#Petit Corona | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cypherscript · 6 months ago

Text

Linchpin

The GIW have finally done it; they finally rid the world of the strongest ghost in their recorded history and the world finally know peace from ghost kind.

Watchtower - Four years three months later.

"Right," Tim Drake-Wayne aka Red Robin stood before a small council of Batman, Wonder Woman, Booster Gold, Martian Manhunter and the Flash, "Thank you, everyone for allowing me to request this meeting but it's imperative that this matter be seen to before something irreversible comes to pass."

"Red Robin, wandering."

"Right, sorry." Tim taps away on the computer and pulls up several of his personal photos from his day off last month of the night sky with two bright pinpoints of lights. "This is the night sky with Alpha Centauri a month ago. I was on vacation and managed to get some good pictures for that night but something else happened that night." He pulls up another photo of the same night sky but one of the stars were gone.

"Where'd the left star go," Flash asks as he pulls over a digital copy of the two pictures.

"I don't know but it's still not there. A month ago Proxima Centauri went out and no one's saying anything about it online. I was hoping to petition the Justice League to borrow the Watchtower's computer and telescope to check the area."

"I don't see why that would be an issue," Wonder Woman says as she also looks over the pictures with the flash. "Batman?"

"I don't have a problem with it but it needed someone not connected to the issue to vote on it." With that said they voted to let Tim borrow the computer's telescope and began scanning the area. Several hours later they had a really clear picture of the area Proxima Centauri had been. In its spot there was nothing; no gas, no planets, no nebulas or anything but darkness.

"We should probably get Green Lantern or one of the space heroes." Batman's Hn spoke leagues to his current mood.

_____________________________________________________________

"So your little bird was right, Bats. Proxima's gone and it's not the only one. The Guardian's have been receiving distress calls for several universal cycles. Tamaran, Corona Seven, Betelgeuse, Alpha Corvi to name some." Hal says as he reads from a list projected from his ring, "They've traced a Decay Field originating from Earth over four years ago. Supposedly failed supervillain attack? Experimentation gone wrong?"

"We're unsure. We've talked with the United Nations and no one's come forward with anything concrete. We do have a list the length of the Batmobile of possible culprits though."

"Sorry but what's a Decay Field? I can hear those capital letters and don't just say it's a field that decays stuff." Flash asks, looking up from his portion of experiments.

"But it is... The Guardian's explained it like a kill switch to certain technologies. Something happened on Earth four years that made the universe start eating itself."

"Then why not start with our sun? Why start at a star 4 light years away," Batman asks, putting down the League's digitized stellar map, "If the field originated on Earth, Sol should have been the first to vanish."

"Strange isn't it?"

A burst of static comes from the speakers at the table, causing a couple to flinch before a corrupted male voice speaks to them.

Ņ̵͙͔̼̓̏̕̚o̸̢̳̮̖̩̪͉͒̊̓̐t̸͙͓̻̙͗̌͆́̈ ̸̢̖̪̫̪͙̉̆ͅǎ̸̦͔̜͂͗͛͘͠t̸͇̏̂̉̆ ̵̹̖̣͎̘̟̞͒͆a̴̛̟͗́͂̿͜ḻ̸̑́̀l̵̢̗̻̙̜̄͆.̶̢̨̤̞̖͕̾̏͌̽̽ ̷̛̩̘͍̺͚͈̐̔́̾͊̚W̸̨̳̟͍͓̱̊͗̿̓͜e̸̛̛̹̒͜ ̵̞̻̌̓͆̂̕w̷͉͐́e̴̼̗͑̐̈̑̆͝r̴̫̻͇͖̞͂è̶̯̺͙̬̲ ̶̢̣̣̥͐̓̓w̶͇̺̯̝̲̌̚o̸̡̢̗͖̤̮͑̇n̵͇̣͙̫̹̄͌̽d̴̺̼͕̙̐́̂̈e̴̢̧̮̣͍̯̽͝r̵̼͙̩͛͆͝i̷̝̱͎̞͑̏̀n̵̯̰̻̹̭͕̫̈́͛́̌͘g̵̨̛̻̯̺̠͈̜̅͂̌͘͠͝ ̸̺͉͍̹̱͕̈́̅̀̾̈́͘ẅ̷̨̝͔̖͉̜̭͘̕h̴͚̘͕͊̄ȩ̷̢̱̱̤̫̗̈͘n̸̼̦̭̹͆̏͘ ̷̰̫̳͊͌̋̇͂̍̕͜ẙ̷̭͙̘̅̋́̚ó̶͔̪̥̩̭͎̺͋͑́́̒ũ̶͙̝̬͖̯̏̎͠ ̴̢͈͎̤̜̲͛̈̓̀̒̍̕ͅp̸̨͈̱̥̙̗̠̊̋̀e̶͚͊̈́͐̀̋͠ơ̵̧̧͍̥̮p��͈̘̺̙̫͈̀͆́l̵̝̻̼̳̋ͅͅḙ̵̮͍̻̺̀̑͛́͑̕ ̸̮̥̀̉̈́͑͊͐͂w̵̲̥̅̎̋̓ȏ̴͚̰̩̐̓̎̿̍̀ͅȗ̵̙͓̂͝l̶̟̪͐͗͂̂d̵͎̦̈́̌̀͌ ̵̧̗̲̈́́̔f̵̨͙̪̌̌̀͜͠i��̳͛̉̊̆̈̓̒n̶̮̗̤͋̾̂̂͘a̶̤̫̘͚͌̓̒̊l̴̟̰̼͉͖̉̎̓͒͆̅͜l̶̢̹̾̉̒̊̕y̴̡̙̞͒̒̏̉ ̷̧͙̺̯̼̉ǹ̷̯̲́̉̈̚o̸͓̠̖͌̋͒͛ṭ̵̟̥͕͉̀̔ȋ̴̢͉͎̃͆̈́̈́̈́͠c̵̰̰͎̭̯͑̆͌͗͝ȅ̷̖̫̃̐̈͝ ̵͎̣̖̄̃͋̌̂̌̊w̴̹̦̙̜̙͉̰̓̈́̚h̸͇̣̩̝͇͊̃͑͆̂͝ä̵͚̭̪̖̀͗͑̄͘t̶̛̟̳̣͔͍̿̓͆͘͠ ̷̨̠̪͔͎̐̇͌ẁ̷̢͖͓̹͛̈a̷̭͚̭̳̙͇̽́̉̽̐͘s̷̨̲̖͌̆̊̋̐̈́ͅ ̵̻̻̯͍̤̊̂͝͝ĝ̴̨̢̰̙̞̲̂̽̈o̴̪̥̙̽̅͗̓í̷͈̯̾́̋̾̊n̸̳̘͍͒̋̏͆̀̐͜ͅg̸̻̿͗̐̊̍̚͝ ̶̤̰̹̭͙̬͙̇̀ṏ̴̘̮̱̦͍́͂̑̚͜͝ņ̵̼͊.̴̡̜͔͍͇͍̃̐

(Not at all. We were wondering when you people would finally notic what was going on.)

"Who are you," Batman demands as the voice chuckles, "Is this your doing?"

Ņ̷͙̹̱͕̀͐̄́͜ớ̷̩̠̻̅̉̈́̎̀ͅ.̷̮̲̰̩͆͗͂̆́̒̚

(no)

"But you know about it, what's doing this and how do we stop it?"

I̷̢̬͉̖͗̒̀̈ ̷̟͎̯̺̺͕̅̆͆̌̐̔́d̷͙͔̜̿ȏ̶̡͓̩͝ņ̴̜̤̟̳́͑̂̚͠͝͠'̵̝̜̉̆́t̷̛̯͌̓̎̎ ̴̞́̈̍ţ̴̢͓͙́ḧ̸̲͛̿͗̍i̶̧̯̱̠̩̥̭͛̉̊̌̈̒͝n̷͖̯̩̺͛͂̊̑͐͠ķ̶̧̙̖̐͐̀̄ ̷̛̦̲̎̋̑y̷̧̯̝̝̦̌̒͌͂o̴̧̹̲͉̟̝̱̊̏u̵̱̣̘̳͖̇͗͆͐ͅ ̷͙͇̝̳͒̎̑̓͜͝ͅͅc̵̫̼̠̮͕̠̃ą̸̣͇̩̬̟͌̋͠n̵̛̬̟̼͈̪͓̲̆̀̔̋̈́̕.̸̢̝̳̜̥̗̾́.̸̢̪͔̹͈̂̈̆͛̇́̔.̸͓̯͓̞̃̉̃ ̸̢͉͉̳̬͙̗͗͂͌̄̏T̵͚̩̙̽̈́͛͌́̀h̶̘̲̙̪̗̾i̵̭͕̙̟̒̔͝ͅș̵͗̈́̚͝ ̶̥̲̹̜̖̼̯̉̍į̶͓̥̀̍̓s̸̢̡͓̬̰̹̋̿̿̃́̽͜ ̵̀̈̇́͐̚ͅp̸̡̨͎͇̦̌̍͜ṳ̸̫̖̘̑͋͂̕̕͝n̵͔͔͇̺͚̪͋͂ͅĩ̸̢̛̥̬̮̙̈́́̔s̸̩̝̝̓̀̈́ḧ̸̫͇́̓̄́̕ṃ̸̨̐̄̾̌͂͝ẽ̴͓̈́n̵̮̥̯͑͛͂̀́͝ţ̷̨̟̖͚̹̺͗̋͑͌̄.̷̭̐̈̕

(I don't think you can, this is punishment.)

"Punishment for what?! We didn't do anything," Flash shouts as he stands up to yell at the voice.

Ỳ̸͕̖̼͐o̵̘̻̩̹̽̀̍͑͗̊̓ú̴̢͇̮̯͍̑̚ ̷̢̢͖̹̍͗͜ḏ̵̨̹͔͆̈́̀̀̑͆͜i̶̲̯̯̱͍͐̆̉͛͋͐ͅd̶͈͇̤̙̃̃͑͌̅̓͆n̷͓̳̅̄'̶͙͓͉̣̝͓͌̽͘t̵̡̝̘͔̮̹͔̊̈́͋͂́̾,̷̧͔̲͕̙̋̚ ̶̳̙͉̩̄̐̄͌b̷̻̮̟̩͑̿̕ű̶̩̩͚t̷̛́̒��͎̤̠̪̮͜ ̵̠͓̩̤̋̇̂͆̕ͅc̶̘̹͒ị̵̢̟̩̄́͐̒͝t̶̠̥͙̗͎̺̘́͗̄͂̅̚ḯ̸̡̞̳̝̰͆̒̀͂̑̎z̴̯͉̾̑̈́͝͝ę̵̻̼̟̗̌̎͝͝n̴̘̓̈́̎̊͌͛s̷̝̭͔͈͗̂͐̇ ̵̱̇͑̆̋̓͜͝͠ő̶̥̝̠̞̇͆̊̀͌͗͜f̸͈̖͆̀̑̈̇̄̓ ̷̨͇̦͕̺̩̃̓̇̇͐̀t̴̬̬͇͔͛̃̊̿̀̏́h̷̯̠͒̒͋̆̂̅͠é̶̡ ̸̰̘͈̹̳̈́Ẽ̸̢̟̥̺͈̙̓̈̄͘͠͝a̶̛͎̥̦͙͆̑͋̿͝͠ͅr̶̺̟̱̈́̀ţ̵̝̩̬͍̉̔͊́̕͠h̶̥̠̣̹̰̻̖͆͂̉͌͠ ̶̳̣̠͚̮̌͆̋̅͂̈́ḧ̶͖͉̟̮̜̻̖́̊ã̸̲̦̗̜̌̿͌́̑̚v̵̯͚̲̯̖͋̽͝ͅȩ̴̛͕̯̖̈́͌ͅ.̸̩͚̽

(You didn't but the citizens of the Earth have.)

"What did they do to warrant starting a Decay Field to eat the universe?!" The next words spoken was a combination of several voices.

T̷̝̹̥̘̯̠̓̑̽ͅh̶̺͓͕̝̍͗̐̃̄̚ȇ̶̜͉͈̦̮̓͝͠y̵͔̗̫͎͙͚͠ ̷̟̓̃͂ķ̷̦̳͎̓̃͛͌̒͝ͅi̴̫̪̮̰̭̠̘̊͑͛́̐l̴̖̲̙̀̿l̵̹̦̪͐̌̎͆ę̷̨̙͇̮͇̊ḋ̵͉͙͖̦̪̰̒͝ ̴̮̜̥̟͚͇͊̀ḿ̵̱̼̮̠̪̘̓̃̀̐͐͝ŷ̸̖̞̤͐̄͛͆ ̸͎̯̠̰̆͋̓̌̂͌͛b̶̢̜̙͎͌̓̐e̸̛̥̳͒̋̽́́s̴̨̙͑́͑̒͐̐t̷͙͌̀̄͝ ̵̰͑̓͜f̷̛̦̭̀́̅̌r̷̖̹̫͕̬̩̔į̴͎͖̯̜̲̥͒̀͊̓̆͒͘ẻ̵̬͈͊͝n̶̤̼̥͚̱͉̔͗̂͝d̶̯̼̋̏̂̈̿͝ͅ.̴̻̭̣̭̪̣̖̒̐̒̄͝ (They killed my best friend.)

T̶̰̗́̋̓͝h̶̞͔̠̪͖͎̝́ě̴͇̭̻̗̣̉̔y̴̛̝̼͎͇̼͌̽̏̚ ̴̢̛̞͕͓̜̻̑͋̍́k̷̲̃̓̊̊́̽ǐ̷̡̟͔̜͈̃ḽ̶̢̭̠͕͒̈́͊́̈́l̵̠͎̎̋̄͘ȅ̷͖̪͖͒̈́d̴̩͖̳̜̯̹̋͑ ̷̜̜̯̬̤͂̑̀̍͋͒̆m̴̙͕̹̩̞͐̌̅̾y̷̡̱͉̠̗͇̏̓̉ͅ ̴̨̖͇̠͜͝p̷̺̯̖̹͚͎͛̋͌ȃ̵̧̪̼̫͈̺̞̾͋̓͛r̶͇̺̫͂̍̑̕t̵̟̦̞̞͍̀̒̉́̋̓n̸͎̻̻̒ȇ̵̢̪̣̤̫͐͜r̸̡̯̪͖̻̃̉̓͘̕͝.̸̹̖̜̈́̃̎̓ (They killed my partner.)

T̴̗̻̫̼̙͛̐̿̈́͂̈̐̎̔̆̀͑͐͠͝ͅh̸̘̞̫̺̗̹͆̽͒̅ȩ̴̡͕̄ÿ̵̢̳̺̗̲̠̩̹̟͈̞̘́͊̓̀́̏̒͑̐̿̊ ̸̼̞͖̻̰̤͚́k̴̛͚̬̹͚͒̐͊̍̉́́̚͝͠ͅͅi̵̘͈̿̌̋̂̈͌̋̐͑̕͝l̵̘̊̒̄́̈́͂̒̍́̿͗̐̉͝͝l̴̬͔͎̍̓͋̉̐̀͂̕͘͠͝e̷̙̭̪̝̭̜̻̠̓͋͑̔̓̈́̋̈͒̒̉̔̏̚͝d̸͕̫̼͉̫͓̜̩̪̺̫͈͋͝ͅ ̸̧̧̼̙̰̮͓̖̑̈́͋͌̅̃̑́̍͛̂͠t̶̡͎̼̖̳̼̣͚͓̝̘͉̊̍̈́͛͆́̾̀͊̃̚͝ḧ̸̨̛̺̹̭̖̠̞́͛̀e̸̡͚̤̮̼̳̽͗͛̾̀̆͂͑̀͛͜͝ ̸̛̪̝̺͓͇̜̀́̿̄̏̕̚w̸͉͕͐̾̋̏͒̂͒̓̚ḩ̴̠̹͇̘͔͚̖̘̻̈́̿̄͆̓̑͑̚͝͠͠͝ę̶̛͔̲̰̖̗̈͋̾͑̂́̅̈͑͆́̀̓͝l̶̨͇͇͉͖͂̃̈̂p̷̛͇̭̺̲̠͕̝̹͍̙̓̍̈́̾̆́̋̐̀̿̓̂̉ (they killed the whelp)

Ţ̵̇̍͐͝ḥ̶̢͎̇ͅě̶̢̨̇̉̎̉ÿ̶̹͔̼́̅͌͑̚ ̸̖̤͛̿̎̍̂̍ͅk̴͓̞̼̙̰̼̅̑͌̍̄i̷͓̣͎͑͂̌̽̈́̾͝l̸̮͖̖̲͑͑͋̐l̸̛̛͇̹̙̳̟͌̽̃̌è̴͇̒͗͐͂d̷̮͈̋̚ͅ ̴͉͈̞͙̙͇̈́̋͂̚ȯ̶͚͓͋̍̍ǔ̴̢͎̹͕̀͆̇̒̂r̶̮̖̱͂̉̽̔ ̵̤͙̺̒́͌̿̈͠s̷̛͔̣̹̱̼͆͐o̸͕͖̘̬̭͒͑̾̆̓̇n̸̡͖̙̗̩̆̀͌̃.̵̬͉͎̞̬͗́͊̀̂̓̕(they killed our son.)

T̷͖͇̱̜̺̳͠ͅh̷̥͍̼̼̥̊ͅę̶̨̺͇͖̹̒͒ỹ̸̟̟̜̗̘̠̓̓̑̑̄͜ ̷̗̲́͊͋̅ͅk̸̻̤͉̝̽͊̃̉̄͒̃i̴͔͙̰̮̐ͅl̸̤̥̭̊̾͘l̶̢̠̹̩͉̦̏͒͘e̷̢͕̠̥̜̘͓̿̈́̏̅͝d̷̪̭͕̓̐͛̿̈̚ͅ ̶̙̱̩̠̄̎̈́́͘̕m̵̪̫͉̲͑͑ͅy̸̢̬̹̞̳͗̃͌̔̔ ̶̢̼͖̼͕̋̎͛͝͠k̶̞̱̘̲̺͔̔̏̇̍̕ǐ̶̜̟͆̍ṋ̶͈͓̱͌͛̑̂͐̇g̸̩͕̻̃̍̔̃̏̚.̵͙̖͐͠ (They killed my king)

T̶͙͍̤̼͕̎͌͜h̴̩̬̞̕̕͜e̷̫͔̟̔͐͒ͅÿ̴̢̢̻̯̩̱́́̇̄͗̑͠ ̸̧̤̪͈̗͈̼̉̓͋̐k̸̢̟̲͝í̵̢̩ͅl̸͈͒̄͋͝͝l̴̡͍̥̱̙̫̣̄̈́͌e̸̛͔̾̒͛̂̉d̴̪̀̓͜ ̴̧̭͚̥͛͗t̶̨͙̬̥͉̼̎͋̍͜h̶͙̲̟̆ḙ̶͕̿ ̶̧̬͒̍͠͝Ḡ̴̨̓ṛ̶͙̺̘̭̮͍̏̒͗͋̇͝e̶̖̙̥͛̄͆̾͋̐̚a̷͚̙̠̙̠͝ͅt̵̰̥̺̹̂̓ ̸̞́̈́Ó̶̞̳̈́̃͋̇́n̴͙̘̤͉͆̆͗̇̈͆̋e̷̛̹͂͝.̵̝̲̣̅(they killed the Great One)

I̵̜͎͎̘͍͒̈̑̄̔͝l̴̝͔̙̞̓͋̅i̶̖͉̠͎͍̽̒ ̸͇̰̝͙̮̩͒̓̒̆̊̚m̷̨̨̘͔̀͊͌̆̈͐̐͜ơ̷̢̺͉͓̤͍̺̒͝r̵̨̧̰͎̓̎̽͒͛t̸̤̲̙̄͐́̈́̕̕͜į̶̧̭̙̗͙͙̊̉̍͛̿̋g̵̜̺̘̙̼͇̃i̵͈̅̀̅s̵̞̯̯̩͖͖̎ ̴̡̤̞̇̾̆̈̓͝m̵̺͈̺̻̫̰̋̽͐̍͛̕͜ȉ̴̮̙̳̄͛ą̵͕̭̲̱͈̒ǹ̸̨̛̫̺̯̥̗́͜͝ ̵̨̳̝͓̼͆͂͂͛̍͘s̴̡̢̟̘̝̠̘̃̏͑̑̎͠à̶̧̛͖̦v̷͚̇̈́́̏͝â̴̢͓̚n̶̢̗͓̘͖̹͂̂̚ṱ̶̒̂̈̃͆ŏ̸̬̥̎̕ń̵̨̛͇̲̫̦̮̎̾̔̀ (ili mortigis mian savanton/killed my savior)

T̸̐̕��̢̨͍̲̝̣͎͈̖͓͇͈̘͓̏̉͊̍̈́̋h̸̢̨̙͇̳̜͖̎̇͛̈́͜ḛ̶̡̻͕̝̫̣͇̉̅y̷̢͖̤̫̔̎̌ ̵͎͍̭̟̗̼̹̪̠͉̲̍͆̓́͜k̴̢̗̺̘̳̰͎̲͇̃̌͆͂̀̔̾͛͂̉͘͝͝i̶̟̹̳̱̤͚͖͖̫̲̓̾̄̅̆̎͂̕l̴̨̡̡̲̥͓̠̰̼̥̂͑̀͝ḻ̷̡͕̩̫̾͐́͑̓̃́͒̈́͆̿̓͌̚͘ͅȩ̶̡̣̮̯̳͓̼̓̉̽̄̍́̔̓̆̎̀ď̷͈̬̱̂ ̶͖̺̝͉̜͇̅͐̓̆͗̿̋̿̀̍͝b̵̧̮͆̂̄̒̐̿͋͌̆̍̓̈́͘͝ä̴̡̛͔̫̉͆̍̔̄́̈́͝b̸̮͙͛̃͛̀̃̍̓y̵̱͑̈́̽̇̄̓̔̌̚͝͠p̶͈̮̣̠̮͖͇̠̫̫̦̝̩̉̐̂̈́̐͐ǫ̵̯͙͓͚͍̂̊͊̉̾̌̂́͠͝p̷͙̯̪͔̙̗̞̘͙̅̄̒͒̍͛͋̈͋̕(they killed babypop)

T̴̯̮̝͙͕̐̍h̸̡̢̋͌͊ȅ̴̟̼̀̈́̄̀͌͠ý̸̨̯̩͐̎͒͒̒̕ͅ ̶̡͈̝͎̞͗̊͘k̸̭͇͙̬̫̙͊̎͆̓͝͝ͅi̶̦̝̳̪͂̅̈́̑l̷̛͈̭̺̄́̔̈́͋́l̶͙̳̯̩̈́͐e̴͇̰̭͙̙̿͜d̴̛͉͚͍̋͂̀̔̉ ̶̤̞͙͕̃̓͒͐m̴͈̹̟̃y̵̠̜̏̽̐̀́̀͝ ̶̢̥͉̊̊̊͐͝f̶͎̥͉́́ḁ̸̩̤̱̲̬̒̕͘ṯ̷̯̬̘̮͙̚ḩ̸̖͍͌̀̓̃͘ẻ̵̢͎̓͝r̸̨̩̗̘̗̒̈̆̓͂͘̕.̶̥̀͐̓̉(They killed my father)

Ţ̷̠̘̦̍̏̆̍̀͊̚ẖ̷̼̪̝͇̪̥͑e̸̢̨̻͚̬̯̭̊͗̀͝y̵̪͛̾̅́̓̕ ̶̤͕͆̑̓͐k̵̖͎͍̬͙͒̍i̴̛͙̬͚̫̻͑̆͆͂l̵̨͒̂͑l̷̛͖̫̫̳̭̱̀̀ę̴͈͕͖̜͎̋̆͒̓͘̚d̸̢̼͙̬͐͋̎̉͝ ̵̲̥͋̃̆͂͗͝m̷̞̭̖͚̭̣̑͛͗y̶̛̜͎͆̂͑̑ ̸̩̤̫̹́̾̈͂̏ḇ̷̞̱̣̂̋̚̚r̵̛̻̙̯̯̆̋̽̈́̚͝ô̷̱̍̈́t̶̡̙͈̘̹̫͆͒̽͐̏h̴̥̝́͊̅͌̓̔̒͜è̶͙̰̱́̅̾̉̽͂r̴͍͗̍͂̾̂̆.̷̺̖̥̖̹̾̓́̔ (They killed my brother)

Ṱ̵̻̤̩̰͛͆͑͒̍ͅh̸̜̼̅̀̏͒̄͐ĕ̵̲͚͕̓ͅy̷̻̣̭̰͎͊͂̇͛͗ͅ ̴̜̘̣̙͑̄k̵̭̝̹͛͒̽͘ȉ̵̫ļ̴̡͇̺͈̞͐͂̅͑ͅl̶̫̈́̃͊̏ę̶̛͖̪̺̤̌̓d̸̛̤̱͂ ̴̞͇̫̘͊m̴̛͖̩̲͊̏̈́̓͑̆ÿ̵͔͎́́ ̴͎͎͎͕̳͖̭͊͒͋̒͑̿s̷̬̹̔̒̾̉̿́̕͜t̵̹̋ụ̸̩̂̆̓d̷̢̧̪̞̦̻̓́̋̐̇̂e̷̡̢̯̤̜̞͈͛̑̎̿͝ń̵̙ẗ̵̨̛͔̯́.̷̨̟̰̩̲͆̉̚ (They killed my student)

"Stop! Stop!" Flash shouts over the voices, "We can't understand what you're saying! Who is 'They'?!"

The voices stop and the clearest voice they've heard yet speaks.

T̵͔̊h̸̲͑e̴̘͋ ̴̻̋G̴͚̈́h̸̩͌o̵̮̍s̷͍̽t̶̬͛ ̸͍̒Ȉ̵͚n̸͙̑v̴͙̽e̸̞̓s̴̞͘t̷̠̓ĩ̵͎g̷͖͘a̷̭͒ť̵͓i̵̟̇o̶̞̕n̵̨͠ ̸͓̂W̵̱͂a̵̺͝ŕ̷̥d̶͇͒

#dc x dp #dp x dc #space ancient danny #ghost king danny #batman #the flash #wonder woman #green lantern #tucker foley #I translated the zalgo text #sorry #giw fucked around and found out

2K notes · View notes

fipindustries · 1 year ago

Text

gideon's taste in women is amazing, she enjoys reading about bimbos in her magazines, drolls over the bombshell that is corona, falls head over heels over petite, demure little princess dulcinea and the love of her life is the pile of twigs in the shape of an angry bird that is harrow

#the locked tomb

589 notes · View notes

sunsetseason8910 · 8 months ago

Text

KOSA PAGE-all of our strike information

ALRIGHT SO YALL HAVE RESPONDED VERY POSITIVELY TO MY SUGGESTION OF US STARTING OUR OWN NEWSIES STRIKE AND @waiting-makes-me-antsy suggested we all get nicknames like the newsies so if yall want a nickname then private message me and I will write down your new nickname on this post and I'm also letting yall pick my nickname

What is the KOSA newsies strike?

All across tumblr and similar platforms, kids like us have found their people. People who share the same difficulties, people who have gone through the same things, or just friends. I have found some amazing people on tumblr, and KOSA would take all of that away. KOSA would take away the support many LGBTQ community members have found, the support many people with mental illnesses have found, and so much more beyond that. We are striking to show KOSA that we deserve a voice too! Freedom of Speech!

Me: Hops

@waiting-makes-me-antsy 's nickname is Antsy Whispers

@lincoln-rosario is Link

@eponine-thenadier is Olive (Vice President)

@hey-they-was-coronas is Reeses

@blinkinbrothershark is Twig

@sad-camper is Pollen

@racetracks-fvckin-chair is Quill

@theatrical-cowboy is Dice

@mothmans-spaghettios is Cryptid

@h0n3ycombb is Bunny!

@atticuswhat is Storm!

@ask-riff-lorton RIFF LORTON LADIES AND GENTS

@elmer-not-the-glue as Stars

@poorguysheadisspinning1923 is Fidget!

@00-tricycle-0 is Trig!!

@bigmack2go is Junior!!

Update: yall can go vote my my nickname I gave four options

Officers

@the-realest-spot-conlon (Me)- President

@eponine-thenadier Olive-Vice President

Secretary is open!

@waiting-makes-me-antsy Antsy Whispers- Assistant Vice President

@hey-they-was-coronas Reeses-Recreational Leader

Treasurer is open!

@bigmack2go solidarity-general Marshall

Our Tag

Tag any KOSA posts with "KOSA newsies strike," so it starts trending!

Petition

https://www.change.org/p/save-our-free-and-open-internet-stop-the-kids-online-safety-act?utm_content=cl_sharecopy_36858566_en-US%3Acv_9182&recruiter=1282470979&recruited_by_id=cdf22210-5591-11ed-b8c6-db7e30faf378&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial&utm_term=psf&share_bandit_exp=initial-36858566-en-US

#newsies #spot conlon #92sies #racetrack higgins #sprace #jack kelly #davey jacobs #newsies incorrect quotes #KOSA newsies strike

109 notes · View notes

wisteriagoesvroom · 1 year ago

Text

promptfill for @clearlyclairesblog!

P.s. I don’t know if this is the direction you wanted, but here is what I ran with…

Mercado lestappen Rated G for general audience vibes (and a bit of angst) Minor mentions of drinking 1.2k words (Also readable on ao3)

The supermarket is playing a mariachi cover of a radio song that Charles doesn’t know the name of, nor does he particularly care to. In the last year since he’s been to Central America he’s been racing in what the newspapers would call “beautifully”, “at a level that hasn’t been seen in over seven years” — and if the Twittersphere is also to be believed, “b for big slay”. But apparently it still, still! isn’t enough to beat the number one two nights ago at the Autódromo.

Charles swats away the thoughts. This is not time to dwell on the bad race. He is here to try and forget the bad race. He rubs his eyes and holds a bottle of what he thinks is tequila, the words abstract on the amber bottle. The lights are too bright in here, and the aisles too colourful. Driving on the track suits Charles because he can expend his energy hyper focused on what he needs to do, where he needs to go. It gives his anxiety a channel of relief, where high octane and being rabbit-quick serves a glorious purpose.

Here, in the real world, sometimes he is not so sure.

There are too many soda options that could go with the bottle that he's holding. (It behooves him, a son of Monaco, to at least have some kind of chaser. To keep this nominally classy, to make this self-pity show not entirely pathetic. Even Charles when sad has standards. Maybe grapefruit jarritos would make a good accompaniment for tequila and depression?)

Andrea would probably kill him, but whatever. There’s a reason Charles left the whole team at the hotel, wandered off with a cap and big hoodie in search of quiet time. Besides, abstinence from indulgence, in all its forms still hasn’t gotten Charles any further in the standings compared to last year. So he deserves a little boozy soda, non?

Of course, to add insult to injury, Max Verstappen’s face stares at him from a can of Red Bull. And of course Charles can’t help but laugh. Of all the endorsements in the world, of all the people to see now, it is the cause of his despair, Satan on hot wheels himself who deigns to make an appearance to haunt him in the Fresko.

That is what breaks him. It starts as a giggle, ends with his face buried in his hands, and Charles wonders what the world would make of him having un petit meltdown in the middle of a suburban supermarket.

“What the hell?”

The voice knocks him right off kilter. He would know that voice anywhere. No, it could not be.

But when Charles looks up, there he is. His rival, in the flesh. Equally in a cap and dark hoodie, holding a loaf of bread and a six-pack of Corona under one arm.

“Is that bread?” Charles says. He doesn’t know what to say, really. They do not share much off the track, him and Max. They live in the same city, but don’t cross paths. They are born sixteen days apart, but besides racing have almost nothing in common. They carted together for over a decade, fought in F1 together for almost another more and somehow Max has over quadruple the WCs and Charles has nothing to show for it except a couple of podiums, and maybe a lot of shame. (He tries not to think too much about the shame.)

Max, to his credit, doesn’t seem particularly ruffled about any of this. These days, Max has mellowed out, grown from defensive boy to assertive man, relaxed in his shoulders, laughs a little more easily. In contrast Charles finds himself trying not to sink into his car, to tell himself to smile more genuinely for the cameras that are now starting to feel more and more like a burden rather than anything fun, because years of expectation and being told you’re a winner, and for it to never be true, can gnaw at your self-esteem like that.

Slightly further down the aisle from him, Max tilts his head. “I was hungry.”

“That’s fair.”

“And thirsty.”

“Me too.”

Charles doesn’t miss the way Max’s eyes flick down to the shopping basket and back up.

“That bad, huh?”

That bad? Charles fumes to himself. Max doesn’t know what it’s like, he couldn’t possibly imagine what it’s like, to always be second, to aim for something and fight for it so hard, only for it to still fall out of reach—

“You raced really well.” Max says, factually. As if the sky were blue, as if the supermarket did not at all intellectually or spiritually affect his cognitive functions like it already has thrown Charles for a loop. Max pronounces his assessment as if it were an absolute, which is Max’s power, you see. To take destiny by it’s teeth and force it to heel.

“Evidently, what I did was not enough.” Charles says.

“You took every line that was needed.”

“I did.”

“Your tyre management has been the best I’ve ever seen it.”

“Thanks. But you were better.”

“Yes. I’m not going to apologise for that. You know well, how it is.”

Charles laughs, low, a little bitter. Yes, he does know well, how it is. “The rest of us are mice. Scrambling around the ankles of an elephant.”

Max, for his part, seems to chew on this. Shifting the bread a little higher in the crook of his elbow, eyes glancing but not really looking at the cans in the aisle. The music plays on for a few moments in the background, a cheery tune with lots of fast strumming. It’s a minor miracle that they’ve not been spotted, but this late at night, it seems the only person around is the disinterested cashier who is filing her nails at the checkout.

Somewhere in the distance the cashier coughs. Max taps the side of his thigh with his index finger, once, twice. Neither of them seems to know what to say.

Finally, Max yanks a Red Bull can off the shelf, closes the distance, and drops it right into Charles’s basket. This close, Charles can see the proud tilt of Max’s chin, the brown flecks in the other man’s eyes.

“A chaser.” Max says. Both of them aware of the double meaning. The drinks, their history.

Charles swallows. So fine, maybe it because it’s 2am, or maybe it’s the desperation. Here, face to face with Max, away from the cameras and the rest of the world, they can slow their strange dance, and Charles is able to say what he has really wanted to say. He wills it into his mind with more iron and fury than he truly feels.

“I will beat you one day, you know.”

His blood swims with it. He wills it to settle, to become familiar with the feeling, asserting himself in this way, speaking what he really means.

In turn, Max smiles. Genuine, this time, crinkling to the corner of his eyes. The rare ones he grants to the rest of the competitors on the couch after a good race, when he’s come off the track with fantastic pace. The one he has when he waves to his nephews.

Max doesn’t back off at all. He leans even closer. (Charles could count every lash. Tucks it away somewhere secret, somewhere with sharp edges that he can’t look too closely at, yet.)

“Absolutely, Charles.” Max says, all conspiratorial. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

#lestappen #fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #prompt fill #ficlet #drabble #f1 imagine #f1 fic #red bull... as a metaphor...for desire... i guess #lestappen fic #formula 1 rpf #formula 1 fanfic #3316 #i've been here for like two weeks and this is how far i've fallen into the hole #it's the first time i'm writing this pairing so like just pls excuse me if i get random details off idk #wiz.writing

78 notes · View notes

owl127 · 9 months ago

Text

@ianthesmells in her endless talent and grace, drew Anubis from "Coffee & Scones" universe. So of course I had to write a drabble about it. --

There was a point of exhaustion when the letters on the Harrow’s laptop screen were an artistic display of unrecognizable forms and shapes. As her power point deck shimmered while performing aquatic dances instead of the data summary Harrow needed, she called it a night. Her phone blinked on the hotel’s nightstand, silent and ignored. Dulcinea had insisted on going to the bars with the other grad students, and she undoubtedly was sending Harrow unimportant photos to document the night’s proclivities. Harrow was not interested.

There was a lack of honor in the inebriation that Harrow despised.

Besides, she was the last presenter of the conference, and breakfast started at 7am sharp. There was no time for banal things such as “networking”.

She picked her phone to text Ianthe—her girlfriend was extremely efficient in calming Harrow’s nerves for her presentation—but frowned at the multiple pings from her plethora of diverse messaging apps; that is, all two of them.

She opened Instagram with a trembling finger.

Her first reaction wasn’t shock, since it took a good ten seconds for Harrow to recognize Anubis. Once she did, her cheeks burned with a drizzling mix of anger and amusement.

Much like his owner, Anubis was petite, a once tiny little black runt that grew into a tiny black demon. He had a history of fighting against collars, so Harrow never attempted to indulge herself by forcing him into funny little blankets shaped like denim jackets.

That was why, when she finally recognized her cat in a sheep costume framed by Coronabeth’s cleavage, she squeaked in surprise. To her horror, the little cricket looked adorable, and Corona’s massive volleyball fans had already adopted him as a mascot, with thousands of notifications in the photo. There was also a video of Anubis prancing around in the immaculate sheep uniform, his ears poking from the furry headset like sharp rocks on a field of camellias. Corona took the stage presenting the adorable cat, but Harrow knew better. She knew who was recording it, who had probably ordered the costume, and who had tagged Harrow in the viral videos.

“Hi, love. How’s the conference?” Ianthe picked up on the second ring. Harrow heard Corona’s voice in the background, and a suspicious purr that meant Anubis was around and enjoying the attention overflow.

“That’s animal abuse.”

“What do you mean?”

Harrow heard the tilt in Ianthe’s voice. She knew exactly what Harrow meant, and she loved it.

“I left him with you for forty-eight hours and you already defamed him.”

“Harry,” Ianthe started, and Anubis meowed in the background, followed by Corona’s squeak. “The poor thing was cold, and Corona happened to snap a picture. He’s enjoying fame.”

“Leave him alone.”

“He already has his own TikTok and Instagram account.” At least there was a tinge of apology in Ianthe’s tone.

“Ianthe,” Harrow warned.

“Corona and Camilla will run it. And we can have more privacy at your place while they petsit him.”

“My place is fine!”

“Tell that to Anubis when he’s staring me down while I strap—”

Harrow hung up.

A minute later, Ianthe called. Harrow picked up after the third call.

“He’s okay, I promise,” Ianthe said as a greeting, and the background noise diminished. Harrow imagined Ianthe hiding from her sister’s enthusiasm in her room. “You know I’d never let anything bad happen to him.”

“I just want to be informed before I receive hundreds of follow requests because my cat looked adorable in a sheep costume.”

“Aww, so you also think he’s adorable?”

“You’re deflecting.” Harrow closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion from the day wash over her. “I miss you,” she whispered.

“I miss you too. You’ll do fine tomorrow. I promise.”

There was something visceral in believing a promise from Ianthe Tridentarius’ mouth. A chill ran down her vertebrae.

“Also, what are you wearing?”

She might as well use the energy into something good.

51 notes · View notes

useless-catalanfacts · 2 months ago

Text

A Medieval king's praise of the Acropolis of Athens... which he had never seen but was ready to defend

The Acropolis of Athens (Greece), with the Parthenon temple on top, is one of the most iconic archaeological sites in the world. This Ancient Greek monument is still a cause of awe nowadays, 2500 years after it was built; and the deep impression it causes was no different in the past. The archaeological remains have suffered from wars and explosions, but already in the Middle Ages some had the clear idea that this heritage needed to be protected.

The Duchy of Athens was part of the Crown of Catalonia-Aragon between the years 1311 and 1388. It was a time with many wars, and much of Greece was being sacked by Navarrese mercenaries (not so different from how some decades before it had been sacked by Catalan mercenaries, the Crusaders, and other warriors of many nationalities). Seeing the Navarrese destruction in Attica (the region of Greece where Athens is located) and having just had to defend Athens itself from them, the Athenian rulers decided to send an embassy to the king of Catalonia-Aragon (and Athens), Peter the Ceremonious.

One of the members of this embassy was John Boïl, who was bishop of Megara (Greece) and a very cultured man. During his stay with King Peter, he vividly described the beauty of Athens' Acropolis. Peter the Ceremonious loved history, architecture, and sculpture, and he was very impressed with that description. Following the bishop's petition, the King of Catalonia-Aragon gave the order to pay from his treasury for the salary of 12 crossbowmen who he sent to the Acropolis of Athens with the objective of protecting it. King Peter wanted to protect the survival of the Acropolis, which he described in these words (translated from Medieval Catalan to English):

The Castle of Athens is the most precious jewel in the world, so much that not even all the Christian kings together could build one just like it.

By "Castle", he means the Acropolis, using a word that would be more familiar to him at the time. He also uses the word "Centines", the Medieval Catalan name for Athens.

The whole document with king Peter's words, written in 1380, is still preserved in the Archive of the Crown of Aragon (Barcelona, Catalonia). Here's two pages from it, but you can personally check it all out on the archives' website.

Information source: Arxiu de la Corona d'Aragó.

18 notes · View notes

chiveraccs · 1 year ago

Text

Montecristo - No. 5

Hace un par de meses tuve la suerte de ser invitado por Kukenan Tobacco Trading al lanzamiento en Venezuela del Ramon Allones No. 3 que reseñé hace poco. En el evento me encontré con varios amigos, con los que siempre comparto en eventos similares e incluso en una que otra reunión sin motivo más allá que reunirnos a fumar y tomar algo. Uno de estos amigos tenía una caja de este Montecristo No. 5…

View On WordPress

#Cuba #Habano #Montecristo #Petit Corona

1 note · View note

andredias95 · 1 year ago

Text

780. Arturo Fuente Special Selection Brevas Royales

Gifted by a friend. Location: This review was made indoors in a cigar lounge. Information:Wrapper: Dominican RepublicBinder: Dominican RepublicFiller: Dominican RepublicOrigin: Dominican Republic Factory: Tabacalera A. Fuente y Cia. (Dominican Republic)Box: Sold in 50 count boxes.Release: 2010Availability: Regular Production Size: 5.1×42, Petit Corona Wrapper: Milk chocolate brown, smooth…

View On WordPress

#Arturo Fuente Cigars #Brevas Royales #Dominican Republic #Petit Corona #Special Selection

0 notes

lxdymoon0357 · 1 year ago

Note

I kinda miss the prompt where Sovieshu Reincarnated or Reborn into Modern Era 2005 and live for years, knows technologies, has vast curiosity to learn new things, faced Asia strict parents and Corona pandamic until he was at age of 30. He thinks that after years keeping himself virgin until 30th birthday will give you to become a witch or wizard. He scoffs because he thinks that's random nonsense until he met end of life, truck-kun killed him... bruh... so he got back to his first life where he used to be Emperor. He woke up at age of 25 year old Emperor, he still has mistress Rasta and Empress Navier but he wants to clear the mess and to stop the slavery and the crule plan coming from Heinrey that was secretly harming Eastern Empire without knowing and plaing to invade Eastern Empire. His habit from 2005 to 2035 modern era never changes. He is too humble, kind, caring, helpful, maybe strict but understandable, has common sense, germaphobic, always wears mask to keep himself from getting germs or that's make him feel secured and comfortable, always listening and fix misunderstanding. He can cook, clean, folds his clothes, can bath himself, everything that single person can do themselves. That's makes every servants worried whenever they asks to help but Sovieshu insisted and manages all by himself. Whenever he hears insult, sarcasm, blackmail to him, he can just simply laugh at him and give harsh truth and brutal insults with soft expression. He got all learned from his Asian Parents.

Here the link

https://www.tumblr.com/sovieshu-simp/689203706318749696/hello-i-have-one-request-its-about-sovieshu

OH MY GOD! THIS IS PERFECT!!

Sovieshu would be such a big germaphobe during this time, cause from what I can tell cleaning isn't the best during those times and even though he spent one whole life, he spent the next one in modern world....

He would also be able to do so many things and absolutely hate it at times when servants stop him and he would insult him like an Asian parent would with a polite smile and a petite form despite being tall an large and saying the most ruthless shit ever, like that audio:

"Guys, look at what he's wearing, it's giving the gap!"

Sovieshu: *with the sweetest smile ever* You mean the gap between your teeth?

"EXCUSEME-!"

---

yeah I'm cringe I know...also Navier can't handle this much shit...Rashta is like eh..she doesn't really care...

#sovieshu #remarried empress #the remarried empress #sovieshu vict #remarried empress rashta #remarried empress fanfic #remarried empress webtoon

16 notes · View notes

ochoislas · 1 month ago

Text

OFELIA

Sobre la linfa negra en que los astros duermen, flota la blanca Ofelia como una azucena; solevada en sus velos, flota muy despacio. En los bosques resuena una lejana cuerna.

Son ya más de mil años que la triste Ofelia discurre, blanco espectro, por el negro río. Son ya más de mil años que su tierna insania murmura su romance al viento vespertino.

Besa el aura sus pechos y en cáliz distiende vastos velos que mece laciamente el agua. El sauce estremecido sobre su hombro llora, la soñadora sien se inclina a espiar la caña.

Suspíranle en redor las rozadas ninfeas. Y tal vez sobresalta en un aliso quieto un nido del que escapa un parvo repeluzno. Los astros de oro vierten su cantar secreto.

¡Pálida Ofelia, ay, como un ampo de nieve, niña fuiste a morir, raptada por un río! Un viento que caló de montes de Noruega de aceda libertad te suspiró al oído.

Desconocido soplo, azotando tu pelo, tu genio soñador llenó de extrañas voces; tu atento corazón la Natura escuchaba si el árbol se quejaba, espiraba la noche.

Como inmenso estertor, la voz de los océanos, tu pecho niño hendía, humano y vulnerable; y tal alba de abril un trasojado príncipe, fue a sentarse a tus pies… y calló, pobre orate.

Cielo, Amor, Libertad: ¡fueron sueños de loca! Te fundías en él como nieve en el fuego. Ligaban tu garganta visiones grandiosas… y espantó tu ojo azul el Infinito horrendo.

III

Y refiere el cantor que a la luz de los astros, flores de tu corona vas buscando a tientas… y que ha visto en el agua, acostada en sus velos, flotar la blanca Ofelia, igual que una azucena.

OPHÉLIE

Sur l'onde calme et noire où dorment les étoiles La blanche Ophélia flotte comme un grand lys, Flotte très lentement, couchée en ses longs voiles… — On entend dans les bois lointains des hallalis.

Voici plus de mille ans que la triste Ophélie Passe, fantôme blanc, sur le long fleuve noir ; Voici plus de mille ans que sa douce folie Murmure sa romance à la brise du soir.

Le vent baise ses seins et déploie en corolle Ses grands voiles bercés mollement par les eaux ; Les saules frissonnants pleurent sur son épaule, Sur son grand front rêveur s'inclinent les roseaux.

Les nénuphars froissés soupirent autour d'elle ; Elle éveille parfois, dans un aune qui dort, Quelque nid, d'où s'échappe un petit frisson d'aile : — Un chant mystérieux tombe des astres d'or.

Ô pâle Ophélia ! belle comme la neige ! Oui tu mourus, enfant, par un fleuve emporté ! C'est que les vents tombant des grand monts de Norwège T'avaient parlé tout bas de l'âpre liberté ;

C'est qu'un souffle, tordant ta grande chevelure, À ton esprit rêveur portait d'étranges bruits ; Que ton cœur écoutait le chant de la Nature Dans les plaintes de l'arbre et les soupirs des nuits ;

C'est que la voix des mers folles, immense râle, Brisait ton sein d'enfant, trop humain et trop doux ; C'est qu'un matin d'avril, un beau cavalier pâle, Un pauvre fou, s'assit muet à tes genoux !

Ciel ! Amour ! Liberté ! Quel rêve, ô pauvre Folle ! Tu te fondais à lui comme une neige au feu : Tes grandes visions étranglaient ta parole — Et l'Infini terrible effara ton œil bleu !

III

— Et le Poète dit qu'aux rayons des étoiles Tu viens chercher, la nuit, les fleurs que tu cueillis ; Et qu'il a vu sur l'eau, couchée en ses longs voiles, La blanche Ophélia flotter, comme un grand lys.

Arthur Rimbaud

#Arthur Rimbaud #literatura francesa #poesía simbolista #aparición #Ofelia #demencia #visiones #espanto #di-versiones©ochoislas

2 notes · View notes