#bartleby imagine

[anxiously-sidequesting]

Maybe this is because I'm sleep deprived so this post may make no sense but I wonder if gender works differently on the Spiral than it does on earth. Like I wonder if the type of magic you have can influence your sense of identity in any way whether an AFAB girly-girl wizard tries on the 'he/him' pronouns on like a new pair of casual pants on Tuesdays or if something entirely new comes up and it just feels comfy and correct. I once saw a post where it headcanons Dasein to be mirrorgender and I think about that post everyday. Every single FUCKING. Day,

[jackie-whisperwind]

thinking of a fun little idea where during December each of the teachers task the students with decorating the schools and ravenwood with lights and Christmas decorations

[random-thot-generator]

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 10

(Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

TEN: Let the Sleeper Awake

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

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Summary: Simon returns in time for the May Day celebration, wanting to surprise his doll, but watching her perform has him viewing her in a very different light.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Spice- just a pinch, Mention of masturbation, Fluff & Feels, Simon checks out doll, Doll checks out Simon, Idiots in love lust, the 141 have a chat sesh, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Beltane (a.k.a. May Eve/May Day) is a fire and... ahem!... fertility festival. So, I thought, what better time for Simon and his doll to finally realize that there's a little more than friendly feelings between them. Let the sleepers awake. 😏)

Word Count: 2.9K

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Chapter 10

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“Beltane magick here we sing

Chant the rune and dance the ring

Joy and blessing shall it bring 

Let the sleeper awake!”

― Doreene Valiente, Beltane Chant

-

The village green was a hive of activity, preparations for the May Day celebration in full swing.

Booths, tents and stalls lined the streets, vendors setting up their wares and stocking up for the large crowds expected for the two-day celebration. An abundance of flowers, real and fake, decorated the whole of the village’s heart, garlands and wreaths attached to every available surface, every shop window sporting bright floral displays.

The maypole had been raised at the back of the green, its brightly colored ribbons fluttering in the warm breeze. The volunteers performing this year were gathered off to the side taking a break from their practice, you and Fiona among them.

The two of you had been roped into volunteering, so you both had to learn the performances from scratch. Fi especially was struggling with the interweaving moves, cursing under her breath every time she made a misstep.

“If I’d known it was goin’ t’be this big of a pain in me arse, I would’a hid in the loo when I saw Margie comin’,” she groused, wiping a forearm across her brow. She turned up her bottled water and took a large gulp as she glared at Margie Bartleby, proud owner of the Tea Room and the entertainment director of the festivities this year. “All tha’ woman needs is a bloody whip t’crack over our heads.”

You sniffed in amusement, not bothering to comment. You knew Fi was just venting her frustration and didn’t mean a word of what she said. You and she both adored the older woman, though you had to admit that Margie could be a right task master when she wanted to be.

You sipped at your water as you pulled your cell from your back pocket to check your notifications, drifting under the shade of a tent to see the screen better. You were hoping to see a message from Riley, but you were again disappointed.

He’d been gone since the last week of March, only a week and half after you had moved in with him. There had been no word from him save for a single text around mid-April to tell you if all went according to plan, he might be home by the end of the month. You had really been hoping he would make it back in time for the May Day celebration, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. He always seemed to be deployed during holidays.

“Still no word?” Fi asked, joining you.

You sighed and slipped the phone back in your pocket. “No.”

She nudged your shoulder. “Maybe ye’ll get a May Day miracle an’ he’ll show up dressed like Jack o' the Green.” Her grin turned lewd. “Can’t ya just picture it? Riley wearin’ nothin’ but a patch o’ moss over his dangly bits with oak leaves stuck all in his mask?”

“Fi-ona!” Heat crept up your neck to your cheeks, yet the image she created popped unbidden into your head.

Your face grew hotter as you imagined him dressed as Fi had described, the mental pictures in your head far from chaste. Riley was built like a Norse god, and even with the mask he earned his fair share of appreciative glances. You couldn't help but look, too; you were his friend, but that didn't make you immune to him.

When you heard Fi laughing at you, you blinked out of your daydream and narrowed your eyes. “Shut up,” you hissed at her, but couldn’t hide your wry smirk.

“Come along, lovies! Break's over!” Margie called to the group. “Let’s get back to it. We need to practice the bonfire procession and dance next!”

Fiona groaned, scowling. “God, I’ll be glad when we’re done with this. Never again,” she vowed as the two of you trudged back out to the green together.

-

Simon sat back in his seat, eyes focused out the window of the plane, half-listening to Soap and Gaz arguing about how they were going to spend their first night on leave. His cell phone was in his hand, your last text open. It was an image of the green decorated for May Day.

“Oi, Ghost! Ya should come with us t'night. We’re goin’ to that new pub in Hereford,” Gaz invited.

Simon slanted a glance his way, dark eyes glinting inside his skull mask. “Can’t. Got plans.”

“Ah, c’mon, mate. Readin' in your bunk isn’t plans,” Gaz replied, scoffing.

“Did ye ferget?” Soap spoke up, a mischievous smirk on his face as he bumped the other sergeant's arm. “Ghost has t’get’ home t’see his doll dance. Ain't tha' right, LT?”

Simon scowled at him. The nosy bastard had overheard him tell Price about you performing in the May Day festival, after the captain had asked him how "his doll" was doing. So, of course, Johnny hadn’t shut up about it since, pestering him for intel about his ‘wee doll’.

“Oh, that’s right,” Gaz drawled, his smile spreading wide. “Maybe we should go home with Ghost, then. You can introduce us to your doll.”

“Not happenin',” Simon gruffed. “Ya lot ain’t gettin’ anywhere near ‘er.”

Soap chuckled, puffing out his chest. “Worried I’ll nick yer lass, LT?” He smoothed his hand over his mohawk, flexing his bicep with a cheeky grin. “Canna blame ye. There’s a lot here t’tempt her away,” he teased, making his pecs jump beneath his tight tee. Gaz cackled.

Simon stuck his phone back in his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest, tipping his chin down at the sergeant. “Ain't worried. Dee knows a wanker when she sees one."

"Oh-ho!" Soap crowed. "So, it's Dee, is it? Slipped up an' said her name, LT." He winked at Gaz as Simon muttered a curse. "Dee an' Johnny. Got a nice ring to it, aye?"

“Enough, lads,” Price called from behind his laptop, not even bothering to look up. The two immediately shut their gobs.

As soon as the plane touched down, Simon was up and heading down the ramp as it lowered. Grinning like a devil, Soap was ready to head after him when Price grabbed him by the back of his tac vest and hauled him back. 

“Bloody hell, lad, give it a rest,” he uttered lowly.

Gaz came abreast of them and leaned into whisper, “We just wanna know about her, Cap. I mean— it's Ghost. Kinda hard to imagine him havin' a bird. Has he told ya anything about her? Have ya seen a picture of her?"

Price scrubbed at his beard. “Never met the lass. Ya lads know he likes to keep his personal life private. Now, both of ya, leave it alone.”

“Canna believe yer no' a wee bit curious, sir,” Soap persisted. “Would ye no' like t’meet the lass tha’ caught the Ghost?”

Price wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t curious, but more than anything, he was just glad to see his lieutenant at ease, for a change. He was still a right broody cunt, but his attitude had definitely improved. “Lads, as long as she makes him happy, that’s all I care 'bout. Now, mind yer bloody business an' leave him alone, yeah?”

“Think he’d show us a picture of her if we asked nice?” Soap wondered aloud, undeterred. "I bet she's a right bonnie lass, aye? Have t'be t'get the LT all hot an' bothered." He waggled his eyebrows.

Price dragged a hand over his face and groaned.

-

Simon ended up parking behind the Dog when he finally made into to the village. Coming through the alley, he could see the crowd milling about the green and vendor booths, the smell of fried food and sweets wafting down the ginnel on the breeze. His stomach growled and he cursed himself for not eating something before leaving the base, but he'd been in a hurry to get home.

He usually stayed on base if he wasn't deployed when events like this were going on in Banfield. He hated dealing with the extra traffic and large crowds that descended on the village, but he could suck it up and deal with it just this once, since it was for you.

Apparently, he'd made it back just in time. Most of the crowd had gathered near the back of the green around the maypole, Margie's familiar voice loud and clear over the PA system as she announced that the maypole dance was about to begin.

Simon pressed through the throng of people, ignoring the looks and startled gasps as they shuffled out of his way. His eyes scanned over the dancers, searching for you, his eyes going a little wide when he spotted you standing with your back to him.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but he felt like he'd been poleaxed, his dazed eyes roving over your figure. You were dressed like the other dancers, wearing a pastel satin undress covered in layers of wispy, see-through tulle, but the underdress clung to your breasts and hips, the swell of your bum accentuated by the slippery material. When you shifted your weight to pose in the starting position, a split in the underdress revealed the length of your thigh, the layered tulle separating to expose it.

Simon's mouth fell open under his surgical mask, eyes avid as the music began to play. He watched with rapt attention as you skipped and dipped and twirled, weaving in and out with the other dancers to braid the colored ribbons around the pole. Your hair had been left loose, a crown of flowers on your head, makeup done to give your features an ethereal cast. You looked like a fairy, flitting around, he mused. A really curvaceous, sultry, sexy fairy...

A familiar feeling tingled low in his abdomen and the front of jeans were suddenly too tight. He shook his head, grunting at his base reaction, but now that he'd seen you this way, he knew there was no denying it. You were stunning, the prettiest bird he'd ever seen. His pretty doll. Possessive pride welled up in his chest, straightening his spine and lifting his chin. That was his beautiful doll out there dancing; his.

When the dance ended, all the performers took a bow and then the crowd surrounded them. Simon hung back, waiting, wanting to see your expression when you finally spotted him.

So worth the wait.

It was Fiona that saw him first, nudging your shoulder and whispering at your ear as she pointed him out. The slight frown of confusion on your face transformed into a look of joyous surprise, your smile wide and beaming as you rushed to meet him, crying out, "Oh, my God! Ri!" as you leapt up to wrap your arms around his neck in a tight hug.

It stunned him at first, being greeted that way. Anyone else would have found themselves thrown to the ground with a knee in their back, but you? You he caught up in his arms and held on tight, breathing you in as his hands molded to your back and waist like he had done this a thousand times. It was instinctive and felt so right.

You pulled back to gaze into his eyes, your smile becoming something softer, more intimate. "I'm so glad you made it, Ri. Can't believe you're finally home. I've missed you."

His chest went tight, a pleased flush warming his face. He pressed his forehead to yours. "Missed ya, too, doll. 'S good t'be home."

He had a sudden, intense urge to pull down his mask and kiss you. His fingers twitched on your back, muscles spasming in his arms. He couldn't recall the last time he'd kissed a woman on the lips, but damn if he wasn't gaggin' to bloody do it now. From the soft, hazy look in your eyes, he didn't think you would mind it, either, which only made the temptation worse.

You both turned your heads, startled, when Fiona giggled. She was already lowering her cellphone to look at the pic she had just taken. Simon tensed, his first instinct being to bark at her to delete the photo, but then another idea popped into his head.

He lowered you to the ground, stepping behind you before planting his hands firmly on your hips and pulling you back against his chest. "Take another one, Fi. Want t'send one t'my team."

She dutifully took the picture, smiling as she stepped forward to show you both how well it had turned out. "That one's a keeper."

Simon stared down at the picture, liking the way the two of you looked together. A rush of heat coursed through his veins at the sight of his hands on your hips, your hands covering his. He glanced over at your face as you studied the photo, and he could only describe your expression as incandescent; you were bloody glowing.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you into his side as his eyes met yours. "Yeah," he murmured. "Definitely a keeper."

-

Simon ended up with dozens of photos saved on his phone by the time the festival was over. His favorite was the one Fiona had first taken, the one where he was holding you up in his arms, your heads together. He set that one as his screensaver.

However, the one he viewed the most was the one he took at the bonfire the last night of the festival.

He took it during the bonfire dance, you and the other dancers circling the high flames as you swayed and undulated in a jaw-dropping, frenzied dance that had wrecked his world. His heart had been beating as hard as the drums, his eyes fixated on you with a predatory intensity.

Then you had looked at him.

You had seen him in the crowd, a teasing, open-mouthed smile directed his way as your arms lifted over your head and you rolled your hips in a move that punched the air out of his lungs. He had lifted his phone and snapped the photo, capturing the moment.

He captured your sultry smile, that hooded gaze that was meant just for him. Your body's curves stood out in stark relief against the dark, your silken skin aglow from the flames. Every time he looked at it, he ended up in the loo with his cock in his hand, choking back his groans as he desperately fisted himself to completion.

It was bloody torture watching you disappear into your own bedroom later that night, every cell of his body on fire with the need to follow you. He didn't, but he wanted to. It was the fear of losing you that finally had him shuffling off to his own room, settling for your photo and his calloused hand.

It was on Sunday afternoon that he got a notification that the team was in their private group chat. You and Fi were gone to the shops, and he was sitting on the patio, drinking a Stella and enjoying the garden. Might as well join in, he thought; he had nothing better to do at the moment.

As soon as he entered the chat, Soap and Gaz started asking for details about the festival and, of course, you. Feeling a bit sadistic, the first photos he shared were of the green, the bonfire, the pub.

[SOAP]: Come on LT. U ken what we want! Show us a pic of ur doll. 😏 [GHOST]: No [GAZ]: Pleeeeaaaase!!! 🙏🏿🥺 [PRICE]: Bloody hell. Ignore them, lad. [GAZ]: We just want to see her Cap... [SOAP]: Is she ugly? I bet shes ugly. [PRICE]: SOAP! [GHOST]: Far from it johnny [SOAP]: Ur killn us LT! Just 1 pic pls pls pls!!! [PRICE]: Stand down, Sgts! Jesus Christ!

Simon couldn't help himself. He wanted to show you off. There was a smug smile on his face when he forwarded them the photos of you in a zip file.

There was a minute of inactivity, then the messages began to ping in rapid fire succession.

[GAZ]: That's ur doll?! She's bloody gorgeous, m8! 👍🏿 [SOAP]: sTEAMn fUKnJESUS!!!! [SOAP]: Insta-chub 👀🍆 [PRICE]: Well done, lad! She's a beauty. [SOAP]: Shes ded bonnie. U should introduce me 😈 [GAZ]: When can we meet her??? Is her friend single? 😏 [PRICE]: Behave, lads...

Simon huffed in amusement, feeling rather cocky as he began typing.

[GHOST]: Thx cap. [GHOST]: Her friend is single gaz. [GHOST]: U can suck it johnny. She's MY doll [GAZ]: Yeah. Suck it Soap! 😅 [SOAP]: Fair enough but... [SOAP]: Can I keep the pic of her @ the bonfire? [PRICE]: Christ. I need bloody a drink. Congrats, Simon. *(PRICE has left the chat.) [GHOST]: Hm. Just the one pic? [SOAP]: 🙏🥺 PLS??? [GHOST]: LOL [GHOST]: Hell NO [SOAP]: 😭 [GAZ]: 🤣🤣🤣

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[shanie-the-komania-toyaddict]

Hey so, absolutely horrific thing I just realized.

Bartleby didn't get his Eye of History stolen until later, right? So, his prophetic eye still would have been working when Sylvia got sick.

Did he know? Did Bartleby know Sylvia would die and, if he did, did he tell her? I'd imagine Bartleby would tell Merle, as a warning, especially because I have to think Bartleby also probably saw what Malistaire would become after her death, but how much did Merle know? From what Gloria says they tried so friggin hard to save her and nothing worked, so did Merle just play along like a dickhead pretending to be hopeful she would get better but knowing full well she never would? Like, how much did Sylvia, Merle, or anyone know ahead of time that that "cold" would eventually do her in?

And, while I'm not very far into Arc 3 so I can't say much about what happens in Mirage and beyond, I have to think that if Malistaire ever found out that Merle and Bartleby had known that Sylvia couldn't be saved and stole the chance from him to say goodbye properly...

Well.

No wonder he went off the deep end.

[inamindfarfaraway]

I can’t believe I’m posting about Sonic Underground, but this is the Cringe App, so here are some random thoughts and headcanons:

Sonia has super strength parallel to Sonic’s super speed (Manic has no innate power, because life isn’t fair) and that should have been explored more. Like, outside of battle. Imagine all the training Lady Windimere must have put her through to act ladylike and demure and not accidentally break all the fragile expensive things around her. She casually carries her brothers and Bartleby all the time. Sometimes she squeezes them a little too hard when she hugs them. She reunites with Bartleby after a rough mission and effortlessly picks him, spins him around and throws him high into the air. She can arm-wrestle Knuckles as an equal. Someone else is working on a heavy robot or vehicle or something and Sonia is propping or holding it up for them. The van breaks down in a place they can’t stay in and she just sighs, tells her brothers to take out and carry everything they can, lifts the van over her head and starts walking. She grabs the scruff of Sonic’s neck with her fingers when he tries to run away to do something stupid and he runs in place, extremely annoyed. A very exasperated Cyrus tells her that she needs to stop hitting the door buttons so hard when she dramatically leaves after an argument (thank God the doors don’t have hinges to be ripped off of), because they can’t keep installing new ones. First Sonic wearing away the floors and heating the metal so much it could melt people’s shoes, now this? He does have a favourite triplet and it’s Manic. This isn’t the only reason, but it’s a big one.

Seriously, why didn’t the show remark more on how Manic doesn’t have a power? I guess his instrument giving him earth manipulation while the others just get lasers kinda makes up for it. Maybe super genes run in the royal family recessively. With all the stock episode plots they did, you’d think there’d be one where he felt inferior to his siblings for this reason and reaffirmed his worth by saving the day and rescuing them when they were both captured.

There really should have been a body swap episode. Here’s my pitch: tensions are running high between the siblings as they clash over their respective flaws and insecurities, when some magical shenanigans that tie into whatever Robotnik’s plan is switch their consciousnesses around. Sonic is in Manic’s body, Manic in Sonia’s and Sonia in Sonic's. Now, Sonia has been stressed lately feeling pressured to be the mature, responsible one and, with so much steam to let off, finds herself slipping into Sonic’s recklessness, impulsivity and cockiness. She can literally outrun all her problems… or so she thinks. The speed is liberating and intoxicating. Meanwhile, Manic, who was giving her shit at the start, realizes how much restraint Sonia needs to exercise to not cause more trouble than she fixes with her strength and that, while it definitely makes some things easier, having a superpower isn’t a cure-all and requires rules in itself. He gains a greater respect and appreciation for her, which enables him to remind her of the value of responsibility and caution when she runs off the deep end. Sonic absolutely hates not having any extraordinary abilities. At first his siblings think he’s just cranky because he can’t do awesome tricks anymore and has to have a normal person’s amount of patience. Averse to vulnerability as he is, he pretends that that’s the extent of it; but as his complaints shift from whining to self-abuse, it turns out that he can’t stand feeling this helpless. He’s never been this incapable before. It hurts. It takes him right back to the worst moments of his life, when he wasn’t fast enough to save his parents and uncle. Now he isn’t fast enough to save anyone. Keeping the cycle of empathy going after Manic talks her down, Sonia reflects on how amazing her new speed feels and what having had that power her whole life might have done to her self-esteem. She tells Sonic that his speed and usefulness don’t define him or his worth, and it’s okay to fail, need to go slow, make mistakes and have things that are just beyond you. Everyone does. She’s made some big mistakes herself just that day! What matters is the strengths you do have and how you use them. He’s done so much good, for all his flaws, and she and Manic love every part of him. Inspired, Sonic ultimately defeats Robotnik using his intelligence and leadership skills, with both his siblings using their new powers effectively and wisely to make the plan work. Once they switch back, they get in a similar unfortunate situation to the one that pushed their stress to the tipping point in the beginning, only now they take it in stride and deal with it together. Who am I kidding, the show wouldn’t have gone into that much character analysis and emotional depth. That’s why we need fanfiction.

Sonia has had a five-star privileged education; however, she must also unlearn all Robotnik’s propaganda and lies. Sonic has had a less thorough education, but presumably still a pretty good one and without any of the propaganda from moving in with Uncle Chuck onward. Manic has never been to school a day in his life. Think of the comedy you could get out of this arrangement. But also, is Manic illiterate? His reading and writing are probably significantly poorer than the others’, right? I headcanon he’s secretly insecure about his lack of formal education and occasionally teases Sonia for her “nerdy” advanced knowledge and makes fun of her when she doesn’t know something, in an effort to bring her down to his level.

Uncle Chuck is the triplets’ father’s brother, not of royal blood. My headcanon is that after Robotnik killed the king during the takeover, he agreed to go into hiding and cut ties with Aleena. He didn’t plan to have a role in her children’s lives until the Time arrived, but he wound up near enough Sonic’s home to visit and couldn’t stay away. He fondly told Sonic a great deal about life before Robotnik ruined everything and his birth parents, carefully omitting that they were the king and queen of course.

Sonic and Manic love to hear Mindy and Bartleby’s stories about Sonia before they met her. Though they are sad that the people who could tell such stories about them are all roboticized, so unless until a deroboticizer is invented there are parts of their early lives they don’t remember or fully understand that can simply never be told. In general, seeing Sonia with her old friends makes them feel Big Feelings. They’re glad one of them still has people from before in their life, but… it stings.

Where? Was the triplets’ grief?? Over their parents and guardians??? Where were the bonding moments about it? Where were the reminiscing scenes and Sonic explaining how he lost his old family twice and had to watch the first time? Where were the dramatic, heartwrenching confrontations with the roboticized guardians? FANFICS I NEED YOU

Manic likes to tinker with machinery when he’s bored, anxious, frustrated, guilty or even excited. Basically, he reaches a significant intensity of emotion and gets out the tools. He’s a fidgeter in general and always doing something with his hands - why do you think Farrell supported his impractical, attention-drawing hobby of drumming? A deroboticizor is a top priority ongoing project in the Resistance and if he’s in a really bad mental state, especially if he’s missing his dad, he can probably be found working tirelessly on one of the prototypes. Sleep, hunger, other people, the passage of time all mean nothing to him in that state. Sonic is the best at snapping him out of it because swap engineering with running and vigilantism and he essentially has the same coping mechanism, so he gets it in a way Sonia can’t. However, the sign that the hyperactive brothers are completely crushed and hopeless is that they lose their energy and motivation. If they’re notably still, slow and restrained in movement, they are Not Okay.

Sonia’s contrasting coping mechanism is to distract herself and her support system from her feelings with others’ business. That can manifest as criticizing someone else (constructively or destructively), wanting details on some aspect of their life, stoking drama and gossiping about them, or trying to fix their problems and/or make them open up about their issues. The last one is increasingly common since embarking on her character development. She’s always been a social butterfly and was a duck in water in the social perception, awareness and shrewdness-centric culture of the upper class; genuinely loves using those skills to help people so this is still in character on a good day; and is so at best charismatic and at worst overbearing that she can easily make you worry more about whatever she’s latched onto as a diversion, whether you agree with her stance on it or not. It takes a trained eye to catch when she’s actually neglecting herself. An indicator is that if her drive is the subconscious desire to avoid confronting her own feelings, she’ll be or become over time less tactful, patient and respectful of boundaries than usual, or resort to pettier topics in her desperation. Her brothers are the best at telling these behaviours apart from her healthy altruism and harmless theatrics and making her talk.

The medallions are royal family heirlooms. The rare, potent magical crystal they were carved from was a primary resource of Mobotropolis and the reason the capital was built there, their clean energy used for rapid magical/technological advancement that brought huge prosperity to Mobius, hence the paradise it was pre-Robotnik. Shards of them were incorporated in many royal regalia pieces. Through past political upheavals, disasters and thefts, most of the ornamental fragments have been lost. The medallions were made relatively recently to celebrate the dawn of a new golden age of art and culture; music was a key part of Mobian culture, so it was symbolically very fitting to give the rulers and protectors of the people instruments and weapons in one. It represented the ideal that they should give as much as they were able to take - even if they took up arms, they would at the same time have to preserve the life and spirit of Mobius through playing music. Hopefully that would tether them to their conscience. Plus, what’s more gloriously badass for a monarch than defeating your enemy by playing a rock cover of your national anthem? Robotnik’s relentless mining extracted the last of this precious resource years ago. He forgot the sustainable methods his predecessors used to harness the magic indefinitely because he can’t be bothered to understand magic, so he’s exhausted the power of every existing piece of the crystal besides the three medallions that have remained out of his grasp. He keeps trying to synthesize it, but you can’t synthesize ✨magic.✨ The sudden decline and loss of a longstanding reliable power source has made everyone reliant on Robotnik’s dirty energy. When the royal family retake their thrones, the medallions can either be given up and used to power Mobius or the very similar Chaos Emeralds used instead upon relearning the magic crystal energy harnessing techniques. Wouldn’t it be cool if discovering the Chaos Emeralds or recovering them from Robotnik was what turned the tide of the war? Sonic, Manic and Sonia going super and defeating Robotnik once and for all? Yes, yes it would.

Sonia is the oldest. Manic is the youngest. Sonic, as in the movies, is the middle child. Sonic and Sonia believe their birth order is important and she will never stop lording it over him, since before they got ahold of their birth certificates he’d assumed he was the oldest. Manic doesn’t care and wishes they would drop it.

Having been eager to help his uncle around the house and then needing to pull his weight in the Resistance, Sonic is a reliably good cook. He likes to learn more whenever he has the resources and time to experiment. Manic had no technical skills initially, not having had a kitchen and all, but is learning quickly under Sonic’s tutelage and has the sheer ingenuity to make a meal out of pretty much anything. Sonia can’t cook for shit. Sonic won’t give up on trying to teach her… but he’s certainly been tempted.

Sonic is afraid of fire due to the trauma of watching his old home burn down when he lost his parents (I put him at eight at the time, like Batman, and so he spends an almost equal number of years with his adoptive family and Uncle Chuck if he’s fifteen in the show). The smell of Sonia burning toast is enough to trigger flashbacks. Once Robotnik trapped the siblings in a burning building and he just froze, overwhelmed with terror; Sonia had to carry him to safety like a firefighter.

Follow-up with Tails.

[deepfriedhopesanddreams]

Human AU

For some reason I imagined people confusing Dud Spud and Spud Muffin as twins when in reality, Spud is a few years older than him

Bartleby: you too huh?

Stephen: Shut up

Yep

[stormbreaker101]

Iridian Fairytail - Bookworm and Illuminator Illustrator of the Lost Pages

Age: 8

Level: levelless Myth

Personality; Bubbly, whimsical, imaginative, emotion-driven, sweet as caramel

Status: Enjoying a safe life with her cousins and adoptive family and 'auntie', but hoping that Nora can make it home safe too.

Story: Iridian is the only one of my Wizards who wasn't born on Earth, and so the Spiral had never been a game for her. She was made by Bartleby to serve as an emotional anchor for Nora, who feared that Nora would not be able to handle the crushing weight of Azteca's demise. Iridian would be something Nora could live for while recovering and waiting for Khrysalis's storyline to begin.

Iridian grew up surrounded by a loving community. Not just Nora's family, but most of Ravenwood welcomed her as a friendly and familiar face. It was not too uncommon of a sight for her to become a 'guest' in any of the Ravenwood professors' office hours outside of class, listening to the students talk magic and drawing her own magic on the side. She would ask to visit Cyrus the most; Myth magic and storytelling came the easiest to her.

None knew of her semi-divine origins. Nobody needed to know. She fulfilled the role Bartleby set out with flying colors as is, keeping the Scion steady during the antsy times between questing sessions.

But not even Iridian's presence could keep Nora from reaching her tipping point after Arc 3. When Nora lashed out at the Chaos Heart, she quickly grabbed Iridian before fleeing the Spiral entirely.

Iridian missed her friends terribly and didn't understand why she and Nora had to leave, but... at least she has her big sister by her side. And Iridian quickly made friends with a stranger she and Nora found while searching for a distant land to call home. That stranger was Renee, a woman whom Iridian would quickly start calling 'auntie'.

Despite being far away from the Spiral, Iridian's magic blossomed. She could still see the Spiral vividly, drawing out different things that were happening in it as stories, doodles, comics, drabbles. Sometimes Nora would have to go back to the Spiral by herself, saying it wouldn't be safe to make Iridian travel too much with her, but Iridian never felt too far from Nora, thanks to her stories.

Something blindsided even her mythic vision. As suddenly as Iridian was whisked away from the Spiral, she was frantically brought back, now in the Arcanum that Nora had been friends with... once. In the stories.

A few days later, terrible news struck. An outcome Iridian could have never imagined EVER. Nora was dead. Gone. Her story's... over. Just like that. That's... not supposed to happen.

But it did.

Star suggested the idea that Iridian would be better off with a stable home elsewhere, but Iridian didn't want to lose anybody else in her family! Star had to assure her that Iridian wasn't gonna lose anybody else. The trio of cousins would stay with her. Star's friend Owen Macheca (@saturniidaze) offered to let the girls move in with their adopted family in the (Multiversal) Reconstructed AU (@clockwork-fiends).

Indeed, the Macheca family was more than kind to Iridian. This family had its own... quirks... but what family didn't, really? This seemed a wonderful space where Iridian could get a chance to live a good life, grow up stably...

Though, oddly, Iridian never seemed to grow. She hardly looks any older than 5, the age she was when she and Nora first left the Spiral. Life stagnated for her. Calm, stable, but boring. All the stories were elsewhere! Emma became a lost pirate, Star was on Earth doing detective-ing, Savannah's learning so much magic not just with the Arcanum but a new buncha characters called the Astral Alliance, and now Owen has xeir own business in xeir first Spiral too!? When will it be Iridian's turn to not just write stories, but live them? Make them? Be them?

Maybe she can learn something from her dreams...

[fatehbaz]

I think a lot about water, in this time. […]  Whisperings of rivers that greet the sea. The currents [...]. The saltiness of estuaries that ebb through the roots of mangroves. Waters that return to themselves, always different, streaming off, merging back, sinking in. […]

To refuse is usually understood as being-against: the Bartleby-an preference not to; refusal as strike, occupation, boycott, cancellation, retaliation, resistance, from passive evasions to spectacles of revolution. The no of refusal is a mode of survival: an impenetrable boundary, silent or shouted. It is a refusal to be killed or to succumb: the Indigenous refusal of colonial recognition, the Black refusal of white erasure and enclosure. But before refusal as dialectic, in the now unused meaning found in common Latin, refusal also meant to give back, to restore, to return.

Derived from re-, “back”, and fundere-, “to pour”, this meaning fell out of use, likely because conversational Latin was not transcribed but comprised of evolving and diverging dialects […]. The addition of refusal as return – a definition always already slipping away, consigned to hearsay and archival traces – disarranges refusal’s march towards the future [...]. An understanding of refusal as return [...] unsettles narratives of resistance that are framed only in opposition. [...] The idea of pouring back or watering expands the conceptualisation of refusal as an act of liberation. Refusal as return swells refusal’s imagination-otherwise [...]. Vast ecosystems flattened for plantations [...], raw minerals pulled from the ground and sea for the building of [...] war [...]. The ordering of land into resource [...] has been arbitrated by those who profit [...]. Return disavows final consolidation [...]. On the contrary, the past illuminates the limitations of capitalist time and the fallibility of colonial history. Return is a reckoning with what is presumed to be universal. [...]

As well as the being-against of refusal, return allows for a being-with, a sitting-with. [...] A return is an invitation to humble oneself to another approach. Being-with requires a pause from which to imagine otherwise, in all of its vastness and uncertainty. It is a moment between, where one is asked to hold onto many possibilities at once.

To be-with [...] needs a disposition of attentiveness, [...] an attunement, following I-Kiribati poet and thinker Teweiariki Teaero when he says, “two ears, one mouth, don’t talk too much. Learn to listen more,” or Fijian academic Unaisi Nabobo-Baba when she speaks of silence as a “pedagogy of deep engagement”. [...]

The immensity of the loss of people and ecologies to capitalist brutalities exceeds what we can comprehend. But as Indigenous and Black Studies scholars, artists, and ecologists show, so do the myriad, and insuppressible flourishings and alliances, the joyfulness and love, the lives lived otherways. Attunement leads us to the gaps and silences and soundings that run through everything, that connect the earth and all who live and die.

---

Text by: AM Kanngieser. “To undo nature; on refusal as return.” transmediale. 2021.

[watsonmelon]

finished reading billy budd a while ago. quote and thought dump about billy budd, blithedale romance, and a few others. spoilers. religion.

I already posted about The Blithedale Romance but I WILL say it again: it messes me up that the book mentioned in this letter appears to have been Blithedale Romance.....

My Dear Hawthorne: -- This name of "Hawthorne" seems to be ubiquitous. I have been on something of a tour lately, and it has saluted me vocally & typographically in all sorts of places & in all sorts of ways. I was at the solitary Crusoeish island of Naushon (one of the Elisabeth group) and there, on a stately piazza, I saw it gilded on the back of a very new book, and in the hands of a clergyman. -- I went to visit a gentleman in Brooklyne, and as we were sitting at our wine, in came the lady of the house, holding a beaming volume in her hand, from the city -- "My Dear," to her husband, "I have brought you Hawthorne's new book." I entered the cars at Boston for this place. In came a lively boy "Hawthorne's new book!" -- In good time I arrived home. Said my lady-wife "there is Mr Hawthorne's new book, come by mail" And this morning, lo! on my table a little note, subscribed Hawthorne again. -- Well, the Hawthorne is a sweet flower; may it flourish in every hedge.

imagine!

a Blithedale Romance excerpt particularly relevant to Billy Budd:

It is my private opinion that, at this period of his life, Hollingsworth was fast going mad; and, as with other crazy people (among whom I include humorists of every degree), it required all the constancy of friendship to restrain his associates from pronouncing him an intolerable bore. Such prolonged fiddling upon one string—such multiform presentation of one idea! His specific object (of which he made the public more than sufficiently aware, through the medium of lectures and pamphlets) was to obtain funds for the construction of an edifice, with a sort of collegiate endowment. On this foundation he purposed to devote himself and a few disciples to the reform and mental culture of our criminal brethren. His visionary edifice was Hollingsworth's one castle in the air; it was the material type in which his philanthropic dream strove to embody itself; and he made the scheme more definite, and caught hold of it the more strongly, and kept his clutch the more pertinaciously, by rendering it visible to the bodily eye. I have seen him, a hundred times, with a pencil and sheet of paper, sketching the facade, the side-view, or the rear of the structure, or planning the internal arrangements, as lovingly as another man might plan those of the projected home where he meant to be happy with his wife and children. I have known him to begin a model of the building with little stones, gathered at the brookside, whither we had gone to cool ourselves in the sultry noon of haying-time. Unlike all other ghosts, his spirit haunted an edifice, which, instead of being time-worn, and full of storied love, and joy, and sorrow, had never yet come into existence.

shortly after Blithedale Romance, that exploration of gender roles and sexuality, Melville publishes "Bartleby," the innocent one sentenced. decades later, Clarel, with another parallel to the rejection in Blithedale Romance...

Blithedale:

"I will not argue the point," said he. "What I desire to know of you is,—and you can tell me in one word,—whether I am to look for your cooperation in this great scheme of good? Take it up with me! Be my brother in it! It offers you (what you have told me, over and over again, that you most need) a purpose in life, worthy of the extremest self-devotion,—worthy of martyrdom, should God so order it! In this view, I present it to you. You can greatly benefit mankind. Your peculiar faculties, as I shall direct them, are capable of being so wrought into this enterprise that not one of them need lie idle. Strike hands with me, and from this moment you shall never again feel the languor and vague wretchedness of an indolent or half-occupied man. There may be no more aimless beauty in your life; but, in its stead, there shall be strength, courage, immitigable will,—everything that a manly and generous nature should desire! We shall succeed! We shall have done our best for this miserable world; and happiness (which never comes but incidentally) will come to us unawares."

It seemed his intention to say no more. But, after he had quite broken off, his deep eyes filled with tears, and he held out both his hands to me.

"Coverdale," he murmured, "there is not the man in this wide world whom I can love as I could you. Do not forsake me!"

As I look back upon this scene, through the coldness and dimness of so many years, there is still a sensation as if Hollingsworth had caught hold of my heart, and were pulling it towards him with an almost irresistible force. It is a mystery to me how I withstood it. But, in truth, I saw in his scheme of philanthropy nothing but what was odious. A loathsomeness that was to be forever in my daily work! A great black ugliness of sin, which he proposed to collect out of a thousand human hearts, and that we should spend our lives in an experiment of transmuting it into virtue! Had I but touched his extended hand, Hollingsworth's magnetism would perhaps have penetrated me with his own conception of all these matters. But I stood aloof. I fortified myself with doubts whether his strength of purpose had not been too gigantic for his integrity, impelling him to trample on considerations that should have been paramount to every other.

Clarel:

Divided mind knew Clarel here;

The heart's desire did interfere.

Thought he, How pleasant in another

Such sallies, or in thee, if said

After confidings that should wed

Our souls in one:--Ah, call me brother!--

So feminine his passionate mood

Which, long as hungering unfed,

All else rejected or withstood.

Some inklings he let fall. But no:

Here over Vine there slid a change

A shadow, such as thin may show

Gliding along the mountain-range

And deepening in the gorge below.

  Does Vine's rebukeful dusking say--

Why, on this vernal bank to-day,

Why bring oblations of thy pain ⁠

To one who hath his share? here fain

Would lap him in a chance reprieve?

Lives none can help ye; that believe.

Art thou the first soul tried by doubt?

Shalt prove the last? Go, live it out. ⁠

But for thy fonder dream of love

In man toward man--the soul's caress--

The negatives of flesh should prove

Analogies of non-cordialness

In spirit.--E'en such conceits could cling ⁠

To Clarel's dream of vain surmise

And imputation full of sting.

but now, in Billy Budd, the doubling down, writing of a convict, someone who has killed a man, who needs no redemption because he is already innocent! over 30 years after Blithedale! in the late years of his life! he IS obsessed with guilt and innocence, still! and i absolutely loved "Bartleby," but just like that part from Clarel felt bolder than "Bartleby," Billy Budd felt to me less raw and more black-and-white and more focused than "Bartleby," everything in place to tell what needed to be told, the culmination of it all, despite that it wasn't even published while he was alive, and was found in disarray.

Billy Budd:

Though our Handsome Sailor had as much of masculine beauty as one can expect anywhere to see; nevertheless, like the beautiful woman in one of Hawthorne's minor tales, there was just one thing amiss in him. No visible blemish, indeed, as with the lady; no, but an occasional liability to a vocal defect. Though in the hour of elemental uproar or peril he was everything that a sailor should be, yet under sudden provocation of strong heart-feeling, his voice otherwise singularly musical, as if expressive of the harmony within, was apt to develop an organic hesitancy, in fact, more or less of a stutter or even worse. In this particular Billy was a striking instance that the arch interferer, the envious marplot of Eden, still has more or less to do with every human consignment to this planet of earth. In every case, one way or another he is sure to slip in his little card, as much as to remind us- I too have a hand here.

The avowal of such an imperfection in the Handsome Sailor should be evidence not alone that he is not presented as a conventional hero, but also that the story in which he is the main figure is no romance.

HHHHHH jumpscared. he is woven in. well, i read "The Birth-Mark":

Had she been less beautiful,—if Envy's self could have found aught else to sneer at,—he might have felt his affection heightened by the prettiness of this mimic hand, now vaguely portrayed, now lost, now stealing forth again and glimmering to and fro with every pulse of emotion that throbbed within her heart; but, seeing her otherwise so ​perfect, he found this one defect grow more and more intolerable with every moment of their united lives. It was the fatal flaw of humanity which Nature, in one shape or another, stamps ineffaceably on all her productions, either to imply that they are temporary and finite, or that their perfection must be wrought by toil and pain. The crimson hand expressed the ineludible gripe in which mortality clutches the highest and purest of earthly mould, degrading them into kindred with the lowest, and even with the very brutes, like whom their visible frames return to dust. In this manner, selecting it as the symbol of his wife's liability to sin, sorrow, decay, and death, Aylmer's sombre imagination was not long in rendering the birthmark a frightful object, causing him more trouble and horror than ever Georgiana's beauty, whether of soul or sense, had given him delight.

much to think about. back to Billy Budd.

In this matter of writing, resolve as one may to keep to the main road, some by-paths have an enticement not readily to be withstood. I am going to err into such a by-path. If the reader will keep me company I shall be glad. At the least we can promise ourselves that pleasure which is wickedly said to be in sinning, for a literary sin the divergence will be.

that is such a herman melville thing to say

When Claggart's unobserved glance happened to light on belted Billy rolling along the upper gun deck in the leisure of the second dog-watch, exchanging passing broadsides of fun with other young promenaders in the crowd; that glance would follow the cheerful sea-Hyperion with a settled meditative and melancholy expression, his eyes strangely suffused with incipient feverish tears. Then would Claggart look like the man of sorrows. Yes, and sometimes the melancholy expression would have in it a touch of soft yearning, as if Claggart could even have loved Billy but for fate and ban. But this was an evanescence, and quickly repented of, as it were, by an immitigable look, pinching and shrivelling the visage into the momentary semblance of a wrinkled walnut. But sometimes catching sight in advance of the Foretopman coming in his direction, he would, upon their nearing, step aside a little to let him pass, dwelling upon Billy for the moment with the glittering dental satire of a Guise. But upon any abrupt unforeseen encounter a red light would flash forth from his eye like a spark from an anvil in a dusk smithy. That quick fierce light was a strange one, darted from orbs which in repose were of a color nearest approaching a deeper violet, the softest of shades.

ough.. just this bit on repression, passion distorted.

But Captain Vere was now again motionless standing absorbed in thought. But again starting, he vehemently exclaimed--"Struck dead by an angel of God! Yet the angel must hang!"

gave me chills when i read it! and vere is so hawthorne-coded to me......... vere who believes in his innocence, and yet!!

In the jugglery of circumstances preceding and attending the event on board the Indomitable, and in the light of that martial code whereby it was formally to be judged, innocence and guilt personified in Claggart and Budd in effect changed places. In a legal view the apparent victim of the tragedy was he who had sought to victimize a man blameless; and the indisputable deed of the latter, navally regarded, constituted the most heinous of military crimes. Yet more. The essential right and wrong involved in the matter, the clearer that might be, so much the worse for the responsibility of a loyal sea-commander inasmuch as he was not authorized to determine the matter on that primitive basis.

the twisting of guilt and innocence!! Melville's recurring criticism of people doing truly wicked things, taking advantage of people while hiding behind power and still being respected by the world, while people with good hearts are punished by the world... god, i will eat it up every single time.

But the Indomitable's Chaplain was a discreet man possessing the good sense of a good heart. So he insisted not in his vocation here. At the instance of Captain Vere, a lieutenant had apprised him of pretty much everything as to Billy; and since he felt that innocence was even a better thing than religion wherewith to go to Judgement, he reluctantly withdrew; but in his emotion not without first performing an act strange enough in an Englishman, and under the circumstances yet more so in any regular priest. Stooping over, he kissed on the fair cheek his fellow-man, a felon in martial law, one who though on the confines of death he felt he could never convert to a dogma; nor for all that did he fear for his future.

and

At sea in the old time, the execution by halter of a military sailor was generally from the fore-yard. In the present instance, for special reasons the main-yard was assigned. Under an arm of that lee-yard the prisoner was presently brought up, the Chaplain attending him. It was noted at the time and remarked  upon afterwards, that in this final scene the good man evinced little or nothing of the perfunctory. Brief speech indeed he had with the condemned one, but the genuine Gospel was less on his tongue than in his aspect and manner towards him. The final preparations personal to the latter being speedily brought to an end by two boatswain's mates, the consummation impended. Billy stood facing aft. At the penultimate moment, his words, his only ones, words wholly unobstructed in the utterance were these--"God bless Captain Vere!" Syllables so unanticipated coming from one with the ignominious hemp about his neck-- a conventional felon's benediction directed aft towards the quarters of honor; syllables too delivered in the clear melody of a singing-bird on the point of launching from the twig, had a phenomenal effect, not unenhanced by the rare personal beauty of the young sailor spiritualized now thro' late experiences so poignantly profound.

declared guilty under the laws of men, and judged to be innocent by God... i think Melville truly wanted to believe in divine goodness, and that man's laws and interpretations and narrow-mindedness are not God's..... i think he meant it. and that's what i like about his writing.

and almost finally, a journal entry by Hawthorne...

Melville, as he always does, began to reason of Providence and futurity, and of everything that lies beyond human ken, and informed me that he “pretty much made up his mind to be annihilated”; but still he does not seem to rest in that anticipation; and, I think, will never rest until he gets hold of a definite belief.

It is strange how he persists — and has persisted ever since I knew him, and probably long before — in wandering to-and-fro over these deserts, as dismal and monotonous as the sand hills amid which we were sitting. He can neither believe, nor be comfortable in his unbelief; and he is too honest and courageous not to try to do one or the other.

If he were a religious man, he would be one of the most truly religious and reverential; he has a very high and noble nature, and better worth immortality than most of us.

heart is wrenched.........

other than that. whoever owned this collection of stories by melville before i did wrote "no" in the table of contents by bartleby, billy budd, and one other. the other one maybe i get, but bartleby and billy budd? two of the best ones? at any rate, the ones that touched me the most. what could they have meant? how could you say such a thang...

other than THAT. it's completely meaningless but very funny to me that I've been posting about melville once or twice a month and each time getting between like zero and five notes and tumblr is like congratulations! top #herman melville blogger!

and truly finally, i just started pierre the other day. i'm not very far, but already the love and passion and divinity and profanity...

'Fie, now, Pierre; why should ye youths always swear when ye love?' 'Because in us love is profane, since it mortally reaches toward the heaven in ye!'

so far i am hooked 👍

[tobiasdrake]

I'm a terrible human being but at least we're making our way through the island.

You know, I wasn't sure about Windmill Shuriken but it's growing on me.

It's a killer traversal tool as well as a potent weapon in its own right.

Getting a definite Boss Room Ahead vibe from this setup. Tiki Shopkeeper, you have anything to say about what I'm about to face?

Nothing?

Huh. Maybe I misread the--

Okay, fuck you too, I guess! I can't believe this! I rely on her to give me useful information about bosses! What a fucking prick.

Maybe she just. Like. Doesn't do that in this timeline or something. Or she's mad. Can't imagine what I could have said to piss off Tiki Shopkeeper that badly, though.

Whatever. I slew the Dweller of Strife singlehandedly; At least, that's how I'm choosing to remember it. I can manage this!

These barely even count as attacks. Honestly, it's like you want to face the wrath of my ultimate technique:

Your harmless little tiki heads are NO MATCH for an endless barrage of twirly-doos! I am the twirly-doo champion, and I'm going to do pirouettes on your face until you're nothing but a pile of kindling! What do you say about THAT, huh!?

....

....

....

(;° ロ°)

OH FUCK ME

Okay. So. In my haste for triumph and glory, I. Uh. May. Have. Misconstrued your ritualistic totem levitations as... something that they was not.

I am a big enough man to admit when a misunderstanding has taken place and a tragic mistake has been committed. You're right. It's pretty clear where the fault for this lies.

Tiki Shopkeeper. It's Tiki Shopkeeper's fault. She... She, uh.... She said....

...nothing. She said absolutely nothing about an upcoming Boss Fight. Because no Boss Fight was upcoming.

...I... assaulted and batteried you, and destroyed your personal property... for absolutely no reason at all.

...

Hold up, what was that about a volcano erupting?

Barrel Thyme, that's what that smell was! Thanks, pal. So the plan is to fuck him up again, save the Phobekins, and then enjoy a pleasant vacation on whatever mysterious island this place is.

Glad there's no hard feelings, pal. I'd hate for a small misunderstanding like this to get in the way of us becoming the best of pals!

I'm so glad they're taking it well. I like to think that I'm a pretty great guy once you get to know me. Like an acquired taste! And I wouldn't want them to miss out on the opportunity.

Anyways... apparently this island has a volcano. We should take a look at the map and make sure we have a good idea of where we're going.

Alright. Voodkin Island's not as big as I thought it'd be. So if Bartleby's plan is to jump me at the ritual then he should be right around the rim of the....

...of the....

Hold up.

Is this Kiln Mountain!? This super looks like the volcano where the great continental bread loaf was baked.

That's not what he called it. The hint is in its utility: That it's a kiln. But I'm still convinced that this is the same mountain.

...so does your shop exist in a parallel reality Tower of Time, or is there only one Tower of Time and we're just in a different room next door to Arcane Shopkeeper's room?

Because I could believe either.

[anxiously-sidequesting]

I swear I'm not trying to villainize Ambrose or woobify Malorn but I really like the idea that Ambrose is secretly suspicious and bias against Malorn because of what happened with Malistaire

Like I have a headcanon that Ambrose sends the Young Wizard to 'keep an eye' on Malorn because sending adults like Diego or another professor would be too obvious. Ambrose thinks it's perfect to have a student of Ravenwood and a child to hang around Malorn, because who would suspect a student at school? Maybe Ambrose says it's for 'extra Death magic lessons' or something

Also the perfect chance for Malorn and the Wizard to bond. Both realize that they're both just kids with unrealistic expectations put on them by all the adults in their life (it differs of course, with Malorn being treated with suspicion and the Wizard being treated with awe and reverence) and just kind of support each other when it gets to be too much.

None of this is in canon btw this is strictly just having fun with headcanon of course but I think it really works well because:

1. Ambrose is an irresponsible adult. He means well, but the game shows that he takes extreme and rash actions against any threat and does whatever it takes to get rid of the problem, not necessarily solve the problem. This headcanon highlights that trait of his personality perfectly

2. Gives more insight to Malorn's life and experiences, also adds more to his character other than the Death Professor at Ravenwood. It gives Malorn an actual struggle and arc in the series and gives an inside perspective of how tough it should actually be in his situation (betrayed by his professor, forced into a higher position, etc.)

3. Actual interactions between Malorn and the Wizard!!! A positive relationship with any NPC, especially one from Wizard City and actually their age, other than the adults that we meet in each world would be absolutely fantastic and I'm a sucker for "two or more characters against the world" trope

4. Also highlights the Wizard's struggles as being "The Chosen One." Like we're actually just God at this point and beyond seeing a planet and its people die out in a violent death, an actual war where disease and violence is rampant, a large cult intent on yours and the universe's destruction, and actual murder attempts by Every Bad Guy Ever, imagine the pressure put onto them by the Good Guys. Ambrose and Diego and the Council of Light and Grandmother Raven and Bartleby (who are basically the equivalent of God) all just saying "You are the only one who can save us" 80 times a week, like who is our support system. Where the fuck is our therapy. Malorn would be the perfect candidate because I think out of everyone (other than Mellori and the Bat) Malorn would understand the best

Sorry girls no I won't be quiet about Malorn ever. Or Ambrose because it's such wasted potential and imo a lot better than canon's "Gretta Darkkettle was secretly evil this entire time" with no prior foreshadowing

[sonicshipbattles]

Round One Match-ups

Okay! So I tried to do an image to show the brackets, but some of these ship names are so long that it made the the image actually illegible (looking at you, Sonic/Amy/Knuckles/Rouge/Shadow)

So, what I've done is arranged the match-ups as if there was an image, so you can read which side of the board each ship will be on and you'll all have to use your imaginations for the visuals. In Round Two, there definitely will be an image, as then I'll be able to use the ship icon instead of text, meaning the names can be as long as they want lol

Round One will take place over several days, with 8 polls being posted a day until it is complete. The first batch of polls will be posted on Monday 24th April at around 4-5pm GMT

Below is the list of match-ups, as well as some notes about them:

TOP LEFT:

Sonic/Amy vs Sonic/Amy (Modern) Sonic (Nicky)/Amy vs Sonic (Werehog)/Amy Sonic/Amy (Boom) vs Sonic/Amy (Fleetway) Sonic/Amy/Knuckles vs Sonic/Amy/Shadow Sonic/Amy/Sally vs Sonic/Amy/Tekno vs Sonic/Amy/Tikal Sonic/Antoine vs Sonic/Antoine (SatAM) Sonic/Ash vs Sonic/Mina Sonic/Breezie vs Sonic/Merna vs Sonic/Bartleby

BOTTOM LEFT:

Sonic/Shadow vs Sonic/Shadow (Sir Lancelot) Sonic/Shadow (Boom) vs Sonic/Shadow/Tikal Sonic/Chilidogs vs Sonic/no one vs Sonic/Big the Cat Sonic/E-123 Omega vs Sonic/E-77 Lucky vs Sonic/X Robot Sonic/Eclipse vs Sonic/Metal Sonic Sonic/Honey vs Sonic/Tiara Sonic/Infinite vs Sonic/Silver Sonic/Jewel vs Sonic/Lanolin

TOP RIGHT:

Sonic/Knuckles vs Sonic/Knuckles (Sonic X) Sonic/Knuckles (Archie) vs Sonic/Knuckles (Frontier) Sonic/Knuckles (Boom) vs Sonic/Knuckles the Dread Sonic/Knuckles/Rouge vs Sonic/Knuckles/Rouge (Sonic X) vs Sonic/Amy/Knuckles/Rouge/Shadow Sonic/Knuckles/Shadow vs Sonic/Shadow/Silver Sonic/Kirby vs Sonic/Miku Sonic/Mario vs Sonic/Mega Man Sonic/Mighty vs Sonic/Mighty (Post-SGW Archie)

BOTTOM RIGHT:

Sonic/Sally vs Sonic/Sally/Shadow Sonic/Sally (Archie) vs Sonic/Sally (SatAM) Sonic/Jet vs Sonic/Tekno Sonic/Elise vs Sonic/Madonna Sonic/Blaze vs Sonic/Blaze (IDW) Sonic/Mike vs Sonic/Swifty vs Sonic/Sticks Sonic/Rouge vs Sonic/Fiona Sonic/Scourge vs Sonic/Surge

I know that it's not possible to keep everyone happy with the way match-ups are done in these tumblr tournaments. But here are a few notes about why I chose to do these match-ups the way I have here:

Where possible, ships with similar themes have been paired together for Round One, e.g. "The same ship in different continuities", "ships where all characters are from the same cartoon", "ships that both involve green birds", etc.

As the ships that had the highest amount of nominations, SonAmy and SonKnux have been placed on the opposite sides of the board to each other, in the top left and top right. As much as possible their related ships have been groups with them so that the strongest version of both will go forward

As the ship that had the third highest nominations, Sonadow has been placed in the bottom left. As the ships with the next highest amount of nominations, SonSal, SonJet, SonBlaze and SonElise have been placed in the bottom right. As much as possible their related ships have been groups with them so that the strongest version of each will go forward (this only really applies to Sonadow and SonSal tbh)

The rest of the ships that received less nominations have been used to fill out the rest of the spaces on each side and are mostly arranged alphabetically in order of the first ship in the bracket

In order to keep Round One to 32 matches, there will be a few threeway matches between ships that received less nominations. These matches are as follows:

Sonic/Amy/Sally vs Sonic/Amy/Tekno vs Sonic/Amy/Tikal Sonic/Knuckles/Rouge vs Sonic/Knuckles/Rouge (Sonic X) vs Sonic/Amy/Knuckles/Rouge/Shadow Sonic/Breezie vs Sonic/Merna vs Sonic/Bartleby Sonic/Chilidogs vs Sonic/no one vs Sonic/Big the Cat Sonic/E-123 Omega vs Sonic/E-77 Lucky vs Sonic/X Robot Sonic/Mike vs Sonic/Swifty vs Sonic/Sticks

[elucubrare]

there is so much context for this that it's not worth explaining, but:

i like stories about an individual refusing to participate in a corrupt system, at great cost to themself (the battle cry against the way the system of work grinds down the worker and narrows their world that is "I would prefer not to" in "Bartleby the Scrivener, for example) but --

ok, there's two overarching types of stories about corrupt systems, one that shows the corruption and its effects on people who can't imagine an escape from it; and one that offers alternatives or shows the escape. neither is better than the other: they have different functions. (the first, i would say, is to make people who don't know that there's a problem realize that there's a problem, and knowing that there's a problem is the first step in solving it)

so.

--but that kind of heroic refusal and self-denial can only really be part of the first kind of story. Bartleby's defiance doesn't change his coworkers' lives, and in fact it only confuses them. It's heroic, but in a limited way - the difference between dying for a cause (easy, in that it's a single dramatic action) and living for one (hard, because you have to keep choosing to commit to it).

[oldestenemy]

It takes time for the wizard to adjust again.

They aren’t listless so much as… unsure of what to do.

They rearrange their castles, attend lectures they haven’t been to in months if not longer, they play chess with Meowiarty when the prison can be convinced to let them in.

They avoid all thought of Dragonspyre.

They aren’t ready to be questioned just yet.

They do run into Malorn once while in nightside. He looks better, less tired, and unfortunately he spots the wizard before they manage to duck out of sight.

“You’re back!” the wizard hates how he’s looking at them. Taking stock. Trying to see if they’re as… empty as last time. “Is it done?”

“You look better,” they say softly, forcing a smile small enough that it might look painless. “Have you been able to do your own work again?”

“I—yeah, we set up a teleporter where I used to be in Ravenwood, it comes out—” he points to a space about three feet from the doors of the Death School. “—there. Professor Drake—yours—got one to me, normally they don’t work outside student housing but it’s a special one. I’ve had it up and working for about a month and a half. I still teach the younger kids, but it’s not everyone anymore.”

The smile they are forcing does turn a little more genuine then. “Ambrose interrupted a meeting I was having with Professor Drake just before I left. I might have shouted at him. Some of it might have been about how he’s been sabatoging your education.”

And that distracts Malorn enough to stop asking about what happened. The wizard tells him about that ‘talk’ as they make their way back out of nightside and through the commons. Before they even notice, they’re at the open mouth of Bartleby and the wizard jolts to a halt, grabbing Malorn to stop him so sharply that his hat tumbles off—

“—No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t go through here anymore.”

Don’t. Won’t. Can’t.

“Everyone will want to see you—andyou should see the progress we’ve been making with—” his voice fades out. Everything feels hazy and muffled. They can’t go back yet. They can’t deal with all the questions yet. The wizard’s heart is racing, breath shallow and quick. “—hey…” Malorn slows down and trails off, expression softening from determination into concern. “It’s alright—here—” He pulls the Dragonspyre key from where it still hangs around his neck, “—I’ve got a mark there, just—come back when you’re ready, alright?”

They don’t want it back.

It still feels heavier than it should.

But they reach out and accept the little gold key on its leather cord.

“Thank you.” It’s quiet, it’s cracked. An apology is waiting behind their teeth.

They don’t let it come.

~*~

More days pass.

They craft a new deck, test their luck at forging an athame which comes out painfully dull (they almost feel bad selling it to Artemus). They pick up a set of robes in the bazaar that don’t look so…intense. So much like armor. Later, they might pay Eloise for the glamour required to meld them to the armor anyways. But not now. It’s not so much needed when they aren’t going far beyond wizard city. The new robes are sturdy enough, if a bit stiff, embroidered with myth iconography that reminds them of earlier, easier days.

The wizard half expects to hear from Ambrose that he’s got a lead on where they need to run off to next. On what could be going on elsewhere.

Polaris. Empyrea. Mirage.

Names that mean nothing to them. How big is the spiral? It has gone all at once again from feeling too large, to too small, and back to beyond their capacity to imagine. Which is saying much, given how wide that capacity flows.

Hidden lands, broken shores.

Should they have listened to the Celestial Darklings in the pit? Tried to push forward alone? No… No, there wasn’t time. Any more delay and they would have reached the palace, and Morganthe, too late.

This isn’t doing them any good.

The stillness.

The thinking.

They’ve got the Dragonspyre key hanging around their neck.

One breath.

Another.

Remember to smile.

The hot air of the Basilica makes their lungs ache. There is always something acridabout the smoke here, the lava and sulfur make the air heavy in a way the wizard has yet to experience anywhere else.

Stepping through the portal to the Academy is like stepping into a wholly different world. Though not one completely unfamiliar.

The sky is blue. The air is still warm and heavy but it’s clear, there is no haze to it, no bite. The pile of hardened lava and obsidian that had covered the rightmost side of the academy was fully dug away. It leaves the Ice and Storm school buildings revived, no longer scaffolding and bones but properly and solidly real.

Had this really all come together since they were last here? Had it been so long since that early morning with Duncan? Though in fairness, they hadn’t lingered then, hadn’t had the time or the eyes to notice. Bleeding against the statue. Mourning a friend not even dead.

The statue—they realize—is different too.

Aurelius Ambrosius has been removed from his pride of place in the center of the grounds.

“We stole the idea from you.” Penny’s voice is bright and clear and much too close. The wizard represses a flinch as she appears beside them. “I do think Regina did a lovely job—don’t you?”

They manage to nod, “Better than I did, for sure.” Regina was, evidently, an excellent stonecarver. Or else had enlisted the help and direction of the local residents. Either way, the new statue, the trio of Professor Drake’s, was fitting given how this had come about.

Even if the likeness of Malistaire and Sylvia is almost too good.

(All of them are excellent, though the wizard has no ill thoughts about the one of Cyrus, only that he would perhaps reconsider having endorsed this project if he were aware of it.)

“Malorn said he saw you, we were all hoping you would come back soon.”

The wizard manages to smile at Penny, “I’m back—dunno for how long—it looks like you’ve all managed a lot while I was gone.” It’s nice, nicer than they thought it would be, to see progress that happened without them. So often they feel like the only one doing anything, the only one treated as capable. It’s… refreshing, seeing so much come together without needing their direct involvement, even if they would have enjoyed lending a hand in this particular case.

“We have, all the saplings are coming along nicely—the new Life tree is talking now! His name is Phyll. Lots of the other trees are starting to develop faces, the battledrakes are huge—”

“You’re back!” It’s Regina, closely followed by Ceren—and the wizard can see others not far behind, starting to converge in the courtyard—for a second they tense up again as more people draw near. “Just in time too, we put the finishing touches on your dungeon scale monstrodome plans today.”

“Oh?” The wizard latches onto that like a tow rope, like a lifeline, something easy. “Has it been tested yet?”

Regina gives them a big hopeful grin that the wizard assosciates with the sound of creaking golems and power converters. “Nope.”

Good.

Fighting is easy.

It just means trying not to show off, and not having to speak.

That, out of everything, the wizard can manage.

Read the rest here <3

[deepfriedhopesanddreams]

Imagine the HazbinHotel/Botbots AU, and Bartleby/Burgertron meeting the four imps or visiting Stephen/Spudmuffin back on earth!

They'd all be surprised

[viewer-of-many]

Been getting back into Pokémon Mystery Dungeon, and I can’t stop imagining an AU based on it! Burgertron/Bartleby and his friends being turned into Pokémon would be absolutely awesome to see.

If we're going to make a Mystery Dungeon AU, two things. First, we shouldn't use all the Pokémon/bot pairings from the regular Pokémon AU, as those represented what the bots like, not what they are. Second, and more importantly, the bot stand-ins wouldn't become Pokémon, they would have always been Pokémon, because in the Mystery Dungeon games, the main character was always a human first...