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astralix · 7 months ago

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Act 018 Falling Stars

Pretty Guardian ✶ Sailor Moon

Characters: Original Characters, Canon characters-Mentioned Rating: Teen, Older Teen Genre: Angst, Action, Fantasy (Magical Girl) Song: “Sonne” Rammstein

Disclaimer: I do not own Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon. I only own my version of the Zodiac Senshi, Phoenix, Andromeda and Ophiuchus.

✦✶✦

(One) Here comes the Sun (Two) Here comes the Sun (Three) It is the brightest star of them all. (Four) Here comes the Sun. (Five) Here comes the Sun. (Six) Here comes the Sun. (Seven) It is the brightest star of them all. (Eight)(Nine) Here comes the Sun.

✦✶✦

“We believe in you, always,” she could practically see a phantom figure of Sailor Pisces, or Maiko Enkai, smiling at her. Her twin sister was likely nearby, but Mei could never hear or see her until today as she saw the phantoms. Both had identical, light blue hair and matching blue-green eyes. She saw the place where Mai had died. Tears pricked her eyes cause she could see the water still imprisoning her enemy and herself in a waterspout. She could still see it in the distance as she turned her head to look over her shoulder.

Next was the phantom figure of Sailor Aquarius, or Izumi Hoshino, with a stern look on her face. She narrowed her indigo eyes and regarded the pig-tailed Phoenix Senshi with scathing glare. “You better not lose. For once I’m betting on you,” she said. Mei knew better than to pierce through the tough exterior of the teal-haired Senshi. Mei continued with a smile on her face, but other than this phantasmal figure there was little to no trace left of the Senshi.

“Don’t worry, she’s more than betting on you,” Sailor Scorpio’s voice piped up. The dark-red haired Senshi gave Mei a grin. “Go get them.” Sasori Kishi was a dear friend to her, once one gets past the delinquent exterior. She had quit smoking too just so she could confess to the Aquarius Senshi. It was sad, Sasori would never be able to go on a date with Izumi. All because of Mei. Mei acknowledged the lack of a trace left from the Scorpio Senshi. She wondered if they both died together.

Mei continued to walk.

“We will never let you down, so don’t ever go back on your word,” Sailor Sagittarius’s voice was heard as another stern Senshi crossed her arms over her chest. The blonde priestess pointed at Mei’s forehead. A wave of unease overcame Mei before purple sparkles eased her fears and a calm blossomed within Mei’s chest. It was scary how the Shinto-priest-in-training knew Mei was scared. Mei wanted to ask where she died, but no words entered her lips. Instead, she was troubled by the lack of presence of the Sagittarius Senshi. She had been accompanied by Sailor Leo.

“It’s a shame we’ll never play together again on the same stage,” Sailor Leo grieved. Mei teared up at her supposed body double. Hikaru Tategami was another good friend of hers. They both enjoyed music and Hikaru even got to play a violin solo during one of Mei’s songs. Both of them ruled the stage and at the same time both Hikaru and Mei were happy their collaboration worked out. They were excited about future collaborations, but that will never happen again. Mei was troubled by the lack of presence of Leo Senshi. She had accompanied Sailor Sagittarius in death. “Chin up, Mei-chan. Don’t cry. We’re always here for you.”

Mei sobbed as she continued her walk. The spirits of the Senshi summoned a shield as the enemy sent their strongest attacks at their Empress. Mei thought to look over her shoulder, but Aquarius shouted to her not to and to continue her journey. Even in death they were always protecting her. Mei felt so pathetic and useless, but she forced herself to continue no matter the pain. The stars have fallen for Mei, but even if there was simply darkness, she still had to shine a ray of hope.

“Even if you’re cast in darkness, you still need to be the light of hope,” said a familiar voice. Mei had to look around to see Madoka Sabik or Sailor Ophiuchus looking at her with a small smile. “You must not give up, Sailor Phoenix. You are our sun. Bring the dawn.” Mei could not help but smile as well. “Never regret your time before, there’s always tomorrow.” Mei balled her gloved hands into fists. She started to walk with confidence, after thanking Sailor Ophiuchus for everything. Ophiuchus pointed to Mei’s hand and her Caduceus disappeared and reappeared in Mei’s hand. Eyes widened, but she understood. Ophiuchus had always wanted her to use the Caduceus in conjunction with Mei’s power to vanquish the darkness.

Mei kept walking, holding the Caduceus in both hands as she looked over at Sailor Libra or Yuuga Fujiwara. Mei tried to understand the Libra Senshi, but it seemed Yuuga was in another world. She wondered if there were any words Yuuga could tell her. “Justice won’t act on its own, you are needed,” Yuuga said cryptically. “I better not have sacrificed myself in vain, Phoenix.” Mei nodded. She looked at the Caduceus Staff in her hands.

“You haven’t,” Mei said with a small smile. It earned her a rare smile from the Libra Senshi. She continued onward.

“Our wishes for peace are with you,” Sailor Virgo spoke up and smiled at Sailor Phoenix. Sailor Phoenix smiled back. The phantom outstretched her hand and bound an enemy with a briarwood vine. The thorns cut into him. Mei wanted to cry again because Virgo had used her own flowers on herself to kill the enemy’s henchman. It was far in the distance, but she knew where Virgo’s body rested. She wished she did not have to go to such lengths, but Virgo, or Emiko Teien was always a fighter. Mei thanked her, and continued her journey towards her final destination.

The final five joined her around the circle. They were specters too, but she recognized each of them as Sailors Cancer, Didymos, Gemini, Taurus and Aries. Sailor Cancer brought the cold air and Sailor Phoenix could swear her tears were freezing on her eyelashes. The petite Senshi had killed another henchman while encasing herself in ice. Sailor Gemini and Didymos brought the winds, and Sailor Phoenix tried to keep from getting swept away. The Gemini Senshi sisters have died together and their bodies cast aside. Sailor Taurus brought the fresh earth smell and sweet scented flower petals. She had died while standing up to a henchman. Sailor Aries had the oddest power of them all. The power over war and brutality of war in the form of blood. She had bled out in order to defeat a henchman. All of them smiled sadly at Sailor Phoenix. Sailor Phoenix smiled at them back.

“Thank you for always protecting me,” Phoenix said, bringing her Caduceus to her forehead. “It’s time we end this, as falling stars.” She held up the Caduceus Staff and started praying. An orb of multi-colored light surrounded the group and expanded over the land.

“In exchange for my life, I pray for the dawn. Phoenix Crystal Power, make up!” Phoenix’s words rang out as the light reached all around the globe.

#angstober 2024 #angstober #angstober prompt falling stars #〖tenmei nakano〗☉☀ 『phoenix solar star ruby power make up』#〖story〗☉☀ 『writ with ashes』#character death cw #blood mention cw

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scots-gallivanter · 7 months ago

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FOUR

The moon shone broad and bright upon the placid face of the Solway Firth, and showed a slight ripple upon the stakes, the tops of which were just visible above the waves.

SIR WALTER SCOTT, Redgauntlet (1824)

THE CLOCKS WENT forward today but there’d hardly be enough blue in the world to darn a sailor’s hanky. My ears, exposed after an out-of-season haircut, are red as hen’s heads as Nikki and I take in the windswept mudflats which Robert Burns called ‘this wild place of the world’. A heron pecks patina into flotsam; tuxedoed oystercatchers hurtle along the mud with their lame men’s gaits and then moan into a monochrome sky. To hoodwink their prey, plovers tap-dance on the beach pretending to be raindrops.

Three boys in shell suits stand around an observation viewer. ‘Quality’, offers the tallest of the trio, after discovering it isn’t coin-operated. He squints through it to England. ‘What the Butler saw’, I joke, ‘That’s where Edward the First cursed us before breathing his last.’ The three boys dander off, perplexed about butlers; an oyster-catcher pipes past, and a flock of timid redshanks retreats past the Altar Stane, more often than not under water, which has bounded the burgh of Annan since 1539.

Before they moved to Lochmaben Robert the Bruce’s ancestors had a castle at Annan, and a running track and park now sit beneath its tree-colonised motte. A stone from the castle, with an inscription related to the Bruces, was somehow acquired by an Annan antiquarian, who took it with him when he moved to Devon. It was returned in 1927 and is now incorporated within the town hall. There is a story that Archbishop, later Saint, Malachy put a curse on Annan. When he had dined with Bruce at the castle, Bruce had promised to spare the life of a condemned man. However, he reneged on the deal – with the result that a vampire allegedly ran loose in the town in which Thomas Carlyle later went to school.

Chop all the wood from boats that sailed in the Solway Firth, and Bonfire Night could be celebrated the length and breadth of Scotland until they launch the first zebra into space. Horn-helmeted raiders, Roman warriors, English incursors, pirates, kings, folk heroes, brigands, smugglers, and lovers. They all came and went with swords, fire, trade, romance or murder. Hadrian put his ‘Roman wall’ up at Bowness-on-Solway on the shoulder of England, a mile from where we stand – across a wath that was used by interlopers for centuries. That wath or ford can be walked when the tide is out, but you’d better know the currents intimately or you’ll be struggling in quicksand before your brain can contemplate the meaning of M’ Aidez.

From Cumberland’s tussocks – an official Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty since 1964 –trains used to smoke their way across the sea on the longest bridge in Europe. We gaze at England from a lichened mound of concrete and mudstone with mini-ferns curling out of Scotland like croziers. Behind us the trains passed through a cutting that has doubled for decades as a way for dog walkers undeterred by the pipeline running bang down the middle, through which Chapelcross Nuclear Power Station discharged its shit into the sea.

It’s March 2023. The first sod for the Solway Viaduct from Bowness-on-Solway to Annan was cut here 158 years ago today in a ceremony that featured ‘four navvies in smock frocks, red neckcloths, and white nightcaps ...... a mahogany barrow with the silver spade on their shoulders’. A cannon was fired, prayers were said, and big wigs sat in a decorated pavilion for their déjeuner à la forchette, and much speechifying and backslapping.

The idea for a viaduct had originated in 1830 in an anonymous pamphlet but The Cumberland Pacquet and Ware’s Advertiser called it ‘sublime, utopian, stupendous and bordering on certain of the Munchausen achievements’.

It took three years to build, but in 1881 ice floes wrecked it. It was repaired but it never quite recovered and was shut down in 1921. Notices went up to keep people off the bridge; however, thirsty Scots made their way across on Sundays to take advantage of more liberal English licensing laws, and there were cross-border romances for which the viaduct wasn’t a bridge too far. It was dismantled in 1935, and the scrap was recycled for armaments in Japan for its war with China. A signal box allegedly ended up being used as a garden shed.

What remains of a rusty tanker sits deck-deep in silt now behind an old warehouse that once rung with the sound of shipbuilders’ mallets. A local group pulled it out of view in 2020 with cash collected from flogging scrap bikes and shopping trolleys. Thousands of people once thronged the pier at Annan, an important shipbuilding port, whence steamers took folk to new worlds. A wooden lighthouse stood at Barnkirk point but it burned to the shore in 1975. Today a scarfed pensioner wheezes along the quay with smoky breath; and a subdued mongrel, oblivious of history, looks just as disconsolate.

Shawhill railway station, built on the verge of Annan for the viaduct traffic, is now a scrapyard. Back on the foreshore cinder path a decapitated man stands on a plinth – a bone of contention between his maker (who welds together bits of scrap and exhibits them) and others in the community, whom he regularly lambasts on his social media page. Metal Man began life in 2009 on a roundabout at the Tesco store in town, but he was beheaded in 2019. Since then, he has had a traffic cone for a head, then a football, a parrot’s head and a pig’s head. A month ago, a prankster sawed the statue’s haaf-net and fish off. Goodness knows how he ended up on the shore here where for generations real haaf-netters have battled the currents and tides.

Old Annanites speak of haaf-netting in reverential tones: it has been pursued since Viking times and is enshrined in royal charters. A haaf-net resembles a portable football goalmouth with a rectangular frame and three legs. The top beam of the frame is 18 feet long, the length of the oar of a longboat; when a fish swims into the net the frame’s legs float to the surface and the fish is netted and clobbered on the head with a nep, a priest or a killer. Well, that is what used to happen, but legislation introduced in 2016 bans the killing of salmon, and fewer and fewer men feel like paying the near £40 annual licence fee when they cannot take a single fish home. The tradition is certain to die out.

Leistering was another unusual form of fishing practised by the men of the Solway. A leister was a four-pronged, twenty-foot-long javelin, which killed fish in huge quantities. Richard Franck, a Cromwellian trooper, was the first person to report on Scotland’s salmon-fishing. The Cambridge-educated sea captain travelled through Carlisle, Dumfries, Glasgow, Stirling, Perth, Forfar, Loch Ness; Sutherland, Caithness, Cromarty, Aberdeen, Dundee, St. Andrews, Edinburgh, and Berwick.

Franck saw the mounted men of the firth galloping along the shallows spearing salmon (Northern Memoirs, 1694). Sir Walter Scott also gave leistering a mention. In Redgauntlet, Darsie Latimer wrote to Alan Fairford, of the day he was rescued from straying into the Solway quicksands: ‘...they chased the fish at full gallop, and struck them with their barbed spears, as you see hunters spearing boars in the old tapestry. The salmon, to be sure, take the thing more quietly than the boars; but they are so swift in their own element, that to pursue and strike them is the task of a good horseman, with a quick eye, a determined hand, and full command both of his horse and weapon.’ Latimer lingered on the sands and looked to the English shore that was ‘still gilded by the sun’s last rays, and, as it seemed, scarce distant a mile from me’.

For nearly half a century Chapelcross nuclear power station was a familiar landmark outside Annan. I was one of thousands of people who watched its four chimneys being demolished in 2007. Some souls were sentimental to the point of weeping. It was, indeed, the end of an era for a business that had employed three generations and had brought prosperity to a town which, in 1727, Daniel Defoe had found to be in ‘irrevocable decay’. It was hooray for me when the towers fell, though. Goodbye, plutonium. Goodbye, tritium. There have been proposals for a wood-burning power station there, using sustainable coppiced willows, and an adjacent solar farm has been approved. It remains mothballed.

In the 1960s there had been plans for an atomic metropolis that would have spanned the firth. There would have been a circuit-linear Solway City for 50,000 people, and a new airport. Forty years later there is another proposal – to route an ‘electric bridge’ from Annan to Bowness-on-Solway using energy from the world’s third greatest tidal bore. It would create a pedestrian and cycle route between England and Scotland with the usual razzmatazz for tourists and have enough in its locker to power 60,000 homes. The decommissioning of Chapelcross won’t be complete for some 80 years. Meanwhile, Annan’s dreams of a transformed harbour, a tourist hub, were thwarted in 2023 when an application for £8 million from Michael Gove, who had the Tory government’s portfolio for the Orwellian concept of ‘levelling up’, failed.

#solway #haaf netting #annan #solway viaduct #leistering #fishing #chapelcross

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rjalker · 2 years ago

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On The River, by Guy de Maupassant

I rented a little country house last summer on the banks of the Seine, several leagues from Paris, and went out there to sleep every evening. After a few days I made the acquaintance of one of my neighbors, a man between thirty and forty, who certainly was the most curious specimen I ever met. He was an old boating man, and crazy about boating. He was always beside the water, on the water, or in the water. He must have been born in a boat, and he will certainly die in a boat at the last.

One evening as we were walking along the banks of the Seine I asked him to tell me some stories about his life on the water. The good man at once became animated, his whole expression changed, he became eloquent, almost poetical. There was in his heart one great passion, an absorbing, irresistible passion-the river.

Ah, he said to me, how many memories I have, connected with that river that you see flowing beside us! You people who live in streets know nothing about the river. But listen to a fisherman as he mentions the word. To him it is a mysterious thing, profound, unknown, a land of mirages and phantasmagoria, where one sees by night things that do not exist, hears sounds that one does not recognize, trembles without knowing why, as in passing through a cemetery—and it is, in fact, the most sinister of cemeteries, one in which one has no tomb.

The land seems limited to the river boatman, and on dark nights, when there is no moon, the river seems limitless. A sailor has not the same feeling for the sea. It is often remorseless and cruel, it is true; but it shrieks, it roars, it is honest, the great sea; while the river is silent and perfidious. It does not speak, it flows along without a sound; and this eternal motion of flowing water is more terrible to me than the high waves of the ocean.

Dreamers maintain that the sea hides in its bosom vast tracts of blue where those who are drowned roam among the big fishes, amid strange forests and crystal grottoes. The river has only black depths where one rots in the slime. It is beautiful, however, when it sparkles in the light of the rising sun and gently laps its banks covered with whispering reeds.

The poet says, speaking of the ocean, “O waves, what mournful tragedies ye know —Deep waves, the dread of kneeling mothers' hearts! Ye tell them to each other as ye roll On flowing tide, and this it is that gives The sad despairing tones unto your voice As on ye roll at eve by mounting tide.”

Well, I think that the stories whispered by the slender reeds, with their little soft voices, must be more sinister than the lugubrious tragedies told by the roaring of the waves.

But as you have asked for some of my recollections, I will tell you of a singular adventure that happened to me ten years ago.

I was living, as I am now, in Mother Lafon's house, and one of my closest friends, Louis Bernet who has now given up boating, his low shoes and his bare neck, to go into the Supreme Court, was living in the village of C., two leagues further down the river. We dined together every day, sometimes at his house, sometimes at mine.

One evening as I was coming home along and was pretty tired, rowing with difficulty my big boat, a twelve-footer, which I always took out at night, I stopped a few moments to draw breath near the reed-covered point yonder, about two hundred metres from the railway bridge.

It was a magnificent night, the moon shone brightly, the river gleamed, the air was calm and soft. This peacefulness tempted me. I thought to myself that it would be pleasant to smoke a pipe in this spot. I took up my anchor and cast it into the river.

The boat floated downstream with the current, to the end of the chain, and then stopped, and I seated myself in the stern on my sheepskin and made myself as comfortable as possible. There was not a sound to be heard, except that I occasionally thought I could perceive an almost imperceptible lapping of the water against the bank, and I noticed taller groups of reeds which assumed strange shapes and seemed, at times, to move.

The river was perfectly calm, but I felt myself affected by the unusual silence that surrounded me. All the creatures, frogs and toads, those nocturnal singers of the marsh, were silent.

Suddenly a frog croaked to my right, and close beside me. I shuddered. It ceased, and I heard nothing more, and resolved to smoke, to soothe my mind. But, although I was a noted colorer of pipes, I could not smoke; at the second draw I was nauseated, and gave up trying. I began to sing. The sound of my voice was distressing to me. So I lay still, but presently the slight motion of the boat disturbed me. It seemed to me as if she were making huge lurches, from bank to bank of the river, touching each bank alternately. Then I felt as though an invisible force, or being, were drawing her to the surface of the water and lifting her out, to let her fall again. I was tossed about as in a tempest. I heard noises around me. I sprang to my feet with a single bound. The water was glistening, all was calm.

I saw that my nerves were somewhat shaky, and I resolved to leave the spot. I pulled the anchor chain, the boat began to move; then I felt a resistance. I pulled harder, the anchor did not come up; it had caught on something at the bottom of the river and I could not raise it. I began pulling again, but all in vain. Then, with my oars, I turned the boat with its head up stream to change the position of the anchor. It was no use, it was still caught. I flew into a rage and shook the chain furiously. Nothing budged. I sat down, disheartened, and began to reflect on my situation. I could not dream of breaking this chain, or detaching it from the boat, for it was massive and was riveted at the bows to a piece of wood as thick as my arm. However, as the weather was so fine I thought that it probably would not be long before some fisherman came to my aid. My ill-luck had quieted me. I sat down and was able, at length, to smoke my pipe. I had a bottle of rum; I drank two or three glasses, and was able to laugh at the situation. It was very warm; so that, if need be, I could sleep out under the stars without any great harm.

All at once there was a little knock at the side of the boat. I gave a start, and a cold sweat broke out all over me. The noise was, doubtless, caused by some piece of wood borne along by the current, but that was enough, and I again became a prey to a strange nervous agitation. I seized the chain and tensed my muscles in a desperate effort. The anchor held firm. I sat down again, exhausted.

The river had slowly become enveloped in a thick white fog which lay close to the water, so that when I stood up I could see neither the river, nor my feet, nor my boat; but could perceive only the tops of the reeds, and farther off in the distance the plain, lying white in the moonlight, with big black patches rising up from it towards the sky, which were formed by groups of Italian poplars. I was as if buried to the waist in a cloud of cotton of singular whiteness, and all sorts of strange fancies came into my mind. I thought that someone was trying to climb into my boat which I could no longer distinguish, and that the river, hidden by the thick fog, was full of strange creatures which were swimming all around me. I felt horribly uncomfortable, my forehead felt as if it had a tight band round it, my heart beat so that it almost suffocated me, and, almost beside myself, I thought of swimming away from the place. But then, again, the very idea made me tremble with fear. I saw myself, lost, going by guesswork in this heavy fog, struggling about amid the grasses and reeds which I could not escape, my breath rattling with fear, neither seeing the bank, nor finding my boat; and it seemed as if I would feel myself dragged down by the feet to the bottom of these black waters.

In fact, as I should have had to ascend the stream at least five hundred metres before finding a spot free from grasses and rushes where I could land, there were nine chances to one that I could not find my way in the fog and that I should drown, no matter how well I could swim.

I tried to reason with myself. My will made me resolve not to be afraid, but there was something in me besides my will, and that other thing was afraid. I asked myself what there was to be afraid of. My brave “ego” ridiculed my coward “ego,” and never did I realize, as on that day, the existence in us of two rival personalities, one desiring a thing, the other resisting, and each winning the day in turn.

This stupid, inexplicable fear increased, and became terror. I remained motionless, my eyes staring, my ears on the stretch with expectation. Of what? I did not know, but it must be something terrible. I believe if it had occurred to a fish to jump out of the water, as often happens, nothing more would have been required to make me fall over, stiff and unconscious.

However, by a violent effort I succeeded in becoming almost rational again. I took up my bottle of rum and took several pulls. Then an idea came to me, and I began to shout with all my might towards all the points of the compass in succession. When my throat was absolutely paralyzed I listened. A dog was howling, at a great distance.

I drank some more rum and stretched myself out at the bottom of the boat. I remained there about an hour, perhaps two, not sleeping, my eyes wide open, with nightmares all about me. I did not dare to rise, and yet I intensely longed to do so. I delayed it from moment to moment. I said to myself: “Come, get up!” and I was afraid to move. At last I raised myself with infinite caution as though my life depended on the slightest sound that I might make; and looked over the edge of the boat. I was dazzled by the most marvellous, the most astonishing sight that it is possible to see. It was one of those phantasmagoria of fairyland, one of those sights described by travellers on their return from distant lands, whom we listen to without believing.

The fog which, two hours before, had floated on the water, had gradually cleared off and massed on the banks, leaving the river absolutely clear; while it formed on either bank an uninterrupted wall six or seven metres high, which shone in the moonlight with the dazzling brilliance of snow. One saw nothing but the river gleaming with light between these two white mountains; and high above my head sailed the great full moon, in the midst of a bluish, milky sky.

All the creatures in the water were awake. The frogs croaked furiously, while every few moments I heard, first to the right and then to the left, the abrupt, monotonous and mournful metallic note of the bullfrogs. Strange to say, I was no longer afraid. I was in the midst of such an unusual landscape that the most remarkable things would not have astonished me.

How long this lasted I do not know, for I ended by falling asleep. When I opened my eyes the moon had gone down and the sky was full of clouds. The water lapped mournfully, the wind was blowing, it was pitch dark. I drank the rest of the rum, then listened, while I trembled, to the rustling of the reeds and the foreboding sound of the river. I tried to see, but could not distinguish my boat, nor even my hands, which I held up close to my eyes.

Little by little, however, the blackness became less intense. All at once I thought I noticed a shadow gliding past, quite near me. I shouted, a voice replied; it was a fisherman. I called him; he came near and I told him of my ill-luck. He rowed his boat alongside of mine and, together, we pulled at the anchor chain. The anchor did not move. Day came, gloomy gray, rainy and cold, one of those days that bring one sorrows and misfortunes. I saw another boat. We hailed it. The man on board of her joined his efforts to ours, and gradually the anchor yielded. It rose, but slowly, slowly, loaded down by a considerable weight. At length we perceived a black mass and we drew it on board. It was the corpse of an old women with a big stone round her neck.

#long post #short stories #he did like 2 spooky / ubernatural one and then aid ok. back to normal tuff no

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chiptrillino · 2 years ago

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you summoned me to talk about jee?

I feel too self-conscious to do deep dive character analyses but based on what little we know from canon i would sum him up as: +grumpy and judging (had to work hard for the frown lines) +swallowing things that displease him down till he explodes (i mean... 2 and a half years on zukos ship, and he got in nearly handsy fights with zuko just recently and the threat of trowing zuko over board began in the storm episode. This man seems to have some patience of steal!) +compassionate looking out for other (like the crew is on his concern obviously! but also after iroh airing out zukos dirty laundry and jee maybe feeling kind of bad things got better) +very reliable (like seriously... without jee zuko and iroh would have stranded on an abandoned isle...) +artistic (-inserts image of him playing the pipa to rest my case-)

this is now dipping into me personally flashing jee out more.

i do think he judges people silently and has a thing for gossip. he doesn't partake in it or spread it but when the crew is like gossiping he is like pretending to work and all ears, on the side. also thinks his own part in his head. (and he so hates it when he catches himself being judgy at iroh not taking things serious and he has then to agree to zuko shouting his lungs out)

is very superstitious and in a way the atla equivalent religious. BUT due to him likely coming from a simple fishers' family on a remote isle and now being a sailor, i think most of his prayer are curiously towards the ocean or moon spirit and not to the sun. he is on water, you have to respect them! also who know what kind of encounters he had following zukos avatar hunting. better be safe and invest in a talisman. (just as an example... if jee were on zhaos ship when zhao just casually says "i intend to remove the moon" jee would have just punched him off the bridge. Like you don't fuck with that suff. one moment, zhao is there. the next there is a splash and jee realizes what he did. this is me wishful thinking here)

secretly a vary romantic guy. like he doesn't have his port romances. sure, he visits brothel sometimes. but private at night he wishes for someone to call his own who he can sail the world with and play his song on the pipa and just be happy. is this poor man asking to much? on this topic, sorry to any future lovers. ocean comes first human second. (does jee know more songs about the ocean or songs about love? HA, this question is a trap! because all his love songs are for the ocean! and all his ocean songs involve love)

he does not do meditation but he does.... have his ritural of chilling with some fire whiskey and a pipe to smoke and watch the sunset or the stars. or the sunrise. one of the three. better not desturbe him. he gets really grumpy when he runs out of tabacco and fire whiskey though. well in emergency he hides in his cabin and plays the pipa til he feels more aligned with his inner self. but playing pipa motivates iroh to music night and the prince than stomping and shouting no so.... jee: i can't have some fucking peace and quiet here on this ship...

also summing up. i do think he punched more his own kind rather than others. has many tattoos. secretly closed in gay. tradition is of importance. when he gets a task he commits to it and exells even though he thinks he does the bare minimum.

also he totally survived the siege in the north and is just chilling in an EK village living finally the life he deserves! oh while i have your attention here some fan fiction with him in that i really like! (i mean i am biased, maybe because one or two got written for me or inspired by me. but genuinely amazing writers, all of them!

Stones in the road - by outpastthemoat tumblr: @outpastthemoat

1000 Ballads Between Summer & Fall - Atheriz

Jee's Tea Isn't Drugged (but Zuko's is) - thispatternismine this is the Jee POV version of the fic The Taste of Tea by the same author

there are more fics where i like jee in it, but he doesn't have a huge role from the start or at lest not much focus is on him. but these are like three where i really like how the writers flashed him out! now quick someone send me an ask about chit sang so i can trow the ball back to kath!

serious question, but how would you describe jee- personality wise?

i trust u - 🍓

this is a very funny question and also one that i think.....a certain lovely mutual may be more equipped to answer....in fact i am going to volley this to @chiptrillino to see if she may be of better use here lmfao

#atla #jee #kath summoned me and i awsered #i like jee only a healthy amount i don't think about him 24/7 and try to squeeze him into every au!#even if it is just to like... uhm... not give him a good ending....#also a week passed i can yell now in this tags about WG pirate jee!!!!#NOW i know what lovleyelbowleach ment with jee and tattoos #maybe i should really clean up the sketch i have of jee't tats and post it.... but... urgh...#i want to emphasize that i like jee a normal amount!#my actual brainroot character is the blue spirit but... not zuko. the original one! absolute blue wet boy

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midnightluck · 3 years ago

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Sailor Ace strikes again! I swear I'm working on the next chapter; thank you everyone who is still waiting haha.

read this fic by @midnightluck and now I think about it everydayㅠㅠ.. 🌝🌚

#one piece #portgas d. ace #marco the pineapple #sabo #koala #trafalgar d. water law #moon magic sparkle sparkle #sailor ace #i love their expressions!!!#and poses! you can really tell who's chill with it and who isn't #the colors are perfect??? mercury with a pipe????#mars being just so sassy #That's so accurate mars is the sassiest #this is a treasure and so are you #tysm ily

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sucker-for-steven-with-v · 2 years ago

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Sunny Day 3

Sunny Day 1 Sunny Day 4

You and Steven were trapped in the village led by Arthur Harrow, the leader of a dangerous cult. He was charismatic and gentle but his beliefs were disturbing. The people in the village worshipped a goddess named Amit and believed in judging and killing anyone, even children, who they believed may commit wrongs in the future.

As Harrow threatened Steven to join their cult, Steven stood up against him and took you with him. As you and Steven tried to leave, the people of the village surrounded you, but Layla appeared with Scarab. She gave it to Steven and ordered him to suit up.

This was not the place nor the time for them to have an identity crisis. You grabbed Steven and Layla and ran up the stairs and closed the door behind you, blocking it with heavy boxes to prevent the cult members from following. You needed to escape as soon as possible.

"Seriously, this is not the time for an identity crisis or the couple fight. Come on, we need to get out of here now," you said urgently to Layla and Steven. The three of you quickly made your way to the window, where a fire escape ladder was conveniently located. "Let's go down this way," you suggested, letting Layla go first. Steven was hesitant to leave you behind, but you urged him to go ahead of you.

He was stubborn and made you go down first. As you began to descend the ladder, the door to the room suddenly burst open and an unseen creature charged towards Steven. He was thrown out of the window.

"Suit up!!!"

Layla yelled and Steven this time listened to her. He managed to activate his suit and fell down safely. Meanwhile, you and Layla made it to the ground safely. The creature continued to pursue Steven.

As you both climbed down on the ground, Steven was now wearing a white suit with a mask that had a crescent shape on the forehead, resembling a sailor moon. He seemed to be unharmed from the fall. However, the invisible creature attacked him again, crashing him into a nearby car and lifting him up into the air.

Acting quickly, you grabbed anything within reach and threw it at the creature. The water from a bottle revealed the creature's features, as Steven had described before - it had the head of a dog and reminded you of one of Egypt's gods.

You grabbed a long iron pipe from the car parts scattered on the ground and swung it at the creature, causing it to release Steven. Together with Layla, the three of you fought off the creature. But Layla was pushed back into the wall and collapsed, leaving you alone to fend off the creature as it choked you. Despite your efforts to kick and scratch, the creature's strength was too great.

Just as you thought all hope was lost, Steven threw a punch and surprisingly pushed the creature back, releasing you from its grip. Gasping for air, you coughed and glared at the creature.

"You plug-ugly coyote, get away from her. You're on the wrong end, mate. You're in my yard now. Yeah, come on. Come on. That's right. Come on." The creature growled in response.

"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a V."

you thought it is not a good time to say that Steven but Steven was Steven, even in a situation like this.

As you thought he got thrown by the monster and also got hit by a car.

Then, you watched as Steven, now dressed in his mummy-inspired suit and cape.

"Marc?" you called out his name, confused by the sudden change in his appearance.

He turned to you and gave you a reassuring nod. "Wait here, stay with Layla. She will keep you safe." He lured the monster away from you and disappeared into the distance, leaving you with his ex-wife.

After the chaotic two days, you and Layla went to Steven's home in search of clues about his whereabouts. It was then that Layla received news from a close contact that Steven was currently in Cairo.

"He's going to get himself killed running around Cairo," Layla said, with a hint of concern in her voice.

"Why? Does he have enemies there?" you asked.

"Yeah, we made some enemies. Not just one," Layla replied.

Despite the danger, you decided to go with Layla to Cairo. You liked Layla. She was cool and easy-going but also caring. She didn't hold any grudges against Steven or Marc for their divorce and thought it was the best decision for both of them. She loved Marc, but they were very different, and she felt they got along better as friends. But she felt betrayed when he went completely off the grid without telling her anything. That was why she was upset with him.

Though hesitant at first, you ultimately decided to join Layla in Cairo in hopes of preventing Steven from getting hurt and seeing him again.

As Layla walked through the crowded streets of Cairo, she was looking for Marc as she had received a tip that Marc, was in the city and was trying to track down a lead on an illegal digging site where Arthur Harrow, the leader of the cult, was believed to be at.

Soon, she saw Marc being ignored by a local. He was trying to get information on the digging site, but it was clear that the man was ignoring him.

She approached, and called out to him softly, "Looks like you're having a tough time there, Marc."

He turned around and saw her, his expression immediately turning to one of annoyance. "Layla, what are you doing here? I believed you would be keeping Y/N safe."

You stepped forward and said, "Hi, Marc. I was worried about you, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Marc's expression softened as he looked at you, and he said, "I'm fine, but I'm not having much luck getting information on this digging site. It seems like everyone is too afraid to talk."

Layla put a hand on his arm and said, "Don't worry, we'll figure it out together. We're a team, after all."

"You shouldn't be here, especially with her. This isn't safe"

"You would not get any information from them especially when you are not Egyptian."

Marc, Layla, and you set out on a boat to a place where you can get information on where Harrow was rumoured to be.

The scenery on the river was breathtaking, making it easy to forget about the dangerous mission at hand.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Layla commented, taking in the view.

"Yes, I've never been to Cairo before. Despite the situation we're in, everything here is truly astonishing," you replied.

"Egypt is full of charm," Marc added, moving closer to you.

"So, is Steven alright? Will I be able to speak to him?" you asked, worrying about his safety.

"He's alright, but it's better for me to be the front until it's not dangerous anymore. Y/N, can you wait until this journey ends?" Marc replied, looking at you with concern in his eyes.

"Yeah, sure. I came here to see you and make sure you're safe, so I can wait a bit longer," you said with a smile, but you couldn't shake the sadness of not being able to talk to Steven or hear his cheerful voice. You didn't realize how much you loved Steven until that moment. You travelled across the world to see him and that he is okay.

As you waited for Layla and Marc to gather information about the illegal digging site, Layla secretly handed you a gun for protection. But as you approached the gate, you saw Harrow and his men approaching. Chaos erupted as Layla expertly defended herself while Marc, despite being impaled with poles, fought off the attackers.

You ran toward him shooting the attackers to prevent further attacks towards Marc. To your surprise, you found yourself to be a skilled shooter and helped take down the attackers.

Then Marc grabbed you and protected you with his cape as another wave of bullets flew. Once the shooting stopped, he pulled out the poles and stood up, still holding you close. With his boomerang-like weapon, he eliminated the remaining enemies.

To chase Harrow and stop his crazy plan, you all hopped into the vehicle to go to the desert.

While driving through the desert towards the Ammit's grave, the tension was high as you were all on edge and exhausted.

Marc had to change clothes, his ripped and torn shirt revealing his chiselled chest. You couldn't help but blush as you took in the sight of him. He caught your gaze and gave you a small smile before fully wearing new clothes. The three of you tried to make sense of the map you were given. But, despite your best efforts, you couldn't make heads or tails of it. Frustrated, Marc sighed.

"I can't read this thing," he muttered.

"You need to call Steven, "Layla suggested.

"No, he will not give back the body. Also, how can you be sure that he can read this?"

"He can and he will. He always knew everything about Egyptian history"You backed him up.

As you spoke those words, he hesitated for a moment before finally transforming into Steven. You couldn't help but smile as you saw him again, despite the dangerous situation you were in. He apologized for putting you in danger, but you reassured him that you were just glad to see him again.

With Steven now able to decipher the ancient map, he knew that he had to suit up and call upon Khonshu, his supposed guardian and contracted god, to harness the power of the moon and transport it back to 2000 years ago. The stars and sky shifted and danced at his movement, finally stopping at the precise location they needed to be in order to read the map. But as the task was completed, Steven collapsed, exhausted from the immense power he had just wielded.

#moon boys #moon knight x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant #steven grant fanfiction #marc spector x reader #marc spector

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princesscolumbia · 2 years ago

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So it's been long enough and I'm expecting to come back to it, but my oldest popular fanfic, Fission, is now up on AO3. If you're not aware, I started penning this work back in 2006 as Ranma 1/2 was starting to lose relevance in anime pop culture. Inu Yasha was taking its place as young women were becoming an anime watching demographic in the USA and, as gender-fluid (literally) as Ranma's core audience is, "Dog-demon-boy hearts girl" had greater appeal to the wider young women demographic than "boy-who-understands-how-important-an-emergency-tampon-is hearts girl".

It also was released in the age of After Fuku Fic (AFF). During the Fuku fic era, there was clone after clone after clone of the core idea of "what if Ranma were to become a senshi?" Every member of the Ranma cast got shoved into a seifuku, it seemed, and any characters on either the Sailor Moon or Ranma parts of the equation that didn't fit just so were often discarded. This isn't to say the sub-sub-sub-genre is bad (I'm writing for it, so clearly I don't think so) but people just got tired of it.

And I dropped Fission in the middle of that and found myself in the rare company of people who wrote a fuku fic that even people who'd been completely burned out on the idea still wanted to read it.

Life happened, and I wound up reading (and writing) MLP-centric fics, then She-ra, and lately dabbling in The Locked Tomb. And yet I still keep drifting back to this oldy but goodie because I've just got so many stories in that sandbox I want to tell.

So without further ado, I present to you...

Fission

A Ranma 1/2 & Sailor Moon fanfic

by Princess Celestia

Ranma is having A Day. The usual wacky relationship hijinks wind up with him tripping while running from his self-declared love interests (it has to do with martial arts, several foreign laws, and an okonomiyaki cart...long story) and falling off a roof (...again, long story) to pass through a stream of water from a broken pipe, triggering the magic that cursed him to turn into a girl with a splash of cold water. But today the wacky cranked right up into the weird when he DIDN'T collide with the other person who also happens to be standing in the spray of water. Usagi is having a pleasant day, actually. She's spending time with her boyfriend, taking in parts of Tokyo she doesn't normally get to, and in all enjoying herself when she gets a call about a monster attack. She ducks into an alley and starts to transform into Sailor Moon when a pipe bursts and sprays her with water right as someone...doesn't collide with her falling from the roof above. The destiny of both Ranma and Usagi has been altered by a random accident that nobody could have planned for or anticipated. Nobody around them is even remotely prepared.

Konatsu pulled his wooden sword and bounced a few more paces away from the youma, "Where are you going, Ranma-sama?"

Ranma was already pelting out of the room, "To get body armor!" he snapped back.

He darted into the next room and leapt into the pool. Body armor, body armor, body armor... ran through his head as he felt the water cover his form. He felt, for the first time, a surge of magic accompanying his transformation, then for no reason that she could at first figure out suddenly shouted out under water, "MOON... AQUA... POWER... ACTIVATE!"

Konatsu had backed far enough away from the monster while goading it onward that he was able to see what Ranma was doing in the next room. Suddenly, both he and the monster recoiled as water blasted from the pool, light and sound sweeping the room.

Ranma was caught up in a strange transformation like she had never experienced before. She somehow knew it was distinct from her usual Jesenkyo curse. She felt her clothes dissolve into magical mist, then felt ribbons brushing her form. She felt the fingerless gloves, the panties and bra, the fuku, the boots, everything form up on her body. She was even more intently aware of something even stranger going on just in front of her chest. She felt magic streaming out of her, but somehow leaving her even more replenished than if she had just taken a nap. Whatever was going on, it was additive, not subtractive. Two distinct colors flowed from her, one white, the other black. It began swirling together, forming the yin/yang symbol that was familiar to any martial artist, but most especially to her thanks to it's unique meaning for her life. It suddenly hardened into what looked like a crystal, then attached itself to her uniform at the join where her sailor sash met just below her neckline.

This all took place in under three seconds and was completely unseen by Konatsu or the monster thanks to the light show. What Konatsu did see was that, launching up from the explosion of water, light, and sound, was Ranma-sama, but not as the ninja had ever seen her before. He gasped in ecstatic surprise, tinged with a hint of girlish jealousy, "Sailor..."

"MOON..." shouted out an enraged Ranma, "CHESTNUT..." her boots slammed down in front of the youma, "STRIKE!" Ranma-ne-Moon's arms became a magically enhanced blur as she began raining blow after blow against the youma. Incredibly, the youma was blocking or deflecting the punches. Sailor Moon bounced away, and the monster lashed out with an unnaturally long reach against both martial artists.

To catch the whole thing before I write the next chapter, check it out on Archive of Our Own.

#fanfiction #fanfic #sailor moon #ranma 1/2 #ranma #usagi tsukino #fukufic

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speechlessxx · 5 years ago

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Bring Him Light - ix (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: The voyage that promised you safety had been a lie.

Warnings: TRIGGERING CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER, A lot happens in this chapter! Major (and minor) CHARACTER DEATH, This chapter is hella heavy (heavier than I meant it to be), injury to reader, MISCARRIAGE, blood, SEXUAL ASSAULT, descriptions of wounds, A LOT OF BLOOD,

Word Count: 3.3k

In case it wasn’t clear yet...

TRIGGERING CONTENT AHEAD

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

The silence of the night was interrupted by the loud clattering of the guards’ boots against the tiled floors. Doors were being opened and slammed shut. Servants and nobles woke up startled when the armored men burst through their chamber doors, searching for one woman… You.

“Find her!” The king’s voice boomed throughout the castle. No one could tell if his tone was full of anger or concern. The two seemed to blend into one loud growl that barked orders at everyone in sight. Perhaps… it was neither emotion… Perhaps it was simply desperation. “Find her now!”

But you were long gone by the time Lord Barnes had relayed Natasha’s confession.

As soon as the sun set and the moon rose high into the sky, you and Wanda made your escape. Not wanting to be seen, nor heard, you abandoned your shoes. Your bare feet were silent against the cold floors as you both ran out of the castle and towards the docks.

You were surprised to see that Brock was nowhere to be found. In his place, stood the older Lord Pierce, who introduced you to the sailor who would escort you to Wakanda. The sailor was a man who only went by the name “Stern”. He was a pudgy older man who smoked a strange pipe that emitted a woodsy, lemongrass-like smell.

You didn’t like the way he eyed you and Wanda. His eyes shamelessly looked over your friend’s chest which made her shrink behind you. He had wandering hands that were bold as he pulled you into a tight hug, feeling up your body. He pressed a sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek.

Pierce explained that Brock’s estate suddenly needed his attention and that the lord rushed over during the day to handle the matter, but he wished you a safe voyage. For some reason, you didn’t like the way “safe” sounded in Pierce’s mouth. It almost felt as if it were insincere – like the words of a politician.

Minutes had passed and Natasha was nowhere to be found. Although you wanted to wait, both Stern and Pierce advised that the longer you wait, the slimmer your chances at escape became. He promised he would protect her from the king’s wrath as best as he could, even offering to steal her away to York. Reluctantly, you and Wanda agreed that it was best to leave… Besides, Natasha was being courted by James Barnes, one of the king’s oldest friends. Her safety was nearly guaranteed by that fact alone.

So, Pierce ushered you and your friend onto the boat. You thanked him and asked him to thank Brock for you just before the boat set sail.

You watched as the towers of Ameera, Brooken’s castle, faded into the distance as the boat brought you closer and closer to safety – or, what you thought was safety.

Hours into the voyage, you were dry heaving over the side of the boat with Wanda pulling your hair away from your face. You weren’t sure whether to attribute the nausea to your pregnancy, or the violent sways of the boat, or your minor head injury from being pushed down the stairs. Whatever was causing this bout of sickness, it made the trip twice as uncomfortable.

Eventually, you had collapsed due to the exhaustion. Your head laid in Wanda’s lap as she pet your locks, humming a soft lullaby to comfort the both of you. The boat would jolt side to side and Stern would let out a stream of curses. Although it seemed as if the strange man couldn’t expertly maneuver a boat, he did swear like a sailor.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Tell me!” Steven ordered. His hand gripped his sword tightly as he glared at the red-headed woman who cowered in her lover’s arms. “Tell me why she left. I don’t want to hear James’s words. I want to hear it from you.”

“She was convinced she couldn’t stay here.” Natasha said, her voice shaking as she trembled. “You had hurt her – multiple times… and your people turned on her the moment it seemed appropriate for them to. She was afraid and she was offered help, a promise of safety in Wakanda. She thought she had to take it. She felt as if she was in danger.”

“By whom?” Natasha looked up at Lord Barnes, who gave her an encouraging nod. The king’s tone was unamused. He was worried for you. “Lady Romanova, who offered her help.”

She gulped. “Lord Pierce and Lord Rumlow.” She glanced at the king’s hands which gripped the hilt of his blade so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. “I tell you this because I fear they don’t have good intentions with the queen. She’s vulnerable, impressionable. I think they’re feeding upon her own fears.” Steven’s grip loosened as he raised his eyebrows up at her, questioningly, prompting her to continue. “And there’s another thing… She’s pregnant, your grace, with your child.”

“What?” James muttered in disbelief. She hadn’t told him this beforehand.

Steven’s face dropped entirely. His worry tripling. You had fallen from the stairs, pushed by one of the ladies of his court, who he stripped of all her titles as punishment. Now, you were missing. Your disappearance aided by two men he knew were conspiring against him. You may have thought you were in danger in Brooken, but you had no idea how much danger you put yourself in by putting your faith in these two men.

“Take one of our fastest ships and sale towards Wakanda. It’s only been hours. They couldn’t be far.” Steven ordered Lord Wilson. He was a loyal friend and was an expert at sailing. He trusted no one more. “As for the rest of you, find me Pierce and Rumlow. Now!”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

(TRIGGERING CONTENT AHEAD)

You woke up to an earsplitting shriek. Your body was thrown haphazardly onto the wooden deck of the boat. Your head was heavy and dizzy, vision a bit unfocused, but you could make out two bodies feet away from you. When your vision began to clear, you realized it was Stern on top of Wanda, who was screaming your name and pleading for the man to get off.

“Get off of her!” You screamed, scrambling to your feet and wobbling over. The boat rocked beneath you. You pushed him, but you were too weak and tired – exhausted and injured from your fall the day before.

He reached out a hand and shoved your stomach, hard. You fell to the ground with a loud thud. You groaned in pain. Wanda screams were muted when his hands wrapped around her throat. She clawed at his wrists, desperately trying to break free.

With blurry vision, you searched the boat. Your head turned side to side, trying to find anything. The sunlight was reflected by a sharp blade behind the man’s body. You scrambled to pick up the dagger which already had blood dripping from it.

You screamed as you plunged the dagger into the man’s back several times as deep as it could go. The man backed away from Wanda, standing to his feet. She scrambled away with what energy she had left.

“You little bitch.” He moaned. His hand reached over to cut that you left. He winced as he withdrew and saw the blood. Stern stomped over to you, the boat rocking with his steps. You screamed as he twisted your wrist, the blade dropping from your grip, clattering onto the wooden floor. Stern was in your face, the stench from the pipe filled your senses, suffocating you. “I should’ve raped you first.”

He pushed you onto the ground again and threw himself over you. His hand grabbing at your skirts. You screamed and tried to push him off. Over the loud crashing waves, you heard fabric ripping. You sobbed and braced yourself, turning your head to the side and squeezing your eyes shut.

But nothing happened.

You heard a choking sound as warm liquid spilled over your face, some of it finding its way past your lips. A coppery taste filled your mouth. It reminded you of when you’d bite your lip or your cheek too harshly and it would bleed.

You opened your eyes to see Stern sporting a long, deep gash that split his throat open. The cut went from ear to ear. He scrambled to his feet, spluttering blood everywhere. Behind him stood a heaving Wanda, her hand covered in the same liquid that painted your face – the dark crimson of blood.

Her skirts were ripped and exposed her legs that had blood dripping down. She had her own pool of blood that collected in the fabric of her dress. She sported her own gash on her stomach. She fell to the ground as the boat rocked one way as Stern knocked himself overboard.

You found what little energy you had to crawl over to your friend who was bleeding out from her wounds. You cradled her head onto your lap, pushing her hair away from her face. She was pale – paler than she normally was – as she stared up at you.

“Wanda…” Your voice cracked. “Stay with me…”

“This… this was a… this was a mistake.” She muttered. Her hand wrapped around your wrist, giving you a squeeze. The blood on her hands left a print over your scarred skin. Her voice was weak as her strength began to wane.

“I’m so, so sorry.” You cried.

She gave you a soft smile and reached up to wipe your tears. Wanda took a deep breath and shook her head. “We shouldn’t have left…”

“I know… I’m sorry…”

“No, no…” Wanda smiled, gently. “Listen… The king loves you… Whether you want … to believe that or not. He does…” Her breaths were ragged, struggling. “I see it in the way he looks at you.” You saw the bruises that Stern’s fingers left on her throat. “He loves you, (Y/N)… Allow him to…” The muscles on her face began to droop as her arm slumped to her side. Her eyes glazed over as they stared lifelessly up at you.

You let out a scream.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The sun had set, and you were left shivering in the cool breeze of the ocean. You covered Wanda’s body with a tarp you found. You washed your face with the salty water as best as you could, scrubbing the scum’s blood off of your skin until your skin felt raw.

You weren’t sure how to sail, so you let the boat rock aimlessly.

Sanctuary in Wakanda must’ve been a lie. Pierce had lied. Brock had lied to you. They played you. Was this their plan all along? To rape you and your ladies just before killing you all in the middle of the sea?

You stared into the depths of the water. The hue of the water reminded you of Steven’s eyes. A deep ocean blue with specks of green. You missed his eyes. The warmth they gave when he smiled. The way they sparkled when he spoke to you. You missed his voice and his touches. His lips. You missed him.

Monster or not, you love him.

Suddenly, the dull pain in your stomach made itself prominent as your adrenalin ceased. It was sharp and striking, knocking the wind from your lungs. Your hand flew to the pained area and you winced. Your eyes widened with fear. “No…” You begged to whatever god was listening. “No, please… no.”

You tired to stand… Perhaps you could walk off the pain, but it raked through your body and made you collapse once more. Fresh tears began to roll down your eyes as you felt a warm liquid drip down your legs. You didn’t need to see it to know that it was blood.

“Over here, my lord!” Someone called out. There was a light in the distance. Another boat speeding towards yours. You didn’t recognize the voice, but you recognized the sail. The crest of House Rogers proudly displayed along with Brooken’s flag.

“Queen (Y/N)?” Another voice called out. A figure emerged as the nose of their boat gently bumped against yours. Samuel Wilson. His eyes were wide as he tried to train them to look into the night. “What’s happened?”

It was dim and the only light the night provided was the moon and the lanterns of his own boat, but with his many years on several battlefields, he could recognize the stains of blood anywhere. Your boat was covered in it. The tarp that harbored your friend’s body underneath was stained with it. Your ripped dress, too.

You didn’t need to answer. He knew.

Sam helped you onto their boat. He shook off his coat to wrap around your shivering body. You asked for him to retrieve Wanda as well, wanting to give her a proper burial. The ride back to Brooken was silent. You weren’t sure whether to be relieved to be going back or to be petrified. Steven must be so angry with you.

“Are you alright?” Sam asked. He genuinely cared. He really did.

You shook your head as another bout of sobs erupted through you. You held your head in your hands and wailed into the night with no care of whether the men on the boat judged you or not. You had lost one of your best friends and your baby all in the span of a day.

You were broken.

Sam wrapped his arms around you, letting you muffle your cries into his chest. Your tears stained his shirt, but he paid it no mind. He glanced down at your legs, seeing the red spirals of blood. His heart sank to his stomach as he assumed the worst.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Your grace! Your grace!” A servant boy ran through the king’s chambers. The king laid wide awake on his lonely bed, staring up at the canopy over him.

“What is it?” He asked, sitting up. The boy was sputtering words, no coherent sentence forming. “Out with it, boy!”

“Lord Wilson is back … There’s a body in a tarp and another woman asleep. I didn’t see who the woman was.”

Steven’s heart dropped. His anxiety peaking.

You couldn’t be dead… The thought alone broke his heart.

He rushed out of his room, almost knocking the boy to the floor. It was as if he were experiencing déjà vu as he ran through the corridors towards the infirmary. It was the only place they would put a body.

He caught a glimpse of Natasha’s red hair disappearing as the doors shut behind her. Sam had walked out.

Sam grabbed his arm and shook his head. He heard Natasha scream, “No!”, followed by a loud sob.

“Sam – “Steven tried to push past his friend, but the lord’s grip was like iron.

“You should know…” Sam muttered, his voice so low only the king could hear. “Lady Wanda had been … assaulted… She was stabbed and she died from her wounds.” Steven felt guilty for feeling relief, but the body in the tarp had not been his wife. Who could blame him for being relieved? “Steve …”

“What happened?” Steven snapped. “Why will you not let me in?”

“I’m not sure what happened on that boat.” Sam whispered. “But it was covered in blood. Your wife’s dress was torn. I saw her legs with blood dripping down them.” Steven’s blood began to boil – like his friend, assuming the worst.

“Who was on that boat? WHO DID THIS?”

“She didn’t say. She was exhausted when we found her – cried herself to sleep, poor bird.” Sam explained, shaking his head. “I cannot be certain if a similar assault happened to your wife, Steven, but…”

The doors creaked open. Natasha’s red hair popped out. Her eyes red and puffy, face wet with tears. “The queen is awake… If you would like to speak with her, your grace?”

“I do.” Steven nodded. Sam bowed before leaving his king as did Natasha.

You looked tired. Dark circles rimmed around your eyes. One of your wrists was wrapped in a bandage. “My love…” Steve said so carefully as if he were afraid his voice alone would shatter you. You were staring up into the ceiling, tears running down the sides of your face. “My love…” He repeated as he slowly walked over to your side.

“She’s dead…” You whimpered. “She died because … I wanted to run.”

“I know, my love… I’m sorry.” Steven didn’t know what else to say. “What happened?”

A broken sob escaped your lips as you brought your uninjured arm over your eyes and cried into it. Steven rushed over and made you sit up, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You allowed him to hold you as you cried into him, trembling with each sob. You missed how his warmth engulfed you. It gave you a sense of security – of home.

He shushed you, running his fingers through your messy hair. “It’s alright… You’re alright now… You’re home. You’re safe with me.”

“Am I?” You asked, choked with a sob. “Am I truly safe here in Brooken?”

“I will strike down any threat towards you. I swear to you on my life.” Steven said.

“I was pregnant.” Steven’s heart dropped. Was. “Perhaps it was the stress or… or the struggle when S-Stern was on top of me.”

“Did … Did he … ?” Steven couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

“No.” You shook your head, reading his mind. “Wanda saved me just before she bled out.”

“Stern?”

“A sailor Pierce hired to take bring us to Wakanda… I should’ve trusted my instinct.” You scolded yourself. You blamed yourself. How could you not? If only you had listened to your suspicions, your instincts before… Maybe Wanda would’ve been alive… Maybe your baby would’ve survived. “I lost the baby.” You cried into Steve’s chest.

“It’s okay.” Steven said, rubbing your back, soothingly.

“It’s not!” You screamed.

“I am thankful you are alive. We have a lifetime to bring children into this world. My concern is for you, (Y/N).” Steven pulled you from his chest, his hands cupped your face as his thumbs brushed away your tears.

“Do we? Do we have a lifetime? Or will you grow tired of me like Margaret or Sharon because I cannot give you an heir?”

“What?” His face scrunched up with confusion. What did his past wives have to do with you providing him with an heir?

“You killed Margaret… stabbed her in the heart after growing tired of rejections for she did not want a child… You beheaded Sharon in front of her admirers because you were jealous others preferred her – “

“Where did you learn this?” Steven interrupted.

“Do you deny it? Do you deny that you killed your past wives?”

“No.” You tried to push him away, slamming your hands into his chest and screaming for him to leave. “Stop!” He shouted. “Stop it, (Y/N)! Stop!” He grabbed your wrists gently, cupping them into one large hand. He was cautious with your injured wrist, not applying too much pressure for it to hurt. Steven didn’t miss the way your eyes glinted with fear. “Who told you this?”

“Pierce and Rumlow.”

“They’ve lied to you.”

“But you just admitted you murdered them – “

“I did… for good reason.” Steven sighed. “We’ve been played. They’ve been turning you against me feeding you half truths and half lies… I did kill my wives, yes. Because they were working to overthrow me… House Carter was working with Thanos.”

“What?” Your brows furrowed. You were dizzy. It must’ve been the stress from the horrific events that you experienced. You felt betrayed, confused, conflicted.

“It’s time I tell you the truth.”

#Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve rogers imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans #king!steve rogers #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #captain america #marvel au #royalty au

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silvermoon424 · 4 years ago

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i remember going overseas and reading a sailor moon manga volume that they had at this cafe and i don’t know if it was a fever dream or not but it had sailor at a rose garden(??) i remember pipes and water and meecury drowning apparently and i feel like i saw it on tumblr too but i don’t know what it’s from

It definitely wasn’t in the official manga, because I’ve read it front to back multiple times and that absolutely didn’t happen, lol. It sounds like you found a doujinshi! It’s possible that this cafe had a collection of Sailor Moon doujinshi or some other fan comics.

#Anonymous #Ask #Sailor Moon

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ghostlylorekeeper · 5 years ago

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Prompt 2 “Vast”

Tom stared out at the rolling blue-green waters. He loved the ocean, loved being down by the docks and watching the ships, big and small make port. He loved the tales all the sailors told of the places they had been. But most of all, he loved the ocean itself. It was vast and deep and held all kinds of secrets waiting to be discovered and he couldn’t wait till he was able to go out and discover them.

One of the most common tales he heard as he lingered by the docks was that of the mermaids. They were supposed to be beautiful and mysterious. Most described them as shy with long hair that they combed daily while setting on the rocks. They had beautiful voices too, and to hear one sing was to hear heaven. To receive the kiss of a mermaid was the real ticket though, that was supposed to cement a man’s connection with the sea. Tom wasn’t really sure what that meant but most sailors seem to consider it a blessing.

Tom wasn’t usually too interested in mermaid stories. He liked the bigger more dangerous things of the sea, like encounters with pirates or sea serpents. However, he couldn’t help overhearing one man’s comments as he sat on the docks talking with the other mean. He was shaking his head and laughing at the talk of mermaids.

“So, you don’t believe in them then?” Asked one of the other sailors sitting around listening.

“Oh no, you misunderstand me man. I believe in them but they are not as you say.” The man’s voice was big and booming. Tom crept closer to hear the conversation better.

“Ah so you know the truth of mermaids then?” Another burly man asked the stranger in a mocking tone.

“Well then, by all means, tell us how it really is with them. I suppose you have received one of their blessing kisses.” He jeered.

The stranger took his time answering, as he lit his pipe and scratched his stubbly, black beard. He didn’t seem worried in the least by the man’s taunts.

“No one who has ever had the mermaid’s kiss has ever received any type of blessing.” He commented.

“They are beautiful as you say but they aren’t shy or nice. Their eyes give away their true nature. Cold and dead as a shark’s they are. And that heavenly voice you speak of.” He stopped and shook his head.

“No such thing. Its otherworldly and haunting but not of heaven. Best to plug your ears and not listen. I wouldn’t even go and look should I hear of one resting on the rocks nearby but if you have to sate your damn curiosity, best to stay far away. A man who reaches for a mermaid’s embrace reaches for death.”

At this all the other sailors laughed. One man, a young dark-haired sailor stood up. His sea green eyes flashed with determination as he looked to the older man who had been speaking.

“I intend to prove you wrong old man. I will sail the world till I find me a mermaid and when I do I plan to claim that kiss and my blessing, come what may!”

It was a few days later, as Tom was coming home from running an errand for his mother that he heard it. It was just getting dark, and he was making his way along the cliff road when the strange melody reached him. He stopped and strained to hear the voice above the wind that always seemed to rush around the cliff side. It was faint at first and barley there but grew in strength as he listened.

The strange notes were obviously being sung but the overall effect was not of a human voice. It was an eerie, uncanny sound but it drew Tom closer. He soon found himself walking toward it and away from the path that led back to his home. When he found himself almost to the beach he began to get a little nervous. He realized he should have gone home but the strange music seemed to compel him forward.

As Tom neared the water his panic grew and he reached up to cover his ears with his hands, trying desperately to shut out the sound. Covering his ears seemed to help a little but he could still hear the mysterious song. He searched his pockets and found a bit of wax he had been playing with earlier, molding it into shapes. When he had used the wax to mute the strange song he felt better.

He should have turned around then and made for home, but something about the song made him curious. Tom was about to move quietly toward the sound when he heard someone coming Quickly, Tom moved back in to the shadows of the nearby cliff wall, but he needn’t have bothered.

He watched as the young sailor from the docks moved slowly down the path and onto the beach. The moon light glinted off his dark hair as he moved at a slow, steady, pace. His eyes were dark and glassy. Tom guessed he could have been waving and shouting at him and he wouldn’t have known it. The sailor moved past Tom’s hiding place and further down the beach toward the rocks, where the music was coming from. Tom slipped out and followed him at a distance.

Tom followed the man to the rocky cove. He wasn’t really worried the man might spot him anymore but he was determined to not get too close to the thing that made the uncanny singing. So, as he watched from behind a nearby rock, Tom saw the man stop in front of the moonlit waters of the cove. There in the silvery light, a woman was singing.

Her hair was black as night and her body was mostly naked from the waist up. Tom felt his cheeks warm a little in embarrassment at her nudity, but even as he felt the blush he knew she was unlike any human woman he would ever see. Her skin was a pale color, almost blue-ish and low on her back she had fins that flowed into a long dark tail. Her eyes were dark and Tom felt himself shiver looking at them.

Tom watched as she reached out to the man on the shore. It looked like someone opening their arms wide for a hug, somehow Tom knew this wasn’t a hug he wanted. The man stepped forward and leaned toward the water, his arms open like hers. He looked enraptured as his lips met the creature’s and her arms closed around him. As Tom watched in horror, unable to move, the mermaid pulled the man from the rocks. As they slipped beneath the waves, the man never struggled.

It was some moments before Tom could get ahold of himself. When he finally stopped shaking and was able to move, he ran, tearing down the beach toward home. He knew the man was gone. The mermaid’s kiss has cemented his connection with the sea and no one would ever see him again.

The sea never interested Tom quite as much as it used to. He stopped going down to the docks. He still thought of the blue-green waters as vast and deep but he was no longer sure one should look for things to discover there. Some mysteries should stay hidden.

#writing #Halloween Prompts #horror #mermaid

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iphoenixrising · 6 years ago

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For 800 Followers: Tiny!Tim and the Wrong Bus

SO MANY TINY!TIM ASKS. So many. And, ah, I didn’t write any of these suggestions, so I’m sorry babes. But I feel this thing probably happened between the Bats finding Tim alone in his house all sick in Tiny!Tim and the Fever, and before the one where he admits he knows who they are in Tiny!Tim and the Secret. Like, B and J still think they’re keeping it from him, lol.

Just a note: I was really freaked out about this one and tbh, I was going to just wipe it out and try something different. A very cool babe, @ishouldprobablyworkoutmore gave me some terribly helpful perspective on what I originally had. @satire-please and @miss-choco-chips let me cry a little as per usual. I’m a little better now, so to all those Asks hoping for more Tiny!Tim, you can thank my babes for it :D

Mister Alfred is going to be real mad, little Timmy Drake thinks, dazed as he looks around, because the bus can’t make it to my house if the side is torn out.

The initial hit knocked the bus completely on the side, knocking him into the window where he hit his head pretty hard. For a few minutes after the screaming stopped and everything was still, he thought he might throw-up because it hurt. Finally righting himself, the pain in his head subsides as his heart starts pounding so so so fast, making it taste gross in the back of his mouth.

Someone is groaning close to him and someone else is crying. It smells like important things are burning.

Miss May, his first grade teacher, had already covered what to do in case of a villain attack at school. Mr. Mike, the bus driver, had shown them all the emergency exits, where the first-aid kit is, and how to use the extinguisher at the beginning of the year.

None of it helps his shaky, stinging hands, and it’s hard to get to the front when fear is chasing him in the panicked scramble over the seats and broken glass since the bus is on it’s side in the middle of the street in downtown Gotham.

Some of the glass cuts into his knees and hands, but–but he can’t stop! He’s got to think like (Robin) Jay and get to supplies, put the fire out before it can get to the gas tank. If he doesn’t, the whole bus could explode, and all the kids are still on the bus, whimpering and scared. Even the older kids. None of them are moving, none of them know what to do.

So. So, he needs a plan!

He needs to put out the fire and get everyone off the bus!

His fingers scrabble with the latches, and he’s perched precariously with one foot on the big steering wheel and the other on the dashboard. The big storage space in the front of the bus, above the jagged windshield finally gives with a metal groan and Tim blinks tears out of his eyes, bites down on his lower lip, and tries, tries so hard, to stop shaking enough that he can get the fire extinguisher out without falling over Mr. Mike’s body sprawled on the steps below him.

He’s trying to concentrate, trying to think past the twisted metal of what used to be his ride, trying to think about Mister Alfred in the front seat of the big, shiny car with Jay souched in the back, picked up from big school already, just waiting for him since he goes to Wayne Manor on days when Mrs. Mac isn’t scheduled to come.

It’s been almost a year now since they’d found him sick and achy during a bad storm when Mrs. Mac couldn’t make it out. Since then, he’s been meeting a sleek car parked by the bus stop so he wouldn’t have to walk all the way home. On days Mrs. Mac wouldn’t be coming, it was a given he’d be eating dinner and doing his homework at Wayne Manor. Most times, he’d be directed to a room upstairs when it was late. Mr. Wayne would tell him he might as well stay the night, and let Alfred drop him off at the bus stop in the morning.

On the usual day, Jay and Alfred would talk to him about school during the ride, make him warm when he’s included in the conversation and questions are asked about his assignments. During dinner Mister Wayne (“Just Bruce is okay, Tim.” “Okay, Mr. Bruce.” “Well. That’s better than nothing.”) would be there coming back from his office with that scrunchy line between his eyebrows.

(Timmy thinks it’s really the Batman trying to get out. It might be silly, but he imagines it kind of like Sailor Moon. Mr. Bruce holds up his utility belt or a special Batarang, and then transforms into the Batman!)

Today, he isn’t going to meet that car to tell Jay and Alfred about school.

Instead, he’s going to use both hands to squeeze the difficult trigger on the fire extinguisher, get bopped by it before white foam coats the flames, and other kids are peeking over the seats at him and the smouldering fire.

Instead, he holds on to it desperately with both arms once the fire is out and makes himself think about how Batman sounds when he tells the bad guys to let the hostages go, give up or else. Thinking about Batman gives Timmy enough strength to turn on all those terrified expressions and grit his teeth before he opens his mouth to start yelling, yelling at the top of his lungs, for everyone to get out the emergency door in the back.

“Get out right now! Get out or else I’m gonna tell. I’m gonna tell all your moms and dads! And you’re going to be in so much trouble.”

That really does the trick and heads pop up immediately at the mention of trouble.

Little Timmy points at the only accessible exit, the big door at the back of the overturned bus since one emergency window is literally blocked by the street and the other is over their heads. The front entrance is blocked by Mr. Mike, so there’s no way they’re getting out there either. The only way to go is out the back, and he starts shoving kids that way while brandishing the fire extinguisher and yelling even more.

He struggles to get over the seats again, trying to push the bigger kids to the back, away from the ripped metal and broken glass. Once the bigger ones start moving, getting the younger ones up and over the seats, Timmy goes back to pull at Mr. Mike still lying halfway down the steps where he landed when the bazooka Two-Face was holding exploded into rush hour traffic.

Tim is really, really relieved Mr. Mike’s eyes are open this time, and the adult is struggling to stand up, eyes dazedly looking around for the other kids he’s in charge of seeing home safely.

Timmy grabs his hand when his legs seem kind of wobbly and walks him to the back of the broken bus, assuring the driver he’s already gotten most of the kids out the back because at least he was paying attention when they were going over emergency procedures. He’s sure Mr. Mike will be super proud when his head isn’t bleeding anymore.

The other kids are huddled around a Fire and Rescue Squad already on site, and Mr. Mike leans on him a little the whole time they cross the chaotic streets.

Automatic gunfire rips through the daytime scramble of screaming civilians, fire and rescue trying to put out flames and pry people out of their cars, trying to contain the madness.

Two-Face is standing up out of the sunroof of his getaway car, Tommy gun going off in rapid bursts while he laughs and laughs and laughs.

“It’s a good day for a trip to downtown! Love ya, Gotham!”

And someone... someone has to do something!

(Maybe be can follow and-and try to keep them from getting away until Bruce and Jay– no, Batman and Robin–can get here!)

He still has the fire extinguisher held tightly in one arm while he slips his hand out of Mr. Mike’s when the paramedics grab the injured bus driver and herd the other kids inside Gotham Water Works to get the civilians away from the rampaging villain, standard protocol really.

But Timmy is so small, and he can fit in some of the best places. He can dart to the side and hide in the right ways so nobody even sees him.

It’s easy to slip away from the group, leaving the fire extinguisher in his place to scramble up the pipe drain to the fire escape where he can see better.

He still has his backpack, so he has pepper spray, his homework, and something he might have accidentally taken from one of the crime scenes in Gotham when he was out on his own.

(Jay never has to know it’s one of Robin’s. None of them ever have to know he figured it out.)

He huffs as he climbs up the fire escape with shaky arms and sweaty hands, his knees trembly and his belly fluttering. He thinks about just reaching up to grab the next rung, to keep stepping up, tries to keep his mind on the next step up instead of getting scared at how high he’s climbing. He thinks about how Robin had to have been scared his first time on the rooftops too, how scared Batman must have been back when he’d first started out.

It’s the strength he imagines they must have had to overcome their fears and still leap out into the night, how terrified they must have been against some of the worst criminals the first time, how they didn’t ever stop when people were in danger. It’s really their strength that gets him up to the first floor on wobbly legs. It’s their strength that makes him breathe, keeps him from running away when people on the street could be in trouble.

He runs across to look down over the other side, watches as the madman laughs more and fires his guns in the air, screaming at Gotham because “here’s your downtown beautification!”

Timmy gasps for breath, ducks down when he hears the soft metallic pings all around him.

In the alley next to where Two-Face’s goons are moving toward Gotham Bank & Trust, going to scare the patrons and get the room ready for the big boss’s dramatic entrance, the little boy flings his backpack off and digs around inside.

The bottom has a little lose thread, something he’d noticed keeps the two pieces of canvas sewn together. Once it started unravelling, he could fit his finger into a nice little pocket he’d made–

–for the thing he’s going to need if he’s going to try keeping Two-Face from getting away until Batman and Robin come to their rescue. Dangerous-looking and heavy, the Batarang is heavy in his hand when it’s folded closed.

In his own room, after Mrs. Mac left for the night and he was all by himself, he’d flip it around, flip it open, pretend he was standing by Batman and Robin, fighting the good fight with them! The plastic black mask from last year’s Zorro costume and the blanket off his bed tied around his neck, all of it made him feel real.

But this...this is more real than that, more important.

He needs to help them, he needs to stop the bad guy from getting away to hurt more people. He needs to–

(be a hero)

–have a plan.

Luckily, the cheap mask is in the hidden pocket along with the Batarang, but putting it on out here with one of the Rogue Gallery’s fearsome bad guys right below him makes it so much more important than when he was playing at being a hero in his room. The mask is more than plastic and string, more than playing.

He feels taller, stronger, like he can do what he needs to do, like he’s wearing a cape and gloves and gauntlets. Like he’s standing between the people of Gotham and those Tommy guns.

(I have to keep Two-Face from getting away. Just until Batman and Robin can get here. I have to be brave, I have to do this!)

His jaw clenches tight, and little Timmy Drake puts his backpack back on quickly, slides the Batarang in the back of his jeans so it’s easy to reach, and throws himself on the ladder going back down to street level.

He drops the last two or so feet and manages not to fall too hard or draw attention to himself, keeps his eye on the car that has screeched to a halt right by bank. Two-Face has stopped shooting, is reloading the Tommy gun while he steps out of the car, and looks like he’s about to make a grand entrance.

With his heart beating in his throat, wishing he hadn’t lost his cellphone when the bus was hit, Timmy peeks around the wall of the alleyway, watches everyone pile out of the car and move to the front doors. His mouth is dry, his knees are a little wobbly still, but it’s going to be okay.

Batman and Robin have to be on the way.

Two-Face’s goons throw the door to the bank open wide for him, and all of them walk inside.

It’s the chance he needs to sneak out of the alley to the getaway car, fighting down the panic and bitter taste of bile in the back of his mouth.

The soft sigh when he flips open the Batarang gives him courage, reminds him that he can do this. He has to do this.

Crouching down, he uses both hands to drive the Batarang into the back tire as hard as he can, grunting with the effort to get it through to puncture.

The scratches in his palms hurt because he’s gripping the Batarang so hard, but he’s helping Batman and Robin, so it’ll all be okay.

For good measure he moves to the front and does the same, straining with the effort, eyes watery because his hands hurt more now, but he makes himself sniffle softly and blink rapidly while the air hisses out.

He flips the Batarang closed and turns to run back to his alley before the bad guys come out and catch him. He thinks he’s home free, the car is disabled, and there’s no one out on the street to get shot at.

He did it!

Timmy gets one foot out to run, grinning below the mask and his heart pounding in his chest, happy that he actually helped.

...until a hand snatches his backpack and pulls him right off his feet, dangling him from an angry grip.

“Why you little!”

His heart slams against his rib cage, breath choking him for an important second.

Caught!

“Lemme go!” while he kicks his feet uselessly, throws his arms out, trying to get down, get away before Two-Face comes out of that bank.

“D’ ya have any idea what he’s gonna do ta ya when he sees this?” The angry adult yells in his face. The small boy gasps at the sour smell of the masked man’s breath, hands rough and bruising, shaking him hard, snapping his head back on his fragile neck. “He’s gonna make an example outta ya, kid.”

The mask on his face almost falls off with the shaking, and fear leaps into his mouth again, coppery for real because he’s bitten his tongue.

His legs are wobbly when the goon pretty much drops him back to the ground, shoves him around the car with a hand on the back of his neck, holding him there for the terrifying gangster about to come out of the bank they’ve robbed and see what’s done to their getaway car.

The sneer on the good half of the villain’s face is terrifying, but Timmy forces his legs to hold him up, even with the other thug’s hand on the back of his neck pushing him down.

“Looks like we got us a hero, boys. Another fucking mask.”

A masked goon to the gangster’s right hand, steps up, gun pointed at the sky. His eyes shift from Two-Face to the kid, a bag of money in his other hand.

“Looks like he’s just a kid, boss. They recruiting from kindergarten now?”

Timmy presses his lips together to keep from snapping back because he’s in first grade you jerk! Instead, he has to make them underestimate him, not make them mad enough to hurt him or use him as a hostage when Batman and Robin appear.

The sharp lapels on Two-Face’s suit are crisp and clean over the holster Tim can see underneath when the villain leans down to put them face-to-face, the distorted eye somehow still seeing him, staring him down, looking at him like he isn’t even wearing a mask.

“I’ve got to tell you, squirt, mask isn’t a good look for you. That is just going to get you in trouble.” A finger pokes into his chest to emphasize the point, and he can’t recoil from the touch because the other goon behind him grips the back of his neck harder in warning.

Even if his mouth dry, the little boy still sucks in a deep breath, still tries to be strong, keep everyone busy until the heroes get here without getting himself deeper into hot water. “Y-you’re stealing! And-and people need their money! They might lose their houses if you take it!”

The laugh is twisted and wrong, making his knees shake, and his instincts screaming at him to runrunrun!

But he can’t, the hand on the back of his neck is holding him in place, and he’s surrounded.

“Kid...you need to learn how the world really works,” and the villain straightens up, mouth twisting up in a grotesque half smile. A hand disappears in his pocket, comes out with–

–the coin.

Tim’s eyes are drawn to the metal slipping over Two-Face’s fingers, the movement hypnotic in the middle of a deserted Gotham street.

(Please, please, please hurry. Please hurry.)

But he’s not tossing the coin yet, so-so it could still be okay!

“You look around this city, and what do you see? All those criminals locked up? For what, a few weeks? And then they’re out, playing the same old game. Just like us,” and the coin pauses between two fingers. “And the regular people, just like you and your precious little family, are scurrying like cockroaches between bombs and muggings and toxic gas, trying to make it through another day.”

Two-Face is getting angrier and meaner, his snarling lip and shark-like smile, the coin balanced precariously between his fingers.

“And all of it? All of it is just about chance, kid.”

Timmy swallows when expert fingers nudge the coin flat on top of the thumb, and his stomach abruptly drops.

“It’s 50/50 all around. Whether the next bomb gets you, the next prison break, the next car crash, the next robbery. It’s all a matter of chance.”

The coin trembles in Timmy’s peripheral, and he’s holding on to the folded Batarang tucked into his sleeve so hard his hand is starting to hurt.

(He doesn’t want to use it. He doesn’t want to shove it in Two-Face’s knee to give himself enough time to run. He won’t have to use it because Batman and Robin are going to save him.)

But Two-Face is half smiling again, reaching in his jacket for the gun in his holster, ignoring the scream of sirens in the air. One of his henchmen utter a soft, desperate “boss?” that’s met with a quirked brow before the thug goes silent again.

“So, I’m going to give you a chance, kiddo, and I’m going to be real fair about it, see?” The half smile is anything but nice, is scary enough to make his knees weak again because he really doesn’t believe that.

“I’m going to flip this coin.”

And the scratched side glints in the sun between the gangster’s fingers.

“If it lands on heads, then I’m going to shoot you in the head, clean and quick. You won’t even feel it. But if it lands on tails, then I’m going to shoot you in the stomach. And that, kid, is gonna hurt real bad. You’re going to die slow and painful.”

The manic grin widens as Two-Face drops the bag of money and reaches into his two-tone jacket to pull the handgun out of the holster, the barrel long and shiny as it emerges.

Timmy’s eyes go wide when the barrel is levelled with his forehead, feels the sob trapped somewhere in chest, feels his hands shaking with the Batarang in his sleeve, feels his eyes get wet behind the mask.

“Good luck,” is from the thug still holding him.

But Timmy doesn’t hear it, can only hope he’s strong enough, fast enough to flip the Batarang out and stab Two-Face in the hand or thigh, can only hope he’s brave enough to save himself.

He can only hope Batman and Robin will get there in time.

His pulse beats in the back of his mouth when the resounding ting is the coin being flipped up in the air.

They’re going to save the city. They’re going to save me.

Because he believes in them.

He believes.

Little Timmy Drake, clenches the Batarang, hiding behind his mask, squinches his eyes closed, bites down on his lip–

–and he believes.

It’s a breath, a gasp, a moment when the coin is knocked out of the air in mid-flip by a Batarang with a crazy arc and a whole lot of practice.

Timmy hears Two-Face yelling in rage that the coin was knocked off course, but all of it is drowned out as vigilantes leap down from the sky like avenging angels in a rare, daytime appearance.

The Batman lands it right next to the villain and thug holding a little boy in the mask while Robin unfailingly rolls behind the line of thugs and takes most of the out with sheer momentum.

The other two get taken out with a combination of punches and kicks, making Timmy’s mouth drop open in sheer awe.

The Batman doesn’t even look at the thug holding him. One second the Dark Knight lands it, the next his arm is just somehow extended and the man that was holding Timmy is suddenly laying on the ground against the getaway car with his eyes lolling in the back of his head.

The sudden lack of support makes little Timmy fall down on his butt, legs still quivery with fear, watching with wide eyes as the frightening vigilante raises a gauntleted forearm, the spikes on it gleaming dangerously.

“Causing trouble again, Harvey?” Darkly growled low, the form in the Batsuit just as imposing, just as terrifying in person as in some of his blurry pictures against the dark Gotham night.

Subtle but pointed, the vigilante puts himself in front of the little boy that has slumped to the ground, a flip of the cape hides him from sight, gives him a moment to shake, and make sure his mask is still in place.

The villain’s laugh is terrifying, in the same way he said shoot you in the head without even pausing.

“You know us, Bats. We like to stay front and center!”

He loses the banter while the other thugs go down and the fight between Batman and Two-Face starts with the gun knocked away in the first sweeping backhand. He doesn’t notice when Robin leaps up on the trunk of the getaway car because he’s trying to gasp in a shaky breaths, watching the Batman move on the offense, punches emphasized with meaty sounds as they land on the villain’s face.

Robin is in front of him so fast, grabbing him up in both arms like a baby, and sprinting away from the scene to duck them back in the alley to be away from the ensuing fight.

“Kid, kid,” shakes him because even with the tunic and boots, the mask and utility belt, he knows. “Ya hurt? Two-Face rough ya up?”

Robin is putting him down in the alley, quickly checking him for injuries, winces at the cuts on his palms from the broken glass and sharp metal on his overturned bus. Still in Timmy’s other hand is the folded Batarang, and Timmy doesn’t need to see the raised eyebrow obscured by the mask to know it’s there.

“I-I needed it. The Batarang. The tires– I...I couldn’t let them get away until you got here.” And now that the gun isn’t pointed at his head, his eyes get hot and wet, his lower lip trembling at the fear and adrenaline still coursing through him.

When Robin just blinks down at him, he expects the Batarang to get taken away and maybe a quick, stern lecture about stealing.

But Robin just shakes his head a little and a crooked smile cuts across his face, a low chuckle when he replies, “I might know something about that. All right, stay here. I’ll come getcha after he’s down fer the count. Looks like Batman needs Robin right about now,” and the Boy Wonder salutes him with two fingers (like a hero) and takes off out of the alley to rejoin the fight.

Once he feels like he can stand without falling over, little Timmy peeks from around the corner, his heart pounding as he watches the way they work together, the way Robin uses Batman’s back to propel him into giving Two-Face an amazingly effective punch! Right to the distorted side of his face!

And when Two-Face picks up the Tommy gun again to try for another shot, Robin is the one throwing a Batarang to knock the gun away, back-to-back with the Batman while smoke pellets hit the ground at the feet of the thugs trying to get back up.

Batman doesn’t waste a second, turning with Robin to face the gangster again and deliver a vicious uppercut with a follow-up punch to the solar plexus. At the same time, Robin jumps up, both feet knocking two thugs out colder than the pellets.

(Batman needs Robin…)

It’s so amazing to watch, his mouth dropping open in wonder as the Caped Crusaders move like water and wind, in perfect sync, ducking and dodging around one another like they’ve always worked together, like they’re a team, and it makes his chest feel tight, so tight, but not in a bad way when things are terrifying and there’s nowhere safe–

(except for Wayne Manor)

–when living in Gotham is always, always so dangerous. But watching them, biting down on his lip, he forgets about how much his hands hurt, how scared he’d been when Two-Face was going to shoot him. He gets to be relieved enough for his knees to wobble, for his eyes to get hot and spill over just a little.

The crime fighters effortlessly put Two-Face and his goons down on the ground just as the GCPD’s mobile unit hit the scene to surround the perimeter.

Little Timmy pulls the mask off, wiping at his wet eyes as Commissioner Gordon approaches the downed villain and victorious vigilantes first, flanked by his team who are already fanning out to start rounding up the bad guys.

Robin glances over, looking for him, and Timmy shrinks back a little when Robin goes still. The Boy Wonder straightens up and subtly tugs on the side of Batman’s cape.

The cowl turns, and then follows Robin’s line of sight to the little boy standing in the alley that had been in the middle of the fray, that could have been seriously hurt by Two-Face...

Batman doesn’t make even a tic but a gloved hand squeezes Robin’s wrist as he turns back to Gordon to finish the details, fast and efficient.

(Faster than he had before he’d seen Tim Drake in the mouth of the alley, realized their favorite neighbor had been facing down on of Gotham’s worst criminals. It’s their little Tim and no way can he explain to Jim, the police, or anyone else why Batman would be carrying a small boy with him to fly through Gotham. He’d need his daytime identity. Fast.)

Before Timmy can try to scramble back up the fire escape, two uniformed police officers stumble upon him and immediately start yelling for medics.

Uh-oh.

The bang is grapples firing and the Dynamic Duo taking to the rooftops, leaving Gotham’s finest to clean up the mess and latch on to the young boy in the alley, pulling him toward the emergency crews setting up just outside the perimeter.

(He’s feeling a little woozy, his legs only half-working, so maybe...maybe it’s a good idea to see the paramedics after all.)

And even with all the yelling and scrambling movement, Timmy is a little dazed, watching Batman and Robin take to the rooftops, his heart in his wet eyes.

The detectives that get him to an ambulance are nice, and so is the medic that looks at the scratches, some with glass that needs to come out.

The burn cream hurts, like really hurts, and now that Batman and Robin are gone, he can let himself flinch a little. When she asks, he tells her the bus number a few streets over and how he’s glad everyone made it out okay. He just happened to get lost when everyone scrambled from it before it, you know, blew up or something.

He knows she’s not going to ask too many questions when she smiles gently down at him and bandages his hands. So, instead of asking to call a parent or guardian, she can drop him off to the Fire and Rescue Squad, and maybe he can slip away to catch a ride home without anyone asking being the wiser–

–which fails pretty epically when a disheveled Bruce Wayne comes straight at him through the crowd, Jason right on his heels.

(Mr. Bruce’s waist is lumpy under his shirt. He must not have taken off the utility belt.)

“Tim!” Mr. Bruce pushes to one side of the gurney he’s sitting on, and Jay pushes to the other, a hand just suddenly on the wrist the EMT isn’t wrapping up. But it’s nice when the hand is heavy on his shoulder instead of the back of his neck, pulling him against a broad chest.

(He can almost feel the yellow oval against his cheek)

“Tim! Alfred said your bus was attacked! I’m so glad I found you–”

“We, B,” Jason reminds him idly, looking down at Timmy with the exact same smile–

(Really is my Robin, Timmy thinks now that he can relax a little, thinks it’s funny how Batman and Robin are going to save him again.)

“Of course, Jay, we found you!”

“It’s...it’s okay,” he says lamely, one hand already worrying at the hem of Mr. Bruce’s wrinkled jacket, relaxing in the strong hold, trying to hide the fact he’s tearing up because now his hand and arms hurt. “Everyone got out, and Mr. Mike is going to be okay and Two-Face is going to Arkham and–”

“What’s ‘bout ya, Timmers?” Jay interrupts, staring down the EMT winding a final bandage around Tim’s hand, “lookit! Ya got hurt, didn’t ya? B, we gotta get ‘im home, you feel me? Looks like our guy needs some cookies n’ milk n’ a movie ta calm ‘im down.”

“We absolutely will, Jay. Alfred will be so relieved.” And Mr. Bruce’s hand in his hair is making him so sleepy, the nails scratching gently along his scalp so nice. “On the way home, you can call Dick, let him know what happened and Tim is okay.”

That makes Timmy smile because Dick likes to cuddle him, and he won’t even mind if he’s laying on his hurt arm because Dick’s cuddles are the best.

“Mr. Wayne,” one of the EMTs begins hesitantly, “this boy–”

“Is our neighbor. He’s staying with us while his parents are out of the country.” Mr. Bruce doesn’t miss a beat, already sliding an arm under Timmy’s knees. “We’re responsible for him.”

“Okay, well, here’s some extra bandages for his hands. All of his vitals are good and he’s not exhibiting signs of shock or further distress. Keep an eye on him anyway, just in case.”

“We certainly will. Thank-you for taking care of him,” and Bruce doesn’t hesitate to lift, pull Timmy against a broad, powerful chest while he’s talking, letting the little boy rest limply against him. Jay snags his backpack where he’d stashed his mask and Batarang, wondering if both would be gone by the time they got to the Manor.

It’s a credit as to how awful Mr. Bruce is playing Brucie Wayne because he avoids the media instead of acting like he’s silly, another way of hiding the Batman away.

Jay paces beside them as they cut through a back alley to get out of the war zone caused by Two-Face’s impromptu bank visit.

With the gentle swaying and immeasurable strength holding him, Tim sinks further down into Mr. Bruce’s strength, not really hearing the low talk between them as they walk.

The Rolls is there between one blink and the next, Mr. Alfred ruffling his hair as he opens the back door.

“He got a little banged up in the scuffle today, Alfred. I think he’s more than deserved dessert.”

“You say that based merely for injuries sake, Master Bruce. I shall be the judge after we see how Master Timothy did on his spelling homework.”

“Ssorry, Mr. Alfred,” the little boy slurs, eyes-half mast, “the bus was late.”

Jay laughs a little and lays a warm palm on Timmy’s forehead, “Yeah, yeah. S’okay, Timmers. Long as yer in one piece, I’d say it’s been a good day.”

“Not mad?” But his eyes are fluttering closed already, and his little chest lifts in a sigh.

“At you, dear boy? Never,” and Mr. Alfred opens the back door with a small smile and fond eyes. Mr. Bruce is easy when he chuckles low and ducks down into the Rolls with Tim on his lap and Jay nudged up against his side.

The car moves slowly through the wrecked part of the city until they’re on the highway, heading to Wayne Manor, and the motion of the car lulls him closer and closer to sleep. His hands resting palm up on his legs, and Mr. Bruce a mass of strength around him.

“S’all good,Timmy,” and even though he’s starting to drift, he still hears Jay mutter, “don’t cha take on anymore baddies. Gonna gimmie a heart attack, you feel me?”

B’s voice is soft when he murmurs back, “what was he doing there?”

“Takin’ out Harv’s tires if ya can believe it.”

“Somehow, I’m not really surprised.” Is less Mr. Bruce and more Batman.

“Ya know, B. It’s been a year. Maybe it’s time ta–”

“No. I mean, not yet, Jay. The longer he doesn’t know, the easier it will be to keep him safe.”

“Pfft. Whatevah ya say, Boss. Eventually, I ain’t gonna fit in the shorts no more. Then who’s gonna watch yer ass?”

“That’s not happening anytime soon. For the moment, we try to keep him away from escaped members of the Rogue Gallery.”

“I believe that is the most sound plan, Master Bruce.”

“Thank-you, Alfred. Maybe we can order some pizza for him tonight. What do you think?”

“Aw, c’mon, Alf! We gotta injured bird here.”

“Well. As much as I detest such ready-made slop, I supposed I shall allow it this time. As our young charge certainly deserves a reward for aiding Batman and Robin.”

The soft shifting is Mr. Bruce laughing and as he drifts off, Timmy smiles to himself again.

He can already smell the pizza.

#tiny!Tim #winter answers #800 followers #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #robin!jay #dc comics #my drab #my writing #i have feels #about young hero timmy #pre-robin

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princesscolumbia · 2 years ago

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tl;dr - I put ponies in another fic, but only for a few chapters

So, real quick, minor confession...this fic is actually one of my oldest, and it's not on this site.

Hey, easy, easy, let me explain.

So way back in 2005, I had a flash of inspiration. See, back in the 90s and carrying into the 00s, we didn't really go on forums or (even older) newsgroups if we wanted to avoid spam in our all the everything, we got on mailing lists. The Big One for fanfiction was the good ol' FFML, or "Fan Fiction Mailing List." What fanfiction? Yes. Which fandom? Yes. There was no division of franchises here. You were just as likely to encounter Trek as Xena, everything from Ah, Megami-sama! to Zoids. There was also no curation. The crap was flowing, and caught in the stream would be the occasional diamond, and it was up to YOU to determine which was which. And we called our porn "lemons." If the fic was leaning toward spicy we had a citrus scale. Orange was a little eechi, Lime was "there's plot, but expect to need some 'private time' later on." And so VERY much of it was anime-centric. (Sidebar: The late, lamented MythrilMoth and I first encountered each other while active on FFML)

One of the biggest fandoms in the FFML was Ranma 1/2, with Sailor Moon being a solid second place, though still trailing by quite a margin. It's not a stretch to say that, at the time, Ranma 1/2 was the largest single fandom active in the US-centric portions of the Internet (which, thanks to the heavy hand the USA had in creating the Internet, was a pretty sizeable portion of it). This was objectively provable, too. Not only was there the Penultimate Ranma 1/2 Fanfic Index, something none of the other fandoms needed, let alone had, you could go to fanfiction.net and show a list of ALL the fandoms sorted by number of fics, and the one having more works than any other by a LOOOOONG margin was Ranma 1/2.

So the fandom started curation, which is necessary when you have that many fics. (and the War of the Churches, which is one of the earliest online shipping wars, which is like talking about the Punic Wars when the subject of world wars comes up...and The Bet, which the less said about that, the better) There were so many fics that we had to split them into multiple meta-categories, some of which you'll easily recognize:

Continuation

Divergence

Crossover

Fusion

Lemon

Spamfic

There was obviously some mixing between them, but relevant to this is the Crossover and the Fusion.

Crossovers are kinda obvious, and introduced one of the most enjoyable, if WAY overdone, tropes of the FFML: The Fukufic. Take some Ranma 1/2, add some Sailor Moon, and viola, one fukufic. The catch was, they were all crossovers (except for one notable exception...which I really should dig up again sometime, it's a fun one), simply because direct fusions would dilute too much of either Ranma 1/2 or Sailor Moon.

Now, not that anyone saw this as a problem, mind, we just kinda shrugged if the subject came up and moved on.

Until one day, I was pondering this. (I mean, c'mon, you know me by now) "Fusion is where you take two properties and 'fuse' them together in new but recognizable ways," ponders I, "...so what would fission look like in this context?"

Naturally, my mind locked onto the fukufic, and the fanfic Fission was born.

Fission

The principal conceit is this: In the most unlikely of unlikely events, both Ranma and Usagi's respective magics to turn them into their other half are active at the same time when they collide. This "splits" their respective destinies, spinning off events and introducing characters that would completely rewrite their lives going forward. Ranma would get a Senshi team and their own "silver crystal" artifact and royal destiny, and Usagi would get a gender-swapping curse and a whole slew of romantic entanglements. Making this happen has been an incredibly fun challenge.

Plans and Schemes

I did not, I promise, intend for there to be a hiatus of any sort for Fission. I had, in fact, encountered a MASSIVE PILE of inspiration and jotted down a HUGE amount of notes for nine books worth of material about this new world in which there would be time travel shenanigans, a Xenomorph on an abandoned Mercury research base, and a look at the world of the Silver Millenium 1,000 years into the future.

But, as happens so often with me and in a recognizable pattern I wouldn't know about at the time because this was the first time it happened, I burned myself out. A move was involved, my marriage was experiencing challenges, and we were trying for a baby. This doesn't even factor in my career obligations, church activity, or social interactions which...yeah, most of it I wouldn't have chosen and only did because...okay, stopping there, this isn't a rant about my failed marriage.

I tried over the years, up to and including putting out a new chapter here and there, but I kept running into various forms of burnout.

Then the divorce happened.

Needing some sort of outlet, I started writing Double Trixie Trouble, and while it was just silly fluff, it was relatively easy to squirt out a chapter or three and just toss 'em up, but then the whole thing started getting complicated, and I started burning out again. By that time, though, I'd started writing Lost Little Wolf as a catharsis piece, and that wound up even more popular than DTT. And suddenly I couldn't not write LLW, it was metaphorically draining the ugly, puss-filled blisters that were my severely maladapted responses to the divorce.

On the plus side (and yeah, there's lots of plus sides), I did land on my soon-to-be-legally-changed new name of Chrystal Amber from the writing of it.

Then I went through my homeless period, and I've written about that quite a bit during the author's notes for My Empire of Dirt, as well as the severe injury I sustained during that time and the long road to recovery.

And during that period of time, I began to get nearly itchy to write more for Fission.

Outlines and Brainstorming

Fission has always, from day one, looked like this:

Pluto takes a vacation, this is widely considered to be a mistake

Ranma and Usagi 'collide' in a freak accident that could only happen to them. Owing to their already crazy lives, they don't realize how big a deal it is and promptly forget about it

Ranma and Usagi both start experiencing some "bleedover" from the other person, but since it's very minor and still within the realms of "crazy shit I have to deal with," they still don't think much of it.

Ranma turns into a new, not quite mirror version of Sailor Moon and gets her first senshi, Mercury, who winds up being Konatsu, the "Genius Kunoichi" as a not-quite-mirror to Ami's "Genius." Meanwhile Usagi gets her first suitor

Mars appears, additional bleed happens between the two "sides," Usagi experiences her first gender swap

Venus appears, more bleed, Usagi encounters another rival

Jupiter appears, Usagi can't hide her changes from the rest anymore, plans are made to meet

Ranma's "Inners" unite as a team, Usagi gains a new suitor

The two groups of Inners meet, the meeting is sabotaged by the BBEG but they wind up fighting along side each other and start to compare notes

Shampoo encounters Hotaru, offers to train her, coincidentally becomes the new Saturn

Ryoga receives a package promising to cure him of his curse. It changes his cursed form to a girl and becomes the new Uranus

Ranma receives a package with a key and a cryptic note saying he/she will know who it goes to

Akari initially rejects Ryoga's new cursed form, prompting Ryoga to go on a suicide mission. Trying to rescue new-Uranus, new-Moon realizes that only Akari can save Ryoga and the key is for Akari. They rescue Ryoga and Akari admits she still loves Ryoga, no matter the form

Ami advises the BBEG that's been after both teams is The Doom Star, named Nemesis by some consipiracy theorists in the 70s

They split into teams, do a three pronged assault, find Nemesis has a senshi, crack the Dark Planet, big space battle scene, huge martial arts, much wow

The day is saved, the teams start interacting, epilogue

This has been, from day one of writing the first words on the screen of the job I was holding at the time, the way things were going to go. I knew even then pretty much exactly what I wanted to do with this story.

Let's drill down a bit (I'm going somewhere with this, I promise):

Jupiter appears, Usagi can't hide her changes from the rest anymore, plans are made to meet

As with everything else, waaaay back in 2005 when I first started this monster, I had a specific idea how Ukyo would be introduced as Sailor Jupiter:

Ranma's team gets an invite to a concert in Jubaan

Three youma disguised as human pop stars reveal they've been siphoning energy for the entire concert tour, they get the upper hand on the senshi

Three members of the audience step up to do a counter-song to the youma

Ukyo turns into Jupiter, tipping the scales

Senshi win, headlines next day are about the Senshi openly appearing on video, but they aren't the usual senshi

Like I said, this has always been the plan, all the way back in 2005-2006.

Another Fandom Enters the Chat

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic entered the scene in 2010, and you all will know that part of the story.

But sometime around the time I started coming out of my trauma haze from being homeless and injured, I started re-reading my old fics and starting to figure out next-steps to continue the stories.

And I'm looking at the three monsters that are set to appear as energy draining singers at a concert... ...waaaaait a minute!

It was...PERFECT! I just needed three kids to step up, and heeeey...

Of course, if you know me at all then research will be involved. Thanks to pony names being, for the most part, based on nouns, this wound up being cake. I will say the names for the Sirens were more of a challenge, simply because the modern Japanese music scene uses a LOT of loan words from English and so I had to really dig to find the actual Japanese words for "Adagio," "Aria," and "Sonata," but I did find them.

Oh yeah? Fine! *conforms your gender*

2005 was...a different time for the queer community. It legitimately felt like we were on the verge of fracturing off the gender presentation parts of the community from the sexual attraction parts, and asexuality wasn't a thing most of us even heard about. (I wouldn't for another 2-ish years after that) Compounding that is the fact that my fanfic is built on a foundation from the 1980s, and yes, everything you've heard about how bad it was worldwide for queer folk is true. We barely made it out of that decade. Ranma 1/2 is a product of its time, but even for that it's VERY subversive. The whole thing is practically a study of teenage gender issues and nonconformity, by the end of the anime Ranma basically declares they're NB using the language available at the time, and Konatsu is known to be AMAB, but is treated as a woman. Any time the NWC tries to make Ko-chan 'act like a man,' it's shown just how very bad at it she is.

When I was writing Fission back in the mid-2000s, it wasn't a big deal to have Ranma be a guy who turns into a girl and back and that was that. There was no "they/them" we could use without looking like absolute weirdos. Konatsu was a pre-op transexual at best, so when writing for the ninja, you used he/him, end of story. If you review the chapters I wrote prior to my unplanned hiatus, you'll note that while Konatsu is in "civilian" guise, I use he/him. When a senshi, I had to do freakin vocabulary and grammar acrobatics to not use a pronoun at all. I wanted it to be clear that being a senshi in this universe is pretty much the ultimate form of femininity. Yes, they can crack a planet on accident and one of 'em can sneeze at the wrong time and alter history, but they're girls who are feminine and can kick your ass.

On this side of a transition, being where Konatsu would want to go if she could do so and afford it in the 1980s, I just couldn't bring myself to continue with the joke. It's ultimately kinda mean and I didn't feel comfortable with it. This "chapter" (consisting of chapters 10-12 on AO3) was me taking steps to address this in a plot-conforming, in-universe way and not break the flow of what I'd already written.

You're still here?!

Go read the fic!

#ranma #bishojo senshi sailor moon #ranma x akane #ranma saotome #ranma 1/2 #usagi tsukino #sailor moon #fanfic #fanfiction

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