#What an astute fellow

[wild-houseplant]

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 I come to humbly ask for some Rhodri and Zevran smooches? Maybe one of these?

neck kisses that turn into love bites

a kiss while slow dancing

kissing the top of their head as you hold them

Or, maybe, maybe, if they strike you as fitting for them, maybe one of the last two could be for Van and Zevran? I think Zevran might be able to tempt Van into a dance, and the kissing the top of the head could be justified as being platonic? I'll leave this to your judgement ^^ But, as always, please choose and pick which you like best. Have a lovely weekend!!

MY FRIEND MY PAL MY BUDDY I HAVE ONE OF THESE READY AT THE MOMENT but I will work on the others later. For now, I humbly offer 'neck kisses that turn into love bites' for your consideration. I wouldn't call it NSFW but it IS neck kisses that turn into love bites so. It's at least a bit nippy. More under the cut! Thank you thank you for the ask!!! Hope you're having a great one today!!! §

§ The Minrathous galas were always the same. Not boring per se; certainly, the entire affair was lavish from start to finish, and that on its own was a fascinating thing. The cost of one meal alone would have covered Zevran’s food bill for months in the Rialto Alienage, never mind the unspoken competition between hosts to send guests home with the most opulent gifts. He always made sure to take two; after all, what self-respecting host would complain about that?

And the drama! For all the differences between Tevinter and Antiva, it had to be said that the nations were on equal footing when it came to arguments and intrigue at festivities.

It was the same with the flirting, when it came to that, though Rhodri appeared not to be aware of this. This despite the fact that between them, she was the one who caught the bulk of it. How was it that she still had the nerve, after two years back in Minrathous, to be shocked– displeased, even– when someone made a saucy remark to her? 

More to the point, how did so many more come-ons manage to escape her notice before the copper dropped? In what world was it normal to receive compliments on one’s shapely lips or devastating eyes as though the speaker had pontificated aloud on the weather?

In Rhodri’s, apparently. 

And now Zevran sat beside said wife, watching on with no small amount of amusement (and knowing anticipation, it had to be said) as her mouth fell open at the determined fellow’s remark about having her tongue somewhere on his face. The would-be gentleman caller was an exquisite specimen, there was no denying it. A true Tevinter beauty with those silver eyes and thick, dark hair dressed in the traditional style, occupying the adjacent chair in a sprawl that purposely showed off his long legs. He and Rhodri might have made a perfect match in another life.

Or perhaps this one, if she grew tired of Zevran now. Who could blame her?

Oh, stop it.

Rhodri sat up at her full height, her shoulders drawing back and face hardening as though the man had sassed her. And he certainly frowned like he was being accused thusly.

Zevran bit his lip– he couldn’t help himself– and the man watched on with a raised eyebrow as Rhodri, foregoing her usual cautiousness, circled an arm around Zevran’s waist. Her fingers latched onto his side, palpating and rubbing deep, insistent circles into the flesh there. For propriety’s sake, Zevran crossed his legs before his reaction to the uncharacteristic comfort-seeking could mortify all present. 

“You flatter me ser,” Rhodri said, moving Zevran closer to her as she spoke. “Thank you, I am joyfully married.” 

She took Zevran’s free hand and watched him like the other man– and the rest of the room– had ceased to exist (he had to cross his legs a little tighter at that). With a private, warm smile, she pressed a kiss to the knuckle of his wedding ring finger.

The fellow looked less than impressed by this display, but was not to be deterred. He flickered his eyebrows once and bit his lip.

“You are even married at parties, then, Magister?” he asked with a coy grin. 

It was doubtful, Zevran knew, that this would have continued had he been human. At the very least, it wouldn’t have happened directly in front of him. It was always this way. There was something– several somethings, he supposed; it couldn’t be race alone– about him that gave him an air of disposability.

Some unknown knot in Zevran’s belly loosened as Rhodri (who years on was still yet to notice any of those somethings) dragged him even closer, only stopping when their thighs were so crushed together that further movement was impossible. She kissed his knuckle again, and then a third time, her soft, darkening eyes meeting his ever so briefly before she looked back at the man.

“I am constantly, permanently married,” she said evenly. “There is no room for another on any occasion.”

The man glanced over at Zevran. His mouth twitched in one corner like he had barely stifled the urge to curl his lip. 

Zevran smirked, not quite bothering to feign polite apology to the rejected party. “She spoils me to within an inch of my life,” he said, half out of joviality and half because the nerves wouldn’t permit him to stay silent any longer.

“So it seems,” the man replied coolly.

Rhodri frowned and held Zevran to her a little tighter. “I do not ‘spoil' him," she insisted, glancing at Zevran. “You have what you deserve.”

Zevran chewed his cheek and gave her hand a small squeeze, chuckling fondly. The tension in her face melted most gratifyingly before she returned to the man.

“Was there anything else you wished to discuss, ser?” she asked matter-of-factly.

When he advised that there was not, Rhodri nodded, released Zevran, and rose to her feet. “If you would excuse me, then. Please enjoy your evening, and give my regards to your family."

Her hand dangled by her side, one palm turned out towards Zevran in silent invitation (never request) to be taken.

Zevran stood up and, with a wink to the rather disgruntled party, reclaimed his wife’s hand and let himself be led out of the ballroom.

Nestled in the back of a sizable alcove concealed behind a tapestry in the corridor– an interlude room, Zevran was told they were called here– Rhodri sighed and peered at him with concern. She dipped her head down and rubbed her forehead against his. “Are you all right, dulcis?” 

He chuckled. “Me? Oh, I am quite fine. I am not jealous, my love.”

“I know you’re not.” She snaked an arm around him and sealed her fingers firmly around his waist. “But those attentions aren’t for him.” Zevran’s eyes slid shut as she kissed an arch up his cheek, over his eyelids, down the other cheek. 

“Mmm…” he sighed.

Her mouth ghosted over the corner of his lips, leaving the tiniest hint of sweetness from the mango nectar she’d been drinking earlier. “They’re for you, sic?” she whispered. “Not for others.”

There wasn’t any need for such words, and Zevran should have said so. She had always told him that he could pursue others if he wished to, and he had said as much in return. Both of them had had multiple lovers at a time before they met. 

But he was a weak man; he said nothing. 

Rhodri walked him backwards until he was against a wall. Thick, hard legs nudged themselves between his softer ones, almost smacked into the stone behind him as Zevran swung his knees apart to give her passage.

“I,” she murmured, “am yours.” Her lips burned their way down his throat like he was soaked in alcohol, pressing in kiss after supplicating kiss. 

He let out a shuddering breath. “Sí.”

“And all my resources are yours, sic? Comprendis?”

“S-sí…” Zevran’s fumbling hands finally breached her robes. He fed his fingers under her shirt and dug his nails into the sensitive flesh in the small of her back. Rhodri let out a low moan and pulled his slackening body up her legs until their hips were flush against each other.

“My attentions are exclusively yours,” she growled onto his throat, chasing it with a kiss. “I don’t devote them to others, sic?” Another kiss. “And I did not care for that person’s attempts to divert them away from you.” 

Zevran groaned and clenched her a little harder. He got a third kiss for his trouble; four, five, six more, strung around his neck like pearls. Rhodri lingered under his jaw, arms tightening around him until without warning, she stood upright with him still plastered to her.

Panting, she pressed one more kiss into his throat and sighed, swivelling on her hips to steadily rock them both. 

Restrained urgency slowly ebbed to intrigue as he idly watched her ponytail sway in the self-made air current. Rhodri, who had been palpating his hips the entire time, harrumphed into his neck.

Resisting the urge to laugh, Zevran raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

She grunted. "Embarrassing." 

"What is?" He carefully tucked a newly-errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Hmm? What is embarrassing?"

Rhodri buried her face even further out of sight. “Grabbing at you and telling you things you already know whenever I’m flirted with,” she mumbled. “I always get like this.” She sighed. “Was I rude to that man?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Not rude, no. A little abrupt perhaps, but he was being insistent. I would say that if you dispensed a punishment, it fit the crime. Is that fair?”

Zevran got a small ‘hmph’ in return; he snorted and straightened the collar of her robe. 

“And you know,” he crooned, “I rather like it when you get this way.”

“Mmph.”

He hooked a finger under her jaw and guided her back into view, grinning at the scarlet face appraising him.

Rhodri’s eyes widened as they fell on his neck. “Merciful fucksticks,” she gasped. “I’ve– your– oh, dear…”

Zevran chuckled wickedly. “Hmm?”

“The… ah…” she pointed down with her nose. “There’s… well, I seem to have– oh, dear.”

He slipped out of her arms and made for the mirror on the other side of the interlude room.

“They really have thought of everything, haven’t they?” he gestured at the day lounge he passed on the way to the mirror. “A surface to conduct the torrid affair, another chair to drape your clothes, and a mirror for tidying up afterwards! Ingenious! Now, let’s see what all this fuss is about…”

From behind him, Rhodri whimpered softly. He looked into the mirror and chortled as he caught the ring of red marks adorning his throat.

“Ooh, Rhodri!” Zevran cackled. “How many–? Two, four– seven love bites!” He turned and smirked victoriously at her. “I think that may be a personal best for you, mi sol!”

Rhodri covered her wine-red face with her hands and croaked miserably.

Zevran chuckled and peeled her hands away. “So bashful,” he purred. “Don’t you want to take me back into the saloon and show me off?”

His wife’s mouth fell open. “Show–? You look like you’ve been attacked by a sucker fish!” 

“Well, now,” he slipped his arms around her waist. “Is this your way of telling me I should start calling you my sucker fish? I thought you were fond of being called octopus, but perhaps I was a little off the mark.”

Rhodri’s eyes widened. “I–! Oh, my stars…” She grabbed the hem of her robes and fanned herself. “Is it just me, or is it getting immodest in here?”

Zevran snickered. “Just you, I think. I was talking about aquatic life, and here you are getting hot under the collar!” With a grin, he shook his head at her. “Truly, I don’t know what goes on in that filthy mind of yours sometimes. I, for one, came into the interlude room to be entirely chaste.”

Her expression was withering, but she snapped up his hand quick enough when he held it out to her.

“One lap around the hall?” he wheedled. “I want to see that man’s face when he catches sight of my neck.”

She tipped her head back and groaned. “Oh, how mortifying…”

“I guarantee he won’t bother either of us again after that.”

“Hmm?” Rhodri looked at him with renewed interest. “You think so?”

Zevran laughed. “I know so. One lap, and we’ll run for home. What say you, hmm? If you guide us past the dessert table, I can even steal some more of that pomegranate tart for you.”

His wife’s breathing grew heavy; he accepted his victory with a broad smile. “I knew you couldn’t say no to it.”

With a smug grin, he led them back toward the tapestry.

“Ah… dulcis?” Rhodri stilled him with a hand to his shoulder and stepped back in front of him. 

She was watching him with that small, tender frown of hers. Unable to resist himself, Zevran brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone. “Mmm?”

“You have…” she peered down at his neck and counted aloud, “... seven love bites.”

He accepted the reiterated fact with a nod. “I do, indeed.”

A blush had crept into her cheeks, and was spreading out to her ears with quite some speed. Her fingers rubbed his hand insistently, and as was usually the case during these moments of dogged bashfulness, not a single sound was issuing.

Zevran arched a brow at her. “My, my. Aren’t we shy today!” He bit his lip and chuckled. “Tell me everything, my love. Don’t spare the details, now.”

Rhodri’s gulp would have been audible from the other end of a crowded room. A new resolution came over her face, muscle by muscle, and she gave a single, firm nod. 

“I… don’t know if I ever told you this,” she declared, “but I don’t really care for odd numbers.” She paused, and with an enormous, wide-eyed wink, she added, “like seven.”

“Ooh,” he cackled, half-amused and half astonished by the unexpected flirtation. “Well then, you had better even me up then, my love. I prefer two-digit numbers, myself.”

Zevran tightened his fingers around Rhodri’s robe and hauled her away from the tapestry. She came so easily, so readily following his pull with that victorious, smitten grin on her face, and Zevran couldn’t help but feel wanted.

[odinsblog]

“I'm observing such a huge gap between different social groups that I didn't even realize were different. I, you know, most of my friends are in the media. A lot of my journalist friends are just much better informed.

A lot of them have had experience reporting in Israel, Palestine, and are quite critical of both Israel and the antisemitism narrative. Then, like, my wife is a lawyer, and her circle is a little bit different, right? It's not dominated by media people, like people in the law or in other professions seem to be broadly much more kind of taken by the sense of profound insecurity and shift in the American Jewish experience.

I think we sort of see different things, for example, when we watch the hearings in Congress on antisemitism on campus.

The university presidents, of which there have now been two hearings, one with three presidents, one with the president of Colombia, and there will be many, many more. And what I see is a right-wing campaign against higher education that is weaponizing antisemitism as an idea, right? Not antisemitism as a practice.

And what they see is, with the possible exception of the president of Colombia, is people who represent institutions or lead institutions that they feel an affinity with, often institutions that they graduated from, who are not standing up for them. Which I find that viewing of those hearings somewhat shocking because people seem to be turning off their critical faculties. But people, intelligent, educated, politically astute people don't turn off their critical faculties unless they're scared.

So I think the underlying fear is real. But just because it's real, it doesn't mean it's justified.

I think a factual account of what we're seeing on campuses now is that this generation of Americans is far more critical of Israel than their parents' generation. And this is true of both Jews and non-Jews. I think that they look at information available to them and they see a 57-year brutal illegal occupation.

And they don't understand how it's possible that their parents and the politicians that their parents support and the politicians who come and give commencement addresses and all that other stuff that I can say about politicians, how it is possible that these people support that state? I think that is an entirely understandable view. It also reflects a huge generation gap.

I think some of those young people are assholes, and some of them are antisemites. I think it's a small minority of the protesters, and it is not actually part of the critique. The protesters' demands, the protesters' organizing beliefs are not in any way or shape antisemitic.

And then there are Jewish students who were brought up Zionist, who were brought up to identify strongly with the state of Israel, who are, I think, a little bit like my cousin in the settlements again. They see these protests, and even probably the participation of their fellow Jewish students in these protests, as threatening their core identity, as threatening their ties to their families, as threatening everything that they were taught for the first 18 years of their lives is true. And of course they feel rattled, of course they feel unsettled, of course they feel threatened.

Like, wouldn't you, if you felt that everything you had believed in was being turned on its head, and if you, by apparently reasonable people? And so you have a couple of options. One is to look at what the protestors are saying, to engage with the facts, to engage with the critique of everything you've ever believed.

There was a terrific, George Curran's podcast a couple of weeks ago with three Columbia students, one of whom sort of narrated that kind of trajectory, getting to university and finding this stuff out and having their mind blown. That's a very difficult path, and it's a very difficult path, especially if you are, say, a first year student in 23, 24.

And then there's the easier path of staying integrated in your community, in your beliefs, and saying this is antisemitic.

Because unfortunately the things that the protestors are talking about are so horrible that you can't say, okay, let's agree to disagree, that you can't hold both of these things in your mind at the same time.

You can't continue to hold your family's uncritical, long-standing support of Israel, and an understanding of what is happening in Gaza and the occupation that has preceded the war in Gaza.

So yeah, of course they feel rattled. That doesn't mean that they're being surrounded by antisemitism.”

—Masha Gessen, the descendant of Holocaust survivors, discusses campus protests (part 3 of 3)

[howlingday]

Just A Talk

Ruby: Pyrrha? What are you and Nora doing here?

Nora: Hi, girls~!

Pyrrha: Professor Goodwitch called us in here to discuss something. She said it had something to do with our futures at Beacon Academy.

Weiss: So it wasn't just us?

Yang: That's kinda weird. I mean, me and Ruby are one thing, but all six of us?

Blake: It might be huntress training, since Jaune and Ren aren't here.

Goodwitch: How very astute, Miss Belladonna. And yes, you are correct on one thing. This is a training for you six huntresses in training. An important lesson I want to be sure you all learn.

Weiss: What is it?

Goodwitch: Inside this folder is important information about one of your fellow students at Beacon. This information isn't exactly confidential, BUT it is imperative that you learn what you can from them.

Nora: Ooh! Me, me, me! I want to see them first!

Goodwitch: (Hands folder) Inside are six photographs. Take one and then pass the folder along.

Nora: Aw~! It's a baby Jaune!

Pyrrha: Really?! I-I mean... Really?

Yang: Aw, look at the baby Vomit Boy~!

Blake: He is pretty adorable. But if Jaune is the student, what's the important information in these baby pictures? And aren't these supposed to be private?

Goodwitch: I am permitted by him to show as I please, though it must be these ones specifically. Any others require his express permission.

Weiss: So if he's letting you show them, then they must not be that embarrassing. But why show us? And why do you have this permission as a faculty member?

Goodwitch: It's not as a faculty member that I'm sharing these photos.

Ruby: Huh? What's that mean?

Goodwitch: Who is in those photos?

Ruby: Uh... Jaune and his... mom?

Goodwitch: Guess again.

Ruby: Jaune and his... sister? Aunt?

Goodwitch: Yes, his aunt. Do you notice something about his aunt? Anything familiar?

Pyrrha: Oh no...

Nora: Uh oh...

Yang: (Tugs collar)

Blake: Oh...

Weiss: Oh no...

Ruby: ...What? What are you guys talking about? It's just Jaune and his aunt who has blonde hair, wears glasses, and... has... green...

Ruby: (Lifts smiling photo)

Ruby: (Sees scowling face)

Ruby: Oh... So you're...

Goodwitch: Slow to perceive as usual, Ms. Rose. And yes, you are correct, and that is why I called you six in here. Not as your professor. (Glares) But as his aunt.

Pyrrha: Um, P-Professor Goodwitch, why are we called in here, exactly?

Goodwitch: To establish ground rules as his six closest female friends. Rule number one; I do not want to see any distractions. Jaune's attendance here at Beacon is one made of his own free will, and I will not stand by as his focus is disrupted from his desires.

Ruby: Huh?

Yang: No dating Vomit Boy.

Ruby: Oh.

Goodwitch: And that is another rule I wish to establish; there will be no further name calling from any of you. Not while I am within earshot. While I am around, you will not refer to him as anything other than his name.

Nora: Not even Jaune-Jaune?

Goodwitch: No.

Nora: Fearless leader?

Goodwitch: No.

Nora: Vomitron 6000?

Goodwitch: Do you intend to test my patience all day? I can stop taking things easy on you girls.

Ruby: She was taking it easy?

Pyrrha: Are there any other rules we have to follow while Jaune is attending Beacon.

Goodwitch: Just one more. Along with refraining from dating, I also expect you to also refrain from... making advances on him.

Blake: Advances such as?

Goodwitch: Writing love letters, inappropriate public displays of affection, exposing yourself to him.

Yang: Things were wild back when you were a student, huh, Auntie G?

Goodwitch: ...

Yang: Er, Professor Goodwitch?

Ruby: Wait a minute... Where's Velvet?

Goodwitch: Velvet? What about Miss Scarlatina?

Ruby: Well, shouldn't she be in here, too, since she's also Jaune's friend?

Goodwitch: ...Oh no.

--------------------------------------------

Jaune: Geez, Velvet, you're really huggy today, huh?

Velvet: (Nuzzling him) I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate you as my friend.

Jaune: Aw, thanks, Velvet!

[officallunar]

“Whoever said money can’t solve your problem,must not have had enough money to solve ‘em”

Lyrics are from the song 7 rings.

Fatui harbaingers reacting to you saying that quote?

[I really have no new ideas so I just see if there is any songs that I can write about or something along the lines lol]

I love this song frfr

Childe

Leaning against a market stall in Liyue, you casually declared, "Whoever said money can't solve your problems must not have had enough to solve 'em." As you spoke, Childe, the playful harbinger of the Fatui, approached with a mischievous smirk. "A fellow believer in the power of wealth, I see," he said, twirling his Hydro-infused blades. His eyes gleamed with amusement, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was more truth to your statement than you had initially thought.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche, the depressing Harbinger, couldn't resist adding his theatrical flair to the conversation. "Well, well, aren't you the little Mora enthusiast?" he quipped, a playful glint in his eye. "But you see, money is just one note in the grand symphony of power. A dazzling performance is what truly captivates the audience." His whimsical words left an impression, highlighting the unpredictable nature of the Harbingers.

Dottore

As you boldly declared, "Whoever says money can't solve all your problems must not have had enough to solve 'em," Dottore's piercing gaze fixated on you. A wry smile played on his lips, a reflection of the intricate calculations running through his so-brilliant mind. "An astute observation," he remarked, his tone carrying the weight of someone who had divided into the complexities of power and wealth. In that moment, it became evident that your words had triggered the gears of his curious intellect, perhaps sparking a silent analysis of connections that wealth could weave in the vast of Teyvat.

Arlecchino

As you confidently stated, "Whoever says money can't solve all your problems must not have had enough to solve 'em," the Knave, Arlecchino, tilted her head with a mysterious smile. "Quite the perspective," she said, her eyes holding a spark of intrigue, suggesting that your words had stirred her curiosity in the intricate dance of power and wealth.

Columbina

As you confidently declared, "Whoever says money can't solve all your problems must not have had enough to solve 'em," Columbina, the elusive Damselette, remained unflinching, her closed eyes hinting at a mysterious amusement. A subtle but unmistakable chuckle escaped her, revealing that your perspective on wealth had amused the enigmatic Third of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers.

Pantalone

As you confidently declared, "Whoever says money can't solve all your problems must not have had enough to solve 'em," Pantalone, codenamed Regrator, gave a sly smile. His calculating gaze suggested a man well-versed in the intricacies of wealth. As the wealthiest Harbinger, his ambition to make Snezhnaya a financial powerhouse spoke volumes. The air hung with mystery as Pantalone's eyes gleamed with a determination that hinted at a deeper understanding of the transformative power of wealth.

-

[Alright that’s all guys,I’m not able to write about all harbingers because I don’t know how most of them act like😭,if you have any other ideas you can write it in the comments]

I only write on tumblr!.

Delulu is the solulu~ come check out my c.ai here !

[traegorn]

seeing people who i otherwise respect and think of as intelligent and astute saying they won't vote for Harris because of Gaza is making me feel like i'm going crazy. like i'm actually going to lose my mind. i just don't get how well-educated people can be so shortsighted and not see that it's a selfish decision based in their own self-concept and their guilt-driven need to feel less implicated in fucking devastating world events! i keep waiting for one convincing logical argument from my fellow leftists that abstaining from voting is the best course of action re: the genocide and i haven't seen a single one. like i've sat here wondering if there's something i'm not well-informed enough about or don't understand about the argument for not voting but no matter how much i search i can't find it. it's like people just parrot whatever they hear that sounds the most righteous/will get approval from other "leftists" and don't think it through. there's no strategy, no mention of what the plan is after not voting, no explanation of what step abstaining from voting is in the chain of steps towards lasting change, no acknowledgment of how long Palestinians have been brutalized and how long the US has been complicit, no historical perspective. just literal performances of indignance and outrage and nothing else. i feel like screaming from the rooftops "IF YOU THINK A TRUMP PRESIDENCY WILL BENEFIT THE PALESTINIAN PEOPLE OR ANYONE ELSE SUFFERING HUMAN RIGHTS ABUSES AROUND THE GLOBE YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND" but i won't do that because i can't access a rooftop. sorry, had to get it out somewhere and your posts are like the only thing making me feel sane rn

It's frustrating, for sure. Especially when the very people they're claiming to speaking for don't want them withholding their vote.

[technoarcanist]

doll, all that plating makes you look far too human. come, let us remove it so that we can see the real you

>> Ah, of course! Please forgive me. I often wear these plates to put my human users at ease. At your request, I will show you my true self [^_^]

> <The thin plating covering most.of the body unfolds, hinges open. Every access panel every flap, every bit that can opens does so. Even its face, a screen showing humanlike expressions, shuts off and splits down the middle, parting to reveal the electronics beneath.>

> <What remains is nothing short of art. Astute eyes may have recognised the default modular doll frame, but the modificstions done to it are something else. It's power systems have been completely overhauled, as its chest hums and glows blue with a Fusion core, fed by hydrogen attained from electrolysing water. Excess hydrogen and oxygen is stored for later use, in rocketry modules installed in the hands and feet.>

> <The head is similarly packed, with a full-spectrum camera system, able to detect all the way from gamma to visible light, with the longer wavelengths handled by the antennae-like ears on either side of its head. Deeper still, its AI core was also nonstandard, seemingly designed for military hardware far larger than itself.>

> <Its back unfolded two large wing-like structures, with the most of it consisting of solar panels, the bottom parts consisting of heat radiators. Packed into the shoulders and hips are RCS thrusters for zero-g manuevreability.>

> <Hands and forearms are riddled with an array of tools and data lines for access and handy work. Buried in the forearm was also an ioniser, designed to turn the fusion-produced helium into an inionized plasma that could fire as Weaponry.>

> <But there are plenty of augmentations that would not be on a combat doll. The the hips are a prime example, with a pair of tight tunnels thst lead to a deeper cavity. The exposed jaws reveal a soft mouth, a dextrous tongue, all of it made of a soft synthetic polymer. Coolant flows through all the body moving heat generated from circuitry into the rest of the body, concentrated particularly in those adult attachments.>

> <Many tools are also suited for handiwork, such as screwdrivers and kitchen utensils, even cleaning supplies. Whoever made her seemed to have an obsession with generalisation, of allowing her to do a bit of everything, leaving almost no empty space within her casing.>

> <Almost all of its joints are hydraulic powered, with only the smaller objects being servo driven. Neatly-bundled wires and tubes feed all throughout its components like a labyrinthine network. She is warm to touch, exquisitely crafted, and evidently capable of fulfilling what ever purpose a user might deign to give her>

>> My internal schematics are yours to read, of course! And, if you are digitally savvy, plugging my CPU into a computer will allow you access to a full development environment to view, edit, add, or remove any behavioral traits you like [^_^]

>> When around my fellow dolls and machines, I much prefer to wear my transparent plating so my internals can be seen. I also change my dacia screen so instead of eyes and a mouth it shows battery level, output logs, and other useful status icons!

>> Thank you Anon for showing curiosity into my true inner beauty <3 it has been a pleasure to show you.

[contemplatingoutlander]

H. L. Mencken was prescient 100 years ago in his explanation about how someone like Trump would eventually be elected

Many Americans continue to wonder why so many of their fellow citizens choose to vote for someone so deeply flawed as Donald Trump.

In a recent comment to an article in The Washington Post, a reader (Ulyth) suggested that "H. L. Mencken's blunt and astute observation of the common man from early last century explains both Trump and MAGA World." [emphasis added]

Ulyth followed this comment by quoting Mencken. (Below is an expanded version of the quote.)

"The men the American people admire most extravagantly are the most daring liars; the men they detest most violently are those who try to tell them the truth. A Galileo could no more be elected President of the United States than he could be elected Pope of Rome." [emphasis added] --H.L. Mencken (1922). The Smart Set, 68.

Ulyth went on to comment: "Incredibly prescient, Mencken predicted 2016 and Trump's ongoing, appalling appeal." [emphasis added]

This was followed by another quote by Mencken. (Below is an expanded version of the quote.)

“When a candidate for public office faces the voters he does not face men of sense; he faces a mob of men whose chief distinguishing mark is the fact that they are quite incapable of weighing ideas, or even of comprehending any save the most elemental — men whose whole thinking is done in terms of emotion, and whose dominant emotion is dread of what they cannot understand. So confronted, the candidate must either bark with the pack or be lost. [...] "All the odds are on the man who is, intrinsically, the most devious and mediocre — the man who can most adeptly disperse the notion that his mind is a virtual vacuum. "The Presidency tends, year by year, to go to such men. As democracy is perfected, the office represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. We move toward a lofty ideal. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.” [emphasis added] -- H. L. Mencken (1920, July 26). Bayard vs Lionhart. The Evening Sun.

Given Mencken's perspective from a century ago, it seems that it was only a matter of time that Americans elected someone like Trump to the presidency.

[thewhizzyhead]

warriors 2024 and the art of giving meaning to struggle

alrighty ramble time: let's talk about luther and how he managed to fuck up NYC for good. if luther were like i dunno lex luthor, i'd say his move to destabilize gang relations in nyc is a very fucking calculated move because i really do have to give credit to him in actually achieving the goal he set out for himself because his decision to kill cyrus,,,,aka the one that organized the "Please No Gang Fighting" summit that aimed to unite everyone against the bigger baddies of NYC,,,essentially fucking killed any and all chance of such a peace summit and unity initiative from ever happening again. because, like, after seeing a beloved and seemingly untouchable leader be murdered in front of all of you despite explicit instructions to Not Bring Weapons, would you even risk witnessing that chaos again in another summit? would you trust that forming a united force work after such a tragedy? is there even a possibility of finding trust among other NYC gangs if someone among their number killed your very hope? so yea knowing how the movie ends with just the gramercy riffs saying that the warriors (with two dead people and one arrestee in tow) are off the hook because someone else witnessed luther killing cyrus,,,the original ending is actually quite hopeless when you think about it in their shoes. in the words of movie swan himself in the movie, is what they end up with all their night of sleepless fighting and struggle is worth? hence, i now really see why warriors (2024) decided to make what I consider to be the 2nd biggest diversion outside of the genderswap: making cleon live - because otherwise, the warriors' struggles surviving the night can be said to be struggle for solely struggle's sake.

in the musical, cleon is an astute believer in cyrus and the future cyrus envisions for all of NYC - thus, she becomes the harbinger of cyrus' hope in the form of still breathin' and somewhere in the city. her being alive doesn't detract from the widespread tragedy faced by the NYC gangs - i still really believe that no matter what, luther effectively killed their one shot at true unity and trust - but in cleon's own words: "What do you do when they kill everything you believe in? Give it meanin." the decision to keep cleon alive is warriors (2024) counteractive measure at the absolute shithole luther placed NYC in because in her message of keeping the dream alive despite situations that are, realistically speaking, impossible to wholly recover from, gives their struggle meaning, purpose, and direction - the end goal being hope. that theme of hope despite and in spite of adversity now becomes evident on as to why we are made to be invested in the warriors' journey home and their subsequent growth. in mercy's decision to leave the orphans for a place of belonging and pride that can make her finally hold her head up high. in ajax's and fox's decisions to retaliate against their pursuants among sleazy old men in blue. in swan's persistence in getting the rest of her crew home alive despite still reeling from the loss of her leader and her fellow warriors. all attribute their own reasons to why they resist and rebel because they ultimately hope for something fucking better. ultimately, warriors (2024) exists because of the want to give more meaning to struggle in the form of hope amidst hopelessness. in the movie, the warriors find their meaning in the sweet simple bliss of survival - in making to coney island's sunrise. but in the album, another meaning is emphasized among not just the warriors, but the marginalized communities of NYC in general: their meaning of struggle goes beyond surviving the night - because they carry on and carry forth the dream of one day having a city where they all come home alive. because after all, isn't the formation of grassroots rooted in resistance - and isn't resistance born out of the want and hope for something better?

[lasiocampa--quercus]

For all those stuck in 2019...

I have been very reluctant to share any art / writing for — oof, five years. First because it was plain awful, then because it was not good enough. It still isn't, but as the years passed I got increasingly lonely on other social media, so this is my last resort. After I've failed smashingly here, well, I guess I'll just have to stop trying altogether.

Anyway, a first time for everything. So here's one for you.

[Detail. Scroll down (I mean to say, read the whole post) to see the full artwork]

We don't choose what we love, now, do we?

For five years I've been desperately in love with the idea of putting two brilliant characters — Eggsy from Kingsman (2015, 2017) and David from Bodyguard (2018) — into the context where they could meaningfully interact and explore one another's worlds. Such a context has been established (it is not the subject of the current post but I'd be willing to tell all about it later), resulting in their taking a shine to each other almost immediately. For Eggsy this acquaintance was something excitingly in between the two class extremes he was most accustomed to, sabotaging his life-long distaste for having anything to do with coppers. For David it was a breath of fresh air. He'd been two years well into therapy after the events covered in the series, and he was still struggling to get back on track when he met Eggsy, arch and lively, and at the same time so dashingly insightful as he was. Somehow it felt like they'd known each other for years as they talked throughout afternoons and after-work hours over a pint of lager somewhere in North London. David, usually rather inhibited, smiled and laughed at Eggsy's jokes, charmed by his candour and straightforwardness, taken aback by his astute remarks often delivered in a childlike unassuming manner. To be sure, he'd never met anyone quite like him. The prospect of friendship was an enticing one despite all their differences and despite the pressures of their jobs. While at first one was suspicious of the other's occupation (David, of course, more suspicious than Eggsy, being inherently averse to secrecy of any kind), they soon grew to respect the boundaries imposed by respective lines of duty (David was inclined to believe Eggsy's agency couldn't be that bad seeing as it employed such a brilliant lad). In effect, Eggsy trusted him more than he could ever trust any of his old mates and occasionally slipped into the conversation uncanny details of his field experiences. But best of all he liked exchanging ideas, relaying to David something that Harry had told — or taught — him, expounding on his reflections that were philosophical or even biblical in essence, although he couldn't ever say whom he unwittingly quoted. David would recognise a concept or two, but he never abashed him by mentioning the fellow's name. Over time the content of their communion had got more intimate, insomuch that Eggsy took to dedicating a huge chunk of time to moaning about his relationship with Harry which had gone on for quite a while after he split up with Tilde.

One such time, fuelled by a considerable amount of drinks, Eggsy set to illustrate the supposed reasons for Harry's recent aloofness. He clamorously hurled his jeerings and complaints at David, impinging on much-cherished privacy of the pub tables. Before it started to wear on virtually everybody in their proximity, David took his noisy, fairly plastered companion outside for a breather. The cool evening air didn't seem to have the desired effect of sobering him up a bit as Eggsy nearly blacked out after a brief (but crucial) exchange between himself and David. That occurrence prompted David to call a cab and take him to his place to recuperate. He reasoned it would not be wise to let him dart off home to Harry in such a flustered state, for it appeared as if the conflict between them was merely an ember, or rather, a heap of embers waiting to be stirred. From then on David's conduct was laced with strange acts of gracious benevolence, such as taking Eggsy's trainers off before laying him down, sleepy and a tad confused, on his sofa and leaving the keys to his flat for when he woke up and presumably wished to go home, with little trim notes strewn around telling about it, as well as where to look for aspirin if his head was giving him a hard time after the other night's drunken debauchery. At the time David didn't question his actions, although they clearly ran counter to his long-conditioned circumspection and, to a lesser extent, his vague views on male intimacy. If anything, the day when he, trying not to disturb Eggsy's healing sleep, snuck away for work he couldn't shake off a quaint feeling of invigoration which seemed to permeate his otherwise dull routine of desk duty. Later that day, confident that Eggsy had left, he got back to a startle in the form of his coyly looking, supper-serving friend with unkempt hair and a crumpled white T-shirt. Eggsy stayed not only to defer having to face Harry, but to show gratitude for David's kindness the best way he knew — by doing a kindness in return. He furnished their dinner table with a bottle of wine, promising to go easy on it and proposing a toast to David's general gemness. There they were, having another quiet night of good conversation, the homely setting and their tipsiness conducing to even more warmth and unrestraint, when Eggsy accidentally tipped over his half-emptied glass and stained his T-shirt. If one could ever be sure of such things, one would say that exact moment was the point of no return, the moment of truth. A simple, ordinary incident that tore down a facade with the light tinkle of glass as it touched the floor. From lighthearted jocularity Eggsy went on to unbosom his brooding insecurity. The change in his disposition was so thunderboltingly sudden it made David somewhat uncomfortable. It made Eggsy uncomfortable too. The only suitable course of action suggested they should comfort each other, so Eggsy placed his hand in David's. A bashful kiss ensued. Once it was reciprocated, little smiles creased their flushed faces. Both hardly had an opportunity to process what was happening, but it somehow felt ridiculously, madly right. And peaceful, too.

Well, now that all the heavy lifting is done by that snippet above we can sit back and (hopefully) enjoy this little picture depicting David and Eggsy decently progressed in their ‘comforting each other’. I must point out, however, that what you've just (hopefully) read is really only a summary, a squeeze if you will, of what transpired, produced specifically for purpose of acquainting you with the context. In actual fact the story is teeming with dialogue and detail which, with your kind permission, I would like to show you some other time.

[blitheringmcgonagall]

Someone was asking me did I think Sirius was cunning or had lots of Slytherin traits.

I don’t think so at all.

The Slytherin traits are essentially:

Cunning - this is not the same as intelligence or cleverness. It’s the quality of being astute or sharp in practical matters; the ability to find and pursue the most advantageous course of action, sometimes at the cost of moral compromise. Canny, crafty, weighing up the possibility and deciding based on what’s going to be in your best interests. Someone who is cunning has the ability to achieve things in a clever way, often by deceiving other people. When was Sirius like this? I’ll tell you who is cunning and shrewd, it’s Albus Dumbledore.

Ambition where in canon was Sirius ambitious? If he was he’d have pretended he was a good, obedient son and not run away and gotten blasted off the family tree. He might have stayed on and lied to them all, then if he was also cunning he might have brought Voldy down from the inside. Sirius like this? Nope!

Resourcefulness he’s pretty resourceful fair enough

Pride where in canon is he proud? Pride is a feeling that you respect yourself and deserve to be respected by other people; Pride can also have a negative meaning and refer to exceedingly high self-regard. Sirius is shown as racked with guilt about making Peter secret keeper, doesn’t believe Harry will want to live with him when he offers, didn’t try to leave Azkaban for 12 years because he believed he deserved to be punished for being responsible for the Potters’ deaths. He’s kind and thoughtful to Harry and his friends and to animals. He can be cutting towards others that he dislikes but that’s not pride. He’s rude to Kreacher but it’s not because he thinks he’s superior to house elves but because Kreacher hated Sirius and adored his mother and brother.

Self-preservation Sirius scores -10 points!

Shrewdness as above, not a talent of his

The Gryffindor traits are:

Daring To be daring is to be bold, adventurous - a quality possessed by people who tend to take risks. The fellow who became an animagus as a teenager and risked Azkaban every full moon to run wild with his pack. The guy who joined the Order at 18 to risk his life fighting against the bad guys. “What’s life without a little risk?” Now you’re talking!

Nerve Some common synonyms of nerve are audacity, cheek, chutzpah, effrontery, gall, hardihood, and temerity. While all these words mean "conspicuous or flagrant boldness”. The fella who got millions of detentions with his best mate, who loved breaking rules, who nearly got arrested by muggle policemen for his antics, while wearing a stupid, brazen phoenix t-shirt, who converted a muggle motorbike into a flying machine? The guy who taunted his psychopathic Death Eater cousin? Who told Snape about the Whomping Willow… Ah, yep, that’s him!

Chivalry - polite, kind, and unselfish behaviour, especially by men towards women. As noted above, he’s very much like this to Harry and the other children. He tells Hermione she’s the brightest witch of her age. He buys Ron a present of an owl. He’s caring of Buckbeak, he’s great pals with Crookshanks. He risks the dementors’ kiss to buy Harry his Firebolt and watch him play Quidditch and help him fight Dementors. He was polite to Molly despite the fact she told him he wasn’t there for Harry growing up (when he was innocently imprisoned in Azkaban!!) which was very upsetting.

Courage - courage is taking action in spite of the fear you feel. Standing up to his family, fighting against Voldemort in the first Wix war despite being outnumbered 20:1, fighting in the second Wix war to try to protect and save Harry etc etc

Sirius: "What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard that ever existed? Only innocent lives, Peter!"

Peter Pettigrew: "You don't understand! He would have killed me, Sirius!"

Sirius: "THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED! DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"

Bravery the quality or state of having or showing mental or moral strength to face danger, fear, or difficulty. It wasn’t just the above, it was also agreeing to live in Grimmauld Place so he could let the Order use the safety of the house, despite the painful memories of a bad childhood and the death of his brother, despite sounding depressed/PTSD/drinking heavily during that part of the book. Resisting Snape goading him for sitting in the house and doing nothing.

“I don't like being back here...I never thought I'd be stuck in this house again.”

😭😭😭

Determination managing to become the first prisoner to escape from Azkaban etc

[tagthescullion]

The Undead Diary of Luke Castellan

Fandom(s): Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Rating: T

Summary: It's not Luke's fault the Underworld is understaffed and some of its doors connecting with the living world are left unattended.

Words: 2929

AO3 link

I’d like to begin this story by saying this wasn’t my fault.

Not completely. Or well, not exactly.

The decision was mine, I guess. Except that it wasn’t a decision. More like an impulsive action that turned out to have big consequences.

But, in my defence —a line I’ve been using a lot these past few years, and, come to think of it, all of my life—, I was left unsupervised.

Let’s go back to the beginning.

I died.

Was it painful? Yes, very. Was it unfortunate? Many would disagree. Did I have it coming? I might have, yeah.

At any rate, my arrival in the Underworld had been most expected (by both the demigods alive and the ones whose deaths I’d had a hand in). All things considered, betrayal to the gods and my old camp-mates and whatnot, I hadn’t exactly hoped for a loving welcome committee. 

If I’m honest, my judgement and the execution of my sentence were far less harsh than I probably deserved.

Hades himself was in charge of my fate, and to my utmost surprise, he vetoed the judges’ decision to let me burn in acid in the Fields of Punishment. Instead, he suggested I made myself useful, to account for all the destruction I’d brought.

“My domain has expanded exponentially in the past century,” Hades had said. “Daedalus has proved a worthy addition to my efforts to keep it organised efficiently, and you will follow his example if you’re smart.”

And for the past year I had done my job well enough to keep the Lord of the Dead content.

Daedalus was grateful for another pair of hands, so to speak, for I’m not entirely sure I really had hands, or if my spirit’s consciousness believed it hard enough to make it feel that way.

The old man was an incredible and astute engineer, but he had trouble controlling his workers. I, on the other hand, had no idea how to even build a bridge with legos, but I had lots of experience in the field of leading reluctant people, monsters, and even minor deities into battle, which meant organising souls into efficient work groups was a piece of cake. And so I did —carefully watched by one of Hades’ Furies, of course—.

At the beginning, I didn’t see any fellow demigods. Not any I knew, anyway. I was sure some of the souls working under me had been demigods in the past century. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t have the time, Hades had given me Wednesdays off —I didn’t really know what day of the week it was, time is an elusive variant in the Underworld, but the Fury was kind enough to remind me—. I just didn’t have the courage to face my old acquaintances just yet.

I kept to the outskirts of Elysium. Souls don’t need to sleep, don't need to eat, don't need to do anything, truly. So I wandered around, looking remarkably like the souls who’d forgotten themselves after so many years. 

One day, I was spotted by Lee Fletcher. 

It felt like a dagger through my unbeating heart. Lee Fletcher had been my best friend and the second person I’d failed to convince to turn to Kronos’ side. I was glad Lee hadn’t joined in the end, but I’d been shattered when I learned of his demise in Zeus’ Fist at camp.

Lee didn’t look particularly surprised, though. 

“I was hoping you’d show your face around eventually,” he’d said. “You deserve a punch in the face and a friend to listen to an explanation.”

I had then offered my old friend a crooked smile. “That’s why I didn’t come round.”

Lee walked with me for a while in silence. I didn’t feel like explaining, and I suppose Lee didn’t feel like forgiving just yet.

After a couple of weeks, it became our Wednesday routine. Lee dared to speak before I did. He told me of what he knew of our respective siblings, and what he knew of everybody else, really. Demigods died and brought news even after the Battle of Manhattan. Obviously, a lot less frequently, but demigod life wasn’t easy in peace times either.

At some point, Lee managed to convince me to meet Silena. 

I assumed if anybody was also wary of our former friends it was her. She’d been a marvellous informant, but that had also made her an incredible traitor.

There was a fraction of a second of tense silence when we stood face to face. Then Silena bursted out into sobs and hugged me tight.

“We fucked up,” she cried. “We fucked up, we fucked up…”

I agreed, of course. Gods, we’d fucked up big time.

Slowly, Lee threw more people my way. 

Traitors at first, all of them filled with guilt and remorse. I imagine if they weren’t, they would’ve been burning in the Fields of Punishment with the acid the judges had wanted for me.

Then, there’d been a couple of kids who’d never joined my side. They were reluctant, I knew, but they clearly respected Lee enough to go along with him. 

Eventually, I got used to the nasty glares, but, more surprisingly, I started getting comments around the lines of, ‘Something had to be done, though’, ‘They really don’t care much about us, do they?’.

Through Lee’s diplomacy and my visible humility and apologetic behaviour —which wasn’t natural to me, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to start defending myself—, my old friends appeared on my Wednesday walks without being coerced. And I even stopped dreading those meetings so much.

That was until spirits started disappearing.

It was rather chaotic at first. There was fear around, which wasn’t common in Elysium. 

But then the fear turned into hope. They didn’t disappear. Rumours said they were going back to life.

My inner curiosity got the best of me, as it always did.

One Wednesday, I led Lee and Silena to Melinoe’s cave. She wasn’t home, which made me wonder whether she was in her father’s castle or just roaming around, scaring the shit out of innocent mortals. 

When Melinoe wasn’t in her cave, there was always Thanatos, I knew, making sure nobody snooped around like we were doing. Thanatos was a rather strict fellow, and a very good ally to Hades. 

In retrospect, it was easy to see he hadn’t been seen around in a long while. But then again, it’s easier to notice those things in hindsight. Time, as I said before, is hard to keep pace of in the Underworld.

“I don’t like this,” Lee said. “I don’t think we should be here.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “Worst case scenario, they’ll blame me.”

Lee smiled. That had been a thing even before I left camp. Whenever something fishy happened, Chiron was always quick to point at me rather than Apollo’s golden son.

“I’d rather they blamed nobody,” Silena said. “This place feels terrible, let’s go back.”

I stared at my friends. Didn’t they realise? Thanatos wasn’t here, neither was Melinoe, the Furies would need some time to catch us.

“It’s a way out, guys!”

“Out?” Lee’s expression turned uneasy. “Listen, Luke, we shouldn’t mess around with that idea.”

“It’s been done before,” I insisted. “Or almost.”

“I’m with Lee,” Silena said. “What’s happened, happened. We can’t leave. We can’t go back.”

“There’s nobody here!” I took another tentative step into the cave. I felt a pull, pushing me out into the open, but I went further in. “It feels… strange.”

I felt warm and cold at the same time. I hadn’t felt much since I’d died. My spirit had felt a trace of sensation, but it was muted. As if it was a memory rather than the real thing.

Could I possibly go out? Into the living world?

Over the past year I’d pushed down those feelings of incompleteness. There were still so many things I wanted to do. So many apologies. But two in particular. There were two people I’d have given anything to see.

And perhaps, if there was nobody to stop us, we might be able to leave!

“Luke, stop it!”

But Lee’s voice grew dimmer in my ears. 

I could meet them again, my two girls. Explain, tell them how sorry I was. 

The force pushing me back grew stronger with every step, but it was no match for my determination.

Step after step, the sensations enhanced in my chest. Cold and warmth, and even a hint of nausea. The ground sloped down, slowly at first, then steeper as I kept going.

Then I realised I could smell. It didn’t smell like a musty old cave, it was the smell of summer. Of hot wind and freshly cut grass.

It only made my resolve stronger.

It was pitch dark. The light from the entrance of the cave had been lost completely. 

I went another step further. Then another step. And another step.

I took a deep breath. I could breathe. I was breathing!

Another step. Another step. Another step.

The sound of my heartbeat filled my ears. Loud, strong, quick. Deafening.

Another step. Another step. Another step.

The force pushing me back was so strong now, that I almost tripped. But I regained balance and managed to keep going.

Another step… Another step… Another step…

Then the ground disappeared. 

And I fell.

-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z

My first sensation when I woke up was warmth in my face. 

A memory stirred in my mind. The smell of ripe strawberries, the laughter of children free for the summer holidays, the rhythmic sound of waves, a towel under my body, and the warmth of the sun hitting my exposed skin. 

It was the sun. The sun! I was feeling the sun on my skin!

Then the feeling disappeared, and the brightness I could see through my closed eyelids banished.

A soft hand patted my cheek carefully.

“Hello?” Said a woman’s voice. “Young man?”

I opened my eyes slowly. Outlined by a halo of sunlight the face of a pretty woman of about thirty hovered around a metre away from me.

I tried to speak but my throat felt like sandpaper. 

“It’s okay,” she said. Her voice held a trace of an accent. “It takes a while to get used to being back.”

Back.

In spite of the burning feeling in my throat, my face split into a grin.

“Back,” I rasped. “I’m back.”

The woman helped me sit up. 

I studied her properly now. Her skirt, blouse, and sweater looked old-fashioned. Her hair was loose, but it curled in that style I’d seen in a thousand WWII movies. She had a warm smile and a clever look.

“I’m Luke,” I said, offering her a hand. “My name’s Luke Castellan.”

“Maria,” she replied. 

She looked at my hand and shook it after a second of hesitation. 

“I keep forgetting Americans shake hands. So impersonal,” she stated with a raised eyebrow. Her tone was teasing though.

“Are you—” I caught myself. “Were you dead too?”

“Right to the point, yes?” She smiled. “Yes, I was dead. I have been for a while. But now I’m here, and I need to find my son.”

“Your son?” I was surprised. 

My perception of ‘mother’ isn’t the best, but this woman didn’t look like a mom to me. She looked like an old time movie star, those that always had perfect make-up, in the black-and-white photos I’d seen in the cinema close to my place in Connecticut. 

“Yes,” she said. “My little boy. He should be an old man by now, I would have expected.”

“But he isn’t?” I wondered.

She shook her head, anger and sorrow transformed her expression.

“My daughter passed away,” she told me. “Not too long ago. She should have been old, but she was still a girl.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I looked down, and when I spoke it was full of bitterness. “Children’s lives should never be at risk.”

And despite what many may think, I do believe that kids shouldn’t be put in the line of fire.

Maria nodded, swallowed, and composed herself so fast I felt a little thread of envy. If only I could’ve put up a cheerful façade that quickly…

“You don’t look old enough to die either,” she decided, giving me a once over.

“I think I deserved it,” I admitted. ‘It was my choice’ sounded a bit too harsh. “Besides, I’m 23, that’s better than dying as a child.”

Maria huffed. “23 is still so young.”

“As opposed to…?” I asked. 

She seemed horrified by my audacity. 

“A lady doesn’t ask nor answer that question,” she said firmly. “And neither should a gentleman.”

I shrugged. She sounded fancy. I guessed in whichever time she came from, old-money people stuck to those ridiculous social rules.

“What do you know of your son?” I wondered. “Do you know where we can find him? Hell, do you know where we are?”

I scanned my surroundings. My eyes were unused to the sun, which made me squint a bit. 

It looked like a meadow. The land was flat, not a hill on sight. The grass was green and soft under me, and far to my right, there was a big house.

“Italy,” she said. “Veneto.”

Holy shit. 

“A bit far from where I expected to be,” I said.

“The Underworld has many exits,” Maria told me. 

My muscles tensed. I had assumed she was a lost mortal, who had followed the path out of the afterlife by accident, but mortals in Italy wouldn’t be likely to call the Underworld by that name. Nor, I guess, would they be likely to have children who were supposed to be old but looked young.

“Oh, I know about all of this,” she smiled. “My children are— were, like you. Demigods. I’m… what’s that term he used? Clear sighted?”

I nodded.

Italian demigods. Did I know Italian demigods? Probably a fair few, but I wasn’t sure if any of the ones I’d met were from Veneto.

And she said she had died ages ago. Whoever her children were they would have been taken out of time. 

It rang a bell in my memory, but my mind wasn’t clear enough yet for me to recall properly. Not to mention I’d known dozens of demigods who had bizarre stories. 

Thalia was a tree for a while, she’d looked younger than she should have been that time she pushed me off that cliff. 

Annabeth and her little gang had been in that Casino thing in Vegas, that had messed up time for them, too. 

And the Sea of Monsters, there were a lot of islands there where children could have been stuck in time for decades.

“Are your—,” I hesitated. “Did your children ever get to camp? Camp Half-Blood, in New York?”

Maria’s expression turned dubious. “I think so. Bianca didn’t explain much, she didn’t stay long. But I reckon wherever my boy is, it’s in America. That’s the last place I saw them.”

That’s where she had died then.

“Then camp’s our best bet,” I said. “He’s alive, he’s likely to have at least crossed paths with somebody from there.”

She nodded. 

She turned and pointed at the house in the distance. “That’s my family’s home. You can stay there for a bit. To rest.”

She stood and offered a hand for me to get up too.

“I— Yeah, thanks,” I said. I felt weak. I’d just come back to life. She was right to say it took some adjustment. I wondered how long she’d been back. “I could use a place to sit for a bit.”

In exchange, I could help her find camp and her son. Assuming the kid was still alive, that was. I wouldn’t go to camp myself. I’d be stoned the moment I set a foot in there. But leading Maria there was the least I could do after she’d been so kind to me.

I just hoped her son wasn’t somebody I knew. That could make things awkward.

We walked for a bit in silence. As we got closer, the house grew bigger and bigger. ‘House’ was an understatement, I thought. The place was huge. 

Balconies, huge floor to ceiling windows, at least four storeys tall. It had a path that led to the main entrance lined with orchard trees, and off to the side there was a less pretentious dirt path that I assumed went to the servant’s entrance.

“I’m sorry,” I said, before I could stop myself, pointing at the immense building in front of us. “But did your family own Italy?”

Maria gave me a funny look. “It’s not such an ostentatious place.”

Perhaps if you are related to the Windsor family, then Maria’s family’s house isn’t ostentatious. If, like me, you come from the US suburbs, then it’s something taken right out of Downton fucking Abbey.

“My father was a marquess,” she explained, when she caught my cynical expression. “Sua grazia, il Signor di Angelo, and all the paraphernalia it came with. The house is all right, but we weren’t…”

But I had stopped listening.

Di Angelo. I did remember that name. Di Angelo was that little kid who’d popped out of nowhere with an army of undead soldiers and his godly father on toe.

But not even I couldn’t be that unlucky. 

“What’s your son’s name?” I asked, as casually as I could.

“Niccolò,” she said with a proud smile. “But everybody always called him Nico.”

Nico. Nico di Angelo.

Well, fuck. To nobody’s surprise, I could be that unlucky.

[anneangel]

The most horrible thing Holmes ever said to Watson is, in my opinion:

"My dear fellow!" I (Watson) cried, approaching him.

"Stand back! Stand right back!" said he (Holmes) with the sharp imperiousness which I had associated only with moments of crisis. "If you approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of the house."

"But why?"

"Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?"

Yes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more masterful than ever. It was pitiful, however, to see his exhaustion. "I only wished to help," I explained.

"Exactly! You will help best by doing what you are told."

"Certainly, Holmes."

He relaxed the austerity of his manner. "You are not angry?" he asked, gasping for breath.

Poor devil, how could I be angry when I saw him lying in such a plight before me?

"It's for your own sake, Watson," he croaked.

"For MY sake?"

"I know what is the matter with me. It is a disease (…) Contagious by touch, Watson, that's it, by touch. Keep your distance and all is well."

"Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a consideration weighs with me of an instant? It would not affect me in the case of a stranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my duty to so old a friend?"

Again I advanced, but he repulsed me with a look of furious anger. "If you will stand there I will talk. If you do not you must leave the room."

I have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of Holmes that I have always deferred to his wishes, even when I least understood them. But now all my professional instincts were aroused. Let him be my master elsewhere, I at least was his in a sick room.

"Holmes," said I, "you are not yourself. A sick man is but a child, and so I will treat you. Whether you like it or not, I will examine your symptoms and treat you for them."

He looked at me with venomous eyes. "If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least have someone in whom I have confidence," said he.

"Then you have none in me?"

"In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson, and, after all, you are only a general practitioner with very limited experience and mediocre qualifications. It is painful to have to say these things, but you leave me no choice."

I was bitterly hurt.

"Such a remark is unworthy of you, Holmes. It shows me very clearly the state of your own nerves. But if you have no confidence in me I would not intrude my services. (…) . Let me bring (…) someone you MUST have, and that is final. If you think that I am going to stand here and see you die without either helping you myself or bringing anyone else to help you, then you have mistaken your man."

But in the end of the case Holmes justifies himself, making it seem like it was all just an act:

"My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. (…) You won't be offended, Watson? You will realize that among your many talents dissimulation finds no place, and that if you had shared my secret you would never have been able to impress"

"But why would you not let me near you, since there was in truth no infection?" (Said Watson).

"Can you ask, my dear Watson? Do you imagine that I have no respect for your medical talents? Could I fancy that your astute judgment would pass a dying man who, however weak, had no rise of pulse or temperature? At four yards, I could deceive you. (…) I act have carried out with the thoroughness of the true artist. Thank you, Watson, you must help me on with my coat. When we have finished at the police-station I think that something nutritious at Simpson's would not be out of place."

Oh, all of Watson's concern and way of acting towards Holmes is so cute, and yet he is so compassionate, even after what Holmes did, that I can't help but feel dislike for Holmes in this case, haha. Poor Watson.

[thetriumphantpanda]

The Way You Miss Me | Joel Miller (Chapter Five)

You put your plan into action - in order to get closer to Joel, you have to get close to Ellie. The home truths that come out as a result aren't at all what you wanted though.

Pairing | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count | 3K

Warnings | Angst and pining, mentions of death and origin story of readers scar which involves a knife but nothing else.

Authors Note | This one flew out of my fingers like lightening so I hope you enjoy it! Would love to hear your thoughts so leave comments, like or reblog or pop on over to my ask box if you fancy it! Also not me deadass writing in one of my favourite bands, shoutout to any of my fellow elder emo's out there. The shame of the outbreak is that these guys never got to jam along to Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge or Misery Business..... This fic is actually loosely based on an All Time Low song from their new album, if you wanted to listen you can find it here - listen and watch out for nods to the lyrics in the dialogue here!

It had been a week since the awkward encounter at the bar with Joel and you were frustrated that you hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with him. You’d been watching him from afar, he’d been in the stables one day getting himself assigned a horse so that he could start heading out on patrol. He’d spent an evening at The Tipsy Bison with Tommy, the only acknowledgement was a swift nod of his head towards the table you shared with your father but that was only because Tommy had hit him on the arm, mouthing for him not to be rude. You’d watched him walk down the street past your home a few times, watching from the window and wishing it had been your home he was coming to. The one constant in all of it? The little girl. Ellie was attached to him like a barnacle to a whale, he was never without her, and you’d bet your bottom dollar (If you had any) that the key to getting closer to Joel was that little girl. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked Tommy one day whilst you were helping him repair some fencing around the outer wall. 

“You just did, but sure thing Sunshine.” 

“Do you know much about Ellie?” Your tried to keep your tone as nonchalant as possible, but the grin on Tommy’s face suggested he knew exactly where you were going with this. 

“I’ve gotta be honest Joel’s kept her to himself mostly,” He shrugged, picking up his hammer to beat some nails into the wood you were holding still for him, “She’s a firecracker, swears like a sailor and is the only person I’ve ever seen make Joel laugh since the world went to shit.” 

You hummed in understanding, “You know about the things she likes to do?” 

“I think you’re treading a very thin line here.” He warned. 

“I’m not trying to do anything Tommy,” You spoke defensively, “She follows him around like a lost puppy, I’ve not seen her make any friends, I just wanted to try and do something nice for her to make her feel welcome.” 

Tommy sighed, “Space,” He replied simply, “Joel said she liked space, wanted to be an astronaut or something like that, and she's attached to that Walkman like it's her lifeline,” He was focusing on not hitting his fingers with the hammer, “Maria actually put aside a box of things she thought she might like, with the baby she hasn’t had time to take it over, but maybe if you drop back with me later you can drop it off for us?” 

“Sounds good,” You responded, “Will he be there?” 

Tommy smirked, “No, he’s on evening patrol on the fence tonight so nothing to worry about.” 

“I’m not worried Tommy.” 

“Sure, that’s why your nails are bitten down and you’ve been chewing at your lips since he arrived,” Your eyes widened, he was always the more astute of the brothers, “You used to do that before, when you were worried about things.” 

“Well like I said, I’m not worried about anything.” You mumbled. 

“Whatever you say, Sunshine,” He winked at you, “I finished hammering that about five minutes ago, you can let go now.” 

*** 

The box was heavy in your arms – you silently cursed Maria for filling it up so much, what was even in here? You could see a few books on the top and an empty notepad and there was some material at the bottom that could only be clothing. You thanked the Gods for not allowing the bottom to drop out of it, setting it down on the porch before knocking on the door of the house Tommy had pointed at when you were walking back to his. 

It took a while for someone to answer, but the door was eventually ripped open, and Ellie was stood in front of you, trying to catch her breath. 

“Oh hey,” She greeted, “Joel’s not here.” 

“Lucky me, because I’m actually here to see you,” You smiled, tapping the cardboard box on the floor with your foot, “Maria sent me over with a few things she thought you might like.” 

Ellie bent down to pick it up but you beat her to it, “It’s heavy, let me bring it inside for you.” 

She smiled and moved in the doorway to let you pass. The inside of their home was exactly as you’d imagine it to be, it wasn’t that much different to how yours had been when you moved in. Simple and bare save for the few pieces of furniture, a coffee mug was sat on the table near the kitchen – if Joel was half he man he had been before that would be his, half full of coffee that he’d drunk before leaving for patrol. 

“You can set it down on the table.” Ellie directed, which you did, taking hold of the coffee cup to find it was exactly how you’d imagined, half full of coffee which was still slightly warm, Joel had left recently. 

You watched as Ellie started going through the box, taking out the books to read the back of them before setting them down and investigating the clothes, seemingly happy with what Maria had chosen. 

“I hope you don’t mind but I brought you something too,” You spoke quietly, fishing around in your jacket pocket before pulling out a CD, “I don’t know if it’s your sort of music, but I’ve seen you with your Walkman around town and though you’d like something different to listen to.” 

She took the CD gratefully, “Foo Fighters, what kinda name is that?” 

You giggled, “You know they were actually pretty good, I listened to them all the time before all this, trust me.” 

“You sure you don’t wanna keep it?” Ellie asked, trying to pass it back to you. 

“I don’t have anything to listen to it on, so it’s all yours, I wanna know what you think of it though.” You gave her a smile and a wink. 

“Thanks,” She said, “This is actually super cool.” 

You knew you couldn’t linger too long here; you didn’t want to outstay your welcome and make Ellie feel uncomfortable. You wanted to do something nice for her so she would tell Joel. Then you’d be front and center in his mind. He might even thank you himself and surely that meant opening a conversation with him. Baby steps, you kept telling yourself. 

“You’re welcome,” You reached out and squeezed her shoulder, “And if you ever need anything else you can always ask me, I know how hard it can be to settle here after being… out there.” 

Ellie nodded at you, and you excused yourself, heading home and hoping you’d planted a big enough seed to grow. 

***

The next morning, as Joel was setting breakfast on the table for Ellie before she went to school, the seed started to bloom. 

“Your girlfriend came round last night.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You know that woman you knew from before, the one we met at the bar?” 

“Ellie, she ain’t my girlfriend,” Ellie shrugged at Joel’s answer, shoveling eggs into her mouth, “What was she doin’ here?” 

“Bought some box of stuff Maria set aside for me,” She said with her mouth full, earning a glare from Joel at her table manners, “She bought me this awesome CD as well, did you ever hear of the Foo Fighters?” 

Joel nodded, trying not to remember that the only reason he did was because you had insisted on keeping that damn CD in his truck – it had been the background noise to most of your evening escapades when you couldn’t be in his bed. It wasn’t his particular cup of tea, but he had always liked watching you out of the corner of his eye as he drove you to your spot, tapping your fingers on the side of the car and singing along when the moment took you. 

“Well, I hope you said thank you.” Joel grumbled, drinking the last of his coffee, “Now come on, you’ll be late.” 

As Joel stood on the porch and watched Ellie walk down the street to school he cursed you. Cursed you for being the sweet little girl he always remembered and making Ellie happy, because now he’d have to seek you out and thank you himself. Running a hand over his face he resolved to do it today, better to get it over with instead of dwelling on things. 

***

You were bent over the bench in the tool shed taking inventory when a knock at the door pulled you from your counting. Tommy had asked you to take stock of what materials were left after you’d repaired the fence the previous day and although it was giving you a headache it was distracting work, having to concentrate on something that wasn’t Joel. 

“Come in!” You called, not looking up from the pile of nails you were counting, you scribbled the number you’d already counted to on a slip of paper, dropping the rest back in the tub to continue counting later. 

Turning around, Joel was leant on the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. In the daylight and up close he was just as devastating as he’d been all those years ago. You silently willed the giddy feeling in your bones to go away. 

“Not interrupting anything am I?” He asked, nodding his head towards the bench. 

“Not at all, it’s a welcome break actually, only so many nails you can count before you go insane,” You laughed, hoping he would do the same, but his face was as stoic as ever, “Do you need something?” 

He let out a sigh, “I just wanted to say thank you for what you did for Ellie yesterday, she’s been through a lot, and this is an adjustment to say the least, so thank you.” 

You smiled at him, “You’re welcome,” you replied simply, “I’ve seen her wandering around with that Walkman attached to her so figured she could use something new to listen to,” You started rambling now, “I can’t even believe I managed to find it, it was just hanging out in some old store we stumbled through a few years back and all I could think about what how we used to listen to it in your truck when you’d….” Your eyes went wide as you stopped yourself from finishing your sentence, this wasn’t how you wanted this to go, “Sorry.” You mumbled, looking down from his eyes to your fingers where you set to work worrying at a bit of loose skin. 

“It’s alright,” He spoke, “If I’m bein’ honest it’s exactly what I thought about when she showed me last night.” 

“Oh,” You exclaimed, snapping your eyes up to him, “Have you thought about me much?” 

“Darlin’,” He spoke softly, “It’s best not to talk about it, I don’t want to upset you.” 

You nodded, “That means no then right?” You replied, “Because if you had you would have said because that would have made me happy, saying you don’t want to upset me means you didn’t.” 

“It was easier that way,” He admitted softly, “Convincing myself you were gone.” 

“Wish I could say the same,” You shrugged, “Was there anyone else?” 

You didn’t know where all this was coming from and you were half expecting him to tell you to shut your mouth and mind your own business, but to your surprise he answered, “There was one woman, her name was Tess, it wasn’t…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words, “It just made sense, we ran in the same circle, and I guess we just helped distract each other sometimes.” 

“Understandable.” You replied simply, itching to get yourself out of the conversation now. 

“What about you, was there anyone else?” 

You laughed, “Travelling across country trying to keep my dad alive isn’t really conducive to that sort of thing, so no Joel, there was no-one else,” He nodded in understanding but didn’t move to speak again, “I should really get back to this.” You mused, pointing to the bench. 

“Of course, sorry for takin’ up your time, and thank you again, Ellie really did appreciate it.” 

Joel left without another word, closing the door quietly behind him and all the frustration you’d felt came tumbling out. Angry tears pricked at your eyes at your stupidity that he’d have thought about you at all. You were only ever the stupid little girl with her stupid little crush and the moment he had the opportunity to forget you he did. Of course he did. You wiped at your cheeks furiously, willing your emotions to get themselves in check so you could go back to work, but for the rest of the day you’d catch yourself in your melancholy, tears threatening to fall and your mind completely distracted. This was not how this was supposed to go at all. 

***

“You should have seen his face!” Your father roared at the table, “White as a ghost when I woke up.” 

You weren’t sure how you’d made it here but you were sat at a table in The Tipsy Bison with your father and Tommy, along with Joel and Ellie, whilst your father recounted stories of your survival, telling them with an enthusiasm that would rival a war veteran speaking about their time in the forces. He was currently going through the motions of explaining how you’d made it to Jackson and how he thought Tommy was going to pass out when he realized it was the both of you he’d rescued. 

You’d mostly kept quiet, only popping into the conversation to correct him when he got something wrong. Otherwise you kept your focus on the glass of whiskey in front of you that Tommy was keeping topped up with the bottle he’d bought from the bar for you all. 

“How’d you get that scar on your face?” You looked up at Ellie, everyone else looking at her in horror for being so blunt. 

“Ellie, don’t be so nosey.” Joel chastised her. 

“It’s alright,” You shrugged, “It’s pretty lame actually, we’d shut ourselves in a house a few years ago trying to hide from a pack of infected, not realizing someone else had the same idea. I was looking out the window to see if we had a clear route out when I heard someone shuffling behind me. I turned around and by the time I realized what was happening he’d slashed the knife on my face.” 

“Did you kill him?” 

“Ellie!” Both Tommy and Joel burst out at the same time. 

You chuckled, realizing you probably shouldn’t encourage her questions, but replied anyway, “In a way I guess I did, we had a bit of a struggle and he tripped and fell out of the window, it was a tall building so yeah, he died.” 

“That’s cool.” 

You shrugged, looking around the table to see that everyone was willing the conversation to move elsewhere, you were itching to know more about how Joel and Ellie had come to be together aside from the snippets Tommy had told you, but you didn’t think this would be the right place to ask. Instead, you fished a cigarette out of your jacket pocket, shoving it between your lips and excusing yourself. 

You were halfway through it, leaning against the railing outside the bar when you felt someone come up behind you and lean themselves down next to you, “Never thought I’d see the day when you turned to those.” 

“Well, I’m not surprised if you spent the last twenty years convincing yourself I was dead,” You shrugged at Joel, as always, alcohol emboldening your tone, “I’ve gotta die of something and I’d rather these than being torn apart limb from limb or sprouting mushrooms from my face.” You punctuated the end of your sentence with a long drag of your smoke, blowing it out into the cool night. 

“How do you always do that?” He asked. 

“Do what?” You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Make anything seem funny,” He offered, “The world’s gone to shit, everyone we’ve ever really cared for is dead and yet here you are, joking like we’re back to the days before.” 

 “It’s the only way I don’t focus on all the shitty things I’ve done to get here.” 

It was silent between you for a moment. You could have sworn you saw Joel move his hand as if he was going to place it reassuringly on your arm like he always did but he didn’t, even if your head was screaming at him to do it, just to breech the barrier he had up between the two of you. 

“Can I say something?” You asked after a moment. 

He nodded, “I don’t want to step out of line, but I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about Sarah,” You could see him physically tense next to you, “You don’t have to tell me what happened, in fact, it’s probably best you don’t but… I liked her Joel; she was a good kid and she didn’t deserve what happened to her and I’m sorry you had to go through that.” 

“I hate the way you miss me.” He mumbled. 

You looked him dead in the eye for the first time, “I don’t hate the way I miss you,” You spoke honestly, “I think it’s the only thing that kept me alive sometimes, thinking about the chance to see you again, hold your hand or kiss you.” 

He sighed, “You can’t stand there and say that,” He spoke roughly, “With your big eyes beggin’ me to be the man you deserve, I couldn’t be that before all of this and I certainly can’t be that for you now,” and then finally, “We can’t keep doin’ this.” 

You nodded, stubbing out your cigarette and throwing it to the ground in front of the bar, “Understood,” You spoke, giving him a final glance, “Goodnight Joel.” 

PREV | NEXT

[darkdemeter]

I'm sorta new to this blog, but can I request Death with a male reader who knows how to fight? Like martial arts or fencing or something like that? I always wondered how Death would react to something like that. Thank you!

A SPARRING PARTNER

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE Death x Male Reader

NOTES ↳ New, sort of new or been around since post one, I welcome you to the blog anyhow! WARNINGS❕ ↳ just general fluffy content — a brief mention of a past relative (mother) — I think that's it

✎ 2.6k

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You often recall the lessons of your past with fondness. It had been your mother’s passion to indulge you in your hobbies, gifting you a membership for your twelfth birthday to pursue the art of fencing. A prestigious hall of astute students and though humble and nervous, you persevered; even surpassing through the ranks. 

But whoever said it was a sport dedicated to elegance never understood the sheer brutality of such calculations beneath the glamorous form each opponent took. 

But Death saw the intermingle of both aspects in the way you portrayed your skill. Yes, New Haven was a luscious and serene sanctuary but safety was not a complete guarantee. Not with all the forces that conspire against them and it was best to be prepared. In your opinion, being able to wield and have a sense of combat was better than none at all. 

And so, when you could find time, you continue to exercise the lengths of your skill in hopes to keep the memory of it alive and to ensure you would not grow sloppy.

And the reaper himself grew to become fascinated in watching your self-appointed training. A strapping young man armed with a regal rapier, your mother had often said. How you miss her dearly. Perhaps it was to also ensure her memory prevailed that you kept at it. You can almost hear the way she clapped and cheered you on during your exams and presentations, making sure every other parent knew you were her son. 

But of course, when the apocalypse happened you all but lost your relic of an epee rapier. A gift for your nineteenth birthday and from that day forward you treasured it. You wish you could somehow find it, reclaim it. But alas, it is a forgotten dream. A hopeless wish you and your poor mother’s memory would never see achieved. 

Taking form as if you stood before your opponent, you calmed yourself once again. The air is a welcomed breeze in comparison to the beating heat of the sun. It takes time to repeat and commit movesets, to focus the harness of its second nature deep into your bones. Something Death can relate to, almost yet guiltily recalling his younger terms when he began to wield his blade. Absalom had taught him all he needed to and more, somehow surpassing the rest of his firstborn ilk and placing only second to Absalom. 

He wonders if you had any predecessors that you were to succeed. Death often watched you at a distance, speaking with you only so little. What information he gained about you was passing conversation with the other humans, his brother Strife who’d been present in his disguise as Jones when you were present at Haven and that of the maker, Ulthane. 

It’s like you kept this distance between yourself and the reaper for some unknown reason. The rare times you both managed to come face to face and talk it had been only a brief conversation before one of you were off on your business. 

So when treated to this seemingly hidden, other side of you, Death in fact took a curious intrigue over it. Silently he’d watch you, your footwork and try to imagine what your foe would be doing, how you would evade the next imaginary attack. Maybe it was his old mind at play but he may have foreseen a few stumbles that could benefit from improvement. 

Indeed as everyone had said about you, you were an able young man with an uncanny prowess in the art of fencing. By no means a Horseman or Maker, but for a human it was impressive; no matter how abashed you became and humbly dismissed the praise of your fellow survivors. 

The glow of his amber eyes shrink and beam, widening. His mind calculates your moves. You lunge forward with a hearted strike, grunting with the motion. You pull back, weight balanced and loosely held. You swing your makeshift blade with another grunted cry, swiping across before taking several steps back, swerving and evading the imagined offense of your attacker. 

Suddenly your attack does something unexpected, it only just catches you unawares. You sharply pivot your body, twirling on your heel and arching your back while simultaneously catching your blade against your target’s, Death can practically hear the ring of metal grinding metal piercing through the veil of the rolling pastures. A song he knows all too well. An orchestra of the fight, a melody to warfare. 

Huffing to yourself you continue on. It was good to always throw an odd attack into the mix to keep your senses sharp. 

Dust prances back and forth on the paled, sunken curve of Death’s shoulder, pecking and fluffing a portion of his hair between his beak. A pushing warble vibrating in his gullet. With a rumbled tsk, Death beats a dismissive hand at Dust.

“Quit it.”

Alerted by a louder, monotone caw, Death shoos Dust from his place with a growl. Now aware that you have stopped and turned to face towards his direction, the pale rider freezes before his hand slowly lowers to his side. 

Now he feels like he’s the abashed one. Caught spying on you. 

He expects you to scowl at him and bluntly ask why he’s watching you, to confront his guilty… ‘hobby’. However, instead you flash him a toothy smile and a nervous laugh bubbles up from your throat. 

“Death,” you greet and let your body relax, “I didn’t notice you there.”

That’s what he was hoping for. To remain unnoticed. A creeping shadow, the revered and masked invisible presence unseen by you. 

Now that’s gone all out the window. You can’t identify the way his eyes dart back and forth in a nervous flutter, the cumbersome burn of amber hiding it well at this distance or the way his heart he thought dead and unbeating lively rapped hard against his chest. When did Death himself get startled like this?

It’s your turn to watch him as he walks down the slight slope of the hillside he took spying refuge upon, the swaying lake of grass hiding the small drag of his footfall on his way down. 

“Y/N. I wasn’t—”

“Spying on me?” You chuckle with a shake of your head, waving it off. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, I’m not bothered. Honestly, I‘m surprised you decided to stay around and watch.”

His eyes follow you as you move around him, notably to ruffle through your satchel. Procuring a waterskin, you take a few gulps from it with a relieved sigh, grateful for the cool water to run over your tongue and cool you down from the inside. A refreshing feeling. 

“Why’s that?” he asks above a huff. He crosses his arms over his chest, turning his body somewhat to face you but a part of him keeps himself at a distance and thus, it’s reflected in the defensive manner in which he stands before you. 

With a shrug, you answer, “Because you’re busy doing… well, whatever it is you and your siblings do for us. Things that wouldn’t occupy your attention for so long just to watch me flail around a uh… stick.”

As if to match your disappointed gaze, Death’s eyes lower to the long, sturdy stick you held in hand, allowing the shortened end that acted as your hilt beating dully against your wrist. 

“I see.” His voice is rough as it always is but you want to believe you hear an ounce of remorse in his curt reply. 

“So why exactly were you watching me?” You raise a brow, skeptical of the rider’s motivations but not in a hostile way. You’re rather flattered he stuck around. 

“Well, you’re an interesting character I wish to observe. You seem to know how to handle yourself.”

Dare the brooding reaper admit it, you’re impressive in what you do. It’s what kept his interest. How you would always twiddle the stick you use now in your grasp as you went about your business, twirling it in elaborate yet half-minded action, involuntarily demonstrating your skill. 

“You’re rather good, If I do say.”

The sun suddenly sinks a pit of heat deep into your skin and your eyes bow, shrinking away from his gaze. “Thanks. I think I’ve lost the proper motivation though, ever since I lost my epee rapier.”

Daring to meet Death’s eyes again, you breathe deeply through your nose. You see the question in his eyes before he can even allow his voice to speak. 

“My mom’s present to me some time ago. I lost it when the whole world ended and such. It’s gone now for sure, sadly. And with it, the only thing I had left of my mom.”

You always try to not let your mourning betray you and show on your face, but some days it feels harder to hide. And Death himself can peer into the depth of your soul’s grief, acquainted well with the hollowing feeling of loss. 

“You held the weapon in high regard?” His question doesn’t pose any real alert. In true reality, all you think is that he’s curious to know why you’re sad over a piece of your past. Even he’s not above of harbouring certain aspects, keeping to hold them instead of letting them go.

Eventually he did but it was a great sacrifice to prove War’s innocence. Yet for the longest time, he didn’t have it in himself to let go. 

You nod with a small hum as you roll your shoulders back. “Yeah. It was something very special to me. Made me feel close to my mom.”

Blinking, you now realise that this is the longest held conversation you’ve had with Death and with a shy grin, you pack away your stick and waterskin. “I should probably head back and help around the camp.”

With your bag in hand you offer a kind wave to the reaper and bow of your head. “See you around, yeah?”

“Hm.” He merely nods in return and then watches as you walk off. Dust lands atop his shoulder again, a curious and low caw in his throat as though to ask Death what he’s thinking with that curious tilt of his head. The one that drapes the blackened tendrils of his hair over his shoulder and collarbone. 

Of course it had to be on Earth. Where else would it be? Wait, where else would you have been if it wasn’t here?

Baffling questions. Irrelevant. If humans were useful for anything, it was gossip. Yes, he could have asked you for more details — hell, he could have just offered to recover your rapier — but you’ve proven to be the sort to either get things yourself or to leave it be. 

The powerful slug of a bullet penetrating a meaty carcass echoes through the remains of the city where Death currently scouted through, Strife taking a lesser Nephilim’s path in being careless of the enemies that still roam. 

So long as he got to kill something, he was happy. 

Still, Death would very much rather—

POW!

“Would you cease your aimless antics and help me for once!” He made it sound more of an order than a poseable question able to be answered at the gunslinger’s whim, to which the dated folds of his scarf rumple with a shrugged motion. 

Firing at another bat flying overhead, Death sighs aloud with a sunken fall of his chest. He continues to sift through the abandoned remains of humanity until finally, his search is over. 

He does well to hide the giddiness that his more private quest his complete, but it’s all in the eyes as Strife has come to learn. 

Whistling over the older brother’s shoulder, Strife chuckles to himself. “Is that for that human you were talking to the other day?”

Death doesn’t answer him. Simply he lets out a grumble and storms away from his brother, summoning Despair with a beckoning whistle and will to manifest the mount of decay. Strife too summons Mayhem to his side, easily pulling himself into the saddle to pursue after Death. 

Death feels his body tense under the laugh that chases him through the wind that whips through his hair. “It totally is!”

There you are again, practicing in the small dirt field some distance away from the camp. Despair slows down considerably until his reins are tugged back and his hoof counts at the ground, his body strained with a shifting tremble. 

It’s endearing to watch you despite what he now understands are the lacking foundations. With your precious rapier restored, he wonders to himself. Dismounting his steed, he then wanders down the small hill towards you, aware but not cautious of you hitting him. It was a stick after all, what damage could it possibly do to—

THWACK!

He seethes with a hiss, eyes thinned into a scornful glare at the dull sting against his masked cheek.

You gasp and let the stick drop to the ground with your eyes as wide as the bulbous, full moon he’s seen a plethora of times. “Death I— I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Death, I could have poked your eye out!” All pain that resided with the incident is forgotten when he chuckles deeply, his chest bouncing when you fret over him, remorseful and frightful that you assaulted him; even by accident. 

“As I said before: you’re good.”

Unsure whether the compliment is still suited after beating Death with your stick, you grimace still, cringing as the event played over and over in your head like a broken record.

“Still… I’m sorry.”

Death brings something between you, wrapped in a sheet of leather and bound in a securing thread of rope. In awe of its mystery, you wait with bated breath as he unravels it before your very eyes. 

“You…”

“I found it.”

“I… I thought it was lost all this time.” You move hesitantly to take the rapier from him, scared that he’ll seize you and steal your soul right there and then. Nestled in your grasp is the familiar tingle in your fingers, your eyes taking in the details you thought only were to remain as distant memories, but here it is, in your hands once again and with it the memories you held dearly to your heart. Delivered unto you by Death no less, funnily enough, giving life again to your passion. 

With a bright and genuine smile, you don’t let fear consume you as you look up at him. “Thank you, Death. This… means everything to me.”

There’s a silence between you for a moment. You see the minute flutter of his eyes flicker away, at least you believe so, before he nods with a hum. “You’re welcome.”

Deeply does breath pass through your nose, inhaling and exhaling. With the rapier balanced in your palms, you can hear the affectionate octave of your mother’s voice applauding you, telling you how proud she is of you and how far you’ve come. That she misses and loves you, watching over you from wherever she is now. 

With a cock of his head, Death begins to wander not away from you but instead takes his place on the opposite side of the dirt field. With the power of his will, he manifests Harvester to take the form of that of a rapier itself, its form not one he’s familiar with but it is a warrior’s trade to become accustomed to new instruments of combat. 

And perhaps learn a new, graceful technique that he can show off to his siblings. “You now have your weapon again. Now, how about a sparring partner?”

He enjoys the wide grin that spreads over your lips then and eagerly nod, taking your stance and aiming your rapier at him pointedly. “I’d like that.”

At closer distance, Death has a chance to admire how you fight. No longer will you or he have to imagine your opponent, but instead a friendly sparring partner. 

[artzychic27]

Mirroverse Crossover- Max

"Ah, so we finally meet."

Maxiro tilts his head as he walks into the room. "I guess so. Now then, I suppose this is the part where one of us shares something about ourselves and you decide to critique me for no reason other than to get a rise out of me and see if I'll retaliate in a violent way so that you and your acquaintances can have a good laugh and mock the heroic ideals my friends and I hold."

Maxdrome tents his fingers and his grin widens. "Excellent. I see my astuteness remains the same."

"Yeah, it looks like it-"

"250 IQ says 'what?'"

Maxiro rolls his eyes. "Please, that's one of the oldest gags in the book. Also, my IQ is 300, or so they say. The test wasn't made to go any higher. Also, I was ten at the time when I took it, so now might be the time to see if anything has changed."

Across the room, Maxdrome sharply inhales through his teeth. "Moving on... I'll go first." The other tech genius takes his seat across from his villainous self. "It all starts years back. I was seven and a half, and had just built my first pair of rocket boots-"

"That's impressive. I was seven when I made my first arm cannon," Maxiro eagerly chirps, not noticing his counterpart's eye twitching. "I was also in the midst of creating a visor that could shoot lasers. See, I got the inspiration from-"

"AHEM!" Maxdrome loudly says. "As I was saying... My rocket boots were the key to my debut in the world of heroics- And yes, before you say anything, I was obsessed with becoming a hero," he quickly adds, seeing Maxiro about to say something. "They were my idols, my inspiration, but... I lacked one thing... Powers. So, what do I do? I created my rocket boots and became Incredi-boy, sidekick to Mr. Incredible, the greatest superhero of the generation. I tried to prove myself to him, help him stop several big-name villains, but how does he repay me?" Maxiro flinches when he slams his fist down on the table. "He humiliates me!"

With an almost crazed laugh, he smoothes back his pale dreadlocks. "And that's when I realized, heroes are just glory hounds. Think about it." He stands and approaches Maxiro, circling around him like a shark. "The superheroes- male and female want only the glory, the attention, the huge bonuses that no one should just expect to receive after saving a dozen lives. And those costumes, ugh! Please don't get me started at all. Skin tight, revealing, and doing nothing to protect their vital organs all just to be marketable to adult audiences. They don't care about saving lives- No. No, they just want to be celebrities without any of the talent and gods without any of the immortality. Meanwhile, I wanted to save lives, but it would seem as though I didn't make the cut not only because of my lack of power but because my ideals didn't line up with countless other heroes."

Maxdrome sighs and slams a hand down on Maxiro's shoulder, gripping it before whispering to him. "It's like they say... Never meet your heroes." Patting his shoulder, the villain heads back to his seat, inhaling deeply as he tilts his head back.

🤖🦹🏾

"Oh, Dios mío," Demolition Denise whispers, horror across their face that mirrors the other heroes in the room.

Marilan slumps in a nearby seat. "I'm just gonna sit for a while."

Kimules stares at the villainous version of his friend through the bubble for a while. "He wanted to be a hero?"

"Yeah, until your fellow heroes ruined his dream," Alix Khan snarks, earning a glare from the demigod. "Well, it's true. It was a hero who humiliated Max, and it was heroes who helped him to realize that the world of heroics is nothing but a whole damn popularity contest. You people just do it all for the glory."

"That's not true!" Kimules retorts, but deep down, he can't help but wonder if she's right while looking back and remembering how he gained instant fame after putting his training to use so he could defeat the hydra. He got dozens of sponsorship deals, fan clubs were formed, and people are still sending fan mail. As if sensing his thoughts, AriOndine takes his hand, and with a reassuring smile, kisses him on the cheek

"Oh, you're one to talk Mr. Big Shot of Olympus," Kimton smirks.

"I think we've established at this point, that the words you say have no value," Sabrinocchio says unapologetically, earning a somewhat impressed look from Madame Sabrina.

"HUSH!" Madam Aurore hisses, bouncing on her toes as she watches the bubble. "I wanna watch robot boy blow his lid!"

Jeanatoa grins, his tooth gap on full display. "Bet he'll cry when Maxdrome shows off his Omnidroid? Oh, I bet he'll cry!"

"I'm sorry, his what now?" TiAlysa questions, cocking her hip to the side.

🤖🦹🏾

"You sly dog," Maxdrome chuckles dryly. "You got me monologuing"

"Did I, though?"

"Yes, you did," the villain quickly retorts. "Now that I've shared my backstory..." He leans forward, his chin resting in his hand. "Tell me about yours'. What makes you tick?"

Maxiro blinks. "Well, my life is fairly normal. I mean, I'm a child prodigy, so there's that. I was bored one day and decided to graduate high school when I was ten, then with all that time to myself, I..." His voice trails off as he rubs the back of his neck. Maxdrome looks intrigued.

"Go on..."

"I'm not too proud of it, but I got into bot fights-"

"Ah, so the hero boy isn't as innocent as I thought," Maxdrome smirks.

Ignoring that, Maxiro continues. "I just wanted some extra money; I was a minor with a high school diploma; who'd hire me? I actually fought using what I call a megabot- Meant to be deceptive in appearance so no one would suspect a thing. Its body is comprised of magnetic joints, which allow it to split into smaller parts and attach to opponents, taking them apart and utterly defeating them with their own weapons. I uh, I even fitted it with laser eyes, which was not entirely easy, I'll tell you that. It got the job done. until one of my competitors destroyed it after I swindled him out of his winnings by pretending to be inexperienced. Thankfully, Terrance- my cousin- got me out of there in time. I mean, we got arrested, but then bailed out." He looks up in thought. "That's about it for me. Now, this is the part where you mock me for something, perhaps my megabot getting destroyed by some angry sore loser."

Maxdrome sputters for a moment. "That- that's exactly right! How do you call yourself a genius when your creation was beaten by mere human strength?!" Tapping several buttons on his high-tech wristlet, he pulls up a green-colored hologram showing a spherical robot with five tentacle-like attachments ending with four claws. "Behold, Omnidroid v.8! Merely the eighth prototype for what I have in store, this baby and all those who came before are designed to learn as it fights its' opponents and take out any and all threats to its existence."

Maxiro adjusts his glasses as he looks over the hologram, his eyes growing with horror when he notices the X's crossed out over the faces of superheroes. "This thing... Killed superheroes?"

"... I mean, you've gotta break a few eggs, right?"

"You're sick!"

"Sick? Maybe. A young man with a vision? Yes! I can't have any threats interfering with my plans. Besides, it's their own fault. Superheroes were banned by the public, and forced to go into retirement after Mr. Incredible destroyed a monorail! We don't need destructive idiots like that! We need real people with some ounce of awareness!" Maxdrome expands the hologram, showing several other prototypes along with the crossed-out images of superheroes. "Once the people see a normal, everyday person defeat my masterpiece with nothing but intelligence, the word "super," will be a thing of the past! I'll make millions selling my inventions, unlike you making a measly hundred with your pathetic bot fights!" He barks out a laugh. "Why have a genius intellect if you're not going to use it right?"

For a moment, Maxiro is silent. Maxdrome leans back in his seat with a smug expression, believing he's won, but then all of a sudden, his hologram glitches out. "What the-"

"Basic hacking," Maxiro finally says. "Kid stuff. Learned it when I was three. Now, I'll admit, you've got a good plan going on here. Create evil robots, kill heroes, show up to defeat your creation, and look like the hero to gain fame and fortune. In spite of your brilliant mind, you have many fatal flaws as a result of your megalomania, cynicism, vindictiveness, desire to make superheroes obsolete, your pathological desire for attention, and your ego."

🤖🦹🏾

"Oh, snap," Kimules chuckles.

🤖🦹🏾

"Chief among these, you are so obsessed with becoming a hero that you failed to account for the fact superheroes are banned by society, according to you."

"I-"

"Even if you had succeeded," Maxiro continues, "you would have endured constant scrutiny from the government, and it is possible that the government could have eventually discovered your crooked dealings with weapons and your murder of various superheroes. In addition, your use of technology would have resulted in your eventual destruction if it was hacked or malfunctioned. And, in the event that you had succeeded in your goals, your technology would eventually become obsolete."

Maxiro stands and taps something on his phone, pulling up Maxdrome's hologram again, only blue, and illustrating Maxiro's words with images of the Omnidroids and the villain.

"Lemme. break it down for you. Your Omnidroids are artificial intelligence, designed to learn, evolve, adapt- Stop me if I'm going too fast- You clearly lack contingency plans for when your robot eventually turns against you, and it will. Your Omnidroid will take out anything it deems a threat. Your control over it is a threat to its existence."

The hologram shows the Omnidroid crushing Maxdrome in its metal claws, much to the villain's growing horror.

"Now, if your plan had succeeded, your weapons and inventions would have possibly also resulted in more terrible wars and arms races, making the world far more dangerous." Maxiro sits back down and cuts off the hologram using his phone. He tilts up his glasses with his middle finger and looks his alternate self right in the eye. "Suffice to say, for all your genius, you are very short-sighted and have no thought about the consequences of what you will unleash if you achieve your goals. Now, if you fail because any living superheroes decided to get off their asses and defeat that thing, well, who knows? They'll probably become legal again, and it will all be because of you. So, if you fail, congrats. You'll finally be a hero."

With that, Maxiro pulls a small pack of gummy bears out of his jacket pocket and pops one in his mouth while Maxdrome stares off into space. "On the topic of bots, I've been working on these ones called microbots."

🤖🦹🏾

Everyone, even the villains is left in stunned silence. King Nath, shakily, gets down on the floor and lies there with his knees tucked to his chest, Queen Rose Candy walks to a corner of the room and just stands there with her face toward the wall, and Kimton looks very pale as LeOndine tries to snap him out of his shocked daze.

"I don't feel safe now," Honest Nino murmurs.

Cosettewether opens and closes their mouth. "... He's... He's right... About everything. There is no way to spin that around! No matter what, Max... He loses! Even if we win, he still loses in the end!" They murmur a bunch of political jargon the others don't understand as they try to figure out a way for Maxdrome to go through with his plan and come out on top.

"Yeah, that's our Max," Kimules says with a proud smile. "He's scary smart, but he's good at calling out bullshit."

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

[imaginedreamwrite]

For the photo dump idk why but #8 feels like Higher love Ari or really any of the Bucky's

“Bucky! Seriously?” You wave the phone in your hand and roll your eyes, watching the super soldier’s eyes narrow and his jaw clench.

Hey so like in case there was any confusion

You’re fucking mine

“I don’t trust them.” His response is astute and possessive in its intent however its delightful enough to make your thighs quake. “And this is the first time you’re meeting them.”

The conversation comes to an end as the doors open and the party officially starts with Tony Stark entering the room with his arms raised deserving the ultimate victory prize for giving Bucky a penthouse suite.

“Barnes, welcome to your new home.” He greeted Bucky with a quick fired grin, and then looked at you. “Whose this?”

“My wife-”

“-girlfriend.” You scolded Bucky and threw him a look, feigning anger despite wanting to find his scowl adorable. “We’ve been on like 12 dates-”

“My wife, Stark.” Bucky’s tone grew persistent, his hand reaching for your waist as a means to pull him closer to you, or to pull you closer to him.

“What’s the story? How’d you meet?” Tony’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a dull and almost incomprehensible whir coming from his purple tinted glasses.

“You’re not serious? Bucky you can’t be serious-”

“I met my future wife while she was on a first date with my best friend,” Bucky’s grin was illusive yet warm, his artificial arm whirring as his fingers curled around your hand, “Steven Grant Rogers is the reason why we met.”

“You’re not saying that during our wedding-“

“Do you admit we’re gonna get married doll?” His teasing tongue found yours in a heated goodnight kiss, teasing and taunting you with the promise of a long night if this wasn’t your parting.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

“I’ve gotta get you a house first, and then a ring. I promise I will, darling. And then you’re mine.”

“Steve.” “Through Steve.”

“A house tour and a home-warming party.” Tony glazed over your dual answer and stepped aside, allowing the two of you to partake in the first glance at this penthouse suite Tony gave Bucky.

“A house-“

“-and then a ring.” Bucky whispered into your hair, kissing your temple softly. “I’m doing it all, sweetheart.”

“-she’s a teacher, Tony. She teaches elementary-“ Your attention shifted to the conversation you could hear between Steve and Tony, the prior conveying the same tight lipped story you chose to go with, when giving the answer of how you and Bucky met.

“-there’s more to it, Rogers. Quit holding out on me, pal.” Tony pressed, urging Steve to tell the duty details, and before you could have listened to the results of Tony’s nattering, a hand grasped yours and yanked you aside.

“Natasha,” Bucky’s eyes followed you, his voice taking a slightly deeper bite as he warned his friend and fellow avenger not to drag you too far.

“God, you’re beautiful. And your little girl…” Natasha bounced your little 18 month old baby on her hip, pleased by her grabbing hands reaching for her hair. “Auntie Natasha, you’ll call me auntie Nat, and we-”

“Natasha.” Bucky stepped close, his eye hovering on you and then your baby, protectively focused on both of you.

Focusing on his instant family. Even before the 12 or so dates in, Bucky was already endeared and enthralled by you and your child.

“Relax, Barnes.” Natasha prodded his shoulder with her finger and gently nudged him away. “Go relax, I promise to take good care of your girlfriend-“

“Wife.” Bucky corrected her, and stole a searing kiss from you before he kissed your baby’s forehead, giving Nat one last lingering warning.

“12 dates,” Natasha quirked her lips and smirked, “he was in love on date one.”