#and also a lot of guilt
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bookalicent · 2 months ago
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yeah so this was insane
#i feel like too many people reduce this interaction to jason being like ‘lol same’#but idk :/#this chapter is from jason’s pov#and leading up to it he’s like ‘people keep walking on eggshells around me bc of the the michael varus stab wound’#and he hates it so when he goes on deck to help out with the storm#everyone’s like wtf except for percy#and jason states how much he appreciated percy not treating him like a sick kid#and i feel like it’s echoed in this sentiment where jason could say so many things like#‘you should never feel that way’ ‘im here if you need anything’#but he doesn’t make percy feel alone in his desire to just…. end it all#which ik for some people that doesn’t work but you’re not a character in hoo and percy is dealing with so much guilt#and he can’t tell annabeth bc she’s a main aspect of that guilt#and he doesn’t wanna guilt her more and he feels ashamed and when he describes this he feels weird for feeling it#so having jason this tough guy be like ‘yo i understand it bc i felt the same way#that’s gotta mean a lot to percy#also insane how jason who also struggles to display vulnerability#allows it in one of few times in this moment just so percy this guy he’s supposed to be jealous about#feels comforted and not alone in his guilt and shame#and also it’s just insane how jason’s wanting to kay em ess does not get talked about AT ALL#and just seeing his mom and the pressure of new rome getting to him#like this scene is insane and i’ll never shut up about it#also ignore me i’m just finishing my reread of hoo that took all summer#jason grace#percy jackson#pjo#ashla.txt
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akanemnon · 1 year ago
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Intermission... (Quickly cobbled together this mini-comic to make the next one not seem as abrupt)
FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT
MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)
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chaosmax · 6 months ago
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Many thanks to @rewuyuu for the commission!
hello everyone do you have a moment to learn about Sampo and Jing Yuan friendship propaganda because IN THIS ESSAY I WILL--
(based on that one Jason Momoa meme, because this is so their energy)
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Edit: said essay--
(obligatory these are just personal headcanons of a friend and mine other interpretations are valid)
-They both go :3 they are both some of the few characters that make that face and it is adorable.
-They both conceal their true deeper feelings behind teehee funny man/lax eepy personas [this is assuming the Funny Bone video is canon to Sampo. It was made for Hoyofair but Hoyoverse showcased it in the Live concert event so I consider that canon until Hoyoverse says otherwise]
-On the topic of that both had a tight-knit group of friends they hung out with when they were younger and were ride or die with. Unfortunately, this turned out to be die as all of their friends died (some of the HCQ are still alive but are either reincarnated or so changed/driven mad from Mara the version Jing Yuan knew had died) while Sampo and Jing Yuan were the only one out of their pals to survive.
-But both had to move on and continue to anyway, whether they wanted to or not
-Due to these things in common they would understand and relate to each other in a deep, meaningful way that few others in their lives could. There would be a certain level of liberty to their friendship because of it. They'd be able to release pent-up emotions and trauma as well as sympathize and empathize with each other. They'd be able to support each other and trust each other with the burdens of their pasts because of it. While not easy for these topics to come up initially, once they did they would find a safe space in each other for these topics. And from this would form a strong bond of trust.
-Not to mention Sampo would be a great way for master strategist ™️ Jing Yuan to keep tabs on what is happening throughout the galaxy in other places or gain valuable information for the Xianzhou Alliance. AND as Jing Yuan has expressed a lot his daily life is quite boring and loves to hear tales from the Astral Express's adventures he'd also love to hear all the wild antics Sampo gets up to because you KNOW Sampo has some wild tales to tell
-In happier news Sampo is very outwardly mischievous while Jing Yuan is also hella sneaky but in a different way usually. But when put together they bring out the utter gremlin in each other and are constantly messing with each other or having a prank war but it's all in good fun. It makes them both genuinely laugh a lot, breathing new life into their days.
-Also Mimi is either really affectionate with Sampo or bullying him (safely and gently) but it freaks Sampo out because she so beeeg. Jing Yuan finds it hilarious.
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necromancer-snail · 27 days ago
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WOAH Edwin art‼️
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deadsetobsessions · 7 months ago
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Pt. 3
Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.
——
Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.
He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.
A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.
At least this time, the conception was consensual.
Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.
How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?
It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.
His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.
He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…
How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.
The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.
“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”
“Go to sleep, Bruce.”
“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.
“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”
Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.
Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.
…Nevermind.
He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”
“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”
Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.
“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”
“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”
“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”
Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.
Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”
“Please. Always.”
Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”
“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”
“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-
“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’
“But…”
“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”
“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”
“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”
“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.
“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.
“Thank you, Alfred.”
“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.
——
Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.
She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.
“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.
“You as well, my beloved daughter.”
‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’
Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”
The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.
——
A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.
She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.
“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.
The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.
She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.
She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.
“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.
(yā waṭawāṭī al��ṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)
“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.
(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)
“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”
She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’
“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.
‘No, you were smarter.’
And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.
“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”
Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.
On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.
“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”
She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.
She offered him a short nod.
——
“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.
The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.
But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.
No.
It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.
It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.
Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.
It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.
From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.
Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.
Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”
She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.
“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”
‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.
Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.
“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.
Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.
“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”
Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.
“I will bring your bags up to your room.”
She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.
‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’
“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.
“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”
Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.
Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.
Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)
“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”
Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.
Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.
Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.
——
She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.
“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”
Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.
“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.
She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.
(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)
‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.
“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”
Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.
No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.
‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’
“….you do?”
‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.
Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”
She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.
“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”
She waited.
“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”
‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’
Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.
“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.
——
She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.
‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.
It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.
Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.
She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.
——
“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.
‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.
“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”
His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.
An implicit challenge.
“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.
“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”
Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.
——
Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.
Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.
Alfred made a note to study some more magic.
“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”
“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”
“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.
Alfred made another note.
‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.
Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”
‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.
They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.
Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.
‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’
“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”
Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.
“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”
She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’
She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.
She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.
His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”
She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’
Alfred stiffened.
“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.
‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’
Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.
“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”
She nodded.
“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”
‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’
Alfred itched for his gun.
“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.
‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’
“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.
“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”
“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”
‘I have never tried it before.’
“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”
Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.
——
Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.
Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me
——
Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?
Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP
——
Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.
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aquapede · 10 months ago
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thinking about gardevoir and gengar being pen pals after everything. she'll always have time for her favorite insane little guy
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lazylittledragon · 9 months ago
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discussion: would gale accept only getting a few decades with his partner because he’s a squishy human OR would he go the lich route a la barry bluejeans
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turtleblogatlast · 7 months ago
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Something I like about Leo is that he’s honestly really chill? It’s easy to remember the moments where he’s being obnoxious or excitable but I feel like most of the time he’s incredibly “go with the flow” and has an overall affable demeanor.
#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt leo#rise leo#Genuinely speaking I feel like said demeanor is incredibly useful for when he has to charm and/or persuade people into listening to him#I have a whole post talking about Leo’s charm and how he consistently gets people to hear him out even if he’s annoyed or upset them#like they’ll still listen to what he has to say in full#his charisma stat is real and utilized quite often in this series I swear he’s not just a loser cringeboy all the time 😭#if he wants to persuade and/or charm then he honestly sooo often does#me listing the 400th reason why Leo grows up to be the worlds best ninja and a good 365 of those reasons are Leo’s various subterfuge skill#Like most episodes where he’s not the main focus (and even many where he is)#he’s a voice of reason who notices things quickly and is often the one taking point to talk down situations#something interesting I found between Leo and Mikey is that#Mikey tells people what they need to hear#Leo tells people what they want to hear#not only out of his own agenda either#when bullhop was wrecking their home leo was the one that negotiated to make the situation go smoother#even if he would have rather bullhop left#meanwhile Mikey is the one who bluntly tells things as it is#small character moment that means a lot to me#Mikey is an honest boy who is upfront about his feelings#Leo prefers to let people make their own decisions he wants them to through steering the convo in that direction#but he is easily cowed by guilt#regardless leo is a people person - he knows how to talk to them and how to manipulate/persuade#and I like that his bros know this and often push him forward to do the talking if they wanna charm someone into doing what they want#I think Leo’s hope speeches are also an example of this - he’s saying what people really want to hear (and often it’s ALSO what they NEED)#the further the series goes on the higher Leo’s inner stress rises and he just keeps that chill aura anyway#there’s a reason!!! he wanted to go to a SPA so badly!!#literally the first thing he does when he gets in is rest#no joke meditation would do him good? like- it’s a Leo thing and I genuinely think rise leo would be no different here
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sysig · 9 months ago
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Rainbows (Patreon)
#Doodles#UT#Handplates#Papyrus#Sans#This rainbow is all out of order - and so many negative glows ah :0#I didn't mean for them to trend negative! They were just easier to imagine the expressions - maybe I'll take a second pass on the positives#Or in green's case the negative :')#Again in order of when I drew them so kinda all over the place haha#I wanted to go in order! And then I got distracted pft - thus started with red ow :(#Honestly I was thinking of it just being a surprise-pain more than anything lol - like a splinter haha that wouldn't even pierce him!#D'you think that eyeglows could also act like automatic word-responses? Like how we say ''Ow'' when we're surprised but not hurt sometimes#Silly haha#The second is a lot less silly-intended tho more actual pain#It's also sad to think that Sans' red would pretty much have to be sympathy/emotional pain :(#The kind of survivors guilt of not being able to shoulder more but he's so fragile! It's not his fault!#I am quite happy with both of their expressions there tho especially their mouth shapes - and how the colours interact with their eyes#Lineless colours are some of my favourites :) You can tell it's my pencils and not my pen there 'cause it's feathery hehe#For example Edgar's scars are usually with my pen and they have an almost hard-line quality while my pencils are soft :) S'pretty#Switched colours! I unfortunately misremembered what their meanings were oops lol#Well I got them kinda half-right - I like blue as skeptical quite a lot :D I think it suits them both!#Sans as wary and logical and wanting to keep distance to assure his safety and what he can devote energy to - I like it!#And Papyrus using his brother's colour to be grown up in the way that Sans is hehe <3 It's sweet#I misremembered orange lol I assigned blue's alt meaning of ''curiousity'' - orange is meant to be bravery! Oops lol#I think I was thinking of Papyrus' childlike excitement and wanting to know and be involved! Haha#Greeeeens <3 Happy boys happy with each other! I love when they're happy ♥ Interlocked holding hands hehe#Pinks! Along a similar line! I like pink as platonic affection :D And as embarrassment lol but hgg the sweetness! The care and love!#Is my bias showing lol - especially with the bros sleeping on each other haha ♪ They're both happy to know the other is safe!#Couple'a stresses - I like Sans' more I'm not even gonna sugarcoat lol his expression turned out so good haha#And the inverse for the purples! I do like Sans' face but his body :P Papyrus tho - he turned out sad and perfect :')
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gingermintpepper · 2 months ago
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There are many things people expect from one called 'God of Blood'. Always, the first thought is the blood of war, the blood of violence, the blood of the weak shed for the goals of the strong. Ares doesn't think of the blood of battle at all. When he thinks of blood, he envisions the many tied knots of blood bonds and bonds forged in the blood of battle. Blood sons and blood daughters, blood brothers and battle sisters, blood oaths and blood vengeance - he watches over them all and keeps close each one of these bonds.
One cannot begrudge his displeasure then when he realises he cannot tell Leto's offspring apart just by looking at them.
It was easier when it was just Artemis. Dark hair curled about her shoulders, a fierce mien whenever Father summons her to the mountain, a scattering of bones and blood shed whenever she was disturbed; the eldest child of Leto was a wild thing, sharp toothed with sharper claws always at the ready. There's whispers of her being a twin, of her other half being made to crawl on their belly as penance for their sin of god-slaying but Ares pays it little mind. What twins look alike among their number? Even dog litters are born distinct with all their unique markings inlaid in their fur. Artemis' twin too would be much more than their sister's mirror image.
Pouring over his list now, he wishes anything about Phoebus Apollo was that simple.
Mirror image did not begin to describe it. The twins were the same height, the same build, had the same colour and texture hair, ate the same raw food and drank the same amount of nectar. There was no difference in how they dressed, no difference in the company they kept, no variance in the weapons they used. There are some days Ares still cannot believe Phoebus will grow into a man and not some nymph with the way his ears have that slender point. He watches them now, sitting together beneath a shady palm and stringing their bows in an uncanny unison and curses because he still cannot tell them apart. What use is his skill in knowing blood when they both have the same damn blood running through their veins? What bond is there to sense when they are tied so tightly together, Ares can scarcely tell brother from sister?
He sighs. Unadorned and completely alone, the only way to know who is who is to speak to them. He'll have to find more ways to tell them apart from a distance. Surely they cannot stay this similar all the rest of their immortal lives.
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#ginger writes#hello and welcome to my 'ares is doing his best' corner#I can't overstate enough how alike Artemis and Apollo are as young gods physically#literally identical twin status which only begins to change as they acquire different domains#I was really happy with the font I got because it very closely resembles what I imagine Ares' handwriting to be like#But I'll gladly add an image description if it's too illegible#That said Ares has an interesting dynamic with the twins#In a lot of ways there's a sense of guilt/wariness surrounding him for Apollo and Artemis#because he knows how much they stress his mother out and he also knows how much Hera doesn't like Leto#But there's also a bit of fascination because Artemis is extremely strong#(in a way that's markedly different from Athena's strength)#while Apollo has all of these crazy stories attached to him from killing Python + his work while exiled#but when he returns he's very placid and calm and almost?? too nice? Definitely nothing like Artemis#in terms of personality#Ares doesn't really trust it until he learns that straight up that's just What Apollo Is Like#That too will change eventually but for now Ares just doesn't want to approach Artemis the way he'd approach Apollo#because he'd get his head caved in with the curved side of a bow#There are precious few encounters Ares has had with Artemis where he hasn't walked away with#at least a few arrow wounds LMAO#He'll eventually be forced to accept that it's Artemis' love language#ares#artemis#apollo#pursuing daybreak posting#writing
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 1 year ago
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WAKE UP!
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ruporas · 2 years ago
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pre-trimax
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magicgirlboss · 5 months ago
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eleanor's "now he asks me to back off charles. to proclaim to the world that what happened to max is acceptable. to apologize to those animals for having ever said otherwise and smile while they lord it over me."
and flint's "it requires an intolerable sacrifice. to apologize. to england. they took everything from us and then they called me a monster. the moment I sign that pardon, the moment I ask for one, I proclaim to the world that they were right."
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cassiecainwaynes · 2 days ago
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Although I just started reblogging Arcane stuff now, I’ve been into the show since 2021. So to put it on the record: I’ve always loved Jayce.
He’s always had pure intentions, but can be naive, single-minded, and selfish, which (as we’ve seen) can really hurt the ones he loves. He didn’t ask to be the Man of Progress, and that clouded a lot of his judgment. And just as he realizes, in this moment, his real wants and needs (being faced with the reality of his best friend dying in his arms), he panics, desperately trying to revive him– but Viktor is no longer able to reciprocate that love, those wants. He’s saying that this– the end of their life together– was inevitable. And Jayce can’t even explain himself correctly, he’s sleep-deprived, a little manic, so relieved, confused, and overwhelmed.
He’s trying to keep it together, in the spotlight, a well-meaning man– and I’ve always loved him.
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dykedvonte · 26 days ago
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The second fic idea is a what-if scenerio where Jimmy dies in the crash due to and altercation with Curly and how Curly would navigate being Captain once he has to notice the little things and how he and Anya's relationship develop as he adopts an identical view point to hers rather than just keeping the peace.
And maybe i will write it but only time will tell tbh but it's stuck in my brain dome for the time being.
#cause even if it got to Curly snapping and killing Jimmy for the sakes of the crew would you not have that guilt in being responsible for#anothers death espcially with all the responsibility on his shoulder and how he realizes he tried to be reponsible for things and made them#worse like the guilt drives Jimmy insane even if he doesnt admit like imagine Curly who would care so much and wonder if it shouldve#been him not to mention Anya being free from Jimmy but still not his actions and having to navigate still being stuck with the pregnancy an#the shallow feeling because relief doesn't mean happiness like i think shed believe shed be happier that Jimmy cant get to her anymore but#what now that their stuck? That the Captain is faltering and they are stranded for like another 6 months? If they even make it that long?#Like he may be gone but all his damage is still there and thr wounds fresh like its such a good concept i just cant divide my attention lik#that as i am still in college and it is sadly midterms#anyway uhhhh I just really want to write a fic where Curly and Anya can have that hard conversation on how he handled Jimmy constructively#and without him looking like undercooked skirt steak like there would be those moments where it lingers between the monotiny of staying#alive but how would they even address it? what comes first the sorry or the list of why he should be? like Curly places a lot of value on#his use to others and its interesing and subtle and its mostly directed between Jimmy who steers it and Anya who rides along with it#like go the thoughts and ideas i have but not the fuckin time!!!!#mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#curly#curly mouthwashing#anya mouthwashing#also daisuke and swansea are there but like i still have to think of the reflections they have and how to play with their characters in thi#idea world but yeah I want Curly to make amends and Anya to rediscover her autonomy and living outside that fear.
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bronzeagepizzeria · 1 year ago
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sorry just.
look at how vulnerable erik is being here
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and charles just. being unable to talk about it
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and erik going along with him immediately. snapping back into that cool facade
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