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runawaycatwalker · 5 months

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Part 25. Best Friend Erasure (Oni-Chan 2.0, part B)

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Catwalker approaches Ladybug as she stands on a roof. She points off in a far away direction.

Catwalker: Ladybug! Oni-Chan is back, and this time her powers are—

Ladybug: I need you to go to one of the rooftops way over there and stay right there.

Catwalker: Are you sure? I could do more here if I—

Ladybug: Just. Go.

Catwalker: ...Yes, Ladybug.

Ladybug swings towards a rooftop where the other heroes have congregated near a Find Adrien billboard. Viperion looks up at Ladybug.

Viperion: Ladybug! Why isn't Catwalker with you? Did you talk to him about... that thing I told you?

Ladybug: We talked. He wasn't hiding what you thought he was.

Viperion: Oh.

Ladybug stands in a ‘take charge’ pose right in front of the billboard with Adrien’s face. Most of the heroes gather in to look towards her, but Carapace looks off towards the direction Catwalker took instead.

Ladybug: And everybody, gather around! You should all know this. Catwalker is on probation until further notice.

Viperion: Probation? Isn't that kind of extreme?

Ladybug: I have my reasons. He's keeping his miraculous, but you're the people I'm going to rely on to beat the akumas. For now, consider him an observer and just ignore him.

Carapace starts using his shield as a phone to text his girlfriend.

Carapace (texting): Rena, why is Catwalker allowed to keep his miraculous? We *have* to stop him from causing more damage.

Rena Furtive (texting): I'm watching him, don't worry.

Cut to Rena hiding on a rooftop as she uses her flute simultaneously as a telescope to spy on Catwalker and a phone to tap out a reply to her boyfriend.

Rena Furtive (texting): But if you want to try to get more info out of him as Carapace...? I'm sure Ladybug wouldn't mind...

Carapace leaps towards Catwalker, who looks at him suspiciously.

Catwalker: Carapace? What are you doing here?

Carapace: Ladybug said you were alone, and I thought you shouldn't be.

Catwalker: You should go back. Ladybug needs every hero she can get.

Catwalker perches himself on the ledge of the building he’s atop of.

Carapace: Then why did Ladybug send you all the way out here?

Catwalker: She needs me. I just... need to wait here. Until she comes up with a plan for how she can use me.

Carapace: If you want to help, we can always work to protect Adrien Agreste.

Carapace opens his arms wide and tries to give a disarming smile, but he can’t help but show his underlying malice.

Carapace: If you know anything at all, I'm all ears! Even if it's something you need to keep on the down low, I can be your confidant. I'm a hero, after all! You can trust me to keep secrets.

Catwalker, completely uninterested in going through another round of ‘my best friend pretends to like me when I know he’s secretly mad at me’ points his finger in accusation.

Catwalker: I see what you're trying to do and I'm not going to fall for it.

Carapace: Whaaat? I'm not trying anything!

Catwalker: Nino.

Carapace: How did—I mean, who's Nino?

Catwalker: You forgot to tell Adrien that he shouldn't reveal secret identities to anyone.

Carapace, completely off put, tries to make this new bit of information add up.

Carapace: He told you about me? Why would that even come up? Unless... Did he tell you he had a superhero for a best friend to try and convince you he didn't need you?

Carapace points an accusatory finger at Catwalker. Catwalker tries to placate, but he’s distracted by a burst of red light in the distance in the direction of the other heroes.

Carapace: And then you forced him to leave when he didn't want to and—

Catwalker: You have it all wr—Oh no.

Oni-Chan rapidly teleports between temporary heroes (all of whom had just been staring towards the giant face of Adrien) and hits them with her sword in quick succession: Vesperia, Viperion, King Monkey, Purple Tigress, Polymouse, Pegasus, and Pigella are all frozen before they can do anything to fight back.

Oni-Chan: You! Won't! Get! In! My! Way! Anymore!

Oni-Chan lunges for Ladybug, but she manages to swing out of the way with her yo-yo and escape, unable to be tracked because she was the only member of the group who hadn’t been staring at Adrien’s face.

Catwalker: Come on! Ladybug needs our hel—

Catwalker leaps into the sky to follow Ladybug, but as he is in midair, a green sphere forms around him.

Carapace: Shell-ter!

After the sphere hits the ground, Catwalker looks up at Carapace, who stands at the edge on top of the nearest building tauntingly.

Catwalker: I don't want to fight you.

Carapace: Good! Because you won't be able to fight anyone!

Catwalker: Look, we're both heroes right now. We need to be able to work together to help Ladybug.

Inside the sphere, Catwalker kneels and looks down dejectedly.

Carapace: Ladybug doesn't want your help!

Catwalker: Maybe not right now, but—

Carapace: Why did you think she sent you so far out of her way? She can't even stand to look at you! No one needs you. No one wants you. You should just give up your miraculous and save us the troub—

Carapace’s attention is caught by something happening across the skyline of Paris: with the Agreste mansion at the epicenter, a flurry of black ribbons launches into the sky, each one racing toward a Find Adrien billboard. Where each ribbon touches, the place where Adrien’s picture should be has been replaced by an empty white void.

Carapace (to himself): What the...? ...the Adrien billboards... All the pictures of Adrien... He's gone.

Carapace points down at Catwalker accusingly and brings his shield in close.

Carapace: Why couldn't you have just done nothing and let his real friends help him? Some magic ribbons just wiped Adrien from existence!

Catwalker: That's impossible. A sentimonster probably just got rid of the Adrien ads.

Carapace: You don't get it! He exists nowhere! And I'll prove it!

Carapace uses his shield to navigate to the pictures on his phone. His hand touches at the shield when it displays a picture of Nino and Adrien smiling together, nothing erased.

Carapace: I'll show you how this picture of the two of us is—

Catwalker: Wait. Carapace, you need to drop it. Now.

Carapace (to himself): Huh...?

Catwalker: Adrien is alive, I promise—

Carapace (to himself): He's still here with me...?

Catwalker: —but she's going to find you if you keep looking—

Oni-Chan pops in and out of existence just long enough to stab Carapace in the back, sending his body off the edge of the building. Below them, Catwalker looks up and destroys the sphere around him.

Oni-Chan: Begone!

Carapace: Ack!

Catwalker: No! Cataclysm!

Catwalker leaps into the air, arms reaching towards Carapace’s petrified body, all while the shield Carapace dropped in the commotion falls next to them.

Catwalker: I've got you!

Catwalker tearfully embraces the frozen Carapace from behind.

Catwalker: I am so sorry. For everything.

Catwalker continues to hug Carapace tight as a flood of emotions spews forth.

Catwalker: I never wanted to hide behind a mask, especially not with you, Nino. You've always encouraged me to be myself. Even though I've never been able to fully show you everything I am, you accepted the 'me' I could give. It meant so much to know that you cared, not just about the idea of me, but the real me. And now I'm less 'me' than I've ever been. Maybe it would have been better if I did nothing. But when she tried to kill me, I just... ran. Ran and insisted I was fine like I always do. And now you're the one paying for my rash decisions and I feel so powerless to stop it. I hope one day you'll forgive me.

Catwalker places Carapace’s body upright and touches his back in a gesture of farewell.

Catwalker: I wish I could talk to you for real. But I can't. I can't leave when I might be needed. Even if everyone hates that I'm here, I've got to help however I can.

Catwalker gives Carapace a fist bump in one final promise of their friendship.

Catwalker: I'll come home as soon as it's safe again. I don't know how long it'll take, but I promise I will come back.

Below is the same image as above, only without text:

#runaway catwalker #catwalker #carapace #oni-chan #akuma #ladybug #viperion #happy new year y'all #you have no idea how many obstacles got in the way of finishing this page #but finally it's done #now onto the *next* part of this akuma fight...

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rememberdamage · 10 months

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“It was at this point that I reached Episode 7, where Kirsten puts on a play of Lannigan's death. Aside from her casting choices placing the three of them squarely in the center of Station Eleven the graphic novel, the very idea of a play-within-a-play is a celebrated aspect of Hamlet. Hamlet puts on the play to try to get Claudius to confess by making him emotional over the pretend death of an actor. This clearly draws the connection between Kirsten and Hamlet.

One has to wonder, what would have happened if the Red Bandana hadn't walked in? Jeevan was unable to say goodbye to Frank when his character died. Did Kirsten devise this so that Jeevan would try harder to convince Frank to leave with them? This is fascinating to me primarily because of those parallels between Hamlet and Kirsten, but also because of what we can imagine of Hamlet and Tyler in their own stories. Hamlet becoming an actor himself seems like a love letter to the core concept of Station Eleven– art is life. So what if Hamlet had turned to the arts to cope with his father’s death instead of murderous scheming? And what if Tyler had?

If you think about it, Tyler’s elaborate reconstruction of Station Eleven to tell to the Undersea kids, and his constant lying about his identity, is a play in its own right. But who is he trying to make feel guilty? Tyler’s role as the Prophet may very well be his way of punishing himself for the pain he has caused others, ensnaring children purely because their worship of him reminds him how twisted he’s become. Simultaneously ruining his life while trying to ruin the lives of the people who raised him seems pretty on-brand for the prince of Denmark.

So, these characters show us two ways Hamlet’s involvement with the arts could have gone. Either it would have served as an extension of his life, allowing him to infuse art into his reality and use it to manipulate the feelings of others, or it would have been a gateway into his madness, showing him that he can conjure up more depravity through art than he ever could murder. But when you think about it, these two outcomes are interchangeable, depending on how much you trust the actor playing them out. Here’s another theme of Station Eleven: madness vs. genius. When Tyler plans to stab Clark during the play, is that really more crazy than Kirsten using a scene with Alex to try and stop her from leaving? Who is insane, and who is an artist?

Nestled comfortably in the middle of this paradox, we find Kirsten and Tyler, the twin Hamlets.”

From my analysis of Station Eleven as a Hamlet adaptation.

#in this essay i will #station eleven #hamlet #rambles #disguised as intelligent opinions #i’m obsessed #i can quit anytime

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fairly-linked · 11 months

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Some ideas you say? Sure! Have a handful :DD

Sky’s reaction to his crush being a dragon rider (like httyd :33), reader’s dragon could show up after the chain enters their hyrule and reader is like :OO FRIEND!! And sky, who has run into a handful of dragons on his journey is just like HUH???

Warriors with his s/o and they’re just talking shit and gossiping about the people from both of their hyrules. Wind could come in and join and eventually it just turns into a gossip circle

Hyrule and his friend flying around as fairies and causing chaos! Or just vibing in a floor away from the chain

Legend getting his hair braided by crush, he very blushy boi

Time and crush pretending to be married and the younger members parents cause they need guardians permission to enter a place or whatever

Four dating a jeweller! He makes the metal bands/chains while s/o inbeds them with all sorts of stones! Magical and non!

Hope this helps! You can do whatever you wish with theses!

Uuufffff Trippy you got some good shit---

I'mma have to go with the Wars one. I'm trying to come up with new shit... ugh.

So anyway, enjoy! (Sorry this was so short! Lost passion for writing halfway through the week :L)

Rumors (Warriors x Reader)

"Ugh, did you see that lady's outfit? Stripes and polka dots do not go together."

"I know, sweetheart, I know. Her man didn't look much better, with the red beard? Dude looks like a tall-ass leprechaun."

For once, it was a quiet day. Time had given everyone the day off since you'd all made it to a particularly nice town; so, he allowed everyone to break off into groups. Knowing you and your boyfriend Warriors didn't get to spend much alone time together, Time was nice enough to let you go off by yourselves when he paired everyone up.

Which brought you to now. You, in your love of sweets, had dragged Warriors to a little cafe not far from the inn the chain was staying at for the next night or two.

There, you both decided to engage in some... lighthearted chitchat, as you'd put it.

Your blonde boyfriend snorts. "Hey, did you see what Wind did to the Vet yesterday?"

"Uh, no? Tell me." You grin, making him do the same in return as he leans closer.

"He stole Time's wedding ring because he thought it was pretty, right?"

You gasp. "What?! Does he not know how important that is?"

"'Course not, he's a kid," he laughs. "But anyway, he snatched it, and when Time got mad and asked where it was, he blamed the Vet."

You laugh. "Because of his ring collection, right?"

Wars nods enthusiastically, taking a sip of his coffee.

"And the old man swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. That's why he's been awful quiet this morning. Wind's been pretty silent too, you know. Trying not to get himself caught."

You almost choke on your latte.

"Time bought it?! No! Poor Vet!" you laugh.

"He absolutely bought it-- Aw shit," he suddenly grumbles. When you follow his gaze, you see what he means: Time and Wind have entered the cafe, Time's gaze landing on the two of you almost instantly as he smiles. He waves the Sailor over, who still looks inherently guilty.

"Mind if we crash the party?" Time smiles. "I'm conducting a bit of an investigation here."

You and Wars glance at each other, before looking back to him.

"Uh, yeah sure," You nod, each of you scooting over. You'd been seated in a booth facing each other; Time sits next to you while Wind takes the seat next to Wars on the other side. The old man sighs.

"I want you two to tell me everything you know about my ring. I can't find it anywhere and the Vet is adamant he doesn't have it."

Both you and Wars simultaneously point to Wind, who lets out a a small "Hey?!"

Time snorts. "Oh, I already know it was him. I just want to know if you two knew where he put my ring, because he's not telling me."

You and your boyfriend shoot each other knowing glances. If Wind wasn't giving it to him, then that means...

"...Wind." you sigh, and Wars snorts.

"Oh goddesses, not the mom voice. You're in trouble now, kid."

Wind's eyes widen. "Oh come on, you too?! That's not fair!"

"It's also not fair that you stole Time's wedding ring and haven't given it back yet," You huff, clearing your throat.

The sailor still doesn't answer you, looking down at the table.

"...Wind. Did you lose it?"

Time looks at you, his right eye opening in surprise. He hopes that isn't the case, but...

The sailor nods solemnly. "I was going to give it back, and I dropped it in the creek... I looked for it for hours, but I couldn't find it."

Time sighs.

"Well, if nothing else, I hope this will teach you not to steal things from others. That ring was important, Sailor." His voice remains calm, but even Wind himself can tell he's angry.

"I-I'm sorry..."

Time sighs once again, standing up. "It's alright, Sailor. Let's be going, we'll leave these two alone for a while, okay?"

Wind nods, standing with him, and Time turns back to the two of you. "Thank you, you two. Meet back at the inn by sundown."

You and Wars nod as the pair walk out. Once they leave, your boyfriend is staring at you with a smirk, his head propped up in his palm as he stares you down.

"What?" you question.

He only chuckles.

"...You're gonna be a great mom someday."

You sigh, cheeks burning bright red as he continues to laugh; but you can't get the fact that he added someday at the end.

You also don't miss the flush of red on his own face.

Someday indeed.

#linked universe #bek.answers #lu wars #lu warriors #lu time #lu wind #bek's.fics

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 months

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The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Fun fact! Leo x Echo is my favorite noncanon ship, they would've been much better than Caleo tbh -Danny Words: 2,148 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Cloud 9' -by Paravi

VI: I Can't Beat the Simping Allegations

"Who did you see in Nemesis, Ara?"

The question is so straightforward it catches her off guard. Leo is allowed to ask that kind of stuff, but at the same time, he should shut up and mind his business.

"Aunt Rosa was the one who kicked you out, right?" Ara asks back.

Leo makes a face. "Yeah..." he moves on to Hazel so Ara can't keep asking about Aunt Rosa. "What Nemesis said about your brother..."

"Nico," Hazel's voice cracks. "He found me in the Underworld. He brought me back to the mortal world and convinced the Romans at Camp Jupiter to accept me. I owe him for my second chance at life. If Nemesis is right, and Nico's in danger... I have to help him."

Ara wants to help Nico, even if they have a complicated history. She doesn't hate the boy like that. "He probably never mentioned me..."

"I think he did," Hazel replies. "Sometimes he'd talk about people he met throughout the years, he'd mention this girl a lot... Lily Saggio. He said she's Italian too."

"That's our best friend," Ara responds. "She understands your brother better than anyone else."

"You're Birdy, right? That's how he calls you," Hazel gives her a sympathetic smile. "He respects you."

"What? Really?" She frowns.

Is Ara the only one holding onto the past? Or was Nico keeping things hidden because he couldn't give the context to Hazel? The truth is, she avoided him for a whole year thinking it was the only way to keep a civil relationship, and now she doesn't really know him.

If they rescue him, maybe they should talk without getting defensive, maybe he'll surprise her in a good way.

"Ara, stop threatening to hit Nico with your book!"

"Then tell him to stay on his side!" I whine. "His stupid jacket is too big..."

I glare at Nico. We found him in this weird farm that's placed above a labyrinth's entrance, and for some reason, everyone thought it was a good idea to sit me next to this jerk.

We're trying to ignore each other, but at some point, he starts to squirm and insists he has important business to attend to with the owner of this dumpster, Geryon.

"He's good at making clothes? Is he going to cut your jacket in half so you stop looking like a dwarf?" I taunt him. "Can't even see your hands in that..."

"I'm not talking to you," he clenches his jaw.

"Lily's worried about you. You left without saying a word, and she's your friend."

"She thinks my father will kill her if I get hurt," he corrects me.

I frown. "So she deserves to fear for her life because of your tantrum?"

"My sister dying is not reason enough to be mad?" He turns to me with angry dark eyes.

"I didn't say that. I'm just telling you how Lily feels. It'd be nice if you went back to camp, but you can stay here and die for all I care."

"Ara!" Percy looks at me in shock from his cart. "Don't say that!"

I look away and sink into my seat, sulking.

Nico's voice is a little quieter this time. "You're still training?"

"Obviously," I glance at him with disdain. "You're still a shitty swordsman?"

His face turns red. "The labyrinth is above your skills, but if you die, you and Percy will get what you both deserve."

"Nico!" Annabeth gasps.

"You're a crybaby and an idiot who follows the ill advice of dead men!" I bark.

Everyone's looking at us from their carts unable to stop our argument. Nico and I continue to fight each other all the way to Geryon's place.

Ara sees some boulders ahead. "There, let's take a look..."

She reaches the top easily, Hazel climbs after her and Leo is the last one to go up, but he slips and both girls reach out simultaneously, leaving them in an awkward position with Leo's face only a few inches apart from theirs.

"Um, thanks."

He lets go of Hazel's hand first and uses Ara's to steady himself. That should give her some reassurance, but it only increases her torment, because she can feel the anxiety coming from him. They cannot stay there huddled together without risking one of them slipping again, so she slips forward.

"I'll check the other side."

"Wait, you don't know—"

"It's my job," she says, eyes darting away so she doesn't have to look at him.

Ara's so distracted by her feelings that she doesn't see the young girl beside her, even though the girl makes a huge effort to be noticed. It's only until Hazel and Leo start talking again that Ara realizes she's there.

"...Cursed boy she mentioned." Utters a voice beside her.

Ara draws Almighty out of instinct. When she points it in the direction of the voice, she finds a young girl, wide-eyed and petrified. "Who are you?" She points the sword at the girl's chest. "Step back!"

"Step back," the girl raises her hands in surrender and stumbles backward.

"Ara? What is it?" Hazel tries to focus her gaze. "Wait, is that a person?"

"A person," the girl shakes her head miserably.

"Are you the cursed kid Nemesis mentioned?" Leo's brow furrows. "But you're a girl."

"You're a girl."

"Excuse me?"

"Excuse me."

"You're Echo," Ara studies the girl. "You came back! So you can't be a nymph, right? Nymphs don't have souls—Was I wrong to believe you were—?"

"Ara, she can't answer you," Leo slips down the boulder to join them, and Hazel follows suit. "You can't, can you?"

"Can you," the girl shakes her head again.

"What are you doing here?" Ara continues with the interrogatory anyway. "Nemesis's cursed boy... Is it him?"

"Him," Echo's eyes glisten with longing.

"Oh." Ara turns to the others with newfound energy. "I know who's guarding the celestial bronze."

Nymphs are always fighting over a random dude.

"Alright, ladies, make room!" Ara uses charmspeak. "The faster we do our job, the faster you can go back to staring..." her voice quivers when she spots him. "At your man."

Leo sneaks his way through and whistles lowly. "Dang."

"He's gorgeous," Hazel breathes out.

"I am," the young man in front of them sighs dreamily. "I am so gorgeous."

"To die for," Ara hums in agreement, but she's looking at him like he's a mythical creature, which he kind of is. "Is he glowing?"

She realizes too late that's his soul light, therefore the others can't see what she's seeing, but they don't get confused with her ask anyway, because they're too distracted by the man's looks.

"It's the reflection of that thing," Leo scowls at the celestial bronze in the water.

Ara crouches next to the young man like she's dealing with an endangered species: Mister Universe, the last of his kind.

"How is your hair shiny yet not greasy?" She asks quietly, mostly to herself. "I'm sure you haven't bathed in centuries but you don't smell so bad—And don't get me started on your skin! That jawline—"

"Ara, you know who this guy is?" Hazel interrupts her.

"Narcissus," Ara's eyes are fixed on him. "He's what some of my siblings wish they were." She grins, and her expression only means trouble. "Watch this..."

The girl dips her finger in the water distorting the surface. Narcissus tries to push her away, but he misses and only grazes her shoulder, too desperate to find his reflection again. Ara laughs and reaches out again, but Hazel stops her.

"Wait—What's going on here? Why did Echo bring us here?"

"Echo was a nymph like us," one of the fangirls replies with contempt. "A long time ago, but she was a total chatterbox! Gossiping, blah, blah, blah, all the time."

"A nymph?" Ara frowns. "So was I wrong to assume—"

"Ara, focus," Hazel prevents her from derailing.

Ara dusts off her hands, gets up, and looks around trying to find a solution. She can tell this crowd won't make it easy, they want the cute guy to stay. Leo takes her place next to Narcissus while the nymphs keep arguing with each other.

"So, Narcissus. What's up?"

"Could you move?" The young man says without looking up. "You're ruining the view."

Leo turns to Ara as if asking Can you believe this guy? then leans forward to inspect the celestial bronze lying at the bottom of the pond. Ara can't help but compare the young men: Next to Narcissus, her boyfriend is a run-of-the-mill dude, Narcissus's features are masculine and chiseled, while Leo's are ordinary and childish.

However, to her, Leo's are familiar and more human. The sunshine bounces off the water's surface and hits his face in a way that reminds her of their soul light, his curls are a mix of copper red and golden that resemble the colors of a campfire. Even while standing beside Narcissus, Leo still holds all of Ara's attention.

It doesn't take away from the fact that he's not placing boundaries on Hazel, so realizing how deeply in love she is, is only frightening her even more.

"Right, great view," Leo looks back at Narcissus. "Happy to move, but if you're not using it, could I just take that sheet of bronze?"

"No. I love him. He's so gorgeous."

Leo looks back at Ara and her only reply is a shrug. This is the bronze they ought to take, and the sun is already setting.

"Man," the boy tries again, this time annoyed. "You do realize that you're looking at yourself in the water, right?"

"I am so great," he reaches down to touch his reflection, then decides against it. "No, I can't make ripples. That ruins the image. Wow... I am so great."

"Yeah," Leo says through gritted teeth. "But if I took the bronze, you could still see yourself in the water. Or here..." he pulls out a little mirror from his tool belt. "I'll trade you."

"Hernán Cortés would be so proud of you," Ara murmurs.

The boy looks up in outrage. "Ara, don't ever say that to me."

"Even you carry a picture of me?" Narcissus glances at the mirror before going back to the pond. "I don't blame you. I am gorgeous. Thank you." He grabs the small item and puts it aside. "But I already have a much better image. The color flatters me, don't you think?"

"I'm starting to suspect Narcissus isn't the brightest flower in the pond," Ara says sarcastically.

Echo sits beside the young man, hopelessly trying to make him look away for just a moment. Hazel pulls Leo and Ara for a private talk, and they gather away from the nymphs. Echo joins them sadly.

"Can't you just charmspeak him into giving us the piece?"

"Narcissus is too in love with himself to fall for my words. And the nymphs want him to stay, they won't listen to reason. But I got a sword and I know how to knock people unconscious?" Ara offers.

"Maybe that's our best bet. Nemesis was right," Hazel replies, almost as upset as Leo was a few minutes ago. "Some demigods can't change their nature. Narcissus is going to stay there until he dies again."

"No," Leo says with surprising determination.

"No," Echo repeats earnestly.

"We need that bronze," he presses. "If we take it away, it might give Narcissus a reason to snap out of it. Echo could have a chance to save him."

"A chance to save him," the nymph nods keenly.

"It could also make several dozen nymphs very angry with us," Hazel points out. "And Narcissus might still know how to shoot his bow."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Ara responds. "His arrows are brittle, and the string of his bow won't work properly, it's too old."

"How do you know that?" Hazel asks with surprise.

"Because I have eyes," she raises a brow. "And my friend Lily is an archer, I know how bows and arrows are supposed to look like when they're in good condition."

"Hazel," Leo continues, his eyes brightening. "Your power with precious metal—Can you just detect it, or can you actually summon it to you?"

"Sometimes I can summon it. I've never tried with a piece of Celestial bronze that big before," Hazel ponders. "I might be able to draw it to me through the earth, but I'd have to be fairly close. It would take a lot of concentration, and it wouldn't be fast."

"Be fast," Echo says excitedly.

Leo curses under his breath. He's got the broadest repertoire of bad words Ara has ever heard, and Michael tended to use pretty strong language on the daily.

"All right. We'll have to try something risky. Hazel, how about you try to summon the bronze from right here? Make it sink through the sand and tunnel over to you, then grab it and run for the ship."

"But Narcissus is looking at it all the time!"

"All the time," Echo pouts.

"That'll be my job," Leo makes a face. "Echo, Ara, and I will cause a distraction."

"Distraction?" Echo repeats.

"I'll explain," he assures her. "Are you willing?"

"Willing," the nymph nods.

"Doll?" He asks Ara making use of his cute puppy eyes.

It's not fair that he's got her wrapped around his finger like this. Usually, she's the one who makes others do stuff for her by pouting and being cute.

"Just tell us your plan," she sighs in defeat.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

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#twoidiots writing #pjo fanfic #leo valdez x oc #leo valdez fanfic #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #doo

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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homophobicgerardwayau · 6 months

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Ok, I’m going to foolishly weigh in on the Gerard gender theorising and pronouns debate. I don’t really have an audience so whatevs. But i do have thoughts 💭. I’m seeing a lot of reductive posts that lack nuance or critical thinking (the internet). Here’s the thing. We need to remain cognisant that at the end of the day none of us interact with ‘Gerard the Person’. We interact with ‘Gerard the Concept’. The rockstar, the artist, the cultural icon etc.

There is a filter, constructed by Gerard themself in response to a culture that must know him, by virtue of his fame and the deeply personal nature of his work. We only see what we are allowed to see through said filter. And when fans speculate and theorise, they are bringing their own biases and interpretations to a limited portrait of a person, a double that stands in to take the criticisms (and disproportionate praise) that comes along with being a successful artist.

I bring this up because when we jump up and down getting mad at people for publicly using “she” pronouns for example, we need to remind ourselves of a couple of things:

Gerard the Person likely does not have the hours in a day to worry about what pronouns people online are using for him. From interviews over the years, we can deduce that he has come to terms with fame and worked through much of his trauma associated with it. He has also expressed that he doesn’t care about pronouns. At present, this squabble is happening laterally between fans and does not involve him in any direct way. He does not need defending (what is he being defend from? Being gnc or trans is neither morally good or bad) from being misgendered. It seems the sticky point is ‘misgendering’ in general, which is a much broader discussion. One that is particularly hard to have when we are all out here with some kind of minority related trauma.

Because he is not a whole person, but an icon to us (it is difficult to conceptualise of someone as both simultaneously) we all tend to project a whole lot of ourselves onto him, more than we would someone we know personally. This is how being an icon works. Here we project different ideas about our own gender and sexuality and our differing conceptualisations of gender altogether. Personally, while I would not label Gerard as trans online, by my own personal definition of transness, he is part of our family. The issue is not defining him as trans by our own metrics, as we are entitled to our own conceptualisations of transness (I am of course, speaking from within the community). We should take into account that trans is not a clearly definable label. For example, there are people that are medically (for lack of a better word) trans that do not see themselves as trans. All of this is to say that people see something in Gerard that reflects back parts of themselves. Being trans is one of those things, whether Gerard defines himself as such or not.

The way I have seen Gerard called ‘she’ online, often seems in jest and I chose to engage with these types of posts in good faith and with a sense of humour. I assume that most people making these posts are aware that wearing a skirt does not make someone a woman. I feel that a lot of the ‘Gerard is secretly a woman’ is just a projection of a posters own insecurities around gender non-conformity or quite simply the desire to feel that they are in on something others aren’t, in turn making them feel closer to the ‘Gerard’ that they have constructed in their head. Instead of calling these folks trans misogynists, I think it would be more helpful to ask the ‘truther’ why they think they are so fixated on it and why would it matter if Gerard came out as something? What would it change other than give you a sense of validation?

We should remember that the topic of Gerard’s relationship to gender and sexuality is unavoidable once we get into the nitty gritty of his work. Deconstruction/reconstruction of identity and the gender politics of violence are some of my favourite ideas that Gerard revisits over and over again. It is there by design and it is also part of the character he plays by design. Kids are picking up on something but it’s the lack of media literacy that leads them down these strange roads of thinking. We should try to be sympathetic if we can. Why? Because if it’s trans people doing the transvestigating then it all comes down to the lack of representation that we all feel. Gerard shouldn’t have to carry that weight of course, which is probably one of the reasons why he doesn’t use labels for himself. He has the privilege of ‘hiding in plain sight’ as he calls it, and that is his choice to make.

The discussion then shouldn’t be be weather it is wrong to wonder about another person’s gender and sexuality (if we weren’t curious, how would we ever find others like ourselves?). It should be how should we treat others? It should be as simple as don’t send someone fan fiction of themselves.

As a community, we should be redirecting this energy into figuring out how to put Gerard’s gender into the hormone injection. I think this would solve a lot of societies problems lol.

#gerard way #my chemical romance #theory #queer theory #Nancy #gender trouble

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brunchable · 2 years

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Part II - All The Wrong Buttons || Doctor Stephen Strange x f!reader.

Word count: 3.6K

Genre: Enemies to Lovers. Adventure. Action. Young Adult.

Warning: References to Multiverse of Madness. Mild profanity.

Brief Chapter Summary: You experiment with your powers during a mystical monster attack. Stephen discovers a new hobby, which is to constantly push all of your wrong buttons.

Strictly do not: claim, repost, copy, translate my stories anywhere else

Dandelions - Part II: All The Wrong Buttons

•••

You ended up at the rooftop so that you’ll be able to see a bird’s eye view of what was happening down there. You could feel a strong extra-dimensional presence, even if you can’t see it, you don't know how but you could almost feel it's intentions. You spotted Strange landing in the middle of the street, a block away from your building.

You exhaled slowly to calm yourself while taking your heels off, your plan was to jump your way from building to building where it was safer as you figured out how to work your powers, for the third time.

“Okay, you can do this, just don’t look down.” You motivated yourself and rubbed your hands together. You sprinted towards the edge of the building to gather momentum; the dress was dragging you down a bit. But as soon as you approached the edge, you peered down and screamed, "Oh shit!" To avoid falling down, you flung your arms about and leaned backwards.

You honestly didn’t understand how that man managed to throw himself off the balcony without feeling scared.

“Oof—” You fell on your butt and decided to rip the dress shorter with your newfound strength, “Let’s try this again.” You stood up and ran back to your starting point, remembering what your mother always said to you when you felt anxious.

You began by closing your eyes and concentrating on the sensation of your heartbeat, which you continued to do until it was the only sound you could hear. Almost immediately after you were able to regain your composure, you grew conscious of your power source surrounding you. You felt the wind start to rotate clockwise around you, its rotational velocity increasing the more you allowed it in. It was as if a charge was filling you up from head to toe, causing your eyes to glow a bluish-white colour as you opened them and your hair to transform to white and danced in the air as your strength increased.

You sprinted as fast as you could while simultaneously bending your knees to leap high. Wind erupted out of your feet as you launched yourself ten metres into the air, creating a broken crater on the cement below you.

You crashed on the roof of the second building, and it's clear that you're still getting your bearings, "Ow." You grumbled under your breath as you pulled yourself to your feet and began your sprint to the next structure.

You sprinted until you reached the edge, then expelled energy from your hands and feet to propel yourself farther into the air in a twirl. You were able to feel the energy in the palms of your hands, and a little voice inside your head subconsciously instructed you to utilise that energy to conjure up air currents that were powerful enough to support your weight and elevate you.

•••

Stephen’s brows wrinkled together as he spotted a young woman who appeared to be fleeing from something he couldn't see. She was desperately looking for somewhere to hide. The young woman ended up boarding an empty bus, which immediately began to deform, and the windows shattered as it rose into the air, giving the impression that it was being lifted into the air by an unseen force.

Stephen opened the Eye of Agamotto by first crossing his hands in front of it to activate the opening ritual. He then flicked his wrist to perform the magic that revealed the creature that was hidden in plain sight. People screamed in terror as a gigantic one-eyed octopus monster was unveiled with its tentacles wrapped around the bus.

Strange was able to deconstruct the bus into bits with a simple motion of his hands, which allowed him to locate the girl who was clinging to a pole. After being startled by what Strange had done, the creature took a step back, but as soon as it saw the girl, one of its tentacles made a grab for her. In an effort to stop the monster from capturing the girl, Stephen slashed his palm across the monster's tentacles in a diagonal motion. As one of its limbs touched the ground, it let out a painful cry as the pupils in its eyes constricted. At the same time, the pole came undone, causing the kid to lose her grip and fall.

Stephen grunted as he threw his cloak towards her as hard as he could.

‘What the fuc-’, You saw the creature from a distance, and the kid was flailing her arms, screaming as she fell to the ground. You propelled yourself to fly at lightning speed, eyes glowing brighter, and caught her at the last possible moment, outrunning Stephen's cloak in the process.

You flew and dropped the kid off behind Stephen, who was using all of his might to put the bus back together, trap the monster's tentacle inside the bus, and then dump the heavy vehicle on top of it. Stephen’s cloak flew past you and reattached itself to his shoulders.

Stephen whipped his head around to face you and the kid, "Watch out!" She screamed as she watched the monster hurl the bus towards the three of you.

Stephen materialised a buzzsaw and directed it towards the bus, where it severed the vehicle in two, while you projected a whirlwind accidentally caused by fear to deflect the pieces of the objects away from you and the kid, both of you hiding behind Stephen.

Stephen spun around to face you with a perplexed expression on his face after seeing you, but now with hair as white as snow, your eyes fading back to their normal colour.

"What? You're not the only one with cool powers. " You gave a shrug and followed Stephen's lead by shifting your focus to the child at the same time.

"Do I know you?" He questioned the kid as memories of her appearing in his dream began to flash in his mind.

Both of you were so distracted that you didn't notice the tentacle coming in to swat you and Stephen out of the way. You were flung across the street and into a café, which is where Stephen was knocked unconscious.

You rolled on your back after you crashed on the tiled floor, you gritted your teeth in pain and stared at the ceiling, wondering why you had brought yourself into this mess in the first place, “What was I thinking?”

The cloak that belonged to Stephen swooped in and leaned close to your face, as if it were inspecting you, before it made the decision to smack Stephen across the face several times.

When you saw a piece of clothing slapping the Doctor, you blinked and felt a little disturbed. You could hear the child scream as the enormous octopus was enslaving another man while it pursued her mercilessly. You bolted out of the cafe in an instant and soared towards the girl who was doing her utmost best to escape being struck by the tentacles that were attempting to slam her.

“Hold on tight!” You yelled as you reach out for her hand, whisking her off the ground and carrying her towards the first tall building you could find while barely dodging the monster’s attacks.

The monster let out an angry shriek and tossed the motorcycle at you. Fortunately, you managed to get the girl down on the ledge in the nick of time, before the vehicle collided with your back, forcing you to lose your balance and fall onto the balcony of a complete stranger, where you were pinned by the bike.

•••

Gargantos crawled towards the building where the girl was, still carrying Wong around like a ragdoll. Stephen sprung out of the cafe and conjured a sword, which he then threw at the tentacle that was restraining Wong.

When Wong was finally freed, he sprang to his feet and elegantly straightened out his clothing. At that moment, Wong saw Strange approaching from behind him and said, "Did you know it's a tradition to bow in the presence of the Sorcerer Supreme?"

"Oh, I’m aware of the customs.” Stephen responded, but he did not bow before Wong. At the same time, they conjured up a magical chain and used it to lasso Gargantos in an effort to draw the beast back, which didn’t work,“Whoa!” Stephen exclaimed as they got dragged up.

Gargantos seemed to be losing its patience and swatted the chains off, wrapping his tentacles around Stephen’s waist tightly, “Argh!” Stephen grimaced and struggled under Gargantos’ grasp. The cloak was able to slip out and cover the monster’s eyes.

Stephen extended his hands out in the direction of a street light, the cloak trying its best to conceal Gargantos' vision. The light was lifted off the ground by big purple hands that emerged from him. Stephen growled as he struggled to remove the lamp from the ground.

You were finally able to dismount the heavy motorcycle off of you and gained insight into what Stephen was attempting to accomplish. You pictured yourself creating blades out of the air that was spinning in your palm, and then you aimed them towards the cable attached to the lamp with the intention of severing it. As the cloak was thrown back, exposing the creature's eyes, Stephen launched the lamp in the direction of Gargantos, and stabbed it, using what was left of his strength to gouge its eyeballs out.

•••

You descended slowly and stealthily into an alleyway, hoping that Stephen would not see you since you didn't want anything to do with him or be discovered. You felt his curiousity or distrust when he saw you for the first time with your powers. You peered over the bend and saw that the girl was in a safe setting now that she was in the presence of the two sorcerers.

After having all of that adrenaline drained out of your system, you instantly felt the sting from your scrapes and grazes, and you told yourself, "Ugh, this is going to hurt even more tomorrow morning." You moaned while massaging your lower back as you decided to just casually stroll back to the party to get your car.

Stephen put his hand on Wong's shoulder to stop him from opening a portal, “Hang on a second, we’re missing someone else,” He searched for you while turning his head in both directions, but you weren't hard to locate since your naively walked around with your hair still white, “Actually, go ahead, we’ll meet you both at the cafe.”

“Who else are we waiting for?” Wong asked before entering the portal.

“Someone who probably has a grudge against me.” Stephen replied, as he eyed you.

"Okay, well, don’t take long. We have important things to discuss.” Wong took the kid with him and closed the portal.

Stephen secretly opened a portal behind you, and with one swift motion of his palm through the air, you walked through without knowing it.

Your gaze quickly shifted from left to right as you became aware of the changes taking place in your surroundings, "What the heck?" You muttered to yourself, confused about how your got there until you heard Stephen's voice.

"Going somewhere?" Stephen sang as he approached from behind you, cocking his head to the side.

After spinning around, you saw Stephen looking kind of smug in his red and blue sorcerer uniform, "Yes, I'm actually going home." You sent him an innocent grin and walked past him while purposely bumping him on the shoulder.

Stephen rolled his eyes and launched another portal towards you, which brought you right back to him. You wrinkled your nose as you realised that you were standing in the exact same place as if you hadn't moved at all.

Stephen turned around with an open body language, “I thought you said you were going home?”

"I am!" You let out a harrumph as you exclaimed, and then you stormed past him once again. You had the distinct impression that he was up to something, and it was starting to get on your nerves. You don't like being toyed with, particularly when there is a difficult way out of the situation.

Stephen bit his bottom lip, trying to keep a laugh from escaping as he sent another portal behind you. This time, he watched you step out of it with a passive-aggressive smile.

"Okay, you're taking the 'Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again?' pick-up line way too seriously." Stephen laughed and shook his head in response to his own joke.

“A-ha-ha! Will you stop doing that?!” You faked a laugh and immediately dropped your smile. You sent him daggers with your eyes, the proud smile on his face was looking so punchable, “Don’t.” You firmly added with a hard tone as you began to walk.

Stephen shook his head to one side with a neutral smile, “Fine, I won’t-”

You walked past Stephen and bolted away from him, deluding yourself into believing that you could outrun the portal. You came to find that you were back where you began, standing in front of Stephen. You made an effort to control your temper by pinching the bridge of your nose and taking a deep breath.

“I won’t let you leave until you come with me, I can keep doing this to you for as long as I can. Trust me.” Stephen told you this as-a-matter-of-factly, referring to his time with his old friend, Dormammu.

You've finally found someone who is possibly more stubborn than you are, and it's given you a glimpse into how Eric must feel whenever you allow your own stubbornness to dominate you.

“Ugh. What do you want then?” You asked, feeling tired and frustrated because of his games.

“Information, it’s so obvious that you haven’t had your powers for that long considering the fact that you looked very lousy flying around.” Stephen paused and had the audacity to judge you, “I also need to know what masters you serve.”

"Well, for one, I’m not part of a cult.” You looked at him up and down, conveying the message that you were referring to him.

“I’m not part of a cult, (Y/N).” Stephen closed his eyes momentarily. For some reason, that word always triggered him.

You were surprised that he did remember you name but you hid that emotion to yourself.

“Then why do you dress like that?” You sneered at him.

Stephen scoffed and prodded the inside of his cheek with his tongue, his eyes slowly scanning your figure, just noticing that your feet were bare and the hem of your gown rested just above your knees, “I could ask you the same thing.”

You looked down at your attire, you completely forgot that you ripped your gown to make it shorter to make it easier for you to move, and you left your heels on some rooftop.

You felt heat creeping up your face. Feeling embarrassed, you pulled the dress down and snapped at him, "Quit staring you pervert!"

Stephen snorted, “Oh please, there’s nothing interesting to stare at,” That was a lie, “Just come with me.”

•••

You sat in a table of four with Stephen, his Asian master, and the kid from before, “I don’t understand why I’m here, I have nothing to do with her, I just met her today.” In a show of displeasure, you threw your hands up.

“I told you before, you need to give us information as well.” Stephen repeated himself.

America quietly chomps away her pizza and watches as you act like you’re being interrogated by the police, “You’re going to get a stomach ache.” Stephen turned his attention towards the kid.

“I’m from another universe, I know my stomach works the same as yours.” America spoke with her mouth full.

“I don’t, I don’t even know if you’re from another universe. Which is why I’m still sitting here waiting for you to enlighten us.” Stephen impatiently tapped his finger on the table as he and Wong waited for the kid to shed some light on the situation.

“Gotta say, of the two Doctor Stranges I’ve met so far, you’re not my favourite." When America spoke in Spanish, a squeek of laughter came out of you since you understood what she said.

Strange glanced at you and then at America, bemused, “Which means?”

America was taken aback and looked at Wong in disbelief. She continued to speak in Spanish, “He does not know Spanish?”

“I’m not sure he even enjoys speaking English.” Wong replied, and got a laugh out of America and you.

Stephen's face flushed a bright crimson as a result of his irritation, "Look, I left a very nice wedding to save a smart-ass kid from getting eaten by an octopus—”

“Who’s wedding?” Wong interrupted.

“Christine’s.” You butted in.

“You went?!” Wong leaned in, shocked to learn this information.

“Holy shit, you married Christine?” America straightened up from her seat.

"No, but he still has feelings?” You snorted.

“Yes I do, No I didn’t, YES.” Stephen answered everyone’s questions, starting with yours, and took a deep breath, “You need to explain to me what’s going on. Why was that octopus trying to eat you?”

“It wasn’t trying to eat her, it’s merely a pawn from someone who wants something from her.” You spoke up to correct Stephen.

“How do you know that? I thought you didn’t know her?” Strange leaned in, looking at you with suspicion.

“I don’t and I don’t know, I just felt it or …saw it.” You answered truthfully, your eyes fluttering as you questioned even yourself.

“So you're guessing? Is that one of your powers?” Stephen asked sarcastically.

You crinkled your nose, triggered by his tone, “What is your deal?”

“She’s right, it wasn’t trying to eat me, it was trying to kidnap me.” America backed you up, “Someone wants to take my powers for themselves.”

“What power?” Stephen asked, his tone dead serious.

“I can travel the multiverse.”

“What?”

“You can physically move from one universe to another?” Wong clarified with the kid.

“Mhm.”

“How?”

“That’s the problem, I don’t know how, I can’t control it. It only happens when I’m really, really, afraid. ” America looked down, clearly remembering something that made her feel sad.

Your head whipped up to look at the girl, knowing you can relate a little bit to her situation. It must be frustrating for her not being able to use her powers at will.

“Okay, and this other me? Did he know how to defeat these demons? ” Stephen nodded and asked further, his voice much gentler this time.

“Well, he said, there’s this book of pure good. He said that it could give the sorcerer anything they needed to defeat their enemies. ” America explained, Stephen’s face scrunching up again.

“The Book of Vishanti? That’s impossible, it doesn’t exist–”

"In fact, it does; I discovered it in the secret book—you'll see when you become Sorcerer Supreme." Wong nodded.

“You’re not the Sorcerer Supreme?” America furrowed her brows once more.

"No, I’m not.” Stephen said, in a quiet manner.

The Book of Vishanti? That name sounds so familiar to you, but you couldn’t pin down where you heard it before. You observed and listened to their conversation, now realising that they might have some useful answers to your own questions. You wanted to know why after all these years, your powers decide to manifest themselves now? You were getting lost in your own thoughts, and you weren’t aware that the subject had moved on back to you.

To get your attention and bring you back, Stephen waved his hand in front of your face. You gave a little shake of the head and swatted his hand with your own, “Tsk. Glad to have you back, Wong’s asking you something.”

“Sorry, I got lost in thought, what were you asking?” You raised your head and made eye contact with Wong.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Who taught you how to use divine elemental magic?” Wong asked, narrowing his eyes ever-so-slightly as he looked at you, his tone resonating with both interest and trepidation.

Stephen gave a little incline to his head since he very seldom encounters a conversation regarding magic of such kind.

Your eyes panned between the men and you shook your head, “No one, I just woke up one day and had them. I don’t know how or why—?” You spoke part of the truth. You can't tell them when and how exactly it appeared, you were afraid they might laugh at you.

Wong raised his brows at you, he wasn't convinced that you just woke up one day with those powers. He didn't buy it because of how your eye-contact with him wavered.

“Great. We have one who doesn’t know how to control her power and one who knows how to use it lousily. I don’t know which one is worse.” Stephen shook his head. He clearly felt stressed out that there were two of you with unknown powers.

You rolled your eyes, “It's probably your mouth.”

“We’re trying to help you here. You could benefit yourself by losing that attitude. ” A sardonic expression morphed on his face, and with his whole body now turned to face you, he was clearly prepared to argue.

You blew a raspberry and centred your attention exclusively on him at the same time. "Helping? You've done nothing except act condescending the whole time!" With the amount of tension that exists between your gaze and Stephen's, you might generate electric sparks.

“That’s enough.” Wong said calmly with authority and cleared his throat, “Ms.—”

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

"Ms. (L/N), I’m kindly insisting that you come visit us in Kamar-Taj after the kid proves to us that she is from another universe.” Wong insisted and referred to America with his hand.

You took a deep breath and looked up, jaw clenched, “Sure. Just let me get changed into proper clothing first.”

“That can be done. Where would you like me to open a portal to?” Wong asked and stood up while you did.

“The Plaza Hotel parking lot please, I need to get my cousin and my car.” You flashed him a tight-lipped smile. Wong acknowledged your request and opened the portal to the location you specified.

“See you later, Elsa.” Stephen purposefully waved at you in order to irritate you some more, and as the portal began to shut, you gave him the middle finger.

Wong gave Stephen an odd look since he was laughing softly to himself even after you flipped him off. It was unusual for Wong to find Stephen finding it amusing being blatantly disrespected, "Am I missing something?"

Stephen put an end to his laughter and shook his head as he said, "I told you, she has a grudge against me."

•••

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#enemies to lovers #stephen strange #benedict cumberbatch imagine #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x you #marvel x you #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch x you #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange x you #doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #dr strange x reader #dr strange x you

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hereforthefunnyguys · 3 months

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For the meme: 6, 8 and 39 for Irateshipping; 8, 11 and 34 for Fragileshipping?

For Irateshipping:

6. When did they realize they loved each other? ALRIGHT. alright. I actually have this one kind of planned out in advance. They did it at different points. Marik fell first without question, it was when he met face-to-face with Joey that it solidified fully. In my head, it absolutely goes: Joey: "(says some kind of incredibly lame pun, e.g. 'I just had to hit that thug on the head with my Duel Disk. I guess you could say I decked him, eh? Eh??)" -> Marik, internally: "Oh man he's so stupid I NEED him so bad." However it then sort of simultaneously both soured and got stronger when Joey broke free of his mind control. It's a kind of paradox; Marik is in love with Joey because he can't control him, but Marik absolutely hates Joey because he can't control him, but Joey isn't interesting when he's not fully himself, but Marik can't do anything with him when he isn't mind controlled. Complex! After the Battle City affair, I think Marik just sort of resigns himself to thinking, "OK, this was just kind of a weird crush I have on a guy who probably hates me now, so I guess I'll just have to cope with this alone until it goes away."

By contrast, I think Joey had kind of a weird relationship to it; he had kind of an attraction to "Namu" as a pretty and nice guy he met, but it was just sort of like. A flirtation. Minor problem. Still other fish in the sea and all that. After Joey figured out he was Marik, though, I think he repressed any and all romantic attraction down as far as possible, with the exception that some of the reason he was pissed originally was just being kind of mad he had that crush at first. Anyways Joey only realizes he's in love with Marik after Some Time (could be anywhere from a few months to years, depending on if he goes to visit Rishid sooner or later), a very awkward reunion, a week-long fight, getting eventually chewed out by Anzu in those "JOEY WHEELER WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU???" talks she likes to give out, stealing a car to go drive out in the middle of the desert to be alone for a minute, having the Moment of Realization and nearly crashing said stolen car in his panic. Woops!

8. What’s one way their personalities compliment one another? Oughghgh okay so. I think it's really interesting how their personalities are both so similar but so different. They're both very stubborn and pretty righteous, while simultaneously having a ton of old built-up guilt. However, they have a lot of differences too. Joey is hot-blooded and willing to pick a fight with just about anyone versus Marik being more of a "master manipulator" type that prefers to let other people settle the score. Joey also tends to be extroverted and makes friends pretty easily if he doesn't freak them out with how passionate he is about, well, everything, while Marik is um. A little stilted when it comes to social interactions (I am betting good money "Namu" usually got by on good looks and brainwashing people to vouch for him whenever that particular character got used). So all this is to say, I think they have potential to actually help each other out a lot when they work together - Marik keeps Joey from making rash decisions or helps him find smarter ways to get around problems, and Joey keeps Marik from getting too isolated and better at dealing with his own problems instead of letting Rishid and Ishizu fix them for him (again).

39. What other couple would your otp get along with the best? I'm going to be honest with you I don't know if this counts but if visionshipping also happens I think they would have a fascinating relationship. Like a sort of friendly rivalry/thematic parallels/less friendly rivalry on the part of mai/marik thing going on. The autistic teenage homosexuals have unionized against the socially awkward 20something lesbians. I think it would be really fun to see them in a double duel (nobody is allowed to use god cards.) Does that count?

For fragileshipping (wow this is getting really long sorry):

8. What’s one way their personalities compliment one another? The irony of Atem being a literal ghost and yet significantly more down-to-Earth than Ryou is never lost on me. I think that most people outside of their relationship tend to dismiss Ryou as being very quiet and introverted, but he's just shy lol - once they're just around one another, Ryou is definitely the more energetic one that is absolutely having incredibly bad ideas, and Atem is going along with them because Ryou is his dear boyfriend and so can do no wrong and have no incredibly bad ideas. right? right???? (said while holding a knife as Ryou tries to figure out if you really can make cake out of ergot-infested wheat). Guy who gets into problems x guy who keeps on getting dragged into them. However I do think its good for Atem to relax a little sometimes lol

11. Which member is more physically affectionate? They are both touchstarved as Hell so they're significantly touchier than your average couple anyways but Hmm. maybe Atem? I feel like Atem goes with constant but minor physical affection (holding hands, casually leaning against him while playing games or watching movies, etc.) whereas Ryou doesn't go for physical affection a ton but when he does Watch Out. One time Atem had to go away for a tournament for like two weeks and when he got back Ryou pounced on him like Hobbes and rested his chin on top of his head with his arms wrapped around Atem like a clingy octopus for the next 24 hours. He Gets Lonely.

34. Do they give each other nicknames? this is a tough one. I feel like if we have a pre-Millennium World situation, then Ryou def had a nickname for Atem to try and differentiate him from Yugi- I'm not sure what it would be though. Incredibly tempted to say Mister Ghost/Mister Spirit just because Ryou is a Polite Young Man. I have a hard time picturing them using a ton of nicknames, but inside Atems head there are definitely five billion poetic epithets of courtly romance he uses for Ryou like:

Ryou: *picking dead lizard off the ground* Do you think reptiles taste like chicken because birds evolved from dinosaurs? Or do you think they taste like fish because their diets are closer and they absorb the taste of all the flies and worms they eat

Atem internally: ah... my angel... what beautiful and intricate lines and connections u draw across the world.... how sweet and like the white winged-dove you are... like a glorious spirit from above

#my stuff #asks #also help me I thought I sent u an ask but I may have forgor #Irateshipping #fragileshipping #ya know what. I’m tagging these. For organizing purposes

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embermc · 9 months

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That's also part of the reason I really like William Afton's portrayal in everything but as Scraptrap or in TFC. You have what 6 and 4 paint as this man who is simultaneously distant to the point of neglectfulness and disturbingly invasive towards his children. This behavior gets to of his children killed (he's presumably responsible for Michael developing his general shittiness, CC being terrified of the animatronics, and Elizabeth shouldn't have to be stated.) Rather than face the faults of his actions or succumb to grief he kills his closest friend's daughter, possibly out of some kind of jealousy, and begins to abuse his role as a trusted children's entertainer to lure four more children to their deaths in a mascot costume. Then we have him returning to the pizzeria long after it's closed down, tearing apart the animatronics which he may have not wanted to acknowledge earlier were haunted. I think it's fitting that in death he's reduced to what he made his life about. He literally becomes the suit he used to kill, his face has rotted away, his voice only comes out in choked groans. He is a thing only moved by pain, his only source of direction is the sound of children's laughter. His (previously assumed) death is unaffected in either ending. It's not a good ending if he's just gone, it's up to the nightguard/shadow bonnie/Michael to put the souls of the children to rest, to end the nightmare he created

IDK I just feel like a man brought to commit more and more extreme evils until he literally lost what made him human fits better with the darker or sadder elements of FNAF than mad scientist who wants to be immortal and is seemingly unperturbed by being crushed and locked in a room for 30 years

YESSS literally spot on. I’ve always liked the “man pushes himself deeper and deeper into a hole of atrocities and becomes worse and worse until he’s literally lost his own humanity’ depiction of william far more than mad scientist from the books, it just fits much more thematically.

In my mind, I’ve always been fond of the depiction of William as somebody who was always a bit crappy and neglectful, but descended into the man he eventually became through his own poor decision making and inability to healthily process his family’s fate and inability to take accountability for his own actions. He indirectly allowed Elizabeth and CC to die via his neglect, and there’s an implication that his wife left him and died due to similar reasons, but instead of taking any time to reflect on this or self-improve he just doubles down, like you said. He refuses to believe any of it could be his fault- instead, it’s everybody else’s fault. It’s the world that’s to blame. Why should perfect Henry get to have his perfect little family when William’s own kids were dead in the ground? Something simply had to be done about that. His thought process is so investing in this depiction.

And then it just progresses from there and he turns from this well-beloved guy who maybe had genuinely good intentions for a children’s entertainment venue but was a crappy neglectful invasive father to his own kids, into this horrific, inhuman monster which is literally reflected by the fact that he STOPS physically being human!!! Springtrap in itself is such good symbolism because it shows he’s not William Afton, the children’s entertainment businessman, anymore. He’s a horrific creature that has alienated everyone that ever cared about him, abused his former role in order to cause havoc on a world that he scapegoats for all his problems, and has caused so much unnecessary pain to so many people. I always believed the idea that TOYSHK was purposefully springlocked, as well. It reflects the extent of William’s brutality by the time he got to the last kill of the original group, he’s no longer just quickly murdering, he’s intentionally causing as much pain and suffering to an innocent kid as he can, just for the sake of it. Henry referring to Afton not as his old name, but as a “creature” and a “monster” now fits well.

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gabessquishytum · 1 year

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Holy fuck I wasn’t on tumblr for a couple of days so I could get some adulting™ done and all of you left these masterpieces here. I’m loving the vibe but I’d like to ✨politely✨ suggest this -

Somno. Dear god please add some somno to the ovi.

For your blorbo rotating pleasure imagine this: Hob and Dream have been fucking a while and it’s nice. It is! But Dream, well - he’s always been a very possessive lover who doesn’t understand boundaries when something is already his.

So he comes to Hob in the night in the waking. And he takes his fill of Hob. Simultaneously he takes Hob in the Dreaming. He fills Hob to the brim with his essence. And it builds. Each night he pours himself into Hob the dreamstones inside of Hob grow. As Hob is more and more filled with him he wants to give larger portions at a time to Hob. Each egg of dreamstuff larger than the one before it.

And Hob - poor Hob doesn’t realize what is happening at first. He’s just so happy to spend time with Dream. To be doted on. And Dream dotes. Because he knows what Hob is carrying.

Till eventually Hob feels it. His fantasies from the dreaming of their time together. He presses on his abdomen and he can feel the shift of hard lumps inside. A chill runs through him at the realization. It’s real. It’s all been real this entire time. And that means he will have to birth the stone eggs. And it’s going to be painful and he’s never been more excited or hornier for anything.

And Dream wants Hob to birth his nightmare brood. But he also wants to fuck each of the stones back into Hob as they’re trying to come out. Wants to shove his entire cock and hand inside of Hob at the same time. Hob is his and full of him and he never wants that to change.

-🫀

Omgomg you know I'm jumping on this like the world's horniest kangaroo. I'm obsessed with Dream having ZERO boundaries because as much as he is the essence of the human subconscious, he also has... gaps. In his knowledge of social convention. Hob is his, and therefore it simply makes sense that Dream should be able to take him whenever and wherever, he'd only expect Hob to do the same to him. Thus. He's fucking Hob through his sleep, making sure that he doesn't wake up (because sleep is very important). And then after weeks of this, Hob wakes up one morning from yet another incredible sex dream and he's like hmm something is... different here. I can't be gaining weight that quickly and why can I hear rattling. And Dream is like ah. Fuck. Don't be mad but I've actually been making the stones bigger every time I fucked you because I love you so much and I want every inch of you to be mine. I could definitely take them out of you by some other means. Unless.

And Hob is not mad because at this point he's used to Dream’s shenanigans and would give his blanket consent for pretty much anything. And he's also. Very Into It. But he's gonna give Dream hell for it anyway, and he drives Dream into absolute ecstasies of desire when he pops out the first few stones without allowing Dream to touch him at all.

And Dream nearly bites his own tongue off trying to hold back until Hob finally allows him to "help" (read: make the stones even bigger and fuck them right back into Hob again).

#🫀 anon #nsft #cw pregnancy #the sandman

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astral-mariner · 25 days

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Thought I'd make a pinned post introducing myself and providing some links to my writing/illustrations/other fandom socials!

About: I'm a queer man in my mid 30s. I've been writing for over 20 years, and it's what I love to do. Horror/angst, sci-fi, and erotica are my favorite things to write. I've been in the Dragon Ball fandom for over a decade and have been a fan longer than that.

Links:

AO3 Twitter/X Bluesky Ko-fi

Below are some of my illustrations. I like to illustrate my own stories (summaries below). I'm a writer primarily; I don't even really consider myself an artist. I like to draw dark/angsty things, as you can see.

I currently have 2 stories published on AO3:

Homeworld Lost:

Via Raditz’s broken scouter, Bulma tries to recover access to Planet Trade networks and technologies to get an upper hand against the androids. But in so doing, she discovers Raditz’s private files—writings and recordings he kept for himself over his long travels with Vegeta and Nappa under Freeza. Tales of their exploits and descent into madness come to change her perception of Vegeta and her relationship with him. Homeworld Lost is a novel-length dark science-fantasy story with explicit violence, horror, and erotica (sometimes simultaneously). Generally canon compliant. Explores Vegeta’s backstory under the Planet Trade Organization and his fraught relationships with his comrades, particularly the twisted bond he and Raditz share. Most of the story is narrated by Raditz, but there are lots of twists. He is an unreliable narrator, and in places, altered mental states allow him to take other points of view. We also get interludes from Bulma as she reads and reacts to Raditz's account.

Strength and Weakness:

After slipping and sharing one night with Bulma, Vegeta has avoided her ever since. Even after a season's passing, however, she's on his mind as much as ever. He resolves to train overnight, but despite his intentions, his evening takes a different turn. (An extremely explicit erotic one-shot with lots of story elements, angst, and feelings. Vegeta's POV.)

#dbz #vegeta #bulma #vegebul #raditz #nappa #astral art #astral writing

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late-to-the-fandom · 8 months

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Renathal was determined not to let anyone or anything - even the Sire - ruin the happiness he had only begun to savour. Read on Ao3 here.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what is all that?” Elisewin asked, pointing down at the Ember Ward’s ruins above which the guest room’s balcony hung, the gesture requiring her to unwind her hand from Renathal’s hair. He growled his displeasure at this before dipping his face into the hollow of her throat and answering against her skin: “Nothing.”

Elisewin managed a simultaneous sigh of breathy pleasure and an exasperated tongue click.

“It can’t be nothing. There are ruins and buildings and a tower. You can see them from here.”

Renathal’s own noise was more pettish than aroused; he did hate to be interrupted at his work. He lifted his head one reluctant inch.

“That is the Ember Ward,” he explained. “And the tower you see is called Sinfall. It was where the Sire once conducted the business of creation. Where I myself was born as a matter of fact,” he added on a whim, and instantly regretted it as a dozen new and distracting questions lit up behind Elisewin’s eyes.

“What? Really?” She shifted in his lap, craning her neck to get a better view of the distant tower. “Do you remember it? Your birth, I mean?”

“Very little,” said Renathal briskly. “Which, coincidentally, is precisely how much interest I have in the subject at present.”

Stroking her hip through her silks with one hand, guiding her face back to his with the other, Renathal succeeded in recalling Elisewin’s focus to himself for several satisfactory minutes before she broke for air, and used the brief respite to ask, “So what is the Ember Ward used for now?”

“Nothing,” Renathal repeated, and, when Elisewin only looked at him, sighed like a martyr. If answers were the swiftest path to her undivided attention, he would give them, but he set himself to undoing the front of her loosely tied purple dressing gown as he did so - a reward for his long-suffering. “Venthyr are sentenced there, on occasion, but only as a punishment of the most extreme sort. They go mad, or are destroyed. It is all Light-cursed ruins. Unfit for habitation.”

“Wh-why?” The word wavered as Renathal’s long nails traced a teasing pattern across Elisewin’s exposed chest, but she managed to continue undaunted. “What happened to it?”

“Not all the Master’s creations were appropriate. The Light retaliated.”

“What did he create?”

Renathal shivered, his pleasant arousal flagging despite the warm curve cupped in his hand.

“Really, my dear, this is hardly breakfast conversation.”

“Well, this is hardly breakfast decorum,” Elisewin retorted, a sweeping hand and a raised eyebrow indicating her half-dressed state.

Renathal’s expression was unrepentant.

“This is exactly what I crave for my morning repast,” he replied, and dipped his head a second time, wet lips and eager fangs closing around-

“Your H’ighness.”

The muddy clearing of a throat made Elisewin gasp and Renathal groan. Neither with pleasure. Breakfist was waiting in the balcony doorway, weighed down with an oversized tray. His well-trained eyes were fixed on the distant horizon as he announced, “Breakfast for the Prince and… his Lady,” with only the briefest hesitation; no one in Darkwall Tower was certain what their master’s mortal was now to be called.

Including Renathal himself. He had skirted the issue thus far by simply allowing whatever title his servants chose to go unchallenged. He nodded at Breakfist to approach, keeping his arms wrapped decorously around Elisewin, who twisted in his lap to do up the laces of her robe as the dredger shuffled forward. Once the butler’s burden of various fruits, breads, spreads, anima-infused tea, and Elisewin’s request of dark, bitter coffee was deposited on the iron table, he beat a tactful retreat, closing the balcony door behind him, and Elisewin, disappointingly decent once more, slid off Renathal’s legs to prepare his cup.

Renathal watched her pour his tea, add his customary number of sugars, pluck up a crescent of warm, flaky bread she knew him to be fond of and set it on his saucer, and wondered if any being on any realm, mortal or immortal, had ever been as flawlessly happy as he.

They had breakfasted here on the guest room’s inexplicable balcony every day of the last month - without question the most blissful of his whole existence. Elisewin had a penchant for open air and unobstructed views and Renathal for winning her smile, so long nights spent in his rooms that ended in mornings adjourning to hers had become an essential part of their newly instituted and highly agreeable domestic routine.

Setting his tea down in front of him, Elisewin began sifting through the post Breakfist had left on the tray while Renathal drank. Another morning staple. With her new, as-yet-undefined status had come a renegotiation of her atonement-related tasks. Her work was now closer to that of a private secretary than a housemaid.

Moving up in the world, mused Renathal as Elisewin pried open a wax-sealed envelope and slid out a thick fold of yellowing parchment, and his lips twitched around his teacup at the thought.

“The Harvester of Envy is reporting certain Venthyr in Darkhaven he believes are instigating unrest,” Elisewin summarised, then shuffled through the remaining sheaf of pages. “Rather a lot, apparently. He’s included their names and purported crimes.”

“Leave it,” said Renathal. He was far too content to concern himself with work just now. “I will look over it when I am more... refreshed.”

He threw a meaningful gaze at his lover, which, engrossed as she was in her task, she did not notice.

“And… this one is an appeal from Mistress Mihaela in Darkhaven. Apparently, the Harvester of Envy has again increased his required tithes.”

The anima-infused tea soured slightly in Renathal’s stomach. He replaced his cup in its saucer.

“Let me see that.”

He scanned the letter Elisewin passed him, insides twitching in a resurgence of familiar worry. None of the districts could afford to increase their tithes of anima. How could the Tithelord believe such amounts still existed anywhere in Revendreth? And where was it all going? Certainly not to the Tithelord’s own estate. Only yesterday, Tenaval’s second request for aid in as many weeks had attested to that fact. Was the Master not supposed to be -

Renathal stopped this treasonous train of thought forcibly in its tracks. Refolding the letter back along its sharp creases, he slid it across the tabletop and reoccupied his hands with his tea.

“Seal it back and have it sent to Nathria,” he instructed Elisewin. “That is the Master’s purview, not mine. All anima related inquiries should be re-directed to him.”

Elisewin obeyed without comment, tucking the folded letter back into its envelope and pressing a thumb to the seal, but Renathal thought her lips had tightened, as if holding in words she wanted to say. And the quiet that lingered was stiffer, broken only by the wuthering of the wind and the rustling of paper as she continued to slit envelopes and scan their contents. Renathal was just contemplating whether to offer some tactful reminder - that Denathrius was sorting out the anima situation, that he was unquestionably fair, and that they, especially, owed him an unswerving loyalty - when a sudden, “Oh!” of surprise from Elisewin made him jump. Tepid tea sloshed across his hands.

“The Countess has invited you to a party!” she announced with a little humourless laugh.

“Oh, is that all?” Renathal replied, his ruffled nerves slowly relaxing. “Yes, it is her turn to host the Harvester’s Court next.”

With a pointed glance at Elisewin, he reached across the tray to retrieve a linen napkin. Elisewin, eyes still fixed to the curling, red-inked script, again failed to register his movement or his mood.

“It says Harvester and Guest. Does she expect you to bring someone?”

“You, of course. Whom else?”

“Me?”

Elisewin looked up, blinked at Renathal, glanced at his hands, and blinked again in what for her was an almost comic surprise. Abandoning her work at last, she leaned over and plucked the napkin from his unprotesting fingers.

"You're not serious," she said weakly, dabbing at the damp velvet sleeves of his dressing gown. “I can't possibly attend a Harvester's court. Not as a guest.”

Renathal, amused at her protest and warmed by her resumed attentions, asked playfully, "Why ever not?"

“Because I am not a Harvester? Or a noble. Or even a proper Venthyr, for that matter. I’m -” Elisewin paused, folding the wet napkin into absent squares, then finished quietly, “I don’t really know what I am.”

A twilit breeze caught the loose strands of her blue-black hair and whipped them across her face, suddenly lifeless and lost-looking, as she replaced the folded napkin on the tray. Before she could return to her work, Renathal reached up and caught her chin, tugging her lips to his.

“You are mine,” he declared with such unbroachable authority even Elisewin could not argue, only shiver into his kiss, hot and possessive as a brand.

“So,” she asked, noticeably less forlorn when Renathal, at last, released her, “you think the Countess has invited me out of courtesy? Her way of putting things right for what happened at your court?”

"Oh, certainly not." Renathal chuckled darkly at the thought. “I managed to defy her wishes and circumvent her approval. I expect she is beside herself with fury. No, she means trouble with that invitation. And I mean to give it to her.”

It was Elisewin's turn to laugh. Anima tingled through Renathal’s veins at the sound. Snaking his arms around her waist, he dragged her back into his lap, inspiring more laughter that faded into low muffled moans as he refastened his lips to hers and slid a hand up her silks to part her soft, bare thighs. Elisewin shifted at once, allowing him easier access. The spindly-legged chair underneath them, far too decorous and staid for such antics, wobbled alarmingly. Renathal ignored it. He fully intended to be doing this for the rest of eternity. The furniture, like everything else in the realm, would simply have to get used to the idea.

Once a bit of careful manoeuvring and the joint lascivious efforts of both their hands, and the services of the now-ruined napkin, saw them temporarily spent of physical desire, Renathal murmured thoughtfully into Elisewin’s hair: “It is time we made a public debut.”

Taking her breathless hmm? as confusion, he elaborated, “At the Countess’ court. It would be the perfect place to declare our new status, and introduce you to Revendreth society. The Countess’ soirées are by far the most talked-of in Revendreth. The news will begin to circulate before the court is over and have made it through the whole realm by the following day.”

The idea was so thoroughly delightful to Renathal it took him a moment to notice Elisewin stiffen against him, and not in the same delicious way she had a minute before.

“What is it, dearest?" He coaxed her face towards his, but it was blank, as it always was when she was thinking, beads of sweat still glistening across her smooth lavender brow. “If you are worried about the Countess,” he said at a guess, “do not be. You will be by my side at all times. Neither she nor anyone else will be permitted to lay the lightest finger on you." He stroked the back of one of his own along the path of her jaw.

“I honestly hadn’t even considered that," said Elisewin with a smile, albeit a weaker, more wobbly example of the one she usually wore when recently sated. “I was just worried - I mean, not worried, of course, but… wondering what I - or whether we might…”

She bit her lip over her babble, glancing away towards Sinfall’s shadowy spire, and Renathal endured half a minute of increasingly anxious tension before Elisewin finally voiced her hidden dread: “What am I going to wear?”

“Oh, I have a world of ideas for you to choose from!” gushed Theotar from across the long, low table in his parlour a mere three days after the Dark Prince had assigned him this most essential task. “When I had Bogdan put out word that the realm’s first and only mortal required a sartorial commission, clothiers from every district in Revendreth were at my door with proposals within the hour. Go on, have a look, have a look!”

The Duke gestured excitedly at the table, swept clean of its typical high tea tableau and decorated instead with a flurry of fashion croquis, each depicting a highly stylised and anatomically nebulous mortal female modelling a different example of Venthyr court dress. Renathal leaned forward on the settee to peruse the offerings: a bombardment of flounces and bustles and sweeping trains that made Elisewin, seated beside him, wince. He hid his smirk behind a faux-thoughtful hand and laid the other on his lover’s tensed thigh.

“Quite an illustrious sampling,” he assured Theotar whose eyes flicked between his two guests, positively vibrating with excitement as he awaited their verdict. “Have you a recommendation? Or a particular favourite?” Renathal asked, more to buy Elisewin time to find her tongue than because he expected any overlap in her taste and the Duke’s.

Sure enough- "I am rather partial to this one," said Theotar, sifting through the sketches and producing one with a flourish. “Lady Rovinette's contribution. A marvellous piece of construction! Collarets are all the rage at present, and a royal bustle is always so dignified.”

“Oh, quite,” agreed Renathal, casting a subtle glance at Elisewin and biting back a spasm of laughter at her sudden sickly pink pallor. “And… quite a bit more dignified than I,” was her tactful dissent. “I really prefer less restrictive and… um… voluminous attire.”

Searching through the tidy stacks, she retrieved from near the bottom a slightly smudged and rough-edged piece of parchment.

“This one looks promising.”

She glanced up hopefully at the Duke, who looked as if he had swallowed some scalding and flavourless tea, then Renathal, who gave the unadorned skirt and sleeveless bodice a dubious sniff.

“It is far too plain,” he pronounced decisively.

“Most excessively so,” the Duke chimed in with a ferocious nod. “Not at all worthy of a Prince's consort.”

Elisewin blinked, then raised an eyebrow, expression flat as the paper she laid absently back on the table.

“Is that what I am?”

“I believe that is the appropriate title, yes,” the Duke said loftily, “according to the Venthyr treatise on etiquette which I myself had the pleasure of penning.” He began to sort through the drawings once more, and Renathal had only a few seconds to watch and wonder whether Elisewin’s inscrutability disguised pleasure or displeasure before he exclaimed, “Ah ha! What of this one?”

He brandished the heavy drawing paper across the table, and his guests leaned in, heads together, to inspect the sketched ensemble.

“A bit old-fashioned,” the Duke conceded, “incorporating armour into formal wear, but the effect is undeniably impressive. And the palette is quite a match for your own armour, my Prince. Not to mention, the amethyst accents would certainly bring out our dear mortal’s skin.”

“It is... beautiful,” Elisewin admitted, fingers brushing the intricately inked pauldrons hesitantly, as if she feared to smudge them. “Although… I’ve never worn so much gold. And the circlet might be a bit presumptuous… what do you think?”

She tilted her head towards Renathal, and blinked again at the sudden bright fire glowing anima-red behind his eyes.

“It is perfect,” he crowed, his enthusiasm earning an exultant exclamation from Theotar and a reflexive giggle from his lover, as well as her ultimate assent to the proposed gown.

Which was how Elisewin came to sit opposite Renathal in his carriage, six weeks later, arrayed in skirts of just visible crimson under armoured bustier and overdress of onyx and gold. More gold glinted at her forehead, neck, and wrists; the purple of the regal jewel at her waist a match for the skin of her long, bared arms. The smooth surface of the various shining metals caught the twilight peeking through the slits in the carriage doors and lit the dark interior in sparkling shadows that flickered as the carriage bounced along the Chalice District's twisting, turning roads.

A bit like being inside a candle flame, Renathal mused whimsically; an impression heightened by the warm glow of merry anticipation simmering within him. He had not looked forward to a court like this in a very, very long time.

His companion, on the other hand, appeared uncharacteristically agitated. The smooth plane of Elisewin’s forehead crinkled into nervous lavender lines as the carriage jolted into the Redelav District, and her face twisted in an open grimace when she caught Renathal’s rhapsodic gaze for the third time.

“Do you plan to stare at me like that throughout the court?” she asked, her tone unduly waspish, but Renathal, ensconced as he was in such supreme good spirits, was incapable of being goaded.

“Quite possibly,” he replied.

“And what will the other Harvesters and nobles think of you?”

“That could not matter less.”

He had hoped for one of those involuntary little laughs he could often draw from her fits of moroseness, or at the very least a blush and an appreciative smile. But none appeared. Elisewin's lips twitched once in what might have been amusement or distress, and her fingers, denied a convenient outlet by the structured material of her gown, worried themselves together in her lap with such violence Renathal was obliged to lean across the carriage aisle and trap them in his.

“Elisewin,” and he pronounced her name with enough reminder of dominion to make her hands fall abruptly limp. “You are an invited guest at a prestigious event, the established consort of the Prince of the realm, and you look absolutely divine. What could possibly make you so anxious?”

“I’m not anxious,” she protested; but at Renathal’s quirked eyebrow, she sighed - a ragged, messy exhalation of air. “I just… don't think I’m prepared.”

“You are perfectly prepared,” Renathal reassured her, but Elisewin shook her head at him, long, blue-black hair obscuring the amethyst in her circlet as words suddenly poured from her in a breathless rush:

“I’m not. Not only am I not nobility, I’m not a Venthyr. Or even a usual penitent soul. I don’t even know where I am in my atonement! I don’t belong at a Harvester's Court, and everyone knows it. Including you.” Her hands spasmed as if they would have illustrated her passion if not imprisoned in Renathal’s. “You said it yourself, the Countess isn’t doing this for benevolent reasons. I was only invited to be a - a -a curiosity or a source of outrage!”

“An astute and not incorrect observation,” Renathal agreed calmly.

“And you think that’s not worthy of anxiety?”

“Hardly.” At Elisewin’s open-mouthed gape, Renathal chuckled lightly. “Dearest, this is Revendreth. All of us come and go from fashion. From the crudest of dredgers to the Dark Prince himself." He unclasped a hand from hers and laid it deprecatingly across his chest. "You think I have never spent time as a - how did you put it? - a curiosity or a source of outrage? I have enjoyed both. Sometimes for centuries. But one cannot worry over such things. They are temporal. You will come into your own in time. And,” - he tilted her chin to meet his smouldering eyes - “you are forgetting. You have one distinct advantage.”

“What is that?” Elisewin breathed up at him.

“You are mine,” he reminded her, pleasure in every proud syllable. “It does not matter what anyone else considers you. You belong to me, and they cannot touch you lest they incur my wrath.”

The final word was a snarl. It rang low and menacing through the carriage. Elisewin shuddered, the rise and fall of her chest captured artfully by the fitted metal, and for the first time since seeing her in it Renathal experienced a pang of regret at the elaborate and decorous ensemble which meant he could not gather her onto his lap as he would have preferred. As if to knock the impractical idea from his head, the carriage swung dangerously around a sharp bend, slinging them both against the black upholstered side, then juddered to a stop. They had reached the lift to the Eternal Terrace.

“Relax, dearest,” Renathal instructed, sitting straighter on the bench, shaking back his hair and adjusting his coat, and was pleased to watch Elisewin re-settle in her own seat, cheekbones flushed, but shoulders less rigid. “The Countess’ court is, of course, a stronghold of intrigue and scheming, but once one becomes accustomed to the constant plots, they are easily navigated. Even enjoyable.”

“Yes, I suppose, if one has been doing it for eternity,” she retorted, though her tone was less caustic than before, and Renathal leaned forward again, trapping her wandering eyes in his abruptly serious gaze.

“I have never done this with anyone I loved at my side,” he confessed, the raw sentiment stopping Elisewin’s breath with an audible hitch. “So, in some respects, this will be a new experience for us both.”

The carriage door swung open, the sounds of tittering laughter and tinkling glasses and the sickly sweet smell of the Countess’ terrace garden wafting in from nearby. Renathal rose, or attempted to rise. He was halfway off the bench when Elisewin flung herself at him, clapped her hands to either side of his face, and dragged him into a kiss soaked in need and adoration. The clash of metal on metal as their armor collided rose over the noises of the waiting court and the phlegmy coughing of the dredger shuffling awkwardly by the open carriage door, and Renathal was perfectly content to ignore them all. He let his lover harvest whatever it was she needed from his willing lips and tongue until, at last, she pulled away, breathing harsh, but pale eyes glittering.

“Of course,” he murmured through lips still glistening wetly, “we could skip court altogether and simply return home?”

Elisewin smiled - the first time she had done so throughout their entire journey.

“And let this gown go to waste? The Duke would never let us hear the end of it.”

And, glowing at Renathal’s low rumble of laughter, she threaded one black and gold glove through his elbow and let him escort her from the carriage.

For all his personal animosity towards the Harvester of Desire, Renathal could not deny she was unparalleled in her expertise at choreographing an event. The groups of guests, whether posing together or perambulating across the immaculately manicured garden of the Eternal Terrace, looked placed, and likely were; as much a part of the decor as the polished sinstones or the topiaries. There were precious few stoneborn or dredgers to be found, except in the roles of guards or servants. The Countess extended invitations only to Venthyr aristocracy, each one a study in the finest luxury goods Revendreth had to offer. Deep crimson velvets, vibrant vermillion silks, stark and stately black leathers all dripping with silver and jingling gems dotted the garden like ornate, expensive flowers.

And the Dark Prince and his consort, cutting through the courtyard in their bright outborn gold, outshone them all.

Heads turned as they passed. A ripple of whispers - these underpinned with a much more tangible respect than the ones at Renathal’s own court - followed his and Elisewin’s steps as they made their dutiful rounds. Renathal revelled in them. The freedom to wrap an entitled arm around his lover’s waist in plain view of his peers was a luxury the likes of which he had scarcely ever allowed himself to dream. He caught the beady eyes of the Countess watching them from her segregated platform, and her expression, thorny and twisted as a widowbloom, only enhanced his joy. If Elisewin was the prize jewel in the crown of his happiness, then upstaging the Countess at her own event was the bit of delicate filigree woven into the band.

And if Elisewin’s elation was not quite as lofty and unassailable as Renathal’s, she had regained enough of her signature impassivity to mask it - to the curious crowd, at least. Her blank expression, the quiet nods with which she accepted introductions, praises, and impertinent questions alike, gave an appearance of general boredom Renathal was sure only he could see through. No one else would note the significance of her sudden blink when he left her briefly to purloin them drinks, or the abnormally tight grip she kept on his elbow once he returned, or her preoccupied sips of the fragrant tea with barely a visible grimace.

A different creature entirely from the easy, confident penitent who had served these same Venthyr at his own court, Renathal mused; but, it seemed, without the safety of a concrete task, Elisewin found the center of attention an uncomfortable mantle to wear.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, she was not required to wear it long.

“Sire Denathrius!”

The whispers and gasps swelled to a susurrating sea that echoed the name to every corner of the terrace, heads whipping in the same direction like one opulent and awe-struck wave. Elisewin was among them. She craned her neck to peer over her shoulder, and Renathal knew by the sudden clench of her gloved fingers against his arm who she was staring at and where he must be headed. The echo of heavy bootfalls behind him confirmed his suspicions, and he turned in time to see his Master, bedecked in full glittering regalia, pace purposeful and smile pristine as he marched towards them. He paused briefly to collect a proffered glass of anima wine - more like a beaker in his enormous hand - down the contents in one elegant gulp, and replace it on the tray, before approaching the Prince and his guest.

“Renathal!” Denathrius’ voice and visage proclaimed a pleasure as precisely manicured as the garden around them. “How wonderful to see you out and about! You have been so cloistered of late. But I suppose,” he turned the blinding beam of his smile towards Elisewin, “you have been busy preparing your mortal for her Revendreth debut. And I see she has turned out quite charming." An eloquent wave indicated the commissioned gown. Renathal thought he could feel Elisewin stiffen beside him. If the Sire sensed it, however, he ignored it and swept on. "Well done. To you both! It is no mean feat dressing up for a Harvester's court."

A subtle note of needling sarcasm undermined the Sire's ostensible praise. And something in his exorbitant cheer, not to mention his unexpected presence - he had been too busy for Renathal's own court, yet could make time to attend the Countess'? - put Renathal on edge, and dimmed the glow of his own effervescent spirits. For the first time in months, he recalled a flicker of that same unease with which he had been afflicted upon Elisewin’s arrival in the realm.

But, aware of the avid eyes of the watching nobles and courtiers, he had no choice but to disentangle his arm from his consort's and hinge at the waist in the appropriate bow.

“Thank you, Sire,” he said stiffly as he straightened. "It is a privilege to see you here, as well. I was under the impression your work was consuming all your time."

Whether reading Renathal's thoughts or interpreting his stilted formality, Denathrius stepped closer, close enough for his pale, shining hair to brush Elisewin’s decorative pauldrons as he bent his head to murmur in a conspiratorial undertone, “I hope you don’t think I am playing favourites, Renathal, or avoiding your court on purpose. I am here on business, rather than pleasure. To ensure the forward trajectory of my plans - plans for anima conversation, that is,” he added hastily, and punctuated the admission with a musical sigh. “Certain... important elements are taking longer than expected. I am here to... nudge them along. Not you, of course, Renathal. Your participation has been flawless. Others…” his red eyes flicked to the side then back before Renathal could tell where he had glanced, “less so.”

“I quite understand, Sire” said Renathal, which was not remotely true. But the gist of the explanation was obvious, sensible, and benefited him to believe. "I imagine all the various demands on your attention must have even your limitless patience stretched thin."

“You have no idea."

It was almost a growl. And it came with a shadow of some odd, sinister expression; something Renathal was sure the Master had not intended anyone to see. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his charming, slightly condescending smile.

"But, look at me!" he said, putting on a higher pitched voice of mock distress. "Taking up all your leisure time with work! I will disturb your night no longer. After all, you have waited a long time for this, and you so sorely deserve it."

This time, the sarcasm was too heavy-handed. It dripped from Denathrius' saccharine praise, impossible to ignore. Renathal's mouth opened to respond, but Denathrius was already striding past him, cape billowing in the cloying breeze, heavy with the scent of flowers and wine. He half-turned, staring after the Master's retreating back. He considered calling after him, but had not the first idea what he would say. The sparse sips of anima tea were curdling in his stomach as he tried to grasp at the unpleasant threads the Sire's words had left behind, but he could not plait them into anything cohesive. He did not understand what his Master's strange mood meant.

It unsettled the Dark Prince on a base, instinctual level not to know where he stood with his Creator. But the warm lips that brushed his jaw on their way to his ear where they whispered, "Do you want to follow him?", worked like a balm on his nettled nerves. And the Master's parting comment, however intentioned, was certainly true.

He had waited for this for a very long time. Whole eons, in fact. And Renathal was determined not to let anyone or anything - even the Sire - ruin the triumph he had only begun to savour.

"No," he replied; and, turning his face and mind from Denathrius, hailed a passing dredger toting a tray of drinks, deposited his and Elisewin's teacups - hers plucked abruptly from her hand - and replaced them with two fluted ebony glasses trailing tendrils of red vapourous anima. "We are here to enjoy ourselves," he said with forceful cheer, and tilted his glass towards Elisewin's.

Elisewin regarded the red liquid blandly, then lifted her eyes to Renathal's expectant expression. She gave the garden path the Sire had taken one last inscrutable glance, before turning back to Renathal and obediently clinking her glass to his.

"He is right about one thing," she muttered, bringing the glass to her lips. "You do deserve this."

She took one experimental sip, blinked, then tilted her head back and downed the rest in three almost greedy gulps. Renathal doubled over in genuine, jubilant laughter; then, not to be outdone, drained his own glass in one steady draught.

"Another?" he asked brightly, the strong fermented anima burning down his throat and through his veins, and Elisewin nodded vigorously, brushing drops of wine from the upturned corners of her lips.

It was the closest thing to a smile she had managed at court so far, and the sight of it sealed Renathal's determination to think of his Master's mysteries no more.

A resolution which lasted three glasses.

Not an inordinate amount, compared to what many Venthyr nobles regularly imbibed, but Renathal did not often indulge in anima wine. Usually, he preferred a firm control of his will and wits, both of which he could feel slipping by the beginning of his third drink. By its completion, a fog had settled comfortably over all of his senses and he found himself propped against an overlarge sinstone listening to Theotar ramble, and allowing his old friend's voice and the alcohol bubbling through his veins to lull him into a pleasant, thoughtless stupour.

The Duke's babble ran an endless, aimless path. It began with effusive praise over the final outcome of Elisewin's gown - "Will you give a little spin for me, my friend, I must see the full effect!" - then wandered into warnings about the grumbling of the clothiers whose proposals had been declined - "So many enemies so early in our mortal's societal career!" From there, it meandered into general gossip about notably absent nobles, a topic Renathal found only marginally engaging. And it was not until he leaned down to ask an equally silent Elisewin how she felt about the prospects of a fourth glass of wine that he realised with a sickening drop in his stomach his lover was no longer beside him.

He straightened instantly, pushing off the hard sinstone and almost snapping his neck in his haste to look every direction at once. His dark coat caught on his armored tassets as he whipped in a circle, inspecting the courtyard. It was a bit blurrier at the edges than it had been when he first arrived, but, even in a wine-drunk haze, Renathal knew for certain his distinctive mortal was nowhere to be seen.

"... and this is the second Harvester's court in a row she has missed! I know she has never seen eye to eye with the Countess, but-"

"Where is Elisewin?" interjected Renathal loudly.

Sensing the Prince's alarm, the Duke broke off mid-word to answer, "Why... over there, somewhere, I believe," and point towards the distant ramparts, half hidden by decorative shrubs. "Didn't she say something a few minutes ago about needing a breath of fresh air?"

Renathal had absolutely no memory of this, though it was a very Elisewin thing to say. And to desire, despite the fact the whole court was already out of doors. But it was not at all in keeping with his lover's current cautious demeanor to wander away from him in the middle of what was fast devolving into a suitably salacious example of the Harvester of Desire’s preferred court. As he sped in the direction the Duke had indicated - after mumbling some half-intelligible excuse to his friend for his sudden leave - Renathal caught snatches of the other guests' interactions, many of which included shedding some or all of their fine garments the better to indulge in various debaucheries. Ignoring the prurient giggles, the scattered moans of pleasure or pain, he scanned the groups for a flash of lavender or brazen gold, but none of the activities, lascivious or otherwise, appeared to include his lost consort.

An ominous presentiment crawled across Renathal's skin. Somehow he knew, even before he rounded the last of the garden's privacy bushes, what he was going to find when he reached the far side. So, while his heart convulsed at the sight of his lover in her onyx and gold dress standing in the shadow of his Master's equally resplendent gold and red, notably absent from the myriad emotions that assailed Renathal was surprise.

Their backs were to the courtyard, and to Renathal; both apparently staring out across Revendreth's mist-shrouded eastern expanse. A hint of whispers carried across the breeze to the edge of the garden, too quiet for individual words to be discerned, but Renathal was suddenly ablaze with a reckless, alcohol-fuelled daring. He picked up his feet, wrapping anima magic about him, and glided noiselessly forward to the nearest dark brick stall. Most likely used as an outpost for guards, the small shelter was currently empty, and Renathal tucked himself behind it, cheek scraping the rough brick as he craned his neck to hear around the side. He could no longer see the secretive pair at the ramparts edge, but if he strained his ears he could just pick out their hushed words from the backdrop of court chatter.

“… fail to see the problem,” Denathrius was saying. “You no longer need to worry over atonements. Just continue to do what you do best.”

“And what is that?”

Even in a shrunken murmur, Elisewin's tone was bland as ever.

“Distract.” Denathrius’ by contrast, thrummed with malicious humour. “You are a distraction, my dear. And I must say I could not have asked for a better one.”

There was silence on the ramparts. For a tense moment, Renathal worried Elisewin's reply was so soft he did not catch it, but then her voice emerged, louder and audibly shaking, as though tossed by the wind.

"I - I don't ... understand what you mean."

A small commotion of delightedly scandalised laughter issued from the garden behind, obscuring the voices Renathal was fighting to hear. Throwing caution to the chill breeze, he wrapped his coat around himself and sank to the ground, edging around the building and willing himself not to be seen. But the two beings on the ramparts were far too busy staring at each other, and the playful party at the edge of the terrace was traipsing away, their voices blending back into the rest of the chaotic throng. Just in time for Renathal to hear Elisewin say in a voice uncharacteristically moved by indignation.

“And why would you want the Prince distracted?”

“That,” said Denathrius, also louder and more brisk, “is neither your concern nor his. Consider it your purpose, since that is what you're after. And if you were to fail at it..." He shifted casually, booted hooves shuffling against the stone as he allowed his pause to prolong the tension. "Then your presence in my realm would no longer be... necessary.”

Another silence. This one seemed to stretch on without hope of end. The two figures, mortal and Master, stood still as stoneborn, watching each other, Renathal too far away to glean anything from their shadowed silhouettes. Finally, Elisewin asked, quiet and wary once more:

“Why are you telling me this? You can’t really expect me not to tell the Prince everything you’ve just said?”

“Oh, I expect you will,” said Denathrius in a voice wholly unconcerned, even bored. “But I do not expect him to believe you. He is quite enjoying his role and his newfound privileges in my superior reality. I do not think he will be quick to throw those away. But...” He shrugged; an exaggerated gesture even Renathal could see from his half-hidden crouch. “You are more than welcome to try.”

Then, without farewell or a backward glance, Denathrius was sauntering away across the ramparts; not towards the terrace garden, but the direction of the distant lift. And the only coherent thought Renathal’s reeling brain could muster was a mild wondering at whether the Master planned to walk all the way back to Castle Nathria.

He did not feel fear, nor take any trouble to hide himself more securely - he almost wished to be caught, but the Master did not glance his way. Nor did he feel any trace of outrage or humiliation, though he imagined these would come later. Later. When the effects of the anima and alcohol had worn off and he was forced to admit his own failings to his friends, his allies, his lover, the Accuser - everyone who had always suspected what he had steadfastly refused to see.

For now, however, all Renathal was aware of was a profound, overwhelming sense of loss. And all he could bring himself to do was slump against the unforgiving brick of the rampart's shelter and, like Elisewin still standing frozen only a dozen paces away, stare into the unfathomable distance, mourning the loss of the perfect, glorious happiness they had so briefly enjoyed.

Read Chapter 11: An Invitation to Treachery | Visit the Masterpost

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