#lantern pike

[hikinguk]

Lantern Pike, Peak District

[emeraldwarriors]

releases these into the wild like freeing caged birds

[evilhorse]

You need help, fella—medical help!

(All-Star Comics #61)

[thesilvercondor]

Hoenn Frontier Brains Redesign (Overworld Sprite Edition)

bonus: sketches

[thingsasbarcodes]

Life is Strange: True Colors - Chapter 2: Lanterns

[postcardsexciteme]

[starlordquill]

Parker I’ve never watched Star Trek in my life but your posts make me wanna fuck that old man. Why’d they make him so dilfy.

SERIOUSLY WHAT A DILF <3 this is me going on record to say I also wanna fuck that old man

[asha-mage]

              Aegon hesitated after drawing on his bracers and fingerless gloves, then took the black cloak Jace had given him on the beach, all those weeks ago, and swept it over his shoulders before grabbing the silver dragon's head clasp and snapping it into place. There was no specific reason or even need really- the day was uncharacteristically warm for Dragonstone- and yet he wanted to wear it. He had worn it on most of the flights out to the island, and the day that he saved Jace on the beach. Maybe there was a little good luck clinging to the gift. Or maybe he just wanted a physical reminder- of all that had happened, all he had been through- to help prop him up to see his siblings again.               When it was fastened in place, Aegon blew out the candles and felt his way through the dark to the door. One of the Dragonstone armsman was waiting for him holding a lantern and shouldering a pike. Few young men were chosen to garrison Dragonstone and none were inexperienced. The armsman had a wicked scar and a beard that was more than a little visibly gray even in the low light of the lantern. Aegon didn’t know his name.                “They are waiting.” The armsman said in a sandpaper voice, raising his lantern to peer into Aegon���s face. His eyes were narrowed in uncertainty, asking a question he would never dare give voice too. Aegon couldn’t blame him. He wondered how many of Rhaenyra’s armsmen were regretting that they had not taken their chance to stick him like a pig and throw his body into the surf- regardless of what his sister had ordered. Everyone had known that Aegon would bring trouble to their door sooner or later. Now that it had come, it was too late to do anything about it.               Only one real question remained now. When the storm broke, where would Aegon be standing- with Dragonstone or against it? The answer should have been easy- not requiring thought. It wasn’t. It twisted in his gut, as if a snake were swimming around his belly.               “I am ready.” Aegon lied, and the armsman nodded and turned to lead him down the stairs. They moved in an eerie silence, no sound except for the occasional creak of the lantern, or the clack of the pike against the armsman’s shoulder.

-- A Cloak of Black, Chapter 12: Snarl

[hikinguk]

Lantern Pike, Peak District

[trulybetty]

oct' 26 x jack-o-lanterns

Prompt: jack-o-lanterns (something sweet this way comes p.II) Pairing: marcus pike x f!Reader Word Count: 3,305 Warnings: barely beta'd is the name of the game, all mistakes are my own. mentions of baking, a tiny dash of spice, no spoilers here 💕 Summary: maplewood, a small town nestled in northern bc where people flock to see the changing blossom trees and celebrate the fall season. after losing your job you find yourself a part of the community which includes the towns baker who left a less than stellar impression on you. AO3: linked

x. masterlist | something sweet this way comes part I

Something Sweet, This Way Comes Part II | Jack-o-Lanterns

The preparations for the Trick or Treat Parade were well underway, it was an annual celebration in the town’s main square, outside the town hall. Maplewood, while a small community, serviced a great deal of people outside the town. Many of its inhabitants lived rurally, meaning trick-or-treating wasn't feasible for many of the children.

However, before that could happen the mid month tradition of the Jack-O-Lantern Hunt took place. Businesses and landmark buildings alike all decorated or carved their own pumpkins and people would follow the trail visiting each location on their maps. It was a way to encourage business and bolster the festivities after Thanksgiving had passed.

Black Cat Books was no exception, Libby had been putting the final touches to the store's pumpkin when the bell rang above the door signalling a customer.

“Marcus!” she called out, “what do we owe this please?”

You rolled your eyes as the enthused cheeriness of your friend, you were currently engrossed in the latest shipment of fall mystery novels and the scanning of them into the POS system.

“Evening,” he greeted, looking a little out of his element in the quiet bookstore. “Actually, I was looking for a gift.” 

“I can help you with that,” Libby remarked standing from her stool, “who is it for?”

“Sarah actually.”

“What’s the occasion? Her birthday isn’t until the summer isn’t it?” Libby asked, making her way around the counter.

You watched Marcus out of the corner of your eye as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “Not her birthday no, she broke her arm on the weekend at her soccer match down in Fort Nelson.”

“No!” Libby exclaimed, “poor girl, she lives and breathes soccer.”

“I know, so I thought I’d get her something to cheer her up. She’s always talking about her visits here. I was hoping you’d be able to recommend a book maybe?”

Libby looked thoughtful for a moment, “Hm, I’m not entirely sure.”

Before you could catch yourself you cleared your throat and grabbed a book off of the shelf behind you, “This one,” you said as you tried to be as nonchalant as you could handing it to Marcus, “Sarah was debating on this one the last time she was in here but said she was going to wait until she got paid.”

Marcus accepted the book, a soft smile on his face as he looked at the cover, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” you said, your eyes meeting his for a fleeting second before you turned your attention back to your work.

“So how are you managing at the bakery with Sarah out of commission? Isn’t Maria on vacation too?” Libby asked, referring to the bakeries' part-time weekday employee.

Marcus let out a sigh. “It's been a bit chaotic, to be honest. She was going to be right hand for front-of-house operations this week, and with the Jack-O-Lantern Hunt coming up, it's been really hectic trying to juggle everything.”

Libby took the book and got started on wrapping it, “What are you going to do? The hunt is this weekend.”

Marcus sighed, “I honestly don't know. We're already falling behind on orders, and there's so much to prepare for the parade at the end of the month on top of the pumpkin hunt.”

It was at that point that Libby, forever the matchmaker and opportunist, seized the moment. “You know, my friend here is pretty nifty with her customer service skills.  Maybe she could lend a hand?" she said nonchalantly as she tied the final knot on the gift ribbon.

You choked on your own breath almost dropping the stack of books in your hands, “What? Me? Bu- but you need me here, Libby.”

Libby waved you off with a grin, “Nonsense. It's been pretty manageable here. And besides,” she gave you a pointed look, “it's a good opportunity for you to get to know the town better.” she finished with a not so discreet nod in the direction of Marcus.

You and Marcus exchanged an awkward glance, the tension palpable but it was vastly different than it has been in the past. 

“Think about it,” Libby nudged as Marcus paid and took his wrapped book, thanking her.

He looked at you, a question in his eyes, “Would you consider it? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t really need the help.”

You really wanted to decline, find some excuse, any excuse. But as Marcus stood there, looking genuinely in need and a bit vulnerable, you felt something shift.

“I'll think about it,” you said, realizing even as you spoke that your curiosity was already tipping the scales. Marcus nodded, a hint of relief crossing his features.

“Thank you, either way,” he said, exiting the bookstore with a small wave to the both of you.

As the door closed behind him, you looked at Libby, who was practically beaming.

“What are you up to Libby?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you volunteering to help him?”

“I think you might have more in common with him than you think.”

“Well, aren't you the little cupid,” you said, a bit sarcastically but not without warmth.

Libby shrugged, “When the universe gives you a nudge, sometimes you have to nudge back.”

“You really need to let up on those horoscopes.”

Libby gave you a weary eye roll, “Plus is it such a terrible thing? Baked goods and coffee on tap?”

The next morning guilt had you dragging your feet across to the bakery, with a good shove from Libby, to tell Marcus you’d help him with the front of house operations for the remainder of the week while he looked at finding someone else to fill Sarah’s position a little more permanently. 

As he’d walked you through the point of sale system he used you realised it was the exact same setup Libby had and soon were able to catch on pretty fast. 

“Seems like you're a natural at this,” Marcus said with a grin as you smoothly rang up a customer's order. “If you ever get tired of helping Libby out, you're welcome here anytime.”

As the days progressed it turned out Marcus mostly worked in the back, managing the oven, mixers, and other kitchen duties, which left you mainly responsible for front-of-house operations. This was a relief in some ways, reducing the awkward tension that had started building up between the two of you.

Marcus had said you could read between customers if you wanted to, but the bakery was so busy you barely had a chance to open the book you'd brought along. People were in a constant stream, some coming in to pick up pre-orders, others dropping by for their daily fix of coffee and pastries, and still, others had come out of curiosity, intrigued by the upcoming festivities. 

Despite the business, you couldn't help but notice how different each customer interaction was compared to the bookstore. Whereas Black Cat Books was a haven for the introverted, the bakery was a social hub. Children would come in giggling, pulling their parents behind them as they pointed to the cookies and cupcakes in the display case. Old friends would bump into each other in line and strike up conversations as if no time had passed. 

And everyone, it seemed, knew Marcus.

As each customer came and went, most had something kind to say about Marcus.

“Tell Marcus that the apple tarts were divine, would you?”

“Marcus helped fix my flat tire last week. Can you make sure he gets this thank you card?”

“Ah, Marcus makes the best chocolate cake. Did I tell you he was a lifesaver during the snowstorm last year? Cleared both my driveway and sidewalk.”

The anecdotes were small, simple moments that seemed to paint a portrait of Marcus you hadn't considered. Your previous reservations, based largely on a whole lot of stubborn pride, started to seem trivial in the face of what you were hearing.

While you had been busy contemplating whether he was too good to be true, he was, in fact, doing good in the community you were both a part of. Your wariness was beginning to wane, being replaced by a blossoming curiosity and a tiny little bit of a newfound respect for the man you'd initially written off.

Around mid-afternoon a couple of days later, Marcus finally emerged from the back, carrying a tray of freshly baked pumpkin bread. The smell wafted through the shop, and you inhaled deeply, feeling a sense of comfort that only a bakery could provide.

“How's it going out here?” he asked, placing the tray on a display counter.

“Busy,” you replied, “I haven't even had a chance to crack open my book.”

Marcus glanced at the book lying beside the cash register, “Well, I hope that's a good thing.”

“It is,” you found yourself smiling, “it's nice to be busy. Keeps the time flying.”

Marcus looked pleased, “I'm glad to hear that. I was worried you might find it overwhelming. Between the start of fall, Thanksgiving, Harvest, the Jack-O-Lantern hunt, then Halloween - it’s almost as busy as the Holidays around here.”

“You know, I’ve never heard of so many celebrations stuffed into one month.”

Marcus laughed softly while he continued to work on the display, “I know how you feel; I felt that way when I first got here. But it's a great way to bring people together and share some happiness. Who doesn't need more of that?” 

“Speaking of community, they’ve all got something to say about you it seems Mr. Pike.”

“Oh?” Marcus raised an eyebrow, “Good things I hope?”

You hesitated for a moment, choosing your words carefully, “Let's just say I'm learning that you're very well-liked around here. People appreciate what you do, both in and out of this bakery.”

Marcus looked genuinely surprised, and then his face broke into a warm, appreciative smile. “Well, that's kind of them to say. I just try to do my part, you know? Small town, tight-knit community—it's what makes Maplewood special.”

Friday soon came around and Marcus had let you know that morning that the weekend was taken care of. Maria was back in town and had said she’d work Sarah’s shift that weekend, meaning it was your last day helping out at the bakery.

Despite your reservations at the start of the week, you had felt a little pang of disappointment when he’d made the announcement after you’d arrived that morning.

You were wiping down the counters when Marcus came out from the back again, looking a little flour-dusted but otherwise no worse for wear.

“How'd it go?” he asked, washing his hands in the sink.

“Busy,” you replied, “but good busy. I think I successfully managed to not ruin your business.”

He took the cloth from you, “It’s okay, I’ve got this, you can head out.”

You shook your head and took it back, “It’s okay, Libby has book club tonight, the less time I have to be there for the better.”

Marcus laughed as he crossed the floor to the shop's door, locking it, “In that case, knock yourself out.”

Marcus flipped the sign to close and you paused, realizing Marcus was watching you, “What?” You ask with a grin, unsure why he was giving you such attention.

He laughed to himself and shook his head, “If you’re not wanting to head out any time soon, how do you feel about lending a hand with a bit of baking?”

“You trust me?”

“I think you can handle it, I’ll do the heavy lifting.” he finished with a wink and before you knew it you were following him to the back of the shop.

Once you were both in the back kitchen, Marcus started gathering ingredients from various shelves and corners of the room. “We're making cinnamon rolls, a seasonal special.” he said, placing butter, flour, sugar, and a variety of spices on the counter. You also noticed a small bottle of orange food colouring and a bag of pecans.

“Cinnamon rolls? Not sure what's so seasonal about them,” you said, intrigued by the setup.

Marcus chuckled, “Ah, but these aren't just any cinnamon rolls. They're pumpkin spice rolls with pecans and an orange-coloured spiced glaze. Trust me; these are special.”

“Wow, sounds delicious,” you replied, starting to feel excited about the baking adventure.

Marcus handed you an apron, and you couldn't help but notice how his eyes lingered on you as you tied it around your waist. “You look good in that,” he remarked as he passed by to pull down a mixing bowl.

“Thanks,” you replied, unable to keep a smile from spreading across your face.

Marcus began weighing flour and pouring it into a large mixing bowl and explained the steps as he went along. “First, we make the dough, then we let it rise. After that, we roll it out, sprinkle the filling, roll it up, and then cut it into pieces. Easy as pie, or in this case, rolls.”

After you'd mixed the dough ingredients, Marcus instructed you on the proper way to knead it. To your surprise, he positioned himself behind you, placed his hands over yours, and began guiding your movements on the dough.

“Use the heel of your hand to push and fold the dough back on itself,” he said, his voice soft and close to your ear. “It's all in the wrist.”

You felt a wave of heat rise to your cheeks, your heart racing as Marcus's hands continued to guide yours in perfect harmony. You had been so wary of him just a few days ago, but now, the intimacy of this simple act was breaking down any remaining barriers. You were becoming acutely aware of the magnetic pull towards him you’d been trying so hard to ignore.

Finally, Marcus pulled away, and you took a moment to catch your breath. 

“You're a quick learner,” Marcus finally said, pulling a baking sheet from one of the cabinets.

“Good teacher,” you mumbled, unable to meet his eye, feeling your face grow hot.

After rolling the dough, sprinkling the filling, and neatly lining the rolls on the baking sheet, Marcus popped them into the oven. While they baked, he mixed the orange-coloured spiced glaze, occasionally stealing glances at you and smiling.

“Want to try a taste?” he asked, offering out a spoon he’d practically made appear out of nowhere, or you’d been that focused on his hands as he stirred the ingredients. 

Nodding, you leaned in to taste the glaze from the spoon Marcus was holding. As you did, a drop of the orange-coloured icing escaped, landing on your lower lip. Marcus looked at you, his gaze dropping to your lips. Time seemed to slow down.

“Hold on, you’ve got a little…” His voice trailed off as he gently reached up and brushed away the drop of glaze with his thumb.

Your heart pounded in your chest as Marcus took a step closer to you as he licked off the icing from his thumb. His eyes met yours, asking for permission, before flicking down to your lips. You felt the air grow thick with tension, a magnetic pull drawing you closer together.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could answer, a sudden knock on the front door of the bakery shattered the moment. You both jumped, startled out of the intimate bubble you’d been in.

Marcus looked as confused as you felt, but then you took it as an opportunity to try and shake some sense into yourself. “I should go,” you said, quickly removing your apron and folding it on the counter.

Before Marcus could respond, another impatient knock echoed from the front. “Hold on!” he called out towards the door, his eyes meeting yours one more time as if to say 'don't go.'

But you were already moving, grabbing your purse and jacket. The spell was broken, but the lingering feelings remained as you felt the ghost of Marcus’ touch on your lips.

As pulled on your jacket you heard Marcus greet the knocker. “Bill, you know it’s past closing, right?”

“It’s an emergency, Marcus, I swear! I need a pie, I saw the lights on out the back and you’re the only one in town who can save me.”

You heard Marcus laugh, his attention now fully on Bill, who was from the art store down the street. Feeling like an intruder on the scene, you took your chance to slip out of the bakery with a quick wave to the two men, the bell jingling softly as you opened and then closed the door behind you.

You didn’t look back as you pulled your jacket tighter against the cold wind that swept down the highstreet, if you had you would have seen Marcus watching you as you looked both ways before you scurried across the street to the bookshop. 

Once inside, you took a moment to catch your breath, leaning against the door. What was that all about? You had a swirl of emotions rushing through your head, none of which made any sense when applied to Marcus. You were still pondering it as you locked up the shop and made your way upstairs to the apartment you shared with Libby.

When you walked in, you found Libby sitting on the sofa, flipping through a magazine with a cup of tea by her side. “You're late,” she noted, her eyes still fixed on the glossy pages before her. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just lost track of time helping Marcus close,” you said, trying to keep your voice casual as you hung your jacket and kicked off your shoes.

“What were you doing, making out with Marcus in the back of the bakery?" Libby quipped, laughing to herself as she flipped another page.

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the suggestion, but managed to roll your eyes and offer a sarcastic laugh. “Please, I still don't see the appeal.”

“That's funny,” Libby said, raising an eyebrow as she set her magazine aside. “Because I haven't heard you say one bad thing about Marcus since you started helping out at the bakery.”

Caught off guard, you felt a quiet panic settle in your chest. You were usually so transparent to Libby, it made you uncomfortable how easily she could read you. “Well, I've been busy. No time for chit-chat when you're up to your elbows in doughnuts and the gossip of the neighbourhood watch.”

Libby eyed you suspiciously but said nothing more. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” you affirmed, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Anyway, I'm going to take a shower.”

As you stepped into the warm stream of water, you let it wash over you, hoping it would also rinse away the tangled web of emotions that had sprung up so unexpectedly. Your mind replayed the almost-kiss, Marcus' eyes looking into yours, the touch of his hands over yours as you kneaded dough, and you felt a pang of something you couldn't quite place. Was it regret? Longing? It was too confusing to sort out, so you shut off the water, wrapping yourself in a towel in hope of pushing it all out of your mind.

As you looked at your reflection in the steamed-up bathroom mirror, you felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. Whatever it was that had happened at the bakery, it was over now. Tomorrow was a new day, and you would go back to your normal routine, back to your safe, familiar life you’d made for yourself in Maplewood.

But as you crawled into bed that night, the nagging feeling refused to leave you and you resolved to resume your long discarded search for job vacancies in Toronto in the morning. 

Maplewood suddenly felt stiflingly small.

[evilhorse]

He’s a fruitcake for sure

(All-Star Comics #61)

[sjofn-lofnsdottr]

How often does your character name things (whether items, pets, plans, etc) and what is their process for naming? Do they base names on inanimate objects, gods or notable figures, or simply on what 'feels' right? Have they ever given someone or something a cheesy nickname? What names have they come up with (if any)?

Dusk honestly tries to avoid naming things if he can help it, because he knows he's not very creative with them. He is a man who panicked and blurted out the first spear name that came to mind when asked to name his chocobo, Pike, and has only ever referred to his duck friend as 'Duck.' Duck's a bit of a special case, though ... Dusk doesn't think of Duck as 'his' or as a pet. Let's just say he very much understood Deryk when he said he hadn't named the baby opo-opo because it felt insulting to do so.

Dusk technically bases names on inanimate objects, as in addition to Pike, he has a draught chocobo named Lance. He helped name the orphanage's baby chocobo and picked Ranseur. He realized around then that three makes it a firm pattern, and now people will expect spear-based names for all his chocobos from now on. He doesn't mind, there's a lot of spear names out there!

He and Farron named the amaro babies as a team, and you can tell because a lot of thought got put into them, plus they got a little sappy with it. They both wanted to give them fey names to honor where they came from, so Dusk got a list of terms from Urianger and they got to work. Eo means 'star' and Sul means 'flower,' both things that hold symbolic meaning to Dusk and Farron, and the babies both got 'Lad' as their second name, as it means traveler and ... well, they are!

Dusk is not one for nicknames, generally speaking, or even pet names, but he has called Farron both 'sweet pea' and 'pumpkin.' Sweet pea is because it's a flower that makes Dusk think of Farron, and pumpkin was because Farron made a rabbit-looking jack-o-lantern for All Saints and Dusk thought it was super cute. He hardly ever uses them out loud, and Farron has turned into a flustered mess each time.

Thank you for the ask!

[eris-snow]

2. 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭

Tags: anachronism, shoto x fem!reader, shenanigans, sweet shoto, confusion, confusion, confusion

The person he’s dancing with wears a smile. It’s pretty and kind, and Shoto can’t help but smile too.

“Do I know you?”

Shoto waits breathlessly for your response. Confirm it. Laugh at him. Tell him he’s right. Call him an idiot.

You look at him carefully, watching him like a cat.

“No.”

Shoto doesn’t know why he expected otherwise.

He nods, suddenly aware of how hot his face is. “Right.”

Feeling embarrassed, he walks down the stairs like it’s his walk of shame. Maybe he needs a brain surgeon together with that family therapist. Shoto knows that he’s not the best at picking up social cues, but something up there is obviously not working.

“But I’m flattered that you think so.”

Shoto whirls around, and finds you staring at him curiously. The electric air from before has vanished, but you don’t seem fazed at all as you power through the sparks of awkwardness like this was an average Tuesday.

Shoto may be able to bench-press a car and walk through fire, but the way you breeze through the tension with such leisure puts you in front of him by buildings.

“Exchange numbers?” You suggest, seeing his loss of words. He probably looked like a mess.

Please kill me now.

“Yeah.” He manages, fumbling with his phone. Man, why couldn’t he just say that?

The tension is so thick between the both of you he’s surprised something didn’t shatter.

You look at him with a smile, and Shoto swears he’s going through a cardiac arrest.

“What’s your name?”

He bites his lip, and tastes blood.

“Shoto. Shoto Todoroki.”

—

Shoto was, simply put, fucked.

His head was in a mess and was pounding as he clenched his phone tightly in his hands. On its screen was your number, and your profile picture of a blurred unglam of you. Shoto finds it charming.

What in Endevour’s name happened?

No, scratch that, his father was trying to atone, but Shoto had no qualms about stealing his credit cards and maxing them all out.

He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again.

Shoto grasps his shirt. His heart was only now slowing down, and he felt like he accidentally ingested Shinso’s triple shot Expresso heart attack. In case it wasn’t obvious, Shoto was freaking out. So much so that he almost burned down the dorms again because of his mini “emotion explosion” (He’s getting that trademarked).

It was as if his world was compressed to the size of a stress ball, and any more pressure would cause it to burst. It felt as if it was just you, him and the snow…

Shoto cradles his head in his hands.

What’s this feeling? Why does he feel like his heart is going to explode?

He thinks back to your expression, your eyes, rich with shock and…something else.

Shoto knows it. That you felt it too.

“Stop it.” He whispers. “Get a grip Shoto. Come on.”

He does not.

—

There’s a hand on his shoulder and the other in his own. There’s a glow from an oil lantern, and the rest of the scene is blurry with greens and whites. the marble under his feet squeaks as he dances. The person he’s dancing with wears a smile. It’s pretty and kind, and Shoto can’t help but smile too.

The atmosphere is soft, relaxed, comfortable. Everything is, from the way his steps coincide with the person he’s dancing with, all the way to how his hand is fitted on the mysterious maiden’s.

“Sho,” What a soothing voice.

The words slip out like butter. “Snowflake.”

It feels so right.

All but suddenly, the oil lamp is snuffed out, plunging them into pitch-black darkness.

His alarm clock blares, and Shoto rips his blanket off him as his eyes snap open.

The aching sensation of loss lingers at the back of his throat. Flashes of foggy dialogue linger at the back of his mind. There’s yelling, and there’s crying, all mixed into one glob that pierces the back of his mind like a pike.

Damn, that hurts like a bitch.

-

Shoto cracks his skull against his bedframe and dies.

Or so he wishes.

We should meet up and talk sometime.

Wanna study together?

It’s like he thinks he’s God or something.

He glances through your string of messages with a head stuffed into his pillow, all conversations cut by his ‘I got to go now.’ or ‘Maybe some other time.’

Shoto and you’ve texted. Texted a lot.

But that’s just it. Texting. Your whole chat is essentially a game of Trivia with dialogue ripped straight out from a ‘How to Make Friends’ question list.

He knows enough to find out about your birthday and Quirk, your favourite food, and if he squints, your favourite movie.

Seen each other? Not so much.

It’s not his fault that he has to hit the gym every day, or has twice the amount of assignments to make up for lost time, or has detention for setting the toaster on fire—

Okay maybe that was his fault.

He can’t do this. He tells himself. It’s not fair for you.

Even he knows that’s not something he shouldn’t do.

Shoto wants to see your face, hear your voice, go schizophrenic every time he sees you in the hall. Just, for a prolonged period (and not die.)

That’s why he is determined to schedule a study session with you today, at 2, and no matter how cluttered his schedule is, he will—

“You sure like to get lost in your head, don’t you?”

Shoto turns around and finds you leaning against a pillar. Your smile is dripping with amusement.

Shoto wipes the sweat off his forehead, eyebrows crinkling.

“Urgh, stop that. You really should work on your greetings, Mister I’m So HOT AND COOL—”

Shoto slams a hand on your mouth, hissing. “What is wrong with you? There are people—”

You lick his hand, making him recoil.

Your lips spread into a lazy grin, eyebrow cocked as if to say, do I look like I care?

“You should care,” Shoto replies seriously. “I do.”

“Well, I ain’t you, hero,” you respond. “And to answer your scrunched-up face, I was passing through. Wanted to see what you were up to.”

“The gym and alcoholism.” He says with a straight face.

You’re not fazed in the slightest. “Yeah, that makes sense. Heard about your family and everything. Really, sorry about that, by the way.”

Shoto shrugs. “Well, it’s getting better. Or, it will. Eventually.” Shoto rubs his hand on his sweats, making another round to the weights before he grabs another, heavier than the last. “Oh, right. Are you free this afternoon? My schedule’s clear for once, so I thought we could study together.”

Haha, liar. He had to pull strings to make time for you, but it is worth it when you nod and smile. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

He tries not to think too much about the dream.

When he thinks too hard, it gets even fuzzier. Everything felt so vivid. The warmth in his hand, the gaze on his face, god, he can still remember how much he loved it. He wishes to relive that dream.

He wishes for a lot of things.

Some of them, he can’t quite remember.

[ask-annamary]

Oh you like fish? Then name every fish!!!

(/j)

Halibut, Ranchu, Tilapia, Sarcastic Fringe Head, Molamola, Salmon, Bluefin Tuna, Wolf Eels, Butanding, Plecos, Pacific Spiny Lumpsuckers, Brown Smoothhounds, Bangus, Lapu lapu, Betta Fish, Cookie Cutter sharks, Moray Eels, Ribbon Eels, Stingrays, Mobula Rays, Great White Sharks, Thesher Sharks, Lampreys, Hagfish, Gulper Eels, Lantern Fish, Angler Fish, Barreleye Fish, Sardines, Anchovies, Carp, Koi, Stargazers, Pufferfish, Flounders, Rock Fish, Remora, Hammerhead Sharks, Leopard Sharks, Wobbegongs, California Sheephead, Pearlfish, Lungfish, Catfish, Sturgeon, Trout, Pike, Arrowana, Arrapaima, Goonch Catfish, Electric Catfish, Clownfish, Yellow Tangs, Angelfish, Alligator Gars, Striped Bass, White Bass, Sea Bass, Parrot Fish, Archer Fish, Frogfish, Batfish—

Okay, I’m tired of this joke now. I hope I was able to list off a fish you haven’t heard of before. Goodbye.

[moonlightflower-queen]

Welcome to the post where i ramble about my fan design of Macaria for Hades game because i like rambling and you clicked on the link so you did this to yourself.

Anyway i did some research first, not very in depth mind you because my brainrot goes deep but not deep enough to look for primary sources. My source is wikipedia. There's a daughter of Heracles who has the same name so i decided to take some stuff from her story and make this Macaria the goddess of blessed death and sacrifice (also so she doesen't overlap with Thanatos too much.)

Then i sketched her traditionally. I'm not good at letting loose when drawing digitally.

I wanted her to look really demure, kinda tired so it makes her look gentler. I imagine she's not very independent yet and is kind of a doormat. I wanted her to have a very different body type than her siblings. She is considerably taller than both of them (still mortal sized but a really tall mortal) and is very thin (kinda like Chronos but nobody will tell her that). I imagine she doesen't like fighting and works in the house of Hades. Does a lot of paperwork too, lol. She grew up in a more peaceful time unlike Mel so she wasn't trained to be a killing machine. She doesen't like to do it anyway unlike Zagreus. She can use her claws to tear people apart, she just rather not.

Then i decided to design her face first.

I played around while keeping her parents appearance in mind. I decided to make her a witch too (I like putting moons on the characters i design and no one can make me stop) and gave her dove imagery for the whole sacrifice thing. I considered giving her Demeter's hair color and experimented with wacky anime genetics too. I first wanted to give her Persephone's face structure similar to her siblings but then decided i really liked design number 3 where she has a cleft chin and bent nose like Hades does.

The lighter hair color Demeter has didn't work for the color scheme i had in mind. It ended up being too light and the light streaks made the upper part of her design too complicated so i decided not to. As someone pointed out, the Olympian gods don't wear pants but Chthonic gods do. It's a design decision that emphasizes the cultural difference between them so i gave her pants. Also my shorthand for shy character in character design is having them show very little skin.

At this point i was hitting my heads on walls since i didn't want her to look too similar to Thanatos. That was why i gave her the sacrifice symbolism in the first place, so i'd have more imagery to work with. I still think they have a lot of similar elements and don't like that but i also spent too much time on a fan character design already and didn't want to spend more. It's okay for them to have design affinity right, they are both gods of death?? (I'm coping can you tell)

I decided her main color would be white and she'd have a lot of accent colors pointing to her family (Red for Zag, orange for Mel, Green for Persephone and the sigil of the dead for Hades), to symbolize she isn't very independent. I decided to give her talons because bird and because i thought blessing someone in death would require her to be much more emotionally involved, so a weapon that required her to get close and touch mortals to claim their souls seemed logical. The lantern is there because light and blessings seemed similar to me. (I almost modeled her lantern in Blender because i'm horrible at drawing objects but stopped myself at the last second.)

I didn't design her as a main character of a Hades game. I imagine she'd be a helper Npc probably. Like she'd give you a ''blessing'' for your next run when you die. If i turned in this design as a main character of a game where the mc needs to run around, use 6 different weapons and dodge many projectiles and attacks the animators would put my head on a pike. There's a reason boss characters in hades wear clothing with not much to animate. (Hecate takes her hat and skirt off when you fight her even) A design like this would be horrible for clarity in a game where your character model is tiny.

I wanted to give her a shawl around her arms for an unique silhouette. but it made her design too busy. So feather cloak it was.

Anyway this much rambling was enough. I really need to draw my webcomic because i want to launch in August and i want more buffer but i don't think that's happening considering the severity of my brainrot. Uuuh thank you for reading!

[thebrickinbrick]

An Attempt to Console the Widow Hucheloup, Part 1

BAHOREL, in ecstasies over the barricade, shouted: "Here's the street in its low-necked dress! How well it looks!"

Courfeyrac, as he demolished the wine-shop to some extent, sought to console the widowed proprietress.

"Mother Hucheloup, weren't you complaining the other day because you had had a notice served on you for infringing the law, because Gibelotte shook a counterpane out of your window?"

"Yes, my good Monsieur Courfeyrac. Ah! good Heavens, are you going to put that table of mine in your horror, too? And it was for the counterpane, and also for a pot of flowers which fell from the attic window into the street, that the government collected a fine of a hundred francs. If that isn't an abomination, what is!"

"Well, Mother Hucheloup, we are avenging you."

Mother Hucheloup did not appear to understand very clearly the benefit which she was to derive from these reprisals made on her account. She was satisfied after the manner of that Arab woman, who, having received a box on the ear from her husband, went to complain to her father, and cried for vengeance, saying: "Father, you owe my husband affront for affront. The father asked: "On which cheek did you receive the blow?" "On the left cheek." The father slapped her right cheek and said: "Now you are satisfied. Go tell your husband that he boxed my daughter's ears, and that I have accordingly boxed his wife's.”

The rain had ceased. Recruits had arrived. Workmen had brought under their blouses a barrel of powder, a basket containing bottles of vitriol, two or three carnival torches, and a basket filled with fire-pots, "left over from the King's festival." This festival was very recent, having taken place on the 1st of May. It was said that these munitions came from a grocer in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine named Pépin.

They smashed the only street lantern in the Rue de la Chanvrerie, the lantern corresponding to one in the Rue Saint-Denis, and all the lanterns in the surrounding streets, de Mondétour, du Cygne, des Prêcheurs, and de la Grande and de la Petite-Truanderie.

Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac directed everything. Two barricades were now in process of construction at once, both of them resting on the Corinthe house and forming a right angle; the larger shut off the Rue de la Chanvrerie, the other closed the Rue Mondétour, on the side of the Rue de Cygne. This last barricade, which was very narrow, was constructed only of casks and paving-stones. There were about fifty workers on it; thirty were armed with guns; for, on their way, they had effected a wholesale loan from an armorer's shop.

Nothing could be more bizarre and at the same time more motley than this troop. One had a round-jacket, a cavalry sabre, and two holster-pistols, another was in his shirt-sleeves, with a round hat, and a powder-horn siung at his side, a third wore a plastron of nine sheets of gray paper and was armed with a saddler's awl. There was one who was shouting: "Let us exterminate them to the last man and die at the point of our bayonet." This man had no bayonet. Another spread out over his coat the cross-belt and cartridge-box of a National Guardsman, the cover of the cartridge-box being ornamented with this inscription in red worsted: Public Order. There were a great many guns bearing the numbers of the legions, few hats, no cravats, many bare arms, some pikes. Add to this, all ages, all sorts of faces, small, pale young men, and bronzed longshoremen. All were in haste; and as they helped each other, they discussed the possible chances. That they would receive succor about three o'clock in the morning, that they were sure of one regiment, that Paris would rise. Terrible sayings with which was mingled a sort of cordial jovialty. One would have pronounced them brothers, but they did not know each other's names. Great perils have this fine characteristic, that they bring to light the fraternity of strangers.

A fire had been lighted in the kitchen, and there they were engaged in moulding into bullets, pewter mugs, spoons, forks, and all the brass table-ware of the establishment. In the midst of it all, they drank. Caps and buckshot were mixed pell-mell on the tables with glasses of wine.

In the billiard-hall, Mame Hucheloup, Matelote, and Gibelotte, variously modified by terror, which had stupefied one, rendered another breathless, and roused the third, were tearing up old dish-cloths and making lint; three insurgents were assisting them, three bushy-haired, jolly blades with beards and moustaches, who plucked away at the linen with the fingers of seamstresses and who made them tremble.

The man of lofty stature whom Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras had observed at the moment when he joined the mob at the corner of the Rue des Billettes, was at work on the smaller barricade and was making himself useful there.

Gavroche was working on the larger one. As for the young man who had been waiting for Courfeyrac at his lodgings, and who had inquired for M. Marius, he had disappeared at about the time when the omnibus had been overturned.