#Source: Wonder Over Yonder

[paper-gold-theories]

GoldHeart: Flug, love is like a battlefield. 💛~

Flug: THIS IS AN ACTUAL BATTLEFIELD!!

*An explosion appears behind them, as the Heroes and Villains fight each other, destroying multiple buildings in the process*

[skebbles]

Aaaaah! Im late again! Have a headcanon! Happy trans day of visibility!!

[maddragon15]

Obscenely late hermitaday day #23 & 25! - Impulse & Tango

Was this meant to be a simple cel shaded drawing on the 30th? Yeah, yeah it was lmao but somehow the power of fire excels at overtaking the rendering capabilities.

But since it's late I'll use this as excuse to ramble below about well, the headcanons and the process down yonder. Also there's variations.

(Also just realized that the compression is high with this one, please click on it to see the details pretty pleasee)

So! Let's talk about that haircut shall we? First off Tango's haircut is basically just me slapping my very neglected oc's haircut onto him lol. There's no function usage or any other lore about it, literally just I wanted to use that haircut more. But Miners and Crafters that's not all! The intensity of the flame actually has meaning believe it or not.

Since Tango in the headcanons is already a nether born blaze hybrid the redstone kinda didn't have an effect on him. This is because blazes produce glowstone which is a power source onto itself. He gets minor effects instead which is a mild (there's literally no other word) high, a intensified hair flame and a brighter eye night shine. Negative effects include mild joint & jaw pain, and a small localized headache behind the left eye.

I like to imagine that other blaze hybrids' hair flame aren't normally that intense, not white-hot heat but rather more red n orange hot similar to the flats. Mainly due to the fact that glowstone is not as powerful as redstone and it's also dependent on how strong a blaze is. Now imagine with me that blazes determine how strong each other are via the color they're emitting. Now remember the blaze boss Minecraft had a vote on to add or not to add? What if Tango is constantly mistaken as a high ranking blaze because of how intense his fire is and he doesn't get attacked a whole lot except for the few that want to challenge him. Meanwhile Tango is just highly infused with redstone like all the other redstoners and he doesn't know what's happening half time as seen by his terrified scream-laughs /hj

He's also semi modified with redstone for the pure purpose of comms just like the other redstoners minus mumbo. I also would've leaned into the steampunk aspect of this season but I figured I'd do a character sheet like etho for all of the redstoners and finalize the aspects on those.

Onto Impulse!

I like to imagine that Impulse was a regular human and over the course of redstone exposure he gained pointed ears and horns. For what reasons? I have no idea but redstone works in mysterious ways and mutates on whatever happens to be in their system. You may see that he has purple lines across his face but then red pupils, why is that? Well since he's cyperpunk themed this season he modified his redstone implants to be rgb. He can change everything else except his pupils because those are deeply affected by redstone and would require surgery to remove the build up of redstone. Will any of the redstoners ever actually get rid of it? No but you can beg all day.

You also might be wondering what's happening in their ears? Well those are the advanced comms that are actually used across all hermits except the ones who've opted out for glowstone variants. They kinda work like bluetooth except more hermit-magic way. I haven't had time to fully think of how it'd work down to the circuitry (that's my usual process for headcanons before I ship them out) but I'll post about it when I think of the full layout. Other design aspects on impulse are derived from his skin and the poster design by applestruda!

Process wise for this piece was kinda a rollercoaster heh. I had started this piece a while ago (can't remember the day on the dot) and then I got insanely busy during the last week of hermitaday. I had done sketch, refined sketch and flats in two days. Then events proceeded forth and we arrive on the 4th which I tried for an entire day to figure out how to render this piece. I then gave up and tried again the day after and pulled up references this round on Pinterest. Tango was surprisingly easy to paint with ref and went rather fast. I will admit the entire time I was rendering him I did say every minute or so "I love you man" because he was turning out so good. Halfway through I then realized I still had to render Impulse. That's when I pretty much ended that night because it was already 5 am working on Tango and demotivation was setting in fast. The next day I was able to continue with hesitancy on Impulse but I managed to keep on keeping on and in the early hours of today I finished up the piece. Where I'm now writing about it close to 2 pm in a restaurant. Man though it was kinda hard to make Impulse and Tango look like cohesive and as if they were painted together.

Enjoy!

(Side note I applied for inprint and if I am to be accepted this will be available along side the three different eefs I've drawn and doc.)

[instruth]

WHO WRITES THE POEM?

I cannot remember

when or how it started

there’s no measure

for a mindful treasure

a moment’s experience

Like an endless dream

it is, yet it is not

it’s not, still it is so

very possible

highly probable

Experiential imagination

or imaginative experience

perhaps, I ought to narrate it

thoroughly, in a story,

incredible but believable

In a virgin land

fresh and unknown

undiscovered,

and rediscovered

moment by moment

The weather changes,

day in and day out

from green fields

to snowy mountains

from blooming gardens

To the falling leaves

shining stars come out

night after night

with sister moon

often glitters, seldom smiles

When time stands still

while all else move

two sources of life

one young and brilliant,

the other older and silent

However, between them,

there’s always a ray of hope

there are no worries

if there’s a solution, rejoice

if not, worrying won’t help

But there’s always time,

a time to watch the sunset,

or catch a glimpse of dawn

or listen to the buzzing

fluttering and chirping,

Howling, growling, roaring,

even a blast of cannons

a taste of honey,

and bitter lemon

a sniff of sulphur

The smell of roses

a touch of spring,

a kiss of breeze

a taste of honey

and then the living begins

A thought, a memory,

a stirring of the senses,

without thinking,

and the hand writes,

spontaneously

At first,

obscure and meaningless

at best,

gibberish, nonsensical

as soul touches the mind

The mind interprets

and relays accordingly

the hand edits

who writes the poem?

the hand, the mind or the soul?

A wholesome wonder

Awesomely over yonder

Dawning to ponder

©Johnny J P Lee

30 May 2024

HAIBUN: (Poem + Haiku 5-7-5)

Photos Credit, J. P. Lee

[powerfulblob]

Guide to Nimona Source Material

About Nimona

Nimona started as a webcomic on our beloved Tumblr at @gingerhaze by ND Stevenson: You might recognize him from She-Ra, Lumberjanes, and Wonder Over Yonder! The comics were part of a school project at the time, and evolved into a webcomic, which was then adapted into a graphic novel (2015) and later an audiobook (2016) and a movie (2023).

Webcomic

So the webcomic has been taken down… I think there was a Wayback Machine archive of it (which included the hilarious audience and author comments, which were a gold mine themselves too)…

But I lost the link. If anyone knows where the link is, please reply to this post with it 🥺

Graphic Novel

The first few pages of the graphic novel were redrawn to fit with the newer style, but the originals are still on Tumblr for those who are curious! @gingerhaze blog (use the search term “#nimona” in the blog and scroll to the bottom).

Also, the graphic novel also cut out several key posts on the webcomic: This is entering spoiler territory though, so I might make a post about this later.

Audiobook

As mentioned in the TV tropes page, the audiobook has some (minor) changes, but stays pretty much faithful to the source material. Have not read it yet, but it has pretty good reviews and also won the 2017 Odyssey Award for Excellence in Audiobook Production!

Movie

Screams in gay

So basically the movie just came out on June 30…

You can get it on Netflix, and it should be in theatres in some places.

Go watch it!!

Like seriously please go watch it

In terms of what the movie changes, there’s good (it’s much gayer) and bad (movie Nimona is thin, graphic novel Nimona is definitely plus-sized).

I can’t give too much away without spoilers but there are other details too (but seriously please watch the movie)

I hope this helps people!

[meowmeowmeow9]

a work in progress i’m posting to force myself to finish the rest. enjoy

A young minstrel opened his eyes. Lashes parting, light crackling through - it was like the sun itself had made its way inside his eyelids. He shrunk under the shrieking and squawking of birds, screeching of wind, and the commotion of leaves on leaves battling each other against the draft. It wasn't until he could feel the slicing blades of grass on his cheek that he’d begun to cry. Whirlpools, twisting and pulling, spinning his head like a pinwheel on a freezing, stormy day, he could feel himself being sucked deeply into new, foreign lands. Trees grew so rapidly in his mind that roots tore through its soil, and the plates of the earth beneath him shifted; mountains towered above the clouds, sending raging boulders in a landslide down steep rugged terrain; they wailed as they hit the ground.

The minstrel tried to understand. He cried, so much he’d almost convinced himself his cheeks had become one with the tears, that his face mended into rushing water, and would turn into a resource for the angry grass.

Just then, the light started to dim. He was no longer blinded by the sun’s aggression, or deafened by nature’s grief. Slowly developed was his ability to see. He was overwhelmed by infinite saturation: deep greens and cold blues, intense grays and whites. Blobs of color molded and morphed into shapes: the light, swaying grass that whispered to joyous dancing leaves; mountains miles high with gallant, intimidating boulders rested non threateningly upon them; a tree hung lazily over his head. In it, he could see a nest, which an attentive yellow bird fluttered quietly into. The sun caressed his face in small specks of light peeking between the branches.

Next came his smell. He breathed in the dry heat of the surrounding underbrush, inhaled wafts of sweet cinnamon tree sap. But what was it, he wondered, that smelled so familiar? It was like the warmth of a childhood blanket, the notice of a mother’s call. It smelled like comfort and sleep, like the peace of a cat’s purr. He felt drawn to it. He felt that if he didn’t choose to go, the universe would pick him up by the waist and take him there.

He sat up and examined his surroundings, searching for the source of the smell. Over yonder, he noticed a dirt path winding through the grass into the distance. He sloppily crawled to a stand, but quickly collapsed beneath himself. Inconveniently, he’d decided all fours were good enough, and pulled along the dirt trail after the welcoming aroma. As he crept closer, the boy got a better look at the homely estate. Sunlight gleamed on the dancing water of a small pond beside vibrant green gardens, bursting with the jovial sway of purples, blues, and pinks, all flagrantly smiling through their petaled faces. Smoke billowed righteously from the mouth of a bricked chimney. The dirt path was softly paved around the curvature of the building, and as he creeped around a corner he beheld the sight of a woman.

She strolled the gardens; the young little minstrel was drawn to her instantly. He was shocked by her glow, as if he was witnessing the stars and the sun walk the Earth - and the tune she hummed was disrupted by a rash gasp from the minstrel's throat. The woman looked his way, and his heartbeat resembled that of a hummingbird.

“Well, well,” she acknowledged pleasantly. Lightly, she strode to him, and the minstrel was convinced she walked on the air. Her dress lingered behind her. Is she afloat? he wondered, Or simply heavenly?

“Young one,” she started, cupping his cheek, “so soon?”

He gave a confused expression in response.

Her smile warmed. She traced his face with her fingertips, as if admiring artwork. “Get up,” she directed.

Remembering his failed attempt to walk the first time, the minstrel tensed. He tried again: he wobbled and wavered, and he made it halfway, but just couldn’t do it. He flopped back to the ground like a newborn fawn.

“I can't.” he murmured.

“You’re not ready. That’s okay." With her arm, the woman gestured behind her to present him with a variety of gallant steeds, all diverse in color, size and shape. The builds of their faces each told a different story. The minstrel was almost overwhelmed by the number of options.

“That one!” he declared. His finger pointed to a tall, slender-legged stallion. Its mane was long and smooth, resting over the shape of its shoulder, dipping into its chest. It stood confidently, showing no care to hide its authoritative disposition. Its strength was not threatening. On the contrary, it felt protective and safe. With a muscular build, it had a commanding, yet dependable presence that the minstrel wanted to be near.

And so, with a beckoning call and a grip of the minstrel’s sides, the woman effortlessly lifted him onto the dappled gray of the horse’s back. They fit together perfectly.

“Come,” she waved.

A vast, golden field. The grass, now dry, still granted a bucolic sway under warm and mellow breezes. One could hear the crunch of each step of the stallion’s hooves, and the rustle of the soft, crowded blades as they brushed against the woman’s torso. The sun shone distantly as the evening neared, yawning and stretching over the great valley. The tall mountains were now lowly peaking hills, rolling over each other, as if sculpted by waves of the ocean.

The minstrel watched the woman walk before him and the stallion. He examined her hair as it bounced lightly within her movement. With every blink, she appeared to him differently. Her hair became a different length, a new color. Her skin took on a new pigment with every second he stared, and, on occasion, she even appeared to him as a man.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Who am I?” the woman parroted. She turned to speak as they walked. “Who are you?”

“I'm a boy.”

“No. I asked: who are you?”

He began to get frustrated. “A kid.”

“Then that is who I am,” she replied. “I'm just a boy, and a kid.”

The minstrel frowned at her slicingly. She smiled in return. “You are not your material aspects. You are much more than that. You are you.”

“And who is that?”

“There’s no real answer. The self can hardly be properly described in words. Who you are is an experience, a feeling, and a sight to be seen. You’d best not bother trying to help the world understand you, if the world is not willing to discover you itself.”

He decided not to think on that. Instead, he asked: “Why am I here?”

The wind sang, and he could feel it play in his hair. He felt the touch of the flurry as it danced up his back and slid off of his shoulders. He felt the beat of his heart in his chest as it circulated every drop of warmth, of life, throughout his form, and it was then that he noticed his own qualia. The sensation of breathing as the air chilled, the feel of the stallion under his legs - was any of it real? His feet were so far away. His head bobbled if he did not hold it up. He looked ahead. In the distance, he saw more hills, no different from the others. However, they’d given him a feeling. A strange, foreboding sense. He could feel them reaching out for him with wintry, cold arms, ready to snatch him up and away from the sunny paradise he’d found himself in.

He looked back at the woman. She was facing him now, walking backward. “You have a song,” she doted, “you are meant to share it with others like you, and others unlike you.”

“Why share a song with others when I can hum my tunes with you?”

She sighed. In jarring synchrony, the world sighed with her half-heartedly. The boy was curious if she’d had this conversation before. He wanted to ask her. He wanted to ask her if he had any choice in it all. He wanted to ask if trying to stay would be betting on a losing horse. He even considered asking if she’d go with him. Instead, he pondered the thoughts alone in his head. Not because he was afraid, but because it’d occurred to him that his mind was his own. With limitless potential, he could have thought anything without anyone else knowing. Now that he’d realized it, the minstrel started to think up all kinds of things. He imagined that circus elephants on bright red balls and tigers jumping through hoops paraded around him. Ballerinas did pirouettes on top of flaming stages. Rocket ships blasted into the sky. Dragons soared among the clouds, roaring their fiery breath over forests. He imagined that he was in a blanket, and the woman held a storybook, reading him quietly to sleep.

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for October 15

Morning

“Reproach hath broken my heart.”

Psalms 69:1-4 , Psalms 69:6-21

Let us read a selection of verses from the sixty-ninth Psalm, in which David was led to set forth the Redeemer’s sufferings before and upon the cross.

Psalms 69:1

Sorrows, deep, abounding, deadly, had penetrated his inner nature. Bodily anguish is not his first complaint; he begins not with the gall which embittered his lips, but with the mighty griefs which broke into his heart.

Psalms 69:2

His sufferings were unlike all others in degree, the waters were such as soaked into the soul; the mire was the mire of the abyss itself, and the floods were deep and overflowing.

Psalms 69:3

Long pleading, with awful fervour, had scorched his throat as with flames of fire:

Psalms 69:4

It may be truly said that he restores what he took not away; for he gives back to the injured honour of God a recompense, and to man his lost happiness, though the insult of the one and the fall of the other, were neither of them, in any sense, his doings.

Psalms 69:6

Our blessed Lord ever had a tender concern for his people, and would not have his own oppression of spirit become a source of discouragement to them.

Psalms 69:7

They first covered our Lord with a veil of opprobrious accusation, and then hurried him away to be crucified. They passed him through the trial of cruel mockings, besmeared his face with spittle, and covered it with bruises, so that Pilate’s “Ecce Homo” called the world’s attention to an unexampled spectacle of woe and shame. Ah, blessed Lord, it was our shame which thou wast made to bear! Nothing more deserves to be reproached and despised than sin, and lo, when thou wast made sin for us, thou wast called to endure abuse and scorn. Blessed be thy name, it is over now, but we owe thee more than heart can conceive for thine amazing stoop of love.

Psalms 69:8-12

What amazing sin that he whom seraphs worship with veiled faces, should be a scornful proverb among the most abandoned of men.

Psalms 69:20

our Lord died of a broken heart, and reproach had done the deed

the heaviness of our Lord in the garden is expressed by many and forcible words in the four gospels, and each term goes to show that the agony was beyond measure great

Psalms 69:21

A criminal’s draught was offered to our innocent Lord, a bitter portion to our dying Master. Sorry entertainment had earth for her King.

Behold the Man! by all condemn’d,

Assaulted by a host of foes;

His person and his claims contemn’d,

A man of sufferings and woes.

Behold the Man! he stands alone,

His foes are ready to devour;

Not one of all his friends will own

Their Master in this trying hour.

Behold the Man! though scorn’d below,

He bears the greatest name above;

The angels at his footstool bow,

And all his royal claims approve.

My heart dissolves to see thee bleed.

This heart so hard before;

I hear thee for the guilty plead,

And grief o’erflows the more.

‘Twas for the sinful thou didst die,

And I a sinner stand:

What love speaks from thy dying eye,

And from each piercèd hand!

I know this cleansing blood of thine

Was shed, dear Lord, for me,

For me, for all oh, grace divine!

Who look by faith on thee.

‘Tis finish’d! all the debt is paid;

Justice divine is satisfied;

The grand and full atonement made;

God for his people’s guilt hath died.

Saved from the legal curse I am,

My Saviour hangs on yonder tree:

See there the meek expiring Lamb!

‘Tis finish’d! He expired for me!

Accepted in the Well-Beloved,

And clothed in righteousness divine,

I see the bar to heaven removed,

For all thy merits, Lord, are mine.

Here lies of life th’ immortal Prince,

Under arrest for all our sins;

Prisoner of death, and silent here

He lies till the third morn appear.

My faith with joy and wonder sees,

Jesus, thy sacred obsequies;

A burial which has power to save

From death, a burial of the grave!

Oh, that I now my wish might have,

And sink into my Saviour’s grave;

Then with my Head triumphant rise,

And wear his glories in the skies.

‘Twas not the insulting voice of scorn

So deeply wrung his heart;

The piercing nail, the pointed thorn,

Caused not the saddest smart:

But every struggling sigh betray’d

A heavier grief within,

How on his burden’d soul was laid

The weight of human sin.

O thou who hast vouchsafed to bear

Our sins’ oppressive load,

Grant us thy righteousness to wear,

And lead us to our God.

The enormous load of human guilt

Was on my Saviour laid;

With woes as with a garment, he

For sinners was array’d.

And in the horrid pangs of death

He wept, he pray’d for me;

Loved and embraced my guilty soul

When nailèd to the tree.

Oh, love amazing! love beyond

The reach of human tongue;

Love which shall be the subject of

An everlasting song.

Evening

“My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?”

Psalms 22:1-3 , Psalms 22:11-24 , Psalms 22:27 , Psalms 22:28 , Psalms 22:30 , Psalms 22:31

The most wonderful description of our Lords sufferings on the cross itself is contained in the 22nd Psalm, from which we will now select portions for reading.

The Psalm opens with our Lord’s cry upon the cross, and it may be regarded throughout as his soliloquy while bleeding on the tree.

Psalms 22:1

He prayed until he almost lost the power of articulate utterance.

Psalms 22:3

Whatever the Father may do, the Mediator will not murmur; he holds fast his faith in the holiness of God.

Psalms 22:11

None either could or would help him, he trod the winepress alone; yet was it a sore trial to find that all his disciples had forsaken him, and lover and friend were put far from him.

Psalms 22:12

The mighty ones in the crowd are here marked by the tearful eye of their victim.

Psalms 22:13

Like hungry cannibals they opened their blasphemous mouths as if to swallow the man they abhorred.

Psalms 22:14

As if distended upon a rack. Is it not most probable that the fastening of the hands and feet, and the jar occasioned by fixing the cross in the earth, may have dislocated the bones of the Crucified One? If this is not intended, we must refer the expression to that extreme weakness which would occasion relaxation of the muscles, and a general sense of parting asunder throughout the whole system

Psalms 22:14

Dr. Gill wisely observes: “If the heart of Christ, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, melted at it, what heart can endure, or hands be strong, when God deals with men in his wrath?”

Psalms 22:16

Here he marks the more ignoble crowd, who, while less strong than their brutal leaders, were not less ferocious, for they were howling and barking like unclean and hungry dogs

Psalms 22:17-20

Meaning his soul, his life, which is most dear to every man. The original is “My only one,” and therefore is our soul dear, because it is our only soul. Would that all men made their souls their darlings, but many treat them as if they were not worth so much as the mire of the streets.

Psalms 22:22

The transition is very marked; darkness passed away from the Redeemers soul and light broke in. The ruling passion, strong in death, led him to joyous thoughts of his beloved people.

Psalms 22:23-28

Jesus rejoiced in the glorious reign of the Lord over all nations of men.

Psalms 22:31

Or “It is finished.” Salvation’s glorious work is done.

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[kiingfluffybuns]

Full of spoilers: TGED is properly translated at Yonder if you want to read the novel in English, there is a blog with around 44 chapters ongoing but I don't remember the account. And the webtoon vastly differs from he novel. In fact it doesn't follow it at all and is just a parody. The webtoon is too different from the novel and no the og!Lloyd is not a pitiful depressed character, not an alcoholic who seeks help, in fact he is horrible, its og!Lloyd himself who hates how poor they are, gets abusive at Julian and the servants, og!Lloyd was the one who chooses to be drunk and alcoholic, and even sleep around because he hates being poor in a country side. He lashes out that he hates being born in a poor family by getting drunk and trash at bars. And no, in the novel he didn't sleep at the side of the road he returned to his room and a certain thing happened and his soul separated he was never dead. Even in the webtoon the reason Lloyd is sleeping on the road is for gag purposes, because TGED webtoon is a gag manhwa, while TGED novel is a tragic "romance".

And no the reason Lloyd is seen as a servant is because of his plain dull face not the clothes, in fact he and Javier even wore similar black clothes. And Acros never neglected og!Lloyd in away that Javier is the only one who did swordsmanship, og!Lloyd did it too but got bored of it.

"He didn't actually cared if he died in a ditch." How wrong you are about this, the webtoon didn't even drew the picnic scene and conversation with Arcos and Suho!Lloyd showing that he really cares for his og!son when he sees his son change, please the webtoon completely removed all the sentimental relationships/conversations/interactions between Arcos, Marbella and suho!Lloyd, and suho!Lloyd and Javier. Also, when it was finally revealed, they know the current Lloyd is not their og!Lloyd, yeah you should read to find out what their thoughts were and how they love their son.

"He was mad, he was jealous, and he was frustrated, and the only thing that made him feel better was some drinks" He was mad because they are poor, that's why he chose to drink to lash out, no he wasn't jealous at Javier especially he was also getting swords lesson too, he simply broke Javier's wooden sword gift because he wanted too.

"He was so depressed he wanted to be blackout drunk, and that killed him anyway." He is not dead his soul was simply separated, which is why he was roaming around. If you want the details on how his soul got removed, I could say more spoilers?

First of all, calm down, man.

I said it in the start of my post, it's my speculation I got from the information I got from only the webtoon. And that I'm very welcome to talk about it, you can see it as a different perspective, calm down, lmfaoo.

I also find a little bit rude to drop on me spoilers without even asking me. 'Or should I say more spoilers?', that's a threat, like, are you okay? Why are you so mad?

I wanted to open a conversation, I find extremely interesting the imagery and what could it mean for the characters.

Also in nowhere says it's a gag webtoon, ofc the comedy is over the top, and it's clear is not going to always follow the source material, but that's the fun of it, to see a different take on the story.

I will probably like the novel more, sure. But I'm reading the webtoon first and liking it atm.

I see og!Lloyd is way different in the novel and that sounds fascinating and I would love to read about it myself.

But I don't see myself being wrong bc I decided to interpret it differently than y'all. If the webtoon choose to make og!Lloyd a victim when y'all hated him, shame ig. But it's also a good character analysis to compare and wonder how that affects the story.

Take it as it is. The webtoon is an au of the novel, and that's okay, we have to see it differently and treat it like so. Expect it to be the same, when it's gender is not even same is a bit bothersome.

But anyway, let's use this energy on having fun about it, make a crazy theory

[freemaniaentertainment]

Kieren The Game Blogger

Tutorial: Wake Up (Part 1)

SOME TIME… SOME PLACE… IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE...

Astrid’s Memory Bank: Accessing Memory…

“Hey,” a voice called out to me. “Hey,” it rasped again, but all I could see was darkness.

“Astrid! Wake up! Astrid...”

Familiar, it was a voice that had annoyed me for some time. Slowly, I opened my eyes. I will be honest; I would have preferred to stay asleep. Life had not exactly been the easiest for me. My days were nothing to write home about. Even more, everything was just easier when I slept. Soon, my blurry eyes came to focus on the white clouds slowly making their way across the blue canvas sky. Tilting my head, I turned to face where the voice originated. It was my annoying older sister, Petra. Suddenly seeing her made my mind pulsate with aggravating thoughts. All I could think of was how we got here. Why were we here? And why… Why were we lying on this hill in a grassy field? No wonder I fell asleep. As the wind hit my face, all I could feel was that cool afternoon breeze. And I could smell the fresh ripening of newly bloomed flowers. This place was tranquil and peaceful. Even in my previous life, I would have enjoyed being alone in a place like this. Unfortunately, I was not alone.

Aggravated, Petra exclaimed, “You fell asleep on me, sis!”

“My bad,” apologizing was all I could do. While moving my head off her shoulder, I wiped off my well-earned drool. It must have been a good nap. I could barely remember what it was like to be awake. “I was too tired to notice. We haven’t had a day off in a long time. Can you remember the last time we did?” But she could not answer me. I knew it had been stressful for her too. How unfair of me to say such a thing… Cue the eye roll… pause for laughter and whatnot… Seriously though, I sat up to take in the breezing air. Thanks to the warm weather, it was not too cold. This place was tranquil as all hell; even I had to admire the vibrant, saturated colors casting over the grasslands. It was beautiful, unnaturally so. And I still could never find the source of the looping flute and harp music that played over us. That damn thing created such an ambient mood. So freaking beautiful… My eyes roamed all on their own, despite me.

A regular city, made up of tall buildings and skyscrapers, could be seen over yonder. Its appearance screamed cold and dark, the complete opposite of where I stood. It was a dark mirror, a dark city punctuated by the transparent boundary that separated us from it. And the barrier was called The Invisible Wall. Inventive, right?

“So, we have to talk,” she cozied up to me. It was never a good sign when she did such a thing. Skeptical, my brow raised. Just what craziness was she about to spill to me? “I snuck out into the city one time.” And there it was…

My head snapped back at her, “Seriously!? When!? How!?”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?” She definitely knew better. At what point was I supposed to correct her? Honestly? So, all I did was nod my head vigorously. I just needed to know more of her story that she graciously decided to burden me with. So, I played dumb.

“So,” Petra started, “y’know how I’m close friends with the Potioneer Ksarreni?” From how carefree she was, I could already tell I would not like anything she was about to say. “I visited her shop last night, and she showed me her hidden stash of potions resting in the basement. They were made from a forbidden text called The Cheat Book, which Ksarreni explained.” There was no way that it would be called such a thing. Just how on the nose could these people be? “One of them was a Cheat that allowed me to pass through, in and out, The Invisible Wall. The stupid thing wore off in an hour. But I can’t be too pissed. I bought it off her hands for a low price - y’know, since we’re friends - and used it to walk around the city for a couple of minutes, all while shifting into a new identity, of course.”

“Of course,” I added. Just what the hell would I know of such things? Honestly, I think I was more offended that she did not invite me to her fantastic adventure. Not like I wanted to go through the wall… “What was it like?”

“It was nothing special. I mean, what could be? It was nice, y’know, seeing some of the buildings up close and seeing buses and cars for the first time in person. But it’s nothing special compared to where we live.” Petra chuckled. She had a weird way about her. Anytime Petra was downplaying the importance of anything, her nose would move a certain way. Her eyes would shift when she was not honest or truthful with her words. Or maybe it was just me reading into my sister, seeing things I wanted to see… “Maybe one of the reasons why humans don’t like us Metamorphs is because our land was blessed to be corrupted with such beautiful magic.”

“Using the word ‘corrupted’ gives off the impression our land is a plague field of sickness and darkness, but I’d say it’s quite the opposite.”

“Astrid… Come on… It’s just something the humans made up to give the impression that our home is lesser and negative than their own.”

“Well,” I just had to open my big mouth, “how we use the word ‘human’ could also be something that causes a negative impression. I mean… Calling the human’s city Humankind’s Civilization, doesn’t that seem dehumanizing?”

“I don’t get it?”

She always needed help understanding how to communicate with people. Her blank eyes and that plain expression on her face irritated me so much. So, “It makes me think being humanoid isn’t being human at all,” I just had to explain. “And enough to categorize the rest of the Earth outside our home as a separate civilization.”

“As the word ‘humanoid’ defines it: a resemblance to being human. Although we have human-like attributes, we just look like them at the end of the day, and that is all it is.”

“Hmm, I guess.” It was a boring conversation. Being philosophical was something I secretly enjoyed, but not so much talking about it with Petra. That was a whole other thing entirely. So, I laid down and closed my eyes, relaxing my mind as it shifted back into another nap. Naps really were the best part of any day. Yet, understandably annoyed, Petra poked me on the cheek, constantly waking me up again.

“You’re gonna sleep the good days away!” Patience was not her strong suit. Petra was a woman of action, of getting things done. Watching me sleep must have been like slowly drilling a hole in her head, agonizing. I could feel her scheming to find more disruptive ways to wake me up like any bothersome sibling would. However, I was saved by something far more annoying than her. At the moment of her annoyance, her eyes fixated on some low-leveled enemies further away from the hill. They were not as far as the city, located in the grasslands’ unsafe and non-combat-free zones towards the bottom of the hill. How did I know the area was dangerous? Well, the giant floating text marks in the air were a dead giveaway. Sometimes it paid to be observant.

Low-level, the enemies include the usual assortment of bad guys. There were a couple of mutated spiders that stood no taller than children. Had it been my first time seeing them like I did the first go around, I would have passed all the way out. And not to mention, there were also slimes filling out the monster herd as well. Surprisingly, like everything in this far-out place, slimes were more formidable than what their cute and unassuming blob of an appearance would have many believe. Many adventurers who let their guards down around them quickly understood the danger of those little bastards. It really was a rookie mistake to underestimate something just because of looks.

I mean, what kind of idiots would do such a thing? Me. I would. It was the exact error my younger self made when encountering them for the first time. To be fair, that was during my first days of combat training. I did not know any better. At the time, there was no way I would have thought any different. But it was not all bad. Now, slime-killing has become a favorite pastime of mine. I like to call it revenge. And I think about it often. Squishing them… Salting them… Cracking their cores… Even now… Now I think about slaying down those slimy-little creatures and killing them all. I would do it repeatedly when they respawn just a few paces away. That is how this stupid world works. Death only matters for people, not monsters.

“Hey!” Eagerly, I sat up. Just thinking about those little bastards got me excited beyond belief. “Now that you woke me up, you know what I’m thinking?”

“No!” Petera asserted. “We’re not killing slimes. We’ve done that so much it’s starting to kill me.” Extending my tail, I moved it outside Petra’s peripheral vision and slightly smacked the arrow-shaped end on her forehead. “Ow~!” Petra cried out. I have to admit, I got her pretty good on that silly forehead of hers. It was safe to assume that there was an intense stinging sensation now pulsating right on her forehead, hopefully. “What was that for?”

“I was having a good nap, and now you won’t let me even kill slimes,” I crossed my arms and pouted. Childish? Yes! Did I care? No. Who said I had to act my age?

“Well, I’m sorry. I can’t help wanting to look for something bigger, higher-leveled to fight. That’s why my–”

“–level outranks yours,” I rolled my eyes, mocking her. “Yeah, I know. I know.” She never missed an opportunity to rub it in my face. But it was not my fault I was so under-leveled, and slimes deserved what was coming to them.

“You’re only a couple of levels below me,” Petra was still rubbing her head. Did I not mention I got her good? “You’d make for some good competition if you put in the effort. Not to mention getting that childish attitude under control.”

“But that’s my best feature. And, as you said,” I really needed to learn how to control the levels of my voice, “I’m only a couple of levels below you. Don’t let that need for competition make you cocky. A couple of levels means nothing.”

Something was squirming in my pocket. I felt it moving, but I could not recall what it was or how it got there. Either way, I was not some fresh-cut adventurer or some prissy noble. If it was a bug, I would leave it be. But this thing was much larger than a bug, and its form was more similar to a ball than anything else. I would have thought it to be a slime, but they usually have a goopy texture to them. I could still just squeeze the thing and see if it popped. It would only take a good grip, a wriggle of my two bare hands, and a lot of pent-up frustration. Before I could figure it out, a small white ball of light flew from my pocket. How could I have forgotten? I must have been sleeping on it. That white ball was my spirit pet, Buttercup. Fondly, I remember so badly wanting to turn twelve and being allowed to adopt a spirit pet. Each person’s spirit pet was unique, transforming into different creatures upon bonding. One person could have there’s turn into a dog-like beast while others could be as small as a worm. But my lovely Buttercup… She transformed from a white orb into a butterfly with a beautiful spectrum of colors for her wings. Delicate and regal, Buttercup was magnificent beyond belief. There was no greater beauty than the unstoppable Buttercup. Well… Other than me…

“What is it, my Queen?” I asked Buttercup. I could feel Petra judging me, per usual. But Buttercup just flew away, sounding like someone sprinkling fairy dust. It was every time she moved, and I loved it so much. My sister, not as much. Moving around, Buttercup was definitely trying to get us to follow her.

“Looks like she found a mission,” cracking her back, Petra was prepping to do what we did best. A mission, a hunt, a challenge, it did not matter. As long as I had my sister, there was nothing to fear. However, Petra was notably unenthusiastic this time around, “we better follow her because you know how Buttercup always gets when we don’t.”

“Such a shame,” as I wondered what was bugging my sister, I, too, stretched. Good missions always started with a warmed-up body, and that was adventuring 101, the basics that were drilled into us. But… “I was just starting to get comfortable again,” my complaining was definitely getting on my sister’s nerves.

“Wait…” I could tell my sister was cooking up something devious to get back at me. She was so easy to read. It was always the eyes. Her shifty eyes always clued me in when she was scheming to be a special kind of bad. “You think I’m cocky? How about we put that to the test?”

“Heck, yeah!” But I could never pass up an opportunity to wipe that smug look off her face and put her in her place. Meanwhile, Buttercup was moving around increasingly, trying to get our attention. “That way, when I beat you, you can shut up about me being under-leveled.” Frantic, the little spirit pet was buzzing around us furiously. She was such an attention diva. “Yes, we know! We’re coming!” That should have been enough, but my little diva zipped off without us. Now, she had our attention.

Continue reading on Tapas --> tapas.io/series/Kieren-The-Game-Blogger/info

[heartshapedcreaturefromcriptoon]

Trying to talk with other Hazbin Hotel Fans:

The normal exchange I expect:

"So pumped for Patrick Page being in the show! 🤩"

"Source?"

"Saw Patrick and Leslie interacting over Hazbin promos on the gram! ;)"

"Oh that's so wonderful and exciting thank you for telling me! :D "

The shit I got:

"So pumped for Patrick Page being in the show! 🤩"

"Source?"

"TAKE THINE INCESSANT INQUIRES TO TUMBLR USER PETITPRINCESS1 OR SEEK ANOTHER YONDER SCRIVENER WITH MORE FORTITUDE TO ACCOMMODATE YOU, WENCH. I MYSELF IN THIS MOMENT AM PREPARING WITHIN THE NEXT FORTNIGHT TO TRAVEL AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 DAYS AND THUS SHOULD NOT BE REQUIRED TO CHEW UP MY OWN PRECIOUS GRAPES OF KNOWLEDGE FOR YOU AND YOU AND YOU ALONE TO SPIT THEM BACK INTO YOUR FILTHY, GREEDY, LAZY, DROOLING MOUTH. However, if you're so inclined to being bothersome, all I can tell you of this tidbit is mine getting to bare witness of The Lady Leslie and SIr Patrick sharing in pleasantries of which relate to the promotion of the forthcoming highly anticipated animated entertainment program in question via the popular social media website 'instagram' if that should be enough to suffice your appetite . Be gone from me now, Fornication Enoyer!"

"Hm. Well thank you so much for that Schaffrillas I hope you get hit by another car soon."

[shiroi---kumo]

kazeofthemagun​:

@shiroi—kumo asked the summoner:

The world is raining down bits of white flurries and a pale hand is reaching out to let them fall against his skin and settle in his palm until after a short moment the melt away into nothing.

“Black Wind.” He sounds out to get his other’s attention in a monotone voice. Jade eyes light and lips grin behind a thin mask that covers the lower half of his face.

There is the sound of a deep inhale through the vents built into metal before it is exhaled again back out into the chilling air.

“I fear if we are out in this weather much longer I might find myself crazed again. The chill in the air. I’m sure you can feel it.”

His words come next as a warning to the mischievous scenarios playing out in his mind. Monotone his voice remains. There is a glint in his eyes that speaks truth to his words.

“I must admit I am finding it most refreshing.”

If there was one type of weather the elder Unlimited disliked, it was snow. Windarians simply were not meant for the cold. Kaze’s expression seemed somewhat grumpier than usual; Or, at least, would have seemed that way, had he not submerged the majority of his features in the thick, black cape that served as his primary source of warmth.

White Cloud, however, certainly was pleased. No wonder, really. At the sound of his name, the Wind’s head turned to gaze into some miscellaneous yonder.

“Mm.” Low-effort as it was, there was an acknowledgement.

…Find himself crazed again, eh?

The last thing the gunmage needed was to be sniped in the back of the head with a snowball. That - would hardly be refreshing. There was a sound somewhere between a sigh and a grumble, followed by words.

“I, am not.” He complained.

A blue orb stole a quick glance at the mischievous prince, if only to make sure he was not up to any clownery.

A confirmation of his other’s misery was both expected and not.  It’s not as if the man ever speaks to him much and as usual when he does it’s in as few words as possible. He already knew full well the kind of weather that his counter found to be the worst. They were opposite in their opinions. The fluttering drops of frozen precipitation only made the prince wish to soar into the chilled sky and take the clouds into his lungs with one deep and liberating inhale. 

The single eye that looks back at him speaks words to him he doesn’t need to hear to know they’re there and he knows that glance is a warning not to get himself up to any tomfoolery. He wishes to however. His mind is urging him to ignore the warning in oceanic suns and to simply scoop some of the frozen rain from the ground and launch it in his other’s direction. 

The prince however, resists the urge and allows himself lift from the ground and float over to his counterpart with a softness that matches his namesake in the skies above until he’s floating just in front of the Windarian. The Misterican lets his mask flood back in response, as he places his palms against one another and begins to rub them together as quickly as he can. He pulls them apart and cups them over his mouth and there is a deep exhale once and then twice and finally a third time.  It’s only then that the prince reaches out and slips his hands under a crimson curtain and the collar of his counter’s black cloak. 

The heat from his breath would have been more if his usual body temperature was higher but his attempts have at least changed his hands from living icicles to feeling as if he just pulled them from a lukewarm bath. They can at least provide a slight bit of warmth to the Windaria’s face as the prince covers the sides of his face with his hands. 

“I know. I know this is misery for you, Black Wind. There’s a chill to your skin. If you want we can stop for now and I’ll start a fire. Can you see a place we can take shelter for a while with those eyes of yours? I can’t hear anything in the area but stillness and your heart. It’s safe for us to stop if you wish.” 

[incorrectwot]

Mat: Would you say us being friends is the greatest adventure of all?

Talmanes: No, because that would be way too sappy… but I’m kind of thinking it.

[incorrectdetectiveconan2]

Heaven  must be missing an angel, because here I am.

Ran Mouri

[incorrectberseriaquotes]

Laphicet: Would you say us being friends is the greatest adventure of all?

Velvet: No, because that would be way too sappy...but I'm kind of thinking it.

[ask-a-fallen-zamasu]

Zamasu:grab the earing........ Black:uhhh you ok??? GRAB THE DAMN EARING 

[incorrectblquotes]

Vasquez; (About Handsome Jack) He knows my name!

Rhys; He called you an idiot.

Vasquez; An idiot whose name he knows.