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greenlotusleaf · 1 year ago

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What if you were a knight, and you were on a brave mission to rescue your princess from a terrible dragon. The quest is perilous, but you had to volunteer: you've always been secretly in love with the princess, though the difference in your station means you can never be together.

After your long and dangerous travel, you run up the stairs, reaching the lair at the top of an ancient, ruined tower. The starlight though the missing roof lights the massive pile of golden treasure with an otherworldly gleam. No dragon is in sight.

But wait! Lounging on the pile of stolen treasure is a huge, swollen figure. You step forward cautiously, hand on the hilt of your sword. Then, a cloud uncovers the moon and in the new light, you see the figure is not a dragon, but a vast, bloated woman, wearing nothing but gold jewellery.

At your approach, she turns heavily on her bed of gold. There's a clink and scrape of coins as the motion of her enormity sends bits of treasure cascading down the pile. Her gravid belly is impossibly, obscenely round; each dimpled, wobbling thigh is wider than your entire body. Each swollen breast is as large as most pregnant women's bellies ever grow, and as she rolls over to face you, they flop down beside her, leaking milk that runs in thin trickles down her body, moistening the treasure beneath her.

You are stunned at the sight of her like this, so she breaks the silence. "My brave knight," she intones, jiggling as she speaks. Broad, golden necklaces ripple over her enormous breasts and down into the vast valley of her cleavage. You know you should look away, sparing her royal dignity, but you can't. You've often imagined her body, bared for you... but that was before. The princess was slender, then. Now? Your body is flooded with a mix of conflicting feelings, but lust is still among them. You feel yourself growing weak with it.

"My brave knight, I knew you'd come for me." You are mesmerized by the way her hand rubs lazy circles on her enormous belly. You kneel and lower your eyes, as is proper with royalty, but you can't stop yourself from flicking little glances back up, astonished. "It's unfortunate, my champion, that despite your bravery, I cannot return with you to the castle. Not anymore. But...." Coins jingle, and you realize the princess is slowly spreading her vast thighs, opening for you. "...If you still wish to be of service to your princess, I can give you one final quest, of personal urgency."

You've dreamed about this too many times. You couldn't possibly refuse her.

Kneeling reverently before her, you kiss her delicately, at first. You crave to see the look on the princess's face, but her enormous, swollen belly blocks your view, leaving you only her gasps and sighs and pleas as encouragement. Her hugeness, her heaviness, is a new kind of regality, and it mesmerizes you, drawing you in like gravity. You pleasure her more fervently, as if possessed.

So absorbed in your service, you don't mind when the princess twines her fingers into you hair, holding your head in place between her thighs-- why shouldn't she command her most devoted knight thus? You don't even notice the spreading shadow of wings over you, or hear the quiet landing of the creature behind you over the sound of your princess's words of encouragement. When the talon moves with exquisite slowness, shearing through the straps of your armor, you are frozen with fear, but your princess soothes you, begs you not to stop, to grant her relief.

When the dragon enters you, hot breath on your back, the princess shudders in ecstasy, crying out your name like you always imagined she would. When the dragon fills you, floods you, she strokes your hair, praising your bravery and steadfastness. When the dragon departs, wordless as it arrived, its seed spilling out of you in a molten gush, the princess sits up with a great effort, bends over you, kisses you chastely on the forehead. "Now you cannot return to the castle, either, my perfect knight. Now you must stay with me...."

As the princess pulls you up beside her onto the bed of treasure, you finally understand. She lays a plump hand protectively on your still-toned belly, many rings glittering, as she smiles a peculiar smile. She gathers herself onto all fours, swollen breasts pressed together between her fat arms, overripe belly dragging on the bed of coins, as she retrieves gold bangles and chains to adorn you, all far too loose.

You don't even mind the coins digging into your back as she climbs on top of you, crushing you into the treasure heap. A pulsing warmth rises within you, and it's more than just your desire. "My valorous hero is going to be so irresistible," she muses. "Now I must give you a reward befitting my *greatest* knight...."

#belly expansion #preg kink #belly kink #weight gain kink #breast expansion #lactation kink #rapid pregnancy #magic pregnancy #magic weight gain #magical weight gain

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strawberrystepmom · 1 year ago

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pokemon trainer au! gojo x f!reader. reader is a fairy gym leader and satoru is league champion and a flying type trainer. fluffy fluffy. couldn’t have done this without my beloved @moondust-lore so thank you as always nesi 😚 wc 1.5k

part one (you are here), part two, part three

divider by @/cafekitsune

All good adventures start with two rivals.

At least that’s what you’ve been told your entire life, your own mother regaling you with tales of her rival for as long as you can remember, long before your now full grown Lapras was even developed enough to sing her song.

Your Lapras was a gift to you from her rival and your first Pokemon, gifted to you by a man she grew up several houses away from that was once a wide eyed boy with big dreams of opening a Pokémon academy to encourage the study of these creatures in their natural habitats. He successfully opened said academy, you even attended it for several years of your life, but your rival never came along through the years that passed.

The children in your neighborhood paired off quickly, setting their own parameters for their journeys and leaving you on the outside. Your schoolmates paired off and most of them have opened their own gyms, just like you, or settled into other aspects of their lives with or without their rival.

You never really minded and still don’t, though, pleased to enjoy life flat on your back in the grass of the surprisingly large meadow that backs up to your gym, gazing at the clouds floating overhead. A rival isn’t a necessity and you’re glad, honestly, that the stress of having to keep up with someone else is something you have been able to dodge for the most part.

“Hey!”

Until today.

You sit up, brows furrowed, and that’s when you see the man who may very well be the rival you’ve been looking for.

Satoru Gojo, current Pokémon League Champion.

His starlight colored hair flops over his eyes that are covered by glasses but you know what they look like behind the dark frames because they’ve been plastered on every magazine for several months. You know his name, everyone does, and it’s hard to truly imagine why he has come back after your many declinations of his requests to battle.

“Satoru,” you huff, his name leaving your lips with a tinge of amusement as he approaches with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He grins at you and it’s cheeky as it ever has been, glistening teeth tucked between pretty mauve lips and topped with dimples.

Infuriatingly charming and handsome, as always. It isn’t enough to be powerful, he hit the lottery in more ways than one.

“Ah, is that any way to speak to an old friend?”

Snorting, you slowly rise from your spot on the ground to your feet, your beloved Espeon bounding to your side to look up at you quizzically. You shoot a wordless glance in her direction and she wraps her twin tail around your legs, looking between you and the man.

She wonders if today will be the day you give in and finally say yes to his requests for an actual battle. It has been a long time since you’ve utilized her in any sense beyond as a companion and while she doesn’t ache for battle, there are times she wishes you’d push yourself and the rest of your Pokemon a little bit harder. Less leisure, less tenderness, less lazing around.

But she also knows you, her trainer and friend, and knows this is the life you’ve chosen for all of them out of compassion so her eyes flit expectantly in Satoru’s direction while you stroke between her ears.

“We’d be friends if you would learn to take no for an answer but until then we’re just acquaintances.”

You smile and it’s sweet, no bite despite your sassy words, and the man shakes his head. He finds you equal parts fascinating and amusing, the tales of how fiercely you and your team used to battle on your own journey to become a gym leader spurring him in your direction two years ago.

“I didn’t come to ask you to battle today.”

Despite your firm no’s, he keeps coming back for no other reason than being around you. You are refreshing, unaffected by his power and status, something he has longed for since becoming Champion. It’s just you and your companions and he can never shake just how happy all of you look when he stops by impromptu.

“Then what can I do for you?”

He shuffles closer to you and reaches down to run his finger over the velvety ear of your Espeon who remains still as ever, her eyes shutting. You scoff and roll your eyes.

“Don’t mind her, she’s shameless.”

Chuckling, he shrugs and looks around the meadow to spot who else you are spending time with out here. Your Lapras floats on the small pond, blinking slowly in Satoru’s direction. A Grookey ruffles the grass a few feet away from you, ears poking out between pastel colored flowers and your Skitty shakes her tail in his direction, an invitation to play.

It’s so unlike his own former gyms which confirms he made the right decision. The decision? Well, he already anticipates watching your jaw drop before he speaks the words aloud for the first time.

“I’ve decided to vacate my spot as Champion to go and travel.” Your jaw does drop, eyes widening in shock.

“Can you even do that?”

He nods, thumb still pressed to the Espeon’s velvety ear.

“Not without a lot of argument but yes and I’ve already done it so there’s no changing my mind.”

You understand, approaching and placing a hand on his shoulder. The touch isn’t unwelcome and he plays off the pink on the tips of his ears, glancing down at you through white lashes.

“I wouldn’t ever try to change your mind but will you tell me why?”

Gojo sighs and it’s almost concerningly heavy for a man who is so light as air he even partners with Flying type Pokémon specifically. You feel for him, certain the pressures of being Champion can be enough to get even the strongest of them all down, and you keep your hand pressed to his shoulder.

“When I was working toward becoming Champion my focus was so singular I missed out on everything. I only did what had to be done to get here and now I’ve realized I haven’t experienced, well, anything. I want to enjoy the journey and not simply the destination.”

Your heart beats hard in your chest, moved by his honesty. You’ve always been friendly with the man and it’s not a wonder that he’s Champion, he is the strongest, but you do wonder why he came here to tell you this.

“I want you to come with me.”

Breath catching in your throat, you are shocked by the words.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. If anyone can show me how to slow down and enjoy it, it has to be little miss on her back watching the clouds roll by.”

The nickname is a bit of a mouthful but you smile anyway, looking up at him and twisting your mouth to the side.

“Let me ask the council,” you shoot and he nods understandingly, watching you sink to a squat beside your Espeon.

“What do you think?”

She chirps excitedly and you sigh, hoping she’d be on your side for once, but her thirst for adventure is bigger than her loyalty to you by some strange miracle. It has been too long since you and her and your friends have been out on the routes and she hungers to roll around in new grass. You pet her again and nod, rising to standing.

“Okay. I’m sure I’m the last person you asked and the only one to say yes and I’d hate to leave you lonely.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “You were the first and the only one I wanted to ask.”

Espeon chirps again at your feet and you toss her another glance, forgetting how astute your partner truly is despite the separation of Pokemon and human between the two of you.

“I’ll be back in three days to pick you up so make sure you have everything you need.”

Your traitorous heart pounds even harder knowing what’s to come. Traveling, alone, with Gojo sounds undeniably thrilling and you will ponder later when you’re alone what’s to come.

For now, you smile and nod.

“Okay, champ. But know I won’t make the journey easy on you.”

He grins once again, pearly whites gleaming while Grookey hops out of the grass a few feet away from him and clings to his leg, the large man kneeling slightly to pet the creature.

“Which is exactly why I invited you.”

The words are so loaded even you catch the weight and you shuffle from foot to foot, Espeon still wound around your calves. The sun blazes overhead and clouds continue to pass and in an instant you realize that you may not have gained that rival you’ve been dodging but perhaps you’ll yet gain a friend.

“I won’t keep you for any longer but be ready for me, okay?”

You nod and try to hide your grin by tucking your chin against your chest and glancing at the ground below.

Perhaps you’ve gained something more than a friend, even.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes #pokemon au #I DELETED THE OP LMFAOOOOOOO

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jokertrap-ran · 21 days ago

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[スタオケ] La Corda d'Oro Starlight Orchestra Main Story Chapter 3-3 Translation

*Starlight Orchestra Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Main story tag will be #Main Starlight

youtube

Everyone: Hm?

Everyone: …

Someone in the crowd: It's Glanz Symphony Orchestra…

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Male Student 2: T-Tsukishiro…

Kei: What's the matter? Do continue. I find it pretty interesting to hear.

Taiga: Come on, don't be so mean about it. These guys have no other way to vent their frustrations other than to gossip with each other.

Taiga: They're different from Glanz, the undisputed champions. I almost feel sorry for them.

Male Student 1: Wha-

Sango: Yikes, he really went and said it. But now that he's gone and done it, that means it's over for them now, isn't it?

Ruri: Sango.

Male Student 1: U-Urk…! How dare you make a fool of us…

Male Student 1: Tsukishiro! It's your fault that our Orchestra ended up like this!

Male Student 1: Your best trumpet players, Kanamoi and Shioya were originally members of our Orchestra!

Male Student 1: You've been poaching members from Orchestras all around with Regal Records backing you! And thanks to that, we're done for…

Kei: I'm not sure I quite approve of the way you're ignoring your own incompetence and clinging onto the members who have already left.

Male Student 1: Wha…

Kei: Your Orchestra cannot win. I'm sure that's the conclusion the both of them drew before deciding to join Glanz.

Kei: If you have the time to pin the blame on us, why not spend it wisely to try climbing up here with your own abilities?

Kei: You can better attract members by offering better terms and a higher chance of success. You should try it sometime too.

Kei: You're making a big mistake if you think that someone will throw you a bone if you howl loud enough.

Eiichi: Kei-sama.

Kei: Pardon me. I may have gone overboard. See you then.

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Eiichi: …

Kei: What? Aren't you in a bad mood today?

Eiichi: I do not think it is a good idea to unnecessarily incur the wrath of others.

Eiichi: Although, there's no helping Domoto and Koga, seeing as that it's just their personality to do so…

Kei: What a worrywart you are. Don't worry about it. I'm sure that you'll do something about it if anything happens…

Kei: A group of incompetent people can band together all they want, but there's no guarantee that they'll succeed in the end.

Kei: Though, if you're that eager to curry favor with someone, then wouldn't it be more prudent to attempt it with the person behind this door instead?

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

???: Perfect timing. The association directors have just left.

???: 30 media companies have already applied to cover the joint concert. Things are progressing at a pretty good pace.

Kei: You're even overseeing that yourself?

???: I'm not in the habit of trusting others with things.

???: Especially not the checkmate. I've seen many who've tripped up on it.

???: Are you not the same, Tsukishiro-kun?

Kei: How terrifying. No wonder your employees always have that terrified look on their faces whenever they see you, Ms. President of Regal Records.

Kei: Now then, shall we talk about business?

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Ginga: *Sigh* …Man, it felt almost as if we'd entered a different reality altogether… Is everyone from Kakyo Academy like that?

Tomoharu: Only because the Orchestra he leads can be considered the undisputable monarch.

Tomoharu: Glanz wasn't that popular of an Orchestra in the beginning.

Tomoharu: They only started to gain fame worldwide a couple of years ago when Tsukishiro Kei stepped in to take the lead as the Concertmaster.

Tomoharu: Combined with his fame, Glanz saw rapid growth.

⊳ Choice: So the title of the “Tyrant” is…

Tomoharu: No one knows who started it, but it seems to have stuck. Ginga: The “Tyrant”, huh… That nickname of his has a nice ring to it. I kinda want one too!

Kazuma: If I have to give you a nickname, it'd be “Forever Napping”

Sakuya: Or perhaps something like “pocket change liker”.

Ginga: Ehh~!? How mean! I'm sure there must be other possibilities, right? Right!?

Tomoharu: Haha, it's fine isn't it? They don't sound like anything bad. In fact, I quite like it.

Hayate: Good grief. Is this really the time to be joking? Tsukishiro didn't earn that nickname by doing nothing, you know.

⊳ Choice: How dare you say such rude things about Tsukishiro!

Sakuya: I don't know how big of a fan you are, but if you still have the capacity to get mad after seeing that entire facade, then perhaps you should get a reality check. Tomoharu: Well, he did rub everyone the wrong way…

⊳ Choice: He was a little terrifying.

Hayate: Yeah. He's a peculiar one… Or rather, he has a certain intensity about him. He, and those around him. Hayate: Those complaints that were voiced against him back at the venue weren't completely unfounded either.

Tomoharu: Looks like it's true that Glanz is made out of talented members who had been poached from other Orchestras.

Tomoharu: Off the top of my head…

Tomoharu: The tall guy that had been standing next to Tsukishiro is none other than Tatsumi Eiichi, the cello player.

Tomoharu: He's been featured in the media alongside Tsukishiro-san, so I'm sure many people in the academy know of him too.

Tomoharu: Domoto Taiga, the overseas Bassoon player that Regal Records had scouted had also been there.

Tomoharu: He's an assertive person, making him stand out even amidst Glanz.

Tomoharu: As for the two girls, they seem to be students from Saint Cecil's Girls School

Tomoharu: A prestigious school, and also one of the regulars in the National Student Music Concours.

Tomoharu: The other members are nothing to sniff at either. Man, they’re already a force to be reckoned with from what we can glean.

Sakuya: Rather than talking about Glanz… shouldn't we worry about our own performance?

Sakuya: The piece has been decided. It has to be a violin concerto, which means that we're currently unable to accomplish it with the small ensemble we have.

Sakuya: A violin concerto requires an Orchestra. Even with the number of people we have in the Starlight Orchestra now, we're still lacking quite a lot.

Tomoharu: Hmm… Looks like we’ll have to find some extra players.

Hayate: Extra players? Can we even do that?

Ginga: Shinomori-sensei, I beg of you! Please fulfill my once-in-a-lifetime wish! Lend us some music ed students, please~

Kazuma: No. I've already heard that excuse before. Just how many lives do you have, exactly?

Ginga: Ehh~ C’mon, don't say that… Just one? Pleaaase?

Kazuma: It doesn't matter how persistent you are. Do something about it yourself.

Sakuya: …Looks like we've really hit the end of our road this time.

Ginga: Hey! You're giving up way too quickly!

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Nono: A joint concert? Wow~ That sounds awesome! Do you think I can listen in on the performance if you sneak me into your case!?

Nono: But if there's a Fata in Kakyo Academy, I'm sure they'd say something like “Who the hell are you?” and the like…

Nono: But a violin concerto sounds too good to pass up on!

Nono: A violin concerto backed by an entire Orchestra… It's like something right out of a dream! Good luck with it, Concertmistress!

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬Main Starlight♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Previous Part: (Chapter 3-2) Next Part: (Chapter 3-4)

#金色のコルダ #スターライトオーケストラ #スタオケ #Starlight Orchestra #Otome #Translations #Kiniro no Corda #La Corda d'Oro Starlight Orchestra #Main Starlight

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midcenturyblog · 5 years ago

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<strong>1954 Studebaker Champion Regal Starlight Coupe <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/autohistorian/">by Alden Jewell</a></strong>

#1954 #Studebaker #Champion #Regal #Starlight #Coupe #postcard #1950s #advertising #vehicles #magazine #fashion

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flourchildwrites · 6 years ago

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64 and 25 on the AU mashup. I know I usually ask for Royai, but this time around can I request Havolina? Please? :D Thank you

A/N: Oh my, @ruikosakuragi ! I fell in love with this prompt the moment I saw it. You requested numbers 64 (star crossed lovers) and 25 (fairy tale AU) with a havolina ship. And when I sat down to write, I was in a terrible, terrible funk. Nothing like a little havolina angst to put me in a better mood. (We don’t have time to unpack why writing angst brightens my day.) Thank you for this prompt, and thanks for being one of my favorite readers and writers!

Read on AO3

Whenever Jean Havoc went missing, his mother knew where to find him. Up the stone staircases of the ivy encased castle, through corridors cloaked in thick tapestries bearing the Armstrong family crest and into the hall of portraits she went. A young boy of 12, already a knight in training, stared up at a dark-haired woman with enigmatic eyes and a kind smile. Squire Havoc didn’t put much stock in the written word; he preferred his daggers and swords, but he learned enough to decipher her name, etched into the golden plaque beneath the frame.

Princess Rebecca Talia of Catalina

La Belle au bois dormant

The boy was favored amongst the castles’ inhabitants. With sun-bleached hair, boyish freckles and a penchant for lighthearted mischief, he captured the hearts of every last scullery maid and made fast friends with the king’s young son, Alexander, a mere six months Havoc’s junior. His mother, Claudia frowned, as she watched her boy munch a stolen croissant from the kitchens while he gazed longingly at the portrait. Practically the only person who had not taken a shine to Jean was the queen, and her bedchambers were too close for comfort.

“Come away from there, my son,” Claudia beckoned. “Come quickly before the queen sees you. Why must you always return to this picture?”

Young Jean sighed, shoulders hunched forward as he tore his eyes away from the old portrait and heeded his mother’s call. He didn’t know why he returned to gaze at the woman day after day, sneaking up from the stables with straw in his sleeves and mud on his boots. But there was an undeniable connection, a pull in her directions like an invisible string of fate that bound them together no matter how far he strayed. Still, Havoc knew his mother had no stomach for such fairy tales.

“I like to keep her company,” he answered. “She’s so pretty, but her eyes are lonely. Don’t you think?”

Claudia grabbed her son’s hand and guided him quickly through the castle with featherlight footsteps. “I shouldn’t like to find you there again,” she said pointedly as if she knew he would return regardless.

Jean understood her perfectly.

…

Sixteen-year-old Jean visited her in the night when the light of the full moon spilled through the windows of the castle. While other senior squires warmed the beds of those with bodies, the sins of the flesh never occupied Jean for long. He loved them but left them with ease, ever drawn to the beloved portrait of Rebecca.

In his youth, Jean had always known to her to beautiful. But as the years passed, the young squire noticed the fullness of her rosy lips and the blush in her cheek. The swell of her breasts entranced him further, hastening lustful dreams where she led him toward a cobwebbed bedchamber. Still, Rebecca’s chestnut eyes were her most alluring feature. Ever pleading, wanting the company of a man who lived a century after the date scribbled in the corner of the painting.

“Who goes there?” A booming voice interrupted Havoc’s reverie, sounding from down the hall.

Jean stirred, muscles sluggish from the day’s exertions. It might have been better to turn tail, but the squire stood his ground. He adopted an unassuming posture and ran a hand through his unkempt hair.

“Just me, Prince Alexander,” he announced. “Squire Jean.”

The prince approached with heavy footfalls against the thick, red rug. Even in his night clothes, Alex looked intimidating, burly and otherwise big. His muscles tested the elasticity of his night tunic.

“I might have known,” he chuckled. “You’re not here for my sister Catherine, are you? I’d hate to have to challenge you to a duel, friend.”

“Too young,” Havoc smirked, cocky as ever. “I’ve always liked this painting. The woman in it is… There’s no one else like her. Too bad she’s long gone.”

Alex grinned, too broadly for Jean to ignore. He was a terrible liar at the best of times, and he loved gossip more than the washerwomen who babbled ceaselessly as they worked. Havoc cast the prince an expectant sideways glance.

“Isn’t she dead? What aren’t you telling me, Alex?”

The prince kept his own counsel for a moment, no more, before letting loose the story of sleeping beauty, Princess Rebecca, with glee. Enchanted by a bitter alchemist as an infant, the young women fell victim to a ghastly prophecy. In retaliation for her father’s hubris, she plucked her finger on a splinter while spinning flax and fell into an endless slumber.

“The sage Hohenheim managed to save her,” Alex explained, “but his counter-circle put the rest of Catalina to sleep in exchange for the princess’s life. His prophecy foretells that she will sleep until the firstborn son of the Southern Kingdom’s 12th king wakes her. And should she rule with him standing by her side, their united kingdoms will be prosperous.”

Havoc could barely believe his ears. He made a face dripping with incredulity. “And how much longer does the princess have to wait?”

“Until I wake her with a kiss,” Alex replied. “The firstborn son of the 12th king is me.”

…

“Ami Jean, lève ton verre, et surtout, ne le renverse pas! Et porte-le du frontibus…”

King Alexander’s boisterous song rattled the dust from the rafters in the great hall as he drunkenly lumbered amidst the merrymaking. The knighting ceremony was a festive occasion, beloved by the Southern Kingdom for its pageantry and splendor. Sir Vato sat in deep conversation with a Northern scholar as Sir Roy and Dame Riza cut striking figures on the dance floor. The pair’s silver armor glinted in the soft candlelight as they sashayed past Sir Kain, his arm draped over the shoulders of an attractive stable hand.

Claudia caught her son’s eye from around the curtain of the servant’s quarters. The proud glint of her gaze spoke of volumes of pride, and Sir Jean grinned dashingly in response with a toast in her direction. Claudia, whose once brown hair was now stained by starlight, would never be permitted to make merry with her son, but she watched, happy for his good fortune. And Havoc silently thanked the anonymous benefactor who championed his cause all the way to knighthood.

“Sir Jean!” Havoc turned, searching for the regal body matching the royal voice. Its owner appeared behind him, dressed in decadent purple robes.

“King Alexander.” Jean bowed with the balanced poise.

“None of that now, Havoc,” the king chuckled. “We’ve known each other too long to be beholden to formalities.”

“My greatest ambition is to be of service to you, sire.” The practiced words fell from his lips like butter, and not for the first time, Havoc wondered if he meant them.

“Then be of service, you shall,” he announced. “My father has been dead these nine months, and I find myself in want of a queen before my coronation. You will help me fetch her.”

Jean hadn’t visited Princess Rebecca’s portrait in quite some time, and at the age of 21, he had seemingly caught up to her. Nevertheless, time had ticked by quicker since King Phillip has passed. All eyes had turned to his friend, Alex.

“I hardly think you’d need me to help you find a wife,” Sir Jean offered. “Lady Maria, for example, seems up to the task, and you like her, as I recall.”

“I do like her, but,” Alex pulled Jean in close, ducking his head to whisper in his ear, “Lady Maria will not bring prosperity to my kingdom and unite us with the Catalina territory. I want her. I want Princess Rebecca. Are you with me, Sir Jean?”

Who was a knight to refuse his king?

…

The bramble of thorns encasing the Catalina territory was worse than expected. Poisonous fog stung the eyes and hovered low to the ground, claiming the lives of the wounded fallen. Dark creatures of legend and myth with tattered black wings swooped from the skies to pierce intruders with their filthy claws. Early on, Sir Roy was blinded by the gas, and Dame Riza nearly bled out after being attacked by a vicious airborne beast. Sirs Heymans and Kain escorted their fellows back to the relative safety of the Southern Kingdom.

And on the fifth day, madness set in; King Alexander was affected.

Summoning all his mental fortitude, Jean pressed onward with his ruler in tow. He grabbed the reins of the king’s horse and followed his instincts. The young knight’s sense of direction was clouded by muck and mire of his mind’s own creation, but something primal stirred, pulling Havoc along a clear path hidden in the quagmire.

At daybreak, he saw the tall turrets of an ancient castle, older and more massive than any building in the Southern Kingdom. At the foot of the castle, royal guards in dust-covered tunics slumbered, slumped against the frigid stone; their weapons still poised in their hands. The air was stale, but decay had inexplicably spared the old Kingdom of Catalina. Every detail of daily life was still and held static, tinged with a purple glow, the calling card of alchemical mayhem.

“Oh mon Dieu! It’s true,” Jean gasped. He took in greedy breaths of clean, if dank, air. Alongside him, Alex followed suit, recovering from his mania.

“I should name my firstborn son after you if we live through this,” Alex said, coughing. “How did you know that way?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” he quipped, ever the picture of ease under pressure.

Sir Jean and King Alexander navigated the winding staircases of Catalina castle. Climbing ever higher, they sought the tallest turret of the highest tower, a room that kissed the edges of the darkened clouds overhead. Somewhere along the way, Sir Jean’s feet began to move of their own accord. Without rhyme or reason, he followed a siren’s call, a haunting tune that resonated in his heart.

At last, they found her chamber. The walls were draped with dusty tapestries, and long canopy curtains fluttered in the dreary breeze, obscuring her sleeping figure from Jean’s prying eyes. Alex moved forward, pushing the curtains aside. He sat cautiously next to the sleeping woman with red lips, raven hair and slender fingers folded over her flowing red robes. Princess Rebecca looked serene but deathly pale. Havoc fought the compulsion to go to her as his friend and king laid a tender kiss on his beloved’s lips.

She remained as still and silent as the grave.

“I don’t understand,” Alex exclaimed. “I am the firstborn son of the 12th king of the Southern Kingdom. I am the only one who can break the spell.”

“It’s alchemy,” Sir Jean responded. “Things go wrong in the best transmutations. Princess Rebecca might be stuck in eternal slumber.”

The king left the princess’s bedside, not bothering to draw the curtain as he turned to leave. “Some of my best knights were harmed during this foolish endeavor,” he growled, “and for what purpose?”

Jean couldn’t help himself. He ducked under the gossamer curtain and kneeled next to the bed with a reverent posture. Havoc brought the beauty’s hands to rest in his own, so cold and small. He noticed the fabled splinter still lodged under her fingernail and plucked it out, regretting that she should be left so beautiful and unblemished against the current of time.

A breath. A twitch. The delicate flutter of her eyelashes.

“My king! She wakes!” Havoc exclaimed, standing up and pushing himself back from his intimate pose. He embellished for good measure as Alex entered the room. “You have awakened her. See?”

Chestnut eyes, a heartbreaking shade of gold veiled in melancholy cream, fluttered open and stared into Jean’s face. Her lips moved uncertainly, drawing Jean back to her bedside. He smiled, as brilliantly as the sun.

“Don’t try to speak so soon,” Sir Jean cautioned. He wet her lips tenderly with water from his canteen.

“My king,” she said, looking up at Jean.

“It is I who am your king,” Alex interrupted. He scooped her up in his arms as Havoc pocketed the splinter along with his broken heart.

…

Prophecies were a funny thing, Jean decided, as he gazed up at the official portrait of the Southern Kingdom 12th king, hung proudly in the royal family’s private suite. King Philip had always been kind to Havoc, favoring him to a fault, and promoting the child to squire at a young age despite his discipline issues. What’s more, Havoc recalled that King Phillip had never once corrected foreign dignitaries when they mistook Jean and Alex for brothers. Perhaps, Jean should have put the pieces together sooner.

Why say “the firstborn son of the 12th king” when one could simply say the 13th king? Havoc knew the answer (for all the good it did).

Princess Rebecca Talia of Catalina was now Queen Rebecca, bound by the ties of holy matrimony to Jean’s childhood friend and king. Alex was a good man and a just ruler. It pained Havoc to harbor lustful thoughts for his friend’s bride. Yet, however wrong it felt, the feel of Havoc’s mouth against the hollow of Rebecca’s throat eased his ailing conscience time and time again.

In any other life, their stars would have aligned.

“Must you always leave me so soon?” Rebecca cooed. She drew the covers playfully over her swollen belly as she watched her lover dress, preparing to leave using the secret passageway behind the bureau. Havoc tried not to stare, but it was hard to remember that, in the light of day, they could be no more than a queen and her knight.

“Damn,” he exhaled, half-tempted to throw it all away right then and there. He pressed his nose into the soft lavender scent of Rebecca’s hair and caressed her waist possessively, in awe of the new life dwelling within her. Like all their other stolen moments, Jean tucked the memory of holding her so close away for safe keeping. Bedding a queen was hardly a luxury that a knight could regularly afford.

…

Princess Chloe was christened on a blustery Autumn morning just as the leaves began to fall from their trees. Naturally, King Alexander and Queen Rebecca were wary, refusing all gifts from the alchemists in attendance, including the famed Brothers Elric, for fear of history repeating itself. The ceremony was brief but beautiful, drawing attendees from across the four kingdoms. Banners in the great hall proudly displayed the Southern Kingdom’s union with the rediscovered Catalina territory, and as far as anyone besides the queen and her favorite knight knew, there was no better symbol of that unity that the princess.

Sir Jean stood sentry beside the Queen, watching over Rebecca as their newborn infant suckled at her mother’s breast. It wasn’t much, Havoc knew, but it would have to be enough. For as long as his body drew breath, he would never leave Rebecca, bound by ties of duty and fate. He stood silently by his beloved’s side as she ruled with King Alexander.

The Southern Kingdom prospered, as the sage Hohenheim had foretold.

Like what you read? Send me a FANFICTION TROPE MASH UP ask.

#you ask i answer #fanfiction trope mash up #fullmetal alchemist #fma #jean havoc #rebecca catalina #havolina #alex louis armstrong #ruikosakuragi #a passing housewife fanfiction #flourchildwrites

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danwhobrowses · 3 years ago

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Forbidden Door - 5 Things the AEW x NJPW Supershow Should Do

So it wasn't a UK Show, but AEW and NJPW have dismantled the Forbidden door and turned it into a PPV. Unsurprisingly and rightly so people are losing their minds with the Dream Match potential both companies can provide, but given how it's just 1 day rather than NJPW's multi-day format, we'll have to expect that not every match will make the card.

But at the very least, here's 5 things I think AEW and NJPW should do to keep the PPV booking strong

1. Utilize STARDOM

New Japan doesn't have a women's division, which is reasonably worrying fans that Forbidden Door may not feature any women's matches at all. This could still be the case, and if it is they better have an All-Women's supercard around the same time, but I hope TK will at least be able to convince NJPW to utilize their parent company's ownership of World Wonder Ring Stardom.

On top of being a place Tony Khan can get some pointers about proper investment towards women's booking, a lot of AEW's women have history with Stardom - including Hikaru Shida with current top champion Syuri, who tagged together in their early career. AEW's platform can serve to further spotlight Stardom and fantastic roster including but not limited to KAIRI, Utami Hayashishita, Starlight Kid, AZM, Momo Watanabe, Giulia, Natsupoi, Saya Kamitani, Konami, and former ROH Women's Champion Mayu Iwatani who can easily serve classics alongside some of AEW's best and brightest.

2. Don't repeat Feuds

Windy City Riot has already entertained a card with AEW talent featured frequently, and the conceptual Forbidden Door has already allowed some personnel to feud already. But Forbidden Door the PPV should try to retread as little existing feuds as possible, that doesn't mean we should avoid every dream match possible, but a fresh card of first-time bouts would certainly be as if not more enticing than seeing matches we've already seen booked on AEW and NJPW.

3. Reward those who know Backstory

What makes AEW great is its use of longstanding narrative, and there are a lot of NJPW and AEW wrestlers with shared history. The obvious is of course the Elite and the Bullet Club but also loose connections like Andrade El Idolo being Los Ingobernables compared to LIJ (which'd make Andrade vs Naito a possibility) and CIMA's appearance in early AEW and current NJPW, while retreading water was hinted against, the matches we do book should do its best to establish the past each competitor may have with each other, since it will enhance fans of these wrestlers' investment into the matches and provide stuff we can build towards until the PPV itself.

4. Don't Simply Make it AEW vs NJPW

The supercard will obviously cater towards dream matches the brands alone cannot simply do; Punk/KENTA , Darby/Despy and ZSJ/Danielson has already been thrown about, but it would probably be better if AEW and NJPW didn't try to employ the Survivor Series approach. This means it's best not to do Champion vs Champion either, because it invites tribalism and people trying to dig into which brand 'wins' which will put a damper on things, if anything we could have individual title matches with the other challenger (so like Cole/Okada and Switchblade/Hangman). In addition, the shared history means we can mix it up; Best Friends are part of Chaos, Shota Umino can easily side with Mox and Regal's Hard Nut Sons the BCC, Archer is still technically Suzuki-Gun too and there is a shout for the Elite being welcomed back into Bullet Club, which means that there is room to have AEW and NJPW blend together and still produce Dream Matches - so long as they don't do the old NJPW trick of overdoing the multi-man matches.

5. Set up for More

We can easily get caught up with giving fans everything immediately, but this is not All In. We should always offer room to do more, in the short and the long term, the fact that we're getting this Supercard means that the working partnership between both companies can still thrive afterwards and be even bigger than before, incorporating ROH, NWA, TJPW, DDT and Impact in the future would definitely serve as goals to work with. Dream Matches can still come beyond this PPV, after all the Forbidden Door is just the start.

#aew #all elite wrestling #aew wrestling #njpw #njpw strong #new japan pro wrestling #forbidden door

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uscarssince1935 · 2 months ago

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1951 Studebaker Champion Regal Starlight

My tumblr-blogs:

www.tumblr.com/germancarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/frenchcarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/englishcarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/italiancarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/japanesecarssince1947 & www.tumblr.com/uscarssince1935

#1951 #studebaker #champion regal starlight

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surfersofbole · 4 years ago

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Going to Fall: What will you do?

This is the fifth installment in my “Going to Fall” series, which is based on Bob Dylan’s “A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall.”

What will you do?

Here, your father must now mention if God has seemed unjust, unkind, then, have you paid him no attention? Our sins are many, of great kinds; punishment ‘s held with retention

not unlike the water vapor within the clouds above the world. All the clouds won’t harm a scraper, but rain upon a cardboard home turns the walls into soaked paper.

I can sense your apprehension, and I can sense your broken pride. Do you have some great dissension? Well, now, just take your small asides to relieve any contention.

Some of us find things enlightening when we must live in heavy dark. Lightning rods control the frightening and brightening flash of the short night. Umbrellas keep th’ tensions tightening.

You would think there’d be prevention - that God himself would take the lead. God wants no Earthly dimension and so he goes ahead, concedes rain must fall without suspension.

What will you do, my blue-eyed son? Somethings are hard to answer. Some… What will you do, darling young one? Think you that I should know this thing? Morning comes now with the bright sun.

Going back out before the rain starts falling

I wake up scared as hell that things are going wrong. Why? I was not quite sure of what was going on. My mind was in a cell. I lie down quietly. The motionless allure of a ceiling, empty...

A day begins anew. Will I ever arise? A thunder I have heard; the skies will be disguised. The rainclouds now accrue. I’m scared to leave this place; though, maybe I’m absurd, and I should go/make haste.

I’ll walk the beaten path; I know it will be short. All the small excursions other souls couldn’t afford... I'll face the wanton wrath because the world will fear I am leading an incursion with my mouth that all’ll hear.

The depths of the deepest, black forest

Electrified air climbs to clustered cotton fluff; screams turn to grumbles.

Some schwarzwald sunshine prawns prowl blister-black water - ice of a night sky.

Sharp whistles whittle brittle branch and bark, bitter for the burning blight.

Hollow trees topple. Then, forests from dying flames born of detritus.

The people are many, their hands are all empty

Xerotic mouths agape, facade of night entreats a dreamer thirsting not the light, "neglect a cleanly state and state that you ordain the rain to fall as it is due."

Disguising no intentions with delight, obsessed with obfuscating appetite, come cumulating nimbus clouds above haranguing with each lightning strike thereof.

In time, hard rains again will lift the plight and everyone will be an acolyte lest all the clouds they see move out of sight.

The pellets of poison flooding their waters

(The vending machine hums softly. A whirring and some clinking kick off a habit, and I press a button. A quarter? I try again. In the mechanism, it moves. Thunk. Mother's approval.)

Someone's swimming in the pool.

Crystalline medium with waving surface dances the light upon the ceiling.

Diving at the deep, he sinks into the bottom for the longest moment until he is diluted by the dark.

I sit beside the edge, staring.

No manacles bind us to the station we submit.

Someone's swimming in the pool, but I've a job to do. "Refill the canister with two chlorine tablets. Lock up and leave."

The home in the valley meets the damp, dirty prison

I walk to where the sidewalk ends en masse, past the concrete's blend with grass and the footstep-muddled pastures.

I found the last spot God had cried: an oasis that has dried in the desert of this life.

The rain is not the coldest where the trees have met the forest and the mountain meets the valley.

The executioner’s face, always well hidden

At mass, the priest, in his white, polyester robes, stood among pink roses.

"I say, precious Lord, look upon us and see not injustice; instead, find hope."

Among the heightened exaltations of the chorus, water came down upon us.

Back when crimes against the Lord and his people were punishable, men like Christ and Beckett, with their deaths, made leaders grovel.

King, bearing a new weight, shouldered a poor people's campaign; in his memory, we hid this struggle. In this new poor people's campaign, shall hidden faces make another man infamous?

"Do this in memory of me."

The word of the Lord makes requisite that we do things in memory of others that perhaps, through us, they could live on. Such a cause as theirs is worth perpetuating; such a love as theirs is the great communion.

"Mass has ended. You may go in peace"

Hunger is ugly, souls are forgotten

Oysters - pried apart with pearls squeezed from their soft flesh - are discarded shells that cleansed murky waterways. Layered nacre anchors banks.

Black is the color, none is the number

For the briefest second, worlds are colorful and palm fronds, like percussion sections, fill the wind with scratching sound. As raindrops themselves drive through darkness into broken asphalt, thunder-crash! The crack in night, it vanished while a youth in leather shoes and wetting socks went running to a covered walkway. Hole-filled pockets bore some grimed receipts, old notes, worn cards, and damaged pictures in a wallet that was drawn up. She inserted plastic; as the m'chine slow- processed four fast digits, vehicles blurred past and disappear until, at last, a menu let her check the balance. Black in text, a zero showed up. Buzzing lights then flickered; rain felt bitter/harder.

Tell it, think it, speak it, breathe it

False flags on steel poles; you find their real goals cause hard heads to feel soles as reeled votes steal polls. Loss is a hand that's doled to thoughtless card holders; well oiled, pristine political machines need propaganda's grist cleaned and shoveled on the screens. Greed - democracy's splotch - fills you with the scotch blues; when the night is botched, sit back up to watch news. Feel cold and say burr under a cedar tree, or passover seder with Sam Seder, see his angered, sabered tongue work hard/labor long; hundreds of lungfuls from racist uncles tapered off. Like flaming fungal masses on crumpled paper, scoffed arguments hindered turn to cinder; try not to join the splintered dense blocks of tinder, dry rot. "Freedom isn't free, son..." some person breathes on as a prison's breeze comes; truth in neon: "Freedom isn't free, and it isn't freedom." Jaime Peck 'n' Michael Brooks wait with bridled facts on homicidal cops and Congress' idled acts. The left's best anchors, hosts of the Majority Report, unveil the languor of neofascist authority.

Reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it

Guinness in my system at a Regal cinema; someone said, "I miss him." Liquor mixed with cinnamon makes my throat feel dry; is that why I'm stifled? "On everyone's behalf, when we heard you laughing at Dave Rubin's gaffes, all our sides were halfing." Why am I nervous before the final curtain? "He did the world a service, that I say with certainty." "I want to drink, alright, rather than think all night; pour shots until bar fight hour is a starlight tour." Drink my Tennessee whiskey and Hennessy briskly in backgrounds of dim-lit rooms. As this dim-wit reflects, chances look slim; the future's a grim skit. Pillow to my head and sink in like lead, a stone carelessly embedded in the river bed alone.

Stand on the ocean until I start sinking

When one recollects that the keystone oft sank in the sand before standing aloft among clouds on a mountain so solid of faith and devotion, it's then that a false step compels men, "Recover!" I noticed thrombosis had felled the calm warrior, that saint among saints that is Archangel Michael; the champion of men and proponent of justice inspires l'avant-garde to claim in it's crawling a victory not pyrrhic but won with empiric- al knowledge against an- tithetical sirens that draw men towards hatred with bigotry, envy, and greed. So, surrender your voice, but renounce not your thoughts, and remember the message borne by a colossus that called out to Lazarus, "Come forth."

Know my song well before I start singing

Cantos coming soon to a year near you!

Notes

This is the order in which the poems were written: 2, 1, 4, 3, 6, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12. I plan for poem 13 to be a series of cantos based on my time walking through a park in my home town.

What will you do?

This poem was written months ago while I was still a Tumblr poet and is the introduction to the final section of the Going to Fall collection of poems I've written. The next poem will be posted when I figure out where I saved it.

The depths of the deepest, black forest

I thought I had a poem for this portion of the final section of my "Going to Fall" poetry collection, but I couldn't find it. Luckily, the haiku challenge issued for November prompted me to write this in place of the imagined poem.

The people are many, their hands are all empty

There were two prompts for this poem. The first is an obscure words poetry contest that I volunteered myself, in which I received the prompt "Xenodochial" (which means hospitable or kind to strangers). The second was from a challenge I made [for] myself [...] I had been stuck on this particular portion for months now, so I'm glad to have something appropriate and fitting.

The pellets of poison flooding their waters

Perhaps I put too much thought into a story about a guy closing up after a hallucination. The stuff in the parenthesis was typed last, but I only put it in because I could find no better way to add that the narrator is thirsty. I was going to write a twelve poem collection on this prompt, based on monthly news stories of people making the world a worse place, but the poems were scrapped. I do hope to revisit the idea under a different title.Perhaps I put too much thought into a story about a guy closing up after a hallucination. The stuff in the parenthesis was typed last, but I only put it in because I could find no better way to add that the narrator is thirsty. I was going to write a twelve poem collection on this prompt, based on monthly news stories of people making the world a worse place, but the poems were scrapped. I do hope to revisit the idea under a different title.

The home in the in the valley meets the damp dirty prison

I had the first two lines stuck in my head for a couple of days. This is the result.

Hunger is ugly, souls are forgotten

This is just a poem comparing oysters and people.

Black is the color, none is the number

October 11, 2020 corrections: *line 4 - "And" -> "As" *line 7 - "." -> "," *line 8 - "Thunder-crash!" -> "thunder-crash!" and line split. *lines 13-16 - "Hole-filled pockets - dirty, wet - hold paper/plastic cards and damaged pictures in a wallet. It is" replaced with current version. *lines 18-21 - "plastic; as the machine processed four fast digits, vehicles dove on past and then they disappeared. At" replaced with current version.

Three Poems for the Great Progressive

This poem came together from the following stanza that I spit out a couple of nights ago: Passover seder with Sam Seder under my cedar tree. Say burr, see his sabered tongue labor long. Hundred lungful's hinder cindered minds. The tinder finds a racist uncle's baseless tongueful like dry rot: the fungal waste is erased from space. Try not It includes one line I wrote a few years ago: "I drink my Tennessee whiskey and Hennessy briskly." The poem is basically about listening to the news all the time because you're sick, feeling restless, going out to the movies and bars, and finally going to sleep. July 20, 2020 update: Completed in honor of Michael Brooks. Also, I wrote the following poem soon after I heard the news, but did not put the time into it that I would have liked. The ground is dry and leaves grow thin. When the new moon is out the fuses trip, the grid's offline, and the world stands too still, I look to the sky as the gold flecks fly; ember is ash. A chill climbs up my spine; stomach can't dip lower. I cannot scout a star within the restless sky. August 11, 2020 update: I saw a contest early morning and wrote the first stanza of the third poem. The second stanza was written after I returned from work. The prompt was the first line from the Beatles' "A Day in the Life".

NOTE: This is the title for “Tell it, think it, speak it, breathe it,” “Reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it,” and “Stand on the ocean until I start sinking.”

#poem #original #spilled ink #poets on tumblr #writerscreed #Going to Fall #What will you do?#Going back out before the rain starts falling #The depths of the deepest black forest #The people are many their hands are all empty #The pellets of poison flooding their waters #The home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison #The executioner’s face always well hidden #Hunger is ugly souls are forgotten #Black is the color none is the number #Tell it think it speak it breathe it #Reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it #Stand on the ocean until I start sinking #Three Poems for the Great Progressive

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