#<- since it deals with the finale

[stone-stars]

Transcript:

Zirk: But I know this much, Mom, I-- I'm gonna make it. I'm gonna make it real. I've got a couple leads, I've got more knowledge than I've ever had, I learned a lot while I was away. I think I know how to make the All-Cure Elixir. It's gonna take a lot of work, like you said, and… I don't know if I can do it on my own, but I also don't know if I can trust you to help me. Caldwell: Um, while I'm working on this, I think that the way that this kind of-- the way that this looks visually is I'm… basically crafting like a metal music cylinder. [Murph: Mm!] 'Cause I feel like one of the things that this needs in addition to like, the complex spell work to cure wounds but also hold a body in stasis, kind of using some of Fia's time magic, is some sort of like… beacon. And I think that, as opposed to like the single chime of a bell, it needs almost like-- a song. And as I'm like tinkering with this I turn to Hank and I say-- Zirk: Hank, that song you sang about Ill Luck Henry. That-- that was like a sea shanty, right? Henry: Yeah, yeah that's right. Zirk: Do you know any other sea shanties? I just need something that could maybe… help a soul find its way back. Caldwell: Zirk reaches into his pocket. And he pulls out a golden cylinder with little notches on it. And around that cylinder is wrapped a scroll with the instructions on it for how to replicate the Revivify spell. He presses it into Henry's hands, and then puts Fia's hands on top of that. Henry: Hey. You're the doctor, buddy. What are ya-- What are we gonna do with this? This-- Fia: Mister Zirk-- Zirk: Sometimes-- Fia: Mister Zirk we can handle her. We really can. Zirk: Sometimes you think that you're the ending of the equation, but in reality you're just the messenger. You're just there to get it to the right hands. It's been an honor being a Third Mate. Murph: So, Fia, Zirk gave you the stuff for Revivify. This is a near impossible task, the spell has not been cast in forever, normally this would be a DC 30, the DC for something that's near impossible, but since Zirk took it down 5 levels from level 9 to level 4, we'll take 5 off of it and make it a DC 25 arcana check. Emily: I got a fucking 27 right off the fucking bat. [Everyone laughs in relief.] Emily: Oh I didn't even [rolls] technically a 28. Murph: A 28. Caldwell: Oh, yeah. [Sighs in relief] Okay. Okay. Murph: Um, you see Fia goes over, reads-- reads the um, spell that Zirk has put together. Um, and for the first time since Old Zelbuldar was banished, a Revivify spell is cast. Um, you guys see Zirk on the ground, whose body has frozen… Zirk as you died, you felt like-- as if you had like hypothermia. You felt like, a warmth, and you just went to sleep, and then all of a sudden [gasps] you come back. [Zirk coughs. He continues gasping and coughing as Fia talks.] Emily: You wake up to me crying just being like-- Fia, distraught: It should've been you casting this spell. Why is it me? It should've been you, you did all this fucking work, for what? Me to waltz in and fucking do it? Henry: It works! Hey, it works! Fia: It should have been fucking you! It should have been fucking you! Henry: Hey-- Open you-- Open your eyes, Fia. Fia: What? Henry: It-- you did it Zirk. The All-Cure. [Fia breathes heavily, relieved.] Zirk, weakly: They should call you… Doctor Fia. [Henry and Fia laugh.] Fia: I am not accredited. [Caldwell and Murph laugh.]

[mari3with3]

😈❤️🎲

[mroddmod]

"everybody loved contractors."

"nice."

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

mmmmmMMMMMMM

[n0bluev]

Another, zzz

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.

[ghostfixedsysknight]

Just had a realization about Fairly OddParents: New Wish’s finale:

It’s centered around Hazel wishing her millionth wish but- a million is A LOT. Like A LOT A LOT

If we’re being generous and say Hazel has had Cosmo and Wanda for a whole year, 365 days, she would have to have made 2,739.7 WISHES EVERYDAY

Hazel rarely makes wishes! That’s what makes her different and a pretty interesting protagonist for this franchise, she tries to be independent and solve problems on her own. She makes like, 2 wish per episode, one main wish and one to undo the damages, maybe like 8 wishes if she wants to keep an act up like at Hotel Wellsington. She often goes about her everyday without making a wish! How is she averaging 2,700 wishes a day?? That’s 112 wishes per hour! 2 wishes for every minute of a year!

If it was Dev, yeah I can believe that. He keeps repeating wishes and would ask for magic to help with everything, I can see him wish bombing and knocking out 500 wishes in an hour (8 wishes/min). But Hazel? I feel like she’d feel bad asking for so much.

While I get why they didn’t go for the ‘keeping your fairies a secret for a whole year, here’s a muffin that grants any wish’ since they haven’t gotten to do a Christmas, Halloween, Easter or Hazel’s birthday episode yet. But that just makes thinking about the logistics of Hazel making 1,000,000 wishes all the more baffling.

It took Timmy years to reach 1,000,000 wishes (Poof existed when Timmy hit a million) and he wished willy nilly! Thats not even mentioning the whole million wish thing came from Timmy’s Secret Wish, aka the episode where it’s revealed Timmy wished for time to stay still for 50 years. It took Timmy more than 50 years to get a million. And it took Hazel a year or less???

[justaz]

Keith “He’ll tell me his name when he’s ready” Kogane vs Lance “You can’t keep calling him ‘Wolf’ otherwise that will be his name” McClain FIGHT

(Lance has a realization while lying in bed that Keith’s dad, Kai, Keith’s mom, Krolia, and Keith, Keith, all have names that start with k. He decides that the space wolf, the wolf from space, the wolf that fell from the cosmos, should follow the same family tradition they have going on. He settles on the name Kosmo. Keith thinks its dumb. Lance doesn’t care. Kosmo is already responding to the name. The rest of the team call the space wolf Kosmo. Keith is seething.)

(When they get to earth, Lance snatches Keith’s garrison paperwork and jots down the name ‘Kosmo’ for the wolf so in the eyes of the government, the wolf’s name is Kosmo. Keith threatens to feed Lance to Wolf. Both Lance and Keith know that Kosmo adores Lance. Keith is also annoyed by this.)

(After they get together and move down to Texas, they have to take Kosmo to the vet and Lance insists on doing it. Keith doesn’t understand why until he sees the paperwork on the counter later that day that shows the wolf’s name as Kosmo. Keith is grumpy. Lance uses his new tactic and kisses the scowl off Keith’s face. Keith is less annoyed.)

[whereismyhat5678]

I kept myself QUITE occupied after my test-

THEY’RE ALL HERE!! ALL MY BLORBOS!!!

Here’s them individually:

Love all these guys 🫶🫶 (Some more than the other but love ‘em’ none-a-less!!)

[elizabethshaw]

[arthurtaylorlester]

so like do you ever think about john doe

[earthspark-shockwaves-reduction]

actually I find it so funny that they made a whole new bot named aftermath instead of actually showing the aftermath of s1

[grimalkinmessor]

Yes Reigen becoming Hanazawa's new parental figure and essentially adopting him but only post-s3 finale to make it clear that he's filling a Mob-shaped hole and only if Mob gets super jealous and guilty and weird about it 🥰

[wttcsms]

singer!reader who can only produce albums when you're at a really emotional point in life. you got famous of your ep featuring the most gut wrenching heartbreak songs known to man, had your first album that had nothing but songs of the same nature, dropped another ep about your overwhelming loneliness and insecurities, and now you're just... at peace. and a peaceful you is a complacent you. you already made your money, you worked through all your problems, so now you're going to enjoy yourself. but your label wants another hit album from you, your fans are getting restless, and bitch, it's about damn time for you to get back into the studio. your first love, the one who you wrote all that sad girl music about? your label wants either a repeat of that, or for you to do a total 180 and produce a dreamy album full of love songs. their solution? pulling strings to make character get you to fall for him. you're slightly guarded because of your ex, but never before have you ever felt so seen and genuinely cared for. you've had ex boyfriends, sure, but you can't consider your relationships with them as practice for The One because none of them have prepared you for love.

and that's what you feel for character. pure, genuine love. you've never been so happy. you've never had a greater muse. you admit to him that you think he's it for you. that he's your greatest love, and how you can't even believe that this is real sometimes.

and it is real! he feels the same! but it's hard for you to see the honesty in his statements when you've got tears in your eyes and the sound of your heart breaking ringing in your ears when you find out that the only reason he ever approached you, ever bothered to persistently make things work with you, wasn't because he was actually in it for you. it was all just some sick scheme to get you to make your company more money. and it worked.

[sodabasket]

3...2...1... We love Pussea!

[nabaath-areng]

As children, twin brothers Jinn and Tchigri would always run away from home to embark on their so called 'expeditions' to ancient Turali ruins. Now in their adult years, they travel together as experienced archeologists, seeking to continue their mission over at distant shores. Years spent on the field using pickaxes and sledgehammers have served to help them develop new and refined techniques with their chosen tools, setting them apart from traditional miners who primarily hunt for ore. Whether it be ancient artifacts or hidden fossils, any remnants of the past are unearthed with utmost care and precision. It is not profit that drives the twins. Indeed, they merely possess an insatiable curiousity for all which came before them. To them, there's just something so very special about those who walked before not being all that different to those who now walk after. Every ruin tells them that same story; that people have always laughed, wept and bonded over the same things, then as they do now. Jinn and Tchigri hopes to compile all their findings into literature one day. Not for the sake of established scholars, but rather to introduce everyday people to the wonder of history and archeology, and thereby encouraging them to be curious about the world around them... and the stories that lie in wait, if you just know what to look for.

First attempt at writing for the so called 'background characters' (ie characters that aren't necessarily created to be fully fledged or detailed, but rather are just made for fun for me to play around with different designs and lore ideas without feeling like I have to commit wholly). I actually made their designs and gave them their names back in 2021 (and even drew them), but I just couldn't decide what their homeland should be and so they've kinda circled around aimlessly in my brain ever since then. Only now did it finally click when I realized how fitting Tural would be! Really helped them 'make sense' for me, which meant screenshot time!