#and then they become myth themselves

[poptartmochi]

in this house we love greek gods that preside over one specific thing and have fuckall to do for the rest of eternity <3

[monsterblogging]

"I know JK Rowing is a terrible person but her books are so good-"

You sure about that?

I mean, just for a start, have you taken a good look at her fantasy creatures lately? A whole bunch of them are straight-up based on malicious and dehumanizing stereotypes about actual people.

Remember the werewolves? And being a werewolf was made into a kind of metaphor for having AIDS?

And you know how AIDS was first associated with gay men? And how conservatives back in the day were claiming gay men were preying on children in order to convert them to gayness?

Remember how Fenrir Greyback preyed on children in particular? Yeah, she put that subtext in there. She was an adult in the 90's. She knew damn well what she was doing.

Remember the house elves? Remember how most of them loved to serve and needed to have a home and a master or else they just wouldn't know what to do with themselves?

Did you know that's literally what slavers in the American South said about the Black people they kept enslaved? Go look up the happy slave myth.

Do I even need to get into the goblins and the antisemitic tropes they're based on? No, folkloric goblins were not gold-hoarding bankers waiting for their chance to stab humanity in the back.

"But the characters are so good!"

Are you kidding me?

Most of her characters are pretty one-dimensional, including Harry. Her idea of making a morally complicated character is giving a tragic past to a bully. Numerous characters are little more than stereotypes. (Looking at Fleur right now.) Literally anybody, including you, can easily make dozens of characters just as good, if not better. (It doesn't exactly take a lot of character designing skill to go, "hey, actually, having a sad backstory doesn't make it okay to bully children" or "hey, maybe I should not base a character on the first stereotype that pops into my head.")

"But the rest of the worldbuilding!"

Sorry, but her worldbuilding is just as basic as her characters. Magical castles and secret passages are stock tropes. Magical people who keep their true nature secret from humanity is the premise of pretty much every White Wolf TTRPG. Most of her fantasy creatures are just common European fairy tale and folklore creatures with shitty stereotypes projected onto them.

I'm not saying "basic worldbuilding bad." I'm saying, you could do just as good, if not better, with minimal effort.

Also there's her magical bioessentialism, where only Harry's abusive blood relatives could provide him with supernatural protection from Voldemort. Rowling thus effectively declared that non-biological family isn't quite real family, and that abusive biofamily can give you some essential thing that a loving, supportive family that isn't related to you just can't.

The Hogwarts houses are one of the most insidious elements of her worldbuilding. The idea of being sorted gives you a little dopamine hit because wow now you have a li'l niche where you belong!

But the actual function of the houses and sorting system and the House Cup is teaching children to see each other as rivals, and ensure that the most toxic views of the upper class get passed on to every new batch of kids sorted into Slytherin.

Hogwarts effectively prepares children for a dystopia where magic serves to distract its citizens from how nightmarishly awful it is. Economic inequality is so bad that people like Arthur and Molly Weasley can barely afford to put their kids through school, casual sadism is just an accepted norm in everyday society, and non-humans are second class citizens. Rowling sorta acts like she thinks this is a bad thing with certain lines she gave to Dumbledore, but in the end, her special boy protagonist becomes an auror; IE, a defender of the status quo. So.

If you've never seen it, Lily Simpson's video goes into even more detail on how the worldbuilding of Harry Potter is actually incredibly fucked up, and how it betrays small-minded attitudes on Rowling's part. There's no separating the art from this artist, because Rowling's rotten values pour out of nearly every page.

Yes, there are many things in Harry Potter that evoke feelings and inspire people, but there's absolutely nothing in it that this series has a monopoly on. You can find those same experiences in much, much better media.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Me, on a new date: Hey, have you ever thought about the fact that there are plenty of planets where "the Doctor" doesn't refer to the Time Lord carrying around the sonic screwdriver, but rather to the young women who swing through their lives and ask their names and demand answers and sacrifice themselves, to the young men who start off unsure and second-fiddle but bring a kindness, a loyalty, with them and end up finding their own voices and their own purpose? Do you ever think about the role that myth plays in Doctor Who, how so many companion exits and finales take on the role of storytelling, about how companions become gods and immortals and walk the entire dystopian earth and wait two thousand years and be the cause of every Cyberman's single tear and wrench the Doctor back into the universe and carry the story off of screen with them, that they birth myths in their wake, that Doctor Who finales so often leave science-fiction behind them and become mythology itself, when these humans insert themselves into the mythology of the Doctor only to usurp him, that they make themselves the Bad Wolf and Orpheus and the Woman Who Walked the Earth and the Doctor Donna and the Last Centurion and the Girl Who Saw the Stars and most of all, they become the Doctor themself, that the Doctor's story goes nowhere if Rose doesn't save him on Satellite Five or Amy doesn't pull him back into existence or Martha doesn't walk the entire hell-earth to restore him or Clara doesn't make him forget her or Jack doesn't sacrifice himself to stop the Daleks or Bill doesn't carry him away from the Cybermen or Donna doesn't stop him from drowning himself with the Racnoss or Yaz doesn't pilot the TARDIS or River Song sacrifices herself at the library or Sarah Jane and Mickey don't help restore the earth back to its place in the sky and that the Doctor is only a myth with so many stories to their name because their companions make it so-

My date, sliding the breadsticks out of their purse back onto the table, hopelessly intrigued: Go on...

[ellestra]

The Voice from the Outer World

Dune is a story of failure. SPOILERS for Dune Part 2 below

Power corrupts and all of that. We all know this. So we would be able to avoid it, right? If you know what happens you can chose another option. You would be different.

And here's a story that shows that even when you know all of this and more and can literally see the future it's still not enough.

I get why people often think that to avoid this the person in power shouldn't want that power. That this would make them somehow immune. And this logic has multiple faults (like - how can you be good at doing something you hate?) and one of them is that just not wanting to abuse power doesn't mean you would do right things with it.

We are reminded multiple times in the film (and the books also aren't shy about it) that Fremen religious belief in a saviour is not something that arose naturally. It's a belief seeded by Bene Gesserit's Missionaria Protectiva. They seeded superstitions and myths in different cultures so they could use them in a future emergency. Everything Fremen believe about their Mahdi was created so their faith could be used by a Bene Gesserit in need. And both Jessica and Paul are aware of this even before they even set a foot on Arrakis.

It's specifically made for the saviour to be a foreign one (Lisan al-Gaib is The Voice from the Outer World) because the people who made and planned to use this prophecy were ones from an outsider culture. Paul doesn't hijack Fremen beliefs to insert himself as their white saviour. These beliefs was specifically created for someone like him to use.

It was made with purpose of hijacking Fremen religion into protecting the foreigners who know how this prophecy was constructed. This is a parasitic belief (cuckoo-like faith) and the truth doesn't set anyone free. We see why with Stilgar as he wants to believe so much that everything becomes a sign. Even when he's told this has been fabricated and he was manipulated he warps it into something that supports his beliefs not undermines them. I'm sure you've seen this in real life, in real politics if not religion.

Jessica and Chani got changed the most from their book versions. They've become opposite sides of the ideological divide. Not between religion and lack of it - Jessica obviously not a believer - but between using people and letting them decide their own future.

Book Jessica is more apprehensive of Paul's choices. She's often more worried he may not survive the trials than pushing for them for power. In here she becomes the driving force for using the messianic belief Bene Gesserit implanted for Paul's benefit. She makes sure Fremen believe he fits the story. She doesn't care about Paul's wishes to avoid this burden. She knows it doesn't matter when he tells the people the truth about Bene Gesserit, their abilities and their manipulation techniques. Belief is impervious to proof and confirmation bias makes you reject all evidence to the contrary.

But then, in the film, Jessica is kind of possessed. Stilgar warns Paul not to listen to the djinn but neither he nor his mother can stop listening to the voices. The film removes Alia's book doings but replaces them with foreshadowing of what she becomes. She whispers the truths about the future to her mother even before she is born. Funny, how this change makes her, not Paul, the first fully prescient Atreides. She is manipulating the events when Paul refuses to and that's a foreshadowing too. When Jessica took the Water of Life while pregnant she did it for the power this new position among the Fremen would give her. Alia never stood a chance. She was pre-born into this.

The only one trying to stand in the way of succumbing to the power corruption is movie version of Chani. She was never believer in a saviour. She wants her people to save themselves. They already have a plan for a better future that doesn't involve killing worlds for the Empire they never wanted anything to do with. They were not supposed to be warriors of the prophet. She sees this for what it is - a way to control her people. She understands this is just another form of enslavement. The only difference is that this one is embraced. No one listens to her when she tells them the truth. They only see what they want to see.

The power that comes from being close to the rule is just as blinding when you stand close to the throne as it is when you sit on it.

And the sad part is she knows she played a part in this happening to as she convinced Paul to give this a try. She didn't see the visions he saw so she hoped he can remain the person she fell in love with. When he submits to the way prescience shows him and takes over the faith we feel her heartbreak. She watches him becoming what he feared and everyone around him stops her from trying to save him because they get something out of it (not just the other Fremen or Jessica - Gurney puts atomic arsenal in Paul's hands).

Paul doesn't bring freedom. He just changes who holds the power but in the end the structures of power remain (the similarities between Saudarkar and Fremen are not accidental). And billions die so it can happen. But billions is a an abstract number. It's much easier to feel the consequences when they hit close and personal.

Everyone around Paul gets to gain something - Gurney gets revenge on Rabban, Jessica and Stilgar get to destroy the Harkonnens and the Emperor. They are on top now. The power corrupts before you even hold it. Just the promise of power is enough.

This film version of Chani doesn't let us forget that this is what we watch. That what is happening is not a good thing. We as humans have tendency to gloss over big numbers of deaths when it's some unseen people with whom we have no emotional connections. Through her eyes the loss is so much more personal. She loses her Usul to Paul Muad'Dib. And he takes her people and her planet too.

As Paul says - they are Harkonnens too. And they do what Harkonnens do too. The difference was always cosmetic.

And one more thing. A lot is said about Arabic and Muslim influences in Fremen culture and religion but they aren't the only ones. One other is the word used for the places where Fremen live - Sietch. It comes from Zaporozhian Cossack name for their fortified encampments - sich.

In the West the name Cossacks invokes the cruel Russian Imperial forces that tsars used to pacify conquered territories. But this is not what comes to my mind first. In the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth they were free people living in the borderlands of the Commonwealth on the territories often attacked by the Ottomans. The constant raids from the Turks meant they were warriors and constantly moving. But this also allowed for a lot of freedom as there wasn't a lot of direct control over these territories for the same reason. This meant that they were often joined by anyone wishing to have that freedom - from peasants escaping indenture to nobles escaping the law.

The dissatisfaction with the Polish rule eventually lead to an uprising and this part of Ukraine joined Russian Empire. That Empire destroyed all the freedoms Cossacks had and those independent warriors became just another enforcers of conformity for the Empire. They've become exactly what they fought against. I often wondered if Herbert chose the name Sietch intentionally to invoke this turn of events.

[daegu-based-terrorist]

I think a lot of people misunderstand why we talk about both racism and anti communism when discussing anti north korean sentiment. I do understand why people don’t think the racism aspect is all that important to emphasise, after all Samsung Republic is probably the north’s greatest detractor and the most vile anti North Korean scumbags can all be found on this side of the DMZ.

However I think it’s also a failing to not recognise that alot of the anti North Korean sentiment that comes from outside of Korea utilises anti Korean racism.

(South) Koreans are a great example of the “model minority” * huges swaths of our popular culture has been exported and deliberately changed for the consumption of the white westerner. Koreans in the American diaspora have often taken to becoming members of the petty bourgeois, and for some reason, doing this. South Korea is a hyper capitalist military state and uses Korean culture as a product to be sold to casual enjoyers and fetishists a like. New developments in popular tourist cities may as well cater towards the white expat/tourist’s gaze. Korean Americans have delighted in and actively encouraged the proximity to whiteness they gain by being neither black, native american or one of the “bad asians” (south, west ect.)

The dprk, and by extension, it’s people, destroy the shaky foundations all of these myths are based on. So despite being the same ethnicity, North Koreans aren’t given the privilege of proximity to whiteness, or treated as if they are almost honorary Europeans.

The Korean of the north is still a uncivilised dog eating animal who doesn’t know what is good for them and should either be saved by the benevolent American army or put out of their misery if the first option fails to materialise.

If we were to overthrow the ROK government today and reunite with the DPRK under the current North Korean government, South Koreans would be treated with as much vitriol as those of us from and/or in the north.

Because as affective as anti communist propaganda is, the fact that white people already viewed Koreans as docile, unintelligent people, really helped in promoting the idea that North Koreans are unable to think for themselves or have any sort of agency/autonomy.

Idk. I’ve been awake for two days straight and feel like I’ve written this weirdly so please as for any clarification. I’m exhausted lol

* (now please correct anything that I say wrong here, I’m not American so I’ve only understood this threw literature and the stories and anecdotes of other Korean comrades)

[still-searching-for-something]

I don't think goyim properly understand the fear and change that the wave of antisemitism currently taking place in the wake of the October 7th massacre has induced in the Jewish community.

In a wide-lens view, Jews have become a 1000% more wary and introspective. This isn't limited to diaspora Jews--the headlines pouring out of Israel until October 7th have been of division, polarization, and conflict. Conflict over the 2018 Nation-State Law. Over Bibi's premiership. Over the judicial reform laws. Over the Orthodox Rabbinate. Over this. Over that.

But Israeli society is more unified than ever right now. The judicial reform laws were shelved shortly after the war began and the protests ended on October 8th. Some of it is the rally around the flag effect, yes, and will probably fade as time passes--politics never stops--but the era of Israelis being at one another's throats? Of forgetting that we are all one people and we are all under attack? Gone. It died on October 7th.

In the Diaspora, Jews are once again asking themselves the question--will I need to flee? Guys, a fifth of Gen Z--my generation, that I attend university with--believes the Holocaust was a myth. Two thirds of them think Jews are oppressors. That's terrifying. And the reason we don't take comfort in people saying, 'They're kids with no political power.' is that that won't be true forever. Today's slacktivists who casually say that Israel has no right to exist are tomorrows lawmakers. They will grow up and set policy.

We don't know if they'll grow out of it. I pray to HaShem that they will, but how do I know if they will?

And that's tomorrow's world. Today's world is already bad enough. I don't wear my Star of David necklace to the self-defense classes I've started taking because being surrounded by burly dudes learning how to fight people better isn't a great place to potentially learn that I'm surrounded by antisemites.

Jews--in the year 2024--are being doxxed, seen their homes and synagogues vandalized and threatened, walk past Palestine protests screaming for the death of Zionists, and antisemitism has increased in the United States alone by more than 400%. It's worse elsewhere--Turkish shop owners have been barring Jews from their stores and France has seen antisemitic incidents increase by 1000%. Jews have been leaving social media sites like Tumblr, Reddit, Tik Tok, and Twitter in droves, chased away by the constant, unceasing stream of anti-Jewish hate.

Gentiles need to understand that their words and actions have very real consequences. Jews are not dumb. We're not imagining things. We aren't 'getting our just desserts'. Our fears are grounded not only by historical context but by our current, everyday, lived realities. To gentiles, reading 'antisemitism has gone up by x percent' is a factoid. To us, it is a serious threat and a deep concern.

EDIT: I'm tired of pro-Palestine people sharing this post and using it to back their agenda. You are not welcome to use my experiences to suit your agenda. I am a Zionist! This post is Zionist! Stop taking my words from me and using it against my people.

[haru-rain]

The biggest reason Himmel wanted statues of him and his group was so that Frieren wouldn't feel alone...

He didn't want her to be the only one to remember the faces of the hero and his group. He didn't want their adventures to become a fairy tale.

He wanted everyone to know that the hero Himmel and his group really did exist, and that their adventures were not just a myth that people told themselves without really believing it...

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #3: Of Apples and Academic Frenemies

Au where Jason and Danny are attending the same college course on mythology and classical literature and they are always getting into debates about the depictions of the characters and the historical context of stories and stuff bc the both have a different exposure to the myths. Like Jason knows literal demigods and Amazons but Danny knows Pandora and the Greek myth related ghosts plus time travel from Clockwork and the infi-map. The debates can get heated at times but the respect each others intellectual takes.

This creates a peculiar situation where everyone in the class thinks they are academic rivals who hate each other (except for the few with their shipping goggles on and sense the homoerotic tension underlying their debates) and are deeply invested in watching them interact like their own personal drama even thought at this point in time they are at best friendly acquaintances and at worst annoying classmates.

Jason rants to his family about his debate partner/rival bc he’s happy to have some who will talk to him ad-nauseam abt this stuff but also bc he wants to complain about how Danny's a “smart but annoying little twink who’s got some real audacity”. And while the batfam is happy that Jason is experiencing some normal life things like an academic frenemy they’d love to stop hearing about this guy's “smug fucking smirk” and the “annoying gleam in his eyes". They are worried that Jason will snap and beat this guy up for being too annoying. Well, except Tim who thinks Jason would rather make out with this guy than debate with him.

One day the course decides to do a big themed party/fundraiser to save up for a class trip to an excavation site of some temple ruins or something. Both of them volunteer for the organizing committee bc of the offered extra credit. This encourages the two of them to start seeing each other more and to hang out outside of their classes so the can work on event planning. Over time they actually become pretty good friends (Danny's presence filters Jason's toxic ecto and cures pit rage due to increased exposure. It was happening anyways as classmates but the close proximity sped up the process) and Jason and Danny develop mutual crushes on each other.

For the event they do, like an Olympic games style format and have people sign up in teams for events a couple of weeks beforehand. Anyone in any sort of classical/mythology related course can join and they opened the event for public spectating. They have a few traditional events like a foot race, long jump and chariot race. But the also have some silly ones like Medusa's Snakes, where they shove their faces into bowls of whipped cream and fish out gummy worms, Pandora's Amphora, where they stick there hands into a box/jar of mystery contents (grapes, slime, a live animal like rats or kittens, a bunch of glitter, soda, etc.) and whoever keeps their hand in the longest wins, and Gladiator Fights, where they try to knock each other into a foam pit with those foam and rubber jousting sticks and the such.

Neither Danny, nor Jason want to participate for fear of their physical/supernatural abilities being discovered so the both get talked into doing the emceeing and commentary for the events. They make a really good duo, snarking and bantering with each other, playing off each other's energy and providing fun commentary to the events. Everyone, including the batfam who came to spectate, is a bit baffled by how well they are getting along bc last they checked these two were rivals of a sort, mildly annoying at best and actively antagonistic at worst. However, they really seem to be enjoying themselves.

The last event of the day is a trivia contest, which they both decide to take part in and let someone else take over the emceeing. The final winning trivia question is "what trope was falsely understood as a marriage proposal or declaration of love by misinformed media, that was actually closer to a ploy of seduction and indication of sexual desire according to Greek texts" and the both ring in at the same time to say "tossing an apple to someone" and an tie for the win. They both go up on stage to receive the prize (idk a gift card or smth) and shake hands before walking away in opposite directions.

Then suddenly Danny calls out to Jason just before he leaves the stage and chucks an apple he seemingly produced out of nowhere at him. The apple has a note with the time and date of a dinner reservation on it and when Jason looks back up at Danny he see the slightly flushed boy tentatively smiling at him.

" What do ya say Jase? Will you go out with me?"

And instead of replying Jason just straight up kisses him in front of everyone. Everyone else is gobsmacked by this whole turn of events except Tim who's cackling his head off, screaming "I FUCKING KNEW IT". When the two of them break apart they grin at each other widely and Jason drags Danny of the stage presumably to go make out somewhere.

[odyssiaca]

odysseus is generally seen as 'morally ambiguous' due to his not always being seen as the best of people- but this is a very modern and feminist take, and whilst nothing is inherently wrong with the idea of feminist takes and retellings, it skews what we have and already know of the myths, and this can be seen most predominantly in the character of odysseus. odysseus is two things:

- not meant to a hero

- not meant to be good

he is written as a man faced with impossible odds, and who loses some- if not all- of his morality in doing so. BUT where does the idea of him being 'bad' come from? the penelopiad by margaret atwood, a woman known for being quite vitriolic towards men of any kind. in recent years, people have picked up on three major things from the odyssey:

- the hanging of the maids

- odysseus cheating on his wife

- odysseus going mad at the end

NOW, to break it into points:

the hanging of the maids is so often seen in a feminist light due to margaret atwood, where odysseus is painted as some cruel, vile, disgusting predator who loathes women. this isn't true to the odyssey AT ALL. in the odyssey it is explicitly stated by the nurse that raised telemachus: 'i shall single out those who betrayed you, my lord' and by one of the maids herself- melantho: 'if we sleep with the suitors, when they become king we will be in favour with him.' and THIS is why he killed the maids. not because he was insane, not because he was bad, but because they had betrayed not just him- but his wife. not all the maids were killed, only those who slept with the suitors. the argument most often used for this is that the women couldn't say no, but this goes against what the maids themselves say in the odyssey when they believe no one to be watching.

odysseus cheating on his wife HE DIDN'T. but he is a man, and as a man, he cannot be raped. he is a terrible man for sleeping with circe and calypso when he could have- as epic decides to say- say no. which is untrue!! these are goddesses. titanesses. circe is the daughter of helios, and calypso is daughter of atlas. they could overpower him simply by looking at him. circe turned his men to pigs, even with the moly she could have easily done the same- or worse- to him. the idea of him choosing to and being unfaithful stems from madeline miller's, Circe which whilst not inherently bad, goes out of its way to put all men in a terrible light, because the heroes deserves no rights in feminist retellings. odysseus wanted to say no, but could not as hermes explicitly told him he couldn't. on the flip side, calypso threatens, ensnares him and only releases him when told to by hermes and the council of the gods. in the odyssey it is literally stated: 'and odysseus stayed on the shores weeping for home before joining the nymph in her bed.' he did not WANT to sleep with calypso, but was left with no other choice but to do so. this is a recurring theme for calypso.

but he is blamed due to his gender, and the idea of 'feminism' and 'patriarchy'.

and now, the real reason for odysseus being seen badly:

the telegony the telegony is a myth written after the odyssey with telegonus- son of circe and odysseus- as the main character. in this he travels to find his father and meet him, but accidentally kills him on the shore. (peneleope marries telegonus, and circe marries telemachus) but this is where the idea of odysseus' insanity comes from. in the telegony, it is stated he went mad after the war, and couldn't survive without bloodshed, and so he went out seeking war, and women, and battle, and went mad in this.

the statement: 'generous to odysseus' is wholly unfair, because he is a man forced to lose everything, assaulted, violated, tortured and imprisoned with no hope of survival. he goes to war knowing he won't return for 20 years, won't see his wife, and won't watch his son grow. he is a man not a god, or a demigod. he's just some dude doing his best.

[cat-in-a-mech-suit]

The cool thing about the unique social position of being a trans man is that without even doing anything, we can reverse the patriarchy on cis men and exploit their gendered labor just a little, displacing them from the norm. And they hate this. Let me explain. Every piece of media created by cis men is actually even more applicable to trans men. Phalloplasty was created for cis men who lost their appendage in war, but works just as well for trans men. These are just some examples. However. Cis men get very angry and afraid at the idea of a trans man. The idea that trans women will invade cis women’s spaces is something they can position themselves as the heroes to, something that they could stop because women are weak and men are strong, following their own logic. But to be displaced from their own gender by someone they consider a woman? It’s so unthinkable they have to hide the possibility even from themselves. By making trans maleness an impossible category, however, it only becomes stronger. There is a fair amount of discussion out there of how femininity is appropriated by cis women from trans women, but the idea that cis masculinity is actually an appropriated and out of context transmasculinity, that when put into context, could displace cis men from their position, is purposely unacknowledged. It’s scary! It turns patriarchy on its own head! So it’s much easier to think of trans men as poor and dull imitations of cis men, rather than the creative source of masculinity itself. In fact, the creative elements to masculinity are also purposely hidden in order to create the illusion of masculine as default, and only possessed by cis men. These are intentionally constructed myths.

[buckymorelikefuckme]

what a wicked thing to do

vampire wanda maximoff x fem reader

words: 4.2k

warnings & tags: **18+ ONLY** lesbian vampires yes GAWD, fantasy au, inaccurate historical au, smut, fingering, implied soulmates (?? kinda i guess), biting 👀, mention of blood, does this count as hurt/comfort? we shall see!! and uhhh it's kinda spooky ooky vibes but it's not really dark? i think. pls let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: listen..... i've already got spooky season in the brain and i really wanted to reshare this fic. i've edited it a little but i've also left the link to where i orphaned it on ao3 in the title if you prefer reading there~ any and all mistakes are my own! feedback is greatly appreciated and heavily encouraged pls and thank ♡ xoxo

wanda maximoff masterlist || main masterlist

It’s that time of year in between autumn and winter where it’s only getting colder and colder, no reprieve even during the sun’s highest point of the day. Part of you worries it’s a mistake to wander through the woods like this, especially so close to sunset.

But then you remember the briefest moment when you saw her, when your eyes met hers; it happened so quickly, but also felt as if time stopped. Something flashed in her gaze before she looked away and disappeared in the busy crowds of the village.

That moment, as brief as it was, leads you here. You hug your arms tighter to your torso, cursing the bitter wind whipping around you. Your dress had been a bright idea when you’d first thought of it. Now, you’re wondering why you thought such a plunging neckline would be smart, considering the seasonable chill in the air.

Although, you think with a flutter in your stomach, that’s not exactly true. You know exactly why you chose this dress.

There’s hardly any light left in the sky by now. You’re kicking yourself for getting lost in the woods, wondering if anyone would notice, or care, whether or not you return to the village. You have no family, no money, nothing tying you to anyone or anything. You work odd jobs to be able to make ends meet. The people knew of you, but you are sure they hardly concerned themselves with your well-being.

But then, when your gaze had met her own, you’d felt seen for the first time in ages. It was like she could see everything inside your mind, every ounce of longing and every bit of loneliness, even in the split second she held your stare. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since then. Nearly two weeks have passed, and you’d finally decided to find out if the stories that follow her hold any truth. They are quite colorful, full of fantasy and myth, surely decorated to sound more elaborate as the years go on. Fantasy and myth, perhaps, but one particular piece of information continues to remain the same.

She hasn’t seemed to age in the fifteen years she’s spent living near your village. Not one line or wrinkle to be seen on her pale skin. Not one gray hair on her head. Some of the elders even swear they'd seen her when they were children.

Her home is a mystery, one that stays that way out of fear. There is something about her eyes, some say, something off, not quite right. Because of this, no one has felt compelled enough to try finding her home.

At least, not until you.

You’re beginning to think you are truly lost, feeling hopeless, when you finally spot something in the distance. But just as relief washes through you, the rain starts. Each drop feels like sharp, stabbing pieces of ice landing on your exposed flesh, soaking into the thin fabric of your dress. It takes mere minutes for you to become drenched. Your dress is now clinging to your body uncomfortably, the cold even more biting than it already had been.

It comes into view, what you’d spotted several meters back, easier to make out. A looming castle breaks through the trees, windows lit with candles.

Your arms and feet are going numb, but you push through, stumbling your way to a cobblestone path that leads to tall, wooden doors. With a trembling hand, you raise the door knocker and bang it against the door as loud as you can manage, praying whoever is inside will hear.

Your wait is short lived, thankfully. The door creaks open loudly to reveal the very woman you’d been searching for. If she’s shocked to see you, she hides it well. She looks as regal as ever. A black dress hugs her lithe body, her hair perfectly brushed and styled. This close to her, you can see what the people mean. She looks ageless.

“E-excuse me, madam,” you begin, trying your best to keep your teeth from chattering. “I-I’m terribly lost and I d-don’t think I can find my w-way back to the village.”

The woman lets her eyes roam your shivering frame, lingering on your glistening chest for a second, then meets your pleading gaze.

“Of course. Please, do come in. I’m sure you’re cold.”

“Th-thank you,” you reply earnestly.

She steps aside, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze by.

“Think nothing of it,” she assures you. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, at least until the storm passes.”

As the door closes behind her, you take in as much of the space as possible. With it being nighttime, the candles can only do so much. For a castle, it is rather large, but it’s not quite as foreboding as you would have imagined. Though, you surmise, you hadn’t really known what to expect at all.

“Would you like something dry to change into?”

You whirl around, almost tripping over your feet as her voice registers, so close to your ear.

She smiles, amusement tickling the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps a cup of tea?”

Swallowing roughly, you nod, offering a smile of thanks in return.

“Very good. You should go sit by the fire to warm up while I get everything sorted.”

She points toward a room where you can see flickering light dancing off the walls. You nod again, letting your tired feet follow the promise of warmth. The closer you get to the large fireplace, the harder you shiver, goosebumps rising along your skin. You stand as close as you deem safe, hands held out to thaw them. For the second time, she sneaks up behind you.

“This is all I could manage to find.”

You gasp as you turn to face her. She’s still smiling as she holds up the proffered item of dry clothing.

“You frightened me,” you state dumbly, huffing a quiet laugh.

“I did not mean to,” she replies.

“It’s okay.” You glance at the clothes in her hand, a frown forming on your face. “A… dressing gown?”

She makes a sympathetic face. “It was all I could find,” she repeats.

Her eyes dip down to your chest again. They flash, just like in the village, but you’re sure it could have just been the fire reflecting in them. You look down to see what she’s staring at and heat rushes up your neck. Your nipples are clearly outlined against the wet fabric of your dress.

“Oh,” you murmur as you lift your arms to cover yourself.

She clears her throat delicately. “Take this. You’ll get sick if you keep your wet clothes on.” She pointedly holds the dressing gown out to you again until you gingerly take it. “I’ll go get the kettle started while you change.”

“Thank you,” you return quietly.

When you’re sure she’s gone, you undress as quickly as you can, more shivers wracking your frame as you stand naked in her drawing room for a few seconds before pulling on the silk dressing gown, tying it securely around your waist.

While you wait you decide to get a better look of the room. A few paintings hang on the dark walls, but mostly they’re covered with floor to ceiling shelves and stuffed to the brim with books. You take notice of a few spots where the dust hasn’t seemed to settle in front of them, figuring those must be her favorites. A plush chaise sits in the center of the room with two chairs on either side, atop an ornate rug that rests on most of the floor. There are a couple small tables between the chaise and chairs with candelabras on them, and a wide, lower table in front of them. You spot a desk by the only window in the room.

There’s nothing particularly personal about the space. It almost feels as if she’s newly moved in. But you know that can’t be true, especially since so many people in the village have seen her visit town for years now.

A piece of parchment on the desk catches your eye. You debate over whether or not you should let your curiosity get the better of you, your feet slowly carrying you over to where the paper lay. There’s writing on the top piece, and you get as far as the addressed “Brother,” but then hear her round the corner and quickly back away.

“I wasn’t sure if you took cream and sugar, so I brought them just in case,” she tells you, setting a silver tray on the low-lying table that held the teapot and teacups.

You walk over as she pours the tea into both cups. You pick one up and carefully drop two lumps of sugar into yours, stirring it with your teaspoon until you’re satisfied it’s melted. A careful sip as you sit down and you hum happily.

“Better?” she asks, smiling and taking a sip of her own tea, sitting beside you.

It occurs to you suddenly that you hadn’t asked for introductions. You scold yourself internally, knowing you had better etiquette than that.

“I must apologize, I seem to have forgotten my manners. I never introduced myself,” you say, then offer your name. “And what is yours, madam?”

“You may call me Wanda,” she replies.

“Well, I owe you a great deal for helping me, Wanda. I cannot thank you enough.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Please, there is no need. I’m glad I was here and that you aren’t in danger of freezing to death.”

“As am I,” you respond, laughing lightly.

Silence settles between you. Your mind whirls with hundreds of questions, but you don’t know where to begin. Your plan to find her only consisted of just that— finding her. Now that you’re here, you aren’t quite sure what to do. Or say, for that matter.

You can feel her eyes observing you like a caress. You struggle not to squirm or shiver, though you are no longer cold. No, there is no chill clinging to your bones anymore. Her stare alone provides enough heat. You chance a glimpse of her from the corner of your eye, but she catches it. She purses her lips to keep from smiling in amusement.

“So,” you blurt, cheeks pinking, “have you lived here long?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as soon as the words leave your mouth. Stupid, stupid girl.

Thankfully, Wanda laughs.

“Quite,” she says teasingly, like she’s letting you in on a joke.

You nod. “I see. Is it a family home?”

She tilts her head consideringly. “Of a sort.”

What is that supposed to mean? Miraculously, you don’t ask that question aloud.

“Do you… Do you live alone?”

You’re not sure why you ask. Perhaps it’s that you haven’t heard any other movement throughout the castle that indicated a waiting staff of some sort. Afterall, she was the one to fetch the tea.

“I do,” she says.

You don’t want to examine it too closely, but you’re positive you note a hint of longing in her tone.

“S’a lot of space for one person,” you muse in acknowledgment.

She nods. “Indeed. However, I’m sure I’ll find the right companion soon.”

You take another sip of your tea to avoid replying, but are not able to avoid meeting her gaze. The look in her eyes is something you’ve never seen directed at you. You’re hesitant to think it could be want, open desire. Not from a woman like her.

—

Wanda still cannot believe that you’d shown up at her door.

She’s spent months watching you from a distance, never allowing herself to be seen by you—not until she felt it was time. From the very first moment she caught sight of you, she knew. You are hers. Her mouth watered when the wind brought your scent to her. There was not a doubt in her mind about whether she would have you; she simply would.

She had waited, ever so patiently, watching you as you roamed the streets of the village. You didn’t seem to have very many acquaintances, if any at all, and you were always alone. Wanda quickly figured out that you were without a family as well.

Selfishly, she’d been happy about these facts.

Finally, Wanda allowed herself to meet your gaze. It was quick, but she knew her eyes flashed, knew that she piqued your curiosity. It would only be a matter of time.

After nearly two weeks had gone by, however, she had started to think it hadn’t worked. She’d planned on returning to town to purposefully cross your path again, but as luck would have it, you came to her. As soon as she heard the knock on her door, she smiled.

Now, as she sits next to you on the chaise, your skin glowing in the firelight, she finds it harder to maintain her control. This close, your scent is even more intoxicating. Wanda can tell that you’re curious about her. The questions you want to ask are swirling behind your eyes. And now that you’re here, she decides she’ll answer whatever you ask, give you anything you want.

You’ve gone quiet, though, so she does some prodding of her own.

“What were you doing out in the woods?” Dressed like that, blessedly, goes unsaid.

You shyly glance down at your lap. “I, uh, I like to take walks,” you mutter into your teacup as you go to take another sip.

Wanda hums. A plausible excuse, indeed. You carefully lean forward to set your cup and saucer on the table and when you sit back you move your hair over to one shoulder. Wanda’s eyes zero in on the pulsepoint of your neck. If she focuses hard enough, she can see your heartbeat throbbing beneath your skin. It makes her teeth itch, makes her control waver even more.

When she drags her gaze away from your neck, she finds you already observing her. Her desire is clearly reflected in your eyes and the feeling is heady.

—

“Are you warm now?” she wonders.

“Yes,” you whisper, your breathing picking up, making your breasts heave alluringly.

You’d go as far as saying you are overheating. The dressing gown, where you’d been unsure and embarrassed of being nude underneath it before, is now a blessing. Your body feels alight with an unseen, growing fire. Shifting on the chaise, you don’t notice the sleeve slip down your shoulder, only registering the air skimming across your collarbones. You let out a surprised gasp when you feel something cold on your bare arm.

Peering down reveals it to be Wanda’s hand carefully sliding the sleeve back up into place. Your brows pull together in a frown.

“Your hand…” you mumble, trailing off.

She lets it linger on your shoulder for a moment, then slowly traces down your arm, her thumb grazing the side of your breast. Your nipples tighten, thighs clenching together as you watch her fingers stop at your wrist. Though her touch is cold, it feels like a relief against the searing heat of your flesh. You peek at her through your lashes and find her expression to be one of complete hunger.

Feeling emboldened, you hold her stare as you shift to pull the sleeve down again.

Her lips lift on one side, her teeth glinting dangerously. “Are you sure of what you’re doing?” she asks.

You blink, faux innocence shifting behind your eyes. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Wanda takes a deep, steadying breath, though it only helps in inhaling your scent more. She says your name. “Why do you think you are here?” The question catches you off guard. Wanda shifts even closer to you, watching your throat bob as you swallow. “We both know it isn’t because you accidentally got lost in the woods. You were out there with a purpose. What was it?”

You lick your lips, noticing her gaze immediately drop to them. It makes your heart pound in your chest.

“I don’t know,” you reply, unsure.

She leans in, her nose nearly touching yours. “You do,” she whispers, without doubt. “Why are you here?”

Your eyes flutter closed, head tilting back without you being aware of it, exposing your neck. You feel her presence mere centimeters away from you, her breath puffing out along the column of your throat.

“I… I felt drawn here. It feels like I was meant to be here,” you say, quiet, almost hoping she doesn’t hear you.

It feels ridiculous to say it out loud. It’s one thing to have that thought sit in the back of your mind where you could pretend it didn’t exist, but to admit it aloud is entirely different.

“With me?”

You shiver at her words, her lips having softly dragged across your skin. Helplessly, you nod.

“Are you afraid?”

That makes you frown, but you adamantly reply, “No.”

“Open your eyes,” she pleads.

You follow her instruction, wary, but gasp at what you see. Sharp fangs peek out from Wanda’s lips, her eyes so pale they’re almost white now. Though your heart continues to race, it’s not out of fear. It should scare you, it should send you running, but you find your hand slowly rising to carefully trace a finger down one of her fangs, amazed that she even lets you.

“You’re…” You start, meeting her patient gaze once more. “Beautiful,” you finish in a whisper, because she is. You go to reach for her face to stroke her cheek, but she lurches backward. In a blink, Wanda’s on the other side of the chaise. Disbelief paints her features.

“You think I’m… beautiful?”

“Of course,” you state plainly, brows furrowing. Wanda continues staring at you in wonder. “You said I was here for a reason.” Ironically, she’s now wary of you as you shuffle closer to her. “I know what that reason is now.”

“Which is?” she asks apprehensively.

“You,” you murmur, cupping her cheek. “I’m here for you.”

Wanda looks as if she’s scared to accept this, to hope for it to be real. You steal away those worries by leaning in to place a soft kiss to her lips. She inhales sharply, eyes squeezing shut, her cold hands gripping your wrist almost painfully. You give her a moment, kissing her forehead as she gathers her emotions, keeping her gaze down.

“Are you sure?”

Her voice cracks softly, but her grip on your wrist loosens as you move it. You lift her chin so she’s looking at you.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

She stares at your lips for a few seconds, and then, as your words sink in, they seem to send her into action. She surges forward and captures your lips, more sure, more eager than before. You respond in kind, pulling her as close as possible, sighing into her mouth.

You quickly find yourself on your back on the chaise, Wanda above you, bodies slotting perfectly into each other like lost puzzle pieces. You feel her hand slide down from where it was in your hair to graze along your sternum. Then her hand cups your breast, thumb swiping across your nipple, and you gasp. It’s the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss and Wanda takes it.

Her tongue slides against yours and you whine, clutching at her like she’s the only thing tethering you to this earth. It becomes so easy to let her settle between your thighs, to arch into her touch and slide your tongue in her mouth, delicately tracing over her fangs. Wanda shudders, grunting inelegantly before wrenching herself away, panting heavily into the space between you. You blindly chase after her, opening your eyes in confusion.

Wanda’s gaze is intent on your neck, full of desire. The weight of the moment hits you, then. What exactly it would mean if you give in to her. So, with full faith in your decision, you tilt your head ever so slightly and she goes perfectly still.

“Go ahead,” you encourage.

She shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

You huff. “I do. I want you to do this.” You know she won’t look at you just yet, so you lace both your and her fingers together and squeeze hers as you continue. “I need you to do this.”

“If I do,” she starts, swallowing thickly, “I won’t be able to stop. You’ll end up like me.”

You duck your head to catch her stare. “And what’s wrong with that?”

She closes her eyes and falls silent for a moment. The weight of your words fall over the two of you like a winter blanket.

“I’ve waited so long,” she confesses, voice quiet, shaking and timid.

“For me?” you ask. She nods. “I’ve been looking for something, or someone, to make me feel whole all my life.” You use your free hand to stroke her cheek. Even with her eyes closed, she leans into you. “I’ve waited for you, too.”

When she finally looks at you, you know there’s no going back for either of you.

“It’s going to hurt,” she warns.

“That’s okay. It will only be temporary.”

She smiles then, slow and teasing. “I can ease the pain, you know.”

Her free hand tugs lightly on the ties holding your dressing gown closed, raising her eyebrows in silent question. You bite your lip and nod, shivering in anticipation. She undoes the careful bow you’d tied, easing it open and exposing your body to her hungry gaze.

If you felt heated before, you’re an inferno now. Her hands reverently map out every curve of your body. She leans down and plants a kiss above your belly button. It makes your stomach clench in want, but you make yourself lie there and take whatever she plans on giving you. Her kisses lead up your torso, until she’s eye level with your breasts, and before you can comprehend her movement, she’s taking one of your nipples into her mouth.

“God,” you whimper, head thrown back as you push your chest into her face.

“No,” Wanda giggles, “just me.”

You try to laugh, but it turns into a gasping moan when she pinches your other nipple between cold fingers. Your thighs attempt to close around her, yet it’s futile. Her free hand begins its descent down to the warm heat between your legs. Your hips buck into her touch, crying out when her fingers make contact with your clit.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make this feel good, okay? Let me take care of you.”

You nod quickly, your mouth going dry. When a single finger enters you, you forget how to breathe for a second, but then she’s sliding it out and back in, setting a steady rhythm, and you’re back to panting and whining. Only a few minutes later, though, you’re wriggling around, begging for more. She adds another finger and picks up the pace.

“Oh,” you gasp, your legs falling open wider.

Wanda buries her face in your neck, inhaling loudly, groaning. She licks across the skin there, nipping at you.

“Wanda,” you whimper.

“I know, my love,” she rasps. “You’re so close.”

Your hands have drifted above you, clutching at the pillows on the chaise, your hips moving in tandem with her fingers. Her thumb meets your clit, adding to the building warmth in your belly. It swells and swells, until finally, it has nowhere else to go and explodes within you.

You feel her teeth sink into your neck at the very same moment, and you can only yell brokenly into the air. Pain and pleasure war inside you, both white hot and searing, marrying themselves into a delicious and lethal combination. You can feel blood trickle down your throat, the same way you can still feel her fingers thrusting into you. It seems to never end and you grow limp beneath her, unable to handle the sensations flowing through you.

She finally slows, removing her teeth and licking over the wound. As her fingers slide free, she brushes your sweaty hair off your forehead with her clean hand.

“Sleep now,” she instructs, kissing you softly.

You can’t even attempt to argue, your body listening to her and promptly sending you into a deep slumber.

—

When you wake, before you even open your eyes, you’re aware of a few things.

To start, you’re no longer on the chaise. You’re on a luxurious bed, which is presumably Wanda’s. Your hearing is significantly better, as is your sense of smell. There’s a low thrum of energy coursing through your veins, like you’re on edge but don’t know why. But the more important thing you’re aware of is the feeling of eyes on you.

“I know you’re awake now.”

You crack open one eye and see Wanda smirking at you from the other end of the bed. You smile and sigh happily.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

You carefully sit up and stretch. You notice her ogling your still naked body and give her a smirk of your own. Shifting onto your knees, you crawl over the bed until you reach her and straddle her lap.

“Hungry,” you answer before grasping her face in your hands and attaching your mouth to hers.

With a force she hadn’t used before, she tosses you backward and is on top of you in a flash, a devilish smile on her tragically beautiful face.

“Good.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hurray 🎉 more asks!!

First off love-love your writing!

I'm not sure if you were the writer or if you've read the snippet. But there was one that I read where Captain Marvel gets de-aged into a child, a speaks an unrecognizable language child (like he was an actual adult not a kid pretending to be an adult). Everything is mostly fine until he asks for his parents and nobody knows who they are. Kid Marvel screams and a giant hole tears open and I assume the JL meets the Everlasting Trio.

I would love to see how you would continue something like this or write something of this nature.

Ironically, the champion of Magic was turned into a child with magic. It was one of those things that he was sure would be funny in a few years but not in the moment. Initially, Bruce had been horrified to see his teammate fall like that from the sky, his form shifting and changing into what could pass as a five-year-old right before his eyes.

The spell caster had unfortunately gotten away with a convenient portal, and they were left scrambling to catch Captain Marvel. There was also the issue of all the civilians that were displaced due to his rampage through the city of Fawcett City.

Bruce quickly worked to have Wayne Enterprise start funding the relief program for them, but it would take time, which was not something they had. He left it to Superman, Flash, and Wonder Woman to get everyone sorted—the three were the best at working with scared civilians.

In the meantime, he Zeta-beamed himself, and the small child Marvel had become up to the watch tower. The boy had been unconscious the entire time, which worried Bruce. After a few tests and scans with the medical staff, as well as his own studies, it was decided that besides being de-aged, there was nothing physically wrong with Marvel.

They would just have to wait till the Champian woke himself.

Bruce wondered how he would take his new form. In all the research he had done on Marvel and the legends of the Wizard, the champion had never been depicted as a child. He had assumed this was due to the champion repeating in various forms- sometimes female, sometimes male- but never as a child.

If anything, Bruce had discovered that they were always at peak physical age, usually from twenty-two to thirty-five. He had assumed this meant the reincarnation or the selection for the champion was just made that way.

How foolish to think they were never children that grew to that age before proclaiming themselves as Captain Marvel.

"Where am I?" a child's voice called, surprising Bruce from his files on Captain Marvel. Twisting around, he finds himself staring into the doe-blue eyes of Captain Marvel.

For a moment, he is reminded of his various children with similar coloring, and it pulls on Bruce's heartstrings to see the distress on that little face. He raises his hands, making sure his voice is softer than his usual growl. Bruce became the vengeance, so every child should feel safe with him after all.

"You're safe here." He reassures, watching the boy's face twist. He steps closer, portraying comfort but not reaching out to touch. "Do you recognize me?"

"Are you a ghost?" The boy's voice is low, slightly fearful. There is no hint of recognition in his posture, expression, or voice. Bruce bites back a swear.

So much for that hope. Still, his teammate needs him. "No, my name is Batman. A few hours ago, we were, in fact, together against a magic user. You were hit and turned into a child. Does any of this sound familiar?"

The boy grips his blanket, bringing it up to his chin, and stares at Bruce with growing distress. He shakes his head just as tears start to swell in his eyes. It's not good at all. "Where are my parents? I want to go home."

He filed that away, wondering if there were any parents to contact for Captain Marvel. He's been around for hundreds of years. If he had been selected as a human, the myths implied, then his parents would have likely been long gone.

Bruce wonders if there is any way he can conceive Captain Marvel coming to live in the Wayne manor until he is turned back. He could leave him to live in the Watch Tower, but he hates the idea of it just as he thinks it.

His face crumbles as Bruce tells him honestly, "I'm not sure where your parents are, chum."

Captain Marvel's tears fall to the bed as he curls up. Bruce reaches out to give him a hug, trying to comfort the distressed child. He is just about to assure him he is safe again, and Batman will help him when the child lets out an ear-piercing scream.

It's high pitch enough that Bruce can't tell if the ringing he hears is from the sound or if it's only in his ears. He opens his mouth to ask when a portal—unlike the one the magic user had cast—rips open in the room.

Out steps a man with snow-white hair. On instinct, Bruce gathers Marvel in his arms, flinging them to the corner and throwing a Batarang at the intruder. He shields the boy behind him, pushing him toward the wall and growling at the man.

His batarang is shot out of the air with some kind of green ray, as the man's eyes narrow.

A sound escapes the man. The structure and expression of the man indicate that it's obviously a language, but Bruce doesn't recognize it. He can tell that the man is angry, though, and that's not something he wants anywhere near Captain Marvel in his current state.

"Who are you!?" He demanded, raising more weapons. "How did you get in!?"

Oddly, Captain Marvel speaks, his words similar to the language the others use, and the white-haired man's face softens.

"You have my son," The man says in perfect English. Bruce raises a brow.

"Do you know him?" He whispers to the wiggling child.

"Yeah, that's one of my dads." The boy whispers back, sounding a lot calmer now that his apparent father is around. Bruce cautiously steps away, watching Marvel run straight into the arms of the stranger.

The man meets him halfway with a loud, excited chirp and purr, bringing the boy into his arms and squeezing him into a tight hug. Bruce watches every hint of body language, concluding he is not lying about being the boy's father.

"I'm sorry about the scare. It's been a long time since Billy used his distress call. I got a little worried." After a few minutes of chirps and purrs exchanged between parents and child, the man says. He raises his head to stare at Bruce with a regal air.

An aristocrat. Bruce's mind whispers, wondering where this noble hails form. Nowhere on earth with his glow or bright eyes. Was Captain Marvel half-human? "It's alright."

"I'm Danny Phantom," Danny tells him, flouting over with an outstretched hand that is not holding his son up. "It's an honor to meet you."

Bruce returns the handshake, keeping his voice and tone even. "Batman."

But inwardly, he swears up a storm. He knows that name and recognizes the legends and myths. Danny Phantom, the Ghost King, ruler of the connecting dimension of the muli-verse. It was one of the first beings he had encountered in his in-depth religious and culture studies, having seen the Ghost King be depicted throughout history even when he was lost in it.

One of the strongest beings to ever exist. Alongside, his wife and husband, who each ruled their own powerful area on the mortal plane- The Green that Posoisin Ivy and Swamp Thing gain their powers were said to be Samatha, the wife of the ghost King.

The meta gene—identified by the scientific community in recent years but proved to exist long before the first ancient Egyptians—was said to be a blessing from Tucker, the Husband of the ghost King. He was the one who appointed the first pharaohs, destroying the meta gene through their bloodline.

And Captain Marvel was their child.

No wonder the man was the champion of Magic. Who else was more qualified than the Heir to the Ghost King?

"It seems like a simple curse. It should reverse on its own," King Phantom comments while continuously turning his child this way and that, making the boy giggle. "It will wear off in only ten years."

Bruce wondered if he knew that was a very long time for humans. But what was a decade to a god?

"Batman was it?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Call me Danny. I was thinking, since Billy will be stuck like this for ten years, maybe my family should go on vacation while he recovers." Bruce does not like the sound of this, but he can't deny the king's action as a bright light overcomes the glowing figure, and a regular-looking human is left in its wake.

"I'll call my husband and wife. Do you know if any properties are for sale in your neighborhood? I want Billy to be close to his work friends."

Bruce was right. He did not like this one bit. Should he risk war with the Infinite Realms to keep them out of Gotham? The answer was no, unfortunately, and he could try to push the family to move to Metropolis so they can be Clark's problem, but he knows that lying to higher beings is never a smart thing.

He sighs, tapping his wrist computer. "I know a realtor."

[prokopetz]

One of the more frequent load-bearing coconuts* in video games is the player character themselves: some quirk or limitation of the game engine requires that the player character must always be on screen, or at least loaded into the current map.

Most of the time, this isn't a problem, because when would you ever not want the player character to be present? There's one specific scenario where it becomes an issue, though, and that's when all of the following are true:

Your game uses in-engine cutscenes

At least some of those cutscenes occur on a different map from wherever the player character is located at the time that they're triggered (and the player character is not present for them)

Some limitation (e.g., of the game engine, of your targeted minimum system requirements, etc.) precludes loading multiple maps at the same time

Together this creates a problem: you need to load a map on which the player character is not present in order to run the cutscene, but the player character is load-bearing.

There are a variety of ways to solve this, but the customary approach is to make a note of the player character's current position, teleport them to the map on which the cutscene occurs, lock out their controls, turn them invisible, run the cutscene, then teleport them back to their former location when it's done. The upshot is that in every cutscene in which the player character ostensibly is not present, they're actually lurking invisibly in the background.

All this leads to what is possibly my favourite load-bearing coconut bug ever: Final Fantasy VII's disc 2 Midgar skip.

Basically, after you defeat one particular disc 2 boss, there's a multi-part cutscene where the action cuts to a conference room overlooking the battle; one of the NPCs present then calls another NPC on their cell phone, and the viewpoint jumps to that NPC's location (a mad science lab). The conference room map is used only in cutcenes, but the latter map, the mad science lab, is one the player can visit later.

Now here's the trick: for unknown reasons, that mid-cutscene jump to a different map re-enables the player character's controls. You're still invisible, and none of the NPCs present can be interacted with (i.e., because they're totally scripted); however, since the map on which the back half of the cutscene takes place is one you can visit later in the game, a bunch of non-cutscene assets get loaded along with it, presumably because it never occurred to the developers to disable them – critically including a boss fight trigger zone. This trigger is unconditional, since the only time this map can be visited legitimately, the fight is meant to occur.

This means that if you know what you're doing, it's completely possible to walk the invisible player character into that boss fight trigger during the cutscene. In spite of its other limitations, the game engine handles this without complaint, and play continues exactly as though you'd reached that boss fight legitimately, thereby skipping half the disc. From the player's perspective, it appears as though holding the joystick in a specific direction causes the cutscene to be interrupted mid-sentence by an inexplicable, out-of-context boss fight.

All because Cloud Strife is a coconut.

* To anticipate the inevitable well-actually, yes, I'm aware that the Team Fortress 2 coconut is a myth; somebody took a real phenomenon and falsely attributed it to a popular game for clicks, and now we're stuck with the term. If you don't like it, complain to whoever is in charge of how language works!

[harunovella]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ love language (verse vi); s.g.

synopsis: you and gojo share your"first" kiss... and maybe, you become something more? content: canon divergence (teen!gojo era), fem!reader, hopeless romantic gojo, first kisses, absolute softness!!! not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: another one shot for my gojo anthology series! thank u all for the love on this series!! wanna be tagged? lmk in the replies!

There was no lie in saying Gojo Satoru had consumed your thoughts. It was quite the recent development, seeing as he was an enigma that sort of manifested into your life. One day, you were living your apprentice life, exploring your technique, honing and developing it... then the next, this myth of a (young) man appeared before your eyes. Like an angel that fell from the sky and right into your palm. You just had no idea that he was wrapped around your finger. 

Maybe it was because you were oblivious, unaware of the subtle (but were they really subtle?) messages he sent your way. If you had known Gojo Satoru well enough, you would've known that this was very unlike him. Sparing his time for someone else? Giving them his all? Focusing on them more than himself? Practically going brain dead around them unlike the usual cocky persona he carried around. Surely it scared him, falling deeply for someone just at the simple sight of them... but, for you? You just thought it was the universe working its magic. Bringing someone new into your life to develop a bond with. That was it, right?

Just another somebody to call your friend. 

However, Gojo Satoru wasn't just any somebody. He was the honored one, the strongest (he'd eventually learn this). He was the Gojo Satoru. The once in a life time (well, thousand years) creation formed by the gods themselves. 

He was the man who fell head over heels for you when he laid his eyes on you for the very first time. Stumbled over his words before you. Unable to process a single thought when he gazed into your eyes. Rescued a cat you found in a tree that you named after his favorite treat (and the nickname he had for you), Mochi. Kissed you at Utahime's birthday party during a game of spin the bottle where both of you were tipsy—a moment he would never forget, but you sadly had. A moment that slipped through the cracks of your brain, a moment that would eventually get replaced by a memorable moment.

It had become routine for you, spending your mornings in lessons with Nanami and Haibara. Then, you'd spend mid day with Shoko, following her like a shadow as her junior. Go on the occasional mission, take down curses, squeeze in snack breaks with your dear classmates, go out in the evening for dinner... and somehow, along your schedule, Gojo would make his appearance. You could never foresee it, he would pop up out of nowhere. If it wasn't teasing Kento, or bugging Shoko for her secret snack stash, he'd show up to your favorite dinner spot you shared with the girls (this almost always irritating Utahime because he ruined girls night). Gojo never cared, at this point he showed up wherever knowing (hoping) you'd be there. Always settling himself next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, sneaking a milk box onto your lap or even sharing his treat of the hour. He never shared his sweets with anyone. You were the exception. 

"I got these lil gummies next to that arcade you frequent with Yu," Satoru said as the two of you sat under your (now his, too) favorite tree. The gorgeous cherry blossom in full bloom as spring had made its way around. You almost always had a blanket set, one of your books settled to the side, bookmark slipped into the part you last read. Your iPod nestled between you and Satoru, sharing each earbud as you listened to the current track that came on. Gojo, in his infamous wisdom, was the one who found programs to download music for free, an endless catalogue filling the memory of the rectangular device. Unlike it being yours, it was now his, too. You didn't mind. You liked sharing. You liked having these gentle moments with the overly energetic Gojo Satoru. These were the only moments he sat still, only with you. Just for you. 

Always for you. 

It was the little things that started adding up. It took you a minute to realize, longer than Satoru had hoped—but he was patient. He was obvious, made it clear that his feelings for you were there, he just hoped you'd piece the puzzle together. He had hoped you'd feel the same. How couldn't you when you looked so happy around him? When you said things reminded you of him. When you bought him little sweets you knew he'd love. When certain songs he loved, you'd learn the lyrics to. Just as you started noticing the (obvious) little things he did for you, he started noticing the same for you. Except, for you, it was coming out naturally. Nothing planned, nothing decided in advance, it just happened. It always just happens and it makes Satoru's heart beat faster and faster. Faster than it did before. 

"You like 'em?" He asked, popping another gummy in his mouth as you chewed, nodding happily with the cutest smile of pure content. "I'm glad! Take some more!" He offered, waving the decorative bag of bright colors and little cartoons. 

Letting out a small laugh, you took a couple more, waving your free hand, gesturing for him to take the rest as you popped them in your mouth. The fruity flavors filling your senses with pure bliss as you looked off to the open grounds of the school before you. The gentle breeze pushing through, strands of your hair fluttering against your face as they slipped from your ponytail. Gojo leaned against the tree, a knee propped as he rested his wrist against it, holding the baggie while his other tossed more gummies into his mouth. It was quiet. It was peaceful. Nothing but the music in one ear and the soft sounds of nature in the other. 

"Oh, I love this song!" You perked up as a song ended and another started, looking at Satoru with a bright grin. 

"Didn't I show you this one?" He asked, pushing his round glasses atop his head, smiling with you as you stood up. 

"Mhm! I've been listening to it on repeat!" Grabbing the bag of gummies from his hand and settling it down, you took his hands and pulled him to his feet with a faint grunt. Sometimes you'd forget just how giant Satoru was since he loved to make himself seem so small when he was with you. "The music video is so cute! I kinda learned the dance."

"Really?" He chuckled as you guided him. 

"Yes, remember you said you learned it after a few watches?" You asked as he nodded. "Let's dance it together!"

"Okay!" The white haired young man blushed, though a wide grin still was plastered on his face. He may have been a goofball, but Satoru did not have two left feet. He actually was quite skilled, and having him sing along with you made your heart flutter as you so casually danced around your shared tree. 

It felt as if it was just the two of you, singing, dancing and entangling yourselves with the earphones, laughing and gazing at one another. As if there was nobody else in the world. As if it was just Mother Nature gazing upon two souls intertwining. All in what felt like slow motion, a scene right out of a movie. Your hand in his, his other on your lower back as your free one settled on his shoulder. You couldn't tear your eyes away from his, and neither could he from yours.

Maybe it was a moment of vulnerability—or, rather courage—but your hand gently found its way to the back of his neck, fingers gently carding through his soft locks. The gentle feel of his undercut tickling underneath your palm, sending shivers down either of your spines. The softness in Gojo's eyes faded as you gently tugged him towards you. Growing in shock as your own fluttered closed. Gentle lips meeting in the middle as his plump ones met your lightly tinted own. 

His heart was racing, faster than it had that night of Utahime's birthday. Maybe it was because both of you were 100% aware, or maybe it was because it was happening again but away from others, in your own shared comfort zone. 

Feeling you pull away, Gojo instantly placed his hands on your hips, engulfing you in his arms as he kept you close. Kissing you, once sweetly turning deep. He didn't want this to end, didn't want it to be forgotten. His lips moved against your own, testing the waters. Nerves fading away, anxieties melting at how right this felt. You were his first, and he was going to make sure you were going to be his only. He didn't want anyone else. No one but you. 

And you, after months of being oblivious and unaware, to months of development and realization, wanted him the same. Only him and no one else. Just Gojo Satoru. 

Gently pulling back and resting his forehead against yours, a sigh of relief left his lips. "You beat me to it."

"It felt like the right moment," you softly spoke. 

"Then I guess this is the right moment..." Gojo trailed. 

"For what?" You curiously asked. 

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

tag list: @bakananya @strangehuman101 @thirtykiwis @sillygoosegoose @mandysfanfics @pinksaiyans @peqch-pie @pinksaiyans @silentmajesticfox @r0ckst4rjk @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @stinkysposts @lupitalove (some of u I sadly couldn't tag!)

[in-sufficientdata]

ID: Bluesky post by Ro Salarian (@RoSalarian.bsky.social):

I often wonder if abusive people are drawn to the arts, or if a certain amount of notoriety just makes people turn to shit. I am involved in a lot of different art scenes, and every single one has a whisper network about some big names who nobody feels they can address directly.

Kelly Barnhill (@KellyBarnhill.bsky.social) quotes this on July 10, 2024 at 6:47pm EST and responds:

Sexual predation is clearly not limited to the arts, and so-called "whisper networks" exist in every profession. And ultimately these networks always, always fail. They don't reach the most vulnerable and they don't ever remove the offender or prevent future harm. end ID.

At the source, the thread continues:

When I was growing up, I had a friend whose house had a bad stair - a nail sticking up on one side, and on the other side if you stepped wrong, the whole tread could flip up and send you flying backwards. We had to be told to avoid that stair. It was dangerous. We couldn't forget.

The trouble was, it looked like every other stair. Sometimes we did get hurt. This went on for years. Finally, one of the other parents in the neighborhood was like THE CHILDREN ARE GETTING INJURED and the whole "rule" of avoidance, of letting people know, was thrown out. They fixed the stair.

Now, this was dumb, of course. Who just has a stair that looks like every other stair but is boobytrapped in this bonkers way? Well, lots of people, as it turned out. And this wasn't so bad, as injuries go - a skinned knee or the occasional puncture wound.

Imagine if they had a stair that was, say, secretly filled with bees. Or poisoned. Or a one-way portal to one of the various realms of Hell. And it was there, like any other stair, looking benign. Maybe it was even fancied up - attracted the eye and tickled the fancy. A rock star stair. Well.

It's problematic, is my point. Leaving a danger in plain view is problematic. Simply relying on a network of people warning people and washing our hands of the whole affair is problematic. And worse, it abdicates responsibility. This is not how grown-ups should behave.

Part of the problem stems from the Myth of Male Genius - organizations twist themselves in knots to protect their access to whatever Male Genius they've tied their careers to, be they philosophers or physicists, conductors or or inventors, teachers or hotshot attorneys. We've all experienced this.

And while it's [notallmen] or [notonlymen] or whatever tagline you want to throw at me - yes, I know, and yes, I agree, and yes I'm certain that toxic and predatory women exist and have also harmed but I honestly can't think of any at the moment - it all stems from a central problematic fallacy:

Here's a toxic fallacy that I'd like to see dismantled: that genius is rare. That it must be protected at all costs. That it must be allowed to misbehave because the misbehavior is tied to genius in some fundamental way that none of us can understand because we are not geniuses. WRONG.

For every "rockstar author" or "rockstar artist" or "rockstar scientist" or "rockstar academic" there are a thousand others who are just as talented, just as transformative, just as consequential. And by ascribing godlike abilities to those who are more ordinary than we'd like to admit, we allow the person on that pedestal to become unglued from consequence and unhooked from the ties that are supposed to bind us to one another. This is a moral injury and an injury of empathy as well. So it's bad for the "rockstar". And holy hell is it bad for every person they injure. And worse, what about the "genius" of the victims? What about the dreams deferred and the paths upended because the world they've entered has decided to make itself unacceptably dangerous, unacceptably callous. A busted stair in the middle of the ascent in some young woman's career, left for no reason.

Here's what I know: genius isn't godlike or magical or even that rare. Genius is cultivated, nurtured, supported, delighted in. It happens in the context of a myriad of tiny boosts, too numerous to count and too subtle to name. It is as common as breath, and just as precious.

The reason why predatory men are lauded, protected, demurred to, is because we've told a story to ourselves that their genius is special, and have allowed ourselves to believe that the only way to become special ourselves is to bathe in its light, regardless of consequence.

Let's be done with that story. Cultivate more lights. Be the light.

And also? Let's fix that fucking stair, shall we?

[rosabell14]

The hunters of Artemis, Reyna, and Asexuality in Riordan's writing

I kinda started thinking about this since Reyna became a hunter. I could never articulate why I hated this Choice. I was asexual after all. Shouldn't I be happy about this rep? We Ace people barely get any after all. Then I realized that it's because I just didn't like the hunters as ace representation. And I didn't need to be grateful for mediocrity.

You want to know why the hunters of Artemis suck in general? And as Ace rep specifically? Because Riordan did not write them with that mindset.

Like people are so busy hailing this man as the king of representation in literature(blegh) that they forgot how heteronormative and white(sometimes racist) the original series was. Y'all really think this man was thinking about writing asexuals in the year 2007? Get real. What Riordan was doing was a white man trying to write feminism and failing (there's a reason most of his female characterization of female characters boils down to tough "not like other girls" characters who are dicks to the boys around them yet also to the girls around them if they're jealous)

Now onto the hunters.

The hunters when first presented in TTC are not a group of asexuals but rather religious celibates. Fantasy Pegan nuns if you may. The first problem arises when their ages are brought up.

"Then the archers came from the woods. They were girls, about a dozen of them. The youngest was maybe ten. The oldest, about fourteen..."

Remember, before ToA gave us Emmie and Jo, the hunters WERE all young girls. Now why in the world are they so young? Especially when in the actual myths, the hunters could come from any age whatsoever? Well the reason is a doozy.

"Are you surprised by my age?" she asked.

"Uh… a little."

"I could appear as a grown woman, or a blazing fire, or anything else I want, but this is what I prefer. This is the average age of my Hunters, and all young maidens for whom I am patron, before they go astray."

"Go astray?" I asked.

"Grow up. Become smitten with boys. Become silly, preoccupied, insecure. Forget themselves."

Hooo boy. What a way to phrase it. Going astray. Losing themselves. This kinda confirms that the reason why Artemis goes after young girls specifically is because she only wants girls who have yet to finish puberty. Girls have yet to discover their own sexuality. Now I'm not a representative of Asexuals everywhere, but I'm pretty sure most of us don't discover our sexuality at the age of ten. Let alone have the maturity to decide to become celibates about it. And let me reiterate: celibacy is not sexuality. Sure asexual people CAN choose to be celibates but it's not the same thing at all. In fact Zoe and Thalia are big cases for this. Both of them had liked men before(herakles and luke) but joined for their own reasons. Thalia to escape the prophecy and Zoe out of heartbreak. Hell, Bianca herself is mostly swayed by the idea of having no responsibility and a new family.

Now Rick does another thing that goes against the myths. The exclusion of make hunters. Artemis frequently hung around or taught male hunters who respected her. Daphnis, Scamandrius, freaking Hippolytus whom Artemis greatly cared about. Oh but we need to come up with bullshit reasons why Nico can't just join the hunt with his sisters so the hunters of Artemis are all: Ewww men. Also note how at no point does Riordan mention people who fall in love with women.

Now the next point is the oath itself. Artemis says this:

"What oath?" I said.

"To forswear romantic love forever," Artemis said. "To never grow up, never get married. To be a maiden eternally."

When I tell you that Emmy and Joe were retcons . Rick was freaking INSISTENT on the hunters being kids. Also note the three points: to never fall in love, to never get married, to stay a maiden.

I mean I think I don't need to explain why obsessing over the virginity of young girls is creepy. Does Riordan think girls older than fourteen can't keep it in their pants? And let me be adamant here Riordan only cares about the virginity Clause here. He mentions falling in love and marriage because he sees them inherently intertwined with sex.

Now onto the wording of the oath itself:

'I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis. I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.'

I mean you might be able to interpret men here as mankind and therefore excluding women as well. But I have many reasons to believe that Riordan didn't even CONSIDER women as a possibility(someone inform this man that lesbians existed smh 😞). Also note that falling in love is not mentioned in the actual oath but maidenhood is.

Now onto the next big issue. Percy Jackson's Greek gods and its chapter on Artemis. It basically confirms all of my problems.

"IT’S NOT THAT ARTEMIS HATED ALL MEN, just most of them. From the moment she was born, she knew one critical fact: Guys are kinda gross."

No mention of girls. In this chapter Percy(Rick) brings up Artemis' disdain for dudes over and over again.

“Let me be a maiden forever, Father,” Artemis said, twirling her finger in Zeus’s beard. “I never want to get married.---- But you can grant me a bunch of followers: ocean nymphs, river nymphs, wood nymphs—what the heck, how about mortal girls, too? Any girls who want to join me can become my followers, as long as they remain maidens like me. They should probably make the decision when they’re about nine years old, before they get interested in boys, because after that, they’ll be all distracted and of no use to me.”

Yikes yikes yikes. Ladies and gentlemen the age has been lowered to 9. Freaking 9. Also I guess girls older than that don't need Artemis' protection then? (the real problem is that older/married girls should be out of Artemis's jurisdiction and under the protection of other gods like Hera, Hestia, and Ares. But Hestia is barely there. Hera is terrible and the Amazons also suck)

Now when I tell you that Artemis' big point was about virginity, I mean it. This actually has mythological evidence.

The myths actually DO mention what happens when female hunters fall in love. Rhodopis and Euthynicus were two hunters who offended Aphrodite by choosing a chaste life so she had Eros make them fall in love. However note that they weren't booted out of the hunters for falling in love, but rather after having sex in a cave. THAT was what Artemis took offense to.

Another myth is the story of Aura. A huntress who offended Artemis by comparing their breasts(Greek mythology am I right?). Saying that her breast were better than Artemis' because they were smaller and hey maybe that means that Artemis isn't actually a maiden. Artemis punishes her by making her lose her VIRGINITY. She goes to nemesis for revenge. Nemesis goes to Eros who makes Dionysus fall in love with Aura and when Aura refuses his advances he ties her up and... Yeah you can guess where I'm going with this.

But hey! Those myths aren't in the Greek gods book. You know which myth is? The myth of C(K)allisto. And this one angers me so much I want to chew on the drywall.

The way Riordan writes it. Zeus turns himself into Artemis, brings Kallisto's guards down with the disguise, gets close to her and then when Kallisto REJECTS Artemis' supposed advances, forces himself on her. I need to say this again. Kallisto does not fall in love, she isn't seduced, she does not break her oath. But we still need a reason for her to be yeeted out of the hunters so her lack of maidenhood it is

“You were my favorite,” Artemis said. “If you had come to me immediately, I could have helped you. I would have found you a rich, handsome husband and let you settle into a new life in the city of your choice. I would have allowed you to retire from the Hunt with honor. You could have gone in peace. Zeus’s assault was not your fault.”

Kallisto sobbed. “But I didn’t want to lose you! I wanted to stay!”

Artemis felt like her heart was breaking, but she couldn’t show it. She had rules about her followers. She couldn’t allow those rules to be broken, not even by her best friend. “Kallisto, your crime was keeping the secret from me. You dishonored me, and your sisters of the Hunt, by not being honest. You defiled our company of maidens when you were not a maiden yourself. That I cannot forgive.”

I want to slap this man so hard he flies to the opposite side of the universe. We are not here to blame victims of assault guys! Except we are! But with extra steps. If you get attacked, it's not your fault, but If you are too scared to admit the truth then you deserve to lose your only safe space and turn into a bear. Oh nooooo Kallisto DEFILED Artemis' company by being an icky non virgin. The moment you lose your virginity even if it's not your fault you get punished. But not because I'm gross but because YOU lied. How terrible! And he expects us to feel for ARTEMIS???

But rosabell! This is how things go in the myths. What was uncle Rick (bleghhhh) supposed to do? I don't know... Choose a different version of the story? There are versions were Zeus/Hera are the ones who transform Kallisto into a bear. There are versions where Kallisto actively CHOOSES to sleep with Artemis. Granted it's still assault because she's being lied to but at least then, she'd have a degree of autonomy in the events. At least Artemis could rightfully accuse her of breaking her oath. But noooo, Riordan doesn't know lesbians exist. He actively makes Zeus into a canonical Ra*ist. Why is he on the throne again?

(the fact that this book came out AFTER HoH y'all 😭)

Once again, Riordan sees maidenhood(virginity)/love/marriage as intertwined. This is NOT what being on the aroace spectrum means. You can fall in love but not have sex. You can have sex but not fall in love. You can have sex AND still be an asexual. You can be married and still be a "maiden". Riordan doesn't get to claim to be such a progressive ally for retconning the hunters in 2017, TEN years after he first introduced the hunters because he suddenly remembered that lesbians exist.

Or more like because he doesn't know what to do with his female characters. The hunters more than anything are Riordan's heroine dumping ground. If you don't want it put them in relationships, either kill them(Bianca whose main purpose is to die) or make them eternal virgins(the hunters, Rachel). The fact that some people genuinely think that Calypso should have joined the hunters astound me. Girl suffered for years because of the gods and you all think that the best thing outside of Leo for her(not that I like Caleo) is to become a servant to the gods? Because you can't perceive a female character doing anything else if she's not in a relationship. Like with Thalia, this at least made sense on a strategic level because she didn't want to reach sixteen. Oh but we also don't know what else to do with her so she needs to want to be a hunter after the war is over so we give her a half-assed argument with Luke and now she can be all: wah wah Zoe you were totally right about boys. And the cherry on the cake is that she doesn't even get to be in the final confrontation with Luke or say goodbye to him because of a freaking STATUE. And after pjo her personality becomes Zoe 2.0 and her and Jason get ONE measly meeting.

When I first spoke of not liking Renya joining the hunters this is what I mean. Riordan had so many options with Reyna. Why did she have to leave her esteemed position which she worked so hard for? Two boys rejected her? Why couldn't she go reconnect with her sister more then? She could have joined the Amazons. But nooo Riordan was so allergic to the fans asking him wether she could be Bi or a lesbian. For the stupidest reasons too? Oh Reyna being a lesbian would come off as stereotypical because she got rejected by two guys beforehand! My dude, do you think people don't say the same thing about us who are on the aroace spectrum? That we say we are aro/ace because we got rejected before? Come up with a better excuse next time.

My brother in Christ couldn't even allow Reyna to talk about her sexuality and whatnot. It couldn't even be fully about her. No. He had to turn Reyna into his own mouthpiece admonishing the EVILLLL fans who may have shipped Thalia and Renya. He literally had her say the word "shipping". How cringe can you get? And then he had the audacity to admonish the fans by saying: Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance?

It's a sentiment I agree with but coming from this man, it's extremely hypocritical? I don't know Richard maybe because YOU are obsessed with shipping? No character can escape your shipping hands unless they're eternal virgins or dead. You literally turned the Argo2 into Noah's ark2. So much attention focused on shipping that the seven barely felt like friends.

Why does Reyna need to join the hunters? She can choose to not relationship without having to become a servant to female Peter pan.

This is actually a really adequate metaphor when you consider that Emmie and Jo say that they have not met Artemis in YEARS and Apollo mentions that the two of them were lucky she let them LIVE. god can you imagine joining Artemis when you are 9? At an age when you have still not finished maturimg cognitively and therefore shouldn't be trusted on taking a freaking celibacy vow(were you even given the talk yet that age) and after 70 years you decide you want to leave? If you're lucky Artemis will part with you on good terms but SIKES every person you probably knew before joining is now dead. Where is THAT angsty Bianca fic?

Speaking of Bianca. How she was handled also angers me. In another post, I've already talked about how the hunters barely gave her adequate information before letting her join.

How Zoe was the main reason for her death. Zoe KNEW that at least 2 people might die in the quest she was given and yet she decided to bring the least experienced girl to the quest and couldn't even watch her properly.

But you know what else pisses me off? The fact that THEY should have been the one to tell Nico about his sister's death. I've always hated how Chiron made Percy the CHILD tell Nico the other CHILD about his sister dying. But more than anyone, it should have been the hunters' responsibility. Bianca was THEIR responsibility. She died in a quest to save Artemis. The least they could do was tell her remaining family of her fate. The Doylist reason of course is that we need to kickstart Nico and Percy's complicated relationship and have Percy discover that Nico is a son of Hades. But in universe, the fact that they immediately fuck off from the camp upon regrouping makes them come off as extremely selfish. We don't even know if Bianca was given a funeral by them or not. We see Artemis being upset about Zoe but we never see her react to the news of losing Bianca.