#i hope this seems at least semi-accurate

[ma1dita]

kiss his face with an uppercut

smutty part 2 here-> heavy hitter

words: 4k

summary: james potter is so attractive you could beat him to death with a bludger. james potter x fem!beater!reader not from gryffindor (for the plot!!)

warnings: none! james gets physically hurt multiple times by reader, multiple innuendos, enemies to lovers kinda, less serious lovey dove more sexual tension!!! probably not accurate quidditch gameplay

a/n: sorry for the hold up guys this took almost a month of on and off editing lmfao— this whole oneshot makes me think of the filipino word ‘gigil’– simply translating to cuteness aggression; i barely know jack shit about sports much less quidditch but this concept had me looking up quidditch rules to be able to provide– eat up kids

Y/S- sibling name

Y/H- house

(posted & edited 10/10/23)

—

Oh BROTHER, this guy STINKS! I mean, how has he not gotten walloped at least once during this godforsaken game? You suck your teeth at the sight of James flying around the pitch blowing kisses to his fan club and Lily Evans, who turns her nose up at the sight of him.

Merlin, when will this game end?

The Hogwarts Quidditch Semi-Finals of 1977 was a game to watch… until both teams stopped scoring what seemed like hours ago. Both Gryffindor & (Y/H) were at a stalemate, down some players due to injury and now, even lower team morale. Gryffindor team captain and chaser James Potter, notorious Marauder, and resident flirt, is not someone who likes to lose. He’s spent all season drilling his teammates, memorizing plays, and thinking of every outcome possible to ensure another Gryffindor victory. James’ affinity to be right takes precedence over anything, after all. But after beating down almost all of (Y/H)’s reserves, James was almost vibrating with confidence. He really doesn’t lose, not if he can help it.

“AND ANOTHER (Y/H) IS DOWN WITH AN INJURY— Team captain Whithall calls for a timeout as they reconvene on what to do next! Hope you’re still comfy in the stands, folks….” the student announcer grumbles.

There’s absolute chaos on the field, and like birds scuffling over a piece of bread, (Y/S), the team’s last good beater is floating on a gurney, ready to be transported to the Hospital Wing.

“Oh, here comes trouble…” Sirius murmurs, smacking James on the back to grab his attention.

You jump down from the stands to check on (Y/S), and James is too busy reveling in the idea of winning the goddamn semi-finals that he doesn’t notice you putting Quidditch gear on.

“Easy win from here on out, Pads! The little lady’s just checking the damage. Not important,” he chortles before Sirius physically grabs his head to face the girl walking towards him, currently storming across the turf to meet him and his team.

“I’m subbing in,” you say, angry at how dirty Gryffindor’s been playing, and angry that you even have to play in (Y/S)’s stead.

“Sweetheart, this game is for serious, you know that right?” James says a bit dumbly with a furrowed brow. Both of you are head to head, and James sees the twitch in your eye as you cross your arms. Hot air is seeping out of your pores but James’s lip simply quirks up in intrigue. You’re someone he hasn’t noticed before, and the only thing running through his mind besides winning the game is that you’re really pretty. But then again, he’s always found angry women to be attractive, in retrospect.

“Yeah, for the actual cup, not…for Sirius… It’s the wrong time to joke, innit?” Sirius says to break the ice, noticing the palpable tension between your glares. Your faces are inches away from each other and he’s not sure if you two are going to fight or kiss, but it makes him grimace all the same.

“Who do you think (Y/S) practices with? Unlike you and your friends, I know when to take things seriously,” You say through gritted teeth.

“She’s legit, Potter. Got added to our reserves last week.” Whithall pipes up, ready to get back to the game. The crowd has been weathered down after hours of anticipation, and they want to see the end of it, no matter the outcome.

“Much to my surprise,” you grumble, elbowing the authority in the form of a teenage boy not much older than yourself. You should’ve known your sibling was looking a little too happy as they got floated off the pitch on a gurney.

“Then let’s play. Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” James says condescendingly, floating away on his broomstick like it’s a walk in the park, but the way you’re slapping the bat against your palm is getting Sirius a tiny bit nervous for his precious countenance. The whistle blows and the game resumes.

“A SURPRISE ADDITION (Y/N) JOINS HER HOUSE AS BEATER! Gryffindor better watch out for her swi—” You slam the bludger in James’s direction and it hurtles toward him so fast that he almost folds in half, barrel-rolling on his broom to dodge it. The move makes Sirius and a few of their other teammates gasp to see James scrambling back onto his broom.

“Oops! Looks like I missed.” you deadpan, balancing midair as you whack another one where it rebounds off the Gryffindor seeker and back towards James, hitting both of them in the gut.

“THIS GIRL’S GOT AN ARM ON HER! Though might I say her hits look a bit targeted…” The commentator says worriedly, and everyone in the crowd is leaning in their seats trying to get a better view.

“Merlin, are you trying to kill me woman?” he yells in outrage.

“I’m trying to finish the game. Your big head is in the way,” you say with a straight face as Sirius bats towards you, and you spin on your broomstick without shifting your posture. The smile on your face as you taunt him should be considered criminal, but he’s looking at you in a new light.

Yeah, now he’s paying attention. The other Gryffindor players can’t seem to figure out your next move and you bat another bludger towards Potter’s extremely large target of a head, and all of a sudden he’s freefalling through the air as his teammates fly to catch him, one by one. His nose still makes impact with the ground before Sirius catches by the ankle like Achilles taking a dip in the River Styx.

“AND (Y/H) HAS CAPTURED THE SNITCH! Good job to their Seeker, Appleby! Congratulations on a job well done, so that we can all finally go home.” The commentator cringes as McGonagall swats at him to leave the podium.

Who even is she, taking over the game and stealing his win like that?

He’s walking up from the sidelines with a bloody nose, going to shake Whithall’s hand and you’re standing behind him, a malicious grin plastered between your rosy cheeks, windswept and almost ethereal while he looks like he got flattened by a hippogriff. Fuck, she’s pretty. You look like you floated down from the heavens, and by the looks his team gives him, he may have just crawled out of the earth.

“Congrats,” he grumbles, turning to you. Really pretty. It’s even worse that you’re devastatingly stunning up close— with sweat glistening on your brow and a pearly white smile, he takes a good moment to really look at you and memorize the flutter of your eyelashes. He’s unsure if he’s concussed or maybe it’s his astigmatism, but there are actual stars in his vision as he peers down at you. Your confidence is actually kind of sexy.

“You look…um…you ride well.” He stutters, shaking his head from his personal reverie.

“Excuse me?” you say, your little mouth agape in what he hopes is not disgust. He looks pathetic, blood sopping down to his jersey as he looks at you like he’s only seeing you for the first time, acknowledging you closely. Something about seeing him flail makes you crinkle your nose as you stifle a grin.

“I mean…Um…” Damn.

Sirius pulls his best friend away before you can bite back your laughter, all of your teammates leading you away to celebrate.

“Mate, what the shit was that? Are you alright in the head?” Sirius says, and if James’ nose wasn’t already bleeding he was going to slap him silly.

“Just…Didn’t see that coming…” he mumbles, and his mind, along with all of Gryffindor is in disarray as they walk back to their tower. He’s got a lot of thinking to do on what his next move will be.

—

James Potter goes through life in three methodical ways: 1.) creating a strategy, 2.) making a scene, 3.) and dragging his friends into it— in that particular order, every single time.

Now notice how considering consequences is not part of said process.

His ego wouldn’t let him rest after a girl, much less a very pretty one that he’d never noticed before—beat him at what he does best; quidditch! In fact, the next few nights were void of sleep and filled with thoughts of you. The way your hair looked so soft in the sunlight, how your lip turns almost Gryffindor red when you bite it in concentration, and maybe how your delicate hands would look as they tightly grasp onto his bat...ahem…your quidditch bat. Some dirty delusions aside, if looks could kill, he’d be dead seven times over, but honestly? He’d probably thank you for it.

James’ new mission was to figure you out, and if that was his mission, it meant it was the rest of the Marauders’ too. For the sake of winning the Cup, of course. That’s what he tries to tell himself until his mates catch him ogling you again at breakfast.

“So what is it with you and girls that inflict you nothing but pain and humiliation?” Remus muses, as the Marauders watch James laugh at a joke you told your friends at the (Y/H) table across the Great Hall. He looks at you like someone who stares at the sun, squinting and burning himself as he ponders on why he’s unable to look away.

James fumbles a response, shoving Remus as they all laugh. “Listen, I’ve got a bit of a masochistic streak, Moony. Just…There’s something about her…”

Your friends are pointing at him now, and as you turn to meet his eyes, you lift a brow inquisitively and flip him off. Sirius’s face pulls up in shock at James’s growing smile at the interaction as he mumbles, “Maybe you’ve met your match, Prongs…”

The boy pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, anything to try to see you clearer as he leans over to put his head in his hands, sighing dreamily. His friends are not as easily amused.

“A match made in heaven, you reckon?”

—

“Match made in hell, more like!” You spit, almost choking on your scrambled eggs at your friends’ insinuations. Your back is as stiff as a board, shoulders tight at the notion of you ever liking James Potter triggering your fight or flight response. When it comes to someone as pompous as him, only the word fight comes to mind.

“Oh come on, love… He’s popular, funny, and quite handsome…It’s James freaking Potter we’re talking about!” your roommate gushes, but you're not the least bit impressed.

“Is that supposed to do anything for me? I can think of a few F words that middle initial can stand for…” Eyes rolling, you peek back at the Gryffindor table to see said boy wiggling his fingers at you teasingly until he accidentally smacks Peter in the face with his toast. Idiot.

“Only hot people get away with stupid shit. I mean look at the four of them!” you continue, gulping down the rest of your coffee. “Potter’s the worst out of all of them though. Big ass head must compensate for a lot of things." You say, shaking your head at your friends.

"And yet, here you are, talking about him for the fourth time this morning," your roommate replies, smirking. " You’ve been Potter crazy since you helped us beat Gryffindor in the semi-finals! Are you sure you don't have a crush on him?"

"No!" you say too quickly, too loudly, that the shrill noise of your voice makes your ears hurt and the shit-eating grins on your friends’ faces reflect how desperate that came off. You slump onto the table, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You wanna kiss him, don’t you?” they tease, and you push away their puckering faces as you scoff, “With an uppercut, maybe!” Almost makes you want to stomp over there and wipe the stupid look off his face…and maybe sit on his lap. You run your fingers through your hair in frustration. All this aggression really needs to go somewhere, but unfortunately, James Potter’s lap is the only destination you have in mind.

“He’s just really punchable. I get so annoyed by the sight of him I just want to… ugh!” you groan, your hands shaking as you try to convince them (or yourself). Your friends cackle at the sight of you pretending to squeeze his curly-topped, mothball-filled head, but your brain changes course and you imagine what it’s like to hold his hand. Your fingers flex cautiously at the idea, wondering what his touch would feel like. Grabbing a glass of water to cool your thoughts, your peripherals reveal he’s still staring at you like you make night turn into day. His gaze is searing, and as you put your lips around your straw, he licks his lips slowly. Shit.

—

Availability bias is one hell of a mindfuck. If only they taught psychology at this magic school, maybe the wizarding world would have way fewer problems and more people would be straightforward and not.. Dead. James decides he can categorize his life now as before you, and after you.

Before you, well… he honestly wasn’t even sure if you were a student at Hogwarts until he saw you marching down the pitch, but now… You’re everywhere. He can spot your voice in a crowded hallway, and who was going to tell him you’ve had three classes with him this whole term? Even down to when he shuts his eyes, he’s convinced his eyelids are branded with the imprint of your silhouette. Every conversation he strikes with you ends with you laughing at him, and he’s unsure if that’s a step up or down from the many boisterous rejections from Lily Evans over the years. He sort of wishes you’d laugh with him, and do a number of other things, (heck he’s got a list of ideas he’s wanked off to), and well… His soul is tightly wound with thoughts of you and Godric, listen to this guy…. maybe the boys were right…. Maybe he really does need to get laid.

It’s funny how fate works, two people who’ve barely interacted in the past six years at Hogwarts are now paired together for a History of Magic essay worth 20% of the term grade. You’re trying to get this done as fast as possible, he notices, mapping out ideas and trying to discuss how to piece it all together, yet James does everything but that to get you to pay attention to him. He fills your head with mundane little questions, asking you what your favorite fruit is to the childhood bedtime story your parents told you as a kid.

“What’s your middle name, Potter?” You muse, finally entertaining him after endless chatter. His eyes trail to the exposed skin of your collarbones as you stretch in your seat, and well… you don’t look as menacing as you always do but did it seriously have to be this question? He scratches the back of his head, silent for the first time in the two hours you’ve been trying to craft this essay for the sake of both your grades.

“What? I can’t just go around calling you James Fucking Potter. Spit it out, you know too much about me already.”

He clears his throat, a blush creeping up his neck. “It’s… that’s an intimate question, love… I…”

Your laughter at his response makes his senses shut down. “Oh, so it’s bad. What is it, Franklin? Fabio? Come on, I won’t bite.” A part of him wishes you would, your face equally flushed and so close to him right now, almost leering at him for an answer. It’d be easy to just lean over…

“Fleamont.”

Your lips quirk, until they pucker like you’ve guzzled a lemon. The blush on your cheeks intensifies, and the sound explodes out of you. You laugh so loudly Madam Pince kicks you both out of the library, James carrying both your knapsacks, a hand around your waist as you rush out of there. Your body is firm under his touch, pupils unfocused and dilated looking at him now that you know his dirty little secret. James thinks that if you keep looking at him like that, hell, you can call him anything you want.

—

Fleamont.

What a prick. A really attractive, clueless prick. The memory makes you giggle as you get ready for the Quidditch Cup and your team charges out onto the field to face Gryffindor again, as you’ve both advanced to the finals. He’s not as much of an asshole as you originally thought. It’s undeniable that something pulls you towards him, whether it be hormones, concern, or the fact that it’s actually adorable the way he writes his mother back weekly, or admirable how he moved Sirius out of Black Manor himself last year. Maybe it’s endearing the way he goes out of his way to make first-years smile or heartwarming how even Filch can’t find reasons to hate him. The golden boy. You get it now, why people get trapped in his web, and why many are unwilling to leave.

You pass him outside the locker rooms, bumping shoulders as he smiles almost bashfully. The golden boy, loudmouth, ball of energy is reduced to a nervous pile of teenage ineptness at the sight of you, every time. You could take him (not in a fight). In an actual fight, maybe you could land a few solid hits before his nice muscly arms hold you do—

“Ready to finish this, darling?”

Your eyes refocus when his hand nudges the small of your back, right above your hip. “Mhmm,” you clear your throat, “Ready to lose, Potter?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He moves closer, slowly backing you into the wall.

“Eyes on the prize Potter, I’m in this to win it.” You say, looking at the closing distance between both your chests. James nods, not taking his eyes off of you for a moment, even when the announcer calls out the imminent start of the game.

“WELCOME TO THE HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH CUP OF 1977 GRYFFINDOR VS. (Y/H)! I hope you are all excited as our last match between these teams was quite thrilling at the end of it!” The announcer says, hyping up the roaring crowd as your teams parade onto the pitch.

His eyes are still on you when he shakes Whithall’s hand and the whistle blows. It’s intense, and makes you feel like you’re burning, even if the wind is blowing like crazy today. You bat the bludgers toward anything red on the field that even dares to move toward your teammates. James won’t stop staring at you, and you both lock eyes across the pitch.

“What? Flirt with me later, Potter, I’m trying to win!” you yell.

He’s got you transfixed, and it’s crazy how his timing is always wrong. You bat the bludger away from your captain but don’t notice James flying towards you to respond as you give it your hardest swing, making the impact against his huge target of a head all the more painful.

Holy shit, did you kill him?

He keels off his broom like a shot bird and then he’s falling, and you’re the one chasing the Gryffindor chaser as he flaps his arms like the idiot you know he is as you push forward to catch him before he splits his skull open.

“I’msofuckingsorryJamesareyouokay?” You blurt out as you land, soft hands moving over his broad chest and quickly swelling face. He’s wearing that stupid grin again, and you think you may have finally broken Gryffindor’s team captain.

“You know my name?” he sighs happily, comfortable in your lap and maybe it’s the brain damage you’ve caused him or the way his glasses are bent beyond repair but you will every magical predecessor you can think of to stop you from punching him in the face right now.

“Are you fucking dense?” You scream, shaking your head, and jostling him as his arms try to reach out to swipe the hair away from your face.

“Must’ve hit him so hard you knocked his filter loose..” Sirius muses after he lands next to you two on the grass.

“POTTER’S TAKEN A HIT FROM (Y/H) and it doesn’t look good ladies and gents! Gryffindor calls a timeout to check on their captain!” The announcer calls out, and there are so many eyes on the two of you as James is simply giggling like a prepubescent schoolboy. Fuck, you’ve maimed the golden boy.

“Y’know, sweetheart. You’re…really sexy when you’re on top of me like this,” he says breathily, and you really can’t hit him, so you jab Sirius in the gut instead when he tries to laugh at his best friend’s stupidity.

—

James wakes up in the hospital wing with a blinding headache until someone gently pulls the curtains closed, stroking the hair off his sweaty forehead.

“Poppy you always take such good care of me…” he mumbles. A punch lands on his chest and his eyes rip open, not expecting to see you at his bedside.

“Idiot,” you mutter. “You’re always in my way and now look, you almost got yourself killed and it would’ve been my fault! How dare you, James…” The red is crawling up your neck like a brushfire as you berate him, and he takes it with a grin as you jabber on, putting his arms behind his head.

“Were you worried about me, love?” James smiles cheesily, catching your arm at its half-hearted attempt to slap him across the face.

“I was not. Stubborn people like you are hard to kill. I’m more annoyed that I can’t morally punch your face in since you have a concussion. Madame Pomfrey’s already healed your cheekbone.”

“That you broke,” he says matter-of-factly, taking a chance to kiss the palm of your hand. This concussion is working like a bottle of Felix Felicis. It’s endearing to see you taking care of him, whether you like it or not (even with the punches he’s sure it’ll come with).

“You’re sick in the head.”

“For you. I was trying to come tell you that I never took my eyes off the prize, but then of course you bludgeoned my face in before I could get sweet on yo—”

Your lips crash down on his, and nothing about it is delicate. It’s a month’s worth of yearning, imaginations coming to fruition as he grabs the back of your head to deepen the embrace. Your lips on his are hot and heady, and he could be easily convinced that he’s stuck there, cauterized to the shape of you.

“I know. I could feel you watching.” You breathe into his mouth, leaning up on his chest. His lips chase up again to meet yours, biting down on your bottom lip as you groan. He might like that noise better than the sound of your laughter. It’ll be fun to find out.

“Who won the Cup?”

Laughter spills out of your red, kiss-swollen lips as you pat his cheek gently, fingers grazing over his healed cheekbone.

“Not Gryffindor. But listen closely James, if you be a good boy and get past this concussion, I’ll make up for it by showing you how well I ride…”

He likes the sound of that, Quidditch Cup be damned. You see, James Potter never loses, ladies and gentlemen, not really—and well... there’s always next year.

—

“I like the way

you look at me

like you are

going to talk to me

or devour me

and I am fine with either.”

-N.R. Hart

taglist: @jsjcue

#made by ma1dita ♥︎ #marauders x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #marauders era #james potter x you

[starflungwaddledee]

The height chart gets even funnier when you consider that Rick gives Kirby piggyback rides. Kirby, that hamster is only up to your feet.

i think that for reasons to do with this the earth accurate sizes doesn't actually work very well when you try to extrapolate it out, and i did intend it as a joke!! it's funny and i enjoy it, but it falls apart the second you try to consider them functioning with others 😂

like... is kirby small enough to be comfortably piggybacked by hamster sized rick? then he's too small to be held in coo's claws, let alone to fit in kine's mouth! this would likely be the case even if we just took kirby's "canon" size of 8-9 inches but plonked him in an earth accurate sizing for everything else

then, is king dedede a penguin accurate size (king penguin size: 85–95cm) or is he comparative to a human adult? either way, he'd be smaller than kine, as mola mola average 250cm tall (at least according to wikipedia. other sources say 300cm longs and up to 450cm tall) and easily dwarf humans here on earth.

or does dedede have to be comparative to kirby, who is comparative to rick, who is an 18cm tall hamster, making kirby probably 10cm at best, making dedede probably half the size of a king penguin though maybe closer to a blue penguin (45cm), meaning that kine could easily be up to ten times his height--

in general i kind of just prefer to size them comparatively, starting from kirby, and considering individual characters Bigger or Smaller. as much as i'd love to see an enormous semi-realistic sunfish kine basking happily in the ocean surrounded by tiny friends, i think that it's easier for me to work on a "kirby" size scale and consider them all aliens, at the end of the day 😂

this seems likely, given that female mola mola are apparently bigger than the boys! they can also supposedly spawn an absolutely mindboggling three hundred million (sorry. hang on. three HUNDRED million!?!?!?!?!) eggs at a time, so i hope you're all really really looking forward to seeing a Lot lot more of Kine around.

#you could work in a sort of 'kirby auto scales to his animal friends' mechanic i suppose. he's certainly been tinier before! #that could be enjoyable in a world building sense! you'd see many small items look BIG when you were with rick and vice versa with kine! #but i'd feel bad assigning enormousness to kine! he'd be quite difficult to get into just about any location and he's already a bit of a #dare i say #fish out of water #definitely fun to play around with in individual circumstances but hard to work into a broader world-scape. not impossible though! #asks

[asimpforhotpixels]

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

Title: The Creator's Guardian (Prologue)

Summary: a tale of teyvat's creator's adventure as she tries to retrieve what she lost and hopefully purge her world of the corruption that plagues it. a tale told by a very overworked guardian as they try to save their beloved creator from her own stupidity and flirtiness

Series Warnings: Spoilers probably, Blood, Violence (a lot less than most impostor fics) Overlooked trauma, Bottled up emotions. will add more as the series progress

Additional Tags: Semi-Canon compliant, Women-centric as hell, OOC characters, Self-Indulgent series, Kinda SAGAU, the more accurate tag would be semi-soft! impostor cult AU. Creator/Guardian!Reader/Genshin Women. A very flirty, stubborn, "humor is my coping mechanism" Divine God.

Reader Pronouns: They/Them

Word Count: 1171 words

Author’s Note: ah yes, here we are. this started as "why aren't there more women-centric sagau fics" and I realized I might be looking in the wrong places but fuck it I'll write one myself. There will be male characters in this fic however, they will serve as side characters. I also feel the need to disclose the fact that I'm still doing research on the whole Genshin lore which is why some parts of this might be inaccurate. La Signora is alive because it's a self-indulgent fic I do what I want. So if you dislike everything I've said in this note then I believe this fic isn't for you. But if you do like whatever I've said in this note, then I hope you enjoy reading beloved readers <3

  ╚══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╝

Taglist: @chocoenvy

[next]

The Twelveth Harbinger. The Guardian. Also known as the hidden Harbinger, for the people of Snezhnaya at least. For the rest of Teyvat? As far as they know, there are only eleven Harbingers under the Tsaritsa’s thumb. 

Why is that? You may ask. Simply because… The Twelveth Harbinger never worked for the Empress of Ice, rather they worked with her. 

Hushed whispers echoed throughout the pristine crystalized hallway as you walked alongside Damselette and The Knave, both engrossed in their own world while you simply walked beside them, quietly listening to Columbina’s hums and Arlecchino’s occasional murmurs of displeasure as she carries a stack of neatly piled paper. Suddenly as you turn the corner, you manage to bump into the marionette’s giant puppet that’s always carrying her.

“Oh, dear.” Columbina exclaims as the puppet’s hand holds you up.

“Are you alright?” Arlecchino questioned, the stack of papers she was previously holding pinned underneath her armpits as she assesses the damage done to you

The Marionette although quiet seems to fuss over the slowly forming bump on your head as she fixes your slightly messy hair. 

“I’m feeling quite well, a little shook up but I am rather fine.” You reassured them with a smile

“What is with all this fuss so late into the night?” A sharp voice cut through the cheery atmosphere you’ve managed to create

“Rosalyne.” Arlecchino greets her with a cordial yet happy tone.

“You’re back!” You exclaimed walking over to the woman who’s obviously still tired, clad in thick coats and her Fatui uniform

“Yes. It was quite a dreadful journey. The City of Bards was as suffocating as it was before.” She sneers as she fluffs up your newly fixed hair, much to Sandrone’s pouts

“Well, you can blame that on the Anemo Archon who seemed to have given his nation far too much freedom.” You huffed

“That rat could never pass off as an archon. The only true archon worthy of such praise is Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa.” She scoffs

“Ah! That reminds me, Rosalyne, I sincerely apologize, however…” Arlecchino hands Rosalyne a hefty stack of paper

“Verdammt.” She cusses as she sighs

Your eyes grow dark as you remember the memories that invaded your brain last night, of Rosalyne’s death and the funeral held at Zapolyarny Palace. If you remember correctly, the papers that Rosalyne is holding right now would be the details for Tartaglia’s assignment on Liyue. You were then thinking of taking the Inazuma assignment rather than Rosalyne under the guise of rest and letting The Balladeer square it off with his mother. 

Truthfully, at first, you couldn’t care less about the Tsaritsa and her little minions. You didn’t even know them, not until they freed you from your cage, and even then you treated them as mere pawns to your ultimate goal. 

You see, you were never born. No. You were created. By the one and only Divine Creator. Created from her own blood and various items she herself created, just for you. You were the first sentient creature she created once she had been satisfied with the world she has conjured up. “Teyvat” she called it. She soon created being similar to you, yet they don’t hold the same abilities and divine presence as you. She explained that these are called humans, mortals, beings who are extremely fragile and can easily die when the years pass by. You saw no use for them but they made the creator happy so you couldn’t care less. 

You walked alongside her as she traveled through Teyvat, helping her creation flourish until she realized she could not keep up with all of her creation’s demands anymore, even with you acting as her “secretary” as she called you. So as much as you tried to stop her, she created the Gods, beings with a little less divinity than you but still much more powerful than humans. They are tasked with guiding humans in their everyday life with things that are inside their domain. She even created a floating nation just for them, Celestia as it is known now. 

They were supposed to be loyal to our great Creator. They were supposed to protect her and her creations. You could feel your hand shake in anger yet again as you reminisce the past. You forced yourself to calm down, you are still in between 4 of your beloved friends after all. Besides, The Tsaritsa definitely wouldn’t appreciate you destroying the palace in which she resides. 

And so with Columbina’s gentle humming, the gentle heavy thumps of Sandrone’s moving chair, and Arlecchino’s discussion with Rosalyne, you’ve arrived in front of Tsaritsa’s throne room. Moving aside so that Sandrone’s puppet could push open the extremely tall double door of the said throne room. 

And inside sat Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa in all her icy glory. Her eyes opened up with a sharp glare as if threatening to smite those who dare disturb her peace, only for it to soften just a tad bit upon seeing the 5 of you. She motions you to stand beside her and so you did, quietly listening in to their reports as to what happened this week. In contrast to what a specific person would say, Tsaritsa, cares deeply about her subjects, enough that she would listen to reports from her Harbingers every week without fail. 

As Columbina opened her mouth to deliver her news, a sudden ache pulsated throughout you, you winced slightly and clutched your chest right above where your heart is. A few seconds later, you feel a snap as if a rope was forcibly cut into two, snapping it in half with its threads desperately longing to be reunited once again, which is then followed by an excruciating pain spreading throughout your body starting from your head. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from screaming in pain as you fell to your knees, squeezing your eyes shut, your face contorted in pain. The next time you managed to open your eyes, you were still in the throne room with The Tsaritsa kneeling beside you, worry etched deeply into her face as her hands gather elemental energy in hopes to cool down your burning temperature, Rosalyne was holding a tall glass of water with the same worried look on her face which can be seen in Sandrone, Columbina and Arlecchino’s faces as well. You thought that it felt odd and out of place considering that they always looked so cold and intimidating but you couldn’t care less about that right now as the pain intensified tenfold.

You could feel yourself losing your own consciousness as the dreadfully familiar feeling of helplessness wash over you. Right before you closed your eyes, however, you could see something rip through the room’s space as a disheveled Lumine rush through it. 

There would be only one reason for this feeling. Only one reason that the Abyss Princess herself would seek you out like this. 

The Creator’s body is missing from the Abyss.

The Creator is back.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact women x reader #fatui harbinger women x reader #la signora x reader #arlecchino x reader #columbina x reader #sandrone x reader #rosalyne x reader #the knave x reader #marionette x reader #damselette x reader #tsaritsa x reader #why am i so nervous because of this fic hhhhhh #genshin sagau #sagau

[steveinscarlet]

Another Pyro-era Sounds article for your delectation (text under the cut)

IT'S BETTER TO BURNOUT than fade away

GEOFF BARTON ignites DEF LEPPARD and stands well back

RECOGNISE THE headline to this feature? It's a phrase intoned by Def Leppard vocalist Joe Elliott at the beginning of 'Rock Of Ages', the awesomely anthemic and best track on the band's Friday-released third album, 'Pyromania'. In addition, the words are emblazoned for all to see on Joe's stylishly tatty UK tour T-shirt stagewear.

'It's better to burn out than fade away. A catchy slogan - and one that accurately defines the current Def Lep philosophy?

"Oh yeah." confirms Elliott. "I'd rather die at 25 than end up fat, old, bald and nowhere at 50."

But it's not really a 'hope I die before I get old' statement though, is it? I took it more to mean that it's better to go for broke than take a slow slide into obscurity.

Elliott mulls this point over for a couple of seconds. "I suppose you're right. And if you take it to to mean that, then it kind of relates our British tour, you know?

"Just because we're British we want to be big in Britain. But the fact is, the reality is, America's paying for us not to be big in Britain at the moment. 'Pyromania's doing great in the States; even our second album 'High 'N' Dry' is still selling well. But in Britain his voice trails off. "We're losing a heckuva lot of money here. We're going to lose £50,000 just by playing 11 gigs. It's ridiculous..."

"If we were businessmen, only in it for the money like some people think we are, then faced with that kind of financial disaster we'd probably go, uh-uhl No way! But, contrary to popular belief, we've never been like that. If the money comes in, great, if it doesn't, OK, at least we're having a good time doing what we're doing. If I had been in it just for the money I'd have left the band two-and-a-half years ago, when I first realised how difficult it really is to keep your head above water In this business."

Elliott gets momentarily mournful. "It's not worth it. It's terrible. If we actually were selling out we'd just say, 'Up yours, Britain, stuff ya!" He shoves his middle finger In the air for effect. "We wouldn't play one gig here and we'd be £50,000 better off. That's £10,000 for each member of the band, which is a deposit on a house, whatever..."

It's a matter of pride." Sitting in the bar of an Edinburgh hotel, a couple of hours after the Def Ones' gig at the Playhouse, you can't help but feel for Elliott. The guy craves for success and acceptance in his home country, you can see the hunger and, yes, desperation in his eyes. But at the moment that gleaming, glittering goal seems light years away. Unreachable. Unobtainable. Impossible.

As I said in my recent review of the 'Pyromania' LP, the reasons for Def Leppard's current, apparently untenable UK position have been well documented. No HM fan worth his salt should be unaware of the band's spectacular rise to fame and abrupt fall from grace or of the part played by a certain hard-hearted rock journalist as the so-called instigator of the whole sorry affair.

Can just one slag-off article have caused such a dramatic change of fortune? Or was it just one negative element amidst a whole heap of other minus factors? I know the right answers to these questions and I think Joe Elliott does too, otherwise we'd be tearing at each other's throats instead of sitting here sensibly, semi-tearfully,

attempting to right some of those wrongs.

"Trouble is," continues Elliott, "now is a terrible time to try and re-establish yourself as a band. It's not hard rock time any more, is it? That was 1979, 1980, let's face it."

Right. The ol' metal scene definitely seems to have peaked. When 'Big Al Lewis and I first launched Kerrang! the joint was jumpin' with dynamite bands, great albums, killer commitment and boundless enthusiasm. But now there's been a definite downturn. The hot new acts, with one or two honourable exceptions. just don't seem to be coming through any more and the old guard's constant games of musical chairs (Gillan 'n' Sabbath? Do me a favour!!) make everything seen faintly ludicrous.

"Plus people can't afford to go to as many gigs as they used to," says Elliott, making an equally pertinent point."

"Now they just save their money for the big tours your AC/DCs and Queens and the like. They haven't got the dough to see bands like us out of interest, like they used to in the old days. People might be thinking, Hey. I wonder what Def Leppard are like live these days? But they haven't got the readies to find out. They've just got to keep wondering.

And just in case you were.

ONLY 700 People in the Edinburgh Playhouse this Tuesday night. A doctor's just poked down Joe Elliott's throat and diagnosed acute laryngitis.

Support act Rock Goddess are kicking up a storm but are only garnering a polite, vaguely blase reception. It's cold. Echoey. The atmosphere is far from electric. The situation is far from ideal.

But I've I've been stuck behind my hi-rise executive desk for too long to become depressed or downhearted.

And the Leps, it seems, have much the same attitude. Show opener 'Rock! Rock! (Till You Drop) sounds very much like a statement of intent, a plan of attack, the band obviously aiming to recreate the scene of desolation painted on their (creased-up) stage backdrop out front in the auditorium.

As the set progresses it steadily dawns on you what an incredible wealth of quality material these youthful Leppard cubs have at their disposal. From fist-clenching skull- cleavers like 'Rock Brigade' and 'Let It Go', through the cleavers like Rock beefy, barbarous ballads 'Bringin' On The Heartbreak' and 'Overture', to the breathless steamhammer sounds of 'Wasted' and 'Rocks Off', the group are unquestioned masters of the art of good, strong, memorable HM songwriting.

Would that their stagework was equally irreproachable. While the collective Def dudes work well and hard on the boards, they still lack the distinction and sheer, superior presence of their peers.

The addition of Phil Collen on guitar (replacing Pete The Midget Willis, who used to go offstage during shows to hide behind his amps) is a definite step in the right direction, although the ex-Girl axeman's zippy choice of performance costumery is too punky by half.

Hopefully the ebullient Collen will bring his counterpart strummer Steve 'Steamin" Clark out of his shell. The unrecognised compositional lynchpin of the band, to my mind Clark needs to cultivate and build upon his soundcheck style, where I saw him posing fag-handed and moody, like some taciturn, sunken-cheeked Keefalike.

Slimline Joe Elliott, also, is still a far from ideal frontman. Tonight he over-compensates for his bad throat by flinging himself about the stage like a man possessed. He also does some very silly things, like picking Collen's guitar strings with his teeth, climbing a lighting rig to shine a white spotlight over the crowd and making a Dave Lee Roth-style splits leap from the drum riser at the end of the show.

However, Def Leppard are still an incredibly young band; plus, prior to this current series of British dates, they'd been off the road for all of 14 months. Their stagecraft can only improve. And when it matches the quality of the music the result'll music be devastating

MEANWHILE, back at the hotel and our regularly-scheduled interview. Elliott and myself are chatting more genially. The solemnity that tainted the start of our conversation is slowly beginning to ebb away..

So tell me about 'Rock Of Ages'. Its basic, stompalong sound reminds me of Judas Priest's "Take On The World', although it's nowhere near as crass..

"Yeah you know, we've re-christened 'Rock Of Ages' Another One Bites The Stroke' by Joan Jett's Rainbow! People've got to realise that we're taking the piss not out of the audience, but out of ourselves, out of 'anthems' in general. We've always been renowned for anthems, what with 'Rock Brigade', 'Let It Go', 'Rocks Off', you name it, we've got so many we don't know what to do with them. But with 'Ages' we wanted to bring a bit of fun back into it, put our tongues in our cheeks slightly. I don't know, I just got the feeling that things were were becoming too po-faced, too serious. This is the entertainment business, after all, and you can't entertain people unless you're enjoying what you're doing yourself."

"It's like tonight. I was sick. I know for a fact that I didn't sing particularly well, but I enjoyed it. I got a buzz back from the crowd, it made feel good. I've never been one of those singers who, all due respect to David Coverdale, who's a brilliant vocalist, I could never touch - just stands there and sticks his cock in people's faces. I want to smile, I want to be happy, I don't want to prowl around the stage all stern and grim-faced. Singing 'Rock Of Ages', I try to bring that sort of feeling across." Do you think Def Leppard were guilty of taking things too seriously at the early part of their career?

'Yes, definitely. But when you're as young as we were when we started out you can fall into loads of traps, which I admit we did. Mind you, at the time I was sure we were doing the right things; around the time we first started getting knocked God couldn't have told me I was wrong.

"Now I realise, yeah, alright, the first album 'On Through The Night' was a load of shit. It was very representative of the band for six weeks; six weeks after it came out it was true to our sound, afterwards we weren't anything like that any more. I learnt to sing, the band got better..."

"We've always been able to write good songs that first LP has some great numbers on it, they just weren't that well played, recorded or sung. Our second album 'High 'N' Dry' I can still listen to. Yeah, I think that's a good LP.

And 'Pyromania'?

'Pyromania' I'd like to be regarded and revered like Montrose's first album in the years to come. I'd like it to be awarded the same kind of stature. Whether it will or not don't know, but without wishing to come across all big headed. I seriously think 'Pyromania' is one of the best recorded LPs I've ever heard

For which kudos must go to producer 'Mutt' Lange.. surely and indisputably the reigning king of HM in-studio knob-twiddlers. Elliott is also quick to quick to credit Lange for an inestimable improvement in the vocal department.

"Mutt's really patient" relates Elliott. "he does take into consideration that I haven't got the talent of Lou Gramm or Robert Plant, he just tries to bring out in my voice what I'm capable of but what I wouldn't do myself because I'd get fed up with trying. If I was in charge of recording vocals I'd probably pack it in after six attempts but Mutt'll keep me going for twelve, It's painful and I hate him for it at the time. but when I listen to the end result I'm proud because know that's me at my best. It's the best I can do.

GOING back to what you were saying earlier, about it not being hard rock time any more, how do you see the genre developing in the future? Is there another sudden upswing on the horizon? Or will we be in the doldrums for years to come?

"It's very 1969 now, isn't it?" comments Elliott. "All these bands with names ending in -ER are are coming back! It's like everything is growing old again. I don't know. I guess what we really need is an audience that'll accept a band that looks like Duran Duran but sounds like Saxon. That's the next step because, let's face it, Duran Duran look amazing. And if a heavy rock version of Simon Le Bon and company is possible then, who knows, could be on the way to recreating the spirit of "74,"

You're talking about an early Eighties version of the Sweet?

"Could be, could be... because, thinking about it, by today's standards of pop music, the Sweet were heavy metal! 'Blockbuster. 'Ballroom Blitz... that is definitely heavy metal compared to Depeche Mode, Spandau Ballet and the Belle Stars."

What do you think about Hanoi Rocks' chances?

"If they only sounded as good as they look, they could be in with a shot. But at the moment they're too much like the New York Dolls. That's not to say that I never liked the Dolls, but I can't really see a pastiche of their music getting chart success in 1983. If Hanol Rocks practised, they'd be great. Maybe in two or three years...

But if Joe Elliott's vision of the future is accurate, then where does this leave Def Leppard? Is a quick trip down the Kajagoogoo instant image clinic in order?

"No," laughs Elliott, his depression now fully dissipated, "of course not! I've just got this gut feeling that, whatever happens, one day we will do it in Britain, on our own terms. We'll have a hit single, the crowds will start coming to gigs, the albums will begin selling..."

"I don't want to sound arrogant, but I I know I'm right."

He's got to be.

#def leppard #magazine scan #i was also amused by the advert for the album on the next page at the price of £3.99 #given what i just paid for the new 5 disc set

[longdeadking-moved-blogs]

ok hi guys i have. genloss thoughts.

so we've seen a few different "archetypes" for characters, right? we have the hero (ranboo), the side characters (charlie and sneeg), the antagonists (the puzzler and demon charlie), the background characters (niki, austin, etc), and who i'm calling the crew (the ghouls & rats, the cameramen, and the drones). (hetch is his own thing but i will Get to him, also security and squiggles.)

all these archetypes are very distinct, there's not a lot of overlap between them (the only exceptions i could think of would be frank, who doesnt really count since he's not. yknow. alive. and rat-rae, who has speaking lines, but is still obviously crew.)

i'm thinking, these archetypes almost seem like... a life cycle. let me explain.

first, showfall finds a Hero. they need to be naive, blinded by fear and hope. so the Hero needs to be the first step. and there are three directions the Hero can go after that.

if the Hero is just... boring, uninteresting, going through the motions, they become Crew. the masks (or the goo, in the case of the ghouls) control them permanently.

if the Hero goes the way ranboo did, there are two options. either they die, and stay dead (or restart, becoming a Hero again), or they live and move on to the next step - becoming an Antagonist.

Antagonists have more freedom than Heroes (squiggles outright says they let the puzzler do whatever he wants), but they're still under showfall's control. the freedom is helpful because it makes them more interesting, but it also makes them unpredictable.

once an Antagonist has run their course, there's three options again. if they're too complacent, they become Crew. if they're too volitile or if showfall needs some drama or a Hero needs a win, they die. but if they prove to still be useful, they move on. they become a Background Character.

seems like a weird jump, right? but we saw it happen, with charlie. he died as demon slime, then reappeared as patient charlie.

also, i think this is the reason neither Antagonists lasted more than an episode. they need a lot of Background Characters, so turnover is quick.

by the time Background Characters arrive, they have developed personalities. or, more accurately, a single trait that showfall can monopolize on. charlie was slimy. niki was nice. austin was gay (a nice nod to the token gay trope, btw). and Background Characters switch up the formula a bit.

i think, by the time you get to this point, you aren't at risk of becoming Crew. or at least, it isnt likely (i'm thinking rat-rae was a BG Character who got turned into crew, which is why she can talk). no, instead, your two options are as follows:

you can stay a Background Character, "dying" and being reset every episode.

or, if you're a fan-favorite, you get upgraded to Side Character.

again, we saw this happen with charlie, and also with sneeg. i believe sneeg became a Side Character between episode 1 and 2, which is why he was allowed to see beyond the 4th wall. gotta have your characters be a little haunted, right? it's a horror show, after all.

and if you become a Side Character, there's not a lot of places to go. viewers will recognize you in different shows, so the question is - what does showfall do when a Side Character's show ends?

once again, they have two options. death or promotion.

and this time, the promotion is a little different.

so. hetch. a villian for sure, but he's in a weird position. he tells ranboo - and the viewers - during the final scene that he's just following orders. he wears his own mask, same as ranboo. but why? why have this weird, semi-canon, rebel traitor figure?

i think hetch made it to the final archetype. a subsection of Crew that's picked out for a special characteristic. anything that makes them truly compelling. i think the wire monster made it here, too (they were so consistently rebellious that showfall had to strip away all of their humanity, leaving them a mess of wire).

hetch became a Mascot.

hetch, the wire monster, and squiggles went through every step, proved their worth, and what did they get in return?

knowledge, but not freedom. never freedom.

and i think if we'd voted live, ranboo would have made it all the way as well.

#the kings decrees #genloss #genloss spoilers #gl!ranboo #genloss theory #long post #im going insane over here guys #you dont understand #it's a cycle... all of them are disposable... cogs in a machine... you dont understand!!! #inspired by watching charlie go from Silly Guy to Sillier Guy to Oh God I'm Going To Die Here #genloss archetype theory

[italianpersonwithashippersheart]

Red Peafowl - Assumptions and Theories

Now that I am semi-confident that there won't be any more important announcement for Red Peafowl until the 25th (because I think the last two mystery announcement were the Main Character and Main Love Interest) I am ready to write up my Red Peafowl assumptions/theories/wishes post.

Edit: There has been another update with the plot and some images of either the pilot trailer or the actual series link here. Once again thanks to @mysterygrl20 for putting the post with the google trnaslation here on tumbrl.

Going to use as basis for my information @blmpff post here; @mysterygrl20 individual posts tag here; and the mdl plot synopsis here; along with the synopsis I read on cast announcment articles that goes like this: The drama tells the story of Lu Yi Peng, a former police officer who decides to live with Shuai on an island, raising birds. However, he realizes that the person he once had a relationship with is a powerful mafia boss.

Also going to tag @respectthepetty for helping me narrowing down the leads (YinWar/MossBank) and for sharing my madness over this crazy ass BL already.

Going to start by saying that I think the three mystery characters are the villain, the hero and the love interest. I am also going to work under the assumption that while the last two will be revealed on the 25th (I am leaning on YinWar at the present thanks to a comment made by @amos-reviews-main [hope you don't mind the tag] under the last announcment) the third one our villain will stay a mystery.

Let's beging

ASSUMPTION N#1

Given that there seems to be a significant event in the past we are either getting two timelines (similar to kiseki dear to me but more evenly split between past and present) or the events from the past will be a mystery to the viewers to be slowly revealed using flashbacks.

Both of the plots hint at this, the character description for the hero and the fact that some of the stuff in other character description also seem to hint that they were part of what happen in the past.

If the second non mdl plot is more accurate something brings our hero back to town and into dealing with the mafia. Which leads me to

ASSUMPTION N#2

Cooheart character will be intrumental to bringing his brother our hero back into the fold. His character description hints at him being the biggest point of the contention between our main couple and that he has some kind of accident.

Another character that has an accident is Gun's character.

Also there is a doctor nurse in the cast list.

Edit: Cooheart's character accident is the past, and it has left him with a disability. I do still believe that he will get someone involved in all of this.

Either Gun's accident involves Cooheart's character (not on purpouse) in the present or Cooheart's character had an accident in the past and is now seeing a doctor regularly.

ASSUMPTION N#3

Like I mention earlier I think our third mystery character is the villain. His body dissapeared = No body no murder = he is still alive. That is just the biggest writing rule ever.

If the actor for that character doesn't get revelead it means that one of the other actor is actually that character pretending to be someone else (probably one of the cops or a character that doesn't interact with the love interest for obvious reasons). If they do have a seperate actor that probably means that at least one if not more of our big cast is secretely working for him.

ASSUMPTION N#4

There are only two genres that benift from having such a big cast and making sure they all have identifiable characteristics and fan anticipation: Mysteries or Something with a high body count.

It means that our cast of characters are either Suspects or Victims or Both.

EDIT: It's a mystery. I do still believe some of the people from the big cast are going to die.

Either way I do think that a lot of the new people will end up dying at some point during the series.

ASSUMPTION N#5

Themes. If this show has decent writing I can already ID 3 themes.

The new tendency in bl fandom to romanticize the mafia. See Lee's character being a human trafficker and our lead being potentially not that great either.

The cops, and how they are not there to protect and serve and how much the crime fight is really a sham. See Frank's character being an undercover cop (a plot line that usually has a the undercover cop come out on the other side with a semi-broken relationship to his job)

Toxic Ships (a la: Kinnporsche, Hannibal and Interview with the Vampire)

About the last one: I have a personal metric on wether or not I enjoy a toxic "problematic" ship

Do you get the sense/vibe from the writing that the creator/writers of the show knows this is fucked. And I don't mean a lampshade comment with someone saying "This is not healty" and everything resuming as normal.

Is there a point in which the dynamic becomes more equal. As in no matter which character is objectively "worse" is there a point where it feels like the characters are on equal footing, on the same side, Hannibal does this really well for example.

Some ships that don't pass the test are: Twilight, 50 Shades, R*ylo; TharnType and every ship on Love Syndrome (do not ever watch that BL I am serious)

ASSUMPTION N#6

Ships.

FrankLee are obviously our second couple. They are both super relevant to the potential themes, they are obviously trying to pair braind (this is their third BL) and they were also announced first.

Boun and the Doctor are giving me crumbs ship vibe. They are both potentially important chartacters. But I feel like with all of this their relationship might have the least ammount of dedicated screen time.

Now the last one is less of an assumption and more of a wish really.

Max-Coohearth > now listen I know that Cooheart has a love interest already, Rome one of the first new guys announced in the cast. But Listen the fact they are already dating doesn't bode well for them. Cooheart is a super important character and it makes sense that his "proper" love interest would be someone in the mafia proper.

Plus Cooheart deserves it ok. I loved both of his major roles (uwma and my only 12%), but he wasn't allowed to be a proper sexy queer guy in either of them. Have you seen his instagram feed? It's picture after picture of him in sexy outfits. Let this man be in a high heat realtionship, put in a skirt. He deserves it and so do we.

Also Max from iconic pair MaxTul pair with Cooheart will heal people. It would totally fix me. And if they give this to me I will forgive anything and everything this show does wrong seriously I will be like: I was wrong on everything and the plot is not that good, but they give me MaxCooheart so 10/10.

Also the character description for Max's character makes me think that catchphrase they mention might be something similar to the English phrase: "Who's Your Daddy?" and [this is @respectthepetty's fault, I didn't use to have such glee about a possibly daddy kink] seeing Max Nattapol uttering the phrase Who's Your Daddy and potentially having a DaddyKink relationship with Cooheart is something I didn't know I needed but now I desperately desire.

#txt #red peafowl #red peafowl the series #i'm done #as you can see this show is already making crazy #i don't picture this going away anytime soon #i mentioned it in other tags before but I will say it again #i am hoping this will have good or at least decent writing #but all i really need with this cast is this being entartaining #and to not romanticising r*pe like th*rnt*pe and love s*ndrome #if you do toxic make it toxic proper be aware of it embrace it do it with a fucking purpose #also: forget the cast announcements i want to know who the writers are

[goldmanguyperson]

i watched Nimona with my mom and sibling a while ago

at the end i really felt like trying to tell her that i felt like nimona. not just in the metaphorical “rejected by society because of who i am” sense, not wholly, but in the I AM A SHAPESHIFTER sense. but i couldnt do it. cuz its scary. how do you explain that you you identify as something that is entirely within the realm of fiction to somebody else? it does not help that i go semi verbal to mute when talking about serious personal topics

Recently it turned out my sibling is also a therian. I found out because he asked if i was. I wish I had known when we watched that movie because maybe it would have been easier?

but oh well. Bygones are bygones. Maybe one day she will know. Maybe she already knows. it isnt like im particularly private to her about my internet presence. She could find this account if she tried, insanely easily in fact. She has known things ive wanted to tell her before because of similar events. And she’s never been upset by it even if it is strange. I hope she knows i appreciate that. That really is important to me. I love you momma.

Maybe one day in the future my dreams where i am a bird or a monster or just a general Thing will have less scary and isolating stories. maybe one day people like me will be more generally accepted. i do really hope so. the kids seem to be finding out about these concepts, even if not presented entirely accurately. Maybe a lot of them will brush it off as just the general animal kid phase as they get older, but a lot of them will probably keep those ideas, or at least respect them more. We can see now that the older our generation gets the more we actually like our past “cringe” ideas. It could all work out here too.

I do have hope

#otherkin #therian #alterhuman #shapeshifter kin #shut up! the eagle’s talking!

[forever-rogue]

Different

AN |  I’m backkkk with Javi and his Dulzura. Did you think you’d seen the last of them? Well, not this time bucko. Please read and heed the warnings as I know it can be a sensitive subject. I’ve never personally gone through this but I know people that have and I hope I did it some justice and gave it at least a semi-accurate portrayal. I love you, just as you are  ❤️

Summary | Things just aren’t the same after your newest arrivals.

Pairing | Javier x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Postpartum depression - lots of heavy discussion around this subject

Word Count | 3.5k

Masterlist | Main, Javier, A Good Man ‘Verse

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The rocking chair wasn't the most comfortable, feeling even more stiff and hard than it normally did, but you didn't have it in you to get up. Moving to somewhere different seemed like way too much effort so you gave up. Instead, you rocked yourself lightly back and forth, staring out the window at the dark evening sky. 

The house was quiet for once, an incredible change of pace from the normal chaos that had become your everyday life. Between two young children, two babies, two dogs, and your husband, life was anything but calm. Some days it was so much, too much, and you wanted nothing more than to be alone for a while. 

You had everything you could have ever wanted; a wonderful husband, beautiful children, a nice home, everything. But things still just felt off, you felt off. And you didn't know what to do, or how to even ask for what you needed. You weren't sure what you even needed.

"Dulzura?" Javier's voice was barely above a whisper as he peeked into the nursery. A frown tugged on the corners of his mouth as he spied you sitting there, the only source of light being the little night light plugged in across the room. You held up your hand in acknowledgement but didn't move or say anything, "baby. What's wrong?"

After a few moments, you finally turned to him and his heart practically shattered when he saw there were tears running down your cheeks. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, finding it impossible to speak so you just shrugged, feeling so helpless.

He wasted no time in coming over to you and dropping to his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around you. It was like his simple touch caused the floodgates to open as you hugged him back and buried your face in his chest. He held you for a few minutes, letting you get it all out before he pulled back, gently taking your face in his hands. 

"Hey," he was as quiet as possible so he wouldn't wake the sleeping babies, "mi vida. Let me take care of you…please."

He felt you nod against his chest before he slowly stood up and helped you to your feet. You felt your body relax as he took your hand and slowly led you out of the nursery and into your bedroom. You moved to sit on the bed. Letting out a long sigh, you allowed yourself to meet his eyes. There was nothing but concern etched on his features; it hurt your heart to see him so worried about you. That’s the last thing you wanted.

Javier kneeled down in front of you, his hands sliding onto your thighs before he took your hands in his. You looked at your hands in his, how warm and safe they felt when wrapped up in his; the same hands that had loved you for so long. You squeezed his hands, running a finger over the cool metal of his wedding band. 

“Baby,” he whispered after a few moments of silence, his own voice almost breaking as he looked at you, “please talk to me. Tell me what’s going on so I can help…”

“Javi,” an odd sense of relief washed through him at the sound of your voice. When you finally met his eyes, he could see they were glossy with tears that were threatening to spill over any second. He reached up and touched your face, gently stroking your cheek, “Javier.”

“Dulzura,” the tears ran down your cheek as he gently wiped them away and you leaned into his touch, “please.”

“I don’t know,” you finally managed to choke out after a few moments of struggle, throwing your hands up in a fit of exasperation, “I don’t know what’s wrong, Javier. I just feel so…empty.”

“Oh baby,” he wasn’t sure if it was possible for his heart to break anymore than it had, but he felt something within him shatter. You met his eyes and tried to muster up some semblance of a smile but it fell flat. He wished he could take away everything you were feeling and carry the burden for you; he never wanted you to have to experience anything like this, “how long have you been feeling like this?”

How long have I been an oblivious fool?

“Since…” you didn’t want to say it out loud. Saying it out would make it real…saying it out loud would make you a horrible mother. But you knew Javier would be able to see right through you, “a little after Thea and Santi were born.”

Oh no.

“Dulzura,” Javier sat on the floor and quickly pulled you into his lap, wrapping you tightly in his arms. You buried your face into his shoulder, trying to quiet the sobs that threatened to wrack your body, “I’m so sorry…so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. I’m sorry you’re having to go through this. But you’re not alone, I’m right here. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

“I shouldn’t be like this,” you whispered against the soft fabric of his t-shirt. He could feel your tears already soaking through the material, but it didn't matter to him. You were the only thing that mattered to him, “I’m a terrible mother.”

“No,” he gently pulled back and turned your face towards his, “don’t ever say that. You are a wonderful mother - an amazing mother. You are the best mother our children could ever have; do you have any clue how lucky we are to have you?”

“Then why do I feel like this?” you asked quietly, “why am I so broken?”

“There is nothing broken about you,” he insisted so softly, so firmly that you almost believed it yourself, “the way you’re feeling…it’s not true. I don’t lie, you know that, and I would never lie to you.”

“Javier…”

“I’m going to take care of you,” he promised softly, “whatever you’re going through, you’re not alone. I’m with you all the way. But first, I want you to try and get some sleep, okay?”

“The kids-”

“I’ll check on them,” he insisted, “and if one of them needs something, I can take care of them. Will you try and get some rest, Dulzura? For me?”

“Yes,” you would have done anything for him; you didn’t want to see him hurt as well, “I’ll try.”

“Good,” he tried a tentative smile before he kissed your forehead, “tomorrow things will look brighter and it will be a new day. We’ll get this figured and whatever you need, help or otherwise, we’ll get it for you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Javier felt a wave of relief flood through his veins as you offered him a hug this time around, “I love you; I will always love you. If you don’t believe anything else, please believe that.”

“I do,” you promised, “I really do.”

“Good mi alma,” he whispered as he pulled back the covers to tuck you into bed, “te amo.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you woke up the next morning the house was almost…eerily quiet. Normally there would be the sound of at least one screaming child, one laughing, and the pitter patter of little feet. But today there was nothing. You rubbed your tired eyes before glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, shocked to find that it was close to noon. You almost jumped out of bed, quickly heading into the hall to look into the kids’ room. None of them were there. Making your way into the kitchen, you found Javier leaning against the counter and drinking a cup of coffee as he poured over the newspaper.

“Good morning baby,” he looked up and smiled as soon as noticed you standing there in confusion, “you finally got some sleep.”

“Javier,” you whispered softly, “where are the children? We have four children and none of them are here.”

“Nope,” he agreed as he grabbed the tea kettle from the stove and filled it with water to make your favorite tea. You padded over to him, wondering how he could be so calm; if either one of you was overprotective, it was definitely him, “don’t worry, they’re safe and sound. Pops came and picked them up this morning. He’s going to take them for the weekend and my tías are going to help him.”

“All of them?” you knew they were in good hands and that realistically nothing would go wrong, but it still caused a pang of worry to settle in your stomach. Javier nodded before wrapping you up in a tight hug, gently kissing the top of your head, “I can explain. But first, your tea and then I’ll make some breakfast.”

You nodded, a small smile - a real one - tugged on the corners of your mouth as you went to sit on the other side of the counter. He fixed up your tea before passing it to you, his hand lingering against yours as you gratefully accepted the warm mug. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as he set about grabbing everything he would need. You loved this man so much; sometimes it surprised just how much. You would have done anything for him, and you knew he’d do the same thing.

“Javi,” you felt small as your voice sounded small and weak. He turned his attention to you, quietly waiting for you to go, “thank you for last night. You…thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” he promised, “you are everything to me. I would do anything for you - just like all the times you’ve done the same for me.”

“I know,” you blinked away some of the tears that were already burning in the back of your eyes, “it’s just…I thought if I just dealt with it, all the bad feelings and thoughts would go away. But obviously they haven’t.”

“Want to tell me about them?” you knew he wouldn’t push you to talk about anything you weren’t ready to. You’d always loved that about him - it was like he knew you inside and out, “you don’t have to tell me. If you want to tell them to someone else, a therapist or whatever you need, that’s fine. I want to support you however you need.”

“I want to tell you,” you promised, “but I think maybe I should see someone too. I know it’s helped you, and maybe…maybe it could help me too. I don’t want to feel this broken forever.”

“You are anything but broken,” he insisted firmly, “do you know how much you’ve been through? You have four - five including me - children that you’re raising. Two of which are babies that you just carried and had. I can’t even imagine all the hormones and emotions going all over the place. But that doesn’t mean it’s anything to do with you - it’s just your brain telling you otherwise.”

His impassioned little speech brought a smile to your face as you nodded lightly; maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn’t just you…you wondered if all mothers went through this and people just didn’t like talking about it. Having your children was amazing and you loved them all more than anything, but that didn’t mean it was always easy. 

“I love you, Javier Peña.” 

“I love you more,” he leaned over the counter and gently kissed you. He tasted sweet, just like the few chocolate chips he’d sneaked when he thought you weren’t looking. Before he could pull back, you stole a few more quick pecks, which made him feel infinitely better, “there’s one more thing and then the floor is yours. And you don’t even try to change my mind because it’s not going to work. Once the summer is over I’ve decided to take a sabbatical for the fall semester. I want to be here and be able to help you; we’ve doubled our family and it’s not easy work - I don’t think twins and then almost five and eight-year-old could ever be easy. Especially since they’re all still so young…and I want to do this. I want to be able to spend time with my wife and children.”

“Javi,” he wasn’t sure if you were going to chastise him for doing this without your knowledge or if you were ready to jump into his arms and cry. He hoped it would be the latter with happy tears, “you would do that for me - for us? 

“I would do anything for you,” he reached over and squeezed your hand, “and I want to do this. You don’t have to do this all alone, let me carry some of the weight. I…I would take all your burdens away if I could, baby.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re a good man?” you wiped away the few tears that rolled down your cheeks before laughing lightly.

“Oh, you know, just a few times,” he attempted to wink at you, but it turned into just more of a blink which caused you both to laugh, “but I still like hearing it.”

“I like reminding you,” you drank up the last of your tea as he started making pancakes. The ones with the little chocolate chips that you both liked so much. You watched him work, weighing your words carefully. He didn’t push you to go on, letting you take your time. He paused from his cooking only for a moment as he ducked into the living room and turned on the record player, letting the air fill with soft music you couldn’t quite place. It felt like a normal Saturday morning; it served as a reminder that sometimes things were just good.

He was singing along softly to the music, causing you to pause and admire him. You couldn’t imagine a day without him, a life where he wasn’t your husband, your best friend, the father of your children. And to think, had your registration date and time that fateful semester been any different, you might not have been in his class, you might not have met him. But then again no - you knew that you were meant to be his and he was meant to be yours and that you would have found each other regardless. 

“It didn’t start right when they were born,” you started softly, deciding to get everything off your chest. You hadn’t wanted to bother him initially, hadn’t wanted to weigh him down with the demons that were haunting you. But you knew, in reality you’d always known, that he would never think of you, or any of your thoughts or feelings as a burden. Javier made a small sound of acknowledgement as he kept cooking, “it was weeks after. It started slowly at first and it just got worse and worse and I felt like it was just going to drag me down and drown me in sorrow. I felt so bad, Javier, so bad. How could I feel this way? I have everything anyone could ever dream of - I have a wonderful husband, four healthy children, a home filled with nothing but love, a career I love…I have it all. I have no reason to be so sad or depressed, you know? I hated myself for feeling like; I felt so ungrateful so…bad.”

You wrapped your robe tighter around your shoulders as you used the soft sleeve to wipe away your tears. Even just saying those thoughts out loud felt like a giant weight off your shoulders. You took a deep breath before continuing, “and I felt so guilty. I’d be holding one of the babies or with Lucia or Diego and while I knew I loved them, more than anything else, I just felt so empty. And I wondered what if something happened to them? What if I did something to them without realizing it? I couldn’t live with myself if I ever did anything to them…my babies. Sometimes when I’d be home alone and it felt like too much, I wondered what would happen if I just…walked away from them for a bit. Then I pulled myself back and…what kind of a mother even thinks those thoughts? It made me feel like a monster, Javi.”

“None of those things make you a monster,” he whispered as he turned off the stove and came over to you, and you instantly threw yourself into his arms, “obviously I don’t know everything, I know almost nothing really, but I did a lot of reading during the times you were pregnant. I remember reading a lot of stories and accounts of mothers that were feeling the same things you were. It’s so much more common than we realize. I don’t know why people don’t talk more about it. Postpartum depression…it’s like people are afraid to speak about it.”

“It wasn’t this way with Lucia,” you sighed lightly, “or Diego. I was fine with them - so happy.”

“Every pregnancy is different,” he reminded you, “every baby, and it’s different for you every time. The existence of one experience doesn’t negate the other. It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

He gently maneuvered you over to the couch, sitting down and pulling you into lap. You sniffled before resting your hand on his chest, letting him hold you, “I just want it to get better. I want to be…like before.”

“You will, baby,” he promised, “it will get better. You have me, you always have all of me, and whatever else you need. You just have to tell me what you need - even if you just need some quiet and need to tell me to fuck off. I’ll take it.”

“Javier,” you laughed in between your tears as he just held your hand in his, “thank you. I think…just having you around more will help. I think once we get into the real swing of having the twins it’ll feel better. Right now it just seems like a mountain to climb.”

“Together we’ll get through anything,” he whispered, “look how much we’ve already overcome.”

“Yeah,” you turned your head slightly to be able to kiss his jaw, “we really have.”

“And we’ll get this too,” he brought his hand to your lips and pressed a kiss to each finger, “you can tell me anything, whenever, never hold back.”

“I was also worried…don’t laugh-”

“Never.”

“I was also…my body,” your voice was so low he wasn’t sure you’d actually said anything, “it’s so different now. I kept thinking…what would have happened if you didn’t find me attractive anymore? What if I didn’t make you happy anymore? What if you left me? Would it be like when we separated for a few months? I don’t think I could ever survive that.”

“Listen,” he turned you so you were facing him head on, “you are just as beautiful now as the day we met. If not more so - I still fall in love with you every single day. Maybe your body doesn’t look the same - but mine doesn’t exactly either. I’ve definitely put on the dad weight.”

“You’re perfect-”

“And you are to me,” he cupped your face in hands, “sure your body’s changed but think about what it’s done. You’ve carried four children, you’ve given me more than I could ever ask for. Your body is amazing - you’re amazing. Strong, loving, smart, beautiful…I could go on forever. I’m never leaving Dulzura. The first time almost killed me. I can’t live without you. I am yours, in every way possible.”

“Me too,” you leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, “I don’t know what to say, Javi. Thank you for starters and I love you.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he kissed your forehead, followed by your cheeks and nose, finally stopping at your lips, “I am your partner in everything. But I do have a plan, if you’d like to hear it.”

“Of course.”

“This weekend is all about you,” he grinned, “you’re going to relax and let me take care of you. No kids, no one else, just you and me. On Monday, I’ll put in my official notice for the fall sabbatical and then we’ll find someone for you to talk to, if you still want that. How does that sound?”

“Please,” you almost cried as he grinned and nodded at you.

“Anything you want, baby,” he was stroking your back up soothingly, “but first, let’s eat. Then maybe we can take a nice hot bath and go from there.”

“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, “thank you, truly, Javier. This…just having you here has made me feel so much better. Like I can finally breathe again and it doesn’t feel so dark. You really are the light of my life, mi amor.”

“You haven’t called me that in a long time,” Javier’s heart constricted at the sweet sound of your voice. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed hearing you call him that.

“I haven’t felt like myself in a long time,” you sighed lightly, “but I know I’ll get there again. Thanks to you.”

“You’ve had me from day one and you’ll have me to the end. I love you, Dulzura.”

“I love you, Javier. Always, always, always.”

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x fem!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #agm

[jasontoddsguns]

I’ve read a fair amount with Talia (not a huge expert but good enough) and this is what I believe to be the situation as far as her age:

When she was originally created, she was SUPPOSED to around 18, yes. But in just the comics, I don’t believe it exactly got stated? We knew she was college-age, but not necessarily only 18. However, Dennis O’Neil stated in interviews that 18 was what he was going for. In my opinion, her behaviors in those comics, as well as her relationship with Ra’s, does make most sense with her only being barely an adult, even if obviously the fact that Bruce most certainly was in his late-20s or older is… not great, to say the least.

I’m not sure if saying they DATED when Talia was 18 would be accurate, though. In the early comics, their romance was mostly kept to Talia kissing Bruce on the cheek, and him smiling or blushing and complimenting her beauty/intelligence, while also trying to get her to understand that in the long run they weren’t going to work out. As far as Bruce’s receptiveness, he does kiss her (on the lips) once, but I don’t think much happened besides that.

Anyway, the whole 18yo thing got retconned around a year after her creation, in Marv Wolfman’s Lazarus Affair storyline (Batman #332-335), in which it’s stated that Talia is semi-immortal like her father, and (if I’m remembering correctly) around 150-200 years old. In this, they start actually dating for real and whatnot, but it doesn’t really matter since they’re both over the age of 25 (when brains are fully developed).

Her being immortal then gets retconned 6 years later in Batman: Son of the Demon, where it’s told that her mother most likely got pregnant with her somewhere around the end of World War 2. With today’s dates, she’d still have to be using the pit to look as young as she does, but this was in 1987, making her around 40. Probably not far from Bruce’s age, but possibly a bit older? (Also mentioned in Batman: Bride of the Demon, published 2 years later and by same writer, that no one but Ra’s has used the pit since Talia’s mother’s death, so she really couldn’t have used it before.)

Of course, this only lasts 5 years before Batman: Birth of the Demon, written by Dennis O’Neil once again, is published. In this, Bruce asks how old Talia is and assumes she’s immortal, admitting that he was hoping to get beauty tips from her on how to stay looking so young. Talia, although flattered, quickly denies this assumption and explains that she is “not yet thirty”. But obviously, when as young as 18 is a possibility, that’s pretty vague.

That’s where her parents meeting at a music festival comes in. Birth of the Demon was the original comic to include such a concept, with Talia stating that her parents met “in Woodstock, New York, during a music festival”. The confusing part is that I’m pretty sure Woodstock (1969) didn’t end up actually happening there? Either way, I’d assume that was probably still what she was referring to (most likely just an error on the writer’s side).

This, on its own, actually says a ton about her age. Birth of the Demon came out in 1992, which is only 23 years after the Woodstock festival. With pregnancy time in consideration, even if Talia was conceived at Woodstock itself, she couldn’t be older than 22. It also talked a ton in this graphic novel about how Ra’s and Bruce have known each other for a lot of years now, so… we’re back at the start. Yet again, Talia was canonically around 18 when they first met.

I haven’t read much from post-2006 (for obvious reasons), but between 1992 and 2006 the only age mention I can think of is Talia being younger than Nyssa, who… I believe is maybe around 200-300? Actually, just in general, it seemed like Talia definitely wasn’t immortal in Batman: Death and the Maidens.

Uhhh I guess there’s also Batman Odyssey to take into consideration? It’s one of the few things I’ve read post-2006, but I’m also quite confident it took place in a different universe. Anyway, it was a plot point in it that Bruce and Talia were friends as toddlers due to their parents being business partners. Since they were both toddlers at the same time, the age gap there really couldn’t have been more than a year.

That’s really it as far as my own information, so maybe someone else can add on to me as far as post-2006.

“Not an expert” bitch then wtf is this. Don’t sell yourself short.

#dc #asks #inbox #anon #batman #talia al ghul

[aziraphalestartanunderwear]

Okay so let's think a little bit about everyone's favorite danger demon.

✨Crowley✨

He's going to be a mess in season three. An absolute mess. And we have three options and I'll rank them from least likely to most likely (in my semi-professional opinion) (I'm a creative writing major for a reason).

1) Crowley will drive off and disappear and cry alone but nothing will change and he'll just die in the second coming. This won't happen because that is not the story we want to hear and season two was very people pleasing.

2) Crowley will join the forces of Hell again. I doubt this is the option Neil will take. It would make a nice character parallel, yes, but it just doesn't seem like something Crowley would do considering he specifically said he wouldn't. But y'know he could always change due to anger and betrayal.

3) Crowley's anger and sadness will cause him to literally go to the ends of the earth and beyond to get Aziraphale back. Like literally to the point of taking a bath in holy water kind of desire. Maybe he will. That would discorporate him, yes, but there has to be something at steak and what's bigger than a character's entire existence.

But no matter what option happens...

✨Aziraphale✨

...will have a great time being the top bitch for a while. Him and Metatron—who literally looks like he would be Aziraphale's dad—will have a fantastic time. Aziraphale will try his best to forget about Crowley for a while for the sake of ✨goodness✨. But he'll have some kind of sign that will trigger his little angel noggin to be like oh crap I left him and I don't feel complete without him. He'll go to Crowley in a dire moment when everything is falling apart. It'll foil the scene in the end of season two, or at least I'd hope so because that would be excellent structure. And Crowley will have the option to either walk away from Aziraphale because he hurt him, but more likely he'll accept him back because Plot.

They're on their own side and Aziraphale just has to remember that. And something will cause him to remember that. Then they'll come back together and make everything good again. Maybe Aziraphale will even save Crowley as a nice foil. One thing for sure is that they are stronger together. That's shown in both seasons in the most literal ways (the Adam Young vs his dad scene and the beacon scene).

Neil probably doesn't even know what the finished product will be. I don't know if he's even started writing it considering the writer's strike and the fact that he could be taking a break. My predictions or... or wise and accurate prophecies... are simply just analysis of pleasing story structure,

#good omens #aziraphale #good omens s2 #crowley #good omens season two spoilers #good omens season 2 #season three prophecies

[toasecretsanta]

When It Rains

Hello!! This is [ @returnofthemackles]’s Secret Santa gift for @bluefoxchild !!! I had fun writing this and I really hope you enjoy it! I combined two of the prompts you gave me for this piece: Two people in a cornfield at night. The darkness is not as empty as it seems to be, and Thunderstorms at night. I also really liked the third prompt you gave me but unfortunately I didn’t have the time to write a second piece to include that one. But! If I am ever able to articulate my idea enough and write something with it, I’ll be sure to tag you in it if I end up posting it! (Little fun fact: the “Clancy” that Will addresses is my friend’s child of Apollo OC, thought I’d give them a little cameo.)

Some quick content warnings for this piece: semi graphic descriptions of death, topics in death, grief, minor swearing/cursing, very brief mention of an ED. If there’s anything that I missed I apologize!

Without further ado, here it is! Happy holidays and please enjoy!! 

…

Nico had already known that Jason was dead. He didn’t have to be told; he simply knew. It wasn’t like the knowledge just popped into his head, it was more like a feeling. Or a series of feelings. He saw him in his dreams: glimpses of searing pain and blood stained clothes, cold surrounding every inch of his skin with rushing water roaring in his ears like drowning in the coldest, darkest parts of a winter ocean. Flashing images of a thunderstorm, a California beach, Jason’s face drained of all color, bringing out the shocking blue in his cold, dead eyes, wet sand stuck to his cheeks and in his hairline. His glasses were gone. He could hear the screaming voice of a girl, though everything sounded canned and distant. Nico hardly slept for days on end as these dreams haunted him every waking night. 

But the creeping suspicion of Jason’s death didn’t only come to him in the night. Even during the day, awake, just a passing thought of Jason, or the mere mention of his name sent a mind numbing ringing into his ears. It was a ringing he was all too familiar with: the ringing that occurred only when in the presence of death. When he would tell Will, his boyfriend, about everything he’d been seeing and experiencing, Will would try to reassure him that surely Jason was okay, that his anxiety was just getting the best of him, but they both knew that wasn’t true. They knew full well what came along with Nico being a son of Hades, and they knew that his powers were scary and accurate. His gut was never wrong. 

So when Apollo showed back up at Camp and told them of Jason’s fate, he was only confirming what Nico already knew to be true. 

He was beyond upset and frustrated. Jason was the closest thing Nico had ever had to a brother, and now he was gone. He didn’t blame Apollo or anyone else for Jason’s passing, no one except the psychopath who took his life. He knew better now than to hold pointless grudges over people who really had nothing to do with the situation. They did what they could, and Jason made the choices he did to save them. He was a hero. But that didn’t make Nico any less upset. 

There was always the option of summoning Jason’s spirit; getting to talk to him one last time and getting some closure on the situation, but he had only learned just how disrupting that could be to a person’s peace in death. As badly as he wanted to see Jason, he couldn’t do that to him. As hard as it was to sit idly by when he knew he had the power in his hands to do something, he knew he had to let the dead be dead. Jason deserved that at the very least. 

So he tried to carry on. And so is the life of a demigod. People die. You carry on. You have to. Or at least that’s the mentality that kept Nico from feeling like he was going insane on the daily. 

But one day, something changed. 

The weather was usually pretty temperate in Camp, that was a nice thing they had going. Never too cold, never too hot, it never rained or snowed, unless of course if Mr. D wanted it to, or if something else major was going on. 

This day started just like any other, but Nico could tell something was off. He woke to cabin 13 feeling particularly cold. There was a weird sort of static electricity in the air, leaving the hairs on his arms standing on end and a tingly feeling crawling across his skin. He went to flip the light switch in the bathroom, but as he touched it, a small shock zapped at his fingertips. He flipped the switch up and down a few times. Nothing. No power. Strange. He got ready in the dark, which his drowsy morning eyes didn’t particularly complain about, and headed out thereafter.

The sky was overcast and thunder rumbled in the distance. He could see dark storm clouds peeking out over the trees surrounding the valley, but they weren’t supposed to be able to cross over the border at Half Blood Hill. Emphasis on ‘supposed to.’

The day carried on and Nico noted the dark clouds rolling around the edges of the camp’s borders, like normal, but it almost seemed like they were building up: billowing and getting darker, thicker, behind an invisible wall. Campers were murmuring and looking up nervously at the sky throughout the day, but nothing out of the ordinary happened until around dinner time. Almost as though someone popped a hole through the barrier in the sky, the storm clouds broke through and started spilling over the top of the valley.

Some Apollo kids were standing at the edge of the dining pavilion, pointing and gawking at the sky as any last remaining glimpses of their father’s symbol in the sky disappeared behind the dark murk of the clouds.

“It’s just clouds, guys.” Will told them, a reassuring yet stern tone to his voice, “A little rain isn’t going to hurt you. Come back to the table and eat.”

“Should we be worried?” An Aphrodite kid asked, pointing their question at the head table all while attempting to pat the frizz out of their hair from the humidity. 

Chiron stood in his full centaur form near the head table, the gray sky reflecting in his eyes. He spoke in a calm tone, “I don’t see a reason for concern. Some healthy rain here and there shouldn’t be bad for our crops or our spirits. Unless Mr. D senses any issue on the matter?”

He cocked an eyebrow at the man sitting at the table next to him, his purple leopard print shirt seeming extra bright in the overcast lighting of the dining pavilion. The man, the god Dionysus, or as they knew him, ‘Mr. D,’ popped a plump grape into his mouth and gave an uninterested shrug followed by a distasteful grunt, “Seems fine to me. The old man in the sky is probably just grumpy about something or other. I wouldn’t get my tunic in a twist over it.” 

Surely enough before long it started to rain, starting as a drizzle, turning more steady, and by nightfall it had turned into a torrential downpour. All of the campers sought shelter in their cabins as thunder wracked across the valley, shaking the very floorboards of the cabins. 

Nico had become quite the regular in the Apollo cabin, what with him dating their head counselor, so they didn’t hesitate to let him in at any point during the day, and especially that night with the storm raging outside. Will knew especially how Nico could get in his own head on nights like these, but his siblings had also really accepted him as one of their own in the recent months. He didn’t hesitate to feel at home in their cabin anymore. 

“Alright, campers.” Will said in his best Chris McLean impersonation as he entered the room with a clipboard and a pen behind his ear, “With the storm being as bad as it is, Chiron has asked the head counselors to do a headcount tonight just to make sure everyone is safe and accounted for. So when I call your name please acknowledge your presence in the most obnoxious way possible.”

You see, Will took his role as head counselor very seriously. He cared for his siblings deeply and it showed, but he could also tell when their nerves were high, that was one thing that came naturally to him, which made it easy for him to know when he needed to try and lift their spirits. Nico appreciated that about him. 

“I know you’re here.” Will put a hand on Nico’s head and gave his hair a rustle, “Don’t go slinking in the shadows on me, di Angelo, I want you safe.” 

Nico rolled his eyes in the most dramatic way possible but Will just smirked at him. Eye rolling was a form of affection in this relationship. 

Will began calling names and his campers responded in their best and most obnoxious ways, just as he had asked. They all laughed together and the room began to seem a little brighter, even in the dim candlelight, as the power in all the cabins were still out. 

He got about halfway down the list before calling, “Kayla?”

No response.

His eyes flicked up from his clipboard, their blue seeming a tad darker than usual, “Kayla? Anyone seen Kayla? Austin?”

Austin looked up from the ukulele he was stringing on his bunk, “I haven’t seen her since dinner. She left with some Demeter kids.”

Will breathed and made a mark on his paper, “I’ll have to check in with Miranda then to make sure she’s not-”

Before he could finish speaking, the door to the Apollo cabin flew open, flashes of lightning filling the room as a thick gust of wind blanketed across them all, extinguishing all of the candles in the room. 

In the doorway stood Kayla Knowles, dripping wet from head to toe, her ginger and green hair plastered to her face. Her breaths were labored as though she had been running. She had her bow slung over her shoulder. 

“The pegasi,” She wheezed as rain poured sideways into the cabin from the jarred door, “They got out of their stables. They’re freaking out, we’re trying to round them up, but the storm is only getting worse.” 

Will immediately ditched his clipboard and moved into action, barking orders at his campers, “Clancy, go get Chiron. Austin, grab some apples and sugar cubes from the kitchens. Nico, come with me.”

Everyone responded to his commands in a flash. Nico grabbed his jacket and threw it on, and they ran out the door into the pouring rain. 

Kayla led them through the dark across camp, and it took less than ten seconds for both Nico and Will to become soaked to the bone. The only thing protecting Nico was the leather of his jacket, but that could only do so much. 

They made it to the pegasi stables, where they found multiple Demeter campers running around frantically, trying desperately to wrangle about six very riled up pegasi. The ground was littered with wet feathers plastered into the mud. 

Will skittered to a halt next to Miranda Gardiner, who had managed to get a lead around the neck of one of the pegasi. He managed to shout over the roaring rain, “What happened? How did they get out?!” 

She spit rain water out of her mouth as her Pegasi reared onto its hind legs, “Woah girl! Calm down, it's okay! I don’t know! It's almost as though someone let them out! I could’ve sworn they were all locked up when I left before the rain started!”

Will took another step forward, arms outstretched Jurassic World style. He spoke in that calm, healing voice he used when soothing one of his patients, “There there Starla, it’s okay. No need to panic, it’s just a little thunderstorm.”

He managed to place a hand softly on the pegasi, Starla’s, neck. She flicked her head anxiously as he brushed his fingertips of his other hand along her muzzle. Even from several feet behind him, Nico could feel the warm, calming energy just oozing off of him. The warmth of the sun in the middle of a cold storm.

Starla exhaled from her nose as she leaned into Will’s touch, relaxing by the second.

“‘Atta girl.” Will smiled as he secured the lead around her neck. At that moment, both he and Starla had seemed to have forgotten about the storm that still raged around them.

“I’ll never understand how you do that.” Miranda breathed.

“You can thank my dad.” Will gave her a wink, “But let’s get her back inside.”

Nico took a step forward, “What do we do about-”

As soon as he spoke, Starla’s eyes went wild once again, as she let out a distraught cry and reared back onto her hind legs, yanking Miranda off her feet and into the mud. 

“Will, get him out of here!” Miranda yelped, grasping desperately for Starla’s lead, “He’s only going to scare them!”

Nico took a step back, taken aback by what she had just said. He had gotten so comfortable here, he had really started to feel welcome for the first time in his life. He saw these people as his family. Because of all of that, he had almost forgotten who he was. Of course they’d be scared of him. 

“I’m sorry, Nico.” Miranda said to him, pushing dripping strands of blonde hair from her face, “It’s nothing personal, but you know how it is.”

He did. He did know.

“He’s fine.” Will said in a stern tone, “She’s just spooked, any sudden movement will scare her.”

He turned to face Nico, his blue eyes almost glowing in the darkness. He seemed to read Nico’s mind, “You’re okay. Stay. Help. I need you here.”

Before he could speak, there was an extra bright flash of lightning, accompanied with an earth shaking crack of thunder, seemingly right on top of them. 

They all spun around as a camper screamed. Standing before them was a pegasus much larger than the others. No wait, it wasn’t a pegasus. A horse, a regular horse. A massive black stallion, its mane so wild it almost seemed like it was a part of the storm itself. It was as though the rain poured heavier around its silhouette, making it almost hard to look distinctly at it. It definitely wasn’t there before.

“Demon!” One of the campers shrieked. 

“It’s not a demon!” Miranda croaked as she struggled to stay on her feet with a panicking Starla, “It’s just a horse! Someone do something about it, please!”

The stallion planted a hoof in the mud, misty clouds billowing up around its ankles. At that moment, it looked directly into Nico’s eyes. Or he could’ve sworn it had. As it did, he felt a tingle shoot up his spine, and under the leather of his jacket sleeves he could’ve sworn every single one of his hairs was standing on end. The longer they locked eyes, the more Nico saw. Lightning flickered throughout the horse’s body, like bombs flashing behind smoke.

“That’s not a horse.” He announced, not even shifting his eyes. 

Flashes of his past dreams sparked across his mind. A different storm. Sand. Empty, soulless, dead blue eyes. The ringing in his ears. He became aware of just how cold he was, standing soaked to the bone in the dead of the night. 

A name came to his mind. He wasn’t sure how he knew it. Maybe it had been told to him before, he wasn’t sure, but he spoke it without thinking, “Tempest.”

“The Gray Sister?” He heard Will’s voice somewhere behind him. He hadn’t realized he had gotten closer to the stallion. 

“No, the ventus.” He took another step closer, the stallion unwavering.

“This isn’t Kingdom Hearts!” Will shouted, “Nico, do you know this horse?”

“Solace, will you stop being a nerd for two seconds?!” Nico shouted back to him, still not looking back and away from the billowing figure before him, “A ventus is a storm spirit. This one is just choosing to take the form of a horse.”

It was almost as though his eyes were locked in place. He couldn’t look away, and he found himself inching closer to the spirit, slowly taking one step after the other. He could feel Will’s presence somewhere close behind him, not letting Nico get too far from him; Will had that kind of aura about him, Nico could always feel him when he was near. There was something about this ventus, the way it was looking at him, the way it was just standing there. It was like it was beckoning him, telling him to come closer. He knew he had the mental willpower to fight whatever the spirit -Tempest- was putting over him, but something in his mind told him not to. He did not sense any sort of malicious intent coming from it. It was as if it knew him.

“Nico, I don’t like this.” He could hear the caution in Will’s voice, “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“It’s okay, I know him.” Nico said, outstretching a hand towards the stallion. He didn’t, he didn’t know him, so he wasn’t sure why he said that, yet he didn’t feel like he was lying. He wouldn’t lie to Will, but there was something familiar in Tempest’s eyes. If he didn’t know this horse, then someone he did know must’ve sent him. That at least had to be true. 

Nico was hardly noticing the frantic campers still scrambling around, trying to wrangle the pegasi, or even the rain still dumping buckets over their heads. It was all white noise at that moment. 

He was right in front of Tempest now. With his outstretched hand he was close enough to touch his muzzle. He hesitated, just for a moment, as Tempest placed one hoof forward and let out a puff of air from his nose. A puff of a cloud released from his nostrils, static electricity crackling within it. It was as if he was sending a message: it’s okay. 

Even in the cold of the storm, Nico felt the warmth of certainty creeping through his veins. He didn’t feel an ounce of fear. He had to do this.

With a decisive inhale, he took a final step forward and placed a hand on Tempest’s muzzle. As he did, several things conspired in about half a second, all playing in slow motion that lasted an eternity. The sky lit up so bright he could’ve sworn Apollo was gracing them with his presence. He felt a bolt of electricity streak across not only his body, but he could feel it transcending into his soul, across his entire being. Every vein, blood vessel, and cell in his body lit up like a Christmas tree, lighting a fiery pain under his skin that he couldn’t even begin to describe with words. 

This is how it ends, huh? His brain asked him in a moment of panic, You got electrocuted by a horse. Good job, bud.

As all of this was happening, he thought maybe he felt his soul leap out of his body. He had spent a lot of time around dead people: spirits without bodies, bodies without spirits. He had felt his own body nearly melt into the shadows themselves, but he’d never experienced the sensation of his soul leaving his body. It was always others: those he commanded. He’d seen it, he’d felt other people’s deaths countless times, but feeling his own existence split at that moment was maybe one of the most mind shattering things he’d ever experienced. 

But he still didn’t feel a lick of fear. Especially once he felt Will’s arms around him.

He heard Will’s voice shouting his name somewhere behind him, but there was a delay. It was like when you’re watching fireworks, and you see the explosion before you hear it. Like a sonic boom on a jet. His soul, outside of his body, yet still attached to it, was perceiving everything a half a second later than his body was. But he felt Will’s arms wrap around him. It was like every other embrace he’d ever given him, but as he felt the warmth of Will’s body collide with his own, it continued farther, reaching out past his body, into the ether, and around his soul. He felt Will touch his essence itself, the very existence of his soul. Like torn paper being ripped from a book, his soul left his body, and then once again in reverse, he slammed back into himself, colliding into his own body with such force, he could feel his brain rattling against his skull. 

They fell backwards, and as their butts hit the ground, everything played back into real time. The lightning flash that lit up the sky finished with a crack of thunder. And like they had entered a vacuum chamber, the rain was sucked back up into the sky, sealing with a pop. And they were slammed back into reality. Or so Nico thought.

When he opened his eyes, they were in a different place. The rain had stopped completely, though he still heard the far away sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. There was a cold, sharp breeze blowing through his hair, miraculously dry, and biting the skin on his face. It was dark: the kind of darkness you only see in your nightmares. The smell of what he could only determine to be farmland lingered on the breeze. Lightning crackled across the murky sky just barely enough to give him a sense of the environment around. They were in the middle of a corn field.

He was on his behind in the dirt, and he could still feel his boyfriend’s arms around him. He was practically in Will’s lap with the way they’d fallen. He probably would’ve hit the ground harder had Will not broken his fall. 

Will let out a disgruntled groan, “What happened? Where are we?”

“I’m not sure.” Nico’s eyes darted around them. He grabbed Will’s hands and unwrapped his arms from around him. He hauled himself to his feet and offered a hand to Will, who took it and pulled himself up. 

Nico was very hyper aware of every physical sensation he was feeling. Everything felt so much more present and real after having that out-of-body experience. It had been so mind boggling he had to double check just to make sure he was in fact in his own body.

“Is that what doing drugs feels like?” He asked out loud, “If so, I am never doing drugs.”

“Not on my watch, you’re not.” Will huffed, wiping the dirt from his shorts, “What were you thinking? You could’ve gotten yourself killed, death boy!”

“I’m not sure I didn’t.” Nico remarked, scanning his surroundings, “And don’t call me death boy.” 

“Right, sorry.”

Will had begun to glow like a human glow stick, a trait that Nico deeply admired, though he knew Will was self conscious about it at times. It gave enough light to the surrounding area that they weren’t completely submersed in inky darkness any longer, though the farther reaches of the cornfield that Will’s light couldn’t touch still remained hidden in shadows. 

Tempest was gone, along with all of the other campers who had previously been present. The only sound was the wind whistling, and rustling the corn stalks around them. 

“Either way, I’m glad you’re okay now.” Will added, “Don’t scare me like that, Nico. I’m not trying to lose you.”

“I don’t plan on going anywhere.” Nico reassured him, giving his hand a squeeze. He wasn’t much of an affectionate guy, but he loved Will and understood that he needed to be comforted sometimes, “The only place I want to go is out of this corn-”

Before he could finish his sentence, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. 

He spun around, putting an arm out in front of Will. He went to draw his sword, only to realize he didn’t have it. He simply held a hand out towards the darkness.

“Who’s there?” He called out.

There was no response.

“There’s no one there.” Will whispered after a moment of silence, “I’m not sensing any other life near us.”

Will had some weird abilities as a healer son of Apollo, but Nico had never known him to be able to sense life like that without physically touching someone. Maybe there were still things he didn’t know about his boyfriend. 

Nico closed his eyes and reached out into the darkness with his mind. If there was someone lurking somewhere in the shadows, he would know. He would be able to feel their presence. His consciousness raced through the aisles of corn, to the outer reaches of the field. It was endless. It was like an infinite maze of corn, stretching further than even he was able to sense. 

As far as he could tell, he and Will were the only living things in this field.

“There’s no one here, but we’re not alone.” He announced, opening his eyes.

“Yes thank you, babe, that makes a whole lot of sense.” Will said, sarcasm dripping off of his voice. He was in a defensive stance, and Nico realized how silly they probably looked at that moment. They were both standing defensively with their arms out, trying to protect each other. Neither of them had weapons. 

“I mean,” Nico continued, “There’s no one alive here. But darkness is never as empty as it seems. I know better than that. And I definitely saw something.”

Will’s eyes darted around, the blue in them looking almost like a neon sign as he shone from his internal light source, “Well I can’t see shit, cap’n. This is your scene, you lead the way.”

There was an ever so sudden wave of uncertainty in Nico. It was gone as soon as it had come. Nico thought he could hide it well, but there was no hiding things like that from Will. As soon as there was any moment of tension from him, Will would pick up on it.

“It’s okay.” Will said in a soothing tone, “I’m right behind you. You’re not alone.”

Calm washed over him.

They were quite a funny duo. A son of Apollo who could calm anyone with a touch, and literally could harness the power of the sun to make himself glow. And a son of Hades, dark and touch starved, having command over the shadows themselves, who had developed a fear of the dark. Will was like Nico’s own personal nightlight. Metaphorically and literally.

“Tempest brought us here for a reason.” Nico said after taking a moment to center himself, “So I’m thinking maybe we’re not supposed to be finding the exit of this corn field.”

“There’s something in the corn field we’re supposed to find?” Will finished his thought. 

“Yes, that or-” Nico began, but then cut himself off. That’s when he heard it. He thought it had been just an after effect from his little out-of-body experience, from being thrown into this alternate plane of existence or wherever they were, so he hadn’t paid much mind to it. But it was still there, lingering, persistent. The ever slightest ringing in his ears. He was very familiar with ringing in his ears, and it was never a good thing. But in this case, it was the answer to their question.

“Or someone.” He finished. He spun around and slowly turned his head to one side, turning and listening, waiting for the direction where the ringing was the strongest. As soon as he found it, he pointed. 

“This way. Let’s go.”

He grabbed Will’s hand and took off into the corn. Lightning crackled here and there, illuminating the sky, but Will’s light alone was enough to lead the way. They weaved past endless stalks of corn. Every so often, Nico would stop, listen, then take off in another direction, redirecting himself to follow his mental GPS.

“Where are we going?!” Will shouted, his voice thumping with every step as he ran.

“To be completely honest, I don’t know!” Nico shouted back.

“That’s very reassuring!”

“Just trust me!”

“I do!”

As he ran, the ringing got louder and louder, until it was so loud he could no longer hear the wind howling in his ears, or their shoes smacking in the dirt. He thought maybe Will was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear it. 

Finally, after running for who knows how long, they finally broke into a clearing, and Nico halted to a stop. Will nearly slammed into him, but they managed to stay on their feet. 

They both took a second to catch their breath before taking in what they saw before them. In the clearing stood the figure of a large stallion. Now that it wasn’t raining, it was more evident that Tempest really was a storm spirit. Instead of the sleek coat of a regular horse, his body was formed with swirling clouds filled with flickering lightning. Rain poured out from underneath him, spurring up billowing mist around his hooves. His eyes were dark and foreboding. He let out a whiny as he turned, revealing the figure of a person standing behind him.

Nico’s voice caught in his throat as he stared forward. He thought he might’ve cried if he spoke.

He swallowed hard and took a shaky breath, “Jason?”

Jason smiled at him. He had a hand on Tempest’s neck. He wore an old worn sweatshirt, much like one Nico had seen him wearing before. He was wearing his glasses. It was such a relieving sight, not only to see him here, but to see him how Nico had always known him. Not as the way he’d been seeing him the past couple months in his nightmares. With blood stained clothes, no color in his face, glasses gone, cold, dead eyes. He was dead, Nico knew he was dead, but there he was, standing right in front of him, and he didn’t look dead. 

“Hey Nico.” He said, real casual-like, “I see Tempest found you. I’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty.”

Will snorted from behind him, but Nico just raised an eyebrow in confusion, “I- what?”

“It’s- you know,” Jason laughed and shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck, “It was a joke, sorry. Probably not a good way to start this conversation. You’re probably confused.”

Will raised his hand like a student in class, “I can say I am in fact very confused.”

“What’s going on?” Nico asked, taking a step forward, “Jason, I… Apollo told me what happened to you.”

Jason had a somber look on his face as he stroked Tempest’s stormy mane, “I know, I’m sorry.”

Nico shook his head, “Don’t apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for. I miss you, we all miss you, but… You died a hero, Jason. You never have to be sorry that you died.”

“Funny,” Jason gave a small laugh, “As I was dying, I was actually worried about you.”

Nico pointed at himself, “Me?”

“Yeah,” Jason started, “I know it’s hard for you to open up to people, and you opened yourself to me. I was honored to be your friend, but I know you’ve lost a lot of people. So knowing that when I died, you lost another person, I felt pretty shitty.” 

Nico couldn’t help but laugh, “You were literally dying and you were worrying about me? I wasn’t even there.”

Jason scratched his head, “Yeah… But I took solace in knowing that I was protecting my friends. That, and not to toot my own horn or whatever, but I knew I’d be going to Elysium, which meant that I’d get to see Leo again. But when I got there…”

Nico had a realization, “He wasn’t there.”

Jason nodded sadly, “I just don’t understand, why wouldn’t he have gone to Elysium? He should be there.”

“You don’t know.” Will gasped, stepping up next to Nico.

Jason looked up at them, “What do you mean? What don’t I know?”

“Jason,” Nico said, “Leo’s alive.”

Jason’s eyes got wide, shock and confusion on his face, then he exhaled and put a hand on his chest, “That’s such a relief. I might cry right now, seriously. I thought that goof got himself sent to Asphodel somehow. I knew The Fates were cruel, but he doesn’t deserve that.”

“No, no.” Nico shook his head, “He’s alive and fine. And he got Calypso off of her island.”

Jason smiled a large grin, “Really? That’s awesome! Man, I’m so happy for him.”

“Eh, their relationship is questionable, to be honest.” Will remarked, “I’m glad she got off that island and all, but… I won’t get into all of that. But anyway, I stand by my comment about being confused. Can someone please explain what in Hades is going on here?”

“Right.” Jason snapped his fingers, “I sent Tempest to find you, Nico.”

“But…” Nico rubbed his temples, “How? You said you were in Elysium? What is this place? This cornfield? This isn’t exactly how I imagined Elysium.”

Jason laughed, “Right. This isn’t Elysium. I found this place kind of by accident. I think, maybe it’s because I’m a son of Jupiter and all, but I could tell even in the underworld when it was storming in the mortal world. I accidentally stumbled into this weird plane of existence one day while there was a storm up above. I think it’s some kind of in between place? It’s in between the land of the dead and the land of the living. It doesn’t always look like a corn field, this is just how it’s presenting today for whatever reason. Kind of spooky if you ask me. But, I thought if anyone on the living side would be able to enter this place, it would be you, Nico. So I managed to contact Tempest through the storm and sent him to find you. Though, I see you brought a plus-one with you.”

Will gave a casual wave and a lazy grin, “Hi.”

Jason nodded at him, “Hi, Will, it’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too.” Will told him, “Kinda weird if I’m being honest, considering, well, that you’re dead and all.”

They both laughed.

“But why did you summon me here?” Nico asked.

“Can’t I want to see my friend?” Jason suggested.

“I- well-”

“Don’t strain your brain thinking about that.” Jason waved his hand, “I know it’s a hard concept to grasp. But I just wanted to talk to you.”

He took a step around Tempest. Nico went to step closer as well, but Jason held out his hand, “Don’t get too close, I don’t want to risk breaking the connection.”

“Right.” Nico took a step back.

“Now don’t fight me on this.” Jason started, “Just let me talk, okay?”

Nico hesitated, then nodded.

Jason gave him a soft look, “I know you struggle, Nico. I know you’ve been through a lot, I know you’ve lost a lot. I can’t say that I can begin to understand how my death affected you, or how anything else you’ve been through has affected you. One of the last times I saw you, and I’m being brutally honest here, Nico, so I’m sorry, but you looked like ass. You were skin and bones, you had no color in your skin. You were sick. I was worried we’d end up losing you even though the war was over. But look at you now! You look great, healthy even. I don’t know what you’ve been through since I’ve been gone, but I can only hope you’ve been getting better. I know it’s an uphill battle sometimes, but I wanted you to know that I believe in you.”

Nico couldn’t help but smile, “I… I think I’m healing. It’s a slow process, but I can feel it happening. All thanks to someone.”

He shot a glance at Will.

Will puts his hands up, “I can’t take any credit for this one, this is all you, sunshine. I’m just here to make sure you’re not doing it alone. Being alone makes pulling yourself out of a hole that much harder. I’m just your alarm clock that doesn’t let you sleep until noon every day and reminds you to take your meds.”

“Which I appreciate.” Nico added.

“I appreciate you too, Will.” Jason butted in, “Thank you for taking care of him. I can tell you make him happy.”

Will kicked the dirt with his shoe, “Aw shucks. It’s my pleasure. Whether he wants to believe it or not, I enjoy his company.”

Jason’s eyes turned to the sky, still rumbling with thunder and lightning. He took a deep, slow breath, “I can feel the storm breaking, we’re running out of time.”

“But there’s so much I want to say to you.” Nico took a step forward before remembering, then leaned back on his heels.

“It’s okay.” Jason reassured him, “You’ll see me again someday. I’m sure of it.”

Nico thought about his sister, Bianca. He had thought he’d get to see her again someday, but after she died, she had decided to be reborn into her next life. It was a guarantee that he would never see her again. He didn’t want the same to happen with Jason.

“Don’t worry about that.” Jason spoke, seeming to be reading Nico’s mind, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve thought about it, but I think I’ve decided to wait to be reborn. There’s too many people I want to see again. I have to see Piper, I have to introduce her to all the cute girls I’ve met here. I have to see Leo, that jerk, making us think he was dead. He’s actually going to die one day and when he does, he’s getting a piece of my mind. Not before I hug him of course, and thank him for saving my life. And I have to see Reyna too… I know things were weird between us but she was my best friend for so long, she’ll always have a place in my heart. Then there’s Frank, Percy, Hazel, Annabeth… all of them, the list goes on and on. And you of course. So… I think I can chill in Elysium for a while. It’s pretty nice here.”

That was a relief to hear. Nico felt selfish for feeling that way, but he was relieved that Jason was deciding to wait. Of course, he would try not to be upset with him if he decided to move on, he went through all that grief with Bianca, and he knew he had grown beyond that. He couldn’t withhold Jason or anyone else from their peace. That was a choice a person had to make themselves, for themselves. 

“Just remember,” Jason continued, “I may be dead, but I’m not gone. When it rains, I’m there with you. When you go outside and you feel the electricity in the air, or when you grab a doorknob and it shocks you, just think of it as me, saying hello. I will always be with you. Death isn’t the end of the line. You of all people should know that.”

Nico wouldn’t admit it, but he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. It was weird to him to know that people cared about him, but it was a realization that he was slowly making. Yes, he was a son of Hades. Yes he was dark and foreboding and creepy sometimes. Yes, he lingered in the shadows and managed to convince himself that he was not welcome anywhere or with anyone, but he was slowly learning that he was very wrong. People liked him for who he was. He remembered Miranda’s words: I’m sorry Nico, but you know how it is. He did know how it was. He was allowed to exist and take up space. He was still trying to convince himself of that, but deep down he knew it to be true. And he didn’t have to do anything alone anymore. 

Lightning streaked across the sky, and thunder shook the ground beneath their feet.

“It’s time for me to go.” Jason announced, “I’m glad things are working out for you. And I’m glad I got to see you one last time. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope it’s a long time before I see you again. Not because I don’t want to see you, but because I hope you’re able to live a long, prosperous life. You’re still so young, I’d hate for you to have the same fate I did.”

“I understand.” Nico told him, “But don’t feel like you have to wait for me. When you feel like it’s your time… do what your heart tells you to do.”

“I don’t feel that way. I know it’s my choice and no one else can make that for me.” Jason gave him a smile, “But my choice is to wait for now.”

Another crack of thunder and lightning. Like a switch, a heavy, thick sheet of rain began to pour onto them. The corn around them shook with the weight of the storm.

“Goodbye, guys!” Jason shouted over the rain, “It was nice to see you both! If only for a few minutes! And Nico! Please don’t forget to eat!”

“Jason, wait!” Nico shielded his eyes from the rain.

“I agree, Will is definitely more your type than Percy!” Jason waved at them, “Don’t tell him I said that, though! You know what, actually do tell him I said that!”

“Jason, I-!”

Suddenly the wind picked up, and the rain turned sideways, and with it so did the world. Nico fell backwards, reaching out and desperately grabbing for Will, who was also now falling. They found each other’s arms as Jason’s feet stayed firm on the ground. Tempest reared as lightning streaked across his body. Rain was pouring straight down onto Nico’s face and soaking his clothes once again. 

Jason waved one last time as the world began to warp around them. Things moved into slow motion once again, Jason became further and further away, the rain forming a sort of wind tunnel around them. Things slowed to the point of feeling like a video, moving frame by frame. Nico and Will were both screaming, but they could no longer hear themselves as the rain roared louder and louder. The ringing in Nico’s ears became so loud, he felt like his mind was being split with an ice pick. 

Until it all stopped.

Nico woke with a start, frantically trying to regain his bearings.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, “Hey, it’s okay! You’re safe.”

He turned to see Will next to him, concern in his eyes. He had straw sticking out of his hair.

Nico took a moment to breathe and take in his surroundings. It was daytime, and they were on the ground in what he realized was the pegasi stables at Camp. Their clothes were damp from the rain, but dry enough to make it seem like they’d been laying there for hours. All of the pegasi were in their stalls, looking at the two of them like they were a nuisance for being in their house so early in the morning.

“That was real, right?” Nico asked Will, grabbing his arms, making sure he was really there, “Tell me I didn’t just dream all of that.”

“It wasn’t a dream.” Will seemed unsure, “I don’t think? Whatever it was, it happened. We saw Jason.”

Nico was relieved to hear WIll acknowledge out loud that he’d experienced the same thing and that Nico’s mind hadn’t just made it up. They had really seen Jason. Talked to him, even.

Nico felt some sort of peace at that moment. He felt as though he could lay to rest his lament over Jason’s death. Would he still miss him? Of course. But something was different now.

“We should get back into camp.” Will said, pulling himself to his feet. His butt was covered in dust from the wooden floor of the stables, “Everyone has probably been wondering where we’ve been.”

“”I’ve been wondering where we’ve been.” Nico muttered. Will offered him a hand and he took it, managing to get back onto his own feet. 

“Yeah, that was kinda freaky.” Will agreed, “But kinda awesome at the same time?”

“Tell me about it.” Nico shook his head, “Come on, sunshine, let’s go home.”

They walked to the doors of the stables. As Nico’s fingers touched the handle, a small shock zapped at his fingertips.

He smiled, “Hello to you too, Jason.”

And with that, they left, probably on their way to a week’s worth of dish duty.

#toasecretsanta #returnofthemackles #bluefoxchild #nico di angelo #will solace #jason grace #pjo tempest #solangelo #trials of apollo #toa #riordanverse #trials of apollo fanfic #toa fanfic #riordanverse fanfic #character death

[ramonag-if]

Amazing art by @little-leech-boy of Rubari who looks so good! I'm blown away by the talent and art and everything is just so perfect 😍💖😭

Hi! I just was drawing my MC and what I interpret Ahlf and Salrya to look like, and I wanted to show ya!

MC’s name is Rubari! But I’m gonna talk about his and his parents design under the cut if your interested, so yeah!

So firstly I wanted to design an MC that could believably be mistaken for both Cyrian and Ishari, so hopefully I succeeded in that, but I also added small scars that he probably got from being picked on, and moles to make the skin look a bit more busy. I also made sure to make him resemble his mother a bit more than Ahlf, to drive home the whole “you were your mothers child more than mine” thing, but I also wanted Rubari to seem more like his father in terms of personality.

For Salrya I didn’t really know what her eye color was? So I picked an amber color to make them pop a bit more, in reference to her eyes being able to glow, and to give them a warm but fiery feel to em. I also gave her moles so that Rubari could inherit them from her. In this picture she looks younger than Ahlf because I drew her before she split.

Ahlf is more up to date in his design, I made sure to grey his hair and give him some developing wrinkles, at first I didn’t want to make him seem older than he actually was but then I realized he’s had a shit life so far, so maybe him looking old as hell is a given. I made his eyes look a bit darker than Rubari’s to drive that home a bit more, and made sure to give him a few scars to reference his old life. I gave him a tan and freckles since he goes outside to fish a LOT, and again to make his skin look a lil less boring. I also gave him shorter hair in an attempt to vaguely mimic Ancient Greek haircuts men had, but it’s a rather loose interpretation.

Speaking of Ancient Greece, I did a small doodle of Rubari wearing what he would have worn while living in Cyre, at first I gave his lil cloak the colored stripe like in the picture, but then I remembered dye means you have cash, so I scrapped that and replaced it with that darker tone to make it look dirty/old. This is just the first draft of it, I might change it up a bit more to diverse itself from the reference picture, but I wanted to get an idea of what that looked like first. You mentioned before that Cyrians have usually have an Ancient Greece inspired name, idk if my assumption is correct, but I went ahead and kept that in mind when thinking of these Cyrian characters.

Lastly is the lil doodles of Rubari in the corner, I drew them to further explore his personality a bit more, and seeing how that came through in his facial expressions. He’s a very reserved person, and honestly pretty melancholic too, usually any emotion he feels isn’t expressed that much as he reigns them in, something he learned to do when being around his father. But when in comfortable company he is less afraid to express his emotions and thoughts, but admittedly he is still unused to doing so, so he usually doesn’t really know how to go about that. Because of that he can get flustered rather easily, he’s usually scrambling to either understand his feelings or get a grip on them during these times.

So uh, there it is! I hope it is at least semi accurate, and thanks for the cool story!

#submission #artwork #Rubari #little-leech-boy #This is so good! #I'm dying at how amazing this is 😍💖😭

[sprocketsmusings]

I'm about halfway through my training for work (which started in February) and now that I'm thinking about it that way, I'm feeling pretty good about it.

I have 18 months to get certified (from date of hire) and knowing the areas where I need some work - I'm actually not in a bad place.

It's a weird feeling to be able to look at myself and accurately assess that yea, I'm right where I need to be. My learning level and skillset are on par with the path. Like... whoa. Not that I don't stress out a little from time to time, but it isn't nearly as consuming as it was before. I'm not beating up on myself. I'm not thinking I'm just going to completely fail and bite it. I've already made some mistakes (one of which being a semi-serious one) and it turned out ok!

What is this? An ounce of confidence? WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?!

It does help that the higher-ups asked for my feedback on the classes and straining so far. AND I GAVE IT. They were kind too like "Don't worry too much about it, just a few pointers if you think of anything would be helpful." -Out I come with a small report because they don't realize I LIVE FOR PROCESS IMPROVEMENT AND QA-

I'm in an environment where there's a great transition underway. Most of the employees have been there for 20+ years and they're all steadily reaching retirement age. Meanwhile, there's been some churning in turnover for the positions that do open up, so they do have an opportunity to make things a little easier for people coming on so they'll stay.

Because it has not been easy.. because there's no real linear references for ANYTHING. There is a lot of asking around and depending on institutional knowledge of the workforce that has been there, which could quickly become lost. So I'm hoping they're able to capture some of that and make things easier for people who are coming on.

At least a little... because the beast of this job is that so much does live in a grey area, to where there is no amount of reading, how-to guides, or FAQs that will prepare you for everything you can encounter. So the other part is learning how to be ok with tripping and asking for help from others.

...

This job has been a complete shake-up for me in all the things I have had issues with.

Peopling

Confrontation

Making mistakes/being corrected

Not being able to just straight-up study my way through

There is still a ton of studying, but this job is the perfect mix of book smarts and street smarts all in one. And at least right now it seems to be a good fit for me. As much of an introvert I am, I do enjoy popping in and helping people out with something that is usually a very scary and stressful experience for them. Then afterwards I can hide away and enter in reports. It's a good balance.

But I'm thankful that I not only get to learn some more nerdy things, but I also get to grow as a person in ways I didn't think I would be able to.

#personal #blog #work

[shadowsong26fic]

Papa and J---- Update!

Author: shadowsong26

Rating: PG/PG-13

Fandom: Les Misérables

Characters: Technically all on-page characters are OCs; Valjean, Cosette, Marius, and Javert are discussed as historical personalities. Backstory Cosette/Marius and heavily implied Valjean/Javert.

Warnings: Nothing specific, I don’t think?

Summary: Euphrasie Pontmercy–known in the art world as La Jardinière–isn’t exactly a household name. Still, the sheer length of her active career (her work was first displayed and sold in 1839, and she left one last work unfinished at her death in 1910) makes her interesting to people who actually study that century in art. But as far as the historical record is concerned, Jardinière seems to have sprung semi-fully-formed from the streets of Paris somewhere in the mid-to-late 1820s. Other than the fact that she was educated in a convent, essentially nothing is known about her parents or her childhood.

Until now.

Or:

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a PhD student with no thesis topic must be in want of an undiscovered painting to go absolutely feral over.

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of their respective creators.

Notes: Here we are with Chapter 3! Where Ari talks to Phil’s mom and gets a little more background/family lore. Which is...fairly accurate, even after nearly two centuries of generational telephone, lol. also I am. Tempted. to find someone to commission to actually make a version of the painting are any of y’all who might be artists interested/does anyone have any recommendations of artists who are open for commissions who do that kind of style

Updates will be posted here on Thursdays and crossposted to AO3 on Fridays.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Wednesday afternoon, as soon as the last class I was TAing let out, I headed back to Phil’s house. I’d spoken with his mother on the phone the night before, and she’d agreed to meet me at four. Foot in the door, at least. First hurdle cleared.

Traffic was shit, because of course it was on a day I needed things to run smoothly, and I got there about five minutes late.

The woman who answered the door when I knocked was a little bit shorter than me, with the same bright blue eyes Phil had. Too old to be his sister, so this must be his mom.

“Hi, I’m sorry I’m late,” I said. “I’m Ari Wright, we talked on the phone?”

“Of course,” she said, and smiled, stepping aside. “Please, come in, ah…?”

“Ari is fine,” I said, and followed her inside. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me, Mrs. Riley.”

“Oh, please, Louise is fine,” she said. “Would you like some water, tea?”

“Uh, water would be great, thanks,” I said.

She left me in the living room, excusing herself to go into the kitchen to get it, which gave me another minute alone with the painting.

Which was just as ordinary-extraordinary as it had been on Friday night. Exactly like I remembered it.

To be fair, I’d spent probably way too many hours the past few days studying my shitty phone pictures of it, so.

“I have to admit,” Mrs. Riley--Louise--said, rejoining me and setting a pitcher of water and a couple of glasses on the table. “I was a little surprised when Phil told me one of his friends was interested in Mémé Cosette’s painting.”

I stepped away from the wall and sat in one of the armchairs--not the couch; that would have been Awkward at least in the back of my brain. “I saw it when I was over here with Phil the other day, and…well, it jumped out at me.”

“Right,” she said. “So, what exactly are you looking for here?”

“Well, I was hoping to get your permission to do a more thorough study of the piece,” I said, then hesitated. “…if I can start by asking you some questions? About the painting and its history, whatever you know about it. And recording, if that’s okay. Easier than taking notes.”

“That’s fine,” she said, picking up her glass and settling into one of the other chairs.

I took a sip from the other glass, then set my phone to record audio and put it on the middle of the coffee table. “I suppose I should start with...well, I’m not sure how much you’re aware of your ancestor’s career--Phil wasn’t, at least?”

Louise smiled. “I know who Mémé Cosette was, or at least what I was told about her,” she said. “Euphrasie Pontmercy, also known as La Jardinère. I always liked listening to the family stories.”

“What can you tell me about the painting?” I asked. Obviously, if I went forward, anything she told me would have to be backed up by other sources. Anecdotal family history had a funny way of getting tweaked or embellished over the years, especially when the relative in question was someone even moderately famous. “Phil told me it’s always been in your family, and she’s your…”

“Great-great…great grandmother, I think,” Louise said, taking a moment to count. “My grandmother’s grandfather was her son René.”

The youngest of the five children. Right.

“I’m not sure how exactly the painting ended up in my great-grandmother’s possession, as opposed to any of the other children or grandchildren, but I know she was the one who brought it with her to the States, when she emigrated from France in 1912.” She smiled wryly. “According to the story, they almost boarded Titanic at Cherbourg, but one or more of the children had the measles. Or possibly diphtheria, I’ve heard different things at different times.”

“Not something you’d normally think of as lucky,” I said.

“No, not really,” she agreed. “Like I said, that’s the story, and who knows if it’s true. But I do know that the painting came to my great-grandmother somehow, and she passed it on to my grandmother Marie-Celeste, who left it to me. Since I was the only one of her grandchildren who liked to listen to her stories.”

“Had she actually met La Jardinière?” I asked. It was possible--if they’d been planning to sail in 1912, and Jardinière had died in 1910…

“A few times,” Louise confirmed. “She was about six when Mémé Cosette died, but she remembered visiting her.”

Well, that was a pretty damn solid foundation for the painting’s provenance. Again, I’d have to back up the authentication in other ways, but this was looking more and more promising.

“What about the subjects?” I asked. “The men in the painting, I mean. It’s labeled as Papa and J. Do you know anything about them?”

“Only the stories,” she said. “She was adopted, did you know that? Mémé Cosette, I mean.”

That was interesting; adoption wasn’t a very common practice in the early nineteenth century, at least not in the United States or Great Britain, and most of what did happen was very much behind closed doors. I made a mental note to add the history of French adoption law to my research list. It was unlikely, but maybe I’d get lucky, and there would be some kind of record of the adoption somewhere. If I could track down exactly when and where it happened.

“No, I didn’t,” I said. “Unless there’s something in an obscure French biography I haven’t been able to find and muddle through, I don’t think anyone knows much of anything about her childhood. Which is one of the reasons this painting is so interesting. When did this happen? And where?”

“I don’t know where, exactly,” Louise said. “Some little town in Normandy, maybe? Somewhere in the north of France, I’m pretty sure. Again, according to the family stories. It was when she was around seven or eight, I think? Before that…I don’t know. My grandmother didn’t know, or if she did she never told me, but I think she had the impression that it wasn’t a very good situation. And then Mémé Cosette was adopted, so that’s where Papa came into her life.”

“Do you have a name for him?” I asked. “Her marriage license listed her maiden name as Fauchelevent, but was that his name, or from her birth parents…?”

“That I don’t know,” she said. “All I know is that she was adopted, and that she named her eldest son for her adoptive father.”

And Jardinière’s eldest son’s name was Jean, which was. Extremely, unhelpfully common.

“Do you know which of the men he is?” I asked. “In the painting, I mean.”

Louise got up and went to the wall to examine it. “I…think the bearded man. My grandmother obviously never met him, and I think her grandfather--René, I mean--was very young when he died, but that matches up with what she heard from her aunts and uncles, as she passed it on to me. He was a very private person, and supposedly very strong. One story--and I can’t say I believe it’s true--involved him physically carrying another man to safety for something like twelve hours after some kind of disaster.”

Which…well, Louise was right, that story didn’t seem all that credible. But the more general description, and the kind of man who would give rise to that sort of story, did match up with the impression the painting gave.

I stood up as well, leaving my glass on the coffee table, and joined her at the painting. “What about the other man? The mysterious J?”

“We’re back to a game of generational telephone on this one,” Louise said. “I know even less about him. But my grandmother said he was a close friend of the family, according to what Mémé Cosette told her when she asked once. That he and her--that is, Mémé Cosette’s--father lived together for the last decade or so of his life. Not sure which him she meant.”

…well, all right then.

My eye was, once again, drawn to J’s hand, resting on the back of the chair. And they lived together, maybe, for a decade or so.

Of course, that could mean a lot of different things. And, you know, it’s easy to see what you want to see, especially when there’s so little information to go on. Whatever their relationship was, though, I’d been right in my initial impression of intimacy. Whatever kind of intimacy it was.

“Right,” I said. “I think that’s a good baseline, at least for now, but I might have more questions later. And I…not that I’m saying I doubt your version of the story, or anything, but…”

“But if you want to actually research the painting, you need more proof than half-remembered family stories after two centuries of generational telephone,” Louise said, and smiled again. “It’s fine, I know how research works. I remember when my husband got his Master’s degree.”

“Yeah, exactly,” I said. “Thank you, for your understanding. Um, so, with your permission, I would like to borrow the painting for a few weeks. To authenticate it, and do a more detailed analysis of the technique and construction and so on, see what else I can learn from the actual physical piece.”

“Right,” Louise said, turning back to the painting again, thinking. “Just to study it, you said? And, obviously, write about your findings if you find anything worth writing about. But you won’t put the painting on display in a museum or anything?”

I shook my head. “Not unless you agree to it, no. I’d take photographs, to include with the paper, but the painting itself won’t go on display unless you allow it.”

“And when you cite it…I don’t know how it works, exactly, but you wouldn’t have to specifically name me?”

“No, I can just list it as being in a private collection.”

“Right,” she said. “…I have to admit, now that you’re here asking questions…I didn’t really think about it before. How many gaps there are in the story.”

“It’s funny how memory works sometimes,” I said. “Especially…well, like you said, when generational telephone gets involved.”

And it was…a weirdly appropriate question in context, since that was something Jardinière had come back to time and time again in her work. This idea of memory, and how it lines up with reality. How it changes. Those repeat paintings she’d made of the same locations in Paris over the years. The series of paintings of her own memories.

And, of course, her last painting. Souvenir--inachevé. Memory--unfinished.

Definitely need to get to Chicago to see it in person.

“True,” she said. “All right. Under those conditions--that the painting won’t be displayed, and that you’ll leave my name out of it, you have my permission to borrow it and do whatever tests or study you need for your research.”

“Thank you!” I said. “Thank you so much, this…I really appreciate all your help, Mrs.--Louise.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “And I hope you’ll share whatever you find with me, before publishing?”

“Of course,” I said. “It’s your painting, your family history.”

“Good,” she said, and smiled again. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Me, too,” I said. “Me, too.”

#shadowsong writes other fandoms #shadowsong writes self-indulgent bs

[the-enzyme]

I got even more Leon photos to share! I finally felt it was time to dress him up, in his OG RE4 outfit. I was waiting until I felt like I had gotten him looking as accurate to his video game self, as possible by my terrible (shaky) hands. I thought this was the right time. Sadly, or rather as it was expected, I f-ed-up the irises. I was trying so hard to fix every tiny flaw I saw that I ended up doing what I feared the most, which was to screw the irises. Which took me so long to get “right.” Or at least at a semi decent point where I thought they were “okay.” Not to change them any further, and yet, here we are. I messed them up badly! Beyond saving, I am afraid. All thanks to what I dread doing the most at this tiny scale -- glossing the eyes!

Oh well, I’ll have to attempt partially removing the gloss from the irises alone, and hope it works well enough, that I can keep the rest of the eye area repaint intact. I at least hope I don’t mess anything else even more, or worse to start from zero once again. I have repainted this head sculpt so much already; it’s just irritating me, that I suck at tiny miniature work, more than it frustrates me now. I am very angry at myself, to say the least. T___T;;;

I don’t own any of his tactical gear from the game, because I thought the Hot Toys version of the figure wasn’t good looking enough for me to justify his cost at the time of release (in every sense of the meaning). I did regret my decision after he was sold out, but I do feel it is not a good-looking figure now, nor then. More than anything, I thought it did (OG) RE4 Leon no justice. I do still regret not getting it then, so I could at least own all the accessories, weapons and tactical stuff, which is going to be a pain in the gut-hole, finding or making myself. I got this outfit as a set, with the shirt (I didn’t recall if it had one), but it is not the 5.11 tactical shirt Leon wears in the game, nor the (not accurate) one HT RE4 Leon came with, so I am going to have to attempt making that was well, someday... I had already tried with other(s) custom 1:6 Leon(s) I was working on, and it was dreadful to say the least. 

The set didn’t come with anything more than the pants/belt, shirt and jacket. So, he’s wearing shoes I got that are exactly what he is wearing with his RPD outfit in the RE4 version, of that from the RPD set I purchase at the same time I got this one. I doubt I’ll ever find the RE4 main outfit shoes, they seem extremely particular to RE4 Leon, and no other figure I’ve ever seen has anything similar. I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to get the authentic HT ones, so I’ll probably settle for not owning them.  

#LeonS.Kennedy #LeonKennedy #LeonScottKennedy #LeonSKennedy #ActionFigure #1:6Scale #1:6 #OnesixthScale #Figure #Toy #ResidentEvil4 #ResidentEvil #Biohazard4 #VideoGame #JapaneseVideoGame #SurvivalHorror #Photography #Customized #Repaint #3DPrintedHeadSculpt #3DRenderedHead #ResinCast #ArtistCastResinHead

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

My stomach is in knots I really hope he wins. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 I wish I could personally congratulate him with a big tight hug. Being totally honest here another visual interaction I had with him, was we were sitting down somewhere this was a continuation of the first time we met basically lol. And fate really said ‘You may see him again if you’d like’ but yeah we met again totally random and he recognized me. Evan even seemed genuinely happy to see me and I literally felt my eyes water anyways I remember us having a semi deep conversation. Nothing sad or anything just about our individual goals, what makes life easier on our hard days stuff like that. Anyways I carefully asked him if he was okay not because of how he looked or what he said. Just a check in sort of deal and he was caught off guard a bit and I could tell he was hesitating. So I gave him an assuring smile saying he didn’t have to answer I was just again checking in. Anyways he’s kinda quiet but is like yeah I’m good I appreciate it, and I nod telling him oh no it’s all good I didn’t wanna upset you by asking. I just care about you is all I swear I could see his eyes light up and that sweet dimpled smile of his. He even took my hand into his own and squeezed it as a friendly gesture of course, I really dunno if he’s that touchy with friends or anyone in general. But yeah my heart pounded a bit and my face flushed not in an uncomfy way just like caught off guard. He was really sweet about this and made sure I was comfy because he noticed my reaction and I nodded. It was so surreal such a comforting, kind touch honestly. He also asks if I’m okay the same way I asked him and being a pretty sensitive person I kinda hesitated. But tell him yeah I’m okay I struggle a lot mentally so some days are definitely a challenge I won’t lie. When I tell you how he took my hand into both of his own and just squeezed it I had to close my eyes. Because I knew I was gonna cry and I wasn’t about to do it around him, the one thing that kept me from breaking was his hug. It was warm, kind, the kind of hug everyone deserves to experience at least once. The way he hugged me seemed like he needed it too tbh especially when I finally hugged back just as tight. It was so cute because he sorta made himself shorter during the hug no clue if on purpose or not. But maybe because I’m 5’ 5’ maybe 5’ 6’ either way him doing that made it all the more special. No words needed to be said either we both just knew that maybe we weren’t okay at all. And just needed a moment of platonic affection and human care. Again I don’t know how accurate him being in this is or if it’s wayy off it was so real to me and I loved it. It was definitely bittersweet but like really amazing dark chocolate with just enough sugar to make you want more even if it’s a rare kind to find. 💔❤️‍🩹

❤️🥺

i know we all agree, it would be great to give him a big hug and congratulate him on all his hard work and success. and remind him of how much love we all have for him. thank you anon!!