#I only watched Dragon Ball and Bloom Into You

[the-blossica-fan]

I have an idea. Evangelion Reverse 1999 AU

Turn the doomed yaoi to doomed yuri and its perfect!

The White Marble House is basically Seele and the Foundation is Nerve.

Manus are the Angels invading plus the boss designs do give that space horror.

Vertin is Shinji, Rei is Sonetto and Matilda is Asuka.

Constantine is Gendo (so get in the robot Vertin!) and Madam Z and Tooth Fairy is Misato and Ritsuko respectively.

Schneider can be Kaworu for the tragic yuri (the scene where Shinji crushes Kaworu with the Eva)

The Eva mechs are all the mothers of the repective characters so Vertin in Eva 1 is piloting the remnants of her mother (I canonise the situationship with Constantine here)

Uh yeah the Third Impact is basically the Storm on steroids so yeah - Vertin at some point causes the Third Impact so yippee.

(Too much into an AU again, uh its either this or a Witch From Mercury AU, wasn't sure if you were similar with it)

My friend, I uh... I have never watched Evangelion 😓

I haven't watched Witch From Mercury so you're right on that!

I'm sorry I have no idea what some of this is but I have to go with what little Evangelion media I consumed ("FELIZ JUEVES" IS ALL I KNOW I'M SORRY)

About the Boss design, I do agree they give space horror with the way they're designed. Specifically Arcana, Arcana is creepy. But the Manus designs could get a little body horror style in order to make them more unsettling and hard to understand to the human eye, which is often how the extraterrestrial bodies are described.

I'm not sure what "Angels" are in Evangelion so I can't assume those are the biblically depicted angels or if they're a little more humanoid with or without wings

As for Vertin as Shinji (I think Shinji is the sad man in a white shirt, right?) and Schneider as Kaworu (the one with white hair?), they're doomed in every AU I'm sorry. I didn't know Evangelion had Doomed Yaoi as well.

Well that scene you described to me sounds a lot like the Green Oranges scene, does it play out similarly or can we switch it a bit?

Wait if Matilda is Asuka then imagine the Feliz Jueves with Matilda instead of Asuka

(THIS IS LITERALLY ALL I KNOW OF EVANGELION)

So uh, feel free to ramble to me about this AU bc I'm useless in crossovers 😓

[amongemeraldclouds]

so high school

you know how to ball, I know Aristotle

Mattheo Riddle x f!Reader (Modern AU)

Warning: fluff, no use of y/n

Author's note: I can't think of a good summary for this, but it's all about going on a motorcycle ride with Mattheo because he aced the test you tutored him for.

✿ Masterlist | TTPD Masterlist | 643 words

“Come on, pretty girl,” Mattheo said, handing you his spare helmet. You eyed it suspiciously, but held your hand out anyway, accepting it.

Your plan worked a little too well. Tutoring Mattheo was anything but easy, so to motivate him, you agreed he could get a reward each time he scored well on a test.

He said he would show you how to have fun. You smacked his arm and he promised he would be an honorable gentleman and keep things wholesome, unless you wanted more. To which you insisted, you did not.

Never mind the way your stomach fluttered when you were near him, or how your thoughts would get derailed when his arm brushed accidentally against yours. You knew better than to get involved with the resident troublemaker at your school.

You countered instead that fun looked like different things to different people. So if he showed you something he found fun, you’d also get to show him something you enjoyed. He shrugged his shoulders and agreed. Besides, if he got top marks in class, you’d receive a hefty bonus, which was more than enough of your savings goal for university.

That was how you found yourself rock climbing, racing cars, and now, your arms were tightly wrapped around his torso, hair flying in the wind, as he whisked you both away in his motorcycle.

After a while, you found yourself relaxing as you got used to the speed and found you enjoyed the rush as you cut through the air, cars and buildings blurring past you. There was something freeing about it and it certainly did not hurt to feel his toned body snug against yours.

You almost complained when he slowed down as you approached the beach. “So?” He asked, grinning as he took off his helmet. You were tempted to fix his helmet hair and run your fingers through his luscious locks, but held yourself back.

You couldn’t, however, stop yourself from mirroring his grin, adrenaline pumping through your veins. “Not bad, Riddle.”

He laid out a blanket he packed and you both settled in, listening to the waves, as the sun painted the sky a blend of red, orange, and yellow. You took a moment to breathe it all in, the salt air and the warmth of Mattheo beside you.

It was your turn to tell him all about the book you were reading about. You showed him how fun could also exist in far away realms with magic and dragons. How books were portals to these worlds where mysteries get solved and people find happy endings. Despite his initial eye roll weeks earlier, you found he was a great listener who seemed genuinely enthralled by your stories.

Little did you know it was because of you. Mattheo loved watching you come to life, the spark twinkling in your eye when you showed him something you thought was fun. You were a captivating storyteller. He could listen to you for hours and it would only feel like minutes. You always left him wanting more.

Your eyes could rival the sun and he wanted to kiss you then and there, but stopped himself. He watched your feelings bloom slowly with the way you had to pause when his arm ‘accidentally’ brushed yours. How you always seemed to have his favorite pack of candy around and you always leaned into him when you laughed.

He loved your laugh, and everything else about you. He was going to wait until your feelings grew to the point where you could no longer deny them. Then he would be honest. It had been a few weeks since he fell for you with the exact same approach he took with everything else in his life - fully and unapologetically.

When it was your turn to fall, he was ready to be a safe place to land.

✿ Masterlist | TTPD Masterlist

A/N: This is one of the least literal interpretation out of all my TTPD fics so far, but the song ‘So High School’ is just PERFECT for this vibe.

[goodeapple]

someone could come love me, if somebody knew me (aemond t. pwp o.s.)

AS IT WAS PROMISED, SO SHALL IT BE BESTOWED.

"Aemond has a dragon dick, send tweet."

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : Pretty tame I'd say- handjobs, slight oral play, fantasy of exhibitionism, Aemond's dark little mind & his big ole dragon dick.

word count : 3,000+

title from "fue mejor", Kali Uchis & SZA

Ysilla’s line of sight darts to his crotch, peering intensely at the leather holding him in. She stares, gaze unbroken and unbothered, even as he fidgets under her scrutiny. 

“Can I see it?”

Her inflection is curious, lacking a lustful lilt and somehow, that makes this all the more humiliating. 

“I am not a thing for you to study, wicked girl.” The Dragon Prince snarls. He feels heat pulsate in his face. As if he is a monster, reduced to the oddity of his anatomy instead of the man, the scholar, the fighter he has fashioned himself to be by his own will and his own way. But now, he is nothing but a butterfly pinned in place as strangers pick him apart with a sickened curiosity. The socket of his absent eye aches wildly, a sympathetic partner to the abnormality between his knees.

“Pleaseee, Uncle.” His niece’s pleading compels her to her feet, her fingers lacing together to bring a begging fist under her chin. Her heart-shaped face is cherubic, lips parted in a prayer that Aemond wants to answer with his tongue. Or better yet, his cock. The vision of that, of him feeding every fat inch of his pole downdowndown her throat, until she would choke on him and make sweet tears roll down her cheeks… it seems so real, so well within his limits to make true. 

Aemond snorts, tossing her a disdainful look, one he musters from his very tangible dislike for her and those she holds closest. 

“Don’t beg, Silli, it doesn’t suit you. I said no- I’m positive you’ve never heard that before, but I’m not your papa.” His sneer twists his thin lips down, transforming his regal visage into something ugly. “I won’t give into your every whim just because you bat those pretty eyes at me.” 

Ysilla gazes blithely back at him, swaying on the balls of her feet. Her dress flutters around her ankles, the delicate chains wrapped around the fragile bone there catching the candlelight. She’s barefoot- curiously. Her amber satin slippers were shucked off at the door before she had sunk into the too big chair in the center of his room. To quite simply make herself comfortable- to carve out a space wherever she lands, is a trait Aemond finds irritating but commendable. 

At once, an impish smile illuminates her face, her irises lavender in bloom. “You think my eyes are pretty?” 

Aemond bottles in a groan, gritting his teeth in exasperation. Such a little brat. 

“That’s swell because… I think yours are pretty too, Uncle. Especially your hidden jewel.” Ysilla draws closer and closer, and the walls seem to cinch around them. She shouldn’t be here- he may be her blood but Ysilla is unwed and young and beautiful beyond her means. He should have sent her away when she came knocking, a small bound journal promising something of importance to him, her ticket into his den. Giddiness had manifested in the trembling of her fingers and he couldn't lie- he was intrigued. If only to watch Ysilla’s fire extinguish when he paid no thought to whatever had caught her fancy. 

“I dreamt about it last night. It adorned my crown- not my tiara- my crown as Queen. Nestled front and center, staring down any man, any woman, who kneeled before me. Guarding me, protecting me, loyal… to me.” 

Aemond puts desperate distance between them, her words striking a match within him.

Ysilla’s spiraling locks threaded through the Conqueror’s Crown, refined but still imposing, seated on the forged throne. Aemond gleaming in white, a striking savior at her side, first Lord Commander of the Queensguard. And even when he cannot be there, his jewel watches over all. An All Seeing Eye. He does not replace his surrogate orb. It be a piece of himself he shells out to shield her, and then, when they’re together, he’s comple-

The back of his knees meet resistance and he stills, refusing to bask in the jasmine gust brought forth by his niece’s closeness. She brings her palm to his jerkin covered chest and presses- urging, asking. Aemond stares down at her. She’s so tiny compared to him, so much smaller, weaker but she might as well have a blade to his throat.

He gives, settling into the armchair, wishing to become one with the buttons and the stitchings. When she drops to her knees, it is with a grace that is ingrained in her, blended into every shift of her body. 

“I want to touch you, Aemond. I want to make you feel good.”

Her hand creeps along, fingertips dancing over his clothed thigh, conquering the distance to his laces like a soldier riding through a battlefield. Aemond feels himself start to surrender, a loss he will still win as the heat from Ysilla’s palm leeches through the hide of his breeches. He’s warm all over, tongue heavy in his mouth, words too much to muster. Beads of sweat lick their way down the nape of his neck. 

Ysilla stares at him, her chest level with his knees. There’s too much light in here. He can see every delicious inch of her. No shadows to hide in, no darkness to dim her. She’s all propped up and on display in the late evening sun beaming through the balcony doors. Every beauty mark dotted along her spun sugar skin is penciled in by hand from the Gods, each strand of blackblue hair dancing away from the heat of her blistering surface. It makes this dream too real. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he blinks and she blows away like a puff of smoke. He breathes out, nerves spiraling in his stomach and spreads his knees. 

Aemond doesn’t make a habit of looking at himself. He washes and dresses with a detachment perfected over the years. When he realized how he differed, when his voice dropped and his bones stretched him to the brim and something else grew right along with him, he had floundered on how to handle it. 

Who was he supposed to ask? His mother was out of the question- Aemond would rather crawl through smoldering embers after scooping out his other eye before he went to her. Aegon was self explanatory; his brother’s failed attempt to drag him down the Street of Silk was enough humiliation to last a lifetime. He toyed with the idea of going to Ser Criston or his grandfather, and some days it did seem tempting but his shame always held him tight by the throat. He was already different, already looked down upon with a pitiful gaze and whispered poor Prince Aemond, such a waste and no eye, no prospects, no future. He didn’t feel like piling on to his already stacked deck. 

“You have to… yeah, and then untie me from, right, just like that.” The back of his eyelid and the pitch of his patch are a comforting darkness as he cycles through the prayers in his head. Warrior, grant me the strength to emerge- no. Mother, I ask your mercy- definitely not. Father, may you judge me justly. Yes, it’s solid, spans the points he needs to make. Aemond settles on it and repeats it, backwards and forwards as the tension imprisoning him in his breeches releases and he feels something spring up and off the flat plains of his abdomen.

“Aemond… Uncle, look at me.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, ending his litany. It’s no use, his Gods are not listening. He hopes, he regrets, and he caves as he looks down at his lap.

The tip of it curves into a point, not sharp but defined. Blunt thickness runs through his shaft, until the base of him flares garishly into a hard knot. It’s as long as his forearm and thicker than his wrist. He always seems to be at attention, at mast at every surge of adrenaline, every lingering puff of perfume, every dashing neckline of Ysilla’s gowns when she curtsies- no, reign it in. A viciously red mushroom-tapered head splits to allow a bead of excitement to form and trickle down the lengthy march to his stones. He winces, his cock giving a readied pulse as his niece’s palm settles over his groin. 

“Oh, Gods,” Ysilla looks upon him with a wonderment he’s never seen. It stills the air in his lungs. “Aemond, you’re beautiful.” 

Shamefully, that sends him whimpering, the honeyed praise in her tone wrapping him in a caress that stokes the heat in his belly. She glances up at him with a gentle curiosity, but her attention quickly returns between his legs as he jerks from her proximity and the damp warmth of her exhaling breath. 

“Ooohhh, he’s happy to see me.” Her grin is wicked, a toothy pluck of her mouth. Her cheeks are pinker than the Dornish dress Baela gifted her on her nameday last week. 

Cheeky brat. 

Ysilla hocks spit into her hand and Aemond grimaces. Being raised with only brothers has certainly left an impression on her. It's not oil but it’ll do in a pinch. Her fingers are lithe and thin, hands dainty already but seeing one trying to wrap around him? It’s laughable. It’s arousing- painfully so. 

“You didn’t let me finish earlier.” Now that he has nothing to do but listen, his crafty little niece seems to have taken advantage of his predicament. Aemond can’t help but feel a tiny bit impressed. “So when I found the book in the Dragonstone stacks, after I cleaned off the layers of dust, I read all about the many men in Targaryen history who have been… afflicted by this… hardship. Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel- which may have played a part in the six wives- but the last documented entry was well over 50 years ago. A tale forgotten to time and dismissed all the same as just another peculiarity with our family. But this Aemond…” she pumps him slowly, demanding his attention, making him bow for her even when she’s the one on her knees. 

“We are closer to Gods than to men. By our dragons of course, but by this as well! You are something special, can’t you see that?” He likes to hear her excited. Her passion is appetizing, drawing him in to take a bite.

His ego perks up at her attention, but so does his pride. Dragons don’t like to share. Aemond doesn’t like to share. “How do you know if it’s not just me who's been ‘afflicted’?”

Ysilla shrugs, and he doesn’t know her well enough to tell if she’s being untruthful. “I’m very thorough in my research. Just not as quite… hands on as I’m being with you. You’ve always been my favorite uncle.”

Aemond could take her by the hair, twist it nice and tight around his fist, rise to his feet, keep her down on her knees where she belongs- not just there but with him and thrust down her throat until he taps her heart.

“Did you ask my brother the same way you’re asking me?” Aemond growls, nudging at her knee with the side of his boot. He wants to touch her but he has to be careful. His resolve is thinning by the minute and he fears that if he can actually feel her- the suppleness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, he’ll give way and start something that cannot be undone. 

“Nope, I asked Helaena. Girls talk, Aemond, especially over a flagon of wine.” She elbows his thigh in retribution, but it’s gentle and frivolous and the smile she gives him is all teeth. Fuck, she’s lovely. 

Aemond’s hips jump off the chair, chasing the heat of Ysilla’s hands. She smirks, stroking him softly, the delight in her eyes dimming down to lusty pools of amaranthine.

“So you’re doing this out of what, kindness?”

“I like to think of it more as academic curiosity. But, if I can help you become more comfortable with this part of yourself and maybe even aid your future wife in the process, well that’s just all sugar then, isn’t it?”

“I won’t marry, I will bear no children. I might as well take the Black.” Aemond recites, his tone bored to tears. His future fizzled out to ash once he realized there was no way in any Realm that he could ever properly lay with a woman. He couldn’t, wouldn’t damn any wife to a hopeless tomorrow. Occupying himself with other things helped- he’s a resourceful man. After all, great men never got anywhere by thinking with their cocks. 

Ysilla’s brow furrows and her jaw ticks, an unhappy look passing over her face. “Never say never, Aemond.”

His dick pulses, and Ysilla’s eyes go wide, feeling the might of him in her own grip. She raises her gaze back to this face, and the dazzlement there makes him feel taller than tales. 

Aemond smirks, his straight laces loosening. “I like when you call me that.” 

She pumps him, tightly, and he shivers, a gasp slipping through his drooping jaw. There’s a burn at the base of his spine, a familiar one he would entertain only when his needs raged a war within him.  

Her lips are pouted, shimmering in the dusk drawing the room into darkness. He wants to see the stars sparkle over her skin, the moon crest over her breasts in a gauzy beam. Wants to peel off every offending layer until she’s naked, slick and soft and starving for him and the beast between his legs. 

A stranded curl sways in front of her eye, caught in her fanning lash. His fingers twitch, starting forward before he anchors his nails through the furniture’s stuffing and right down to the frame. Ysilla’s tongue flicks out, wetting her parched lips.

“Do you want to touch me?” 

She wears the crown as she rides him, the Throne Room’s chandelier haloing her dramatically. He’s not sure if they’re alone- the embrace of her hand about his throat keeps his attention on where it is demanded. On her. If there are any stragglers stupid enough to hang around, what an honor it is for them to witness a mating, a claiming. The Dragon Queen taking what’s rightfully hers, for the Gods and everyone to see. 

“No.” 

“You’re a liar, my Prince.” That’s even better than his name, fuck him. 

“I think you want to touch me. I think you want to feel me. I think you want to see… just how far… I’m willing to go.” One solid lick of her tongue, from the root of him to the tip, sends him careening over the edge. Aemond gasps raggedly, a man broken apart. His cock jerks, nearly knocking him in the jaw. Thick ropes of creamy pearl stripe his chest and coat his throat. 

His niece milks him, left hand rubbing up and down his shaft, feeling the veins jump and throb against her palm. And the right, fucks sake, the right squeezes around the flared part of him and the tremors jolt right down to his sack.

“Mmmm, good boy, Aemond.” 

A final burst of cum bubbles up and over the tip of him, and he tries not to shout. Sweet relief blankets the scald from his peak, and the Prince can breathe with a newfound ease.

Ysilla spreads her fingers apart, and his spend webs between them in a milky film. Aemond can’t be sure what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling. But what he certainly doesn’t expect is for her to bring up her fingers to brush at her mouth, plush lips spreading to peek out her tongue. He catches her wrist before she can commit the act, and if he bruises her with his grip, she deserves it for her lustfulness. 

“Don’t.”

Ysilla studies his face, weighing if she can push her luck some more tonight. She concedes, peppering a butterfly kiss across his knuckles, wiping her soiled hand on the fur under her knees. Aemond’s chest tightens and he can’t understand why her simple kiss sends him blushing more than her fist around his cock. 

“Next time, then.”

Hunger nips at him harshly, all the ways they can come together, and cum together, flashing through his mind. 

“There will be no next time-”

“Mmmm, I don’t know if he agrees with that.” She presses her puckered lips just shy of his wet slit, and his hips buck from the sensitivity. Her giggle is demented and a dark part of the silver prince wants to push something down her throat to shut her up. 

“Don’t you have something better to waste your time with? Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a husband?” Aemond rumbles, slouched in his seat. All tension drained from him, his legs weak and wobbling from the force of his climax. He feels as if he is up in the clouds, no dragon necessary. 

Ysilla sniffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a twist. “I will marry whomever I tell my mother I have accepted. And if no one has caught my eye, we will try again next year.” 

She maneuvers him back into his breeches, and if Aemond were a lesser man, he’d whine at the loss of her smooth touch. The leather suffocates him immediately and it feels so wrong. 

“Who better to guide me in the art of pleasing my husband,” Ysilla looks deep into his eye as she speaks the title, and the Prince feels caught, “whomever that may be, than you? No mere man will ever compare to you, in this aspect.” Ysilla finishes his laces off with a bow, hands tucking behind her innocently as she sits back on her toes. 

“In any aspect.” Aemond thinks he means to snarl in a self-righteous manner, but it’s clear to his own ears what he intends. The thought of Ysilla being on her knees for another, warm and wanting and welcoming for someone that is not him, blazes him with envy.

Ysilla beams, and Aemond feels like a trout swallowing the worm- hooked, reeled, and gutted.

“I’m glad we have an agreement then.”

.

.

.

[winx-reimagined]

MASTERLIST

A magic dimension is obviously going to be full of magical creatures. Fairies, witches, pixies (do specialists count as magical? To be discussed later), and several others. But what makes a fairy a fairy and a witch a witch? Aside from aesthetics and alignment, there’s always been a lack of information about the differences and makings of the various beings that exist in the magic realm. There’s also a lack of information about important beings like the Great Dragon, Daphne—nymphs in general frankly—, Faragonda, and many other people & events. Hell, no one can even tell how long the war against the Ancestral Witches lasted. Was it 16 years or over multiple centuries? Like seriously, why is Faragonda old as balls but the war started when she was a teen / young adult, but Bloom is only 16 and nobody remembers her or the war? (Even if she was born at the end of the war, that’s still not enough time for everyone to forget about it).

All I’ve been able to gather from the series is that witch magic is fueled by negative emotion & winx magic by positive emotions. But this isn’t always the case since, for example, when Bloom was infuriated because she thought Kikko was dead she released a massive amount of power. Call it a hunch, but I don’t think she was feeling very live-laugh-love in that moment. Though, you could argue her love for Kikko was the motivation even if the emotion was a negative one. Still, at the end of the day, she acted out in rage and not love.

And clearly, one’s form of magic can be changed, given Mirta became a fairy. Which I personally don’t like, she could’ve just been a good witch (which would help fight the stigma that they’re so adamant about keeping up until it’s convenient for the witches to help the good guys) but I get the school environment might’ve not been the best for her. It just sucks that the only reoccurring witch character we get are the Trix and then are expected to just accept that witches aren’t evil.

Given that Stella said Bloom was born with her powers and the city of Magix, especially the schools, don’t allow non-magical beings to enter. This has to mean the specialists are magical creatures. But the only magical thing they do is use their weapons (which I’m not even actually sure is magic or if it’s just advanced tech or both?) What specialists are is such a neglected topic I’m almost convinced they’re just regular dudes. Also, why are princes training the same way as knights or squires? Like yes, I get “military training” given Sky would lead the royal army if ever the occasion, but I would imagine there’s more to being a king than being able to fight. The princesses don’t ever get “military training” though I guess they do learn how to fight (I think, it at least looks like it) and change the color of their hair. A necessary skill to rule over a kingdom, surely.

I believe that all of their magic is the same but what they choose to do with it ultimately dictates what they end up becoming. But then that puts into question why are witches allowed to go to school? And what are any of them going to school for? Relating back to my previous rant “Cloud Tower | School of Terrorists” most of the Winx dubs have set up witches and their school to feed off negative emotion, not to mention have called most of them evil especially given the terrible deeds of the Ancestral Witches. But how does school function within the magic realm? Because in real life, it’s meant to prepare children for jobs or further education. This idea is never really explored, honestly, I think the fact that the girls are growing up and will soon leave Alfea is never really brought up (mind you I haven’t watched season 7, so maybe it is) since even once they’ve graduated they stay at the school to act as teachers. Which is cool and all, but eventually these girls have to move on. Stella, Aisha, & Bloom all have kingdoms to rule over and Tecna, Flora, & Musa have their own interests but this idea of growing up and moving on from school is never really talked about. And while I know most of my writing is about the actual writing of the series and not its influence on its audience, this idea would’ve been great for young girls to watch so they’re not so afraid of growing up and moving on. Because it’s inevitable and seeing your fictional idols experience that and overcome it, would make it less scary.

Anyway, it’s unfortunate we don’t get to see what they learn from school often. We hardly see what the fairies learn, let alone the witches or specialists. And weirdly, for a show that heavily involves magical schools, we never see any arcs about school competitions, tournaments, festivals, or interactions with other schools. Even regular high schools have basketball or football games against other schools regularly. It’s just sad how little their school life actually makes an appearance in the series. Especially when it seems they’re either too scared or too lazy (perhaps even too uncreative) to let go of them being at Alfea.

I also wish we got to see more unique cases, similar to Mirta, of people who don’t fit the binary of witch, fairy, and specialist. Also we never really learn about other kinds of these species(?)/groups, like how there are nymphs and presumably an equivalent level for witches, not to mention there are also sorcerers. It’s even weirder given Nymph is the next level in terms of fairy magic and yet none of the main crew go on to learn how to become one? But also, what is a nymph? Like always it isn’t explained, saying they’re a stronger fairy isn’t much of an explanation.

Sometimes it makes me sad to write rants like this because it makes me realize that Winx was not as unique as I thought it was nor as in-depth as it could’ve been. I still love the series of course, but taking it apart and analyzing it like this has its consequences. Though in a way, it does motivate me more to add my own ideas and creations to the series, and I hope my ramblings and machinations are at the very least entertaining!

[waltwhitmansbeard]

“I made pancakes!”

21. “I made pancakes!”

Caduceus may not be the brightest firefly in the meadow, but he knows a lot of different ways to say I love you. He says it when he sees Fjord working his jaw late into the evening, clearly feeling the gummy aches of his tusks growing back in. He grinds together some herbs that are good for numbing and offers them to Fjord in a tea brewed just for him. The next morning, Fjord's happier, more alert, and Caduceus knows that was the most restful sleep he's gotten in weeks.

He says it when Nott's spitting and snapping, shoving away the helpful hands trying to assist her after her button collection has spilled all over the road. Nott's proud of her buttons, hoards them as a dragon might its gems and gold, and now they're all crusted with the grime of dirt and travelers. As she picks them up, one by one, muttering under her breath, Caduceus coaxes a group of spiders to do him a favor. By the time Nott's finished, Caduceus has a pouch the size of his foot to present to her, silky smooth and strong as steel, perfect for carrying an ever-expanding button collection. The zealous glee in Nott's wide yellow eyes warms him like a winter's hearth.

He says it when it's his turn on watch, and in the dying light of the fire, he sees Caleb, curled into a small ball, twitching. The movement is so slight, it's almost imperceptible, especially in the dark—but Caduceus doesn't miss a thing. He heaves himself up from his bedroll, pads across the campsite they've made for themselves, and holds a hand over Caleb's chest. A few moments pass, and a calm emotions ripples over his human friend. The twitching slows, and Caduceus watches his tense muscles begin to relax. It'll only last a minute, this spell, but he has to hope it's enough to carry Caleb through this dream and onto a newer, better one.

He says it when he rises with the dawn, setting about his morning as quietly as he can. Gathered berries, water from the nearby stream in the kettle over the freshly-stoked fire, and a little magic go a long way to preparing the breakfast that needs to carry him and his friends over the miles to come. He lets the smell of it rouse them, so he's not jolting them from sleep when he announces, "I made pancakes!" He serves them short stacks, hot and sweet, and they all circle up, chewing happily, sleepily.

So many years in the Blooming Grove, so many I love yous that fell on no one's ears. There are people to hear him now, people to translate all the ways he knows how to say it, people to learn how to say it back. The Wildmother saw that he was in a drought, and she has flooded his life again, and every day, new flowers bloom. It is how she tells him she loves him, he supposes, and so he tends to the flowers, loves them as best he knows how.

[aquapen]

mono no aware (good luck, babe!)

I wanna hold the hand inside you

I wanna breathe the breath that’s true

I look to you and I see nothing

I look to you to see the truth…

.

.

.

The low hum of the hover car’s engine fills the cabin, and she glances at the navigation screen, double-checking the coordinates – it’s fairly recent, this realization, but believe it or not, she’s only taken this route a handful of times over the years.  If that.

She grips the controls tighter, and the vehicle climbs higher, clouds whipping past the windshield, a frothy sea of white that parts before her, and then the sunlight turns the cloud tops to shimmering gold.

A breathtaking sight, this world of molten light, but her heart just isn’t in it; her mind keeps jerking back to Krillin’s pained face from a few days ago.

"Have you visited yet?" he had asked, and she had barely shaken her head when he continued, "Do it."

Bulma had stared for a moment, teeth set on edge, but Krillin had not seemed inclined to add more.

Even now, while she’s driving, she remembers the weird and tingling emptiness expanding between her lungs at the lack of a follow-up. With them, there was always something: a miracle, a plan, some fragmentary, seat-of-their-pants solution to whatever pickle they were in. Dragon balls lost to the depths of the ocean? Fixed. Green alien slash demon king wanting to rule the world? Done. Freaking Saiyan invasion right here on Earth? Boom, done.

And what a doozy that had been, Bulma thinks and almost smiles, remembering the ride to the hospital after chasing off Vegeta, Krillin twiddling his thumbs in the passenger seat while tentatively trying to explain that maybe there was a chance to bring Yamcha, Tien, Chiaotzu and Piccolo back to life. They only had to travel to a planet nobody had ever heard of before and nobody knew where it was – enter Goku, who had asked King Kai, and there you go, problem solved (pretty handy being pals with deities, after all). Except Namek was 4,339 years and 3 months away, even using Capsule Corp.'s greatest spaceship engine. And then, with the adrenaline-flush of a plan coming together, they had overcome that small hurdle as well. And then some.

And now?

The clouds part suddenly, revealing tall mountains and rolling hills, lush forests and streams glinting when they catch the light. Bulma begins her descent, guiding the hover car towards the soft grass of the clearing before the small house. She touches down with a soft thump, the engine falling silent.

Now they have two sets of dragon balls and they’re useless. Worse than useless. But she doesn’t want to think about that.

She takes a deep breath and steps out into the fresh spring air.

Now, it's just: “Do it.”

.

.

.

She walks for a bit alongside a babbling stream, following Chi-Chi’s directions (“Down the stream and then to the right when you see a grove,” she’d said, her voice tight as if there was something else she’d wanted to say), her footsteps crunching softly on the grass.

The stream curves gently, and suddenly, Bulma sees it – this splash of pink against the green landscape. The cherry trees stand tall, their branches reaching towards the sky, heavy with blooms, and she slows down but then she draws closer, her heart picking up, when a gentle breeze stirs and suddenly the air is filled with a flurry of petals, swirling on invisible currents.

Bulma stops at the edge of the grove and watches him. He’s lying beneath the largest tree, arms folded behind his head and one leg crossed over a bent knee. It’s a sight that unsettles her, though for a moment not even her effortless analytical mind is able to understand why – all she knows is that she just got here but she’s already more than ready to beat a hasty retreat.

She can see Goku’s eyes are closed, his face tilted up to catch the early afternoon sun. She wants to flee, but she doesn’t run, struck by how the dappled light filtering through the branches plays across his features, and she’s so busy watching that –  

“Hey, Bulma!” Goku says, making her jump out of her skin. Of course, she thinks, swallowing hard – you couldn’t sneak around him if your life depended on it. The breeze whips a thin blue tendril of hair into her mouth. She flicks it away irritably. Goku sits up, grass clinging to his clothes, smiling easily – pleased to see her. Bulma takes a deep breath; now it would be really fucking weird to just up and hightail it.

“I didn’t know you were into cherry blossoms,” she says, her mouth running away while her brain was still stopped dead.

Goku laughs like he’s delighted. “What, these?” His smile widens. “I dunno about that. I just remembered my grandpa used to like them.”

“Yeah?” Bulma says, and a bit of the tension leaves her body; at least she manages to get her legs to work and walk up to him. “That’s nice,” she says, hesitating for a second before lowering herself next to him, allowing herself to be sucked into his gentle gravitational pull. Not that she’s ever been able (regrettably) to resist that inexorable something that always radiates from him.

"Yeah," Goku nods, his gaze drifting upwards to the gnarled branches overhead. "He'd get all excited when these trees bloomed. I never really got it." He rubs the back of his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

Bulma considers the end of this little story and snorts. “They’re just beautiful, you numbskull.” She looks around and it is beautiful – a beautiful day, the trees in bloom, the silent, gentle rain of pink and white. She reaches out, catches a petal in her palm. She turns and looks at Goku, who’s still smiling, as always – aggravatingly – refusing to take offense. “It’s not that complicated!”

“Okay!” Goku chuckles, raising his hands in surrender. He looks at her sidelong, and before she could even start figuring out why, he is looking away again – but she can still see the slide of his smile and can’t help smiling mindlessly in turn. “Okay, I guess maybe there is something nice about how they show up for a little bit each year, make everything look pretty,” he continues.

And then go away, Bulma’s mind provides, unbidden. She shakes her head, dispelling the thought. A new gust of wind sends a flurry of petals flying around them and she hugs her knees to her chest, suddenly chilled. Her smile suddenly requires effort to maintain, and she tries to think about something else to talk about, but Goku speaks first.

“I’ve been thinking about my grandpa a lot lately,” he says, out of nowhere, leaning back slightly, his palms pressing on the grass, stretching his legs in front of him. His eyes drift again towards the swaying branches above. “I hope I’ll get to see him this time around – it’ll be nice to catch up.”

Bulma’s head snaps around. “Catch up?” she repeats, the words huffing out of her, carrying a slice of her nerves with them, because damn him – and her stomach twists and turns looking at his young and beautiful face.

“Yeah!” Goku nods, as animated as ever. “You know! Last time I was dead I didn’t have the chance to go look for him. I wanted to, but King Kai’s training was nuts, and I was already running late – ” His eyes light up with a sudden thought and a sunny little giggle as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Did you know I spent two weeks chasing after a monkey?”

Bulma blinks. “You – what?”

“Yeah! And it was freaking hard too.” Goku grins into the breeze. “Bubbles was fast.”

“Bubbles,” Bulma repeats, like she has no idea what she’s hearing.

“Yep,” Goku confirms. “King Kai’s pet monkey.”

Bulma shakes her head. She studies Goku's face, searching for something she's not even sure of herself.

"Son-kun, you –” She swallows. Can barely get the words out around the knot rising in his throat. “How much do you know about this disease anyway?"

Goku wrinkles his nose. It is a meaningless question right now, Bulma supposes, and even as she’s asking, she already knows the answer, feeling everything cinch up into a terrible understanding. “I mean, I know the basics,” Goku says. He gazes up, eyes tracking a petal as it spirals down. “I don’t know the complicated stuff – the doctors use big words that fly right over my head.”

Bulma gives a little huff, unimpressed. “I’m sure they do.”

Goku chuckles. “Yeah, but, heh – it’s my body.” He shrugs. “I get what’s going on.”

“You – ” Bulma’s voice cracks and then rises because at the very least she knows how to do this. She can be angry at his unflappability. “How can you be so casual about it?” she roars, but then she loses her wind again. “Aren’t you afraid?” she barely manages, purely powered by the aggravation of how are you so fucking calm.

Goku shakes his head. “Nah.” He leans back on his hands, tilting his face up to the sky. “I was pissed for a little while, but now I’m good.”

“Pissed?” Bulma says, the word ringing hollow and small and insufficient for something that’s reaching in her chest and ripping her heart out.

“Well, duh!” Goku frowns, short and sharp, before he laughs, a laugh that hits her in the solar plexus. “It’s not like I was thrilled!” he says, and Bulma’s anger redoubles, but this time it’s not aimed at him.

Her hands are trembling with it. She closes her fists. She wants to cry, she wants to scream, but neither seems enough – and then the words then come by instinct.

“Please, don’t die,” she blurts out. Goku’s eyes widen.

“Bulma…!”

"No!" She shakes her head vehemently, her vision starting to blur, and she clenches her teeth. "Please, please, don't die. I'm not – I can't –" She takes a shuddering breath. “It will be boring here without you, okay? And I don't – I won't like it! So, please…"

Goku's face softens. He reaches out, gently squeezing her shoulder. One point of warmth, holding her tightly. "Bulma, hey. It's okay."

"No, it's not," she grinds out.

“It will be,” he insists, with laughable surety. It’s barely reassurance, the way he says it, it’s a statement of fact. No hesitation, no room for doubt, and a sob leaves Bulma’s chest:

“How?”

He thinks about it, that familiar tilt of his head. “Well, you have Trunks, our friends, your family…” He grins then, sudden and knowing and bright. “Those gizmos and doodads you’re always tinkering with…”

“Gizmos and doodads?” Bulma repeats, hastily wiping at her eyes. “They’re inventions, Goku! Very important inventions, for your information!”

Goku smiles that devastating smile – carelessly, guilelessly, genuinely pleased with her. “Yeah,” he says, the breeze ruffling his hair. “See? It’ll be alright.” He picks a fallen blossom from the ground and tosses it in her lap. And then he adds, “But yeah, I’ll miss you too.”

“Shut up,” she snaps, but it comes in a watery chuckle. She tosses the flower back at his face, and Goku starts to laugh. It mingles with the rustle of the breeze between the trees.

“Shut up,” Bulma repeats, almost sullen, and a fresh shower of petals swirls around them.

.

.

.

The low hum of the hover car’s engine whines and fills the cabin as Bulma guides it lower, gradually slowing down. She glances briefly at the navigator screen, then turns it off. She’s getting closer, and fuel is already scarce as it is these days, so – there.

The mountains haven't changed, anyway. They stand tall and unmovable, and then the rolling hills appears, dyed in greens and yellows with rapeseed, and the lush forests and the streams glinting when they catch the light.

The weather had been gloomy and overcast for the better part of the week, but today the sky has cleared in a bright and gorgeous spring day, the blue sky speckled with a few wispy clouds – certainly not enough to dim the sunshine, and Bulma blows the bangs out of her eyes, almost smiling, drinking in the simple and untouched beauty of it all.

When it comes to destruction, the androids prefer the cities; after all, it is a bit hard to commit mass murder in the countryside – they simply like it better where there are thousands of people to terrorize all at once, and to play with, like a cat tormenting a mouse, and then to slaughter –but at leisure, taking their time, making sure fear is firmly planted in the hearts of those who are spared, and most of all laughing at their prayers to Kami.

What a load of bullshit.

Bulma’s wondered, more than once now, if people even know Kami doesn’t exist anymore, that he’s long gone alongside Piccolo. And the dragon balls. And everybody else.

The car glides down towards the clearing and she kills the engine. Her fingers are slightly cramped from the long flight, and for a moment she just sits there, hands still on the controls, watching the little house through the glass of the windscreen. She has a pretty good idea of where Gohan might be – she’d caught Trunks sneaking out from the underground shelter earlier that morning, dressed for training – and it doesn’t look like anybody else is home, and that’s okay – or, well, if she’s honest, that’s a huge relief. 

She takes a deep breath and steps out into the fresh spring air. Like stepping back in time.

She snorts and shakes her head – she wishes it could be that easy.

She follows the path through the overgrown grass, then alongside the babbling stream that’s making the prettiest sounds, marveling that she remembers the way after all this time. But there are some things you just never forget, and she will always be able to find her way to that little pocket of world.

At the end of the path, after the stream has curved gently, she stops, her mouth suddenly dry. There it is, the splash of pink against the green landscape. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, and she steps forward, deeper into the grove for the first time in many many years, the sunlight filtering through the canopy of branches overhead. It’s so nice here – no chaos everywhere, no cacophony of shouts and sirens and sudden explosions, no people running around, no heat or flashing lights or smell of burning metal.

A gentle gust of wind sends a flurry of petals cascading around her, swirling and twirling like snowflakes and she closes her eyes, letting it wash over her for a moment.

Under the largest tree, there’s the little stone marker and she lowers herself to the ground, joints popping when she sits crossed-legged. She brushes the petals away from the stone, her eyes tracing the etched characters of his name, weathered now by more than a decade of sun and rain.

“Hey, it’s me,” she says. “Sorry it’s been a while.” 

She should have known better than to expect an answer. Can’t help doing it anyway. Seeing his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Hey, Bulma! Oh, well, that’s okay!”

Or seeing the way he used to lean forward when talking to her, toothy grin spreading easily on his face.

“You’re here now.”

She starts crying. Doesn’t even realize it until her shoulders are shaking with hiccups and a ragged sob leaves her throat – she remembers how afraid she had been of forgetting his face, because there weren’t many pictures around; she thought they had lots, but no: most of them were either blurred, or he was too small in them to decipher his features, and she had been terrified. But it was a stupid fear – Goku’s face, it turns out, is one of those few things you just don’t forget.

The breeze picks up again, ruffling her hair and sending another shower of petals swooshing around her. She watches them, her vision still blurred with tears, and a watery laugh bubbles up in her throat. She reaches up to brush at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Okay, okay," she chuckles. "I get it."

She straightens her back. “I didn’t come all this way just to snivel,” she says, her voice growing stronger. “I haven’t given up, you know? I’m doing what I can for Trunks, and for Gohan. But – well, okay maybe I did come here to whine a little bit,” she snorts.

She swallows. “It’s hard.” She can barely get the words out. “Without you.”

“I miss feeling like anything was possible, no matter how bad things got,” she says. She lets a wry smile unfurl on her lips. “Yeah, I guess I just miss you.”

And that’s all there is to it. It’s never even a question – just the outright unfairness that he’s down there because of a disease that can now be easily cured, and she’s up here, longing for his bubbling laughter and his hand on her shoulder. If only just one more time. One point of warmth, holding her tightly.

“Son-kun,” she sighs. “I hope you did find your grandpa.”

She takes one long look at the cherry blossom grove. The gentle sway of the branches, the soft carpet of pink on the ground, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves. With a deep breath, she rises to her feet, brushing off stray petals and grass from her clothes. Feeling suddenly less alone.

“Oh, by the way,” she says. “I’ve started working on something.” She grins – an absurd, delirious grin. “You’re not gonna believe it, but you’ll see. I promise you’ll see.”

“Huh? More gizmos and doodads?”

“You could say that.”

Bulma’s smile softens. “Bye, Goku.”

She turns and makes her way back to her car – and the wind sweeps away the tears from the corner of her eyes, and a new shower of petals dances in the air.

.

.

.

Fade into you Strange you never knew Fade into you I think it's strange you never knew...

[voidwritesstuff]

Ive seen other people post their ISM ocs so why not add mine into the mix. Jerico Castro Aka The Blaze//The ember.

The weapon for this level is a Fire proof weighted blanket that Desmond uses to hug The Ember which is blaze's inner child

Set in a medieval/dream Core village with Woods, you would follow blaze around, evading the fireballs/Fire breath she throws at you (n trust me. They HURT). The player would need to follow the scorchmarks around and hug The Ember until she calms down and shows to the blaze that desmond is no danger towards them both.

The Blaze: represents my ocs impostor syndrome,anger issues and emotionally bad upbringing she had during their life, which had left her a raging Ball of anger and Fire.

The Ember: represents Jerico's acceptance of her issues and instead of keeping all her anger in, they let it go and move on with their life as a now uni student. Also represents her burnt out gifted kid side who is just so tired and could do with a good hard cry.

->Jerico Castro is genderfluid and Bisexual.

->The Flash and Rainbow seem to have an appreciation If not a crush on Blaze, and during the level you can see rainbow leaving flowers (sunflowers especially) for blaze to find, and you can even hear his lamenting when he realizes that giving a fireball a bunch of flammable flowers was not a good idea.

->this crush of rainbow is strictly reserved for rainbow himself. Desmond sees jerico as a patient ,having an almost mentor relationshipp because he doesnt want her to live what he lived as a fellow burnt out gifted kid.

->While chasing Blaze around youll see her walk to the edge of the forest to meet with Flash and hear them have a little chat, flash scoops her in his hands and since hes made of metal the Fire doesnt hurt him, his spotlight nuzzles the head of Blaze and he sets her back down to then dissapear back into the Woods.

->Her respective greek mythos is mainly a sphynx,though when angered she takes the attributes of an european dragon (wings,horns,tails And sharp teef)

->desmond would start in the cementery(seeing blaze bury her last psicologistp,then up to an art store, a record store where you see a small scene of Lucas and Jerico chatting over music and vinyls, then a mall (where you'd see her hang out with Sorrowful [@theallenshorefangirl oc] and the watcher) and finally end up in Blaze's house.

->Blaze was adopted by two family Friends of her Bio family, Raymond Castro and Eryz Bloom, which you see in her ending hugging her and leaving beautiful sunflowers instead of scorchmarks

->Shes an overworked animation uni student.

->her tape is between Lucas and the final boss, mainly because her arc mirrors Desmond's life when he was her age, its meant to represent desmond healing his past trauma by helping others who went through something similar as he did.

Tape: cw for mentions of someone dying of cancer,shitty family, anger issues and religion.

Desmond: so...what brings you here?

Jerico: anything and everything, ive had a rough life so far. Dont get me wrong! Ive had good and bad,but the bad is really bad (chuckles) but mainly? My last psicologist died of cancer...and I heard you were good so...here I am

Desmond: thats...awful im so sorry for your loss

Jerico: much appreciated, im and was raised catholic so...I Like to think shes up there in the clouds watching over me...but I felt like she was the only one that would stand up against my biological family, they were assholes you know? I could never be enough for them and i--(clenches fists, gets really tense)(sigh, body relaxes) sorry, sorry, I have anger issues and its hard sometimes

Desmond: dont worry, I know how that feels. I have to say that you seem to know yourself a lot

Jerico: wise beyond my years, I had time to look into myself even before I started therapy. I dread change but it comes naturally to my for some reason, im a whole can of worms, Mr.Wales

Desmond: desmond,please. And dont worry,im sure we'll find out just how deep the rabbithole goes, patience and Grace

Jerico: (playfull scoff) patience, people in my life have always told me I need more patience...(blinks a few times) I was thinking out loud,sorry. But I actually quite like that phrase, I think ill start to use it

Desmond: see? Progress already (polite chuckle)

Jerico: (laughs) I think we're going to get along just fine, Desmond.

[sarahlizziewrites]

Writing Whispers Challenge

Here's a fun little exercise. This is a piece of writing from when I was 17. I'm going to re-write it over a decade later. Here goes.

Rules: find a few paragraphs of writing from as long ago as you can. Re-write them how you would now.

I'm going to tag @sleepyowlwrites, @words-after-midnight and @sam-glade, and anyone else who is feeling brave enough to share their old-as-balls writing!

2010:

The clock struck four, its toll piercing through the icy winter air and making me jump. The square had been so utterly silent seconds before; the only sound I could hear was my own breathing - it rose up in blooming clouds and dissipated into the air. When I was younger, I had liked to imagine I was a dragon when it was cold enough to do this - it at least kept my mind distracted from the bitter cold that snipped and clawed at my nose; my ears; my fingers. At last I saw her through the thick curtain of snow between us; she had just entered at the opposite side of the square, dressed in rich furs that she had undoubtedly stolen from some aristocrat’s wife. As soon as I spotted her I began to sprint, not caring for my long coat and the snow that was likely to make me trip - I cared not for the cold any longer: as long as she was here, I was happy. I finally reached her, stumbling in the snow as I slowed; I trapped her in a desperate embrace, and placed a kiss upon her frozen lips. In the second her lips touched mine, I was ensconced in a cocoon of heat. Within that warmth I found promise; within Petra I found hope. The cold returned in a sharp sting as we broke apart, leaving me a little breathless.

2023:

The toll of the city clock pierced the winter air, echoing against the snow-covered buildings. Four tolls, for the early hour: the first made me jump, stirring the previously silent square. Each subsequent chime only served to rattle my nerves, and I looked up into the inky sky, blinking into the falling snowflakes, and watching the clouds of my breath rise. Worry bit at me, firmer and more insistent than the cold air that bit at my extremities. Four had been our arranged meeting time, and I had grown reliant on her being early. Even a moment's tardiness could be a omen of her death, or her capture - or perhaps this was the day she would simply disappear, like so many had before her. But when I levelled my gaze again, I spotted her at the opposite side of the square: a small figure wrapped in furs, blurred by the falling snow. My worry evaporated like the moisture from my breath, and at once, my fingers and toes no longer felt the cold; the distance between us felt inconsequential. I began to run across the snow-carpeted square, unheeding of my unsuitable shoes and the long coat I wore, liable to make me trip. She kept her steady walking pace, wrapped in those furs like a vestment - where had she gotten those, anyway? Nearing her, I skidded to a halt on the slick ground. I drew close; the look on her face was wan - haunted, almost - and I vowed to kiss it away. As my lips found hers, every fear that had plagued me in these last few weeks disappeared in a swell of warmth. There was a promise on her lips; hope in the way that her small, ungloved hand came to grab my lapel and pull me towards her. The cold returned in a sharp sting as we broke apart, leaving me a little breathless.

Hey, what can I say? That last line just worked.

This was a blast and a really good exercise. The stuff from 2010 is really not awful, I have to say, but I'm really gratified that I can recraft it into something I'm proud of.

[frozenbound]

Shimadacest headcanon #64 (featuring Lifeguard Cassidy):

(Continuation of Shimadacest Headcanon #63)

The beach is wonderful.

The sand is soft under their feet as they bounce a beach ball and throw a frisbee to each other, the water is clear and warm as they swim and splash each other and wrestle, the ice cream and frozen juice in the cooler is delicious when they work up an appetite, and the sun is bright and hot when Hanzo and Genji lie down side-by-side on the big, wide, square beach towel to dry off and sunbathe for a little while, then the shade is nice and cool with a slight seabreeze blowing across their warm skin when they open the umbrella after they've had enough sunlight.

Genji's hand wanders over and takes a gentle hold of Hanzo's, and he glances over at his big brother and grins, and Hanzo smiles back and affectionately caresses his little brother's gold ring with his thumb.

Then Genji scoots closer and curls over onto his side and partially onto Hanzo, the way he usually only does when they're alone in their bedroom, pillowing his head on Hanzo's chest as he looks past Hanzo's washboard abs and thick thighs towards the sea. His fingers gently stroke the blue tail of Hanzo's dragon swishing up against his nipple, and Hanzo takes in a shaky breath at the contact, but lets out a contented sigh when he remembers that it's all fine.

They're allowed to do this here.

They can simply lie here together, out in the open air, skin-to-skin, and enjoy each other, the sound of the waves, and the bright blue sea stretching out uninterrupted to the sharp horizon.

And there they remain, until the sun has sunk low enough to begin peeking under the edge of their umbrella. By unspoken agreement, the brothers stir and Genji reluctantly picks himself up and off of Hanzo. It's time to head back to the hotel.

They gather their things, but Genji slows and stops and then catches Hanzo's eye with a smile.

He nods towards the lifeguard tower.

Hanzo looks and sees another lifeguard talking to the tall blonde.

It's evidently a shift change.

He's been watching them, of course. Not to the exclusion of the other beachgoers around them and always with a close eye on the water, but Genji has been gleefully pointing out each time he notices the handsome lifeguard watching them specifically, and Hanzo opines that he's done it many more times than Genji has caught.

Even now as he talks to a powerfully built woman with long black hair spilling down her back with two short braids bumping against her shoulders, he's glancing at the brothers as they prepare to leave.

He looks just a tad nervous, but whether it's at the prospect of speaking to them or simply because he fears they'll leave just before he gets a chance...

Hanzo raises an eyebrow at Genji but slows down, taking his time to shake the sand off their beach towel and pack up the cooler and even pretending to struggle to close their umbrella as it catches the breeze again and again, with Genji snorting at the deception.

Hanzo feels a smug bloom in his chest, however, when a rich, chocolately baritone with a charming accent suddenly asks right behind him, "You need a hand with that?"

Hanzo turns halfway. "No," he says, and immediately and easily closes the umbrella.

"Oh!" the lifeguard says, thrown off guard. "Sorry, I just thought..."

"Hanzo," Genji scolds as he drapes himself over Hanzo's shoulders and grins at the lifeguard. "Don't be so coy. He took the bait, and he looks even hotter close up. Don't lose him now."

The lifeguard's eyes, which are a very pretty shade of brown that's turned almost hazel in the sunlight, widen. Then he grins and shakes his head a little. "Forward, ain't ya?"

"You wanna come back with us to our hotel?" Genji replies, hugging Hanzo in such a way that his arms cup under Hanzo's pecs. "We've been eyeing you all day."

The lifeguard chuckles. "Wow!" he says with a mixture of surprise and amusement in his tone. "Guess I'd better since you're in such a hurry. I hope you don't shoot quite as quick as you take someone home."

"Even if I do," Genji says, sly and hungry, "my husband here will be sure to take care of you until I'm ready again."

Hanzo shivers as Genji casually lets one hand, his left hand, to drop and rest on Hanzo's hip.

His ring glints in the sunlight.

The lifeguard grins. "Well, ain't nobody ever gonna say no to an offer like that. The name's Cole."

"Genji. This is Hanzo."

"Well, then Genji and Hanzo, I saw you two walk onto the beach, so I'm guessing your room ain't too far."

Genji smiles.

Hanzo looks down at the lifeguard's tented swimming trunks.

And grins.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Write a story in the style of Dragon Ball Z about 5 kids, one Frisian, one Basque, one Saxon, one Breton, one Lombard fighting off the evil Emperor Charlemagne with Ancient Roman Power Suits they find.

"But those are toys," says Simon, his voice a long, drawn-out whine -- the complaint of a perpetually underfed orphan boy who has nothing better to do than be forever contrarian, forever Simon.

"I'm not stupid," I say, firmly.

"If these were toys," says Simon, "why does the guy say they're 'Archaic Romans?'"

When I do not respond, Simon frowns, and says -- an inch lower in pitch -- "What's the difference, anyway?"

"They're not toys," say I. "The armor is heavy. It hurts." I flex my arms and turn in circles, and the onerous weight of my armor confirms it: I'm not joking.

Simon is silent for a while. Then he says, in a familiar tone -- "So? The armor is heavy. The armor is heavy for everyone."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

"I'm saying these are not toys, Simon. This is real. The Emperor is real, and he's not our friend."

"You think that just because these are called 'Archaic Romans,' they're supposed to be toys? Simon doesn't think so. Neither do I."

Suddenly, from outside, there is a deafening boom. It is the sort of sound one makes when one manages to unlock a well-guarded secret chamber, and, after decades of imprisonment, resurfaces into the world.

Simon says, "Oh my fucking God."

* * *

They come at us, out of the darkness, out of the calm that came with night.

They are not toys. Simon's whining voice has ceased. It was only whining, in the end. The Emperor's minions are here.

Some of them are carrying . . . lights? Torches? They swing them about and hurl them, and they light up the land in the distance. The land is a battlefield: pillars rise up from it, dark against the starry sky. There are blots of darkness where the pillars have fallen. There is a figure on one of them, far to the right, and it is too far for me to make out anything except that it is human.

They are coming closer now.

There is a pillar to my left, about ten meters away, maybe. They are all around us, coming in from every side.

Not all of them are minions, I realize. Some are some sort of obscene half-machine, with tall torso and grotesque limbs. They are taller than the minions, who have the average man's frame.

The terrifying humanoid creatures hurry forward, moving rapidly across the field, their pillars bringing light with them.

They are . . . walking quickly.

A blur of motion.

Oh no, they're moving fast . . . we don't have enough time . . . we have to move, we have to strike, I have to take my armor off --

The battlefield recedes before me, the dark recedes, and for a moment I am falling. Ahead of me is a great blade of black metal, and in the blackness I can see my own reflection in its shine.

There is a rushing sound, and then I am falling again. There is movement in my hands, but they are not my hands. The chasm in the dark where my own face once was is growing wider by the second. I watch the blade sink closer to my feet.

My armor, my armor, I have to take my armor off, hurry hurry hurry, I'm going to die I'm going to die I --

I hear a strange noise behind me. A roar.

Light blooms from behind me, warm golden light.

I stand on the high ground and I let loose the roar that has been in my throat all day. I have no idea if it will work. I am standing in front of my men and I am letting out a roar that is like the roar of the tiger and the roar of a father who has seen his home town burn and the roar of fire and chaos and death and it is all I can do.

Worry that it will not work. What if this doesn't work? What then? We are all going to die aren't we.

The words come to my mouth and they are the words of a man and they are the words of the tiger. What will we do if this doesn't work? Run?

Look at them! They are all looking at me and there is something in their eyes that makes me sure this will work.

Not all of them. Simon is at the edge of the clearing, kneeling, back to the enemy, with arms outstretched. I take a step toward him, another and another. I am standing on the edge of the clearing and my men are next to me, and we are all standing there in the clearing, and Simon is facing away, his arms outstretched, his back to the night.

He is only a boy. I want to say to him, remember this? Remember me? I was here for you.

I have never been so glad that he has no idea I am here.

I say it to myself: this is real. This is real. The Emperor is real. This is not a dream. This is the only nightmare I have ever felt. The only nightmare that truly matters. I am in it.

Motion. My men and I, we are not alone.

Some kind of beast is climbing up the side of the pillar closest to me. It looks like the centaur from my dreams: man and horse one, and it is glowing dimly in the darkness.

Simon is back-to-back with me, and his arms are uplifted.

The blurry thing is upon us, and it sinks its sharp teeth into the back of the beast.

The man and the horse -- the man's body has taken the place of the horse -- is disappearing, replaced by the blur.

Simon is back-to-back with me, his hands above his head, and he is reciting some language that sounds like Latin.

Motion. The man and the horse are now gone, and the beast has been shattered. What is left of it is melting like plastic in the warmth of the light.

The blurry thing is surrounding us with a wavering, glowing halo.

It is protecting us.

We are safe. The pillars no longer move. The minions stop. The machine-creatures halt.

Some of them sit down, and simply wait.

They are enchanted. They know not what they do.

We have won.

Anthony is talking to them, and I don't understand what he's saying. He's speaking English, so I know it's not Latin.

I'm not sure I trust that. It is as though he's speaking to the minions, because they're the only ones who know English.

I'm here, Anthony! I'm watching you. I'm here, in front of you, and we're not safe.

I say, "Anthony, I can't trust this."

Anthony responds, in English, in his calm voice: "You're right."

I don't believe him. I don't believe it. There's no way he can say that.

Simon doesn't know what is going on. He looks up at me, scared, and he reaches out a hand.

"I'm here," I say, and I raise my hands, I close the distance between us, I am a man with a man-hand around his shoulder and a man-arm around his waist and a man-face close to his face, and we are in this together.

The only nightmare I have ever felt. The only nightmare that truly matters. I am in it next to you. We are in it together.

[wakeupshadow]

prologue:

The summer breeze whistled through the tree branches, carrying along with it, pink petals from the trees nearby. Butterflies would try to come close to the beautiful flowers that bloomed nearby, only to be scared away, unintentionally, by Kuroo's missed sets.  

"Higher Kenma!" Kuroo said running back to his starting position. He knew he had to learn how to spike the ball correctly. 

"But you said that would be the last one..." Kenma mumbled picking up the volleyball and heading back beside the net they had managed to put up between two adjacent trees. He was thankful for at least having the shed of the trees to keep them a bit cooler. Kuroo certainly didn't care. All he cared for was to learn the spike he saw on television a week back, before the new term of elementary school started for them. 

"Come on just once more." Kuroo pleaded. 

Just where did all of his energy come from? I am pretty sure we had the same thing for lunch today. Kenma thought before he shrugged it off and tossed the ball to Kuroo. Kuroo grinned as he threw the ball up, towards Kenma, who set it for him. 

The set was perfect and so was Kuroo's spike, for the first time in all of last week. But once misery finds herself at a blind lane she doesn't stop. She transfigures it into a new path altogether. While Kuroo replayed his own shot in his mind, unable to believe how he did it, the ball went bouncing and rolling towards the river nearby. If they weren't quick...

"Kuroo..." Kenma pointed his tiny hand towards the ball which was rolling away like it had been finally set free. Kuroo's excitement died down as he turned to look at what Kenma was pointing to. 

Kuroo sprang forward, Kenma trailing behind,  unable to keep up. "Quick! It's gonna fall!"

Their little feet only managed to take them half way through when the ball fell into the river with a splash. The two boys watched their prized possession get carried away with the flow. 

Tears welled up in Kuroo's eyes and Kenma pretended not to notice.

"Want to go home?"

Kuroo got up without saying a word and walked back to the trees where they were practicing earlier. He lied down, arms folded under his head as he looked up at the blue sky blotched with small clouds moving in clusters. Kenma quietly lied down beside him and glanced at him before looking up. 

"It is getting warm nowadays." Kuroo said and Kenma hummed in response. It really was warmer than usual. "I lost my volleyball." Kuroo followed up his own words. He was facing away from Kenma.

"But.." Kenma took a moment before continuing. "But we leveled up."

Kuroo quickly turned his head and Kenma noticed his eyes glistening. "What?"

"We leveled up." Kenma repeated slowly. "Like my Video Games..."

Kuroo's face lit up with a sudden brightness as he sat up. "Right! We leveled up Kenma! I can spike!" As much as Kenma was happy to see his only friend cheered up, he wished he was not as loud. Kuroo pulled Kenma up by his arms, Kenma unable to keep up due to his lack in strength. 

"Get up! Let's go run two laps!"

"Kuroo, I can't.." 

Kuroo was far to elated to listen and soon he was running with the wind, taking Kenma along with him, promising him he would play his favorite game the next day, their voices slowly fading into the distance. Both of them knew, they would be here again the next day, back on another afternoon, with a new volleyball and a new stream of motivation. 

Sure, Kenma was annoyed at times. He didn't have the stamina that Kuroo had and he wanted nothing more than to stay home and play his video games all day. But he would come out of his room, into the sunlight and play with Kuroo till the Sun set. It was only Kuroo, who never left him alone for once. 

________________________________________________________________________________

This was the Dragon's Den. The fighter approached the Dragon, the new Boss in game. Even after masterfully avoiding and dodging all of it's attack in the first phase, the fighter couldn't keep up. He was knocked out with an AoE attack. The Screen flashed - "DEFEAT". 

Kenma clicked his tounge. The game was getting on his nerves now. The screen had flashed the same message of defeat at least ten times now. It irritated Kenma to be unable to figure out the strategy to this new challenge. If there was something Kenma hated with all his heart, even more than moving around, it was losing. 

Kuroo could feel his frustration sitting beside him in the train. He closed the book he was reading to take a look at the screen. It was Kenma's eleventh attempt since the day before. 

"We will be there soon, you are still playing?" Kuroo asked, watching him swiftly place two critical strikes on the Boss, in game. 

"This one is a little challenging..." Kenma replied.

"Well, I though you would have noticed but look there, the Dragon's tail lit up the last time it attacked. Maybe try preparing yourself with a shield when you see it?" 

Kenma's eyes widened. Why hadn't he noticed that? Was it because of his frustration? Whatever it was, he wouldn't miss it this time. He concentrated and activated the temporary shield right when the Dragon's tail began to glow. With a blast, the Dragon released its attack, and there stood Kenma's character in the Arena, undefeated. He finished the challenge with  his best attack and a message flashed on his screen - "WIN".

Kenma sighed and put his PlayStation away into his backpack.

"Good job" Kuroo said, smiling softly.  

They walked to their school from the station and as they stood in front of the building, Kuroo looked proudly at the campus. 

"Welcome to Nekoma High School, Kenma."

Kenma stood there, his slightly long hair dancing about in rhythm with the wind, an unnoticeable smile formed on his lips. 

Kuroo could only hope the smile was there to last. 

________________________________________________________________________________

[nelithic]

[ Garden ] - Outside of the dance hall, explore the miniature gardens the Elementals created for you, populated with all sorts of strange (and carnivorous) plants you’ve never seen before

These "elementals" could reasonably be described as young, bored gods, excited to play with their charges like a fledgling does their dolls. They at least seem to have good intentions, but they do not quite respect or recognize the monastery residents' autonomy, not enough to free them upon request, at least.

Leanne figures the best way to get through this is to play their game. They mean well, anyhow, and she doubts they will let harm come during this charmed, strange edition of the Ethereal Ball. And maybe, just maybe, she can speak with them, communicate, get it through to them that their relationship is something that can be two-sided. This is much less unsettling than the dreamscape, the malevolent energy that still rises in her nightmares. She can work with this.

Not everyone is taking this as well as Leanne, though, and she knows it. As she walks through the garden, taking in some fresh air and communing with these strange plants, she sees a figure on their lonesome. They don't seem outright distressed, per se, but they don't seem to be having a great time, either.

"Hello!" As Leanne nears, she realizes this is another dragon laguz; or manakete, or whatever word they use, from her homeland. Her long black hair obscures much of her face, and her fanciful outfit shimmers with the magic of the sparrows. She seems almost numb, a default guardedness further obscuring Leanne's ability to gauge her situation. "How is the night treating you? I am Leanne, of the Golden Deer. And the Water element, in the situation we are in now."

She extends her hand, the symbol upon it clearly visible. It's almost like a brand, thinks a small part of the back of her mind. Will it go away, when they're freed? There's only one way to find out.

no matter the time or place, gardens provide a much-needed refuge. such had been the case since they had still bloomed in the old world, since she and the divine dragon used to walk among them on the somniel, chasing transient moments of peace. this was before the last of them had withered to decay, taking their medley of smells and vibrant colors with them into the fold of degradation that set on the twilight of that world.

these of course are not those gardens of falling wisteria, elegantly shading the divine dragons' court in transient lavender. these too are fragrant, and enchant still, but do so differently. whimsy seems to beckon from the playfully-arranged hedges, a meandering design meant as much to mislead as to entertain. the flower heads move on their own, unshepherded by either wind or tending hand, following the routes of ballgoers among them like curious pets — or watchful eyes. the feast of colors is a melange, not an arrangement, popping hues one after the other swirling into intoxication. she understands now how insects will drown in the nectar that nourishes them.

it is while watching this very thing happen — the ruby-feathered stalks of a fork-leaved sundew folding in unhurried, escherian spirals about its latest prey — that a gentle greeting just behind her draws her attention away from the threatening illusion of enchantment. even a fell dragon is not immune to such things here, it seems.

( or perhaps the threat itself is only that of her own nostalgia, as slow and carnivorous a thing as the sundew. )

upon turning, her notice scans first the elegant girl in vernal pink, a cream of lace and climbing stems. the sweetness of her approach brings an inherent softness to the corners of nel's mouth too, even as she senses that the one who approached her is not human like the majority here; something wooded and effervescent filters forth from her presence, as dappled sunlight does through trees. "greetings, leanne. you may call me nel." cool hand meets leanne's outstretched palm and clasps it firmly — a wash of magic like something blooming beneath the skin; a flower of water unfurls its petals about her neck — before falling away just as easily. "and i thank you for telling me your assignment for the evening, though i am simply pleased to make your acquaintaince, that aside. i have been marked with air, though you may have already sensed as much."

"are you enjoying the festivities?"

[gren-arlio]

Oh, Gren! Happy 3 years! Though you've only been doing Puyostuffs for 2/3rds of that time period, it's something to celebrate! You've been a very direct source for me when it comes to learning about Madou content, and I very much enjoy being your friend :>>> suuuper glad that you took my idea of an AMA!! Now I get to bombard you with questions!! For such an occasion, I am sending a Witch to you, and it will arrive in seven days. Do Not Worry.

I'll be quick with the questions as to not ramble further!! 1), how long does it take you to put out a normal blog post. 2), what's your favorite genre to read,,, 3), what's the best character alt in Puyo 20th. That is all.

Well, I'm glad that you SOMEHOW trust me to that extent. Thank you though at least.

For the first question, it usually depends: Back when I first began, I was able to make episodes about every week or so while handling a summer job and parts of my senior year of high school (I began during end of Junior year.). However, due to that, some of the stuff wasn't the best. For the translations, it takes maybe an hour or two (the actual process of doing them took literal days), and with Extras back then...maybe an hour or three. Research took the rest of the days, while going over with a pal.

Now, you're lucky to see a big post from me every month or two. However, these things are so much more detailed and have a lot more to them that I think it's a somewhat decent trade off. Also add the fact that senior year of high school and now college...and I don't have a ton of time on my hands.

For the second question: What's my favorite genre to read?

...Romance. I may use a shitpost Dragon Ball or Azumanga image (Yes. I did watch and read them...) here and there, I absolutely love reading romance mangas and mysteries. For the mystery stuff, I'm literally a Persona fan and also read Case Closed. What else do you want from me?

And for romance...man, there's a lotta good ones I've read. The Fragrant Flower Blooms with Dignity, Kubo Won't Let Me Be Invisible, Horimiya, Shikimori-San Isn't Just a Cutie, etc. I love the stuff. (Fragrant Flower...so peak...)

And the final question: What's the best 20th Anni alt?

They all range from either being average or sucking. But Yellow Satan is REALLY funny to me, so he's first for me, next to Strange Klug.

And to the Witch thing?

[breathe2-fr]

Field of Dreams (pt 3)

(Part 2)

Spelldancer began to experiment more with the Dream Realm. When she would appear there, it was like being underwater, but everything was bright - like a white with black and colored speckles to and fro. It was dizzying to look at her own claws if she waved them in front of herself, and she could see ripples of the magic moving as she did. The smallest thought would cause things to form from the magic, and so her meditative training was the only way to safely stay in the realm. But as she began to bring other dragons in, she would see them, coiled into balls, sleeping in protective floating bubbles. The sight of them an invitation to thought, and sometimes she would break. Things would form - sometimes they were doppelgangers of the dragons she looked upon. Sometimes they were the fruits of conversations she'd had with that dragon at some point before. But with each lapse, she realized her resolve wasn't as strong as she thought. Not to mention the urge to wake a dragon so she wouldn't be alone in the void. But she knew they were safest in their bubbles, and without a real environment to exist in, most dragons were uncomfortable with the Dream Realm. So she decided to try something new. "I'm going to create my own world," she told Baerka one night, as they cozied up to sleep. She would often start sleeping on his back, then disappear into the Dream, but now she was leaning against his shoulder. Baerka, eyes shut, hummed back to her. "That's nice, dear." "In the Dream Realm, I mean." Baerka peeked one eye open to look at her, now curious, but still tired. Spelldancer continued, "When dragons Dream Shift, they'll be able to go there. Maybe I can teach them to wake themselves in the Dream. Then they can enjoy it." Baerka understood very little about Spelldancer's Dream. He felt she was asking for feedback, but he had no idea what to even say. "If you think that's wise." "I don't know. But will you help me?" He wasn't sure if he could. "What do you need me to do?" She pushed herself into his fur. "Just come with me tonight. Dream with me." Baerka closed his eye again. "I can do that." Soon, the two of them drifted off to sleep.

~

Spelldancer slipped into the white void once more, and soon saw a bubble form - Baerka curled inside. She reached through and shook him, and his bubble popped as he "woke." Baerka's eyes glanced around suspiciously, and before long he was overwhelmed with the dizzying surroundings, so he closed his eyes.

"Give me a moment, I have some ideas to start with," Spelldancer hoped to relax him.

She began to imagine a field of grass, and soon the magic surrounding them rippled forth with her thoughts, transforming the terrain to match. Their feet touched the ground as flowers bloomed around them, shifting color softly. When a flower fully bloomed, it detached from the ground and floated gently into the sky, while a new one began to grow in its place. Trees sprouted on the horizon as a single tree grew up beside them. The sky formed over their heads, the color of the early morning - mixes of lavender and light blue with stars speckling and fading out in the beyond.

Baerka opened his eyes. Most of the white void was transformed and much easier on his mind, and as he took it all in, he chuckled. He watched Spelldancer paint in the grass near the tree exactly what he guessed she would next: a small pond. She turned to him when she realized he was laughing.

"What do you think?" she asked.

Baerka smiled. "It looks like our lair. You just recreated our home again."

Spelldancer looked over her creation and realized he was right. It wasn't exactly the same, but it was fairly similar. The light greens of the Wind domain were replaced with a pastel rainbow of colors in a comforting sleepy hue. The tree lacked the hole in the trunk, and it wasn't a willow, but it was already overhanging the pond in an inviting manner.

Spelldancer slumped. "Oh… I suppose you're right." The color from the world greyed slightly all at once, and Baerka stepped to her side, nudging her.

"Don't be embarrassed. It looks good. You're an artist." Baerka surveyed her creation. "And I think if I woke up here, I would be comforted. I already know where everything is in my home, and now I can find it here."

She lifted her wings at the encouragement and the color flushed back into the world. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course, my dear." Baerka looked over the tree and pointed to the trunk. "But it's missing something."

She followed his claw and realized, "Oh! The hollow, of course!" She parted her claws and created a dugout inside the tree trunk.

Baerka smiled. "I spent a lot of time digging that, I like seeing it here, too." He looked at the tree branches. "What about wind chimes?"

The two of them spent what felt like hours decorating. Wind chimes with gentle songs, birds nesting and singing, light sparkles to the flowers, and even streams of color to the gentle, flowing wind around them. And before too long, a bubble appeared nearby - one of their clanmates. More a few more began to blink into existance, and Baerka smiled at his pair. "Would you like to show off your work?"

"Oh yes!" She glided over to one of bubbles and realized it was the white pearlcatcher, SnowyMorning. She reached through and shook him, and he awoke with a pop.

Snowy smiled brightly at Spelldancer, then looked around. "Oh! Um. Where are we?"

"The Dream Realm," Spelldancer smiled. "I've decorated a bit. How do you like it?"

"This is beautiful! You've outdone yourself, your Majesty."

Spelldancer pulled back at the notion of royalty, which still made her uncomfortable, but then relaxed. "Thank you, Snowy."

The dragons slowly began waking up others, who were thrilled at the new surroundings. As the dragons lingered, Spelldancer's theory was confirmed: by spending the magic in the immediate surroundings on creating this environment, there was less volatile magic waiting to activate by accident. Dragons were free to chat and think freely in the Dream Realm at no risk to creating something dangerous spontaneously. Though Spelldancer did notice that over time, white clouds of magic would drift in, and so she would simply spend them by conjuring a flower or a yummy treat.

After some time, Spelldancer could feel herself waking for the morning. She saw Baerka fade out of the Dream Realm and allowed herself to go with. When she woke, she found many dragons had followed her into the Dream that night, as many were gone from the willow tree's trunk. Some woke and phased back into the world soon after she did, but many, it seemed, enjoyed the Dream Realm enough to stay in for longer.

Spelldancer smiled. Sometimes she questioned her ability to help lead and protect her clan, but by giving them a new safe haven they enjoyed, she felt she'd moved a step closer toward that goal.

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

ridiculous tarot meditation today

some of the energies mentioned were of

the Morrigan and Babel

Jupiter and the All Seeing Eye

resonated with how the limiting mindsets of people around me

often gave my heavy self doubt more power

than the transient and kaleidoscopic paths of my dreaming

everything was once unreal but people like to use

the concept of subjective reality being the only constant

focus is hard today and my thoughts are so unorganized

the chaos is peaceful however not fear or disruptive

something about the heart space and sacral chakra

something else about heavy sperm flow

her words not even mine and when I wrote them down I also

wrote "what the absolute fuck" in my journaling

generational limitation and generational wealth building

books I'll read and conversations changing around me

came from absolutely nothing in this country

rural Iowa that is not heaven or my field of dreams

the only thing that brought me peace in a world

where I felt like some type of beautiful alien

was the beauty and art and stories of the past

all around the world I travelled in books

universes and galaxies and they all disproved everything

my ears were forced to hear about anything around me

resonate with everything feeling disarrayed now

and how time is a construct I can't quite grasp now

what time is it? what day is it? what the fuck does an hour mean?

something about orange transparent glasses which reminds me

of the orange wings of the cicada brood that spawned this year

they sang so loud they drowned out the birds

speaking of the birds they are crazy today

at least fifty in the jasper having some sort of meeting

usually they do this in the evening but it's been going on

all afternoon in the middle of the day

faith is strong my executive function is dysregulated

tower's burning and the Morrigan's special meteorite

library in the beast's castle and the rose that blooms forever

learning how sweet and graceful my chaos can be

my favorite story as a child was about a boy who went to see

the living Kuan-Yin and ask her three questions

Kuan-Yin is the white statue at my Blue Lotus Temple

and I smile at her whenever I go in to remind my spirit

how to sit still for a few minutes and empty thoughts

the story is about a boy who knew how to make

melancholy princess laugh and it reminds me that

for the last few years I forgot how to laugh

I'd just say things like "that's so funny"

now I keep laughing randomly remembering conversations

my son accused me yesterday of being possessed by a demon

for this obviously uncharacteristic habit

Kuan-Yin told the boy to tell the serpent with seven pearls

that if they gave away six pearls that they'd become

a magnificent dragon and he watched it happen

Kuan-Yin also has a soothing energy of humming

which is like starlight in the throat chakra

falling like soft cyan rain into the swirling sea reflecting

on its surface the energy of the starry night

my mind is a pinball machine again with a mercury ball

loud music and it's hard to tell where it is

most I see where it's been and can't even tell the score

so many bells and sirens and playful laughter

but I'm not afraid just kind of frustrated and bewildered

so that's a nice change to the energy I'm trying to unravel

I see you everywhere and sometimes in a form

that seemed solid enough to make me hyperventilate

which is impossible, right? but the physical symptoms

were very overwhelming and I am known to

totally gaslight myself into and out of things

now my brows are drawing together to make sense

of something that reminds me of something else

I do remember a time I had control of my mental faculties

and from the pattern of everything all this confusion

and distraction technique has a strategy

and hell if I can figure it out so I'll just keep

dancing around until an answer comes to me

I've never been so clueless or ever had this much fun

it's kind of weird to truly believe everything and nothing

somehow all at once but it's my current experience

and then I'll get hit with this wave of pure knowing

and see everything in a vision and forget to breathe

or I see a vision and breathe way too fucking much

I don't even have feet anymore I'm just being swept

and you taught me how not to be ashamed of my feelings

so I write them here and I feel a little cringed out

because I sound like a love drunk fool and not at all

in the form of composure I like to keep myself in

I can't stop smiling and I don't even know why!

now I'll feeling all this extra energy and it's not quite

overstimulating but it's overwhelming and my youngest

just rushed in to tell me his score on dance dance

so that's a perfect opportunity to put it somewhere

the world is fucking mad and I'm right there with it

you've completely disassembled my mind and I feel like

I switched from Artoo to Threepio and for some reason

Threepio always annoyed the shit out of me

but for once I'm not annoyed with myself

okay yeah this is way too many emotions

so much excitement and delight and I need to

go shake my ass because I feel like I'm going to combust

[campbluelake]

Wrapped Up In Silence, All Circuits Are Dead | Ch4 Voting End (2/3)

“So that’s how it is, huh? Well, let’s see what happened.”

Ranger Buddy fades away, and the fire roars to life, presenting the events leading up to Leon’s death for all to see...

The vision opens with Hibiki, sitting up in bed, immediately reaching for a pen and some paper.  A montage shows him sketching, then concepting, then painting, a portrait of seemingly unrelated shapes– a can of pineapple juice, and what is unmistakably an action figure of Son Goku, of Dragon Ball fame.  The can and the figure both have mushrooms sprouting from them.  Hibiki seems to not understand what this means, but keeps the painting hidden all the same.

As the scene fades, it is immediately illuminated with Ranger Buddy, attempting to announce the motive through random breaks in the walkie-talkie.  Shortly after the motive is announced, Hibiki finds Ranger Buddy, asking him if killing someone would return all of his lost memories.  Ranger Buddy agrees that it would.

And so, the stage is set.  Hibiki pieces together the puzzle: in order to restore his memories, he is going to have to kill Leon.  His dreams are prophetic, after all.  To begin the process, he burns the painting in the kiln before anybody can see it, and cleans out the art cabin’s paintbrushes to avoid any sort of trail.  The smell of turpentine would linger for several days.

Of course, Hibiki needs a plan.  So he looks in the nature cabin, taking a nature guide with him out into the woods to see what he could possibly use.  He observes that the rains have caused a plethora of different mushrooms to bloom, but it’s near Yua’s car where he finds his weapon of choice.  Death cap mushrooms, growing in abundance, are easily plucked from the ground and stored in a jar for later use.  Having a successful haul, Hibiki discards the nature guide under the car.

As fate would have it, he finds Leon in the kitchen later that day, cooking a semi-successful meal, only to drop it all on the ground.  As he’s cleaning it up, Hibiki offers to make him a sandwich.  Leon, none the wiser, agrees to it, as he wants to avoid wasting any more food.

Hibiki prepares some ingredients for the sandwich, slipping two mushrooms out of the jar while Leon is distracted.

"Dude...!!!  This is SO GOOD!!  How did you DO THAT??"

"Oh, you know... plenty of practice. And living alone."

"... Relax, dude!!  With a sandwich this good, there's no way I was gonna give you a bad review!!”

"Oh, I'm relieved to hear that... sometimes I cook so awful my friends accuse me of poisoning them, haha."

"Aw, whaaaat, really??  Well, if this was what you were making for them, it'd be worth it.  Best dang sandwich I've had in awhile."

"Well... I'll leave you to it. I need to get back to painting.  Oh... and don't mention me cooking to anyone else. They might start thinking I've gone soft in the ol' noggin'."

By this point, you surely know what happens next.  But the show must go on.

Hibiki observes from afar– being Leon’s neighbor, it’s easy to monitor that he’s clearly come down with what seems to be a particularly stubborn stomach bug.  It’s so easy to watch him shudder when he thinks nobody’s looking as he trudges back to his cabin.  It’s almost criminal how smoothly things go from this point.  Hibiki monitors the progress, writing down a note of how the poison is working.

Only, it seems to stop working. Hibiki, unaware of the telltale false comeback of death cap poisoning, sees Leon still leaving his cabin.  Still socializing.  Still… flirting with Warrick in front of Kyousuke's cabin?  Something's gone wrong.  He needs a new plan, so he begins to brainstorm. 

You know, of course, that Leon hadn't recovered at all, due to the journal he managed to keep.  His condition deteriorated as he began to experience delirium, which was largely disguised by the motive.  Constant malaise interrupted his sleep, making it impossible to ignore that something was wrong.  But there was little he could do without a proper hospital, so he hoped that sleeping it off would make it go away.

On the night of the murder, Leon had managed to fall asleep before nightfall–  and stay asleep for several hours, before getting up at around 10:30.  He returns to the cabins shortly after, but at this point in his cognitive decline, he'd started forgetting which cabin was his.  He stumbles into Cabin 8, startling Hibiki.

"... Where… is this my, my, my cabin…"

“I… no, I can’t say that it is. Why are you here?”

"There's, a man, a man, who, who um… He visits my, c-cabin… I can't… find him…" 

“Oh, Warrick? Hm, well, he… he just dropped by to tell me he’s waiting for you at the carnival! At the Old Mill! Yes, that’s right! He has a fun surprise for you… I can take you there if you want me to. Just… hold on tight for a second!”

Hibiki, knowing that he cannot pass up this opportunity, excuses himself to grab some things before they depart for the carnival.

He stops by the tool shed, grabbing a jerrycan and the supply of matches, before returning to Leon.

Hibiki then walks Leon to the kitchen, where he asks him to wait outside.  He then rushes in, digging out a water bottle from the cabinets.  He locates a container of pineapple juice, nearly emptying it into the water bottle.  Once equipped, he emerges and informs Leon that it's important to stay hydrated while walking.  Leon in his delirious state does not think to question this, or why Hibiki is carrying around a can of gasoline.

Eventually, the two arrive at the carnival, and Hibiki directs Leon to the Old Mill ride.  The two of them climb into the boat, and Hibiki begins pouring gasoline down the diorama while they ride.

Shortly into the ride, Hibiki hands Leon the water bottle, who then starts drinking it without question.  Leon doesn't realize why, about a minute later, he finds himself struggling to breathe, but he knows that the epi-pen he carries around should help. 

With a smile, Hibiki takes the epi-pen, under the guise of helping Leon administer it.  However, he simply throws it into the water, rendering it useless as it breaks under the boat.

At this point, about halfway through the ride, Hibiki steps out of the boat, knowing that death is imminent.  Leon attempts to follow him, asking why he did that, losing his balance and falling into a display on the diorama.  Hibiki watches this, pouring the remaining gasoline on himself and Leon.

Leon attempts to crawl back towards the entrance, but stops as he feels something wet on his skin.  He looks up, seeing  Hibiki dropping a lit match on himself and bursting into flames, immolating them both. After all, thanks to his deal with a devil, Hibiki cannot be hurt by fire, and he wants to make absolutely sure Leon won’t walk out of here alive. Fool him once. 

While Leon tries and fails to scream for help with a swollen throat, before succumbing to his necrotic organs that fail to withstand the stress of the fire, Hibiki continues walking through the diorama toward the back of the ride, as the rest of it catches fire behind him.  Once he approaches the back, the camera snaps and takes a photo of his burning form.

He discards what remains of his burnt clothes, and heads to the showers to wash off, leaving behind puddles and soot.  He dries off with a towel, leaving it sooty and gray from some hair dye washing off, and then returns to his cabin before Ranger Buddy can put forth the evacuation order.