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#mb number 10 give it up for mb number 10 !!!

newathens · 1 month

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new athens x

#new athens #pjo #percy jackson #mb number 10 give it up for mb number 10 !!!

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eyuulas · 3 months

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀memories in a scent

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ an event by

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀@eyuulas

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀accompanied by the sexiest & smartest:

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀@reiiofsunn

hi hi! i recently just hit 100 followers, thank you all sm <333 but in celebration of this, i am hosting my first event w @reiiofsunn

certain scents can evoke strong memories . . .

create a moodboard that captures the memories that this scent could contain!!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ how do I enter ?

reblog this post and tag 1-3 mutuals in the replies!

dm me or @yizhyo a number 1-10 and one of us will give you your number assigned perfume.

create your moodboard based on the scent of this perfume and remember to use the tag #yulu : memories in a scent event so that we see it!!

tag both @eyuulas and @reiiofsunn in the comments or on the moodboard!

be creative!!!

example :

whenever my family and I would travel my mother always made sure to bring some dettol (the mysterious brown goo) to make sure everything was fully clean.

ok maybe not THAT whimsical but I swear a certain scent can really take you back.

funnily enough, for @reiiofsunn 's first birthday that I knew her she requested a highly-specific perfume that we just so happened to smell the day before TOTALLY not dropping hints no no soooo smooth.

my point is fragrance has always been a somewhat staple in my life and a staple in many others too -- and for that reason it only made the most sense that for my first event to celebrate 100 (again thank you sm!!!) it would revolve around something I like.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀prizes !

first place : 100 reblogs on the mb of ur choice, three custom mbs (can include custom gifs)

second place : 75 reblogs on the mb of ur choice, two custom mbs (can include custom gifs)

third place: 50 reblogs on the mb of ur choice, a custom mb (can include custom gifs)

runner-ups: 25 reblogs on the mb of ur choice.

thank you to anyone who joins the event and pleasseeee give feedback <33

some mutuals + favs (not in any specific order ofc)

@gigittamic @jaes1lvr @dllria @aeraras @b4dobee @gyustarzzi2 @stygabbs @b-kitty @misukomatsu @kaerns @soob1sui @souldachi @phcsooniii @lipstickhua @hyelita @thsv @bulilta @m00nbap @i8sei @khaer @hrtsdoll @dothaect @i2chiori @puts-stuff @grlselle @eun-luv @arrtjensoo @ha-erins @wontree @koosuvi @yeritos @y-vna @p-oisn @baesol @y-ves @i08wony @bambicito @iluvrei @y2qi @p-uki @im4yeons

#yulu : memories in a scent event #kpop #kpop moodboard #event #kpop gg #moodboard #kpop event

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kouijas · 7 months

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○ ˳　　꙳ The snoopy event ○ ˳　　꙳

Hii! In honor of 200 followers im gonna be hosting my first ever event… the snoopy mb event! In this event you will be making a moodboard with an idol + snoopy!

How to enter:

Reblog this post and tag your fav blogs/moots and comment joining! Send me an ask or dm and pick a number between 1-10 and I will give u an idol! You will make a moodboard with snoopy and that idol, I will give extra points for gifs/icons/dividers and locs made by yourself! On November 10th the event will end I’ll pick my personal favorites and the runner ups! Remember to tag your moodboard with “ The snoopy: event”

Prizes:

1st place: 5 custom moodboards, 5 custom locs, a shoutout, two custom dividers, 50 reblogs on any of ur posts and a follow from me!

2nd place: 4 custom moodboards, 3 custom locs, one custom divider , a shoutout, 30 reblogs on any one of your posts, and a follow from me!

3rd place: 3 custom moodboard, 1 custom loc, a shoutout, one custom div, 25 reblogs on any one of your posts, and a follow from me!

All runner ups will get shoutouts + 10 reblogs on any of ur posts!

Note: please get in your entry by November 10 if you don’t it will not me counted! Please state if your a only bg blog pls! Have fun 💬

@4hyein

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

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The Other Side Of The Apocalypse

What would you trade the pain for?

Summary: One last grand adventure. Rhysand had promised his father that after this final journey, he would take a wife and resign himself to inheriting his title. As it turned out, Rhysand had other plans, and so did the huntress he'd encountered in the village.

Note:

WELCOME TO THE FIRST EVER COLLAB BETWEEN MB AND @the-lonelybarricade. How to describe this? Folie a deux? That seems right. This is all Rhys POV. We're trading chapter (guess who wrote which one! Just for fun), and I'd ask that you give us a every other week posting schedule. We have ten planned chapters.

Read More AO3

Chapter 1/10: I Just Want To Be Invited

Rhysand Moreno could not die.

At least, that was how he felt as he took down the winged creature just at the border. Broad sword in his sweaty, bloodied hand, Rhys drove the blade deep into its scaled chest with a guttural snarl that barely seemed human. All at once, the beast fell to the forest floor amid a bed of emerald leaves.

It should have killed him. Gods, but Rhys should be dead. Heart thudding wildly in his throat, he stared at the scaled black body before him. It was only in the aftermath did his hands begin to shake. Reality had caught up with him and though he still stood with his minor injuries, Rhys was reminded that he was still human.

And yet, as he wiped his blade on those same leaves before tilting his head upward, he felt unkillable. He felt like one of the gods, the heroes of old. A legend, the sort of man who might one day be immortalized into song. That thought alone was enough to steady him, to convince him to sheathe his blade along his spine before hauling up the foul creature that had been plaguing the edge of the forest and feasting on human children for the past two years.

More faerie filth—if such beings even existed.

Rhys grunted beneath the weight of the foul creature, adjusting the weight over his aching shoulders. It would take constant walking to make it home before darkness settled over him. He offered the wall just in the distance a speculative glance. Rough stone crumbled away, falling in chunks so large he could have climbed through if he wished, and Rhys was hardly a small man.

He’d never dared so far, despite his yearning for adventure. Such was the life of a nobleman’s son—he was destined for ruling, not killing, and certainly not becoming ensnared in some faerie plot. Not that he could even prove the fae existed. No one had actually seen one since the war a near five centuries before. He’d heard the fae bartered for territory on the promise they would stay out of human affairs, and the wall had been erected to force them to keep their promise.

But every story Rhys had ever heard of the fae spoke of their deviousness. Manipulative to the bitter end, and creatures who twisted words to suit themselves, Rhys didn’t believe they’d just go silent. Something must have happened. Some great massacres that weakened their numbers, something that made them vulnerable enough to hide away.

Rhys was starting to believe his own mythologization, even if most of it existed in his own head. Perhaps, given how handy he was with a blade, it was him destined to put an end to their polluted and terrible race. He thought about that the entire trek back to his village. One last feat of heroics before he gave into his fathers urgings and took a bride from the upcoming season. Given the warmth of summer had already settled over them, Rhys had managed to avoid the current gaggle of giggling, insipid ladies, but next year he would not be so lucky.

One last, grand adventure, he told himself as the treeline began to thin. Surely his father couldn’t begrudge him that. His parents had hardly been the picture of a happy marriage, and his father had allowed Rhys to put off securing the future of their family far longer than he himself had ever been allowed after disease swept through their village, killing both his mother and sister. Rhysand was already past twenty-five and the constant ticking of the clock weighed on him.

He pushed that dreadful thought aside. He’d worry about a wife another day. For now, he was a hero and had chosen his path through the village purposefully to ensure everyone who needed to would see him carry that beast in. He meant to have it skinned and turned into a pair of boots, or perhaps a new belt he’d hang his daggers from.

Rhys thought he knew who to expect. He didn’t know their names, but he knew the dirty faces of most of the villagers. Her, though. His steps faltered for a moment when he drank in the pair of watchful, silvery blue eyes set in a freckled, heart-shaped face. She was thin, like everyone else and yet her hair seemed better washed as it tumbled around hunching shoulders draped in a heavy black cloak.

He didn’t know why he looked at her for as long as he did. She reminded him of shining moonlight cast upon still waters. Like starlight beaming against a cloudless sky. He was certain, at least in that moment, he’d never seen her in his life.

She looked at him with the same interest, her gaze falling on the beast dripping blood onto the dark flagstone beneath his feet. A frenzy of memories pulled him out of his exhaustion.

Feyre Archeron. He remembered her, then. The daughter of a once great merchant before he’d lost it all on some lost ships. She lived at the edge of town, he’d heard, and her father had resorted to carving. She’d once been part of his social circle, though he couldn’t recall having ever spoken to her. Still, it felt rude not to incline his head, even if he wouldn’t deign to talk to her.

She didn’t return the gesture, though her lips quirked into what was almost a smile.

Prick, he swore those eyes said. Rhys looked away, uninterested in her assessment of him. The fascination was gone and as he made his way through the winding, hilly roads, Rhys’s own thoughts returned to the fae. By the time he reached the well-trimmed hedges that lined the smooth drive of his sprawling, ancestral home, Rhys had amassed a small following of wide-eyed devotees. It did little to impress his father, who stood at the very end wearing a rich tunic of blue and a disapproving scowl.

“Foolish,” the Moreno patriarch scolded when Rhys dropped that cold carcass at his father’s feet. Dusk had begun to settle around them in hues of sparkling pink and orange, casting a warm light against his father's golden skin. A few shades lighter than his own brown skin, thanks to his mother and the time he spent basking in the sun.

It was his only inheritance from the once lively lady. He had his father's shade of blue-black hair and peculiar violet eyes: the same strong jaw, the same straight nose, and full mouth. Rhys was pleased as he straightened his spine, marking himself a good three inches taller and, most importantly, at the height of his own bodily power.

Handsome, though it seemed cocky to say out loud.

“I succeeded, just as I always do,” Rhys informed his father with an easy smile. His father turned his nose up and Rhys, eyes sweeping toward the drive where the villagers were still amassed.

With a huff of irritation, he turned without acknowledgment. Or, so Rhys thought until his father barked, “Clean that up!”

By the time Rhys had corralled enough servants to scrub the blood from the drive and haul his body off to be de-boned and turned into something useful, night had thoroughly settled overhead. The air smelled of warm summer rain, and in the distance, he swore he heard thunder rumbling. It was a good omen, he decided as he headed in. Rhys was quick to bathe and change, well aware his father would have no audience in which he was crusted with blood and reeked of decay. Never mind that Rhys never felt more like himself when he was hidden in the dark, battling death itself. His father expected proof he’d raised his son well—that Rhys would make him proud when he was gone and Rhys became the lord of the family.

He stepped into the dining room in a crisp black tunic. Nervously, he picked at a thread on his sleeve before taking his chair. His father held a goblet of what Rhys assumed was wine in his hand, gazing at one of the many portraits of his mother hanging in the house. She’d been little more than a maid, the woman who’d washed laundry for his father.

Rhys had been told she was so beautiful his father had broken every social convention to marry her. Whether that was true or just one of his mother's tales, Rhys never knew for sure. His father had never said and Rhys wasn’t stupid enough to ask.

What he did know was his father missed his mother terribly, despite the tense, often angry marriage between them. Rhys missed her too. Missed the sound of his sister's loud steps on the stairs and his mother's laughter, and how his father had used to smile when he saw either of them. It was as if his mother had taken his father’s heart into that grave and Rhys was left with the icy shell she’d left behind.

“You are entirely too reckless,” his father finally said, just as Rhys had been about to cut apart his sizzling chicken.

“No different than you when you were my age,” Rhys replied, though that wasn’t entirely true. His father had been married at twenty-five, though Rhys decided it wasn’t worth quibbling over trivial details.

“I knew when to leave well enough alone. So you’ve slayed a dragon. Are you done, or should I expect some new, grand adventure in which I hope my only son returns intact?”

Rhys ignored that little jab. It was meant to make him feel guilty, to shame him into putting his head down, and finally involving himself in the family business.

His silence condemned him. He heard the sound of the thunking of the glass on the rich, oak table and the frustrated sigh of his father.

“What is it to be this time?”

Lie.

He didn’t know where that thought came from, or why he felt it so strongly. Rhys scrambled for something that would make his father happy.

“I—” he didn’t know why Feyre Archeron’s disdainful face popped into his head. “I wish to go to the continent.”

His father’s eyes threatened to burn straight through him. “For what reason?”

Lie. The urging was stronger.

“A wife,” he said, the words metallic in his mouth. A sea voyage would take weeks, and securing a bride even longer. If he returned empty handed, well, he could say none of the women were up to his standards. That the women of Prythian were far more beautiful, more cultured and talented, and better suited to his tastes, which would make him as popular with the ladies as he currently was.

And if word got back to his father of the lie, well—Rhys would deal with that when it came time. He’d return, hat in hand, hopefully so victorious his father had no choice but to forgive him, just as he was doing right then.

“A wife,” his father repeated tonelessly, his eyes drifting back to the portrait of his late wife. Rhys didn’t dare look—he didn’t want to see those smiling, hazel eyes or her pretty smile gazing back at him. She’d be disappointed in how terrible her husband and son got along, and more disappointed still with how cavalier Rhys was with his own life.

“I said one last adventure,” Rhys lied smoothly. “I think it’s time I get serious about my future.” His father reached for his goblet, tapping his nails against the gold filigree.

“I’ll give you until the beginning of the season,” he relented, eyes snapping back to Rhys’s too eager face. “I’ll arrange for you to stay with relatives where they will chaperone you. I expect you to court the young women in earnest, and if none strike your fancy, to return so you are here in time for the start of our own season. I will see you married this time next year or so help me god, you will do military service again.”

Empty threat, he thought, even as he nodded. “I understand you, father.”

“I very much doubt you do,” his father snapped, pushing from his chair despite his untouched plate. “I am sure this is another of your schemes. Come home a married man and free me from the burden of housing my adult son.”

Rhys forced himself to pretend those words did not sting. Rhys found he, too, had no appetite despite days hunting on thin rations and the grueling tracking he’d been doing—not to mention the battle itself. Once his father excused himself, Rhys tossed his fork to his plate with a clatter and pushed from the table so hard it wobbled. Up he went to his bedroom, where he put himself to bed.

And dreamt of starlight twinkling over water.

Rhys woke to gloom. By the time he dressed and made his way out into the world, his father was already holed up in his study, no doubt making arrangements for Rhys’s departure. That was fine by him–he had no intention of getting on that ship, which meant he’d have to hire someone to do it for him.

He also needed new clothing, new weapons, and anything else he could find that might assist him once he crossed the wall. Rhys set out in a rich, midnight black cape pinned to his shoulders and his nicest pair of boots. He wanted people to know exactly who he was and what kind of coins he kept in his pockets to ensure he received good quality and whatever information he required without having to resort to violence.

His leathered armor had vanished from the chair in his bedroom, likely by a helpful servant looking to repair the rips, the tears, and the punctures from the beast's teeth and talons. He’d taken inventory of himself that morning, cataloging the dotting bruises over his ribs, the gouges in his shoulder and the long gash down his stomach that was likely to scar. Rhys hadn’t noticed it the day before, but as he made his way back into the bustling village center, he realized just how sore he was. His calves ached and his thighs throbbed. Drawing breath pained him, making him think the bruising was more profound than he’d first realized.

He didn’t turn back. He wanted everything organized early while his father was too busy planning to notice how his son plotted. Even a whiff of the lie would likely see his father make good on a long standing threat—an arranged marriage.

Rhys shuddered at the very thought.

In the village, Rhys accepted the praise due to him with an easy smile. This was how his father should have reacted, and it irked him that he was forced to receive validation from strangers. Shopkeepers tripped all over themselves to begin a new set of well made pants and tunics, hardy enough to withstand whatever hiking he might do and yet fashionable enough he wouldn’t be out of place in the famously bejeweled fae courts.

He purchased a new pair of boots, too, before he saw her again. Leaning between two of the brick built buildings, Feyre’s face was half hidden in shadow. Rhys intended to walk right past her without a word. He didn’t owe her anything, after all.

“I heard you’re looking for a well-made blade,” she said. Rhys had just asked who made the finest blades. There were three blacksmiths, after all.

“Jacks is a novice,” she added, those eyes all but devouring his face. She was a good head and shoulders shorter than him, and slight enough he could have lifted her with one hand, and yet

Rhys felt like she was looking him straight in the eye.

“What do you know about weapons, Lady Archeron?” It was meant to be cutting—to remind her of her place.

Her smile was practically feline, as though he amused her. She reached into her own dark cloak and pulled out a curved blade with a heavy, onyx handle etched in symbols he’d never seen before. Without a word, Feyre tossed it to him. Rhys caught it with one hand, surprised by how light it was. Running his fingers over the cool handle, Rhys recognized the language, even if he couldn’t read or speak it.

His eyes flicked back to her even as his hands pulled the blade from the sheath, seemingly outside his own operation.

“Illyrian steel,” she told him before he could even ask.

Rhys went back to studying the blade. It seemed to catch against the light overhead, sucking up all the available light in some vortex he couldn’t see. The curve was edged with a material far sharper than anything he owned—a mere gentle tap of his finger drew a well of blood.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded. Though no one had seen a faerie in centuries, any contact with one—real or imagined—was enough to have someone sent to prison. He could take it from her and report her to the magistrate.

Rhys slid the blade back into its sheath. Feyre shrugged her delicate shoulders, a sly smile on a face that was incredibly pretty, despite the hunger just beneath. She was edged in desperation, an emotion Rhys recognized well enough, even if he wasn’t particularly well-versed in the feeling.

“I spend time in the woods too, you know.”

“Doing what?”

More of that amused smile. “This and that. Hunting, mainly.”

Had things gotten that bad? Rhys opened his mouth to offer her a little charity before snapping them shut again. He had the sense she wouldn’t take kindly to that. Instead, he reached into his cape for his leather pouch of coins.

“How much?”

“I don’t want your money,” she said, her words baffling. Rhys’s fingers curled tighter around the blade, which seemed to practically hum against his greedy fingers.

“What do you want?”

“Your help,” Feyre replied, edging a little closer. The shadows that seemed to curl around her vanished in the gloom, leaving only an impoverished woman in their wake. Perhaps she did want his charity. “I want to get over the wall.”

Rhys was momentarily too stunned to speak. “You—why?”

Feyre tilted her head, her blue eyes drifting to the direction of the forest neither could see. “There is something in Faerie that belongs to me, and I want it back.”

“What?”

She scoffed. “So nosy. Is that a yes, then? You’ll accompany me?”

“It’s suicide,” he told her, as if he, too, didn’t want to do the exact same thing.

Feyre scowled. “I’m more capable than I seem. You can keep the blade if you agree to return me safely to the wall.”

“Deal,” he said, extending his hand. Feyre stared for a moment, as though the idea of touching him was revolting.

“When is the soonest we can depart?” she questioned, her own hands firmly at her side. Rhys considered how long it would take his father to secure him passage and lodging without seeming too eager to depart.

“Two weeks,” he finally offered. Feyre winced, but Rhys needed to give his own battered body time to heal before he went traipsing off after monsters again. “No sooner.”

Feyre winced, but nodded all the same. “Two weeks from today, at the edge of the village. You help me get through the wall, and you can keep my blade.”

Rhys assessed her for a moment. “And you won’t tell me why you need to be in Faerie so badly?”

“Show up, first,” she said dismissively, holding out her hand for her blade. Rhys dropped it into her palm without touching her, though his fingers itched to trace the life line along her palm. No good would come from an urge like that, and so he buried it deep, deep down.

“I will,” he replied, eyeing the blade in her hand again. Oh, how he wanted it. It was far nicer than anything he owned. Beyond that, Rhys found himself intrigued. How has she come across something so fine? So obviously fae. Feyre didn’t look capable enough to take on even a magical child in her impoverished, hungry state. There were secrets to the once courtier and Rhys wanted to unravel them, if only to satisfy his own curiosity.

He left her with nothing more than his word. He turned back once to study her, but Feyre had vanished into the crowd, slipping like shadows among the gathered villagers moving through the open stalls. He wondered if that was her true talent and he was risking his own adventures on what amounted to little more than a thief.

Still, Rhys thought the plan was better than nothing. He’d have at least one thing made from Faerie and whatever knowledge the wily Feyre Archeron had accumulated. Two weeks dragged, and Rhys slept poorly. His dreams were tainted by vivid colors and swirling darkness that threatened to suffocate him. Despite the summer around them, the gloom had become an ever present friend and it rained often enough Rhys often felt as though he were trapped in spring. The weather kept him indoors under the watchful eye of his suspicious father.

Rhys did manage to secure a doppelgänger, paying the man handsomely to take his place aboard the ship. Whether his father believed he slipped away at port once he arrived or had never gone to begin with, Rhys could only speculate. What he did know was once they arrived by carriage, his father offered a stiff goodbye devoid of any feeling and Rhys was left to make his way to the ship. He’d have to abandon his trunk of things and had taken care not to pack anything her cherished.

He did fish out his sack containing provisions and spare clothing, his fighting leathers, and his sword, which he promptly strapped along his back. Rhys had to pay someone to take him back and hope that the man didn’t decide to rob him of the coins he carried on him.

By the time he made it to their meeting place, Rhys was running late.

Feyre was dressed in a form-fitting black shirt tucked into tight black pants embroidered in silver. Her long, golden brown hair was plaited against her skull and draped her shoulder. She had no bag like he did—only a bow and a quiver of arrows. Rhys didn’t comment on that.

“You’re late,” she informed him with those big, reproachful eyes. Rhys felt his heart quicken.

“I had to hire a carriage,” he began to explain, annoyed that she couldn’t offer him any grace at all. “Let’s just go.”

Her gaze lingered and once again, Rhys found he didn’t like being pinned beneath her weighty assessment. “Fine,” she agreed, taking that first step. Rhys exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. They’d have to move quickly if they wanted to get to the wall before nightfall.

“So,” he began by way of conversation. “Tell me, darling. How did you become so well acquainted with Faerie?”

“I spend a lot of time in the forest,” she said easily, matching his pace despite the difference in their stature. He believed that, given the bow slung expertly over her shoulder. Rhys didn’t have any expertise with that weapon. There were so many questions he wanted to ask.

He was a fool for blurting, “Your father allows that?”

She rolled those pretty eyes. “How could he stop me?”

“I suppose it’s different now,” he agreed, feeling like an ass. Feyre shot him a sideways glance, her amusement plain.

“Very different,” she agreed without malice. “Though, he couldn’t have kept me from these woods regardless of how many pretty skirts I was laced into. It calls me.”

Rhys understood that feeling well. The pair lapsed into silence borne from mutual distrust, even if they’d shaky common ground. Feyre clearly wasn’t looking to make a friend, though as they progressed through the dense trees, Rhys found himself growing more curious.

“So,” he began, noting the way her expression flattened. “Faerie?”

“Prythian,” she replied softly.

“Hm?”

“It’s not Faerie, it’s Prythian.”

A new, more terrible thought occurred to Rhys. “You aren’t…” he began, wondering if he ought to just abandon her if she was. “Children of the Blessed, are you?”

Feyre burst out laughing, her eyes sparkling with genuine, unguarded mirth. “Those fools? Unlikely. I told you—Prythian has something of mine, and I want it back. It’s no more complicated than that.”

Rhys very much doubted that, though he was relieved all the same. Children of the Blessed were notoriously fanatical, believing themselves to be chosen among faeries as lovers or companions. Pets was more like it, if the stories told were true, though Rhys kept that to himself. The idea he might have been walking Feyre to her death, right into the open maw of the fae, made him uncomfortable.

“How do you intend to get it back?”

She sighed. “The same way you get anything back from the fae.”

Rhys didn’t know that, and so he waited with a pointed stare until she elaborated.

“Sacrifice, Rhysand,” she replied blithely.

“Better you than me,” he retorted, wondering what she might have to give up in order to give it back. He’d heard stories of fools who had bargained away their very souls for a taste of immortality, only for the whole thing to go terribly wrong. He had no intention of bargaining with a faerie—nor would he be giving them his name, eating their food, or making any deal at all.

He’d merely come to weaken them so unforgivably that humans could creep in and take back what they’d once lost. She didn’t need to know that, either. Feyre’s smile of amusement told Rhys she found the whole thing trivial—and that made him think she was foolish, too.

Maybe they both were.

“How did you kill that wyvern?” Feyre asked as the sun began to dip over the horizon. They had to be close if the sweat sliding down his back was any indication. His legs were screaming for rest, and still Rhys pushed on. He would sleep in Prythian that night, far from the huntress beside him. He had the sense Feyre would continue on without him, which served him perfectly.

“The way you kill anything,” he dismissed.

“They’re supposed to be difficult to track and almost impossible for humans to kill. And you did it barely scratched,” she prodded.

“Would you believe me if I said I’m very talented with my hands?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’d be more inclined to believe you’re very lucky. You could have been ripped apart.”

Rhys grinned. “A tragedy for women everywhere, I know.”

Another eye roll accompanied a mostly amused smile. Rhys’s own faltered a bit as something metallic lodged itself against his senses, bringing with it the first crumbling rock of the wall. It stretched across the landscape like a gaping wound, so tall he wouldn’t have reached the top even if he stood on his own shoulders. Places sagged, while others had crumbled away and yet it stood, glued together by whatever magic the fae was in possession of.

“Well,” he said, nodding toward the man-sized hole just before Feyre. “Ladies first.”

She looked at him, pulling the Illryian dagger from her belt. “I don’t suppose you’d consider accompanying me the rest of the way?”

Rhys shook his head. “Nope.”

She nodded, running her hand over the wall before ducking through the hole. Rhys went just behind, tugged by an insistent pull in his gut.

Join me, something whispered in his mind. Rhys followed behind Feyre, steeling himself for the worst nightmares he could imagine.

A lilac-scented breeze ruffled his hair. The air was cooler, the ground wetter. It was as if he’d stepped straight into spring. He’d heard of this–magic that kept the seasons stagnant. Rhys looked around at the budding treetops in wonder. In retrospect, that was his first mistake.

He hadn’t been paying attention.

A snap in his chest was dulled only by a stabbing of his wrist. Rhys grunted, ripping his arm back only to find a leather band cuffed against him. Feyre looked up at him with near wild eyes, as though she couldn’t believe it had worked.

“You—” she said, breathless with a smile.

“What is this?” he growled, prowling toward her. Feyre held up a hand.

“I need your help,” she told him, eyes bouncing from that black leather band and his face. “This binds us.”

“You put me on a leash?” he demanded, crowding her personal space hoping it might intimidate her. Feyre’s eyes went wide, though she held her ground.

“Yeah,” she agreed, still grinning like a fiend.

“Take it off,” he ordered, shoving his hand in her face. Feyre pushed him away with cool fingers.

“It’s bound by faerie magic,” she said, clearly delighted it had worked. Rhys wanted to ask her if she was stupid—what if it had backfired, turned him into a toad or worse? “I can’t release you until we fulfill our bargain.”

“We did,” he growled. “I took you to the wall.”

“You agreed to return me safely to the wall,” she pointed out. Rhys curled his fingers to keep himself from strangling her.

“You’ve been keeping secrets. What else did the fae teach you?”

“Not enough,” she admitted. “But I’ve spent enough time with them to know how to word a bargain carefully. This is just extra assurance you don’t leave me stranded in the middle of the night.”

“You hardly need me, with so many trinkets at your disposal.”

Once again, Rhys found himself under her assessment. He realized, too late to do anything about it, that she’d marked him the day he’d dragged that wyvern into the village, hoping to show off. She’d seen his skill and decided right then and there how she’d trap him into assisting her.

“I need you,” she said, her voice almost contrite.

“For what?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Feyre pressed her lips together in a thin line, determined to keep every secret, it seemed. He was, what, then? Her meat shield? Rhys dropped to the ground petulantly, well aware that despite her nimble fingers, she could not drag him through the forest.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing you safely to the wall,” he replied, lounging against the cool stone. Everything felt different, and as he sat there, resting his aching legs, Rhys took a moment to drink it all in. The vibrance, the cacophony of smells and sounds that threatened to overwhelm his human senses. He thought it would be quite easy to get lost in it.

“Get up,” she demanded, reaching for his hand. Rhys dodged out of her grasp.

“Tell me why. If I’m going to march into enemy territory, I want to know what I’m risking my life for.”

Feyre hesitated. Rhys started to close his eyes as though he might sleep, eliciting a soft scream of frustration from Feyre.

“My sister!” she finally blurted out. “They have my sisters.”

Rhys looked up at her, trying to recall who her sisters were. It was fuzzy to him—vague memories of women with her shade of golden brown hair��of two elder sisters in fine clothes moving about a ballroom, though he didn’t think he’d ever seen them.

“Was that so hard?” he asked, holding her stare.

“You’re going to help me get them back,” she declared.

Rhys only sighed.

“As if I have any other choice.”

#feysand #feysand fic #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #oops all rhysand #your best kept secret and your biggest mistake

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nobodysdaydreams · 11 months

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hello! I was wondering if you have a favorite setting or costume from the mbs show :D

Interesting question. I don’t really notice or think about clothes that much, and I don’t know much about fashion, but I do love the color aesthetics they went with, especially Curtain’s blue vs. Nicholas’ green (and how Sticky and Reynie have the same colors, as shown by the gifs below!!!).

I love a lot of the other character's outfits and colors too: Constance’s pink, all of Rhonda’s outfits are amazing of course, and they did a great job with Number Two’s yellow. It makes me wish we could have seen what they were planning with the sister (I’ve adopted the popular head canon that she wears purple to complete the sibling color scheme 💚💙💜).

However, there were two really cool things I noticed when I was going through the gifs for this post. The first is shown below, where in season 2, Kate starts dressing more like Milligan (darker colors, browns, farming clothes) in the same frame that Constance is wearing a green dress (Nicholas' colors!!! It's official, he's her dad, adoption or not, not that there was ever any doubt).

But there was something else I noticed! SQ wears a blue sweater (no surprise, that's probably what Curtain would buy for him), and Constance wears a blue raincoat in season 1. At first I was like "Oh yay, Constance and Curtain parallels", but then I realized. SQ and Constance both almost always wear pink/peach underneath or along with their blue (or in the gif above of Constance, green) clothing items. They are cousins. 💕

I also love how light SQ’s baby blue and peach colors are in comparison to Constance’s darker blues and magentas (and Curtain’s darker blue suits).

As for my favorite setting, you already know I love Curtain’s mad hatter style blueberry tea party for the sheer insanity of it. Like, where are they? It looks like the middle of a field or golf course. Curtain even has a golf cart. Why not just do it inside or next to a building like a normal person? Why is table so long when there are only three people? Why did Curtain just bring a little tea and fruit? It’s sort of implied that Nicholas and Number Two were brought food before Curtain arrived, so why didn’t he eat with them? Why is Curtain sitting with himself facing directly into the sun like it’s his own personal spotlight? He clearly planned this very carefully and was so excited for it he did a little dance beforehand. But what was he excited for exactly? A silly blueberry metaphor, some gaslighting, and an ominous “oh. I can’t wait to show you Nicholas” before prancing off to do more evil schemes? That’s it?

And the look Curtain gives while pouring the tea is incredible. Pure insanity. Pure delusion. Told my neurodivergent brain everything I needed to know about what was going on in that man’s head in that moment. He was operating at maximum silliness that day. And everything about the set up that I mentioned before perfectly tells you what vibe Curtain is gonna be giving this season. Brilliant set design. Looks exactly like the work of an egotistical lunatic. 10/10.

#I’m probably reading way too much into this clothing colors thing and I don’t know if I properly answered the ask #But I hope you like this Milk #Bods Answers #sq curtain #constance contraire #long post (sorry)

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voidsteffy · 1 year

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Hi! Loved your response to my SSR knowledge questionnaire!

Also, could you rate every SSR Villain from all his movies out of 10, with reasons provided please?

Also also, thoughts on the upcoming SSR/Mahesh Babu movie? What's your theories on what the movie could be about given the limited plot details about it being an adventure movie inspired by the Indiana Jones movies?

haha thanks for another ask!

It's been a long time since I watched Student No. 1 so I can't really rate whatever obstacle in that movie

Simhadri - 3, from what I remember feeling, it was like the story was the villain. Villain wasn't villaining that much if ykwim

Sye - 7, I love dumb villains

Chatrapathi - 9, the villains in this are pretty much like colonisers which is what i love about this movie (among the other fabulous things about it). they're genuinely evil, they don't give a fuck about anyone but themselves and rule like an iron fist gripping a mound of sand

Vikramarkudu - 10, just for the oily curly hair that gives me my hair goals😍😍

Yamadonga - 2, again, villain wasn't villaining. the actual thug they hired wasn't even there for 20 minutes. Mahi's relatives can go get whipped (literally)

Magadheera - 9, he's so evil I love it. no tragic backstory, no psychosis story, he's just possessive (the lengths I go to defend tall men, sigh, fml) and an absolute asshole.

Maryada Ramanna - 1 (and only because I can't give it a 0). i get that family feud is the real villain but nope. NOPE. you ain't killing YOUR OWN FAMILY MEMBER because he's more humane than you. Also, I hate the hypocrisy in their we-can-only-kill-outside-the-house-because-house-blesses-family theory . Speaking like that, Veturi said "Jagamantha Kutumbam Naadi" (the world is my family) so what then huh Reddy gaaru?

Eega - 10 (and only because I can't give it 1000). by now you must have understand that I love villains who are unapologetically assholes. He's rich, and he wants to keep it that way. So he killed his best friend for money. So what? He was annoyingly right anyway, no use. Sudeep is the perfect maniac obsessed zillionaire that I would want to kill as a fly.

Bahubali The Beginning - 5, I kinda don't like amped up villains. Bijjala does good, but I draw the line at the Pandit making evil faces at thin air in the middle of celebrations. Bhalla isn't a villain in my opinion, he's a smol bean who is a rich dad's spoiled brat. Being evil and underappreciated is the only thing he knows my poor baby. (@juhiiiiii gets me on this topic, don't you agree akkay?)

Bahubali The Conclusion - 3, you know why honey. I desperately wanted to beg Rajamouli to read the books (at least the first one) to make him realize how ooc Sivagami was. But Bijjala is properly characterised I must say.

RRR - 5, I want a 3D British colonizer for once.

I don't make the mistake of creating expectations in my mind for SSR's movies before 2 months of the release. I did that for Bahubali 2 (as did the entire world right?) and for Maryada Ramanna, and Yamadonga. I honestly can't picture Mahesh Babu as anything but a preacher or a politician or a police officer. But let me just say this: the last time MB wore a cowboy hat on an adventure, it was either horrible box office numbers:

(Movie: Takkari Donga)

or mindblowing box office numbers

(Movie: Athadu)

thanks for the ask!

#ss rajamouli #mahesh babu #rrr #manu answers #desiblr #indian cinema

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spacepatrolhana · 2 years

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Tohru Adachi's Babysitting Service

unfinished fanfic i mentioned before and never finished. has a bunch of plot holes imo and i honestly dont think i characterized futaba all that well.

Authors Note: ok realistically adachi would not do babysitting. but i wanted to smush him in scenarios that i think can be funny im basically an encanto fan when they were running out of things to say about the movie

also im not familiar with persona lore so if i get something wrong mb ig

And Adachi was let go.

After 10 grueling years of living in a crappy police jail, Adachi displayed perfect behavior enough to finally be let off. He said he'd promise to follow the rules of this world, and decided to move over to Tokyo for a fresh start.

Adachi couldn't get his previous job (obviously), so he'd had to begrudgingly work a minimum wage job that could possibly accept him for his criminal record. He mindlessly scrolled through the library computer, looking for any open position in a gas station or supermarket, one that would excuse his past behavior. But it looks like he wasn't too lucky.

He thought back to Narukami, feeling a bit grateful that he helped with the down payments of his first apartment, he felt really hopeful that Adachi would change his life for the better. He had suggested doing babysitting, as parents check through app reviews more than a background check. Although, one search of his name could easily reveal him as a murderer, but there was some probably some poor grandma out there who doesn't even know how to even use a basic search engine.

Adachi reluctantly thought of gravitating to that idea, he really didn't want to deal with kids. Even before the investigation team, the only kid he could tolerate was Nanako. Adachi sighed at the thought of Nanako, she probably knew by now what he did, and couldn't look at him the same anymore. But looks like it's water under the bridge for him now, him being in Tokyo gives him a chance to not be able to face her ever.

He pulled out his phone and started scrolling for Yu's contact.

_____

"Adachi-san, I would recommend you get a new phone, it's easier to keep track of your clients this way," Yu said as he continued to type in Adachi's info onto the screen.

"All you need in a phone is to call and message someone. I'm fine," Adachi replied.

Yu sighed at his response, knowing that he wasn't going to change his mind on the matter, "Well, I've set your profile up, everything should be perfect! You'll definitely get clients now."

"Yeah, thanks," Adachi muttered.

"You know… You might not think it, but I think you're really good with kids without realizing it," Yu smiles, "During the Grand Prix… It felt like you were an actual father figure to Sho… Haha."

"That kid just needed some sense knocked into him, I just used what you kids told me," Adachi replies, "I'm only doing this cause it's the only way I can get money."

Adachi sits up from his chair, "Alright, get out, I don't want you in my apartment anymore," He pushed Yu towards the door.

Yu couldn't help but paint a worried look on his face, thinking to himself that he should probably check on Adachi on his first client.

_________

Adachi had not gotten a client ever since that day.

He figured that most of the people that viewed his profile ended up searching his name and found out what he did, damn people for actually doing their research!

It's not like he'd just go ahead and throw some random kid in the TV, it wouldn't be fun in such an eventful city such as Tokyo anyways. It's not like they'd know that, though.

Adachi jumped at the sudden ring on his phone, and quickly swiped it off his bed to see an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Uhh.. Adachi? Was it?"

He put on his fake cheery tone, "Yup! That's me!"

"Uh yeah, saw your profile, do you mind coming down right now and watching my kid? Oh, I'll pay extra for the short notice."

Well now he couldn't refuse, "Yeah sure thing, mind telling me your address?"

________

"Oh, welcome."

Adachi opened the door to see a short orange hair teen scramble off to the back of the counter immediately. He looked over to the counter to see a disheveled old man with an apron look disappointed at the sudden action.

"Uhh.. hey," Adachi said confusedly.

"Futaba, you're going to have to talk to him eventually."

"I'm fifteen already! I don't need a babysitter!" Futaba whispered loudly at him.

"Well, since Akira is gone, you really need better social skills to make more friends aside from the others..."

Oh great, a kid who's bad at communicating, this is definitely going to be hard.

"Don't worry, I'm not a scary guy," Adachi tried to reassure.

"I'm sure you aren't… Here, listen Adachi-san, I know you aren't a therapist or something, but I figured someone who's less professional than one could really help her with her social ability," The man explained to Adachi.

"Oh, uh.. sure. Yeah, no problem."

It is a problem.

"Alright, I'll be heading down to the store to grab some stuff, my names Sojiro if you need to save my contact," Sojiro said as he took the apron off.

Adachi watched as he left the counter and flipped the open sign to closed. He looked over the counter to see the girl hiding under it.

"Uhhh… Wanna see a magic trick?"

She didn't respond.

Well, he figured he could do it anyways, it always surprises kids. He prepared his hands to set up his illusion before he got interrupted by her.

"The coin's in your sleeve. I've seen it before."

What a pain in the ass.

"Hey, got you to talk!" He fake laughed.

Futaba scrunched up and turned away from him. Yeah, Sojiro wasn't kidding about bad social skills. He figured it was the age that teens get more rebellious and figure being unresponsive to people above them was cool, or something.

Adachi put his head down, annoyed by her actions. But he was getting paid extra, so might as well keep trying.

"You go to Shujin?" He asked.

"You killed people?"

Adachi's knees nearly gave out.

He stretched his body to look over the counter to see her have a tab open on her phone with his name.

"Listen, I'm clean. Served my time. I'm trying to make it better, I don't do that stuff anymore," He panicked.

"Well I hope so… These articles are from ten years ago."

Adachi definitely was not getting this client again.

"It's fine. I've met someone who's changed like you," she mumbled.

Okay. Do kids these days just have occasional encounters with murderers?

"Ahhh…" Adachi looked around, he really didn't want a bad relationship with his first client. He'd probably get a bad review.

The way this girl talked and moved reminded him of several kids he knew, something about being on the spectrum. He wasn't really too knowledgeable on that, just knowing they always had a specific fixation to the weirdest things. He racked his brain on something kids today would probably like.

"Do you like featherman?"

Futaba widened her eyes in surprise, looking over to Adachi.

Oh wow. That was a lucky guess.

Futaba couldn't help but spill out everything about her favorite parts of the show, her figure collection, just everything about featherman to Adachi. He didn't particularly find it annoying, he enjoyed the show when he was younger too, so at least he could insert himself into the conversation. Futaba had taken full control of the entire conversation, a complete 180 turn from how it was just a few minutes ago.

Adachi mentally let out a sigh of relief, recurring customer maybe?

"You know, I met the pink argus actress," Adachi bragged.

Futaba gaped, "Really?!"

"Yup, talked to her, didn't get her autograph though," he continued.

He really didn't want to admit he got his ass beat one time by her. But it looks like his little bragging session wasn't for nothing, as Futaba was completely interested in the conversation. He couldn't help but bring a small smile to his face as he managed to get this small girl to excitedly talk to a murderer this enthusiastically.

The two talked for a long while, before Sojiro came in and paid Adachi in cash. Futaba couldn't help but give off a wave as his back was turned, not going unnoticed by Sojiro. Adachi grinned as he counted the money in his hand, maybe this babysitting thing wasn't too awful. He decided to order takeout as a reward to himself, thinking he finally graduated from the shitty jail food he'd been eating for the last ten years.

_____

With a first five star review on his profile, Adachi had gotten more clients. His neighbor's (somehow) calm kid, a thirteen year old that just plugged his switch into his TV and never talked to him, and once even a baby. After that encounter, he decided to raise his age limit on what kids he'd take in. Never again.

He wondered if he'd get a call from Sojiro again, there was no way he'd decided that one social interaction like that was enough for that kid. Not like he wanted to see Futaba again. No way.

Adachi sat back in his chair, trying to work his new smartphone that he finally decided to buy. He figured he'd take Yu's advice on keeping better track of his clients and upgrade from a flip phone. He got startled when a familiar number suddenly appeared on his phone.

"Oh, Dojima-san!" He cringed at the small excitedness he heard in his tone.

"Adachi. Sorry I couldn't call earlier," Dojima replied.

Adachi stayed silent for a moment, not knowing how to respond to the sudden call. Sure, Dojima had visited many times before to check in on him, but Adachi immediately left when he got out, so Dojima never got to see him out.

"...How are you doing? Yu tells me you've gotten a job," Dojima said.

"Oh… haha… just a cashier, nothing too special," he nervously chuckles. He was not going to admit he's a babysitter now.

"That's good, that's good. It's great to see you're doing better, Nanako misses you, you know."

That makes Adachi's breath hitch, Nanako… missed him? After all he did, she still wanted to see him?

"Uh… that's nice. I think I'm getting an important call right now, I'll talk to you later Dojima-san," he hurriedly says before hanging up immediately. He sighs, still in surprise about Nanako.

____

Adachi had been called by Futaba this time.

"Don't worry, I asked Sojiro to pay you for this," Futaba stated.

"Uh, thanks," Adachi replied.

The two were at the mall, the electronics section. He couldn't help but walk up to the TVs and inspect them closely. He brought his hand up to the screen, wondering if his TV world powers still worked here. But all he was met with was the cold flat screen against his palm.

"I would expect an old dude like you to love TVs," Futaba teased.

Adachi gave her an annoyed look, "I'm only in my late 30s."

"Old!" She repeated.

Adachi scoffed, about to retort that statement before she interrupted him, "Anyways, I wanted to call you out here cuz there's this awesome deal at the mall! You get a free featherman keychain with any purchase of a phone case!"

"You really love that show, huh?" he laughed.

"Well… yeah… we did talk about how much I liked it…" She looked immediately dejected when he poked fun at her. Oops.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," Adachi recovered.

The two walked over to the phone cases section, Adachi didn't have one yet, so he figured he'd buy one now since it was convenient. He gravitated towards the red one, while Futaba immediately reached for a green one. He stretched his hand to reach it, and he noticed a couple of boys pointing and whispering at Futaba. They seemed to be constantly snickering, and Adachi assumed the worst. Oh god, he did not want to be reported for being close to a high schooler. He scooted over to the left, making it seem like he was here out of his own will, pretending to be satisfied with what he picked out and started walking away. Futaba looked confused at his sudden leave, having a slight twinge of disappointment on her face.

Adachi noticed, and immediately went to pull out his phone to text her.

ADACHI: Sorry. Those boys were making fun of you. I didn't want them to think you were fooling around with an older guy.

FUTABA: oh

FUTABA: THX

The two waited till the group of boys left, and Adachi returned to Futaba.

"Okay, let's check out, I don't think you wanna be here anymore," Adachi rushed her over to the cashier.

He made Futaba do her best to pay for own phone case, he was still helping her with social interaction after all. Although, he still had to help her out with most of the transaction. The cashier cooed about him being a nice dad and he cringed at the statement. Him? Dad? No.

The two of them walked out in silence, Futaba looking grim.

"It wasn't that bad. You're gonna be doing this more often," Adachi says as he pats her head.

"Uh, it's not that," Futaba looked down, "Those boys went to my school…"

It didn't take the detective in Adachi to immediately understand: Futaba was getting bullied. He figured if he pushed on it more, she'd probably not talk. He's dealt with this before when Nanako had a small bully. (In which he pretended to carelessly stick his foot out and trip her bully when he was on his daily patrol.)

"I get it," He didn't need to say any further, "I'll walk you home." It's the least I can do, he thinks.

___

As Adachi drops Futaba off, he waves goodbye with a small smile. He turns his back and hears the distant chatter of Futaba and Sojiro. He takes a step, and he hears Futaba's loud footsteps and the jingle of the door opening again.

"Adachi-san, do you want to eat with us?"

Adachi turns around, surprised at the sudden offer. Well, it's not like he's going to turn down a free home cooked meal. He excitedly agreed, and let himself into the cafe, not noticing the large grin on Futaba's face.

___

Adachi could not stop thinking about the curry he ate last night.

He's eaten a ton of home cooked meals before since Yu offered, but there was something about that curry that made him crave more and more. (Sorry Yu…)He felt the taste on his tongue, and it pissed him off that he probably had to wait till the next time Futaba called him to have that again. He rolled around his bed angrily, a bit mad that he felt this way over some old guy's curry. There was just something different when he reluctantly ate Yu's cooking when Yu would come to his apartment, and when he eagerly ate Sojiro's cooking with Futaba. It felt similar to when he would eat around Nanako and Dojima.

He sat up from the bed, irritated at the oncoming feelings he's gotten. He figures he can just walk it off to get rid of it.

#my fic

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govindhtech · 7 months

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Shocking: Intel Core Ultra 7 155H Falls Short

Intel Core Ultra 7 155H

On the internet, a file that is said to be a test result for yet another Intel Core Ultra (Meteor Lake) CPU has been found. This time, they have a PassMark score to consider for a processor that has been identified as an Intel Core Ultra 7 155H. In a nutshell, a number of significant aspects, including core counts and base clocks, have been “confirmed.” The performance of the single core on the mobile chip appears to be an improvement, but the multi-core performance is (yet again) a bit of a letdown.

The Intel Core Ultra 7 155H is a laptop central processing unit (CPU) having 16 cores and 22 threads, according to the PassMark sys-info module. It is also reported that 10 of the physical cores are “efficient cores.” This adds up to a total of 22 threads, taking into account the fact that the six remaining physical cores ought to be “performance cores” thanks to Hyperthreading.

The data collection procedure for the benchmark appears to have disclosed further information, such as the base clock speed, which is 3.8 GHz, but there is no indication of the boost clock speed. It has also been stated that the cache setup is L1: 960 KB, L2: 18.0 MB, and L3: 24 MB.

Moving on to the performance on benchmarks, they can observe that the total score for the Core Ultra 7 155H is 21,359 on PassMark. Since it is a processor for laptops that is part of the new Core Ultra 7 H series, we believe that it is fair to utilize the PassMark web interface to compare it to a recent Core i7 H-series chip. This comparison will be made. Because of this, the comparative table that follows shows that they went with the Core i7-13700H.

The performance result for a single core appears to be satisfactory, as it gives an over 6% boost in performance when compared to the previous generation. They would anticipate the end product to be of higher quality, with compatibility for more recent software and BIOS versions. Six percent is hardly a number that would cause us to get very enthused about any typical generation-to-generation improvement. It’s important to keep in mind that Pat Gelsinger has already teased us with Meteor Lake, claiming that it would be our next “Centrino Moment.”

If the results of this PassMark test are accurate and legitimate, then the alleged 22 threads of the Intel Core Ultra 7 155H are much less impressive than they were previously thought to be. The score of 21,359 in PassMark is embarrassingly low when compared to the score of 28,440 that the familiar Core i7-13700H (20 threads) achieved. You can see this comparison in PassMark. The PassMark program, unfortunately, does not confirm critical performance-affecting aspects such as the thermal design power (TDP) of the Meteor Lake processor or its GPU type or driver.

In a nutshell, the end effect is something that is intriguing but not really motivating. They can see that testing of Meteor Lake laptops is still going on in the lead up to product releases incorporating these processors, which are slated to take place close to the end of the year. In the meanwhile, we are hoping to see the testing of laptops equipped with additional near-final silicon and/or drivers, which will start to make us look forward to the next “Centrino Moment” for Intel and for users. On December 14, Intel is anticipated to debut the Core Ultra series, and shortly thereafter, partners will follow up with their most recent portable hardware offerings.

Check out in-depth reporting on the new ‘Meteor Lake’ CPUs from Intel Innovation 2023 and our examination of the greatly enhanced built-in GPUs for further information regarding Intel Core Ultra. Both of these can be found on our website. They also looked at benchmarks that were said to be for a Core Ultra 7 165H and a Core Ultra 9 185H that were found online recently.