I saw your "hades and apollo looking at Persephone the exact same" post and like honestly??? This series would be so much better if Hades/Persephone were intended to be toxic and Hades was MEANT to be a manipulative asshole. There are so many panels where everything is designed to make it look like Hades is the bad guy (hades following/"rescuing" persephone during the proposal) and like... ugh if it was INTENTIONAL it would be so much more interesting for the story. But it's not and it bothers me so much.
Also your "Thanatos yelling at Hades with Hades speech to Kronos" edit made my whole life, I was literally liveblogging my reading of the chapter to a friend on discord and i was telling them that everything Hades said to Kronos is something Thanatos deserved to tell Hades and I wanted someone to make an edit. So thank you for reading my mind somehow and making it 😂💖
Right, I've been dying over the same thought for ages now, if the whole point of LO was to showcase a girl being groomed and manipulated into becoming a worse person due to a richer and older man taking advantage of her... then maybe I'd be singing praises about what it's accomplished because as it stands, I really can't celebrate LO as being a "romance" in any way shape or form.
Either that, OR it should have stayed as like, a feel-good fluffy office romance story. Like if it had stayed in the territory of S1 with Persephone going to university and working in the Underworld without delving into any of the crazy supernatural fertility goddess / Kronos returning BS. Sure, considering it's Greek myth obviously it wouldn't be as 'fun' to have the characters not be actual gods who get into supernatural tussles, but LO just... isn't being written by someone who's capable of writing stories to that scale, and it's especially evident throughout the entire third season. Rachel should have just stuck to the character-driven plotlines with the grounded and intimate story beats (slice-of-life type stuff).
That's not to say she shouldn't ever try to write a bigger story with higher stakes and more intricate plotlines, but like... she's clearly not ready for that yet and I hope at the very least LO has been a learning experience for her so that her next story will either be more grounded or at the very least organized better if she can't resist doing a larger-than-life story.
also ur welcome LOL though honestly I can't take credit for that because that was basically ALL of us reacting to that scene like... wtf, this is what Thanatos should be saying to Hades fr LOL so have some confidence in knowing that you weren't alone in feeling that LMAO
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Oh, to Find Love in Russia | Konig x Reader
I used to post my stories on tiktok under the username @codlover but I figured since tiktok might get banned I should delete that account and post it here. Here’s one of the stories.
Feel free to use my work as a prompt/inspiration. Better yet, feel free to write your own ideal part 2 just MAKE SURE YOU CREDIT AND TAG ME.
WARNINGS: Mentions of injury, specifically written for my delulu girlies💕
The ice, cold air of a wintery Russia rushed through your body like death through Pompeii. With your lips an ungodly shade of purple and your fingers feeling so stupidly numb, you follow the public map displayed on the side of the nearest building to meet a short term comrade in a common tourist area.
It took you some time, having never been to Russia before, but you eventually find yourself walking alongside a very large man who names himself König. He leads you away from the tourist path and into a market area where you both enter a less than busy bar. You agree you’ll talk here, where it was warm and your shivering didn’t hinder your ability to speak.
The next two hours was a conversation of confirming your roles here and the goals that were set to be accomplished – you both were sent to gain intel, but König’s main focus was to serve as your armor, and gaining intel was especially assigned to you, dear reader.
You were not a special forces operator because you were big and strong, or because you had a particular set of skills pertaining to combat at all. Your task-force had elected you to become one of it’s soldiers because you were a holder of intelligence – you were the brain, and everyone else was the body.
Your skills lied in your ability to speak and understand a multitude of languages. Your looks and personality made you attractive to others both romantically or otherwise – people couldn’t help but make themselves known to you. You were good at making them feel so special that it hurt too much to not spill all their flavors into your cup.
Blackbird, they called you; a symbol of beauty and intelligence. You were your team’s little warbler – whatever they needed to know, you were sent to find out, and you always came back chirping your sweet song of intel.
König was quite taken by you from the very start – he’d never met a woman in his field that carried herself with such grace. Overtime, many women in special forces became much like their male colleagues; rough around the edges, heavily drinking and/or smoking, cursing like wounded sailors.
You? You were so clean. Not a single profanity fell from your glossed lips, your voice was smoother than the finest of silk velvets. Your eyes are still warm with the hope of a better world and twinkled with the gentle promise of eternal youth.
Granted, you were still rather fresh in age being in your early 20s. Still, you were special.
As you both got familiar with each other over the next few hours, König grew firmer in his belief that the radiance of your skin was actually your golden soul shining through your pores.
The safe house you’d both been given had been put together at the last minute. A fact that was clear by how it was a small cabin with only a couch in the living room and one bed in the bedroom, certainly not prepared for two. The kitchen was stocked with little snacks and such, but if either of you ever got the taste for a real meal, you’d have to eat out or go grocery shopping.
König was quick to offer you the only room, as you were a lady deserving of privacy.
Over the course of two weeks, you took turns cooking and choosing restaurants. But by week three, you’d become so focused on your task of manipulating a Captain in the Russian anti-group that you’d end up spending every free moment of your day at the desk, documenting the day’s occurrences and future strategies. König became responsible for making sure you both ate – it seemed that if he didn’t feed you, you’d simply forget to do it yourself and starve.
Week four was when the storm arrived, the great finale that signaled the nearing end of every mission – Blackbird had collected everything she needed and was ready to fly on home and feed her findings to her kin. Things were wrapping up and, naturally, that meant shit was going down.
The final day would end with König wounded – he fought well, your knight in shining armor. Of course he won, but he was losing blood from his abdomen and you knew he was in pain.
The jet that was assigned to pick you both up would not arrive until morning. Your due date was not until two days from now, but you’d finished early. Until then, you used what you had to stop the bleeding and make him comfortable.
You leave him on the bed that you’d been sleeping in for the last five weeks, flat on his back. If not for the pain of his stab wound, he might’ve enjoyed drowning in the lingering, feminine scent of shampoo and perfume stuck to the sheets and pillows you burrowed yourself in at night.
You bandage him with delicate fingers – such a stark difference compared to the medics back at the KorTac base. They were always so rough, like hornets pricking and prodding at his body.
He doesn’t notice how your focus was divided between his wound and his bare chest. Your impulsive thoughts, if you gave in to them, would’ve had you resting the palms of your hands flat on his muscles and grazing your fingertips over the ridges.
You tried to be respectful, the man was in pain – but you just couldn’t help your nature as it demanded to behold the glorious sculpture settled before you. Thousands of years ago, König might’ve been the model for ancient Greek statues. He was beautiful.
König sits up on the mattress when you finish, which now is stained with speckles of blood, clenching his jaw as he did. Your hands come up on his bare chest and you stop him.
“What are you doing?” You ask, bewildered, “You have to rest, König, you’re hurt.”
“This is your bed, schatz,” König grunted, “I will go to the couch.”
Now that the mission is over, you suddenly feel a wave of guilt come crashing down onto you. You’d been so busy thinking about what you needed to do, how you were going to get your hands on the information you’d been sent out to receive that you didn’t ever stop to think about König’s comfort. And here he was, spending every single day of the last five weeks watching your back, making sure you ate, and that you were comfortable. All he did was think about you.
As you stare at him, your heart begins pulsing erratically. Your face grows warm with the sudden realization that this big, brutal, soldier of a man was such a gentleman. He’d been so kind and considerate, looking over your shoulder for you like he was born to do it and not just because it was his job.
Your hands raise to cradle his masked face. You think about how this six-foot-ten beast had been sleeping on that tiny, poor excuse for a couch for nearly two months for the sake of your comfortability, and how he would do it even now when he was in pain.
Without a second thought, you go in and kiss him through the fabric of his mask – a little peck of admiration for his chivalry, a humble praise for being a rare man.
König stares at you when you pull back, he’s stunned. All these weeks of very subtly flirting with you … he thought you’d never notice, or even reciprocate his interest. König figured that you both would separate at the end of this story like Orpheus and Eurydice, he’d be damned to never know you again and you’d forget him as soon as he was gone.
With your hands still holding either side if his jaw, you tell him, “Lay down, König. Here.”
He brings up a large hand to meet one of yours, using the other to hold himself upright and stroking your wrist affectionately with his thumb, “You will not sleep on the couch, schatz.”
“No,” You agreed. “We will both stay here, on the bed, and that way if you need anything, I’m right here to help you.”
Still not believing what’s happening, he tries again to rise from the bed, only for you to guide him back down until his head rested on one of the pillows.
You ask, “That’s okay, isn’t it?”
König, beneath his mask, feels his lips curling upward as he laughs breathlessly.
He grins, “Okay?”
It was perfect.
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You know, something something Arthur desperately wanted to see the good in magic at any opportunity he was given.
When Gwen was first accused, when he first met Morgause, when he wanted to save Uther using magic, when he saved the woman from being burnt in that small village, when he was given a choice by the Disir, when he was determined to save Gwen from Morgana's dark magic...
(Honourable mentions include when he saved Mordred and argued with Uther about the Druids being peaceful (they are magic adjacent after all) - and well, given the second honourable mention being his remorse for the raid on the Druid camp when he was young, it's understandable that it comes from some sort of trauma. And of course, the result of that remorse was the promise that he would do everything to prevent it ever happening again, and that he would treat the Druids with respect. Hell, even with Kara he was respectful, even though she committed actual literal treason in the form of an attempted assassination of Camelot's king)
Of course, at every opportunity, Arthur's view that there is good in magic, that not all sorcerers are evil, that perhaps his father was wrong, or that his father had lied, ends up being proven wrong, at least in his eyes.
Time and time again Arthur is shown to consider magic as a more neutral force, like almost as if he's desperate for it to be true. It isn't even necessarily his fault that the opinions about magic and sorcerers that Uther taught him becomes reinforced once again.
The fact that he can even think critically about magic at all is a miracle alone. Like this man who has only ever known sorcerers to use magic for evil purposes, to destroy Camelot, attempt to assassinate him, attempt to assassinate his father, to harm those he cares about - and yet he still he still falls back on, what if magic can be good, what if we're wrong, what if, what if, what if--
And it's only when magic itself reveals himself to Arthur that he can finally see that yes, magic can be good.
Because if Merlin is good, if Merlin is the same person even with magic, then magic is neutral, and sorcerers aren't inherently evil.
Arthur was always going to accept magic, that's the thing, that's hardcoded into his character, he just needed the right push, and that push was always going to be Merlin.
Because as Arthur dies in Merlin's arms, blanketed by magic itself, he accepts that even with all of Merlin's magic, his life cannot be saved, magic cannot save him.
But he accepts it, and accepts Merlin, and he dies having brought about all that Merlin ever dreamt of, truly dreamt of, that Arthur would see him for him, and accept him and his magic. And more than that, what Arthur truly ends up doing is embracing it.
Arthur for whatever reason, perhaps because he was born of magic, perhaps because his soulmate is magic itself, perhaps because he has a heart of gold, wanted to see the good in magic at any given opportunity that presented itself, even though with all that Uther taught him, he never should have seen it that way.
It's just, it's so fascinating, and it's so heartbreaking that when he finally knew, he died. But he'll return, and I'm sure then he can build something better with Merlin, really bring magic back to a time that needs it :)
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OH MAN OH BOY 👁️ 👄 👁️
Consider this post the sequel to my unhinged gushing over the Tsumsted Wonderland Riddle and Leona cards 🤡
GVDFG8OYADGDSOAFQHYEQE1671VADFOsqutv THEY DIDN'T MISS WITEH THESE, THE TWST TEAM KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOi NGH 😭
Like the previous two Tsumsted Wonderland SSR Groovies, the Azul and Kalim uncap artworks are references to the short animation that plays out whenever Tsum!Azul and Tsum!Kalim's abilities are used in the TsumTsum mobile game. They translated over really well to TWST, but there are also just enough new elements to make the illustrations stand out on their own and be representative of each respective dorm!!
ADBHAFSUFYOAVADFI I LIKE HOW AZUL'S GROOVY IS SO FUCKING AFSNHBHIASDOBIYSABI OVERDRAMATIC?????? It makes me think about all the crocodile tears they shed, especially during episode 4. FWJvskudgyoDWBWIdb OBVIOUSLYT I'AMDS BIASED TOWARSD ATH i S ONE OVER THE TSUM!KALIM onE , SORRY nOT SORRYB ASMD KALIM
You can see from the background that they appear to be standing at the top of a stairwell and that the angle is a slight worm's eye view; Azul is also framed in a theatrical spotlight (similar to how he was spotlighted in episode 3 when he introduced himself as 220 students' new "master"). The twins, his beloved minions, on either side of him, shrouded in the shadows. Even the bubbles floating up appear ominous in the dim lighting, so high in volume that it gives the impression of franticness, like someone's been kicking and thrashing about, struggling in the water... until Octainvelle approaches.
Everything about this image is such that you, the onlooker, is being forced to look "up" to them as your "saviors". Azul seemingly points right at you, a confident expression on his face--almost like he's calling you out specifically, daring you to approach him with your woes and wishes. AGVSVIUtaidsOVASD thE n THER'S E HIS TSUM JUST. BOUNC IN' ON DOWN WITH THE LITTLE HAT 😭Floyd regards you with barely a care in the world, tossing his magical pen up into the air before he catches it again, waiting for the order to close in on his target. And then Jade... YLDDlvhvyldQTF376324O8QERVUOQEFOYQFWOY He's on standby also waiting orders (and probably also just “standing by” in the sense of enabling his brother) but. 🤡 Unlike Floyd’s very open posture, Jade's keeping his own magical pen close, just like he keeps all of his metaphorical playing cards close to his heart. The magestone embedded in his magical pen is pressed to his lips, sealing the secrets within with lies. A ABSHJFAHAFLifI GoD I WANNA BE THAT MAGAICAL PENa SO DC BAD A NMRIGH TNoW 3yug41go8ayofoqegfyofyg2tdafogfadpbadfbfeyqcbaiyoidf OTL
Kalim's Groovy is also framed from a slight worm's eye view angle, but it creates a very different atmosphere! It feels more jubilant, like they're pulling off one last, big stunt to close off a night of partying and merrymaking. (The background here reminds me of the closing scene to Aladdin!)
Are you ready? 1, 2, 3...!! And then the dark desert skies are born anew, bathed in the warm lights of fireworks popping off, fiery flowers blooming between the diamond-like stars. At that moment, Tsum!Kalim excitedly leaps up. Its rotund body is painted in shades of crimson and gold--as though Tsum!Kalim was the sun itself, come to pay a visit to the moon. Scarabia's dorm building and all the palm trees around you become nothing more than shadows, and you're taken in by the explosions above, sound and light rippling through the night. But the party's not over yet, the Scarabia duo reassure you. Come on, let's sing! Let's dance! The night is still young.
Kalim may be holding his special staff in the Groovy art, but it doesn't really make him seem more authoritative or serious. It feels like he's just dropped an easy-going command to try some crackers or to join him for a dance! By contrast, Jamil kind of already looks like he's mid-dance 😂 with a leg lifted up and the fabric at his waist flowing out. With his magical pen pointed up like that, it gives the impression that Jamil set off the fireworks?? Which makes me think back to the Scalding Sands Fireworks event, when he had a very similar honor. ABHLDbkfvuoafvqeou1357968o2rb BY THE WAY IF YOU LOOK CLOSe3l y JAMIL'S DOING HIS INFAMOIUS TONGUE BLEP TOO qnisqtiyfetqfqvioad S NE V Er CHANGE, JAMIL. NEVER FUCKING CHANGE.
THE TSUMSTED WONDERLAND SSR GROOVIES ARE TRULY UNMATCHED 😩 THIS IS THE HILL I WILL DIE ON, MY MIND CANNOT BE CHANGED. MY ASKN I N IS CLEAR, MY CROSPS HAVE BEE N WATERED, ALL IS RIGHT Wi TH THE WORLD and yes, I still want to chew up the Tsums and become one with their marshmallow-like cuteness--
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I am haunted by the story that Vajra Safahr deserves, but I am not the person to write it. A young, Black, immigrant woman suddenly becomes the youngest Blackstaff ever. She’s under the scrutiny of the nobility, who see her as an upstart, and Waterdeep citizens, who see her as an outsider. She’s trapped in the world’s most awkward working relationship with Open Lord Laeral Silverhand, whose husband’s soul inhabits the Blackstaff. Laeral is also a centuries-old demigod witch queen who treats Vajra like an insecure child (a phrase pulled directly from the Dragon Heist book), exacerbated by the implicit threat in the fact that Laeral has the power to strip her of her title. Rivals spread rumors that Vajra only got the title because she was the last Blackstaff’s lover (this is a lie concocted to undermine her; Forgotten Realms canon can bite me. On a completely unrelated note, Vajra is a lesbian). Vajra herself is terrified, overwhelmed, and horrifically lonely. She fights with all her strength just to stay above water, but people keep raising the waterline around her. She keeps a calm facade, reminding any challenger that the Blackstaff itself chooses the one most worthy to wield it, but she herself doesn’t know why it chose her.
The plot that I imagine is, during an inciting fight that establishes a threat to Waterdeep, the Blackstaff is destroyed. Vajra returns from the fray clutching a single fragment, with the original Blackstaff soul (Laeral’s husband) lodged inside. Blaming Vajra for the loss, Laeral takes the fragment and strips her title. Vajra is left with nothing but grief, failure, and rage...until sometime thereafter, the last fragment reappears in her hands.
The Blackstaff chose her. No one can take that away from her. There is a great evil bearing down on Waterdeep, this city she has chosen as home, and Vajra Safahr is going to recover the lost fragments of her staff and put an end to it. And nobody, no jeering noble nor skeptical citizen nor patronizing witch queen, is going to stop her.
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