stay-dead

batman fans who only saw the movies: the joker is the best villain ever, he is such an intricate and profound character and he challenges batman in a way no one else could ever by exposing the unpopular yet harsh reality of life

batman fans who read the comics: the joker is a piece of shit i hope he dies choking on five of jason todd’s guns and stays dead and forgotten

Space Australian Medicine

Despite the best efforts of everyone involved, something truly nasty escaped Earth. They call it giardia, a microscopic organism that their Planetary Protection Officer called “pretty dumb” and “not too bad, really, a week of digestive upset and then it’s over.”

Yes, Earth has a Planetary Protection Officer. They have a Planetary Protection Office, and have had one since they were sending probes around their own solar system. Doctor Ma-et had found it a bit silly, like a child concerned about the cleanliness of their toys, until she learned that the job of the Planetary Protection Office had always been protecting other worlds from Earth.

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anonymous asked:

What's your take on the world ending for the Greek Gods? Or when they cease to be relevant to mankind, and what happens to them? Would Athena, Aphrodite and Artemis take the streets and march for Pride? Would Demeter be the manager at a zoo?

Time passes. The world changes. Temples fall. People now speak their names as if they are fairytales.

The gods are dead.

~

Apollo’s chariot lies broken and forgotten in the ruins of a city no one knows the name of anymore. He watches the sun crawl across the sky of its own volition, without him to push it forward.

“Do you miss it?” Artemis asks him, appearing by his side.  They stand at the top of a sparkling glass building, almost the same as ever. She walks among the mortals more than he does, she always has, and She’s dressed like one of them. Tight clothes and half her head shaved, sparkling gems curling up the delicate shell of her ear. She looks like one of the teenagers that fill his concert stadiums.

He thinks of the way his chariot threatened to escape his grasp every morning, the oppressive heat of the sun beating down on him, the burns and the undercurrent of fear that one day he would lose his grip on the reins and plunge the world into darkness.

Apollo leans his head on his sister’s shoulder. The sun rises slower without him, but it rises just the same. “No. Not really.”

~

Hephaestus’s workshop has evolved with the times – from a volcano base to a modern lab, but always a workshop bursting with creation. The cyclopes are still his best assistants.

Aphrodite steps over discarded parts and expertly walks around frantic cyclopes carrying bubbling concoctions. Her dark hair is swept up in a bun and she wears chunky glasses and a blood red pantsuit that almost hides the fact she’s the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. “I have a client, try not to blow up the house. Again.”

“Yes dear,” he says, but doesn’t looks away from his soldering. She hadn’t expected him too. His prosthetics are off and on the floor besides him, and he’s seated on a too-tall chair to compensate for the loss of height.

She reaches out and carefully touches the corner of his eye. Crow’s feet have started to work their way onto his face. They’re getting old. “It’s the couple that’s fighting because he wants kids and she doesn’t want to carry any kids but doesn’t want to say that. It would probably be easier if I just told them to adopt and threw them out the window.”

“Yes dear,” he repeats, sparks flying. A few land on her, but she doesn’t burn. Of course.

She moves her hand up and pushes it through his hair and resists the urge to pull him from his work and abandon her own so they can make out on his worktable. “I love you.”

Aphrodite turns to leave, but Hephaestus grabs her wrist and pulls her back. He holds up a single copper lily, the edges of the petals still glowing with heat it had taken to shape them. He carefully slides the stem into her hair so it sits at the base of her bun. He grazes her bottom lip with his thumb as he pulls his hand back to his side. “Yes dear.”

~

Demeter rages.

She makes imprudent deals to control an earth that no longer falls under her domain, and she enacts her revenge against the mortals in whatever way she can. They have forgotten her, forgotten the earth, and in their ignorance they seek to destroy it.

She shakes the bedrock and splits it open, but still they do not learn, and as the temperature of the earth rises so does her temper.

The sea is not hers to command, her power is of earth and of earth alone, and even now she gave more than could afford to lose to keep her grasp on it. But these mortals do not learn.

Demeter goes to the sea and makes an inadvisable bargain. She goes to the crumbling remains of Olympus and makes an even worse one.

Typhoons and hurricanes whip across the land. If they seek to destroy her, she will simply destroy them first.

~

Hera sits on a pure white couch in an elegant mansion, smiling for the journalist seated across from her.

“What do you think is the most influential decision you ever made?” he asks, “If you could pinpoint the success of your business to one moment, what would it be?”

She tilts her head as the light of the camera flashes. “Why, divorcing my husband, of course.”

“Would that be your advice to young women hoping to be as successful as you?” he asks, “To not get married?”

Hera thinks of thousands of years by Zeus’s side, and how little it got her. She thinks of Hestia’s men, and Artemis’s women, of Hephaestus’s love for Aphrodite, of the way Hades softened the sharpest of Persephone’s edges.

She says, “Do not get married to someone who makes you less than you are. If you are not a better person for being together than apart, then do not be together. It’s as simple as that.”

Simple, but not easy.

Leaving Zeus was the hardest thing she’s ever done.

~

Persephone isn’t forced to spend half the year on the mortal earth anymore. She goes when she pleases, which isn’t often.

Sometimes she’ll sit by Artemis’s side while she brings a new life into the world and holds the warm, wriggly child first. She visits hospitals and makes the flowers bloom out of season, and spends long hours sitting under the sun and feeling it’s warmth touch her face.

Hades left his realm rarely before, and even more rarely now. More people are being born than ever, meaning more people are dying than ever. Their realm is massive, comprising of all the dead of several millennia. Hades and Hecate spend their days as always – desperately trying to expand the realm so that they don’t all have to live on top of each other.

“Have you heard?” she asks one day, seated on his desk and leaning across it so he can’t work on the latest draft for another level of their realm. “The gods are dead.”

He gives up on attempting to tug it out from underneath her. “Are they? That’s odd, none of them are here.”

Persephone doesn’t bother to hide her smile. They haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe they never will. But when death comes for them, as death does for all, it will be to Hades and Persephone’s door they are brought. Hades himself will usher Gaia and Amphitrite into the underworld, when the time comes.

That time is not today.

“Darling, I really do need to work on this,” he ineffectually tugs on the map again.

She pushes him back into the chair, climbing on top of him and pressing their foreheads together. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” he agrees, and obligingly moves his head so Persephone can nibble at his neck. He manages a whole thirty seconds before going, “I mean, I really do, Hecate said if I didn’t have a plan by the time she leaves for the mortal realm tomorrow, I’ll either have to wait until she gets back or do it by myself, and I’d really prefer to do neither–”

Persephone kisses him to shut him up, twisting and pushing them through the realm so they land on their bed. “I’ll help you finish it later. Focus on me now.”

Hades doesn’t answer, but he does flip them so he’s above her and reaches below her skirt, so she’ll take that as agreement.

~

Hestia sits around a bonfire, watching a group of teenagers get drunk and dance around the flames. They’ll never be younger than right now, never feel as much love for each other as they do right now.

She is besides an old man who warms his hands from the fire coming from an abandoned trash can.

She lies on a bed as a girl lights two dozen candles around it as a surprise for when her lover gets home.

She watches a young man make dinner for his boyfriend for the first time and burn the chicken on both sides. They eat it together anyway.

She sits on the kitchen counter when a sister takes out a pie from the oven, made special for her little brother’s birthday.

She is there when a father ticks the thermostat up high in freezing dawn of morning so it will be warm by the time his wife and children awaken.

Most people don’t have hearths anymore. But there is warmth, and love, and for Hestia that is enough.

~

As their names fade from existence, as his name is called less and less on the battlefields of mortal men, the more Ares sleeps.

He falls asleep in too tall trees and on park benches. He sleeps in seedy motel rooms and naps in every one of Athena’s libraries. He sleeps curled up on a chair in Aphrodite’s office, and on the floors of a lot of veteran resource centers. As fast as he can tell, that’s the most they help any veteran.

Still, his favorite place to sleep is the underworld.

He goes knocking on Orpheus’s door, who is always willing to play for him. “Hades is here,” Eurydice says, “Would you like to me to go get him?”

He shakes his head, “Persephone is home. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Eurydice and Orpheus share the same look of faint disapproval, but neither of the say anything, for which he is grateful.

He lies in the soft grass of the garden Persephone made, and lets Orpheus’s playing lull him to sleep.

Later, he’s woken by strong arms picking him up and holding him against a familiar chest. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know who’s holding him. “I can go,” he yawns, his actions at odds with his words as he pulls himself even closer the warmth coming off the king of the underworld.

“No,” Hades says. “Stay.”

Ares lets out a content sigh as Hades presses his lips to his forehead, and he’s not great about touch, about people laying their hands on him and getting in his space. But Hades has always felt safe, felt like home.

He stays.

~

The gods are dead.

Long live the gods.


gods and monster series, part xiv

read more of the gods and monsters series here

4

The Doctor + The Master - last and first looks.

anonymous asked:

honestly, my favourite tony trope is him surviving so much bullshit that everyone starts to believe that he's actually immortal. Villains start just giving up on actually killing him, and either incapacitate him or make sure he's unavailable when they start the fight. Some of the more egotistical ones go out of their way to try. There's many conspiracy theories about him, and how it's possible that he's survived. One of his favourite pastimes is reading the more outlandish ones. (Tree)

Listen. It’s common knowledge among the villains of the world. If you’re anywhere close to being a professional Badguy, then you’ve heard the stories. You know the rumours.


Tony Stark Does Not Die. So for God’s sake, do not be stupid enough to try.


Some of the newbies, they ask. They wonder why no-one tries to shoot a fatal hit, why they never even bother to go for Iron Man. 

The older, more weary villains just roll their eyes and mutter “don’t wanna waste my firepower. Save your shots for the ones that will actually stay dead, kid,”

“That asshole crawled out of a cave with a hole in his chest and still managed to kick everyone’s ass,” someone pipes up moodily from the corner.

There’s a sudden bang as a hand slaps on the counter, and the newbie turns to see another grim-looking villain.“I once shot straight through him. Laser right through the stomach. You know what that piece of shit did?” The guy gestures to his lack of foot. “He Goddamn turned around and shot my leg off! and then he just sort of looked down and shrugged at his own fatal wound. He told me I had it worse, and that he was ‘sorry’. Who even does that?”

“I crushed him,” says another, “he just buried out the other way and then caught me a day later. It took me years to get out of prison.”

“I planted a virus in his suit while he was thousands of miles above sea, and not only did he defend it, but he traced my source and sent it back. Thousands and thousands of dollar’s worth of tech, gone,” someone shouts miserably from across the room. “He didn’t even have a fucking keyboard! Every line of code was verbal! He spoke and memorised those lines faster than I could type them, and I goddamn invented the thing!”

A bottle of… something, flies across the room. Obviously everyone is very bitter about this.

The newbie, because they’re always like this at the start; over-confident and stiflingly cocky, puffs their chest and looks them all in the eye. “you just haven’t been thinking about it hard enough. I’ll kill him. Just watch.”


Everyone descends into hysterical laughter. Someone is crying. No one in the room is Okay. 


“Whatever you say, whatever you think or plan, he’s one step ahead. Don’t, for your sake, please. Take Thor. Or Cap. Or maybe the Widow, if you’re feeling brave? But just… don’t waste your time with him. Try and keep him away, instead. That’s all we can ask for,” says someone next to her, obviously taking pity.

“He might be smart, but he’ll have no idea what’s coming when I step on the scene!” Newbie growls. “Listen-”




A few miles across, Tony Stark listens to the whole conversation via a bug he planted in the known Villain Hiding-Spot, and smiles smugly.

“Damn straight,” he mutters, before calling in the rest of the Avengers to gloat.

3

YA LIT MEME » [2/4] DEATHS » richard gansey iii

“Right after he spoke, Blue threw her arms tightly around his neck. Right after he spoke, she pressed her face into the side of his. Right after he spoke, she held him like a shouted word. Love, love, love. He fell quietly from her arms. He was a king.”

there’s a rule about taking Doctor Who seriously and it’s that to take it seriously you need to not take it too seriously 

this show doesn’t take itself seriously, no matter how dark it might get at times

this isn’t some fucking gritty Edgelord show, this is a show watched by millions of children about hope and belief and trying to help people even when it seems hopeless and even when it doesn’t work, we should never hope that anyone in it stays dead, especially not anyone that represents so much for so many

above all we should never as older fans want anything for it that would take away from the enjoyment of the younger fans

you can’t treat it the same way you would a lot of other shows. its demographic is anyone who is willing to believe in it, anyone of any age. 

this is a show about an idiot in a magical box who fixes things with a screwdriver and a belief in the goodness of people

an idiot who gets into ridiculous situations that are often also dire, who saves the day always but only uses violence as a last resort, who tries to win with words and cleverness first 

over the last few years it’s been one of the only shows on television still trying to tell a hopeful story in a world obsessed with Edgy Cynical Realism, while never shying away from how harsh the universe can be

it is a show about possibility where almost any thing or person or story that can be imagined could be plausible (hello, people being killed by plastic inflatable chairs, a small box being infinitely huge on the inside, a lesbian being saved by her magical star girlfriend)

it is a show created by lifelong fans, it is a constant love letter to itself with stupid little in jokes and nostalgic trips, and above all it is a message and lesson of hope and kindness

take it or leave it but that is what it will or at least should always be

2

edit request meme: the young elites + favourite familial relationship →  adelina amouteru & violetta amouteru // requested by @chaoslaborantin ♡

mi adelinetta,” she whispers in my ear. “do you remember how we used to lie in the long grass, counting the stars as they emerged in the evening sky?” I nod against her shoulder. “do you remember how we used to dance in mother’s old bedchamber? do you remember how we used to hide in the closet and pretend we lived far, far away?” her voice starts to tremble. “do you remember how I sat up with you late into the night, binding your broken finger as best as I could? do you remember?

want one?