#Elite Power Simulator

[futureelctronic1184]

onsemi PLECS and Elite Power Simulators Webinar

https://www.futureelectronics.com/resources/featured-products/onsemi-sic-solutions-and-gate-driver-innovation . The new online Elite Power Simulator and Self-Service PLECS Model Generator from onsemi saves power electronic engineers time by providing state-of-the-art accurate simulation and EliteSiC product selection capabilities tailored to their customer’s application. https://youtu.be/46_rTtDao4c

[futureelectronic1527]

onsemi PLECS and Elite Power Simulators Webinar

https://www.futureelectronics.com/resources/featured-products/onsemi-sic-solutions-and-gate-driver-innovation . The new online Elite Power Simulator and Self-Service PLECS Model Generator from onsemi saves power electronic engineers time by providing state-of-the-art accurate simulation and EliteSiC product selection capabilities tailored to their customer’s application. https://youtu.be/46_rTtDao4c

[cressidagrey]

In Denial

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times Lando Norris probably should have realised that his teammate had a child, but never did and 1 time Oscar Piastri made very clear that he is a father. 

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

The most colourful beaded bracelet in existence

It was their first official McLaren shoot as teammates. Media day. Race suits. Matching smiles. More lights and cameras than either of them had patience for.

The studio was freezing.

Typical, Lando thought, shivering slightly as someone adjusted the collar of his race suit for the third time. Glossy black floor, high-power lights, white backdrop — the usual setup. All sleek, all clean, all perfectly curated for sponsor-ready content.

Across from him, Oscar Piastri was already mid-shoot.

He didn’t fidget. Didn’t blink too much. Just stood there with that absurdly steady posture and those deadpan, almost neutral expressions that somehow read as confident and composed on camera. Arms folded. Chin slightly tilted. That understated brand of cool that made McLaren’s marketing team positively froth at the mouth.

That was one of the first things Lando had noticed about Oscar — how quiet he was. Calm. Low-effort on the surface, but the kind of low-effort that made you realize it was actually hiding effort in a very specific, efficient way. Not cold, exactly. Just... still. A little private. And hard to read unless you really tried.

They weren’t close yet. But they weren’t strangers either. A few simulator sessions. Some preseason testing banter. Dinner once, in a group, where Oscar had said maybe twenty words total — but had watched everything. Not in a weird way. Just in that Piastri way. Calculated. Patient.

So Lando wasn’t surprised when Oscar handled media day like he handled everything else — with the expression of someone who had long ago accepted the chaos and decided to simply outlast it.

What did surprise Lando was the bracelet.

It caught his eye halfway through Oscar’s solo shoot.

Right wrist. Tucked just under the edge of the suit cuff. Beads.

Chunky plastic ones — definitely the homemade kind, with alphabet letters, random sparkly shapes, a few bright neons. The kind you’d make at a kids’ party. It clashed completely with the McLaren fireproofs, and absolutely no part of it matched the slick, brand-polished aesthetic of the shoot.

Lando narrowed his eyes. There was a glittery dinosaur bead. He was almost sure of it.

He leaned over to one of the stylists nearby, curiosity piqued. “Hey. Is he supposed to be wearing that?”

The stylist glanced at the screen, then rolled her eyes fondly. “Tried to take it off. He said, and I quote, ‘It stays.’”

Lando raised both eyebrows. Oscar, the human embodiment of “yeah, sure, whatever you need,” had refused to remove a beaded dinosaur bracelet?

“For real?”

“Dead serious. Wouldn’t even consider it. Said it was for ‘focus.’” She shrugged, like it wasn’t the weirdest thing she’d seen today — which, to be fair, it probably wasn’t.

Lando stared a second longer, then turned away, biting back a smirk. “That’s so weird.”

But not in a bad way. Just… unexpected.

It was his turn soon after.

They swapped spots in front of the camera. Oscar stepped down, took the bottle of water someone handed him, then wordlessly handed Lando one as well — like he’d read his mind.

“Cheers,” Lando muttered.

Oscar just nodded, sipping his own. Then:

“Nice accessory,” Lando said casually, nodding toward the bracelet as he took the water.

Oscar didn’t even glance down. “It’s for focus.”

Lando raised a brow. “Right. Because nothing says elite athlete like a kindergarten craft project.”

Oscar did glance at him this time. But not with offense. Just a kind of calm indifference.

“It helps me remember what actually matters,” Oscar said calmly. 

F1 Driver and Snack Mule

Lando looked up from his phone when he heard the private jet door seal with a soft thunk, expecting to see Oscar stroll in like he always did: calm, quiet, annoyingly composed, maybe a hoodie half-zipped, headphones around his neck.

Instead, Oscar Piastri appeared in the aisle looking like the final boss of an airport convenience store.

It was almost comical. One over-the-shoulder canvas tote, handle fraying. One plastic bag from what looked like a 24-hour corner mart — already strained to breaking. One very full backpack that absolutely should not have been that heavy unless it was packed with bricks, hardcover physics textbooks, or illicit quantities of pineapple tarts. And dangling from his wrist: a second tote with a glass bottle poking out of the top like the flag of carbohydrate surrender.

Lando stared. Horrified. “…Why do you look like a snack-themed pack mule?”

Oscar dropped into his seat across the aisle, completely unfazed by his appearance. “Oh. I had a list.”

“A list?” Lando echoed, eyes darting between the bags like one of them might spontaneously explode. “Of what? Food to outlive the apocalypse? A year’s supply of… squid?!”

Oscar adjusted the seatbelt over his mountain of bags. “Some of this is hard to find in the UK. It’s just smart logistics.”

At that exact moment, one of the plastic bags betrayed him. It split with an unfortunate pop and dumped half its contents across the aisle carpet.

Lando leaned forward to get a better look and immediately recoiled.

Out spilled: —A large bag of sweet chili crab chips. —Two packs of pastel-wrapped milk candies. —A sealed glass jar of something brown and deeply alarming. —snacks with so many chili peppers printed on the bag it looked like a dare —Five types of instant noodles, all labeled in languages Lando didn’t speak. —Something that was either a sesame snack or a trap. —And, inexplicably, a box of Hello Kitty band-aids.

Lando blinked harder.

Oscar saw his face and added, like it helped, “Some of it’s not for me.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Lando muttered as Oscar started sorting the contents of the split bag into the other bags.“You opening a snack stall mid-flight?”

Oscar opened a shrimp chip bag and popped one in his mouth. “Want some?”

Lando took one sniff.

Gagged audibly.

“OH MY GOD,” he wheezed. “THAT SMELLS LIKE SEAFOOD DIED IN A TRASHCAN.”

Oscar shrugged, chewing peacefully. “You’re dramatic.”

Lando had fully recoiled into the corner of the seat. “That is not food. That’s a warning sign. I’m going to smell like a fish market by the time we land.”

Oscar opened a second bag. “This one’s milder.”

Lando peeked. “What’s that?”

“Dried squid.”

Lando gagged again. “You have layers, Piastri. None of them are good.”

Oscar reached for the closed glass jar, filled with some brown paste, checked the lid, nodded like he was mentally ticking off inventory. “Hard to find a good brand at home.”

Lando stared. “Who even eats this much weird stuff?”

Oscar’s eyes flicked up just slightly.

And that’s when it clicked.

Lando didn’t say anything. Not out loud. But his brain — finally — started piecing it together.

This wasn’t “Oscar the Snack Enthusiast.”

This was “Oscar the Supply Mule for Someone Else.”

Someone very particular. Someone who didn’t want the Tesco version. Someone who sent him out with a list that included: “the pink milk tea, not the yellow one” and “not that brand, the other brand, you know the one.”

Oscar crunched another chip, calm as ever.

Lando eyed him. “So. Just you doing some shopping, huh?”

Oscar nodded.

Lando didn’t ask again.

But he did silently move one seat over when the durian candy came out.

Oscar being shockingly competent with kids

Lando didn’t think much of it at first.

It was just another media day.

Some local promotional thing for McLaren — sponsor meet-and-greet, fan Q&A, a few demo laps in a two-seater. The kind of chaotic-but-managed event they’d both done a dozen times. A little exhausting. A little awkward. Mostly harmless.

There were fans, of course. Grown ones. Screaming ones. Cool ones. Weird ones. The whole buffet.

But this one was different. There were kids. Lots of kids.

Some had come with families. Others were part of a junior karting initiative McLaren was launching — a handful of lucky young fans picked to tour the paddock and meet the drivers. There were matching T-shirts, oversized hats, those little paper lanyards they always lost within fifteen minutes.

Lando was fine with kids. Ish. He’d gotten better at it.

He crouched for selfies, signed baseball caps, knelt to high-five a girl who asked if he liked unicorns, and almost let one small boy sit on his shoulders until PR made eye contact with him and shook their head like he was about to commit a legal crime.

“Next time, little man,” Lando had said cheerfully, patting the kid’s head.

Then he’d stepped back, reached for his water, and glanced down the row toward Oscar.

And paused.

Because Oscar Piastri was crouched on both knees, arms resting loosely on them, eye-level with a girl who couldn’t have been more than four.

She was talking. Earnestly. Tiny hands flailing, expression serious.

Oscar was holding something — a piece of paper, maybe. Crinkled. Bright markers. Stickers.

He wasn’t rushing her. He wasn’t giving the half-smile-and-nod routine that Lando had seen a hundred times from drivers and team staff alike.

He was listening.

Really listening.

He held her earmuffs in one hand — the glow-in-the-dark kind with a space pattern on them — and tilted his head as she explained the rocket car she’d drawn for him. He smiled at the picture. Asked if she’d used glitter glue. Told her she had a good sense of aerodynamics.

Then, completely seriously, he handed her his cap.

“Wanna sign it?” he asked. “So I can remember you.”

The girl beamed. Lit up like a Christmas tree. She took the offered marker with the solemnity of a royal decree and scribbled something right on the brim of his hat.

Oscar glanced at it. “Best handwriting I’ve ever seen.”

Lando blinked.

Alright.

That was... weirdly natural.

Still watching, he saw Oscar gently return her earmuffs and wave her off toward the line of handlers. The girl skipped away, ecstatic.

But Oscar’s attention had already shifted.

There was a boy now — maybe five or six — standing stiffly just behind her. His hands were pressed against his sides. He looked overwhelmed. Pale. Eyes darting around. The noise, the crowd, the lights — it was too much.

Oscar stepped out of the way. Smooth, instinctive. Like he’d already clocked the signs.

He knelt again, this time a little more to the side. Not directly in front of the kid. Just there. Present. Safe.

And then, as if by magic, Oscar pulled something from his jacket pocket.

A juice pouch.

A whole juice pouch. With a bendy straw already poked in.

He offered it without a word.

The boy hesitated. Then took it. Slowly. Clutched it like a lifeline.

Oscar said something Lando couldn’t hear. The boy nodded.

And the moment passed. Quiet. Undramatic. But… important.

Lando stared.

No one just had juice pouches on them.

Unless, you were Oscar Piastri apparently. 

Redecorating

Lando was bored.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t unusual.

But this brand of boredom was especially aggressive. The kind that clawed at your brain and made you wander aimlessly until you accidentally annoyed every single person in the building.

They were in the middle of a weather delay and a telemetry glitch. The engineers were scrambling like caffeinated ants, and even the usually chill media team had gone slightly feral over a reshoot that got rained out. There was nothing to do. No one to annoy who hadn’t already threatened him with a torque wrench. 

Which was how he ended up outside Oscar’s driver room.

Hovering.

Like a stray cat looking for food and attention.

The door was cracked. A faint tapping sound came from inside — someone scrolling. Or texting.

“Yo,” Lando called through the gap. “You in there?”

Oscar’s voice came back, muffled and flat. “Yeah. Come in.”

Lando shoved the door open with the dramatic flourish of someone who had absolutely nothing else to do and flopped down onto the tiny couch tucked along the back wall like he owned the place.

Oscar didn’t even glance up from his phone.

“No, you can’t have my last protein bar.”

Lando scoffed. “I didn’t come here to rob you.”

Oscar looked up. “You always come here to rob me.”

“Well, not this time.”

“Suspicious,” Oscar muttered, but he didn’t seem bothered. He just turned back to his phone, thumb moving slowly over the screen.

Lando let his head loll back against the wall, eyes scanning the room.

It was, predictably, the most Piastri-like space ever. Minimal. Tidy. Not much flair. A clean stack of team shirts in the corner. Spare gloves lined up in perfect pairs. Charger cables coiled like they’d been arranged by a computer.

But then something caught his eye.

Drawings.

Not many — maybe six or seven in total — but they stood out. Bright against the otherwise monochrome setup. Crayon. Marker. One done entirely in glitter gel pen, which sparkled faintly in the overhead lights.

They weren’t on display, exactly. More like… tucked in. Slipped into corners of the mirror. Taped carefully to the inside of the locker door. One pinned to the corkboard with a bright pink pushpin.

One had Oscar’s race number scribbled in purple and red, surrounded by stars and what might have been hearts or tire marks.

Another showed a very vague interpretation of a Formula One car — lopsided wheels, dramatic flames, one suspiciously smiley face on the helmet.

Another still featured a chicken driving a race car.

Lando leaned forward to squint at that one.

Definitely a chicken.

“GO FAST BUT NOT TOO FAST,” it said in glitter pen under the drawing. The O in “GO” had eyes. The "S" in "FAST" had a lightning bolt through it.

Lando snorted.

That was… incredibly specific.

“Wow,” he said, smirking. “You’ve got a lot of fan art in here.”

Oscar finally looked up. “Hm?”

Lando gestured around the room, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just saying… this is the softest your room has ever looked. What, did a fan send you a care package?”

Oscar blinked once. Twice.

Then followed Lando’s gaze. Paused.

“Oh,” he said casually. “Yeah. It just felt kind of cold in here, you know? So I figured I’d redecorate.”

Lando blinked. “With chicken-themed fan art?”

Oscar shrugged. “Adds character.”

Lando couldn’t help but snort. Only Oscar would think that plastering fan art all over his drivers room would make it feel “warmer”. 

A weird obsession with kid sized merch

Lando noticed it for the first time at the McLaren factory gift shop.

They were doing a casual walk-through after some filming, mostly killing time while someone printed updated media decks. Lando wandered toward the wall of merch — adult sizes, junior kits, baby onesies, even tiny McLaren teddy bears in miniature race suits.

He wasn’t really looking for anything.

Oscar, on the other hand, made a beeline straight for the kids’ section.

Again.

Lando leaned on the shelf. Watched.

Oscar stopped by the back racks — fully absorbed in comparing three different sizes of junior caps.

Children’s sizes. Bright colors. One of them had glitter.

Lando blinked.

Oscar picked one up, turned it in his hands, and squinted at the stitching like he was inspecting it for FIA approval.

Lando wandered over, casually sipping his drink. “Uh… you planning to wear that?”

Oscar barely glanced up. “No. This one’s too stiff. It’ll bug her ears.”

“…Her?”

“Yeah.” Oscar didn’t elaborate. Just picked up another and pressed the inside seam with his thumb. “The elastic on this one’s better, but the Velcro’s weak. It won’t survive more than a week.”

Lando squinted. “Mate, why do you know that?”

Oscar blinked at him like he’d just asked what 2 + 2 was. “Because I’ve bought five of them.”

“Why?”

Oscar’s voice was perfectly calm. “Because the glitter ones fall apart in the wash and the regular ones shrink in the dryer. The 2022 version held up best.”

Oscar was now holding up a toddler-sized hoodie like he was inspecting fabric for a bespoke suit. “Do you think this runs small?”

Lando blinked. “Mate, you’re not gonna fit into that.”

Oscar gave him a look. “It’s not for me.”

“...So you just spend your free time evaluating baby merch like it’s Pirelli compound data?”

Oscar shrugged. “They’ve upgraded the stitching. And the seams used to pill after a few washes.”

Lando stared at him.

Hard.

Because this wasn’t the first time. Oscar always stopped by the kids’ section. Asked weirdly specific questions about youth sizing and durability. Once, Lando had caught him muttering something about how the toddler cap’s brim was too short to be practical. A few months ago, he’d gotten into a five-minute debate with a merch rep about the brim angle on the toddler caps. Something about sun protection and ear coverage.

Back then, Lando figured Oscar just… liked miniature things. Or had a secret side hustle selling baby teamwear on eBay.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“…You do know you’re twenty-two and not a kindergarten stylist, right?” Lando asked, watching Oscar inspect a youth t-shirt like it had secrets.

Oscar nodded. “I know.”

“And you’re over here comparing fabric blends like you’re prepping a McLaren baby line?”

Oscar tilted his head. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea, honestly. The old toddler polos had awful seams. They improved the 2024 batch.”

Lando just… stared.

Oscar wasn’t joking. Oscar was never joking about this stuff.

Finally, Lando said, slowly, “Mate. What is it with you and tiny clothes?”

Oscar shrugged. “They’re fun.”

+1: The one time Oscar made it very clear that he was a dad. 

Lando heard them before he saw them.

He’d wandered out back looking for a charger and maybe a second espresso—just enough time to breathe between debriefs—when he caught the tail end of a conversation.

Four mechanics. Leaning against the pit wall crates. Talking louder than they probably should.

“Had to FaceTime during lunch again,” one was saying. “My kid wanted to show me his drawing. Looked like a bloody squid with legs. Had to pretend it was good.”

Another one snorted. “Mine locked himself in the pantry last week. Thought it was funny. I told my wife to deal with it—I was too tired.”

The others snorted.

“Mine’s worse,” another said. “Always clinging, always needing something. It’s like—I don’t get a break at work, and I don’t get one at home either. It’s exhausting.”

“Mine told me he missed me,” a third said, voice cold. “Like that’s my fault. What does he want, a medal? I’ve got a job. I pay for everything. That should be enough.”

The first mechanic groaned. “…I swear, every time I get home there’s some new passive-aggressive list on the fridge from the Mrs. As if I haven’t been working twelve-hour days in the heat.”

“Mine’s mad I missed her mum’s birthday. Sorry, forgot to pencil in emotional obligation between Bahrain and Jeddah.”

“Be glad your kid is still cute at least. Mine’s hit the talking-back phase. Thinks he’s a comedian. Little smartass. I swear, sometimes I look at him and just think—God, you ruined my sleep, my weekends, and my peace and quiet.”

Lando flinched.

He didn’t mean to listen.

He told himself to walk away.

But then—

Oscar’s voice. Low. Razor-sharp.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

It wasn’t loud.

But it cut through the air like a switchblade.

Lando stilled.

Oscar stood off to the side, arms folded, posture loose—but his face was hard. Cold. Not angry in the explosive way. Angry in the kind of way that stayed.

One of the mechanics laughed awkwardly. “Oh come on, mate. Wait until you’ve had kids for more than a week—”

“I have a three year-old,” Oscar said. Flat. Unapologetic. “And I’ve never once looked at her and thought she ruined anything.”

That shut them up.

Oscar stepped forward, voice soft, but lethal now. “You sit here and talk about your children like they’re inconveniences. Like they’re parasites who robbed you of something. But they’re kids. They didn’t ask to be born. They didn’t ask for your job or your exhaustion or your bitterness.”

One of the men tried to scoff. “It’s just venting—”

“No,” Oscar snapped. “It’s cruelty. Dressed up as banter.”

One of the mechanics snorted. “Alright, Piastri. Settle down.”

Oscar stepped forward from where he’d been leaning against a crate—quiet, composed, and lethal.

“No, I won’t,” he said. “Because I’ve heard this conversation three times this season. And every time it makes me want to be sick.”

Another mechanic scoffed. “You’re twenty-three, mate. What would you know? Come back and talk to us when you’ve had a toddler scream in your face for an hour straight.”

Oscar didn’t flinch.

“I have,” he said, voice steel-edged.  “What do I know?” Oscar said, low and sharp. “I know more than you, apparently.”

The laughter died.

Oscar stepped closer, and when he spoke again, it was the kind of voice Lando had only ever heard on race comms—precise, icy, lethal.

“I know what it’s like to walk out the door while your kid clings to your leg crying and you still have to leave. I know what it’s like to miss first words and bedtime because your job doesn’t wait. I know what it’s like to hold my wife at night while she tries not to fall apart from doing everything alone.”

One of the mechanics muttered something under his breath—maybe “dramatic”—but Oscar cut him off.

“No,” he said, sharper now. “You don’t get to complain about your kid loving you. You don’t get to bitch about someone wanting your attention when they’re four years old and trying to understand the world. You don’t get to complain about your wives holding down the fort at home while you are gone.”

He stepped in fully now. Lando could just see the edge of him. Jaw tight. Hands still. Eyes like fire under ice.

“You think you’re tired? Your wives are tired. My wife holds our whole world together while I fly across time zones and come home with a smile and a suitcase. She handles everything—school, food, laundry, tears, scraped knees, nightmares. All the invisible things you think just… happen. You think your job is hard? Try explaining to a toddler why Papa’s never home.”

His voice dropped.

“And you sit here and talk about your kids like they’re weights around your neck instead of the best damn thing that ever happened to you?”

No one said a word.

“You think being exhausted means you’ve earned the right to resent your family? No. You want to know what makes someone a man? Showing up. Even when you’re tired. Especially when you’re tired. Because your family doesn��t stop needing you just because you had a long day.”

He looked around, eyes sharp enough to draw blood.

“You are not entitled to love. You’re lucky to receive it.”

Oscar’s face was set. Calm. Controlled. But there was fury simmering just beneath it—grief, too. And something bone-deep and unwavering.

“You think they slow you down? Maybe they’d be better off without you dragging them behind.”

There was a heavy pause.

Then, soft but with the impact of a sledgehammer:

“Being loved that hard is not a burden. It’s a gift. And if you’re too selfish to see that—then don’t be surprised when they stop waiting for you to come home.”

Silence.

Oscar didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need one.

And then he turned.

Didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t look back.

Just walked away—like he’d said everything that needed to be said.

Lando stood there a second longer, heart still thudding.

Then, quietly, he turned and followed Oscar.

Because that?

That was the most brutal, honest thing he’d heard all year.

And somehow, he knew—

Bee would never have to wonder how loved she was.

Not with a dad like that.

[holybibly]

Someone said we've never seen Mingi and Hwa together in the same story, and here I am to please.

Unholy thoughts of the day, my sugar bunnies: You were always warned that innocent, trusting lambs have no place among magnificent, hungry lions, but you were too giddy to heed the warning.

Or, without realising it, you became entangled in a complex, erotic web of forbidden relationships with several professors at your elite academy, allowing them to control you as they pleased and make you their precious little pet.

Your sexology professor Park Seonghwa and your philosophy professor Song Mingi know a great way to pass the time until your next class.

You sit on Mingi's lap, your back pressed against his broad, muscular chest as you warm his huge, thick cock in your tiny, tight cunt. His big hand squeezes your throat, controlling your every breath, making your head spin and your pussy clench. "Your cunt takes me so well, doll." Mingi presses his free hand to your stomach, where the large bulge of his cock bulge underneath your thin skin. The added pressure makes you moan and squirm in his lap, your silky walls clenching around Professor Song's massive length as he moans lewdly into your ear. His deep, pornographic voice sends shivers of excitement through your body. "That's right, my sweetheart, don't think about anything, just be our pretty sex doll and sit on my dick while Seonghwa plays with you."

Your gorgeous sexology professor, Park Seonghwa, purrs sultrily in response and begins to lick you languidly, playing with his long, warm tongue with your quivering, sticky folds, your swollen clit and the tender edge of your hole, so sweetly stretched around Mingi's massive cock. He lazy sucks your plump labia and spits on your cunt from time to time, only to spread his drool all over your swollen pussy, making it even wetter and sloppier. Seonghwa sluttily French kisses your pussy and even slips his skilled tongue into your hole, between your silky smooth wall and Mingi's velvety cock, while his fingers slowly and deeply enter your tight ass, persistently stretching you and preparing you for them. This whole simulation is so powerful that you can't help but squitr all over Mingi's cock and Seonghwa's incredibly beautiful face.

And it excites your professors so much that they encourage you to do it again and again until your break is over and they send you to class like a good girl with a pussy full of their cum.

[vivsinkpot]

Languages Shape Worlds — And the People in Them

“Language is a road map of a culture.” – Rita Mae Brown

When creating fictional worlds, don’t stop at borders—let language do the heavy lifting. Dialects, vocabulary, accents, and even how characters switch between tongues can reveal class, power, intimacy, and conflict.

Here’s how to use language as a storytelling tool:

1. Create Language Layers: Dialect ≠ Language

Different regions or social classes in your world should speak differently, even if it’s the same “official” language.

Example:

In your fantasy kingdom:

Nobles say: “I shall accompany you to the citadel.”

Soldiers say: “I’ll head with you to the keep.”

Farmers say: “Reckon I’ll come with, if yer goin’ to the tower.”

Same meaning, entirely different texture. Ask:

• Who has access to formal education?

• Who clings to older versions of the language?

• Who uses borrowed words from other cultures?

2. Portray Multilingual Conversations Without Confusing the Reader

You don’t need to write entire dialogue in your constructed language. Instead:

Option A: Tag and Translate

“Aqele asaar,” she whispered. Peace upon your house.

This works well when you want to signal cultural depth without overwhelming the reader. Use sparingly for ritual phrases, swears, or proverbs.

Option B: Inferred Meaning via Context

He said something in Old Avelan—sharp and soft like a blade drawn from silk. Whatever it meant, it made her flinch.

The vibe matters more than the word-for-word meaning. Use body language, tone, and character reactions to fill in the blanks.

Option C: In-World Translation

Let the characters do the work:

“He just called me a—what, a cabbage?”

“Not quite. ‘Rot-bellied cabbage-eater.’ It’s an insult where he’s from.”

This adds humor, personality, and builds cultural tension or camaraderie.

3. Think About Code-Switching

When do your characters switch languages? It can signal:

Power: A queen who speaks the enemy’s tongue in negotiations to unsettle them.

Intimacy: Two lovers whispering in their mother tongue.

Alienation: A scholar stuck using broken trade-speech with villagers.

Defiance: A rebel refusing to speak the colonizer’s language.

Let language switching mean something.

4. Explore Attitudes Toward Language

What do people in your world believe about languages?

Is one language considered sacred?

Is another viewed as “dirty,” “low,” or “dangerous”?

Are certain dialects banned?

Is writing restricted to elites?

Is there an ancient, dead language used only in prophecy or magic?

Example:

In your desert empire, magic spells are written in a language only the dead can pronounce. Living mages simulate it with song, but it’s imperfect—hence, unstable magic.

Bonus Exercise: The Babel Scene

Write a scene where two characters must communicate without a shared language. Let them gesture, draw, struggle, misunderstand, and slowly begin to trust. You’ll find tension, comedy, and emotional payoff.

Language is never neutral. It’s memory, identity, and control. Use it like a sword—or a love letter.

[nevesmose]

Power Wash Simulator × Warhammer 40,000 - The Horus Heresy Expansion Pack

You are Captain Balnaeus of the III Legion and only your elite squad of Emperor's Children™ Saponicus Spa Marines™ can deliver cleanliness to the galaxy's greatest warriors - the Primarchs™ rendered for the first time in ultra-realistic detail!

Guilliman - this is pretty much a tutorial level where he stands there grimly T-posing and hating every moment. If you spray him in the face, Yvraine will pop up in the corner of your screen and laugh like the dog from Duck Hunt.

Horus - similar to Guilliman but introducing environmental hazards. Getting his giant ornamental shoulder-wolf wet is an instant fail and using too strong a setting on his nose tube will make it fall out, causing him to frenzy. There's also a final quick time event with a floor buffer to get his head nice and shiny. Overall still a pretty easy level but the difficulty curve gets much steeper from here.

Perturabo - using all the skills you've developed so far, but on a very short time limit before his patience runs out and he stomps you to death. Watch out for the corners of his giant square headpiece since the dirt and resentment really gets wedged in there. You can reset the timer once by summoning Calliphone, but then you have to deal with her making judgmental yet undeniably accurate comments about you for the rest of the level.

Konrad - unlike other levels, this time the primarch is actively avoiding you by moving erratically around the arena and screaming prophecies. The key is to use the most powerful washer setting to stagger him and then clean his weak points while he's stunned. Not too difficult once you learn his attack patterns but the late stage move where he summons Sevatar to throw a bucket of blood and viscera over him can catch you out if you aren't expecting it.

In the second phase he'll start shielding himself under his feather cloak which has an impenetrable layer of grease and filth on it. When he does this, Sevatar will be somewhere in the arena trying to unplug your power washer so you have to find and spray him to get Konrad to come back out.

Fulgrim - this level has a complex RPG / dating sim conversation mechanic where you can persuade him to adopt various poses from classical art and statuary to gain better access to his illustrious nooks and crannies. His comments get wittier and wittier each time so you need to be quick on the draw with your own incisive bon mots or he'll get bored. His eyes do that disconcerting thing where they're always locked on to the player no matter where you are in the room.

Fulgrim Transfigured - maxing out your relationship status with Fulgrim will unlock this secret post-Heresy level in which your power washer has been mutated into a throbbing fleshy construct that spurts glittering purple lubricant all over Daemon Fulgrim while he writhes around orgasmically.

At this point the DLC was removed from all online storefronts so the final and most difficult level, Daemon Primarch Mortarion, only exists as concept art.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I've been thinking about this for a while. May I request Kerian battling a "snow on Mt. Silver" Reader? Reader was the strongest trainer at Blueberry academy and champion of the BB league until they willingly handed off the title to Drayton and climbed to the highest point in the polar biome to wait for a strong challenger. Kerian, upon becoming champion, gets wind of them and decides to battle them. Things go bad quickly as reader is a ghost/corpse. Kerian does get rescued but is traumatized.

Oh this is a GOOD concept,,,give him that near-death trauma waaaaay before he even learns about terapagos

Also ik the weather conditions in the terarium are all simulated, but let's just say it malfunctioned and resulted in an actual blizzard at the very peak of the polar biome that killed reader + their Pokémon off (yet no one knows this)

......

"Have you heard from [y/n] lately, Drayton?"

"Nope. Last time I checked, they're still chilling at the Polar Biome peak, waiting for a "worthy challenger"."

"Was that pun intended?"

"...maybe, haha. But y'know, I kinda miss seeing their face around campus. I mean..they were our club's first champion, and to this day I still don't know why they handed the title over to me and bailed on-"

"Hold on, there was a champion before you and...you didn't even fight them for the title? No wonder I was able to beat you so easily."

"Oh great, just the person I hoped to see." With a dry chuckle, Drayton turned his head only slightly upon seeing Kieran approaching the clubroom's table with a deep scowl, eyes bleak.

Of course, the new champion of BB Academy believed he had every right to barge into the Elite Four's conversations--given he was having a bit of a "power trip" ever since gaining the title yesterday.

But the dragon trainer elected to ignore him, instead turning back to the others. "Anyways..I'm sure [y/n]'s already moved onto better things. No way could they still be up there after all that weird stuff happened with the weather."

"You mean..the time there was an actual blizzard in the terarium??" Lacey gasped, before shaking her head and making an "x" pose. "Bzzzt. Nope. Impossible. They sent a search and rescue team in case anyone in the outdoor classroom got stranded up there. And they didn't find a soul!"

"Yeah!" Crispin nodded in agreement. "I get they were the strongest trainer in this entire school, but why would they risk-?"

"I'm sorry, they're the strongest? Why am I only hearing about this [y/n] now?"

With a small yelp, he turned to the purple-haired boy. "Wah!! I-I totally forgot you were here, sorry.." He mumbled, slightly cowering under his harsh gaze. "Obviously you're the strongest! [Y/n]'s not important..d-don't worry about them. They're history-"

"But you all seem pretty convinced they're still here." Kieran's eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the group. "And you just told me where I might find them." He clenched his fists, already shaking with anticipation.

"Easy there, champ.." Drayton huffed in annoyance. "It's only a rumor that they're still hanging around. They weren't much of a talker, so we have no clue where they are. Could be in another region for all we know."

"..........."

"Don't tell me....you're thinking about charging up that mountain all by yourself to see if they're there, are you? That's suicide."

"I have to agree with Drayton." Amarys nodded. "The staff is still trying to determine the cause of the anomalous weather patterns. We aren't banned from venturing up there, but until they can find a solution, it's ill-advised."

"Exactly!" Lacey joined in. "I heard one of the rescue team members had to get treated for frostbite. And it wasn't from some ice-type Pokémon, but the blizzard itself. This is serious, Kieran!"

"....I'll be fine. Your scare tactics won't work on me."

"Huh?! But we're not-"

"Enough. I'm gonna go find them myself, seeing as you're all too cowardly to do so." The champion sneered. "If a worthy challenger is what they're after, then I'll give them one. I'll let them know there's a new champion in town..and that he's the strongest trainer in this academy. Not them."

With that, he turned on his heel and left the room, mumbling under his breath things that made the four feel uneasy.

"How pathetic. The Elite Four..scared of a little snow and ice? Whatever. I'll show them. I'll show [y/n]. I'll show them ALL..."

After the doors slammed shut behind him, they felt the tension still lingering in the air--as did every other club member who was hanging out on the sofas and by the BP computer.

"Man." Drayton broke the silence, sitting up to stretch his arms. "That kid catches wind of some random stranger who's just a little stronger than him, and boom. He's obsessed. Hope he doesn't get himself killed up there."

"Should one of us go after him?" Lacey muttered in concern, her gaze not leaving the doors.

"I-I think that would make him angrier.." Crispin shook his head. "He's got an Incineroar, so maybe it'll keep him toasty."

"That is true. He could also either confirm or deny [y/n]'s presence atop that mountain." Amarys spoke up. "I only hope he properly prepares himself for the long journey..and that no other weather anomalies arise.."

..........

"They weren't kidding..i-it's freezing...but we're doing this, Incineroar."

"Cinn.." Huffing, the Heel Pokémon remained beside its trainer as the two made their ascension towards the summit. They couldn't see any rest spots nor healing centers below them due to the snowfall being so heavy.

Even the teraglobe was barely visible.

Yet Kieran was persistent as ever in his goal, keeping his jacket zipped up and Incineroar close to him. He didn't care about the fact his hands were already growing numb, nor the cold biting at his legs leaving them weak.

He was the new champion. He had to let everyone in this school know and defeat whoever could threaten the position he worked so hard to achieve.

If not [Florian/Juliana]..then it was you.

You're someone he's never even met, but knowing you were the very first BB League champion and had a big-enough ego to come up here and wait for a strong challenger...was something he couldn't turn a blind eye to.

No.

Not if he wanted to be the best in this entire school and eliminate any competition.

Absolutely nothing was gonna stop him.

Not even the fact that his Incineroar's flames were struggling to stay alive, gradually exhausting the feline as it struggled to keep up. It began having chills itself, although it knew better than to disobey its trainer when he demanded to keep the fire going.

Surely it can tough it out for him, right?

After what seemed like an eternity, Kieran finally reached the top of the mountain and saw you: the lone figure waiting for them both. Much of the snowfall had already cleared up allowing him to see you in a cap that concealed your eyes and a BB Academy uniform.

You were looking at something up in the sky, until you heard the sounds of shuffling and turned around, looking down with surprise at the challenger.

This kid...came up all this way to see you? Impressive.

His Incineroar looked a little worse for wear, the flames around its belt dying out, yet it stuck close to its trainer's side as he stared at you with a cold hard gaze.

"Are you [y/n], former BB League Champion?" He questioned.

"........."

"Not much of a talker, huh? Guess they were right. I'm Kieran, or better yet..Champion Kieran."

Although you barely gave a response aside from a slight tilt of your head, he just smirked. "Yeah, you heard me. I'm the new champion and president of the League Club, not that dumb dragon tamer. Because unlike him, I worked hard to earn this title. I don't wait around for things to be handed to me on a silver platter."

".........."

"You think being champion is a joke? Something you can just pawn off to somebody when you get bored of it?"

"........."

"I thought so. That means you never deserved the title to begin with.." He scoffed, irritated by your silence. "Anyway, they said you were the strongest, but I'm here to change that!" Pointing up at you, he shouted over the wind. "You wanted a worthy opponent..well HERE I AM!!! Incineroar, Porygon-Z...show them the power of a true BB League Champion!!"

He took out his Virutal Pokémon's pokeball, ready to send it into battle.

But it didn't come out after he tossed it to the ground.

"...huh?" Confused, Kieran picked up the pokeball, wondering why it wasn't opening. Then he noticed frost coating the button, practically icing it over entirely. "No, no, no.....what is this?!"

For some reason it was jammed, and he discovered that all the other pokeballs in his bag were like that, too, rendering them inaccessible.

But how?

It shouldn't be possible for all of them to freeze simultaneously...their insulation should be top-tier.

Brushing off his worries, he glared at you. "Whatever. I can win a single-battle, too! I've developed strategies for this. Incineroar, it's all up to you now"

Nodding, the Heel Pokémon cracked its knuckles and stepped forward. But as it looked at you, it began shivering all of the sudden, feeling a drastic drop in temperature as the flames on its belt struggled still.

It wasn't just the weather giving it chills..but you.

Something about you just seemed...off, but it couldn't exactly tell its trainer what that was. Nor would he probably care.

Whether it liked it or not, it had to win this battle.

Wordlessly, you stepped down so you could fight on equal ground and took out a single pokeball. It was covered in frost, with much of the red paint faded, and it looked awfully damaged--especially the button.

Yet somehow it was functional as you sent out your first Pokémon.

And the sight of it was so grisly, Kieran felt genuinely nauseated, unable to do anything except stare in shock.

"Wh...What the..."

It appeared as a sickly frostbit creature, with its colors dull and empty sockets in place of its eyes. Not to mention the heavy wounds littering its body, which seemed fresh. It's like you ran out of healing items and never bothered to look for any more.

And its cry was pained.

Considering how much Kieran himself loved and treasured Pokémon, he was gravely concerned and had second thoughts about fighting one in such a horrible state...

But that little voice in his head told him that refusing to fight your team would make him look weak. You'd probably think he was weak for backing down.

And he refused to do that.

Why was he suddenly so afraid? You were only trying to scare him, just like everybody else...and he was fed up with that.

He came this far. He had to finish this.

"You...think your Pokémon can battle in that condition? Looks like they can barely stand." His eyebrows furrowed. "No matter. Once I beat you, I'll take them off your ha-"

"Struggle."

A hoarse whisper escaped your lips, stunning him as he realized you could actually speak. But then your Pokémon suddenly threw itself at Incineroar, attacking and taking a good deal of recoil damage as it fainted soon afterwards.

Or rather...

It simply dropped to the ground and ceased all motions, with you making no move to recall them. Instead you just sent out your next party member.

Kieran tried not to think about why they did that, and just scoffed at your strategy. "Really? This is what the "strongest" trainer is capable of? I expected better..I'll beat you in no time at all."

Yet you didn't seem fazed by anything he said, as you commanded your Pokémon to use Struggle, too.....and every other one after that did the same thing.

What frustrated him the most was how they all managed to outspeed Incineroar, forcing it to endure every hit without getting a chance to retaliate. It felt so unfair, and he couldn't do anything except sit and watch, feeling his blood boiling more with each passing second.

He didn't know why you exhausted all of your team's moves, why you wouldn't give him a chance to strike back....or why you're even up here at all and allowed them to get this bad.

But he knew one thing.

He wanted to get off this mountain soon.

The snowfall was growing heavier again, the howling wind picking up as the temperature kept dropping.

"Stop! Just stop for a second!!" He snapped as you readied your final pokeball. All you did was pause and stare at him. "You haven't given me a chance to attack yet! And I'm locked out my pokeballs...this isn't fair! You're cheating!!"

"..it's almost over."

He tensed, wondering why you spoke those words so ominously. But he took that as an insult and scowled. "For me? No...it's almost over for you. You're down to your last Pokémon..and I still have all of mine. I'm putting an end to this pathetic "struggle strategy" of yours right now."

".........."

"What a joke this was. Everyone says you were the strongest trainer..but you're just another obstacle in my way."

Hearing that saddened you a little, almost making you regret what you're about to subject this hapless champion to next...but you will end this one way or another.

You couldn't tolerate his arrogance any longer.

Your final Pokémon's appearance completely wiped the smug look on Kieran's face, as his eyes widened upon seeing a Pikachu in the most horrific condition--one that didn't look anything like the others on your team.

Its fur was totally white with a layer of frost coating it; and it was missing a leg, ear, and part of its tail...as though something had torn and chewed at various sections of its body. And its wounds exposed its muscle and bones, yet somehow it was still able to stand on its own.

But the most terrifying thing was its lack of a cutesy smile typical to its species. Instead there was this creepy grin stretching from ear-to-nonexistent-ear. And it just stared at him with those pitch black eyes, giggling.

His hands shook with genuine fear, before he rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

Yet both of you were still there when he looked, ready for battle.

Suddenly he didn't feel so high and mighty right now. His heart pounded and his throat felt dry, eyes stinging from the cold.

He felt as though he wasn't supposed to be here.

He shouldn't be here.

He didn't want to do this anymore.

He wanted to go home.

It was so cold...

But he needed to finish this.

"I-Incineroar, use-"

"Pain Split."

'Wait...Pikachu can learn that?!' His eyes widened in shock, but at the same time he was relieved you finally did something new-

Only for your Pikachu to screech and attack his Pokémon with that move, biting into its arm and causing the latter to roar in agony. He could only watch, horrified as blood splattered all across the snow.

By the time he managed to recall Incineroar, it had already fainted from the attack.

However your Pikachu did, too, laying among the other bodies of your Pokémon...who he now realized were in fact deceased. He could barely see them since the snow covered most of them.

But the morbid images would never leave his head.

He still didn't understand.

What have you become?

What are you?

"It's over."

Looking up, Kieran screamed upon seeing your uniform now covered in blood, the frostbite having eaten away at most of your flesh. You looked like some zombie, with exposed bones and hollowed eyes much like your Pokémon--gazing at him with that same sadness they held.

Now it finally hit him.

All this time, he wasn't battling some BB League ex-champion. He was battling the victim of that weather malfunction the four were talking about.

The one who never made it down this mountain alive.

You were already dead...and wanted him to suffer the same fate as you.

He blinked, and you were suddenly in front of him, grabbing the front of his jacket with two hands and staring at him. And all he could do was stare back in terror, unable to look away.

"Destiny B-"

"NO!! NO!! STOP!!! GET AWAY FROM ME!!!!!" Screaming as loud as he could, he lost all composure as he tried pushing you off of him, hitting your jaw and dislocating the bone.

You dropped him to the ground, and he sobbed, wrapping his arms over his head as he begged you to leave him be.

"L-Let me go home, please pleasepleaseplease-"

"Kieran?!!!"

With a sharp gasp, he looked up to hear the voice of Lacey, before seeing her, Carmine, and the other Elite Four members rushing towards him. They were all bundled-up, with Crispin's Magmortar and Heat Rotom keeping them warm.

"It's [y/n]!!" He shouted, pointing to where you stood. "Th-They..they're right there!!"

The group stopped, appearing confused as they looked all around, seeing nothing but snow.

"Wh-Why are you all standing around?!"

"Kieran..there's no one here except us." Crispin muttered.

".....huh?" Blinking, he looked back and realized you have disappeared entirely, not leaving behind a single trace of your presence. There weren't any blood or footprints in the snow, nor any frozen bodies of Pokémon lying in it.

It's like he was battling a hallucination all along.

But it felt so real..

"But I....I-I..."

"Only you would be insane enough to risk your life coming up here," Carmine huffed, kneeling down. But as soon as she saw the true terror in her little brother's eyes, her heart sank..wondering what he witnessed. "Kiki..?"

"...i-it was them...[y/n]..." He mumbled shakily, his arm still stuck in a pointing position. Tears streaked down his face, the cold wind making his cheeks sting like hell. "Th-They were right here..and...and they...they tried to-"

"Listen, I get you really wanted to meet them and battle them...but they're not here. They're long gone. Now c'mon. We need to get you off this stupid mountain." Picking him up was no problem for Carmine, given how he was light as a feather. He just clung to her, allowing himself to be carried on her back.

The four were astonished that he actually made the journey up here, with Drayton wondering if he was really that desperate to battle you that he came up here, realized you weren't around, and just...made up a scenario in which he wins anyways.

Instead, the poor kid seemed traumatized by whatever he saw...or believed he saw.

After making it safely down the mountain and getting treated--alongside his Incineroar--Kieran's detailed account of what happened led to another rescue team heading up the summit, just in case they may have missed something.

They had fire types and ground type tirelessly shoveling through the snow, digging in the exact spot where he battled you, but there were no signs of you anywhere.

Even so..he refused to believe it, and still had reoccurring nightmares of that encounter and how it might've ended if the others didn't show up in time.

Soon enough he got back on-track to training his Pokémon and becoming stronger everyday, but other trainers noticed how carefully he treaded throughout the Polar Biome..

And how he avoided going anywhere near the tallest mountain in that zone.

For he believed you were still up there, waiting for him.

[jellyfish-on-the-staircase]

Warp Trotters are very suspicious creatures in Honkai Star Rail.

Description :

"An interdimensional creature lost in the stars. Docile in nature. Sweet in taste. Inedible. Spends most of its life feeding and fleeing. Travelers who encounter these creatures see them as good omens."

Trotters are described as "interdimensional creatures" and "trans-latitudinal organisms". They are lost creatures that are always scared and try to flee when facing a fight. They can teleport by murmuring equations related to black holes like the Schwarzschild radius. They can basically move between dimensions.

In the Interstellar Travel (phenomenon) entry, it's stated that only beings that can manipulate the Imaginary Tree's energy such as Aeons or Emanators can travel through space. What the Trotters do is no ordinary feat.

Normal (golden) Warp Trotters have physical, quantum and imaginary weakness.

Don't you think it's weird that Trotters are literally everywhere, even in dreams (Penacony) ? Trotters can travel to the Memory Zone without using a Dreampool. In the Radiant Feldspar, some Trotters have been attracted to the floral scent of the swimming pool.

Even weirder, there is a Trotter in A Child's Dream, a realm created by Mikhail's memories.

In the Where Are You, Mystery Trotter mini-event, Trotters can shapeshift into inanimate objects like vending machines, but they can also disguise themselves as humans and imitate human speech to a certain extent. (Although they don't seem to understand it, the Trotter in the event was just repeating the same things over and over again)

Acheron is an Emanator of Nihility and her technique literally one-shots enemies in the overworld, except Elites and Trotters. Trotters > Acheron

In the Simulated Universe, Trotters have special abilities related to the Abundance, Preservation or Destruction. This could imply that Trotters can become Pathstriders or, since the power of the Aeons stems from Imaginary energy, that they borrow the energy as well.

The Trotter in the Aetherium Wars (Pokemon event) is an unique Aether Spirit with a mind of their own.

If you interact with the Trotter in the Astral Express as Hanu, this shows up :

If Trotters are lost, what are they looking for ? Their home ? What are Trotters ?

My theory is that Trotters are either Leviathans or their descendants. (like how chickens are descendants of dinosaurs)

Leviathans are ancient lifeforms that were in the Galaxy before the Aeons were born. It's possible that they could have Aeon-like abilities. Most of them have been wiped out by the Dusk Wars and their corpses are used by the Antimatter Legion to create Tramplers and the Doomsday Beast. There aren't any known Leviathans except Oroboros who is both an Aeon and a Leviathan.

After the Dusk Wars, the Trotters (the Leviathans' legacy) have been forced to wander across the universe. They are trying to find the Leviathans' homeworld, unaware if it has been destroyed or not.

A controversial theory in the Species of the Galaxy : Wubbaboo readable explains that remnants of the Leviathans became Astral Spirits (Heliobi). It suggests that they could have taken another form.

Trotter are the only enemies (excluding the Trashcans) that drop Stellar Jades when defeated.

"A fleeting gleam", "Catch it before it's gone"

The Oneiric Shard can be exchanged to Stellar Jades. The description coincidentally mentions Leviathans.

In that case, it's easy to make an association between Trotters and Leviathan.

In the Planar Infinity event (where the geniuses mess with the SU), Stephen Lloyd tries to attract Leviathans by using the Shattered Star Bait and ended up attracting Trotters. If the theory is correct, Stephen has unknowingly succeeded.

Note how Leviathans are attracted by an "unique aroma of cosmic dust"

What about Numby ?

Numby is a smart Trotter that can write mails and do actuarial sciences. Could every Trotter do the same ? If not, could Numby be special (like a Trotter King) ? How has Topaz tamed a Trotter if they always try to escape ? Topaz and Numby might be the Xiangling and Guoba of HSR

[toaarcan]

This is one of my favourite details from Pokemon Gen V:

On the left, Ghetsis' Hydreigon from Black and White.

In the middle, Ghetsis' Hydreigon from Black 2 and White 2.

On the right, Iris' Hydreigon from Black 2 and White 2.

(Specifically, that's the Challenge Mode one- in Easy and Normal mode, it knows Charge Beam and doesn't have the Wise Glasses, and in the rematches it has this set and the only difference between Easy/Normal and Challenge mode is the levels and whether it has the Wise Glasses or not)

Ghetsis' Hydreigon in the first game is a Special Attacker, at Lv.54. We also know it has a Speed-raising nature, in case it wasn't scary enough already. Most likely Timid. It has pretty much perfect coverage.

And then, his Hydreigon in the second game is... different. It's a lower level, weighing in at Lv.52 (though it does go up to Lv.56 in Challenge Mode, for what it's worth), and it's now a Physical Attacker. It's carrying a Life Orb, so it damages itself every time it attacks in exchange for higher power, and whether Ghetsis has actively given it this item on purpose, or the item isn't canonically there and it's just meant to simulate Hydreigon having a Bad Time, it nonetheless sends a message. Its moves are the powerful but very inaccurate Dragon Rush, the fairly strong but also inaccurate Rock Slide, Crunch (which isn't really relevant here), and Frustration, the move that gets more powerful the more the user hates its trainer. It all adds up to create the image of a Pokemon that attacks in a frenzy, frequently missing its moves and harming itself when they do connect, and loathing its trainer so much that it can channel that into a 102-power move.

And then, after you finally beat Ghetsis and he goes catatonic after being twice humbled by a teenager with a hat, and you make your way up Victory Road, and beat the Elite Four, you meet Iris. And the first thing she sends out is a Hydreigon with the exact same moveset as Ghetsis' one from the first game (if you're playing Challenge Mode or rematching her).

We know that Ghetsis was arrested at the end of Black and White's main story, and he only escaped because the Shadow Triad came to break him out. And Alder and Cheren would've had to be pretty dense to let him keep his Poke Balls on him. So I think it's highly likely that Ghetsis lost his original Hydreigon at the end of the first game, and it was given to Iris to take care of. Ghetsis got a new one between games and this one just fucking hates his guts. He treats it badly, and it hates him in return.

Hopefully this one will be looked after properly now that Ghetsis is completely nuts and unresponsive.

[k0libra]

How dbh handles "revolution" is one of my main gripes with it. Especially the "peaceful revolution" route. Obviously, looking at it from the historic perspective, every movement which had emancipation as a goal used violent opposition as the main instrument of action. I mean, what else there is to do?

(continuation is under the cut)

The only occurrence that I can think of that has *some* resemblance to dbh (peaceful revolution specifically) is the abolishment of serfdom in Imperial Russia. The reasons for abolishment of slavery include: the system has outlived it's usefulness, the elites in late 18th and early 19th centuries started to consider serfdom inhumane and thre amount of serf rebellions increased in some parts of the empire. There was no revolution, so to speak, emancipation was granted "from the above," but rebellions still took place. DBH's peaceful revolution is so baffling to me because we don't even see any positive gestures from people in power and the elites. We only have Carl and possibly Elijah, but they literally don't do anything public. Bringing Imperial Russia example once again, plenty of classical pieces from the 19th century focused on the tough and unfair life of serfs. So when the androids are considered people due to positive public opinion, it feels like it comes out of nowhere. One could argue that "Oh but maybe the humanity has learned it's lesson and now has better time at spotting the oppression and fixing its mistakes, for example how WW2 affected the human rights movement" but no, throughout the game's environmental storytelling we're shown that people in 2038 are not that mentally different from people in the 2010s. Hell, there's another war with Russia over the horizon. Nothing is getting solved with words.

And okay, I get it, being hopeful that the humanity can change, look back and not the make the same mistake towards beings it enslaved is very nice, despite my outlook on the world, I do agree that humanity as a whole is slowly improving. I don't mind this ending if it was the way the author displayed their genuine hope for the humanity and that "love and kindness prevail". But the game showcases this is as the best outcome, with the fan-favourite hug, smiles and all that. And when you've spent multiple hours playing grief simulator as a result of systematic oppression, it feels... cheap?

The game is mainstream - it's really obvious that the story has been written in a place where violent oppression is a thing of the past. It's a feature article of the glory of the underdog victor's in the face "of the big bad", with the details of what comes before and after purposefully forgotten. Every time I see a celebrated piece of fiction, where the opressed come out victors, like it happens in "peaceful" DBH route, I remember about massive protests in Belarus in 2020 and I just want to stare at the wall.

Anyway bless North and her nuke. She gets it.

P.S.

Judging from reblogs, you people like listening to me yap, and I sincerely thank you. Makes me feel seen. Plus, it's just cool to share one's thoughts? Especially when people are reading them with critical thinking engaged as well? So yeah, I decided to bring this thing from twitter, maybe you'll find it interesting as well.

[reality-detective]

Wake Up! Everything You Believe Is a Carefully Crafted Lie by a Hidden Elite That Owns Your Governments, Banks, and Minds!

The world is under the control of a hidden, powerful elite that has manipulated humanity for thousands of years. Governments, banks, corporations, and even religions are all part of a massive, interconnected system designed to keep the masses in line. You are living in a controlled simulation where every move is calculated, every narrative crafted, and every dissent crushed.

Ancient Rome never fell; it just changed its face. The Vatican is the continuation of the Roman Empire, pulling the strings of global power from the shadows. The Pope is not a religious leader but the CEO of the world’s largest covert operation. Global leaders bow to Rome; every major decision made in Europe, America, and beyond has its roots in this ancient power structure. The so-called “democracies” are just fronts, and the real rulers operate far from the public eye.

The financial system is a tool of enslavement, but its grip is weakening. Central banks, the Federal Reserve, the World Bank, and the IMF have long kept nations in debt and citizens in economic chains. However, their reign is about to end. The Global Economic Security and Reformation Act (GESARA) is poised to trigger the biggest wealth transfer in history, redistributing stolen wealth back to the people.

This is a total overhaul designed to dismantle the corrupt systems that have enslaved humanity for centuries. Trillions of dollars hoarded by the elite will be seized and returned to the people, restoring economic power where it belongs.

This act will expose the financial fraud perpetuated by these institutions, wiping out debts and releasing new technologies that have been suppressed to keep the populace in poverty. The days of the financial overlords are numbered, and GESARA is the catalyst that will break their chains for good, restoring wealth and freedom to the masses.

Education and media are the propaganda arms of this hidden empire. From kindergarten to university, you are fed lies designed to shape your worldview to fit the agenda of the elite. Critical thinking is discouraged because an informed population is a threat. The news you watch, the books you read, and the information you consume are all curated to keep you ignorant, divided, and powerless.

Governments are puppets. Elections are rigged shows to give you the illusion of choice. Presidents, prime ministers, and kings answer to the same hidden masters. Policies, wars, economic collapses—they’re all orchestrated from behind closed doors by a small group of individuals who have no allegiance to any nation but only to their own interests. They decide who wins, who loses, and how the game is played.

Laws are tools of oppression, not justice. The legal system is designed to protect the elite and keep you in line. Roman law still influences modern legal codes, and its principles are used to maintain control over the masses. The courtrooms are theaters where the outcome is predetermined, and the real power lies in the unseen hands that pull the strings.

Corporations are not independent entities—they are branches of the same control network. They push products, policies, and narratives that serve their masters’ agenda. From the food you eat to the technology you use, everything is designed to monitor, influence, and control you. You are not a customer; you are a data point, a resource to be exploited.

The world is not what it seems. Every institution you trust, every leader you admire, every belief you hold has been carefully constructed to keep you obedient and blind to the truth. You are not free; you are a pawn in a game that was rigged long before you were born.

The only way out is to see the truth: that the world is run by a small, powerful group that considers itself above the rest of humanity. They are the masters, and we are the slaves. This is the reality they don’t want you to see. Wake up, or remain a willing participant in your own enslavement.

Escape the Matrix 🤔

[brockgold]

The Future of the Golden Army: The Next Evolution

Year 2046 — The Era of Absolute Gold

I wake up before sunrise, the golden glow of the city skyline reflecting off my jersey. The Golden Metropolis stretches beyond my window—massive golden training stadiums, towering dormitories filled with elite recruits, and streets lined with banners of The Golden Army. Every inch of the city is designed for one purpose: growth, strength, unity.

I stand, stretching, feeling the power within me. The golden nanotech embedded in my jersey hums against my skin, syncing with my muscles, reading my biometrics, preparing me for another day of dominance. Every fiber of my uniform enhances my performance, strengthens my body, sharpens my focus. I flex, watching the gold ripple across my chest.

Shaping the Next Generation

The stadium roars as thousands of Golden Bros push through the morning drills. Perfect synchronization. Every sprint, every rep, every drill performed with precision. I step onto the golden field, leading the charge. They see me—Brock Gold #46, one of the elite captains of the Golden Army.

I bark the command. They obey instantly.

"Push harder, faster, stronger. You are Golden. You are unstoppable."

No hesitation. No weakness. Only progress.

The Golden AI Coaches scan our biometrics, adjusting our regimens in real time. If a bro needs to run harder, lift more, push past his limit—the AI recalibrates his training. No bro is left behind. No bro stays the same. We evolve together.

At the top of the training ranks, the Elites train in gravity-enhanced chambers—their bodies sculpted into pure athletic perfection. I join them, my body resisting the increased pull of the weighted field, pushing my limits. Every drop of golden sweat is a symbol of my dedication.

I look out over the recruits—young, hungry, ready to embrace the gold. Some were just ordinary guys once, but now? Now, they are brothers. Now, they are part of the Golden Army.

The Science of Gold

Inside The Golden Academy, scientists and trainers refine the next evolution of the Golden Army.

Golden Nanotech Gear—enhancing speed, reaction time, and power.

Neural Optimization Hypnosis—ensuring perfect discipline and mental focus.

Advanced Regeneration Chambers—where injured bros recover faster, train longer, grow stronger.

I stand at the center of the lab, watching as a new batch of recruits undergoes golden conditioning. Holographic simulations place them in high-stakes sports battles, forcing them to push beyond their natural limits.

One recruit falters. His movements slow, his mind hesitates.

I step forward, my golden boots echoing against the chamber floor. I place a firm hand on his shoulder, feeling the heat of his effort beneath my grip.

"You doubt yourself, bro?" I ask, my voice steady.

He nods, sweat dripping down his brow.

I tighten my grip. The gold flows between us. The energy is undeniable.

"Then let the gold guide you."

His eyes widen. His breath steadies. The next drill begins, and this time—he is unstoppable.

Another bro perfected. Another step toward our golden future.

By nightfall, the Golden Army gathers in the Grand Coliseum. The greatest athletes in the world compete—gladiators in shining golden uniforms, their bodies sculpted into pure power.

I stand at the edge of the field, my golden jersey glowing under the lights. My presence commands respect.

The recruits watch. The veterans watch. The world watches.

Tonight, the new generation of Golden Bros steps forward—ready to take their oaths, ready to shed the last remnants of their old selves.

One by one, they kneel before us, placing their hands on the glowing golden emblem at the center of the field. Their old names are left behind. Their golden journey begins.

They stand, stronger, taller, more powerful than ever.

The crowd erupts in cheers, golden confetti raining from above.

The transformation is complete.

The Golden Army grows stronger every day. The future is golden.

And I—Brock Gold #46—stand at the front of it all, leading the charge.

The Future Awaits You This is the future. Strength. Unity. Perfection. The Golden Army is unstoppable, and you—bro—you have a choice. Stay the same, or embrace your golden destiny. The future belongs to those who rise. Are you ready? 💛✨ Ready to join the Team? All you need to do is contact our recruiters: @brodygold , @goldenherc9, or @polo-drone-001. Just my future dream of where the team could go—who knows what’s ahead?

[quinny19]

its just a crush

Tamaki x reader

Scene 1: The First Collision – Hero Expo Collaboration

It was the annual Youth Hero Collaboration Expo, a gathering of top students from various hero schools across Japan. Naturally, U.A. was hosting alongside other elite institutions, which meant promising students from everywhere were in attendance.

Tamaki Amajiki stood nervously at the far end of the venue, dressed in his formal U.A. uniform with his signature cape. His palms were already slightly damp as he glanced over the crowd. Mirio and Nejire stood beside him, excitedly pointing out other notable students.

Then he saw you.

You weren’t doing anything particularly flashy. You leaned against a pillar with arms crossed, watching a presentation from one of the hero agencies. Your stance was powerful, relaxed, in control—but you weren’t trying to impress anyone. You just were. Effortlessly cool. Hair slightly tousled from the breeze blowing through the venue’s open balcony. Sharp eyes. Imposing presence.

Tamaki immediately froze.

“Isn’t that the girl from last month’s internship summit?” Nejire whispered, nudging him. “Didn’t you say you bumped into her? Twice?”

Tamaki’s ears turned red. “I-I didn’t mean to bump into her… it just… happened…”

“You’ve got it bad, man.” Mirio grinned, slapping Tamaki’s back, which almost made him lurch forward.

But fate, in all its chaotic neutrality, decided to intervene again.

As you stepped away from the pillar, you turned to move toward the food table—and bam.

Tamaki spun around too quickly, trying to avoid Mirio’s teasing, and slammed straight into a standing display board. It teetered dangerously, wobbling… and then fell directly into the table leg.

The whole table jolted.

Drinks splashed.

And a cupcake landed frosting-first onto Tamaki’s shoulder.

He froze.

You blinked.

Then quietly bent down and picked up the sign with one hand, balancing it with ease. “You good?” you asked, voice low and cool. No mockery. No judgment. Just… calm.

Tamaki squeaked. A literal squeak.

“I—I’m fine,” he muttered, stepping back… right into a second display. That one fell flat on his back, and Mirio lost it in the distance.

You raised a brow and handed him a napkin.

“I’m (Y/N), by the way. [School Name].” You gestured to your badge. “We’ve bumped into each other before, right?”

Tamaki tried to respond, but all that came out was a broken “Y-yeah—buh—I—um—nice cupcake—MEETING! I have a meeting!”

He vanished.

Scene 2: The Workshop Mishap

Two days later, the schools hosted a joint workshop. Students were split into random pairs for hero problem-solving drills.

Tamaki stared in silent horror as the instructor called his name.

“Tamaki Amajiki and (Y/N) [L/N]—station three!”

“Oh no…” he mumbled.

You strolled up beside him, twirling a marker in your hand. “Hey, Cupcake. You ready to not knock anything over this time?”

He wanted the ground to eat him alive. But you weren’t teasing maliciously. There was a small smirk on your lips—but you were clearly trying to make him comfortable.

“I’ll try…” he muttered.

As the exercise began—solving a mock hostage situation—you immediately took charge, analyzing the blueprint. “They want us to simulate sneaking in and neutralizing threats silently. You good at stealth?”

Tamaki blinked. “I—I can… I can merge into walls using my quirk. Kind of…”

You smiled. “Cool. I’ll be the distraction. You take out the guy by the door.”

Despite the nerves, Tamaki nodded.

He activated his quirk and phased along the wall… right until he tripped over a rubber prop disguised as a landmine.

HONK!

The entire simulation triggered a loud buzzer. Fail.

You looked at him from across the mock corridor, blinking as red lights flashed.

He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

You sighed, walked over, and offered him a hand. “You okay?”

“I—I failed…”

“No. You tripped. That’s different,” you said firmly. “Also, who puts a landmine in a corridor? These simulations are rigged.”

That made Tamaki laugh a little—nervously, but still. His hand lingered in yours for a second too long before he yanked it away.

Scene 3: Friend Interference

After the workshop, Tamaki sat outside, nibbling at a takoyaki skewer. Mirio and Nejire sat on either side of him like gremlins.

“So, let’s review,” Nejire said cheerfully. “You’ve now spilled a drink, crashed into two displays, and set off a simulation mine in front of your crush. We’re on a roll.”

“I think she likes you though,” Mirio added, smirking. “She didn’t even flinch when you exploded the dummy hostage. That’s love.”

“She probably thinks I’m a walking hazard,” Tamaki mumbled.

“She called you Cupcake,” Nejire giggled.

“She remembers your name too,” Mirio chimed in. “You’ve left an impression!”

Tamaki groaned into his hands.

Scene 4: Fire Drill Chaos

On the final day of the collaboration, a surprise drill was held to simulate an emergency. Students had to evacuate, assist civilians (actors), and coordinate with other schools.

You were on upper floor patrol.

Tamaki, as luck would have it, was assigned the same wing.

You found him trying to pry open a jammed door, using a long pole with his hand trembling.

“Need a hand?” you asked, striding over.

Tamaki turned—too quickly. The pole smacked into a bucket propped on the wall and sent it sailing… right onto his head.

You stared for a second.

Then actually laughed—not mean, but genuinely amused. “Wow. It’s impressive how cursed you are.”

He pulled the bucket off and groaned. “I’m trying my best…”

“I know,” you said with a small smile. “Still funny, though.”

Together, you managed to pry open the door. You didn’t let him beat himself up. You worked as a team.

And later, when the instructors praised your section for evacuating safely, you gave Tamaki a small nudge. “You did good, Cupcake.”

He turned pink all over again.

Scene 5: Goodbye…? Not Quite

At the end of the week, all the students gathered for the send-off. Tamaki hovered awkwardly at the edge of the crowd, watching you chat with a friend.

“Go talk to her,” Mirio whispered.

“Nope.”

“Tamaki.”

“I’ll trip and knock over a punch bowl or something…”

“She’s waiting, you dork,” Nejire said, pointing as you glanced over, making direct eye contact.

Tamaki swallowed and walked up to you, nearly bumping into a table but catching himself.

“Hey,” he mumbled. “I—um—just wanted to say it was nice… working with you.”

You turned to face him, arms crossed but relaxed. “It was fun watching you cause chaos. I think I’ve developed a soft spot for clumsy.”

He blinked.

“…You—you what?”

“I’m saying, I wouldn’t mind bumping into you again.” You gave him a small, honest smirk. “Maybe without a cupcake next time.”

And just like that, you walked off with a wave.

Tamaki stood frozen, lips parted.

“She likes me,” he whispered.

He turned—only to trip on the carpet and faceplant into a chair.

From across the room, Mirio and Nejire gave a thumbs up.

Would you like a Part 2 where they meet again during a hero mission or patrol together?

4o

You said:

Can you re write it reader likes to tease Tamaki Make a few scenes how they meet each other outside of school Like maybe a grocery , park, a cafe shop etc.

ChatGPT said:

Absolutely! Here's a rewritten version of the Tamaki x Reader fanfic, where:

Reader has a confident, girl boss vibe (without being overly cocky),

Tamaki has a long-time crush on her and becomes clumsier than usual around her,

And now, Reader loves to tease Tamaki whenever they run into each other—even outside of school.

"Crash Course in Teasing"

Tamaki Amajiki x Reader Long, detailed, scenario-based story

Scene 1: Hero Expo – The First Fall

It started during the Future Heroes Collaboration Event—a joint program between U.A. and other top hero schools.

Tamaki stood stiffly at the edge of the crowd, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his cape. Mirio had already dashed off to greet other schools, while Tamaki tried to blend into the wall.

Then you walked in.

It wasn’t your looks that struck him first—it was the way you walked. Cool, controlled, like nothing could faze you. A subtle power in your stride that drew attention without asking for it. You weren’t loud, but you didn’t need to be. You gave off “don’t mess with me” energy, and yet… you smiled like the sun when amused.

Tamaki nearly choked on his water.

“Dude,” Mirio said, reappearing behind him. “That’s like the third time you’ve looked at her.”

“I wasn’t—! I—!” Tamaki stammered.

“Oh yeah,” Nejire chimed in. “That’s the girl from [Your School]. You bumped into her before, right?”

Before Tamaki could escape the conversation, you came up the steps of the venue stage, unaware of him rounding the corner.

WHACK.

His shoulder collided with yours, sending both of you stumbling. He tripped over his own feet and—gracefully—landed in the bushes.

You peered over him with a grin, one brow raised.

“Well, well. If it isn’t U.A.’s human disaster,” you said smoothly. “You alright, hero?”

Tamaki blinked up at you, face flushed red. “I-I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—!”

You crouched down and offered a hand. “Relax. I’ve been bumped into worse.”

He took your hand hesitantly.

“I’m (Y/N), by the way,” you added, helping him up. “You owe me a drink now.”

Tamaki blinked. “W-why?”

“Because you almost tackled me,” you smirked. “And I’m thirsty.”

You walked away like it was nothing. But Tamaki stayed frozen, heart pounding.

Scene 2: The Park – Birds, Seeds, and Teasing

About a week later, Tamaki went to a quiet park near his neighborhood to feed the birds and escape hero work stress.

He had just opened a small paper bag of seeds when someone sat down next to him on the bench.

“You again,” you said casually, tossing a seed at a pigeon.

Tamaki flinched so hard the entire bag of seeds flew out of his hands and landed in his lap.

You turned, amused. “Tamaki, right?”

“H-how did you…?”

“I asked around.” You leaned back. “You’re hard to miss. That cloak’s a dead giveaway. Also, you trip a lot.”

Tamaki turned crimson. “I-I don’t trip that much…”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Mmm… two benches, a signpost, a tray, and a bush. I’m counting five.”

He groaned into his hands.

You chuckled. “Relax. I like the awkward charm. You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered.”

Tamaki choked on air.

“Anyway,” you said, standing. “Keep feeding the birds. You look peaceful doing that.”

You left with a wave and a wink, leaving him stunned and squeaking at a pigeon.

Scene 3: Grocery Store – Bananas and Butterfingers

Tamaki was just trying to buy tofu. He had no idea he was walking into another ambush of fate.

He turned a corner in the produce section, and there you were—holding three bananas and tapping your foot like you were deciding which avocado was trustworthy.

“Oh hey,” you said, spotting him. “Didn’t take you for a tofu guy.”

He flinched. “Y-you’re here too?”

“I do eat, yeah,” you smirked.

Tamaki tried to recover and reached for a basket… only for it to get stuck. When he yanked it free, it swung back and knocked over a tower of cereal boxes behind him.

You burst out laughing.

“Holy hell, Tamaki. You come with your own theme music of chaos.”

He bent down quickly to pick up the boxes, embarrassed.

You crouched down beside him, helping without a word, but grinning the whole time. “You know, if you wanted my number, you could’ve just asked. No need for a cereal explosion.”

Tamaki looked like he wanted to disappear into the frozen peas aisle.

Scene 4: Café Shop – Coffee, Compliments, and Chaos

You were sipping an iced latte at a cozy cafe near the hero dorms, flipping through a notebook filled with scribbled patrol notes, when the bell above the door chimed.

Tamaki walked in.

You saw him immediately—and you grinned.

“Fancy seeing you here, hero,” you said without looking up from your notebook.

Tamaki nearly dropped his wallet.

“D-didn’t know you came here…”

“Didn’t know you stuttered this much,” you teased, setting your pen down.

He awkwardly ordered a drink, trying not to look your way, but your eyes were definitely following him.

Once his name was called, he took the drink—but you noticed the barista misspelled it as “Tomaki.”

“Aw, they gave you a new name,” you giggled. “You gonna go by Tom now?”

Tamaki sighed.

You patted the chair across from you. “Relax. I’m teasing. Sit. You’re always running away like I’m going to bite you.”

“I’m not good at… talking,” he admitted quietly.

“You don’t need to be. I’ll talk enough for both of us.” You sipped your drink. “Besides, I like seeing you all flustered. It’s cute.”

He turned the color of strawberry jam and nearly sucked down the entire iced coffee at once.

Scene 5: When the Tables Turn

Later that week, Tamaki found a small flower shop and bought a single purple camellia.

He spotted you again—this time at the park, sitting under a tree reading.

He walked up silently, then awkwardly held out the flower.

You blinked, actually surprised. “What’s this?”

“For you,” he mumbled. “Purple camellias mean admiration…”

You raised a brow. “Is this a confession?”

He turned red but nodded faintly.

You smirked, holding the flower between your fingers. “Well… look who’s getting bold.”

“I-I mean… if you want to go for coffee again… or like… maybe dinner…”

You stood, stepped closer, and tilted your head.

“I thought you’d never ask, Cupcake.”

[winxbutbetterimo-ovo]

Alfea Overview v2

i drew out a layout for Alfea i will use for specifications of my overview. did i make alfea a smidge taller? Yes but oh well, anyway lets begin.

The Alfea College for Fairies is a girls' boarding school in Magix for Fairies and the oldest (established 9000 years before the start of the story) and most prestigious educational institution for fairies. 

The education in Alfea lasts 3 years, one for each Fairy Form in the journey of an aspiring full-fledged fairy. Base form, Charmix, Enchantix.

The Alfea students are mostly in training ages 16-18 (unless they have been held back a grade like Stella, so in her case, 17). Fairies here learn how to control their power, fight evil, learn new spells as well as learn how to be their realms' queens and guardian fairies. In this way, Alfea is a little like a military boarding school for the elites.

In the Past

The Alfea Champions were an ancient trio of legendary fairies who were believed to be the most powerful fairies in all of Alfea History. Their feats have been known to be passed down through generations, immortalised in statues that stand in the Alfea Museum, and had been recorded in Legendarium. Ress of the Flame, Chevonne of the Water and Farcelia of the Wind. They were real fairies, but it has been so long that their legends outlived their actual story of their lives.

When Mavilla was headmistress of Alfea, owning and exhibiting the strengths of one's Fairy Animal was considered a vital part of a fairy education. Everything taught was a reflection of the contents of the Tome of Nature. Eventually, Mavilla changed this. 

Alfea used to have a crest which was a curved golden "A" on a purple and blue flower with a golden outline at the top of the school gates, just above Alfea's gate. The "A" of the crest is also seen on what used to be the school's uniform, consisting of a burgundy long-sleeved and knee-length dress and mary janes. The neck part of the dress has white lace and a dark burgundy loop.

At another point in time, Eldora was the keeper of the Alfea Greenhouse and taught floral magic.

School years

First Year

Freshmen fairies learn how to master their own source of power, as well as their base fairy form, and learn basic spells they can use in their daily life and in battle if necessary. Metamorphosymbiosis, Potionology and Survival Training are part of the first year curriculum. Fairies also learn how to explore diverse environments in the Simulation Room as part of their survival training. 

Second Year

Second Year fairies have the goal of earning Charmix. Their classes include, magic invocation, magic self-defence, applied convergence and cognitive analysis class, where fairies learn technical incantations, and spells requiring accurate pronunciation.

Third Year

Third Year Classes include, History of Magic, and those who achieve Enchantix will participate in Battle training to hone their skills. The fairies also have a final thesis, also earning Enchantix is more like an extra credit thing.

Graduation

After earning Enchantix, the basic fairy education is completed and they will graduate with Honours and receive the titles of Guardian Fairies of their respective homeworlds on the Day of the Gift. Without Enchantix, the girls still graduate, but they don't become guardian fairies. In this case, they return to their home world and can decide if they want to work towards being a guardian fairy by being an apprentice to one until they earn their Enchantix, or they can do something else. Alumni can also decide to extend their studies and do their masters here at Alfea in any Subject already offered, being mentored by any of the current staff

Winx After Graduation

They taught for a short period of time, before choosing to take their masters here in various subjects in addition to being substitute teachers from time to time.

Architecture and Layout

Outside

The Alfea Natural Park, which is a refuge for Fairy Animals, is found in the forest. It is unknown if parts of the forest close to the school belong to the school or not, but they are also used for classes and tests.

There is a bus stop where students, guests, and staff members can take buses from and to Magix City and to other places in Magix.

Protective barriers meant to keep non-magical creatures, non-fairies, and bad weather out are seen many times in the series.

The School Gates are the only access to the school compound. They consist of a large pink archway with two wing-like doors that move to open or close the gates.

Its campus is a large castle with pink walls and blue roofs built around a courtyard.

Ground / First Floor

Most of the Classrooms are found on the ground floor around the central courtyard. The side buildings have corridors through which the classrooms can be accessed and it has stairways from which the upper parts of the school can be accessed.

Namely: On the East Wing, Applied Convergence Classroom, Technical Incantations Classroom, Magic Invocation Classroom, Magic Defence Classroom, and on the West Wing, Potionology Classroom, Metamorphosymbiosis Classroom, and the Survival Training Classroom. Each classroom also acts as storage for whatever items the subject requires.

The School Kitchen, where Chef Sfoglia works, Students may also be assigned to do the cooking as chores or as punishment. Located in the West Wing

In the North Wing, The Entrance Hall is a large room found opposite the School Gates, and it is accessed by a set of grand stairs.

The Cafeteria / School Hall is a large room found on the ground floor. It has a large dome of glass as its outer wall and there are long tables where the students have their breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It has a special tier for staff members. Parties and balls are often held there and during such occasions, the tables are removed to make a place for the festivities. It is found below the Headmistress' Office and behind the Entrance Hall, in the North Wing.

The West Wing also contains The School Infirmary where students are treated in case of health problems and injuries. It is composed of an office and a resting room with many beds. It is managed by Nurse Ofelia and her assistant.

The West Tower is where the Magic Archive of Alfea is found. Precious and rare books and scrolls about many things can be found there and the school's Codex used to be kept there. A Pixie, named Concorda, is the keeper of the Secret Archives.

The first floor of the east tower contains the Applied convergence Classroom which also acts as the School Amphitheater for formal gatherings required by the Headmistress or otherwise. the students sometimes attend the school assembly and it is also where general meetings are often held, especially in crisis times. There is a table with chairs around it where staff members sit. Exams may also be held there.

The Central Courtyard is a large open space at the centre of the school. It contains:

Benches where students can sit and spend their free time. The Well, with underground tunnels that connects Alfea to the other magical schools, and contains various rooms and obstacles to go through in order to obtain the Star of Teamwork. It functions as a gathering area for celebrations such as the beginning of the year and graduation ceremonies are done. It also serves as a landing space for Red Fountain ships.

Around the sides are the Gardens of Alfea. A place where students can relax and study and even practice their abilities with the accompaniment of nature.

And around the back is an open space mainly used for classes with a practical component.

Second Floor

The student Dormitories (enchanted to be bigger on the inside). Located in both the East and West Wings.

The North wing’s first floor’s ceiling is very high, taking up 2 floors, and therefore technically there is nothing here.

The Simulation Room is where virtual simulations take place. It can also be used to teleport people to other locations. Professor Palladium is the one who is in charge of the Simulation Chamber.

There is technically nothing here in the West Wing because the Archive Room Ceiling is the tallest in the entire school, taking up 4 floors. (Tho it can still be accessed from here as well but the platform is small so people usually dont.)

Third Floor

The student Dormitories (enchanted to be bigger on the inside). Located in both the East and West Wings.

The History of Magic Classroom in the East Wing Tower

And in the North Wing, the staff and Faragonda’s offices. Outside of which there is a small seating area.

There is technically nothing here in the West Wing because the Archive Room Ceiling is the tallest in the entire school, taking up 4 floors. (Tho it can still be accessed from here as well but the platform is small so people usually dont.)

Fourth Floor

The student Dormitories (enchanted to be bigger on the inside). Located in both the East and West Wings.

The Dance Studio/Gym in the East Wing Tower.

In the North wing, Faragonda and the Staff Quarters. Only accessible via the offices.

There is technically nothing here in the West Wing because the Archive Room Ceiling is the tallest in the entire school, taking up 4 floors. (Tho it can still be accessed from here as well but the platform is small so people usually dont.)

Fifth Floor

Only contains the Viewing Decks atop the two Towers of Alfea. Only accessible by Flight or Teleportation.

Basement

The basement of Alfea is sprawling. It contains what will become Musa’s Music Cafe, the Alfea Museum, the Hall of Memories (formerly: Fairy Animals), the magical Entrance to the Alfea Greenhouse, the Library (containing the Research Lectern with Miss Barbetea as its Librarian) with its Restricted Section, and finally the Hall of Enchantments (It contains the hall of infamy, where the portraits of all the enemies of the Magic Dimension can be found, the entire history of the magical universe and contains the Heart of Alfea), only accessible through the Headmistress’s Office.

The rest of the images here include a Key, a Compass and a small sketch i did to plan out how many floors Alfea actually has.

Finally staff:

Headmistress Faragonda (Applied Convergence)

Miss Grizelda (Magic Defence/Applied Convergence)

Professor Palladium (Potionology/Survival Training)

Professor WizzGizz (Metamorphosymbiosis/Technical Incantations)

Professor Avalon (s3 new) (Magic Invocation)

Professor Daphne (s6 new) (History of Magic)

Chef Sfoglia, In the Kitchen

Nurse Ofelia and her assistant. In the Infirmary

Pixie Concorda, the keeper of the Secret Archive

Miss Barbetea the Librarian

Knut the Janitor (s2 new)

Dorm Assignments

The students use all three levels of the student dorms. And where they go rotate every three years. So if you joined the school and are assigned to the second floor dorms, you stay there until u graduate then the freshmen after you will take over it.

Once again all dorms are enchanted to be bigger than they seem.

For the Staff, (All dorms are enchanted to be bigger than they seem from the outside)

Faragonda and Grizelda (daphne in future) Share a dorm, the North Wing, central Dorm.

Palladium, Wizzgizz, Avalon share a dorm, the North Wing, East (left) Dorm

When the winx become teachers, they will insist on sharing a dorm, the North Wing, West (right) dorm.

The non teaching staff usually have a built in dorm at wherever they are working, so Miss Barbetea has a room in the library, and Nurse Ofelia and her assistant share a room in the infirmary and so on. Their rooms are also enchanted so they are bigger on the inside.

Sketch Dump:

[ui-alcoholic]

One of the most defining 16bit computers was introduced in June 1985.

ATARI ST 520

DESIGN HISTORY & STRATEGY

The Atari ST series was born in a turbulent time: Atari had just been acquired by Jack Tramiel, founder of Commodore, after leaving that company. Tramiel pushed for a quick-to-market product to compete with the Apple Macintosh and Commodore Amiga.

Development time: Less than one year — an aggressive schedule for a 16-bit GUI-based machine.

Initial models: The Atari 520ST was the first to ship, showcased at CES in 1985.

Innovative design: All-in-one casing (mainboard + keyboard), like the Amiga 500, but with better modularity (external floppy drive, monitor, etc.).

Former C=64 developer Shiraz Shivji led the design team. He tells a story about the Atari ST/Commodore Amiga history (source) "It is very interesting that the Warner Atari difficulties were due to Tramiel’s Commodore. The Commodore 64 was much more successful (I would say wildly successful) compared to the Atari Computers such as the 800 and the 400. We were also taking away sales from the video games division, the Atari 2600. Jay Miner was at Atari in the old days and was involved in the design of their products. He left Atari to design the Amiga. Atari had funded some of this effort and had an option to buy the Amiga. When we took over Atari in July 1984, the first order of business was to decide what to do with this option. The problem was that the Amiga was not quite ready and would need a lot of money to acquire. We decided to pass on Amiga, but this put enormous pressure on our own development team. Commodore, on the other hand, did not have an internally developed 32-bit graphics-oriented machine and did not have the confidence to develop the machine internally. They ended up buying Amiga for between $25-$30 million and spent a further $20 million or so and yet came out with a product a little after Atari. The roles were reversed, the Atari ST has a Commodore pedigree, while the Amiga has an Atari pedigree!"

MIDI AND MUSIC PRODUCTION

The 520ST included built-in MIDI ports — a revolutionary move. At the time, most other computers needed expensive third-party MIDI interfaces.

Key Software:

Steinberg Cubase – became the industry standard for MIDI sequencing.

Notator – early version of what later evolved into Logic Pro.

Pro 24, Dr. T's, and Hollis Trackman – widely used for composing, sequencing, and syncing synthesizers.

Used by Artists:

Fatboy Slim composed with the ST well into the 2000s.

Jean-Michel Jarre, Vangelis, The Chemical Brothers, and Underworld used it in studio setups.

Many studios kept an Atari ST just for MIDI due to its tight timing and reliability.

SOFTWARE ECOSYSTEM

TOS/GEM: A fast and responsive GUI OS that was very usable on 512KB of RAM.

Productivity apps:

Calamus DTP – high-quality desktop publishing

NeoDesk – an improved desktop GUI

GFA Basic – a powerful programming environment

Graphics tools:

Degas Elite, NeoChrome – pixel art, animation

Spectrum 512 – used clever tricks to display 512 colors

While the Amiga had better graphics and sound, many games were first developed for the ST, then ported to Amiga. Key games:

Dungeon Master – first-person RPG with real-time mechanics

Carrier Command, Starglider, Blood Money, Rick Dangerous

Flight simulators, strategy, and adventure games flourished

CULTURAL IMPACT

In Europe (especially the UK, Germany, France, and Hungary):

The ST became a cornerstone of bedroom coding, Demoscene, and music production.

Local software houses and users created a vibrant community around the machine.

The Atari ST was used in schools, small studios, and households well into the early '90s.

In education: The ST's affordability and easy-to-use software made it a favorite in European schools and computer labs.

DECLINE & LEGACY

By the early 1990s, the ST line was losing ground to IBM-compatible PCs and faster Amigas.

Later models like the STE, TT030, and Falcon 030 tried to revitalize the line, with limited success.

Atari shifted toward consoles (like the Jaguar) and left the computer market.

Long-term legacy:

The Atari ST's MIDI legacy lives on — it helped standardize digital music production workflows.

Many musicians and retrocomputing fans still collect and use STs today.

A vibrant retro software/demo scene remains active, especially in Europe.

[polo-drone-055]

PDU-055 and the Golden Army’s Super Bowl Punter

It was the night before the Super Bowl, and the Golden Army was preparing for the biggest game of their lives. The locker room was filled with the usual pre-game buzz: the sounds of coaches giving last-minute pep talks, players pacing and stretching, and the hum of nervous energy that only comes before a championship game. But one man, the team’s kicker, Troy "Steady" Baxter, stood apart from the chaos. His eyes were focused, his mind quiet—but deep down, there was a tension in him that wasn’t usually there.

Troy had always been the guy you could count on. The one who didn’t crack under pressure, who was a machine in every sense when it came to executing those final field goals. But tonight felt different. The magnitude of tomorrow’s game was getting to him. His foot just hadn’t felt as sure on the ball during practices, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that his form was off.

That’s when the door opened, and in walked PDU-055.

PDU-055 wasn’t your average assistant. It was a polo drone, assimilated into the collective with a perfect balance of athletic prowess, intelligence, and a personality designed to boost the morale of any player it worked with. Standing at six feet tall, with a sleek frame PDU-055 looked every bit like an elite athlete, but its movements were more fluid than mechanical, and its voice had a calm, almost soothing tone. It was part mentor, part AI—perfectly calibrated to understand the psychology of high-stakes competition.

“Hey, Troy,” PDU-055 said in its smooth, but slightly robotic, voice. “You’ve got this.”

Troy looked up from his feet, surprised to see the humanoid drone standing right next to him. “I don’t know, 055. Something feels off with my kick today. I’ve been nailing it all season, but… tonight, I’m not so sure.”

PDU-055 tilted its head slightly, scanning Troy’s posture. “I’ve been watching your form all season, Troy. You’ve been consistent. But sometimes, it's not about the kick—it’s about the mental clarity. You need to trust your body. Trust your preparation.”

Troy let out a sigh. “I know, but it’s hard with all the pressure. You know how it is.”

PDU-055 stepped forward, offering a friendly nod. “I do. But you need to focus. Forget the stakes. Forget the crowd. Just focus on the fundamentals. Let’s break it down.”

Troy knew PDU-055 had been with the team all season, analyzing every player’s technique, running simulations, and even providing real-time feedback on practice drills. PDU-055 wasn’t just a tool; it was an extension of the team, like a second coach, but with an impossible level of precision.

“You’re going to be fine,” PDU-055 continued, “but I want you to focus on something specific: your rhythm. Your plant foot is a little too wide on your approach, which is causing you to open up your body too soon.”

Troy nodded slowly, grateful for the direct feedback. “Okay, show me how to fix it.”

With a swift, fluid motion, PDU-055 dropped into a kicking stance beside him, adjusting its posture with almost exaggerated precision. It moved like a pro—leaning slightly into the kick, holding its form, then striking the ball with perfect alignment. The precision with which it moved was uncanny.

“Watch my follow-through,” PDU-055 said. “Keep your eyes on the ball. Don’t let anything distract you. Focus only on the mechanics.”

Troy watched carefully, and something clicked. The way PDU-055 held itself, how its body seemed to breathe and move with the rhythm of the kick—it reminded him that football wasn’t just about power. It was about muscle memory and perfecting every single motion.

“Alright,” Troy said, stepping back to the kicking tee. “Let’s do this.”

For the next hour, PDU-055 stayed with him, offering corrections, tweaks, and sometimes just standing silently by his side while Troy took kicks—each one more refined than the last. The hum of excitement outside the stadium faded as Troy focused purely on the mechanics of his movement, trusting PDU-055's advice.

By the time the team was ready to end their practice, Troy felt calm—better than he had in days. PDU-055 had helped him get back to basics, to find that perfect rhythm that had carried him all season long. He was ready to punt for Gold!