Ну что ж, привет, Тамблер, и читатели моего блога!
Во первых
Как вам новый стиль рисовки AtR? Это первый выпуск, сделанный полностью на графическом планшете. Я считаю, что получилось очень даже не дурно, в сравнениями с прошлыми работами, но я так же и хочу послушать ваше мнение. Стоило ли выделять белым заветом складки на одежде Остатка?
О сюжете. В аске он должен быть (он даже в той или иной степени уже прописан) но сейчас я не способен продвигать его. Может быть с 10 (следующего) выпуска уже попробую начать. Все что остается вам - ждать.
Во вторых
Я не рассказывал, но я относительно недавно купил себе Майнкрафт (его у меня не было, представьте себе) и в какой-то момент меня нельзя было от туда вытащить. Так же недавно я открыл для себя блендер, нужно было кое что сделать. И тут у меня в голове кое что замкнуло.
В общем, я сделал вот такой постер
Я конечно его ещё по редактировал в Фотошопе, но даже так, я считаю, что для первого раза вышло неплохо. Может я буду разбавлять такими постерами ожидание следующий AtR, что думаете?
Ну и в третьих
Вы не заметили в последнем выпуске ничего странного? Это касается английской версии.
Думайте, а пока что, конец связи
GG
ENG
Well, hello, Tumblr, and readers of my blog!
First of all
How do you like the new AtR drawing style? This is the first release made entirely on a graphics tablet. I think it turned out very well, in comparison with past works, but I also want to hear your opinion. Was it worth highlighting the creases on the Remnants’ clothes with a white will?
About the plot. It should be in the ask (it is even already registered to one degree or another), but now I am not able to promote it. Maybe I’ll try to start with the 10th (next) issue. All you have to do is wait.
Secondly
I didn’t tell you, but I bought myself Minecraft relatively recently (I didn’t have it, imagine) and at some point I couldn’t get out of there. I also recently discovered a blender, I had to do something. And then something stuck in my head.
Anyway, I made such a poster
Of course, I also edited it in Photoshop, but even so, I think it turned out well for the first time. Maybe I’ll dilute the expectation of the next AtR with such posters, what do you think?
And thirdly
Didn’t you notice anything strange in the last issue? This applies to the English version.
One of the issues that I had with the Inheritance Cycle (and it's something that strikes a cord every. Time. I read it) is that Paolini can be pretty vague. I completely understand that he's giving the reader the benefit to be able to work things out themselves (and let's be honest, nothing is more frustrating as a reader than to be treated like a dunce), but when I say vague, I mean story lines.
For example, Angela. All we know is that she's mysterious. Sure great, that's the whole point of getting away with not fleshing out her character.
But you're telling me you can't reveal something that could ALSO add to the storyline?
Maybe it's because I personally am just so invested in the series, that I feel like Paolini could write a thousand books set in Alagaësia, and I wouldn't mind reading every single one. I would have loved to read more about Ajihad. The werecats. Jörmundur. How The Twins became where and who they are...
My favourite kind of totalitarian magic hating high queen Nasuada somewhat immediately after that knife trial thingy that had Jörmundur piss his Victoria‘s Secret lace thong.
The day had been long and difficult. But it was over.
Like it so often did, slow kisses on a hot and humid evening had lead to Varden in Lemon’s lap, straddling his waist, rocking into him. For weeks, months maybe, that’s as far as it had gone. They’d sit like that: Lemon’s crossed legs falling asleep, his hands resting lightly on Varden’s hips, the sound of their breathing the only sign of life in the quiet darkness. (Breathing, of course, and the short, embarrassed whimpers Varden was able to wring from him every now and then, with his teeth in Lemon’s lip.) It had always just stopped, when they got tired, or the buzz of whatever they’d been smoking wore off, or when something came over Varden that made him clear his throat, and rub his eyes, and wish Lemon a goodnight with a pat on the shoulder, as he doused the fire and went back to his own bedroll.
Either way, it ended there, and they became two people again, tending to their own needs, together but alone.
Until one night, it didn’t.
Varden had his arms thrown lazily over Lemon’s shoulders—one hand combing through the hair at the back of his neck—when suddenly he let go, and Lemon braced for the inevitable ending.
Instead, Varden dragged his hands down Lem’s chest, balled his fists in the front of his shirt, and pulled himself up onto his knees, pressing impossibly closer.
Varden’s fingers unwound themselves, and crept towards the line of buttons on Lemon’s flannel, and loosed the middle one. He paused, their foreheads pressed together.
And then: one button.
“Lem,” Varden said, a second button between his fingertips. “I’d like to touch you.”
Lemon sputtered. “Wh—” Five words had sent a shock through him, from his throat to his groin to the tips of his fingers. He nodded, fast, already out of breath. “Yeah,” he said, struck dumb, head still bobbing. “Yeah. I—yes. Yeah.”
Varden kissed him again, hands working quickly, then pulled the shirt out from the waist of Lemon’s pants and slid it off his shoulders. Blindly, he pawed down Lemon’s stomach, and began fiddling with his belt.
“Wait—” Lemon said into the side of Varden’s mouth, and he froze, barely breathing.
“Sorry, I’ll stop—if—”
“No, I…” Lemon could hardly think. He was still half hazy from the pipeweed, and distracted: already hard as heaven and burning everywhere Varden touched him. “I want—I just…” And, slowly, he slid his hands from Varden’s hips, dragged them up his sides, and pulled the light cotton shirt he wore under his leathers up and over his head. “….S’only fair,” he breathed, dropping the shirt to the side next to his own.
They’d been swimming before. They’d both had wounds that the other had tended. They were men who’d shared close quarters for weeks at a time. Being bare-chested around each other was nothing new.
And yet. Lemon’s mouth went dry, and his breath hitched at the sight of Varden’s skin in the moonlight.
Varden snorted, and went for Lemon’s belt again, but Lemon raised a hand to stop him. Delicately, he took Varden’s forearms in his hands. “I want…” he said, barely more than a whisper. He didn’t want it, he needed it. And he raised both of Varden’s wrists to his lips, tilting his head to kiss them, one after the other. “To, t—I want you, too, but I—”
Varden had slipped from Lemon’s grasp and reached up to cup his face in his palms.
Lemon swallowed. “I don’t…” his face burned, but Varden was kissing his cheeks. “I don’t know…”
“I’ve got you,” he said, and found Lemon’s mouth again. “Whatever—” peppering kisses up his jaw, nosing into that soft spot beneath his ear. “Whatever you want, just—” and he inhaled sharp as Lemon ducked his head to press his mouth the place where Varden’s neck met his shoulder, letting his teeth just barely graze skin.
“What do I…?” Lemon said, splaying his big hands over Varden’s back. “What do—”
“Let me look at you?” and finally slipped Lemon’s belt from its buckle.
There was a warm, tingling awareness in the base of Lemon’s spine as he rested his forehead on Varden’s shoulder. “I’m…you’re lookin’ at me now.”
And then Varden rolled off Lemon’s lap and sat back on his heels. Lemon gasped at the loss of contact, his fingertips just barely brushing Varden’s ribs. “All of you,” he said, and Lemon swallowed as he noticed him quickly undoing the lacing of his own pants.
After a second of sheer wonder, Lemon’s senses came back to him. He dropped his eyes as he uncrossed his legs and shucked one boot and then the other, then clumsily yanked off his trousers. When he looked back up, he felt his heart skip a beat, and that tickle in his spine spread all the way down his thighs.
Varden was kneeling in front of him, naked and radiant, tying his hair back with a leather cord. No surprises, again, after the wounds, and the swimming, and the living, but it was different, all at once. There was no averted gaze of feigned gentlemanly modesty, no polite agreement to ignore what was or was not seen. No accidental glimpse or stolen glance. Suddenly, Lemon understood Varden’s desire to look.
Even relaxed Varden was all strength and sinew, and Lemon’s eyes were caught on the details of him. The cut of muscle where torso met hip. The trail of downy white hair that went all the way to his navel. The constellations of silvery scars with histories Lemon both could and could not tell.
“I…” Lemon breathed, and Varden stopped short. Lemon watched the rise and fall of his collar bone as he breathed.
Varden blinked at him, and his shoulders tensed as his eyes flickered down to Lemon’s boxers. “Oh, gods, if I—” and he turned to rifle through the pile he had thrown his clothes into. “Did you—”
“No, I…” He swallowed, aware of his hands floating defensively in front of him. He dropped them into his lap, then lifted them again, palms up, pleading. “I just…leave it…I’ve—I’ve always liked it down.”
The tension in Varden’s face calmed, and he pulled the cord from his hair, letting it fall over his shoulder. And then, he smiled. It wasn’t wry, or devilish, or even pointedly seductive. It was a smile that Lemon had, of late, secretly come to think of as his. It was the smile Varden wore when he was telling dumb stories around the fire, or collapsing into a real bed for the first time in weeks, or when a beautiful bird crossed their path. It was a private, genuine thing, and the sight of it spreading across Varden’s face thrilled Lemon almost more than his body.
“You’re…” Lemon sighed, slack-jawed, and Varden’s smile widened. “Gods, V…c’mere, would ya?”
He practically lunged, hauling a knee to either side of Lemon’s outstretched legs. He wrapped his hands around the back of Lemon’s neck, thumbs rubbing at his jaw as their mouths crashed back together. Lemon rested his hands back on Varden’s ribs, and dragged them down his sides, feeling the muscles in his stomach and back contract as Varden breathed. After a moment’s hesitation—a bare second of his fingers just ghosting over the dip of his waist—Lemon let his thumbs press in, massaging at Varden’s hip bone and the soft skin just below it.
This time, for the first time, it was Varden who whined, low and quiet, into Lemon’s mouth.
Lemon dropped one hand behind him, leaning back as Varden pressed into him, until he was propped up on his elbows, with Varden draped over him.
Varden was smiling against his mouth. “Just—” and he chuckled lightly as he tilted his head back to look Lemon in the eye. “Lay down, Lem. This’ll—” and he sighed as Lemon blinked down at him. “You’ll want—I want your hands—.”
Finally, Lemon let himself fall back, head resting against the ground as Varden’s full weight collapsed on top of him. He stared up at the sky, purple-black and crazy with stars, running his hands down Varden’s back, enjoying the warmth of him. And then, Varden’s fingers were at the waist of his boxers, and he was pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck.
“Is this…” Varden sighed, skirting around the edge of the fabric. “Is it something—”
Lemon ran a hand down Varden’s arm, and covered his hand with his own, before pulling his shorts down over his hips, and clumsily kicking them off.
His heart was racing, but Varden was steady, kneeling over him, his hands on the bedroll on either side of Lemon’s head. His hair fell over one side and brushed lightly against Lemon’s face as he gazed down at him.
“Are…do you…like this?” There was the smallest crease between Varden’s brows. “Tell me if…if anything…”
Lemon brought a hand up and laid it on Varden’s ribs just under his am, his thumb rubbing lazily at the side of his chest. He felt the goosebumps raise on Varden’s skin, and watched his eyelids flutter.
What he wanted to say was I ain’t fragile, or I’m no delicate flower, or something else to reassure him that he was okay, really. But he couldn’t bring himself to lie. In that moment, he felt fragile, and delicate, and like something cracked open; like he was squinting into the sun, like he had been without water his entire life, and was suddenly drowning.
What he said instead was, “Bea-utiful…” sighing as he brought his other hand to Varden’s cheek.
Varden chuckled, and fell back on top of Lemon, pressing his mouth to the hollow of Lem’s throat. “You are…” he said, reaching to take one of Lemon’s hands in his own. “Stunning, Starshine…”
At that, Lemon felt his whole body flush, from his chest to his ears, and wondered idly if Varden would notice. He’d threaded their fingers together, and Lemon thought he could stay like that forever: hand in hand, chest to chest.
A sudden breeze cut through the otherwise sticky evening, and Lemon felt Varden shiver against him. On instinct, he moved both hands to his back and rubbed, trying to warm him up. Varden laughed again, and Lemon could feel it in his own stomach. He brought a hand up to that spot over Lemon’s heart, fingers brushing at his nipple, and it was his own skin that prickled then.
Lemon’s hands stilled as the breeze passed, Varden made a small, disappointed noise.
“You’ve never…” Varden started, tracing his fingertips over Lemon’s chest.
“No,” Lemon said, too quick. “You’re—” and felt his face redden even further. “But I…” He swallowed hard, and Varden ran his fingers all the way up to Lemon’s bobbing throat. “But I want…if…”
Varden once again propped himself up on his hands, and looked down at Lemon. His face was gentle, and the corner of his mouth was turned up in something that might’ve been amusement, or fondness. That look alone could’ve bled Lemon dry.
“How do I…” Lemon breathed, emboldened. “I…I wanna m-make you…”
Varden’s mouth fell open into a small, silent oh, and he leaned forward on his knees to come eye to eye with Lemon again.
“You’re…too good to me, ” he said, pressing their foreheads together. Lemon tilted his chin up, eyes closed and mouth searching, but Varden just placed two fingers on his lips. “I’ll be good to you…I promise.”
Lemon felt properly high again, and he lapped at Varden’s fingers because there was nothing else to do. The sweet scents of the summer forest had been completely overwhelmed by the smell of Varden above and around him.
Too soon, Varden lifted himself back up onto his knees, and after a moment of half-graceful shuffling, settled himself on the bedroll, stretched out on his stomach between Lemon’s splayed legs. Lemon held his breath the whole time, shuddering as Varden pawed down over his chest and waist. When Lemon finally propped himself back up onto his elbows, he felt his face go hot and his muscles go tight as he stared down Varden’s gently smiling face, hovering just over his erection.
“Lem?” Varden said. Lemon was vibrating, his hands bunched in the blanket beneath him. Varden’s mouth was so close to him that Lemon could feel his breath. “Can I…?”
Lemon nodded, thinking he knew what was going to happen, bracing for it. But Varden ducked suddenly, kissing the inside of Lemon’s thigh, then trailing up his leg, before he stopped and rested his cheek against the crease of his hip.
Varden looked up at him through his eyelashes. “Still good?” he said, and placed a kiss to the side of Lemon’s cock. Lemon collapsed back onto his bedroll, nodding, his hips twitching involuntarily, and Varden laughed softly. “Sorry, I’m…” and Varden nuzzled his nose against him, lips moving against Lemon’s skin as he spoke. “I’m being selfish.”
Lemon squeezed his eyes shut and threw and arm over his face. “If that’s…what you’re callin’ it…” Lemon panted. “Take—take all the time you want.”
Varden laughed again, louder, before dragging his tongue up the length of him. At that, Lemon whimpered, biting his lip. Varden continued, slow and careful, kissing at him, his mouth hot and open.
Lemon laid there, unyielding ground beneath him, moaning like they were the only two people alive at every tender, deliberate move Varden made. He was being so gentle, so kind, stopping every now and again to press his mouth to Lemon’s hip, or pet at his stomach, or pepper teasing little bites to the crease of his thigh. And as he did it Varden whispered things that made his head swim and his heart ache, things like, “you’re so gorgeous,” or, “gods, the way you taste, Lem,” or, “can’t believe it took this long—”
After a while, Lemon started to believe him about being selfish.
Lemon was sweating, shaking, gasping every breath, drawn up so tight he knew he’d be sore in the morning, while Varden took his time with taking him apart. There wasn’t a nerve between his knees and his navel that Varden didn’t lavish, humming contentedly as he went. It was torture, and it was ecstasy, and it was all Lemon could do not to cry.
When Varden shifted, placing both hands firmly on Lemon’s hips, he shivered. Lemon could hear him breathing heavily, feel the heat of Varden’s skin through his palms and where his knees pressed against Lemon’s open thighs. Varden rubbed soothingly at Lemon’s waist and murmured more obscenities—”so perfect, Lem, under me like this”—before he felt Varden’s lips just barely parted around the head of his cock.
Varden’s mouth opened wider, and sunk lower, and Lemon’s back bowed up even as he let himself be pinned to the earth by Varden’s strong hands and clever mouth. Varden kept moving until Lemon felt the velvety press of his tongue and the roof of his mouth and a treacherous tensing in his own groin, and then—
“Wait, s-stop—!” Lemon gasped. It was so good, too good. Instantly, almost alarmingly, Varden’s mouth was off of him. Half a heartbeat later, Varden was kneeling over him again, brow furrowed, his eyes scanning Lemon’s. Lemon was still panting, still taut as a bowstring, but he brought his hand up to the side of Varden’s face. “S-sorry, V, I—” and he rubbed his thumb over Varden’s cheekbone, then up the long, graceful shell of his ear. He watched Varden relax under his touch, ears twitching lightly, eyelids fluttering. “I’m sorry—”
Varden shook his head, serious. “It’s fine, we can—”
“Kiss me, just, V—” And Varden did.
Lemon wrapped an arm around Varden’s waist and pulled him as tight against him as he could, his hair tickling across Lemon’s shoulder. Varden’s tongue was in his mouth, and his palms were flush on Lemon’s chest, kneading at his pecs, while he ground his hips hard against Lemon’s stomach. Lemon thought just kissing might help him cool down a bit. He was wrong.
He slid his other hand up Varden’s side and into the hair at the back of his neck, thumbing over his ear again. Varden dragged his fingers up Lemon’s chest, and let them rest at the side of his throat, and Lemon could feel his own pulse pounding.
Varden pulled his mouth off Lemon’s and replaced it at the hinge of his jaw, just below his ear. “Lem—” and one of his hands slid down between them. “Lem…” Varden lifted himself off of Lemon’s middle and up onto his knees, and rested his head against Lemon’s shoulder, panting. “Tell me…what you want…”
“I wanna—” Lemon’s hand roved down over Varden’s back. “I—I want—” Slid around the curve of his ass, the back of his thigh. “I…” His thoughts were blown out and bubbling over. He stared at the sky. All he wanted, he realized, feeling Varden’s breath on his neck, was to never let go. He just wanted to hold him there—properly hold him, with his own two faltering hands—as long as he’d be allowed.
“Wanna—wanna make you—feel good—” He tightened his grip on Varden’s thigh, thumbing circles into his skin. “Let me…please…”
Varden pawed down between his own legs, trailing over Lemon’s stomach. “Yeah?” he asked, once again gently wrapping his hand around Lemon’s cock. “Do you?” Lemon squeezed his eyes shut and choked out a high, quiet moan. Varden mouthed as his collar bone, and the knot at the front of his throat, and all the while Lemon trembled, clinging to Varden for dear life.
“Hey, Lem,” Varden whispered. “Lem…” An inhale, then a sigh: “Baby…” and Lemon’s eyes blinked open and met Varden’s gaze, soft and softening. “You’re…” He licked his lips, and shook a strand of hair from his face. “You’re going to look at me, okay?” Lemon nodded, lost and wordless, and Varden said, “Good.”
Languid, despite his own heavy breathing, Varden leaned back and tilted his hips. “Tell me, if…” Lemon tensed, holding his breath as he felt Varden slide his cock back and forth against the warm wetness between his legs. “If you want me to st—“
Lemon felt desperate, like he was begging. “V, I’m f-fine—” he gasped, never looking away from his face. “V, please, I promise I’m f—o-oh—” And all the words in the world left him, as Varden settled back down, slowly—so, so excruciatingly slowly—and let Lemon sink into him.
Lemon’s back arched up off the bedroll, his fingers digging into the flesh of Varden’s hip and thigh, and all he could think about, in a distant, detached part of his brain was: inside, in-side, ins-ide—
He watched Varden’s eyebrows tighten, and his chin drop to his chest as he sucked in a breath through his teeth. He dug his nails into the muscle over Lemon’s ribs, and when he exhaled it was shaky like Lemon had never heard before. Lemon’s stomach dropped for half a heartbeat—Had he done something wrong? Was he hurting him?—before Varden started to move.
Time slowed and quickened and slowed again, along with the roll and drag of Varden above him and around him. Lemon could hear his own breath catching, grunting almost, as Varden set the rhythm, and he rose to meet it. Lemon’s hands, hungry and desperate, dragged themselves over Varden’s back and legs, while Varden’s stayed steady and firm, anchored against Lemon’s chest.
“L-Lemon—” Varden breathed, a whine, almost a whimper, and Lemon felt every nerve in his body alight. He felt the ground hard against his back as if he had just fallen from a great height; and he felt everything else as if he had awoken from a dream, and was only just then realizing it was all real. “Lemon,” Varden said again, and he couldn’t stand another second without tasting Varden’s skin.
He lifted his head up and pressed his mouth to whatever he could reach: the center of Varden’s chest, the top of his broad shoulder, his temple, his ear. Varden brought a palm up to the side of Lemon’s face, and he kissed that too, panting and whining as he rolled his hips up and against Varden’s. All the while, Varden gasped his name, moaned it, the sound going right to Lemon’s head, like drink or smoke.
Lemon’s clumsy hand remained on the top of Varden’s thigh, squeezing it, feeling the muscle work under the skin. His thumb had found the smooth, raised line of a scar, and had been kneading circles around it, in as soothing a gesture he could muster. When Varden grabbed him by the wrist, he stopped, worried again that wasn’t something he liked.
“N-no—that’s good, that’s—h-here—“ Varden maneuvered Lemon’s hand up his thigh and towards his stomach, until his fingers brushed through the hair there, and his thumb dipped into the slick warmth just above where they were joined. Experimentally, Lemon continued his little circles there, too.
Instantly, Varden tensed around him. The hypnotic litany of Lemon’s name was interrupted by a low hum in the back of Varden’s throat, and a, “—y-es, good—Lemon—you’re so good, Lemon—Lem—” that made Lemon’s toes curl.
Varden had clawed his fingertips into the strip of bare back that Lemon had lifted off the ground, and Lemon had never before known what was meant by hurts so good, but he thought he was beginning to understand. With his unoccupied hand he levered himself up further, let Varden grasp and grab at his shoulder blades, his spine. “—Lemon, Lemon—” as his blood began to hum, and the pull and slide of Varden around him made him shake. “—Lemon, Lem—I, I’m—”
Varden grabbed Lemon by the sides of his head, and brought his face down to meet him, pressing their noses together, Varden mouthing Lemon’s name against his own open lips. And then Varden kissed him, deep and open and shuddering, as his body clenched again and again and again.
“Come—for me, Lem—c’mon—Lemon—!” Varden breathed into the side of Lemon’s mouth, and Lemon did. With Varden’s hands on his face and Lemon’s arm around his back, he came undone entirely, his vision a blur of purple and white stars.
He collapsed back onto his bedroll, sweaty and strengthless, with Varden sprawled on top of him. His back ached and his mouth was dry, and he was so sensitive that everywhere they touched hummed. He was boneless and content in a way he had never been before. The two of them breathed heavily, almost as one, chests rising and falling together as the world settled around them.
The night was still and quiet again, and for the first time in a long time, Lemon felt the same. He shut his eyes, and let his hand rest in the small of Varden’s back. He was warm, and held, and happy, and—
And then Varden rolled off of him.
Lemon laid there, eyes closed and heart pounding again, as Varden stood and crossed their little camp, and threw water on the fire as usual. He listened to Varden pad barefoot over the grass, and rifle through his belongings, and his stomach hurt at the idea of being alone. Things were breaking through the calm and comforting after: thoughts of what it had meant, and what Varden would think of him now, and how they could reconcile this with their goal of finding the woman Varden loved. At the rustle of a breeze through the treetops, Lemon became suddenly and terribly aware of his own nakedness, and opened his eyes just in time to watch a blanket get thrown over top of him.
Varden let it settle over Lemon before he sat back down next to him, pulled the blanket over himself, and pressed into Lemon’s side.
“C’mere,” he said, low and gentle, and reached across Lemon’s chest to grab him by the opposite shoulder. Lemon, already missing that touch despite himself, turned into it. He tucked his head under Varden’s chin, nose pressed to his breastbone, and inhaled. It was all salt, and dust from the blanket, and him.
“Are you alright?” Varden asked, smoothing his hand over Lemon’s hair. “Was that…did you like it?”
Lemon felt his face flush again, but he nodded, and pulled himself closer to Varden’s body.
“Good.” And he kissed the top of Lemon’s head. “Now get some sleep, Lem. I’ve got you.” And another kiss. “I’ve got you.”
