#There were many renditions of that letter

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

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[yyokkki]

Vil Schoenheit's Resentment

Vil x GN!Reader/Yuu warnings: mild swearing, petty vil supremacy, reader is called yuu, reader is a lot shorter than vil and somehow has clear skin, neige slander im sorry i love him i really do TT, s-silent treatment? pov: third-person wc: 1021 words

Vil Schoenheit; top model, renowned actor and acclaimed singer. For as long as he could remember he’d been wearing a mask in the eyes of the public. 

Cool, calm and collected. It took years of practice to perfect his persona. 

Extremities were frowned upon so he had to balance his traits. Not too cold, not too warm. Not too approachable, not too lofty. Altogether, he was the spitting image of a perfect celebrity.

Just one glance was enough to tell anybody; that right there is a star.

So why?

The Ramshackle Prefect enters the scene. They were shy and soft-spoken, with a little too much fringe blocking the world’s view of their eyes. Quite pretty eyes at that. Moving on, they slouched while they sat, left crumbs around their mouth and when they did speak, only the crudest vulgarities left their lips.

Vil would never! Ever! Waste his precious time even interacting with a slob like that, much less fall in love with them.

But if there’s anything fate has taught him, it was to never say never.

—

You… You’ve ruined everything..!

Vil Schoenheit, the fairest of them all, as many would say, was having a crisis. 

It was hard to describe what he was feeling. A giddiness bubbling up in his stomach that made him start kicking his legs while screaming into his pillow as if he weren’t a superstar but a delicate maiden, followed by a sharp realisation and… Shame. 

It had been a while since the VDC and S.T.Y.X. incidents. He’d gotten much closer to Yuu, the Ramshackle Prefect during that time. He’d long let go of the notion of them being a slob. If anything, they worked much harder than anybody else did. 

Since he had taken them under his wing, it was up to him to bring that inner beauty of theirs up to the surface. To let the whole school marvel at his little spudling in full bloom.

Mascara, maybe some lip gloss. Some blush and by the Sevens, Epel, I need your brush. He was going to make them beautiful.

And beautiful they were. 

He couldn’t explain the slight twinge in his heart as he watched Rook lather praise upon praise on them and noticed the turning heads following them down the hallways.

Then came that fateful day. After weeks of denial and renditions of ‘I Won’t Say I’m In Love’ (Rook played the part of the Muses), he’d accepted his feelings, and was ready to put them into action.

He’d seen the way they looked at him. The twinkle in their eyes, the unintentional smile they couldn’t keep down. All symptoms of a disturbance in the heart. He knew it well, he was afflicted with the same illness after all.

So with a carefully penned, scented letter sent over to Ramshackle’s doorstep, he’d collapsed into his bed, eagerly awaiting the next day. He resented Yuu. The way they made him feel. But it was a sweet sort of resentment.

—

Yuu, a.k.a Ramshackle Prefect a.k.a. Caretaker of Grim a.k.a. Beast Tamer, after making it out of seven overblots by the skin of their teeth, was having a crisis. A love crisis.

It had been a few months since they started dating Vil Schoenheit and so far it was going great. It was the first time Vil had been in a relationship (which surprised them at first but made sense considering his background), but he was a natural. He took the lead and was always trying to better both himself and Yuu. 

Dates were fun and relaxing, full of self-care and spa nights where he’d personally massage the knots out of their weary shoulders and apply face masks onto their skin along with those cucumbers they’d always seen in movies.

“It’s truly a miracle your skin is as healthy as it is, considering you’ve neglected it so much these past few months,” he’d whispered under his breath the first time he did their makeup. They’d caught on to the tinge of envy in his voice and would chuckle at the thought every now and then.

But back to the topic at hand. Vil… Was a vindictive boyfriend. Not to say he would lash out at them or anything but sometimes they wished he would. 

You see, the first and most obvious sign that Vil was mad at Yuu came in the form of silent treatment. 

“Vil, Vil! Look, I got a ninety-eight on my potionology exam! It’s all thanks to you,” Yuu gushed, running up to the man. 

He didn’t reply. Didn’t even turn around to acknowledge them. 

“Vil? …How come you’re wearing your fifteen cm heels today,” they faltered, a little nervousness starting to creep up in their voice. This was yet another sign of Vil’s anger. Even barefoot, the top of Yuu’s head barely reached his shoulder so whenever he wore his heels, they had to crane their head up to a painful degree just to get a look at him. It was a petty move but oddly effective.

The model looked down on them from above, before huffing and strutting away, his heels clicking on the hallway tiling.

Oh shit.

—

Yuu  honey  Yuu darling 🥺 Yuu light of my life 🥺🥺  Yuu talk to me please 🥺🥺🥺  did i do something wrong? Yuu im sorryyy

—

Hah. Did I do something wrong?? The audacity!

Imagine Vil’s shock and betrayal when he’d been idly scrolling through MagiCam after a relatively good day only to find a post from his dreaded rival, Neige Leblanche (which in itself would’ve dampened his mood), only to see that his very own beloved had liked the forsaken post.

Okay, fine. Maybe he was overreacting a little. But it mattered! It mattered a great deal to him!!

—

Me Give me a day or two to cool down.  Me And for Seven’s sake, PLEASE block that little twink on MagiCam right now.  Me You know who I’m talking about. Yuu okay done  Yuu if you need anything ill be here <333 Yuu love you 🥺

—

…He was starting to feel a little guilty.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Steve is pretty good at dealing with pain. Burns, scrapes, bites, bruises, he will just grit his teeth and get through it. It's almost like the more it hurts, the less he has to think about everything. But when he starts losing his hearing, there's no pain, nothing to shield him from his thoughts.

He's terrified. He already feels isolated, singled out in their small group, and of course he's concerned about not being able to respond, to live his life as he knew it, but what eventually breaks him is the smallest thing, the most insignificant, mundane thing.

He and Robin are sorting books in the Family Video and they have this unspoken ritual - whenever there is a theme song in the movie they're watching, Robin will hum it for the rest of the day, with exaggerated movements, directing the orchestra and everything. And Steve watches her one day and realizes - he will lose this. He will never hear Robin's voice again, her slightly husky and over the top renditions of whatever unlucky movie happens to play. He can't help it, his breathing becomes heavy and shaky and before he knows it, Robin is embracing him and he's trying to explain how scared he is, how he feels like his life is basically over, how he'll miss her silliness and they won't be able to talk on the phone when she leaves for college, he can't ever hear her hum anymore...

After an emotional evening and a pizza night with their favorite sitcom - with subtitles! - on, they go to work again, but Robin excuses herself for a bit, runs into the nearby store. When she comes back, she has a large sketchbook in her hand and a black marker. She starts scribbling along to the very faded melody that Steve is registering from the TV and when she hands her final work to him, he laughs and maybe cries a little. Maybe more than little.

What Robin drew for him looks like a mountain range. She created an axis for time and an axis for the "MUSICAL DRRRRAMA", indicating how intense the music is in each moment. And all of the intensity is annotated, not a single soud described, but rather how Steve and Robin still see their world, in all its silliness. "This part is mega sharp, reminds me of wanting to stab Tommy Hagan with a knitting needle", it says next to one peak. "Remember that really soggy and stale cookie we ate at your place because we were hungry? That's what it feels like" and "it's sooooo looooong and boooooring it's like Mrs. Click's class" and "the violin here is crispy. SPICY. Like the Chinese food we had last Thursday, it kind of never wants to stop burning".

It's then that Steve knows that he will be okay. There won't be phone calls, but there will be letters, so many letters with silly descriptions and drawings, nagging to practice his ASL and visits to check if he really did his homework. Robin will be better than him at it, of course she will, but even when they'll both be able to sign fluently, she will still hand him a new melody scribble now and then.

On Steve's first birthday without sound, she gives him a huge binder labelled "For my only schmuck: Steve's album". In it are tens of scribbles, all of the melodies they hummed together in the Family Video with fresh descriptions and inside jokes. And when she stands in front of all their friends, hands raised up like a conductor and under her guidance, the whole group signs "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEVE", he realizes that sounds might have been overrated, because there were no words to describe this kind of love.

[7grandmel]

Character Archives - [FILE-07]

Grand Dad

"Mario seven, uh, was that the one I played? Oh, let's check it out..."

For Walt Disney, it all began with a mouse. But for SiIvaGunner, it all began with a bootleg game, a streamer, and a pinch of insanity. Many have come after him, and many can claim to be funnier - but Grand Dad will forever hold the title as the first ever figment of imagination to come out of the bubbling mind of SiIvaGunner [FILE-01]. As a result, he has come to be a symbol for the channel in its entirety, the very embodiment of the SiIvaGunner ethos, and something of a dear friend in the eyes of its creator.

In 2014, a certain streamer under the name of Vinesauce Joel was going through the motions of his typical streaming routine - playing games of the oddest variety, and bellylaughing at the absurd results they'd deliver. Even as part of this greater whole, however, Joel's reaction to 7 GRAND DAD immediately became a standout moment, a series of events so perfect that the comedic timing couldn't have been coordinated to be any better. A mumbling Joel clicks on the game bizarrely labeled as "Mario 7", and is to his great shock met with the imagery of a garishly discolored Mario, placed onto an equally garish blue background, as bold letters declare the game's name to be "7 GRAND DAD". Before Joel can even properly process the twist he's been subjected to, only letting out a reading of the game's name, the game twists all expectations once again: An 8-bit rendition of The Flintstones theme, originally from The Flintstones: The Rescue of Dino & Hoppy, kicks in - prompting a bewildered reaction of "FLINTSTONES?!" from the thoroughly befuddled streamer.

This is a sequence of events you're all too familiar with if you're a fan of the SiIvaGunner channel, yet nevertheless a necessary one to properly recount to understand just how core Grand Dad is to SiIvaGunner: Through this one 15-second clip of one streamer's reaction to the unpredictable world of bootleg video games, a small subset of internet dwellers on the platform SoundCloud realized that they'd uncovered a whole new genre of derivative audio work. Mashups and arrangements were always alive and well on the internet, yet always delivered with upfront honesty: To play into their derivative nature as part of the reaction, to present these edits as if they were the nostalgic, authentic real-deal video game music that you grew up loving, only to have the edit serve as an unexpected punchline, was the kind of brilliant idea that just had to be capitalized on. Thus, in January 2016, one lone internet dweller by the name Chaze the Chat started the SiIvaGunner (then GiIvaSunner) channel, and uploaded "Wild Pokémon Battle - Pokémon Ruby & Sapphire". The bait-and-switch foundation that laid the groundwork for all of SiIvaGunner, all built upon the concept of a bootleg Flintstones game pretending to be the seventh entry in the Super Mario franchise.

In our world, Grand Dad's debut to the online world is now over ten years old, his legacy on the SiIvaGunner channel being that of a figurehead mainly representative of the simpler times that the channel has long since grown up from. Yet in the SiIvaGunner universe, to SiIvaGunner himself, Grand Dad is the beating heart of the entire channel, the first spark of imagination which binds his whole universe together. Every figment made since the channel's inception owes its existence to Grand Dad, and with every step SiIvaGunner underwent across his original 2016 run, Grand Dad was right there alongside him, an enduring voice in his head steering the channel onward. And even as his creator fell into a deep slumber, as The Voice Inside Your Head [FILE-03] set his plans into motion to extract SiIvaGunner's figments into the real world, Grand Dad was at the front lines of the resistance fighting in his name - and remains a symbol of hope for all figments caught in The Voice's tyrannical reign.

Across eight years of the channel's life, Grand Dad has gone through so many phases in reception: As a novel joke, as a beacon of hope, as a redundant and played-out bit, looping around into being used ironically, followed by a loop-back-around into being genuinely appreciated. Event after event, album after album, Grand Dad has become a genuine symbol of everything the channel does, and continues to appear to represent it across all of its twists and turns. It's no small feat for a figment to have endured in relevancy for as long as Grand Dad has, and no matter where the channel is headed, you can sure that he's here to stay.

[legitalicat]

Too Sweet - Modern!Aegon Targaryen ii x reader

AN: Hello my beautiful people! I hope you enjoy this story. It started as a little love note to the song "Too Sweet" by Hozier because I feel it's very Aegon coded. It then became kind of an amalgamation of a few different stories. My own story and journey with alcoholism and recovery played a big part in this, and as I wrote it parts of my feelings about my older brother, who is in active addiction, came into play. Please know that this is not everyone's story. Recovery from addiction looks different for most everyone. I truly overcame my addiction through building community and connections. I know many people who have to work a program to succeed. I know a person who actually did get a degree after a near lifetime of addiction and now he does a lot of things to help our local community in treating addiction. So really, this is a love letter to people like me and my brother. There is hope and I believe in every one of you.

Link to the TED Talk mentioned.

TW: blatant talks of alcoholism and substance abuse, talks of rehab, family issues, abusive family subtext yet never explicitly stated, gonna say it's kinda angsty, FLUFF

Pairings: Aegon Targaryen ii x reader

Word count: almost 3k

The soft pads of her feet made barely any noise as she walked into his bedroom, carrying a mug in each hand and wearing nothing but his MCR tee-shirt. Technically, they should both be in a deep sleep by now. It was fast approaching four in the morning and neither of them had bothered to close their eyes once. It was all he could to not hold her close in bed and stare at her captivating beauty.

When Aegon first saw her, weeks ago, he was stunned. It was the first time he had gone to the new bar right down the road from his apartment and it just so happened it was karaoke night. He had been tempted to turn around when he heard a horrendous rendition of his favorite Hozier song. But then she took the mic from her drunken friend, and it was as if the heavens parted and the gods showed him the future Mrs. Aegon Targaryen.

“Your coffee, sir,” she said to him as she handed him a mug. “No worries, it’s as black as your soul,” she added with a teasing grin.

“Thank you, beautiful,” he said as he took the mug from her.

She was truly a lesson in divinity for him. Aegon didn’t truly believe she was the most gorgeous woman on the planet. There would be people who would think she was average looks, maybe even less than that, but he didn’t need her to be more beautiful than anyone else. He wanted her exactly as she was. Beautiful like a spring day, teeming with beauty in the most natural of ways. Like one would think of a cherry blossom tree, or their favorite flower. Simple and breathtaking, a reminder of life and truth on a fundamental level.

He knew it the moment they locked eyes in that bar. Her voice shook from nerves as she sang in front of the crowd of strangers. When she looked at him, and he at her, he felt joyful for the first time in years. All of the stupid shit with his family, the years of drowning his sorrows in whiskey and wine and any other drug, none of it mattered.

If he were honest, he couldn’t remember how he got so lucky. He knew he approached her once she was done singing and complimented her. By the end of the night she was nestled beside him in bed, and he’d be damned if he ever let her leave.

“Gods, you’re amazing,” he muttered as he watched her. He knew she was drinking hot chocolate, finding the taste of coffee much too bitter.

“What was that?” she asked him when she pulled the mug away from her face. She had a bit of whipped cream on her upper lip, making his heart feel like it was on the brim of exploding.

He leaned forward, just barely, and lifted his hand to wipe the cream away with his thumb. She gave him a cute little smile when it brushed against her lips, puckering them to press a kiss to his skin. When he pulled his hand away and sucked the cream off, he heard her giggle.

“This is why you’re so sweet. Where most people drink whiskey and coffee, you put sugar in your sugar and drink it until the sun comes up,” he told her. Of course, he was teasing her.

“Because unlike you, Mr. Listen to Sad Music Even When I’m Happy, I like to enjoy things. The good things. The sweet things, like whipped cream and hot chocolate and fruit loops in bed on Saturday mornings. I just think I live a better life than you,” she told him. She was grinning from ear to ear.

If Aegon wasn’t so afraid of rejection, he would tell her how he loved her. He loved that she wanted to eat sweets at all times. He loved that she teased him for listening to My Chemical Romance or Asking Alexandria, calling it all sad music, even when she would listen right alongside him. He loved that she would start crying at the Wonka movie near the end, unashamed about feeling overwhelmed by the backstory.

If he weren’t so afraid she didn’t love him, he would tell her. He knew it had only been a few weeks, that all logic points to love at first sight being nothing more than him just getting turned on by her appearance. But how could he not love her when she sat in bed with him like this after making him a cup of coffee before the sun had even risen? How could one resist the gentleness of her touch when they watched TV together and she insisted on holding his hand? How could he be expected to watch her hyper fixate on a book or a video game, talking about it for hours on end with so much passion she always ended up wound up and breathless?

“You’re too sweet for me,” he told her as he laid back against the head board. He gently pulled her into his side, wanting to have her as close as humanly possible.

His words were met with an amused chuckle. She didn’t fight his hold on her, instead melting into him as though it was where she had always been.

“Tell me about your family,” she said quietly. “I mean, I’ve not been further than ten feet from you for weeks and you haven’t said the first word about them.”

He could feel his jaw clench as she asked him. His family was a complicated and sensitive subject. Even though he wished he never had to speak to her about them, he knew he had to if he had any hopes of them becoming more than just a passion fueled fling.

“Not much to really say. Dad ran Draconic Industries. My older sister, Rhaenyra, is my dad’s daughter with his first wife. He made her next in line to take over the business. Me, my younger siblings, even my mom, we never really mattered much to dear old dad. He died when I was nineteen. I don’t really matter much to any of the rest of them,” he told her, tracing shapes on her bare thigh as he spoke.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said quickly.

“It is,” he told her without any uncertainty. “Helaena, my younger sister, hasn’t spoken to me in a few years either. I haven’t spoke to my youngest brother Daeron since we were kids. And my brother Aemond…he was the last to hold out hope for me and I burned that to the ground a long time ago. I think it’s been at least a year. My mom completely disowned me about four years ago, when I was around twenty-two, cause I refused to go to rehab again.”

She frowned softly but said nothing. He could only imagine what was going through her head at this point. If roles were reversed, he would probably be planning his exit strategy. All it felt like he told her was a sob story about a poor rich kid who can’t live off mommy and daddy anymore. He felt pathetic.

“What did you go to rehab for?” she asked him.

“Started partying when I was like twelve. Alcoholic by age fourteen. Lead to worse shit, as it does, and I overdosed when I was eighteen on some coke. My mom and grandfather checked me into rehab the following week. Have done two more stints since. Never really stuck, and I haven’t been sober for more than a few days since I was like fifteen.”

He was laying in all our there for her. He wanted her to know so she could decide if she thought he was worth the trouble. He couldn’t blame her if she ran away from him. Why would she stick around? All of his family had washed their hands of him and they were family. She was just someone he met in a bar a few weeks before.

She stayed quiet for a long time. Longer than he would’ve liked. The silence weighed on his heart like an elephant pressing against his chest. He wanted to beg her to say something, anything, just so he knew where her head was at.

Though, he noticed, she didn’t move away from him. She stayed right there, comfortable tucked into his side, occasionally sipping her hot chocolate. His own mug, still filled with coffee, had gone near forgotten in his hand. He was too focused on her.

“You know, the opposite of addiction is connection. Watched a TED Talk one time about it. They found when addicts are treated like people instead of criminals, integrating them into society instead of isolating them, they show less of a struggle with addictions. Allow their basic needs to be met, give them a community, and they thrive,” she said softly after several moments.

She sat up, her warmth leaving him. He felt lonely without her touching him even though she was still well within arm’s reach. She was all he wanted, all he needed.

“I’m not saying I can fix you. I’m not saying the cure to all your problems is me giving my heart to you. I am, however, telling you that I haven’t once seen you drunk or high or anything and we basically haven’t been apart in weeks. If you want to develop healthy connections, create a community, be a person, I am more than willing to be part of it,” she said.

His heart started beating rapidly against his chest. He knew she was right. Since being with her, he hadn’t really felt the need for anything. He had physical cravings, sure, but no mental desire. Aegon didn’t want a moment with her to be a hazy memory that he may be able to recall when he's older.

“Why?” he asked her.

“Because I love you,” she said.

The weeks and months following that night, Aegon really put in the work. Y/N had made it clear to him that she was not going to just give him everything. If he wanted this, it was on him. She was only helping him.

Together, they had found a group therapy program for him. It was ran by a man who had gotten his psychology degree a few years before, but had struggled with addiction for most of his life. That was the first step, a step Aegon felt proud he had taken once he realized he didn’t feel so alone anymore.

The next step, he decided on by himself. The group program was all well and good, but he felt a need to find a deeper explanation into himself. Once a week he found himself sitting in a therapist’s office, talking about everything and nothing all at once. They spoke about his family, his self imposed isolation from them and how that lead to them cutting off, his hopes and dreams for the future.

Through this, he found out about opportunities for volunteer work in the community. He realized he quite liked working at the local secondhand store that helped people in need. He even brought her with him on the Saturdays he worked a shift, turning it into something they enjoyed together.

Even at work, he began reaching out more. If the opposite of addiction was connection, then by the gods he was going to make connections. His coworkers were enough to give him a good laugh. All of them were extremely proud of the progress he made, always encouraging him. He found that little bit alone made it easier for him to be more himself. In the conversations he was able to have with his coworkers, he talked about shows, movies, and music he liked and became friends with a few of them.

It was with this progress, along with the support Y/N provided, that Aegon found himself at the door of his family’s estate. He hadn’t been here in years. He knew all of his younger siblings still lived here. Helaena’s bright yellow VW Beetle sat parked in the driveway, Aemond’s motorcycle probably laid in parts in the garage, and Daeron had always been more content taking a town car than actually driving himself anywhere.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Y/N told him as she held his hand tightly. He had asked her to come with him so she could at least meet them. They needed to see how he had changed.

“I do have to. If for no other reason than to show them I’m not who they remember me to be,” he told her.

“Did you talk to Dr. Wilson about this? I mean, I just, I don’t want you to,” she said, trying desperately to find the right words. He silenced her with a kiss to her forehead.

“And I love you for it,” he said to her, holding her hand as tightly as she held his. “I’m okay with whatever happens in there.”

He knocked hard on the door. It wasn’t long before his mother answered. The ever looming presence of Alicent Hightower, never Targaryen, filled the entire space of the door frame. Her auburn curls were tied neatly back into a bun, her brown eyes widened in surprise.

The woman before him, despite being in her forties, showed no true signs of aging. There were no gray hairs scattered around her head, no fine lines or wrinkles. The only indication of a less than flawless appearance were the almost invisible lines that came from the outer corners of her eyes, put there by the fact that just like Aegon, her eyes would always squint up whenever she smiled.

“Aegon,” she said quietly. She looked at him like she saw a ghost.

“Hi, mom. Can we come in?” he asked her, biting his lip. Y/N gave his hand a small squeeze as if to remind him she was with him. He had her support every step of the way.

Alicent nodded silently and stepped to the side, allowing them entrance. The house was the same as the last time he was here. All of the old family photos hung on the walls of the hallway to the living room. The air smelled of cedar wood and spiced apples, giving it the perpetual scent of fall. It was warm and inviting, the plush couch so comfortable beneath him it was almost indicative of how much money his mother spent on it.

In a lot of ways, the house felt like his family. It was the epitome of warmth and love on first glance. When you looked closer, you could see how some of the picture frames were void of glass, having been broken in one family argument or another. There was a coat the hung on the same rack, day in and day out, hiding the hole where his head went through the wall in a drunken stupor. The paint on the walls were beginning to chip away, revealing the yellowing walls that proved how much his dad had liked to smoke. It was haunted, irreversibly scarred by the past.

A maid came around and asked the three of them if they wanted a drink. Alicent requested a glass of wine. Aegon noticed how surprised she looked when he just asked for a soda, like Y/N was having. He also noticed how she kept looking at his hand that held Y/N’s.

“And who is this?” She asked, nodding her head to Y/N.

“This is the woman I’m going to marry, Y/N,” he said confidently.

They hadn’t spoken about it, there wasn’t a ring on her finger. But he had no doubt in his mind that he would marry her. He was certain that she was who he was made for. The gods had her in mind when they designed him, knowing how much he would love her. She truly was his soulmate.

“And so you came to show her how terrible we all are?” she asked him, eyebrow raised. “Or did you come for money? Because you’re not getting a dime.”

“Neither,” he said firmly. “I just wanted you to see me, mom. I wanted to see you.”

She was surprised at his words. The last time he had spoken to her, he had been begging for money. Crying, begging. When she refused, trying to help him in the best way she knew how, he screamed at her about all of her faults. The last words he spoke to her was how he could only hope that he had the courage to kill himself before he turned into her.

“I’m sorry for…for everything,” he told her. “It wasn’t fair of me to blame everything on you.” Y/N squeezed his hand again. He looked down at their hands and he knew he was okay. He would be okay. “I’m like, eight months sober from everything. Not a drop of booze, no drugs. I have a full time job, I volunteer on the weekends at a secondhand store. I’m doing good, mom.”

Tears flooded to her eyes as she looked at him. Her oldest son, the first person she ever truly loved in a selfless manner. She had thought he was completely lost to her. The vicious creature he had been when they last saw each other had melted away entirely.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” she asked him. He could only wordlessly nod, allowing her the time to stand from her chair and walk over to him. She hugged him tighter than she ever had.

He looked over Alicent’s shoulder at Y/N. The woman he loved was watching him with tears of her own, a smile on his face. She was good, too good, for him. She had opened his eyes to a reality he had been scared to face. But she had never once made him face it alone.

And that made all the difference.

[pealeii]

les mis us tour on november 21, 2024 !!

javert (nick rehberger) said “no 😒” so snootily

the valjean (nick cartell) was INCREDIBLE. his “FLIIIGHT” note in the prologue was an inSANE high belt. and he did it while twirling around?? like WOAH.

the bishop (randy jeter) said “my friend :) you left so early” so gently

the factory girl who fought fantine was genuinely great??? like when she said “sleeping around” she made a little gesture and got all up in her face about it

before fantine died, valjean and her hugged 🥺

the thernadiers were GREAT. we had a panel with the actor of marius (jake david smith) and thernadier (matt crowle) and thernadier said he had a newer take on the character that he described as more of a jester, and you could tell! he really leaned into the physicality. i liked it

when madame did the sign of the cross thernadier just like. flopped his hands vaguely around

stars was fucking incredible. like WHAT. such a stoic javert…and a RICH voice. absolutely gorgeous rendition

javert and gavroche had this little moment after javert cleared everyone away where they just looked at each other like “ok……..respect.”

KYLE ADAMS GRANTAIRE IS BETTER THAN I COULD EVER IMAGINE

during red&black grantaire kissed combeferre on the head and later sat on his lap. he was also just SO CUNTYY. he crossed his legs in the most CUNTY way and just traipsed around and messed around with people and SERVED

when grantaire said “let’s give them a a screwing they’ll never forget” he empasized screwing like “let’s give them a screwing 😏💅 they’ll never forget”

ALSO!!!!! his and gavroche’s friendship was amazing !!!! like they would hug all the time 🥺🥺🥺 they had so many little moments. after grantaire’s verse in drink with me gavroche came over and hugged him on the legss!!! 💔💔😫😫 and when gavroche died (holy shit) grantaire ran over and hugged him and tried to wake him like WTFFF 💥💥💥💥💔💔💔

OKAYYY OH MY GOSH eponine (mya rena hunter) was amazing!!!!!!!! her on my own gave me CHILLS WOAHAHAH SHE WAS INCREDIBLE!!

AND MARIUS AND COSETTE WERE SO SWEET <3333 THEYRE DYNAMIC WAS EVERYTHING. like the cosette (delaney guyer) was SO short it was adorable. also her voice was naturally high and i really enjoyed it

marius was great. when he said “marius pontmercy” in heart full of love he bowed to cosette so goofily 😂

ALSO A LITTLE FALL OF RAIN!!!!!!!!!!! WTF!!! It was done so intimately—marius and eponine were so close to each other in their own corner and the whole stage was dim except a spotlight on them, and they sang so softly to each other it was like you were leaning into this conversation between just the two of them it was 💔💔💔💔💔💔😭😭😭😭

also during that song at one point gavroche tried to come over but grantaire pulled him back

and bring him home holy shiT. he started so quiet and gentle, but then his voice just SOARED as he got into it. just WOAH.

also!! when valjean read marius’ letter he stopped at the “well” when marius is writing about how cosette loves him as well. so like “love me as…well 🤨” SOO funny. bc he’s always so *valjean* and serious yknow but that break was so good

JAVERT’S SOLILOQUY. HOLY SHIT. he did my FAV thing of screaming the first two lines which 10000/10💥💥💥💥💥💥 and when he jumped, the set just like UNRAVELED around him (like how he himself was unraveling!!!) and he stayed suspended in midair while being moved back

at the end when valjean dies, he had the same candlesticks that the bishop gave him set up!!

[eptodaytommorowforever]

Events In The History And Of The Life Of Elvis Presley Today On The 27th Of July In 1976.

Elvis Presley Community War Memorial Hall Syracuse New York;

 steady stream of flashbulbs illuminated the big hall as Elvis Presley moved through C.C. Rider and I Got A Woman, teasing the heavily-female audience with many of those no longer infamous 'bumps'. The crowd joined in as Elvis Presley broke into Amen and then quieted as the Tupelo, MS. native switched to one of his biggest hits, Love Me. Elvis Presley got acquainted with the crowd early as Charlie Hodge, the only 'scarf man' in show business, provided him with a seemingly-endless flow of baby blue and white scarves. Elvis Presley draped them momentarily around his neck or wiped his thoroughly soaked brow and cast them into the audience. He might as well have been giving out $10 bills the way the recipients reacted.

Many in turn presented him with gifts - handmade items, clothing, yellow roses, etc. - and a few were rewarded with kisses from Elvis Presley's tremendous vocal range manifested itself in You Gave Me a Mountain and minutes later he had 8,400 Bicentennial-oriented men, women and children on their feet with a moving vocal and narrative rendition of America the Beautiful. He turned to a medley of his biggest hits - All Shook Up, Teddy Bear and Don't Be Cruel - but got as much applause from songs he borrowed from Olivia Newton-John and Peggy Lee. Jailhouse Rock, another old favorite and Polk Salad Annie followed before Elvis Presley introduced the talented group of singers and musicians who back him up. The latter served as a rest period for Elvis Presley while at the same time providing the opportunity for solo spots for his guitarists, drummer and piano players.

Elvis Presley got in a few bars of Early Mornin' Rain, What'd I Say?, Johnny B. Good and Love Letters during the instrumental solos and then brought the crowd to its feet with a stirring rendition of a former Timi Yuro hit Hurt, Elvis Presley's latest single. An encore performance of the latter plus a few short bars of Hound Dog brought Elvis Presley to the nostalgic Funny How Time Slips Away and the crowd moved closer with the realization that the concert end was near. Telling the crowd that 'You've been one of the finest audiences we ever worked with', Presley said he'll be back 'if you want me'. A thunderous standing ovation followed, giving Presley his answer, and security men whisked him out of the building as a virtual sea of humanity closed in on the stage. Love live Elvis Presley! Rare Candid Photos Taken Here Of Elvis Presley From This Show Concert By A Fan Audience Member.

A Elvis Presley Female Fans Review Who Attended This Show.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 27 Memory

(Hey it's the practically tradition, annual future fic! Spoilers for Endwalker's patch storyline.)

“Did you want the radio on this morning?” Tillie asked as she set out breakfast.

“Please,” Iyna answered, easing herself into her chair. Her right leg was stiff and aching this morning thanks to a shift in the weather. Even Viera grew old eventually, though she had never expected to be one of them with all the adventures and danger she had been through in her long life.

Tillie turned on the radio, the morning host going over said weather report while Iyna ate. There were also the morning’s newspapers to peruse. She liked to keep a few subscriptions rotating, to see where the biases were and who she had to write stern letters to.

Well, dictate to her assistant. Her handwriting was still shite, and her typing skills weren’t as good as they used to be. Her wrists and fingers ached too easily these days.

The weather report ended, with a brief word from the morning’s sponsor—some chocolatey beverage powder—and the next forty-five minutes of music began before general news. There was a brief identification of the song title and singer if it had lyrics, but otherwise the announcer remained silent.

Iyna was chewing on jam-covered toast when notes she had not heard in decades struck her ears. They had none of the magic of the old minstrel’s performances—regulations wouldn’t allow it for many good reasons—and there was a modern stylizing, but the song was unmistakably one of his, commemorating and embellishing on one of the Warrior of Light’s victories.

She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. It had all begun with a map they hadn’t been sure was real. They had found the treasure—and a gateway to the Thirteenth, and thus had begun a new adventure: to search the Void to find the lost Great Wyrm Azdaja, sister to Vrtra, the Satrap of Radz-at-Han.

They had not expected the twists and turns along the way. Had not expected Zero, or the Fiends, or Golbez. None of them had expected Zeromus, and the dive into Golbez’s domain on the moon’s reflection to fight the draconic voidsent.

Iyna remembered how close it was; the cracks in reality between the Thirteenth and the Source, the creature’s rage as it hammered them again and again with draconic void magics. Lotus draped over C’oretta’s head as she flopped to the ground. Dark had her axe that day, standing before the others, heaving and snarling as the darkness attempted to reconstitute. Aeryn straightening, rapier ready, about to rush in again. Zero’s hopeful light, able to pierce the deepest darkness. Vrtra’s call. The simulacra falling as a small dragonet manifested with the help of her brother’s Eye.

The song was coming to an end. “Who was the artist?” Iyna asked. “I missed it.”

“I don’t think they said yet,” Tillie replied. “Probably after, before they introduce the next one.”

Iyna nodded, and listened for the announcer. She smiled as he identified the modern artist as Nadim Ranaz, commemorating the two hundredth anniversary of Lady Azdaja’s return with a new rendition of the classic ballad. Ranaz was also a distant blood relation to the Warrior of Light, and his musical interests included rediscovering and modernizing the songs and ballads of his many-times-removed cousin, to spread and preserve them in the current era.

“It’s been some time since I’ve visited Thavnair,” Iyna mused. “Tillie, would you—”

“On it,” her assistant replied, pulling up contact information and beginning arrangements.

Two hundred years. Azdaja no longer needed her brother’s Eye, her own aether replenished, though she still had plenty of regrowing to do to reach her full power again. It would be nice to visit the dragons, to speak of old times, of old friends, and reminisce about that wild era before seeing the fruits of their labor in the peace and prosperity of modern Thavnair.

Iyna would also have to make a visit to Ranaz, sharing her carefully kept copies of the old minstrel’s songs—most of them from Aeryn’s own extensive collection.

Both of her old friends would like that. That wandering minstrel had only ever wanted to share his stories with the world, and Aeryn’s own bardic nature, so oft at war with her tendency to demure her heroics, would appreciate the songs being passed to a new generation.

After all, Iyna’s own self-appointed task as keeper of her friends’ legacies meant keeping those tales and their truths circulating for as long as she was able. To keep their memories alive in not only her heart but the rest of the world’s.

She wasn’t out of the fight yet.

She also was not at all the singer that Dark or Aeryn had been, but hummed a few bars anyway as she left the kitchen to prepare for her next adventure.

“Tales of loss and fire and faith...”

[nyxicnymph]

The Man in the Sketchbook

Rating: teen. Pairing: Albedo/Scaramouche|Wanderer

Albedo is empty. He doesn't know what he is missing, what is wrong. All he knows is that he woke up today, and felt like the world was off-kilter. Like he was missing something important that wasn't missing yesterday.

He doesn't solve, or at least come close to solving, the mystery, until a month or two later, when he picks up a sketchbook he'd filled some time ago, one that had ended up discarded for reasons Albedo couldn't seem to remember. Out of curiousity, the kind an artist always feels when presented with their older works, Albedo opens the book.

To his surprise, he finds sketch upon sketch of the same person. A person he doesn't remember.

Dark blue-violet hair with deep blue eyes glare up at him from one of the rare colored sketches, painted in a watercolor style that leaves the unknown man looking nearly unreal, transient even.

Albedo feels a strange sense of longing the moment he lays his eyes on these forgotten sketches.

He tears his eyes away from the drawings of such a captivating stranger- Inazuman, if Albedo has to guess where he might be from- and checks the dates labeled in the front of the book. What he sees causes him to falter. The latest sketches in the book were only about three months old.

Albedo sets the sketchbook down, staring into the wilderness on Dragonspine. There is no way he could have forgotten drawing that many sketches of the same person in that short of a time period. That meant that something had happened, something out of Albedo's control.

He loses himself in that train of thought, draped over a table, another blank page beneath him. When he comes to again, he finds that even if his conscious memory fails him, muscle memory does not. For there lays on what was previously a perfectly blank page, yet another rendition of the same man, with the wide hat and dark veil, and the mysterious, stormy aura.

As Albedo dives further into the mystery sketchbook, he gleans some things. One, the mystery man seems to be cold and sharp, but even he has his quiet and gentle moments. Two, Albedo must have spent quite a bit of time with him, because many of the sketches Albedo is seeing are done in the loose style he uses when he's trying to capture a brief moment for another day's use.

The third thing Albedo realizes, leaves him with a heavy heart.

The man in the sketchbook? Must have been a high ranking member of the Fatui. The insignia is tucked away or nearly hidden in many of the sketches, but there are times where it's in full view, though it's clear that in the past, Albedo had tried to obscure it slightly with messy scratchings of his pencil.

Yet, even now, Albedo draws him. He can't help it. Somehow, drawing the mystery man helps to settle the unease that rests in Albedo's heart, calming whatever has got him feeling so off-kilter.

One day, the Traveler, the Honorary Knight, sends Albedo a letter, asking him if he would be so kind as to pair up with one of their friends for a commission. If Albedo says yes, Traveler will simply send their friend up to him, and the two of them can make their way to Liyue together.

Albedo says yes, of course. Ever helpful and dutiful, and Traveler had promised him some alchemy materials in return, as a fair trade.

The day of this commission approaches, and as Albedo prepares his own gear, he hears the snow crunch behind him. A thud echos behind him, but it's the swearing voice that causes Albedo to freeze and then whip around.

Something about that voice was achingly familiar....

A wide hat, dark blue-violet hair, and deep blue eyes full of storms.

Albedo makes eye contact with the stranger from his sketchbook. For a split second, Albedo sees recognition, panic, and something more flash through the man's eyes. Then he speaks again, brash, and the strange yet familiar sound of his voice tugs on Albedo's heart.

"You must be the Alchemist Traveler mentioned. I'm-"

"In my sketchbook," Albedo interrupts breathlessly. "You're the man from my sketchbook. Well... mostly." As Albedo takes him in, he sees no signs of associations with the Fatui, though that could simply be a disguise.

The man's eyes widen, and he takes a step back. "You... know who I am? You remember?"

Albedo thinks it might be easier to show first, and pulls out the sketchbook once more, opening it to the watercolor image that first took Albedo's breath away. "I must have drawn you a hundred or more times. But I don't remember drawing you- in here, anyway- or who you were to me."

The man seemed to have stopped functioning entirely. "Irminsul... didn't wipe your drawings? You have a record of me from before?" Albedo simply nodded, while the man beside him stepped back, a hand over his eyes. When he spoke again, he sounded choked. "I never thought..."

"Let's start again," Albedo suggested, putting the book away and extending a hand. "Whoever you were before, I don't remember. But I would like to know who you are now, if that is okay with you. Albedo Kreideprinz, Mondstadt's Chief Alchemist."

The man moved his hand, moist eyes searching Albedo's. Whatever he sees must convince him, because he tentatively takes Albedo's hand, and shakes it gently.

"I'm... a simple wanderer these days. But... You used to call me Scara."

It does not escape Albedo that Scara has yet to release his hand. So he squeezes it gently.

"A pleasure to meet you, Scara. Again."

~end~

[retronator]

I never played Karateka in the 80s, but as a big fan of Prince of Persia and Jordan Mechner's journals, I was stoked to hear that an interactive documentary about Jordan's prototypical cinematic platformer was in the works by Digital Eclipse.

Released this week, The Making of Karateka on the surface looks like any other game you buy through Steam ($20, Windows-only), GOG, or whichever favorite store or console you prefer (available also for Xbox, PS4/5, Switch). Once the thing loads though, you really get 3 things: a documentary, the original Karateka, and a new remaster.

The documentary part is an audio-visual slideshow retelling Jordan's development story starting with his teenage years pitching his earlier title Deathbounce to the publishing house Brøderbund. It's an interesting look into the iterative process, seen through correspondence letters, journal entries, and many playable builds at various stages of completion. After we reach the eventual rejection of that title, Jordan comes back with a prototype of a visual-narrative experience unseen on home computers. We get to follow Karateka's full life cycle from pre- to post-production, ending with the conception of its sequel (which eventually turned into Prince of Persia). It's a real treasure trove! Fellow pixel artists will appreciate the many graph-paper sketches and interactive overlays of final game sprites compared to rotoscoped outlines and filmed footage. There are also video segments, from a comprehensive breakdown of the music to interviews with other developers reflecting on the impact Jordan's games had on their careers. You'll even encounter a fan letter signed by the one and only "John Romero, Disciple of the Great Jordan and worshipper of the Magnificent Mechner!" (I kid you not, you can't make this stuff up).

Perhaps just as crucial for an interactive documentary like this, you can launch any of the floppy disks in the emulator, trying out various iterations and ports of Karateka.

The emulation is fantastic and lets you fiddle with display settings (monochrome or color display, scanlines, pixel perfect or zoomed) as well as enhance the frame rate. You can even rewind the many deaths you will face if you've never played the game before (like me). If you spend some more time obsessing over the weird artifacts of the Apple II hi-res graphics, you might even go down the rabbit hole of realizing that on the Apple II you didn't really paint colors as much as you used different monochrome dithering patterns that the graphics display would then turn into 4 different hues. A fascinating learning experience if you include some of your own research online!

Add to this the Commodore 64 and the Atari 8-bit versions to compare how the graphics got adapted across the earlier ports and you have a nice way to relieve the mid-80s with a bit of help from modern emulation (I did beat the C64 version without rewinding though!). I'd love to see more art from the other remakes, especially the 16-bit Atari ST port, but I understand their decision to omit playable versions of those due to the lower quality on the gameplay side of the translations.

This brings us to the final part of the package, the modern remaster. Unlike the 2012 complete reimagining of the game (with 3D graphics and all), Digital Eclipse approached the remake as the ultimate port of the original to an imaginary system along the lines of a 90s VGA PC.

It's well done. Some of the fully-redrawn scenes are a bit overpainted for my taste (I'd prefer a pixel art rendition of the castle than a blurry photographic collage, although there were many games in the 90s that did take this approach), but the in-game graphics are really in style, including the smooth animations that are like one would imagine granted a beefier CPU. It's also a sort of director's cut with previously unseen scenes added, in particular, the battle with the leopard as a clever action-puzzle in the middle. The AI is unfortunately even less challenging than Jordan's implementation. As great as the 6-move fighting system could have been, you yet again resort to simply kicking away opponents as they tirelessly crawl into your range. There isn't even the nuance from the original where you were the one who had to approach some enemies with skilled timing. On the other hand, you now have optional goals and achievements that make the repetitive/easy combat work in your favor (stringing various combos, beating opponents or the level under a time limit …). As the Digital Eclipse president Mike Mika admits at the end of the welcome commentary mode, they didn't manage to achieve their perfect port, but they did come close.

In conclusion, I thoroughly enjoyed playing both the original as well as the remake and while the combat system lacks any sort of depth beneath its stunning animations, Karateka is instead a monumental experience for its presentation. Big characters with personality and realistic motion are displayed through cinematic camera cuts and story vignettes (3 years before Ron Gilbert came up with the word "cutscene"). There are details like animating the unfortunate falling off the cliff at the start of the game, or respectfully bowing to the first guard as they bow in return. Jordan's creative work is precious and worth the attention this release gifts it.

I highly recommend The Making of Karateka to all retro gamers and/or game developers for its immersive documentation which provides an experience that goes beyond the usual video documentaries. It's interactive—just like the subject it's talking about—something I want to see more in the future. And if the $20 by any chance seems high to you, consider that the original retailed at $35 (and that was in 1984 dollars).

[spumonibones]

ZhongChi No One Asked For

Collected from my Twitter. An assortment of ideas or headcanons that literally no one asked for and once you read them no, no returns accepted.

Tangents separated by: *********

If Zhongli went to Ningguang for advice on writing love letters, she'd show him the ones Beidou wrote her. They're vulgar & cheesy, clearly the sort of thing that'll dissuade a Fatui & nothing will come of it. Instead, Childe who's humor is a mix of a serial unaliver & immature teenager, laughs so hard he cries at the dirty limericks. Beidou is very proud of Zhongli, & Xiao just wants to know why Zhongli never asked the Anemo Gremlin (Venti). "Roses are red, Violets are blue, Your face is cute, And your booty is, too." This was the epitome of Zhongli's efforts. Beidou and Childe both agree, truly, romance isn't dead.

*********

Separately Zhongli and Childe are 100% competent, but whenever they're together they share a single brain cell.

*********

I like to think that the Zhongli/Tartaglia ship is both Zhongli & Childe discovering they're both demi & both are unable to compute. Like Zhongli just going to Ganyu, who has no idea he's Morax & he forgot because Childe has their single brain cell that day, & he's just like -

Z: Hey I wanna get down & dirty with an adorable killing machine & I've never felt this urge before what do? G: ...what. Z: .......I want to fu- G: Look I must advise you to not get intimate with a killing machine for liability purposes, now please leave.

(This was before I was made aware that yes, Ganyu do know.)

*********

On Childe and Zhongli's first date, things start normal enough. It's when afterwards, when Childe is leading Zhongli down an alleyway quietly as he can that the date stops abiding by, "normal."

Childe's eyes glow in the night & his smile is devious. Zhongli watches him paint a very poor rendition of a d*ck on the wall. Z: What are you doing? C: Art. Your turn! Thus, that night, many d*cks were painted upon Liyue's walls. Childe would often marvel at the detail Zhongli put into his. By morning, the two had parted, & Zhongli lay in his bed. It wasn't until the first scream of the Millelith that he could rest, relaxing knowing Liyue's people were still protected & that Childe was probably laughing. It was a good date.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #146

I woke up feeling pretty good today. I have some 6 hours of sleep, which is still not ideal, but it's better than what I have been getting over the last few days. I did a little better with hydrating. And it's not Mother's Day today. I feel a little better.

I made a tea today for myself. I didn't have the energy to capture the brewing process this time, but I did get some of the nicer-looking swirls:

I thought the surface swirl looked kind of like a dragon turning its head to look behind it. So that was pretty cool!

...Today I made the vanilla rose tea; it's one that I think you might really like. I was inspired to go to an online place called Adagio to make my own tea blend that I thought might suit your tastes, given that it is known that you enjoy vanilla and roses. I ordered it in a little tin, and on the little tin, I had them put the picture I found of you sipping tea while looking out a window. I've seen a lot of pictures of you, drawn by other people. The one of you drinking tea is by far the best one I've ever seen so far. But there's this other one where flowers of many colors are being braided into your hair; that one comes in second place. There's another one of you in a t-shirt, with your head in your arms, looking over affectionately at a curled-up and contented-looking cat.

...My favorite images of you will always be the ones in which you look happy, contented, and at peace.

After tea, I decided to shower. My mind has been funky, and one of the best ways to clear up a funky mind is to go in a warm place that smells nice. Most of my soaps are scented with roses, lavender, chamomile, or some combination thereof; I think you would like them. ...When is the last time you were able to enjoy a hot shower, with soaps that smell nice? Or a hot bath? I think you might enjoy the soaps available at my house, but given your height, I'm not sure the shower here would suit you well. You'd be welcome to use it anyhow, though (all of my friends are allowed to make use of our shower, beds, and washer/dryer), if you decided to visit; no one would bother you or get weird at you.

I blasted tunes while in the shower. There's a playlist I like to use specifically for it; it's filled with acapella renditions of various video game songs, done by an artist called Smooth McGroove; he's an amazing human being (and very kind, caring, and empathetic!) who is very skilled with the use of his voice. I love singing along with his various tunes!

...I felt A LOT better after that. Holy cow. Well enough, in fact, to begin pulling the lilac blossoms away from the greens:

Today, I even found a weird lilac blossom with six petals instead of the usual four:

...I decided that the non-standard lilac blossom is my favorite one.

In order to make good lilac syrup, you have to take the time to separate the blossoms away from the greens. This process takes a long time, but failure to do so will result in a bitter syrup. I spent three hours doing this alongside a different playlist, and I'm still nowhere near done. I'll have to continue tomorrow, assuming the remaining lilacs aren't too wilted by then...

One of my friends also invited me to a gathering of polyamorous people today. Apparently, it takes place at a local restaurant on the second Monday night of every month. I was really scared about going because I normally don't fare very well in large groups, and I really don't know how to social in general; I don't know how to politely insert myself into other people's conversations, and I don't know how to talk about myself without the other person getting overwhelmed, so normally I just watch others mingle and listen to their stories. One can learn much by simply sitting and listening, and I'm better suited to that than to speaking anyhow.

My friend, with whom I've been friends for 16 years, was with me, and he introduced me to various people. I was surprised to see one of my other friends there, too, but I suppose I shouldn't have been, given the fact that they are very active in the polyamory community. The room was chock full of neurodivergent people, and for the first time in a while, I didn't feel out-of-place. There were lots of folks in colorful outfits and gender-non-conforming clothing, and it was amazing to see! I wore my favorite shirt, along with my usual Eevee hat, cardigan, boots, and jeans, and the plush I carry everywhere, and I didn't at all feel self-conscious about it in this space.

There was, however, one older gentleman present who was dressed in more ordinary clothing, looking a little lost, out-of-place, and lonely. I noticed that the other people there were avoiding him, most likely because of his age and his style of dress, so I made it a point to approach him and to include him in my little group with my two friends and all their friends. I was delighted to discover that he has a very vibrant mind with many interests and a very omnivorous taste in music, games, and movies! He started out being very shy and uncertain, but I did my best to make him feel safe, and gradually he started opening up and talking very animatedly about the things he likes! Speaking with him was absolutely delightful! It was his first time going to this sort of activity, too, and I hope that next time, he will feel more confident and at ease instead of unwelcomed and avoided.

He spoke on being kind of an outcast when he was growing up and going to school. This was something I could very much relate to. We exchanged contact information, and I'm hoping to be able to get to know him better over time. I exchanged contact information with 3 other people in that space, too; I'm very much looking forward to getting to know them as well! One of them creates music and then puts it on a place called Soundcloud (that's where the acapellas I've made are!), and although I won't be able to listen to it tonight because I have to go to bed soon, I'm very much looking forward to listening to it tomorrow!

I didn't take any pictures of the people, because having your face in places is dangerous if you're a non-standard human; in addition to being polyamorous, lots of the people there were LGBTQ, and folks like us are very much hated in my world, to the point where people try to fire us from our jobs, ostracize us from our communities, or even torture and kill us - it's really very unfortunate. But I did get a couple pictures of some nearby flowers, and the scenery along the route to the place, and some pictures of the crafted flowers on the tables:

...Oh, and!!! I managed to snag a picture of a bird-of-prey in flight. They're always so far away and difficult to capture with my cellphone camera, but... well. It's the black speck in the sky. Here:

...Yesterday I said I felt disconnected from everyone and everything and like I don't belong. Today, I was invited to a place where there were a LOT of people like me, and just like that, a few new potential friends were simply dropped into my lap. This is unprecedented. And also very interesting. And also strange. But not in a bad way. I suddenly feel even more foolish about the bit of stupidity I pulled yesterday, ahahaha... 😅😬😓

...Tomorrow, I will pull more lilac blossoms from their greens, and then finally get started on steeping them in hot water to make syrup; it'll be very good. I'll probably be pulling blooms out of greens all day, but that's fine; it's very meditative sort of work. And autistic brains like mine tend to be well-suited for repetitive tasks like this; I can't complain.

I need to try to actually go to bed on time today, so I'm going to end today's letter here.

Hey, Sephiroth? If you're out there, reading these, listening to me, and cheering me on a little from where you are (impossible, I know, but maybe we can pretend)... thank you. Thank you for existing. Thank you for being here. Thank you for being yourself.

I love you. And I'll write again tomorrow. Stay safe for me, won't you?

Your friend, Lumine

[breadvidence]

Les Misérables 6/9/2024 at the Fox Theater, GA

Sometimes purchases made on two too many glasses of wine are the wisest buys of all: saw the musical live for the first time, which seems like it oughta have come before at least three other adaptations I've watched at this point, and is an experience that gets into your guts in a way any film will struggle to match. I was in the mezzanine in the cheap seats which lost me a back corner of the stage and hearing whatever Kyle Adams was getting up to, but still gave me a solid view. There are so many ways in which this is the best adaptation of Les Mis, and finally experiencing music live that I've been listening to for decades—there are no words. So, since I can't express the profound side of the experience, I'm gonna write up a li'l commentary of mostly jokes:

"Overture": I notice the playbill does not list "The Confrontation" among the numbers and feel surprised no Valvert fan has had a public meltdown online about this change. Shrug it off, because people are starting to go uhhhUH on stage and Broadway will hardly give me my money back because they didn't deliver on the expected level of homoeroticism.

"Look Down": Oh, we're doing the boat? Are we going to dock the boat before Valjean gets his papers and—? Ambiguous? Missing scene: Valjean has to swim to shore because the cruelty of state punishment means when your time is up they simply force you to walk the plank to "freedom". Also, this iteration of Javert outsources his violence to underlings, which is an interesting choice. Boyd comes across solid and straightforward, even dignified, which is not the bared-teeth nasty energy I personally thrive off of from a musical Javert, but I have no comment on his technical skill.

"On Parole": Cartell masterfully handles the most important line in the Les Mis musical, Valjean's sippy of freedom water. He moves throughout this sequence with a cautious, loose, sometimes hunched body language, feral. If adaptations were about fidelity as such I'd bellyache about the violence, but it works fine visually, I'll go with it. At some point, I oughta mull on why musical Valjean is such a more violent character than in the novel. On the other hand, the Petit Gervais reference I will simply call clumsy and bad, if you don't know the book it just makes Valjean look like a dick and if you do it jars even worse. Cartell's rendition of "fliiiIIIIIIIⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱⁱght!" is solid, all my ears want from that line is to feel like the actor is making a weird noise they will not elsewhere be repeating.

"The Bishop": Randy Jeter is a distractingly attractive Myriel. I would fall on my hands and knees and put my ass in the air too, Valjean. Hot fuckin' damn.

"At the End of the Day": Coming off of 3.1.12 in Les Mis Letters had me primed to view the opening moments in which we see the "the Poor" as dehumanized figures, shrouded, moving strangely, almost monstrous, to consider the political implications of that, but it's bomb visuals so I don't much care. Haley Dortch is a fuckin tree of a person and I mean that in the best way, really interesting physical presence to be cast as Fantine. They seemed, from my distance, to be not insignificantly taller than Cartell, which I'm unduly delighted by. Speaking of Cartell: I believe the word the kids would use for his outfit as Madeleine is "cunty", those coat tails have so much swish.

"I Dreamed A Dream": The crowd howled for Dortch at the end of this song, and well-earned too. Briefly distracted by wondering what the theater theory is behind actors doing little runs around the stage—just sayin', I promise I will not lose interest like a leopard gecko presented with unmoving prey if they stay in one spot.

"Lovely Ladies": My awareness that I should feel badly about this depiction of sex workers vs eye-catching costuming and choreography, oh no. Boyd continues to be solid and uninteresting in this scene, but that's fine. At the end, the constables take Dortch under the elbows and drag them offstage backwards with their heels bumping along the floor, which prompted a totally inappropriate laugh from me, sorry to everyone.

"Who Am I?": Another case of end-of-number unintentional comedy as a gendarme holds out the handcuffs for Boyd to snatch when he runs after Cartell.

"Fantine's Death": I've seen the staging before where Valjean gets ready to dip partway through and has to be called back to the deathbed and—I'm sorry, this is a very moving duet, Cartell and Dortch did admirably, but that bit was funny.

"The Confrontation": The playbill lied! Unfortunately Boyd continues to do nothing for me and I'm neutral at best on the handcuff/chain choreography. The very brief choking laying him out has me dubious about his stamina.

"Master of the House": My awareness that I should feel that the use of the Thénardiers as comic relief cheapens their role in the novel as a complication of the inherent goodness of humankind and the redemption of the 'criminal class' vs eye-catching costuming and choreography, oh no. I enjoyed the hell out of this number, sometimes despite itself. There was a pegging joke, can I be blamed? Also, someone in the audience exclaimed in distress over the gag of a parrot being thrown into a meat grinder, bless them.

"The Well Scene": lay me out on the ground and cover me in dirt because I perished, I am too invested in these characters and Cartell brings such warmth to this scene.

"The Bargain": If you need me I will still be under my dirt over the continued sweetness of how Cartell plays his interactions with the little Cosette actor. It's my understanding he has children, and I'd be curious to know if his performances prior to becoming a father had this depth. I have always appreciated the impulse behind adding "Suddenly" to 2012, and I know that there are fans who feel it calls back to the novel meaningfully, but this production did fine with the material from the original libretto communicating the sense of Valjean's immediate devotion to this child.

"Look Down": Over twenty years listening to this musical and only at this moment do I realize that the meaning of the lines is "Lamarque is the only man who speaks for the people here below" and not "Lamarque is the only swell who runs the show". Shame. Because my brain is a Rat King of adaptations, Devin Archer's Enjolras reminds me distinctly of Yūji Kishi's.

"The Robbery": It didn't take more than hearing here you can always catch me out to know there was going to be a fucking killer rendition of "On My Own" in my future. It is difficult to sell me on Javert's line in this number without some bitchin' guitar as back-up, and honestly—I'm writing this two days later, I do not remember Boyd's clearly. Unfortunate.

"Stars": The crowd didn't trumpet quite so loud for this number as it did for "I Dreamed a Dream" and, later, "On My Own", but there was a big response, and—I don't know, I don't hear the vision. The use of street lamps in place of star imagery makes me wonder whether someone involved in constructing the set has been following @everyonewasabird's thoughts on the connection between those and police surveillance.

"Éponine's Errand": Half the theater was convinced at this point that we were at intermission o' clock, maybe because the most forward piece of stage machinery that closes had closed up? People stood up, we shuffled about, there was a surprised and flustered resettling when Mya Rena Hunter emerged with Cosette, now I remember!

"The ABC Café": Kyle Adams and the directing choices around Grantaire are both delightful and a distraction—like, sorry every other student, I didn't even try to keep track of who's who. There's something very lovely about being in a time and place that allows an explicitly gay reading of this story to be acted out on stage, that there's trust on the part of the cast and creative team in the audience feeling a connection to one man being a comedic tender mess at another.

"In My Life": Even if Brick Valjean never found his way to being honest with Cosette, Cosette would have been a healthier psyche were she able to express this level of frustration with her father, and I grant the slim chance he might've listened to her, some day. This exchange marks one of the big gaps between the musical and the book, IMO. None of which is relevant to this specific performance, they all have this. Cartell does an interesting thing here, either he was tired this night or a little off-balance or he was deliberately playing the character as having a limp or he'd forgot which bit of the play he was in and was moving like pre-Digne Valjean or he had not forgot at all and wanted the character to be, for a minute, like when he was feral and weary, in the beat between Delaney Guyer exiting and his following her off-stage.

"At the Barricade" (?): The bit where Éponine delivers the letter—return of the violence inherent to musical Valjean; this isn't the first one I've seen rough up Éponine a little, startled to find her outside the door, amped up by the awareness there's a threat lurking, and it's both outside the book character's nature and markedly more normal as human behavior. Cartell's voice pitches up all incredulous and alarmed on now that I know that you love me as well?, which got a cute audience reaction.

"On My Own": I thought the audience had demonstrated its greatest, loudest excitement over "One Day More", and I was VERY incorrect. Wailing whistling whooping excitement for Mya Rena Hunter, the roof near came off. By far the most intense reaction of the night even if not the longest.

"Javert's Arrival" / "Little People": I continue to be perplexed by the Grantaire & Gavroche side plot, but godspeed, I guess, I have no opinion one way or another for how that impacts reading any of the characters involved. It feels like this staging decided to put all its eggs in the Grantaire basket, so far as giving any of the Amis a reason to hold the audience eye.

"A Little Fall of Rain": There are so many people involved in producing and staging and acting Les Mis who know the theory and technique of theater better than I can ever hope to grasp, but: pulling the tied-up Javert back on-stage during the final moments of this number, disruptive movement and noise in the corner of the stage, feels like, hm. A decision being made that I do not understand.

"The First Attack": Boyd continues to have the erotic energy of an off-brand Ken doll, I don't in the least understand how tied up and manhandled and with Kyle Adams queening it up all over him that I get nada. Even Cartell tossing him up against a wall did nothing for me. More interestingly: the hesitation as the students decide how they feel about a restrained man being shot, the quiet before one of them thumps the butt of his gun on the ground and says—more or less, I forget the line—good job, is a curious, tense choice. The consensus among the Amis in the novel appears to be that Javert, as an agent of the state, a spy, has earned his execution just as much as Le Cabuc—and, given his capacity to inform against those who did leave the barricade, it's not unreasonable. All the same, it's uncomfortable, as a modern reader, and this production is giving us plenty of space to feel that emotion.

"Drink With Me": This was a crime against me personally, a gay not prepared to feel so strongly about Grantaire/Enjolras. Devin Archer reciprocates the care and attention Adams put into the dynamic to a degree that makes it read a lot more like a strained relationship than one-sided pining, which I'm fine with.

"Bring Him Home": As Cartell shivered through his last note, someone in the audience member lost their grip, they whooped like a hyena, brought me back to being a person and not just ears hanging on the climb and drop of the song. As a kid I always skipped "Bring Him Home" while listening to the soundtrack, put off by the softness, the pitch, and while I've grown to appreciate the skill that goes into it and feel far more deeply the summers die one by one, damned if I've ever got the song to the degree I get it now, having experienced it in person. & once the rest of us had got caught up with the hyena in the audience, worn ourselves out clapping and whistling, into the silence he gave another whoo whew!!, which prompted a laugh I think we all very well fucking needed.

"The Sewers" (?): Boyd took his hair down and now he's wild, good for him. Frantic, agitated, his scurrying bolting searching across the stage, the frustration with the sewer grate, he's lost his shit—I didn't expect him to bring any energy into the role, given I found him bland up to this juncture, but apparently he was saving all the interesting for the breakdown stage of being Javert.

"Dog Eat Dog": Low-key a favorite song of mine, probably for the same reasons that I listen to folk punk. Matt Crowle dropped the comedy utterly from the harvest moon shines down—it resonated, gave me a shiver.

"Javert's Suicide": Boyd redeems himself some—I will not be swayed, and unsteady on his feet. The aching vulnerability that Philip Quast brings to this number has not yet been unseated in my heart, and I've seen a clip of Tam Mutu in hysterics that was interesting and impactful, but this wasn't a bad take. There was an undignified quality to how he kept his knees bent after climbing up onto the parapet, a mimicry of that caution and fear of falling that is absurd in the context of a jump to death, that felt human and exactly as embarrassing as I want Javert's life to be. Now, unless you're going to break the actor I don't think there's a way to play the suicide that I'm not going to find comedic—I'm an unforgiving watcher—but they did their best.

"Empty Chairs at Empty Tables": Somewhere around here it was they lit the flame I began to hear sniffling and by oh my friends my friends forgive me it escalated to outright weeping. Big ol' butch bald man there with his girlfriend was two seats down from me and he utterly lost his shit during this number, bless him, and no wonder: Jake David Smith, who was a very charming Marius, you forgave him the stalking, but not particularly noticeable, all a sudden demanded our attention. I do wonder whether that audience member had lost friends, whether something about this spoke to him personally.

"A Heart Full of Love (Reprise)" / "Valjean's Confession": Throughout I debated whether Cartell's gait was a little odd, if I was misreading, if he was dragging his left foot, but here there's no doubt here, he's playing it up like he miscalculated his fluid intake and worked out hard, he's bodily fucked, Marius please lend this man your cane.

"Beggars at the Feast": Delaney Guyer pauses, uncertain, a flicker of fear, as she crosses close to Victoria Huston-Elem, and—listen, Hugo sure as hell doesn't ever give Cosette the space as an adult to so much as think about the Thénardiers, I don't know that I've seen it in any film adaptations, I hope it's out there in fandom but I'm in the wrong corner to know for sure (with one exception offhand), and it says how much I'm hungry for that deep-dive that seeing it acknowledged for ten seconds on stage has me writing in this tone about the topic.

"Epilogue: Valjean's Death": Cartell embraced Randy Jeter and I shed one (1) tear. Then he stopped, pulled away from being led to paradise to turn back around to Delaney Guyer to love another person is to see the face of God and—it's a cheesy line! it's absurd! it's not even Hugolian, goddamnit! the lyrics borrow a suspicious amount from Gillenormand! I refuse to provide you the tear count at this juncture.

"Finale": Dissociation! at the Broadway. Too fucking good for my brain to stay present.

In conclusion, were I to write the fic based off this one specific performance, which I have definitely not considered: I would proceed as firmly rooted in the musical as possible, and let be for the moment all those many Brick details in preference of saying: what are these characters doing? What did it mean for Cosette, to sometimes see from the corner of her eye her father with his sore leg dragging, his shoulders hunched, a feral dog light in his eyes? Was part of the strain in Grantaire and Enjolras' relationship that lingering attention Enjolras has for Marius, and does Marius ever think about the man whose ghost hesitated so long with his attention fixed on him? Do the Thénardiers circle back around, and how does Cosette reckon meeting her childhood nightmare as one woman to another? If I had no other context, I would say that Javert's breakdown is half at least about being held captive, with Jean Valjean a wretched complication—as he stood on the parapet, could he still smell the brandy on the breath of the murderous drunk who clutched arms around his chest, weighed down his back, all around them the gunfire and the smoke? Does Jean Valjean get to screw around with incredibly hot Myriel in the afterlife? This is not a musical experience that inspired fix-its; the dead are dead. It would have to be a story about ghosts.

[novemberthewriter]

good bones (or, an exercise in letting go) [1300 wds]

genre: literary/dramedy

[cw: surgery talk, body image, colorism, fatphobia, depression, negative self-talk, emotional neglect, strained relationships]

-

Mark ‘Mookie’ Simon, age 30, will break his first bones under the care of Doctor Armand in Tijuana, Mexico. He will have four osteotomies of the jaw over six months while Dodie plays caregiver (yes, paid). Dodie’s unbothered because it’s not skin bleaching or a black market butt lift or something else equally heinous, but also Very Bothered Enough to give Mookie another rendition of Why You Wanna Play With Your Face So Bad from the driver’s seat as they head to Hartsfield-Jackson Airport.

And yet again, Mookie tells her, We don’t all have good bones.

Dodie’s a good enough friend that she'll accept a half-story as long as she can monitor him. Mookie’s grateful. He’s still figuring out how to give her the whole truth. 

The PR reason is that he wants a competitive edge. Mookie is better known as Hennesse Williams, fast-growing queen of the Atlanta drag scene, and he wants to expand his horizons. He considered the staple practices: the buzzcuts for better wig placement, the spanx for a smoother look in skirts. What was wrong with something more permanent? He still can’t find an answer. Even little old ladies get chin lifts, tattooed brows. Gertrude can save at the Clinique counter and Mookie can save time contouring to look like he’s got a Disney Tarzan jaw. 

The true reason is a bit more involved.

It goes back decades.

The Weight had been the monkey on Mookie’s back (and belly, and hips, and arms, and everywhere) since birth. The Simons of Southern Georgia, USA were always markedly svelte; Mookie was nothing like them. Sure, he had the same twang and hazel eyes and tawny skin, but his facial features stretched wide, his frame and family bones buried deep under fat. It didn’t take long for him to figure out that whatever gene made the Simons energetic, ambitious, and burn off soul food like nothing had skipped him over. His childhood was spent in the solace of the N64 while Dorothy had the nerve to start singing and the gall to be good at it. 

[DOROTHY ANNE enters stage center. She is twelve years old. The stage is the Apollo, the Ole Opry, the hearts of most Simons and the world over. MOOKIE is her younger brother. He is eight years old. MOOKIE exits stage left and becomes a glass child.]

[MOOKIE wonders if there is such a thing as a glass parent. He lives with his folks yet he knows nothing about them.]

It had been many years of being grudgingly taken on tour when a blessing came to him in the form of vaudeville. (One can’t repeatedly visit New York without falling into its oldest theatre traditions.) Vaudeville became drag. Drag begot a creativity and athleticism he’d never known was possible for someone like him. Newly seventeen and now those bones that'd bent under the weight of himself and his sadness were suddenly carrying Mookie through a new chapter.  Gave strength to Hennessee, a larger-than-life character who was so very cathartic to become. Strength on his own small stages, performing for people of all ages who loved him. Strength in the streets to evade the people who sought to hurt him for finding himself. The biggest blessing: meeting Miss Dodie James.

[DODIE JAMES enters stage right. She is eighteen. She is a copper-skinned snark machine, a super-fan, and is more than happy to be Mookie’s right hand woman.]

But Dorothy was twenty and Nashville wanted her for good, so her managers  Mookie’s glass parents went with and sent him to stay with a half-dead great-aunt in ATL. He kept contact with Dodie, grew a name for himself in Georgia, kept his sights set on a forever home in New York one day. 

It was a letter from Dorothy that changed everything.

Mookie was blindsided. Her crooning and cowboy fringe had been so separate from his glitter and cocktail pantomime for so long. Read a few words with shaking hands, thought, You have everything. You don’t need me, too. Changed his address and his name and now he’s changing his face.

He’ll finally move to New York. If another Simon ever sees him again, their eyes will slide past him just as they’ve always done.

(He knows in his bones this is how it’s meant to be.)

The Tijuana condo has two bedrooms but Dodie’s bunking with him. Just for now - now that she knows everything. 

It’s the night before the first surgery. 

It starts with this, Dodie says from her side of the bed. Then you nip and tuck, nip and tuck till you’re the Black Ken Doll From Hell. What happens when we both die and they gotta identify you?

Mookie closes his eyes. They don’t know me for my smile. They can check my teeth. 

+++

[The stage is MOOKIE’S SKULL – pitch black, pain-free room. The buzz of a BONE SAW reverberates. MANDIBLE floor shudders and breaks under pressure.]

Recovery is this:

-A wired jaw

-Dodie doing all the talking in Tijuana (Mookie S.O.B.S., which means he Spares Others from his Broken Spanish)

-Dodie tending his wounds 

-Endless milkshakes and purees and Peridex mouthwash

-Extended time to shop floor show ideas

By night he falls asleep sweating under fans with 'novelas in one ear and a Bronx accent in the other (Dodie never moved into her own room).

When he gets onstage as Hennessee again he’ll have much to answer for. He deliberately kept the reason for his leave vague but he knows someone will put two and two together before he returns to American soil. (Queued media posts can only tide fans over for so long.) With this liquid diet he’s lightening up so much, too, and so having a snatched face and waist will make Hennessee the talk of Midtown. It’s all enough material for several shows over and Mookie’s pushing his pen overtime in this condo. (His jaw aches with the urge to practice aloud more than anything. Properly, not the ventriloquist dummy murmuring he can do through the wire right now.) He has way too many puns about mental gymnastics. 

[He, MOOKIE SIMON, grown-ass glass child, is she, HENNESSEE WILLIAMS, drag superstar and legendary gaywright of the 21st century. She is in Baja California with ten journals and a dry erase board and she’s not afraid to use them.]

The page on the bed between two friends comprises the scribblings of madmen. Mookie can’t tell where his ideas end and Dodie’s begin. He writes ‘Operation MB’, gives her room to work. Quickly gives her a metal grin – she’s just drawn Brain Surgery Cavity Sam instead of Full Body Cavity Sam.

Isolation got us on the same wavelength, Mookie writes.

Dodie shakes her head. We were already there. 

And that’s another thing to contend with: he's not sure when Dodie crossed over from best bud to collaborator – but he's not complaining. Who better to create with than someone who's supported him from jump? Something about her vagabond nature made her latch on.  Over the years he’s learned about her foster upbringing. How it'd hardened her in some ways, softened her in others. She doesn’t talk about her birth folks much like Mookie doesn't mention his family. Yet the whole of her has always seemed so transcendent. Mookie's trauma is written on his face when he's not on stage, and he's sure his friendship with her is predicated on her being the only one who can handle it. Maybe that's phrenology, that messy old way of thinking things are so set in bones. Maybe emotions are a bit malleable, like cartilage. Maybe Dodie just sees a person; a being made of ever-moving parts.

[The stage is MOOKIE’S SKULL. It’s newly renovated but it’s still not all that pretty. DODIE is strangely at home here.]

[bexorok]

Poorly written Sonic Movie 3 pitch/outline

I’ve never really written anything in a script format, but I had so many thoughts about the next movie that I had to write them out otherwise my brain would actually explode. I’m kind of bouncing around with scenes I think should be in the movie as well as character introductions. Hope people find some enjoyment out of these!

This is the first couple of scenes I wrote out. I also had a little blurb about the opening credits, but it’s kind of just what the rumored trailer for Sonic 3 reviled at cinamacon was, so there’s not much point of it. Basically, Robotnik now looks like his original game design, and that’s all you really need to know

Introduction Scene

interior, prison island

Sirens are blaring and red lights are going off. We see automated doors closing, followed by an explosion. When the smoke settles, we see Stone and Robotnik together in a walking mech, destroying all doors that close in front of them. Military robots fight back but can do nothing against him.

They enter a final room at the end of the corridor. Inside we see a capsule that’s completely sealed.

Robotnik: We've hit the jackpot, Stone! Right inside this capsule is the key to ultimate power, and finally destroying that pesky hedgehog and his friends once and for all! I will finally have the power to rule over this world, and even more!

(Insert gay pining from Stone, we all know it’s canon)

Robotnik instructs Stone to search the files for the password to enter. He scrolls through the data for a moment before he comes across something.

Stone: M-A-R-I-A … really? A 5 letter password is protecting the key to ultimate power?

Robotnik: Remember Stone, this dusty bucket of bolts is over 50 years old. They were simpler times. Password decoders weren’t even invented, and our current program probably wouldn’t run on this hunk of junk.

He pauses a moment, seemingly thinking back.

Robotnik: Maria, huh? Haven’t heard that name in a long, long time. Still, I wouldn’t have thought of my grandfather as the sentimental type.

He walks over and types in the password. The capsule opens with a cloud of smoke, and an orange light reveals a figure not unlike Sonic’s. His eyes open and glow red as the restraints around him detach.

Robotnik and Stone stare in awe as he steps out. He kneels to the ground on one knee.

Shadow: I am Shadow, the ultimate lifeform, created by doctor Gerald Robotnik. You have awakened me, which can only mean you seek the ultimate power.

Robotnik yells in exasperation: Yes! Finally, a creature who knows its master! Welcome to the team, Shadow the hedgehog

The camera zooms back, revealing prison island, going further until it shows the entire earth, zooming further to reveal space colony ARK. The rendition of “live and learn” from the original trailer plays as the logo for the movie is finally revealed, with ARK shown just underneath.

Cut to an overview of Green Hills, where we see the blur of sonic, quickly followed by tails and knuckles, all laughing and whooping. They go through the forests and mountains of Green Hills, eventually getting to the peak of a mountain top, where Sonic jumps off and is caught by tails. Knuckles follows, gliding next to them. They fly over a house, where we hear Tom shout to them.

Tom: Dinner is ready! Get here quick, before all the burgers and hotdogs are gone!

They all fly down, landing in the backyard, where Tom has the grill set up. At a table nearby, we see Maddie, Rachel, Randel, JoJo, and Ozzy sitting down. Tails quickly flies to a tree house connected to the garage.

Tails: Just have to grab something!

Knuckles steps to the side of the yard, opening what looks like a cellar door.

Knuckles: I will join you all in a moment. I must double check the emeralds status.

Tails flies back from a window in the tree house, carrying with him a gadget.

Tails: It's fine, Knux, we would have gotten an alert if anything happened to the emerald.

Knuckles: Fox, I trust nothing but my own eyes to confirm if the emerald is safe or not.

He opens the doors and goes down a dark flight of stairs.

Maddie: Let him go sweetie, you know how he gets when he’s away from the emerald too long.

Tom: Sonic, do you mind getting the plates from the kitchen?

In a flash, sonic runs inside the house and back again, setting a plate in front of each person at the table.

Tom: Thanks pal!

Maddie nudges Rachel, nodding her head.

Rachel: Alright, I’ll admit it, the weird little alien things are starting to grow on me, especially considering how much JoJo likes spending time with them. But I still don’t know if I want to move to this town.

Sonic: aw, come on, Green Hills is the best town ever! Pulse as long as we're here, it’ll be the safest town ever.

Tails: That's right! We’re patrolling every day, looking for signs of danger! And for the chaos emeralds, of course.

JoJo: Oh yeah, have you guys found any yet?

Tails: (laughs awkwardly) well, not yet. But as soon as I’m done with my tracking device, we’ll be able to use it to hunt them down!

He shows them the device in his hands. It has a radar map on it with a single, large blinking light next to the yard.

Tails: right now it can only detect the master emerald, but once we find a chaos emerald, I can use its energy frequency to find other similar frequencies.

JoJo: Wow! That’s so cool! Mom, can I help them look for the emeralds too?

Rachel: Woah, woah, woah. No way young lady, I can not have you running around the world, you’re still just a kid.

JoJo: but mom! Tails is, like, 8! I’m two whole years older than him! Why can’t I go on cool adventures?

Randal: because, you’re still a *human* kid. You can get hurt a lot more easily than these guys can.

Rachel: hold up, do you mean to tell me that that little scientist who makes bombs and guns is only 8?

Maddie: We were surprised too. You’d have no idea any of these guys were so young if you didn’t ask.

Sonic: mom! We aren’t that young! I’m 14 now, I’m basically a grown up.

Maddie: Okay, Mr. grown up. But most grown ups don’t like getting tucked into bed every night.

Sonic: MOM!

Everyone at the table laughs, and Tom comes to the table with a plate of hot dogs and burger patties. Maddie looks over at Tails, who is still tweaking with his tracker.

Maddie: Miles Prower-Wachowski, what did I say about gizmos at the dinner table?

Tails: oops, sorry mom!

He puts the radar down, where the camera zooms in on the blinking light. We then fade to the room in the cellar. An automated door with an eye scanner blocks the way, and we see Knuckles take the last few steps down the staircase. He approaches the door and puts his eye near the scanner. A red laser appears and scans his eye, confirming his identity and unlocking the door. It opens, and inside the room we see a small shrine (designed after the shrine from sonic adventure 1) and resting on it is the master emerald. Knuckles nods in content.

Knuckles: as long as I am here, no harm will come to the emerald ever again.

[hooked-on-elvis]

I am currently listening to "ELVIS: THE HOME RECORDINGS" (a collection of Elvis Presley's home recordings from the 1950s and 1960s) and I find incredible hearing him singing songs in that unprompted way, just having fun with friends and family, and then listen to the professional version he recorded years later.

Those are some of Elvis' personal favorites songs, folks. 🩷🥹 Here's some of them:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"HANDS OFF" (or "KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OF IT") Home recording: Fall 1960, at Monovale Drive, Hollywood (one of Elvis' homes). Studio recording: Elvis recorded this song again during a jam session at Nashville RCA's studio B in June 5th, 1970. The song was recorded in a version in conjunction with "Got My Mojo Working". The track was first release on the LP "Love Letters From Elvis" (1971).

2. "INDESCRIBABLY BLUE" Home recording: February 1966 at Rocca Place, Hollywood (another of Elvis' homes). Studio recording: Elvis recorded this song professionally, not long after, in June 10, 1966. It was first released by RCA Records as a single on January 10, 1967, backed with "Fools Fall in Love". It was releases in a LP as part of the "Elvis' Gold Records Volume 4" (January, 1968).

3. "AFTER LOVING YOU" Home recording: Recorded around 1966. Can you listen to Elvis' voice here being pretty much the same in the 1969 version? His voice by 1966 was already so improved. It's weird how they kept Elvis from singing what he really wanted to sing in order to keep the soundtrack albums going on. I'm not complaining, per say, because I don't actually hate the soundtrack songs of his movies, but we know Elvis himself was pretty beaten having to record what he called "silly songs" over the ones he truly loved, like this one (as we can see by the way he sings the song wholeheartedly).

Studio recording: During the American Sound Studio's legendary recording session under Chips Moman production, Elvis recorded this song professionally in 18th Feb, 1969, in Memphis, Tennessee.

My personal favorite. ♥ My absolute favorite Elvis album is "From Elvis In Memphis", no doubt. Hearing the home recording version of "After Loving You" is just priceless to me.

4. "WHAT NOW MY LOVE"

Home recording: Recorded sometime around 1966 too. Again, Elvis literally was kept from singing many great songs for a long time because of his Hollywood movie contracts, not to speak about the RCA deals causing the songwriters disputes over rights and proper payment. Long story short, the songwriters did not want to give up 25% of the rights to the compositions to Hill and Range Publishings and the other Presley publishing companies that published his recording materials. So Elvis ended up with some (crappy) less powerful songs to record for many, many years. Some of the songs he truly wanted to record thanks Heaven were brought to day light. Elvis had a great taste in music. (I just wonder how many more amazing songs recorded by his powerful voice we would have today if it wasn't for the tricky record deals he was under.)

Live version:  On January 14, 1973, Elvis Presley performed the song before a live audience of 1 billion people, as part of his satellite show, "Aloha from Hawaii", which was beamed to 43 countries via INTELSAT. Elvis' live rendition of the song is just breathtaking. You listen and see him performing it live and you just stop breathing. The song was first released on the live album "Aloha from Hawaii via Satellite" (February, 1973).