tank made of glass, measuring about two meters in diameter. The room, which costs ten thousand dinars a night, had seen all kinds of exotic pets like crocodiles or leopards. But what could be in that water tank surrounded by complex machines and control panels that resembled the cockpit of an airplane. Innumerable pipes came out of it and gave off a smelly vapor. The strangest thing of all, however, was the content. The shiny black liquid looking like coal tar didn’t seem to contain any living thing. However, the innocent voice came without any doubt from the inside.

—Esther Blanchett... I've spent so many moments with her and she's helped my brother so much... The least I could do for Esther was this.

—Actually... Speaking of your brother, mein Herr, what do we do with Mr. Abel? I'm afraid there's no way to save him.

—Ah, Abel! He died, the poor thing. He never had luck in life. One misfortune after another. What a pity…

—Well, it didn’t seem like it has cost you much to kill him...—the man in black pointed it out coldly. — I was surprised you reacted like that. After so many centuries without seeing him, I expected you to have a lot to talk about with him...

—It’s that Abel scared me; He suddenly became furious. From what you told me, I thought that he has matured a little, but apparently nothing has changed.

The voice lowered as he laughed.

—But that is not important. The important thing now is to recover my brother's body. At least it will help us to solve this very heavy problem.

—You're right. But there is still the question of how to transport the body, —the man replied, carefully watching the pressure controller while rubbing the glass with his hand.

Turning to the mail accumulated on the table, Panzer Magier added in a worried voice:

—In addition, we have his comrades. I don’t think they're going to let us take his body so easily.

—Oh, sure! Surely they also value Abel a lot. Well, it's a problem... You can be recognized and I won’t be able to move for a while. What about the others?

—Neither Reißzahn nor the Red Baroness could. I can’t imagine anybody would be able to infiltrate through the security measures and get to 02, apart from you, only two people could: your brother and your sister.

— So I'll have to go... But I still can’t go out...

—Exactly you have twelve hours, eight minutes and twenty-eight seconds. That means that tomorrow, just before the sun rises, you can get out of the tank.

—Twelve hours? If we wait so long, the Vatican will take Abel to Rome. Now that’s a problem. What shall we do?

The voice hummed absently through his nose. With a serious tone that contrasted with the indolence of his lord, Panzer Magier proposed:

—What do you think about this idea? Tonight I will do my best to win as much time as I can. I will not allow your brother's corpse to leave the city. So, when you are healthy again, you can go and look for it yourself.

—Gain time? Do you have something in mind?

—Indeed. Yesterday I found something interesting in the underground.

Panzer Magier then showed one of the briefcases he has collected the day before. If Vanessa has seen it, she would have realized that it was from one of the four mummies that had disappeared trying to recover the lost technologies.

—Of course, I don’t have here all the pieces I need, but I've been thinking of someone who could serve me... If it goes well, my lord will have time to recover quietly and your brother's body will not move from here.

—Ah, okay. I count on you, Isaak... By the way, I want to ask you something important.

—What is it?

Panzer Magier respectfully lifted his face, shaking his hair. However, the voice didn’t show any trace of seriousness and said, as if talking about time:

—Tomorrow for breakfast I want fish and chips... With a lot of vinegar and salt.

***

Following the River Thames about ten kilometers in its downstream to the North Sea one could reach Greenwich, the city that served as the base of the Royal Navy.

The campus of the naval school was surrounded by the riverbank and on its docks was the fleet of Albion, one of the most powerful in the world. In addition, it had shipyards, dams, arsenals and all kinds of facilities necessary for the Navy built next to each other like a steel wall facing the river.

The hill at the south of the city, however, was a much quieter place. At the top there was a brick building topped with a white cupola and surrounded by rows of delicately arranged trees and innumerable rows of tombstones.

Before the Armageddon it was the headquarters of an astronomical observatory but later it had become the cemetery of the Royal Navy.

There rested eternally from the anonymous sailors killed in combat to the most famous admirals. The old observatory had been converted into a church, and its priest used to celebrate masses in it for the souls of the deceased. The cemetery received visitors every day from all social classes who came to leave flowers there. The rows of adorned cars and carriages with aristocratic emblems were never lacking in the parking area.

—I'm sorry I took so long.

The huge car that was parking this afternoon in one of the corners of the parking area looked like that of some nobleman who was visiting the cemetery.

The black sedan had shaded windows. The car of exaggeratedly stylized lines didn’t carry any sign of manufacturer or affiliation, but at first glance it could be seen that it was an exclusive and quite expensive vehicle. A middle-aged gentleman walked to it. He seemed to be the owner, besides he opened the door and threw a pile of documents on the passenger seat.

—I had to dig through dozens of files. Besides, I haven’t been able to get away from having a tea with the priest, and that caused me to waste even more time... I‘m very sorry for having kept you here for a while, milady.

—But what’s all this about?!

The dark glass made the interior of the car remain in the gloom, but the voice that came out of the back seat was even darker and colder.

The blond-haired girl slid away to avoid the setting sun that entered the car and stared severely at the knight with her eyes of steel.

—Answer me, come on! What does this all mean!?

—All this? It's what I was telling you, the documents...

—Fuck! That's not what I'm asking you! The young girl screamed as the gentleman started the car. Why does a Vatican priest save a methuselah!? What are your true intentions!?

—Not that I expect any reward, but you could be a little less aggressive with the one who saved your life ...—answered William Wordsworth, driving with an expert hand while lighting the pipe. — Besides, I wouldn’t know what reason to give you either. Helping a lady at need is a natural thing for a gentleman, don’t you think?

—A lady!?I!? Stop telling bullshit, old man!

Listening to her allegedly deadly enemy Vanessa Walsh choked on the words for a moment but then reacted by turning red with anger and drawing her claws. If the car hadn’t been already going at a considerable high speed, there was no doubt that she would have decapitated the priest right there.

—A dog of the Vatican saving a methuselah..., or should I say, a monster, as you say... Surely you have some hidden intention! Do you think I'm going to swallow that bullshit of chivalry!?

—A monster?

The gentleman seemed not to notice the anger of his passenger. As if he had forgotten that he was carrying a medusa in the car, he answered calmly:

—I found you fallen next to the Saint. At that time I didn’t know you are a vampire... We were in full operation and there was no time to notice those things.

—Don’t fuck with me, old man…

Vanessa lowered her tone, but not because Professor's explanations convinced her. With the claws on the back of the seat she was looking for the exact entry point to tear out his heart with her claws.

—I don’t have time to listen to the stories of an old cunt. Tell me now! Why have you saved me!? What are you up to!? Do you want to use me as a hostage to negotiate with my brother!? In that case I'm sorry to tell you that Virgil is incorruptible for something like that. He will never endanger the clan, not even for his own sister.

—I know that without you telling me. Also, negotiating with your brother is impossible right now.

As the car was twisting on the winding road, the Professor lowered the tinted glass. The first stars had begun to appear in the sky and the sun was only a pale reflection on the horizon. Looking westward with a weary expression, the priest explained:

—The Earl of Manchester was captured last night by the men of Colonel Spencer and has been locked in the Tower of London. To speak with him, I need the direct permission of the colonel.

— They ca…, they caught Virgil!?

Vanessa was astonished for a moment but then looking at the reflection of the gentleman in the rearview mirror she exploded, bringing her hand to the door:

—Shit! Why didn’t you tell me before!? I have to do something about it!

—Wait. The sun hasn’t set yet. And what would you plan to do all of a sudden, my lady?—said the priest, calmly, seeing the methuselah ready to jump out of the moving car.

—You should know, as a Londoner, that the Tower is impregnable. Even if you are a methuselah, it will not be easy for you to enter without being discovered. In addition, your brother will be under particularly severe surveillance. Going foolish and crazy now won’t do any good... Oh, and I'm telling you in advance: taking me hostage is just a waste of time.

The priest spoke in a slow but implacable voice to the girl, who threatened him with her sharp claws. As if he were a teacher entrusting duties to an awkward student, he added:

—But you can be calm, because the colonel isn’t planning to kill your brother immediately. In fact, right now your city, the ..., the ghetto, is that how you call it? The ghetto is completely blocked. Military engineers have tried all kinds of measures, but they are unable to enter. That's why they have your brother, to give them the information they need... If we don’t get nervous, we still have time to save him.

—We have? —Vanessa repeated, with a distrustful voice. —What do you mean by “we”!? What do you mean!?

—I wonder if you really listen to what you are told. Haven't you heard me? You need the Colonel's permission to enter the Tower. You will never succeed in saving your brother by yourself. That's why we're going to...

—That's not what I'm asking you! Why have you saved me!? I am a methuselah, a vampire, and you are a priest of the Vatican. Why have you saved me!?

—Hmmm, it’s not easy to answer that question. But if you insist in wanting me to give you an answer... It will be... an attack of sentimentality? —Replied the Professor, biting his pipe with his eyes closed without changing his poker face.

—Last night I lost an old friend. Let's say I didn’t want to see anyone else die even if it was... well, even if it were you. I know it's not a very logical answer, but I'm afraid it's the truth.

—You're an idiot, though?! Vanessa replied immediately.

An attack of sentimentality? As if that were enough for a Vatican priest to save the life of a monster!

—

Do you think I'm going to swallow that for something like this a Vatican priest is willing to save us!? Stop talking nonsense and tell me the truth! Are you trying to trick me into telling you how to open the ghetto!? Or is it that you are planning something else...!? Spill it out! Whatever it is!

—Let’s see, I would like to be able to speak frankly, but... —the Professor answered with a smile, as if he wouldn’t worry about the terrifying fact that his interlocutor has sharp fangs. —The truth is that I understand it’s suspicious for you that I helped you, since I am a priest. But well..., since I have saved your life, can’t you trust me a little?

—Ja! What you want is to catch me off guard, dirty terran! —Vanessa retorted obstinately at the paternal tone of the Professor, although this time her voice sounded sad. —We have lived with the terrans for centuries. In exchange for the protection of the queen, we offered our science; in exchange for the blood of the poor, we gave them money and medicines. If someone had an illness in the shacks, we were going to cure him. The people loved us more than the aristocrats or the Church, who did nothing but empty speeches. We had lived together so well for so long... And now this! At the minimum they blame us for everything! The same ones who had received our help come to chase us with the yell «death to the bloodsuckers»! How do you expect me to trust you!?

—You have reason enough not to trust…

The Professor waited for the girl to finish her speech before intervening calmly:

—I understand your anger perfectly, Miss Walsh. It is undeniable that the Kingdom of Albion and its people have sinned ungrateful... but it doesn’t mean that we are all traitors.

Framed in the rearview mirror the Professor's face showed a strange emotion. His voice was serene but from his tone it almost seemed that he spoke from his own experience.

—Many times people let themselves be carried away by the environment. It is true that right now your relationship with the kingdom is difficult, but you shouldn’t hate all its people because of it. Sometimes it may seem that the ones that shout the most are speaking on behalf of the whole group, but that’s not always the case. Most people simply get carried away. Don’t lose hope in the human race so quickly.

—Did something happen to you, old man? —Vanessa asked, with a strange face. —Are you feeling bad? Do you have a fever?

—The truth is that you could have been a little more polite, Miss Walsh. Even I have my moments of ... Eh?

The methuselah didn’t hear what the patient Professor wanted to explain to her, because an alarm signal went on in the glove compartment. It was followed by a female voice.

—Do you hear me, Dr. Wordsworth? Iron Maiden II is speaking. Respond, please.

—One moment, Miss Walsh. My colleagues are calling me... Wordsworth here. I hear you, Iron Maiden II. What’s the matter?

—We have the results of the investigation you have commissioned before. You were right. In recent months, there has been an enormous traffic of weapons in the black market of Londinium, enough to start a war... However, there is no sign that they have got into the hands of the criminal gangs. The Scotland Yard researcher who helped us had no idea where they might be got.

—I see. Good work, Kate. Ah, I have also found what I was looking for, —said the Professor, taking a full notebook from his pocket. —The bionic soldiers we have found in the hotel and who later attacked Sister Esther in the ghetto had received corporal improvements of type K. Albion has used that technology four times in its history but in the last thirty years it has only been applied once... It was five years ago, in the case of a marine infantry who had suffered serious injuries. His name was... let's see... Sergeant Jack Ironside, of the forty-fourth regiment of the Marine Corps, 5th Special Operations Battalion. He was thirty years old.

—Marine Corps... 5th Special Operations Battalion. And what happened to Sergeant Ironside? Did he remain in the army?

—He didn’t. He remained in the same regiment, but two years ago... in Percy's rebellion... the forty-four was exterminated in Beaufort. All of its members died and were awarded the Waterloo Cross posthumously. Ironside was promoted to a brigade and buried in Greenwich Cemetery. Since he had no family, it was his superior who was in charge of the funeral: Colonel Mary Spencer. That's what I found in the military archives…

The speakers were filled for a moment with static noise, and the Professor touched the controls to try to improve the reception.

—The curious thing is that the ecclesiastical archives contain no trace of Sergeant Ironside's burial. And not only him. Among those killed in Percy's rebellion, there are hundred men of the forty-four whose funeral we have no record of.

—So they officially died in combat, but their burial was not recorded? —Kate asked, surprised.

It was the army that kept the record of the dead on the battlefield, but the Church was in charge of the funeral. It was not uncommon that there were some discrepancies between the archives of both institutions and that until then nobody had bothered to check it. Anyway, the disappearance of a hundred corpses of soldiers was not normal. Where had they gone?

—What happened then, Professor? I don’t understand anything…

—I want to tell you, and I also have more interesting information, but we'll have to leave it here for now... I think this conversation is not private, — the priest said, smiling at the interferences coming from the speakers, and raised the voice so that the methuselah that was in the back seat could hear. —What I can say is that someone plans something big for the next few days. I'm going to try to talk to that person and find out what's behind the issue. Once I've finished, I'll tell you everything. Until then, I have to ask you to keep waiting in the city. If my intuition doesn’t deceive me, something will happen soon. You must be ready to react at any time.

—Understood. Professor, be careful. Remember that Abel... God forbid that you too...

The Professor did not hear the end of the sentence, because a storm of interference completely erased the worried voice of the nun.

—What is it, old man? Has the radio crashed? Ha! Tthat terran technology...

—No, it’s not that.

The priest responded with seriousness to Vanessa's sarcastic comment. Without even trying to manipulate the controls, he casted a sharp look at the indicator lights.

—They are caused interferences. Someone is using high-powered electronic countermeasures... Also, the radar reacts. Something is coming through the air at high speed. At one hundred knots per hour? That fast can only be... a combat aircraft? But who will do training flights around here after sunset?

—Is it coming from this direction?

Vanessa discovered something by looking through the smoked glass. The eastern sky has already darkened but two bright lights appeared in it. A human look would have confused them with two stars but the methuselah didn’t hesitate: there were two biplanes flying in formation, one above the other.

—They are two fighter jets of the Royal Navy... But how strange... They don’t carry identification number or license plate...

—Hold tight to the seat, milady! — The Professor shouted.

Before the methuselah had time to mock his serious tone, the sedan accelerated violently down the road.

—Old man! What’s wrong now!?

—Silence! I don’t want you to bite your tongue because of me!

Where did the car get that power from? Raising a huge dust cloud on the deserted road, the sedan gained more and more speed, like a cheetah chasing its prey. However, when Vanessa raised her voice again, it wasn’t because of the speedometer needle, which seemed to being about to go off. The two biplanes slowed to approach them and seemed ready to plummet like two hawks on a hare.

—Bu..., but who are those...?! They are coming for us!

When the methuselah finally realized what was happening, the biplanes had already opened fire, and curtains of dust were rising on each side of the sedan.

—And they are shooting us! They are shooting us, old man!

—Thank you for letting me know... But I'd honestly prefer you to stop using expressions like that. If you want us to treat each other with more familiarity, you could call me grandpa...

—I don’t know if it's the best time now to... They are coming back!

The sedan already was driving with more than a hundred kilometers per hour, but the biplanes doubled its speed. Releasing a cap cloud, they made a new pass over the vehicle. At once they exceeded three hundred meters, turned around, crossed and prepared to launch a third burst.

—Hmmm, they're good. Surely they are class L pilots, at least.

—Keep the comments for others... We have them on our tail! They are shooting! —Vanessa shrieked watching the grim shadows growing on the other side of the glass.

The first two misses helped them to calculate the firing trajectory. The third would be the final one.

—They are coming!

—No need to worry... Rocket acceleration!

With a thunderous noise, the car accelerated and left behind a column of white smoke. The force of the acceleration caused Vanessa to fall against the seat.

—Acc..., acceleration rockets!? But, old man, what do you mean!? Ah...! Ah ...! Aaaaaaaaaaah!

In the midst of a crash that seemed to have opened the sky and earth, the vehicle began to vibrate so much that the methuselah couldn’t say anything else, and her voice became a moan.

Meanwhile the sedan didn’t stop accelerating. Its speed already exceeded two hundred kilometers per hour so that the biplanes that pursued them had to make efforts to keep track them. In addition strange noises were to hear coming from the lower part of the vehicle. Metal plates appeared on each side of the sedan.

—Are they wings!? But ...does this car have wings?!

—Let's leave the details for later. Now fasten the belt, because we're going to take off.

—Take..., take off!? But what...?!

Before Vanessa could finish her question the vehicle responded to her by rising gently in the air.

—It fli..., it really flies! Murmured the aristocrat watching the short wings leading the car on its ascent.

As fast as they were, it was incredible that they could fly, but she couldn’t deny that the ground was moving away before her eyes.

—This is absurd!

—Absurd? My favorite car?

—I don’t know what is more incredible, the car or you! A sedan that flies!

—Well, it's not a surprise either. Nowadays, who can be called a scientist without being able to fly a car?

—Thi..., this old man is crazy...—Vanessa replied, rubbing the bump on her forehead.

A strange smell caught her attention at once. It was a stench of ammonia and burned hair. Searching the source of the smell with her nose the methuselah looked down and got stupefied.

—Hey…! The seat is burning! Hey, old man! That smoke is coming out!

—Smoke? How strange... But they didn’t hit us…

The Professor looked at the young woman in the rearview mirror and immediately tensed his face.

—Hmmm, this doesn’t look good. We are losing fuel.

—Losing fuel?

But why was so much smoke coming out of the leather seats? Seeing the look of incomprehension of the methuselah, the Professor began his chemistry lesson:

—You see, these rockets use hydrogen peroxide as an oxidizer and a mixture of methanol and a derivative of hydrazine as a reducer. This fuel has the advantage of generating a great impulse force with very little quantity. The only drawback is that the reducer is extremely corrosive... and it escapes from the tank very easily. I have to investigate how to use electrolytes to seal the tank and avoid leaks. Oh, by the way, better don’t touch the part that has been eroded. Hydrazine breaks down proteins, and your body wouldn’t last for a second.

—You ..., you idiot! You should have warned me before!

Vanessa took a sudden leap to see how the bottom edge of her jacket began to dissolve.

—I'm leaving! I get off right now! I want to get off this jalopy!

—Don't jump around, please. You don’t know how difficult it is to get the car to fly in balance. If you don’t stop moving we will lose speed and...

—And what are you telling me...? Aaaah!

Vanessa rushed to the door to try to open it, but before she could reach it, the seat turned around. Without warning, the sedan made a ninety-degree turn in mid-flight.

—Aaah...! Look what you've done! Didn’t I just tell you that...!?

—Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Vanessa could only respond to Professor's warnings with a scream, while the sedan plummets down to the river. If it lost speed it’s very difficult for such a vehicle to remain in flight. The water was rapidly approaching them.

—Don’t you think it's not very feminine to shout «aah»!? A lady like you should scream «oh!» Or at least «aaay!»...

—Don't fool around and do something, damn it!

—Hmmm?

While the miserable roar of Vanessa the Professor’s attention changed to the two biplanes which were also starting the descent. They probably intended to shoot them when they fall into the river. The last rays of the sun made the cannons of their machine guns to shine.

—Well, it seems that we don’t have much time to play... Now I will give you what you are looking for.

The gentleman with the pipe drew a smile from ear to ear.

At the same time he lifted the steering wheel, the priest stomped on the pedals, which caused the nose of the vehicle to rise with a roar. The propulsion rockets, which seemed to have gone broken, received a new injection of fuel that brought them back to life. Cutting the surface of the water like a sword, the sedan regained height at a devilish speed.

But…

—No! We can’t escape!

Vanessa huddling at one end of the seat to escape the corrosive liquid watched her pursuers with a desperate glance. The biplanes were getting in position to launch the final blast against the sedan. She could almost see the gloomy smiles of the pilots as they carefully pointed their deadly weapons. Their rockets were not rivals for the two planes. It seemed like it was only a matter of time before they were turned into a sieve. However the cries of Vanessa found in response the calm voice of the priest:

—Let's go up, Vanessa! Hold on tight!

The sedan began a violent ascent that caused the methuselah to scream. The persecutors on the other hand didn’t stay behind and also rose as if following their trail.

—It's useless! We are going to...!

A gigantic explosion interrupted the girl's scream.

The surface of the river rose as if a volcano has erupted underwater; even the sedan, which was in a good distance from the ground, noticed the jolt. However, the biplanes which were closer to the water didn’t have room to maneuver. The column of water rose like cannon shot and tore them apart in mid-flight.

—What ... what happened !? —Vanessa murmured and stunned as she were watching the column of water falling back into the river like rain.

The ground was strewn with the remains of the two biplanes, as if a detonation had reached them fully. Their persecutors had found the destiny to which they intended to send them. What happened there?

—Just before we got up, I released some of the fuel on the river... Hydrogen peroxide is an explosive and more unstable than nitroglycerin. If an insect gets stuck in the tank, it would be capable of causing an explosion, —the Professor explained calmly as he stabilized the vehicle and verified that the pilots had managed to jump off the planes. —Well, I see there have been no victims... Come on, there's no time. We will fly to Londinium. Fasten your seatbelt, Vanessa.

—But..., bu ..., but what was this...?

—Didn’t I explain it to you just right now? Hydrogen peroxide, when in contact with water...

—It’s not that! What I want to know is why they were persecuting us! If they can send two biplanes to eliminate us, they are not just murderers. It must have been the government or the army... Hey, old man! You said before that something big was going to happen, right? What the hell have you discovered!? Do you have any idea who they might have been!?

—Well, it’s more than just an idea. I can say that I'm sure.

—Sure? What are you sure of?

—The thing is that I don’t feel like to tell it someone with such bad manners. At least you could try to say something like «Honored gentleman, would you be so kind as to answer this question?» Or «Vanessa really wants to know, Grandpa ♥[1]!» Then everything would be much more flexible.

—What are you doing old man!? Are you playing with me or...!

The methuselah lifted her claws back to the priest's neck, but stopped for a moment. One of the gauges installed on the glove box started to sound with a sharp noise at the same time as a red light illuminated the word ALERT.

—Hmmm ...! This doesn’t look good.

—And what is that this time? More enemies!?

—An unknown radar signal is directed towards us. I don’t like this... They have located us.

—Located!?

But who or what?

Vanessa turned around, but didn’t see any other aircraft. There was nothing but the moon and a group of fishermen in the Thames who followed with their mouths open the image of the flying sedan. There was also foam on the river... Foam!?

—Old man! Below! Underwater!

The river opened almost at the same time as the methuselah cried. Two long thin objects were rising in the night air.

Once they were completely out of the water the two rockets powered their engines and turned their sharp heads towards the sedan, guided by the radar of the huge body that was under the water.

—Missiles! Impossible!

—Hold tight, milady!

Casting a quick glance in the rearview mirror the knight set the fifth gear. The fuel filled the rear propulsion rockets, and the sedan was driving off at a devilish speed.

However, the missiles that pursued them were even faster. The distance between the vehicle and the metallic heads that were bringing fire of destruction was getting smaller and smaller.

—No! They're going to catch us!

The Professor shouted abandoning for a moment his usual sophisticated vocabulary, at the same time he looked in the rearview mirror…

And a glow ripped the night.

[1] The little heart is in the Japanese original but not in the Spanish version.

#trinity blood #Sunao Yoshida #Thores Shibamoto #kiyo kyujyo #kiyo qjo #William Walter Wordsworth #vanessa walsh #cain knightlord #Isaak Fernand von Kämpfer #Esther Blanchett #light novel #translation

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