#Because I wasn't built for creative writing

[moment-live]

I finished the set! May I present: her, the okay-est warrior of light 

[genericpuff]

Not to be nitpicky or anything, but I notice you occasionally critique LO for its lack of Greek culture, but reading Rekindled, Greek culture isn’t very present in it either minus some outfits, which is basically the same case as LO. It seems to also suffer from a lot of Americanized butchering of cultures.

Again so sorry if this is rude but I couldn’t help but notice it

I cricitize LO for its lack of Greek culture because its non-Greek creator claims she's a folklorist and that her knowledge of Greek myth is more advanced than everyone else's.

I myself am also a non-Greek person who is currently creating LO fanfiction with the intent of honoring the original themes of the its source material (especially The Hymn to Demeter) but that requires the additional layer of keeping it within the original restrictions of LO as it was first established back in 2017/2018 (i.e. I can only make so many creative differences without it going against the nature of it being an LO-retelling, so that often means some of the flaws of LO still have to stick around in Rekindled for it to still be an LO rewrite, if that makes sense).

Therein lies the difference, at least in my own humble opinion 💀😆 By all means, I'm not opposed to criticism of Rekindled for not being 1:1 with Greek myth either, but Rekindled wasn't created to be 1:1 with Greek myth, it was created to re-interpret what LO attempted to be while cleaning up the story, making the character designs more consistent, and actually tackling the plotlines that were dropped back in S1. If I wanted to do my own built-from-the-ground-up retelling of Greek myth, I would have, but my goal was more so to retell Lore Olympus in and of itself because that's where my interest lies. And that means working in the same context as LO, keeping what I like and reworking what I didn't like.

There are loads of creators who also do their own Greek myth re-imaginings that aren't 100% accurate to the myths but the works themselves are still incredibly entertaining and worth reading (and even the ones I'm not a diehard fan of I still don't have strong criticisms for). None of those creators claim to be an authority on Greek myth which is what I (and many others) specifically criticize Rachel for.

If LO had remained a fluffy office drama with low stakes, I probably wouldn't have had so many bones to pick with it in the end. It's the fact that its creator has built an audience around herself that treats her as the authority on the subject - which she has even gone out of her way to declare herself as - but then in practice can't even write a coherent story, let alone a coherent retelling based on the myths she claims to be so educated on. That's what made her work so subject to criticism and analysis more so than any other Greek myth retelling on the platform. That's what makes people such as myself expect better of her.

[wildfloweronwheels]

the more I sit with the tortured poets department, the more it makes perfect sense as a body of work taylor would create/release especially when you consider the fact she operates much more closely to an indie artist artistically than a lot of her contemporaries.

so honest it's catching people off guard? she's been doing that her whole career from the minute she put people's real names in her songs. lyrically sharp and slightly alarming? may I present "and you come away with a great little story about a mess of a dreamer to adore you" or "you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter." bold and sonically strange? she's been blurring the lines of genre since her earliest albums, regularly blending country, pop, folk and even rock. 1989 has been her only traditionally dare I say 'sonically cohesive' album and the only reason its palate is so clean is because of the risk a pure pop album posed to her successful country career. if she hadn't nailed the landing then, she wouldn't be where she is now. *it also feels worth noting her most adventurous 'weird' but music has come AFTER she thought she'd had her last chance at mainstream success (lover) and as a result, thrown away the checklist because she thought she had nothing to lose. she was just making music for herself with no expectation of success*

'there's too many metaphors and characters/the muses are murky and I can't tell what's real. does she have to write so much fiction now?' this is the girl who immortalised her neighbours love story, who rewrote romeo and juliet, dreamed about crashing a wedding and was inspired by bob + ethel kennedy for god's sake. she's always written stories and imagined.

'I just can't understand why she'd make this and take this risk when we all liked her so much?' my friend, have we been paying attention to the same artist all these years? taylor swift not taking creative and honestly quite punk career risks would be like christopher nolan films without cillian murphy. she walked away from a development deal at age 14, took a chance on an independent label she built from the ground up and then bet on her future when they held her past hostage. took a genre they said wasn't for teenage girls and transformed it. wrote an album on her own after her songwriting was questioned. took a 10 minute song to #1, directed music videos and a short film worthy of oscar buzz, stretched her muscles and is directing a feature film AND re-recorded all her old work in arguably the biggest potential interruption to her career not for any perceived gain but for the statement of an artist's worth. but the world doesn't view them as risks because they worked

tldr; the tortured poets department is the most taylor swift thing taylor swift has ever made.

[autumn-foxfire]

Like, I get why the shippers are upset at the news. But it is not lazy writing; most of his stories have been built over time and stretched. Just because an uncanon ship is incest does not imply he is lazy. There are other situations in the manga that imply that they have been related for years, and Gosho even stated in 2013 that there is more to unveil between these two.

Like just keep shipping them, many people sleep with their cousins.

Do you think I'm mad because of my ship? Yeah it sucks but I'll still ship them as cousins because they were never going to be canon anyway!

No, I'm mad because it was bad writing. He ruined a relationship that was fun for me, not Shinichi and Kaito but rather Toichi and Kaito a Yuusuke and Toichi. I'll get into Toichi and Yuusaku first but he's had YEARS to imply a familial relationship, it could have been implied in canon when Shinichi encountered Toichi as a child! It could have been included in past movies if he wanted to go the movie route! The first Kaito KID focused movie was based on FAMILY. It could have set up properly a long time ago! But it wasn't and I'm tried of people pretending it was. Him saying he'll explain it is NOT him setting this plot point up.

So you're telling me for no good reason (and no Toichi fighting a criminal organization is not a good excuse considering he didn't mind having a son meanwhile) Toichi and Yuusaku did not introduce their families? That Toichi, who is supposed to be important to Yuusaku, is never even mentioned?! That they didn't think it would be a good idea for Kaito to have support from someone his own age and family while he was grieving his father?! Do you really want him to be such a selfish man because I don't.

And a more personal note, I enjoy the plot of two rivals of matching intellectual prowess actually facing against one another but he's taken all that away with this reveal. He's ruined Toichi and Yuusaku's relationship for me.

And this isn't me even getting into the implications of what it means for Kaito. He idolised his father! He risks his life to bring him justice! And his father is alive and letting him! What. The. Fuck. I always knew Gosho wanted him to be alive but I had hoped that he would recognize the bad decision it would be. I'm afraid not.

And do you want to know why I think its lazy? THE SERIES IS FULL OF LOOKALIKES. Okita for example is right there! Is he a cousin too? Are Ran and Aoko cousins now? They look alike! It's even commented in the manga! Shinichi and Ran look alike.

Gosho has never been very creative with his character designs, it's a fact acknowledged by fandom, so that's why we know this him making Shinichi and Kaito cousins is a cheap excuse to disguise that.

You won't change my mind about his writing being terrible, Anon, and I'm not the only one who thinks so.

[podcastenthusiast]

"Here should be safe to set up camp," Geralt says, scanning the treeline with his eyes in that odd witcher way. Like he's seeing much more than a mere mortal could.

"Thank the gods," sighs Jaskier, who's been really starting to regret skiving off those physical fitness courses at Oxenfurt.

"Get a fire started while I tend to Roach."

"Oh Geralt, I'd love to, I would. Truly it's colder than a sorceress' shapely—"

"Jaskier."

"Well, as they say: you can lead a bard to timber, but you can't make him—"

"Just do it, Jaskier."

"I don't know how! All right? I've never built a fire in the middle of nowhere before! It's not one of the seven liberal arts, and I much prefer my fires stoked by comely barmaids in taverns."

Geralt looks at him for a long moment. It's a complicated look—frustration and amusement and a hint of regret. Mostly it's a look that says Jaskier is an idiot for joining him on the Path.

"Right," Geralt says slowly. He begins building the campfire himself.

"I imagine they teach wilderness survival to baby witchers at witcher school."

Geralt looks at him again and there's something different in his expression. The ghost of a smile? Jaskier doesn't quite know how to read it.

"Kaer Morhen," he says. "And yeah. Something like that."

"Oh?" Jaskier has to rein in his enthusiasm, his curious questions. Geralt so rarely reveals anything personal about himself or his past. Not that Jaskier has been forthcoming in that regard either. They live in the moment, day by day, but some context would help his creative process.

Besides all that, he genuinely wants to get to know Geralt a little better.

"Vesemir took me out into the forest one day. Gave me a knife and left me there for a month."

There is no bitterness in his words. If anything, the witcher sounds...almost fond. Nostalgic. Proud of his younger self for overcoming the challenges his mentors set before him.

It takes a moment for the true meaning of that to sink in and, once it does, Jaskier is horrified. His own parents weren't great, but even they would never simply abandon him.

"He just— like as a test— what—?"

"Real eloquent, bard. I doubt he had any choice. Probably wasn't even supposed to give me anything."

"How old were you?" he demands, unsure if any answer will make this revelation less abhorrent.

"Six? Seven? Maybe eight. I don't know." Geralt makes a gesture with his fingers and the pile of wood beneath his hand sparks with flame. "Not old enough to have learned Igni yet."

He can picture it, too, so vividly. Curse his dammed artist's imagination. Geralt, just a kid, alone and scared and definitely cold—because no one bothered to teach him how to start a fire.

"Stop it," the witcher snaps.

"What?"

"Looking at me like that. I'm fine. I was fine back then. Wasn't so bad at all compared to the Grasses. Vesemir came back for me like he said he would. I survived the trial—no, I didn't just survive; I exceeded all expectations, which is why they..." The witcher trails off. Takes a breath.

All of that... It's quite a lot of words for Geralt. Honest words, even.

It's his job to talk, to sing, to commit the most painful and difficult experiences to beautiful poetic verse. But Jaskier doesn't know what to say to his friend right now. Surely he has to say something.

"Geralt..."

"Don't waste your pity. Save it for the ones who didn't make it through. I did."

"Okay," the bard replies, careful and tentative. He isn't a brave man, nor a particularly kind one. But Jaskier considers himself an honest fellow so he adds, "Just because you made it through, you know, that doesn't mean what happened to you was all right, Geralt. Children aren't supposed to be left alone to fend for themselves."

The witcher laughs—a humorless, wretched sound. He doesn't say anything at all to that. Which is okay, really; Jaskier just needed him to hear it.

There is a long silence. The fire crackles. Jaskier absently strums his lute.

"You're gonna write a ballad about this, aren't you," Geralt says after a while.

"No!" Maybe. Yes. He won't perform it.

"Hm."

The fire crackles.

Quite out of the blue, Geralt tells him, "I befriended a wolf back then."

"What? You're joking!"

"Witchers don't have a sense of humor. Common knowledge."

"Common misconception. Most people are just stupid. No, hang on, stop distracting me—You had a pet wolf?!"

"Not a pet," the witcher corrects, smiling faintly. "Fangtooth was her own wolf."

"Fangtooth?" Jaskier repeats, struggling to contain his amusement. "Not Roach?"

"No."

"Forgive me, but that's adorable."

"I was just a child. I wanted to stay with her in the wilderness. Be a wolf, too. Or a knight." He shakes his head dismissively. Silly childish dreams.

"But you didn't," Jaskier says. And feels stupid for saying something so obvious.

"Too late for that," Geralt replies without reproach. "I was already a witcher."

"As a child, I wanted to run away and join the circus," the bard offers.

"Of course you did."

They're quiet for a moment then. Comfortable, shared silence. Just the sounds of birds and forest creatures, and Roach contentedly eating grass. The fire crackles.

"Geralt, will you teach me to light a fire? Without witcher magic, obviously, since I don't have any."

"Why?"

"Because...well, because I could be a more useful traveling companion. Like Fangtooth must've been."

"...Fine," Geralt agrees after some thought.

It is a skill he will be very grateful to have on freezing nights in the coming years, especially whenever the witcher is too injured or ill from those dreadful potions to help set up camp. He will try not to think of the child Geralt once was, subjected to horrific tests of his ability to survive all on his own.

Except he hadn't been on his own back then, not completely. And he isn't alone anymore, either.

[itsyagurlchip]

Slides in

Heyyy poookieeeee

I have a request for you

I receive/request: a Vox x GN!Reader who died and is in hell and got magic thing because they were into the occult when alive. Vox is “mildly” intrigued because they’re making a splash in the pride ring. (I love the magic x tech dynamic, very silly)

You receive: Likes, reblogs, shit ton of support and me blogging tf out of the request. Me going insane over the request.

☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Aw, Poor You, Go Suck It☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

ᯓᡣ𐭩warnings: 16+(!) suggestive stuff(!) valentino(!) cussing(!) badass reader(!) lots of words(!)

ᯓᡣ𐭩Ace...Ace my dear. THANK YOU SO MUCH!! AUGHH IM GONNA HAVE SO MUCH FUN WRITING THISSS AUGHHHHH-AJDKNJDEHWJDBIWXDNEHIDIWEHNDXZIM ok ok ok, since they'e only meeting there won't be too much fluff or anything really, just a simple scenario. The reader's gender wasn't specified, so go nuts! I LOVE YOU ACE/p <333

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You know how Vox acts up over people he likes? Ermm... yea, wellllll- Turns out, you're currently overselling his business AND you're hot. wait what?

Typing out documents at your desk, you sighed at the amount of paper work you had. 'Magic could do cool things, but not files' you guessed. Things around your office float around you in green magic, carrying out various tasks, like organizing said papers. 'But atleast I don't have to organize this shit.'

Suddenly, your double doors busted open, revealing a robot man? You pushed up your glasses a bit with a grimace. He marched in, electricity crackling around him as he stood up to your desk. He pounded a gloved fist onto your papers, making a brown to black singe appear on them.

You growled deeply, you just finished those!

"Did you schedule a meeting?" You said with a leveled voice. Sure you were pissed right now, but you didn't want to deal with much else this afternoon, nonetheless a petty fight with a bitch.

"No?" He said, the sparks going away in his bout of confusion. "You little- You're overselling my-" You cut him off.

"Then get. Out. Now." You flicked your wrist, with all the magic in the room dropping what it was holding, before speeding to the TV head who yelled in surprise.

"What? Fu- No!" He growled, the green magic tightening him into a stiff line, shooting him out to the room back to the elevator. He cursed profanities, the basic ones like whore and and bitch, as you rolled your eyes and shut your doors again. 'At least be creative and add the insults with flavor.'

Finally, quiet from a whining glorified crack ipad kid tablet.

"Jeez, the intolerable ass crouton." You sigh deeply, getting your anger together before getting back to work, typing and printing those papers.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

It was a week later, and nothing about the incident stayed on your mind. Infact, you were in your potion factory figuring out ways to outsell this new "love potion". Oh how you loved pissing corporate businesses off. No one even knew that you were running a "monopoly" by definition, as the CEO's of your multibusiness ran under many names.

'And those who know say nothing'. Those who were binded in contracts couldn't say anything, as they owe you from previous deals.

Your motto was; "Get the magic of a Sin, for the price of the poor". It may have been a bit deprecating, but it sells. Greatly.

Its always nice to see big man faces fall when they see that magic is often more superior in certain aspects of life. It's cheaper, more effective, and best of all; it sells more. That thought made a grin spread throughout your face. Maybe that's why you were cast into Hell; for greed. Either that or the demonic occult group you often participated in on the surface.

No matter, you were richer in this life so the past didn't concern you too much. You came into Hell not too long ago, so it became a surprise for many when you built your business in just a few weeks! You became an Overlord quickly.

With your business, and souls in your hands, you began to grow bigger in popularity! Which sparked interest in some unwanted people. It turns out, and you caught this one on the news, that the person who barged into your office was named Vox; The Innovation Overlord. And despite the "innovation" impact he's made, you still had way more clients than him by thousands.

Just as you were about to sprinkle some glitter into a bottle for a little decoration, one of your assistants rushed in with a rushed appearance, clearly shaken.

"Um, excuse me Mx. Alchemist Overlord? U-um, there's a message for you by a fellow competitor." She stuttered out, with her tail wrapping around her leg for stability. An envelope with a bright blue V was stamped with red wax. Interesting.

"From who?" You asked.

"...VoxTek Enterprises.." She cowered, as if you had something to worry about. Your smile grew, the afterlife just kept getting better!

"Thank you. You may go back to your desk now." You said with a smirk, patting her head as she walked away. You walked out of the room and into the hallway, walking towards the elevator. Strutting to your office, you closed your doors and sat down.

'Why didn't I just teleport?' You thought absentmindedly, leaning back in your chair and opening the letter. The entry read;

"Dear Alchemist..... I have a deal for you"

ᯓᡣ𐭩

You looked up at the VoxTek building. On the outside, you remained calm and leveled, with a small tinge of cockiness peeking out. On the inside, you were highly amused, and quite frankly, embarrassed for this guy. He has 2 other overlords on his side, and yet he still begs for power?

You huffed out part of a laugh, before skating your head and walking in. The place looked tacky to you. Really? The "V Tower"? This guy has to be stuck in his teenage years! It was too laughable really.

Sauntering over to the secretary, you were able to get the floor number as well as the meeting room location. Thanking her, you walked over to the elevator and pressed the highest floor.

'It seems he took my advice and scheduled a meeting.' You thought, looking up towards the camera in the corner. Oh, so the flatcreen flatass wanted to spy on you? You'll give him a show then.

You raised your head higher at the camera, lidding your eyes as slowly as you could. Taking your finger, you opened your mouth to drag it across your tongue. Pulling it away from your mouth, you let the saliva drip down onto the floor. The camera fizzled and powered down, with steam flowing from the top.

'Pathetic', you thought. And the elevator doors opened as a fluffy person in a pink robe walked in, looking tired out. A taller moth guy walked in right behind them. He was bald.

"Hello cariñe~ And what's a sexy tesoro like you doing here?" He said lowly, leaning towards you in interest. You simply ignored him as the doors closed once more.

"No answer? Ai, the feisty one aren't they Angel?" He said threateningly, talking to the other person who complied and agreed. You weren't phased. The door opened to the highest floor, signaling your leave.

"Puta." You heard him mumble, before the doors closed once I more. At least you know who Valentino is now. You scoffed before walking towards a door, with a gold label titled "Vox". This is the one for sure. Weren't one of the overlords a fashion designer? Surely they could've designed the building with more creativity.

You didn't want to touch the knob, not if that moth touched it, so you flicked your wrist as your green magic opened it for you.

Walking in, you realized you hated this building so much. The guy had sharks in tanks! In an electronic filled building. You sneered as you walked into the room rationally, not needing to make too much of a scene yet.

In front of you was the one you came here for; Vox. He had a bluescreen as his head rested on his shoulder. You snapped, and he jerked up- his face showing a loading screen.

'Oh for the love of-'

He was finally "online" with his face scrunching in confusion, before looking to you and smirking. You gestured for him to start, as you time was valuable.

"Right! So, the deal-"

"No"

"If we come toge- Wait what?"

"I said no, you glass backboard."

"Why?"

"You aren't worth my time, nor my product. Thank you for already wasting one of those." You turned to walk away before he teleported in front of you.

"B-But we can go so perfect together! Both of our businesses collaborating together!" He said, stepping towards you as he spoke. His tone was getting desperate and angry.

"So?" You said keeping your voice bold, his tone was pissing you off. It screamed "weak" and "dependent". You bet his whole enterprise could fall over if one of the "Heathers" went out of commission for a while.

"So- Partner with me! Not only would we look good together- I mean- You could have so much more sells! Imagine the cash that would flow in if the people saw magic and technology working together!" He grabbed your hands and put them together. He pushed you against the wall. "I know that magic doesn't fix all problems. Why not use technology to fill in the rest?" he was now in your face, one of his eyes swirling and enlarging. Looking at both eyes, you tched.

'Ha. Enlarging'

"You know what doesn't fix all problems? The setbacks you and your machines have." You snatched your hands back, wiping them on your coat. Flipping him on the wall, you poked his chest. "Sure, they make life easier. Whoopdy doo! But the moment the wifi turns off, it's lights out for you."

You could only hear his labored breathing. Was this motherfucker horny? You rolled your eyes and kept going.

"So who would look better? Me and my stable industry? Or you and your Lego built one?" You ran a finger down from his chest to his stomach. "All I need to do is pull. One. Piece. Out." You stepped away, walking towards the door once more. "Aw..Poor you." You frowned mockingly and looked him up and down, before laughing maliciously.

He was against the wall breathing heavily, with animated sweats rolling down his screen. Disgusting, couldn't even stay professional.

"Your business means nothing to me Vox." You said, walking through and going back to the tower entrance.

Vox was pretty sure he was hard right now.

I know you said mildly interested- but I couldn't help it! While I did want to relate Vox's dynamic with Alastor with reader's, it didn't feel too right so I took another approach!

I feel like this version of the reader has a sick love for power imbalance, and people wanting to reach the level that they're at. Despite that, they don't really care for people more powerful than them, they just mind their business on that part. Even more, reader is sex repulsed, so when they see others in their feel, they can't help but tease <3

I usually don't do time skips, so this also felt kinda odd- but I still loved writing this so much! I might actually write a fic about this. Thank you again for the request Ace <333 I hope you liked it!!

૮₍˶• .•⑅₎ა tags: @kittykittyanon @bonefanatic @oleander-nin @towomatos @thealphagirl

૮₍˶• .•⑅₎ა@ziipzeepzop-eez @wheezdostuff @spongejuice @cyb3r-st4r @matteo-hamato

@clown-froggi

if you would like to be added, check my blog. if you would like to be added, check my blog. SEE? I SAID IT TWICE!!

[kimmiessimmies]

Honeycomb Hills Apartments

Malte's home!

I shared a preview yesterday, but here is the full post. And when I say full, I mean "OMFG, Kim did you really have to write another essay?!" Yes. That kind of full. I'm not even sorry.

I was so happy about finishing these apartments that I plunked down three in a row. 😄

Each building has four apartments, all similar: 2 bed, 1,5 bath.

Currently, I only moved one person in: Mister Malte Nerhus, aka Rachel's... I wanna say boyfriend, but then I might be getting ahead of things... crush! Let's say crush!

Malte came to Honeycomb with not a lot of money in his pocket, happy and eager to start working at the university library. When he started looking for a place to live, a two-bedroom apartment wasn't really what he had in mind, (Malte would have been fine in a studio apartment) but it was the only thing available to non-students in Honeycomb Hills and the rent was quite affordable because these apartments are part of an experimental project set up as part of "Greenify Honeycomb Valley": the tenants of the first apartments get a discount on their rent if they fill out regular questionnaires containing questions on how to make the apartment more sustainable and eco-friendly.

So, Malte moved into a two-bedroom apartment, claiming the smaller bedroom as his own and leaving the larger one empty. If they decided to come over, it could potentially sleep his entire family (his mother, grandmother, and two sisters). He spent his money wisely and using the resources available, soon made a home out of this place.

The large windows are Malte's favourite feature of his home. He built sofas out of old mattresses. The Honeycomb campus has two rather large student dorms and whenever a student graduates and moves out of the dorm, the mattress on the bed they used gets replaced for the next resident. Some of those old mattresses are too filthy to even look at, but many are actually still in good shape. Priding itself on being green, the university actually has a website on which they put up old-but-still-good-for-another-round furnishings, free-to-collect. Malte put new, cheap coverings on the mattresses. Easy to take off and wash when needed.

Malte loves cushions and blankets. You find those all around the house. Some were already his, the others were flea-market and thrift store finds, just like all the rugs in his home. Old crates function as a coffee table and makeshift shelves. Of course there's books everywhere. The lamps are wall fixtures that were already in the house, as were the curtains, and the poster on the wall is the cover of one of Malte's favourite books, gifted to him by his colleagues from the library where he works as a housewarming present. The guitar and the laptop are Malte's own possessions and the plants are the one item he actually spent a bit of money on, because plants are a must.

Malte is a creative spirit. Painting, drawing, writing and making music all keep him sane. The painting easel was a thrift store find, and to protect the floors of his rented home, Malte put down a tarp underneath. The easel faces the window, of course. All the artwork on the wall is made by Malte or his sister Solveig. The shelves he built himself from old wood and on the top shelf there's a picture of Malte and his family. A little reminder of home.

The kitchen came with the apartment. The table consists of a couple of boards on two sets of trestles. That was an easy build.

The two folding chairs (there's a third folded against the wall next to the fridge) Malte brought from home and the other two chairs are old discarded university classroom furniture Malte found on the previously mentioned website.

Malte's bike has a place on the wall. It's his main means of transportation. The car in which he took Rachel on their second date wasn't his, a colleague lend it to him.

In the other corner of the room, there's a little workspace. The desk was another university reject and the chair a thrift store find. The paintings are Malte's own work and the pictures show him and his mother and eldest sister.

Here we have three very similar pictures from Malte's bedroom, but I still wanted to use them all xD. Here we find old mattresses again, although the top one is new. Old crates also make great night stands and a bedroom without books isn't a bedroom. The yellow lamp is a thrift store find and the green one a Swedish furniture store one. On Malte's nightstand there's a picture of his mother, grandmother and sisters. The poster above his bed as well as two on the other wall (see next picture) are enlarged prints of Saarqartoq pictures. Rachel had these printed as a gift for Malte because she knows he does miss home sometimes.

Malte doesn't have a wardrobe, but installed a rod against the wall which does the job perfectly.

In the orignal design of the room, the architect intended for people to place a bed below the high window. Malte thought this idea was no good at all. He wanted to wake up with a view! So he went against the design of the room and put his bed against the wall so it faced the tall windows and the green outside. The watermelon bean bag was his latest thrift store gem. It was just too cool to pass by.

And that concludes the tour of Malte's home. There's also a bathroom, which is just a bathroom, and a balcony, which I didn't take any pictures of at this time, but which will show up in a story post, I'm sure.

[fizzy-fuzz]

hello! I've been reading your SCP work and saw you add OM to your writing list.

Can I please get Lucifer with an adoptive teen reader? Sibling relationship please

AN: I wasn't sure what you wanted as far as like headcanons or oneshots go, So I just went with a short oneshot because that's what I'm most comfortable with writing. Hope you don't mind!

I took some creative liberties with the plot, since your request kinda left it open. I also left the age non-specific, except implying that the reader is a teenager... I may have gotten carried away, soft big brother Lucifer incoming.

TW: slight angst

Different yet the same... (Lucifer & Adoptive teen sibling reader)

Your shoes thud softly against the ground in the carpeted halls in the house of lamination. Your pace is slowed though you already have your destination in mind; Lucifer study. Your sure he's in there, he always is during the afternoon. Often doing paperwork assigned to him by diavolo that day.

This routine isn't unusual for you. The house gets too rambunctious, so you seek the tranquility and comfort of the eldests workspace.

It's the arguably quietest place in the house. with spells and enchants to make sure that the only thing heard within the space is the gently thrum of whatever cursed vinyl Lucifer happens to fancy that day.

Lucifer never seemed to care if you were there as long as you were quiet and didn't disrupt his work.

Yes, this isn't unusual for you... Yet today the circumstances for your visit are different.

The house isn't bustling. in fact, this is the most calm it's been in awhile: Mammon Is out gambling with the money he made from modeling, Levi is holed up in his room playing some new video game that just came out, Satan is out reading in a newly built library, Asmo is clubbing with Solomon, Beel is out at an all you can eat buffet, And belphie is napping in the planetarium.

You pause your thoughts when you make it to the grand mahogany door that holds Lucifer and his office behind it. Hand raising to knock on the door but falling short and stopping just before it makes contact.

Does he even want you in there? Maybe this whole time he hasn't, and is just too polite to tell you off.

Part of you realizes that that sentence sounds ridiculous. Lucifer never has a problem telling his siblings to leave him alone when he needs private time...

But you're not really his sibling, are you?

They're all so close to each other... They fought together, fell together, and survived together when devildom refused to accept them.

Your hand that was hovering just before the office door drops to your side, and you turn around the glance at the mirrors lining the hallway behind you. If you look hard enough, you can still picture the beautiful and pristine white of your wings.

.....

It was a few dumb decisions that got you banished from the celestial realm and made you fall from grace.

You were growing weary with the standards you had to constantly upkeep. The realm values excellence over anything, and they won't settle for any less. Angelic voices always ringing in your ears pushing you to be something you weren't; perfection.

It was that same weariness that blossomed into intrigue when you first heard the name 'Lucifer' be uttered. His name was always spoken with a hushed voice, as if he was some sort of deadly curse.

And when you begin poking around for more information about him you were quickly shut down...

Until you spoke to Simeon about it. Simeon had always been one of the most relaxed and understanding of all of the angels. And because he was so well liked and respected they let it slide.

So when you spoke to him about your curiosity, he was happy to divulge as much as he saw fit for your younger mind. Contrary to every other angel you talked to, he spoke about Lucifer with high regards. Often speaking about how kind and giving the morning star was, and still is, even if he doesn't always show it.

When you asked what happened to him he told you the truth. He fell from grace along with six other angels he was closest with. Though simeon told you he wasn't allowed to speak of why they fell from grace, he did however give you a key to access the vaults that held files on what you were looking for.

That's when you first began properly learning about the great celestial war.

It dazzled you're young mind, the thought of seven angels taking on the entirety of the celestial realm with such bravery. And although you weren't about to try and start a rebellion like Lucifer did, seeing him fight for what he thought was right encouraged you to begin declining the high expectations of the realm.

Everyday when you got free time, you would sneak back off to the vault to read more on the rebellion and war, while sneaking conversations with simeon in between.

It kept you content...

Until one day, you made the mistake of getting too comfortable and sloppy while sneaking off. Unfortunately, you were blissfully unaware of the fact that you had been spotted and were being followed the whole time.

It's safe to say the higher ups weren't pleased...

So they gave you two choses:

Stay and be held on trial for treason. Which who knows what would happen after you were inevitably found guilty.

Or be stripped of your grace and be banished to devildom...

You choose the latter...

So you fell...

And fell...

And fell some more...

Devildom was beautiful, and it's Prince was nothing short of gracious. A far cry from the pompous aristocrats of the celestial realm, and of course diavolo knew just where to stick you. Where else if not with the demon brothers? Considering your circumstance, you should get along swimmingly.

Yeah, no... it's safe to say they were not happy about the idea of a freshly fallen angel teenager stuck living with them. For the first couple of months they either avoided you like the plague, or were confrontational.

All but one... Lucifer.

He wasn't peachy with you, but he held an air of understanding with your situation. He allowed you to express your woes, and offered a guiding hand when you seemed stuck.

Eventually all of the brothers warmed up to you, and came to view you as their eighth sibling. Though you always had a hard time feeling like you fit...

.....

"I can see you standing out there, Y/n. Come in." Lucifer startles you out of your thoughts as he calls out to you from behind the door.

You grip the door handle and open the heavy wooden door. It squeaks on it's hinges, the sound normally doesn't bug you, but today it makes your anxiety spike. You look up from the ground and see Lucifer at his desk writing away at some paperwork, he raises his none occupied hand and gestures for you to have a seat on the leather chair off to the side in the room.

As you scuttle over and plant yourself in the chair, you fidget nervously with your hands. The room is quiet, too quiet. The only thing heard is the scratching of Lucifers quill against the paper.

"I take it you'd like to talk? You seem tense" Though he acknowledges you verbally, he continues to work on his paperwork. Despite this you know you have his full attention.

"I guess?.. I'm really not sure." you shuffle around in your seat to get comfortable. He hums in thought.

Maybe you should've just gone to your room and dealt with your feelings yourself... He seems so busy, he shouldn't have to deal with your self-consciousness.

"tell me what's on your mind, Y/n..."

His voice has that certain tone to it, the closest it gets to 'soft'. You feel your self doubt fade away slightly... So you decide to spill your guts.

"I guess I've just been feeling a little out of place lately? Like I don't really fit in anywhere in the family..." Your voice falls to a hesitant whisper at the end.

Lucifers writing halts but he doesn't look at you yet. It feels like he already knows where this conversation is going. A light sigh falls from his mouth.

"elaborate."

You pause and think about how you want to respond. the topic is uncomfortable for you to approach, but it weighs heavy on your shoulders, so it's better to talk about it then let yourself stew...

"it's just... the seven of you are so close, you've been together for your entire life. You guys didn't even know me when I was still in the celestial realm, I was kinda just placed here after i fell from grace because there was nowhere else for me to go..." You pause for a moment and look to the ground, avoiding Lucifers gaze. "I feel like I don't belong..."

There's a silence that falls over the room as you finish your rant, only thing heard is your shuddery breathing and the scuff of Lucifers chair being pushed away from his desk. You hear here the sound of his dress shoes approach you, but you don't look up from the ground. Scared you'll meet his gaze and be ment with a lecture about how you need to be more secure with yourself.

You fidget a bit more when he stops in front of you, his shoes now in your vision as you continue to avoid looking at him properly. Two gloved fingers swoop into your view as well when he gently places them under your chin, tilting your head up carefully.

When you meet his gaze, your surprised to see his eyes half lidded with sympathy and understanding. His other hand coming up to gently run through your hair to clear it from you face, before falling to rest your shoulder in a grounding grip.

You both stay silent for a short while, before Lucifer speaks.

"how long have you felt like this?" His words are simple, but encourage you to delve deeper into your feelings.

"For awhile... I have a hard time feeling like I'm even slightly related to you guys sometimes" to your surprised, a light laugh falls from Lucifers mouth at this.

"none of us are related by blood, When has that ever made a difference?"

"that's not what I mean... Not biologically, more like our experiences feel so different, and you're all so close in age... I don't know" Lucifers gaze grows serious as he addresses you with a firm tone.

"Y/n, I know we don't always express it, but we all cherish you greatly. We may not share the same experiences, but we're still cut from the same cloth... We're family, Y/n" he pauses for a moment and sighs. "Why didn't you come to me if this was bothering you? We could've spoken about it sooner"

You gently push his hand away and he backs up to allow you to stand. Once standing, you hug your arms close to your body and shift your weight around nervously.

"it shouldn't be your job to deal with my emotions, you already have enough to deal with-" he quickly cuts you off.

"as your eldest brother it is my job to help you through things like this, my duties come second always. Y/n, you can always rely on me."

his firm response leaves no room for argument, and with his unusual sentiment, a dam breaks in you.

You take a few steps towards him and hug him close, sniffling lightly.

"I love you, Lucifer..."

His hands hover for a second, before gently pulling you closer.

"I love you too, Y/n"

[stickthisbig]

I have no idea what this is but I decided to write down my grand theory of Star Wars and how authorship affects the ways in which stories are good and bad? Come for media critique, stay for the analogy at the very end about how Star Wars is like college, also there's gifs

The original trilogy is a series of derivative works. That's not a pejorative, but a description of their content and structure; they are constructions that use existing pieces to tell a new story. They are samurai movies, they are meditations on Joseph Campbell. They are the work of a film nerd trying to create a story that is Everything. There's nothing novel about the storytelling of the original trilogy; it was just particularly well executed, because they were made with love by a craftsman, surrounded by a team who kept him from giving in to the worst of his narrative excesses (most notably but not limited to Marcia Lucas).

There's a lot of No Reason in the original trilogy. Why's Darth Vader so strong in the Force? No reason. It doesn't have time to delicately explain everything, so it relies on the audience's understanding of the shape of the story to fill in the gaps. It's the time in the story for someone to fall in love, so a romance plotline it shall be. The author is trying to do something, and he successfully does it.

The prequel trilogy represents an older creator for whom derivative works were not enough, who had been creatively stifled by the very thing he created. (I strongly recommend Patrick H Willems's series about Frances Ford Coppola if you want a really interesting take on George Lucas and the tragedy of his career.) Extremely importantly, they represent a creator with almost unlimited cash and no one to tell him to tone it down.

Everything that is bad about the prequel trilogy is because they were made with a vision by a creator who was trying to do something. George Lucas has six hours and fifty-eight minutes of material prepared about diplomacy, representative democracy, and how all unchecked power is always all bad and by god we are all gonna sit here until he finishes it. The writing is so clunky because it is not there to build character or relationships; it is there to convey information. The sequences with the Gungans are such a mess because they're the injection of (very inadvisable) comic relief into a story that is not supposed to have any relief at all.

One of the worst sins of the prequel trilogy is the rejection of No Reason. It continually poses questions that do not need answers and then takes pains to answer them. Why's Darth Vader so strong in the Force? His mother conceived him as a virgin birth because of the Force, by way of midichlorians, which as we all know are the powerhouse of the cell. It is such a deeply unsatisfying answer, but George Lucas seems incredibly sincere about the fact that this is important. He is trying to position his derivative work within a new fandom context that conceives of his work as wholly original, and the wild thing is, I think George Lucas always thought all of this and just wasn't allowed to put it in. Improbably, the problem is not that he hasn't thought enough about his own lore, as a common charge goes; he appears to have thought about it way too much.

I have to confess to not being a prequel trilogy fan, but probably the single biggest thing to come out of it is Obi-Wan. Ewan McGregor almost instantly became the canonical version of the character. It's because the same thing that made it bad also made it good. It's a story that is trying to do something, and that is opening wide an almost Stendhal-syndrome-esque array of locations and people and stories. Fuck yes I want to hear everything about the person Alec Guinness used to be when he was young and badass, tell me everything about the weird desert guy. Of course I wanna go to Space Italy and see what the galaxy was like before it got dicked up. Sinister rise to power of Darth Vader's master? Check. Seeing the evil enemy built as a series of actions is the shit prequels are made for.

When the prequel trilogy is boring, it's because the pacing is fucking awful, especially in Revenge of the Sith. The dizzying array of new stuff is never boring, and you can all fight me on Kamino being one of the best planets in the whole series. When it's good to be in George Lucas's mind palace, it's extremely good. For better or worse, he did it. He gave his almost seven hour lecture, he said what he had to say, and he left.

And then we move forwards in time, into an era of Star Wars as a strategy rather than a story.

(I didn't see Solo, so it's not gonna be in here. Neither are any of the TV shows or the EU, because I have other shit to do with my life.)

The Force Awakens was not the first Star Wars film that was made by someone else; the authorship of The Empire Strikes Back is complicated- George Lucas kind of managed to ghostwrite his own movie?- but he definitely didn't direct it. Empire was very much still a Lucas production in which he was intimately involved.

The Force Awakens has a point, but it ultimately doesn't do anything.

It resets everything back to the start: an evil empire represented by British people in suits come to power; three heroes arise; a mentor who's incredibly important apparently despite only knowing the heroes for five minutes is murdered by a cloaked Force user; something is blown up. It is meant to stoke the fires of nostalgia, and it provides nothing substantive in terms of plot. In fact, it represents a retrograde movement. It is a very fun watch and a movie with absolutely nothing to say, at least nothing that wasn't written into the series thirty years beforehand.

It's not a surprise that, since it's just meant to get people hype and then serve them what they already know, the best thing it provided were its new characters. I was so stoked to see a Black person in a Star Wars movie; we got three new main characters and not a white man among them?? But let's fuckin' table that shit, because we all know what's coming.

[I was gonna put in a Kylo Ren gif but he looked like such a dipshit in all of them, you're welcome]

Actually I lied, I forgot that what came next was Rogue One. The purpose of the film is to make a war movie about Star Wars and like many/most war films, what the movie is trying to do is meditate on the duality created by the futility of war and the value of sacrifice, it fills in a blank in canon but is really a tone piece meant to make you have feelings and reflect, I watched it once and it was so touching and horrible that I've never been able to watch it again, 10/10 no notes

And then we have The Last Jedi, which is weird.

The Last Jedi represents a step back to a craftsman at the helm, and the exact same shit happened again.

It shouldn't have, because it happened again in a completely different way! The Last Jedi is a singular vision with one creative direction, and that is the cause of everything that is bad and everything that is good about it, but Rian Johnson wanted to do something radically different than George Lucas. He's not interested in giving you his Star Wars lecture; he's interested in breaking Star Wars open, thrusting it bodily in a new direction. The Last Jedi represents at least as much movement as The Empire Strikes Back.

So it's not like a shock that the movie was wildly divisive, and lists of the best and worst things are the same items shuffled around. I honestly think Admiral Holdo's death is the finest moment in the entire trilogy, in terms of visuals and in terms of emotional impact. I fuckin' love that Luke was sitting on PTSD Island sulking, because it's some Luke shit to do. "Let the past die. Kill it if you have to" got me HYPE to see where this would go. I wanted to go on that ride. I've loved Star Wars since I was a tiny child, and I wanted to go on a journey into something that was entirely fresh.

Other people hated all of these things, and honestly in this case, I don't agree but I can't say they're wrong. Wanting Rose to be deleted from the series simply for using oxygen is racist. Wanting Snoke to have had more impact on the story is a difference of opinion. Either you were interested in this ride or you weren't, and you're not a bad person for not wanting that out of your Star Wars.

But on the other hand, it's not a very good movie.

The problems that make it not very good are the result of having one guy at the wheel. It's clumsily made. It feels like it ends three times before it actually does. The Canto Bight sequences are the work of someone who doesn't want them to be in there, and somebody who could play ball would have finessed the story to make them organic. Some of the CGI work represents a lapse in professional judgment. The Force dyad stuff does not make any sense at all, because it plays like somebody who couldn't really explain a thing they were doing but refuses to stop doing it.

It's so good when it's good. I just wish it had had another screenwriter who could have fixed what was bad.

I didn't care for Rise of Skywalker.

By the time it came out, I was experiencing a kind of numbness surrounding Star Wars; not literally, because I got my tattoos finished up just before it came out. I didn't have any idea what was about to happen. There were a lot of rumors circulating about the extent to which things had gotten rewritten, but it was pretty clear that whatever it was going to be was fully an Abrams/Disney thing.

And indeed, this time, they did make a movie that tried to do something. Extremely unfortunately, what the movie was trying to do was reinforce the status quo. It did this on every level- Holdo's sacrifice was made meaningless, the minuscule amount of queer content was palatably deletable, a woman of color's lines were given to a white man who was buddies with the director, the story reverted from "everyone's a Star Wars" to "there are only four people in the galaxy who matter", Poe's awesome storyline from the comics was thrust aside for a frankly kind of racist replacement, every bit of story development from TLJ was cast aside. There are no consequences for anything, because all that matters is moving to the end of the story; I cannot believe that absolute motherfucker made me watch Chewbacca die with my own eyeballs just to wave it away literally two minutes later in the clumsiest way imaginable. In the prequel trilogy, in Rogue One, in TLJ, everything everyone does matters so much. The minutest actions have huge consequences. In Rise of Skywalker, nothing matters even a little bit. Everybody just waits around for the main characters to get finished dicking around.

I cannot believe that it's a thing I would possibly think ever, but the only thing that got any work put into it was Kylo and Rey's relationship. Trust: I didn't enjoy watching it. There's a piece of Wishful Drinking where Carrie Fisher and Billie Lourd are trying to figure out if Billie is related to the guy she's dating, due to a bunch of Hollywood marriages. Even after the shitstupid reveal of Rey's parentage, it still really, really feels like the same vibe. But by the time they kissed, I was like, "Yeah, I mean I hate it but I see where it happened."

Star Wars is like the end of a semester in college. The prequel trilogy is the period where you're studying, trying to cram so much stuff into your brain that you're never gonna remember. The original trilogy is exams, exhilarating and rocky but ultimately liberating.

The sequel trilogy is the party you go to afterwards. At 10 PM you're at The Force Awakens, singing along at the top of your lungs to a song that's catchy and doesn't have to be good. At midnight you're at Rogue One, where you break down sobbing in the bathroom. The Last Jedi is 2 AM, weird and full of promise, as if anything could happen.

The Rise of Skywalker is 11 AM the next day, when you've already broken down the details at brunch and are now lying in bed unable to nap, with the horrible certainty that this is all there is, you will never be more than yourself, just a regular person who carries no special importance.

I didn't like it in real life; I sure didn't want it from Star Wars.

[mychemicalnations]

What the fuck, NaNo???????

this is a long post, buckle up.

Okay, if you haven't heard anything about NaNoWriMo's statement about the use of AI in writing, I am both jealous of you and here to ruin that for you.

The folks over at National Novel Writing Month have released a statement (which you can read here) that explicitly says that being Anti-genAI is classist and ableist. My gut reaction is that this is a fucking asinine take -- poor and disabled people have been writing for longer than we've even had the electricity that powers AI -- but the more I think about it, the angrier I get about the anti-community sentiment that they seem to be pushing.

The claims that are made in this statement are either non-issues or something that AI does not actually fix. Yeah, not everyone can afford to hire an editor, but that is a large part of why writing communities exist both in-person and online. Exchange works with a friend and help each other out, find a discord server and ask there. Make use of a writing community. The same thing applies to ableism; Yeah, we all have different abilities and not everyone can "see" what might need improvement. So you share your work with another writer and get feedback from your community. Writing is a skill that needs to be honed and in order to do that, you have to be okay with being bad at it sometimes.

I'm not even sure I can say much about their "General access" paragraph because, like... AI is not going to fix the systemic issues with the publishing industry. It just won't. That entire paragraph gets half-way to a point and then falls on its ass into the void.

As if I wasn't angry enough, NaNoWriMo edited the statement about 8 hours ago to say "Note: we have edited this post by adding this paragraph to reflect our acknowledgment that there are bad actors in the AI space who are doing harm to writers and who are acting unethically."

This makes me want to throw my computer out a fucking window. Using AI in writing or any other art is inherently unethical because the language models being used are trained on works by people who did not consent to their work being used to train said AI. It is theft. It is plagiarism. Plain and simple. Chat-GPT was trained using the entirety of the New York Times archive, so when you use Chat-GPT, what it produces is based off of the work of NYT journalists (read about the resulting lawsuit here). It's not that there are "bad actors", the programs themselves are built on stealing writing. We've known this for what feels like ages now. This is such a bullshit edit and a fucking sad attempt at saving their asses.

I am someone that doesn't even use Grammarly anymore because they literally market themselves as an AI writing assistant and I'm not willing to risk my entire degree for an application that can't even handle vernacular and dialect and makes mid suggestions at best. Genuinely fuck off and block me if you support the use of AI in writing. Also, my block button is rated E for Everyone and I will use it liberally if anyone comes into my notes supporting genAI. Unless I am feel particularly combative, then you will feel the full weight of my academic and creative integrity. You have been warned.

[bonefall]

OHHH OK now im curious. bc of this ask: https://www.tumblr.com/bonefall/729548700508160000/could-be-like-my-cousin-shes-100-percent-deaf-in?source=share about dovewing being deaf. do cats in the BB AU have a signed form of clanmew? or is it basic gestures/just the written form of clanmew for deaf/HOH cats?

signed,

someone who really loves languages (hoping to god i spelled everything right/actually used the right words. ive been rewatching 3 hour psych lectures sine 6am...)

They have a rudimentary writing system! Clan glyphs be upon ye

It's not phonetic Clanmew, it's glyphs. Snowkit, before his tragic death saving Tawnykit, was actually OBSESSED with these. If he'd survived, he would have built these out into something he could use to communicate with. He was actually a really interesting kid.

But, unfortunately... that passion went with him. Whitewing is the next cat born with a hearing problem, and she's really uninterested in them. She isn't the same creative person that he was, and struggled with the fact that her family seemed to imply she had to "live the life he couldn't."

(note: in BB, dovewing is lionblaze's adopted daughter and bio-niece.)

I think there's going to be a big of a tragedy at play, here. Whitewing has figured out her own methods of communication. It's not a full language, but she's able to communicate basic intent with "rudimentary signs" she's created on her own.

She was only ONE degree of separation away from Dovewing (as Birchfall's, Dove's mentor, mate), but...everyone was forcing Dovewing into what THEY felt she needed. More hunting practice, more glyph practice, more lip-reading. Dovewing wasn't allowed to set her own pace or learn in her own way.

And her response was to bolt, taking all the possibility with her.

IT was the right choice for Dovewing, I think. She thinks that too. But, it wasn't the ONLY choice, you know? There's always things left unsaid and things you'll never be able to try when you make such a big decision. Who knows what could have been?

Maybe Dove and White would have ended up creating the start of a brand new dialect of Clanmew Sign Language, or changed the glyph system in a way that fit them better. Maybe that's not what matters; maybe they would have just been able to make each other feel less alone.

But as it is...

Every deaf, HOH, and mute cat in BB is currently disconnected from each other. They can't pool their skills except at Gatherings.

So Fallowfern, Dovewing, Whitewing, and Stoneclaw all have their own unique way of communicating.

There are tail signs which are used for battle, and glyphs which are used for writing.

Info: Those who go deaf later in life are still usually able to speak. Those who were born deaf often have a harder time. (Clarifying because this is apparently not common knowledge?)

OH! Bonus! Here's how each of those four tend to communicate!

Dovewing

She's REALLY frustrated by everyone forcing solutions on her. I think part of her actually really likes that she can say whatever and then not hear the response. It's like, "Deal with it. Show me you care with your actions if it's so important."

ZERO patience for people who just try to talk over her. She will immediately respect you if you listen to her carefully; only then will she give you the time of day to try and talk back. She kinda treats it like a privilege to talk to her, and she WILL revoke it without remorse.

People who have earned this privilege;

Heartstar. Naturally. And all of their children.

All of the Guardian cats, especially Antfur who is her best friend.

Violetshine, weirdly enough. She visits ShadowClan now and then and Dovewing is very fond of her and her wife and husband.

Strikestone and her new family

Squirrelflight

Briarlight

Alderheart and Sparkpelt

Twigbranch

Fernsong (BUT HE IS ON THIN. ICE. As Ivypool's husband.)

Her preferred method of being talked to is glyph writing. Heartstar is really creative with them, and it's super endearing. She improvises signs a lot and draws full pictures, making whole "doodle pages", even writing little "love letters" in the dirt before Dove wakes up. Literally peak romance, Dovewing loves her wife so muchhh

Whitewing

Also has low patience, but in a more "quick" way. She doesn't like people who take a lot of her time trying to phrase something simple and act awkwardly around her. Time is prey to Whitewing-- cut to the chase and communicate what you need her to do.

Interestingly, this leads to her really disliking Bramblestar as a leader. He's very inattentive to her needs when he organizes patrols on his own. She has very strong opinions and bad synergy with some of her Clanmates, and if she's forced on a patrol with them it ruins her day.

(She's really relieved when Squilf is reinstated post-BOTTE, Squilf knows about this quirk and accounts for it.)

Her love with Birchfall was actually a long time in the making. He really sees her, and something about the way they communicate just clicks. It's easy. They were friends, then partners, and then eventually mates and have been close their whole lives. Their body language just makes sense to each other.

She's been deaf her whole life and only knows a few very important words, but won't "speak" words if she doesn't have to. She does have a habit of making noises when she's happy though, beeping, meowing, and meeping when she's surprised and "not in work mode."

Whitewing is the kind of deaf cat in those videos who sees their human is home and goes "MEEEEEEEEEA." She would walk into a bathroom and wail so she could feel the vibrations on her paws. Vocalizing feels good. She is NOT a quiet person unless she's hunting.

Her preferred method of communication is mostly modified tail signs, but ThunderClan broadly uses glyphs, but she doesn't want to correct them on it. She feels bad telling them it's frustrating that they take so long to draw.

Stoneclaw

She has selective mutism. Her vigil was the night of the WindClan Massacre, and while sitting outside the camp with her temporary silence, ShadowClan attacked and killed her sister Thrushwing in front of her.

At first, WindClan thought it was nobility, that she'd "carried out her vigil to the bitter end." But it never healed. It's not a choice, it's trauma. She can speak when she's extremely relaxed but it's a really rare circumstance.

But, the legacy is to her benefit. She's the granddaughter of Tallstar (through Flylight, his adopted son), has an honorable story, and is a strong and confident warrior... in the daytime. She never hunts at night, when the sun sets, so does she.

(Clan cats are crepuscular, working in the morning and in the evening, but Stoneclaw only takes daylight shifts.)

Glyphs serve her fine, but she really dislikes using tail signs to communicate... brings up really bad memories.

She would REALLY benefit from someone making an effort to "legitimize" some sort of CSL, it would be like a support club to her. SO if it ever happened, Stoneclaw would jump at the chance to join. She's probably friends with Fallowfern though, once SkyClan arrives. Stoneclaw lives to become a very old girl.

Fallowfern

Mom of the Road Safety Man, guy who knows a million words for vehicles, Rabbitleap, and best friend and co-parent with Hawkwing, Plumwillow, Fallowfern is an old cat who ends up losing her hearing later in life like Dovewing!

I'm actually not entirely decided on her personality, but I'm feeling that she'd make a really good "glue" to hold everyone together. Like some kind of organizer-type person, someone who's very good at networking. She's really upset to be losing her hearing, it signifies a lot of really negative things to her.

She suddenly can't talk with a lot of people... even the ones who are reaching out to her are doing exactly that. Reaching out to her.

She likes being the reacher-outerer. It feels like being old and washed up.

SkyClan is a very good, connected Clan, with bonds notoriously VERY strong in comparison to the other Forest Four because of shared persecution... but

She's got this awful feeling that everyone's just coddling her, being nice to her, sending her to the elder's den like a trinket on a shelf.

"Does this mean... does this mean I'm going to lose music? Will anyone dance with me ever again? Do my babies want me to join them, or... or are they just tolerating stinky old mama <:( ?"

They're NOT, btw. Of course not. She's Fallowfern and she means a lot to them.

So I think at the VERY least, she finds a fondness for Stoneclaw at Gatherings. Elder friends, girlies who bond over making little grandma bracelets, but I'm not sure if it's HIT them yet that they can do something very cool together.

In fact it would be kind of funny if they weren't even aware of each other's disabilities at first, like they just started hanging out quietly. Fallowfern assumed that Stoneclaw just doesn't have anything to say and Stoneclaw figured Fallowfern was respecting her silence.

Like something just gravitated them to each other in the most natural, orbital way.

And then Snapstorm, Stoneclaw's wife, bumbles up like "Hey babe who's your friend :) ?" And Stoneclaw smiles, nods at Fallowfern to introduce herself, and then Fallow's like... "Oh I can't hear you, honey."

Stone: !!! (Taps self and makes a crossing motion over her throat)

Fallow: O_O "Ohhhh"

BUT, anyway,

Her preferred form of communication is unequivocally glyphs. I imagine SkyClan might have more written characters than other Clans, simply because they used them a LOT during their time apart under Spiderstar's Plan. Plus, they used to see a lot of road signs which they may have just adopted as glyphs.

Hmm... yeah, seems very cute that The Road Family's traffic theme continues, lmao

[a-student-out-of-time]

5 Years Later

So...I admit I didn't really have anything big planned for today ^^;

But today- September 12th, 2024- is the 5th Anniversary of when A Student Out Of Time began. I started this blog based on a simple whim, after I'd completed playing 999 with a friend and read H.P. Lovecraft's The Shadow Out Of Time. I asked myself "Hey, what if Hajime went back in time and tried to prevent the Tragedy?"

Now, this wasn't the first story blog I'd ever written. I had a couple early ones that I'm a little too embarrassed to share or discuss, but my biggest one was The Starship Hope, which also began on a whim all the way back in 2018. I was on a walk through the second neighborhood I lived in back in California, and I asked myself "What if the V3 Cast were actually in space?"

While I still have some fondness for that one, I don't believe I really found my footing as a writer until we got deep into this one. I had a tendency to just write whatever sounded cool or I got a little too shippy about some things. Then I really sat down and started planning out arcs, and we built things up from there...

...And now here we are, five years later, and I'm still doing this. Not only that, it's become so much bigger than I ever thought it would. Early on, I had one anon tell me that they weren't convinced that this blog would never last, because story blogs like this never do. I still think about that person now, and I really have to thank them because that was when I decided I'd commit to it.

Thanks to that, I've met so many new friends, been introduced to great things, inspired others to pursue their own stories and creative ambitions, and we even have a whole set of pages on TV Tropes. Almost 1,200 have decided to follow me, and that's not even counting how many have read this story and simply not made their presence known. In short, it really has helped change my life.

It hasn't been easy, and there have been times where I've thought about quitting or deleting the whole thing. There have been some dark moments, some bad arcs, some ideas that didn't pan out as I'd hoped. But even so, I always took them as learning experiences and chose not to quit.

More importantly, I've helped inspire people to check out one of my favorite series of all time, I've given them a work they can enjoy, and all this has in turn helped me refine my own writing skills and figure out the sort of writer I hope to become one day. Seeing people enjoy what I do or just curious to hear what my thoughts are, it really does inspire me to keep going.

It's also so wild to see how much Danganronpa has evolved as a series in time since I started all this. I got involved in the DR Tumblr fandom back in early 2016, before Danganronpa 3 was even out yet. I remember how much we were clamoring for it and V3, how controversial their story decisions were, and how many people didn't want it to end. They wanted to tell their own stories and do their own spins on the concept, and that's how we got so many different fangans in so many mediums- other games, videos, instagram, fanfics, and some here on Tumblr.

Danganronpa Another, SDRA2, DR: Rebirth, Despair Time, Blowback, TheAfter, Rocky Restarts, DR Mauve, DR Lapse, Brave DR: Coward's Paradise, Eternal Endings, Shattered Hope, Heartless Deceit, Eden's Garden, Antebellum, and so many others.

I got into both Zero Escape and AI: The Somnium Files, both great series in their own right. And now we have another SC game on the way, The Hundred Line- Last Defense Academy, which looks pretty interesting too.

In short, it's been a long 5 years.

Do I plan to keep going? Uh, yeah. We're nearing the conclusion of Season 2, and I have many ideas for Season 3. I intend to keep doing this as long as I'm able and as long as people want me to, and I don't see that changing anytime soon.

More than anything, I'm just happy people enjoy the work I do. The support I've received over this last half a decade have been nothing short of inspiring, and I'm glad that people are always happy to see me update no matter how long it's been.

My life has had many ups and downs in the time I've been doing this, but being able to look at all this and say that I helped create a community and inspired people to pursue their own ambitions? It makes it all worth it ^^

What happens when it does all eventually conclude? I wouldn't worry about it. I do have an ending idea in mind, but we're nowhere near that yet. Season 2 has had some of our best arcs so far, and I think Season 3 could even turn out to be even better, but I won't get too ahead of myself.

I'm glad I'm still doing this, and I'm glad for every single person who decided that this silly little Danganronpa fanfiction blog was worth their time to get invested in. When I get things together a bit more and I start publishing my own original stories, I hope you'll follow me on my journey there as well.

Thank you guys for everything!

Here's to another 5 years ^^

[bet-on-me-13]

Dp x Dc x Miraculous: Deified Siblings AU Pt. 1

Based on 2 Prompts.

One is the Deified Batman AU , which you can read here

The other is a Prompt where Danny, Damien, and Marinette are raised together in the League of Assassins. I can't find it at all, so I will go over the gist of it here. (Edit: Found it!, thank you to the person in Replies who linked me)

Danny is the oldest, about 3 or 4 years older than. The other 2. He is the favorite child.

Danny is 10, Damien and Marinette are 6

Damien is seen as the spare, Marinette is seen as the unfortunate addition.

As the Prompt goes, Danny wants to escape the League and takes his little siblings with him. Damien, fully brainwashed by the Leagues ideals, stabs Danny in the back and drops him off a cliff into a River below, thinking he killed him. He tries to take Marinette back, but she backs away and runs.

Damien returns, tells the League that Danny tried to run away and got himself and Marinette killed in the process. Damien only survived because he wasn't stupid enough to try and leave the League.

Damien stays in the League for a while, before he is eventually taken to his father, The Batman when he is 10

Danny survived his murder attempt, but he lost all of his memories and washed up on the shore of the river miles away. He was found by the Fentons, who were in Europe on a research trip, and was adopted. Canon goes the same for him.

Marinette ran away, using her skills to get all the way to Paris before managing to get adopted by a loving couple. She becomes Ladybug at 13, the same as in Canon.

This is where the Deification happens.

...

Lets go Oldest to youngest.

Danny became a God the moment he died. As a Demigod, he was already partially Divine. When he lost his Mortality, he became what was essentially a God with no Domain. So, he built one up.

He became known as a Protector Spirit, as a Winter Spirit, and after defeating Pariah, as a Death God.

By the time he was 16, he was a fully fledged God.

This did help his amnesia a little bit, and he did have a vague sense of what his life was like before he lost his memories, as well as some flashes. But he knew that he preferred his new life, so he never really looked into it.

...

Damien is the only one who would eventually ascend to God-Hood through Natural Growth.

Damien takes the Mantle of the Robin. And as such, he links himself directly to his father's source of Power, and creates his own Legend, his own Myths. He becomes his own God at around 14.

He is a Vengeful God, one who is Violent. But at the same time he is an Animal God, one who takes care of the abandoned Animals around him. Probably a carry over from his Dad's Protector God Domain.

...

Marinette became a God last. She had it easiest though.

Marinette was born as a Demigod, and later became Linked with Tikki, who is basically a Small Part of the Goddess of Creation tied to the Miraculous.

Her own fledging Divinity mixed with Tikki'a Divinity and helped her Acsend to God-Hood after about a Year as Hero when she is 14.

She would have done so anyways as a Hero, but without the Gotham Pantheon to attach herself to, it would have taken many more years for her to grow enough to Ascend.

She became a Minor Creation Goddess. She also became a Goddess of Creativity, and Protection as well.

If you are worried about the Balance between Creation and Destruction don't worry, Adrien also becomes a God soon afterwards. His Ascension is mostly because he is a being made of Magic (as a SentiMonster) who was linked with a God through his Miraculous.

(I don't like the stories where Adrien is mistreated for no reason, so here he at least gets to be Ladybugs Equal)

...

This is the basic premise of the Prompt. I am planning on writing out the potential Story in a Part 2, but until then what do you think?

(Honestly looking at this after finishing writing it, it feels absurd. 3 different Fandoms, plus 2 different Dp x Dc Prompts. You need to be DEEP in the Crossover Fandoms to really understand this. Imagine a casual fan finding this! It would look like Pure insanity!)

[rosesloveletters]

violets in the snow.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Reader

Word Count: 2,733

Warnings: no major content warnings apply.

Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Reader allows Wonka to open one present early.

Author's Note: I know Gene was Jewish, even though I believe he said he wasn't exactly religious. I have no intention of trying to be offensive/belittle/make light of anyone's religion or beliefs and I apologize if it comes across that way because it is without a doubt not my intention. I simply wrote this as a Christmas fic because that's the holiday I celebrate and I wanted to write reader giving Wonka a sweet gift.  

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

Winter winds blustered across the barren landscape beyond the sprawling complex of Wonka Industries. Inside, temperatures were comfortable, but the distant crackling of the fireplace and the holiday decorations you had put up in your shared living space reminded you that the heart of December was far from being thawed. 

It was Christmas eve and you were right where you belonged: snuggled up to your lover’s chest, burrowed beneath a soft knitted blanket of plush purple plum yarn. 

You and Wonka had sipped several mugs of cocoa throughout the evening, keeping yourselves in the festive spirit while also keeping warm and taste-testing a batch of hot chocolate with a brand-new twist that he planned to debut next month.  

Its warming properties had already worked their magic. 

Your outer extremities, fingers and toes which were almost always cold were now warm to the touch and kept you comfortable instead of shivering and feeling lethargic. Wonka’s new hot cocoa worked specifically for people whose blood circulation needed a bit of a boost, especially during the winter. Even if your body typically ran hot, this new hot chocolate benefitted most everyone when the weather turned brutally cold.  

He had been hard at work this season, creating new treats to unveil for the holidays while expediting production for maximum return. He never sacrificed the quality of his confections, however, as he would only promise to deliver the best of the best for his devoted customers across the globe. 

However, Wonka only had to please one heart this Christmas and all his efforts would be worthwhile. 

You did not expect or demand anything of your lover, other than his simple presence in the quaint little life he’d built for you both. You didn’t need gifts or candies or sweets, you needed his sweet mouth to whisper verses into your ear and the gift of his gracefulness as he swept you into his arms and cradled you to his body. 

You wanted presence of mind, not tangible presents. You wanted memories for you and him to hold on to, laughter to warm you on long, winter nights and hours of conversation to carry you through till dawn. 

Wonka could give you that and decided he would stop at nothing to please you in every way he knew how. He would pull out every tool in his arsenal, every scrap of wit on his tongue, fire in his belly, thought in his head and love in his heart to make this most wonderful time of the year more memorable than any you had lived before to date. He had held a heart or two in his time, but yours was worth holding onto. He wanted you to know that you were special beyond words and so he poured his love into you like the waterfall which churned the great chocolate river in his beloved chocolate room. 

You wanted to taste the caramel threads in his blue eyes, to bite his licorice heartstrings and devour his chocolate heart already melted from the warmth of your love. He was the only one you wanted this Christmas, your shimmering sugar rush that set your veins on fire and filled you with energy, motivation and desire. 

You loved everything about him, from his creativity to the unapologetic sincerity of his character. 

Wonka did not let you forget that he was a force to be reckoned with because he set out to teach lessons, give advice and guidance, but there was a side of him that no one knew quite like you did. Even if you questioned him or tried to make sense of it, he found little ways of surprising you without giving you a hint. You could not expect this man to divulge a lifetime of secrets to you in such a short time, yet you dreamed of what the inside of his mind looked like and hoped with all hope that those thoughts in his head were kind. 

There was a lot you knew about Willy Wonka, but far more that you didn’t. That was the fun of him, really, to not know what you were getting into, however, if Wonka guaranteed you one thing, that was consistency.

Nothing about the man ever changed, though his lack of a routine was somewhat maddening, you could count on his actions towards you to remain unchanged. You were careful when entering any relationship, platonic or romantic, because you sustained a permanent soul tremor from plunging through thin ice when you should have tread more carefully. 

Willy treated you the same, on good days and bad; he loved you more than anyone ever had. 

He gave so much and you decided it was high time to repay the favor. 

You got off the couch, extracted yourself from the warmth pocket you had settled into over the course of the evening and walked to the tree you had insisted he help you put up and decorate. He didn’t make a fuss when you asked him to help you decorate the living space; he was pleased that you wanted to bring a little sparkle that he normally would not have created for himself. He was far too busy to fuss over decorations when his candy sales shot through the roof every holiday season, but he made time this year because it was important to you and therefore it was important to him, too. After all, it felt homier to have decorations and he felt much more festive each day when he would look at them. The Christmas spirit was alive in his heart and he owed it more to you than to any mere decoration.

His eyes followed your movement, twin blue flames which had escaped from the fireplace and burned brightly within him instead. He watched as you selected a very specific present from beneath the tree, a flat rectangular box covered in festive wrapping paper and topped with a bright red bow. Wonka raised an eyebrow as you brought it over to him and held it out for him to take. 

He peered at you questioningly as you offered him the gift box, “what’s this for, my dear?”

“Just take it!” you laughed and he finally did, his fingers delicately wrapping around the box as he placed it on his lap. He looked at it for a moment as if he couldn’t believe that any of those presents under the tree were for him.

Who else would they be for?

Wonka looked up at you with a delighted smile on his face, “you know, I thought we were supposed to wait until morning.”

“I know, I know,” you replied, “but whenever I was little, I used to get so excited to open my presents that my parents would let me open one gift on Christmas eve.”

“Ah,” Wonka smiled fondly at your anecdote and nodded in understanding as he glanced down at the present in his lap, “so this one…you’re wanting me to open it now?”

You nodded as you pulled your legs up onto the couch and tucked them under yourself as you sat up a little straighter to watch him open the gift. 

This was your first time sharing Christmas traditions with Wonka; you wanted to share everything with him, and you decided you would start with what was closest to your heart. The season of giving meant tearing off a piece of your soul and pressing it into the folds of a love letter penned for the man who had made you feel whole again. You wanted to dedicate every day to him, not just special ones because when you were with Wonka, every day was special in its own unique way. 

You watched with bated breath as Wonka gently lifted the wrapping paper from where you’d taped up the end. He ever so carefully peeled back the folded edge, then cheekily tore into it like he were an excited child on Christmas morning. You watched him fondly, wishing to reach out and touch him, to brush his strawberry blonde curls out of his face, but you knew that would ruin the moment. Instead, you merely watched him open the present, eager to get to the inside and see what it was that you simply could not wait to give him until the morning. 

“Hm, let’s see here…” Wonka hummed to himself as he flipped the now unwrapped box over. It was clear that this was a shirt box, although that gave away little information as to what kind of shirt it was. 

Willy began to peel back several pieces of tape where you’d secured the box before wrapping it. 

“I hope you like it,” you whispered, uncertain what his reaction was going to be when he saw what you’d gotten for him, “if not, I’m sure I could return it.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” Willy looked up at you, his blue gaze was one of reassurance, “I’m certain that I will love it.”

Not as much as you, my dear.

Willy removed the rest of the tape from the box and flipped it over, then lifted the top. Inside was several layers of red tissue paper to conceal the gift and Willy sifted through to find what you had hidden inside the packaging for him. He brushed the paper to the side and his fingers brushed fabric. He was intrigued; the material was unlike anything in his current wardrobe. 

He lifted it out of the box, the piece of fabric unfolding as he did so and he held it up. 

It was a gorgeous, rich plum color that matched his coat, except this article of clothing was a sweater. It appeared to be handmade with thick yarn, perfect for colder weather, and was soft to the touch like crushed velvet. He admired the sweater and his hands caressed the sleeves, appreciating the finer details: the curved neckline and fitted hem and cuffs as well as the oversized fit which would hang loosely off his broad frame – you had sized it impeccably to fit his body type and preference. 

“You always wear the same thing, not that I’m implying it as a bad thing, but I thought you might want to switch it up from time to time,” you tried to explain, “so I had the idea of getting you a sweater because I thought it might be warmer and I picked the color to match your coat. I wasn’t sure if you would like it, but I can always find you something else, if you-”

He cut you off midsentence and you blushed as you realized how much you had been rambling; His speaking voice took on the gentlest tone you had ever heard, “I love it. Thank you, my dear.”

You were about to insist that he didn’t have to lie to you, but the words died on your tongue as you watched him slide his arms into the sweater and pull it on over his head. When his head popped out from the neckline, you nearly giggled at his frizzy, wild hair which was mussed from pulling the material over his head. There was no controlling it; his hair was unmanageable on a good day and besides, it was the last thing on his mind currently. 

He was too busy admiring the sweater you had gifted him, his round, rosy cheeks bulged at the edges of a smile, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes becoming more prominent as he squinted in delight. To say he was pleased was an understatement. Wonka appreciated all gifts he was given because he was always grateful and honored to be worthy of someone wanting to bestow a gift upon him, but this was something of great wonder. You had chosen this gift because it had reminded you of him, at least, the color had done. 

Judging by his sweater paws, you had chosen the right size. Wonka liked oversized outer vestments and this was the perfect touch; he looked precious in it, swimming in the warm wool that enveloped his body in warmth and comfort like a big hug. 

“It looks even better on you than I thought it would,” you complimented him, giving him a satisfied smile as he looked over at you with love in his eyes, “I’m happy that you like it.”

“I love it,” he repeated, resisting the urge to hug himself as he deliberately snuggled into the sweater for emphasis, “and I think it’ll see a lot of wear this winter, if it’s going to be as cold as is being predicted.” 

You nodded. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, he looked so sweet in the sweater, his eyes lit up with excitement and his hands still appreciating the incredibly soft fabric. Wonka’s mannerisms were like that of a small child, despite his age; he was ecstatic over being given a present and offered you many more thanks as you sat beside him on the sofa. 

He leaned over and scooped you into a full-bodied hug where you almost ended up on his lap because he was so eager to hold you against him. You let out a sweet bout of laughter and kissed his warm cheek, making him coo and nuzzle against your neck a little bit.

“I love you, my dear,” he whispered in your ear, “thank you for this, truly.”

“You’re welcome, Willy. You deserve it.”

You deserve the entire world and I’d give it to you in a heartbeat if it were mine to give. 

You didn’t say those words, but even never voiced, he knew. He could see the sentiment reflected in the depths of your eyes, which was perhaps why he lost himself in them so often. The echoes of words you never said reverberated against the walls of his heart and he could feel them bludgeoning the inside of his ribcage with a barrage of activity the likes of which his cardiovascular system had never endured before. It was comparable to butterflies taking flight in his stomach, except this didn’t make him feel like he might spill his guts.

Instead, his heart swelled with affection, he viewed the world in colors you had taught him to see and he lived life with new purpose. His dreams held meaning and he finally understood what it was all for. Perhaps it was the magic of the holidays that permeated the air and embedded in his bones, but he was content to live the rest of his life like this. He felt as though he was seeing for the very first time, kissing you was the first sip of water taken after being dehydrated, his grip on you stronger than gravity. 

You were who his heart belonged to and if his heart were an apartment, you had rented the biggest room. 

He was violently delighted by the promise of the new year and what was to come for the two of you, but for now, he was content to succumb to his need for peace, quiet and relaxation amid his company’s busiest season. You offered him reprieve from the bustle of the holidays and he would sink into the refreshing haze, allowing himself to be swept away by you and the love you both had to give. 

You would take this moment, just for the two of you, seizing it and holding it in the palm of your hand. You would never let go, of him, of this holiday, of your love. It meant far too much to you now, having finally learnt why you spent your whole life trying to put into words how a moment like this might feel. 

Now, you knew. 

You did not have to try, you only had to feel. 

When anyone asked you what your favorite color was, you got vulnerable because your skin was berry-stained, your bruised heart abused by the love it was forced to feel now that you ached for the cookie-cutter metal stars to punch holes through your lungs so you could breathe him in more strongly. 

He was all over you and you clung to him like the most resilient flowers in winter, like violets in the snow. 

“Now, darling,” Wonka began, hands on his knees as he hoisted himself off the couch and approached the hoard of gifts beneath your tree, “I do believe there’s something under here for you…”

[nevermindirah]

I'm a lucky duck who lives in one of the markets getting the limited release of Dandelion! Per Nat's request here are my thoughts to tide you over until it's more widely accessible.

As I said in my immediate reaction post, KiKi Layne was built for the big screen. This movie is full of gorgeous closeups of her. And medium-sized shots, and distance shots, and ok maybe it's just me, but bless this movie for making her a singer-songwriter-guitarist, because this means there are so many lingering closeups of her hands, and oh mY GOD NOT TO BE A LESBIAN (gender-neutral) BUT >:)))))))))

I could look at KiKi Layne all day, and now I could also listen to her sing all day. Her voice is beautiful and so expressive. She said in press leading up to it that she was nervous to share her singing voice and maybe that had something to do with just how expressive she is as a singer. Maybe sharing that is more intimate for her than the on-screen nudity this movie also has, and which is also compelling as hell.

This pro review notes that KiKi contributed to the music writing, which is so cool! It also acknowledges that much of the dialogue isn't quite right, often a little too like an essay or a headline to be organic for these characters, while getting at how forgivable that is in a movie whose soul is in the music and the visuals and the chemistry.

Somewhat miraculously for a movie with a white writer-director whose skill isn't primarily in dialogue, about a Black lead in a mostly-white place, it's conscious about race without being didactic. Dandelion is wary of going to white redneck territory for a music competition, and there's a sequence where microaggressions turn into shitty petty crime, but she's also not the only Black person in the sea of likely [redacted] voters. The movie does get a touch didactic about the struggles of women in creative industries, so maybe it wasn't a product of careful effort so much as Nicole Reigel's limited perspective, but the result works. Antiblackness isn't The Conflict of The Movie, simply a shitty part of the background radiation of Dandelion's life.

The music is so damn good. Soundtrack album here! Though the album tragically leaves off two of the movie's best songs: the stunning final number where Tracy Chapman vibes meet Prince, and a cover of 90s white boy song Hey Jealousy that starts off as mere pleasant background track introducing us to KiKi's voice and turns into a sleeper thematic tornado. Once you've seen the movie go look at Hey Jealousy's lyrics and backstory so you can join me in screaming about it and these characters.

Dandelion is a little movie, marvelously so. It's about just a few people in a short time in their lives. I hadn't thought about it like this until now but there are several thematic as hell shots of one or two characters shown tiny and off to the side amid sweeping rocky nature. The artsy shots of flowers superimposed on emotive faces aren't my taste but the overwhelming scale of the landscapes really spoke to me and now I'm realizing this is why.

There's a thing about some side characters wanting to be the biggest band in the world that's kind of an example of the clunky dialogue and kinda perfect for how wonderfully small this movie is. It doesn't matter where Dandelion's career goes after this. These scant few weeks of her life make for such a rich story on their own. This moment in time matters, even if these events don't turn out to have any more effect on the characters' futures than they do on the timeless mountains and prairies of South Dakota.

Fandom people are probably more likely to connect with this movie than the average non-musician viewer because of something that baffled me about a review I wildly disagreed with. Apparently some people can watch this and not understand how fast two people can develop deep intimacy and attachment despite barely knowing each other, just because they make art together. I don't understand how that reviewer didn't understand. You make art with someone and you're in each other's souls. It's intoxicating to collaborate with someone who gets what you're trying to say with your art and helps you make something that best captures the ineffable but crystal clear thing you're trying to say.

Not so intoxicating that you can no longer make rational decisions — but, well, in a way maybe it's the more rational decision to keep chasing the high of drift compatible creation, even when the person you've found to be your musical brain twin is maybe a not great choice in other ways.

Purely for Book of Nile reasons this movie is a damn gift. Tons of shots would be so easy to swap out one scruffy white boy's face for another. (Though Thomas Doherty is the same height as KiKi, which I personally enjoy, it's fun to have variety.) So much of the lyrics are extreme bait for gifsets and fic titles. (Tiny for the movie but very big for the BoNers spoiler: SHE LITERALLY CALLS HIM OLD MAN.) The first two thirds of the movie I kept thinking how perfect this plot would be as a BoN musicians AU — until a twist where I was both so pissed on Dandelion's behalf and internally screaming BOOKER WOULD NEVER.

As I was watching the final scenes I kept waiting for a thing to happen that didn't happen, a certain way of resolving the romance. The ending we do get left me yearning a little. But starting a few hours after leaving the theater the yearning subsided and now a week later my satisfaction with the ending has fermented into a yearning only to listen to that last song on loop forever. (WHY is it not on the soundtrack. I mean, TRACY CHAPMAN MEETS PRINCE.)

One more thing before I go. Dandelion is another thrilling expansion of the repertoire of KiKi's characters in terms of vibes and aesthetics. She looks so different than Nile in a theoretical mirror image outfit of practical boots and jeans and an oversized borrowed button-down thrown over a tee. None of KiKi's other characters, not even gentle Tish, would look so at home in delicate florals, doubly so when they're paired so effortlessly with a comfy denim jacket. And KiKi's physicality here is unique to this person: Dandelion, Theresa, a guitarist. Wholly unlike Margaret the dancer or Nile the warrior. Maybe someday Nile will grow locs like Dandelion's though.

In conclusion: watch Dandelion! I'm as glad I saw this in theaters as I was glad I watched Don't Worry Darling at 1.5x in a small corner of my laptop and only slowed it down for Kiki's scenes. The limited release is real limited, alas, but if you have access to a biggish tv to stream it on I'd strongly recommend making that effort. Both for the landscapes and those gorgeous closeups of Kiki's face.

[super-ion]

Aug-UST Day 28 - How To Love the Monstrous

Another one from the August prompt list by @thepromptfoundry. I'm kinda cheating a little bit and jumping ahead a couple days, mostly because I've been totally swamped and haven't had time to write and this one in particular got stuck in my head and I wanted to take advantage of the creative energy while I could.

I do love queer fairy tale retellings and I've had a Beauty & the Beast idea rattling around in my head for a while (I need to actually write this for real at some point)

---

Anabel walked stiffly toward the throne, ignoring the finery around her. She was too tired to be intimidated any more. All she wanted was to hear the final task and be done with these fae games.

The veiled figure of Calysta was notably absent and a sliver of dread wormed its way through Anabel's core.

Three tasks. That is what the queen had said. That was how all these stories went, three impossible tasks and the heroine would receive her heart's desire.

She came to a halt before the queen and stood proudly and defiantly, even as her knees and back protested.

The queen gestured and three women emerged from an alcove behind the throne.

They were human. They were beautiful, the sort of woman that Anabel had dreamt of in her most private moments as a young girl. Each of the women was bedecked in the finest fabrics of the boldest colors, laden with more gold and silver and jewels than she had ever seen in her life.

"Choose," the queen said simply.

"What?" she replied in confusion.

The queen regarded her as she would an insect.

"You must choose," she repeated. "Which of these women is the love you seek."

Anabel turned back to examine them and her heart sank anew. It was indeed another impossible task. Anabel had never actually seen Calysta's human face. Any one of these women could be the princess from the town and faded portrait at the castle. Any one of them could be the veiled figure that silently bore witness to the previous two impossible tasks.

Worse, the women all bore the same proud, impassive expressions, eyes slightly unfocused. Anabel had read enough stories to know of enchanted sleeps and trials of silence. Calysta would be either unable or unwilling to give herself away.

Her heart beat harder and harder. She was old enough to know the heart could be deceived, but a small part of her, the little girl who had never stopped believing in fairy stories despaired. How could she not recognize her true love?

Was it the woman on the left? The bright green eyes might have been a match for the golden eyes of her beast.

Or possibly the one on the left? The one in layers of red and pink silk? She was tall and powerfully built... though not nearly as powerful as the Calysta she knew.

Hadn't Calysta mentioned that she had always hated pink? Perhaps the woman in the middle? Calysta certainly would have picked a gown in a rich green the color of the forest that perfectly contrasted with dark skin... Not that Calysta likely had any say her choice of wardrobe.

No, it was impossible to believe any of these women were the beast she had fallen in love with. She couldn't picture any of them chasing squirrels through snowy courtyards with reckless joy. She couldn't imagine any of them curling around her next to the burning hearth. She couldn't imagine...

The thought turned over in her head and she suddenly realized the answer... or rather an answer, she doubted the fae queen expected her to answer thus. It was utterly absurd, Calysta had been happy, hadn't she? That was genuine, wasn't it.

Before she could allow doubt to set in, she spoke.

"None of them."

The queen blinked in surprise.

The woman on the left, the one in the sapphire blue gown swayed slightly and gasped. With the tiniest twist of guilt, Anabel realized that she would not have guessed correctly. But then maybe the answer really was to listen to her heart.

Her heart was speaking to her now and she made a silent prayer that she was not mistaken.

"I have never met any of these women," she pressed on. "The one I love is a great beast that dwells in the forest."

The queen stared at her, unblinking, uncomprehending.

Calysta... It had to be Calysta said nothing, but she inclined her heed minutely, a silent assent to Anabel's desperate plan.

"She is mighty and powerful," Anabel continued. "Her claws are long and her teeth are sharp and she will not hesitate to use them to defend those she loves. She is wild and at times terrifying, but she can be tender. She knows how to fold back her claws so that they do not tend and she is capable of the gentlest touch. Her fur is soft and warm and she smells of pines and mountain dust... and maybe a bit like wet dog."

At this, Calysta let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, whatever enchantment that bound her fading. Maybe it was Anabel's imagination but... No, her eyes had definitely taken on a golden hue. Her teeth were certainly longer.

"She is everything to me. You ask me to claim her as a human, but that would deny something fundamental about her. You thought you cursed her so many years ago, but you only unveiled who she really was inside. Who could fall in love with a such terrible beast indeed?"

Calysta slumped to her knees, tearing at her dress as her body began to change back to its true form. Muscle rippled and fur spread. Those golden eyes fixed on Anabel, a feral mix of relief and desire and longing.

"How could I not?" Anabel finished.

Unable to bear being apart a moment longer, she rushed to Calysta's side and buried her face in the fur of her lover.