#this brings me such joy they are so talented and clearly having a great time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chaosincurate · 1 year ago

Text

My month in music - August 2023

Black Country, New Road - Ants From Up There (relisten)

Young Fathers - Heavy Heavy (relisten)

Mitski - Puberty 2

Mitski - Be the Cowboy

Japanese Breakfast - Soft Sounds from Another Planet (relisten)

Japanese Breakfast - Jubilee (relisten)

Kate Bush - The Dreaming

SZA - Ctrl

Squid - Bright Green Field (relisten)

Squid - O Monolith (relisten)

Black Country, New Road - For the First Time (not for the first time)

Godspeed You! Black Emperor - Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven

Genesis Owusu - Struggler (new)

shame - Food For Worms (new)

IDLES - Joy as an Act of Resistance

IDLES - Brutalism

Blur - The Ballad of Darren (new)

Write-ups below

I'm gonna be honest, I'm way later to this than I'd like to be so I'm gonna try to just absolutely blitz through these so I can get onto a project that might end up taking a lot of work'

Black Country, New Road - Ants From Up There

Note to self: make a post dedicated to this album. It's musically meticulous and thematically compelling, and some of the lyrical work is truly crushing, like you are watching a man crumble slowly over the course of the album's hour-long runtime. It's an absolutely incredible work of art and would be one of my go-tos to demonstrate the unique potential of albums as a format.

With that last note in mind, I would of course recommend a back-to-back listen above all else, but if you must try a song first, I'd suggest the first proper song Chaos Space Marine

Young Fathers - Heavy Heavy

This is one of those warm albums that feel really communal and welcoming. It's got more angry moments - I Saw, for example has a war drum rhythm to it as the vocals on the verse are practically spat out - but for the most part, this is a very laid-back listen that captures an improvisational magic without the drawbacks that usually brings.

The previously mentioned I Saw is definitely my favourite from the album, but as I said, it doesn't exactly embody the album's best features. If you want a song that does that, try Geronimo. The song's lyrics tend to speak on the negative sides of life and the inevitability of it's end, but the music, along with some important glimmers within the lyrics, tell you that there is a beauty to even that.

Mitski - Puberty 2

I hear we're all gay here, so I imagine you all know that Mitski is good by now, but just to confirm, Mitski is good. I had heard Bury Me at Makeout Creek a while ago, and intended to listen to more after that, but the first song I heard outside that album was My Body's Made of Crushed Little Stars, which is a great song, but gave me the total wrong idea of this album. Yes, there is a little more experimentation than I remember being on BMAMC, but I was under the impression that it would be way more abrasive from that first impression, and that's great for 2 minutes, but over a whole album, that'd be a lot, at least for me.

I am glad that I eventually got around to this though, because it was a great album. I would have been particularly worse off never having heard Your Best American Girl. It's an excruciating story of a protagonist who is in love with someone who is of an untenably different culture to themselves, which leads to tension, embodied by parental disapproval. It's a great song delivered with buckets of emotion, particularly when the chorus hits.

Mitski - Be the Cowboy

Honestly, this one didn't hit as much for me, which given everything I heard surprised me. I found that most of these songs ended too quickly to make an impact, and I didn't see anything on the album scale to write home about either. She's still clearly demonstrating her talent, and it's still made up of good songs, but they just lacked the impact of her other two albums for me.

That being said, I did particularly enjoy Nobody. The contrast of the disco-leaning instrumental, along with the pretty bouncy vocal melody against the loneliness the lyrics speak about somehow enhance that feeling of it being out of reach. As if Mitski is being taunted by it. It's very effective.

Japanese Breakfast - Soft Sounds From Another Planet

I am just now noticing the colour theme of the albums I was listening to around this time. Something about orange and yellow spoke to me this month.

This album is incredible. It's the first true demonstration of what makes Japanese Breakfast such a great project for me. The album is broadly indie pop, but it's the form of indie pop that's special: Michelle Zauner carved a niche sound from materials of the more music nerd side of pop music with the tools of lo-fi and soundtracks. The pop music materials come simply from the quality of the production and somewhat normal song structure which come along with some slight experimentation here and there in regards to the sound of the album, that latter point bringing us to lo-fi, which also gives us that unique comfortable, cozy vibe that you hear with Japanese Breakfast, and then the soundtracks portion comes from her excellent ear for creating the ideal atmosphere for a given song's themes.

All the songs on this album, especially the first half, are amazing and pretty representative of the album's sound, but I really wanna focus on Machinist, a relatively experimental cut. It's a song about a lover not being as vulnerable with you as you'd like and that's great, as is the fact that it's conveyed through a story of a woman falling in love with a literal robot, but the instrumental really sells this. There is a constant battle between mechanical coldness and human warmth in the song best conveyed at the end where a sax solo is accompanied by a robotic synth and very faint, distant, robotic vocals. This woman is a genius.

If you'd like something a little more normal, Boyish is also very good. It's a pretty straightforward song about romantic insecurity. If the narrator and protagonist is reliable, their boyfriend is staring at a waitress instead of their date, who isn't buying his attempts at reassurance, and is desperate to feel equally as seen as the stranger he's enamored with. There's a little unreliability to the narration though, because the sentiment switches from spite to yearning often, from "if you go to her, don't expect to come home to me" to "I can't get you off my mind" (followed by the currently irrelevant, but very witty "I can't get you off in general", love that, 10/10, sad tho). That introduces a layer of personal interpretation though: is it a song about anxiety told through a wholly unreliable narrator or is it actually about your significant other not being especially sexually attracted to you? Both are very interesting, and both seem like valid interpretations to me.

Japanese Breakfast - Jubilee

I love this album so much I made a post about it earlier this month, and I'm pretty proud of it, so please check that out if you're interested in reading more than just "it good. It very good"

Kate Bush - The Dreaming

Don't ask me why this is my first Kate Bush album. I could've sworn I saw this on some list ahead of Hounds of Love or having a higher aggregated rating somewhere or something like that but I can't find it anywhere now that I'm looking for it. But anyway, this is a great album. It provided everything I expected from a Kate Bush album, the weirdness, the stylistically all-over-the-place vocals, the general theatricality... But it also took that style in different directions than I expected, such as with the menacing title track about colonialism.

The song I'd recommend would probably be the fairly expectation-aligned Sat In Your Lap though. Honestly, if you've heard a Kate Bush song before, you won't need a taster for the album at all, it's more of that, but if you need to be reassured of that, the opener is a great example of it.

SZA - Ctrl

I didn't get SOS, unfortunately, felt it was a little bloated, but maybe it's worth a revisit, because over an hour of this seems pretty great. SZA's writing is all incredibly authentic and personal, and her vocals drip sweetly over any instrumental tried here. You don't need another stranger on the internet to tell you that this is a must-listen R&B album, but here I am, yet another stranger on the internet calling this a must-listen album.

My favourite from the album is probably Drew Barrymore, a reverb-drenched song about a relationship that is ruined by jealousy and self-hatred on the part of the protagonist. This is my favourite example of vocal honey on this album, too. This, for me, encompasses all the album's strengths brilliantly.

Squid - Bright Green Field

Bright Green Field is arguably the clearest demonstration of Squid's unique sound. It balances the ideals of punk and funk excellently while adding in some kraut-rock and Radiohead-esque ideas too. I think I might prefer O Monolith personally, but this album is both very close in quality and absolutely crucial for the band.

I think if I were to recommend a song from this album, as much as I love Narrator, I imagine it'd be G.S.K. that best positions the album for enjoyment, at least for most people. It sets up a lot of the themes surrounding urbanization and the contrasting of modern life with the natural to demonstrate modernity's absurdity, and does so expertly, while also providing on the instrumental front with that funk-infused post-punk that makes the album so unique.

Squid - O Monolith

As I said in the previous write-up, this is my preferred Squid album. It leans on that Radiohead influence a little more, I think, which is why I'm glad they established their own sound with their debut first, but I think the sound here is just more to my tastes, and better suits their focus on this record, which is hard to pin down, but it feels more broadly mechanical than the previous outing, more rigid.

I think there are a few really good recommendations for songs from this album, but I'll stick with the critique on policing and generally violent power over others afforded to the otherwise powerless: The Blades. This is one of my favourite songs, period, let alone from Squid or off this album. The way it gets in the head of someone whose only access to power is through the violence of law enforcement, and demonstrates the urge to use that power in that environment is just superb. And it demonstrates it all while also criticizing the amount of power they are afforded and how that makes matters even worse. I love it.

Black Country, New Road - For the First Time

Welcome to the best new six-part post-punk debut album! I hear the Slint influence is a little heavy here, but for one, that doesn't really bother me, and two, I haven't heard Slint yet, so I wouldn't know. Regardless, this album is incredible at getting you into a sort of dark groove, and eventually, when the time is right, uprooting that groove and leaving you completely at a loss for what to expect. Even when you've heard the album many times over like I have, there's a part of you that can't keep up with the erratic shifts in the music within individual songs.

That incredible aspect of the album is best portrayed in the album's best track for me, Sunglasses. It touches on so many themes, which makes it hard to pin down exactly what the song is about, but it seems clearly about wealth and delusion in some way. For me, I think it's about the protagonist being seduced by the toxic comfort of wealth and delusion that wealth is earned and not happened upon randomly. It's a complex song though, and I'm sure there are plenty of valid interpretations. It is 9 minutes, but it's so good and dynamic that you are unlikely to feel all that time pass. Give it a listen if you like the sound of everything I've written here!

Godspeed You! Black Emperor - Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven

I never really had a resonant experience with instrumental tracks, which really made me skeptical going into this album. I have had plenty of positive experiences with instrumentals, but they're always pretty analytical, I rarely actually feel anything all that strong when listening. Add on top of that the length of the songs, with each of the four tracks being around 20 minutes, and it was a bit of a long shot. That being said though, this did resonate with me. After a stressful day, I just laid back, put this album on and relaxed for an hour and a half and I felt the album eat the stress from inside of me like a growing black hole, sucking up negative emotion. It was so thoroughly uplifting that I couldn't possibly hope to analyze it. It's difficult to recommend the way I usually would, but if you love music, especially stuff in the alternative and indie orbit, I'd suggest giving this a listen when you have some time to kill, especially if you're stressed or otherwise burdened.

Genesis Owusu - STRUGGLER

From an album that is very happy within a small niche, to an album that could be engaged with on some level by anyone, STRUGGLER is a dance-informed neo-soul album (I guess) that really makes use of the medium by using and reusing metaphors from within it's borders to reinforce themes, and explore new elements of that metaphor that consider the already established subtext. It's all very clever concept album stuff, and I always respect when an artist commits to a concept like this, especially ones who can still make songs stand on their own outside of the context of the album. It's very impressive.

I'd probably say Tied Up! is the best shout for a song to try, it's exceptionally groovy and is probably the point in the album where I'd say it really finds it's groove, which is on the late side, so hearing that in advance could reassure you that the album does actually find it's feet eventually.

shame - Food For Worms

This album is a weird one just because it doesn't really stick to a sound all that much. It bounces very quickly between punky songs like Alibis to a softer alternative style in tracks like Adderall a lot and it makes it hard to settle in a way that I think makes the album listening experience worse than if it were, for example, two EPs of comparable style. Of course, stylistic diversity is often a plus, but it has to be done better than this.

The songs are all pretty great in isolation though, especially when it does get a little punkier, such as with the previously mention Alibis (my personal favourite), or the song I'd recommend, lead single Six-Pack. First things first, that guitar sound is absolutely phenomenal. It gives off an erratic feel, and one of a shifting, untrustworthy nature. And then there's that hyped up vocal performance that embodies frustration at the comfortable delusion characterized in the lyrics.

IDLES - Joy As an Act of Resistance

This was incredible. The name pretty much sums it up. It's a post-hardcore album that is very aggressive on the surface level, but will often have a heart of gold, such as with Danny Nedelko, a song that stands in defiant support of immigrants and immigration, named after the writer's friend originally from Ukraine.

The song I'd recommend is largely just aggressive, but still with a pretty warm thesis in the end, and that would be Never Fight a Man with a Perm, a song about pub violence and the silliness of the extreme macho personas on display in those environments.

IDLES - Brutalism

I didn't like this one as much as Joy, but there were still some definite highlights. For one, it is a lot more punk. This album is absolutely punk to the core, and doesn't share the optimism of my preferred album, which does provide a more cathartic experience.

My favourite is probably Stendhal Syndrome, an album about artistic philistines; the type of person to look at an artwork and judge it based solely on the technical ability on display and not the vision of the artist or the art's emotional impact. Plenty is already made of punk's political leanings, but very little is the subculture's love and passion for art at the forefront, and it's good to see that being focused on here.

Blur - The Ballad of Darren

Unfortunately I don't have much to say about this one. I was hopeful going into it because I did quite like St. Charles Square, but almost all of the album just bounced off me leaving no real impression. Maybe it's worth a revisit one day, because I did mostly respect it on an analytical album, but it didn't make me feel much at all. If you like indie rock, maybe it's worth a listen, I hope you like it more than I do.

#chaosincurate #music reccs #music recommendation #indie music #music #indie pop #black country new road #young fathers #mitski #japanese breakfast #kate bush #sza #squid music #godspeed you! black emperor #genesis owusu #shame band #idles band #my month in music

6 notes · View notes

windmilltothestars · 2 years ago

Text

15 Questions Meme!

Not really tagged by @magnetocerebro but it’s been a while and I’m in the mood, so why not?

1. Are you named after anyone?

Sort of? I apparently had an ancestor named Malinda Minerva Spanigal! Is that not the coolest name ever?? My parents also found ‘Malina’ in a name book or something and decided they liked the sound and meaning of it and it could also honor the ancestor but just knock of the ‘d’!

2. What was the last time you cried?

It’s actually not too recently, oddly enough! I’ve been a little on edge for hormonal reasons the past few days, and the good ol’ dissatisfaction with my current place in the world, but I’ll cite the funniest example. I watched an episode of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys where the people tried to put Herc on trial for inspiring people to endanger themselves by trying to be ‘heroes’ and how ‘heroes’ had no place in a civilized society. But in the end he gave a passionate speech about what it means to be a hero and if that’s wrong in the modern world, he’ll gladly go to prison for it, and then all his friends stood up and did the “I am Spartacus” thing to stand by him, and I’m not gonna lie, I got a little choked up.

3. Do you have kids?

Nope! This is unusual among my high school classmates, but normal among my college friends. I do have two cats that I unload my motherly feelings on, though, along with some of my friends’ kids, to whom I am an honorary auntie.

4. Do you use sarcasm?

I’ve come around to being mostly irony-free and earnest! However, I feel being around my brother brings out my sarcastic side. And sometimes I will try to use sarcasm for good, ie. sarcastically complaining about my friends’ qualities that are clearly false and the opposite of their best qualities, to demonstrate how absurd their own self-criticism is to me.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I mean, obviously just seeing them I’ll notice what they look like, but I feel I am also very attuned to the kind of energy people project, and shy away from certain kinds of energy and gravitate toward others. I don’t mean anything weird and spiritual by this, I just mean the vibes and emotions I pick up from the way people talk, carry themselves, respond to others, etc.

6. What’s your eye color?

It’s a dull greyish shade of green or blue that looks greener or bluer or brighter depending on what I’m wearing.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

I mean, for sure happy endings! There’s certain brands of ‘horror’ that aren’t too rough for me and have elements I do enjoy, but often that milder horror will have a happy ending, too!

8. Any special talents?

Well, if I’m honest, I have no false modesty about my singing voice. In fact, I have been known (to my shame) to get a little vain or show-offy about it. But so many people tell me it’s nice, and I take great joy in singing, and I like the sound of it, too, and I have a special pride when I am able to lead people in song because my voice is on-pitch and strong and confident.

9. Where were you born?

Billings, Montana!

10. What are you hobbies?

At the moment? I’m trying to get back into drawing and writing fanfics. But I have not achieved massive success so far! I’ve had more success reading through my third biography of Lafayette, and writing weird meta-essays comparing fandom stuff . . . When I’m with like-minded friends, we always sing folk-songs or hymns together, and that’s always a wonderful time! Occasionally I enjoy playing my guitar alone or cross-stitching as well . . . To simplify, my hobbies are everything and nothing!!

11. Do you have any pets?

Cats! My two girls I adopted in Korea, Kartoshka (Toshka for short) and Dulcinea (Dulcie for short) have now joined their venerable old uncle Phoenix, whom I got in high school and who stayed with my parents while I was in Korea.

12. What sports do you play/have played?

I used to play softball in middle school, and I took a summer course in Mixed Martial Arts once. When I was a little girl, I took ballet. But I’m not super-athletic by nature, so I haven’t played in quite a while.

13. How tall are you?

5′3′‘-5′4′‘ I think.

14. Favorite subject in school?

English, Choir, Art (specifically loved my sculpture class; my teacher was amazing!) and Acting in high school. Really loved my Philosophy class and Classical Mythology class when I got to college, but my FAVORITE class of my college career was Screenwriting!

15. Dream job?

Well, as you can see by my favorite subjects and favorite hobbies, my interests are very wide across the spectrum of the arts! Do I wanna be a musical theatre actress? A folk/filk singer? A stage or film director, or actress? A screenwriter? An author of fiction or an author of comparative literature criticism? A comic book writer/illustrator? A sculptor? An English teacher or college lecturer who just gets to monologue about my favorite books and themes as a living? A youtuber who does the same? All of the above and more?

But also, my career experience so far has been in International ESL Education, and I do love working with kids! I specifically loved working closer with individual kids in a tutoring capacity, while also experiencing new cultures! So I was looking into au pair/governess stuff . . .

Following in the footsteps of my esteemed forebear, I won’t tag anyone specifically, but welcome anyone who sees this (especially if we know each other!) to participate, if they feel so inclined! :)

#about me #this was nice and meditative

3 notes · View notes

mrjoeiconis-blog · 2 years ago

Text

From the Archives: Interview from Oct 18, 2011 with Reviewing the Drama

Joe Iconis likes to silently hug people.

Besides that, Iconis is a prolific musical theatre writer. His Bloodsong of Lovewill receive an industry-only workshop this fall; he and the family are putting together a spook-tacular Halloween jamboree; and you can rock out 24/7 to the original cast recording of Things to Ruin, Iconis's song cycle which has played several venues throughout New York City. I recently had the pleasure of chatting with the talented artist, and here I'm pleased to bring you part one of the interview. Check back next week for part two. Talk about your song writing process. What generally comes first, a lyric, the music or an idea, or can they not be separated? Moreover, as William Miller asks in Almost Famous, “Do you have to be in love to write a love song? Do you have to be sad to write a sad song?” Finally, do you find joy in writing even when you’re “on deadline”?

I’ve always wanted to be interviewed by William Miller. Great kid. My process changes depending on what I’m writing. Usually, I’ll start with an idea and from that will come some sort of hook. A lot of times there’s music implied. From there, I’ll write on a pad or sit at the piano or pace around my apartment like a lunatic. …Writing for me is usually messy, and huge, and epic. Usually, as the song or the scene gets more and more focused, I’ll get more and more still and planted in one place—which is either at a piano or at a Dunkin Donuts. I like writing in public places; it keeps me stimulated and keeps me from falling asleep at my computer or looking at porn.

Writing is sometimes joyful for me, but to be honest, rewriting is usually the most fun. Getting stuff down on paper initially can be terribly hard and frustrating. But once I’ve got something to work with, then it’s a party. When I’m writing on a deadline, it’s always a tough experience, but it’s also the best way for me to get myself to generate material. A deadline is a great motivator and/or kick in the pants.

As far as inspiration goes, most of my writing comes out of something [personal] I’m going through but it’s usually not cut and dry. I’ve written so many overtly personal songs, but nine times out of ten they aren’t about the thing they appear to be about. It’s funny: so often after…I’ve done a song that’s clearly about me, people will come up and say that they know the person I was writing about or something. Most of the time they’re totally wrong! But it doesn’t really matter anyway—I know all the answers to my songs, but I’d never be so presumptuous as to tell people how they’re supposed to react to my work or what they’re supposed to take from it.

Do you remember hearing your favorite song (current or all-time) for the first time? What was going on and what was it you responded to?

My favorite song is “Crying” by Roy Orbison and Joe Melson. The first time I heard it was when my grandfather played me a video of k.d. Lang and Orbison singing it. I loved it and it’s a song that I’ve always associated with my gramps (he died when I was a senior in high school). Aside from the personal ties I have to it, I really think it’s a glorious piece of pop music. I love how it’s so simple and tight, and how it allows the singer to go from this tiny place to this huge, wrought, lovelorn wail.

http://www.youtube.com/embed/vmisOxCHEiw Discuss the high you get from performing. Do you feel you connect with the audience when you’re playing, or does that only happen for you before and after shows? What’s the energy like, from you perspective, on stage?

Before a show I’m jittery and insane. In spite of that, I love to speak to people and get a sense of the room I’m playing in. I hate being backstage before a show. It makes me feel nervous and disconnected. I’ve got ants in my pants so I’m no good at standing still. I like to know who is in the room, and I like there to be no barrier between the stage and the house. It can’t always happen, but the most magical moments during shows are those moments of connection—either with the people on the stage or people in the audience. I like to look at audience members right in the eyes.

After the show, I feel a connection too, but a lot of times I’m too exhausted mentally and physically to really have conversations. People come to the bar after shows and want to talk to me about ten million things, and I love that they do, but half the time I don’t even know what I’m saying. What I really want to do is just eat food and silently hug people. But I guess it’s hard to tell strangers that you want to do that to them.

What do you hope to have accomplished, or hope to be productively working toward, seven years from now?

I’d like to have a commercial production of one of my shows happen in New York at some point soon-ish. If we’re talking about Dreaming Big, that would happen on Broadway. In a perfect world, it would be a show that I believe in, and one that features these amazing artists I’ve been collaborating with for the past couple years. I’d also like to be working on ten other projects. I always wanna be working on the Next thing.

Is there a creative pinnacle for you? Or a creative nirvana? Oh, I don’t know. I think if I ever reach it, I won’t know that I did. I hope I don’t. I always wanna feel like I’ll get it right the next time. I just want to keep trying to do the best work I can and if its successful great, and if its not, oh well.

Will you ever be satisfied with your work, in part or whole? Explain. It depends. I think because theater is a living, breathing thing, there is a sense that work can always be growing or changing. I’ll occasionally have a moment where a great actor will be performing something I’ve written and I’ll think: “Ooh, ok. That’s as good as I’m ever gonna be. I will never be better than that.” Those moments are nice. They are little pats on the back. But that’s all. I think if I ever feel “satisfied” with my work or myself, I’ll be done.

For more information about Joe Iconis, visit mrjoeiconis.com. A huge thank you to Joe Iconis for taking the time talk with me. And now, I leave you with a favorite Iconis tune, "Rosalie."

youtube

#Joe iconis #rosalie #Iconis and family #Youtube

2 notes · View notes

mionemymind · 6 months ago

Note

Now I will definitely get to that very controversial ending I’m still kinda confused to be honest. So my opinion will be at the bottom of this recap. I just have to say this season was very good. So much drama, I loved it. Still can’t stand Horner(wow he was insufferable as a loser can’t wait to see what he’s like as a winner) sorry I have a one sided beef with him now lol but I unfortunately care too much about Max to wish on Red Bulls down fall.

A lot of young and talented drivers but they were showing how much they lack experience. Some of them seem like they can have really nice careers.

As always my babe Carlos was fantastic to see and looks amazing in that Ferrari red. Great year he had too. He’s an Leclerc’s relationship was amusing to watch.

Daniel proving he’s still has that edge to his driving. It was a bummer him and Lando didn’t quite mesh well with each other. Felt like that could have been a great match.

I didn’t like what Mercedes’ did to Bottas because there’s only so much this drivers can sacrifice.

Surprisingly there was a lot of rain during this races was nerve racking to watch couldn’t imagine seeing them live.

Look first I got to say the commentator on that last race was excellent. Look I would love to give Lewis he’s 8 world title but they clearly aloud the cars to unlap themselves. Was it a very ignorant call especially on the last lap yes totally. Still I believe that Max winning shouldn’t be up for debate. I feel like during that time F1 fans were pretty crazy. It’s a horrible loss for Hamilton really hate for it to affect him negatively moving forward.

Anyway hope to not be shunned for the side I chose in this very controversial race. I’m to start season 5 on Saturday need a few days to recover from these men messing with my emotions.

-S

S, Horner is even worse as a winner. I'm going to warn you about that right now but Drive to Survive doesn't really cover it much. But it still brings me a lot of joy to see you care about Max!

Also, Carlos and Charles relationship is rough because he has to leave yet Charles has to stay. I try not to think about it too much.

And honestly, sometimes people are better friends when they're not on the same team and I think that's the case with Lando and Daniel.

Look if Max has no fans, I must be dead. Although I wish more seasons were like that where the winner is determined at the last race. It really brings out a different cut throat and drive for that race. I honestly wish I was there at that moment. I would give a lot of money up for that.

But do I still hate the fact that it negatively affect Lewis, very much so! So don't worry too much about your opinion S! You're safe with me.

Here's another gif to help spark your day :)))

(I unfortunately couldn't find the original link to the post. Apologies to the creator.)

#s anon #ask #mionemymind response #f1

0 notes

lovetaroandtaemin · 7 months ago

Text

All I Wanted

Chapter 3: The Tables Turn

Osaki Shotaro x Reader Word Count: 1,395 Content Warnings: Mild parental angst, suggestive jokes Thank you so much once again to my beta reader @wonbons, your feedback has been incredibly helpful in writing this fic. Fic is under the cut.

“Ok so what’s the answer to the question?” you asked Shotaro expectantly.

“Um, C?”

“No, it’s B,” you said with a laugh. The two of you were studying for your exam tomorrow. You read him questions from a practice test, and he answered them. Then, you gave the correct answer if he got them wrong. He had just finished doing the same for you.

“I knew that. I was just testing you,” he joked.

“’Taro, come on, the test is tomorrow. Work with me a little bit!”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t get it.”

“That’s ok, why don’t we take a break? We could just listen to music and relax for a little bit.” Truthfully, you offered a break because you didn’t understand it either. Shotaro didn’t need to know that, though.

“Can I pick the music?”

“Sure, ‘Taro.”

He laughed as he ran to his computer and put on a playlist. Once the music was playing, he grabbed your hand and pulled you over to the couch. As you took your seat, you couldn’t help but think about how adorable he is when he’s happy. You weren’t exactly thrilled about it, but his contagious smile and his ability to find joy in any situation had you falling for him.

Once you started talking about something other than your upcoming test, you finally felt like you could breathe. Shotaro was clearly less frustrated too, because he was talking your ear off about his plans for after college.

“The economics degree is just because it’s what my dad wants me to do. And I do plan on using my degree to get a good job after I graduate, but what I really want to do is art. I draw a lot in between classes, and it makes me feel like a weight is lifted off my shoulders. All I want to do is make art.”

“I’m certain that you could turn art into a career,” you reassured him. “You’re incredibly talented, based on the drawings that you’ve showed me.”

“Thanks, (Y/N), I appreciate it,” he said as he flashed that beautiful smile. “What about you? What are your goals for after college?”

“Well, I really want to be a therapist. I love studying psychology because the human brain is so fascinating, and I think that becoming a therapist would be a great way to utilize what I’ve learned to really help people and make an impact.”

“That’s beautiful. You have a good heart.”

“Thanks, ‘Taro. I’d love to stay here and talk, but it’s getting kind of late. I should probably go home so I can get enough sleep for tomorrow.”

“I mean you don’t have to go.”

“Yeah, I do, I need to sleep.”

“You could stay here and sleep.”

You knew it wasn’t the best idea, but you couldn’t say no to him. You always hated leaving, so you said, “I guess it couldn’t hurt, do you have an extra toothbrush?”

“Yeah, you just need clothes. Are you ok with borrowing mine to sleep in?”

“That works, I guess. Then I can just leave early and get dressed at home before school.”

“So, it’s settled. You’re staying,” he said as he blushed.

The next morning you felt better than you had since the school year started. You were worried about the test, but for the first time in a while you had woken up feeling rested. You brushed your teeth and put away the studying materials that had been left out the night before, then you decided to wake Shotaro before you left.

“’Taro, I’m gonna be leaving soon. I just wanted to say good luck on today’s test. I believe in you.”

“Thanks, (Y/N). Good luck today. You’ll need it when I kick your ass,” he joked.

“Bring it. I’ll see you in class,” you said before walking out the door.

Shotaro got out of bed and got ready for class, then used the extra time he had to study a bit more. There were a few concepts he wanted to practice a bit more, just so he could be certain he could keep his promise to you. It may have been a joke when he made it, but something about you made him want to do well anyway.

The test went quickly for you and Shotaro, and both of you wondered what the other’s score would be as you waited for class to end. The bell finally rang, and the two of you walked out together talking about what your plans were for after school.

Lunchtime came and you met Karina at your usual table. She was looking through her bag, clearly irritated, so you asked her what was going on.

“I left my makeup bag at Wonbin’s again.”

“Karina that’s the third time this month. Why are you at his apartment? What could possibly be so compelling about spending time with him?”

“His dick,” she said with a laugh.

“Oh my god.”

“What? It’s true.”

“I don’t doubt it. Anyway, how did your morning classes go?”

“They went great, what about yours?”

“So boring. I had a test in statistics today. I don’t even get why I need to take statistics, I’m a psych major for fuck’s sake.”

The two of you chatted about your classes until you were finished eating. Your afternoon classes had been cancelled for the day, so after lunch you decided to go home and catch up on your favorite show.

The next day at the end of class, Ms. Kim gave your tests back. You showed Shotaro your score, and he grinned.

“What are you smiling for? My score was 87!”

“I’m smiling because mine was 98,” he said as he showed his paper.

“Well, I guess you did kick my ass. Good job! I knew you would do well.”

“Thanks. I wouldn’t have been able to if you hadn’t helped me study, though.”

You gave him a hug and left for your next class, nervous about what your parents would say.

After you were home for the day, as if they knew you didn’t want to talk to them, your parents called. For the first few minutes, it was an ordinary conversation. They told you about work and what their friends were up to, and you nodded along. Then the topic of school came up.

“So how are your classes going?” your mom asked. You knew what she meant, though.

“My grades are good, mom. I got an 87 on a statistics test that I took yesterday, but that’s the only grade below 90 that I’ve gotten all year.”

“Well, we’re proud of you for trying,” your dad said. “It’s still a passing grade, and you should be proud of yourself for putting the work in.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“I know you can do better. You should be pushing yourself more, how else do you expect to get a good job after college?” your mom questioned.

“She will get a good job,” your dad said to your mom, “I know it. She’s a bright young lady, and she’ll be able to do anything she puts her mind to.”

“She is bright, but intelligence isn’t the only important thing. She should be working harder.”

Your dad turned back to you and quietly ended the call, telling you he loved you. You knew that they were going to argue for a while about your education. They had argued about their differing approaches to your school throughout your childhood. Your mom always pushed you to do better because she cared about you and wanted you to succeed, but your dad felt that pushing wasn’t always the best solution. He had always been better at identifying the moments when you just needed a break.

This was one of those moments. You decided to text Shotaro, since he always made you feel better when you were stressed out. When you sent the text he was drawing an elaborate landscape, covered with lavender-colored roses and lilacs. When the notification came through, he immediately dropped what he was doing to read your message. It simply said “Can you come over? I really don’t wanna be alone right now.”

As soon as he was done packing up his art supplies, he rushed to your apartment. He wasn’t gonna leave you alone when you needed someone. He cared about you too much to do that.

Thank you so much for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated. If you would like to be added to the taglist for this fic, either comment on this post or dm me with the username that you would like tagged. Thanks again to @wonbons for beta reading. You're the best!

#riize fanfic #kpop fanfic #college au #non idol au #shotaro x reader #riize x reader #riize x y/n #academic rivals to lovers #rivals to lovers #slight angst

1 note · View note

thegunlady · 5 years ago

Video

youtube

Actress and legendary stuntwoman Zoë Bell directs “Boss Bitch Fight Challenge” in which some of the biggest actresses and stuntwomen in Hollywood fight each other, socially-distant style.

Featuring: Zoë Bell, Lucy Lawless, Tara Macken, Drew Barrymore, Juliette Lewis, Tamiko Brownlee, Rosario Dawson, Amy Johnston, Cameron Diaz, Kim Murphy, Daniela Ruah, Michaela McAllister, Kaitlin Olson, Lauren Mary Kim, Florence Pugh, Julia Butters, Angela Meryl, Sarah Irwin, Daryl Hannah, Sophia Di Martino, Tracie Thoms, Shauna Duggins, Zoe Saldana, Ming Qiu, Renée Goldsberry, Rose Perez, Lilly Aspell, Thandie Newton, Mel Stubbs, Jessie Graff, Monique Ganderton, Halle Berry, Heidi Moneymaker, Scarlett Johansson, Dayna Grant, Margot Robbie, Renae Moneymaker, and KT Tunstall.

#zoe bell #boss bitch fight challenge #those death proof references though I'm ABOUT IT #this brings me such joy they are so talented and clearly having a great time #also the planning!!!#this must have taken

1 note · View note

crimsonophelia · 3 years ago

Note

Can I request for a fluffy friends to lovers fic with Venti and a human gn reader? They’re good friends (but the reader doesn’t know his real identity) and when reader brings up their desire to see a wind wisp in real life Venti decides to surprise them by transforming into his true form and paying them a visit. The reader finds this mysterious little wind wisp at their doorstep and gets excited, takes care of it, and while feeding it apple slices starts talking about how their good friend Venti would love to see them - but oh, he’s less of a friend and more of a crush who I’ve loved for a long time… wait, where did the wisp go? Wait, Venti?! When did you get here?!

featuring: venti x gn!reader

warnings: none

published: june 30, 2021

form: imagine

a/n: thank you for sending this in—i need more venti requests, he’s my baby <3

you could tell that the drink was beginning to hit you hard when you felt your muscles go slack. it was your fourth pint of the night, and although you thought that you could hold your drink fairly well, you could never hold a candle to your bard friend’s seemingly bottomless appetite for wine. venti was on his seventh--or was it eighth?--mug of cider for the night, and was still fairly unfazed, if you consider his usual bumbling amiability to be his default. after a long day of working and whatever it was that venti did in the daytime, you two had decided to meet up at the angel’s share that evening for a drinking night between friends, and to catch up on life and whatever else goes on in the city of mondstadt.

the night had begun with a mug per person, as you and venti caught up with each other. due to your duties at home, and his rather inconstant job as a traveling musician, it was oftentimes difficult for you and the bard to stay in touch--responsibilities always seemed to get in the way. so, naturally, you took advantage of every opportunity you could get to see venti, one-on-one, and simply talk. after knowing him for quite a while, he really was a delight to talk to, always full of witty riddles and forever knowing the right thing to say at the right time. venti really was quite remarkable.

he also had the unique talent of contagious alcoholism; after having spent an hour or so drinking and chatting with him, you unwittingly started drinking more than your usual limit, absolutely carried away with whatever small conversation venti had you engaged with at the moment. the conversation had somehow strayed into the topic of myths and legends of mondstadt. venti was speaking of some strange conspiracies surrounding the origin of the anemo hypostasis up in the mountains, and as the alcohol began to break down your proper judgement, you began to go on and on about how you, as a child, dreamed of seeing an elusive wind wisp.

you had heard stories about the boy revolutionary, armed with his bow and his words, accompanied by a little white wind wisp, leading mondstadt’s journey to freedom. the story had enchanted you when you were young, and clearly you still had not given up hope of meeting a similar wind wisp. perhaps it would bring you the same joy and power to change your life for the better, just like it did for the hero of old mondstadt.

venti listened to your reminiscing closely, looking at you with a quizzical look of interest. your intoxicated state made it so that you didn’t notice the look on his face as if he was plotting something, but, to be fair, venti’s poker face was notable for its impregnability. the night ended with him having to walk you home, propping your arm over his shoulders so that you wouldn’t trip and fall on the cobblestone streets. the last thing you remembered was him tucking you into bed, and singing you one of his funny little songs.

the next morning, you woke with a pounding headache and the bright noon sun peeking through your shutters. archons, was it so late already? you pulled yourself out of bed, trying not to stumble, distracted by the pounding in your head. you had a long list of things to do today that you had to complete, and you severely regretted drinking so much and so late with that damned bard last night (though you could never really hate him--he was too adorable).

slipping on whatever clothing closest to your bed and sluggishly following through with your daily morning routine, you got ready to head out the door to water the carrots and potatoes in your backyard. as you pulled open the door, prepared to step out and face the piercing daylight, you caught yourself as you almost stepped on the little figure at your doorstep. lying there on its side, was a wind wisp. yes, just like the ones you had read about all your childhood and you had mused about endlessly last night. it had its little eyes shut, sleeping probably, its delicate little form curled up on the step.

you were bewildered, partially at the coincidence of it all, but mostly by the rarity of what had occurred before your eyes. a wind wisp, something most people never even saw once in their lifetimes, suddenly showing up right at your doorstep after you had talked about your desire to meet one just the night before. crouching down, you scooped up its little body in your hands. the little thing began to wake, hands rubbing its eyes sleepily, as it made a chirping noise. it was ridiculously adorable.

“hey there, little guy”, you cooed. “what are you doing here?”

as it began to regain consciousness, the wisp floated up off your hands, small gusts of air emitting from its form, and it flew up to nuzzle against your face. it felt like a warm breeze brushing against your cheek, and you heard it chirping in your ear.

you giggled. “well aren’t you the cutest little thing!” you raised your hand to pet it, and it made a little gurgling noise, leaning into your touch. something about its mannerisms felt so familiar, almost like something you had known in a past life perhaps, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. its presence was just endlessly comforting, even though you had only known it for a few minutes.

reaching into your pantry, you pulled out some apples you had picked the day before, and cut it into small slices. the wisp watched you eagerly as you went about your business, like it could understand everything you did. holding up a thin slice to the wisp, a little hole in its void of a face opened up and enveloped the slice whole. a little shocked but certainly entertained, you gave it an approving head pat.

as the day went on, the little wisp continued to follow you throughout mondstadt as you ran your errands. you went outside, behind your house, to take care of the crops you were growing. as you watered your plants, the little wisp helped you disperse the water more efficiently, blowing a gentle wind from your watering can so that you didn’t have to walk as far to water the faraway plants. you go to pick some apples and sunsettias nearby, and the little fellow would fly up to the hard-to-reach fruits and throw himself against them to knock them loose from the branches, right where you could catch them. you worried a little bit whether he was hurting himself by doing so, but he appeared to be pleased just to assist you, and he certainly was not ashamed to take a few bites from the fruits of your shared labor at the end of the day.

considering how efficiently your errands were completed today, of course all thanks to the helper you acquired that morning, you thought it would be nice to use the time you had in the late afternoon to take the wisp out for a picnic dinner at windrise to show your appreciation. gathering some of the fruit the both of you had collected, and some sandwiches you made, you placed it all in a little wicker basket and set off for the great tree with your companion upon your shoulder.

upon arriving, you laid down a gingham blanket in the shade of the great tree of windrise, just a moments away from the ancient statue of barbatos. you felt like a child again, remembering the summers of carefree exploration, tunneling through the thickets in the forest, or catching frogs by the creek, or tumbling down the hills by the sea. and now, a wisp joined you, taking you back to the memories of those years, when life was much simpler.

you couldn’t help but to think of venti, the bard, the friend, who had brought you such comfort through difficult times, whose music, like the warm touch of the wisp, reminded you of home and the beauty that life could bring. your companion was now feasting comedically fast on the food you had brought along, swallowing up fruits whole, and chewing for several moments before helping itself to another. you chuckled and gave it a pat. “greedy little fellow, aren’t you?” you couldnt help but to think venti would have loved to meet the wind wisp, considering his love for nature and all sorts of fauna, and considering the small resemblance between himself and the creature.

“stick around for a bit and i might introduce you to my friend, the bard”, you told it, not really caring that it probably couldn’t understand you. “im actually not sure that we are friends, to be honest. these days we rarely see each other but...” you trailed off, distracted by the sound of the breeze through the branches. the wisp stopped eating and watched you intently. “well”, you began. “i sometimes find myself wishing him and i were more than friends. maybe not lovers, not right away but... i just know that dearly. i cannot be sure that he feels the same, but that is of no matter.” you pat the wisp’s little head again. “if i can make him happy, even just as friends, that is enough for me.”

out of nowhere, a strong wind blew past you, knocking over your wicker basket and sending it flying several feet away. agitated, you scrambled up to chase after it, finally grasping it before it could fly too far. you were perplexed—where in the world could such a strong wind have come from? the sky was clear, and there were no clouds obstructing the setting sun. how odd, you thought to yourself.

you turned around to bring the basket back to your sitting spot, but to your surprise, the wisp was gone. no, in its place was now your bard friend, venti, sitting there on the blanket like he had been there all along. how in the world did he get here without you noticing, and where in the world did the wisp go off to? you hurried over to venti, questioning, “since when did you get here?”

the bard smirked, and fiddled with his lyre that you just noticed he had brought along with him. he had that look on his face again, the one he wore whenever he had some sort of plot in mind. “whatever do you mean, [y/n]?”, he replied amusedly. “i’ve been here all along.”

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin x reader #venti #venti x reader #venti headcanons #venti imagines #venti fanfic #venti x y/n #venti x you #fluff #venti fluff

317 notes · View notes

angxlyxn · 4 years ago

Text

preservation - aesop x f. reader

summary: Aesop wants to make sure that you stay as his, forever.

warnings: death, reader dies, minor gore (blood), asphyxiation/choking, obsessive behavior, usage of a syringe, death by use of pancuronium bromide.

a/n: identity v is unfortunately my current brainrot, so please take this. i’m actually pretty proud of this piece and i hope you enjoy it too!

word count: ~4.6k

When you had first arrived at the manor, you had been seen by many as strange. An oddity if you will, a disturbance in the otherwise monotonous and flat life that the others led. You had stood upon the steps of the mansion, clutching a leather case between your clammy hand and knocking definitively on the door. The oaken frame was soon flung open by a vivacious girl, her brown hair falling in locks about her face and tangling around her chin with a sort of carelessness. She had introduced herself to you as Emma, and you had given her a curt nod in return. You mumbled out your name, mindlessly letting your eyes drift about the meticulous architecture of the manor in disinterest, the girl’s lively rambles buzzing about and filtering through your previously vacant ears. She soon had led you into the warmth of the building, a creeping feeling overtaking you as she tugged you towards the dining hall, where she said the others were waiting. Your hands tightened around your skirt pocket, where the letter that brought you to this place was secured. It had promised a large sum of money for your participation in some sort of “game”, of which the details were not included. You, however, blindly jumped at the opportunity. Lack of a spouse and job had left you nearly homeless, and you had become tired of being a scavenger, tired of having your life depend on whether or not an inn had vacancies. So, the idea of a huge cash prize was everything to you.

You remembered clearly the moment when you had been pulled into the dining room and hurriedly introduced by an overly excited Emma, the sea of survivors greeting you with looks varying from boredom to contempt. One person, however, stood out to you as they looked on with an expression of interest, cold grey eyes analyzing your features and brows drawing together in thought. You returned his stare, not as a challenge but simply out of curiosity. Upon realizing that you were looking at him as well, he turned away from you, gently tucking the hem of his mask further over his thin nose.

A peculiar one, Aesop was. He never did grow less reticent during your time together, always staying serious and stone-faced, yet easy to fluster. A few survivors took advantage of his frightful nature, but most were too afraid of the embalmer to even spare a glance in his direction.

Which, he supposes, is where his infatuation with you began. You were like him, in a way. Generally avoided by most, with the exception of a few more social survivors, such as Kevin and Emma. Luca, it seemed, had also taken a liking to you, and often would drag you along to keep him company. Those were the times that Aesop hated the most. He never minded much when Kevin would flirt, or when Emma would insist on you helping her with her gardening, because he knew that these were just patterns of behavior, and nothing personal. Luca, however, was hard to read. He was extroverted, yet private, and tried as he did, Aesop was never able to figure him out. His motives were too jumbled to understand, his words always far too fast and convoluted. And the amount of attention you seemed to divert to the young inventor was more than enough to bring forth the feelings of jealousy and disdain that seemed to occupy Aesop whenever someone spoke of or interacted with you.

Despite these odd feelings, Aesop was disgusted by you. The living repulsed him, and you weren’t supposed to be an exception to this rule. He would hold back a flinch each time that you would breathe, the motion of your chest rising filling him with contempt both for you and himself. He hated that he was so attached to a living thing such as you.

You would be so much better off dead. So much prettier with your eyes permanently closed, the gentle flush that usually occupied your cheeks drawn out from your skin.

He knew that he had to resist these temptations of seeing you lifeless. Aesop was a calculated man, but he seemed to have much less control when it came to you. So, he decided that it would do him well to attempt to act as one usually would, and for a time he tried to fit himself into the social structure of the manor, at least more so than he usually did.

He tried to grow closer to you as someone usually would. The male would dedicate part of his day to attempting to be social with you, although this usually just meant that he would sit near you in the library or join you by the fireplace. Little to no words were exchanged between the two of you, and yet, he could not have wished for anything more. During the time he spent with you, he was able to observe, able to familiarize himself with your behavior, your quirks, and your patterns. He found immense satisfaction in watching as your expression would change as you read, taking great joy in the way that your brows would cinch together every so often. Not to mention your other more intimate expressions. It almost felt orgasmic to the male whenever the most lithe of smiles would spread across your cheeks. Sometimes he would grow flustered just thinking about the gentle curve of your lips, or the way your tongue would protrude slightly in an ever so innocent way when you would grace him with that kind smile of yours.

This was enough to keep him content for a long time, but at some point, that changed. He grew bored of just watching you, and longed for more. He wished to feel you against him, to feel your steady breaths reverberate against his ribs. He wanted to experience the sensation of you quivering against him, wanted to caress and tug your hair, wanted to wrap his hands around your pretty little neck and squeeze until you were begging and gasping for air. He wanted to make it so you were completely at his mercy.

Unable to refuse him.

Helpless.

But still he continued watching you, without your knowledge, of course. He familiarized himself with your schedule, and found that Tuesdays were the days you were most often matched, while Sundays you always kept to yourself, not even sparing a glance at other survivors unless it’s warranted.

Sunday was Aesop’s favorite day. Sunday meant that he could observe you without being bothered or eavesdropped on himself, it meant that he could watch over you in an environment where pests, such as the likes of Luca and Emma, weren’t constantly flitting about you.

Today was a Sunday, and Aesop was planning something special for you.

A bundle of storm clouds had gathered atop the manor. Rain had already drenched the wooden exterior of the building, and was now continuously pelting against the many window panes. The sound of the storm resounded through the manor in a way that was reminiscent of a hum. You presently were sitting inside of your room, clothed in a silk nightdress that was gifted to you by Miss Nightingale. You didn’t have many proper clothes upon your arrival at the manor, neither had most other of the participants. The majority of your wardrobe was provided for you by the woman herself, whom you had never seen.

The dress itself was rather comfortable, and draped nicely over your body. It reached the floor, the ruffled trim on it brushing against your feet periodically. You had laid yourself across your bed, pulling the blankets adorning it up to your chest and drawing the bed curtains closed. A book sat beside you on your bedside table, and yet you couldn’t be bothered with reading it. You were too occupied with watching the rain outside, memorizing the patterns of the water as it fell down and clambered against the manor.

A knock at the door brought you out of your dazed state. You waited for a voice to precede the sound, but nothing came, and so you rose from your bed, reluctantly moving out from under the bundle of blankets and grabbing a dressing robe from your armoire. You pulled it on, walking tiredly towards the door with an unconcerned expression and grasping the brass handle, pulling the hatch open to reveal the delicate frame of a man before you.

Aesop stood outside of your doorway, grasping his embalming kit and standing stock still, as though someone had forced a pole up his back.

“Mr. Carl..” You said, voice breathy and calm as you pulled your robe further over your exposed clavicle. He offered a curt nod in return, acknowledging you with a blink. You noticed how his hands were shaking, quivering around the handle of his kit as he stood in front of you, his fingers obviously clamming up. Perhaps he was nervous? “Do you need something?”

He looked up at you with a frightened expression, and you were worried that you had said the wrong thing. He looked back down, turning from your skeptical eyes and nodding profusely.

“Y-Y/n,” he began, gaze still casted downwards. “Would you mind...a-accompanying me to my room? Th-There’s a bird that flew in, and I don’t know what to do about the thing.” His voice shook as he spoke.

You squinted at him. It was raining outside. Why had he propped open his window? Why would he ask you for help? Emma and Eli were both much more comfortable with animals than you, and the latter especially had a talent with birds.

“Do you want me to get Eli? He’s much better with things like that,” you offered, your voice skeptical.

He finally looked up to meet your eyes, his pupils dilating slightly.

“No, I’d- I’d rather have you. Help me, I mean,” he finished awkwardly.

You turned over his question in your mind, surveying the man’s frail appearance. Aesop had never talked to you much, but you supposed he did have a habit of staying around you. Sometimes you would find him following you places, and he never seemed to be more than a room away from you. You knew very well the male’s nervous tendencies, as well as his difficulty with interacting with others. Part of you felt sympathetic for him, but your place in the manor’s social structure wasn’t much different than his. Still, you felt obligated to help him. Not many other survivors, or hunters for that matter, acted too kindly towards Aesop. If he had worked up the courage to ask you something, you might as well comply with his wishes. He never asked much of anyone, so you supposed it was a rare occasion that you should indulge.

“Alright,” you said hesitantly. He looked up at you, his eyes the most telling they had ever been. His grey irises swirled with probably the closest thing to joy you had ever seen him express, mixed with a bit of shock. You supposed the second part was warranted. You weren’t particularly one for helping others around the manor, especially because of how selfish and cruel many of the survivors were. You sure as hell weren’t going to help Freddy if all he would do is be stingy towards you, neither would you help Naib, who would just yell at you if you tried to assist him. You couldn’t be too upset with him for his reactions, though. You supposed you would do the same. Your life before the manor, which was generally spent in poverty and isolation, had bestowed upon you the gift of independence, as well as a lack of selflessness. You saw this as good. Why help others if they have nothing to offer to you?

You were only helping Aesop because...well...you supposed you enjoyed his company, however solitary the time you spent together would be. And you supposed he had never asked for anything before…

And so you were off, following Aesop down the winding hallways of the manor. He led you through sets of doors, each strikingly similar and equally as eerie as the next. The clothed floor creaked beneath you as you walked, carpet growing indents in it each time either of you would take a step.

After what felt like an eternity filled with nothing more than the sound of monotonous footsteps, you reached what you presumed to be the embalmer’s door. It was a tall door, one that was crafted from mahogany and glazed to be a darker, more sultry color. He hesitantly turned to face you, an unsure expression on his face as he gazed at you with distrust.

“I…” He began, only to leave his sentence hanging.

“You wanted me to shoo away the bird, right?”

Aesop tried not to panic as he looked at you.

Vulnerable you.

Standing outside of his room.

Once you were within the confines of his abode, he could do whatever he wished to you. You were going to look so wonderful dead.

He wrapped a milky hand around the doorknob, pulling it open and letting you into his room. He watched you with narrowed eyes as you walked through, observing your surroundings with a sort of careful skepticism.

You had a distinct feeling that something was wrong. Aesop never allowed anyone into his quarters. He never even let anyone see inside of his embalming kit. He was excessively private. This was strange. And the feeling of eyes burning into your back was not helping with your nerves.

“Mr. C-Carl,” you said, shifting to face him. “Where was the bird?” Your words knocked him out of his unconscious stupor, and he shut his door behind him before pointing to a place near his clothing chest. You turned around, walking towards it as he discreetly locked the door behind him.

He watched you intently as you bent over, looking carefully through his meticulously organized room with part curiosity and part concern.

“Aesop,” he corrected, his voice barely a whisper.

You hummed in confusion, looking back to face him.

“My name...please don’t be so formal.”

Your eyes betrayed you as utter confusion seeped through your pupils. Aesop had always been one for formalities, and he had always been perhaps the strictest about respect out of the group. Only a few survivors called him by his first name, all of which did so without his permission. This wasn’t like him.

By now you were certain that something was wrong. However, you just nodded compliantly, still foolishly putting your trust in the male and shoving your suspicions down. He was probably just trying to be nice.

You breathed in a sigh, turning back to to corner and continuing to look for the bird. There were no signs of one, and you grew increasingly irritated at the male for calling you as you came to the realization that there was probably no such thing in the first place. Bringing a finger up to your temple, you muttered out once more.

“Mr. Car-”

“I told you to refer to me as Aesop.”

You felt a deep presence take its place near you as you stood stock still, the clarity of the young embalmer’s voice indicating that he was directly behind you. Lurching upwards, you whipped around, an unintentionally accusatory expression on your face.

“Please don’t...be so close to me. I- Why are you..” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, your discombobulated words drying up as he leaned into you, moving his face down to meet yours as you looked on with discomfort and shifted away from him as far as you could. He just hummed in satisfaction, eyes narrowing as he observed the power he currently held over you, how you were bending away at the mere prospect of his touch. Anyone else might have found this hurtful, but your actions just submerged Aesop into an unmistakable feeling of power, one that he faintly remembered from his time before the manor when he was still working as an apprentice.

He carefully reached out a hand, feelings of longing spreading through his fingertips as he drew them close to your face. A slender digit traced up to your hairline, shifting some stray hairs aside. You stood there, quivering.

This was uncomfortable. You had to go. Even Aesop must know that this wasn’t normal. Your eyes darted across the four walls of his room before falling on the door. You spared him one more shaking glance before pushing him away from you, shoving the male to the side and sprinting towards your only viable exit. You heard him stumble a bit behind you, the satisfaction of having stunned him motivating you to move faster. You grasped a hand out, searching blindly for the doorknob in a less than futile attempt to let yourself out of the room. You grabbed a hold of it, shaking wildly when it failed to click open.

An unforeseen force grasped you by the back of your collar, pulling you backwards and eliciting a few chokes from you. Your body collided with something soft behind you, the slim torso of the embalmer pressing up against yours in an uncomfortably heated manner. His breathing was thick and shallow, as though he were struggling for air as he grasped you within his horribly depraved hands. His arm slid around your middle, pulling you further into him as he breathed down your neck, heavy sighs falling against your skin and creating a sensation of chills within your shoulders.

“Don’t run,” he said between heavy breaths, voice shaky and thick with something akin to arousal.

Without warning, you were shoved against the cold wood of his desk, head banging against the surface as he wrapped his hands around your throat, his movements sharp and concise. You yelped, only for the sound to come out as a series of gasps due to his inhuman grip on you. You clawed your hands against his, eyes glazing over as you fought against the male. He refused to let up on you, his mask itching down his face and revealing a sick half smile.

You felt as though you were about to die. Correction: you were going to die. But you were nothing if not a fighter. You kicked your steadily numbing leg up, your unclothed foot colliding with his stomach. He grimaced, his grip loosening noticeably for what must have been less than a second. This moment, however, was enough to give you just the slightest bit of hope, and so you kept struggling. If he was going to kill you, you should at least like to go out fighting.

A flash of clarity came to you as you shoved your hands towards his face, aiming for his eyes as your outstretched fingers came into contact with the male’s milky flesh. He threw himself backwards, retracting his hands and hissing as he shaded his face from further assault.

You took off, sprinting wildly towards the door and stumbling over your own feet as you tumbled away from your attacker, lunging once more and outstretching your hand. Taking heed of your previous mistakes, your fingers slipped around the lock, releasing it before pulling the door open. The hallway never had looked so inviting before as you jumped out into it, forcing yourself through the doorway and out into the hallway and screaming for someone to help and…

And no sound came from your lips. In one swift motion, Aesop grabbed you back, his grip on your midsection suffocating. He kicked the door closed, wrapping his arm around your chin in order to muffle the cries that were threatening to spill out of your mouth. You kicked and struggled as he once again pulled you backwards, keeping one arm wrapped around your waist as he reached into the pocket of his jacket.

“I wanted to try and make this as painless for you as I could, darling. However, it appears that tried methods always work the best. Choking is far too messy of death anyways, isn’t it? I want the beginning of your new life with me to be as clean as possible, I want it to be something befitting of a person like you.” You stopped moving, freezing up as he spoke out the word death. “It’s a good thing I prepared for this, hm?”

You craned your head towards his mobile hand, spotting a syringe filled with a milky substance, the tip of it dripping slightly as he pushed the plunger forward and tested the liquid.

“What?-” You managed to spit out, gasping as you pulled against his restricting arm with all your worth.

“Pancuronium bromide,” the male said, addressing your unspoken query. “It’s a serum used in lethal injection. It should be relatively painless, well- as painless as death can be.” His voice was confident, firmer than you had ever heard it. It was terrifying, how quickly he had switched from his customary anxious demeanor to this cold, almost professional persona.

“No, Aesop please think about this! I’ll- I don’t know what you want, money, or- or information or sex- but I’ll give it to you, please we can work this out, I just- Mr. Carl please!”

He paused before answering, his grip tightening even more as he began to speak. “My love. My beautiful, exquisite gem, my precious doll. You really do not understand, do you? This is the only way we can truly be together. I cannot bear to be without you any longer, I can’t stand being without your presence. Of course, the likes of you wouldn’t spend time with someone such as myself, so you must understand that this is just me ensuring that we can stay together, forever.” He halted, letting his words hang heavy in the air. “I’m doing this because I love you. This pain will be temporary, but my affections for you won’t ever let up. I’ve never had even a concept of what love should be, but you’ve helped me to see that this is what it is, and you are the person who I have chosen to spend the rest of my time with.” His voice grew gentler as he spoke, his tone reverent as he held you. You grew numb at his words. He truly was messed up, in more ways than one. What he was describing was not love, it was obsession. It was a cruel infatuation, one that, for some reason, had led to him feeling the need to kill you.

“Aesop. I- I promise I’ll be with you. I- I love you! I do..and I will continue to do so, but you must let me live. I beg this of you, I just wish to spend time with you, I truly am o-obsessed with you, Mr. Carl.” You felt him freeze up behind you at your feigned confession. The promise of your affections had to be enough to convince him to not kill you, you were going to make sure of it. No matter what, you were going to make it away from the embalmer, alive. You would try anything, and eventually you would be-

“Doll,” He began, his arm resuming its suffocating grip on your torso, the sudden pressure enough to make you draw your breath in as you fought for air. “Please don’t be so formal. I told you to call me Aesop”

A sharp pain spread through your neck, the feeling of a needle plunging into your skin barely registering in your mind as he held you, a low hum falling from his mouth as he held your quivering self. He drained the syringe of the substance, pushing it further into your vein as he gazed down on you with eyes full of concentrated adoration. He had killed before, but nothing had ever felt as satisfying as gripping your twitching body, holding onto your vulnerable form as the fluid began to spread through your bloodstream. You shook against him as he laid you on his bed, silken sheets coming up to caress your steadily paling face.

Nimble fingers removed the syringe, wiping the needle with a nearby cloth before setting both upon a bedside table. His silver eyes drank in your form, pupils dilated as he ran his gaze over the red marks on your neck. He couldn’t manage to resist a final temptation of his, reaching his hands out once more and wrapping them on top of the strips of pink skin. He knew that the bromide would be enough to kill you, but he couldn’t deny that there was something satisfying about the power he felt as he had choked you before. As so he gazed down at you, now too weak to struggle against his hold.

His grip was what finally pushed you over the edge. A deep breath reverberated through your lungs right as the life finally faded from your eyes, pupils glazing over and cornea becoming cloudy as you gazed forward with a sort of inanimate poise. You were still, completely still.

Aesop was right.

You did look beautiful dead.

He kept his eyes on you, gazing at you distrustingly as he retrieved his embalming case, as though he was expecting you to spring back to life.

He set it down beside you before moving your limp legs onto the bed, your body significantly heavier than it was before. Such was one of the physical tolls of death.

Hands subconsciously reached for a needle and thread, used normally for repairing ripped clothes and garments before burials. It held a different purpose for you, though. You were special, a newly immortalized doll, and one that should be treated as such. He threaded the needle, gripping it between careful fingers before carefully lifting your eyelid and plunging it within the flesh that lay there. He slowly sewed it to your bottom lid, a bit of blood spurting out, which he quickly wiped away with a previously pristine white cloth. He moved on to your other eyes, repeating his same meticulous process. A finger traced over your stitches, caressing them with a sort of gentleness that could only occupy one such as Aesop. He took another glance at your features, deciding that you needed to look at least a bit more lifelike. Aesop hated the living, but he supposed you had always given him pleasure while alive. He wanted to preserve his feelings, no matter what. He plucked the corners of your mouth up into a smile before threading the string through your lips and cheeks, forcing your features into a permanent simper. He tied off the string, appeased by the doll-like appearance that the stitches gave you. He took out some blush, methodically spreading it upon your blanched cheeks and up near your nose, returning a bit of life into your body. Your robe was soon pulled open, leaving you in only your nightgown. You looked so soft, so vulnerable. Aesop was pleased.

He caressed his hand against your cheeks before bending beneath his bed, drawing out an elongated wooden box that lay there. He opened the top, revealing the plush white surface of the surrogate coffin. He pushed himself up, more careful than ever as he placed you within the tomb, manually wrapping your hands over your chest. You looked so peaceful, so utterly perfect, and you were going to stay as such.

Now you two would be bound forever, with him as your owner and you as his loving doll. Such a relationship was born out of his pure love for you, his unadulterated affection that no one, not even yourself, could hinder for any longer. This was a safer and more thorough solution, not to mention more desirable for Aesop.

He despised the living.

And so here you were, perfectly preserved for him.

#aesop carl x reader #aesop carl #identity v #identity v x reader #idv x reader #idv imagines #yandere aesop carl x reader #yandere aesop x reader #yandere idv x reader #yandere identity v x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #aesop carl x you #identity v x you #yandere #x reader #yandre x you

229 notes · View notes

sidespart · 4 years ago

Text

The Fall of King Romulus part 4

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

“I will grant them handsome features and beguiling voices,” the maiden whispered, her own voice dripping with honey “that all who great them will be blessed from the meeting.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work!” Remus grinned smugly when Romulus was deposited back in in their room, their nanny shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Urghh.” Romulus whined as he hurled himself face first onto Remus’ bed, making his giggling brother bounce from the impact. “But it should have! It always does in the stories!”

What was the point of having a twin, Romulus wondered if they couldn’t even switch places to get him out of boring geography lessons?

Remus poked him until Romulus rolled over onto his side to pout at his brother.

“It’s because I’m better lookin’ than you.” Remus told him cheerfully.

Romulus thwacked him with a pillow. “We’re identical!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Remus grabbed a second pillow from the floor, “I’m still the cute one!”

“Are not!”

“Are too!”

“Are not!”

“Are to – oof!”

The pillow fight soon descended into a wrestling match, their shrieks and giggles echoing through the bed chamber.

Eventually they ran out of breath and Remus flopped back down on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge. Romulus collapsed on the floor amongst the fallen pillows, batted Remus’ foot away from his face and gazed up at the family portrait hanging above their fire place.

They were identical. The artist had taken care to draw the crown prince a little bigger than his brother, closer to the forefront of the picture, but even so; their hair, eyes, nose - everything was the same.

Romulus glanced up at his brother, who was currently digging snot out his nose with every sign of enjoyment. Romulus gagged. They were not the same -Remus was gross!

Except.

Everyone said what a handsome young man Remus was growing up to be. How brightly his eyes sparkled. How confidently he held himself, even as a child. They never said that stuff about Romulus.

Remus shone, even when he was being gross.

“Your voice is better.” Remus said suddenly, snapping Romulus out of his sulk.

“What?”

“Your voice.” The older twin lent over the bed, staring his brother in the eye “It’s nicer than mine, ‘specially when you sing.” Romulus beamed, showing off his gap toothed smile. Their parents had hired teachers to drill both boys on the lute and harpsicord, but Romulus’ talent for singing was all him.

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” Remus smiled back at him. He’d lost a baby tooth that week too – one of his canines, giving him lopsided fangs. “And you’re way better at crying.”

“What! Well – your feet are stinker!”

“You’re worse at pranks!”

“Well you’re worse at fencing!”

“But l I’m the best at tickling!” declared Remus and leapt from the bed, pinning Romulus with his knee whilst his fingers attacked his brothers armpits. The younger prince’s peals of laughter and cries for mercy were so loud nanny came rushing back to check on them, finding the future rulers of Notaleveale wrapped around each other on the floor, covered in dust and wearing matching smiles.

“I will grant them strength and creativity.” The mother smiled, she had a thousand eyes and all of them twinkled under the halls many candles “so that their rule will never be questioned.”

“Lord Venchi?” Romulus asked.

The royal treasurer, normally one of the more composed members of his father council, was pacing the entrance hall alone, what little hair he had left sticking up in all directions as he tugged at it.

“Oh, Your Highness!” The he gasped when he caught sight of Romulus, “oh thank goodness! He-“

Romulus sighed. “What has my brother done now?”

Romulus had spent the morning on a rare visit into town, missing the days council meeting. It was completely unfair - Romulus attended meetings almost daily, under Julius supervision, as part of his training to one day take over managing whichever aspect of the kingdom bored the future King Remus the most. They were mind numbingly dull sessions and it was only Julius’ steady glare that kept Romulus’ eyes open and his face attentive.

But today, visitors from the far south were attending. Which meant the session might actually be interesting. Which meant Remus got to go, and Romulus was immediately barred from entry. Instead, his father had asked him to represent the family at the ceremonial graduation of the latest batch of city watch recruits. So, instead of hearing tales from beyond the kingdoms borders, he had spent most of the day on a podium waving dispassionately at a crowd of braying onlookers.

It was always daunting, being around so many common folk. They lacked the decorum of the nobles at court. Whilst most seemed content to gape and sigh at him from a distance, there was always one who would shout out ‘my prince, look at me!’, ‘come here!’, ‘kiss my baby!’

Even with his fathers voice ringing in his ears – “no matter what you hear, stay by your guards side until you are back in the palace.” – Romulus had spent the day tense and unhappy, pinpricks of pain dancing in his skull. By the time he was allowed to speak he had quite forgotten his prepared speech and been forced to make up a quick poem on the spot. The crowd had seemed happy enough – the watch captain had tears in his eyes - but he knew neither Julius or his parents would be happy with his improvising once his guards had reported in.

He had hoped to get a few hours alone before the inevitable lecture, and were it anyone else he might have tried to sneak by without getting pulled into whatever chaos Remus had caused.

But Venchi was an old ally, one who had served his father wisely for years and who always took the time to compliment Romulus on his few measured contributions to the councils discussions, or to explain carefully any point he had missed.

He had also seen Remus at council. There shouldn’t have been anything left that the older prince could do to shock him to this extent.

“He-“ the old man looked like he couldn’t quite believe his own words, “He flipped the table.”

Romulus stared at him. The council table was ancient and enormous, made of a stone so old it’s real name has been lost. Moving it was impossible, the palace had practically been built around it.

“The Arkazeii ambassador is being seen by a healer.” Venchi continued, “but I believe his foot Is broken, I-“

The side door behind them slammed open suddenly, crashing into the wall with enough force to make the hanging portraits shake. “I said.” Remus roared, a snarl on his handsome face, “Leave me alone!”

His voice was so forceful Romulus found he had taken three steps towards the main door before he stopped himself, face flushing. The order hadn’t been meant for him. Julius, who had clearly been chasing after the young crown prince, was now openly glaring down at Remus, two spots of colour high on his cheeks.

“Your highness I must insist-“

“Seriously?” Remus cackled, “You’re insisting? Juju, honestly, I am not interested in what you have to say.” He barred his teeth at the King’s advisor, eyes wild, “If my father wants me he can come get me himself but if not you can go and -oh.”

“Hello Remus.” Romulus sighed, giving the shortest bow he could get away with, “I hear your meeting went well.”

Remus eyes narrowed “Hello Romy, have fun getting your butt kissed in town?” he slug his arm around his brother’s neck, adopting a high pitched, sing song tone in apparent impression of the townsfolk “Oh Prince Romulus, you’re sooo clever and handsome and perfect. Won’t you pretty please sign an autograph and let me suck your di-“

“Your highness, please!” Venchi looked disgusted “There is no need for vulgarity.”

“Aww hey Vee! Wow, your hair is really going, you know the balder you get the more you look like my ballsack? Romy – I’m serious, picture him with two heads” he held up his thumbs and index fingers and positioned them in front of the red-faced treasurer like a frame “I can’t be the only one that sees this.”

“You are.” Romulus snapped, shrugging his brothers arm off of his shoulders, “Did you really break the Arkazeii ambassadors foot?”

“The Arkazeii ambassador deserved it.” Remus snarled, good humour vanishing instantly. “They want to dig up Orenlla till it’s hollow. Use the rock to turn their sky black. Have you heard the stories outta that place? All the chickens are dying, ’s a travesty.”

“The chickens are- what? Just. Whatever. Not liking his trade ideas doesn’t mean you can hurt him!”

Remus eyes were always sparkling. Like a man on the brink of madness. “I can do whatever I want little brother.” He grinned at him with too many teeth, “you should try it sometime.”

“Your sons have all the makings of rulersss” the final fae smiled, her one golden eye glinting in the depth of her cloak. “My gift is for you. I give your children honestly and obedience.” She smiled sweetly, “May they bring you joy.”

“Your father is sick” Julius told him.

I know that Romulus thought but didn’t say. Watching the old man carefully.

They were in Julius practice room, at the top of the northmost turret, where Romulus had spent so much of his childhood.

“There is of course, still hope. And we have the finest healers, from every corner of the Kingdom.” Julius was pacing as he spoke, wringing his hands. It was profoundly odd, to see the old man so unsettled. But he had known Romulus’ father from when they were both boys. He loved him, as much as he was capable of loving anyone, and he loved the kingdom that he helped rule.

So Romulus found he wasn’t as surprised as he should have been with what Julius said next.

“Your brother cannot be allowed to take the throne.”

Since Romulus curse had been recognised, his parents had taken great pains to limit the brothers’ interactions, for both of their safety.

Remus could not keep a secret.

Remus was honest. He was honest at their mothers funeral when he’d announced to the mourners that she was ‘a bitch by anyone’s definition’ and honest later than evening when he’d sobbed into Romulus’ shoulder and cried that he would miss her.

He was honest when he announced to Romulus causally, over are rare shared meal, that he dreamed about killing him. “I’d do it with a morning star” he told him, slapping his spoon down onto the head of a roasted tomato and watching the red pulp fly about his plate. “Just like that.”

He was honest when he forced his way into Romulus’ room at night, shook him awake and told him, shaking, that the palace was haunted. That voices whispered to him from every corner - so loud that he couldn’t sleep.

He was honest when Romulus asked him, baffled, why are you telling me this. “I trust you.” Remus admitted, his voice thick, “You’re the only one I can trust.”

Just because he was honest, didn’t mean he was right.

Romulus gazed at Julius, his face carefully blank – a skill he had perfected over many council meetings.- and said “I don’t think you can order me to change our birth order.”

“No.” Julius smiled, and had the decency to look pained. “That’s not what I’m going to ask.”

In this room, Julius had tried every trick to strip Romulus of his curse. And when he failed, he’d dedicated himself to learning every possible way it could be exploited. In order to help protect him, of course.

“Sit there and listen to me until I finish.”

If Romulus didn’t hear an order in full, even if he could guess it, it could be ignored. As a child he’d sometimes escape his teachers simply by running away before they could give him the next task.

“The next time you lay eyes on your brother, kill him. Ensure no one can trace it back to you.”

Vague orders were still orders, and often more effective than those that were too direct. If he couldn’t prevent someone from seeing him, then he would have to kill the witness too in order to obey the instructions in full.

“Let no one know you did it. Tell no one of our conversation”

There was, by now, a long list of things Romulus was forbidden from talking about. It was one of Julius’ favourite orders to give.

“If anyone contradicts this order, ignore them.”

Contradictions were tricky. Normally the most recent order would take precedence, but often enough once the newer order had been completed, the old one would return.

“Do you understand me, Price Romulus?”

Romulus nodded and some of the tension left Julius’ shoulders.

He smiled at Romulus then, and lent over the bush back a strand of hair that had fallen across the young man’s face. He left his hand on Romulus cheek and gazed at him like he really was a kindly old mentor and Romulus his favoured pupil.

“This year, it will be the rise of King Romulus. You will be a just and fair ruler. I’ll make sure of it.”

***

As the second son of a King, Romulus future had never been certain.

His parents discussed it often. He should have become a commander in the army, or a leader of the church or married off to a neighbouring princess and become king in his own right. With all options too likely to lead to discovery however, it had been decided he would stay home, construct a reputation of studious detachment and become his brothers distant advisor.

Help him. Protect him.

Like Julius protected them.

Instead, Romulus ran away and became Roman.

Roman was loud and confident and sprouted poetry and song without hesitation. He basked in the attention from crowds and flirted with every pretty face who crossed his path. He worked and earned for himself and argued back with anyone who disagreed with him and never sat still if he could help it. He kept Romulus and his memories of home buried so deep sometimes he forgot he’d ever had another name.

Even so, there had always been, at the back of his mind, the paranoia of this day. When he would be found. Recognised. Forced back to Romulus life.

He just didn’t think when it happened it would be so embarrassing.

They’d reached a fork in the road. The Marquis paused and whipped his head from side to side, presumably checking for witnesses although it looked more like he was trying to shake water free from his ears. He stepped in front on Roman.

“You.” He enunciated slowly and loudly “Turn left. Okay? Le – e -e f -t”

Roman stared at him.

He had been kidnapped by an idiot.

With great deliberation he rested all his weight on one foot and turned left. And then kept turning, spinning in a circle a few times until the Marquis hissed “no!” and grabbed his arm.

And then dropped it immediately, wiping his hand on his sleeve.

“You. Just – follow me, alright? This way.”

Roman rolled his eye but did as he was told. The man could have just told him in the beginning to follow him to wherever their destination was, and Roman would have done so. There was no need to give him a new instruction every few paces. But if the Marquis – what was his first name? Romulus must have known at some point – didn’t know the ins and outs of his curse then Roman wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

They continued on, the Marquis stopping every three feet to stare at him, or repeat some instruction, or glare at a crumpled map in his hands. Roman despaired. Romulus had had a crush on this man.

At first, Roman assumed he would lead him towards the Royal Palace and present his find to the Princess or to whatever other Notalevealian nobles were already here for the coronation. But instead he tugged him away from the wider streets, back down hill towards the main sprawl of the city.

“Where are you taking me, villain?” Roman asked after twenty minutes of marching “because I’m pretty sure we’ve passed that street lamp three times already.”

“Somewhere where your little friend won’t be able to help you.” the Marquis muttered, glaring at the lamp in question.

Roman felt his heart freeze. His friend?

He supposed it made sense. There was no conceivable way they could have been followed in the woods. Not without Patton or Virgil noticing. The Marquis must have spotted him in the market and followed from there, which means he would have at least seen Logan, perhaps the others too since he had been at the tavern…

Although why would a noble be at the Stevangie street market?

He tried not to let his anxiety show on his face, puffing his chest out and summoning his most haughty glare.

“Listen to me, lordling, if any harm should come to them I will personally-“

“Them?” The Marquis stumbled, map fluttering to the floor. When he spun to glare at Roman his eyes were enormous. “How many are there?”

Roman blinked, haughty glare ruined by his genuine confusion. “Erm,” he tried “lots?”

The Marquis audibly gulped, but before Roman could even attempt to interpret that the man’s face brightened, his gaze caught on something behind Roman. He smirked, some swagger returning to his step.

“No matter.” He said and grabbed Romans arm, dragging him towards a nondescript building in the centre of the street, unlocking the door and shoving the bard through.

It was a bath house. The back entrance, perhaps, but the damp in the air and smell of scented soap was unmistakable.

Roman tried, in his sleep-deprived, underfed, over-stressed state, to come up with a reasonable explanation for this.

He had nothing.

“Why-“

“Shut up” The Marquis snapped. “Walk that way.” He pushed Roman down a long corridor, past arched doorways through which he caught a glimpse of the bathhouse proper, and into a dusty looking stairwell. He had produced a candle from somewhere, but the dim light did very little to illuminate anything as they gingerly picked their way down.

When they finally reached the bottom floor Roman squinted to see boxes and crates of empty bottles– a storage room? But he had no time to take it all in before he was being dragged through another pair of doors. Two more rooms and another set of stairs later and the Marquis finally stopped.

The room he’d led them to was hot and humid. Sweat dripped down Romans nose after only a few seconds. At first he couldn’t work out what the noise that filled the room was, until his eyes adjusted enough to see the tubes running from the floor to ceiling.

“You’re lucky to see this.” The Marquis had to raise his voice over the rush of running water to be heard “This room is a modern miracle – the lifeblood of the city!”

Steveange’s heated bath houses were famous. So much so even Virgil had heard of them, and he seemed to take pride in knowing nothing about the outside world. Roman had assumed the city must have been built on hot springs or some other natural source, but this was something else.

“The furnace is below us.” The Marquis explained, as he propelled Roman towards the back wall. “The pipes bring water from the river, it’s heated and pumped up and out to every bathhouse in the city.”

He grinned with something like pride as he tapped one of the pipes above Romans head, making it sing, “Arkazeii engineering and Orenllan iron. Lined with Orenllan copper of course…give me your jacket.”

“But. Notaleveale doesn’t trade it’s ores” Roman blinked rapidly, trying to remove the sweat from his eyes, as he shrugged out of his jacket.

Jacket was a generous term – it was a silken red thing, better suited to performances than travelling. But he enjoyed the way it billowed as he walked. The Marquis took it and without so much as a moments respect for the garment, ripped one of the sleeves clean off.

“Hey!”

“You’ve been away a long time.” the Marquis snarled, “you little fae touched traitor.”

Roman gaped at him, even as the man grabbed his right arm and began attempting to tie it to the nearest pipe.

“I used to look up to you” the Marquis continued, “you were everything a Prince should be. But you betrayed your father and put a curse of madness on your brother - all because of your own petty jealousy!”

He squeezed Romans wrist with enough force to leave bruises. And stepped back to admire his handywork. The silky material had no grip and it was painfully obvious the man was not used to getting his hand dirty. The resulting knot looked more like a bow. “You are no prince of mine.”

“Lucius.“ Roman knew he’d known his name. “That’s not true. That’s- that’s not even a clever story! Who came up with that?”

“Shut up.” Some of the panic from the journey had come back to Lucius’ eyes but it faded quickly “And don’t think you can scare me with my name, there is more iron in this room then anywhere else in the city.”

He grinned at Roman nastily. “Your little friends aren’t coming to save you.”

Roman stayed quiet, mind whirling. They thought Remus was cursed?

Well. He was. But not in the way Lucius seemed to believe.

They wouldn’t send a mad man to another kingdoms coronation would they? Had the seller actually been certain Remus was coming?

Tied up, exhausted and with a man who seemed to hate him glaring down, Roman started to giggle in giddy relief.

Lucius stepped back, looking unsettled, before reaching out, roughly grabbing Romans chin and shoving the remnants of his jacket into his mouth. “Stay here,” he told him, slowly and clearly “until I come back with your transport.”

He stood, taking the candle with him to the door. He paused for one moment before leaving, the flickering light illuminating a cruel smirk. “You had better hope I can arrange it before the furnaces come back on.” And he was gone.

Roman glanced above himself into the darkness, where his wrists were strapped tight to the currently cool metal. A rush of fear went through him, finally bringing him down from the giggling hysteria.

Alone In the dark, tried to think.

Roman was a bad friend. He lied to his companions as easy as breathing and took his own fears out on them.

Romulus was a bad prince. He had abandoned his kingdom and his subjects and allowed some sort of conspiracy to spring up in his wake.

But he was a good brother. Remus was alive. And he would stay that way.

After all, this afternoon he thought that Remus was here. That he would have to confront his past, escape the city, evade every member of the Notalevealian court and his own friends and steal a horse.

Now all he had to do was get out of this basement and outwit one idiot who could barely tie knots and hadn’t even thought to pat him down to check for hidden daggers.

Easy-peasy he thought, his eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion finally overtook him.

Part 5

#roman sanders #sanders sides #remus sanders #creativitwins #sanders sides fic #ts: fall of romulus #sidespart writes

153 notes · View notes

alj4890 · 3 years ago

Note

Hi,if Liam would sing and play guitar to pregnant Riley,what song would it be?Please use the guitar of Liam's mum 😊

😭 WHY DIDN'T PB LET THIS HAPPEN???? Oh goodness. That would have been a scene I would have thrown diamonds at to get. It would have been so sweet! I doubt I can do it justice, but I will try 😭

I'm using the lullaby that was sung in a classic movie from the 1950s, Bundle of Joy. My mom is the one to give me my love for classic cinema and she had this particular movie playing often when I was little. I ended up memorizing this song along with the others in it, LOL. I also sang it to my boys when rocking them to sleep. Poor things. They were stuck with my awful singing voice. No wonder they fell asleep so quickly when they were infants 😂

Lullaby In Blue from Bundle of Joy.

@gkittylove99 @darley1101 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg @twinkleallnight @amandablink @neotericthemis @mm2305

Masterlist

Sweet Memories

"Liam?" Drake rounded the corner when he heard something he hadn't heard since he was little.

He saw his friend sitting outside, strumming an old guitar.

"Is that your mom's" he asked.

Liam's cheeks heated with color. "It is." He set it aside and stood up.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he avoided eye contact.

"I didn't know you played guitar." Drake muttered.

He was curious at Liam's reaction to being caught with it.

"I learned how after her death."

Drake's eyebrow lifted. "You did? How come you never told any of us?"

Liam shrugged. "It was a way for me to hold on to her memory." His brow furrowed. "Now that Riley is pregnant, I want to pass that on to our child." He hesitated. "But I've been trying for weeks now to remember the lyrics to a song my mother used to sing to me."

He felt such guilt over this. Each day, he would tell Riley he was going for a walk around Valtoria. He had been using that as a time to practice and hopefully jog his memory.

It was eating him up inside that he couldn't remember the very song his mother would sing to him at night if he had a nightmare or felt unwell.

"Why is it that I can only recall the melody?" He raked his hands through his hair. "I wish Father was here. Perhaps he knew the song."

Drake folded his arms and tried to think back to anyone who might have heard it. "I bet my dad knew it too."

Liam sat down once more and picked up the acoustic guitar. His fingers moved over the wood as he willed his memories to come back to him.

He could see her so clearly. Her blonde hair in a neat bun. The blue dress that perfectly matched her eyes. Her bright smile as she let him strum while she made the chords.

He could almost hear her laughter when he made up silly lyrics to go along with the music she created. Her sweet encouragement that he too had musical talent.

"Do you like my song for frogs?" His six year old self had asked.

"Like it?" Eleanor reached out and gently ruffled his hair. "I adore it, dearest. I've never heard a more perfect ballad for amphibians."

"I'm running out of time." Liam explained. "In a couple of weeks, the baby will be able to hear us." He turned to Drake. "I wanted one of the first sounds that he or she heard be a song from their grandmother."

"Somebody has to remember it." Drake argued. "Maybe Maxwell or Olivia. They spent time with her too."

Liam felt a glimmer of hope. "They are supposed to arrive tomorrow for a visit." He set the guitar back in the guest house he had hidden it in. "I'll find a way to talk to them without Riley knowing."

"She doesn't know?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise for her too." Liam smiled softly. "I told her I played guitar during our date at Ramsford. She's never heard me play before. This can be something special for her and the baby."

****************

"I remember that!" Maxwell exclaimed. He hummed the rest of the tune.

"You do?" Liam felt his hope grow. " Can you remember the words?"

"Sure." Maxwell hummed the beginning. "Um...it went...hmm." His brow furrowed. "What were the words?"

Liam practically deflated. If Maxwell couldn't remember a song then all hope was most assuredly lost.

"I remember snippets." Maxwell paced back and forth. "Like, Sandman is commin and he'll be here--"

Liam sat up when those words jogged his memory. "Mighty, mighty soon. And if you don't cry--"

"He'll be dropping by with the great big lollipop moon." Maxwell belted out. "I always loved that part of the song. Who wouldn't want the Sandman to bring them a moon shaped lollipop for going to sleep?"

Liam strummed along, repeating the words Maxwell had remembered. He stilled at not recalling any of the others. "How does it begin? Or for that matter, end?"

Maxwell sat down beside him. "It'll come back to you." He patted Liam's back. "Just keep at it."

****************

The next day, Liam took a walk with Olivia.

"I've been digging around some more about Bradshaw and Isabella. Nothing concrete yet, but it never hurts to have something on them." She told him.

Liam wasn't overly concerned at the moment with the monarchs wanting an alliance with Cordonia. "Do you remember my mother's songs she used to sing to us?"

Olivia stilled. "What brought that to mind?"

Liam averted his eyes. "I've been trying to remember a song she would sing to help me sleep. It was some type of lullaby that made me smile. Maxwell remembered part of it, but the beginning lyrics have eluded me."

Olivia began to walk forward again.

He couldn't help but notice how tense she appeared.

"Olivia? Is something wrong?" He jogged to catch up.

He then saw the tears in her eyes.

She took a deep breath. "What difference does it make if you can or can't remember a song?"

He stepped back from the bitterness in her tone. "I wanted to sing it to the baby." He slipped his hands into his pants. "I've been practicing on her guitar and wanted..." He sighed. "I wanted my child to have something precious of my mother's. You remember how much she loved music."

Olivia lowered her eyes. "I do. Queen Eleanor would hum and sing even when walking down the halls."

"I didn't mean to upset you with my question." Liam apologized, regretting the fact he had dragged his friends into this.

"No. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did." She sniffed and squared her shoulders.

Although thoughts of her childhood held a great deal of bitterness, Liam and his mother had been the one bright spot in her lonely existence. She couldn't deny him her help, no matter the heartache those memories contained.

"Now. What song is it?"

Liam led her to the guest house. He strummed the tune and noticed her expression light up in recognition.

Before he could even ask, a clear alto slipped from Olivia's lips as she sang the song.

🎵Hushaby... rockaby. Listen to my lullaby in blue

Bluelululululululu

How I love my pretty baby

Sweet and precious pretty baby

How I love my pretty baby

Honest to goodness I do

See here, Sandman is commin'

And he'll be here

Mighty mighty soon

And if you don't cry, he'll be droppin' by

With a great big lollypop moon🎵

Liam joined in, remembering how the rest was sung with two people. That thought reminded him of the times his mother encouraged his father to join in, their voices blending into a sweet note as they focused on their young child.

🎵Dream dream dream (How I love my pretty baby)

Be an angel

Dream dream dream (Sweet and precious, pretty baby)

Be a darling

I love my pretty baby (How I love my pretty baby)

Honest to goodness I do

Bluelulululululu🎵

"It's called Lullaby in Blue." Olivia told him. "Your mom sang it to me when I first came to live with you." Her eyes became distant as she thought back. "I asked her to teach it to me so that I could sing it to my stuffed dragon when he had trouble sleeping."

Liam reached over and grasped her hand. "Thank you. I know you don't like thinking of the past," he squeezed her fingers, "but being able to share this song means everything to me."

Olivia slowly smiled. "You better practice then. Your child deserves nothing but the best."

She wrote down the lyrics and left him alone to practice.

When he began to sing the words, he could hear his mother's voice singing too.

***************

A few week's later...

"How are you feeling, my love?" Liam asked one evening.

Riley rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm fine. I think the baby is not too happy I ate those brownies Hana made, but i am determined to not throw them up."

Liam pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I have a surprise."

"You do?" She sat up with a big smile. "What is it?"

"Wait right here." He left her on the couch to retrieve the guitar.

Her eyebrows raised when he returned with it in hand. "Liam! Is that your mother's?"

He paused before her. "You remembered."

"Of course I do. How could I ever forget our first date?" She patted the spot next to her for him to sit. "You promised me that night that one day you might play for me." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "I didn't know a girl had to get pregnant to get serenaded around here."

Liam chuckled at that. He was touched that she recalled their date so clearly. That was the best night of his entire social season, well other than seeing her again at the Masquerade Ball.

Hearing she loved him during the Coronation Ball was also up there. If only it had ended differently.

He pushed those memories to the side. "I thought it might be time to start sharing with the baby a song my mother used to sing to me."

Riley's smile turned tender. "I think that sounds wonderful."

She watched, fighting back tears, as he positioned himself on the floor so that he could sing directly to her belly. The expression on his face as he began the lullaby was one that touched her heart.

His love and wonder for their unborn child was stamped across his handsome features. Each word he sang was done so with a smile unlike any she had ever seen before.

When he ended the song, he pressed a kiss to her baby bump.

"I hope you liked that." He gently rubbed her tummy. "It was a favorite of mine from my mother. I wish you could have met her. She was the kindest, most gentle woman I have ever met." His hand moved to hold Riley's. "We're lucky though that you have a mother just as wonderful as mine was."

"Liam." Riley gave up on not crying.

He pressed a kiss to her hand before continuing. "I love you and your mother more than anything. I intend on you hearing that every single day I am blessed to have with you." His fingers tangled with Riley's. "That song is a reminder of just how beloved you already are to both of us."

Riley tugged him back on the couch. She kissed him, whispering how much she loved him, how happy he made her.

The two cuddled together and thought of the day coming soon when their family would at last be complete.

#liam x riley #choices the royal heir #King Liam #choices trh #choices the stories you play #choices fan fiction #requests

60 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Text

Tedious Joys - Chapter 5 -

- Ao3 link -

It was not a letter that came to the Cloud Recesses in response to his query, but rather Lao Nie’s two sons.

Lan Qiren was made aware of their arrival when Lan Wangji burst into his room at a run, without knocking, and it was such a strange and bizarre occurrence – it was simply unthinkable for Lan Wangji to do such a thing, when his love and respect for the Lan sect rules were equal to Lan Qiren’s own, a special interest they shared and bonded over – that Lan Qiren immediately knew that something must have gone very wrong.

“Nie Huaisang is scared,” he said, his own golden eyes wide and round as the moon, his voice trembling as if this news was the worst thing that could ever happen. Indeed, Lan Qiren could not think of any instances in which he had known Nie Huaisang to suffer the emotion of fear: laziness, impertinence, annoyance, any number of emotions, yes, but never fear. “Shufu…”

“Where is he?” Lan Qiren asked, already rising to his feet – Lan Xichen, with whom he had been having tea, had already leapt up.

“Is Mingjue-xiong here as well?” he asked anxiously. “Is he well?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes filled up with tears and he shook his head furiously, his voice failing him, and Lan Qiren held out a hand to him. Lan Wangji put his smaller hand in his and started tugging him out the door. When he met the Nie boys at the gate, it was already after dinner, late by Lan standards with the sun already mostly set, and Nie Mingjue was unexpectedly wearing one of his winter cloaks; perhaps it was that which deceived Lan Qiren’s eyes, hiding his appearance until they returned with him to his rooms, or else it was simply that he had difficulty believing the evidence of his own vision.

“What happened?” he demanded, his hands gentle but determined on Nie Mingjue’s shoulders as he guided the boy into his well-lit home, forcing him at once to sit when he saw the state of him. Nie Mingjue was a mess: a black eye and a split lip, bruises on his cheek and his collarbone; his fingers were trembling and it was unclear what other injuries there was under his clothing. “Where’s Lao Nie?”

Nie Mingjue flinched when he asked; Nie Huaisang, following in behind him, burst into tears. He, at least, looked more shaken than actually injured: his lips were chapped from what must have been a blisteringly fast flight and there was a bruise at his brow, but one that seemed more like the sort that one would get from knocking into something by accident, rather than a fight gone horribly wrong.

Lan Qiren felt something cold slither up his spine.

“Where’s Lao Nie?” he asked again, suddenly afraid of the answer. “Did you come here by yourselves..?”

Technically permissible, given that Nie Mingjue was probably fifteen, but Lao Nie would never have allowed such a thing – and yet Nie Mingjue nodded dully.

“You need a doctor!” Lan Xichen said, and Nie Mingjue started violently, then reached out and caught Lan Xichen’s wrist before he could go to fetch one.

“Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t, no. I don’t want anyone to know. I only came here because – because Huaisang –”

“I’m not letting you go back alone!” Nie Huaisang shouted, and his voice was hoarse, too, almost squeaking with the effort needed to speak. “I’m not! You promised you’d stay with me!”

Nie Mingjue averted his eyes.

“Da-ge…!”

Lan Qiren swallowed down his fear. “Xichen, get the medical supplies from my travel bag,” he instructed, interrupting the imminent battle between brothers, and Lan Xichen moved at once. “Wangji, fetch them both some water; Huaisang, you will drink the water before you lose any more of your voice. Mingjue…tell me what happened.”

The story, when it came out, was worse than Lan Qiren could have imagined.

A night-hunt gone wrong, that was with the realm of his expectation – a night-hunt against an especially vicious yao, a wild boar gone mad with the season and having cultivated to great strength, near-human in its cunning and malice but purely bestial in its unending strength. Such things had been the end of many cultivators, no matter how talented or powerful; it would have been something not unlike that which had put an end to the life of the light-hearted Cangse Sanren and her valorous husband.

But the rest of the story…

“Jiwei shattered?” Lan Qiren asked, unable to believe it. “Jiwei? How could that happen?”

“It was Wen Ruohan,” Nie Mingjue said, wiping his streaming eyes. “I could feel it, just before it happened – I felt him. His cultivation. He did something to Jiwei, all those months ago, that stupid party…he patted her a few times, I don’t know what he did. A-die’s been complaining ever since then that something seemed wrong, but he couldn’t quite say what it was so he just disregarded it.”

Lan Qiren swallowed again, his throat abruptly very dry. “That’s an accusation of murder against another sect leader, Mingjue,” he said carefully. “To say such a thing could lead the whole cultivation world into war.”

Nie Mingjue – honest, straightforward Nie Mingjue – looked up at him with red eyes. “But it’s true, Teacher Lan. He did it. I’m sure of it.”

Lan Qiren didn’t doubt him. Nie Mingjue might be young, but he was an exceptional cultivator. He wouldn’t have made a mistake of this type, not with something like this. And given his earnest, serious, and righteous nature, he wouldn’t speak lightly, either – if he said it, it meant he believed it; if he believed it, it was more than likely true.

Wen Ruohan had shattered Jiwei.

Whatever his motives, whether they were political or personal, whether he was avenging some grudge or perhaps just irate that Lao Nie had decided against sharing his bed or what – he had destroyed a spiritual weapon, which would be an abominable move under any circumstances but which was so much worse when the blade and master were so closely connected and intertwined as Lao Nie and Jiwei were.

Had been.

“And – Lao Nie – he…” Lan Qiren’s heart shook in his chest. “Is he…”

“He’s not dead,” Nie Huaisang said, and Lan Qiren’s knees went soft in relief. “But he’s not – he doesn’t act right.”

“Not right?” Lan Xichen asked. He was sitting next to Nie Mingjue, dabbing warm water on the wounds on his face; he clearly would have preferred to summon a doctor at once, and was equally clearly itching to tear off Nie Mingjue’s robes to get at the untended wounds that doubtless lay hidden there. “What do you mean?”

“He keeps asking for her,” Nie Huaisang said. His voice was high-pitched with stress; his hand was clenched around Lan Wangji’s, knuckles white, grip so tight that it must have hurt, although Lan Wangji said nothing to indicate any discomfort, even if he noticed it. “He’s always asking for someone to bring him his saber, asking where Jiwei is – even when we showed him the pieces, he didn’t recognize them. And he doesn’t recognize us, either!”

“What do you mean, he doesn’t recognize you?” Lan Qiren asked, voice sharp. “He doesn’t know who you are?”

“He thinks we’re his enemies,” Nie Huaisang said. “He doesn’t – he doesn’t believe us when we say we’re his children, he thinks we’re other people – calls us names I don’t recognize – he thinks we’re keeping Jiwei from him on purpose, and he gets angry. Teacher Lan, he gets so angry…”

Lan Qiren’s fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms. “Mingjue,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could. “Mingjue, A-Jue…how did you get those injuries?”

He’d thought that it was left over from the fight with the boar yao. Nie Mingjue had said he was there, that he’d finished the job after everyone was frozen because of what happened to Jiwei, after Lao Nie had nearly gotten gored with a tusk, and it was plausible. And yet, Lan Qiren knew too well how fearsome Lao Nie was in the midst of his rage, how violent, how vicious, how callous.

It was rage he would never turn against those he loved. But if he didn’t recognize them –

“Some are from the boar,” Nie Mingjue finally whispered, his head bowed in silent admission that that was not the source of all of his wounds. An admission that some of them had come from Lao Nie’s hand, and oh – that hurt most of all, to think of how Lao Nie would hate what he’d done. Lao Nie despised those who raised their fists to their own kin the most; he called them cowards, pathetic, monsters in human flesh.

He would hate more than any other what he had become at Wen Ruohan’s hands.

“What do the doctors say?” he asked, voice sticking in his throat.

Nie Mingjue’s head lowered still further. “Wait.”

He did not mean – they did not mean – that time would heal this illness.

They meant for him to wait until Lao Nie died.

“I will return with you to the Unclean Realm,” Lan Qiren decided, and Nie Mingjue started crying in abrupt relief.

“I didn’t dare hope – I just needed someone to watch Huaisang,” he said, stuttering over his words, face in his hands as he wept. “A-die said we could always come to you –”

“You’re not leaving me behind,” Nie Huaisang shouted at once, although his face was pale. “Da-ge, he’s my father too -”

“Your cultivation isn’t anywhere near strong enough to stand up to him! You need to be safe, Huaisang –”

“And you don’t? Da-ge! Teacher Lan, tell him!”

Lan Qiren held up a hand, calling for silence. “Huaisang,” he said sternly. “You wish to return because you fear for your brother, which is admirable – ‘be loyal and filial’. Yet remember that you must also extend faith to others. Do you trust me to make sure Mingjue is safe?”

After a moment, Nie Huaisang jerked his head in a nod.

“You will stay here with Xichen and Wangji,” Lan Qiren said. “Mingjue and I will go, and I will do what I can. To the best of my ability, I will not permit him to be harmed.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, comforted, and Lan Wangji solemnly squeezed his hand. They were young and easily deceived; but Lan Xichen, who was older, had not yet lost the look of concern on his face – unlike the younger two, he knew the vast difference in strength between Lao Nie and Lan Qiren.

If Lan Qiren were the more meticulous, the more targeted, then Lao Nie was still the blazing sun in comparison to his dim candle. Lan Qiren had never been permitted to leave the Cloud Recesses in search of adventure, had barely even been allowed to go to night-hunts to try to win fame lest he die and leave the Lan sect with a power vacuum, and even before that, as a child, he had been promising but painfully slow; he had always relied on Lao Nie for matters that called for sheer power. No matter how much Lan Qiren had cultivated through meditation and music and orthodox swordsmanship, enough for a golden core that shone brightly with a clear and pure light, it was nowhere near enough to give him the strength to stop Lao Nie if he was in the midst of a rampage.

Lan Qiren was no match for Lao Nie.

Lan Xichen knew that. Equally so, he knew that Lan Qiren obeyed their Lan sect rules as if they were a heavenly mandate: he would not lie.

To the best of his ability, he would not permit Nie Mingjue to be harmed – even if it cost him his own life.

It very well might.

“What’s your condition? How long do you need to rest before you can fly again?” he asked Nie Mingjue. If he could, Lan Qiren would side with Nie Huaisang and force Nie Mingjue to stay in the Cloud Recesses as well, to heal from wounds both external and internal – he might be as tall as a grown man, but Nie Mingjue was the same age as most of Lan Qiren’s students, most of them less than a year or two into night-hunting and convinced of their own immortality, foolish with confidence and deeply vulnerable beneath that. Nie Mingjue himself was steadier, had been night-hunting for years since Lao Nie had no plausible basis to deny him the right to it, but the hunted, scared look in his tear-reddened eyes showed that he was still just as fragile.

And yet, without him, Lan Qiren would not be allowed into the Unclean Realm.

He knew the protocols of the Qinghe Nie sect like the back of his hand: in such a dire situation they would retreat inside their fortress, bar the doors and refuse guests, wait for the storm to pass. They were brave and exuberant, always willing to rush out to be the first to face down evil, but they were also intensely private, each one of them. When the hurt came from the inside, they would hide the truth of it more thoroughly than they would a treasure.

Lao Nie would not be able to counter-order them – so Nie Mingjue had to be the one.

He’ll be sect leader next if Lao Nie dies, Lan Qiren thought, and felt abruptly sick to his stomach.

The Nie sect valued martial strength much more than the Lan sect, prized their saber spirits above all else, even safety; Nie Mingjue wouldn’t be forced to give up saber training or night-hunting the way Lan Qiren had had to. But the demands of the position of sect leader were relentless, taxing beyond belief, and something would have to give – it would be everything else that would need to be sacrificed.

All of Nie Mingjue’s softness, the hobbies he enjoyed in his spare time, the books he liked to read; his time with friends, his inclination to play, to read, to learn, to do things for pleasure, his ability to act spontaneously without first thinking of what it might mean for his sect. Even the tears that flowed so easily down his face now would become a luxury he could not afford, a weakness he would need to hide away until only a few close friends could see it.

His sect elders would probably want him married off as soon as possible, too, and never mind that he was too young – Nie Huaisang was still young, too young, but he’d never been especially promising, not the way Nie Mingjue was, and the Nie sect elders knew very well how the saber spirit worked, how the most talented were often the earliest to die. Lan Qiren had a letter on his desk from Lao Nie, only a few months old, complaining that they were already pressing for him to find an engagement for his eldest.

If they had their way, they would put Nie Mingjue to stud at once, hoping for at least three strong sons to carry on the family name by the time he died, and in so doing would selfishly sacrifice any hope he might have of finding love…

“I can keep going at once,” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Qiren leveled him with a stern look. “I can! Teacher Lan, trust me, I know myself. Let me meditate as you get ready; two incense sticks and I’ll be capable of the return journey.”

“Take a shichen,” Lan Qiren instructed, and glared Nie Mingjue into silence when he tried to protest. “The journey to Qinghe is long, and we will need to make stops along the way regardless to recover the strength to continue. Overexerting yourself could damage your cultivation, and that’s the last thing we need right now. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Teacher Lan,” Nie Mingjue said. He was as headstrong as any Nie, but on everything but a matter of principle he generally erred in favor of obedience; a good, filial child. He would need to get rid of that trait, too, if he were to become sect leader…

“It will take that long for me to get matters in place for my departure,” Lan Qiren added, a comfort, and he had the pleasure of seeing Nie Mingjue’s shoulders inch down a little from his ears. “Xichen, go to the kitchens; tell them we require something warm – soup for sure, and preferably a meat dish, if there is any. Do not accept no as an answer.”

Lan Xichen barely took the time to nod before he was out the door. Nie Mingjue was already folding himself down into a sitting pose to meditate, drinking the water Lan Wangji had brought him, and Lan Qiren looked at his second nephew and his best friend’s second son.

“Wangji,” he said, and Lan Wangji looked at him at once, seriousness written into every line of him. “Take Huaisang back to your quarters and keep him there, hidden from notice. As few people as possible should know that he is here at all, and even fewer where he is being kept.”

There was a glimmer of fear in Lan Wangji’s eyes as he absorbed the implications of that – that there were those that might want to take advantage of the crisis to harm the Nie sect, even here in the Cloud Recesses, that Nie Huaisang was the most vulnerable of them all with his weak golden core and no defender by his side, that he could be subject to death or kidnapping or worse – but he nodded deeply, saluted as best as he could without releasing Nie Huaisang’s hand from his own, and tugged Nie Huaisang along with him.

“Da-ge…?” Nie Huaisang asked, twisting to look at Nie Mingjue, who nodded encouragement at him. With a sniff and a swipe of his nose on his sleeve, he finally went, trailing behind Lan Wangji.

Lan Qiren busied himself with the preparations he needed to make – he hated to plan a journey that did not have a set endpoint, but he’d gotten better at it and this was one in which it was clearly necessary. As far as he knew, he might never make it back to the Cloud Recesses, and Wen Ruohan would have struck down two sects in a single blow.

It was, in all truth, pure foolishness for him to go. All the sect elders would advise against it, marshaling any number of citations to the rules and arguments to support them.

Lan Qiren didn’t care.

He could think of dozens of rules to cite as rebuttals, his heart hurting in his chest all the while, but in the end he could only think about how taking the time to argue at all would delay him, how it would extend Lao Nie’s suffering if he dithered and debated instead of acting swiftly. Lan Qiren might die, yes, but he had to try to help. He owed it to Lao Nie to do anything he could.

He owed it to himself.

#mdzs #lan qiren #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #lan wangji #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #tedious joys #tw: child abuse #tw: domestic violence #but like #unintentional?

142 notes · View notes

thefinalcinderella · 3 years ago

Text

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 10 - Shooting Star (Part 2)

The Ekiden continues!

Now that I finished the novel, I’m not sure what to do with myself now (work on my other translations lol)

Full list of translations here

Previous | Next

As he ran, Nico-chan recalled the phone call Kiyose had made to him when he was at the Odawara relay station. As dispassionately as ever, Kiyose had said,

“How are you feeling, Nico-chan-senpai?”

“Same as usual.”

“That’s good to hear. Please run as usual today.”

“Does that mean you don’t expect anything from me?”

“Of course not. What I mean is that Yuki ran exceeding our expectations, but don’t be influenced by that.”

“Hmph,” Nico-chan had sniffed. He wasn’t going to get so fired up by Yuki’s deeply impressive sprinting that he would lose sight of his own abilities.

“Well, I’ll go steadily.”

“Nico-chan-senpai,” Kiyose had said in a formal tone, “please maintain a pace of three minutes per kilometer. I’m sorry I can’t make it easier for you.”

“Haiji, come on.” Nico-chan scratched his head. “If you wanted it to be easy for me, then it would have been easier to not run at all. I wouldn’t have had to go on a diet or quit smoking. It was never going to be easy no matter what pace I’m running at. I’m just happy that I was able to get a healthy body, so don’t complain about how I rank either.”

“Yes.” Kiyose had seemed to be smiling. “Then, see you at Otemachi.”

He hadn't been lying about what he said to Kiyose: it would have been easier if he didn’t run. However, Nico-chan didn’t regret taking up track again after a long break; the pain of running, mixed with the joy of working toward a common goal with people close to him, had become sweet, and it was a taste he had long forgotten as he earned his own tuition and lived an independent life on his own.

With the wind blowing down from the mountains of Hakone at his back, Nico-chan ran. The seventh leg, which ran from Odawara to Hiratsuka, was 21.2 kilometers long. On the whole, the course was flat and easy to run. The route was the same as that of the outbound fourth leg, running in the opposite direction toward Tokyo, but it was slightly longer due to the detour at Oiso Station.

The first three kilometers, until they reached the town of Odawara, ran downhill, albeit gently. If he got carried away and increased his pace too much, the later half would be tough, so Nico-chan tried to keep his excitement and nervousness firmly in check and pace himself to fit with his stature.

That Haiji, he’s really good at observing people, Nico-chan thought. When he received the sash from Yuki, he was excited. At the same time, he also had a strong sense of pride, so he restrained himself from getting too excited and rushing in the first half. Kiyose probably read his personality and his relationship with Yuki and put Nico-chan in the seventh leg. Of course, he also must have thought that the seventh leg, with its few ups-and-downs, would be easier on Nico-chan’s legs and would be able to bring out his abilities to the fullest.

The thin rain continued to fall and his hair was now completely damp. It was easier to breathe on a rainy day than in the dry air. It was also fortunate that there wasn't much wind; running would have been out of the question if, on top of being soaked by rain, there had been a cold wind blowing from Hakone. The temperature was about one degree Celsius. It was said that the seventh leg was a course where the difference in the temperature could wear you out, but thanks to the rain, he didn’t seem to have to worry about that today. He would be running along the sea from now on, and the closer it got to noon, the more the temperature should increase.

The only problem is that my uniform is getting damp and sticking to my skin. Nico-chan frowned slightly. The lines of his body were clearly visible, making him feel as though he was running naked. Well, it’s been like that from the start.

Nico-chan wasn’t a fan of the light material of the running shirts and pants. Long-distance runners, men and women alike, had slender figures. Of course they had strong and supple muscles, but they almost looked like gazelles and antelopes. Such athletes would look good in uniforms made with a minimum of fabric, but unfortunately, Nico-chan was big-boned. Thanks to his diet, he was able to lose the extra fat, but he couldn’t whittle down his broad shoulders, imposing hip bones, or sturdy femurs.

When Nico-chan wore a uniform made of small, flimsy cloth, it looked as though there was an extremely large amount of skin showing. And now, it was wet and clinging to him.

It’s not like I’m a fat mermaid who was thrown up on the rocks, Nico-chan thought, embarrassed. I guess I should have at least trimmed my leg hair. To think that my hairy legs in all their glory will be delivered to living rooms all over the country.

He glanced at the legs of the runner running next to him. This guy’s leg hair isn’t even close to looking unsightly. Is it because he was born with thin body hair, or because he takes good care of it? Right after he thought that, he was shocked to realise that there was another runner next to him. Was he about to have another runner catch up and overtake him without realizing it? Nico-chan vigorously checked next to him, and then turned his head back to the road.

The runner next to him was from TSU, and he must have received his sash at the Odawara relay station about ten seconds before Nico-chan. He didn’t catch up to me, I caught up to him. Nico-chan checked his watch to make sure he was keeping pace. Okay, he nodded inwardly. I’ll be able to pull ahead of this TSU guy.

However, he couldn’t see any of the other schools in front of him. He had no idea what place he was running in, or what Kansei’s actual position was taking into account the delayed start time.

It was an unsure battle, so much so that his wet uniform was no longer a problem. As he thought that, Nico-chan entered the town of Odawara. There were crowds of people cheering by the road and waving flags, and among them there was a face that looked like a member of the shopping district, holding up Kansei’s banner and shouting something, but he couldn’t make it out because it was all mixed up in the surrounding chatter. It seemed that the only way to get information was to get it from the coach car behind him at the five-kilometer point.

For the time being, Nico-chan focused on maintaining his pace and pushing their nemesis, TSU, away. With only the landlord in the coach car he wasn’t sure if he could get the right information, but behind the landlord stood Kiyose, the shadow coach of Kansei University. Even at this moment, Kiyose should be working hard to gather information and advise the landlord in giving instructions to ease Nico-chan’s mind. Despite the fact that his own turn was approaching.

Nico-chan trusted Kiyose’s ability as a coach. Kiyose was the second fastest runner after Kakeru on the Kansei team, but what made him stand out above all the others was his ability to see and allot people into roles. If it weren’t for him, they would have never come up with the idea to aim for Hakone, nor would they have actually made it this far.

Kiyose often ruled the residents of Chikusei-sou with an iron fist. However, he never blamed the residents for their inexperience in running, nor did he make light of their feelings and pride; he always tried to thoroughly teach the residents how to face running independently in ways that suited their personalities.

Because he had once experienced a setback in track and field, Kiyose was able to guide the residents of Chikusei-sou, almost all of whom were beginners. He had kindness, strength, and a conviction and passion for running. Nico-chan knew that very well, because he had also devoted himself to track until high school.

As soon as Nico-chan entered university, he quit track altogether. He saw no hope in running. As a high school student, he had taken the sport seriously—it was painful and tedious to set goals and run day after day, but he loved the act of running itself.

However, as Nico-chan got bigger, his bones got heavier. No matter how much he loved to run, as long as the competition was based on time, there was always the issue of physical aptitude. Of course he could run faster and for longer than other men his age, but it was difficult to see how he could continue to compete as a long-distance runner and aim for the top. That difficulty became apparent in his third year of high school; Nico-chan’s frame and disposition to store fat made him unsuited for long-distance running, to the point where it was hopeless even with effort.

Joining the track team in university, becoming active on a corporate team after graduation and then even competing on the world stage—he wondered how many such athletes were out there. The higher you aimed, the more you felt the brilliance of those with natural talent, because you had enough experience and practice to grasp your own ability, and you were made to realize that there were states you could never reach. In the face of his own stubbornly growing body, Nico-chan felt powerless.

Nico-chan’s misfortune was that he didn’t have a mentor to show him that it was okay to keep running even if he wasn’t a competitive athlete, and that if he loved running, he could enjoy it. Because he was still young and dedicated to track, at that time he felt like if he couldn’t attain great success as a runner, then it was all meaningless, and Nico-chan was so disappointed in himself that he distanced himself from track.

During his long years as a student, he learned how to live on his own and gained experience outside of track. And what he learned was that “meaningless” wasn’t bad. He wasn’t saying that to whitewash things. When you ran, you had to win. However, victory came in many forms. Just as there was no clear form of victory in life, victory wasn't just getting the best time among the participants.

The fact that Kiyose also had similar thoughts encouraged Nico-chan. It was both pitiable and absurd that he foolhardily thought there was only one way to victory when he was in high school. By distancing himself from running, Nico-chan had grown up, and with his sympathy and trust towards Kiyose, he threw himself back into days of running.

Kiyose was an excellent commander. He knew people’s pain, but he also knew the cold-heartedness of the world of sport. He understood all the differences in values and had driven on his mishmash of a team with a tenacious force of will and passion.

It’s Kakeru, who continued to give Haiji that passion, Nico-chan thought. Kiyose couldn’t leave it alone—he couldn’t leave Kakeru’s shining talent that was hard to come by alone, even after he got injured.

What’s amazing is that the two of them get on so well. Nico-chan wiped the raindrops from the bridge of his nose. It seemed that Kiyose and Kakeru were inspired by each other in every aspect, not just in running—at least it seemed that way to Nico-chan. They were moved by each other’s virtues and annoyed by each other’s faults. In other words, it's a proper bond between two fellow humans, Nico-chan thought. There was definitely something beautiful like friendship or love between those two; they could communicate to each other through running and their hearts. Nico-chan thought it was a miracle that the two of them met.

Nico-chan wanted to watch the connection and clashes between Kiyose and Kakeru forever. He wanted to see that very noble human state brought about by the act of the running.

That was why they had run together for the past year, and they were still running as hard as they could. As he passed through the town of Odawara, the TSU runner was falling back little by little. After crossing the Sakawa River, the rest was a straight road along the sea, and Nico-chan wondered if he would really be able to see the figure of the runner in front of him.

At the five-kilometer point, he heard the landlord’s voice from the coach car behind him.

“Nico-chan, right now, you’re running in thirteenth place. Koufu Gakuin should be 30 seconds ahead of you.”

The Koufu Gakuin runner for the seventh leg had a ten-thousand-meter time of 29 minutes and 10 seconds. He was a much faster runner than Nico-chan, and it was all he could do to keep the gap from widening. Nico-chan listened closely and analyzed the information he was given.

“In addition, Kansei’s ranking with the addition of the delayed start time is…” The landlord raised his voice through the microphone. “Sixteenth place at the end of the sixth leg!”

Even with Yuki sprinting and coming in second for the sixth leg, we’re still in sixteenth place? Nico-chan felt overwhelmed as he thought about the future. However, considering the fact that they had finished eighteenth in the outbound leg yesterday, they were slowly moving up again. The only thing to do was not give up now and hand over the sash with an even slightly better time.

“There’s a message from Haiji: ‘There is hope. Please don’t relax your pace.’ That’s all!”

Nico-chan raised his right hand slightly as a sign of acknowledgment. That’s right, there’s hope. It would be impossible for Kansei to win the Hakone Ekiden. They had already come in at eighteenth for the outbound leg, and even in the seventh leg of the return race, they had failed to make any remarkable progress. However, they were still in a position to aim for the top ten, where they would get seeded.

The reason why they were aiming for a top ten finish wasn’t because they wanted to participate in next year’s Hakone Ekiden unconditionally. They wanted to definitively bring an end to this battle with only ten people one way or another. They didn’t want anyone to say again that it was pointless for a team that didn’t even know if it would have enough runners to win the seed rights.

It wasn’t about meaningfulness or meaninglessness—they would run as much as they could now to show the proof and pride of what they had done.

Nico-chan’s arms, which were filled with heat, repelled the pouring winter rain.

---

King, who was running the eighth leg, and Musa, who was his attendant, were at the Hiratsuka relay station. King, who had just finished warming up, was running around the relay station, going to the restroom, and refusing to stay in one place. The relay station and the roadside were already packed with spectators, and King was nervous.

Musa decided to leave the restless King alone. No matter what he said to him, King wouldn’t stop wandering around like a hamster spinning in a wheel.

Well, he will settle down when he is tired. It is not a good idea to get tired before a race, but it seems that I have no choice but to let King-san do what gives him peace of mind, Musa decided. King had surprisingly sensitive nerves: if he was forced to hold back his movements, the tension would build up inside of him and he might explode.

That was why Musa was sitting alone on a plastic sheet spread out in a corner of the relay station, checking the progress of the race on his mobile TV. After cheering Yuki’s success, he was now watching Nico-chan’s running. Every once in a while, the screen would show him running the seventh leg. He was currently running near Ninomiya, a little past ten kilometers. There were many small ups and downs due to the bridge over the river, but he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead and carried his legs in a steady form.

King finally regained his calm for a short while. He stopped running and sat down next to Musa.

“How is Nico-chan-senpai doing?”

Musa passed a blanket to King, who was peering at the screen.

“His pace has not slowed down. However, the gap between us and Koufu Gakuin University is widening. The opponent is faster.”

King wrapped himself in the blanket and began to do stretches while sitting.

“Our position?”

“It has not changed. We are running behind Koufu Gakuin and in front of TSU, so he is apparently in thirteenth place, but our overall time is still in sixteenth place.”

“Ah…”

King let out a sound that was somewhere between a response and a sigh, and rested his forehead on his stretched knees. When he was still, his body naturally trembled with anxiety.

“Yuki’s run was incredible.” King’s voice was cheerful, as though to shake off his tremors.

“It was. I am sure Shindou-san is pleased as well.” Musa smiled. The two of them remained silent for a while, staring absentmindedly at the scene in front of them from a low vantage point. The relay station was as lively as a fair, with runners, staff members, and spectators coming and going. Only the space around Musa and King was quiet, as though sound and time had left them behind. It felt like they were isolated in a tank filled with tension.

A pair of legs clad in track pants appeared in their fields of vision and stopped. When they looked up at the same time, they found TSU’s Sakaki looking down on them.

“It looks like this will be the last time the Kansei track team will be in Hakone. I guess you can say that it’s a good thing you don’t have to worry about a lack of members for next year.”

The polite and quiet tone of his voice made it impossible to ignore. King was about to stand up indignantly, but Musa grabbed the edge of the blanket and stopped him. Sakaki had also been entered into the eighth leg. He was about to run and he expressly came to talk to King, who was running in the same leg. Musa sensed Sakaki’s nervousness and pressure there.

“You still don’t know yet,” Musa replied calmly. “It is also a close call as to whether or not TSU can get seeded.”

“And right now, you guys are running behind us,” King fired back at Sakaki with sarcasm.

“Only outwardly. Besides, I’ll overtake you in the eighth leg,” Sakaki’s words were filled with strong determination. “It’s not just you, I’m going to overtake all the schools ahead of us.”

Heh heh, good luck, King muttered in his head.

“Why are you so worked up over this?” he asked out loud. Sakaki’s eyebrows shot up like broken windshield wipers.

“Of course I’m going to get worked up over this. This is the Hakone Ekiden. I’ve been running all my life to be in this event. Since middle school! You lot who are joking around and running for fun might not understand, though.”

“We are not running for fun.”

King was surprised when Musa said that and stood up abruptly. He faced Sakaki and continued, “There is no such painful playing as this. Sakaki-san, you should know that very well, yet why are you picking a fight with us? King-san will be setting off soon. Please do not say things to irritate him.”

You’re so cool, Musa. King, still wrapped in his blanket, looked up at Musa with feelings of reliability.

Behind Sakaki were the reserve upperclassmen for TSU. During the summer camp, the upperclassmen hadn’t been aware of Kansei, but that was not the case now, of course. “Sakaki, what are you doing?” they called out. They were worried about Sakaki, who was standing facing King and Musa. Sakaki, however, didn’t turn around.

King suddenly felt sorry for Sakaki. Starting with Kakeru, it wasn't only the Kansei members that were his rivals, but even his fellow TSU teammates were as well. He was so devoted to running and loved it so wholeheartedly that everyone around him was his enemy. He didn’t get along with anyone, didn’t get familiar with other people, and only cared about the times and rankings of other runners.

King felt pity for Sakaki, who could only face running in such a way. Putting his blanket aside, King stood up from the plastic sheet.

“Hey, are you having fun? You’ve always dreamed of being in the Hakone Ekiden, and now you’re going to run it. So why don’t you seem to be having fun at all?”

“Is it necessary for me to have fun?” Sakaki wasn’t shaken in the least. “This is a race.”

“It is, but…” King thought about how to put it in words. “Our captain, Kiyose, often says, it’s not enough to be fast. A long-distance runner has to be strong. I think he probably means that we should enjoy running.”

“How naïve,” Sakaki’s brows moved again. You guys are hopeless, he said, as though chiding a little kid for playing in the mud.

“If you want to make good memories during your school days, then have fun. It suits you guys. But I’m different: I fight and fight and win competitions. That’s why I run. I don’t want to be like Kurahara and degrade with the weak.”

“What did you say!” King quickly threw away the pity he had just felt and yelled at him, but Sakaki walked away quickly, seemingly satisfied that he said what he wanted to say.

“He really pisses me off.”

Musa soothed King, who was gnashing his teeth. “There are some good points in what Sakaki-san said.”

“That might be, but I’m still pissed off, so I’m calling Kakeru!”

King took out his phone from his jersey pocket.

---

Kakeru had just finished a light jog and was about to return to the Totsuka relay station. As he was thinking that his body was loosened up and that one more run after some stretching would be just perfect, Jouji, who was in charge of their bags, beckoned to him.

“Kakeru, your phone’s ringing.”

He accepted his phone from Jouji and checked the display. He thought it would be Kiyose, but it was actually King.

“Yes?”

Before he could ask if anything was wrong, King’s loud voice attacked Kakeru’s eardrums.

“Kakeru! You have to be number one! Make that annoying brat frustrated and drown in a sea of tears! You understand!?”

King talked on and on one-sidedly, and then hung up. He was so angry that even the people around him could hear him from the receiver.

“What was that just now?”

“Who knows…”

Kakeru and Jouji looked at each other.

“It’s pretty rare to see King-san so excited.”

“The only times he’s like that are when he’s participating in a push-button quiz show from outside the TV.”

“Oh, I got it!” Jouji pretended to push an answer button. “TSU’s Sakaki is running in the eighth leg, right? He must have said something to him at the relay station.”

That also seemed like the correct answer to Kakeru. King seemed to have forgotten his nervousness in his anger, which was good, but when he thought about how much Sakaki hated him, he felt miserable.

He didn’t intend to show his sorrow on his face, but Jouji seemed to sense it.

“You should just let it go,” he said and clapped Kakeru on the back. “I do want you to be number one, though.”

“Of course I’m going to run to make that happen, but…”

Jouji wasn’t purely cheering for Kakeru, but also seemed to have some other meaning in his words. When Kakeru looked at him, Jouji smiled shyly.

“I’m thinking of confessing to Hana-chan when Haiji-san crosses the finish line in Otemachi. Oh, I can’t wait.”

I see, Kakeru nodded. So Jouji is hoping for a quick race.

“But Jouji, even if you hurry from here, I’d be doubtful if you can make it to Otemachi in time for Haiji-san to cross the finish line.”

“No way, really!?”

“Probably. I watch the TV broadcast every year, and the runners who finish the eighth leg often don’t make it back from Totsuka to Otemachi within the broadcast time.”

“What should I do! Should I head for Otemachi right now?”

If it was for love, Jouji would abandon his attendant duties.

“I don’t mind, but I think Haiji-san will find out and drown you in a sea of blood.”

“You’re right.” Jouji began to writhe in agony. “I’ll have to make sure with my own eyes that the sash is relayed to you. I wonder if Hana-chan will wait for me.”

Hanako would wait for the twins to come to Otemachi no matter what without being told to. Even if it was until nighttime or she got buried under heavy snowfall. Kakeru thought that, but only said, “I wonder.” Kakeru was pretty dense, but Jouji’s denseness was as vexing as watching an armadillo move forward. It was probably fine to tease him this much.

As Kakeru laughed at himself inwardly at this narrow-minded revenge, someone called out to him, “Kansei always looks like they’re having fun.”

When he turned around, he saw Fujioka of Rikudou University standing there. He seemed to have been listening to the exchange between Kakeru and Jouji, and he had a smile on his face that reminded Kakeru of the Buddha in Nirvana. His smooth-shaven head was as shining as ever on this cloudy day.

“Wait, wait, this person is…” Jouji tugged on Kakeru’s sleeve.

“Happy New Year,” Kakeru greeted.

“Please treat me well this year as well, okay?” Fujioka said, like he was poking fun at him a little, and then his expression immediately turned serious. “The time has finally come.

“Kurahara. I’m going to set a new record for the ninth leg.”

Kakeru was overawed for a moment at the bold declaration. Fujioka wasn’t saying he was simply going to get the section prize—he wasn’t saying that he would be the top runner in the ninth leg of this tournament, but that he would be the top runner of all the runners in the ninth leg in the history of the Hakone Ekiden.

A new section record. It was a sign that one had broken a great record that had accumulated throughout the history of the Hakone Ekiden. It had a great significance, changing from the position of a challenger to the position of a transcendent competitor who was looked up to and pursued. In particular, the record for the ninth leg had not been broken for the past five years. For the runners of Hakone, setting a new section record was its own glory.

“I will break your record, Fujioka-san,” Kakeru proudly lifted his face and declared. “I think you will be the holder of the new section record for about ten minutes.”

Even Jouji trembled in surprise and fear at Kakeru’s audacious declaration of war. Fujioka of Rikudou would be the first to receive his sash and start running, no matter what. Even if he sets a new record, it will only be a “new record” until I, who departed late, arrive at the Tsurumi relay station, Kakeru had said bluntly.

Jouji stealthily examined the two of them standing their ground. Both Kakeru and Fujioka had a fighting spirit and anticipation for each other’s running in their eyes. Nobody could touch them, nobody could force themselves between them. It was a collision of pride.

Fujioka Kazuma of Rikudou University, the champion, and Kurahara Kakeru, the ace of Kansei University, the mishmash group. The people at the Totsuka relay station noticed the flames of spirit the two were emitting, and their hearts beat fast.

The time had finally come. The time had come for the clash between running prodigies, fitting for the finale of the Hakone Ekiden.

---

There was no sign of anyone to follow, and no sound of footsteps trying to hurry and catch up. Nico-chan was running alone on Route 1 along the coast.

Spectators crowded along the road. Right behind him was the landlord in the coach car. At the fifteen-kilometer mark, a water provider wearing a Kansei jersey told him the time difference between him and the runners in front of and behind him. Even so, Nico-chan was alone. Encouraged by the cheers that came off the sea breeze, he had no choice but to run silently, letting Kiyose’s instruction of “keep a pace of a little over three minutes” echo in his brain.

Yes. This feeling of loneliness is long-distance running. Nico-chan thought. Loneliness and freedom, like traveling under a starless night sky. No one but Nico-chan could know his heart rate rising to the limit, his skin slick with sweat that generated heat without time to cool down, the undulating of his muscles along with his blood flow. Until he ran through the predetermined path and reached the predetermined place, Nico-chan would have to continue to fight a battle no one else could understand, without being touched by anyone.

I’d forgotten for a long time. I’d pretended to forget. The sadness and joy of running in this way. It was the residents of Chikusei-sou who reminded me of this. Ever since the moment I quit track, I’ve always been waiting—for another chance to be given to me—for someone who knows my body is unsuited for athletics, but seeks and wants my soul, which loves to run. For a voice to tell me that it’s okay to run.

Nico-chan knew that this was going to be his last run as an athlete. The road to becoming a competitive athlete was not open to him, and it would be difficult for him to keep up with the intense training and still achieve even more than that.

Nico-chan was not chosen, nor was he blessed. If there was someone like that, then they should be called the god of track and field. One would understand if they watched Kakeru from up close. He wished with all his heart that he could be a chosen and blessed runner like Kakeru, but it was a wish that was never going to be fulfilled.

But so what, Nico-chan thought. Even if he wasn’t chosen, he could still love running. The feeling of difficult-to-control love in his heart was like the loneliness and freedom that was contained in the act of running and shone brilliantly within Nico-chan. Now that he had it, it would remain forever, so it was okay. Now he would put everything he could do into his final run, and his long-lasting thoughts towards the sport would end today.

From in front of Oiso Station, he turned north off Route 1 and entered a detour. With less than a kilometer to go, Nico-chan could clearly see a live broadcast car ahead. Behind it, he caught a glimpse of the Maebashi Kouka runner who had slowed down and was falling back. At the same time, Nico-chan felt the presence of someone approaching him. He didn’t have to turn around to know: TSU was catching up.

His mind wandered, but Nico-chan firmly kept it in check. Having run twenty kilometers, the consumption of his stamina was intense. Don’t get impatient. His pace was a little over three minutes per kilometer. He had to keep it up a little longer, and then it was in the last three hundred meters that he had to push.

Nico-chan trusted his senses. Like a bird crossing the sea without the stars, he kept a precise rhythm as he headed for his destination, the Hiratsuka relay station. The wall of people along the road got noticeably thicker with people pouring out of the relay station. The Maebashi Kouka runner seemed to have his chin completely up. This is the place, Nico-chan intuited.

Nico-chan whipped his fevered muscles into a spurt and began his hot pursuit. The TSU runner had the same thought and increased his speed as though flicked. There was the faint taste of blood in his throat, but Nico-chan endured the creaking and pain all throughout his body. The crowd of people at the relay station wavered, and he saw King rush out onto the line. The eighth leg runner for Maebashi Kouka and TSU’s Sakaki were also standing on the line. The three were side by side and calling out to their teammates who were racing towards them.

Nico-chan removed his sash. It was damp from absorbing his sweat, and he gripped it like it was a lifeline. King was the only thing he saw. With only that black and silver uniform in his sights, he ran.

The predetermined place. I’ve returned.

“I’ll do it too, Nico-chan-senpai.”

King, who had been handed the sash, quickly murmured that and then started running without looking back. Nico-chan wordlessly nodded and pushed King’s back. Towards Otemachi.

While flopping down onto the bench coat Musa spread out, Nico-chan stopped his wristwatch which was recording his time. For him, who had crossed the world of timed competitions, he no longer needed it.

Nico-chan’s final record was a 21.2 kilometer run in 1 hour 6 minutes and 21 seconds. He was in twelfth place.

Kansei had relayed their sash at the Hiratsuka relay station in twelfth place. They were four seconds behind Maebashi Kouka, and had relayed their sash at the same time as TSU.

Thanks to Nico-chan’s efforts, Kansei had moved up to fifteenth place in the actual rankings after adding the time from the delayed start. TSU, although apparently behind Kansei, was still in thirteenth place. Rikudou and Bousou were also battling for the top spot, with Bousou holding onto the lead, more than a minute and a half ahead of Rikudou. Yamato University, in third place, was lagging behind Rikudou by three minutes.

Would there be any change in the rankings of the top schools? Who would get the seed rights among the schools that were engaged in a close battle around tenth place? The deadlocked time difference that hid an unsettled stillness didn’t yet indicate anything about the outcome of the battle.

Nico-chan was lying in a corner of the relay station, looking up at the eastern sky. His hopes were not dashed. King, Kakeru, Haiji. Run towards the finish line at Otemachi. We’re going to prove it. We’re going to prove what made us run this far.

His exhaustion had reached its limits, but Nico-chan raised himself up in order to see the end with his own eyes. Musa, who was quietly standing by, gently put a hand on his shoulder to help him up. After gathering their belongings, Musa and Nico-chan left the Hiratsuka relay station with uncooled excitement and set off for Otemachi.

Previous | Next

#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #kazetsuyo translations #run with the wind

42 notes · View notes

translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

Text

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 1

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

TW for this chapter: Mentions of suicide

I wanted to provide some ~variety~ so I'm doing another novel. I'll give a warning that the first few chapters are kind of intense and I'll keep the TWs updated as they come and put a TL;DR at the end if there's anything too graphic.

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 1 - The Beauty in Red

Song Qingshi is dead.

After his death, he came to in a strange space, and in the space, there was a sphere randomly flashing red.

The sphere said that he is a book-transmigrating system from a high-dimensional world. There was a xiania novel called "The Exceptional Furnace", which was about to be plagued by readers' resentment due to the tragic fate of the protagonist, causing problems in that world. It needed to find someone who is familiar with the tropes of these novels and someone with the power to change and repair the body and mind of the protagonist, and fulfill the readers' wishes - change the fate of the protagonist, dote on him, and let him live the happiest and most fulfilling life □□ □□□□□

The information in the system came intermittently, and in the □□ there were incomprehensible, alien-like characters.

Song Qingshi suffered from Lou Gehrig's Disease during his lifetime and devoted himself to studying medicine to try and save himself. He was a medical student who studied and experimented frantically every day and never wasted time reading novels.

In terms of emotions, he is even more obtuse. Although he is very handsome and has an attractive and obedient personality, due to his physical problems, even the school bully treated him like a precious thing. With all the excessive loving care and sympathy, not only did he never have a crush, but he also suffered from a slight fear of talking to strangers.

This was the worst soul for this task.

Song Qingshi didn't know how he was picked up by the system. He had read Marxist philosophy novels in vain. But from his messy information and analysis from the system's explanation, as long as he accepts the task, the system will send him to the virtual book world, give him a healthy body, and he will come back to life.

After Song Qingshi realized this, he was ecstatic. A healthy body is was his biggest desire. Not to mention the fact that the system only asked that he take care of someone. Even if the system had asked him to swim through seas of fire, he would have accepted still.

Because of this, he ignored his conscience, structured his response, and lied for the first time in his life: "I have read tens of thousands of books that I have memorized. I have extensive medical and nursing knowledge, have taken a psychology course as an elective, and I could solve all the physical and mental sufferings of the protagonist. And love. . . I have lots of experience with love, I know how to communicate, absolutely, I. . . can definitely accomplish these tasks!"

If there was any blood that could exist in a soul, he would definitely be flushed.

The system didn't notice his lies. It registered the identity of the task performer, and sent a series of garbled commands, mixed with all kinds of chaotic and disorderly information into Song Qingshi's mind, sending waves of discomfort through his soul.

Suddenly, the system let out a sharp alarm and the data transmission was cut off. Song Qingshi's vision went black, and his soul drifted away towards a bright white light. . .

. . .

When Song Qingshi woke up, he found himself lying in the woods, surrounded by the faint fragrance of various herbs. He squinted his eyes and looked towards the dazzling blue sky. There was a gorgeous golden luan bird dragging its long tail feathers, letting out a loud caw as it flew past, with countless immortal birds following it.

Was this the world from the novel?

It seemed too real. . .

A soft breeze blew across the forest, shaking off the dew on the trees. The dew fell onto his pale fingertips, bringing a slightly cool feeling. Then, all the memories of the original body flooded into his mind like a tidal wave, trying to merge with his own soul - this body was also called Song Qingshi, the master of the Medicine King's Valley, and the most talented medical immortal and pharmaceutical expert in the immortal world. His medical skills could heal the dead and revive bones, and the spirit pills he cultivates were considered treasures by every cultivator.

However, the original body's temperament was extremely troubling. He rarely left Medicine King's Valley at all, never made friends, and had no interest in matters other than medicine and alchemy. When a patient sought him out, he only looks at their temperament and never asked their identity. When he was in a good mood, he treated mortal beggars. When he was in a bad mood, regardless of the identity of the visitor, he would turn them into flower fertilizer for his garden. He often used living people to test medicines. Cruel, but because of his Nascent Soul cultivation base and various skills with poisons, the immortal sects didn't dare provoke him easily, only secretly calling him troubling behind his back.

Cultivators in the immortal world had long life spans, and the knowledge and memory of this original body had for its hundreds of years of cultivation had not arrived yet. Various data fragments of the system rushed in frantically, with countless garbled codes, tearing the original body's memory into a mess, leaving Song Qingshi at a loss. It took a long time before he managed to figure out his current situation.

This was Golden Phoenix Mountain Manor, the most luxurious place in the immortal world, where there are rare and exotic animals and countless immortals and beautiful concubines.

The owner, Jin FeiRen, was also a great Nascent cultivator. He was a true romantic, an excessive spender, and had friends from both the immortal and demonic cultivation world. He was a well-known figure.

The original body had always been cold, obsessed with his work, and never touched either men and women. Today's arrival was accidental. The Manor Lord Jin wanted to give him Ten Thousand Year Snow Ginseng to exchange a batch of medicinal pills for him. The original body had recently been lacking Snow Ginseng to make his medicines, so he agreed to the deal.

Since Snow Ginseng grows in the secret realm of the snow mountains of the Jin family. If you wanted to get the ones with the best medicinal properties, you needed to pick them at night and preserve it with a special refining method. Therefore, the original body came here to pick it personally, and Song Qingshi somehow ended up here.

Then, Song Qingshi was sent here by the system. . .

Where was the protagonist? What does he look like?

Song Qingshi wanted to ask the system to ask for more information, but the system seemed to disappear. The materials it sent not only contained no plot points from the novel, but also very little character information. There were garbled characters everywhere, even though the protagonist hadn't been introduced yet. Song Qingshi got dizzy going through all this information before he found some descriptions in the copywriting introduction: the best physique, unmatched beauty shou X□□□□□ gong, procured by trickery, sadomasochistic, □□, □□, □□ There were only three texts that could be read clearly: Banquet of Bea□□□.

. . .

If this were someone who often read these types of novels, they would immediately recognize that this situation was problematic.

Song Qingshi, however, didn't recognize any of this as problematic. He believed that this was a test given by the system to assess his reasoning skills and ability to do things. Song Qingshi was very accustomed to being assessed like this. Usually, when he and his teacher started developing a new drug, he often didn't have any prior results in his hand. It required some experimentation and to experience many errors and difficulties in order to reach the final result. Most of the time, that result was not what they were hoping for.

Many pharmaceutical companies invest billions or even tens of billions in drug research. Scholars have spent decades trying, right until their hair turned grey, only to fail during their clinical trials.

Therefore, every drug researcher is a strong man who has experienced many battles, repeated defeats and never-ending setbacks.

These questions from Teacher System were not difficult!

Scholar-Tryant Song expressed no fear! He will definitely find the correct answer and live up to the teacher's expectations of him!

Song Qingshi thought about the information he was given, determined the goal of the protagonist, and then quickly understood the key points of the novel: the protagonist will appear at the Banquet of Beauties, it will be a male, homosexual, unmatched beauty, superb body; a pitiful character with a tragic fate. He needs to save the protagonist, give him the greatest care, heal his physical and mental health, and then help him find happiness and joy!

During Song Qingshi's time, respect for sexual orientation was written into the law, and same-sex couples could get married.

He once found a novel lost by a rotten girl classmate, titled "His Evil Majesty's Spoiled Husband". On the cover was a handsome and domineering man in a period costume holding a beautiful woman with long hair with a super flat chest. He didn't understand it, and returned the book. When he asked curiously, his classmates told him what Danmei was, and told him that the beauty on the cover was actually male. The beautiful male was the "shou", and the domineering one was the "gong". So Song Qingshi is confident that he would easily distinguish between the gong and the shou in the novel. He would never mistake the gong as the protagonist.

He had thought it through and the direction of problem-solving has been determined. All that was left was to wait for the Banquet of Beauties to start the exam.

Song Qingshi's spiritual sea gradually became clear. The soul and body were merged and became flexible. He sat up with his hands cautiously, took off his shoes, raised his feet, and tried to stretch the toes that had been stiff for many years. The white and round toes curled happily. Song Qingshi stood up shakily, briefly walking forward a few steps with hands and feet before finally remembered the walking posture of a normal person, and his movements gradually changed from jerky to steady. . .

Under his feet was soft green grass and moist soil.

Outside the forest was a calm river. Song Qingshi stepped into the water and took a handful of cold river water to wash his face, confirming that he was not in a dream.

Tears fell out of extreme joy, and the big tears fell onto his palms. His hands couldn't stop no matter how much he tried. The river calmed down from the slight disturbance, and the reflection of the boy's figure appeared.

Song Qingshi was surprised to find that the body given to him by the system was very similar to his high school appearance; he was not very tall and significantly thinner. He wore a Daoist cultivator outfit made of many layers of snow-coloured cloud brocade, wrapped tightly around his body. At first glance, all the layers of clothing gave the illusion of a frail man.

His thin hair was simply tied up with some loose hair dangling freely. His appearance may be related to immortal cultivation. He is a bit more refined than his original body, with a cold, pale complexion and clear eyes. Because he often blocks out the world and focuses on his study, he feels a bit dull and extremely gullible, leading many unlucky ghosts to think that the original was harmless and would become the fertilizer or poison tester.

. . .

After Song Qingshi vented his emotions and saw the red-rimmed eyes in the reflection, he was a little embarrassed. He hurriedly lowered his head and fetched water, trying to wash away the tears on his face, but behind him came the sound of fine bells and ridicule.

"It's useless to commit suicide. It will only cause you needless pain. If you are still not reconciled, you can try and sink slowly to see if you can succeed."

Surprised, Song Qingshi turned around and saw the most beautiful thing he'd seen in his life.

There were trees full of peach blossoms, and under the tree was a beautiful young boy in red. Who knows how long he was watching Song Qingshi stupidly crying. The young man's appearance was blooming, like a scroll of rich colours and ink, painted with all the romantic colours of the world. The warm jade-like skin, the most beautiful thing about him were the dark golden phoenix eyes under the crow-feather-like eyelashes. He resembled a noble and dignified phoenix in the sky, but there was an extremely gorgeous red tear-shared mole under the corner of his left eye, desecrating his nobleness. The dignity of his appearance was crushed, and the phoenix rejoined the mortal world, turning into a creature stained with flattery and seductiveness which made people feel unbearable tempted.

His long hair was untied and hung casually around his waist. The ends of his hair were slightly curled, his feet were bare, and he was only wearing a red dress made of shark silk. The shark silk was as smooth as water, clinging to his body, covering all the desirables underneath.

Song Qingshi did not think anything blasphemous, but because he was caught crying, his social anxiety became more intense. After a long pause of building courage, he stumbled and said: "I, I just..."

His hesitation became reluctant approval in the eyes of the beauty in red.

There are dangerous monsters and birds everywhere in the immortal world. Cultivators were equipped with spiritual auras and keen senses, and can easily detect the wind and grass around them. Even the minor cultivators in the time they were establishing their cultivation base would not miss the sound of mortal footsteps with bells, let alone the Nascent Soul cultivators. If they release their spiritual thoughts, the smallest creatures on the mountain would not escape their attention. Except for Song Qingshi, a newly-born soul who had just arrived in this world, and was still very unused to spiritual power and these world conditions. . .

The beauty in red had completely misunderstood, thinking that Song Qingshi was also a mortal. There was only one use for such a beautiful mortal in Golden Phoenix Manor. He clarified: "A new slave?"

Song Qingshi looked up in amazement. He wanted to ask questions, but his eyes fell on the beauty of the red dress. There seemed to be some strange bruises on his neck as if it had been bitten by a mosquito, but it seemed that it might be something else. He took a few more secretive glances, trying to determine what they were.

The beauty in red noticed his curious glances and his heart grew upset. With growing malicious intent, a very gentle smile appeared on his face, and he said in a sincerely blessed tone: "Don't stare, you will have them soon, too."

Song Qingshi was very sheltered before transmigrating. He had never encountered malice and did not understand the mystery behind these words. Although he thought this blessing was a bit strange, he still answered politely: "Thank you."

The beauty in red choked hearing this answer. He was stunned for a moment. He looked at Song Qingshi up and down like a fool, and found that the person in front of him was clean and his skin was free of any injuries. He had never experienced the ravages of hell in his eyes. He was pure.

This discovery made him feel pity for the heart that had been tempered by suffering. He retracted his sharp malice and said softly, "After tonight, you will know that death is a luxury." He turned slightly to his side, looking at the river's flow. He warned, "When I first came here, I tried to commit suicide many times, but it was useless. We are slaves who are branded with the Acacia Seal. Our spirits belong to our master. So long as the master doesn't allow it, we cannot die, even by our own hands. . .

The beauty in red was silent for a long time. He slowly stretched out his hand and stroked Song Qing's hair that was soft as the fur of a small animal.

Song Qingshi saw several red rope marks on his pale wrists. He realized that this was pain that the beauty wouldn't want to be questioned about, so he pushed down his curiosity.

The fingertips of the red-dressed beauty slipped from his hair to Song Qingshi's delicate face, watching his innocent expression. He held his hand there for a moment before putting it down, conflicted. He didn't want to say any more. Since he didn't know those nightmarish experiences, it was useless to say anything more. Being able to preserve this kind of innocence, it was one more moment of happiness for him. Finally, he sighed, "You look good, but unfortunately the more your looks improve as you grow, the longer it will be until you're freed. . ."

Song Qingshi was puzzled: "What do you mean by 'freed'?"

"You'll know soon." The beauty in red's expression suddenly relaxed. He glanced around carefully, then stretched out his index finger and tapped his lips lightly. With a voice so light that he could barely hear it, he said ambiguously, "Tonight I will be freed. . ."

The beauty in red turned around with a smile and, with a crisp ring of the bells, turned to leave. His steps were a bit unstable, and each step was strenuous, like a mermaid walking on the tip of a knife in pain.

A pair of exquisite gold shackles were exposed on the beauty's ankles under the red clothes. Each of the shackles was decorated with an exquisite bell. The middle was connected by a slender golden chain. When walking, the bell shook slightly and made a clear and sweet sound, just like a tethered bird.

The golden chain dragged across the grass, and a few drops of blood dropped onto the green leaves.

Song Qingshi mustered up the courage to overcome his social anxiety, and shouted to the beauty who was about to leave: "Are you. . .injured? I, I know medical skills. . . Do you need me to treat you?"

The beauty in red turned back, looked at him for a few seconds, and he couldn't help but smile. This time the smile finally reached his eyes, like a ray of golden sunlight breaking through the clouds, dazzlingly beautiful. He shook his head towards Song Qingshi, and gave himself a sincere blessing: "I hope you have better luck tonight."

He turned his head, and the sunlight in his eyes disappeared in a flash, as if it had never existed, only the dark clouds that would not retreat.

Having endured these nightmares for years, he has long learned not to remember the kindness of others, and not to care about being offered charity from others.

He walked alone in this prison without stopping, step after step, wearing those painful shackles.

#mistakenly saving the villain #chinese bl #english translation #论救错反派的下场 #song qingshi #chinese novel #mistakenly saving the villain translation

103 notes · View notes