#Race Kings hack

[qqueenofhades]

I think its genuinely fascinating how Biden has somehow become the bad vibes sin eater for the party. I'm seeing people who were doing the whole "voting doesn't matter both old men are the same" pivot hard into voting as harm reduction. The anti voting rhetoric has COMPLETELY lost The Youths on tiktok. People suddenly remember the good things the Biden administration has done but don't associate Harris with any of the things they didn't like. In my swing state volunteers are signing up in droves. People feel ENERGIZED, the vibe shift pre and post Biden dropping from the race has just been insane

Y'know, that is a... good way of putting it. It's also why I'm quite sure that Biden has probably been planning it for a while. I don't think he was intending to step down, and didn't want to be forced out at the drop of a hat, but after he realized that the circus was never going to stop until he did, he did the honorable fall-on-his-own-sword thing and definitely, DEFINITELY spent some time choreographing this behind the scenes. Because while the roll-out has been very smooth, it could just as easily (as many of us were expecting) have been a total disaster, and that doesn't happen without SOME planning. It's also entirely possible that the campaign staff flipped from Biden to Harris are superhuman, to come up with a massive online roll-out, new branding, new signs (they had plenty of 'em in Wisconsin yesterday), new everything, but I'm guessing it's a combination of both. Biden has spent his entire political career being underestimated, and after we literally made a meme out of Dark Brandon juking the Republicans out of their shoes, we should definitely give credit where credit is due in how masterfully he pulled it off.

Because we have had eight years defined by the central question of Whether The President Is a God King Who Should Serve For Life (the MAGAts obviously think yes), the sheer idea of a president willingly giving up his power BEFORE he had to is also novel and admirable. It's sad that this is the case, but so be it. The Republicans also got a heaping helping of Be Careful What You Wish For that was undoubtedly brilliant; they've been yelling for years that Biden is old and frail and can't serve and should step down. Biden went "lol okay" and gave it to them, and now they're fucked.

Aside from that, on the most basic level, it's far, far easier to see the actual difference in the parties with Harris as the nominee, just because it shows that one party is willing to make progress and reflect the new demographic reality and social mores of America, and the other one is not. Now to be clear, Biden deserves an incredible amount of credit for coming out of retirement (he was ALREADY 77 years old when he became president and had had decades of a long and respected career in public service behind him) to fight, beat Trump, and deliver an incredibly successful presidency. He held the line against authoritarianism at home and abroad, he rescued the trashed American economy and managed a world-leading recovery from Covid, he stood up for democracy, he spent four years filling the benches with liberal judges to reverse even some of the Trump/McConnell hack job, he finally passed comprehensive infrastructure investment and the Green New Deal under the name of the Inflation Reduction Act -- and so on. Many of these priorities had been languishing for decades or were completely trashed under Trump, and he could not have done so much in just 4 years without all that age, skill, and experience. Hence why all the Ageism!!! was (aside from being a Republican/media smear job) dumb. He's able to do the job because he has had decades to study. Turns out that makes you actually pretty damn good at it.

Yes, Biden could not do as much as he wanted or originally planned, had to deal with MAGA Republicans and Joe Manchin/Kyrsten Sinema sabotaging him the whole time (lololol Manchin, possible possessor of the World's Biggest Ego and with Trump around that's saying something, popping out of obscurity to self-righteously announce he would not be willing to be Kamala's VP. YEAH ASSHOLE. LITERALLY NOBODY ASKED YOU. NOBODY WHATSOEVER. NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS AT LEAST WE WILL SOON NO LONGER HAVE MANCHIN IN THE SENATE). And yes, Biden made some serious mistakes of his own, because he IS from an older generation and a different style of doing politics/different beliefs that no longer resonate with the younger segments of the electorate. But this old white Catholic guy at the age of almost 80 still managed to be the most progressive president ever, coming in at a moment of incredible domestic and international crisis and getting us safely to the other side, and all cynicism, criticizing, and caveating aside, he deserves an incredible amount of credit for that. I mean that absolutely, and I am very grateful.

As I said, willingly relinquishing that power takes guts, and when Biden saw the writing on the wall that he had to sacrifice himself, he took his time, he didn't jump too early, and he didn't jump too late. On the most basic level, it becomes a hell of a lot easier to make the "both parties are not the same" argument when one is running a (comparatively) young brown woman and the other is still running their loathed felonious old demented orange traitor. Most Americans are not plugged into policy minutiae and details. They look at Biden-Trump, they see two old white guys. When you take one of those old white guys away (who goes in a self-sacrificially heroic manner and in sharp contrast with the coup-happy fascist) and put Kamala Harris in there instead, it generates an obvious jolt. People can see for themselves that there is a real difference that doesn't rely on closely reading news and tracking complex policy, because as noted, most Americans simply don't. The brown first-generation American daughter of brown immigrants is a quantifiably different story from "old white guy career politician," which for better or worse is how Biden was seen, especially the old part. We needed that establishment expertise to beat Trump in 2020; I still think Biden is the only one who could have done it, and as noted, we owe him a great debt for doing so.

However.... 2024 is not 2020, and it is not 2016. There has been this HUGE and unbelievable swing to Kamala because she represents the antithesis of what the last eight years of Trump-induced anger, fear, panic, chaos, and hatred has stirred up. That's why people are so ready to rally around her, just as they were (I daresay) around Obama in 2008, after the exhaustion, chaos, war, and mounting economic misery of Bush. Trump has been out of office for the last four years, but his shadow over the American political landscape has been omnipresent. Now people know that we finally have a real chance at getting rid of him forever, and just as Biden was uniquely positioned to capitalize on that in 2020, so Harris is now. Which is why, however tough it will be, she has a real shot at winning. I can guarantee the Republicans know that, and are shit scared. Because the Black Lady Army of Democracy has indeed arrived in force to Get This Shit Done and I don't know about you, but I found that incalculably comforting:

Yikes! All lined up for Kamala pic.twitter.com/Dt4OCDp7WX

— Alex Cole (@acnewsitics) July 24, 2024

This, at the most basic level, is what scares fascists the most, it's exactly what we need now, and what Harris is uniquely positioned to mobilize, along with her gangbusters appeal to young voters:

This is the energy we need. This is what Biden saw and planned for and which he launched us into, and where all that experience and age paid off. This is why people, even people otherwise disengaged, disillusioned, or checked out of the tedious and mind-numbering drudgery and depression of American politics, are responding to it. Because it's easy to understand, it offers hope, and it tells a very simple story that is nonetheless long overdue:

Thanks so much, Joe. Go absolutely waste that orange fucker, Kamala. We got your back.

[lalunanymph]

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: mentions of food, mentions of murder, talks of death, allergic reactions, mentions of giving birth, mentions of injuries, mentions of assault, sick!reader, reader is in cerena's body, isekai-ed reader, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo

⟡ masterlist

ACT 1, SCENE 4: THE THRONE ROOM

Satoru’s fingers were icy cold, burning into your skin.

He didn't utter a single word when you jerked your head back, the furious glint in your eye looking so pathetic that he almost dared to pity you. 

You hang your head forward, crying softly, unaware of anything but the rushing scenery that fades from foliage to stone walls. Once inside the castle’s fortress, Satoru cuts through your bindings, dismounting from his horse and extending a hand to give you assistance. 

But, stubborn as you are, you slip off the horse and land on your shaky feet, ignoring his outstretched hand and walk ahead, your head held high and glare unyielding.

Satoru catches up to you easily, and you can hear the frustration in his voice when he utters, “We need to see my Father.”

You falter. 

Of course. After the stunt you pulled, it was only natural that the King himself wanted some answers.

Nodding, you clasped your wasp-bitten hands together, trying to smooth your skirt which bore tatters from your tumble with Satoru on the snowy ground, and the hellish chase you endured through the prickly forest foliage.

He led you towards the throne room, pushing open the heavy duty double doors for you.

Immediately, the courtroom fell into a hush; nobles who were conversing amongst themselves stopped to appraise you with horrified looks. The guards gaped at your state of being, and even the court jester ceased his juggling antics, the plastic balls in midair plummeting to the floor with dull thuds. 

The second he clasped his gaze onto you, King Satoshi stood up, a look of horror inscribed upon his features as he took in your wounded hands, the tears on your dresses and across your face. 

“Cerena.”

Satoru moved to stand in front of you, bowing deeply to his father. “Princess Cerena has been rescued and retrieved. She was found in the middle of the Northern Forest, Your Majesty.”

Perturbed by this discovery, Satoshi moves from the dais, approaching you with caution. You dropped your gaze, unable to look him in the eye. 

“What happened to her?” He demanded, as if dealing with an errant child. He turned to Satoru who shot him a grimace. “I thought I told you not to hurt her? Why does she look bedraggled… like she was hunted down?”

Striking up his loathsome glare, Satoru slid his frigid blue gaze to you and spoke the truth. 

“Princess Cerena assaulted me, Father. She climbed up a tree and hacked through a wasp nest to drop it at my feet where I was stung. Then, she tried to run away and cause a scene. I had to do what needed to be done.”

Satoshi’s brows shot up into his white hair, his horrified expression clamoring for your attention in your periphery. 

“Gods above, Cerena—you tried to assault the Prince?” 

The nobles around you gasped, their hands fluttering to their gaping mouths; hiding their shocked expressions behind colorful fan plumes. 

He turned back to you, anger thundering in his teal eyes. 

“Child, what do you have to say for yourself? You have caused a grievous error to my son and you need to be punished duly. It is high treason for anyone to lay a hand on the Prince of Northern Haleway.” 

The injustice and horror of it all coalesced inside of you, and you felt faint from the numerous eyes around. Their accusations grated your ears, sounding like demonic whispers which made you faint with alarm, the corners of the room growing fuzzier as your knees were close to buckling.

“I only ran away because Satoru was conspiring with his lover to end my life!”

Whatever the court thought you would say, it was never this. 

Frenzied murmurs run amuck in the courtroom, like fire catching on dry leaves, crackling around you like a roof about to topple down. King Satoshi’s face paled, and beside you, standing stiff as a rock, your fiancé gritted his teeth. 

“That is absurd,” Gojo rushed to defend himself, sparing you a pertinent glare. “I do not have a lover and I have never conspired with said woman to bring any harm to the Princess’ life. Her accusations are those of a mad woman, Father.”

You flinched and slapped a hand to your mouth, the shakes in your body growing harder to ignore.

“Liar! You conspired to end my life! Why do you think I would run if not for such a treasonous act?” 

Peeling your lachrymose eyes to the King, you hiccuped, “Please, Your Majesty. Speak to the maid named Miri and she will validate what I have to say.”

It was a slim prayer, that of a desperate woman, but you had to try. You had to shine reason into the King’s eyes that his heir was a cruel, calculating and cold man who unfairly wanted to end your life. 

Satoshi pursed his lips, looking between his son and his fiancée who can barely stand without her knees shaking.

In the passing tenseness where no words were spoken, the lightheadedness suddenly stole your breath away and your legs buckled. You would have collapsed to the floor if it weren’t for Satoru’s quick reflexes in catching you, holding you upright as he shot you a seething glare.

“For goodness sake, woman. Stand up straight. You are embarrassing yourself.”

But, you cannot hear his condescension or his warning. Your heart was palpitating rapidly, almost like it wanted to claw out of your chest. The room started to spin, and you realized in a frenzy that you couldn’t breathe properly without feeling like your throat was closing in.

Desperation washed over you and you tried to speak, to tell them something was gravely wrong. 

A flicker of concern flitted across Satoru’s expression and he tried to hold you upright, but your body would not cooperate. 

Losing all bearings and control of your composure, you crumpled right in his arms, as high-pitched screams echoing in the courtroom.

“... guards!” 

“... infirmary… hurry!” 

Satoru lifted you up into his arms, the sheen of his pure white hair shining under the fleeting lights of the passing sconces. Weakly, you tried to call out his name, but he shushed you, his voice dipping in and out of your consciousness. 

“... save your strength… determine what's the issue…”

A hard bed met your back and hands were all over you, expertly probing, pressing and checking your vital signs. 

The physician, an elderly man with wiry salt and pepper curls, pursed his lips, shifting his gaze to the King and the prince waiting anxiously by the sidelines for your diagnosis. 

“Your Majesty. Your Highness. It appears the princess is suffering from an allergy attack. I have the right combination of herbs to aid her, though she might need to be sedated for the time being.”

Satoru bristled at the physician's words. 

“Sedated? Why? She was merely stung…”

He trailed off, the unease in his tone catching the older man's attention.

“Stung, you say, Your Highness? What was she stung by?” As he spoke, he gestured to his assistants to prepare the herbal remedy, applying warm compresses onto the sore portions of your swollen hands. 

Satoru felt his father's eyes boring into the side of his head and replied uneasily:

“She was stung by wasps.”

The physician scrutinized him, noticing the same reddened lesions all over his face and neck which were identical to the ones on your hands. 

Satoru glanced at your unconscious form, guilt glimmering in his cerulean eyes when he took in your ashy pallor and your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

“She got attacked while trying to escape from me.”

The physician’s expression turned grave, though he does not openly rebuke the young prince. Rather, he turned his full attention to the afflicted princess and made it his mission for tonight to cleanse her body free of the wasps’ poison. 

“My men will be working tirelessly to resuscitate the Princess’ health, Your Majesty, Your Highness. We shall provide you with a report once it is done.”

There was nothing Satoru could do but let himself be led out of the infirmary, the curtains drawn around your feverish and malaised figure to keep your body away from prying eyes.

However, the idea of a whole group of men taking their turns to rub down your body with salve and paste made his stomach churned, and he quickly snapped his fingers to catch a young maid’s attention.

She straightened, rushing forward and bowing immediately.

“Stay with the Princess until the cleansing process is over and report to me instantly once it is done, do you understand?” 

Bowing again, the brunette scurried towards the drawn curtains and parted it, letting herself into the circle to keep watch over the unconscious Princess.

A large palm squeezed his shoulder and Satoru turned to find his father’s solemn reflection echoed upon his countenance.

“Whatever happens to Cerena tonight, we must prepare for the worse, son.”

Satoshi moved them out of earshot, leaning forward to depart his grave strategy.

“If she should pass on, we would need to secure your engagement with another princess.” Satoru did not expect his father to bring up such an outrageous suggestion at such a delicate time. The abhorrence deepened the lines of shock on his handsome face and he took a step back.

“No—”

Frustrated by his son’s refusal, Satoshi growled. “Satoru, this is what is best for Northern Haleway—”

“Father. With all due respect, you severely underestimate Cerena’s will to live,” Satoru darted his gaze to the cordoned area of the infirmary, failing to hide the shake in his clenched fists. “She will live and she will make it out alive. I swear upon my own words, I will look after her and nurse her back to health. You do not need to make such a rash decision so soon.”

Struck mute by his son’s passionate insistence, Satoshi pursed his lips. 

Eventually, after a few moments of staring down his only heir, the King relented, exhaling an exhausted sigh.

“Alright. I shall put aside the immediate plan for now,” he added gruffly, “Let us hope she makes a speedy recovery.” 

Satoru nodded silently and left his father’s side, moving to lean against the threshold of the infirmary. With his strong arms folded across his chest, his gaze remained fixed on the drawn curtains that concealed his betrothed from the world. 

The distinguished figure of his son, accentuated by the dark embroidered jacket and matching riding pants that highlighted the stark contrast of his pure white hair, stirred a bittersweet longing in Satoshi. It brought back memories of his own burdensome youth—the long nights spent in that very position, waiting for his Queen to deliver him an heir.

With a quiet sigh, he turned away from the infirmary, pausing to give his son one last, curious glance.

This is strange, indeed. I thought Satoru despised Princess Cerena…?

MTT fun fact: swan hunting is a popular sport in Northern Haleway

dawn says: king dadjo is sus,,,,,,

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost or claim as your own.

[dexstoner]

About Traceback Turbo/Story:

((tw: gruesome written stuff, just 2 things, no worries))

After being obliterated by the diet coke volcano, Turbo has been transported into an endless void.. being unconscious for 4 years before all of a sudden his eyes opened to notice the situation he was in.. there was nothing around him, remembering why he was there caused him to begin trying to speak, but nothing came out..

As he tries to think of something, a sudden feeling starts lingering inside him, looking over at his own hands, his heart begins pumping loudly..Grabbing against his own suit followed by inaudible screaming of agony, ripping his own skin off ( the disguise ), glitching constantly before it all went white..

Slowly opening his eyes with deep breaths, he found himself in the arcade cable hall, it was morning, so nobody was around considering sticking to the "program". Walking around before pausing at the game Sugar Rush, entering it and wandering to the starting line, hiding in the shadows to keep himself hidden. But his eyes caught onto something..

King Candy?? How did..

Did he.. made a separate part of himself?

No no.. this can't be.

There can only be one.

Beginning to walk out the game as he began plotting his own revenge, learning better coding. Becoming a bigger virus.

_

Let's say a year has passed and Turbo suddenly begins heading over to Sugar Rush once more followed by him visible coming to the starting race and stopping them, leaving the sugar rush kids shocked, followed by going after King Candy with a straight shadowed face..

And just like that.. Grabbing him and forcefully merging with him, screams of agony, all goey and horrific.. leaving the kids shocked, before becoming what he is now and glitching away from the game with a grin.

Abilities:

1. Teleportation ( especially in restricted areas, aka void )

2. Programming and hacking stuff ( This concludes the ability to hack into systems and ruin coding if necessary )

3. Bits of cybug ( Claws, eat and merge. Able to make them appear whenever )

4. Glitch dashing ( Something like Vanellope considering his glitching )

Weakness:

`` Try and find it, oh wait! You can't. `` - Turbo

Playlist:

[seat-safety-switch]

Enrichment is the word of the era. If you're not entertaining and educating your cat, child, miscellaneous zoo animals, and that weird coyote that keeps coming into your yard, you're letting them down. The period of rugged self-reliance is over! Now must come the time of great un-boredom.

Thing is, it's often very boring to do this kind of thing. Following the life of a creature that is dependent upon us. That's why we pay teachers to teach our kids. Sure, it's not a lot of money, but it's definitely way more than we'd ever give to Netflix. If they try to break fifteen bucks a month, all of North America is gonna do a vtuber livestream where we try to saw off the heads of the entire board of directors using hacked Honda Asimos. I digress.

My point is, giving our dependents quality entertainment doesn't have to come at our own expense. There's lots of ways in which you can entertain your pet (or child) (or ward of the state) that are mutually beneficial.

For instance, you can race them. Since time immemorial, people with too little money have spent that money on betting around racing. Maybe you've got a particularly fast toddler, and you think the dad down the street is a bit too proud of his. Make him turn that pride into $20 cash in your pocket, and you've entertained the kid for an afternoon by making them compete with other children for reasons they can't comprehend. Win-win!

People ask me, is there a way that I can not trade the love and trust of those who rely on me for mild profits in cynical gambling schemes? I'll be the first to admit I don't have all the answers, but what I do have is this other reader that you can race. I've got a bet with Stephen King that his guy is faster, and I'll take us for ice cream if we win. I believe in you.

[stuthestew]

Warning!! Long Ramble Ahead!!!

Hello TurboNation!!! I have a tasty little theory/headcannon for y'all to munch on (this all hinges on one part being correct plz be nice to me 🙏)

I was pondering on his backstory and something always popped out to me. He is probably the first and only instance of "going turbo", at least to the degree of getting games unplugged. Which got me thinkin...

There's no way he knew what the consequences of his actions would be 🤔

This freshly opened arcade, no one had ever seen a game get unplugged before (if this is wrong, feel free to correct!). And not to even mention game jumping, that was unheard of!

So imagine, you're Turbo, and you get jealous of the rival racing cabinet. In your jealousy, you do something no one has EVER DONE and sabotage a game. How could he have known that his and their game would be unplugged? Or that unplugging was even a thing that could happen?

We see the entire backstory, assumingly, from Felix's perspective. It could be entirely true, but this theory stems on the fact it may be false. What if the arrogance was a cover up for insecurity? Of course he loved winning, that meant people loved him. (WHICH WOULD MAKE HIM AN EVEN COOLER PARALLEL FOR RALPH but we aren't talking about that rn)

I wonder if he felt regret initially (in the event he isn't just an evil bastard)? Was he horrified by his actions, and terrified to ever show himself, afraid of what people would do to him? Afraid of people not loving him? Did he have to convince himself that he was evil and awful to cope with the way people saw him now? Obviously taking over the arcade was not his first decision

He had stayed happily in Sugar Rush for years! Never made any move to be more powerful than what he was. Of course, it was at the expense of Vanellope, but in his mind, he had to do anything to keep his new home, including hacking and manipulation

Is he less calculated than he seems? Is everything he does in desperation to keep his only home, which he has total control over?

When he becomes a cybug, everything goes off course. It's no longer "be king of sugar rush", it's "I MUST TAKE OVER THE ARCADE!" which I'm assuming is mostly the cybug. But of course, if he controlled the arcade, no one could take away his home then

All this to say, I wonder if he was just that evil, or if it was all in an effort to be happy again, no matter the cost

If all this ends up being incorrect because I didn't know the lore that will be one of the most embarrassing things that have happened to me but I will embrace the cringe with open arms

Even if that one bit is incorrect it's cool to think about

TDLR : what if this unapologetic villain had a tragic backstory?

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Jack and His Wife: A Retelling of "Jack and the Beanstalk"

Jill raced through the giant’s kitchen, clinging to Jack’s hand. A table towered over their heads. Chair legs stood like a forest of trees. Footsteps like thunder pounded beyond the walls of the room.

Before today, Jill had thought herself fearless, but those footsteps made her quake with terror. Jack, meanwhile, had never looked so capable. Was this tower of strength the fuzzy-headed dreamer who’d left their farm this morning?

Jack helped Jill to climb inside a cupboard taller than their cottage, then dragged the door closed behind them.

“We’re safe,” he breathed, holding Jill close in the darkness. “He won’t find us here.”

Through a crack in the door, Jill saw a giant enter the room—a coarse man, taller than any tree she’d ever seen. His face was red and knobby, his hair mostly gone. He threw himself into a chair with a noise like a thunderstorm and bellowed for his wife.

Jill whispered, “What are we going to do?”

“We wait,” Jack said. “He’ll eat his lunch, then he’ll sleep, and we can leave.”

Jill looked in awe at her husband. He was so steady. So sure. Where was the incompetent fool she’d married?

“You’ve been here before,” she realized. “All those days you disappeared and came back with food.”

Jack nodded. “I had to provide for you somehow. Everything else I’ve tried has failed.”

“You told me you’d hired yourself out to some local farmers.”

“He is a local farmer—directly above our cottage. I’ve done some odd jobs for his wife.”

“You never said they were giants!”

“Would you have believed me?”

Jill blushed. She’d have thought her idiot husband had turned lunatic as well.

She’d thought Jack climbed the beanstalk out of idleness—enjoying the view rather than working the land. She had followed him today out of frustration, thinking to drag him back to earth with scoldings and nagging. Instead, she’d found Jack braving a land of giants in the clouds.

In the oversized kitchen, the giant’s wife cooked a feast for her husband—entire cattle, flocks of chickens—but she never came near their cupboard. This hiding place was dark, cluttered with buckets, and smelled faintly of vinegar, but for now, it seemed safe.

Jack made a seat in a massive pile of rags, then settled Jill into it. “Rest while you can. We’ll need to be ready to run.” After making certain Jill was comfortable, he curled up on a thin patch at the edge of the pile.

He was so considerate. He was always considerate, Jill realized, but down on the ground, it annoyed her. His small courtesies seemed like pitiful apologies for the larger ways he failed as a husband.

Jill had fallen in love with Jack’s dreaming ways. He’d been charming and convincing, overflowing with grand hopes for their future. Unfortunately, in twelve years of marriage, none of his dreams became reality. Crop after crop failed, livestock died, and Jill became bitter. Jack never did, and she hated him for it. No matter how desperate they became, he was always sure that next year’s crop would fix everything or his grand new scheme would make them rich as kings.

The beans had been his worst blunder. Jack had traded their last sickly cow for a handful of seeds guaranteed to grow a forest of vines. He’d spun visions of a bumper crop, a better life. Jill had raged and thrown the seeds out the window.

The seeds did grow massive vines practically overnight, but they were a menace. The beanstalk took up half their garden. The inedible vines showed no signs of bearing fruit. Every day, they hacked at runners and roots that threatened to destroy their cottage. Jack put a cheerful face on it; Jill had only complained.

Outside their cupboard, a shout from the giant sent shivers up Jill’s spine. “Did he just ask for ‘man-flesh’?”

Jack sat up and nodded grimly. “Fortunately, his wife objects.”

“You work for this monster?”

“I’d be his next meal if he saw me. His wife has a softer heart. She hides me from him and gives us food.”

“I’d rather starve than know you risk yourself this way.”

Jack gave Jill an astonished look that made her insides twist with shame. Had it been so long since she’d expressed concern for his well-being?

Jack stepped closer to the door. “If it were only me, I wouldn’t risk it. But we could save the whole valley. He’s been hoarding the water somehow, keeping it here in the clouds. If I could find a way to release it, it could end the drought.”

The giant slammed down an empty glass, leaned back in his chair, and called for music.

Jack said grimly, “We’re also not the only humans here.”

The giant’s wife carried a golden cage into the kitchen. Huddled in the center, looking small as a canary, sat a crying eight-year-old-girl.

“Farmer Gidding’s youngest,” Jack explained. “Sings like a nightingale. Not big enough to eat. He keeps her as a pet.”

“How horrible," Jill whispered.

As the little girl piped a tearful song, Jack said, “I had hoped I could rescue her today, but now that you’re here, plans will have to change.”

As Jack gazed through the crack, a ray of light illuminated his fearless form. Jill had thought her husband’s optimism made him a fool, but there was another word for a man who didn’t let defeat discourage him, who looked at impossible odds and dared to try anyway.

Hero.

How had she ever stopped loving him?

Jill stepped to Jack’s side. “Let me help you, my love.”

Jack looked at her with surprise. “Truly?”

Jill took his hand. “Truly.”

Jack grinned.

#

When the giant fell asleep, they moved as one.

The child came with them down the beanstalk.

[beardedmrbean]

CBS News has a fine heritage and some great news talent, but the folks in charge seem determined to destroy its reputation.

Start with the ludicrous blowback to CBS Mornings host Tony Dokoupil’s Sept. 30 interview with Ta-Nehisi Coates, in which Dokoupil pressed Coates on crucial facts he’d left out of his new anti-Israel book, such as the fact that the Jewish state is “surrounded by countries that want to eliminate it.”

They were all completely reasonable questions to ask about a polemic of its author, an intellectual who certainly should be able to defend his work.

But other network staff were furious at this act of Journalism 101: You’re not supposed to question lefties about their claims, it seems.

Surely they weren’t angry just because Coates is black, or anti-Israel?

Whatever: The suits pulled Dokoupil into a meeting with CBS News standards and practices team and its “Race and Culture Unit,” and reportedly chewed him out on a staff call, claiming his questioning of Coates didn’t meet CBS’ “editorial standards.”

CBS News CEO Wendy McMahon and her lieutenant Adrienne Roark reprimanded him for bringing “bias” to the interview, but failed to explain exactly how.

The re-education effort was also to feature a followup staff meeting moderated by Dr. Donald Grant, whom management called a “mental health expert, DEI strategist and trauma trainer” — but that got squelched after outside critics exposed Grant as wacko whose social-media posts include a racist smear of Sen. Tim Scott.

Meanwhile, Coates on a Trevor Noah podcast suggested that Gayle King (who was also sitting in on the interview, along with Nate Burleson) had told him before the sitdown what she planned to ask.

That sounds a lot more like a violation of good news practice than what Dokoupil did, but there’s no sign of any trouble for King.

Then came Bill Whitaker’s entirely professional interview of Kamala Harris, where she time and again dodged any substantial answers, prompting him to follow up, only for the Democratic candidate for president to dissolve into fresh word-salads and other evasions.

Once again, the higher ups felt compelled to intervene — by blatantly editing the package to make Harris look less awful.

Yes, blatantly: Soon after taping, the network released the raw footage of her hopeless answer to a question about Israel’s Benjamin Netanyahu.

But by the time it aired that night, they’d edited in a “response” that was actually pulled from earlier in the conversation, and so make her seem more competent and less, well, Harris-y.

That is: CBS literally faked the “news.”

The editing also featured dubbing in narration by Whitaker over some of her responses, thereby burying more of the inconvenient truths revealed by the interview.

It’s hard to blame the Trump campaign for demanding that CBS release the raw transcript: It’d be one honorable response to being exposed as blatantly partisan hacks.

All this, incidentally, follows the thumb-on-the-scale work of CBS’ moderators in the J.D. Vance-Tim Walz debate, including Margaret Brennan’s utterly partisan and counter-factual “fact-check” of Vance.

CBS should be proud of Dokoupil and Whitaker’s work, ashamed of King and Brennan, yet management instead seems determined to teach up-and-comers to avoid honest journalism.

Ultimate owner Sheri Redstone has publicly supported Dokoupil and implicitly slammed the suits who came down on him.

Redstone’s trying to sell off CBS, but she might want to demand a management housecleaning now, since the folks running the news division seem determined to mis-manage its value down to zero.

[incredibly-delirious-biznasty]

So now that I have an opportunity to scream about Kendrick Lamar’s Genius on Tumblr

Help yourself to this analytical essay I wrote in 2016 examining “To Pimp a Butterfly” and dissecting the stance that Kendrick is, by definition, a conscious rapper.

Shoutout to Drew Lindsay, the professor whose class I wrote this for. Also, please engage in lyrical analysis and music theory with me 🥺

Throughout his album To Pimp a Butterfly (TPaB), Kendrick Lamar is grappling with big issues of race and resentment. There are many layers to each song on the album and like any modern masterpiece, the true meaning lies below the surface and must be teased out. Many songs on TPaB come across as strictly fighting racism and helping along a powerful message in support of his roots. When digging deeper, we find that even the most overt black support anthems on the album have an argumentative element which questions Lamar’s roots and his thoughts on perceived racism. The conflict evident throughout the album is the incarnation of Kendrick’s personal struggle and reflects the conflict within the black community. TPaB’s message is not overtly positive or uplifting and is highly conflicted and therefore can not be classified as realist or conscious. At it’s core, To Pimp a Butterfly is not a conscious manifesto, telling the viewer exactly what to think, but a conversation about current racial issues that is not firmly positive or negative.

! “King Kunta” is the only track on the album that has a seemingly triumphant message all the way through; however this message takes on a sad note when put in the context of the rest of the album. When taken out of context, “King Kunta” comes across as a celebratory anthem, not only for Kendrick himself but for his homies and his people as well. The Lyrics, “Black man taking no losses” extends from his personal success to the triumph of a black art becoming the most popular music form in the mainstream. Even the title references the prolific slave “Kunta Kintae” who’s leg was

hacked for his “slights” against his white captors. Like a conscious track, it seems to have a clear surface meaning. However, as it happens over and over across the album, the traditional wholesome respectful themes of conscious rap are largely disregarded. The beat and production on this track are some of the most radio friendly and “trendy” on the album and the the first track to carry a piece of Kendrick’s Poem at the end. This seems to give “King Kunta” the high note before the gut punch of meaning. The message of “King Kunta” is predominantly “We made it guys,” but as the album progresses, we are made to beg the question “Made it where?”. As the next track on the record starts to deal with Kendrick’s old neighborhood and the clear negative points of contention start to reveal themselves, “King Kunta” becomes bleaker and more hollow in hindsight as the record progresses.

! “Institutionalized” compares Kendrick’s Compton neighborhood to a prison and starts to unpack conflicting feelings about the draw to his personal roots, and all the negatives that come with. As the preceding snippet of The Poem states “At fist you was conflicted,” it only makes sense that this theme rings throughout this song in many ways. There are many layers of conflict as well as many layers of persona in this track that should all be taken into account. Kendrick himself is “trapped in the ghetto” in more ways than one as he struggles to make a name for himself in the industry. Kendrick misses his home, but feels he can no longer relate to his old station after finding success; and yet he can never shake his ghetto roots and the baggage that comes with. There seem to be no positives left about Kendrick’s home and this displacement is furthered after he takes his homies to an award show and their first instinct is to steal from the celebrities around them. He so desperately wants to have a safe place in his

home when faced with the chaos and pressure of the music industry, but finds his home is now just as confining as the industry. As with most of the tracks on this record, Kendrick also acts as a surrogate for members of the black community to reflect common issues. The BET situation can easily be applied to any black kid who comes out of the ghetto and attempts to make something of themselves. The neighborhood and the attached stigmas follow any possible success and no matter how successful any one of these people gets, the inherent shame and conflict of their less successful or motivated peers and life station will always weigh on their minds. Throughout a predominantly conflicted and negative track, the chorus gives a single ray of hope through the mantra of “Shit don’t change unless you get up and wash your ass”.

! “Alright” uses a black stereotype to grapple with his personal struggle through life and compares it to the struggle of the black community as a whole. When we reach this track, the Poetic additions have reached “the evils of Lucy was all around me” and on the preceding track of “U” Kendrick and the album had hit their lowest point. As the track starts, a slew of new conflicts hits the table. Kendrick is facing his vices and the path he is headed down due to his fame and the influence of the music industry; comparing the game to “Lucy,” an incarnation of the devil in the form of a crafty woman. Again, he doubles as surrogate for the black community and the communal struggle, but fans out this connection to God. The “lawd lovin darkie” is a stereotype that Kendrick is playing on as a positive and embracing despite the pull against such topics in the mainstream rap industry. The voice of the track feels vastly positive; the bounce after the rock- bottom of “U”. However, “Alright” is nothing if not weighed down with struggle and sadness. The conflict of depression and hope clashes with every run of the chorus.

Lucy’s echo of Uncle Sam on “Wesley’s Theory” is a direct comparison of The Music Industry to Satan, a notion that Craig points out has been “a prominent, reoccurring theme [in music] for the past 30 years.”(Vigilant Citizen, 4). The bars have the same rhythm, but manage to hold their identity despite the change from 112 beats per minute(bpm) on “Wesley’s Theory” to the 56bpm of “Alright”. For a composition standpoint this is so impressive and Connor’s description of “...genius level record management in the tradition of Dr Dre”(Connor, 2) is not an exaggeration. The bpm change reflects Kendrick’s state in each song. “Wesley’s Theory” begins the album with a whirlwind ride to money and success with a fast beat and and a blasé attitude. By the echo, Kendrick has hit bottom and his life is crawling through the mud at a snails pace, prolonging his inner conflict and misery. “Alright” has the blurriest line between Kendrick as himself and Kendrick as the silhouette stand in for his people. Although the hook is positive and uplifting, the lyrics have weight and imply that Kendrick’s problems are also the problems of black individuals and the black community as a whole. The hook tells us that “We gon‘ be alright,” yet he describes his hope and his faith failing in times of deepest struggle, leaving the listener feeling (what a shock) conflicted.

! “The Blacker the Berry” is the summation of Kendrick’s struggle throughout the rest of the record; pitting racism against the existing problems perpetuated in the black community, resulting in an inconclusive conversation. This track is easily the most mind- bending and certainly the hard-hitting thesis of the record. Kendrick begins by claiming to be the “biggest hypocrite of 2015” in a mantra that gains weight as the song progresses. With the first verse confronting the white population and police brutality shattering the black community, the weight of the line “You made me a killer,” seems

obvious and, although striking, not extremely unique. As the track progresses, Kendrick accuses The Music Industry of making him a killer. Finally, Kendrick aims his accusations at his black brothers; gangbangers and thieves. If that wasn’t enough, the tracks introduction states “sometimes I get off watchin' you die in vain,” referring to his people. Although this could be the product of internalized racism, or Kendrick’s roots in the Blood/Crip war, nonetheless, it’s taking a stance that is not seen in conscious rap. Kendrick is facing that there is not one reason for violence or racism and therefore the problem can’t be fixed in any simple manner; certainly not one he holds the answer to. So who really made Kendrick a killer? Who made killers of any black man? As a representation, summation, and thesis of the rest of the album, Kendrick is having a conversation about where violence starts and presenting many possible options. They all repeat the same mantras, making them all equal and not singling any one out as more or less valid. In the end there is no clear resolution; just the statement of a problem and an intellectual presentation of thought. “The Blacker the Berry” states that many people and many groups are responsible for the perpetuation of racism, violence, and stereotypes, without attempting to “fix” the situation or even place blame as conscious rap is wont to do. When all of these things are called out, it is no longer about pointing a finger and starting a lynch mob. It becomes a critical reflection and the seed of a conversation. The running theme of the album persists as Kendrick becomes the echo of the black community and his inner conflicts become the conflicts within his community.

! As the album closes, Kendrick’s personal struggle is completely conveyed in a masterful comparison of himself to Tupac Shakur. His journey is not tied up in a neat

bow and the entirety of the album is left open-ended. We are not told explicitly “Kendrick will/will not meet the same end as Tupac,” but left to ponder and discuss. In the same way, we follow Kendrick’s reflection of the black community to its close without resolution. Many believe that “Underneath the tragedy and adversity, To Pimp a Butterfly is a celebration of the audacity to wake up each morning to try to be better, knowing it could all end in a second, for no reason at all,”(Jenkins, 3) and although that is a fair assessment of the album; trying to wrap up a record as complex and nuanced as To Pimp a Butterfly in a neat bow of optimism like that doesn’t do it any justice. TPaB would be nothing without its unending conflict and roller coaster of ups and downs. This blend of conflict and pain is our heart line direct to Kendrick’s soul as his confessional develops and our uniting point as a community under the problems he presents. As The World’s Busiest Music Nerd stated, “[Kendrick’s] not telling us what to think... [he’s] contradicting himself”(Fantano, 11:08). This inability to take a stand (among other explicit sexual and violent gangster themes) is ultimately what disqualifies To Pimp a Butterfly from the conscious spectrum. If the album was anything but what it is, we as the listener would not be able to discuss how we address the problems presented. The album would lose all intrigue and conversation if we were left with a solid resolution. To Pimp a Butterfly is a 78 minute conversation, to create a century’s conversation.

Sources Sited

Theneedledrop, and Anthony Fantano. "Kendrick Lamar - To Pimp A Butterfly ALBUM REVIEW." YouTube. YouTube, 18 Mar. 2015. Web. 14 Apr. 2016.

An in-depth analysis of the formal elements of “To Pimp a Butterfly”. A moment I found really compelling was just around 11:18 when Fantano talks about the conflicted nature of the album. Alludes to Kendrick making a conscious album, but pays very close attention to the music beneath the flows and how it compels the message. The rare 10/10.

Connor, Martin. "Kendrick Lamar: Rap Music Analysis." The Composer's Corner. Blogspot, 24 July 2015. Web. 14 Apr. 2016.

Connor analyzes Lamar’s production unity despite multiple producers. He hails this foresight into record management as genius level: on par with Dr Dre’s production insight and Jay-Z’s ear for album unity. Connor goes on to compare the seeding of musical ideas across tracks to classical compositions. He uses the example of an echoing verse with identical musical rhythms; despite the bpm change across tracks (56bpm on “Alright” and 112bpm on “Wesley’s Theory”

Jenkins, Craig. "To Pimp a Butterfly." Kendrick Lamar: Album Review. Pitchfork Publications, 19 Mar. 2015. Web. 21 Apr. 2016.

“Underneath the tragedy and adversity, To Pimp a Butterfly is a celebration of the audacity to wake up each morning to try to be better, knowing it could all end in a second, for no reason at all.”

Business, Music. "Kendrick's Deeper Story." Vigilant Citizen. The Vigilant Citizen, 27 Nov. 2015. Web

[geddy-leesbian]

A carved oak table tells a tale, of times when kings and queens sipped wine from goblets gold, and the brave would lead their ladies from out of the room to arbors cool. A time of valor, and legends born. A time when honor meant much more to a man than life, and the days knew only strife to tell right from wrong through lance and sword.

fantasy + cowboys + don quixote variety pack for Serennedy week

plus little snippet of a princess Luis story:

It's the moment of truth. Leon has hacked and slashed his way through what felt like endless waves of monstrous wolves and gigantic insects, navigated through a maze of a garden lined with thorny bushes, and solved a few puzzles. Finally he's reached the base of the tower. If the stories he's heard are true, there's a beautiful princess up at the top waiting to be rescued.

Scaling the tower isn't too bad. There's hardy vines growing on it, that Leon is able to use like a rope to climb up to the lone window at the tower's top. His heart races as he heaves himself through the window. There might be a beautiful princess in the room. A princess so beautiful and special that Leon will actually be attracted to her without conscious effort, and she'll be so grateful to finally be rescued that she'll agree to marry him right away.

Or the room will be empty, and Leon will just have to make peace with the fact he's going to die alone, because this whole “find a princess to rescue” thing was his last ditch effort after years of trying and completely failing to court women the normal ways.

Shutters magically snap shut behind Leon, covering the window, trapping him. The room is lavishly furnished. At the center is a large canopy bed, with intricately carved wood posts and lacy fabrics. And there's a figure in a dress laying on it. Success. It isn't until Leon gets closer that he realizes: It's a man. He approaches stealthily, dagger drawn and presses it to the man's throat.

“Oye, what the hell are you doing?! Barging into someone's bedroom, putting a knife to their throat?”

“There's supposed to be a princess here. You've got her dress. Where is she? What did you do to her?”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but there is no princess here. Never has been. Just a very charming prince who happens to enjoy wearing his mother's dresses.”

“You're kidding.”

“No, you have the wrong castle, hero boy. But, while you're here… Untie my hands?”

“I can't believe this,” Leon complains, rolling the man over and using his dagger to cut the rope tying his hands together. “I went through hell to get here expecting my soul mate, and instead I get you.”

“Easy, easy. I may not be the princess you expected, but I'm not nothing either! Can the handsome and amazing Prince Luis Serra know his savior's name?”

“Leon.”

“Thank you, Sir Leon,” Luis purrs, before breaking Leon's brain a little bit by boldly going in for a kiss. “Now let's get out of here. Just a few flights of stairs, no more traps. Oh, and there's a dragon at the bottom of the tower that you'll have to slay.”

“Of course there is. Whatever.”

[canmom]

a big mercy in the world is that it's actually much harder to hijack someone's behaviour with some kinda visual stimulus than capital would like.

so despite the constant semiotic fusillades of advertisers trying to 'shit in your brain' as the ad hacking slogan goes, you still get better at shutting it out. the advertisers have to resort to more and more desperate means to try to get you to buy product. of course they sell this to their clients as subtle behavioral modifications that manifest without the target even realising. but despite the occasional breakout viral success, it's mostly just a zero sum desperate battle to remind you that they exist at all. most ad exposures are wasted on people who either were never going to buy the thing or were already going to buy the thing. advertisers mostly just copy other advertisers and follow fads but present themselves as the key to success like a court alchemist to a king. overall it's a cancer swallowing up more and more of its host.

this does not make it any less annoying.

anyway, ads are only one part of marketing, and since they kind of suck, the modern method to promote your shit is to try to get 'organic' promotion through word of mouth, positive user reviews on a storefront, etc. so of course many companies cultivate 'influencers', post shill reviews, buy fake metrics, and all that. since all these mechanisms then become immediately less trustworthy, an arms race develops of trying to camouflage the fake marketing speech as 'genuine', 'honest', 'unbiased' etc. the result of this on communication is bad, there's chaff everywhere, but once again the effort of the marketer trying to control you bounces off the wall that people hate it and will not go along with it if they can help it.

a more subtle approach is to just try and cultivate people assigning themselves the role of reviewer. this can create something a bit more symbiotic. the reviewer gets to build an identity out of consuming product and being a discerning connoisseur, and the stuff they like gets free marketing written about it. hence sites like goodreads and letterboxd. not only that but when the thing they like does well, the reviewer gets to feel proud that they acted as a kingmaker.

one weird upshot of all this is that a small company will get really worked up about a negative review on a platform from some rando and go out of their way to placate them. i feel like we're going to see more people exploiting this - ig the gacha mra shit in korea is in part a ripple of that, though those cunts went a lot further than just review bombing.

anyway I've participated in this machine. arguably all the writing about fiction i do on this blog is feeding into it. when i think about it, i think it stinks, but I'm not sure what else to do. there are authors i admire, and who are my friends, i want them to be read by people and have bread on the table.

obviously just because there are powerful actors whose primary concern is moving product doesn't reduce all the discussion of art to elaborate games around moving product. in some sense the 'product review' form is an invading force, best disregarded. but i feel like it would be unwise to ignore the ecological mechanisms underlying what gets made and how and what makes its way to my eyeballs... and how my own behaviours belong to that ecosystem. even if it's depressing to think in those terms.

[skulls-soul]

Have a bowuigi/Booigi writing prompt based off of this TikTok 

Just imagine, when Luigi first finds out that he has feelings for a certain villain he’s absolutely freaking out because there’s no way in all of the stars in the universe Could he ever tell anybody this, especially the villain themselves?

Bowser is in love with Princess peach or/and king boo absolutely despise him

Imagine when Luigi first finds out or is diagnosed with hantaki it’s during the summer time so the pain is bad, tho not the worse it can be it’s difficult to conceal especially in the beginning

At some point he get used to the pain and when fall or winter came around it became a lot more manageable. Now don’t get him wrong coughing up flowers is never not gonna hurt, but after so long, it becomes more of an inconvenience.

imagine when Mario finds out, he’s utterly baffled at him by Luigi‘s refusal to Express who his feelings are for and how anyone could not like his brother back like come on!…it’s luigi!! Anyone would be lucky to have him!!

Imagine if every spring Mario is yelling and demanding to know who his crush is (just for a small chat with them), and why they haven’t confessed or anything like that, and Luigi is just  hacking up a floral storm

I haven’t even gotten to the part in where Bowser’s or king boo finally find out about Luigis condition!!!

For the sake of happy endings, and because it’s my favorite scenario, let’s say Bowser/king boo already have predestined feelings for luigi

I imagine that if Bowser finds out he gets furious, because who the hell would dare reject one of his crushes (note Bowser has a crush on both Peach and luigi)

I can imagine him just violently, trying to shake the information out of Luigi on who he has feelings for.  everybody’s confused in Way Bowser’s is so concerned and so upset, and Bowser tries playing it off as being a hopeless, romantic nobody buys it and so Bowser reluctant Lee costs up two different colored petals one pink with the tip yellow and the other mostly white with tip being green

~Oooh the drama~

When king boo finds out, I imagine that it’s during a paird racing competition

Luigi and king boo end up being paired, while during an intermission, king boo, can hear Luigi coughing violently into a trashcan. Once Luigi steps away, king boo glances inside only to find an entire purple rose inside speckled in red (this is around springtime, so luigi not having a fun time) 

KB is just baffled and is utterly panicked because the man that he’s been trying to win over is in love with someone that doesn’t recuperate his feelings (that’s not how it works) and now he’s  upset because his arch nemesis/love of his life I didn’t tell him

KB confronts Luigi with this, and Luigi, tries his best to ignore them by focusing on the race Especially when he’s the one on the weel

Until he isn’t

Will he confesses?

Or will he live his life in pain

Will he risk heart break?

Humiliation?

Who knows?

[bitterseaproduction]

Some days you want to work hard on your little fanfic epics, spending hours detangling the lore and timeline and plans for stories crying in the night for an update, and some days you're sick off your rocker and just hacking a lung out while haze-blinking into the horizon as you halt reading someone else's fic summary mid-first sentence to hard left turn into a very blurry but detailed daydream about the dwarves thinking Bilbo died in the Battle of the Five Armies while Bilbo--unaware of a king and his company upending their own mountain in a fit of grief as he heals among the Men or Elves--ends up in an awkward Race to Mordor with a Sauron he is barely aware of alongside his own ironic Nine, made up of himself, Gandalf, Bard, Legolas, Tauriel, and a trio of dwarves (Dís, Gimli, Gimli's mom) plus an unexpected favorite cousin (Falco Chubb-Baggins) who all broke off from the first convoy of Blue Mountain immigrants to Erebor to go along and protect Bilbo.

Place bets now on how Thorin & Company hear of their burglar's survival and latest insanity (highest bids placed on the remaining Blue Mountain travelers passing along word vs a smarmy message from Thranduil), how quickly they shake off their shrouds of mourning and royal pseudo-widowhood, and where exactly on the path between Erebor and Mount Doom they manage to catch up to and dog pile an unwitting Hobbit.

[bluehairlaunch]

Top 7 Dragon Ball characters that never met (but should have)

Honorable mention, Lord Frieza and Goku Black. Goku Black has the face of the man Frieza despises most, while Frieza's subjugation and genocide of the galaxy is exactly what Zamasu fears and abhors about mortals. They're basically each other's respective boogeymen.

Launch & Vegeta

Like she'd shoot his ass, right? And then sneeze and suddenly Vegeta thinks all humans can do that.

Gohan & King Piccolo

Lil' G got a small taste of what a bastard Piccolo used to be in the Saiyan Saga, but that paled in comparison to the genocidal freak that was the Demon King. I don't think it would be hard for them to meet either, because Piccolo is both the King and himself. Him regressing or being controlled somehow by his father would make for great stakes as well, way better than just bringing Cell back like a bunch of fucking hacks.

Baby & Frieza

Basically the opposite of Zamasu and Frieza, these two would be natural allies if they could keep their smugness (and smirks) under control. Sure, they'd both be fitting the other for a dagger in the back from almost the moment they met, but they're gonna fail to kill Goku anyway, it's in their nature, so in the end it would never come to that. And then they'd be besties in Hell

King Cold & Goku

C'mon, this is interesting. If some twink hadn't shown up to ruin their fun, we could've gotten the generic shonen rematch, followed by King Cold going whatever the Frieza-race equivalent of Super Saiyan is when Goku inevitably wastes his baby boy again. I'm glad twinks with lavender hair exist, but this wouldn't have been the worst timeline, would it?

Good Buu & King Kai

Finally, someone who would laugh at King Kai's jokes. Korin and Puar were th|i|s close to snagging this slot btw. Because they're both cats you see

Dr. Gero & Cell

The good Doctor Frankenstein has never even met his Frankenstein's Monster in any timeline. Would he be pleased? Cell definitely wouldn't obey him and would only incidentally kill Goku. Would Cell be thankful? Is Gero willing to sacrifice all of humanity for his revenge? Fanfiction writers, please

Gohan & the Great Saiyaman

[coffeecat1983]

Luigi's Mansion 3: "A Friend in the Biz" pt 2

Pt 1 here

      The elevator dinged and the door slid open. Gasping wheezes came from the figure who entered. He didn't even notice that the button he had retrieved had flown from his pocket and locked into place. Instead of tapping it, he hit floor nine, nearly falling from the effort of reaching up.    From the tank on his back a concerned warble came from the green goo.    On the ninth floor, tucked away in the editing room, Morty hummed to himself as he worked on his film. He was so lost in his project that he didn't see the white form that darted through the door until it let out a sharp bark.      "Oh! Pup, what are you..." Morty paused, "What is it? Where's Luigi?" he asked. Polterpup whimpered and spun before barking at the director and darting out the door. His project forgotten, the ghost shot out and down the hall as he followed the little dog.    Whipping around the corner he arrived as the elevator doors opened and Luigi stumbled out. The young man was deathly pale, his chest heaving as he gasped. Morty caught him before he could fall.      "Great stars! What happened?"    Luigi shook his head, unable to answer as the poltergust slid from his shoulders. Morty caught it and after slinging it over his shoulders, he scooped Luigi up and flew back to the editing room with Polterpup right behind him. Once inside he carefully laid Luigi down on the thin cot that he kept to rest on when taking a break. In the soft light, he could see sweat glistening on his forehead and dark circles under his eyes. Rage began to build and the specter's eyes glowed as he shot out of the room and up to one of the security cameras.      "Gravely! What did you do to him?!"      "Oh, nothing." Hellen's voice echoed around the room. "He just got a taste of the poison that Serpci specializes in. That's what little bugs get when they creep where they shouldn't." Morty's eye color shifted to a violent, blood red as the fury within him grew. His fists clenched, trembling as he stretched and doubled in size. Electricity crackled around him and the floor began to shake, the tremors traveling up the walls.      "I warned you, I warned not to harm him!" he snarled.    Hellen darted out of her seat with a sharp gasp. The shaking from the studio climbed up, hitting her penthouse floor and a few of her TVs cracked from the strain. A growl and the hotel hostess forced her own power downward, expanding the barrier from the elevator to the studio's ceiling to block Morty out.      "Stop that you meddlesome movie HACK!" she shot back. "It won't kill him, I need him alive! I just wanted to show him he won't win!"    Smoothing down her hair, she pulled out her powder kit and began applying more to her face. "It's painful but it wears off. Eventually." she snapped the case shut. "And Morty, cross me again and I will have my beloved King lock you in a painting!"    He calmed a little but kept his glare focused on the camera. "Try me." he dared. "Wench." Her scream of anger echoed throughout the hotel. 

   Pleased with himself, Morty returned to the Editing Room. Polterpup was seated at the end of the cot and he whimpered as the ghost took a seat beside the bed.    Luigi stirred, a soft moan escaping him. Glazed eyes, sapphires robbed of their bright shine peered out from beneath heavy lids.      "M-Mario? Yo-You got 'way." A faint smile crossed the young man's face. Confused by the mumblings, Gooigi popped out of his container and stood nearby with a faint burble.      "Thought I was, was gon' have ta save you." Luigi cringed. "H-Hurts... Ev'thin' hurts, big b-bro."      "Hallucinating." Morty said softly. "There must be something..." he darted out of the room and the goo creature and ghostly pup heard him rustling around and racing about the room. The door opened and he backed in with his hands full. A pillow was tucked under one arm with a glass in hand, a pitcher of water held in the other. A blanket and a washcloth were draped over his shoulders.    It wasn't much later that Luigi was settled in with the pillow, the blanket set aside when Morty realized he was running a high fever.      "If there was just a way..." he pondered. He glanced at Gooigi and an idea hit him.      "You, you're made of goo, right?" Gooigi gave a wobbly nod and burbled. Taking his hand, Morty hummed. "Yes, yes you're cool to the touch, just what we need!"    He reached out and took the creature's hand. "Come here, place your hand on his forehead."    Puzzled but eager to help, Gooigi did as he was asked. Luigi shivered slightly at the cool touch.      "Perfect!" Morty praised. "Can you move, ripple a little, something to draw the heat off?" Catching on, Gooigi purred happily and relaxed so his hand and fingers flattened and slowly swirled to keep cool. A soft sigh as Luigi drifted into sleep. Morty sat back in his chair.      "I wish there was more I could do." he muttered. "But all we can do is wait."

     "Luigi, c'mon Weege," Mario called through the darkness. "You gotta wake up."      "Mm, Mario?" Luigi mumbled, waking. Polterpup yipped happily and Gooigi pulled his hand back with a pleased purr as Luigi sat up, rubbing his head.      "What happened?" he muttered. "Morty?" he blinked and looked around. "How did I get back here? I was... there was sand, and snakes." Morty slumped back with relief. "You were poisoned, my young star. It seems like it wore off, though."    Luigi stared at him and the memories came back. "That's right, I was so scared. I couldn't figure out where to go but I remembered you said it was safe here."      "You certainly gave us all a fright. How are you feeling?"    The young human paused and seemed to take stock of himself. "Okay, I think. A little tired." Standing, he wobbled a little, the sight of it making Gooigi burble as he wobbled in turn. Morty darted up. "Are you sure you should be up?"      "Thanks, Morty, but I gotta go. My friends, my bro, they need me."    A look of kindness was on the ghost's face. "I understand. The love of a sibling can surpass all." he floated aside as Luigi picked up the poltergust and Gooigi slid back into his tank.      "Be careful out there, my friend." Morty urged. "And remember if you need to..."      "I'll come back here." Luigi confirmed. He then checked his communicator. "Oh weird, how did this get turned off? Gadd's not gonna be happy."    Gooigi trilled innocently in his tank as the Professor's worried voice crackled over the machine, demanding to know what was going on as Luigi made his way out of the room and back to the elevator.      "Bye, Morty, and thanks." Luigi waved as the doors shut. The ghost waved back and once the doors closed, he shot a hateful glare at the security camera.

     "I don't like this, he shook the building." King Boo grumbled. Hellen stared at the screen, trailing her long fingers over Polterkitty's back. The cat stretched and yawned at her touch before jumping down.      "Patience my beloved majesty," Hellen purred. "That barrier I put in place will hold our little director. We won't have any more trouble from him."    King Boo snarled as he floated out of the room. "You better be right."

END

By "CC"

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Bittersweet for engport!

Night had drawn its mantle close, stars hewn across a dusky sky as England collapsed in the grass. He carded his hand through his hair (ignoring the way that his palm trembled, as clumsy as a newly born lamb), a sob bubbling in the depths of his chest. He’d not cried since…England frowned, this foreign sensation hard to put to name; It bore down on his soul like the weight of the sea (laying at the bottom of the trench, as gravity pulled on his limbs; Held him fast to the cold seabed, and told England that he was never going to rise evermore). It was a beautiful, cold night - and England felt himself slipping off the edge of the world; Melting into the embrace of dewy grass and the worms that twisted beneath, into chalk, tumbling like a cliff rushing into the sea. 

Rodent. A squeaking, scurrying thing that crept along the hems of the map and gnawed at the paper; That was how Portugal had described him, with eyes like cold steel. England scoffed resentfully, some small measure of pride putting fire to his voice where some softer part of him shivered with the indignity of it all. It wasn’t fair. Warm lips and the heat of whiskey in his chest, hands closing over hands as they lay together in the dark bedroom; Nobody was here to take this moment away from England as Portugal lifted his belly, bent low and knelt before him, drinking him in. Yet, with his breath still warm and hair ruffled, Portugal had looked him in the eyes and told him that they couldn’t do it again. ‘’Why not-’’ Hissed England, a sinking feeling in the pit of his belly. ‘’-What’s your problem?’’ He felt untouchable - and consequence was just some distant island on the horizon, a thing of dreams and of impossibility, something far away. Untouchable

‘’We can’t.’’ Portugal had replied stiffly, awkward. ‘’I don’t-’’ England snarled softly, leaning back in his chair like a young king. ‘’Why the fuck not-?’’Assumption filled his throat; A swarm of desperate reasoning buzzed in his ears, England’s eyes darting back and forth across the room. Dizzied by the smell of perfume cloying the air, he grasped for Portugal’s hand and stumbled clumsily, knocking his waist against the corner of the desk with muttered cursing. Many things came racing to his head - most of all that Portugal had found someone else, that there was some keener mercenary that would do his bidding - and England lunged forward with a gout of fire in his chest. His eyes burned like black iron, freshly forged, and his palms felt sweaty; As if he’d been holding a hammer, trembling before a forge. ‘’Portugal, I-’’ He felt his face twist in disgust (the stained glass cast splinters of colour across the floor - England wondered what those multicoloured saints thought of him now, dirty hands pressed palm to palm). ‘’-I love you. There. You made me say it.’’ The words tasted of bile and old spirits, of something that he would hack up onto the floor of a tavern at those dusky, blue hours that turned the world so crooked and strange. There, England thought resentfully as he stared at Portugal. Now say it back to me, fear welled inside him as Portugal stared back coolly.

‘’...Not now. Later’’

His friend had whispered, but it had made England deaf all the same.

It still hurt thinking about it now. A promise had lingered between them, the dog’s bone held before its nose (master’s hand a closed fist, Portugal’s heart a closed fist just the same). Want ached in his chest, England sighing as he rested his head in the wet grass; They hadn’t spoken for months since - and the weight of his words sat as a lumpen stone in his rib-cage, his tongue tracing the shapes of that single, short sentence over and over, until England began to fear that it might be burned into the roof of his mouth ever since. Later was a thirsty man’s oasis, and he wondered how much longer he might be able to sustain himself upon it; Until Portugal’s silence broke, and England could lean back into the comfortable certainty that his affections weren’t for nothing. He knew that his friend had not said no - Portugal’s eyes had flashed strangely after England’s confession (splinters of ice that betrayed something warmer). His friend would tell him someday - and although England’s pride was wounded, his sword was Portugal’s until the end.

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince -- teaser!

pairing: charles leclerc x oc chris elliott a/n: @estevries has hacked the system in order to post this. imagine it's middle school and your friend posts a picture with #hacked😜. that's me. i'm a victim. help.

christyn_elliott Charlotte, North Carolina

Liked by han_annekingsley, giannatulio, and 4,328 others christyn_elliott never again @/chaseelliot9. no race is worth my life. View all comments ryanblaney10 Clyde crashing with the kid?? christyn_elliott taking out his kid and his sister chaseelliott9 two birds one stone user1 tell chase i say good luck this weekend!!🏁 user2 LFG whole fam at the track this weekend??

chaseelliott9 Charlotte Motor Speedway

Liked by hooters, han_annekingsley, and 37,169 others chaseelliott9 Back at the ROVAL. Support #giveahoot all month long by purchasing any of the pink gear @/chaseelliottstore. Proud to support @/hooters cause for breast cancer awareness every year. View all comments hooters Aiming to raise $1 million🙌 user3 How about them Braves user4 Good luck Chase and will be watching! user5 Goodluck champ! christyn_elliott yeah!! go hooters! I love boobs! ryanblaney10 aren't you teaching the future generation christyn_elliott they're too young to see this

charles_leclerc

Liked by joris__trouche, pierregasly, f1, and 1,081,660 others charles_leclerc Big congratulations @/maxverstappen1 for winning your second championship. Today wasn't a great day for us, way too much degradation. We'll keep pushing until the end no matter what. View all comments menduzamusic Keep pushing Charles ❤️ user6 maFIA user7 your time is coming king charles❤️❤️ user8 Sempre e per sempre un grande user9 fiera di te❤️

christyn_elliott added to their story!