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justanerdgirl · 2 years

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Some excerpts from The Lone Wanderer by Tatyana Grigoryeva, 1967 (part 2)

This book contains an essay on life and literary activity of Japanese writer Kunikida Doppo. In addition to it, one can get some new intrresting information about the literary tendencies of the end of the 19th - beginning of the 20th century.

It is my own translation from Russian. English is not my first language, so I'm sorry in advance for all the misspellings and strange-looking grammatical constructions. Please, enjoy!

...He asked the Lord to reveal to him the secrets of the world, to inspire his faith. But God did not heed his entreaties, did not shed the grace on him, did not save him from doubts. And so, in Saeki Doppo doubted God.

June 1894. The newspapers are full of disturbing reports. Events in Korea portend a war. God remains calm.

The human world is rolling into the abyss. People are blind, unintelligent, they're bringing their own death closer. In comparison to them, nature seems to him wiser and more significant.

"Everyone is talking about the incident in Korea now. And the moon in the mountains is as bright as usual. A poor woman is struggling in her miserable hovel, drowning in worries and grief. And flowers are curling up the fence, birds are soaring in the clouds..."

But nature didn't give him any comfort either. "Life on this earth is an empty illusion. People are sufferers. The nature is insensitive and cold. Why won't the light of truth come down on me? I have no desires, no faith, no peace... There is no God in me. There is no majestic, sacred, exalted god in me. Maybe he exists somewhere in the universe, but there is no true faith in him in my heart. I need faith only in good, compassionate, kind God... There is a crisis in Korea. It looks like there will be a war between us and China. What are you doing, humanity?"

Who to expect help from? "Lord, send me faith! Does it mean that all people, all the humanity is an illusion? When will the globe disappear? And nature? Is it also an illusion?" There was no answer. The things that were happening in the world proved the unreasonableness of its creator.

August 18, 1894. "So the Japan-China war began. Two great Eastern nations stand on the edge of disaster. Soldiers are shedding blood in the foreign land. The widows are quietly crying in their shacks. I don't know what the true meaning of the story directed by the Lord is... Oh heavens, please, shed light on my soul! Look, people are killing each other! Nations are groaning, nations are fighting. And the ones next to them dance, and laugh, and sing. What does it all mean? What do you mean, the life of humanity? Oh heavens, is everything an illusion? Is war also an illusion? My God, I'm begging you, help me, save me from this torment!"

God did not heed. And Doppo understood: "My faith is not a fire, it is a smoke."

The more he moved away from God, the closer he became to human. June 1894: "No, the importance of human is great. The life of the universe and the nature has become my life, and my life has become the life of the universe, the nature... Does being interested in another person not help you to know yourself?"

Human is a single one with nature: "Without thinking about nature, it is not possible to think about human. I, being a human, cannot think about nature without thinking about humanity."

August 27, 1894: "The light is a human. Where is the light that would illuminate the darkness of human life? I can answer — in a person. And I believe in it. I believe in it more and more."

He continued to clarify his relationship with God and in October 1894 he asked: "Why does faith in God not give me satisfaction? I cannot bring my earthly desires into line with the true way of God in any way. Maybe that's the reason why I have no peace".

He would have moved away from faith much faster if he didn't need it. He, in fact, was afraid of losing it completely. If you don't rely on God, who do you rely on? He continued to pray to God for help, but in those prayers he expressed himself like this: "Oh Lord, help me and my brothers to find the path of freedom and independence, help us break the shackles of our life. Please, teach me how to achieve the liberation!"

God was silent. "Oh Lord, why can't I feel your grace... Tell me what I have to do for the goodness of mankind!.. Save me from despair. Help me to love the world and think about people", Doppo wrote on June 11, 1894, and two days later: "People are being deceived by immortality!.. Look at the ministers of the church! The greed alone!"

But it was even more painful not to believe. "I am a Christian, so why can't I follow this teaching with all my heart? Is it because the Christian teaching, the Bible, does not reveal the awesomeness of the world and human life?"

And at the end of his journey, the terminally ill writer reflected on God: "Why does God not descend to earth? I think that God is our self-consciousness. The path of God is as difficult to trace as the path of a bird... Death is death. There is neither God nor immortality... Uemura Masahisa* was the first to enter my heart. The key to my soul was in his hands. With this key I wanted to get rid of my suffering. I believed that Uemura would save my soul, which was struggling between life and death. But he asked me to pray. He told me: «If you pray, it will become easier for you». But I couldn't pray. The prayer did not touch me. As light the phrase of prayer was, as heavy was its spirit. And a heart that cannot pray cannot be saved."

Doppo lived in Saeki for a year. No matter how much he loved nature, he could not stay away from the main events for long. "The beauty of nature is not combined here with the beauty of the human heart. It is difficult to find a common language with the village people. How I want to go to Tokyo!". The capital both frightened and attracted him. He returned to Tokyo and at the suggestion of Tokutomi Sohō began to collaborate with the newspaper "Kokumin Shinbun", published by "Minyūsha" ("Society of Friends of the People").

However, Doppo did not show much zeal, and in his diary he confessed: "Although I serve in the Minyūsha and take the matter seriously, I feel that there still will be nothing out of me except a poet. My vocation, my duty is to be a prophet of a new world".

Doppo got involved in urban life, but did not find any peace. In September, he complained in a letter to his friend Nakagiri: "What should I do? Should I be writing short stories, composing poetry, riding a horse and killing people or giving the lectures from a pulpit? The beauty of nature, mountains, rivers, the beauty of the sunset, herbs, forests — all this leaves me."

On October 2, he wrote in his diary: "I listened to a sermon by Uemura Masahisa in the church. Yesterday I was told that I would go to a ship as a war correspondent. What should I do? «Life, death, faith, fate, work.» Why would I go to the warship? Because I serve a newspaper? But couldn't I live freely in the mountains and forests? What a death! I will die anyway... This world is more likely to give me the freedom of death."

On October 19, 1894, the war correspondent Kunikida Tetsuo appeared on the ship. They sailed to the shores of China.

October 22: "I decided to describe the events in the form of letters to my brother. For the first time I saw a Korean house, for the first time I saw how Koreans live... The war. The rivers of blood. The warship. And all these are facts of human life!"

On October 24: "We landed on the coast of China... I begin to forget about the great nature, I lead a life that no one needs. Here, in the war, you become insensitive...You begin to despise yourself."

The newspaper was waiting for a report celebrating the bravery of Japanese soldiers. Doppo, who believed in his saving mission, became an unwitting accomplice of evil.

His soul was petrified. He wrote reports from the battlefield, but he could neither understand nor justify the war. In his essays called "Letters to My Beloved Brother" he wrote: "War is a terrible, stinking word. It is the devil's curse for man. It crawls like a snake from century to century, from country to country. We are used to hearing, pronouncing, reading the word "death", but we have no idea what it is. Only after seeing the corpses of people, you can understand what death is."

"Letters to My Beloved Brother" were a success. In March 1895, Doppo returned to Tokyo and continued to work for the newspaper. What did he go through, what did the war teach him? July 1895: "Man is a selfish being. And his feelings are selfish. The world is blind. There is no meaning, no purpose... They commit suicide and kill without any difficulty... I have to become cold and reasonable"...

*Uemura Masahisa (15 January 1858 – 8 January 1925) was a Japanese Christian pastor, theologian and critic of Meiji and Taishō periods.

To be continued

#literature #japanese literature #reading #bsd #irl bsd #bungo stray dogs #kunikida doppo #translation

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imgoingtofreakoutnow · 3 years

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An old friend - Part 2

Summary: You've been invited for tea at the Bridgerton's household. You'll meet some new faces and perhaps dig in the past with your host...

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!reader

Other characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton

Warnings: looooots of yearning, face touching (?) if this counts as warning

Words: 3.6k+

A/n: I wasn't planning on doing a second part but here we are! I know it's long, and the start can feel a bit slow, but stick until the end; things get interesting there😏😉

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

As you stepped down the carriage, your eyes were immediately drawn to the facade of the house: even though you weren't a child anymore it still looked majestic to your eyes. The lilac wisteria hanged from the red terracotta wall, swinging his blooming flowers just above the door, giving the compound that vibrant hint of colour that you remembered.

When you heard the wheels of your carriage move against the pebble, you decided it was time to enter the Bridgerton's household. However, you soon realized that your feet were seemingly planted in the ground just before the gates of the estate.

Nervously holding your shaking gloves near your lap, you tried to calm down that sudden wave of anxiety. You truly had nothing to be worried about: your hosts were some of the kindest human beings you had ever met and the house was no stranger to you either. Nonetheless, war drums started playing in your chest at the thought that Anthony was waiting for you inside...

"Can I help you, miss?"

You turned towards the voice that called you back to reality to be met with the tall figure of Benedict. "Mr. Bridgerton"

He bowed as you curtseyed. "Well, this is embarrassing" he muttered, taking off his hat with an apologetic smile. "You know my name, but I don't know yours... should I know you, miss?"

You smiled back, shaking slightly your head. "Probably not, sir. I'm Y/N Y/L/N. I believe I am awaited for tea this afternoon: Lady Bridgerton invited me at last night's ball"

"I recall Anthony mentioning something about a guest..." he started but shrugged afterwards, "however I wasn't listening". His green eyes moved on you, squeezing slightly as they took in your features. "I beg you forgiveness in advance if I'm mistaken, but do you appear to be that little girl that used to play with Anthony when he still possessed a sense of humour?"

You hardly stopped a laugh from escaping your lips. "I shall not know, did Lord Bridgerton used to entertain himself with many young ladies when he was young himself?"

Benedict shook his head, still smiling. "Not that I can remember"

"Then that's probably me" you confirmed, chuckling slightly as the weight on your stomach eased considerably.

"I shall not believe that! The world is much smaller than I thought it was". He rubbed his cheek, his face lit by shock and delight. Then, looking at the front door and then back at you: "Why then were you standing here like a statue?"

At his question you lowered your gaze to your hands, not as shaky as before but still partly trembling. When you opened your mouth to reply, no rational answer came out from your parted lips.

Thankfully, Benedict seemed to notice your distress and simply took your arm in his. "Admit it" he said, smiling cheekily and guiding you inside, "you were waiting for me just to escort you inside. Isn't that right?"

With a giggle you nodded. "You uncovered my plan, sir. I shall hope it remains a secret between the two of us"

Benedict opened the door for you. "I'll take it to the grave, miss Y/L/N"

You flashed him one last smile before your eyes wandered on the interior of the household, leaving you speechless: everything was exactly where your clouded memories placed it, with few errant exceptions, like the china vase in the vestibule or the tiny pottery work on the table next to the door of the drawing room.

It felt almost unreal, like walking in a dream made long time ago... nonetheless, the way your heart jumped in your throat when you saw Anthony slouching on a couch near the window felt very much real to you.

"Miss Y/L/N". When Violet's voice reached your ears she was already in front of you, taking your arm to drag you away from her second-born. "It is a delight to see you again so soon. I believe you haven't met my youngest children, Gregory and Hyacinth".

The two siblings looked at you, Hyacinth smiling fascinated while Gregory was subtly munching something.

You smiled at them. "It's a pleasure to meet you"

"Miss Y/L/N, could I ask you something?"

Your eyes fixed in Hyacinth's, wide with curiosity. "Of course"

She took some steps towards you and you bent down so that she could cup your ear. "Is it true that you and Anthony made all the nurses go mad when you were our age?"

"Who told you that?" you whispered back, grinning. "We made them go mad when we were much younger than you"

Hyacinth covered her mouth, giggling silently as she went back next to her brother. Gregory, still looking at you, finally gulped down his food and turned to his mother. “Can we go play outside now, mama?”

With a sigh and a gesture of her hand, Lady Bridgerton released her youngest from the strings of formality and you watched them running one after the other out of the drawing room.

“Pardon their impatience” sighed Violet, sitting on the sofa next to her. She seemed terribly tired and you couldn’t imagine otherwise: if the other Bridgertons were half the troublemakers you and Anthony were, you were surprised the household was still intact.

You took a seat next to her, your back straightened as a greek column. “There is no need to apologise, I do envy their freedom” you admitted as your gaze fell in your lap. “They should enjoy every moment they have left before they come of age”

“From your tone, miss Y/L/N, it transpires the belief that there is no freedom in our society whatsoever”

You turned to Anthony, now seated a little more properly on the couch. His eyes locked in yours terribly easily, as they already possessed the key to your soul.

"Not if one wants to be accepted by said society, Lord Bridgerton" you clarified. "And we know well enough that not many would risk their place in this - pardon my words - refined golden parade for a semblance of temporary freedom"

"A golden parade". Anthony tasted your words on his tongue. "Shall we ever be freed from the chains society imposed us then?"

"It is possible, yes. Nevertheless, it may not be as easy as one might expect"

Anthony was still looking at you and the fabric of your gloves started sticking to your sweaty hands under his stare. You lowered your gaze. "But of course, this is just my humble opinion"

"Quite pessimistic, if I may" Benedict's voice broke through your thoughts. Slouching like Anthony on the other couch, there was no doubt those two were brothers. "But my word, you and Eloise would get along perfectly well"

"My second daughter. She is quite a free spirit" explained Violet seeing your confusion. "Unfortunately, you won't meet her today: she went for a walk with her friend, miss Penelope Featherington"

“On another quest to find the writer who hides behind the name of Lady Whistledown” added Benedict, earning a glare from his mother.

"I'm sure there will be many other occasions to meet her. And your eldest daughter as well. I’ve heard she married the Duke of Hastings, is that right?"

Her eyes lit as soon as you mentioned her daughter, and before you knew it, your mind was filled with every single detail of the wedding and engagement party, and all the circumstances that preceded and followed it.

A light knock made everyone turn towards the door. The footmen placed swiftly and silently the trays with teapots and cups on the small tables around the room, together with many small plates full of different biscuits and what looked like delicious refreshments.

One of the footmen approached cautiosly Violet, who was now talking about the scandal in which Colin had been unknowingly drawn. "Lady Bridgerton". The woman turned towards him with a smile. "Miss Francesca denies her medicine..."

Violet sighed, putting her cup back on the tray. "Goodness gracious... She went to Bath on her own, she's almost of age and she keeps throwing tantrums for these little things...". She then turned to you: "I shall be back in a few minutes, my dear"

You nodded, watching her leave the room with the young footman. The exact moment she disappeared through the door, Benedict jumped from his seat, almost making you spill the tea on your dress.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I shall leave as well" he explained, putting his tailcoat back on in a hurry. He looked towards Anthony. "If mother asks, I'm in my room feeling unwell and I definitely won't attend dinner"

"Shall I know where you're going?" asked Anthony with a smirk on his face. "Perhaps getting a new suit?"

Benedict ignored him, which made Anthony grin even more. “It’s been a pleasure, miss Y/L/N. We shall talk more next time we meet" he said with a small bow and a smile, before walking out the drawing room as well.

You took a long sip from your small cup, trying to focus on the taste of the tea and not on the fact that you and Anthony were now completely alone. The hot drink had a fresh mint scent and... and then his touch on your skin was everything your mind could think of.

"Are you enjoying yourself, miss Y/L/N?"

"Absolutely!" you replied, your voice an octave higher than normal. Clearing your throat, you attempted to think of something to say that wasn't in any way related to Anthony's hands on you. "The tea is divine"

He chuckled, taking a biscuit from the tray. "I'm glad you like it". He took a bite before asking again: "Does the house do justice to your memories?"

"It does" you nodded. "I'm surprised how few things have changed over the years but I'm glad to be able to recognise every corner. It's like stepping in the past"

Anthony smiled without taking his eyes off you. Looking down on your empty cup you felt your skin itch under his deep stare. Before you could think of anything else to say, you heard the sound of fabric rustling: Anthony Bridgerton had stood up and was now moving closer with every step. He stretched his hand out to you, smiling like he did only around you.

"Would you like to step in the past again, miss Y/L/N?"

With his eyes locked in yours, your mouth was wholly dry. You had no idea what he had in mind but, strangely enough, you didn't care: you just took his hand.

The heat radiating through the thin fabric of your gloves set on fire every nerve of your body. You held tight onto his hand as he pulled you down a maze of corridors, running within those walls like when you were kids. The excitement, and the new feeling that was pushing against your corset, let a wide, joyful smile appear on your face, as you felt lighter than ever before.

Then, after a last turn, he pulled you in a room, closing the door behind him. It took a deep breath for you to realise Anthony had dragged you in the library: it was smaller than you recalled, and even so it held so much knowledge you always found overwhelming stepping inside, as if you weren’t worthy of it.

Still panting, Anthony collapsed on the settee near the window, his smile wider than ever. "Good Lord..." he sighed letting his head fall back, his shoulders shook by laughter. "I haven't felt this alive in quite some time..."

"As much as I enjoy seeing you smiling, did we truly have to run all the way here?" you whispered, trying to steady your breath. "If anyone saw us, they probably thought we were up to something, which is not true at all"

Placing his elbows on his knees, Anthony bended over, his eyes lit by the spark of mischief. "If we're not up to something... then why are you whispering?"

You shook your head, turning your back to him. You walked closer to the atlas, opened on book stand in one of the corner of the room. With your index you gently traced the lines of the continents shown on the page, searching names of places you knew. Then a realization hit you.

“We shouldn’t be here”. Taking a step back from the atlas, you turned to Anthony.

He looked at you with furrowed brows. “Why so?”

"I'm quite sure you're aware that, for a lady, being in the same room as a man without a chaperone is improper and disgraceful" you clarified, rubbing your hands nervously.

"Is it?". You shot Anthony a glare.

"Yes, my lord. Awfully disgraceful". You looked at the door, terrified someone might walk in.

Anthony sighed. “Very well. But before we go... would you please read something to me?”. The request wasn’t exactly what you were expecting and Anthony, as he had read in your mind, added: “There’s nothing improper in that”

You took a sharp breath but then nodded. “Very well”. You moved your eyes on the many books on the bookshelves, the titles and authors embossed on their spines in golden letters: Shakespeare, Edgeworth, Scott.

"Do you want me to read anything in particular, my lord?"

He closed his eyes, slouching again on the settee. "Anything as long as I can hear your voice"

Taken aback by his words, you were glad he couldn’t see your scarlet cheeks. You took a small poetry volume, opening it at a random page. The words written on the paper danced in your mind with the finesse of a butterfly.

You sat down on the other end of the settee as your lungs tried their best to fill with enough air to keep you from fainting. You took a last deep breath before starting to read out loud.

"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,

The plowman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me."

As you kept reading, the book in one hand and the other resting in your lap, the verses rolled on your tongue like candid pearls on velvet; an ancient incantation created to charm minds.

You didn't realise that Anthony had been getting closer and closer by the second until the moment he took your empty hand in his. You stopped mid-verse as your eyes jolted to your joined hands.

"Go on" he gently asked, stroking his thumb on your hand.

Gulping down your beating heart you started reading again, but your attention was nowhere near the words printed on the paper. It was all on the way his fingers rested on yours and moved against your glove, as trying to find a path past the thin fabric.

That small and seemingly meaningless touch unleashed a thunderstorm within you: powerful, destructive and awfully seductive.

You finished the poem, the last word leaving you breathless. Closing the book, the closeness with Anthony felt way too much to handle.

"We should go now". You stood, breaking the contact with Anthony to put the book in its place. Your hand without his touch felt extremely empty.

You heard him sigh. "I believe we should". Anthony stood up, smoothing his blue tailcoat. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his eyes set on fixing his sleeves: "I must apologise, miss Y/L/N"

You turned towards him with eyes wide in confusion before frowning. "For what, my lord?"

"I'm convinced that my puerile behaviour put you in an uncomfortable and improper position" - his voice and face were completely emotionless, not the face of the Anthony you knew - "and I beg your forgiveness for that. I had no rights to act this way towards a lady such as yourself and I would totally understand if you chose to..." he stopped a moment, searching for the strength to finish the phrase, “...interrupt our acquaintance”

"Lord Bridgert-"

"Of course” he continued, "I would never want for you to interrupt your visits to my mother and family. And, of course, I shall have prepared a carriage to take you home and then, hopefully, everything will soon seem just a-"

"Anthony"

You finally moved from the bookshelf, catching his hand in yours. His eyes moved from the doorknob, first resting on your joint hands and then raising to your face. It had felt like days since he last glanced at you.

"Please, let me speak”. He didn’t move, his face still unreadable but his eyes had your complete attention. You took a deep breath as you put your messy thoughts in the right order.

“You didn't offend me" you explained, even if your trembling voice could've told otherwise. "Your actions, your attentions weren't a discomfort to me whatsoever. They were just-", a shaky sigh escaped your lips, "What I feel in your presence is overwhelming, like standing on a cliff while the wind howls around you, trying to push you off the edge... you wish you could ignore it but it keeps luring you in and-"

His hand on your cheek cut you off. His thumb caressed your cheekbone and slid down, along your jaw, to stop on your chin. "So this pleases you?" he asked, his voice deep as his eyes were staring into yours. At a loss of words, you nodded as fireworks exploded in your stomach.

At his words you suddenly remembered: “Your mother! She’s probably still waiting in the drawing room!”. You took your hands to your face, covering your heated cheeks. “Oh no... she’ll never forgive me...”

Eventually he smiled, and seeing his eyes lighting up was just what you needed to feel relieved. "That's good to hear” he murmured, stroking your cheek again and again, “but now you should really go home: we don’t want your mother to get worried, don’t we?”"

He shook his head chuckling. “My mother doesn’t hold grudges for such ridiculous matters. However, if it could help you sleep better tonight, I shall talk to her. You must trust me: I already have mastered a talent in finding quite believable excuses”

You smirked. “Why am I not surprised?”. Anthony smiled before taking again your hand. A bolt ran through your arm.

"I know it may sound bold, but would you join me and my family at tomorrow’s picnic in Hyde Park? These social gatherings always bore me to death but I’m sure your company would be the perfect remedy"

"Two invitations in a row?”. You grinned. “The ton will talk about this for quite some time"

“Is that a yes, miss Y/L/N?”

You smiled. “Of course it is, my lord. I could never refuse you anything”

<-•☆•->

When the carriage left you in front of your house, there was still enough light for you to see the pathway leading to the front door. As you entered and closed it behind you, your mother appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Thank Goodness you’re back!”. She run down the stairs, immediately cupping your cheeks. “Are you alright? Did anything happen to you?”

“I’m good, mama” you confirmed, with a smile. "Lord Bridgerton invited me to attend the picnic in Hyde Park tomorrow". At your words, every inch of blood seemed to be drained from your mother's face. “Is everything quite alright?”

“I’ve heard some awful rumors at the market today...” she whispered, taking your hands in hers. “About the Bridgertons”

You smiled gently. “Is it about the scandal surrounding Colin Bridgerton? Because I can assure you he had no part in-”

“it isn’t, my dear”. She shook her head, some locks of hair escaping her tight hairdo. “It’s about Lord Bringerton”

Your smile fell in a second. “What about him?”

Your mother took a deep breath before going on: “I believe him to be a rake, my dear, and from what I’ve heard, he spent most of last season attending the private rooms of different opera singers...”

"What?". You shook your head in disbelief. "No, it can't be... I know him and he's nothing like this"

"It has been years, sweetheart" she said, kindly caressing your cheek. "Maybe he's changed, like you have..."

"But he's not a rake!". You took a step back from your mother. "Lord Bridgerton is a gentleman, he would never-"

You stopped mid-sentence as what happened that afternoon replayed in your mind: surely you didn't dislike his behaviour, as daring as it was, but it was improper. Terribly improper. Something a rake would do with light skirts. Or with young and willing ladies.

Your corset seemed to be tighter than ever, squeezing your lungs until no air was left behind.

"I do not want to push you, my dear..." continued your mother, "but perhaps you should rethink your choice for tomorrow. You could say you had forgotten a previous engagement or-"

"No". Your steady voice didn't reflect the turmoil in your chest at all. "I have already accepted, mother" you said, walking past her to the stairs. "It would be disrespectful to refuse the invitation of a Viscount"

Besides, you wanted answers, and the only people who could give you some was Anthony himself.

Taglist: @ba-cute @xceafh @latekate1807 (if you want to be added or removed, let me know)

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #violet bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #gregory bridgerton

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melisa-may-taylor72 · 3 years

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Record Mirror- 08-25-1984

Ministry Of Works

Did you know that Freddie Mercury wants to make a reggae record? And that Roger Taylor would be selling flowers if he wasn't in Queen? Read on for more fascinating facts

MAYHEM IN Munich! Freddie Mercury is cavorting with a scantily dressed transvestite and it's only three in the afternoon. Are you man or woman enough to read on? Then swallow your vitamin pills and follow me.

Queen are limbering up for their forthcoming tour in Germany and to celebrate another single rising majestically up the charts, they're holding a little press bash in Munich's P1 club. A place even more decadent than the South Finchley Whiskey A Go Go.

The ghost of Adolf Hitler probably wanders around here on dark nights, as The Fuhrer used to store his paintings and other plunder in the club and the building next door. Unfortunately there's nothing left around today.

Instead, the club has gems of another kind. A selection of Queen's videos including the notorious 'Body Language' — and champagne and wine flowing like Niagara Falls.

The cabaret is Freddie's own idea: a group of well passed it drag artists, so outrageous in G strings and lingerie that they make Divine seem as tame as Marjorie Proops. Freddie's more than willing to join in when one of the girls does a rendition of 'I Want To Break Free', but the rest of the members of Queen look on shyly from the comforts of the bar. Everybody, but everybody is here to witness the event, including a film crew from the US air force, tramping around in full combat gear making a nuisance of themselves.

Freddie's doing well considering he's in quite a lot of pain. He remains tight lipped about the full details but he injured his leg after an incident in a club. A physiotherapist has been pummelling at it nearly every day.

"This c+ + + kicked me," says Fred. "I'm hoping my knee will be ready in time for the tour, but it's still giving me a lot of trouble. It might mean I will have to cut down on some of my more elaborate gorgeous stage moves."

FRED'S ALSO been hobbling around a Munich recording studio putting the finishing touches to his first ever solo album which should be out in January. Gadzooks, could this be the start of a split with Queen? Is it true Limahl's going to take over?

"Not at all. I've wanted to do a solo album for a long time and the rest of the band have encouraged me to do it. Some of them are even featured doing a few bits and pieces to help me out.

"There are a lot of musical territories I wanted to explore, which I couldn't really do with Queen. I wanted to cover such things as reggae rhythms and I've done a couple of tracks with a symphony orchestra. It will have a very rich sound."

Fred's also done some work with Michael Jackson, but he still doesn't know when this is going to see the light of day. They've done a selection of tracks together in Michael's home studio. For a while, Fred was even in the running to do 'State Of Shock'.

"I was out of town at the time so Mick did it instead," he says. "I don't mind at all. I'd like to release something with Michael because he is a really marvellous person to work with. It's all a question of time because we never seem to be together at the right time. Just think, I could have been on 'Thriller'. Think of the royalties I've missed out on.

"Michael has been a friend of ours for a long time. He's been to our shows and enjoyed them. We make a great team."

One of Fred's songs 'Love Kills', is being used on the soundtrack of the reactivated 'Metropolis' film and he hopes to make a 20 minute video using four or five of his own songs.Freddie and all the members of Queen have a long standing appreciation of 'Metropolis', which originally came out in 1927. Their stage set, in the shape of a futuristic city, has been inspired by it.The lighting rig measures 74ft by 50ft and the original design was so heavy they had to change it because it was in danger of bringing theatre roofs down. What a way to go, crushed by your own equipment.

AFTER THE European tour. Queen will be taking the whole shebang down to South America, headlining a 10 day festival in Rio. The place they will be playing is an amphitheatre down by the sea that can seat 300,000 people a night. It all makes Castle Donington seem like just another night at the Marquee. A local radio station in Rio held a survey to see who the most popular bands were and then some local promoters went out and booked them for the extravaganza. Naturally, Queen came out top.

Queen will also be doing some shows in South Africa. This is more than just a little bit controversial. Especially with the memory of Nelson Mandela still very warm.

"We've thought about the morals of it a lot and it's something we've decided to do," says Brian May. "This band is not political, we are not out to make statements, we play to entertain anybody who comes to listen. The show will be in Botswana in front of a mixed audience."

The band wanted to play Russia but the authorities objected. This situation might change now though, considering that Iron Maiden have been let into Poland to wreak havoc. *

"The Russians still think we're very decadent," confides Roger Taylor. "We want to play China as well, and Korea. John and I spent a holiday in Korea and it's a fascinating place. They're finishing work on the Olympic stadium for the next games!

Perhaps the Ruskies heard about Roger's high living on Ibiza. He's bought a house there and enjoys powerboat racing. Play time is over for the time being, though. After their two year break. Queen have been working more than 12 hours a day rehearsing.

"It's strange how rusty we are, and so we're trying to blow the cobwebs away," continues Roger. "It's taking a lot of work. Usually we rehearse until about nine and then we eat together and decide what we're going to do in the evenings. The clubs here are really fun. Something to cater for every taste or perversion.

"On the tour we'll be playing a lot of the old material and we'll be giving the audience what they want. A lot of the music I hear in the charts today doesn't interest me. I just can't see how anybody can get excited over Spandau Ballet. It doesn't send shivers up my spine. I like listening to Bruce Springsteen."

They might be old stagers, but Roger claims that tickets for Queen's British shows sold oul in three hours flat and they could have easily played another 12 nights here.

"We still have the rock and roil gypsy mentality," he says. "Even after 12 years without a line-up change we still really enjoy the buzz from playing live and the fact that we have hit singles. Some bands in our position might take it all in their stride, but we're still like kids, we get very excited.

"You've got to have a laugh haven't you? If Queen wasn't any fun, then I'd jack it all in and go and sell flowers."

Robin Smith

@natromanxoff, @mephisto92, @moviestorian, @x5vale, @39-brian, @onegoldenglance, @crosmopolitan, @an-abyss-called-life, @his-majesty-king-mercury, @i-live-for-queen, @brian-39-may, @toomuchlove-willkillyou, @brimaymay, @sail-away-sweet-sister, @drummerqueenrmt, @old-fashioned-roger-boy, @briianmaay, @inui-mycroft, @deacytits, @iminlovewithrogscar, @drowseoftaylor, @brianmayislongaway, @balticlover, @astrophysicist-guitar-god, @miez-lakatz, @brianmayoucease, @jesus-in-a-life-boat, @aslongasthereismusic, @silapril, @sherrifanciesfriskyfreddie, @tenderbri, @brianmydear, @thosequeenboys, @millionairewaltz-carpediem, @painandpleasure86, @bribrifrenchfry, @xlucylennonx, @a-night-at-the-abbey-road, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, @madformeddowstaylor, @queenrogertaylorfan, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @queen-for-life, @rethought, @drivenbybrianmay @mymakeupmaybeflaking, @old-but-still-a-child, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @warriorteam1924, @funnydressesweirdhairanddance, @thefanhuman13, @yourtieddownmother, @hgmercury39, @brimi-stardust, @thefairyfellermercury, @sailawaysweetbrimi, @sophiaintheskywithdiamonds, @holybrianmaywritingbear, @lydiannode, @39-yellow-daffodils , @ure-gonna-loveme-when-u-seeme, @kaykaybeachgirl, @foxmonkey, @deakysgurl, @redspecialandclogsandcurls, @briansrainbowsocks-deactivated2, @delilahmay39, @ohmybribri, @bless-the-queen, @everythingaboutfreddie, @doitforthevine67, @recordsoftheseventies, @rhysjoejoshtomfarisblog, @tenementfunsterwithpurpleshoes, @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band, @beatlegirl1968, @maylorsqueen, @autumnscenemcyt, @gralto, @alittlepeoplemagic, @rainbowsockbrian, @frejudy, @drivenbybrimay, @yourlocalmusicalprostitute, @saik-ava, @omb-xx, @sassymaylor, @somekindofroger, @starlightmay, @freddiemercuryismylife, @sunshine112, @chrysochromulina, @glitteryloveravenue, @deakyislife51, @0-primejive-0, @just-a-skinny-lad, @bluewillowmom, @sassiesillie, @stesichoreanpalinode, @mrfahrenheitmercury @tayloredofqueen, @0-my-fairy-queen-0, @scandalacious @izzy-is-slightly-mad @39-volunteers-to-space @zodiacaldust, @deakytaylor, @queenband70s, @deakyeveryday, @drivenbybrimay, @70smay, @brianharoldmay39, @everybandsnotqueen, @johns-diqi @oneandthreeseventh

#Queen #article

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rsyahrizal9-blog · 7 years

Photo

Queen of the Star Power

#queen #majestic #china #starpower #art #artwork #digital art #imagination #blink #jewelry #accessories #traditional #pasttime #kungfu #anime #woman #medibang

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cynic-spirit · 3 years

Text

The Poem Series (16) A Winter Morn– John Wick

All previous parts

After taking her violin from John, Diana tries to roam around the house and explore. She sees John going into the basement. She knows currently its off limits to her. John’s house is anything but modest. It is majestic yet sleek. Its so spacious. There are five gigantic rooms, pristine arrangement. She wondered if John designed and arranged it himself. What Diana loved was the large lawn at the back of the house. She saw one neighbor but their house was far away. The people here seem to like privacy. Diana walked to some distance in the lawn. She laid out a small sheet on the grass and sits down looking at the horizon. She finds Dog come and sit beside her. She scratches his ear. Hey buddy. Good to see you, she whispers to him.

The last 24 hours have been a roller coaster. She felt a range of emotions, from love, to fear, to confusion, and now she is trying to figure out how she will navigate in her life with John. She has too strong feelings for John to just move away. John might be an assassin, but he is also leaving the world, he also saved her, when she is with him, she feels respected, loved, valued. This feeling is important. Diana did not expect this. She also feel physically strange. It is her head. It feels heavy. Diana lies down on the sheet and looks at the sky. She whispers, Let no one any sadness feel, It's just another day. The sun arose this winter morn, And drubbed the night away. She is falling asleep, slowly she closes her eyes.

After three hours, John comes up from the basement. He has kept himself busy. He doesn’t want to impose on Diana. He has been making calls in order to find out. He has found a clue. Perhaps he will visit the continental club on the west end of the city again. He looks for Diana around the house and calls for her.

“Diana..” no response

“Love…” silence

He looks around until he sees a figure laying on a sheet on his lawn. He falls more in love. This is a woman who has just been attacked and found out that her boyfriend is an assassin. She cannot go home and is forced to stay here. `Yet she did not get hysterical. She did not hit John, name called him, or feared him. She did not run away in fear. Now she is lying in the backyard of the assassin’s house without a care in the world. She felt safe with John, and John will never let her feel otherwise in her life. All she asked was time and John was happy to give the eternity to her. He was thankful to fate for bringing Diana into her life. With these thoughts he starts to walk towards her. Dog’s ear’s perk up as John comes closer. He gestures Dog with two snaps to go in the house that he willfully obeys, being the good dog it is.

John watches the sleeping form of Diana on the lawn. She definitely looks exhausted and tired but her face is peaceful. The light of the sun passing through leaves is perfectly complimenting her skin. He lets out a sigh. He would not wake her up. John bends down and carefully, he puts his arms under her knees and back. He lifts her up. Lets get you to a proper bed sleeping beauty. He thinks. He feels her nuzzle into his chest and his heart flutters. The hands that have killed hundreds of people were now carrying the woman like she was a fragile piece of China. John feels content, even if there is guilt of bringing and keeping her here in his house in such conditions.

John takes Diana to one of the guest bedrooms. He lays her carefully on the bed and puts the comforter over her. He kisses her forehead gently. Diana, moves a little in her sleep and this movement pops open one of the buttons of John’s shirt that she wore. John’s eyes went to her chest where he got an glimpse of her beautiful curvy breast, almost peaking out. Dammit, this is going to be so hard. He thinks. John stared at her in awe and admiration, then brushes his fingers on her cheeks like a brush on canvas. She is his diamond, his jewel, his treasure. He moves his lips closer to her face, to her jaw. He doesn’t kiss her, but his lips hover over her face, then her jaw, then her neck, fanning his warm breath over her sleeping form, as if studying her before he conflates his lips wither skin.

John had always been under control. Ever since he was a child. He has learnt to control his movements, emotions, but when Diana came into his life, he lost control. He hates the position he has put Diana in. John studies her, he realizes that no amount of fear power, or money can buy what brings happiness. When he hovered his lips over her curvy breast, desire overtook John instantly. He became hard and wild imagination of making love to her in all the places of his house, in all positions flashed in his mind. He grew hotter and hotter when he imagined her moaning, gasping, with her lips parted, and eventually shouting his name.

That’s the effect that Diana had on him. Slowly, John takes her face in both his hands and touches his lips to hers. He wanted to just give a peck, but then desire overtook him and he nibbled slightly on her lower lip. He felt his body burn. John then climbs more onto the bed while sucking more of her lips and wrapped his hands around her waist. He was savoring the kiss with a sleepy Diana who was now waking up with fumble. John realized, he did not want to wake her up. She needs her strength, Will all the willpower he could muster, John parts himself from Diana but to his surprise, he feels Diana’s hands on the nape of his nape, puling him closer for another kiss.

Once again, Diana and John clashed their lips and their bodies burned with an inexplicable passion. John wrapped himself around Diana like a python on its prey and gave her ass a gentle squeeze making her gasp. He takes this opportunity to slide his tongue in her mouth. From her ass, he moved his hand to cup her ample breast. Блядь (Fuck!) John cursed once again as his body became crippled with need and desire.

Diana moans softly between their kisses. This moan echoed in his ear and made the muscles between his legs harder. He bit her lower lip while she grabbled his hair with both her hands. The fire was ignited and was reaching its peak as their bodies were burning with lust and need, until,

Ring….Ring.. Ring

The landline on the basement rang. John growled in annoyance. Diana realizes what they had been doing and pulls away slightly. John stared at the flushed, breathless woman he has in his arms. He gulps hard, and gets up to go down to the basement to attend the phone that was wailing so much.

Diana, slumps back on the bed whispering breathlessly, “Oh God!, oh god! What is happening to me!?”

In the basement, John picks up the phone

“Wick….”

“…….Okay, I will be there”.

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pencilwritesshiz47 · 3 years

Text

Amina and Time

MGR Chapter Four

[Previous] [Next] [Masterpost]

TW: food

Princess Amina Hollan sighed, and leaned up against the palace wall. She had been waiting for her parents to exit their latest Royal Council meeting, so they could eat dinner together, but that had been two hours ago. And based on her knowledge of Calinian politics, she wasn't sure when they would leave.

But now the princess was getting hungry, so she decided to head off to the kitchen.

She grabbed her phone and turned on its light so she could see and started walking down the hallway. It was incredibly silent—you could hear a pin drop.

As she walked, she thought about what she had overheard.

The subject of the meetings had been the Xan Ruz attacks. The Council had gotten together the day after the attacks and were on their third day of discussing what to do. Due to the treaty that ended the War of Misconception, no country could send aid without a formal request of help from the country's leader. No such request had come from the kings, so they couldn't do anything there. But with the ominous message broadcasted on the alert a few days earlier, they couldn't exactly do nothing. Hence the debate.

She paused and turned left into the entrance to the East Wing. There, in behind a pair of fancy double doors, was the dining room. She pushed on them, and with a creak, they opened.

The girl pushed a button on the wall, and a few torches lit up, illuminating the dining room. It was quite majestic, with a long table that looked like it could seat over twenty people in the middle of the room. On it was a silver table liner, as well as some assorted tchotchkes. Decorating the walls were a few paintings, including one of Amina's favorites—a portrait of Lord Cal and Queen Inas, great heroes of the First Great War, who happened to be the creators of the island and the first elementists.

She walked towards the end of the room, where the kitchen was located. She kept the door open, so the light from the dining room made it just bright enough to see.

A few minutes later, she had finished making her dinner of choice—a porcelain plate filled with cheesy crackers, a china bowl with butterscotch ice cream, a crystal goblet of chocolate milk, and a single baby carrot. She set her meal on the prep counter, pulled up a stool, and started to eat.

Suddenly, she heard something. Footsteps, maybe? They sounded like footsteps, but the sounds were softer and seemed to be far apart, as if whoever was making them wasn't touching the ground all the way. Amina quickly shoved her dishes under the counter next to some silverware. It could be her mother, and she really wasn't looking for a speech on healthy eating tonight.

As the footsteps grew closer, she sucked in her breath. She knew it was probably just her parents or a member of the castle staff, but she still felt unsettled.

Then, there was a pause, and the figure entered the doorway.

It was a woman. She was tall, quite a bit taller than any human or sprite she had ever seen in her life, maybe seven or eight feet. Her hair was brown and curly, and it seemed to cascade down her back like a waterfall. Her eyes were a sparkling hazel, and there was a light dust of freckles against her skin. She was wearing a sparkling cyan dress that cut off at her knees and had a sweetheart neckline.

But what captured Amina's attention was the silver pendant around her neck. It was like a closed pocket watch, but there were odd symbols on it. It looked like a language, but if it was, it wasn't one from this planet.

The woman walked over to her, and she hopped off the stool, slowly moving backwards. Noticing this, the woman stopped.

"It's alright."

Her voice was like caramel. Smooth, yet rich. Beautiful and powerful. Something about her was... right. The woman wouldn't hurt her.

"Who are you?" the princess asked.

The woman smiled. "I am Time, and it's guardian."

Amina stared her. This was the legendary Time? The one who was the only one besides the gods who could control the events of the world? The one who created the concept of time? The leader of the time elementals? It wasn't that this woman couldn't be Time, it was just that if she was, why would she be here? According to the stories of old, she didn't interfere with Izani affairs, so this was extremely unorthodox.

"Why are you here?"

Time smiled sadly. "Do you know what my job is?"

She thought for a second. "To guard time?"

The woman chuckled. "Yes, but not just that. My guarding of time results in Izan's safety and stability. So really, maintaining that is my job. Therefore, when dangerous things plague your world... I must find a way to stop them. And you are part of the solution."

Amina blinked. "Are... are you serious? You can't be serious! I'm nine, almost ten. I’m literally just a kid! There is no way I'm a part of any solution to whatever's going on."

"I knew you'd say that. But that doesn't matter. I know that you're a part of the team."

The princess furrowed her brow in confusion. "Team?"

Time nodded. "Team. You'll meet most of them soon."

Amina looked around but saw nothing but pots and pans. Time chuckled. "No, they aren't here. Now listen, this is very important. You will need to pack for a longer journey. Bring Inas' sword. At 22:27 exactly, you will follow Lady Elisabeth Melly as she sneaks out of the Council meeting. Make sure to stowaway on the boat."

Barley knowing what she was agreeing to, she nodded. "Pack, sword, stowaway at 22:27. Got it."

Time got up, and turned to leave, then stopped. "Oh, silly me. You'll need this," she said, handing the girl a box. "Do not open it until you see her. It will bring her out of her trance and briefly weaken her."

Amina started to ask who "her" was, but Time was gone.

She looked at the box in her hand. It was a bit bigger than her palm and carved into it's wooden surface were intricate patterns featuring two women. She felt like she knew them, but she couldn't put her finger on it...

But now wasn't the time to look at that. Now was the time to figure out what to do. According to Time, she had a part in something. And the only way to find out was to stowaway with Lady Elisabeth. She was destined for something. Not just for sitting around castles, but for something truly important and exciting.

She looked at the time, 21:42. Exactly 45 minutes.

She went to the pantry, looking for food she might need. There wasn't much, except a box of breakfast bars. They weren't her favorite, but they would have to do.

She ran out of the kitchen and dining room to her bedroom, bars and mystery box in hand. She placed them on her bed, and after a moment of thought, grabbed her pink backpack from the back of her closet. In it, she shoved a few dresses, some books, her toothbrush and hairbrush, and a foam toy she had been low-key obsessed with for the past month.

She put the food in there and placed the box in the front pocket. She looked around her room. This was it. She was really leaving this place on an adventure.

She went over to her desk and grabbed a sheet of paper. With her glitter gel pen, she wrote a quick note to her parents, explaining that she was safe and would be back soon. She walked out, then stopped. She was missing something.

She walked back in, looking for whatever it might be. And then she found it, right on her bedroom shelf.

Her family picture. Not a fancy one for a royal portrait, but the one she had taken a year earlier when they had gone to Julington for some festival. Her mom was in the back, a smile on her face. Next to her was her dad, holding her now three-year-old brother, Humza. And then there was her between them. She had remembered feeling a bit out of breath, not realizing the timer was a three-second one instead of a ten-second one. But she had made it for the photo.

She would miss them.

She grabbed it and added it to her pack. She was ready.

✧✧✧

The armory wasn't that far from her room, thankfully. It was a dark and a bit musty room with all sort of weapons—swords, spears, bows and arrows were everywhere. She worried that it might take a while to find it (It was 22:03 now, only 24 minutes left), but then she saw it.

Hanging at the top of the wall directly in front of her was Inas' famous Black Iron sword. It was still in its sheath, decorated with spiral patterns. She had only seen it in pictures—and now she was about to steal it!?

She sighed. She had to do this. And anyways, wasn't it technically her birthright as future queen of Calinas?

She spotted a stool in the corner and after placing her backpack next to a shield, she dragged it over. She got up on it, and reached for the sword, barley grasping it. After a few tries, she finally un-hooked it from it's pin. She wanted to pull it out of its sheath and swing it around (she knew a little bit about how to use a sword), but there wasn't time.

She looped the sheath to the ribbon around her waist, picking her backpack back up, and checked the time. 22:25. She started to jog over to the meeting room.

Two minutes later, she was there. She ducked under a tapestry, and in moments, a teen the princess recognized as Lady Elisabeth walked out. She followed behind her, trying not to make a sound.

Soon, the noblewoman made a sharp left turn. Amina wasn't sure why she would do this, there were no exits there, until she realized what she was doing.

She was climbing out the window.

She had left it open, and after a few moments the princess climbed out.

(Amina silently thanked the Gods that they were on the first floor.)

Lady Elisabeth was running over to two figures in the water. That’s when she realized she wasn't sure how she would ever sneak on undetected. But then she remembered something.

She was a night elementist.

She chuckled, and quickly used her powers to make her area darker. If anyone spotted her, they would just mistake her for a passing shadow.

Soon, she made it over to the boat. She worried that someone would notice the slight rock of the structure as her weight was added to it, but a girl with brown hair in a long braid seemed to be arguing with Lady Elisabeth, and the other girl was staring off into space so hard, Amina thought she wouldn't even notice if she tipped the boat.

She crawled under a bench, setting her backpack next to her. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't know where she was going. And she certainly didn't know who she was traveling with. But that didn't matter now. What mattered was that she could help fix things.

Right?

Taglist:

@dorkdukess

@xonar-verse

aaaaaaaaaa

(hey look, i finally published this!! oh gosh. anyways, sorry it took so long, it’s just that this really sets off the plot, and I’ve had like,,,, four different versions of this chapter playing around in my head.)

Please let me know:

If you want to be added or removed from the taglist

If I’ve made any spelling mistakes

If I’ve made any grammar errors

Your general feedback

Your questions

If I should add any other trigger warnings.

Reblogs are way more helpful than likes, which don’t really do anything for me!

Thank you, and have a great day/night.

#mgr #mgr story #writing #my writing #original universe #original characters #fantasy #princess amina hollan #mgr chapter four #amina and time #mgr time #tw food #cw food

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writer-and-artist27 · 3 years

Text

Untimely Reunion

Summary: No one but the only Master in Chaldea’s staff could really make sense of the new Berserker Servant. He was much larger than any other Heroic Spirit, but the machinery and horse-like body showed he wasn’t a figure from Proper Human History. The last thing anyone expected was for him to be an Achilles’ Heel to their newest Crypter enemy.

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

Note: This was inspired by my pulling of Xiang Yu in the gacha before even starting Lostbelt 3’s story. I had him in my party when first fighting Akuta Hinako and her Saber Servant, so I wanted to cover a possible version of how the fight would’ve gone had Xiang Yu saw our opponent with his own eyes.

Consider this to take place after all my other FGO oneshots, with MASSIVE HEAVY spoilers for Lostbelt 3: SIN. Also, CW for heavy angst and the occasional use of language. This has been unedited and written on a passing muse’s whims.

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

Saber had leapt back into the fields of wheat, panting after taking two Noble Phantasms head on. Hinako clenched her teeth, tempted to bite the fingernail on her thumb. Of course he’d be weak. Those two attacks were stronger than anticipated.

Hell, Chaldea was more powerful than Hinako anticipated. From using a swimsuit version of what appeared to be the King of Knights (what the hell) together with the hero known for slaying Karna in a tag-team combo formation, no wonder Chaldea had defeated Ophelia and Kadoc. Vy, even when poisoned, was still alive and going strong, staring at Hinako with a determined look in her bespectacled eyes. Gao Changgong’s condition, from the sweat dotting his neck to the awkward way he was holding his sword, clearly showed that Hinako had brought the battle to Chaldea far too soon.

Goddammit.

“Is that all?” Vy said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice, standing to Mash’s right side as she clenched her right fist. All three of her Command Spells glowed in the sunlight, exuding confidence as her eyebrows narrowed. “Because if you want to keep fighting, Hinako-san, I can do this all day. Poison or not.”

Hinako did her best to not huff, channeling all her disgust and anger into returning Vy’s gaze. “Take your win for now, Chaldea. I underestimated you,” she said instead, shaking her head. “Saber.”

Gao Changgong stood to attention. “Yes, Master.”

“We’re retreating.” We need to come up with a better plan so that the Emperor does not deem me unworthy…

“Of course, Master.”

The last thing Hinako expected before Saber could run and grab her was that voice.

“YU MEI-REN!”

Every single drop of her blood froze. No. No. No one on Chaldea’s side should know that name. Hinako had discarded that name eons ago. Right now, Hinako was still—

Wait. Kadoc had mentioned that Vy had summoned a Lostbelt Servant before his Lostbelt had fallen. Scathach-Skadi, the Lostbelt King of Scandinavia — she had gone about cursing Kadoc and his Servant the entire time before Russia’s Tree of Emptiness was cut down, contrasting the gentle demeanor she seemed to have according to Ophelia. So... could it be? Could Vy really have that kind of luck again?

Against Gao Changgong’s urgent cry of, “Master!”, Hinako turned her head and found herself staring into green eyes.

The figure was tall and hulking just like his counterpart in this Lostbelt, but exuding power and gentleness that she couldn’t mistake for anyone else.

Vy had stepped to the side of the large Servant, her own brown eyes wide past her glasses as she murmured, “Berserker…?” in a respectful and shocked tone.

“My wife,” Xiang Yu whispered softly, one of his hooves making a heap of dirt in the field they were in as he stepped forward. “Even after all these years, I still can recognize you, Yu Mei-ren, new clothes or not. My only consort, the only woman I ever loved. But my wife, what are you doing? And…” The hulking Servant paused, his gaze going over to Saber before his eyes widened, his glowing green maw dropping for a moment in surprise. “Gao Su too?”

“No…” Saber whispered weakly. He must have recognized the severity of the situation too. “Why are you with them? I could have sworn that you were still with—”

With us.

Hinako felt tears start to bud in the corners of her eyes. She had only seen the Lostbelt version of him mere seconds ago. But now, seeing this version of him, at Vy’s side, better armed, far stronger and more majestic… “Lord Xiang Yu.”

The Berserker Servant smiled wryly at her, his green eyes soft in spite of his opposing figure. “My wife. I see you are still wandering.”

“Wha—”

Mash Kyrielight was looking between all three of them with growing shock, her jaw slowly dropping before she turned to Vy. “M-Master, what is going on? Why is he calling Akuta—”

“I-I don’t know,” Vy’s voice came out wispy in the reply. “Berserker just moved forward on his own, and…” She put a hand over her heart, pressing her palm against her Winter Mystic Code. “It feels like he knows her somehow.”

Sherlock Holmes had a hand to his chin, already looking like he was deducing what was going on. Bastard.

“Yu Mei-ren, you are not the kind of person to go along with a crusade that would doom everything,” Xiang Yu continued, not minding the side chatter as his hooves went about tapping the ground underneath him in a familiar melancholic tune. “I remember you being so much kinder than that. Why are you assisting the enemy?”

Hinako was shivering. “But, but, Xiang Yu, it was for…” The shock was slowly turning to anger. Why? Why why why, why? Why couldn’t she have summoned someone else? Why did the last Master of Chaldea have to summon him— “VY!”

Vy jumped about a centimeter into the air, all attention having gone back to her. “What?”

“How—” Hinako grit her teeth. “How dare you!?”

“How dare I what?” Vy filled in with the slightest bit of sarcasm, giving Hinako an incredulous look. “How dare I live? How dare I summon Berserker? You realize you helped in destroying the world I’m currently trying to save, right? Not to mention that one of your fellow allies/cronies poisoned me? Kinda not in the mood for—”

“SAVE YOUR BULLSHIT!” Spittle flew out of Hinako’s mouth just as Saber rose to take her into his arms, his grip shaky and frantic. Vy fell silent as she stared back at Hinako in surprise. “To summon him and use him for your own gains, you’re a monster! HOW DARE YOU USE HIM AGAINST ME!”

“Er, I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Vy added in a quieter voice, barely hitting the inflections of a deadpan. “I just summoned him two days ago.”

So before Chaldea had even entered China. GODDAMMIT.

“Yu Mei-ren…” Xiang Yu said softly. “You’re wrong. I willingly came to her, not in the manner of what you are thinking—”

“Silence, pretender. Do not call me by that name.”

The Berserker flinched, but still took to drawing one of his swords and holding it protectively in front of Vy. Hinako bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste iron. Whywhywhywhy, why. It shouldn’t have been like this.

Lord Xiang Yu wasn’t supposed to be drawing one of his weapons on her—

“Master,” Saber said urgently, his one hand on her shoulders clenching tightly. “We have to go.”

“Yu—”

“E-Enough of this.” Hinako forced herself to look away, burying her face into the front of Gao Changgong’s clothes. She already knew that if she looked at that Servant any longer, she would be tempted to cry. “Even if you look like him, you are nothing but an imposter of someone I know. Saber, we’re retreating. NOW.”

“As… As you wish, Master,” he said hesitantly, tightening his grip on Hinako’s figure. “May… May we meet again, Lord Xia— Berserker.”

Hinako held back a scream of anguish once Saber took the first leap away from those fields.

#fate grand order #vy plays fate grand order #writing #oneshot #cosmos in the lostbelt #tw: language #tw: long post #long post #xiang yu #akuta hinako #prince of lanling

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punkandsnacks · 4 years

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter One; Lifeblood.

Author: @punk-in-docs and @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3

Trigger warnings; This is a slow burn story. NSFW comes later, but there is gory descriptive violence in this later on- I’ll tag the chapters with warnings-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilisations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

Hampshire, England. 1816.

Winters here were always of the bitterest kind.

Everything hardened by frost. All of nature slaughtered and gnarled and made ugly by it. Everything deadened and driven away until yellow spring sunshine butters it all up. The ground wintry solid and as unyielding as the bite of stinging chill in the air.

Every loud footstep from under her cracked boots crackled and crushed with ice-crusted mud. Her treads echo off about her in the oppressive silence of the air.

Iris Ashton walked along the lonely pale road. The path ahead scattered with linen-white snow, thick like cloth, settling down in ghostly sprinkles - like fluttering ash.

Snow comes from a sky as thick and as soft as a eiderdown. Graphite grey smeared all over the horizon signaling the worst yet to come. Sky is heavy and blotted with it. Flecks already kiss and cling at her hair and her blue wool coat collar.

She can feel them land and melt on her cold numbed lips. Feels her raspy silver breath run them away.

The trees in the dark wood surrounding her on either side of the ribboning track and the pallid ground; stand majestic and strong. Like a darkly Prussian-blue swathed army standing silent attention. Frost crawls determined up their sturdy trunks. The horizon peeping through the trees is white, like a puff of spilt flour. The craggy black tips of the regimented trees scrape at the thick churning sky.

One hand laden with her heavy wicker basket. Hanging solidly down by her thigh. Handle creaking so under her glove from it’s heavy contents. Her elbow is locked straight and aching fully from the strain of it.

Mother had sent her off on one of her errands; paying calls to give some wrapped linen food parcels to the church. Cold meats and half-loaves of day old bread to give to the poor and needy. And on the way back she’d stopped and called for tea with her doddery great Aunt Lavinia. A more belligerent old dragon never drew breath.

Iris was her favourite of all the Ashton girls. All three of them. Unfortunately the lot of being the eldest and families general paragon of hope, fell onto Iris. Next was her sister Flora who is fifteen, and then there was Posy, at sixteen.

A whole compliment - a bouquet - of Ashton ladies. As the gossip columns always so proudly and wittily declared.

Iris was the level-headed, sensible elder sister at three and twenty. The one who was seen and never heard. The one with unremarkable grey eyes and fair skin. Her teeth were supportable, and her conversation was, well, fine, really.

She didn’t have dazzling honey blonde hair or a sultry head of brunette curls. Her hair was brown. Not chestnut. Not sizzling auburn blaze. Just. Brown. Like mud. Like bark. Like flat Turkish coffee.

The sensible Ashton girl, with eyes as dull as dust, and hair the colour of twigs.

She was pale, with a oval face and a stout figure that was passably pleasing. She had a fine bosom that some men liked to gawp at, and mother insisted she had a touch of child bearing hips. Which would strongly come into her favour when she’s married. As she had once said;

“Your future husband will be much delighted with such a valuable commodity, Iris.” Her Mother remarked once when she was a young girl and she was tugging and yanking her long hair into a plait ready for bed.

Iris can remember how badly she wanted to do something out of spite purely to ruin that chance. But really she couldn’t alter the shape of her skeleton with much ease.

Maybe she wasn’t a diamond of the first water. She’ll never be one of those girls who glide elegantly through a ballroom like a bevy of silk swathed swans. Preening, poised and primly perfect.

To her own mind and credit she was just - plain. Tolerable.

Adequate.

She is sometimes remarked to be too acerbic with her tongue, or her remarks. She’s certainly got a backbone and another quality that stumped men of the ton - a mind of her own making. She doesn’t suffer fools and she likes to venture that she is a blue stocking with a decent and level understanding of this world.

She’s sufficient- she supposed. Simply that and nothing more. She’ll never have poems written about her, or have a man declare he fell wildly in passionate love with her with one glance.

It suits her well enough. The fact that she looked like a dusty dull unrefined ornament next to her polished preening sisters. She’d rather fade into the wallpaper than be a dazzling spectacle of ridiculousness, like that of her two siblings.

Her simpering, inane sisters. Who flirt with any man donning a scarlet coat in the Militia. Flora and Posy, who worry obsessively about ribbons, and seek to pay no mind to anything, of any real consequence.

Iris is never one for fits of jealousy, but she is sometimes envious of their light-hearted puerile, worries. About making up their bonnets or, the next ball, or the most unbecoming stain on their new pelisse.

Aunt Lavinia greatly despised the merest sight and intimation of the younger Ashton ladies too. Iris is usually requested to go to tea with her Great Aunt, alone.

“Silly chit of a girl. The pair of them.” Was her relative’s most favoured and overused phrase.

She’d cackle it as one of her clawed elderly hands - talons - gripped her teacup. And she wouldn’t be happy until she’d griped and moaned and complained about every beast and man put on this earth. For they’ve all been put there with the sole purpose of vexing her greatly -Naturally.

Tea today was no different to any other occasion she pays a visit.

Iris sits with the sniping old matron in her freezing-cold front parlour with a piffling fire barely going. Her Aunt is always bedecked in enough black muslin to cover all of Hampshire.

A black lace matron cap staunchly on her head. Black fichu covering at her shoulders. An inky shawl on her arms and on each of her skeletal fingers sit glimmering gleaming rings which clackclackclack and scrape when she moves and points that every disapproving finger. Big fat stones of amber and ruby and topaz weighting down her frail claws.

Iris always teeters politely on the most uncomfortably hard settee opposite her. Cradling the hot spode bone-china cup of tea that her Aunt shoves in her hands. Sugar staining sickly saccharine on her lips - she never let her guests have unsugared tea.

Quite why she is the favourite Ashton, Iris has no clue. She is always interrogated by the woman as she barks nosy question after nosy question at her.

“Yes, Aunt. No, Aunt. I don’t believe so, Aunt.” As the harridan gripes about beef or sugar or candle taxes, or the local Reverend, or the gaudy new fabric on display in dressmakers window.

A whole ream of grudges being spewed out that wrinkled puckered mouth. Face pale, craggy and screwed up with lines like a sheet of crumpled parchment paper.

Her dark eyes shine forth like raisins sunk deep into scones. Glittering black and always always always dissatisfied with the whole world, and determined to find fault with everyone in it.

Iris brings her the ointment her Aunt asked for. She was suffering a hacking cough that worsened in the winter. Lavinia insists its a damp affliction brought on by unclean air.

Iris bought the woman a bottle of liniment rub, spiced with rosemary oil, camphor and spirit of wine. Her Aunt harrumphed at her offering. Stabs her walking cane into carpet in disfavour. Shoves the bottle away and insists Willow bark tea is what will cure her ailment.

Next she’ll be insisting on leeches and blood letting to balance out the humours-

Iris doesn’t fight her stubbornness - it’s a battlefield over which she will never win or hoist a flag of victory.

She drinks down three more cups of the cloying tea, interrupts the interrogation and insists rather bravely that she must be on her way - for Lord and Lady Hearst are throwing a ball this evening. On their vast estate. And she needs to scurry home to ready for it. That earns her another harrumph in response. Lavinia detested balls.

“Breeding ground for senile men and stupid women. And all that inane leaping about they now call dancing...” She grimaces.

The whole county is in uproar for this ball - little else to recommend or appreciate in this bleak dull midwinter. Whispers flourishing around town seemed inclined to favour that a mysterious Lord from the continent is in attendance tonight...

A Lord. From Bavaria no less. Apparently he owned a vast castle high up in the snowy forest smothered mountains.

Quite why he’s bothered to travel the length of Europe to this savage spit of society in the Hampshire countryside, she cannot fathom. If she was lucky enough to live in a castle, she’d never be seen again.

She recounts that scrap of gossip about the prospective Lord to her Aunt. Who thunks her cane loudly on the floor and scoffs in derision;

“Foreigners are always a grave source of disappointment - and they are so riddled with lice and ill bred manners.” So wisely declares Aunt Lavinia.

She says that about anything to do with anything and anyone not born or formed on good british soil.

She had said the very same thing last week about the pews at Church-

She leaves the little bustling hamlet. Shuts her Great Aunt’s warped cottage door. The wood shuddered, catching on the doorstep. Her arm shot through with needles of pain. Aches slipping up her back, her neck and sparking her shoulders. She hooks the heavy basket onto the crook of her elbow and sighs as she plods homeward.

Away from the small tudor, mouldy mustard walls of Lavinia’s cottage. A pretty little house. Always cold. Formed of thick stone walls and mahogany creaking stairs. Austere bare furniture sparsely filled every room. Wedged into a street with crossed glass windows and a petticoat brown tiled roof.

It was a meagre six miles from here to home. And she appreciates the walk. Or atleast she might be more inclined to favour it, were her coat more substantial.

As it is the blue wool thing is possibly a might too small for her now. It tugs and pinches so across the shoulders. And the hem ends right up her calves. Pebble-grey Kidskin gloves on her fingers, knuckles knotted stiff and her fingertips are tingling with cold.

The hem of her plain cotton voile dress, is dark with damp from the snow. The bluebell cobalt of it leeched darker at her hem. She’s shivering because her stockings aren’t the warmest wool. Her legs are trembling cold and she only wore her lightest chemise. However she is glad she bothered with the scarf.

She hadn’t put on a bonnet today. She can’t stand the fuss of one. Ribbons flapping at her ears. It was uncommon - but she went without.

Simply tied her hair back into a low coiffured bun secured with a snip of wheaten muslin. By now and with lugging this basket across all of the Hampshire countryside, some straggles of hair have come loose. Flopping uselessly to her shoulders.

She ducks her chin into her scarf to escape the exposure of a battering bitter gale, and continues trudging on with wearied, aching determination. She always trudges on. She has too. Is always the one who must endeavour to continue, no matter how bleak she feels.

It gets tiring, carrying great tonne boulders of expectations on her shoulders. She likes to think she bears the task nobly.

As her Mother takes great pains and lengths to always endlessly remind her; she is the vessel in which all hopes for the survival of the Ashton family, are stored.

She will make a good marriage match; to a gentleman of high rank or fortune - preferably both. She will save the estate from destitution. Her sisters from ruin. And her father from debtors prison. She will be the one to keep her family in the moneyed style to which they are accustomed. They will not lose Westwell to the bailiffs.

They have risen far within the ranks of society. And they will not lose their clutch or their pride. Or their respected place among it. Her fathers estate is not a vast one; but it is more than his father before him had. A meagre merchant selling spices and furs out of Putney during the Restoration.

Now the Ashtons are country gentry. With a modest dwelling of an estate, abutting a working farm. Westwell. A manor house of not much splendour and merely thirteen rooms.

Built of gold cotswold stone with huge white windows looking out onto a self-effacing garden of some prettiness. There was a pond where swans flocked in summer. Enclosed wilderness all around. A plank of wood swing hanging off one big oak chestnut that stooped over the front of the house. To the back the garden is walled, full of sculpted beds and privets and the wide green lawn is rather uninspiring in this decimating winter

They had one gardener. Two maids. A cook and a Housekeeper. They live comfortably and hardly ever exceed their income.

Her mother hopes to change that this calendar year. She wants her eldest daughter promised to someone upstanding and rich.

Iris thinks her shrew of a mother would settle with wedding her to any man . So long as he looks pleasing in a cravat, and still has all his own teeth.

She treks on through the snow. Hoping. Dreaming. Dreaming for so many unattainable things.

Wishing her basket was lighter. Wishing her parents had sired a son. So that this evening she wouldn’t have to be bound into a pinching dress, and paraded around the Hearst’s ballroom as if she’s some prized slaughter pig at a county fair.

Wishing that she could instead stay home in her untrimmed, plain nightgown. No laced stays crushing her ribs. With a hot brick at her feet. A dog-eared Swift novel in her hands. Cracked open to the good passages. She’d read by tapered candlelight and be perfectly contented, poised to encounter spinsterhood.

Instead, a painful evening of savage society awaited her.

Poison filled smiles from nasty debutantes or their matronly mama’s. Sniping at her dress or her hair or her pale skin, or her lack of fortune. Crushed mangled toes from dancing with some portly red-faced Lord-whoever-from-wherever. One who stank of port, had bad breath, and tried to pinch her bottom with fat lecherous sausage fingers, when he thought no one was looking their way.

She has no aspirations for marriage or love. She’s not a fool. She doesn’t have her head swimming with fancies from novels. No rapturous desires of tall, sable-haired men, with chiseled marble bodies seducing her astray. No cloaked villain sweeping her away in the dead of night to send her to ruin, to then have her dashing savior ride in on horseback to rescue her.

If she’s one thing at all - it is sensible. She doesn’t like to reflect on the proposition of marrying some stranger simply to arrange the business of money and bearing him heirs. She’s not a broodmare-

She’s a woman. She has a thumping proud heart and a strong-working brain and she hopes there’s more measure to her life, than submitting her body and weak will over to be governed and quieted by a future, faceless husband.

She’s sure many girls of three and twenty have felt this way. She’s sure many generations upon generations of them will continue to do so, until women cease to be sold like chattel - or like cattle at market.

Sold solely to men for the priceless untarnished commodity that lay between their thighs. And based and viewed purely on that frail scrap of fleshed dignity, alone.

She wraps her coat tighter around herself. Distinctly feeling a sense of dread starting to slither sickly cool up her spine from the prospect of the evening ahead.

Mother will wrangle her into her finest restrictively crushing silk gown. Have the maid tug and pull her hair and wrench it into a pleasing style. Jabbing hair pins in her head. Mother will see to it that she splash plenty of Yardley’s water of jasmine blossom, orange and lavender on the pulses at her wrists, and at her neck.

Then, she’ll be practically shoved into the chest of every single eligible gentleman in the room tonight in the hope they deign her to be pleasing. She’ll be pushed and prodded and maneuvered and pummeled-

And she’s exhausted. She only hopes she finds the strength to endure such torture-

She kicks through the frosted ground. Pebbles scatter and skit in her wake. She nudges the sparkling white stones with the toe of her cracked brown boots. Her feet were slowly growing numb. Toes stinging with cold. She should have worn some thicker stockings. Then again, money was not exactly a moderate opulence at home. They had to husband their resources as a family very carefully- which meant Iris couldn’t have some new leather half-boots for romping about the wilds of the countryside.

But she could have as many new hair combs, fans, or gloves and embellished stockings as she wanted. Anything that might help snare a man into visions of matrimony. Not wasted on such a thing as a new wool coat to help keep her warm in winter; or boots that didn’t let the muddy puddles seep in.

For appearances sake, the Ashton’s wealth went solely into ballgowns, perfume and finery for their girls. Some household money of course went into sensibilities like candles, meat, flour and soap. Iris was taught that she should be hugely grateful for everything that was lavished upon her.

Flora so often griped at her that she was so lucky to have such amounts spent on her. She got new gowns of printed cottons and muslin and silks and whatever she wanted. Where her and Posy had to make do with alterations and hand-me-downs to their dresses and bonnets.

Flora was so blinded by jealousy and immaturity that she didn’t quite look - really look at her sister - and realize that Iris didn’t really want any of those things-

She ruminated on all tonight might bring her. She wondered what kind of state her silly sisters would both be in when she gets home. Already donning their paper curls, lacing each other into their stays and chemises already. Arguing over who wore the best pair of silk slippers they had between them.

Mother will be in one of her bitter moods. Trying to determinedly order all her girls ready for tonight.

Moods sour with each other already and they’d be seething and spitting nasty fury at Iris. She had new things especially for this ball tonight. New pair of satin gloves and a printed silk dress. They did not. They never did.

Iris would lend Flora her old reticule - the one Mother had bought for her from Bond street. And she’d give Posy her pearl hair comb to slide into her auburn coiffure. A little balm to both of them to gently encourage some sisterly affection. She didn’t want to be at war with them all night.

She’s halfway down the narrow pale road, kicking snowy stones, when an almighty sound kicks up over the horizon, barreling in her direction. She turns her head back and hears the distant rhythmic rumbling of hooves hitting track and the clack and creak of enormous coach wheels.

Hardly surprising when this is the biggest road leading back to Pembleton, her little village.

She sees through the fog of snow, a huge black shape dominates the road. Moving fast. She lifts her skirts and steps onto the crunching grass so that the raring coach might pass her safely by. At the tremendous speed it’s going she reckons she didn’t have long before it caught up to where she’s walking.

She hears it gaining, closer and closer. Wood and hooves and snorting horses eating up the distance of the road. She dares a glance at the impossibly loud and fast carriage.

It’s a beastly thing. All looming black wood. A black liveried driver in grey wool coat. Two footmen clad the same, on the back stand. Black sturdy luggage safely stowed on the roof. Two hulking beasts of shimmering onyx shire horses are stamping and galloping and heaving the great thing along with no difficulty. Silvery wisps of air pour from their nostrils and the dripping whites of their eyes look nearly devilish past their full cupped blinders. The tack of black leather lost on their gleaming coal coats.

The noise is deafening now. It’s almost passing her. Kicking snow and frosty gritted mud out from under the churn of the hungry wheels.

She’s curious as to who could possibly be residing in such an opulent coach. No one from these parts, she’s certain of it. The richest Lord from here was two villages over on a vast estate. Lord Hexham. Who was one and eighty and had a hunched back. And he was a doddery old recluse. He hardly went raring around town in such an imposing manner.

When it draws level with her she dares a vertiginous glance up at the small arch of the door. A crest is splashed there in gold and scarlet. Like a splash of blood on a gold sword scabbard. Or a healing wound.

It’s no shock that the crest there is unfamiliar to her. It’s entwined with wolves and scarlet banners, and a shield crossed with swords. Some monstrous carnivorous coat of arms perhaps? Maybe this person’s ancestor’s had won victory in some ancient bloody battle dating back to the Normandy landings.

She looks up from the door and to her very great shock, she glimpses a man’s face.

It was a dark carriage, drawn to privacy with scarlet velvet curtains covering at the windows. But the one this side closest to her is peeled back.

Her heart thumps loud in her neck and her chest claws with slight panic and embarrassment having caught this gentleman’s eyes.

Such savage, unyielding eyes.

Bitterly black. Slicing outwards from an alabaster pale face. She barely made out features of a full proud face. A blunt roman nose, full pouting lips, and raven sable hair. Length; rakish.

It makes her inhale a sharp breath. Quickly averting her gaze. Embarrassed. Lowering her eyes.

Gawping openly at the upper echelons was never a good idea. They probably held her in the same standing as that of the mud on the bottom of their very polished boots.

He was probably some uppity Duke or Earl who didn’t wish to be gazing at the common stock. She looks to her feet. Feels the wind whip at the tendrils of her hair. Unfolds them from her scarf and whips them back over her face. Baring her neck. Snow lands on her skin. Flecks of it melt ripping like bee stings onto her hot throat.

Pale, corded, thrumming throat. Bared to the wind and the snow and the cold-

He can hear her pulse and it’s like a sweet sirens call.

She feels the strangest sensation then; no one was looking at her. But it feels like they did. It feels as if eyes are pinning her down. Raking over her skin and assessing her.

When she looks back up, dazed, the rattling loud coach is past her now. Off into the distance, into the snow.

Foggy white and smeared and blurring into the horizon. Roaring away up the track road. Away from her sight. She blinks after it’s wake. Snow tangling into her lashes. She’s shivering now if she wasn’t before, and she can’t fathom why.

She switches the basket into her other arm. Let’s it take the painful strain of the still heavy thing. Items within clunk and thump around. She steps off the crusted grass and back onto the stony pave of the hard road.

She continues on; winding homeward. She thinks about her silk gown, and new pearl earrings. And then of darker things; like devilish horses, and eyes. Eyes darker than inky shadows and deeper rich, like charcoal.

As the coach thunders off into the snow. Rutting and cracking over every bump on the road, Kylo shifted back on the scarlet bench seat. He lifts the curtain on the back window with a suave flick of his fingers, and set his black gaze once more back down the track road.

Looks back upon the lone girl in the blue coat who was walking there.

The scent of her still cloyed up in his throat - Oh, and in all the best ways.

He scented her from a mile down the road. Lavender, clary sage and sharp heat of bursting peppermint on salty skin.

The musk of her made him pant and his chest ragged. His arousal and bloodlust stirred in his chest. The drooling gnashing hell hounds of his appetite waking up and baying to be fed.

He watches her hair sway over her neck. A big gust of frosty wind blew her flavour right into his path.

His eyes rolled back in his head as he savoured her.

It made his mouth water. He’d all but outright moaned. It’s been a few moons since he last fed. His nails dig into the upholstered scarlet bench. Muscles strained. Veins corded tight in his body. Pulled taut.

His butler, Jomar. Speaks up from where he is sat opposite.

Blue silk Dastar covering his silver hair. His goatee beard was arrowhead shaped and always neatly trimmed. It stood out all the more from his bronze skin. His Punjabi cadence Kylo always thought was like cinnamon dashed in milk. He had a comforting warm voice.

“I wonder, shall you like the society hereabouts, your lordship?” He seeks curiously. Melting walnut eyes finding Kylos over his gold half moon spectacles, and looking past the small red leather backed Voltaire, open in his hands.

Lord Ren smirks. His eyes glimmer. Cool and hungry. Silver black like daggers.

“Absolutely.” He wets his lips. “The local cuisine looks delicious.”

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#Kylo ren #Kylo ren x oc #vampire!kylo #adam driver #vampire au #very wolves and doves #Iris vibes 🕊#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#Draegan vibes 🥀#vampirelovestory #vampire #demon #ao3fic #lovestory #angst #smut #slow burn #regency era

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walkerofclouds · 4 years

Text

A Chance Remembrance On the Frozen Isle

Lady Tiasha wasn't sure what had prompted her to begin a bed and breakfast in THIS tumultuous economic and political climate. However, since it's inception in 2006, it had steadily grown, and grown, making her, if not wealthy, than very very comfortably well off. Now the manager of nearly five hundred such collections of cabins and condos and chateauxs, she was currently overseeing her last project in the southern crook of Iceland. Just what had called her to the frigid landscape, mostly untouched by modernity, was hard to pin down. Some might have called it a good business hunch, a gut instinct that appeared incomprehensible at first, until it paid off. Others, far more bold than she, would chalk it up to fate.

Ember Tiasha, however, preferred to consider it the will of the Gods.

Just as they are.

Her on again off again freelance location scout stood off to the side, bouncing from foot to foot with his own copy of the dossier he had left in her office months before. The mercurial figure known as Ernish Serhat nodded to her as she approached.

"All coming along nicely isn't it?"

"Hmm? Oh yes. Didn't expect to see you today."

"When have I ever failed to stop by and see how your work os progressing. And *Don't* bring up Budapest."

"Fine. None. Have you eaten?"

Serhat sighed.

"Alas, no. Haven't had the time."

"You ought to start making the time. I mean it."

"Yes yes I know. Next time I'm in town."

"I'll be holding you to that."

"So...when is it set to open "

°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°

Three weeks into it's operation, now certain all was well in hand, Tiasha was packing her bags, content that this local no longer required her personal attention. Until, of course, several inconvenient circumstances befell to forestay her departure.

While the work had begun in mid fall, and hastened through the bulk of the succeeding season, February was quickly coming to a close. With it, the last dregs of Old Man Winters mighty breathe, in the form of the most vicious blizzard the region had seen in quite some time.

The roads too treacherous to travel, and power winking out all over the country side, locals and foreigners came to her in droves, seeking warmth and comfort. Her myriad cabins were all but full when two special arrivals made their appearance.

The first, having booked his trip almost before renovations were complete (she blamed the tech department for having the location advertised on the web page a week too early) came in from the chill almost too cheery, and, in fact, an hour ahead of schedule. A taller man, gaunt and slightly disheveled, in a surprisingly well tailored suit of onyx and burgundy, came up to the counter, deft long fingers clutching a jeweler's case, the navy vest beneath the coat winking in the candle light with small well placed semi precious stones. Behind him, an old steamer trunk, all hardwood and brass, with a decent sized garmet bag slung over top.

Misser Manolo Rhundé took a deep breath and gestured to the gale outside.

"Always something so...majestic and lovely about a good winter storm, isn't there?"

"Regardless of the state," the woman behind the counter nodded, handing him the key to cabin five, "we do hope you enjoy your stay."

Tiasha watched from off to the side, a slight shiver running through the warm aura'd woman. There was a certain feeling in the air about the man. Much the same the vibes given off by Serhat. A kindred spirit of some kind. Just things had been occurring more and more often of late. Though rarely in the same place twice, let alone this strong.

"I have no doubt I will. Frankly, it's a wonder I haven't visited before."

"That is completely and utter bullshit, sir. And I rather disagree with you on that." A woman's voice said, coming in from the cold. A dark brown glove pulls back a orange and yellow marigold stitched hood revealing a gorgeous dark skinned woman with long white dreadlocks, some of it in what looks like a hand knitted blue beanie, some of it is out and hanging free. Blue eyes glare slightly at the man who spoke, and it would seem that her hair would agree with her, because buds of light red petunias began growing and blooming in her hair.

Ororo Munroe is not having a good day. She had to wake up extra early for a flight that was slightly delayed for a few hours and she had to deal with annoying people on a ten hour flight from China, plus getting to this lovely little area was a pain in her ass. She's cold, tired, and doesn't want to deal with the bullshit of what an attractive man in a very nice three piece suit just said.

She undoes the first couple of buttons to her coat, revealing a light beige long shirt with chibi Studio Ghibli characters running down to the abyss of what is covered by her jacket. She walks towards the front desk carrying a worn out duffel bag along with a medium sized suitcase. The flowers soon die and turn into dust as she walks.

Her black uggs make little noise as she walks over to the front desk and side eyes the guy before looking at Tiashe with a tired and slightly annoyed expression but it soon melts away after a couple of minutes.

"Wǒ xiǎng huí jiā, xīwàng zhèxiē huā zhídé. Zhèlǐ tài lěngle.." She mutters softly before shaking her head slightly and smiling at Tiashe. "Sorry about that, I have a reservation under Munroe. If you excuse me.." She said as a lovely, vibrant violin ringtone begins to play from her jacket pocket.

Ro pulls out her phone and smiles softly as she answers. "Nǐ hǎo mǔqīn, shì de, shì de, wǒ ānquán de dàole zhèlǐ. wǒ yě ài nǐ." She said smiling and hanging up and putting her phone back in her pocket. She closes her eyes and hums softly before rubbing her eyes slightly.

#edwardantes #i hope you like it #submission

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

Death Servitor Lore Pt 1

A response to this post about Death Servitors: this is not an exhaustive reference because it does not go into those deliberately created by Herzog, but it does pretty much cover those ‘traditional’ types of Death Servitor

There is more than one type of Death Servitor (aka Deadpool, Dead Servant, Dead Waiter):

Type one: Undead Zombie Deadpool, Awakened by Dragonkind with a special Word Spirit (EX Skill):

The rain splashed on Menek's face, drenching his hair. He and the Chinese man were less than half a foot apart, staring at each other's eyes, and the Yatcan long knife penetrated the opponent completely under Menek's all-out sprint, together with his solid metal armor. But this terrible penetrating injury was not fatal. The Chinese man's pupils were full of indifference and his hands held Menek's blade with great strength.

The knife should go through the opponents heart, but the slightest heartbeat cannot be detected on the handle.

"Deadpool!"

Menek whispered, "It's a pity you can't be studied as a living body... you are already dead."Menek slowly drew the long knife from the dead servants heart, letting the dead servant kneel at his feet, the flame reflecting the dead servant's body on the knife. The rain washed Menek's long knife and washed away the black blood from it. The silent north western Chinese men, a group of dead waiters, gathered from all around, surrounded the burning companions, silently revealed the sharp blades in their hands and untied their black ponchos

.Anjou: "My question is, who suggested to the Qing government to use the dragon "undead" as a force? Those who attack us? Those who can awaken Deadpool must have the same dragon blood as us.""...At the same time they transported a batch of deadpools of dragon blood to Hambug, and awakened them in Germany with the power of a Word Spirit"

Dragon Raja Prequel -- Wings of Mourning

Overwhelming fear suddenly surrounded Chu Zihang. He glanced at the speedometer at 120 kilometers per hour. Who can chase this Maybach on the elevated road while reaching out and knocking on the door?

The knock on the door rushed up, not alone, but three, five -- more and more figures gathered outside the car. They were covered with the rain water and stared at Chu Zihang condescendingly. A dazzling silver light came in from outside the window, illuminating the pale faces of Chu Zihang and the man (his father). The man turned to look at Chu Zihang, trying his best to suppress the tremor in his voice, "Don't be afraid... son!"

The knock on the door turned into a harsh sound of a sharp object scratching on the steel and glass. Chu Zihang thought that it was the nails of the shadows.

The speed reached 180 kilometers per hour within a few seconds and it was still going on, because they could not get rid of those shadows. Mercury-silver light came in from all directions, and there were so many dark shadows surrounding the Maybach in the light. Standing silently like a group of death gods surrounding the bed of the dying. They opened their eyes together and their golden pupils were as bright as a torch.

Dragon Raja Two: The Mourning Eyes

Type Two: Over threshold Hybrids turned Dragon Servants, called by dragons and oppose the the Secret party (Examples would likely include Mai Sakatoku, Enxi Su, and Renata (Zero)) Willing to die for their dragon Masters

Anjou: "The dragon gene is very special. Once the proportion exceeds 50% the dragon gene has the ability to change the human part of the gene. For this extremely aggressive gene, the human gene is inferior. After the dragon genes are revised again and again, eventually the hybrid will becomes very close to pure blood, the human part will be swallowed, and the dragon part will become more awakened.

Mingfei: "The result will become a pure blood dragon?"

Anjou: "It's infinitely close, but its never reachable. The principal sighed. "The Deadpool is also a sad race. They want to be pure bred, but they are different from real dragons. The true pure bred dragons are only ancient dragons. The ancient dragons regard these people as servants and drive them, but they don't recognize them. They look very much like humans and they are hard to be noticed in the crowd. Some of them have extremely long lifespans because of their blood. The purebred dragons will select some people from them. Transforming their bodies, making them between life and death. They hide their identities among generations of humans, waiting for the dragon kings to recover and prepare to meet them. In fact. They are our toughest enemies, as long as we are fully prepared, it is not difficult to kill a dragon king who is about to recover, but once the Deadpool interfere in the process, it will be very dangerous."

Menek: "Why? It is not easy for you to control the spirit of words like this. No matter how pure your blood is, it is not the ancient first generation or second generation dragon race, so you will be drained to death." Menek stepped back slowly, he did not expect his opponent to suddenly show a desperate offensive posture. This way of releasing power was poised to squeeze his opponent dry. He doesn't care about those deadpools. With Viscount Charlotte's flint lock and his Atcan long knife, the top elites of the secret party gather together. Deadpool does not have enough combat power without a leader and he has seriously injured the leader

.... "You say in Chinese you are 'burning the forest down to hunt?" Meneck said as he looked around, the dead waiters also approached at the same time, their bodies began to change, and their hands were stacked with scales, sharp as awls. The iron blue claws replaced the original hands. They seemed to be besieged by a pack of wolves, and the pack of wolves looked forward to the fresh meat.

"Because I can't go back to China, I knew before I set off that I have only one mission here, and you know it." The woman's (deadpool's) voice revolved with the storm, as if she rushed down from the sky carrying a majestic God.

"Dragon Raja Prequel -- Wings of Mourning

"But Rest assured, your dragon bloodline ratio does not exceed 50% and more than 50% of the students will not be admitted. Although their potential is far beyond ordinary people, the dragon bloodline will slowly assimilate them into dragon followers." Professor Guderian said.

Dragon Raja Book 1: Dawn of Fire

Type Three: Dragon Temple/Tomb Guardians (AKA Corpse Guard)

"Things in the legend. The corpses of dragons will not be corrupted for many years after death. The dragons use alchemy to concoct the corpses of their own kind and use them as guardians of the city. This is a forbidden technique, until the time of the ancient Egypt. The corpses of pharoahs and nobles were reprocessed with this technique in an attempt to make them immortal but they were only able to preserve the corpses, but failed to preserve the activity of nerves and muscles, so they could not create real walking corpses." Caesar said, "If this is a dragon city, the corpse must be buried vertically in the middle of the foundation, the blood of the embryo woke them up! Damn it! Some one must have done this deliberately. The Lenin rushed into the ruins with the embryo to activate this Ancient city!"

Chu Zihang saw from the observation window below, scarlet water mist gushing from the ground of the ruins, and the dragon blood flowing under the ruins filled the ground, and slender living creatures crawled out of the cracks in the ground. The cracks envelope these baby's after birth. Their bodies glowed with a metallic luster, and their pupils were ferocious golden. Because they were sleeping for too long, they could not get up, crawling on the seabed, twisting their slender lower body. But the body, after being nourished by the dragon blood immediately recovered its ancient strength,. They leaped suddenly, swinging their long tails and floating up quickly. "Snake tail... human body." Chu Zihang said softly, "These are not purebred dragon, they were also hybrids before when they were alive. This is not a dragon city, but it was built by the ancestors of today's hybrids!"

Dragon Raja III: Black Moon Tide

To be continued.....

#Dragon Raja #Lore post #Death Servitor

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amindofstone · 3 years

Text

Lost in the dream

{

Genre: Fantasy (Mermaid, inhuman abilities, prince, royal, dream world)

Pairing: Wonho/Lee Hoseok × Bella (reader?)

Warnings: None (Maybe a bit sad)

a/n: English is not my mother tongue. Therefore there might be some spelling or grammatical mistakes. I'm still trying to improve so have mercy.

!!! Please do not steal my idea or work. Credit me please if this is shared or published in any other platform. Picture used is not mine. Credits to the rightful owner. !!!

}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just like every other time she was walking on the path that lead her from the garden to the massive entrance hall of the golden palace. The palace that it´s entire interior was designed with just two colours. Colours that gave a feeling of it´s owners glamour, beauty and charm. The colour white that usually stands out is overshadowed by the golden accents that lets anything shine and sparkle. Even the exterior of the palace was shining in a soft golden shade that leaves her speechless whenever she saw it.

Standing infront of the golden gates of the palace one would think that they are heavy and would need three men just to open up one door. Usually that would be the case but not for her. To her it was as light as a feather what made it possible to upen it with just a little soft push.

With a heavy heart she entered the home of the highly seen family. The first time the brunette haired girl ever put a feet in the palace mesmerized her by its beauty to the point she forget why she was actually there.The girl forgot why she was there at the first place while walking through the halls of a place she never thought of seeing with her own eyes. No matter how many times she visits this place it always feels like the first time.

She never dared to think of coming to the palace or being able to see it up close but see now. Her she was visiting it over and over again since months with no one knowing except for one person. The person the 19 years old girl always came back for and simply had to come back for. Someone she actually couldn't and shouldn't know but still does.

Everytime she was about to enter the royal ground without no one knowing the thought about all the laws she was breaking and the punishments it usually brings occupied her mind. But then she remembered that she's not breaking any laws. She didn't and never will.

"Love, is that you?", the soft voice of a man who was making his way towards her filled the quiet halls. His voice made her instantly stop walking and turn around just to see the face of the person she was longing for all day everyday. A little smile appeared on her light red lips what made his heart stop beating for a second.

"Love, you don't know how much I missed you.", with sad eyes and a trembling heart he approached her. Standing in front of her he carefully took her hands in his and intertwined them. With every move he made towards her his heartbeat increased to a point it hurt him. With every move he made towards Bella, her heart broke a bit more. With every second that passed while she was looking into his eyes, tears threatened to fall from her green eyes.

"I was waiting for you but you didn't came? I thought I will never see you again.", while saying those words he lead her hand to his lips just to put a light kiss on it´s back. "Where were you yesterday, Bella?". Bella, how beautiful it sounded whenever he said it. How could one fall in love with a person who just says ones name?

"I... well I.. I don't know. I just had no energy and... and I was really tired.". She tried to avoid looking into his eyes while stuttering an answer and trying to stop the urge to cry. But she failed miserably like always. The first tears were falling and soft sobs could be heard. The sight of tears falling made a quiet No leave his lips. He took her face in his hands and made her look into his eyes. "Don't do that again. Please tell me when you don't feel well. I wanna be with you.".

"How do you wanna be with me?", while asking that more tears were falling down her cheeks. She wanted to take a step back but he wouldn't let go of her. In fact he pulled her closer and hugged her with trembling hands and tears filling his eyes. "Am I'm not with you now? Am I'm not holding you, love?". He went through her hair and put a light kiss on top of her head."Hoseok. You're not with me and I'm not with you. How do you expect us to keep going like this. I can't take this anymore. Hoseok I don´t want you to suffer just so -..". A kiss stopped her from talking. A light kiss but still one filled with so much love and passion that it resembled the kiss prince Philip gave the sleeping beauty to wake her up.

No. This one was by far filled with more love. More passion and more longing. But not only that. She could feel how frustrated he was and how much pain he was going through.

Bellas hands were trembling while more tears were streaming down her face. She pushed him softly away from her what made him shake his head lightly and pull her even closer if that was even possible. She pulled away from him with a little smile on her lips and kissed his right cheek. Little sobs could be heard from him what made her realise that he was fully crying now.

"Can we please go to my chamber? I want to sleep next to you? May I take you there?" With pleading eyes and a sad smile he was looking into the eyes he fell in love with. "I would love to, your highness."

"Don't say that. I told you to not say that. I don't want to hear that. Please, I can't bear hearing that from you.", he hid his face in the crock of her neck and breathed in her scent that made him think of the ocean. She went through his hair to calm him down while apologising over and over again.

"You look tired.", she tried changing the topic. With a short nod he lead her to his chambers while holding her hand and not letting her go. After walking to another floor they entered his chambers what was located at the far end of the third floor. Just when they entered his room the door was closed and Bella in his arms. He carefully carried her to his bed and made sure he didn't hurt her.

Hoseok always treated her like that. He thought of her as a fragile doll. A doll out of fine china he had to take care of. Never did he let her do anything on her own when he was around. Everytime she asked him why he did so he always gave her the same answer.

“A queen shall be taken care of. She shall be treated like the most precious living being on the planet because it's her that keeps a kingdom going. All in all it's her that is making the king keep going and provides him with hope, love and strength. That's what you do for me and therefore I have to take care of you, my beloved siren.”

After he laid her down and put the covers over her he laid down next to her. While she was facing the ceiling he was lovingly looking at her profile. "Love, look at me please. Let me see those eyes of yours before I drift into sleep." Hearing those words made her lay on her side. One hand under her pillow the other on his face stroking it lightly. "You're already asleep Hoseok.", "I know but still. Please let your face be the last thing I see before I rest."

"Rest then. You'll have to attend a event tomorrow anyways."

He keeped quiet for a moment thinking about tomorrow and the fact that he has to deal with his family for a whole day without being able to escape. He sighed and shock his head to stop him from thinking about tomorrow. The moment he saw into the face of his love his face softened and a smile grew on his lips. She was asleep with a hand on his cheek. With a racing heart he placed a tender kiss on her lips. But when he pulled away she wasn't there anymore. By now he should be used to that but he isn't and never will.

Will ever the day come where he can really have her sleep next to him? He's tired of just being able to see her in his dreams. Talk to her in his dreams. Hold her in his dreams. He sat up and tried to focus on his sleeping fugure again. He was able to keep himself in his dreamworld but had no energy to get her back. He tried to wake himself up so he could go to his brother to ask him for help but he failed. He couldn´t do anything. His body and mind was tired and worn out. He couldn´t manage to do anything. As if that wasn´t enough and torture enough he couldn´t breath properly anymore and started to cough. Due to overworking his body and taking it to it´s limits he started to cough a huge amount of blood what did not surprised him since he was used to it. The blood was a sigh that was supposed to make him stop and leave the dreamworld but doesn´t. he still keept trying to get her back with the amount of power he had left. But everything was useless at this point. His vision got blurry and he slowly lost power over his body. With every minute passing he was losing his consciousness more and more. He loses the power over his mind and body and slowly passes out.

While Hoseok was having a battle with his mind and body a little part of him was happy because it told him that she was save and doing good. It told him that she was peacefully asleep and happy at the other side of the world.

If only he knew.

On the other side of the world Bella was wide awake in the middle of the night. Sitting in her bed while crying and trying to sooth her aching heart. If you need to cry do so, because holding your tears back won´t make it better. It will only worsen the situation and your emotinal state, said Lady Maria.

Like every other night the director of the orphanage came into her room to lend her a shoulder she could cry on. Her painful crys and sobs always manage to wake the old lady up and make her to come over to the room of the young woman.

Oh darling. How could you fall in love with the ocean prince? Someone as majestic and powerful as him. Him Lee Hoseok. I'm really wondering how long he will be able to come and get you in his dreams. Doesn't he know that it will kill him if he doesn´t stop coming for her every single night?, Lady Maria did not wanted to sadden her more with her words so she keept them to herself while trying to calm her down or at least make her stop crying. But before she knew of could do anything the first rays of the sun where lighting put the room of the heartbroken young mermaid.

#Monsta X #monsta x wonho #monsta x imagines #mx imagines #kpop imagines #wonho #wonho imagines #lee wonho #mx jooheon #mx shownu #mx changkyun #mx hyungwon #mx minhyuk #mx kihyun #monstaxmonbebe #monbebe #wonho wenee #kpop fantasy au #kpop oneshots

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disneyupdates · 4 years

Text

‘Mulan’ Official Trailer

youtube

Description: When the Emperor of China issues a decree that one man per family must serve in the Imperial Army to defend the country from Northern invaders, Hua Mulan, the eldest daughter of an honored warrior, steps in to take the place of her ailing father. Masquerading as a man, Hua Jun, she is tested every step of the way and must harness her inner-strength and embrace her true potential. It is an epic journey that will transform her into an honored warrior and earn her the respect of a grateful nation…and a proud father.

My thoughts:

- the movie looks so so beautiful!

- Liu is so pretty 😍

- the costumes! the locations!

- this bird ♥️is this the Phoenix?! It’s so majestic and beautiful 😍

- ‘make men out of single one of you’ lil easter egg 😂

- wow! this witch woman can transform into a bird!

- battle scenes look extremely epic! You can really see the enormous budget of the movie

Oh, I’m so excited! And happy that they didn’t make 1:1 remake as this movie is based on original Ballad of Mulan!

#disney #mulan #trailer #mulan 2020

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alri-xo · 4 years

Text

Ship of Dreams (Titanic 1997 AU) | Prologue

Gif not mine

A/N: So this fic has been brewing since last month and I put it off because of the list of fics I had in mind. This is special to me because like... I mean I cry every time at this movie. So I would like to thank the people over at the best GC in the world for basically pushing me to do this, especially @witchymegg I love you all. I'm still gonna call the ship Titanic bc I want to. (This will contain actual Titanic references and a lot of revisions in the dialogues.)

Pairing: Original Character x Reader

Warnings: No page break (I always have to say this bc I am on the app)

"We're here..." Mikhail Petrovna says as the two submersibles lower deep into the depths of the Atlantic. Ruins of a once lively ship gracing the cameras that they controlled.

Jared McKinley took the camera they use for documentation, as other people in the submersibles looked out of the small windows. The ship was covered in sea garbarge as fish swam in and out of its crevices.

"It still gets me every time..." Jared says as he filmed through the window, filling the blurry frame.

Baron and Mikhail chuckled and made remarks on their venture to the sunken ship. Going in deeper and deeper as the clock ticked.

"It still gets me every time... to see the sad ruin of the great ship sitting here, where she landed at 2:30 in the morning, April 15, 1912, after her long fall from the world above." Jared narrated as the submersible navigated down, capturing also deep sea squids, floating gracefully in the murky water.

"You're so full of shit, boss..." Baron Martin remarks earning a chuckle from the two other men as they reached target depth.

"Here we are again on the deck of Titanic," Jared says as he documents the rugged deck, teeming with marine algae and sand, "Two and a half miles down. The pressure is three tons per square inch, enough to crush us like a freight train over an ant if our haul fails...

The video camera skimmed over Jared's face as he spilled information on his monologue, "These windows are nine inches thick and if they go," a short pause in his speech as he spoke, looking up to see how deep they've been going under the ocean, "It's sayonara in two microseconds."

One of the submersibles landed on the deck, and the other some place else to get ready to use another piece of technology they had in store.

After his little monologue, they went to work. Baron slipped on the 3D Electronic goggles and held on to the joysticks to control the ROV.

"Walking the dog," Baron says as he controlled the orange box, suspended with a thick wire connected to the database inside the submersible.

It skimmed through the various ruins inside the ship. Ornate wood carvings engraved the interior of the majestic ghost ship, a piano in pretty mint condition given that it has been underwater since the 1910's. The ivory keys and their desire to separate from the ebony ones but they do not move.

The device moves around the grand chandelier suspended in the once alive ship, it's crystals covered in sea dirt dulling it's shine but only for some parts of it.

It ventures further into the ghostly mansion-esque structure, a glass bottle of what it looks to be champagne and fine china, defining that the ship once carried people of high class.

The device then ventures in with its lights illuminating the eerie scene, a woman's shoe and a porcelain doll's head, devoid of its body, hair and eyes.

It then spots one of the grandest suites of the ship, entering room B-52. Jared scolded Baron a little, saying to go slow and not like the day past. He rogers it and slowly enters the room.

The once plush bed now in ruins, the material draping in the movement of the water, it's probably white color now a dark gray because of it's age. The device then moves in a cloud of grey, a mixture of sand and rust.

It then spots an old tub and broken chairs, however it's not of Jared's interest. As it skims further in the room, the camera spots a wardrobe. In a story like this, a thing like a wardrobe can carry the deepest of secrets, even a blessing in disguise.

Jared asks to see what is under the wardrobe. The ROV deploys its robotic arms as it clears the antiques in its way, "Be careful, Martin."

The man who controlled the orange ROV mumbled an 'I will' as the device lifted up debris and antiques off near the wardrobe. They recovered a dark object, not so dark anymore that the light of the Dog shown on its features.

"Ohh McKinley... Are you seeing what I think I'm seeing??" Baron hoots as they recovered the metal box...

Jared scoots closer to the monitor that shows what the device just saw. A rusty metal box covered in silt and sand.

"It's pay day, boys..."

💎

Inside a net, the locked safe ascended from the Atlantic ocean. Everybody cheering as it boarded the boat. Every person on board gathered around the safe as they celebrated.

Baron wrapped his arm around Jared, "Who's the beeest??" He asked excitedly as Jared rolled his eyes playfully at him.

"You... Baron..." he says with a small smile as Baron pops open a bottle of Champagne, its bubbles spurting all over the men on deck.

The safe was being opened by a sharp turning blade, the hot sparks emitted getting sputtered on the orange specks of light as it the metal cracked open. The noise went down as a warm brown sludge flowed out of the decade old safe, pried open by a chain and a tug.

Jared bent down on his knees, the camera man hot behind him as the lenses anticipated the greatest treasure yet. His hand pulled out books and pieces of paper covered in the mixture of silt, rust and water.

He took out a stack of paper, rather large in dimension and paused for a second. He put it down then dug deep in the safe, but found not diamonds, but sludge.

Everybody fell silent in disappointment. His career as a treasure hunter tainted with the failure of his mission. The money spent, the sweat perspired, to waste.

"No diamonds..." one man remarks at the obvious fact that there is no diamonds. The face of Jared as the realization washed over him like a tsunami.

"Shit."

"You know, Gary's career went down and never went up again because of something like this," Baron says lowly, his words toxic like that of poison ivy as it was bearable, as a man like Jared tried to not get such words get to his head.

The camera was at his face, embarrassment and shame gracing his features as the tention increased. He furrowed his brows, "Turn the camera off."

💎

He went down inside the boat, the technicians working to uncover parts of the Titanic long forgotten, and unknown to the other passengers. Just the riches they know, but not the contents it once held.

"The investors want a word with you, McKinley," Derrick Bay says as Jared barks at the camera men, covering the phone.

"Hey, Ryan? Tyler? Yeah... It's not in the safe..." Jared says to the phone, explaining how it could be someplace else in the ship, to not let the investors down. During his explaining his eyes met the monitor in front of him, showing a view of the water cleaning up a painting of a woman, who is casually nude and young.

The water cleared the drawing's bosom refealing between the valley of the woman's breast holding a big diamond, a diamond in a darker color laced on her neck with smaller crystals, assumed to be diamonds in their infamous colorless crystal color.

"W-wait let me see this," he tuts as he asks for the picture of the treasure he's looking for and compared it to the necklace the young woman was wearing.

They further analyzed the drawing which was made with pencil, seeing the date at the bottom and the artist's initial's beside it, with an erasure at the first letter.

April 14, 1912, J BB

"I'll be God damned..."

💎

"Treasure Hunter Jared McKinley, mostly famed for finding Spanish Gold in the galleons of the Caribbean harnests the use of technology and submergence to find out what priceless valuables the sunken Titanic has in store after 84 years. He's with us via satellite in a Russian research center in the Atlantic. Hello, McKinley..." the anchor says in the news, the small television's sounds slightly audible to the ancient woman working on her pottery.

"Hey, Wendy... See, the Titanic is not just a shipwreck. It's the queen of shipwrecks... The elites stayed there..." he went on telling the story of the Titanic briefly, as questions fired at him from the new anchor.

The old woman stands up, her hair away from her face as her frail body hunches as she straightened herself. She wipes the red earth off of her fingers with a rag as her dog Diamond follows after her, nearing to the television.

"Meg, can you please turn up please, dear?" She asks of her grand daughter, Meg Treville.

She obliges as the sound of the television became clearer for her centennial ears, but she saw the drawing as clear as that in her teens...

"I'll be God damned."

💎

"McKinley, there's a call for you on satellite..." Derrick says as Jared ignores him as he instructs men to lower the submersibles for another expedition in the deep.

"Can't you see I'm working, Bay... Take a message..." he says not making eye contact with the man who holds the answers he's not expecting.

"I swear you don't want to turn down this call, Jared." He pleas, a reluctant look paints Jared's face, "You need to turn your voice up, she's kinda old..."

Jared held the phone in his hand, hesitant to speak to a possible poser, "This is Jared McKinley, Mrs..."

"Treville... Y/N Treville..." Derrick says, battling the whirring of the machines behind them...

"Mrs. Treville..." He says politely to the old woman on the other line...

"I was just wondering if you found the 'Heart of the Ocean' yet, Mr. McKinley?" She asks, her voice aged and wise as the two men shared looks of shock.

"I told you don't want to miss this call," Derrick beamed as Jared mustered up a small smile...

"Okay, Y/N... You got my attention... Now, tell me who is the woman in the picture?" Jared asks, as if taunting Y/N... But Y/N was taught at a young age not to lie.

"Oh yes... The woman in the picture is me."

<- Previous | Next ->

A/N: aaand SCENE. So this is the prologue to my very first Avengers series... I hope you enjoyed reading this... and yeah... I hope I did it justice... Stay Safe

-Alri

Taggies 💕

@witchymegg @theaussiedragon @amisutcliff @luna4501 @likeit-or-leaveit @underworldqueen13

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carinayidanzhang · 3 years

Text

Graphic Design Portfolio

01. Begin with the “C”

Media: Digital Design

Dimensions: 297mm x 420mm

Description: I took the initial of my name, “C”, as inspiration for designing the poster. As a student with a fanatical interest in graphic design, I hope that the letter “C” in my name，can represent infinite creativity. Just as my name begins with the “C”, I think the study of design should also begin with another “C”, which is creativity.

02. Product Similarity

Media: Scriptliner on sketch paper

Dimensions: 380mm x 580mm

Description: Each of us is a product produced by society. We may have different backgrounds, personalities and ideas originally, but, in the competition within society, we tend to be closer to each other's image, so as to form excellent competitiveness in a certain aspect. Society will continue to fill the gaps between people, so that the living environment will reach saturation. Under the influence of many factors, all the “products” become more and more homogeneous, and the pressure of survival also increases continuously.

03. Fist, Female, Fear

Media: Digital Painting

Dimensions: 297mm x 420mm

Description: The difficult position of women has always been a great concern to me. This work presents some of the issues that make me anxious and fearful as a female, such as domestic violence, being followed after 10pm, drinking drugged alcohol in a bar and so on. In addition, it also includes some social inequality restrictions on women. Such as thinking that it is shameful to wear short skirts, it is not allowed for women to smoke or drink, etc. The two fists in the painting are both society's fists against female and the fists that I want to break all this uneasiness and inequality.

04. Mask

Media: Digital painting

Dimensions: 400mm x 400mm

Description: During COVID-19, all of us wore masks, which could both protect us and facilitate a concealment of emotions. We can't see people's expressions under masks, and in many cases, happiness and sadness can't be conveyed only through the eyes. Maybe it prevents us from communicating with each other, or maybe it gives us a sense of security when we don't want to reveal our thoughts to the outside world.

05. “Humanlike”

Media: Photography

Dimensions: 300mm x 600mm

Description: When I was a little girl, I was very disgusted and afraid of the models in the window. When I grew up, I realized that this was because of the “Uncanny Valley”. So now I've chosen to face this fear and take pictures of human limbs next to a dummy. I hope to explore the similarities and differences between them, so as to more intuitively feel the temperature and texture of the human body.

06. Summer Memories

Media: PhotographyDimensions: 102mm x 152mm

Description: I love the summer in Beijing's Hutongs, the small theatre buildings full of creepers, the abandoned furniture and bicycles piled up on both sides of the road, and the boundless green. This work records my scattered memories of summer, and to me, I can nearly hear the sound of cicadas and the breeze blowing through the leaves when I see it.

07. “Be Fake or be True”

Media: 3D Installation/ Mixed Media

Dimensions: 500mm x 500mm x 500mm

Description: Our childhood fantasies about the world are like the perfect stories locked up in the TV. They are the combination of all good things, and the collection of all innocence. But as we get older, we see a more real side of the world. This is like breaking the TV screen, once the dream and cold reality collide, we can choose to believe in good, but also can choose to face the reality.

08. “Way Too Much”

Media: Scriptliner on sketch paper

Dimensions: 420mm x 594 mm

Description: This is a sketch of the dining table in my home. I have a slight hoarding habit, so the table is always filled with bottles and jars for a sense of inner satisfaction. But my mother always said that my things were “way too much” and too messy. Under her gaze I had to look at the table again in a more introspective manner.

09. The Prosperous Tang Dynasty

Media: Collage/ Mixed Media

Dimensions: 297mm x 420mm

Description: This work embodies my yearning and respect for the costume, culture, aesthetics and so on of the ancient Tang Dynasty in China. I wanted to use it to express the prosperous, open, majestic atmosphere of the Tang Dynasty, and also add my calligraphy work to it. The bright red color is the most important symbol of the Tang Dynasty, and the culture as gorgeous as peony is a beautiful dream buried in every Chinese heart.

10. CD Cover Design

Media: Digital Design

Dimensions: 150mm x 150mm

Description: One of my rapper friends and I wrote a hip-hop song about life during quarantine, and I designed the album cover myself. The empty sofa expresses my loneliness and boredom. Fluorescent green and purple stand out against the grey background, representing that music and art are the only bright colors in my dull life.

11. City Starlight

Media: 3D Installation/ Mixed Media

Dimensions: 1500mm x 400mm x 200mm

Description: I once participated in the window design project of Hamleys, a famous British toy company, and I worked with several designers to make drawings and build models with the theme of city starlight. All the buildings and facilities were designed and cut by ourselves. We hope to remind everyone of the forgotten beauty of the city when they pass this window. Although the plan was not implemented in the end, it was an unforgettable experience for me.

12. Fish Fish Fish

Media: Digital Design

Dimensions: 297mm x 420mm

Description: This is a small project about creative design. I randomly selected three keywords, which are brain, goldfish and hand, so I completed the poster creation with these three elements. The human brain is very complex, carrying a lot of emotional, knowledge burden, but fish only have seven seconds of memory, their worlds are very simple. I hope we can all live like fish, be happy and be simple, and not need to worry about all the mess.

13. Christmas Card

Media: Digital Design

Dimensions: 148mm x 210mm

Description: This is a Christmas card I designed for my friends. Christmas in my heart is different from others. It is purple and pink. And all of these objects, the Christmas tree, the gift box, are just abstract symbols, their specific shape, colour, size is not really important. I use this kind of vague image to express my wishes to my friends. May they not only have a merry Christmas, but also a pink and purple surprise every day.

14. SOS

Media: Photography/ Digital Design

Dimensions: 420mm x 594mm

Description: Born as a woman, sometimes we are bound by a piece of tape to seal the mouth of expression and seeking for help, so we must save ourselves, in the tide of the times to speak and to fight for freedom.

15. Consumerism

Media: Collage/ Mixed Media

Dimensions: 297mm x 420mm

Description: In this era of rampant consumerism, people are gradually constrained by material desire and money, and constantly pursue a more grandiose and luxurious consumption life. However, we are increasingly overwhelmed by endless commodities, so we have to keep struggling with it, trying to stay awake while continuing to consume uncontrollably.

16. Sketchbook scanned copy

Media: Charcoal and crayon on sketch paper

Description: I used charcoal to copy two paintings, Three Wicked Men by Denzil Forrester and Self Portrait In A Straw Hat by Vigee Lebrun.

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17. Happy Birthday

Media: Stop-motion Animation

Description: In the summer of 2019, a friend and I took a course in stop-motion animation at RISD's summer school and made this short film. It was inspired by my grandparents. On my grandmother's birthday, my grandfather always gets up early to cook and make cakes for her. Although this seems to be a very simple thing, it has always been the most touching and warm picture in my memory. I hope I can take this short film as a souvenir.

18. Development Work - Collage Brainstorm

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