#sea moya

[fishsinsareacknowledged]

Its been done, he's resigned. Theres nothing else for him to do. No more missions. No more.

His eyes are sunken and his bones are heavy. He knows he'll be taken care of and thats the greatest privilege he could ever get. Never guaranteed, but with you. He knows.

For his life, his sins, would they matter more when he is in your arms? Warm and alive, no longer a cold corpse.

Revived by your care. Once a lifeless body turned into the man you love, its the only thing he could ever want. To live without want and dreams. Its the best ending.

Lost to the sea of his consciousness, theres no more use for him. His job is done and he'll be back into your arms, he'll be where he belongs. He has never been happier, even as the tears stain his mask and your clothes. He's in the only place he'd want to be. 

He's back home. Back home with you. There's no better place to be one with himself.

Back with himself.

"I'm home moya lyubov'", his voice cracks when he weeps with joy because he's alive. He's alive and he's with you. His knees fall from weakness but he doesn't care to reprimand himself. He doesn't care anymore. He's back in your arms forever. Its the only thing he wants. A life with you.

"Welcome back Nikto."

He's back. He's back.

[mr-mandalorian]

there was sturmhond’s second in command, the princess that never was.

nikolai lantsov x reader, arranged marriage, angst/comfort, haven’t read to books so this strictly follows season 2

she was promised to the second prince. she didn’t know it at the time, but nikolai was the one to plead his parents to accept the deal. what a scene she caused that day, her father squeezing her arm a little too tight as he presented her to the royal family. she was all polite smiles and curated answers, her beauty undeniable in her satin gown. it was a perfected act, nikolai could only watch in amusement as guards swarmed her. when he reached to greet her with a kiss on her hand, she slashed at him with a hidden blade.

from that moment on, he knew that she would always be the woman to hold his heart.

and she hated herself for harboring similar feelings. she was an only daughter, an asset her father was sure to exploit. the last thing she expected was to find a kind man by her side, one who shared the same distaste for arranged union. when nikolai was preparing for sea, he didn’t ask for her to follow him. she was free to do as she pleased, and yet she chose to go after him.

and she was proving herself to be a valuable part of the crew. direct yet diplomatic, trusted by all as she unintentionally took the place of second in command. at times when there was a difficult decision to make, she felt crowds of eyes pointed at her instead of their captain. she didn’t mean to overstep, but the prince never dimmed her light.

she watched as the first army bowed to nikolai, the ravkan wind suffocating compared to the salt water breeze. and when no one took notice of the soon to be princess, she stayed silent. she should’ve been pleased, no longer a bride but just an acquaintance of nikolai’s that happened to tag along. and yet somehow it stung, feeling restless and out of place in the spinning wheel.

so when nikolai proposed to alina and turned to her for approval, she could only offer him stunned silence. y/n was no fool, she understood the need for this calculated move. and who was she to deny him? a prince was free to do his own bidding.

“dorogoya, please say something. it’s not like you-“

“right away, my prince.” she wished for the earth to open and swallow her whole, how embarrassing as she fumbled with her pockets, looking for the piece of jewelry that was just another secret out at sea. “you’ll be needing this.”

“you- you had this with you the entire time?” nikolai couldn’t help but grin as she revealed the engagement ring. he understood the weight of it, how she was never given a choice of who got to place it on her finger. and yet, when she was free to get rid of it, she continued to keep it on her person.

“just in case i needed something to trade if you ever got captured by pirates again.” she tried to save grace, ears tinting pink.

“you wound me, moya lyubov. you know i’m too good to let it happen again.”

his charm wasn’t working, y/n not in the mood for pet names without meaning. her eyes found alina and mal on the other side of the room, having their own quarrel about the proposal. she couldn’t help but feel like her and the tracker were the same.

“y/n, listen. i know you never wanted this and now we have a reason to end it. take as much as you need, your father won’t hear a word about it. return to sea, or-“ he cleared his throat, somehow more nervous asking this than her hand in marriage. “or stay as my advisor. it would be foolish of me to let go of your talents.”

hearing these words years ago would’ve had her over the moon. she’d be overjoyed, running through the door without saying goodbye. and yet she found herself unable to move, her breath hitching at his offer. he was giving her a reason to stay.

“i suppose it would be dangerous to leave you without supervision.” she tried her best to look nonchalant, but if a heartrender walked by, surely they’d think she was having a heart attack.

watching sturmhond flirt his way out of tricky situations was one thing, but seeing the way the prince treated his new lyubov was another. it was once y/n that got to intertwine their fingers, got to hear sweet nothings fall from his lips. it was all pretend but she couldn’t help the ugly feeling blooming inside her chest.

“i see changing brides is as easy as changing clothes, brother.” vasily mused after the engagement became public over dinner.

“good riddance to that feral girl you were so obsessed with before, no amount of money attached to her family could make her a worthy princess.” the queen nodded along, eyeing her second son.

alina watched as nikolai flexed his jaw, ignoring his family. instead his eyes were roaming the crowd, searching for someone. and when he found who he was looking for, alina had to bite down a gasp. there was sturmhond’s second in command, the princess that never was.

“y/n, it seems congratulations are in order.” zoya leaned over the the table, a smirk painted on her lips. “you’ve managed to escape a boring, pompous royal life.”

“pardon?” tamar leaned in just as close from the other side, nearly brushing noses with zoya.

“seriously? am i the only one who remembers that y/n was promised to nikolai?” the squaller stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. it should’ve been, but people only cared for saints.

y/n placed a gentle hand on tamar’s shoulder, ordering her friend to back down. instead she raised her glass, deciding the next best thing was to drown her sorrows. and soon she was laughing, her head thrown back like she was back at sea, enjoying a late night drink with her crew. with liquid courage and burning cheeks, she extended her hand to mal. she felt the need to cheer the tracker up.

her vision was becoming difficult as she danced, failing to notice that mal had twirled her into someone else’s arms. it was only when he spoke did she realize the warm hand on the small of her back belonged to her beloved prince.

“i barely get to see you now, moya lyubimaya.”

“don’t call me that.” she exhaled in content, resting her head on his chest as they swayed to the slow song playing.

“it’s never bothered you before.”

“i didn’t care if it was real or not before.” she admitted, the poison in her veins untying her tongue.

“and what if i said it had always been real, moya lyubimaya?”

“i would call you a liar.” she looked up at him, so beautiful with her doe eyes and long lashes. and then she was pulling away, leaving the prince lonely in a room full of people.

there was little time for sulking after that. the spinning wheel fell under attack and y/n was second in command once again. it was like second nature to stand besides nikolai, ordering people around and keeping the situation from spiraling further. when he was mulling over what to do with genya, she threw a warning glance his way. if an advisor he wanted, an advisor he would get.

there was no denying that they were good together. even when it came to facing the darkling and his army of grisha and shadow, y/n never lost her head. that was until the church, until a certain sharp shooting durast trapped them inside with a shadow of the size of two men. that was the only time y/n didn’t think, she just did as she pushed the now king out of the way, shielding him from the monster coming his way.

she couldn’t remember much after, just fragments of conversations and trembling hands trying to glue her back together. the thought of nikolai safe and sound lulled her to sleep.

when she rose, she was met with genya’s wide eyes. she was tending to her wound, the awful gash on y/n’s abdomen requiring everyday tailoring. the grisha smiled then, a genuine smile for the first time in days. she pulled away to reveal the king asleep in a chair next to y/n’s bed.

“wouldn’t leave your side.” genya whispered before walking over to wake him.

it was like he was struck by lightning, nearly tripping over himself as he rushed to the woman’s bedside. grasping her hand tightly in his, he thanked the saints with tears in his eyes.

“please, moy tsar, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“you will send me to an early grave, woman.”

“clearly, it will be the other way around.” she dared to glance down, genya having left her abdomen exposed. it wasn’t pretty, thick dark stitching slicing her belly in half. she nearly jumped out of her skin as the king placed his palm on top of it.

“see this scar?”

he nodded towards his hand, revealing a long pale line trailing through all of his fingers.

“this is where you cut me the day we met. i refuse to get it tailored, to keep as reminder of you everywhere i go.”

“nikolai-“

“i know it was an act of protest, but you had me falling head over heels. from that moment on, i knew you’d be the one for me. my second in command, i would fall apart without you by my side. i had this whole grand gesture planned, to make up for how you were treated before. but i can’t wait a second longer.”

he pulled out the ring y/n had returned him. suddenly it held no weight to it, it was light as a feather sitting on her finger. like it was always meant to be there.

“and what of your pervious engagement?”

“well my advisor was out of commission for a while, so i haven’t really thought it through.” she rolled her eyes at the king’s teasing. but she couldn’t help but allow herself to smile, wiping the smug look off his face with a kiss.

[syllvane]

soldier, poet, king - tolya yul-bataar x reader

a/n: reader is sister of nikolai, feminine pronouns are used but no physical characteristics are ever described. ty for all of the love <3

Your brother would fire him if he found out that you had even considered Tolya in a romantic way. Not out of any disdain for him- out of anyone you could have grown fondness for, you were sure that Nikolai would prefer Tolya over the numerous suitors that waited for you back at Os Alta, but out of a protectiveness of you, as if you weren't perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.

“What are you thinking about?” Tamar asked, leaning against the wooden side of the ship, bright eyes looking at you.

”Nothing.”

“You know I can tell when you're lying.”

”When has that ever stopped me?”

Tamar scoffed, a smile pulling at the edges of her lips.

“Never,” She said, her eyes shining. “I don't know why I even ask, your heart only beats like that when you're thinking about my brother.”

Your heart jumped and Tamar let out another breathy laugh, feeling it without any effort.

“Too easy.” She said smugly and you rolled your eyes.

“Not funny.”

“Speak for yourself, moya tsarevna.” She said and you cringed at the title.

“As soon as Nik becomes king, I’m banning you from using that title.”

“Not Tolya though?” She asked, raising an eyebrow and gave her a look.

“I’m going to push you off this boat.”

A firm arm went around your shoulders, startling you and from the other side of you, Tolya grinned down at you.

“Now you know I love you, but why are you threatening to throw my sister off the boat?” He asked jokingly and you prayed to every Saint that your heart wasn’t going as fast as you felt it was.

You looked at Tamar and instantly regretted it, barely contained laughter on her lips.

“As first mate, I demand it.” You said stoically in response, a small smile on your lips and Tolya raised his eyebrows, removing his arm from your shoulder.

“Well, we should at least run it by Sturmhond.” 

“Oh who are we kidding, he’d choose you over me everyday.” You joked, able to relax more now that you weren’t in direct contact with Tolya.

“I’ll choose you then.” Tolya said and your smile softened at the sweetness of the sentiment.

“Spoken like a poet.” Tamar teased and Tolya scoffed, but beamed at the accusation.

“Do you think you would be happy, living a life like the one Nikolai and I had?”

“Back in the castle?” Tolya asked and you nodded. “I mean, I know you’re both going to go back eventually. Me and Tamar will be there as your guards.”

“Not as guards though, as… forget it, I’m just being silly.”

Tolya looked at you, studied for you for a moment with only the moonlight illuminating your features, peering off into seemingly endless sea.

“It’s not silly.” He said, moving so that he was ever so slightly closer to you. “I’ve never really thought about it before. Do you think I’d make a good noble?”

“No,” You answered quickly. “You’re too kindhearted. You’re too good.”

“So are you.” Tolya argued and you smiled.

“And I’m hardly the picture of good noble, I ran off with my older brother to play pirate- sorry privateer.”  You said. “I’ve always been a better soldier than princess, much to my mother’s dismay. I used to sneak off and follow Nikolai to his basic training instead of go to etiquette classes.”

Tolya snorted and you couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your face.

“I’m glad you skipped your etiquette classes, I like you how you are.”

Your heart jumped. Tolya looked over at you but didn’t say anything.

“Why do you ask? About me being a noble?” He pressed and you shook your head.

“As much as maybe me and Nik want it to, this can’t last forever. We have to go home at some point, him to try to take the throne that Vasily has never wanted, and me to sit around as set dressing, I suppose. To get married. I just… it really is silly, Tolya.” You said, standing up and preparing to walk away before he stood up and quickly caught your wrist, making you look at him.

“Tell me.” He said softly, letting go of your wrist. “Please.”

You took a step closer to him before grabbing his hand and putting it on the cloth covering your heart.

“Do you really not know?” You took a deep breath, painfully aware of how fast your heart was racing. “I’m not asking for marriage or anything like that, I’m asking… I don’t know what I’m asking.”

“May I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

His hands moved to your shoulders and he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours gently. He pulled away, his hands still on you.

“As long as you will have me, I will be here.” 

[ranticore]

I thought I'd post the sketched out map of the city before I take it in for redrawing (which will take a very long time and it's definitely a backburner project) in a decent resolution so that people can actually see what's going on. The full size version is 4800px wide so too big to actually have full res on tumblr anyway

Invergorken is your basic city built in the armpit of a bay. Although its original medieval castle still stands as the Sharps ranger barracks, the citadel north of the grand canal is where the palace sits. The main reason it was all built here, slammed up against the Ruad, an inhospitable forest, is because it was a trade hub for goods passing through the Ruad. If you look at the whole country map you can see that Invergorken is built right where the Ruad is narrowest from west to east, and also that the forest cuts off overland travel in a massive part of its range. Farmland to the north and south of the city serves it though the farms are more extensive in the west, both north and south of the bay.

Before the railways were built, goods were ferried through the forest overland (the grand canal & river on which it was built goes sharply north out of frame and does not connect with the lough). A huge amount of Invergorken's infrastructure was built to directly facilitate ease of travel between sea and lough; the canals connect major points of interest. with a pretty robust lock system, ships from the sea are able to travel right on through the city to the train station, the industrial areas, and the lumberyards lining the edge of the Ruad.

The four quarters (five if you count the citadel) are named for the ring roads that originally surrounded them, but over centuries the built-up area has expanded to all but bury their original shapes. The east ring is where most of the usual city business takes place, mixed housing and shops and markets and everything else you could imagine. It's the oldest part of the city outside the citadel. This includes the city's singular Suzette hospital which is inconveniently located as far from everyone as possible. the north ring is the heart of industry in Inver, with hundreds of smokestacks, brick yards, furnaces, and foundries all in relatively close range of their own dock system (not drawn.. i forgor). Although it's a greatly productive area, it's also the poorest; extremely crowded tenements, poor facilities, housing built rapidly and without much care to provide for the mainly immigrant workers at the factories. Although the buildings are newer than the average east ring tenement, they are not pleasant.

The south ring is the rich-but-not-noble district, it consists of relatively new buildings, as the new rich of Invergorken have only recently come about as a separate phenomenon to the gentry of the citadel. These capitalists are responsible for much of the north ring & its development. The buildings in the south ring are deceptive; they look old, built to ape the style of the ancient buildings in the citadel, as clout-chasing upper class citizens struggle to elevate themselves on the same level as the nobility. Here you will find the Stagsons' black market as well as the Barnyard opera house and its adjoining brothel. The businesses are relatively fancy and cater to upper class tastes, like the Fernery which is for anybody who wants to take in the healing properties of nature without actually having to go outside.

The west ring is another new area, mainly built up by slightly richer immigrants from the western duchy of Moya, as this is the area of Invergorken you must travel through to get to Moya in the west, as well as all of the west-coast towns. It has a new train station and the beginnings of a new railway, though no trains run on it yet. The majority of iron from the north ring foundries is transported here to facilitate the building of the railway, which stretches all the way to Aberharain.

The citadel (or, in common parlance, the Hound's Den) is where the king and nobility go. It consists of a hexagonal wall with watch towers at each point, with portcullis gates opening out to several main thoroughfares. Many of the canals in the city actually arise from the citadel; the limestone bedrock is riddled with underground caverns and rivers, and these emerge at the surface within the citadel. The citadel contains the townhouses of the nobility, to be used on a seasonal basis as the main family residences are usually far out in the countryside, as well as the largest of the monarchy's three palaces. The citadel palace tower is the tallest building in Invergorken (not counting the smokestacks). The palace has its own walls blocking it off from the rest of the citadel, and its grounds are divided into four gardens, one for each season. The citadel has every stupid luxury you could possibly imagine; marked on the map are the important family houses but also the dressage arena, north of which is an extensive golf course with an arboretum. Although the noble families often only live in their townhouses during seasonal events hosted by the king (solstice and equinox hunting events in particular), the citadel is mainly home to an army of staff year-round, vastly outnumbering the nobility but hidden away in back streets and purpose-built corridors. this gives the odd impression of a ghost town, servants making things perfect for absentee landlords, heating and lighting their empty houses.

[benslittlestarkiller]

Vladimir Makarov Headcannon Imagines Part 2

A continuation of part 1 but you don't have to read the last one to understand what's going on. Thanks for reading!

💋

The mansion is a sprawling Gothic estate nestled in the wooded hills of St. Petersburg. Each room filled with elegant furnitures and beautiful artwork. The mansion has the feel of a grand Russian palace, complete with rich tapestries and a grand staircase.

Vladimir has many homes throughout Easter Europe. For example the Penthouse of Moscow Lakhta Center where he had a penthouse. And now he took you in a plane private jet to St Peterberb where he had a nice palace.

">I want you Vladddy," You say as you enter his office where he does business (you don't know what it is tho).

"I'm busy right now, moya malenkaya smetana (my little sour cream)" Vdaddy said in reply. He was liok at his papers on his desk, look of concern tration on him.

You glance at floor in dissappoint.

Your eye fluttes with sad. As tear fall from eyevd. You ran away from Vladimirs office where you collided with a firm chest of your body guard Pavel, a young birivle attractvie byff and manly man. "Oh, Pavel," you said. "I'm so sorry excuse me..."

"It's alright Miss..." Pavel beeathed in your scent and his cheek turn pink as he feel your soft form against chest. Pink like sunset over Russian mountains. Or over Black Sea. Also pink like when you mix the yogurt into the borscht (a Ukraininan dish).

Salthouggh your hearts on ly beat for your Vladdy ou can't help but buosh as you see the blush like the sunset of the black sea on the rosy cheeks of Pavel. He was your age too, not an old man like Vladimir (unless you are picturingthe 2023 Reboot Vladimir in which case Pavel and he are about same age).

OASSION Rhere is looked of uncertain yet uundeniable PASSION that bubbled up like a pot of cooking foods in kitchen of palace, of Vladimirs gome, but you never went there it was the servants place not yours as Vladimirs TSARINE.

HE hands come up to toxuch waste. He hand warm bur not as large and rough as Vladmir Pavela hands were thin and bony like the bones left over after taking all the meat off the chicken but your maid did it for you so you didn't know anyrhing bout cocking clean or maid things. That was for poor people

You breathed out a moan of desire as Pavel touché you. "Pavel, we can't......" Ypu suad.

"He does n have to j kow,"pabel sai

"But.... he in there" you gestured to the offive door wide open

"So?" Pavel push you against Wale

I moan loud like whale in sea but probably not black sea (I'm not sure, pls marine bilogy timblr tell me if whales in black sea)

As moan loud vlsDIMOR put down paper in office. He grab glock from under desk, as his browns ferrowed/creased deeply in annoyance “Vhat is zat?” he askred a

s he made he way too the door two find the two of you psvrl and you pressed against the whale. bodies pressed together in a passionate and steamy embrace.

Panel had strated eto kiss along your neck and his lips were touching your pulse pount. VLADimgr saw RED.

I BREAK KNEEE!!!!

“ he screanmed

loud as thunde3r

Pavel immediately pissed his pants

the room’s hallway filled with the scent of urine. which made Vladimire even more mad. “That carpet cost million rubels@!”

Vladmir tke gun and point at Pastvel knee. The knee cap burt in expllosion of red viscera and Pabel creamde

Vladmir stood over Pavel and look at him with green eye, “ while the blue eye look at AyOu

You shiuvered under his penetrating gaze

It touched you deeply in your core and made your tsarina parts (as vladdy called it)

WET like a bottle of vodka

taken out of freezer and left to chill on counter, drips of condensation drippign down the side

You looked back at Vladmir “No, don’t hurt Pavel, he didnt do anything”

“HE TOUCHED YOU??? You bELGONG to ME! Not HE!!!”

“Tjat why I BREAKING KNEE!!” He say calmly, in a voice that chilled you to the bone like Lake BAikal in midst of cold Russia winter

Tear fall from your eye balls as you say “It meant nothing to me. I love you Vladdy. I sweat.”

Pavel screaming in pain still as he bleeds out on the carpet. Vladimir steps over him, bringing hand to your kneck.

He grips softly, but not hardly.

“Promise me,” He seeth. “Promise me youre MINE.”

‘I yours!”

He smile at you and his grop on your hip tightens, dgging into soft flesh like dough of unbaked bread in the morning at the bakery down thre street that your servants picked up for you.,

Vladmir push you up aga8nst the opposite wail, against a gilt framed painting of a woman

Actually it was the famous russian pwainting “The Last Day. OF Pompeii” buy artist Karl Bruylokovs

(sporry for spelling mistake keyboard still hard to tip with) 💔

)

Psinting wobble on wall as Vlamir push you up against in it, you man in pain but also pleasure as you feel his body press into yours.

Your reach back behind to grab holds of painting,m ripping open the canvas with your acrylics

The rip is loud and vladmir smile smat you. “Naughty girl.: “

HGe smirks

“Noo im’ a good girl, vladdy,”

“Oh really, my little sour cream?” He

“Yes”

“Then why were you with that bastardous trator PAvel? Huh? You’ve been bad, you’ve been a naiughtly little WHORE”

“Your walls clench at his words, you feel yourself getting wetter as your secretions flow from you like vodka pouring into a glass.:”

“What”

Vladimir pressed his aching ock agaisnt your pussy where it was covered with your expensive armani dress

HE RIP DRESS]

in his hasty desperation to have access yo tour tsarina part

His throbbing cok was a large as AK 47 and ready to be shot. He aligns hinself in your entrace and thrust inside like a train arriving at the Moscow metro station, and your cunty was just as deep but tight like the tunnels of train

you moan in unbridle pleasure and lusty as he fill you deeplu , he trust into you so hard the painting frsme shook and broke

But neither of your cared too much abot this piece of Culture being destoryed, even Vladdy who loved Russia did nt care cuz your pussy felt so good, the grip of your tsarina aparts eased the anger inside home turning it into firey passion of love. You make him eel things he thought he never feel.

He want make baby inside you, make son, cute and small like Cheburashka. Vladimir’s favorite cartoon when he wass a childe (both OG and reboot)

His trusts grew harder and farter as he filled you deeper

Farter and fatter he thrusts

You were lost to bliss as he pounded your cunty

You wailed like you had just seen baba yaga in the forest but these were wais of pleasire not fear

Your wills grippped him as you started to lose control of your senses, your body shake violently like a bartender shaking up a malibu barbie pink cocktial with vodka, raspberry lemonade, grenadine and edible glitter well shaken and poured over ice with a pink heart shaped straw that the two of you enjoyed whn you went to see the Barbie movie together) and as you grip the paitning behind you, ripping it to shreds as you come on his cookie, Vladimnir throw his head back and growl out like a wolf in woods holwing to the moone.

He come deep inside womb, filling you wit thick heft and creamy condensed mlik like spurts like a Matryoshka doll as you put the dolls inside one another.

You two stay entwines and he rubs your belly with his large man hand, hariy on knuckles, “Mone.” he say, voice filled with devoation for yOU

SHorytly after your love makeing was completed, Vladimir whisked you away to bedroom. Maid came along and swept up destroyed artwork and cleaned blood and urine from carpet. Pavel’s family never saw his son nor his body for the funarl. closed casket. Presumed Missing. but in reality dumped into Neva river. His young wife and three children cry. Little do they know that Pavel was in love with You, so he was unfaitfu….

9 months later

Mikhail and Vladimir Jr sat in front of television watching the cartoon Masha and the Bear, Baby Mikhail was newborn and still had baby soft spot on head and needed to be supported with a baby chair, Vladimir Sr smiled wistfully, remembering his own childhood when he lived with his familyu in Khrushchevka in the city of Ivanono where he live with his mother and father and luttle brother and when in 1980 when he watched the 1980 Moscow Olympics and the bear was named misha which is what he and You decide to name your son after the bear.

Vlsdmir and yiou watch family as maid cook and clean.

The wen d

[jomiddlemarch]

touching each forehead, breathing a soul into each immeasurable other

“The problem with wanting,” Aleksander paused, touching her cheek very lightly as if it were a choice and not the consequence of how they had come together, touching her cheek as if she would not recoil and so to spite him, she did not recoil, “is that it makes us weak.”

Candlelight trembled around them, the sense of his shadows as powerful as their actual presence. Alina held her breath, her eyes focused on his lips, curiously more sensitive to him through the tether than she might have been should he have been standing before her in the flesh. He would kiss her next, she was sure of it, and also as uncertain as she’d been when the Fjerdan assassin had tried to murder her in the field twelve miles out of Os Alta. He must and he wouldn’t, not if she listened to the words he said, if she heard the timbre of his voice within her mind like a bell tolled across the sea as a warning of a storm. Or a fire.

She would taste smoke when he kissed her, the fragrance of destruction, of autumn leaves bright a second time in an early evening.

He leaned closer—and pressed his lips very gently to the center of her forehead, a gesture without any carnal desire, the tenderness given as a blessing. He kissed the scar above her brow, whose provenance remained unknown, an injury survived. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the look in his, and he kissed her closed eyelids, even more delicately, first the left and then the right, his hand still cradling her jaw. Next he kissed the apple of her cheek, the slight roughness of his beard against her more compelling than any profession of adoration. He murmured something, some word of endearment in Ravkan so old she could only just recognize it as the most distant echo of the language she spoke, his intonation grave and pure. He kissed her temple and spot beside her mouth where she dimpled when she smiled, each caress filled with a tremendous warmth and the most generous affection that asked her for nothing, praised her for everything, that conveyed respect and delight without any demand or condition.

“I don’t want you,” he said.

“You don’t,” she said, as evenly as she could. He saw the self-control she mustered to keep the remark a statement, not a question.

“I love you,” he replied. “That is something beyond want, beyond need.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said. He would argue now, that he had given her ample evidence of his uncompromising devotion, had shared himself in degrees unfamiliar to anyone else living, had made love to her with a near-abandon and sought her with an unflagging determination; he would make excuses for the stag’s collar and the Fold, excuses for himself and excuses for her. He would argue and she would stop him with her mouth on his, taking the words from his tongue with her own ravishing.

“I know, moya dusha, I know and I carry that, the way I carry the wounds on my face, my hand,” he said. “I hope you will stop needing to believe and will begin to feel. To know that whatever mistakes I have made—and there have been too many—that I have loved you throughout, so thoroughly I could not always have recognized it, as I could not always be aware of the blood in my veins, the thoughts that I would dream when I dared to sleep.”

“A pretty speech,” she said. She tried to sneer and failed, the words uttered with more despair than she would have liked him to have noticed.

“A pack of lies is what you mean, but I cannot find a way to make the truth truer,” he said. “I would ask you to consider, for your own safety, those you have decided to join forces with, their motives, their actions and the consequences thereof—”

“Because you’re so much better? So much kinder and gentler?” she snapped.

“Marie, Pavel and Polina are not here to speak for themselves, but they died for you and the Little Palace, at the hands of the ones you call allies,” Aleksander said. “You have told me yourself of Orestev’s choices. Nikolai is the best of the Lantsovs but true only to himself, absent when the people have needed him most. It may take more to kill you than an otkazat’sya, but Grisha, Summoners such as we are, are not true immortals. I have trusted the wrong people myself. I have paid the price in my own blood and in the breath of those I loved most dearly. I would not have that for you. Become a Sankta if you will—don’t become a martyr.”

“You’re not being fair,” she said. He touched her cheek again, brushed back the hair coming loose around her face. No one had ever looked at her with such an expression before, knowing and care inextricable, Alina herself precious.

“I’m sorry I haven’t made a world for you where that matters,” he said. “I tried, Saints know I’ve tried but I failed. I didn’t want this for you—”

“I’m not a child,” she said.

“You are my beloved, whatever I am to you,” he said. “I’ll leave you now, but you have only to call for me and I will answer.”

“And if I don’t call? If I never call?” she asked.

“I will still wait for you. Waiting in a world you live in is nothing to me—I waited so long in the world before you came, when you were only a hope, not Alina,” he said, smiling at her. His dark eyes shone, perhaps with tears. The tether made it difficult to ascertain, though she tasted salt in her own mouth. He began to retreat, the space between them opening, his image losing definition.

“Don’t,” she said, her impulse made into a word, a gesture with her palm outstretched, the one that would take his injured hand. She hadn’t stopped herself, finding, when she considered it, that she didn’t want to.

“Don’t go.”

[jrlrc]

De narcopolítica y payasadas “intelectuales”

Si Genaro García Luna es/fue político narco porque lo dicen testimonios de narcos “politizados” en Estados Unidos, entonces, Rubén Rocha Moya es/sigue siendo político narco porque lo dicen testimonios de narcos “politizados” en Estados Unidos.

Si para los obradoristas García Luna es narco sólo por esos testimonios, lógicamente bastarían esos testimonios para decir consistentemente que Rocha Moya es narco. Excepto que seas verdaderamente obradorista…

Excepto que seas obradorista puesto que el obradorismo “intelectual” es un costra mental-cultural derivada de heridas políticas que acumula (la costra) contradicciones insalvables. En este momento, “intelectuales” obradoristas -como el doctor Carlitos Pérez Ricart- porfían en la exculpación del gobernador obradorista de Sinaloa: no es narco porque los que dicen que lo es son narcos… “Los narcos son malos! No hay que creerles, hablan para salvarse”. Defienden al miembro de su partido (Rocha Moya) al mismo tiempo que, contradiciéndose, mantienen que García Luna es narco porque los que dicen que lo es son narcos… “Los narcos confiesan! Hay que creerles, saben de lo que hablan”.

Obviamente, hay una similitud y conexión con muchos calderonistas, que mantienen la “inocencia” de García Luna y Felipe Calderón, desconfiando de entrada de testimonios en procesos judiciales gringos, pero no dudan de que AMLO y Morena sean narcopolítica, confiando en testimonios en procesos judiciales gringos. Me repito: los obradoristas y los calderonistas no son tan diferentes entre sí, no tanto como ellos creen: defienden partidistamente a políticos que muy probablemente fueron o son narcos, defienden de una forma u otra que sus líderes no hayan legalizado ni la marihuana, “justifican” que se continúe la “guerra contra las drogas”, y hasta coinciden en algo de política económica, como el palero David Bak Geler oponiéndose a la reforma fiscal “progre” que él no ve que se integra y complementa con la legalización de drogas -regularlas es ponerles impuestos-, oponiéndose como haría cualquier calderonista “antiprogre”.

Para mí, los testimonios de narcos no son lo único ni bastan para afirmar sin duda que un político es narco, pero esas declaraciones (judiciales o no) son en sí mismas hechos que no deben ignorarse. Deben pensarse y relacionarse. Pueden ser tomadas en cuenta para juicios y críticas porque pueden incluir otros hechos… Específicamente, los testimonios contra García Luna y Rocha Moya son parte de la masa de evidencia sobre sus relaciones con narcotraficantes. Desde ahí, desde el conjunto del que forman parte los testimonios alrededor o dentro de juicios (trials), se puede afirmar que el calderonista y el obradorista son dos casos de narcopolítica. Contra Rocha Moya no existe solamente la carta de “El Mayo” Zambada difundida por su abogado en el contexto de la acción legal que se inicia en Estados Unidos, hay más evidencia, sobre la que se puede leer en la columna de Héctor de Mauleón en El Universal.

Y lógicamente -de la lógica sobre hechos y dichos obradoristas-, hay que repetir:

Si García Luna fue narcopolítico, Rocha Moya lo es.

Si Rocha Moya no es narcopolítico, García Luna no lo es.

Si los “intelectuales” de AMLO defienden a Rocha Moya con los “argumentos” que usan, lo que implican es que García Luna es inocente -y que deberían desdecirse sobre él.

Si esos “intelectuales” culpan a García Luna por los testimonios narcos, lo que implican es la culpabilidad de Rocha Moya.

Así, defendiendo a Rocha Moya están defendiendo a un político narco. Cómo se verá ese dato en su futuro CV público?

El problema de la política narca en México es real. No sólo es un problema obradorista pero ciertamente es también obradorista. Esa marca que pesa cada vez más sobre su partido no se la quitará jamás el dizque santo en vida Andrés Manuel. Otro problema es que Pérez Ricart, Bak Geler, o Jorge Gómez Naredo y Víctor Alejandro Espinoza Valle, Violeta Vázquez Rojas y Vanessa Romero o tantos más, sólo son payasos del rodeo político, académico y mediático. No intentan ser graciosos sino parecer serios pero terminan haciendo el ridículo: payasos. Sus estupideces en incongruente defensa de lo indefendible tampoco se olvidarán.

[thatfangirlofsb]

Fic List

The Crows

Plan C

Nikolai x reader

Reign in the seas

Zoyalai

Like a sankta

Moya tsaritsa (1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7). Finished.

Your highness (1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (Epilogue). Finished.

Lista de fanfics

Los Cuervos

Plan C

Nikolai x reader

Reinar en los mares

Zoyalai

Como una sankta

Moya tsaritsa (1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7). Terminado.

Su alteza (1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (Epílogo). Terminado.

[endreal]

Mixtape Monday: the sea-longing. Thanks :)

I was being actively encouraged to just list Gay Pirates by Cosmo Jarvis 5 times but ultimately I decided to relent and make an actual playlist

Saltwater, by Chicane ft. Moya Brennan

Come Sail Away, by Styx (I know, I know, but bear with me in this one!)

Brandy, by Looking Glass

The Downeaster 'Alexa', by Billy Joel

...and Gay Pirates, by Cosmo Jarvis

[glame]

Privilege pt.1

A/N : i just wanted to write something about toxic!rafe. im such a whore for angst. and for Rafe angst? you name it. it is long. so im gonna publish it as parts. i hope you like it. its a bit long i know but its not done yet.

TW : ANGST. cursing, drugs.

''Mrs. Country Club! its a pleasure to having you here.'' Barry shouted as he saw you.

you were looking for Rafe for the last hour. he was supposed to be with you. at the Country Club. for your 'after dinner coctail'. and guesss what everyone, he didnt show up. so here you are at the Cut in your denim skirt and a white corse top with white Converse's and hundreds of golden accesories on you.

''is he here?'' you asked with an angry face and a tone. you were angry. he started doing this shit since beginning of this summer.

''he blacked out. what the hell are you doing to this boy?'' he laughed.

''when did he get here?''

''i dont know. like… it was 4 or 5 i think.'' Barry sipped from his beer.

''you cant be serious. its 9!''

''it is?'' it surprised him.

''where the hell is he, Barry?''

''there.'' he pointed. ''he was talking abot something fancy. you Kooks like fancy shits.''

you ignored him and headed to Rafe. he was laying on the couch. white powder around his nose. sweat. he really blacked out. you didnt say anything. as the time Barry sat down on the other couch.

''how much do you want to stop selling this shit to him?'' you suddenly asked.

he started laughing. ''what are you talking about princess?''

''you heard me. i wont repeat myself.''

''nah, girl. i wont do that.'' he was lighting a joint.

''im offering you money. what is it you wont do? you will do

everything for money.'' you looked at him.

''you give me money once then we are done. but Country Club? he gives me money every day, princess.'' he laughed. ''and you think he will be okay with this? he will come to me with more money just for this shit.''

it made you angry. clearly. ''good night Barry.'' you left his house. you left Rafe. tears all over your face.

when you got home your dad stopped you. ''you're early, moya lyubov.'' he was drinking whiskey.

''yeah. its just… i… i-i dont wanna talk about it.'' you knew, youre gonna cry if you talk. and for you Russian dad nothing can make you cry. he would kill Rafe. if only he knew.

''okay. want some popcorn and wine?'' thats your bad mood recipe. popcorn and wine.

''please.'' you crawled to the couch while he was in the kitchen.

''what are your plans for tomorrow darling?'' you could hear the corns popping.

''no plans. what about you?'' choosing what to watch.

''no plans either. what about Tennis or Golf?'' he was trying to hype you. but if you gonna go Golf that means you gonna see Rafe. and you dont wanna see him.

''Tennis sounds nice. we can make it work.'' you choose one of the stupid reality shows. and he sat down next to you.

''i love you so much. i would do anything for you. i just want you to be happy.'' he kissed your cheeks. ''youre my everything. you mean the world to me.'' he hugged you. ''my baby.''

since your mother left you you grew up with nanas and your two doberman dogs. but your dad was so good for you to feel the emptyness of not having a mother. Figure 8 was so good for you. a summer place. wealthy families, big grass fields, houses with big gardens, sea, children. since youve known yourself youre living in this heaven. and since youve known yourself your dad always telling 'i dont have anything but you. youre my world. my everything. youre the only person i love. youre my baby. i would do anything for my baby.' you havent understood. you know youre wealthy, you have bodyguards, you have nanas, cars but your dad was saying i dont have anything. as you grow up you understand what he has been saying.

you felt the phone vibrating in your pocket. you took a look what was it. it was Rafe. 'im sorry baby. i know i fucked up. ill make that up. ok? i love you so fucking much. plz answer me when you see this. i promise ill make that up' you ignored his texts. always same words. same texts. same things. nothing changes.

….

''okay baby. give me your hand.'' he was holding your hand. and leading you.

''Rafe, where are we going?'' you didnt know where you were going. but it must have been something with his 'make up'. he took you from home. after your dad and your Tennis day.

''we are here.'' he opened your eyes.

a scene. two big pillows and a bottle of wine. with cotton candies. you like this activity. he knows. every week you go to open air cinema. but this week you have some big problems like him not showing up. so you looked at him.

''its Ocean's.'' he showed you the pizza box. ''and we have four-cheese too.'' he was giving you puppy eyes.

you smiled. ''dont make me cry ever again.'' his smile dropped. ''never baby, never.'' he kissed you.

you spent all night watching Ocean's. yeah. 11, 12, 13, 8. four of them.

''i love you. i love you so fucking much. you cant even imagine. but i fuck up. youre the only one who knows me. i cant manage things sometimes. i dont want to make you sad. i would never want that. and i would never mean to do that. im trying. im trying for something. i dont know if i can do it or cant. but i really am trying.'' he burried his head to your neck.

''i know baby. but somethings makes me sad. i know youre trying. and i believe you can do it. keep trying okay? you can do anything.'' your hands in his hair. ''but dont let me down. okay? i dont want that?''

''no. no, never. trust me?'' he raised his head and looked at you.

''in Rafe i trust.'' you smiled and he started to laugh his breathes were hitting to your neck.

when the movie marathon over he started to talk. something when you two stay together and he was about to sleep. ''Sarah's driving me crazy. i cant stand her. she is so dramatic. im living with the bitch.''

''dont call your sister bitch. she is not a bitch.''

''thats why im saying 'im living with her.' she is always the favorite one. and me? im the troublemaker. everythings because of me. but its not. and Wheez. i dont understand she is 13. how can you be 13? she cant drink or i dont know. it must be hard for her.'' he breathed. ''Rose is something different. she is okay but i dont know. she cares about us actually. espically dad. dad is complicated. i dont know what he wants or what he works about. he hides it from me. but from Sarah? he even called her for help. im sick of this. Top and Kelce are okay but theyre not you. i love you. its just you. you listen to me, talk to me, you love me too. you make me feel this shit. youre the only real thing. i love you baby.''

thats how you two. thats your relationship. when you were kids he always held your hand. and at the age of 7 he kissed you. but it never happened again. until you were 16. you were always close. like super close. he never allowed to any boy to hurt you, any girl to fight with you. nothing can brake your heart. he was always there for you. but not a love thing until the age of 16. he kissed you again at the park. where he kissed you first. he broke up with his one-week-girlfriend. because of you. and you kissed him back. at the age of 17 you made it official official. going parties together, pda, gifts, dinners, night walks. youre the it couple of OBX. and how toxic you are you love each other.

''i love you too Rafe.''

[a-moth-to-the-light]

Join Me: Summer of K-pop Tag!

dates: July 1 - July 31

Intro:

when i reference specific songs in these questions, i'm only including songs released in june, july, or august of whatever year! in questions where you bring in songs of your own, though, you're welcome to reference songs released in any season (i reserve the right to do that too, hehe)!

songs that are not k-pop or are not korean are also welcome for the open-answer questions, though i’ll be sticking to k-pop myself (otherwise i would be WAY too overwhelmed by choices)! i listen to music in a whole bunch of languages, so your recs in any language (and any genre!) are welcome!

i'll be (hopefully) doing a post every day in july, answering the one or two questions i've chosen (see below)! you're welcome to join in on any days you'd like to, whether you just pick a few questions that sound fun or join in every day :) post your answers under #summer of kpop 2023 so we can find you!

Questions:

one:

- what song sounds like the last day of school?

two:

- what was your song of the summer last year? (this can be your favorite song released in the summer of 2022, or just the one you associate most with that summer!)

three: summer queens :)

- brave girls: "rollin'", "chi mat ba ram", or "after we ride"?

- what's your favorite sistar song?

four:

- what do you think of hyolyn’s “see sea”? do you still listen to it?

five:

- what's your favorite summer album?

six: holy trinity, part 1

- twice: "dance the night away", "more & more", or "talk that talk"?

- what's your favorite song from twice's taste of love?

seven: holy trinity, part 2

- what’s your red velvet summer song?

eight: holy trinity, part 3

- "whistle" or "boombayah"?

- what's your favorite song from blackpink's square up?

nine: more blackpink because i said so

- what do you think of "as if it's your last"? do you still listen to it?

- do you like "pink venom"? do you still listen to it?

ten: oh yeah men exist

- what’s your go-to summer song by a boy group?

- exo: "love me right", "lucky one", or "the eve"?

eleven: does this make me seem old?

- f(x): "hot summer", "electric shock", or "red light"?

- what's your favorite song from f(x)'s pink tape?

twelve: i'm not THAT old, right?

- aoa: "moya", "short hair", or "heart attack"?

thirteen: wave best ateez era go away !!

- what's your favorite song from treasure ep.3: one to all by ateez?

fourteen: ah, fourth gen.

- what do you think of itzy's "icy"? do you still listen to it?

fifteen:

- give us a summer song that isn't k-pop! (it doesn't need to be western tho! anything that's not k-pop is welcome--go wild, anime ost enjoyers!)

sixteen: halfway point!

- what's your 2023 song of the summer so far? (i'm going to pick from songs that were released in june or july 2023, but you don't have to!)

seventeen: kindly allow me to pretend that you can't sit with us doesn't exist!

- what do you think of sunmi's “gashina”? do you still listen to it?

- sunmi: "pporappippam", "1/6", or "heart burn"?

eighteen: b-side queens.

- what's your favorite song from dreamcatcher's summer holiday?

nineteen:

- what song sounds like a vacation?

twenty: YESSSS FREEDOM !!!!!!!

- what do you think of loona's "flip that"? do you still listen to it?

- what about loona's "pose"?

twenty-one: i miss them :(

- what's your gfriend summer song?

- what's your favorite song from summer vibe by viviz?

twenty-two: and them.

- what's your iz*one summer song?

- what do you think of yena's "smartphone"? do you still listen to it?

twenty-three: this is me trying to figure out if anyone actually likes dark-concept songs released during the summer...

- what's your favorite concept to see during the summer?

twenty-four: YESS TIME FOR ONE OF MY ULTS !!

- chung ha: "love u", "play", or "demente"?

twenty-five:

- snsd: "genie", "lion heart", or "forever 1"?

twenty-six: yeah fine here's one for the bg stans

- what's your astro summer song?

- what’s your favorite song from shinee’s married to the music?

twenty-seven:

- give us a summer memory associated with a song!

twenty-eight:

- what do you think of mamamoo’s “egotistic"? do you still listen to it?

twenty-nine:

- what’s your favorite song from thrill-ing by the boyz?

thirty:

- what’s your favorite song with the word ‘summer’ in the title?

thirty-one:

- what’s your favorite song released this month?

- what’s your favorite question from this challenge?

BONUS (AUG 1): share your most-streamed songs of july 2023!

[marilynlennon]

The Center for Creative Photography presents a public artist's talk by Masao Yamamoto, a visiting photographer from Japan. This lecture was in conjunction with Etherton Gallery presenting the photographs of Rodrigo Moya, Graciela Iturbide and Masao Yamamoto in Mementos. The exhibition highlighted the photograph as keepsake, a token of remembrance instilled with memories and dreams long past.

The photobook “Sasanami” exists as a collaboration between photographer Masao Yamamoto and musician Akira Uchida, initiated by French publishing house Iikki.

Yamamoto’s photographs capture sights and events from the natural world – back-lit flowers, a single cloud in the sky, the sea at night, a tree at night against the stars, three sleeping ducks, the barely visible shape of a mountain behind fog – with unparalleled admiration, poetry and an eye for beauty. While the simplicity of his compositions invite the reader to get lost in single pictures, when viewed in sequence the photographs build towards a bigger picture, towards a heightened awareness of the world’s richness.

The soundtrack to the book is provided by Akira Uchida (with contribution by Miu Sakamoto), whose atmospheric melodies heighten the primordial and ephemeral aspects of Yamamoto’s images.

Each copy of the book includes a bandcamp coupon for a free download of the music album.

Masao Yamamoto

more

[acapulcopress]

Si Rocha es culpable de nexos con el narco, no habrá impunidad | Sheinbaum

CIUDAD DE MÉXICO * 15 de octubre 2024. ) Apro En caso de que el gobernador de Sinaloa, Rubén Rocha Moya, resulte responsable de los señalamientos de presuntos nexos con el narcotráfico, que no haya impunidad como con cualquiera, “es cero impunidad”, afirmó la presidenta Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo. La mandataria también pidió no especular en torno a Rocha Moya, a quien el propio exrector de la Universidad Autónoma de Sinaloa, Héctor Melesio Cuen, señaló por enriquecimiento inexplicable y de otras irregularidades; además de la declaración de Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada en torno a que lo convocaban a una reunión con funcionarios, entre ellos el gobernador. “Yo creo que no hay que especular sino sencillamente si hay algo que se diga, y si no pues también que se deje de especular sobre esto (...) Desde mi punto de vista, porque es acusar a alguien sin pruebas no es bueno, hay que hacer que actúen las instancias correspondientes”. - ¿En caso de que sea responsable el gobernador, que se proceda conforme...? -Cualquiera, no hay impunidad, hay cero impunidad, pero tampoco es justo que se especule sobre un gobernador o gobernadora, si hay pruebas que se presenten. También aseguró que sobre el caso del mandatario estatal, “en todo caso es la fiscalía General de la República que atrajo el caso del exrector de la Universidad Autónoma de Sinaloa y ellos pues están haciendo en todo caso la investigación, ellos son los que tendrían que informar”. Dijo que a la Fiscalía General de la República (FGR)  le corresponde hacer la presentación del informe que considera que puede dar. “Le corresponde a la Fiscalía, nosotros lo que tenemos con ellos ahora es buscamos más coordinación para la actuación permanente, pero ellos tienen autonomía y definen si se informa o no y cómo porque también hay líneas de investigación que tienen que ellos guardar para poder seguir desarrollando”. En la edición de octubre, Proceso publicó que “el Centro Nacional de Inteligencia (CNI) y los servicios de inteligencia militar ´dan seguimiento personal y mantienen vigilado´ a Rocha Moya por instrucciones del entonces presidente Andrés Manuel López Obrador y con el aval de la presidenta, Claudia Sheinbaum”. “Los documentos de inteligencia del gobierno federal, fechados en septiembre, consignan que, además del mandatario estatal, su hijo José Rocha Ruiz también es vigilado; éste, de hecho, es señalado como el vínculo entre el gobernador y la facción de Los Chapitos del Cártel de Sinaloa vía altos funcionarios, como el titular del Servicio de Administración Tributaria de Sinaloa (SATES), José Carlos Cárdenas Mellado, designado en el cargo por el propio Rocha el 19 de agosto último”, indica la publicación. En otro reportaje también se informó que “fuentes del Departamento de Supervisión e Inteligencia de la Oficina de Aduanas y Protección Fronteriza en Estados Unidos (CBP, por sus siglas en inglés) revelaron a Proceso que no existe ningún ingreso a nombre de Rubén Rocha Moya a aquel país en la fecha que él asegura haber entrado a Los Ángeles”. Agrega que “las fuentes realizaron una búsqueda exhaustiva utilizando el nombre completo del gobernador de Sinaloa, una búsqueda con su nombre parcial y utilizando su fecha de nacimiento para encontrar su registro de entrada, pero el sistema no arrojó resultados”. ) www.acapulcopress.com Read the full article

[elmartillosinmetre]

Ángeles de la guitarra

[El compositor hispano-cubano Eduardo Morales-Caso (La Habana, 1969) / D.S.]

El compositor Eduardo Morales-Caso publica una antología de su música para guitarra sola en un doble cedé del sello Nibius

Eduardo Morales-Caso nació en La Habana, pero su abuelo materno era asturiano y “el peso de lo español siempre fue muy importante en casa”. Había estudiado en Cuba con dos grandes maestros, Carlos Fariñas y Harold Gramatges, hasta convertirse en profesor en el Instituto Superior de Arte de La Habana. Llegó a Madrid en 1996 para hacer estudios de posgrado con Antón García Abril y en Madrid estableció su residencia hasta este mismo año en que se ha trasladado a Gijón, “principalmente por el calor. Los veranos de Madrid eran cada vez más calurosos y el clima asturiano me sienta mucho mejor. Además Gijón tiene mar y eso es maravilloso, el mar lo ilumina todo”. Además de con Fariñas, que era guitarrista, en Cuba, Eduardo también estudió con Joaquín Clerch, uno de los grandes del instrumento de nuestro tiempo, y acaso por eso la música para guitarra constituye una parte importante de su catálogo. Acaba de publicar un doble álbum con una antología de este sector de su producción.

“No soy guitarrista, pero escribí mi primera obra para guitarra en 1999. Quería celebrar veinticinco años de escritura para la guitarra y hacerlo de la mano de los intérpretes con los que yo aprendí a escribir para el instrumento. Son once, todos magníficos guitarristas, y a todos los considero amigos. Han asumido mi obra con un rigor impresionante y un compromiso técnico interpretativo que hace que mi obra suene de una manera elevada gracia a ellos, a su gran técnica y a su extraordinaria sensibilidad artística”. Ellos son los once ángeles del título. “En la numerología el once es un número angelical, un número importante, de fuerza, de poder, de espiritualidad, de conexión del hombre con el universo”. Dejemos pues aquí sus nombres: María Esther Guzmán, Pedro Rodrigo Roldán, Gabriel Estarellas, René Mora, Luis Malca Contreras, Iliana Matos, Adrián Montero Moya, Juan José Rivero Yepes, José Antonio García Fuertes, Darío Blanco y Adam Levin.

La ordenación de las obras en el disco no sigue criterios cronológicos. “No. Busqué referencias de relaciones armónicas, centros tonales y también el principio del contraste.” Acaso por eso la primera obra guitarrística del compositor, El jardín de Lindaraja (1999) y la última, Zaida’s Lament (2023), están seguidas al comienzo del segundo disco de la antología. “Con El jardín de Lindaraja gané en 2001 el Premio Andrés Segovia en La Herradura, en Granada. Yo quería rendir homenaje a la música española y es por eso una obra de inspiración alhambrista. Y Zaida’s Lament tiene también una inspiración andalusí. Son lenguajes muy distantes, porque mi música ha evolucionado, pero hay conexiones a nivel motívico y temático”.

No le resulta fácil a Eduardo identificar las influencias de su música, pues considera que ha conseguido un estilo muy personal. “Mi obra para guitarra, por ejemplo, se diferencia muchísimo de la que se hacía antes, por la elaboración de las texturas, el tratamiento del color, del timbre, los rasgueados tan particulares, las relaciones interválicas... Busco sobre todo el lirismo y el contraste. Yo pongo la guitarra a cantar como si fuera un violín, como si fuera un violonchelo. Creo que soy un compositor que pocas veces aburro, porque doy mucha importancia al contraste. No sé si eso es una virtud o un defecto, pero establezco realmente muchos materiales contrastantes dentro del discurso para que este sea mucho más atractivo". Eduardo piensa que las vanguardias de los 60 y los 70 “fueron una moda impresionante y una novedad extraordinaria, pero se ha quedado en eso y lo más interesante en la actualidad es que hay una convivencia, hay una confluencia de dimensiones estéticas diversas, eso es lo que enriquece realmente este siglo XXI. Como estudiante tuve que trabajar todas estas estéticas y todas estas tendencias de los 60 y los 70, pero lo hice como ejercicios, luego uno elige. Y yo lo hice en libertad: mi música es atonal, contemporánea, de este siglo, pero tiene unas características muy específicas, un lenguaje muy lírico, muy melódico, con entonaciones muy precisas y muy características que definen mi expresión estética. No es una música efectista, no trabajo la gestualidad, ni la aleatoriedad; a mí siempre me gusta que mi música sea reconocida como es, con las notas reales que son, independientemente de la interpretación de cada ejecutante”.

La antología se ha publicado en el sello Nibius, heredero de Verso, donde editó Morales-Caso su primer álbum en España, y las tomas elegidas son muy especiales, ya que son tomas hechas por los propios intérpretes, “a veces en los estrenos, a veces en sus casas; me las han cedido generosamente. Por ejemplo, en la de María Esther Guzmán suenan unos pajaritos de fondo, me encanta eso. Tengo que citar sin más remedio a Luis del Toro Modolell, el ingeniero de sonido que ha hecho la masterización, un trabajo impresionante por el que le estoy muy agradecido”.

[Diario de Sevilla. 4-08-2024]

La ficha ELEVEN ANGELS Eduardo Morales-Caso (1969) Il sogno delle streghe [2001]. [María Esther Guzmán] Fleeting reminiscences [2013]. [Pedro Rodrigo Roldán] Samskara [2010]. [Gabriel Estarellas] Trois sortilèges [2012]. [René Mora] The fragile loch [2015]. [Luis Malca Contreras] El jardín de Lindaraja [1999]. [Iliana Matos] Zaida's lament [2023]. [Adrián Montero Moya] Three oriental glimpses [2020]. [Juan José Rivero Yepes] Intangible Maelstrom [2016]. [José Antonio García Fuertes] The Lake's glistening moon [2018]. [Darío Blanco] Diabolical rumours [2003]. [Adam Levin] Nibius (2 CD)

ELEVEN ANGELS EN SPOTIFY

[ricardian-werewolf]

Chapter 1: stars ‘round his wrists

Ao3 link.

Abstract:

Alina Starkov is a saint of the empty, of the space between nightmares and dreams. For this is the space she now inhabits after her escape from the White Cathedral. Yet in her darkness, a hazel-eyed fox waits with light left to burn.

Tws: mentions of almost death, implied mental illness (Alina)

Word Count: 3,945.

Extract below the cut:

“Should we discuss the matter that brought us here?” she murmured, her voice gathering strength. He looked up, and that smirk returned. “Do you wish to, Moya Solneste ?” He murmured, his voice dropping several octaves as he steadied her dangerously tilted cup of tea. Alina nodded, folded her hands. “Then.” Nikolai reached for his notebook and a fountain pen. “Begin.” And she did. All of it spilled from her lips. The visions, the pain, the fear, the feelings of madness drowning her mind in a morass of panic and suffering. The words the Darkling had spat in her ear, snarling. How he would be her shelter when it all came crashing down. Her fight to resist. The fight in the Little Palace, her draining the Darkling of his powers. The blackness of that state between life and death. Her awakening in the White Cathedral. Everything. All of it. Not a word misspoken, not a plot-beat spared. She stopped watching him anxiously soon enough, and let herself cry, panic, and turn enraged. All of it flowed out of her. She felt like she was ripping the bindings of several rotting wounds off her skin, and a part of her was gleeful for it. To let these wounds feel the warm air was nothing short of a miracle. Several cups of tea were placed into her hands, several gentle kisses to her temples, endless hand-squeezes. All of it, Nikolai gifted her with no expectation of reciprocity unless she was ready. His pen flowed across the paper, scratched out words when she back-tracked for further context, drew diagrams to depict the shifting tides of allegiance. His notebook was filled with an accurate map of her escape from the White Cathedral, lists of those who made it out, with a question mark next to Sergei.  Alina sat back in the velvet chair, and buried her face in her hands. “How can you still love me, even with this?” she whispered. Nikolai clicked the lid on his pen, and set both aside. He shifted forward in his seat and took her hands, his thumbs rubbing over the sea-whip’s scales.  “Because love makes no sense to those swimming in its tide. Yet, it’s a tide that brings you home when you need it the most, a tide that keeps you buoyant when storms rock your craft. It would never turn against you. I would never leave you to drown, Alina. Not even with your not telling me of the Darkling’s visitations. Am I disappointed? Yes. But not in you. I’m disappointed that your past made you so diseased as to shield yourself from a world that had offered you naught but cruelty and mistrust.” Alina’s eyes swam with tears, and in the low light of the Anbaric lamp, Nikolai swore that her gold irises glittered like miniature stars. How he hungered to bring her powers back to her, to bestow them upon her as if he was but a pilgrim worshiping a Sankta. Yet, he was merely a king, a mortal man in love with a woman who would live lifetimes over his.

[ivanreydereyes]

Me ha gustado MUCHO sofia COMAS..tanto porque es CONCIERTO..con una TEMATICA como es el AMOR Y LA OSCURIDAD=ALGO TORMENTOSO Y CONFUSO QUE TE TIENE DORMIDO Y EMBRUJADO..como por la PUESTA EN ESCENA..CANTA BIEN..es TEATRERA y ATRACTIVA [Solo llevaba 1/2 litro de CERVEZA ESTRELLA DORADA Y TODO CUENTA jaja]..a su SALUD.

Por cierto..nació en MONTREAL [ciudad más al norte en la q he estado..dormía en CAJEROS CON CALEFACCION por lo q fotografie uno en cuya pantalla salía un chico y chica mordiendo una MANZANA con lema DARE=DESAFIO..y me compre unas NEW BALANCE con suela de POKER DE REYES ]..aunque su familia es de LA RIOJA=LOGRo+cOÑO

Por cierto..justo en la curva de entrada ELEVADA de la M_30 hacia el Paseo de la CASTELLANA a la Altura de Hospital LA PAZ..una TIPA quiso dar la CURVA como si estuviera en un CIRCUITO O INVADIENDO MI CARRIL..y porque he reaccionado echándome a la izquierda..sino me tira la MUY PUTA jaja

Por cierto..el Boxeador xavi MOYA se mató en el cruce de Avda de ARAGON con calle SICILIA en BARCELONA xq se topo con una jodida separación del carril bici..cualquier cosa q no sea un carril bici por la acera como en SEVILLA..ES UNA LOCURA

Si tengo que derribar CIUDADES O MANZANAS para hacer ciudades o MANZANAS SANAS..lo haré..con chinos..bloques de 10 pisos en 28 horas y rascacielos de 57 pisos en 19 dias