#Ruffian Justice

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Of the fate of Carruthers I have no record, but I am sure that his assault of was not viewed very gravely by the Court, since Woodley had the reputation of being a most dangerous ruffian, and I think that a few months were sufficient to satisfy the demands of justice.

"The Illustrated Sherlock Holmes Treasury" - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

[chihoshisai]

Begrudgingly Yours

Smoker x Reader

cw : set in post timeskip, friendship to lovers, reader has a bit of an attitude, Smoker looks out for reader, denial of feelings until they explode // wc : 3, 188K BUT the following will be around 1,8K as a preview. Link to ao3 will be provided at the end of the preview or you can click here to directly read it there

“You swindler! What’s with these prices, huh?!” The frustration of your voice echoed through the market, only to seamlessly blend with the cacophony of conversations that buzzed daily in the diverse pathways. Before you sat a grumpy fruit stall vendor, who seemingly just as tired of your tactics at negotiation had his arms crossed with a look of annoyance trying to pierce through that fierce skin of yours. 

“If you’re not going to buy anything, get lost,” he sighed, pointing his head towards the other stands in a rude manner. 

However, haggling had been a regular occurrence for you regardless of your skills.  “They’re way too out of range for what you’re selling!” you breathed in the hope that the vendor would eventually fold. With a steady grip, you grabbed the nearest apple and tried to vouch for a lower price, bickering in an endless back and forth until a gloved hand appeared in your field of vision, handing dollar bills to the vendor. 

“Is this enough?” The familiar voice rang, causing your shoulders to momentarily tense whilst you forbid every part of your being from looking up at the towering figure that stood behind you — the smell of multiple cigars enveloping you in a familiar embrace, as you secretly breathed in the toxic nectar of the fumes.

Seeing the nod of the vendor, along with the swift way in which he packed you the desired amount of fruits, handing them in a surprisingly polite manner to your extended hand, you couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed at the uncalled help. Placing the fruits in your shopping bag, you rolled your eyes at the additional words of the individual.  

“You suck at negotiating prices, so don’t bother wasting your time like that,” the words pointed out, causing the increase of the bitter feeling that boiled in your chest, much in contrast to the sizzling sensation that threatened to char your heart. 

“Smoker,” you perked your head to gaze into the usual frown of your friend — not without stealing a glance towards the parted lips that holded an unusual number of cigars — before making your way towards the bustling streets. “That’s quite a heroic way to let me know you’re back,” you flatly remarked, letting your eyes wander throughout the different stalls and boutiques.

“There’s no need to thank me,” his low voice floated through your ears, as he walked by your side. His presence had both been a blessing and a curse — ever since he had been appointed as the leader of the G-5 unit one, he had frequently been visiting your island during his time off. And with the twisted passing of time the two of you had enough encounters to pass from acquaintances to friends — and lately with the uninvited butterflies and churning that found refuge in your body, it left you fearful as to what the future may hold.

“I never knew marines handed out money to the poor,” you sarcastically scoffed at the thought of how these so called protectors of justice often seemed like ruffians. With few exceptions like Smoker, who secured his place in your life by that simple difference. 

Ignoring your remark, Smoker studied your unnoticing self — who purposefully prevented any form of eye contact — until his eyes landed on the grocery filled bag that wobbled in your arms. With adept hands, he successfully grabbed the content of your arms as you absent-mindedly persisted to keep your attention elsewhere. 

Having no choice but to peer over at him in these circumstances, a sigh escaped your lips, before they formed an angry pout. “You don’t have to do that,” you told him with a slap on the shoulder which in all honestly probably didn’t amount to much on his far too toned body. 

Though, knowing Smoker’s nature, you knew it was useless to try and convince him to do otherwise. “Oh whatever, suit yourself,” you quickly added with a side glance to his exposed skin. No matter how much time passed, such features would never fail to make a rush of heat run throughout your body. And you blamed him for making such a bold decision upon his fashion style. What good is there in exposing one’s chest either way?

“Where are you going?” he asked after resuming course along the market, his eyes eyeing you still, in the hopes of finding an answer.

“Home,” you flatly answered. “I’m assuming you’re here to get some of your clothes mended too aren’t you?” Never in your seamstress career had you ever thought to have a marine as one of your customers, but Smoker insisted he’d rather have his clothes done by you under the excuse of trust in your skills. In all honesty you knew it was most likely his way of supporting your business and an excuse to crash at your place as he waited for his clothes to be as good as new. 

“I don’t have anything that needs to be fixed,” Smoker pointed out, lowering his gaze to meet the expected frown you latched at him.

“Then why are you here?” Your brain raced trying to find other reasons as to his visit, “then is it Tashigi? Is she too self conscious to ask me a favor or something?” you blurted out.

“No. Do I need a reason to come visit you on my day off?” He somewhat innocently asked, making guilt creep in the nook of your conscience. 

“I guess not,” the words trailed, with your head lowering to the ground. If you weren’t about to busy yourself with sewing while Smoker was here, then what would the two of you do? The thought of a foreign future somehow worried you, as the sincere feelings that coursed through your body came to a high. 

When your feet had finally led the both of you to your place, you begrudgingly opened the door to the boutique, which buzzed with a few customers along with the bright grin of your mother greeting you in. 

“Smoker, you’re here too. Is there anything you’d like us to fix for you today?” the honeyed voice of your mother asked, whilst you somewhat sourly made your way backstore — your mind still racing to find a way to entertain the unforeseen guest. 

“No, I’m simply here to hangout,” he replied to the overly compliant mother who urged him to make himself at home, before shortly following your tracks that led to the home hidden behind the store and into the kitchen. 

“Help me with the groceries,” you instructed, a hand extended towards the bag he effortlessly holded.

“Are you that eager to get started?” He skirted over you with the hint of a smile, to place the bag on the table.

“I just want to get done with this chore,” you grunted, grabbing the bag of fruit Smoker had previously paid from his gloved hands. Sometimes your mood was even more gruff than his whenever he was near, providing for a clear contrast to the chirp and easygoing attitude you had while working — courtesy of the strange phenomena that seized every inch of your body at the slight mention, thought or dream of him. 

Now that the man in question stood in your kitchen, placing ingredients here and there as he was familiar with the place, you striked fierce glares whenever his back was turned — blaming him for the feelings he caused you to foster. And no matter how hard you tried to suppress them, the wretched thing seemed to nurture itself on its own, until you were left with no choice but to accept that you were in too deep to back down. In spite of that, chickens would have more chance of flying before you allowed yourself to act on the sensations. 

Plus, with a man like Smoker, chances were he valued his work more than anything else — and with the passionate way in which he spoke of his encounter with the Straw Hats and how many times he vowed to catch them, you lost count of how many times you jokingly told him to marry the crew if he was so obsessed with them. 

“It’s raining,” the serious voice of Smoker snapped you from your train of thought, your head perking towards the window to see the gray filter casted by the rain on the outside. You grumbled some incomprehensible words that sounded like ‘My laundry’ before bolting out of the room with a frustrated grunt, leaving Smoker with free reign in your home. Used to your antics, he simply resumed his task, as he assumed you would certainly snap had he followed you. With a puff of his cigars, he sighed, his head dropping at the thought that you had been more and more grumpy towards him as of late, failing to understand what he had done wrong.

***

“Sorry I took so long, I had to fold clothes,” you began before entering the kitchen, only to find it empty. The grocery bag already having been disposed of and the splatter of the rain echoed through the dimly lit room, as though to provide an additional presence. 

“Where did he go?” Frowning at the absence of Smoker, you went on to search various room of the house, knocking on the bathroom door, taking a peek at the living room, and even reluctantly bursting through your sibling’s room and leaving without a word after having scanned the place without seeing the fairly noticeable size of Smoker.

As the idea that he might have already left formed in your mind like salvation, you went to the boutique with the intention of confirming his disappearance. “Mom, did Smoker pass through here?” you asked, seeing her pack already made clothes for the lady that stood next to the counter.

“No, but while you’re here could you quickly mend these for me?” She asked, giving you a simple pleading glance which you happily replied with a nod and without complaint went on to aid around the shop, while the thought of not having to entertain Smoker danced in your mind. But with a start came an end, and you found yourself faced with no choice but to return to the silent home with only the rhythmic disturbance of the rain as company.   

Being faced with your previous dilemma, a tired sigh escaped your lips as you dragged your body through the residence, visiting each room once more in the hope Smoker might have resurfaced. “I give up!” The frustrated words escaped your lips while your feet led you back to the kitchen to grab a pack of cookies before climbing the stairs and for them to unceremoniously open the door to your room.    

Unexpected phenomena kept appearing today, as though each were trying to test your patience, as you walked in to find the relaxed form of your friend in a deep slumber on your bed, eyeing him with a gaping mouth. He truly had made himself at home. The faint smell of smoke still floated around, filling your nose in its familiar smell, with your eyes daring to take a proper look at Smoker since the settling of your feelings.

Continue on ao3 !

[2-dsimp]

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Yandere spin-offs (wip)

Introducing the Hero

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(Fem! Reader)

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Synopsis: Featuring the Yandere Hero who happened to coincidentally save you from a potential robbery and became infatuated with you once he discovered that you knew of his true nature.

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Adonis was a hero known by the public as the chivalrous Sunset Knight who protected the people and also kept the evildoers in line with his immense power. But that couldn’t be any further from the truth, as the Sunset Knight was nothing but a sadistic murderer pretending to be an enforcer of justice.

He would frequently use excessive amounts of force when apprehending criminals no matter if the crime being committed was petty or severe all his victims would equally suffer underneath the brutality of his hands that always itches to inflict pain. Almost like a coping mechanism to keep his innermost darkest desires for destruction at bay.

One day when Adonis was off duty in his civilian persona dressed casual with his platinum blonde wavy hair that was covering his eyes. As he happened to walk by and witness a woman getting assaulted by some ruffians looking for a quick buck. He was tempted to ignore the situation entirely as it didn’t concern him one bit. But who was he to turn down a chance to let off some steam by beating some stupid idiots half to death without any consequences since it’ll fall under the category of self defense.

Trying to conceal the bloodlust leaking from his pores he made an effort to appear like the usual outstanding smararian who risked his safety to protect a typical damsel in distress. Before administering some good hands on “disciplinary action” on the poor unfortunate souls who happened to try and mug you.

Suddenly the sound of a picture being taken made him snap out of his tunnel vision haze in a brief moment of shock. And his golden slited pupils roamed the area spotting you with a camera that was pointed at him while he was covered in splotches of the dirty blood of the offenders. But before he could say a single word he saw you vanish like a thief in the night.

This was the first time that Adonis was genuinely at a lost of what to do. Sure he could’ve killed her but that would’ve been too suspicious should a certain detective happen to connect the dots.

Even though he had been spotted indulging in his destructive impluses he was in his civilian persona. So he pondered what exactly that woman was trying to accomplish by taking a picture of a mere stranger who had happened to step in for her when she was in danger.

Until it clicked within his head that somehow she knew who he really was. As her movements were too fluid to be recognized as an mere amateur taking pictures for shits and giggles. Which must mean that the woman he saved had been keeping an eye on his actions for a long period of time.

‘She knows…’

He thought to himself his bloodied hands covering the bottom half of his face in surprise and a certain degree of respect for the boldness this woman he encountered seemed to possess.

‘She knows how I really am and yet she still chooses to stick close to me?’

He couldn’t help but let out a full blown fit of mad laughter at his discovery.

“What a farce haha! I can’t tell if she’s stupid or just doesn’t have a shred of self preservation”

He cackled, before taking a moment to calm his mind wiping off the flecks off blood of his handsome face with their arm sleeve the hero made himself look presentable.

The hero was determined to have fun with his new recent obsession…You

————

The Sunset Knight was patrolling the streets wearing his signature knight helmet while the rest of his body was adorned in flexible loose clothing. Leaping from roof to roof he happens to spot a supervillain mutant terrorizing the citizens demanding them to give him back his brethren or else he’d kill them all.

A pretty bland demand as per usual done by petty villains so without breaking a sweat Adonis drop kicked the octopus mutant who was holding multiple hostages within their tentacles one of which happened to be a certain woman that he had been actively searching for ever since their first encounter.

He couldn’t believe his luck as he disregarded all the other hostages that would’ve all probably fell to their potential deaths if not thanks to the minor heros who appeared on the scene right after he knocked out the criminal as the only one he cared about was you.

The Hero swiftly caught you within his arms and couldn’t help the deranged grin that spreader across his face as he finally had the object of his curiosity trapped wriggling defiantly against him in his arms. Which indicated that his hunches were correct, licking his lips like a predator as he looked down at you from behind his helmet.

He couldn’t help but get excited.

Oh how he couldn’t wait to get you home.

[cerastes]

The standing of clans in the Tokugawa Shogunate greatly depended on one particular factor: Time in which they showed support for Ieyasu, thus, clans that supported the Tokugawa before the Battle of Sekigahara had a significantly better lot in life than those that voiced support after the battle. It wasn’t the last battle, but it was the last decisive battle.

Likewise, in the My Blog Shogunate, there are two kinds of mutuals:

The mutuals that reblogged my post from me, imbued with honor, grace, integrity, allies that will carry my wounded form on horseback in my time of need. Providence resides in their hearts, justice guides their blade, and love gives it strength.

The mutuals that like the post, but only reblog it later from someone else after it already gets a bit of traction, crooks, snakes, weathervanes, conniving dagger-gripping miscreants with plastic smiles and idle hands, split-tongued ruffians that can’t wait for my downfall.

[disillusioneddanny]

Love Me Like You

Absolutely wrote this instead of going to sleep. This is based off of the song Love Like You by Rebecca Sugar for steven universe.

Damian’s heart was racing violently in his chest. He was angry, no he was beyond angry. No one was listening to him! He was twenty years old now, he wasn’t some little Robin sidekick anymore either, he was Red Bird, he had taken a different name and become his own person as a vigilante yet it didn’t seem to matter to anyone in this blasted family. All they saw him as was the demon brat, the boy who had been raised to become an assassin who had been brainwashed his entire life. 

But he wasn’t that boy any longer! He had been out of the League of Assassins for the same amount of time he had been in it. If not a little longer if one could count the fact that the ten years he was with his family he was fully cognizant and could make his own decisions, unlike the toddler he had been with the League. 

Sure, he had been moulded to be the perfect weapon, the perfect heir to the Demon’s Head but he was more than that now, he was so, so, so much more than that. 

He was a hero, he was someone that others could look upon and be inspired. He wasn’t some ruffian assassin any longer and his past shouldn’t matter in the slightest anymore. At least, it shouldn’t be thrown in his face by his own family every chance he got. 

He stormed up the steps of the Brownstone he owned with his boyfriend and let out a huff, trying to calm his racing heart before he stepped into the home.  It would be different once he was past these bricks, he would be in the company of someone who saw him completely and loved him anyways. 

He stepped through the threshold and smiled as he found his beloved passed out on the couch, curled up with a blanket wrapped around him. 

If I could begin to be, half of what you think of me. I could do about anything. 

Damian smiled at his boyfriend before he stooped down, slipping one arm underneath Danny’s legs and the other under his neck as he lifted him in the air carefully, cradling him bridal style in his arms. 

“Tried to stay up and wait for you,” the halfa mumbled, pressing his face against Damian’s chest. “Got too tired.”

“It is alright, Beloved,” Damian murmured before he pressed a kiss to Danny’s forehead. “Rest, I assume you had a busy day, my dear?”

“Justice League Dark are full of idiots who don’t know their ass from their head,” Danny mumbled as Damian opened the bedroom door. 

He let out a soft chuckle at that. He would not be surprised if his beloved lost his mind even a little bit when having to work with both that dreadful Constantine and Doctor Fate at the same time. 

“Who all were there?” Damian asked as he set Danny on the bed. The halfa whined at the loss of Damian’s warmth, making the vigilante’s heart flutter. 

When I see the way you act, wondering when I’m coming back. I could do about anything.

“Give me just a moment to change into some sleepwear and I’ll join you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Danny who now laid with a pillow wrapped in his arms and a pout on his face. “Now, tell me about the meeting.”

“I originally went to the Watchtower to work on one of the main engines, Supes had been saying it sounded wrong,” he said, launching into his tale but Damian was taken back to a different time, three years before when he had first met his love. 

 I could even learn how to love like you. 

Three years ago. 

Damian trailed behind his father into the main room of the Watchtower when he had noticed something out of the ordinary. There seemed to be someone floating on the outside of the ship without a space suit of any kind. 

“Batman,” he gasped out, stepping towards the man only for his steps to falter as the man-being waved at him with a wide smile. Bruce looked over curiously and smiled. 

“Oh, that’s Phantom,” he said simply. “He’s the head engineer of the Watchtower maintenance crew. Although, I have been trying to convince him to join us as an actual member for well over a month now. He refuses.”

“He looks no older than I do, how could he be the head engineer?” Damian asked, looking mystified as the being, Phantom phased through the window and gave him a dopey smile. 

“Would you believe me if I said I was just cool like that?” He asked, looking Damian up and down. “And who might you be?”

“Right, you’ve not seen him in his newest persona,” Batman said before, Damian’s eyes had to be deceiving him, his father was smiling at Phantom! “This is Red Bird.”

Damian held out a hand for Phantom. “It’s a pleasure,” he said, locking in on those eyes that reminded him of the Lazarus Pits he had grown up around. 

“Oh, I think the pleasure is all mine,” Phantom had purred, his eyes a green fire that had sucked Damian in immediately. He had never been bested so easily by someone else in all his life. 

I always thought I might be bad, now I’m sure that it’s true. 

He never did learn how Danny had managed to become the head engineer, even after three years of dating the halfa.

“And then Detective Chimp had to but in! Which why the hell do we have a fucking monkey on the team anyway! His name is fucking Bobo, Dami, Bobo!” Danny said, now fully awake as he laid starfished in their bed, the pillow now resting on his chest as he glared up at the ceiling. 

Damian chuckled and pulled his shirt over his head before he glanced at his boyfriend once more. “He is a detective, darling, quite a good one at that. I think he’s almost as good as,” Damian stopped and scowled. No, he was not going to go in that direction, he was not going to bring up his father, not when his mood was finally starting to lift and he had been distracted by his lover. 

“Oh, I know that look,” Danny said before he floated off of the bed and gave Damian a look as he cupped his face in his calloused hands. Danny’s right thumb ran along the small scar just below Damian’s left eye. Almost miniscule, no one had ever noticed it before except for Danny. It had been from his first time knife fighting as a child, his oppent had managed to get a single nick in and Damian had been punished within an inch of his life for letting someone get past his defenses. 

He had been five at the time. 

Danny had been ready to destroy all of Nanda Parbat when he had first learned how Damian had gotten the scar. No one had ever been so angry on his behalf before. Sure, his family were angry about his upbringing but not once had they ever truly considered the emotional and mental damage it had done to Damian. How he had to work so hard to be good in their eyes even after all these years.

Cause I think you’re so good, and I’m nothing like you.

“What did he say to you this time?” Danny asked, his big blue eyes curious and so very full of love. 

Damian sighed. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, stepping away to change into his pajama pants. Danny grabbed his wrist and frowned. 

“What did we talk about, Polaris?” He asked, brows now furrowed in concern. 

“My feelings matter,” Damian recited like a toddler back to his boyfriend. 

Look at you go, I just adore you. 

“Now, do you want to talk about it? Or do you want me to drop it?” Danny asked him, letting go of his wrist to instead wind their fingers together, interlocking them so that Damian could not escape his boyfriend’s grasp even if he wanted to.

Damian just smiled at him. “I do not wish to expand into the entire argument. But he told me that I will always be an assassin at heart and that I will never be more than that,” he said softly, his eyes sad as he tried his very best to not replay the argument in his head. 

I wish that I knew, what makes you think I’m so special. 

Danny’s face crumpled before he pulled Damian in for a tight hug, the shorter man pressed Damian’s face to his neck, forcing the vigilante to crouch slightly. “He’s wrong, you’re an amazing vigilante, Damian. You’ve done so much for people, for Gotham, ancients you’ve done so much for the world,” he said, combing his fingers through Damian’s hair. “You could have easily decided that this wasn’t the life for you when you left Talia, you could have decided to live as a normal kid and never get involved in any of this. But you became a vigilante anyway, and you’ve stayed a vigilante, a hero for the last ten years. Only a special kind of person could do that, Polaris,” Danny said softly, pressing a soft kiss to Damian’s damp cheek.

 He absolutely rubbed at his face, not even realizing that he had been crying.

If I could, begging to do, something that does right by you. I would do about anything. 

“Let’s get to bed,” Danny said, watching as Damian pulled away to slip his pajama bottoms on. Danny took his hand once more and led him to their large bed. He pulled the blankets back and slipped Damian in them.

Once Damian was secure underneath the blankets, Danny wrapped his arm around him and held him close. “You know, the first time I laid my eyes on you, Damian, I knew you were the one for me,” Danny whispered in his ear, his chin rested on Damian’s shoulder as the ghost spooned him, holding the vigilante close. “My core, it sung for you. It saw the good in you even then,” he whispered. 

Damian smiled. It had taken him so long to work up the nerve to ask Danny on a date. 

Three Years Earlier. 

Damian stared at the head engineer as he declined Batman’s offer once again to join the Justice League Dark, stating once again that his passion was for engineering and nothing more. Damian had walked towards him just moments later, finally working up the nerve to talk to the ghost once again. 

“Why do you need turning him down?” He asked, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. “Would you not like to use your powers to be a hero?”

Phantom had just smiled and shook his head. “Nope,” he said simply as he fasted the work belt to his waist. “Why would I do something that doesn’t make me happy?”

“For the safety of others? It is a duty, an obligation-”

“No, it isn’t,” Phantom told him. “It may be that for you, but it isn’t for me. I spent three long years trying to keep my hometown safe and I was very good at it until one day I realized it didn’t make me happy. There were others in the area who genuinely enjoyed being a hero so I let them take over. Then with all that extra time I graduated early, got my bachelor’s in engineering and now I’m working on the Watchtower as the head engineer while I get my masters. This is it for me, Redbird, it’s what makes me happy.”

Damian frowned. “But don’t you feel as though that is a waste?” He asked, trying to understand the man’s logic. 

Phantom shook his head. “Not at all. I’ve got a lot on my plate, you know? I’m the Ghost King for one, which thankfully isn’t a whole lot of work now that I’ve got a council that pretty much runs everything. I’m mostly just a figure head nowadays. And I’m just plain old Danny Phantom, the head engineer of the Justice League’s homebase. If they need me to consult with their Dark team or need my help, I’ll offer it. But I won’t go out of my way for it,” he explained. “It doesn’t bring me joy, I don’t feel a sense of pride saving the world or helping others. I just feel tired. And that’s okay.”

“I do not think I understand,” Damian said slowly. This was not something he had ever thought of. His entire life had been planned for him. First he was the heir to the Demon’s Head and then he was the heir to Batman, the only blood son. Expected to take on the mantle of Robin and fight side by side with Batman to keep the forces of evil at bay. 

And now Danny was telling him that he didn’t have to do that if it did not make him happy?

When I see the way you look, shaken by how long it took. I could do about anything. 

“Danny,” Damian said softly, turning over to face his beloved. He searched those beautiful blue eyes and let out a breath. “I do not think being RedBird brings me joy anymore.”

Danny just gave him a small smile. “That’s okay,” he whispered. “You’ve been kicking ass for ten years, that’s a long time to devote yourself to others.”

“Will you help me?” Damian asked, twining their fingers together. “Will you help me find what sparks joy for me?”

The smile Danny gave him was dazzling. “Of course, Polaris. I would be honored to help you,” he whispered. 

I could even learn how to love like you. 

Love like you. 

Love me like you. 

I hope you all enjoyed! If you want to read more of my work check out my AO3

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[karasukarei]

Wind Breaker Drama CD vol. 2 - Oedo-style Fuurin Tale (Part 2)

Translation masterpost here! Part 1 here!

Special thanks to @/orewing!

Updated shorthand because some names are really long:

Sakura – Sakura

Nirei – Nirei

Suo – Suo

Sugishita – Sugi

Kiryuu – Kiryuu

Tsugeura – Tsuge

Hiiragi – Hiiragi

Umemiya – Ume

Enomoto - Eno

Scene 4 – 5:17~9:20

Eno: Yosh… You guys… (t/n: please imagine him rolling his r’s even though there aren’t any r’s in english here) YOU’VE PASSED!

Nirei: *gasps* Ha!

Eno: Frrrrrom today, you’rrrrre parrrrt of Fuurrrrrrrin-gumi.

Nirei: Yes! Thank you very much! Ahhhh, isn’t that great, Sakura-san? From now on, we’re both part of Fuurin-gumi!

Sakura: Wait, hold on! To join the group it’s just an interview?! There should be more than this right?! Like a test of strength or a test of courage, stuff like that?!

Eno: Selection of people joining Fuurin-gumi, is all decided by just one perrrrson, Enomoto! I can see what a perrrrson is like with just a glance.

Hiiragi: Oi, is the interview over?

Eno: Hirrrrrragi-san! Thank you for yourrrrr harrrrd worrrrk!!!

Hiiragi: So how was it?

Eno: These two guys, they passed.

Hiiragi: I see… tsk. Just when you really need him, where does that guy go? Urk… my stomach…

Eno: If you need stomach medicine, I have it here!

Nirei: Woaahhhhh! It’s Hiiragi-san! We’ve just joined and right on the first day, he’s here right in front of us!

Eno: Oi you lot! Grrrrreet Hirrrrrrragi-san!

Nirei: Y-Yes! I’ll be under your care from today onward, my name is Nirei! I’ve always greatly admired Fuurin-gumi!

Hiiragi: Is that so? I look forward to working with you. But there’s one thing you need to know. You’re not under our care from now on.

Nirei: Y-yes.

Hiiragi: You’re a warrior of Fuurin-gumi now. Protect your feelings of supporting the group properly.

Nirei: *gasps of admiration* Yes! That’s so cool… (t/n: you can hear his eyes sparkling ;-;)

Sakura: Hmm? Is that so?

Nirei: What is it, Sakura-san?

Sakura: You’re called Hiiragi, is it?

Hiiragi: Huh?

Sakura: With that attitude, you’re the top of Fuurin-gumi, the strongest guy in Fuurin-gumi aren’t you?

Hiiragi: Huh? (t/n: Sakura is going to turn into another cause of his gastric issues at this rate)

Sakura: The factions within the group fight daily to one-up each other, and be it obon or new year, as long as they lock eyes with each other they draw their swords and rumble. The fear of the town, where ruffians gather - that is Fuurin-gumi. (t/n: obon and new year are major holidays in Japan and people generally just chill during this period; it’s the equivalent of saying that Fuurin-gumi still brawls even during christmas. This was also a very hard sentence to translate purely by ear please praise me for managing to decipher it ;-;) And Hiiragi! If I defeat you, I’ll be come the top! (t/n: I feel second-hand embarrassment.

Nirei and Enomoto I think: *groans of embarrassment* (t/n: let me join you)

Nirei: W-w-w-w-w-wait a minute! Where did you hear such rumours from?! They’re all wrong, or more like, it’s the exact opposite!

Sakura: Opposite?

Nirei: Fuurin-gumi are the group protecting this town! Everyone in the group are samurai who draw their swords to protect this town!

Sakura: Huh?

Nirei: In other words, Fuurin-gumi are the ones who help the weak and exterminate the evil, they’re on the side of justice!

Sakura: HUH?! What’s with that?! Isn’t this completely different from what I heard?!

Nirei: That’s what I just said!!

Hiiragi: Well, we’ve got a couple of scary looking guys so it’s not strange that people would get the wrong idea.

Sakura: Then, what did I come here for?

Hiiragi: You got one more thing wrong

Sakura: Huh?! What more is there besides this?!

Hiiragi: The head of Fuurin-gumi is not me-

Umemiya 🩵: Ohh, Hiiragi! You’re here!

Enomoto: !! Umemiya-san! Thank you forrrrr yourrrrr harrrrd worrrrk!!!

Umemiya: Oh! (t/n: think of it like a sign of acknowledgement)

Hiiragi: Where have you been all this time?

Umemiya: Ahh, sorry about that, here, I bought some dango as souvenirs to share with everyone!

Hiiragi: *grunts of gastric issues without GasCon 10* Anyway, those two over there, they’re new people who just joined today.

Umemiya: Oh?

Nirei: You’re… *excited sounds* It’s the real person! Sakura-san! It’s this person! This person is the top of Fuurin-gumi! The group head Umemiya-san!

Sakura: Eh?

Umemiya: Yo, Sakura! You really came, huh? I look forward to working with you from today!

Sakura: Huh? Huh?! HUHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?!!!

Scene 5 – 9:21~11:11

Sakura: *grumbling like an old mad with white hair* I came here to become the top, why am I doing patrols?

Suo: Well, you did end up getting into a fight with Sugishita on your first day!

Sakura: We didn’t fight! He’s the one who drew his sword first, I just drew mine in return!

Kiryuu: Tsuge-chan juuuuust barely managed to stop it in time, didn't he? Nirei-chan had it tough too right?

Nirei: Ah- Yes- No!

Suo: There’s no need to be so uptight! We’re all in squad one together after all.

Nirei: Even though we’re in the same squad, Suo-san and Kiryuu-san both joined the group before us…!

Suo: It was just a little while earlier, it’s not such a big difference!

Nirei: But I’ve been hearing about your names since a while back!

Kiryuu: Is that so? By the way, I’ve noticed for a while, but Nirei-chan’s haori is really cool~

Nirei: Ahhh I’m so sorry about that!!! I got too carried away!

Kiryuu: Why? I think it looks goods, and suits you too!

Nirei: *sounds of sparkling eyes* Really?

Kiryuu: Mmh!

Suo: But speaking of this, it’s quite rare to see such a striking haori around here right?

Nirei: Oh, yes! I used some exotic fabric for this-

Kaji: *cracks lollipop with teeth* YOU GUYS! DON’T DAWDLE AROUND! ARE YOU GUYS PATROLLING PROPERLY?! (t/n: I think this should be correct but I couldn’t quite catch the last sentence, if there’s a better translation let me know!

Nirei: Yeeeesss!

Suo: Sorry about that! We’ll be more careful.

Sakura: Hmph. What’s with that guy?

Suo: That’s not “that guy”, he’s the squad head of Tamonshuu’s first squad.

Sakura: Tsk, we’re following him to learn about how to patrol, but he hasn’t said a single thing, and he gets mad suddenly for no reason, and he’s always sucking on candy-

Kiryuu: It’s cos Kaji-san’s teaching style is to show you and have you remember~

Sakura: And the team captain is ok with that?

Nirei: Don’t say stuff like that! There are rumours that that person used to be ruffian beyond salvation!

Sakura: Eh….

Scene 6 – 11:11~13:22

Suo: Huh? Over there, is there some sort of commotion?

Kiryuu: Something seems to be up, huh?

Kaji: That restaurant seems to have had someone eat and run.

Sakura: Eat and run?

Kaji: The granny from the shop said that the culprit was a man wearing a blue kimono.

Nirei: A blue kimono? Ah!

Kaji: What is it?

Nirei: Just now, there was a man in a blue kimono running down that road!

Sakura (?): Tsk, dammit. *starts running*

Kaji: Oi, hang on! (t/n

Suo: Let’s go too!

Nirei / Kiryuu: Yes! / Mm!

*Everyone disperses to chase down the culprit)

Eat-and-run dude: Hmph! That was easy! I managed to get here without anyone following.

Kiryuu: Hello big bro, sorry about that! I can’t let you pass from here~ (t/n: omg so cute…)

Eat-and-run dude: I’ll need to go there instead-

Suo: Oh! You can’t go here too!

Eat-and-run dude: *grunts*

Nirei: You can’t pass through here too!

Eat-and-run dude: Hmph, a small kid like you is no match for I, Sukeroku-sam of Zeninashiku-in! (t/n: I’m actually not sure if I caught the name here of his town / dojo correctly, the guy’s accent is pretty strong and the name is kionda weird x_x)

Kiryuu: Hm? Like what’s with that name? It’s totally not cool at all maybe you shouldn’t use it. (t/n: SEE IT’S A REALLY WEIRD NAME)

Eat-and-run dude Sukeroku: I’ll kill you!

Suo: You can choose anything for your name, but perhaps you should take a better look around you.

Eat-and-run dude Sukeroku: What do you-

Sakura: Click clack click clack (t/n: onomatopoeia for running around in geta sandals), don’t just-

Kaji and Sakura: Run around!!!

*Kaji and Sakura land spectacularly*

Eat-and-run dude Sukeroku: From the top?!

Kaji and Sakura: ORA! *beating up sounds*

Eat-and-run dude Sukeroku: Urk! *falls defeated*

Sakura: Hmph! Wasn’t he too weak?

Kaji: This guy didn’t even get a chance to draw his sword.

Nirei: *clapping very hard* As expected of both of you!

Suo: Well done!

Kiryuu: The rest of us didn’t even get a chance to show off~

Kaji: ANYONE PAST THIS POINT WHO CAUSES PAIN, WHO BRINGS DESTRUCTION, WHO HOLDS EVIL IN THEIR HEART, WILL BE PURGED BY FUURIN-GUMI WITHOUT EXCEPTION! 

*townsfolk cheer*

Man: As expected!

Another man: You’ve really saved us!

Woman: Thanks so much for everything!

Nirei: Wow, amazing! The people of the town are…!

Another another man (old guy): Ran-chan looked real cool too! (t/n: I think Ran-chan is a nickname based on the given name Ren, like how a doting old grandpa would give his own grandkids nicknames)

Sakura: O-oh…

[playmiya]

chapter four: +1000 aura for [name] previous ⎯ masterlist ⎯ next

Rain begins pouring, finally, pitter-pattering down onto the windshields of vehicles that form a barrier around the rest of the world and the mall. The scent of soot hangs in the air, and you can finally feel the heat that seemed to surround you at all times die down.

"Fucking finally," sighs the Commissioner, wiping his bifocals with a cloth as he frowns. He's an old man, smile lines and wrinkles dotting his face, and he's been caught completely off-guard today evening.

You've been caught off-guard too, somehow wrangled into this mess and seriously questioning your life decisions. The entire point of being a vigilante was to stay anonymous, work in the shadows and not make a big deal out of whatever you were doing. You weren't blessed with superpowers that guaranteed a future in hero work. You were literally just a student. Now, hoodie and balaclava feel like a thin veil between your identity and the world as you hear the flashes of cameras over sirens.

A policeman had dragged you with him as you were about to make your exit from the scene, satisfied with the way you'd handled the many ruffians who'd emerged from the woodwork to take advantage of the chaos from the fire and ransacking local businesses. Unable to protest, you'd focused your attention on aiding near the mall, content with observing Spider-Man in action from a respectable distance.

This was too close, according to you. The commissioner had summoned both of you to hear your accounts of the fire, suspecting some foul play in the works, and this explains why you're inches away from the hero, who's in familiar, animated conversation with the senior official.

You use this time to observe him for research purposes. Upon closer inspection, he's a lot more built than the pictures do justice to describe him as. His arms are crossed over the vast expanse of his beefy chest, and you don't miss the way his biceps strain against the material of his suit as he continues talking, murmuring something about a past foe. Your eyes drop shamelessly lower, and you can't help but thank the rain for dampening the air, since his suit sticks to his torso, defining abs you're can call nothing short of washboard.

Shut up, you're not here to ogle him!, a voice in your head reminds, and you have to avert your eyes and pretend to be deeply interested in the way firefighters were raising their ladder to the third floor of the mall. You hear someone clear their throat, and snap back to the conversation at hand.

"Spider-Man just pointed out that this seems to be the work of the same criminal who set a warehouse alight last week in Minato, Vigilante," the Commissioner coughs, and you blanche at the name, a testament to how you've officially come on the radar of the administration. Jeez, couldn't you get something cool, like Supreme Leader of Counterviolence or something? Vigilante sounded so... mundane.

"Um, is that so? It could be, now that he mentioned it," you reply. You'd followed that incident live, but you don't want to let on anything about yourself that could possibly give a shred of your identity away; even something as routine as following crime in the city.

"I think it would be best if the two of you worked together on this. Spider-Man, as you know, already covers much of the city, but I'm sure an extra hand wouldn't hurt. We're already spread thin as is, and recovery efforts are going to take some time," he says, tone tired as he massages his temples. If it weren't for how overworked he sounded, you'd be surprised at his presumptuousness to enlist you in crime-fighting measures at the very first meeting.

"Vigilante, we've picked you up on our surveillance many times earlier. I know that working in the public eye is not your forte, but perhaps you can use it to your advantage to find out more about this perp," the Comissioner adds, reading your mind. You almost choke on air.

"That makes sense," you affirm quietly, still processing the implications of what he's said. "Good," the man smiles. "The quicker we solve this, the safer Shinjuku is. We'll be in touch," he says, dismissing you. Now that he's done talking, the flash of cameras become even more enunciated, and you're frozen, unsure of whether turning around will cause more of a scene or making a run for it will.

"First time with the paps?", Spider-Man asks, peering down at you. His stupid mask gives nothing away, but you're sure he notices the way your eyes widen under your balaclava as you nod. "I'm in no mood to deal with them today, either," he sighs. You look at the swarm of people eagerly poised with TV cameras and mics in their hand and squirm.

Pondering for a minute, Spider-Man offers you a gloved hand.

"Wanna get outta here?"

taglist: @diorzs @egoistars @southernfrogprincesd @dazqa @milesmoralesluvs @she-lovesmyheartshapedsunglasses @dailyakira @giocriedpower @punkhazardlaw @loverlunaire @milesmoralesluvs @thiisisntlovely @kuroppiii

[punmonster]

don:

"i fight for honor and justice and the plight of the common man!"

*Skewers a ruffian's crotch straight through with her base ego*

[evolutionsbedingt]

Belated WIP Wednesday

Have another snippet of the TGCF fic! We've arrived at the case of Mount Yujun and this time it's He Xuan who accompanies Xie Lian.

★★★

Then a woman's voice cut through the ruckus of the men boasting about their supposed courage. He Xuan looked up to find the young woman who they'd saved earlier today squaring up against the leader, even with her shoulders nearly up to her ears in fear.

When He Xuan cast out his mind, as expected, he heard her prayer for strength and sent a little spiritual power into that beizi she was still wearing to make it feel more like an armour.

“What do you mean don't go there? Are you nuts? Don't you know how much money Wang-daren is offering?” the leader of those ruffians asked, crossing his arms and looking down at the woman who didn't falter.

Her voice wasn't very loud, but her conviction was clear. “Posing as a bridal party or trying to comb the mountain for that Ghost Groom, it's going to cost you your lives eventually.”

“Well, if Xiao-niang had agreed to be our fake bride, maybe we wouldn't have to risk our lives over and over again,” the leader growled and He Xuan scrutinised the men behind him.

Indeed, those were the very same men they'd met attacking this Xiao-niangzi just earlier. That she'd still stand up to them now was really commendable.

He Xuan rose from his seat, making Xie Lian follow him hurriedly.

“Who would be your fake bride and risk their life?” Xiao-niangzi asked, a little plaintively. “But you didn't have to rip up my skirt about it!”

“You-!”

Right as the leader of those thugs stepped forward, pointing threateningly at Xiao-niangzi, He Xuan stepped between them and smiled when the man paled, whipping his head around and stumbling back when he saw Xie Lian. “Gongzi, you said you need a fake bride and we came here to hunt this Ghost Groom as well. If my shixiong can lure him out and beat him, let's split the gains. If you beat him on your own, the bounty is yours.”

“En?” Xie Lian sounded shocked at first, but quickly caught up and nodded. “Shidi is right, we can't go around risking innocent women and the Ghost Groom clearly isn't fooled by a puppet.”

The leader looked like he was considering it and then finally nodded. “Fine, let's get this honoured daoshi a wedding dress!”

The crowd gasped, at once scandalised and excited, and He Xuan felt someone tugging at the back of his robes.

“Honoured daoshi, please allow this lowly one to help you with the dress and the makeup,” Xiao-niangzi said quietly. “Those ruffians will have no idea how to find one that fits your honoured shixiong.”

“Thank you, Xiao-niangzi,” Xie Lian said, turning around with a gentle smile. “You're very kind.”

“You saved me twice, it's only right,” she demurred and Xie Lian didn't argue.

“Is there a temple of Ming Guan nearby where we could take shelter and prepare?” Xie Lian asked instead and he looked as surprised as He Xuan felt when the woman shook her head.

“There's a temple of Nan Yang though, I go to pray there often,” she offered but He Xuan saw Xie Lian’s momentary hesitation.

Surely getting dressed as a bride in the temple of his former subordinate and in Nan Yang’s temple in particular, was too much for even his face to bear.

“I saw a He-dafang shrine on our way into town,” He Xuan said, pointing in the direction of the small shrine. “Surely he won't mind us borrowing it if it's in pursuit of justice for these women.”

Xiao-niangzi nodded hesitantly. “If Daoshi says so.”

He Xuan turned back to their temporary allies and relayed the plan, telling them to be at the temple no later than sundown. This left them just barely enough time to find a set of bridal robes that would fit Xie Lian, adjust it and then do his hair and makeup.

Xiao Ying, as it turned out she was called, was a great help with this and a deft hand at both sewing and applying makeup. She said she'd learned the latter to try and make herself look less plain but found that she felt no differently about her face and would rather use the money to help those who have even less than her.

Her kindness moved He Xuan and he found himself speaking a blessing for her, using a touch of his spiritual power and hoping that it would be enough.

[psalm22-6]

The Illustrated Review was a paper published in London in the 1870s, and in 1873 published a series called "Retrospective Glances at Foreign Literature." I'm not super familiar with the reception of Les Mis in England, but keep in mind that this is written a little over a decade after Les Mis came out. Here's some highlights:

Ten years have elapsed since Victor Hugo, after a long period of silence, broken only by a few melodious volumes of verse, astonished the land of his birth by a book which was more a challenge hurled at those who had exiled him than a novel. When "Les Misérables" appeared the glove was eagerly taken up, and a turmoil of conflicting passions was aroused. [. . .] It is not on the first perusal of "Les Misérables" that an opinion of its merits and demerits can be formed with justice or impartiality, for an ardent longing to get to the end is the only feeling experienced, the burning pages carry you along breathless and amazed, and, as before some pyrotechnic display, you remain dazzled by the sudden alternations of brilliant light and utter darkness. Victor Hugo started on a wrong theory. Embittered by his exile, blinded by his political passions, he attempted to prove that society in general and legislation in particular were responsible for the evil doings of the world, he openly took the part of the criminal against his judges, of the convict against his jailers, of the spoiler against the despoiled, and attempted to prove that crime is a far minor degradation to man than its repression by law. This dangerous sophism is developed with the power of his magic talent.

Myriel is said to be irrelevant to the plot, and particularly the episode with G is offensive:

After a lengthy and useless exposition, we come to the episode of the Conventionnel: it appears to have been inserted only to allow of a panegyric of 1793; it brings into violent and unartistic contrast the characters of the saintly Bishop Myriel and of the untamed democrat. It is neither wise nor useful to uphold with brutal energy ideas which common sense, self respect, and even history have taught us to judge and condemn, and to degrade at pleasure what in itself is venerable by unseemly comparisons such as are drawn between monarchs and ruffians.

A lot of reviews of Les Mis will include summaries of the book which I assume I don't need to share but this misrepresentation of the plot is noteworthy:

Jean Valjean, the hero of "Les Misérables," is taken up by the police for a petty theft, sent to Toulon for assaulting his warders, and condemned to a long detention for repeated attempts to escape.

From this the author concludes:

Jean Valjean is not condemned to the "Galéres" because he stole a loaf, but for contempt of the law in the person of its ministers, and if the principles so imprudently advocated by the author received their full application, they would involve the suppression of penal laws [. . .] Anarchy would at once prevail, persons and property remain unprotected; but like too many would-be reformers, M. Hugo finds it easier to pick out the flaws of a system than to suggest the remedy to a necessary evil.

So Jean Valjean's problem was apparently that he didn't respect authority? Okay.... The author also believes that Fantine would not have been dismissed for having a child out of wedlock

Life in manufacturing districts gives us, alas! too many examples of actual sin to leave us credulous about the virtuous indignation and stern morality of a factory master. Victor Hugo overshot the mark, and in taking pains to paint society as a ruthless Nemesis, he made her out a prude.

He also finds fault with Hugo's depiction of the battle of Waterloo, such as his geography of the battlefield and his poetic language:

The fastidious critic whose ideal is the purity of the classical author may well have been alarmed by the liberty of expression used by M. Hugo with such careless ease, but we are inclined to believe that his unusual but telling phraseology, his incisive, coloured, weird, fantastic, uncommon style is a new vein discovered in the rich mine of the French language, a vein which others, taught by his example, may follow, gathering the harvests, and avoiding the pitfalls which they would have had neither the genius to discover nor the courage to encounter.

However the author has to admit that he enjoyed some passages, such as those dealing with Sister Simplice or the young Cosette.

Some of the pages of “Les Misérables" emerge so white and pure from the sombre background, that we almost fancy that while he wrote them some angel's wing was fanning the author’s fevered brow. Was it the memory of a lost and adored daughter, or was it the breath of years gone by laden with their tender emotions and young illusions?

For better or for worse (worse if you are of the opinion that Les Miserables is an evil book), this book contains a little bit of everything:

You see, as in a kaleidoscope, the darkness of the convict’s cell and the sunshine of Cosette’s garden, the dictionary of ‘‘argot” and the poet’s rhapsody; Thénardier, the incarnation of vice, Cosette, the emblem of innocence; Waterloo and the barricades, Claquesous and Bishop Myriel, Eponine and Marius; while, by a prodigious metamorphosis, Jean Valjean, the low, mean, heartless thief, the man without dignity and without courage, is transformed into Jean Valjean, the hero and the martyr. Thus we progress from volume to volume to the close of the story, the latter part of which is worthy of sincere admiration, as we are initiated to the mutual love of Cosette and Marius, and witness the slow torture of Jean Valjean, the agony that wrings his paternal heart and converts his love for the child of his adoption into a crown of thorns pressing deep into his flesh, while he makes no sign—cruel and fatal position, in which the tormentor is no less innocent than the victim, and where the blow that kills is dealt by the hand that meant only to caress.

The author believes that if Victor Hugo had renounced his ideology and given up his exile, there might have been something redeeming in Les Miserables, but that instead, he has begun a "downward course."

“Les Travailleurs de la Mer,” while containing fewer beauties, magnified the errors of ‘‘ Les Misérables,” and were followed by “L'homme qui Rit,” the most deplorable mistake which a man of genius could have committed, a mistake so enormous that even should it be in his power to retrieve it, it must remain as a blot on M. Hugo’s reputation as a man of letters.

[egmo614]

Batman Kidnapped. Chapter 3

Little by little Batman began to regain consciousness. When he was able to discern his situation a little, he realized two things. He was handcuffed and on the floor of an extremely luxurious place, probably a mansion

-Wake up sleepyhead - said a sensual voice coming from behind. Footsteps slowly approached. When they stood in front of each other Batman found himself facing a young man he had never seen before. A very beautiful man, he thought to himself.

-Where… where… am I? - He asked, struggling uselessly with the handcuffs that held him.

-Oh Batman. Don't worry about that. You're not even in your country. So you better relax.

-What is all this? I must… I must return to Gotham…

-I'm afraid that's not going to be possible for now, Batman. I guess you want to know what all this is. I think it's only fair that you know.

The beautiful young man walked away from him and approached the window that overlooked a garden that Batman couldn't see.

-You're mine now Batman. I know who you are, I know your secret identity, but I'm not going to divulge it. Don't worry about that. I've been in love with you for years. I became obsessed with you a long time ago. Your perfect body, that sensual suit. Your beautiful buttocks. All. So I started investigating you. And finally I could see how you acted, what clues you followed, how you caught your enemies, who you were behind that mask. Bruce Wayne. Who was going to say it? A playboy millionaire channels his sense of justice dressed as a bat at night catching villains. We have the same age. 32 years. And my parents are dead too. But nobody cares.

-Let go! L..let me go please!

-You're going to be mine for a week Batman. You are going to be my property for that period. You will be at my entire disposal. We're going to have sex as many times as I want, in the way I want. When we're not doing that you're going to be here. You are going to eat top quality food and my butler is going to come and clean you every day. The entire house is surrounded by snipers. I left your utility belt but I took out all the contents. I just added a device that will give you a 300 Volt shock if you make a wrong step. I also have Robin and Alfred captured. Any wrong step on your part and they die. If you try to make contact with someone asking for help Robin and Alfred die. If you don't agree to my every whim, Robin and Alfred die. I just have to press a button. Do you understand, Batman?

-You're mad.

-Yeah. It's true Batman. Madly in love with you. You're the only man I'm attracted to. I'm tired of being surrounded by people who kneel when I enter a room. All that obsequential people! But not you.  You are the only one who never kneels for anyone. So I ask you one more time, Batman. You have understood?

-The only thing I understand is that you are a disgusting ruffian.

-That outburst only indicates one thing. You haven't rested well. You must continue sleeping. But first let's test the device on your belt.

The prince said the order "discharge" and then two electrodes stuck into Batman's skin, sending an electric shock throughout his body. The hero screamed in pain as he arched his body. Immediately afterwards he was dejected, sweating, but did not lose consciousness. However, the prince knelt beside him with a handkerchief soaked in chloroform that he pressed to his handsome face. Batman could only resist slightly and after blinking for a few seconds everything was darkness again.

[girlypopdruid]

Drew all of my #bg3 tavs together for a selfie! I can’t believe this games been out for a year — I’ve been playing it for a few months and I’m just obsessed! This game and its characters (and MY characters) are so dear to my heart.

Meet the girlies:

Poppy: wood elf Druid, certified goody two-shoes. Loves animals, recently discovered a love for fighting, and is working on not being a terminal people pleaser. Naive but strong. Romances Astarion 💕 she’s my first ever tav and my favorite.

Barbie: she’s just Barbie. A bard who romances Karlach and loves a little girl power and the power of a good musical number. The rule of this play through is WWBD (what would Barbie do?)

Amanita: Seldarine Drow Fungal Druid. Kind but firm and dominant. Since she worships Ellistreae, she is all about justice and equality. Romances Gale (and loves her nerd wizard)

Sanguine: my first Durge! She is a resist Durge bard with no people skills and a really cool knife. Total weirdo with issues, but wants to be better. Romaces Astarion.

Sapphire: half-drow storm sorcerer. A noble-turned-ruffian, she’s my most chaotic tav so far. She loves to steal and can be kind of a dick, but is generally good. Ish. She’s the tamer to Shadowheart’s brat. Her motto is “be gay, do crime.”

If you read all this, love ya! Who’s your favorite?

[henriediosa]

The Princess of Lucifer / 悪ノ娘 (Aku no Musume) original music and lyrics by mothy / 悪ノP jazzwaltz version by 情熱Ｐ / てとてと arrangement by Desconico vocals by SOLARIA (Lite) on Synthesizer V Studio Basic from a UST by Masao-san https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Jd73E95dy4 tuning, mixing, video, illustration, additional vocals, and translation by Henrie Diosa

I'm not kidding when I say this project is at least ten years in the making. I fell in love with the Evillious Chronicles as a little nerd in high school, and I was already working on translated English lyrics. Vocal synths as a technology have come so far since then, and so have I as an artist, so I'm really happy that now I can make the videos I've always dreamed of making.

links, credits, and lyrics under the cut!

His Significance of Existence: on tumblr, on youtube Fallen Angel: https://youtu.be/W4Rq9ZIasO0

SVP and instrumental/off vocal: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/17c_Zo2s6uQB4wSAzPRVpDUOjl-2qrNn6?usp=sharing

Image Credits: The Metropolitan Museum of Art Open Access Abstract Ink Drops and Spread on Wet Paper Free Video from Vecteezy Rose Flower Seamless Pattern from @Helenlane Dreamstime.com

The folks on Ko-fi saw it first! I have a membership tier on Ko-fi that helps me afford meds and have the space to make art. I was also posting demos of the music and sketches of the art while I was making them. You can join the minamahal at ko-fi.com/henriediosa

Lyrics:

[So! On your knees.]

Once upon a time in a land far away, Was a kingdom of every evil in the world. Sitting at the top, she who always had her way, Was a queen in yellow, a fourteen year old girl.

A palace well furnished, a show of her means A servant her mirror, and loyal to the throne A thoroughbred named Josephine Everything, yes, everything, she claimed as her own

When there's no money left for what she wants “The people have no bread? Let them eat cake!” she’d sneer Anyone who dared oppose would meet her commandants She makes her dissenters disappear!

[So! On your knees.]

Aku no hana, an evil flower blooms Brilliant, iridescent, dignified Over the pitiful weeds she looms Let them rot, let them die, let them nourish her pride

Our little tyrant had her heart set on a prince From the blue land of Marlon, across another port But his heart had been promised long since To a girl from the green Kingdom of Elphegort

Emerald went Her Majesty in envy, and she called For an audience with the Minister of War Said in a soft voice that left him appalled "I want to see the green kingdom burn."

Thousands of homes turned to ash in the Hunt Thousands left mourning for millions of lives Uncountable suffering out on the front But the queen never heard their cries

[Oh, is it teatime already?]

Aku no hana, an evil flower blooms Furor, fire, and genocide Around the lesser flowers’ tombs She's untouched, all her thorns protect her with pride

[We live in a world where some are born to rule, and some are born to be ruled. If everyone were equal, society would collapse. Somebody has to keep those filthy peasants in their places. ]

Finally the years of suffering quietly end Finally the people's hatred stirred up too much to ignore On they rose, led by a rose-red woman and her friends On the people marched, into the palace and the court

Low Lucifenians on fire with rage Against royal soldiers exhausted from the war Screaming for justice and hungry for change, Armour and swords posed no threat anymore

Into the palace, all doorways flung wide All her rats ran away, none remain "Take the queen!" the rebels cried And at last they had her in chains!

[What do you think you’re doing? Unhand me, you ruffians! Let go!]

Aku no hana, an evil flower blooms Pensive and quiet, cast aside Watching her paradise meets its doom And fall with the weight of her sins and her pride

Once upon a time in a land far away, Was a kingdom of every evil in the world. Sitting at the top, she who always had her way, Was a girl in yellow, a fourteen year old girl.

They set her death to three hours after noon When the bells rang "Rerum, Deus tenax vigor" Did that girl, alone in her room Think of all of the sins she must answer for?

Full of hope and fear, now the church bells strike three Now the girl walks out, head held high to the world And the crowd jeered and jabbered, but she made no last plea She smiled with her last words:

[Oh, is it teatime already?]

Aku no hana, an evil flower died Brilliant, iridescent, dignified La fille du mal, so they call her, but I'd Not insult the ghost of the princess of pride

[myemuisemo]

As part 9 of The Sign of the Four in "Letters from Watson" opens, I am immediately fond of Mrs. Forrester, the employer of the awesome and adorable Mary Morstan. Her reaction to Watson's news about the case, during his polite afternoon call is what charms me.

“It is a romance!” cried Mrs. Forrester. “An injured lady, half a million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-legged ruffian. They take the place of the conventional dragon or wicked earl.”

She's genre-savvy! I'm imagining a charming rowhouse, but Camberwell, like the Brixton/Kennington setting of A Study in Scarlet, is in a part of Lambeth that's seen a lot of reconstruction as housing projects. (I am distracted by the presence of a Korean fried chicken takeaway on Camberwell New Road. Sweet-and-spicy chicken sounds really good right now.)

Miss Morstan is, of course, a better person than anyone else in the room.

“It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious,” she said. “Nothing else is of any consequence; but I think that he has behaved most kindly and honorably throughout. It is our duty to clear him of this dreadful and unfounded charge.”

His family has done her a great deal of harm, out of selfish motives, and he's been set up as ridiculous in the audience's eyes -- yet her thought is for his being treated fairly by the law regarding his brother's murder.

Organized, practical, difficult-to-frighten, compassionate Miss Morstan may be intended as a model of Victorian womanhood, but she's in no way a delicate blossom. I adore her.

Meanwhile, Holmes is off in search of a steam launch. It belatedly occurred to me that I have no idea what a steam launch is, other than something boat-like. It turns out to be a medium/small boat with a smoke stack, a cabin for its workings, and an awning if there's anything that benefits from shelter. Thames Steamers are historic passenger steam launches, so they're painted up smartly -- but ordinary steam launches hauling this-and-that were a feature of the Thames from 1815 or so. After railroad service started, the proportion of passengers versus cargo shifted in the direction of cargo.

Holmes' "rude sailor dress" features a "pea-jacket," later more commonly called a "pea coat." The pea coat, a heavy wool double-breasted jacket that ends at about crotch-length, was a standard part of naval attire in Europe and the U.S. from the 18th century until very recently. It also had a huge fashion moment in the 1960s, thanks in part to the Beatles. Fashion-focused people wax rhapsodic about pea coats. Macy's has one in stock, appropriately made by Nautica. (Not a rec, not an affiliate, just looking for a harmless example.)

Then Holmes... then Holmes... *giggles*... puts my face in my hands to stop giggling... Holmes then... looks up spirit gum and grease paint, as I don't think you can get either off without some sort of agent like baby oil... aw, who the heck cares, Holmes fools Watson and Athelney Jones. The great detective has a sense of humor!

(I recently watched the entire run of The Pretender and am working on season 3 of White Collar -- so I am inclined to let things go for the sake of a charming con man working for justice. Which Holmes is. Jones is wrong. Holmes would never have joined the police. Too limiting. Had his sense of justice not led him into consulting, he would have been a con man.)

The meal Holmes promises his guests is another interesting combination of high and low. There will be oysters, which were so common and cheap that they are roughly equivalent to chicken wings today. The brace of grouse -- a bird that's hunted but not farmed -- suggests Holmes has a friend in the countryside or access to a butcher who does. And the "something a little choice in white wine" is absolutely high-brow, possibly a present from a satisfied client.

We are going after criminals in a fast steam launch later, so I have high hopes of pursuit and grappling.

[the-bar-sinister]

It's Called Flirtation (979 words) by thesavagesabretooth Relationships: Apollo Justice/Simon Blackquill Additional Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Workplace Relationship, Prosecutor Apollo Justice, POV Apollo Justice

Summary: Simon catches Apollo looking him over, and he takes it as an cue to extend a shameless invitation.

-

"Fancy a shag, would you, Justice-dono?"

Apollo froze in place, staring at Simon and feeling himself go scarlet. "E-excuse me?"

Simon Blackquill leaned toward him with a nasty grin on his face. "My apologies, allow me to be clearer. I'm asking if you'd like to have sex."

This time Apollo could only make a choked noise, and Simon laughed, slapping the table of the prosecutorial break room where they were both standing.

"Justice-dono, if you want to avoid unwanted solicitations, you ought to avoid looking gentlemen over like they are pieces of meat as well. You've got a bit of a reputation for it, and I concur. Not very subtle."

Apollo pressed his hands to his face, and looked away. "I can't– that's not–"

It's not like he'd been exactly trying to check Simon out. It was just the strange, birdlike and aggressive way that Simon moved. His lanky, storklike figure, and the stormy expressions that passed over his face at every thought. How could Apollo not look at him?

Simon clapped him on the back, pulling him up to his shoulder. "Not that I'm not flattered, Justice-dono, but I've gathered that most of the gentlemen here like to keep their predilection for other men close to the vest, due to concerns of social standing."

Apollo made another dumb noise as Simon's arm draped over him and he gaped up at him in astonishment, feeling like he had to look quite high up indeed to meet Simon's gaze.

"Well, then how can you be so open about it!" he demanded. "This is practically workplace harassment, you know."

"It's called flirting, Justice-dono. Hardly the worst crime I've ever been accused of," he sneered. "And to answer your question, it's simply that I am a humble man, and I have no shame."

"I'll say!" Apollo felt his heart hammering in his chest.

Simon chuckled and glanced down at him with a smirk like the curve of a knife written on his lips. "So, were you going to answer my question? Or should I take your consternation for a 'no'?"

He once again found himself at a loss for words, and ended up muttering toward the ground. "I usually like to take it a little slower than that."

"What was that, Justice-dono, I'm afraid I couldn't hear you." 

Simon's snickering tone pinged something in Apollo's brain, and he balled his fists, staring directly up at him. With chords of steel, he repeated. "I said I usually like to take it a little slower than that!!"

He flushed even hotter when it was out of his mouth, and while Simon was laughing, he looked around to see if there was any commotion he might have caused or anyone who might have heard. Thankfully at least they seemed to be well and truly alone.

"My my, a trifle shy are we?" Simon purred. "Not a luxury one has in the clink, but now that I'm a free man I might see my way to indulging your hesitation."

Apollo shivered and every hair on his body stood on end at the touch of Simon's fingers as they crawled up the back of his neck, and the way he leaned in toward him as he spoke.

Apollo had no idea what he was doing. He hadn't expected Simon to start doing this just because he'd looked at him. He didn't know how he was supposed to respond.

He didn't exactly want to say no.

"That's… polite of you," he forced out.

"Even a ruffian former convict like myself can manage a few niceties– if it's for the sake of a good time."

A good time. Blackquill had accused him of looking at him like a piece of meat, but that's exactly how Apollo felt now as Simon pinned him with his dark gaze, and his arm around his shoulders.

"... Good."

"Do you prefer polite, Justice-dono?"

What a question!!

"It… depends on the context," he said, puffing his chest out a little.

This seemed to amuse Simon, and he laughed again.

"Well! Let's try impolite then, shall we?"

Before Apollo could respond, Simon pulled him so that they were chest to chest– or more like chest to midsection with Simon's height. He reached down with a hand like a snake striking and pulled Apollo's chin up as he leaned down. He gasped as Simon kissed him, and it was almost as if the breath had been drawn out of him suddenly.

He swooned against Simon's chest as the fierce prosecutor kissed him soundly with greedy lips and a driving tongue. Apollo was sure he made a noise as Simon's tongue invaded his mouth, and he he dizzily returned the kiss, pressing his own tongue into Simon's mouth in return.

Flushed and breathless as Simon's lips left his, Apollo immediately looked around to make sure that no one had seen him making out in the breakroom.

"Don't fret, Justice-dono, no one's seen your little indiscretion," Simon tutted. He stroked his fingers over Apollo's jaw and up over the traces of his sideburns and his hairline.

Apollo looked back at him, embarrassed doubly. "You really do have no shame."

"It's one of my charms, I'm told. Well, impolite seems to have suited you, so I'll keep that in mind. Slowly of course."

"If you call that slow," Apollo grumbled. Still, he found himself leaning into Simon's touch.

"Slow for me. How about you come over to my place for dinner tomorrow night, Justice-dono?"

That did not sound slow at all. 

That sounded almost exactly like 'fancy a shag'.

But… Apollo couldn't deny he'd been looking at Simon. And it was a good kiss.

"Yeah, alright," Apollo said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He jabbed a finger into Simon's chest. "But I do expect to actually have dinner at some point, got it?"

"Of course. At some point."

[marxism-transgenderism]

DAYBREAK, October 10, 1774. In dense forest, a column of 700 Shawnee and Mingo warriors uncoils into a ragged, mile-long line. Unlike years past, the warriors are not stalking game. Rather, they are preparing to strike 1,200 unsuspecting Virginia militiamen camped at Point Pleasant, a craggy triangle at the confluence of the Ohio and Great Kanawha rivers, approximately 150 miles southwest of modern Wheeling, West Virginia. A carpet of red and russet leaves deadens their footfalls. The warriors wear breechclouts, which are single pieces of cloth wrapped around the hips, buckskin leggings, and moccasins. A few also sport linen hunting shirts purchased from white traders. Most carry smoothbore muskets, tomahawks, scalping knives, and bow and arrows for use if their ammunition runs out. Silver rings dangle from their noses. Huge earrings hang on distended earlobes, framing faces painted in fierce patterns of red and black.

The leader of the war party, the Shawnee chief Cornstalk, would prefer to be elsewhere. Although the provocation had been immense, he had called for restraint. Virginians had flouted a royal proclamation prohibiting settlement on Indian land and instead spilled across the Kanawha River into the Kanawha Valley, part of the greater Kentucky country, all of which was prime Shawnee hunting ground. “I have with great trouble and pains prevailed on the foolish people amongst us to sit still and do no harm till we see whether it is the intention of the white people in general to fall on us,” Cornstalk had told a British official, “and shall continue so to do in the hopes that matters may be settled.” But the royal governor of Virginia, the Earl of Dunmore, who himself coveted Indian land for personal profit, had no expectation of a peaceful denouement. Frontier subjects, he wrote the Crown, despised treaties made with Indians, “whom they consider but little removed from the brute creation.” So too did the Virginia aristocracy. With the spring thaw in 1774, surveyors representing George Washington, Patrick Henry, and other Tidewater elites staked large claims along the Ohio River. Waving away the royal edict against land grabs as a “temporary expedient to quiet the minds of the Indians,” Washington told his personal surveyor not to worry.

With the surveyors came settlers willing to wager their scalps on a scrap of land. For a time, Cornstalk succeeded in controlling his young warriors. They turned back white intruders with stern warnings but seldom harmed them. Then in April 1774 a gang of frontier ruffians butchered a small party of inoffensive Mingo men and women who had crossed the Ohio River to buy rum at a neighborhood grog shop. Other Mingoes who attempted to investigate were shot from their canoes. The dead included the sister and younger brother of the Mingo chief “Captain John” Logan, a longtime friend of the whites who, averred a pioneer who knew Logan well, represented “the best specimen of humanity, either white or red,” that he had ever met.

The massacre shocked the colonies and the Crown. The young Virginia aristocrat Thomas Jefferson excoriated the supposed perpetrators. Hard words and hand-wringing, however, marked the extent of the white response. When the Crown’s colonial justice proved empty, Logan sought revenge in the Indian fashion; he slayed just enough frontiersmen to even the score, taking care to exculpate the Shawnees from his bloody work. To the charred door of a ravaged cabin, Logan posted a succinct confession. “You killed my kin . . . then I thought I must kill too. The Indians is not angry [sic] only me.” Backcountry settlers saw matters otherwise. Misconstruing Chief Cornstalk’s neutrality as hostile intent, Virginia militiamen destroyed a large Shawnee village in the Ohio country. They also laid waste to six Mingo towns.

The die was cast. Shawnee and Mingo war parties retaliated. Frontiersmen reciprocated. Havoc and horror rent the wilderness. As the frontier crumbled, Lord Dunmore mustered the militia to deal the Indians a two-pronged thrashing. No longer able to keep the peace, Chief Cornstalk assumed the mantle of supreme Shawnee war leader. He tried to forge a broad Indian alliance, but British threats and cajolery sidelined other tribes. And so in late September, Cornstalk sallied forth with his Shawnee and Mingo force to defend their lands. Calculating that his only chance lay in defeating Dunmore’s armies before they could unite, Cornstalk turned his attention first to the command of Gen. Andrew Lewis, who was then creeping across the wilds of western Virginia toward Point Pleasant. Although outnumbered, Cornstalk had able Shawnee lieutenants, among them the rising star Puckeshinwau, already honored as both a war and a civil leader, offices the Shawnees rarely combined.

The Indians hated the militiamen but respected their fighting prowess. They called the Virginians the “Long Knives” because of the butcher knives and short swords that they wielded with as much skill as the Indians did the tomahawk. Like Indian warriors, the Virginians were a colorful if undisciplined lot. A few of the officers wore regular uniforms, but most were clad in the same sort of hunting shirts, leather leggings, homemade breeches, broad-brimmed hats or animal-skin caps, and moccasins as their men. Each militiaman carried a flintlock long-rifle or English musket, a bullet pouch, and powder horn carved to individual taste. In addition to knives, many also tucked tomahawks into their belts. Well schooled in Indian warfare and raging with the Kentucky land-fever, the Virginians were impatient for the fray.

This morning, however, they slumbered soundly, unaware of the approaching warriors. The night before, the Indians had slipped across the Ohio River in crude rafts beneath a cobalt sky, debouching on the rocky, timber-strewn Virginia riverbank four miles north of the militia camp. Cornstalk and his lieutenants oversaw the carefully choreographed battle preparations. Their warriors slept a few hours, leaning against trees or propped against forked poles, weapons at the ready. Hunters killed twelve deer and ritually sliced the venison under the watchful eyes of medicine men (spiritual and natural healers), who examined the roasted strips for spiritual purity before handing each warrior one piece. After eating, the men buried their blankets and shirts beneath leaves. Deploying in units of twenty, they each crammed four balls into their muskets to inflict maximum punishment at short range. They would tomahawk any survivors. Cornstalk selected the best marksmen to descend to the riverbank to pick off any Virginians desperate enough to plunge into the broad Ohio after the Indians sprang their trap.

And then his plan unraveled. At dawn, October 10, 1774, two early-rising Virginians wandered into the forest to hunt deer. Instead they ran into the Indians. One militiaman crumpled, riddled with musket balls, but the other stumbled back into camp to sound the alarm. Instantly the drums beat to arms. The backwoodsmen rolled from their blankets, examined their flints and priming, and awaited orders.

Feigning composure, General Lewis lit his pipe. He blew a few puffs and then ordered two colonels to lead double columns of 150 men forward to discover the source of the commotion. Both officers fell in the first Indian volley. Concealed behind the trunks of maple and pine and in the tangled underbrush of the river bottom, the warriors dropped dozens of militiamen, screaming epithets at the “sons of bitches” and “white dogs” as they fired. Lewis pushed out reinforcements, and the combatants grappled at close quarters in the smoke-choked timber. “Hide where I would,” a Virginian recalled, “the muzzle of some rifle was gaping in my face and the wild, distorted countenance of a savage was rushing towards me with uplifted tomahawk. The contest resembled more a circus of gladiators than a battle.”

After six hours of close combat, the two sides backed apart and traded fire from behind trees and fallen timber. Puckeshinwau and his fellow war leaders moved along the Indian line, exhorting their warriors to “lie close,” “shoot well,” and “fight and be strong.” Near sunset, General Lewis occupied a high ridge that Cornstalk had neglected to secure. Stung by bullets from above their left flank and low on ammunition, the Indians melted back into the forest and recrossed the Ohio. The Virginians contented themselves with scalping fallen warriors and collecting souvenirs.

It had been a bloody twelve hours. The Indians killed seventy-five Virginians and wounded another 140. Perhaps forty warriors died. Hoping to disguise their losses, the Indians rolled several of their dead into the river. The Virginians nevertheless collected thirty-two scalps. These they affixed to a post at Point Pleasant.

The battle claimed just one prominent Indian, the Shawnee war leader Puckeshinwau. His thirteen-year-old son Cheeseekau, not yet a warrior, had accompanied him into action. After Puckeshinwau fell mortally wounded, Cheeseekau helped ease him back over the Ohio in a driftwood raft. Before dying, Puckeshinwau reputedly admonished his young son to preserve his family’s honor, never reconcile with the Long Knives, and “in the future lead forth to battle his younger brothers” against them. Cheeseekau swore to obey. Puckeshinwau’s warriors buried their chief deep in the forest.

Cheeseekau had accepted a heavy burden. He had three siblings, and his now-widowed mother was pregnant with triplets. Cheeseekau’s favorite sibling, upon whom he would lavish most of his attention and who would best fulfill his father’s last wish, was his six-year-old brother Tecumseh, the “Shooting Star.”

— Peter Cozzens, The Warrior and the Prophet: The Shawnee Brothers Who Defied a Nation