#Guardian of mercy and men

[snootlestheangel]

Bryn: *existing*

Price: *look of longing and adoration*

Soap, Ghost, and Gaz: *understood shared look of operation "Get Price A Girlfriend" is a go*

Nik and Laswell get in on it

@stuffireadandenjoy @midnight193 @deeptrashwitch

[raccoon-in-the-danger-room]

Sometimes I see reviews about D&W where people think Worst Wolverine's backstory is super lacking. That they expected something epic like how Mysterio tricked Logan to slaughter everyone in the Old Man comic run.

But that plot, at least to me, doesn't make The Worst Wolverine. It probably makes the Most Tortured Wolverine -- the story of a man slaughtering his own family with his bare hands because he was mind controlled. Which inevitably created a power vacuum so gigantic that the world basically collapsed as supervillains take over the world.

But the title of Worst Wolverine should belong to the Logan that completely abandons his most important moral value: to be the protector.

Sure, he tends to be nomadic and at times self-isolates, but at his core he truly knows what it means to be a pack animal: to be a part of a cohesive family unit, rely on others, be a guardian for the weak.

In a literal sense, a common backstory for him was that he just fucked off from human society after he mutated to live with a pack of wolves. He turned feral, but they also taught him about the importance of community.

Even if you aren't a fan of the wolf background (which I AM because I think it's funny and dramatic as hell), there's other stories where he got taken care of by the Blackfoot Tribe and Lord Ogun before somehow winding up in the Weapon-X Program. Then, the Hudson family rescued him and helped him gain his humanity back after the adamantium experiments. He joined Department H, and sometime after, he found his place with the X-Men.

My point being that past or present, Logan has always belonged to a family. He needs it -- his human AND animal side both need it. He's not meant to be a creature of solitude. When he is, it's a form of punishment that he inflicts upon himself because he doesn't feel worthy to be around the people he loves or he's worried about hurting them. Or it's something inflicted upon him -- aka he's been captured and is being experimented on.

So what does all this tell us about Logan's moral code? He cares deeply for others because it's in his nature to be a part of a pack and he will do anything to protect them.

He's very caring towards animals (ex. looking after wolves that took care of him, mercy killing a bear in The Wolverine, and saving the horses in Logan). He tried to save Silver Fox's life when Sabretooth attacked her. When his wife Itsu was murdered, he relied on the advice of Lord Ogun to get vengeance for her with the Muramasa Blade. He joined Department H and Alpha Flight because he owed the Hudsons so much after re-acclimating him to society. He stayed with the X-Men because Charles gave him a home, family, and purpose outside of being a weapon. He enabled him to be the good man that he is by not only using his powers for the good fight but also being a teacher for the students.

As a character, Logan was created to reflect the archetype of the cowboy/samurai with the morals of honor, integrity, and justice. He's also not afraid to be judge, jury, and executioner for the people he loves. He's a man of action.

So what is the antithetical? A man who dishonors himself by not taking his job seriously. A man of inaction who abandons those he loves. A man who doesn't seek justice but wallows in regret and guilt.

And what did the Worst Wolverine do?

He let his fondness for drinking harm his work. While he was drinking at a bar, a group of humans invaded the X-Mansion and killed a large part of the staff, students, and X-Men. He entered a berserker rage where he murdered the invaders AND innocent people. He tarnished the legacy of the X-Men.

The title of Worst Wolverine doesn't go to the man who got brainwashed and killed without knowing. The title goes to the Logan who killed indescriminantly and didn’t want to stop.

He chose to walk away when they called out for him. He went into a beast state that made the public completely turn against the X-Men in just one night. Instead of making up for his sins, he just went back to the bar -- the very thing that killed his family. He did everything he could to go against his morals of honor, integrity, and justice.

He was a man who failed his family.

THAT'S what makes him The Worst Wolverine.

[abbas777]

{The believers, both men and women, are guardians of one another. They encourage good and forbid evil, establish prayer and pay alms-tax, and obey Allah and His Messenger. It is they who will be shown Allah’s mercy. Surely Allah is Almighty, All-Wise.} - al-Tawbah 71

[vxlkirayaxo]

Thinking about hoyoverse men who meet your parent(s) for the first time

•They don't know if they should take their shoes off or not and if they do where to put them

•They practically clingy to you in fear of touching or bumping something and offending your guardian

•at supper time they sit next to you immediately and copy all your movements so he knows if he has to pray or not

•after dinner when the baby photos come out they can almost feel the embarrassment coming off of you and don't look unless someone points

•when your guardian wants to talk to them alone silent pleas of mercy come out of his mouth even if he isn't religious

•The sigh of relief they let out is almost loud enough to be heard in a different country once you two go into the car after saying goodbyes

ART BLOCK AND WRITERS BLOCK HIT ME AHHHGUIAHHAH

[palestinegenocide]

The flour massacre...

80

families lost their beloved members.

80

people killed with no mercy

Some put the death toll around 112

280

injured

This is what the iof said when confronted:

The Israeli version of events changed over the course of the day. The first account given by the Israeli military was that the victims had died in a stampede in which people had been “killed and injured from pushing, trampling and being run over by the trucks”. Later, Israeli military officials briefed the Guardian and other news outlets to say that their forces had only opened fire on a crowd that threatened them after the aid convoy had moved on, and that most of the casualties were caused earlier by the stampede or people being knocked down. Israeli officials also questioned the death toll from Palestinian authorities.

We all know by now that the only thing israel knows how to do is lie

THEY OPEN FIRED ON A HUNGRY CROWD.

They have been purposely starving all the people stuck, and as soon as aid arrives, they kill all of them with no mercy.

I swear this is some dystopian hunger games kinda shit.

MEN WHO SAID GOODBYE TO THEIR FAMILIES PROMISING TO COME BACK WITH FOOD WILL COME BACK NO MORE 💔

We will never forgive you israel, we hope your downfall will be as painful as the pain you have caused every single Palestinian.

[gingernut1314]

Little Game Pt. 2

Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader

Summary: Mihawk has found you once more after a month of hunting after you--a month of playing your little games. Found you in yet another poor excuse for a bar, except it seems you have forgotten all about your game. Forgotten and were dulling your usually sharp sense away with drink after drink. But Mihawk hasn't forgotten. Your game is still on and he plans on winning.

Tags: angst, fluff

Word Count: 4.9K

Setlist:

Emotions

I Wanted to Leave

A/N: I'm soooo sorry it's been such a long time! I'm in my last year of college and it's absolute hell on earth and the work is insane. Anyywway, there's no spice again, but I'm slowly getting there! I hope you all enjoy! 🩷

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠ Part 1 | Part 3

Mihawk had traveled thousands of miles from his Marine-ravaged home. Had smuggled himself onto cargo ships and luxury vessels to get to island after island. Had begged to join the first pirate crew he could find so he might learn to sail and build his strength. Had begged on his knees, forehead bowed so low it had touched the ground with anger-fueled tears in his eyes to the first swordsman he could find to teach him the delicate art of the blade. 

Had begged on hand and knee to every swords master he came across to teach him. To help him draw closer and closer to that end goal he would do anything to achieve. 

He would become strong. Become the greatest swordsman the world had ever known and then he would lay waste to the Marines. He would spare them no mercy, just as they had spared his home no mercy. Just as they had spared his mother no mercy. 

It was a goal--no, a vow bound by blood and death herself that led him here to this small island. An island covered in ancient, towering trees. An island home to a secluded and unknown people. Home to the greatest swordsman of a long-ago era. A swordsmen who had lived 180 years and had never lost a fight. 

His yellow eyes scanned the dark wood he had been warned was full of monsters--devils waiting to tear any traveler brave enough to enter its thick, fog-filled brush. His last master had warned him many men had gone in looking for the great swordsman to learn from him, just as Mihawk, but they never reached his log cabin at its center. They had hardly stepped foot into the wood before its guardian attacked. 

Mihawk calmly stated he would be the first to make it. Would face this Guardian of the Wood and all its devilish monsters and win. He would find the great swordsman and prove to him he was worth his teachings.

The forest hardly looked dangerous. Especially when he spotted the yellow-gold petals of marigolds that he could see littered the leaf-covered floor. 

No monster in sight. No devil. No Guardian. 

Mihawk placed his hand over the hilt of his sword at his side and started into the dark forest. Had just passed a rather large bunch of marigolds when someone landed on the ground before him, having hopped down from their spot amongst the treetops. 

Mihawk scolded himself for not having spotted the figure, knowing he would have seen them had he not been so preoccupied thinking about devils. The tip of a naginata pressed into his chest.

“Are you a pirate?” The voice that came from the figure was silky and calm, yet held dark danger within its melody. It was a voice unlike any other Mihawk had heard and its wielder was just as rare. You looked like some wood nymph. Like the mystical yet deadly creatures Mihawk had heard sung on the lips of pirates and sailors alike come to life. 

“I am here for Rivers Achilles.” You frowned deeply, that sharp blade never leaving Mihawk's chest. He looked you over carefully. Looked over your well-trained stance, one only gained from practice and patience Mihawk knew all too well. Took in the fact you must be around Mihawk’s own age of fourteen. No. He could tell you were older. A year--maybe two. 

“Do all you pirates have a monthly meeting to discuss such originality?” Mihawk narrowed his eyes the slightest bit. Watched your eyes spark like you enjoyed his small reaction. 

“I do not have time to waste on some dirt-smug girl.” Mihawk saw you were hardly dirt smugged. You were pertinently clean as if you had washed before climbing up into that tree. He said it to snuff out that spark of enjoyment you had gotten from baiting his temper. An anger he was slowly training himself to wrangle away. “Now. Move before I move you.” 

You laughed. A small thing that grew into an all-out bellow. It was a laugh that matched your darkness. Your rareness. It had Mihawk blinking, as if stunned at its sound.

“You step another inch in my wood, pirate, and I will break your nose.” You threatened, that dangerous tone laying in the background of your voice pooling thick like venom to its forefront. It was--intoxicating to hear. A sound Mihawk wanted to drag from you again and again. 

“Are you the Guardian of the Wood?” Your shoulders rose and pride swelled in your eyes.

“If you have heard of me then you have heard of what I have done to many a pirate such as yourself. I make them disappear--vanish them from the face of the earth.” Mihawk watched you slowly. A slowness that sparked anger in your eyes. 

It was an anger that Mihawk knew too well. An anger that matched his own in intensity and fury like some twin flame. Someone had hurt you--had taken someone from you, just as those Marines had taken his mother. Had left you feeling so weak and empty it left that anger to fester and grow out of control in you, just as it had in him. It was an anger he wanted to lash out at. One he wanted to direct his own anger at. 

“I thought you would be--” He paused, letting his eyes roam over your body again in a bored manner. “--more.” That fiery anger flared brightly. Had your knuckles going white wrapped as tightly as they were around the staff of your naginata. “How disappointing to find you are just some feral, dirt-covered girl.” Oh yes--yes there it was. Such anger. Anger to match his own. Anger that would rival him like none other ever could.

Mihawk had hardly seen you move before you were bringing the staff of our naginata to ram into his nose. A sickening crunch sounded in Mihawk's ears as pain flared in his face, nearly blinding him. 

A pain that blinded him from seeing you move to kick him hard in the chest, sending him flying out of the woods and back onto the black sand of the beach he had just landed on near minutes ago. 

His anger flared then, but he could only blame himself. He had been distracted by your own anger. By your dangerous voice and your rare beauty. Stupid, idiotic distractions on his part. 

“A runt such as yourself should know his place.” You hissed as Mihawk shoved himself to his knees, wiping the blood from under his broken nose as he laid his yellow eyes on you once more. Found you had left the darkness of your wood and stopped before him looking like some vengeful goddess fallen straight from the heavens. “My father does not wish to waste his time training the likes of pirates. Weak pirates such as yourself, runt.” 

Your father was Rivers Achilles--yes, it made sense now. Your rarity made sense. Your strength and skill. Your father was no ordinary man, therefor his offspring would be just as inordinary--spectacular. 

“I am no runt and I am not weak. I will pass you. I will bow before Achilles and he will train me.” Mihawk declared, cold sea water spraying at his dark leather boot-covered feet. “Your little game will do nothing to stop me from becoming the greatest swordsman this world has ever seen.” 

That excited spark flashed in your icy eyes again. A spark that flickered and twirled with your anger. A wicked, cat-like grin crossed your face--a grin that was so stunning it nearly stole Mihawk's breath away--did steal it.

“Game on.” 

Mihawk had been tracking you for a month now. A month longer than he liked, but you never gave up the chase. Never slowed or stopped long enough for Mihawk to grab hold of you. All he ever saw of you was the trail of perfect chaos you left behind. 

He had followed you through the North, South, East, and West Blues. Had followed you into the Grand Line, full of all its dangers, and back, only to follow you right back into its mysterious waters. And just when he thought he had caught up to you, would have you within his grasp, you had disappeared like smoke between his fingers. 

Despite how long his pursuit of you had taken, he found it excited him. Had him looking forward to the coming dawn, something he had long ago started to dread. 

He assumed it was because you excited him--had always kept him on his toes. You were a rare woman. One that had always challenged him in skill and wit--that matched him as perfectly as one could match another. 

Part of him wished you would just give in. Come with him back to Kuraigana Island and let him indulge you in every luxury he had ever wanted to give you. It was a foolish wish, but one he held regardless. One he knew would never come true unless he won this little game of yours. 

A game you seemed to have forgotten for the night, because here you were, in another run-down, dirty, overcrowded bar on some backwater island in the Grand Line, drunk out of your mind. It was unlike you, to be this careless. Not when it came to your games--when Mihawk was playing them just as you had wanted. 

But there you were, downing the last of your beer, hardly grimacing at the taste as he knew you usually would, too drunk to even taste it. There you were, looking so--exhausted. It was an exhaustion Mihawk knew too well--that weight heavy on his shoulders as it seemed to do you. An exhaustion that had Mihawk pausing. Almost had him leaving this too-small bar and all its too-drunk inhabitants. 

Almost. 

A drunk man bumped into Mihawk with a slurred apology, but he hardly heard it. Hardly even felt the pathetic man running into him. Not when he was so close to you. Not when he was so close to winning the game you had started. 

“Why is it you continue to frequent such nightmarish establishments?” Mihawk's voice should have had you sobering up. Should have had you scrambling to escape back out to sea and leave him and this island far behind. But his voice--so smooth and calm and utterly bored had you tingling in excitement. 

You had missed his all-too-calm dementor. Had missed him, his face, and his stupid hat. 

On a small hiccup, you turned to look up into those piercing yellow-gold eyes you had missed the most. Eyes you wished you could look into forever.

With your thoughts fogged nicely thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed, you had no embarrassment or strength for good decision-making when you placed your palm over top of his hard-earned abs. The warmth of his skin seeped into your freezing fingers as you ran them over his skin. 

“Mi-hic-hawk.” You purred up at the unamused man, all but fighting against your hiccups. You flashed him a sly grin. “How’d you find me?” You slurred horribly. 

“You are being sloppy.” You hummed as you brought your other hand to run along his skin, taking in his warmth and power that all but radiated off of him in dangerous waves.

“You always know just how to--hic-- sweet talk a girl.” You said, running your hands around his waist, where they disappeared under his dark jacket. Where they felt the equally as strong muscles lining his lower back. “Say something mean to me again, Mihawk. Pretty--hic--please.” 

Mihawk blinked down at you for a single moment before swiftly removing your hands from his body. You pouted, going to grab for him again, but he brushed you off once more. “Stop.” You whined pathetically, “You’re being mean.” 

“You asked me to mean,” Mihawk said the fact simply in that overly bored manner he hid behind. With a huff, you stopped your attempts at touching him and crossed your arms over your chest. 

“I didn’t say sh-hic-oo me away.” 

“You are drunk, Y/N.” You rolled your eyes dramatically, turning back around on the bar stool you sat on to find the bartender again. 

“And you’re not. It’s --hic-- boring.” You hissed as the bartender came over. “I will have your finest beer and my --hic-- best friend will have your oldest wine.” The woman’s eyes darted to Mihawk making you fix her with an icy glare. Her eyes looked a little too long in Mihawk's direction. Had looked over his face and body for too long. “Don’t look at him. I can only look at him.” She was quick to snap her eyes away, her face going pale in utter fear.

“Y-yes ma’am. We-we only have a red blend from a year ago.” You sighed.

“He will deal with it.” 

“Y/N, we are leaving,” Mihawk said as the woman rushed off. You gave another dramatic sigh, turning back to face him. Those yellow-gold eyes had never once left you and you couldn’t help but enjoy being in their sights. 

“Mihawk, we are--hic--not. I just ordered.” He continued to look unamused. Continued to fix you with his own sharp stare. One that never quite seemed to overpower your own. “Is it because I ordered you bad wine?” 

“Bad wine or not we are leaving.” You narrowed your eyes up at him. Narrowed them so sharp you willed them to cut him open. 

“It’s my--hic--day off. If you are going to be a party pooper then you should --hic-- leave.” It was the exact opposite of what you wanted him to do, but you had landed on this island to get drunk. So drunk you would hopefully wake up with dark spots in your memory.

“I will. With you.” He insisted. You rubbed your eyes roughly, that exhaustion you had come here to escape returning with a vengeance. 

“You are such an --hic--asshole.” 

“Poetic.” Mihawk monotoned. You hissed, yanking your hands away from your face and flinging them up in the air.

“I’m drunk, Mr. Smarty-Pants. Leave me be.” Your beer was placed before you and you were quick to scoop it up. The bad glass of wine went untouched by Mihawk. “Do you want to know --hic-- something?” You asked the bartender who hesitated. Hesitated and stayed after you fix her with your icy glare once more. “This--hic-- guy acts all tough but really --hic-- he wants to leave because all these people are making him--hic--itchy. He’d rather just sit on his pert little ass in the dark.” You said, a giggle leaving your lips. 

The bartender’s eyes darted back to Mihawk and you slammed your fist on the countertop, making the glasses rattle and the bartender nearly jump out of her skin. “I said don’t look at him.” You watched her chest heave up and down in fear as you took a long sip from your beer. “Talking about pert little asses. Mihawk once ran naked--”

“Enough, Y/N.” Mihawk all but commanded you, making you tense. It was a command you bristled at--made your anger begin to heat in your chest rather quickly. Too quick for you to grab hold of and control, especially when you were this drunk. “We’re leaving.” 

“Fuck you! Fuck you and fuck the Marines and --hic--fuck you again.” You hissed, standing from your stool only to nearly fall off it in the process. Mihawk stayed planted in his place, even when you ran into him during your oh-so-graceful fall. “You can’t tell me what to--hic--do.” 

“You are stumbling around like a no-good drunkard. Collect yourself.” You stomped your foot and pushed Mihawk with another hiss like some child. The swordsman hardly seemed to even feel your attack. A fact that had you seething and going to do it again, but he grabbed your wrists in a tight hold. “Enough.” He commanded again. You yanked against his grip but it stayed strong. 

“Let me go.” You hissed at him, yanking again. 

“We are leaving. Whether you do so on your own two feet or I carry you out makes no difference to me.” Your anger surged in your chest. Surged in defiance at his orders. You were not one to be ordered around. Especially by him. 

“You will unhand me this instant or I will--hic--break your nose.” Something flashed in Mihawk's golden eyes. Something--sad. A sad that called to your own sadness which had been welling and pooling within your chest for years now. Pooling to the point of near flooding. A flood you resorted to drinking to dam it up. 

Mihawk’s grip around your wrists fell, but he made no sign of leaving. Made no sign of moving a single muscle from his spot before you. Made no sign of giving up on his declaration of leaving this bar with you in tow.

In your drunken state, you thought this was a perfect opportunity to draw your black blade, which you had left uncovered at your hip. You swung, your muscles moving on near memory, at the frustrating swordsman before you, causing the bartender and a few people around you to scream out in fear. 

Mihawk sidestepped your attack and before you could blink, your sword was skillfully pulled from your grasp and you stumbled forward with a roar. “Give it--” Your words were cut off by a yelp as Mihawk grabbed you up in his strong arms, throwing you over his shoulder. 

Your right shoulder hit Yoru’s hilt painfully and you had to quickly throw your hands out to stop your face from colliding with the black blade strapped to his back. Mihawk wrapped an iron-like arm around your thighs to keep you in place before starting for the exit.

Your vision blurred from the sudden movement, but it didn’t stop you from pounding on Mihawk’s powerful back and kicking your feet as best you could in your weak attempt to escape. His hold on you never lessened, only seeming to tighten in your struggle. 

“Let me go, Mihawk!” You shouted, pulling yourself up enough to try to catch of glimpse of his face, only for his stupid hat to hit you in the face. You gave a frustrated little growl. “This is not fair! I’m drunk!”

“Drunk or not, you started the game. I plan on finishing it.” You huffed in frustration, punching his back once more to no avail. 

The bar fell away and soon you were being carried through the night-filled streets of the backwater village you had found. You continued to fight against his hold until your stomach stirred nauseously and your vision blurred to the point you could hardly see. 

With a pathetic moan, you let your body go limp against his back, your body bouncing with every graceful step he took. It only made your nausea grow, but you were too dizzy to do anything about it. 

“Tire yourself out?” Mihawk asked something like amusement finally filling his smooth voice. 

“I’m going to vomit all over your fancy little sword.” You murmured, making the man sigh deeply through his nose. 

“Are you serious?” You moaned, feeling bile rise in your throat. Your world spun and blurred around you as Mihawk dragged you off his shoulder, a movement that only had that bile rising sharply and your mouth filling with hot spit. You were placed on your feet, but your knees gave out with little warning. Tiny rocks dug into the flesh of your palms and into your kneecaps. 

You cursed, taking deep breaths of the chill night air, hoping to settle your upset stomach. Maybe you had overdone it on the drinks--but unfortunately for you, this is what you had set out to accomplish, and sober you knew she wouldn’t have to deal with all of this nastiness. 

You had just opened your mouth to relieve your aching stomach when strong hands collected your hair away from your face. Hands that held your hair in a manner so soft you hardly felt it. You vomited before you could think much more on whose hands were holding your hair up. 

“Why were you in that bar, Y/N?” Mihawk asked, voice low and so--gentle. As gentle as the man could make it seem. You huffed in and out deeply, catching your breath.

“Why do most people go to --hic -- bars? To get drunk.” You hissed as best you could between breaths. Bile rose in your throat and your stomach rolled once more. Gods--

“Yes,” He sighed, annoyed at your comment. “But you don’t go to bars to get drunk. Not when you are set on a task. Not ever.” You huffed a moan before throwing up once more. 

“I’ve changed.” You huff out, catching your breath once more. Mihawk was quiet behind you. A quiet that ate at you more than you wished to admit. Your vision blurred again. But it was a blur that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the tears welling in your eyes. 

You had drunk too much. Way too much if it was bring you to tears. Tears you could do nothing about to control, not in the state you were currently in. Not when the man making you cry was behind you, holding your hair like there was nothing wrong between the two of you. Like you were back on your home island, stealing alcohol from your father and sneaking off to the only bar on the whole island. 

Your home. Your father. Your forest. All gone. Just like that in the blink of an eye. How had it happened? How had you let it happen? You had been your home's Guardian, just as your mother before you, and her mother before her. It had been your job, your responsibility to protect it from such dangers. 

It had been your life's purpose and you had failed. Failed and lived. Lived when you should have died protecting it.

“Y/N--” Mihawk started, but you swatted his hands away as you turned your body away from your puke. You buried your face in your hands to keep the swordsman from seeing your tears. From seeing your weakened and broken state. 

“Leave me be. Please.” You all but begged. Gods you were pathetic. So far from the proud and strong person you had once been in your youth. So old and angry and tired.

“I’ve seen you at your lowest. Some sick and a few drunken tears are hardly going to deter me.” He said on a sigh like you should have already known that. 

You pulled your face from your hands to glare at him where he knelt behind you. To tell him to leave on a venomous hiss--to throw insults his way, but his hand disappearing into his jacket pocket caught your eye. It reappears with a golden hair clip, diamonds sparkling in the lamp lights as he showed it to you. 

“That’s my--” You started in disbelief. 

“You forgot it on my ship when you left.” He said, handing it to you. You took in gently in your hands and before you could even begin to process everything, his hands were in your hair once more. He gently pulled and twisted it, mimicking how you had done your hair a million and one times before without so much as a thought of his ever-watchful gaze. His free hand plucked the golden clip from your hand and nestled it securely in your hair. 

He had kept it. Had not only kept it, but had kept it on his person. Kept it close and ready to use if you ever needed it once more. 

When he was done, you turned to stare bug-eyed up at him, tears still refusing to halt their endless fall. Calm. He was always so calm. A calm that frustrated you and grated on your nerves to no end, but was such a familiar, comforting presence. A presence you had yearned to be around more than you yearned to hunt down every last Marine you came across. 

Hesitantly, he reached for you. So hesitantly he gave you enough to slap him away, but you made no move to do so. Made no move to stop him as he brushed your tears away with his thumb. 

His touch sent your eyes watering all over again. His touch and his actions were so gentle and kind and so utterly unfair. So unfair because you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not for a long, long time. 

Gods how you wanted to give in. 

“I can’t--I can’t go with you.” You said in a low, grave tone. Mihawk brushed his thumb over your cheek once more before pulling away, making you feel that cold aloneness you had been trying to chase away with drink. He gave the slightest of nods. 

“I know.” He said just as lowly, his face seeming to harden further. You watched him grab your black blade, which he had placed on the ground beside him. He resheathed it at your side skillfully and reached for you again, grabbing you under your arms and lifting you to your feet. You swayed like a great gust of wind had blown into you, your drunkenness having yet to wear off. 

Mihawk hardly made a single sound before he was lifting you off the ground once more. Made no sound as he prompted you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. You did so without much thought, the action having been memorized by your body.

It was something the two of you had done many times over the years, whether it be you clinging to his back or front. Whether it be because you were too drunk or injured to walk, you would cling to him and he would hold you tight. It was something he had grumbled endlessly about the first few times you’d insisted upon it, but had slowly grown used to it to the point he would pick you up as such without your prompting. 

Your eyes catch his own briefly. Eyes so bright they were like the sun. A sun your soul begged to orbit one more, but your pride beat it down. Had you looking away and placing your cheek on his shoulder, taking his rose and expensive cologne scent deep into your nose so that you might hold on to it for that much longer.

Mihawk felt like a teenager again, holding you like this. It was--refreshing, though if anyone of importance saw him in such a way, there was sure to be trouble. But for now, in this small village in the middle of the Grand Line, he could get away with it. Could hold you close and keep your seemingly ever-cold body warm. 

He had marked where your ship was docked before he had ever docked his own, so finding it again was hardly a chore. 

Your ship was just a tab bit larger than his own, still designed for a single crew member to sail, but large enough for a much more spacious sleeping quarters and kitchen. That had been something you had complained about endlessly when having sailed with him on his own ship. 

He readjusted his hold on you so he might open the door that led to the inner workings of your ship. It was neat and tidy, just as his own was, though the walls covered in numbers and markings were unlike anything on his own ship. 

They were Marine branch numbers, ones you had come across during your journeys. Underneath each number were tally marks which he assumed represented how many ships you had destroyed flying those same numbered flags. The branches you had completely whipped off the face of the earth he found were crossed out. 

It was impressive how many Marines you had wielded your perfect chaos against. Impressive and worrisome because he knew as the number grew, the more you would be noticed. And the more you are noticed, the more likely it was they would send another one of the Warlords to slaughter you. 

Garp had warned him of this the last time they spoke. Had commanded Mihawk to get you under control or you would be spared no mercy. It was Mihawk's first and final warning to stop you before you got yourself killed. 

And as much as Mihawk wanted to take you away to his new home, to keep you out of the prying eye of every last Marine and pirate that sailed the seas, he knew he needed to wait. To play your game and win it, or there would be no victory. No having you back by his side. 

You had fallen asleep sometime during the walk, so you made no fuss as Mihawk placed you in bed. You merely grumbled something in your sleeping state as he pulled your boots off and took your sword from your side, propping it against the wall.

He watched you for a long moment. Watched your softened features as you slept. 

So rare. You were too rare to let go. To give up on and allow to die. You were Mihawk’s twin flame. A flame he would fight and die for if given the chance. You were the only person alive he would truly bend to. 

And bend he did by letting you go. By playing your little game. A game he vowed to win the right way.

Previous | Next

[dualityvn]

UT!Ten, I am indeed mad...ly smitten hehehehe (⁠｡⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠) Of course there are still human men, but I'm very interested in you!!

Your forest seems equally as beautiful as it's guardian... If you'd so graciously allow it, I'd love to visit and walk around for a day. I promise to behave myself as a guest should 👉👈

- 🍀✨

*grumble* "You may wander around near the edge. If I find out you stirred trouble, I won't show mercy." - UT!Tenebris

[strqyr]

when cinder said "this is what happens when you hand over your trust, your safety, your children, to men who claim to be our guardians, but are, in reality, nothing more than men." and "huntsmen and huntresses should carry themselves with honor and mercy, yet i have witnessed neither." tho........ man.

kills me every time.

[magnoliasandarson]

gods of gotham- athena

In myths and legends, Athena is an imposing figure. She is the patron of heroes, the guardian of Athens, and the goddess of war. She is beyond the judgment of mortals, beyond the hedonism of her fellows. But there is an other quality to the goddess, beyond her goodness and mercy. For Pallas Athena earned her name not through civility- but through artistic brutality.

The epics tell the tale of a goddess donned in gleaming golden armor, her voice echoing from on high, leading the worthy through their times of turmoil. Her shield was leant to those who proved themselves pure of heart and wise, for only those of Athena could wield the power of Athena. She was adored amongst heroes, for how could she not be? The leader of leaders, the beacon of morality and strategy. Let the stories remember her this way.

But Pallas Athena did not gain her name by allowing heroes to carry out her will. No, the war goddess hefted her spear and fought with the other gods, bloodying her chiton and dulling her blade in combat. She claimed her name with the lifeblood of a Giant, turned his image into her aegis. What can be said of such an act? She destroyed legions of men with strategy and spear; she shielded her own armies behind her aegis. The vengeance of Athena was strategic, but the justice of Pallas Athena was brutal. Let the stories leave her cruelty out.

In Gotham, the name Oracle was unknown to all but a select few. But those that knew of her, spoke in hushed reverence of the omniscient eyes guiding their weapons and fists. Her vision gifted to those in turmoil- leading the worthy to protect those in need and to exact her vengeance on those who earned it. Her commands were sharp and concise, ordering superhumans with the authority of a goddess. She was adored amongst heroes, for how could she not be? The leader of leaders, the guiding voice directing each act of warranted violence. Let the stories remember her this way.

But Batgirl did not gain her name by sitting back and allowing others to carry out her violence. No, the vigilante carried her own blades and fought with the other heroes, staining her suit in blood and bruising her fists in combat. She claimed her name from Batman, turned his symbol into her own, and created a name feared in its own right. She destroyed organized crime with a cutting smile and even sharper blades; she shielded the needy behind her cloak. The work of Oracle was strategic, but the justice of Batgirl was brutal. Let the stories leave her cruelty out.

Welcome back, Athena- your people have missed you.

In Greece and Gotham, when screams echoed through the air and warriors and wounded alike prayed for salvation, a voice of power echoed from on high. After the battle was won and night gave way to day, heroes would whisper of their savior. For strength must always bow to wisdom.

[kiaratheartist]

I had this idea for a while now, and I wanted to draw it. So here's Magical Boy Crow.

Info -

It's a legendary skin. Possibly costs 299 gems.

When he hits an opponent, the poison effect will be butterflies attached to the brawler. (possibly eating the Brawler)

2 super 3d models.

Inspired by Star Guardian and Evori Dreamwing Bundle

May or may not be an A.U.

A.U. INFO

If I make it an A.U. He's a guardian that fights evil and looks over humans. (basic and boring, I know) But unfortunately, the humans are scared and/or hate Crow. But why? Is it because he's an anthro crow? That's sad.

If he's on duty watching over humans at day time, he is given a human disguise.

He is chosen because..... He's made for it? Does he have a purpose?..

He turns into a butterfly to be more hidden. But why give him a human disguise if he could just transform into a butterfly? Do you think all Magical Boys/Girls want to be an insect all the time? Apparently to Crow, he prefers to use human disguise.

"Why ami a butterfly instead of an actual Crow? What actually ami?". "It suits you it's for the aesthetic."

"Crow, you're weak without your wand. Take good care of it, okay?" " ... "

Voice Lines

Spawing -

"Dance with the moonbeams and win!"

"I'm THE Guardian!"

"Too pretty to die!"

"I see the stars!"

""Who said men can’t have a bit of sparkle and charm?"

"Trust me on this."

"My butterflies will lead the way!"

"My wand is not a toy."

"By the power of the stars and the magic within!"

"If only being alive wasn't such a nuisance."

"Let's show them what true magic looks like!"

In the lead -

"May the stars guide you!"

"Maybe using my wand like this is not so bad."

"I'm your leader and your guardian!"

"This is going TOO well.

"I'm gonna catch ya!"

"Don't get bitten."

" *giggles* "

Receiving damge -

"My wings!"

"Hey!"

"Ah!"

"You won't be a problem, will you?"

"You want a magical duel?"

"Fight me, parasite!"

Defeating an enemy -

"My butterflies will loooooove you!"

"May the universe have mercy on you."

"I saw your future. Not so bright."

"This is sad."

"Embarrassingggg." /ref

" *humming* "

"This won't hurt!"

"Womp womp"

Defeated -

"I was never made for this..."

"I got humbled right there."

"The universe did not chose me for this!"

"Avenge me!"

"My wand.. No.."

"I don't usually fail. I never fail!!!"

Activating a super -

"High in the universe!"

"Right above the stars!"

"Flutter Crow!"

"Fly high, like a butterfly!"

"Stellar Resonance!"

"Spirit Surge!"

Extra

[alligade]

Were-kubrow Au

welcome.... to my twisted mind!!!

What if Tenno... but werewolf.

The origin of were-kubrows can be dated back to the days of the Orokin Empire, and is directly related to one high-ranking member who's name has since been lost to history. She was a lover of the exotic and macabre, and her personal guardian Warframe was the pinnacle of her collection: Beowulf, the hunter

He was modelled after an old-Earth species that had gone extinct generations ago, and named after an ancient hero. It's said that she commissioned him from Ballas in exchange for a relic of unparalleled rarity, but rumors rarely have any sort of truth to them. How she acquired Beowulf is unimportant: what matters primarily is what she did after he fell during a particularly bold Sentient Invasion.

She mourned his death as one might mourn a meal eaten too quickly. There was no care for the Warframe himself-- why should there be? At the end of the day he was only a tool. He was her muse, howling and vengeful and filled to the brim with hunger. He reminded her so pointedly of an ancient myth, told only on Naberus nights when Lua is at its highest peak and the night chill is at its most biting.

Men and women stalking the night in strange forms. Bestial, armed with claw and fang and a stomach that could never be filled. Bloody-mawed, draped in gore and fur.

How delightful! How intriguing! Surely, if she could bring this myth to life, she would not feel as bored! The silence left in Beowulf's wake would be filled with chattering teeth and inhuman growls. Yes, this was exactly what she required!

And so she visited an expert. Not Ballas-- she was not after another Warframe-- but one who specialized in the sculpting of flesh. She required a potion. One that would change the body into the shape of another for one night only. This was the most important aspect, you see. She very easily could have had another body fashioned, and then utilized kuva to bring it to life, but there would be no fun in that. The ancient were-beast of Earth were not beasts permanently. Her creations had to shift alongside Lua. This she was adamant about.

The task was difficult and the creation was lengthy but the expert was eventually successful. The Orokin Noblewoman was handed a flask, small and discrete, filled with a murky brown liquid. Only one sip would change something deep within the drinker, assured the expert. Something that would rise to howl alongside the full moon and disappeared at Sol's first light, but could never be banished completely.

And so she went-- out into the city in which she lived, giggling and skipping, drawing many curious glances from the other Orokin. Her excitement could not be contained. This would be a Naberus to remember! Now, she only had to find the perfect playmate!

Eventually, she stumbled upon the barracks of the local Dax Guard. Those in the lower ranks did not have houses of their own, and instead resided in spaces graciously handed to them by their merciful Golden Lords. Yes, they would be the perfect candidates. Loyal but strong; they wouldn't keel over at the first hint of danger. She slipped into the kitchen of said barrack, past the low-born cooks who knew better than to acknowledge what she was doing, much less even look in her direction without permission. The meals were being prepared for dinner, and after choosing a single plate at random, she tipped the flask and watched with glee as a single drop of the concoction fell.

That night, the Dax gathered and ate their food, unaware of the poison lacing one of the bowls. No one was any wiser to the fact that their food had been tampered with until--

A young Dax began to cough and sputter, clutching at the armor over his chest as his meal fell from his hands. The others were concerned, thinking he was choking and needed assistance. One of his close friends rushed to his side, asking if he needed help, but when he turned to look at her she realized something was horribly wrong.

His teeth had lengthened into fangs, and the lower half of his face jutted out unnaturally from his skull. He grabbed onto her with fingers sharpened into claws and surged forward, biting down onto her neck as the overwhelming urge to eat overcame him.

What followed was carnage; the other Dax stabbed and slashed but nothing they did stopped the beast. By the end of the hour, it was the only thing remaining.

But remain for long, it did not. It took a few stumbling steps towards the door, only to collapse, completely and utterly dead. The Orokin, who had watched all of this happen from a hidden sentry-drone, felt her heart sink. Why was her creation dead? Why had it not changed completely? This half-formed thing was not the hound she had requested!

She stormed off, knowing that she would make her displeasure known to the so-called "expert" that gave her a faulty product. What she didn't see was the crew of Warframes that had been summoned to investigate the commotion. And she most certainly did not see the child that slip from within one of them. The child knew that they would be punished severely if they were seen, but they had to get a closer look at the strange not-Dax.

They stared at the thing's bloody mouth, and reached out in order to touch one of the fangs. A sound startled them, and when they pulled their hand back, they accidentally scratched themselves on the thing's tooth. Back to their Warframe they went, curiosity only partially satisfied.

The following year, on Naberus night, the strangest thing occurred.

A Kubrow was seen stalking the halls of the most exalted Orokin cities, teeth blood-red and fur covered in tattered clothing. And it was not alone.

We wear masks and costumes on Naberus in order to hide our identities and blend in with the creatures that spend the evening seeking out their prey. It has been many years since the Orokin died, and surely that strange Kubrow couldn't have managed to survive all this time. And yet, when the clock strikes midnight, if you stand very still and strain your ears, it is said you can hear the sound of it howling, and the desperate screams of it's creator, begging to be spared her life.

This started out as a writing exercise to see if I could replicate the Naberus tales told by Grandmother and sort of spiraled from there. The story above is the story told by Tenno to explain the origins of were-kubrows, but the truth, as always, is far less straightforward.

No one is entirely sure how the curse began.

Were-kubrows spread the infliction solely through saliva. The most common method is via biting but just licking an open wound would be enough to infect someone. Anyone could theoretically become one but Tenno are the only ones that are able to both 1. complete the full transformation and 2. survive the ordeal.

They're a lot more durable than normal people and can't technically die due to their connection to the Void. This means that were-Kubrows are pretty much only Tenno.

There's no cure and most have been living with it for long enough that they either dont really care anymore or have developed ways to cope with it. It affects their daily lives very little-- they usually don't develop packs or exhibit kubrow-like traits. The only change that all were-kubrows exhibit is a heightened sense of smell. However, on full moons (not specifically Naberus) they transform into AWESOME giant kubrows.

Younger Tenno are able to hold onto their humanity more easily. They don't feel the call of the hunt as strongly, since Kubrows live in organized family structures and the young aren't expected or really capable of feeding themselves. Usually, they wait out the night alongside others close to their age.

Older Tenno (over the age of 20, usually) are consumed almost entirely by instinct and hormones. While still more intelligent than actual Kubrows, they are still animalistic and brutal. They hunt for food and gorge themselves but never feel satiated. Males fight to establish dominance, secure territory, and earn breeding rights. (Despite the fact that every Tenno is completely sterile and no actual breeding ever happens. They spend the entire night attacking each other and by the time a winner has been decided it's already morning)

Males have longer nose horns than females which they use for sparring. They also tend to have large manes of fur around their necks to protect the area from competitors while fighting. Females are not any more docile, though. They form into hunting parties that can reach numbers of over 30. While males tend to be bulkier, females are only slightly smaller in height on average.

^ Some adult were-kubrows, specifically Drifter and Delta. Adults are typically the size of a large Kubrow, though some can reach over six feet tall at the shoulder.

^ Kaz is an example of the typical adolescent were-kubrow. He has a small, dull nose-horn that indicates he is not fully mature. His ears are too big for his head and he's pissed off because he'll never get the chance to grow into them lol

erm anyways that's what I have so far feel free to scream about werewolves with me teehee

[snootlestheangel]

I wanna write but I'm tired and physically incapable of stringing together a coherent thought

But I'm feeding y'all with more Bryn x Price stuffs cause I love them

Bryn is a cat person, and there's one cat in particular I'm gonna talk about. Price met Bryn back when the cat was only a few years old, but it's now an old ass cat that refuses to die or show any signs of dying.

The cat is a very fluffy, fat orange cat named Bifford. Cause it's like Clifford the Big Red Dog except its Bifford the Fat Orange Cat

I think this is hilarious and so does Bryn. This cat is like the first cat she got as an adult. Her was her little baby, she cherished him (still does but she's of the mindset he'll be gone by morning cause of how old he is).

Price and this cat got beef.

No one's really sure why, or what happened between them that may have caused this, but the two don't get along. Bifford, a normally docile, lazy cat, will lunge at Price every time he walks by. Price doesn't even do anything! He's actually good with cats for someone who doesn't have cats of his own/never had.

But Bifford? God this cat pisses him off

It's honestly not even justified for Price to still glare at Bifford when they see each other again cause it's been literally years but no! No they take one look at each other and Bifford is all hisses and growls and airplane ears and Price is all crossed arms and huffs as he complains about a damn cat.

Meanwhile, I give also the pleasant mental image of Ghost just holding Bifford like the baby he is and the thing is just purring so loud.

I just really want Price to have beef with a fat, fluffy, lazy orange cat named Bifford.

@stuffireadandenjoy @deeptrashwitch @midnight193

[anonymousewrites]

Burden of Truth (Book 1) Chapter Thirteen

Father Figure! Marc Spector x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Steven Grant x Teen! Reader

Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly x Teen! Reader

Chapter Thirteen: Against Harrow and Ammit

Summary: (Y/N), Marc, Steven, and Layla face Harrow and Ammit head-on.

            In the main chamber of the Great Pyramid of Giza, Ammit turned towards the exit. “Let us purify the souls of Cairo and then the world.”

            Sand condensed in the path of the disciples of Ammit. They slowed warily, and their eyes widened as Khonshu and Ma’at’s figures formed out of the sand.

            “Khonshu. Ma’at. Time has been cruel to you,” said Ammit, sneering.

            “Indeed,” said Khonshu. “I cannot allow you proceed.”

            “Not when you seek to harm so many.” Ma’at’s gaze went to (Y/N). “You even had the audacity to try to ask for my Avatar’s loyalty. You’ve stooped so low, Ammit.” Ma’at smiled. “Are you prepared to be the guardian of justice, harmony, and truth once more, (Y/N)?”

            “Ma’at!” cried (Y/N), eyes widening in shock.

            Before they could make any reply, a burst of purple light hit (Y/N), and they were thrown to the side. They hit the stone wall hard and groaned.

            “Stop them from accepting Avatarhood,” said Harrow to his men, and the disciples grabbed (Y/N). “And there is someone else here who released Khonshu and Ma’at. Find them.”

            “Oh, Khonshu, Ma’at, for gods, you are low on faith,” said Ammit.

            “You’ll never learn,” said Khonshu. He raised his staff.

            “You have betrayed the vow we took to judge souls on your scales against my feather. I cannot let you continue this,” said Ma’at, extending her arms. Feathers glinting in metal moved with her.

            Ammit growled and struck. Her tailed whipped around and struck Ma’at’s wings. She hit the back wall, and Khonshu swung his staff at Ammit. She blocked it, and they struggled back and forth. She pushed him back, but Ma’at slammed her wings into Ammit’s back. The battle of the gods had begun. Khonshu darted around Ammit like smoke, and Ma’at uses the elegant movement of her wings, but Ammit had the brute force and desire to fight above that of Khonshu and Ma’at. She grabbed Khonshu by the bony neck and threw him back. She pulled several of Ma’at’s feathers out and shoved the goddess to the ground.

            “Tell me to spare you, and I will,” said Ammit, approaching her former friends.

            “I choose obliteration over mercy,” growled Khonshu. Then, suddenly, he tensed. “Marc?”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and a sudden blossom of hope came to life within them. Marc was alive? Steven was alive?

            Ammit swung her tail down, but Khonshu disappeared into sand, returning to Marc’s side.

            “I will take no mercy from you when you give it to no others,” said Ma’at.

            Ammit raised her tail again.

            “I accept Ma’at’s Avatarhood to defeat Ammit!”

            (Y/N)’s voice echoed around the room. They had bitten down on their captors’ hand, pushed away, and shouted their answer.

            Immediately, Ma’at’s body disappeared in a cloud of blue, and an azure light appeared in (Y/N)’s eyes. Ma’at reformed behind (Y/N), and bandages wrapped around them, forming their suit of white, blue, and gold.

            “Welcome back, my Avatar,” said Ma’at. She swung her wings, and Ammit was thrown back. “Go. We cannot fight in here.”

            Indeed, the minute she spoke, Ammit was upon her again, and the two gods were grappling.

            “Go! Began the judgement!” ordered Harrow to his disciples.

            “Stop them!” commanded Ma’at.

            (Y/N) ran out after Harrow as his disciples. As Harrow climbed to the top of the pyramid, (Y/N) grabbed one of his men and threw them back into the chamber. They hit the wall and went unconscious, but there still so many, and even more numbers waited outside. (Y/N) couldn’t do this alone, and Ma’at lacked the fighting ability needed to defeat Ammit on her own.

            The moment the sun dipped below the horizon, Harrow arrived at the summit of the Great Pyramid of Giza. He raised the staff and slammed it down. A bright purple light lit up the sky, brilliant and powerful and evil.

            No, no, no! thought (Y/N) desperately as they fought more of Harrow’s men.

            The other disciples below saw the light and moved into action, heeding his guidance. They were going to judge the people of Cairo. Even as (Y/N) knocked more of Ammit’s followers down, souls of purple light flitted into the air, ripped too soon from their bodies.

            (Y/N) gasped and gripped their heart as pain lanced through them. Looking at the ground below, their eyes widened in horror. Ma’at had been thrown to the ground and was lying bleeding while Ammit absorbed the souls around her, growing larger and stronger. The mixture of their deity’s pain and the unfair judgement of the souls of Cairo sent panic and agony through (Y/N).

            “Stop…Harrow…” croaked Ma’at’s voice in (Y/N)’s mind, still pinned down by Ammit as she grew stronger.

            (Y/N) heeded Ma’at’s command and leapt from stone to stone, approaching Harrow as he chanted in Coptic to grow Ammit’s power further. A white form slammed into the pyramid next to them, and they jumped, fearful for a moment. Then, their eyes widened.

            “Marc!” they cried in relief. “You’re here! You’re back!”

            “Kid,” said Marc, abandoning his purpose for a moment to run and embrace them. “You’re alright.”

            “I’m sorry, I had to read the rites, I was in pain, I tried, but I—”

            “Hey, hey, you’re alright.” The suit shifted, and Steven’s voice now spoke. “We’re together again. That’s what matters.”

            Purple energy fired into the stone next to them.

            “Bloody hell!” said Steven, jumping.

            “Harrow’s coming,” said (Y/N) in alarm.

            “Then we fight,” said Marc, returning to the moment.

            Harrow leapt towards them, and (Y/N) and Marc prepared themselves. On the ground, Khonshu had arrived and freed Ma’at, allowing the two gods to grow and face Ammit once more. The battle of Avatars and gods grew to new heights.

            Harrow slammed his staff at Marc, but (Y/N) blocked it. It threw them from the pyramid, and Marc leapt after them, falling behind them. He caught them, and the suit shifted to Steven.

            “Are you alright?” he asked worriedly.

            “Look out!” said (Y/N), pushing him away as Harrow, having jumped after them, slashed his staff at them.

            Marc switched in again, kicked the staff back, grabbed (Y/N), and opened his cape as a makeshift parachute. The three landed roughly in the streets of Cairo, rolling to a stop.

            “You okay, kid?” said Marc, sitting them up.

            They nodded. “Yeah.”

            “Okay, good,” said Marc, helping them up.

            A few meters away, Harrow pushed himself to his feet, his staff glowing ominously.

            “Get ready,” said Marc.

            (Y/N) nodded, pulling out two daggers and narrowing their eyes.

l

            Against the pyramid, Khonshu had finally pinned Ammit with his staff. Ma’at, finally recovered and stronger as (Y/N) successfully fought, stood beside him. Ammit snapped up at them.

            “There is so little difference in what we want for this world,” said Ammit, reaching up towards them. “Why do this dance for the rest of time?”

            “You know the answer: we only punish those who have chosen evil,” said Khonshu.

            Ammit sneered. “Oh, ‘we’ is it, now?”

            “Yes,” said Ma’at. “You forsook my friendship, then you betrayed your alliance with Khonshu’s ways. We are here to prevent you from harming more people.”

            “And I prevent people from committing evil. You dare to allow them to?” said Ammit. Her tail grabbed Khonshu ankle and dragged him down. His staff fell, and Ammit stood.

            “Khonshu,” said Ma’at worriedly, catching him before he fell.

            Ammit scoffed. “Why fight knowing you will fail?”

            “Because it is our choice,” said Ma’at, slamming her wings down. Ammit braced against them, and the gods glared at one another.

            “The very thing you take away,” said Khonshu.

l

            Harrow raised his staff and fired a bolt of energy. (Y/N) and Marc dodged to the side, and each threw their own daggers at him. Harrow ducked and summoned purple energy to destroy the remaining daggers. Two more bolts of energy flashed towards (Y/N) and Marc. He leapt into the air, and (Y/N) bent backwards, handspringing away. Harrow narrowed his eyes and raised the staff again.

            Wham!

            A figure landed a solid hit to his side, and Harrow went flying. Layla, clad in Egyptian clothing with metallic wings, stood before Marc and (Y/N).

            “Are you two alright?” she asked, smiling.

            “Layla?” said Marc in surprise.

            “Are you an Avatar?” said (Y/N), furrowing their brow in concern.

            “Temporarily. For Taweret,” said Layla.

            Harrow stood and fired energy at her. She reacted instantaneously, raising her wings and crossing them in front of her. The energy rebounded, and Harrow flew back again.

            Marc instinctively stepped forward and hugged Layla. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

            “You’re not made about the Avatarhood?” chuckled Layla.

            “Taweret isn’t as bad as the others,” admitted Marc.

            “I’m glad you’re okay,” said (Y/N), relieved.

            “Come on in,” said Layla, grabbing their wrist and pulling (Y/N) into the hug, too.

            (Y/N) felt themself smile as Layla and Marc hugged them. They hugged back.

            “I can’t believe you’re alright,” said Layla. “I was so worried, Marc.”

            “I’m here,” said Marc. He squeezed Layla and (Y/N) tightly. “I’m here.”

            Steven switched in and stepped back to look at Layla. “Wow, you look amazing, Layla! What are you wearing?” Both Marc and Steven were as encouraging and caring as ever, even in their different ways.

            “Harrow’s getting up,” said (Y/N), noticing before the conversation could continue. “And he’s got reinforcements.”

            Indeed, Harrow had been helped up by his disciples as they crowded to his location, guns and other weapons in hand.

            “Right!” said Steven. “Well, hey, I’m really jazzed about showing you guys these new skillsets we have.”

            “You guys are working together,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “We’ve started to work things out,” said Steven brightly.

            “Show us what you’ve got,” said Layla.

            The three of them turned and ran towards Harrow and Ammit’s disciples, a team of people who cared about one another and were ready to defend the world.

            Layla flew through the men, slashing them down with the swords at the ends of her wings.

            (Y/N) dodged and leapt through the crowd, as agile and quick as a cat. They cut through arms and legs, gave quick stabs, and never let someone get ahold of them. They used everything they’d learned as a thief to work effectively against Ammit’s followers.

            Steven slammed his fists into two men, and with his batons, he swung and knocked various disciples down before they had a chance to attack. He fought smoothly, none of the hesitation or fear or awkwardness from before. It was Steven fronting and controlling the body, but a variety of skills Marc had perfected were in the fighting style, adjusted to Steven. They truly had begun to work together.

            Frustrated as his people fell to the fighting team, Harrow fired energy at Steven. He leapt and twisted in midair, avoiding the purple bolt of magic. Steven threw a baton at Harrow, btu the Avatar of Ammit hit it aside with his staff. It ricocheted back.

            Marc, fronting again, caught it. It transformed into a dagger, and he cut down the nearest opponent. He and Layla nodded at each other and raced forward. They cut down opponents, and anyone that tried to stand again was handled by (Y/N), following as quickly and with as much determination as Layla and Marc.

            Layla was the first to come upon Harrow, and she swung down at him. He blocked her swords with his staff, but Marc kicked at him. He was forced to pivot and block the kick instead, giving (Y/N) a moment to slide across the floor and slash at his leg. Harrow dodged, but not far enough, and a cut opened up on his calf. He turned and swung down at (Y/N). They rolled back, and Layla moved in to block it before he hit them. The four battled expertly. Every time one of the trio was attacked by Harrow, another block, and the third attack. It was a never-ending dance, all four vying to land a proper hit.

            Harrow blocked another kick and slid back. Raising his staff, he swung down. Layla, Marc, and (Y/N) dodged back, but the staff hit the ground, and purple light exploded from it. The wave of energy hit the three Avatars, and they were sent flying. Layla went through a store window, Marc landed on the windshield of a car, and (Y/N) fell into café tables.

            Harrow approached and swung down at them, but (Y/N) raised two daggers and, with their strength, managed to block him. Still, they were straining, and Ammit’s staff glowed with energy as Harrow forced it closer to them.

            Steven slammed into him. Throwing Harrow into the wall, Steven grappled with Harrow and exchanged several blows with him. Unfortunately, Harrow’s strength was also enhanced as an Avatar, and he could attack with as much power as Steven. He grabbed Steven’s leg when he next kicked and threw him through the wall and across the street.

            Marc leapt back out at him and kicked him back, delivering just as powerful a blow to Harrow. He rose, and the pair glared at one another. Harrow raised his staff, but (Y/N) jumped from a nearby roof and grabbed him. They refused to let go as Harrow tried to wrench it from their grasp. Layla flew down on his other side and shoved him back against the wall. Marc held one of his crescent daggers and swung. Harrow ducked, but the blade sliced at his staff. He kicked (Y/N), and they stumbled back. With his now free hand, he swung the staff at Layla and Marc, who dodged. Harrow darted away from the wall to open territory again.

            Layla and Marc charged at him, and Harrow blocked with his staff. They each grabbed it, and the three grappled. (Y/N) ran in, and Harrow fired his staff. They dodged to the side, but Harrow took the opportunity and turned the power of the staff on a van of Egyptians trying to escape.

            Layla let go of the staff and flew to help the innocents while (Y/N) leapt back to Marc’s side to fight Harrow. Ammit’s Avatar forced Marc to take a step back, but (Y/N) slammed into him from behind, making him stumble. Near the van, Layla took to protecting innocents as they escaped Ammit’s disciples, who were still prowling the streets.

            That left (Y/N) and Marc against Harrow. He pivoted and swung at (Y/N), and they flipped back. A disciple nearby raised his gun and fired, distracting (Y/N) from the fight. They leapt around the man and threw several daggers to take him down.

            As (Y/N) fought other disciples, Harrow and Marc fought for control of the staff once more. Harrow turned and twisted the staff, shaking Marc from it. He was thrown back and rolled to a stop.

            Harrow fired a blast at Marc, and Marc blocked it. The purple energy raged, and Marc gritted his teeth, bracing against the pure, concentrated power.

            “Had Ammit been allowed to rule, young Randall’s life would’ve been saved,” said Harrow. “Your family would’ve been happy. She need only remove the weed from the garden.” He grunted with effort as he forced more magical energy from the staff towards Marc. The Avatar of Khonshu was forced to his knee. “You,” spat Harrow, losing control for a moment.

            Marc pulled out a crescent dagger and tried to lunge, but the purple energy hit him, and he was forced back once more. Harrow savagely directed the energy to turn the blade back towards him, and Marc fought against his own limbs.

            Finishing her own fight, Layla saw Marc struggling and leapt into the air. Harrow shifted, and the beam of energy forced the dagger from Marc’s hand into Layla’s wing. She was thrown back, and the dagger pinned her to the van behind her.

            Marc stumbled, trying to right himself, but Harrow was already turning the full power of the staff and his rage on him. He let out an angry yell and shot as much magic as he could summon directly at Marc’s chest.

            Marc braced himself.

            Thump!

            Marc stumbled to the side as a body shoved into him. The figure was thrown backwards by the purple light and landed unmoving on the ground.

            “(Y/N)!” shouted Marc, eyes wide.

            Layla gasped in horror.

            (Y/N) groaned and tried to move, but all they managed was a whimper as every nerve fired with pain as purple magic flowed through them. They had saved Marc from the blast, but now they lay defenseless, unable to move. (Y/N)’s eyes fluttered with the effort to stay awake, and their entire vision was blurred.

            “Kid!” Marc surged forward but stumbled on exhausted, injured limbs.

            Harrow sent a blast at him, and Marc stumbled back. Layla remained pinned to the van, no matter how she pulled. Harrow walked towards (Y/N) and stood over them. He stared down at the teenager. (Y/N)’s lungs constricted.

            “What a disappointment,” said Harrow.

            He slammed the staff down on the ostrich feather on (Y/N)’s chest. They screamed, and purple energy lit up the square.

            “No!” shouted Layla.

            Marc’s eyes widened, and pure rage swept through him.

            (Y/N) was left in pure agony. Their throat burned as they screamed, and every nerve cried out with them. The scales on their arm burned, and (Y/N) sobbed as the edges of their vision went back. Their back arched in pain, and (Y/N)’s head rolled to the side, but nothing they did could escape the torture Harrow inflicted upon them.

            Out of the blurry vision they retained, they watched Layla cower and try to cover herself as disciples approached with guns and fire at her, and their heart dropped.

            No…No…

            Everything was growing fuzzy, blurry. (Y/N) couldn’t keep track of what was going on. Their lungs felt heavy. They couldn’t get enough air.

            Mom…Dad…

            Was this Harrow’s staff or the crash sending metal through (Y/N)’s chest? Were they laying dying under the skies of Egypt with their Mom and Dad or with Layla and Marc and Steven?

            Were they going to die this time?

            Suddenly, the light disappeared. The purple glow illuminating the terrible sights (Y/N) could still see vanished, and they were plunged into darkness. Their body went limp on the ground, and phantom pain floated around them. (Y/N)’s eyes closed, and they fought to try to open them again. Everything felt so heavy.

            “What are you—” Harrow cried out, but the sound was far away to (Y/N), like they were falling underwater and leaving all of this behind.

            Other screams echoed in (Y/N)’s mind, and the light of flames danced blurrily in front of (Y/N) as they tried to blink, but everything was slow, lethargic.

            Then silence.

            (Y/N) let out a breath. Blissful silence.

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[asktheritochampion]

So speaking of that whole duel with Link—he killed a ton of Rito, right? Why did this never come up again? Were there political ramifications to this?

You'd think that, wouldn't you?

You'd think a soldier of the Hylian royal family maiming and debilitating hundreds of Rito would reflect poorly on the Hylians.

But no. Do you know who got all the blame? Me!

The Village Elder along with the majority of the residents decided that it was all my fault for 'not training my men well enough' and 'sending them wrecklessly into battle against the great hero with the master sword.'

And people wonder why I dispise that twit.

He shows up unnanounced traveling with one of those psycotic little 'guardians' that have been attacking and killing our innocent citizens and expects me not to issue a defensive attack? He knew what he was doing - framing me as some kind of fool.

But of course, innocent little knight boy can do no wrong. It's all Revali's fault that soldiers died. He should be screamed at for half an hour and nearly have his job and rank stripped from him, and should be shunned and glared at by the entire Village for weeks like he's some kind of monster.

Some of those warriors were almost like friends to me, you know. But who cares how I feel about it? I'm just the terrible, selfish cheiftan who sent them to die for no reason. Who attacks the Royal Family's precious little blond lap dog unprovoked.

I nearly got refused the role of Champion from the Village Elder all because of that little blight and his antics. Can you imagine the state that Hyrule would have been in without me? However, I'm the one who should be 'greatful', because if the Elder and the Royal family wasn't merciful enough to let it slide and brush the deaths of my companions under the rug so that I could be named a Champion of my people, then I'd likely have been exicuted or banished or something.

All the while, golden boy gets his head pat for doing such a great job while he's washing the blood of my men from his featherless hands.

[littleocean-rose]

Guardians preview

Summary: When your father, a famous CEO, receives a letter that threatens your well-being, he doesn’t hesitate to hire two bodyguards for you. Unfortunately, you didn’t agree to this, and now you’re stuck with these two men following you around everywhere you go. At least they seem nice?

Pairing: Wooyoung x reader x San

Word count: tba

Warnings: bodyguard!woosan, writer!reader, kidnapping, family issues, mention of child abuse, mention of loss of family member, blood, violence, reader is a little insecure. (possibly more to be added.)

☂︎ ♥︎ ☂︎

As the daughter of a wealthy CEO, you were usually the target of malicious gossip and bad paparazzi. Though it had calmed down in the past few years, it never completely stopped. A lot of it had to do with the fact that you weren’t interested in taking over your father’s company—in fact, you loathed the idea of that, you wanted nothing to do with his company, nor him for that matter. Ever since you were a child, all you could remember of your father were cold looks and harsh words, sparing you no mercy from the ideals he had planned for your life.

first ateez fic! hopefully it'll be finished by next week :'D if you're interested, let me know if you want to be added to a taglist!

[correlance]

The Seven Archangels in "Hazbin Hotel"

We can probably make an educated guess of who the angels in this image are, based off of the Seven Archangels in Biblical folklore:

Michael, Archangel of Mercy ("Michael the Merciful")

Gabriel, Herald of Visions, and Archangel of Justice

Uriel, Guardian of the Garden of Eden, Archangel of Knowledge and Wisdom

Chamuel (Camael), Archangel of Hope

Raphael, Archangel of Peace and Healing

Jophiel, Archangel of Beauty and Art

Zadkiel, Archangel of Kindness (likely replacement for Lucifer)

Of these, most are male, but Uriel is sometimes feminized as "Urielle, Eurielle or Orielle". I could see Jophiel, Chamuel (Camael), and Zadkiel being female, nonbinary, or agender, depending on design.

The main four are Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, and Chamuel:

"And the Lord said to Gabriel: 'Proceed against the bastards and the reprobates, and against the children of fornication: and destroy [the children of fornication and] the children of the Watchers from amongst men [and cause them to go forth]: send them one against the other that they may destroy each other in battle: for length of days shall they not have.'" — 1 Enoch 10:9 [...] "And he said to me: 'This first is Michael, the merciful and long-suffering: and the second, who is set over all the diseases and all the wounds of the children of men, is Raphael: and the third, who is set over all the powers, is Gabriel: and the fourth, who is set over the repentance unto hope of those who inherit eternal life, is named [Chamuel].' And these are the four angels of the Lord of Spirits and the four voices I heard in those days." — Enoch 40:9

From this, we can discern that Gabriel, Archangel of Justice, likely authorized the exterminations of Hell under Adam and Lute.

My thoughts are that each of the Archangels governs one of the Seven Paths, which "winners" can devote themselves to in Heaven:

Michael - Path of Mercy (Heaven's bureaucrats)

Gabriel - Path of Justice (Adam, Lute, Vaggie)

Uriel - Path of Wisdom (Heaven's scientists + philosophers)

Chamuel - Path of Hope (Heaven's priests + therapists)

Raphael - Path of Healing (Heaven's doctors + nurses)

Jophiel - Path of Beauty (Heaven's artists)

Zadkiel - Path of Kindness (angels who help humanity)