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atths--twice · 3 years

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Chapter Seven

Fox was up at dawn the next morning, packing the last of his items, staring out the window and out to the Nile. No more would they have the luxury of beds, fancy dinners, cool places to seek out for a reprieve.

And he could not have been happier at the prospect of living rough.

A knock sounded at his door, surprising him, believing himself to be the only person who could possibly be awake at that early hour. When he opened it, he found Dana, looking happy, but slightly nervous.

“Good morning,” he said with a smile.

“Hello. I know it’s early, but…” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Would you like to have breakfast? Just you and I, before the others wake to join us?” She smiled and, as always seemed to happen, it caused his stomach to flip.

“I would love to have breakfast with you,” he answered and she nodded. “Let me get my jacket and we can go downstairs.”

It was slightly cooler in the mornings, and he also had something for Dana tucked inside the inner pocket. He had wanted to give it to her on Christmas, but mistakes being made, he was unable to do so. As they would now be alone, possibly for the last time in a while, he knew the timing was perfect.

Closing his door and locking it, he fell in step beside her. She was quiet but seemed to be giving off the same excited energy he himself was feeling. He looked at her appreciatively, the simple yet attractive style in which she dressed always pleasing to behold.

She did not have overly fashionable clothes, but she did not seem to care or desire them. And yet for he, who had grown up with women of all ages dressed in the latest fashions and the best jewels, her simple dress drew him to her even more. Her beauty was held in the simplicity of dress, her manners, and her intelligence.

And her eyes, which spoke to him, even when her mouth did not.

“Have you everything ready?” he asked and she nodded.

“Yes. I packed and repacked last night. Kept thinking I’d forgotten something. Or could rearrange things and find room to add one more thing.”

“Are you needing something?”

“Not at all. I have everything I need,” she assured him with a smile. “It was simply in case I needed or, more accurately, wanted it.” He laughed softly and nodded in understanding.

The dining room was nearly empty, most of the patrons still sleeping. Suggesting a table on the veranda, she accepted and they sat down. She smiled and he smiled back before the waiter walked up to ask them what they wanted to eat.

After he had walked away, he began to reach into his jacket pocket when she let out a deep breath and turned those blue eyes onto him. They were serious and he drew his hand back, folding them in his lap.

“I want to talk about… to tell you why I came here. You’ve never asked and I’ve never volunteered the information, but I want you to know.” She drew in a breath, licked her lips, and closed her eyes briefly. Opening them, she smiled softly and he waited, not wanting to hurry her.

Coffees and sweet biscuits were set on the table and for a few minutes their attention was diverted. When she had taken a few sips of coffee, she nodded and exhaled.

“I… my family is from Maryland, as I told you, and two houses down from us was a family with three children. We all grew up together, though they were slightly older than me. The youngest boy, Matthew…” At this, she trailed off as her hand went to her throat and he knew what she was going to say. He wanted to stop her, tell her it was not necessary, but she had said she wanted him to know, so he would listen.

“Matthew was two years older than me and I…” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head and wiping at her eyes. He swallowed, hating to see her hurting, but knowing there was nothing he could do to help her. “I tagged along with all of them, equally hating and loving him. He treated me like an annoying little sister, but then brought me flowers or held my hand when I had fallen and scraped my knee. He had a way about him. I was in love with him for most of my life.” She smiled at him with tears in her eyes and she sniffled, dabbing her eyes with a napkin.

“He… he never encouraged it, or expected it, showing attention to other girls which broke my heart. But one summer, I stayed with my grandparents and came home in September before school started. I had changed and he noticed, his attention no longer given to other girls, only me. I was fourteen, he was sixteen, and a far off war had recently been declared. Our lives, though not yet consumed by it, soon would be.” She took a second, drinking more of her coffee, not meeting his eyes.

“We were still the same, but different. I had our lives planned in my mind: engaged once I was eighteen, married by nineteen or twenty, a family not far off. I was so happy.” She let out such a shuddering breath, Fox reached for her hand, not caring what others thought or if she would object. She clung to his hand, still not meeting his eyes, tears on her cheeks.

“Though America had not officially entered the war, we all knew it was imminent. It weighed upon everyone. The Lusitania…” She shook her head and closed her eyes. He knew what she was thinking and it made his stomach turn. Opening her eyes, she exhaled quietly. “When Matthew turned eighteen, in August of 1916, he enlisted in the military. He was so proud, ready to fight the Germans and stomp them out. I was terrified.”

“Dana,” Fox said, as she began to cry quietly, but she shook her head, determined to see her story through.

“When… when war was declared… he was so happy. Oh, that makes him sound… I didn’t mean-”

“I understand,” he whispered and she nodded, her head down.

“He left not long after for training and then to England. He asked me to promise to wait for him. It was the easiest promise I ever made.” She blew her nose in the napkin and wiped her eyes. “He arrived in England in June of 1917 and was killed in October of the same year.” She covered her face and cried and he swallowed down the large lump in his throat, turning his head to give them both a chance to compose themselves.

When he had, he looked at her, seeing her tears were subsiding as she took deep calming breaths. Uncovering her face, she looked at him, tears clinging to her lashes.

“My life was planned. I only wanted a husband and a family. And I lost it all. My life ended when his did. My heart was broken.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was… I can’t describe it. I…” She wiped her eyes and shook her head. “I was devastated. Then angry. Then devastated again. My brother came home, wounded but alive, and I hated him for it. My sister’s husband had not fought, a childhood illness of scarlet fever keeping him from doing so. I hated him too. I hated all of them, until I found an old book of mine, one Matthew and used to read together, about the gods and goddesses of Egypt, planning one day to see them together. That’s when I read about Kha’ari. When my heart was broken, I found her.”

He took a drink and tried to dislodge the lump which once again sat there, as she cried softly for a second.

“My path was clear, I needed to come here, to find her temple. My parents didn’t want me to leave, my father was adamant that I stay, wanting to keep an eye on me, but I was still angry, still hurting. I had to leave. I came here with my aunt and uncle, two people who knew to keep quiet about subjects and let me grieve. They helped set me up at my flat and get me the job at the museum in a training program. They left me and for the first time I felt like I could breathe. When I discovered there was not a temple dedicated to Kha’ari, I was broken again. I did my work, but felt empty for quite a while. But when King Tutankhamun was discovered, I once again felt hopeful. Felt that spark within me ignite, just as it did for you.”

She smiled and he stared at her, once again amazed by her, and by women in general. Women who suffer and hurt, yet carry on every day without giving any indication of their pain.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again and she frowned. “I had no idea.”

“I hadn’t told you, how could you have known?” she asked softly.

“I kissed you. I… should not have done that, not when you…”

“Fox…”

“I took liberties and you’re… grieving… you’re hurting.”

“No, Fox,” she said, softly still. “No. Well, not exactly. I did grieve. I suppose I always will, but it’s… mellowed. It’s evened out. I’m not hurting anymore. Not the way I was. I have a new path now. It’s this… and after this… I don’t know. But, my grief and pain are no longer the same.”

“That’s why you want to find it. To thank her,” he stated, as it all finally made sense and she smiled.

“When I first arrived and did not find it here, when all I had wanted was to offer up my pain to her and have it taken from me, I wanted it for different reasons. But now, five years have passed since the worst day of my life, and yes, I want to thank her.”

He stared at her and felt a new desire grow within him. If it took years, he would work to find that temple for her, to present to her the opportunity to give her proper thanks.

If she asked him for the moon, he would attempt to try, wanting nothing more than to see her happy.

____________________

They were quiet after her story, but a comfortable quiet that did not feel strained. He kept feeling he should reciprocate with his own story, but it did not feel like the right moment. That had not been what drove her to speak, so he remained silent.

“The dress your mother sent two years ago,” he said, her eyes raising to his in question, as the puzzle pieces he knew of her life began to fall into place.

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “She sent it with a note hoping it would be something I would wear ‘out with a young man.’ I never found an occasion worthy of it, until recently anyway.” She smiled and he nodded.

“Or the young man, I suppose,” he joked and she held his gaze, saying nothing as she then looked away.

Clearing his throat, finding double meaning in her answer, or lack thereof, he once again reached toward his jacket pocket and took out the gift he had purchased for her a few days past, placing it onto the table. Pushing it toward her, he watched her looking at it.

“I noticed that your journal was nearly full as you wrote in it recently. I knew you needed a new one, and I had planned on making it a Christmas gift, but…” He pulled his hands back and she smiled as she looked at the dark, rich brown of the leather.

“Thank you. I was in need of a new journal… oh, Fox…” she breathed and then gasped as she opened the journal and saw what he had added to it.

Every night before he had gone to sleep, he sketched copies of his sketches from his own journal into hers. The first three pages were dedicated to the sketches of what they had seen and what had caught his eye.

“This is beautiful. Oh, the details of this one… Fox. This is from Karnak. I remember turning around and you weren’t there. I came back and you were sketching this one.” She looked up at him and he smiled with a nod. “Thank you, this is an amazing gift. One I will treasure always.”

He nodded, saying nothing, her story weighing heavily on his mind as they finished their meal. He was thoughtful as they left the veranda and for the first time, her words did not reach his ears as they walked and she spoke to him. His mind was full and he needed time to think of all he had learned.

The arrival of the men was a welcome distraction, their excitement driving away the heaviness of the morning. They were all laughing and talking, Pierre both writing and signing.

Their trunks were brought down and added to the wagons, a third one procured for all of the extra bits they had not accounted for, the others too full to hold any more.

They had to ferry across the river one wagon at a time, the weight of all too heavy to sustain them if they did not. Once they were all together, they set off. Akl drove one wagon, his boys the others, with everyone else on horseback, using borrowed horses which would be brought back when they were settled.

It would take nearly three full days to reach their final destination, needing to stop and camp for two nights. The weather was perfect, the sky cloudless, the company easy. No one could have asked for a better start.

By the time they stopped for the day, they were sore and tired. Akl’s sons began to prepare a fire as he set about making them dinner.

The three men insisted they had bedrolls and were not in need of a tent for two nights, so long as the fire was warm, they would be quite fine.

Fox insisted they put up the smaller tent for Dana, and though she refused, not wanting to be of any trouble, with the help of Sobek and Atum it was quickly erected and her bed made up. As she stepped inside to have a look at it, she brushed Fox’s arm, her eyes thanking him.

They ate and sat around the fire talking, getting to know one another better.

John, 28, was from Kansas, the middle of six boys, and the son of a very tough man to please. He was cruel at times, enticing his sons to squabble and fight one another, believing it made them stronger. No weak sons for him, thank you.

“Although it doesn’t excuse me,” John said, as he looked at Dana. “It’s part of why I was willing to leave when we first met. My father’s voice in my ear telling me a man should never be led by a woman. That I was weak if I allowed it.”

“I understand. I do,” Dana said softly, but she shook her head. “It doesn’t mean that it’s right, however. To be diminished because of my sex… to be thought as less than another, it is unfair.”

Pierre clapped his hands at this, nodding vigorously and tapping his chest. He signed something to John, who nodded and signed back with a rueful smile.

“Yes, it is unfair and I apologize again, to you both. For my thoughts were somewhat similar when I met Pierre, though it was wrong of me.” He nodded at his friend again. “It’s hard. To get that voice out of your head, even after all this time. I haven’t seen my father in nearly ten years. I left home when I was eighteen, moving from place to place doing odd jobs and never went back. I got into a lot of scraps and some of them… I’m surprised I survived. Surprised I survived that, more than I survived the war. But I did and I learned from them, though not enough it seems. I apologize to you once again, Miss Scully.” He bowed his head to her and she smiled kindly at him.

“For the last time,” she stated softly and he grinned as he met her eyes, his forgiveness granted.

Charles, 30, was from London, very near Fox’s family, though they had never met. He had two younger sisters, both now married and in the country somewhere.

“I’ve been away from home for a long time myself. After the war, I couldn’t go back. I was different and the thought of home did not hold the same appeal. My mother had passed while I was in Belgium, the letter from my sister reaching me nearly a month after it happened. I… I read it and put it in my pocket, took one breath, and was back to the fight. I had no time to think about it, to dwell and remember her. I felt nothing because I would not allow myself to do so. I was twenty three, in the middle of a bloody war, and it was I, not my mother who survived.” He shook his head and wiped at his eyes quickly. Pierre clapped him on the back gently and Charles nodded.

“When the war was over, I couldn’t go home. Not even for my sisters. I had to leave, to go anywhere. Anywhere hot. I’d spent nights freezing without a fire and I could not abide a cold London winter. I had to go somewhere warm. I traveled through Africa, visiting many of its countries. I like it here, this continent suits me.” Dana smiled at him and he nodded. Pierre rubbed his back again and looked at Dana and then John.

“Right,” John said. “Charles and I know Pierre’s story, having heard it before, but Charles is not as fluent in sign language as I am, so I’ll be translating for him.” Pierre smiled at Dana again and she smiled back. He began to speak with his hands and John spoke his words quietly.

“I am twenty five, from Bordeaux. My parents have a vineyard there and I have two brothers. An older and a younger. I don’t remember ever being able to speak, though my parents said I did. I fell when I was two and was in the hospital for a long time, though I have no memory of it. I was brought to Paris by train and had surgeries done as my brain was swollen. I survived them, though it was a long time in the hospital, again something I do not remember much of, but from it, I was left unable to speak. I eventually attended schools for the deaf and the mute where I learned sign language. My parents thankfully did not lose their vineyard, as my injuries and costs thereafter were expensive, but it thrived. I will never be in charge of it, my…” Here Pierre paused his hands and took a deep breath. “My younger brother will, my older brother having died in the war.”

It was now Charles’s turn to offer support, his hand on Pierre’s shoulder. Pierre nodded and then shook his head, his hands once again moving quickly.

“I came to Italy four years ago, a doctor there claiming he could treat and cure muteness. I…” Again he paused, his hands lying in his lap. The fire crackled and they all jumped, laughing in embarrassment. Pierre smiled and began again. “I was in love with a young woman and I wanted to be able to speak to her. To speak the words I love you and not just write them. But the treatment was not what I believed it would be. It was…” He swallowed and wiped at his eyes. “Terrible. Just… terrible. I won’t go into more detail.”

“And you never went back to her?” Dana asked softly. Fox looked at her and saw tears on her cheeks as she stared at Pierre. “You didn’t go home?” He shook his head and looked down at his lap, his hands moving, but his gaze not meeting hers.

“No,” John said for him, his voice very quiet. “I was and still am ashamed. Of my imperfections and my cowardice to face her with them.”

“Oh…” Dana breathed and she began to cry softly. Pierre looked up at her and then stood to his feet, walking close to her. He handed her a handkerchief and she took it, grasping his hand. “I’m so sorry. If she loved you, she saw past what you consider imperfections. I know she did.” He shook his head and shrugged, sitting back down as the rest of them were silent.

Dana, after her tears subsided, told them about herself and Matthew. Fox was thankful to her for telling him privately that morning, the shock and pain at hearing her pain would have been hard to hear in front of strangers. He would have been unable to hide his feelings and desire to comfort her.

When she had finished, Pierre was sitting beside her, holding her hand. Their stories were somewhat similar, thus they seemed to find comfort with one another.

All eyes turned to Fox and he cleared his throat. He had never told Dana his whole story and as he relayed it now, of being stabbed and shot, his multiple illnesses both during and after the war, she rose from her seat and sat close to him, taking his large hand in her small one. She would squeeze it when he paused, needing a second to compose himself, the panic rising within him. When he was done, she remained next to him, now holding his hand in both of hers.

“Bloody hell,” Charles said, shaking his head. “We’re all quite a broken bloody mess, aren’t we?” They all laughed, Dana wiping her eyes as she did, still holding onto Fox’s hand with the other.

“I’d say so,” John said almost bitterly. “And with that, I think I’m going to call it a night.”

They all agreed and stood to make their beds ready. Fox walked Dana to her tent and she stopped at the door before going inside. She searched his face and he smiled, not wanting her to worry. She took his hand and squeezed gently.

“Goodnight, Fox,” she whispered.

“And to you, Dana.”

One more squeeze and she let go of his hand, stepping inside the tent. He waited for a second and then rejoined the men around the fire.

He lay on his back looking up at the stars, the sand cool beneath his fingers, and he thought of what Charles said; they were all a broken mess, each in their own way. He turned onto his side and stared at Dana’s tent, hoping she was asleep or at least near to it.

A snore from Akl, around his own smaller fire with his sons, came from his left. The other men seemed to be asleep already also. He closed his eyes, his thoughts once again on Dana, hoping she was able to find peace as she slept.

#The X-Files #XF Fanfic #Alternate Universe #Historical AU #Egypt #On The Road To Discovery #Nearly There

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ginnyggginny · 3 years

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Francoise Gilot painted “Adam Forcing Eve to Eat An Apple” in 1946, the year she moved in with Picasso to become his young muse. In a New York Times article, Alexandra Schwartz quotes Gilot saying that this is no accident. The painting depicts a woman looking at the viewer with an apple forced into her mouth by an angry man with furrowed brows, and the Biblical title implies a sense of lost innocence and hindsight realization of her own unfortunate situation. The description of a “forced” act calls to mind descriptions of sexual assault, a nonconsensual penetration. Gilot is keenly aware of this connection, as she compares Picasso to the monstrous pirate Bluebeard, who

… didn’t cut the heads [of his wives] completely off… he preferred to have life go on and to have all those women who shared his life at one moment or another still letting out little peeps and cries of joy or pain and making a few gestures like disjointed dolls, just to prove that there was some life left in them, that it hung by a thread, and that he held the other end of the thread. (Schwartz)

Gilot clearly delineates the emotionally manipulative tactics that Picasso used, with his desire to keep all his women at arm’s length. Her description of him keeping his muses “hung by a thread” (Schwartz), which he holds in his hand, shows the way Picasso treated her and others as doll-like objects that he could use however and whenever he wanted, and that he had a sense of entitlement towards their bodies, due to a successful career and an inflated career. Even today Picasso is cited as one of the most famous artists in the world, with Guernica and Weeping Woman being some of his most well-known. It is worth noting that Francoise Gilot was a painter in her own right, and she became a muse in an effort to make connections within the art world that would improve her own career by association. She expected that working with Picasso would bring her artistic opportunities, though likely did not expect the mistreatment she received. And yet she is not famous. The tradition of the muse is named after the Greek goddesses who blessed men with inspiration, but it is most famously used referring to the women who posed for portraits, dating back to the Renaissance when classical-style realistic paintings came back into fashion. The essay “Sexual Violence: Baroque to Surrealist” by John Loughery claims that the proliferation of nearly-nude women in Renaissance painting, so ubiquitous in art museums, comes from a more sinister tradition, describing that the paintings “speak volumes about the power factor inherent in the post-Renaissance tradition of the female nude, and, with their riveting straightforward glance, they point ahead to Manet’s Olympia, Zola’s Nana, and an avalanche of prose and imagery that affirms women’s comfort with their own sexuality, or male projections about that level of comfort” (Loughery 299). This essay sees these centuries-old masterpieces not as ethereal works of art that transcend sexuality, but as works of pornography that were designed to titillate the viewer and bypass the highly religious era they came from with their classical setting. Putting aside the oil brushstrokes, Edouard Manet-- and Pablo Picasso-- are simply depicting the nude body of a young woman. While in many cases this situation may have been consensual, Loughery claims that it would be hard to put aside the inherent power dynamic. Like a high-ranking executive of a film company taking advantage of a young woman, a famous and well-connected artist would certainly hold sway over an ambitious young girl. It would be hard to ignore the age difference between the muse and the artist, the often married man and the often-underage ingenue. Also, the idea that “male projections about that level of comfort” discounts the assumption that the women involved would be comfortable with her depiction. Women are often expected to be beautiful and available, Andrea Pino-Silva argues in the essay “I Believe You, Como Eres”, with their “success determined by the boys we charmed at our quinceaneras, of the lengths we took to prepare ourselves to be wives (Pino-Silva)”. There is a clear gender division, visible in every situation from a muse sitting for a portrait to a girl in a ball gown at a quinceanera. The man is expected to have power, he is masculine, the one who asks the girl to dance, the one who moves his model into the position he wants to paint. The woman is just beautiful and must work to keep herself that way. Not only can the artist use his own power and position to take advantage of the muse, he can choose to make her appear however he wants, like a posable doll-- he can make her look like she deserves whatever attention she gets.

Nowadays, the world of artist-and-muse shows itself differently, as the prominent art forms have shifted with time. The familiar story of a man exploiting a woman for creative gain is now most often associated with the film industry, in particular with director Harvey Weinstein and his actress victims. In the case of Weinstein, this is put in a very sinister light with Salma Hayek, who wanted to star in a movie about the artist Frida Kahlo but was forced to include sexual scenes in order to appease Weinstein’s own sexual desires. The muse and the model are very similar, in age and in public perception-- being a beautiful woman paid to look good and inspire works of art. One such model/muse is Kaori, a sitter for the Japanese photographer Araki Hirohiko. During the time of the #MeToo Movement in 2018 and 2019, when millions of women came out with their stories of sexual harassment and assault, Kaori told her story to the New York Times, describing how the photographer emotionally abused her. She describes Araki as treating her “like an object (Kaori)”, when “he asked [her] to do abnormal things, and [she] did them as though they were normal. (Kaori)” Kaori described an incident in which the photographer took nude photos of her, and then published and distributed them without her permission, as described within the New York Times article . It is clear that Araki has taken advantage of his position of power, both as an elderly man in a patriarchal Japanese culture, and in his successful career as an artist allowing him to take liberties with the normal steps of asking for permission and consulting her. This is an extremely similar scenario to Salma Hayek’s experience with Harvey Weinstein, as along with his sexual harassment, Hayek endured extreme emotional abuse. Hayek states in her op-ed for the New York Times that “the range of his persuasion tactics went from sweet-talking me to that one time when, in an attack of fury, he said the terrifying words, ‘I will kill you, don’t think I can’t.’” Like Picasso pushing the apple into Gilot’s mouth, and treating her like a poseable doll rather than a real woman, Kaori and Hayek face emotional abuse from creative men. In fact, the distribution of Kaori’s images could be compared to revenge porn, in which images that have been captured with consent of the body depicted are released without permission, usually for spiteful reasons. Revenge porn is considered a Class A misdemeanor in many states and is considered a form of sexual harassment. The fact that this is such a widespread problem, to the extent where it has been banned by Ireland, shows that the idea of distributing non-consensual nude images has evolved far beyond the Victorian boudoir images of young women resting in nothing but a necklace-- the “male projections about level of comfort” that Loughery mentioned, where male pleasure in viewing a woman’s body is more important than her own comfort and consent.

Women throughout history are often disbelieved, ignored, and left to their own anger and rage. Francoise Gilot channeled her anger into her own Cubist paintings, following a tradition started by Artemisia Gentileschi among other underappreciated female artists who suffered from sexual abuse. Gentileschi is best known for the iconic painting Judith Beheading Holofernes, another example of a Biblical motif being used to convey another meaning. In this image, Judith is bent over the man’s helpless body, her sleeves rolled up over her elbows. muscles outstretched to drag the sword through his neck. Blood spurts out gorily, as Judith is attended by her maidservant. Though the woman in the painting is Judith, it is likely Gentileschi as well-- a woman who was raped by her father’s friend as a teenager, and who was subjected to a humiliating rape trial, according to John Loughery’s essay. The story of Artemisia Gentileschi’s life shows how little her life differs from that of a modern-day rape victim, although Judith was finished in 1621. The painting becomes a revenge fantasy, a way for Gentileschi to release her pent-up rage, visible catharsis as Holofernes becomes her rapist, and her maidservant holding the basket for his severed head becomes a metaphor for the women who unite over a shared enemy. Pablo Picasso and Gentileschi’s rapist were both artists who took advantage of their success and power, in addition to their position as creative men-- as art has been considered a feminine pursuit, creative men may compensate for their choice of career by acting with masculine bravado. Rebecca Solnit writes about the patriarchy’s discomfort with women, and desire to erase feminine attributes among men.

If emotion must be killed, this is work that can make women targets. Less decent men hunt out vulnerability, because if being a man means learning to hate vulnerability, then you hate it in yourself and in the gender that has been carrying it for you. Girl and pussy have long been key insults used against boys and men, along with gay and faggot; a man must not be a woman. (Solnit 30)

#stuff i wrote for shcool

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beni-draw-ikemen-please · 3 years

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Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold

Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold ◆ Ikemen Vampire Fanfiction ◆

CHAPTER 1 - DON’T TELL ANYONE

Words: 2,063

TW: Angst and Hurt ◆ References to Depression ◆ Mental Instability ◆ Mental Health Issues ◆ Implied/Referenced Suicide ◆ Suicidal Thoughts ◆ Graphic Depictions of Sex/Intercourse ◆ Vaginal Sex/Fingering ◆ Rough Sex ◆ Non-con

Pairings: M/F Leonardo Da Vinci x Seiya Amanogawa [OC] / Comte de Saint-Germain x Seiya Amanogawa [OC]

Chapter Index [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

A/N: This is a work of fiction. This is fan fiction for Ikemen Vampire, character designs are owned by Cybird. My story however, features my own OC/MC Seiya Amanogawa who is from Modern Japan/Europe, who travelled to the Louvre for inspiration.

Seiya is female so I will be using she/her as her pronouns. I will also be describing her accordingly. I designed Seiya and she is my Original Character. If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

KINTSUGI - CHAPTER 1

Don’t tell anyone

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

His golden locks fell beautifully in place, like a masterpiece set within the confines of an ornate golden frame. Right there, in the middle of the museum. The spotlight is carefully placed to highlight the gold that accentuated the piece. And there, in front of it all, with just the right amount of distance, is a lone bench.

That’s how Seiya saw him. A figure to be admired from afar. A treasure, so valuable and so bright, she steps back, almost instinctively, it made her feel smaller and smaller.

She would open her leather-bound book. And very carefully, she would write short letters. They weren’t really addressed to anyone in particular. Maybe they were addressed to her future self, who knows? But she wrote them, every single day. It wasn’t her journal either - no - it was far more complex than that.

Seiya knew in her heart, she wouldn’t be able to bear it, if he ever found out. How much she loved sitting just by the balcony of Vincent’s room during afternoon tea time, so she has the perfect view of the his hands as he gracefully pours tea into the day’s chosen china.

Viridian, with golden leaves and soft speckles of purple, almost white. She knew they were one of his favourites. Wedgewood. She took mental notes every time Sebastian gave her a pointer not to miss, especially when it came to afternoon tea.

She would duck her head, ever so slightly, and she would catch a glimpse of his lips, almost looking like they were kissing the fine things and smiling, so perfectly, complimenting the blend Sebastian had carefully prepared.

It was one of her guilty pleasures. And, it was only after she had shown Vincent what she really drew in her sketchbook that the angel allowed her to use his balcony.

Vincent noticed her when she first arrived. She was this scared, trembling frail little creature, and he wanted to make her feel more at home. Which turned out easier than expected. She spoke modern Dutch, at the very least the sounds were similar to the older variant. Sometimes, Seiya would hear him speak words that made her head tilt in confusion. But she enjoyed his company. And Vincent felt the same.

They would often draw together. Vincent with his easel and brushes, and his apron that’s stubbornly stained with paint, and her with ink and paper. She told him how she hated it when her hands stained of charcoal, or anything, so she stuck with inks. She would often grumble, how she missed modern pens and this thing called a brush pen. And Vincent wondered about it often.

They threw the case towards the makers of the mansion, first, Isaac - who felt comfortable around her, enough to actually draw and fiddle with objects around so vulnerably. Isaac asked for more time, maybe even more materials to create different prototypes. Then, the trio approached Leonardo. And they were able to make something similar to the modern brush pen in about a week’s time.

And so she drew more and more and more with the brush pen. Funny how she thought, she was using another man’s present to draw another man. And those two men happened to be best of friends. For over a century. Maybe, even more.

Vincent grew curiouser and curiouser every time he would catch a glimpse of the red leather peeking through the black lace. For someone who looked like her, her choice of colour would almost be too bold for a maiden in 19th century Paris. Always black, she would say. Or, if black wasn’t an option, wine red. Or the darkest violet possible.

Vincent remembered the first time he accompanied her to shop for a new dress with Leonardo. They picked up a white dress, made from the finest leavers lace, that she wore with a frown on her face. She covered herself with her arms and asked to change immediately.

“It’s too bright for me,” she said, and Vincent couldn’t make out if she softly cursed in Dutch, or in Japanese, or a mixture of the two. She would, however, hum in satisfaction whenever she saw black velvet chokers, or black leather gloves, and thinking of that contrast made him smile.

He noticed how intently she would spend on each of her drawings. And Vincent would hear the silent flicks of her brush. It would be a long steady stroke for a while, and then flicks of texture. And then she would stop, and sigh, wait for the ink to dry and she would close her sketchbook ever so quietly.

“What are you drawing, Seiya?” he wouldn’t be so bold as to peek over her shoulder as she worked, unlike how Arthur had attempted so many times. Seiya didn’t say much and it was rare to hear her raise her voice even just for a bit, but when it came to her sketchbook, she was vocal and protective. Arthur attempted many times to uncover the mystery of that book, but Seiya never let anyone, not even Vincent take a peek inside.

Maybe it’s her diary? He thought about this many times.

Maybe it’s some sort of visual diary where she draws her feelings instead of writing them down.

Thinking about it like that, Vincent stopped asking her and instead, just enjoyed the tranquility and meditative togetherness of their afternoon painting sessions.

The only person he thought knew about the notebook’s contents would be Leonardo. They spend an awful lot of time together, after all. Comte had assigned the man to be Seiya’s caretaker, and Leonardo took that duty to heart, sometimes too seriously.

Sometimes, during their drawing afternoons, Leonardo would suddenly just pop out of nowhere, grab her notebook and throw it in the grass. The first time he did that, Vincent was so shocked his hands stopped painting, his paintbrush falling on the grass unnoticed.

There was only the sound of the wind, and the shifting of fabric as Seiya smoothed her skirt and walked towards her notebook. She would have a pained expression on her face, and she would wipe her book clean with the hem of her skirt. And Leonardo would just stand there, puffing his cigarrillo in, and blowing it all out with a heavy sigh.

“Fanculo,” she whispered. And Vincent froze. His neck slowly guided his eyes toward Leonardo, who now looked more annoyed than when he first walked in.

Vincent usually did not know how to respond to situations like these. Their silence made it impossible for him to intervene. Leonardo was not violent, no, and he wasn’t the type to insult women. But Seiya didn’t appreciate it when someone ordered her around.

Dealing with Theo at first proved to be one of the hurdles she had to overcome before making the mansion her home, too. Vincent would always remember the face she made when Theo called her a ‘hondje’. And the long road it took for them to actually make an effort to sit down, have an actual conversation and eventually get to know each other.

But with Leonardo, it was something different.

Seiya was composed, and usually calm - at least Vincent thought so - he always felt relaxed whenever they were together. Seiya would often say something and he would apologise for not listening carefully to what she had to say. In the end though, they both agreed that it was more that she spoke too softly, rather than him spacing out and not listening.

Vincent knew that feeling too well. And maybe, it was one of the reasons why they enjoyed each other’s company. Soft souls, his little brother called them.

But with Leonardo, it was different.

Seiya acted more like a child around him. She would pout, call him names and he would let her. And then they would retreat to his room. Sometimes the library. Sometimes, her room, very late into the night.

“I told you. You should stop these silly doodles,” When Leonardo finally spoke, it sounded more like a request than actual lecturing. Seiya would look away, and she would hold her dear treasure closer to her chest.

Vincent, without a word, held out his hands to both of them, as if trying to stop the eruption that was about to happen. Seiya would whisper, that it was none of his business. That made Vincent realise that her notebook was something more valuable than they all deem it to be. And that it was very personal. And, for whatever reason and content it held, Leonardo was against it.

He hated it. Vincent could see it. Enough for him to go out of his way to get it off her hands and into the dirt.

This would happen every now and then, and oddly enough, Vincent knew he should get used to it.

That evening, Vincent brought her a pot of flowers. Hoping she would calm down. Vincent knew his friend did not like cut flowers so whenever he wanted to cheer her up, he would pick a small pot from their growing collection, and walk it to her room.

That day, he could remember she argued with Leonardo again. She was upset that he did what he did during their good days. Vincent felt great earlier in the day and wanted to paint, and she too, felt inspiration course through her hands. And Leonardo just shattered that moment.

Vincent frowned a bit as he leaned against the wall a little further away from the door of Seiya’s room. He could now understand why she was so upset and his heart ached for her. But what he didn’t understand was why Leonardo hated her notebook. Did he dislike that she drew? He couldn’t put his mind around it.

Seiya stormed out, and ran to the opposite direction in tears. After a while, he found her behind the lush greens of the Gazebo. Almost how a little kid would hide themselves after a fight after an afternoon at the sandbox. He remembered how quietly she cried. And how warm her hand was when he helped her out of the grass.

They sat underneath the stars, a bench near the gate of the mansion. And there, she showed him. He didn’t really say anything, no, Vincent just sat with her. Hoping his presence would alleviate the stress and agitation she felt. Seiya felt like she needed to tell Vincent what was happening.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Her voice was always soft, like a silent prayer you hear inside a church. You should make out the words, but they would always sound like some foreign incantation made to sound familiar.

Vincent would often lean in and apologise. Asking her to repeat herself one more time, for his sake. Seiya would chuckle a bit and she would take a deep breath and would speak a little louder.

“Do you dislike Leonardo?” He asked her one time. And she looked at him with the strangest expression on her face. It was as if it was obvious that she did, but she also looked like she was shocked to hear him ask this question. It was hard for Vincent to understand her, most of the time.

Seiya did not say anything, but she gave him her notebook. Vincent’s eyes widened with interest and curiosity. He was excited and Seiya chuckled when she saw the eagerness in his blue eyes.

“Are you sure?” He asked just to be sure. It was dark, but he could still see the pink on Seiya’s cheeks. Her hair looked like starlight illuminating her from the nipping dark of dusk.

Vincent never felt like this before. The build up curiosity all stemming from the enigma that was her notebook, made the first look inside the pages of this mysterious book all the more exciting. He felt like a pirate, opening the treasure chest, seeing the valuable contents for the very first time.

And then, he stopped.

“You can’t tell anyone. Please?”

-To be continued-

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen leonardo #Onibeni Seiya #ikemen comte

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akimmito · 4 years

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Heroes are made by the path they choose

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Chapter 16

Tuesday, 11:00 AM, Istanbul.

Marinette and Felix walk the streets of Istanbul reviewing a museum guide to learn a bit before officially visiting the museum and getting to know it personally, plus they already have a plan for a casual visit, after all, in an hour they must meet with the Turkish actor, Kerem Demir, to chat with him (Felix has this little habit of meeting with newer actors to avoid encountering unpleasant surprises, in addition to creating an image of closeness with his partners and employees).

"We must pick up Mr. Demir in twenty minutes, I think you should call Asif." Marinette speaks as she puts the guide in her bag.

Walking without any vigilance through the cities has always been something that people they know don't understand, but, unless the trip is totally innocent (without any vigilant work included), they prefer to get used to the new environment, to know its secrets first hand. This makes it easier for them to move around when they perform their least legal activities (because, sadly, robbing museums is totally illegal even if the object should never have been there initially).

"Of course, I'll send you a message to meet us at the Church of Santa Irene."

They keep walking around observing the surroundings, after all, they are quite close to their goal: the Istanbul Archaeological Museum, which is where the Miraculous of the Giraffe is exhibited, a golden arm bracelet with a spotted brown stone (as described by the museum (although it's actually the symbol) that was found in southern Izmir fifty years ago. She still wonders why the sudden interest, though she still doesn't know the jewel's Kwami and Plagg isn't exactly helpful, Wyazz, for once, either. Different boxes, added to the fact that it was rare to find holders of other boxes because they were well distributed according to what the world needed at the time.

When they get to the meeting point, Marinette can't help but pull out her notebook to draw quick sketches inspired by the Church of Saint Irene. All Turkish architecture is, of course, beautiful and it is a pity that you cannot spend more time in the city. She still has work to do, she can't keep Richard and Timothy longer than she should in Paris, as they went to the trouble of going in person for the consultation.

Ten more minutes and Asif, the driver that Felix hired, approaches them.

"Günaydın Bay Graham by Vanily.

"Günaydın Asif. Biz Bukoleon Sarayi nde Kerem Demir buluşacak ve sonra biz Matbah gidecek. "

Marinette is still impressed to hear him speak different languages so easily, being fluent in ten of the twelve he knows. She still struggles with the six she knows (basically she forced herself to expand her language skills to better manage her company, putting special interest in the main countries where she extended her brand). And Felix makes it look too simple.

The meeting with Kerem was pleasant, they discussed the most important details of the role and what they expect of him when joining Graham Films, in addition to explaining that, as she will make the costumes, it will make her presence in the city easier to help respect the country's history and the character's origins through clothing (Marinette was confused at the time, but Felix tends to do those things and is not going to turn down the opportunity to design the entire wardrobe for that movie).

They passed lunch with ease after the details were clear, plus Kerem offered to accompany them to the Istanbul Archaeological Museum, which was a bonus, that he explained everything they saw was a bonus. A tour of the entire site and a very close view of the Miraculous, they were able to see the entire compound while talking about the exhibits.

Marinette took advantage of her sketchbook to include notes in Russian and German, mixing both languages using the Japanese Katana alphabet. Very intricate? Yes, but she considers it necessary and strategically places it around the garments as if they were additional notes from the changing rooms.

Three hours later, they say goodbye to the actor and they return to the hotel to plan the great robbery. If all goes well, they will be taking a plane back to Paris at the same time tomorrow.

---------

GRAHAM FILMS ANNOUNCES A NEW FILM AND PRESENTS ITS PROTAGONIC STAR: KEREM DEMIR

LARGE THEFT AT ISTANBUL ARCHAEOLOGICAL MUSEUM: JEWEL OVER 1,500 YEARS OLD ROBBED, AVOIDING ONE OF THE BEST SECURITY SYSTEMS IN TURKEY

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

Meanwhile, at the country house, Damian bathes all of his dogs (a bad decision) turning the fun moment into a muddy mess as he chases the puppies to keep still and keep them from getting more dirty. His original plan was to bathe Edgar and Agatha, but as soon as the others saw the water, they all joined.

Damian had no plans for that to happen, but his pets thought it was more fun to get dirtier than they were.

"Young Damian, do you need help?" Hugo calls to him from the door, respecting the space of the boy, but still worried about the disorder that arose in the patio as soon as he turned his back on them.

"No." His answer ends up being stifled by the remorseless crush of Aphrodite, the Shepherd Garfiano. Hugo sees that as the signal to rescue the boy from his own overexcited pets, which keep jumping and barking in the mud. At least Damian is not wearing white clothing or too light colors, it would be a nightmare to watch.

"Attention." All dogs raise their heads at the older man, even Picatso from a safe distance does. Damian pouts at his pets' obedience to the man, being that bath time is the only time they ignore him almost entirely. "You will go into your bathtubs and stay still, is clear?"

Barking of recognition they affirm causing it a smile of the butler and that Damian sulks looking towards the sky.

"Now, Young Damian, it's not time for you to be angry. We have a herd to clean. ”The boy sighs and stands up to take care of the cubs, which are already bouncing off the bathtubs with water. He should start training them properly soon, thus avoiding the small disturbances they cause.

"Titus, Titus, no!" The Great Dane puppy lunges at him, digging its little claws into his clothing. Maybe he should get rid of the outfit, considering that the little dog just made a hole. It's obvious that Titus didn't receive any training, not even the minimum that is given in the animal shelter, Ringo is not so unruly even though he seems to have twice the energy.

The afternoon is spent cleaning up their own mess and scolding their dogs for their behavior, with Ícaro the only one to seem remorseful.

---------

God Shit: I found something you might like, kid

Olive: What is it?

God Shit: [Photo]

Olive: I'll convince mother to let me keep it

#dickinette #maribat #dick x marinette #Damian & Marinette #mominette

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fangirlinglikeabus · 3 years

Text

every target novelisation....2!

planet of giants by terrance dicks ok so i think that the reason that this is...good, and an unearthly child was...not good, is because this was written 9 years later when like. other, non-terrance dicks people were also novelising stories and he wasn’t just grinding them out on an industrial level. planet of giants isn’t one of the greats of doctor who but this is a competent adaptation - it doesn’t add much but it does flesh out what’s already there, giving us some backstory elements and making the appearance of giant insects and bodies seem a bit more dramatic than they could manage in 1964. unfortunately it also alters my favourite line from the story (‘i don't know how you know, you're supposed to know!’) and the doctor is weirdly hostile at the beginning (he’s looking forward to ditching ian and barbara, he responds to barbara’s observation ‘drily’ like he’s being a bit sarcastic over her, um, *checks notes* noticing important details). also, dicks describes this in the opening as ‘the doctor’s most grotesque and terrifying adventure’ and i’m like...planet of giants? really??

doctor who and the dalek invasion of earth by terrance dicks ok this one legitimately doesn’t change much at all. it cuts down on some things (including the doctor’s end speech being shorter - i’m assuming that’s a space thing), fleshes out on pov bits as you can in prose, gets rid of the smacked bottom line. bizarrely there are a few times that susan calls her grandfather the doctor which...i’m pretty sure wasn’t there originally. aside from all those small details, yeah it’s basically the same, but it’s well adapted for prose (i genuinely think it stands as a novel in its own right), and depending on your reading speed it might actually be a nice, shorter alternative to the television version - it was around 45 minutes less time for me. some general things i wanted to comment on: the resistance is explicitly shown as kinda gender segregated (exclusively women are preparing food when we first see it) which irritated me; the description of parliament as a symbol of ‘human progress and tradition’ reminded me of blood harvest having the lords/commons system as the Ideal Form Of Government, in terms of how terrance dicks thinks (this may only interest me? idk i very probably spend too much time thinking about the political views of this particular dead dr who script editor); there’s a use of holocaust here that’s technically accurate to what the word literally means but it felt weird to me to use it.

the rescue by ian marter oh man i’ve been busy and this took me aages to read. it kinda...diverges increasingly from the original story as it goes on. we’ve got some scenes with the seeker crew (incidentally one of them says ‘ass’ and i was like???hello???you’re allowed to do that in a dr who book from 1987???), and then most of the expanded stuff is in the climax. dr who and bennett have a full on brawl! ian, barbara and vicki visit a destroyed didoi city on their way back to the tardis! mysterious silver figures! a giant worm encounter! incidentally, this does have way more of a downer ending than the original because it’s strongly implied that the last two of the didoi were killed by seeker crewmembers who fired in a panic, after which the report that forms the epilogue ends with “goodwill to all persons” to give us a taste of bitter irony. so that’s kinda grim. um...there’s actually a lot of little changes and minor expansions to this one as well so off the top of my head: we learn more about why vicki left earth (global warming :/), sandy is a lot more threatening-looking than on screen, the crashed ship gets its name changed to astra-nine, ian and barbara hold hands briefly, barbara’s fall really leaves her beaten up. i like the seeker crew comparing the tardis briefly passing them to various non-police box objects from the future (although the link to china is a bit eastern world=alien association for my tastes), dr who telling vicki ‘give that pretty face a wipe’ is clearly him attempting to cheer her up and it’s not meant to be weird but i found it weird. finally, i’ve gotta say i appreciate ian marter’s commitment to ‘mildly unsettling’ in his descriptions of tardis materialisations. this was the last novelisation he wrote before his death (the book’s dedicated to him) and mild criticisms aside, i do think he’s a good writer and he brings an interestingly different angle to the series.

the romans by donald cotton oh my god. how do i even start this. i’m not even going to try cataloguing all the changes because this isn’t even close to a straight adaptation. it’s told in the form of various documents collected by tacitus - the doctor’s diary, ian’s journal that he keeps to prove to the headmaster at coal hill that he and barbara haven’t just eloped (i’m not joking, this is the textual reason for it), an assassin’s letters home to his mum, nero’s scribblings, and various other little details. vicki and barbara get less attention than on screen because we don’t see much from their perspective (vicki unfortunately doesn’t even get to chase the assassin out, she just screams in this), and the nero assassination plot is exclusively confined to being mentioned in the epilogue. it’s also a lot broader, or at least consistently broader, which means that ian’s side of things is treated a lot more lightly (which i was personally fine with) but also that we still get nero’s predatory behaviour being played for laughs. there’s also a few comments about women early on that i was unhappy with, and use of fat as an insult. generally, though, i thought this was great! there were a lot of things that i don’t have space or time to include here but i really liked. i guess i’d consider this as a companion piece to the tv version rather than a replacement, which some of these do basically serve as. they tell the same basic story, but they’re so different in a lot of ways that i think it’s worth looking at both. i just checked my notes and remembered this so content warning: poppea sabina’s first section references suicide.

doctor who and the zarbi by bill strutton ok so i think the web planet is boring. i don’t know completely why, i don’t think it’s any one thing, it has some interesting ideas, but it is! it’s fucking boring! anyway, we have a bit more casual sexism in the novel, we’re missing that fun convo about aspirin between vicki and barbara, but really i don’t think it adds or changes much - like even the chapters correspond pretty much exactly to the tv cliffhangers. i guess it’s competently written prose-wise, but i genuinely can’t get over my conviction that this story is boring. am i being unfair? maybe! i like some of the early atmosphere, though, and i appreciate a book which refers to ‘the ship tardis’ (lowercase) and ‘doctor who’ throughout the entire thing. oh yeah, and i encourage you all to look up the illustrations for this. i don’t know who that woman is but she’s definitely not vicki.

doctor who and the crusaders by david whitaker ah yes, the infamous ‘susan married david cameron’ novelisation. tbh i don’t like the crusades and this has the same problems - i don’t care about the english, el akir is every orientalist stereotype whitaker could possibly cram into one man, and That’s Not How A Harem Works. do i think it’s the most egregiously racist doctor who story of all time? probably not! it certainly has sympathetic arabic characters too. but i prefer most other historicals, at least. however, if that isn’t you, i’m sure you’ll get something out of this. there aren’t any particularly extreme changes to the plot structure, although it’s missing some later scenes at the english court, but it’s well written and probably if you like the original you’ll enjoy it more than i did. there’s some dated language surrounding black characters, though, i’m not a fan of the whole ‘we aren’t so different’ speech ian has (because it rests on ‘we all believe in a higher power’ which uh. i don’t. guess that means i’m not ‘civilised’. also generally i don’t like the argument that we should respect each other because of what we have in common - you should respect other people whatever!), and the prologue at the beginning where they muse on history and destiny assumes that the english invaders and the arabs are both equally right in their own ways (the doctor outright says this!)

the space museum by glyn jones so, i really like the space museum. mainly for vicki’s revolutionary fervour, but there are other reasons too. however, i don’t think that this really adds enough to be of interest - although we do get some information about the two alien species’ biology, and a bonus explanation of why everyone speaks english (the moroks briefly considered invading earth so programmed some earth languages into their translation system). there’s a bit more wandering around the museum, some minor tweaks and expansions in other areas, an underground tunnel scene where we learn a bit of the planet’s backstory...ian and the doctor are very snippy to each other in this, which i find funny. oh yeah, and there’s a bizarrely meta bit where ian comments on poor dialogue? basically, this is a book i enjoyed, but really it just makes me want to watch the space museum instead of reading it. just a heads up, there’s a character who briefly considers suicide to get out of his bosses being angry with him.

the chase by john peel ok before i get started i need to establish that the cover for this one slaps. anyway, i don’t respect john peel at all but this was...alright? doesn’t expand much plotwise (although i suspect both the sand monsters at the beginning and the plants at the end have slightly more to do) but we get a fair bit of pov stuff. unfortunately lacking ian’s dad dancing and hi-fi the panda, the marie celeste bit is no longer played for comedy (barbara angsts over it) and even though the two paragraphs dragging morton dill are kinda funny i’m not sure how i feel about him being committed for claiming he saw daleks. ian and barbara’s departure plays out a little differently. steven is blond for some reason. we learn as well that daleks are charged by solar panels (at least they’re pro-green energy??)

the time meddler by nigel robinson pretty competent, straight down the middle novelisation, although that is tempered by inserting some weird sexist bits for steven and also lowkey being nostalgic for 11th century england at a few points? it’s also a bit more violent than we see on tv, and if anything the rape is more loudly implied, so heads up. other than that, there are a few minor embellishments (we’re explicitly told the dr and monk recognise each other, vicki tells steven that the tardis is important to her because it’s her home, a few differences between the monk’s tardis and the doctor’s are described, vicki views steven following her as a triumphant victory in their power struggle which i personally find funny), and there’s a prologue (recapping steven’s arrival in the tardis) and an epilogue (which delays the monk’s discovery of the broken tardis because he walks to hastings first to try and get involved there). i had fun, but it’s not a must read.

#doctor who #classic who #first doctor #susan foreman #ian chesterton #barbara wright #vicki pallister #steven taylor #laura reads dw books #target marathon #this took me aaages and i don't even have an excuse lol i finished uni weeks ago #anyway sorry if this is a bit rushed i'm literally leaving for somewhere in five minutes and i wanted to get this out first

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shipping-receiving · 5 years

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Fictober 2019 Day 16: “Listen. No, really listen.”

Rating: T | Word Count: 2607 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones Relationship: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth Tags: Alternate Universe – Office Notes: Part 1 – Tumblr / AO3 | Part 2 – Tumblr / AO3

(read on AO3)

//////

This is a mistake, Brienne thinks for the hundredth time since she woke up this morning, as she waits for Jaime at the ferry terminal. Why the hells is she bringing him to Tarth? It’s too soon. She still has no clue what exactly is happening between them that would make this too soon, but she just knows it’s too soon.

Fine, so it’s the fourth straight weekend she’s been showing him around the Stormlands. She’d started off with Storm’s End, of course. Brienne isn’t that much of an expert on the castle’s history, beyond what they had to learn in high school, but Renly was a distant descendant of House Baratheon—not that the Great Houses still existed, or held castles—and he had told her a few good stories that had been passed down through generations.

“You’re close to Renly, then,” Jaime had commented, when she told him about her source.

“Oh, I guess so. But we’re just friends.” And then she had winced, because why the fuck did that last part matter?

Jaime just smiled at her appreciatively, like it actually did matter. “Good to know,” he had said. Again with that phrase. But he didn’t say much else after that on the subject. That first weekend, she found that Jaime was talkative, even funny, when he wasn’t just greeting her with her name at her cubicle. But he was also talkative in a way that seemed as if he was trying to avoid having to talk. Really talk. Not that Brienne expected them to really talk this first weekend, even if they had been doing that dance in the office for weeks. In real terms, she was still just his employee.

There were a handful of other great castles left standing around the Stormlands that were all worth visiting, but for the second weekend Brienne had thought it was best to shift gears. She drove them to a charming small town about an hour out of the city, thinking it would be a nice place to spend the day, and it was, mostly. When they found themselves walking through a farmers’ market, however, it had suddenly felt far too domestic. It’s just the second weekend of sightseeing, Gods, not even a second date. They hadn’t even had a first date. Storm’s End didn’t count if there was no written or verbal agreement between both parties on its date-ness. Nothing had even changed, in the office. The dance continued, that was all. Fine, so they were texting more often, and Brienne was extremely glad that she sat with her back to Margaery. That woman had an eagle eye for people who smiled at their phones too much.

Brienne might have brisk walked through that farmers’ market a little too quickly as she thought these thoughts. Jaime was in no such hurry, though, and seemed keen to indulge some kind of latent obsession he had with sampling cheese. At least, she had assumed it was just about sampling cheese. By the time he had reached her at the end of the market, he was carrying six different blocks of cheese in his arms.

The third weekend, Brienne thought she should pick something safe. Safe and undomestic. They could go to the art museum. Art museums are safe. Art museums are educational. Art museums are sometimes even puzzling, but they had interesting objects in them, and they’d be spending all their time looking at those interesting objects, and reading words that described those interesting objects. Except it just so happened that Jaime quite likes art, in a way that Brienne found refreshing. He could speak reverently about sculptures she thought were quite confusing, and even, frankly, hideous. But he also had no qualms about making fun of serious old paintings, especially the ones with more anatomically questionable depictions of the Seven.

Art museums are not safe, Brienne decided. Jaime was opening her mind and making her laugh and Brienne was starting to really feel things inside her. They weren’t even on a date. There was no written or verbal agreement between both parties.

Then, at the end of that afternoon, Jaime had asked her if they could do something different next weekend, experience more of the region’s unspoiled nature, maybe. “Oh, let’s go to Tarth!” she had said, without even thinking. “We can take the first ferry out in the morning, and the last ferry back at night. It’ll be a long day, but doable, I think.”

“Your father still lives on Tarth, doesn’t he?” was Jaime’s first question, and Brienne progressed to a full-blown blush in record time. She hadn’t really thought about that—Jaime said ‘nature’ and she just immediately thought ‘Tarth’—but there was something in Jaime’s voice that told her he was amused at her suggestion.

“... He does,” she replied. “But he’s busy next weekend.” He wasn’t. “And I just saw him last month.” She sees him almost every month, actually, so she was due for another visit. “We don’t have to see him.” That was just making it weirder than it had to be.

“Of course,” Jaime said, and he wasn’t just sounding amused, he was also looking amused. “I was just asking. I’d love to go to Tarth.”

And so they are going to Tarth. Jaime shows up at the ferry terminal just a few minutes past their agreed time. It’s a clear day in the Stormlands, rare even for this time of year, so they sit on the upper deck of the ferry, and can’t speak much above the strong winds of Shipbreaker Bay. Brienne tries her hardest not to formulate any opinions on how the wind is having its way with Jaime’s loose white button-up shirt, although he seems to have forgotten that those first three buttons aren’t just for decoration. He’s rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, and she tries her hardest not to formulate any opinions on his forearms, either.

As they disembark the ferry, they walk past a signboard that says, grandly, WELCOME TO TARTH, and in cursive script below, The Sapphire Isle. Jaime points at it and remarks, “They’ve been calling it that for centuries, haven’t they?”

“Yeah. Maybe even for millennia. It’s for the blue of its waters.”

“It’s not a reference to the eyes, then.”

Brienne looks at him quizzically. “What eyes?”

“Your eyes.” He lifts a finger pointlessly in the direction of her face. “The Tarth eyes. I assume it’s a family trait. They’re very blue.”

“Oh. Um. Thank you?” Why did she thank him? He was just stating a fact. She does have very blue eyes, and they are a Tarth trait. The one trait she’s always been glad she inherited.

“You’re welcome,” Jaime says, anyway, with that half-smile of his.

They spend the rest of the day on the western coast, mostly, where the ruins of Evenfall Hall still stand. The island isn’t particularly big, and it’s easy enough to take the bus along the main roads, and explore the island from there. Her childhood home, where her father still lives, is on the eastern coast, so she can sidestep the intimacy of showing Jaime that part of her life. Her father did turn out to be busy this weekend, anyway, so she doesn’t have to feel so guilty about coming to the island without telling him.

In the late afternoon, Brienne brings Jaime to a secluded meadow in the northwest. It’s close enough to the sea, and they’ll be able to watch the sunset in an hour or so, too. She used to go there as a kid, she tells Jaime, when she wanted to be alone. She doesn’t tell him that it was to get away from the cruelty of the other kids.

They lie in the grass, and look up at the sky. There is an intimacy in this, though it’s not the same intimacy of him seeing her childhood home, of meeting her father. Brienne pushes away the thought that this might be even more intimate than those things.

“Listen, Jaime,” she tells him. It’s what she used to do when she came here as a child. Just close her eyes and listen to everything except her own thoughts.

He does, for a while. “It’s nice,” he says eventually. “It’s quiet.”

Well, those are certainly adjectives. She shouldn’t have expected more from a man who spent most of his life in the city of King’s Landing, with all the noises of the urban environment that people there learn to ignore. “No, really listen,” Brienne urges. “Close your eyes and listen.”

Jaime stays silent for a long time. Finally, he speaks again. “I can hear the grass rustling in the wind. Birds, talking to each other in the trees back there. The waves, that’s distant, but I can hear it, I think. And your breathing.” Brienne’s eyes fly open at the last one, but Jaime just continues. “No traffic. No fingers typing away on keyboards, or pens scratching on paper, or the whirring of copy machines. And coffee machines, I suppose.” She hears the smile in his voice, at that little rhyme.

“No arguments,” he says, the smile disappearing. “No expectations.”

Brienne turns over to lie on her side, facing him. Somehow, those words give her the courage to ask the question that’s been on her mind since the stairwell incident. She’s going to hope he talks. Really talks. She wants him to talk to her. She wants to listen.

“You were supposed to go back to King’s Landing, weren’t you? Why did you decide to stay?”

“Long story,” he says to the sky. “My family—it’s complicated. My father wants me to take over the company, some day, even though my brother is much better at all of this.” Tyrion, if Brienne remembers correctly. Nicknamed the Imp as much for his quick wit as for his height. “My sister isn’t too happy about my father’s decision, not that she wants my brother in the running at all. Just her and her new husband.” Jaime says this bitterly, and Brienne is reminded of that strange intensity she heard in his phone call with Cersei. “She was pushing me for it, at first. She’s my twin, you know, and we used to do everything together. She thought that she’d be able to gain control through me, if my father won’t give it to her.”

He turns toward her now. “I don’t want any of it, Brienne. I’m good at my job—I don’t enjoy it, but I’m good at it, and I’m not sure what else I could do, anyway. But I don’t want control of the entire company.” He picks at the grass between them. “Cersei finally got that in her head. So she went and found someone with more ambition. But my father doesn’t want her husband to inherit the business, even though the man even offered to take the Lannister name.”

Jaime sighs, and he seems to be somewhere quite far away. “It’s a mess, back in King’s Landing, Brienne. I don’t even know how long I can stay in the Stormlands, before my father finds a way to force me back.”

He lies there for a while, still facing her. Then, all of a sudden, he sits up. “I’m sorry,” he says, without looking back. “You probably didn’t want to hear all of that.”

Brienne shifts herself so she’s sitting beside him. “I don’t know if I can give you any advice at all, Jaime. But I’m happy to listen, whenever you need to talk.” She nudges him with her elbow. “I’m not just a tour guide, you know.”

He smiles that half-smile again. “Hey. Can I ask you a question, too?”

“Of course.”

“How did that whole thing get started? About you thinking I look average?”

Not this again. “Why are you so obsessed with that?” Brienne laughs.

“I’m just interested in the backstory, that’s all.” Jaime’s whole demeanour is shifting. Brienne can see the familiar self-confidence return, a bit of that arrogance he saves for the office, though she’s realising now that it might just be something for him to hide behind. “I was surprised to hear it. I happen to think I’m quite good-looking.”

Okay, she was feeling quite sorry for him a minute ago, but now she can’t help but roll her eyes. “Who are you? Who even says that about themselves?”

“Answer the question, Brienne,” he grins.

“Everyone was talking about it, okay?” she groans. “Your looks. All day, every day. It was too much. I was just really annoyed one morning, because of…” She doesn’t really want to get into the details of that morning, actually. “Bottom line, I just didn’t want to hear it anymore. So I said it to shut people up. Then it got out of hand.”

“Because of…?” he probes.

Alright, fine. “I don’t have a chauffeur to get me to work, Jaime. I take a bus, then a train, then the shuttle. I missed all three of those that morning. And then I was all sweaty and gross and I passed you in the hallway and you gave me a look—”

Oh fuck. Brienne had said too much. She hadn’t wanted to talk about the look.

“Oh.” There’s a glimmer of recognition in Jaime’s eye. “I remember that.”

He does? “You do?”

“Yeah. I think so. You were all flustered, I remember, and your hair was a mess.”

Oh great, that’s why he remembers. “Thanks a lot for that.” Brienne hides her head in her knees. “I don’t really need the recap, Jaime.”

“Don’t interrupt while I’m reminiscing, Bridget,” he teases. “I remember it because it was the first time I thought, ‘She has nice eyes.’”

Brienne just starts laughing into her knees out of shock.

“I’m serious!” Jaime insists.

“That was your takeaway?” She lifts her head. “I looked like a disaster, Jaime. I distinctly remember going to the bathroom right after and thinking that I looked like a disaster.”

“As I recall, you were wearing that blue blouse that matches your eyes. They were all wide, and your cheeks were all flushed and it just, I don’t know, made them stand out. I guess that’s why I gave you a look.”

He can’t possibly mean what he’s saying. “You basically said I was ugly at the office party, Jaime,” Brienne reminds him. Or perhaps it’s more of a reminder to herself.

Jaime holds both his hands up in surrender. “Again, I’m very sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” she says, lightly, and nudges him again. “I punched you already.”

“I was drunk, anyway, not that it’s an excuse.” He lies back down on the grass. “Pissed off about my family as usual. And, I think, a little hurt that the tall one with the nice blue eyes thought I only looked average.”

There’s something in those words that makes Brienne want to fly into a panic, even after all the dancing, even after the past four weekends. No, she refuses to jump to any conclusions. It’s a much better option to just—stand up abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Jaime asks from the grass. “Can’t we stay here a while longer?”

Brienne looks at the sky, and sees the sun making its way towards the horizon. She thanks it silently for giving her a reason to walk away from this place, this small patch of meadow where Jaime’s spilled one too many truths for today. She doesn’t want to think of them as truths, really. Not that last part. Not yet.

“Get up, Jaime,” and she offers him her hand. “Or we’re going to miss the sunset.”

#fictober19 #jaime x brienne #braime #my fic #GUESS THIS IS A SLOW BURN NOW #i never knew home until i found your hands

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

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886.

5k Survey XIII

601. Do you have a lust for life? >> I wouldn’t describe my relationship with life in those terms. 602. Do you want to get more out of life? >> I don’t know what this means. 603. Would you want to learn to: Convert to Buddhism? I can’t imagine what I’d need to learn. It can’t be that difficult. Cure a hangover? The only true cure for a hangover is time and hydration and food. Or, you know, drinking less and being more hydrated in the first place. Lie persuasively? I’m pretty sure that’s not something I need to learn, either. I just don’t feel the need to practice it. 604. What character from a movie is most like you? >> I don’t know. 605. Are you comfortable with the idea of your own death? >> I’m not comfortable with it. I am continuously making efforts to become more comfortable with it, of course, but there’s no guarantee that, when faced with my imminent demise, I will be successfully graceful and open about it. Especially if I die any time soon.

606. How do you feel about arranged marriages? >> I don’t feel anything about them. They’re nothing to do with me, I don’t live in a culture where that’s a thing I have to deal with. 607. What do you hate that everyone else seems to like? >> I don’t know, man. Milk chocolate? 608. What do you like that others seem to hate? >> My main experience with this is being a Creed fan in high school. (I still listen to their music, but the real obsession was back then.) 609. If you had to be named after a month, which month would you pick? >> August. 610. Is time more like a highway or a meadow to you? >> Time makes more sense to me as an ocean -- deep as well as broad, and something you can be submerged in and surrounded by. Even a meadow seems too linear or “flat” for my understanding of time. 611. What is your favorite movie? >> The Fountain. 612. Which would you choose to be back in the day: a warrior, an alchemist, a minstrel, a bard, an oracle, a peasant, or a merchant? >> You say this like I would have had much of a choice. 613. What is your favorite song lyric? >> --- 614. What will you never run out of? >> There is nothing I will never run out of. 615. If you could force someone to fall madly in love with you, (anyone you choose) would you do it? >> Absolutely fucking not. 616. Have you ever seen the Disney movie The Black Cauldron? >> No. 617. Have you ever read The Black Cauldron by Alexander Lloyd (or any of his other books in the Prydain Chronicles)? >> No. 618. Have you ever written a paper the night before it was due? How about the day it was due? >> I don’t know, man, the last time I was in this position was like 13 years ago. 619. Is there a movie you have watched so many times that you can quote it line for line? >> I can’t quote any movie line for line, no matter how many times I’ve seen it. My memory just doesn’t work like that. There are a lot of bits I remember in Event Horizon, particularly visually, but I wouldn’t say I have any of the dialogue memorised outside of a few significant lines. 620. What is your favorite season? >> Spring. 621. Do you mind being described as cute? >> Depends on context, the person that said it, and what mood I’m in. But as a rule, I’d prefer people avoid it. 622. What is the tackiest object in your home? >> --- 623. What do you think people are most ignorant towards? >> Things outside of their lived experience, generally. That only makes sense.

624. What is it that makes you an interesting person? >> I have no idea. 625. What makes other people interesting to you? >> I don’t really think about it, so I’ve got no specific traits or whatever to name. 626. How open to suggestion are you? >> I’m open to hearing suggestion, but being open to hearing it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to follow it. 627. Is Michael Jackson black or white? >> *withering stare* 628. Are you often lonely? >> Sure. 629. What’s the most unusual pet you’ve ever had? >> --- 630. Have you ever threatened an authority figure? >> No. 631. If you had to choose would you rather make all your decisions henceforth with your head only or with your heart only? >> This makes no sense to me. Decisions are made with both emotions and logic. Or with pure emotion, sometimes, for better or worse. But rarely is “pure logic” a level that people are operating on, and honestly, the closest thing to “pure logic” that you’re likely to see from a human being tends to manifest as callousness and cruelty... 632. How imaginative are you? >> Relatively. 633. Do you like the Counting Crows? >> I don’t listen to them. The last I heard of them was when I still listened to radio, in high school or something. 634. If you took this survey from the diary (5000 Q Survey V2.0) did you note me so I could read it? >> --- 635. Are you more tense or laid back? >> *shrug* 636. Does your happiness depend on anyone else, or are you happy no matter what any one says or does? >> Of course some of my happiness depends on other people. For example, I definitely cannot fucking afford to live on my own... 637. What do you think of the idea of putting the bible into the format of a fashion magazine to attract the interest of teenagers? >> I had a teen-oriented Bible when I was a teenager (it used modern English and had a snazzy “hip” design scheme and shit). I thought it was pretty cool, so I guess it did the trick. The thing about that kind of marketing, though, is that it seems the aesthetic interests of teenagers changes (subtly or dramatically) almost every generation, and so does the language, so you’d have to keep putting out different versions every 20 or so years. 638. How often do you drink to get drunk? >> I don’t. I stop at a buzz. 639. Would you consider yourself to be diplomatic? >> I can be, and I have been. I am not always. 640. Do you think that most of the classes you have taken were taught in such a way as to make plain the relevance of the subject matter in your everyday life? >> No, and most of them weren’t relevant in the end, for me. I think the most relevant classes would have been English (if I had actually been able to parse what I was being taught, that is) and History (if it was in any way comprehensive and not just “here’s a list of wars because war is the only thing that matters, also ra ra go USA *waves flag vigorously*”). The various sciences probably would have had more relevance if I went into higher education, but as it was, the most universally relevant scientific stuff was all taught by eighth grade, lol. 641. Do you remember Crystal Pepsi? >> Yeah. 642. When was the last time you spent a night away from home? >> Last weekend. 643. Some people say that there is no such thing as a stupid question. Is that true? >> I don’t call any questions stupid. What you people do is your business. 644. What is the most interesting TV channel? >> --- 645. Name one song you could live without hearing ever again: >> I don’t want to, because whatever song I think of will invariably end up stuck in my head, which is the last thing I want. 646. Do your pets understand you when you talk? >> --- 647. What are three things you HAVE NOT done that might surprise people? >> I’m not sure. 648. Have you ever had a secret admirer? >> If so, they stayed secret. 649. Have you been to a museum this year? >> No. 650. Do you ever watch porn? >> Sure.

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey

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somevirtualnolife · 5 years

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I Like Him, I Like Him Not

2387 Words

Rating: T Series: Ikemen Sengoku Pairing: Nobunaga x MC Summary: Makoto knows that what she and Nobunaga have is nothing more than a simple game and quite frankly, she wants to keep it that way. Why in the world would she want to get further involved with someone as arrogant, callous, and conceited as him? No thank you.And yet... for some reason, she always finds herself always spending more time than expected with him.

Author’s Note: I've been addicted to this game for the past 6 months, and so I finally couldn't wait any longer and wanted to write a fic for it! Nobunaga was my second playthrough and I am a big sucker for "I hate him until I fall in love with him" story lines.Although there are mentions to events in the game, this little one shot doesn't follow the plot to a tee. It's just it's own little thing in a universe where the story moves a little slower.Apologies in advance for any typos or if I still haven't gotten a proper grasp of Nobunaga's character yet! I'm still getting a feel for writing him.Happy reading!

***

Ugh, she did it again.

This was the second time Makoto had fallen asleep in Nobunaga’s quarters then and woken up, curled up on a futon next to him. Was this Stockholm Syndrome? It had to be, right?

The first time was to thank him for saving her. It turned into quite the night that ended with them playing another round of Go and him claiming her lap. In the end, she too ended up falling asleep, but instead of waking her to go back to her room, he took her to his futon. Nobunaga was a man of his word; she’d give him that. He never tried anything while she was asleep. Though quite frankly she still felt it was a pretty low bar to respect a woman’s boundaries, Sengoku era or not.

Last night… now what happened last night?

She had gotten annoyed by a comment he had made during dinner and went to chew him out. That ‘chewing out’ turned into more of a discussion. And before she knew it, those few minutes she intended to talk to him turned into an hour. And then that hour turned into several more. So in that case… she must’ve fallen asleep mid-conversation. He may have been the ruthless Devil King of the 6th Heaven, but he was also an excellent conversationalist and listener. His thoughts and philosophies were thought provoking and in turn, he’d also listen to her speak about her own convictions, her life back in the 21st century, and really anything else that came to mind; no interruptions. It was one of his nicer qualities.

Only one of his few. That’s what she’d continuously remind herself. She felt like she had to remind herself that no matter how good a conversationalist he was, how handsome he was, how, ahem, good he made her feel after a game of go, she was not falling for the warlord. He was so pushy, arrogant, and cold. Not to mention being the most feared warlord in Japanese history. He was the equivalent of a modern-day bad boy, and that was totally not Makoto’s type.

Makoto took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder. Nobunaga’s eyes were still closed, and he seemed to be breathing slowly. Still asleep. If she was quiet enough, she could go back to her room and no one would be none the wiser. She carefully sat up and attempted to inch her way to the end of the futon, just about to pull off the covers.

“Mmm, not yet,”

Nobunaga placed his hand on hers, pulling her back down beside him. His other arm then wrapped around her waist, careful not to tread any higher, for it seems was still awake enough to know which parts of her were ‘conquered’ territory. “It’s still early,”

“Which is exactly why I should be going. I don’t need someone waltzing in and getting the wrong impression. Again,”

“And what impression is that?”

“That we’re… you know,” she felt a rush of heat flash across her cheeks. “Involved in certain ways,”

“Are we not?” his breath was warm on her ear, and before she knew it, she felt his teeth lightly graze and then nip at the tip of her earlobe. A wave of tingling pleasure shot down all the way to the tip of her toes. At the same time, his arm that was around her waist, slipped underneath her kimono and caressed the length of her thigh.

Makoto bit down on her lower lip, managing to supress a gasp. Ugh, he was good. But she wasn’t going to let him get to her so easily. She knew her limits, and she also knew that when she said no, it was no with him.

“Alrighty, I think that’s enough,” She quickly squirmed out of his arms and sat up, crossing her arms with a flushed, but irritated expression on her face (or perhaps hot and bothered was a better way to describe it).

“We are not. Exactly,” she continued, a firmness in her tone. “Look, it’s all well and good for you. You’re one of the most powerful men in Japan. You know what, scratch that; you’re a man, period. No one cares who you’re in bed with. Meanwhile I have to deal with all the maids gossiping about me and the men calling me ‘Nobunaga’s Woman’,”

“You say that with disdain now, but you hardly seem fussed about it every night I’ve claimed you,”

“Okay firstly, please don’t say ‘claimed’. Secondly… that- is- well you-”

Look, there was no denying that when lips and hands explored her, it felt great. She mind as well just admit that now. After all, there is nothing wrong with a little ‘friends with benefits’ situation (or in this case, perhaps ‘warlords with benefits’), but that’s not what they were doing. Not really. To him, this was all a game; something that he had yet to conquer and once he was done, he would probably move on. And for her, this was her way of trying to get back home. And there were worst ways she could be spending her time here.

Regardless there was no way that they would become anything more than that. And she was fine with that. She wanted it to be that way.

“I just want to be Miyahara Makoto. You know, a person rather than someone’s property,”

“Ah, so it’s pride,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Very well, Miyahara Makoto. If that is what is bothering you so, sneak back to your quarters. Because for whatever reason, that is somehow less suspicious,”

“It isn’t if I don’t get caught,” she retorted.

“Which you have a pretty poor track record of thus far,”

Just then there was a knock on the door and Makoto froze in place. No! No-no-no-no-no! Was he also some sort of wizard? Did he have the ability to just summon people when she was in the worst looking situations?

She groaned and buried her face into her hands, frustrated. Great. Just great.

Makoto then heard Nobunaga sigh and she looked up. His expression unreadable as usual, but if she were to harbour a guess, it would be annoyed. He then nudged his head over in the direction of a folding screen. Oh! Why didn’t she notice that earlier? Quickly, she hopped up from the futon and ducked behind it, trying to keep as quiet as and as still as possible.

The door slid open.

“Lord Nobunaga! I’m sorry to bother you so early in the morning,” a voice said.

“It’s fine. What’s the trouble?” she heard Nobunaga respond.

“No trouble, but we have received the latest works for the palace. We thought that you may want to look over them first before we put them up for display,”

“Very well. You may place them over there,”

Makoto could hear the sound of people entering the room, most likely carrying things as she heard the soft thuds of objects being placed against the wall and floor. After a few minutes, the sounds of movement ended and there was a bit of idle chit-chat before there she heard the door being slid closed again.

“They’ve left,” Nobunaga said casually, and she carefully poked her head out from behind the screen. It was then that she noticed that the room was now filled with various pieces of art. Large screens and paintings in gold leaf that depicted western ships, delicate yamato-e painted on delicate rice paper. That’s what they meant by ‘work’. Artwork!

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” she repeated as she inched herself closer to them.

“I thought you were leaving,” Nobunaga crossed his arms, a bemused smile on his face.

“I am! I just…wow.”

Makoto’s eyes lit up. It was amazing to know that some of these works of art would last for over 500 years. And here she was, seeing them in their original state. No textbook, no glass separating them, or waiting in lines at a museum. Most people could only dream of being able to do experience this. She had to admit this was one of the benefits of being in Azuchi among some of the most powerful men of this time.

“Ah that’s right. You studied the arts back in your time, didn’t you?”

“Well, technically my major was in Fashion and Textile Design, but I did take several electives in drawing and painting even though my parents insisted that I take classes in business because they said that it would be more practical, but honestly I took one accounting course and I swear it was the most boring-”

Nobunaga’s expression went blank. She was losing him.

“Ahem, yes. I studied the arts. You’re required when you’re designing clothing,” she turned away.

Her eyes then landed on one final piece. It was a painting of what looked to be an older man, sitting down in a green haori and hakama with a white kimono. His hair was shaved in the middle of his head, with the rest tied in a topknot. His expression was… well he didn’t have much of one.

“Who’s this?” she asked, pointing at the painting. She couldn’t recall anyone who looked like him in the castle. Perhaps it was the artist that did these works? A relative? There was something oddly familiar about it.

Nobunaga walked over to Makoto and looked down at the painting.

“Oh, that must be the portrait that was commissioned,”

A portrait? “Wait, this is you?”

“Mm,”

Makoto was… well, she was speechless, to say the least. It hit her that she had seen the painting once before in her old history books from back in high school. No wonder she didn’t recognize any of the warlords when she first met them. They looked nothing like their portraits! This was the equivalent to photoshopping your profile picture, but in like, the opposite way that most people intended.

“So, you feel that this is an accurate depiction of you?” she finally asked.

“It’s not something that I’m particularly concerned about. I get them done because I have to,” his tone was indifferent. “There have been a number of portraits of me made, each one different from the next,”

Makoto chewed the inside of her cheek. Yes, it was now coming back to her now.

“You disagree,”

“No. It’s just… not what I would have gone with. Personally,”

“Oh?”

She fidgeted with her hands, looking as though she were about to burst. Finally, she couldn’t help it, and grabbed her bag, pulling out her sketchbook and grabbed a small brush and an inkwell from Nobunaga’s table. She felt a little bad critiquing this artist’s work, but there was just no way that was Nobunaga, even if this was the style used during this time. Maybe she could do her own little spin on it. Ugh, her art history teacher would kill her for wanting to change such an iconic painting. But she couldn’t help it.

“Let’s see… first of all, the linework doesn’t really convey ‘Devil King of the 6th Heaven’ to me,” Even resting or sitting, there was always this aura of intensity around him. Therefore, brush strokes used should convey as such. They should be more dynamic, more freeform. The brush moved across the page with both speed and precision.

“And your face isn’t that round,” he had sharper features, that gave him a stern and devilish look at the same time. “Not to mention your hairstyle,”

“I believe I had a topknot when the artist first came to visit,”

“Well you don’t now, so we’ll just fix that. Plus your hairline doesn’t go that far back,”

She dipped the brush in the inkwell again started to add a little more detail to sketch. She was concentrated now, muttering a few comments to herself, but not really expecting an answer in return. It was always how she worked on her designs, whether there was someone around or not.

“And then of course, there are your eyes,” she continued. They were the three Cs; Carnelian, cold, and calculating. She’d gotten used to them at this point. She had asked them once why they were always so cold and he couldn’t answer, so she just sort of left it at that. It was a dumb question anyway, if she thought about it.

“I see,” he said.

She didn’t know when it had happened, but Nobunaga had sat down very closely beside her, his face looking over her shoulder at the sketch. And that’s when she noticed his eyes.

They were different. They held some emotion in them. Interest perhaps. But not the type of interest where she was something new and unknown, or someone to conquer. More like… he was enjoying just watching her sketch.

Something fluttered inside her chest.

She then quickly put the brush back down and stood up. What was she doing? She just said that she wanted as little as possible to do with him, and now here she was sketching an entire portrait after spending the night with him.

“I should really get back to my room,” she tucked a strand of her curly brown hair behind her ear. “The later it gets the more people will be in the hallways, and-”

“You don’t want to give them the wrong idea, I know” he responded, a surprisingly playful tone in his voice. “It’s a shame. I quite enjoyed watching you work. Until our next game, Miyahara Makoto. Unless of course, you wish to come back again of your own volition,”

“I assure you that I will not, Oda Nobunaga,” she responded, though her tone was far less amused, but she still bowed. “Good day to you,”

Once she left his quarters, instead of darting off back to her room, she laid her back against the wall and clutched her sketchbook tightly against her chest. Her heart was beating loudly.

He said he liked watching her work.

Why did she just sketch a picture of the man that she was determined to hate? Why did she spend the night with him just talking? Why did she want him to keep looking at her like that? His eyes… she wanted to see that look again.

Miyahara Makoto… not Nobunaga’s woman.

But maybe she wanted to be.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen nobunaga #oda nobunaga #nobunaga x mc #ikemen sengoku: fanfic

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jofiel · 5 years

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More than 1,100 Arrests. Live Ammunition. Government Censorship. All to No Avail.

Note: This post contains NO graphic imagery

The people of Egypt have spoken in a way that could only be described as revolutionary. What happens next could transform the country.

On Friday night (Sep. 20th, 2019), thousands of people took to the streets of Egypt to protest the current President Abdel Fattah El-Sisi. Protesters were met with brutal force by the military; including tear gas and live bullets.

Here's a brief overview of what's happening

[Friday, September 20th, 2019] [x, x, x]

Two thousand people in Cairo, Alexandria, Damietta, Suez, and a few other cities took to the streets to call for the removal of Sisi.

[Saturday, September 21st, 2019] [x, x, x]

Protests continued in Cairo, Suez, Giza and El Mahalla el Kubra.

In Suez, demonstrators were met with heavy clouds of teargas, rubber bullets and live bullets.

[Sunday, September 22nd, 2019] [x, x, x]

Sisi blocks media coverage ▸ Access to BBC News, Facebook Messenger/Photo Servers, Al Hurra News, Twitter and Skype is disrupted/tampered with.

Police presence can be seen in Cairo, Egypt's capital.

⊵ It should be noted that Egypt, alongside China and Turkey, imprisoned the highest number of journalists in 2018. [x, x] ⊴

[Monday, September 23rd, 2019] [x, x,]

A group of Egyptian Army officers encourage protesters; call for an end to the Sisi regime and promise protection.

This news should be taken with caution

All the while, protesters have been arrested. So far a continuously growing list by the Egyptian Center for Economic and Social Rights has recorded the names of over 1,000 people who've been jailed.

Why is this happening?

Reasons for calls for Sisi's removal include:

Stealing and Misusing the people's Money

Allegations from Mohammad Ali, a former contractor, who claims Sisi has misspent millions worth of public funds on unnecessary projects including palaces and villas, has been a major fuel for these protests. [x, x, x]

Claims that Sisi doesn't necessarily deny and are particularly damaging considering one third of Egypt lives in poverty and 60% of the population is struggling under his reforms.

Keep in mind that the poverty line is set at S1.45 a day. 6% of Egyptians live below the poverty line, making less than $1 a day.

Repression of the people

Sisi's regime has jailed/punished hundreds of citizens who voice criticism or anything that can be considered dissatisfaction with the government. [x, x, x]

Egypt's presidential election lacked minimum requirements for a fair and free election. [x, x, x]

Candidates and potential candidates alike were arrested, placed under house arrest or intimidated into withdrawing. There were also reports of citizens being forced to vote or bribed with food and money, something that's particularly harrowing when you consider the poverty rates.

Executions have also gone up under his reign. [x, x, x, x] 22 executions have happened in 2019 alone, and at least 2,000 people currently sit on death row.

Egypt is one of 23 countries that still uses execution - more than 70% of the world’s countries have abolished capital punishment in law or practice.

Trials are notoriously unfair and citizens are subjected to military courts and mass trials. [x, x, x]

People have been kept for long periods of time without charge.

Life in prison often includes abuse, torture and lack of adequate medical care. [x, x, x]

Cells are overcrowded, food is scarce, and prisoners are held in these degrading conditions without beds or proper hygiene items. Family member visits are not a certainty. Death from these conditions is not uncommon. In fact, some argue former president Morsi died because of these conditions.

Sisi has also made protesting effectively illegal in Egypt. [x, x, x]

Under his rule, laws were passed allowing the invasion of citizen's privacy online, restrictions to freedom of expression, regulations and censorship to the media, and the jailing of online activists. [x, x, x]

To give you a sense of Egyptian politics, I’ve composed a *brief* timeline starting from 2011 along with some important facts about Egypt below.

Before we start, here’s a quick intro to the Muslim Brotherhood:

A Sunni Islamist organization and influential Islamic Revivalist group founded in the 1920s by Hassan al-Banna.

Became legal and gained significant political power in 2011 but was outlawed in 2013 and deemed a terrorist organization a few months later under debated circumstances.

Mohamed Morsi was a part of the Muslim Brotherhood

Timeline:

President: Hosi Mubarak Served as: 4th president of Egypt [1981 - 2011]

Mubarak was forced to step down during the Egyptian Revolution of 2011

The Egyptian Revolution of 2011 was a series of demonstrations and protests where 846 people were killed and 6,000 were injured. {x, x, x}

The protests were against police brutality, corruption, civil liberty, Mubarak's emergency law, basic freedoms and rights, etc.

After being forced to step down he was charged with profiteering, illegal business dealing involving Israeli gas exports, and the killing of protesters {x, x, x}

President: Mohamed Morsi Served: 5th president of Egypt [June 30, 2012 - July 3, 2013]

During his brief time in office, Morsi attempted to make vast changes to the Egyptian government and way of life including (among other things):

Attempts to draft a new constitution

Reinstatements to the Islamist-dominated parliament that was disbanded by the Supreme Constitutional Court

Objected to provisions limiting presidential powers

Issued a declaration in late 2012 that, among other things, immunized him from legal challenges and authorized Morsi to take 'any measures necessary'

[30 June 2013]

millions of people rallied across Egypt calling for President Morsi's resignation from office.

[On July 3, 2013]

Then General Abdel Fattah El-Sisi led a coup d'état to remove Morsi from office and suspend the 2012 constitution

2013 - 2014 Transition Period

Hazem El Beblawi is named interim Prime Minister of Egypt [2013-2014]

Chief Justice Adly Mansour is named acting President [July 4, 2013-June 8th, 2014]

[July 4, 2013] Violence continues ▻ INJURED: 100 / KILLED: 2 [x, x]

[July 5, 2013] - "Friday of Rejection" Muslim Brotherhood members and Morsi supporters protest for Morsi's reinstatement. ▻ INJURED: 1,000 / KILLED: 36 [x, x,]

The Rafah Border Crossing is closed.

[July] Clashes continue.

Deaths include: ▻ a Coptic Priest ▻ 54 Pro Morsi Protesters ⤷ During a sit in which the army denied was an excessive use of force. ▻ Deaths: 3 people / Injury: 17 ⤷ when militants fired rocket grenades at bus ▻ Deaths: 2 ⤷ At Pro Morsi rally by unknown gunman ▻ Death: 1 / Injury: 15 ⤷ via bomb at a police station ▻ Deaths: 1 / Injury: 17 ⤷ via bomb at another police station ▻Deaths: 9 {Including 14 y/o child} / Injury: 146 ⤷ during peaceful demonstrations ▻ Deaths: 82-200 protesters / Injury: 299-4,500 protesters Police deny usage of live ammunition, automatic guns and tear gas despite photographic proof.

[August, 2013]

Evidence surfaces that Morsi supporters have been torturing and killing anti morsi protesters and civilians,

11-19 bodies were found

[August 13]

Mansour appoints 18 new governors, gets rid of all Muslim Brotherhood members.

[August 14, 2013] Rabaa Massacre

Police raided two large Pro-Morsi camps in Cairo to disperse protesters. Death toll: 817-1,150+ civilians. (Muslim Brotherhood says 2,600 died)

The raids were described by Human Rights Watch as "one of the world's largest killings of demonstrators in a single day in recent history".

Some victims were charred beyond recognition after some protester cities were set on fire

Four journalists were killed, several other were arrested.

Egyptian government announces one month State of Emergency as a result.

Vice President Mohamed El Baradei resigns.

[August] Post Rabaa Massacre

36 churches were set on fire, others looted. [x]

Dozens of Police stations and the finance ministry building were also set on fire - all done by Morsi supporters.

(August 15)- Curfew is installed, tourist attractions and museums are shut down- Army blocked major squares -

Early clashes result in over 100 deaths- 173 killed in "Day of Rage"

In all, thousands have been killed in clashes between security forces and supporters / supporters and antis of ousted President Mohamed Morsi during 14–18 August.

Late 2013:

Over a series of protests, clashes: 91 deaths (including children, students and the lynching of one taxi driver), countless injured

2014

Protests and bombings continue.

The death toll between January-May, 2014 is at least 133.

By May 2014, approximately 16,000 people, mostly Brotherhood members or supporters, have been imprisoned since the coup

June 8th, 2014 : Abdel Fattah El Sisi becomes the 6th president of Egypt

Some other facts:

The Egyptian government has also held mass trials [x]; tortured + forced disappearances [x], and has jailed/held without charge anybody who shows any form of dissent - including one woman who made a video complaining about sexual harassment and a tv presenter who had an interview with a gay man.

Sisi has defended virginity tests on detainees in the past

He’s denied having political prisoners even though numbers are around 60,000

And tried to get a CBS interview pulled

Has made it so that he’s able to stay in power until 2034

People under 35 dominate the demographics which will certainly come into play in the very near future

Mohamed Ali has called for another protest on Friday

#Egypt #long post #Egyptian Politics #world news #world politics #protests #Egyptian protests #I'm going to do a part two ; dive into poverty

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 5 years

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The Thief and the Samurai Episode List + Summaries

So I got carried away with this fictional show I made up to save some of my OCs, and decided to type out a full episode list with brief summaries.

SEASON 1 – THE ADVENTURE BEGINS

Beginnings, Part 1 - Sakura’s early life and origins are shown.

Beginnings, Part 2 – Sakura’s time training under Master Ishida is shown.

Beginnings, Part 3 – With her training complete, Sakura goes off into the world to begin her goal of protecting the innocent. Soon enough, she meets the wily thief Michelle Kitt, and the two decide to travel together.

A Helping Hand – Sakura wishes to help a village being tormented by bandits to prove herself; Michelle on the other hand just wants to get paid for ridding the town of its problem.

Without a Paddle – Michelle and Sakura decide to take a river boat to their next destination; unfortunately, they get mixed up in a smuggling attempt and must face off with dangerous criminals.

Darke Rising – After yet another misadventure, the two girls run in to Freya Darke, a cyborg who seeks vengeance against Michelle in the name of her master.

Blackmore – Horatio Blackmore makes his grand debut, attempting to pull off a complicated plan to kill Michelle and Sakura.

Framed – Blackmore frames Michelle for the theft of a precious jewel, leading to her and Sakura having to evade the law while trying to get the jewel back.

The Triad – Sakura and Michelle encounter Serenity, Hope, and Faith as they seek out the jewel to clear Michelle’s name.

With Catlike Tread - The two must sneak through Blackmore’s mountain factory, all the while being pursued by the Triad.

Afraid of the Darke – Freya appears once again, this time accompanied by a cyborg attack wolf named Echidna, a prototype of a line Blackmore wishes to mass produce. Jewel in hand, Michelle and Sakura must escape the factory with these two pursuing them now as well.

Hanging Judge – Upon returning the jewel, the two find that none other than Blackmore himself was the owner of the jewel, having lent it to the museum it was stolen from for the sole purpose of framing Michelle. Michelle is then put on trial.

Objection – Ridiculous courtroom antics are brought to a halt when the Triad attacks the courtroom. Sakura and Michelle escape; now fugitives, the two argue, with Sakura very upset about the path her life has gone since meeting Michelle, and Michelle irritated with Sakura and her attitude. The two bitterly part ways at episode’s end, which is all observed by the mysterious Man in Black.

Stop and Stay a While – With the authorities after her, Michelle holes up in an old, out-of-the-way inn. Unfortunately, the inn turns out to be run by cannibals, and she is forced to fight her way out of a deadly situation. Ultimately she decides not to rob the folks but instead turn them over to the proper authorities, noting that maybe Sakura was a bit of a good influence on her after all.

Seeing Green – Sakura encounters a rude, snobby upper class young man who enlists her aid in acting as his bodyguard for an event at his university; he soon reveals himself to be a hypocrite, a liar, and a thoroughly unpleasant individual who abuses others. Sakura determines that he needs to be taken down a notch, and shames him in front of his peers before robbing him blind. She notes, amused, that perhaps Michelle did have the right idea sometimes.

The Man in Black – Michelle ends up chased by the Triad, who nearly kill her in battle. She ends up having a meeting with the Man in Black, who claims she has cheated him and that he has come to collect his due, describing the Triad as his personal band of debt collectors. Before Michelle can find out what exactly it is she did to him, he is fought off by Sakura.

Memories – As Sakura nurses Michelle back to health, she opens up about her past, telling of her life before becoming a thief and the death of her family at t he hands of a twisted serial killer who had the power to turn his blood vessels into barbed wire and attack with them.

The Canyon – Pursued into a canyon, the two decide now is the time to make a final stand. However, not confident in their ability to take them out, Blackmore uses his airship to fire on the authorities, killing them to frame Sakura and Michelle. Freya is noticeably disturbed by this.

The Hounds – Using the supposed terrorist actions of Sakura and Michelle as a bargaining chip, Blackmore gets funding to begin the mass production of his cyborg hounds. Soon amassing an army, he overthrows the queen of England and begins to rule London with an iron fist.

Dirty Work – Sakura and Michelle sneak through old sewer tunnels in an effort to get into Blackmore’s London factory and shut it down. There they encounter the Rat King, a man hired by Blackmore to guard the sewers with the ability to control and mutate rats.

London Calling – After their battle in the sewers, the two emerge into the city proper and begin to fight their way to the factory.

Devil Factory – The true extent of Blackmore’s wicked technology is shown in his factory and the torturous cyborgification process. The two must face the deadly assassin Kirk the Killer here, who may or may not be as competent as he seems...

Fight or Flight, Part 1 – Blackmore attempts to escape on his ship, his factory destroyed and his cyborgs falling to the combined forces of Sakura, Michelle, and the authorities. Sakura and Michelle pursue, and are aided by the Triad.

Fight or Flight, Part 2 – Blackmore finally confronts the two head-on. In a battle of wits, cunning, guns and swords, Blackmore almost emerges victorious, until Freya turns on him and attempts to toss him off the airship. However, prepared for this event, he activates the self destruct and flies off on a jetpack. The ship veers off course, crashes, and explodes; however, Freya, Sakura, and Michelle escape.

Heroes – Returning to London, Michelle and Sakura are praised as heroes and given a full pardon, as well as a large sum of treasure. The two spend much of their time unwinding and figuring out what they’re going to do next, and if the two should part ways. Michelle lets slip that she actually had sold what she stole from Blackmore to a mysterious individual, and Sakura, determining it to be too dangerous to fall into the wrong hands, decides they must find this man. Michelle agrees; however, before the two can venture off, they are confronted yet again by the Triad.

No Escape – After a brutal fight with the Triad, the two women are faced yet again by the Man in Black. He reveals that he is actually Death, and the Triad are his personal angelic entourage who help him hunt down those who cheat him in the game of chess he offers to those who cling desperately to life one way or another. However, after talking with Michelle it soon comes to light that she never actually cheated, and that whoever attempted to kill her had a powerful dark aura to him to muddle Death’s perception so much. He apologized for the miscommunication and considers all debts balanced, before saying they will likely cross paths again. After he leaves, Michelle sighs, wondering who or what her killer actually was. Sakura promises that whatever else, she will help find the killer of Michelle’s family and bring them to justice. Their friendship solidified, the two venture off on their next journey.

SEASON 2A – STRANGE EONS

With Strange Eons – After searching in vain for who Michelle sold Blackmore’s plans to for months, the two come across an ad for the Strange Eons Science Expo in Strange Eons, Maine in three days. Seeing one of the guests pictured on the poster makes Michelle realize he was the one who bought Blackmore’s work off of her, and so the two decide to head to Maine. The two get aboard a ship, but on their way the ship is attacked by what appears to be a zombie sea serpent. The two end up shipwrecked in Gloucester, Massachusetts.

The Beast in the Bay – The two are begged by the residents to defeat the creature somehow, as it has been attacking ships for well over a year. The two decide it’s the right thing to do, and find a way to end its life. After killing it, they discover that someone had experimented on it to bring it back to life. The residents speak of a scientist there who had shown up to conduct strange experiments before vanishing. Showing off the brochure, they find that the man they are looking for is the man from the rumors.

Clowning Around – As the two travel through New England towards the science fair, they are waylaid by a clown with the power to use their fears against them so that he can siphon their energy. Neither Michelle nor Sakura takes him seriously, much to his chagrin.

Asylum – The two are asked to rescue teenagers trapped in an abandoned asylum; while there they discover the place is overrun with reanimated corpses.

No Fair – Arriving in the town of Strange Eons, they make a shocking discovery: the town is already overrun with zombies. They soon discover the reason: Hojo Doboro, a mad scientist who performed experiments to reanimate the dead. He sics a giant zombie on the two and makes his escape.

Life and Limb – The two slice their way through the town and find their way to the university. There, the faculty and students holed up in there shed some light on Doboro: he was once a teacher there who was kicked out for sneaking in to steal cadavers for experiments. He vanished for years, recently returning with an army of the undead he created with his own experiments as well as the item stolen from Blackmore. Said item is revealed to be an item known as a Keystone, which is described in ancient death cult texts as being able to call forth beings known as Old Ones from a world beyond to do their bidding. If all five were gathered, then the summoner could command the Old Ones to do anything they pleased. Realizing the danger such a power would pose, Michelle and Sakura use the notes they found to locate the other four Keystones before Doboro can get them. However, after finding the notes and attempting to leave, they are attacked by Gemini.

Lost and Found – The girls find the first Keystone in an old burial ground’s secret crypt; however, Gemini arrives and uses Doboro’s re-animation gel to resurrect the bones in the burial ground into a giant bone monster that Michelle and Sakura face down.

The Lighthouse – The third keystone is tracked down to an old lighthouse; however, this time Gemini takes the keystone.

Road to Ruin – The girls try and make haste to the next keystone. Meanwhile, Doboro is preparing his army, and Gemini is beginning to feel uneasy about all of this.

Two of Hearts – The episode focuses on Gemini and her origin, as well as her successful capture of the fourth Keystone. In this episode she begins to waver in her support of Doboro, even if he did create her.

The Gathering – The girls manage to get the final keystone, and then make haste to the old mansion Doboro has holed up in to steal back the others.

Arisen – The girls confront Doboro, only to discover he was counting on them coming all along; the stones needed to only be in the general vicinity of one another. With them all together, Doboro uses the power to call forth an Old One; however, Gemini knocks the Keystones out of balance and thus the summoning is botched, instead merely summoning a powerful demon for a moment before the ritual is shut down. Enraged, Doboro unleashes his ultimate weapon: Viscera, the reanimated amalgamation.

Even Death May Die – After Sakura, Michelle, and Gemini deal with Viscera, Gemini catches up to the fleeing Doboro and injects him with his own reanimation fluid before kicking him down into the cellar and locking him up. Gemini says she will stay behind to try and clean up the mess made, and helps the girls destroy the Keystones so that they cannot be used for evil ever again. Satisfied, the girls head home, unaware that the demon whose summoning they interrupted, Camazotz, is now plotting vengeance against them.

SEASON 2B – WRATH OF THE DEMON KING

Camazotz – The episode focuses mainly on the demon king forming his plan, as well as Sakura and Michelle’s trip home. When they arrive in London, they have a feeling they are being stalked.

The Terror – While making their way through town, they are attacked by a large, lizard-like demon who proclaims he will destroy them in the name of Camazotz. After winning the ensuing battle, the two decide to figure out who Camazotz is just in case this was more than just a fluke.

Lunacy – After entering the countryside, the girls find their way to a strange church run by a man named Brother Moon, who may or may not be an alien. He offers advice on how to deal with demons as well as an old tome that details who Camazotz is. He offers the girls the chance to stay the night. However, an unwelcome guest sneaks in to their room...

Incubus – The Incubus Thot sneaks in to the girls’ room and, rather than do what is expected of him, instead causes general mischief and just acts like a real jackass.

Hell House – The girls must exorcise a possessed demonic house with the help of Brother Moon.

Sleepless Nights – The demon Hypnox attempts to kill the girls in their dreams.

The Evil Within – Kirk the Killer returns, this time getting possessed by the demon Akuba. The girls must find a way to remove the demon from his constantly regenerating body. They get help from a new ally: Lady Kali.

Lady Kali – Lady Kali assists Michelle and Sakura in fighting off a horde of shadow demons that are attacking a village on the moors.

When We Were Young – A demon transforms Michelle, Kali, and Sakura into children; overwhelmed by being able to see again, Sakura is taken out of commission for the e pisode, leaving Michelle and dKali to fight the demon. However, in their exhaustion they end up being caught by Thot after defeatting the other demon.

Prisoners of Love – Sakura and Brother Moon work together to rescue Lady Kali and Michelle from Thot. After Thot is defeated, he comes to realize he is absolutely smitten with Michelle and vows to win her heart. Michelle is absolutely not impressed.

It Lives! - Doboro returns, this time as a hulking reanimated monster, warped by his reanimating solution. Having found out who is after the girls, he uses black magic to summon Camazotz into the material world.

The Wrath of the Demon King – Camazotz appears to finish what he has started, and he along with Doboro attempt to kill the group. Gemini, Kali, Michelle, and Sakura distract them long enough for Brother Moon to cast them back into hell. However, at the last second Doboro attempts to drag Brother Moon into hell with him; Gemini ultimately sacrifices herself and falls into hell with her creator. In the aftermath, the group mourns the loss of Gemini, Kali returns home, Brother Moon returns to his church to recover, and Michelle determines they need a vacation. Sakura decides they should perhaps visit her father in Japan.

SEASON 3 – SAKURA AND MICHELLE’S WORLD TOUR

Cherry Blossoms – Sakura, Rhiannon, and Michelle arrive in Japan and reunite with Sakura’s father, Hiro. Hiro shows them around and shows how much things have changed in the time since Sakura set out on her journey. The episode is a simple yet pleasant intro that hints at what’s to come, with Orochi Overlong appearing in the final minutes and realizing Sakura and Michelle are likely a threat.

Overlong – Orochi Overlong reveals himself, saying he has heard of Michelle and Sakura’s exploits. After a battle showcasing his sorcerous abilities, he teleports the two across the ocean to America and makes the oceans utterly impassable. He then gives them an ultimatum: defeat his agents that he has scattered throughout the world within 44 days, or Rhiannon and Hiro will die. Having supplied them with a map of where his henchmen reside but no other details, the two set out across Aamerica to begin their quest.

A True American, Part 1 – The two arrive in a midwestern town, stopping for rest at the tavern of Kurtwood Armstrong, a man with fists who hit like iron and who is loud and patriotic. He bemoans the relentless cruelty of the preacher Cyrus Lovelace, who rolled into town recently and began stirring people up into a bigoted fervor. Sensing that this man might be one of the first of Overlong’s minions, they team up with Armstrong to fight him; however, they soon find the whole town has been whipped into a bigoted frenzy by Lovelace’s own power, and so they must proceed with caution, as they do not wish to hurt the innocent people.

A True American, Part 2 – The team confronts Lovelace and ultimately defeats him.

The Hunger, Part 1 – Taking a detour to Mexico, the two are met by Ernesto Banderas, a man with the power to amplify sound into powerful concussive blasts; naturally, he is a guitar player. He asks the two if they are here to stop Elvis Chavez, a would-be dictator who rolled into town and has begun wasting all the resources.

The Hunger, Part 2 – The group confronts Elvis, who is a massive mountain of a man with the ability to consume anything safely. Determining him to be Overlong’s minion, they attack him. After his defeat, the girls part ways with Ernesto, but not before he has a bit of a romantic moment with Michelle.

Clowning Around, Again – The girls pass through New England and find the evil clown, this time working for Overlong. Yet again, the two absolutely refuse to take the clown seriously.

Falling Down, Part 1 – Returning yet again to London, the girls try to find Overlong’s minion, and instead run afoul of Freya, who decides now is a great time to start a fight with the two. Their battle is interrupted by an attack on the London bridge.

Falling Down, Part 2 – Going to the bridge expecting to find Overlong’s latest assailant, they instead find the minion apparently already dead – Blackmore killed him to lure the two for his revenge. Michelle and Sakura do battle with him, but ultimately he escapes, taunting them that he has wasted their time and that the real minion is still out there, and he only wished to divert their attention so that they would lose precious time in the quest to save Rhiannon and Hiro. Now having fled the city, the girls are at a loss for what to do, but Freya decides to help them track down the minion.

Horse on the Moor – The group confronts the minion on the moors, a man known only as The Rider, who can conjure up a spectral horse made of psychic energy to ride upon. After his defeat, Freya parts ways with the two.

Erin go Bragh, Part 1 – The two venture to Ireland, where they meet Rick and Bailey O’Brien, twins with electrically charged speed that increases the closer the two are to each other. The two say there have been strange disappearences in their town lately, and so Sakura and Michelle help investigate.

Erin go Bragh, Part 2 – As it turns out, the disappearances were caused by Overlong’s minion, a man with dwarfism who dressed like a leprechaun to lure unfortunate souls into his grasp. With his power to turn everything he touches to gold, he attempts to kill the group; however, they manage to defeat him and free his gilded victims. It is believed these two episodes are what got the series banned entirely in Britain.

It’s Personal, Part 1 – The girls head to Italy next, where they meet the irritable dwarf Vinny, who is out for revenge against his family’s killers. Sensing something of a kindred spirit, Michelle asks Sakura if they can help him; reluctantly, Sakura agrees, and they seek out the trio of killers.

It’s Personal, Part 2 – Finally confronting the killers, they discover that they are in fact minions of Overlong.

Heart of Darkness, Part 1 – The two travel to Africa, where they find the woman Lesedi already tracking down a cannibal witch who has been a legend among her people for years. Sensing this may have something to do with Overlong, they offer their help.

Heart of Darkness, Part 2 – The group confronts the evil cannibal witch Morrigan Maro. The witch is soon defeated, and the two move on to Egypt, where they meet the local girl Talia Ishtar, who is looking to plunder a tomb. Ecstatic at the opportunity to do what she does best, Michelle volunteers her help and Sakura goes along with it.

Pyramid Scheme – As it turns out, one of Overlong’s minions had been in the tomb as well. After defeating him they discover hieroglyphics apparently depicting Overlong in ancient times. Not yet knowing what this means, they bid Talia farewell and continue on their journey.

The Perilous Pass, Part 1 – Returning to Europe, the two make their way through Germany. There, they meet Kristopher Cross, who needs help getting through a dangerous mountain pass so that he can retrieve medicinal herbs for his sick boyfriend. Sakura, unwilling to allow someone to suffer if she can help, offers to escort him through the pass. As it turns out, though, the pass has another of Overlong’s minions waiting to ambush them.

The Perilous Pass, Part 2 – The minion, Shepard Starbuck, has the power to easily climb the steepest and most dangerous cliffsides, and tries to split up the group with rock slides. It is revealed here that Cross has magnetic powers, but has been too afraid to use them since he accidentally was responsible for his boyfriend’s current condition. With a little motivation, he manages to control his powers and help defeat Starbuck, and get Sakura and Michelle through the pass. He parts ways with them and returns to his boyfriend through the pass, much more confident and brave than before.

Bloody Tears – Entering Romania, the girls are confronted by an exhausted, miserable Kirk the Killer. He mentions that his country has been taken over by one of Overlong’s minions, and that he will be grateful if they could help him. Reluctantly, they do so. The group confronts the minion, a man who can generate spikes from his body, in a dark old castle. Said man lets slip that Overlong is not just biding his time to kill Sakura’s parents; rather, he is trying to regenerate his body, as he is Yamata no Orochi of legend. Horrified, Sakura determines they must move ever quicker if they are to stop Overlong.

Holy Protector, Part 1 – Arriving in India, the two meet up again with Lady Kali, who is having trouble driving demons out of her homeland. Apparently the reason so many demons aare appearing is because of a man named Raktabija, who can conjure up hell portals.

Holy Protector, Part 2 – Raktabija fights the heroes, but is ultimately defeated when one of his Hell portals frees a familiar face: Gemini. Lady Kali ultimately tosses the man through one of his own hell portals, and after a reunion Gemini joins Michelle and Sakura to take down Overlong.

The Serpent Reborn– Arriving in China to fight the last of the minions, the three soon discover a horrifying truth: Overlong was counting on them defeating each of his minions so that he could harvest their powerful spiritual energy upon defeat so he could obtain his true form. Overlong appears before them to taunt them about this fact before assuming his true form.

Orochi, Part 1 – The girls take their fight to Japan, where they begin the final confrontation with Orochi.

Orochi, Part 2 – The fight against Orochi seems hopeless, and the three are seemingly done for. However, as it turned out the Man in Black decided to step in, as much like him Orochi was a supernatural being of great power. He could not directly help, as that was not his right, but he did aid by calling forth all the friends Sakura and Michelle had made along the way so they could lend their power, as well as allowing the Triad to fight. With the combined might of all their friends from round the world, Sakura was able to land the killing blow and defeat Orochi, killing him and saving her parents. Sakura decides at the end she wishes to return to her master and inform him of her adventures, and Michelle and Gemini decide to go along with her, while the rest of her friends return home, determined to keep in touch somehow.

SEASON 4A – GHOSTS OF THE PAST

Master Ishida – The girls arrive at the mountain school where Master Ishida teaches his students. Happy to see Sakura, he decides to allow her to instruct a new class. She also fills her master in on all of her adventures so far. Things seem well until episode’s end, when two men walk into the hall: Jet and Chicken Wire.

Jet – Sakura is shocked at Jet’s return. He reveals that the fall that supposedly killed him nearly did so, but he was saved by a witch… a witch who then cursed him and took something from him. Bitter, angry, and miserable, he had been taken in by a teacher named Black Phoenix who helped him hone his rage so he could get vengeance. Chicken Wire, whose mouth was wired shut, was someone he had found along the way and who his master had taken in as well. Jet declares that unless Master Ishida surrenders the temple, there will be dire consequences. Obviously refusing, Jet leaves, and Sakura and friends begin to formulate a plan to protect the temple.

Berserker – The next day, the consequences come to light: Rika Ainia, another student of the Black Phoenix who also became cursed, attacks the school, wounding several in her attempt to get to Ishida. After a hard-fought battle, she is apparently taken down.

The Next Day – The group helps repair the school and tend to the wounded, while Sakura tries to find out more bout the Black Phoenix; Master Ishida refuses to speak of it, as it is his greatest shame. Just when Sakura thinks she may get some answers, an attack is launched… from Rika Ainia, who had been killed the day prior. Shocked, they once again fight her, but this time she successfully kills a student in the crossfire of the battle. Coming out of her rage and in a state of shock, she has a complete breakdown. In the chaos, Master Ishida is captured.

Cursed – Rika is interrogated, and a lot of details about her life come to light. She says she was sent as a distraction so that Chicken Wire and Jet could kidnap Master Ishida. Taking her as a hostage, they journey off to find Jet.

Legend of the Black Phoenix – While passing through a mountain village, they try and find more info about the Black Phoenix. However, most of what they find is merely urban legends and rumor, and nothing totally concrete.

Chicken Wire – Chicken Wire tries, and fails, to lure the group into multiple traps as they work there way ever closer to where Jet has Master Ishida.

The Escape – Rika breaks free and runs off, with the group giving chase.

Crossed Wire – The group splits up to try and find Rika, Jet, or Ishida; Gemini finds herself victim of Chicken Wire’s tricks and traps, though eventually she does defeat him and begin tailing him back to his hideout.

Cursed – Michelle finds her way into a shack in the mountains that contains a variety of odd objects, including a large mass of spiky wires, a broken staff, and more. She soon discovers it is the home of a witch, and makes her escape to tell the others.

Reunion – Sakura and Jet meet face to face; Sakura tries to appeal to the good in him and tries to get the boy she once loved to return, but instead the two fight, leading to him being wounded. Michelle and Gemini catch back up, and they track Jet to his hideout via a trail of blood.

The Cave – The group finds the cave where Jet has been hiding, and tracks him deep inside to where he has kept Master Ishida imprisoned.

Phoenix Rising – After finding Master Ishida, he finally explains the truth: That the Black Phoenix was a student of his who he had expelled for violent tendencies ages ago, and who had gained reputation since then as powerful evil. He had no idea that he had been training his own set of students for years. Before they can escape, they are confronted by the Black Phoenix himself.

SEASON 4B – HER MASTER’S KEEPER

The Black Phoenix – Akuma Kokuho introduces himself, and says that he is not going to kill Master Ishida yet; he wishes to humiliate and demoralize him first by proving to him that he is a far greater teacher. To this effect, he has decided to put forth a set of combat challenges to see if Ishida’s students can best his own.

The Challenges – Kokuho’s students and Ishida’s students begin battling and competing in deadly challenges, with Ishida’s students ending up dead. Jet begins to grow ever more disturbed, while Rika grimly accepts all the brutality fate throws at her. Jet’s resolve sways even further when he watches Chicken Wire get brutally beaten down to the point of near death before intervening.

Disgrace – Disgusted by Jet’s weakness, Kokuho determines the only solution is to put him into combat against Ishida’s greatest student: Sakura. The fight is to the death, and if Jet refuses to fight, Kokuho will kill her himself. The two fight, but seem at a stalemate; Sakura does not want to kill Jet, and Jet does not want to kill her while at the same time he must put forth effort to seem as if he is not throwing the match. The match ends when Sakura, sensing the problem, impales herself with her own blade.

Betrayal – Having angled the sword in such a way it did not harm any of her organs, Sakura is injured but otherwise okay. Irritated, Kokuho demands that she be prepared to fight again the next day; disgusted, Gemini and Michelle go off to spy on him. They catch him abusing Jet and, strangest of all, they find him sneaking off to the hut of the witch Michelle previously visited. It turns out the witch is Kokuho’s daughter, and she curses people by taking away things precious to them so that they have no choice but to turn to Kokuho so that they can find any semblance of peace. They try to escape and bring this information back, but they are caught by Kokuho.

To the Pain – Rika, sensing something is amiss, wanders off into the woods, finding herself at the shack. There, she witnesses Kokuho fighting Michelle and Gemini, and though they fight valiantly, Kokuho bests them. Before his daughter can curse them, Rika leaps in and maims the daughter, only to be beaten to a pulp by Kokuho. This does, however, give Michelle and Gemini time to escape.

The Hero Within – Gemini and Michelle return, and try and warn all of Kokuho’s students of his treachery, but only Jet and Chicken Wire seem very interested in the truth, with the rest threatening them. When Kokuho makes his way back, Jet stands up to him and fights him to a standstill, injuring him and stealing medicine to heal Sakura.

Rage of the Phoenix – Kokuho attempts to kill Sakura and friends, but a now fully healed Sakura fights him off. The group manages to beat a hasty retreat so that they can form a concrete plan on how to stop Kokuho and his witch daughter.

End of an Era – After attempting to retreat to Ishida’s school, the school is destroyed by Kokuho.

Her Master’s Keeper – Ishida, worn out and tired from the running and his failure, decides to stand up to Kokuho. He fights valiantly, and though Sakura leaps in to protect him, he is ultimately slain, but not before passing on his greatest secret to her.

The Secret Technique – Sakura and Kokuho do battle once again, though this time she uses the secret technique that Ishida taught her: the Strike of Ages. This allows her to astral project into Kokuho’s mind and sift through the evil to defeat his innate dark spirit.

The Fog of Ages – Sifting through his memories, Sakura learns about Kokuho’s past. Eventually, she duels him in the center of his mind, defeating him and rendering him comatose.

Phoenix Down – The group manages to find their way to Kokuho’s daughter, who puts up a great fight but is ultimately defeated. Upon her death, the cursed objects all disappear, returning what they stole to their owners. All seems well, with Rika promising to find a way to atone for her sins, perhaps by remaking the school and leading Kokuho’s students to a peaceful way, and with Jet determining he wants to confess his love to Sakura. However, Chicken Wire too is freed from his curse, and with his barbed veins and muscle mass restored and his mouth free once again, he kills Jet and reveals himself to the group. In a shocking cliffhanger twist, it is revealed to Michelle’s horror that Chicken Wire had been her family’s killer.

#Six Shots #The Thief and the Samurai #My Writing #My OCs

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werezmastarbucks · 6 years

Text

Soothsayer [4]

[1]

[2]

[3]

Word Count: 2075

Warnings: Language, Drinking.

Genre / Pairing: Parent!Tony, drama, contemplating.

You took on drinking. Natasha entered the kitchen space, observed it with her eyes, and saw you at the counter, trying to come to terms with whiskey. Oh well, since they’re all dead, might as well start drinking. She thought you were sometimes being too dramatic – even given the circumstances. She didn’t sleep for the past two days, too agitated with all the work. The world needed some gluing back, and she was in the middle of it, surprisingly clear-headed. She was coping better if she didn’t have time to eat, or blink. She felt almost fixed. After people started disappearing all over the country, and beyond, the collateral damage level sky-rocketed at the bitching pace. Three hundred thousand additional deaths in gruesome accidents or through suicide, that, with exactly half of the Earth’s population gone. Imagine a train with no machinist, or a plane with no pilot. All the mothers dispersing suddenly right in the middle of the street, leaving their children startled and confused, circled by empty cars, performing their wild waltz. The buildings fell, the space objects operated by people crashed down killing small villages, and the television studios were being wiped clean, looking like haunted spaces after a zombie apocalypse. And yet, the world was so quiet, like everyone was afraid to breathe. The only sound was clinging of the glass in Y/N’s hand, and at the end of the day, Natasha decided, it wasn’t the worst decision.

She placed herself calmly next to you, turning the bottle to face her, although she knew what kind of whiskey it was. The compound, though not Stark’s place of living, was his barony. So, only the best things definitely. Never has Nat thought that she would go warm inside at the thought of Tony Stark. That she would thank the heavens for him being around, and alive. However, there was another side of being alive for him at the times like this.

Nat couldn’t help grinning when this thought stroke her mind. At the times like this.

You looked at her. She was very tired. You did nothing all day and looked even worse.

“Can I help?”

She bit her lip, staring through the counter.

“You’re not leaving the compound until you’re fully healed physically”.

“Thank you, ma’am”.

Two questions circulated at all places inhabited by humans now: how are you? and what do we do? You asked none. You drank together in silence.

Tony Stark rubbed his face, which felt like sheepskin. When he opened his eyes, he saw the blurry picture of Y/N. She was holding on her side like it was causing pain.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m walking. What are you doing?”

“Tryina…” he scoffed. The pipe wouldn’t move. FRIDAY’s seen a leak yesterday, that let the heat escape the walls in the basement room where he kept the old suits. He’d entered the room, looking around at the dark-red gleaming silhouettes behind the glass. Only the chosen ones, the oldest versions, like the priceless pieces at the museum. He’d fought the impulse to blow this place up. Whatever happened here, a whistling sound told him that there was an actual hole in the wall, god knows why. He busied himself with it. He had four hours to go before catching the plane.

He punched the plastic pipe with his fist in sudden rage. He could feel his right eye twitch.

“Is Rogers here?”

“Yup, I think so”.

“When can you go out? I need you to come to Washington with me”.

“I could go today”.

“You sure?”

He examined you with a strict knowing eye. He shook his head to himself. You didn’t pass.

“Get this bitch moving, please, do me a favor”, he sighed and leaned back, sitting on one knee. He couldn’t waste all his energy on one fucking pipe. You were staring at the thick white worm, not believing there still could be such prosaic problems to deal with. You stretched out your hand and sent a hot impulse to the side of it, moving it slightly to the wall.

“NO! The other way, dammit!” he exclaimed sharply, waving his hands, and then his palms went up to his face again. You flinched at Tony’s outburst, pressing your arms to your chest like a rabbit.

“Sorry. I’m sorry”, his hand laid on your back, and you nodded, putting your hands on the pipe again.

“It’s okay”.

“Nothing’s okay”, Tony said in that tone of voice that you couldn’t describe any other way than dancing. When he was losing control so badly even his throat seemed to vibrate sporadically.

“This shit is torn off, Tony”.

“You don’t say. We need to take it out and change it”.

The rib sent killing waves to your nervous canals once you leaned forward, bending, and you ouched quietly. Tony pulled at your shoulder firmly. You were both sitting on the floor surrounded by his suits.

You swung your head looking at them, recalling how you’ve seen Mark II when you were a child. He seemed like a miracle. Iron Man was standing above all people, a gleaming golden and red titan of strong lines, with the sun behind his shoulder, the panels on his chest and his back shining like the sun itself. He was always the epitome of hope to you. You never voiced it, but… well… you didn’t even know how to phrase it to yourself correctly, so that it doesn’t sound cowardly, or cruel. You were glad Tony wasn’t one of the dead ones. You knew he wished he was. And yet you were glad to have your non biological father around. Now you already got familiar with that unpleasant idea that if he died, you’d probably weren’t much worse off; and yet. And yet. He was sitting on the floor next to you, his black coil-like eyes scanning all things, looking for something he knew he wouldn’t find. And then they land on you and get one thousandth calmer. And you can’t wish for more.

“Boss”, FRIDAY’s voice ascended on you before you could say anything. She sounded so polite and respectful. She was perfect. You felt migraine strike you right in the forehead.

“Thor has arrived”.

“Thor?” Stark lifted his face like she was on the ceiling, then looked at you. He stood up and offered you his hand, and you grabbed it, folding your fingers around his wrist. Why have you never appreciated this moment of contact? How could you think there was something more precious in this greasy, cold, noisy world, than the feeling of somebody’s palm gripping yours in support? Dry burning touched your eyes, and you took his hand with another, rising slowly, keeping his palm between yours in the solemn gesture. He didn’t pull away when you refused to let go.

Thor looked fresh and fit compared to all of you. He was standing there like a skyscraper, with his usual curious look on the bright face, despite all, and you citizens of the Anguish Town surrounded him like he was the messiah.

Rocket was sitting on a high chair at the counter, his small attentive eyes have located a dark bottle near the sink. Unfortunately, it was empty. The last Guardian’s thin legs were hanging funnily from the chair, and you took a second to appreciate the sight of it.

“Hello, friends”, Thor said. Benner was limping. He rubbed his left fist on his thigh and marched to the counter, passing you with a nod. He’d shut himself in the lab just like you, in your bedroom, and you two had barely seen each other in a week or so.

“Anything new? I thought you’d be far away, chasing the douche”, Tony requested politely. Steve watched from afar, his arms crossed on his chest. Thor gave away a small smile.

“Well, we haven’t found Thanos, not yet. But we have located somebody who could help us. She is, in fact, a Midgardian, and I was thinking to first council with you, in case you’re familiar with her”.

“What’s her name?” Bruce asked.

“Carol Danvers”, Thor offered readily, and did a pose. You raised your eyebrow. Rocket was already chewing on something.

“Doesn’t ring a bell”, Stark confessed, “Anyone?”

A round of slowly shaking heads. Tony gave a long look to Steve, and he shrugged.

“Why are you standing so far away?” Tony asked, hurt in his voice. “Why are you not paying attention to me”. Rogers sighed, giving up in advance, and headed to the rest of you heavily. He wasn’t holding a grudge though. You saw Stark’s hand going up and landing on his back briefly once he got close. You leaned on the counter not to give away how badly you wanted to knock yourself to sleep. The painkillers were killing you, not pain. They gave you headache and were putting you to sleep, making your slow brain work even more slowly.

“Well, she’s our good chance for help. Me and the rabbit, we shall reach out to her, and, I figured”, the Asgardian nodded towards Cap and Tony, “Stark would like to go with us”.

“No can do, not today”.

Thor frowned.

“Alright. Tomorrow. Is tomorrow good?”

“Who is she, that Carol Danvers?” Natasha wondered, slightly irritated. Ha! Romanoff doesn’t know someone?

“She’s our big hope”, Rocket noted knowingly. He grew even tougher yet than he used to be.

“Hope for what? How can a Midgardian help you locate Thanos? I thought you were the best at it”, you were puzzled.

“Oh”, Thor’s face alighted, “no. Not with Thanos. With your deceased ones”.

Silence fell on everyone for a second. You felt a small axe hit on your brain once, and then hot air left your nostrils. You swayed.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. Tony was standing in the defensive pose, clutching his elbows, at his shoulder.

“Well, to bring them back”, Thor smiled lightly, with the soft condescension that marked his every conversation with the mortals. The softness in his heart, piercing it through and making him smile warm, every time he had to explain something to them, was unmistakable. Thor would never get enough of their awe, the mouths agape, their powerlessness they expressed when faced with the wonders of the Universe. Their denial, and shock, and their convulsive attempts to take everything in at one bite. He could never get enough of the Earth.

“De… you can’t just…” Benner started and shut up.

“Or can you?” you finished slowly. Thor smiled at them. Oh, he forgot to tell them, didn’t he. Yes, back there, in Wakanda, when he lost Thanos because of his foolishness, when everyone started to disintegrate, he was so preoccupied and angry, he forgot to comfort them, and left. Bah! He was about to slap himself on the head. He gave out a laugh that startled his friends, and made their faces go as long as the tail of a comet.

“No-no-no, we just call them deceased, well, to mark their absence, but they’re not really… ah, you didn’t start mourning them, did you? I am so sorry that I haven’t mentioned it earlier. You must all feel like idiots”.

Tony’s mouth opened and closed, and then his eyes went completely black. He hissed something like a snake, and no one could translate.

“Wait. Are you saying they’re not dead?” you didn’t realize you were yelling.

“Oh, no”.

“Where are they?” Steve whispered. Rocket cracked his fang on something and swore under his breath. You jumped at the sudden noise.

“Well, they’re inside the Soul Stone currently. That’s how it works, you see, - it takes the souls and conserves them inside, it’s very greedy indeed. But it is possible to restore the lost lives. I mean, it happened to me once, about seven hundred years ago…”

You lost sight and touched your face to check whether you still held other senses. The bright green spot before your eyes was stealing the kitchen space, the raccoon, Thor, and the sunshine gathering behind his back. The tip of your nose was cold, and you pinched it. That was it, you’ve had enough, you told yourself. A huge bird with sharp golden feathers raised its head inside your chest. You turned your head to where you thought Steve was standing, gasped for breath. Someone grabbed your shoulder. Steve Rogers glanced at you, his hands falling down. The soothsayer was right again.

taglist: @shelbyyychristian

@csigeoblue

@theshortegg

@wickidlady

#infinity war #infinity war imagine #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #black widow #tony stark #thor

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grahamstoney · 3 years

Text

Musique Concrète and Other Experimental And Electronic Music

New Post has been published on https://grahamstoney.com/music/musique-concrete-and-other-experimental-and-electronic-music

Musique Concrète and Other Experimental And Electronic Music

In the subject Creative Music Technology at university last semester, I was asked to listen to a collection of experimental and electronic music to stimulate my creative imagination, and to write what I liked and didn't like about it. Here's my rather cynical take on the genre.

Musique Concrète

Pierre Schaeffer and Pierre Henry – Symphonie pour un Homme Seul

youtube

This piece reminded me of Strauss’s Symphonia Domestica; only less musical. I’m a Homme Seul (single man) and my life doesn’t sound anything like this. In his book La musique concrète, Schaeffer described the work as “an opera for blind people…”. Haven’t they suffered enough?

Edgard Varèse – Poème Électronique

youtube

The audio equivalent of Luis Bunuel & Salvador Dali’s Un Chien Andalou.

Does to my ears what the asbestos coating on the walls of the Philips Pavilion at the 1958 Brussels World’s Fair for which it was commissioned, would do to my lungs.

György Ligeti – Artikulation

youtube

George Lucas must owe Ligeti millions in royalties for R2D2’s sound effects. Initially I thought I was joking when I first wrote that, but I’ve since discovered that he was actually trying to create a sort of phonetic speech in electronic music, which pretty much fits R2D2’s dialogue. Plus, the title is German for “articulation”. That should have been a giveaway.

I thought this piece might make more sense to me if I played it backwards, so I dropped it into Logic Pro X and reversed it. I couldn’t tell the difference. Perhaps I would have enjoyed it more if I listened to it in the original quadraphonic. I’ll just end noting that Ligeti abandoned electronic music after composing this piece.

Iannis Xenakis – Concret PH

youtube

2 minutes and 44 seconds of breaking glass to my ears. I think I’d rather listen to Kraftwerk.

Karlheinz Stockhausen – Kontakte

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It’s long. It’s too long. I think this is how Jacob Collier learned to play piano in his mother’s womb; but look at him now. The title is German for “Contacts”, which I think Stockhausen interpreted as “Just hit the things.” Maybe it sounds better in the original quadraphonic.

Stockhausen was evidently a pioneer of the extended dance remix, as the work exists in several versions: “Nr. 12”, “Nr. 12½” and “Nr. 12⅔”

Bernard Parmegiani - Accidents / harmoniques

youtube

Parmegiani had studied mime before turning his hand to electro-acoustic composition, and in this piece it really shows. From the album De Natura Sonorum (the nature of sound). I felt like there were Martians in my head listening to this. Surely he’s just playing a joke on us.

Pauline Oliveiros – Bye Bye Butterfly

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Bids farewell to the institutionalized oppression of the female sex while also providing inspiration for the sound of the Theramin. Gave my new monitor speakers a good workout; I hope the neighbours enjoyed it too.

Tape Loops

Steve Reich – It’s Gonna Rain

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I’ve got this pervasive feeling that it’s going to rain. I’m not sure why. I liked the way the meteorological message panned left and right. More like It’s Gonna Have An Acid Trip.

youtube

Halleluiah Part II is over. I’m not sure how I lasted the full 18 minutes.

Terry Riley – Mescalin Mix

youtube

Parts of this sounded to me like an industrial version of native Australian bush sounds. I felt like I was on a camping trip in the 23rd century.

Brian Eno – 1/1

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From his album Music For Airports/Ambient 1, which apparently coined the term Ambient Music. Brian Eno has a lot to answer for. However, this track put me in a relaxing state, ready to fall asleep on the plane; so I liked it.

Sampling

Luc Ferrari – Ronda, Spain, June 2001

youtube

After being jolted awake by the sound of a loud sliding door opening to greet the day, I was drawn into this by the sweet sound of a French woman’s voice. I imagined she was Ferrari’s lover, speaking to him in bed after awakening on a warm Spanish summer Sunday morning. I wanted to know what she was saying, but my French isn’t good enough. In my mind’s eye, they head to a busy market together to buy some croissants for breakfast, where we hear a man’s voice repeating “numero quatro”, which I assumed is Spanish for “number 4”. As the voices fade, the sound becomes more musical and we return to the soft sound of Ronda speaking to her beloved back in their villa together. I quite liked it.

My interpretation, however, is not what the composer had in mind. According to him, the point of Les Anecdotiques (The Anecdotals) is to dispense with the story altogether. My busy market was, in fact, the sound of Spanish tourists in a museum. While he describes the woman’s words as “Spontaneous and intimate”, in this context they are simply words in a foreign language with no narrative purpose. Just another one of Pierre Schaeffer and Michel Chion’s sound objects, if you will. My narrative interpretation of what was intended as an explicitly anecdotal work is testament to the human brain’s tendency to make meaning out of nothing. It turns out Rhonda is a village in Spain, not a woman.

Still, I enjoyed my little fantasy, thank you Luc.

John Oswald – Manifold

youtube

Wow, this was short. I didn’t even have time to eat breakfast while listening to it. It was only about as long as the Spotify ads, but certainly more fun. I recognised a couple of songs, like U2’s With or Without You and Sinead O’Connor’s Nothing Compares To You. Artists who use samples liberally often sample obscure works, sometimes affording them attention they would otherwise have missed; but in this work Oswald went mainstream. It sounded to me like the soundtrack to a sample-abusing hip-hop artist from the 1990’s being beaten up in a boxing ring by all the artists who reckoned he’d ripped off their work.

Tod Dockstader - Water Music: Part III

youtube

I quite liked this piece. The cuteness of the sounds and the stereo effects bouncing between the left and right channels really drew me in. I’ve recently got myself some decent monitor speakers for my home studio and this piece really worked on them. Pretty amazing for something released in 1963.

Dockstader started out in the 1940’s, prior to the invention of magnetic tape, editing his steel wire recordings with a lit cigarette. That makes me realise how much I take the piece-of-crap Logic Pro X File Editor for granted. Listening to this, I found myself wanting to know what was going to happen next, like I was watching a soap opera on TV; only with no actual story.

Synthesis

Karlheinz Stockhausen – Studie I

youtube

I found this quite disorienting to listen to. I guess it was revolutionary in 1953 but I reckon now you could whip it up in Ableton in about 5 minutes using the Random MIDI Effect and some automation.

Eliane Radigue – Jetsun Mila (Pt.1) / Birth and Youth (Excerpt)

youtube

I liked how the pulsing ambient drone sound in this grew over time; it drew me in and had me wondering what was going to happen next. Unfortunately the answer was: not much. Gradually a rhythmic element with some high pulsing tones which grew over time came in. It was a bit like listening to a very slow EDM dance track from underwater in a diesel-powered submarine going at full throttle for 12 minutes.

Laurie Spiegel – Appalachian Grove: I

youtube

I liked the pulsing stereo effects in this piece and the way the tonal characteristics of the sound varied while the pitch changed. It’s much more melodic than the other tracks we’ve listened to and that made it more enjoyable to my ears. It got a bit harsh in the middle though. This piece puts the musique in musique concrète.

Morton Subotnick – Silver Apples of the Moon – Part A

youtube

Perhaps the sound designer for Star Wars had this in mind when creating the sound effects for R2D2. I kind of lost the flow of the conversation without the witty English-accented retorts from C3PO though. Morton Sobotnick is described as The Mad Scientist in one interview, and I think if I listen to this too often I’ll end up fitting one of the DSM-5 diagnostic categories I’m learning about over in PSYC1002.

Suzanne Ciani – Concert at Phil Niblock’s Loft

youtube

This piece had some funky sounds that I liked. The start reminded me a bit of Kraftwerk but without the rhythm and melody; although it did get more melodic later. I’d probably give it a Distinction for its use of technology given it was made in 1975, but only a Credit for musicality.

Barry Schraeder – Lost Atlantis: Introduction

youtube

At first, I thought this sounded a lot like a modern ad for KFC; then I realised I was hearing a Spotify ad.

I liked the ambient sounds in this piece and the way it surged in and out with its “mysterious tone colors”. It slowly builds to a crescendo until we get the drop that EDM lovers crave, and then built more quickly to the ultimate drop at the end. I kept wondering what was going to happen next; I’d still rather listen to Fleetwood Mac, Supertramp or Queen though.

Contemporary Examples

Amon Tobin – Foley Room

DJ & producer. Retain percussive quality through sounds. Horsefish & Esther’s. Create beauty and delicate textures from sounds. Pitched percussive material. Fast loops. New textures. Funky beats. Check out the Foley Room Documentary.

Aphex Twin - 1ST 44

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Acid house DJ in rave scene. Intelligent Dance Music. More complex sampling, polyrhythms, rhythmic patterns. From Collapsed album. Polyrhythms sounded funky. Lots of variation.

Holly Herndon – Chorus

Intersection of humanity and technology. Recorded web browsing. Stereo ping-pong effects. Here’s a talk she gave about her creative process.

Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith – Riparian

youtube

This was my favourite out of these three, largely because it sounds the most musical to my ears. I liked the pulsing beat in this track. I can hear a bass line for instance, melodies played on the synth and lyrics, although I can’t tell what they are saying. I also like the way the soundscape swirls around when listened to with headphones. It feels ambient, immersive and musical all at the same time. I get the sense that she’s using the electronics at her disposal in service of the music rather than the other way around. There’s even a great video about how she uses modular synthesis.

Graham Stoney - Foster le Concrète

"How hard can it be?", I asked myself. And since I had an assignment to do, I wrote my own musique concrète track based on the drum rhythm from one of my favourite songs, Coming of Age by Foster The People. I even made a breakdown video showing how I did it; because that's what the assignment required.

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Conclusion

I didn’t take too easily to some of the more experimental musique concrète pieces we studied at the beginning of this semester. The weekly listening tasks felt harsh to my untrained ears and I would think mean things like:

“Didn’t the Geneva Convention ban cruel and unusual punishment?”

Perhaps these tracks will never be my preferred go-to pieces for chilling out on a Friday night, but when I look back at some of my cynicism-laced early comments in these discussion threads, I cringe. I just didn’t appreciate the historical significance of these pieces and how they might have influenced later electronic music that I do enjoy, like Kraftwerk say.

Then in Angharad Davis’s Music Colloquium Series talk on George Antheil’s Ballet Mécanique, when she played a snippet of the work I heard sounds reminiscent of musique concrète. Sure enough, they were roughly contemporaneous, and Antheil had been living in Paris at the time musique concrète was just getting started. You never know when something you study in one arena will pop up elsewhere.

Another thing I’ve learned in this subject is about taking creative risks and learning to follow my gut instincts without worrying whether a concept will work, or other people will like it. This has been an opportunity for me to explore that. My Formative Skills Assignment piece Foster le Concrète was in part a reaction to my frustration at the lack of discernible rhythm in some of the early pieces we studied. However, I really didn’t know whether the concept was going to work, and that was a little anxiety-inducing; especially given that I was doing it for an assignment which would be graded. I was quite touched to hear other students say they liked the end result, and I feel more confident about following my gut instincts in future and seeing what I end up.

Finally, I’ve been really inspired by the creativity of the other students in this subject. It’s been a weird experience studying online this year without ever meeting them in person, but I’ve really enjoyed hearing the creative works everyone came up with. They’re all so distinctive and amazingly different, it’s incredible; yet they were all products of the same brief. I can’t wait to hear everyone's works on the radio, TV, movies, video games, Spotify, or whatever audio technology is around when we all graduate: live streaming direct to our neurons perhaps?

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sciencespies · 3 years

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Celebrating 150 Years of the Metropolitan Museum of Art

https://sciencespies.com/history/celebrating-150-years-of-the-metropolitan-museum-of-art/

Celebrating 150 Years of the Metropolitan Museum of Art

In 1866, a group of businessmen and civic leaders launched the Metropolitan Museum of Art as a concept without a work of art to its name. The New York City cultural institution only acquired its first artifact—a third-century A.D. Roman marble sarcophagus decorated with intricately carved garlands—four years later, in 1870.

From this initial acquisition, the Met’s palatial Fifth Avenue collection grew to house thousands of objects, becoming an internationally renowned trove of cultural heritage that attracts more than seven million visitors each year. Now, an exhibition titled “Making the Met: 1870–2020” commemorates the museum’s 150th birthday by charting its history—and the broader history of Western art collection—from the end of the American Civil War to the present day.

Visitors planning to make the trek in person must purchase timed-entry tickets online. For those hoping to participate from home, the museum is also offering a slate of virtual offerings: Art lovers can listen to an hour-long audio tour of some of the exhibition’s highlights, as narrated by actor Steve Martin; explore an interactive online version of the show; or take a virtual walkthrough courtesy of Google Arts and Culture.

Those interested in the museum’s behind-the-scenes history can also browse seven stories about the conservation of the Met’s most iconic works or watch a short documentary on the museum’s iconic Fifth Avenue architecture. Another option is viewing rarely seen footage from Behind the Scenes: The Working Side of the Museum, a silent 1928 documentary that depicts janitors dusting works and curators arranging exhibitions.

Per a statement, the exhibition’s 250 objects are presented roughly in the order that they entered the museum’s collections. Taken together, the items offer a history of the Met’s collecting habits and values, as well as what the New York Times’ Jason Farago describes as “strange, riveting juxtapositions” of artwork from various time periods and parts of the world.

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The show’s ten sections outline moments of great change for the museum, from its earliest decades to its role in World War II and sometimes-reluctant embrace of modernism in the 20th century. Visitor favorites and fragile pieces that can only be displayed on rare occasions number among the featured works, which span all eras, mediums and artistic concerns.

Among others, the list of selected artifacts includes a seated statue of the female Egyptian pharaoh Hatshepsut, Edgar Degas’ bronze Little Fourteen-Year-Old Dancer, Edward J. Steichen’s photographs of The Flatiron and contemporary works such as El Anatsui’s large-scale Dusasa II (2007).

“Making the Met” tracks key figures involved in shaping and curating the museum’s collections over the decades, from Luigi Palma di Cesnola, the Italian-American and archaeology enthusiast who became the Met’s first director in 1879, to the Met’s first woman curator (and first curator of musical instruments), Frances Morris.

Also featured are the Monuments Men—a group of men and women who worked to preserve art looted by the Nazis during World War II—and curators who pushed the often-conservative Met to embrace contemporary art. One such individual, Lowery Stokes Sims, acquired genre-bending works like Faith Ringgold’s Street Story Quilt during the 1990s.

As Sarah Cascone reports for artnet News, the exhibition ends on a cliffhanger: the Covid-19 pandemic and its devastating fallout for cultural institutions, many of which were forced to shutter for months. Ahead of its August 20 reopening, the Met cut its staff by 20 percent and projected an estimated $150 million loss in annual revenue, according to the Times’ Julia Jacobs.

“We’re going to look at this exhibition through new and different eyes now,” curator Andrea Bayer, deputy director for collections and administration, tells artnet News. “We give you 10 moments, but we’re living in the 11th. This has made us reflect on who we are, where we are, and where we are going.”

One highlight of “Making the Met” is Saint Rosalie Interceding for the Plague-stricken of Palermo, a 1624 painting by Anthony van Dyck that was one of the first works to enter the Met’s collections. As Farago wrote for the Times in March, the work—which depicts Saint Rosalie, who was thought to have saved the Italian city of Palermo from a plague during the 17th century—takes on added resonance amid the current pandemic.

Anthony van Dyck, Saint Rosalie Interceding for the Plague-stricken of Palermo, 1624

(Public domain via the Metropolitan Museum of Art)

The museum reopened this summer in the wake of a worldwide push for racial justice spurred in part by the police killing of Minnesota man George Floyd. In the weeks following Floyd’s May 25 death, many cultural institutions—including the Met—faced reckonings with their own complicity in sustaining structural racism.

Max Hollein, the Met’s director, responded to controversy over allegations of racism at the museum in a June statement to the Times’ Robin Pogrebin.

“There is no doubt that the Met and its development [are] also connected with a logic of what is defined as white supremacy,” he said. “Our ongoing efforts to not only diversify our collection but also our programs, narratives, contexts and staff will be further accelerated and will benefit in urgency and impact from this time.”

As Farago notes in his review of the show, much of the history of the Met’s collections hinges on the stories of individual wealthy patrons, from the moneyed elite of the American Gilded Age to present-day multi-millionaires. The exhibition doesn’t shy away from examining some of the museum’s own ties to imperialist exploitation: A section titled “Visions of Collecting,” for instance, details how the Havemayers, who donated celebrated collections of 19th century French artists and others to the museum, built their fortune through the exploitation of immigrant workers in sugar manufacturing factories. According to Eric Zafran of the Burlington magazine, “How other collector-donors attained their wealth is not detailed.”

In the statement, Bayer notes that the museum’s efforts to investigate its own history are ongoing.

“In these past months, as we have lived through a period of important societal transformation, we recognize that we must add another story to this history,” she says. “While in some cases we reflect with pride, and in others we acknowledge our place within fraught histories, the exhibition shows how The Met has always strived to educate and inspire the public.”

“Making the Met: 1870–2020” is on view at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City through January 3, 2021.

#History

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beni-draw-ikemen-please · 4 years

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KINTSUGI - REPAIRING WITH GOLD CHAPTER 1

Ikemen Vampire Canon x OC

K I N T S U G I

Chapter 1 - Don’t tell anyone.

Word Count 2064

Pairing: Leonardo Da Vinci x Seiya Amanogawa x Comte Saint Germain

Tags/TW: Graphic Depictions of sex, intercourse, smut (you name it), angst, mentions of death and suicide. Please proceed with caution.

A/N: This is a work of fiction.

If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

This is fan fiction for Ikemen Vampire, character designs are owned by Cybird. My story however, features my own OC/MC Seiya Amanogawa who is from Modern Japan/Europe, who travelled to the Louvre for inspiration.

Seiya is female so I will be using she/her as her pronouns. I will also be describing her accordingly. I designed Seiya and she is my Original Character.

If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

This work is intended for mature readers. No minors please. Graphic Depictions of sex, intercourse, smut (you name it), angst, mentions of death and suicide. Please proceed with caution.

K I N T S U G I

Chapter 1 - Don’t tell anyone.

That’s how Seiya saw him. A figure to be admired from afar. A treasure, so valuable and so bright, she steps back, almost instinctively, it made her feel smaller and smaller.

It was one of her guilty pleasures. And, it was only after she had shown Vincent what she really drew in her sketchbook that the angel allowed her to use his balcony.

Vincent noticed her when she first arrived. She was this scared, trembling frail little creature, and he wanted to make her feel more at home. Which turned out easier than expected. She spoke modern Dutch, at the very least the sounds were similar to the older variant.. Sometimes she would hear him speak words that made her head tilt in confusion.

But she enjoyed his company. And Vincent felt the same.

They would often draw together. Vincent with his easel and brushes, and his apron that’s stubbornly stained with paint, and her ink and paper.

She told him how she hated it when her hands stained of charcoal, or anything, so she stuck with inks. She would often grumble, how she missed modern pens and this thing called a brush pen. And Vincent wondered about it often.

Seiya kept her notebook to herself. The red leather stood out, so she would often wrap it with a soft lace handkerchief that was too big to be folded and tucked into her pocket. She would keep it in her tray whenever she assembled the residents’ meals or changed sheets. Her notebook never leaves her sight. Vincent grew curiouser and curiouser every time he would catch a glimpse of the red leather peeking through the black lace. For someone who looked like her, her choice of colour would almost be too bold for a maiden in 19th century Paris. Always black, she would say. Or, if black wasn’t an option, wine red. Or the darkest violet possible.

“It’s too bright for me…” she said, and Vincent couldn’t make out if she softly cursed in Dutch, or in Japanese, or a mixture of the two. She would, however, hum in satisfaction whenever she saw black velvet chokers, or black leather gloves, and thinking of that contrast made him smile.

“What are you drawing, Seiya?” he wouldn’t be so bold as to peek over her shoulder as she worked, unlike how Arthur had attempted so many times.

Seiya didn’t say much and it was rare to hear her raise her voice even just for a bit, but when it came to her sketchbook, she was vocal and protective.

Arthur attempted many times to uncover the mystery of that book, but Seiya never let anyone, not even Vincent take a peek inside.

Maybe it’s her diary? He thought about this many times. Maybe it’s some sort of visual diary where she draws her feelings instead of writing them down. Thinking about it like that, Vincent stopped asking her and instead, just enjoyed the tranquility and meditative togetherness of their afternoon painting sessions.

The only person he thought knew about the notebook’s contents would be Leonardo. They spend an awful lot of time together, after all.

Comte had assigned the man to be Seiya’s caretaker, and Leonardo took that duty to heart, sometimes too seriously.

“Fanculo…” she whispered. And Vincent froze. His neck slowly guided his eyes toward Leonardo, who now looked more annoyed than when he first walked in.

Dealing with Theo at first proved to be one of the hurdles she had to overcome before making the mansion her home too. Vincent would always remember the face she made when Theo called her a ‘hondje’. And the long road it took for them to actually make an effort to sit down, have an actual conversation and eventually get to know each other.

But with Leonardo, it was something different.

Vincent knew that feeling too well. And maybe, it was one of the reasons why they enjoyed each other’s company. Soft souls, his little brother called them.

But with Leonardo, it was different.

“I told you. You should stop these silly doodles.” When Leonardo finally spoke, it sounded more like a request than actual lecturing. Seiya would look away, and she would hold her dear treasure closer to her chest.

He hated it. Vincent could see it. Enough for him to go out of his way to get it off her hands and into the dirt.

This would happen every now and then, and oddly enough, Vincent knew he should get used to it.

In the evening, Vincent brought her a pot of flowers. Hoping she would calm down. Vincent knew his friend did not like cut flowers so whenever he wanted to cheer her up, he would pick a small pot from their growing collection, and walk it to her room.

That day, he could remember she argued with Leonardo again. She was upset that he did what he did during their “good days”. Vincent felt great earlier in the day and wanted to paint, and she too, felt inspiration course through her hands. And Leonardo just shattered that moment.

Seiya stormed out, and ran to the opposite direction in tears. After a while, he found her behind the lush greens of the Gazebo. Almost how a little kid would hide themselves after a fight with a another kid after an afternoon at the sandbox. He remembered how quietly she cried. And how warm her hand was when he helped her out of the grass.

They sat underneath the stars, just by a bench near the gate of the mansion. And there, she showed him. He didn’t really say anything, no, Vincent just sat with her. Hoping his presence would alleviate the stress and agitation she felt. Seiya felt like she needed to tell Vincent what was happening.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Her voice was always soft, like a silent prayer you hear inside a church. You should make out the words, but they would always sound like some foreign incantation made to sound familiar.

Vincent would often lean in and apologise. Asking her to repeat herself one more time, for his sake. Seiya would chuckle a bit and she would take a deep breath and would speak a little louder.

Seiya did not say anything, but she gave him her notebook. Vincent’s eyes widened with interest and curiosity. He was excited and Seiya chuckled when she saw the eagerness in his blue eyes.

“Are you sure?” He asked just to be sure. It was dark, but he could still see the pink on Seiya’s cheeks. Her hair looked like starlight illuminating her from the nipping dark of dusk.

And then, he stopped.

“You can’t tell anyone. Please?”

To be continued.

MORE A/N:

I’ve been wanting to write this for so so so so so so so long. I’m currenlty writing a very self-indulgent longfic for Twisted Wonderland and my OC so I had no excuse not to write this one. The title came very naturally and I felt like that’s when the chapters really took off in my head. At first there were just notes, or screaming/typing I shared with friends. But I felt I needed to do baby Seiya right and write her story out.

I hope you like my IkeVamp writing attempt! I also posted this on Ao3 (onibeni). In the days I can’t draw for Kinktober, I’ll write (at least I’ll try). So this will be good practice oho~

Thank you for reading! ♡

#ikemen vampire #ikemen leonardo #Ikemen Comte #Onibeni Seiya

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