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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months

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you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) Part 4

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

PART 4.

When the night of your art show comes, you do not expect to see John Wick in the crowd. You had not heard from him since that night when he gave you the orgasm of your life, then disappeared from your apartment like he’d only ever been a dark dream.

Though your panties had disappeared too, and you strongly suspect he’d taken them with him.

The gallery is packed this night. It’s a group show, and you’re hardly the main act, but it’s a huge stepping stone for you as an artist. Gallery X is nothing to turn one’s nose up at, and you dare to hope that maybe, just maybe, things might get going from here. The art world is just as much politics as it is producing work, and you were never good at that part of it all.

Helen was, bless. She presented strong work, but she also knew how to read a room, and whose hand to shake, and how to tell someone to go to Hell with a polite smile. You know that her final gift to you was the cachet of her name in a collaboration, and maybe, just maybe, if you play your cards just fucking right, this could be your break.

You recognize the faces of people with big names in the art world here tonight. Critics, museum curators, journalists, and collectors. They’ve all come out to play, and your heart has not slowed its frantic pace in your chest for the past hour since opening.

You snag a glass of champagne from a passing tray, even though you hate the stuff, and that is when you see him through the crowd. He’s across the room, tall and forbidding in a dark suit, his long hair framing his angular face. You can practically feel the weight of his gaze upon you, through the crush of all these people. For a moment, time stands still, as your eyes meet his.

You have thought of him a thousand times since the night he left you sated yet ravenous in your bed. A hot flush blooms across your skin, a spear of desire shooting straight to your loins as you remember what he did to you with that perfect mouth, and those big hands, and those soulful eyes. God, but you would have given him anything, after one look from those yearning dark eyes.

He is dressed well, but he doesn’t exactly look well. There is an edge to his stare; an intensity.

A hunger.

An agonizing thrill runs down your spine; for a moment you have to look away. It’s just too much.

By the time you turn back, he is gone.

You continue to mingle, chatting with your friends and acquaintances, sipping some of the bubbly to try to calm your nerves. It doesn’t work; you feel as though you have a live wire under your skin, a thousand volts of raw emotion running rampant through your veins.

It would have been easier, had it only been lust, or even just pity. But there was something more to it, something substantial and heady and warm, and that made it a much harder beast to slay.

You slowly make your way around to look at the other pieces. It’s the polite thing to do, and interesting too. The theme of the show is Loss. Perfectly broad, and the subjects of the works vary wildly.

In front of a massive encaustic abstract a low voice in your ear stops you in your tracks. “I feel like I owe you an apology.”

You turn your head slightly to find John standing ever so near, so close you can feel the warmth of the solid line of his body behind you. The room is packed and it’s almost necessary to stand this close just to be heard, but still, you get a dark thrill out of it.

“Oh?”

“I feel like I took advantage of you, last we met. I am sorry.”

You turn to face him, standing close enough to kiss. Thanks to the heels you’re wearing, you don’t have to crane your neck too far to look him in the eye.

“Actually, I was kind of thinking I took advantage of you.”

This clearly surprises him, his eyebrows rising. Ah, this dear, sweet, man. You didn’t take him for being naïve, but he is a little older, and the claws of traditional gender roles cling hard and deep.

“Helen wanted me to look after you, and I—”

“Gave me the most incredible pleasure of my life? Yeah, it was pretty terrible. You’re a selfish beast.”

He blinks at you, clearly stunned. Then his eyes narrow, the hunger from before sharpening to a cutting edge, and a scintillating thrill runs down your spine. You cannot shake the feeling that you’ve just pulled the tail of a tiger; a predator both magnificent and deadly. Mostly it’s excitement; but just the slightest hint might be fear. There is something brimming below the surface of this man that you know you don’t entirely understand. You aren’t sure yet if it is passion, or violence—or maybe a combination of the two. You wonder if Helen ever got to see behind the mask.

Somehow, you are certain she did, and she had not run from him. Perhaps that is what makes you brave tonight.

“You don’t mince words, do you?”

“Helen was the tactful one.”

“I actually found her refreshingly direct.”

“But I'm just abrasive. I've been told, believe me. It's because I don't apologize before I tell men what I really think.”

“I don't want your apologies.”

“Either way... I'm a big girl, John. You don't have to be the responsible adult between us.”

The corner of his mouth ticks at that.

“I feel like I should at least try.”

You shrug, unable to stop yourself from fingering his tie, fighting the urge to wrap your fist in it and pull him to you again. You’ve missed him, and standing this close, what you really want to do is climb him like a tree, and the crowd be damned. “Suit yourself.” You force yourself to stop touching him, although he didn’t seem to mind, or intend to stop you. You sigh deeply, warring with yourself as ever.

This is all so very fucked.

Maybe the truth is the best way to go.

“I like you, John. Maybe I’m just lying to myself, thinking Helen wouldn’t be pissed, but…maybe she’d be happy we’ve found each other.”

You dare to look him in the eyes, and once again, he looks as though he is drowning.

Fuck. You have to go.

You force yourself to step away from him, because your skin feels like its on fire. “We’re all going to Bar Rosé later to celebrate. You’re welcome to come, if you want.”

You retreat to greet a friend who’d come all the way to Manhattan from upstate to support you, and you can feel John’s eyes boring into you as you walk away.

For the rest of the opening you follow him out the corner of your eye. As though he's a magnet, you simply cannot help it. You are achingly aware of his presence, even if it's from across the room.

He pauses before your piece of Helen for a very long time, letting the crowd mill around him like a rock in a stream. It’s heartbreaking, really, the way he stands there before her, transfixed. A part of you wants to go take his hand, support him in what you know is yet another painful moment for him. But in the end, you decide to let him process it alone. A little later, you notice him talking to the gallery owner. Chummily, almost like they know each other. Of course, Carol Banning had known Helen, so perhaps you shouldn’t be so surprised.

When the evening is winding down John Wick is nowhere to be found. You're a little disappointed, and a little bit relieved. You're not sure what you think you're playing at, but deep down, you know it's so fucking twisted.

You meet with your comrades from the show, some artists you knew before, and some new acquaintances too. You hail a van cab to go a few blocks to Rosé. Tonight was a success. Someone bought your painting for a massive amount of money. More than you’d ever dreamed you could charge for a piece of your soul put down on canvas with paint. Carol had assured you it was appropriate, and you guessed she knew her clientele. A part of you was distressed to part with the piece you’d created with blood and tears and Helen’s art, and a part of you was relieved to let it go. You completed the cycle. You were sending Helen out into the world, where she would be remembered, and celebrated, for the remarkable woman she was.

It should have felt like victory, but in truth it was bittersweet.

You are 98 percent sure you don't let it show. Your friends are giddy with the success of the exhibition, and the last thing you want is to bring them down. You are too, truth be told. You were interviewed by not one, but two journalists this evening. One who even worked for the Times. Maybe it’s just curiosity about Helen Morgan-Wick’s baby sister, but…Helen would have told you to stop overthinking and enjoy it.

So perhaps, you will.

True to its name, the neon lights that accent the room at Rosé are pink. The glassware is too. You’re sure it’s a play on seeing the world through rose tinted glasses…but the drinks are strong, and the ambiance is fun. After a round your friends want to dance. You agree, and the four of you have a great time until you pick up a bogey. A man keeps trying to dance up on you, not getting the hint when you sidle away, not engaging with him whatsoever. Finally, you get tired of dodging him, and decide to get another drink. He follows you, leaning on the bar while you wait for the bartender’s attention. “I'm Sasha,” he says in thickly accented English, looking you up and down. He’s not bad looking at all, but there is something in the way he looks at you that makes you uneasy.

“Hi,” you answer, not keen to give him your name.

“You come here often?”

“Not really.”

“What are you celebrating tonight?”

“Who said we're celebrating?”

Had this pushy creep overheard you? Had he followed you from the gallery?

Another voice cuts in from behind you, a string of Russian that almost sounds like a command.

Your unwelcome suitor frowns, answering in the same language.

You turn your head to find John standing close behind you. You hadn’t noticed him come in; it’s as though he materialized from the shadows. When he puts a hand on your waist you do not flinch, hoping the other guy will get the picture. He frowns, looking between you. He says something quick over your head, and the only word you catch is blyad.

You’re pretty sure it means fuck.

There is a heavy moment rife with tension between the two men with you stuck in the middle, before the Russian makes a hissing sound between his teeth and goes. He doesn’t just go to the other side of the bar, however. He leaves the premises, slinking out the door, and you turn to look at your savior.

“Wow. What did you say to him?”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Did you know him?”

“Hmm. Sort of. From work.”

You tilt your head, staring up at him. He hasn’t removed his large hand from your hip, and even though its possessive and maybe it should bother you, you revel in his touch. You’re not usually one to get off on men fighting over you, but it’s hard not to feel a little glow of primal satisfaction at the exchange. It makes you feel bold, and maybe you run your mouth a little. “Yeah? So did Helen know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re an ex mafioso?”

You’re 99 percent sure you’re making a joke, but from the sharp way he looks at you, a trill of warning rolls down your spine. He leans down to speak in your ear, “You have quite the imagination, young lady.”

That warmth in your chest descends to pool between your thighs.

The bartender saves you from digging this hole even deeper.

“What can I get you, Mr. Wick?”

“Blanton’s on the rocks,” John answers, then looks to you.

“Vodka martini, please,” you answer.

“We have Smirnoff, Absolut, Grey Goose, Stoli…”

Before you can answer that Smirnoff is fine John answers, “Stoli.”

You raise an eyebrow at him as the bartender goes to pour your drinks. “Thanks.”

“Life is too short to drink bad vodka.”

You huff a laugh at that. “So, do you know every bartender in New York, or…”

“Probably just in Manhattan,” he jokes with a ghost of a smile.

You turn so that you are facing him completely. You have to stand close to hear each other, you reason. It has nothing to do with the fact that this man draws you like you are an asteroid caught in his gravity. If you collide…you have no doubt you’ll burn to pieces.

“Congratulations, on tonight,” he says, and you believe he means it. “Helen would be proud.”

“Thanks. Feels surreal, to be honest.”

“That’s fair.”

You find yourself looking at his tie again, fighting the urge to use it to tug him closer. My, but you are becoming a needy creature in this man’s presence. You have to remind yourself that you do not, in fact, know him that well. Even if it feels like…he could have always been yours. “It’s nice to see you again,” you dare venture, looking up from beneath your lashes.

“Likewise.” He touches you lightly, just below your chin. Your eyes meet, and you feel pinned by those dark orbs, somehow certain he can see right through you,

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…are you okay?” Like on Helen’s birthday, you imagine tonight must have dredged up plenty of emotions that just maybe this poor man would like to bury once and for all.

“I guess I deserve that, after how I behaved.” He is, undoubtedly, referring to the way he fled your apartment a month ago.

“I’m not mad, I just…genuinely want to know.”

He bites his lip as he’s thinking, and its all you can do just to watch him, wishing it was you with his lip between your teeth instead. Finally he answers, “I am as okay as it is possible for me to be.”

It is the most non-answer you’ve ever heard.

Sensing your dissatisfaction with this pointed evasion, he digs a little deeper, leaning in so that his words are only for you. “I didn’t exactly lead a happy life, before Helen. After she passed…I was certain I would never want anyone ever again. You kind of threw a wrench into that.”

“Sorry.”

He gives a little huff of self-deprecating laughter. “Don’t be. I…I like you, y/n. Please, forgive me, for…everything.”

You don’t believe he’s telling you all this to win sympathy, or using it as a line, like so many men would. It’s just facts, and you are moved to the bottom of your soul. Somehow you know that this is not something this man would casually admit to just anyone. “John…” With your heart in your throat you find yourself reaching for him, touching his fingertips with yours on the bar. “It’s ok. You don’t owe me an apology. You don’t owe me anything.”

He tilts his head to look at you, his dark hair swinging into his face. You feel bold enough to reach out, brushing it behind his ear. His eyes close at your touch for the barest moment. It’s so easy to forget that you are in a crowded public venue, with him near. “I owe you my gratitude, at the very least.”

You shake your head, prepared to deny it, but then your drinks arrive, and the moment is somewhat shattered. “Want to sit with us?” you ask, indicating your merry band of artist misfits with your chin. He nods, following you, though his hand has found that place at the small of your back again that warms your blood to an agonizingly slow simmer. Carol has joined you, and you wonder if John will feel awkward, fraternizing here in unspecific but obviously friendly capacity with his sister in law.

Yikes. You do not like it, when you think of it that way.

However, Carol Banning is a veteran of the New York art scene, and she has seen much worse scandals than this. She doesn’t even bat an eyelash, greeting him warmly from behind her large black-rimmed glasses. They chat more about the show, and the state of the art world. Carol mourns that no photographers currently working quite have an eye like Helen did. Then she points a crimson painted claw your way, surprising you. “But this young lady. She’s going to do some interesting things, I have a feeling.”

John salutes you with his dwindling glass of amber liquid, a smirk on his lips you don’t entirely know how to read. “I have no doubts.”

After you finish your drink you find you are ready to go. It’s been a long day, and a big night. Tonight, you fulfilled Helen’s dying wish for you, and somehow you feel simultaneously accomplished and sore to the bone.

“Can I drive you home?” asks John quietly in your ear. It sends a bolt of heat straight to your center, warmth pooling in your loins as you remember what happened last time he made such an offer. You look at him, wondering if he wants an encore, or if he just wants to see you home safe. His face in that moment is so handsome it hurts, but utterly unreadable to you.

“Sure,” you answer, sensing that somehow you’ve just signed your fate over to him with your name on the dotted line.

You hit the street, the cool night air a relief after the close press of the bar. John offers you his left arm, and you take it gladly, leaning on his shoulder a little more than you really need to. Part of it is that last martini with what had been truly excellent vodka—and part of it was just a need to be close to him. A part of you thought you’d never see him again. The fact that he is here, solid in the flesh and you can touch him, kind of blows your mind.

“I’m not parked far,” he assures you, and you nod with a sleepy smile. At the end of the block you see his car parked on the street. It’s a little menacing, you think to yourself, looking at the dark paintjob and the sleek lines. Definitely a car designed to be a predator of the road; something that will run you down and eat you, no matter how fast you try to run.

As you near the vehicle three shadows separate themselves from an alley. John freezes in his tracks, pushing you behind him. You recognize the guy from earlier, Sasha, who is flanked by two intimidating henchmen. He speaks to John again in Russian, and John replies in kind. It pisses you off that you don’t know what’s being said.

“Speak English,” you demand, half-stepping out from behind John.

A low chuckle runs through the men before you that makes your blood run cold. “I said,” enunciates Sasha slowly, “That if he hands you over now I’ll let you both live. He’ll just have to watch as I fuck you like the whore you are.”

“Nice. Very original, fuck head.”

His self-satisfaction morphs to anger. You are scared, but you’re not showing it like you should, and it’s ruining his fun. You use John’s body to shield the fact that you are dipping into your purse for your pepper spray. Why the fuck can’t you ever find anything in your purse when you need it?

What comes next happens so fast you almost can’t register it. One of the toughs made the first move forward, but John is like a hurricane upon them, deflecting strikes and breaking arms, punching one guy in the throat and kicking another in the gut. He throws one with some kind of complicated grapple and flip ninja shit before hitting the other again in the knees. In the blink of an eye two of them are down on the ground, leaving John to take on Sasha, who has drawn a knife. You see that one of the grounded henchmen is fishing behind his back for something. Without thinking you surge forward, knowing it’s a matter of life and death. As his hand raises with the gun you goalie-kick it from his hand, dousing his face with mace.

“Motherfucker!”

The gun goes off before it skitters across the street and under a parked car. He howls with agony, clutching his face, trying to wipe the concentrated capsaicin out of his eyes. In the next moment there is an arm around your waist, pulling you towards the parked cars. You are so caught up in the adrenaline rush that you react without looking, but John catches your hand with the mace, keeping it pointed away from the both of you. “It’s me,” he says, taking the tube and slipping it into his pocket like he doesn’t trust you not to let loose again. “You did good, honey. Come on.”

As he is bundling you into the passenger seat of his car you look back to see Sasha is writhing on the sidewalk with his knife in his leg, shouting what undoubtedly are expletives in Russian. You vaguely wonder if he might bleed to death as the Mustang rumbles to life and you roar away.

“Holy shit!” you exclaim, trembling with adrenaline and you guess, a bit of shock. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Are you hurt?” he asks, deeming it the more pertinent question.

“No. I’m…fine,” you say, looking down at yourself. “Jesus, are you hurt?” You look over at him to see that he is bleeding from a cut on his brow. “Oh my god, let me see.” You reach for him but he holds up a hand. “I’m fine, believe me.”

You catch one more glimpse of the wreckage behind you as he makes a right turn, downshifting. The car surges forward, pressing you back into the seat.

“You totally laid those guys out!”

“Yeah.” You study him from the passenger’s seat, his hard expression highlighted by the passing headlights. His jaw is clenched so tight you think he might crack his teeth. “I'm sorry you had to see that.”

You think about the three guys he leveled out like a human tornado.

“You've got some moves, Mr. Wick.”

He just sighs, sounding so very tired.

“Yeah.”

“Should we…call the cops?”

He looks over at you like you should know the answer to that question, but shit, this is the most violence you’ve seen up close in your entire life. Finally, he just shakes his head, seeming a decade older in that moment. “It wouldn’t do any good,” he assures you.

Except, maybe get him arrested, you reason. Because even though it had been self-defense…the carnage he’d left behind was unreal.

“Helen said you used to work in security?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He huffs a laugh at that. “Hardly.”

“I still don’t fucking get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why…this even happened? Men don’t exactly brawl on the street over me.” For Helen? Maybe, more likely, but not you, the boho weirdo who is lucky enough to kind of resemble your model-beautiful older sister, but will never be half as lovely or charming. You suspect there is some other reason this went sideways, that has more to do with John’s professional life before he retired from security.

That job description is holding less and less water the more you think on it. Helen was always super cagey in talking about what John Wick did for a living. You’re starting to get a better idea as to why that might have been.

John surprises you when he holds out his hand to you across the center console. “I would fight an army for you,” he tells you softly, and goddamn if you don’t believe him. You take his hand, comforted by the strength in the long fingers wrapped around yours. You only let go in between him shifting gears, and you don’t really say anything else until you pull up in front of your building.

“Come on,” you say, swinging open the heavy door of the sportscar. “I’ll take care of you.” The look he pays you is somehow both raw and predatory. A thrill of anticipation runs down your spine, because at this point you’ve lost your mind, and you don’t have the sense to be afraid.

<<PART 3 PART 5>>

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #john wick fic #keanu x you #keanu reeves x reader

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0therpearl · 1 year

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I am Sisithys. In this acid-cave deep underground, I hunt. All the worms and crabs of this world are my cousins; Peaceful because they know my superiority.

I am a hunter. A predator. An apex atop eight legs. A thousand volts are mine to command. I leave my lessers in search of a worthy hunt... It finds me.

Human. A vast lumbering beast that wraps itself in the weaving-work of my kin, and wields false fangs of steel and carbide. The fool thinks it’s after me. I let it approach, feigning cowardace as the charge builds within me...

AND I POUNCE!

My fangs are death! My lightning is vengeance! No human stands a chance, and in moments I am victorious, and I am sated. I am...

I-

I, U-Un, am awake. What in tarnation just happened?

#caves of qud #COQ #||ic #||bugslinger #TRULY was not expecting to get dreamcrungled this early into a run

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aetherceuse · 10 months

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⟢ - Notes UB-03 LIGHTNING, 𝐗𝐔𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄

Biology

UB-03 Lightning, Xurkitree, is an Ultra Beast made from bundles of organic wire.

These wires are sectioned off into five different limbs, which mimic two arms, two legs, and a tail. At the ends of the wires are copper spines, which are meant to latch onto solid earth, so that Xurkitree can “root” itself.

The organic wire grows from the base of a head comprised of a spiny crystal, which glows due to an organ that produces energy, and is capable of discharging up to 1,000,000 volts at once.

These creatures can grow to be incredibly tall! Xurkitree can range from five feet, to an astounding 1500 feet tall.

Xurkitree require electricity in order to remain alive, and have it flowing through their bodies in a constant current, similar to how most organic creatures have a blood stream.

Xurkitree harvest electricity one of four ways: by absorbing electricity from the ground left behind by lightning strikes, by collecting excess electricity off of other Xurkitree, by being struck by lightning directly, or by raiding man-made power sources.

Despite their names suggesting that they are trees, Xurkitree reproduce by sporing, similar to mushrooms. When a Xurkitree is prepared to spore, the energy sac in its head will heat up to high temperatures, causing its head to begin shedding, and eventually EXPLODING with crystal shards. These shards are then lodged into the earth, where new Xurkitree will spawn. The sporing Xurkitree will then enter a dormant phase while it collects electricity, in order to regenerate its head.

Xurkitree can live to be thousands of years old. After a certain amount of spore cycles, the head will no longer regenerate, and the Xurkitree’s body will simply become a part of the surrounding landscape.

Behavior

Xurkitree are passive creatures, and spend most of their time inactive and rooted into the ground.

They live together in massive troops, just like mushrooms.

Xurkitree communicate to one another through a system of taps, knocks, and zaps, similar to Morse code. These messages are sent back and forth to each other underground when multiple Xurkitree are rooted together. They use this to signal when it is time for the troop to migrate to new ground, when a predator is nearby, or if they are simply feeling chatty.

Migrating Xurkitree troops usually cause power outages.

The communication system is very basic: single words and simple sentences. (If someone attempted to translate it, it would sound sort of like the speech pattern of Space Core from Portal.)

Their heads can also flicker and pulse with light signals! The light signals twinkle on the “zip ties” on their wire limbs as well, making for a wild display.

Xurkitree prefer to be rooted into the ground. Though they can move on two of their limbs similar to the way humans walk, these are usually in short bursts. If a Xurkitree is seen walking and bouncing around, it is likely that it has been disturbed, or it is frantically trying to find safe place to root.

They can also articulate their limbs similar to arachnids, and lower the bases of their heads all the way to the ground.

Xurkitree are not fond of smooth, slippery surfaces, due to being unable to get a grip and root themselves. They’ll slip and slink around pretty pathetically.

Curious Xurkitree are known to abruptly sway and arch their trunks down to slam their heads against objects.

If a Xurkitree is full of too much electricity, it will discharge the excess by releasing two or three limbs from the ground. It will begin to flail and thrash like live wire, often making the Xurkitree appear that it is dancing! (Think Gyroid dancing from Animal Crossing.) Sometimes, the released electricity will shock other nearby Xurkitree, and they will join in on the dance. While it can be funny and entertaining to watch a Xurkitree move like this, DO NOT APPROACH A DISCHARGING XURKITREE! They are releasing incredible amounts of electricity when they are doing this, and you are putting yourself at risk of receiving a deadly shock.

Nomenclature

Xurkitree’s name comes from mashing together “circuit” and “tree.”

#{ Please do not reblog without permission. }#✧˖°.« 𝙼𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚌𝚑 » Headcanon

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operasrsly · 6 months

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Bruno de Sá, "Qual pellegrino errante" (Galuppi) ("As the errant pilgrim")

Qual Pellegrino errante (As the pilgrim wandering)

From the opera Evergete by Baldassare Galuppi

youtube

Libretto + translation under the cut

(Atto Primo, Senca XI) Candace

(Recitativo) Numi, voi che vegliate Fedelmente sui casi de Monarchi, Nel periglio imminente, Il destin d'Evergete a voi consegno. Quanto puote il mio amore, Già tutto oprò, confuso Così col finto ò il vero, Ch'Amasi nol saprà, d'un crudo scempio Nell'atroce desio, La gelosia del suo conservi il mio.

(Aria) Qual Pellegrino errante In solta, oscura selva, Muove l'incerte piante, Teme d'ingorda belva Il barbaro furore, E mille volte more Di pena, e di terror.

Così ne'dubbj suoi Pien d'ira, e di spavento, Ei provi ogni momento Il fiero mio dolor.

Source: [x]

English (Aria):

As the errant pilgrim in a solitary, dark forest, stirs the unsteady plants, fears the barbarous fury of the greedy beast, and a thousand times dies of sorrow, and of terror.

So shall he in his doubts full of bitterness and terror in every moment feel my terrible pain.

#Baldassare Galuppi #Galuppi #The galuppiest Galuppi to ever galuppi #chef's kiss #Bruno de Sá #Youtube

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bells-of-black-sunday · 1 year

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♪ frank and julie

Music inspo | Accepting

Parents

Drop a toaster in my bath Watch my mum and dad laugh See a thousand volts go through the son they wish they never had They told me casual affection leads to sexual infection But it's hard to get an erection When you're so used to rejection

Yeah, the teacher fucked the preacher But then he had to leave her Had to wash away the sins Of a male cheerleader Hi, nice to meet ya, got nothing to believe in So let me know when my breathing stops

The Sharpest Lives

Well it rains and it pours when you're out on your own If I crash on the couch, can I sleep in my clothes? 'Cause I spent the night dancing, I'm drunk I suppose If it looks like I'm laughing I'm really just asking to leave This alone You're in time for the show You're the one that I need, I'm the one that you loathe You can watch me corrode like a beast in repose Cause I love all the poison away with the boys in the band

#ooc #/muse tunes #never go on a kill mission without your tunes (frank)#a sketch book with imaginative and evocative if not slightly bizarre sketches (julie)#all of my l.egion playlists are edgy sry EWHREWH #cw; suicide mention #AFOROGT To TAG THAT AAA

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audio-luddite · 2 years

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Electrostatic Speakers.

They are out there. There are things I like and things I don't about them. Many years ago I thought they were the best you could have. And that is what I wanted. Full range from low to high no cross-overs, seamless sound. The large surface area couples almost ideally to the air in the room so converting electrical signals to sound waves is very efficient. Mostly true then and still today.

The down side is dipole radiation so the back wave bounces around and can cause weird effects. Some of those are very pleasant. Placement in the room is difficult. Another thing is limited low frequency response as the wavelength approaches the size of the speaker. Not so bad if you make them BIG. Bwah Ha Ha Ha!

Ironically they are the easiest to build from scratch. Mechanically they are so simple. I had a basic design from a 1970s issue of "Audio Amateur" and I was off to the races. Two sheets of perforated metal each with a thin frame of polycarbonate and a sheet of mylar with a conductive coating in a sandwich. A bit of work, some funky jigs and a lot of epoxy was all it took. I was turning out an 18" by 48" by 1/4" panel every week. I needed 6 of them.

The principle is very simple. You polarize the membrane with a thousand volts DC (more or less). Attach the outputs (high voltage) of an audio quality transformer to the front and back with the center tap on the polarized sheet ( think through a capacitor to block deadly levels of DC ) and physics does the rest. Execution is not so simple. I needed transformers and the logical source was out of a tube amplifier. More logic told me to buy operating tube amps and hook up the primaries to the speaker poles.

In the end I had two huge wood frames over five feet square, (not five square feet ) each holding three of my panels. I had a tube amplifier on station beside each frame operating as full range ES speakers.

It did not go perfectly smoothly. I found I needed to limit the width of the free membrane to prevent arcing so there was some trial and error. I almost blew myself up with the polarizing power supply. I had a hard time tracking down those tube amps too. But it all worked in the end.

And yes there was a severe roll off in the deep Bass, but a big woofer cabinet took care of that with a cheap used transistor amp. The cross over was a trick, but it all ran nicely. Audio nirvana was mine.

The sound was amazing. Thing is when you invest a lot of work and worry into a thing it does skew your opinions. There were flaws but I did not mind them so much. They were huge and imposing. That is the image of a hardcore audio nut isn't it? A chair, two huge speakers, wires all over the floor, and a stack of records. Been there.

OK why talk about this now? Two reasons. One is my last post was about a review of an amplifier and one of the speakers used in the test was the KLH 9. It is a full range electrostatic speaker from I think 1958. I think they started to make them again. Those looked a lot like my version 2 electrostatics. I thought about those for the first time in a long while.

Way back when I met a girl. I married her and we moved a couple times. I moved those big ass speakers once and promised never again. I took them apart and packed away the bits for the future. In the meanwhile I built a few simple small speakers in boxes and was impressed how they did not sound all that bad compared to the monsters.

Version 2 arrived after a few more moves when I decided to resurrect the beast in a reduced form. One panel per side rather than three. Simple frame, everything else about the same. Still sounded pretty good. There is always a but.

The flaws in the ES concept are several. Dipoles have equal output front and back. There is a lot of cancellation, and a lot of the signal is reflected about. The narrower the dipoles the worse that is. The membrane is like a drum skin and has a fundamental resonance very similar to a large drum. Bong! Dispersion of the high frequencies gives you a head in a vice sweet spot for listening. And finally the Bass roll off is inevitable, but you sort of forgive that as your brain is fooled by the initial transient. You still hear the drum it just does not rumble. Low pedal organs likewise do not work well. That is what subwoofers are for but they are far from perfect.

Finally they still take up a lot of room. You need to set them well away from the wall or they sound like crap. Looked cool though. Not unlike the KLH 9.

There are other things like having hundreds of volts of electricity around toddlers and related safety issues. Fabric covers only help a bit. So I put them away again and went back to box speakers. Once again not bad compared to the deadly lightning beasts. I also went back to a big transistor amp. I built it from parts left over from when Dynaco went under. I did not strictly follow the plans. And compared to my tube amps which I still had it was much better. Not just different, better!

This is a journey after all. You explore and learn things. What I thought then is obsolete. The really interesting thing is I am sure what I have now is actually much better than that old dream system.

This is supposed to be fun so be sure to enjoy the experience.

#Electrostatic speakers #Audio Amateur #audiophile #audioblr #tube amplifiers

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artblooger19moon · 3 years

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Trougera

The Beast of Thousand Volts

@trougera_chronicles

#trougera #the Beast of Thousand Volts #Trougera the Beast of Thousand Volts #kaiju #daikaiju #kaiju monster #giant monster #original kaiju design #original kaiju #Trougera Chronicles #@trougera_chronicles #artistoninstagram #drawing #fan art

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pastelsandpining · 3 years

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congrats on 200 followers!! my request: botw zelink with Selfless by the strokes :)

this turned out a tiny bit more of a Zelda piece than a Zelink piece but it's still there! I hope this is to your liking volt my beloved

Selfless

words: 1806

warnings: read with caution; grief, death mention, vague disassociation

Masterlist

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It was quite the feeling, to be everything and nothing all at once. Zelda couldn’t recall what it was like to be physical. She couldn’t recall much more than the blank space she existed in, and the horrible sounds that encompassed it every time she was so painfully reminded of where she was. Only in those moments of remembrance, of realization, was she able to get glimpses of the land she’d given up so much for. So much of her kingdom had been lost: children, buildings, the very friends she swore to fight alongside. The Calamity claimed everything in its path and it devoured her, too. It was only fitting, fair, even that she should suffer in the void of existence with nothing but a demon and whispers of hatred as her companion.

Zelda was not in Hyrule, not really. Her body might’ve been, but she was elsewhere, using every bit of strength that she’d failed to have before, in the hopes that her one connection to her home would find his way back to her. But for a very long time, he lay buried deep inside a shrine on a hill. The only evidence he was there at all was the warm, very small, and very dormant ball settled in her chest, pulsating softly with every breath he took in his endless slumber.

It was like that for one hundred long, lonely years. The rhythm of his heart, slow but stable, was what kept her from losing touch completely. Goddess powers or not, corporeal or not, someone could only take so much of corruption, of malice, until it started to gnaw away at her peace of mind. It was a good thing that peace of mind was not an essential part of the sealing power, but she’d already lost everything. It would be too easy to lose herself as well... No, he would come, she just knew it, and she would live against the odds, for him.

So Zelda waited, ever patient, watching the land of Hyrule pass in bleary, half conscious moments. A flicker of a new birth here, a wave of grief there, a family settling down, a crack of lightning, a call of a bird, all things once insignificant—common. Now, it gave her the assurance that people were still fighting on, continuing to push forwards despite a devastating loss. They were still Hylia’s people, after all, and the Goddess herself put up many good fights.

The kingdom was as still as ever, as silent as the heavy night, when the hero finally stirred. It was nothing more than a twitch of the eyelids, a strengthening of a heartbeat, but she felt it like a fire burning through her chest, sending hope to the tips of her very fingers. He was alive, to what extent, she didn’t know. But she took that warmth and reached out with it, surfing across Hyrule until finally, at last, he came into focus.

“Link,” she called out, into the void of nothing. His eyelids fluttered. If she was corporeal, if she had any physicality at all, she would’ve sobbed. Instead, she tried his name again, begging in a whisper, “open your eyes.”

Whether he was truly hearing her, whether he recognized her voice or not, his eyes opened. They’d never looked more blue.

But she was not the only powerful being with the capability to sense an awakening. Calamity Ganon could feel it too, and for a moment, Zelda was fearful that it would get to him before she did. It would cry out, loud and obnoxious and horrible, and get into his head like the monstrous thing it was. She couldn’t let that happen, not again. Link did not deserve the horrid fate of facing him twice, though the cards had already been dealt. So she did all she could, instructing him from afar until he emerged at last from his grave. The light was brighter now. She could see him better, all of him, from the scarred skin to the shaky limbs and anxious stature. He was lovely, still.

Zelda wanted nothing more than to burst from her prison and accompany him on his journey. She wished to heal his mind and heart, tell him everything so that he was no longer in the dark, and warn him about the horrors he would face. She wanted to feel his arms again, hear his voice, hug him in those moments she knew so well: those moments when it all felt like too much. But sealing the Calamity, caging its physical form in the very midst of Hyrule Castle, a mere few meters away from where her father and mother’s thrones once sat, took a great deal of power. She could not watch him, protect him as much as she wanted to. She wouldn’t last forever, and so conserving was key. Zelda did not rush him, she did not plead or beg. It was his decision to make, it was his readiness to determine, and she’d already waited a century. What was a little more time?

She lended him something else instead, with every break he took to confront the Goddess. She gave what she had plenty of: strength. Every bit of drained power, every little increase in difficulty to contain the demon, was worth it to see him thrive. Link would come in his own time, and she would be ready for him when he did. Besides, she didn’t mind waiting. She enjoyed those moments when clarity hit, when she could see his progress from her spot in the realm of nothingness. A naturally gifted boy in many ways, but there was something so precious in the way he worked. In the years before, Zelda had come to understand him as this hard working and duty driven boy, but it was so much more intimate to see his efforts herself. Oftentimes, she felt it was something she shouldn’t have been seeing, but she was proud nonetheless. Link would always come to be the hero he was meant to be. Courageous, determined, selfless.

And when he stormed the castle, the warm pulse in her chest thundering in time with his the closer he came, she’d never seen him look so angry. Of course, he’d lost as much as she, if not more. He had every right to be angry. For one bitter but sweet, satisfying moment, she felt for the Calamity. It had its victory, and Link would not let it get another. He was vicious and cruel and precise, and it seemed now, he was returning all of what she’d lent him. Perhaps it was just his presence that made her feel stronger in the midst of the first break she’d gotten in decades. It took hardly any effort to restrain the beast to Hyrule Field, and she took great pleasure in decorating it with glowing targets for the hero to strike.

In a brilliant moment of intensity, Zelda could feel the world around her again. She could feel her body grow solid, the golden glow encasing her with a divine power her mortal vessel shouldn’t have been able to handle, and she faced the Calamity head on for a second time. With a strained cry, with the fury of a thousand lost souls, with the hunger for revenge for her friends, her father, her kingdom, her hero, the princess took her duty upon her shoulders and swallowed the darkness in the holy light of the Goddess. She willed her magic to carve into every crevice, tear it apart, cause it to feel the very pain it rained down upon Hyrule tenfold, but it would never be enough. The Beast was gone too soon. After a century of holding everything hostage, it was reduced to nothing. That was perhaps the worst part of it all. They would never be able to cause it the pain it had caused them, because it was not human. It was not a thing that could feel pain or regret. The only thing it knew was hatred, and for a moment, as Zelda collapsed to her knees and dug her fingers into the dirt, she worried if she was too similar.

She hated Calamity Ganon, hated all it had done and all it had taken from her, and she hated that she didn’t feel satisfied. She was angry, so incredibly angry, that it got to crawl back into its coffin until another ten thousand years had passed, but all of those lost to its claws could never return. She was angry that she couldn’t cause it the pain that it caused her, that it could take everything away from her and no amount of revenge could ease her pain.

She was shaking. She didn’t realize she was crying. But Link, ever the kind, patient, selfless man that he was, did not leave her stranded. His feet came into view, prompting her to lift her head and blink hard to clear her vision just enough to see him kneel before her. He extended his hands to her. They were trembling just as hard. Zelda slowly pulled her fingers free of the dirt, uncurling them just enough to hesitantly slip her hands into his.

Once upon a time, she couldn’t read his expression. A century later, on the battered ground of Hyrule Field, his eyes were misty and he looked like he would crumble at any point, but he looked relieved. She grasped his hands tighter, more desperate than before, and sobbed out a “thank you.”

His thumbs brushed against her, gentle as ever, and she had very little composure left. Her anger, her dissatisfaction in the truth that the Calamity would never truly die, dissipated like it had never been there at all. She found she didn’t care anymore, at least not in that moment, because she had something. She had hope, she had courage. She had Link, if he wanted her. It was an ache in her chest, nagging in her brain, and before she could think better of it, she whispered, “May I ask…do you really remember me?”

She didn’t want to know the answer. He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, and she wasn’t sure she had another to give. But then he answered, quieter than the wind but as sure as the sky, “yes.”

He tugged her hands, pulled her forwards into an embrace, and she clutched the back of his tunic with eager fingers. She could cry again, but she realized with a start that he was the one sobbing instead. Zelda held him tighter, buried her face in his hair, whispered into the wind that she was here, that they were okay, that it was over.

And when they finally lifted their heads, when Link smiled at her, she had no trouble believing it.

#zelink #botw zelink #requests #song fic requests #loz #botw #I don't know what else to tag #it's an ending they deserved #thanks Nintendo but I'll take it from here

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pretty-thoughts-and-a-pen · 4 years

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The One They Feared

CW: Captivity, manhandling, beating, degradation, electrocution, torture, blood

There was a point of time when Jacques le Fevre was just an ordinary young man, studying under the Legion of Sorcerers that protected the town with their variety of specialized disciplines of magic. Perhaps not entirely ordinary, as the Legion was terribly demanding when it came to qualifying candidates to study the art. Only the quickest thinkers, the most disciplined workers, and the fittest physically were allowed to train under the Heads of the Legion, and the rest were kept firmly in the dark about any and all knowledge of magic.

It was certainly unfair, and as the number of Sorcerers who enjoyed immense power became a smaller and smaller elite group, the large population of common folk became suspicious, resentful, but unfortunately, entirely dependent on the sorcerers, who also acted as warriors, to protect them from greater threats. It wasn’t entirely clear what terrifying monsters lived in the hills and the forests that ringed their humble town, but the stories that were breathlessly relayed by survivors, did not make anyone much eager to find out.

It was the first thing Jacques's mother had told him, the day he would leave to live in the institute at the heart of town, from where the Sorcerers operated. The day before he was to become part of a new family. Don’t go searching for those evil creatures, she had told him urgently while gripping his shoulders like a vice, and pray they do not find you.

It wasn’t his intention. From the moment he turned eighteen, Jacques had one goal – not to hunt and slay dangerous beasts or gain more power for himself, but to defend the people of his neighbourhood. His mother, his little sister, all his childhood friends and neighbours, they were essentially helpless and only protected from threats – human or supernatural – by the mercy of a corrupt legion. For corrupt it was, that much Jacques was sure of. It left a sour taste in his mouth that he would have to work under them, learn from them if he was to acquire the power he needed.

Still, it had worked out fairly well. He had been fine. He had studied his textbooks cover to cover, he had followed every workout regimen and listened to everything his superiors said. He’d cut his curly brown hair short, just because one of the Heads also his teacher, a man who went only by the name of Azure, had asked him to. It had still been fine. It was just a waiting game, of studying, studying, studying, and trying, trying, trying, until the special day would come when he would conjure his first spell. Everyone specialized in a different form of magic – element manipulation, matter transformation, mental abilities – and there was no way of knowing which power would be yours unless you kept trying them all. And still it had been fine. Oh, it had all been just fine, while Jacques had been waiting for his ability to emerge. Watching his fellow students awaken their fire, and ice, and telepathic powers, and waiting for his own special day.

Everything went wrong when that very day came.

***

Jacques screamed as another blast of electricity arced through his body. It was his special day, and he was spending it wrapped in chains being dragged down a long corridor, further and further away from the institute he had only begrudgingly accepted.

He would do anything to go back now.

The chains looked like they were made of simple bronze, just circled around him to keep his arms pinned to his sides and his legs pressed together too. An onlooker wouldn’t have known that they were infused with a charm that made them as cold as ice, though nowhere near as brittle. The links dug into his skin, so cold they burned, and the chill settled right in his bones and rendered his body limp. The sorceress behind it, Noelle, had been part of his batch of students. He had even known her a little. Quiet, sensitive and friendly, she had never crossed him in the corridors without smiling at him. Today, she had scrambled away from him in fear and horror, and had happily aided his former teachers by enchanting the chains they had then bound him with, telekinetically and as tightly as they possibly could.

The corridor he was being dragged down only got darker and darker, the air he struggled to breathe became musty and damp, suffocating him further. On top of that, the man that dragged him along offered no chance to stand upright. He had one hand gripping the collar of Jacques's shirt, the other holding the free end of his chain. This man, Frederick Gallahan, was one of the few sorcerers Jacques had admired. Cool and confident, with a low, playful tone of voice, not to mention tall and handsome, it had always been easy to be around him.

But there was a reason no one messed with Frederick, ever. He had incredible mastery over his power, and that power, much to Jacques’s dismay, was electricity manipulation.

Frederick didn’t need anyone’s help in detaining the prisoner. A few jolts of electricity conjured directly onto Jacques’s skin had effectively subdued him. Now, he pulled his entire weight behind him alone while taking him to a room that, apparently, had been set up with magical defences especially for him.

All Jacques could do was focus on getting enough air in his lungs and dig in his heels from time to time for some sort of delay. Ironically the one thing that could’ve saved him in this scenario, his own magic ability, was what had landed him here in the first place.

Not that he could use it now, anyway.

Frederick stopped in front of the door at the end, and opening it, he tossed Jacques inside, where he landed on his front. His hands, bundled up against his stomach, were wrapped in leather gloves, which still did nothing to reduce the pain when he crushed them under him. That wasn’t even the worst part. The gloves were a measure to keep his power in check, as most Sorcerers, especially new ones, channelled their magic through their fingers. The material pressed onto his hands, so tight it felt like a second skin, was a restraint that rendered him more helpless than the chains ever could have.

The room itself was nothing to write home about. Home. The place Jacques was willing to risk everything for, was one he didn’t even know if he would ever see it again. Now, he was sitting in a square room that looked like it belonged in an abandoned warehouse and not in an inhabited building. The walls were exposed brick, there was no furniture, unless the cuffs attached to the back wall could be counted, and a layer of dust coated the floor Jacques was sprawled on.

Leaving the door wide open, Frederick stalked closer to him. His face was set in stone, cold and betraying nothing except the complete lack of pity. Jacques couldn’t believe he had once looked up to the man, in a figurative sense at least. Literally looking up at him from his position at the man’s feet, all he could do was frantically slither backwards with his every step forward, trying to keep distance between them. Cuts formed in his skin where the jagged edge of the chain pierced it. Consumed by pain, fear and hatred, he put all he felt into one glare at the Sorcerer.

Frederick only sneered.

“Don’t pretend like this isn’t your own fault.” He quickened his pace a little and kicked into Jacques’s stomach. A small shock rippled through the point where his foot connected, and Jacques curled in on himself. “Good thing we got you as early as we did. This town doesn’t need a monster...”

“I’m not a monster!” Anguish coated every word as it ripped out of Jacques’s throat. He closed his eyes and desperately urged himself to believe his own words. He would never agree with what they all said. Never, never. He was a good person. All he wanted was to protect his family and friends, to stand up to any Sorcerer who would misuse their power on the weak, to be the exception in a corrupt legion of magic users. Just because his power...

A particularly powerful jolt of electricity burned through his aching muscles. His body thrashed and struggled to be free, more screams bounced off uncaring walls, only to fall on deaf ears. He shook his head, turned his eyes away from his captor and onto a point on the ceiling. He had to collect his thoughts. He had to remember not to give in, not to agree...

“Soul manipulation.” As soon as Frederick said this, Jacques winced. There it was. The phrase that he wished to never hear again, the one that had branded him a monster. “That power’s extinct, and you want to know why?” Frederick’s voice had become venomous with anger, he seemed to be spitting out the words like they burned his tongue. “Every Sorcerer who was found to possess it was executed.”

Chills, worse than the ones caused by the chain, ran up Jacques’s spine. Frederick knelt in front of him and grabbed his chin, pulling him up in an uncomfortable stretch so he could look him dead in the eye. Jacques tried hard not to panic at the feeling of his fingers directly on his skin. Even when he was not summoning electricity, his hand seemed to crackle with the power anyway, as if thousands of volts flowed always just beneath the surface.

“The soul,” Frederick continued. Jacques hung onto every word, he didn’t need to give the sorcerer any more reason to be angry and shock him, “is the most sacred part of our being. It’s tied to everything, to our body, to our mind. What you can do? It’s a power like no other. One snap of your fingers,” he dropped Jacques’s head, let it bounce painfully off the floor, to snap his fingers, “and you could make someone’s body fill with pain. You could delete their perception of reality. You could crumple up their physical form and wipe them out of existence, and it would not be pretty. What does that make you? Nothing but a torture machine. A monster.”

“I’m not,” Jacques’s voice was fading now, but he repeated the only thread of hope he refused to let go of, “a monster.”

“You need to be subdued. It’s my duty to protect my fellow people from your kind. Those ordinary folk, why do you think they’ve become fearful of us? The Sorcerers that protect them? Because of the likes of you, with dangerous, unholy powers that nothing can stop them from using.”

Pure, unfiltered rage filled Jacques’s body and, for a moment, every sensation of pain got erased from his mind. “Maybe they’re scared because you and your Legion, can make decisions for them and force them to accept everything you do. Because you hoard your power and everyone is dependent on you, your mercy, to stay safe from what exists outside the borders.” He was gasping now, all his breath was being used up in getting the words out. He didn’t stop. “You’re going to chain me in here when I’ve done nothing wrong, and you’ll get away with it, because no one can stop you. Maybe that’s what’s scary – that the people whose mercy we rely on have none left at all.”

As soon as the last words left his mouth Jacques regretted them. He waited for punishment, a shock stronger than any of the others. He waited for fury and yelling and to get beaten within an inch of his life. What he got was utter silence, and then, a new pair of feet entered his line of sight.

Frederick had stood up on the arrival of the second person. He was quiet, he didn’t even seem as if he was going to react to Jacques’s outburst. Summoning all his strength, Jacques managed to roll over onto his back so he could see the new guy’s face. Immediately, what little breath he had been managing got lodged in his throat. His eyes blew wide open.

The man standing above him was as tall as Frederick, more muscular, and with nowhere near as much charm. His steely blue eyes couldn’t even fake warmth, the sharp lines of his face and pin straight posture of his body, clad in a black coat, gave the impression of him being carved from rock. If Frederick was respected for his power and skill, then this man was revered. Mysterious, feared and also a man of few words, his was possibly the most unique case in the Legion. People marvelled over him, called him talented, dangerous, one of a kind, and yet hardly any of them seemed to know what his power was.

No one Jacques had ever talked to even seemed to know his name. Azure. They only ever called him that.

Azure didn’t condescend to kneeling before his captive. He didn’t show the mercy of staying where was, either. Instead, he stepped with one foot onto Jacques’s head and pressed down. The sharp edge of the boot's heel dug into an already aching temple. A yelp and pained moans spilled out of him, and trying to move his head out from underneath only caused a break in his skin and a light trickle of blood down his cheek. He strained to look up through his eyelashes, and saw that Azure had an arm on his bent knee, and was resting half his weight on the boy’s head.

“Interesting.” Jacques was shocked to hear his voice, he hadn’t expected to be graced with being talked to. “Such pretty thoughts from a monster.”

Jacques gritted his teeth. One more time, he would say his truth, before his own despair about his power consumed him and made him believe their words. “I’m no-"

“Of course!” Azure cut him off. “Forgive me.” His tone was anything but apologetic, rather, it was mocking. Then he did something Jacques was pretty sure he had never seen the enigmatic Head do.

Azure smiled.

“Would you prefer the word abomination?”

#writing #mywriting #whump #whump fic #whump oc #chains #electrocution #capture #beating #magic #fantasy #the one they feared

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jituri-a · 4 years

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Once Drake had revealed himself to be a Marine, everything had gone to hell. The war erupted, violently, waging all over Onigashima, and though Luffy managed to do his best to keep Kaido’s attention solely on him–and Kid, comically enough, tried to do this as well–Kaido was the sort of man who took opportunities as they came and paid back traitors in FULL.

Drake hadn’t seen it coming as thick in the heat of war that he was until Kaido was already upon him–only then had his opponent backed off with a victorious smirk. Luffy, who’d seen, just hadn’t been fast enough.

Pain exploded in Drake’s back from the blunt force of Kaido’s swing as hundreds–maybe even thousands–of volts shot through his form from the Yonko’s attack. He flew through the air as though he hadn’t weighed a thing–too fast for Law to reach with his room–until he landed with a crash quite a ways away from the battle.

Smoker, however, had seen and had took off like a bullet, brutally dealing with any and all Beast Pirate scum in his way.

The pain of impact was immeasurable and honestly, he’d been winded for several minutes as he laid there in the crater. The bleeding was bad, too. He couldn’t have looked any more of a mess if he had tried, and that, was how Smoker found him.

Eyes closed as though firmly within death’s grasp, Drake’s chest rose and fell in a worrisome way–each time taking an eternity. A mix of emotions ran across the Vice Admiral’s face as he got down on his hands and knees before moving to cradle Drake’s head in his lap as gently as he could manage.

Grey eyes opened just a bit, but then there was a slight inhalation and those eyes opened a bit wider in response; it took a moment to think and then a bit longer to get his mouth to work … and a little longer to actually say what he wanted to say.

“Smoker, I …I’m … … I’m so tired…”

What did you say when your heart was breaking in two … ?

“Yeah…”

“… I’m … I’m so … tired…”

“Yeah…”

“I– … … I’m so … …”

“Y–…Yeah…”

… …

Goodnight, sleepy Prince. We’ll meet again, in our dreams.

FUCKER !!!!!! @xdiez

#OUT.#SAVE.#me : peacefully living my life.#mandee : omae wa mou shindeiru.#long post /#submission

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sciatu · 5 years

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19 LUGLIO 1992 - STRAGE DI VIA D’AMELIO

È così, è così, è così che la tragedia si compie e gli uomini diventano eroi anche se non lo vogliono, in un attimo in cui il mondo si ferma ed il male ne diventa il padrone, quel male che nutre chi lo dovrebbe sopprimere, quel male che dona il senso di una falsa onnipotenza e con esso corrompe chiunque, nega la giustizia, incatenando la libertà. È così, è così è così che d’improvviso ci abbraccia e ci bacia quella morte che ci segue ogni giorno, quella che tutti vedevano e ignoravano, quella di cui tutti parlavamo ma che nessuno fermava, un bacio annunciato che dona la solitudine e l’abbandono a chi doveva negarlo, a chi doveva difenderci e proteggerci; è così che si muore su una croce, in mezzo ad una strada, tra la polvere e l’odore di tritolo, uccisi perché il male affermi il terrore e neghi ogni vita. È così, è cosi, è così che la morte diventa un simbolo, un monumento che nessuno può ignorare, è così che una vita diventa un esempio ed una prova che il coraggio di dire di no è in ognuno di noi e che quell’onestà che ci dicono di disprezzare è la figlia primogenita della verità e che la verità è l’unico luce che ci rende diverse dalle bestie. È così che la giustizia riequilibra la sua bilancia, mostrando che quanto ci hanno rubato pesa per quanto soffriamo, e che la miseria ed il sangue, sono l’unica moneta con cui paga chi vive nella sopraffazione e nell'intimidazione. È cosi è cosi è cosi che da sempre nella nostra isola si muore, abbandonati da chi si serve, traditi da chi sorridendo ci stringe la mano, svenduti con i più umili e fedeli, mille volte traditi da chi maschera i suoi denti da vipera con una apparente onestà e che fingendo di dare ci ruba anche l’aria. È così, è così, è così che da sempre si muore nella nostra terra, sangue per sangue, odio per amore, il potere di rubare la vita e il lavoro, l’indifferenza di chi dovrebbe vigilare, la complicità di chi dovrebbe legiferare. È così, è così, è così, che le catene ed i bavagli si stringono, che le ombre coprono la luce e la lebbra della paura infetta chi non vuole seguire le leggi della morte. È così, è così, è così che anche lui è morto, ucciso con i suoi angeli, in una strada normale, in un momento qualsiasi, per uccidere con lui il nostro coraggio, per stringere il bavaglio che ci hanno messo e tirare il collare con cui vogliono renderci loro servi. Per questo oggi io ricordo, per questo sono ancora in quella strada, tra l’odore di sangue e carne bruciata, sono ancora lì perchè è così è così, è così che voglio onorare chi per noi è morto, perchè non voglio dimenticare, chi per noi ha donato tutto quello che aveva, chi per noi si è opposto al male perchè anche noi ne fossimo liberi e la nostra terra finalmente diventasse così pulita da non vergognarsi di essere nostra madre. È così è cosi, è così…..

It is so, it is so, this is how the tragedy takes place and men become heroes even if they do not want it, in a moment when the world stops and evil becomes its master, that evil which feeds those who should suppress it, that evil that gives the sense of a false omnipotence and with it corrupts anyone, denies justice, chaining freedom. It is so, it is so that all of a sudden the death embraces us and kisses us the death that follows us every day, the one that everyone saw and ignored, the one we all talked about but that nobody stopped, a announced kiss that gives solitude and abandonment to those who had to deny it, to those who had to defend and protect us; this is how one dies on a cross, in the middle of a road, between the dust and the smell of TNT, killed so that evil affirms terror and denies all life. It is so, it is so, that is how death becomes a symbol, a monument that nobody can ignore, this is how a life becomes an example and a proof that the courage to say no is in each of us and that honesty who tell us to despise is the firstborn daughter of truth and that truth is the only light that makes us different from the beasts. This is how justice balances its balance, showing that what they have stolen weighs as much as we suffer, and that misery and blood are the only currency with which those who live in oppression and intimidation pay. This is how it is like this is how we always die on our island, abandoned by those who use it, betrayed by those who smile and shake hands, sold off with the most humble and faithful, a thousand times betrayed by those who mask their viper teeth with an apparent honesty and that pretending to give us also steals the air. It is so, it is so, this is how we have always died in our land, blood for blood, hatred for love, the power to steal life and work, the indifference of those who should watch, the complicity of those who should legislate. It is so, it is so, it is so, that the chains and the gags tighten, that the shadows cover the light and the leprosy of fear infects those who do not want to follow the laws of death. It is so, it is so, that is how he too died, killed with his angels, in a normal street, at an ordinary time, to kill our courage with him, to tighten the gag that they put on us and pull the collar with whom they want to make us their servants. This is why today I remember, for this reason I am still in that street, amid the smell of blood and burnt flesh, I am still there because it is so, I want to honor those who died for us, because I do not want to forget, who for us he gave everything he had, who for us opposed the evil so that we too would be free and our land would finally become so clean that she would not be ashamed to be our mother. It is so it is so, it is so … ..

#sicilia #sicily #falcone e borsellino #palermo #vittime della mafia

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animorphstruther1987 · 4 years

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Only you can prevent internal world collapse by space worms.

Right as the door closed, it tore back open, when Cas heard the alarms going off.

“What in Forge? What is that?” “That, Car- Cas, is the proximity alarm. It could mean pirates, space worms, or maybe just an asteroid. I suggest either buckling in here, or going back to your room.” “I know how to aim a ship’s laser, I’ll stay here.”

So, I turned towards where the alarm was triggered, and saw nothing.

“Huh, nothing out there. Guess you didn’t need to strap in-” When I was interrupted by a jolt, and then more proximity alarms. Space worms had latched onto the ship, which was why we couldn’t rotate to them.

“I’ll have to get out and zap ‘em off. You stay here and make sure the ship doesn’t drift into a planet.”

“This is where the first pointy tooth beast shows up, girls, and the first sword fight.” “Finally! How many teeth does a space worm have Daddy?”

“Thousands, and they rotate, to better cut through ship hulls, but back to the story.”

So I suited up, and went onto the side of the ship. Activating the mag boots, I stepped onto the side of the ship, and re-oriented my perspective so that the ship was down. I saw the worm pretty quick, them being like five yards long, and pulled out the shock blaster. Handy things, the shock blasters, shoots out a burst of electricity, doesn’t poke holes in hulls. And handy for getting space worms off the ship.

So I walked to the worm, took aim, and shot the worm. It took a few shots, this was a big worm, and then went to toss the worm into space before it grabbed back onto the ship. As I approached the worm, I saw two more on the back of the ship, and a third drifting in. I shot the third one, and it careened off to the side. The other two were too close to the engines for me to shoot them, and I hadn’t grabbed the prod to poke them off. So I radioed in to Cas, “Hey, could you grab me the shock prod? It’s in the cabinet near the airlock, on the middle shelf. You can strap it into the airlock and I’ll grab it in a few minutes.” I got a terse affirmative, and walked the long way around the side of the ship to look for any more space worms. There weren’t any, and I made it around to the airlock without any more problems. Peeking through the window to make sure the prod was secure, I cycled the airlock, and opened the door to grab it. With my new weapon, essentially a big stick with a 9-volt on the end, I returned to the back end of the ship. The two space worms had been joined by a third, right in the middle of the three engine bells, out of reach of the prod. The first two hadn’t moved, so I was able to zap them, and then push them away with the end of the stick.

“I knew I should have gotten the telescoping rod,” I muttered to myself. I couldn’t figure out any easy way to move the space worm, so I went on another lap of the ship to think, and check for more worms.

As I rounded the edge of the ship a massive worm launched itself at me from the void. I barely dodged it’s strike, and held up the rod to fend it off. Worms don’t usually go for people, but some of the bigger ones will if they feel like it. This is where my sword skills come in handy. I started swinging wildly, my skills evident in the haphazard flailing I affected to scare it off. The worm bounced off the hull, then threw itself at me once more. I managed to stab it in the side, but it pulled the shock prod out of my hand as it spun away from the ship. At least this worm wasn’t albino.

So now I had to deal with the last worm without my prod. Great. Maybe if I shot the worm, then threw a wrench at it to push it away. I’d need a new wrench, but it would give me an excuse to get the adjustable one anyway. That’s what I planned anyway, when I got there the worm was gone, replaced with a hole in the rear.

“Stars. Cas, one of the worms bored through. It’ll be in the engine room, there’s a shock gun in the cabinet outside my door. Code is 3974. I’ll be there in a few, but if you can stun the thing that would be a good start.”

All I got in return was a curt “Sure” as I started back to the airlock.

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adrenalineguide · 5 years

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Chevrolet Blazer RS: The only paths you’ll be blazing is to the mall.

Text and photos by Michael Hozjan

Chevrolet Blazer RS

My first Blazer wasn’t a Blazer at all but it’s GMC sibling, a 1971 Jimmy. Simply put, it was a high riding, shortened version of the Suburban. It was a tall, rough riding 4x4 that did towing duty for my growing kit car business and, when time permitted, I’d take it off-roading, usually in a Laurentian sand pit. Though I never bothered, the entire roof was removable allowing for el fresco motoring. The Jimmy and Blazer twins were GM’s answer to Ford’s popular Bronco, which had already carved out a niche following. Like the Jeep Grand Wagoneer and the International Scout, the three were pioneers of the sport utility segment and were setting the foundations for the modern suv market. The seventies were a great time for off-roading – before the world population exploded, sprouting shopping malls, apartments and condos like wild mushrooms as far as the eye could see.

Over four decades later I find myself behind the wheel of the all-new Blazer, which aside from the manufacturer and nameplate, shares little with its predecessor. Reviving old monikers is always a nitpicking point, remember the Dart and Charger brouhaha?

Ok enough trips down old roads, truth be told while leaving a local Timmy’s on the 401 I overheard a vintage car buff, who was on his way to a car show, remark how great the Blazer looked. True the Blazer’s curvaceous lines are sexy, especially in red hot, and should easily have throngs running down to showrooms. Sharing its platform with the GMC Acadia and Cadillac XT5 the five-passenger Blazer is set squarely between Chevy’s Traverse and Equinox. The new platform makes this Blazer quieter, smoother, more fuel-efficient and more road friendly than my old K5 based beast ever was.

Prices start reasonably enough at $35,100 for the 193 horsepower (188 lb-ft) 2.5 L four cylinder rendition driving the front wheels through the corporate 9-speed automatic. Standard fare includes 18” wheel/tire package, LED daytime running and taillights, HID headlights, HD back up camera, heated front buckets and mirrors, in short, a package that will more than suffice the average buyer. At the other end of the spectrum, the Premier trim will set you back $50,945.

My RS version, is the sporty version of Chevy’s Blazer line up which explains why it get’s the Camaro’s Rallye Sport tag. For $46,300 the RS gets a little firmer dampening and quicker steering to give you a more spirited experience than the average crossover. The RS is equipped with the 308 horsepower, 3.6L V6 that pumps out a respectable 270 lb-ft of torque through the same nine speed automatic transmission as the base model, but 20” wheels delivering power to all four corners. The V6 offers cylinder deactivation turning this six cylinder seamlessly into a V4 when conditions are ideal. While not the most powerful mill in the segment, the V6 is a competent performer.

There are two lesser-priced trims, but if your looking to make an impression, the RS has all the eye candy and gear that you really want without stepping up to the Premium. There are two all-wheel-drive systems available on the V6 equipped Blazers but the RS, like the Premium, gets torque vectoring thanks to comes a twin clutch rear differential to distribute power to the outside wheels- which should help you negotiate mountain switchbacks. Either system comes with a Mode button on the center console that allows you to disconnect the rear axle for some fuel savings. There are also settings for Sport, Towing and Off-Road

Inside the Blazer wins on several counts from its well supportive front buckets to the sliding and reclining rear seat. There’s 30.5 cu.ft. of cargo space with the rear bench up which expands to 64.2 cu.ft. with the rear seats folded down. There are latches at the back to quickly fold down the bench and a neat sliding gate to lock your cargo in place. The rear doors open wide for ease of ingress and egress with enough head and legroom for the average adult. Back in the cockpit an 8” touch screen with voice recognition keeps you informed and allows you to easily scroll through the various functions including 4G LTE Wi-Fi Hotspot.

My tester was optioned with the aptly named Sun & Wheels package ($2,795), which meant I got 21” gloss black aluminum wheels over the stock units and a panoramic power sunroof. The other option package titled the RS Plus ($4,395) included the aforementioned 8” touchscreen, nav, Bose 8-speaker sound system, rear outboard heated seats, front ventilated buckets, 360 degree HD surround camera, rear camera mirror as well as the usual stuff like adaptive cruise, lane assist, forward collision warning…

The USB-C port is easily accessible, something that as of late some manufacturers have made nearly impossible to access. You also get a 120-volt power outlet. The color coordinated round air vents mounted on the center console are a nice touch and are smoother than most units.

Towing capacity is 4500 lbs. a thousand pounds more than the similarly sized Ford Edge, which this mid-size Blazer targets. But with Ford coming out with an all new Bronco aimed at a more utilitarian buyer I wonder if Chevy didn’t miss the mark to resurrect the old Blazer Bronco wars. Don’t get me wrong the new Blazer is wonderful mid-size crossover, but that is exactly what it is a crossover, lacking the 4x4 and the utility of its namesake. Maybe we’ll see a Jimmy to take on the Bronco.

While it may not be able to traverse over downed logs and boulders, it does carve out lakeside twisties with relative ease. If you’re looking for a crisp looking crossover that doesn’t follow the cookie cutter suv mold and are looking to put some fun back into your weekend trips to the lake, do my all means head down to your Chevy dealer and take a Blazer RS for a spin.

Price as tested: $55, 635*

*Includes $1,895 destination charge

#chevrolet blazer #blazer #crossover #ford edge #ford bronco #review #suv #international scout #jeep grand wagoneer

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bnhaxmcu-zine · 5 years

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WIP

A small snippet of a story from one of our writers. Look forward to the whole thing when the zine is out! Make sure to check out the writer’s social media below!

“Mina tuned out the cacophony of screams, world narrowing to encompass only the being and her. A ten foot tall creature stood before her, baring its massive, yellowed teeth in a snarl of rage, it’s muscles rippled as it readied itself for another barrage of attacks.

She dodged its clawed limb swiping at her and slid past the monster, deftly throwing a small disc at the beast. The metal device stuck to the creature’s back, tendrils digging into its flesh. It let out a ragged shriek as thousands of volts flooded its system.

It flailed, haphazardly swinging at Mina in a last ditch attempt to take her down. She activated her boots, gliding away on a stream of her acid, safely dodging the creature. She pulled out another handy device, this one a cylinder, and pressed a button to deploy the tangle mechanism. The woven wire strands covered the monster and its flails only tangled it further. Within seconds, the creature was still, net preventing any and all movement that it tried.

With the beast neutralized, Mina relaxed, a huge grin splitting her face. She was doing a little victory dance when she heard a whirring behind her. She spun around, raising her hand and readying herself to shoot acid.”

Writer’s Social Media

@rosyabomination

Instagram

A03

- Mod Loki

#alliance zine #wip #writing #mha #marvel #rosyabomination

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sebeth · 5 years

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Crisis On Infinite Earths #4

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

The captions inform us on the current state of the planet: “July 1985: The red skies are hardly noticed now. Instead, attention is paid to the snows and winds, to the electrical. Mayhem occurring over every part of our fragile earth. The stars, too, seem affected by whatever is out there…constellations are no longer aligned as usual. Sunspot activity has increased a thousand-fold. Weather has gone insane, and even those with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men find their every waking day filled with nightmares come true.”

The following panel is from a New Teen Titans crossover issue. It demonstrates the weirdness the universe is undergoing:

We open with one of the great pre-Crisis friendships: Supergirl and Batgirl.

Supergirl notes to herself: “I’ve lived through my planet crumbling around me. I’ve experienced first-hand the terror you feel as your world dies.”

This may not be Kara’s first rodeo when it comes to a planet’s destruction but it will be her last.

Barbara is having a serious crisis of confidence: “Now I feel so useless, so helpless, so worthless, and so very, very scared. I…I’m nothing. I…I don’t think I was ever cut out for playing hero…She’s a hero through and through…while all I can think about is what will happen to me. My god, what I have become?”

Bab’s self-doubt is realistic. Remember this is pre-Crisis Batgirl: smart, agile, throws a mean Batarang. Hyper-competent, computer hacker genius Oracle didn’t happen until after the Killing Joke.

Post-Crisis, the authors of Barbara’s Secret Origins story and the Batgirl Special will pick up on this self-doubt and gracefully ease Bab’s into retirement. Then the Killing Joke happened. Horrible story. Thankfully, John Ostrander rescued Babs from the overly-stuffed refrigerator.

John Constantine is trying to get Steve Dayton (Mento) into the game. Steve would rather drink (repeatedly) until the end of the world. For those unfamiliar with Steve Dayton:

1) He has a helmet that gives him telepathic abilities.

2) Mento served with the Doom Patrol.

3) Steve Dayton married Rita Farr (Elasti-Girl). They adopted Gar Logan (Beast Boy/Changeling.

4) Rita, along with the rest of the Doom Patrol, died earlier while saving an island.

5) Steve is mentally unbalanced at this point from his grief and the use of his helmet.

On to Earth-6: The home of Lord Karak Volt, Lady Tashana Quark, and Liana is in its final death throes. Lady Quark witnesses the death of Volt, her husband, and Liana, their daughter. Pariah is able to remove Lady Quark from the universe before its destruction. Lady Quark, along with Earth-6 was created for the Crisis on Infinite Earth series.

The Monitor decides it’s time to create his new warrior. Dr. Kimiyo Yoshi, a very no-nonsense but in desperate need of tact scientist, is observing the Vega star when a burst of energy strikes the lab. Kimiyo disappears in the blast.

The Editor’s Note refers the readers to Omega Men #26. The Omega Men battled the Spider Guild while Nimbus fought X’Hal and Auron. X’Hal and Auron both have light-based powers so that would be the cause of the light show on Vega. The 1980’s Omega Men series was highly underrated.

Psycho-Pirate’s master kidnaps the Red Tornado. Pirate is warned that if he keeps being lippy he will be replaced by Phobia (a Teen Titans foe). Makes we wonder why the Monitor hasn’t recruited Phobia if the two are so interchangeable.

Earth-2, the time of King Arthur and the Round Table: Firestorm and Killer Frost are sent to this era to activate the machine. The duo encounter Sir Justin the Shining Knight while Vandal Savage observes from the distance. Shadow Demon attack. Firestorm is struggling to deal with the loving Killer Frost. A change brought about by Psycho Pirate in issue 1. “Good gravy! I’m gonna get sick! Monitor, why didn’t you team me up with Firehawk? Even the Black Bison would have been better ‘n this!”

The shadow demons merge into giant forms and attack all five towers. Starfire and Halo attempt to destroy the tower in New York City but are stopped by the new Dr. Light: “Get back and leave this vibrational fork alone! It’s all that can save our planet!”

Katana acts as a translator for Dr. Light. Superman, who also speaks Japanese, converses with Dr. Light.

Changeling: “The big probs kinda go poof when Ol’ Red ‘S’ is around.”

Dr Light: “I tell you, this world is populated by morons.” Well, she’s not wrong.

Superman: “Well, what can I do to save the world? Tell me and I’ll sacrifice my own life if need be.” Foreshadowing for the upcoming Kyrptonian death?

The first few issues have consistently highlighted Superman as the first, last, and best defense of Earth. It started with Ultraman’s last stand and the following issues have shown that DC’s heroes expect Superman to take charge and receive comfort in his presence. As they should. We’ve also seen quiet moments where Superman has struggled with his own fears and the expectations placed upon him. Stellar character work.

Wonder Woman is on Paradise Island trying to rally her sisters to fight. Hippolyta has received word from Athena: “The gods cannot save us, or themselves, it seems…” Diana feels that Hippolyta has given up too quickly: “Mother…I gave you a chance, but you refused it. Hera help me, but our feud continues…and even at the end of everything we hold sacred…daughter and mother cannot make peace.”

Pariah meets with the Monitor: “You are aboard my home…constructed quite a long time ago. Just prior to the day you were cursed.” Pariah discovers that the Monitor is the one who rescued/cursed him: “Indeed I was the one responsible for your survival. You should have died for your sins – yet I was a greater good coming for them…I sacrificed much of my own life to see that you lived.”

As the two argue, we see a 10-panel spread of various heroes battling the Crisis. We have the various teams at the towers plus Anthro, Blue Devil rescuing civilians, the Legion of Super-Heroes’ headquarters exploding, and Dolphin and Lori Lemaris overwhelmed in Atlantis.

Harbinger murders the Monitor: “He commands me now, Monitor! And his command is death!”

Earth-1 and Earth-2 disappear in a wave of anti-matter.

This issue focused on the ladies. Supergirl, Batgirl, Wonder Woman, Lady Quark, Liana, Harbinger, Killer Frost, and Dr. Light all had prominent roles. Katana, Halo, and Starfire were the focus of the Teen Titans/Outsiders scene. (Okay, Superman had some prominence, too). And it passes the Bechdel test, multiple times, decades before it existed!

#Crisis On Infinite Earths #Supergirl #Batgirl #Barbara Gordon #Lady Quark #Superman #Dr. Light #Wonder Woman #hippolyta #Omega Men #Firestorm #Killer Moth

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