#Maybe I’ll write it someday

[makoredeyes]

The face of a man that has done no crimes, surely :3

Posting at like 4:30 in the morning bc like any self-respecting warlock I have insomnia 🫠

⭐️Timur’s handsome af character design mooched with permission from the incredible @/Sylenth-l ,he’s not mine I just take him home and do weird things to him :3

[writingfics-passingtime]

Song: Fahrenheit - Azee

With Marc Spector x fem reader

(I think this may fit well with the Outlaw fic 👀)

Lovely anon, thank you for this request! Definitely feels like Outlaw and that tough-guy reader, and I had fun writing that type of reader character again.

I completely failed at writing something drabble-length but my house, my rules to break. The urge to turn this into such a long fic was and is so fucking strong… sorry for how I left this one 😅 I hope you like it 💜

Compromise

This one-shot is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song prompt: Fahrenheit

Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader

Words: 2450

CWs: Some swearing, mentions of violence

There’s a light on in an upstairs window.

A shadow ebbing through the soft warm glow tells Marc that it wasn’t left on by mistake; there’s someone else inside. But another intruder wouldn’t have turned a light on, unless they were dead stupid, so whoever’s inside is allowed to be.

He’ll have to be careful.

It’s a little past two in the morning when Marc sticks a pick into the keyhole of a maintenance entrance and enters the great stone building. As to be expected in this old library, no alarm or security camera pings the signal detector on his watch. He relaxes, still keeping his steps quiet, and hopes that this strange directive from Khonshu would remain simply strange and not complicated.

“Why do you need me to steal an old book?”

“It’s not a book in the way your human mind is limited to understand,” Khonshu explained. Marc didn’t pretend to look interested or unbothered, but some secret place found relief in the lack the command to end another evil life.

“The Ennead Codex contains matters of great importance, and it is in danger of falling into the hands of those who wish to access the underworld.”

Whatever that means, Marc thought. He didn’t question it further. Really, he didn’t care all that much. It was just another task from his master.

Without many more words, Khonshu told Marc where the sacred manuscripts had been hidden for the past several decades. They’d been moved to this seemingly insignificant library in a small town.

Hidden in plain sight.

As Marc lifts a brass handle and slips through a dark walnut door into the main chambers of the library, he doesn’t bother donning the suit. He’d probably slip in and out undetected, harnessing his years of covert ops.

For a small town, the room is towering and impressive and beautiful. Filtered through a expanse of glass in the ceiling, moonlight casts its judgement across the carved stone pillars of the rotunda. Patches of dark blue carpet are dimly aglow with the help of the night sky, until Marc casts his own shadow across them.

He walks past the circular desk that sits in the dead centre of the room, now having clocked the sign for the Reference section where Khonshu said the Codex may be hidden.

The shelves are shrouded in darkness as he approaches and searches for the number “202.” He doesn’t get very far before the hairs on the back of his neck pique his fight or flight.

His right hand meets the gun at his side, pointer finger itching to meet the strength of the trigger, and a small clicking noise on the other side of the room sends him slipping behind a pillar.

He waits, listens, tries to discern where the sound came from. Footsteps. Coming towards the centre of the room.

Towards him.

Marc slows his breathing to keep it quiet. He wonders if the other presence in the library can sense him in the way he could sense them. Sure, years of tactical training hone the senses, but there’s also a distinct human instinct that tells someone when they’re not alone. He swallows hard when he remembers that it’s possible this other presence is not human.

“I know you’re in here,” a voice echoes through the aisles and up to the ceiling. Sounds human enough. She doesn’t sound afraid so she probably has a weapon. Marc tightens his grip on the gun, readying to draw.

“Come on out,” you command, sounding a little impatient.

You don’t declare a weapon. He doesn’t hear the safety of a pistol disengage, or the cocking of a shotgun, so he emerges from the shadows with a hand on his holstered gun.

You look sharp and powerful, standing in the centre of the room. Empty hands hang by your side - no visible weapon - you tilt your head, intrigued when you see the intruder. The light of the early morning moon chisels harshly against your features, projecting something familiar and severe towards the man who’d broken in.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is accusing. You take a step towards him, head lowering to show him an unwavering, disarming stare. There’s a flicker of hostility and a glint of gold in your eyes that numbs his tongue just long enough to be too long. “English?” You stop walking and set your jaw. You look like a normal person.

“Yeah, English,” Marc finds his words and quickly assesses you, your stance, the outline of your body. There’s no bulkiness to your clothing, there’s no tension that gives away a readiness to strike; you’re no threat to him. There’s time to grab the book and get out before the small-town cops arrived.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. No one needs to get hurt.” He says it as he turns away from you and you immediately call out after him.

“I won’t let you take it.”

He turns back and narrows his eyes in question.

“I know what you’re here for,” your fingers begin to curl into fists, your chest rises with a breath of preparation. “You need to leave. Now.”

Marc’s eyes flick to your growing battle posture, and he begins to summons the suit.

The exhales of the old pages lining the bookshelves glitter dust through the streams of moonlight. The same moonlight from which Khonshu’s vessel draws the power he begins to feel pulsing through his fingertips, through his chest and the back of his head. He lowers the hand from his gun and looks you dead in the eye. Marc sees another glimmer of gold. It was so fast, if he’d been blinking he’d have missed it. He juts his chin in challenge. “Who are you?”

“Leave,” is your only answer. “I won’t tell you again.”

The room fills with a gentle thundering the second your hands close into fists. Books, across every shelf, buzz with a strange power. The light fixtures are barely swinging, there’s no dust falling from the ceilings, but the shelves are alive with a ferocity you held. No more time to waste.

Lunar silver fills Marc’s vision as the sacred suit fixes tightly around him. He can’t leave here without that Codex. He’s fully prepared to fight you for it.

He positions himself into a stance ready to defend and to attack, watching with bated breath as you see his suit take place. The moment the ceremonial garb fits the last swath to Marc’s skin, you raise your fists.

The room falls quiet. The books fall still.

Marc waits, he listens, he watches as you determine he’s a bigger threat than you’d thought. It looks like you’re bleeding energy to hold your fists above your head, like you’re holding great power. Then, he notices the stream of moonlight begin to dilute. A warm, golden light begins emanating from the bookshelves. From the books themselves.

In a move too swift to predict, you draw your arms down towards your chest and fall to one knee.

A thread of light shoots from what looks to be every page in the room, blasting towards you before he has the chance to blink. Marc has to shield his eyes and again duck behind the pillar to protect himself from a glare so bright he was sure it rivalled the sun’s surface. It’s overpowering, debilitating, even through his tightly shut eyes, he throws his face against the crook of his elbow until he can sense the light begin to wane.

He emerges from the pillar fully prepared to attack, but stops in his tracks when he sees you rise to your feet.

You had transformed.

In a way that was all too familiar.

Golden cuffs circle your wrists, upper arms, your collar adorned with twists of gold and ivory. The breastplate of your armour is blanched leather bordered in the bones of an ancient being. A white cloth drapes around your waist, falling halfway down your legs. Your shins are wrapped in the same cloth, down to where your ankles are cuffed in gold above your bare feet.

Marc hold up his hands in surrender when he eyes the long golden staff in your white-knuckled grip. Not because he thought he couldn’t win, but because it looked like something he’d seen before. “I think we’re on the same side here.”

You smirk, scoff through your nose and point the staff at him. “Anyone attempting to steal the Ennead Codex is on no side of ours.”

“I’m not trying to steal it,” Marc drops the hood and lets the cloth peel back from his face. To show you his eyes in an appeal for trust. You didn’t waver. “I was sent to retrieve it.”

A raised eyebrow tells Marc that, to you, it’s the same fucking thing.

He holds his breath and asks, “Who do you serve?”

He watches you examine him. His suit. He watches as you realise you have a lot more in common than you’d care to admit; somehow, somewhere along the way, your lives ended up in the hands of beings too powerful to comprehend.

You don’t lower your staff as you say, with pride and strength in your voice, “I am the Scribe of Seshat. Tasked with protecting the Ennead Codex, and any knowledge those would seek out to use for destruction.” Marc takes a step forward and you don’t like that. With a single nod up, you counter, “Your turn.” Your grip on the hook-ended staff tightens. He doesn’t flinch.

“I am the Fist of Khonshu. Tasked with protecting travellers of the night.” He only stops when he’s a step away from the end of your staff. “Khonshu sent me to retrieve the Codex.”

You pull the sharp hook away, planting the lower end back on the floor beside your feet, and the books thunder for half a second. Again, Marc doesn’t flinch.

After several moments of tense, insular processing, you fix your eyes on a shelf behind your intruder and you begin to look nervous. “Seshat said this day would come.” You then meet his eye with an openness he hadn’t expected. “I just didn’t think it would be this soon.”

“Seshat doesn’t sit on the Ennead Council,” Marc subtly probes, keenly watching the way you’d react.

“No,” you confirm. “Never wants to. The only reason she has an Avatar is to keep them at bay. Seshat wants nothing to do with the Council…” you begin to walk past him, pausing at his side to add, “Especially Khonshu.”

You keep walking so Marc turns his body towards you, and don’t tell him to stay or back off so he follows as you enter the darkened rows.

Your barefooted steps are automatic and confident, carrying you to near the end of a nondescript shelf of reference material. After a moment of pause, reverence, and reflection, you place your hand on the spine of a thick book and chant a few words under your breath. It glows gold for a moment before changing appearance and sliding out into your hand.

Marc watches you caress the edges of the pages and look at the Ennead Codex as if it were something you truly cared for. Truly believed in.

He holds out a hand and promises, “I won’t let anything happen to it.”

Your head snaps towards him and he sees a startling intensity in your eye, along with those flecks of gold. “I know you won’t,” you start, “because the Codex isn’t leaving my sight.” Marc opens his mouth to protest but your protective grip tightens and you set your jaw. “I am the keeper of this Codex. I go where it goes.”

Marc shakes his head once. “Not gonna happen.”

“It’s not up for debate.”

“Don’t make me take it from you.”

A new low rumbling begins all around. Your eyes don’t leave each other as a smirk peaks into the corner of your mouth. “A sliver of waning moonlight versus a roomful of knowledge… do you like your chances against me in my domain, Moon Knight?”

Marc’s stomach lurches, though he gives no outward indication. Moon Knight. He didn’t tell you that name.

Your eyes burn gold, brightening every moment you build the power you’re pulling from the sources around you. Marc bites his tongue and assesses the situation as the library fills with the show of the ancient being you carry the mark of.

Marc arrives at the conclusion that, if you are indeed a vessel for Seshat, fighting you here would be a losing battle. He has no advantage. So, like a good Marine, he knows when to call the retreat. He knows when to compromise, and he does so with a gentle lift of his hands in surrender.

Your eyes return to normal, the books stop readying themselves for battle, and you brush past him with the Codex in your hands. He turns, recovering quickly, and starts after you. “How d’you-”

“Know that name?” You suddenly stop and turn. Marc’s body almost crashes against yours but he stops on a dime and plants one foot behind him, giving you two at least a little bit of personal space. You look him up and down before levelling him with a single look. “How do I, Avatar of the great Goddess of Wisdom and Knowledge, the goddess who invented writing and record-keeping… how do I know who you are?”

Your rhetorical question hangs in the air like the smirk lingers on your lips. After a few moments, Marc nods and sticks his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “We’ll go together to Khonshu, then go our separate ways.”

After, in silence, you reminisce on what Seshat had told you about this day that would come, you nod. “Fine. But if you try to take this from me, I’m gone.”

He gestures around and tries to look unimpressed. “Do you need to do a little light show to change outfits or…?”

He drops the suit in a matter of seconds, before showing a forced and sarcastic smile. Without breaking eye contact, your own garb seamlessly transforms back into the simple clothes you’d been wearing when you first walked in. Your height lifts by an inch when the sneakers finally form around your feet, and you don’t waste a second to turn and begin walking back towards the door from which you and Marc both came. “Keep up, Moon Boy.”

Marc huffs a low grunt, takes a deep breath to ground himself, and sets his jaw before following after you.

This was supposed to be a simple in-and-out, not a full-on extraction. He was here for the Codex, and now that you’ll be leaving your power source he’ll have to look after you until gods know when.

U.S. Marine to glorified fuckin’ babysitter…

Khonshu owes him. Big time.

[leadmeto]

[insert long post here about how failing to take accountability and externalizing guilt to find fault in others instead of getting help for yourself is the real monster of marble hornets]

[robinfollies]

and we believed ourselves when we said we’d never be alone again 🌼🌈💖

[postazkabansiriussupremacy]

Surprise. Pt. 3 Post Azkaban!Sirius x Mom!Reader

You and Sirius have a chat.

Part One. Part Two.

Taglist: @box-of-kinderjoy @projectdreamwalker @goldenharrysworld @navs-bhat @sagestack

You aren’t sure what you expected Sirius to look like after more than a decade in Azkaban, but this is much worse than you pictured. The dirty, malnourished, manic-looking man standing in front of you is a far cry from the healthy, handsome Sirius you once knew. The sight of him in this horrid state is enough to grow a lump in your throat.

You always had complex feelings about Sirius after he was sent to Azkaban. It was easy to be angry at him for betraying everyone and causing the death of James and Lily, but you were more than angry. You were devastated, to say the least. It’s impossible to say how many nights you cried yourself to sleep. Even knowing what he’d done, it was hard to imagine the one you loved rotting away in Azkaban.

The first few years without him were hell on earth. It wasn’t long after he was incarcerated you found out you were pregnant, and whilst everyone in the wizarding world was partying and celebrating the downfall of You-Know-Who, you were curled up in a ball sobbing and wondering how in the world you were going to do this all on your own.

It was difficult, but you managed. As the years went by and Estelle grew bigger, things got easier. You were able to push Sirius out of your mind and go on without him, but not without continuous effort. With every life change and new milestone reached, you couldn’t help but wonder how differently things would be if Sirius were there too.

For Estelle, you tried your very best to make sure she never wanted for anything, but your heart ached at the thought of her never knowing the love of a father. Estelle used to ask about him (“Why don’t I have a dad?” “Where is he?” “Is he dead?”), and you were never sure what to tell her.

You aren’t proud of it, but as her questions persisted, you lied to her. You lied and told Estelle you don’t know who her father is. She stopped asking about him after that.

You don’t know why you lied. It would’ve been much simpler to tell the truth, but maybe a small part of you wanted Estelle to blame you rather than blame Sirius for her lack of a father. It felt a little stupid, but you didn’t want Estelle to hate the idea of her father. You supposed it would be easier for her to accept her father doesn’t know she exists, rather than to accept her father is a mass murderer in prison for life.

Then you got an owl from Remus Lupin—someone you hadn’t heard from in over a decade—asking to have lunch and talk. You were surprised but receptive. You assumed he met Estelle at Hogwarts and he wanted to know of her lineage under the guise of catching up, and you were half right.

After having Estelle in class and putting two and two together, Remus decided to get in touch with you to tell you the truth about Sirius.

After taking in all of the new information, you felt numb. It’s a lot to take in—learning that Sirius is innocent, and Peter Pettigrew of all people was the one to cause all of this pain.

You came home, politely asked Estelle how her day was, and barely heard her as she told you about the stray dog she found today. Too lost in your thoughts, you ‘listened’ to Estelle’s rambling for about ten minutes before realizing she was talking about Sirius’s animagus.

It had to be Sirius. Why else would there be a giant, wolf-like black dog hanging around your house?

You pretended to Estelle that you’d never seen the dog before, and maybe he belongs to some of the muggles that live further up the road. You carry on your evening as normal, quickly changing the subject anytime she began to talk about the dog, and had her go to bed at a reasonable time.

Only when you were sure Estelle was asleep did you come outside.

You suppose you’ve been staring too long as Sirius speaks up first. It’s hard to read his expression, and his voice is deeper than you remember. “I’d ask how have you been, but clearly you’ve been busy.”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, urging yourself not to cry. After meeting with Remus and immediately coming home to Estelle, you haven’t had any time to process the information you’ve been given.

There were so many times you’d asked yourself “What if Sirius were still here?” and then immediately pushed the thought away, reminding yourself he’s a horrible man. A traitor and a murderer.

Only he’s not. He’s none of those things.

He’s suffered terrible consequences that he’s done nothing to deserve, and that’s heartbreaking. The last thirteen years of his life were ripped away from him and he was sent to live in horrid conditions, just because he and James chose to trust Peter with something they shouldn’t have.

A heavy weight of guilt drops into your stomach. Sirius had done nothing wrong and yet everyone—including yourself—thought he got what he deserved by being locked away. You hardly even thought to question whether he was truly guilty or not.

Your throat tightens and your lip quivers, and you step forward to wrap your arms around his waist. You can feel the bones underneath his skin, and you sniffle, feeling a couple of tears escape from your eyes.

Sirius takes a moment to respond, a little shocked by your sudden hug and crying. He supposes it’s not unwarranted though.

He reciprocates your hug, one dirty hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapped around your torso. It’s almost strange how natural it feels. He rests his chin on the top of your head and faintly smiles. You smell good, and it’s wonderful to get such an unexpectedly warm welcome.

Although he has Remus to thank for that. If Remus hadn’t reached out to you first, Sirius imagines this meeting would be going a lot differently.

After a few moments of letting yourself cry into his chest, you finally speak, your voice cracking a bit as you do so. “You smell like shit.”

Sirius gives you a tight squeeze and chuckles quietly, “You live in a cave for a year and we’ll see how you fare.”

You purse your lips and feel more tears forming. He’s been living in a cave? Your throat feels tight as you breathe, “I’m so sorry, Sirius… For everything.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.” He responds immediately. There was no way for you to know the truth, and even if you did, it probably wouldn’t have changed anything. “…Did you know you were expecting when it happened?”

You shake your head. “No. Didn’t figure it out until a few weeks after you’d been gone.”

“I-… I can’t find the words to tell you how sorry I am.” Sirius whispers. His adam’s apple bobs. “I can’t say when, but I promise I’ll come back to the both of you.”

“I know you will.” You say quietly, nodding. You knew from the beginning he wouldn’t be able to stay, but it still hurts nonetheless. New tears fall onto your cheeks and Sirius’s prisoner robes.

You cry less for yourself and more for him. Even though he’s successfully crawled his way out of Hell, he still can’t rest. Sirius hasn’t known peace in over a decade, and there’s no telling if he ever will again.

Sirius is the first to pull away. Trying to remain strong for your sake, he clenches his jaw as he looks down at your tearful face. He uses his thumbs to wipe the tears off your cheeks, then he pulls your face forward for a kiss. You waste no time reciprocating, your hands moving to the back of his head and tangling in his greasy hair.

Once again Sirius is the first to pull away, ending the kiss too soon for his liking, but knowing he needs to go. He’s been here far too long. He kisses your forehead. “I love you, and I love Estelle.”

“I love you, Sirius.” You reply, looking into his eyes. They’re the same eyes you see every time you look at your daughter.

“This isn’t goodbye.” He says kissing your forehead once more. He steps off your property and out of the confines of the anti-apparation wards. He gives you one last look, then winks. “You look absolutely stunning, by the way.”

You scoff, a stupid grin forming on your face as he disapperates.

You stare at the spot he left from, wiping your tears away.

Realistically, you don’t know if Sirius will be able to keep his promise. You may never see him again. There’s no telling if his name will ever be cleared, but you hold onto hope, and you will wait for him.

[musicalmoritz]

I was skimming through my old Soukoku fics and LMAO Chuuya chill out

[piedpiperart]

Fanart for chapter 22 of Phantom in Gotham

He’s just so cute 😭❤️

[ashenburst]

A Not So Brief Analysis Of Dracule Mihawk

Wondering if Mihawk's distrust of others correlates with the fact he is basically a one-man crew. Wondering just how self-reliable he must've become in order to be self-sufficient. Wondering what is the cause behind it all.

I wonder if, similarly, he has trouble being vulnerable around others. There is an undeniably stoic attribute to his character, but there is a common pitfall practitioners of stoicism (or those who lean towards it) are susceptible to: emotional disregard under the guise of control of emotions, or even worse, reprimanding empathy.

Therefore, could it be the case Mihawk is emotionally detached? It would be easy to draw such a conclusion with what little we’ve been shown of him. While an individualist, he accepts those who come to/at him (Zoro and Perona), and he reaches out to others (Shanks); it might be true that he’d lost interest in Shanks after his injury, but he still committed the sweet act of showing him Luffy’s bounty and apologizing to him upon testing Luffy. There’s also the moment where he tells Perona to take care, upon her departure. So, while aloof, Mihawk is not reserved to the point of stoic cold. He wouldn’t sacrifice company in order to be alone (even if in the case of his pact with Crocodile, there was an utilitarian aspect to the choice; in keeping Perona and Zoro, and in visiting Shanks, there was none other than being nice). One could attribute these acts to an emotional attachment because it does take a drive to complete these very active feats. For Shanks, it could be respect, too. I don’t believe the detached attitude Mihawk possesses would let him take care of those two for two years, especially since he values peace so much; something had to override this desire for peace. I say, the reason could be empathetic in its roots.

Perhaps his self-reliance is misread as distrust? To distrust someone would imply that one is uncertain of their motivations/actions. Mihawk, as someone with Observation Haki, someone who views his enemies with curiosity, who allies himself with whoever is willing to offer him the most peaceful residence… would he be so distrusting? In the little glimpses of his internal monologue we get, there is no distrust and no hesitation. In general, he is confident in his judgement.

But on a more personal level, does he fear his more delicate feelings would be betrayed, if shown too much? There is a possibility for that. We haven’t seen him in such state, as he does rely on himself only. Perhaps Crocodile knows of it. On the flipside, this would imply that Mihawk has a deep, unburied emotional core, one he nurtures and protects – and perhaps one that was taken advantage of. Observation Haki can’t save him from heartbreak, can it? It can sense the emotions of others. It can’t predict his own.

In either case, there very likely is a softer core to the world’s strongest swordsman. Establishing that he isn’t emotionally exempt, but knowing that there’s still a strong individualist quality to him, I wish to look at more of Mihawk’s internal processing.

For an arguably isolated character, he isn't close-minded at all. He possesses curiosity towards his foes; he asks, and he indulges, and he encourages. Think of the entirety of his fight with Zoro.

Then, later on, he is more than anything amused at Zoro’s request. But he obliges. Have the rare panel where he laughs.

When he assesses the strengths of his opponents, he doesn’t do so with any negativity in his mind. Oddly, he goes great lengths to assess them (thinking of his encounter with Luffy). Imagine, it was worth disturbing his peace! Linked here are several reasons why he might’ve done so.

One thing all of these cases have in common is ease. One could argue that it stems from absolute confidence that he is unbeatable, therefore he acts out of boredom, but then again… he trains Zoro because he recognizes valiant traits in him, not because he has nothing better to do. While, yes, there might be some boredom in his life...

Could boredom be Mihawk’s internal motivator? Can we classify his actions as so random/pointless that they serve a sort of entertainment to his otherwise dull living? Personally, I don’t gravitate towards that take. He actively works to preserve his ‘boring’ way of life. For a man so unimpressed, he isn’t trying to change himself at all – nor his routine, not much – in order to appease any need for excitement. The only time he expresses he feels excitement is when trouble heads his way. He does not seek it. Therefore, I presume he is content with the way things are. Quiet.

How does one pinpoint and rationalize these very complex stances? It could be summarized as the opposite of what Mihawk told Zoro.

Could it be that the world’s strongest swordsman became one for he hasn’t developed himself merely in swordsmanship, but in wisdom of living as well? For his domain extends beyond the puddle. There’s an excellent post on Reddit that details the reference this entire phrase comes from, related to Zen.

In addition, I like that during training, Mihawk hasn’t pushed any ideologies or mantras on Zoro, beyond that of basic swordsmanship honor and shame. As far as we know, of course, but I argue such a lesson would be explicitly stated due to its importance. Anyway, these two do not have that moment. Mihawk gets closest to it with his ‘frog’ comment.

It could be assumed that, in not pushing any creed on Zoro (but that to expand his views), Mihawk is leaving room for Zoro to know himself beyond swordsmanship, while also respecting his dream.

Taking into account this ideological emptiness, the ‘frog’ comment, and Mihawk’s general disposition: confidence, ease, peace, I argue that they all stem from the fact Mihawk has found his place in life and has achieved his dream, doing it his way. Now, his current goal of sorts is to be outbested in terms of swordsmanship, a goal he is willing to help Zoro with.

And there is such honor and beauty to it! To sacrifice the goal of his life to help another person achieve theirs. Just how much at peace with themself would one have to be, to be able to give away so much of themself? It's mindblowing. Being able to dynamically balance so many internal and external factors (achieving a dream certainly isn't enough to teach or in any way emulate that; it takes vast wisdom to do so) to finally reach that stage of contentment: to let another have it, at the cost of your own, on a basis entirely factual and wholly fulfilling. It's once again reminiscent of stoicism, and its postulate that a life well-lived is one lived in accordance to nature. One lived in moderation. Now, Mihawk doesn't seem to be very emotionally expressive, does he?

In the aggressive tug-of-war that is the One Piece world, he remains steady, firm on his feet. He knows where he stands, and he’s where he wants to be.

Deeply in tune with himself like that, it could be interpreted that Mihawk has reached a state akin to ataraxia (Greek, meaning freedom of trouble or anxiety; tranquility of mind dependent on the mind), a viable path to one’s happiness as regarded in stoicism. Related, I find it very enjoyable that he is a character who has achieved his dream. Because one must ask: what comes after the dream is achieved? For Mihawk, there is simple contentment. Nothing ‘great’ after he’s reached his grand dream. Farming, napping, cooking, drinking wine, reading? How humble! Not much to indulge in, but he is fulfilled.

And so, his trail continues, he is aware of that, but he doesn’t chase happiness down it. And even if it gets rough and he has to deviate a little, he is on the right path. He knows it, and feels it. That's all that matters.

As Seneca said, “It is not that virtue is chosen because it pleases, but that, if chosen, it also pleases.” Mihawk delved into the wisdom of living, then chose his spot back in his own puddle, still occasionally gazing beyond it.

How exactly did Mihawk come to this mindset? Now that is mental work I reckon he deserves rest from.

[sexynetra]

Idk what she’s saying but I’m happy for her or sorry that happened

[supermarine-silvally]

Reposting an updated version of this for the new blog!

- - -

“Well, well, if it isn’t the brand new number two hero.” Your tone is light and teasing as you approach him from behind, resting a hand on his back. “Congrats. You earned it.”

Bakugou lets out a quiet snort, keeping his crimson gaze focused on the cars that pass by on the busy street below the balcony. “Still not number one.”

“Not yet, maybe, but you’ll get there in time.” You move your hand and come to stand beside him, your elbow propped on the railing as your cheek rests on your palm. “You’re missing the party, y’know.”

“I fuckin’ hate parties.”

“Even when they’re for you?”

“Specially when they’re for me.” His eyes narrow as he watches a sleek red sports car accelerate past a yellow light, its tires screeching loudly against the pavement. “Bein’ the number two hero... ‘S not about fancy shit. It’s about savin’ more lives. Protectin’ more people. Stoppin’ more villains. Not somethin’ that can be taken so lightly.”

“Katsuki. This burden isn’t one you have to bear alone.” Knowing him as well as you do, you keep your voice gentle, yet firm. “No matter where you are in the charts, we’re all still behind you. You’ve got Deku, Red Riot, Chargebolt, Pinky, Cellophane... and you’ve got me.” The tips of your fingers brush over his as you move closer, pressing the heat your body against his as a physical reminder of that fact. “...You’ve got us.”

He’s quiet for a minute before nodding, sliding his fingers so they’re twined with yours. “Us,” he agrees, as if suddenly the weight of the entire world doesn’t feel quite so heavy anymore, for as long as you have each other.

[aceredshirt13]

Bertram “Bertie” Wooster, writing stories about Jeeves: My man is a genius. The most brilliant chap I’ve ever known. I would probably die without him. We have our little spats, and he’s got a rummy sort of schadenfreude in the soul, if that is the word I want, but my life with him is so pleasant that it’s all worthwhile. I am also passionately in love with him

James “Corky” Corcoran, writing stories about Ukridge: My best friend is literally the most annoying person alive. Can’t stand his dumb ass. Every problem I have ever had in my life is his fault. There is no interaction I come out of with Ukridge in which my wallet, my belongings, and my pride are intact. It is usually all three. I am also passionately in love with him

[sharksinflowercrowns]

A list of Buddy Daddies fics I need to read yesterday:

The move from the apartment to the diner

Rei realizing he can’t carry Miri anymore cause of his arm

Father’s Day

Miri finding the picture of Kazuki and his wife

Miri’s first period (which is just Kazuki and Rei panicking the whole time)

Kazuki leaving Rei and Miri to run the diner by themselves

Miris first date

Rei and Kazuki looking back through the photos and seeing how much Miris grown

Miri asking about her mom (and getting a real answer)

[espighty]

Why does he sleep like a Mormon. What is wrong with him.

(stills)

[sonofthedunes]

got real depressing on that last post, so have something nice instead: luke and andrie’s first kiss, a few hours after the medal ceremony at the end of anh :3 if you’d like to make characters kiss too, here’s the link!

[murdleandmarot]

🎶 🎬 💛 for the Cats ask game :o3

hi hello!!!! sorry this took so long 😭😭😭

🎶. Who’s your favorite ensemble cat and why?:

I’m fully in love with Jemima, but I don’t really count her as fully ensemble, just because of her multiple solos, and because of that, Pouncival is my favorite ensemble cat :)

He’s just the silliest ever, and I’m 100% obsessed. I love the way he’s hanging with the girls in skimbelshanks (the girls and pouncival™️), and me and my friends had a running joke for a while that was literally just iterations of “the girls, the gays, and pouncival <3”

🎬. What’s your favorite moment from the show?:

Moments of Happiness, 1998, specifically Jemima’s solo. It’s so perfect, ethereal, emotional, and whimsical. I can play it on the piano, and I can sing it :] it also makes me cry

Rapidfire a couple of moments from other shows:

Tecklenburg 2015: Bombalurina’s deliver of

“Das Gewächshaus ist zerschlagen”

in Macavity drives me so completely insane. The way she growls zerschlagen makes me so jealous, I WISH my voice had that sort of power.

Madrid 2003: Jemima again. Surprise! This time her solo in the middle of Memory, specifically, the way her actress sings the final “endless masquerading” line. It sounds so strong and gorgeous, I could rant about it forever

Vienna 2019: in the 2021 Ronacher album on Spotify, (WHEN I FIGURED OUT THAT ALBUM WAS VIENNA I FREAKED THE FUCK OUT. ITS SO CRAZY), the white cat solo, and Misto’s subsequent section sound really nice, I’m a big fan

💛. What’s your favorite familial ship?:

I’m not entirely sure what this means, but I’m a huge fan of Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer as siblings, PLUS Electra as their kid sister. I came up with it once and I think it’s super cute :D

Monochromatic siblings are a must, they’re also very special to me, along with Jennyanydots and Skimbleshanks as brother and sister :)

[rose-thornz]

The Butterfly Effect

Would you keep seeking answers to secrets?

Even if it meant causing chaos along the way?

Cover for my Spamton Fic(more like just an Addison Fic???).

Happy New Year Ya’ll!!