#the storm has arrived

[yourwwegirl]

Her abs BLOW MY MIND.

[hobermallowed]

“Ancient sands, heed my command and reclaim these relics of hatred!”

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 275

Pokemon crossover? Indeed. Because there’s so many ghost pokemon, and many that are specifically stated to be dead children that I bet? They would absolutely adore the Dannies. In fact? They adore the entire Team Phantom. 

Who are in fact on vacation, taking a summer to not have to deal with ghosts. Do they know what Fright Knight is doing back home? No, but they’re on vacation and don’t care. Look at these lil guys! Tucker, don’t steal the rotom- oh they’ve adopted you? Okay. Fair enough. 

Now their world? Pokemon doesn’t exist. And by that I mean not even as a game or series or anything. So it is new and fun and like exploring the zone all over again! 

They’re having fun, making friends with people and pokemon alike. Danny has discovered that pokepuffs don’t become violent if revived and many of his new friends love having snacks they can chase after. Dan absolutely delights in taking care of more than a couple of the evil organizations- and there might have been a cult form, no one asked. 

They had to drag Tucker away from several bits of technology, quite literally drag him. And they had to carefully drag several pokemon away from Valerie because they adore her and her suit. Sam- erm, where did Sam and Ellie- oh there they are. Oh Ellie found a clone friend and Sam. Sam that’s a legendary. 

…

That’s so cool! But like, they do have to go back home- oh, oh they’re coming with. That’s a lot of pokemon. Oh well, it’s fine. They brought souvenirs for their friends and family and plenty of plants- like Sam would let them not do so. 

So now they’re home and with… okay that’s way more friends than they thought, but it’s fine! Let’s go see- oh hey Frighty, erm, what do you mean heroes arrived?? We don’t have much of an issue anymore???

Fright, teacher of theirs, where are the heroes, did you toss them out- FRIGHT-

[phoenixcatch7]

Cap should be allowed to teleport to the rock with his transformation lightning. I mean that's where it's coming from, after all.

He would use it to get out of so many situations XD.

Batman: captain, do you have a minute to stay after this meeting?

Billy, going to be late for school if he doesn't hup to: um haha sorry the wizard wants me back at the rock I'm already pushing it hahaSHAXAM

The wizard, looking up from his orb: *raises an eyebrow*

Cap, transforming back with more lightning and rushing for his bag: I'm sorry I'm sorry Mrs Ermine is going to KILL me if I'm late again this week!

The wizard, to his rapidly retreating back: this is the seventh time this month you've used me as an excuse.

Billy, halfway down the hall of sins, voice echoing: I said I'm sorrrryyyyyyy!!

Batman, left all the way on the watchtower: :|

[flamingredanon]

*peeks out from the void*

We know that during their different routes as Toppat Leaders that Right and Sven's reigns get destroyed or damaged mainly because of Henry. (Little Nest Egg and Cleaned Em Out being the most kind to the two Henry wise)

But I had a thought of if we removed Henry from the equation, would Right and Sven's leadership be just as bad?

We know that the two do have routes where the rocket launch is successful (Free Man and Valiant Hero) and while we don't have a Sven only dealing with a Government attack (since Special Brovert Ops and Triple Threat have Galeforce pull out his troops so Henry can Henry), we do have a Right one (Master Bounty Hunter) and that route shows things are already going rough before Henry came. Sure FM shows that they do squeak by to space, but at what cost?

Maybe Sven might do about the same or maybe his launching the rocket early means that the Government does less damage (not to mention he stays in the cockpit), his leadership seems more strict but also more organized.

Sven couldn't predict Charles and Henry slamming their spacecraft into their Space Station during VH, but Right is fully responsible for bringing Henry aboard because of his grudge in FM, and even in Capital Gains Right throws himself into the fray of things.

Despite Sven's bad Henry luck and the fact that he can't take a punch to the face to save his life, I think Sven would be a punctual but decent leader if Henry wasn't there, where Right's impulsiveness and grudges would possibly lead the Toppats to their doom or his dethronement as if he isn't wanting to hunt down Henry, then he might go after the Government for sending him on the Airship and getting Reginald capture and so on.

[kiruamon]

Grey World AU - Visit from the Moon 1

Seventh comic part of the Grey World AU. Had to split the current event/storyline into multiple parts, because it got too long. So here is the first one out of... probably three.

It's their first time meeting each other face to face. I hope you are all in for a bit of angst in the next part? Cause things are getting stressful.

[aliki-is-an-hellenist]

Thank you Queen Hera and Lord Hermes for taking care of my mom and bringing her back home safely like I asked you.

[fromtheseventhhell]

since you finished asos, did you noticed a difference on Arya’s character? as in how george wrote her in this book. I feel like after rereading these books i noticed more and more and to me arya just was such a cliche-tomboy girl in this one,you know that type that antis love to say about arya? I felt that in this book which I didn’t in the previous ones. I don’t know but especially in the second book arya was so much more complex and deep and went through so much, and in asos for me it seemed like that went out of the window in a way, and just was portrayed in such a cliche way, without that emotional side and maturity that she achieved in acok. she is so young obviously but the internal thoughts and how she carried herself was a little more complex then in asos. don’t know if it makes sense.

So, I have to say I really disagree with this. Arya has never been written as a stereotypical tomboy and I think it really simplifies/reduces her character to say that she is. She certainly hasn't ever been written in the way antis, or the majority of fandom, claim she has. I'm not sure what measure you're using to judge but let's assume that it's the opposite of her being traditionally feminine. The real question is, where exactly does Arya have room to be more feminine? Her story in ASOS starts with her on the run and escaping Harrenhal, she subsequently gets captured by the BWB, and then by Sandor. The entire time she is traveling through war-torn land and in constant danger. Her behavior isn't her consciously deciding not to be "feminine" it's her adapting to her surroundings. TBH she has a lot more "feminine" moments than seems logical considering. She wears multiple dresses, bonds with Lady Smallwood and thinks about her throughout the book, she has romantic coded moments with Gendry, there's a romance song specifically related to her, and she even thinks of running away with Gendry like in the songs. This isn't specifically towards you but I would love it if people would stop labeling this little 9-11-year-old girl masculine. It's weird to try and judge her by such restrictive measures.

I also don't think she's any less complex, it's actually the opposite. I think this book does a lot more to show her state of mind and how things are affecting her. Arya is a character that George has always written beyond her years so I can see why some of her thoughts could be viewed as "childish" in comparison. Like you said though, she is very young. We really feel the weight of what she's been through and her desperation to simply make it back to her family. She is a very traumatized young girl and she's written as such. We still get to see her intelligence, her maturity, AND her emotional side. All of these things exist as part of her character but it doesn't make her any less complex. And how exactly does she go through less in ASOS? Was running for her life, being kidnapped, and witnessing the red wedding not enough trauma for her?

Hoping none of this came off as rude but because you didn't supply anything specific as to why you felt that way, I had to answer kind've generically. It just feels like Arya is held to a higher standard than other characters and criticized more harshly. Aside from Dany, I really never see characters being reduced and fit into restrictive boxes like she is. It's like people judge her based only on specific moments and don't look at the entirety of her character and development.

[fishareglorious]

wdym the deer creature thing in the background of marcus' i2 splash art might be symbolizing hofmann. bluepoch do you fucking want me DEAD?

[yourwwegirl]

I miss her already, please give her back to me.

[soulsanctuary]

.

[thismotherchucker]

God i hate having to make customer service complaints, but like my train literally didnt exist and no one told me??? So i had to buy a £70 ticket to London from Edinburgh today, which is double the cost of the return i had booked

[snowfuls]

district two's floor during ambrosia's death with @subsiist .

boredom during the games isn't a notion enobaria is familiar with. at least, not personally. she had cut down her competition within the space of a week and the arena's dry, savannah heat had taken care of the rest. no one could ever fault her efficiency nor her skill. much of which is often credited to the old man sat beside her. really, she had always possessed raw talent and all he'd done is refined it ( he hadn't even been the only one doing so ) but the capitol adored the pair of cutthroat victors together so, spun all matter of touching stories about the two. the validity of said stories often fluctuating but their bond, once brokered, was unbreakable. that much was set in stone.

it's why they can sit in comfortable silences such as this one. not that today's quell viewing was making anyone feel too comfortable at all. the caps were surely revelling at the sight of district four's pair losing it to a sector filled with hallucinatory mushrooms but as lucky from one shortly falls victim to his partner's knife ( a very real stab in the man's back ), the mood inside the tribute centre turns sour and unbeknownst to them, that's only the beginning. what follows appears to harken the end of this year's career pack, ambrosia taking the lead, acting with a voice of reason which only fills enobaria with pride... but ezra fucking klair objects. of course, he does! and like the sheep they all are, the rest fall in line, leaving ambrosia on her lonesome. the spat is a catalyst, causing her to cut and run. smart girl, enobaria thinks. they're nearing the final ten now, safer to watch what's left of the careers tear themselves apart from afar and swoop in for victory at the end than waste even more time entertaining their precious whims. she'd have likely done the same and there's a smile beginning to pull at enobaria's lips to prove it but such evident pleasure at ambrosia's decision is short-lived.

it unfolds so quickly. too quickly. a stunned ❛ what... what the fuck? ❜ uttered in reaction, not directed at her companion for she dare not tear her gaze from the screen but transfixed, lips part in what must be the most genuine sense of shock enobaria's felt in a long time. flashing rows of sharpened enamel without a second thought. claws flying out too, her deft fingertips tensing around the bright velvet of their couches as she's rendered helpless to stop the inevitable. watching on helplessly as a tidal wave, some great colossus of a thing, comes ripping through its forest sector, washing her tribute away in an instant. the sheer force of it appearing to break the young girl's body, prompting a cannon to sound on the spot as it contorts gruesomely inside the rushing water. a lump in enobaria's throat comes with it, staggering her breaths but there's little time for tears when all she can see is red. pure rage beginning to course through the victor's veins, for what had just occurred was through no fault of ambrosia's and that is perhaps the worst part of it all. she hadn't lost a fight, hadn't come up against a mutt. there was no weapon involved. she'd wanted separation from the idiots holding her back and recieved what appeared to be... petty, karmic retribution from the gamemakers for such a bold, unapologetic move in response.

seething and all but glowering at the man, enobaria finally turns to face brutus. knowing him as well as she does, what awaits her is likely an onslaught of smug, biting comments but the girl is quick to cut in first, rising from her seat in exasperation. ❛ brut, what the fuck was that?! ❜ she yells, the storm one might glimpse gathering in her brown eyes growing ever darker by the second, ❛ they practically begged us for a victor from two after last year's nightmare and then, they go and kill her off using a wave?! ❜ now, with ambrosia's vitals gone ( blackened out to indicate death ), the holo promptly displays that she's placed twelfth. for district twelve? she thinks, unable to help but notice the coincidence. someone in the gamemaker's room must have a sense of humour. how fucking quaint. enobaria wonders how funny ambrosia's death'll seem to them once she's using teeth to tear flesh from limb again. ❛ i'm going to kill them. ❜ she concludes. hyperbole... probably. she can't even be sure of just who she means yet, only that they'll pay for this. fists are clenched, her sharpened nails digging into skin, tempting the breakage. altogether craving the violence that will settle her.

[sysig]

I thought I was done being feral about Tamagotchis but no, it was just a lull

[faolonfiendrender]

Okay, I’m gonna write something.

Miss Le Miestre kicked the church door shut as she jumped to the inside. Two shots followed her in.

“Those connards are back. Barely got away, but this ol girl can still weave like she used to. Please tell me the rest of ya have more than that rifle Madame Reyes carries between ya.”

Miss Reyes spoke up first “Got a Colt in my boot. Same one the knife is strapped to. Draw it to surprise fools who think I’m going for a knife.”

Mr. Darby was the next, he said nothing, simply produced a derringer seemingly out of thin air, and then a stiletto in his other hand.

Mister Mori was the last to say anything.

“I apologize, but I have not had a chance to purchase a gun yet. If I could borrow one from one of you, I’d be quite grateful. I am better with rifles, but I understand if Miss Reyes doesn’t want to give me her rifle”

Miss Reyes handed Mister Mori her rifle before retrieving the revolver from her boot. She then stared directly at Miss Le Miestre and asked one question.

“You got a gun?”

In response, Miss Le Miestre removed her blue longcoat, revealing that beyond her cutlass, she had kept two flintlocks, one with an ivory handle, the other with jet, as well as an imported European revolver.

“I have a handful of guns, I’ll still never get used to those new-fangled revolvers, even if being able to shoot five times before clubbing someone with it is nice.”

Then she drew the revolver in her left hand, grabbing her cutlass with the right as Mister Mori crouched behind a pew and Mr. Darby and Miss Reyes stepped to the side of the door.

Miss Le Miestre stepped towards the door, deciding that she’d insult them in English so they could understand, and shouted to the men outside, all of whom were dressed in old grey uniforms and wore improvised masks.

“I’m coming out ya damned bastards! I’ll make all you regret not giving up when you could, I’ve been making scared little devils like you die since your grandfathers were cabin boys!”

She kicked open the doors, firing her revolver from the hip to make all eight of the men outside take cover. She then ducked back into the church, drew her jet-handled gun, and made ready.

The first of the men stood up from behind a barrel, Mister Mori put a bullet in his head before he’d fully processed what happened. Seconds which felt like hours passed. One of the survivors stuck his repeating rifle above a wagon and started firing, as soon as Mister Mori ducked to avoid the gunfire the four of the men ran down to flank the door while the three left in the street stood with rifles trained to keep their enemies from shooting out the doorway

Only one of the men going to flank made it, Miss Reyes shot two of them from inside the church window hitting both in the gut. And one made the mistake of trying to pull her through the window. She stabbed him with the knife on her belt as he grabbed her gunarm.

That left one man, one overconfident man. He knew he had to shoot Miss Reyes first, and then that rifleman. He knew there was no way the one who had attacked them had reloaded yet, and the limey one didn’t have a weapon.

So he tried just that, before a puff of smoke and the smell of black powder filled the air, and he fell to a weapon nearly a century older than he was.

During all this, Mr. Darby had slipped away out one of the other windows. He slipped back as he jumped from an awning behind the gunmen. He managed to shoot one of the men on the way down before stabbing another in the gut as he stood. The third man had his gun pointed at Mr. Darby in time to make him pause. Another click made the last man standing pause.

“Hey, we got business here, and I see that officer sabre on your belt. Think you can take an old woman in a swordfight? Get done with all this guns business?”

So, the last man standing out down the gun and drew. He figured that he’s more likely to survive this fight than the previous one.

At the same time, the man who fell in the church began crawling along. He knew to fake injury when shot. He’d take care of the rifleman first, a knife to the gut should work and then he’d shoot the vacquero.

Outside, metal clashed, the old pirate falling back into her familiar rhythm, high, low, step together and raise the sword at an angle. Try to cut his shoulder as he swung and missed. Skill was on her side, but her opponent was clearly never trained, he kept holding his saber in two hands, and yanking away when he felt a cut bounce off his guard. This made him an unpredictable brute, and somehow, he was gaining ground.

Inside, things had not gone as planned for the man with the knife. He had kicked the rifle away, and the tapestries that hung meant the gunslinger couldn’t get a good shot, but the rifleman was good up close. He seemed to flow around the knife, even as low as both were. A kick found Mister Mori’s hip, and he fell across a familiar sheath. He rolled backwards as the knife tried to reach his gut. He took the sheath with him. He stood up and faced the man with the knife, both out of reach from the other, hand on the hilt of his sword as his foe stepped forwards

Outside, Miss Le Miestre found herself losing ground, so she stepped back, holding her sword out with one hand to stop her opponent’s advance for but a second. Her opponent swatted the cutlass to the side, but he should have paid attention to the other hand instead.

A loud bang echoed. A blade glimmered silently. Both of the gunmen still standing clutched their guts. One felt immense pain, the other felt nothing even as his blood fell on the church floor. Both fell, one backwards and one forwards. A pirate put her ivory-handled pistol back in her belt, and a samurai put his bronze-hilted sword back in its sheath.

Consider:

Victorian England: 1837-1901

American Old West: 1803-1912

Meiji Restoration: 1868-1912

French privateering in the Gulf of Mexico: ended circa 1830

Conclusion: an adventuring party consisting of a Victorian gentleman thief, an Old West gunslinger, a disgraced former samurai, and an elderly French pirate is actually 100% historically plausible.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 64

Chapter; Highlights

Hours later, Yrene was still shaking.

At the disaster they'd narrowly avoided, at the deaths she'd witnessed before that wave had struck, at the power of the queen on the plain. The power of the prince who had prevented the ensuing steam from boiling alive any caught in its path.

Yrene had thrown herself back into healing during the chaos since. Had left the royals and their commanders to oversee the aftermath, and had returned to the Great Hall. Healers drifted onto the battlefield, searching for those in need of help.

All of them, every single person in the keep or the skies or on the battlefield, kept glancing toward the now-empty gap between two mountain peaks. Toward the flooded, decimated city, and the demarcation line between life and death. Water and debris had destroyed most of Anielle, the former now trickling toward the Silver Lake.

A vision of what would have been left of them, were it not for Aelin Galathynius.

She'd been asked to inspect the queen when she'd been carried in to a private chamber by Prince Rowan, the two of them borne off the plain by Nesryn. Yrene hadn't been able to stop her hands from shaking as she'd hovered them over Aelin's unconscious body.

There had been no sign of harm beyond a few already-healing cuts and slices from the battle itself.

Nothing at all beyond a sleeping, tired woman.

Who held the might of a god within her veins.

Yrene had then inspected Prince Rowan, who looked in far worse shape, a sizable gash snaking down his thigh. But he'd waved her off, claiming he'd come too near a burnout, and just needed to rest as well.

So Yrene had left them, only to tend to another.

—

To Lorcan, whose injuries ... Yrene had needed to summon Hafiza to help her with some of it. To lend her power, since Yrene's had been so depleted.

The unconscious warrior, who had apparently tumbled right off Farasha as he and Elide had passed through the gates, didn't so much as stir while they worked on him.

That had been hours ago. Days ago, it felt.

Yes, she needed to rest.

But a horn, clear and bright, blared from outside.

Everyone halted-then rushed to the windows. Yrene's smile grew as she, too, found a place to peek out over the battlefield.

To where the rest of the khagan's army, Prince Kashin at its front, marched toward them.

Thank the gods. Everyone in the hall muttered similar words.

From the keep, an answering horn sang its welcome.

Not just one army had been spared here today, Yrene realized as she turned back to the water station. If that wave had reached Kashin.

…

Lucky. They had all been so, so very lucky.

Yet Yrene wondered how long that luck would last.

If it would see them through the brutal march northward, and to the walls of Orynth itself.

Lorcan let out a low groan as he surfaced from the warm, heavy embrace of darkness.

"You are one lucky bastard."

Too soon. Too damn soon after hovering near death to hear Fenrys's drawl.

Fenrys's smirk was a slash of white.

"You've been out for a day. I drew the short stick and had to look after you."

A lie. For whatever reason, Fenrys had chosen to be here.

Lorcan thumped his head back on the pillow. "Elide." Her name was a rasp on his tongue.

The last he remembered, they'd ridden through the gates, Aelin Galathynius's unholy power spent. Then oblivion had swept in.

"Helping with the healing in the Great Hall," Fenrys said, stretching out his legs before him.

Lorcan closed his eyes, something tight in his chest easing.

"Well, since you're not dead," Fenrys began, but Lorcan was already asleep.

Lorcan awoke later. Hours, days, he didn't know.

The candle was still burning on the narrow windowsill, down to its base. Hours, then.

He didn't care. Not when the dim light revealed the delicate woman lying facedown on the end of his cot, the lower half of her body still on the wooden chair where Fenrys had been. Her arms cradled her head, one outstretched toward him. Reaching for his hand, mere inches from hers.

Elide.

Her dark hair spilled across the blanket, across his shins, veiling much of her face.

Wincing at the lingering ache in his body, Lorcan stretched his arm just enough to touch her fingers. They were cold, their tips so much smaller than his. They contracted, pulling away as she sucked in a sharp, awakening breath.

Lorcan savored every feature as she grimaced at a crick in her neck. But her eyes settled on him. She went still as she found him staring at her, awake and utterly in awe of the woman who had ridden through hell to find him ...

Tired. She looked spent, yet her chin remained unbowed.

Lorcan had no words. He'd given her everything on the back of that horse anyway.

But Elide asked, "How do you feel?" Aching. Exhausted. Yet finding her sitting at his bedside... "Alive," he said, and meant it.

Her face remained unreadable, even as her eyes dipped to his body. The blanket had slid down enough to reveal most of his torso, though it still hid the scarred-over wound in his abdomen. Yet he'd never felt so keenly naked.

It was an effort to keep his breathing steady beneath her sharp-eyed gaze. "Yrene said you would have died, if they hadn't gotten to you when they did."

"I would have died," he said, voice like gravel, "if you hadn't braved hell to find me." Her gaze lifted to his. "I made you a promise."

"So you said."

Was that a hint of color stealing across her pale cheeks? But she didn't balk. "You said some interesting things, too."

Lorcan tried to sit up, but his body gave a burst of pain in protest.

Elide explained, "Yrene warned that though the wounds are healed, some soreness will linger."

Lorcan gritted his teeth around the sharp stab in his back, his stomach. He managed to get onto his elbows, and deemed that progress enough. "It's been a while since I was so gravely injured. I'd forgotten what an inconvenience it is."

A faint smile tugged on her mouth.

His heart halted. The first smile she had given him in months and months. Since that day on the ship, when he'd touched her hand as they'd swayed in their hammocks.

Her smile faded, but the color on her cheeks lingered. "Did you mean it? What you said." He held her stare. Let some inner wall within him come crumbling down. Only for her. For this sharp-eyed, cunning little liar who had slipped through every defense and ironclad rule he'd ever made for himself. He let her see that in his face. Let her see all of it, as no one had ever done before. "Yes."

Her mouth tightened, but not in displeasure.

So Lorcan said softly, "I meant every word." His heart thundered, so wildly it was a wonder she couldn't hear it. "And I will until the day I fade into the Afterworld."

Lorcan didn't breathe as Elide gently reached out her hand. And interlaced their fingers. "I love you," she whispered.

He was glad he was lying down. The words would have knocked him to his knees. Even now, he was half inclined to bow before her, the true owner of his ancient, wicked heart.

"I have loved you," she went on, "from the moment you came to fight for me against Vernon and the ilken." The light in her eyes stole his breath. "And when I heard you were somewhere on that battlefield, the only thing I wanted was to be able to tell you that. It was the only thing that mattered."

Once, he might have scoffed. Declared that far bigger things mattered, in this war especially. And yet the hand grasping his ... He'd never known anything more precious.

Lorcan ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "I am sorry, Elide. For all of it."

"I know," she said softly, and no regret or hurt dimmed her face. Only clear, unwavering calm shone there. The face of the mighty lady she was growing into, and had already become, and who would rule Perranth with wisdom in one hand and compassion in the other.

They stared at each other for minutes. For a blessed eternity.

Then Elide untangled their hands and rose. "I should return to help Yrene."

Lorcan caught her hand again. "Stay."

She arched a dark brow. "I'm only going to the Great Hall."

Lorcan caressed his thumb over the back of her hand once more. "Stay," he breathed.

For a heartbeat, he thought she'd say no, and was prepared to be fine with it, to accept these last few minutes as more of a gift than he'd deserved.

"Say it," she whispered, fingers stilling in his hair. Lorcan opened his eyes, finding her gaze. "I love you."

"Yrene said you might always have this," she said, her hand mercifully falling away.

"Then it will be the scar I treasure most."

Fenrys would laugh until he cried to hear him speak this way, but Lorcan didn't care. To hell with the rest of them.

Another one of those small smiles curved her lips, and Lorcan's hands tightened in the sheets with the effort it took not to taste that smile, to worship it with his own mouth.

But this new, fragile thing humming between them ... He would not risk it for all the world.

Elide, thank the gods, had no such worries.

None at all, it seemed, as she lifted a hand to his cheek and ran her thumb along it. Every breath was an effort of control.

Lorcan held absolutely still as she brought her mouth to his. Brushed her lips across his own.

She pulled back. "Rest, Lorcan. I'll be here again when you wake."

Anything she asked, he'd give her.

Anything at all.

Too shaken by that soft, beautiful kiss to bother with words, he lay back down.

But until then, he wanted her here. Sleeping at his side, where he might watch over her. As she had watched over him.

Elide seemed to read that on his face, and her cheeks reddened further. "Later, then," she breathed, limping to the door.

Lorcan sent a flicker of his power to wrap around her ankle. The limp vanished.

A hand on the knob, she gave him a small, grateful nod. "I missed that."

He heard the unspoken words as she disappeared into the busy hall.

I missed you.

Lorcan allowed himself a rare smile.