#look. the rest of the song isn't that applicable to them but like. I was losing my mind thinking of the lyrics

[imminent-danger-came]

I'm 'bout to die Yet the thing on my mind seems to nearly be nothing but you

—Partner in Crime by Madilyn Mei

[hatsukeii]

I think I'll be singing Velvet Ring on a microphone beaded with 'ex lovers' stickers and 'longing looks' beads. I've heard that Ushijima likes my music quite a bit~

too easy. the band you’ve joined is…

exes in my phone book / timeskip!ushijima wakatoshi x reader

genre(s): ex lovers to something?? something i guess?? pining, reminiscing, nostalgia fic tbh but ANGST ANGSTY ANGST WOO interpret the ending as you like because i kept it open for a reason

warning(s): slightly dysfunctional relationship dynamics kinda, lowkey suggestive at points, ushiwaka and reader were just young and stupid and in love but they couldn't seem to navigate it yknow, everything is also like somewhat/pretty ambiguous until the end but that's just how i like it

wc: ~1.7k

your first gig is… at a concert with your ex?!?!

setlist:

🎵velvet rings, big thief

🎵mayonaise, the smashing pumpkins

🎵black star, radiohead

There is a girl on a stage, who strums a pick through the strings of her acoustic guitar. A girl, whose lips hover just above the microphone that sits in a bracket, sighing into the cool metal for a final song. The people beside you have settled down, cheers and jumps reduced to swaying and mumbling.

You've been waiting for this song, haven't you?

The song strikes the ears first. The girl on stage, illuminated by a cone of light from above, sings of a night, thicker than a smoky fume. You mouth along to the lyrics, and your mind wanders to a place where your lungs are bloated, too full to carry anything more. A night beneath a buzzing streetlight, gravel that rolls and scrapes under the sweeping wind, ants that crawl onto the toecaps, under the soles, along the platforms of your unmoving shoes. A night of final breaths, and final words, and final sorrows. You're looking at the ground, your shadow muddied with the figure of another. You don't think he stares back at you. The ants keep crawling. They don't stop, even as you pivot away and leave your heart buried in the ground. The streetlight doesn't reach it again, but maybe it reaches his, still.

The faces around you hum along to a sequence, sway with the velvety strums of the girl's guitar, hold others tight against themselves. You stand alone amongst the crowd. You move when the rest of them will you to, only ever mouth to the lyrics, hold your hands close to your chest. You fear that your voice will give out if you try anything more.

"She's a beautiful performer, isn't she?"

The crowd does not shift their attention from the girl on the stage, so neither do you. She sings in gentle syllables of love, her heart pours out of her mouth. She longs for some fictitious persona, Ben, as her fingers play at the guitar like tugging the strings of a puppet. When you open your mouth, your heart is not there.

"She is. She really is." You respond to nothing but a sultry voice that finds its way into your ear canals.

The girl sings of a smoking gun, smoke that fizzles out from the barrel into night air, a bullet that falters at the end of its path to nothing in particular, a love that, for many nights before this, has begun to run dry. It's agonising, taunting, hopeful. It dies out in unanswered phone calls, drafted emails, text messages left unsent, collecting dust in a note-taking application. Words that ask a million questions.

Could we keep this going?

Is this really for the better?

Can't we try?

Why won't you just let me try?

"Why aren't you singing? It's the last song." The voice is anomalous amongst the crowd's united silence, his question stands out from those unsaid. He is too curious, yet for some selfish, twisted reason, you wish to indulge yourself. Wallow in sorrow. Take somebody else's beating heart to replace your own, that you buried beneath asphalt on a winter night of unasked questions turned two years of unspoken longing.

"For the same reason that you aren't, I'd assume." You silently hope he asks you for more.

The person huffs out a sigh, a short sigh that one lets out when they smile in defeat and surrender. He's close, his arm touching your own when he moves side to side with the crowd. His movement wills you to sway along. The girl on the stage sings of a gentle love, thick like a velvet ring. All encompassing, all powerful.

“Well, I once knew a person who loved this song.” He goes on. You stay silent, ears trained onto the words that paint golden silk and shimmering mist into the concert hall. A portrait of love that you have prayed to see once again, just out of grasp, but real enough to graze your fingers over. It sinks into your fingertips, takes you to a place where your hands could draw lines into tanned skin, hold onto a pair of strong arms, clasp together behind his broad shoulders. Beneath your feet, it travels to your ankles, wraps around your thighs, envelops you in a shroud of warmth. It comes in the form of his head laid in your lap after a long day, I love you mumbled into the flesh of your stomach in shaky sighs, calluses that roam every spot of skin on your body.

"Love really is a gentle thing, isn't it?" The lyrics are spoken out of your mouth naturally, like water running downstream in a creek. The person stays silent, you do the same. The girl's singing pierces through your ears to your throat, clawing at it as if to break it open and rescue something. He speaks before something can escape you.

"I haven't spoken to them since I left. Love is anything but gentle."

You wince, the girl's singing finally ripping through your windpipe. It doesn't stop there, to your surprise. It drills through to its final destination, and you grab the fabric of your shirt around your heart. You don't fully know the answer to your own question, but you believe in his despair. If love truly is gentle, it would have exited your chest when you screamed your throat hoarse for him to stay. It would have eased the pain, somehow. It would have sent your heart out to him even as he stood amongst giants, leagues greater than you. It would have sewn together your words, strung them into poems beautiful enough for him to say yes, I'll stay. I'll stay if you want, and I'll go if you want. Instead, you watch him on television every night, highlight reels, live volleyball matches. He left. You did not want him to.

"I haven't spoken to him since either. But I still think love is gentle. The painful kind."

The final chords of the song round off the set. The girl bows, and exits stage left. The crowd begins to loosen, yet the person's arm remains beside yours.

"Do you ever miss it?"

His number is still in your contacts. You struggle every night to hold off on pressing it. Your heart aches, and lights come on. You stare at an empty stage, and you envision yourself on it. Thousands of eyes watch you sing the song, yet you search the crowd for one pair only. You sing the words that you had once shown your love, a love that found you despite his duties, regardless of his glory, amidst his passion. You sing like you are begging for him to see you through the television, and turn around so the name Ushijima bares his face to you instead of his back. You cry out a story of a dying love, hanging onto frayed strings of memories and fear. The singing contorts into screaming at an empty crowd, as if your resolve could make Ushijima Wakatoshi find you again. You pretend to be his hands, hold yourself in your sleep. You hear his voice in your bed, on the streets, in front of you, behind you, beside you, even right here. You will never learn the lips of anyone else, not after his have taken you for himself. They feel like poison now, sinking into your veins from every part of your body that you inhibit. A poison that forces him into every corner of your life, and you are a fool enough to almost see him there.

"I want it gone, and I miss it all the same." You're crying now, and even your tears remind you of the love that taught you of its cruelty. You imagine a day when you wear another's ring on your finger, only to look up and see a blank face. There is no other.

"I think you should give him a call."

"I can't. I'd just hold him back."

"That's not true." His voice cracks, and his rebuttal is desperate, almost apologetic.

You turn to bid him farewell.

Ushijima is almost no different from how he was two years ago. But he's a little older now, a little taller too. His hair is the same olive green that used to run smooth between the webs of your hands. His voice is deep, rounder than it once was when he used to nip your earlobe and mutter professions of his love into your ear. You stare, but you don't know that he has been staring since halfway through the concert. You aren't seeing him through a television, he is no longer clad in a Schweiden Adlers jersey, his last name bears no weight here, in the space between the two of you. The days, and months, and years spent together come rushing into your head. A kiss on the forehead before separation, two pairs of feet running in wet sand that crumbles beneath their weight, sharing lunches in the silence of school rooftops, lips roaming every inch of each other on nights of longing. You, and Ushijima, and the pleads that lose their bodies when they fall back from your mouths and into your chests.

"Please, give me a call. Or a text. Or an email, I don't care. Just anything. I'm sorry."

"Goodbye, Ushijima."

You turn to leave, but you pull your phone out of your pocket to stare at his name in your contacts.

Ushijima watches your shrinking figure, all of his love trailing behind you, fading into smoke.

Your finger hovers above the red button that could end it all.

He can't seem to move, rooted into the ground of the now mostly empty concert hall. You are slipping away again, and he has learned from his mistake. He questions whether he's learned it a bit too late.

You turn off your phone, and shove it back into your pocket. He receives a text.

"I just want to take you home again."

author's note:

my sister gave me this idea a while ago and i just knew i had to make it so angsty sorry LOL she wanted a fluff ending but im the one with the document open so i can do what i WANT!! no i am actually very proud of this piece though and idk if this will get ANY exposure or interactions but just know that i really really loved writing this one

i also fear i lowkey forgot about longing looks and just went straight for longing…

also! song lyric references! if you catch them i'll give you a big fat kiss i love my music so much

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @catsoupki @chuuya-brainrot @hiraethwa @fiannee @bailey-reeds @4ngelfries @akaakeis @wyrcan @kuroppiii @zzwon

interested in joining a band? come on over to the build-a-band 900 !!

[searchingforserendipity25]

Brainstorming on the Maglor = Lindir concept for @funwithfanon and here’s a list of different takes, in no particular order:

Lindir does not exist. It’s more of a temporary, honorary rank, a job description - anyone can be the Lindir of Rivendell if their application is accepted. Duties include diplomacy, welcoming guests, playing the harp, singing beautifully, babysitting and being able to remember all the Dúnedain’s names. The usual contract goes for fifteen summers, which is much less than the regular yéni. Whatever you do, do not ask why Lord Elrond is very particular about having an open call for minstrels going on regularly. The Lindor of the book events is just some guy who is here for the steady pay to save up for a fancy dowry to take on his Ship to Valinor. It’s not that he has a sweetheart or anything, but he fully intends to nab himself a hot, rich, and influential Calaquendi once he gets to the West, and Elrond’s court is a good place to practice. I, for one, respect Lindir’s hustle. 

The same, but the current Lindir is Maglor. This is never discussed. If you recognize him, no you don’t. He shows up for the fifteen years, and then goes away, and then comes back. It’s fine. They don’t talk about it. It’s definitely fine! The job interviews have gone from dramatic to downright farcical. Neither of them is willing to be the first one to crack. The first time, Elrond gets to ask for a portfolio and watch Maglor draw a blank on anything that isn't a lament. By the fourth time, he has a long repertoire of new works inspired by Imladris ready, all dedicated to its gracious and most generous lord. They come up with ridiculously complicated linguistic crossword games and then swap them to play over morning tea. Again, I cannot overstate how much they do not Talk About It. 

Lindir is of the Falathrim of Sirion and he will fight you if you ask whether he’s secretly Maglor Fëanorian. He will hit you with his gigantic gold-and-ivory harp and you will deserve it.

Lindir is Maglor. Ish. Maglor-ghost. Maglor's remaint. If you look at him too hard the edges of him start to blur, like an old crosshatching drawing left to blur in the sun for too long. The shadow he casts upon the wall rests over his shoulders like a cloak. He is also rather misty. Somewhere by the sea, a body has been eaten by the fish, but the fëa wandered far inland and found refuge in the valley where all those in pain are made welcome. One day Elrond woke to a faint song. He followed it through the stairs of his house until he found - the smouldering embers in Hall of Fire stirring, and a darker darkness singing. Lindir has been part of the household ever since.

Lindir is Daeron. He loves the line of Lúthien more than all things, except for the Lady Celebrían, who was the one who found him, once, by the still dark waters of the North, and brought him home to the valley where the guards sing nonsense and the air in the twilit starlight smells nothing at all and very much like Melian’s kingdom in the days before the Sun and the Moon.

Maglor did not defend himself, whenever anyone found him wandering by the sea Maglor never defended himself, with words or Song, steel or harp. Not from wolves, or orcs, brigands or avengers, from the wrathful sea or the elements. Varda's Hallowing had scorched him through, a maddening and encompassing pain, the sort of continuous justice that left very little space for anything that was not regret. He could not defend himself from it, or the absolute, star-bright knowledge that its horror and ugliness should not and could not be denied. By the time he came again among the elves, there was very little left to recognize him by. He was so plainly beyond the ability to do harm - getting him in custody was less a matter of containing him than making certain no one went and killed him. It is imprisonment, in the sense that he’s in custody. There will be no Kinslayings or executions in Imladris (Glorfindel's passionate defence of Turgon's precedent aside), and even if it were allowed - no one could put him on trial presently. Elf parole gets invented eventually, after he is in the healing halls for half an Age, and slowly readjusts to society again. Much has his countenance changed, in grief and pain, and from wounds besides; few people recognize him outright. It takes him a long, long time before he touches a harp again, and longer still before he can be certain enough of himself to sing before an audience. 

You would not have caught Maglor Fëanorian admitting he could not identify a poem’s authorial contributions, be he dead or damned or deranged. Luckily, local musical prodigy Lindir, born and bred in Imladris, does not have weird First Age perfectionist hang-ups. Elrond’s students all have a perfectly non-traumatic apprenticeship and are very well-adjusted, thank you very much.

Lindir is a nightingale Arwen accidentally turned into an elf. Listen, it's a thing, it happens with Peredhel sometimes. He’s - adjusting. Focused on playing the harp to develop finger coordination and ended up enjoying it a great deal, after the first challenging yéni (Fingers! Tiny bony bits! What a notion. Lindir misses his beak sometimes). He does still trill sometimes; his old friends answer him during their afternoon songs, it is quite a sight. Mortals are very strange and they have the bad habit of dying fairly often just when he’s started to recognize them, but he likes the way the scruffy one makes his lady smile so he does not chirp in with comments on his poetry. Not many comments, anyway. 

They take his harp away, at first. Glorfindel, who had seen him in battle, wanted anted a geas of silence. But that would be a waste, in its way. His voice is bound to the valley instead, to the protection of it, and the working of its purpose as a place of safety and succour. Eternal servitude to the line of Earendil is not, objectively, the worst punishment that could befall the last Kinslayer. If Elrond is not entirely easy with having him in Imladris, neither is he able to countenance the idea that he might go free, and unaccounted for. The might in him goes away from his mouth, and beyond his mastery. He sings, sometimes, when it is for the benefit of the valley.  That he must be of use is a just demand, and a kinder end than exile. A grace, in its way - and it is not as if he has any reason or right to have any wish in his heart that is not to serve the line of Elwing. It is not, Maglor knows well, the cruellest captivity a soul has ever suffered. He can even speak, if he wishes; and in time, among the long Ages, he does gather enough nerve to ask leave to sing in the Hall of Fire in company, on those moonless nights when he is not needed to sing enchantments of protection. A minstrel can have many duties, after all. There are many ways to serve, in small and deedless fashion, without doing any harm. Pity is not torment, for all it is difficult to withstand, and difficult the making of a gift rich enough to answer it. Well, and he is an excellent minstrel; that much he can offer still, and he does it willingly. They call him Lindir, and that is fair, as well - it is only that Lindir does not and must not and cannot sing laments.

Maglor the Kinslayer is the minstrel Lindir. Everyone knows this. It's not clear whether Lindir, who cries when the cooks behead the hen and hums to the horses and loathes the silver sound of a drawn sword, does know this. 

[best-fnaf-song-competition]

HAVE you yet heard Stuck Inside, released an hour ago and made by Black Gryph0n, TLT, CG5, Baasik, AND Kevin Foster??

Because it is so good TvT

WOAH, WOAH, WHEN DID THEY ADD A BUNCH OF NEW PEOPLE TO THIS?????? HELLO????

Okay so I checked and THERE'S A NEW VERSION UP!!

[Link to the song]

This version is actually SUPER interesting to compare to the original, I think I liked the other one better? But I will admit CG5 went OFF on this one. I don't think I've ever really heard him scream like that in a song before and it really fit the tone they were going for here!!! Very cool, check it out if y'all want to :)

Since this is a sort of remake of the original (like a month after that version came out?????) I do have some opinions about how this stacks up and, for the first time, I will be getting a bit negative with it so if you don't want to see that I've put it under a read more! If you're interested feel free to take a peek but definitely don't worry about it if you don't want to hear it.

One more thing! This song would not be applicable for the tournament, since the only thing that really changed was CG5's verse and it doesn't really feel substantial enough to me to make it an entirely new song. Sorry! But if you like this one and haven't already, please consider submitting the original instead!

Okay here we go nobody kill me for this okay?

So being entirely honest here, because sometimes reviews can be negative reviews and these are all just my personal opinions, this one felt a little lackluster compared to the original. CG5 performed great and it looks like everyone had a fun time, but from a music standpoint I prefer the original beyond a shadow of a doubt.

CG5's verse was fine, I thought the lyrics were cool, but the chorus...felt a little weird. The original song felt like every part was sung by Springtrap with the exception of the bridge by Kevin Foster, so using the same lyrics and giving that verse to the kids felt really strange to me. I did like the bit where the other animatronics show up and suddenly it's a whole chorus of people singing! But to me the lyrics just felt so weird coming from them that I couldn't really focus on anything else.

The rest of it is a banger, as always, but personally I feel the CG5 verse detracts from the rest of the song and what it was going for. Also, I'm not a music producer so I don't know what that part of it is like, but why come out with a slightly changed version of your song a MONTH after the original came out??? It almost feels like they don't like that version anymore which to me is a little sad considering it's quickly become one of my favorites.

This isn't as relevant but the animation also felt a little forced and flashy in a way that felt uncanny which might have been exactly what they were going for!!! Doesn't vibe with me though, personally.

[amalgamate-exe]

.The Next Segment of lines in Bottom is "Can you pay for overtime?/Can you pay to keep my secrets safe?/Can you break my legs tonight?/Can you help me take away the pain?”This segment of lines needs to be broken down line by line, but I believe is the most impactful to Dallas’s character. The first line "Can you pay for overtime?” This line by itself may not mean much until you realize how many things in Dallas's life were cut short, either by his own will or the work of some higher power, overtime here could be interpreted as just more time with his friends in the gang, and Johnny specifically. While Dallas may not have any secrets that are talked about in the book the line “Can you keep my secret safe” can be equally impactful when you take into consideration that Dallas doesn't have a good relationship with his father and his mother is never mentioned, while it may not be an actual secret Dallas, just like everyone else has emotions and the “secret” here is more implicative of his emotions of wanting to feel comforted, cared about and even loved, but these wants have to be kept secret from the rest of the greaser gang because it isn't tough or “Tuff” to be emotional, especially as a male greaser.Moving on to the third part of this Lyric, "Can you break my legs tonight?” When it was written it was meant as an Innuendo, however, if we look at this line compared to The Outsiders We can clearly see that “Breaking legs” can be used for a second meaning, Dallas as stated previously is a violent young man, and would constantly get into fights that were just part of who he was even before he moved to Tulsa “In New York, Dally blew off steam in gang fights, but here, organized gangs are rarities–”(10)This was one of the many reasons Dallas would get hauled off to jail. But instead of Gang fights in Tulsa, they had Rumbles and Dallas wouldn't miss one of those for the world for example After being in the hospital for being minorly burned during the Scene where the church burns down, Dallas asks for Two-Bits knife, later says that he threatened a nurse to leave so he could be a part of it “Talked the nurse into it with Two-Bit's switch. Don't you know a rumble ain't a rumble unless I'm in it?" (Hinton 122)Dallas left a hospital using the potentially violent option against medical advice to join in an all-out brawl because he knows that's where the action is the line “Can you break my legs tonight” is also repeated more throughout the song then the rest of them, being repeated a total of 10 times in the 3 minutes and 45-second song, the repeating of these two line along with the line “Can you pay to keep my secrets safe?”Is the embodiment of Dallas just wanting to be seen and loved, but you can take this one step further, with the last line of the verse “Can you help me take away the pain?” This line is the cherry on top. This last line looking at it through the song is the equivalent of asking for something you really want more subtly “Can you pay for overtime?/Can you pay to keep my secrets safe?/Can you break my legs tonight?” He’s asking, "Can you make me feel better? Can you show me time and emotion” but then the last line is giving up and just asking bluntly for the thing you wanted to begin with “Can you help me take away the pain?” Dallas was just being a troubled kid, with a rough past who had a rough future ahead of him if he chose to keep going.

The last McCafferty lyric that represents Dallas Winston is the line “My dad is an alchie/I bet that he kills me” From the song Trees off of the Forest Life EP released in 2017 by McCafferty while this song represents Dallas the least While it does talk about The singer's father being potentially abusive it also talks about Religion and his mother in a lot of ways that aren't applicable due to the fact we don't learn anything about Mrs. Winston in the book However McCafferty's music is very similar to Dallas Winston in the way that you have to be in the mood to deal with it, for example, Dallas’s character is hotheaded and troublesome and most of not all of McCafferty’s songs On the slower and more depressed side of things 

or movie, With that being said We do know about Dallas’s father in a smaller way, Similar to Sylvia, Mr.Winston is mentioned only on one occasion but it is in an extremely negative light. On page 75 Dallas states proudly “'Shoot, my old man don't give a hang whether I'm dead in jail or dead in a car wreck or drunk in the gutter'” (75).  This is the final piece we need to understand Dallas Winston's character as a whole. understanding that he lived on the rough streets of New York is one thing and caring for your friends is just a natural part of life, however understanding that his poor home life was one of the main reasons to cause him to go down this path it's important. Ponyboy goes on to say “For Dally. He meant it when he said he didn’t care about his parents…Dally was of the breed that could take anything, because he was hard and tough, and when he wasn't, he could turn hard and tough. ” (Hinton 75)Dallas growing up in an unsteady home has to lead him to be able to lock into a state of high adrenaline and coldness because he had been hurt too many times before that, by what we assume is father, by Sylvia, by johnny being ripped away from him prematurely, Dallas has been betrayed by anyone and everyone causing him to be calloused.

In conclusion, delving into McCafferty's songs "Beachboy," "Bottom," and "Trees" alongside the character of Dallas Winston from S.E. Hinton's "The Outsiders" provides a profound insight into Dallas's essence. McCafferty's music remarkably mirrors Dallas's life, capturing his rough upbringing, rebellious nature, and the universal themes of feeling misunderstood and searching for meaning and acceptance. Ultimately, this exploration demonstrates how literature and music intersect to address timeless themes that resonate with all of us, enriching our understanding of life on a deeper level. (3/3)

[vatesaeterni]

anamnesis

application writing sample 🍃

“Humhum…

In the wind lays lines of stories,

Those that are known but never seen

And in the eyes of ye, beholder,

Do they hold what you seek?”

On the midday streets of Mondstadt, a green-clad bard muses aloud.

Of course, where a bard goes, a crowd follows. (A turn of phrase of Venti’s own making.) Such is the burden of the incumbent bearer of the title “Most Popular Bard in Mondstadt”, but he accepted this fact without fuss quite a long time ago!

Most people, however, would only consider that phrase applicable if a ‘crowd’ could consist of a single young girl, come to seek the source of a simple song heard from her bedroom window. Hence why Venti the bard paid ‘most people’ no mind.

A feather-light sigh escaped his upturned lips, his eyes easing open as he broke from his reverie. Hopping down from the crate on which he was sat, he turned-heel with a flourish and leaned forward, hands on hips and face scrunched up playfully. Just as he thought, there meeting his gaze from around a corner peeked two eyes the color of clear sky, wide and shining.

“Huaah… Should I feel insulted that my audience won't even deign to approach me? Tell me I’m not so intimidating,” teased the bard, feigning indignance. “But of course, I won't hold it against you! What kind of performer would I be if I drove away those who came to see me?”

The girl startled as he addressed her directly, clearly thinking herself to have gone undetected. A reasonable thought to have, in most cases, but unfortunately for her, Venti was quite a unique case.

He chuckled airily at her reaction, straightening his posture.

“You've been standing there a while, haven't you? No need to hide! Come, now, gather ‘round,” he urged invitingly, outstretching a hand. Helpfully, a warm breeze blew through the street at that very moment, as if guiding her forward, and seemed to linger around Venti in a way that fluttered his cape rather majestically. (This was no doing of Venti’s own, of course! Perhaps a mischievous spirit was hanging around that day, tsk tsk.)

Those eyes, full of wonder, gave a slow blink, before the rest of the body holding them meekly emerged from around the corner. Venti beamed as she approached, leisurely leaning back against the crate he’d been sitting on before. 

“My mama said,” a small voice piped up unexpectedly, “Lord Barbatos makes the most beautiful music of all, and that, um… every child of Mondstadt could recognize his song.”

She paused, looking down and fidgeting with the hem of her blouse.

“Mister, are you Barbatos?”

Venti’s eyebrows shot up. A beat of silence was followed then by his doubling over in a fit of giggles, clutching his stomach and wiping away tears. Human children, really… how amazing they were!

“Hehehuhu, you flatter me, little one! Indeed, some have said before that I must have been blessed with my talents by Barbatos themself. But, between you and me,” he leaned in to stage-whisper conspiratorially, still grinning brightly, “I think my skills surpass his!”

The girl cocked her head inquisitively and took a step back, looking confused and surprised by his bold claim.

“Are you… allowed to say things like that about the gods…?” she asked tentatively, as if afraid she was now in the blast radius for the divine smite that was sure to rain down on him any second.

“Haha, piety is good to have!” Venti laughed. “But perhaps Barbatos… isn't so far from humanity as you think. In this humble bard’s opinion, a god of freedom and song shouldn’t want to be some… unreachable entity, don’t you think?”

His expression then softened, looking upon the child. Those eyes… really reminded him of something. Tugged at threads of memories deep within the swirling wind, tangled and dense.

The girl looked lost at his words, and he chuckled inwardly at himself. It would do her no good to ramble such things at her. As a beloved child of Mondstadt, she would realize the truth in time, see it in the flowers, hear it in the wind.

“Then,” she began before he could say any more to ease her confusion, “What makes him a god?”

And like an arrow shot through the mind, the memories rushed in.

What makes him a god?

A lone wisp of the thousand winds. No past, no name to speak of- no speech to speak with. No strength to protect with.

He- who was now a “he”- knelt by that tree’s roots, as kneeling was now something he could do. And white robes trimmed with gold draped across where that child now rested for eternity.

And he looked to the heavens, clear and blue for the first time in eons, where the stars hid behind curtains of light. That child would never see the sky. That child would never feel the cruelty of the stars.

The tyrant god had fallen, and the lone wisp had felt the pull of the stars. A new god born in that very moment.

And the newborn god took that child’s appearance, and with fingers he played the child’s lyre. With hair he fashioned braids. With wind he cleared the sky. And as the child’s life had faded, no one looked to the sky, for they found it in his eyes.

And the newborn god was tormented to find that he could not change his eyes.

The stars chose him. And the stars named him Barbatos. And there, upon that tree’s roots, Barbatos wept for the first time, with eyes that would never be sky blue.

Then Venti the bard was back in the present, standing just as he had been, wearing the same smile, though he couldn’t remember what had caused him to smile. There was the girl, staring at him expectantly with sky blue eyes. What question had she asked?

Ah, right. He laughed dryly.

“I don't know what makes him a god, other than that he is. After all, I’m no more than a humble bard, and I’m perfectly happy with it staying that way~”

Barbatos, famed weakest of the Seven. A prankster, singer, drunkard. The rest of Teyvat knew him as the absent Archon. But in the end, he could laugh along when his name was trampled and he had no pride left to uphold. He could laugh, because Mondstadt was free.

[paused-waterfall]

Missa and Tallulah come up with a Coco AU

Here, have a silly little scene I wrote that should definitely be in Spanish but isn't. (it will take a LOT more studying before I can invent miscommunication that works in Spanish lol)

Missa was walking through Rose's Sanctuary when he heard music drifting out of the treehouse. The song fit the feel of the place. It was pretty, a little uncertain, and a little sad. Missa was sure he knew it from somewhere, but he hadn't quite nailed it down. He climbed up to see who was playing.

Tallulah was sitting cross-legged in the nest, holding her guitar. She froze as she saw Missa. He froze at the top of the ladder in turn.

"Tallulah! I should've guessed that was you." Missa gave his best nonthreatening smile, and Tallulah gave a little wave. Missa climbed the rest of the way up the ladder and sat awkwardly on the floor next to his... adoptive stepgranddaughter? Or was it stepdaughter now? Was "step" even applicable? He wasn't sure.

"You play super well!" he told her. "I was sure Chayanne was playing a record up here or something."

Tallulah shrugged and nodded, looking shy.

"Was that the song from Coco?" Missa asked. Tallulah gave another nod, more enthusiastically this time. "I love that movie," he said. "The animation is just so beautiful."

Tallulah set her guitar aside so that she could sign, "It's one of my favorites, too. It reminds me of family."

Missa blinked a few times, mulling over the connection. "Oh. Yeah, I can see that." He laughed nervously. "It's the story of a foolish musician who let his dreams lure him away from his family." Missa smiled wistfully, looking over the railing and out over the sanctuary. "And who was too much of a fuckup to make it home for them. But I don't have any fancy designs on my skull like Héctor does."

Tallulah looked up sharply at the last few words. "What? You aren't Héctor," she signed rapidly, looking annoyed. "My papa Wilbur is Héctor."

Missa winced. Of course it wasn't about him. After all, he and Tallulah barely knew each other. But it was weird to think that he wasn't the only Héctor in their little family.

"Wait," he said. "If Wilbur is Héctor, does that make you Miguel, or Coco? And is Philza... the strict Abuelita?"

Tallulah rolled her eyes and signed, "It's not an exact match!"

"Quackity must be Mamá Imelda, and El Quackity can be Ernesto de la Cruz and--"

Tallulah jumped up, trying to gesture emphatically enough to interrupt him, "None of those make sense!" She was visibly trying not to break into laughter.

"-- somehow Pepito has to be Pepita!" Missa made little flapping motions with his hands to represent the giant alebrije. Both of them started laughing in earnest at that.

Maybe it wasn't a perfect metaphor.

[purplesurveys]

1919

Are either of your parents engaged but not married yet? Well, no. They are married to each other.

Do you cuddle with your pet (if you have one)? Absolutely. All three of them. Even Kimi's urn, I will hug every once in a while.

What college did you want to attend as a kid? I've always wanted to end up in UP. It was that or I'd despise myself for the rest of my life. Everyone I looked up to in the family studied - and even worked - there. Fortunately enough I got in, and in my dream degree.

Do you have a pet gecko? I do not.

Are you scared of reptiles? For the most part, yeah.

Honestly, have you ever eaten raw cookie dough? Yes.

Where would you most like to go in your state, etc that you haven’t been? I guess just the coffee shops that I haven't been to? There aren't many tourist attractions here, but there sure is a hell of a lot of cafes.

Who was the last member of the opposite sex you laid in a bed with? Do animals count? Hahahaha. This q isn't very applicable to me.

About what things are you most selfish? My boundaries. I used to break my own for others tirelessly, as if I was gunning to be canonized when I die lol; but it's had a 180º turn. I'm fiercely protective of my boundaries now and I'll be a raging bitch about it if I have to.

Are you camera shy? Why/why not? Sometimes. I just don't like being in front of the camera and have always preferred to be the one taking the photos.

What is one small thing your significant other does that makes you happy? If you are single, what is one small thing a friend does to make you happy? When they send me memes and say that it reminded them of me.

From inside of your house, how many doors lead outside? Three.

Who was the last person to give you flowers? Angela and Hans. They've given me a bouquet every year on my birthday since 2021 - and it was only this year I learned that they do so because they knew I had meant to kms 3 years ago. I cry every time I think about this, so let's move on haaaa...

What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up? My pets. It wouldn't be 'hard,' I'd just never agree to giving them up whatsoever.

Do you like BBQ sauce? Loveeeeeee itttttttt.

How many subscribers do you have on your YouTube channel? None.

If you could have a car in any color you wanted, which color? White is fine.

What is your favorite Avril Lavigne song? I don't have one.

What was the last thing you were mad at a doctor about? I've never been directly angry at a doctor.

Is your mother a lesbian? No.

Do any of your close friends NOT have a Facebook account? She's not a close friend anymore, but Sofie wiped out her social media years ago. Good for her, honestly.

Would you ever consider getting dreadlocks? Nopes.

When was the last time you swam in a pool? No clue. Ever since discovering the beach, I've stopped swimming in pools.

What was the last thing you said out loud? "Thank you"

Have you ever wanted to be a nurse? No.

Who or what do you worship? Nobody and nothing.

What was the last song you listened to on repeat? Neva Play by Megan Thee Stallion and RM.

What song do you want played at your wedding? Haven't given this much thought. Love Wins All by IU sounds like an awesome prospect, though.

What are three of the most painful things you have ever stepped on? The rooftop floor in 40ºC weather. I can't think of anything else - I'm pretty sensitive to pain so I avoid sensations I know would hurt to begin with.

If applicable, what song are you listening to right now? Groin by RM.

If you could choose three US states to visit, which three states would you pick? Illinois, Oregon, New York.

Have you ever donated blood? Nope.

Would you rather attend a yoga class or a Zumba class? Zumba, I guess. Yoga's never appealed to me, and I've tried getting into it more than once.

Have you written anything down today? I have not.

Do you own a pair of pink pants? No.

Do you normally eat healthy? No, not really. I'm on team here-for-a-good-time-not-a-long-time so like honestly I never pay attention to what I eat and if I eat more unhealthy than healthy, lol.

What is the best compliment you’ve ever received? Being told I'm good at writing is what has always mattered the most to me.

Do you believe in miracles? I don't.

What are three ways in which you are not normal? I hyperfocus on work and latch so much of my self-validation on being recognized for how well I perform. Everyone else has a much better sense of "life over work, always" and I'm very envious of that.

Cutting people off is my main coping mechanism, especially if they can't be argued with. I can't think of a third thing.

Which genre of music do you listen to the most? Pop.

Last person you kissed, are they into any type of sports? Which ones? I knew she was into softball at one point; idk now.

Does your best friend have a job? Yes, she's (officially now!) an architect at a firm.

Do you ever visit people at work? No, not while at work. I've been to Angela's office, but that's only because their place turns into a bar in the evening. I've never actually visited her while she was on-shift.

When you move out your house (or if you already have moved out) do you plan on still visiting your parents’ house? Yes.

Do you usually take home leftovers if you eat out in a restaurant? Yeah, I never finish anything I order.

Have you ever ghost rode the whip (put your car on auto and dance next to it as it’s moving)? Do you want to? Is this like when Hobi did the In My Feelings challenge? LOL no I haven't. It sounds irresponsible + I can't dance.

Why did you stop liking the last person you liked? They no longer loved me and I just figured it was better to move on than to keep wasting time trying to read their mind/get them back.

What do you think of long-term relationships? Great, if you have them. Unneeded, for me.

Do you have a lot of social media accounts? Do you update them all regularly? I don't know what you'd count as a lot but I do have a Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and this. Yeah, I check and post on all regularly.

When you’re in trouble, do your parents ever “middle name” you? Nope.

When was the last time you got a new tattoo or piercing? Do you have any plans to get either in the future? I haven't gotten anything besides the earlobe piercings they had put on me when I was a few months old.

Are you patriotic at all? Why/why not? No. This country and its people are difficult to like.

Are you any good at packing a suitcase? I am, but that's also because I pack light to begin with.

Have you ever had a white hot chocolate? What did you think? I don't think so.

Do you ever get eczema? I don't.

Have you ever mowed a lawn? Nope. 

Is there anyone you would do literally anything for? My immediate family and Angela.

Have you ever done a “knock-and-run” prank? No thanks.

Have you ever stabbed a friend in the back, intentionally or not? Wow, no.

What’s the longest you’ve ever slept in one go? 8 or 9 hours.

Have you ever dated someone with an accent different than yours? I guess so. Their English was a lot stronger than mine; but I also picked up a great deal of her accent throughout our time together.

Have you ever worked two jobs at once? Nopes.

Do you enjoy the smell and taste of cinnamon? As long as it's not overpowering.

Do you own a pocketknife, or any other kind of multi-tool? I don't think so, no.

What did your mother study at university? One of the big 4 but that's the best hint I'm willing to give.

What was the last thing you took a video of? Reena at her dance recital.

What are some of your least favorite foods? Fruits, bistek, roast beef, tapa if it's not from Rodic's, nilaga, bulalo...I'm not a big fan of beef.

[pure-garbage]

No Bones About It... Chaotic Applications Of Serenity

"Are you two fighting again?!" Nami demanded. Her exasperation was unchecked as Lana all but collapsed into the seat next to the navigator in the mess. Across the table, Zoro's expression was still frozen into a deep scowl.

"How can we be fighting if we're not even talking?" Lana snarked, shooting Zoro a brief, venemous glare that he met with equivalent harshness.

As the rest of the crew and their guests streamed in to crowd around the table, Lana's usual spot at Zoro's side remained conspicuously empty. No one who got a look at the swordsman's face was willing to settle down next to him, until Law made his arrival on the tail end. The only seat left was the one next to Zoro, whose glower hadn't eased up for even a second. Law took the vacant seat without hesitation, raising an eyebrow at Zoro's menacing expression.

"Hey, that's the face you should make next time they sneak in a photo for your wanted poster," Law observed blithely. Zoro didn't dignify him with a response. Down the table from them, Usopp was visibly on edge, chewing his nails nervously and glancing around like he expected something to ambush them at any minute.

"Alright, spill," Nami sighed. "What's the matter this time?"

"Nothing."

"If you don't talk about it, it'll never get better," Nami pointed out.

"I'm not in the mood right now."

"Oookay."

Nami pursed her lips, eyes darting appraisingly between Lana and Zoro. Whatever was bothering them, they were both clammed up tight about it.

'That won't do at all,' Nami thought unhappily.

"Brook! Switch with me!" she demanded.

"Huh? But I'm talking to Robin!" Brook protested.

"I need to talk to Robin."

"Can't you switch with Sanji instead?" Brook proposed. "That way, we can both talk to Robin."

"Psh, as if!" Sanji spat. "I wouldn't give up my spot at Robin's side for the world!"

"Well if you switch with Nami, you can sit next to Lana instead," Brook pointed out as Nami got up out of her seat and made her way down the table to loom over their shoulders.

"Brook, I want you to turn around and take a good long look at Lana right now," Sanji frowned.

"Hmm..."

Brook swiveled, taking in Lana's stiff posture, tight scowl and the way she was stabbing her food with her fork like it was still alive and needed a little more killing.

"Mm, I do see what you mean, Sanji," Brook admitted. "But I have to say, I'm not exactly eager be put in such an awkward position either. Age before beauty. I'm afraid you'll need to take one for the team this time."

"Why you-"

"Both of you can it and one of you move!" Nami snapped ferociously.

"She asked you to move first!" Sanji persisted. "Go cheer Lana up with a song or something, isn't that what you're here for?"

"It's not a matter of who she asked first. Don't you have any respect for your elders?" Brook demanded. "Honestly, Sanji, I'm shocked. Can't you see I'm too old to deal with the romantic dramas?"

"If you're so damn old get your wrinkly butt over there and give the girl some sage advice!" Sanji shot back. "Don't you have any wisdom to contribute?!"

"Wisdom, yes, but I take exception to the implication that I'm wrinkly!" Brook gasped in affront. "After all, how could I possibly have wrinkles? Why, I don't even have any skin! Yo-ho-ho-ho!"

"Idiots!" Nami cried, fed up with the bickering. She knocked them both on the head, drawing groans of pain from them as they fell out of their seats simultaneously. Robin looked on with quiet amusement as Nami took the seat on her right and the boys continued their squabble over who would get to keep the seat on her left.

"I've never felt so popular in my life," she sighed wistfully. "Why the urgent need to sit by me, Nami?"

"I've got a big problem and I need your help with it," Nami informed her gravely.

"Oh?"

"Lana and Zoro are fighting again."

"Aha. Your concern for your friends is admirable, but if I were you, I'd leave well enough alone," Robin said. Behind her, Brook planted himself in the chair and thumbed his nose-socket at Sanji.

"Victory is mine, Sanji! I'd stick my tongue out at you if I had one!" he declared triumphantly. "Yo-ho-ho-ho!"

"Bastard! You owe me big time for this!" Sanji fumed.

"Mm, I don't think so!"

"Those two," Robin went on, ignoring the tiff at her back, "... will work things out in their own time. No need for us to intervene."

"Sure, that's all very well and good in theory," Nami said dismissively, her concerns still as strong as ever. "But in practice, I need this to be over quickly. If they're not talking, that means they're not sleeping in the same bed. If they're not sleeping in the same bed, that means Lana's bunking with me again since it was Zoro's room first. I can't handle another extended slumber party with her! She talks in her sleep! And that snoring! Not to mention her knives take up way too much damn space! Why the hell does she need five of them anyway?!"

"You know, she used to have seven," Robin put in unhelpfully.

"Couldn't she crash in your cabin instead this time?" Nami begged.

"Out of the question. My space is my temple," Robin said firmly.

"Well then we need to get them to make up asap," Nami concluded.

"Well is room and board the entire crux of the issue?" Brook broke in, leaning into the conversation. "Sorry, I couldn't help overhearing. Might I offer a simple solution?"

"I'm all ears," Nami said.

"If she needs a place to sleep, my cabin is always open," Brook grinned. "After all, it was hers to begin with. It's the least I could do for a friend. And perhaps... I might be graced with a glimpse of her panties!"

He steepled his fingers and cackled lightly to himself.

"You perv, that's not a solution anyone's gonna agree to!" Nami scowled. "Anyway, did you forget Zoro's already pissed enough as is? What, are you trying to make him go ballistic? Do you have a death wish? Huh?!"

"Well, I am already dead," Brook reasoned. "How much could he really do to me?"

Nami and Robin furrowed their brows, gazes fixed to Zoro. Brook followed their eyes across the table, taking in the visible ire of the swordsman as he chomped obnoxiously and slammed his utensils down on the table in a futile attempt to make some noise escape the bubble of silence Lana still had trapped him in. Sanji chortled, pointed and teased him, adding unnecessary fuel to the fire of his wrath.

"Yikes! Alright, he does look awfully scary right now," Brook admitted. "How's this? I promise not to peek at any panties. Not intentionally, at least. If I were to catch a tiny glimpse, purely by accident, well... who would know? Who would blame me?"

"Ugh, I'm not disturbed enough by her snoring to make her bunk up with Brook," Nami mourned. "Come on, Robin, won't you help me talk to her after dinner? We can make it a spa night. We'll make her spill her guts about whatever it is that they're fighting about, then we'll help her iron it out. Please?"

"Well, I suppose it has been a while since I've had my manicure touched up," Robin admitted. "I'm in."

"Yes! Alright! This is going to work!" Nami celebrated.

Law, meanwhile, scooted his chair back to put himself out of the way as Zoro leaped up from his seat. The swordsman leveled a finger at Lana and reprimanded her, voice still muted. Lana didn't spare him a glance, just kept mutilating her meal stubbornly. With an inaudible huff, Zoro left the mess abruptly, robe whirling as he went.

'Never a dull moment on this ship,' Law thought bemusedly. He would have been more exhausted by the straw hats internal drama if he wasn't so fascinated by the quiet power hiding out in their midst. His history with the calm-calm fruit filled him with a sense of intrigue that was becoming more difficult to ignore with each passing day.

'The way the locksmith uses that power... it's nothing like what I saw from Cora. She's so aggressive with it. What kind of person manages to weaponize the power of peace and quiet?' he thought with snide amusement, watching as Lana interacted sullenly with the cook. The woman presented a conundrum, a contradiction that defied logic and the laws of nature themselves. 'In her hands, the calm-calm fruit is going to become a force of chaos. What a terribly ironic thing I'm watching unfold.'

____________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

== First Chapter ==

[woodswolf]

⭐ for dogs leading dogs!

Director's Commentary Ask Meme

Okay we're actually going to do something a little different for this one — not commentary on a specific scene, but on a very specific recurring detail that either nobody has noticed or that nobody has commented on yet. Let's talk about numbers :)

There are very very few numbers in the text that are random. If a number is specified, it usually means something, except in some cases where specific numbers are important are important for conveying What's Happening in an understandable way (such as group sizes for Pikmin, especially in chapter 4). But even among those instances, most of them are not random. And if you go back through and look at the numbers, you can start to see patterns.

In particular, I would like to point out two particular numbers: thirty, and combinations of five and four.

Let's start with the combination first, because it's easier to explain for how difficult it is to describe. The five-four combination (perhaps easiest expressed as 5 = 4 + 1) is specifically associated with the wraiths. This is actually pretty solidly established in the games themselves - the Submerged Castle has 5 floors of which 4 of them are sprawling hazardous labyrinths and 1 is the Waterwraith's boss arena.

The Plasm Wraith is also heavily associated with the number 5 for a lot of reasons. The Formidable Oak is the fifth of five areas in Pikmin 3, and is made of five rooms, two of which can alternately count as the wraith's boss arena depending on whether you consider the player's perspective or Olimar's. (Either the top of the Oak is the boss arena for Olimar, or the bottom for the player.) Additionally, the Plasm Wraith's boss music is basically Five: The Musical, with the most obvious and applicable bit being this section, where the Plasm Wraith's 4-bar motif starts minimally but grows over 5 repetitions until it takes over the entire body of the song. There's a lot more five-and-four that you can pull out of this theme but it's a bit more of a reach.

Arguably in the context of the games, this five-and-four pattern is more strongly associated with major bosses. In addition to the aforementioned points about the wraiths, the Titan Dweevil has five phases for removing each of its four offensive treasures until it's left with none; and the Ancient Sirehound also has five phases, of which four are elemental (ice/electricity/fire/gloom). I may or may not exploit this fuller context of the five-four's scope - no matter what, it isn't going to be relevant again until several sequels from now (namely until I start writing DLD's direct sequel rather than catch/cradle, which is more of a highly relevant side story) so I have a lot of time to think it over.

As for how this combination has been used in-text so far, there is one major instance:

“...The initial shaft descends for 625 millimeters before leveling out,” it eventually begins. “From there, it begins to rise until it emerges into the bottom of an underground lake. After that, the path should be dry, and will eventually lead to another chasm that drops into the cave system itself. It’s rather like…” It trails off for some reason. “It’s rather like a sink trap.”

625 can also be written as 5×5×5×5, or 5⁴. :) Shoutouts to Five Five Five Five Five and the rest of the SCP Antimemetics Division tales, though there is no relation other than incessant fives. (All of those stories are just a very cool read especially if you haven't read them before.)

Thirty, on the other hand, is a very different beast. Where the five-four combination is actively malicious, thirty is something closer to inevitability. This is very often a bad thing (the thirty day time limit, combined with several instances so far where either thirty Pikmin die/are predicted to die/are the only survivors of mass death), but it isn't always. Thirty may be inevitable, but it also is complete - thirty survivors that will no longer suffer, thirty sacrifices to prevent more deaths, thirty seconds or minutes of waiting before something miserable is over, 330 hours of travel time between Hocotate and PNF-404, thirty pills to heal, thirty ship parts in thirty days for a (thirty) perfect ending.

Thirty is powerful. It can be all of a weapon and a tool and a source of comfort. It is assurance. It is a time bomb. It is both the gentle hand of death and the rallying cry of life. It means many things, but if it means anything, it means hope - hope either that things will end, or that they will begin again.

There was only ever one way that dogs leading dogs was going to end. It's been in plain sight since the first chapter. It always comes back to thirty.

If you want to break things down exceedingly far, you can combine both of these important number combinations and notice that both of them involve five - thirty can be prime factorized as 2×3×5. So if I had to break things down very specifically:

2: Pairs, particularly where the parties involved in the pair are somehow foils or can be heavily compared or contrasted in another way.

3: Repetition. (There's actually an even more specific concept that I could use for what three means, but if it isn't already evident between all of my emphasis on the "riddle" and now all of the rest of this, using that word would be spoilers as of this moment in time.) Can also be read as luck and/or virtue and/or lessons learned through repetition.

4: Death, as the common trope goes :)

5: Endings, as something both inevitable and complete.

So we can essentially read the five-four pair as ending in death, and thirty as pairs repeating for an ending, which is basically the theme of the entire story.

Thanks for the ask! :D

[ra0n]

KI RAON / intro (under the cut) / application / visage / profile

helllooo it's kira here and i'm v excited to bring you miss "princess u" ki raon !! you've probably seen her a) skateboarding around campus, b) constantly trying to find some new plight to throw herself into so she can write a song about it or more recently c) stuck in a gossip-girl-reported catfight between her and her sister (s'nu subplot). i'm super excited to get to know everyone so please like this for me to message u or feel free to message first &lt;3

warning: super sorry for how long and messy this is i was horribly unprepared

basics: 24, (grad) music production and sound engineering student at snu and the princess/princess u skeleton of s'nu

backstory it's just been her and her mom for as long as she remembers in their over-familiar, little town. grew up being taught to stay humble and always shrink herself into the background so nobody would take notice of her

but raon's always had a fiery spirit (exhibit one: constantly got scolded for shoving the same tacky boy over in the playground when they were five) (exhibit two: fought with a classmate over the last doraemon toy and came home with scratches. she won the fight btw) (exhibit three: picked up a guitar in eighth grade and never looked back, much to her mother's chagrin)

she always believed that she was destined for greater things despite the financial limits on her and discovering music felt like the final puzzle piece being slotted into place. "borrowed" instruments from her highschool's run down music room, not that anybody noticed, and taught herself between studying and her part time job at the local convenience store

developed a knack for song-writing and more specifically, music production using youtube videos and free programs though she saved up to buy some proper ones later on, essentially trying to translate her life of poverty into songs. many of them revolve around the hardships of her life and distant relationship with her mother

starving artist trope to the maximum

but yeah eventually graduated high school and told her mom she got into snu for business and management when in reality, it was for music production

ensue very messy argument when she found out which ended in raon running away with what she had saved up from her job to seoul. didn't talk to her again after that until raon found out she passed away

and then gets hit with news that the one of friends she's surrounded herself with is her actual step sister, and then realises with the help of gossip girl that they both like prince charming

no rest for the wicked!!! half loves half hates the attention on her - love because she likes to pretend to the world she has a strong front and nothing can sway her, hates because she actually does not have that strong of a front

just trying to get through university and graduate with a decent job at a music studio or big shot entertainment company, but if she can make some mess whilst she's here she might as well

character wise she's very entitled, genuinely believes she has a gift that nobody else does and that because she's gone through a life of poverty and struggles, she "deserves" good things to happen to her more than anyone else

which is why she's very determined to make sure prince charming is hers at the end - why should her sister whose lived a life of luxury get the first pick in a relationship, too?

takes a lot of pride in her music and works very hard, essentially a perfectionist when it comes to the stuff she produces so constructive criticism is accepted though not easily, especially if you're someone who isn't in the music field

has a bad habit of mistaking being blunt for being honest, not one to be soft-spoken but does talk quite a lot. initiates conversations most of the time ("hey wasn't that lecture so fucking boring") even if she's never met you before

super flighty as a person though it's unintentional. here one second, gone the next. always looking for inspiration, for something exciting, for someone interesting

works part-time as a night bartender at a club near snu because of the perks (aka free drinks plus sometimes, they let her mix the tracks on the dj deck)

also in an indie rock band that plays around bars and shows!! she's the guitarist and sub vocalist - not sure if they're trying to do something serious or just a ragtag group bound together by love for music but

sorry i'm not organised enough to have a plots page set up but throwing some ideas out there id love anyone from the s'nu subplot!! also band members (she loves you guys); regulars at the bar she works at; regulars at her band's gigs; fellow creatives; fellow skateboarders; ex-best friends; fwbs; fwbs getting increasingly messy; exes; someone she sees as her "muse"; someone who's been a fan of her music since her (unironic) soundcloud days; companies trying to recruit her for producing; someone who knew her pre-seoul; ride or die; found brother/sister (since she's waging war on her actual one); someone she keeps skating into accidentally and fuck she's so sorry for making you spill coffee over yo-

[wantonwinnie]

Quest for the Hidden City Review

9/10. This novel made me go a bit insane.

I want to get some of the (nit-picky) things I didn't like as much out of the way. Parts of the mystery were a bit simple. I would also prefer more non-human/non-humanoid characters as major characters in all the novels; they're around in this one, but not to the degree that I would like. It’s not a big deal, though. In general, would I tell someone that they need to read this if they're short on time? No, I wouldn't. As far as I know right now, it’s not particularly connected to the overarching plot points of Phase II. But...

About halfway through the book, I started to fall in love with Rooper and Silandra. Every time I think about them or see art of them I go a little crazy. I already love the Jedi – it’s what I love most about Star Wars – and they've quickly become two of my favorites. I love the way Rooper interacts with the Force, Silandra's elegant approach to combat, and their relationship with each other.

I really liked the planets here, as well. They are as unique as ever, and the environmental storytelling was unexpectedly crisp. The cultural aspects were interesting (and every good exploration book needs some ancient ruins!).

I appreciated all the characters in this book. I think Dass's character and how he interacts with his father are important, and Dass and Rooper each have struggles that I think are highly applicable to the targeted audience of this novel (younger readers). That said, it isn't a "kids book" in the way that only kids can enjoy it. The middle grade novels of THR have consistently been enjoyable to read for adults as well, and this one is no exception.

Will you be okay without reading this one? Sure, but I think you'd be missing out on two characters (the rest are fine but I came for the Jedi) who are really special. And to the extent that an emphasis has been placed by Phase II on pathfinders, this novel adds context to what they actually do.

The start of Phase II has maybe the best trio of SW novels yet (this one, Convergence, and Path of Deceit). Quest for the Hidden City has become one of my favorites, and I'd definitely give it a reread sometime.

Spoiler stuff

This book has shown me that every Jedi should have a shield. I mean, come on: (1) it’s good defense, (2) can consistently be used as blunt weapon (as opposed to relying on objects in an unknown environment), and (3) is even great as a floating platform. Basically, Silandra is OP and would've taken out Palpatine by herself if given the chance.

Rooper's perspective on the force really animates this book in a way I didn't expect to appreciate so much. I think a lot of Jedi so far have seen the force in forms of light (Kevmo with sunlight; Bell with fire) or water (Elzar with the ocean waves; Vern with streams), but Rooper only sees a litany of colors. I especially love when Jedi see the force in artistic forms (Keeve Trennis with tapestries, Avar with song), and Rooper adds to that. And it makes sense - life is most often represented by the color in plants and animals, and in this way, art is just a reflection of life itself.

I also like how the novel explains the Jedi and Republic's approach to intergalactic relations. There's no imperialism - the Jedi have traveled here to understand a people's plight and help them out of it any way they can. The Republic, meanwhile, is looking to do the same through the resources at their disposal. It’s a good contrast to the Republic of the Prequels (especially as depicted in TCW), when a people were only as important as the resources they could provide for the war-effort or the Republic's influence abroad.

I think the Katikoot are interesting. I appreciate that the civilization was advanced; I think it could be tempting to make new species primitive or strange. I also appreciate the overall messages being sent by the novel: greed bad! Exploitation of resources despite environmental damage is bad! It’s a pretty straightforward telling of that, but it’s still good. In that direct way, the exploitation literally kills the Katikoot in one way or another (death or turning into monsters). It’s an important message and still has nuance.

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Be kind to yourself. Don't set unrealistic goals. You can challenge yourself, but be realistic about it. And don't be afraid to adjust your goals either if you realize it's taking too much out of you. This is the most important and you need to do this one NO MATTER WHAT. The rest are suggestions; this is a demand.

Write down everything you need to figure out for an idea in a rapid fire bulletpointed list. Even if it's just "something bad needs to happen before X but after Y" or something like that. If you come up with an idea write it in a stream of consciousness like "maybe something like A could happen but OMG WHAT IF B HAPPENED INSTEAD". Brainstorming in general can help.

Outline. In any format you want, outline the events of the story. Be as detailed or vague as you like. Figure out where the gaps in the story are.

Research. Is there something you need to research to make your story better? Focus on that and finding your footing. This can be for world building, a character trait you don't have experience with, a magic system if applicable, a character's area of expertise, how to write X, etc.

Character build. Even if you have a solid idea of your characters, make it more solid. Look up character templates and try to fill out as much as you can. Take personality quizzes for your characters. You can even look up character ask games on Tumblr; you don't have to reblog them, but look at what questions are asked and try to answer them for your characters. There are many character building resources online as well. Focus on making every character unique. Plan out backstories. Focus on their design. Give them hobbies or ticks. Goals, fears, desires, limits, etc can also be worked out.

Make aesthetic boards, mood boards, and playlists. This isn't something I do, but a lot of people really like these. Make some for your characters or your story as a whole; whatever is up to you. If you already have a playlist for a WIP listen to that to get in the mood again.

Do mundane tasks while thinking about your work. This is surprisingly helpful. If you have that playlist listen to it here.

Reread your old work. Maybe you'll like an idea you had and try to fix it or rework it somehow. If you're coming back to a previous project, reread it and note anything about it that stands out.

Media analysis. Review/analyze a movie, show, book, song, video game, etc. that has a story and figure out how/why it works, or why it doesn't. Movie pissing you off? Rewrite the movie. Why does this story work so well? Figure it out. This will give you insight to the author's craft or general story structure that may spark an idea you want to replicate or improve upon. it will also keep you in the habit of writing, but evaluating another work rather than the harder task of creating something new.

Draw. Doesn't matter how good of an artist you are. Draw your characters. Draw a scene. Draw a magical item. It will give you a general idea at least. Or you can find a picrew you like and make your characters that way.

Listen to other writers. Whether it's them talking about their own WIPs or OCs, whether it's them giving advice, listen. Take notes or pay attention to what stands out. Or how they get rid of their writers block.

Just write something bad. I personally don't like this one, but if none of the others work for you, just shit something out. You may realize something isn't working, or putting it on paper will help you realize how obvious something was. For me, I try to outline first but a gut instinct will tell me I can work out the details later.

These are the ones I've done or have at least heard of. The ones that don't seem productive are ALL ways to keep your brain thinking about your writing without actually doing it. I've said it many times but thinking about it counts as working on it. The writing process is vast, and the pre-writing and behind the scenes work are just as important as the drafting. If your brain is thinking about it, it's doing valuable work in figuring it out later. The foundation is sometimes needed. And by doing that extra work, you'll have a better understanding of your project.

Best of luck! Hope this helped.

hi friends! here I am! trying to get out of a year-long hiatus and I need your help!

do any of you have tips/advice on getting through creative/writing blocks? it's been a while and words aren't coming out and ideas aren't being figured out lol

[bluewinnerangel]

What’s your list of predictions for hs3

Okay yeah let's have some fun. This is gonna be way too much and some definitely a lot less serious than others but:

Gender. I SAID GENDER. LOUDER. G E N D E R

Persistent unhinged lovely stubborn romantic behavior hinting at settled longterm love.

"Sun"

A play on Fine Line lyrics that tie the older and new songs together, perhaps as a continuation of the story.

A fruit pun but like a tired one that screams "haha you know me as the man who sings about fruit" and then that'll be the end of that.

water splashy sounds go splash splash

The passage of time, mortality, such is life, generations, time bro.

Themes of uncertainty, change, putting things into perspective

And of course isolation and loneliness, I mean yeah. Probably with the added being fed up with it as well.

but we're looking ahead now it's all fine my friends here have some hope we're all gonna die

At least one song that is in absolutely no fucking way inspired by anything on Walls whatsoever nope nah.

🧡💚🖤 color scheme (see hs3 moodboard but maybe not THAT dark)

something that can be translated to we're both just little shits really

One bubbly simple having a picnic in the sun little love song so comfy and simplistic.. or is it?

Also, on that note, a song from the POV of Tom or another character in My Policeman and it will be either super subtle or super obvious, nothing in between. And we will freak the fuck out because it'll be almost entirely applicable to what we think his life is like but with the exception of some specific lines that send us spiralling trying to interpret them while they're not autobiographical. Or it isn't, or is it? or it isn't? orr.... is it? weewoo fun

"blue"

H O M E. Being home. Returning home. Away From Home. Back Home. Spodermin. So many options.

Some 70s soul funky Marvin Gaye / Shuggie Otis inspired sexy sexy song about doing the sexy sex ewww harry ewwwww continue.

At least one but maybe multiple songs that make you go this about kinky sex again or is this a metaphor for the entertainment industry being really fucked up?

A description of a love interest's features including slightly feathery light brown strands of hair falling over tired blue hooded eyes with rounded eyebrows and sharp cheekbones hihi

Or other double meaning action like plays on "wild(e)" but then plot twist the rest of the song has a bunch of Oscar Wilde nods in there and they're just so so gay.

Or lyrical parallels to Olivia, the song, something about summertime and butterflies all belonging to love interest's creation bro.

KIDS! KIDS!!! K I D S !1!!1!1!!!!

Ok but that's about gender songs that perfectly double as I'm really into this female woman girl songs

Some inverted/opposites/reflections shenanigans. Things mirroring on the cover, artwork that's the same upside down, or there isn't even an up and a down, something like that.

Or the reversed bit in She this time played normally.

A song that might or might not be a ripoff of Gerry Rafferty's Right Down The Line.

That one song that ended up the way it did in hopes it will become as successful as Watermelon Sugar.

A sound bit of a reading of an Italian poem, in Italian.

A passive aggressiveness that's gonna woosh over most peoples heads.

Subtle crumbs of moneymoneymoney it's all about the moneybusinessmoneys.

"There's gonna be one that's infinitely sadder than Falling" -@ialwaysknewyouwerepunk

Anything Bowie. "he just blatantly covers Space Oddity" - @thestylinsons.

Over half of the songs on the album will have at least one line in there that will make you go "wait is that a penis joke?".

Very fucking beautiful descriptions of love, vulnerability, self-discovery, and life, and it's gonna hurt us good.

[veliseraptor]

do you think it's possible to elaborate on your xy's head on xxc's knees thoughts or 👀

okay I'm going to try though I am concerned I might just end up sounding slightly insane.

so basically...I have a lot of feelings about the applications of, like, animal metaphors to Xue Yang specifically, and the ways in which they both have a tinge of...accuracy? to them, and also the ways in which they fall right in line with the continual dehumanization that is part of what fucked him up so bad. and I think they're something that he both resents and leans into - Xue Yang knows people see him as something animal (or worse, thanks Song-daozhang), and it both makes him angry and also is something that he will actively play up. it makes people nervous and also makes people underestimate him. which, sometimes Xue Yang wants to puff himself up like (watch this) an angry bird to make himself look bigger, but other times he's perfectly happy to play dumb if it gives him an advantage.

all this being said, then: I think I've gone on record before about the ways in which Xiao Xingchen, relatively uniquely (with the exception, I think, of Jin Guangyao and even that is...complicated) treats Xue Yang like an actual human person. and that, I think, is genuinely one of the things that knocks Xue Yang off his feet, because that really is huge. being cared for - even loved - not just for his use or skills but because he is a person who has intrinsic value...goes a long way.

thus: Xue Yang's domestication arc, wherein he's (at least partially) domesticated because someone isn't treating him as something at best animalistic, no ulterior motives, and the language here is important because, of course, domestication is language used specifically for animals.

so then I look at that art of Xue Yang on the ground resting his head on Xiao Xingchen's knee while Xiao Xingchen is sort of petting his hair and it's like. there's implications to that pose! there's a dynamic that's created there of subordination and submission, alongside affection and (with the positioning of his hands), a little bit of possessiveness. have you ever had a dog do the lean into your legs when you're petting them? that's kind of what it makes me think of. Xiao Xingchen's touch looks very light, but the position of his hands is such that it could also be holding him down. and then, at the other end of things, Xue Yang's eyes are open and staring directly at the viewer, and his expression still looks dangerous to me.

it's just this great combination of, like...Xue Yang as tamed/owned by Xiao Xingchen, by choice, but...barely. or partially. or only when it comes to him.

and look. just. when it comes to a certain flavor of xuexiao at least: feelings about the fine, fine leash Xiao Xingchen has on Xue Yang that's only there, that only holds, because Xiao Xingchen never, or almost never, pulls on it. domestication that only works because it isn't about taming something animal. submission that can exist because Xiao Xingchen behaves as though it doesn't.

not sure this arrangement of words makes any sense at all. maybe I just should've typed "ahhhhhhhhhhhhh xuexiao specific dom/sub dynamics where xiao xingchen isn't entirely aware that it's happening, also animal metaphors and xue yang's humanity" and left it at that

[starlightsearches]

Just listened to “Lovely” by Hot Freaks and it totally feels like an Eddie song! Definitely feels like it could play over him creeping on the reader or something 😂

NSFW Prompts

15. “i’ve always imagined what you’ve looked like under those clothes.”

Thanks for the requests, friends!

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, noncon, drugging, stalking, reader is implied to be a sex worker, no actual smut but it's still pretty heavy

Honey.

He can't stop thinking about honey. Not since you bumped into him on your way out of the diner. Smiling at him with your shiny wet lips stretched wide over your teeth, saying, "sorry, honey, I didn't see you there," resting your hand on his shoulder as you brushed past him out into the rain.

He thinks about honey coating his fingers, the saccharine scent filling his lungs. He thinks that's what your skin would taste like, underneath the piña colada-scented oil you brush across your shoulders and over your collar bones.

He knows that he's not your type—girls like you had never looked his way before, and he sees the kinds of men who lead you into cabs after a night at the club—but isn't that what makes you such a great match? What was the phrase people were always saying?

Opposites attract?

The sun's just setting, the glare on your windows fading in a flash, and he can see you again through the sheer curtains, sitting in the center of your warmly-lit room.

You've slipped into that pretty gold dress, the one that dips low at the front and curves in the back, skirt barely brushing past your ass cheeks. It's the same dress you'd been wearing the first time he saw you.

The thrill starts low in Eddie's stomach, spreading through his limbs warm like sunshine. You must be expecting him.

Eddie palms his copy of your house key, hand slick with sweat. He's planned for this, dreamed about it—he's thought of nothing else for weeks.

It was time for you to officially meet.

You dab at the edge of your lips, admiring your own reflection more than actually fixing the application of your lipstick, turning this way and that, letting the glitter you wear around your eyes catch in the light. It was a good sign when you couldn't pull your self away from a mirror.

You're so busy, you don't even notice the other face reflected in the frame.

Not until it's too late—you look up just in time to watch his dark green eyes go wide behind thick glasses, too late to scream when you feel the sting at your neck. A slick, wet warmth emanates from the spot, coating your limbs and making them heavy.

It doesn't feel like drops, or coke, or weed. It's more like a blanket tucked around your body—but from the inside—keeping you still and you're waiting to go under, but your consciousness doesn't fade. It stays with you, even as your knees buckle.

"It's alright, darling," the man whispers, staggering a little under your weight as you fall against him, "there's no need to be afraid; it's just me."

But you don't recognize him at all.

Not for lack of trying—you search his features for anything familiar, and nothing comes. He blushes hard as he sets you down on the bed, watching your gaze travel over him, completely missing the hatred behind it.

Whatever he drugged you with hasn't made you numb. You feel every tremble of his clammy hand as it travels over the skin of your thigh, stomach reeling, tears burning your cheeks and smearing all the makeup you'd so carefully applied.

"I've always wondered," he says with a haunting kind of reverence, "what you'd look like under these clothes. Can I?"

He's actually asking for permission, like he hadn't gone out of his way to shut you up. He just stares with his big dopey eyes on yours. Whatever response he wants is the one he thinks he gets, stroking higher, pushing the yellow sequins up, up, up until there's just cold air in their place.

He says one word, hand firm on your stomach and that's when you have to shut him out.

"Lovely."