#verse: descendants [ the first wave ]

[ghostedgwen]

heyy miko!! how are u? hope you're doing well <3 so, i got this one idea that i think that'd be incredible in your writing!

James x Slytherin!Reader - she hates him, but he’s been obsessed with her since they first met. he makes a deal: if Gryffindor wins the next match against Slytherin, she has to go on a date with him. gryffindor wins (obviously), and he asks her out in the most embarrassing, James Potter way: performing for her on the pitch in front of the whole school. i had Did I Mention scene from descendants in mind lol.

did I mention | j.potter

note : Hello, anon! I've been well, thanks for asking! Thank you so much for trusting me with this request! I really enjoyed this one, I was laughing as I wrote it. Also, I decided to use the lyrics from the actual song instead of cooking up my own cringey verse hope that's ok

warning : embarrassing if you look too deeply into it, enemies to lovers ? maybe, james is a very endearing idiot, house rivalry, banter, Gryffindor reckless behavior x Slytherin "wtf are u doing" dynamic

You lose a bet with James Potter, and he decides to marvel in your defeat with a song performance at the Quidditch Pitch to officially ask you out on a date.

There are a few constants in your life: the Slytherin common room always smells faintly of old parchment and ambition. The Black Lake is most beautiful just before dawn. And James Potter is insufferable.

You’d like to think you’re immune to Gryffindor nonsense. You don’t rise to their provocations, don’t flinch at their theatrics, don’t care for their sweeping speeches about bravery and justice and all that rot. You’re clever enough to win a duel with logic and cool-headed strategy, not brute force or reckless wand waving.

And yet, James bloody Potter never seems to get the hint.

He spots you from across the corridor like a Snitch mid-game - target locked - and you swear his hair ruffles itself in anticipation. One blink and he’s there, sliding up beside you with all the subtlety of a howler.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he says, as if it’s normal. As if he didn’t nearly trip over a third-year trying to reach you.

You don’t stop walking, your voice levelled as you speak without looking at him. “Potter.”

“You dream of me last night?”

“Only if it was a nightmare.”

“Oof. She’s got teeth.”

“She’s got standards.”

It goes like this every day. He flashes a grin like it’s weaponized, and you swat it away like a fly. You’re not sure when it started - second year, maybe, when he tried to show off in Charms and accidentally levitated your entire desk into the ceiling. Or third year, when you finally snapped and hexed his eyebrows clean off after one too many loud declarations of love.

He was smitten ever since. The idiot.

You're not impressed. Gryffindor’s golden boy, adored by half the school, Quidditch captain, grades that aren't as bad as you'd hoped - he's got everything handed to him and still acts like the castle is his personal playground. You're not interested in golden retrievers. You like sharp minds and sharper wit. Potter is all chaos and confidence, never still long enough to think.

Unfortunately, he’s made it his life’s mission to orbit yours.

“You’d look fantastic in red, by the way,” he calls out as you disappear into Potions. “I mean, green’s nice, but red would really bring out the scowl.”

You don’t dignify it with a response.

In Slytherin, you’re a known quantity. Smart, strategic, and poised. You walk the line between aloof and approachable so perfectly it’s practically studied. You’re respected because you’ve never needed to demand it. You don’t court attention, and that’s exactly why people look.

That includes James Potter, unfortunately.

And now, with the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch match looming, the rivalry has reached a fever pitch. The pitch is practically buzzing with tension. You have nothing to do with it, no position on the team, no behind-the-scenes strategy, but house pride runs in your blood, and the Slytherin common room’s been buzzing for weeks.

You’re outside the Great Hall the morning of the match, a book in hand and a scowl ready for whoever dares interrupt, when the scent of grass and ego drifts toward you.

Potter.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he says, jogging up with his broom over his shoulder, hair a mess that you’re almost convinced he cultivates with spellwork. “Don’t tell me you’re hiding.”

“I don’t need to hide when my house is going to wipe the pitch with yours,” you reply dryly, not looking up. “Shouldn’t you be stretching or something?”

“I stretch before bed. Want to watch sometime?”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“Only the best bits.”

He grins like he’s already won, and you have to force yourself not to sigh. The castle is already buzzing with match-day energy. You’d planned to watch the game in the stands with your Slytherin scarf wrapped around you on top of a green jumper.

But today, something makes you pause.

“Let’s make it interesting,” you say, snapping your book closed.

His eyes spark. “Oh?”

“If Slytherin wins,” you say, voice cool, crisp, practiced, “you stop talking to me. Forever. No winks in the corridor. No howlers disguised as singing Valentines. Nothing.”

He places a hand dramatically over his heart. “You’d really deprive the world of this banter?”

“World? No. Me? Gladly.”

He narrows his eyes, smirks. “Alright then. If Gryffindor wins…”

You cross your arms. “Let me guess. I have to wear a Gryffindor scarf for a week.”

“Tempting,” he says. “But no. If we win - you go on a date with me.”

You blink. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious.”

You study him for a moment. There’s that sparkle in his eyes that you recognize from every reckless stunt he’s ever pulled - a challenge. He lives for this. And for some twisted reason, you find yourself holding out your hand.

“If we win,” you repeat, “you stop talking to me.”

“If we win,” he counters, taking your hand, “you give me a shot.”

The handshake is electric. The corridor, quiet a moment before, erupts with students who apparently had been listening in from both ends.

“Oh my god,” someone squeals.

“You’re mad,” someone else gasps.

“Finally,” mutters another.

You barely hear them. You’re locked on Potter’s grin, and the smug tilt of his brow. He thinks he’s got this in the bag.

You think he’s going to eat dirt.

The match is chaos. That was the only way you could describe it in all honesty, majority of it was red and green blurs zooming across the pitch.

With the chaos of green and red ensuing under the bright and clear sky, the crowd screams itself hoarse. You’re seated in the Slytherin stands with your arms crossed and your heart in your throat. You’re not invested in the tactics, but house pride simmers hot in your chest.

James Potter is impossible to ignore. He flies like he was born in the air, reckless and brilliant and infuriatingly good.

Slytherin’s Seeker almost catches the Snitch - twice. But Gryffindor’s Keeper pulls off a save that should’ve been impossible, and suddenly, they’re up by ten, then thirty.

Your hands are clenched. You don’t care, not really, and yet -

Potter executes a loop-the-loop feint so absurd it draws gasps from the stands, drawing Slytherin’s Beaters out of position, and Gryffindor’s Seeker snatches the Snitch right from under their nose.

Final score: Gryffindor wins by sixty.

The stadium erupts.

You sit back, winded, heart thudding.

He won.

Shit.

The Quidditch match ended in an explosion of red and gold. Gryffindor had won.

Naturally, the entire school was buzzing.

It had been a close game - fierce, fast, and even brutal. Even you had felt a tiny sliver of adrenaline watching it, arms crossed and brows lifted from your usual corner of the Slytherin stands. But now, with the game over, you had one very specific goal in mind: disappear before James Potter finds you.

Because a deal was a deal.

And Potter would never let you forget a deal.

You slipped away before the final whistle stopped echoing, weaving through crowds of shouting Gryffindors and grumbling Slytherins, down the back steps of the stands, heart thudding like you’d just run laps around the pitch. If you were lucky, he’d be too busy being celebrated to come looking for you. If you were lucky, he’d gloat about the match and forget the bet.

If you were really lucky, he’d get struck by a stray Bludger still on the loose.

You didn’t get far.

Halfway across the pitch, the grass beneath your boots still dewy and soft, you heard it.

A sudden, magically-enhanced echo of a microphone crackling to life.

You stopped walking.

Oh no.

“Oh, ladies and gentlemen,” James Potter’s voice rang out, smug and all too familiar, “I hope you haven’t left just yet.”

A groan escaped you. You turned slowly, already seeing the crowd of students stalling at the gates, everyone turning back toward the pitch.

There he was. Front and centre on the grass, under the setting sun, in his wrinkled Gryffindor jersey, broom tossed aside. He held a charmed microphone in one hand and wore that smile - the one that always preceded something catastrophic.

How he even got a microphone is beyond you - and why you knew what it is was besides the point.

Sirius stood behind him, looking like a backup for some performance being cooked up. You started walking faster.

James cleared his throat. “Now, I know we’re all reeling from that win - thank you, thank you - but before you head off to celebrate, I have one teeny, tiny thing to take care of.”

You were nearly at the exit.

“Oi! _____!”

The crowd parted like the sea, and suddenly every head was turning your way. Every face. Every expression lit with delighted horror and secondhand embarrassment. You stopped dead on your tracks, like a snake caught in headlights.

James grinned wider. “This one’s for you.”

And then - music.

Fucking music was the last thing you expected to cue in the moment he flashed a grin so wide it could’ve ripped his cheeks.

You didn’t know who had enchanted what, or where the band had come from, but suddenly James Potter was launching into a full, ridiculous, very real musical number.

“♪ I met this girl who rocked my world ♪”

You blinked.

“♪ Like it's never been rocked ♪”

He spun. He spun. Sirius groaned and joined in on backup vocals.

“♪ And now I'm living just for her ♪”

Someone behind you gasped. A fourth-year clutched her heart. The Hufflepuff girls were screaming.

You pressed your fingers against your mouth, determined not to laugh. Not to give him the satisfaction - despite yourself, you were struggling not to contort your face to laugh.

“♪ And I won't ever stop ♪”

(“I beg Merlin every day that you will,” you muttered under your breath.)

“♪ I never thought that it could happen to a guy like me. ♪”

He was closing in now, slowly making his way towards you as he sang those embarrassing lyrics. How Potter keeps his pride intact after this is beyond you, how you keep yours is also beyond you.

“♪ But now look at what you've done ♪”

You scoffed in offence at that, his lyrics implied you did something to him which you did not. You were not at fault for whatever is going on with him, you shot him a look through the field while he remains undeterred.

“♪ You got me, down on my knee ♪”

He winked at you through the chaos. You tried - Merlin, you tried - not to break. But your mouth twitched. Just barely. Your lips parted.

James saw it.

He let out a delighted yell and dropped to his knees on the pitch. The music slowed to a dramatic ballad tempo.

He extended a hand to you.

“_____,” he said, theatrically breathless. “So. What do you say? A deal’s a deal.”

Your cheeks burned from the sheer shame and your ears rang from the silence of everyone's anticipation, the crowd watched in a collection of bathed breaths.

The entire school was watching. You could say no. You could hex him. You wanted to hex him. You should hex him.

Instead, you stepped forward slowly, arms crossed, letting him sweat a little more.

“I didn’t realize you had a death wish,” you said dryly. “This is next-level idiocy, even for you.”

He grinned up at you. “I thought it was quite inspired.”

“You got down on your knees.”

“Uh huh.”

You sighed. And finally - finally - let a small laugh escape. You couldn’t keep it in any more, the whole thing was absurd, like some fever dream (or rather, a nightmare) you could only cook up during quiet nights.

His eyes lit up like the sun coming through stained-glass.

The crowd roared.

You looked down at him, this golden-retriever idiot of a boy, who had just serenaded you in front of hundreds of people like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you took his hand.

“Fine,” you said, letting him pull you gently toward him. “One date.”

He beamed like he’d just caught the Snitch.

“One date,” you repeated. “And if you ever sing in public again, I will hex you.”

“No promises.”

Sirius whooped, you could already hear the teasing from your house mates over the whole affair. You had lost a bet and got a very public performance at that. The entire pitch was screaming like they’d just witnessed a marriage proposal.

James bowed with an absurd flourish and kissed your hand like some chivalrous knight. You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother stopping him, you knew how to admit defeat. Albeit how embarrassing this one was.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“Never,” he said with a grin. “But just in case - next song’s already written.”

You didn’t punch him. But it was a very near thing.

end. masterlist

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ angel guardian  x gn mermaid reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . part of your world !! 🍒 :  angel character﹙ verse 9948e rishen. ﹚

you're a mermaid who yearns for the angel who flies high in the skies. so beautiful and so out of your reach.

𖹭. ps : submission by 🍄 anon

Just thinking about mermaid reader having a big dumb crush on Rishen!!! Always watching him from below!! Big wide eyes as you see him pass by with those beautiful wings of hers!! And she'd always make sure to stop by and give you a little hello!!

And oh, you remember when she first stopped by at your lake! YOUR lake! You were so nervous!! The pretty angel you watched from afar has finally stopped at your little home!! You always imagined a moment like this!! Imagining all the ways you'd say hello and meet him for the first time!! All the practiced moments went to waste, and all you could do is peek at her over the rock you're hiding behind!

Too nervous to go up and say hello!! She always knew you were watching her when she flew passed, she just wanted a proper greeting with her sweet observer! She'd wave at you from afar and all she got in return was you ducking behind the rock, and after a bit of silence you slowly peaked out on the other end of the rock.

You'd see her wave you over with such a pretty smile too!! And you'd slowly make your way over!! Eyes barely peaking over the water's surface while you look at anything else but her!! And oh she was so sweet to you, slowly warming you up to him and easing you out of the water a little bit more!!

Oh, he just loves how sweet you are!! Promising you to always stop by and say hi!!!

So she kept her promise!! Irregularly, of course, they're a busy angel after all! But they always come back and hang out with you!! To wrap you up in their wings the best way possible!! Or to let you try on and model some of his jewelry!!

The longest she left was 2 weeks, and you were oh so heartbroken!!! Begging the stars and moon to bring your angel back to you!! He'll come back eventually!! Wiping your tears away and saying he was sent on a mission!! You were so worried when you saw all the wounds on his body! But oh, your lake was magical!! Always healing every creature that flows within it! So you'd grab his hand and gently tug him closer! Only dropping your hand to strip herself of her clothes!! Her chest was pushed out, and her wings were puffed out to her sides. To say you were swooning would be an understatement.

"My, you look just like you did when we first met."

And you did, with your eyes barely peaking over the edge, taking in her bare body while little sparks come alive within you. You huffed and splashed water in her direction, he'll just chuckle at you, gradually descend into the water. Before he could even say anything, you rushed towards him and wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him so tightly with all your might!!

She'll just press you closer to her chest and hum a light melody to you as she drags her nose up and down the side of your neck. You'd let out a small whine and flinch slightly when your nipples grazed together. You both turn your heads towards the other little by little until you both lay your lips together for a sweet and gentle first kiss!!<3

All the while, the lake heals her body as she makes it up to you!!

[whorediaries-09]

don't blame me;

pairing- priest!remus lupin x reader warning(s)- illusions to sex, dark themes. (let me know if i should add more). [this is a dark fic. your media consumption is your choice and i'm not responsible for it. please do not continue under cut if you're uncomfortable.] a/n- i found this in my drafts. i have no idea why this wasn't published yet but okay.

ps- not using my regular taglist since this is a topic many people can be uncomfortable with.

little train inspiration (for god's sake please use headphones) 700 followers celebration post.

' and baby, for you, i would fall from grace, just to touch your face. '

remus slowly read the verse, the thick spine of the bible tucking into the flesh of his thighs.

'amen,' he said, speaking his final lines of the verse. the sound from his lips was blinded over the noise of the hinges of the church door opening. he snapped his head, eyes darting towards the entrance. the soft sunlight peaked through the glass, creating a beautiful kaleidoscopic effect.

'hello?' his voice echoed through the empty church. when his eyes met yours, he couldn't stop but dawn his eyes upon yours. you were clad in the white clothes you regularly wore when you went to the church. but there was something different around it. perhaps an extra sinch at the waist which highlighted the curve of your breasts. or was it the sunlight behind you making a halo like effect which made you look like an descending from heaven.

'oh, it's you,' he gathered, his fingers raking over the bible, closing the hardcover. 'come on in, then,'

'am i interrupting anything?' you asked. your voice was soft, like cool breeze blowing after the first rainfall. he chuckled.

'no, no you're not interrupting anything,' his statement ended, clashed with the sound of the door closing. you walked towards him, twiddling with your thumbs, your eyes transfixed on the statue of jesus.

'do you need something? i can leave you in peace if you prefer.' he said, standing up and dusting his clothes. he wasn't wearing his usual robes. he had opted for gray slacks paired with a soft blue shirt.

'no it's fine,' you walked towards him. 'i actually like some company, when i pray,' he smiled, his gaze smoothening down on your form.

'no no, i understand,' he said walking towards you, his thumb raking over the rosemary beads in his palm. 'lots of people prefer company in the church. physical company anyway. he,' his index pointed towards the stature of jesus, 'is always here.'

'a constant companion,' you said, recalling his words from a few months ago. 'i remember that. you enlightened me with that information during our gospel interpretation session.' he chuckled softly,

'i'm surprised you remember i said that. that was quite a few months ago,' you nodded, twisting your fingers together.

'speaking of which,' he whispered, so as to not let his voice echo. 'erm, you have been missing for a few weeks.' you stare at him, your eyes glossy.

'are you mad? that i've been missing?' he moves forward, waving his hands quickly reassuring,

'no no, not mad at all. i just,' he pauses, as if choosing his words carefully, 'missed your presence. and our discussions afterwards.' you let his words register into your senses. it's quiet as the sun settles, the blue hue of the sky meddling into a beautiful orange.

'there are other people who come to the church, mr. lupin.' he takes a deep breathe. it's serene, the way his name spills off your tongue.

'yes, but it gets quite boring with the same old people and the same old interpretations. you're intelligent...you're curious. i enjoy your fresh air of understanding.'

'you don't mean that.' you laugh. he sighs, letting his tongue dart over his teeth.

'oh no, i mean that,' he twiddles with his thumb, running his fingers through his locks with his other hand. he rubs his neck, drawing your attention to a small patch of ink on his neck.

'may i ask you the reason of your absence? it's none of my business of course,' his stale amber eyes pierce into you, as if trying to scan for answers.

'i got a few days off work. so i wanted to go on a little vacation.' you say.

'oh, i see, i'm glad you're out there having some fun. i'd do the same in your position. especially with the weather we've been having recently,' he emphasizes. his eyes wander about, as if searching for words, looking for phrases to let the conversation continue. 'i understand your need for freedom.'

you let the words hang in the air, tasting the freshness of the newly spoken sentences. you watch his nicely polished shoes, before you bite your tongue, meeting his eyes, allowing yourself to drown in the burnt amber color of them.

'do you mind it? the freedom? the fun?' he stands silent, as if speechless. it was extremely difficult to keep a man like remus lupin dumbfoundedly silent.

'no,' he says, 'i don't particularly mind it. i've...dedicated my life to this... this is my calling.' he laughs a little, a bark like laughter echoing through the walls. 'besides, i live my life through hearing your escapades.'

'i think you should live life a little. i'm saying this because i consider you my friend.'

'you do?' he says, softly biting his beautiful pink lips. 'well i consider you a friend too.' you nod.

'not many, erm, consider me other than someone who's a priest or think of any... friendly interactions, so... i appreciate that very much.'

you twiddle with your thumb, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. your mind floods with screams as you think of the next question you want to ask him. your heart thumps loudly in your chest, the heat of the blood curving through every inch of your body.

'can i ask you a question?'

'of course, you can ask me anything.'

'have you kissed anyone before?' it's vague, short yet straight forward. a slight pink tint overcomes his pale skin, his tongue tying up in knots before he processes his answer.

'oh, i- yes. i have kissed people before.' he licks his lips. 'though, in secret. we're not...uh meant to have relationships but... everybody needs company...sometimes.' you hum softly at his answer, minutely surprised at the lack of a reaction. then, you frame your next question, almost like a child so free of sin. you are, if partly so.

'do you consider it a bad thing mr. lupin?'

'no,' he laughs. 'i don't consider it a bad thing. i enjoy your curiosity.' he moves forward, a few painful inches away from you. it's as if he can feel the heat from your body. he enjoys it. 'and, neither do i think you're going to tell on me or anything, but yes, i have had companies of a different nature, too.'

the gasp ends in your throat. it's as if he reads your mind.

'i'm not such an extremist that i condemn that kind of thing. carnal desires are...human. the lord created us with them. so why should we deny ourselves?'

'isn't it wrong? a sin? perhaps you... don't mean it.' you say.

'no, i do mean it. to want intimacy is such an intricately human thing it isn't...wrong to want it or engage in it.'

'i've wanted intimacy, desired for it. for so long, mr. lupin, but i find myself stranded. because nobody expresses it back. perhaps you can tell me how it feels, with your experience of the humane carnal desire for intimacy,'

'oh.. well we've established that we're friends but... is that really something you should be asking a priest? you're a curious little thing aren't you?' you smile paired with a little nod of your head. you truly are curious.

'well,' he pauses, looking into your eyes, trying to search for something. 'if you must know, i haven't had any complaints. i've been told i give a rather...satisfactory performance.' he laughs. 'but, it has been quite some time.'

'oh. how long?'

'almost eight months so uh..nearly about a year, roughly,' he whispers, as you move closer. you're close enough for his warm breath fan over you, letting goosebumps kiss your skin.

'i think... i'll also be a satisfactory performer in bed,' you say. he laughs his eyebrow tilting.

'oh you think you are? your confidence is very cute.' he says, moving closer. you watch his pupils dilate, as the distance decreases between your bodies. something takes over him, as his breathing turns erratic, his heart palpitating. 'although,' he continues, 'the matter of one's performance in bed is highly subjective.'

'i can show you, the performance. i want to feel the intimacy, how it feels to be wanted, mr. lupin.' you say, almost begging. his hands twitch and your body aches for the touch of someone you've never felt before.

'i guess i'm sure you would like to find out, but...we shouldn't... we really shouldn't,' he feels his nerves turning shoddy as tries to not drown into the depth of your eyes. he says it, trying to convince himself more than you. but how can he when you look so pretty, like dew strewn across fresh grass. you jut out your lower lip.

'don't you find me pretty mr. lupin?' his eyes widen, his palm cradling your cheek. his thumb runs over your cheek and he enjoys the warm flush of your skin upon his touch, the goosebumps on your kissing every inch of your body.

'no, you are very beautiful. i mean it. apart from your intelligence, your beautiful mind is what...drew me to you.' he watches you melt into his touch and words and knits his eyebrows. 'but, we can't, we really can't, someone could just walk in.'

perhaps that's what excites you. the idea of someone walking in, the idea of somebody catching you. perhaps it's the sin that excites you.

'please,' you beg, your eyes glossy with an unsatiated lust, the carnal desire for intimacy, for his touch. 'please, remus, i need to know.' he takes a deep breathe, as the warm blood rushes between his legs.

he grabs your face, touching his temple with yours. 'fuck it,' he whispers, capturing his lips with yours. he's the priest, he needs to enlighten you with the knowledge you beg for, the experience you beg for.

perhaps it's sinful, but when his tongue meets yours, swallowing the sounds from your mouth, there's no sweeter innocence than his gentle sin. he'll be a poison ivy just for you, just to worship you at the shrine of his sins.

[lowrezbonuslevel]

9.🪞 aaaand... 16!📺 For whoever you want... or Tarantillda, idk!!!

9 was already answered here, so let's answer 16 ("If the anime got a reboot or if there was another Kirby TV show, do you have any ideas for episodes that your OC could appear in? What would the plot be and what role would your OC play?"):

I decided to try to slot Tarantillda (and Zed, for fun) into the anime, since coming up with an entirely new Kirby show canon seemed too big an undertaking lol.

I think, if the anime were continued, it would have been cool to see a Star Warriors resurgence with new heroes, and I think it would make sense for Tarantillda and Zed to end up joining said resistance. But they would have to be introduced properly, first, so check under the cut for some episode run-downs if you're interested! :)

For Tillda's introductory episode ("Flower Power"):

A young woman from another planet arrives in Dreamland seeking her brother, who apparently went missing some time ago. She looks through the whole town and doesn't find him—but, just when she's about to leave Pop Star, trouble appears: it's Flowery Woods, a tree-like demon beast! It begins to take over Dreamland and chokes out the sunlight so that Cappy Town is covered in darkness. Tillda, knowing some plant magic and hopeful that her brother might appear alongside Flowery Woods, sticks around to help.

After the fight, she explains that Dedede isn't the only monarch that has been lured by NME to the side of evil—her homeland, Floralia (which probably works better as another planet entirely in the anime-verse), was turned to a miserable place after their tyrannical queen swore loyalty to Nightmare. Tillda meant to grab her little brother and escape the place, but he was lured away and turned into a demon beast himself, leading Tillda to search planets for signs of Nightmare-sponsored trouble and, hopefully, bring her brother back to the light.

The episode ends with Kirby and friends waving her off, promising they'll keep an eye out for Taranza. (She and Tiff would probably take a shine to each other over the course of the episode, since they both play the role of sharp elder sister to an adventurous little brother in a world full of danger!)

For Zed's introductory episode ("Over the Rainbow"):

Kirby, Tiff, and Tuff are playing in town when they see an unfamiliar feline face pass by. Though the newcomer isn't very talkative, he seems friendly enough—especially to Kirby, who is excited to meet a new friend. Tiff and Tuff, on the other hand, are mildly suspicious, but agree that they should learn more before they interfere—especially after catching a glimpse of a strange, black, blob-like creature with one eye displayed on Zed's portable computer.

Later that day, a blight of Dark Matter (which no one in Dreamland is particularly familiar with) descends upon the townspeople. With the exception of Tiff and Tuff, everyone around Kirby starts turning angry and violent, including Lady Like and Sir Ebrum; when the three protagonists encounter several strange, one-eyed creatures, they remember Zed from earlier in the day and assume he is a demon beast summoned by Dedede to bring the blight upon the town.

Zed is discovered huddled away writing notes about the monster. Tiff and Tuff threaten to attack, but Meta Knight quickly swoops in with exposition. Soon everyone calms down and listens to what Zed has to say—that the darkness over Dreamland can be expelled if the leader of the occupying Dark Matter army, the Swordsman, is defeated.

In reply, Meta Knight mentions that the Star Warriors previously defeated Dark Matter Swordsman using the Rainbow Sword, which has since gone missing; Zed then reveals themself to be in possession of this legendary weapon and offers it to Meta Knight, thinking that this must be the hero that can defeat the Dark Matter Clan yet again—but Meta Knight, who already has Galaxia, insists Kirby take it so that the two can join forces to stop this very powerful threat.

Hence DMS is defeated by Kirby and Meta Knight, leaving its army to flee and Dreamland safe and peaceful once more (much to Dedede and Escargoon's relief—the Dark Matter ended up possessing them, too).

Zed exits without much of a goodbye, let alone an explanation of who they are, where they came from, or why they helped fight against the Dark Matter Clan. Meta Knight is left to ponder aloud that, like Fofa, maybe there are other demon beasts that turned to the good side, for one reason or another.

Afterward...

I suppose Zed and Tillda could meet off-screen and become besties (as they ought to be, in every universe 😌). I don't think they'd be the founders of the New Star Warriors, though, especially considering Tillda has no idea who the "Star Warriors" were. Maybe Knuckle Joe and Sirica would come up with the idea and invite Tillda and Zed to join them?

[lunarriviera]

on metahemeralism

Anything Bunny wrote was bound to be alarmingly original, since he began with such odd working materials and managed to alter them further by his befuddled scrutiny, but the John Donne paper must have been the worst of all the bad papers he ever wrote (ironic, given that it was the only thing he ever wrote that saw print. After he disappeared, a journalist asked for an excerpt from the missing young scholar's work and Marion gave him a copy of it, a laboriously edited paragraph of which eventually found its way into People Magazine).

Somewhere, Bunny had heard that John Donne had been acquainted with Izaak Walton, and in some dim corridor of his mind this friendship grew larger and larger, until in his mind the two men were practically interchangeable. We never understood how this fatal connection had established itself: Henry blamed it on Men of Thought and Deed, but no one knew for sure. A week or two before the paper was due, he had started showing up in my room about two or three in the morning, looking as if he had just narrowly escaped some natural disaster, his tie askew and his eyes wild and rolling. "Hello, hello,"' he would say, stepping in, running both hands through his disordered hair. "Hope I didn't wake you, don't mind if I cut on the lights, do you, ah, here we go, yes, yes…" He would turn on the lights and then pace back and forth for a while without taking off his coat, hands clasped behind his back, shaking his head. Finally he would stop dead in his tracks and say, with a desperate look in his eye: "Metahemeralism. Tell me about it. Everything you know. I gotta know something about metahemeralism."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what that is."

"I don't either," Bunny would say brokenly. "Got to do with art or pastoralism or something. That's how I gotta tie together John Donne and Izaak Walton, see." He would resume pacing.

"Donne. Walton. Metahemeralism. That's the problem as I see it."

"Bunny, I don't think 'metahemeralism' is even a word."

"Sure it is. Comes from the Latin. Has to do with irony and the pastoral. Yeah. That's it. Painting or sculpture or something, maybe."

"Is it in the dictionary?"

"Dunno. Don't know how to spell it. I mean"—he made a picture frame with his hands—"the poet and the fisherman. Parfait. Boon companions. Out in the open spaces. Living the good life. Metahemeralism's gotta be the glue here, see?"

And so it would go, for sometimes half an hour or more, with Bunny raving about fishing, and sonnets, and heaven knew what, until in the middle of his monologue he would be struck by a brilliant thought and bluster off as suddenly as he had descended.

He finished the paper four days before the deadline and ran around showing it to everyone before he turned it in.

"This is a nice paper, Bun—," Charles said cautiously.

"Thanks, thanks."

"'But don't you think you ought to mention John Donne more often? Wasn't that your assignment?"

"Oh, Donne," Bunny had said scoffingly. "I don't want to drag him into this."

Henry refused to read it. "I'm sure it's over my head, Bunny, really," he said, glancing over the first page. "Say, what's wrong with this type?"

"Triple-spaced it," said Bunny proudly.

"These lines are about an inch apart."

"Looks kind of like free verse, doesn't it?"

Henry made a funny little snorting noise through his nose.

"Looks kind of like a menu," he said.

All I remember about the paper was that it ended with the sentence "And as we leave Donne and Walton on the shores of Metahemeralism, we wave a fond farewell to those famous chums of yore." We wondered if he would fail.

[Donna Tartt, The Secret History]

[rooksunday]

the benefits of command | ao3

word count: 849 words

theme: true colours

summary: please stop asking cody for his opinion, he just wants to eat his porridge (garlympics verse)

There had been a lot of discussion about the design of a flag for Home. Cody hadn't realised that flags were necessary, but there were certain factions who apparently felt very strongly about the whole thing. Cody had become unwillingly involved in said discussions by virtue of proximity, since those most invested—Boil, as always, leading from the front—persisted in striking up debates whenever Cody was in the mess.

(Cody had considered modifying his mealtimes, since routine was clearly scuppering him, but he still bore minor trauma from being descended upon by half the medics that one time he'd dared skip firstmeal without giving five days' notice.)

"—Mandalorian colour theory," one of Boil's cohort was saying insistently.

"—not kriffin' Mandos!" came the equally insistent rebuttal. The voices grew louder as the debate crossed the mess hall, arrowing inevitably in Cody's direction.

Cody applied himself to his porridge with more intensity. Should've gone for the smoothie, Commander. Poor strategy.

"What do you think, Cody?" Boil asked, sliding his tray onto the table and taking a seat.

His companions settled on either side of Boil. Wooley (opinions on colour theory) and Jek (not a kriffin' Mando). The three of them were on a committee of some kind; Cody couldn't remember the proper name, only that Fox called them the Too Much Time On Their Hands Committee.

(Fox and his 'ultra run' habit ensured he never loitered for long enough to be pinned into conversation about flags. He sent emojis in response to Cody's complaints.)

"No thinking unless I'm being paid for it, you know that," Cody said, inhaling another spoonful of porridge.

Boil rolled his eyes. "But you'll have to look at it! Everyone will. I don't know why no one cares. Aside from these two, anyway."

"Rys cares," Jek said. He sniffed his drink. "What fruit is this?"

"Pink flavour," Wooley told him. He glanced at Cody. "Gotta paint the flag on the ships, sir— I mean. Not sir. Gotta paint the flag on the ships. What if we choose a colour that aggravates purrgils?"

With a unironically serious expression, Boil flicked open his comm to make a note, presumably about checking the visual spectrum of a purrgil.

Space whales.

"Orange," Cody said, throwing his spoon into the bowl and leaning back in his seat. Purrgils was a creature too far. He folded his arms across his chest and glanced at the ceiling for inspiration. "Orange and blue. That's what colour the flag should be."

Boil, Wooley, and Jek made various expressions of delight (Boil) and disgust (the others). Boil slapped Jek on the arm and made a beckoning gesture.

"Come on, pay up. Orange! I told you!"

Jek fished something from his pocket and handed it over. Imported candy of some kind. He glowered at Cody.

"You had to choose the blue as well? So predictable," he complained.

Cody was bewildered. "What did I do?"

"I'm getting more caf," Wooley announced, as he rose to his feet. He added, "And I'll get yours, too, Boil. Your two weeks of caf delivery begin now."

"So kind."

"I'll help," Jek said, getting to his feet and following Wooley.

Slowly, realisation dawned on Cody. He narrowed his eyes at Boil. "You've been hounding me, for weeks, and it was all to win a bet? You sent me meeting minutes. Is there even a flag? How deep does this deception go?"

Boil laughed and waved his hand at Cody, grinning as he explained. "No, there is! There is a flag! We decided on it after the first meeting. You just…" He shrugged. "It was funny. Your face when we asked. You really don't like being consulted for your opinion about this kind of thing, do you?"

Cody really didn't. "Not anymore."

A nod. Boil fiddled with something on his comm again. "I've sent it to you. Ponds, Mayday, and Neyo signed off on it, but you'll have to look at it."

"So will everyone else."

"Sure, but— Just have a look."

Shaking his head, still baffled by the whole thing, Cody opened his comm and navigated to Boil's message. He stared at the image for a long moment, hearing nothing but the tide of his blood in his ears. The design was simple. Familiar. Though—

"It looks different, without armour," he said, displaying tubie-level of observational skills.

Boil's smile went lopsided. "Everything does."

Cody nodded. He figured that was right.

After a long moment of tracing the sunrise emblem with his eyes, Cody looked up and repeated the grabby gesture that Boil had made toward Jek. When Boil frowned, Cody quirked his eyebrows towards the victory candy sitting on the table.

"Well, hand over my cut. Call it my consultancy fee," he said.

Boil barked a laugh. "Yes, sir. Wouldn't dream otherwise, sir."

"I can't believe you got Wooley talking about purrgils." Cody shook his head. The level of nonsense was almost impressive.

Yet Boil suddenly straightened at the table. "No, but that's a real concern! Because what if—"

Cody wondered if anyone had ever drowned themselves in porridge.

[bobbinfire]

Transformers One - Animation Student Analysis

(Aka why TFHypeGuy is right and you need to make this a #TFWeekend)

Disclaimer: This is a Review by an animation student based on the first viewing alone. I will not be giving the same quality of analysis of a film like a seasoned animation professional. However, I still have tons of knowledge by the years I have spent personally studying animated films and the new information learned through my academics. If you are still here, with that out of the way let’s begin.

(As requested by @serotoninisheldinkiwis)

((Spoilers below- quick non spoiler version here))

Transformers one is the peak example of what a brand such as the transformers franchise could accomplish when fans and talented artists work together to make a piece of art. The phrase of “could accomplish” is even over written as they “have accomplished” this. Both seasoned and newly furnished transformers fans seem to concur this as a fact.

All animation fans (you could even get the same from any of my fellow animation classmates) agree the Spider-Man Into/Across the Spider-verse movies are the best amongst the vast pool of the animated film medium. Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie (2022) was my favorite animated film, for both story and animation. But when compared to the artistry that is the Spider-verse, I knew that it still couldn’t compare in terms of mastery. No matter how much a film has your love, you are more likely than not to agree with the concept that Spider-verse saga is the best. And I used to agree. That was until the night of Friday September 20, when Transformers One single handily took the scepter of victory and waved it high for the awaiting crowds to see. The controversy I may get from this will probably be immense, but the statement I am willing to scream from the rooftops is that Transformers One has officially surpassed Spider-Verse movies as the top animated film. 

But what actually makes an animated film the “best” when compared to the variety of competitors flooding the market on a bi-monthly basis? What makes this film so better when it could be just the current hyper fixation coded bias of a long time transformers kid who just got handed a shiny new toy to play with and will eventually forget about once the next film releases. Well my friends…and random people of the internet, here is an analysis made by an animation student (me *cough *cough) that breaks down the answer to that question. 

Animation

As with any quality animated film, the animation itself will make or break a film as it is the core part of the film. Transformers One’s animation was handled by the company Industrial Lights and Magic. While not a large competitor in terms of feature film animation, they have produced films that have pushed past known boundaries of both animation and story as seen in their few animated feature films: Rango (2011), Strange Magic (2015), and Ultraman Rising (2024). Their work in the industry is primarily known in reference to their special effects work with Jurassic Park (1993) and Star Wars (1977). ILM’s animation in Transformers One manages to bring to life a world many have tried to do before, but not as elegantly or dare I say brilliant as this. The animation itself seems to stay on a constant frame rate, the beauty of special movements or actions being more defined by hard cuts or continuously moving shots. Each movement has purpose even ones that seem more throw away because it adds to the personality of the characters/environment. Specialty/new techniques are not as important for this film, which is perfectly okay considering they managed to hit each one of the 12 principles of animation when it counted most. An animation coming from a special effects studio in general is very good because they tend to pay major attention to any animation related to special effects, even if it’s just for a cartoon. Details can range from giant Quintesson ship slowly descending to the tiny sparks cause from a hit to a metal face. The animation in general is smooth as well as robotic only when it needs to be.

Environments

There have been a variety of environments in both animated and live action films that have help suck the audience into the story. When an animated pulls it off successfully it is even more noteworthy worthy. However, one must note the limited use of environments when it comes to how much we see past the establishing shots. Most times the best of environmental shots are primarily used to help set up a location or scene, then the rest of that is limited to a small corner (more often than not for budgetary reasons). Transformers One leans into the almost constant use of environments, not only for location, but for story as well. There is a variety of scenes that are carried through meticulously crafted sets and allow for you to not only finally get to know the world of Cybertron, but we travel through the environments almost fully as we progress the story alongside the characters. Minor details play a large role in the environment. Between the polished textures, the detailed individual blades of alien vegetation, the different background characters, and the hidden easter eggs within the framework of the designs themselves allow for a new thing for you eyes to feast upon with each viewing.

Textures

The use of textures in both environment and character design is on another level when compared to other 3D animated films. Speaking from experience the process of applying basic textures to a 3D model already requires hours of hard work, dedication, and patience that you will be very low on by the end of the whole ordeal. So when you analyze the detail and complexity of the work the team at ILM brought to the table it is truly extraordinary, even more so when you realize the time it would take to fight the UV layout and unwrap the mesh of a complicated figure like a cybertronian, especially one that has to transform. If you are confused on my alien language look up basic uv layout and texturing tutorial for maya on YouTube and generate a heart attack for yourself. Good luck sleeping tonight. Transformers one works itself down to the individual grains in the sand, the cracks in the ground, the glitter speckled plating on Elita-One’s head; even the length and deepness of scratches in armor can be measured. The effort put forth creates an effect of feeling you can touch the textures just by looking at them. Of course textures can only go so far without the correct use of the next subject. 

Lighting

When used to its fullest extent lighting not only lights the cast and their environment but it helps extend storytelling capabilities. Things such as mood, emotions, atmosphere, movement and location are brought out through simple artificial particles. The darkness of the mines contrast with the bright fantasy lighting of Iacon, which in its own way contrast the calm natural lighting of the surface. The carefully crafted textures of a surface could not be fully realized without the full use of directed light bouncing off it. During the final sequence of fights the change of D-16 to Megatron is not only conveyed through the change in the lighted color of his eyes but the waves of light flowing from them as he battles his way through opponents. The trail of light allows our eyes to not only follow Megaton’s movements but his descent into his dark path, with his blood red rage clouding his vision and being all that he can see.

And finally the most important point to cover with any animated film besides animation:

Story

Recently Dreamworks employee Rick  Rickdel gave a lecture on my campus. Out of all he talked about one of my major takeaways was when he said: “a story only connects with the felt needs of your audience”. Transformers fans have been wanting a movie like Transformers One for a long time. Even the smallest fans wanted to know what happens between Optimus and Megatron. And that’s the true beauty of this movie. We already know basically what happened between them, we know the overall story. Going into the theater we already knew how it was going to officially end and based on the lore we knew how it was going to start even. So the most important thing for Transformers One was how they connected the two and carried out the main part of the story. And what they did not only managed to meet expectations, but surprised us multiple points along the way. Voice actors poured their souls into these characters, leaving behind their celebrity personalities and bringing the characters to life. Each character themselves that had a relatively good chunk of screen time had a role in the story and were not just throw away side characters. With each one it’s set up for an almost domino like effect for the plot. Bee is not just a goofy side character, he assists in the journey, helps them get to new locations, and even provides relief from the typical dark undertones. Darkwing is a side character that ends through one quick mean spirited action kicks off the rising action at break neck speed. The quintessions show briefly, but provide enough of a threat without overstepping the plot’s boundaries that it is okay they are not there for long, but there may be a chance they can come again. Sentinel is at first glance a stereotypical egocentric villain, but take away his power and status and he will crumble in your hands (quite literally). He is not designed to be redeemable, but he is also not evil just for the sake of being evil. He has goals, he has factors that push him to evil things, but he very clearly has gone far enough that he no longer cares. His overall actions that are not super specifically targeted end up affecting what were originally minor threats to the point it results in his demise. And because of how his character was designed we rejoice even if actual justice wasn’t delivered. For a film have good storytelling it needs to have two factors: the story (the lore and information the audience receives in order to understand the film’s world) and plot (the events that play out in the films timeframe). The movie uses both of these to their proper extent allowing people like my friend was never watched any Transformers media before to watch it with understanding and enjoy it. It plays out what we expect of transformers media while taking on its own persona. What I find most enjoyable about the movies plot is the fact it is similar to a slow burn romance, but in reverse. We take this strongly built brotherly bond that can be shaken, yet once the match gets struck we can do nothing but watch as all these ties melt to heartache before our very eyes. And the audience’s vision eats it up without blinking once. We watch as D-16 goes to catch Orion, only to slowly realize he can’t undo what he’s done to the point of of diluting his mind to making it Orion’s’ on fault. We watch orions spark break through the emotions in his eyes as he begs D-16 not to…but it’s not about not dropping him, it’s about not becoming what he has watched him slowly come into to the point a flip is switch and D-16 is gone. @sephirose explained the summary of this movie best:

“D-16 reached out and caught Orion.

Megatron dropped him.

Orion Pax held onto D-16.

Optimus Prime let him go.”

Even the soundtrack tells a story. “The Fall” it only plays an emotional heartstrings of former Transformers Prime fans, but encapsulates “the actual physical fall of Orion and the metaphorical one of D-16 as he kills Sentinel” (@firebunnylover). Even if the end of the film is just a quick hit of Megatron being banished and forming the Deceptioncons while Orion ascends and becomes robot Jesus, it is what we were expecting. 

And that is the culmination of these factors. It manages to astound and amaze, but in the end it was a Transformers movie meant to be satisfactory. It is satisfying to the transformers soul, and in turn we should do our part like TFOneGuy says and give it the appreciation it deserves.

Anyways, sorry this took so long (I say to the single person who asked for this) to get out but in order to be able to give an in-depth animation student analysis I have to do well in my animation classes.

[xismare]

HATE ME / Realmente debes odiarme -Phaidei/Myphai ENG/ESP

«You really must hate me, I guess… For messing up with you.»

Notes:

English is not my native language, so I use the translator to bring it anyway, if you don't mind that and any errors that may be found then... go ahead! (ps. This was made before the release of Phainon/Khaslana.)

Under the calm mantle of a night studded with stars, two wandering stars crossed the sky and gently descended upon a world veiled even to the eyes of the eons.

Time had barely breathed its first sigh there, shaped by invisible hands that split the world into patches of sunlight and whispers of shadow. It was then, on that first boundary between dawn and dusk, that two stars were born—not by chance, but out of necessity. Twin flames destined to recognize each other among millions of faces, among thousands of lives.

They had a purpose as ancient as the whisper of the galaxies: to seek each other, to recognize each other, and to love each other. But their first life was brief. Barely a blink before silence. They left without fully understanding those dreams that sometimes visited them, like soft mists: images of two humans intertwined by a forgotten story, old lovers who once called each other by their true names.

And yet, they never came to understand their destiny. Like leaves carried by a wind they could not name, they departed without touching, leaving behind only an echo—the faint murmur of what might have been. Like broken verses, like melodies that dissolve before reaching their final note. All that remained was the trace of their attempt: a longing suspended between worlds, waiting for a new chance.

In their next life, fate wove for one of them the path of being raised as the destined hero, the last hope against a tragedy that loomed like black waves over Amphoreus—relentless and eternal. The other was given up by his father—blinded by fear or faith—to the banks of the Styx, as if its waters could wash away shame or love. But death, capricious and cruel, turned its face away, denying him its embrace. And so, both remained suspended between what they had been and what they were meant to become, lost from their reason for existing, condemned to wander under different skies when their only destiny was to find each other.

For ninety-eight lifetimes, they wandered the world like shadows without reflection, condemned to the bitter dance of missed encounters. Time and again, their paths brushed the threshold of a miracle, only to vanish in destiny’s final breath.

But in the hundredth existence, under the silent cloak of a night embroidered with shooting stars, the impossible happened. Unknowingly, both raised their prayers to the sky, their souls exhausted by centuries of unfulfilled longing, pleading—with the desperation of those who have already forgotten hope—to finally find their other half.

And then, the Goddess of Love, moved perhaps by the persistence of their suffering or the tragic beauty of their wait, cast her gaze upon them. Under her protection, those wandering hearts finally found each other, recognizing one another without words, as if all the pain they had endured had been the exact price to deserve that moment.

Side by side they marched, like two souls bound by fate, trusting each other with a faith known only to battle or to love. They watched each other’s backs with the care of one guarding a treasure, and in the world’s quiet pauses—fleeting, stolen from time—they shared whispered words, conversations that spilled over like rivers without a course, lost among memories of yesterday, truths of the present, and dreams that, though uncertain, they longed to believe were possible.

Mydei longed, with a deep and quiet tenderness, to take Phainon to see her library in Kremnos. It was not merely a place filled with books and ancient dust, but an extension of her soul, of a past that blurred in her memory like a dream upon waking, and in that invitation, so simple yet profound, Phainon recognized a gesture of love. He then wished to offer the same: to open the doors to his own origins, to show Mydei where he came from, who he had been before getting lost among the days.

He wanted Mydei to know more about him, to see with her own eyes the corners where he had once felt real. But no matter how hard he tried, the memories slipped away like mist through his fingers.

And yet, that didn't seem to matter to them. In their shared silence, there were no questions—only the quiet acceptance that the past, no matter how precious, could not compete with the sweetness of the present.

And so it was that, in the midst of the fleeting and the uncertain, a small feeling was born between them—forgotten by time, primitive and pure. An ancient feeling, lost to the world, pure as a spark in the darkness.

And without ever being named, love began to be born.

With touches as light as the wind’s sigh and glances that slipped away, shyly, through shadows, they sealed their fate. It was a kiss — brief, silent, eternal — that, in the darkest depths of Amphoreus’ night, marked the beginning of the end. There, where the moon kept silent and time seemed to hold its breath, two souls met… only to lose each other.

—Go on... kill me! —he whispered, with an edge of defiance and sorrow.— Hasn’t the traitorous hero already revealed my weakness to you?

Mydei's hands danced with fierce agility, gliding over the masked man's sword, whose tattered cloak seemed to drag the weight of a thousand shadows.

The Flame Reaver had stormed into Kremnos, and while waiting for reinforcements, Mydei found himself caught in the urgent need to contain it. Amid the chaos, his thoughts slipped into a dark corner of his memory, where recollections blurred and faded like smoke in the wind. There, among mists and shadows, emerged the image of the one who had been his refuge—the person in whom he had placed his deepest trust and purest love. To see him now, conspiring with the enemy, was a sharp pain, a betrayal his soul refused to forgive, an invisible dagger plunged into the very core of his being.

—Phainon… —whispered the voice, broken by the echo of memory—, if fate offered you one last chance… would you dare to err again, over and over?

From afar, like a breath among ancient ruins, the presence of Oronix made itself known. His essence, almost incorporeal, resonated in that place forgotten by time, where even sighs seemed frozen in the air. And then it happened—Dang Heng’s spear, as if bearing the judgment of the ages, tore through the stranger’s mask. The silence that followed was more revealing than any word; a silence that hurt, like a love that never came to be.

—Please... —he whispered, his voice shattered.— I don't want to do it again... not again.

And in those words trembled not only regret, but also the fragility of a soul that had loved too much, that had fallen more times than the human heart can bear. It was a plea that faded into the air like the last petal of a withered flower, carried by a wind that knew all too well the way back to pain.

From that dark suit emerged a face bathed in tears, as if pain had become flesh and soul. Silence took over the place, heavy and absolute, while everyone watched the scene with bated breath. Madness shone in the eyes of his friend, the one who was supposed to be a hero; from him was born a bitter and cruel spark that chilled the heart. And, with a coldness that seemed routine, the sword sank without hesitation into the body of the one he loved most, as if that act, as cruel as it was inevitable, sealed a fate stained with sadness and farewell.

—You really must hate me,  I guess… For messing up with you.

Mydei's eyes, already weary, clung desperately to the image of her beloved, trying to focus one last time before the light in them faded forever.

And in the deep solitude of Kremnos, Phainon's heartbreaking scream shattered the silence, spreading like a cruel echo that pierced Amphoreus, filling the air with infinite sorrow.

The end.

~~~~~~~

«Realmente debes odiarme, supongo… Que me equivoque contigo.»

Notas:

Esto lo escribí antes de la salida de Fainon/Khaslana, por si se siente que hay cosas que a día de hoy son bastante obvias/confirmadas, solo quería aclararlo :)

Bajo el manto tranquilo de una noche sembrada de estrellas, dos astros errantes surcaron el firmamento y descendieron suavemente sobre un mundo velado incluso a los ojos de los eones.

Apenas hacía un suspiro que el tiempo había nacido allí, modelado por manos invisibles que partieron el mundo en claros de sol y susurros de penumbra. Fue entonces, en esa primera frontera entre el alba y el ocaso, que dos estrellas nacieron no del azar, sino de la necesidad. Llamas gemelas destinadas a reconocerse entre millones de rostros, entre miles de vidas.

Tenían un propósito tan antiguo como el susurro de las galaxias: buscarse, reconocerse y amarse. Pero su primera vida fue breve. Apenas un parpadeo antes del silencio. Partieron sin entender del todo aquellos sueños que a veces los visitaban, como brumas suaves: imágenes de dos humanos entrelazados por una historia olvidada, viejos amantes que alguna vez se llamaron por sus verdaderos nombres.

Y sin embargo, no alcanzaron a comprender su destino. Como hojas llevadas por un viento que no saben nombrar, se marcharon sin tocarse, dejando atrás solo un eco —el tenue murmullo de lo que pudo haber sido.. Como versos truncos, como melodías que se disuelven antes de alcanzar su nota final. Solo quedó el rastro de su intento: una nostalgia suspendida entre mundos, esperando una nueva oportunidad.

En su siguiente vida, el destino tejió para uno de ellos ser elevado como el héroe predestinado, la última esperanza frente a una tragedia que se alzaba como olas negras sobre Amphoreus, implacables y eternas. Al otro, su padre —ciego de miedo o fe— lo entregó a las orillas del río Estigio, como si pudiera lavar en sus aguas la vergüenza o el amor. Pero la muerte, caprichosa y cruel, le volvió el rostro, negándole su abrazo. Y así, ambos quedaron suspendidos entre lo que fueron y lo que debían ser, extraviados de su razón de existir, condenados a errar bajo cielos distintos cuando su único destino era encontrarse.

Durante noventa y ocho vidas vagaron por el mundo como sombras sin reflejo, condenados a la amarga danza del desencuentro. Una y otra vez sus caminos rozaron el umbral del milagro, sólo para desvanecerse en el último suspiro del destino.

Pero en la centésima existencia, bajo el manto silencioso de una noche bordada de estrellas fugaces, ocurrió lo imposible. Sin saberlo, ambos alzaron sus plegarias al cielo, sus almas extenuadas por siglos de anhelos no cumplidos, suplicando—con la desesperación de quien ya ha olvidado la esperanza—hallar por fin a su otra mitad.

Y entonces, la Diosa del Amor, movida quizás por la persistencia del sufrimiento o por la belleza trágica de su espera, posó su mirada sobre ellos. Bajo su amparo, aquellos corazones errantes se encontraron al fin, reconociéndose sin palabras, como si todo el dolor vivido hubiese sido el precio exacto para merecer ese instante.

Codo a codo marchaban, como dos almas aliadas por el destino, confiando el uno en el otro con una fe que sólo la batalla o el amor conoce. Se guardaban la espalda con el cuidado de quien custodia un tesoro, y en los respiros del mundo —furtivos, robados al tiempo— compartían palabras susurradas, charlas que se desbordaban como ríos sin cauce, pérdidas entre memorias del ayer, verdades del ahora y sueños que, aunque inciertos, deseaban creer posibles.

Mydei anhelaba, con una delicadeza profunda y silenciosa, llevar a Phainon a conocer su biblioteca en Kremnos. No era solo un lugar lleno de libros y polvo antiguo, sino una extensión de su alma, de un pasado que se desdibujaba en su memoria como un sueño al despertar, y en esa invitación, tan sencilla como profunda, Phainon reconoció un gesto de amor. Quiso entonces ofrecer lo mismo: abrir las puertas de su propio origen, mostrarle a Mydei de dónde venía, quién había sido antes de perderse entre los días.

Quería que Mydei conociera más de él, que mirara con sus propios ojos los rincones donde alguna vez se sintió real. Pero, por más que lo intentara, los recuerdos se le escapaban como bruma entre los dedos.

Y sin embargo, aquello no parecía importarles. En su silencio compartido no había preguntas, solo la tranquila aceptación de que el pasado, por más valioso que fuera, no podía competir con la dulzura del presente.

Así fue como, en medio de lo efímero y lo incierto, nació entre ellos un sentimiento pequeño, olvidado por el tiempo, primitivo y puro. Un sentimiento antiguo, olvidado por el mundo, puro como una chispa en la oscuridad.

Y sin que lo nombraran, el amor comenzó a nacer.

Con roces tan leves como el suspiro del viento y miradas que se escapaban, tímidas, entre sombras, sellaron su destino. Fue un beso —breve, silencioso, eterno— el que, en la profundidad más oscura de la noche de Amphoreus, marcó el principio del fin. Allí, donde la luna callaba y el tiempo parecía sostener el aliento, dos almas se encontraron… sólo para perderse.

—Vamos... ¡mátame! —susurró con un filo de desafío y tristeza—. ¿Acaso el héroe traidor no te ha revelado ya mi punto débil?

Las manos de Mydei danzaron con una agilidad feroz, deslizándose sobre la espada del hombre enmascarado, cuya capa rota parecía arrastrar el peso de mil sombras.

El roballamas había irrumpido en Kremnos, y mientras aguardaba por los refuerzos, Mydei se veía atrapado en la urgente necesidad de contenerlo. En medio del caos, sus pensamientos se deslizaron hacia un rincón oscuro de su memoria, donde los recuerdos se fundían y se desvanecían como humo en el viento. Allí, entre brumas y sombras, emergía la imagen de quien fue su refugio, la persona en quien depositó su confianza más profunda y su amor más puro. Verlo ahora, conspirando con el enemigo, era un dolor punzante, una traición que su alma se negaba a perdonar, un puñal invisible clavado en lo más hondo de su ser.

—Phainon… —susurró la voz, quebrada por el eco del recuerdo—, si el destino te ofreciera una última oportunidad… ¿te atreverías a errar de nuevo, una y otra vez?

Desde la lejanía, como un soplo entre ruinas antiguas, la presencia de Oronix se hizo sentir. Su esencia, casi incorpórea, resonó en aquel lugar olvidado por el tiempo, donde hasta los suspiros parecían congelados en el aire. Y fue entonces, cuando la lanza de Dang Heng, como si portara el juicio de los siglos, desgarró la máscara del desconocido. El silencio que siguió fue más revelador que cualquier palabra; un silencio que dolía, como el amor que nunca se cumplió.

—Por favor… —susurró, con la voz hecha pedazos—. No quiero volver a hacerlo… no otra vez.

Y en aquellas palabras temblaba no solo el arrepentimiento, sino también la fragilidad de un alma que había amado demasiado, que había caído más veces de las que el corazón humano puede soportar. Era un ruego que se perdía en el aire como el último pétalo de una flor marchita, llevado por un viento que conocía demasiado bien el camino de regreso al dolor.

De aquel traje oscuro emergió un rostro bañado en lágrimas, como si el dolor se hubiera hecho carne y alma. El silencio se apoderó del lugar, pesado y absoluto, mientras todos contemplaban la escena con el alma en vilo. La locura brillaba en los ojos de su amigo, aquel que se suponía debía ser un héroe, de él nació un destello amargo y cruel que helaba el corazón. Y, con una frialdad que parecía rutina, la espada se hundió sin vacilar en el cuerpo de quien él más amaba, como si ese acto, tan cruel como inevitable, sellara un destino teñido de tristeza y despedida.

—Realmente debes odiarme, supongo… Que me equivoque contigo.

Los ojos de Mydei, ya cansados, se aferraban con desesperación a la imagen de su amado, intentando enfocar una última vez antes de que la luz en ellos se extinguiera para siempre.

Y en la soledad profunda de Kremnos, el grito desgarrador de Phainon quebró el silencio, extendiéndose como un eco cruel que atravesó Amphoreus, llenando el aire de una tristeza infinita.

Fin.

[alwaysurvalentine]

Three Strikes and You're Out! - pt. 3

this is the final installment (for now?) of Eddie learning about baseball to help teach Steve about D&D!

wc: 1.8k - cw: nothing I can think of!

Need to catch up? pt. 1 pt. 2

Enjoy! 💛

Summer has officially descended onto Hawkins. It’s hot outside so Eddie’s pulled his hair into a bun. His bangs had been resting against his forehead before he tied his bandana around his hair line. He knows they probably look a little goofy resting on top of the fabric instead, but at least he doesn’t feel sticky anymore. A mostly new notebook is front of him, the first few pages with rough scribbles, but finally he has something easier for Steve to follow. A couple sketches still surround the edges: a beholder with a body covered in stitches like a baseball, elementals made of dirt and air, and a silly sketch of a mind-flayer with a baseball jersey on. 

Steve’s supposed to be coming over to go over the notes and maybe even make another character for the Party’s next session. They’d tried looking at them the other night but they’d only half made sense to Eddie’s brain and Steve couldn’t follow the clear spiral of Eddie’s mind when he’d made his connections. Instead they’d spent the night hanging out in Eddie’s room, Steve laying back on Eddie’s bed while he worked on a couple songs. 

~

It’d been nerve-wracking to have someone observing him and it took a little bit before Eddie could fall into his process. Play a few chords, hum an imaginary verse, and then scribble away on his music notebook. He’d gotten so into the rhythm of things that soon he was looking at a song ready to present to the rest of the band. With the song basically finished, Eddie had looked up to see Steve watching him with a small smile. The younger boy looked more relaxed than Eddie had ever seen him, shirt riding up slightly with his hair splayed out on one of Eddie’s pillows. 

“What’s that face for?” The words came out more defensive than he’d meant, but Steve’s smile just grew enough to crinkle the corner of his eyes. 

“I think I might be falling in love with you.” 

Silence filled the room. Eddie blinked at Steve. Neither of them moved until Eddie shifted to set his guitar to the side. Steve had sat up and straightened his shirt, leaning over to grab his shoes where he’d toed them off an hour ago. 

“That was stupid, sorry. I’m going to head out. I’m sorry.” 

Those words finally kicked Eddie into gear and he’d stopped Steve’s movement with his hand. His rings felt like ice compared to the warmth of Steve’s skin. All of the relaxation from before had vanished, Steve’s shoulders in a tense line with his face turned towards his lap. 

“Stevie.” A barely there exhale of his name, but it didn’t stop the brunette from tensing further. “Did you mean it?” As soon as Steve had nodded, Eddie had reached to tilt his face up. Hazel eyes met his and all he could do was smile before leaning in. “I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”

~

Tires rolling on top of gravel brought Eddie’s attention back to the present and the sight of Steve’s BMW pulling up to greet him. There’s a boyish grin on Steve’s face when he parks and he even does a little wave before reaching to his passenger seat for something before joining Eddie outside.

“I brought some snacks, figured you can’t study without something to eat, right?” The bag crinkles when Steve sets it down and Eddie can see the outline of a Coke and his favorite Doritos (cool ranch) through the plastic. He thought he’d gotten bad butterflies before, but his stomach riots when Steve sits down and wraps a gentle hand around his ankle for a squeeze. The touch is fleeting at best, Steve already reaching for the bag to empty it’s contents next to Eddie, but it encourages him to slide down and sit at the bench. Now their legs are lined up next to each other, heat making them practically stick to the other – Eddie thinks it’s worth it for the flush that covers Steve’s cheeks at the motion. 

“So, tell me all about how I’m going to understand your Dungeons and Dragons game.”

Nerves crawl up Eddie’s spine and he clenches his notebook hard enough that the pages crumple slightly.

“Okay, a lot of this information is from Wayne, so if it’s wrong, pretend it isn’t.” And then he open the notebook to reveal his previous scribbling in a neat bulleted list. “Without further ado, I’m going to make your beloved baseball into D&D.”

~

“So, you know these things?” Eddie points to his drawing of the baseball diamond and watches as a softer smile lights up Steve’s face. 

“Yeah, those are the bases.”

“And do you know how far apart those are?” 

“Should be 90 feet.” 

“Exactly! So your character here, has a walking speed of 30 feet.” It’d taken some time to flatten out Steve’s previously crumpled character sheet, but it was worth it now, Steve’s finger pointing to the speed Eddie was referring to. “Which means, for your character to get from one base to another, it would take you three turns.” The flicker of understanding in Steve’s eyes made quizzing Wayne on sports worth it. 

“Speaking of turns, you know how when the bad guys show up I have everyone roll for initiative?” A nod. “It’s like making your lineup for the ones hitting the ball. Wayne said you had to tell the other team that ahead of time, so it’s different in that sense because we just put together the order on the spot.”

~

Steve’s brows are furrowed as he looks at the notes and then the Players Handbook Eddie brought. “Different weapon skills...those would be like different pitches?” There’s confusion coloring the words, and Eddie’s so glad he’s able to tell Steve he’s right. He’s sure if the younger boy got one too many assumptions wrong he’d close up again and probably never give the game another try. 

The sun isn’t quite going down yet, but it’s cooled off at least. Eddie’s coke has left a small ring of condensation on the top of the table and he pokes at the droplets of water gathered there while Steve contemplates over his character sheet. 

“Okay, so what is it called when the weapons are used far away?” It takes a second for the question to register, Eddie more focused on trying to make a lyric work about someone’s hazel honey eyes. 

“Eddie?”

“Oh! Those are called range weapons. Those would be your guns or crossbows.”

“Okay, so,” Steve glances to the notes again and bites at his bottom lip before continuing. “Those would be more like the outfielders, since they sometimes have to throw the balls back from the other side of the field to get someone out. But my character doesn’t have range weapons, so they’re more like a catcher?” 

Eddie would love to tell Steve that he’s right again, but he doesn’t actually remember what a catcher does. His confusion must show on his face because the furrow in Steve’s brow lessens and a tiny smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“A catcher is the person behind the current batter. They squat down behind the current batter and catch anything the batter doesn’t hit. They’re also there to try and tag out someone running to home plate.” It’s weird to hear Steve talk about sports and actually follow it, but Eddie does nod in confirmation which makes Steve small smile turn into a full grin. 

“Seems like you’ve got a hang of things now. Maybe even enough to give another session a try?” Eddie cuts the pressure off of Steve by clasping his hands in front of his chest in a pleading motion and flutters his eyes to seal the deal. The tips of Steve’s ears turn pink and he feels his own grin widen at the sight of Steve ducking his head towards his chest. 

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know if I’m going to be let back at the table though. I didn’t really leave in the best way last time. I know the guys definitely didn’t appreciate it. Not a good first impression I can imagine.” Steve’s right, Gareth had been irritated about him standing mid turn to leave the room, but that doesn’t mean Eddie wants to hear Steve beat himself up over it.

“Hey. Quit that. Everyone makes mistakes. So what if you left the session in the middle of the big fight? It wasn’t like the party was very welcoming either. I know Gareth hasn’t been the nicest, but you’ve won Jeff and Grant over.” 

Won over is putting it simply. As soon as Jeff had found out that Steve had carried Eddie to safety despite injuries of his own, he’d had nothing mean to say about the other boy. When Steve had left the table clearly flustered and Gareth went to say something, there’s been a distinct thump under the table that Eddie’s pretty sure was Jeff kicking the other boy. Mike had gone to complain too, but Will cut that thought off with a simple look. 

“It really is okay. None of us thought about how hard it would be to keep up with a bunch of seasoned players. Dustin said he’d explained the game mechanics to you; I should’ve known that meant talked your ear off and hoped you picked up all the information. I’ve played the game for years now and I still have questions from time to time. Shit, the game itself released a whole beginner set of rules for people to look at just to get into Dungeons & Dragons.”

The sun’s started setting now, casting Steve in an orange light. A couple of eager lightning bugs have already started their dance, blinking off and on as they fly around the park. They’ve been pouring over his notes for the better part of the day so he thinks it’s time for a well deserved break. 

“Enough about DnD, I think it’s time for dinner. Wayne should be getting up soon to get ready for work. Hungry?” A soft growl from Steve’s stomach voices it’s agreement and Eddie laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes. Hope you’re ready for my specialty, Kraft mac and cheese.” Steve chuckles and closes the notebooks in front of him before passing them over. He turns and throws one of his legs over the bench, straddling the seat facing Eddie while he stacks them in an order only he knows the reason behind. 

“Hey, Eddie?” 

“Hm?” He leans over slightly to show he’s listening, but the lack of an answer has Eddie turning towards Steve with an eyebrow raised. He goes to speak but gets cut off with a chaste brush of lips against his. Eddie’s world narrows to the smell of Steve’s cologne, something that smells like rain on freshly cut grass and a hint of vanilla. Just as soon as Steve leaned in, he leans away, the sun painting orange and pink highlights in his hair when he tilts his head grinning.

“Thank you.” 

And thank YOU for being so patient!! Tags for those who wanted to see how these lovebirds figured things out: @dreamercec @yesdangerpls @adverbally . I know it's like a month overdue, just been hit with a lot of new ideas and a little bit of a struggle with knowing when things are at a good ending place!!

[jules-has-notes]

Butter — VoicePlay music video

This is a video you're going to want to watch many times — partly because it's a darn catchy song, but mostly because you can't possibly catch all the shenanigans happening in a single viewing. Rather than forcing themselves and their guests to learn intricate choreography like BTS's original iteration, the guys decided to take inspiration from the hotter remix video so they could cut loose and get silly while bringing us some flirty boy band goodness.

Details:

title: Butter (feat. Deejay Young & Cesar De La Rosa)

original performers: BTS

written by: Jenna Andrews, Rob Grimaldi, Stephen Kirk, Kim "RM" Nam-joon, Alex Bilowitz, Sebastian Garcia, & Ron Perry

arranged by: Geoff Castellucci

release date: 25 June 2021

My favorite bits:

those delicate high harmonies on the opening lines

Cesar giving heart-hands to go with his ♫ "whoop!" ♫

replacing ♫ "break it down now" ♫ with some tasty scratching

Layne being the only one to actually attempt juggling the oranges that get passed around 🤹

Deejay and Cesar playing a clapping game in the lefthand corner (even though they were filming at Orange Studio, not PattyCake)

the woodblock-y percussion hits Layne does in the transitions

Eli running in a tiny circle behind Geoff during his lead lines ↺

how comfortable Geoff's descending run on ♫ ⇘ "ba-a-a-a-a-a-ad" ⇘ ♫ feels

Deejay and Eli's gorgeous coordinated ascending run of ♫ ⇗ "straight up" ⇗ ♫

that adorable grin from Cesar as he sings ♫ "I gotcha" ♫

Deejay's charismatic smile and graceful arms demonstrating that ♫ "I got that superstar glow" ♫

Eli deftly slipping even more notes into his "cheee-e-e-e-e-eeeap ye-ah" riff than the original

dramatic wind effects for those with moveable hair devolving into melodramatic antics 🌬

no popcorn for tall people 🚫🍿

Geoff and Layne competitively vlogging in the back

turning the more intense rap verse into quieter melodic vocals

synchronized sunglasses removal 🤏��️😎 (and Eli already having his glasses on underneath)

Layne's choirboy hands and big, innocent eyes during the bell chord section

the unexpectedness of giving ♫ "when the bass low" ♫ to their highest vocalist

the overhead wave from Cesar in appreciation of Deejay's incredible riff, absolutely correct

casual attempts at choreography 🕺

Geoff perched on a stool being almost the same height as Deejay and Eli standing up

Cesar chomping onto his innaugural Twinkie with gusto

that clean cut-off to finish

Trivia:

The watchword for this video shoot was silliness. The primary direction for their improvised choreography (such as it is) was "Um… yeah, do it just like that again, but this time DUMBERER".

There isn't much continuity to be found, since the staging was intentionally loose and they patched together portions of different takes as they pleased, but there is a tiny throughline of Layne being turned into a sandwich, brushing crumbs out of his stubble in the background, and then guarding against a repeated be-breading.

If you'd like to accurately recreate the moment at home, the boys had a loaf of the 21 Whole Grains and Seeds variety from Dave's Killer Bread.

Also, Layne had to film all his solo shots in a partial squat because he was just a bit too tall for the camera angle they'd established, which made it more difficult for him to evade incoming baked goods.

VoicePlay had previously included an excerpt from BTS's "Fake Love" as the closing segment in their "Boy Bands in 5 Minutes" music video, with Eli singing some of the Korean lyrics.

Deejay and Cesar had known each other for many years prior to this collaboration. They first met while attending neighboring high schools in Tampa, and got their first professional jobs together in the Disney Channel Rocks show at Disney World. They then performed together in the R&B Boyz Crew street show at Universal Studios Japan in 2013. After they returned to Orlando, Cesar and J.None were both special guests during Deejay's acoustic evening at a local club back in 2015. (Theme park performers really are a tight-knit community.)

The screenshot VoicePlay used to promote this video has been their channel icon and social media profile picture ever since.

[pigeon-queen-priestess]

COOL CAT AND COOL PIGEON GO TO SUPERHELL

One day, Cool Cat and Maddy were playing outside Cool Pigeon's igloo. Suddenly, Maddy had a great idea!

"Let's play knights with pool noodles!"

"Exquisite!" Yelled Cool Cat.

Just as Cool Cat and Maddy were about to swing the pool noodles at each other, Cool Pigeon yelled at them to stop.

"Don't fight each other with pool noodles! You have no idea how dangerous it is!" He yelled. "Pool noodles look harmless, but they can open rifts between worlds! A direct hit with a pool noodle can send someone to Superhell!"

"Woah!" Exclaimed Maddy.

"Superhell, that sounds super bad!" Declared Cool Cat.

"It is, Superhell is where Lucifer torments the damned with plain eggs for all eternity!" Explained Cool Pigeon. "Even I'm reluctant to travel there, and I can travel between realms with ease!"

"Cool Cat, I'm scared!" Cried Maddy.

"OOOOOOH! That Lucifer sounds like a big bully to me!" Yelled Cool Cat, "I can't stand bullies, because everyone should just get along!"

"Cool Cat, maybe you could stop him!" Said Maddy.

"I know how to stand up to bullies. You just have to believe in yourself!" Replied Cool Cat, "Cool Pigeon, I have an idea. Can you get me into Superhell?"

"I hope you know what you're doing, Cool Cat!" Said Cool Pigeon!

"FABULOUS!" Yelled Cool Cat. Cool Cat ran home to borrow Daddy Derek's Van Halen guitar. He would have to be careful with it, because it was very valuable. Daddy Derek had gotten every member of Van Halen to sign the guitar.

"Don't tell Daddy Derek!" Said Cool Cat to you, looking directly at you. He sees you through the fourth wall.

Cool Cat met Cool Pigeon back at the igloo, and together they descended to Superhell. They were immediately greeted by a wave of heat, and the smell of scorched felt.

"Woah, this is unpleasant!" Declared Cool Cat. A scowling angry being looked up from a bleak plastic and metal folding table, where he had been eating from a plate of plain deviled eggs.

"Why are there so many weirdos in my Superhell?!" Screeched Lucifer, who seemed to be the most tormented soul in this evil place. Nearby an anguished looking Grover-kin was chained to the wall. Xe (xeir pronoun) was weak with blandness, and could only beg for a bit of seasoning from the visitors with a defeated look in xeir eyes.

"My name is Cool Cat, and I'm here to stop bullying!" Yelled the awesome feline. Cool Pigeon began to play Daddy Derek's guitar, and Cool Cat began to sing:

"Cool Cat likes to rock and roll,

Cool Cat wants to stop bullying!

Cool Cat likes to dance and sing,

Cool Cat loves seasoning!"

Then Cool Cat repeated the verse, first in Spanish, then French, then Mandarin Chinese, and so on, until he had covered every language, both living and dead. Meanwhile, waves of auditory seasoning radiated from the guitar, thanks to pigeon magic. Salt, black pepper, oregano, thyme, parsley, chervil. Turning back to the plate, shocked, Lucifer saw the food transform. He took a bite, then he cried.

"Why? How?" He wailed. He didn't feel tormented any more. In fact, no one in Superhell did.

"You just gotta believe in yourself, and be kind!" Yelled Cool Cat.

"You should believe in YOUR FACE!" Retorted Lucifer, because he is a bully.

"Ooooh, that wasn't very nice!" Replied Cool Cat, "But I'm not afraid of you!"

The Grover-kin enby started a chant, and soon all the nearby souls were joining in: "Cool Cat, Cool Cat, Cool Cat!"

Cool Pigeon whispered to Cool Cat, "We should go, our work here is done." They promptly vanished, leaving Lucifer clutching his head, with the chanting souls and a plate of seasoned eggs.

"Wow, you're back!" Exclaimed Maddy.

"You bet we are!" Replied Cool Cat. Suddenly Cool Cat got a phone call. It was the Pope.

"Hello?" Said Cool Cat, answering the phone.

"Hello, it's the Pope." Said the Pope, "I heard about what you did in Superhell. No one since Jesus has redeemed a Fallen Realm like that. I hereby pronounce you SAINT Cool Cat!"

"Sanctimonious!" Cool Cat yelled!

"It's a miracle!" Said Maddy, then they all laughed.

THE END

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

waves, you’re the only Canadian I know. What the heck is going on with Justin Trudeau? I read a couple articles but still didn’t quite grasp why he resigned and what will happen next. What’re your thoughts on it?? I trust your social commentary

First of all, you should never trust me for anything 😂 I am far from a reliable source. I'm just some girl on the internet.

The TL;DR is that there has been a lot of internal strife within his political party and cabinet for the last couple of years, and the voices got louder and louder until they basically all made it clear they would no longer support him and/or resign if he didn't do it first.

Canada's parliamentary system is a constitutional monarchy, more similar to the UK system than the US' governing-wise. So the governing party is the one who has the most amount of seats in the House of Commons. In theory, constituents vote for the party, not the leader, in federal elections, although in practice it obviously comes down to the leader's popularity. In theory, Canada is a multi-party system, although in practice, it's almost entirely governed swapped back and forth between the Liberal Party* and the Conservative Party. There are a handful of other national parties that have debatable influence depending on the era, sometimes representing regional or special interests. Also, Canada doesn't have set election dates like in the US; in theory the Prime Minister can call elections at anytime within their mandate.

(*In Canada, Liberal does not mean the same thing as small-l liberal. It's not a social outlook, it's descended from the UK tradition. Same for how historically the Conservative Party did not mean the same thing as small-c conservative a la in the US, although now they are effectively the same thing due to the influence of the Tea Party and shit from the US. The Liberals are more centrist, the Conservatives are centre-right but quickly heading more right each passing year.)

When Trudeau was first elected in 2015, he won a majority, which means his party, the Liberal Party, held more than half the seats in the House, and could effectively enact their platform. In 2019, the Liberals won with a minority, which meant that they needed the help of other minority parties to pass legislation. In 2021, Trudeau tried to capitalize off some post-pandemic goodwill and called an early election in an effort to try to win back his majority, but it was an incredibly unpopular decision as people did not want to head into another election season AND I think he underestimated the discontent about pandemic mitigating measures and the state of the economy, and instead he kind of shot himself in the foot and he squeaked through with another minority. This forced his party to enter into a coalition with two other minority parties (the New Democrats, which is more left-of-centre, and the Bloc Quebecois, which represents the interests of Quebec) in order to keep a tentative majority and fend off the Conservative Party, who are the official opposition with the second-most number of seats. In theory, this meant that the minority parties could exert some sort of influence to get their policies moving. (For instance, the NDP pushed public dental care on their agenda, which did in fact eventually get passed in some fashion.) In practice, it was more like a holding pattern.

I'm not especially well-versed in what's happening in politics to that degree, but essentially, particularly since 2021, Trudeau has lost a lot of his former allies in his party. There could be many reasons, but the most often one cited is that his team has become more insular and less likely to listen to advisers and other Members of Parliament (MPs = the members who represent ridings, e.g. like US congresspeople/senators) and had become more out of touch than he'd been before. Meanwhile, the Conservative Party is beating the battle drum and want to push for a vote of non-confidence, which means they could bring a motion to the table in the House and if a majority of members vote in favour, would mean government would dissolve and trigger an election. This was just noise when the coalition was in place, but in recent months, the other parties indicated they would no longer support Trudeau's government if a vote were to come to pass.

So it was just a matter of time until an election was called, but then the internal infighting of the Liberal Party sealed the deal. Trudeau attempted a cabinet shuffle before the holidays, which was kind of a last-ditch effort to stop the bleeding by moving ministers around to different portfolios. But one of the people he tried to shuffle was Chrystia Freeland, who was one of his most ardent supporters from the start, is Deputy Prime Minister and was the Finance Minister, which is one of the plumb roles in his cabinet. So before he had a chance to do that, she publicly resigned, which was a death blow to his cabinet, and afterwards many other MPs publicly voiced their lack of confidence in the PM and called for his resignation. There's also been a lot of concern over his handling of Trump's re-election and posturing about making Canada the 51st state and enforcing tariffs and all the usual shit. Trudeau had no choice but to step down because if he hadn't, his party would have forced his hand; he was supposed to have a caucus meeting on Wednesday and all reports were saying it was going to be a knives-out scenario for him. He's leaving before he gets left, basically.

Now, Trudeau is resigning, which means the Liberal party will be heading into a leadership race for an interim leader. He also prorogued parliament, which effectively means the House won't sit until March. When they come back, it is also almost assuredly in name only, because the Conservatives will call for a vote of non confidence on their first item of business and it will pass and the House will fall, meaning Trudeau's elected government will dissolve and an election is called. There's some debate as to whether it was fair of him to ask the Governor General (the King's representative in Canada -- basically an honourary role that rubber stamps things) to prorogue parliament as it's basically like calling a time out so that the Liberals can get their shit together and find a new leader before the election. But cynically I know the Conservatives would have done the same thing so they can stop their yapping imo. So basically, our legislative body is on hiatus until March. The mechanisms of government (e.g. the actual services) aren't, it's still business as usual. And then we're heading to the polls.

My thoughts are, I am far more left-leaning than the Liberal Party, so I have long been disenchanted with Trudeau's performance and politics. At the same time, I think he vastly underestimated how worried Canadians are about the economy (even if what they're worried about doesn't always apply to their own lives), and how much people are struggling. (Canada in some ways is far more expensive to live in than, say, the US. Inflation and price gouging is a huge concern in some areas.) The Conservative Party terrifies me because they are going to cause real harm to Canadians, like the Republican Party does in the US, but they're the party that is going to win and win a majority handily. There's a whole faction of their party that's infiltrated by MAGA-like doctrine. But they're the only challengers to the House and they've been leading in the polls for the last year or whatever, so it's a guarantee that they're going to win, especially with the mess the Liberals now find themselves in. Our minority parties like the NDP don't stand a chance of forming government because they don't have enough grassroots support. Also, our system is first-past-the-post, which means the first party to win the most number of seats wins, which essentially means whoever can win the most amount of seats in Ontario (the most populous province) and to a lesser degree Quebec (second-most, although there are regional factors at play there too but that's another topic) wins the House. (One of Trudeau's 2015 promises was electoral reform, and then he abandoned it once he was elected.) So I am very, very worried for our country and I think we're about to enter into our own dark period.

I have probably very poorly explained this, so I encourage you to look at other legitimate sources of info! This is just my layperson's read on the situation. It's not completely dissimilar to what happened to Joe Biden this summer in the presidential race, if you're looking for something to compare it to, in very broad strokes.

[lipslikethegardensofbabylon]

#ttpd analysis day three - My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

(i’m gonna preface this by saying this is one of my least fave tracks in the album but i very much agree with @cages-boxes-hunters-foxes in that it is necessary and integral for the narrative. i just rarely listen to it lol)

the opening of the track to me feels like you almost trip and fall into the song with the production. to fully appreciate the first verse it helps to have an idea of the long noted history of depression /blues (don't want no other shade of blue but you; if your cascade ocean wave blues come; catastrophic blues) etc etc, enter: oh, here we go again the voices in his head called the rain to end our days of wild. basically oh we were finally in a good patch! aaaand... we're back in the hole again.

the purchased at the mall is very shiny toy with a price you know that I bought it, and the following lyric rivulets descend my plastic smile is especially interesting because the narrator is basically saying that whether sad or happy, either way it's insincere and manufactured (plastic) and they are essentially choosing whichever mood helps to get played with at the time. it reminds me of mirrorball's i can change everything about me to fit in

the there was a litany of reasons why we could've played for keeps this time has two (or probably even more) meanings - the primary one is it fits the toy/play/game theme of the track, but the larger application goes back to the (assumed) history of the narrator and muse (baby let the games begin/cat and mouse for a month or two or three/all the pieces fall right into place/back when we were card sharks, playing games/no more keeping score/ checkmate, / couldn't lose). essentially, we've been playing games (or rather this one particular ongoing game) for years, we could have a truce and just be happy.

the he saw forever so he smashed it up / once I fix me he's gonna miss me to me tell the story that the narrator basically came with every accessory, tried every avenue to make it work, but the muse chose to take apart the pieces every time. the latter lyric is funny to me because it truly reminds me of children, and how they seem to suddenly want a toy especially when someone else starts playing with it

[sideofmischicf]

open: anyone 26+ (older muses & trans muses get bonus points as always!)

muse: jordana “jordy” o’riley, 25-29, convenience store clerk or car thief and / or criminal informant ( verse dependent ), kathryn newt*n fc

plot: based off this plot post of mine but basically. gimme the first 24 / 48 hours before the apocalypse descends the world around our muses into madness, eh? let’s feel them out, have those suspicious government warning flash across the radio. all the build up until everything breaks out. connection: best friends, significant other, roommate, coworker, family friend, neighbor, etc (no inc*st/stepc*st, and do not like my starters)

“Ya know, I know they say those ‘emergency alerts’ are just tests but that one today sounded absolutely bonkers.” Jordy snorted, leaning on the counter of the bodega, mindlessly spinning a quarter on the top. “What was all that about ‘a curfew’? Do you think it’s actually serious?” She waved her hand in the air, almost dismissively. “I mean the reason behind it. It’s weird, right?” The blonde let out a sigh, before chuckling. “I work at a 24/7 place, dude, what do they expect me to do.”

[stargazer-dreamer]

It's on the Tip of My Tongue Chapter 2

character: yami sukehiro

content warnings: denial of feelings, jealousy

reader: gender neutral; ring magic user

chapter list: 1, 2 [you are here]

notes: also on ao3. 2k word count. pre-relationship. part of the stoprewind verse

Mealtimes at the Black Bulls were chaotic. In the week leading up to your official first day, you had no idea—you hadn’t dined a single meal with them. Either out for lunch with Finral during a break, or so focused on getting your room cleaned that you didn’t notice the plate left for you at the door until it grew cold, you hadn’t sat down at the table with everyone until the ebony robe sat upon your shoulders and the paperwork was properly filed away. And even then, it took the witch coming out to find you and bring you back already in the thick of it to get you to understand exactly how hectic things could get.

It was well-past noon, and you and Yami had wandered aimlessly throughout the forest talking. It turns out, he was serious about getting to know you—but his version of this seemed to only consist of asking unrelated questions one after another until you were sure he didn’t actually care about the answers he was getting at all. It became quite repetitive, a question and a reply, the captain barely sparing a moment to reflect on your answer given until he’s moved on to the next.

He probably does this to all the new guys, you thought, stepping over a fallen tree branch in the path, to help them feel included. You were going to be living under the same roof—you figured the plan was that Yami would spend some quality time with you before returning back to his normal routine. Break the ice, learn some facts about you, converse a little. The two of you were, after all, supposed to be working closely together from then on out. It made sense that he would be working from a mental script—he was the captain. This was apart of the job.

Nothing else to it. Nothing at all. But I didn’t know Yami was such a poor conversationalist…

It was starting to get ridiculous. You watched as he bent to pick the branch off of the ground. Pausing for a moment, he slowly rose to full height with it in hand, an unidentifiable look sitting on his face. Eyes on the branch, you watched as his eyebrows furrowed. And then, in a large swooping motion, he whipped the branch to the side. You blinked. He did it again, and again, and again, and with one step forward one more time, before straightening back up again.

After a pause, he looked at you, tossing the branch to the side. He said—“What do you like to eat?”

For a moment, all you could do was stare. What kind of a demonstration was that? And that’s what he decided to ask you? Mouth opening trying to formulate a response, you were needlessly cut off by a rising, grumbling noise. It came from Yami’s direction. The longer it continued, you realized that it was coming from the captain himself. Namely: his stomach.

“Oh!” you bit back a laugh, understanding the question now. “Oh, you’re—okay, yeah! We can find a place in town. Here—” a ring left one of your fingers and hovered in midair between the two of you. “There’s a place I really like that serves—”

“There you two are!”

Voice drowned out by the sudden interruption, the two of you looked skybound. Up higher than the trees, a figure on a broomstick waved, her dark robe stark against the sky. Flying in a sweeping circle, she found a break in the treeline and descend; the wide brim of her hat fluttering in the wind as she did. Landing, she walked over with the stick over her shoulder. Her eyes shone like jewels, tinted lips curving the closer she got. She was recognizable even from a glance—Vanessa Enoteca.

“I was sent to look for you guys!” she said, with a hand on her hip. She was as beautiful as they say. Perhaps moreso, in person. “Figured you guys would be in town by now, but now that I think about it—this makes way more sense!” She smiled at you like she knew something, but you were certain you had absolutely no clue on what exactly that something was. Before you had time to respond however, her gaze traveled. “A quiet little outing—I didn’t expect that from you, Yami!”

The captain shifted his weight, reaching for a new cigarette and swatting at your still-floating ring, causing it to return to your finger.

The action didn’t go unnoticed, but, “Lunch is ready,” she was carrying on. “Let’s get back and eat!” And with that, she turned on her heels and started down the path with a bounce in her step.

Hesitating, you adjusted the now resting ring on your finger. The final piece of the puzzle put itself into place in your mind as Yami’s hand came down gently on your shoulder as he passed you, leaning down so his next words were heard by you only—“Next time,” he said, scratching the hairline at the back of his neck. The action drew him closer, and his next words came quieter, a rumble that shot exactly to where it shouldn’t—“There’s a place I like. I’ll take you.”

---

Despite the order of finding work, it seemed like the entire squadron was there; filling their plates high and chatting all the while, loud and boisterous—this was the Black Bulls you knew. Sitting in a circle around a rather large table, chairs and sofas had been moved to gather around; the common room transformed into a space to share a meal together. The noise was incredible, each person’s voice raised to speak over the other, seemingly in a constant loop that grew louder and louder by the second.

“Captain!” called the man with the mohawk. Magna Swing, with his gloves still on and sunglasses pushed up towards his hairline. “I saved seats for you!” He patted heartily at the loveseat beside him, nestled between him and Finral. “Come eat!”

Vanessa found a seat on the opposite end of the table—and it appeared that the only remaining place for you was right next to Yami. A bit sheepishly, you followed him into the fray and sat down. It was a bit of a tight fit—the loveseat was of average size but Yami’s bulk was anything but average. An unfortunate shift in your seat could have your thighs pressed up against each other—and following that specific line of thought, you snuck a peek sideways out of the corner of your eye.

He was silent, face once again unreadable as he filled his plate with the buffet before him. The reach of his arm going across the table towards the various foods stretched his muscles nicely, and when he pulled back, the shape of his biceps had you—

At least Finral was on the other side of you. “Welcome back,” he smiled. “You two were gone for a while.” There was a certain lit to his voice, one that brought to mind the memory of earlier in the day, when just about everyone had laid witness to the misunderstanding in front of the base.

Your face burned. “N-no! We were just talking!” You looked towards Yami but any additional input you hoped he would have provided was nonexistent—his plate now towered high with several portions worth of food. He slapped thieving hands away, the movement drawing your eyes to the ring encircling his finger. Stealing the light, it sat vivid against his skin and the scars that embedded him. A new connection; a bond formed between the two of you, the ring a symbol of your—

“We were just talking,” was your explanation. For everything. “Just walking around the woods!”

Finral gave you another smile, polite this time, and raised his glass to his lips. “Okay, okay. I won’t embarrass you.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” came Yami’s voice before the overloaded plate was dropped in front of you. “Figured we’d talk in peace. Finally. What with you hogging up my new ride’s time and all.” His face was still indescribable, but the angle of his brows were curious as he locked eyes with Finral. “Couldn’t even offer a simple hello before you started portaling across the entire kingdom.”

There was a certain hardness coming from the captain. A pressure that weighed you down, leaving you sinking into the cushions as suddenly an awkwardness settled within the room; a haze that slowly drowned out every voice. Not so subtlety, conversations stilled and all eyes came to your side of the table.

Avoiding every gaze, you focused your attention on the food. There was just about everything on that plate, the entire buffet’s worth of selection spilling over each other and tumbling down the tower every so often—and a glance at Yami found him without a plate of his own. Admittedly, with so many different flavors and textures mixed together, it didn’t look very appetizing at all—but a fork was passed over to you, so you started to dig in, if only to appear that you weren’t paying attention.

Picking at the bread, you listened as Finral sputtered. “I was just doing what you asked of me!” his eyes flickered in your direction. “Come on, I’m not trying to—we still have a lot of places to mark—”

“Now you suddenly want to work.” Coming from Yami, it didn’t sound like a question.

You knew of Finral’s reputation—he was known to slack off, often found leisuring around the castletowns instead of working. You frowned, remembering that day in the alleyway. The two of you were paired up immediately, imprinting upon countless and countless of locations, so really, who’s fault was it that you were often together? Besides, Finral was working—what was wrong with that? From what you’ve heard, he was usually off flirting…

Cutting through your thoughts like a hot knife, your attention was pulled across the table towards the starry-eyed boy from before as he called out to you. The conversation happening at your side drowned out as you tried to remember the kid’s name.

“Asta!” he supplied. “From Hage Village!” You didn’t know where that was. “I didn’t get the chance to ask you before—what kind of magic do you use?”

His obliviousness to the confrontation happening literally right in front of him was a breather, causing a soft reset in the vibe at the table overall. Slowly, conversations started to pick back up and the noise level steadily grew—not to what it once was, but high enough to no longer be as obvious about the eavesdropping as before.

“It’s ring magic,” you explained, trying to concentrate. With multiple conversations happening all around you—including the one currently flying over your head—you were finding it exceedingly difficult to hear yourself. “I can do a lot of things with it, but it follows the basic functions of rings as a whole.”

Asta shoveled food into his mouth as he looked at you in awe. Without swallowing, he asked, “What’s that?”

“Communication. At least, that’s how I think of it.” You thought of playing with your mother’s jewelry box as a child, and fiddling with her rings. They were cheap things, bought on whims, but you didn’t care. They were beautiful; hers, a piece of her left with you while she worked long hours, away from home. You felt your heart start to swell at the thought of it. Inspired, you carried on. “A ring usually signifies a bond or status, so I can use them as communication or tracking devices. Opening portals is what I do the most though—it’s just so much easier to take one step as opposed to walking all the way across town.”

Suddenly solemn, your eyes lowered as you remembered: “It’s not a really desirable attribute though, since it’s so easily replaceable with actual magical items. And it’s no good in a fight.”

“What are you talking about? It sounds like you could do all sorts of cool stuff,” Asta chewed. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what other people think—aren’t you here because of your magic?”

You didn’t know what to say.

“If you want to learn how to fight, I can teach you!” A messy-haired boy spoke up from the other end of the table. You recognized him as Luck Volta; and if his reputation is anything to go by, you knew taking him up on that offer was a bad idea.

His static raising your hair already, you frantically shook your head—“No, thank you, really, I’m not good at that—”

“If you need help with your magic, you should ask Gauche!” A small girl was stuffing her face. As she paused to down her drink, you were able to catch a glimpse of her features—Charmy Pappitson. She pointed in the direction of the man in question. “He’s usually using an item, too—he could probably give you some good advice!”

Gauche Adlai was looking at a photograph in his hand, hardly touching his food at all. Monotone, he replied, “I only help my sister.”

“Focusing on one aspect of your magic isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Vanessa sipped directly from a bottle. “You’re working on portals, right? I heard you can make a whole lot more than you used to—and it’s only been a week! You should give it a proper spin.” Before you could ask what that meant exactly, the shine in her eyes appeared again as she stood up from her seat. Circling the table quickly, she came to a stop behind you. With each arm, she pulled both Finral and Yami closer, encaging you in a huddle of sorts.

“Okay you two, I think we can all agree that Finral can take a little break,” she smiled. “Yami! Why don’t you two lovebirds go on that mission you were talking about earlier?” She shot you a wink, “The two of you are perfect for the job!”

[zozo720]

Today on "lukewarm takes nobody cares about" All my problems with Legends Arceus, specifcally the story-related ones, come down to how unbelievably rushed the "true" ending feels The main ending with Origin Form Dialga/Palkia? It's good, it's fine, it's a climax that the game does a good job building up to. Kamado is an ass but that's clearly intentional, and at least he has a clear motive and all that.

The postgame ending feels like they came up with the Volo fight first, and then had to scramble to create literally any justification for it to happen. They basically just gave him Cyrus's motivation, made him look vaguely "crazy and evul XD" and hand-waved it as "Oh, the Celestica tribe is involved".

And I must ask... who even ARE the Celestica people at this point? They're VERY vaguely talked about in the Old Verses, it's implied Cogita wrote them, which implies that she's the last Celestican, which implies that Volo MIIIIGHT be a descendant of them, which is why he says "the blood of the ancient Sinnoh people flows through my veins". Please note how much I said "Implies". There's having hidden lore and leaving it up for interpretation, and then there's vaguely shrugging and dumping incoherent, very-easy-to-miss text. All this is to say, Volo's motives are indecipherable, not because he's a multi-dimensional character, but because they don't bother elaborating on them, he's just a helpful friendly guy the whole game and then BAM, he was actually evil and crazy all along! It's no wonder fan interpretations of him range from "tragic sexy sad-boy who's upset because his indigenous people were wiped out for unknown reasons" and "insane murder-man who's immortal and for some reason, really likes screwing with NYC subway conductors from the future. Also he's sexy." And then there's the Arceus ending. Simply put, WHY is there nothing to say that the player character would be able to go home? I've seen several responses genuinely upset at the prospect of the MC being stuck in Hisui forever, possibly ripped away from their life and family. And even if you assume the MC has no problem staying in Hisui forever, that doesn't address the Copperajah in the room that is Ingo.

Now, Ingo being in PLA was cool back when the game first came out, but over time, it's become apparent that this was a pretty lame move. Most PLA discussion and fics are centered solely around either him or Volo (usually with ableist stereotypes in abundance) all at the expense of the other genuinely interesting cast of PLA.

And of course, of COURSE, they don't bother resolving his arc at all. The most he gets is an implication that his memories might return, but then what? He'll still be stuck in Hisui, except now he can remember what he's lost? Is this Arceus's "grand plan" or something? Now sure, for gameplay reasons, the player would wanna stay so they can keep playing the game, but there are so many ways to write around that, as demonstrated by the Pokemon Mystery Dungeon series. That series always ends with the MC having to return home or disappear, but they always come back somehow. There's always some justification for it. In Legends Arceus, nothing gets truly resolved aside from the conflict with Kamado and Dialga/Palkia. Volo? His goals with Giratina are stopped and he just gets to walk away scot-free. No punishment, and no elaboration on his motives. Cogita and the Celestica tribe? All we get are allusions and vagueries in the Incarnate Forces sidequest. Arceus's mission to "seek out all Pokemon"? Your reward is that he invites you to his space apartment and beats the stuffing out of you. The Player/Ingo? Stranded in Hisui with, as of now, no canon return home.