no day off for heroes.

ind. multimuse.

[invctus]

𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐒.    private,     low activity  multimuse roleplaying blog, featuring muses from film, literature, and games.       as written by zack.    25,    gmt,    he/him.    please,    do not follow if you’re under 18.

rules.          roster.         important headcanons.         verses.         divergences.

[avalior]

you were raised by wolves and voices. / ind. multimuse, featuring canon and original characters from mythology, marvel, shakespeare & more. written by zack.

[avalior]

you were raised by wolves and voices. / ind. multimuse, featuring canon and original characters from mythology, marvel, shakespeare & more. written by zack.

[avalior]

you were raised by wolves and voices. / ind. multimuse, featuring canon and original characters from mythology, marvel, shakespeare & more. written by zack.

[invctus]

lowkey in the middle of a blog move.

[invctus]

lowkey in the middle of a blog move.

[iniziareold]

Iniziare: Commissions

If you see this appear on your dashboard in any capacity, it would be so very greatly appreciated if you could take a moment out of your day to reblog the post, it would mean an absolutely great deal if you could help spread the word!

This is an entirely unprecedented move on my end, but I will be opening up commissions for the foreseeable future with the help of Mika (@sicsemper). I have always said that anything that I would do revolving my resources would remain free and this will not change, my themes and resources will always remain free to the public. But after having moved abroad to perpetually bug @sicsemper in person and facing Ireland’s impossibilities together when it comes to emergency tax (51% on three paychecks instead of 21%, yep, you heard me), our savings have now been entirely and officially drained. But we got to move forward, and so any income that can be generated would be an added peace of mind that we both need after months of stress and financial uncertainty (which we still face today). And so here we are, with the hope that you guys could help us out, but only by letting us make you things in return.

The commission blog can be found here.

Offered commissions at present include themes (both full aesthetic edits for all released ones and fully custom-coded for those who are interested!), custom dashboard userstyle edits, promos, mobile headers/dashboard icons and post banners. Have a peek and message the blog, we’d be super happy to hear from you!

And while we are of course, more than happy to make you things for your time and consideration through the offer of these commissions (and anyone who’s followed me throughout the years knows that I hate that I’m including this incoming bit; but there comes a time for everything), there may be those who aren’t interested in receiving goods at all and might merely just want to show support, either for resources offered in the past or otherwise. If so, I have both Ko-fi and Paypal ([email protected]) available for donations. If you decide to help through either of those, not only will I state here that you have our eternal gratitude, but I kindly request that you allow me to know who you are so that I can thank you personally and properly.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

[invctus]

contemplating a genderbent mj watson blog to get back into the swing of things (haha spidey pun), but then remembering tumblr hates those sorts of muses really do be like

[invctus]

@taavros​  adonis ⤑ asterion

“So you were betrayed by the gods as well.” A question though it ought to have been became a statement in the mouth of the embittered, gnarled and flecked with the poisons of fury and anger. The hunter’s urge called for a stance to be readied, spear tipped and net held tight to fend off and slay the great beast, yet Adonis remained idle, the shaft of his spear held loosely, a staff over a stave. The glint of light on the beast’s great horns, however, gave him pause; a deep throb, a pain reaching back through the annals of time, set low in the band of his gut, pulling tight on the taut line of the scar beneath his clothing. 

A cruel sneer took youthful lips, puckering and warping what ought to be perfect and pristine. 

“Is there no one they will not harm for their own cause?”

[invctus]

@godblooded​ steve ⤑ stark

“Those kids of yours are somethin’ else, Stark.” Not an entirely inaccurate observation, yet Steve felt he lacked the words to summarise Stark’s creations. Though she had shown great prowess with shaping metal to her whims, with copper striking and fibre wiring, never had it occurred to him that such life could be created with but a thought and, it seemed, half a wish. Whether it had been for a family or an army Stark had pinned both her hearts on, Steve could not say, but by all accounts it seemed she had succeeded. 

Brief consternation came across piercing blue eyes, brows lofted as readily as a shield. “Not that that’s a bad thing. Never thought I’d see a lot of things, but suits made human is a new one.”

[invctus]

inscmnus​.

𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 ,  the   𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨  and the cold streets. Being used to the clearer air had him feel like he was   𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠   in this city. Even the high-rise of Shinra tower , when he looked from the windows had him feeling a little dizzy.  ❝ I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this… ❞

@invctus​ liked a starter call + zack.

“It’s some view, huh?” An easy grin stretched across the SOLDIER’s countenance, a bright gleam beaming in mako-blue eyes. It had not been an easy transition for Noctis, it seemed, and Zack felt for the young man -- still could he recall the first days of Midgar when he had arrived, fresh from the baking heat and isolation of Gongaga, to the bracing chill and towering steel of the city. The city had seemed a beast unto itself, a megalith with skyscraper eyes and tarmacked claws, snarling down at a boy more knock-kneed joints and gangly limbs than aught of bulk and muscle, yet Zack had found a charm in the grime, a sense of belonging in the home of his dream. “Don’t worry, you get used to it after a while!” A gloved hand came down to clap at the back of the boy’s shoulder before a shade of concern took tanned features.

“Y’doin’ okay? Need some air?” 

[invctus]

While he hates the date with a burning passion, being with his Pokemon does lighten his mood... somewhat.

"These're apparently from Kalos," he says, handing out the food, "they're called Poké Puffs. This flavour is, uh... Spring Supreme? Supreme Spring? ... One o' those." He hands one to Zamazenta with a sigh. "Happy Palentine's..."

"Grrii--?"

The god-beast's great head canted, almost puppy-like, to the side, notched ear flopping low as though they were a common Lillipup than any Fey King, at the pink pastry held in their hero's grasp. A delicate scent wafted from the puff, something fresh and clean despite the sugary look and sticky-sweet icing swirled to a crisp point -- certainly enough to capture even a legendary wolf's attention.

Zamazenta's tail swept eagerly behind them as they dipped their head, the cool touch of their nose slipping into Hop's palm and sharp edge of their teeth brushing the tips of his fingers as they delicately bit into the sweet treat.

The broad swathe of their tongue swept across the edge of their maw, cleaning any trace of leftovers from their lips. "Thank you, little one," came rumbling into the boy's mind, borne on wings of true gratitude. "Though do not think me mindless. I know the truth of this day."

Thin streams of metal metal rose, twisting, from the earth, rippling and flowing as though they were living water. Beneath the eye of the beast they met, fused, spun, and cycled about the other; a spiraling show of but a fraction of divine might. With the sharp glow of ancient golden eyes, two shapes were formed, detailed to a pristine level, and guided with but a thought to replace the Puff taken from Hop's grasp: a perfect replica of Hop and Felt, leaping as though taken by great joy, eyes closed and mouths wide with laughter. Every inch of both was flawlessly recreated in the metal, cool at the edges but tinged with an odd inner warmth, from the folds of Hop's clothing to the curve of the Dubwool's horns, the Pokeballs at Hop's waist to the stubborn lick of hair that refused to lay flat.

"This is for you, in exchange," came the king's kindly voice again. "Happy...Palentine's, ddwer calon."

[invctus]

mesmersi​.

❝      the   secrets   of   the   universe      ?      ❞               incredulous   stare   melts   into   a   note   of   lucidity   as   brows   lift,               shocked   by   brazen   nature   but   no   less   amused   when   lips   quirk   to   the   side   to   try   and   smother   an   honest   smile.               ❝      i’m   not   sure   where   i   would   even   start.      ❞               it   is   honest   but   still   an   attempt   at   deflection   as   gloved   hands   fidget   within   thick   wool.

@invctus​  /  starter.

Incredulity raced across young features, open and swift as Hermes’ great sprint, drawing dark brows together and curling the edge of the boy’s lip. “You don’t sound sure about that.” Accusatory words tossed like knives through the bounds of frustrated teeth. Doubtless it was that any would be shocked by the nerve of him, but Adonis found he had no heart to care for the thoughts or opinions of others. Too long had he lingered, unwarranted, on the mind of another, but no longer would he suffer such attentions gladly! 

Lithe arms came to fold across his chest, a look of ancient steel bleeding into his gaze. 

“Do you want to try that one again?” 

[rob-pattinson]

MICHAEL B. JORDAN “Without Remorse” | 2021, dir. Stefano Sollima

[invctus]

@vinduri​ eivor ⤑ basim

“You have traveled far, as my brother says.” A topic broached with no uncertainty, no sense of shame or trepidation for the prying hands and eyes that wish to know more of the stranger in the midst. Indeed, though Sigurd had roared tales of great exploits over the pale rim of an ale-horn or seven, spitting froth and raucous laughter in equal measure, there was a wish to know more from the shadowy figure at the edge of their hall, a tug at the base of Eivor’s skull that scratched the bone and whipped the blood. Curious eyes watched carefully from the brim of his own horn, a steady draught taken that even Thor would have roared great approval over.

“What is the strangest place you have visited? I could have you beaten.”

[invctus]

indomiiitable​.

mr. wright has mercifully chosen not to undertake any new cases. try as athena might to just grab the next piece of work and move on with it all, it’s a blessing; she needs the time to unwind and work with the consequences of everything. checking in on simon, making sure he has the support he needs even where he won’t admit to needing it; see clay, offer encouragement, check with the doctor on how he fares physically; debrief with everyone involved on what happened then, and what happens now. the dark age of the law and everything it involves. it can’t be as simple as ending it with one whirlwind of a case.

it has been a long morning, and it looks to be a long afternoon, too. she’d been sent home from the office – despite her protests – but athena is wide awake, and destressing the traditional way is no longer an option at this stage. it’s why apollo’s call is, in a way, a relief. she needs the company, in whatever way he can offer it. she’d texted him the address, more than demanding he visits, and set up to tidying the living space.

…how long has it been since she’s had a guest? maybe juniper, a couple of times, but she’s been busy enough that athena has had a hard time catching her as of recent. she’s in the middle of clearing the coffee table when he knocks, and she abandons that venture to let him in, door wide open and a smile.

“there you are! took you long enough!” his somber mood hits her like waves crashing ashore, a stark contrast to the cheer and optimism she’d carefully cultivated over the past few days. he’d been kind to her – but a little distant, quite unlike his usual self. athena can’t exactly blame him for that. her smile thins. “of course we can talk. don’t just stand there – come on in! sit down. i’m gonna get us coffee.”

it’s obvious enough what he wants to speak to her about, and truth be told – she doesn’t want this conversation. it picks at the strings of her bruised heart whenever she as much as thinks of it. but athena would be cruel to deny him this. he has suffered enough. they all have, with the stakes and the people they’ve lost, or those that they could have.

the familiar whirr of machinery sounds off from the countertop in the little kitchen area once he’s left on his own for a short moment, before she returns with two steaming cups, setting both down on the table. her features soften into something noticeably more solemn. “i know we keep missing each-other. how have you been? … i mean, silly question, but still. talk to me.”

No new cases, while a sensible enough decision to anyone with eyes to see the weight of the cases that had fallen down about them, had been less of an assistance to Apollo and far more of a hindrance. With no new court dates to prepare for, no new leads to chase, nor witnesses to question, it had been too easy for Apollo to ruminate heavily on what had happened to them all, to playback each moment over and over again until all worn edges had been sanded down, all that was rough turned smooth in his quest to know what could have been done better, what should have occurred.

Clay, half-dead on the floor of the GYAXA building, a knife buried perilously close to his heart.

Clay in the hospital, more machine than man, only the steady beeping and rise and fall of the ventilator showing any sign of life. He had forever joked about cyborgs being cool, Apollo had remembered darkly, but that had not meant Apollo wished to see him in such a way.

Athena’s face falling, shock and terror splashed openly across her countenance.  I wish to indict Ms Cykes on the charge of attempted murder!’

A bloodied knife, a bloodied blade, two cases too many years apart knitted together in the cruellest fashion. The mask of a faceless villain jeering, taunting them all.

The memory of the Phantom was enough to spike the ghost of Apollo’s temper, a delayed fury sweeping once more through him at the thought. The spy had been captured, taken from the courtroom in chains, but still they plagued Apollo’s thoughts: who could tell what would occur if they were to escape, as maddened by the own non-identity as they were? Would they move on, vanish as footprints on the shore, or would they remain to carry out the murder they had failed to accomplish?

His lips thinned, flattened into a tense line. The near-loss of Clay had been pain enough, Apollo did not want to imagine what it would feel like to actually see it so.

A mumbled thanks saw Apollo shuffle into Athena’s apartment, toeing his shoes off at the doorway and closing the door behind him. His hands jammed deep into his jacket pockets, an uncertain hunch to his shoulders. Though the GYAXA jacket had long since been discarded, returned to a waiting pile by Clay’s bed as felt right, still the weight of it felt firm upon his shoulders. The weight of a would-be dead man, of a life half-snuffed out all for a single rock -- it pulled Apollo inward, reflective and tense, and that would be a far greater burden to cast aside.

While Athena busied herself with beverages, Apollo’s gaze swept over her walls as though seeing them for the first time. Those hallmarks of life, echoes of Athena and those who she had loved, those who had known her, and all would have been irreparably damaged, changed and altered forever, on the back of a misplaced rage, an irrational hatred that had clung stubbornly to a single notion until all had spiralled out of control. 

Only with Athena’s return did Apollo sit, hesitantly as though she would bark -- understandably -- at him to stand. His gaze dropped from the steaming cup to his fidgeting fingers, picking at the skin there as though he might find bandages once more underneath.

“I, uh...yeah. I’ve been...” Consumed with guilt, lying awake counting shadows on his ceiling? Such an answer would fracture the tender peace between the two, the uncertain camaraderie held valiantly aloft by Athena’s trying and little else. “...Listen, I know we kind of talked about it after...y’know. But I wanted to tell you I’m sorry, properly. I was an idiot and I could have ruined your life and --- and Clay’s too...” Something in Apollo shuddered at the thought of Clay finding out all he had done, the light fading from his best friend’s face to hear his friend had blamed his partner for his assault. “I, uh....I know you probably don’t wanna talk about it anymore, and I get that. I couldn’t deal with it if you thought I was just gonna sweep all that under the carpet and pretend it never happened, so I, uh....I’m sorry, Athena. Really. For everything I’ve done.”

[invctus]

destinyuprising​:

Sometimes it frustrated Haytham that he couldn’t learn everything so quickly – he made mistakes here and there, even though he had improved his sword moves considerably. He wanted his father to be proud of him – the man he idolized for teaching him something no other children in the neighborhood would learn. Haytham was special, though he never understood why. Perhaps his father wanted him to be the best in every field, and the boy didn’t want to disappoint him.

But it was hard. He hated those wooden swords, he wished he could practice with real ones. And his positions were imperfect, making him pout every time his father corrected his arms and legs. Show no weakness and make Father proud, Young Eagle, thought he. So his pout vanished almost instantaneously, and Haytham took a deep breath to regain his composure – focused eyes, body ready to attack. A sudden move, and Haytham hit the hay doll in front of him with perfection, wooden sword slapping against its fake neck.

Panting, Haytham looked up at his father, seeking for any positive feedback, though he didn’t want to sound like he was begging for them. Proud as he was, Haytham sighed at Edward as he dropped his wooden sword on the ground. “When are we going to practice with real blades, Father?”

Older and wiser as Edward might be, he was not blind. He could see that bright stubbornness, that drive to be as best as the best within a half-moment of taking to a task, that frustration at the slowness of learning, as alive in Haytham as it had once been in him. Though such tenacity and drive was good -- and for true, Edward wished for little more than great things for his children, as far from the snap of black cloth and the thin singing of swords as they could be -- it seemed there was too much of him in his boy. Haytham had taken all the best from Tessa -- her smile, her eyes, her heart -- but so too had he taken the worst from him.

Briefly, Edward reflected on his life as a boy, as green as the grass in their farm’s pastures and insistent he was a man grown still half-gangly and wobbling after his first cup of ale. Would Bernard, for all his stern insistence on the way of the world, for all his contentment to be on the bottom-most rung of the world, slaving for a pittance and a cold bed at the end of it all, have looked upon Edward Kenway, father to a bright-eyed and sharp-minded boy, and thought he’d done well? 

Likely not, he thought, the sharp words of Linette ringing in his ears ( You did more hurting than they ever could, my son. Things have got to be put right-- not in my name they don’t. I disown him, the great and famous pirate Edward Kenway. I’ll have nothing more to do with him! ). 

Thatch, then -- and how his heart did ache. The man had been as a father to him, teaching him in life and ways since he’d first pulled him off the deck of the Emperor. He had never asked if he had had children, and knowing Thatch, he would have been unlikely to tell, but it had been a cruel blade to rob Haytham of knowing the man, to rob the world of a man who had seen things true, and a cruel rope to hang the proof of that life’s extinguishing from the prow of the Pearl. 

The sudden thwack! pulled Edward from his cold and sombre thoughts, a pleased smile pulling firmly on his cheeks with Haytham’s smart turn to look up at him. 

“Clever lad!” came the swift praise, a warm hand mussing at the boy’s hair. “Now don’t let your mother hear me telling you this, but if you’re ever in a fight, any brute’s first thoughts aren’t going to be to protect their neck. They’ll think you’re going for their body, so they’ll be ready to block there. A good blow where they’re not expecting can see even the strongest man offset and things turn in your favour.”

Haytham’s earnest question, writ in the boyish hopes to be a man before his time, gave Edward pause as he reached over to right the training doll. “In time, Haytham. Don’t want to worry your old mother too much, do we?” Edward crouched, a hand on his boy’s shoulder, urging him to look him in the eyes. “Just a little longer, lad. Once you’re a little bigger, then we’ll get the proper swords -- I promise.”