#no flat iron I confiscated it

[ephemaera-a]



ok like this for a starter from eliot spencer

[broflovmarshick]

Kyle: I think I am gonna straighten my hair

Cartman: *immediately confiscates flat iron and silk press products*

Kenny: 🤬🤬🤬

Stan grabbing Kyle and immediately stares at him: Don’t. You. Dare. Touch. Those. Beautiful. Red. Curls.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Ties That Bind

Summary/Context: Do you ever wonder what happened when Théoden briefly imprisoned Éomer in Two Towers? Or about how Éomer felt about it, or how other members of the royal family felt when Wormtongue similarly manipulated Théoden against them, as we know he did? Me, too, so I wrote this. It’s meant to slot in with canon events like Éomer’s release from jail, Háma’s discovery of a bunch of stolen stuff in Wormtongue’s possession, etc., as well as with some of my own headcanon for Théodred (more of which is here).

Characters: Éomer, Eadlin (“princess”, Théodred’s fiancée and a real ride-or-die for him), Háma, mentions of Théoden, Théodred, and Wormtongue

**********

“Get your hands off of me!”

Éomer thrashed against the men on either side of him, trying to wrest his arms free from their iron grip. With his sword confiscated and his hands twisted uncomfortably behind his back, he had little chance of overpowering multiple guards. But he would sooner break an arm in the struggle than be led meekly into a prison cell like a child accepting a teacher’s correction.

The man on his right, a lieutenant of the king’s guards, grunted as he took a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Do not make this more difficult than it has to be, Marshal,” he said. “These are the orders of the king, and they will be carried out.”

“These are the orders of Wormtongue, only put into the king’s mouth,” Éomer seethed. He dug his heels into the stone threshold at the door, bracing his body against the lieutenant’s effort to propel him forward. The two strained against each other for several seconds, the opposing forces keeping them suspended motionless in the doorway, until another guard behind him sent a swift boot into the back of Éomer’s knee, buckling his leg and causing him to stumble forward into the cell. The door slammed closed behind him.

Immediately back on his feet, Éomer gripped the bars of the door and pulled with all his strength. The steel rattled back and forth in its casings but yielded no other result. As the guards retreated up the staircase, he roared with frustration and kicked a small wooden stool into the wall, where it splintered noisily against the thick stone.

He bent down to catch his breath, resting his hands on his knees, and glared out at his small enclosure from behind the long, golden hair that hung across his face.

“By all means, keep raging about. That is certain to help the situation.”

He whipped around in search of the source of this hoarse, flat voice, and his eyes landed on a small person bundled into a dark green cloak and sitting against the bars in the cell next to his. The stranger’s back was to him, and a hood obscured their face and hair.

“I do not recall asking for anyone’s opinion,” he spat out, turning all of his anger easily onto this new, available target.

“And yet you will receive it just the same,” the stranger answered. “If I can endure my pain and outrage quietly, surely you can do so also, Éomer.”

He froze at the sound of his own name, and the contents of his stomach heaved upward as he suddenly placed the voice. His fury was snuffed out in an instant.

“Eadlin?” Her name came out almost as a whisper.

She turned and cast back her hood, revealing the familiar face of the woman his late cousin had planned to marry. Her eyes and nose showed clearly that she had been crying, and the blue and yellow remnants of a fading bruise marred her cheek. But most striking was the bitterness in her expression as she glowered up at him from her place on the floor.

“For days now I have waited for someone from Théodred’s family to come to my aid,” she said. “And now the first of you to arrive is brought under guard himself. But it was foolish of me to have expected any help from the house of Théoden, since it is by his will that I am here.”

He rushed forward to the bars that separated them, and crouched down to look directly into her face. “You must believe me, Eadlin, had Éowyn or I known you were here, we would have done everything we could to get you out. None in our family would ever wish you any harm.”

“And yet here I sit. I would not call this a loving embrace, would you?”

The disdain in her voice shook him. Outside of this cell, she had been a close friend, clever and sharply funny but easy and warm with those she loved. And there was none she loved more than Théodred. She was fiercely loyal to him, extending her full affections to anyone who had his favor and withholding them completely from those who had friction with him. It had always pleased Éomer to know that Théodred had such a steadfast ally unfailingly at his back. But there was a cold steeliness about her now, a furious apathy, which Éomer did not recognize. She was clearly grieving, but her grief had curdled into something else, something harsh and unforgiving.

“Strange events are unfolding, and the king is not well,” he said quietly. “He has difficulty now discerning friend from foe.”

“He seemed quite confident about who was who when he accepted Wormtongue’s accusations against me.”

“Wormtongue!?” The fire of Éomer’s anger, briefly suppressed, was immediately rekindled by that hateful man’s name. “I should have guessed. There is hardly an ill deed in Rohan these days that Wormtongue seems not to have a hand in. What has he to do with your imprisonment?”

She drew her arms tightly around herself and sat for a moment in silence, as though playing out past events in her mind again. At last she spoke. “The day before Théodred died, I passed Wormtongue on the terrace. He expressed condolences for my loss, but I had experienced no loss at the time. When I asked him what he meant, he immediately reddened and stammered something about misspeaking. He is so often awkward and unpleasant that I attributed everything only to his peculiar nature and thought no more of it. It was not until the next day when Éowyn came to tell me–”.

She broke off as her voice began to quake. Closing her eyes, she exhaled slowly through gritted teeth. When she opened them again, her voice was clear and strong once more.

“When Éowyn came to tell me that Théodred had been killed overnight, I thought again of Wormtongue’s odious little face from the morning before, accidentally offering me his affected sympathy for a death that had not yet occurred. And then I knew that he was somehow in league with those who killed Théodred…that he had foreknowledge of Isengard’s attack and the relentless focus they would aim at Théodred alone. He knew that Théodred would die, and he erred only in the timing. He spoke too soon and, in doing so, he betrayed his own complicity. I could see it all, but I had no proof. So I waited until dark that night and went to the chambers where he keeps his office. I forced the lock to search for evidence of his treachery, but he discovered me there and had me dragged before Théoden as a thief and a traitor. He asked for my imprisonment, and Théoden agreed without hearing a word from me first.”

Her fingers trailed lightly over the blue smudges on her cheekbone. “I did not go quietly, but what is one woman against a company of guards? And I have been here ever since, rotting alone in the jail of the man who was to be my father.”

Éomer slumped back against the wall and rubbed a hand across his face. “Of all the charges I would lay at Gríma’s feet, never did I think he would reach so low as to aid in the death of the king’s son. Can it really be so?”

Her head snapped up. “Do you accuse me of lying?”

“Of course not.” He raised his palms in conciliation. ”I would take your word over Wormtongue’s in all things. There is no question.”

“Then you are one step ahead of your uncle.” Her lip trembled slightly but her gaze was direct and keen. Éomer looked away to escape the heat of it.

Of course he understood why she felt betrayed by Théoden. Was he not himself sitting in a cell because Théoden had accepted Wormtongue’s counsel? It stung, there was no denying. But something within him still felt a confidence that Théoden’s increasingly erratic behavior was not a true expression of his uncle’s will. The kind and generous man he had known all his life, who had taken him in and raised him as a son, was still there somewhere.

“Théoden is not himself of late,” he said. “I do not know how to explain it, but a person does not change so dramatically merely from old age and illness. I hope still that he will come back to himself before long.”

“You are more softhearted than I imagined, Éomer. Maybe you can forgive one who would cast you aside like so many kitchen scraps, but I cannot. Nor can I forgive the way he treated Théodred in the last weeks of his life. Accusing him of trying to usurp the throne. Of disloyalty. Did you know that your cousin went to his death with such words from his father in his ears? Why should I care whether they were Théoden’s own opinions or he merely repeated the accusations of Wormtongue? The effect was the same.”

Éomer winced. He had been the target of similar remarks recently, part of a wave of paranoia and suspicion that seemed to be gripping Théoden ever tighter. And though Théodred had never mentioned it, Éomer was not surprised to hear that his cousin had experienced the same thing. But if Eadlin had seen Théodred hurting as a result, Éomer doubted he would ever be able to change her mind about Théoden again. She might forgive many things over time, but causing Théodred pain was not one of them. Not now that the pain could never be redressed.

He reached through the bars and put a gentle hand on her arm. She stiffened but did not move. “I promise you, if I can find a way out of this cell, I will get you out, too. I will not leave this prison without you. And together we can try to fix all of this. To restore things to the way they ought to be.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew they were a mistake. She tore her arm away from him and jumped to her feet. Her face flushed around the fading bruise, and her fists clenched at her sides.

“The way they ought to be? So you will bring my Théodred back from death, then? You will restore to me the best and kindest person either of us has ever known, the one person I loved above all else? Because that is what ought to be. And if that is not what you offer, then I am not interested. Now or ever.”

She strode to the opposite side of the cell, as far away from him as she could reach, and threw herself to the floor with her back to him once again. She made no further sound, though he could see from the ragged convulsing of her shoulders that she was sobbing.

He fought back the overwhelming urge to join her in her grief, to sit on the floor of his own cell and feel the full weight of his sorrow at the loss of his beloved cousin. But with so many disasters that had already befallen Rohan and others that might yet still occur while he was helplessly trapped here at the margin of greater events, his own pain would have to keep waiting. Instead, he reluctantly turned aside and began to pace back and forth across his cell, brooding on his situation and searching his mind for a plan of action. When the light failed and he could no longer see the bars on either side of him, he felt his way to the wall and sat back against it. He stared forward into the darkness, and in this way he passed a long, unhappy night.

When the morning sun at last began to filter in, he could once again see Eadlin sitting in her corner. Her back was still to him, and her knees were drawn up tightly under her chin. The sight of her in such misery was a jarring contrast to her smiling and animated presence in his memories. His heart ached for her, and for Théodred. How his cousin would have felt to see her like this he could not imagine.

He sat a while longer until the sound of footsteps on the stairs broke the silence. The hollow feeling in his stomach reminded him that no food had been brought since his arrival, and he stood in expectation of receiving some form of meal. To his surprise, however, the face that appeared in the doorway was not a guard bearing food but rather the friendly visage of Háma, captain of the king’s guard and doorwarden of Meduseld, bearing a large ring of keys.

Háma smiled broadly and shook the keys with a celebratory jangle. “I have orders for your release, Marshal. Straight from the king himself.”

“The king?” Éomer rushed to the cell door, anxiously watching as Háma tried one key after another in the lock. “He has changed his mind? How?”

“I could not say. I know only that the wizard Gandalf arrived this morning with several strangers in tow, and they had an audience with the king. What was said inside is not known to me, but some magic seems afoot. There was sudden darkness and lightning in the middle of an otherwise clear morning, and soon after the king emerged from the hall to stand and walk in the sunshine as a man twenty years younger than he was only yesterday.”

Éomer’s mouth fell open and for several seconds he was unable to speak as he tried to make sense of Háma’s words. “Gandalf? Alive after all? And Théoden seemingly restored to health? It feels too much to have hoped for. If this is a jest of some sort, Háma, I assure you that I will take it badly.”

Háma grinned as he inserted a final key, which turned with a satisfying clink. “May Béma hunt me down if I do not speak the truth!” He pulled open the door and stood aside to allow Éomer to walk out.

“Thank you, my friend,” said Éomer, grasping Háma’s forearm. “I do not fully understand the chain of events that you have related, but I know better than to question good fortune too closely. Do you know where my sword is?”

Háma smiled and nodded toward the stairs. “If you return to Meduseld, you will find Gandalf and his companions still with the king. Perhaps you can get more explanation from them while I fetch your sword for you.” He turned to lead the way out, but Éomer stood fast and maintained his grip on Háma’s arm.

“I cannot leave yet,” Éomer said. He looked over at Eadlin, who still sat silently in her corner. “I need you to release her as well. I made a promise that we would leave this jail together.”

Háma followed his eyes to the next cell and started at the sight of her. “Lady Eadlin in prison? How could this be possible?” He turned back to Éomer, his brows knit tightly together with concern. “But Marshal, I am sorry. I…I have no orders to release anyone but you.”

“Would you accept such an order from me? If so, I will gladly give it.”

Háma chewed on his lower lip. “I suppose now that you are released, you are returned to status as a marshal in good standing. It is not the usual way for marshals to command the king’s guard, but, then, many unusual things have happened today already. And it does not sit well in my heart to see your cousin’s intended bride mourning from a prison cell.”

Having thus made up his mind, he crossed to her door and unlocked it with the same key. She rose slowly and stepped out. “Thank you, Captain Háma,” she said quietly, and he bowed in acknowledgment. She then bowed in turn to Éomer. “And thank you, Éomer. You have honored your word. I am sure there is much now for you to do.”

His shoulders slumped a little. “Will you not come with me to Meduseld? Would you not witness Théoden restored and prepared once again to receive us as loyal members of his family?”

She laughed ruefully. “Us? What makes you think I am included in his change of disposition? He sent Háma here to retrieve you, not me. I have no reason to believe my position with him has changed, and his position with me has certainly not.”

“But surely once he sees you, once you can speak with him, all will be made clear. He loved you as a daughter, and I know that he still does. Return with me and reclaim your rightful place in his heart.”

She slowly shook her head. “Éomer, even if that were true, it would not be enough. There is no life for me in Edoras anymore. I have no reason to stay here, where precious memories of Théodred will lurk around every corner. Where every familiar place and situation will remind me of him and his absence. I cannot heal where the wound will always be open. And to stay only to seek revenge will turn me into someone I do not wish to be. I have glimpsed that person this week, and she is terrible to behold.”

Her voice was no longer angry but sorrowful, as though her bitterness had leached out of her overnight only to be replaced by a weary defeat. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Eadlin, you cannot give up. Would you leave Wormtongue to get away with what he did to you? With what he did to Théodred?”

He could see that the question hit its mark. Tears welled up in her large eyes, and she looked down for several long, anguished moments. When she looked up again, however, her eyes were dry and clear.

“There are others better able to deal with Wormtongue than I. You will find more capable allies in the visitors who arrived this morning, I am certain. But I will offer you this help.” She leaned forward. “When I was in Wormtongue’s office that night, I found a loose floorboard in the east corner. I had just pried it up when he came running in and had his guards drag me out. But I had time enough to see there was a locked chest stowed in that compartment. A man like Wormtongue does not make such an effort to hide things away unless he truly fears them coming to light. If you send Háma to retrieve the chest, I am certain you will find things inside that are proof enough of his wickedness even for Théoden.”

Éomer shot a look to Háma, who nodded his understanding. “Let me first fetch your sword, Marshal,” said Háma. “And then I will find a way into Wormtongue’s office if I have to break the door open myself.” He turned and ran up the stairs.

Alone once more, Éomer took Eadlin’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You can put your faith in Háma. There can still be justice for Théodred, and maybe that will help to ease your pain.”

She gave a small sigh and shrugged.

“What will you do now?” he asked.

“I am not sure yet. Perhaps I’ll ride to Aldburg and be with my own family again for a while. If I have to build a new life for myself, that seems a likely place to start.”

He nodded. “If you should ever change your mind, there will always be a home for you here. Éowyn and I will see to that. You are part of our family still, with or without Théodred.”

She reached up to press a kiss to his cheek and then stepped around him to the staircase. Just before disappearing around the corner, she looked back at him one last time. “He really loved you, Éomer. I hope you know that. If anyone had to take his place and fulfill the destiny that was to be his, he would have been glad to know it was you.” With that, she smiled sadly and walked out alone.

[ackjiuu]

Heihei new annexiron inspired by shoujo Rei

Copy paste from a BL qt novel I read but forgor the name it was quite a long time ago butttt...

Iron comes from a strict family of doctors, her parents want her to become a respectable and reputable doctor. Iron met Anne in high school and fell in love at first sight with anne. Finally they both confessed to each other in their 2nd year (taking Japanese high school years for this) and started dating. Iron knew she couldn't tell her parents because they are horribly h*m*phobic and they want her to focus on her studies instead of finding love, relationships are a distraction and eventually her parents will force her into a business marriage when she's older. On their first valentine's day in their third year (almost 1 year into their relationship), iron's parents found the chocolates she made for Anne in her school bag and questioned iron to tears. Of course iron had no choice but to confess her relationship, double damage to her parents first is a relationship and second it's with a girl of course they caned her and locked her in her room. (Calling her mental and whatever homophobic slurs I'm not gonna put here) Iron's parents lock her up until she can admit truthfully that she will break up with Anne and never love the same sex again. Unable to take the mental torture of her parents forcing her to be what she's not iron decided to 😵 herself and before that she types out her 😵😵 message (?) to Anne and jumps from her bedroom window. Anne hasn't been at peace these days either. After not celebrating their first valentine's day together and not seeing iron at school for close to 3 months already, Anne was initially worried that this was iron's way of telling her she's no longer interested. But as time passed she realized iron wasn't intentionally avoiding her but might have been found out by her parents. So Anne starts dropping by iron's house on the way home after school and stops under the row of iron's window at her flat. One day after school Anne forgets to charge her phone, not thinking much about it she does her daily round about to drop by iron's home hoping to catch a glimpse of her this time. But she's met with an unpleasant shock, police, ambulance, a crowd and blood on the floor right below iron's window. Anne goes crazy trying to push past the crowd and begging the paramedics and police to let her see her "friend". Attracted by the comotion, iron's parents ask the police what's going on when they come back after work. They see a pink haired girl trying to claw her way past the paramedics into an ambulance and recognize Anne from the picture they dug out after confiscating iron's phone. Suspicious that it might be related to their daughter they come up to the police and claim they might be the parents of the injured. They shove Anne away and throw her a disgusted look but when they turn their gaze into the ambulance they are shocked and at a loss for words. The mom breaks down and screams at Anne (stuff like this vixen made my daughter die bla bla ok I don't really wanna think how to verbally abused Anne rn). Iron's mom almost beats a crying Anne up but the police intervene and escort Anne to her home, telling her to stay home these days in order to not run into that crazy bitch (iron's mom). Anne never gets to see her lover for the last time and never gets to say her final farewell, even if her sweetheart can no longer hear her.

Anne stalked iron's parents and secretly attended iron's memorial service, she found iron's grave and visits it frequently. Years later Anne has completed her med school, during the first few years after iron's 💀sometimes it's as if she can feel iron's presence near her. But the day Anne became a registered nurse and went to iron's grave to celebrate she cried, she didn't know why, clearly she should be happy but her tears kept flowing uncontrollably. After that day she could never feel iron's presence again, Anne tried to convince herself it was just the stress that is reducing her sensitivity, but deep down she knows that day she became a registered nurse iron left this world, iron stopped guarding her. Anne visits iron every year from then on. She starts volunteering at an orphanage and sometimes takes some of the clingy children to pay respect to iron on her 💀 anniversary. When Anne grows older she adopted one of the teens that never left the orphanage and raised her. When Anne was on her 💀bed she told her daughter about iron and told her to bury her next to iron. The end :D

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Superheroes question

People say that Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark should use their money better.

But why no one asked the spacefaring aliens or the other advanced civilizations such as Wakanda and Atlantis to help humanity?

I mean for Batman he need to stop joker from blowing up a kid hospital every Tuesday and Tony basically the avengers and shield sugar daddy 80% of the time.

Thoughts?

You're right. People are very quick to blame certain characters for not being "better", but make constant excuses for others. And people who make this kind of commentary don't understand the characters they're talking about, real world economics, or basic storytelling.

It's been talked to death before, but Bruce Wayne absolutely uses his money to fund multiple charities and provides jobs for disenfranchised Gothamites, including criminals he's stopped as Batman. Tony Stark I don't follow as much, but even just in the MCU he basically bankroles the Avengers and created a clean, renewable energy source with the intention of sharing it with the world. But nobody wants to hear that, because it's "not enough". Because to them, all rich people should have all their wealth confiscated and then put directly into their bank accounts used to fix everyone's problems.

And this is where the economic illiteracy comes from, because that's just impossible. Even if the governments of the world would use that money purely for good instead of just embezzling it or using it for their own gain, all that would accomplish is temporarily alleviating a few societal ills. One that money is gone, there's no more money to confiscate from the super rich, because most of the money that rich people have is tied up in their businesses and investments. Once that money goes, so do those businesses (and the jobs they provide) and whatever industries or initiatives were being propped up by those investments. It's a childish power fantasy that if the right people were punished then all the problems of the world would just disappear. Which is ironic, considering point number three.

These people have zero idea how fictional stories work. Especially serial fiction. Stories need drama. Stories need conflict. Stories need characters who react to events in character to drive the plot along. If Bruce Wayne used his money to end all crime and poverty in Gotham, then there would be no more Batman stories to tell. Batman can't exist without Gotham being what it is. Because Batman isn't a 500k slowburn coffee shop slice of life story. It's a superhero story. Specifically, it's a superhero story about a traumatized boy who vowed to clean up the massively corrupt, crime ridden city that killed his parents. He knows his mission is futile. He knows he'll never succeed. But he still tries. He struggles against impossible odds that he will never beat, and we root for him and we keep reading about his struggles because it inspires us to face our own impossible problems. Or at least gives us an escapist fantasy where we can live vicariously through someone who can take on the impossible and triumph. Because even though his overall mission is impossible, he still racks up wins along the way. He saves lives that wouldn't otherwise be saved. He stops evil criminals and corrupt politicians and bad cops. He forms a family from people just as broken as he is. He struggles to live up to his own moral code and to balance his life's work with his interpersonal relationships. That's what makes Bruce Wayne interesting to read about. Having him write a check and cure all the worlds problems isn't just boring or unrealistic, it's lazy. No one can relate to that because there's no allegory to anything we experience in our own lives. It's an unearned victory. And in storytelling, unearned victories are flat and unsatisfying.

[pesterloglog]

Gamzee Makara, Dave Strider

Act 5, page 2818

-- terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

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TC: ArE YoU ReAdY

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TC: BeInG AlL IlLiCiT As tHe vAsT JoKe iTsElF

TC: AnD ThEn

TC: HaNdEd aT RiGhT BaCk tO YoU?

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TC: DoInG ThAt's tO MeAn lIkE YoU GoT MoThErFuCkIn sAsSeD OuT

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TC: BeCaUsE My hOrNs iM AlL AbOuT ArE ThEsE FuNnY HoNk hOrNs InStEaD oF hEaD hOrNs

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TC: It'lL Be a dOwNeD In, StRaIgHt fLaT, bOaRd sIdEd mIrAcLe iF YoU DoN'T GeT ScArEd sHiTtEnT ClOwNcArS

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TG: oh god thats right

TG: you were the best troll

TG: i remember now

TC: WhOa, I WaS?

TG: yeah

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TG: but that really shouldnt even need to be said

TC: ShIt, I MuSt hAvE GoT To nOt rEmEmBeRiNg tHiS SoMeHoW

TG: it was months ago for me

TG: you did your bizarrely oblivious juggalo thing

TG: then bitched and moaned at me for ruining your religion or some horseshit

TG: like i guess a weird crisis in faith i dunno

TG: and then

TG: you kinda got over that i guess

TG: and we both proceeded to have one of the best rap-offs in the history of paradox space

TG: remember

TC: AwW MoThErFuCk, No :o(

TC: I MoSt sUrElY wOuLd gEt mY ReMeMbEr oN FoR A BiTcHtItS TiMe hAd lIkE ThAt

TC: My mInD'S NoT ThAt sHaRp nOw tHoUgH, iT'S BeEn aGeS SiNcE I HaD A GoOd pIe

TG: could be time shit

TG: you might not have had the conversation yet

TC: DoGg, I DoN'T KnOw tHaT Im aT A PlAcE To eVeN CoNtEmPlAtE FoR EnTeRtAiNiNg tHaT KiNd oF ThInG

TC: I DoN'T GeT TiMe

TC: I WaSn't tHe dUdE Of tImE

TC: I WaS ThE

TC: ThE MoThErFuCkIn

TC: BaRd oF

TC: FuCk

TC: I FoRgOt :o(

TG: do you remember if you watched any videos

TG: from earth

TG: that i might have sent

TC: nO

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TG: trust me itll lift your spirits shit will all make sense to you finally

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TC: Oh, MaN

TC: ThIs sOuNdS AmAzInG, i cAn't sEe hOw i wOuLdN'T Be aLl kIcKiNg tHe wIcKeD ShIt oUt Of sUcH KiNdS Of oPpOrTuNiTiEs

TG: and also why your planet has faygo for some baffling reason

TG: actually no nevermind it doesnt explain that

TG: that still makes no damn sense

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TG: the thing youre looking for

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TG: http://tinyurl.com/MoThErFuCkInMiRaClEs

TC: :oO

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 9 - Fair

“THE GODS WILL BEAR WITNESS TO OUR PERFORMANCE!”

SEE THE ILLUSTRIOUS WANDERING MINSTREL PERFORM THE BALLAD OF SHINRYU’S DOMAIN LIVE IN PERSON

RELIVE THE STUNNING BATTLE OF ALA MHIGO AND THE CLASH BETWEEN WARRIORS OF LIGHT AND CROWN PRINCE

50 gil per entrant, recording devices and linkpearls will be confiscated

Arashi stared at the hastily scrawled poster in front of her, head in hands. “Really?” she muttered. “Of all the people you could hire as the centrepiece of this festival, he was your choice?”

Arenvald at least had the kindness to look remorseful. “Actually, he came to us when he heard about the project,” he said. “He said he wanted nothing more than to help people remember the tale of their liberation. And their liberator,” he added sheepishly.

As if Arashi needed the reminder. Five years since her confrontation with Zenos at the end of time and space had been host to a great deal of adventures, but her first fateful battle with the crown prince and his captive Primal was as clear to her as it was when she had taken her first steps into the Royal Menagerie. She must have been frowning as the memories played out, for her return to reality was greeted with Arenvald’s worried features.

“I can have alternative arrangements made, if it’s too much for you!” He limped over to put a reassuring hand on Arashi’s shoulder. Arashi tried to ignore the shaking running through his body. Arenvald had regained the use of his legs in the intervening years, but he would never fight again, and walking was still very much an effort of will. Fordola, who had been keeping diplomatically (or disinterestedly) silent until that point, rolled her eyes and strode over to her companion.

“No, you won’t. We spent a small fortune on the rest of this already. Or did you forget the sleepless nights you spent counting out every last coin to balance the books?” Fordola’s cast-iron stare told Arashi that the issue was not negotiable. Many others would have been intimidated by the woman, but Arashi was merely relieved. So many people treated her as some mythical hero who could do no wrong. It was refreshing to remember that Fordola was not one of them.

Still, it wouldn’t do to risk her ire without cause. Particularly not with Arenvald present. The poor man didn’t need more worries. Arashi held up her hands in what she hoped was a concillatory gesture. “Fine, fine. I’ll not argue his presence, or his choice of song. Just so long as I’m not obligated to appear.”

Arvenvald’s face was a picture of relief. “Good! Of course, we’ll not be expecting you to do anything of the sort. This is a celebration of everyone’s efforts to liberate Ala Mhigo, after all. Though if you were to make a guest appearance…” Arenvald trailed off at the flat stare he received. “Or maybe not.” Arenvald allowed Fordola to guide him to one of the nearby chairs, settling heavily on the wooden frame. “I’ll get this properly finalised and drafted for Commander Hext. See you at the fair!”

Arashi smiled and inclined her head. Fordola grunted in response. Then Arashi was out the doors and into the glorious midday heat of Ala Mhigo. Perhaps it would be prudent to drop in and have a private chat with “Commander” Hext, just to make certain that her presence would not be required on stage with the minstrel. Then again, perhaps not. Lyse would never conspire such a thing, but Fareena was visiting and she most certainly would. Particularly since she was most displeased at not being offered a teaching position in Arashi’s fledgling school.

Yes, perhaps it would be best to just let Arenvald alone and enjoy the fruits of his-

“-labour to free the good people of this nation from their cruel oppressors! I give you all, ARASHI WASHI!”

The announcer’s voice boomed into the open air, magically enhanced to spread far and wide so that even those in the very back of the amphitheatre would hear him. It was, unfortunately, a packed crowd.

Arashi didn’t know who had put the idea in the minstrel’s head. It could have been Fareena, nursing a grudge and seeking petty revenge. It could have been Stalwart, who had also been a guest of honour in one of the previous performances. Or it could have been her dear sister, who had front row seats with Lyse, Arenvald and Fordola, the last of which was actually smiling for once.

Arashi, thankfully, was not alone backstage. Beside her was an equally uncomfortable Raubahn, dressed in an exaggerated version of his old war gear. M’naago, on the other hand, looked practically giddy to take her place on stage, dressed in Resistance finery that had clearly been cleaned and polished recently. It turned out she had something of a flair for theatrics when not bound by duty.

Arashi herself was dressed in her old armour, restored for just this occasion. Well, restored in appearance. Careful application of glamour hid the rips and tears from her trip to the end of the universe. It would be enough for the show, and that was all they needed. Arashi turned back to see M’naago swatting Raubahn’s hand away from his helmet, only to turn her attention on her observer. She made an impatient shooing motion, urging Arashi onto the stage. With a resigned sigh, Arashi stepped forward.

Five years on and Arashi still couldn’t handle the cheers. The roar of the crowd drowned out her thudding heart, her hesitant footsteps. Why are you all cheering me? All I did was fight a dragon. It should have been Lyse up on stage, or Alphinaud, or Krile, or Thancred, or anyone else. The people who had risked life and limb to gather the information they needed to assault the palace. The people who had suffered sleepless nights drawing up stratagems and tactics to outwit the Empire. The people who had really made a difference.

But then Arashi caught sight of another familiar face, towards the back of the crowd. A roegadyn woman, covered in scars and looking distinctly uncomfortable to be there. Flowing Lily. Her first student, and deeply uncomfortable among crowds. She never spoke of the reason why, but she always avoided them wherever possible. She was staring into the middle distance, but then their eyes locked and her face split into an impossibly earnest smile. Then she was cheering with the rest of them, her voice carrying clear across the crowd and to the stage.

Arashi took courage from the gesture. If Lily could conquer her fears and doubts, so could she. The Warrior of Light strode forward with a smile, waving to the adoring crowd. If the people needed her to be a hero again for a day, she would play the part as best she could. It was an old mask, but it still fit.

[stephanidftba]

Hey KiraDaxers

Today's my birthday and I was hoping for some validation? I just finished my second KiraDax Pirates AU (35 chaps, 44k words) and it doesn't have a single comment. Can you please consider giving it a shot for my birthday?

Summary: Captain Dax takes Captain Kira captive and locks her up in Dax's own quarters. Y'know, to keep an eye on her. Rated T.

Chapter 1:

"More sails!" Jadzia commanded. "Give her all we’ve got, we need to go faster!" She looked back at the ship approaching, and frowned at the red pirate flag. She knew enough about flags to know that if this other captain caught them, they were dead. She'd seen the ship before, but never had trouble until now. The distance between them was definitely shortening. "Man the cannons!" Jadzia hollered. She'd rather not fight fellow pirates, but she had no choice. Her heart beat fast and she felt a corner of her mouth try to quirk up. 

The other ship drew up on the Tenara's starboard and fired their cannons. Jadzia grinned as her crew responded in kind. After a few rounds of trading cannon fire, the other ship was in much worse condition. Jadzia heard the other captain, a woman, calling orders. 

"Abandon cannons!" She yelled. "Prepare to abandon ship! Take what you can grab, no-one leaves without permission!" Jadzia suspected they didn't have enough dinghies for the crew. She also suspected that a proper, experienced pirate would allow her adversaries to drown, but hoped she could make an ally instead. 

"Miles!" Jadzia called. 

"Aye." He was by her side in an instant. 

"Get our dinghies down, we're taking them captive." 

"We are?" He asked. 

"I know they attacked us, and deserve to drown, but I'd rather not have their deaths on my conscience if I can help it. If they'd rather drown, at least we tried. We have space, food, and money to feed them. I'll only turn them in to the crown if they don't behave. Get our strongest to row over with you, you make the offer. Understand?" 

"Aye." 

"Oh, and their captain comes aboard first." She added. He nodded and quickly headed off. Jadzia took the lull in the action to order all their irons brought up from the brig, and to get her hat and coat on, matching black with gold trim, to impress and intimidate the other crew. She also put her pistol, sabre, and dagger on just in case. She hoped to make an ally, but knew she should be prepared for more bloodshed. She returned to the deck and watched her dinghies return. 

"Captain." Jadzia greeted as a black tricorn hat and tousled red hair came into view. She offered a chivalrous hand, helping the other woman onto deck. Her offer was accepted and Jadzia quickly spun the other captain, twisting her arm behind her back. With Jadzia's other hand, she grabbed her dagger and pressed the flat of the blade to the shorter woman's throat. The woman's free hand grabbed Jadzia's wrist holding the dagger. "Is that any way to treat your rescuer?" Jadzia chuckled, the woman's shorter stature and Jadzia's grip making it only natural for her to speak directly into her captive's ear. 

As the rest of the pirates boarded, those of the other crew allowed themselves to be placed in wrist irons, Jadzia's crew put the confiscated weapons into a chest, which was locked so that nobody of either crew could steal them. The other crew then allowed themselves to be led below to the brig. 

A foot pressed to the back of Jadzia's captive's knees brought her to the deck easily enough. Her coat and hat were mismatched, the coat slightly too big, possibly stolen. Jadzia put irons on the woman's ankles as well as wrists for security. Jadzia gently poured out the captain's satchel, not wanting to break anything inside. She needn't have worried, it was all maps and jewelry. She put the jewelry back and gave the maps to a crewman. 

"Take these and her to the map room." 

Jadzia and Miles went to her quarters to discuss next moves. He knew of her past, and she leaned on his nautical and piratical expertise. This woman was the first proper pirate captain Jadzia had spoken to, and she didn't want to immediately reveal her eccentricity and lack of experience. 

"Her name's Bloody Kira." Miles informed. 

"I don't want her with her crew. Can we lock her here in my quarters?" Jadzia asked. 

"We can't build a cell, but I can drive a manacle to the floor." Miles bargained. Jadzia nodded. She grabbed a blanket and laid it along the wall opposite her bunk. 

"Drive it there, let the chain reach the table, but no further." Jadzia directed, moving the little table to the center of the room, pointing just on the blanket side of the midpoint between the two. It would allow the captive woman some freedom of movement while sleeping, she could get near a porthole, but would be kept well away from Jadzia and her things. 

"Aye. It'll be done in less than half an hour." 

"I want the manacle as secure as you can get it, Miles." 

"Aye, cap'n. I won't let her touch you." 

"Move everything out of her reach, and get 2 chamber pots if you can. I'm going to go talk to her and her crew." 

Jadzia headed to the brig, the captives immediately quieted upon seeing her. She stared them all in the eyes, chin high, she couldn’t be seen as weak or inexperienced. 

“We’re headed to port.” She announced. “We’ll be docked there for a while. If you make trouble, I turn you in for piracy. Understand?” She asked. A few slow nods. She left, preparing herself to converse one on one with a real, proper, experienced pirate. 

"Alright, let's see how good your maps are." Jadzia sighed as she strode into the map room, focusing on the maps. Bloody Kira sat quietly as Jadzia sorted the maps into piles of useful and not. The not useful maps, she put back into the satchel, the useful ones would be her prize. She planned to get copies of the useful maps made for the other woman, which she knew was ridiculously kind, as was saving Bloody Kira from drowning, not taking her jewelry, and keeping her crew's weapons safe. But Jadzia's philosophy was to make allies where she could, even with those who attacked her, if possible. "Thanks for saving these from the water." She said of the maps conversationally as she finally looked at Bloody Kira. Vibrant red hair framed a scarred but pretty face with a strong jaw. Her nose looked to have been broken at least once, and deep brown eyes glowered at Jadzia. 

"So, Bloody Kira, here's how this is going to go." Jadzia stated. "I'm headed to port. While at port I'll get copies of these maps made that are so good you won't even be able to tell they're copies. That'll take a good few months. During that time, if you don't behave yourself, I'll turn you in for the bounty. Your crew has been made the same offer, I don't know if any of them have a bounty on their heads, but I can always turn them in for piracy. Thoughts?" "What the fuck kind of pirate rescues their adversary and then turns them in for piracy?" Kira spat immediately. Jadzia suppressed a smile at the impotent fury directed at her. 

"The fucking rich kind. Any relevant thoughts?" She clarified. 

"What do you mean by 'behave'?"

"Right now the list consists of 'don't attack anyone and don’t try to escape'. I might've saved you from drowning, but I'm very capable of shooting you, or gutting you like a fish if given reason. And if you're dead I don't need to pay to get copies made of my new maps. You'll be staying with me, but if you don't behave, you're going to the brig, maybe with all your fingers, maybe not." Jadzia shrugged, the status of Bloody Kira's hands not a worry to her. Bloody Kira nodded her understanding. 

"What happens when we get to port?" 

"If I don't turn you in to the crown, I don't give a shit what you do." Jadzia replied and gestured to Bloody Kira's satchel. "One of those necklaces should be able to buy you passage most places, a ring'll get you a few nights in a whorehouse." The whorehouse comment didn't earn her any reaction.  

"What do I do if I need to piss?" 

"Do you need to piss now?" Jadzia figured she could take her captive to the head this once if need be. 

"No." 

"I have an idea, you'll see later. Any other questions?" Jadzia asked, Bloody Kira shook her head. "Then it's time to go see your crew." Jadzia unlocked the wrist irons from the chair and lifted Bloody Kira by her coat's shoulder. 

Jadzia threw an arm around her captive's shoulders to lead her, better to keep her from trying anything. Bloody Kira grimaced and leaned away from her, which wasn't behavior Jadzia was unfamiliar with, but it still hurt. 

"They're not fucking contagious." She spat. Bloody Kira frowned in confusion for a second. 

"It's not that," she explained, "I don't want to be anywhere near you." Jadzia was so relieved to not be judged for her birthmarks that she threw her head back and laughed. Bloody Kira winced and tried to pull away, but Jadzia just pulled her closer. 

"Deal with it." She hissed. It was her prerogative as captor to annoy her captive. 

"Fucking lunatic." Bloody Kira muttered, Jadzia laughed again. If only Bloody Kira knew the many ways Jadzia was fucked in the head. 

Jadzia swung through the opening to the next deck below, then turned round for her captive. Bloody Kira awkwardly sat down, legs dangling through the opening, chain rattling, and leaned forward until she fell into Jadzia's outstretched hands. Jadzia opened the door to the brig and let Bloody Kira approach her crew alone. 

"We'll be stuck here for a few months, but if we keep our heads down and mouths shut, we won't end up gallows birds." She told them. "Odo, wipe that look off your face. It could be a lot fucking worse." She continued in a growl. 

"What kind of pirate turns in another?" A man, likely Odo, protested. 

"The kind that's got you in her fucking brig." Kira spat, head against the bars. "I don't give a shit how you feel, you keep your fucking mouth shut." Jadzia figured it was time for a show of strength. She pulled out her pistol and aimed at Bloody Kira. 

"Better listen to your captain." She mocked in a sing-song, drawing everyone's attention. She smiled. "Or you'll find out why I'm called Laughing Dax. Sure I saved you from drowning, but give me a reason and you'll eat a bullet, and I'll smile all the while." She slowly sauntered towards them as she spoke, Bloody Kira glaring at her. "Or maybe," Jadzia placed the muzzle under her captive's defiant chin, "if your crew doesn't listen, you take the punishment." She cooed the threat, then looked to the captive crew. "Understand?" She demanded. They nodded. Jadzia pulled Bloody Kira forward by her coat and slung an arm around her shoulder again. "Let's go see where you'll be staying." Miles ought to have everything finished by now. 

Jadzia gazed at the ladder back up, debating. It would take loads more work to get Bloody Kira back up the ladder than down. Jadzia certainly wouldn't mind bodily supporting the other woman up the ladder, but it would be easier and less controlling to allow Bloody Kira to get herself up the ladder. And Jadzia could always help later if need be. 

"Suppose this can't end too badly, and you've behaved so far." Jadzia murmured as she unlocked the wrist irons. She watched the other woman make her way up the ladder, jumping and hauling herself up to the next rung, uncomplaining.

[brazyprincess]

This Abigail Cowen-Led Film Is Everything That Is Wrong With Christian Movies

Headline : Redeeming Love a 2022 film from Pinnacle Peak Pictures and Mission Pictures International, exemplifies a chronic problem with modern fiction made by Christians (rather than films about Christianity): it lacks depth. That's a sadly ironic sentiment, given how the Christian Bible advocates for universal acceptance, compassion, and peace, and addresses topics grim enough to make David Cronenberg flinch. Redeeming Love, for instance, simplifies and sanitizes nuanced subjects before presenting a facile, nigh-magical solution to suffering. The film's themes are worthwhile in theory yet rendered lifeless through poor execution.

Consequently, Redeeming Love also lacks the empathy its faith espouses. Everyone knows the great wordsmith Roger Ebert's description of filmmaking as "a machine that generates empathy." Visual media is especially qualified to distill the common universality of the human experience into a few hours and highlight the nonuniversal. And the key to a compelling movie is a strong narrative and an empathetic heart. Remove that from the equation, and what's left? A story as flat and unappetizing as yesterday's pancake batter.

What Is ‘Redeeming Love' About?

Redeeming Love — based on an enormously successful historical Christian romance novel by Francine Rivers — introduces Angel (Abigail Cowen), a popular sex worker in an 1850s California town. Angel didn't choose this lifestyle; following the death of her devoutly religious mother Mae (Nina Dobrev, who's too good for this), a wealthy pedophile known as Duke (Eric Dane) forces Angel into child prostitution, rape, incest, and non-consensual abortion and sterilization. An adult Angel despises her situation but is penniless because the brothel's madam, the Duchess (Famke Janssen, also too good for this), confiscates the money for her own use. Angel has nowhere to go and no way to support herself outside the brothel. Keeping her emotional walls up at all times is her only protection against further pain.

Enter Michael Hosea (Tom Lewis), a young farmer praying for a wife. He falls in love with Angel when he spots her walking the town streets and takes the news she's a sex worker with humor and refreshing acceptance: sure, God, why not! He spends exorbitant amounts of gold to visit the object of his affection. The two don't sleep together. Instead, Michael repeatedly asks Angel to marry him; Angel refuses, befuddled, irritated, and bored that they just won't bang and get it over with. It's only after a severe beating from one of the brothel's guards (who has a disturbing sexual obsession with Angel and almost rapes her) that a pain-befuddled Angel wearily accepts Michael's latest proposal. Marriage to a weird farmer is surely a better option, right? Ding-dong go the church bells, and Michael whisks his new bride home to the farm.

Despite the Success of the Novel, 'Redeeming Love' Was a Flop

The Christian-based studios, Pinnacle Peak Pictures, and Mission Pictures International co-produced Redeeming Love and it was distributed by none other than Universal Pictures! Both companies are behind surprise hits: Pinnacle Peak (then Pure Flix Entertainment) released God's Not Dead in 2014, which grossed $64 million on a $2 million budget, while Mission Pictures oversaw I Can Only Imagine, the fourth highest-grossing biopic in the world ($86 million on a $7 million budget). The Redeeming Love novel has sold over 3 million copies since 1991, so both precedents would suggest a similar profit trajectory. Instead, Redeeming Love failed to redeem its $30 million, seeing a return of $9 million at the box office. If Christian audiences responded to the prior films, why not this one? That merits deeper speculation for another time.

Redeeming Love' Brings No Nuance to Difficult Topics

On paper, Redeeming Love isn't necessarily a terrible film. The central performances are fine (Abigail Cowen is a rising star and her role in Netflix's Fate: The Winx Saga suggests great promise), the cinematography's pretty enough for $30 million, and the directing's worst sin is the sin of lackluster. But everything goes through the motions of a story instead of having a soul. The narrative clearly wants its audience to sympathize with Angel. We should root for her happiness; instead, I resented how this woman's past unfolded like emotional torture porn far more than I despised the fictional characters committing said acts. Even considering how women were treated in the 1850s, piling atrocity after atrocity onto Angel verges toward parody and audience manipulation.

Moreover, the depiction of sex work is nuance-deficient. One might briefly entertain a good faith argument that there wasn't enough runtime to do justice to those who choose sex work willingly and their right to do so, those unwilling but without any other recourse to survive, and the communities such poverty disproportionally affects. But for a story inseparable from sex work, the film's hot take seems to boil down to a vapid "prostitution bad."

It doesn't help that some of the plot twists are worthy of a spit-take and therefore undercut any good intentions on the part of the filmmakers or actors. For example: Duke orchestrates a meeting between Angel and her dad. The neglectful jerk hasn't seen Angel since she was around eight years old. He doesn't recognize this beautiful adult woman, so Angel has sex with her father as punishment for leaving her and her mother destitute. Once her father realizes he unknowingly slept with his bastard daughter, he takes his life. Is this baloney a legitimate drama, or did I accidentally turn on the Days of Our Lives: 1850s spin-off? (That doesn't exist, but I would probably watch it.)

[pickleslice]

happy pride to them and them only

[teawaffles]

The Adventures of John: Chapter 4, Part 2

TW // Mention of abuse

Also, a note for language.

Without even an opportunity for Laura to resist, Sherlock pulled his hand out — and revealed a gorgeous necklace. It wasn’t as if John could remember that necklace itself, but from its elegant sparkle, he judged that it’d been one of the items from their flat.

The despair on Laura’s face only deepened. Beside her, the detective spoke.

“This was stolen from my flat. Since the jewellery was in such a mess, you probably thought it wouldn’t look amiss if just one piece went missing — but that was naive of you,” he said. “Because I have a full grasp of everything that was put there.”

When Laura arrived at their flat, Sherlock had made a show of being indifferent to her request, while making sure that she had taken one of the stolen goods.

To have fully comprehended that chaos — John marvelled at the strength of Sherlock’s memory. During the conversation in the flat, he had persisted in looking out the window, away from Laura: that must’ve been to create a deliberate opening, and test if the girl would help herself to the pile.

Laura had stolen a piece of jewellery from their apartment. Moreover, she’d made up the request to find Dolly. Inevitably, from the two points above, it followed that her goal from the start had been to steal the jewellery. Hence, it formed definite proof that she was one of the thieves’ accomplices.

Confronted by that irreversible reality, Laura was stunned. As for the man, his eyes went bloodshot from anger.

“Y-You’ve gotta be kidding me, you good-for-nothing……. I told you to do it without exposing us—”

Hearing that, Sherlock piped up in a cool voice.

“Shall I take that as a confession? Though, there is still the argument that this kid Laura here is just another one of you vagrants, and you guys have nothing to do with the ring of thieves.”

The man spat on the ground.

“Hmph, I’ve no interest flogging that argument anymore. ——Let’s settle this the fast way.”

Saying that, he drew a small revolver from his pocket, and levelled it at Sherlock. Following suit, a few men among the group also whipped out knives and guns. The remaining crowd cried out softly in fear.

“If we dispatch the both of you right here, the truth’ll remain buried, eh?”

At that unsettling line, his armed accomplices also broke into twisted smiles.

But despite being held at gunpoint, Sherlock seemed particularly unmoved. He observed their actions, and narrated his own view.

“From the looks of it, you lot are the ringleaders, while the rest seem to have been threatened into compliance.”

“Yeah: with just a little bit of a beating, they’ll do anything we ask,” the man smirked.

But Sherlock was calm as he replied.

“From that, I gather not all of you are friends. And seeing how you resort to violence to settle things right away: you’re probably a hoodlum accustomed to crime, aren’t ya?”

“Hoodlum? You’re not wrong, but call us a group of clever thieves if you can. After all, I’ve skilfully manipulated these scum and carried out some brilliant thefts.”

Drunk on his own accomplishments, the man threw a glance at Laura. She hadn’t budged from where she stood; protecting her head, she cowered on the ground in sheer terror. From that, one could easily imagine what maltreatment she and the others had suffered at the hands of these thugs.

His heart filled with rage, John glared at the man.

“That means you forced them to commit crimes, didn’t you?”

“Call it making effective use of them, Doctor Watson,” he drawled. “These people all live on a pittance of a daily income. No one would care if they’re gone. I’ve given them a rather fine job until now, but this time, she just had to screw up. ——As I thought, brats are useless after all!”

“……I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

He shouted at Laura, and she repeated that apology over and over as she sobbed.

“You……”

“John, you’re right to be angry, but please calm down.”

At the unforgivable sight before him, the detective’s assistant had balled his hands into fists, but Sherlock persuaded him to keep his cool.

“Ah…… Sorry to get back to the topic, but let me give you some clarity on this case.”

“Huh?”

As before, Sherlock’s demeanour lacked any sort of tension, and his opponent frowned. But the detective paid no heed to that as he continued.

“To sum up the story thus far: the bunch of louts brandishing their weapons here are the ringleaders behind the thefts, and the other vagrants and street merchants were forcibly…… ‘used’, if I were to borrow your words?”

“Yeah, that’s right. You could say that they’re all expendables to be exploited as I please. To have so skilfully manipulated them — I bet my abilities rival those of that rumoured ‘Lord of Crime’ or something.”

“……Well.”

At that name, Sherlock’s eye twitched. But he showed no further reaction than that as he replied.

“In other words, to you guys, their names and faces aren’t even worth remembering?”

“That’s an odd way to put it, but exactly. They’re all disposable — do you really think I can remember all of them? ……That said, how long are you gonna keep prattling on like that? I don’t know if you’re just trying to buy time, but it’s time for you to die.”

Running out of patience, the man broke off their conversation, and moved to pull the trigger: fully intending to shoot the detective and his assistant.

However, Sherlock’s smile remained bold as ever.

“——That’s it then. I’ve gotten your word.”

That instant, John couldn’t believe his eyes.

Among the crowd of vagrants, the ones who were shrouded in hoods — separate from the ringleaders — were now aiming guns at the criminals.

“……Huh?”

“——Don’t move.”

One of the mysterious figures commanded sternly, keeping his gun trained on the lead criminal. Stunned by this sudden development, the man complied; and with his other hand, the figure slowly drew back his hood.

“……Inspector Lestrade?”

Out of sheer astonishment, John murmured the person's name.

The man in the hood, was Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. Facing the lead criminal, he spoke in a determined voice.

“From the conversation earlier, it’s clear that you have threatened the poor and coerced them into crime. I’ll hear the details at the station. Don’t even think about resisting.”

Then, the other figures removed their hoods and revealed their faces. One after the other, they confiscated the weapons from the stunned hoodlums. Though they weren’t wearing uniforms, from their practised actions, it was clear that they were police officers.

“W-What the devil is going on……?”

Tonight had been a night of many surprises for this detective. John was yet unable to wrap his head around the situation, and once again, he asked himself a question he’d thought about countless times today.

“Everything’s exactly as you’ve witnessed, John. When I identified this place, I contacted Lestrade at the same time, then got the officers to disguise themselves as tramps and hide among the crowd.”

“But why?”

“If I’d just called in the Yard as usual, we wouldn’t have been able to identify the ringleaders among this large a crowd.”

Sherlock stated that conclusion in brief, then began to explain.

“As I thought about the thieves’ actions, I judged that there was probably a mastermind separate from the ones committing the actual crimes, who was controlling them from behind the scenes. Hence, there was a need to identify this mastermind; but even if the Yard were to round up the entire group of vagrants, like what that ruffian told me earlier, they could just say that they had no relation to the ring of thieves — and that would be the end of it. Moreover, it still wasn’t clear who the ringleaders were, and the ring members who were being threatened would’ve likely been warned not to blab. So, in order to smoke out the ringleaders and elicit a confession, I added a bit of an act.”

Then, the detective looked at Lestrade, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“——Well, about the disguises: I’d thought about where the police squad could hide themselves, and decided it would be better for them to mingle with the crowd, so they wouldn’t have to sneak about all weirdly.”

“W-Wha— What a stupid……”

Upon hearing the truth, the man’s earlier triumphant attitude had devolved into a disgraceful, incredulous one. This time, Sherlock laughed out loud.

“Sure, you can make people follow you, but you’ll also have to keep tabs on them properly. In the first place, when this location was discovered, didn’t it occur to you that I would call in the Yard? You can pretend to be a mastermind, but with your lack of foresight, even the Lord of Crime would laugh.”

“S……Shite.”

“Oi, watch what you say from here on. It’ll be used as evidence against you in court.”

Lestrade warned the man as he clapped him in irons; accepting his defeat, he hung his head bitterly. For a villain who’d exploited people in poverty, and boasted of rivalling the Lord of Crime: it was a downright dreadful ending.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“I’ll always be in your debt, Holmes. And the same goes for you, Dr Watson.”

As he watched the arrested criminals being taken away, Lestrade thanked the detective duo.

However, in contrast to the inspector’s earnest attitude, Sherlock put a hand over his mouth as he tried to suppress his laughter.

“Lestrade. Sorry for saying this when you’re being so serious, but…… you looked surprisingly good as a tramp.”

“H-Hey! That’s rude, Sherlock!”

“By Jove, Sherlock……”

John chided the detective, and Lestrade let out an astonished sigh.

“……Anyway, I’m grateful for your help in resolving this case.”

“Yeah, let me know when you have another interesting mystery next time.”

After that simple exchange, the inspector left to join the other police officers.

Then, Laura — the central figure from today — and an old woman from among the vagrants walked over to them.

“——U-Um, Dr Watson.”

The girl stood right before John. She bit her lip, and sank into a deep bow.

“I’m so sorry for tricking you!”

Laura blurted that out in a loud voice. Then, the old woman also bowed solemnly.

Met with their sincere apologies, John spoke up in a kind voice.

“It’s alright. You had no choice — all of you were being threatened.”

“B-But…… I……”

“Don’t worry about it. In any case, won’t it be tough for you all from here on?”

With a start, Laura realised what he meant, and dropped her gaze. Though they had been coerced into thievery, it was still a fact that they had broken the law. Hence, in order to furnish the details to the Yard, all of them would be taken in for questioning.

The atmosphere turned slightly gloomy, and Sherlock piped up.

“You don’t have to be so serious about it, y’know. Seeing as all of you had been forced into those crimes, the Yard’ll treat you more leniently.”

“Y-You’re right.”

John knew that Sherlock was deliberately being optimistic, in an effort not to worry them both. Hence, though it was a little awkward, John agreed with him.

Perhaps the matter wasn’t as simple as Sherlock had described, but the events from now on would be out of their hands entirely. Hoping that Lestrade would speak well in their defence, John changed the topic somewhat forcibly.

“……By the way, is this lady a relative of yours?”

Hearing that, Laura brightened up, and introduced the old woman.

“Yes, she’s my grandmother; we’ve been making a living together selling food.”

“Truly, please accept my sincere apologies for what happened.”

Hearing the old woman’s husky voice, John finally understood the awkward exchange he had witnessed between them at the park. Seeing as they were family, it was only natural for Laura to be more relaxed around her; moreover, the old woman’s faltering tone had surely been due to her guilt at deceiving him.

John nodded in understanding. Then, Laura took out a small pouch.

“That and this…… Here’s the full amount we’ve taken from you, Dr Watson. Please accept it.”

“Ah, I see. I’d forgotten all about the money. Thank you.”

John was about to reach for the pouch, when all of a sudden, a thought struck him — and he stopped.

“……Um, is something the matter?”

Seeing him freeze up, Laura tilted her head. Then, John withdrew his hand, and instead held up the bag full of items he’d bought from the street merchants.

“‘Taken’? What’re you saying? I bought these of my own accord. I can’t see any issues with them, so I’ve no intention of getting a refund.”

“……Eh?”

“Isn’t that right? I negotiated properly with the merchants in the parks, and bought these items as a customer. There was no trickery at all.”

John asserted that proudly, and beside him, he heard Sherlock chuckle.

Of course, what John said was by no means a show of bravado that he hadn’t been tricked. Laura had been moved by his kindness throughout the day; in an instant, she sensed the emotions imbued in his words. But even so, she knitted her brows, looking troubled.

“Still, I really should return this to you.”

She then offered him the pouch again, but John gently pushed it away.

“Laura, in all honesty, the walnuts your grandmother sold me were delicious. For products that good, it’s only right that I pay a fair price for them.”

His smile was full of warmth as he continued.

“If I happen to see your stall again, I’ll be sure to buy from you.”

“Dr Watson……”

This time, Laura did not press the matter.

She held the pouch as if it were a treasure, and her face brimmed with smiles.

“——Alright. When we see each other again, I’ll be sure to prepare lots of walnuts for you.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to that.”

Then, John bade goodbye to Laura and her grandmother; and with his “loot” in hand, he left the scene with Sherlock.

[manga-gamer]

What Is He Doing? (Kaminari x Black!Reader)

I got this idea when I was in BNHA POCuties server after asking a question about Kaminari reacting to flat irons, hot combs, and such.

---

"Hey, baby!"

You looked over at your boyfriend. He was holding up your hot comb in confusion. You giggled and smiled at him.

"It's a hot comb, Kaminari."

"Hot comb?"

"Yeah. It straightens my hair and makes it nice."

Kaminari made a quiet "Oh..."

You nodded and took it from him, "Here, lemme show ya how it works, kay?"

"Ooh, thanks!"

You led him to the bathroom and brushed through your hair before plugging the hot comb in.

"Okay, so see?"

You carefully and slowly pulled the comb through your hair, straightening it. You burned yourself occasionally, hissing at the pain, but you got through it, smiling at your boyfriend when you were done. He stared in awe, as he normally did when whenever you did something he didn't fully understand.

"Wow..."

"I can tell you like it when I press my hair."

"I love it... I love you."

Your face darkened in blush and smiled at him, running your hand through his blonde hair.

"Thank you, Kaminari."

---

It was one of your guys' exam days, and everyone was scribbling down answers on the papers. You were trying to pay attention to the paper, but you couldn't get rid of that hissing noise in the back of your head.

Well... it only seemed this way because someone was creating a hissing noise behind you. But... not with his mouth.

"Kaminari... what the hell are you doing?"

Everyone directed their attention to Kaminari who... was pressing his goddamn hair. You squeezed your hand around your pencil, wondering how the hell he was able to get your hot comb out of your room. You knew it was yours because it was pink, and it had your name on it.

Kaminari took the plug out of his mouth, "Pressing my hair."

Aizawa sighed and his eyes went red before he went to confiscate the hot comb.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yes sir?"

"You broke your pencil, would you like a new one?"

"Ah, yes sir," You looked at your pencil, sighing. When Aizawa's attention was gone, you whispered, "Kaminari, I am so gonna get you back when I get the chance, got it?"

"Yes, (Y/N)."

[carelessannie]

Because I have no patience, here’s the first chapter of my three part Reverse Little Mermaid Winteriron AU

while we're devoting full time to floating chapter one: floating in a blue lagoon

Rating: T (for now) Word Count: 3.5K Relationships: Tony x Bucky, background Natasha x Wanda Warnings: Prejudice against Merpeople, Steve’s kind of an ass, boat violence, magic use Read on AO3

Chapter One | Chapter Two

---

Spring-time has broken— making way, quickly, for a blazing summer. Celebratory music carries from the interior of the city, echoing from the palace in the center all the way out to the surrounding villages, drawing citizens closer— like moths to a joyful flame. Heading in the opposite direction, unseen by guards and villagers, two silhouettes slip toward the shoreline.

Up ahead is an expansive boathouse, accessible only by royal decree and permission from the crown. Bucky lifts up on his toes to check through the window for officers or other sailors— no one in sight. His key easily unlocks the door and he holds it open for Alpine to sprint through.

Bucky pads across the dock, heading for his humble fishing boat and checking for guards, whistling low between his fingers to call his Border Collie to his side. Alpine comes bounding over, shaking out her pure white coat, and pants, eyes wide with excitement.

“Quiet, Alpine,” he hisses, motioning to stay low, “almost there, girl.”

Towards the end of the dock, he can see his boat. Restored over years of hard work, The Widow sits proudly at the end of the line, beckoning him to sail away. He helps Alpine climb inside and makes haste to cast off, pushing away from the dock and dipping his oars into the gentle waves.

The sun is hot, but Bucky doesn’t mind it. His gaze is locked ahead and his focus is sure. The waters are quiet as he rows out into the open ocean, letting the current push him parallel to the coastline and away from the village.

It’s not like he’s running away— no. He just knows his brother would stop him if he knew, and it’s far too close to migration to wait another day.

After a while, he sees the cove— his favorite spot, sheltered under a familiar rocky cliff— and steers towards it. Once he’s close, Bucky tethers the boat to a nearby boulder. He helps Alpine out and climbs up the jagged rocks, settling over the water.

Here he adjusts his covering and removes a few flat stones, revealing provisions he stored long ago in a discreet iron box. Bucky lays on his belly, wiggling until he can peak over the edge.

Then he waits.

It doesn’t take long. With lenses pressed to his face, his enhanced view picks up movement below. Three large figures, cutting gracefully through the crystal clear water, swim into focus. Bucky holds his breath, taking only a moment to scrawl a few details onto his journal pages. Remarkable.

He watches the Merpeople hesitantly explore the cove underneath and talk animatedly between each other. Bucky only hears snippets of conversations as they surface, and it seems like a dark haired, red-tailed Mer is their leader. The other two— the first with bright red hair, and the second with darker skin— follow the red-tailed Mer around the shallow waters, inspecting rocks and plant life, talking distractedly about a settlement nearby.

“These waters are clear, no remnants left from past colonies.”

Bucky knows this already. He’s been observing Mer migration patterns for years, and none of them ever stay long enough to impact the nearby ecosystems. Still, he jots down a note about their self awareness.

“Still, the access to resources and deeper waters is desirable in this area.”

This Bucky knows as well. Outside of the cove and the surrounding reef, there’s a steep drop off down into unexplored waters. He’s tried to swim down a few times, but hasn’t yet found the floor.

Finally the red-tailed Mer speaks, he voice deep and alluring, causing Bucky’s head to snap up in surprise—

“I’m sure the King would be thrilled to hear of this discovery,” he drawls, and something in his tone convinces Bucky that this King would decidedly not be pleased. “Take a few samples, keep them close. I’ll study them in my lab when we get back and present them to the King myself.”

Bucky has to stop himself from chuckling. He understands exactly how this Mer feels about his King, and he’s instantly endeared. He can’t, for the life of him, tear his gaze from the red-tailed Mer. The man is striking, beautiful and full of life, and Bucky has never seen one like him before. His body is lean and toned like most Mers tend to be, but something about his posture screams authority and importance. He sighs, knowing the three of them will probably move on, migrate further south and into warmer waters.

He pulls away to take a drink from his water flask and sees a flash in the corner of his eye. Something approaching— fast and dangerous. The Mers below are oblivious, and the next thing he knows, they’re being circled and cornered by three, large Tiger sharks.

Bucky gets to his knees, gripping the rocks as he watches the sharks close in, forcing the Mers to press together a few meters in front of the cove.

The largest shark attacks. It’s a flurry of motion and violent waters as the other two follow suit, converging on the Mers from all sides. It seems as though each Mer fights a single shark, and they draw vicious, serrated weapons to slice through the water.

But the Tiger sharks are quick. The largest one whips, lightning fast, and catches the red-tailed Mer in the chest, sending him careening into the rocky wall. The other two Mers are chased away. They dodge and swim through the shallow waters and disappear out of sight to avoid the close pursuing sharks. Bucky glances down, watching in horror as the largest shark closes in on his prey below.

The red-tailed Mer isn’t moving, and the shark is swimming closer. Bucky scrambles, picking up his own hunting knife, and stripping off his shirt and boots before diving off the cliff.

His attack takes the shark by surprise, and Bucky plunges into the water, striking clean and slicing through the predator. Blood pours out of the open wound and Bucky has to surface, gulping in air as he watches the shark retreat.

He sheaths his weapon and turns, looking for the injured Mer. Bucky dives down and sees him drifting against the rocky wall, propped up and unconscious. When Bucky gets closer he finds blood, fresh and urgent, seeping out of the Mer’s wound— dead center on his chest.

Without hesitating, Bucky pulls the Mer up to the surface. He swims, slowly but effectively, back to the cove and rests against the rocky shore, letting the vibrant tail hydrate in the water.

“Hey,” Bucky looks into the man’s face, gently pushing back a thick strand of dark hair, “wake up, please. C’mon, I need you to wake up.”

The wound is still bleeding, slower than before, but persistently trickling down into the pool of water.

“Okay, okay… dammit,” Bucky curses, “stay here,” he instructs, mostly for his own sake, and sprints out of the cove, climbing the rock face to retrieve his shirt and a few supplies. Herbs and spices can usually make a good potion, even for inexperienced users— which Bucky definitely isn’t . He rubs a few together in his hands as he ducks back into the cove, kneeling next to the unmoved Mer. Gently, so gently, Bucky presses his fingers against his skin to rub the potion into the wound, wrapping it tenderly with strips of his own shirt after.

The Mer groans, hunching in to protect the wound instinctively.

“No, darling, let me heal it,” Bucky begs, laying the man down again while he works. He looks around. It would help if there was...

Aha! A golden ring dangles from the Mer’s neck, a perfect vessel for a healing spell. Bucky slips the ring on his own finger, taking a deep breath before performing the spell. It’s taxing. It hurts. But Bucky can see the ring glow and flex on his finger, accepting the enchantment and waiting for it’s impending assignment.

The ring is laid back on the Mer’s chest, still attached with the delicate chain, and Bucky is satisfied when he sees the wounds rapidly closing. He sighs in relief, holding the Mers hand and feeling the delicate pulse even out. He wishes he could see the man’s eyes, at least once. Damn the King and his stupid laws.

Movement, stirring from the Mer, and Bucky knows he must go. He can’t help but lean closer, studying the breathtaking features of this man’s face and pressing a lingering kiss onto his temple, before withdrawing and racing for his boat. He whistles for Alpine to join him, and takes off for the village. He’s been away far too long, and the King is bound to have noticed his absence.

---

“Do you know what you have done?”

The King, his brother, is fuming— full of violent rage that even Bucky shys away from. He had pulled Bucky off his boat the moment he returned, ordering the guards to seize him and The Widow for crimes against the crown.

“And to see the Merpeople again, I should have known. How could you, Buck? Openly disregarding my decree and putting all of our people in jeopardy— for what? Research?”

“He was dying!”

“Better him than another one of us.”

Bucky recoils, “You don’t mean that. The Mers have always been peaceful—“

“And that’s because they are ignorant of our existence— dammit Buck! What if he had seen you?”

“He didn’t.”

“And he won’t.”

“What does that mean?” Bucky asks, daring to look his brother in the eye. All he finds is cool indifference.

“It means that until further notice, I’m confiscating your traveling privileges. You will serve in my court and retire to your chambers, guarded as to not leave the grounds— is that clear?”

“Steve, what the hell—“

“You may keep the company of your dog,” the King, his brother and best friend, sets his jaw and points towards Bucky’s beloved boat, “but as a consequence for disgracing your King and country, my guard will take care of your transportation.”

“No!” Bucky cries, fighting the strong hold on his arms as two members of the royal guard unceremoniously drop a torch into his boat, setting it on fire. “Damn you, Steve!”

They let him struggle, thrashing and yelling to no avail, and the crowd watches as his most prized possession is burned to ashes. Bucky falls to his knees, speechless.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the King retreat, walking out of sight without even the courtesy of a dismissal. His vision blurs red.

Steve never listens.

The guards haul him up by the armpits, but Bucky barely even notices. He lets himself be dragged away and led back to his quarters, collapsing onto his bed with a sob as they lock the doors behind him. He feels Alpine crawl up next to him, and he holds her close, soaking her fur with heaving, furious tears.

When the sun goes down, Bucky packs a bag. It’s not an issue to find a way out of the palace— he’s been doing that for years. The issue is tracking down his contact, making sure she still lives across the bay, and convincing her to help him. Her allegiance is strong with the King, but he thinks he might have the upperhand to a few of her debts.

Bucky drops a quick kiss to Alpine’s head, tying a note around her collar. It won’t help to have her starving and the kingdom torn apart in his absence, so he quickly charms the letter to sooth and calm it’s readers. That should give him enough time to evade any search and rescue.

From there, it’s a simple shimmy out the window, a well-timed jump across a few balconies, light-footed paces through empty streets, and then, thankfully, a straightforward hike out of the city. The sun has long since set. Bucky pushes forward, ignoring the increasing chill as he climbs in elevation— his destination is just up ahead.

Before he crosses into her wards, Bucky comes to a stop. He searches the ground for… yes! A small ring of stones lies around her cottage, strengthening her security and vigil over her land, and Bucky kneels in front of them, gently laying his fingers on the ones nearby. It only takes a moment of letting his walls down, power flowing down his arms and into his hands, and he smiles to feel a warm thrum in response. The wards accept his familiar presence, and he stands to make his way to the cottage that lies behind the tree covering.

“You had better have a good excuse to be here, James.”

He hears her greeting before he spots her in the doorframe, curves silhouette tantalizing and a stark contrast from the light within the house. He smiles, picking up his pace and running forward, “Oh, Nat. Damn, if it isn’t good to see you.”

Natasha lets him swing her up into his arms, but gives a stinging flick to his ear.

“I’ve already heard of your transgressions, James. When will you just accept your brother’s rule, and learn that his word is law?”

Bucky sweeps into the cottage and leads the way to her personal rooms. It seems as though someone else has been living in this space— there’s another, strong, trace of magic intertwined with Natasha’s. He ignores her implications and raises an eyebrow, “Who are you hosting, Nat?”

The grin Natasha throws him is downright feral, and Bucky almost regrets asking. She brings her fingers up to her lips and whistles, brief and sharp.

“Her name is Wanda, she will join us momentarily,” Natasha pours him herbal tea, gesturing for them to sit in the living space. He allows himself to put his bag down, but he lets himself fidget a little bit— cataloging his urgency to his friend and trusting her to pick up his unspoken needs. “Tell me, pretty Prince— why are you seeking me out after such drama, at this time of night?”

He frowns at her moniker, but decides to give it to her straight, “Steve’s bias has gotten out of hand. I witnessed an exploration party of three Mers out by my cove, and there was a shark attack. The leader of their party was knocked unconscious, so I intervened to stop the shark from killing him. I had to swim him to safety, Nat, and I enchanted his ring with a healing spell. I left before he could wake up, and when I got back…” Bucky breathes, breaking his eye contact with Natasha, “well, it sounds like you’ve heard the rest.”

Her face falls in a genuine show of regret, “I’m really sorry, James, I know how much—”

“It’s fine,” he cuts her off, “I just need help convincing Steve that Mers are worth protecting. He just sees them as a threat, and he hates their ignorance about us. He doesn’t trust it. But they’re incredible, Nat, honestly. And this one I saw today… damn.”

Her eyes gleam, mischievous, “Oh? You have a crush on the Mer you saved and healed with your magic— how surprising.”

“Shut it, Nat,” he hisses, rolling his eyes as she cackles, “I’ve never seen a man so beautiful in my life. And, I don’t know, something about how he spoke, his voice and his humor—”

“James, I hate you.”

“— excuse me?”

“I now owe Clint a very large sum because of you.”

When Bucky fails to react, Natasha just sighs, “He bet you’d fall in love with a Mer. I just didn’t think you were that stupid.”

“Hey! I’m not in love—”

“Sure, Jay,” she laughs, turning to face the back stairwell as Bucky throws a pillow at her, “oh! Wanda! Please, come in and meet James.”

Standing at the bottom of the staircase is a petite girl, maybe a few years younger than Bucky himself, with auburn hair that rivals Natasha’s in brilliance. He can feel her power from here. A shiver runs down his spine.

She’s careful to walk into the room, as though any sudden movement may set off a catalyst of magic strong enough to rip the room apart. And he honestly doesn’t doubt that could happen.

“This is Wanda,” Natasha introduces them, and Bucky reaches to take her tiny hand in greeting. She looks one part terrified, and another part… angry? She still shakes his hand and mumbles a pleasantry. He knows that if Steve were here, she would probably be arrested for insolence to the crown or something comparable.

“It’s nice to meet you, Wanda. You can call me Bucky, everyone besides Natasha does.”

The look on her face says she will most likely not be calling him Bucky.

“Well, why don’t you spend the night here, James?” Natasha asks, standing to her feet and gliding into the kitchen, “we have a spare room, and can talk strategy in the morning.”

“I’d rather—”

“I insist,” Natasha cuts him off. She pours him a glass of water and pushes it into his hand, “I’m going to sleep. You know where the guest room is.”

“Isn’t…” he awkwardly motions towards Wanda, confused about the sleeping arrangements until he sees the flush in Wanda’s cheeks, the salacious grin on Natasha’s face.

“You don’t worry about us, our arrangements work just fine. Get some rest, James,” and with that, Natasha disappears up the staircase with a small kiss to the top of Wanda’s head. To his surprise, Wanda doesn’t move a muscle. She’s still staring at him, and it starts to get uncomfortable as they sit in silence.

Bucky clears his throat, “So, how did you—”

“I can help you with your problem.”

He does a double take, “— get… uh, what? Which problem?”

Wanda takes a seat across from him, but her posture is anything but relaxed. It’s her facial expression that makes him freeze— not just anger and fear, but knowing. Understanding. He curses himself because instead of scaring him, the knowledge in her eyes draws him closer.

She tilts her head to the side, slightly, “With your Merpeople. And with your brother. I’ve seen the conflict and I witnessed the shark attack. I know how your heart thrums in time with this red-tailed Merman, and how you long for it to beat in time with your brother, the King.”

“How do you—”

“You assume Natasha told me, but rest assured, my power and devices stretch far beyond her secret spies. I have a deal to offer you, and in return, you will earn the ear of the King and the heart of the sea.”

Bucky gives her a suspicious eye, but in reality, his heart is pounding. This girl, barely old enough to inherit land, is offering him the depths of his desires. But he knows mages, understands their loopholes and caveats.

“Tell me, Wanda— what is your scheme? What would be my payment?”

“Simple,” she answers, gaze going distant, “I’d first give you access to the King of the sea. Through the Mer you saved, his only son, you will forge a treaty between land and ocean. I will give you a way in, but in turn, you will have to enter the same spell all Mers are under: to forget and lose humanity. You will still remember names and faces and stories, but all will be in a cloak of ignorance. Like them, you will have no knowledge of the world above.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “How am I supposed to forge a treaty between the two worlds if I can’t remember the one I’ve come from?”

“A royal alliance will break the spell. Marriage or covenant between the Prince of the land and Prince of the sea will not only break the cloak of ignorance on your mind, but also the ignorance of all who live in the Mer kingdom.”

His mind is racing. On one hand, he’s never easily put his trust in a strange mage, even one who seems to be… intimate with Natasha. On the other, he’s been looking for a way into the sea kingdom for years. Her spell could be the bridge that brings everything together.

“Oh, but there is one catch, James.”

“I knew it.”

“If you cannot get the Prince to fall in love and wed you, the enchantment on your memories will keep progressing. You will not only forget humanity, but you will completely forget yourself as well.”

“Does Natasha know you’re offering me this deal?”

“She knows we’re discussing it, yes.”

“How long would I have until my memories start to fade?” Bucky asks. He can’t believe he’s actually considering this.

Wanda seems to consider it, “No less than a month, no more than three.”

“So I’d give up my humanity, get this prince to fall in love with me, and break the spell over their kingdom. If I can’t do it, I’m lost to the sea forever— sound about right?”

Her mouth quirks up in a smile grin, “That’s about the gist of it.”

He thinks about Steve. About his life in the city— all the people who would miss him, and about Alpine and Natasha and even his royal guard. He thinks about the stunning, striking Mer from this afternoon. His ruby scales and cutting wit. Bucky desperately wants to see his eyes.

He looks down at his hands and sighs, straightening his back in determination.

From there, the decision isn’t hard.

[yandere-daydreams]

Online Classes start tomorrow, I’ve been in quarantine for over two weeks, and no one’s confiscated my keyboard yet. I apologize deeply for what has been done today. Please enjoy this Yandere!COVID-19 drabble, because god knows I didn’t.

TW: Non-Consensual Touching, Mentions of Stalking, and Sexualization of a Personified Pandemic. 

~

You’d like to think it was just a hobby.

It was something everyone did. Staring down strangers, or more politely, ‘people watching’ was a common way to pass the time, a small pleasure that most of the population was guilty of, at some point or another. You didn’t feel bad for doing it, for cataloging faces you’d never see again into a nameless file in your mind, but you didn’t think most would take kindly to the idea of being observed, either. The train was full today, though, and no one noticed as your attention flickered from a mother having a one-sided conversation with her crying toddler to a hostile debate between two men in suits. No one was affected, and no one was disturbed.

Being watched never hurt anybody, after all.

You figured that’s what he thought, as his eyes burnt whole through your form. 

The two of you were near the sealed door, his back pressed to the wall and yours left open to his predatory gaze. You weren’t friends, but you recognized him. He went to the same university you did, a student of biology… or genetics, you weren’t sure. You knew he was lanky, that he was nineteen and friendly and ran track, but you couldn’t seem to remember his name. Coraline. Charlie. Something with a ‘C’.

The train took a sharp turn, dipping into a tunnel. The sun blinked out, for a moment, and you stumbled forward, an arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you backward, into someone’s chest. You regained your balance, and light flooded through the windows, but your savior didn’t move to return to a respectful distance.

Oh, right.

Corona.

“You should be more careful.” You couldn’t remember hearing his voice before, but it seemed familiar. Not familial, not warm, but familiar. As if you’d heard the same voice from a dozen other people. But, recollection did little to soothe the shudder than ran up your spine, the pressure suddenly on your lungs, a shortness of breath that only ever came over you when a threat was nearby. It didn’t take long to determine the source of your sudden anxiety. “You never know what might happen, if you aren’t. I’d hate for something bad to happen to you.”

“I… I’m alright now,” You mumbled, your voice barely rising above the constant reverberation of metal on metal. “You can let go of me.”

He hummed, lightly, starting to curl around you. Despite never considering yourself short, and never thinking of Corona was particularly tall, he seemed… bigger, up close. All-encompassing. Overwhelming. Your head started to spin, and you wondered if you should be making more noise. “I don’t think I want to,” He replied, his tone drawling into a whine. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been trying to avoid me, and you know how much that hurt my feelings. It really breaks my heart, to be honest.”

You coughed into your hand, attempting to get the attention of a nearby passenger, but she only scowled, briefly scanning over the boy draped across your shoulders before edging away. She must’ve thought the two of you were already a couple, and you couldn’t blame her. No one should be this close to another person, not in public, whether or not they were dating. You tried to stay neutral, your response as flat as you could manage. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t think you wanted to spend time with me.”

“Liar.” The accusation was hostile, but his distaste didn’t stop him from nuzzling further into the crook of your neck, the gesture nothing short of sickeningly sweet. His free arm found your midriff, but for whatever reason, you weren’t afraid of falling, anymore. You almost hoped you would, as the train continued to jolt forward. “You haven’t even thought about me. You’ve been going around, doing whatever you want, pretending I don’t exist. It’s annoying, but... you already know that, don’t you?” The question was followed by a chuckle, chilled breath fanning over your skin. “You’ve been so cold, (Y/n). How’re we supposed to work things out if you treat me like some infectious disease?”

“I don’t know you,” You spat, no longer trying to be blunt. You had no reason to be, not with someone who didn’t even try to hide how insane he was. “We have one class together--”

“And that’s the attitude that makes you so hard to pin down.” He sighed, heavily, slumping onto you. The change in his demeanor was abrupt, but not surprising, the switch from ‘touch-starved puppy’ to ‘exhausted caretaker’ doing little to catch you off guard. A show of consistency may have been more out-of-character, at this point. “One moment, you’re isolating yourself, spending all your time inside and hiding from me. The next, you’re practically throwing yourself into my arms, only to go and act like I’m a total stranger!” There was a groan, more dramatic than it needed to be. Corona’s hold seemed to loosen as a pout pressed into your neck. “I love you so much… you’ve got to start acting like you love me back, alright? I think it’d be really nice, if you did.”

The train started to slow, and your concentration shifted away from the stalker at-hand, onto the people beginning to stand and gather their belongings. A male voice announced the name of a station you didn’t recognize, but that didn’t matter, you’d gladly walk the extra mile if it meant ending this interaction a few minutes sooner. You didn’t struggle, but you squirmed, unperturbed as his hands shifted to your hips. “I-I’ll try,” You started, the lie only half-hearted. “Look, this is my stop. I’ve got to--”

“Not today,” He corrected, his smile returning as soon as the words were off his tongue. Another switch was flipped, this one leaving Corona more cuddly than before, his fingers beginning to poke and prod at your clothing. As if he was waiting for something. As if he was excited for something. You writhed uncomfortably, shoving yourself away from him, but if he had any intention of letting you go, he didn’t make a point of showing it. Instead, you were left to simmer in an iron-clad hold, Corona giggling as he pressed his lips to your hair, the kiss barely a peck. You were sure it wouldn’t be the last display of his fondness, though.

“Guess you should’ve stayed home, baby. I have a feeling we’ll be together for a very, very long time, after this.”

[that-random-chaos-entity]

More OC Shenanigans:

So, there exists a thing in this world called a Shaolin Spade.

It is a monk's weapon, and is essentially the cross between a shovel and a battle axe if I am not mistaken. So here's my next installment of OC shenanigans:

After Nehetari rescues her cranky bf-to-be and Clone-Fulgrim from Trazyn the Infinite, Clone-grim confiscates Forgebreaker and beats Perturabo over the head with it for betraying their father. Aware of the Iron Warrior's affinity with shovels, 'Tari decides to replace Turbo's missing weapon with a Shaolin spade that she made herself, tricked-out with all of the finest Necron technology she could fit into it and still make it efficient. She works her way up to it; practicing her new skills in technomancy by creating one spade after another, improving drastically with each one, until she had enough spades to outfit his entire (new) legion. Then she sets about to making HIS spade, a task that could have taken very little time at all using her powers, but she devotes weeks to her craft (and enlisting some instruction from the void dragon shard attached to her) until she comes out with a semi-sentient, virtually indestructible, STC-level complex murder/tool that can read the DNA of anything that touches it, recognizing its owner and molding itself to their exact specifications. Perfectly balanced, unnaturally light to hold while becoming heavy as it is swung to strike, the spade-end is charged blackstone honed to a molecularly thin edge. The flat of the spade head boasts a mass-displacement property as it strikes with a momentum seemingly impossible to achieve with its weight. Furthermore, the pommel of this multi-purpose weapon boasts a pickaxe-like head with two kinetic devastator modules at each tip. Aside from being able to puncture ceramite like wet styrofoam on its own, if these modules are activated a titanic shockwave ripples out from the point of impact as compressed kinetic energy is released into the object, causing it to literally shake apart at the atomic level. Rockcrete is turned to fine powder in seconds, flesh becomes fine mist, and if struck against something like a Titan, not only does the Titan lose whatever was hit, the sound waves from the violently rending metal are so loud that it liquifies any unfortunate personnel inside.

A similar function occurs if someone other than the weapon's recognized wearer attempts to hold the weapon, although instead of reducing the interloper to water vapor the weapon merely shakes so violently in their hands that it becomes impossible to hold.

Obviously, Perturabo is annoyed by her playing into a stereotype cast onto his legion. That is until he sees just how damned effective this weapon actually is. And that Nehetari made it herself. And that she also has several dozen slightly less-destructive models for his entire legion.

Now it's the only melee weapon he uses.

[period-dramallama]

Spanish Princess Episode 8: it’s the final countdown *kazoo*

Y’all it’s been a privilege roasting this show with you *salutes*

-oh wow the first scene is intense.

-Henry’s doublet, OTOH, looks... OK.

-the actress playing baby Mary is just perfect and when she smiles...my lil heart...grows three sizes. 

-Maggie don’t shout that the king is a monster in a public corridor of the king’s own palace when he’s literally just turned the corner what are you doing

-Also if you hear the king raging, the wise thing to do is probably to hide, not to go towards the noise.

-Yes, it’s cold and foolish of Katherine to be like “screw up again Maggie and I’m not saving you” but honestly?? you can’t save people that stupid?? and katherine only has so much influence she can’t run around saving you dumbasses??

-OTOH, pissing off the women who know your darkest secret... is like tap dancing on a minefield. 

-poor Vives in the background. He’s already been through so much before he even got to England, RUN VIVES RUN

-good costumes on Alexander Stewart. This episode i started to see why megander is a ship.

-”what the fock is this” it’s the finale baybeeee

-Maggie looks so done. Everyone looks so done.

-There’s a black iron doorbell in the background of Maggie’s house, i think it dates from the Victorian period. Pretty sure doorbells weren’t a sixteenth century thing.

-”I prefer your sister Mary” I can’t stop laffin

-Albany’s like “ok fine have your own way i do not get paid enough to deal with your love life.” Maybe the guy wasn’t even acting. 

-Musicians!

-Imo Henry Fitzroy has stage fright, I don’t think the kid is stupid.

-I *do* like the friendly smile and the compliment Thomas More gives bby Fitzroy here. Like yeah he’s evil but I’m glad they didn’t do what they do with 99% of their villains and make him twirl his moustache and be an ass for no reason.

-”Wolsey fans the flames to further his own power” WE KNOW! WE’VE WATCHED HIM DO THAT FOR SEVEN EPISODES!

-Leave Papa Boleyn alone!! He did not pimp his daughters!! Henry sought her!!

-No Mary Boleyn/Henry affair? No wonder PGregs is unhappy, you retconned TOBG out of existence.

-Maggie is it necessarily a good idea to tell the king this?? Because he might be so mad at you for keeping secrets that he doesn’t reward you anything, and then you’re worse off than you were before.

-As my eminent colleague has shown, in one shot Vives is there behind Katherine, then he’s missing in the next shot, then in the next shot he’s back again! He can teleport! Hone your powers my baby boy!! Teleport your ass out of England!!!

-The dialogue is so bad but the sass is so good

-”Did you bring Wolsey here to kill me?” Wolsey as ninja assassin? Now you’re ripping off Elizabeth as well as The Tudors

-Lina and Oviedo did emigrate IRL, but they went back to Spain not to the Ottoman Empire

-I think they did Maggie dirty, the real Margaret Pole refused to surrender the jewels of either Mary or Katherine and was their supporter through the KGM. Her lands weren’t confiscated afaik until after Katherine died. 

-”daughters should be part of the household as her ladies” WHAT HAVE ANNE AND MARY BEEN DOING ALL SEASON?? IF NOT BEING CATHERINE’S LADIES?? WHAT??? DID YOU FORGET??

-I was not prepared for the nudity

-Anne I Iove you so much but comb your goddamn hair why is your hair so scruffy for your midnight flashing sesh?

-”Advance!” He says like he has more than 2 homies

-Meg’s gone crazy. See this is what happens when you’re too empowered, showrunners make you crazy. What’s with the freaky close ups. (Though she does look like Alexandra Moen, so well done)

-So relieved that it’s canon that she wanted to shoot Henry not Anne.

-This episode went heavy with the Bible quotes. It’s like they remembered at the last minute that it’s the sixteenth century

-Lina and Katherine of Aragon saying I love yous... they nailed that scene so I love it out of context. I wish Katherine complimented Lina more than vice versa, but it was still beautiful.... completely unearned but I’m a sucker for women being tender with other women. :’)

-”i believe I am wealthier, Your Majesty” Alexa play Snoop Dog’s La-da-da-da-dahh

-Maggie at the beginning of the episode: those who have everything should be afraid. Maggie at the end of the episode: whoop time to ignore my own advice

-no cathartic downfall of Wolsey, after all his moustache twirling?? No Blackfriars dramatic speech?? Okay then...

-My prediction was correct! We have a montage!

-My last thought of the entire show is......will the parrot be OK?? I don’t think that parrot’s gonna be OK, I think a hawk’s gonna nab it in five seconds flat. How’s it going to find food when it’s been fed all its life by humans? The parrot!