#Symb Writes

[mayuris-basement-dweller]

Song Reccomendation:

First off, author's note.

Quite aware of official Kurotsuchi music tastes, had someone shove it in my face a while ago. This is just a headcanon, alright? Let's not fight over it. It is quite a self indulgent ficlet.

Also, it was induced by my late-night migraine. Any grammatical mistakes, chalk it up to my poor man's English and even poorer health. Ok? Ok.

We going by the premise Mayuri heard "Winter/Four Seasons" somehwere and so will you, my reader. There you go. Thank you for reading!

Play me like a Violin - Kurotsuchi Mayuri/Kenpachi Zaraki, Kenmayu, Zayuri

Cw: Violence

"What happens when Mayuri is disturbed by a whole lot of sound and fury."

He wasn't the biggest musical enthusiast, as the science man that he was. His life's soundtrack was the silence of his lab, the whirring of machines, frantic typing, the slicing of blades through flesh...

But, for some reason, he woke up with a certain song on the back of his mind that day.

And throughout the day, he could swear he felt it in his bones.

Maybe it wasn't the song at all.

Maybe it was just that day... He was still shaken.

"Ugh... Will this headache never stop?!"

Mayuri Kurotsuchi hated anything that interrupted his efficiency. Headaches being one of the worst offenders. And with all the work he had to do, too!

That would be one long day,indeed...

And his mind went right back to the song he was thinking about. By some human composer named Vivaldi. Antonio Vivaldi. And it was called "Four Seasons" but... Mostly "Winter".

Massaging his temples slightly, he was on his way to the 12th Division, and the song was still there. Why was he thinking about it so much?

Because it made his blood stir.

It made it boil. Not in a bad way like...

"Like that... Barbarian, does."

And it's happening again. Again his thoughts drift to Zaraki. This was unnerving, disturbing, something he didn't need at all. He had to fix that.

Somehow, he had to.

Or else, it would keep happening. It could keep happening.

Vivaldi's Winter. And those strings. Those strings cut like swords. Fast. Inclement. Like a terrible and fleeting memory.

Like his memories of the night before.

Down to the lab he went. His thoughts a mess and his heart pounding.

He just wanted his peace and silence back. But his thoughts had a lot of sound to them, his body was still singing tunes...

And he hated it. Every single bit of it.

He opens the door. Nemu greets him. Akon greets him. But he needed silence. Silence and distance from everyone.

He goes and locks himself in his personal lab.

"Ah, strings..."

He closes his eyes and breathes. No one could know. No one should know.

But then it all rushes back to him and he groans, mad at everything but especially at himself.

Why did he enjoy that so much?!

Why Zaraki throwing him around with so much violence, ripping his clothes off, pining him against a wall the past night... Made him feel alive like he didn't feel in ages?

Why was he shaking, thinking about that now?

Why. Why. Why!

He could feel his throat drying up.

Like the rhythm of that song, he could remember every moment vividly. It was just another fight that suddenly took a turn. That wasn't supposed to happen. That shouldn't have happened!

It went against every one of his logical thoughts. It didn't make any sense. That bastard had no right, he had no...

But the kisses and caresses and the hushed sounds...

Like Winter's strings. Fast. Desperate. Harsh.

And Zaraki's voice:

"Aha. Suddenly I am not such a nuisance anymore, huh, Kurotsuchi?"

Mayuri sits down and hits his desk in blind anger:

"Yes! Yes, you are a nuisance and I hate you and I want you gone!"

While he buried his face in his hands, he could still feel it all. Every fleeting moment, every touch, like if it was happening then and there... In his lab.

Crescendo and Decrescendo.

Too long and too fast. He couldn't focus his thoughts. All he could remember was Kenpachi. His voice, his taunts, his scent, his body...

"Don't even... Try to struggle. No one will hear you. Today, you lost."

Zaraki smirks somehwere in his memories:

"And you are all mine."

And then sounds. Sounds and more sounds.

And silence.

And hushed goodbyes. And promises of hatred everlasting. At least from Mayuri's part, because Zaraki...

"Yeah, yeah. See you next week. Bound to lose to me again, anyway. Just make sure you... ahem..."Get mad at me" somehwere more secret. You don't want people hearing you, right?"

The nerve!

His anger was such he could break someone in half, right then. Anyone that dared getting near him would die a gruesome death! Anyone that breaks the sanctity of his silence...

- Master Mayuri?

Urgh. Nemu.

He massages his temples again. Anger boiling.

- Come on in.

Nemu opens the door:

- Excuse me.

Mayuri looks at her. And he blurts it out, probably led by those strings that kept killing him with their blinding speeds:

- Ah, Nemu... How can something be beautiful and terrifying at the same time?

He dramatically raises his hands:

- How can something make one feel regret... But also seek more of it? What kind of punishment is this?

Nemu looks at him in silence. Mayuri smirks to himself:

- Yes, I lost. Indeed, I lost. Nemu?

- Sir?

- Bring me tea. And...

She looks at him. Green eyes a mystery, so cold and so deep.

Like Winter:

- Nothing. Just make sure no one interrupts me today.

- Yes.

Nemu leaves.

Mayuri sighs. And starts humming.

[sillysymbol]

one sided conversation

[wanderingsorcerer]

The 72 Demons Of The Ars Goetia

This will be multi parts and in each one we will be going over each branch of them "whoop whoop" let's get cracking

Starting off the 72 demons of the ars goetia are the amalgamation of the Occult Writings from the 15th century. Compiled into one text in the 17th that is where we get what is now known as the Lemegeton Clavicula Salomonis or simply The Lesser Key Of Solomon. Due to many translations spelling changes depending on region and personal preference for the author.

Now for the next section The Dukes Of Hell Pt.1 of 2

Amdusias: One of the Dukes of hell. They have 29 legions of demons and spirits under their command. The Duke is depicted as a human with claws instead of hands and feet, the head of a unicorn, and a trumpet showcasing their powerful voice. Amdusias is associated with thunder and many say they hear his voice within storms. They are in charge of the music being played in hell and he is said to play music on command of the conjurer.

His Symbol

Invoke during more aggressive pursuits and execration magicks. Some Demonolators believe Amdusias, Asmodeus/Asmoday, and Amaymon are the three heads of the three headed Asmodai image from Colin de Plancy’s Dictionnaire Infernal. Amdusias being the more aggressive of the three to be employed during battle and situations requiring an aggressive strategy with military precision

Agares: One of the Dukes of Hell Ruler of the Eastern Zon, is served by 31 legions of demons. He is described as a pale old man riding on the back of a crocodile. He can return runaways and make those who stand still run I.e from a bad situation or in a fight or flight moment. He holds the power to destroy dignities both temporal and supernatural.

His Symbol

 It is said that you should wear his sigil after the work in question. Seek Agares for wisdom in friendship and to make your garden grow. He also gives advice on financial matters with regard to projects

Valefor: Duke of Hell,Commands 10 legions of demons. He is described as a Lion with the head of a man, or as a Lion with the head of a donkey. He tempts people to steal and is in charge of a good relationship amongst thieves.

His Symbol

Teaches loyalty and the art of manipulation. Can show you how to charm others and get what you want. Wear Valefor’s seal during rituals to invoke, and afterward to manifest the desired results.

Barbatos: Both and Earl and Duke of Hell, He rules over 30 legions of demons and has 4 kings as his companions to command them. He is described as arriving when the sun is in sagitarry and arriving with his four noble kings and their great troops. He gives the ability to speak with animals big and small and find hidden treasures. He is shown to be omnipotent and is able to hide those in power from their enemies.

His Symbol

Seek Barbatos to stop magician’s personal wars with one another. Invoke Barbatos to communicate with your familiar if needed. Also invoke to protect your home from hidden attacks.

Gusion: A Strong Duke of Hell who rules over 40 legions of demons. He is depicted as a baboon or as a xenophilia. He is another semi impotent being, can tell all past and future events and knows the answer to life's questions. He also has the ability to reconcile friendships.

His Symbol:

Gusion is a spirit of divination as well as being a guide in the communication with the shades of the dead. Gusion is also a spirit which instinctually passes on concepts and ideals in honor and dignity. The sorcerer through invoking the spirit would focus on areas of character development and self-perception, that which separates the initiate from the profane and common clay of humanity

Eligos: Great Duke of Hell , rules of 60 legions of demons. Depicted as a good knight carrying a lance , an ensign and a serpent (an ensign is a flag). He discovers hidden things and knows the futures of wars and the fate of soldiers. He attracts the favor of Manny lord's , knights, and important people (politicians).

His Symbol

Eligos is known to cause love between important people like world leaders// princes - princesses etc.

Zepar: A Great Duke Of Hell and commands 26 legions of inferior spirits. He is depicted a soldier with red clothes and armor. He makes me and woman fall in love and can cause woman to become barren.

His Symbol

He is used often in sex magic and love spells

Bathin: A Great Duke of Hell, he has 30 legions of demons under his command. He is depicted as a strong man with the tail of a serpent riding a pale horse. He knows the virtues of precious stones and herbs and can bring men suddenly from one country to another.

His symbol

He helps you with Astral Projection and takes you wherever you want to go.Invoke Bathin before travel for a smooth trip. Also keep his sigil on you. You can invoke Bathin for opportunity to travel as well. Kitchen Witchery will get you further with Bathin than ceremony

Sallos: a Mighty Great Duke of Hell, He has 30 legions of Demons under his command. He is depicted as a Handsome Soldier wearing a crown and riding upon the back of a crocodile. He is said to be a pacifist and causes love between two humans usually a man and a woman.

His symbol

Sallos is a spirit of lust and desire, whom one may project to bring on with another – and create a flowing inspiration to achieve the union with another. 

Aim:A Great Duke of Hell, rules over 26 legions of demons. Truly a powerful Spirit. He is depicted as a Handsome man with three heads One of serpent, one of a man, and One of a cat. carrying in his hand a lit firebrand with which he sets the requested things on fire.Examples being cities, castles and even churches

His Symbol

Duke Aim is a very beautiful and incredible Solar Demon.  He is a demon of creativity and one who is incredible for working with the creative energies of the universe.  He can remove creative blocks and open up the flood gates of inspiration.  He can inspire one to uncover ideas for original art projects and embrace the creative nature of their soul.  He is a visionary and innovative when it comes to any artistic venture whether it is fine art, fashion, various crafts or anything that involves creative ventures. 

Always when working with these entities show them great respect and take into considerations that the majority of these are gods from other cultures that have had their meanings shifted over the years to be perceived as demonic. Treat them with kindness and respect and for the most part they will treat you the same. Do your research and learn. Learn more everyday and don't forget to have fun. The occult is a wonderful and beautiful thing and I hope to take you on more journeys with me.

We will continue this next time when we go over the rest of the Dukes of Hell in part 2

Thank you for being here with me and having tea with me on the other side of the Great divide :)

☕ Like My Blog? Then consider buying me a Ko-Fi ☕

[rea-grimm]

Dragon of Masyaf 3

The night before you had your first patrol in the watchtower. The assassin who was supposed to replace you was late and you returned to your room later than planned. Therefore, it was no surprise when you finally woke up in the morning and noticed that the sun was suspiciously high.

You immediately jumped to your feet as you looked out the window and noticed that the day was already in full swing. In addition, you should have reported to the Grandmaster for the next lesson. You slipped into your uniform as fast as you could and adjusted your belt as you ran.

You almost bumped into several people along the way. One dropped the scrolls he was carrying in shock and the other almost fell over the railing. You took the stairs two at a time, it's a wonder the last one didn't slip under your feet.

Altair was waiting for you in his office and was just writing something down when you burst in like an unguided missile. You were glad you were wearing a hood since you didn't even have time to do your hair. Before you could catch your breath, you started apologizing for being late. It was a rare case for you, so he let it go this time.

The Grandmaster stood up from the table and looked you over with a look that indicated trouble. He always looked like this when someone did something or didn't do it the way he was supposed to. You mentally braced yourself for the worst when the master just sighed.

"That belt will only get in the way. You'll get tangled in it," he said disapprovingly.

"I'm sorry. I'll fix it right away," you replied and started untying it.

“I'll show you how,” he said as he walked over to you and took the belt from your hand before getting into the proper binding. The way he was crouched, you were thankful he couldn't see your face, which was now as red as the belt.

You felt awkward and were glad that no one here saw you like this. You tried to look everywhere you could, but your eyes always drifted to him anyway. Still with the belt in hand, Altair stood up, leaned over and began to adjust it from behind. You didn't even move.

"Okay, done," he said happily. You expected him to pull away immediately, but he didn't even move. You felt him rub his face against your forehead.

"You smell wonderful," he muttered almost inaudibly before finally pulling away. His eyes were burning with lust.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, feeling your face still burning as your heart raced. Altair smiled for a moment before tilting his head and as if nothing had happened between the two of you, he began to explain to you what was to come today.

It was around midnight when an earthquake hit Masyaf. Fortunately, it wasn't a big deal, but it was still felt. You were on patrol walking around the catacombs when you felt it. Moreover, you had the impression that it was coming from there. You gripped the torch tighter and headed inside.

You walked through a simple tunnel for the first few meters until you reached a familiar pillared room that was so vast you couldn't see the end. You always lost Altair in this room. You hesitated whether to go on.

You tried to find some clues in the torchlight that would tell you where to go. You didn't have the eagle eye like your master, but on the other hand, you had excellent intuition. Although Altair stood his ground that with the right training, you can learn it too.

Deeply excited, you closed your eyes and concentrated. When you opened your eyes again, you had the impression that everything around you was darker, even the fire in your hand lost its colour. Instead, you saw a flickering golden light in the distance. However, it was too far away for you to recognize what it was.

After a few seconds, the golden light disappeared and everything returned to its original colors. After that, you directly went to where you saw the light.

When you finally reached the end of the room, a giant stone gate stood before you. You didn't understand how such a gate could even be opened. You looked at the strange symbols that covered the gate and that almost came to life under the light.

You raised your hand intending to touch those symbols to see if it was a puzzle or something. Masyaf was known for such things. Instead of cold stone, your fingers went through. You ran your fingers through the void for a moment before withdrawing your hand again. 

After a moment of hesitation, you reached for the gate again. This time you tried to feel some edges or an obstacle. The whole gate must have been one big illusion because your hand stopped at its edges.

Now more than ever you wondered what was on the other side. With your hand out in front of you, you touched the illusion before taking one big step and walking through. You had long ago learned to face fear and danger with your eyes open, but you still found yourself holding your breath.

You couldn't see anything for a moment before your view opened up to a vast room full of gold and all sorts of treasures. Some piles of gold were several meters high. You marvelled at all the wealth that was here and placed the torch in the holder on the edge of the wall. There were bowls of fire in the room to light it, so a torch was unnecessary.

Now was the time to explore. You walked around the first pile of gold and immediately stopped in your tracks. Now you were grateful for your training and the special shoes that made you walk as quietly as a cat. Behind the pile of gold lay a giant beast with white and golden scales. With his eyes closed he looked like he was sleeping.

You stood there, not daring to approach. You didn't want to accidentally wake the creature. The creature had a long elegant body with scales as white as fresh snow and some glittering with gold.

His large wings were pressed against his body and slowly rose and fell with each breath he took. He also had white and gold horns curled forward. As you examined his head, you noticed a scar that ran across his right lip. It kind of reminded you of Altair.

You took a few steps to the side when you noticed one small amulet with a dragon symbol, its body resembling the assassin symbol lying next to a pile of gold. The amulet caught your eye immediately and before you knew it you were heading towards it.

In no time you had the amulet in your hand. At that moment you had the impression that the dragon had moved. You didn't want to risk the beast waking up and having you for a snack. That's why you better leave with the amulet.

You were glad that no one was looking for you because according to the moon, you had the impression that there would be a changing of the guards soon.

The next day you were supposed to have training with one of the mentors early in the morning. As you walked out, you automatically put the locket around your neck. Although you had it partially hidden, it was still visible. When you arrived at the training ground, your mentor told you that Altair wanted to see you. You didn't understand why he would call you.

“Safety and peace,” you greeted as you walked into his study.

"Safety and peace to you too," Altair replied, moving closer to you. You had the impression that today his eyes were burning gold more than ever. 

He looked you over from head to toe when he noticed the locket. He took it in his hand and examined it while it was still on your neck. You had no idea what to do. He must have known you took him from the cave.

"You should keep it. It suits you," he said just as you were about to confess and smiled. He didn't smile very often, although you had the impression that he smiled more often when you were around. He let go of the amulet and stopped smiling.

"However, that doesn't excuse you from being underground," he said sternly. And it was here. Scolding. What if he kicked you out of the brotherhood for that? Or will you not be much of an assassin anymore?

"Those underground passages are vast and even the best can get lost there. What if you can't find your way back?" he asked you still sternly even though you heard something else in his voice. 

In the end, he reprimanded you about why you shouldn't go there and about the traps and dangers that were there. You got extra training to avoid any more wanderings like this.

You were supposed to make up one of your extra lessons that night. A leap of faith in the night. The leap of faith was difficult in itself for beginners and it was worse at night. Although you already had several jumps behind you, but now that you could not properly see the bottom, it was something else.

You stood on the ledge and looked around. You knew they were changing the hay under one of them, so there was nothing there. However, you didn't know which one it was.

You were looking around trying to find a haystack, completely oblivious to your surroundings. You knew that the Grandmaster himself was watching over you, but you knew that there were other novices as well. One of them was probably celebrating because he was hanging around and you noticed a bottle in one corner. You tried to ignore it and focus on the jump.

You finally remembered where the hay was missing and wanted to get off the ledge as soon as possible. Unfortunately for you, the drunk novice was hanging around you, and to keep his balance, he pushed you with such force that you staggered yourself. You had nothing to grab onto and before you knew it, you were falling into darkness.

You screamed and noticed something white rush behind you. It was Altair. He caught you in his arms before you hit the hard ground. He held your feet with one hand and protected your head with the other. You didn't see anything, but you felt the Grandmaster land on his feet. You didn't understand how he could do something like that.

"Aren't you hurt?" he asked you as he laid you down and checked you over to see if you were hurt. It was the first or maybe the second time you saw fear in his face. However, you were more interested in his eyes, which seemed to glow in the dark and the pupils were narrowed like a snake's.

“I'm fine,” you shooked your head. Although you were still taken aback by what happened, you were otherwise fine. You could see that he was a little relieved and the worry on his face was replaced by anger.

"Can you make it from here?" he asked.

"I can. The path is lit so it's no problem," you replied. That was enough for him as an answer. He turned his back on you and started running. 

You had the impression that something was fluttering behind him. You'd compare it to a bat's wings and a snake's tail, but in the dark, it could just be your imagination. As you made your way back outside the gates of Masyaf, you could hear the Grandmaster scolding the drunken novice. You had the impression that the entire fortress heard it.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Assassin's Creed Masterlist

[tanjaded]

Quick q before i dive into writing hell, how did Tanya arrive in the world of Alive in the Dark? Did she get reborn and go through childhood again or did she get plopped into it like in TanTen? (yes this is for Symb!Mary) And while im here i might as well ask, would you rather Mary have Venom or a new symbiote? help a guy out, yeah?

Tanya's been in the world for a over 2 years, so like TanTen. I think coming up with a new symbiote (or finding one I guess) wouldn't be worth the trouble, and Venom would honestly just be funnier (my opinion is based on the Venom movies, however)

[dcwnthercbbithcle]

if you don’t mind at all, may you tell us of how you view Ruebedo and maybe some headcanons about them? 👀👉👈

BROOOOO, I don't mind at all! In fact, I'm really honoured that you care to hear about my opinions on Rubedo and how I view his role in Alagadda and how he works! Thank you for asking!

ALSO FULL DISCLOSURE THIS HAS GOTTEN REALLY LONG, read and reblog at your own discretion. If you get bulldozed by the wall of text, I take no responsibility! Haha

To answer your question in a nutshell: I view Rubedo as a major bastard, though there is a tragedy to be seen in his character both prior to Alagadda becoming Alagadda and a bit afterwards, I don't see him as a tragic character, the complete opposite actually! Rubedo deserved everything that happens to him and more IMO.

Rubedo is morally black. He commits and is complicit in atrocities. He's a warlord. A manipulator. A dictator and a feudalist. In short; he's REALLY not a nice man, and he's, well, he's a villain! He's extremely fun to write though.

To break him down more thoroughly though, I view Rubedo as the second side of 035's coin in terms of manipulation and cruelty and ambition. They are very similar in terms of personality yet so very different at the same time.

Whereas 035 has always focused on his ambitions, of inheriting the universes laying beyond Alagadda and claiming all of existence for his own by using the Hanged King as a tool and to realize his full potential not as a common fool, not even as a lord but as an emperor, as he's always deserved! Meanwhile, Rubedo has always been very content in his position as a Lord, and very comfortable and pleased in merely claiming merely the kingdom itself and allowing his ambitions to flourish within it.

If I had to describe the difference more thoroughly, 035, since his resurrection has always viewed Alagadda as merely a piece on the chess board in his corner— disposable but ultimately useful in the pursuit of the better things, he deserves. Without going too far in depth into my portrayal of 035, it’s sort of why he never found himself becoming ‘beloved,’ by the kingdom and why it was so easy for the other Lords to rally the troops or so to speak and try to off him despite how much the Hanged King favoured him.

But to Rubedo? Ohhh, Rubedo. Alagadda is his playground, his lifeblood, his kingdom. Where 035 saw nothing but a tool to better himself, Rubedo has always seen the city and his powers within as his ultimate prize— see, he doesn’t care for all reality and any of that work. He doesn’t want all of the realities bending to him as their leader.

It'd be boring, restrictive, and repetitive. Rubedo merely wants his kingdom where he has domain and power. He wants the intrigue of the plots and conspiracies with the other lords and tries to predict who holds the knife to whose throat in each of their interactions. He wants the thrill of feeling reality bend around his and Albedo's grasp as they use their powers, forbidden knowledge and the prone shell of their leader to warp the realm, grow it and improve it.

Rubedo wants nothing more than to be at the center of the chaos and hellish delight, where he has fashioned himself a sea of followers whom both and adore and despise him. He wants to be in his playground amidst the bars and brothels that he has built and catered to relax and enjoy himself, and he wants the continued, dangling prize of the outside universes as hunting grounds and prizes to be earned and dragged into his kingdom by force.

Will he ever want to truly conquer them? No, no, no, absolutely not! That ruins the game! He wants them in his grasp- he wants his rivalry with the god-forsaken wandsmen thwarting his attempts. He wants to lose but still win in his own way. He wants the STRUGGLE! If things were just handed to him how boring would that be?

Now to try and tackle his true personality, without spoiling a ton of my writing for him. Rubedo is red in every definition of the colour, and I know, color symbology is practically a joke at this point, but for him and his person, it truly applies. He IS red, he runs hot in every aspect of his person. He is hot-tempered, firey, destructive and cruel, he is passionate, he is driven and determined, even stubborn and courageous. Though to some he may, understandably, seem like a wildfire with how fast and infectious his energy and ideals can at times spread, Rubedo, whether for better or for worse has truly learned to contain his more destructive aspects. Though once upon a time the rumours of him as an uncontrollable beast of lust and emotion may have been true, he has not been that man in a long, long time. Instead, I would compare Rubedo to a shadow lantern, casting hypnotic images upon every surface around him, drawing people in with his warmth and the comforting imagery he presents through his light, while masking who he truly is beneath the frame and the shaped metal. It’s like,, I really wish I could trail on more about him, but it’s something I’d rather show than just tell you outright!

Now, as for some quick headcanons! (At least compared to my earlier infodumping!)

Rubedo is genderfluid in every sense, including physically— see, being a Lord and with Alagadda being such a weird paradise of body and flesh magic, he can shapeshift. Now, I use the term shapeshift because it’s the only thing I can use to describe the process, but he can almost seem to melt the porcelain of his body down into this viscous concoction that seems to be half glass, half porcelain and half bone and viscera and just reshape himself and his patterns in any way he wants. One day he may wish to be a buxom, shapely woman and dammit, if he wants it, he’ll be that! Other times he will choose the form of a tall and lean masculine figure. At times he’ll embody a shorter more androgynous and well-built figure. It is all based on his whims and fancies at the moment!

This said, Rubedo has been known to alter his form based on what he can perceive those he will be interacting with will enjoy best. He doesn’t do this for everyone— but it’s an extra layer to his performances he’ll never deny those he truly wants to win over!

Rubedo does have shapeshifting abilities with regards to his mask, similar to 035. While in Alagadda, Rubedo can alter the expression and intensity of his smiles and grins and change the direction and position of his eyebrows, as well as being able to shift into tragedy if he wished. However, very rarely has he ever done that, and instead he prefers to always have a bright and wide grin across his visage.

Rubedo has very much has favourites of his fellow Lords, and finds he prefers the company of Albedo when he is physically present within the realm. He is not too fond of Citrinitas however. For an artist he is extremely rigid and cares little for Rubedo’s fun and games.

Rubedo is, like, he’s such a fuckboy. He has 23 wives, husbands all together at the present whom reside in his private château. Within the area of the realm that had been previously been considered 035’s before he got booted. HOWEVER, he’s always looking for more, which he has stated with glee. And he’s always open to taking on one-night stands or partaking in the orgies of the city. After all, it’s practically unheard of to not and he is nothing if not a man of his people!

That’s all I can think of for now though! If I think of anything more I’ll be sure to add it at some point!

[dbphantom]

i just think he's neat but not neat enough to actually detail that minigun or you know actually finish this skdjhgkjhs my 40 year old babygirl

bonus cord because he was my warmup

anime mom hairstyle... i didn't draw his 'scouter' because i wasn't feeling it. that's all lol

my two favorite college professors are anarchists lmao... in my defense in high school (Real Life) my social studies teacher was a self proclaimed anarchist. I mean he was, tbf to him, not to make it sound like he wasn't. He'd actively go to protests and tell us stories about them and write rage against the machine lyrics on the blackboard. he was my 2nd favorite teacher even tho i was like. super socially awkward around him lol. he once talked to me about bor/derla/nds because he saw me wearing my Ze/r0 hoodie (the one with the Vau/lt/symb/ol on the shoulder) specifically T/P/S. he liked playing Cla/ptr/ap, and i mumbled something incoherent about maining At/he/na because i was freaking out lol.

my favorite teacher was actually my physics teacher... he once put on a long purple wig [because he was bald] to commemorate the start of our electricity unit. i miss physics a lot... anyway cord having purple magic and long hair totally isn't because of that wig or anything...

sometimes i forget this stuff. i don't have a lot of memories of high school, it's nice to be able to write down the parts i do remember and don't actively regret. i guess that's also how Cord feels some days.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Leone Ginzburg was one of the most brilliant intellectuals of his generation — and writing a biography of him was sure to be a difficult endeavor. Ginzburg’s was a life “short on time,” which met its tragic end in a jail in German-occupied Rome on February 5, 1944. Already decades ago, the philosopher Norberto Bobbio — a childhood friend of Ginzburg’s who saw Fascism from the same classroom — implored historian Angelo D’Orsi: “You must write a biography of Leone.”

It took time for D’Orsi, best known as a scholar of Antonio Gramsci, to create such a study; the work for this book began already in the 1980s. Ginzburg left far fewer traces than the fellow Turin anti-fascist Piero Gobetti, a liberal revolutionary. This biography had to reckon with Ginzburg’s “hard-to-match intellectual power” but also his exceptional moral force as an anti-fascist, expressed in many testimonies gathered in the book.

The strength of D’Orsi’s biography lies in its ability to piece together the cues that he did leave behind. Carlo Ginzburg, son of Leone, and his wife, Natalia Levi, would become among the first exponents of “microhistory.” This biography, too, provides a broader landscape of anti-fascism — while never losing sight of the very individual story at its heart.

From Odessa to Turin Leone Ginzburg’s life was, in D’Orsi’s words, “objectively cosmopolitan.” He was born on April 4, 1909, to a Jewish family in Odessa, on the edge of the Black Sea, “one of the most culturally and politically stimulating centers in the Russian Empire.” His mother, Vera Griliches, had in 1894 married Fyodor Nikolayevich Ginzburg, a liberal businessman close to the Constitutional Democrats (Cadets). Leone’s siblings were more radical: his sister, Marussia, born in 1896, sympathized with the Social Revolutionaries, while his brother, Nicolai, born in 1899, was close to the Social Democrats.

The young Leone’s life was changed thanks to the tutor Maria Segre. Reaching Odessa from Italy in 1902, she taught French and Italian to Vera, Marussia, and Nicolai. Vera met Maria Segre’s brother Renzo during a trip to Viareggio, Italy, and returned to Odessa already pregnant with Leone. In 1914, with the rest of Europe at war, Vera left young Leone with Maria Segre in still-neutral Italy, where she opened up his horizons to music (Bach, Mozart, Debussy), cinema, and theater.

The Ginzburgs were a well-off family, and after the Bolshevik victory in October 1917, they fled Russia: the father, Fyodor, headed for Berlin, while Leone’s mother and siblings met him in Turin. “This son of Europe,” D’Orsi writes, “did not feel either German or Slavic or Jewish (even if he knew he could not, and did not want to, give up this latter ‘condition’) but resolutely Italian, long before he definitively settled in Italy.”

Taught Russian by his sister, Leone avidly read Gogol, Tolstoy, Pushkin, and Dostoyevsky, but also late nineteenth-century French authors like Balzac, Stendhal, and Maupassant — taking “physical pleasure from reading.” He would become a critical reviewer and translator of their works, an interpretation process that also challenged cultural assumptions, like what he had in a 1928 article called the “Slavic soul.” He translated important works from Russian like Gogol’s Taras Bulba (1927), Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina (1928–9) and Kreutzer Sonata (1942), Turgenev’s Home of the Gentry (1932), and Pushkin’s Queen of Spades (published in 1949, after Ginzburg’s death). The meticulous Ginzburg was ever aware of the difficulty of his work: upon translating Anna Karenina he wrote to Bobbio: “It is magnificent, and I shudder to think that it will be me who corrupts it.” Ginzburg understood culture as the effort to go beyond the world such as it really is, and the social imaginaries and understandings that go with it.

Gramsci, Gobetti, Ginzburg Turin was the Italian Petrograd — the city of Antonio Gramsci, of l’Ordine Nuovo, of the “two red years” of 1919-20. The cultural exchange there was symbolized in the close ties between the Communist leader Gramsci and the young liberal revolutionary Gobetti. In this city, the shadow of revolutionary Russia lingered like a promise yet to be fulfilled in Italy: even Gobetti learned Russian, insisting that his liberalism was rooted in the concrete experience of struggles from below, of which the soviety (councils) were the fullest expression. The fascination for revolutionary Russia and its literature was explained in an article that D’Orsi attributes to the Sardinian Marxist: “Russian literature is a unique historical document because the pain, the humiliation to which men were subjected in Russia was without equal.”

Postwar Turin was rich in political and cultural experiments. When Ginzburg moved “From Odessa to Turin,” as the title of one chapter puts it, his life bridged two spaces that each pointed toward a changing world. In Turin, leading young intellectuals born in the early years of the new century clustered around Gobetti’s journals, La rivoluzione liberale and Il Baretti; Leone contributed to the latter with articles on Tolstoy and Russian poetry, but also French authors.

At the Massimo d’Azeglio classical liceo (grammar school), the “pre-eminent school of the Turin bourgeoisie,” Leone’s classmates included the core of the future Einaudi publishing house, including Cesare Pavese and Giulio Einaudi. Here, he established a strong friendship with Bobbio, who recalled, “When he came to liceo in late 1924, at barely 15, he wasn’t a boy like the others . . . he spoke unhurriedly but as if he was writing: he spoke, we used to say, like words in a book.” A younger pupil, Franco Antonicelli, spoke of a “severe, inquiring, intransigent temper (like Gobetti’s), intimidating even his friends.” For D’Orsi, the school was a “hotbed of anti-fascists . . . which was not to be credited to or blamed on this or that teacher, but as if because of the atmosphere, the soil of the ‘environment’ in Turin and Piedmont.”

Biography is an especially useful means of grasping a period while not sacrificing the “interstitial — and yet important — freedom of [historical] actors.” No human’s life is without its cracks and splits; and the biography of Ginzburg offers an opening through which to observe the history of anti-fascism as a concrete political movement, rooted in its time, led by men immersed in tensions and contradictions. These anti-fascists took a tortuous path: the final destination was the building of an Italy liberated from Fascism, but this does not alone capture the whole person, the whole life of each anti-fascist during a twenty-year dictatorship.

For the young people around Ginzburg who distanced themselves from Fascism over the 1920s and 1930s, there was often painful uncertainty over what stance to take and the concrete impact of radical political choices on their “legitimate desire to advance in the world.” There were those who joined the Fascist Party on the regime’s tenth anniversary. Ginzburg expressed a certain understanding of their decision in a 1933 article in an exile journal: “The young . . . have been abandoned; these are hardly times in which families can allow themselves the luxury of a son, a younger brother who has ‘got ideas.’ For many young men, signing up . . . was the first compromise with their own conscience, and it will be their first regret.”

Apparently defeated at the end of the 1920s, this was, nonetheless, a youth “destined” for anti-fascism. Their inspiration came from the philosopher Benedetto Croce; after the assassination of the reformist Socialist MP Giacomo Matteotti, he completed “his turn to the opposition, after hesitations and compromises with fascism.” Ginzburg met Croce in 1928, becoming the “most faithful of the faithful.” In 1929, some of these young men would sign a letter in support of Croce and be arrested and “cautioned” — notably, Umberto Segre, from 1926, in contact with leading anti-fascist Carlo Rosselli.

Culture and Politics Under Fascism, Ginzburg chose what D’Orsi calls a “latent conspiratorial activity”; after the banning of non-Fascist parties in November 1926, there was no choice for oppositionists other than exile or to take to conspiracy (however active or latent). In 1931, a year after his father’s death brought harsh financial difficulties for the family, Ginzburg graduated with a dissertation entitled Guy Maupassant, and the following year was granted teacher status. This same year, he obtained Italian nationality; and as his comrade-in-arms Vittorio Foa put it, Ginzburg’s anti-fascism was his way of being an Italian.

Ginzburg drew on Gobetti’s impulse to bind culture to politics — and was critical of those parts of Italian society that remained indifferent. As D’Orsi put it, he “declared war on moral abstentionism.” He showed this moral courage also in his professional work, notably in the Slavia publishing house (founded by Alfredo Polledro in 1926 to make Russian literature available to the Italian public). Gobetti died this same year, and his widow, Ada Prospero, would count among Slavia’s early translators. Ginzburg’s commitment was also evident in his collaboration with Cesare Pavese’s review, La Cultura; Antonicelli’s publishing house, Frassinelli; and, from 1933, Einaudi, a publisher whose logo of an ostrich with a nail in its mouth served as an allegory for Italian culture under Fascism.

Yet as his wife, Natalia Ginzburg, later wrote in Family Lexicon, “politics was [Leone’s] real passion.” For the Torinese Russian’s future political choices, 1932 was a decisive year. With a study grant to delve deeper into his studies of Maupassant, he headed to Paris, where he met Carlo Rosselli.

Rosselli led the Justice and Liberty movement from the French capital, following a spectacular escape from the Italian island of Lipari, where he had been exiled by the regime together with anti-fascists like Emilio Lussu. In D’Orsi’s words, this was a decisive encounter, “confirming Leone’s entrance into the political anti-fascist struggle, taking him toward a journey very different from his life as a scholar.” In Paris, he also met the anti-fascist historians Gaetano Salvemini and Aldo Garosci. Upon returning to Turin, he joined the city’s Justice and Liberty group, now decisively turning to active conspiracy.

“Being Useful to Others” Leone now left behind his expected career as a brilliant intellectual and threw himself headlong into the political struggle against fascism, just like Rosselli. In this, there was also the need to prepare the Italy of tomorrow by forming new “habits” — as Foa emphasized, these young intellectuals were driven by a rejection of the “consensus” behind Fascism, or better, of its capacity for seduction using a “calculated mix of compulsion and cooptation.” For Foa, “We could not bear solitude, but since solitude was our present, the only way to remain in touch with the world was to work for the future.” Ginzburg continued contributing to Roselli’s Quaderni di Giustizia e Libertà, signing his articles M. S. in homage to Maria Segre; this was, for socialist historian Gaetano Arfé, the culturally richest expression of the anti-fascist exile milieu.

This was evident in the vision of anti-fascism that Leone developed in its pages. He addressed questions like the federal organization of the state; the autonomy expressed by the “spontaneous action of the working-class and peasant masses”; the renewal of Marxism; the relationship between freedom and justice; and the sense of a “fully revolutionary liberalism” following in the footsteps of Gobetti. He also dedicated an article to Gobetti and the Russian Revolution. Here there was a notable focus on the figure of Leon Trotsky, the first volume of whose History of the Russian Revolution he had reviewed in a 1931 article entitled “Trotsky, Historian of the Revolution.” In the article dedicated to Trotsky, “a refined genius of a polemicist,” there emerged a positive vision of the Russian October. “For a modern state truly to be established in Russia,” Ginzburg wrote, “it was necessary that every form of the previous society should perish. It goes without saying that the temporary — and yet grave — abuse of the values of the spirit is painful, and it is especially heart-rending for we men of culture. But history has inexorable demands of its own.”

Ginzburg would also pay a personal cost. When professors across the kingdom of Italy were compelled to make a public pledge of loyalty to Fascism, Ginzburg was one of just a handful to refuse — and, on February 7, 1934, he was stripped of his teaching status. A month later, a wave of repression struck down on the Turin Justice and Liberty group. One evening, he met Vittorio Foa at the city’s Porta Nuova station to await a delivery of materials, which never arrived; Ginzburg believed the couriers had been captured, and the following morning he was himself arrested at home. Carlo Levi, later author of Christ Stopped at Eboli, described the impact on the Justice and Liberty network: “he was one of the few, very few, who under the Fascist legal regime managed to think and to influence the thought of others.” Upon his arrest, Ginzburg denied everything; but not all of his fellow arrestees did so, instead naming him as central to the movement’s underground core. Ginzburg was sentenced to five years’ imprisonment for “having been part of the revolutionary association (Justice and Liberty).” In May 1935, a second wave of arrests decisively crushed the network. In D’Orsi’s words, “half the intellectuals in Turin were arrested.”

This was a dark period, though what it did show was that the opposition was still alive on Italian soil. As D’Orsi explains, in Turin, the Justice and Liberty network was made up of friendship networks connecting individuals living in the same neighborhoods, many of them Jews. Fascist groups latched on to this to call for a “radical cleansing” of these Turin anti-fascist circles, promoting (even before the antisemitic racial laws of 1938) the idea that Jews were inherently anti-fascist. The Italian Jewish community strongly rejected such an equivalence, except the Jewish Youth Association, which was, however cautiously, anti-fascist.

The arrestees were defined not only by their Jewishness but also as activists from a middle- or high-bourgeois layer. The Communist Tina Pizzardo, close to these circles, was interrogated but not arrested because “on the police’s opinion, a poor teacher living off private lessons . . . could not have anything in common with these [Justice and Liberty activists] belonging to the upper bourgeoisie, all renowned intellectuals.” After a month in Rome’s Regina Coeli prison, Leone Ginzburg was transferred to Civitavecchia and then released on March 13, 1936.

This was no return to freedom. His wife, Natalia, described him upon his return to Turin: “He had a coat which was too short, a threadbare hat placed a little crooked over his black hair. He walked slowly, hands in pockets: his black, penetrating eyes darted around . . . his spectacles surrounded in dark tortoiseshell planted a little too far down his big nose.” Described as a “subversive prisoner” and “diehard antifascist,” he had to conform to the harsh constraints of his monitored freedom, including presenting himself to the police authorities each Sunday, returning home before an evening curfew, and not frequenting public places.

Anti-Fascism Revived With both Gramsci’s death and the barbaric murder of Nello and Carlo Rosselli in France, 1937 was a terrible year for anti-fascism. The latter’s appeal connecting Italian anti-fascism to the fight against Franco — “Today in Spain, tomorrow in Italy” — seemed “drowned out by the indifference of some and the complicity of others.” In 1938, with the promulgation of the regime’s racial laws, Leone would lose his Italian nationality, and Natalia gave birth to their son Carlo, very likely named in tribute to the murdered Rosselli.

When Italy entered the war in 1940, the family were in ever greater difficulty: Leone was arrested as a “dangerous antifascist” and the family was exiled to the small town of Pizzoli, in the rural Abruzzo region, far from the main cities. The year before, 1939, had seen the birth of a second son, Andrea, and in March 1943 came their daughter, Alessandra.

But the war would bring a sharp reversal in Fascism’s fortunes. As the Allies reached Italian soil on July 25, 1943, the king sacked Benito Mussolini. Ginzburg wrote to Croce of the dictator’s downfall: it turned out that the Fascist empire was “not even made of papier-mâché . . . but no more than wrapping tissue.” On August 4, Ginzburg was freed.

Three days later he was in Rome, where Einaudi had opened a new headquarters, and Leone helped create a new cultural-political book series. He resumed his political activity in the newly founded Action Party, which brought together the militants of the various Justice and Liberty groups. Together with Manlio Rossi Doria, Carlo Muscetta, and Francesco Fancello, he edited its clandestine newspaper, l’Italia libera, which he saw as an essential instrument for laying the bases of a republican and democratic Italy, part of a new Europe.

Yet the German invasion of September 8, 1943, soon brought an end to the brief moment of liberalization; and on November 20, 1943, he was arrested at the printworks where l’Italia libera was produced and taken back to Regina Coeli prison. Recognized as a stateless, anti-fascist Jew, in December he was transferred to the German wing of the prison, where he was tortured. Historian and author of A Civil War Claudio Pavone — also held at this prison — later described what happened:

One afternoon, the guards, particularly agitated and abrupt, forced everyone to immediately return to their cells, with an absolute ban on leaving or even looking through the spyhole. The Germans were coming into the wing … The name “Ginzburg” was called out loud and after a couple of minutes he was handed to the Germans. With his worn-out blue jacket and his dark complexion he stood out from his new jailors’ heavy green-gray uniforms. At that moment someone began to whistle the Inno del Piave [a patriotic song from World War I] from a cell. He whistled sure and clear; the Germans probably did not understand, but the Italians were moved. Leone was taken away.

The night between February 4 and 5, he was transferred to the prison hospital after swallowing drugs he had been prescribed by the prison’s anti-fascist doctor. Leone repeated over and over, “I will not leave here alive.” On the morning of February 5, perhaps because of an overdose, or — added to this — his weakened state of health, Leone Ginzburg died, leaving behind Natalia and his three children.

Bobbio wrote that Leone had died “without saying his final world, without bidding farewell to anyone, without concluding his work, without leaving us a message. We can neither resign ourselves to this or pardon it.” These words appear at the end of D’Orsi’s fine book, which seeks to raise one of anti-fascism’s most authoritative moral, cultural, and political figures from historical oblivion. To do so is imperative in an Italy today more ignorant than ever of those who fought and died for freedom and justice. Each biography, it is said, is an autobiography; and this is the autobiography of the Italy that once was. D’Orsi’s book is a resource to learn, to banish myths, and, perhaps, even to inspire an anti-fascist struggle today.”

- Stefanie Prezioso, “Leone Ginzburg, a Forgotten Intellectual in the Fight Against Fascism. Review of L’intellettuale antifascista. Ritratto di Leone Ginzburg by Angelo D’Orsi (Neri Pozza, 2019). ” Jacobin, May 9, 2021.

[vevookids]

The Role of the alphabet in language acquisition: How young children learn their first letters and words.

[mayuris-basement-dweller]

When you end the chapter you were stuck in.

[sillysymbol]

read 4 chapters of understanding comics by scott mccloud and it was insanely insightful!!! i have a whole new perspective on comics now...i cant wait to read more

[karen-anti-r-cml]

October 28, 2022 Exxon Mobil Corp Officials.: announced they raked in a stunning $19.66 Billion in 2022 third-quarter profits... The company with a 152-year history has never seen so much profit in one quarter 

After a year of unnecessarily high gas prices, the unprecedented profits prove Price Gouging, which republican/trumpublicans helped them pull off. After this shameful year of robbing the Majority of United States Citizens, darren woods, ceo of Exxon Mobil Corp. had this to say

woods: “There has been discussion in the US about our industry returning some of our profits directly to the American people. That’s exactly what we’re doing in the form of our quarterly dividend.”

Top 10 Owners of EMC: All are million/billion dollar companies

Top 10 Mutual Funds Holding EMC: All are million/billion dollar companies

Individual Shareholders of EMC: Only make up about 0.83%

EMC is a U.S. Company, but Shareholders: EMC is Internationally Traded and Shareholders are from all over the world. No matter how we look at woods is simply trying to Gaslight US

Thankfully our President Joe Biden is calling out woods and other U.S. Oil Companies Official!

Biden, last week during a White House speech: “My message to the American energy companies is this: You should not be using your profits to buy back stock or for dividends. Not now. Not while a war is raging. You should use those record-breaking profits to increase production and refining. Invest in America for the American people.”

October 27, 2022: Biden highlighted gas prices have come down in recent weeks, but stressed they’d be even lower if not for industry profiteering.

Biden: “There used to be a direct correlation: A barrel of oil goes down, the price at the pump goes down at the same time. If we’re taking average profits they’ve been making over the last 20 years instead of the historic profits they’re making today, the price of gas would be down an additional 40 cents today.”

Biden: “Can’t believe I have to say this but giving profits to shareholders is not the same as bringing prices down for American families,”

October 28, 2022: Sad to write, but it’s not just EMC 4 of the world’s 5 largest Oil Companies Exxon, Chevron, Shell and  Total reported nearly $50 Billion in combined third-quarter profits,... All because of Price Gouging. 

Shell took their profit and made the obscenely Rich, even richer by raising its dividend and in the 4th quarter they plan to buy back $4 billion in stock

Robber Baron John D. Rockefeller made his immense riches from monopolizing America’s oil industry. 

1890: The Sherman Antitrust Act was made law for because of people like him: The law banned businesses from colluding or merging to form a monopoly. The law prevented these groups from dictating, controlling, and manipulating prices in a particular market.

Robber Barons Are Back and They Are A Threat To All Of US

October 2022: It seems the world’s top 5 have found a work around and it’s time for a new Law to Protect We the People from their greed

“ Biden Spars With Oil Executives Over Industry's Record Profits” https://www.huffpost.com/entry/biden-oil-companies-record-profits-dividends_n_635c122be4b0cf522df875a5

“Earnings Call - 3Q 2022″ https:/corporate.exxonmobil.com/investors/investor-relations

“Exxon Mobil Corp” https://money.cnn.com/quote/shareholders/shareholders.html?symb=XOM&subView=institutional

[whumpbby]

Symb!Jason headcanon so far

Okay, so I was thinking about this much harder than I probably should. 

I kinda got this: 

Jay god his symb (imma call it Red) from the Pit - the only other person who owns one is Ra’s and he’s about the only one who knows what the hell. Thalia told Jay what she knew, but most of the heavy lifting in understanding what’s happening to him was left in is hands. 

As he was a victim of a horrifying death and traumatic resurrection, not to mention brain damage and whatever the hellish ptsd got a hold of him - the bonding with the symb wasn’t easy, as Jay kept feeding it all the negative emotions - made only worse by the fact that a symbiontes usually magnify the emotion that feeds them. So, for a while, the only diet Red was getting was rage, fear and a pathological need for revenge. All the best soup;] 

It took a while for Jay to realise that the creature possessing him reflects his negative emotions tenfold and after a while of trying to de-bond them (didn’t work, Red wouldn’t let go) he started to try and maybe keep a lid on his emotions. That was the time they’ve circled the world, learning the craft on Thalia’s dime and were more-or-less stable (not at all, but hey). Then back to Gotham, failure with the Joker, and so on. Not until the All-Caste and Ducra’s help did Jay and Red see one another eye to eye and started to build on their bond. 

Present day. Red and Jay have an agreement to stick together and a total trust policy - things are discussed and solved, and they act like adults about it - because of the level of damage they can inflict on everything and each other when in conflict. They need the stability of a solid bond, and since they’re both damaged, they trust no one else. 

Red is a bit of an asshole from time to time and very salty about the “no eating humans” ban that they have going on in Gotham (they indulged while still in training and Jay wants to forget about that). They substitute with beef and veg, and insane amount of chocolate. It’s also salty about the “we’re keeping your presence on the down low” rule - meaning, no spontaneous growing of teeth, extra appendages and muscle mass, because once Bruce knows, he will try to split them. So, yeah, usually Red presents itself as just general articles of clothing (Jay hasn’t worn a shirt in the last 3 years and so far no one has caught on) and the helmet and, sometimes, a knife/sword/grapple line/mock bazooka. 

The emotional relationship is as follows - Red is possessive and protective of the host in the usual symbiote-appropriate pathological intensity. It will do what needs to be done to protect Jay physically and emotionally, but still tries to stick to the rules, becuase it understands that Jay needs to feel in control of his own life. It will take over, tho, when it think he’s a suicidal idiot, and is not above messing with him to get its way - inappropriate touching happens all the goddamn time, because Jay is adorable when flustered. 

Jayson lives in constant guilt that his post-Pit flailing and general madness messed up a perfectly good alien and gave it anxiety and murderous tendencies, so he tries to live his life stress free as much as possible. Hence, contact with the Batfam needs to be limited (against the family’s wishes, of course, the meddling fucks) and a set of rules has to be put in place to stop the situation from downward spiralling again. He appreciated Red entirely, even if his dating life takes a powerful hit as Red is not exactly ready for a third wheel. sSy, Jay’s first sexual encounter might as well have been Red, between dying at teenage and spending the next few years in a mind-damaged haze and then surrounded by career murderers. Red is very proud of that, Jay wonders if he’ll ever recover his dignity.  

So, this is what I have so far.   

[fighterkimburgess]

Fearless Chapter 19 - Today Was A Fairytale

Summary: Chapter 19/19 - Kim and Adam have their fairytale ending. Series Masterlist

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff. All the fluff.

A/N: This went from a writing exercise to a 32k word doc about getting my Burzek emotions out. I'm so glad so many of you have enjoyed it as much as I have. The full story is on AO3 for easier reading, under the same name.

Wanna join my taglist?

--

They’d planned the big wedding before, had put down deposits that had to be cancelled and lost money on it. This time was different.

Instead of waking up in separate places the morning of their wedding, Kim was entangled in Adam’s arms. He was like a koala in bed at night, wrapping his long limbs around her and holding her tight. She woke up with a smile, feeling his chest against her back and his arms holding her close. They lay together until Makayla came bounding into their room, her twelve year old self bouncing with excitement while she got onto the bed.

“Mama! You and Adam are getting married today! This is soooo coooooollll.” She dragged out the syllables with a smile, the two adults waking up fully thanks to her.

“It’s pretty exciting, huh?” Kim opened her arms, relishing the affection she still got. She knew that soon Makayla would be too cool for hugs with her parents in the morning, but while she could still get it she’d take every single one.

“Kayla, I’ve a question for you?” Adam asked, and she turned to face him. “Now that your Mama and I are getting married, I wanted to know if you’d be ok with me adopting you? You don’t have to say yes, it won’t change anything, I prom—oof.” Adam was flung into the bed by the force of a Makayla hug, and Kim grabbed her phone to take a photo of the two of them.

“Yes! You’ll be my dad? Really? Really, really, really?” She was bouncing up and down from excitement as a grin appeared on everyone’s face.

“Yes, yes and yes. I think I’d be lucky to have you as my daughter.” The three curled up for a hug before the mayhem of the day would begin. As they separated, Makayla turned to the two of them.

“I’m really glad you’re happy, Mama and Dad.” She ran to her room with a smile, and Kim felt her heart overflow with joy for the their little family.

The appointment at the courthouse was for three, and they decided that they didn’t want a big fuss. Kim put on one of her favourite dresses, a green jersey fabric. Adam had a grey tee underneath a green flannel that matched her dress. Makayla had decided she wanted to dress up, and Kim had bought her a sparkly skirt to wear. The three drove to the courthouse together, and were met on the front steps by their unit. Hailey had agreed to stand up with her, and Kevin with Adam. Every member of the team was grinning at how they’d finally made it to this point where they were strong and secure together.

Finally it was their turn for the fifteen minutes with the judge, and Makayla walked down the makeshift aisle with her parents before sitting in between Voight and Jay, Trudy and Mouch on the opposite bench. The judge began the ceremony, but Kim and Adam had written their own vows.

Adam began, his voice clear but eyes watery. “I promise to love you unconditionally. I promise to always be there for you, no matter what. I promise to call you out on your bull, and listen when you call me out. I promise to always be your partner, and always listen to what you say to me because I know you say it from a place of love and goodness, and I will never jump to conclusions about it. I promise to have your back on every raid and every job we go on, because I will always have your six, the same way I know you will always have mine. I promise to love you and Makayla for the rest of our lives, because I’m not just marrying you, I’m getting to live my life as the dad to a great little girl and I don’t take that responsibility lightly. I promise to always put in 60% of this relationship, because that’s what we agreed. I love you, Kim. And this ring is a symbol of that love.” A tear dropped from her eyes as he slid the silver band onto her finger, and she stared at it a moment before being shocked into saying her vows.

“I have never been loved as unconditionally as I was with you. I have never had someone care about me as much as you do. I have never had someone be willing to put in the work to be with me, even when it’s messy and scary. I never knew how to do a relationship when it got hard, and I listened to the wrong voice in my head. Not anymore. I promise to love you and be there for you. I promise to talk about what’s wrong, even when my inclination is to put my head in the sand. I promise to be there when we have a good or bad day and not run off. I vow that I won’t let us make the mistakes of the past, but instead we can make new mistakes together to forge our own path. I never believed in fairytales, I never believed in The One. But you are The One, Adam Ruzek. And I will love you forever.” Her voice was hoarse from holding back tears by the end of her vows, and a look at Adam showed she wasn’t the only one. She slid the ring on his finger, easily settling it at the base, a grin on her lips.

“Do you Adam Ruzek take Kimberly Burgess to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” Adam didn’t let a moment lapse between the judge’s instructions and his response.

“And do you Kimberly Burgess take Adam Ruzek to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

Kim’s words were more considered, the “I do.” dropping from her lips with certainty rather than haste.

“By the power vested in me by the great State of Illinois, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” The words had barely left his mouth when their arms were around each other, Adam dipping her low for a kiss, her leg around his thigh. Kim giggled as he swung her back upright, her arm wrapping around his back as their six guests and their daughter cheered for them.

They didn’t want a big party, instead going out for a meal with the nine of them. Adam attempted to pay the bill, but everyone pitched in so the newlyweds didn’t have to pay for that at least. They were getting a full weekend off together as well as a wedding present, and there was nothing more they wanted.

Once everyone said goodbye they drove home, Kim and Adam holding hands in the front seat. As soon as they arrived home Makayla went to her room to read, and Adam turned on music for them. He held his hand out to his wife - and that was the most amazing word for him, his wife - who took it as Love Story began playing over the speaker.

“I didn’t think you were a Taylor Swift fan?” Kim asked, reaching up to press a kiss to his jaw as they danced around the living room.

“But you are. And I promised you I was gonna make you happy, and I mean it.”

“I’m happy as long as I’m here with you. Because I said yes, Romeo.”

Taglist: @aruzlover @abbyscameron @morganupstead @adamruz @fullwattpadmusictree @redpoodlern @everythingaddictxx @write4life13 @lizlouisebrown @jeanjacketjesus @tuxieboy101-blog

[ckret2]

Work With What You've Got

Written for @symbruary Day 27: "senses". It took me all day just to come up with something, I think I have nearly symbed all I can symb. Although my love for goo is infinite, my words to express that love are finite. Although, of course, I feel like every month should be slime appreciation month... my muse is glad the event's almost over.

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Every species it attached to sensed the world differently. Light, vibrations, chemicals, electricity, vibrations, heat, motion, pressure, gravity, precognition, radioactivity, on and on and on. It had bonded with a member of a short-lived species that could, from the onset of puberty, predict with an accuracy of a week exactly how long they had until they died of old age, because they could unconsciously sense and calculate the way the functioning of their cells would peak and decline. It had bonded with members of two species on the same planet that were each convinced the other didn't communicate through speech because their respective audible hearing ranges didn't overlap at all. It had bonded with a species that told time on their home planet by the feel of their star's solar flares.

Every time it gained a host from a new species, it learned how they sensed the universe and, if it could, figured out how to replicate that sense with its own body. It wanted to offer its hosts an ever-expanding array of tools; the more useful it was, the more it would be loved.

Not all of its efforts were successful. It never did master full telepathy, although its ability to sense other Klyntar was sharper than most others could boast. Some senses skipped a generation—its youngest could see through the kinds of invisibility that it had been able to on a prior host but no longer could. But most, it felt, it could successfully offer its new hosts.

It had needed to go through a handful of human hosts before it figured out which senses were average to the species and which were the result of one-off mutations and augmentations. They had a pretty good sense of proprioception—nothing record-breaking, but in the top 50%—which was one of its top criteria when looking for hosts it could make a long-term commitment to. Their sense of magnetism was nothing to write home about. But what it found the most interesting about humans was their sense of color.

It was so detailed. So discerning. They were attuned to the tiniest, subtlest shifts in hue and shade. Their sensitivity to different colors was, in a word, astounding.

For a species that only saw four of them.

In an extremely narrow band of the light range.

The fact that they differentiated between cardinal, carmine, and cinnabar at all was absolutely astounding when what they saw as "red" was such an extremely tiny portion of the light spectrum. Maybe, it speculated, it was easier to notice tiny differences in a color when it made up 25% of all the colors you could see. Like they'd taken a magnifying glass to the part of the spectrum they could see.

It could give its human hosts augmented vision, showing them parts of the electromagnetic spectrum they'd never dreamed of, but most found that the sight was more confusing than illuminating. Like that thing their eyes did when they emerged from a dark building into the bright light. It kept track of the things its hosts couldn't see itself and warned when it saw something that wasn't in any colors they could see. Sometimes Eddie asked it to show him what the world looked like through its senses, unfiltered, and he'd sit and stare at the city and try to absorb it all.

Occasionally, for fun, it liked to scribble symbols and spirals in colors the humans grouped together as "ultraviolet" across Venom's otherwise solid black surface. Sometimes it wrote words. Sometimes it made hearts. Today it had made firework-like patterns.

Which was why Venom was, at this moment, covered in butterflies.

And that was how it found out that humans didn't even have the best range of color visibility on their on planet.

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Crossposted to AO3, link in my description. If you enjoyed the fic, I'd appreciate a comment or reblog!