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threepandas · 3 months ago

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Bad End: Royal Weddings

They whispered. About the scandal of it all. Such a bold and shameless color.

As far as I was concerned? What was shameless? Was inviting your affair partner to a Royal Wedding. He hadn't even looked at her. Too absorbed in the sight of his True Love weeping. Too busy wallowing in his own drama to care that he wasn't the only one giving up his life to this.

After all... who WOULDN'T want to marry him?

She must be overjoyed.

I walk High Princesses Kiara, of the United Northern Kingdoms, down the aisle. In the traditions of her people, it SHOULD be the Crown Prince. To show that from this moment, this wedding, they walk together. It's symbolic.

The rich reds, the color of life and love, are painstakingly embroidered. It would have taken decades. Likely by her own hand. As is also traditional. A show of skill and wealth, I think. I studied up. All the better to serve my new lady. My Queen.

The prince hasn't even glanced at her.

People sneer.

This by all rights should be a wedding of mixed traditions, so as to not offend either people. Yet it... it is a paltry effort at best. An INSULT. Each turn another slap across the face.

First there were flowers, when there should have been a dagger and salt. I manage to hunt down satisfactory articles only to find them about to OFFER HER MEAT. On this! Her WEDDING DAY! Something I KNOW his Highness did not hunt himself and CERTAINLY was not PRESENTING himself!

I drive THEM off? Only to have to fend off maids trying to slather her face up in the "latest fashions" of make up. As though I don't recognize that HARLOTS maids! Is the humiliation of having her be the "poor bereaved lover" of the wedding not ENOUGH?! Not to MENTION that her Highness' people DONT WEAR MAKEUP ON THEIR WEDDING DAY.

On and on it went. For DAYS. I was forced to keep her Highness wedding dress WITH ME in my quarters! Lest it "mysteriously vanish" and she be forced to wear WHITE. You know, like a CORPSE? White? The COLOR OF THE DEAD for her people?!

Now, near tears, I walk. Steps even. Head high. Wondering how she has the strength.

These people are AWFUL. Vicious, nasty, ugly, soul-less, MONSTERS to the last. This... this was supposed to be a HAPPY day! Happy!! I was so EXCITED. One of the few people in the capital who had ever even studied the North in any depth, I... I thought it was an HONOR! But it WASN'T was it? No.

It was just one more insult.

The inexperienced lady in waiting, with no idea of how to do ANYTHING. How very perfect for the Queen that his Highness doesn't actually WANT. No. No HE wants his fragile, waifish, VIPER of a-!

"Calm. When you let them anger you, they begin to win. You start to make mistakes you can not afford. Be Calm. I am here." Her Highness whispers, voice soft but commanding beneath the bland music. It is the sort of voice meant for speech. The command of armies and simple men. "We will get through this farce and be done with it. Do not forget, but do not let it hold you. You are a bird, far from here. Their insults mean nothing."

I nod subtly. Try to visualize it. A bird... a bird... open skies beneath my wings, the rush of air. No whispers or cloying perfumes. Green countryside stretched out far beneath me. Free to go anywhere. I am a bird. I... I am a bird. Breathe.

We reach the end of the aisle. The prince I am supposed to one day serve as king, is making moon eyes at his fucking mistress in broad daylight. At his WEDDING. She dressed like this is a funeral. Oh, boo hoo. He's been ENGAGED SINCE BIRTH. This is NOT A SUPRISE.

Maybe it's first life sensibilities, the ones that carried over. When, for whatever reason, I didn't quite "blank slate" between dying and being born like everyone else. Got that proper Isekai experience of starting over. New world and a only sorta new me etc. But?

If a man is FUCKING ENGAGED? Maybe don't TRY THAT? What the actual hell? Yeah, yeah, complexe social mobility issues. But like? Royal Marriages are COMPLEX ALLIANCE CONTRACTS?? Fuckboi is risking a very real WAR? The assassins alone are going to be both vicious and immediate? Cause the King is not dead yet.

The Crown Prince HAS brothers.

"Hunting accidents" have a precedent here.

Her Highness brothers are going to be PISSED when they hear about this wedding. The treatment of their sister. The alliance hinges on "treat my sister well or at least politely". And he couldn't even manage THAT. It baffles and enraged.

I listen as the priest drones on... and on... and on...

With a growing horror? I realize? His royal moronic? Is using SOLEY our peoples vows. Which won't be RECOGNIZED by the United North as a valid marriage, according to ANY of the predominant alliances, agreements, or faiths. Motherfuckers. I KNOW I sent the wedding planners Big Boldly Worded Warnings about this!!

The prince reluctantly goes in for the binding kiss.

Her Highness leans back.

The room goes Dead Silent. Oh gods. I break line and, under the eyes of FUCKING EVERYBODY (ha ha... oh gods, this is terrible, I hate this so muuuuuch) step up to the royal couple. Pick up the gods damned KNIFE. You know? The MARRIAGE KNIFE? The knife specifically required to MARRY EACH OTHER? That one?

I offer it to her Highness. Who tears her now distainfully blank look away from the prince to look down at me. To consider what's in my hands. The moment seems... charged. I wonder if she's reconsidering her marriage to the prince. She looks at it, drags her gaze up to meet mine, then slowly reaches out. Each finger wrapping around the blade with careful precision.

Holding eye contact as she does. The hint of a smile gracing her face. Approval in her eyes. She tucks in in her sash, in the appropriate place. Then picks up the salt from where it was carelessly shoved aside. Turning fully to hand it to me.

Well THAT'S subtle. She's supposed to hand that to her husband. But I guess since he didn't hand her the blade, she refuses to hand him that salt directly either. I turn and try to offer the prince the salt. He rolls his eyes and demands to know if this is some "northern ritual".

YES, you TWIT. It's called a MARRIAGE CEREMONY.

Getting no answer, he turns to the priest and declare that they are married, can they move ON now? My jaw wants to drop. No. No, they are NOT. In EITHER culture. I was WATCHING. She didn't seal SHIT. Or even verbally AGREE to the vows. Priest. Priest for the LOVE OF THE GODS YOU SERVE-!

The coward nods, letting the sham continue. Holy shit.

They aren't fucking married. If he sleeps with her? It'll be considered an ACT OF WAR. I stare in horror at the priest, who avoids my eyes. He knows as well as I do that the marriage isn't complete. Watching him squirm in his expensive robes, sweating like a rat in a trap factory, I wonder who ACTUALLY owns his soul. In my hands, the salt in it's delicate glass container, feels like it's soaked in blood.

Slick with all the innocent blood that's going to spill, because one man and one COWARD couldn't finish a simple ceremony.

The North will NEVER forgive this trespass. This spit to the face. It goes against everything their people stand for. Cultural THEY CAN'T let this go. The people would RIOT.

My hands tuck the salt in my sash, careful and far away. Feel numb as I watch the priest skitter away to safety like an insect jumping ship. Watch the Crown Prince sweep away to escort no his Supposed WIFE, but his LOVER to the reception. In full view of the court. Before the eyes of visiting diplomats and foreign royals alike. Ha ha...

I want to scream. Just scream and scream until the horror leaves me.

But I can't. The day is not over and I am not alone.

A soft but calloused hand, warm and grounding, touches my arm. I turn to my future Queen. She is bathed in light. Tall and regal, unbending in the face of this endless parade degradation. Her eyes are like the clearest sky I've ever seen. The sunlight catching her hair and making it light itself. I wish I could be a fraction so composed.

"It's the practice." She says, lips barely moving. No doubt to the great frustration of attempted easedropers. "I've had years of training. You're doing well, considering the circumstances, little Brave. Let us go. Endure one last party. Then we will be free to consider our options."

She correct of course. Just... just one more party. And it's nice, reassuring even, how she talks like we're a united front. It does? Niggle something. Try to knock some factoid or other lose in my brain. But I'm so fried. Rattled. Just get through this and we're done. Just... just get through this. It can't be that important, surely. I would remember it if it was. Right?

.....right.

The reception is a horror show. I don't know why I expected it to be anything BUT, at this point. Every single thing The LOVER enjoys. A party to make HER happy. No doubt as an apology for the grave crime of DOING HIS DAMN DUTY. But of course, God's forbid! Any consideration for the BRIDE who had to LEAVE HER HOMELAND! Who ALSO is doing her duty!

At least, bless them eternally and to the last, the dignitaries and other royals all come and speak with her Highness. Keep her company.

Joke about her single status.

Sweet merciful fuck, the country is going to burn. And it's all that idiots fault. I don't even... actually? ACTUALLY?! No! No, this is above my pay grade. I tried! I really, really did! First thing in the morning? I'm sending the folks a priority Strongly Worded Letter that it might be a GREAT idea to pack up everything we care about and "visit the in-laws" over in Gammia. Heard the coast is LOVELY this time of year!

Whole ass family should join um. Take the pets. Any neighbors they much care about.

REALLY, REALLY Lovely. That Coast.

I have to stop FIVE MORE MEAT DISHES. Literally grab a server, drag him down, and inform him the NEXT bastard that brings any form of animal near her Highness? Is getting things thrown at them. Public spectacle be damned. I WILL throw carving knives, Do Not Test ME.

Strangely enough! Suddenly the miscommunication suddenly STOPPED.

.....I hate everyone here. Wish desperately I could be drunk. Can't afford to be. But wouldn't it be nice? Instead, I just aggressively correct people. Oh? You were talking? Not my problem. You were wrong. You KNEW you were wrong, were being RUDE, so frankly? Fuck you.

Fire me. I fucking DARE YOU.

Oh, that's RIGHT! You CAN'T can you? LAPDOG. Because YOU are to busy chasing the favor of the Crown Idiot's FUCKING SIDEPIECE to remember that? He's marrying an actual ROYAL. The person who will ACTUALLY have access to all those contracts, funds, and staffing decisions! (You know... if he ACTUALLY MARRIED HER.)

By the time we turn in? I am considering defecting to the North when this all blows up. I've heard it's harsh but ultimately nice. Good food, beautiful clothing, hot people everywhere. What's not to like? Certainly less asshole behavior. They get stabbed.

I walk the High Princess to her rooms. Pulling open the HEAVILY padlocked chests with the key that I'd kept on me. The wedding furs went on the bed, soft as clouds. They're decorative obviously. You move them before... well. But they are meant to show off her greatest accomplishments. Some fur from difficult hunts, others hide with stories carefully burned onto. A life's work.

See, it is meant to say, the whole of who I am and what has lead me here.

There are fabrics, beads, sets of jewelry. I am setting them all out under the softly watching eyes of her Highness. We are waiting. Even though the marriage is a fucking sham. The idiot still seems to THINK it's done. Which means he must come, remove her veil, undo her braid.

No longer a bride, no longer a girl. There are TRADITIONS. They are MEANINGFUL. They hold a special place in people's heart, in their lives and memories. It is supposed to be tender. Intimate. An emotional, close moment between two people, now bound for the rest of their lives.

Which is why, obviously, the BASTARD doesn't show.

I don't need to even GUESS where he's gone. Let my fury and disgust show, as I slam the door with a VIOLENCE. How dare he. How DARE HE?! ON HIS WEDDING NIGHT!? I hope they DO kill him. At this point, he's begging for it!

Rage shakes through me as I imagine wrapping my hand around his gods forsaken throat. Him and his viper DESERVE each other. I hope they BOTH get every! Last! BIT! Of what they've EARNED.

Hissing out a furious breath. I center myself. Shove it down for later. And turn back to the matter at hand. Her Highness still needs to sleep. And I DON'T trust any of these fuckers. Glancing the fire place, I grab the fire poker. Wedge it through the doors handles. There.

No surprises.

Turning back to her Highness, still sitting at the foot of her own wedding bed, surrounded by her life's work? Years and YEARS of hardwork and meticulous planning? Beautiful things meant to be SHARED with the one she loved? I want to cry and put my fist through something. Be sick. Gods... this isn't right.

"I can only assume then, he's not coming? I can not say I'm suprised." She says, hold a hand out to me. "But then who will remove my veil? Unbraid my hair? I wonder..."

Once again, I'm taking over for what the prince should be doing. I planned the wedding as best I could. Provided, to the best of my ability. Offered the knife and received salt in return. Now? After a, hopefully comforting, squeeze of her Highness hand? I gently begin unpinning her veil.

This close, she smells of highland flowers. The little white-blue ones, that I can only barely recall. I saw them once. When I was younger. They were beautiful. Cover everything, come spring. I wish I knew the name of them.

So many little pins. Her hair is soft. I try not to let my hands linger. It's not my place too. Besides, she's likely not remotely interested. It's been one shit show after another, since we met. Finally though...? The veil is free. I gently lower it away. Together, we remove the no doubt heavy bits of jewelry she's worn all day.

I fetch a brush. Sit behind her. Something about the straightening of her back, softly expectant. Does she think it will hurt? A sensitive scalp perhaps. I work to be extra gentle. Making sure to lightly massage her no doubt sore crown, from where all manner of things have pulled and tugged at her hair all day. Softly working her hair tangle free, I make loose sleeping braids off to each side.

"You know..." her Highness muses, a current of something I can't quite place threading through her words. "This technically makes you my 'husband.' We are married, by Northern law. Irreparably bound. I can not say it's what I expected, coming here... but I think we suit each other, no?"

She's smiling. The first time, fully at least, all day. I can not help but smile back. It's a joke, of course. Silly. I could never be married to a High Princess. No one in their right mind would ever allow it. Not to mention I'm fairly certain only a handful of islands and two nations in the south even recognize such marriages... right?

Again, the niggling in the part of my brain where half forgotten facts lay. Something about her Highness specific Northern region? Her faith? Maternal clan? It's something. I studied this. KNOW this. But... gods, it's been such a day. Can't we just joke and laugh in peace? Rest? Surely we can deal with it tomorrow...

I unearth her nigh clothes. Soft and warm. Sweep back to help her get free of her marital dress. Beautiful as it may be? It weights a TON. I am careful to pack it away. Refuse to chance any mysterious loses. Standing, I move to repack her marriage works. Only to be stopped by the sight of her Highness sitting in bed, covers moved back, hand held out to me again.

"Join me? Surely you will not have me sleep alone, on my wedding night, husband?"

The bed is far too large for just one person. Surrounded by her works, hopeful expression on her face, it would take a far strong woman then I to turn her down. Respectful thoughts. Respectful! Thoughts! It's just a joke. You are her FRIEND. This is FRIEND CUDDLING.

.....oh gods.

Pretty. So pretty. So, so, SO pretty!

Mentally I smack myself. Take myself by the shoulders and shake, as I go and change into my night clothes. Do! NOT! Make this weird for her! She is lonely and far from home. TRUSTS YOU. Needs a friend. You can die over how unbelievably gorgeous she is on you OWN time! Be the friend she needs right now!

I come back. Awkwardly crawl into bed only to get tugged down into unexpectedly strong arms. Uuunnnggggff?! No! NO. Respect thoughts! Ha ha... oh gods they are testing me.

Her Highness arms wrap around me. Cuddling me close. The bed is possibly the single most comfortable thing I've ever rest on. That scent of flowers. Everywhere. I am cradled, even as I lay there frozen and unsure. Feel a hand, softly stroking my back, as though soothing a skittish little creature.

"I've always preferred women you know. But the contract was already made. We do not go back on our word." The words as whispered, an intimate and dangerous confession, almost directly into my ear. "But certain parties have grown rather arrogant. Full of themselves and their supposed superiority. Unfortunate then, for them, that they broke the only thing keeping us from breaking THEM."

The pieces finally align enough, in my head, to click into place. Factoids connecting with string. Her Highness is from the Redcrest Clan on her mother's side. The Redcrest Clan, due to a Matriarch five generations back, formally recognize any-sex marriages. His Highness... if she completes the marriage exchange...

Wait.

A....am I married?

Her Highness presses a kiss to my forhead. Gently tugging my body closer toward hers. To tangle her legs with mine. A pleased little noise escapes her, deep in her throat. A near soundless hum that's more exhale then anything else.

"You'll love the North. And I have no doubt my brothers will adore you. We will have to fetch your Clan, of course, but I have lands I can give them. I swear to kill any who dare harm you. Love you as you deserve."

With a sleepy smile, that did nothing to hide the deadly edges to it and eyes that seems to dance with the coming flames of war, she whispered.

"I'll make you a Queen, my love. Lay these lands at your feet. You will look so lovely in a crown."

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thegildedbee · 7 months ago

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Jealousy/Empty: May 27 & 28 Prompts from @calaisreno

This latest chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3. ...............................................................................................

On only rare occasions did Mycroft Holmes’s body register qualms about a plan of action. Long ago he had decided not to second-guess well-studied plans at their point of execution; to do so was to invite potentially disastrous distractions, with the deployment of second guessing performing as does Hercules’s sword when it slashes at the neck of the mythical hydra, only for it to grow two more, and so on ad infinitum. The meeting about to take place that he had arranged by subterfuge is one of those rare occasions.

Watson’s visit the preceding week had been exceedingly unwelcome for a number of reasons, but mostly as it left him with having to decide how to resolve the dilemma it presented of his brother’s instruction that Dr. Watson was not to be given any indication that Sherlock had survived the fall from Bart’s roof. However, the stable door was no longer shut, and the horse had bolted.

After failing his brother in the Moriarty affair, Mycroft had felt honor-bound to accept Sherlock’s outline of his plans to go underground and undercover, after he had been summoned to the morgue by Miss Hooper. He had indeed acquiesced to Sherlock’s strategies at the launching of his mission; once a mission is underway, needs must as to corrections and improvisations that have to be made based on changed circumstances. Such was his conclusion.

In consequence, there was one matter that he had decided could no longer remain hidden. The remedy required summoning Watson, Mrs. Hudson, and Detective Inspector Lestrade. He refused to undergo the required machinations three times as a concession to his own disquiet about the matter. He had made a reservation for Watson to take Mrs. Hudson to tea at St. Ermin’s Hotel, and he had made an arrangement for the Detective Inspector to meet with one of his MI5 case officers off-site from their respective government offices at the Caxton Bar at the hotel. At the conclusion of these two events, preparations had been made to take all three of them through an underground tunnel that ran from the hotel to a secure location nearby, which held only three chairs and a table. It was now time for him to join them.

As he opens the door to the room, all three faces greet him – as he had expected – with various mixtures of surprise, resignation, resentment, and curiosity.

“I want to thank you all for being here,” he begins, with all three of them rolling their eyes. He grimaces, and continues, saying, “you will understand the need for secrecy directly.” He places in front of each of them a stapled stack of papers with a blank cover that contains only a series of numbers at the top right.

“I know from Dr. Watson that the three of you have divined that Sherlock is alive, and that he has been at work since his presumed death in espionage activities against the Moriarty enterprise. What you do not know is why, and I believe that, going forward, you must be read into that area of the case.”

“And what is it that we have come here to read?” Watson asks, his voice hard, with a challenging edge.

“My brother tossed his mobile on the roof before he fell. He had made such preparations as he could, expecting that the odds were that he would survive the fall, but he knew that there were substantial odds that he would not be successful. The public information about the mobile that was given was that it was empty of any relevant information. However, Sherlock had recorded the last conversation he had with Moriarty using the voice memo app on the mobile."

It is now Lestrade who speaks, his voice tinged with disbelief. “So what we have here is evidence that was withheld from the investigation.”

“Yes, Detective Inspector. On national security grounds. What I am going to share with you is, in fact, beyond your authorized levels. I have granted clearances for each of you for the next 20 minutes. My brother did not intend for you to learn of this conversation, so I have not brought the actual recording; to hear about this event in his own voice is – either through this means or directly – I believe, a decision for him alone. I cannot ask him for that permission, because Dr. Watson has told me that Sherlock is not to be told that you know the truth about his death. What you have before you is an unredacted written transcript of the conversation.”

“Mycroft Holmes!” Mrs. Hudson begins, addressing him with some asperity. “I am quite sure I do not know what to do with you!"

“For now, nothing. What is to be done immediately is for you to read the transcript, if that is your wish. You do not, of course, have to do so.”

He notes that all three look stunned; but there it is, there’s nothing that can be done to mitigate that circumstance. As difficult as reading through the record of Sherlock’s “last” conversation may be, they do all have each other, the closeness amongst them having become even more so over the last month of their shared investigations. He tamps down a flare of jealousy. They will be fine.

“I shall leave you to it then,” he says, with a slight bow. Taking one last glance at them as they each turn to the first page, he quits the room, softly closing the door behind him.

........................................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

.............................................................................

#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #sherlock bits and bobs #may prompts 2024 #johnlock

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guerillas-of-history · 7 months ago

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🚨🇾🇪 BREAKING - Yemeni Armed Forces:🚨 For the 35th week, dear Yemen comes out in its million man march in Sana'a and everywhere across the country as all criminal bombings, threats, and CIA cells fail to deter the people and their resistance from unparalleled support for Gaza.

This week's slogan: "Steadfast with Gaza.. and Confronting All Conspiracies."

While all eyes turn to the Sabeen square in Sana'a (media 1 and 2), massive marches took places in dozens of cities and governorates including Hodeidah, Thamar, Hujja, Al-Jawf, Taiz, Raymah, Amran, Ibb, Mahwit, Ma'rib, Lahj, Dalea, Bayda, Sa'ada, and many more.

Children and adults come to reaffirm their stance. All chanted:

"O Gaza! O Palestine! With you are all Yemenis! You are not alone!"

"O Arab and Muslims! your stance is shameful and offensive! Rise up for Palestine!"

"Honor, honor to Allah! and to the men of Islam in Gaza!"

"A thousands salute to Hezbollah who shook the earth [beneath] the enemies of Allah!"

"A salute of honor and esteem for the heroes of the heroic security personnel!"

The statement of the marches started by commending the level of coordination and unity among the Palestinian factions in Gaza compared to the disparities and resignations within the zionist entity, highlighting its failure.

They saluted the unique and escalating operations of the support fronts in Lebanon and Iraq, and the significant and pressing operations carried out by the Yemeni Armed Forces.

"We tell the 'israeli' enemy that you are doomed to vanish, and your reliance on American and Western promises and support is futile, as America could not even protect itself," affirmed the people.

They condemned the American and British aggressions against Yemen the latest being the targeting of civilian sites in Raymah governorate, resulting in two martyrs and nine injured, and assured the normalizing Arab and Islamic regimes, that it is a betrayal of Islamic values to watch the Palestinian people starve to death while they stand by.

They considered the dismantling of the espionage network a strategic achievement of the September 21 Revolution and affirmed the continuation of activities, events, marches, official and popular mobilization, and economic boycott of the enemies.

#yemen armed forces #houthis #ansarallah #yemen #guerilla #resistance #photography #video #solidarity #resistance news network #telegram

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octuscle · 1 year ago

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Dear Support-Team,

I just downloaded the App for my mobile but I guess I'm too overwhelmed with all these settings. Thats whyy I am asking you for help.

I'm 25 years old, german. Just finished university and now I'm working a boring job, but at least good income.

Sometimes I see old classmates (the cool kids, most of them are Moslem and with Arabian (?) family backgrounds) on Instagram and I wonder: where would I be today if these People where my friends at school and today...

I don't know how to program the app to find out. Hopefully you can help.

Thanks a lot!

What a cool car! Your father-in-law was really generous. But when you marry his son tonight, when your new brothers and cousins block the inner-city ring road of Dortmund honking their horns, when you dance in the streets and shoot your guns in the air, then everyone should also see that someone is getting married here who made it. An alpha Arab. And you, his German husband.

Damn, you wouldn't have thought that twelve years ago. You were only 13 years old. And a car fanatic. But your father was unemployed and your mother had to work as a cleaning lady. In life, you would never be able to afford one of the cars that stood at the luxury car dealer in the industrial park. That's where the soccer stars of Borussia Dortmund bought their cars. And other people you didn't even want to know where they got their money from. You always stood in front of the shop windows with wide eyes. And then you took heart and asked if you could have a student job. To be allowed to be close to the wonderful cars. And then you started vacuuming floor mats, polishing rims, cleaning air vents with a toothbrush. Always on time, always hardworking, always thorough. The boss's eldest son quickly noticed this, and as a result he gave you more and more errands to run. And more and more responsible tasks.

You must have been about 16 years old, you had just finished secondary school and changed to high school when the Aouns invited you home for the first time. And that's when you saw Chafik for the first time. A cool man. Well built, well dressed, disarming smile. It was probably love at first sight. Even if you had to keep your love a secret for a long time. But in the years that followed, you earned the unreserved trust of the Aouns. At the latest, when your mother died of breast cancer and your father later of his alcohol consumption, you were the sixth son here. And at some point it was clear that there was more than brotherly love between you and Chafik. Mr. Aouns was furious. But at some point he accepted that he could not imagine a better son-in-law than you.

After graduating from high school with honors, you joined the family business and took over the fitness center division. And you made the business flourish. In the meantime, more pharmaceuticals were sold in your gyms than in the pharmacy of the nearest university hospital. And you were always clean. Even if you didn't convert to Islam, you didn't drink alcohol. Of course you would have liked to decorate your muscles with tattoos. But that would not have been godly. At some point, you fit perfectly into the clan. As one of the area leaders. You were only always the only one without a beard and with a smooth chest.

You turn into the underground car park of your mansion at the Phoenixsee. Now you have to hurry. In an hour you will marry Chafik dressed in a suit. Then suddenly you are Christian Aoun. Although no one calls you Christian anymore anyway. Because of your radiant smile, you're just Bassem to everyone here!

Thank you, @jacobadler2 for the perfectly fitting picture!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #male transformation #tank top #muscle transformation

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merakiui · 10 months ago

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not the same anon but i would actually love to know more about you :) like what your hobbies outside of writing are, what type of music you listen to, if you're a gamer since you play twst and genshin, etc

AAAA thank you so much!!! (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) I'm honored you want to know more. 💖

I have lots of hobbies outside of writing, but I'm most passionate about fashion/makeup, thrifting, reading, exercise, gardening, photography, researching and learning new things, watching anime, collecting keychains and strange plushies!!!! Sometimes I draw. I'd like to get back into sewing and crocheting!! It's been some time, but I used to make pillows and blankets for my plushies when I was younger.

As for music,,,,,, it's a lot of genres. I like to listen to all kinds of music because the variety is exciting and you can never get tired of it when there are so many styles! My latest song obsession has been the extended version of Dance With Me by Sir, Please. It's become my unofficial "wake up in the morning with a dance while I brew tea" song. It's just,,,,, SO GOOD. OTL I want to write a fic based on it with either Cater or Floyd because it reminds me of them hehe.

I'm not Idia-level gamer,,,,, ;;;; I truly wish I was, but I can't afford a fancy gaming set-up. >_< I have my tablet for mobile games and a nintendo switch for other games. I hope to buy Cupid Parasite at some point and play it once I finish my semester. :D

#chit chat #about meraki

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thecatholicbozo · 3 months ago

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Plea for Aid to Western North Carolina

"But God has so composed the body, giving greater honor to the part that lacked it, 25 that there may be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another. 26 If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together." 1 Corinthians 12:25-26

Please give whatever support you can to the relief efforts from Hurricane Helene. Western North Carolina depends on the Body of Christ right now

Many of you may not be aware that this is a region that struggles tremendously with poverty even in the best of times. Many of my neighbors & fellow parishioners rely on welfare, government assistance, & charity programs. Many others live paycheck-to-paycheck. These people do not have savings, retirement accounts, or emergency funds that they can draw from. They need help. Western North Carolina needs the Body of Christ right now

I don't know the latest death toll - yesterday in Buncombe County (Asheville) it was 30, other counties have been slow to report the deaths until they can find family members to inform first. Houses have been swept away on the water. Bridges have collapsed & roads are washed out - some of these are the only entrance & exit to people who are now stranded without food, water, and medicine. Businesses have been leveled, and some of the ones still standing have been looted. Many people are still without water & power, including some of my coworkers. Many folks will now be jobless due to businesses being destroyed. Western North Carolina needs the Body of Christ to send help.

Please send whatever aid you can through reputable organizations like the Red Cross. Lives are at stake & the wellbeing of the survivors depends on you, my brothers & sisters in Christ.

It's inspiring to hear the entire continent mobilizing to save my neighbors in danger. But once everyone has been saved, there will be a lot of rebuilding to do before things feel back to normal. I was able to get out of my driveway for the first time since Friday, and it just felt surreal. I don't really know how else to describe it.

Please share this sentiment & charity opportunities as much as you can. And if you have friends & loved ones in the area, please reach out to them. They may not have cell or internet reception yet, but I can guarantee they will greatly appreciate it. Western North Carolina needs the Body of Christ - for relief, for prayers, & for comfort.

I'm grateful to God for keeping my friends & family safe throughout all this. I'm grateful for all of the prayers & support y'all have sent already. I'm grateful for all of the emergency crews & responders from across the country who have been working 24/7 to restore infrastructure & help people in peril.

I'm especially grateful to the iHeartRadio crew who has been broadcasting updates from local callers & government officials every day - from safety alerts to resources available to just giving people a voice & for giving us a voice to keep us company. It was a very lonely weekend - I did not know when power was going to be back, and kept my phone off to save battery basically from Friday evening until this morning. The only time I turned it on was to update my parents that I was okay, and then I turned it back off. The only other contact I had with the outside world was through the iHeartRadio broadcast, and honestly it makes me break down in tears thinking about how much their show helped me to not feel alone & to feel hopeful. They're good people.

I'm sorry if this is the billionth post like this y'all have seen this week, but I just needed to dump this out there. It's been a scary weekend, and all things considered I haven't really been in any serious danger. I can't imagine what the folks in the mountain are going through right now. But they need you, the Body of Christ.

"Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world." James 1:27

#western north carolina #hurricane helene #tropical storm helene #helene #christian #christianity #catholic #catholicism #north carolina

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indiankartind · 1 month ago

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thezombieprostitute · 1 year ago

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Bets

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty Bingo card, combining "Nursed back to health" and "Lost a bet". Reader is implied fem (”Doll”) but no other descriptors. Warnings: Mentions of wounds, bruising. Other than that, I don’t think this has any, but please let me know if I missed them.

A/N2: I've written this whole thing as a dialogue because 1) it's what I've got the most experience with. 2) I'm tired of looking up all the different ways of saying "said". 3) It just kinda worked for this story.

Y/N *walks in and sees Bucky bandaging up Jake*: What the hell happened?!:

Jake: So…

Bucky: Well…

*Y/N crosses arms and taps foot*

Jake: It was all Sam’s fault!

Y/N: Sam did this to you?

Bucky: Sort of. He made us a bet.

Y/N *facepalms*: What have I said about bets?

Bucky: You don’t understand Doll, it was also a matter of honor.

Jake: Yes, exactly! It wasn’t just a bet, it was an issue of honor! I swear!

Y/N: It was still a bet and you both know you’re not allowed to do those because you keep doubling down until someone ends up hurt! And sometimes even beyond that to where we have to go to the ER!

Bucky: Look, Sam needed help with his new drone and we had to prove we could damage the thing physically *points to himself* or electronically *points to Jake*. We’re not gonna let ourselves be dishonored by that bird brain and his toys.

*Jake nods in agreement*

Y/N: Let me guess, you were betting on who could take the thing down first?

Jake: No…not exactly.

Bucky: We just needed to damage it, not take it down.

Jake: Unfortunately Sam’s latest software is tough to crack. I actually had to focus to hack it!

Bucky: And that may have made him too distracted to notice when I hit the thing with my arm and broke off some shrapnel which lodged itself into his leg.

Jake: Which, by the way, was mere milliseconds after I’d finally hacked the software! Wilson didn’t beat us and now he owes us both $5.

Y/N: FIVE DOLLARS?! You put yourselves at risk for just FIVE DOLLARS?!

Jake: It wasn’t supposed to be a risk…

Y/N: This. THIS is why I’ve banned you two from making bets!

Bucky: Technically we didn’t make the bet, Sam did. We just took the bet.

Jake: Yeah, this is all Sam’s fault. He knows we can’t resist a bet so he set us up for this.

Y/N: And where is he? Why isn’t he helping patch up Jake?

Bucky *chuckles*: He’s busy picking up the pieces of Red Wing.

Jake: Yeah, that virus I uploaded to Red Wing made it self-destruct! It was an awesome explosion!

Y/N: It exploded?!

Bucky: And that’s when I threw myself in front of Jake to take the bulk of the damage. Most of it is already healed up.

Y/N: You got hurt too?

Bucky: What? I’ve had worse. Mostly just bruising now.

*Bucky removes shirt, showing Y/N the bruises and cuts on his back*

Y/N: That doesn’t make any of this okay! As soon as you’re done patching up Jake you’re both grounded or something. No bets! No explosions! Nothing but rest until Jake’s back to full health and mobility!

Bucky & Jake *grumbling*: Yes, Y/N.

Y/N: Now I’m gonna go find Sam and kick his ass for goading you two into this.

*Y/N leaves*

Jake *whispering*: Thank god Y/N doesn’t know about the noodle incident.

*Bucky nods and carries on patching up Jake*

#bucky barnes x reader #jake jensen x reader #bucky barnes fluff #jake jensen fluff #navy and roo's sleepover

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eddie-redmayne-italian-blog · 9 months ago

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‘Cabaret’ Review: What Good Is Screaming Alone in Your Room?

Eddie Redmayne and Gayle Rankin star in a buzzy Broadway revival that rips the skin off the 1966 musical.

Eddie Redmayne, center, as the Emcee in Rebecca Frecknall’s revival of “Cabaret” at the August Wilson Theater in Manhattan.Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Time

By Jesse Green April 21, 2024

Just east of its marquee, the August Wilson Theater abuts an alley you probably didn’t notice when last you were there, perhaps to see “Funny Girl,” its previous tenant. Why would you? Where the trash goes is not usually part of the Broadway experience.

But it is for the latest revival of “Cabaret,” which opened at the Wilson on Sunday. Audience members are herded into that alley, past the garbage, down some halls, up some stairs and through a fringed curtain to a dimly lit lounge. (There’s a separate entrance for those with mobility issues.) Along the way, greeters offer free shots of cherry schnapps that taste, I’m reliably told, like cough syrup cut with paint thinner.

Too often I thought the same of the show itself.

But the show comes later. First, starting 75 minutes beforehand, you can experience the ambience of the various bars that constitute the so-called Kit Kat Club, branded in honor of the fictional Berlin cabaret where much of the musical takes place. Also meant to get you in the mood for a story set mostly in 1930, on the edge of economic and spiritual disaster, are some moody George Grosz-like paintings commissioned from Jonathan Lyndon Chase. (One is called “Dancing, Holiday Before Doom.”) The $9 thimbleful of potato chips is presumably a nod to the period’s hyperinflation.

This all seemed like throat clearing to me, as did the complete reconfiguration of the auditorium itself, which is now arranged like a large supper club or a small stadium. (The scenic, costume and theater design are the jaw-dropping work of Tom Scutt.) The only relevant purpose I can see for this conceptual doodling, however well carried out, is to give the fifth Broadway incarnation of the 1966 show a distinctive profile. It certainly does that.

The problem for me is that “Cabaret” has a distinctive profile already. The extreme one offered here frequently defaces it.

Let me quickly add that Rebecca Frecknall’s production, first seen in London, has many fine and entertaining moments. Some feature its West End star Eddie Redmayne, as the macabre emcee of the Kit Kat Club (and quite likely your nightmares). Some come from its new New York cast, including Gayle Rankin (as the decadent would-be chanteuse Sally Bowles) and Bebe Neuwirth and Steven Skybell (dignified and wrenching as an older couple). Others arise from Frecknall’s staging itself, which is spectacular when in additive mode, illuminating the classic score by John Kander and Fred Ebb, and the amazingly sturdy book by Joe Masteroff.

In this production, Gayle Rankin’s Sally Bowles is meant to be taken medicinally and poisonously, projecting instead of concealing her character’s turmoil, our critic writes.Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

But too often a misguided attempt to resuscitate the show breaks its ribs.

The conception of Sally is especially alarming. As written — and as introduced in the play and stories the musical is based on — she is a creature of blithe insouciance if not talent, an English good-time gal flitting from brute to brute in Berlin while hoping to become a star. Her first number, “Don’t Tell Mama,” is a lively Charleston with winking lyrics (“You can tell my brother, that ain’t grim/Cause if he squeals on me I’ll squeal on him”) that make the Kit Kat Club audience, and the Broadway one too, complicit in her naughtiness.

Instead, Frecknall gives us a Sally made up to look like she’s recently been assaulted or released from an asylum, who dances like a wounded bird, stretches each syllable to the breaking point and shrieks the song instead of singing it. (Goodbye, Charleston; hello, dirge.) If Rankin doesn’t sound good in the number, nor later in “Mein Herr,” interpolated from the 1972 film, she’s not trying to. Like the cough syrup-paint thinner concoction, she’s meant to be taken medicinally and poisonously in this production, projecting instead of concealing Sally’s turmoil.

That’s inside-out. The point of Sally, and of “Cabaret” more generally, is to dramatize the danger of disengagement from reality, not to fetishize it.

The guts-first problem also distorts Redmayne’s Emcee, but at least that character was always intended as allegorical. He is the host to anything, the amoral shape-shifter, becoming whatever he must to get by. Here, he begins as a kind of marionette in a leather skirt and tiny party hat, hiccupping his way through “Willkommen.” Later he effectively incarnates himself as a creepy clown, an undead skeleton, Sally’s twin and a glossy Nazi.

Having seen Frecknall’s riveting production of “Sanctuary City,” a play about undocumented immigrants by Martyna Majok, I’m not surprised that her “Cabaret” finds a surer footing in the “book” scenes. These are the ones that take place in the real Berlin, not the metaphorical one of the Kit Kat Club. She is extraordinarily good when she starts with the naturalistic surface of behavior, letting the mise en scène and the lighting (excellent, by Isabella Byrd) suggest the rest.

And naturalism is what you find at the boardinghouse run by Fräulein Schneider (Neuwirth), a woman who has learned to keep her nose down to keep safe. Her tenants include a Jewish fruiterer, Herr Schultz (Skybell); a prostitute, Fräulein Kost (Natascia Diaz); and Clifford Bradshaw (Ato Blankson-Wood), an American writer come to Berlin in search of inspiration. Soon Sally shows up to provide it, having talked her way into Cliff’s life and bed despite being little more than a stranger. Also, despite Cliff’s romantic ambivalence; over the years, the character has had his sexuality revamped more times than a clownfish.

The Schneider-Shultz romance is sweet and sad; neither character is called upon to shriek. And Rankin excels in Sally’s scenes with Cliff, her wry, frank and hopeful personality back in place. The songs that emerge from the boardinghouse dramas are not ransacked as psychiatric case studies but are rather given room to let comment proceed naturally from real entertainment. Rankin’s “Maybe This Time,” with no slathered-on histrionics, is riveting. It turns out she can properly sing.

The interface between the naturalism and the expressionism does make for some weird moments: Herr Schultz, courtly in a topcoat, must hug Sally goodbye in her bra. But letting the styles mix also brings out the production’s most haunting imagery. The intrusion of the Nazi threat into the story is especially well handled: first a gorgeously sung and thus chilling version of “Tomorrow Belongs to Me,” then the swastika and then — well, I don’t want to give away how Frecknall stages the scene in which Schultz’s fruit shop is vandalized.

That so many of these moments arise from faithful attention to the original material should be no surprise. “Cabaret” hasn’t lasted this long for nothing. Created at the tail end of Broadway’s Golden Age, it benefited from the tradition of meticulous craftsmanship that preceded it while anticipating the era of conceptual stagings that followed.

All this is baked into the book, and especially the score, which I trust I admire not merely because I worked on a Kander and Ebb show 40 years ago. That the lyrics rhyme perfectly is a given with Ebb; more important, they are always the right words to rhyme. (Listen, in the title song, for the widely spaced triplet of “room,” “broom” and, uh-oh, “tomb.”) And Kander’s music, remixing period jazz, Kurt Weill and Broadway exuberance, never oversteps the milieu or outpaces the characters even as it pushes them toward their full and sometimes manic expression.

When this new “Cabaret” follows that template, it achieves more than the buzz of chic architecture and louche dancing. (The choreography is by Julia Cheng.) Seducing us and then repelling us — in that order — it dramatizes why we flock to such things in the first place, whether at the Kit Kat Club or the August Wilson Theater. We hope, at our risk, to forget that, outside, “life is disappointing,” as the Emcee tells us. We want to unsee the trash.

Cabaret At the August Wilson Theater, Manhattan; kitkat.club. Running time: 2 hours 45 minutes, with an optional preshow.

Jesse Green is the chief theater critic for The Times. He writes reviews of Broadway, Off Broadway, Off Off Broadway, regional and sometimes international productions. More about Jesse Green

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/21/theater/cabaret-review-eddie-redmayne.html

#eddie redmayne #cabaret #cabaret nyc #review new york times #broadway #eddie redmayne cabaret #cabaret nwe production #august wilson #theatre #cabaret 2024 #musical #cabaret musical

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ipicnowmobiles · 2 years ago

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Table of Specifications: Honor Magic5 Pro

#latest mobiles #mobilesecurity #mobilestand #nokia #reviews #mobile phones #mobile software #mobileshopping #pros #cons #review #honor #magic

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zexalisliving · 19 days ago

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@darlingasta-not and @pileofrocksjh, chapter 4 of Bonds Beyond Time Again is out, after much delay. and also some news under the cut as well.

I'm officially on ao3 if you want to check my works on there. Every finished work I currently have I uploaded there. As well as this story and it's new chapter!

So without further ado, I present Chapter 4

"Oh, no!" Yuma cried, hopping out of his hammock in a rush.

"What is the matter, Yuma?" Astral questioned as Yuma got his jacket on.

"I'm gonna' be late for the annual Zexal-fest!" Yuma replied as he darted towards the door.

Astral chuckled as he followed the boy down the stairs. "Ah, yes. The Zexal-fest. It is one of my favorite times of the year,"

Yuma picked up a fresh rice ball off the table and hurried out the door. "Yeah, one of mine too."

Halfway to school, Yuma was greeted by Bronk. "Hey, Yuma! On your way to Zexal-fest?"

"Yup! Me and Astral are really piped up for it! Shark, Ray, and even Kite will be there!" Yuma said.

As usual, he raced Bronk all the way to Heartland Academy.

After his classes, which were shorter than usual because of the day's festivities, Yuma started towards the entrance of Heartland Academy.

"Yuma? I have noticed that you didn't bring an issue of... um... 'Astral Is What?' with you today." Astral pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. What about it?"

"You don't typically leave your house without what you call a 'good read'. Are you feeling well?"

"Yup. I have my reasons, Astral. You'll see."

Yuma arrived at the courtyard, where the Zexal-fest was being held, shortly after his short conversation with Astral.

There was a poster hung up on the first stand there, which had a link to see what the festival was about, since D-pads were also mobile devices of sorts.

In short, since the power of Zexal saved the world on a number of occasions, the head of Heartland Academy, together with Dr. Faker, created the Zexal-fest in honor of it and those who used it.

Yuma took a long look at all the stands and lights and people having a good time. "I... I just love the Zexal-fest, Astral!" he said, his eyes glistening with happiness.

He made his way to the center of the well-lit area to the stand labeled 'Latest and Trendiest Stories of Keys!', which wasn't named very accurately, when Tori ran up to him and Astral.

"Hey Yuma! Can you and me... uh... well... go on a --"

"Nope!" Yuma interrupted her as he browsed the latest graphic novels labeled 'L, MP and KS', which were some of his favorite genres.

"B-but w-why?" Tori asked in tears.

Yuma turned around, holding a new find called 'Steamy Nights of Heartland'. "Because," he began, looking straight into Tori's orange eyes.

"I've already got a date with Anna tonight."

Tori just stood there for a second before she managed to process the information. But when she did, she placed her wrist to her forehead and fell back dramatically with an "Ugh!"

Astral watched as the girl thrashed her head left and right repeatedly, crying loudly.

"Observation No. 34," he began. "Some human females will lose their balance and fall backwards if they are rejected by the human male they have interest in."

“C’mon, Tor-Tor. You’re fine. Anna can tell you all about it when we get back from– guess what— Cafe La Geen!” Yuma said.

Tori, who had just steadied herself back on her feet, fell back again, this time wailing.

Yuma walked around her and Astral stared at her as they both left for another book stand.

“Yuma, there is something I don’t quite understand,” Astral told him.

“What is it?” Yuma asked as they came to a stop in front of a different stand called ‘Doujinzo’, which sold discounted Doujinshi.

“I have asked you before, but your answers left more questions than they answered.” Astral took a deep breath. “How come you like these… well… whatever you like to call them? They are really quite odd,”

Yuma picked up a book called ‘How To Play the Pocky Game?!’. “Hmm, looks good enough… oh–! Uh, what did you say?”

Astral shook his head and closed his eyes. “Just… nevermind, Yuma. It is nothing.”

Yuma put the book with the others in his messenger bag that he brought along with him. Then he placed a hand on his growling stomach.

“Astral, do you know where I can get some food? I’m starving!”

Astral sighed. “We passed several food vendors while you were browsing for your interesting choice of entertainment. And anyways, didn’t your grandmother pack you some Duel Fuel?”

“No. She had to go out to get groceries, so she left it to me, and I… uh… sorta forgot.” Yuma scratched the back of his head.

Yuma picked up a snack at a nearby food stand and continued the conversion he had started with Astral.

“Oh, yeah. That hit the spot. So like I was saying, do you know my secret for finding good books?”

Astral sighed. “What?”

“You sneak it to the back of the store and read it, and if you like it, you can buy it, cuz you already know how the story goes! That way, you don’t spend your money on trash!” Yuma gave the spirit a thumbs up as he winked.

“That is against the store rules, Yuma.” Astral pointed out.

“Rules, schmooles. You know the ancient saying: It’s not against the rules if you don’t get caught!”

Astral blinked a couple of times. “I don’t believe that is correct.”

“Well you're not the one who’s been around for 15 years!” Yuma closed his eyes and crossed his arms.

“You’re right. I have been alive for eons.”

Astral had departed from Earth after their battle a few weeks before August 16th, Yuma’s 14th birthday. During his time in Astral world, with the power of the Numeron Code, the Barians became humans and began attending Heartland Academy.

Astral returned to Earth not long after he, Yuma and the others took care of the problem in Astral World, just in time for Yuma’s 15th birthday.

It has been nearly 5 months since, and no new forces have threatened the Yugi-verse.

Well, until very recently.

“So, Yuma, what is a ‘trash book’ to you?” Astral asked.

“Mm, trying to change subjects, huh?” Yuma raised an accusatory eyebrow.

“Well, it just crossed my mind while you were telling me about your ‘secret to finding good books’. Nothing more.”

“Mm-hm… well, there has never been a ‘trash’ book that I’ve read. Just one chapter with one plot point that was trash-like.” Yuma held a finger up.

“It being…?” Astral motioned for the boy to continue.

“The Power of Love, chapter 8. You see, I had bought chapter 1 thinking, ‘man, this is really good!’ and it was, so a week later and I’m in the attic reading chapter 8 and BOOM! The plot-point disaster!” Yuma cried.

“What is this…’plot point disaster’?”

“I died! D-I-E-D! I was dead! How could a fanfriction writer do that to me?!... and I was like…”

Astral began to tune him out. ‘He still says ‘friction’ instead of ‘fiction’...’ It annoyed him a bit.

“And I began to think, ‘what if this is the end? Maybe I’ll be dead forever!’ and so I made my way to Kalin’s bookstore in a hurry, but arrived there half a minute past 8:00, the closing time. I fell to my knees and banged on the door over and over, begging Kalin to let me in and buy one more thing, and do you know what he did? He was standing at the door, looking down at me with judgement as he shook his head slowly, left…right… it was the most traumatizing thing that ever happened before my very eyes!”

Astral blinked slowly, his expression changing from done to confused. Yuma had definitely been through more traumatic situations.

“So I went back home, tears still dripping from my innocent eyes, and went to bed early, trying to forget the harsh day life gave me, and in the morning, it was all fine. I bought chapter 9 and it turns out Hope revives me in the end. I didn’t die forever.” Yuma closed his eyes and nodded with a smile on his face.

Astral sighed. “You have got to quit indulging in these books. They are not good for your health, Yuma.”

“Great. Now you’re starting to sound like Kalin.” Yuma said, waved him off as he continued to the next stand. “Ooh! Novelty bookmarks!” he exclaimed as he stopped in front of it.

There was a man standing behind it, dressed in a rather suspicious black trenchcoat and black cap that covered his face.

“How much are these?” Yuma asked.

The man chuckled creepily. He sounded strangely familiar.

But when the man lifted his head, Yuma knew exactly who it was.

“Black Mist!” Yuma gasped.

“You’re right. It’s me,” Dark Mist said. “But ‘Black Mist’ is too formal. Call me Dark Mist.”

“Oh, sorry. I’ve read one too many fan books.”

“Why are you here?” Astral asked.

“Nothing, nothing. I just wanted to… get into business, is all.”

Astral narrowed his eyes at him.

“So, what’s the price on these?” Yuma asked.

“Because you’re such a lovely customer, I’ll give you 50% off. You can just give me 5 pieces of your strange human currency.” Dark Mist replied.

Yuma’s eyes shone brightly. “Only…5… D-dollars?”

“Yes.”

Yuma dug around in his pocket and handed a crinkly 5 dollar bill with Lazar’s face on it to him.

“Thank you, Yuma. Now run along. I don’t have all day!” Dark Mist shooed him away.

Astral glared at Dark Mist as they continued down the rows of stands. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that he was up to something that wasn’t just about money.

“This is amazing! Now I don’t have to mark my pages with a picture of Anna, cuz now I can use this!” Yuma held the bookmark with a picture of Utopia on it to the sky.

But he lowered it when he saw something. Or someone.

“Shark? Why are you here?” he asked, as this was the Doujinshi section.

Shark had been reading a book called Fishy, Fishy, Fishy, Come Swim In My Sea before cramming the book into his jacket when he saw Yuma approaching. ‘Act normal. Nothing happened,’ he told himself.

“Oh, Yuma, it’s a good thing you’re here.” he said.

“Why’s that?” Yuma asked. Shark almost never acted like this.

“Rio told me about something. Something strange.”

–Flashback–

“Thanks, Reggie! I haven’t been here since we were little!”

Both Rio and Shark were at the entrance of the Domino City Aquarium, one of their favorite places to go when they were younger.

“Rio, call me Reginald or Shark. Ryouga will do as well, but please stop with the “Reggie” thing, okay?”

“Okay, Reggie.”

The two siblings entered the aquarium.

“So, Rio, where do you want to go first?” Shark asked.

No response.

“Rio?... Rio, are you okay?”

Still no response.

Shark stepped in front of his sister, just to see her usually happy face blank and emotionless. “Rio, what’s going on?” he asked.

“T-there’s danger. Horrible danger. The darkness is coming. The darkness that lies in the b-books.” was all that Rio said before she collapsed.

Shark caught her and began shaking her gently. “Rio, wake up! Talk to me, Rio! RIO!!”

–End of Flashback–

“That is strange.” Yuma said as he scratched his chin, mimicking exactly what Astral was doing. “But what does it mean?”

“I think it has something to do with the books you read and…that guy.” Shark said, pointing to Dark Mist, who was still at his stand, selling bookmarks to a kid who was giving him his entire allowance.

Yuma gasped. “Astral! Do you know what this means?”

“What, Yuma? Tell me.” Astral urged.

“We’re in trouble–Black Trouble!”

--------

The reason I find the ending so funny is that there's a real book called Black Trouble, where No. 96 s up to his usual no good self, (i don't want to give it all away) so Yuma quotes the name because he's read it and it's actually close to something he's said in the dub before.

Also, Fishy fishy fishy come swim in my sea and The power of love are also real books. One's an obvious sharkbaitshipping one, and the other is a keyshipping one. So is How to play the pocky game?!

And Steamy Nights of Heartland is a tv show that I made into a book that originated in a bizarre mpreg story I wrote a long time ago.

#yugioh #yugioh zexal #stuff #bonds beyond time again #yuma tsukumo #astral #shark

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