#rise without fear

[vitaspera]

unhinged calix / viorel yapping commences..

[comicwaren]

This week on Marvel Comics (16th October 2024):

Avengers Assemble Vol. 3 #002

Blood Hunters Vol. 2 #003

Crypt of Shadows Vol. 5 #001 (One-shot)

Daredevil: Woman Without Fear Vol. 2 #004 (Finale)

Miles Morales: Spider-Man Vol. 2 #025

Moon Knight: Fist of Khonshu #001

Mystique Vol. 2 #001 (NEW!)

Spectacular Spider-Men #008

Star Wars: Battle of Jakku - Insurgency Rising #002

Ultimate Spider-Man Vol. 3 #010

Uncanny X-Men Vol. 6 #004

Venom War: Deadpool #002

Venom War: Venomous #003 (Finale)

Wolverine Vol. 8 #002

[vertigoartgore]

1985 promo poster for Daredevil #227 (the first issue of the famous mid-80's "Born Again" storyline) by DD artist David Mazzucchelli.

[immediatebreakfast]

Sometimes when there shift, an event, or an action around you; something so significant to the narrative that is crucial to do, the land knows and changes accordingly.

"Then we looked back and saw where the clear line of Dracula's castle cut the sky; for we were so deep under the hill whereon it was set that the angle of perspective of the Carpathian mountains was far below it. We saw it in all its grandeur, perched a thousand feet on the summit of a sheer precipice, and with seemingly a great gap between it and the steep of the adjacent mountain on any side. There was something wild and uncanny about the place."

Mina writes before the final confrontation, when Dracula is still clinging to his undead life against nature.

"The Castle of Dracula now stood out against the red sky, and every stone of its broken battlements was articulated against the light of the setting sun... The sun was now right down upon the mountain top, and the red gleams fell upon my face, so that it was bathed in rosy light."

Mina writes after defeating Dracula. After finally killing the man who has been terrorizing all of Transylvania for centuries.

The fight is over.

[distrxst]

sigh . tag drop

[the-king-of-nightmares]

To those who assume I am intimidated by North because he is somehow taller than me:

— he is not, I can change my height (and shape) at will; — he is a fool, and fools are easily outwitted. — he was a mere human; even now he's hardly a threat, compared to that golden sack of sand.

Sincerely,

— the king of nightmares

[talentforlying]

@whcwashe: ❛ Tell me it's worth it. Tell me you know the risk and I'll be there with you. I'll back you up. Just tell me. ❜ — HOUSE OF USHER STARTERS

it hits him deepest and cruelest in the moments like this one — the moments of smart and steel slicing up through satin. ones when she looks at him with her chin held high, with her hands balled up in awkward fists like they weren't designed to hold determination of her kind, with her eyes round and doe-soft and shining with so much unearned faith. when blind relief cores its way through bone marrow and infiltrates his trabecular sanity through the unbidden image of phantom hands clapping his back in praise; through a disembodied voice imagined saying would you look at that? didn't fuck her up too badly after all, constantine.

A FORBIDDEN STING OF PRIDE.

deep, and cruel, and forbidden. deep, because he fucking means it: liv aberdine has grown, and he's proud of her for it. smarter, wiser, not necessarily with grace but assuredly with the stubbornness of weeds butting up through concrete. she questions him more often than not these days, challenges him for the truth and seeks it out on her own when he won't oblige. the shadows she still jumps at are real, and terrifying, and she looks them in the eye. she can survive them, now. whether or not she believes it herself.

cruel, because to weigh change against origin is to compare one with the other, and the root of his comparison comes in shades of nightfall wreathed in fire; on a car park rooftop where she first took his hand to get her life back, and the only thing to stop him pulling her by that hand into hell was her thinking quickly when he couldn't. because she's learned so much, and he's failed her so often, and she will still offer to take his hand if he will promise not to drop her.

forbidden, because that insidious little voice he likes to imagine, in each and every moment just like this one, isn't jasper's — it's his own wishful thinking. his excuse for not holding her to a better choice, his way of passing her the buck for her own inevitable demise; so glad to see a girl so like her father he once knew that he forgets she was meant to become someone on her own, unlike them all. supposed to live, not just survive. just another kid he could have saved.

tell me you know the risk and i'll be there with you.

this girl he's halfway-raised isn't a success story. she's a sacrifice in the making. and it's going to be HIS JOB to wield the knife when the making is complete, because he'll be the only one who'd think to do it kindly. because all he'd have to do is put out his hand to her and promise.

' alright, alright! jaysus, let a fucker breathe. ' he has to cope his way through the suffocating miasma of dread that's clogging up the airwaves first, see, if he wants to come up with a single sensible explanation for why he, renowned opportunist, plans to leave a perfectly good asset at home and go it alone. which requires pacing. itchy fingers twitch for the carton of cigarettes in his breast pocket, then fold without relief; she keeps leaving notes for him inside the fucking things. if he sees one now, he'll vomit.

' ... look, i do know the risks. an' it is worth it. ' a few impatient flicks of his wrist beckon her in under his arm, which wraps companionably around her shoulders and squeezes false reassurance across the tension of her spine. ( in unsettling concert with his thoughts. ) with the other hand, he gently chucks her chin, attempting to wobble that stiff upper lip she tries so hard at. ' i just don't need you, right now. '

[quietlyblooms-gone]

chiyo loving hours except now i'm imagining chiyo in her vampire verse and how waking up from her transition really went. it wasn't a calm thing where she got to read her cousin's letter first and prepare herself mentally before she drank blood for the first time. nooooo no no. she woke up ravenous and being drawn to the smell in her fridge, tearing open the door and tearing into those containers. the taste of animal blood -- not quite fresh at that -- was a little unpleasant but satisfying enough. but gosh, she was likely soaked in the stuff, or at least her face and the front of her shirt were. her hands were certainly stained. there was probably a big mess on the floor, too, from where she carelessly tossed the containers, and then her stomach didn't feel quite full.

after all, her cousin had to get the blood hastily and prior to bringing her back. it probably wasn't the best quality, nor was he able to get much. really, the fact naoki pulled all of this off without getting murdered by chiyo is a small miracle. he likely performed the spell and booked it out of her apartment and waited to see what happened bc he knew once she woke up, she wouldn't be in her right mind until she fed. after she woke up, he'd be able to get cyrillo, an influential vampire in the area, involved. chiyo would be in good hands.

but i promise you she got sick. if not right after gorging herself on the animal blood, she gets sick the minute she reads naoki's note and realizes yes, she just drank blood. which is a little bit of a problem bc she's gonna be hungry all over again, but chiyo can't help it. it's a mental thing, and between the blood and the knowledge that she was killed and brought back as a vampire, she's completely overwhelmed. she's sobbing on her bathroom floor, hugging her toilet and shaking. she's got this terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, which is a mixture of hunger and dread -- dread bc this can't be a joke. it's real. and how the hell is she going to move on from this?

[debtsunpaid]

i'm still going apeshit over my new guy while i write their backstory but i'm being a perfectionist about it, so in the meantime here's a few lil things about klavier:

formerly an astrophysicist working for the ESA (and one-time astronaut, but that wasn't always the plan). their colleagues remember him best for their mental math prowess, his ferocity in advocating for their team & their project, the six separate times he almost knocked himself out on the wing of their own spaceplane, and the very, very formal weekly dinners they hosted that no one ever expected to be that formal bc he brought them up like inviting friends over to watch the game on sunday.

re: the dinners: they love to cook for people. love it. very picky about the process and doesn't often like other people helping them (he takes hosting and courtesy towards houseguests very seriously), but doesn't mind people watching or taste-testing. he doesn't do it as much these days, because all the joy was really in the social aspect & he considers themself too dangerous to get close enough to people to invite them over, but they'll still pull out absolutely flawless cutting technique when applicable.

met their fiancée (magdalena) in university bc he was arguing with a professor in the law library where she worked. she came over to tell them to shut the fuck up, and he jumped so badly that she felt guilty later & went back over to apologize, to which he Also apologized & suggested that hitting him with one of the heavier books would have been equally effective. they started talking about each other's work & majors, were going to part ways when the library closed, then awkwardly ended up walking the same way home. to the same apartment complex. for a while after that, whenever klavier went to the library while magdalena was working, she'd catch his eye and pretend to line up a shot with the heaviest book she had on hand, which always made them laugh.

currently a drifting adjunct professor & substitute teacher, as well as an occasional german, spanish, & math tutor. he tends to focus more on teaching/talking about mathematics these days rather than astrophysics, though they've done a few physics lectures here and there; if asked why, they'd say it's because he's still hiding from the german government + MI-6 and it's smarter to avoid being found within his field of expertise. but really it's because the last time they knew what was real & what wasn't was in 1990, the world's ideas about the cosmos have changed drastically since then, and he no longer feels like an expert in anything, or like he even knows the world they're standing on, let alone any worlds elsewhere.

CLIFF NOTES ON THE GOD PROBLEM: klavier was psychically bonded with jallakuntilliokan during his first (and only) spaceflight on the spaceplane hermes because their orbit put them Directly over the geotroniks facility where the magi caecus were firing the fear machine, at the exact moment when john constantine, zed, and marj were completing their ritual to summon its anima (other godly half) and negate its intended damaging influence on the world. but while the beings themselves balanced out, the summoning rituals did not (pagan nation involved 3 people, geotroniks involved 2), and they could not co-exist unevenly in the world, so jallakuntilliokan had to draw on more psychic energy in order to even things out.

luckily for jalla, there was a spaceplane with 3 powerful potential psychics perfectly aligned with the ley lines that it drew its power from, courtesy of string-pulling and secret testing led by the UK magi caecus and klavier's own mother for over a year prior. it was a flimsy backup plan based on the (so they thought) astronomically slim chance the summoning would fail, with the intention that the spaceplane would be intentionally crashed into the facility and some poor suckers would be sacrificed for enough psychic potential + public shock & alarm to rev the fear engine all the way up to its purpose. they just didn't count on jallakuntilliokan sniffing out the supply first.

the other two astronauts were fried, but klavi survived; the burst severely damaged the hermes and it crashed back to earth, veering off course and hitting the baltic sea. all klavier remembers is the burst, seeing his colleagues burn out, the agonizing sensation of something segmenting their brain like an orange, and then being dragged out of the ocean later. he was then secretly held by the german government for three years in the hopes of determining what the fuck had happened & what was now wrong with him, until jallakuntilliokan shoved their consciousness into the Dreaming long enough to take hold of the body and bust out. he's been on the run ever since, all but convinced there's an alien living in his skull, unaware that he's playing host to a god.

[trashworldblog]

it probably means nothing that ive been dreaming that chicago gets flooded with over 10 stories of water since i started living here, right? thats probably fine.

[solxr-flare]

||decided i needed tags for different points in time for kh characters, since they change so much in both personality and looks, and itll help me keep organized

||anyway tag drop

[amelikos]

Spotlight posts of each chapter in anticipation of HZ100 (Liko and Roy Set Off, Terapagos' Shine, Terastal Debut, Rayquaza Rising).

[demarogue]

Gettin' Through the Holidays Mental Health Tricks

If y'all are anything like me, this time of year is triggering AF. Here are some small, very easy grounding exercises that I was taught by my therapist, basically in order of how much I like them for this rage-inducing season. You make like them in a different order, depending on your rage-to-despair ratio.

Push a wall: literally go up to a wall and try to push it over. Really try. I promise you won't push it over, but give it your best shot. Try to hold it as long as you can, and then take a breather and assess whether you need to repeat. Why it works: This is a quick, physical expulsion of the fight-or-flight feeling. It's a bit like punching a wall, but without the potential to hurt yourself/look scary/damage things. You can even do it in front of people and say you're stretching, they'll never know (unless the wall actually falls down, but this will not happen, I assure you).

Shake like a dog: Animals shake to release stress, and you are also an animal. Setting aside time to just shake it out, as vigorously as you can, arms and legs, face, stick your tongue out, pretend you're shaking like a wet dog. You can dance instead, if that feels better, and you can do this to music, but basically the more unhinged you can be, the better. If you are in a place you can scream, scream too! Why it works: like the above, this is a release of pent-up stress and anxiety. Especially if your rage-to-woe ratio is high, some kind of physical exertion is often the best way to burn through the cortisol and adrenaline you're building up.

Bilateral Tapping: Cross your arms over your chest so that your fingertips are at your shoulders, and slowly tap, one hand at a time, back and forth, for about a minute. Breathe slowly. Why it works: This is weird as hell, but because this engages both sides of your brain, it helps override the activity of the amygdala, which is the part of your brain that Makes The Fear. If you're being literally triggered in a situation, i.e. you're having a trauma response, or reliving some family trauma, this is a good one.

Box Breathing: From a comfortable position (can really be seated, laying down or standing), inhale slowly for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, exhale for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, then repeat. You can do it for shorter counts or longer counts, but if you vary the counts make sure the exhale is longer than the inhale. You can close your eyes or leave them open. Why it works: This exercise helps you move from a sympathetic (activated) nervous system response to a parasympathetic (balanced) response. I do this one every day, and it's a good gateway to meditation. Especially helpful in anxious or tense situations, but I find if I'm very triggered I need one of the other ones first, or it can make anxiety worse. Breathwork is amazing but not usually as a first exercise if you're very activated, or have been activated a long time.

Ice: Lots of ways to do this one – hands in cold water for 30 seconds, ice pack on the back of your neck, dip your entire face into a bowl of ice water (this one's the most effective). Why it works: I kinda think this is hilarious, but this activates your mammalian dive reflex. It immediately slows your heart-rate, so if you are feeling your blood pressure and heart rate rising, this one is very good. The only reason this one's at the bottom of my list is because I hate being cold.

I wish you all a very get-through-the-holidays-without-hurting-yourself. Take time alone if you need it.

[batshit-auspol]

As is tradition we held our annual "Batshit Aussie Moment of The Year" poll on twitter this month, and as is also tradition it was a complete dumpster fire and we ended up having to delete our account again. Such is life, as the French don't say.

Nevertheless we had a lot of great nominations from what was truly a year full of the utmost topshelf batshittery which we shan't be letting go to waste. So we preset:

Batshit Aussie Moments of The Year, The Now Undemocratic Countdown

Leading the nominations there was of course Raygun, the little Aussie PHD breakdancer that couldn't. Recently she has trademarked her name and there was a whole lawsuit around using it so no further comment on that.

Dr Ray was followed close in second place by Australia's former Deputy Prime Minister being filmed drunkenly making phonecalls while sprawled across a sidewalk.

This glorious video saw the good people of Australia rise to the occasion with all the pisstaking the moment deserved, complete with chalk crime scene markings, a plaque being installed, and a candlelight vigil held by locals.

Also making a strong showing in the polls was Australia's richest woman Gina Rinehart pulling a Barb Streisand by demanding her unflattering portrait be removed from Australia's National Art Gallery, which of course made it immediately go viral.

Lol. Also noteworthy in the nominations was the horse that escaped its enclosure and tried to flee by catching a train, making national news headlines in the process.

But for all those big names/horses who we're sure would love the limelight, the crown title of this year's Batshit Aussie Moment of The Year is being awarded to a regular everyday Aussie (and tumblr user) who fought the system and (almost) won:

After 23 year old Aussie racecar driver Oscar Piastri won the Hungarian Grand Prix, our very own @the-prophesied-mouse "jokingly submitted an e‒petition" to Australia's parliament asking that the day become a public holiday, "assuming it would get thrown out".

Instead their request for a yearly national "Oscar Piastri Day" crossed the threshold of signatures required for a response, being then escalated all the way to the Prime Minister's desk after the responding minister decided it was of utmost importance.

After being sternly considered by no less than three government ministers, sadly in November it was declared that the petition would not be ratified, due to the small issue of the federal government not having the power to create holidays (it's apparently a state thing).

The government did however point out that many national days are celebrated without official proclamation from the Australian government, and so it is, with the powers vested in us by all you loveable weirdos, that we do solemnly declare from this day forth that the 21st July shall be forever known as Oscar Piastri Day, and may all non-believers fear our wrath.

Anyway, happy new year to you all from us here in Aus. Farewell to a truly Batshit year, and here's to no doubt more of the same in 2025. We will leave you with this heartfelt reminder of a true national treasure we lost this year, the progenor of perhaps the most iconic Aussie batshit moment of all time, The Right Hon. Mr Democracy Manifest:

Happy new years to youze all!

[gossamyrrh]

gentle somno, cnc, creampie ... ୨ৎ afab!reader

✦ thinking about suguru coming home late one night, ridiculously hammered from a work event with his head pounding, only to find you, his sweet wife, sleeping on the sofa, your shorts riding up your plush thighs—rosy lips parted just slightly.

his first thought is that you probably dozed off waiting up for him. closed your eyes for a second before your exhaustion overtook you, as it has so many times before. the notion brings a clumsy smile to his face, and before he knows it, he’s drunkenly giggling to himself. thinks, fuck, i'm so lucky.

his second thought, however, is.... far less pure. hits him suddenly as he nears you, gets a glimpse of your skin up close, smells that familiar, signature, honeyed sweetness of your body wash that he just fucking adores.

and without warning, his cock is rising in his trousers, throbbing with a raw need, and he’s on you in a second.

belt buckle undone, trousers unzipped, he’s pulling out his stiff cock and swaying over you as he struggles to tug your bottoms off in his drunken stupor. it takes him a couple tries—a few, really—but eventually he gets it, shoves it down your legs until it tangles at your ankles, a groan caught in his throat upon discovering only your glistening, bare cunt.

no panties?, he thinks. were you trying to surprise him with a little gift for when he came home? is....this the gift? your cunt?

he doesn’t dwell on the question for long.

he gives himself a few experimental tugs before he’s gently sliding inside of you with an ease that makes him suspect you prepped yourself beforehand. the thought makes him release a pathetic, gasping moan.

i'm so fucking lucky, he thinks again. because how many other men have a partner who is willing to offer themselves on a silver platter just to please them? how many others have that synergy? that trust? that devotion?

suguru rocks into you with sloppy thrusts, nearly melts at the sensation of your soft, velvety cunt, nearly cums, too, but he holds it down. grabs your hips to angle you just right, fingernails biting into your soft skin, and (he blames this on the alchohol. the lack of restraint) starts whining as your tight cunt starts clenching down around him. squeezes him in such a delightful way he fears all the veins in his head might pop!

“f-fuck, that’s s’good.” he whispers, grunting softly, eyes screwed shut with an unfathomable amount of pleasure.

he doesn’t know what—maybe it’s the thrill of it all, of the taking. it’s taboo nature. the stigma that surrounds it—but after a few more thrusts and groans, he’s shuddering as he cums in your poor, little abused cunt, filling you to the brim and covering the skin at the crux of your thighs with his hot, white seed.

he leaves it there—leaves you full—doesn’t bother cleaning up.

that’s his little ‘thank you’ gift for you to wake up to…

[xoxojisu]

dicksuki.

synopsis: seeking out comfort from unofficialbf!katsuki and he says something mean and it's your final straw. + katsuki can't stand seeing you cry.

notes: i will be exclusively referring to mean katsuki as dicksuki from now on

it has been a long, long day. you're running on maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep, you're on your period, you've been buried under homework, and you're 2 seconds away from a nervous breakdown. so, you did what any girl would do and sought comfort from katsuki. you’re curled into his chest, warm and tired, tucked under the covers in his dorm bed. it’s late. the room’s quiet. and he just kissed your forehead like he always does. casual, gentle, thoughtless in the way it’s become second nature.

“i love when you do that,” you whisper, voice barely above the hum of his fan.

he hums low in his chest. “do what?”

“kiss my forehead,” you say, already sounding half-asleep. “it feels like you really love me when you do.”

his heart skips. it stutters, even. but he doesn’t show it. instead, he scoffs, because that’s what he does. dumbass defense mechanism kicking in without permission.

“maybe i don’t,” he mutters, a teasing edge in his voice. “maybe i just do it to shut you up.”

he smirks. like he thinks he’s being funny. like it’s nothing.

and for a second, he thinks you laugh. or maybe you’re just shifting under the blanket.

but then he feels you go still. not the relaxed kind. not the sleepy kind.

the kind of still that makes his stomach twist.

he glances down, still smirking, until he sees your face.

you’re staring at nothing, eyes wide and watery, lashes clumped from blinking too fast. lips trembling like you’re trying so hard to hold it in but you’re already losing the battle.

and it hits him like a truck.

“wait.”

his smile drops instantly.

“wait. shit. baby.”

it wasn't exactly what he said. sure, it was kind of hurtful, but it was more the accumulation of all of your stressors and he happened to be the final straw. don't crash out over this. it's ok. you don’t say anything. you don't trust yourself. you don’t move, either, lest some tears fall out with the motion. your chest rises with a shaky breath you try to swallow.

his whole body tenses. “fuck, i didn’t mean that. hey, no, no, c’mere. look at me.”

he’s cupping your face before you can turn away, thumb brushing your cheek, voice suddenly so soft.

“i was just messin’ with you,” he says, frantic now. “i didn’t mean it. of course i love you. fuck, of course i do.”

you blink up at him, eyes glassy. you're so vulnerable and emotional right now. honestly, you'd been sort of insecure about loving katsuki more than he loves you lately, and he confirmed all of your worst fears. after all, you were technically 'just friends.' just because he hangs out with you doesn't mean he loves you. “but you said-”

“i know what i said,” he cuts in quickly, guilt written all over him. “and it was stupid, okay? i was bein’ a dick like always and i swear i didn’t mean it. not even a little.”

your lip wobbles and he practically whines, pulling you against him and hiding his face in your hair.

“god, don’t cry. please don't cry. i’ll do anything, i’ll kiss your forehead a hundred times, just.. don’t think i don’t love you. and also stop cryin'. it's killin' me. i love you, sweets.”

you sniff against his collarbone, voice muffled. “you do?”

he leans back just enough to kiss you. your forehead, your temple, your hair. kiss, kiss, kiss.

“so fuckin' much.”

masterlist