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solaneceae · 9 months

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float like a feather, sting like sharp talons

Philza drops by Étoiles' brand new dojo for a friendly sparring session, and ends up getting quite a lot more. Namely existential dread, the thrill of a good hunt, and the comfort of shared trust. @apthotiosis this is a commissioned fic! read on ao3

He whistles, eyes lingering along the thick, wooden support beams and rice paper walls surrounding him. It’s a surprising sight, tucked away in a corner of what he can only describe as a mess of a base, mostly empty, the walls still a rough (and frankly ugly) mix of dirt and cobblestone that hasn’t been cleared out even after six months. “So. That is your dojo.”

Étoiles nods at his side, a big stupid grin on his face. “Do you like it, Phil?” he asks, eager as a pup as little Pomme zooms around the cave in an improv game of tag with Tallulah — ever mindful of how her lag (sorry, asthma) sometimes stalls her in her tracks. He glances at them fondly, silly, eggs, babies. “I do,” he hums, because it is pretty. Especially if you ignore the rest of the cave outside because God, it’s fugly as shit and Étoiles knows it. The plant hybrid smiles, all teeth and gums, and squints with star-filled eyes that always seem to glow despite not working like they used to. Phil still doesn’t get why what was originally a completely harmless veggie plant has evolved to bear such predatory teeth, but he can’t say it doesn’t suit his friend. “He likes it! Let’s gooo, big win for me, big win. I can die happy now.”

“Oh my god, stop. Kristin’s married, you know.”

Étoiles gives him a mock-shove that is more of a real one, because Étoiles never holds back, especially not with Phil. “Oh! Oh, so I can’t be nice to Lady Death? I can’t just visit her because she’s cool and she likes me also? I am married to the grind, Phil, you know me!”

Phil shakes his head, exasperated and fond. “You’re a nerd is what you are. Did you know she calls you her tech support?” Étoiles makes a confused noise. Tallulah peeps in the background, mimicked by Pomme, a chorus of play and yesyes, because all the eggs have picked up on that one by now. (Mimicry is a powerful thing, and the eggs are highly social creatures who thrive on it.)

Phil elaborates, circling the build to assess its structure better. “Because of the sweeping edge bug thing, and Richas’ cancelled death last week. You find the kinks and loopholes in death mechanics better than anyone she knows.”

Étoile beams at that. “That’s so cool. I’m Death tech support!”

“You certainly are. Do you think it’s because you picked Death? In the entity rooms?”

The green-skinned man shrugs, then gasps and takes off running after Pomme to stop her from setting up waterframes everywhere to display obscure anime edits for Tallulah because her internet, her lag Pomme, you’re going to make her void! Phil glances at them (safe, no danger, good) then back at the dojo, running his palm down a beam to feel its grain. It’s smooth, recently stripped of its bark. “Huh,” he says.

He doesn’t understand why his friend chose to build this underground when dojos are usually suited for wind-swept plains or mysterious forests. Then again, Étoiles has never been much for coherent aesthetics. That, and he probably thought it would be more mysterious to hide it under the ground, knowing him. “It’s. Well, very dojo-like,” he walks through dark support beams and onto clean, recently-oiled planks, coming to poke at one of the wooden sticks idly rotating above an altar to send it spinning in the opposite direction. Étoiles trots back to him with an egg under each arm (Play, dad, Pomme warbles. Play, silly, Tallulah beeps from within her cracked shell.) and lets out a guttural noise, visibly bothered by the sticks being out of sync, and it makes Phil snort. Silly. Silly. “Did you build it all by yourself?”

“Yeeaaaah.”

“You’re lying.”

A dramatic gasp. The warrior puts both eggs down to throw his hands in the air. “I’m not lying! Pomme, ma légende, dis-lui.”

Bomp. [me and richas did it. papa helped, very much :DDD]

Étoiles comes to brush his fingers against the red sign, letting the device tucked into his ear translate the written words into spoken ones. He whines, puts a hand over his heart as his ears droop. “Ahhh, trahison. Disgrâce. Tu m’détestes en fait Pomme, c’est ça ? You want me to dig down to bedrock and die forever? Or it’s because I can’t see, so you think I’m shit?”

Bomp. [papa…] Bomp. [t’a pas besoin d’être aveugle pour avoir des goûts douteux en déco :X]

“Okay, okay. I go die in fire then, goodnight.” Then Étoiles pours lava into the cobble floor and stands in it with a huge smile. His body catches on fire immediately, skin quickly shrivelling up and blackening under the heat. Pomme peeps at him loudly and hits him with her scythe, then douses him in water and healing potions — which immediately prompts Étoiles into sparring mode, laughing and hyping his egg up with a string of ‘oh she knows, she knows the play’ and ‘strafing, comboing, keep at it’ as his body heals up. Philza watches the display for a few seconds before getting bored, choosing to walk past the layer of light wood circling the dojo to take a look inside.

It’s even prettier than the outside, with all the paper lanterns and little fountains and bamboo shoots. His geta clack against the wood, then go silent on the woven straw flooring at the center. “Why’re all the posters in Japanese?” he remarks when his friend comes back from his little mock-tantrum with his daughter in tow, squinting at a crude montage explaining the belts system. Philza can gather that it’s based on how much HP the dojo master has left after a duel, because Étoiles has been yapping about making a dojo with that exact system for months now. (Is that a jar of mayo at the top? The hell?) Guess the eggs returning has been the push in motivation he needed to actually commit to that build, despite his insistence that he is very much a builder now, thank you very much, look at all the wool I have.

Étoiles perks up, grins in a way that lets Phil know he’s about to do a bit. “Oh, you don’t know? You don’t know that I’m literally Japanese, Philza?” he chirps, picking up one of the sticks on display before running circles around the other man, poking at his legs playfully. His boots are off, Phil notices. “Speaking of! Shoes off Phil, come on, come on!”

“You literally told me you grew in a field, mate,” Phil laughs, airy and wheezy and light as he evades the attacks. “The little legume who could! In rural France! Where does Japan come into play here?”

“Aaaah, Philza, Philza,” the warrior shakes his head, hitting the other on the shoulder to push him back out and onto the cold cobble floor. “Shoes off I said, it’s a rule. I don’t want shit on my tatami, I already had to clean it up sooo many times with the whole server fucking around in it yesterday. And Japan lives in my warrior’s soul. It’s all that matters.”

“F’course it does,” Phil complies regardless, shimming out of his geta before walking to the little shoe rack in the corner to tuck them inside. “There. Happy?”

“Very. Also, trivia time, culture time: did you know that cucumbers aren’t legumes? They are fruits, Phil! And vegetables don’t actually exist, they’re all either fruits or roots or leaves or flowers...”

Phil stares at him. “...You don’t get to stand there and tell me my avocados are fruits, Étoiles. What the fuck.”

“Umm, they are berries, actually—”

“Oh fuck off and come kill me already.”

“With pleasure, my bro.”

Armors come off next, quickly magicked back into inventories. Phil walks up to the altars to pick up his own stick (unenchanted, as plain as it gets) and spots Étoiles off to the side, rolling up his sleeve to check on his insulin levels before rolling it back down. “We eat one gapple each, yes? My sugar is low,” he explains as they both get into position on both ends of the tatami.

“Sounds good. You got yours?”

Étoiles laughs, summoning a golden fruit from his inventory and spinning it over his finger like the insufferable showoff he is. “Always. Autofeed off Phil, no cheating.”

“Alright, you little shit,” Phil summons his own gapple and bites into it with purpose, feeling the warm tingle of magic-saturation in his stomach as the rest of the apple vanishes into thin air with a few golden sparkles. He turns to the eggs, settled on top of diamond blocks they’ve just placed. “Tallulah, do a countdown for us please?”

Signs are placed, one by one, as Pomme hypes them up with Megalovania, perfectly timed with the Pigstep now blasting out of a music box. Bomp, three. Bomp, two. Bomp, one…

Bomp. [GO PAPA PHIL :D]

Étoiles shoots off towards him as soon as the letters show up on the wood, jumping up and swinging his stick down for a crit. Phil dashes to the side, the blow just grazing his shoulder. “Nice cock, Phil!” Étoiles gasps, all sharp teeth and waggling eyebrows, and it takes the avian back enough for the other to get a few hits in. “Motherfucker!” Phil laughs, breaking the combo and pushing the cucumber back with a few crits of his own, adrenaline starting to flood his brain and paint the world in sharp edges and colors. “You little shit! Stop doing that!”

“Do what, Philza? I’m just bantering, just chilling.”

Étoiles’ combat style hasn’t changed despite the blindness, Phil finds — he’s insanely precise and quick on his feet, which is a problem. He decides he won’t be able to outrun or out-speed him, so he elects to block most of his strikes with his own stick instead, relying more on instinct than observation. “He’s blocking, he’s blocking,” the warrior’s voice chants through the flurry of swings and the clack of wood against wood. “Strafing, strafing, he’s the best, he’s the GOAT. Hit me, Phil! Don’t just defend, hit me!”

And dammit, Phil tries pretty hard — but Étoiles is insane and he’s just a little too fast even without speedbridging, just a little too smart with his feints. Phil goes down after two minutes, the last hit clocking him across the temple and sending him to the (thankfully a little soft) floor, ears ringing and white stars dancing across his darkening vision. He wonders if it’s a little like how Étoiles sees the world now. Probably not. “Four hearts, Phil,” Étoiles announces, laying his hands on Phil’s side — the pain fades, the world comes back into focus, and his brain rattles with the doom-doom of revival. He hears fireworks going off, probably Pomme’s. “That’s good, very good. That’s a brown belt! I think you can kill me soon, easy. Again?” the cucumber chirps, offering his hand, and Phil thinks that if Étoiles had his tail it would probably be wagging right now.

He groans in agreement, grasps his friend’s hand and is pulled back on his feet. “Yes. Again.”

Round two goes similarly. “Again.” So does round three. “One more.” After his fourth consequential victory, Étoiles looks pensive, and Phil is getting a tad frustrated — he’s muted his comm for this, as he often does, but he can usher a guess at what Global chat looks like, spammed with his half-death messages and maybe a brief bout of concern from whoever else is online at the moment. “Fuck, man,” he rubs at his neck where a particularly vicious strike has left the skin an angry red, molted with purple. He’ll feel that in the morning, if he doesn’t get a respawn. “I don’t think I can do it. No black belt for me.”

“No, no, you can,” Étoiles insists, circling him — dull, greyed out eyes scanning for something. “I think…”

“Looking for something, king? How’s nebula-me looking?”

“Like the GOAT, you know that. But since you ask, you’re more blue today. With some red.”

“Cool. Wish I could see like you do, for a day.”

“You don’t. It’s pretty, but annoying. It’s harder to make out details inside the, ah…” he mumbles something in barely-legible French. “Je sais pas comment on dit. Les contours. The lines at the limits of a drawing.”

“Outlines?”

“Yes. I see the outlines well, but everything inside is messy. To me everything is just, shapes. And the bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it. Eggs are easy, because they are small and simple. People are harder.” He waves towards Phil. “Like, I can’t know if you’re smiling or frowning, I have to listen to how your voice sounds.”

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

Étoiles hums, stops at his side. Cocks his head like an attentive dog. “Ah. You should take your backpack off, Phil. It’s slowing you down.”

Oh. Philza shifts, hesitant. “I wear it all the time, it doesn’t nerf me that much.”

“No, I think it can make a difference. Let’s try it?”

Mh. He hadn’t planned on doing this today. Showing his kids had felt right, natural. Showing Fit had required a few deep breaths, but not much else. Étoiles… is a trickier case.

He does want to show him — the french warrior is one of his most trusted friends, and someone he knows he can rely on in a pinch. The guy is loyal to a fault, always looking at Phil like all it would take for him to lay down his life before him was a single word. It’s a bit scary, in a way, and always makes his hindbrain buzz pleasantly. But Phil held things like mutual trust in high regard, and Étoiles had broken that on the first day of Purgatory.

They had talked since then, and it’s clear to Phil now that it had been an honest mistake, a temporary lapse in judgement. Plus, it’s not as if Phil hadn’t lost his own mind within the first twenty-four hours in that red hellscape. Still, even though he has forgiven Étoiles, the cracks don’t feel completely healed just yet. “I don’t know, mate,” he pulls at one of the straps of his backpack self-consciously, feeling its weight pressing his wings tightly against his back. “I can’t get you under four hearts, I doubt taking it off will give me that much more.”

“Phil. Phiiiiil. Trust me?”

Tall order, Phil almost jokes, but refrains. “I do trust you.”

“Then trust what I’m saying. I know my shit, you’re being slowed down, you can’t spin as fast or jump as high with this thing, it’s basic physics. I want you to have all the chance on your side.”

Philza purses his lips, glances to where Tallulah sits off to the side. She jumps to her little feet and places down a sign, while Pomme rummages through her backpack next to her. He can’t help but coo when the bright ‘<3’ shows up in stark white against the magenta wood. “Right. Okay.”

Étoiles can’t see, not normally. So maybe he won’t be able to make them out, bound tightly against his back as they are. And if he does, then that is fine. No need to make a fuss of it. So Philza walks up to Tallulah and drops the black pack next to her, giving her a little headpat in passing. “Watch over that for me, okay?” he smiles at her, and she peeps at him with purpose, jumping on top of it and doing the egg equivalent of puffing up her chest. Pomme is in her own red backpack now, little legs kicking the air as she reaches as deep as she can. silly, egg, baby, egg, he croons. “I’ll be right back. Got a green ass to kick.”

“He is back,” Étoiles whoops when he steps onto the tatami. “Oh, he is ready, so ready. Are you full hearts?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We go on three, one, two, th—”

Phil takes off at the first syllable, and oh, yeah, the lack of weight on his back means he can lean forward more without gravity winning, and that means he reaches Étoiles right as he reaches the end of his three. He thrusts his stick forward, the blunt tip digging itself right into the other’s abdomen with enough force to make him stumble back, winded and sputtering. “Argh—”

Phil doesn’t let him recover, getting a few good hits in before his opponent parries and attempts an upward swing that he barely evades by sending his body backwards, dangerously far. The weapon grazes his chin, and his wings try to open to regain balance but they’re still bound against him. “Shit—” he steps back quickly, arms pinwheeling, and it looks a little silly but it works, and he does not crash onto his back like an idiot.

Étoiles stares at him from the other side, breathing hard, eyes wide, a palm against his diaphragm. Then he smiles. “Oh. Ohohooo. Okay, now we’re talking. Let’s go.”

Moving more freely doesn’t make the fight easier, not by a long shot, because Étoiles adapts quickly — but it does make it more fun, and that’s already an improvement in Phil’s eyes. He gets less crits in, because jumping up leaves him too exposed to revenge strikes, but he gets more light hits in between sidesteps and mad dashes. “He is so fast!” Étoiles cheers, ducking to dodge a vicious strike to the head. “Oh, he is so good, go Phil go!”

Run, dodge, strike, strafe, dash. Every muscle in Phil’s body strains to keep up as he pushes it past its limits, arm aching from the repeated shocks against the stick, but he barely feels it thanks to the adrenaline flooding his system. A hit to the back of his knee makes him stumble, but he recovers into a roll and trips Étoiles with his stick in retaliation. The cucumber groans, scrambles to get up, and Phil sees an opening right there on his foes’ unprotected throat. He zeroes in on it, takes the first step, raises his weapon and—

There’s a jagged shape in his peripheral vision.

He falters. Tries not to look at it, tries to keep his eyes on target, target that’s about to get back up, quick, quick, do it.

There’s a purple shape in his peripheral vision.

He fails. Sharp angles and eerie glow, that shade he’s come to dread. The amethyst crystals hum out their ethereal song, taunting him. He doesn’t see Étoiles anymore, and his world is drowning in high-pitched static.

Purple. Purple everywhere. The room is too dark, too dark, darker yet darker.

Time slows down. No. The edges of his vision are fraying, dark tendrils creeping in. He feels himself falter, adrenaline making way for cortisol and making his hindbrain, no, fly, fly, run, nonono. He’s losing his footing, his grip around the stick growing slack, palms getting clammy. No, no, not now, please. His breathing picks up, faster than it’s been at any point of this duel. The amethysts glow an eerie violet, jagged shapes growing out of the thick, wooden beams around him, and he swears the room has gotten even darker. “Tallu—” He doesn’t make it to the end of the name, because then something smacks him in the back with unrestrained force.

Right on his left ulnare, the wingbone left exposed with no fat or muscle to cushion the blow.

Pain explodes throughout his left wing, the shock propagating all the way into his back and making him yell out, a gasp-screech that is very not human. Tallulah peeps loudly somewhere at the edge of his awareness, papa, no, bad! as he falls to his hands and knees, panic spiking, bad, bad, hurts, getoutgetout—

“Oh merde! Phil, ça va ?” He hears glass breaking, smells melon and gunpowder and something both earthy and spicy — Nether wart. Étoiles is healing him, putting a stop to their duel, and the realisation drags him out of that weird fugue state. “You never made that sound before, I think it’s bad. Are you okay?”

“Amethyst,” the older man growls between clenched teeth, letting the potion effects refill his health bar — fuck. Pain signals were always limited during PvP, but this had somehow broken through the server’s capping function. Étoiles makes a noise of incomprehension, his hands just hovering over Phil’s shoulder, not quite touching. “What?” he says, and Phil hears the patter of little feet rapidly coming closer. Pomme and Lullah.

“Please, just... Can you see the amethyst?”

He doesn’t know why he’s asking, of course his friend can’t see it, because that shit isn’t real. Or at least not to anyone but him. Through the haze he can feel Tallulah’s warm shell bump against his arm, hear her little worried chitters. He doesn’t trust himself to tell her he’s fine.

But then, Étoiles raises an eyebrow and turns his head towards the wall, blinks. A frustrated noise. “Euuuh Pomme, je t’adore hein, mais ça va pas trop avec le reste en fait. Tu peux les retirer steuplait ?” Pomme crouches, one-two, then summons a pickaxe and walks towards the crystals, and proceeds to casually break all of them.

Oh. Her backpack, all her rummaging. She’d been trying to decorate the dojo while they were busy sparring.

Philza lets out an uneven breath, runs a hand through his hair — his forehead is damp with cold sweat, and it sucks. Okay. Okay. Real, then. Just a really, really bad coincidence. Bad timing. Bad everything. He lets out a breath, the tight coil in his chest slowly loosening. “I’m sorry Pomme,” he gives the little egg a smile that he hopes to the Gods isn’t shaky. “Got distracted by the shiny, you know how it goes. Crow brain go brrrrr.”

Pomme falls dramatically on the floor at that, places a red sign that reads [sorry ;_;] “You’re good, you’re good, don’t worry.” Tallulah places a flower next to Pomme, bomp, [RIP manzanita]. Phil chuckles at their antics, heartbeat slowing down to a more normal pace. Jesus Christ. “You like shiny things, Phil?” Étoiles asks. “Did not know that.” He looks around, scans the dojo for any stray shine. “Mmmh. All good, I think. Sorry about Pomme, she likes amethyst stuff.” Then, quieter, “I think it reminds her of Baghera. She has an amethyst farm in her castle.”

Oh. Phil glances at Pomme, who thankfully seems fully absorbed in a sign-based conversation with Tallulah. “That makes sense. She must miss her a lot.”

(Dad, are you proud of me? I just killed a silverfish.)

“Can I see your wings, Phil?”

And, there it is. The other shoe. Phil lets out a heavy sigh, wincing when the movement makes his joint twinge in lingering pain — he’s pretty sure nothing’s actually broken or sprained, at least not any worse than before, but it still hurts. “So you saw them.”

“No no, I can’t. But I know they are there, somewhere. I’m sorry I hit them, I can’t tell where they are if you don’t have them out. Told you it was annoying.”

Ah. That makes more sense. He doubts Étoiles would voluntarily target them. Still… “How do you know about them? And, why?

“Philza, you need to understand something. And the thing is, I’m really dumb. I want to see them because maybe I can help, if I hurt them. I fix.”

“No you’re not, stop that. And you didn’t do any permanent damage, you’re fine.”

“No, wait. I’m stupid with lore, but I have eyes and ears. Jaiden showed she had wings, pretty sure Baghera has some but she hides them, I assumed you were the same.” Ah. Fair enough. Phil hasn’t been as subtle lately, and the crow jokes could only go for so long before people started to pick up on how literal they were. “Also, Kristin told me.”

Wait, what. “Wait, what?”

“Ye ye. First day of Purgatory, I died a lot. She said she wanted to exchange fofoca, so I told her about things, and she told me about you because she likes me. Did you know, I asked her if I could get wings too? It made her laugh. I guess tech support is not a high enough position to get flying benefits, sad times for me.”

Mother fucker. It’s hard to be upset when everything that spews out of Étoiles’ chattermouth is so consistently funny. “Well. I would’ve told you sooner than later, anyway. S’fine.”

“So you let me help.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll let you take a look, if that’ll make you feel better about it.”

“Let’s goooo, we got trust. Sit down please?”

Phil snorts and complies. He spots Tallulah running back towards him to climb onto his lap with a quiet warbe. good? Phil warbles back, good, yesyes, and rests his chin on top of his egg’s soft locks of hair. He hears Pomme hitting her dad behind him. “Ouais Pomme ?” Bomp, a short silence. “Badboy est là ? Ah ouaaais. Il veut encore t’exploiter pour ses boutons de l’enfer là ? POV, tu aides le fou du QSMP avec son escape game pour pas qu’il te tue.” More hits, Pomme’s little click-chirps. Étoiles laughs. “Okay, okay, t’inquiètes. Va l’aider, moi et Phil on va parler de trucs chiants de toute façon. Je te vois plus tard ?” The sound of a warpstone going off. “Saluuut.”

“Is Pomme leaving?”

“Yeah, she wants to build stuff with Badboy.”

“Oh god. Please tell me it’s not another find-the-button map.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna spend ten hours finding those fucking things again soon, let’s gooooo. So your wings, who else knows? I bet Fit knows. And your eggs.” Tallulah nods in Phil’s hold.

Étoiles’ lack of big reaction feels nice, but he supposes he should have expected it — the guy never makes a big deal out of anything. Except when it’s about banned materials. Or the Nether. And finding buttons, new trigger unlocked. “Add in pretty much everyone in the original Bolas, king,” he huffs as Étoiles settles behind him. His unseen presence makes a brief shiver of danger, danger go up Phil’s spine. It’s fine. It’s fine, he soothes himself, idly rubbing at the scar at the center of his chest through his robe. “I lost my shit with them around. Stopped caring as much. They saw them on day one.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Half the people on this shit island are like, creatures. Not humans. Nobody cares. I’m literally a fruit, Phil.”

Phil chokes on his own spit. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea how funny what you just said was.” Tallulah chirps and wiggles in his hold, places a sign. [*side-eyes u*] it says, and that’s somehow even funnier than if she had actual eyes to side-eye people with instead of the blank expanse of her brown-spotted shell.

Étoiles blinks. He cocks his head to the side, in that specific way he does whenever he’s listening to what he calls the ‘voices of the stars’. (Something akin to his crows, from what the older man has been able to gather.) “Oooh. Oh, is it a gay joke Phil? That doesn’t work man, we are on Gay Island, everyone is gay here, or they don’t date at all. And you are incorrect, because I am in the second group, héhé.”

“Didn’t Antoine call you his boyfriend once?”

“He calls me a lot of things.” Étoiles shrugs. ”He’s also an asshole and my DJ partner and my friend and I love him very much, but no, it’s not like that. And I am married to dark metal and dungeons anyway. Now I’m going to unbind your wings and move them around, okay?”

“Mh. Go for it, king.”

To his credit, Étoiles is methodic in his approach — unknotting the binds and carefully tracing the upper edges of his left wing while the other spreads out with difficulty, a few black feathers coming loose. Étoiles lets out a surprised oh, gently grabs the other to help it unfurl, and Phil feels him poking at the bottom of his regrowing primaries — right where the white ones, usually hidden beneath the outer layer unless he spreads them wide, grow in diamond-like spots. “I know this pattern, right there. You have Elytrian code too, Phil? I thought it was just crow.”

“Ah, so Kristin didn’t tell you everything then.”

“No. And she didn’t like, out you, you know. She only told me because she knew I knew, she only confirmed it. People with wings have like, a way they move? I can’t explain it, I just see it.”

“Body language expert Étoiles, ey? Have you known a lot of avians before?”

Étoiles stays quiet for a second. When he speaks again, he sounds perplexed. “Huh. I don’t know. I guess I knew Baghera? Memory stuff, it’s annoying.”

Phil frowns. Right. “You told me a little about your childhood, though. The village, the farmers?”

“Yeah, that’s a thing that came back quickly after the crash. But everything after that, I don’t remember.”

“Man, fuck this island. I’m sorry.”

Étoiles hums. His fingers start combing through his bottom feathers, lingering among the white ones. “I think. I think I went to the End before, Phil.” His voice has gone softer, airy, like he’s not quite anchored in the present. “I think… maybe, I’ve seen Elytrians before.”

“You have?”

“Mmh. I think I killed one. Yeah. And I took its elytra. It was a good fight.”

The revelation doesn’t shock him — Elytrian hunting is a common activity for those who reach the End, and elytras are a highly sought-after item in most worlds. (Philza would know.) “Were you a hunter? Before the island.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t like hunters.” And Phil can’t see Étoile’s face from his position on the floor, but his words are dripping with contempt. “Hunting for yourself is one thing. Making money off it, it feels wrong. And they don’t even fight, they make traps. I don’t like that. If you’re too shit at fighting to win fairly against something, you don’t deserve the loot. Bâtards de merde.”

And Phil laughs, because this he understands. “Ever the honorable warrior, aren’t you Étoiles.”

“Dude, I have so much honor. I told you, I’m literally Japanese.”

“Right.”

“And like I said, I am your arms. I am your sword, Philza Minecraft.”

Phil’s wings fluff up slightly, a croon of ownership-claim threatening to spill out of his chest. Mine. “Étoiles…”

“I am, it’s not a bad thing! Purgatory sucked. I didn’t like it. But it was better at the end, when you were telling me what to do. Who to kill for you.”

Phil croons, leaning back into Étoiles’ careful hands. “I see. You never called me dad though.”

“Fuck that!” Étoiles laughs, bark-like and airy. “That cult leader shit was weird. You’re Philza.” And there’s a quality to the way he says it, something that feels both casual and reverent. “First of his name, GOAT of PvP, Avoider of Lore, greatest man alive—”

“Woah there—”

“—husband and Angel of Lady Death, and father of dragon eggs. You’re not my dad. Why everyone has daddy issues on this shit island?”

Phil snorts. “I don’t know, mate. But I won’t judge. I think it’s fine if seeing me as a father figure brought them comfort. It was literally hell out there.”

Étoiles hums. “Maybe. Also, you didn’t answer my question.” Phil lets out a confused huh. “Earlier, when I asked why you were hiding that you had wings.”

…Shit. Curse Étoiles’ one-track mind, his deflection tactic had been foiled. “It’s not— shit like prejudice I was afraid of, Étoiles,” he admits, quiet and somber. The other man stops his ministrations, fingers dug deep in his primary coverts. “I know this island is a goddamn circus show. Mousey screams she’s a demon to whoever will listen and nobody gives two shits, I don’t know why Bad even bothers pretending he’s not. That’s not the problem. It’s just…” He sighs. ”The Federation has eyes everywhere, man. I feel like if I show them off too much, they’ll fuck them up again. Maybe even worse than last time.”

Étoiles is silent. His motions resume, slower, more careful and deliberate. “The first time, you say,” he eventually hums. There’s something dangerous in his voice. “So it’s because of them, that they are like this? Your wings.”

“Pretty much. Woke up on the train, boom, clipped. No more flying for me. I don’t know why they didn’t do the same to Jaiden, she said she didn’t want to fly, or didn’t know how? I can’t remember too well, but maybe that’s why. Less of a threat. Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t do it to her. She’s family now.” Even though her loyalties are a point of concern, he couldn’t help it. She is Bolas, she is flock. And he had held her as she screamed out the temporary loss of her shiny blue wings, that first night in Purgatory. “No avian deserves that shit.”

“You don’t either, Phil.”

“I know that.”

“I’m just saying it because you have the voice! The one you use when you think bad things.”

A wry smile. “How dare you call yourself dumb, man. How fucking dare you.”

“It’s what I do! I kill things, I see people’s true souls, and I shit on myself.”

They stay quiet after that. Étoiles stretches out his wings, flexing the joints one at a time, muttering quick apologies when Phil hisses a little too loud. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You’re good. Keep going.” So he does, until Phil no longer feels the pins and needles of blood flooding back into his wings, until the joints no longer feel like rusted cogs. He even gets a little preening in, dislodging matted down and crooked secondaries, and it feels nice. Tallulah is dozing off in his hold, warm and safe. His egg, his baby, his hatchling. “Thanks mate,” Phil hums, a little out of it by the end, hindbrain thrumming pleasantly. Flock, good, yesyes. “You’ve done that before, I can tell.”

“If I have, I don’t remember. Okay, now stand— sorry Tallulah, were you sleeping? Sorry, your dad has to stand so we can see. Yes, nice. Now try them.”

Phil chitters quietly, furling and unfurling his wings experimentally — the constant pain is still there, but minimal, very bearable, and they do feel less stuffy. Lighter. “It actually does, yeah.” Tallulah does a little dance at his side, twirling and playing a few cheery notes on her flute. “Good job, seriously.”

“No probleeeem, Phil, my bro. Last round?”

This guy, I swear. “I’m a little tired,” Phil groans, cracking his neck as he stands, stretches his wings out as far as he can — it still aches, but feels miles better. “But okay. I’m going to put Tallulah to bed real quick, she’s eepy.” Tallulah nods in confirmation, takes out her warpstone right as her papa does. “Then let’s fight, one more time. After that I’m going home and conking the fuck out.”

Étoiles makes a sound that probably means something like ‘holy shit say less king’. “Okay!”

Five minutes later, and he’s warping back to Étoiles’ cave like a man on a mission. And in a way, he is. “Welcome back, worthy challenger,” the cucumber greets him, crossed-legged in the middle of the dojo, and Phil snorts because the music box is blasting Smash Bros music now. “You’re such a fucking nerd, oh my God.”

“It gives me strength, Phil. It’s my final form.” Étoiles gets up, stick already in hand, bouncing on his heels with anticipation. “Autofeed still off?”

“Yup. How’s your sugar?” Étoiles checks his monitor quickly, gives a thumbs up. “Good. No holding back?”

“I never hold back, Phil. Let’s go.”

There is no countdown this time — both opponents slip into quiet assessment, circling each other slowly, slowly. Étoiles does a strange head-tilt, ears flicking to track Phil’s footsteps, the sounds of feathers ruffling. Phil’s eyes do not stray from him, hardened and focused, picking up on the change in the air. Étoiles wants him to go all out. So he will. And he has a plan.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

Time to put that to the test, then.

Étoiles charges first this time, quick-footed, swerving at random moments to keep himself a hard-to-track target. Phil almost bursts into incredulous laughter because holy shit, he’s Naruto-running, what the fuck— but manages to keep his focus, waiting until the very last moment to thrust his wings downward with enough force to send him soaring abovehis opponent. Then, right as his feet touch the tatami and right as Étoiles screeches to a stop to spin back towards him

he spreads his wings

wide, wider

casting huge shadows on the four walls of the dojo

and lets his powers roll off of him like a dark mist, sparking with magic and wither-decay.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

It’s a gamble, a costly one that saps his Feds-capped magic like crazy — but it pays off, because Étoiles staggers back, confusion etched across his features. His head subtly snaps in all directions, like he doesn’t know where to look, his ears swivelling to try and pinpoint him. Bingo. Phil has made his nebula-self big, toobig for Étoiles, rendering the warrior effectively blind. Well, double-blind.

Phil doesn’t wait for the other to find a counter to this, curls his wings forward then snaps them back — they launch him forward at breakneck speed and create a gust of wind that makes the paper lanterns swing on their hooks, and then Phil is slamming into Étoiles like a literal hurricane.

The plant hybrid gasps, fingers slackening from the sheer strength of the impact — his weapon slips out of his grasp to clatter against the ground and roll out of bounds. His body describes a perfect curve and hits the wooden floor with a loud thud. He barely has the time to blink the dizziness away before something presses against the side of his neck, and he freezes completely. “Gotcha,” Phil preens, looming above him. The end of his stick is right against Étoiles’ pulse point, the threat crystal clear, and he’s a writhing mass of burning stars and cosmic fury.

The energy rolling off of him washes over Étoiles in waves, makes his skin tingle, and he recognizes it as withering. Withering coming from Philza himself, whose outlines are impossible to pinpoint, lost in the cloud of magic and giant Angel wings.

...Okay, this is sick as hell, Étoiles thinks, and he can feel somethingwithin him grow, a presence rejoicing in the back of his mind. Ink bleeds into his eyes, then under it, twin lines of darkness going down his cheeks and neck. (Flashes of a white spiral on a dark expanse, of whispers and stolen Time.) He feels cold, but he feels good about it, and he’s not scared at all — this is fine, more than fine. Withering is harmless for Death-touched things. Things like him and Phil. He laughs, loud and ecstatic, this is fun, so fun! “Aaah. Clever bird, clever Phil, I like. Okay.”

Then something wraps around Phil’s ankle and pulls it forward, breaking his balance and making him hit the ground ass-first with a startled caw. He grits his teeth, shoots a glare towards his leg to see—

—blinks at the sight of a green vine wrapped around his ankle. His eyes trace along its length. He’s seen this before, but only once, months ago. Right after harvesting a freshly-regrown Étoiles out of the ground, a week after his Code-related demise. “Oh,” Philza says, and Étoiles smirks in return.

His tail is long, as long as he is tall, and covered in large, healthy green leaves. It swishes against the tatami in a serpentine motion, the leaves rustling quietly, and Phil notices a half-star-shaped kink at the end of it. It’s... well, it’s pretty adorable actually, but something tells him Étoiles wouldn’t like that descriptor. “You kept it,” he says instead, fight-darkened eyes sparkling with something like kinship-euphoria. “You grew it out.”

“I did, I listened to you. I keep it wrapped around my waist, it works.”

“Told you it could come in handy.”

“You did. You’re always right about things, Philza.” Étoiles steps into a fighting stance, hands curled into fists, tail lashing left and right like a whip. Phil understands, lets out a quiet chuckle as he sends his own weapon flying out of the arena. So they’re doing it this way, huh. More than fine with him. “Nothing’s off the table then,” he hums, hands curling like claws at his sides, sharpening talons glinting ominously in the light of paper lanterns. His friend hums approvingly, and it’s all Phil needs to pounce.

They no longer try to evade, instead crashing into each other to cause as much damage as quickly as possible. Étoiles throws a jab, Phil retaliates with a smack of his wing to destabilise the other before slashing at his chest, tearing at his shirt and drawing the first blood. Because yes, Étoiles bleeds, deep cuts marring his dark green skin, chlorophyll sticking to Phil’s hands. Étoiles hisses, gets behind him and wraps his tail around Phil’s throat to choke him. Phil gasps, coughs, briefly flails before smacking the other with his wings until the tail goes slack. Phil rips it off him and whirls around to pull at it sharply — Étoiles falls, but not before grabbing onto Phil’s robes to pull him down with him.

Things get messy after that — a flurry of feathers and leaves and punches and kicks, one that clocks Phil in the jaw and makes him taste blood, one at the side of his head that makes him see stars. He hisses, screeches, swipes, again and again, and Étoiles blocks some of them with his arms, arms that gain more and more tiger-stripe cuts, but many go through and eat at his health, heart after heart. The warrior retaliates with a headbutt that makes the Angel’s world darken for a second, burning blood getting into his eyes and half-blinding him. Maybe it’s more fair this way, not that it slows him down at all.

They punch, claw, snap their teeth at each other like rabid dogs — chipping at each other’s health with no care, no limits. Dark red and greenish white smear against the straw tatami, but that’s fine, that’s okay, they are playing, they are having fun, and Philza feels alive, alive, alive!

(The whole time, Étoiles never touches his wings. Which goes against the whole ‘nothing off the table’ thing, yet Philza is grateful for it. He’s also grateful none of the eggs are here to see this.)

Philza has no idea how long this lasts, lost in the thrill of a fight the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in decades. But eventually the doom of someone getting downed makes every muscle in his body lock up, and he’s still standing. Or, kneeling over Étoiles with his talons right above his jugular, the other hand pinning the warrior’s hands above his head to keep him from hitting back. Semantics.

Étoiles has gone limp, heaving, his body a canvas of bruises and bloody cuts. “I win,” Phil realizes, wings quivering, all fluffed up in a show of victory. “I… won.”

“Well played, well played,” his warrior wheezes out in response, and Phil’s never seen anyone so happy about getting their shit kicked. Except maybe one person. But he won, Phil won, Étoiles is down and he himself still has… yes, two hearts to spare. He has won. They can stop. Right here. Right now.

But then. Étoiles, stupid and crazy and wonderful Étoiles, tilts his head back to offer him his throat, his binary-scarred face twisted in a feral grin. Philza gasps and leans back a little, eyes wide “Take your win, my bro,” he chirps, happy as can be, tail thumping against the tatami like an overpet cat. Tap, tap, tap, the countdown to his demise if Phil doesn’t up him soon. “Do it. You won’t. No balls, no bolas.”

And those words are the last push Phil needs for his Elytrian code to take over. He bares his teeth, eyes darkening to a pitch black that eats up his entire sclera, until the white of Étoiles’ teeth gets reflected back at him — not that he can see it.

Phil’s wings spread out behind him, huge and dark and awe-inspiring even in their frayed state, and the withering aura that exudes from them paints Étoiles’ eternal night in bursts of star-speckled purples and reds and blues.

It’s beautiful. And it’s terrifying. Étoiles is about to get killed by an Angel of Death, and he’s never been so goddamn scared and excited in his life.

Phil feels insane. He’s going feral, going sicko mode, or whatever other colloquialism that means his mind is drowning in the thrill of hunt, hunt, prey, yesyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Étoiles scared before, but there’s no mistaking those too-wide eyes, that subtle tremor in his friend’s wrists as Phil’s hand tightens around them. He can smell it too, like cut grass left to decay in the hot sun, and it’s making the End’s superpredator in him go zoomies inside his skull.

He growls, low and bone-deep and dangerous, his talons pushing harder against the paling, sweat-damp skin of Étoiles’ neck. prey? flock. prey. prey? kill, eat, yesyes. Étoiles isn’t human, but he has something close to a heart, and he bleeds like one — greenish white chlorophyll that smells strong and tastes awful, bitter.

(Phil knows that, because Purgatory happened. More specifically, Bolas happened, gas masks and ritual sacrifices and fresh blood always lingering at the corner of their mouths. He misses his flock — misses all the ones that are still gone, carving cookie-cutter negative shapes in his heart — everything else about that hellscape, not so much anymore. Maybe he’s healing, just a little.)

His talons are just a hair away from perforating Étoiles’ jugular, so close to making not-quite-blood pour out like a fountain. But then he freezes, going silent, because the part of him that is still sane recognizes that this is a terrible idea.

It’s a terrible idea because Étoiles is bad at knowing when to stop, bad at spotting the line between what challenges him and what hurts him. And Philza understands that this, this is a bad. The cucumber hybrid is a creature of instants — fugue moments, rash decisions, the kind you would look back on later and go oh, yeah, that was dumb and maybe not worth it. Hence Philza has to be the responsible one, has to ignore his base instincts screeching at him to hunt, kill, kill, lest this ends badly. Like Étoiles getting mauled to death by what is supposed to be his most trusted friend. Again. (They don’t talk about that time. Just like they don’t talk about Étoiles’ betrayal, neither want to reminisce over Phil’s teeth tearing his throat out in the middle of a Hunger disaster. Not-so-fun fact: Étoiles doesn’t taste like cucumber at all.)

“Enabler,” the avian warbles, talons slowly lifting off the hollow of Étoiles’ throat. “M’not killing you.” And Étoiles, like the little shit that he is, has the gallto pout at him. “Why not?”

“Because then I’ll have to regrow your ass in my potato field for a week, you twat.” Also I think it’s not good for you, and my sanity is at an all-time low so I don’t need cold-blooded murder to push me over the edge, he adds in petto.

Étoiles blinks. Huffs out a laugh, something a little unhinged, but also a little relieved. “Ah, yeah! I forgot, because I respawned normally in Purgatory. Okay, you win.” The warrior’s smile softens to something more like him, and just like that, the tension vanishes, the buzz of fear and aggression replaced by something light and playful. Étoiles baps his hands against his chest, grabbing at his robe to tug him down into a hug.

And Philza’s hindbrain floods the rest of him with happy, happy, yesyes, because Étoiles isn’t really a touchy-feely person and neither is Phil, but this feels right. “GGs,” the crow says back, warbling and chirping like crazy, the black in his eyes receding. yesyes, mine, mine, yesyes, yesyes! And to his surprise, Étoiles responds, not with a crude imitation of his own bird sounds, but with something… different. And Phil’s not sure any word in his vocab could ever describe it accurately — but something deep within him knows that if starlight was a sound, this would certainly be it. “Oh, oh, he is so good. The GOAT, the actual GOAT, best man on the planet Philza Minecraft,” Étoiles mock-sobs against him. “He wakes up in the morning casually being the best, and he takes care of two eggs and says fuck to the president’s office from the wall, and he finally beats me. My legend, Felipe, Felipe!”

Phil shakes from the force of his hilarity — a regular occurrence whenever he hangs around his favourite pickle man for long enough. silly, he warbles between fits of belly-aching, hiccup-inducing laughter, and he leans down to nuzzle against his friend’s mess of dark green hair (leaves?). silly. silly. flock. “I do see Forever wave at me from his office sometimes,” he hums, once he’s calmed down enough to speak again. “He makes kissy faces at me through the glass, so I flip him off.”

Étoiles hums in acceptance, finally pushes Phil back to shimmy out from under him with a small héhé to lay on his back, starfish-style. Phil rolls onto his own back, and they both stare at the interlacing wooden beams of the dojo roof for a little while, basking in the fuzz of a fading adrenaline rush.

(Phil hasn’t seen his favourite Brazilian as much lately. Silly, sun, friend-protector. He probably has his hands full, what with returning to his political duties after so long. Still, Philza worries — he thinks of black tar clinging to sun-kissed skin and tired sienna eyes, above a smile that just doesn’t shine as bright as it used to.) “I kinda like it, though. It’s like our good morning. Never tell him I said that.”

“I wooooon’t, I promise.”

“Thank you. For the fights.” Philza closes his eyes. He is here, he is real, everything about this moment is so real. It’s comforting, a balm on his fraying psyche. “It was fun.”

“It was so fun. Please fight with me again like this sometime, no sticks, yes? You have to come back so I give you your black belt anyway.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“I can hear you smiling, Phil. You want to, I knowww.”

“M’not smiling at all, dumbass.”

Étoiles does that high-pitched hum of his that means he’s not buying it, reaches towards his friend — his leader, his wielder, his death-touched Angel. Cool fingers, untouched by code, playfully trace over each of Philza’s features, feeling out the dimples and the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes — pun very much intended. “You’re so bad at lying, Philza,” he sing-songs, playful and content. “I know you too well. Maybe I can’t see you, but I can see you.”

And goddammit, Philza actually does feel seen in this moment, anxieties melting away for now. How does he do it. How does this reckless, thrill-seeking cucumber man with a limited (albeit pretty good, and improving) grasp on English so consistently drop the most gut-punching lines in this entire server. Étoiles is something else. “...Yeah. I see you too, mate,” Phil breathes out, and the rough texture of the tatami is starting to dig criss-cross patterns into his back, but he wants to stay like this. Just a little longer.

(Philza is damaged goods. But so is Étoiles, and so is everyone he knows. But maybe they can both pretend, for a little while.)

#qsmp #qsmp fic #fanfic #philza #étoiles #codebreakers #commission

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t-305tv · 6 months

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Can you do one where there is couple competition and Beck enders him and Jade there thinking they are going to win but in the end they loose badly because beck literally knows nothing about jade and Tori and Andre win as they got entered accidentally. Beck and Jade get into a fight cuz they lost (mostly beck is screaming at jade while Jade just makes shandy comments about beck knowing nothing about her and him treating her like shit then say that André knows her better than beck and beck and André know jade for the same amount of time and that hell even Tori knows Jade better than Beck and Tori knows Jade less than Beck.) Ends with Jade forcing tori to go on a date as Jade lies to tori to come and keep her company since she doesn't want anyone cool to see her like this. pls.

Beck confidently smiled at Jade as they walked into the competition room for Karaoke Club's annual Couple's Competition. They had been dating for years, he knew Jade better than anyone. There was no way they could lose.

Beck and Jade were sure they had this couple's competition in the bag. After years of dating, they knew each other inside and out. But little did Beck know that Jade had been keeping a secret - she wasn't as well versed in his interests as he thought.

The first round was a questionnaire - each couple had to answer questions about their partner. Beck shrugged, this would be easy. But as the host read off question after question about Jade's favorite things, dreams, and history, Beck froze. He realized with horror he didn't actually know the answers. He glanced at Jade helplessly, but she just glared in response.

The host reads the first question: "What is your partner's favorite movie genre?"

Beck hesitates, forgetting if Jade prefers dark dramas or horror films the most. "Uh, something artsy?"

Jade glares daggers at him.

Meanwhile, Tori excitedly shouts "Musicals!" at the same time Andre answers "Musicals". They high five, already gaining points.

Next question: "What food does your partner hate the most?"

Beck racks his brain but draws a blank. "Uh, salads?"

Jade rolls her eyes so hard it looks painful.

Andre barely lets the host finish before answering "Coconut" at the same exact moment Tori says "Coconut!". They laugh, clearly in sync.

The host reads "What is the name of your partner's childhood stuffed animal?"

Beck's face falls, he has no idea. "Pony...no, Teddy? Hmm..."

Jade lets out an exasperated sigh.

Without missing a beat, Tori and Andre simultaneously respond to the easy question for them: "Mr. Purple!"

It's clear to the audience which couple actually knows each other, as Beck and Jade's answers continue to be way off mark. Their friends Tori and Andre are in perfect rhythm, cementing their victory with every perfectly aligned response.

For the next part of the competition, the host announces it's time for the couples to show their chemistry. Each pair must participate in a classic Newlywed Game-style question round.

Beck gulps nervously as the host reads the first question: "Who initiated your first kiss?"

He wracks his brain trying to remember, but in a panic blurts out "Me!" Jade's furious retort of "No it wasn't, idiot!" confirms he was wrong.

Meanwhile, Tori grins at Andre as they simultaneously tap their chins, remembering fondly. "It was when we were cast as leads in play ," they chorus together accurately.

The next question doesn't fare much better for Beck and Jade: "What is your partner's dream vacation spot?"

Beck stammers, "Uh, Paris?"

Rolling her eyes, Jade growls "No, you moron."

Andre smiles knowingly at Tori. "Japan to see the cherry blossoms," they say as one, beaming at their own right answer.

It's clear Beck doesn't stand a chance at this game. While Tori and Andre keep acing question after question, perfectly in sync, Beck and Jade can barely manage a single right response between them. They have no chemistry left - just resentment. Andre and Tori will easily snatch the victory.

For the final round, thehost announces it's time for the couples to serenade each other. Beck internally panics - he has no song prepared to express how he truly feels about Jade.

On the spot, he launches into a cheesy rendition of "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Ashley. Jade scoffs at his generic choice and obviously false claims of deep understanding in the lyrics.

When it's Tori and Andre's turn, they share a smile. Andre begins to beatbox a familiar rhythm as Tori's warm voice fills the room with their original song "Tell Me That You Love Me".

The lyrics tell the story of their friendship turned romance, inside jokes woven in that have the audience laughing and awing. It's a heartfelt personal anthem only they could sing for each other.

When they finish, the crowd erupts into the loudest applause of the night. It's clear Tori and Andre have taken home the grand prize through talent, trust and true intimacy.

Beck tries to catch Jade's eyes, but she's already turned away, no longer interested in what he has to say. Their relationship faces an uncertain future after this failure to understand each other. In the end, Tori and Andre proved to be the ultimate victors.

The tension in the room was palpable as the couple competition drew to a close. Beck and Jade had entered the contest with high hopes, confident in their ability to prove that they were the ultimate power couple. But as the final scores were tallied, it became painfully clear that their confidence had been sorely misplaced.

"And the winners are... Andre and Tori!" the announcer declared, as the crowd erupted into cheers.

Beck's jaw dropped in disbelief, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the victorious couple. "This is impossible," he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.

Beside him, Jade folded her arms across her chest, her expression a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Face it, Beck. We lost fair and square," she remarked, her tone laced with sarcasm.

As the applause for Tori and Andre dies down, Beck turns to Jade, anger and embarrassment taking over his frustration bubbling over into anger. "This is all your fault!" he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger in her direction.

Jade raises an eyebrow. "My fault? You're the one who knew nothing about me."

"I'm your boyfriend, you should be an open book!" Beck shoots back.

Jade laughs bitterly. "Boyfriend? Please. You treat me like crap and don't even bother to learn a single thing in the years we've been together."

Beck scoffs. "That's not true, I know you better than anyone."

At that, Jade sees red. "Are you kidding? Andre there has known me just as long but he can rattle off my favorite color without even trying."

"And even little Miss Perfect Tori over there knows me better than you do. And she's only known me half as long as you," Jade spits venomously.

Beck is at a loss for words. Deep down, he knows she's right.

Jade fixes him with a cold glare. "Why don't you go be 'boyfriend of the year' to one of your mindless drones who'll worship you no questions asked. We're done."

She storms away, leaving Beck alone with nothing but the sinking realisation that he never truly knew the girl he called his girlfriend at all.

"That can't be true," Beck insisted stubbornly. "There's no way Tori and Andre know Jade better than I do."

Jade snorted derisively. "Wanna bet? Ask them anything, I guarantee they'll know the answers."

She strode over to where Tori and Andre were celebrating their win. "Hey Vega, Andre, prove to Beck here that you know me better."

Andre smiled confidently. "Lay it on us man, we got this."

Beck racked his brain for a question even he should know. "Okay, what's Jade's least favorite class?"

"Math," Tori answered immediately.

Jade nodded in confirmation. Beck looked unsure.

"Middle name?" Andre challenged.

"Alexis," Tori and Andre said together.

Beck frowned, not knowing that one.

"First concert she ever went to?" Tori prompted.

"The Scissors Sisters," Andre replied smoothly.

Jade smirked, further proving their point. Beck was floundering.

"Alright fine, you two clearly know pointless details about Jade better than I do," Beck admitted grudgingly. "But that doesn't prove you understand her or our relationship."

Jade glared at him coldly. "They understand me better than you ever did. Now leave me alone."

Defeated, Beck could only watch as Jade walked away with Tori and Andre, realizing he'd truly lost her for good.

They said that Jade clearly is uncomfortable on how friendly beck is with out girls and how he never sees to care about her or her feelings or even listening to Jade when she says what she doesnt like or when beck lets girls be all over him and never shuts them down by telling them he has a girlfriend.

As Beck watched Jade walk off with Tori and Andre, hurt and anger welled up inside him.

"This is ridiculous," he protested. "I've always been a great boyfriend. So what if I'm friendly with other girls?"

Andre gave him a pitying look. "Man, come on. We've all seen how you flirt and let other girls hang all over you. Even when Jade's right there, looking uncomfortable."

Tori nodded in agreement. "And you never listen when Jade tells you something makes her uncomfortable. Like when Christy was all over you at that party after Jade asked you not to invite her."

Hearing this, Jade's cold stare seemed to pierce right through Beck.

"See, they notice things you never do," she said harshly. "You've never cared about my feelings. Just parading me around as your trophy girlfriend while getting cozy with every other girl."

Beck was stunned, realizing maybe he hadn't been the best boyfriend after all.

"And it's not like you ever bother shutting other girls down by mentioning your so called 'girlfriend,'" Jade continued bitterly.

Her words sunk in heavily. Beck hung his head in shame - she was right. He'd been blind to how his actions hurt Jade while Andre and Tori paid attention.

"I - I never realized…" he said weakly. But the damage was done. Jade had finally had enough of his careless behavior.

She turned and walked away without another word, leaving Beck alone with the heavy truth - he'd lost her for good because he'd never truly cared enough to see things from her point of view.

After walking away from Beck, Jade was furious and upset. She didn't want to go home yet where she might run into her parents fighting again.

She called Tori. "Vega, get over here now. We're going out and you're coming with me."

"Um, why?" Tori asked hesitantly.

"Does it matter? Just get your perky butt over here in 10 minutes or I'm leaving without you," Jade snapped before hanging up.

True to her word, Jade pulled up in her car exactly 10 minutes later. Tori got in warily, wondering what she'd been roped into.

To her surprise, Jade drove them to the nicest restaurant in town. "You're paying, by the way," Jade informed her as they walked in.

Over dinner, Tori finally got up the courage to ask what was going on. Jade sighed heavily.

"Look, I just…I can't let anyone from school see me all sad over Beck. So you're my cover - no one will question the ice queen if she's out with little miss sunshine."

Tori's face softened with understanding. She reached out to give Jade's hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm here for you, no judgment. Let's just have a good girls' night, okay?"

Jade let out a small smile, grateful Tori had come without question to keep her company in her moment of weakness. Maybe they were more alike than she'd admit - and both needed each other more than they knew.

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akkivee · 9 months

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i am a little embarrassed to say i didn’t pay much attention to stage posse but still!!!!!:

stage ramuda is an entire menace lmao

like both the anime and stage’s takes on ramuda is a cutesy snarky young man who will tear everything and everyone down when provoked in a certain manner and it’s valid!!!!! doesn’t mean i particularly care for it tho lol

i love track 4 tho for showing off ramuda’s ability to manipulate and even tho he’s the antagonist of that play, he was provoked by jakurai so if you ask me, sensei was the true antagonist of that track and that’s the sort of writing that makes the stage so interesting lmao

there was a flavour of falseness sekoguchi-san’s ramuda had, like a deep seated mask over his emotions and interactions and it SLAPPED he played ramuda’s early self conflicts very well

i don’t listen to stage posse’s first songs at all anymore (i esp despise trap of fling gomen lol) but there was a time i’d listen to stage songs with yasui-san’s ramuda and get sad it didn’t hit the same as sekoguchi-san’s lol

now it’s not a problem lol yasui-san has a wonderful ramuda as well and it was an easy transition because i think sekoguchi-san and yasui-san have similar takes on ramuda

we don’t talk about stage gentaro’s first actor lol but he played a very fruity gencha and i always appreciate that lol

sakata-san’s gentaro i felt embraced more of gentaro’s weirdness which i like to see more of in my gentaro LOL

i always think about that final bop2023 encore talk where he pretended to cry bc everything was ending, but it was a just a big ol’ uso desu yo joke, much to his teammates chagrin lol. stage dice must have been still giving him a look or something because gentaro returned his gaze and did this half shrug with a 😌😏 expression that kills me tbh lmao

speaking of stage dice!!!!!!!!!!

*EXPLODES*

takizawa-san……………. takiryo…………….. uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu……………………………..

uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu……………………………

when ramuda got recast, it taught me the fear of my faves leaving and i begged that takiryo would never leave the role of dice lmao

his dancing??????????????? FLAWLESS

his rap?????????? FANTASTIC

his face???????? PHEW 😮‍💨

*collapses* and he’s charming too i always think about this one report i read where he and doshiro’s stage actor iirc were doing a rewatch of sorts of track two, and before it started they were playing asakusa bounce in the bg so takiryo was singing the chorus, ‘SEIYA!!!! SOIYA!!!!!! ASAKUSA!!!!!’

except he was getting the order wrong and kazuya-san had to gently correct him and takiryo fell out of his chair laughing at himself and UGH 😭💛😭💛😭💛😭💛😭💛😭💛

takiryo’s daisu absolutely put the ‘king’ in daisu lol like he was brutally cool

the way yasui-san and sakata-san tended to look towards him and occasionally acted around him like he was their leader helped drive that home too lol

stage dice was insane btw lmao i still can’t believe he said this lol

i think the stage play leaned into a young master kinda dice, to show what kind of upbringing dice came from in absence of the women’s presence in the plays. i think it’s a bit of a disservice to dice personally, but i wasn’t unwilling to see such a side of him explored lol

before fp vs mtc happened, he and byrnes-san tried to fit dice and rio’s relationship in wherever they happened to be together and i *clenches fist* thank them for that lmao

#vee queued to fill the void #i’m sorry it’s so transparent dice is my favourite posse member lmao #takiryo just got more pretty as the years went on and the stage visuals adjusted to suit their actors faces #so i do think the new dice looks more like dice tbh LOL #the new gentaro is VERY pretty!!!!!! and the new ramuda looks cute too!!!!!!!#i promise i’ll pay better attention to them this time around lmao

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bouncinghedgehog · 1 year

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That’s right- my life goal is to live life like a goat. A real goat, as in the barnyard animal, not to be confused with G.O.A.T.s like Tom Brady, L.L. Cool J, etcetera. I’m not sure what it is about goats, but I think they are the king of cool. Maybe it’s those eerie, half-evil eyes. Maybe it’s the horns.

Why would anyone want to adopt a goat-like persona?

That question is best answered by listening to a song a friend of mine wrote a few decades ago called Goat.

The chorus goes like this:

I ain’t worried about the government trying to bring me down.

I don’t feel like I’m inferior, cuz I haven’t been around.

I don’t know what a job is and stress is no bother.

The sunshine is my sister and the moon is my brother.

Those lyrics remind me to chill out and stop worrying; to be content just being. Goats are too cool to mire themselves in the nonsense we humans often drown ourselves in. We have a lot to learn from our barnyard buddies.

If you have three minutes, spend them listening to Goat. It’s a happy, ska-styled tune with wisdom for us bipeds.

Goat was written by Brett Wanner for his band Rupadupa. I met Brett while playing in Rupadaupa back in the early 1990’s, but left the band when this song was just a sketch. When I eventually heard the finished product, it stuck with me.

So give it a listen! Get in touch with your inner goat and reap the benefits of simplicity and contentment.

youtube

#goats #contentment #Youtube

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throughtrialbyfire · 1 year

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getting a much clearer grasp of the trios inner voices so i'm re-writing/editing some chapters i initially thought i was done with and i'm so glad i am, this is a snippet of chapter 18 of CotS, from emeros' POV and i love how his perspective flows <3

The moment he pushed open the door and shut it carefully behind himself, he breathed in the cool, night air, and allowed his shoulders to release all tension they'd been clasping onto since that afternoon. Wind raked its strong fingers through the plains. He tugged his cowl over his head to escape the sudden chill of it against his ears. The scent of wood-smoke from chimneys perfumed the air, stirring up against the indigo skies. Houses lined one district of Whiterun, businesses in another. A world of grids and winding streets atop rolling hills, with Dragonsreach perched high above it all, the ground it crested like the great claw of one of those heinous beasts they were, apparently, destined to fight. All of it stuck to him, the images of the houses and trees, the stones and the wood posts, the sound of night birds and insects in their natural chorus. At one time, he'd been adrift in the world. At one time, he'd known nothing but long roads and surface-level observations of towns. Briefly, here, he became keenly reminded of that life. Always observing, but never a part of it, always the admirer, never the artist nor the brush nor the paint. Briefly, he allowed the hazy memories of these forgotten towns to play out before his eyes as he walked through the Whiterun streets. He'd made a good living in his travels since that fateful year he left Valenwood, studying alchemy under anyone who'd take a shine to him, selling wares, healing the sick, even tending to ailing animals when called upon to do so. While he'd never called himself a healer, a physick, some did. He could admit he'd managed to save a few lives in the process, so perhaps the title had been earned. As he gazed out on the city, passing through narrow streets, his expectations of Skyrim unwound from his tight hand. Did he truly expect Nurelion to drop everything and take him on as an apprentice? He scoffed at it now. The idea, at one instance in time so tangible, now ludicrous to the Bosmer. Still, it was worth a shot. He did not intend to give up. Quite the opposite, in fact, yet he knew it would be more time than he was comfortable giving until he reached The White Phial's snow-smocked doorstep. A mountain awaited. There was purpose to this mission that he and his newfound companions were to undertake. Purpose. Lives needed no purpose to exist. He'd shake his head and deny it all he wanted, but in the back of the alchemists' mind, the longing for it remained. To be known, to have his name scrawled across tome after tome, his work to be replicated and rejoiced in both the university and the simple healer's hut and mage's altar, an alchemist who did things none else could do, who created potions none else could make, who had lived and worked with purpose. He didn't think his purpose would ever involve dragons, but c'est la vie.

#bishop.txt #oc ; emeros #my writing #cycle of the serpent #skyrim oc #tes v oc #tes oc #bosmer oc #dragonborn trio

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twistedtummies2 · 2 years

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The Devils I Know - Number 24

Welcome to “The Devils I Know!” For this spooky time of year, from now till Halloween, I’ll be counting down My Top 31 Depictions of the Devil, from movies, television, video games, and more! Today’s Devil is a clear case of “one of these things is not like the others.” You see, today we won’t be covering a CHARACTER, per say, but instead a SONG. Number 24 is…The Devil Went Down to Georgia.

So, full disclosure…this is actually my favorite song. Period. Ever. And before you ask, I don’t really know why, it just…kind of is. Widely considered a classic in the Country-Western genre, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” is a storytelling song originally created by the Charlie Daniels Band. The song was intended to be a showcase for Daniels’ fiddle-playing skills, and actually acts as something of a musical allegory, for the decline in the purity of Country music in favor of what might be termed “country rock” or “country pop.”

The song tells the story of a young man simply called “Johnny,” who considers himself the best fiddle-player in the world. It turns out the Devil plays a pretty mean fiddle, himself, and – since he’s apparently behind on his soul-stealing quota – the Devil challenges Johnny to a fiddle-playing contest. If Johnny wins, the Devil will give him a golden fiddle as a prize; if the Devil wins, however, Johnny’s soul will be dragged straight down to Hell. The allegory comes in with the actual contest between the two: the Devil DOES play the fiddle, but only briefly, while backed up by a “band of demons” who play electric guitars, low-set bass, and other more modern instruments. There are no lyrics, just the Devil’s music. Then Johnny jumps in, singing a rather typical-sounding bluegrass ditty and sawing away at his fiddle the whole time, with the fiddle itself being the focused instrument. It’s the older, more traditional tune and the maestro behind it that wins the contest: someone playing from the heart, without need for any newfangled gizmos, while the Devil just plays to try and sound “cool” and do his best to win. In essence, the song criticizes the superficiality of more modern Country-style music, and embraces a motif of traditionality vs. modernism. All this from a very simple little story about the Devil, Johnny, and a golden fiddle. Lest anyone call bull on the fact this isn’t really a DEPICTION of the Devil, so much as just a piece of music…while it’s true the Charlie Daniels version is just a song, period, the song itself has actually been covered and reimagined a few times, and at least three of these times DO feature the Devil as an active character. First, there were the Muppets: in an episode of The Muppet Show, Muppet versions of the Devil, Johnny, and the demon band are all featured, along with a Muppet Narrator and Muppet Chorus. Then came the cover by the band “Primus,” which featured a stop-motion animated music video, with the Devil and Johnny each having their own voices, effectively turning the song into a Claymation cartoon. (This is the one pictured above.) Finally and ironically, the musical allegory would twist in an interesting direction, in the video game “Guitar Hero 3”: the final battle of the game is a rock-metal reimagining of the song, with the players dueling the Devil himself, here called “Lou.” Even if one just takes the song on its own merits, disregarding any actual sense of character with these different Devils, I’d feel legitimately ashamed of leaving it out of the Top 25. Like I said, this is actually my favorite song (even if, again, I don’t really know why), and for me, it’s one of the first things I think of when I think of the Devil as a concept. Considering how iconic and classic the song is, as well, I think it’s definitely deserving of some spot on the Countdown. I WOULD put it higher, in fact, but I felt it would have been cheating on a massive scale to do so. Still, nipping into the Top 25 ain’t too shabby.

Tomorrow, the countdown continues with Number 24! HINT: His actor may be named “Peter,” but he’s no saint.

#top 31 devils #the devils i know #october special #halloween advent calendar #number 24 #the devil went down to georgia #fiction #music #charlie daniels #primus #best #favorites #list #countdown

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apurikottotii · 10 months

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november song recs

i know this month hasn't ended yet, but i know it's gonna get busy after thanksgiving break, so i'm gonna write this now. i want to start writing these to sort of remember these months by songs i liked. a good reminder to how each month was like. this month was a lot less vocaloid centric than usual. maybe that's good. i'm becoming more normal.....

---this december - ricky montgomery

the second i heard this song i immediately fell in love. it felt like something i've heard before, something that would have played a lot during my childhood. it's so familiar. it really reminds me to not be so depressed and hopeless this winter, reminding me how wonderful life can be. because maybe, this winter, "i'll remember".

---internet yamero - needy girl overdose, kotoko, aiobahn

i tried to listen to this song before (because the vibes are immaculate), however i did not like the parts before the "chorus". well... i gave it another try because the chorus is just too good. the parts before the chorus i recently found to be so cool as well. the deliriousness kind of brings a smile to my face... it really is a song that encapsulates the internet well.

---spoiled princess - fujiwo

yeah i already wrote a post about this so i won't say much. what a nice song in a specific trope i really like. emunene cover is also splendid.

---animal - deco27

why am i still listening to this i swear it's been months. i first listened to the amane cover (which i honestly... like better. the instrumental is different and the timbre of her voice is really nice) but i recently started listening to the og vocaloid one too. one of the few deco27 songs i like... i guess the onomatopoeias are very catchy... as well at the 8-8-7#-8! that it does. a lot

---gehenna - wotaku

very recent addition, but it's very memorable. it vaguely sounds like happy halloween??? the instrumental/verses have such a different feeling compared to the chorus... but what a wonderful song in terms of its lyrics. "'i want to stay alive'/ i don't know why/ but 'i want to stay alive'" as well as "'i want to stay alive'/ 'I don't want to stay alive'/ it's so unfortunate/but we have to live"... and the whole last stanza on "deceiving" and "couldn't tell you". i love how it also says "and this is so sad". what wonderful wording. because no matter what, we just have to keep living. one thing that's throwing me off is the vague rapping in the background...? what is going on in the instrumental. also wtf mr. shanti guy made this. such a different style.

---phantasm suite - hoyomix "the golden midsummer"

okay. hear me out. it's a really really good instrumental piece okay... and the spoken word really makes it even better. "often times, i could not even see right in front of me/we will meet again, no matter how far along down the road", "to you from the past, i hope you liked this song", "please, be proud of all that is unreal... for we are greater than this world", "it has never voiced a complaint, for that is its destiny"... it reminds me of summer when i played this event.

---those eggs aren't dippy - jack stauber

the first 10 seconds are so fucking good????? especially the "let me in your eaaarrrr" i even made it my alarm! it's perfect because it's so short. unfortunately it's not doing a great job of waking me up. it's too catchy.

---love ka - hiiragi kirai

even though i personally did not listen to this song a lot this month, i recommended this song (via musescore) to a friend, and they really loved it so that's pretty notable. getting everyone hooked on vocaloid. seriously that musescore cover is so good. they adapted special quirks love ka does in its instrumental/vocals for piano, but not in the exact same way. they made a piano arrangement, not transcription. like tremolo for piano instead of vibrato???? gives it such a nice touch!!!

#vocaloid #november 2023

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geekitygeek · 11 months

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literally no one on here will care but i put together a playlist for my D&D character ages ago and now I wanna type out how each song relates so here goes:

Symphony - I imagine a lot of scenarios to songs. In this case, I couldn't get the image of Niwyss welcoming guests to one of her many parties in the Emerald Glade to the chorus. This in fact stuck with me so long that I commissioned art of it (that i still need to frame, woops)

(There's Gotta Be) More To Life - This is more personal to me. A lot of traits in Niwyss are things I wish to exude myself, and this song relates to deeper thoughts I have about life which I want to portray through Niwyss.

God Help The Outcasts - Esmeralda's sense of justice (and some physical traits) were a big inspiration in developing Niwyss. Ultimately, she's been surrounded by a lot of bigotry and cruelty, and she wants to find a way to spread good in the world.

Angel - This is what would play when she's seeing Marla from across the room. There's love there, but even I'm not totally sure Niwyss recognises that it goes beyond friendship just yet.

Brave Shine - I'll be honest, there's a couple of songs with no real deep meaning. This is one of the songs where I'm picturing a whole anime intro with the party.

Dancing In The Moonlight - Another party song. It's pure feel-good music and I'm sure a medieval D&D version would fit perfectly at a Glade party.

Disobedient - Niwyss's rebellion song. She absolutely would be blasting this out when sent to her room, if speakers existed in Avalon. She knows her training is important for the future, but my gods everyone is so uptight about it.

Easy - Saying goodbye to Marla all those years ago was hard. They just needed more time. Time to at least find out if there was room for something more.

Feel The Love - Another party song, but I feel like this perfectly portrays Niwyss's enthusiasm and positivity. If someone's getting you down, Niwyss will absolutely console you and then eldritch blast their ass.

growing up is getting old - Niwyss has had to take on a lot of responsibility as she's grown up, essentially to be the next generation who will do their utmost to prevent further death and destruction. And that's scary. Also lifespan angst. She and Bryn will likely live the longest out of the whole party (provided she doesn't die during the campaign)

Guess Who Is Back - More anime intro goodness in my mind theatre. Trust me, it looks cool as fuck.

Out of Our Minds - Niwyss lived two lives at home. She'd be out until the early morning hours on the regular with combat training at 9am. But she wouldn't trade it for anything. Memories are important to her, even if that means climbing up a makeshift ladder to her room at 3am.

Out Tonight - Similar to above, Niwyss could finish training or schooling at 5pm and be ready to go by 6pm. The parties are her escape, though for all we know, that could be to her detriment in the future.

Perfect Day - This one's for reminiscing on her childhood, playing with friends, whether it was Puck, Marla, or her schoolmates. Everything just seemed simpler back then.

Umbrella - Partly a joke addition... basically Niwyss has an earring in the shape of an umbrella. It was originally crafted by Puck as a welcome gift for Marla - a symbol of shelter in dark times. Upon her quick departure, Marla left the charm with her letter to Niwyss.

Waiting On A Miracle - She knows her parents mean well. But Niwyss doesn't feel like anything's good enough for her parents, or the Council. But she's seen what looking for constant approval looks like in Petran, and as much as she loves her big brother, she doesn't want to get to that point.

Wild and Young - Another celebration of Niwyss's love to see the world and enjoy the company she encounters along the way. As long as her life will be, she only gets one go, and wants to make the most of it.

Utakata Hanabi - A somewhat sad ending to the current list, this captures how Niwyss feels when she's alone. Longing for peace, longing for a day when she can see her dear friend again without the weight of the world on their shoulders. Constantly looking back to simpler, happier times.

#niwyss aricla #d&d #d&d character #d&d playlist #high elf #dungeons and dragons #Spotify

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jonathankatwhatever · 1 year

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Let’s see, this 17 Sept 2023, if this is as easy as it plays in my head. What is a set? Whatever is in the xyR, which translates into whatever is in the room. That allows expansion to building, and thus we can da everything from inferring all the xyR are the same to all of them are different from this xyR, and that would be true if we were in any other xyR or maybe not.

What is a category? It’s the nature of the xyR, meaning it’s function within the Storylines that use the Things within the Room to make up stories. That again enables scale, because each xyR contains Not.

How does this relate to tangible Objects? They’re the stuff surrounded by less stuff so they’re distinguishable. A dim hallway, banging into what was that in the dark? Again, running from completely empty, featureless, every adjective one can imagine, to a version so crammed the characters suffocate. That’s a nice, dark one, meaning the idea of darkness in the mind opens up a perspective that’s new: that higher awareness gives individuals the space they need to not feel so crammed in the space they have in their heads, in themselves. It gives you a place to go which is yours, where you feel safe, so you can relax into whatever you are doing better.

Over the past hour or so, my left hand has taken control over my physical activity. It unloaded the dishes, and put itself into a position I didn’t know existed as an option and performed with ridiculous ease. I’ve been taking short breaks to tension, which is really slow motion dances and the positions which need to be enabled to connect the beginning to a key frame to another to another. This means there is some amount of grace because the key frames should be approaching ideal for each capability level. That last groups by the size of the potential at each state, of each existence in a chain of existences. As in, today I did some back twists with my back arched far enough backward that I could reach my elbow higher into the sky while rotating, then switch arm up to down, repeat. It isn’t much of a move if you’re young or trained, but it’s a lot for someone who is neither.

The nature of the Not defines the tObject. The tObject not seen in the dark. A tObject in bright focus, so there’s very little of Not visible. The tObject is an End, and thus has characteristics beyond that of a point. An End is actually an infinite dimensional Thing which constructs in grid squares so it can be represented by a point or node or however you choose or need to identify that aspect of its existence as an End. That means an End has potential within Storylines, and that is a form of Boundary, the idea being that there is a general Storyline Boundary together with Storyline Boundaries that occur within the xyR. That’s another way of stating incompleteness because we can equate Storyline to counting: there are countable Storylines because we are in grid squares and all Storylines reflect the potential which might exist, which is uncountable, to what is actually a Storyline within the xyR. Example would be that we can imagine each tObject can be another, but that’s imaginative use of the tObject, whether as a tool for the body or the mind or both, not actually making the tObject into a different existence. Like the spoons can’t become a kick line of chorus girls. That’s the difference between a tObject and an iObject, and that’s why we use Thing to mean both: metaphor and other ways meaning Attaches.

Isn’t it cool that we can visualize Attachment now? We draw a line connecting a spoon to a person or to a representation which suggests dancing or marching or some other animation, and that is contained in the orthogonal gs nSquare. That is why the statistical approach to pain has worked so well for me: picture a nerve as carrying signals when this particular act, including not moving, sends an ouch, so if you make more moves which don’t set off that ouch, then you set the ouch off less often. At the least, you give yourself time to heal by not working whatever makes the ouch. Then it can be worked through.

I’m working through something I did to my left elbow earlier this year while clearing the yard mess. Because I wasn’t in the correct position, I strained a relationship that runs from my damaged fingers to my elbow. That has turned into pushing and pulling my hand and arm into positions, while working my body to free the left hand and arm from the constraints established over decades. By establishing more pathways, I’ve been discovering these latent capabilities, like when I realized I could crack eggs with my left hand though I’d never done it before.

I need to go to bed. This has been fabulous.

——————-

I was musing about cardinals, particularly the infinite ones, and realized I didn’t write any of it down. That said, we can explicitly construct hierarchies of infinite cardinals. And infinite ordinals.

The immensity of that is just now striking me. It took a lot of work to reach this understanding. A lot of anxiety.

Needed to eat after that.

Now I’m musing about transcendental numbers. I’d say the key phrase is ‘not the root of an integer polynomial’.

————-

A transcendental number is a question which remains open into the infinite. Like π as Boundary always remains testing the essential question of in or out, of edges over the 1Space. Did I miss that before? It’s glaring: over 1Space means it flips potentially to either 0Space. That is extraordinarily lovely mechanics.

What about e? Counting from 1 to 2 with each count generates a new association from 0, which means you don’t close in on 2 but instead get further away. Or at least generates a higher level of association. Wait a second. A 2Square generated by e and by the orthogonal gs. See how they fit all those permutations from 1 to 2 across a 0 to 2? Is it 0? It is and isn’t. It’s the 1-0Segment: start with 1 and cut up is a 0 for the cutting up.

Note how the scale increases in the inverse, so this intangible grows larger as the calculated result gets smaller. That fits mechanics.

———————

I just realized that the typical conception of real is only part of what is real. That idea has been hanging around in my head. Now that I see it, I get it.

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newmusicradionetwork · 1 year

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King Falcon Drop Revved Up Single/Video “Cadillac”

New York rock outfit King Falcon have released their new song ‘Cadillac’ on Mascot Records. Melding indie-rock adventurousness with Classic Rock swagger, King Falcon’s ultra-catchy songwriting recalls artists like Black Keys, Cage The Elephant, Tame Impala, The Killers, Royal Blood, and Beck. ‘Cadillac’ was produced by Marshall Altman (Citizen Cope, Matt Nathanson, Kenny Wayne Shepherd, Mark Broussard) and mixed by 12-time Grammy-nominated mixing engineer and producer Mark Needham (The Killers, Imagine Dragons, Fleetwood Mac, The Airborne Toxic Event). The song is brimming with earworm-worthy guitar riffage, a soaring chorus, soulfully melodic lead vocals, and vibrant indie-rock atmospherics. In talking about the genesis of “Cadillac’, King Falcon’s Michael Rubin says “My best friend has had this 1957 Cadillac Eldorado parked in his garage for as long as I’ve known him. Every single time that we saw each other, I would pester him about trying to get it started so we could take it for a joyride. The car hadn’t moved in years – but it wasn’t in bad shape or anything, it had just atrophied as all mechanical things tend to do when they sit around unused and unloved”. He continues “One day I decided to take matters into my own hands. I showed up at his house with a couple of tools and a can of starter fluid and before you know it, we were cruisin’ down the boulevard in this unregistered Cadillac with 40 year old tires. Totally unsafe and illegal, but it was the single most fun I have ever had riding in a car. That old Caddy turns WAY more heads than any new Lamborghini or Ferrari! The second I heard the engine roar to life I knew that this was a special moment that I wanted to write about. The song came together after about 8 days of sitting in front of my computer screen listening to the bass part on loop (much to the chagrin of my neighbors). I felt that the song had to embody the coolness of the moment but also the excitement and danger of driving around in a 5000 pound car with crappy brakes and no license plates”. The “Cadillac” video snapshots an actual Ferris Bueller-like joyride with his buddy’s red, rare bird 1957 Eldorado Cadillac. Rubin continues “I got to drive this beauty with no brakes, no plates, and a flat tire—everybody, including the cops, waved as I cruised this spaceship around the neighborhood. It broke down twice while we were filming, and we had to push that two and a half ton beast uphill on a gravel road. I now have a chronic injury from doing that – as a reminder of an experience I will never forget. We were able to mix in some cool animation to enhance the storyline of the video, we hope everyone enjoys it!” Michael Rubin is the creative driving force behind King Falcon, but drummer and sometimes recording engineer James Terranova is essential to the band’s spirit. His fastidious, plan-ahead persona is the perfect counterpoint to Michael’s freewheeling personality, and the pair have an old-married-couple kind of connection. “I would take a bullet for him, but I may also be that person to shoot him,” Michael jokes. Up until now, King Falcon has been a guitar and drums duo, but the twosome is welcoming drummer Tom Diognardi and moving James to bass. In 2020, the duo released the funky and infectiously catchy single, “Shake! Shake! Shake!” However, the pandemic cleared King Falcon’s calendar before it even got a chance to play a show. The guys made the most of the situation by sending the unreleased song, “When The Party Is Over,” out to labels. “That song represented me trying to convince my parents, and myself, that I could get somewhere playing guitar,” Michael says. The song turned out to be aces for the band – they emailed the song to Mascot, and the next day was awarded with a recording contract. “When The Party Is Over” is an irresistible, moody mid-tempo rocker teeming with ear worm melodies. The song explores lonely New York late-night living with gritty candor, and it comes alive via a darkly alluring video. “We got chased through the park by a crazed man with a knife while making the song’s video,” Michael remembers. King Falcon has resumed its pre-pandemic plans of playing its first live shows and touring. “It took two and a half years to get here,” Michael says, pausing thoughtfully. “If you asked me when I first got my guitar if we would get a label and be where we are today, I would have said, ‘oh yeah, no problem,’ but I’ve learned the reality of it all isn’t that simple. It is amazing to be where we are today, but it was definitely a challenging journey.” The band is set to start a 2 month residency at the famed Bowery Electric in NYC, with tour dates being booked for the summer and plans to release additional music later this year. Connect and Share with King Falcon Official website / TikTok / Instagram / Facebook / Twitter / Youtube Read the full article

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foxhouten · 2 years

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My Least Favorite School Question

Remember on the first day of class, your teacher would go around the room and make you introduce yourself and say something unique to you? It's such an easy assignment: simply say your name and something you like or something interesting you've done. Couldn't be simpler. It terrified me. The idea of standing up in a classroom, saying my God-given name, and repeating one single, inconsequential fact about myself was so intimidating it gave me momentary anxiety. It's not a trick question. I know my own name and I know what things I enjoy. But having to repeat those things in front of others seemed somehow impossible. However, when the question was asked during one of my college courses, I was ready. You see, I attended Webster University, a school that prided itself on its small class sizes. While that was great for, you know, actual learning, it sucked for the quiet kids who just wanted to blend into the background. That wasn't gonna happen. So, on the first day of one of my Webster courses, the professor asked that we each take turns standing up (why the fuck was that necessary? There were like 20 of us in there -- were you worried someone wasn't going to be able to see?), saying our names, and listing a fact about ourselves. This simple task would have petrified a different Dan, but this Dan -- a college Dan -- was armed with a plan: I would copy off some other kid. So as each student took turns standing up (again, why?), saying their names, and listing a fact, I paid close attention. Not because I actually gave a damn, but because I wanted to see which answers were easy enough to steal. The sixth or seventh kid to go, we'll call him John (because that was his name), stood, said his name, and told the class that he enjoyed hunting. Boom, I had an answer. I was going to steal John's hunting thing. Had I ever been hunting? No. But could I believably pass as someone who enjoyed hunting? Also, no. But we'll get to that. I was around the 12th or 13th person to go, a suitably far enough distance from John that my 'hunting' answer wouldn't cause any raised eyebrows. So when my turn came, I stood (WHY?), said my name, and said that I enjoyed hunting. I sat down, part of me worrying that I'd hear a chorus of hushed whispers, classmates wondering aloud why my hunting answer sounded so familiar. And then I remembered that everyone in my class was 19 years old and didn't give a shit about any of this. Thank goodness for teenage apathy. Within minutes, as other students took their turns, my nervousness dissipated. Eventually, as the class wore on, I forgot all about my silly hunting answer. But when the class ended, guess who hadn't forgotten: fuckin' John. My backpack slung over my right shoulder all cool like, I was exiting the classroom when John stopped me. John: Hey man, I'm John. You said you like hunting, right? Okay, so at this moment I had a choice to make: either just confess that I didn't actually like hunting and walk away, or lean into the bit. I chose the latter. Me: Uhh, yeah. This should be the end of it, right? Nope. Not for fuckin' John. J: Cool, me too. What do you hunt?

Let it be known that while I'm not a hunter, I do know what types of animals are typically hunted: deer, rabbits, maybe cows? But in that moment, faced with a line of inquiry I was not expecting, my nerves got the best of me and my mind went blank. I couldn't think of a single plausible answer. And then my brain fixed on a computer game I had played in grade school: Oregon Trail. Hunting played a part in that game, and I remembered what type of animal I loved hunting while playing it. So, I said it out loud. Me: Buffalo.

Yep, for real. I legitimately told this kid I hunted buffalo.

John looked at me perplexed before laughing, assuming I had made a joke. I quickly caught on and laughed, too. He then told me that he hunted deer, so I quickly agreed that yes, I too hunted deer. Cool, end of this weird conversation, right? Nope. Fuckin' John still had more questions. J: So what do you hunt with?

Okay, what the fuck's going on?? Is this guy trying to set up a play date or what? What do I hunt with? I didn't know how to answer that. Apparently, as I've since learned, there is rifle hunting and bow hunting, so I guess I should've chose one of those answers. But not knowing that at the time, I replied with the best answer I could come up with: Me: Guns. Guns, plural. Like I was fuckin' Annie Oakley wandering the woods with a couple six-shooters, blasting deer. Again perplexed, John said he hunted with a rifle, the type of which I couldn't care less about. Noting the conversation was wearing thin (observant are you, John??) he concluded the conversation and walked away. I dropped the class the following week and signed up again the next semester. Happy hunting, John!

#humor #fuck you john

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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years

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MC is Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar

(Lessons 1-5!)

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 5-6 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

So we obviously know that things would run a little differently with L!MC instead of a normal human MC, but just how differently do things go?

No Mammon, you are not allowed to babysit!

Unlike in canon, Mammon needs to be kept away from MC at the start. Why? He’s known this kid for less than a day, he’s gonna try and use them for scams.

Everyone else in the house? Well, they’re of... observing MC. This is a first, a half human kid just wandering around the house...

MC and Lucifer, despite their amicable meeting, were in this really awkward beginning stage where they didn’t really know what to do with each other.

“So...” MC resisted the urge to twiddle their thumbs as they followed their father through the halls of the House of Lamentation. This was their home for the next year. It was very grand... and also very creepy in some places. “Where’s my room?”

“Right here.” Lucifer stopped suddenly in front of a door in the hallway, nearly causing MC to crash into him. He opened up the door, the room was very very pink. “Asmodeus decorated, you can redecorate as you see fit.”

MC popped their head in and looked around, there were approximately a thousand pillows scattered around the bed. It was the perfect amount! The very pink colour scheme was... okay. Maybe they’d be able to switch some of it out for a nice blue.

“It’s nice! Thank you,” MC was about to say Lucifer, then father, then just shut their mouth. What were they supposed to call him? They had known each other for like... an hour. He seemed like the type to want to be called father, he was too posh to be ‘dad’ or ‘pops’, and calling their father by his first name seemed way too casual as well... Parental Figure..? Guardian? Sir..? Should they call him sir???

The fact that MC ended their sentence like they were going to continue it left the two in a very awkward silence. A+ job at conversation.

“Anyway,” Lucifer finally broke the silence. “If you need time to settle in, we can pick up the tour later.”

“N-no, it’s okay! I didn’t really bring anything so...” MC was in the middle of mentally cursing themselves out, they thought they had successfully avoided falling into the awkward middle schooler stereotype! “We can keep the tour going.”

“Alright then.” Lucifer turned and motioned for MC to follow. Wow... he was very... curt? Was that the right word to use? MC hoped this was as awkward for him as it was for them.

The next stop was the portrait staircase, Lucifer explained each one down to each minute detail, MC listened in rapt attention.

“We received that one from a painter from the sixth layer of the Devildom, it was quite a rare find.”

“How many layers are there?”

“Nine, we’re in the centre most layer. This is the most highly defended part of the Devildom.” Lucifer explained.

“Oh,” MC smiled. “Cool, so it’s like how Dante described it in the Divine Comedy?”

“Mostly, some changes have been made since that time.”

“Ah, okay.” MC nodded, a thought came to them which made them clear their throat to suppress a giggle. “May I ask a question that might bother you?”

Lucifer turned and raised an eyebrow at them. “You may ask one such question.”

“Why did Dante say you were frozen in an ice lake?”

Lucifer looked around, once he was sure that no one was listening, he turned back to MC, his voice was slightly lower when he answered. “I was ice skating with Lord Diavolo, I fell through the ice and into the lake right as Virgil and Dante arrived. Of course, Dante had to embellish or I’d smite him, if only he left out the ice part.”

To MC’s credit, they didn’t laugh, but they weren’t doing a very good job of hiding how hard it was to not burst into laughter. “Oh my... how upsetting...”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “I’d tell you not to tell anyone but,” his lips quirked up into a smile. “No one would believe you if you said anything anyway.”

MC gasped, but the gasp ended up releasing the laugh they were holding in.

The half demon noticed some of the other portraits on the wall, each of the brothers had a portrait, there were two demons that MC didn’t recognize. So that was their family... they wondered if their picture might be on that wall one day...

“Who’s he?” MC pointed at the portrait between Mammon’s and Satan’s.

“That’s Leviathan, the third eldest, the Avatar of Envy, and the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy.”

‘Oooo, so he’s a military guy!’ MC thought to themselves. ‘And the third most powerful brother? Wow... he must be crazy scary...’

“What about him?” MC pointed at the seventh and final portrait.

It may have just been MC’s imagination, but they swore they saw Lucifer’s expression sour slightly.

“That’s Belphegor, the youngest and the Avatar of Sloth.” Lucifer explained. “He is currently in the human world as an exchange student.”

“Oh,” MC studied the portraits a bit more. “Cool! I hope he’s having a good time up there.”

“As do I.” Lucifer replied. “Now we should move on to the Underground-”

“LUCIFER!” Asmodeus cried. “MAMMON’S BEING STUPID AGAIN!”

Lucifer sighed and dragged a gloved hand down his face. “We’ll continue this tour later, MC. Feel free to explore some more, try not to break anything.”

“Because the things might be cursed?”

“That and the things are old and expensive.”

MC spends the rest of the day chilling in the house with Asmo, who peppers MC with ALL the questions.

They does their best to answer... but it’s clear Asmo was hoping for something a little more interesting.

“So, do you run the human world?”

“No. No I do not.”

Finally, Mammon escapes whatever punishment Lucifer’s got him caught up in and tried to get MC involved in something that’ll probably make them lose their money.

Mini HC! A demon’s wings, tail, or horns might pop out randomly if they aren’t paying attention! The demon doesn’t even need to be in their true demonic form for this to happen. It happens more often with younger demons like MC!

Mammon stops his little scheme when he notices that MC’s wings have popped out and left a few stray feathers lying about... he can hear the CHA CHING sound already.

Our favourite dummy tried to Mission Impossible his way into MC’s room but MC caught him trying to make off with some loose feathers after they came back with a dustpan to clean them up.

Eventually, it was dinner time, and Levi was still camped out in his room. Mammon got sent to get him out, and he decided to drag MC along with him.

“I don’t think we should bother him-”

“Sh! We gotta get him out of his stupid room or he’s gonna stay in there until the exchange year’s over.” Mammon snapped, stopping in front of Leviathan’s door.

“I still don’t think we should-”

Mammon rudely interrupted poor, aghast MC by slamming his fists against the door. “LEVI! GET UP! DINNER’S READY!”

The only response was someone increasing the volume on whatever show was playing behind the door. Wow, petty. MC suppressed a snort until they realized exactly what they were hearing.

Was that...

“Is that the Sailor Moon theme?” MC turned to Mammon and asked. The moment the question left their lips the pair heard someone practically bolt to the door. It swung open and hit Mammon right in the face.

“MOTHER FUCKER-”

“You!”

Ah, so this was the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy. MC didn’t know that track pants and headphones were a part of the uniform.

“You like anime?!” Levi asked, MC slowly nodded.

“Y-yeah..?”

Quick as lightning, MC was pulled into the room, and Levi slammed the door shut, tragically, the door hit Mammon again.

“LEVI YOU ASS-”

Leviathan didn’t seem too interested in Mammon’s chorus of curse words and angry knocks, he was grabbing some figurines off shelves and showing some to MC.

“Do you know who this is?!”

“That’s White Blood Cell from Cells at Work. What about Mamm-”

“How about this!”

“Violet Evergarden from the show of the same name, now Levia-”

“Whose this?!”

“LEVIATHAN!” MC stomped their foot and pointed at the door. “Mammon said we need to go eat dinner.”

“Don’t interrupt me, human!” Levi hissed, MC rolled their eyes and snorted.

“Nice to meet you, by the way.” MC crossed their arms and let their wings appear and puff up behind them.

“...w-whu-WHAT?!”

“We have to go to-” MC was cut off yet again by Levi passing out. Wow... what a day...

Mammon was still pounding on the door, MC rolled their eyes and opened it.

“He passed out, can you carry him?”

Mammon was decidedly not careful with his dear little brother when he dragged him out of his room and into the dining room. When Levi finally woke up, he got an earful from Lucifer, and tried to kill Mammon.

Apparently money was owed that Mammon wasn’t about to pay.

So yeah, MC and Levi’s alliance did not stem from desperation, it stems from otaku-camaraderie.

MC and Levi planned their credit-card hostage situation over a fun evening of watching anime.

Mammon never knew what hit him...

“Okay Mammon, pay up or your credit card gets cut up.” MC playfully opened and closed the scissors before poising them to cut up the helpless credit card. Mammon let out a shriek and shook his head.

“NONONONONO- don’t do that!” Mammon put his hands up and let out a nervous laugh. “MC... wh-what’s with all the animosity..? We’re buddies, right?”

MC snorted and rolled their eyes. “Buddies don’t try and make money off each other’s feathers.”

“You heard them, Mammon.” Levi snickered. “Pay me back the money you owe me!”

“I don’t have the money right now!”

MC shook their head. “Pity... oh well, bye bye Goldie-”

“The money’s in my sock drawer- just please put the scissors down!”

They slowly lowered the scissors. “What do you think, Levi?”

“Hmmm... you have two minutes.” Levi said, Mammon took off in a sprint out of the kitchen.

“Nice job Agent L!” MC chirped, holding their hand out for a high five, Levi looked positively elated and gleefully hit his hand against MC’s.

“We did it! I’m finally going to have enough money to go to the live show! Couldn’t have done it without your help, Agent Near.”

“Wait- why am I Near?” MC asked. “You get to be L and I have to be Near?”

Levi crossed his arms and huffed. “Would you rather be Mellow?”

“No! I want to be Light! We agreed that I’d be Light!” MC hissed. Levi, literally hissed back.

Rude.

Anyway, Levi got paid, and everyone had a very entertaining breakfast. Well, Mammon didn’t have a very good time, but boo hoo he should have paid Levi back sooner.

I think MC felt legitimately bad for Mammon, all the insults and jabs being aimed at him made MC feel a little guilty...

MC took care to be extra sweet that day, and it made Mammon feel a bit better. You know what made both of them feel amazing?

Screwing with the dipshits that were talking crap about the two of them.

MC didn’t need super-hearing to notice that some of the demons at RAD found it to be peak comedy that Mammon got slapped with babysitting duty.

“...do you want to mess with them?”

“What?”

“Too late, I’m doing it with or without you.”

Mammon was totally in, obviously. A little magic to move some of the lesser demons’ things around and voila! They were all at each other’s throats and Mammon and MC got to enjoy a fun lunchtime show!

The Purgatory Hall crew got to meet MC too, of course!

“And this,” Lucifer gestured to MC. “Is the other human exchange student.”

MC popped up from behind one of the rows of desks and gave the three newcomers a toothy grin. “Nice to meet you!”

Simeon’s calm and serene expression dropped almost immediately as he quickly looked from Lucifer to MC. The latter just gave him an innocent smile and tilted their head.

“Is something the matter?” MC asked, through the corner of their eye they saw Lucifer smirk slightly.

“N...” Simeon snapped back to reality. “No, nothing’s the matter, it’s nice to meet you, MC.”

“You awful demons!” A much younger voice yapped. “You brought a human child down here?! Shame on you!”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “I’m overwhelmed with guilt, put me out of my misery.”

“Oh!” MC gasped. “You’re the chihuahua!”

“Wh-what?!”

“What?” MC shook their head and shrugged. “What’s the matter with me being a kid? You look like you’re ten.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m well over-”

“Am I just going to go ignored?” The third and final stranger asked, a cheeky/very suspicious looking grin on his face.

“Right, you.” Lucifer sighed. “This is Solomon, another human exchange student.”

“It’s nice to finally meet the other... human exchange student.” Solomon offered a nod.

“Likewise.” MC pretended not to notice the pause before he said human.

The first bell that meant “haul your ass to next period because if the cleaning staff finds you skipping class you will be maimed” sounded. MC slung their bag over their shoulder and brushed past their fellow students.

“Have a nice rest of your day, everyone!” MC chirped as they and Lucifer headed off to their next class.

“What do you stand to gain by pretending you aren’t my child?” Lucifer asked.

MC snickered. “It’s funny! Didn’t you see their faces?”

Lucifer half smiled and shook his head. “Perhaps.”

—————

“That kid is Lucifer’s.” Solomon said the moment Lucifer and MC were out of earshot.

“Oh thank heavens someone else saw too... I thought I was going crazy...” Simeon sighed in relief.

“Hey! We’ll be late to class if you guys don’t hurry!” Luke called from down the hall.

Solomon chuckled under his breath. “This whole year just got way more interesting...”

A lot of MC’s time got devoted to getting to know their newly found family.

Satan was proving to be very... polite? Almost weirdly so? He’d address MC like he would address a formal acquaintance, not like one would address a family member... or even a roommate.

MC tried the delicate dance of trying to respect his boundaries and trying to get him to like them...

Once the glasses incident happened everything kinda caved. MC had been quite rudely shunned by Satan and they were quite done trying to be his friend! Hmph!

...hmph :(

At least Beel was nice... despite MC being a little intimidated by his size and resting bitch face, MC soon found out that Beel was a massive cinnamon roll.

In return for all the snacks Beel shared with MC, they introduced him to at least five human world cooking shows.

“MC, why is the music so dramatic? They’re just revealing the cooking supplies.”

“It’s a reality TV thing... everything is 10 times more dramatic than it needs to be. The music’s doing its job though, I’m very impressed by that pie dish.”

Overall, MC’s first week at RAD was pretty decent! Until... well... until Friday.

MC could only hide their demonic side for so long...

“That’s them?”

MC slowed their steps and turned to look for the source of the voice.

“Yep.” A second voice confirmed. “Human kid, like I said.”

Ugh... of all the times to have needed to stay late after school... the hallway MC was in was completely empty and they had no clue where anyone they actually knew was-

“Boo.”

MC whirled around to see the two gossiping demons standing right behind them. They instinctively took a few steps back before the taller of the two demons grabbed them by the wrist and yanked them forward.

“Geez, are all humans this tiny?” The taller one asked as he slowly lifted MC off the ground. MC fixed him with the nastiest glare possible, he tried to scowl back, but ended up looking away and laughing to the shorter demon. “Look at them, barely enough for a snack, no wonder Beel hasn’t eaten them yet.”

Turning to the shorter demon, MC gave them a similar glare. “Put me down.”

“Tsk, quiet.” The taller demon snapped, he turned back to the shorter demon. “So if we just nab them now, how much do you think someone’ll take for their soul?”

“I-uh...” the shorter demon couldn’t pry their gaze away from MC’s as they tried to sputter a response. “I don’t think we should...”

“Why not? The exchange program’s still in its trial phase anyway, we kill this human and they’ll just bring in another one.”

The way he was speaking about them made MC’s skin crawl. How dare he? How dare he talk about them like they were just common trash? Who did this... person think he was?

An old familiar feeling bubbled beneath the surface. It had always been there, the intense, sometimes overwhelming desire to let the whole world know that they were better. The feeling coiled its way up MC’s spine and wormed its way into their head where it settled.

“You can’t be spoken to like that.”

Every single time this feeling had flared up, MC had done their best to suppress it. They didn’t know what would happen if they gave in, and frankly, they didn’t want to know.

“Let them know you’re not to be trifled with.”

The burning desire to crush the two demons like ants was almost impossible to ignore. MC felt their hands twitch and sparks snap between their fingertips.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” MC growled. “Put. Me. Down.”

“Human,” the taller demon turned back and cooed, his mocking tone made MC want to rip his throat out. “I said be quiet.”

His grip on MC’s wrist tightened until a sickening crack echoed through the empty hallway.

Bile immediately rose in MC’s throat as they let out an earsplitting scream. Their wrist seared in pain and their heart began to race hammer against their ribcage.

The desire to give in only grew and became harder to control, MC could feel themselves slipping. The feeling only had one simple question to ask, one that MC knew the answer to.

“Are you going to let them get away with that?”

Their face morphed into a cheek splitting grin despite the pain, their head tilted to the left as they stared down the two demons.

“No.”

Horns twisted and burst out of their skull as they dug their rapidly sharpening nails into the demon’s arm. Their teeth grew and sharpened while formerly hidden fangs burst through their upper gums. The agonizing pain of their bones growing, snapping, and shifting in and out of place as their demonic form took hold for the first time numbed as MC revelled in their new power.

Through the reflection in the taller demon’s horrified stare, MC could see their pupils stretch into almost catlike slits. He dropped them onto the floor while he and the shorter demon backed up. MC’s impossibly wide smile only grew as they watched the realization dawn upon the lesser demon as he stitched together what he had just done. The human he had decided to bother wasn’t quite so human after all.

“Oh?” MC cooed as their wings split through their back and unfurled behind them. “Where do you think you two are going? We haven’t even gotten started yet.”

—————

Lucifer was jolted from his conversation by a sharp blast of blue light and the sound of screams from a nearby hallway. He instinctively rolled his eyes.

“Lord Diavolo, pardon me but I need to go deal with a disturbance in the halls.” Lucifer said, Diavolo sighed mournfully on the other end of the call.

“Alright, if you must, but make sure to come over later! There are events that need to be scheduled.”

Lucifer knew full well that Diavolo was making half of the school events up as an excuse for basic social interaction. Oh well, it wasn’t the time to think on his prince’s social woes, he had a problem to solve.

How many times did he have to tell some of those idiotic students to take their petty squabbles outside?

Lucifer made his way over to where the fight was happening, he wasn’t walking with particular urgency, a fight on school property wasn’t too unusual, until a massive shockwave spilled through the hallways and slammed into him.

The Avatar of Pride felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up, that was his magical signature... wasn’t it? No, it was just different enough...

“Dammit.” Lucifer doubled his pace, when he reached the end of the hallway, the sight was just what he feared.

MC stood straight in the middle of the hallway with their back to him, two other demons were lying in crumpled heaps on the ground, one was next to an incredibly dented row of lockers while the other was lying next to an almost completely broken drinking fountain.

Lucifer’s own true form was out in a flash as MC turned to look at him. their eyes glowing a shining blue. Their lips curled into a snarl as they let out an otherworldly growl.

“Go away.”

“MC, calm yourself down.” Lucifer said slowly as he approached them. “Return to your normal form.”

The half demon bowed their head slightly and took a few steps back as he stepped closer. Lucifer almost patted himself on the back for such a show of authority, until MC paused and looked up defiantly. The glow in their eyes doubled as any sense of fear left them completely.

“I said, GO AWAY!”

They lunged at him, which he easily sidestepped, only for MC to quickly turn and latch their claws into his arm.

The child packed a surprising amount of force into their strikes, but he was able to block and redirect almost every single one. If this were any normal fight, Lucifer would have just swatted them away and have been done with it, but this wasn’t any ordinary opponent.

MC was his child, the exchange student, and going through their first transformation. They weren’t exactly rational or directly responsible for any of their actions at that moment.

During a first transformation the demon is almost completely relying on base instincts to function, they’ll go completely ballistic for a while, trying to tear through anything in their way until they run out of energy and pass out. Which is why during a demon’s first transformation usually happened much earlier in their lives under the watchful eyes of parents or guardians.

It was clear to anyone with even casual knowledge of demons that MC had fully given themselves over to their pride and wouldn’t stop trying to prove their superiority until they passed out.

Even though Lucifer was blocking and avoiding most of the blows, MC had managed to get in a few good scratches.

They snapped at Lucifer’s right hand, narrowly missing it and aimed their elbow at his jaw. Almost casually batting the hit away, he hissed in frustration.

“Damn it... MC, control yourself!”

MC snarled and sloppily lunged forward, only for Lucifer to use his wings to bat them to the side. They slid across the floor, their glasses falling off and skidding away from them. MC lay still for a few moments, their chest rising and falling rapidly.

Lucifer stood in place, waiting for any sudden movement. For a few moments, the hallway was quiet, save for the massive gulps of air MC was taking and the occasional groan of pain from one of the demons on the floor. MC slowly sat up and blinked a few times, then looked from side to side.

Something important dawned on Lucifer, he didn’t know just how blind MC was without their glasses.

MC’s rapid breathing began to slow as they continued to squint and search the area around them for their glasses. Lucifer almost audibly sighed in relief as the blue glow in his child’s eyes began to dull.

“MC.” Lucifer allowed his demon form to disappear as he slowly moved towards them, making sure MC could hear him approaching.

The half demon stopped scanning the area for their glasses and looked up at him, they awkwardly covered a yawn with their hand as their wings sleepily fluttered behind them. It would have been much cuter if MC wasn’t spattered with blood.

Lucifer slowly offered his hand, which MC eyed suspiciously. “Come on, let’s go.”

MC blinked a few times, then yawned again and awkwardly accepted his hand. “Mmph... m’tired...”

“That’s good,” Lucifer said quietly. “Everything’s okay.”

MC half nodded and awkwardly stumbled as they tried to find their footing. Lucifer tried to help steady them, but it proved ineffective as MC collapsed into his arms. Sighing, he picked them up and began to walk back to the House of Lamentation.

Just before leaving the school, Lucifer passed by Simeon and Solomon, who looked from MC, who had curled their wings around themselves and was sleeping soundly, to Lucifer, who had a few scratch marks on his face and whose hair was a complete mess.

“Ah, you two, one of you do me a favour.” Lucifer said as he brushed past them. “One of you go to the biology hallway and pick up MC’s glasses.”

Simeon and Solomon nodded and mumbled out an affirmation as Lucifer left the school with MC. Hmph, it seemed MC was right, their confused/shocked faces were quite funny.

MC woke up the next morning with the worst muscle pain they had ever and hopefully would ever feel. On the bright side, their wrist wasn’t broken anymore :D

They had literally built their true form. Their skeleton just stretched and rearranged itself, horns grew out from their cranium, their wings broke through their back and a new set of fangs decided to break through their gums... and then all of that new stuff was gone as MC lay in bed in their normal form like a deflated beach ball.

Not wanting to seem like a wimp, MC dragged themselves to breakfast, and everyone was all: “MC, go back to bed, you can’t do anything when you’re like this.”

“Quiet, I’m fine.”

“MC, if you’re fine, then give Beel a high five, make sure it makes the slap sound.”

“Alright then, Beel, come here.”

Beel didn’t exactly think to take MC’s shorter stature into account when holding up his hand for a high five. He’s tall, okay?

MC then proceeded to grit their teeth and try not to scream as they lifted their arm to weakly hit their hand against Beel’s.

“It made the noise..!”

“No it didn’t, I didn’t hear it.”

“Fatherrrr!”

“Couldn’t hear it, go back upstairs.”

When MC trudged upstairs, Asmo practically squealed and pointed out that MC had called Lucifer father for the first time. It’s a shame no one took a picture of happy/surprised Lucifer.

Side note: after the whole event calmed down, Lucifer was crazy proud that his kid kicked the asses of two grown demons.

Funnily enough, this incident is what kickstarted MC and Luke’s friendship! Luke heard MC got into a fight and brought over get-well cookies! Sure... Beel, Mammon and Levi stole most of the cookies but they were still good!

At school on Monday... hooooooo boy... the two demons that tried to kill MC had lived to tell the tale thanks to MC getting distracted by Lucifer, and now the entire student body knew NOT to fuck with MC.

A few weeks into the exchange year, things had settled into a somewhat normal routine... until one really shitty night in particular.

MC was curled up in bed, their new comforter and sheets were a pain to put in, but they suited MC’s taste much better than the pink that had been there previously. Sighing in contentment, MC felt themselves drifting off to sleep-

Mother fucker who was texting at the ungodly hour of 10:30 pm on a Sunday? ‘Twas the lord’s day and the lord of the house stated that everyone needed to get their asses to bed at a reasonable hour.

MC picked up their phone and put on their glasses. After being blinded by the light of the phone for a brief moment, MC read the text.

Not-Rich Uncle Pennybags 💰🕶: Oi! MC! U want a snack?

Not-Rich Uncle Pennybags💰🕶: I’m in the kitchen! Get down here!

After debating whether or not to throw Mammon to the wolves and rat him out, MC decided that they did in fact want a snack and hopped out of bed to go to the kitchen.

“Hey kiddo!” Mammon said through a mouthful of something in a container, a loose note hung limply from a piece of tape that was stuck on the Tupperware. “Next time, hurry it up, got it? Ya can’t keep me waitin’ like this!”

“Mm...” MC grumbled, rubbing their eyes and looking around the kitchen. “What are you eating?”

“Custard!” Mammon smiled brightly. “Ya gotta try this!”

Oooo, custard! MC grabbed a spoon and practically skipped over to try some. Right before they were about to try a bit of the heavenly deliciousness, MC paused and finally caught a glimpse of what the note said.

‘Property of Beelzebub, you eat it, you die.’

Uh oh-

———————

Okay, the next few bits of this WILL come out in order, I promise! Kinda... not really... eh... but it matters not! I hope you all enjoyed this! I didn’t leave you with a cliffhanger this time considering Lessons 5-6 are already out ^_^

So uh- wanna fight the demons that tried to hurt MC? I’m bringing the pitchforks, who’s driving?

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