#on my neverending quest to draw all of them...

[thirdtimed]

some more lifers

[patheticbatman]

The 50th Win A Commission contest was The Neverending Story by Michael Ende! If you’d like to see my drawings with the text, please

Chapter III - Morla the Aged One

Cairon, the old black centaur, sank back on his bed of furs as Artax's hoofbeats were dying away. After so much exertion he was at the end of his strength. The women who found him next day in Atreyu's tent feared for his life. And when the hunters came home a few days later, he was hardly any better, but he managed nevertheless to tell them why Atreyu had ridden away and would not be back soon. As they were all fond of the boy, their concern for him made them grave. Still, they were proud that the Childlike Empress had chosen him for the Great Quest - though none claimed to understand her choice.

Old Cairon never went back to the Ivory Tower. But he didn't die and he didn't stay with the Greenskins in the Grassy Ocean. His destiny was to lead him over very different and unexpected pathways. But that is another story and shall be told another time.

That same night Atreyu rode to the foot of the Silver Mountains. It was almost morning when he finally stopped to rest. Artax grazed a while and drank water from a small mountain stream. Atreyu wrapped himself in his red cloak and slept a few hours. But when the sun rose, they were already on their way.

On the first day they crossed the Silver Mountains, where every road and trail was known to them, and they made quick progress. When he felt hungry, the boy ate a chunk of dried buffalo meat and two little grass-seed cakes that he had been carrying in his saddlebag - originally they had been intended for his hunt.

"Exactly," said Bastian. "A man has to eat now and then."

He took his sandwich out of his satchel, unwrapped it, broke it carefully in two pieces, wrapped one of them up again and put it away. Then he ate the other.

Recess was over. Bastian wondered what his class would be doing next. Oh yes, geography, with Mrs Flint. You had to reel off rivers and their tributaries, cities, population figures, natural resources, and industries. Bastian shrugged his shoulders and went on reading.

By sunset the Silver Mountains lay behind them, and again they stopped to rest. That night Atreyu dreamed of purple buffaloes. He saw them in the distance, roaming over the Grassy Ocean, and he tried to get near them on his horse. In vain. He galloped, he spurred his horse, but they were always the same distance away.

The second day they passed through the Singing Tree Country. Each tree had a different shape, different leaves, different bark, but all of them in growing - and this was what gave the country its name - made soft music that sounded from far and near and joined in a mighty harmony that hadn't its like for beauty in all Fantastica. Riding through this country wasn't entirely devoid of danger, for many a traveler had stopped still as though spellbound and forgotten everything else. Atreyu felt the power of these marvelous sounds, but didn't let himself be tempted to stop.

The following night he dreamed again of purple buffaloes. This time he was on foot, and a great herd of them was passing. But they were beyond the range of his bow, and when he tried to come closer, his feet clung to the ground and he couldn't move them. His frantic efforts to tear them loose woke him up. He started out at once, though the sun had not yet risen.

The third day, he saw the Glass Tower of Eribo, where the inhabitants of the region caught and stored starlight. Out of the starlight they made wonderfully decorative objects, the purpose of which, however, was known to no one in all Fantastica but their makers.

He met some of these folk; little creatures they were, who seemed to have been blown from glass. They were extremely friendly and provided him with food and drink, but when he asked them who might know something about the Childlike Empress's illness, they sank into a gloomy, perplexed silence.

The next night Atreyu dreamed again that the herd of purple buffaloes was passing. One of the beasts, a particularly large, imposing bull, broke away from his fellows and slowly, with no sign of either fear or anger, approached Atreyu. Like all true hunters, Atreyu knew every creature's vulnerable spot, where an arrow wound would be fatal. The purple buffalo put himself in such a position as to offer a perfect target. Atreyu fitted an arrow to his bow and pulled with all his might. But he couldn't shoot. His fingers seemed to have grown into the bowstring, and he couldn't release it.

Over the shoulder, Atreyu aiming at the bison facing him, while on Artax. Sunrise, kind of scenery.

Each of the following nights he dreamed something of the sort. He got closer and closer to the same purple buffalo - he recognized him by a white spot on his forehead - but for some reason he was never able to shoot the deadly arrow.

During the days he rode farther and farther, without knowing where he was going or finding anyone to advise him. The golden amulet he wore was respected by all who met him, but none had an answer to his question.

One day he saw from afar the flaming streets of Salamander, the city whose inhabitants' bodies are of fire, but he preferred to keep away from it. He crossed the broad plateau of the Sassafranians, who are born old and die when they become babies. He came to the jungle temple of Muwamath, where a great moonstone pillar hovers in midair, and he spoke to the monks who lived there. And again no one could tell him anything.

He had been traveling aimlessly for almost a week, when on the seventh day and the following night two very different encounters changed his situation and state of mind. Cairon's story of the terrible happenings in all parts of Fantastica had made an impression on him, but thus far the disaster was something he had only heard about. On the seventh day he was to see it with his own eyes.

Toward noon, he was riding through a dense dark forest of enormous gnarled trees. This was the same Howling Forest where the four messengers had met some time before. That region, as Atreyu knew, was the home of bark trolls. These, as he had been told, were giants and giantesses, who themselves looked like gnarled tree trunks. As long as they stood motionless, as they usually did, you could easily mistake them for trees and ride on unsuspecting. Only when they moved could you see that they had branch like arms and crooked, rootlike legs. Though exceedingly powerful, they were not dangerous - at most they liked to play tricks on travelers who had lost their way.

Atreyu had just discovered a woodland meadow with a brook twining through it, and had dismounted to let Artax drink and graze. Suddenly he heard a loud crackling and thudding in the woods behind him.

Three bark trolls emerged from the woods and came toward him. A cold shiver ran down his spine at the sight of them. The first, having no legs or haunches, was obliged to walk on his hands. The second had a hole in his chest, so big you could see through it. The third hopped on his right foot, because the whole left half of him was missing, as if he had been cut through the middle.

When they saw the amulet hanging from Atreyu's neck, they nodded to one another and came slowly closer.

"Don't be afraid," said the one who was walking on his hands, and his voice sounded like the groaning of a tree. "We're not exactly pretty to look at, but in this part of Howling Forest there's no one else left who might warn you. That's why we've come."

"Warn?" Atreyu asked. "Against what?"

"We've heard about you," moaned the one with the hole in his chest."And we've been told about your Quest. Don't go any further in this direction, or you'll be lost."

"The same thing will happen to you as happened to us," sighed the halved one."Would you like that?"

"What has happened to you?" Atreyu asked.

"The Nothing is spreading," groaned the first."It's growing and growing, there's more of it every day, if it's possible to speak of more nothing. All the others fled from Howling Forest in time, but we didn't want to leave our home. The Nothing caught us in our sleep and this is what it did to us."

"Is it very painful?" Atreyu asked.

"No," said the second bark troll, the one with the hole in his chest."You don't feel a thing. There's just something missing. And once it gets hold of you, something more is missing every day. Soon there won't be anything left of us."

"In what part of the woods did it begin?" Atreyu asked.

"Would you like to see it?" The third troll, who was only half a troll, turned to his fellow sufferers with a questioning look. When they nodded, he said: "We'll take you to a place where there's a good view of it. But you must promise not to go any closer. If you do, it will pull you in."

"All right," said Atreyu."I promise."

The three turned about and made for the edge of the forest. Leading Artax by the bridle, Atreyu followed them. For a while they went this way and that way between enormous trees, then finally they stopped at the foot of a giant tree so big that five grown men holding hands could scarcely have girdled it.

"Climb as high as you can," said the legless troll, "and look in the direction of the sunrise. Then you'll see - or rather not see it."

Atreyu pulled himself up by the knots and bumps on the tree. He reached the lower branches, hoisted himself to the next, climbed and climbed until he lost sight of the ground below him. Higher and higher he went; the trunk grew thinner and the more closely spaced side branches made it easier to climb. When at last he reached the crown, he turned toward the sunrise. And then he saw it: The tops of the trees nearest him were still green, but the leaves of those farther away seemed to have lost all color; they were gray. A little farther on, the foliage seemed to become strangely transparent, misty, or, better still, unreal. And farther still there was nothing, absolutely nothing. Not a bare stretch, not darkness, not some lighter color; no, it was something the eyes could not bear, something that made you feel you had gone blind. For no eye can bear the sight of utter nothingness. Atreyu held his hand before his face and nearly fell off his branch. He clung tight for a moment, then climbed down as fast as he could. He had seen enough. At last he really understood the horror that was spreading through Fantastica.

When he reached the foot of the great tree, the three bark trolls had vanished. Atreyu swung himself into the saddle and galloped as fast as Artax would carry him in the direction that would take him away from this slowly but irresistibly spreading Nothing. By nightfall he had left Howling Forest far behind him; only then did he stop to rest.

That night a second encounter, which was to give his Great Quest a new direction, awaited him.

He dreamed - much more distinctly than before - of the purple buffalo he had wanted to kill. This time Atreyu was without his bow and arrow. He felt very, very small and the buffalo's face filled the whole sky. And the face spoke to him. He couldn't understand every word, but this is the gist of what it said: "If you had killed me, you would be a hunter now. But because you let me live, I can help you, Atreyu. Listen to me! There is, in Fantastica, a being older than all other beings. In the north, far, far from here, lie the Swamps of Sadness. In the middle of those swamps there is a mountain, Tortoise Shell Mountain it's called. There lives Morla the Aged One. Go and see Morla the Aged One."

Then Atreyu woke up.

The clock in the belfry struck twelve. Soon Bastian's classmates would be going down to the gym for their last class. Today they'd probably be playing with the big, heavy medicine ball which Bastian handled so awkwardly that neither of the two teams ever wanted him. And sometimes they played with a small hard rubber ball that hurt terribly when it hit you. Bastian was an easy mark and was always getting hit full force. Or perhaps they'd be climbing rope - an exercise that Bastian especially detested. Most of the others would be all the way to the top while he, with his face as red as a beet, would be dangling like a sack of flour at the very bottom of the rope, unable to climb as much as a foot. They'd all be laughing their heads off. And Mr. Menge, the gym teacher, had a special stock of gibes just for Bastian.

Bastian would have given a good deal to be like Atreyu. He'd have shown them.

He heaved a deep sigh.

Atreyu rode northward, ever northward. He allowed himself and his little horse only the most necessary stops for sleep and food. He rode by day and he rode by night, in the scorching sun and the pelting rain. He looked neither to the left nor the right and asked no more questions.

The farther northward he went, the darker it grew. An unchanging, leaden-gray twilight filled the days. At night the northern lights played across the sky.

One morning, when time seemed to be standing still in the murky light, he looked out from a hilltop and finally glimpsed the Swamps of Sadness. Clouds of mist drifted over them. Here and there he distinguished little clumps of trees. Their trunks divided at the bottom into four, five, or more crooked stilts, which made the trees look like great many-legged crabs standing in the black water. From the brown foliage hung aerial roots resembling motionless tentacles. It was next to impossible to make out where there was solid ground between the pools of water and where there was only a covering of water plants.

Artax whinnied with horror.

"Are we going in there, master?"

"Yes," said Atreyu."We must find Tortoise Shell Mountain. It's at the center of those swamps."

He urged Artax on and Artax obeyed. Step by step, he tested the firmness of the ground, but that made progress very slow. At length Atreyu dismounted and led Artax by the bridle. Several times the horse sank in, but managed to pull himself loose. But the farther they went into the Swamps of Sadness, the more sluggish became his movements. He let his head droop and barely dragged himself forward.

"Artax," said Atreyu."What's the matter?"

"I don't know, master. I think we should turn back. There's no sense in all this. We're chasing after something you only dreamed about. We won't find anything. Maybe it's too late even now. Maybe the Childlike Empress is already dead, and everything we're doing is useless. Let us turn back, master."

Atreyu was astonished."Artax," he said."You've never spoken like this. What's the matter? Are you sick?"

"Maybe I am," said Artax."With every step we take, the sadness grows in my heart. I've lost hope, master. And I feel so heavy, so heavy. I can't go on!"

"But we must go on!" cried Atreyu. "Come along, Artax!"

He tugged at the bridle, but Artax stood still. He had sunk in up to his belly. And he made no further effort to extricate himself.

the struggle :(

"Artax!" cried Atreyu."You mustn't let yourself go. Come. Pull yourself out or you'll sink."

"Leave me, master," said the little horse."I can't make it. Go on alone. Don't bother about me. I can't stand the sadness anymore. I want to die!"

Desperately Atreyu pulled at the bridle, but the horse sank deeper and deeper. When only his head emerged from the black water, Atreyu took it in his arms.

"I'll hold you, Artax," he whispered. "I won't let you go under."

The little horse uttered one last soft neigh.

"You can't help me, master. It's all over for me. Neither of us knew what we were getting into. Now we know why they are called the Swamps of Sadness. It's the sadness that has made me so heavy. That's why I'm sinking. There's no help."

"But I'm here, too," said Atreyu, "and I don't feel anything."

"You're wearing the Gem, master," said Artax. "It protects you."

"Then I'll hang it around your neck!" Atreyu cried."Maybe it will protect you too."

He started taking the chain off his neck.

"No," the little horse whinnied."You mustn't do that, master. The Glory was entrusted to you, you weren't given permission to pass it on as you see fit. You must carry on the Quest without me."

Atreyu pressed his face into the horse's cheek. "Artax," he whispered. "Oh, my Artax!"

"Will you grant my last wish?" the little horse asked.

Atreyu nodded in silence.

"Then I beg you to go away. I don't want you to see my end. Will you do me that favor?"

Slowly Atreyu arose. Half the horse's head was already in the black water.

"Farewell, Atreyu, my master!" he said. "And thank you."

Atreyu pressed his lips together. He couldn't speak. Once again he nodded to Artax, then he turned away.

Bastion was sobbing. He couldn't help it. His eyes filled with tears and he couldn't go on reading. He had to take out his handkerchief and blow his nose before he could go on.

Atreyu waded and waded. For how long he didn't know. The mist grew thicker and he felt as if he were blind and deaf. It seemed to him that he had been wandering around in circles for hours. He stopped worrying about where to set his foot down, and yet he never sank in above his knees. By some mysterious means, the Childlike Empress's amulet led him the right way.

Then suddenly he saw a high, steep mountain ahead of him. Pulling himself up from crag to crag, he climbed to the rounded top. At first he didn't notice what this mountain was made of. But from the top he overlooked the whole mountain, and then he saw that it consisted of great slabs of tortoise shell, with moss growing in the crevices between them.

He had found Tortoise Shell Mountain.

But the discovery gave him no pleasure. Now that his faithful little horse was gone, it left him almost indifferent. Still, he would have to find out who this Morla the Aged One was, and where she actually lived.

While he was mulling it over, he felt a slight tremor shaking the mountain. Then he heard a hideous wheezing and lip-smacking, and a voice that seemed to issue from the innermost bowels of the earth: "Sakes alive, old woman, somebody's crawling around on us."

In hurrying to the end of the ridge, where the sounds had come from, Atreyu had slipped on a bed of moss. Since there was nothing for him to hold on to, he slid faster and faster and finally fell off the mountain. Luckily he landed on a tree, which caught him in its branches.

Looking back at the mountain, he saw an enormous cave. Water was splashing and gushing inside, and something was moving. Slowly the something came out. It looked like a boulder as big as a house. When it came into full sight, Atreyu saw that it was a head attached to a long wrinkled neck. Its eyes were black and as big as ponds. The mouth was dripping with muck and water weeds. This whole Tortoise Shell Mountain - it suddenly dawned on Atreyu - was one enormous beast, a giant swamp turtle; Morla the Aged One.

The wheezing, gurgling voice spoke again: "What are you doing here, son?"

Atreyu reached for the amulet on his chest and held it in such a way that the great eyes couldn't help seeing it.

"Do you recognize this, Morla?"

She took a while to answer: "Sakes alive! AURYN. We haven't seen that in a long time, have we, old woman? The emblem of the Childlike Empress - not in a long time."

"The Childlike Empress is sick," said Atreyu."Did you know that?"

"It's all the same to us. Isn't it, old woman?" Morla replied. She seemed to be talking to herself, perhaps because she had had no one else to talk to for heaven knows how long.

"If we don't save her, she'll die," Atreyu cried out."The Nothing is spreading everywhere. I've seen it myself."

Morla stared at him out of her great empty eyes.

"We don't mind, do we, old woman?"

"But then we shall all die!" Atreyu screamed."Every last one of us!"

"Sakes alive!" said Morla. "But what do we care? Nothing matters to us anymore. It's all the same to us."

"But you'll be destroyed too, Morla!" cried Atreyu angrily."Or do you expect, because you're so old, to outlive Fantastica?"

"Sakes alive!" Morla gurgled."We're old, son, much too old. Lived long enough. Seen too much. When you know as much as we do, nothing matters. Things just repeat. Day and night, summer and winter. The world is empty and aimless. Everything circles around. Whatever starts up must pass away, whatever is born must die. It all cancels out,good and bad, beautiful and ugly. Everything's empty. Nothing is real. Nothing matters."

Atreyu didn't know what to answer. The Aged One's dark, empty, pond-sized eyes paralyzed his thoughts. After a while, he heard her speak again: "You're young, son. If you were as old as we are, you'd know there's nothing but sadness. Why shouldn't we die, you and I, the Childlike Empress, the whole lot of us? Anyway, it's all flim-flam, meaningless games. Nothing matters. Leave us in peace, son. Go away."

Atreyu tensed his will to fight off the paralysis that flowed from her eyes.

"If you know so much," he said, "you must know what the Childlike Empress's illness is and whether there's a cure for it."

"We do, we do! Don't we, old woman?" Morla wheezed."But it's all the same to us whether she's saved or not. So why should we tell you?"

"If it's really all the same to you," Atreyu argued, "you might just as well tell me."

"We could, we could! Couldn't we, old woman?" Morla grunted."But we don't feel like it."

"Then it's not all the same to you. Then you yourself don't believe what you're saying."

After a long silence he heard a deep gurgling and belching. That must have been some kind of laughter, if Morla the Aged One was still capable of laughing. In any case, she said: "You're a sly one, son. Really sly. We haven't had so much fun in a long time. Have we, old woman? Sakes alive, it's true. We might just as well tell you. Makes no difference. Should we tell him, old woman?"

A long silence followed. Atreyu waited anxiously for Morla's answer, taking care not to interrupt the slow, cheerless flow of her thoughts. At last she spoke: "Your life is short, son. Ours is long. Much too long. But we both live in time. You a short time. We a long time. The Childlike Empress has always been there. But she's not old. She has always been young. She still is. Her life isn't measured by time, but by names. She needs a new name. She keeps needing new names. Do you know her name, son?"

"No," Atreyu admitted."I never heard it."

"You couldn't have," said Morla."Not even we can remember it. Yet she has had many names. But they're all forgotten. Over and done with. But without a name she can't live. All the Childlike Empress needs is a new name, then she'll get well. But it makes no difference whether she gets well or not."

She closed her pond-sized eyes and began slowly to pull in her head.

"Wait!" cried Atreyu."Where can she get a name? Who can give her one? Where can I find the name?"

"None of us," Morla gurgled."No inhabitant of Fantastica can give her a new name. So it's hopeless. Sakes alive! It doesn't matter. Nothing matters."

"Who then?" cried Atreyu in despair."Who can give her the name that will save her and save us all?"

"Don't make so much noise!" said Morla. "Leave us in peace and go away. Even we don't know who can give her a name."

"If you don't know," Atreyu screamed even louder, "who does?"

She opened her eyes a last time.

"If you weren't wearing the Gem," she wheezed, "we'd eat you up, just to have peace and quiet. Sakes alive!"

"Who?" Atreyu insisted."Tell me who knows, and I'll leave you in peace forever."

"It doesn't matter," she replied. "But maybe Uyulala in the Southern Oracle knows. She may know. It's all the same to us."

"How can I get there?"

"You can't get there at all, son. Not in ten thousand days' journey. Your life is too short. You'd die first. It's too far. In the south. Much too far. So it's all hopeless. We told you so in the first place, didn't we, old woman? Sakes alive, son. Give it up. Just leave us in peace."

With that she closed her empty-gazing eyes and pulled her head back into the cave for good. Atreyu knew he would learn no more from her.

At that same time the shadowy being which had condensed out of the darkness of the heath picked up Atreyu's trail and headed for the Swamps of Sadness. Nothing and no one in all Fantastica would deflect it from that trail.

Bastian had propped his head on his hand and was looking thoughtfully into space.

"Strange," he said aloud, "that no one in all Fantastica can give the Childlike Empress a new name." If it had been just a matter of giving her a name, Bastian could easily have helped her. He was tops at that. But unfortunately he was not in Fantastica, where his talents were needed and would even have won him friends and admirers. On the other hand, he was glad not to be there. Not for anything in the world would he have ventured into such a place as the Swamps of Sadness. And then this spooky creature of darkness that was chasing Atreyu without his knowing it. Bastian would have liked to warn him, but that was impossible. All he could do was hope, and go on reading.

Chapter IV - Ygramul the Many

Dire hunger and thirst pursued Atreyu. It was two days since he had left the Swamps of Sadness, and since then he had been wandering through an empty rocky wilderness. What little provisions he had taken with him had sunk beneath the black waters with Artax. In vain, Atreyu dug his fingers into the clefts between stones in the hope of finding some little root, but nothing grew there, not even moss or lichen.

At first he was glad to feel solid ground beneath his feet, but little by little it came to him that he was worse off than ever. He was lost. He didn't even know what direction he was going in, for the dusky grayness was the same all around him. A cold wind blew over the needle like rocks that rose up on all sides, blew and blew.

Atreyu looking at the land from a peak, bits of it full of life, some clouds, lots of nothing

Uphill and downhill he plodded, but all he saw was distant mountains with still more distant ranges behind them, and so on to the horizon on all sides. And nothing living, not a beetle, not an ant, not even the vultures which ordinarily follow the weary traveler until he falls by the wayside.

Doubt was no longer possible. This was the Land of the Dead Mountains. Few had seen them, and fewer still escaped from them alive. But they figured in the legends of Atreyu's people. He remembered an old song:

Better the huntsman

Should perish in the swamps,

For in the Dead Mountains

There is a deep, deep chasm,

Where dwelleth Ygramul the Many,

The horror of horrors.

Even if Atreyu had wanted to turn back and had known what direction to take, it would not have been possible. He had gone too far and could only keep on going. If only he himself had been involved, he might have sat down in a cave and quietly waited for death, as the Greenskin hunters did. But he was engaged in the Great Quest: the life of the Childlike Empress and of all Fantastica was at stake. He had no right to give up.

And so he kept at it. Up hill and down. From time to time he realized that he had long been walking as though in his sleep, that his mind had been in other realms, from which they had returned none too willingly.

Bastion gave a start. The clock in the belfry struck one. School was over for the day.

He heard the shouts and screams of the children running into the corridors from the classrooms and the clatter of many feet on the stairs. For a while there were isolated shouts from the street. And then the schoolhouse was engulfed in silence.

The silence descended on Bastian like a great heavy blanket and threatened to smother him. From then on he would be all alone in the big schoolhouse - all that day, all that night, there was no knowing how long. This adventure of his was getting serious.

The other children were going home for lunch. Bastian was hungry too, and he was cold in spite of the army blankets he was wrapped in. Suddenly he lost heart, his whole plan seemed crazy, senseless. He wanted to go home, that very minute. He could just be in time. His father wouldn't have noticed anything yet. Bastian wouldn't even have to tell him he had played hooky. Of course, it would come out sooner or later, but there was time to worry about that. But the stolen book? Yes, he'd have to own up to that too. In the end, his father would resign himself as he did to all the disappointments Bastian had given him. Anyway, there was nothing to be afraid of. Most likely his father wouldn't say anything, but just go and see Mr. Coreander and straighten things out.

Bastian was about to put the copper-colored book into his satchel. But then he stopped.

"No," he said aloud in the stillness of the attic. "Atreyu wouldn't give up just because things were getting a little rough. What I've started I must finish. I've gone too far to turn back. Regardless of what may happen, I have to go forward."

He felt very lonely, yet there was a kind of pride in his loneliness. He was proud of standing firm in the face of temptation.

He was a little like Atreyu after all.

A time came when Atreyu really could not go forward. Before him lay the Deep Chasm.

The grandiose horror of the sight cannot be described in words. A yawning cleft, perhaps half a mile wide, twined its way through the Land of the Dead Mountains. How deep it might be there was no way of knowing.

Atreyu lay on a spur at the edge of the chasm and stared down into darkness which seemed to extend to the innermost heart of the earth. He picked up a stone the size of a tennis ball and hurled it as far as he could. The stone fell and fell, until it was swallowed up in the darkness. Though Atreyu listened a long while, he heard no sound of impact.

There was only one thing Atreyu could do, and he did it. He skirted the Deep Chasm. Every second he expected to meet the "horrors of horrors", known to him from the old song. He had no idea what sort of creature this might be. All he knew was that its name was Ygramul.

The Deep Chasm twisted and turned through the mountain waste, and of course there was no path at its edge. Here too there were abrupt rises and falls, and sometimes the ground swayed alarmingly under Atreyu's feet. Sometimes his path was barred by gigantic rock formations and he would have to feel his way, painfully, step by step, around them. Or there would be slopes covered with smooth stones that would start rolling toward the Chasm as soon as he set foot on them. More than once he was within a hairbreadth of the edge.

If he had known that a pursuer was close behind him and coming closer by the hour, he might have hurried and taken dangerous risks. It was that creature of darkness which had been after him since the start of his journey. Since then its body had taken on recognizable outlines. It was a pitch-black wolf, the size of an ox. Nose to the ground, it trotted along, following Atreyu's trail through the stony desert of the Dead Mountains. Its tongue hung far out of its mouth and its terrifying fangs were bared. The freshness of the scent told the wolf that its prey was only a few miles ahead.

But suspecting nothing of his pursuer, Atreyu picked his way slowly and cautiously.

As he was groping through the darkness of a tunnel under a mountain, he suddenly heard a noise that he couldn't identify because it bore no resemblance to any sound he had ever heard. It was a kind of jangling roar. At the same time Atreyu felt that the whole mountain about him was trembling,and he heard blocks of stone crashing down its outer walls. For a time he waited to see whether the earthquake, or whatever it might be, would abate. Then, since it did not, he crawled to the end of the tunnel and cautiously stuck his head out.

And then he saw: An enormous spider web was stretched from edge to edge of the Deep Chasm. And in the sticky threads of the web, which were as thick as ropes, a great white luckdragon was struggling, becoming more and more entangled as he thrashed about with his tail and claws.

Luckdragons are among the strangest animals in Fantastica. They bear no resemblance to ordinary dragons, which look like loathsome snakes and live in deep caves, diffusing a noxious stench and guarding some real or imaginary treasure. Such spawn of chaos are usually wicked or ill-tempered, they have batlike wings with which they can rise clumsily and noisily into the air, and they spew fire and smoke. Luckdragons are creatures of air, warmth, and pure joy. Despite their great size, they are as light as a summer cloud, and consequently need no wings for flying. They swim in the air of heaven as fish swim in water. Seen from the earth, they look like slow lightning flashes. The most amazing thing about them is their song. Their voice sounds like the golden note of a large bell, and when they speak softly the bell seems to be ringing in the distance. Anyone who has heard this sound will remember it as long as he lives and tell his grandchildren about it.

But the luckdragon Atreyu saw could hardly have been in a mood for singing. His long, graceful body with its pearly, pink-and-white scales hung tangled and twisted in the great spider web. His bristling fangs, his thick, luxuriant mane, and the fringes on his tail and limbs were all caught in the sticky ropes. He could hardly move. The eyeballs in his lionlike head glistened ruby-red.

The splendid beast bled from many wounds, for there was something else, something very big, that descended like a dark cloud on the dragon's white body. It rose and fell, rose and fell, all the while changing its shape. Sometimes it resembled a gigantic long-legged spider with many fiery eyes and a fat body encased in shaggy black hair; then it became a great hand with long claws that tried to crush the luckdragon, and in the next moment it changed to a giant scorpion, piercing its unfortunate victim with its venomous sting.

The battle between the two giants was fearsome. The luckdragon was still defending himself, spewing blue fire that singed the cloud-monster's bristles. Smoke came whirling through the crevices in the rock, so foul-smelling that Atreyu could hardly breathe. Once the luckdragon managed to bite off one of the monster's long legs. But instead of falling into the chasm, the severed leg hovered for a time in mid-air, then returned to its old place in the black cloud-body. And several times the dragon seemed to seize one of the monster's limbs between its teeth, but bit into the void.

Only then did Atreyu notice that the monster was not a single, solid body, but was made up of innumerable small steel-blue insects which buzzed like angry hornets. It was their compact swarm that kept taking different shapes.

This was Ygramul, and now Atreyu knew why she was called "the Many". He sprang from his hiding place, reached for the Gem, and shouted at the top of his lungs: "Stop! In the name of the Childlike Empress, stop!"

But the hissing and roaring of the combatants drowned out his voice. He himself could barely hear it.

Without stopping to think, he set foot on the sticky ropes of the web, which swayed beneath him as he ran. He lost his balance, fell, clung by his hands to keep from falling into the dark chasm, pulled himself up again, caught himself in the ropes, fought free and hurried on.

At last Ygramul sensed that something was coming toward her. With the speed of lightning, she turned about, confronting Atreyu with an enormous steel-blue face. Her single eye had a vertical pupil, which stared at Atreyu with inconceivable malignancy.

A cry of fear escaped Bastian.

A cry of terror passed through the ravine and echoed from side to side. Ygramul turned her eye to left and right, to see if someone else had arrived, for that sound could not have been made by the boy who stood there as though paralyzed with horror.

Could she have heard my cry? Bastion wondered in alarm. But that's not possible.

And then Atreyu heard Ygramul's voice. It was very high and slightly hoarse, not at all the right kind of voice for that enormous face. Her lips did not move as she spoke. It was the buzzing of a great swarm of hornets that shaped itself into words.

"A Twolegs," Atreyu heard."Years upon years of hunger, and now two tasty morsels at once! A lucky day for Ygramul!"y

Atreyu needed all his strength to keep his composure. He held the Gem up to the monster's one eye and asked: "Do you know this emblem?"

"Come closer, Twolegs!" buzzed the many voices."Ygramul doesn't see well."

Atreyu took one step closer to the face. The mouth opened, showing innumerable glittering feelers, hooks, and claws in place of a tongue.

"Still closer," the swarm buzzed.

He took one more step, which brought him near enough to distinguish the innumerable steel-blue insects which whirled around in seeming confusion. Yet the face as a whole remained motionless.

"I am Atreyu," he said."I have come on a mission from the Childlike Empress."

"Most inopportune!" said the angry buzzing after a time."What do you want of Ygramul? As you can see, she is very busy."

"I want this luckdragon," said Atreyu. "Let me have him."

"What do you want him for, Atreyu Twolegs?"

"I lost my horse in the Swamps of Sadness. I must go to the Southern Oracle, because only Uyulala can tell me who can give the Childlike Empress a new name. If she doesn't get one, she will die and all Fantastica with her - you too, Ygramul."

"Ah!" the face drawled."Is that the reason for all the places where there is nothing?"

"Yes," said Atreyu. "So you too know of them. But the Southern Oracle is too long a journey for a lifetime. That's why I'm asking you for this luckdragon. If he carries me through the air, I may get there before it's too late."

Out of the whirling swarm that made up the face came a sound suggesting the giggling of many voices.

"You're all wrong, Atreyu Twolegs. We know nothing of the Southern Oracle and nothing of Uyulala, but we do know that this dragon cannot carry you. And even if he were in the best of health, the trip would take so long that the Childlike Empress would die of her illness in the meantime. You must measure your Quest, Atreyu, in terms not of your own life but of hers."

The gaze of the eye with the vertical pupil was almost unbearable.

"That's true," he said in a small voice.

"Besides," the motionless face went on, "the luckdragon has Ygramul's venom in his body. He has less than an hour to live."

"Then there's no hope," Atreyu murmured."Not for him, not for me, and not for you either, Ygramul."

"Oh well," the voice buzzed."Ygramul would at least have had one good meal. But who says it's Ygramul's last meal? She knows a way of getting you to the Southern Oracle in a twinkling. But the question is: Will you like it?"

"What is that way?"

"That is Ygramul's secret. The creatures of darkness have their secrets too, Atreyu Twolegs. Ygramul has never revealed hers. And you too must swear you'll never tell a soul. For it would be greatly to Ygramul's disadvantage if it were known, yes, greatly to her disadvantage."

"I swear! Speak!"

The great steel-blue face leaned forward just a little and buzzed almost inaudibly."You must let Ygramul bite you."

Atreyu shrank back in horror.

"Ygramul's venom," the voice went on, "kills within an hour. But to one who has it inside him it gives the power to wish himself in any part of Fantastica he chooses. Imagine if that were known! All Ygramul's victims would escape her."

"An hour?" cried Atreyu."What can I do in an hour?"

"Well," buzzed the swarm, "at least it's more than all the hours remaining to you here."

Atreyu struggled with himself.

"Will you set the luckdragon free if I ask it in the name of the Childlike Empress?" he finally asked.

"No!" said the face."You have no right to ask that of Ygramul even if you are wearing AURYN, the Gem. The Childlike Empress takes us all as we are. That's why Ygramul respects her emblem."

Atreyu was still standing with bowed head. Ygramul had spoken the truth. He couldn't save the white luckdragon. His own wishes didn't count.

He looked up and said: "Do what you suggested."

Instantly the steel-blue cloud descended on him and enveloped him on all sides. He felt a numbing pain in the left shoulder. His last thought was: "To the Southern Oracle!"

Then the world went black before his eyes.

When the wolf reached the spot a short time later, he saw the giant spider web - but there was no one in sight. There the trail he had been following broke off, and try as he might, he could not find it again.

Bastian stopped reading. He felt miserable, like the venom was coursing through him.

"Thank God I'm not in Fantastica," he muttered."Luckily, such monsters don't exist in reality. Anyway, it's only a story."

But was it only a story? How did it happen that Ygramul, and probably Atreyu as well, had heard Bastian's cry of terror?

Little by little, this book was beginning to give him a spooky feeling.

The Neverending Story Explanation

DO NOT WORRY! There is a happy ending for this tale.

Michael Ende, the author, penned this wonderful book as a call for hope and belief in the imagination. Born in 1929 Germany, Ende was the son of a physiotherapist and a surrealist artist. His mother helped with growth and healing in her job - something the Nazis disliked, as they preferred constant perfection and uniformity. And his father proposed questions and alternative points of view via his art, which the Nazis also hated - fascism being an easier sell when people did not know they had other options or even the ability to think outside of state-sanctioned mindsets. And being a child during a war, Ende saw a lot of madness, hopelessness and death.

Which is why I think his book is all about clutching onto hope, trying to grow as a person despite the pressures and mold of society and searching for your own truth.

As you may have suspected, I did not read the book first. I watched the movie on VHS - if you’ve ever seen a DVD, then a VHS was like that, but a rectangular prism. It only covers the first half of the book, but it was definitely the more adaptable half. There were two sequel movies that DID kind of cover the last half, but they were terrible.

I chose these chapters because I feel like they would hook in someone who was unfamiliar with the story - I had the advantage of watching the movie first, after all.

Onto the art!

I was infatuated with the movie, and at the time I drew the title picture, I was tired of what I had been drawing. I put a lot of research into my pictures - its something I’m proud of - but it gets a little tiring. So I drew something that I know and love - the original movie poster! Four years later, when I finally finished drawing the other illustrations (I have a general schedule for what I draw, this was an isolated event), I had to edit it a bit. I originally did my best approximation of the Atreyu actor from the original movie (he changed in each movie), but I just changed it so he’s accurate to my new illustrations. You can see the original in the sketches link at the end of this post. Also I just realized the movie poster gives Falkor no back legs but the movie totally does. And I just copied it lol.

The second picture took me over a year. It wasn’t THAT hard, but the perspective took some working, and I started drawing it before I researched the inspiration for MY Atreyu’s appearance - the Comanche people of the American Plains (the movie actor is a white boy with tanned skin, and I wanted to be more accurate than that.)

The Comanche people are famous bison hunters who adapted to horses quickly, and that’s pretty much the only information we get about Atreyu’s tribe - they’re green, they hunt purple bison, and they have horses. As a fantasy stand-in for an Indigenous tribe, it didn’t feel right to make things up that seemed Native American; that would feel disrespectful. So, I based Atreyu on a Comanche man, and the bridle on Artax on a Comanche bridle. Comanche men traditionally had fur and skin wraps around two long braids, and a few small ones from the part of their hair.

I MUST stress, however, that they did not ordinarily keep feathers in their hair. While I cannot make sweeping generalizations about all Indigenous people of Turtle Island (what we call North America), the vast majority have made it clear that wearing feathers in hair was NOT an everyday thing. Feathers were largely worn for celebratory reasons, like how some people have their ‘Sunday best’. While many photos and drawings do depict them wearing feathers, that is because they often dressed up in their best outfits for the artists and photographers. Its inaccurate to show them wearing feathers all the time.

The men also only wore tops and leggings (different from modern leggings - they were basically tubes that went around the lower leg, and then only covered the outside of the thigh, attaching to a hoop around the waist and to boots below) when it was cold. Otherwise, they just wore breechcloths - rectangular cloths that dip under the torso, hang over the hoop, and cover the front and back of one's thighs. I’ve never tried it, but I imagine its a freeing experience!

Third picture: Very sad, very iconic tableau of the film. I just had to draw it. If it makes you feel any better, Artax does come back in way later in the film and book. ♡

In drawing the fourth picture, I felt especially inspired. Many Indigenous people cut their hair when they’ve lost a loved one, so I felt the craggy mountains (with the bits of Nothing that I added as artistic license) serving as a backdrop to him tossing the hair away just would look cool. I’m not sure the crayon I used to color in the Nothing worked, but it’s what I used!

The fifth picture took me a while. I wanted to draw the wolf, Gmork, but I kept accidentally drawing him too cute. Then it came to me - the story said that he was forming out of darkness, so I should draw him becoming more wolf-like, but still distinctly Not. I first drew him normally - pencil then black ink on a white page. Then I edited the picture to create a more ghostly appearance. Then I threw it in an image editor and reversed the colors - turned them negative. And that’s how I drew the wolf in the darkness. I kept the penciled tree I originally drew in the background because I felt it looked cool in conjunction with the wispy lines of the wolf.

Sixth picture, I just tried to keep with Ygramul’s description, and the movie appearance of the luckdragon, Falkor. I gave Ygramul a crab mouth because I hate those and think they look disgusting, and figured it would fit with the monster’s vibes.

The seventh picture, I just wanted to draw Atreyu looking small and brave against a monster. I based Ygramul’s look in this picture on a Taxxon, an alien species from a stupendous book series called Animorphs. They can never stop eating, to the point of self-cannibalism if left long enough.

Last picture, I just wanted to capture Bastian at least once, the wolf one more time, and the ‘actual’ book. It’s supposed to look like Bastian has turned his head to read the opposite page, but I think that the angle isn’t quite right. Oh well! My handwriting is naturally bad, so trust me when I say that was some of my best efforts!

Atreyu is supposed to be a reflection of Bastian in a way, and vice versa, so I headcanon that Bastian’s interest in storytelling, reading and horses may come from his mother’s side. I believe the ‘outer’ story is set in Germany, but in my head, I cooked up a little side story. Bastian’s dad worked with the Americans stationed in West Germany. A daughter of a Comanche soldier fell in love with him, and they married. For better or for worse, the pair stayed together, but I bet she longed for America (I know I always miss home within a week of vacation, lol) and perhaps some of that wistfulness, loneliness and discontent transferred to her son, especially once she passed away.

Below is the ‘original’ Atreyu in the title picture, the progression of Gmork, and a link to a website with the whole book within. It will offer links for downloading, but don’t bother - you can read it in entirety on the page.

Hope you’ll read more!

https://epdf.tips/the-neverending-story2819f9f1.html

SKETCHES

[bugsinthebayou]

‼️‼️ APPRECIATION JUMPSCARE ‼️‼️

taz did you know. that you are one of my best friends and i love you so much. i dont tell you enough how much it puts a smile on my face to see you talking about your medias even when i don't know them or don't have the energy to read about them. i love how passionate you are about the things and the people that you love and i love how friendly and talkative you are. i love when you share your medias with others.

your ocs are so cool and unique. their designs are so creative and i've genuinely never seen anything like them before and i love them! I love how you do lore and your lore is so detailed and cool and creative. Your ocs' backstories are so believable and compelling and really make you want to learn more. And I love how you create OC designs that are simple and not too busy and yet convey so much!! You can really feel their personalities.

Your shading is admirable and something that really makes your art look professional. Your understanding of anatomy in particular is something I look up to you for as an artist. I love how you draw anatomy. It's so fun to look at and has helped me in my neverending quest to understand it myself. And your lineart is so simple and fluid yet also so detailed and conveys so much!! I absolutely LOVE looking at your lineart, it's so cool.

I'm so glad I met you, and so glad for your continued passion for your interests. And I'm so thankful for how accepting you've been through my own personal journey of discovering my gender and my sexuality and who I am. Just you being so open and so kind to me has changed my life, and I don't think I'm exaggerating. You inspire me every day with your stories and your unapologetic love for your interests. I will never be able to tell you the extent of all you've done for me just by being you. Thank you. I love you.

ohh my god... i love you. i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you so much

[thethingsido4]

To be honest, that's why I'm co-shipping Reylo. Their shippers not only have made them the biggest SW ship in fandom spaces but they also managed to get various already posted (!) fanfics published as well as novels that started off as Reylo fanfics. But do you see them being offensive or mean to other shippers? Do they show off with what they have accomplished? Not a single Reylo shipper has ever been mean to me personally or because of my ships. I celebrate that Reylo has become the biggest SW ship because even though they and their shippers get attacked all the time, they didn't waste their time on hating back but instead created even more art and fics. And they've produced breathtaking stuff! And that can make you ship them even if you didn't when you watched the movies.

Am I sad that Quiobi isn't the biggest ship anymore? Actually, no. We have enough haters as it is. And with all that (now thankfully non-canon) original content out there, I am totally fine with how it is. Also, there is so much out there that happened during those 25 years since Qui-Gon first graced us (and Obi-Wan) with his appearance, it almost feels like a neverending quest already! (Will I ever be able to hunt these three doujinshi from the early 2000s down that are missing in my collection? Who knows? What happened to this or that creator? I don't know! Nor shall I ever know!)

Quiobi shippers were happily but silently shipping them and what happened? I still cannot believe that Disney of all people reunited them in the Kenobi show. Thank you, Disney! Thank you Liam and Ewan, thank you writers and director!

Congratulations, Reylo shippers! Go on writing and drawing what you love so much! I'm standing in the background doing some cheerleader stuff for you!

I've tried to stop myself from writing this but in the end I am childish and want to add that in the doujinshi department Quiobi still rules. We may not have the highest number of publications but we've got the quality.

Why??? seriously I too love Poe/Finn pairing, but there’s no need to be envious of other pairing and encourage people to do the same… it’s have been 16 years 5 months since TPM premier, they are not even in the same league..

[amandaoftherosemire]

Lightning Strikes Part Eighteen

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Thor Odinson X Reader

Characters: Thor Odinson

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3950

Format: Series (Complete)

Warning: Language, angst, fluff, light not-even smut.

Summary: You go to bed, but Thor insists on talking.

A/N: This part and the next were going to be all one chapter, but it just kept getting longer and longer. I found a spot to stop that felt the most cruel and unusual and split it there. But since I’m not a total monster, the next part will be up shortly. This part is for all my fellow communication sluts. The next part will be for all my fellow regular sluts.

I won’t go into all of it because it would just be me bitching and moaning, but thanks to tumblr’s neverending quest to drive us all insane, the taglist for this fic will be in a subsequent reblog.

Part Seventeen: Luminosity here

Resonance

Thor was overwhelmed.

This was not a familiar sensation for him, as even when he should feel overwhelmed, he stubbornly refused to do so. Doubt and hesitation were not helpful things in a fight and Thor had spent most of his life in one battle or another. Why worry about the consequences of a thing when you knew you had to do the thing regardless of said consequences?

Thor knew all about doing things whether he wanted to or not.

He didn't want to fight with you, however, was sick to death of feeling apart from you. He’d also gotten better at figuring out what things were needed, what battles needed fighting. He saw no reason to battle you when you were soft and sweet against him. That didn’t mean some conversation wasn’t also needed, however, as much as he’d rather make love to you.

"You’re trembling, love," he murmured against your lips, the sweetness there even more intoxicating than he remembered. But he couldn't focus on it, distracted by the fine vibration that permeated your body as it rested against his. He swept his hands over your skin, relishing the softness but also trying to warm you. "Are you cold?"

Welling up inside him was a tenderness he'd never known before. He had been absolutely certain that he’d lost you, that the only thing standing between him and his doom were the words. Though you'd been kind, full of plausible excuses whenever he'd sought your company in the past several weeks, he could not ignore the fact that you were most definitely avoiding him. He'd come to Wakanda dreading the moment when you told him you didn't want him anymore.

Instead, he'd found his beloved talking Plant, restored to yourself and not only still wanting him, but full of fear that there was a possibility that he wouldn't want you. He found it astonishing as he’d thought you knew how highly he thought of you, how much he loved you. As though there was a universe where anything you could have done, would have done, could change that.

The feeling of Thor's hands skimming over your back was making you shiver, but not with cold. "How could I be?" you laughed, burying your face in his throat so you wouldn't have to look into his eyes. The concern there was making you feel wrong for wanting to steal one more memory before it all crumbled to dust. You snuggled deeper into his embrace, wanting to climb inside him and live there. "I’m fine," you sighed, your heart going to mush when he pulled the comforter under him down so he could tuck the two of you together under it.

You didn’t resist, simply watched him as he tenderly wrapped you in warm blankets and warmer himself. The sweetness of the man, exemplified by the effort he’d go to on the off chance that you were cold, made your throat tighten, but with love or tears you weren’t sure.

He didn't listen to your weak protests, determined to take care of you. When he was done making sure you were covered, he rolled you to your back, using his own body to curl around you, propping himself up on his elbow, his forearm under your shoulders, cradling your neck and head. He tucked you under his body, his other hand coming up to smooth over your face.

"I wish you’d tell me," he said, bright blue eyes soft with tenderness, drawing you in to drown. His giant hand was impossibly gentle when he cupped your face, but a tingling warmth seeped from his palm into your cheek. Your eyelids fluttered at the sensation, but you couldn't look away when Thor was searing you with his gaze. "Don’t you know there’s nothing you could confess that would stop me from loving you? 

“But you may not want to when I’m done," you replied in a half-broken whisper. You whimpered a little when his thumb brushed over your cheek as his hand caressed your face and neck, his eyes searing as they followed his hand. Your skin tingled everywhere you were touching him, as though your body had become a magnet for the energy of his.

Thor’s eyes were narrowed as he watched his hand relish the journey over soft skin. He loved the sight of you under his hands, loved watching what his touch did to you. He couldn’t help but notice that you were not responding in the way he expected, however. Your heart was speeding, your breath catching; you were making those delicious noises of pleasure in your throat. But your skin was not warming under his touch and that vibration was only growing more… frantic.

“Are you certain you’re not cold?” He'd heard your fear, wanted to reassure, but was too concerned about this change and tired to the core of not knowing what was going on. “I can feel you trembling.”

Your focus shifted completely when the thought truly penetrated the fog his touch had created that Thor was talking about the griefquakes. Now that you knew about the grief part of the equation, you understood where the tremors were coming from. Emotion, especially dark or intense emotion, caused quakes to ripple through you from the heaviness around your bones. That heaviness carried and created something that somewhat felt like cold, and yet nothing like cold.

These convulsions were made worse the longer you went without Loki’s chill, which numbed you for a time and mostly stilled them, though nothing took away that dark weight. You’d been feeling and ignoring them the entire time you’d been in Thor’s arms. A half-smile played at the corner of your mouth. “You can feel that? But it's in my bones.”

Thor frowned. "Of course." Your response told him that you knew what he was talking about, that there was an explanation for the slight trembling he could feel reverberating through your body everywhere he touched you. "It's a fine tremor, but a tremor nonetheless." He brought his hand back to your face, worried for you. "Is this part of your story?"

You closed your eyes and rubbed your face against his palm. "Yes." Your voice was raspy, the yearning for him making you feel soft and pliant. You wanted to give him anything he asked for, his tenderness, his care demolishing every defense you had. You didn't want to defend against him, didn't want to shut him out. You wanted to trust him with everything, trust him to still want you once you had.

Thor searched your eyes, his gaze fervent as he drank you in. He loved watching emotions chase each other across your face. The doll-like stillness of the past couple months had haunted him, broken his heart. To have all of you back was joyous, even as he saw fear and indecision take hold of you. His voice a gentle rumble, he purred. "Tell me, my love. I promise to still be holding you when it's over."

Your breath shuddered out, a little of the fear going with it as your body relaxed and the worst of the trembling eased. You didn't know how he knew that was where the fear lived, in the dread of his rejection. You were terrified that he wouldn't want to love you when you were done, wouldn’t be able to stand the things you were about to confess. But the true fear came from the knowledge that it would only be worse if he physically pushed you away.

His sweet promise reminded you that you were dealing with Thor, a man exceptional in his kindness, his compassion. Even if he couldn't share you, and as it was his brother, you wouldn't blame him, he still wouldn't be cruel. He would still be your friend. Even if he didn't want to love you, he still would, and that would be enough to help you live through losing him if you must. You'd trust him, because you could.

"In some languages here on Earth," you murmured, your hand coming up to tangle in his hair, the locks surprisingly long for a year's worth of growth, "the term for 'love at first sight' literally translates to 'lightning strike'? Did you know?" Your eyes were soft with devotion as they hungrily moved over his face, devouring the sight of him. He was so beautiful, his mouth full and wicked, his bright eyes overwhelming in close quarters.

His mouth curved, slowly, one corner pulling up and making your hand clench into a fist in his hair. His thickly muscled leg slid along yours, his thigh slipping between your knees to bring your bodies closer together. The other side of his mouth came up until he was grinning outright, his smile shining and gorgeous. "Did you fall in love at first sight?" he rumbled as you pulled his face to yours.

"No." Your smile flashed at the look of disappointment that flickered over his face. His arm slid under your back to press you close as he curved around you. You brushed your lips over his, the tingle of his skin irresistible. "Your voice caught me before I saw your face." Thor's grin came back and the sweetness of it sent a quake of pleasure through you. "I fell in love with the thunder," you continued, "not the lightning." Your smiled went wry. "But you could still say I was struck by it."

"I would have found a way to love you even had you been a talking plant," he vowed, and the sight of your face dissolving into warm, happy laughter made his heart stop for a moment. Again, your hand clenched gently in his hair to pull him down to kiss him with that laughing mouth and he could not, would not resist.

The taste of your laughter was as wild and tempting as he remembered. With a groan of relief and desire, he sank into the kiss. Your mouth was so soft and generous, his tongue immediately swept between your lips, drawn by the flavor he craved. Having you back in his arms made him forget for a moment the frustration of everything he didn't know or understand.

Except he could still feel you tremble.

Reluctantly, he let you come up for air, only to be drawn back by the expression of heavy-lidded, swollen-lipped desire he’d found as soon as he opened his eyes to look at you. If he hadn’t loved you even more than he desired you, he never could have broken the kiss once, let alone a second time.

Thor’s breath was coming quickly when he lifted his head once again. Tempting him more than anyone he’d ever known, you hummed happily in your throat as your eyes fluttered open to lock on to his. You sighed a little as your hand slid down from his hair to cup his face, knowing you were going to tell him everything when he turned his mouth into your palm to press his lips to the center. There were moments he was so beautiful it made your heart hurt. This was one of those.

He didn’t prod you to speak again, simply waited for you to begin, his hand sliding under the covers to skim soothingly over your skin. Unwilling to tell this story while prone, you pushed gently at his chest, sliding up until you were reclining against the pillows at the head of your bed. He moved with you so that you were both mostly sitting up, though he made certain you remained within the circle of his arms.

Cocooned with him in the softness of your bed, comfortably warm thanks to the heat of his body next to yours beneath the blankets, you snuggled deeply into his arms, allowing his gorgeous body to enfold you. Taking your heart in your hands, you leapt, hoping you hadn’t made a mistake in trusting him to catch you.

Slowly, following an entirely different pattern than that you’d used when telling Astrid and Valkyrie, you began the painful process of explaining to Thor everything he’d missed, everything you’d deliberately kept from him. As you spoke, you grew more confident, as Thor's gaze never left your face, his hands never left your skin. He never retreated by word, deed, or expression, and that alone made you realize that you could love him even more, though you'd thought such a thing impossible.

Thor was a great audience, responding to each part of the story exactly as you'd hoped, his arms loosening when he laughed, tightening again when his jaw clenched in anger or his eyes filled. He never let you go, however, no matter what you told him. He never looked away, and neither could you.

You didn't bother to rehash old history, ignoring the why of your estrangement from Thor to focus on the things he’d missed during said separation. You told him about Loki's potion, how he'd offered it, how little information he'd divulged, and your determination to have nothing to do with it, leading to its concealment under your bed.

Something in your bones was responding to the fire in Thor's eyes when you confessed to why you'd been drinking that night, the jealousy that had sent you into a bar searching for someone to help you forget. You didn't pull your punches, describing your behavior with Steve and Bucky honestly, as well as how embarrassed you'd been by it, how that had led to more alcohol, the destruction of much of your furniture with an axe, and the rediscovery of Loki's magic potion.

Thor wasn't a silent audience to a recitation, however. He didn’t speak much, but when he did it was to clarify or joke and his tone never gave a way even a hint of anger, resentment, or jealousy, at least not towards you. He even teased you about Steve and Bucky, to your consternation, stating his certainty that you needn’t be embarrassed based on the picture he saw.

Until you got to the part of your story where you'd fallen under Loki's potion and his spell and a thousand emotions overtook him at once. The dominant feelings, however, were rage and fear. Rage because, like Valkyrie, he knew what goddess Loki's potion had come from. Fear, for the same reason.

His muscles seemed to spasm, and he was holding you tight against his chest, the belated terror of the near miss hitting him hard since he was only now finding out how close, how bad, it had almost been. The memory of your body, cold, limp, and heavy in an icy near-death was only more starkly horrific now that he knew for a fact you really had been dying, had been in danger because of his interference in your life.

Now that you were speaking, were telling him everything, you couldn't stop. Even as he held you close, rocking gently, whether to comfort you or himself even he didn't know, you continued to speak into his chest where you’d buried your face. It didn't matter why he was holding you so tightly; it made you feel better, eased the tightness in your throat. You needed that, as you couldn't seem to stop spilling the story out, no matter what happened now.

Thor deliberately calmed himself, gripped tight to his temper and held on, knowing you needed him to hold you, listen to you, more than you needed him to find his damned brother and beat him bloody. He carefully relaxed, pulling away a little so he could see more of your face, though you refused to meet his eyes for this part, his hand came up to tenderly cup the back of your neck in his big, warm palm in support.

Tears welled up into your eyes, first in grief when you thought he was retreating, then in devotion, the sweetness in his touch making your heart seem to fill to bursting. It kept you talking, helped you to go on, to admit to him that it had taken a potion made from the tears of a goddess, a magic spell, and a near-death experience, but Loki had finally seduced you.

"Except that makes it sound like it wasn't my decision." You lifted your eyes from the hollow of his throat, where you'd kept them trained as you confessed this thing that almost, and yet absolutely, felt like betrayal, to find his eyes both soft and kind. "I won't pretend. I made my own choices."

“I certainly hope that wasn’t all you had to confess,” he murmured, his voice amused, his lips gentle as they brushed over yours. “Because I already figured that part out for myself.” He adored you for not reminding him that he had set Loki the task of seducing you, so if his brother had succeeded, Thor had to admit that it was partially his own fault.

“I can’t stop,” you blurted out, your voice broken and carrying regret, if not remorse. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t.”

That gave Thor pause. “I see.” He fell silent, but didn’t move away, his eyes devouring your face as he continued to smooth his fingers gently over your skin, leaving tingles of heat everywhere he touched. “Why?”

Though you expected the question, you'd anticipated a very different tone. Rather than harsh or accusatory, Thor sounded genuinely curious. It gave you the courage to answer more bluntly than you might otherwise, though your eyes dropped back to his throat as you did so. "I can't because the cold numbs the pain of the potion," you replied, your voice a rasp of regret. "I don't want to because I love him."

Thor sighed, his arms tightening around you to press you close. He felt the shuddering breath you released against his skin and knew it had taken all of your courage to say such things to him in this vulnerable position. His heart melted as he understood the trust you'd placed in him. He was grateful to have learned enough to have proven himself worthy of that trust for once.

"Why did you take the potion, my sweet?" His voice was kind as he rubbed his cheek against the top of your head even as his body surrounded you. He curled around you, wanting to retroactively protect you from his brother's machinations, wishing he understood the other man's motivations. "You had to know no good would come of it." Thor pulled back to gaze sadly, lovingly, into your face.

You laughed, a little watery from the tears in your eyes and throat. Your hand lifted to cup his face, love swamping you at the generosity of his soul. "I don't really know what I was thinking, or if I was thinking." You gave him a lop-sided smile, wondering if that was true. "Or maybe I was thinking that if I had a few thousand years, it didn't have to be hopeless." Only a whisper of sound, your voice carried all the longing of a mortal in love with a god.

Thor's throat locked closed. He couldn't believe he'd understood you. Clearing his throat with difficulty as his heart was racing, electricity running through his veins, his body tensed. "A few thousand years?"

"The potion." You frowned, thinking over your explanation and trying to remember if you'd told him what the potion was supposed to do. You hadn't been terribly clear, and Thor's continued look of near panicked confusion prodded you to continue. "Loki didn't like how 'fragile' I was,” you said gently. “That's why he did all this, to make my life longer and my body more durable, so that I won't die too soon for him."

Thor stared at you, his mind working even as he pulled back to take your shoulders in his hands, squeezing tight as his eyes devoured your face. You looked the same, beautiful and human and you; it made it hard for him to believe that he was understanding you correctly.

"Are you saying that you're going to live for a few thousand years?" You couldn't name the emotion that roughened his voice, turned it into a rasp as he asked the question. A nauseated chill ran up your spine at the thought that he may have only wanted you for your people's lifetime, not his own.

"As far as I know," you answered, fear causing quakes of pain to rock your body. The warmth of Thor's hands around your shoulders seemed to change the quality of the quakes as they reverberated, however, sending them back through you on a different, less painful frequency. "But I got that from Loki and so I'm only ninety-five percent sure he was telling the truth."

The corner of Thor's mouth twitched up. "That's very high confidence for Loki." He could feel the tremors getting worse and his brows drew together, his hands skimming up and down the outside of your arms in an instinctive desire to comfort you. To your surprised delight, it worked, and the tremors eased almost completely on the return journey. You sat in your bed, legs tangled still with his, your eyes drinking in his face, naked devotion on yours. "How durable?" he asked, absently, distracted by your expression.

"Virtually indestructible, according, again, to Loki, so grain of salt."

Thor was frowning, but you couldn't for the life of you tell what he was thinking. Your heart was in your throat. Though he'd moved to comfort you, he also had not really reacted to anything you'd told him. On the other hand, he appeared to be mulling it over and you didn't want to interrupt.

Thor was working things out in his head, putting together events he'd witnessed, overheard, gossip he'd collected, and this new information to figure out exactly what he was dealing with. He'd worked hard to get in the habit of thinking before he acted, at least a little bit, now that he was King of Asgard. He owed it to his people to at least try to be shrewd. "The potion causes these tremors?" His eyes came back to yours, and the laser focus in blue so bright it seemed to glow caught and held you.

You nodded, swaying toward him, drawn by the smell of ozone and electricity coming off his skin in waves of heat almost as alluring as the man himself. In one corner of your mind, you were shocked that you could so instantly stop thinking and only feel at the mere scent of lightning on the man. It made you wonder, but you couldn't pay attention.

"And Loki makes them better?"

You nodded again, your heart yearning for him, your body aching, muddling your mind and making it nearly impossible to think, even in that last rational corner. Your body felt like it was lifting to him, the sensation both light and hot.

Thor was holding on to his emotions by his fingernails, feeling the lightning spreading out from his center and sparking over his body. He didn't want to hurt you, but your hands had come up to press against his chest, rasping over his skin and humming at the sensation of electricity seeping into your skin. It made him wonder what other physical changes Loki's potion had wrought.

The heat in your eyes, the desire in your touch sent a shudder and a crackle of blue electricity racing over his skin. His voice dropped to a genuine rumble of thunder that reverberated from his chest into your hands. The vibrations raced up your arms and into your body, settling around your bones. "So, you're saying I have to share you, but I get to keep you?"

Part Nineteen: Helene here

[drops-of-moonlights]

WINX AU SCREAMING (Part XIII)

In which I yell about each transformation in more detail, plus me revealing some of the fan transformations in the AU.

BASIC

Charmix: it’s the same as it is in canon (I refuse to call it Magic Winx - the Winx ain’t the only ones to use the form), so being the basic transformation it doesn’t really need much explaining. It is automatically earned once you turn 13 (you can take the Magical Transformation Probability Test for Fairy and Witch Powers, the Fairy/Witch Test for short, when you turn 11), and it’s a tradition in all planets that the celebration of your 13th birthday is ended with you transforming for the first time. Fairies and Witches also take flight for the first time in said day, using their wings. Outfits are pretty basic. Wings are small.

Enchantix: it’s automatically earned at 21, but you can earn it earlier than that by performing a self-sacrificial act of love and care for someone very close to you. Said sacrifice also has to be somewhat notorious. Enchantix unlocks direct use of Essence Dust, a powder-like substance that is actually concentrated ambient magic, allowing for bigger spells without relying on power-amplifying artifacts and for easier use of dangerous spells, like size-changing and healing. Outfits are more detailed and flowy, but not by much. Wings are slightly bigger.

HIGHER FORMS

INTERNAL

These forms do not require any special place, object or source - it’s entirely born from one’s own magic.

Believix: the Power of Trusting Hearts. You can only achieve it by having full, almost blind confidence between you and your friends during a dangerous situation. It’s the only transformation that can’t be earned individually - but Believix also creates a powerful magical link between those that earned it at the same time, making convergence spells between them stronger. Believix has the particularity of storing quite the bit of magic on the wings when it comes to fairies and witches, more than any other transformation - acting as a reserve pool for magic by being completely coated in Essence Dust. The amount of magic makes them unstable, however, and attempting to use Believix underwater makes the wings incredibly heavy, to the point of almost undoing the transformation itself. Outfits are uniform between those that achieved, and it has details that tell how many people achieved the form at once. Wings are medium size and look wiry and cloudy.

Valiantix: The Power of Brave Auras. It can only be achieved my performing an incredibly reckless yet courageous act, all to save someone close to you. Valiantix grants faster flying movement and a stronger physical resistance by losing magical resilience. Its outfits share an stylized warrior look, unique to each magi, as well as a tiara with a gem the color of their Aura. Wings are medium-big and ornate, like Enchantix wings.

Altheix: The Power of Kind Souls. It’s achieved by using the Spell of Renewed Life, a very dangerous healing spell that can completely revitalize someone heavily injured without the aid of Essence Dust. It’s named after Althea Lucastis, the woman that invented the spell and created the form. It grants an amazing boost to your healing capabilities and defense magic, but also weakens your attack magic a bit. Its form is flowy and covering, and has an Aura-colored gem in the chest. Wings are medium-big and look delicate and airy.

Energix: the Power of Hidden Energy. It’s obtained by absorbing grand quantities of ambient magic all at once, making it one of the accidentally earned forms with Believix and Valiantix. It grants a larger reservoir of energy, allowing for more uses of magic. It’s wings suffer the same fate as Believix’s do, only with way more energy, however, so they’re considered unstable. Its clothes have very long sleeves, and occasionally are hooded. Wings are medium size and look like each magi’s Source.

Ascendix: the Power of Full Heart. It’s considered the ultimate magi form by most people. Ascendix is earned by facing yourself, both the good and the bad, in battle - confronting every decision, every regret, every suffering, all at once. It has virtually no weaknesses aside from not being the fastest flier of the bunch. It grants total control over your magic. It’s also occasionally called Sperantix, which was it’s unofficial name for 500 years before Ascendix became it’s official one. It has a very long and flowy look, as well as very big wings reminiscent of their Enchantix ones.

EXTERNAL

BY QUEST OR TRIAL

These are the forms that require to pass a specific challenge or adventure to achieve, and that are kept and managed by the leaders of the 4 small races - Pixies, Selkies, Gnomes and Lumens. A longer description of each quest will be adressed in a later Winx AU Screaming post.

Sirenix: the Power of the Infinite Ocean. In the AU, was never cursed - it was just sealed as a side-effect of Daphne becoming inprisoned. Sirenix allows for an incredibly fast swimming speed, as well as underwater breathing and removal of the physical limitations of the body to abyssal pressure. It also grants access to Infimare. It’s obtained by doing the Sirenix Quest, and it’s kept by Omnia, the leader of the Selkies. Its form vaguely mimics underwater merfolk. Wings are medium-size and look like fins.

Aquatix: the Power of Underwater Travels, it’s granted to those that attempt the Sirenix Quest by Omnia, so they don’t have to spent most of their quest maintaining an underwater-breathing spell. It’s a watered-down version of Sirenix, and it only works underwater - once 5 minutes on land pass, the transformation undoes itself. During the time Sirenix was sealed, it was offered as a replacement of Sirenix, and once Sirenix is obtained, one can never use Aquatix again. Failing the Sirenix Quest allows you to keep Aquatix, but you will be unable to transform for 3 months and cannot take the Quest again for 3 years. Its looks are similar to Sirenix, but less detailed.

Alseix: the Power of Lush Greenery. It grants almost a complete understanding and control of the surrounding foliage, as well as a better handling of natural and wild magic, though it can be iffy with the later. It draws power mostly from the ambient magic as well as foliage, so if you’re in a low-magic or not very green zone it can make spellcasting an issue. It can be obtained by doing the Alseix Quest, and it’s kept by Ninfea, the leader of the Pixies. Its form is loose and airy, and has a lot of tree and plant details. Wings are medium-sized and look like leaves, petals and branches.

Cosmix: it’s the Power of Starry Skies, and it allows for interplanetary travel without the use of teleporting spells. It grants a bigger bond with light magic and it vastly improves on flying speed - at the cost of almost no physical resistance. It’s also one of the few forms that can collect and share magic energy between users and objects. It can be obtained by doing the Cosmix Quest, and it’s kept by Dorana, the Queen of the Lumens. Its look is somewhat futuristic and luminous. Wingsare medium size and curly, covered in stars.

Lustrix: the Power of Brilliant Gemstones, it grants resistance to the rise of pressure underground and it allows the user to properly breathe. It also grants the biggest defense boost of all forms, at the cost of being the absolute slower of all forms. It can be obtained by doing the Lustrix Quest, and it’s kept by Ritren, the King of Gnomes. Its look is like gem-encrusted armor, and in very light colours. Wings are medium-size and shiny yet heavy-looking.

BY INTERACTION WITH NATURAL POWER

These forms are obtained by directly interacting with some sort of source of power, without the need of a trial.

Butterflix: the Power of Animals. It’s one of the most common forms, as it can be achieved by interacting with a Butterflix Pike - rock formations usually hidden in forests that grant the form to those that find them. However, Butterflix has a hidden function - if a Butterflix magi manages to make a soulful bond with a magical animal, it unlocks a magical transformation on said animal, which can aid her in her trials. Butterflix grants a better link with natural and wild magic (more so the latter) as well as animals, but at the cost of making all spells ineffective against nature itself if the spell is in any way harmful. Its outfit is based on butterflies, and tends to have sheer sleeves. Wings are medium size and look like native butterflies.

Ignitix: the Power of Bright Flames. It can be achieved by encountering a Well of Warmth, pools of of fire magic found near mountain formations and volcanoes. It grants invulnerability to heat and fire, but a weakness to strong lunar magic. Its form is form-fitting and airy, and their wings are of medium size and fiery-looking.

Glacix: the Power of Gleaming Ice. It can be achieved by interacting with a Glacier Core, areas deep in icy tundras full of the magic of cold. It grants resistance to the cold and dark, but a weakness to strong solar magic. It’s form-fitting and warm, and their wings are of medium size and look like snowflakes.

Onyrix: the Power of Neverending Dreams. Obtained by interacting with Dream Dust (a substance found on Neverland, a now lost island on Earth) it allows the user to see and interact with other people’s dreams and to future visions and illusory spells. It’s one of the slowest forms of all, so you can be left wide open if you’re not careful. Onyrix’s look is detailed, form-fitting and flowy. Wings are medium size and look smokey and bright.

Harmonix: the Power of Symphonic Harmony. It can be achieved by entering an Echo Circle, magical locations where sounds and music are amplified and eternal. It grants extra control over sound and makes called spells stronger, but the lack of sound can diminish its power. Its look is draped and flashy. Wings are medium-sized and wiry, like musical sheets.

Mythix: the Power of Myths and Legends. It’s obtained by managing to channel a legend’s essence or moral perfectly, or managing to represent it’s protagonist. Mythix improves on spellcasting and overall magic usage, at the cost of physical defenses. It has big wings tied to the legend it pulls strength from and its look is based on each story’s themes and aesthetic. This form of Mythix was formed after pulling its essence out of the Legendarium keys, detailed below.

Sophix and Agapix: the Powers of the Green and White Hearts, they are unique in that they’re fully artificial transformations - they were created by Diana and Aurora from Earth for their subjects based off Alseix and Glacix, to help them better adapt to their enviroments and get a stronger connection with it - other than that, they’re almost purely aesthetical transformations. They can only be obtained by either receiving it directly from their creators, or by interacting with the Green and White Hearts residing deep in Diana and Aurora’s shrines respectively. Sophix looks very loose and earthy, Agapix looks more warm and protective. Unlike other forms, that require being in Enchantix, Sophix and Agapix can be obtained as Charmix magis easily, since Diana and Aurora felt it necessary to better lead their people. All Sophix and Agapix fairies have the same wings, which look like smaller versions of Diana and Aurora’s wings.

UNLISTED/UNOFFICIAL

Mythix/Legendix/Pleiadix: the Power of the Legendarium. It’s not an official transformation - it was made by the Pleiades (seven Earth fairies who helped the Black Circle seal the White Circle 1000 years ago) by infusing part of their power into dragonscales embedded into 7 of the 9 keys of the Legendarium, creating a new form that allowed them inmediate access to Legendia without needing the book or all keys present. The Pleiades passed away after defeating Acheron (one of the last supporters of the White Circle that were left, although he had given his alliance to them long ago and was just causing mayhem), managing to send him into the Legendarium and imprison him. The Black Circle collected their keys/wands and safeguarded them after that. Aside from granting access to Legendia, this form also improves on spellcasting and overall magic usage, at the cost of physical defenses. Their wings are the third most coated with Essence Dust and thus considered borderline unstable, after Believix’s and Energix’s. After the events of S6, however, and with the help of the Order of Mana and the Ethereal Ones, the essence of the transformation was pulled from the keys, molding it into a new version of Mythix detailed above.

Thanatix: the Power of Death and Destruction. It’s rumored to be a corrupted form of Ascendix that was earned by the Ancestral Witches after destroying Myrari’s civilizations - it being the reason for the massive power boost they got after said event. Thanatix is not an official name for said corruption, but it’s the most popular one given to it as it makes it the power of death and destruction. (Other popular names for it are Descendix, Ruinix and Despairix)

[sequoias-random-box]

Things I'm Into/Get to know Me Better (REMASTERED AND UPDATED)

This is like, my 4 time editing this?! With all this new stuff coming out this year, I had to fix this! (Plus some info my new followers should read!)

Let's start with personality:

-I'm a soon-to-be sophomore (high school)

-I play in an orchestra (Viola)

-I don't like waking up early (though I have to anyway)

-I can't take jokes (about me personally) well

-I have a relatively deep voice

-I like to draw (duh)

-I also like to lay in my bed and do absolutely nothing (or mess with my phone 90% of the time)

-my favorite food is sushi (or any kind of Asian food)

-I'm Filipino

-I'm Aro/Ace

-My Zodiac sign is Gemini

-I never took an art class.

-I hate wearing dresses (or anything overly fancy)

-I'm a laid back person

-some people at my school are scared of me

-My favorite colors are red, black, blue, purple, green, and dark indigo (I like dark colors)

-I have a..... Weird relationship with wearing jeans

-my favorite kinds of music is mostly electronic, techno, dubstep, edm, metal, future bass, and ambient.

My Outside Life (I stay inside most of the time now lol):

-I learned to ride a bike when I was four years old

-I used to go mountain Biking with my dad (I still do)

-I so used to ride a skateboard and scooter (its in the back of my garage now)

-I went to a private school in my elementary years

-I'm both an introvert and an extrovert

-I'm considered 'the funny one' to some of my friends

-I'm not interested in math or science (English is okay)

-I assume what people are like based their looks/first glance, but am up for knowing them better (yeah I know)

-I prefer to be alone most of the time

-I have more than one beat friend

Games I Like (some of which I don't play but I've watched people play):

-Minecraft (mobile)

-Cuphead

-Undertale/Deltarune

-Hearthstone (mobile)

-Pokemon

-Geometry Dash (mobile)

-Most Mario Games (Galaxy, Sunshine, Odyssey, Kart, etc.)

-Wii Music (I played the fuck out of this game when I was young don't bully me)

-Every other Wii Branded game (Sports, Play, Party, etc.)

-Splatoon (mostly the second one)

-Super Smash Brothers (Brawl and Ultimate specifically)

-Baldi's Basics

-Spooky's Jumpscare Mansion (not as much)

-FNaF

-Parappa the Rapper

-Neverending Nightmares

-Pixel Gun 3D (mobile)

-OFF

-Oneshot

-Monument Valley (mobile)

-Punch Out (2009)

-Subnautica

-Besiege

-Dark Deception

-AFK Arena (mobile)

-Minesweeper (mobile)

-Happy Wheels

Shows (Including Some Online (YouTube) Series and a tiny bit of Anime):

-Steven Universe

-The Amazing World of Gumball

-The Powerpuff Girls (old)

-Some of the Pokemon Anime

-about 80 episodes of the Yu-Gi-Oh anime

-Akame Ga Kill

-Stuff and Sam (YouTube)

-Blame the Hero (YouTube)

-Tom and Jerry

-PBS Kids shows (too many to list)

-Rick and Morty

-Family Guy

-MAD

-Llamas with Hats (YouTube)

-DHMIS (YouTube)

-Who Killed Markiplier (YouTube)

-Shadowstone Park (YouTube)

-Stranger Things

-Squirrel and Hedgehog

-Mao Mao Heroes of Pure Heart

-Ninjago: Masters of Spinjitzu

-Amphibia

-The Owl House (can't wait for the show!)

-ASDF Movie (Youtube)

-Minecraft: the N00B adventures (Youtube)

-Americas Got Talent

-

Books I've read (Some I still have to finish):

Deltora Quest (Emily Rodda)

Five Kingdoms (Brandon Mull)

Fablehaven (Brandon Mull)

Wings of Fire (Tui T. Sutherland)

To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee)

The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton)

Animal Farm (George Orwell)

Some YouTubers I watch:

-Markiplier

-CoryXKenshin

-DashieGames

-SMG4

-CallMeCarson

-Fitz (and gang)

-Comment/Meme Awards

-MsBreezy

-Sam O' Nella Academy

-Technoblade

-DatPags

-Piemations

-TheOdd1sOut

-CalBel

-RaccoonEggs

-PIMPNITE

-JasonParadise

-Wisp

-ProZD

-Binging with Babish

-RTGame

-JonTron

-Saberspark

-Film Cow

-MarshalDoesStuff

-Sorrow TV

-Sr. Pelo

-Kurzgezagt

-Emkay

-Jeff Dunham

-Gabriel Iglesias

-Sethical

-Videogame Dunkey

-Spifey

-zefrank1

-TerminalMontage

-Sky Does Everything

-Bill Wurtz

-HowToBasic

-Smosh (used to)

-Tobuscus (used to)

-Brandon Rogers

-TheOdd1sOut

Some Artists/Soundtracks I listen to:

-Splatoon Soundtrack

-Crywolf

-Zayde Wolf

-Bossfight

-Conro

-Petit Biscuit

-Undertale/Deltarune Soundtrack

-Kuuro

-Hex Cougar

-Ezgod

-Rogue

-Bishu

-Unlike Pluto

-Louis the Child

-Post Malone

-Kasbo

-Stonebank

-The Living Tombstone

-Mr. Fijiwiji

-Louis Futon

-Odesza

-Marshmello

-Imad Royal

-RAYE

-Dex Arson

-Undertale/Deltarune Soundtrack

-Minecraft Soundtrack

-The FatRat

-Ookay

-ODESZA

-Diamond Eyes

-Elephante

-KLOUD

-Petit Biscuit

-Seven Lions

Movies I watch:

Avengers (Endgame, Ultron, Infinity War)

Disney/Pixar animated movies (Treasure Planet, The Incredibles, Toy Story, etc. )

Kubo and the Two Strings

Coraline

To Kill a Mockingbird

Coco

Brave

The Lion King

Mulan

Killer Bean Forever (lmao)

Basically Any GOOD Disney movie

Web Comics I'm Reading (Short List):

Scoob and Shag

Sarah's Scribbles

Pixie and Brutus

My Dictator Boyfriend

Nerd and Jock

---

And that's about it! I'll include an edits list in case I missed some stuff

EDITS: 0

[capmerthur]

THE ONCE AND FUTURE FIC

Yet another resurrection fic (sorry???). ARTHUR RETURNS IN CHAPTER 2. Lots of (my) feels, and overdue conversations (at last!) between our precious King and Warlock. Title might change as this goes along, but this has always been the work title in my head since I started thinking about writing it, so... Starts right when 5.13 ends. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IN CHAPTER ONE.

Excerpt PART II: 

Merlin's knees give out. His name through Arthur's lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this*? It shouldn't have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER CHAPTER II)

@clone-number-1

II. (ALTERNATE POV)

Arthur regains consciousness under water.

He's cold; so cold he's shaking - helpless, steady spasms he just can't put an end to (being past half dead apparently has repercussions?). But it's bright, up over him, and he instinctivally pushes himself up towards the light; towards the air.

The moment he breaks the water, Arthur registers that he's not only alive but that he feels *just right*. No pain in his side, no weakness, no dizzinesss, no strain: nothing wrong at all - except from the convulsions from the cold, but you bet he's not going to complain, all considered. The sun is veiled by clouds, but feels nonetheless like a welcomed warmth on his face, and Arthur breathes deep, bringing his arms up and turning his palms towards the warmth too as the tremors start to subdue; he's alive!; and well! He doesn't need to pat his absent wound in wonder, nor to look at the water, transparent clear instead of bloodened red, to know that what he feels is true.

Merlin's done it.

He *has* saved his life.

Again.

It's both unexpected (Arthur had been so sure he had taken his last breath, when all had finally faded to black, no matter how much he had been trying to stay with him, as Merlin had pleaded; to hold onto Merlin, to his voice, to the way he was holding him) - and yet somehow expected. Magical waters and a sorcerer who knows how to work its power would do wonders, obviously. It has happened before after all, bringing his beloved Guinevere's spirit back?

A sudden realization; and Arthur can't help but laugh. And it feels so exhilarating - alive! alive! - the laugh turns into a howl; and Arthur relishes on it, throwing his head back. Honestly? How could he have ever been *so* blind - of course it had been Merlin then too by the water edge, disguised as an old woman!

/

Somewhere on his right, a buoying laugh erupts.

And Merlin knows that laugh. So hearing the exact right tone of that entirely unexpected laughter at once feels as if a vicious invisible hand is squeezing at his heart.

He had forgotten it; he realizes. But he would recognize that howling laugh amongst any other...

Merlin doesn't dare to *believe*. Cruel hope nonetheless blooms unbidden in his heart, and his eyes can't help but zero in on the source of that sound.

And it is exactly as it should be; exactly as it has used to be...

There *is* ARTHUR; standing in the lake, water reaching his hips, chainmail glistening, head thrown back as he laughs. (Has anyone ever looked more simply breathtakingly majestic no matter what they did and even without trying?) Merlin can only see his back, but you bet he would recognize the shape of that back amongst any other too.

Merlin's breath is knocked out of him; and Mordred's sword falls from his hand.

Merlin knows what he hears and sees *cannot* be true. He has seen the world in a much, MUCH more desperate state without Arthur coming back then. There is absolutely no reason for Arthur to come back right now. So. He is being granted a vision; that's all. But of course Merlin wouldn't, couldn't, try to take his own life anymore, not after having had even just a glimpse... Besides, he has just handed over the last sword that could end him anyway. Merlin has to acknowledge The Sidhe's thinking; they know exactly well how to play him. But damn, they are vicious.

But no matter the abysmal pain from such a low blow, Merlin still considers this to be a gift, and is determined to draw it out for as long as he will be allowed to. Those few seconds might sustain him for another fifteen centuries to come, and maybe more...

/

Arthur quiets down after a while. Thinking about his savior: where is he?

Arthur scans his surroundings; and the warmth he feels when he finally spots Merlin definitely eclipses the sun.

/

The laughing stops, and Arthur turns, eyes searching; and a bright smile appears on Arthur's face the moment they find him.

"Merlin!"

Merlin's knees give out. His name through Arthur's lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this* too? It shouldn't have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

And Merlin's fingers dig; hard, deep into the sand. He cannot reach out. He longs for; he *aches* to - both physically and emotionnally. But he cannot. As long as it's only his eyes and ears that are deceived, then he can pretend it is true...

Merlin starts to cry. He can't help it; he cries - as he hasn't cried since, well, all those years ago: silent tears endlessly streaming down his face, unabached, treacherous; and Merlin hates them - hates the way they blur his vision when he has to - HAS TO - *see*. He is powerless to stop them though.

It is *blinding*.

Merlin has tried, so hard, to keep remembering, to NOT forget. But his memories, even sustained with his magic, have so obviously failed him; haven't done Arthur any justice at all. Merlin has forgotten so, SO much; and being proven just how much he has actually forgotten slices through him like a knife. The exact darker shade of Arthur's blond hair when wet. The exact way Arthur stands and moves. The exact sharpness of Arthur's features - his nose, his cheeckbones, his jawline. The exact shape of that smile - that particular, undeniably fond smile following his name Merlin has used to live for and from. Guilt slashes through him again. How could he have *forgotten* the exact shape of *that* smile; the most precious to him amongst the myriad of each and every of Arthur's smiles?

/

But then Merlin collapses, instead of cheering with him - he has thought him gone for good? And Arthur suddenly feels like there is still after all a gaping aching wound on his body; but this one deep in his chest, and of his own making. He owes Merlin *everything*, doesn't he? Yet he has hurt him - and so very severely. Despite it, though, Merlin obviously still cares for him; and so very much... His own behaviour puts Arthur to shame. So. Arthur hadn't had the time nor the strength to plainly apologize before. But he has now; and he won't run away from the words that he needs to say - and even more important, that Merlin needs to hear...

/

Arthur is now rushing through the water towards him - so fierce!, so strong!; alive and well!? His smile is gone though; replaced by worry - because of Merlin's tears, no doubt: yet another reason to hate them then...

And then Arthur is plopping down in front of him, out of breath; and Merlin gets proof again of just how much he had forgotten - the exact colours and depths of Arthur's eyes! There is now a fragile smile back on Arthur's face - a soothing smile, meant only for Merlin's sake; and it's going to break Merlin's heart, no doubt.

.

I. (Warning for this chapter: suicidal thoughts)

Merlin holds Mordred’s sword in his right hand, appraising it. He still can’t believe he has found it; still can’t believe it’s actually in his hands.

Over sixty years now - nothing; yet far too long - Merlin has been waiting for this moment. Since he has begged Freya, and threathened (and apologized - he couldn’t blame Freya for not listening; he maybe wouldn’t have either, if their roles had been reversed), and begged again - in vain, for Excalibur. Since he has finally understood that he was a fool to hold onto hope for something that couldn’t, wouldn’t come to pass. Arthur was *never* coming back: Merlin had simply witnessed enough - he had witnessed too much; and too many times; and definitely one time too much one time too many - to ignore it any longer.

/

It was not that Merlin had grown too tired of waiting - too tired of the ache, the longing, the loneliness… For Arthur? Merlin would *always* wait; however long it might take.

It was not that Merlin had come to believe mankind didn’t deserve Arthur to rise again to start with - even though it *was* an easy conclusion, when it was at its worst, when it turned its anger against itself - too many horrors and atrocities, too much bloodshed. But mankind could be beautiful, when loving, in any form; and marvelous, when it was at its best; when it turned its anger towards its limits: the medical progress over the ages would have had Gaius exhilarated, and proud; and what about its general neverending thirst for discovery, for explorations, for quests? - of course Arthur would come back: if only he could.

It was just that Merlin had finally understood that he had been played - not even because Albion (the name has since long fallen out of use and its people had been scattered through the globe, so it might mean nowadays something else than it had used to to start with) had got united without Arthur (and even if it still only meant Great Britain, well, it might after all need to be united again); but simply because the list of unending reasons why Arthur should have come back to save the day and yet hadn’t (to mention only the very top of the list: half of humanity wiped out in a finger snap by the Black Death? the whole world collapsing in chaos, bent on destroying itself - World War?) had turned out suspiciously too long, and finally impossibly too long, as mankind had truly reached the lowest point not only ever but even possible without Arthur rising yet again (organised experiments and torture on toddlers, honestly?).

So.

Arthur wasn’t ever coming back from the dead, simply because no one ever came back from the dead (except as a shade - and that would be even worse, wouldn’t it? - or at a cost too great for Arthur to burden anyway). It had been easy to believe in the prophecy; simply because it had been what Merlin had wanted. A distant promise of Arthur returning was still way better than no Arthur at all, and so Merlin had willingly taken the bait. But the fake prophecy had obviously been made up; as revenge, or entertainment - or both; and Merlin had felt stupid for not having realized this ages ago - The Sidhe were proud indeed; and Merlin had thwarted them. (It had been easy to forget it at first - to tell himself that they hadn’t known Arthur was THE Arthur at the time, whatever…) Merlin wasn’t sure about what Kilgharrah might have exactly known or not (On the one hand, Kilgharrah had forged Excalibur, who had always truly helped them. And Merlin had been warned by the Great Dragon, right from the start, and repeatedly; so wouldn’t it all have worked out just fine if he had listened. On the other hand, if he had listened? Wouldn’t he have been a monster, punishing people for crimes they had not yet committed? So maybe giving him the truth had in fact been the sure way to have him not acting on it. After all, Kilgharrah had hated the Pendragons - at least Uther - enough to have tried to wipe out Camelot. And he hadn’t been exactly pleased either to discover Merlin was a Dragonlord, even if he had seemed to soften when he had realized that Merlin would not control him as a puppet. And last but not least, Kilgharrah hadn’t taken care of Aithusa as Merlin had thought he would; and that’s how Aithusa had ended up with Morgana - and had forged the cursed sword that had killed Arthur); but it didn’t change anything anyway…

Well, you bet Merlin hadn’t been willing to indulge anyone any longer. Not that anger was what was driving Merlin, of course. There was simply *no point* anymore in waiting. Nor in living, to be honest - especially as it might be what kept him from actually finding Arthur again somehow; next life, paradise, wherever and however and whenever? Merlin was no religious man, but even he had no answer about what happened after death after all. Maybe it was worth a shot? It was a very, very thin chance indeed; but it was still more of a chance than just staying here waiting for *nothing*…

So Merlin had begged Freya for Excalibur. But as she had kept absent, it had dawned on him at some point that Excalibur wasn’t the only blade he could use… Merlin had searched for that other mighty weapon through his magic for years; then had sent his creature to retrieve it when he had successfully localized it.

/

And here, now, finally, is Mordred’s sword.

And Merlin feels no dread, no fear, while holding it. If anything, he feels calm - calmer than he has ever been, probably. And that’s how Merlin knows that his decision is right indeed: even his magic agrees.

He should do it in the lake though. Magical artifacts just shouldn’t linger around in the open, huh…

Yes.

Let Mordred’s blade rest along Excalibur.

And let Merlin rest along Arthur.

Freya will make sure they all lay undisturbed.

Merlin blindly pulls at the cord around his neck, taking it out from under his tunic and sliding his left hand along it until it closes around Arthur’s mother sigil (AN) and Camelot’s ruler’s ring (Gwen had it brought to him, so that he could give it back to its true owner on his return: Camelot in the meantime was to be ruled by a Concil of Knights and a Guardian, until Arthur would come back to sit on his kept empty throne and his kept empty seat at the Round Table).

Merlin closes his eyes; makes a silent promise.

I’m coming, Arthur.

He takes a step into the lake.

.

Backstory: +1500 years in short - because it hurts and I just don’t have the heart to fully write the prologue I had intended to write:

Merlin has never left the lake. He kept waiting. He couldn't, wouldn't leave, (nor SLEEP even for that matter by the way) no matter for how short - imagine if Arthur came back just when he was NOT there, huh. And of course he wouldn't trust his magic to warn him somehow - it had failed Arthur when he needed it the most after all. So no. Merlin has never left the lake. But Gaius has mentioned to him (Merlin got visitors, in the beginning (and his mother came to live with him until she died); before he cut himself off the world) how maybe the time he was given without Arthur was to LEARN more about magic; so that he would be prepared when Arthur came back to face whatever ordeal they were supposed to face. Because even if Merlin is hyper *aware* - he feels *everything*, through his magic - practice is necessary too. So Merlin mastered the art of molding sand/clay and animating it with his magic (basically, he walks the Earth as Old Merlin - because people tends to let old grumpy men on their own - whenever he needs anything physically). He can speak, hear, see, learn, through him, following the world as it expands (America, Australia, etc etc, because even if he was aware they existed, he couldn't physically *go* there before they were 'found'). And he can touch, and carry (for example you bet he brought back something red for Arthur to wear every time - Merlin sort of owns a 'male red mode through the ages' museum by now - and he hates it, of course). The first time Merlin has truly thought Arthur *would* come back has been The Great Plague. The second time has been WWI. The last drop has been the Nazis and Unit 731 experimentations. So Merlin sent its creature to fetch Mordred's sword after having localized it though his magic - and that's what Old Merlin is bringing back to him when this all starts (aka that shot at the end of 5.13)…

(AN: Just so you know, Merlin's magically pierced in the thickness of Ygraine's sigil to pass a cord - he wouldn 't make a hole in the front design of course!)

(Also... A resurrection fic!? What am I getting myself into!? I'm still a newbie around here so I definitely haven't read enough Merlin fics to ever claim making something original (so by the way, please feel free to let me know your all time favourites resurrection fics! So far I’ve read The Change Trilogy and Like the cycle of the year we begin again (and they’re both gorgeous reads so run and read them if you haven’t yet!) but I haven't seen (yet?) my take, both on the waiting and on the getting along after Arthur's return, in the fics I've read so far, so I thought I might as well write this down ?)

[satoshi-mochida]

Gematsu recently spoke with Yoshihiko Toda, supervisor of the Nippon Ichi Software Second Production Division Development Department and director of the upcoming Destiny Connect, in an e-mail interview where Toda shared new insight into the time-themed RPG.

Get the full interview below.

The first thing one might notice about Destiny Connect is its unique art style compared to other Nippon Ichi Software titles. What was the inspiration behind this style?

Toda: “The goal for early production was to keep the feel of ‘90s Japanese Super Nintendo Entertainment System RPGs. It was also intended to keep the nostalgic feel while promoting highly unique 3D graphics (specifically EarthBound, Chrono Trigger, and other classic RPGs).

“Therefore, this project purposely employs a relatively unrealistic art style with cartoon-ish expressions. For example, you might see buildings rendered realistically, but the colors palettes are calm, few in number, and high in contrast.

“The art direction wasn’t particularly derived from any single inspiration more than it was a product of trial and error.

“The director intentionally emphasized the notion of actively avoiding the same aesthetic style as other Nippon Ichi Software games. He believed other directors were capable of creating games following the Nippon Ichi style, so for him to create this game as his own unique creation was a product of his creative deviation.”

The art style reminds me quite a bit of an old American computer animated television series called The Adventures of Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius. Have you ever seen it?

Toda: “Sorry, I actually didn’t know of this until I was asked. I had to go look up Jimmy Neutron online. The game does feel like it has similar aspects, but it was not intentionally drawn from. As mentioned, the style wasn’t targeted directly as a result of external influences, but was a product of several unrelated contributing factors.”

Who is the main art designer and composer on the project?

Toda: “The art director is our company’s 3D designer, Yu Inaba. Our composer, Yukinari Irumagawa, works with an external company.”

When did development begin? Can you give us an idea of how the pitch went for this project?

Toda: “The early conceptualization began at the end of 2016. Our company, who usually specializes in 2D games, initiated the project with the decisive vision of making a 3D game. It was also during this time the art direction and the time travel concepts were developed.”

What kind of RPG is Destiny Connect? For example, is it hub-based with fields that players access by opening a map?

Toda: “The fundamental gameplay of Destiny Connect is an RPG where the user gets to control the main character, Sherry, through Clocknee Town. The stage unfolds in Clocknee Town, with the underlying objective of exploring the town. The story will unravel as you travel through the present, past, and future of the town.”

Destiny Connect uses a turn-based battle system. How did you approach adding flavor to combat while still trying to evoke a sense of nostalgia?

Toda: “Command battles have been around for a while, I felt that the core system remains loyal to the classics, and from there, we designed battles to include Isaac’s ‘transformation’ and unique ‘skills’ to effectively carry out battles in a manner that’s refreshingly nostalgic.”

Were there any specific video game-related inspirations for Destiny Connect in terms of gameplay systems?

Toda: “I didn’t really draw inspirations from any single games directly… It was more of an accumulation from an entire era of RPGs that formed a single amalgamation that was the nostalgic feeling from reminiscing about my youth playing those games.

“For Isaac’s transformation, however, I did draw inspiration from the Japanese TV hero-drama Kamen Rider and how they transformed, shifting abilities for each of those different forms.”

What were your goals in terms of creating the cast of Destiny Connect?

Toda: “The main characters being a girl and a robot was established in early conceptualizations. There was a base story of the girl and a robot facing dilemmas together, and from there, we added her friends to give more substance to the story.”

Can you speak to the overall length of the game?

Toda: “Playing normally, it will take roughly 20 hours to complete the game.”

Will there be any additional activities outside of the main story, such as sub-quests?

Toda: “In early production, we did have sub-quests that strayed from the main story, but many things happened, and we needed to focus on development of the main story. For that reason, there are no sub-quests in the game. If an opportunity arises in the future for a sequel, I would definitely like to include them.”

Isaac can change forms, which in addition to specialized abilities grants him different outfits in battle. But will there be additional outfits for the human characters?

Toda: “Only the main character, Sherry, will have a ‘changing’ feature where she will be able to change her appearance. You will be able to unlock a number of outfits for Sherry by collecting items throughout the game.”

Will Destiny Connect have voice-acting?

Toda: “Unfortunately, voice acting is not planned at this time.”

Can you speak to the game’s performance on each platform? What resolution and frames per second is each platform targeting?

Toda: “Both PlayStation 4 and Switch run at 30 frames per second.”

What do you hope players will take away from Destiny Connect?

Toda: “I’m sure all of us at some point experienced excitement as children, reading adventure books and watching movies (they vary from person to person, but some common ones include: Back to the Future, The Goonies, and The NeverEnding Story). I would like people to play this game with the same intent of re-experiencing those classic adventure films and books, and would be overjoyed if people felt the same sense of nostalgia as if reminiscing on their childhood experiences.”

And of course, we have to ask: are there plans to release Destiny Connect in the west? If so, can you share an expected release window?

NIS America Staff: “Please look forward to announcements from NIS America.”

Thank you for your time!

[boskopapplesunite]

I love the smoke when it fills my

four fags left,

lungs with quills and

bought them all in 2018

smoke too heavy to breathe

Like acid in my head.

Everything that hurts me I ache for in a neverending quest for self distruction

I take and scrape and cling and reach for new hights of destroying my body or mind. Or both..It's the same in the end.

Blood to draw, to taste to hurriedly dry off so it won't stain more than your aching mind.

[utopianparadoxist]

2. The Neverending Story -  Muse/Lord & The rules of Paradox Space

[Spoilers for The Neverending Story]

I’m not the first to note Homestuck’s references to AURYN, the magical amulet from The Neverending Story. The symbol of the intertwined black and white snakes is directly referenced only twice in Homestuck’s story, and both times it tells us a mind-boggling amount about the nature and function of Homestuck’s universe. 

And even that only scratches the surface. So instead of starting off with Homestuck itself, let me tell you a little bit about The Neverending Story itself.

The Neverending Story is a book split in two. In the most commonly printed version, it comes in Red and Green text halves. The real world, the realm of humans where you and I live--those sections are printed in Red. Fantastica, the world of fiction and stories and all things imaginary, is printed in green.

And as with two sections, The Neverending Story is split into two central figures:

The Childlike Empress, and Bastian Balthazar Bux.

Muse & Lord

In the green-lettered plains of Fantastica, The Childlike Empress rules over all. Although her authority is accepted by even the most evil and mostrous in Fantastica, she never gives orders. Even so, she is both eternal and eternally childlike. Good and evil are equal in her eyes. 

Sometimes called the Golden-Eyed Commander of Wishes, The Childlike Empress’ authority only manifests when she grants her gem of wish-fulfilling powers--AURYN--to another. This other is treated as though the Empress herself were present, and acts as an emmisary for her.

She is the embodiment of Fantasy itself, inspiring others to act out her will. She is a question, a mystery, a wonder. She is, in short...A Muse. 

And she has a direct parallel in Calliope, who similarly draws no distinction between good and evil (people forget that she read what was likely the worst of Vriska without being exposed to her growth, and seemingly wanted to be friends with her anyway)...

And who similarly has absolute power over reality, yet never gives orders, even as the entire narrative is shaped around her. Just as with the Childlike Empress, without Calliope’s existence, none of the other characters in the comic can exist either. 

Everyone is entangled in and created by Lord English’s Alpha Timeline, but that web is Calliope’s as well, and she’s causally entangled in the creation of all four of the universes we follow. 

And again like the Childlike Empress, Calliope who bestows her Symbol on others, granting AURYN to humans--an emblem which endows in the wearer the ability to make any wish come true. 

Hell, Calliope even seems not to grow up normally in Act 7 and [S] Credits. A Childlike Empress indeed. And as for her counterpart? Bastian may not be as much of a jerk as Caliborn, but the parallels between them are even more explicit:

Where The Childlike Empress is a Muse only by implication, Bastian is textually and demonstrably a Lord. 

But let’s back up a bit.

Bastian Balthazar Bux is a little boy who steals a book named “The Neverending Story” from a bookshop and hides in his school to read it in one sitting. His sections, those taking place in the Human world, typically feature text colored Red.

However, around the halfway point of The Neverending Story, he realizes that the story is not only aware of him, but calling out to him. And he eventually finds himself pulled into the realm of Fantastica. 

Bastian is a human, you see, and only humans can create stories--the inhabitants of Fantastica themselves cannot. And once the Childlike Empress is reborn with a new name, Fantastica must be reborn as well. So The Childlike Empress meets Bastian in the void between the two realms of Fantastica, and gives him the amulet AURYN, the symbol of her power. 

And so, she entrusts him with a quest: To fulfill his wishes in Fantastica, and re-create the realm of Fantasy as he goes.

Incidentally, receiving AURYN also changes Bastian’s race. Bastian is explicitly white, but upon arriving in Fantastica transforms into “a young prince from the Orient”. I’m not sure why that even happens, to be honest? Let’s note that this book is from, like, 1979 and definitely not perfect.

Anyway, I only mention it because this lends some credence to my assertion that Trickster Mode’s whiteness is not at all tied to the “actual race” of the kids-- since whatever that race is, changing it would be within AURYN’s power.

To be honest, I should’ve noted that was explicit earlier, since Homestuck all but explicitly states that Tricksterfied Cherubs would look like Lil Cal, which definitely entails a primary skin color swap. And there, as with Humans, the transformation always renders the subject Caucasian-looking.

Now, where were we?

Ah, right. So, the first thing you might notice is that Bastian’s ascent to Lordship also coincides with him leaving the World of Men and entering the World of Fantasy/Ideas. 

Which strikes his first echo with Caliborn. Both characters’ entries into power are marked by changing their text color to Green--the color of their respective Muse figures. And like Calliope dies for Caliborn to Enter, The Childlike Empress disappears from Fantastica as soon as Bastian becomes it’s Lord. 

Bastian spends most of his adventure in the realm seeking to meet her once more, on some level--just as Lord English spends an eternity in the Void, trying to find and destroy the Calliopes.

And during his search, Bastian also accrues subjects and followers who carry out his will. Bastian is adored for his ability to create stories--which instantly become Real-- across Fantastica. With The Childlike Empress’ AURYN around his neck, nothing can resist his will. Bastian becomes, for all intents and purposes, a God. 

Although he loses his humanity little by little with every wish he makes. The memory of being weak, the memory of being ugly, the memory of being scared-- as Bastian travels, he grows more self-satisfied and arrogant, desiring the adoration of others without true regard for their feelings and hearts. 

Until in the end, he’s exploiting those he calls friends through sheer force of will. At this point, Bastian seeks to replace The Childlike Empress entirely, attempting to become the Childlike Emperor--just as Lord English seeks to emulate Calliope through a multitude of stylistic choices in his personal aesthetic. 

I think banditAffiliate puts it well in this forum post:

“Doc Scratch was born to serve as Lord English's other half, replacing the role Calliope served when the two shared one body. From Caliborn's warped perspective, the two share many similarities. They're both wordy, intelligent, and (as Caliborn saw her) quite smug. He scrapbooks with a ~ATH book like she did, and carries her weapon. In addition to being a pastiche of his sister, Scratch is also a symbol of his other weakness, the cue ball. Both are heralded to be the key to his defeat, after all. He does double duty then by killing Scratch, hatching out of his body and growing more powerful (by assimilating Scratch's first guardian powers), "predominating" over him and asserting his dominance over both his vulnerabilities once again.”

And Bastian, well...

Sound familiar at all? 

By the end, Bastian is at risk of becoming what is essentially a Yaldabaoth--an arrogant God with full dominion over his material reality, but blind to the world of ideas outside of him. 

Luckily, Bastian escapes this fate, and goes on to live a happy life, becoming a world-renowed storyteller. His path is not the path of the Lord forever. But that is another story, and shall be told another time. 

There’s one last thing to note about AURYN, because it appears in two places in Homestuck. There’s the Lollipop, yes--and by linking AURYN to the Cherubs, we learn a great deal about both Muse and Lord, Calliope and Caliborn.

But AURYN’s impact is a bit more far-reaching than just them. 

The emblem is also depicted during the mating ritual of Cherubs, remember? And it’s important to view this image in context, because as Aranea tells us...

Mating Cherubs tap into the forces of power presiding over all that is eternal. Cherubs are linked to the primordial forces of reality by their nature. The source of Cherub’s powers is their intrinsic connection to the flow and nature of reality. Which suggests that the principle that AURYN is inscribed with, the principle that guides the power of its magic, is also the fundamental principle of Homestuck’s universe. Cherubs are simply beings with a unique ability to tap directly into it. And that principle is...

“Do As You Will.”

Nothing in Homestuck’s reality happens except by the Will of someone living inside it. Individual will is the backbone of all events and objects, all circumstances and beings, all people and universes in Homestuck. In Homestuck, everybody always gets what they want--one way or another. That is what AURYN-- placed here, at the center of the forces of creation and destruction-- suggests. A good example of this is Lord English’s creation, where Caliborn and Gamzee’s wills to become Lord English meet Arquis’ desire to have a heroic moment of unfathomable impact onto reality:

Thus resulting in a scenario that fulfills all of their desires, and results in the creation of Lord English and Doc Scratch:

I’m not going to list a bunch of other examples because this kind of stuff is literally always what happens in Homestuck. The only thing that trumps a person’s desires in Homestuck is the desires of another willing to undermine or exploit the former.

And that kind of authoritarian behavior is the closest thing to “Sin” Homestuck’s setting has. It always comes with consequences. This is also why Karma exists in Homestuck’s causality, as noted by Latula. This is what the cycle of revenge was about. 

Not even killing someone can truly erase the impact of their will on reality in Homestuck’s universe, and usurping or denying others their wills always comes with a whiplash effect back on yourself. So what does that mean for Lord English, who has so thoroughly usurped and denied the wills of every other member of the cast?

Well that... is another story, and shall be told another time. 

Next time, we’ll talk about the Mother franchise’s two later installments: Mother 3, and Earthbound. There’s much to discuss. Perhaps we’ll even find an echo of Lord English’s karmic punishment there?

Ah well. That’s all for now. 

I hope you’ll check in next time.

[Master Post]

[Patreon] [Hiveswap Discord]

Keep rising.

[horsesfromthemoon]

The royal birbs are coming, meet Alexander and Kamala ! The Avalons are a very important noble lineage in my verse and I’ve been on a roll with them lately, I’m probably going to draw their important ancestors soon. Anyways these two are my sweetheart children and I love them very much, they’ll pop in the story line of one of my blogs at some point, you shall see more of them when it happens ! I will update the refs and add details when I find cutie marks for them ! 

Alexander was originally designed by my great friend @ethmoiids ! This was his original ref and still stands except Pricne now has curved ears, he still wears this coat and that sword ! 

Edit: Have more info about them under the cut ! 

Prince Alexander Avalon: 

This gorgeous boy is the latest heir of the Avalon bloodline, which is very important in my verse. The Avalons descend from Queen Astrielle, legendary ruler of Avalon (a magical kingdom I will post about a lot these days) and are all pegasis with Marwari traits. They take a lot after Astrielle's father, King Aaron, who was a mythical warrior and was the one to free Avalon from a neverending war, fighting by the side of the unicorn queen, Elva, whom he later married. The Graal, bloodline Galaad belongs to, also descends from Queen Astrielle, but from the children she had with her second husband, an avalonian unicorn. Alexander is a blank flank and was raised to become the new Aaron, as a skilled fighter and peacemaker. However, this is not what his heart calls him to, even though he doesn't realizes it yet. His quest to find Avalon will help him to find his way and be true to himself, and not trying to be a pale copy of this ancestor he admires. Alexander takes after the british side of the family, his father being a british pegasus lord. 

Princess Kamala Avalon:

Kamala is the youngest female of the Avalon line currently alive. She is the sister of Alexander, and just like him is still a blank flank. Being raised in a ridiculously perfectionist royal family trying to overshadow their lack of kingdom by keeping together appearances of nobility , she did not get to explore her talents and what could possibly interest her. Her brother was raised to become a great warrior, and she was raised to be the perfect looking quiet princess, good to marry and spawn new perfect looking heirs to the family. She is bethroted to a far away cousin, an indian lord, to keep the blood pure, but things luckily won't go this way for her. She deeply admires her great, great grand aunt, Lady Radiant Skies also known as Dove, who was a very skilled painter and stood for herself and female condition during the 19th century. She inspires her and secretely Kamala wishes to become an artist just like Dove. She will eventually find her true talent going in the quest to find Avalon with her brother, her cousin Galaad, and someone special for her, but this you shall see in time.

[entergamingxp]

The neverending quest for Absolver’s ultimate martial art • Eurogamer.net

You’ve heard of the Way of the Dragon, but have you come across the Way of the Magic Right Arm? As you’ve probably guessed, it’s a martial art were every move has to involve the right arm – effective at rattling jaws, less so at sweeping ankles. It’s not, you’ve probably also guessed, an actual combat discipline but one of thousands dreamt up by players of Sloclap’s Absolver, the unbearably stylish fighting game which lets you pick from over 120 beautifully animated kicks and punches to create a bespoke martial art, or “deck”, of up to 16 moves.

Launched in 2017, Absolver’s idyllic open world and RPG trappings such as looting are a little deceptive. This is a duelling simulation above all and as such, many player-created decks are works of painstaking optimisation, born of hours spent weighing up frame counts and hit ranges. There are plenty, however, that are more whimsical than competitive, and the game would be much poorer without them.

Some decks are purely about showing off, stringing together high-stakes moves like the MeiaLua, a grandiose kick which begins with you pointing your arse at your opponent’s head. Others trade on creative handicaps, such as boxer decks that keep your feet firmly on the ground. There are monkish decks that seek to recreate as closely as possible the martial arts (including Kung Fu and Jeet Kune Do) from which Sloclap took inspiration. At the sillier end of the scale are decks which only use moves that spin you clockwise, and “Chad decks” – as lovingly described by r/absolver member Morklympious – which chain together meaty hits with wind-ups so exaggerated you might as well be fighting in slow motion. They’re guilty pleasures for veterans looking to blow off some steam.

There are quite a few of those veterans knocking around – still writing guides and sharing tips on Discord and Reddit for a small but dedicated playerbase now split across PC, PS4 and Xbox. This is heartening given that Sloclap ceased support for Absolver in spring last year, a few months after shipping the game’s first and final expansion, Downfall. A tiny French outfit helmed by Ubisoft alumni, the developer is hard at work on its second, unannounced game (not, its co-founders tell me, an Absolver sequel), but Absolver soldiers on thanks to the brutal alchemy of deck-building, which has fostered an atmosphere of good-humoured rivalry and experimentation. Returning to the game three years after my review, I was curious to learn what the community had made of it all.

First, though, a quick primer on what makes Absolver’s combat so gripping. The game gives you a selection of fictional martial art “styles”, to begin with, each with a different defensive ability on top of regular blocking and evasion. The Kahlt’s style Absorb ability lets you park health loss and win it back by counter-attacking, for example, while Windfall is about sliding around and hopping over blows. You’re free to mix and match moves regardless of style, however: the real heart of deck-building is the stance system. Strings of up to three moves – each gradually mastered by defending against them – are mapped to one of four stances in the editor. You can change your stance manually, but it’s more efficient, and elegant, to do so by performing attacks, which begin and end in a certain stance.

Thus, a combo launched from front-right that ends in a low kick might spin you into a backward-facing stance, opening up a string of ankle sweeps and elbow strikes. This might then rotate you back to front-left, giving you the opportunity to tenderise your opponent’s ribs with a flurry of straight punches. You can also set one move per stance as an alternate attack: these break up your regular combos, and serve as a “shortcut” through your combat deck. If that punch combo seems ill-advised, for example, you could unleash a big guard-breaking alt and switch back to front-right stance in one move.

Locking move strings to stances introduces an engrossing “latency” to Absolver’s fighting, and as such, puts the emphasis on foresight and building momentum. Alts aside, you can’t just pull out the exact move you need at the touch of a button. As I wrote in my review, the fun of deck construction is working out what any given opponent is likely to be doing when, and plugging in a countermove. Just as important, however, is the resulting sense of flow. In many action games, character models blink noticeably between states unless committed to a combo animation. In Absolver, each move carries you organically to the next, the cleanness of the transitions emphasised by highly readable character designs that rank bold shapes and colours over detail and secondary motion. It’s breathtaking stuff, all the more so for knowing that players are free to mash together those punches and kicks as they see fit.

It’s also entirely hand-animated, much to my shock. “We couldn’t really afford motion capture so we didn’t work directly with any martial artists,” says Sloclap’s co-founder Pierre Tarno. “But we were lucky enough to have very talented animators who had a great sense of body dynamics.” It helps, of course, that Sloclap is a studio populated by fighters. Tarno is a lapsed ninjitsu student, while co-founder and combat system designer Jordan Layani is a practitioner of Pak Mei Kung Fu. Absolver’s two main animators are themselves both martial artists and hip-hop dancers, reflecting one of the game’s three taglines: “combat is a dance”.

A few of Absolver’s currently active players also have firsthand martial arts experience to draw on, as I discovered when I put out a call for interviews on the subreddit. Many are also expert fighting game players. “I’m an amateur boxer and a competitive Smash Bros player so the idea of every fight being unique because everyone has their own moves was thrilling to me,” says lidofzejar. Another redditor, xXTHEMVGXx1, has found that certain Absolver moves, though “absolutely ridiculous”, can have some applicability in real-life taekwondo.

Absolver at launch didn’t always do the best job of tutoring the player, but it is very accessible for all the arch-complexities of deck-building – just two attack buttons, a block, a dodge, and each Style’s unique defensive options. This lured in dabblers like Morklympious, who was discouraged by the high skill floors of other fighting games – “I just need to track a few things instead of a million things” – but it was no less attractive to genre devotees because it allowed them to get into the meat of strategy faster.

“Fighting games are hard, and the easy execution of Absolver allows mindgames very early on,” comments SomeAVALANCHEguy. The game’s relative shortage of equipment variables or auxiliary powers, meanwhile, appealed to spartan-minded players irked by such features in the likes of For Honor. “Every move is technically breakable,” adds xXTHEMVGXx1. “Every move is dodgeable. Every move can be absorbed by a full stamina bar. It doesn’t restrict your skill due to stupid gimmicks that are just no fun to fight against.” You can perform a handful of healing or stun spells by spending “tension shards” that accrue in combat, but these only delay the inevitable if your opponent has your measure.

So what’s the trick to crafting an effective martial art in Absolver? I put the question to the subreddit one evening, went to bed, and awoke to a wall of text, which I’m going to do my damndest to break down here. NanoHologuise, author of the subreddit’s mammoth deck-building guide, notes the importance of a safe opener – a cheeky kick that doubles as an evasive jump, perhaps, or a rushdown punch that can be initiated while out of reach. xXTHEMVGXx1 preaches the value of “50/50s”, meaning that a move and that stance’s alternate attack should hit from different angles to catch the opponent out – especially important against fans of the slippery Windfall style. Regardless of style, Absolver players can block anything while they have stamina, so you need to force opponents to open up, either by overwhelming their stamina reserves with a combo that leaves few countering opportunities or, more likely, baiting them into striking back.

To all this, add myriad exploits that are designed to grease the process of moving around “inside” your deck, overcoming the constraints of the stance system. One is step-cancelling, the trick of making a fractional movement after an attack to reset the combo and perform that attack again. Players have also learned to manipulate the game’s lock-on – releasing and relocking in order to switch stances a second or so faster.

Much of which was a world beyond Sloclap’s expectations for the game. “Very quickly after launch the game doesn’t “belong to you” any longer,” notes Layani ruefully. “The studio’s best player gets dominated online by advanced players. You see players break apart the mechanics and tell you ‘actually, this is your game’, this is the meta.” The studio had balanced Absolver before launch using a mixture of Excel formulas and old-fashioned hands-on time. “We regularly did internal tournaments to give ourselves a feel for potential balancing issues,” Layarni explains. “We also set up a tracking system to see which attacks were most used in ‘winning combat decks’, which allowed us to get specific information during the beta test.”

All this fell through the floor after launch, however, as the Absolver team – around 30 people at its largest – realised the scale of the task it had set for itself. Sloclap’s founders had worked on multiplayer games at Ubisoft, including Ghost Recon games, but they had little experience of live ops, to say nothing of tweaking something as fiddly as a competitive fighting game.

“It was complicated for us to determine whether the changes we implemented were going to create other issues for advanced players,” Layarni goes on. “We didn’t have test servers and we had a reduced testing team, focused on bugs rather than balancing. It was never catastrophic, but we went through phases of the game where players would spam fast attacks, and others where players could play turtle, tanking attacks and waiting for their opponent to lose stamina, in order to violently punish them. This was a stressful period for us. We had just finished a rather exhausting marathon to ship the game, and we continued sprinting for a year after the game was released.”

The stresses were offset by the knowledge that they had put together something special – an approachable yet in-depth fighting game that soon attracted a lively audience. “Every time [we updated the game] we were impressed with how fast and how articulate the feedback was, from top players in the community,” says Pierre Tarno. “Three days after the patch is out, they’ve got detailed, structured analysis of all the changes, consequences, side effects.”

One of his great regrets is that Sloclap wasn’t able to maintain a steady conversation with the community, though the developer did run pre-release content by certain more dedicated players. “I think the community may have felt that we sort of ignored them, that we were in radio silence mode, because we just didn’t have the bandwidth to really interact with them. We were reading the Reddit daily [but] communicating takes a whole lot more time than just reading”. Sloclap did hire community managers, but they were tasked with “general community wellbeing and manners” rather than discussing the game’s direction.

The Absolver players I spoke to on Reddit had plenty to say about Sloclap’s post-launch support, good and bad. There are complaints about promised weapons like the Bo staff (barehanded by default, Absolver players can equip wargloves and swords that are fuelled by tension shards – only swords have distinct moves, however), and complaints about the balance of power between Styles. Some players remain confused by certain development decisions – why release a PVE expansion for a game that thrives in PVP? Others lost interest thanks to long delays between updates and certain unresolved bugs. There is particular frustration about the game’s current state. “Absolver at 1.30 is literally one patch away from ending on a sweet note,” says Morklympious. “It’s like listening to a chord progression that never resolves.” Another user, Dsamuss, suggests that Absolver’s pre-Downfall 1.14 update represented the fighting system at its best.

One thing everybody seems to agree on, however, is that Sloclap has always tried to do well by the community, despite its limited resources. “They definitely listened to the community and changes what needed changing,” says NanoHologuise. “They did stuff like implementing frame data for attacks in the deck editor, they ran a closed beta for [Faejin] and actually listened to a lot of the feedback and implemented it.” And while the tug of war between Styles remains a sore spot – Stagger is currently considered overpowered at lower skill levels – few players think there’s an unbeatable combat deck. Most opine that even the most devastating moveset is only as good as its wielder. What keeps people coming back isn’t the hope of achieving supreme master status, but the pleasure of never quite getting there.

“Meta decks aren’t even really a thing,” NanoHologuise goes on. “There’s certain attacks or arrangements of attacks that are strong or commonly used, but most people like putting their own spin on things. I’m very much a player who wants to be ‘optimal’, but there’s plenty of hilarious galaxy-brain decks that aren’t great on paper but work beautifully when you have a read on your opponent.” KurlySaav – a glutton for fighting games whose replies are packed with granular talk of frame advantages – confesses that they sometimes open a deck with a move called One Inch Punch – one of Absolver’s slowest guard breaks, and thus a terrible way to start a brawl – purely for the joy of it.

“Something I do personally is play with range in my decks,” adds xXTHEMVGXx1. “Some moves can hit well over three meters, and some moves send players flying over three meters, so I make sure those moves are easy to access.” Johnfiddleface23, meanwhile, would rather roleplay a Style than optimise a deck to the gills. “Sure, you can stay meta and go with jabs, avoid moves and certain Faejin moves like Low Back Fist, but the best deck is finding a solid middle ground between practicality and how much you love the way your deck looks, and plays.”

For me, this spirit of playfulness represents Absolver at its best. There are more practised competitive fighting games, but few make such a point of relaxed tinkering in the company of like minds. Discussing the game’s score, a simmering medley of percussion and guitar, Tarno notes that Absolver was designed to be “a combat game about making friends” – it’s more of a practice bout at your neighbourhood gym than a fight to the death. Hence the school system, which lets players who’ve graduated to the hallowed rank of Absolver share their decks with disciples. And hence Absolver’s gorgeous networked open world, a landscape of gold, green and scarlet where AI hoodlums lounge like cats, awaiting the next challenger.

It might seem rather gratuitous for a game that comes alive in separately loaded 1v1 arenas. Certainly, as NanoHologuise suggests, it’s hard to square the world’s opulence with the absence of features like a tournament mode, a network/ping indicator or spectator options. “I personally think Sloclap couldn’t decide whether they wanted this game to be a fighting game, or an action RPG, and a lot of the things that affected the community were related to that.” Read as a creative hangout space for dabbling pugilists, however, the ornamental-seeming backdrop makes a lot more sense. If the developer has punched above its weight with Absolver, the fact that decks are still being invented and debated today indicates that where it really counted, Sloclap struck true.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/05/the-neverending-quest-for-absolvers-ultimate-martial-art-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=the-neverending-quest-for-absolvers-ultimate-martial-art-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

[wahkantakoda]

Will-o'-the-Wisp: A Light in the Swamp Art by Ivan Ulyanov (Ilyich on Deviant Art) Will O' the Wisp has led me Deep into a rocky maze I look from right to left I seek a path, but there is none I'm about to lose my way All paths appear the same Our joys and sorrows are no more real Than this teasing phantom light Through the gorge where the river rushed I'll calmly travel on Every river flows to the sea Every sorrow will come to an end ------------------------------------------------- Will-O’-Wisp – Ghostly Lights Mythical Creatures Series Suppose you saw a flickering flight hovering over a pond. What would you think it was? A fairy? A dead soul? A spirit luring you toward it? According to some legends all of these might be true, because you may just have witnessed a will-o’-wisp. WILL-O’-WISP What is it? A will-o’-wisp, also known as will-o’-the-wisp, is a ghostly light seen by travellers at night, especially over bogs, swamps or marshes. It resembles a flickering lamp and is said to recede if approached, drawing travellers from the safe paths. Though this theory is debatable, as some believe they are the glow of fairies, or lamps carried by the fae. While others say they’re the souls of the dead who take the form of spectral lights. This phenomenon has a variant of names – Jack-O’-Lantern, Hinkypunk, Hobby Lantern, Faery Lights, St. Elmo’s Fire, Bob-A-Longs, Jenny Burnt-Tail, Teine Sith, Huckpoten, Irrbloss, Eclaireux, Candelas and Ruskaly. Ability Those who follow these lights find the lights teasing them – appearing and disappearing the closer they get to them. Some say anyone successful in tracking down the lights will witness a gathering of fairies during a celebration. Though this varies depending on each culture. European folklore sees these lights as either mischievous spirits of the dead, or other supernatural beings or spirits such as fairies, attempting to lead travellers astray. Scandinavian folklore believed that a will-o’-the-wisp marked the location of a treasure deep in ground or water, which could be taken only when the fire was there. In Welsh folklore, the light is a “fairy fire” held in the hand of a púca, or pwca, a small goblin-like fairy that mischievously leads lone travelers off the beaten path at night. As the traveler follows the púca through the marsh or bog, the fire is extinguished, leaving the man lost. In Bengal, the Aleya (or marsh ghost-light) is the name given to an unexplained strange light phenomena occurring over the marshes as observed. South America has the Boi-tatá (fiery serpent), which is a “boiguaçu” (a cave anaconda) left its cave after a great deluge, and in the dark, went through the fields preying on the animals and corpses, eating exclusively its favorite morsel, the eyes. The collected light from the eaten eyes gave “Boitatá” its fiery gaze. Australia has the Min Min Light an unusual light formation that has been reported numerous times in eastern Australia. According to folklore, the lights sometime follow or approached people and have disappeared when fired upon, only to reappear later on. The number of sightings has increased alongside the increasing ingression of Europeans into the region. Physical Appearance They typically appear as a cluster of tiny, bright lights around a body of water. An 1882 oil painting of a will-o'-the-wisp by Arnold Böcklin Appearances In Culture In literature, Will o’ the wisp sometimes has a metaphorical meaning, describing a hope or goal that leads one on but is impossible to reach, or something one finds sinister and confounding. In Book IX of John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Satan is compared to a “will-o-the-wisp” in tempting of Eve to partake of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of good and evil. Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner describes the Will o’ the wisp. Two Will-o-the-wisps appear in Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s fairy tale The Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily (1795). They are described as lights which consume gold, and are capable of shaking gold pieces again from themselves. It is seen in Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre when Jane Eyre is unsure if it is a candle or a Will-o-the-wisp. “Mother Carey” wrote a popular 19th century poem titled “Will-O’-The-Wisp”. The Will o’ the wisp makes an appearance in the first chapter of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, as the Count, masquerading as his own coach driver, takes Jonathan Harker to his castle in the night. The following night, when Harker asks Dracula about the lights, the Count makes reference to a common folk belief about the phenomenon by saying that they mark where treasure is buried. In J. R. R. Tolkien’s work The Lord of the Rings, will o’ the wisps are present in the Dead Marshes outside of Mordor. When Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee make their way through the bogs the spindly creatureGollum tells them “not to follow the lights” meaning the will o’ the wisps. He tells them that if they do, they will keep the dead company and have little candles of their own. Also, Gandalf guides the Fellowship through the darkness of Moria (A Journey in the Dark) and his “wizard’s light” is compared to a will-o’-the-wisp. Given that Moria was an ancient source of mithril, this might be a nod to Scandinavian associations of the will-o’-the-wisp with treasure. The hinkypunk, the name for a Will o’ the wisp in South West England has achieved fame as a magical beast in JK Rowling’s Harry Potter series. In the books, a hinkypunk is a one-legged, frail-looking creature that appears to be made of smoke. It is said to carry a lantern and mislead travelers. The children’s fantasy series “The Spiderwick Chronicles”, by Holly Black and Tony DiTerlizzi, includes will o’the wisps; they are listed in “Arthur Spiderwick’s Guide to the Fantastical World Around You.” In the series, Will O’ The Wisps are described as fat fireflies that lead travellers astray. The German fantasy novel by Michael Ende The Neverending Story (German: Die unendliche Geschichte 1979 and Ralph Manheim’s English translation 1983) begins in Fantastica, when a will-o’-the-wisp goes to ask the Childlike Empress for help against the Nothing, which is spreading over the land. The film based on the book does not contain the Will -o’-the-wisp. Will-o’-the-wisp phenomena have appeared in Gothic II: Night of the Raven, EverQuest, The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, Super Mario RPG, Ultima Online, World of Warcraft, Quest for Glory: Shadows of Darkness,Pokémon (as a status-inflicting skill), Skies of Arcadia, The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Chrono Cross, the Legacy of Kain series and the trading card game Magic: the Gathering. The Final Fantasy Series also pays tribute to the will-o’-the-wisp character with the Tonberry creature. In Fable II, Will-o’-the-wisps are passive but frequently malignant spirits. Willo the Wisp appeared as a short cartoon series on BBC TV in the 1980s, voiced by Kenneth Williams. A will o’ the wisp called Bricriu appeared in three episodes of Disney Channel’s So Weird. Did you know? Modern science has explained that these orbs of lights seen is an effect of a chemical reaction that is created when certain gases are released from a marsh or swamp. https://tfwalsh.wordpress.com/2012/01/23/will-o-wisp-ghostly-lights/

[anautisticdragon-blog]

Conversing with the Unusual: Addendum

So, it turns out that the meme actually originated with EDGE magazine. This gave the denizens of RPS fuel for their ceaseless stream of hateful bile that I endured. It seems, apparently, that this review is as maligned as my perspective was. In unwittingly supporting the EDGE position, I became a target for everyone who was defensive about the obvious problems video games still have. With both the games and their audience.

It's not like I mistook the use of this meme as an attack on me, either. No, it was generally directed at me and some... nasty accompaniments were often slung in with it. Attacks on my character, my mind, my ability to think... All because I didn't care for hte mindless violence of video games. I didn't know at the time, but amongst Gamerz, that's a crime.

That's why I shy from the tag 'Gamer,' by the by.

See, this is Gamerz Town. And there's not going to be any talk of reason or intellect around these parts.

I'm always amazed by the propensity of neurotypical gamers to do this, though. The way they went after Anita Sarkeesian like rabid dogs. With the lies, the made-up scandals, the entirely engineered faux agendas... If you don't believe that, there's a lovely page on RationalWiki that can spell it out for you. It's all there. Gamerz tend to be liars, what can I tell you?

And they're so sensitive to how aware people are of this that the projection regarding their neverending lies can be quite fierce. Poor Molyneux. He didn't do anything but dream too much and too big. Gamerz, sadly, don't understand the difference between a man talking about his hopes, dreams, aspiratins, and such versus actual marketing. As I said, this is Gamerz Town, we don't need no reason here.

Just the bile, though. I can never get over it. I can't believe how much hate there is for a review from 1994! So much hate, in fact, that it's weaponised to attack someone with a similar viewpoint over a decade later. That's some hatin'!

Does this sound mentally healthy to you? Ah, neurotypicals, ever the baseline of mental health. Me? I'm just crazy. What do I know about sanity? I'm autistic, remember?

I'd say I have an axe to grind, but I don't. I have words. I use thse words of mine.

It's funny, at the moment I'm making an exhaustive pacification mod for New Vegas. For my partner and I. I'm editing every quest so that instead of actually just slaughtering the few rare instances in New Vegas where that's your only option, you can intimidate them a little or talk them down instead. You can encourage them to toe-the-line, and they live!

We both desire a zero kills run of New Vegas, so... I'm putting in quite a lot of work to allow that to happen. It's why I still prefer New Vegas over Fallout 4. Fallout 4 is just a shopping list of killing. And when did the Brotherhood become crazy Alt-Right fascists who want every non-human creature to die? Did I miss that memo? That's more lore-unfriendly than the pony mods!

Sigh.

I just have a lot to say about this, I guess. It's been haunting me for years. I can't imagine how bad it is for Anita, for the actual reviewer of Doom who's caught all this flack... I'm sorry to both of them. That's the thing with any kind of prejudice, though. You just can't imagine what it's like. You can't. You need to have experienced it, first, and then you know. And you'll know that very few people are immune to its siren call.

It's almost made me prejudiced against neurotypicals, which is funny. It's just that they're so obvious with it, it's almost like neurotypicals are proud of being prejudiced, hate-filled bags of bile and nastiness? I'll never understand that. I don't really get taking pride in the hatred of another person. I suppose that's why dehumanising is always such an element of it. Right?

So, yes. I'm a person who plays games. I'm not really a resident of Gamerz Town. I've too much reason to be there, I have other things I'd rather be doing than engaging in mindless slaughter and genocide. You know? I suppose the old axiom of one being a lover, not a fighter, is very relevant here. I'd rather talk and hug it out than draw swords/pistols.

That's just me.

And I don't feel self-righteous in saying that. That's another thing that neurotypicals don't get because they're always so busy trying to narcissistically outdo one another or one-up one another. There's always this competition to be the best and to grind someone else down into the dirt. No, there's no moral superiority or high ground here. I'm simply recognising the state of reality. And my tone? That's disappointment.

I'm disappointed. I don't want to be better. I don't want to be the glorious center of attention. That's actually painful to me. Fuck that noise. I just want humanity to be better than this.

And the cross-sections of humanity I encounter in the things I tend to enjoy? They... regularly aren't very good people.

From the treatment of Anita Sarkeesian right back to the reaction to the 1994 Doom review, it paints a very disquieting picture of Gamerz Town. One that they seek to never own and certainly never do anything about. It's certainly no place for a big, autistic baby like me. Being a shitlord is the Zeitgeist, I suppose. I just don't fit in at all.

[expressandadmirable]

RP Highlights: Collection V

Sol shifts her lupine form a little on her log seat, drawing just a little closer to Aviva. "The things we have to do, an Elf has to be one of the people to do them. General Aletylth has to do them. Not Sol. So I suppose calling me Haluei'en is fair game."

Aviva’s eyebrows rise and she lets out a low, impressed whistle. "That's certainly going to be an interesting story. Do I salute or do I curtsy?"

* * *

"I've said it before, I'll call you whichever name you feel is right. You're still you; name or shape doesn't change that. You're still a ray of sunshine in the neverending tempest that is this mad quest." Aviva pauses just slightly, resolute. "You're still mine."

Sol snorts a laugh at that, and shakes her head. "Sunshine." She lets the rest of her breath out in a sigh, adding fairly quickly, "I don't mind that, while we're figuring out which real name. Make it a placeholder."

"Sunshine? Really?" Aviva laughs incredulously, then shrugs again. "Well. It does have a pleasant irony to it. And it's by far not the strangest thing I've said in the past few weeks."

* * *

"So long as you're with me I doubt anything at all will go to my head." Sol chances something else at last too, her clawed hand finding Aviva's crimson one and slowly taking gentle hold of it.

"Except maybe me." Aviva rests her cheek on Sol's shoulder, one arm tightening protectively around her, the other hand squeezing her clawed fingers. "I'll always keep you grounded."

* * *

Lux grins, but it fades as she looks ahead at the backs of three werewolves. "More immediate goal is to figure out how to get those three back to their non-furry forms. Curing them will be a different story, if they want it, but I'd at least like to know they can shift from one form to another. They're stuck right now." She looks at Maergrahn. "Any experience with lycanthropy?"

Maergrahn shakes his head. "I'm afraid not. I'm more knowledgeable in the histories of the world than I am in illness or malnutrition or whatever their ailment might be." He slows his pace, looking a bit wary. "They aren't contagious, are they?"

"Contagious? No. Only if they bite you, which I don't think they'll do. Well, Wil might if he's getting feisty, but just bop him on the nose and he should be appropriately cowed." Lux smiles, hoping her devilish appearance doesn't belie the fact that she's joking.

* * *

"History is good though, we'll probably need a fair bit of help with that. Sol is old and Wil researches and I know a lot of songs and stories, but we don't have a proper historian."

"Well, if I can provide, I shall, though there are more knowledgeable Dwarves than I back home." Maergrahn smiles at that. "Master always did have a hard time getting me to study in my youth. I'm just hoping to prove to him I'm up to this task."

* * *

Wil allows himself a sly wink, trying to settle away from the tension and the thoughts of destiny and fate. They never were concepts he could agree with, and being stuck in one was... wrong. "Well, we dealt with an immensely powerful Druid, so I don't see a dragon being too much more work. Not with three lycanthropes."

Sol smirks through an exaggerated frown as she looks down at Lux. "Did he just say a dragon's not too much more work? Abstract entities of cosmic power, sure, but... dragons can breath acid." She smirks through the joke.

Lux returns the mixed expression. "Not to worry, he says; we have three dog-people on our side! Easy as plum pie!"

"Pfft, c'mon." Wil flicks at one of the thick copper scales on his cheek, a small 'tink' noise sounding out against the empty air. "Let me take a few more acid baths, I'm sure this dragon blood will kick right in! And chaos? Hey, what's chaos to an Archfey, right?" He grins something genuine, and he could very nearly be mistaken as charming. "It's people that are the fucking complicated ones."

Sol shrugs. "People are easy." She has a completely straight face and her usual low tone as she says it, giving Lux's shoulder a subtle squeeze. "Find out which part they like to be kissed, then do it."

* * *

Sol smiles again, and looks down at Lux for half a moment. "None of us should trust this logic. Logic's not going to get us through this." She looks to Wilhelm's book. "Tomorrow we speak to whatever is down under these ruins and we... go with our gut."

"Unless your gut says to kiss it," Lux adds pointedly. "Don't do that. I do not think that will end well at all."

"Well, let's not get Wilhelm all confused -- it's either gut, or don't kiss it!" Wil holds his hands up defensively, a mock pout forming. It's soon killed by the irresistible desire to grin. "Whatever happens down there, we'll be good. We won't be scared."

* * *

“Don't be ashamed of who you are. You don't have anything to be ashamed of, just because a bunch of dumb Elves can't look past how you look. If they don't want to know you for you, they're just mean. Your people don't make you who you are, you do." Morgan thinks back on what Nockarrow said earlier that day. "Besides, if the Seer is who Nockarrow says he is, he'll probably be the first person who can see past how you look. If he can't... Maybe we should just leave and find another way."

Sol listens keenly until the Gnome has finished, and her brows furrow for a moment until she offers a hand to Morgan, on a rare occasion that it's ungloved and bare. She take's Morgan's smaller one and holds it for a long moment, taking a deep breath. "Thank you."

* * *

The Drow's brow stays furrowed as she looks at Morgan's hand. "If you ever see me doing something you don't like, or you think is wrong, I want you to tell me." She looks up at Lux, then back to Morgan. "Both of you, tell me there and then. Please."

"Does running bullheadedly into combat count?" Lux asks with a smirk and the quirk of an eyebrow. "Because I know it's necessary, but I can't say I'm a fan."

Sol narrows her eyes at Lux, smiling. "That's fine. I'll just let you twist in the vines next time, then."

Lux frowns, duly told. She deserved that.

"Don't open doors before you check them unless we're in town!" Morgan admonishes, but there's a smile on her face to soften the scolding. "And maybe don't get in fights so much with frustrating people?"

Lux snorts a laugh. "Does Wilhelm count?"

Sol says it more quickly than she should: "Nope."

* * *

As the two women braid, Sol's sitting up perfectly straight but not tense at all, hands resting in her lap as relaxes all the more. "I like ale. Tea takes too long."

"You live for how long and you can't wait an extra two minutes for tea?" Lux smiles and shakes her head, careful not to lose her place in the braid.

"More years in a life doesn't mean more minutes in a day." Sol smirks.

"I'll just bring it to you ready some time. Then you won't have to wait!" Morgan goes back to braiding.

"Careful, you'll spoil her. How will she ever learn patience? Next thing you know she'll be body-slamming doors to get them open more quickly. Oh wait." Lux ties off the braid and looks long and hard at Morgan's next step before starting.

* * *

Lux nods at Morgan. "Someday we'll all stop making boneheaded mistakes. I hope."

"I'm three-hundred and forty," Sol says, sneaking a glance at Lux as she braids. "I'm not old and wise yet."

"Wow, really!?" Morgan's eyes widen at Sol's age. If you were Gnome you'd be ooooold."

Lux snorts with laughter at the idea of Sol the Gnome.

"Mm." Sol smiles. "Good thing I'm not a Gnome, though, life would be pretty empty without a really big sword."

"You'd just need one that was Gnome-size big," Morgan laughs, tying off another braid.

"Everything is relative." Lux watches Morgan's technique as she starts the next braid. "How old are you, Morgan?"

Sol keeps her head tilted slightly to the side to listen in. However old Morgan is, it won't be more extreme an age difference than she had with Feldon. She hopes.

"Me? I'm almost seventy-five now," Morgan answers.

Lux raises an eyebrow, glances around the room at each of their companions, then sighs. "I guess I'm the baby. At least I'm tall."

"Everything is relative," Morgan repeats with a smile.

* * *

Morgan ties off the last of the hair. "Want anything special in your hair besides braids?"

Sol shakes her head gently, leaning just a little to the side closer to Lux. "Just the braids. Thank you." Her voice is a little quieter then: "I've got two things as old as I am, the banner and the braids. As they are is fine."

* * *

Morgan smiles. Watching Lux and Sol is like watching a fairystory come to life, and the kindness of it in the face of all horror they've faced brings her a bit of comfort. "I'll go find that whetstone while Lux finishes up, then I'll put all your hair up together." She scampers off, leaving the two to have a few moments by themselves.

* * *

After a moment, Aviva lifts the lute from her lap and shuffles backwards to lean against the log, gently tugging Sol to follow. She can see the concerns crossing Sol's features, the broad and the personal. "The woman who usurped your queen. Who was she to you?" She asks gently; she has the distinct feeling she already knows.

Sol follows the Tiefling and for once is pliant and yielding to Aviva's guiding hand. The question is one she's been expecting, though the admittance is almost silent after more than twenty years unsaid. "She was everything."

Aviva nods quietly, and after a moment sets the lute aside to wrap her arms around the Drow. There are no songs for this, no epic poems. She searches her vast vocabulary for words of comfort or hope, but they all sound trite in her mind. Some wounds can't be helped; they simply have to heal naturally, in time. Finally, she settles on something true, just a whisper. "I'm sorry."

Sol sinks against the Tiefling's side and closes her eyes, breathing deep and savouring the present, the subtle sounds of the woods and Aviva's breath, her scent and the rhythm of the beat in her breast. "So am I. But that won't stop me." She curls her arms around Aviva tightly. "I know you want to keep me grounded. I don't want that moment to be one of those times. Please."

"In that moment you may have to stop me." Her voice is soft, but there is no mirth in it, only truth. Woe betide those who harm the people she loves. She rests her cheek on Sol's head, tightening her arms around her. "I'll be at your back every step of the way. Nobody has to be alone anymore."

* * *

Lux makes her way to the main camp and crouches by Morgan's bedroll as she wakes. "Morning, you. Wanna go for a walk?"

"Morning you, too." Morgan gives Lux a sleepy smile which suddenly breaks into a wide yawn and a stretch.  "Jus' gimme half a moment." She somewhat reluctantly rolls herself out of the sleepy comfort of her bedroll, reaching to her side to blindly rummage through her pack. Her little hand slips out with a bit of mint that she pops into her mouth after another big yawn. "Okay, now we can go for a walk."

Lux nods, Morgan's yawn causing one of her own, and she reaches for her cigarette box as she stands, patting her empty hip stupidly before she remembers she left her belt back at her and Sol's bedroll. She'd have to double back for that. "How did you sleep?"

"On my side. I like sleeping that way, so good, I guess? I don't remember dreaming, so I guess that means pretty good?" Morgan nods, satisfied with her answer.

Lux nods too, smiling to herself at Morgan's incredible capacity for literalism.

* * *

Lux wraps her belt around her hips, securing the ring and smiling at Sol. "We're going to fill the entire Bag of Holding with oranges. That's fine, right?"

Sol looks between the pair and raises a brow. "Morgan's idea?"

"We're gonna take them right back out," Morgan answers, somewhat defensive.

* * *

Lux looks over at the Gnome. "Morgan, how are you with climbing trees?"

Morgan shakes off her previous thought, looking up the orange tree. "I'm pretty good at climbing, provided there isn't someone waiting to shoot me at the the top of the tree!" Morgan takes another look before starting to scurry rather quickly up the trunk.

Lux blinks as she watches her go. "Oh good. I was worried I'd have to sit on Sol's shoulders to reach that high." She lights a cigarette and gathers a few low-hanging oranges, dumping them into the Bag as she keeps an eye on the Gnome.

Sol takes up a spot not far from the tree, not one to go scampering up, though she smirks at Lux. "If you want to sit on my shoulders, you only need to ask."

Lux narrows her eyes at Sol: I wouldn't want my thighs to distract you.

* * *

Lux offers a hand to pull Sol to her feet while Morgan is still up the tree; it's almost time to return, and she wouldn't mind appreciating a moment without armour.

Sol takes the offered hand and stands, not letting it go and lacing her fingers with Lux's. "Ready to head back?"

Morgan looks down from the branches once she finds a sprig of orange blossoms for Grummer, and spies the two women. She decides to give them a few moments, climbing a bit higher and picking herself another orange to chew on until they're done making doe eyes at each other.

"Should do. I think Maergrahn saw us leave, but I wouldn't count on any of them to know what to do without us for too long." She moves close and touches her forehead to Sol's, then looks up the tree, keeping Sol's hand in hers. "You ready, spider monkey?"

"Men," Sol sighs, squeezing Lux's hand. "Useless creatures."

"No they're not!" Morgan protests, swinging down to land nimbly on her feet. "They're people. All people can be useful." She sucks a bit of orange juice off her finger. "Some of them just don't know how to be yet, is all."

Sol smirks teasingly. "Useless, slow creatures."

"Rarely pretty, never useful. Just there to get in a girl's way." Lux releases Sol's hand and closes the Bag of Holding, slinging it over her shoulder and leading the way back towards camp. "Except Feldon. He's pretty."

"That's true," Morgan says with a nod. "Feldon is very pretty."

* * *

Grummer impales a large trout on his spear and flings it onto shore, then settles back into his stance. "If there is blood to be shed, I would appreciate it if you stopped me from killing anyone who didn't deserve it."

Lux dodges the thrown trout, then spears it with her rapier and lets it slide most of the way to the hilt. "I can try. Is there any particular way I should do that? I don't think my feminine wiles will work as well on you."

Grummer laughs again, though there is a strange edge to it, like laughing this much is foreign to him. "I think you are right about that. The days of wiles calming my blood rages are long over."

* * *

"When did they start?" Lux asks him. "Your blood rages? Have they not always been a part of you?"

"It was a gift from the Scarabs, along with my hard skin and great strength. It was meant to make me a great champion of the Clan. I lost control of it at the height of my worship of Gruumsh, the same time I gave him my eye." Grummer stops and sighs. "I'm not sure if it the change is a curse from the Spirits condemning my slaughter, or a 'gift' from the God himself."

Lux blinks and takes an extra long drag of her cigarette, grateful she has Grummer's back so he can't see her wide eyes. So, that missing eye is no accident. Oh.

* * *

"Deukavinausan leads me to where I need to be," Grummer explains. "Where the Spirits deem my path to be. It is up to me to see that path and tread it properly, so that when I am returned to the Scarab my own soul is worthy to join them. When I turned from battle to slaughter, from glory for the tribe to bloodlust, I lost the path the Spirits put before me. It has been my hope to tread it faithfully once more, which is why I am here. If I can protect you all until you purge the corruption from this world, I think the Spirits will welcome me among them when I die."

Lux watches Grummer as he speaks, head slightly cocked. "You speak as if you don't have a part to play in this quest. Are you not also purging this corruption?" After all, he carries a stone just like the rest of them.

Grummer shrugs deeply, his massive shoulders moving like glaciers. "I do not know my place in this yet. I have not spoken to your Princess nor communed with the stones. All I know is that my place is here, and until I know otherwise I will do what I know how. Killing is in our blood, Lux; it is what we do." He speaks without rancor or remorse, as if he's reading a shopping list. "We have been killing each other for as long as the tribes have existed, and got so good at it we began exporting violence. You won't find finer mercenaries anywhere in the world, and now you have one as your personal bodyguard. Deukavinausan has favored you." Grummer treats Lux to another smile before turning his attention back to the stream.

Lux quirks a soft smile. "It has, at that."

(Lux's text and minor edits by me, Sol's text by @b-e-m-l-t, Maergrahn's text by Pendryn, Wilhelm's text by @biasanduntrue, Morgan's text by @stufflaalikes, Grummer's text by @cavesean)