#( verse: death parade. )

[hisinfinities]

Maybe it's silly, but I can't get it out of my head - I really do love the potential that putting Gojo and Sukuna into the Death Parade world has.

(When two people die at the same time, they're sent to a mysterious bar where they're forced to compete against each other in a game with their lives on the line. Upon arrival, they don't remember dying. Who they were before, how they choose to play the game, and how they handle their returning memories of their life and death, all help an arbiter judge them, and decide whether their soul is to be reincarnated or sent to the void forever.)

And I love the idea of Gojo and Sukuna going through this together. They battle, as they do in canon, but manage to kill each other at the same time (is this realistic given how Sukuna was holding back? Maybe not, but for the sake of the plot, let's imagine.) Suddenly they're in this weird place. Neither of them of have any memory of how they got there or what they were doing prior to arriving. They don't remember dying, they don't remember fighting, as far as they know it isn't even December 24th yet.

What they do realize, very quickly, is they have no cursed energy, can't use their techniques, can't do anything. Gojo doesn't have his infinity, his six eyes-- it's gone. The internal humming of constant RCT on his brain isn't there. All he can see is what's right in front of him. Sukuna looks closer to how he did in his Heian days (minus the massive size and extra body parts), no longer in Megumi's body.

Neither will voice it, but it makes them feel vulnerable. Feel so incredibly mortal. Human.

They assume, maybe, that this place is someone's domain, something to rationalize how they've suddenly lost every ability they had as Jujutsu sorcerers. The bartender -- the arbiter whom can already see their memories and will soon be judging them -- tells them otherwise, once they've approached the counter. They're skeptical, especially since they're told that they won't be able to leave until they play a game, but they play along. What else are they going to do, right?

I don't know which arbiter would be selected to judge them. Realistically they'd be special cases given Sukuna's list of crimes throughout his life and the destruction they both caused during their fight, but the idea of it being Decim does make me chuckle. I imagine Sukuna taking a seat at the bar, taking one look at this guy (the white hair, the bright, bizarre blue eyes) and immediately commenting about him being related to Gojo.

And what game would they be made to play? I wouldn't want it to be anything too modern, nothing like an arcade game as to be a little more fair to Sukuna. Maybe one of the many traditional Japanese board games, something that forces them to sit down with each other and talk (aside from all the banter we already know will take place regardless), and use their brains to win rather than their brawn. Perhaps Shogi, which has been around in some form since the Heian era? But I also like them having something slightly more physical, something like archery. Or darts, or billiards, games we've already seen in the Death Parade universe.

But they're a competitive pair, and go all out no matter what they end up having to play. Let's consider this a warm up round for the real thing, one of them says. Cue the taunting, the banter. Despite them both trying to win, neither seem to be taking it too seriously. The arbiter eventually reveals to them that their lives, their souls, are in fact on the line.

They don't take that very seriously either. What, is the loser of this game going to die? Whatever this bartender plans to do, they can get out of this-- they're the strongest. Even while being stuck in this place and unable to use their cursed techniques, they don't doubt that, and have a shared moment of "Pfft, get a load of this guy, right?" between them. They don't realize it, but they're bonding. Laughing off the idea of their lives being at stake over a game.

This poor arbiter sighing, stuck with such an egotistical pair of customers.

It's about halfway through the game that the arbiter begins to activate some of their memories. Suddenly they're remembering significant moments in their lives. Gojo being placed on a pedestal since birth, his near-death experience against Toji, his entire history with Suguru, his youth, his students, being sealed, Kenjaku possessing Suguru's body... And Sukuna. His life during the Heian era, being unwanted, to his rise to power and infamy and legend, the feeling of being in a body again after Yuji ate his finger, his first fight with Gojo, taking in the modern world through Yuji's eyes, awaiting the moment he can take his true form once more.

It makes them talk, naturally. Not that either of them are the type to open and up and share their life story, but they voice the oddity when they're both inexplicably hit with memories out of the blue. The way each of them came into their powers is an interest to them both. Their relationship with relating to others (or not.) The solitude that comes with power. These conversations start to happen. They don't see eye to eye on everything, but understanding forms between them. Gojo feels like he's reaching him.

They're nearing the end of their game and they've been damn near tied throughout the entire thing.

Memory of their fight hits Sukuna first. Then Gojo. Their shared fates revealed simultaneously.

They're dead. They've been dead this whole time.

There's the initial shock, sure (and a dramatic "Seriously, I'm dead? This sucks!" from Gojo), but whatever either of them may be truly feeling about it, they hide it well. Instead, they talk about the fight. Would we expect anything else? Tease each other for their blunders, lightheartedly talk about what they could've, should've done differently to win... but most importantly, there's praise. They both proved themselves to the other by the end, after all. And where they are now, well, that tells them they really are equal, aren't they? That the title of the "The Strongest," briefly, truly belonged to two people at the same time.

The two strongest in history.

Sukuna, just barely, wins their game. By one move, one point. Gojo whines in protest, but it's all in jest, in good fun. He feels so relaxed, so light, despite just learning that he's died. They're both taking it surprisingly well. The arbiter is so much more used to seeing their customers become confused, distraught, angry, in denial.

Maybe it's because for Sukuna and Gojo, they can't imagine a more satisfying way to die, going out in a blaze of glory in one of the most exhilarating battles they've ever had.

"So what now?"

The arbiter explains how they were being judged, in order to determine if their souls would be reincarnated or sent to the void.

They both laugh, but Sukuna noticeably harder.

"There's no way you needed me to play this game in order to judge me."

And the arbiter admits that yes, he's right, his soul was doomed to be sent to the void since the moment he set foot in here, and that the game was more for determining Gojo's fate. Gojo jokingly asks if he "passed," but then that he doesn't want to know, wants to wait until it's time. Deep down, he thinks it could easily go either way.

Sukuna eyes the bar, asks the arbiter if there's time for a drink before they go. It's granted to them. Gojo waves it off, says he's not one for alcohol.

"Are you really turning down my offer to have a drink? You're dead, this might be the last thing you ever get to do."

"Is the great Sukuna warming up to me? Fine, I'll have a drink, since you want my company so bad."

And they do, and it's a sight no one could've ever expected: Gojo and Sukuna sitting side by side, having a drink together in the afterlife. They talk briefly of what must be going on back in the world of the living now that the both of them are gone, what it means for the plans each side of the conflict had, but they don't dwell on it much. It's all out of their hands now and Gojo, as always, has full faith in the strength of his students. Whatever's happening now, he has to believe they'll be okay.

He does wonder about Megumi, though. They both do. If they were somehow able to save him or if Sukuna's death meant his own end, too, and if he's in this tower somewhere being judged by someone else.

Eventually silence settles between them and Gojo finds himself looking down at the bar counter, hand loose around his glass.

"This was fun. I had fun."

He doesn't expect to find Sukuna looking at him, looking... amused? Content? Leaning on the counter, drink close to his lips.

"You were magnificent, Gojo Satoru. I won't forget you for as long as I live."

What a strange thing to see such sincerity in Sukuna's eyes, to see him smile. Gojo smiles too, grins, feels a twinge of something in him that almost feels like something he hasn't felt since his youth. But then he scoffs.

"Gee, thanks. It's not like you're already dead or anything."

They share another laugh.

It comes time for them to go. They each stand before their respective elevators, which each sport a different mask hanging above them, indicating their fates.

Gojo is to be reincarnated.

"Good luck in your next life. Use it to become something even more impressive than in your last."

"Yeah, and good luck in your eternal pit of nothingness, or whatever."

The elevator doors open.

"... You know, it's too bad you're not going up with me." Is that the direction reincarnated souls go? Up?

"Why's that?"

"I'm just starting to think we could've gotten along, in another life. Could've been friends."

Sukuna chuckles, grins to himself. "I've never cared about having friends."

"Maybe in that other life, you would've."

"Maybe."

They exchange one final look, one of respect, Gojo offering a final wave before they step inside their elevators and accept their fates. The doors close. Behind one, a soul's memories are being erased and is being sent back to start anew. Behind the other, a soul is being sent into a dark, endless void.

And both of those souls stand equally proud.

[im-not-your-nice-jewish-boy]

we've got long memories

I am not the least bit surprised by any of the tidal wave of antisemitism the left has spewed since October 7th. Every single post saying Hamas did nothing wrong; every single targeted attack on my fellow Jewish people on this site; the number of people who proudly paraded misinformation and disinformation to the extent of funding organizations actual Palestinians have said outright don't help them in any way just because it's against Israel which means that it must be good. None of this is surprising to me.

Now, maybe you could say that I'm a cynical bastard, and you'd be right. But you'd also completely be missing why I'm a cynical bastard. I learned this from my mother, who was beaten up just for being Jewish as a child. I learned this from family who disappeared between my ancestors fleeing the countries they came from and looking to see who made it with them. I learned this from the story of one of my grandfathers picking a new birthday because his birth certificate had been burned when the Shul was destroyed so he had no idea when it was. I learned this from people using "Jewish" as an insult in school and watching a girl I knew break down in tears because people were calling her a Jew when she wasn't. I learned this from holiday after holiday that repeated the same verse of people trying to destroy us and us celebrating our survival.

We remember these things because the rest of the world is very good at deliberately forgetting them.

"It's not that bad because it happened to the Jews. It's not an actual problem because Jews are white anyway. Was the Holocaust really even so terrible? Why do you want to be oppressed so badly if not to use it as a weapon against people who you're oppressing yourselves?"

Some variety of every single one of those is something I've seen in recent memory.

So, dear Passionate Goy Internet Leftists who have spent the last few months attacking and accosting every single Jewish person who dares to speak on the issue in any way that doesn't make them a Good Jew?

My dear friend, just know that we will remember you. You can try to go back to normal. You can try to just sweep it under the rug. You can try to act like it was all just business as usual and there was no harm done to any "Good Jews" and just to the "Evil Zionists" (both of which deserve their own rant post and have multiple of them from people a lot smarter than I am).

We will remember what you did

You will never be able to make us forget you calling for our deaths

And most of all, we will outlive you, just like everyone else who ever bayed for our blood

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Bleed my aching heart

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 3 Prompts: Backseat & Bruise Words: 1,359 Rated: E Tags: Mafia AU; Mob boss Dick Harrington; Hitman Eddie Munson; Car sex; Rough sex; Possessive sex; Humiliation; Dirty talk; Knifeplay; Mild painplay; Top Eddie; Bratty bottom Steve

Notes: "Kiss that ring" verse, Steve POV? You bet! Can't give me those prompts and expect me to not think of these two unhinged little fuckers. This continues right where "Heaven's in the backseat" leaves off.

When Steve was twelve, his father took him on a trip to Sicily. He said Steve was old enough to learn about the family business he was supposed to inherit. And so Steve spent a dreadfully boring two weeks being paraded around in expensive suits, locked away in stuffy meeting rooms, listening to negotiations he didn’t understand, while the sun sparkled on the sea outside.

On the second-to-last day, he used an unsupervised minute to sneak away. The water always held a weird fascination for him, even then. He wanted to feel it on his skin at least once while he was here. 

On his way back, his feet slipped on the cliffs and he plummeted nine feet. They found him stumbling around by the shoreline hours later, disoriented and heavily concussed. His father took one look at him and slapped him hard across his bleeding face. 

“What part of stay at the house didn't you understand? Do you have a death wish or are you honestly too dumb to listen?” 

Steve thought about that question a lot over the past six years.

He's not ashamed to admit that he isn't smart - a lot less smart than Richard Harrington expected his son and heir to be. Still, he doesn't think it's the reason why he keeps going against his father's orders at every opportunity.

The pain felt good. He suspected even then that he must be a little fucked in the head, but that didn't change the fact that, nauseated and bleeding and dizzy, he felt more alive than he had in weeks. 

Maybe that's why he is the way he is. Why he keeps chasing the risk, the danger, the pain. 

Maybe that's why, when he noticed Eddie Munson lurking in the flower bushes by his father's pool, he didn't shy away but beckoned him closer. Maybe that's why the hungry look in those dark eyes makes him shiver in pleasure rather than fear. Why he can't stop provoking the man, why the thought of making that mask of indifference crack fills him with a perverse sense of anticipation. 

Maybe that's why, when Eddie hits the brakes and pulls the car over to the side of the road, Steve is fully hard before he even finds himself pinned into the backseat. Why, when Eddie pulls out his knife and trails the tip of the blade over his skin and talks about claiming him, about stuffing him full of his cock, about cutting his initials into his flesh, he can't help the needy little whimper that falls from his lips. 

“Do it then,” he breathes, hips bucking to chase the tantalizing weight of Eddie’s leg between his thighs, wrists straining in Eddie’s grip. “Make me yours.” 

For a second, Eddie actually pauses, eyes going round with surprise. Then, his pupils blow fuzzy and large. His lips peel back, and Steve catches a glimpse of sharp canines glinting in the blue light of the dashboard. And then all he knows is that he's being kissed with a force that is unlike anything he's ever experienced before, a force that punches the breath right out of him and makes the needy little thing low in his abdomen thrum and quiver. 

He struggles, clenching his jaw shut and trying to jerk out of Eddie’s hold, because what can he say? It's fun, playing hard to get, seeing just how much of a rise he can get out of him. Eddie growls against his lips and presses his thumb into the bruised flesh of his lip, just where his father hit him earlier. Steve gasps in pain and surprise, and Eddie uses the opportunity to lick right past his teeth and into the warmth of his mouth. His hand never lets go of the knife, and when Steve tries to twist out of the kiss, the blade tickles his cheek like a dangerous promise. He goes very still, Eddie’s teeth grazing his lip as he grins and deepens the kiss. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes before Eddie allows them to part for air. His head is dizzy and all of his sensations have narrowed down to the tingly needlepoint feeling in his limbs, the delicious pain where Eddie’s fingers are still pressing down on the bruise. 

“Make you mine?” Eddie repeats, and his voice is a husky whisper. His eyes look black in the dark car, like two bottomless pits, ready to swallow him whole. His lips gleam with their mingled spit. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking for, little nymph. I don’t think you know what that means.” “Show me then,” Steve hisses. It’s only when his nails dig into Eddie’s shoulders, drawing a sharp intake of breath from those sinfully plump lips, that he realizes Eddie no longer has his wrists pinned. Instead, his hand has traveled down, undoing both of their belts and flies with quick, deft fingers. 

Steve’s cock springs free, hitting Eddie’s thigh with an obscene little slap. Eddie coos, almost tenderly, but there is nothing tender to his touch as he takes him in hand. His fingers are long and warm and calloused, the edges of his rings deliciously sharp against Steve’s sensitive tip. Eddie squeezes, tight, and the zap of pain sizzles all the way up his spine, like tiny, bright sparks in the dark. He moans, low and wrecked, and Eddie laughs against his pulse. 

“Why, sweetheart, are you enjoying this? If I had known what a fucked-up little slut you are, I would've done this sooner.” 

“Don't call me-” Steve starts to say. Eddie pinches him, just where his aching balls connect to his cock, and the words trail off into a hoarse wheeze. 

“Don't call you what?” Eddie asks. “Sweetheart? Or my little slut? Well, I've got news for you, baby.” 

He slips the knife back into the holster under his suit jacket in one swift motion, then shoves three fingers into Steve’s mouth, so hard and fast he nearly chokes on them. 

“I'm gonna call you whatever I want,” Eddie purrs, one hand fucking into his mouth, the other pumping his throbbing cock. “I'm gonna call you whatever the fuck I want, and you're gonna be glad for it. Everything I give you, you're gonna take, and when I'm done, you're gonna thank me for it. Do you know why that is?” 

He slides his fingers out, patting Steve's cheek encouragingly. They leave a thin, cool sheen of spit, just next to the bruise. 

“Because I'm yours,” Steve rasps. 

“That's right honey.” Eddie’s smile is sharp and pretty and hurts in all the best ways. “Go ahead now, give me what's mine.” 

Steve's climax hits him with a violence that forces the air from his lungs in a startled scream. Eddie licks the sound from his lips like it's the sweetest nectar while Steve spills all over his hand and his own stomach, staining both of their expensive suits. It feels like being consumed whole. It feels like being pulled apart at the seams, like being shattered into a million tiny pieces. 

Eddie keeps kissing him until his lips feel puffy and swollen, keeps stroking him until his spent cock is sensitive and raw, until all that falls from his lips are high-pitched whines and a nonsensical string of Eddie, Eddie, please, so good, thank you, Eddie. 

“Aw, baby,” Eddie murmurs, sharp teeth nipping at the edge of his jaw. “Don't thank me just yet. You don't think I'm done with you already, do you?”

If coming undone under Eddie’s hands was like shattering apart, the feeling of Eddie opening him up on come-slicked fingers feels like being put together again. The burn of Eddie replacing those fingers with his cock, fucking him hard and fast into the backseat, feels like a rebirth. 

The pain when he comes for a second time, dry and untouched, and with Eddie’s name on his lips, feels like the beginning of a new life. 

He's made into a new kind of person that night in the car, one that belongs to Eddie Munson, heart, body and soul. He never once looks back. 

More Smutty September

[toastandjamie]

Things about the band of the red hand that I think about on the daily:

-all the nobles in the Band competing to be Mat’s Favorite Noble(the answer is Talmanes but no one tell them that)

-after the battle of Cairihan, Talmanes and Nalesian putting aside their differences to defend Mat’s honor from the perceived slight of him not getting a parade

-Talmanes clearly knowing Mat is trying to ditch them and proceeding to insist on going with Mat literally everywhere until Mat gave up

-every noble in the band preening over being on Mat’s short list of “tolerable nobles” they are very proud of this fact and will brag about the fact that Mat willingly interacts with them

-Mat, half delirious from pain, teaching the band Jak’o’shadows and immediately regretting it as the band begins to sing it at every given opportunity and adds an entirely new verse dedicated to him

-while Mat was stuck in Ebou Dar every member of the band that was not with him simultaneously feeling the Ta’veren pull like a Spiderman esque sixth sense for knowing their general is in trouble

-upon feeling the Ta’veren pull, Talmanes immediately guilting Egwene into telling him where Mat is

-the band collectively deciding that their Olver’s cool uncles and teaching him to gamble, flirt with women, use weapons, and steal horses. You know, like responsible adults.

-when Mat is at the tower of genji, Talmanes being left in charge of Olver like the worlds most reluctant babysitter

-after seeing Mat refuse Aes Sedai healing every single member of the band deciding that they to would heal the old fashioned way

-a large portion of the band going out and getting tattoos together after they officially became the Band of The Red Hand

-Mat making one off hand mention of the original Band of the Red Hand from Manethran and the Band deciding that that was now the name of their mercenary band despite Mat’s protests

-the band deciding that No, they will not serve the Dragon Reborn, instead they’ll enlist into the service of the guy who Does Not Want Them

-the band deciding that Mat was a lord on principle because he’s just that good at fighting battles

-not a single member of the band was ever revealed to be a dark friend, they all just genuinely wanted to follow Mat with no ulterior motives

-every member of the band being willing to die for Mat at any given moment

-when Mat initially showed up to warn the army that they were walking into a Shaido ambush, Talmanes calling Mat’s bluff and getting him to begrudgingly agree to leading a portion of the army

-Mat effectively death glaring the bands nobles into a meritocracy

[artofkhaos404]

Hobie Brown is a fantastic character.

His design, concept, uniqueness and how HOT he is make him altogether very likeable. But all these things are not why I love him so much; it's what he represents that gets me.

The symbol in modern media he is for many different types of people. For one, he's pretty awesome for people of color to enjoy. Another black hero who can get down to business is always welcome, though it's nothing new for the Spiderverse universe with Miles Morales being our main protagonist. Having a British black character makes it all the more fun, diverse and interesting!

All that being said, the thing that warms my heart about Hobie Brown is what he means for the alternative community.

Im a punk. I'm also an anarchist.

Like anyone, I look for people in media who represent me in both appearance and ideals. As a plus sized person, finding people in media who look like me and aren't part of the toxic stereotype for fat people is uncommon. Chubby characters who don't make their weight part of their personality is unheard of.

Finding characters who properly represent my beliefs and ideals is nigh impossible in my experience. Seeing a punk in modern day popular media is rare. And when I say punk, I'm talking PUNK RAWK. Musicians with colorfully laced boots and symbols painted sloppily all over themselves. Gritty political activists in homemade clothes and piercings, fighting tooth and nail for what they believe in. In truth, I don't know if I've ever seen that in popular media; not authentically.

What do we get instead? Punk coded teenagers who don't really believe in anything, pissing people off for the sake of it. That ain't us. We believe in respect, love and morals. We believe in doing whatever is necessary to achieve the perfect world, whatever each individual believes that is.

The representation is even more insulting for anarchists. Everywhere are both mature antagonists and cartoon villains parading around preaching "anarchy" and completely misusing the word. Its to the point that my political belief is now more closely related to dictatorships (the literal OPPOSITE of anarchism!) or simply death and destruction rather than the true definition: no institutions, just people.

That word has been defiled. I've had people laugh at me and ridicule me when I share my political stance with them due to this stereotype. I've had people tell me I believe what I do just because it "sounds cool."

People that were uneducated to the concept in the first place have now been reeducated by an overlord walking across a battlefield of dead bodies in some movie screaming about "anarchy." Thanks Hollywood. Really appreciate that.

But Hobie is a punk. And he's an anarchist.

He's a hero. He's intelligent. He knows what he fights for and he fights well. That alone is revolutionary for the anarchist movement.

And in a MARVEL FILM. Millions of people watch Marvel films across the globe. Across the Spider verse has pulled in 1.35 Billion dollars. This is exactly what we need.

So, as a representative of my community, thank you Sony Pictures for this gift. I hope to see more like it. And while we're at it, thank you for all the diversity in this new film between all the ethnicities shown onscreen to putting someone my size in the mask!

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

(also if anyone has any recommendations for realistic punk characters in media I'd love to hear em)

[guess-ill-dye]

TODAY (10 of June) IS PORTUGAL DAY WOOOO🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹🇵🇹

More specifically Day of Camões and Portuguese communities

So who was Camões?

Luís Vaz de Camões lived in the 1500's and died 5th of July of 1580, and no-one is sure when he was born, but we think it was 500 years ago so that makes today extra special.

He was born into a lower class noble family, and was the man who wrote an epic poem called Lusíadas , (LIKE THE ODYSSEY OK??? ) one of the 2 WRITTEN BY THE PORTUGUESE!!!! (The other one was written by Fernando Pessoa, and it is very nice as well, and talks abt how amazing we are hehe)

It was finished in 1572, and talked about the discovery of the way to India by sea (we did that), and mixes it with some elements from the roman gods, and its amazing I 100% think everyone should read it. It was all written on 10 verse stranzas/strophes all with 10 metric syllables so yeah impressing. It contains a lot of history as well, and well known stories (atleast in Portugal) like the romance of Pedro and Inês.

THE ROMANCE OF PEDRO AND INÊS

This is a real Romeo and Julliet kind of story, where Pedro, the heir to the throne of Portugal, and he gets and arranged marriage with a Spanish princess, and in her court comes a lady named Inês de Castro, and they fall in love and she becomes one of his mistresses. Except she was special, and he spent a bunch of time with her and 2 kids with her. Then his wife dies and Pedro refuses to remarry (he had kids with his official wife too so no big deal right? wrong) and his dad is afraid that he marrys Inês, since their marriage would endanger the kingdom's independence, and it was church wrong cause they already had kids. So he murders her. Well he sends someone to murder her and she dies. Sad. BUT in Lusíadas it is VERY DRAMATIC AND SHE MAKES A SPEECH ASKING THE KING (D. Afonso btw) TO SPARE HER AND WOW ITS AMAZING

Irl she was assassinated in "Quinta das Lágrimas" (in Coimbra), which translates to "Farm of Tears" (it rlly was sad) and there are some stones on the fountain where she where she was killed (maybe) that are red and legend says it is her blood that stained those stones forever (heartbreaking ok)

THEN YOU THINK PEDRO WAS HAPPY?? NO. THAT MAN WAITED UNTIL HIS FATHER DIED AND HE WAS KING SO THAT HE COULD SAY THAT HE HAD MARRIED HER AND SHE WAS THE QUEEN.

I mean TRUE LOVE OK??

She was coronated post-mortem and her body was moved to a grave that Pedro had made for her and him where they forever would be together LIKE OMG TELL ME THATS NOT SWEET

And he also assassinated the man who killed her except one, who he later pardoned near his death

There is also a story (it's just a story, not real) that he pulled her out of her grave, gave her fancy clothes and a crown and made every noble person kiss her hand as a sign of respect to the queen (it didn't happen but IMAGINE THAT OK) When in reality he made a big parade while we was moving her body.

ANYWAY

It is an amazing book I won't say more because this is already too long but I CAN , JUST ASK!!

Yeah, good Portugal day to you!!!

Tagging some people because this took way too long for no-one to see ok

@anentirevaporeon @yuki-dreemurr @oatmealmcswagger @a-trench-coat-of-confused-worms

IF YOU READ THIS FAR PLS REBLOG TY!!!

🇵🇹

[harbingerofsillies-reblogs]

You know it's bad when you make a playlist about the hyperfixation

Anyway I tried to put songs I didn't see on other playlists cause I feel like everyone defaults to mother mother

Some highlights under the cut, i would put them all if i didn't have a 30 images limit lol

I like to put songs in order based on the chronological order of the story so the mood of the lyrics actually fits the vibe and all

Also so many of these are Toga POV

The Garden is a song about being queer in a religious community and idk I feel like Togachako's whole "weird" thing they had going on was also for being queer and anyway, Ochako repressed her feelings a lot and I like to see this verse as Himiko telling her to stop repressing herself

I can only imagine this as them talking to each other cause some things fit Himiko and some Ochako and this song generally just makes me depressed tbh

They're so Dear Arkansas Daughter coded. The "as my love for you dies" are Himiko after Ochako tells her she deserves whatever's coming to her.

Himiko again, same thing as before.

Still Himiko cause despite it all, despite how mad and angry and "that's strange cause I don't think about you anymore" she's still hung up about it.

This one is both of them tbh

Depending on the verse it fits them both

Himiko during the second war with the sad man's death parade

Their fight in general tbh

This song is about a relationship that's basically over but neither of the people in the relationship actually end it and like,,, Himiko,,,, cause Togachako was doomed and Himiko didn't want anything to do with Ochako but Ochako wouldn't let her quit and kept reaching for her,,,

Himiko.

I'm still replaying my strangers edit in my head 24/7 like it's rotating inside a microwave. (Also this song's actual meaning is definitely not romantic but the theme of cannibalism with these two breaks me cause like,,, yeah Ochako lived in the end but imagine her body reacted badly for a bit to Himiko's blood like,,, "If i'm turning in your stomach and I'm making you feel sick",,, i fucking love this song,,,)

both.

Ochako cause she could literally spot her tears in a sea of clones.

Do I even need to explain myself.

Francesca by Hozier THE love song. Also obvious Ochako pov along with the next few songs.

This song is SO important to me, no one gets "we'll never have sex" like I do ok- that said: Himiko.

Ochako. I'm making myself cry over my own playlist.

I literally plan on tattooing this song on my skin, NO ONE GETS HUNGER LIKE I DO, again Himiko, I'm starting to see a pattern maybe I kin her.

Between two lungs is about sharing a breath during a kiss literally and i feel like it fits their blood transfusion so badly-

Himiko's resolve as she dies happily. I'm in denial sure but it's what happened. But I'm in denial.

Ochako's grief process yay (kill me)

The end. I'm sad. I'm gonna go cry.

[haleviyah]

"You shall not take the name of the L-RD your G-d in vain, for the L-RD will not hold him guiltless who takes His name in vain." - Exodus 20:7

This verse is not talking about profanity or discouraging people from saying things like "Oh my G-d" or "G-ddammit" as Christians like to assume. As a matter of fact, it's quite further from that. This verse speaks of the consequences of using G-d as an excuse to commit horrid acts unto another individual for selfish gain. For example, if a murderer is brought to trial and says, "G-d told/willed me to kill them! It's G-d's will! And because of it I will be rewarded as His servant!" They are breaking this commandment. In the end, it is their haughtiness that will kill them; how they portray G-d will eat them up and haunt them forever.

You tell me, why on earth would the G-d of life and comfort will death and suffering? Unless, you admit G-d is a cruel deceiver. In that case, why demand peace and honesty from someone who deceives and is so cruel? You cannot demand chickpeas from thistles - it just goes against nature itself.

I've noticed people bringing up this verse, so you tell me who is guilty of breaking it these days:

The party who knows very well not to kill in His name and never parades about death, OR those who think they need to kill in the name of their god and parades death.

You decide.

[psychologeek]

Not-Yet-Written-Fics Game

So, uh, a month ago @byrambles has tagged me about it.

(of COURSE I started writing it, then got distracted, and only remembered now.)

Below are fics that I don't-currently-write (,which includes unwritten ideas, but also fics on hiatus.)

(feel free to tell me if you find something interesting, or you'd like to hear more about it. Who knows? It might give me serotonin and make me write it!)

Fandom: Batman, Superman, DP*DC

Batman

Sweet Dreams 3 - Keep Your Head Up (movin' on):

What happened in the Bad!verse before and after the kids were taken.

Include bb!Jay's background, Shadow, Quizlet, Renegade, and more.

Sweet Dreams 4 - Travel the World (and the multiverse):

the end of the series, in which some characters move between universes, others don't, some misunderstandings are solved and there's a lot of found family.

Baby Bird Search& Rescue (BBS&R) -

maybe, one day. I love the idea, I have some clever and funny scenes, but who knows?

Belonging - M/E rated, tw: csa, underage prostitution (mentioned) and LOTS of Trauma.

one day, things would get better for Timmy.

(When Jason attack the Titan's tower, the replacement doesn't fight back. Some things are not as they seem. This must be some mind game, right?

Right?

Or: a story of the in-between. What we remember (or don't), choosing to look away (or act), and a lot of trauma.)

maybe - part 2 of "17, 42" ? (Tim in a Tim loop)

He isn't the only one in the time loop.

(none of them know it.)

This is about to change.

DC (Superman)

We keep our love in a photograph (temp. name) - M for grief and death of (oc) children.

A character research of Martha Kent's character.

What kind of person takes in a baby alien and doesn't tell anybody?

How could they do that? What was the community's reaction to a surprise baby?

For that, we need to start 16 years earlier, on their wedding, and watch the pain and beauty in Martha and Jonathan's life and marriage.

(this fic contains a lot of minor characters' deaths, including death of children, dying kids, stillborn and miscarriages.)

Dp*DC:

Core Skills (chapter 9-12)

One day I'll get there. Things are just... not so well rn.

Lost& Found series

Lab Rat -

Jazz's parents found out about Danny. Few days later, she finds her brother bleeding in their lab.

This is the worst case scenario, and as they run for their (half)lives, she call the only person she can think of.

Jason, freshly named Red Hood, just wanted to beat up some sense into the Replacement (and get the clown killed).

He didn't expect a call from an old friend.

Not Broken (just bent):

Jazz managed it.

Finally, she got to college and moved out of that house. She got her siblings with her, by blood and heart - they have a small apartment in a not so good part of this city, but they are OUT. Dan can exist as a person. There's no need to hide Ellie anymore. They can live.

It's hard, but things are always hard. This is just how it is.

And maybe money's tight and she's working double shifts and she feels like she's a step away from the edge - but that's life.

(Jazz is not okay. A mysterious costumer, a long lost friend, and a scholarship might change her life.)

The Red Parade (series)

Following the Batarang Incident TM.

In which actions have CONSEQUENCES, Red Hood's goons make a deal with... (A god? A demon? A Fae? Idk Jeff, that's what the boss said to do!), and Danny is a very reluctant king.

Months later, Dick is Not OK, but there's a world-ending thrreat, and the watchtower need everyone as they summon the King of the Dead for help.

(The Red Knight is not what they expected.)

Tagging:

@gilbirda @muffinlance @Gghost-bxrd @a-witch-in-endor @enigmaris

@envysparkler ? Only if you got time for it, of course!

[hisinfinities]

this chapter also definitely confirmed for me that the game gojo and sukuna would have to play in their death parade au would be archery

[mariacallous]

Forty-seven years ago today, everything changed. True believers might already know what it was: On May 25, 1977, Star Wars hit movie theaters and irrevocably altered nearly everything pertaining to the act of moviegoing. Lines around the block, overly excited nerds, an appetite for action figures. Star Wars taught Hollywood that certain genres—sci-fi, fantasy, anything that percolated in the offbeat TV shows, books, and comics of the 1950s and ’60s—had fans, and those fandoms would show up. Star Wars made a meager $1.6 million in the US in its opening weekend. But people kept coming back, and by the end of its initial run it had made more than $300 million. Hollywood’s Next Big Thing had arrived.

Common wisdom dictates that Jaws, which came out in 1975 and made some $260 million, was the first summer blockbuster. That’s true, but it was Star Wars that shifted the idea of what kind of film future popcorn flicks tried to be. In the years after its release, a trove of sci-fi and genre films landed in theaters: Blade Runner, Alien, E.T., the Mad Max sequel The Road Warrior. By the ’90s, the summer movie energy had shifted to action fare—Twister, Speed, Jurassic Park, Independence Day—but nerd stuff still ruled. For every Forrest Gump there was a Batman Returns or Terminator 2: Judgment Day.

Then came a little juggernaut called Marvel. By the time Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man movies started clearing nine-figure opening weekends in the aughts, it was obvious that comic book heroes’ true superpowers involved making your money disappear. The Avengers opened in early May 2012 and nearly recouped its $200-million-plus production budget in three days. Suddenly, there were at least two superhero movies every year, if not every summer, and some new Star Wars flicks at the holidays.

The one-two punch of Covid-19 theater closures and streaming pretty much kneecapped this entire process. The summer of 2020 had virtually no blockbusters, and by the time moviegoers returned to multiplexes in 2021 and 2022, there had been a vibe shift. Movies like Black Widow and Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness did well, but they weren’t events. Rushing to Fandango for tickets didn’t feel as urgent as it once did. Last summer, Barbenheimer was the buzziest thing in movies. Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse and Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 made money, but they still got beat by Barbie’s might.

Overall, this year could be a wake-up call for studios that superhero fatigue has fully set in, says Chris Nashawaty, author of The Future Was Now, a new book out in July about how the movies of 1982—Blade Runner, E.T., Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, among others—ushered in the current blockbuster era. That epoch, he says, “was always going to be something that couldn’t last forever; I’m frankly surprised that it lasted as long as it did.”

Nashawaty says the success of Barbenheimer—both movies—indicates that audiences are hungry for smart films, but Hollywood’s risk aversion likely means studios will greenlight more projects based on toys and games like Monopoly rather than movies about physicists. “This is a real existential moment in Hollywood right now,” he adds, and studios need to be bold to stay relevant.

Summer 2024, which unofficially begins this weekend, promises a move away from the formula that has been in play for decades. There are only a handful of big popcorn-ready movies coming, and they’re decidedly less family-friendly than the blockbusters of yore. Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, which dropped on Friday, is a teeth-chatteringly gritty prequel about a kidnapped woman (Anya Taylor-Joy playing the younger version of Charlize Theron’s character from Mad Max: Fury Road) who ends up in a war between two overlords and has to fight her way out. Deadpool & Wolverine is a Marvel movie, yes, but it’s apparently a paean to pegging and cocaine so hard-R that Ryan Reynolds won’t shut up about it.

The series of weird indies coming in the next few months—the thriller Cuckoo, Ti West’s latest horror flick MaXXXine, a new collab from Poor Things pals Emma Stone and Yorgos Lanthimos called Kinds of Kindness—finally have some room to get into the summer movie conversation.

Make no mistake: I am typing these things with glee and admiration. Glossy family movies have their place, but they’ve grown awfully predictable. Safe—not necessarily in their plots, but in their substance. No matter how fun last year’s barn-burner The Super Mario Bros. Movie was, you can’t say anything about it was surprising, much less new. No one walked into the theater for Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 and walked out as gobsmacked as they were when they saw Star Wars, or even Speed.

This is not a “Hollywood is so homogenized” argument. Rather, it’s a reminder that Tinseltown wasn’t always this way. Its influence used to introduce people to the future. What’s happening now has the potential to mark a return to the kind of startlingly original movies that used to be hits. Between the pandemic, streaming, and the Hollywood strikes of last summer, a lot of old habits got broken, and there’s a sense that a renaissance is afoot.

This revitalization won’t come easy, if it comes at all. Summer 2024 still has its share of redos and sequels—a new Inside Out movie, reboots of ’90s summer staples The Crow and Twister. (The latter is the aptly-named Twisters; there are more tornadoes this time, apparently.) But even those movies at least feel like they’re grasping for the prefranchise days, even if they’re birthing franchises in the process.

Furiosa is currently projected to bring in more than $40 million at the US box office this weekend, a figure that would bring it close to Fury Road’s tally but may not convince Hollywood execs that it should bankroll more R-rated, original shockbusters. It would, presumably, best The Garfield Movie, which is also out this weekend and has the makings of a more surefire hit: well-known IP, animated, PG-rated. (For the record, though: Critics seem to think it sucks.) Early ticket sales for Deadpool & Wolverine are already breaking records for an R-rated movie. Should it dominate the conversation for a couple weeks while also raking in money, that embrace of a very not-Disney Disney movie—coupled with Furiosa and Hot Barbenheimer Summer—could signal a tipping point.

Look, nothing will ever completely derail Hollywood’s reliance on sure things. Video game adaptations remain poised to take the crown long held by superhero flicks. (Borderlands, starring Cate Blanchett, is coming to theaters this August.) But if this summer’s ever-sprawling slate turns up just enough weird hits, maybe we’ll once again know the feeling of walking out of Star Wars for the first time.

[whorror-ghoul]

The Papas at Karaoke:

Primo loves older, more groovy stuff and will generally sing some softer classic rock like from Rush and Pink Floyd, but he also LOVES metal and will occasionally break out a death growl.

Secundo loves getting drunk as shit and giving suspiciously sincere renditions of songs like Tiny Dancer or My Way. Abba, Elton John, and Senatra are all in regular rotation.

Terzo loves singing super energetic pop stuff and also has a soft spot for late 2000s pop punk and emo. He *will* sing Black Parade or Lady Gaga if no one stops him and that is a threat. He will also just belt I Will Always Love You if sufficiently drunk and be astonishingly good at it.

Copia is more prone towards songs that end up bringing the crowd in. He goes for Queen, Journey, etc. The kind of stuff where he prompts the rest of the bar to join in during the choruses and he can show off a lil during the verses.

[priafey]

!! wip whenever !!

i've been tagged by many folks these past few days, among them @inkoherentwriting, @stellarsightz and @v1ctory-or-sovngarde. as always, thank you for sharing your lovely wips with me!! i love being tagged. if i don't post a wip soon after i am, it's likely because i don't have one to share just yet. but today i do yippeeeee

(no-pressure) tagging @omkdear, @inkoherentwriting (since it's been a while), @bethrnoora, and @da3drat

here's a random text post i was writing that ended up turning into a ficlet. in it, gwilin recalls a weird friend he may or may not have had as a child. [on ao3]

_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–

There's a story Gwilin tells few, of a best friend he had when he was little. His name, he remembers, was Mals. Gwilin decided a long time ago that that must've been short for 'Malstar'.

Mals came sometime after the snow had thawed, when deathbell sprouts were breaking all through the ground and fungi tinted the air with the smell of fertile soil. They met at the end of a cloudy day, at dusk, as Gwilin paraded his boredom around the village stables.

"What's your name?"

"Gwilin!" Gwilin cried. He wasn't wary of strangers quite yet, nor did he find it odd that he'd been cooed at.

"No. The horse," replied the boy, and he pointed accordingly. Gwilin was a serial eavesdropper, and so was very well-versed in those matters reserved only for the most serious conversations amongst adults. Such as politics. He leapt at the chance to demonstrate.

"Ulfric Stormclock."

The boy's face had its doubts. "That's a long name," he replied, after a moment. He didn't know it was supposed to be 'cloak', either.

"All the best horses have long names."

"I'd make a bad horse, then," concluded the boy, as he rounded the beast. "Mals," he said simply, and the sliver of sleek, black hair moving into the fading rays of daylight drew Gwilin's eye, first. Then it was the boy's open arms.

A hug? thought Gwilin. Well, alright, he supposed. He looks clean enough.

They'd meet at the stables in the afternoons. Mals was never late. The few times Gwilin made it there before he did, he'd see him come out of the brush and catch how haphazardly he went about straightening his hair and wiping off his boots. He wondered how far he traveled each time he came. Asking him outright was never much help; Mals talked an awful lot like the priests at the temple did. 'Just down the road a ways', 'Close enough', 'Could be farther'...

A few weeks passed before Gwilin realized his friend never mentioned his family, even in passing. Or his other friends, if he had any. Such ties seemed foreign to him. When Mals spoke–and he often didn't–it was of far more unusual things. Where death came from, what fame is good for, what would happen when one kind of time gave way to another. And he spoke of these things as himself, in simple terms–in words Gwilin felt were meant for him to understand.

Sometimes he'd bring strange foods to share. Most were dainty, sweet things unlike any Gwilin had ever tasted. He remembered a crisp, mauve-colored wafer shell full of tangy, bright yellow paste had been a favorite of his. The day he tried to return the favor with some venison sandwiches, though, Mals turned him down. Meat made his stomach turn, he said. This saddened Gwilin.

He really liked meat. And he really liked Mals.

On a day, as he dug into a bowl of spiced nuts layered over dense, sugary cream and Mals counted the rings of a tree, there came a question. From Gwilin, as usual.

"Where are you from?"

"Why do you ask?" said Mals, after he finished counting. Gwilin put down the spoonful he'd brought to his lips. Mals had never responded to that question with anything other than a vague remark.

"You're my friend. I'd like to know," he shrugged. More clearly than anything else then, he remembers the sound of Mals running his hand over the bark of the log he'd been examining. A smile tugged at his lips, which the olive skin at his cheeks slowly gave way to.

"Do you know Craglorn?"

"You're Breton!" he blurted out. Gwilin had been pretty sure of it. Those ears were a dead giveaway.

"Yes. I am. But do you know Craglorn?"

"Yeah. Out by the Dragontails."

"Mhm. Everything moves slow out there. People, especially," Mals grunted out, as he lay down on the log. His head hung back off the edge of it. "This mage lived there once, you know. She was slower than anyone else. Even breathed slow. She liked writing and doing research in her room, all day and night."

"Was she a good mage?"

Mals took a moment to respond. "Paper is cheap in Craglorn. Easy to get, easy to use. And she had the woods close by if she needed souls for enchanting, so she could experiment all she liked. It doesn't really matter whether she was good or not."

"Oh. Sorry. I don't know a lot about magic..." was all Gwilin remembers saying. Mals laughed short and sweet, like a little bell, at that.

"Neither did she. But time did its work. It got to the point people would head to the inn she was staying at just to see her. Study her unconventional ways," he clarified, as he placed both arms below his head. "Thing is," he began, with pressed lips, "There wasn't anything that unconventional about what she knew. People didn't flock to the inn because she'd discovered something the mages from the city hadn't–they flocked to the inn because they didn't want to hear it from them. They wanted to hear it from an outsider."

Mals stopped then. Gwilin can only pretend to remember where those upside-down eyes looked to in that moment.

"No one wants to drink from the fountain," Mals whispered, almost to himself. "They'd rather find their own springs. Water tastes sweeter, that way."

"Which would you drink from?" asked Gwilin, thinking himself clever.

"Oh, the fountain. If enough people seek out a spring, it becomes one, anyway. Speaking of..." Mals pushed off the log and meandered over to Gwilin, gesturing for him to take his hand. He did, and he left the bowl containing his new favorite food behind so they could head to the river. That was usually how Mals signaled that he needed to head off soon. Though he never urged Gwilin to drink with him when they got there, he often did, if for no other reason than he felt weird standing on the riverbank waiting for his friend to have his fill.

This time, however, as he went to bring his cupped hand up to his mouth, Gwilin heard a splash. His head darted to the side, where he caught the sight of Mals floating weightlessly downstream. He recalls the panic that overtook him then, and the desperate leaps of his feet as they slid over and above the stones along the river bank, sweeping him ever-closer toward aiding his friend. But then he saw a slender arm calmly reach up to the sky. It waved. Panic was smothered by peace, and Gwilin stood still.

And he never saw Mals again.

[heartsbind]

sae's wip jjk verse:

hehe ok since sae’s jjk verse is cooking more and more i’m gonna infodump some general lore here which i’ll either link to my carrd eventually or make a full page for him and will just keep updating as i solidify things. it got a little long because i wanted to give a little bit of context for people unfamiliar with blue lock so i've put it all under a cut:

but first, background: sae doesn't have a full info page (yet) so the primary thing i'm looking to model his verse after is the fact that in bllk he is considered the best soccer player in japan. initially his dream is to be the best striker and his younger brother rin would follow him as the second best, and it's a dream that he and rin share. he goes away for a few years to play for a youth team in spain, and when he returns he's fully given up on being the best striker; instead, he wants to be the world's best midfielder.

this is more or less the gist of what the story has told us so far, and i'd love to expand on it and speculate sae's introspection and thought process during this, since the fallout between him and rin that ensues is mostly experienced from rin's point of view, but that'll be another post if people are interested!

that all said: so sae and rin i suppose “awakened” to their techniques at a younger age and had plans to stand side by side as sorcerers together etc etc — they both attended the school in kyoto.

after experiencing a near death experience (could be the night parade of 100 demons) sae fears for his ability to protect his brother and — admittedly with arrogance — feels that he will get stronger if he moves to tokyo to work for the school there. he announces to rin his intentions to transfer to tokyo.

the thing to understand about sae is he’s really dry, arrogant, blunt, really does not emote much at all, and can be pretty harsh. so, of course, he doesn’t really know HOW to explain his feelings to rin, and yet rin is also the closest person sae has, and they’ve always been alike in many ways, so he thinks maybe rin will understand. sae kind of just tells him that he’s bored, that everyone there is lukewarm and the curses aren’t strong enough and he wants to go someplace where he can “be among the best.”

rin doesn’t understand, because he’s not a mind reader, and it devolves into an argument that ends with sae saying hurtful things (understatement) and leaving.

by the start of the events of jjk sae is a grade 1 sorcerer working for the school. he has absolutely no respect for the higher ups and also has no respect for anyone whose ability he considers weak or boring. he winds up accompanying students and sorcerers working toward becoming grade 1 on missions often and he has high expectations.

i haven’t really worked out the logistics of his CT yet but i think it’s something that can both enable him to unleash stronger attacks and also enable others to do so - basically like another buff or support CT. he’s fully capable of exorcising curses on his own, but wants to work with sorcerers who really make the most of his technique.

as someone who is more analytical/data-focused when assessing opponents (slash soccer players) - or, essentially, almost mathematical, the concept i'm running with is that his technique processes energy output as levels or units of measurement; his technique will work only on sorcerers whose output is greater than or equal to his own.

[tarnishedxknight]

Historic Feud || open to mutuals

{ This starter involves Basch and Drace in their MCU verses. Any muses who might be there and observe or step in can jump on this starter. Feel free to say that any of my other muses are there as well, or if your muse would run to get another of mine to help them break up the fight. I can run with whatever you want to do with it! =) }

"Dalmascan!" Drace called across the grounds. This had gone on long enough. Ronsenburg had paraded himself around the compound, accepted by the Avengers as some sort of valuable asset, while Gabranth was treated with all the condescension and dismissal one might show a petulant child. Drace could abide it no longer. Gabranth deserved more, he deserved better, and Ronsenburg should not be allowed to escape his sins unscathed. "We have a score to settle," she said, facing him unafraid, despite the grave injuries she suffered at his hands in their own time.

Basch was positively weary of this. Even now, even here in this unfamiliar time, Archadia was still waging war. There was so much anger in people like Drace for people like him, and he simply did not understand why. A difference in lands? Leaders? Sigils? Names? Was that all worth the violence and bloodshed? The suffering and the death? Hadn't Archadia had their fill of this yet? "You would continue old feuds, when nearly all we fought for is already lost?" he asked.

"Consider it a promise kept," Drace said sternly.

"I would prefer a lesson learned than promises kept," Basch said. "We've begun anew here. Why continue this hatred?"

"Because there are those of us who still hold honor in high regard," Drace replied.

"What honor is there to be found in this? I've no personal issue with you. The lands we fought for are gone. Let go of your hatred," Basch said.

"Do not preach to me as though you are some pristine, holy saint!" Drace yelled. "This has nothing to do with our lands, but personal issue? Aye, that is another matter entirely. You stand in insult to one you should have protected, one you should have valued more than your own pride! One I have cared for, supported, and loyally stood by in your place! You should have been there for him! But arrogance, righteousness, and hollow selfishness under guise of virtue meant more to you than your own kin, your own blood! And now you strut about this place, a preening bird flashing his colors to misdirect and impress, and all the while what you call honor is nothing more than lies!"

She was refaced now, losing control of her emotions yet again, for Drace felt so passionately about this that there was no way it could not affect her in an extreme way. "You have fooled them all here, but not I. I know you for who you truly are, and I shall not allow you to forget it. Their treatment of him has been nothing short of disrespectful, and you, with your insistence upon proving yourself the better in their eyes, are to blame!"

Basch's brow furrowed as he realized... this was not about Archadia vs. Dalmasca at all. It was not about the war, nor politics, nor different sovereigns served. This... was about... Noah. An ache settled in Basch's chest as he realized Drace loved him. It was written there in the emotion in her eyes, the tension in her stance. This was about honor, yes, and she was defending Noah's. "Thank you... for being there for my brother when I was not," Basch said sincerely. "I am truly grateful to you for that."

"Spare me your false humility! I am not so easily deceived as others here," Drace said. With that, she tossed him a broadsword. The Avengers had accommodated the Ivalicians by stocking some weapons they were more accustomed to wielding in the training gym. Drace had two smaller swords for herself. They were not her cherished weapons she had used as a Judge Magister, but she was proficient with many different weapons forms, and against a predictable knight, these would do just fine. "We settle this now. No more talk. No more running away from the past."

Basch caught the sword by its grip and let out a soft sigh at her words. "Very well," he said wearily, knowing that he deserved this for what he'd done to Noah. And he would lose this fight, he also knew, for he could not harm the woman his brother loved, nor someone who was a source of support for him.

And so it began. Steel on steel, the two warriors battled once more, a swift and savage dance of skill and emotion, pain and determination, love and hate...

[damediadora]

It's not a municipal orrery but a municipal orloj

So I was looking through the lyrics for Internal clock municipal orrery and noticed some notes about the connection to the Prague astronomical clock so I searched for Prague orrery only to find that it was actually an astronomical clock and that the two aren't the same thing.

It turns out that the Czech word for astronomical clock is orloj which converted into japanese becomes the オルロイ of the song's title. This isn't a loanword though, as the word seems to only be used when referring to the specific clock in Prague (and the Utena song). So that's pretty conclusive, but also, the japanese version of orerry is オーラリー (oorarii) (only used for the earldom orreries are named after), which isn't even close to the oruroi of the song.

Additionally, the native japanese words used for orloje and orreries are tenmon tokei and taiyou keigi respectively, with tenmon tokei in the official lyrics to explain what an orloj is, given that the average japanese person probably wouldn't know about this one astronomical clock in Prague. Also, orreries, being solar system models, wouldn't have zodiacs on them whereas astronomical clocks would.

So I think it's clear that the translation of Tainai Tokei Toshi Oruroi should be Internal clock municipal Orloj. The real question I suppose is how no-one caught this before. My guess is someone in 1997 thought oruroi sounded similar enough to orrery and they had no clue what else it could be and then everyone copied them even though, as stated before, japanese uses a native word for orreries, it wouldn't be modified to japanese pronounciation in that way and the lyrics literally clarify it's an astronomical clock which isn't what an orrery even is (It was kind of funny to look through a few translations and analyses to see whether anyone had caught this before and see a bunch of people just go "an orrery and an astronomical clock are the same thing" when they just... aren't).

Also, while I don't have a clear idea of what the metaphorical implications of this are, it does give the possibility of a starkly literal interpretation of the first verse, namely as a very straightforward description of the Prague Orloj, top line is the wikipedia description, bottom is my translation of the lyrics: "Death, a skeleton ... on the hour rings the bell and immediately all other figures shake their heads side to side..." A statue of death shakes heads, pulls the cord, tolls the bells "The left and right windows ... slide aside to reveal the apostles ... the rooster ends the introduction of the apsotles by crowing ... "The Walk of the Apostles"" The rooster beats its wings when the windows open the twelve apostles are like dolls unblinking, a grand parade

Maybe try to figure out why the rooster beats its wings instead of crowing, given that that's the only discrepancy in the description Seazer gives?