from the helm

Gugu Mbatha-Raw to Star in Thriller ‘Fast Color’

“Miss Stevens” director Julia Hart is on board to helm from a screenplay she wrote with Horowitz. Principal photography will commence in New Mexico on March 13. LD is fully financing the project.

Mbatha-Raw will portray a woman forced to go on the run when her superhuman abilities are discovered. Years after having abandoned her family, the only place she has left to hide is home.

  • what she says: i'm fine
  • what she means: Nothing's okay. Wuntch is circling me like a shark frenzied by chum. The task force turning into a career-threatening quagmire. An Internal Affairs investigation casting doubt upon my integrity. And you ask, is everything okay? I am buffeted by the winds of my foe's enmity and cast about by the towering waves of cruel fate. Yet I, a Captain, am no longer able to command my vessel, my precinct, from my customary helm, my office. And you ask, is everything okay? I've worked the better part of my years on earth overcoming every prejudice and fighting for the position I hold, and now I feel it being ripped from my grasp, and with it the very essence of what defines me as a man. And you ask, is everything okay?
All (We) Want

So, in the Writers’ Hub we have quite the selection of opinions on when, where and if Captain Swan have ever done the deed. I took it upon myself to um… bring some of those scenarios to life.

4.4k of pure smutiness in various forms. Rated M. On ao3 HERE

Credit to @winterbythesea @ofshipsandswans @hencethebravery @dassala and @businesscasualprincess for the situations and @captainwiley and @irishswanff for the sprinting help. Did I say credit? I meant blame.

Also @killiancygnus. Because ily.

1. Neverland

He can feel the weight of her stare on the back of his neck as he turns from the helm, her regard following him as his invisible companion as he moves to go below.

She’s been sitting at the bow since sunset, the sky spreading before her like a sea of stars, but her face has never turned towards them, nor has she looked down at the glittering carpet of the ocean below. Her attention has been fixed, wholly and completely, on him.

It makes him nervous in a way he hasn’t felt in centuries - her silent perusal combined with the thrill of his newly discovered feelings leaving him quite lightheaded.

He wants her to watch him, but more than that he wants her to want.

He slips a hand into his jacket pocket in search of his flask - anything to soothe his frayed nerves - but he comes up empty.

“Lost something?” she calls, holding his flask between finger and thumb, her lip curled sardonically. “You’re not the only pirate around here.”

“You need only have asked, Swan,” he says, shuffling over with hand outstretched. To his surprise she pulls the flask back, holding it close to her chest and watching him with hooded eyes.

“Is that true?” she asks, her voice low.

“Is what true, love?” he asks, snatching for the flask and scowling slightly as she refuses to hand it over.

“That I only have to ask.”

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From the tournament helm to the fencing mask

  1. Great-Bascinet, circa 1420
  2. Visored Bascinet circa 1450
  3. Tournament Helm (Kolbenturnierhelm) Date: 1480-1485
  4. Tournament Helmet  (Kolbenturnierhelm), circa 1480
  5. Tournament Helm (Kolbenturnierhelm) Date: 1510
  6. Tournament Helm (Kolbenturnierhelm) Date: 1450–1500
  7. Foot-combat Tournament Helm, Date: 1510
  8. Tournament Helmet for the Gioco Del Ponte in Pisa, circa 1590
  9. Paukhelm, circa 1820
  10. Bayonet training fencing mask, circa 1910

Sterek Season’s Under Appreciated Fic Recs
December 31 Rec List
Huge thank you to everyone who submitted fics! Keep them coming!

Dead Space from the Helm of the Pop Rock by callunavulgari
Words: 3,590
Comfort’s the hum and vibration of a plasma-pulse F20 core engine in mid-hyperspace drive. Ease is the steady, oxygenated chill from the central air circulation vents on a tight and narrow sweep of the outer rim of the Tramontane galaxy. Reality is the taste of sparkling water and roasted almonds at moon-rise. He catches Derek’s eyes from across the bar and chuckles when the man raises an eyebrow, tapping his watch and holding up nine fingers.

Well, Stiles thinks, raising his glass in a sloppy salute. If he’s going to be stranded on a white-zoned planet with a penchant for bad music and the walking dead, at least he’s got a pretty face to look at.

The Hidebehind (This Town is Gonna Eat You)by auroradream🎯
Words: 4,034
Stiles stops in front of the how-to books and mutters under his breath, “DIY Plumbing? Resume Writing? Come on, where’s the stuff this town actually needs: Druids and You; Protective Circles for Dummies; How to Face a Coven and Still Graduate on Time?”

Listening discreetly at the front of the shop, Derek nearly knocks over a display rack.

“Even a flamethrower assembly guide. That might work.”

[An AU where Derek owns a Beacon Hills book store, and Stiles has a monster to kill.]

Silver Road  by appolsaucy
Words: 11,326
They rolled through the darkness until Derek’s eyes gave up trying to pierce through it and he let himself float, nothing but summer breeze and Stiles and his heart in his throat. It was the freest he’d ever felt.

He turned to tell Stiles, who lurched over the console and kissed him.

That’s messed up. by countrygirlsfun 🎯
Words: 17,319
“So let me see if I got this right, my son was cursed by drunk witches who weren’t following the rules of cursing people.”
“Pretty much, yes.”

Or the one where Stiles is cursed and logic is abandoned.

Bravery is a Loaded Gun by LiviKate
Words: 17,389
“No, I’m not asexual, Stiles,” Derek said shortly.

The teen’s heart sank in his chest, his palms going clammy and his neck prickling with the familiar feeling of rejection.

“So then it’s,” Stiles swallowed, throat clogging, unable to give voice to the facts he would much rather ignore. The silence grew between them, growing tense the longer it was left. For the first time in years, Stiles couldn’t speak. The weight of inadequacy held down his typical stream of useless banter. What does one say in this sort of situation? ‘I’m sorry you don’t find me attractive?’

Against the Edge of the Sky by sahbeL
Words: 34,452
He and Stiles just didn’t drift in the same orbit these days. Derek could probably count with two hands the number of times he’s seen the younger man in the past four years. And half of those times Stiles hadn’t even seen him back.

And no, he hadn’t really noticed the absence.

Or, the future fic where Stiles has become a BAMF and no one in the pack noticed because he’s a sneaky little shit and didn’t tell anyone until it ends up blowing up in everyone’s faces.

Tell me what Pack Means  by afullrevolution 🎯
Words: 22,511
Works: 2
Fourteen days into a two year mission, Stiles finds out that his companion for the voyage is a werewolf. Stiles wants to know what it means.

The Rohirrim are colonialist oppressors

Re-reading The Two Towers, I came upon this passage from the battle of Helm’s Deep:

“‘Yet there are many that cry in the Dunland tongue,’ said Gamling. ‘I know that tongue. It is an ancient speech of men, and once was spoken in many western valleys of the Mark. Hark! They hate us, and are glad; for our doom seems certain to them. “The king, the king,” they cry. “We will take their king. Death to the Forgoil! Death to the Strawheads! Death to the robbers of the North!” Such names they have for us. Not in half a thousand years have they forgotten their grievance that the Lords of Gondor gave the Mark to Eorl the Young and made alliance with him. That old hatred Saruman has inflamed.”

So basically, we have an indigenous people, whose land was claimed by conquerors from across the sea. When said conquerors couldn’t maintain control of the land anymore, rather than granting independence to the native people, the conquerors handed it off to a different set of foreign colonizers, who have refused to recognize the indigenous people’s rights for hundreds of years. No wonder the Dunlendings are upset! This is a war of liberation for them! Tragically, at the end of the battle, the Dunlending POWs are forced to labor at repairing Helm’s Deep as penance for their rebellion.

This all supports my headcanon that Saruman was the good guy in this portion of the war.


Nanatsu no Taizai FES is this month! These are the goods they’ll be selling there. Whatever that Hawk thing there is.

The characters FES outfits look so cute! I especially like Hendrickson with his hat

kilanas-starseeker  asked:

From the shadows emerged a figure clad in a familiar regalia. Though the darkness concealed the brilliance of the steel, the feint glow that illuminated the room could not disguise the blood that painted the suit of armor. "You are a difficult person to find..." Spoke a voice from behind the fibers of helm it wore. The figure sheathed its blade before reaching to remove its helm. It was the figure's sapphire gaze that betrayed him. "Shesha Warbringer."

For the most part, it was a well-known fact to those who dared to call themselves associates to the magus that locating her was never a simple task. She took great pride in that little side talent. With that being said, she it was rare for her to have moments in which her guard would be let down. Her enemies were anywhere and everywhere. The slightly distraction could always open the door of possibility to someone gaining the privilege of ending that long life of hers. So, one must always be ready. One must always be prepared.

In this particular case, she’d been alone to her on musings. A wine glass had rested to her lips so she’d taste the heavy brew of bourbon lingering onto her lips before her next sip. She’d been thinking for a long while that night. The light of the moon and the shadows of the night made it easy for her to keep herself… to herself. So when the approach of the figure made himself know, she turned only slightly to grant the voice a side-long glance. Not many knew that name… not many would dare mention it to her face if the hadn’t been granted the right. “Well well,”

A chuckled slithered past her throat and trickled through her chest into a closed mouth laugh. “Now that is the sound of someone I’ve not heard in a long time.” She turned towards the individual to give him a bit more of her attention and less of her back. “You just couldn’t allow yourself to come to terms with me being dead now could you?” The sigh that followed confirmed that she’d had enough to drink for the alcohol to have stained her breath. That was alright. There would be far more to follow. Intoxication wasn’t easy when you were this age.

“Kil’anas Starseeker. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”


A Court of War and Starlight
The Dawn Court - High Lord Cibrán & High Lady Uxía

A chariot drawn by massive antlered elk with golden hides was nestled in the midst of the army, and upon it was mountain a tall, chiseled High Fae man with a golden helm, tawny skin, and eyes that were… Deep black. No whites. Like holes in his head. It was High Lord Cibrán.

There was a flash of golden light, and the gryphon before me vanished to reveal a stunning High Fae woman in golden armor, a massive sword poised at her side. Thick brown curls poured from beneath her helm, and her light eyes pierced me, a promise of a swift death burning from their depths.

Uxía’s lips curled back from her teeth. “It is my only hope of saving Cibrán and my daughters.” Her mate’s name–Thee-bron–was pronounced with such beauty I could almost feel my own mate bond hum in response.

NSFW Drift/Ratchet Drabble

I cannot believe how hard I’ve fallen for this pair. 

Includes: Oral, lazy sex. 

“Why are you always stressed out so much?”

Ratchet growled as his back fell heavily into Drift’s embrace

“Work…patients! Someone keeps burning joss sticks in my office…I know it was you.” Ratchet tilted his head back and Drift mouthed tenderly at the decoration protruding from Ratchet’s helm.

“It was to help you relax,” Drift reasoned, but kindness had a consequence.

“You set off the fire alarm. Ultra Magnus cited it and you as a fire hazard,” Ratchet sensed the threat of a joke: that Drift was now officially hot or something equally irksome and worthy of a cringe. Fortunately, Drift’s wit was suppressed by Ratchet’s weight, which gave Drift something else to focus on.

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For the daemon cannot make his way back to the infinite which is his home except by ruthlessly destroying the finite and the earthly which restrains him, by destroying the body wherein, for a season, he is housed. He works, as with a lever, to promote expansion, but threatens in so doing to shatter the tenement. That is why those of an exceptionally “daemonic temperament”, those who cannot early and thoroughly subdue the daemon within them, are racked by disquietude. Ever and again the daemon snatches the helm from their control and steers them (helpless as straws in the blast) into the heart of the storm, perchance to shatter them on the rocks of destiny.
—  Stefan Zweig, “The Struggle with the Daemon: Hölderlin, Kleist, Nietzsche”
Bam’s Contraband Girlfriend (A goofy One-Shot)

A House-Arrest Story 

Request from @darndimples

Some familiar names in this story, look for the @darndimples @jessicamoreno62 @impossiblyluckykryptonite and @loveandpeace292 tags!

Bam paced by the window of his cramped Juneau apartment. He wasn’t used to being alone.he wasn’t used to being this cooped up. He wanted to go outside, get his hands dirty. He wanted to smell the salty sea air from the helm of the integrity. But he was stuck here for the next 29 days, 18 hours and 6 minutes.

He was thankful he and his Dad were just under house arrest and spared actually having to go to jail. But even then, because of the charges, even here and his dad were not allowed in the same location.

He heard a car horn honk and hoped that was the signal he’d been waiting for. He peaked out of the window, seeing his brothers friend, Kenny walking up the sidewalk, to the orange line on the sidewalk that marked Bam’s boundary. He nonchalantly left a bag by the line, whistling as he walked away. When Kenny got back to his truck, he saw Bam peering through the window and waved. Bam waited a few moments, walking out the door and stooped to get the bag.

Once inside he pulled his camera, a cell phone, and a laptop from the bag. He set the items on the coffee table in the living room. He shook his head as the local news station was babbling on, opening the laptop and logging into it. He connected to the open wireless network from his neighbor and felt a sense of relief. As long as he could keep it hidden, this would make his 30 days go by so much faster.

He steered clear of his normal social media outlets, knowing that any activity there might tip someone off and then house arrest would be over and real jail would begin. He stared at the screen for a while as the google homepage stared back at him almost mockingly. Trying to tell himself he wasn’t being conceited, he typed in his own name.

“Joshua Bam Bam Brown” He said out loud as he typed.

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