#Tristan gravelle

[fordhampr]

Since arriving back in Toronto from my 2 months traveling around Australia’s most remote towns, I’ve been obsessed with maintaining contact with new Down Under friends as well as Aussie social media news and information, especially about filmmakers and musicians. One story particularly piqued my interest as it dealt with both those subjects: it told the story of documentary filmmaker, Tristan…

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#Australia #Australian indigenous musicians #documentaries #film festivals #Gravel Road #Jay Minning #rock bands #The Desert Stars #Tristan Pemberton #Western Australia

[ninjastormhawkkat]

He swore that his granddaughter had taken off in this direction. Not noticing the heroes that were being stalled by Amazo Guy, unfortunately for him they had noticed him or rather one. Their leader was getting more agitated by Amazo Guy by the second. One of them nervously got his attention and pointed in the direction Maddrix had taken off. Obviously not fooled by the makeshift cape. If they were going to be honest, that was what tipped them off. He was still wearing the Christmas sweater Tim had gotten him. That would've made them brush him off as just an old man running away if he hadn't taken that cape of his.  It was recognizable especially to Atomic Steele. Just as they were about to go after him, a very annoyed and now angry looking Amazo Guy had put himself between them. That wasn't going to be easy to explain, especially with Atomic Steele. He understood very much where he came from. He did. He knew it would be difficult to convince him to let Maddrix the Malicious go. The dark and straight up murderous look in his eyes told Alex there wasn't a chance he could be reasoned with. Especially when what he was after was right there. Alex didn't want to fight them but he could stall them further. Matthew had finally seen where Becky had gone, seeing her flying in the distance. He kept running as fast as he could. Even with his abilities, he was still definitely not in his youth anymore. He felt himself become  tired out but he couldn't have his granddaughter unintentionally get herself hurt in this state. Of course. She would be a hero. It was ironic that she would become attached to the hero killer. And now that hero killer was putting himself at risk for her safety.  He hadn't noticed that his appearance had escalated the situation between the heroes. Alex was distracted and visibly unhappy that Matthew managed to make his job all the more difficult. He wasn't expecting to get hit with full force. Sending him flying back into a building near Matthew's location. It wasn't personal to be honest. Atomic wanted him out of the way while the supervillain was still in their sight. The others followed after, looking at Alex with apologetic expressions before leaving. The others were caught off guard, Joe went running to help Amazo Guy back up. Alan and Tristan were stunned. Tristan wasn't happy and decided it was time to intervene. This time he was the one getting in the way. With a very angry expression on his face. 

Matthew was momentarily frozen in place as he heard the loud crashing of concrete and gravel from behind him. The force of the crash caused him to let go of the cape over his head, eliminating any cover he had. The remaining civilians who hadn't fled the area screamed in panic and fear over seeing Maddrix. They definitely bolted then. Those who were frozen in fear had to be dragged away by their equally panicked but still mobile friends. Matthew then turned his head back to the four heroes who were coming straight towards him. Matthew didn't recognize them, but their leader had an aura of familiarity about them that he couldn't shake despite never seeing him before. Three of the heroes were looking nervous but otherwise still determined to face off against Maddrix the Malicious. Their leader looked ready to make sure there was nothing left of the old man after he was through with the villain. Matthew groaned in frustration as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew what was coming but now wasn't the time to deal with someone's vendetta against him. "Hey I know you have a personal vengeance against me and want me dead for my actions years ago, but can you hold off on that for a little bit? I really need to take care of something really important here that for once doesn't involve crime or bloodshed." Matthew's plea caused the four heroes to temporarily stop in their pursuit. It was almost comedic to Matthew seeing their confused and bewildered expressions. Just as they were about to recover from their confusion, a very irate Wordman swooped in front of the four heroes. Matthew didn't have to see the expression on Tristan's face. Judging by his crossed arms and how fast he stood between them and himself, it was clearly evident Tristan was very pissed at them for punching Alex into that building. Matthew glanced back over to where Alex had landed. He saw one of his son's friends, Joe along with Alan, rush over to check on him. Slight relief that Alex was in good hands, Matthew proceeded to get out of this situation and focus on getting Becky back home where it is safe. "Hold it right there Maddrix." Wordman commanded. "Or maybe I'm going to get delayed even more." Matthew mumbled angrily. He saw Tristan giving him a side angry glare, clearly upset that the villain was out in the open especially after what was show on the television. "It was foolish and stupid to be out here like this, not go back to where you were right now before more people catch you out in the open." Matthew was about to explain himself before the leader of those other heroes shouted. "ARE YOU CRAZY! YOU ARE LETTING MADDRIX THE MALICIOUS GO! HE'S THE HERO KILLER! HE DESERVES TO PAY FOR ALL OF HIS CRIMES!" The young man shouted venomously as he continued to glare at said man. Matthew took a breath, trying to calm himself before he could speak. He was getting really irritated at being interrupted but it would do him no good to start yelling back at these people who clearly want his head. "Hey!" Matthew exclaimed loudly catching the arguing heroes attention. "Look like I said before, I know you want revenge for what I did. I deserve it. Right now I am in the middle of something very important. The reason I'm out here is because Wordgirl flew off trying to help a civilian or something and the poor girl is not in the right state to be helping anyone after the trauma she went through. So let me or one of you just go get her and bring her back home before she gets herself hurt. Okay." Matthew noted Tristan's panicked expression at hearing his daughter was out and about by herself. The others heroes who weren't in the know were shocked at hearing Maddrix care about another hero's safety but also looked worried at hearing there was something wrong with the young heroine. Their leader though still glared at Matthew. A sneer formed on his lips as he spoke. "Right like you care. You are just trying to fool us so you can kidnap Wordgirl and bring her back to your own monster husband so he can continue to experiment on her." @dualnaturedscientist

#maddrix the malicious #wordgirl au #atomic steele #fair city vs the facility rp 3 #wordgirl

[geralts-yenn]

Believe in me

Modern Vampire AU Melot (Tristan&Isolde) x OFC Aurora (third-person pov)

summary: Aurora desperately needs a job and her friend suggests something she wouldn't have thought of: working as a blood donor in the nightclub of the vampire king. Meeting the vampire Melot on the same day helped Aurora to make up her decision.

But things are getting complicated soon. Melot and Aurora have to deal with hateful humans, power-hungry vampires and even gods.

series warnings: 18+ Adult content! parental violence and abuse, blood and other vampire stuff, violence, sex in all kinds of forms. Probably need to add more as the series continues

chapter warnings: parental violence and abuse

word count: 1,8k

A/N: The first series I am starting on tumblr and to say that I am nervous would be an understatement. I am terrified. This is all very new to me, so please be gentle. Although every kind of interaction is highly appreciated as always. I'm taking nice words, gifs, keyboard smashes or supportive advice. Just reblog and add your thoughts to it to make me happy, please!

Part 1

Series Masterlist

Carefully, Aurora tiptoed down the stairs. She knew her father was already drunk and if he heard her, a new fight was inevitable. But she wasn’t careful enough, she didn’t even manage to get into the living room before she heard him yelling:

“Aurora, get your ass into the kitchen and make me dinner!” Aurora silently cursed and turned to the kitchen.

“Hey Dad! I was on my way to the library. I need to catch up on my classes. Would you mind some microwaved leftovers?” She didn’t dare to look at him so she just stared at her feet. 

“Yes, I do mind!” he shouted at her. “You know exactly that your mum isn’t here anymore to take care of me. And you know it’s your fault. She was driving your stupid ass to your soccer training. And yet, you stand here in front of me and your mum is gone. Two years! It’s been two years without her. And you still act like it isn’t all your fault, ungrateful bitch! You should have died, not her!”

So, it’s one of the days when he didn’t even try to hold back the hate. Aurora tried to blink the tears away that started gathering in the corner of her eyes. Without saying a word, she started to prepare a meal for her father. If she chopped some onions, maybe she could blame her tears on that.  

Her father watched her silently, but his eyes still gave away the pure hate that he felt for his daughter. He was never a loving dad like the ones Aurora knew from TV shows or commercials. He was always cold towards her, ignoring her as much as possible. Even when her mum was still alive. Back then, he didn’t make a difference in the way he treated Aurora and her sister Tara. 

But after the car accident that killed her mum and miraculously left Aurora without even a scratch, he changed. He was still ignoring Tara. But he transformed all his frustration and despair into hate and disdain towards his youngest daughter. 

After Aurora had finally finished cooking, she served a portion to her dad. He took one bite, grimaced and smashed the whole plate against the wall. "How are you not even able to be useful for something that simple as making me dinner? This tastes like shit!" he hollered. He shot up, knocking over his chair, and thrust towards Aurora. 

She took a sharp breath and held up her arms, trying to protect her face. Her dad quickly changed directions and his fists slammed hard into her rib cage. Aurora cried in pain and fled through the kitchen door. At least he was slow when he was drunk enough to beat her. 

Biting her lips to drown the pain in her chest, she grabbed her backpack, keys and shoes and ran out of the front door. She didn’t stop until she was a few blocks away. She needed to get as much distance as possible from her father. When she finally decided that she was at a safe distance, Aurora sat down on the sidewalk and brushed some gravel from her bare feet before she slipped into her sneakers. 

Sitting down was not a good idea. As she tried to get up again, the pain in her chest got so bad, Aurora couldn’t fight back new tears. So she decided to just stay there, sitting in the dirt. She didn’t have anywhere to go anyway. Slowly, she tried to calm herself, taking deep breaths and pressing her palms on her closed eyelids.

People were passing by, but Aurora didn’t care if they saw her like that. They probably didn’t even notice. But when she opened her eyes again, she was startled as there was a guy sitting right next to her. Aurora flinched with her eyes wide. 

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry! I didn’t want to scare you.” The voice of the stranger was deep and somehow soothing. “I saw you crying and was about to ask you if you needed help.”

Aurora carefully lifted her gaze to the man. He was breathtakingly handsome. His dark curls fell into his face, his sharp jawline was covered in stubble and his pale skin was flawless. And his eyes were glowing in a dark crimson.

“You… You’re a vampire!” Aurora stated the obvious. A smile swept over the face of the young man, revealing his perfectly white teeth, his fangs brushing over his lower lip.

“That I am.” he said, in a very friendly and casual way. He held out his hand. “Melot it is. I would say nice to meet you, but in the state you’re in, I think that wouldn’t be fitting.” Aurora took his hand, noticing that it was surprisingly soft and warm. But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. So Melot kept talking: 

“Is there anything I can do for you, dear? I can’t just ignore you sitting here crying.” His hand brushed over her back to sooth her, so carefully, Aurora hardly felt it. She felt stupid, but she just couldn’t bring herself to speak. His beauty was stunning, and yet he scared Aurora all the same. She had never seen a vampire that close to her. Although they were legalized ten years ago, most of them kept living among their own kind.

“Did someone hurt you?” Melot tried again. A small sob escaped Aurora, but then she shook her head. Finally, she replied to him:

“I’m fine! Thank you for checking in on me, but there’s no need to.” Melot frowned, obviously not convinced by Aurora’s words.

“Can you call someone to pick you up? Your parents, a friend? I don’t want to leave you here like that. You’re definitely not okay.” he insisted.

Aurora thought about what he said. She couldn’t call her parents, of course. But she probably should call Tara. She could be crashing her sister’s couch until she knew if she wanted to go back to her dad or what else she could do. 

“I’ll call my sister,” she told Melot. “I’m Aurora, by the way.” She offered him a small smile that he returned with a wide one that once again revealed his fangs.

Aurora took out her phone and called Tara. Her sister wasn’t quite happy that she had to get her, but in the end she told Aurora that she would be there within the next 20 minutes. Aurora brushed her tears away with the sleeve of her shirt and blinked curiously at Melot.

“You haven’t seen one of us yet, have you?” he asked. Aurora shook her head.

“No, I don’t go out a lot and my dad is not really fond of the idea of vampires living among us, to be honest.” To Aurora’s surprise, Melot didn’t seem to be offended. He chuckled softly.

“He’s not alone with that, and I understand. It must be a scary thought for humans. But I swear we’re not creeps. At least most of us.”

Now it was on Aurora to chuckle. “That’s exactly what every creep tells you, you know?” Both laughed at that. 

Melot thought about asking once again what had happened, but he was glad that Aurora had stopped crying so he decided to leave it to that. Though, he felt strangely upset to see her like this.

Instead, they talked about lighter topics. Aurora spoke about her classes and Melot told her that he was working for his uncle.  He wasn’t exactly Melot’s uncle but it was easier to call him that, considering that they lived like a family the last 500 years.

When her sister's car stopped next to them, Aurora had almost forgotten how upset she was when she left her home. And she also had forgotten about her broken ribs. She got up and cursed immediately at the pain that shot through her body. Melot was next to her out of thin air, steadying her steps. His arm was wrapped around her waist and he took the weight of her body onto his shoulders. 

Tara didn’t even get out of the car. She just opened the passenger door. 

“What happened this time?” she asked, though she didn’t seem to be honestly interested. Aurora got angry at the heartless reaction of her sister. Even a stranger, a vampire to be precise, was more invested in her than her family. 

“He broke my ribs. After he smashed his dinner against the wall. I can’t go back to him tonight.” Her sister just rolled her eyes. 

“So you want to come home with me? Fine, canceling my date then.” She couldn’t sound any more annoyed. Melot clenched his jaw. There was this sweet girl and someone had hurt her. And not even her sister did anything to help. He decided that he would keep an eye on Aurora. 

When she was finally seated in Tara’s car, Aurora turned to Melot. “Thank you! It was really nice to meet you!” Melot chuckled, remembering his own words at the beginning of their conversation. 

“Goodbye Aurora, take good care of yourself!” He looked down at her, a soft expression on his face, despite his extraordinary red eyes.

Tara drove off before she had to witness any more of that stupid conversation. 

“What was that, so you’re dating a vampire now, or what?” She spat the words into Aurora’s face. Aurora cowered back into the seat.

“No, he just stopped and asked me if I was alright. No human did that, by the way. I don’t know him and I won’t ever see him again, I guess. So you can stop hating me for another reason.”

Melot watched the car driving off, not without remembering the driver's plate. When he turned, Charlie was standing beside him.

“Melot, what are you up to again?” He was smiling deviously. Melot shook his head. “Don’t bother, cousin. It’s nothing of your interest.” Charles raised an eyebrow but didn’t press any further.

“August wants to see you. He’s pissed, I have to warn you, though I don’t have a clue why. So good luck!”

Melot gritted his teeth in frustration. He wanted to investigate what happened to Aurora. He needed to see her again. There was a bond he felt towards her that he just couldn’t explain. He didn’t have time for the stupid intrigues of his uncle. August was the fucking vampire king, he should be able to deal with his shit on his own. Or at least, if he needed Melot’s help, he should finally acknowledge Melot’s skills and give him more recognition.

Part 2

#Melot fanfiction #Melot (Tristan&Isolde) #Modern vampire AU #my writing #Believe in me #vampire!melot

[doomspaniels]

~Snippets from Around the Farm~

In the continuing guerilla warfare of Tristan vs Containment, the latest addition to our pasture gate is a PVC pipe to shrink the gap between the gate and the post. It's bolted in place with two chain link fence panel clamps, tightened down as far as possible so it won't spin.

The two previous adjustments, the landscape tiles & gravel under the gate and the secure gate latch continue to work well. Tristan simply continues to innovate. It's been at least three months, so the previous configuration had a good long run before Tristan managed to beat it again.

#tristan #guinevere #cocker spaniel #dogblr #problem-solving #puzzles #the whole world is a puzzle to be solved #gate upgrades #clever boy #snippets from Around the Farm

[joseopher]

The Voices of The Atlas Six

It's...HEADCANNON TIME BOYS!

So while re-reading the atlas six for the sixth time I decided to voice-act all the characters! So here's what everyone's voices sound like to me:

Libby: High-pitched, has a desperate tone, could be compared to a schoolgirl's (It's surprising to hear the innocent voice of an angel cuss you out as she burns you to ashes, Erza, for example, knows exactly the strangeness of such a situation)

Nico: Also higher-pitched, he always manages to sound amused or cocky but in a way that's endearing (It does though, in some ways make him sound less mature, like a child)

Reina: Dead, flat, monotone, even when excited her pitch doesn't change significantly (This causes everyone to think of her as an asshole even when she's being sincere, not that she bothers trying anymore)*

Parisa: Deep, lower-pitched and naturally seductive, everything out of her mouth sounds like a suggestion or innuendo (Perhaps it's a purposeful tactic of hers, perhaps she sounds this way no matter what she does and that's her curse, perhaps everyone only thinks she sounds this way because of how attractive she is)

Tristan: short, clipped, there's an edge of anger there, not as deep as you'd expect it from someone so tall and not as loud either, it's as if some small snarling creature has been trapped inside a giant (He didn't always sound so small or so angry...)

Callum: Not many know this but Callum's voice is in fact, fake. Most of the time it sounds, light and airy, almost musical. It's charming and effortless, he always manages to sound like a completely satisfied and utterly unbothered siren. But it's all fake. His voice is truly much deeper and gruff, like gravel. His laugh sounds closer to a hawk screeching and his hums sound like shoes dragging on pavement. He's learned to fix it, of course, with much effort and vocal teachers. There's only one person he's ever chosen to show his real voice: Tristan.

*We should really stop thinking of people with monotone voices as being jerks. They can't control it!

#the atlas six #the atlas series #the atlas paradox #callum nova #tristan caine #parisa kamali #libby rhodes #nico de varona #reina mori

[celestialspecial]

Palace of Stars and Shadows (Pt.3)

You woke back in the bedroom, unaware of how you’d gotten up the stairs after your fight with William. You’d only remembered falling asleep from sadness and exhaustion in a heap before the large fireplace, yet here you were, tucked in, warm sunlight pouring through the cracks in the curtains. All you could do was lay there fixated on the light flowing into the room, over your bed. Your bed. This was yours now, wasn’t it?

You’d tried to run like a fool, thinking over and over about William’s words, how dangerous it was to go it alone since he’d made it quite clear he wouldn’t follow or watch for your safety should you choose to leave. Was it even worth it? You’d thought maybe if you got home you could collect what little was left of your belongings and make a mad dash to another village. Start over, find a new home. But maybe this place where you now lay, maybe this was meant to be your new home.

A new dress had been lain on a cushy armchair across from your bed, shimmering threads wove through the fabric, catching the light. It too was a dark navy hue, but a lighter fabric this time, softer, more moveable. You needed to clear your head today, and the gardens seemed so welcoming. The balcony of your bedroom opened out over the expanse of foliage, a maze of plants, some you recognized, others were alien to you.

Pulling on the dress, looking at yourself in the large mirror in the corner of the room as you adjusted the fastens on the side. Sucking in a short breath to get the last stay to shut, well at least some things felt like home. You could see multiple workers filing throughout the castle, cleaning, cooking, planning all sorts of things that you couldn’t quite understand. Some looked like William, essentially human save for their ears, others had skin tones of dark navy like your dress, some had fawns ears and yellow eyes.

A few acknowledged your existence and others just went about their way ignoring you as you made your way through the threshold and out into the gardens. It was quiet, a light hum from the bees and sounds of your feet walking along the gravel pathway. The garden was similar to Tristan’s at the house of Light but here the foliage felt more wild, less preened to perfection. Raspberry bushes were overgrown, wild, fruit trees untamed and rose bushes with fragrant blooms dotted the path you were on.

A large greenhouse loomed ahead of you, silvery plated glass and all matter of plant life growing in and around it. You felt it calling to you, the mysterious beauty inside of it beckoning you closer. Once inside there were bursts of color, flowers the size of your head in deep violet, leaves of every shape and size cascading over one another and a tiny stream trickled throughout the center leading to a large fountain covered in moss. Was everything in fae truly this beautiful?

You’d been told how faeries coveted beautiful things, that when the two worlds split apart they kept all things magical and entrancing while humanity got the crumbs that were left over. Seeing this greenhouse and all the florals and fragrances you had never felt more sure that those stories were true. Your eyes were caught by a small fruit tree off the center behind the fountain. It had spherical  fruits hanging on its slim branches, they looked like blueberries from your realm, but larger, the size of your fist.

Purple specks dotted the skin of the fruit and you felt your hand unconsciously reaching out to pluck a piece for yourself. It smelled fantastic and there were no other trees like it in the garden. It felt heavy in your hand, skin velvety smooth and a soft sweet scent. Pulling it to your mouth excited to taste something so different that you’d never seen before.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” You froze, mouth still open, fruit inches from it. William walked in behind you, he looked refined and polished save for his eyes which seemed weary, as if he hadn’t gotten much rest the night before.

“And why not? If this is to be my home I don’t get to enjoy all its luxuries?” You sounded like a brat, your mother would’ve scolded you if she were still here. He moved alongside you, hand twining around yours that held the fruit, applying pressure and pulling it down from your mouth another few inches.

“Yes you do, but this fruit is…quite potent. Not many humans can handle it.” You frowned at that.

“You don’t believe me capable?” Amusement flashed in his eyes, no smile evident on his face just yet.

“I don’t know if you’d be happy with the repercussions of its effects.” At that you felt your hand drop of its own accord, dread sinking into your belly.

“Is it poisonous for humans?” His other hand stroked up the length of your arm, you shivered at the sensation, warmth sinking into your flesh as his other hand pried open your fist, removing the fruit from your grasp and pocketing it. When he looked back up at you his eyes met yours, you could see now that they were a dark shade of brown, flecks of gold when the light shone right.

“Not always. There are very few of these trees left and they only bear fruit under a full moon then once it’s over they shrink back for however long.” He pats the pocket holding the small sphere. “My castle gets the best direct moonlight in the land which is why they grow more often here.” A smile did finally play upon his lips then, “Tristan HATES it.” You cocked your head to the side, resuming looking at the tree, easing a hand to touch one of the leaves by where you’d plucked the fruit free.

It smelled like honey, closing your eyes you took a deeper inhale. You open your eyes to look back at William puzzled.

“It smells sweet, but also like baked bread, crisp air by the sea and… a sort of musk?” But how? There was no way a plant could smell like all those things, your mind must be playing tricks on you. He noted your confusion stepping towards the tree as well, fingers tracing along another low hanging plump fruit, turning it in his hand but wary to be sure it didn’t break off the stem.

“It smells like whatever you’re most attracted to. It draws you in in that way.” Now you were even more curious, it smelled of home and freedom to you and something else you couldn’t quite place, but the mystery of this new plant intrigued you further.

“Why? What does it smell like to you?” You questioned, eyeing his every movement as he moved away from the tree, gaze returning to yours.

“It smells like a cool breeze at night, crackling fires, fresh fruit and the electricity in the air before a storm.” You felt naked under his unyielding gaze, heat rising in your chest and surely appearing along your neck. He continued then, “it draws you in because it wants you to eat it. So it can serve its purpose.”

“Which is?” The corner of his mouth ticked up ever so slightly.

 “It’s a fertility enhancing fruit. Fae use it when they want to…expand their empires as it were.” If you weren’t flushed before you were now, a strange tingling sensation shot through your limbs as you once again looked at the tree, so unassuming, it wasn’t the prettiest shrub by far but perhaps the most powerful.

“How does it work…” you pushed through the embarrassment, your clever and willful mind desiring to know more, to sate the curiosity this entire land seemed to drench you in. William took another step closer to you until his chest was inches from yours, you could see the chocolatey brown of his eyes, the fine lines along his features as he looked down at you and a small beauty mark under his eye that you hadn't noticed before.

“Surely you know how babies are conceived?” He must be jesting with you, you could see the teasing glimmer in his eyes. Defiant you took half a step away from him, needing a brief respite from him, his intense eyes, his smell, his body heat radiating over you.

“Yes o-of course I do. I meant how does the fruits properties take effect?” He gave you an appraising look before removing the fruit from his pocket holding it up between the two of you.

“It’s said to increase ones stamina and virility to the point where conception is almost guaranteed.”

“Almost? So then it’s not worked before.”

“I’ve never heard of it not working. Besides if it for some reason it doesn’t work the first try, well it provides the user the energy that by the 30th try one of those encounters will have taken.” William had always looked almost human to you besides his beauty, but now he looked positively fae. Wickedly handsome and an air of magic to him as he spoke pinning you with an obsidian stare, the seemed to crackle with invisible pin picks of electricity. You clenched your fists to stop yourself from shaking, desperate to move away from this plant that was still trying to take hold of you.

“You mentioned “it’s said”… does that mean you yourself have not partaken?” The feeling you were crossing a boundary was there but pleasantries be damned, if this was to be your new home you decided to toss aside the shyness you had. He placed the fruit back into his pocket before taking your elbow in his hand, guiding you away from the tree and further into the green house. You forced yourself not to look back at it, regardless of how much it felt it was calling out your name, begging you to take just one bite.

“I have not, nor do I have any offspring of my own.” You allowed yourself to relax in his presence, deciding if he could move on past last night then so could you.

“So you haven’t felt tempted enough to eat the fruit?” You jabbed a playful poke into his chest, his other hand surging out to clasp your hand , pulling it flat to his chest. He leaned in closer, mouth a whisper from your ear.

“Believe me I have considered it many a time.” The soft air blowing along the shell of your ear and the scent of him playing by your nose was enough for you to feel yourself clenching at his words. Imagining his hands grazing along your soft pliant body, kissing you senseless, no air left in your lungs to do anything but moan his name into the night. Your wide eyes met his, but then he was pulling you in another direction, towards another fruit bush.

This one looked more familiar to you, blackberries, wild branches sprung out this way and that. His hand pinched one off the stem and popped it into his mouth. You moved forward to do the same, wondering if he’d stop you again but he didn’t, you plucked one as well and admired the fruit. It was indeed a blackberry like you were familiar with but oh so different at the same time. It’s flavor washed over your tongue, sweet and tangy, the texture bursting in your mouth.

Smiling at him you grabbed another and another. Picking a handful into the palm of your hand, enjoying each bite more than the last. He grinned at you, then stilled your hand as it went to grab more.

“I think you need to leave some for me.” He actually let loose a  chuckle this time, you loved seeing the lightness on his face and features. You took the berry you’d just picked between your fingers, holding it up to his mouth.

“Here let me make amends.” His eyes never left yours as he slowly opened his mouth for you to place the berry into. You watched him bite down and chew, wondering why it felt so erotic to just watch him.

He glanced over at the bush, picking another large fruit as well, holding it up to your lips as well. He blinked in reassurance as you parted your lips, letting him coax the small fruit into your mouth. Before he could withdraw his fingers you let your tongue graze the pad of his thumb, tasting him, then letting out a low moan when you chewed the blackberry. His eyes widened watching, then he took the same thumb to dot away a droplet of juice that had escaped you lips, bring the digit to his own mouth and sucking the juice off of it.

You were barely thinking anymore  feeling yourself leaning in closer to him. William’s one hand rested along your waist, idly moving upwards, bunching up the dress at your side until he reached the stays. His other hand drew up to your jaw, pulling you closer to him until he slotted his lips over yours. You couldn’t suppress the moan you let out on your next breath.

At that he’s gripping you tighter to him, passion igniting on the next press of his lips to yours, tongue tracing the seam of your lips, when you open them fully he plunges in, devouring each moan you make hungrily. The slide of his tongue over yours, you can taste the sweet berries you both consumed greedily, but not as greedy as you felt fisting the fabric of his tunic, lips and tongue and teeth clashing, neediness aching between your legs.

As if he could read your mind his one thigh pushes upwards applying pressure to where you need it most. You rocked against his muscled thigh, gasping at the contact and wincing at the lack of breath you could pull into your lungs. His hands roamed your body, settling along your waist, running up the sides, fingers grazing the sides of your breasts forcing another whine of need from your lips.

He groaned in response, hands working your sides as you surged forward to capture his lips again. You suddenly could breathe deeper, resting your forehead against his, begging to be lost in his depthless eyes. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, running your tongue along it dying to taste every inch of him. To lose yourself in the moment, so much so that you didn’t know where you ended and he began. He groaned, a deep low noise at the sensation of your tongue delving  into his mouth once more.

He grabbed your one leg pulling it up high, and bent to his side so you could feel the hardness under his trousers pressing insistently to your core. You bucked into the contact and he hissed, gripping you tighter to his body.

“Please. William…” you were flushed and barely able to stand a moment longer, but something snapped inside of him and he set you down, taking a few tentative steps backwards.

“I apologize. I don’t know what came over me.” He took another step back, painfully so. You shook your head, about to respond when he turned away, moving hastily towards the entrance of the green house. “I will see you at dinner.” Was all he said before he was gone from sight. You realized the stays of your corset had been undone and it gaped open at the side, that’s how you were able to breath more fully. What his skillful hands had been occupied with while your lips met again and again.

You touched your lips that still felt like they were buzzing from the contact. You realized then what that other musky scent was, emanating from the fruit tree that you couldn’t quite place at the time. It smelled like William.

The hours ticked by as you wandered the grounds, exploring all that you could until dinner time. Sunsets you decided, we’re different in fae. The colors ebbed slower, the sun slowly dipped down and it felt like it was putting on a show for all to see. You entered through the large carved doors into the main hallway of the castle. Realizing how little you’d explored the many rooms and halls. The dining room was equally as large as sitting room, just slightly smaller than the ballroom.

It made your head dizzy looking up to the ceiling and craning your neck to look at each stained glass window and detailed carving. The table was set with an abundance of food, more than was necessary for only two of you, unless there were guests you were unaware of. Instead of two seats at opposite ends of the long table there was one at the head and another on the right hand side.

Assuming that one was for you, you moved over to take a seat, pulling the chair in. When it slid faster than expected into place you looked up to see William releasing his hands from the back of your chair and moving into his own.

“You never seem to have an issue sneaking up on me.” You noted, he only smirked in response before taking a sip from the goblet in front of him.

Yours hands fisted in your lap, tugging at a loose thread. How were you to continue with dinner without acting like not a few hours prior he had his tongue down your throat. When it seemed he was going to continue ignoring your earlier encounter you decided to let it go…for now.

“What did you do with that fruit you put in your pocket earlier?” William took another sip of wine, eyes narrowing in on you.

“What of it?”

“I’m just curious. If you have no intention of using it-“

“And who said that?” A moments pause then he actually laughed when you realized your expression must’ve shown your intrigue and mild horror. “I intend to repot it and plant it in the greenhouse, hoping it’ll take root and we’ll have two moon fruit trees.”

“Moon fruit? Is that truly what it’s called?”

“It has many different names depending on who you ask but yes, the most common is moon fruit.” You watched as your plate magically filled with decadent treats and morsels from around the table. He nodded towards your plate. “Please. Eat. It’s all safe.”

At that you picked up the fork and knife on either side of your dish and took hearty bites from the meat in front of you as well as a few slices of cheese and figs. You couldn’t believe how delicious everything tasted, how much stronger the flavors were. Taking a long sip from your own wine goblet your eyes widened as it felt like the bubbles burst on your tongue releasing more fizz and fruity aromas. As your eyes darted around to pick out the next thing you’d like to try you realized William was watching you amusement glimmered in his eyes.

“W-what?”

“Nothing. You’re just…entertaining to watch.” You felt heat rise into your cheeks, feeling mildly embarrassed.

“I’m not here solely for your entertainment.” He adjusted himself in his seat.

“No. You’re not. I did not mean it that way. It’s just…I haven’t seen anyone so curious in such a long time. Seeing this world with fresh eyes it’s- not common.” You nodded, but still sheepishly set your fork and knife down to take a breather from your meal.

“Why am I here? You saved my life and for that I’m grateful, but why keep me here if you have no use of me. Return me to my world in a different area?” His dark eyes roved over your body, you felt the heat of his gaze, watching as his eyes lingered on your face, then your chest, before moving downward and returning back to meet your own eyes.

“Who says I have no use of you?”

The words made your heart skip a beat, but also you could feel the color leave your cheeks. Wondering desperately what he could mean by that. As if unaffected by his response he went about plating more fruit onto his own dish, you could only gape until he chewed on a forkful of some bizarre pink fruit that seemed to be covered in honey.

“I do not know what you mean.” Playing dumb might be helpful right now. You were so ignorant in many things fae, never once considering you might be in a plight like this one day.  He only pinned you with his darkened eyes before grabbing a decanter to refill his glass.

“Tell me. What do you mortals know of fae?” The question caught you off guard, mind swirling thinking back to all the warnings you’d been told as a child.

“To not go into the forest. To not eat the food. To not engage with any of the fae, or look them in the eyes.” There were others you couldn’t remember. William leaned back in his chair, crossing a long leg over the other, swirling the contents of his goblet before taking another long sip, eyes never leaving yours.

“Well we see how well you listened to all that.” He was right, you’d done everything you’d ever been told not to do, no wonder you were here now, paying the consequences. “There was another thing you should never do.”

You sheepishly looked up at him from your seat, feeling like a child being reprimanded.

“And what is that?”

“You should never give them your name.”

#fae!billyrusso #fae moodboard #billy russo #billy russo fanfic #Billy Russo x Reader #billy russo x female reader #billy Russo edit #punisher fanfiction #marvel the punisher #ben barnes #ben barnes character

[desert-bluffs-and-me]

WTNV quick rundown - 115 - Council Member Flynn, Part 2

View the rest of the rundowns here!

Paint a picture. It'll last longer. Welcome to Night Vale.

Tamika's new 8pm curfew does seem to have stopped the robberies and there have been no more murders but it's causing an infrastructure problem due to everything being empty and unused after that time. When two fellow book-lovers (Lisa and Marsha Robinson) are attacked by a Librarian (called Dan McDowell) due to nobody being there to maintain the cages or feed the librarians, Tamika revises the cufew to 6pm insisting that this will work despite Dana's protests.

Tamika is also turning 17 soon and bought a 'Pomeranian' called Lucky from the 'NV animal shelter and discount tire shop'. Cecil describes Lucky as a light brown dust bunny with hollow yellow eyes and a shreiking little laugh of a bark. She's been taking Lucky around as she personally assures all business owners that they are safe.

The police still have no suspects about the deaths of Tristan and Camila Cortez nor a cause of death.

Weather: "TMI" by Josey

Tamika's father, D'Angelo Flynn, is constantly talking about a robot uprising.

Janice's basketball team lost their pre-season game despite Janice scoring a record number of assists and she's pretty upset about it.

Michelle Nyugen says she was also robbed but doesn't really care as music is dead. Her current preferred currency is #4 bank-run gravel.

Megan Wallaby, despite being born 4 years ago, is now 17 and will graduate high school with honours soon. She enjoys athletics and biology classes and hopes to run her own clinic one day, wanting also to go to uni and major in physical therapy. She used to be on Janice's basketball team but has decided to quit and join Tamika's patrol force. This is mostly because she needs to raise money to fund any possible higher education.

Cecil mentions that for entertainment at home after curfew he has an Xbox, a VR helmet, 'some vegetation that's totally legal' and Susan Willman's HBO GO password which Steve cribbed for him.

Stay tuned next for the sound of two men cuddled up in bed watching the new season of Insecure. And Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

Proverb: Pull this lever. Don't worry, you will never know the result. There will be a result.

#wtnv #welcome to night vale #wtnv quick rundown #wtnv ep 115

[ibims1seb]

A door to heaven

Chapter one

Tw: Blood, described injuries, gun, more comfort than not

What. The. Fuck.

BangBangBang, another knock. And then the unbearably loud sound of the doorbell. The black of the night shined through his window, but that didn’t matter to him. It wasn’t the time that scared him. Or the volume of the banging that was unsettlingly harsh. No, it wasn’t that. It was the fact that there was a sound in the first place. He hated social contact, which was one of many reasons why he had jumped at the opportunity of a house somewhere in the middle of Canada, in a forest with a name he didn’t care to learn. There was no such thing as a surprise visitor. He had never seen a hiker either and the next best road was over two kilometres away from his driveway. Who in the name of heaven was using his fucking doorbell.

Slowly but surely the sounds got drowned out. The knocking got quieter, yet more frantic and the doorbell was used far less. Then, after one long attempt to get his attention, it got deafeningly silent. Thud! The sound was loud, even for him, on the second floor. Then, there was nothing. After a few more seconds of no noise, other than Tristan’s breath, shallow from anticipation, he finally grabbed the gun from his nightstand. He would have heard a window shatter or a door open, he was sure, but only God knew what kind of sickening joke this was supposed to be. With cautious moves, the house owner tried to peak out of the window above his porch, but sadly the small roof blocked his vision.

With another shaking breath, he moved forward, pointing the barrel down the stairway. He pushed his 1.78 m body down the flight of stairs, all of the sudden a little too aware of his surroundings. When his feet graced the wood of the first floor, he shoved himself towards the window next to the entrance, trying to see anything. His eyes started to water at the sight, not out of fear or sadness, he wasn’t even sure why it happened. There was a line of dark liquid leading towards his house. A clear path was painted in the gravel of his driveway, like someone had dragged something extremely big and heavy to his porch. Like a body, the realisation made his head spin and he had to fight very hard against the nausea building in his stomach, twisting his organs like a cloth being freed from water.

‘You have seen far worse, get yourself together.’, his own voice taunted him like he was a disobedient child. One last breath of encouragement, and he finally forced himself to open the two locks on the door but kept the chain in its place. He remembered his mother, laughing at the high amount of security precautions, but now, he was happy that he had been so lazy and just kept it there.

Blood. That was the first thing he saw on the wood in front of his door. An unholy and unhealthy amount of blood. Then, his eyes finally spotted the reason for his troubles. A figure. Long white hair saved Tristan from vomiting at the sight of the bloody, bruised and beaten form of someone. He couldn’t see their face, but he didn’t want to see it either. Their chin was laying on their chest, the left arm was protectively slung over their torso, moving with every tiny bit of air that got in their lung, and one leg was bend, but not strong enough to keep itself upright, so it was leaning against the other knee. There were a few bandages around their wrist and and lower leg, but they were not at all tight enough to help. The scene was pitiful. Very very pitiful. And the man wanted to do nothing more than close this godforsaken door. But the body that weighed, both at the door and his conscious, couldn’t just be left behind. He had to deal with this either now, or tomorrow, when the person was dead…

It took another second, before he groaned, annoyed at his own moral standing, and removed the chain, careful enough so that the leaning figure wouldn’t fall to the floor. His body moved completely on autopilot, while he used every bit of military medical training he could find in the back of his brain. The couch probably wasn’t the best place for a bleeding body, but there were too many doors to his guest room, and he doubted that his visitor would mind. They would move to an actual bed once they were conscious enough to do it out of their own free will. But before that could happen, he needed to do a lot. First aid kits from the bathroom, antiseptic and painkillers from the kitchen and a few unimportant towels, that could get thrown away. Last but not least, a bucket with fresh water and then he could get to work.

The first thing he did was remove the, already useless, bandages, swallowing the bile at the sight of bloody flesh, undoubtedly infected. He used one of the towels to clean the wounds before wrapping the new material around their body, tighter to actually apply pressure on the wounds. His heart ached more and more the louder the wincing from pain got. When he was done scrubbing the cloth over the reachable bruises and patching it up as good as possible, he started to hesitate. They were obviously hurt under the little amount of clothes they were wearing, but it felt wrong and penetrating to rob them of the last bit of privacy.

‘The wounds are probably just as bad under there as they were out here…’, still, it did not feel right to just take of their rags without asking. But after a while of thinking and a hand trying to move over their stomach, but recoiling with a pained groan, Tristan decided to do it anyways. ‘I’m trying to help them. I’m not harming them by doing so!’

The homeowner was done after one and a half hour of carefully cleaning and wrapping up the, unconsciously trembling, person. He had found a few antibiotics while changing the water and had dissolved them in a glass of water for the visitor to drink. It was four in the morning when he finally felt comfortable enough to sit down in the armchair next to the sofa. He wasn’t going to leave that person. Both, because he didn’t want them to wake up in a completely unknown environment without an immediate explanation, and because he didn’t know if it was the best idea to leave a stranger in his house without having an eye on them.

And it took long for them to wake up. But Parks honestly didn’t think he could blame them. They lost blood… a lot and it was a miracle that they survived in the first place. He’d spent a lot of time of the next day, either changing the visitor's bandages, or freeing the porch and his driveway from the blood just to make sure he didn’t seem too suspicious. Well, he lived alone in a house in the middle of nowhere, that was already weird. Now that he thought of it, how did they find his home anyways. They must be bathing in luck. ‘The only thing they were bathing in is their own blood!’ There it was again, the taunting voice of his venomous conscious.

———

I have been debating whether or not to post this, but here we are…

Masterlist

#whumpee #whump prompt #whump community #whump drabble #whumpblr #caretaker #comfort #carewhumper #my ocs #hurt/comfort #I am at a loss of creativity #help pls #I am currently failing both at school and at writing #:( why #why is the universe this way :(

[hotchley]

"I’ll leave if you want me to.”

He looked up, once again not expecting the genuineness in their voice. “Really?”

“Tristan. I’ll always leave if you ask me to.”

He knew it then. They were different. He could trust them.

-

“Leave. Please,” he begged. The gravel was digging into his knees and would leave bruises, but he didn’t care.

“No.”

It hurt more than every pain and humiliation he had ever been subjected to. They were the same as everyone else. And he had been a stupid, stupid boy.

#sumayyah talks thh #tristan's story is very out of order #stupid stupid boy links to camilla's!! #mr c calls her a stupid stupid girl...

[ringsofpowerfans]

// Tristan Gravelle as Ar- Pharazon

#rings of power #rop #trystan gravelle

[noblehcart]

Drabble: Journal Entries: The Siberian Journey (Russia 1916-1917) @lordofthestrix

xx/xx/xxxx

This is I think my first entry in freedom. Absolute freedom. The countryside is passing me by in vibrant beautiful color and it almost makes me want to weep. It also makes me want to weep because I see the hovels and the poverty that the Romanovs do not see. Ever since the fiasco with almost escaping to France it was near impossible to find a means of freeing myself, but I finally found it.

It was just a matter of finding an opportunity during an outing with the girls. Creating a chaotic scene and then thankfully finding a cart of a certain measure. I'd like to think Tristan would find my method amusing. Ironically my inspiration came from a book in my time that felt so oddly appropriate. I have Addie la rue to thank for this chance at freedom. Escaping the sight of future deaths by hiding beneath corpses in a cart leaving the city. It was the most horrifying thing I have ever done and I cannot wait to find some stream or river to wash myself in gravel till my skin is raw. In a way I tried to think of it as a sort of penance for...for allowing the future to happen as it is. Though it more than likely it won't happen as it was because Tristan does know something of it.

But still who would look for a girl amongst the dead?

No one did as I was carted out of the city and out towards freedom. All that I have now in the world is my journal and a few pieces of jewelry to sell, but otherwise I am a child of the world as it seems. I'd like to say the future is bright and I suppose in a way it is, but I also know the world is going to be shaken to its core for many decades to come.

xx/xx/xxxx

I admittedly miss the plush of the trains afforded by traveling with Tristan, but I'd still gladly trade it for release. The benches are hard and the journey is long to siberia, but its as close to utter and complete freedom without having to fear my actions or words. I imagine my life in siberia and its hopeful. Maybe I can be a seamstress, or a teacher or....something; I'm sure I can do something out there. Its funny how growing up you don't consider your abilities to survive in the forest. There's horses at least. I can help care for horses though there isn't any pay in it I don't think. I'll figure it somehow.

I want a small cabin warmly lit by a fire and lamp light. A few books and the smell of the earth and trees brushing through an open window. Warm bread in the hearth. Its going to take quite a while to get there, but I'll get there.

I'm going to regret having to disembark at the next instance the train slows. Its better to continue changing means of travel because I have no doubt that Tristan's agents aren't stationed near everywhere hunting for me. Thankfully we are not in the age of instant messaging and telegrams and telephones are much more rudimentary and unreliable. I have an edge in that at least. I managed to steal an extra overcoat off a clothing line on my way to the train station and I'm sure I'll be needing it the deeper into siberia I go. Here's to hoping I don't die in the snow when winter hits, but I suppose if I do then it isn't the worst thing. My secrets and my future die with me. My hope for any means of going back to my own time has been virtually extinguished, but for the small faint ember barely glowing. I try to keep it alive if not for something to warm my fingertips with.

I think we're approaching another stop. I should stop.

xx/xx/xxxx

I've been walking for two weeks now and I want to die. My feet are killing me, blisters on everything that brushes the side of my boots and I can't stop shaking. I don't know if its because of exhaustion, little food or just fear. I miss home. My brother and parents. I miss being little and my uncle scooping me up in his arms when I tired from hiking the highlands and carried me back to the car.

I passed a cart and a truck going the opposite way and they mentioned that I was another full day's walk to the next city. I think I might be finally far out enough to start considering where I can settle in somewhere. Hopefully. We'll see where I can go from Irkutsk. The Paris of Siberia. A place filled with exiles just like me. Ironic really. Nearby are mountains to the northwest. Perfect remote place near the mountains and if I remember right its near the Vitim reserve though its probably not considered a reserve right now. Maybe I can go see the seals at lake Baikal- deepest lake in the world. I think I remember seeing a documentary about the seals there on Disney. It'd be nice to see more of the rugged nature. Sometimes I think I'm too much a city girl if these last two weeks were any indication and to be honest I'm missing the city horribly.

xx/xx/xxxx

God clearly herd my pryrs becase anothr truck came rollng by and this time its onits wy to Irkutsk. I wn't wrte much becase its hrd with the road ( i mss pvmnt), but at least i'moff my feet.

xx/xx/xx

I am now SURE I made the right decision. Fate or the universe must agree with me in that I can't meddle in the timeline. Street life is not becoming of me, but thankfully it was only two nights in Irkutsk when I passed by some men unloading a small truck; one of which men was talking about how he worried about his mother because she and his wife didn't get along. His mother refuses to leave her home and he was afraid he'd find her dead and alone. From the look of what came off the truck he seemed to live deep into Siberia. It didn't take long to get his attention and start talking with him. Probably one of the most difficult interviews in my life reassuring this man that I would absolutely love to move in with his mother and take care of her. No pay just as long as I had a roof over my head and thank God that I managed to convince him. He'll be returning home tomorrow morning and it would be a three day drive out. His village was north of Ikab'ya which is a 30 hour drive out from here alone.

Now what I'm afraid of is that he's going to murder me in the woods because I'm doing EVERYTHING my mother and uncle warned me not to do. Go off with strange men into the woods alone. Or at night. But I guess I just have to take this chance, try to find a weapon and pray to god that my guardian angels are with me. I need to turn in for the trip. Hopefully my next entry will be soon and I'll be alive.

xx/xx/xxxx

I am here and my roommate hates me. The journey was long and hard again, but at least I wasn't walking. My driver's name was Mikail Voronsky. Thankfully, he seemed to be a man of honor as he kept to himself and was a nice conversationalist asking about me and my past. I hated lying to him, but of course I couldn't tell him I was a time traveler from modern London escaping a vampire who wanted the secrets to the future. No. I am Sonya Nikolaievna Larina. I think the references are appropriate. Sonya, the antithesis to Raskolnikov, otherwise a saint accepting her existence as a long road to martyrdom. Nikolaievna as a means of honoring the girls and Larina, with her distain for apparent happiness and rejection of the man she loves. Sonya Larina is a woman escaping a terrible husband and wants to start life anew in solitude. Sonya Larina can cook and clean and sew and is a quick learner.

Sonya Larina wishes she could hear someone call her by her whole real name one last time, Elisabeth Andreievna Ivanova, but those days were gone long long ago.

Thank god I started this journal in French because I at least have to peace of knowing no one out here will be able to read it. As the musical of a famed Romanov went 'only the courts spoke french; russian was for the common folk.' as I am relieved to see.

We arrived to the small village at dusk and Mikail walked me to his mother's house after introducing me to his wife and children, or rather teenagers I should say, four boys. Then came the moment of truth, meeting his mother, Vassa, and letting her know that I had his permission and expectation to move in and help. To which I did feel terrible about. Being thrust on this woman who has maintained her house and been independent suddenly being told she can't be trusted on her own. Its terrible, but I do see the concern. She moves about, but not well and her fingers show the tell tale mark of age with rounded knuckles and fingers locked in an angle. The first night I am writing from the light of her lantern....through the window outside. She's locked me out. This is going to be hell if I can't win her over one way or another.........

xx/xx/xxxx

It has been a week since my last entry and its been a busy one. For two nights I slept outside the house, but on the third she let me sleep inside thanks, I think, to the meal I made and neatly folded laundry left at the step. She's starting to see I'm useful and that I don't argue. What's the point really? I'm exhausted from the mental olympics Tristan gave me at the palace. A cantankerous old woman is not going to get my goat here, but she's warming up. Bit by bit as I listen to her complaints and bitter gossip while I mend and cook and clean. Its funny but I really sort of like her, I'd like her better if I didn't have to sleep outside in terror for two nights.

I noticed the village doesn't have a school and its a very closed community. I see why Mikail was okay with a stranger caring for his mother. No one liked Vassa, an outcast so what did it matter than another outcast helped her? Well...its not great being stared at as I walk to get water and line dry the clothes, but I'll find a way to just ignore it. I saw a couple of kids lingering near by to stare at the new stranger before rushing away. Maybe I can find a way to settle in here somehow.

xx/xx/xxxx

Its been a few weeks since my last entry now. A good month and a half-ish though the days just blur out here. Vassa has now warmed to me much more and I think its just sheer determination on my part with enduring her remarks and her smacking my hands at certain points when I tried to do things. She showed me how to do them better. And she has so many stories. I love listening to them by the small hearth she has in the evening when I make us some tea. The villagers still stare, but I think they're getting used to me being here now. Some of the children even said hello and asked a few questions. I really hope this is some hint that I can fit in here some day soon.

At least Mikail and his wife seem relieved that things are working out. He brings us wood for the hearth, sometimes sending one of his boys around to bring it, which helps so much since the last time I tried to break firewood I nearly lost a foot. One of the boys saw it and told him I think and thank god they did. Vassa is sleeping now and I should turn in too. She's been more tired lately, but at least not so grumpy. I should try to warm one of the blankets and set it on her to help with her aches.

xx/xx/xxxx

Vassa is both a mentor and an eerie seer. She knows. As in she KNOWS, but yet doesn't fully know. We sat out behind her house staring at the dense wood expanding behind it just yards away and she asked me who I was running from. I told her my story and she looked at me with such a look I don't know that I'll ever recover from. It made me feel like some naughty little girl who so obviously got caught and lied still. I had to tell her something of the truth. I was running from a powerful man who wanted something I knew. That I was afraid and I just wanted to be left alone to live in peace without the turmoil being near him would bring. She was silent for a long time and patted my hand reassuring me that I'd survive it. I asked her survive what? but she never answered me. Next I looked over she was dozing in her chair again and we sat there till night fell and it was time for supper.

xx/xx/xx

Its been about three months now. I can't believe it. I'm free. Those first few weeks I lived on edge constantly searching the tree line for him or for anyone like him who'd drag me into the darkness like some horror creature in fairytales devouring young girls. But nothing. I have nothing to fear anymore and I'm relieved. The villagers like me more now because I've managed to temper Vassa's bad moods and the children come by for treats I bake when I have the ingredients.

But I'm worried.

Mikhail and I had to have the 'talk' about Vassa. She is very old and everyone knows she doesn't have very long left if she makes it to snowfall. I asked if that meant I'd have to leave the house and find somewhere else and he said he was thinking of it, but his sons might be marrying soon and would need a house and it is in their family's. So ...so much for that security, but I'll figure it out somehow.

xx/xx/xxxx

Well its been another two weeks and the matter of the house was settled by none other than Vassa herself. I shouldn't be surprised, but somehow I was when she and I went for our daily walk in the village and overheard the rumors and talk about what would happen to her house. Everything about her is aching, slow and impaired, all but her ears. My god that woman's ears are in absolute working order. The next thing I know she's yelling at the others that the house would go to me and if anyone tried to ignore her wishes she'd haunt them and curse their families.

Mikhail's wife brought me a basket of vegetables the next morning with an uneasy smile. Vassa and I laughed for the next hour.

We feasted that night on a rather robust dinner, Vassa ate more than I've seen her eat in weeks and for once it felt like home. She was kind that night and offered to brush my hair telling me how she wished she had daughters, but all she had were sons. I admittedly cried. I missed my mum and how she'd brush and braid my hair. I missed home all of a sudden in rush that I had been ignoring the nudges of throughout all this time. Vassa let me cry other than a chide that tears never fixed anything but the soul. She made me think of my great aunt diana in a way.

She told me to open my eyes more to the village that they'd continue to take me in and that someone already did. I noticed as much. His name is Sergei Pavlov. He has kind eyes and is a hard worker. A soft round face that didn't match the sharp cut of his physique from working, but it was those eyes I find on me when Vassa and I walk about. Right now I can't think of him or that. I don't want to. My heart still belongs in another time and I would never be a good wife to anyone right now.

xx/ xx/xxxx

Vassa has left me. Its been four months now, of being here in the village, altogether. I was out in the woods with the other women, they started inviting me now to go with them to gather mushrooms. I've finally perfected my stroganoff. I was so excited to tell Vassa what we'd be having for dinner, but when I went to Mikhail's where I left her to sunbathe on her son's porch she was gone. Stepping inside I asked for her and Mikhail's wife, Marya was in tears telling me she had passed over the last hour. She looked so small laid carefully in a bed in Mikhail's home. My one dear friend and somewhat confidant was gone and now I was alone again.

I suppose the joke is on me for thinking I was ever not alone. Now the house seems too big and awkward and out of place. Maybe now I'm the one out of place again. The burial is tomorrow morning at dawn. Vassa always was an early riser and loved seeing the dawn crest through the woods.

I miss her so much.

xx/xx/xxxx

I taught a class today. Its been two weeks since Vassa left and I felt aimless in the house. Fearful the first week that Mikhail would force me out, but he didn't and no one questioned it either. Thank god for that. But the house is still too big for me and its somewhat scary being on my own in here. I still have my daily chores but I finish it early with plenty of time since I don't have to care for Vassa in between. So I decided I'd teach.

It did not go over very well at first, but I managed to get a few students. All boys because unfortunately the girls must stay and do housework. I'll find a way to get them in bit by bit. One of Mikhail's sons came over and helped me rearrange the house so I could have the children sit on the floor in rows as I worked out how to have the means to teach. Over the weeks as travelers and caravans came through to sell things I've managed to buy a few books, pencils and extra paper. I might have to take class outdoors and write in the dirt but at least its something.

Sergei came by as well to offer his condolences and left me some wild flowers. I have to remain resolute with him. But the flowers are pretty and it makes me happy to see them on the table.

xx/xx/xxxx

I've gotten more students and they're so sweet. There's finally three girls. Two of them sisters. They bring me ribbons sometimes and sometimes some of the boys bring an apple. More often than not I try to cook a meal to share with all the kids and make it a lesson in of itself literary wise. Teaching has finally started to fulfill some sort of aching gap that was left in my life. I hated it in the palace not doing anything productive. Papa always had a creative outlet, uncle sasha continually found chores right along with mama. Never a dull unproductive moment unless it was a reading break and even then reading was a measure of learning and doing too. I'm going to try to sneak some lessons for the other girls who's parents won't let them attend. Bits and pieces after all can make a reader.

And I don't see anything wrong or world changing by teaching someone living in the middle of the Vitim woods to read.

I'm hoping the caravan comes by again soon so I can build up more on my books and trade for a few more things. Vassa's house is feeling a lot more like my own now and I try to keep her spirit alive with everything I do. Like getting up early to watch the dawn and sometimes I think I can almost feel her there with me watching it come over the green of the woods, which are now starting to change color and turn bare.

Winter will be upon us soon and I'm not looking forward to my first siberian winter.

#// drabble #lordofthestrix #/ liesel ivanov / drabbles #NOW THAT WAS FUN TO WRITE #after the last entry things slow /speed up more because she's teaching the kids to read and sergei keeps pushing things #luckily- or unluckily tristan can take her back for anything serious comes of it #i want to be generous and say she's escaped for 6 months total by the time tristan finds her again #i mean she's literally in the middle of siberia #in an era with millions of people and little tech to go by #and im like 99% sure she tried to throw tristan before she left #like mentioning how she's always wanted to see paris again and austria ...ect #more europe driven ideas of escaping to than fleeing to deeper russia

[dzpenumbra]

6/20/23

I'm starting this super late - 4:17 AM. Today was a massive shift from the norm. I woke up a bit late and started with a yoga routine that kicked my ass... so I didn't work out and decided to go with that change of pace and have a day that took a very different pace than normal.

I decided to sorta just take care of my home today. I made a physical list (just like the old days) in my notebook of things I need to do around the house, and just started taking care of that. I put art projects and whatnot aside and just took the day off. First day in a long time that I didn't actually work on a specific project.

I cleaned up my windowsills and reorganized the table that my orchid lives on. I moved my incense burner over... then remembered how horribly cheap it is and how poorly balanced it is. So, I used incense sticks and mod podge to make a wooden foot for it, and glued it to the bottom. It's much better now. I rearranged the moss and gravel terracotta dish I have a little bit, I had some extra soil left over from when I tried and failed to get a flowering tree cutting to root. So I put that soil in the pot and reclaimed the gravel from that, so I actually have a handful or two of gravel to work with for a potential Zen Garden piece.

I took three large yogurt containers and poked some holes in them, filled them with my remaining on-hand potting soil and planted the beans I got a few weeks back. I only had enough soil to do two of the containers, so the other one will have to wait. I had extra lids that fit really well too, so they should work really well as incubators as well. So, that's cool!

I also did laundry, including a hoodie from ages ago that hadn't been washed in years. So... all-in-all, I got a bunch of shit done today. All home stuff, which is nice.

The coup-de-grace of it all? I put in the Lowe's order. A terracotta saucer, a ceramic saucer, potting soil, a bag of sand and a length of PVC tubing that hopefully fits the mini pump I have (from my cat's old porcelain fountain that she didn't like). This should set the stage for a few test run projects.

I did some shopping online for trays and whatnot. God damn, everything is expensive nowadays, isn't it? -_- Like... I was hard-pressed to find a wooden tray of any kind that was under $20, plus shipping. What would be the slick fuckin move here would be... going to Goodwill. I bet Goodwill has a shit-ton of stuff that I could use, and cheap too. The catch? I have to fucking reserve and rent the shared car to do that trip. So, I have to plan a day that I'm going to be awake when Goodwill is open... have the car reserved... then pay for a trip specifically there. If I'm going to do that, I really want to go to the occult shop the next town over, too. I really want it to be like... a "day out on the town". And really... I could do that any day, right? BUT... my sleep is so fucked right now. I haven't been getting to sleep until like 7 or 8. It's never gotten this far before. So... do the math on that. 8am bedtime... 4 hours of sleep gets you to noon... 8 hours of sleep gets you to 4pm...

I don't even know how it gets to 8am, honestly. It's frustrating.

So yeah, again... insomnia and nocturnal tendencies turn really fucking simple things like "what day am I going to go out and go on a fun shopping trip" into "how can I reset my sleep schedule without being utterly sleep deprived the day-of... because I don't feel safe driving tired." The obvious answer to solve all of this? Get someone to drive me. I swear to god, one friend in my life would completely change my life. Because I would fucking love to go for a hike in actual nature, too. It's been so long.

So yeah, today was mostly just wandering around my apartment assessing what needs to be done and fixing up a few things, listening to Wagner's Tristan und Isolde and whatever YouTube Music brought me to after that... I cooked dinner at 2 AM. It was just a relaxed, no pressure, do whatever feels right, take care of the home day. And it was nice.

I rounded out the night by watching NKAVids' newest video on a freestyle skateboarding competition in Vancouver. It was... profound. Here, check it out if it seems appealing.

There were like 40 people there, tops. And it was like... the world's best freestyle skaters. And it was at a fucking State Fair and Rodeo. And he interviewed absolute legends of skating. The first pro skateboarder ever was there. The guys who like... created the sport. And hearing them talk was just like... so goddamn refreshing. So inspiring. I really felt like I was hearing my people speak.

But it also made my heart sink, and made me tear up at parts. There was a guy who was being interviewed, he was a mentor of Andy Anderson's, and he was talking about how like... the way people are being taught to skate is really fucking them up, and we really need to reassess the way we're teaching kids and introducing them to the sport. He was saying you really really need to teach kids to ride and manual and tic-tac way before ollie and kickflip and all that. And freestyle is all about that. He was going off about how every kid nowadays just wants to learn how to kickflip, like it's a right of passage. And honestly, you can blame --- okay, I'm not going to out specifically The Berrics here... XD --- you can blame Pop Culture for that. But I mean... come on... The Berrics literally has a series where they get pro skaters to yell out of a car "Do a Kickflip" and if the person can, they give them free shit. ... ... So... I mean... I'm just sayin... But it's more than just them, okay? It's a cultural thing. And the ollie is just as much to blame.

And what really hit me in the feels and the... well... the ever present shame... was when he was talking about how much pressure... how much peer pressure there is in the park. How you will get the shit teased out of you and pressured and pushed not just if you wear pads and a helmet... but if you don't know how to ollie or kickflip. I have been skating off and on since I was 13. I can't kickflip. I can kickflip inconsistently on a snowskate, but I have only kickflipped on a skateboard... maybe once or twice moving. But I did do a manual sidewalk snakerun at my old college that was... probably 150 feet long? And that fucker had big cracks in it, so I had to learn how to manual-ollie-manual over the cracks mid-way through the run.

His talk hit me hard because... I backed off of a lot of my skating because of shame and peer pressure. I am still hesitant to go skating at the local park because of peer pressure. The pressure to be as good as people might expect me to be. The pressure to be better than I am. The pressure to be able to consistently ollie onto a low box. I don't know. I developed a very unique style of skating because I never really gave a shit about what people thought and I just did what was fun... I also didn't learn a lot of tricks because of that, no one really offered to teach me... and I really lacked the social skills and confidence to just approach strangers and ask them to teach me... I was kinda just doing my own thing. But after taking a few years off and trying to come back? It was the judgement that freaked me out. Now I'm the older guy, so there's this expectation that I'm going to be good. And I'm not that good. And I feel compelled to like fucking... apologize for that. When I don't need to. And never should.

I saw representatives of a culture that is all about skating being a personal journey, and encouraging all people to find what they love on the board. And it warmed my heart so much. The first pro skater said skateboarding isn't a hobby or a sport, it's like a friend. It's a friend you reconnect with every time you go skate. And you should approach it the way you approach spending time with a friend. Go have fun, seek happiness. And that just really warmed my heart.

And I felt really sad that I've let the imaginary superficial judgments of others (which are all hypothetical in my head and never actually existed) prevent me from doing what I love. I feel bad that I've let that happen with so much of my life. And that is caving to peer pressure. Letting a parent talk you out of a career that you love because they "don't approve" or whatever. Letting a "friend" bully you out of learning a trick you think is cool. Going with what the crowd, or just with the people nearby, think is "cool"... so that you can appear "cool"... and they'll accept you and like you. I am really sad that I actually caved and did so much of that in my life.

It's weird, because a lot of my life... I have lived in quiet defiance of the protests of peer pressure. But I have ironically still conformed to other peer pressures at the same time, just from other cultures. And I'm still doing it, to some degrees. But I'm just gonna say this, and hopefully remember and live by it. Fuck what other people think. Fuck em. Haters are gonna hate. And hating seems super goddamn popular nowadays. Nothing more popular than correcting others, telling them how the majority is doing things, conforming and deliberately excluding those who don't fit your ideals.

The people who support you for who you are? They won't correct or pressure or unfairly judge you. And I hope to find them soon. I'm not sure I've ever had them around before.

Here, I'll use an example that's been rattling around my brain since last stream. When I last last streamed, a few months ago... that high school kid came in and was there for the stream. And I mentioned that one of the pieces I had on the docket was carving (at the time that was the plan) the goat skull, and making a quartz knife from scratch in order to do that. I was so stoked on this idea, I though it was really cool. And this kid, who specifically sought out my stream, has been watching for years, joined my Discord, has been in my chatroom for cumulatively probably over 100 hours now... he was weirded out by the skull as a project. ... And didn't seem interested in it at all. ... Does that mean I should abandon that project? XD I actually thought that for a while, it deflated my confidence and excitement, I actually bought that bullshit. Let me tell you what it actually means. This kid still, after all this time, doesn't know who the fuck I am. And probably doesn't really fully like the kind of content I produce. And probably just hangs out in my chat because it's a place he can go and talk about his Minecraft and Roblox shit who will actually listen to him. Because he has no friends. And, though he may not realize this, and may never realize it... that's very parasitic. And if he keeps doing it, regardless of how long he's been around, I'm going to have to boot him. Because he's there for the wrong reasons, and it sets a really bad example for others in chat.

So yeah, it's a shame that being a professional creative in our culture is entirely dependent on social acceptance... rather than... just being fucking creative. It completely derails creativity. "How to be creative - do what your fans want." Are your fans creative? If so, why the fuck are they consuming and not creating? If not, why the fuck am I listening to them?! It makes no goddamn sense. So yeah, I really want to remember this - when I run a project idea past a friend, it's not for approval... it's to get a gauge whether they support me as a creator or not. It's to see where they stand, and how they will be supporting me with that project. And I strongly suggest any true creative try to stick to that creed. Only you know what inspires you, what your vision is.

Don't let someone else snuff out your creative spark simply because of their own ego, or their lack of investment in or attention to your life. Whether it be art, or music, or skating, whatever. Be you, and seek those that love and support you for being you. And fuck the haters.

Tarot time! (Because I have the delivery coming tomorrow and it's already past 5)

Past - Nine of Wands, inverted (The Wounded Warrior.  Defense, guarding yourself. Suspicion, self-protection.  Need rest and recovery.) Present - Eight of Cups (Had enough, moving on.  No sadness, determination, courage, freedom.  New journey, closing of an old cycle and the start of a new one.  Inevitable change.) Future - Three of Pentacles (Teamwork, accomplishing more together.)

I shit you not, the Nine of Wands showed itself to me three separate times as I was shuffling. It was comical.

Again, I've gotten all these cards before... some I'm more familiar with, some I'm not... so I quickly copy-pasted the definitions and I'm going to try to read it from memory, just using the card imagery.

The thread starts with inverted Nine of Wands. Nine of Wands is the Wounded Soldier; tired, worn out, needing rest, needing to heal. Inversion on this I tend to read as being stuck in the wounded phase... or possibly not taking R+R time and trying to push through shit.

This is connected to Eight of Cups... this one I think I've only gotten once before and I'm not very familiar. It's a woman pouring out a cup, casting it aside. She looks like a mystic. There are seven more cups upright sitting outside of what looks like an abandoned house in the back. A quick glance at the summary I posted confirms my suspicions that this is basically... moving on. Casting the past aside and striding forward.

This is connected to Three of Pentacles... the helping hands. It's a rope being grasped by three hands. It symbolizes people coming together, teamwork.

So... because I've been stubbornly pushing forward and working myself to the bone. All day, every day... Either on projects, or on writing this, or on therapy, or on dream journaling, or working out... always working... Because I haven't really let my spirit heal... I've been struggling to move forward. To evolve. To get to the next step, of moving forward into a new chapter of life, with confidence; with excitement, even. And with that step forward... comes the helping hands I needed all along.

I'll be honest. I'm anxious of it. It's been so long since I've had friends... that... okay, it's more than just inexperience, it's experience with people who just gaslit the fuck out of me and blamed me for literally everything... and part of me believes it. I'm afraid that I'm gonna fuck it up. That I'm going to piss people off.

I hate that thought. I hate that it still sounds... like it makes sense. I look at a card just... illustrating the idea of teamwork, of people working together... and it makes me anxious. Anxious that it will happen, that I will make friends... and then I'm going to fuck it up. Oh... Oh... I'm starting to get it. Oh man, the brain is fucking weird how sneaky it can be. The "me fucking it up" part... that's a coverup. That's a deflection. It's a veneer, a façade so I don't see what's just past that. Because... when I "fuck up"... what happens? People get mad. People get angry. And they hurt me. They take things away from me. Opportunity. Social connections. Potential resources. And they say cruel things. And they leave. So... blaming myself... it gives me the illusion of control. Like... "if I can just be a perfect person, they'll never have a reason to hurt me or leave me."

Oh man. Yeah, it's easy to get trapped in that.

But it's all an illusion. Coming full-circle on the post, all that is necessary of a creative person is to be themselves. All I need to do is be me. And I'm getting so much better at comfortably being me. I shamelessly did laundry at 2AM on a Monday. And anyone comes along who doesn't support me being me, and tries to leverage... if I "change" me a little bit... then they'll support me... I need to step away from that. Knowing that there is something that I can do... not altering my behaviors, because that's something I need to do for myself, not others... but walking away when I see people trying to peer pressure, or alter, or change me or my creative expression... The agency I need lives in that, that simple gesture of... just walk away. And I feel like within the empowerment that the ever-present option of walking away gives me... lies the courage I need to put all this hiding and avoiding behind me. And finally get the community help I deserve. And maybe even reach my full potential, from which we all will benefit.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness #Youtube

[vipier]

@gurrillero​  sent  :  ‘  you  got  your  name  written  all  over  me .  i  got  my  name  written  on  you ,  too .  ’ 

          IT IS SO STRANGE, THE WAY THEY’VE BEEN ENGINEERED BY THOSE WHO WORK ABOVE THEIR HEADS, THOSE WHO HAVE TRAINED THEM.       they are made to carry out orders without question, to work in tandem and seamlessly blend their individual talents with others from the cell  -  and yet they are expected not to form attachments, not with others or even with themselves.  while tristan recognizes  -  to some extent  -  the hypocrisy of it, he’s never considered it to truly   AFFECT   him.   I could betray anyone without blinking,  he prided himself for so many years before ever asking himself if that was truly something to be proud of.  as of late, he’s begun to wonder how much of what he believed about himself was true.  sure, he hasn’t always been  steadfastly loyal  to his cell, sometimes prioritizing even his own comfort over the value of teamwork without apology.  of the two of them, cassian has always been more dutiful, though still plenty shrewd, and they know this about each other  -  just like they know practically everything else.  occupational hazard, perhaps, but one they’ve both   ACCEPTED   by now  -  if, as in tristan’s case, practically by force of fate.

          the viper’s expression does not betray the barbed hooks the words make of themselves, the way they snare themselves in his chest and pull almost   PAINFULLY   toward cassian, although he remains rooted physically in his seat regardless.  a wry sort of smile curls the corner of his lips almost imperceptibly and he gazes at the other agent for a long moment before looking away, almost casually, to pull a pack of smokes from his pocket and light it.   (  it’s nothing but an excuse to do  something  with his hands, as if  -   SOMEHOW   -  he isn’t laboring under the weight of what’s been said.  )   they cannot escape each other.  it is a truth that has always lingered, an unbreakable platinum thread connecting them through space even on opposite sides of the globe.  the latest city of reunion rolls out like a carpet from the tiny hotel balcony upon which they sit ;  realistically, the scenery never really changes, but the moods  ...  the moods do.

          ❝   is that the truth?   ❞   he says on an exhale, watching the breeze dissipate the thin line of cigarette smoke he creates.  his tone is, if anything,   ACCEPTING,   just as much as the question is rhetorical and unnecessary.  you got your name written all over me.  and how, indeed, does tristan know he has encouraged it, that he has practically carved himself into cassian’s hands, torso, back  -  whatever he’s been able to reach, even if simply in his own mind.  I got my name written on you, too.  and as much as tris would like to deny it, he can feel it like a   BRAND.   ❝   better that way.  hate  the idea of you forgetting me too easily.  you know I can’t stand making things simple.   ❞   his attempt at lightening the heavy air around them  -  to avoid a deeper conversation he cannot stomach  -  does nothing to alleviate the tension, and his tone  ...  well,  his tone is hardly as playful as he’d intended, to his slight dismay.  silence holds a beat, then two, and when he speaks again, it’s more quiet,   DEEPER,   almost a gravel to a voice typically light and melodic.   ❝   ‘s like a tattoo, isn’t it?  can’t get you off my skin, andor.  does that torment you or do you like the  burn  too much?   ❞

#gurrillero #contract accepted. ( responses ) #this is CHAOTIC but i'm uhhhh... pHEW about them like hello???

[cedricfaitsontourdupilat]

CYCLO DE LA VACHE QUI RIT

A Lons-le-Saunier, le 29 mai 2022

   Après l’anniversaire des 100 ans de la Vache qui Rit l’an dernier et la création d’une nouvelle cyclosportive pour fêter ça, l’épreuve semble vouloir perdurer avec la 2eme édition en ce dimanche de fête des mères qui sera aussi la 3eme manche du challenge Cyclo Tour Rotor. La manifestation à débuté le samedi avec une épreuve gravel, et nous avons droit aux épreuves sur route le dimanche avec 3 parcours au programme dont le grand proposant 165km et 2500m D+. La météo est bien meilleure que l’an dernier avec un beau soleil bien que très frais à 8h du matin.

   Sur place depuis la veille, je suis tout près du départ situé à Juraparc cette année : j’y rencontre Clément Cambier et nous nous dirigeons quasi les 1ers sur la ligne de départ. J’y retrouve Didier Marinesse qui assure brillamment (comme toujours) l’animation de l’évènement. En pole position je suis aux côtés de Laurent Jalabert, le parrain de l’épreuve, mitraillé par les photographes qui va comme nous s’élancer sur le grand parcours. J’aperçois aussi Geoffrey Lucat et Damien Poncet ainsi que Damien Vuillier, Nicolas Ougier ou Bruno Morel.

         8h le départ est donné sans retard et la sortie de ville neutralisée est beaucoup plus vite faite que l’an dernier : on aborde très vite la 1ere difficulté avec la côte de Bornay. Aussitôt remonté en tête de peloton, Clément attaque fort. Idéalement placé je reste en 3eme position mais l’effort fait déjà mal. Ça se calme légèrement sur le haut où le peloton a déjà bien explosé et Victor Thomas attaque au sommet ; j’y vais en pensant que tout le monde va embrayer… mais non, à 2 on creuse un petit écart bientôt rejoint par Quentin Bindi. Un 4eme homme tente de nous rejoindre (Tristan Admirail leader du challenge) mais n’y parviens pas d’autant que nous empruntons une ligne droite interminable jusqu’à Orgelet avec un bon vent de côté. Avec une petite minute d’avance, on aborde la Côte de Nermier.

         On imprime un bon rythme souvent autour des 5w/kg mais derrière la réaction est terrible : ça rentre sur nous à vitesse grand V et seulement 5 hommes nous reprennent : il y a là Jules Chevignon, Benjamin Nast en plus de Clément, Damien P. et Geoffrey ! A 8 l’allure ne flanche pas, bien au contraire, pour creuser l’écart au maximum. La côte de Legna-Viremont avec près de 6km offre l’occasion d’enfoncer le clou : je fais l’essentiel du travail entre gros tempo et seuil si bien que l’échappée semble bien partie. Après une longue partie descendante nous faisant passer au barrage de Vouglans, une nouvelle côte se profile : la montée de Lect. En facteur, je prends de l’avance au pied et insiste au seuil voir plus. Clément fait le jump et nous voilà 2 mais l’affaire est trop belle et les autres reviennent vite ; je poursuis l’effort sur un bon tempo alors que nous nous dirigeons sur la montée des Crozets après une petite partie descendante.

J’imprime encore le rythme sur cette montée bien moins pentue mais baisse un peu d’intensité, laissant un peu faire les autres. Personne ne semble vouloir en faire trop et je me demande l’avance que nous avons (en fait nous aurons toujours entre 1 à 2’ max). Ça roulotte jusqu’à la Crochère où une nouvelle difficulté apparait : la montée de Prénovel. Je prends de nouveau les choses en main et fait monter un peu plus fort cette fois : on perd un élément dans l’histoire et fonçons sur Prénovel où un coup de bordure ne fait pas plus de dégâts. Nous avons alors droit à une bonne trentaine de kms quasiment sans difficulté et plutôt descendant où rien ne se passe si ce n’est du côté d’Ilay où je me fais piéger par une attaque juste avant une petite descente technique : heureusement ça n’insiste pas et je recolle avant que Clément ne parte à son tour en facteur :  personne ne suit et voilà qu’il creuse l’écart bien qu’étant toujours en point de mire. Et ce qui devait arriver, arriva : après 120kms bien mené voilà que des gars finissent par renter et nous voilà près d’une quinzaine où je reconnais Damien V. et Nicolas.

      Dégouté par la perspective d’une fin de course peu difficile en termes de D+, je me dis qu’il va être compliqué de faire un top 10, alors je tente de faire le jump sur Clément encore devant mais tout le monde embraye et nous arrivons sur la côte de Châtillon avec un fort vent de face qui calme mes ardeurs ! Mais très vite je vois une épingle à gauche avec le vent qui deviendrait favorable ; sans hésiter j’attaque et personne ne réagit. Avec beaucoup de relances à plus de 400W l’écart se fait rapidement ; 1’10 en 2,5km ! La suite en faux plat m’est bien moins favorable mais je maintien l’écart jusqu’à ce que Damien P. me revienne dessus comme une balle autour du km140 : dans sa roue je comprends vite que le vainqueur est là et après plusieurs minutes à fonds je dois le laisser filer, le gardant à vue presque jusque à la descente sur Beaume-les-Messieurs. Je tente alors de récupérer un peu avant le dernier gros morceau mais avant cela il faut traverser cette localité très touristique et entre camping-car, piétons et véhicule qui me bloque, je perds un peu de temps et m’énerve. La Côte des Bois de Rosnay débute pour 3,5km de souffrance : il me manque une vingtaine de watts par rapport à ce que j’aurai voulu faire ici ; à tout juste 5w/kg je ne peux empêcher le retour de Geoffrey et ne parvient pas à prendre sa roue dans le final. De nouveau seul au sommet, la 3eme place est encore jouable mais je ne sais rien de ce qui se passe derrière. Je fais au mieux la descente et tiens bon jusqu’à 5 ou 6kms de l’arrivée ou je vois Clément revenir, seul heureusement ! Ce coup ci sur un terrain plus favorable je parviens à suivre et nous nous relayons sans trop faiblir jusqu’à l’arrivée. Une arrivée un peu chaotique avec ronds point, virages serrés, concurrents des autres parcours et cerise sur le gâteau il faut sortir de la route pour emprunter le parvis menant à la ligne juste devant Juraparc ! Pas très lisible tout ça et avec une bonne connaissance des lieux j’aurais peut-être pu en profiter pour prendre l’avantage avant la ligne mais finalement c’est Clément qui prend la 3eme place.

        Un bilan plutôt positif sur cette course : toujours à l’avant j’ai à chaque fois pu anticiper les grosses attaques et pris bien du plaisir, notamment dans ce final où j’ai pu y croire (un peu) à un moment. Damien P. 1er et Geoffrey 2eme ont fini très très fort. Le seul petit regret est de n’avoir pu suivre Geoffrey plus longtemps ce qui m’aurait permis d’aller chercher cette 3eme place qui aurait récompensé tous mes efforts mais d’un autre côté faire 4eme, sur un tel parcours avec les 3 devant moi et ceux qui sont derrière est un résultat optimisé quasi au maximum ! Je remporte aussi ma catégorie devant 2 beaux coureurs qui aurons aussi fait une belle course : Damien V et Nicolas. Globalement l’épreuve est bien organisée et sympa à faire. Départ/Arrivée à Juraparc était une bonne idée, mieux pratique que la zone industrielle de l’an dernier mais il faudrait revoir l’arrivée avec une ligne digne de ce nom ! Je profite aussi de ce résultat pour enfiler le maillot de leader du challenge Cyclo Tour après le résultat de Tristan (23eme) ; mais nous n’en sommes qu’au début et la bagarre promet d’être intense au fil des épreuves.

       Résultats

Sur le site de l’épreuve : https://cyclosportive-lavachequirit.fr/resultats/

Ou lien direct pdf -ici-

#cyclosportive #challenge cyclo tour rotor #LVO #Cyclo'Tour Rotor #la vache qui rit #résultat #cedric richard #roue des grands bois #specialized elite shop

[tar-isilme]

Lord Of The Rings: The Rings Of Power Poster Characters (alleged) Confirmations part 2.

Gil-Galad: Benjamin Walker.

Adar: Joseph Mawle. Apperantly this character is in charge of the Orcs, and he is like a fatherly figure for them. But he is not an Orc, my guess, he is Sauron, or one of the faces of Sauron. Just saying.

Unknown character name: Apparently this is Ismael Cruz Cordova.

Elrond: Robert Aramayo.

Pharazôn (without the Ar yet): Tristan Gravelle.

Remember these are unofficial confirmations. But why not play with possibilities, it's the only thing we have until the release of a official trailer or other teaser. Again, the rumors say that we will have a trailer or a teaser during the Super Bowl.

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdV1m_53eaQ&t=1226s&ab_channel=FellowshipofFans

#lotr amazon #lotrrop #the lord of the rings: the rings of power #lotronprime #rings of power #lotr on prime #tolkien

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sunshine City: Four

A/N: We are nearing the end of this little story, my loves. Thank you to everyone who read, liked, and/or reblogged the last chapter. I adore you.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 2.8k

Rating For This Chapter: T for blood, injuries, a K*ss or two, my undying love of tropes and cliches

Catch up on previous chapters here!

London was a beautiful mix of sparkling skyscrapers and bygone brick and mortar. It reminded her of New York on one street and some sort of historical romance novel on the next.  The Tube was much more proficient than the subway and Bela was fond of the fact that Harry let her take him along to the office whenever she wasn’t on assignment.

But it still felt…like she was just visiting. 

“Mordred!”

She pivoted in her chair to see Roxy—Agent Lancelot—walk into her office. The young agent had been thought dead for a handful of weeks after Kingsman’s old headquarters had exploded, but she had survived. A little injured, more than a little confused, but quickly back to normal after Eggsy discovered her in the nearest hospital. She couldn’t remember her name but she did remember how to throw men over her shoulder like it was nothing. (The nurses were not a fan.) 

But Roxy was now back on her very-capable feet and usually out in the field. 

“Lancelot,” she replied with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“Your cowboy has arrived in that atrocious car.” But a teasing smile was pulling at Roxy’s lips as she said it, letting Sunny know this would not be the end of their conversation. Roxy had almost instantly become aware of the strange relationship between Whiskey and the former Statesman agent and found it endlessly entertaining. While Eggsy was tending to his new duties as a prince of Sweden, Roxy had readily stepped into his role of friend to Sunny when Ginger was busy.

“He is not my cowboy.” She rose to her feet and Bela poked his little head out from under the desk where he’d been napping on an embroidered pillow, a Boxing Day gift from Merlin last year.

Roxy laughed, a full-belly laugh that had the other woman frowning. “You might want to tell him that. When he saw Tristan at the door he said, and I quote: ‘tell Sunny her cowboy is here.’ So, I do not believe he knows he isn’t your cowboy.”

She was able to keep her face neutral as Roxy’s smirk continued to grow but that did not mean her stomach did not flip and fill with butterflies. “I’ll let him know, Lancelot.”

Roxy laughed and nodded before excusing herself.

“At least he didn’t honk this time,” she muttered to herself. The pair had been assigned a mission and she expected him later that day.

The stately manor house just an hour outside London was the newest headquarters for the agency and usually agents and their American counterparts would use the underground bullet train under the (also recently rebuilt) tailor shop. It would take only a handful of minutes.

But apparently Whiskey had to be…different.

She straightened her shoulders and walked toward the door and Bela followed, matching his short stride to her longer one as she made her way out of her office, through the ornate and marble halls, and out toward the manicured lawn and front courtyard.

And there was Whiskey in his Bronco. His head was tilted back so it could catch the warmth of the infrequent sun and his stupid cowboy hat was still on his head. Her stomach tightened at the sight of the stretch of his neck. God. She still had it bad, didn’t she? Would the sight of someone’s neck make anyone (aside from her pathetically-in-love self) short of breath?

Their relationship hadn’t really changed since Tilde and Eggsy’s wedding. Well, that is what she told herself anyway. Their emails had progressed to whispered telephone calls about their days and missions and she had lost count how many times she had fallen asleep to the sound of Whiskey all-but crooning in her ear.

But…friends did that. Right?

They were friends.

The scratching of Bela’s little paws against the stone of the front steps grabbed his attention and his head lazily turned to the side as a familiar smile pushed up his lips, displaying the one dimple on his right cheek. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, Sunshine?”

She tried halfheartedly to hide her smile as she slowed to a stop and leaned against the passenger-side door. “I’m Agent Mordred here, Whiskey.”

“Nope. You’ll always be my Sunshine.” He opened his door and Bela leapt up into his lap just long enough for the older agent to scratch behind his ear and then into the back seat where the corgi promptly made himself at home. Whiskey leaned over and opened the door for her and patted the leather of seat, smile never fading. “C’mon. We can talk on our way back to London.” 

She rolled her eyes but slid in. As she pulled the door closed, she said, “we could have taken the train.” 

“It don’t like it. The darn thing moves too fast.”

She scoffed with another smile. “I don’t believe anything moves too fast for you.”

As Whiskey started the engine he looked at her, head dipping so he could pin her with his stare over the edge of his gold-rimmed aviators. “On the contrary, Sunny. I like going slow.” He enunciated each word with that southern drawl and let his fingers slide around the worn leather of the steering wheel, nice and slow as they trailed over the stitching. “Take my time. Make it worth it when I finally reach a destination.”

Her head snapped toward the windshield as heat curled in her stomach and then strangled the next breath from her lungs. “Inappropriate.”

But he laughed and reached over to pat at her thigh and squeezed just above her knee before gravel spit beneath his tires when he pressed down on the gas.

The pair did actually speak about the mission as the unusually clear autumn day provided a perfect backdrop for their drive. “Why do we always get put on the nuclear waste missions? It is like Champ and Harry don’t like us.” She said with a huff.

“Maybe it’s our specialty, Sunshine.”

She reached out and smacked at his arm. The mission was a little more involved than Vegas. It involved a pair of couples from blue blood families who had turned to buying and selling anything and everything a would-be terrorist or dictator would need in order to keep their luxurious lifestyles. Merlin had managed to uncover the plans of an American couple about to meet with the dealers at a gala at one of the privately-owned castles in Scotland. While Tequila managed to neutralize the American couple, she and Whiskey would be taking their place, hopefully to stop them and uncover where they were getting their supply.

She gave him directions toward the tailor shop (where they could pick up a few gadgets and supplies) once they reached the right borough and laughed when he had trouble parallel parking. But after finally managing to squeeze the Bronco into a space definitely designed for something smaller, he darted around to open her door as she pulled Bela from his napping spot in the back.

She murmured a thank you as she let Bela lick at her cheek. Whiskey hummed and scratched behind Bela’s ear before placing a hand at the small of her back as she led them up toward the gleaming glass door of the tailor shop.

It was all very…domestic, in a stereotypical “southern gentleman” sort of way and she hated how much she liked it. But she had given up on actually hating anything he did. Especially when he smiled at her like that.

                                                    **

Edinburgh was magnificent. And Kingsman had made sure their agent and visiting Statesman were comfortable in a luxury hotel room and an extra agent to act as their chauffeur for the evening, solidifying their image as a well-to-do couple with nefarious intentions.

The past handful of hours were spent going over the plan before separating to get ready. Her dress was from some Italian designer Roxy insisted would look good on her and fit her like a black, silk glove. The thigh-high slit just barely covered the holster she’d strapped around her thigh but hopefully the dangerously low neckline would distract anyone away from her legs. The false eyelashes gave her pause for a moment—and a few tears as she stabbed herself right in the eye a few times—but she managed to put on a face full of makeup and finished with a berry-tinted lip and a heavy hand of jasmine and leather perfume.

Missions like this always made her a bit nervous. No matter how many times she’d completed them easily, they always made her feel like a kid playing dress up and waiting for a scolding. She took a few breaths and then stepped out of the bathroom and into the suite. Whiskey was there, fixing the silver cufflinks in his classic and sharply cut, dark blue suit. The dying light of the sun was framing him and the next exhale stuttered in her lungs. It was going to be a long night.

Whiskey turned at the sound of her red-soled shoes on the floor and smiled. And, of course, his eyes dragged from her toes, up her legs, her stomach, her chest…and then stopped.

“My eyes are up here, boss,” she said with a snort.

His dark eyes finally lifted up to hers as his smile slipped to a smirk. “I ain’t your boss, Sunshine.”

And her stomach actually clenched at that and she had to take a moment to clear her throat and remember that they were on a mission. “That’s good. We’re supposed to be lovesick newlyweds, right?”

Whiskey’s mouth—god, how many times was she going to stare at his mouth tonight?—twisted to the side with a frown as he took a few steps toward her and gently grasped her left hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the diamond-encrusted band on her finger before pressing her palm against his cheek with a sigh.

She let her thumb slide against his cheekbone for a moment, smelling his expensive cologne tickle her nose and the warmth of his hand over hers settled the nerves she felt.

“You look beautiful tonight. Truly.” He leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead before he squeezed the hand he had in his grasp and intertwined their fingers as he brought them down to his side. “An easy cover.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as his watch beeped, letting them know it was time to go. “Let’s get these guys.”

And she let him tug her along with her heart in her throat.

                                                  **

The gala was luxurious in every sense of the word and the targets were so ostentatious that it was easy to spot them even if she hadn’t memorized their faces. Whiskey made easy work for introducing them as Mr. & Mrs. Jameson and making the targets laugh and trust them. She played the part of doting newlywed with no trouble and let herself enjoy it—as Whiskey seemed to be doing with how many times he deemed it necessary to hold her hand or press a kiss to her cheek or forehead, avoiding her lips with a joke, “she always hates it when I mess up her lipstick.” She would let her hand slip under his suit jacket as she leaned against his arm at the dinner table, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath her palm or push a smile to her lips whenever she had to lean in to whisper something in his ear about the security stationed around the room or how her Geiger counter, disguised as an opulent diamond tennis bracelet detected traces of radiation on the targets’ hands and feet. Especially on the woman’s—Alice—hands.

“Shall we talk shop in the gallery? I have heard they have a wonderful display of Mucha,” the man—Allan—said with a smile.

“I do adore Mucha,” she answered in return, tapping twice against Whiskey’s hand as it rested on her leg. Show time.

The pair of couples rose from their table and walked through the ball room and down a dimly lit hall toward the castle’s art gallery without much fanfare. In fact, she noticed that this whole ordeal didn’t have much fanfare at all. It was a wonder this couple had lasted this long without being taken down with how blatantly they spoke about their intentions. It was easy.

Too easy.

As soon as they stepped into the gallery, she noticed the ‘closed for maintenance’ signage. She was nearly leveled with a crack of a gun against the back of her head. The room swam for a moment and she stumbled but kept her footing and turned just in time to duck, dodging Allan as he tried to hit her again. She took a step back just enough to gain momentum before kicking out and slamming her stiletto heel into his chest.

It barely registered that Whiskey was busy handling Alice who had somehow produced a knife from god-knows-where and had managed to at least get him once with the amount of blood spilling across his white shirt.

But her attention was quickly brought back to Allan who was coughing, blood slipping from his lips as the he struggled to get to his feet. Her heel had punctured his chest. Oops. But the struggle was getting too loud. They couldn’t afford to be caught like this. It would ruin everything.

She stomped forward and grasped the sides of Allan’s head as he tried to stand and yanked. His body thudded to the ground just as Whiskey managed to sink a needle full of some yellow-tinted liquid into the side of Alice’s neck and she collapsed in his arms almost instantaneously.

The sound of approaching footsteps had them both scrambling. To hide the bodies (both of them were stuffed behind a statue in the corner). To clean up the blood (she grabbed Whiskey’s pocket square and made quick work of it all). There wasn’t time to make an escape. The thin beam of light from a flashlight was making its way down the hall, she could see it and tugged Whiskey toward her with steady hands.

“Don’t hate me.”

And then she pressed her lips to his and threw her arms around his neck, dragging him ever closer to hide the blood on his shirt.

Whiskey…could kiss. That was made abundantly clear with how easily he coaxed her lips apart to lick into her mouth, tasting of thousand-dollar-bottle champagne and mint. His warm hands grasped at her silk-covered hips and his face angled just the slightest bit so he could truly kiss her. Her hand shot into his hair on its own accord and mussed the carefully coifed locks. He groaned against her lips.

She could kiss him forever-

“Hey!”

They broke apart to see a disgruntled security officer standing in the gallery’s doorway.

“This area’s closed to the public.”

“Sorry man,” Whiskey drawled, keeping her close with a hand on her hip and her angled to keep his wound concealed, “just had to kiss my wife-”

“Do it somewhere else,” the man all but snarled before walking away.

She listened to his footsteps disappear before pushing out a soft laugh. Her heart was still racing. Her lips seemed to pulse in time with her heart and she licked them before she could stop herself, still tasting him. She quickly shot a message to the agent waiting outside that they had one body and one unconscious target to take care of before she stepped around the room, scrambling the security camera feeds with ease with the help of a small device Merlin had been particularly proud of.

She heard Whiskey walk up behind her but still jumped when his hands settled over her shoulders, a finger dragging under the strap of her dress and down her back. She shivered when she heard him chuckle against her throat, nose pressing against her pulse. Turning in his grip, she offered a small smile but didn’t pull away. She wasn’t sure when she would have him so close again. “Alice’ll be taken back to headquarters. Alan will be disposed of. Whoever set us up doesn’t have much time left.”

But Whiskey didn’t reply. His hands travelled up to carefully grasp at her face and he pressed a kiss to her lips—slow and sweet and perfect.

She pushed out a shaky breath as he pulled back and patted at his chest, mindful of the blood. “We are about to be in trouble if the guard comes back, Mr. Jameson,” she said, trying to save face.

“M’name’s Jack, Sunshine.”

“Jack,” she whispered back and she’d never liked a name more.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm​ @honestlystop​ @paryl​  @fioccodineveautunnale @lackofhonor

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey #kingsman