#nobody could carry home those little soldiers.

[la-gotica-fantasma]

Army Dreamers.

[spectral-snippets-and-drabbles]

A Martyr From the Ashes

For everyone in the fandom saying saying that Danny thinks Martian ManHunter is cooler than Superman, we don't really see it all that much in writing.

I'mma try and fix that...

~•~•~•~•~•~

The Martian Book of Legends held the heroic tale of Saint Da'han'yul Fen'tuun of Mars, a sickly albino priest of a small town that held marriages, sermons regarding life and how it should be enriched and lived to its fullest, and specialized in funerals that used cremations with fire, a feat thought to be physically impossible by the masses. As people saw him look into the flames without fear while others cowered, rumors spread that the young man was blessed by H'ronmeer himself, the Martian God of Fire, Life, and Death.

People spoke about how Da'han'yul turned down all attempts at courtship, for he had decided to dedicate his life to bring light in the darkest times to all lives in the name of his God. He was a thing of beauty with a gentle soul and shy demeanor, even the Red and Green skinned who had still held a firm belief on the caste system could not deny his charm. How the terminally ill Martian carried on his mission with a smile, nobody knew.

However, tragedy struck on the day that should have spelled the beginning of the end for the Martian people. A parasitic species had invaded the Martian Homeworld and was causing untold havoc. As civilians fled from the threat and prepared a counter offensive, it was Da'han'yul Fen'tuun who charged into the danger headfirst to save his people from becoming prey.

As others pleaded for him to run away, in a great bright flash of light, a gigantic Martian loomed over the enemy emerged where the ill Martian stood, coated in flames in a form they've never seen before with a halo and body that burned a haunting green.

The deafening silence still held as the enormous creature brought a massive fist on the giant pale walker that was destroying homes. A wave of its hand sent a wall of green flames raced towards the foot soldiers, reducing them to ash while his people and buildings were not harmed in any form without an ounce fear of these fires the creature used to purge the enemy. Within the hour, the threat had been neutralized and peace was brought back to the red planet.

As the Martian people looked to the titan, they knew. H'ronmeer's had chosen his most loyal servant, Da'han'yul, as the avatar of his wrath to smite those who would bring his people harm. The people hugged and wept tears of joy and cheered for the priest and H'ronmeer for saving them, but the tears soon became tears of sorrow.

The giant groaned in pain as he fell on one knee as it began to crumble into ash before the people's very eyes. Like a flame, Da'han'yul Fen'tuun had burned his brightest when life needed him most, and now death called to him as it slowly extinguished it to give him peace. With a final message, he pleaded to his people to come together as one and to not see one another as lesser or greater than, but as equals who can help one another in the darkest of times and the hardships yet to come. With his final moments gone, a final telepathic embrace was given to all before he fell silent for the last time.

The massive pile of ash that were his remains was brought back to his little village and made into a beautiful garden of ash in the temple where the newly titled Saint made his home in, where it would be made a holy site that many would come to give their thanks and pay their respects for H'ronmeer' and his champion alike.

And for centuries, peace was held before it was shattered by Ma'alefa'ak, who unleashed the Fire Plague to take vengeance on his people for his inability to experience the psionic way of life that was the norm. His smile as his people screamed in anguish was knocked off his face in the most literal of terms when a Martian struck him down and had him by the throat.

A Martian with eyes burning in anger as Ma'alefa'ak failed to break free and was being beaten severely for his crimes against the people of Mars. A Martian made entirely up of ash and green embers.

Saint Da'han'yul Fen'tuun had returned, if only for a moment longer. And he was not happy.

Quickly, one by one across the planet, the martians set ablaze burned a gentle green that healed them. In this miraculous act of divine intervention, not a single Martian had lost their life. Most were now unconscious with labored breathing being heard.

J'onn watched on as his brother screamed in agony as his body burst into green flames as a pool of ash began to swallow his brother whole. Before disappearing entirely, Da'han'yul told him the punishment his brother would be facing.

"Ma'alefa'ak's psionic abilities have been awoken. He will be sentenced to become a living flame until he has lived the collective life span of all that he has tried to extinguish."

J'onn was too stunned to speak. With how long a Martian can live, it was the equivalent of telling him his brother would be suffering for an eternity. It seemed unethical, but he knew his brother had dug his own grave the moment he saw the reanimated remains of Da'han'yul Fen'tuun's ashes take swift action.

"Everything will be ok now, J'onn. Go to your family and tend to them.

"Da'han'yul...Thank you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you when you were still alive." J'onn solemnly uttered as he looked to the ground, unable to look at his deceased youngest brother.

"Nonsense J'onn, it's not your fault...The caste system...it–"

"I could've done more! Instead I saved myself instead of being there when my brothers needed me most!"

"J'onn...you were just a child."

"It makes none of it right!"

He was right in that aspect, but it still didn't feel right. Ma'alefa'ak' was ostracized by society, was treated like a freak of nature for lack of natural gifts and he wanted to burn society to the ground in the most literal of terms because of it.

While Da'han'yul, the forgotten youngest brother, was treated horribly for being albino and treated cruelly. He contracted a deadly disease when he separated himself from the family to live in isolation with other albinos that made him sickly and cut his life expectancy down severely. Knowing what befell him, seeing him struggle to move and hold down food at times while J'onn and their parents did nothing.

These tumultuous emotions sat in J'onn for so long. The way he wanted to go and help them both, but the fear of association and social punishment for merely being seen with his brothers made him cry when he younger for being so weak willed. It wasn't until their parents bragged about the sacrifice their forgotten child had made, the sone they purposely scorned made him snap.

"J'onn, promise to keep my message alive for me. Help our people become whole again."

"Of course, brother." Is what J'onn tells him as he watches his little brother vanish again for a third and final time.

[sgrplumditz]

Simon falls for Johnny’s wife…

render by @ave661

a/n: I’ve been working on this for a hot minute, but ended up having it sit in my drafts for a couple months :(. these images were released and it definitely struck a chord in my delulu mind. hence why i decided to finish it..

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"I've got a bad feeling about this one, Johnny," she said to the Scott with a shaky breath. Their toddler clinging to his mother's leg while keeping a tight grip on his father's finger. His little hand too small to grip the entirety of his hand.

She couldn’t help but notice his worrisome sigh as he looked for the comforting words, "Eh, don't you worry, Darling. I always come back don't I?" he replied enthusiastically as he embraced her figure, his chin resting on the top of her head and his free hand caressing the back of his son’s head. Johnny always knew how to comfort her, but she couldn’t shake her nervousness and doubtful thoughts as he said goodbye to her husband and the father of her only child.

The memory of their final interaction as a family replayed in her head continuously as the rain created soft tapping noises on her black umbrella. The pattering of the water creating an almost hypnotizing effect on the new widow that kept her mind on the only aspect that was left of her late husband -- memories.

The toddler, a three-year-old boy, who like most of the time clung to his mother's body. Except this time he was fully embracing his mother, his little face placed into the crook of her neck as the pair stood together at the outdoor memorial service. She could only stare blankly at the urn that held the remains of the love of her life. Through her observant stare she took note of the simple, yet lovely set up of white roses, numerous awards and medals. All of which surrounded a framed photo of her Johnny — her favorite photo. A candid picture snapped of the blue eyed, dark haired man by his wife — the woman he kept a secret from his work life. Not out of shame, or malicious secrecy — Johnny loved his wife and his child. Love them so much that he couldn’t be bothered ever putting them in any sort of danger.

She could feel numerous pairs of eyes prying into her and her son as she stood amongst the medium sized crowd of individuals. She assumed all of them were teammates, Co-workers, or people simply paying their respects. she knew he was a highly decorated soldier, but he was far more than that. None of them knew about his personal life, and nobody knew about the widow and small boy he had left behind. Nobody but Captain John Price knew about Soap’s little family. In confidence, Soap had asked Price to maintain word of his wife and son under the rug of the sake of their safety. Although they were hidden, he always carried pieces of them with him wherever he went — attached to his dog tags were two small and silver flat pendants that had been engraved with his wife and son’s fingerprint, his wedding band usually accompanying them on the same chain whenever he was deployed.

When Johnny was home he never removed his ring. He would often complain about how difficult and stubborn the piece of jewelry was when it came time to remove it for work. Johnny thought he was as discrete as he could be when it came to protecting the two most important people in his life, but there was a certain masked individual who took notice of the tan line that marked his left ring finger, the sudden dark under eyes and disheveled appearance that started 3 years ago when they would meet early in the morning for briefings, and when he caught sight of a vomit stain decorating the left shoulder of his black t-shirt — he just wasn’t one to pry.

Those same observant eyes were glued to the grieving widow and the blue-eyed toddler.

Her mind was pulled out of thoughts as Price approached her with a warm and tender expression in his eyes. In his hands were the dog tags, along with his keepsakes of his beloveds and in a small box was the wedding band. All of his personal belongings packed neatly into a box. Price knew he didn’t have to say anything to her for her to know that he was paying his respects to Johnny’s wife. Prior to the memorial service she had made it clear to Price that she wanted him to keep his ashes. She found they would get at least some closure from releasing them.

As Price drew her small frame in for a polite hug her son grew restless in her arms. She knew he was too young to understand that his father was gone, but it was clear that he was uncomfortable and upset from the lack of him. "Mama, it's cold" he fussed as he smushed his face farther onto her neck, "and your feet are getting wet. You're gonna catch a cold". She gave Price an apologetic smile as she turned her attention to her son now — Price had taken it as a signal to retreat. He now stood with two other men.

She couldn't help but smile at the innocence and kindness that exuded from her son. She gently patted his back to soothe his discomfort, "How about we get out of here and get some lunch?" she tried to speak in her most joyful tone, but even then it was coated in sorrow. The boy did not catch on to her somber response, and instead eagerly nodded his head as he perked up to look at his mother. That is when she realized how similar their son, Samuel, looked to his father. He mirrored him in nearly every aspect -- the eye shape and color, the dark hair, and even the mannerisms were similar. This could all be a fragment of her imagination -- she thought. Maybe it was part of her grieving process. She missed him so much that she began to look for him and could only find him perfectly in their Sammie. She was so consumed by her thoughts, that she had not realized the single salty tear that slipped out of her eye and down her cheek. Samuel hated to see his mother cry, he quickly brought his tiny hands up to her cheek and wiped it away with a slightly heavy palm. Usually, he would verbally comfort her — as best as a toddler could do, but all he did was lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his mother's forehead, "This always makes you feel better when Daddy does it". Does -- in present tense.

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She could not tolerate being at the memorial service for much longer, and neither could Samuel. She had buckled him into his car seat and handed him a strawberry and banana squeezable fruit pack and crackers to ease his rumbling tummy in the meantime.

However, as she closed the car door and turned her back to face the crowd of people one last time she was instead met with a tall, burly build of a man. His face was hidden by a balaclava, leaving only his eyes on display. But the rest of his face was not necessary to note that he was also grieving. She noticed him within the crowd of the memorial service as well -- she assumed that was one of Johnny's friends, but did not bother to congregate with anyone since Johnny kept his personal life completely separate from his work life. And if she was being honest with herself, she did not have the emotional stamina to socialize with people that spent months out of the year with her late husband.

"Sorry. Can I help you with something?" she asked the brute man. She stared up at him with her eyes slightly shut to avoid water from getting into them.

"He’s Johnny’s" was his only reply. For a moment she only blinked and stared at him and noted the heavy English accent. The mention of her late husband’s name stung as she now was fighting back tears. Yes, he is Johnny's son. His pride and joy -- was what she wanted to say, but she could barely muster up the strength to nod her head.

She could tell that the individual's lips tightened into a line by the way the fabric of his mask slightly stretched. "My name is Simon. I was a friend of Johnny's..." he attempted to continue speaking, but all he did was nervously rub the back of his neck. "Johnny meant a lot to me, a real friend of mine..." he trailed off again.

She knew he was grieving, but it was a different type of pain. She sensed guilt within his sadness, but she knew better than to ask about any specifics. Her kind nature and maternal habits took over as she saw Simon struggling to find his words. For whatever reason this man decided to make himself emotionally uncomfortable to introduce himself, she figured there would be no harm in easing his mind.

She knew who Simon was since Johnny would bring up his friend "Ghost" every now and then "I know who you are" she smiled warmly trying to be the emotional rock between the two, "How about you join us for some lunch. I think Sammie would love to talk to and get to know his Uncle Ghost" she spoke eagerly in an attempt to lighten the mood -- something that was usually Johnny's role.

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The three of them sat in a booth within a homely diner. The rain had completely let down at this point, the large drops of water hitting the roof of the diner with loud individual pats. Her hands were wrapped around a warm mug of coffee as she stared out the window watching blades of grass be temporarily smooshed by the inclement weather. The waitress had refilled her mug causing her gaze to turn towards her, her eyes softened and she gave the waitress a subtle nod to thank her. It was then that she realized that her son was wearing the ghost mask that was once on Simon. There was a glimmer of joy in Sam's eyes as he stood on the booth and gently hopped toward his mother to show her the "cool mask".

"I look so cool!" he exclaimed which only caused a chuckle to leave both her and Simon's mouths as the toddler's face was completely exposed through the eye hole on the mask -- his features obviously too small to fill the mask in the same manner. Upon hearing the slight laugh she turned to look at Simon, who she was surprised to see with dirty blonde hair. He was overall a handsome man, something that anyone would notice at first glance, but his eyes always conveyed a lot of emotion. Right now it was amusement tinged with pain as he stared at Sam. She knew he also noticed how strongly he resembles Johnny, and a part of her found comfort in knowing that she was not grieving alone. The way he looked at Sammie made her feel warm. She sensed that Simon knew Johnny deeper than most of the people at the memorial service — knowing that she found herself smiling at the thought of her being able to cherish Johnny’s memories with someone else.

The waitress had arrived with everyone's meals. Sam did not hesitate to dig into his plate. The toddler abruptly grabbed the bottle of syrup and drenched his pancakes in it. His careless behavior causing some of it to spill onto to the table, "Use your table manners please" she spoke sternly, but softly to the boy as she slipped him a napkin and a set of covered utensils.

"He looks just like him" he spoke in a gentle and respectful tone. His eyes rested on Sam -- who was now too focused on using his utensils properly to pay attention to the conversation happening in front of him.

Her hand wiped a strand of dark stray hair away from his forehead before she turned her attention toward Simon, who was now looking at her, "Yeah. Carried him for 9 months and he's got the nerve to look just like his father" she shrugged with a pained smile — her attempt to lighten the mood once again failing, "but I wouldn't have it any other way".

Simon took note of the sorrow hidden within the smile as his own face mirrored it out of empathy.

A few minutes had gone by and Samuel was still working on his meal, Simon had quickly eaten his, and she played with her food, tossing it around all over her plate in a desperate attempt to distract herself. How embarrassing would it be to break down at a family diner. "You should eat your lunch" he spoke. The deep voice dragging her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She glanced down to look at his empty plate and her contrastingly full one. Casually shrugging off his suggestion she set her fork down and let out a soft sigh, "I'll just take it to go. I don't really have an appetite at the moment" she spoke in a casual tone — too causal of a tone. She was normally a social person, the type to be able to engage in conversation with any type of person for hours. Her personality was magnetizing in the sense that she was an incredibly open minded person, which only made her a vessel for hundreds on conversations, all of different topics and tones — a quality that Johnny loved about her. She was one of the few that would keep up with his mindless thoughts and nonsense ideas. That is where she was at the moment. In her mind she was thinking about the woman she was before she got the gut wrenching knock at her door. The knock where she was told by Laswell and Price that her husband was gone. “Killed in Action” were the words they used. “He died saving the world” was something Price added.

Sure he had died saving the world, but her and her son’s was destroyed. She was never a selfish person, but in that moment she wished the world would burn if it meant he was in her arms instead of merely a memory. She hadn’t noticed until recently that tears were flooding her cheeks and spilling onto her meal. Simon had been observing her for a moment as she watched her fall into deep thought, but once he saw her tear stained face he acted quickly.

He swiftly took his wallet out of his pocket and placed a $50 bill on the table to cover their meals and a decent tip, “Come on” he spoke in a demanding voice, his tone remaining soft enough for her and Sam to remain calm. Sam was oblivious to his mother’s current state as he had now distracted himself with the crayons and the kids menu.

She looked at Simon as she attempted to regain her composure. It was long gone, she was an emotional mess at the diner — exactly what she was trying to avoid. “It’s alright.” he coo’d as he took Sam into his arm. With his free hand he guided her out of the booth and to the exit.

He took the initiative to get the mother and son home as soon as possible. The three of them approached her car, “Get in and take a few deep breaths, yeah?” he instructed while simultaneously holding the door open for her. Sam had been buckled into his car seat, which Simon struggled to figure out, but the toddler being incredibly intuitive had seen his mother and father do it hundreds of times and was able to talk Simon through it.

If that had happened under different circumstances she would have been able to congratulate Sam and let him know how proud she is of him, but she was far from being in that state of self awareness and state of mind.

She was a wreck in the passengers seat of her own car. She was heartbroken in the passengers seat of her own car. The severity of it all finally setting in making it nearly impossible for her to get ahold of herself.

Is she just exhausted from the days leading up to the funeral? A weeks worth of concealed emotions finally spilling out in front of her. She is definitely overwhelmed, but this time she subconsciously feels safe and secure enough to let go of her broken front.

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Months had gone by since her meltdown in front of Simon, and he never once brought it up. He was well aware it wasn’t something she was proud of, nor did she want to talk about her grief. Simon had been coming around her and Samuel a couple times a week just to check in on the pair. He felt it was his responsibility to keep them safe now — the least he could do for his recently deceased friend. Everyday he spent with the two of them he realized why Soap had kept them a secret. They were truly too special to put into any risk; especially her. She was a walking breath of fresh air, not something anyone encounters often in their lifetime, especially not in their line of work and the lifestyle it supplies. Now it all made sense. Johnny was always the most eager to return home when they’d be out in the field, said he had “something special” waiting for him, but everyone would shrug it off.

He grew to understand Soap’s decision to keep his family hidden from the world he worked in.

Even though Simon was consumed in his own thoughts he was still able to be completely alert as the mother and son played on the playground.

Her laugh. It stripped him away from his spiraling memories and muses. His gaze snapped to her body on the floor covered in wood chips, she had clearly tripped and stumbled while playing with Samuel. She was laughing at her clumsiness, laughing at how attentive Samuel was to his mother as soon as she hit the cushioned floor, “Sammie, I’m okay” she soothed him as he clung to her — small and gentle laughs leaving her full lips as she reacted to the entire scenario.

That was the first time Simon had heard her laugh.The sound of her sweet tone intoxicating to him. He couldn’t get enough, is what he mentally told himself as he walked over to her to help get back on her feet. Her soft and polished hand nestled and firmly gripped onto his rough and calloused one as he pulled her off the ground.

Guilt lingered in his being upon realizing how much he liked being around her, but he needed to be there for them. The conflict was clear within him, and something he figures he’ll eventually learn to accept and move forward with. He knew he would have to set aside his audacious feelings to respect her and more importantly to respect Johnny. He would be there to protect them as much as she allowed him. He wasn’t planning on getting emotionally attached to the the pair, or her alone.

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Later that same evening, Simon had made the decision to pay her and Sammie a visit. He stepped out of his car with a bag of Chinese takeout in his hand. Chinese food had become the only thing she would willingly eat ever since Johnny passed. A swift hand smoothing his plain black t-shirt before he began walking toward her front door, but as soon as his hand left his clothing he realized what he was doing. Bringing her favorite food to her and her son with no real reason to be seeing her, checking his appearance — something uncommon for the typically aloof man. A lingering hint of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach as he treaded towards the front door of her house. No, Simon was only supposed to be there for the mother and son duo as an aide during this severe loss. He felt that’s what he owed to Johnny since he felt partially responsible for his death. A cocktail of traumatic thoughts and memories invaded his mind . The grip on the take-out bag grew stronger, the same strength being felt in his chest as his heart pounded in its cavity

Upon reaching the front door he heard what sounded like a glass had broken — as if it had fallen off of a surface, which isn’t a big deal, she had a bad habit off leaving glasses on the edge of countertops and tables, but the yelp that followed only made Simon react in the most instinctive manner. He rushed inside the house and into the kitchen where she was found with a dish towel wrapped around her hand and a grimace on her face. Her nose scrunched in reaction to the pain.

Simon raised an eyebrow at her as he approached her with swift and long strides. His demeanor was urgent, alarmed and slightly panicked as his body was still in a reactive state from his memories, but how could she know that? She stared at him with the same expression, but she had more reason to. His breathing wasn’t heavy but it was slightly sporadic. At the same time, it was still controlled, his body was tense, but most significantly, his eyes looked panicked and unsettled. “I didn’t know you’d be visiting tonight. You should have let me know,” she spoke casually as she continued holding pressure on her fresh wound, “Or else I wouldn’t have-“ her words stopped flowing when Simon grabbed her hand and began to examine the brand-new cut. She watched his concerned expression lighten when he confirmed that the abrasion was small enough to heal on its own, “- let my mom take him for the weekend.” She finally completed her sentence when his large brown eyes met hers.

She knew exactly what was happening to him. She recognized the wide, alert eyes, uneven breathing, and tense mannerisms. This was a common occurrence that she witnessed Johnny experience. Her husband was gone, but there were constant reminders of him everywhere -- and one thing she hated seeing was Johnny struggling with his PTSD. Just like Johnny, she couldn't tolerate seeing Simon in the same condition.

Using her unharmed hand, she grabbed Simon's calloused one. Her movements were gentle and fluid as she guided their hands to the left side of her chest. With his palm now resting on her chest she looked into his eyes before speaking in a nurturing tone. "Slow and steady. Count it for me" she said as she placed her own hand over his chest. It was then that she noticed how hard and fast his heart pounded. "I’ll count yours until we match pace. One, two, three..."

Eventually, Simon counted with her, his heart rate slowing gradually as his mind remained distracted from the trauma and focused on her. On her beating heart, on her nurturing voice, on her full pink lips, on her long dark eyelashes, on her soft delicate hands. Her. His mind consumed by images of her, his newfound serenity.

Simon cannot help but feel guilty, but his pleasure and serene state strongly blinds him from this feelings. This is exactly what he didn’t want, but he can’t help but relish in it.

[hooked-on-elvis]

Dear prince charming,

The 20th and 21st century people who heard about you, one way or another, all of them can feel you were different in more ways than artistically. There is certainly something special about you, something precious... nobody can deny that... but some people tend to be satisfied with what's on the surface, with cheap gossip, mean rumors and whatever "looks like". It pains me when they talk badly about you, E. They don't know a thing, those fools. But rest assure, E, because the Elvis army got your back, King. Many of us are restless in defending your honor and the sweet soul you had. Unfortunately, many of the "outsiders" will never understand what was that thing that drew people to you so easily and why you are so loved worldwide. Their loss.

(Yes, that's how I see you dressed in that suit...)

I have so many things to say...

Another thing I'd like you to know it that although I drool over you daily, on your exquisite Greek god-like exterior, your unbelievable beauty, hypnotizing smile, tender and shiny blue eyes with a twinkle of mischief, the darkest velvety raven-black hair, your flashy fashion style, the tantalizing way you moved or the powerful baritone voice that you carried and that bristles my skin every single day, none of this is what turned me into an admirer in the first place. It's in your mind and your heart, dear El. That's where the real treasure was kept in you, under all the layers of goodness on the surface.

One thing I know is, one way or another, that beautiful light you were born with and chose to face the challenge and share it with us in your previous life is still cherished. The stories about you bring us comfort, laughter, knowledge, life lessons... Keep us together, make us believe. You helped us in so many ways with the talent you knew God gave for a purpose. One of the most beautiful things was when I learned how worried you were in figuring out your life's purpose, by the way. You did it, El. You did it brilliantly, dear.

There's that song you sang, "Well, you're right, and I'm left all alone, all alone..." Since I became your fan, at the same time I feel I found a friend in you and felt the happiest I've had in years, 'cause it feels like you calmed a storm that I had inside for over a decade, I also find myself crying over how much I miss you, about not ever having the chance to meet you in real life. Every day I wonder where you are and if you're happy... if you finally found peace, the way you deserve. I wonder if you're working up there with God, as the angel I'm positive you are right now, or if you've reincarnated yet (that's one possibility I don't dismiss, just like you didn't dismiss it). I wonder if your sweet soul, yet in another possibility, is way up there... healing and learning... even after all these years since you left this earth, preparing your spirit for another high purpose, maybe to become a spiritual guide, a tool in God's plans, a soldier of the Lord (even as a man, in flesh in bones, you were already helping God's cause anyway, so I believe your work is still in motion in heaven). It's crazy to think about all of that, I know. You know, the other day, over a year ago, I had a crazy experience as I was waking up in which I only heard your voice and I felt a very warm and tender presence next to my bed. I didn't see anything but somehow I knew you were there smiling at me. I didn't even get the chance to see your face but as I was listening to "Green, Green Grass of Home" recorded by you in the 70s, I heard something I can only describe as a whisper but it wasn't. It was like you were sending me a message I could understand, very softly and tender, telling me you were up in heaven with your mom and daddy and that you were happy. I'll never forget that... I wish that is the truth, El. I had the impression you were in peace, really. It warms me to remember that little moment. Every time I listen to that song again I feel so happy! So if it was you for real, thank you. I needed that.

You'll never be forgotten.

We still benefit from the light you shared, sweet El.

You're our little firefly, our little lighthouse, our little crazy, the goofiest, tenderest, prettiest, funniest little friend. Thank you so much for giving us more reason to smile, to let loose, to have fun, to love, to keep having faith.

Happy heavily birthday, King. ♡ We love you.

[thinkingaboutlifefornow]

The brave little Ghost

Chapter 1

Bucky x reader

Warnings - swearing

(( so this is the first ever time I’ve written anything, I read fan fiction for over 14years. And this as been in my head for a while and I wanted to put it down properly. Nobody may read this apart from me, but if someone is reading this, I hope you enjoy it ))

…………………………

You struggled against unseen bodies. Black hood over your head so you couldn’t see and voices were muffled.

You’d been out for a run when a black unremarkable car pulled up next you, with your headphones in you hadn’t even noticed by the time the men had jumped out, threw the hood over your head, knocked you out and bundled you into the car.

Now you’re being dragged down some sort of corridor, too quickly for you to even try to use your legs to walk. It was cold. A sports bra and leggings are not the sort of clothes you wanted to be wearing right now, but you didn’t think you’d end up being kidnapped. For fuck sake you’re a Stark.

Being thrown down onto the chair the hood was torn off. The guards were locking you in place with cuffs around your wrists and legs.

“I hate to tell you but you’ve kidnapped the wrong fucking person” you spat angry aimed at all those in the room.

“Oh no Miss Stark, you’re just who we needed” a middle aged man said capturing your attention, you look his direction. You recognise him, he was definitely a part of S.H.E.I.L.D, but with your dad never wanting you to become apart of that world fully you didn’t know him well.

“I know you” you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Well,” he paused “not for long” he said grinning point at the machine above you. You follow his gaze. A halo of metal above you start to come down and cover part of your face, another part covering your arms.

Your last thought before the shock entered your body… they’ll find me, they’ll find me.

…………

“Lilac” the word floated through your head

“Damsel” another bringing you back to the light

“Seventeen” you open your eyes slightly, the bright light hurt, head fuzzy.

“Ghost” your eyes automatic open and alert.

“What is your name?” The middle age man asked

“Phantom” you replied, almost robotically.

“Who are you?” He asked

“HYDRA property” you spoke, it was like you had rehearsed and knew every line off the page you hadn’t read.

“Good” he gleamed, “our project pet works, they won’t know what hit them” he said turning to the others in the room. You hadn’t noticed till now, but there were at least 10 soldiers in the room. Carrying rifles.

“Training start tomorrow, take her to the cell” his voice still showing the happiness spoken before.

Without thinking you were already up and walking, the soldiers walk in pairs with four in-front of you and four behind. Arriving at your cell, which somehow felt like home, you were locked inside. Single bed to the right hand side of the room, you sat on it waiting for your next instruction. Your clothes, somehow you knew they were different. But different from what? Hadn’t you always worn these leather pants and black shirt. But you can’t remember anything since before opening your eyes.

You tried to remember anything from before that moment. It made your head hurt. Who am I?

…..

“давай, маленькое привидение” Come on little ghost, he spoke flipping his knife grinning at you.

You enjoyed training, because it meant you got to spend time with The winter solider. He seemed to connect to you, and it brought him calmness. This meant the leaders used you to get him to do what they wanted. You didn’t understand.

“почему бы тебе не приехать сюда зимой” why don’t you come here winter, you grinned back at him. “I’ll have that knife in no time” you laughed.

He walked at you almost charging, you moved too quickly to the side. Grabbing his metal arm, you flung yourself onto his back. Thighs wrapped around his neck, you squeezed as tight as you could. He was struggling to breathe, he tapped your thigh with his warm flesh hand. A signal to stop.

“No, that’s not how it works Winter.” No emotion in your voice. “Give me this knife”

He was going blue, but he didn’t want to give up. He purposefully throw hisself down on to his back, you were winded slightly. Your thighs went loose for a second, and an image flashed through mind as you hit your head… you were lead down on a sofa, laughing, legs resting over a man…. before your training kicked in again and your thighs squeezed again.

The knife was thrown from his hand up to you on the ground, and the moment you grabbed it with your hand your thighs released.

He coughed and splutter as he raised from between your legs, gaining his composer.

“ты в порядке?” Are you okay?, you whisper so the guards outside don’t hear.

“I’m fine Little Ghost” he said with a sigh “you’re ready for your first mission”

He didn’t seem happy about that, but you couldn’t understand why. This is what your trained for, so that you could help HYDRA with their better world they were building.

[wonderland-smile-stories]

~ Chapter 12 ~

I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes and how poorly written this fanfic is. English is not my first language and together with my dyslexia ass things can go wrong I'm sorry.

Just like any other day, I was walking around trying the find stuff to survive and Eun-hyuk. Luckily today it was warmer and the sun was shining. I think spring has begun, but I have honestly no idea what date it was. 

I know months have passed, but that's it. After a while, you kind of lose track of time.

If it's spring it means I have been here in Korea for a year now. That means it's been a year since I met Ji-su, Eun-yu, Eun-hyuk, and everyone else at Green Homes. I wish I could talk to them, but it's not like I can just walk into the stadium. 

Only the soldiers can leave that place. I have seen some normal people work in a fenced area on the surface, but it's never someone I know. I have seen Eun-yu sneaking out a lot. I always try to follow her and make sure she is safe. 

I know she is searching for her brother, but she will get killed if she isn't careful. I always make sure she's safe. Every time I saw her I tried to follow her without her noticing me. Of course, I could just go up to her if I wanted to, but I don't know if she would be happy to see me. 

I left her behind while promising that I would find her brother and come back. In all those months apart I haven't found Eun-hyuk or any trace from him. 

I just know that she wouldn't be happy to see me. So for now I'm just going to stay in the shadows and hope that if one day I show myself to her she will forgive me.

Don't even get me started on telling her about Hyun-su. I don't know if could tell her that he's dead. I know that she doesn't care about a lot of people, but at the end of the day, Hyun-su was her friend. 

And if I have to tell her I have to tell the other people from Green Homes. I don't want to disappoint the kids or Ji-su. Just imagining the kid's teary face when I have to tell them that Hyun-su is dead makes my heart hurt. 

I really wish I could see Hyun-su one more time. I want to say a proper goodbye, but I know that will never happen. 

I keep on having dreams about him. I always dream about them when I get injured or am exhausted. They feel so real when they happen. Some are just what-if stuff like how it would have been if there wasn't a monster outbreak, but others seem so real. 

Like I'm seeing what Hyun-su is going through, but I know that it's not possible. He's dead, so why would I be seeing the things he's seeing? Maybe my brain is trying to make me feel better. I just don't know if it's real or not. 

I know it's stupid and silly, I have tried to go to the places I have seen in my dreams, but nobody is there or I can't seem to figure out where the place is. 

It's not like I can ask people for help. 

I haven't seen many humans out there. Most of the time if I see one they aren't too happy or too pleased to see me. Humanity has gone downhill in just these couple of months. Even if they don't know I'm a monster some will attack me. 

A girl all alone is an easy target for them in their minds. They would kill me just for the bag on my back and the little supplies I carry with me. Everyone is trying to survive and they will do anything to do so. 

It isn't better if they somehow find out I'm a monster. It hasn't happened much, but there have been times I had to defend myself against a monster and people would see me. Even if I would defend those people against a monster at the end they would have still tried to kill me. 

Of course, not all humans are like that. I have met some small groups of survivors or people who are alone and who are thankful for the help and the saving. There were even times when I exchanged supplies with them to help one another. 

There have been times when people came to find me to just kill me. Don't know how they find out that I'm not human. Maybe people that I help told them not thinking they would come and hunt me. 

I don't even have time to utter a word before they attack me. Even after trying to reason with them they still want to see me die. 

In the beginning, I just ran away and tried to get away from them so that nobody would get hurt. I was maybe hoping that if they saw that I wasn't fighting back they would just leave me alone, but they always came back.

 Always. 

Every time with more people and with more weapons. 

After months of being hunted by them, and being injured time after time I just snapped. Maybe at that point, it was the monster and me merging, but it felt good. They mistook my kindness as a weakness in the beginning, but they soon figured out that the fucked up. 

I killed them all. 

I ripped heads off their body and watched how they choked on their blood and tears. How they begged for their lives while I chased them down the same streets where they have been chasing me. They became the prey and I became the hunter. 

Those people wanted to see me as a monster and I did just that. 

I became a monster. 

I gave them want they so desperately wanted me to be. 

In the end, I kill most of them, leaving just enough alive for them to tell others to fear me. 

That way they will fear me enough to leave me alone. Nowadays not a lot of them try to find me. Some fools try, but with the right scare, they would just run away with pee running down their legs. 

Those moments were also the once I had those dreams a lot. I got hurt a lot and my body needed to heal so much that I passed out too many times. Luckily I always reached my shelter on time or found a place to hide before I could. 

There were also times I woke up someone else. Not like I woke up from being asleep or so. No, I was standing upright like I was doing something and I just woke up. I don't think it was the mystery person who did this.

I think I did it myself or at least my monster. She always told me not to worry about it and that it was for my safety. I honestly don't know.

Speaking of the mystery person. I think I have seen him a few times, but he was always gone before I could fully see time. Those times were those people would attack me I'm pretty sure he had helped me escape them a few times. 

Or sometimes I would wake up and hear the sound of the door closing in my shelter. There would be fresh supplies on my table and other stuff I could use. I really wish I could catch the person. I think it's Eun-hyuk, but I have no proof that it's him.

I was on another daily round. It has been a quiet and peaceful few days. Which I didn't mind at all. It's not like I fight monsters every day. It's just I always have to be on guard because I can sense them around, but today wasn't the case at all. 

I had just walked into a building when I heard people talking. It sounded like men arguing, but I couldn't make out what they were talking about. There were words like food and search that I could pick up, but other than that I couldn't hear anything else. 

It wasn't helping that they were in a building switching between whispering, talking, and yelling. Good luck to them in finding food here. This area was looted months ago by other survivors. 

Their talking suddenly stopped before gunshots ran through the air. I had to duck for a moment thinking some bullets flew past me from the building. Soon yelling followed together with more bullets. 

What the hell did they find? 

Not a lot of people have guns. If they have managed to find an abandoned military vehicle like I did, then they were one of the few. 

The screams didn't stop. It only became louder. 

"Ugh, fuck it." 

Without thinking more about it I ran inside to see what was happening. 

When I came inside I saw a tall red monster attack two soldiers. By the time I got there, the monster had already managed to wound and knock out one of the soldiers. 

The monster looked fairly human in some parts. The skin was red and looked like it was tightly stretched over its muscles and bones. It had two normal-looking legs, but it also had two extra legs. 

Those legs looked like they came from an insect, like a grasshopper. His big red hands seemed to be equipped with six long claws ready to attack anyone and anything that came in his path. 

My eyes snapped back to the soldier when the monster yelled loudly at him. I'm pretty sure the soldier was going to pass out, but he stood his ground in front of his fellow soldier. What are they doing in this part of the city? 

The other was still screaming while shooting at it. The gunfire stopped and a look of dread washed over the soldier's face. Without giving the soldier a chance to think the monster knocked him against the wall leaving him limp next to his friend. 

I could just walk away and let the monster kill them, but I know that if two of them are here others are nearby. If they come here more blood will be lost. Without doing more thinking I held up my hand locking the monster in place. 

Not knowing what was happening to him the monster began to thrash around trying to get out of the invisible trap. It didn't take him long before he caught the sight of me. A loud growl left his lips, but it didn't face me. 

One swift move with my hand and I smashed him against the wall just like he did to the soldier a few minutes ago. I had hoped he would be knocked out, but he clearly wasn't going down without a fight. 

So again, and again, and again I smashed him against the wall until he finally stopped moving. Releasing the grip I had on the monster I watch it slum down like a rag doll. I could have just let him be, but like I said earlier more people would come and more would die. 

It would be just too big of a mess where more monsters could be lured here with all the noise. 

My head went back to the injured soldiers when I heard muttering. The one soldier was trying to wake up the other, but seeing how much blood he was losing from his head I think he will be out for a while.

They need to go back to the others so they can help him. 

Slowly I began to make my way to the pair trying not to spook the awake one. Of course, the moment he saw me he grabbed his gun and aimed at me. 

"S-stop! I'll shoot!" 

I raised a brow ignoring his words. 

"Oh yeah? With what ammo?" I grabbed his gun firing at the ceiling. 

Just like I predicted nothing came out. 

The soldier looked at me with wide eyes before bursting into tears. Does he really need to cry? Letting out a sigh I throw the gun in his lap before squatting down in front of him. My eyes scanned him up and down. 

There was blood on one of his legs and some blood came from a head wound, but that's it. If he's lucky he can make it to the others without a problem. Seeing they made a lot of noise with shooting the monster I'll bet the others are coming in this direction. 

His friend on the other hand was not that lucky. The bleeding hasn't stopped, so if nobody helps them he will die for sure. There's also a big chance other monsters are making their way here with all the noise they have made. 

They just need to get out of here and seeing that they aren't going to on their own I'm going to have to help them. 

Without saying anything I grabbed the crying soldier. A scream left his mouth before he went completely limp and silent. 

Did he seriously just pass out? 

Why is this guy even a soldier! 

Well, this is going to be harder than I thought. 

Letting out a big sigh I throw him over my shoulder before grabbing the other one's leg. This is the best I can do. It's this or them dying here. The moment I got outside I saw rain hitting the ground. 

Great, this is just fucking great. 

The sooner I find their group the sooner I can go back to finding resources and other stuff. I know that these are soldiers from the stadium. I know they have been searching for resources on the other side of the city, but I guess it's harder to find them now after so long. 

They are going to have to go further to find food. Even for me, it's hard to find stuff, so I can only imagine how it must be for such a large group. 

It didn't take me long to locate their group. 

Just like I had thought they were coming in our direction looking for the lost soldiers. It also wasn't long until their guns were aiming at me. 

"Stop right there!" I heard one of them yell, but I honestly didn't stop. 

I just wanted this to be over with. I mean I know they could just shoot me, but I know I will survive. The two soldiers I'm carrying not so much. 

"I said stop!" The same guy yelled. 

I had honestly thought they would already have shot me by now, but they had managed to hold it together. 

"Wait." Another guy said when I was closer. 

Slowly I saw some of them lowering their gun. They all stayed silent when I reached them. Without saying anything I dropped the soldiers in front of them before taking a step back. 

Quickly the others took a look at them, checking if they were still alive. 

"They are still breathing, sire." One of the soldiers said to another man. 

I guess that he was the one in charge of them 

"Take them and go," I spoke up before turning around to leave. 

There was some mumbling behind me when I walked away when I heard a voice say. 

"Wait! It's dangerous to be out here on your own." 

I let out a laugh before turning around to face the group of men. 

"I'm the most dangerous thing out here. Now go." They all looked at each other not sure what to do. 

The man who was in charge and had yelled at me looked less scared and spoke up again. 

"What are you?" 

Squinting my eyes I looked at him trying to figure out why he wasn't as scared as the others. 

I know not a lot of people have seen special infecties, but they are soldiers I'm pretty sure they would have seen some. 

"I think you can figure that out on your own. Now leave this place. Nothing here is worth getting hurt or killed for." He was about to speak up again when a loud explosion rang through the air. 

Everyone turned around and looked up. 

That came from the stadium. 

The leader and another soldier began to talk. Something about another soldier gone missing. In the end, they decided to go back. 

The sergeant looked at me. 

"Thank you." I nodded before turning around and hoping that nothing bad had happened at their camp.

Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter

———————————————————

Hey guys! I hope you guys are liking it so far. This is going to be the last chapter with just Mi-na! The other ones are all with Eun-yu. I’m sorry if it was boring having her by herself, but out of all the storylines I made for this season this one was the best! Like I said before season two was a struggle to write!

[idontknowreallywhy]

Stars Are Only Visible In Darkness

A scene thrown down in my lunch break. I’m still not particularly confident writing Serious things but this was inspired by two things -

A song on the Scott playlist shared by @lenfantdeverone this morning - Battle Cry by Imagine Dragons which has some lovely angsty chord sequences, gorgeous vocal melody and the cracker of a line that is the title of this little ramble.

The most excellent @sofasurf who is constantly encouraging and has clearly slightly broken my brain with her angsty-ptsd-Scott writing. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right? Here is a weirdly dark birthday present for you… 😘

It’s established fanon that Scott ended up as a POW in Bereznik while in the Air Force, but how did that happen? One possible version of events…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Fear and fury danced a tango through his veins as he watched the khaki-clad thugs surround the small group of children and a woman he guessed was perhaps their teacher? An impromptu lesson in how to calmly stand up to playground bullies was underway but this particular gang was armed and accountable to nobody. One of them laughed with a coldness that sent ice rocketing down his spine.

He tried to tear his eyes away and move on. But his body was deaf to his logical instructions and so he waited.

It had been nearly 44 hours since he had been spiralling towards the ground with both engines aflame. He hadn’t stopped moving since his parachute caught on a rocky outcrop and arrested his fall with a jolt he was still feeling in his shoulders. He’d dodged the roving bands of soldiers and all the locals too - for how could he know who to trust? And even if he could, he’d only endanger them further. He’d crept slowly but surely towards the local town - hoping for somewhere to hide, food to steal, maybe some kind of weapon more useful than the short length of crumbling iron railing he carried and then… Well. A plan of some kind.

The town had been used as a shield for the local militia and everyone who lived there was effectively imprisoned in their own neighbourhoods. From the moment he’d entered through the heavily guarded gates clinging to the bottom of a truck he wondered how any of them were still functioning.

The devastation and oppression he had witnessed had crept under his skin like a poison he knew he couldn’t outlive. He would carry it for always now. 

The latest Allied onslaught had meant half the place was in ruin. The residents were stoically keeping on going as best they could with what remained… as well as the makeshift medical centre he’d clocked a handful of shops, a tiny church and the primary school across the square from where he crouched among those that were still welcoming people through their sandbagged doors.  

As for the rest… well… at least all the rubble and mostly-collapsed buildings provided shelter for one who knew how to use it. He’d slipped from shadow to shadow. 

Watching, listening. 

And it had paid off. His grasp of the local language was basic but he knew some key words and because of that he knew a cargo plane of armaments was due to arrive at the playing-fields-turned-airstrip on the other side of town in 2 hours. All he had to do was get there unseen, stow away until the ship was airborne again and then overpower the single pilot with the sedative that was the sole item left in the micro first aid kit stowed in his left thigh pocket.

The plan kept him upright when the despair surrounding him dragged his bones towards the ground.

The teacher crouched and addressed her flock with a gentle but emphatic tone as the soldiers jeered behind her. One lad shook his head, horrified, and one of the taller girls frowned and grasped her by the arm. She was shaken off and the trembling woman barked a one-word command that echoed through the courtyard

“RUN.”

Even he knew that word. And his brain shrieked at him to obey…

Seconds ticked by. Each one should have been taking him closer to that airstrip. He had a home to get back to. Brothers to get back to. Dad, Grandma, the farm. That cute librarian he’d promised to meet for coffee when he returned from duty. The smell of maple pancakes and bacon. A thousand sunrises. Hugs. Probably a medal and recognition as a war hero.

He had a life to live…

But so did the woman not 30 feet away, who was now stiffening her spine and lifting her chin in defiance to impossible odds. 

She was more of a hero than Scott would ever be, the quiet, un-showy type only visible when everything else became so desperately dark. The kind that made the world worth saving.

He tightened his grip on the rusty metal bar and stepped out of the shadows into the square. 

[AO3]

Ok a TBC did happen and got a bit out of hand 🤣 index to this universe here…

Next chapter here…

[kitsune024]

Crossovers

Danny Phantom

The Boy King and the Dark Knights by @imjustkindaherelove | Chapters: 29/? | Danny & Jason, Age Regression/De-Aging, ghost king-more like prince, good parent Jason, funny misunderstandings, Identity reveal How Light Carries On (Endlessly, Even After Death) by BumblingBeesAndWillowTrees I Chapters 3/3 I Completed Eldritch Danny, Danny Adopts Jason Todd, Haunted House Dig Three Graves in Apartment 31c by @faeriekit I Chapter's 6/6 I Completed Danny has the role of Willis Todd, halfa Jason The Red Hood's Big Bad Guard Demon by @the-stove-is-on-fire I Chapters 1/? I Danny/Jason, Ice Sculptor Danny, Danny freaks Jason out here lol, High and unhinged Danny, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin oh lazarus, how did your debts get paid by @hollowmashiro I Chapters 1/1 I one shot Danny/Jason, Pre-Slash, Codependency, Soul Bond, Mind the Tags

Star Wars

When Sanity Runs Out by heretoday898 I Chapters 30/30 I Completed Roy & Jason, Bamf Jason, Canon Divergence, Fix it

Supernatural

Two Lives, One Soul by Spnfandom8 I Chapters 10/10 I Completed Dean & Jason are twin brothers, Bamf Dean, Bamf Jason

Jason's Favorite Vacation Spot: Death by @super-sock | Chapters: 18/18 | Completed Basically Jason dies again and comes back again and it keeps happening, Crack and Angst, Lazarus Pit

The first time was a fluke. The second time, okay, there were extenuating circumstances. However, a third time? This was getting suspicious. --- Jason keeps dying. He becomes more acquainted with the other side. Nobody really knows what's going on.

ghost story by @envysparkler | Chapters: 7/7 | Ghost Jason Todd, Fix-It, Whump, Batfamily, Grief/Mourning

Jason Todd dies in Ethiopia. Well. Kind of.

The Wayward Boy by @zootopon I Chapters 3/3 I soldier!jason, Jason Todd Grows Up, BAMF Jason Todd, Maturity, Personal Growth, Jason runs away from home

Jason’s 15. Not old enough to drink but still knows enough to break a man 10 different ways before they could blink. If that doesn’t make people question Bruce’s psychological state as a person, let alone a parent, then he doesn’t know what will. He runs because he's not needed anymore. Because Bruce took away everything that ever meant anything to him, leaving him as just plain old Jason Todd. He runs because at least he can keep his head held high.

Who I am. Who I’ll Never Be by @zootopon I Chapters: 32/? I Jason Wages War, Bamf Jason, Artemis/Jason

On the run from the Justice League and the Bats, Jason prepares to wage war on those he once considered family. They took something from him, he intends to take it back.

JT's Auto Shop foxykyuu15 I Chapters 28/28 I Jason Todd is a Member of the Suicide Squad, Time Travel, Alternate Universe, bamf Jason

There are two locations in Crime Alley that everyone knows are neutral territory: JT's Garage, and Flag's Bar situated two blocks over. The Alley's run by a Ghost story who goes by that very name and lives up to every rumor told about him. Whether this be the blood running down the streets of the Narrows during the gang war waged for the Alley or Ghost's merciless hits against those who defy his order. Even the kind smiles and open rooms without strings attached offered to the citizens of the Alley are true. Its been this way for three years now. Ghost has taken over Mask's territory, ran Penguin out, and shut down Two Face's operations. He has worked long and hard enough to secure a foothold & establish a system under his Code. And it works. It does. Three years is also enough time that Spoiler and Signal, the two newest Bats, begin to get a little too curious to see who the elusive Ghost really is. (Jason hadn't wanted to get involved with the Bats this time around. He wanted to clean up the Alley, work on cars with Santana, and maybe smoke some weed and drink some beer on the weekends when he wasn't out doing crime-lord shit. Fuck.)

Totentanz (La Danse Macabre) by Balrog_Roike | Chapters 1/1 | one shot Lazarus Pit, Possession, Dark fic, Horror, Ghosts

"Vengeance is nothing but justice long overdue..." The Lazarus Pit thinks so, too.

The Daughter of the Water by @chucklesbuckles I Chapters: 1/1 I one shot Lazarus Pit, White Haired Jason, Eldritch Jason-of a sort, doesn't say in tags - Possession, Dead Jason?

“To walk the world!” it croons, bright gold spilling over it’s cheeks, highlighting the springy white curls crowning it’s head. It bends, cold wet hands cradling Talia’s face, wiping her tears away. It places a soft kiss to her forehead, tucking a loose curl of hair behind her ear, torchlight eyes burning. “Thank you for the body.”

Call on Me by @wellthatjusthappend I Chapters 3/? I Clark & Jason, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Clark accidentally end up parenting, AU - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence

It wasn’t that Clark had never thought about having kids, but when he did it hadn't been like this. "Clark... Superman, help."

Bookmark Series

The Phoenix Never Dies by ForceMage56 I Part 1-4 I BAMF Jason Todd, Jason's in Arkham, Talia al Ghul/Selina Kyle, Torture, Psychological Torture, angry Jason, Angst, Jason's had enough

[the-letterbox-archives]

The Rockdove Promise // Chapter 0:

"A God's Threat"

ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ

this chapter is a letterbox archives original. do not repurpose.

this chapter of the rockdove promise contains threats of violence. please proceed with caution if this topic is distressing.

ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ

There is fear amongst them. It floats through the atmosphere, poisoning the lakes and corrupting the cathedrals.

Our cathedrals.

It wasn’t a costly endeavour. Those terracotta toys have no souls to sell. They could never conceive of the pain that the weight of a nation has on ambrosia-stained hands. They will never understand how much their foolishness will cost them. Blood has laid under our fingernails for millennia. If anything, the tithes were doing them a favour. Terracotta does not bleed nor breathe nor anything of the sort. Letting something so fragile and inconsequential have more power than they can see will only lead to suffering.

So we asked for offerings of twigs and twine, a small cost for boons so grand. They’d be ignorant or insane to refuse.

But now they have.

Who let stone soldiers have a say in it? The matter is, when there is no soul to sell or self to scar, no request is refusable.

I understand what they want. To dethrone. Little clay usurpers want to batter down the gates and take our divine crowns by whatever means necessary. I trust that our swords and sicknesses will put them back into place. Who sits upon their thrones of rock and waste? Who dares to defy divine gifts? To think their ancestors before them were so compliant. Now they let our cathedrals gather dust. Silly revolutionaries. Anyone is courageous when the rain falls only for your call. But when the storms roll in, thunder muting the sound of battle drums, your true nature will be revealed.

Cowardice.

It hides within them, and the fear beckons it forth. Such a fatal flaw. Clay heaps like that will never win against the passion and perfection of deities like us. When cowardice and foolishness fall hand in hand in one creature, they could never hope to amount to anything more than an echo and a grave.

I’ve heard whispers of our next move. Begin quietly, let our messages carry on the wind, extend peacefulness to the barbarians. Only if they should refuse, so begins our judgement. But we are not ready. I am in the dark as to our entire plan. Yet there should be no question that our crusade will be painful.

I will melt their terracotta flesh.

For there is nothing if there is not power.

So I propose a solution more effective than our current ‘plan.’ Pierce their skies, burn their forests, desecrate the land on which their homes lie. Take mothers, daughters, fathers, sons, and rend them limb from limb until the message is clear. When termites rise from ramshackle castles and try to engulf palaces, there is only one option.

Nobody seems to know it; we are not made to rise from ashes. We are the fire. Loss is not negotiable.

Maybe they’ll see it harsh. Maybe they’ll see us cruel. If this much is true, maybe their eyes weren’t meant for seeing. Our kingdom is benevolent. Their wasteland deserves to be damned.

Offerings shall turn to sacrifices. We’ve declared it so. Sent by sparks of flame and songs of oracles, I will carry our message to them.

Should they wish to wager, they will find me here, with the rockdove.

ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ

[next] [previous] [first]

[write-r-die]

Man's World - Part 6

I finally figured out what I want to do with this story! Get ready for a real plot to form!

masterlist

It was the middle of the night for us when the flare happened.

People who were outside at the time were the ones who died right away or got an aggressive case of sun sickness. People indoors got slightly less, people on the lower floors of buildings got less, etc. 

I was in my parents’ basement when the flare happened. The accompanying earthquakes jammed the door to the stairs shut. It was a few hours before I finally made it out. 

In the end it was sheer dumb luck that I survived, that I didn’t get sick. 

Evolution, survival of the fittest – that didn’t factor into it at all when the world ended. Just your location.

I’m sure down the road I’ll have some sort of horrific health problems, that everybody will because you don’t encounter that much radiation without some of it infecting you. But I’m still alive and healthy for now. 

I don’t know about the rest of the world, though. Nobody does, since all the technology was simultaneously fried and there’s no real way to get across an ocean anymore. 

Usually I try not to think about it, but the soldiers accompanying us are talking about their travels while in the military. Two of them were stationed in Japan for a while; a third was stationed in South Korea. It was the middle of a sunny day in those countries when the flare hit.

One of the men from Japan shakes his head, smiling sadly. “I’ll never have sushi like that again,” he says mournfully.

The other frowns. “It’s a fuckin’ shame.”

We’re mostly on bikes or horses. A pickup truck accompanies us to carry back anything of value we find, but August tries to minimize car usage whenever possible, so we have a single truck with us to lug back whatever valuables we find. 

We all pull off to the side when we reach the neighborhood. A bunch of identical little houses on cul-de-sacs that were once full of yuppie commuters. Now it’s empty.

“Each of you will have one guard,” August says to the six of Miss Ally’s people. “You will not leave their side. You will wait for them to clear each and every room before you enter it.” He pairs them up and sends them all in different directions, telling them to return to this exact spot in two hours.

They all head off. Only August and I are left.

“I don’t have a guard,” I say once everyone is out of earshot.

August gives me a shit-eating grin. He’s my guard. Of course. He motions me toward a one-story home with a detached garage. “Come along. We’ve got things to do.”

The first house we enter has no front door. The windows have all been blown out, but the treadmill and stationary bike in the living room appear to be going strong.

August picks up a discarded magazine from the floor. “Health nuts,” he says sadly. “Not known for having full pantries.”

“You’d be surprised,” I say.

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “Oh?” He gestures toward the kitchen. “In that case, take the lead. I insist.”

Health nuts can be similar to squirrels in terms of stashing food for a rainy day. We don’t bother opening the freezer or fridge because whatever was in there was either eaten by now or has turned it into a mold jungle.

August and I work in silence, scouring the kitchen for anything that might be of use. August immediately finds a bottle of wine, which he looks over, then seems to contemplate deeply. He puts it in his pack and I have a feeling he’ll be adding it to his private collection.

I pause in the middle of ransacking a drawer full of oatmeal packets. “You really couldn’t wait until I was out of the tent to fuck somebody else?”

August doesn’t miss a beat. “I could and I did. Andie came in unannounced and uninvited,” he says, pulling out a plastic jar of protein powder. “You woke up before things got too interesting.”

I square my shoulders and return to sorting. “I take it that sort of thing happens a lot.”

“Often enough.” He shuts the cupboard and sticks the powder into his backpack. “Find anything?”

“Oatmeal packets mostly. And this.” I hold up the plastic jar of trail mix. “It’s mostly empty but –”

“We’ll bring it. We need everything.”

His choice of words gives me pause. Need, he said. But I’ve seen the supply trucks myself and we seem to have plenty of almost everything. Nobody in the camp goes hungry or lacks in basic necessities, at least not as far as I know. But I’m also not part of the inner circle. 

The pantry upstairs boasts two value-sized bottles of shampoo and three bars of soap, plus about a thousand toothbrushes still in their packaging. “Jackpot.”

“I’m checking the bathroom. Start on the bedrooms when you’re done.” 

My bag is brimming with floss picks and antiperspirant. 

The nearest bedroom once belonged to a woman. I can tell by all the expensive - and now very expired - perfume and makeup.

“Do we need clothes?” I call over my shoulder. 

“Underwear and socks,” August calls back. 

 I head for the dresser. I don’t love the idea of wearing someone else’s panties even if their clean but I guess beggars can’t be choosers. 

There are plenty of socks, so I grab a bunch of those. As I reach back to access the underwear, my hand brushes against something else. 

I grab it and pull it out and see a familiar book cover. I used to have a copy on my Kindle, not a well-worn paperback like this. But it’s the same story. I want to squeal with delight. Of course that’s when August comes in. 

“Find anything good?” he asks, leaning a shoulder against the door jamb. 

I reflexively hide the book behind my back which is of course a dead giveaway. 

He raises a dark brow, a smirk growing on his incredible lips. “What’s that?” 

I don’t reply. I know he won’t believe anything I say until he sees it for himself. 

He crosses the room to stand in front of me and holds his hand. Reluctantly, I give the book over. He watches my face, reveling in the embarrassment for a moment before looking at the book in his hand. 

Slowly, his smirk widens. He flips to a dog eared page and begins to read and I want to die. 

“He gripped her wrists in one of his hands, pinning them against the wall above her head. With his other hand, he cupped her sex over her dress and squeezed – not enough for it to be painful, but enough to make it clear that he was in charge, and this would go exactly the way he wanted it.”

I hate him. I hate the way he reads it in that deep sexy voice and I hate the way he smirks up at me and the fact that it’s getting me going and I hate him. 

He’s smirking again when he looks up at me. “Is this the sort of thing you’d like?”

“It’s just a smutty book.” I try to sound dismissive. 

He turns back to the book. “Her pussy throbbed under his touch —“

“Jesus Christ, stop that!” I snatch the book out of his hands and I’m way too turned on just by the fact that he said pussy and he’s still smiling and I hate him. “You’re acting like a teenager, trying to embarrass me.”

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” he says. “I’m trying to turn you on.” He takes a step toward me; I take a step back. “Get you wet.” Another step and I’m pressed against the dresser as he looms over me. “I have a feeling it’s working.”

I hate him. 

And then he’s leaning in slowly, lowering his head as I turn mine up. 

And his mouth is on my mouth, his fingers digging into my hips and I can’t breathe around the lump in my throat, the ache between my legs, that God-awful feeling in my gut that I will regret this.

But it doesn’t matter right now. Because right now all I can think about is the man pressed against me, the way his fingers are tugging at my hair enough to cause the slightest bit of pain that somehow makes me want him more. 

My right mind isn’t in control – I know that – this sort of aching need is primal and weird and frankly a little scary because I’ve never felt this out of control before. 

And then a shout comes from outside. “Boss!”

August pulls back enough to shout, “What?” My mouth is slightly open because I can’t get enough air through just my nose and all the while, August’s eyes are on that mouth, and I know he’s imagining everything that he could do to it and that it could do to him. 

“We found some people in one of the houses. They’ve got Draven’s mark.”

That snaps us both out of our lusty haze. 

Michael Draven is one of the six most powerful warlords roaming the continent. Besides August, he’s probably the scariest. Maybe even scarier, since August at least takes people in and protects them. From what I know, Draven only takes warriors and prostitutes into his group, and they’re not necessarily warriors and prostitutes by choice. 

August’s soldiers have rounded up a man and a woman – a boy and a woman, more accurately. The woman is around my age but seems much older, and she glares at us hatefully enough to make me shudder.

They each have a tattoo on their forearms that identify them as Draven’s people. Some of August’s people have similar tattoos to identify them, but not all. Bearing any warlord’s mark is a gamble because people are about as likely to attack you for your allegiances as they are to show consideration for it.

“We’re not his people anymore,” the boy says. “I cut the mark. See?” He points to a few still-healing cuts slashing through the crow tattoo that marks him as one of Draven’s. It’s how his followers got the nickname crows. The girl’s mark is pristine.

August takes the man’s wrist in his hand and angles his forearm to get a better look at it. The man winces at his touch.

August drops his wrist. “And why are you no longer his people?”

“He . . . wasn’t a good guy,” the boy says slowly.

“Warlords aren’t known for being good guys,” Miss Evaline – one of Miss Ally’s people on this outing – says. “Except for the Boss.” She sounds more than a little condescending. 

“I’m certainly not a good guy,” August says dismissively. He really isn’t and him saying so really shouldn't be hot but I still clench my thighs together. 

After weeks of ignoring him, of keeping my legs shut and my vagina as dry as the desert, he reads one teeny tiny snippet of a bullshit Kindle Unlimited-esque romantasy in front of me and here we are. 

“Give me details,” August says.

The two crows exchange a look. 

“I wasn’t asking.”

“There were rumors of something going down. A merger, a trade, I’m not sure exactly what,” the woman says.

“A trade with who?”

The boy swallows. “John the Revelator.”

John the Revelator, who earned his nickname back before the world ended through apocalyptic religious and political rhetoric, is pretty freaky, too. He was somehow elected to the House of Representatives a year or so before shit hit the fan, and when it did, he knew just how to play it. His followers, now called Thoroughbreds, were ready to flock to him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a muscle tick in August’s jaw. He keeps his eyes on the crows when he addresses his soldiers. “Tie them up. We’re taking them back with us.”

The boy’s eyes widen in panic. “We’ll tell you anything you want to know!”

“I’m glad to hear it,” August says. “Blindfold them, too.”

***

Our little mission has been cut short. Whatever information those two people have is worth more than anything we’ll find in these houses.

I go back into the house to grab my shit. I hurriedly stuff the book into my bag and bury it under a bunch of shit. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving this thing behind. 

“Still have that book?”

I jump at the sound of August’s voice; he neither notices nor cares. 

“Why?” I challenge. “Gonna make me put it in the library truck?”

“Of course not,” he says. “That book is yours.”

I quirk an eyebrow because I find that difficult to believe. “Really? You want me to keep it?”

“Really,” he agrees. “In fact, I insist.”

“Why?” He can’t possibly just want me to keep it out of the goodness of his heart.

His eyes travel down to my mouth and linger there before returning to mine. “Because I know you’re going to think about me every time you read it.”

Fuck. Why am I turned on when I know he has every intention of torturing those two crows if they don’t give him what he wants? 

He’ll torture the boy, at least. I heard a rumor that he doesn’t torture women – at least not physically – and I don’t know if that makes him a gentleman or a chauvinist. 

***

August Walker had an unfailing ability to keep himself in check.

He was especially grateful for it at times like these, when he was simultaneously interrogating prisoners and imagining Delilah Reid pleasuring herself as she thought of him.

How did she like to pleasure herself, he wondered? Was she the sort of woman to rub frantic circles around her swollen clit, desperate for release, or would she take the time to tease herself?

Perhaps she put fingers into her tight cunt. Two at a time, he guessed, and only up to the first knuckle. He was very good and guessing the little details that brought women pleasure.

When he had her, which he inevitably would, he would start with one finger. He’d penetrate her slowly and deeply and only give her enough time to catch her breath before plunging in and out, steadily increasing his pressure and pace. 

Thankfully, he stood with his back to the rest of the men in the tent, bent forward at the waist to mark the maps laid out on the tabletop. If anyone saw the impressive bulge in his pants, they assumed it was because he was in the middle of an interrogation, that his subjects; fear and his own power were what turned him on.

Not that a random, rude blue-collar twentysomething had him in knots – especially since that rude twentysomething wasn’t at the level of drop-dead gorgeous that was required for most men to withstand such high levels of bullshit.

“Where did you hear the rumors?” Sy asked the boy. He was in a wooden dining chair with arms, as was the woman. Neither of them were tied or taped down, though most of the soldiers in the room had rope or duct tape – a clear threat of what would happen should they cease cooperating.

“One of the other soldiers said he saw Draven meeting with a Thoroughbred at a stopover,” the boy said, using the nickname for John the Revelator’s followers. 

One of the other soldiers in the room produced a knife and started tossing it up into the air and catching it by the blade. The boy saw and started speaking faster.

“One of them should’ve killed the other but they didn’t. They passed things back and forth; I don’t know what.”

“There’s not enough food in Draven’s camp,” the woman said, her words stumbling over the boy’s. “It’s not sustainable. Draven would only trade if he absolutely had to.”

“Is that why you left, then?” August asked without turning towards the captives. “You were hungry?”

“I left cause all Draven has to trade is women,” the woman snaps. “I’m not gonna be a whore for a bunch of white supremacists.”

Sy turned to the boy. “And you left because?”

“Because he’s in love with her,” August said dismissively. He finally turned to look at his prisoners. Judging by the look on his face, the boy had never voiced his feelings. Judging by the look on hers, the woman was fully aware of this and chose to ignore it.

“You were a whore in Draven’s camp?” August said. The woman looked him up and down, eyes briefly catching on his groin, and nodded once. “Would you like to be a whore in mine?”

The woman’s eyes went back to the bulge in his pants.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” August said. “It’s not for you.”

Lilah was probably fucking herself right this second while the rest of the camp was sleeping, he thought. She was probably doing it under the covers on her shitty cot in her shitty tent with at least ten other people in there. 

Maybe some of them were awake. Maybe Lilah knew they were. Maybe she was too desperate to care.

“If I don’t want to be a whore?” the woman asked.

“Then I would hope you have something else of value to offer,” August said. “Otherwise, well . . .” He shrugged casually. “Take the night to think about it. Sy, put them somewhere secure for the night. I have other things I’d like to get done.”

[thequeendomhq]

NAME. Arkyn AGE & BIRTH DATE. 40 & April 12th, 2084 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Cismale & He/Him NATIONALITY. Iskaran SPECIES. Human FACTION. N/A OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Alexander Dreymon

biography

( tw: imprisonment, death, fire, murder )

Born human, Arkyn was as stained by the sickness of magic as any supernatural creature among Iskaldrik was. Tainted, the moment his mother sought the help of magic, an elixr to carry her through the woes her first pregnancy forced upon her, his first breath carried with it her sentence to the mines. Just moments upon this earth, and already he’d sentenced another to suffer. Flesh and blood that he would never know of, and yet would carry, a poisonous burden that would follow wherever the pattern took him. His second breath found the compassion of a woman of nobility. Spare the child, his humanity remains carved in innocence, however, tainted his birth may have been. Allow him the chance to do what his mother did not. And though he was cast aside, sporting the energy of something beginning to rot, he lived. 

But what hope does a babe have without the promise of warmth and protection? No matter the whispers of his survival, his life remained strung up by a single hook, uncertain of how long he could linger before the atrocities of a life without the bare minimum would take him too. A woman unknown, filled with enough warmth and the ability to protect all that was hers, the madam of a whorehouse, welcomed the newborn into a place no child should perhaps ever see. He’d never last, they whispered, and each side eye that the boy earned in the years that he grew, earned a shift cussing from the women of the brothel, those who nursed him, who taught him to grow with more love than he’d experienced just yet.

Wooden swords and sticks that looked nothing like the real thing were all he had to hope for, yet still, as he came of age, Arkyn was more determined than ever to ensure that he could protect the women who’d raised him. He learned to imitate those around him. Footwork of the Iskaran soldiers a dance he memorized and sought to repeat, over and over, with no partner to spar with. He learned to listen to what people were truly saying, instead of merely the words they formed in its place. Although Arkyn was undoubtedly forgettable, he remembered every face he ever came across, every voice in the night that stumbled over another lie. Devils. They said. Devils among them all, charming all those who had sauntered through the doors out of pocket and home. Witchcraft, kept the brothel standing for as long as it had, kept the coin heavy in the hands of the women within as they bewitched their clientele against the Iskaran laws. An uprising, so those of nobility claimed, and though Arkyn swore his family; those women of the brothel who took him in when nobody else would, would never be part of something so heinous as treason. 

And when the brothel was burnt to the ground, and all those within it perished among the flame, he was left only to wonder, if everything he touched was doomed to fall. If that touch of magic passed down by his mother had rotted him so deeply, he would find nothing but disaster within the shores of Iskaldrik. But with little more than the breath in his chest, and the cloak upon his back - where else could he go? Water cleansed all, and each ripple sent outwards by the reverberation of refugees as they stow from the city echoes the Vow of Silence he swore oath to years prior. The journey beneath the depth of the Lake of Sighs, into the cavern of Nightingales is one that Arkyn has never felt as a weight upon his shoulders. Never has he been more than a blight upon the lives of those around him, a pariah to earn more cold shoulders than blank stares and though everything he touched until his tongue was tied, fell to rot - something told him this would not join in destruction. 

As the Kindgom fell, his return was inevitable. Arkyn knew far too many clinging to the slivers of hope that perhaps, one day, the magic within Iskaldrik wouldn’t be seen as something demonic. He knows the touch of warmth it has always offered along the cold, lonely path he’d walked. The touch of a mother's hope, the love of strangers open enough to help raise him, and the kindness of a woman who gave him more to live for with the passing of a single coin Undoubtedly, the sight of his face, as refugees are led towards the shores of Iskaldrik, is one that leaves an echo of shock. The boy who existed alone for so long, too afraid of humanity and magic kind alike, forever fearful that growing too close to either one would end in disaster. Touched by the shadow of magic, and too human to know it at all; Arkyn’s pledge to the Nightingales became his saving grace. A place to exist, upon the precipice of all that which threatened to choke him until now. The boy within him still quivers, confused and lost within the imprint of destruction, and yet every whisper Arkyn gives to the wind brings his younger self that little bit closer to clarity.

The pattern weaves, as the pattern wills.

personality

+ resourceful, compassionate, meticulous – introverted, stubborn, dissociative

played by becer. aest. she/her.

[bahbzxxx]

Before anybody gets confused…THIS IS NOT CANON IN THE SLIGHTEST.

THIS. 👏IS JUST. 👏AN EXCUSE. 👏TO SIMP FOR VENTI. 👏WHILE MAKING IT. 👏AS COMPLICATED. 👏AND DRAMATIC. 👏AND CONVOLUTED. 👏AS POSSIBLE.

In short, this is just a silly little au.

👏

I did this all in one sitting so yes thank you my grammar is atrocious

So let’s consider harbinger Venti’s situation.

Because in BarbzLANDIA, He’s canon now. Don’t @ me he moved into my silly little brain with his thousands of suitcases that he stuffs in his hat somehow and I kinda need his rent money🙄🤌💸

So consider the following:

How tf are people going to react to lord Barbatos then?

- The fatui would be petty, sis. The more mondstadt thinks they’ve been abandoned by their archon of freedom in exchange for this new wackadoodle OP harbinger, the more people will loose faith in him as their archon and not only will he lose power, but he will gain disappointment.

We Venti stans already know this poot likely Carries way more guilt and truama and depression than he lets even the traveler in on…so this is why it pleases the higher ups of the fatui and abyss to see this happen, especially since HES now the harbinger who’s ruining everything.

(Don’t you just want to spit on them and hurl sheakspearean insults at them?) (I know I would!!!!!and that’s just the start!!!)

(Why am I so mad at fanon depictions of characters I am making I will never know, but in the meantime, we tread on)

Timing? - what’s mondstadt like? What about our favorite characters? Tf they up to?

Like, it already had fatui and stuff so it would all just be blown way out of proportion. Like, imagine the fatui have been in there longer…(I think I made an imagine post a few months ago where mondstadt is suffering because Venti got *officially infected*, and because he’s the wind, the weather and much more is affected…so the fatui…they kinda just…infiltrate casually over decades, at least until they can catch the anemo archon at his lowest and have that power over him)

For the most part, at the point that I’m thinking the story would take place… fatui soldiers and the knights of favonius have basically melded into one group. Those who didn’t like the change and could leave left…but some people couldnt, for the good of Mondstadt.

The church of favonius, as time goes on, gets a lot of flack for supporting a god who clearly no longer cares or maybe even exists, in the eyes of the people who have seen it’s fall.

(It’s been rumored that, though it is rumored he is of mondstadt descent…the recent lord harbinger in residence has not stepped foot in that cathedral.-could he be ashamed of his actions…or is there something bigger behind this?)

(Maybe I’ll get to my ideas for other characters in a different post but y’all know where diluc is goin’)

(He’s going to the swimming pool. He’s gonna go swimming, and then will get a slushie. What he doesn’t finish he will give to his pet bird. His bird likes grape. He doesn’t. They will feud. He will appease the bird and give him grape. He will then get a la croix. Then he will go home and stream BNHA and act like hes todoroki, only to stop for obvious, blaringly obvious, reasons. That will be all. We tread on.)

What is the extent of Venti’s power in this? Would he have any at all?

Though he knows they do it to taunt him, he actually does.

His wishlist is simple-

1. Mondstadt is safe.

And those with power over him know that. They also know he may be more powerful than them…but he actually has class, and thinks before he acts.

So…they actually kind of trust him to be a good harbinger. They let him run mondstadt the way he see fit…he can’t just leave and give them freedom…

It Iitersll sucks cause he has to be the tyrant so that nobody else will be the tyrant and do worse things…

As long as it serves the Tsaritsa and her plans. If not…trust he will be dealt with 😥

(More on that here maybe)

Though many statues of the seven have been defunct for a while, he would still be able to gain his own power from at least one…because technically, they already have his gnosis. It just so happens that it’s still inside of him. They have him wrapped around their finger by this point…

Misc: necessary to include

Venti would be so trusted by the fatui at this point that they put him in charge of Childe. No…childe does not bump up a place. He’s still 11.

You can imagine how interesting their interactions would be.

(You can imagine how offended he is)

Diluc is the token fugitive before the traveler and posse(posse being paimon and the Windblume in question) shows up in mondstadt looking for their sibling

[oofouchstovehot]

(Very very sorry. I had to ramble a little about worldbuilding. It got out of hand.)

Nothing against the sans hyper fixation, i get it, i have it too.

but like... does anyone else wish there'd be a little more focus on other characters when it came to aus?

(BEAR WITH ME MY KNOWLEDGE COULD BE OUTDATED IF SOMETHING DOESN'T MAKE SENSE)

Like. For this huge clusterfuck of Sanses fighting other Sanses. A lot of them have home worlds right? Do they bring friends? Do they fight in the multiverse to protect them? Do they try to hide what they do? Is it just skeletons fighting in Dream and Nightmare's Groups or are there also Undynes popping up for backup? Is there a Toriel who Dream crashes with often? Someone other than Sans who is the only survivor of a destabilized world. Maybe there's a reason Sanses are most likely to survive? Is it chance? Is it the role he plays in most worlds? Is it a meta thing like Ink's relationship with Creators? Does Sans have some kind of cosmic plot armor due to our favor of him? Do the people who's world was destroyed, or destabilized, or kicked them out and have to live in the omega timeline, or crash with an alternate them, or live at Nightmare's Hideout-Castle-Thing jealous of characters with a home to return to when their job is done? Can we get Deltarune involved please?

Idk... The purely Sans groups are fun but surely there are more people helping the Stars and crashing with Nightmare's gang. I mean, mf has a castle. And Dream's cause seems to be pretty widespread.... Would Dust be chill enough with Kris to have them on the team? Would they pull the !#?@ Squad along or would Ralsei and/or Noel convince them to help Dream. Would they split in two? Are there people who's aus are perfectly fine but they decided to leave either because they were passionate enough for a cause, working off-world as a trade-off for protection or resources(like... food?) back home, or just- didn't like their universe at all? Susie and Noel fight on different sides but when SwapFell!Alphys helps booster Susie up into the castle so they can talk, nobody says a word. Underfell residents are even more cautious of eachother then before they were attacked since half of them now work for Nightmare and the others just want to get by? (Do Dream and Nightmare even look like Sans? Maybe they used to? Maybe they're a weird combination of Sans and Papyrus? It would make sense, they're twins afterall, but Sans and Papyrus come in Pair and don't look the same. Are they like Deltarune, perhaps? Technically the same person as Sans but with a role so twisted and different from the source that all resemblance is purely surface level? Doesn't that happen often? Nobody can really recognize faces anymore. Are you sure that's not normal? I think you're seeing things. Their auras do cause hallucinations on occasion. I'm sure they're normal. Just like Ink!)

Does Nightmare strategically pair up his soldiers so they're only fighting alongside different versions of themself in order to avoid bias from those who lost family? That's why the "Bad Sanses" are most infamous, perhaps? Because Nightmare looks most like them and therefore chooses Sanses as his closest thralls? But what about switched around Au's where someone who definitely looked like you is also definitely the guy would would've killed your family? What do you do about that? How do the Humans get on having all that DT in a space? Does the Most Determined Person change often? How do they interact with Killer?

What do Papyri think of short skeletons in scarves and hoodies, weighed down by an eternal grief and exhaustion carried in bags under their eye sockets? What do they think of the dust on that shady one's sleeves? And the way he's distracted by the nothing over his shoulder? What do Mutt and Red think of each other? What does Edge think of Mutt? Is it disturbing? Do they wonder what could've possibly changed to get where they are other than age? Is Paprika the Oldest? How old is Stretch? Edge made it into the Guard? Didn't Blue mention he was a teenager? How many kids have been mistaken for adults? How many lied? Is he okay? How does he possibly keep up with people like Ink and Dream? He kinda scares me. Do you think I could do that? What happened to Disbelief? Swapfell is surprisingly energetic. Edge, Paprika, do you need a Dentist? I know an Undyne-

[sleepyivoryrose]

Okay! Groceries: Done; Mood: full of energy (thanks waffles!); Music: Megatera Zero (as all things should be) I'm feeling good today! Some new flower soldier joined my ranks for my story (I've got now...23 flower soldiers...I seriously need to stop, but...it's so fun making new characters for the collection) Maybe I should start making some evil flower soldiers, for the enemy team...! I've already got ideas for two or three (it also would give me the chance to draw something else than military uniforms or a variation of those...please...have mercy, me...)

These are way too many parenthesis. But it gives the illusion of fluctuation in the voice, you know? Like, capital letters are screaming, normal letters are regular sound, and parenthesis is whispering...no? I guess it's my days as a roleplayer...

I also write waaay to fast! The times I mispelled or replaced a word, or ate some of the letters even, is crazy!

My brain needs to slow the fuck down. And while we're at it, my hands too. Nobody is going to lynch me just because I write a little bit slower. Breathe, Sae. Breathe.

Today was a beautiful sunny day, with a blue sky which has barely any clouds. But it was cold. Really cold! Thank goodness I had my egg jacket on, or else I would have frozen up! Well, as soon as I got back probably would have started sweating carrying all that stuff back home! I feel like a gatherer in ancient times! Just that I don't walk miles upon miles to get home with the food. I basically have the supermarket around the corner.

And I don't have to hunt down the food in the cold, but in a warm building.

Okay, maybe it isn't as similar as being a gatherer. It's a fun daydream though.

---

Nowadays everything is going so fast. Information, trends, walking, the way we talk...I was aware that I was in my youth way faster than my parents were, but I got the feeling the young'uns don't really pause to enjoy something anymore. It's one thing after the other. I mean, I can't throw everyone into the same bucket. I'm sure there are plenty of young people who do in fact take a breather every now and then. But even the ones who don't, can I really blame them? The environment they grow up in is, definetly, going around in super high speeds. If they don't adapt, they get left behind.

I know I am the "old man who shakes fist at cloud", but it's truly what I feel. Things from five years ago are already seen as "retro" by some people. Or they call them unironically the "good old times". It's baffling. At times even scary.

It's important that we keep physically moving, and emotionally evolving, but I think breaks and calm are as important too. To be fair, I could be more active myself. But maybe I can get a little bit of inspiration of people who are always going forward, and I can maybe calm their nerves a little bit. Because, even if I am myself terrifyingly fast sometimes, or at least it feels like it, I certainly didn't forget how it feels to sometimes just...stop. Not completely, at the very least.

Just...breathing...feeling your heartbeat...and be grateful for being healthy, and everything you have and are.

Being gentle with oneself, being kind to oneself. That is really important. It doesn't come naturally to me (which might seem funny, considering how much of a clown I am online), but sometimes...no, I never stop trying.

Well, my friend came online, time to wrap it up!

See ya around!

[brotheralyosha]

Because people, including a few people I ordinarily respect, who I know to be capable of being non-stupid, are being incredibly fucking stupid about this. You could observe that this nightmare is the culmination of decades of Israeli cruelty. You could point out that the IDF was caught off guard because so many of its soldiers were busy in the West Bank, guarding settlers as they rampaged through Palestinian villages. But that’s not enough; you psychos are actually endorsing this. You are directly identifying resistance and liberation with a slaughter of unarmed civilians. I know why you’re doing this, of course. You are trapped in a little game of meaningless discursive gestures, in which you have to constantly affirm the eternal righteousness of whatever side you’ve chosen, or else people online will make fun of you. And so you end up saying that atrocity is resistance, this is what it will always look like, and anyone who has any reservations about it does not belong to the cause. You end up aligning yourselves with the ugliest, most eliminationist strands of Israeli fascism, and you don’t even realise it! I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t ever use this thing to have one-sided arguments with cretins on Twitter, but as far as I can tell nobody’s attempted to express this cretinism in prose so I don’t have much choice. Look; look at this stupid, stupid shit:

I know the lines, obviously. I’ve used plenty of them myself. The things you’re supposed to say when the side you support does something monstrous, the rhetorical flourishes you bring out in the face of mass murder. The small acts of intellectual blackmail you carry out against yourself. Lines like this:

This is the most basic, brute-force gesture: for everything monstrous that has been done here, remember that Israel does the same stuff too. Resistance fighters kill children in their homes: well, what do you think an Israeli missile does? Resistance fighters kidnap dozens of civilians: do you know how many ordinary Palestinians are trapped in Israeli jails, convicted by the farcical military courts? And you’re right: for everything that was done over the weekend, Israel really has done worse, and it will probably continue to do worse in the future. There is nothing Hamas could do that would be equivalent to seventy-five years of violent dispossession and occupation and apartheid. But for a few golden days, the famously lopsided ratio between Israeli and Palestinian civilian casualties went the other way. Is that enough for you? Does that satisfy? Is that justice? Is that all you were really after, all this time?

. . . .

In the end, I think all these lines are doing the same thing. They’re a series of mental tricks that allow those who know that murdering defenceless people is wrong to pretend that sometimes murdering defenceless people is fine. Your stomach turns, the way mine does, at the thought of pointing a gun on someone who poses no threat to you and suddenly ending their life. But you know that this is being done in the name of liberation, which means you have to be seen to support it. And so to smooth over the gap, you produce this bullshit. You produce evasive bullshit about the misdeeds of the other side or the priorities of other people. You produce intimidatory bullshit about how your own conscience is politically irrelevant. You produce the utterly shameful mystifying Fanonian bullshit about the violence of the oppressed, how much nobler and more defensible it is than the violence of the oppressor. And yes, there is a history and a context here, but violence is violence is violence. What actually face each other are not oppressor and oppressed, or coloniser and colonised, or even Israel and Palestine. It’s not a context or a history. It’s a person with a gun pointing it at a person without a gun, and killing them. And that’s what you’re trying to forget.

Sam Kriss in with the only good take (see also @dostoyevsky-official, @triviallytrue et al.)

[rouecentric]

INAZUMAAAA hopefully these aren't annoying by this point, if they are I'm so sorry, but onto Inazuma while I hope this is still interesting! Inazuma is already oppressive when the traveler first arrives there, and this is no different with you present. Beidou doesn't need much persuading to take you there, luckily, since she's seen you to and from a lot of places (that isn't to say she wouldn't mind if you stayed as a permanent member of the Crux, though. She might not let you share drinks with her and the others but she already has a juice supply for when you're aboard so why not make yourself at home?).

That being said, Kazuha is less excited at the prospect of you going to the very same place he lost his friend. Though his interest in the traveler possibly reigniting the vision prevents him from objecting completely, so he'll settle for just keeping an eye on you as long as he can before you reach Inazuma, since he won't easily be able to follow you there with his criminal status.

Oh but just wait until you meet Thoma and the Kamisatos, they'll adore you whether you've met them previously or not, they're ready to welcome you with open arms. Thoma might ask you how Mondstadt is faring, Ayaka wants to go around town with you now that she has someone to spend time with and Ayato is probably looking into any potential ways you could be politically talked into staying even just a little longer. Your stay with them is like being pampered to death, Thoma is at your beck and call, always getting you what you want, even if you didn't ask for it.

Yoimiya would have a field day with you! Entertaining kids is her specialty, she loves them, and she certainly loves you! Come look at her new fireworks, every time you use one you'll remember her, isn't that sweet? I doubt anyone other than her thinks so. Kujou Sara might catch sight of those lights in the distance and find them to be an annoying distraction, Yae Miko might spy them from miles up at the shrine and find such childish things amusing - but if they knew they were a personalised gift to keep your attention on Yoimiya? I guess depending on how petty they are, how selfish they are to want you only at their side or confined in the nation, they might try to interfere with Yoimiya's gesture of friendship.

When the traveler joins the resistance, it's likely nobody wants you involved, you're only a child you shouldn't have to see this. You should be able to enjoy the beautiful sights at Watatsumi Island while Kokomi and Gorou focus on organising and carrying out battles, even Sara would probably prefer if Itto and Kuki came along to keep you busy elsewhere with beetle fighting or whatever it is they get up to. Everyone just wants you out of harm's way, they'll deal with you later.

Obviously, there's still a pretty significant person in Inazuma who still hasn't been mentioned: Ei. And with good reason, because out of everyone in Inazuma she's undeniably the biggest threat. Not only is she unstable on her own when it comes to attachments, but when she pulls the traveler into Euthymia and you and Paimom are left alone in front of a crowd of soldiers, it becomes clear to everyone that you can't be left to travel the world like this, the traveler can't even take care of you!

And Ei's return does nothing but solidify this. She's been alone for so long that having a new face, a new friend who can experience eternity with her due to your shared immortality, she doesn't want to lose that. Up until you hint towards leaving, everything will be fine. Ei likely tries to get you to try out all kinds of sweets with her to fulfill her sweet tooth, the lifting of the sakoku decree lessens the tension throughout the nation, life is good until you and the traveler agree its time to move on. While they won't reinstate the sakoku decree just to get you to stay, you'll basically be in a race against everyone to get to Beidou's ship before someone catches you and drags you to an estate!

(in all honesty I haven't caught up with Sumeru enough to write one about that so I think this is where my ranting ends, I thank you for listening I hope it wasn't too boring)

DW ANON I RLLY LOVE YOUR THOUGHTS AND OPINIONS ON THE CHARACTERS!!

imo yae would be interested in the reader after they and the traveler survived ei + the warriors that reinforce the vision hunt decree, as the reader is definitely experienced enough in fighting, yae is the type to attempt to manipulate and gaslight the reader into staying with her and ei.

speaking of ei, she's a desperate woman, so she's not above breaking any of the reader's bones if it means you'll stay with her.

so in general, there's pretty much a small chance of the reader even being able to leave, unless beidou and kazuha are involved in getting them away from the others.