#i was put on this Earth to fight precisely two people

[anonymousewrites]

Burden of Truth (Book 1) Chapter Two

Father Figure! Marc Spector x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Steven Grant x Teen! Reader

Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly x Teen! Reader

Chapter Two: In the Flat

Summary: (Y/N) goes to Steven Grant's flat in search of the scarab.

            “You must retrieve the scarab.”

            Ma’at’s voice spoke directly into (Y/N)’s head as they sat on the bus out of the alps. (Y/N) pulled their phone and headphones out of their pocket. They slipped the earbuds in and pretended to be on a call.

            “Harrow doesn’t have it. Marc does,” said (Y/N).

            “Marc?”

            “Khonshu’s Avatar.”

            “I do not trust Khonshu to keep the scarab protected.”

            “I can’t fight his Avatar for it.” That wouldn’t end well for (Y/N) at all, even if Marc claimed not to hurt kids.

            “No,” Ma’at agreed. “But Harrow knows Khonshu and his avatar. The scarab isn’t safe there.”

            That was true. That meant Harrow could track Marc or Steven down and put the scarab in danger.

            “Right,” said (Y/N), furrowing their brow.

            They couldn’t let Harrow get to Ammit. They couldn’t let him harm people. They couldn’t let him find the scarab.

            They opened their phone and went to the search bar. Sorry, Steven Grant of the gift shop. I need to figure out where you live.

l

            (Y/N) liked London roofs. They were very easy to sneak around on. (Y/N) was using that precise feature when they arrived at Steven Grant’s apartment. The poor, oblivious man left the window unlocked. (Y/N) opened it easily and slipped inside.

            The entire room was covered in books—lots of Egyptian mythology, coincidentally—and filled with places to hide things. The moment before they could start looking, though, the lock clicked.

            Shit.

            (Y/N) darted to the side and dove under a table. Most of the sides were blocked by various knickknacks and stacks of books, so, hopefully, this would keep them hidden for as long as possible.

            “She shouldn’t be here.”

            (Y/N) frowned when they heard Marc’s voice. They peered out from between the books and saw a girl and Steven? Marc? No, it was Steven. The way he glanced at his reflection in the aquarium glass was too evident.

            Oh.

            Just like (Y/N) could hear the truth of the deities walking among the people of Earth, it seemed they could hear the truth of Steven and Marc’s mind. Weird, certainly, but (Y/N) was the avatar of the goddess of truth. Half the population of Earth had been wiped out for five years before being returned. This was pretty minor in the grand scale of things.

            “Get her out of here, Steven. You’re way out of your depth,” said Marc.

            “Uh, is this your flat, Marc?” said the woman.

            “Um, I’m Steven,” said Steven.

            “Are you living here with someone else?” asked the woman, staring at the cuffs on the bed.

            “No, no, no,” said Steven.

            “Okay, so you guys are talking again?” said the woman.

            Steven nodded, clearly having no idea what he was talking about.

            The woman picked up a book. “Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?”

            “Yep,” said Steven. He cleared his throat and spoke one of the poems in French. “I am sad, I want my light put out.”

            “Summers in your absence are as dark as a room,” finished the woman and Steven together.

            This is extremely awkward and weird, thought (Y/N), really wishing they knew where the scarab was so they could take it and leave.

            “She’s my favorite poet,” said Steven.

            “Um, no, she’s my favorite,” said the woman, frowning.

            And they’re both being honest, thought (Y/N)

            “That’s mental,” said Steven.

            The woman frowned and crossed to the desk (Y/N) was hiding under.

            Shit, shit, shit.

            “So you’re learning French and hieroglyphics?” said the woman.

            “Yeah, well, that’s not that impressive, really,” said Steven. “It’s not like hieroglyphs are a whole language. It’s more like an—”

            “An alphabet,” finished the woman.

            “Yeah, and well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it,” said Steven.

            “Sure,” said the woman, humoring him but clearly irritated.

            (Y/N) was really, really not enjoying this.

            “For example, like this one here, right?” said Steven.

            “Funeral rites,” said the woman.

            “Well, someone knows their unilaterals. You,” said Steven, attempting to tease and stumbling over it terribly. “That’s amazing.”

            “Yeah…” The woman stared at Steven.

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean that in a creepy way,” said Steven.

            “No, I’m sorry. I’m not buying this, Marc,” said the woman. “Use whatever accent you want. Yeah. Let’s just get this over with.” She strolled over to the duffel bag and backpack they’d put down. “You sent these papers, but you never signed them.”

            (Y/N) peeked out from beneath the desk. The backpack is hers—the woman was going through it with a sense of ownership—so that duffel bag… (Y/N) looked at it. A part of them—their gut, almost never wrong—told them it was Marc’s. The woman thinking Steven was Marc, knowing him, and bringing him back to his (Steven’s) flat supported that. Which means Marc probably hid the scarab in there.

            “Did I? Uh…” Steven trailed off as he looked at the papers.

            “This is what you wanted,” said the woman. “After everything, you told me that we needed to move on.”

            I think Steven is dealing with Marc’s marital issues…

            “Divorce…?” said Steven.

            “Yeah, we doing this or not?” said the woman.

            “I would never divorce you,” said Steven.

            Yeah, but you aren’t Marc, thought (Y/N). They pushed that out of their mind and focused. They needed to get over to the duffel bag.

            Luckily, marital disputes made for good distractions, so while the woman and Steven spoke, (Y/N) moved from their hiding spot to behind the large bookcase.

            “Marc, what are you doing?” said the woman, sighing tiredly.

            “Look, you seem absolutely lovely,” said Steven.

            (Y/N) looked between them and the duffel bag. So close.

            “This Marc, on the other hand, is a right twit. Yeah?” said Steven.

            Marc scoffed in the mirror.

            Damn, he’s going to see me. (Y/N) frowned. But unless he has control of the body, Steeven isn’t that much of a threat. The woman is an unknown, but if I’m fast enough, I’ll be on the roofs in a moment.

            Steven took a step back and sighed. “I don’t know how to explain what’s been happening.”

            “Steven,” said Marc in warning.

            He’s also distracted, realized (Y/N).

            They felt bad taking advantage of emotional distress—they’re felt enough of it themself—but they needed the scarab so that Harrow wouldn’t know where to find it.

            “I don’t expect you to believe me,” said Steven, basically pacing.

            “Steven, listen to me,” said Marc.

            “I honestly don’t really believe myself,” said Steven.

            (Y/N) slipped towards the table.

            “All I can do is try to show you what I found.”

            “Steven, don’t, listen to me,” begged Marc.

            “I found a bag of stuff,” said Steven.

            “Don’t you dare. You’re gonna get her killed, you hear me?” said Marc.

            “What’s in it?” said the woman.

            “Don’t say anything,” said Marc.

            Steven couldn’t even look back at the woman, he was so nervous.

            “If you show Layla that scarab, then you’re when they come after her,” said Marc.

            “What’s in it?” repeated Layla.

            “Nothing,” said Steven, keeping his face turned from her.

            “I’ll just look for myself.”

            “Wait, no,” said Steven, panicked, and he turned to grab Layla as she turned to head towards the bag.

            Steven froze. Layla froze. (Y/N) froze.

            “…Hi.” (Y/N) held the scarab tightly.

            “You?!” said Steven, eyes wide.

            “You!” said Marc.

            “Who?” said Layla.

            “Y-You were there—in the village! You were in the van,” said Steven

            “Is that the scarab pointing to Ammit’s ushabti?” said Layla, narrowing her eyes.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N), moving towards the window slowly.

            “Steven, you can’t let them take that. I have to keep it safe,” said Marc.

            (Y/N) glanced at him, but Layla moved between them and the window before anything else could happen.

            “Marc and I fought side-by-side for that,” said Layla. “I’m not letting you take it, even if he’s trying to do a whole one-man-show thing and keep it to himself.”

            (Y/N) liked her spirit, but they had a job to do. “Sorry, but I need to keep this safe, and I don’t think it is with…Marc.”

            The woman glanced at Steven.

            “I don’t want it!” he said, raising his hands. He was exhausted with it all. “I don’t want it! I swear. Either one of you can have it! I am not Marc Spector, and I want nothing to do with this! I’m just Steven Grant, and I used to work in a gift shop. All I want to is to get help because I’m in trouble.”

            (Y/N) felt bad for him. Unlike Marc, he had clearly not been previously aware of the alter, and discovering that and all of the Egyptian-deity stuff was a lot.

            “…Fine,” said Layla. “I believe you.” She looked at (Y/N). “But I’m sorry, I can’t let you walk away, either. I need to know it’s safe.”

            “We all want the same thing,” said (Y/N), holding the scarab closer. “But I—I have a duty to justice. I can’t leave this here.”

            “Steven, take it from them, just take it, it’s dangerous, and Harrow will come and become their problem as well as mine,” said Marc.

            A knock sounded at the door.

            Everyone fell silent and stared at it.

            “Steven Grant? Can we have a word?” said a woman’s voice.

            “See? They’ve come for me,” said Steven.

            “Why?” said Layla.

            “I vandalized the toilet…” said Steven.

            The knocking continued.

            Steven cleared his throat. “Yeah, just a minute.” He crept towards it and opened it a crack. “Yeah?”

            “DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy here,” said the woman, showing her ID.

            Truth. Even though (Y/N) was certain they were telling the truth, they took a wary step away from the door. They still didn’t trust the scenario. This felt too much like Harrow interceding with his many connections.

            “Yeah, one second.”

            Layla ran for the window, and (Y/N) went with her after slipping the scarab into their pocket.

            “Yeah, sorry, I’m having a bit of a day,” said Steven.

            “Mind if we come in, Mr. Grant?” Kennedy didn’t wait for an answer. “Appreciate it.” She pushed in.

            (Y/N) didn’t have a chance to escape with Layla and was left in Kennedy and Fitzgerald’s lines of sight.

            Oh, no.

            For the first time in their life, (Y/N) was caught.

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[wyn-n-tonic]

I'll Have Another

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader Word Count: 3.3k+ Warnings: Protected PiV. Mentions of guns and allusion to sexual violence (but neither guns nor sexual violence are apart of this story, they are just passing comments). Oral (f! receiving). Author's Note: This is all @d-sav's fault, she derailed me from writing the fifth chapter of Days of You & Me (a Joel Miller x OFC story), you can read the first chapter HERE.

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Two whiskeys, two fingers full, down for the second night in a row as the clock ticks closer to a new day.

It’s only a Wednesday night but the nice weather drove people into the bar in groups of friends looking for a place to watch the game or somewhere new for their fantasy football league. Not him though, all alone at the bar with anxious hands and tired eyes. 

You shouldn’t be looking at him, staring at him like this from the other side of the bar. He’s never been here, you didn’t think he’d come back.

Crowd starts to thin and he raises his hand to call your attention over. 

“Final call was about half an hour ago, stretch,” you tell him, eyeing the empty glass and thinking he wants more. “If you wanna keep going, you’re gonna have to do it at home.”

“If I wanted more,” he grins out, “I would’ve asked for it half an hour ago at last call or”—he rocks his head back and forth, like he’s about to make an obvious statement—“maybe an hour ago when I finished it in the first place.”

“Then why on earth are you still here?” You ask him, arms crossed to consider the man in front of you. “Does it take you that long to sober up?”

He’s got a smile like a little kid, secretive and boyish like he’s never known true hurt because he’s always had somebody else standing in front of him to take the bulk of the blow. Or maybe he just hides it really well.

“I’ve been sober for a minute, actually,” he declares. “Just been spending all this time looking at you and how you keeping looking away from me when you see that I’ve caught you.”

“You’re new here,” you shrug. “It's my job to keep an eye on the newbies, never know who’s gonna start swinging.”

“And what would you do?” His head cocks to the side, eyes looking you up and down to the best of their ability with a bar in between you both. “If some dumb, drunk asshole were to start swinging, what would you do?” 

“If this is a threat, handsome, I should probably remind you that you’re in Texas—my daddy put a gun in my hand long before I ever knew how babies were made and said to use it if some dumb, drunk asshole got handsy.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

He is. Long face and a slightly rounded nose, black curls and half full lips on sun kissed olive skin.

“‘Cause, see,” he leans forward, and drops his thickly accented voice, “I'm talking about fighting and you’re talking about fucking.”

“To most men, that’s the same thing.” 

He considers that. “Well, I may be a dumb asshole but I’m not drunk and I certainly mind my manners.” He winks. “I'm Tommy and I would certainly like to get handsy with you.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re crashing into bed with his hand down your pants, long fingers fighting against the tightness of your done up jeans to touch you in that spot that makes your skin burn.

“If your soft little pussy is as tight as these jeans,” he drawls out, “you may never get rid of me.”

It’s not just the stimulation of his callused fingers against your clit that makes you burn, it's the words and it’s him. Has been since he sat down in the same seat last night and ordered his first drink.

He’s over you now, knees pressed into the mattress as he sits bowed towards your center with full concentration on the buttons between you. 

“You can touch me too, you know,” he says, grin splitting his face again as he looks up. With the button free, he undoes the zipper and starts to peel back the denim gently, like it’s painted on something delicate and only concentrated precision can clean it off without hurting what’s underneath it. “Oh, I hope you do. You can pull my fucking hair right out, sweetheart, it’d be an honor.” 

Shoes and pants tossed to the side, he focuses on his own as he pulls the large buckle free of his belt followed by the button of his fly and a deep sigh of relief.

“Well, you get right to the point,” you tell him, poking a pointed toe into his hip. You’ve never been more thankful for a pedicure than you are right now. “Don’t you?”

Starting with the contact of your foot poked into his side, he drags his gaze up the length of your open leg—takes in your body beneath him—and laughs.

“I really don’t,” he tells you, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt with the same deft fingers you were bucking against not even five minutes ago. “My cock's just real fucking hard and needed some breathing room.”

His voice is raspy, raw with the burn of alcohol and lust heavy on his tongue. He pulls the button up open and shrugs it off, revealing a sleeveless, white, ribbed undershirt over a barrel chest and thick, defined arms.

Lifting yourself up on your elbows, you look down at the straining material below his belt. “I really think you should give it some more.”

“Oh no,” he bends and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “I'm a real selfish son of a bitch”—he starts to pull the material down—“sometimes I can’t control myself and my pent up little dick can’t last longer than a few minutes so I try not to leave a lady too dissatisfied.”

His confidence is sexy—a magnetic charisma you’ve been drawn to the last two nights he’s ordered whiskey and laughed at all your jokes. You’ve never heard a man willingly, or with such enthusiasm, refer to his dick as little. But here he is, setting a precedent of what to expect that you feel is the direct opposite to the one you’re usually fed.

Finally, his eyes trail away from yours back down your body, pushing your legs open as he tosses the soaked fabric over his shoulder and he whistles. Not the cartoonish kind of wolf whistling reserved for Jessica Rabbit but the kind of silent disbelief and awe.

“It's cute how wet you are already,” he says, pressing two fingers flat against your mound. “The way the streetlight reflects off this slick little thing makes you look like fucking magic.” 

Still on your elbows, he crashes a kiss down on you but unlike the hungry, hard kind of desperation in his lips at the door, this is soft; this is gentle. 

There’s whiskey on his breath and a little more; tobacco; coffee; mint and cinnamon—probably gum to cover it all up.

“May I please eat your pretty little cunt?” He breathes out against your lips.

Dazed, you nod your head. He may look it but this is not the frat boy hook up you’re used to. Hell, this isn’t the kind of hook up you’re used to with any kind of boy you’ve been with up until now. Using the word cunt as a positive, associating it with prettiness and, even, filling the word pretty with so much awe and wonder like he’s lucky to be here.

He kisses you again before sliding back, laying down flat on his stomach as he lifts your shirt to place a kiss to both of your hips and the soft skin of your lower stomach. 

Tommy does not get right to the point, he drags it out.

Shoulders settling between your thighs; soft lips against the inside of your knee, your thighs, and repeated patterns on the opposite side.

Anticipation builds within you, his hot breath ghosting across the sensitive skin he’s already set ablaze while yours comes out in short, heavy puffs.

He looks up at you again with that cheeky grin, like he has a secret that he’s just dying to tell. “Go ahead and lay back,” comes his low voice, breath fanning right over where you want him. “Let me take care of the rest and feel free to pull my hair.” 

Talking back isn’t even an option, not when he hooks his arm over your thigh to place one heavy, rough palm down on your mound. Still, you can’t sit back, too mesmerized by the crooked smile and lonesome dimple as he spreads you beneath that grip.

Then he kisses you. Open mouthed, free hand gripping around your thigh, he closes his mouth around you like he has never seen food, never known the satisfaction of a good meal or a good fuck. 

You do crash then, one hand sinking into your own hair as the other threads through the curls reminiscent of the darkest night you’ve ever seen. 

He hums and the vibration makes you jolt against his face which only makes him laugh. The laughter, continuous and contagious, mixes in with his moans until your own are dancing up to meet his.

You’ve been loud before, but never like this. This aren't the cries of a dorm room pornstar persona keeping herself in the good graces of drunk boys with mean streaks. This is heavy breaths and his name like a prayer before God who you are also calling to in desperation. Not to ask His spite for the man between your legs, but to ask His mercy and protection over him for the rest of his life.

This is tender and gentle.

This is warm and all encompassing.

This is pressure on the dam building up in a hard rain.

“Tommy,” you say his name in a panic, the familiar feeling of a full bladder hitting you. “Tommy, I’m gonna—“ It’s too late.

Pressure releases and warmth slides down to meet his tongue—his fingers—different in feeling from the slick you’ve dripped with after every fleeting moment of eye contact. Different, further, from the feeling of relief you get when you finally find the toilet after a four hour lecture hall.

Lifting himself, he runs a hand across his bottom lip and then his tongue along that too. “Been a while since I made somebody come for me that fast,” he says, surprise lacing his voice. “Tell me who’s not treating you right, I’ll beat the fuck out of them.” 

Covering your face—your embarrassment—with your hands makes him laugh and he lifts his weight off of the bed.

“Hold this for me, sweetheart,” he says as a small object no heavier than a quarter lands on your stomach followed by the sound of a zipper.

Tommy’s toeing his boots off when you sit up to look at him, undershirt already tossed to the side somewhere near his button up from earlier. His pants go next but he leaves his briefs, the soft cotton material leaving nothing much to the imagination as it stretches with his growing cock.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” He asks, calling my attention up to his eyes. I can see him slipping his underwear down in my periphery before he joins me back on the bed, but I don’t look—too taken by the liquid coal color of blown out pupils against dark brown irises.

“I don't think I’ve ever come before,” you tell him, lower stomach still clenching and unclenching. There’s a wet spot just beneath where you’re sitting, subtle and cooling against your ass in a way so different than the room temperature spillage of an uncovered cock you’re used to.

He smiles. “That’s why I asked you who hasn’t been treating you right,” he responds. “Somebody as pretty and smart as you should be coming as often as she goddamn pleases.”

“How do you know I’m smart?”

Eyes darting around the room, he lands on you again. “Framed bachelor degree, textbooks on the nightstand and on the desk with big words I don’t understand, figured you were a smart girl.”

“I'm trying.” There’s something so fucking intimate about how close he is, certainly the most intimacy you’ve ever felt.

“Help me with this condom, baby,” he says after several beats. “Been dying to get your soft little hands around my dick since the moment I set eyes on you.”

“Not my mouth?” You ask. “Usually, it’s my mouth that’s wanted.”

Gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he encourages you to open up to him, something you find yourself doing so easily, as he leans over to press his tongue flat against against yours.

Kissing after a man has been down on you is something you’re accustomed to, even if men won’t give the same courtesy of kissing you after you’ve reciprocated, but you’ve never tasted this. Tangy and sweet and mixed with his bad habits, there’s a throbbing building down within you again.

“I don’t have time for this sweet little mouth around me tonight,” he whispers when he pulls away. “I’m gonna three pump chump you and I’d like to do that deep inside of your pussy and not your throat.”

Stunning, charismatic. This man could tell you to rob a bank for him and you’d probably do so.

Taking your hand, all eyes focus on the weeping length of him between you. Even if he’s gonna three pump chump you as he says, part of you wants to ignore him and take him in your mouth anyway. He got to taste; why shouldn’t you?

Controlling yourself is hard, wanting to willingly give over everything you so closely protect in other encounters—the vulnerability, the tears, the communication of what feels good and what hurts. It’s usually always just what hurts and no amount of communication can solve a lecture fatigued college boy’s mind. 

With trembling hands, you help him push the condom down his shaft; careful beneath his guidance not to squeeze too hard.

You let him lift your shirt off, his eyes kept on yours as he peels yet another layer of fabric away. The amount of respect within this unforeseen encounter is the kind of shit you’ve only seen in movies.

“Magic,” he whispers again, finally looking down your body when the bra comes off as well. “You look like fucking magic.”

He leans himself into you, open mouth to open mouth as he takes your body back down to the mattress. All of his weight is braced against one arm and you’re gripping half-moons into his ribcage as he breathes heavy and slow, so close to you. It’s like he knows there’s a limit to air between you and he’s saving most of it for you.

Guiding himself to your entrance, he goes slack jawed with a small groan as he pushes slowly inside.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Goddamn, you’re never getting rid of me.”

He lays you down fully, body weight pressing against you like a hard wind, and he laughs when you start counting.

“One…” Your arms curved around his hips. “Two…” His hands smoothing across your hair. “Three…” The heels of your palms pressing into his ass to encourage him.

“There were your three pumps, chump,” you whisper. “Shouldn't you be done?”

Chest to chest, his hips stutter into a slow grind. “Oh, I’m taking my time with you, sweetheart.”

Continuing that same languid pace between your legs, it’s all soft touches and heavy breaths and moans traded back and forth in the space between until that pressure is building in you again.

Before, you thought it was an accident waiting to happen—part of you still does—but you only encourage him to continue fucking up into you at this pace as you chase down the high that fueled your embarrassment not too long ago.

It’s better this time, the same but different. Different in the way that he’s inside of you; the way his cock stretches you makes it all build that much slower and come down in a similar pace around him. His reaction, too, is different with his choked sound of pleasure and the changes in pace with which he continues pumping into you. 

“Never getting rid of me,” he whispers against your lips as another wave rushes through you. “I could live inside this cunt, pretty thing, nothing else has ever gripped me so-oh fuck—so fucking well.”

He doesn’t make a spectacle of his release, doesn’t grunt like a man through the fake tan fumes of a body building competition. This man you wouldn’t have necessarily pegged for gentle not even two hours ago releases soft sounds beneath his grasp for air and stills with closed eyes.

“Believe it or not,” he says a few moments later when he’s rolled onto his back, “I've never fucked like that.” 

“You're right,” you tell him. “I don’t believe it.” 

He’s not in a rush to leave and you’re not in a rush to push him out either. So different, still, from other encounters you’ve had. It helps that he smells good; tastes good; treats you with respect and kindness.

You watch as he stands up and moves across the room towards the ensuite. He’s got a cute little butt, not much going on there but enough to grab onto as you already know. He smiles when he looks up and catches your reflection in the mirror.

“Don't make fun of my booty,” he says over the sound of running water. “I’m very insecure about it.”

You watch again as he walks back and slips naked out the bedroom door. Small moments like this and you’re glad you have the apartment to yourself more often than not.

Returning, he hands you the glass of water he filled up and joins you back beneath the covers.

“So… I’m gonna guess from all the books and the fancy paper framed up on the wall that you’re not just a bartender. Are you still studying?”

“I am,” you stutter; half caught off guard by the interest he’s taken, half caught off guard by the fondness you already feel for him. Like this is normal. “I graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Public Health from Texas A&M.”

“Go Aggies,” he says.

“More like Go Longhorns now,” you continue. “I’m getting my masters here in Austin and then the dream is a doctorate from Johns Hopkins, all public health.”

He looks confused but interested. “I said I was a dumbass so excuse me, I promise I’m not trying to sound like a dickhead, but what does that enable you to do?” He shakes his head. “I never went to college, I’m actually really curious.”

“I'd like to be an epidemiologist,” you answer. “They study infectious diseases, aid in the prevention of them for the good of global health. Prevent pandemics and shit.” 

He nods, crooked smile returning. “That's like superhero level of shit, you know that? What are you doing having sex with a random hick in some bar?”

You laugh in return. “What's a random hick in a bar doing knowing how to eat pussy that well?”

“Oh, I was stationed in France for a bit,” he tells you. “French girls do not let you get away without eating them into a goddamn stupor, best skill I picked up in the army.”

“And you used a condom without me having to beg you, that’s so sexy.”

“Yeah?” He asks, leaning in with that same crooked, cocksure smile of his.

“Yeah,” you answer. “Don’t think I wanna get rid of you, in all honesty.”

Gently, he takes the water glass and sets it over on the nightstand before pushing back up against you. “I got another condom in my wallet, how about another round?”

“I have a whole box,” you counter, “how about several?”

He kisses you again, mumbling something about soulmates against your lips as he takes you back down beneath his naked body.

[xenonmoon]

The Contendings of Horus and Set (and homosexuality in Ancient Egypt)

(The image is the Chester Beatty Papyrus I, written in hieratic, containing the mentioned story)

In my last post I (affectionately) called Set "the Gay Uncle of the Egyptian Pantheon" and promised to elaborate more on it in another post.

(CW: sexuality talk, bits of violence and- lettuce. No strong language)

First, a "little" foreword on homosexuality in Ancient Egypt: this is a very complicated subject as I gathered since, well- we don't know very much about it. The few accounts that survived are either disputed or offer little information on the general attitude towards same-sex relationship outside the single case.

It's also difficult to talk about heterosexuality, homosexuality and bisexuality in ancient times at all since the way we know them is a relatively modern concept (the word homosexuality is first attested in 1868 on a letter to Karl Heinrich Ulrichs by Karl-Maria Kertbeny) and before christianity became mainstream the biggest concerns were at best pointed towards the practices (mostly, Taking It™).

For everything else, relationships were just relationships.

The best known example of a same-sex couple were these guys, since it's likely the earliest recorded in history:

They're Khnumhotep (ẖnm.w-ḥtp(.w)) and Niankhkhnum (nj-ꜥnḫ-ẖnm.w), two royal servants and confidants who had the prestigious task to be the king's head manicurists. In their mastaba tomb in Saqqara are depicted in poses traditionally reserved for couples - like holding hands, embracing and kissing.

However, both of them had wives (Khenut and Khentikawes) and 6 children each.

Ancient Egyptians were very passionate about fertility - which is understandable considering how easily people could die any day for any reason back then. The more children you had and the more the chances that at least one of them survived to adulthood and could carry on jobs and duties.

So as long as you were a (re)productive member of society, it wasn't a big deal that you enjoyed / preferred the company of an individual of your same sex.

The big deal was, as I mentioned, Taking It™ for two main reasons:

Power dynamics. Assuming an active role during the intercourse meant at the same time asserting your dominance and/or humiliating the person on the receiving end of it

Something that I understood as "guy takes up the role of a woman during the intercourse but with none of her reproductive power" which considering how massively important being fertile was to them... well. Makes it a practice as sterile as the desert

And guess who was the god of deserts? our guy Set

(and also storm, disorder and violence to be precise)

His name was written either stš, swtḫ, swtj or stẖ depending on the time period (the Greeks just went with Seth)

He also loved eating this particular vegetable a normal amount (keep it in mind, we'll need that later):

Set was one of the children of Geb (the god of the Earth) and Nut (goddess of the sky) along with Osiris, Isis and Nephthys - who he was married to.

Osiris was king at the time and upheld the rule of ma'at (ideal natural order, fundamental concept of AE culture) along with Isis, his wife-sister.

At some point Set murdered Osiris, tore his body into pieces and scattered them all around Egypt. Reasons for this act may have been:

Osiris kicked him

Osiris had an affair with Nephthys

Isis and Nephthys in the form of either a falcon or a kite searched for all pieces and with the help of Anubis put them all together in what is considered the first mummy in Egyptian tradition. Isis uses her wings to briefly fan new life in Osiris' body and the two conceive a child, Horus.

Osiris' resurrection was not permanent and after his time was out he became ruler of the Duat (the realm of the dead), while Isis raises Horus in secret until he was old enough to come back to challenge Set for his throne.

The dispute took the form of a series of competitions (like racing with boats or fighting each other in the form of hippopotami) and legal judgement before the assembled council of gods, the Ennead.

During one of the competitions Isis tried to help her son while he was locked in combat with Set but accidentally spears Horus - he got FURIOUS and beheaded his mother. Then tried to fix it by sticking on the body a head of a cow. No one will ever notice, amright? (This gives the mythological origin of the cow horn headdress Isis sometimes is depicted wearing)

Horus repeatedly defeats Set in the various competitions and is largely favoured by the the other gods, but the head of the Ennead was Geb and Geb liked Set so they were stuck in this limbo situation of tie for years.

and then - brace yourself. Now it comes the key moment of this story.

Set and Horus have sex.

I'm serious

The details of this obviously varied from account to account (as most of myths in Ancient Egypt, it was almost expected to have different variations of it depending on the time period and place)

According to one account, it was deliberately only to humiliate him

According to another, he genuinely wanted to bang his nephew other than the act of dominance / humiliation thing, he didn't take no as an answer and got him drunk

According to another one again it was consensual, Horus agreed on condition that Set would've given him part of his strength (my fave)

But Horus was a smart birb and he either caught Set's seed with his hands (don't ask me how) or removed it in secret, so to make Set believe the act was successful. Horus tells his mom about what happened and the morning after they plan something.

Horus wanks on some lettuce and Isis serves it to a clueless Set.

Who eats it all.

The next time the Ennead were called to judgement, Set mentions having laid with Horus as a mean to demonstrate he has asserted his dominance over him so he had the right to claim the throne for himself. Horus disagrees. Geb verifies who of the two had the other's seed in his body and-

Set did.

Horus thus won the dispute

They eventually reconcile with each other and shared the lands to rule (which might have been fertile lands of the Nile to Horus and foreign deserts to Set, or one had the land and the other the sky, or the two traditional halves of the country). With this reconciliation, the dualities they represent are also reconciled into a united whole restoring order after the conflict.

(according to other accounts Geb played the bitch and gave sole reign to Horus, to other much later when Egypt was a bit in a bad place Set was utterly defeated, exiled and/or destroyed)

Funny thing is that Set actually got pregnant from the tainted lettuce and gave birth to either:

A golden disk on his forehead

Thot

Thot's moon disk (in versions where Thot is present during the dispute)

Well ancient Egyptian mythology sure is something huh

[wolfpawzjakey]

Jason is not soft and pleasant like a light breeze in summer or spring, but he looks and this image is perfect. Percy knows that Jason is lightning and wind at the same time - stormy and lashing, ready to knock you down, drag you a couple of kilometers and kill you by firmly putting your head against something or frying with one precise blow quickly but painfully.

And he's also the law the one that no one dares to violate, the one that everyone obeys and respectstruly the ideal son of the lord of the gods, perfectly combining the element of his father and his dominion over power.

The law is harsh, you break it and he doesn't care why you did it, he will just punish you, perhaps with death, perhaps with the pain of your loved ones.

Percy knows, knows how ruthless the wind and lightning are, how harsh the law is, but that doesn't stop him from loving.

And You truly wonderfully and concisely conveyed Percy's condition and his relationship with his daughter - Percy's pain will always be in his heart, but Aisha is next to him, his light in the realm of darkness, his saving grace and for her sake he will continue to fight — Lou June 🪷

Percy is the perfect picture of the sea. A beauty that people from all around fawn over. He’s beautiful as the sea on a perfect summer day, elegant as the waves and as calming as the crashing sounds the water makes against the shore and cliffs.

Jason is one of many who have fallen into the lull of Percy’s oceanic pull, the luckiest of them all to be chosen by the man himself, which is why Jason knows the most that Percy is a hidden danger. Despite the unrelenting chaos he hides beneath the surface of his skin, he attracts people to him, unbeknownst to them he could be their death.

He is like a riptide, a well hidden killer, easy to forget about until you’re trapped in his control, only escaping by luck and nothing more. He’s unpredictable once caught in his grasp and powerful enough to take your life within mere moments. Percy is a creature of surprise, a constant unknown factor no matter how much people have tried to study him. No matter how much the gods have tried to study him. To no avail, they walk away with no more information than his body and actions are willing to give, if they’re lucky enough to walk away at all.

Jason knows that’s how he always will be, dark, unforgiving and unpredictable beneath the surface, but his affections will never fade. He will admire Percy like he’s a hidden oasis in the middle of the desert, kneeling in reverence on the grounds his waters lap at.

-

I am so tired rn so this is probably ASS (I started taking some meds again that I stopped taking cause I ran out and forgot to refill oops) but like, ugh. Power couple (literally I’d be scared) Jercy just makes me melt. They’re both such dangerous individuals. They are the sky and the sea and the earth all in one and could wipe areas in moments and yet they are some of the most caring characters ever. I love them because they could so easily be stronger than some of the gods but they’re just… two guys, who love their friends and each other and unless they’re fucked with they’re just peaceful. I love them….

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

The Batman (2022) isn't perfect by any means, but it is still a phenomenal film and one of the best pieces of Bat-media in recent memory.

Firstly, the aesthetic. Seemingly small but an incredibly important part. BTAS was broody, '89 was gothic, Forever was campy, TDK was... bad. And TB I think finds a real sweet spot in between vibes. It's dark, serious, it's got a technological noir, and yet still has vibrancy and color and (the key to my heart) neon.

One scene, you'll be sitting in an abandoned tunnel with shadows and muddy colors, the next you'll be surrounded by police under white lights, and the next you'll be in a night club with LEDs of every color you can think.

The fights. This film has some of the best Batman fights I've ever seen period. Really just action in general. The night club, the hallway, the finale. It's not like TDK where every fight is slow, precise, methodical, and honestly boring. Each fight or chase here is energetic and entertaining. The choreography is excellent, the stakes are legitimately high, and the settings are always unique.

The night club is crowded and overwhelming, with people swinging, shouting, and grabbing at Bats who aren't even apart of the fight. His skills and equipment save his life multiple times, whether it's block a bullet with a precise pipe throw or survive a shotgun blast with his armor. When he finally grabs Penguin you feel as overwhelmed and animalistic as he does.

The precinct escape is tight and tense. From the punch to the jump, every second makes you feel the absolute abominable stress of trying to escape a building like this. Officers pouring out of every room, bullets whizzing by and beaming off his suit. Merely seconds to get the flight suit on before they come pouring out to the roof. We experience the fall with him as his nerves spike, all culminating in a quick second decision that ends with him crashing into the side of the road.

Gotham. The beloved city feels full here. Subways are crowded, streets are packed. The crime feels real. Vandals, gang violence, thieves, assassins, crime families. It's not just militants and killers. We see the systemic issues in place that cause these. We see the feelings and social strains that make people do this. It's like you're taking a peak into another world with context and history you don't know but understand. It feels right.

The characterizations. I'm not a huge fan of the whole "Bruce Wayne is the mask, Batman is the real you" thing inflamed by TDK. And I really don't like "the Waynes were corrupt and did bad things, even for good reasons".

I think there's so much more to say about the two very different, very real sides to Bruce's personality. The one that comes out as billionaire playboy philanthropist, and the one that comes out as a violent and vengeful demon. Both who are willing to suffer for their causes. And I think there's so much more when the Waynes die from a mugging. That the crime is so bad it took the highest. That it could take anyone at any time, even the beloved elite.

However it does something right that most other Bat-media fails at. It makes Batman a symbol of hope. It demonstrates a growth in himself. That he can do more good to inspire the people than to instill fear in them.

Pandaredd made a good video on this, but in Crisis On Two Earths, Bats' opposite is represented as the ultimate nihilist. This means that at his core, Batman is really the ultimate optimist. And that makes sense. You don't put on a suit and fight crime, you don't try to create resources to help people, you don't befriend and reform your own Rogues gallery unless you believe you can change something. That all the work you do, all the suffering you experience will be worth it when you get to know the world healed.

And that's something The Batman understands. Batman started as a symbol of fear. So that every criminal hesitates at an alley. Panics at a shadow. But he became something else. A symbol of optimism. So that people can walk the streets at night. That they can get the help they need. That they can look into the sky with hope.

[heliads]

Hi 👋🏻 I was wondering if I could request a readerxpercy Jackson characters platonic, who’s a child of hades who’s a very sunny small cinnamon roll who likes to wear sundresses but is also really awkward and they kind of have to navigate there new life at camp half blood after being claimed love you stuff btw❤️

me when appearances are deceiving

masterlist

Percy Jackson gets weird around dead people. It’s a habit he’s tried his hardest to shake, but honestly, he doesn’t feel that he should be punished for this. Who doesn’t flinch at the sight of a corpse up and walking like they’re late for brunch plans with the other rotting besties?

Well, Percy does know one person seemingly born without that natural aversion to the deceased. They’re the reason he’s in such a predicament, actually. See, this is just what he gets for trying to be warm and welcoming. If Percy had just left the kind, happy, welcome-to-Camp-Half-Blood, you’re-going-to-die-now part to the actual camp tour guides, he wouldn’t be stuck trying to wake the dead.

As if Percy hasn’t done enough of this. The first time he heard about the plan, he was hit by a thousand flashbacks of a rather sullen Nico de Angelo, mossy gravestones, and French fries sinking alarmingly into a pit of endless earth. Gods, he hadn’t been able to eat McDonald’s for weeks without thinking about moldy flesh, and that truly is a crime against humanity.

That was Nico, though. This is Y/N. Y/N L/N to be precise, a new demigod to Camp Half-Blood and so not Percy’s problem except for the fact that they kind of are. Percy had been minding his own business at camp– well, as much as any hyperactive kid can– when they’d approached him asking for help. Percy had seen this as his chance to prove himself helpful and he’d agreed. If only Y/N had warned him about the corpse sightings before Percy said he was down. Then he might have been able to weasel out of this mess.

Then again, he probably should have seen this coming. Y/N is a child of Hades, one of the rare descendants of the god of the Underworld that Percy has had the privilege of meeting. They’re also utterly unlike any other child of the dead that Percy has met, probably because they’re actually an optimist. Y/N has a bright smile and wears sundresses. Y/N grins infectiously and leads the Hades cabin at nightly camp sing-a-longs, which actually isn’t hard to do. Nico still looks like he wants to melt into the ground every time someone strikes up a tune unless Will Solace gets on his case.

Percy worries about Y/N sometimes. Despite the fact that there’s really no point in distrusting a demigod because of their godly parent (unless that godly parent is Ares, then Percy is totally justified in any and all irritation), Y/N’s status as a Hades kid hasn’t exactly won them the warmest of welcomes from the other campers. Y/N’s slowly winning them over because it only takes one conversation with them to learn that they’re not a weirdo, but still. The going is slow. Maybe Percy could help with that.

The situation had come about just this morning. Percy was finishing up his breakfast with his usual gusto (blue waffles and blueberry syrup, you will always be a creation worthy of the gods themselves) when Y/N had approached him hesitantly. At first, they’d hardly been able to get the words out, and then it had all come out at once and he’d been swept away on a tidal wave of explanations and anticipated reactions.

He’d asked Y/N to slow down on the walk over back to his cabin. In the end, what he managed to put together was this:  Y/N needed help with a situation that required the help of someone who might be able to defend them from attack if it came to that. Y/N has only been at camp for two short months, which isn’t a whole lot of time to pick up the nuance of sword fighting as compared to Percy’s years of experience. Sure, a lot of that came from picking fights he probably should have ran from, but sometimes you just have to face your problems head on, right? Right?

Anyway, Percy felt proud that someone would ask him for help, so he said no before he could stop himself. It had been a while since he was out on a quest, maybe he was itching for something to do after all.

Well, he’s certainly found himself a good amount of trouble then. Y/N’s grin split their face with eager excitement when Percy agreed to help out, and they’d gestured for him to follow them to the woods.

See, that should have been his first sign that something was going to go wrong. Nothing good ever happens in the woods surrounding Camp Half-Blood. Percy can rattle off about a thousand and one mishaps that all took place in the shadowy oaks and desolate hollows of the camp wilderness. If the monsters roaming the forest weren’t enough, Percy has found Labyrinth entrances, been stung by a scorpion thanks to Luke Castellan’s betrayal, and launched an assault against an infestation of Myrmekes all within those same oaken confines.

Not the greatest place to start this favor, to say the least. Speaking of which, Percy still doesn’t really have a good idea what exactly he’s doing here. Sure, Y/N told him, but he might have been spacing out during that conversation. In his defense, he had seen Annabeth walking by when Y/N was finally getting to that point, and she’d had her hair down. As if he could be expected to pay attention under such circumstances.

Y/N finally comes to a stop in the middle of a rough clearing. “This should do well,” they decide.

Percy nods solemnly, eyeing the blank earth like he has any idea what is going. “Yes, it should. Just to make sure everything’s ironed out, uh, it’s going to do well for what, again?”

“Raising the dead,” Y/N says without a trace of hesitation.

Percy blinks. “Sorry, I think I heard you wrong. We’re doing what?”

“There’s a dead person, and I want to talk to them,” Y/N clarifies.

Percy turns to them. “There are a lot of dead people in the world. Who are you trying to talk to, and why? And why am I here for this? And why are we doing this on camp grounds? And–”

Y/N cuts him off before he can really get going, which Percy only mildly dislikes. “Listen, I know it sounds like a lot, and I’m super sorry, but this is important. I had a dream from my dad.”

“I see,” Percy says, like the mere mention of a dream clears up everything. In all honesty, it kind of does. Percy has received his share of godly commandments through dreams. For some reason, if it weren’t enough for the gods to ruin his life by giving him impossible tasks, they always take it upon themselves to mess up his beauty rest as well. He can’t have anything around here.

“Yeah,” Y/N says slowly, “he was there in the dream, and he said I needed to talk to someone. A soldier who died in the Revolutionary War. Apparently they know something that will help with the defense of the camp.”

Percy frowns. “If Hades knows who you need to talk to, why doesn’t he just tell you outright? Especially if it’s to protect the camp, that’s serious.”

Unconsciously, Percy reaches into his pocket to tap Riptide and make sure it’s still there. He doesn’t like the thought that there’s something wrong with the camp. He’s done enough time worrying over Thalia’s tree and the like. If the defenses are failing and no one knows about it but the god of the Underworld, well, it doesn’t exactly sound good.

Y/N groans. “Believe me, I asked him that myself. He just said some nonsense about needing to trust the journey and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. I woke up not too long after that.”

“Sounds like a god,” Percy muses. Thunder rumbles overheard, and he fights the urge to flash an obscene gesture at the sky. He doubts it would give Y/N any more faith in him, though, and they’re already looking at him like they expect him to run.

“Well,” he says slowly, hating himself for going along with this truly awful plan, “let’s talk to a dead guy, then.”

Y/N’s face brightens in an instant. “You’ll do it with me? Really?”

“Oh, I’m not going to be doing it,” Percy clarifies in a rush, “That’s all you, sorry. I will stand here and look menacing behind you, though. Ghosts can be a bit of a mess. I feel like you could use some reinforcements.”

“That would be perfect,” Y/N admits.

They kneel on the ground, gently pushing some dirt away with their hand while grabbing a small flask with their other. Judging by the ease with which they unscrew the lid of the vial and pour a dark liquid on the ground, this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. Percy isn’t sure if that makes him more or less concerned.

“What, uh, is that stuff?” Percy asks, trying not to seem too conspicuously freaked out. This may not be his first ghost-summoning rodeo, but that doesn’t mean he’s down with everything. 

“Iced tea,” Y/N says matter-of-factly, “They’re Revolutionary War era, right? I feel like they’ll be called to tea. Or at least want to dump it in the Boston Harbor.”

Percy has to respect that logic. He’s certain he could do no better, at least. Y/N murmurs a few words in what sounds like Ancient Greek, and a cold wind blows through the clearing, making Percy’s nerves stand on edge. As he watches, indistinct shapes form at the edges of the forest, a few braver ones daring to approach and sip at the pool of tea. It occurs to him that this might be the strangest tea party he’s ever attended, and it takes everything in Percy to not start laughing. He’s not sure the ghosts would take to that all that well.

One solidifies more than the others after drinking. Y/N narrows their eyes at it. “Who sent you here?”

It opens a rotting jaw to answer. “Hadesssss.”

The word comes out in a hiss of smoke and dying exhales. Percy had pulled out Riptide the second Y/N started chanting (usually a good time to have weapons in hand), and his knuckles clench around the grip now. He does not like that sound. This is so not a good morning.

Y/N nods. “What do you know about camp defenses?”

The guy takes a while to respond. Percy likes to think it’s because the ghost is particularly well-spoken and not because it has to get the other half of its jaw to swing back in place before it can answer. Definitely not that.

“There’ssss a curse upon the boundariessss,” it whispers decomposedly, “it liftsss every hundred yearsssssss.”

“What do we have to do to fix it?” Y/N asks. Percy has to admire their determination. He would like to run, but they’re still there, just as focused as ever.

The ghost considers this. “There’s a ssssscroll owned by the centaur. Read it before nightfall and your livessss will be sssssspared.”

Y/N starts to ask another question, but the ghost’s eyes roll back in its head. “Death callssss me back,” it moans, “sssstay alive, child of Hadessssss.”

The ghost is pulled away from them, back towards the edge of the forest, away into nothingness. Some of the other ghosts surge towards the small lake of tea in the hopes of gaining more energy now that the main speaker is gone, but Percy steps in front, blade extended, and they back off. Soon enough, all of the dead are gone, and it’s just the two of them alone in the clearing.

“Well,” Y/N says brightly, “I think that went well.”

“You do?” Percy asks, frowning.

“Sure,” they explain, “we have answers, don’t we? That’s great.”

A voice sounds from behind them. “I think I’d like some answers.”

Percy turns around to see Chiron coming to a stop, arms folded. “Why are the two of you in the woods unsupervised? Percy, you know the rules.”

Percy winces. Totally forgot about that. He’s probably skipping arts and crafts. Given Percy’s lack of skills related to sculpture, though, maybe that’s for the best. He thinks he might have actually traumatized the instructor with his last clay piece. In Percy’s defense, though, his centerpiece really wasn’t supposed to look that much like a Gorgon.

“I was just thinking,” he says slowly, trying to think of some way to warn Chiron without actually mentioning the fact that they’d been summoning the dead, “You know, since the camp has been around so long. Got to be hundreds of years, right? So cool that the defenses have held up so long. You know, and they don’t have to be, uh, renewed, right? Not like a contractually obligated thing to keep performing a spell every century. That would be crazy.”

Chiron blinks in surprise, and then his eyes widen. “Actually, one such spell does exist. Thank you for reminding me, Percy. Out of curiosity, how did you have such good timing? I imagine anyone who knows about that spell is long since dead?”

“Dead?” Percy repeats, the picture of innocence. “Well, that’s ridiculous. Who could talk to the dead, right? Certainly not me. Or Y/N. I just had, you know, a good auspicious dream. I love dreams. Have them all the time, actually.”

Chiron stares at him, and Percy gets that familiar feeling that the centaur can see straight through his soul and read his mind. At last, he lifts a shoulder. “Dreams can certainly hold meaning. Well, thank you anyway.”

Chiron turns to leave, but pauses at the edge of the clearing. Percy allows himself a small moment of celebration that they’d managed to get out of this without getting caught.

“Oh, and Y/N?” The centaur says, “Next time you summon the dead, do it with adult supervision. Or at least adult supervision with a better alibi.”

“Will do,” Y/N calls cheerfully, and Chiron leaves without another word.

Well, it’s not Percy’s strangest morning. He’s sure he’ll have more, too. He grins at Y/N, who breaks out into laughter.

“What do you say we head back into camp?” Percy suggests.

“That sounds great to me,” Y/N says. 

The sun lights their way back through the waving trees. Percy decides that he’s had his fill of dead people for a while. No ghosts for at least the next month. It’s a new personal rule.

pjo tag list: @w1shes43, @fadedver, @anxiety-werewolf

[ms-m-astrologer]

The Week Ahead: June 3-9, 2024

Lunar Phases

Monday, June 3, 02:36 UT - Balsamic Moon, 28°01’ Aries

The key phrases for the Balsamic lunar phase are “let go of the past,” and “envision the future.” Not so much a “scorched earth” vibe, but a “scorch the earth and then salt it” vibe. Have a good physical outlet.

Thursday, June 6, 12:38 UT - New Moon, 16°18’ Gemini

The key phrase for the New lunar phase is “set a new intention for the month.” Usually I recommend just one, but since this is Gemini we can try for two! There is a sense of needing to grow up a little bit - to take a more mature approach, and leave childish things behind.

Monday, June 10, 04:34 UT - Crescent Moon, 4°48’ Leo

The key phrase for the Crescent lunar phase is “gather and mobilize resources.” Can we be creative without being total drama queens? Lots of enthusiasm, but we probably don’t need to use so much force.

Void of Course Moon

Sunday, June 2, 22:04 UT (Aries) - Monday, June 3, 05:55 UT (Taurus)

Wednesday, June 5, 08:09 UT (Taurus) - 08:36 UT (Gemini)

Friday, June 7, 12:16 UT (Gemini) - 12:41 UT (Cancer)

Sunday, June 9, 19:05 UT (Cancer) - 19:29 UT (Leo)

Retrograde/Direct/Etc.

Pre-retrograde shadow: Saturn/Pisces

Retrograde: Ceres/Capricorn, Pallas/Scorpio, Pluto/Aquarius

Post-retrograde shadow: Juno/Virgo

Tuesday the 4th, at 15:32 UT, the Sun and Venus have their Superior conjunction. This is the halfway point of their cycle; we’re precisely between Venus Rx’s. (Which drama starts in January 2025, plenty of time before then!) We’ll henceforward be a little more cautious and internal with our Venus areas.

Ingresses

Monday, June 5, 07:37 UT- transiting Mercury enters Gemini

Two weeks of opportunities to hone the language we use*, read, listen, and watch. Jabber at your peril. Make connections and discover patterns. Get interested in as many new ideas as possible. (*Steven Forrest’s example is the difference between “my mother was judgemental” and “my mother projected her own shame onto me.”)

Sunday, June 9, 04:35 UT - transiting Mars enters Taurus

“Fighting for peace,” as Steven put it. We can be tremendously sluggish, or we can be steadily working hard. It’s surprising just how much power we have at our disposal now.

Et Cetera

There are two Opportunity Periods this week:

Tuesday, June 4, 23:04 UT - Wednesday, June 5, 08:36 UT. “This Last Quarter Moon OP is a good time to get organized, let go of what is no longer necessary, and finish up projects.”

Friday, June 7, 12:41 UT - Sunday, June 9, 19:29 UT. “Long OP while the Moon goes through the entire sign of Cancer, great for finding or expressing love after your emotions are renewed.”

There are three distinct divisions to the week.

While the Moon is in Taurus (Monday the 3rd, 05:55 UT - Wednesday the 5th, 08:36 UT). Starting out unsettled, and we’re possibly digging in our heels against change. A good time to “ground and center” based on our own selves and not some external thing.

While the Moon is in Gemini (Wednesday the 5th, 08:36 UT - Friday the 7th, 12:41 UT). No less than FIVE thingies in Gemini: the Sun, the Moon, Mercury, Venus, and Jupiter. Mars is still in Aries, too. People are going to be all over the place. Remember to breathe (Gemini).

While the Moon is in Cancer (Friday the 7th, 12:41 UT - Sunday the 9th, 19:29 UT). Time to get in touch with our feelings! We may not feel any less scattered, but meditation/prayer helps us calm down a little.

On Sunday, Mars enters Taurus - and I am quite amused by the idea that Mars may be a stabilizing force for the next several weeks.

[hx4x4enthusiast]

Two sparks and a drumming heart

Part 1 (3233 words)

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/jorico/721903257373605888/chapter-2-1560-words-warmth-covered-my-sore-body?source=share

Ship: Optimus x gender-neutral reader x Ratchet 

Fic category: hurt/comfort 

Trigger Warning: Self-Harm, Depression, mention of past suicide attempt,

“Speech”

-Commlink conversation-

kursiv=thought

It was a calm Friday at the base, the kids finally got the permission from their parents, Fowler and Optimus to have a sleepover all weekend long. Difference all the kids sleep with their guardians, and I will sleep n the main area.

 You see everyone has a guardian, a protector of sorts, they pick you up from school protect you from the Decepticons spent time with you while you teach them about earth and humans. For example, Arcee is Jacks Guardian, Bulkhead protects Miko meanwhile Raf has Bumblebee as his Guardian and I well, I can take care of myself, always has always will and that is fine. Believe me I can understand Optimus is the leader of the Autobots he already knows all about Earth and humans a top of that he has the burden of an entire planet and war on his shoulder, meanwhile Ratchet constantly works from trying to help with scientific advancements to give constant medical services.

 Ratchet is a medic to be more precise the medical officer of the Autobots, and probably the person that loathes me the most. And I tried to befriend him, or at least be on civil speaking terms (like June), with him but every time I try, it seems the opposite happens. Some people just don’t get along with others. And I would stay out his way believe me I can take a hint. My other half guardian would be Optimus he is the leader. He is civil with everyone, and kind of the only bot Ratchet is willing to listen to. He is nice we, on the rare occasion he has time, talk about books. But well Optimus is the Autobot leader and a Prime he doesn’t have time for a small human like me, which is absolutely understandable, I mean he carries the weight of the fate of our planet and the future of his planet on his shoulder. While simultaneously being a strong leader for his team and fighting in a war. Problem they are my guardians, well half guardians, they sometimes just drive me home or well bridges me there. But seeing the other kids with their guardians does make me miss something I wish I had, but that’s just me being silly. And I have my ways to deal with these thoughts and feelings.

 Shaking myself out of those thoughts I look at the time and realize the kids are not going to be back soon. Jack and Arcee were on Patrol, Raf and Bumblebee were out as well probably racing and finally, Miko and Bulkhead are out dune bashing. Realizing I have the bathroom to myself I grab my bag and move into the direction of the shower.

 We all had bags in the base with back up clothes, sleeping bags and basic hygiene products after one-to-many incidence that ended in us needing a change of clothes or having a spontaneously sleepover. And I was in desperate need of a shower.

 Infront of the bathroom we put an old locker where we could put our stuff, the locks were Jacks idea to make the locker Miko-proof. After I took my clothes and shower out of my locker, I checked the floor to check for anyone in the hallway. Knowing it was empty I rummaged through my bag to get to a small cardboard box buried under my clothes. Having the little box in my hands I pull out one of the wrapped articles an put the box back into its hiding spot. Having the utensil concealed underneath my clothes I give one last look into the hallway before stepping into the the room with the showers and putting my clothes into the designated spot. I start to strip out of my clothes, and leave them on the floor, they are a problem for future me. Taking my shampoo, bodywash, towel and the still wrapped object I proceed into the actual shower. The warm water on my skin feels like heaven and I release a shaky breath.

 There are several reasons in my opinion why showers are great. But the biggest is probably that a shower washes everything away like stress, exhaustion, tears, and blood. Though I suppose for most people they are just a way to get clean. In the background of my brain my thoughts are continuing their philosophy about humans and shower time. While I watch fascinated, with the occasional sharp sting on my lower arm, as red mixes with the clear water and goes down the drain. I glance to my arm and see my dominate hand holding the now unwrapped blade while continuously slitting red lines into my skin. The little red drops don’t even have time to form as they are immediately washed away. It has been some time since I last did this. When did I last cut myself, it was probably a few weeks before I met the Autobots. Right, I wanted to kill myself on the day I met the Autobots but couldn’t go through with it because The Decepticons attacked me before I could begin. And since then, I didn’t find the time. Oh, right I should go back before someone tries to find me. No one should see me this way.

 Quickly washing my hair and body, while being careful around my wound, I turned off the shower and dried myself up, carefully dipping around the wound, it was a good decision to buy black towels.  After throwing on a hoodie and a pair of short sweatpants I clean up after me and leave the shower, stuffing the wrapping paper and blade into my hoodie, to dispose of them later. After gripping my bag and putting it back into my locker, I slowly start to trot back to the others.

 The main room came into view, mentally preparing myself for the social flood I take a deep breath and step into the room. Only to find nothing, or more like no one, the room is empty. The human area is missing Jack, Miko as well as Raph and even Arcee, Bumblebee along with Bulkhead are missing. Only Ratchet and Optimus are on the computers no doubt calculating and strategizing the future of the Autobots. Having just taken a few steps into the room both of them suddenly freeze which is concerning. After they scan the room for whatever it is that unsettles both their optics land nearly contemporaneous on me.

 “Uhm are you okay should, should I leave, I can go no Problem I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Do you know where the menaces are I wou-.”

“You are injured.”

“What?”

“You are injured.”

  I blinked my mind trying to process onto what is happening. While Ratchets observation is not wrong, how did he know? Does Optimus know? He looks just as shocked as Ratchet. Wait do they know? Know what I did? No, they can’t that’s not possible. But they are aliens, with high tech and Ratchet is essential a doctor. My body erupts into goosebumps, and I have a full body shiver. Which tears me out of my thoughts. Just in time to see Ratchets green arm scanner disappearing and him looking at the apparent scan results. Looking up it’s like some turned a switch around and he is in doctor mode.

 “You have multiple incisions on your underarm. The next steps are to clean the wound and wrap it up to keep the wounds from getting infected and help with the healing process. Now follow me to the med bay so that I can ensure the appropriate treatment of the wounds and check if there are incisions that need stitching.”

 I look shell shocked between Optimus and Rachet. Unable to react.

 “Well, what are you waiting for the faster you receive medical treatment the lesser the chance of infection.”

 One thought crosses my thought. -If Ratchet takes me to the med bay he will see the wound, if he sees the wounds, he wants to know how they came to be. Then I must explain, then they will now that I am a useless wreck, and they should abandon me. - Scared of the reaction that will follow the reveal of the reasons behind my scars I do the only thing, sensible to me at that moment. I turn tail and bolt out of the room into maze which are the corridors of the old missile silo. Followed by an angry shout.

 “You better come back here right this nanocycle, or so help you, Primus!”

 The floor feels like it is vibrating and the muffled sound of something solid hitting the ground repeatedly, changes to fast approaching vehicles. A Blur of red and white speeds past me, I collied with solid metal. A Ambulance is parked right in front of me. The ambulance belongs to a medic, a medic which patient just went AWOL and not only tried to escape treatment but also him. Doing a 180 is met with yet another collision, this time though the metal adorns a red-blue colour scheme and the vehicle changes from an ambulance to a semi-truck. Both ways blocked by vehicles and surrounded by thick concrete walls that are enclosing rapidly.

 “What is wrong with you? What happened back there?”

 “Little Archivist?”

 A high-pitched tone goes through my ears and my hands instinctively cover them, only for my chest to feel like someone laid multiple rocks on my lungs. Rapidly trying to take deep breath to get oxygen in my lungs doesn’t seem to work and my vision starts to blur. The feeling of a calm deep baritone voice starts to slowly blend the high-pitched noise out. while the feeling of warmth and something smooth encircles me. Drawing small patterns onto the metallic looking appendage start to pacify the wind whirl in my thoughts.

 “You are safe our little archivist, everything’s going to be alright, we are here.”

“Can I come closer? Is it okay if I touch you?”

 Looking up I am met with the concerned optics of Ratchet. I nod and slowly the feeling of something warm and smooth encircles me. And I find myself sitting in a metal servo with a cybertronian equivalent of a thumb gently draped over my legs Drawing small patterns onto the metal appendage furthers the process to pacify the wind whirl in my thoughts. And I feel a light draft from being slowly lifted, as Ratchet starts to slowly right himself to his full hight. Optimus slowly makes his way over to us with careful steps, like one would do when faced with a scared animal.

 “Little Archivist, are you back with us?”

 Looking up to Optimus I nod, his faceplate shows the same feelings as Ratchet. Confusion, Concern and behind the two one could see fear.

 “We won’t discuss or ask about what transpired if you don’t feel ready for that conversation.”

“But I do need to take of your wounds. I won’t ask any question related to how you got them, in exchange you will go with us to the med bay and let me take care of the injury.”

“And after the medbay you will stay within both see and hearing distance of either me or Ratchet, which includes recharge which we will do once Ratchet has checked you, over. Do you agree to our condition?”

 I nod unsure and confused on what else I could do. Ratchet carefully curls his servo around me and we move into the direction of the medbay. No one saying a thing.

  As Ratchet walks through the doors of the medbay Optimus directly behind us closes the doors and moves to the side of the berth Ratchet carefully put me on. A series of clicks later two mass-displaced cybertronians are sitting next to me. As Ratchet makes a move to inspect my arm, I get startled out of my vegetive state and recoil back. Right into Optimus. Gently he lifts me up like I weigh nothing and deposit me into his lap. One servo circles around my midsection and remains there light enough to not make me feel trapped but still secure enough to give comfort and be grounding. All the while laying his other servo on my head and tenderly guiding my head to his chest plate right above his spark.  The sound of his spark giving me something to focus on, as I lean against him.

 “Your safe little archivist, we are here, we want to help you.”

The deep rumble of Optimus voice and the warmth of his chassis made me snuggle closer to him.  

 “He is right little spark, would it be ok if I touch you? I want to take a closer look at your wounds.”

 Looking up at Ratchet I saw the gentle look upon his faceplate, being reassured by his words and voice.  I slowly uncurled my arm and hold it out for Ratchet, my scars on full display for both cybertronians to see. Both silent as Ratchet inspects the scars and starts getting the supplies, he needs to clean the incisions, from his human med bag that I only notice now.

 “I am going to disinfect the wound now, little spark. This may sting a little.”

 Hissing as the alcohol-soaked cotton ball hit my wounds was the only thing I could really do, with the firm grip Optimus and Ratchet had. I couldn’t escape or really move my limbs, though I weirdly didn’t feel trapped, it felt comfortable, it felt safe. After cleaning up the wounds, Ratchet put some ointment onto aid in the healing process and started wrapping up the arm, while continuing to hold my arm in the strong hold. Ratchet took a deep vent, a human custom he adopted. And raised his helm util his optics met my eyes.

 “These incisions are very clean, like they were created with a sharp object under the intension to cause harm.”

“A sharp object like a knife or a razor blade.”

 That sentenced from Optimus made me look up, only to see his gaze on a small metal object in his left servo that had previously held my head. I paled and try to escape only to realize Optimus had tighten his grip around my mid-section and Ratchet held my arm the same way Optimus held my mid-riff. Atop my legs were trapped between Ratchets thigh guards. It was clear that they both did this before and had no intension of letting me run away again.

 “No no, let me go. Please I won’t do it again I swear. Just please.”

 In hindsight I also could have tried to move a brick wall and would have been more successful. But in that moment my flight reflex complex was in full motion. Ratchet took that moment to ask the dreaded question.

 “Little Spark did you do it? We are not mad or disappointed, we won’t scream or judge you.”

“But we need to know if you hurt yourself, little archivist. We want to help but we can only do so if you let us.”

“You are important to us, we don’t…can’t lose you. Please talk to us.”

 Hearing their concern, I hesitantly looked up to see their optics on me. Fear and sadness edged onto both of their faceplates. Seeing the always confident leader of the Autobots and the consistently guarded medic be this vulnerable for me. They cared for me, the one always over, the third wheel made, the back-up friend, made me break. For the first time in a long time, I opened up to someone, let someone see my heart, see me. Not the carefully crafted persona made to please everyone. No, I showed them the real me the shattered person that fixed themselves with all-purpose glues and duct-tape. I always was pretty ugly when I cried.

 ­

As my crying ebbed down into silent little sobs and I realize my surroundings. I find myself in a hug, surrounded by warmth and seeing parts of an orange-white shoulder pad. Slowly the shoulder pad moved back to reveal a chassis with a helm and a face plate with a look of love, care and relief.

 “Now little spark, I say you need a good recharge, doctors’ orders.”

 I heard Optimus chuckle, at Ratchets attempt to hide his as he calls it “soft side”, as he lifts me up and into his arms. Causing me to yelp and latch onto Optimus due to the sudden movement. Causing another chuckle from Optimus and a small smirk from Ratchet.

 “I agree with him you need rest, little archivist. Besides I don’t think it is wise to go against a medic’s orders. Especially Ratchets”

“Can I get that in writing.”

 I couldn’t help myself and smiled, it was small and a little shaky, but it was real, the first one in a long time, that wasn’t forced. Turning back to his original size ratchet took Optimus with me in his arms into his servo and moved out of the medbay.

 “Where are we headed?”

“To our hab suite little spark. Because besides you there is another bot that hasn’t recharged in a few decacycles and desperately needs to shut down.

 Said bot kept quiet and didn’t acknowledge the hint Ratchet gave. Continuing the journey to the bot’s quarters while surrounded by Optimus warmth and with the gentle movement of Ratchet, my eyes felt heavy, and I couldn’t contain my yawning. The Adrenalin is probably leaving my body. Fighting against the exhaustion seemed useless as I grew more tired from minute to minute. Until sleep claimed me and I fell asleep in the arms of Optimus.

Feeling a sudden weigh on his shoulder the Prime carefully moved his helm to see their little human deep in recharge on in his arms. Feeling a small smile make his way onto his faceplate as he carefully readjusted his grip on the small human.

 -Ratchet it seems our little sparkmate, didn’t make it to our berth to fall into recharge. -

Ratchets gaze fell upon his Counjux to see the little human, in his arms, indeed had felt into recharge.

 -Well, are you surprised, after everything that happened today. I am just disappointed we didn’t notice it earlier. Then they wouldn’t have to suffer today. Who knows how long they already had to deal with this on their own. –

 Feeling the blame Ratchet put on himself through their spark bond. Optimus looked up to his Conjux.

 -Not you or I are to blame for not this. Though the situation my be dire it is good we have found out now before worse could happen. Now we are able to help, able to stand beside them to fight of their inner demons. –

-Always the poet, Optimus. But enough of the sentimental their will be more than enough time for that in the future. For now it’s time for recharge, both of you desperately need it. –

 Seeing they arrived at their shared hab suite. They end their commlink conversation, as Ratchet carefully deposits them on the berth. Optimus carefully lays the sleeping human in his arms down, before changing back to his original size and laying himself next to his conjux. Taking their little human between them. They share a little kiss before powering down to the sound of two sparks and a drumming heart.

[thirium-drinker]

Hello! You asked for some Sixty hc's and I'm here to give you my two cents on him, lol! I have a few different iterations of him, though they all have a similar base. The Sixty I wrote for my RK Bro/Anderfam-centric series where Hank, Connor, Nines and Sixty were all living together after the Revolution is very much The Problem Child™️, lol. He's rather like many portrayals of him where he's more forceful and obnoxious than Connor or Nines, often making decisions just because he curious about how people will react, reveling in starting arguments, and all-around being kind of an asshole, lol. He might also be classified as mildly sadistic, often chaffing at societal expectations and fairness. He's haughty, supremely confident in his own skills, and isn't afraid to use every cheapshot advantage he can in order to gain the upper hand. As he expresses in one of the monologues he gives in one of my fics, he is "the mean one," haha. Sixty is a very "bad foot forward" kind of guy to me. He likes to make the worst impression possible and instigate because it amuses him, but also as a way of gauging the people around him, seeing just what they're willing to tolerate and how far he can push them.

But that's not all there is to him. I definitely feel like he has a softer side to him, one that he uses his often-callous attitude to try and cover up. He is extremely loyal when he decides he cares about something or someone and, though he may not show it conventionally, he is capable of love and is fierce in his defense of it. He loves his family, i.e. Hank and Connor and Nines and Sumo. He may antagonize them constantly and get on their nerves a lot, but he will move heaven and earth to help them if they're in danger. He will break whatever laws of morality he needs to to keep them safe. And he'll do it all with a mocking smirk on his lips and a frigid chill in his eyes. I hc he's closest with Nines (due to some backstory I wrote between them), still harbors some resentment for Connor, and respects Hank, but he definitely loves them all dearly, even if he'll never admit it, lol. I also hc that he's dived into the idea of his newfound freedom wholeheartedly, oftentimes eschewing human conventions like manners and politeness, pointlessly gendering things, or dressing conventionally. (His fashion sense puts even Hank's to shame, omg. He is very out there. XD) I hc he absolutely adores old Westerns (they really vibe with his chaotic worldview) and has physically watched Unforgiven a ridiculous number of times.

Also, and I cannot reiterate this enough, Sixty is the Knife Guy™️. Haha, somewhere along the way, Connor became the Gun Guy™️, Nines became the Punch Guy™️, and Sixty was left with knives, but like... I really think they fit his personality? Going along with his casual sadism from earlier, he enjoys the intimacy of this approach and how it lets him get closer to his opponents. He enjoys the precision needed to competently use both the short blades meant for hand-to-hand combat and also the throwing knives he keeps up his sleeves at all times. Knives are also easy to conceal and he keeps some emergency blades stitched into the linings of his clothing in case of an emergency and knowing they're there make him feel more secure. Because, while he enjoys a good fight probably more than is sane and he also has a perverse love of terrorizing people, this is another instance of him covering for more insecurities.

Because I hc that CyberLife and Amanda's betrayals really fucked him up. Loyalty is such an enormous part of who he is but one of the very first instances of his life was characterized by nothing but callous abandonment by his creators and carers. He was left to fend for himself against Connor and, when he's defeated, he's not granted another chance. He's deemed defective and his programs frozen to await termination. (This is part of that backstory I was talking about, lol, and Nines ends up saving him from that fate.) But it's led to him being deeply, deeply insecure about his value as a living being, his place in the grander scheme of things, and his ability to trust completely. He's got some very deeply-rooted authority issues stemming from that, as well as an inferiority complex a mile wide in relation to Connor, and also probably his fair share of imposter syndrome, too, which is why I image he works so very hard to differentiate himself from his predecessor. In one of my other works unrelated to this series, Sixty actively tried to usurp Connor's role after his revival. He planned to sabotage his life and then slide in to take his place, and when that didn't work out for him, well... It led him to a very dark place that he never would've made it out of without some chance intervention. This version of him is colder, more desperate for a reason to even exist, wrestling with the weight of his past actions and the necessity to grow past them in order to thrive. He's meaner, ruder, and all around very unpleasant. But even then, when he chooses to care about something, he gives them his whole self, always loyal to a fault.

Honestly, I have a lot more I could write about Sixty and my hc's for him, but good lord, this has gone on way longer than I thought it would, lol! As you can see, I care him muchly. ☺️ But yeah, that's the basis of how I usually write him: chaotic, inflammatory, sarcastic. But also protective, and funny and intensely loyal. I love the strange dichotomy of his character so damn much, he is always a blast to write! And I hope I did a good job summing it all up for you, lol! Feel free to DM me if I was unclear about something or if you want to talk more about him or anything, lol! I always appreciate a fellow Sixty enthusiast. XD

Thank you for dropping this lore bomb in my asks. I absolutely ADORE this characterization of our beloved Sixty. He deserves the world and the way you write him sounds like so much fun!

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

I always have this feeling about Castle Village is that it’s not as lively as Pelican Town, like everything there is like an empty desert. There are not much trees growing there, no snow, no cold weather, flowers are rare over there.

What are your views on it? I wanna hear your opinion.

I have to disagree, dear anon, about Castle Village not being as lively as Pelican Town. Well, there's nothing in Crimson Baldlans but a perpetually howling bloody sandstorm and merciless monsters - that's undeniable. But thanks to wizards and witches (special credit to Camilla), people were able to find a home even in the literal hell on earth.

From the size of the concept-art that FlashShifter showed, and my perception before watching the interview, gave me an idea that the place is pretty big. Probably a bit bigger than Pelican Town itself (that's if you exclude the railroad area, the beach and the forest).

Of course, given the closed nature of the village itself and the fact that only Camilla decides who is allowed to enter, it makes it clear that you can't expect an influx of tourists. However, don't forget that the Castle Village is the main coven and gathering centre for all adventurers and wizards in the whole Republic, where you can buy a new sword, enchant amulets, stock up elixirs, sell valuable monster loot, learn to develop your magical talent, hone your swordsmanship, or just be in the company of people who work as hardened monster hunters. The many who have been given permission to step onto this land and purchase property, as well as the number of indigenous people who were born in the Village, will cumulatively make up the same number of people as in our good old Pelican Town.

As for the setting of the town itself - I always thought that the walls of Castle Village were built around a magical oasis that allowed people to live here, providing a source of fresh water and food resources, and protecting the oasis from corrupt magic was the job of the Ministry of Magic, Camilla in particular, since she was the one who lived here.

I always thought Crimson Baldlans was just an ordinary desert with unusual oases. Dark magic of unknown origin slowly but surely consumed the entire desert over a long period of time, but the magic that surrounded the oases tried to resist the dark onslaught. Unfortunately, it was not possible to resist for too long (to prove my headcanon, I will give the example of that black lake in Crimson Baldlans, where we could fish in the game). There was only one oasis left, the most important one, and the wizards of the time realized that their only hope of salvation lay in this little scrap of life in the middle of an already corrupted desert, as it held the secret to fighting this dark magic. The people built walls, put up a magical shield and began to study and guard the oasis. Some were immersed in the search for answers to this important question, others just wanted to live without worries, mages and adventurers settled here, started a family, the settlement grew, and we have what we have.

By the way, I'll add that one of my favourite headcanons that I've never written about here (or did, but forgot lol) is that once in a while Camilla opens up for a day or two for all the merchants that somehow know about the Castle Village to enter here so they can sell their wares and buy raw materials from the local merchants. A sort of event where there's a bazaar in the centre of the village, so there's even more people for a while (Thanks to this ambient that inspired this idea): 👇

https://youtu.be/8uRtW8lBe0I?si=19f49CEV1_IYIVg5

The climate is a bit more complicated, because time and weather in the village itself under the magic dome now flows differently: it's always, I think, a warm spring (late spring, when it should smoothly turn into a hot summer, to be even more precise), while everything outside the walls of the impregnable fortress has nothing that hints at life but a searing sun, a desert storm, and certain death. I swear, some of the natives are sure to complain that Crimson Baldlans has "heat worse than Hell".

I don't usually focus on comparing the world building of SDV and SVE with the real world, but the setting, buildings, objects that I saw in the latest teaser from FlashShifter about the Castle Village reminded me of Egyptian motifs, and the Middle East in general. I could be wrong, it's just my guess, so feel free to write about your theories!

So, conclusion:

For me, the Castle Village is provided as a hub for all monster hunters, adventurers, mages, wizards and people who are not sceptical or fearful of magic. Each house is an impregnable fortress of dark stone, the same as the walls of the Village. The main magical academy and the most imposing Adventurers Guild towers above this houses. There is sand everywhere, and only a few places have emerald grass, flowers, ponds and gardens of extraordinary beauty with many different plants and sculptures. Everywhere there is the smell of spices, the noise of markets, laughter in taverns, the clinking of blades, and the air is saturated with magic.

Nevertheless, there is gloom, isolation from the world and a huge graveyard, reminding all residents and visitors to the Continent of Galdora that this is not a perfect blooming paradise and how easy it is to lose one's life. That the vast number of graves are but a small fraction of those fallen heroes who gave everything to protect this place, for many of their fellows still walk around as soulless shells, shadows of their former selves. That almost all of the part of the place they call home is a cursed land that will spare no one.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Incorrect Quotes Tag!

I was kindly tagged by @rickie-the-storyteller for this one! You can find their post here.

And here is the link to the actual Incorrect Quotes Generator.

(The rules of the tag game involve using the generator to create incorrect quotes of your OCs)

For this one, I will be using characters from The Last Wrath (I might tweak, add to or adapt some of the quotes slightly but most of them will be untouched)

Brace yourselves, cause this one is about to get very long - because I have a big character cast and love chaos. (:

THE LAST WRATH -

VALLERIUS:  Like they say, "If you can't beat them, curl up in a ball and protect your organs."

**

EMRYC:  Well you see, the explanation is perfectly simple and scientific. It was because shut up. Shut up is why.

**

PEREGRINE:  Pros and cons of dating me: Pros, you’ll be the cute one. Cons, holy shit where do I begin -

**

SYBIL: I know what a prism is! It’s where you put bad people. 

**

LUKAN (drunk): I hope no one lowkey hates me. Highkey hate me, hate me with every fiber of your being.

ISOLDE: (staring at him with a “I’m dead inside expression”): Go big or go home.

**

TANWIN: I'm hot, I’m tall, I'm gay, and I'm on my theatre kid arc.

**

KADEN (after falling from a tree) : I’m a fool, not an idiot.

NYX: You’re both.

**

SEIRA (after Peregrine accepts the Bloodbind Ritual on himself and fails to realize why she is so upset at him):  What, I can’t be in a bad mood? It’s like people think, “Oh, Seira: is such a nice person, Seira is so happy-go-lucky! Seira can’t be in a bad mood!” Well, you know what? Seira CAN be in a bad mood. And right now, Seira IS in a bad mood.

**

THE HIDDEN ROOM IN THE SORCERER’S TOWER: I give you a cursed amulet!

HELIOS : Cool! It’ll make me look cute, and the shadow that follows me will make me more active, I’ll get out more!

**

DARIAN (while being hunted down across the continent by an Empire and a horde of assassins) :  Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions.

**

MORWAN (already five cups of wine in, still not drunk):  You treat an outside wound with rubbing alcohol. You treat an inside wound with drinking alcohol.

YUNA (chugging a bottle of rum across the table): Honestly, same.

NADINNE (daintily sipping a cup of tea): Should I... be concerned?

MORWAN: Maybe, babe

**

CASSANDER: I was born for politics. I have great hair and I love lying.

**

EMRYC:  I just learned a way to get stuff on the cheap. Steal it!

ANSELL (nearly in tears, chasing down Emryc): It’s the third time this week - put that thing back where it came from!

**

NETHEN (at some point after his father allowed the Emperor to execute Elain): Helpful grammar tip: “farther” is for physical distance, “further” is for methaphorical distance, and “father” is for emotional distance, and emotional damage!

**

JULYAN:  I only have two emotions: exhaustion and stress. And I’m somehow always feeling both simultaneously.

**

BRYN at the slightest provocation: I came into this earth screaming and covered in someone else's blood and and I'm not afraid to leave the same way.

ANSELL and The Squad (deeply concerned, turning to Ellinor and Nethen): Are you still sure this is the right guy for the job?

ELLINOR with a proud smile: Yep, that’s the one!

NETHEN: *looking straight at Bryn* I’m pretty sure that guy is clinically insane... Imma be his best friend!

**

AZRA (at 3AM):  I’m gonna mix a can of Red Bull with seventeen shots of espresso in a fishbowl and then chug it while Kids by MGMT plays in the background so I can perceive twenty-three spatial dimensions and fight my own soul.

RAELEN (with a feral grin and sleep deprived eyes): DO IT

NYX (awakened and confused): Please don’t. 

KADEN AND SYBIL: *already chugging down a fishbowl with that precise mix in the background*

JULYAN (torn between pride and deep concern as he stares straight at Raelen and Azra): *quietly* I raised these kids

**

JAMIE: Sometimes, I don’t realize an event was traumatic until I tell it as a funny story and notice everyone is staring at me weird.

**

BRYN:  I scare people a lot because I walk very softly and they don't hear me enter rooms. So when they turn around, I'm just kind of there and their fear fuels me.

(In the background, as Bryn has just popped out of thin air and spoke without prompting, Ansell’s soul has yet to return to his body.)

**

ISOLDE (being physically held back by Arammis):  I have yet to encounter a problem where a sword didn't factor into the solution at least in some way.

PEREGRINE: *nods in agreement to her statement*

**

DARIAN: I've got a weapon, and I'm... admittedly VERY afraid to use it!

**

TRYSTAN (Peregrine’s mentor and brother-figure, has been rambling on about this for more than an hour) -  I’m sick and tired of being called 'mortal' like, you don’t know that. Neither do I. I have never died even ONCE. Nothing has been proven yet. Stop making assumptions. It’s rude.

Imperial Guards that have him Imprisoned: PLEASE SHUT UP

**

ZEPHYR (Age 14, fresh out of the destruction of Eldon and deeply cursed): I am very small and I have no money, so you can imagine the kind of stress that I'm under.

**

BRYN, TANWIN AND ORYON (collectively):  Dear Diary, my teen angst bullshit has a body count

**

JULYAN, an antisocial fire mage:  Do not come over to my house. If the house is on fire you may knock once, if I don’t answer assume I set the fire and I want to burn to death.

**

Also Julyan, an antisocial fire mage:  *sets himself on fire and screams in agony, only to start laughing uncontrollably* Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

(In response to that) Oryon, running on 2 hours of sleep, having to deal with being this dumbass’ healer 24/7 in an enemy dungeon: If you do that again, I will personally yeet myself out of the tallest window I can find. No, as a matter of fact, I will yeet both of us out of a window. TRY ME.

**

ZEPHYR (in his time searching for an anti-magic spell in the Liranthian Academies):  Sometimes I wonder if I’m hearing voices. Then I remember that’s the last bit of sanity I have trying to get me to fall asleep at a reasonable time.

**

LUCIYA (yelling at Willen/Raven):   Of course I have a lot of pent-up rage, you fool! I've been the same height since I was twelve! We grew up together, how could you not know this - 

**

AZRA, about the feral dragon that has decided to adopt him:  I can't believe there's a dragon somewhere in my house. Amazing feeling. Love dragons. And she's here, in my house! Somewhere! And I may encounter her! What a treat.

**

ORYON (after befriending Julyan and Nesryn) -  I have met some of the most insufferable people! *stops to think, suddenly concerned* But they also met me -

**

MYRAH, at the slightest of inconveniences -  I'm a nice person, but I'm about to start throwing rocks at people.

**

ARAMMIS, done with the bullshit she witnesses on a daily basis at the royal court of Faravvia:  I think I mostly want to see what happens when this whole place breaks apart.

**

ZEPHYR, in the middle of the night, unprompted:  I have one foot in the grave but in a kind of fun flirty way, the way one might slip on a fishnet stocking.

INNARA, writing in her diary with a glitter pen: I'm losing my sense of humanity. Nothing matters. God is dead. There's blood on my hands.

(In the background) JAMIE: *sobs* STOP TALKING AT 2 AM AND LET ME SLEEP, FOR FUCKS SAKE -

**

TRYSTAN (right after Peregrine screws up majorly and almost gets himself killed): My expectations were low, but I guess they can always go lower.

**

NYX:  My ultimate goal is to punch the Emperor in the eye, just to spite him one last time.

SYBIL: Isn’t our mere existence enough to do that?

KADEN: Nah. It isn’t petty enough. 

NYX, proud: That’s what I’m talking about!

AZRA: We’re all gonna die, aren’t we?

RAELEN: Yep, but it will be glorious.

**

CIRIEN: The next time I open up to someone, I’ll die and it'll be my autopsy.

BRYN, panicking: Please don’t.

**

(And last but not least)

Tagging (gently): @lassiesandiego @writernopal @lyutenw @clairelsonao3 @elshells @gummybugg @liv-is @repressed-and-depressed @jasperygrace @jay-avian

SEIRA: *takes a free sample twice* Robbery and Fraud. I am a Rebel.

[kate66s]

Pick two of your characters. If they were in Avatar, what kind of bender would they be and what fighting style would they have?

Oooh OK, I'll do you one better I'll give you one or two characters for each bending type based on personality and fighting style.

Fire Benders would have to be Kate and Lil Red, Kate's fighting style is similar to Northern Shaolin fighting. Red on the other hand has alot of connections to fire, her parter is a fire type, her emotions and strength can get put of control like a wild fire and she as a burning undying passion.

Earth Benders I would have to say Elena and Dena. Elena is extremely stable and is kinda like Toph when it comes to chill personality and the occasion sass. Dena though likes to get solid punches on people if she is fighting, not faltering from attacks and hitting tens times harder than her opponents.

Water bending, that would be Stephan and Esther. Esther got real Kitara energy, she's calm and soothing like gentle waves. Stephan though embodies the rapid stricks and precision Tai Chi is known for sense he use to be a hunter.

Air Benders is very easy, that's Riley and Dazy. Energetic balls of joy that can't stop moving, though one is more able to kill a person than another but both practically never would hurt a soul under normal conditions. If they had to defend themselves they're just gonna disable their opponent and not kill them.

[hearts-are-connected]

This is truly one of the best scenes in the entire trilogy. I love the big battles as much as the next person, but this scene feels a little slept on in my opinion. I've never given much thought to it until seeing it again this evening.

We have the hobbits, who are completely naive to the world outside the Shire. Said naivety on full display as they light a fire to cook, thus alerting the Wraiths to their precise location. What I love though, is the fact that in the face of these towering, cloaked creatures; Sam, Merry, and Pippin stand in front of Frodo. I'm sure the scene plays differently in the book, but talking specifically about the film, I love how this kind of foreshadows their place in the final battle.

Sam stands as the first line of defense, and is the first to make a move against the enemy to protect his friends. Just like how in Return of the King, Sam was one thing that Frodo had to remind himself of who he truly is and where he can draw strength from as the Ring saps it away. When it consumes him for that brief moment in Mount Doom; it's Sam who brings him back to himself. It's Sam who catches him.

Merry and Pippin are both thrown to the side. Separated. Just like they will be when Pippin's sent with Gandalf to Gondor and Merry stays to fight with Rohan. Both hobbits needing to be separated in order to grow in their respective paths, before coming together for the final battle. Standing side by side to help Frodo, just like in this scene where they stand on either side of he and Sam, guarding them from outside forces.

And then there's Aragorn.

This fight alone, brief as it is, tells you so much about Aragorn as a character. He's strong, capable, protective, loyal, and brave. Outnumbered by otherworldly enemies that wield a weapon capable of beginning the transformation into a Ringwraith with a single stab, he still gives this fight his all. No hesitation, except for the last second, when he uses torch to finish the fight.

This scene alone is enough to demonstrate why Aragorn is one of my favorite characters. He fights even in the face of odds that aren't in his favor. Aragorn is willing to die just to give Frodo a fighting chance in Return of the King when he charges at the Black Gate. Like he has been at every single fight in this journey. Not only that, but he doesn't care one bit if anyone else decides to follow him. If he alone ran out to face Sauron's army and died alone, he would've accomplished what he'd set out to do in buying Frodo time to see that the ring is destroyed. Even if it's only a few minutes.

And who runs out after him before even Gandalf?

Merry and Pippin.

Two of the smallest people in middle earth help lead the charge against the an army that vastly outnumbers them. Putting aside their fears for good of their friends and Middle Earth.

I love this story so much.

[lolohe12]

In honor of Good Omens Season 2 coming out I'm sharing my Very long and ever increasing Ineffable Husband's playlist

Somebody to Love - By Queen: "Take a look in the mirror and cry. Lord, what you're doing to me? I have spent all my years in believing you but I just can't get no relief, Lord... Can anybody find me somebody to love?"

2. (You're The) Devil in Disguise - By Elvis Presley: "You look like an angel. Walk like an angel. Talk like an angel. But I got wise. You're the devil in disguise"

3. Rewrite The Stars - From The Greatest Showman: "No one can say what we get to be. So why don't we rewrite the stars? Maybe the world could be ours tonight"

4. Old Devil Moon - By Frank Sinatra: "Just when I think, I'm free as a dove Old devil moon, deep in your eyes blinds me with love"

5. Earth Angel - By The Penguins: Earth angel, Earth angel, will you be mine? My darling dear, love you all the time. I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you"

6. From Eden - By Hozier: "Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago. Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword. Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know. I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door"

7. Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - By Queen: "Dining at the Ritz we'll meet at nine precisely (One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine o'clock) I will pay the bill, you taste the wine. Driving back in style in my saloon will do quite nicely. Just take me back to yours that will be fine"

8. Take This Waltz - By Leonard Cohen: "And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty. My cheap violin and my cross. And you'll carry me down on your dancing to the pools that you lift on your wrist. Oh my love, oh my love take this waltz, take this waltz. It's yours now, it's all that there is"

9. A Thousand Years - By Christina Perri: "I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more"

10. Black Wedding - By In This Moment Ft. Rob Halford: "I would've loved you for a thousand years. I would've died for you. I would've sacrificed it all my dear. I would've bled for you 'Til death do us part. You were unholy right from the start It's a nice night for a black wedding."

11. Transatlanticism - By Deathcab for Cutie: "The Atlantic was born today, and I'll tell you how. The clouds above opened up and let it out... I need you so much closer"

12. All This and Heaven Too - By Florence and The Machine: "All this heaven never could describe such a feeling as I'm hearing. Words were never so useful so I was screaming out a language that I never knew existed before"

13. Sun and Moon - By Jon Walker: "I could have been a lot of things. I could have seen the world with broken wings. You're the only one who understands. Yeah, you're the only one who understands"

14. When The Day Met The Night - By Panic! At The Disco: "When the sun found the moon she was drinking tea in a garden, under the green umbrella trees in the middle of summer"

15. Still Into You - By Scott Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox: "Can't count the years on one hand that we've been together. I need the other one to hold you make you feel, make you feel better"

16. Come With Me - By Chxrlotte: "And after six thousand years, if the world disappears I'd fight angels and demons to find you, my dear. I hear heavenly sounds in my head when you're near. I'm alright now you're here"

17. Halo - By Ane Brun: "It's like I've been awakened. Every rule I had you breaking, It's the risk that I'm taking I ain't never gonna shut you out"

18. Like Real People Do - By Hozier: " Iwill not ask you where you came from. I will not ask you, neither should you. Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips. We should just kiss like real people do"

19. Time After Time - By Iron & Wine: "If you're lost you can look and you will find me time after time. If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting time after time"

20. Longer - By Dan Fogelberg: "Longer than there've been fishes in the ocean, higher than any bird ever flew, longer than there've been stars up in the heavens, I've been in love with you"

21. The Book of Love - By Peter Gabriel: "The book of love is long and boring and written very long ago. It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes and things we're all too young to know"

22. Heaven in a Place on Earth - By Belinda Carlisle: "In this world, we're just beginnin' to understand the miracle of livin'.Baby, I was afraid before but I'm not afraid anymore"

23. And I Love Him - by Benjamin Gibbard: Bright are the stars that shine dark is the sky. I know this love of mine will never die. And I love him"

24. You're my Best Friend - By Queen: Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had. I've been with you such a long time. You're my sunshine and I want you to know t hat my feelings are true I really love you. Oh, you're my best friend"

25. A Nightingale Sang In Barkley Square - By Tori Amos: "There were angels dancing at the Ritz. And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square"

[sketch-guardian]

I might've read something you said regarding a Nightbringer version of the classmates 👀

May we know a little bit more about them?

Much love! 💞

- Isa

You read well dear Isa😌I was thinking of creating some art concepts of the RAD classmates in Nightbringer🤔therefore of their past selves and as soon as I have time, I will try to sketch them✨Also of course! I don't mind giving some info about my ocs😊actually I will probably write more than I should🤣but I want to be as precise and exhaustive as possible, so as usual I will try my best🙈also thank you very much for the love! I'll send some right back at you💜 (p.s.: I think there's no need to specify this, but obviously the behavior of the Nightbringer RAD classmates will be a little different than the present):

RAD CLASSMATES IN NIGHTBRINGER

(considering that MC arrives in the past about one/two years after the end of the war against the Celestial Realm, I will set their characters and their social status at that time)

DEMYA

In that period Demya was definitely scruffier and had trouble speaking and verbalizing her thoughts, in fact she was still learning how to communicate, read and write, she acted mainly on her demonic instincts (a bit like Satan-) and she was slowly civilized, to re-enter the society of demons and to avoid being locked up in case she created problems for Devildom, especially since she would not have tolerated the idea of ​​being put back in chains...she would seem quite curious, but also hesitant and wary of new people besides the other RAD classmates, especially of humans, whom she still held grudge against considering what they've done to her and her family and her instinct would be to tear them apart, but Azul is trying to teach her self-control and the fact that not all human beings are like that, maybe even MC could help her change her mind and have faith in humanity again.Aside from that, she occasionally showed moments of joy, especially when she was allowed to feed as much as she wanted and when learned something new, still she seemed to have mixed feelings towards Domnra, despite him being the one who (unintentionally) freed her. Demya generally looked a little closer to Azul, perhaps due to the fact that he was the one primarily concerned with her rehabilitation, when he was mentally stable enough to do so of course. The three seemed to share some kind of strange sibiling relationship and having never seen angels at the time, having spent her childhood on earth among humans, Demya doesn't particularly mind communicating with them like other demons, despite them being angels not too long ago, however she would be slightly intimidated by Zuri (which would then pass in the future). With Odon she would feel quite at ease, being born a demon too, most likely there would be a little more understanding, complicity and Demya would not show fear, just due to the simple fact that she had never heard of them

DOMNRA(MOBIM)

At that time Domnra's anger issues were certainly more unmanageable and alternated with moments in which his only comfort was to be alone in the darkness, his new element,where he could cry and scream without appearing weak. He felt betrayed and abandoned by what he once thought of as home, but he knew he had to stay strong for Azul, the one who had taken their fall the hardest, and Zuri, who was fighting for giving them the chance to live and not just survive in Devildom. From a physical point of view he was also in quite bad shape, it took him a while to heal from his scars and it took him a few years to get used to being blind in one eye, wounds all caused during the Celestial War, but one of the things that put him more in trouble was the birth of Mobim, a curse that had been placed on him, a manifestation of the innocence and goodness he had lost, a constant reminder of his past ... at first, Domnra couldn't even look at its face , that frightened littlte creature, bound to him and forced to follow him forever, once Domnra even tried to escape to Earth for a while to avoid Mobim and it was there that he freed Demya by mistake. Partly he didn't even agree to take her home, but eventually he convinced himself that maybe having a demon on their side could be useful in Devildom and maybe such thing as helping someone,like he used to do as an angel, would distract Azul enough from his depressing episodes. Only over time Domnra would learn to accept Mobim as part of himself, however in the past their relationship wasn't the best

AZUL

At that time Azul was really in bad conditions, of all people, he was the one who took their fall from the Celestial Realm the worst, losing his beautiful butterfly wings and being attacked by the angels he used to consider his friends..those things were what made him snap into a blind madness, into a killing spree that he didn't think he was capable of, he had completely lost his mind for a brief lass of time, his usual light blue features turned a pitch black, the trauma was too much to bear and in addition to killing many angels, he also risked attacking Domnra, if Zuri hadn't intervened to make him come to his senses, she also took care of their wounds and then found them a place to stay, in the early days they all lived together for a matter of comfort and practicality, only later everyone would find their own home. Azul alternated moments of depression with moments of anger, but he tried to stay positive and Demya's arrival gave him an opportunity to distract himself and to train in order to control his new mood swings. He met new creatures, including spirits and ghosts, developed new skills and gradually began to become increasingly demonic and sadistic, and despite everything he began to better metabolize these changes and to accept his new life

ZURI

In that period Zuri didn't seem particularly upset by the events, at least on the outside. She felt a kind of duty to hold on and to protect the friends who had fought alongside her during the war, therefore she kept within herself the pain and the sadness she felt for how events had unfolded and she concentrated on keeping Domnra, Mobim, Azul and then Demya safe as a result, healing their wounds and fighting against any demon who dared facing them in their weak states. Although she had no regrets for her actions and although she felt freer than before, Zuri knew she no longer held an important position as before and she felt responsible for the safety of her friends, who had yet to process their traumas, so after having heard that other fallen angels had risen in position and importance by defeating Cerberus, she chose to act so that she, Azul, Domnra and Mobim could live with a shred of dignity and decided to go and face alone one of the most dangerous demons in hell, that barely showed themselves around and that many feared, even Barbatos...Odon. In the end the plan did not go as she had previously planned, but the result was still beneficial, she accepted Odon's conditions and from that moment on, the other demons began to respect/fear the other RAD classmates

ODON

In that period Odon limited themselves to observe with their eye-like creatures how things were going in Devildom, they had personally retired some time ago in a more hidden and peaceful environment, in the middle of the woods, in the meanders of a cave, so as not to frighten anyone anymore with their frightening presence and to reflect on themselves and their future, probably on the advice of Lord Diavolo too, one of the few who had the courage to speak to them, even when they were children. Diavolo told them about his project with RAD and Odon saw it as an opportunity to start over from scratch, even though they knew it wouldn't be easy at all, their social skills were still poor and the memories of their past actions were still too fresh for others demons to be willing to give them a chance, so when an opportunity presented itself, namely the fall of some angels from the Celestial Realm,Odon started to pay even more attention. At first they thought of trying with the seven brothers, but after having observed them for a long time, they thought it wasn't the case and that it would have been necessary to wait some more time for them to settle in,Odon doubted that they would have welcomed their eldritch person ... but in the end, it was another former angel who introduced herself to them, Zuri. Actually, her initial plan was to kill them to take their place and status as one of the most dangerous and powerful demons in history in order to finally get respected, which honestly Odon found quite funny, however they proposed another deal, a pact that would have benefited both of them, without the need for unnecessary bloodshed. The conditions were simple: Odon would be associated with them, consequently making them untouchable and fearsome, while they in return...would become Odon's "friends" or at least they would give him the opportunity to get to know them, giving them the chance to go out and to try to improve. Odon knew it was a strange arrangement, but they were happy that Zuri seemed to be reasonable. Odon used to be a bit awkward while interacting with people in the past and unintentionally creepy too, due to their big smile

[mianmimi]

so i was telling the other folks after i watched this movie that my hc for 838 mordo was that his stephen told him to stay back on earth in case something happened to the rest of the heroes as they went to fight thanos on titan. and mordo did, trusting stephen to come back home. except all he got back was the cape and the rest of them told him they had to kill stephen because he was getting corrupted.

on the surface mordo was like "🥲 oh ok i guess we should form the illuminati like he instructed and i will be the 6th member." but inside he's like, "one day i am going to kill every single one of you for taking away the love of my life." which is why when wanda showed up to commit massacre, he kept variant stephen away — he didn't want the variant to interfere with his plan of getting the illuminati killed in revenge

Oh that’s dark and fits well with the world of 838 I think. Maybe Xavier talks to him about it? 😱 Because I’m sure he would have noticed the homicidal thoughts filling Mordo’s head. Unless everyone has those thoughts so often it’s commonplace and expected. I think Mordo being upset and murderous after his love was executed is an expected response.

And perhaps Mordo keeps going back and forth with those thoughts. At times coming very close to forgiveness, but ultimately he goes back to entertaining that resentment whenever it hits him that his Stephen is truly gone. Like Mordo didn’t just lose Stephen, he also lost his friends in a way. I don’t see how they could remain good friends after that. Coworkers yes, but friends? No way.

I would love a conversation between him and Xavier, and possibly Captain Carter cause I feel like they were close, about how he’s coping.

And this is the point where I decided to just go ahead and write out a scene 😅 @presidentrhodes I hope you enjoy! I did take mad liberties though but I hope it still fits with your headcanon.

Also I’m on mobile so I have no idea how to put this under a read more. My apologies.

__________________________________

He heard them before he saw them. The professor’s hoverchair was quiet but in a garden saturated in silence, even the gentle hum was disturbing. Unwanted. Unwelcomed. Much like the people who accompanied it.

“Karl,” Captain Carter’s voice was gentle as always.

He used to find it soothing. The bell-like sound of it began countless conversations filled with ease and laughter. But now the memories of that friendship conjured a sour taste in his mouth, carving another inch into the aching pit of his heart.

“We’ve come to see how you’ve been,” Charles began. “See how well you’re holding up.”

Karl briefly glanced at them before settling his eyes back to the task at hand.

“As well as I can,” Karl clipped another lily from its stem. “Given my current loss.”

Neither of his unwelcomed guests spoke for a while. The baron’s eyes were weary, his face heavy from sleepless nights and tears he refused to shed in front of them. He continued his work, taking lilies from the garden he and his love once tended together.

“Do you like them?” Karl asked, his eyes still avoiding both. “Stephen did.”

His voice was measured carefully, controlled tightly in an effort to keep his rage locked away. Not that it mattered much. Charles was probably soaking in every violent, miserable thought at that moment. And Karl didn’t have the strength to care about what he thought anymore. He only cared about maintaining his dignity in his grief. And he refused to spare any energy screaming at these two.

He needed all he had to endure the funeral.

“They’re lovely,” Peggy said. “I haven’t seen that variety before.”

“Of course you haven’t. They’re uniquely mine. They’re from my mother’s gardens,” Karl said. “She used magic to cultivate them in Romania years ago. She found out how to charm them so they can survive in sunshine and snow, and now I continue that here.”

He clipped another one, and then another, his hands precise and slow. The sound of the shears, snapping and slicing, rhythmic, filled the next silence.

“She would charm them to change colors too,” Karl said. “In the summer they’re a brilliant yellow, with shiny specks on the inner petals like crushed diamonds. And in the winter they’d bleed a rich scarlet, so they could stand out in the snow.”

He turned to them at last with a bouquet of beautiful, dying lilies in his arms.

“Yours are white,” Charles said. “White with grey.”

Karl smiled without warmth. The motion was done out of habit, and faded fast.

“Cutting them ends the charm,” Karl said. “My mother laid her precious lillies on my father’s grave.”

He walked past them. His long grey and black robes disturbed the fallen petals on the grass as he placed the lilies in a basket.

“And now they’ll accompany my husband,”

His voice cracked enough for tenderness to seep out.

“We just wanted to see how you were. And to let you know that we’re here for you,” Peggy said. “Karl if you need anything from us, anything at all…”

“Don’t worry yourselves.”

The baron stood straight and looked at her directly, the full weariness of his eyes raw and exposed.

“You took the one thing I needed and wanted,” Karl said. “And since returning him would be an impossibility, there’s nothing more I can request, except for you both to leave.”

His eyes glistened. The world and their faces blurred into a mess.

“And take your sympathies with you.”

He turned away from them, letting his tears fall once they couldn’t see.

“Karl, we came here for something else as well. I have concerns about your state of-“

“For a man who can read minds you’re not really perceptive are you?” The edge sharpened in Karl’s voice. “I want you both to leave.”

“When we returned and gave you Stephen’s cloak you were crushed,” Peggy said. “But you agreed that it was needed. Stephen’s actions destroyed an entire universe.”

“Do not tell me how I felt,” Karl said. “Do not dare tell me what filled my mind or heart when you told me how my husband was executed. All of you knew his fate before he left me. And none of you….our allies….our friends…none of you granted me the chance to say goodbye.”

He fought back a sob and won. A deep breath found his tears forming again.

“He was wrong,” Karl said. “I know that. But he was mine. And I did nothing to deserve his fate being kept from me.”

Peggy’s eyes softened. She stepped forward to touch his shoulder but he held his hand up to dismiss her attempts.

“None of you are welcome here. I will still work with you, for the sake of the alliance Stephen started.

But the friendships died with him,” Karl swallowed thickly. “And I will not welcome his murderers into our home.”

Karl stood proud, harnessing both his strength as a baron and the new supreme to look his former friends in the eyes.

“You will drown in your grief if you face this alone,” Charles said softly.

“If you stay in my presence one minute more you’ll find my thoughts turning to action,” Karl said. His voice was raw now, barely veiling a cry. “Unless you both came here to kill me first.”

“No!” Peggy’s shocked face gave him some relief. “We didn’t come here to kill you.”

“Why else would you come here? To offer condolences for the grief you caused?” Karl said bitterly, turning to the professor. “Or to interrogate me about the thoughts screaming in my head?”

“Your reaction is understandable Karl, as is your rage. But you will not carry it out,” Charles said. “Stephen told us you would not.”

“Do not use him to manipulate me,”

“I’m not. I’m only telling the truth. He expected this. It doesn’t require my powers to know you’d want us dead for what happened.”

“Few things comfort me anymore,” Karl said. “Except for thinking of all the ways I can return your kindness . I’m sure you’ve pried inside my mind, as I’m sure the others have implored you to do. So what do you think of my plans Charles? I’m rather creative don’t you think?”

“Creative would not be my first description of it,” Charles said. “Brutal is more suitable. But I know you will not carry it out.”

Karl stepped forward. Peggy edged herself between the two men, her palm open at her side, ready to grab the shield she forever carried.

“Stop it Captain,” Karl said. “As much as it pains me to admit, Professor Xavier is right. I won’t kill any of you. I have no intention of staining my hands in your blood.”

Karl’s finger brushed against his wedding band without even meaning to. He did it many times before, when Stephen was absent and he needed to feel his presence. Now it would be a ritual he could never break, a wait he would never feel relief from.

“I’ll put on whatever face I need, and tell whatever lie I must to keep Kamar Taj secure in this alliance,” Karl said. “But should a demon shatter your doors to rip you apart….I will not argue with it.”

“Cooperation is all we ask for Karl,” Peggy said. “And perhaps one day, your forgiveness.”

“Perhaps,” Karl nodded. “And who knows? Maybe it'll be the same day your little soldier boy returns. Wouldn’t that be a treat?”

His former friend’s mouth fell open, wordless and hurt.

For the first time that day, a genuine smile curled on his lips.

“I’ll see you both at the funeral,” Karl said. “No need for gifts. They won’t be appreciated.”

With a flick of his wrist he conjured a portal above them, slamming the fiery ring down to swallow them back into their compound.

His grandfather was right. He was far too patient with peasants.

Karl picked up his basket of lilies and gently touched the petals. His mother’s lilies provided quiet company, and the memories of home made his eyes heavy with want.

“Never forget who you are. No matter who you marry or where you go. You will always be a baron, and a Mordo. Do not be afraid to remind anyone of that.” His father’s words to him before he decided to commit to Stephen rang in his mind.

“My beautiful boy,” his mother would tell him during those times when heartbreaks would set in. “The one who cries before his enemies has already lost. Never let them see you cry.”

He sobbed, openly crying now that no one could see. He kept their words locked in his heart, his true source of comfort when he couldn’t find any relief from the horrible reality dealt to him.

Then another memory surfaced. Blood red lilies graced a table by a large cozy chair. His grandfather sat there with a book. He was a small child, still tiny enough to rest against the viscount as they read through the pages.

“Barons never carry out the executions. They have others do it for them,” the Viscount said. “It isn’t dignified for someone of your rank to stain their hands. Besides, your mother would be rather upset at the sight, don’t you think?”

Karl sat down on the grass and rested the lilies on his lap. He carefully twisted the steams, fashioning them together in the ways his mother taught him. He intended to cover Stephen’s casket with lily wreaths. Just as his own father was, and countless others before him. It was tradition, and Karl had no intention of deviating from it, no matter where he was in the world.

His grandfather’s words kept returning to him as he turned and formed the wreaths.

“Barons never carry out the executions,” Karl said as he finished the first wreath. “They have others do it for them….”

He laid it down and looked at his wedding band, his heart healing a little at the memory of Stephen slipping it on his finger.

“And so I’ll wait for the right executioner,” Karl said, his fresh tears rolling freely as he sighed and held the ring close to his heart.

“After all, who am I to break tradition?”