#vocabulary hercules

[realnyhiphop101]

Illa Ghee “Vocabulary Hercules” Era “Hold You Down”

[sisyphus-prime]

Ohhhhhhhhhh thats where I got oy vey implanted into my vocabulary. Oh okay. Yeah that makes sense.

[bluu-m0on]

Demigod!Brant (Hercules!AU) I’d like to thank @let-the-stars-guide for this idea, suggestions, and her feedback in making this fic come to life!

Synopsis: The city of Thebes has never been a place where peace was an option until a warrior: The Flaming Returned, rose up to the challenge and restored it himself. Amidst the praise and the reputation he garnered for himself, he always finds his way back to a humble tavern you work at.

Word count: ~2.3k

Author's notes and disclaimers: - I let this fic marinate in my drafts for a good while. I wanted to try something a little different with this one since I rewrote the setting to be a mix of ancient Greece and Solaris (right after the Mortefi fic too no less). I also used some terminology that might be unfamiliar. I've left the footnotes for the terminology at the end of this piece. - I don't speak or write much in English, even if I'm fluent in the language. Please be aware that my grammar and/or vocabulary might be faulty in some parts. I've revised this with @let-the-stars-guide a few times, but I'm confident that I didn't manage to correct every single mistake. - yes. I am ***horribly*** down bad for this man. Jesus Christ. The gist of the fic's setting is that: - The sentinels are about the same in-game, just seen as similarly as Greek gods. - Resonators are more or less seen as demigods. Where if someone managed to get a forte, it is said that the sentinel has "blessed" them in a way. I really didn't want to elaborate this much more in the fic since that's not the main focus, but I did use it for some context in writing. The setting is almost the same as the one in Disney's version with some rewrites: - "A hero comes to a crime-ridden town to improve the lives of the people in it to prove his worth." I kept this one in. - 'Meg' (as the reader), was rewritten differently compared to the source material so that this version of the character ('(name)') made sense in the setting. So no, this isn't a Meg!Reader fic. Not to my knowledge anyway.

*"I will face the world fearless, proud, and strong 'til I find my hero's welcome right where I belong."

God knows what you expected when you first met Brant. He was, to say the least, theatric, with how he carried himself around the *polis and among the people of Thebes, always with a confident gait and a smile that never seemed to leave his lips as the masses sang their praises of him as a hero: The Flaming Returned.

Surprisingly, you met him in one of the *apotheca, right by the *amphora where the town’s wine was being audited. He didn’t look like much then— a lot leaner and unkempt; truth be told, he looked more like one of the carry-boys for the old merchant who ran the inn right down the block. Yet, despite his frame and incompetence, he managed to save you from being dragged away and mugged by the thugs in broad daylight. He had no sword on him, but he fought them anyway. One punch after the other, he picked them off one at a time.

How a carry-boy like him managed to beat the crap out of a bunch of thugs like it was nothing is beyond you. Better to believe that it was the blessing of a god, nothing short of a miracle.

He offers you a hand— calloused, firm, but kind. “Are you alright?” He asks kindly as you pick yourself up and dust off the dirt on your clothes. “I’m alright.” You reply, just as concerned about him for any injuries. Seriously, how the hell did he manage to get out on top and unscathed?!

“Do you know those people by chance?”

“Not a clue. Thank you— by the way, for saving me.”

“There’s no need to thank me. I had my eye on those guys for a while. They’ve been hanging around here to steal what they can, I’m guessing.”

“Then you best be on your guard, then. Thebes is not exactly friendly— Or kind, for that matter.”

“Then you’re lucky enough to have met me then. The name’s Brant.”

“(Name).”

And thus, followed a camaraderie between the two that blossomed through chance encounters and unplanned run-ins at the *kapaleia, where you’d find out his penchant for wine, that you’d swear he would be a close companion of the god of wine himself.

Where you'd usually be behind the counter serving food and drinks, you find yourself resigned to keep him company for an hour, right in the middle of your shift no less.

It wasn't like the passed-out drunkards could order another cup. Right?

The tavern was lively with the bustle of drunks and patrons after a long day of work, as orders piled up quickly as the night wore on, with money to spend, and mead to drink; Yet you found yourself keeping Brant company across the bar top among the rest of the men and women who gaily lost their sense of time to the hands of lady liquor herself, inebriating even the strongest over a few kisses with just a few cups.

Not like he's immune to her temptation either, but thankfully his tolerance to alcohol is a little better.

No *amphora full of wine is safe around him. Not when he has coins to spend generously. You note one evening, right across him while he downs another cup eagerly.

Unlike the others, he’s got an ego but not enough to be a complete narcissist. He’s charming— charismatic enough to have any woman swoon over him at barely a glance, yet he never used it to his advantage— always carrying this air of honor around him.

One particular night was when you caught a glimpse of his humility.

"Why do you try even bringing peace to this place?" You ask, taking one mug cup after another off the tables to be washed before you clock off out of work. You think it was the liquid courage doing all the talking about heroism, chivalry, and honor, but you were only met with a far-off gaze cast down towards his drink and a wry smile as he swirls the amber liquid in his cup.

"... Because I have something to live for." The words fall from his lips in a soft mutter, half laced with wine and the other half... frustration? yearning? determination?

He's quiet for a moment before he chugs the liquid gold with an audible gulp, making his throat bob and somewhat easing his mind after downing the cup.

You don’t catch what he mutters under his breath right after.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand; and before you can apologize for bringing the topic up, he puts on a practiced smile once more to steel himself, yet his eyes never looked more lonelier until now.

A coin or two for his thoughts, bless him. It might be best to ask him more when he's sober.

With a renewed resolve, He pays for the drink and thanks you for your company, before getting up and leaving the tavern wordlessly; whistling a farmer’s tune into the night. You clocked off work not too long after.

Unbeknownst to you, he would face the Lernean Hydra the next day. the thing had been wreaking havoc in the countryside for a while now, rumored to have taken the children captive with no one to save them.

Who else was more fit for the job really? He thought.

A screech of a beast echoed across the grassfields before it went completely quiet. A man stands alone with a relentless fire in his hands amidst the several snake-like skulls rolling about around him, right before the monster's necks where each base had been cauterized.

The smell was foul, but meant that the fight was over.

Upon the last fall of the Hydra's head with a searing cut, the people let out a deafening cheer. His sword's embers are still somehow unflickering in the shade of the monster's cadaver right by the base of a hill, marking the first of many victories to come.

Brant had come out as the victor that fateful afternoon. Alone, but alive despite it all. The Flaming Returned had come to burn the strife with his own hands.

It's nothing short of a miracle that the city of Thebes finally has someone restoring order and peace once more among its people and managed to live to tell the tale. Finally, an unlikely hero.

The bells ring from a distance, and the captive children are freed.

Finally, peace. Finally, safety.

Lately, the criminal activity has gone down significantly ever since Brant stepped in to resolve most of it that ran rampant down the streets and in the corners of the darkest of alleyways, never the one to leave stones unturned and crannies unchecked; like flames that burned through the strife and the dust on the marble walls of the city, passing through the cracks, leaving no area unlit.

Rumors of a righteous warrior in Thebes spread like wildfire, lighting the darkest of Thebes as if he were a torchbearer, illuminating the way for those who found themselves in trouble to guide them back to safety, all the while keeping the city safe from the discord that loomed over the city outskirt’s horizon.

No doubt this was the same man who had saved you months ago— the same Byzantium eyes with a head crowned with cyan, and his sandalled feet strutting down the street with his head held high and a sheathed sword on his right, while his left hand swung with every confident step he took, donning that mile-wide grin that came so naturally to him, like wildflowers that bloomed wherever they pleased under a cloudless sky.

Unashamed, unshackled, unperturbed. He seems a lot more glorified these days.

Popular as he may seem, you don’t doubt his honor as a hero, nor do you doubt his kindness— not after the few rendezvous you've had with him, though these days it's been a hassle keeping it on the down-low with his reputation and infamy.

Despite the glory and adulation he gets from the crowd, he still returns to that bar seat across the counter where you work.

From running into him months back by chance, he's found a friend in you amidst the newfound infamy, always lending a hand and fending off the thieves from ransacking the mead before you can get them inside. You learn he was raised in the countryside - not too different from the one he freed from the Hydra's havoc, and was found by an elderly couple right by their hut. He was adopted and raised to be a good man, albeit blessed with a little more strength and power than the average man— much like those fabled resonators you’ve heard stories about growing up, heroes who received the blessing of the sentinel.

As for his real parents... he doesn’t say much, and you don’t bother to ask or pry him about it.

He's still the same guy that saved you months ago, just with a huge following, and maybe a prospect or two on his trail trying to get his attention; yet somehow, he still looks out and asks for you after everything. Compared to him, you’re stuck in a familiar routine over the few years you’ve worked behind the tavern counter, much like the trade winds against the ship’s sails. Barely changing, but comfortable enough to know where things are headed. God knows why he still comes around when you’re a server in the bar he frequents, stuck inside listening to tales of him from frequenters and drunks as if he was a Greek regalia.

"You're still working behind the counter? Come now (name), surely you've got something better to do with your time!”

“Brant, it's only been a few months since you took down that monster. It's not as if I've got any place to get a job. Besides, where else would you actually find me for drinks, hm?"

"Serving drinks and lending both your ears to woes that are worth three! All behind a counter no less! Had I known better, you're an unsung hero to many!”

He lifts his cup to toast to you, and your eyes meet his.

“For your quiet service, and to the truest camaraderie you’ve given to people like me.”

Your cheeks warm up over his sincerity as he chuckles boyishly, shining a toothy grin from across the bar top, head propped up on his hand and leaning slightly forward. You cough awkwardly, trying to offset the growing joy in your heart.

“Thank you.”

You glance down and eye the floor. Have the tiles always been this dull? You polish the cup a little firmer.

“Don’t mention it. Another of the house specialty please!”

And there it is again, that bright, mile-wide grin rivaling the sun itself. You roll your eyes and chuff.

His cheek hasn't changed at all.

“… There’s the guy I know.”

You start working on his order exchanging a few jokes and jabs while you busy yourself; missing the way his cheeks flush as you get back to fixing his order like clockwork. A Nectar of the Gods for the hero who sat patiently on the other side of the bar top— "Nectarwine", as he liked to call it personally, watching the amber flow down the new cup in your hands, already smelling the sugar-sweet concoction wafting in the air once you put the rest of the mead back with the rest of the batch on the shelf.

Amidst the glory and praise, he admittedly found comfort in this little routine with you, sharing his day with you at least once a week after a hard day defending the city from tacet discords and criminals.

No matter what had happened to him, he'd always find you preparing drinks with practiced ease, ready to lend an ear and let him tell his daily tales after he orders another cup.

All behind a counter… He thinks to himself.

A kind smile on your face, a chortle here and there from his jokes, and a gentle reminder from you to watch his intake right after you give him his cup. He can't help but respond in kind, softly:

"You know me too well already. I can handle it, don't worry."

It’s no stranger to you that he always orders multiple times as per usual, with the claim that you've given him a cup from a better batch. Another one for the road, and another just to maybe keep you around for a little longer. Maybe.

He looks up from his cup, drunk on the sugar and liquor, while he lays his head on the bar counter, thanking the sentinel that you're too busy to notice him looking at your back. The color of the mead you gave him never looked prettier against your skin as you poured it into a cup every time, and he swore you'd look good in gold, though he wouldn't admit it now.

Was it really the Nectarwine that tasted sweet? or was it the company you provided him without hesitation? No, he's not blushing; he's only red because of the mead.

It’s his turn to cough, yet he can't help the stuttering beat on his chest. Have you always looked this stunning under the oil lamp's firelight? or has the liquor gone to his head already?

“Say (name)?”

He can't help but feel bold. it's now or never. You turn around and face him, setting down a clean cup back on the shelf.

“Yes?”

“How about we meet up some place else after your shift?”

“Oh? What for?”

"You look like you could use a break. Making and serving drinks on a daily must be awfully boring. What do you say?"

He grins, almost sheepishly. Brant, shy? That's new. You smile his way, chuckling over his sudden concern for your well-being. You cross your arms loosely and scoff lightly. For a moment, he's nervous.

Were you fond of him? He wonders. It's his eyes turn to flick up to yours, only to find that you're kinder than he thought.

"If there's anyone who needs a break, I think that would be you, Brant."

Terminology + Citations:

*"I will go the Distance (reprise)" - (sung by) Robert Bart, Hercules 1997.

Polis — greek city

Amphora | Amphorae — two-handled jar or vase, typically with a large oval body and a narrow cylindrical neck, used for storage and transport of liquids and solids like wine, oil, and grain.

Kapaleia — bars and taverns of ancient Greece.

Apotheca — storeroom for wine, herbs, and spices.

so uhh... part 2? Reblogs and hearts are always appreciated! Thank you for reading! ©bluu-mo0n. All rights reserved 2025.

[aphroditelovesu]

concept: any yan greek hero with a darling they're forci- planning to marry or am likely hat and then boom yan greek god steals their darling or wants to. would they have a chance at getting them back/stopping the god or na? - 🌓

Forcing? No, never. That word doesn't exist in their vocabulary, they are simply taking what is rightfully theirs. Now if they have your consent, it's a different story.

If they're about to marry their sweetheart and a god or goddess comes along and robs them... Perhaps your hero decides to start a war against the gods themselves. It may sound ridiculous, but it depends on which hero, if it's Hercules or Achilles, you can be sure that a war is coming. To Hercules' credit he would try to convince whoever kidnapped you to return you with words, but it definitely wouldn't work. They are gods and if the god or goddess is Apollo or Hera, the last thing they will do is return you to your hero.

Diplomacy may not work (since some heroes prefer to solve it by talking before going to war) and there are only two ways to solve Y/n's kidnapping (the poor thing has already been through so much-): If it wasn't Zeus who kidnapped the darling from them, the heroes can try to appeal to the King of Olympus to return you, it can work depending on the situation or they simply go to war against the gods themselves.

Some may be more daring and try to kidnap you back, like Bellerophon riding Pegasus and trying to get you back from Olympus (that would hardly work), others may try to appeal to Zeus, like Hector, and others go preparing to fight, like Achilles and Hercules.

The chances of recovering Y/n are slim because of the gods, but maybe, just maybe, they will if luck is with them. Zeus might agree to return Y/n if he hasn't developed an obsession for them to try to appease the heroes, he's not in the mood for a war. Or maybe Y/n doesn't even want to come back, in an au where all the gods of Olympus become yandere for them and they live a life of royalty.

Would you rather live the life of luxury with the gods of Olympus or a forced marriage- I mean, the loving and perfect marriage with your hero?

~ Lady L

[yen-sids-tournament]

Quotable Disney Round 1 Group 8 Poll 3/8

***Please vote on the content of the quote not the format of the picture***

Trivia

He is so, so boring, it's the best.

All Our Quotes

Full Quotes Below

"Isn't it rather dangerous to use one's entire vocabulary in one sentence?"

~Francis, Oliver and Company (1988)

"I'm only trying to stimulate your minds, people."

~Trivia, Hercules the series (1998-99)

[forasecondtherewedwon]

soundtrack to a tooth alignment

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: G Word Count: 967

Summary: It's just a dumb song. It'll end eventually. (But also, what is love?)

If Percy had to explain his quest strategy, he’d say it’s pretty much “attack now, think later”—like, days later—so if this particular quest ever gets commemorated in song, or on an urn or something (do they still do that?), he hopes they include the way he just neutralized the Thrill Ride O’ Love situation by bringing up the orthodontist. Because that was a tactic. Everything is totally not-weird now. Here in this dark tunnel. With Annabeth.

Percy puts his hands on his knees like it’s school picture day and squeezes.

She doesn’t reply to his orthodontist anecdote, and he doesn’t have a follow-up comment. If he opened his mouth right now, he’d probably say something else about the song that’s playing (blasting, honestly—is this torture? Is this a heroic trial? Percy’s trying to remember whether any of Hercules’s labours had this sorta unhinged Valentine’s vibe), and he’d probably borrow words from his mom’s vocabulary when she’s listening to old music on the radio—words like “funky” and “groovy.” Annabeth’s never even seen a movie and she’d probably look at him like he’s the one who’s out of touch. He can’t risk it. Words are overrated anyway, right?

That’s probably why the guy singing keeps using the same ones over and over.

Percy wonders if this is a record for the most times Annabeth’s heard the same question without answering it. Could the singer calm down with the “What is love?” already? Instinctively, Percy starts tapping his foot to the rhythm, but then he realizes Annabeth can probably feel his shoe striking the bottom of the boat and glances at her nervously. Yep, she’s giving him a look.

Laughing self-consciously, he observes, “Sounds like he’s trying to control a bunch of horses.” Annabeth frowns. Percy points vaguely upwards (because this tunnel is creepy and grungy, but no visible speakers? Alexa?) and hears himself singing along in explanation: “Whoa whoa whoa whoa-o-ah…”

Her frown deepens and he cuts himself off with an awkward cough, looking away into the water, his only ally here who won’t judge him for being so embarrassing.

Ok, maybe this guy does have to constantly ask himself “What is love?” because what else is he gonna do, talk about his feelings to another person? Percy’s getting the theme of this theme park now, not so much the devastating rejection part, but definitely how uncomfortable it is to have a crush on somebody. Man, if he liked somebody like that, maybe he’d go build a haunted amusement park about it too. Luckily, he’s—

He’s somehow staring straight at Annabeth.

Swirls of coloured light are reflecting up off the water that’s lapping the sides of their boat, making her glow purple and blue. Percy doesn’t have to be a son of Athena to know Annabeth’s pretty, but it’s never been, like, relevant. She’s super smart and careful and focused and good at planning. Percy was never gonna point out that she had this talent for prettiness unless they were in a situation where somebody needed to have really sparkly brown eyes or a face he’s kinda itching to cup in his (suddenly sweaty) palms, at which point he could save the day and be all, “Hey, Annabeth, you’re pretty! Why don’t you take this one!” And they wouldn’t think he liked her, just that he was resourceful.

But here she is, being pretty when the only crisis is that his heart’s beating a little too quick and he can’t scootch away from her without threatening to capsize the boat. Backup plan: look at his hands.

He’s making it weird, and it’s not, it’s not weird. Two people in an abandoned amusement park isn’t weird. It’s brave, and adventurous, and just because the song just said “love” for the millionth time doesn’t make it romantic! You can love lots of stuff. Hephaestus probably loved building this ride. Percy loves his mom. Loved his mom. Loves his mom. He’s curious what the word makes Annabeth think of, his gaze drifting sideways.

She’s looking at him. Percy’s eyes widen. Panic mode.

“Do you think Ares is really gonna eat all those burgers?” he blurts out.

“What?”

“At the diner.”

“Well,” Annabeth says thoughtfully, “why else would he order that many?”

“Intimidation.”

Her eyebrows raise.

“Ares is already the god of war.”

“And what’s a meal like that other than a war between a man’s mind and his stomach?” Percy reasons, feeling deep. If they survive this quest and Chiron’s looking for a Camp Philosopher, Percy could do that job. He has insights now. Would he have to wear a toga though? He’s seen that “Death of Socrates” painting at the MET, and those guys were going full bedsheet.

“But why would he bother?” Annabeth wants to know. “I think he’d be expecting us to be intimidated by him anyway.”

“Maybe he’s secretly insecure.”

“Maybe he’s just hungry.”

“Do you think everybody else could see how many burgers he had,” he ponders, narrowing his eyes, “or were they hidden by the Mist?”

“The Hamburger Mist? They were normal burgers, Percy.”

“Then explain why no one seemed surprised!” he demands. “Or impressed!”

“The thought of someone eating a stack of burgers that high doesn’t impress me.” Annabeth’s face scrunches in disgust. “Just makes me a little nauseous.”

“That could be seasickness from the boat.” And because another of his strategies is “speak now, think later,” after a second, Percy asks, “What would impress you?”

Her expression shifts into something like determination but softer. Yeah, with a little bit of a smile.

“Somebody who’d take on the Chimera alone so their friends could get to safety. That’d be pretty cool.”

That’s my story, Percy almost says, but he follows Annabeth’s gaze up the wall to watch Hephaestus’s play out instead.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Craig Simpson

Published: Mar 25, 2023

Agatha Christie novels have been rewritten for modern sensitivities, The Telegraph can reveal.

Poirot and Miss Marple mysteries have had original passages reworked or removed in new editions published by HarperCollins.

The character of a British tourist venting her frustration at a group of children has been purged from a recent reissue, while a number of references to people smiling and comments on their teeth and physiques, have also been erased.

It comes after books by Roald Dahl and Ian Fleming were edited by modern publishers.

The new editions of Christie’s works are set to be released or have been released since 2020 by HarperCollins, which is said by insiders to use the services of sensitivity readers. It has created new editions of the entire run of Miss Marple mysteries and selected Poirot novels.  

Digital versions of new editions seen by The Telegraph include scores of changes to texts written from 1920 to 1976, stripping them of numerous passages containing descriptions, insults or references to ethnicity, particularly for characters Christie’s protagonists encounter outside the UK.

The author’s own narration, often through the inner monologue of Miss Jane Marple or Hercule Poirot, has been altered in many instances. Sections of dialogue uttered by often unsympathetic characters within the mysteries have also been cut.

In the 1937 Poirot novel Death on the Nile, the character of Mrs Allerton complains that a group of children are pestering her, saying that “they come back and stare, and stare, and their eyes are simply disgusting, and so are their noses, and I don’t believe I really like children”.

This has been stripped down in a new edition to state: “They come back and stare, and stare. And I don’t believe I really like children”.

Vocabulary has also been altered, with the term “Oriental” removed. Other descriptions have been altered in some instances, with a black servant, originally described as grinning as he understands the need to stay silent about an incident, described as neither black nor smiling but simply as “nodding”.

In a new edition of the 1964 Miss Marple novel A Caribbean Mystery, the amateur detective’s musing that a West Indian hotel worker smiling at her has “such lovely white teeth” has been removed, with similar references to “beautiful teeth” also taken out.

The same book described a prominent female character as having “a torso of black marble such as a sculptor would have enjoyed”, a description absent from the edited version.

References to the Nubian people – an ethnic group that has lived in Egypt for millennia – have been removed from Death on the Nile in many instances, resulting in “the Nubian boatman” becoming simply “the boatman”.

Dialogue in Christie’s 1920 debut novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles has been altered, so where Poirot once noted that another character is “a Jew, of course”, he now makes no such comment.

In the same book, a young woman described as being “of gypsy type” is now simply “a young woman”, and other references to gypsies have been removed from the text.

The 1979 collection Miss Marple’s Final Cases and Two Other Stories includes the character of an Indian judge who grows angry demanding his breakfast in the original text with “his Indian temper”, a phrase now changed to say “his temper”.

References to “natives” have also been removed or replaced with the word “local”.

Across the revised books, racial descriptions have been altered or removed, including, in A Caribbean Mystery, an entire passage where a character fails to see a black woman in some bushes at night as he walks to his hotel room.

The word “n-----” has been taken out of revised edition, both in Christie’s prose and the dialogue spoken by her characters.

It is not the first time Christie’s works have been altered. Her 1939 novel And Then There Were None was previously published under a different title that included a racist term. 

Agatha Christie Limited, a company run by the author’s great grandson James Prichard, is understood to handle licensing for her literary and film rights. The company and HarperCollins have been contacted for comment.

==

“The Revolution will be complete when the language is perfect.”

-- George Orwell, "Nineteen Eighty-Four"

[mortallyclearwonderland]

''Welcome To Rosas'' - Wish

I recently have been talking with a friend about the songs in the upcoming movie Wish and how we're not impressed by them.

Judging by other people's reaction we're not alone. I want you to know I'm not a professional, so I might not have a good enough vocabulary to express what I mean but I'll do my best.

And to people who will go ''You can't judge it! You're not a professional critic, what do you know? This movie is for kids!'' I would like you to look at all the kids movies with far better soundtracks (like all of Disney from the 90s). Somebody has to bring the kids to the movies and I'm not going to sit through the whole movie if the writing is as terrible as the writing in the songs. I'm just going play my Hercules DVD for my nephews.

I would also like to say that I don't know how to fly a helicopter but I know that it shouldn't be in a tree upside down. (If you get this reference, good for you.)

Let's get to the songs shall we? Let's star with the welcoming song!

At first she sings about mundane things that you can do without magic like dancing on beat and having long hair and then she drops that you can wish to go to outer space! How?! Did Magnifico do that? Is the person back and alive? The whiplash is so jarring! I guess it's a connection between cosmos and stars and it was supposed to rhyme. There's more to song writing than making it sound nice and words rhyming!

There's also ''place full of surprise''. Shouldn't it be ''surprises''? Do they have only one surprise?

And the usage of the word ''collide''. ''Collide'' implies something sudden, dangerous and unpleasant. I guess it's another attempt at using ''space'' lingo. ''Combine'' would've been much more natural.

Her going ''so like'' is very annoying. Is she Shaggy or some valley girl? It completely stops the flow of the song and restarts right after. What's the point? Is it supposed to be funny?

The visuals accompanying the song are so boring. I already mentioned a few but there's more: walking on stilts, playing on the ceramics like they're drums, playing with birds, a toy pinwheel, more dancing and rose petals from the sky. None of it is magical and I guess that might be the point but it doesn't change the fact that it's not shown in an entertaining manner. Cinderella singing while washing the stairs and bubbles has more artistic value and creativity!

Also, Disney is getting lazy with the same character model just color swapped. It was noticeable in Frozen during the ballroom scene and now I saw the same characters multiple times in many parts of the movie.

The clunky exposition about King Magnifico and his magic. I have to jump ahead to the villain song in which he sings ''I granted 14 wishes last year!'' but in this song Asha sings how he grants one wish a month. Does a year in Rosas have 14 months?

The part of ''Welcome to Rosas'' that goes ''it is unlikely that you'll be unhappy'' annoys me to no end. This is supposed to charm people? Imagine if Genie sang ''You probably never had a friend like me.'' or if Ariel sang ''I think I would like to see your world''.

Is there anything that you disliked about the song but I didn't mentioned? Feel free to tell. And if your defense for the song is ''It sounds nice.'' this isn't what I'm talking about. We're criticizing the lyrics and how you can't enjoy the pretty music because the awkward writing makes my brain stop and ask ''What did you just say? That doesn't sound right.''.

Special thanks to toaverse for discussing Wish with me.

[finerandbonnier]

denouement

Poirot sets his little grey cells on the death of Heather Chandler.

[AO3]

“The first thing that stuck Poirot as strange about the untimely and so tragic death of Mademoiselle Chandler was the manner. To take one’s own life by poison is not unusual but to drink an entire cup of the drain cleaner — this is rare indeed! But Mademoiselle Chander was a young lady and at an age where extremities of emotion and action are to be expected, n’cest-ce pas? And so, fool that I was, I so nearly discounted it as mere tragedy, the action of a sad, young woman… until I found the second cup.

“Yes, when Poirot examined the kitchen of the house of Mademoiselle Chandler he found something carelessly discarded and then even more carelessly overlooked by the police: a second cup in the kitchen. On the face of it, this is not strange, non? A cup in the kitchen, this is where one expects to find such an object. But inside this cup was the trace of a most strange mixture — milk and orange juice. I could think of no reason for Mademoiselle Chandler to create such a concoction… except as an emetic. Perhaps then Mademoiselle Chandler after taking the fatal dose of poison came to regret her actions and in a final desperate act attempted to create a purgative that would expel the toxin from her body. Ah, but then why was the cup found — almost drained and discarded — in the kitchen when Mademoiselle Chandler had died in her bedroom almost immediately after ingesting the drain cleaner that killed her? It makes no sense. Unless, of course, there was someone, or multiple someones, also present at the time of her death.

“Then there is the suicide note itself. When first I read it there was something about the wording that struck me as unusual but at the time I could not, as you say in English, put my finger on it. It wasn’t until later, after Madame Fleming had so kindly allowed me to examine her classroom that I realised what it was: in her suicide note Mademoiselle Chandler uses the phrase ‘suicide is the natural answer to the myriad of problems life has given me’. And yet two weeks earlier on a vocabulary test in that very same classroom Mademoiselle Chandler was unable to correctly use the word ‘myriad’. Ah, ah, I see Monsieur Dean wishes to interject but please young Monsieur patience, s’il vous plait. There will be time for questions later and if you allow me to continue I may very well address the point you wish to make.

“Now, where was I? Ah oui, that trickly little word myriad. It is possible, of course, that Mademoiselle Chandler chose to use that word for précisément that reason, the word that she had stumbled over so recently — a symbol of her academic failure. Except that I found a second test. Mademoiselle Chandler did so poorly on that first vocabulary examination that Madame Fletcher required her to take remedial action, a so called ‘make-up’ test on the very Friday before her death. And so this test, it sits on Madame Fleming’s desk unmarked — since Mademoiselle Chandler’s death renders the grading of the test as unnecessary — until Poirot finds it. And so Mademoiselle Chandler would never have used the word myriad correctly in her suicide note for at the time of her death she still did not know its meaning! The suicide note found by her body could not have been penned by her hand!

“Oui mesdames et messieurs, the note therefore must have been a forgery — and a fine one indeed, for it nearly fooled Hercule Poirot himself, the handwriting is so close to Mademoiselle Chandler’s own. But who could have produced such a thing? Only someone with experience of copying the handwriting of others, of forging the hall passes, the sick notes, the permission slips. Someone who was close to Mademoiselle Chandler, but deep down despised her, for Mademoiselle Chandler was known to be cruel and vindictive. Someone who had fallen out with Mademoiselle Chandler the very night before her death and who was afraid of what reprisal she might face at school the next week? Is that not right, Mademoiselle Sawyer?!”

[popeofmars]

Oh my dearest beloved please take heed when I tell you of the depths of my affection for while I admit I drone ever on for this topic it is part of how I love.

When I lay awake at night with a heart overflowing with love I must find something to do with this excess so I write of you and how just your memory eases my distress.

When my sugar cravings make everything in the cabinet seem bland I need only call for my dearest because your presence is like nectar my love.

In those days when my well of socializing has run dry it always finds a secret reserve for the one who sets my heart ablaze for you erase the need for words such as solitude.

Some people express their love through touch, adorning their partners with embraces softer than a chill winters air, others will do it by acting out their love in wonderful displays of Cooking. I however need to write.

I need to put pen to paper and ink to parchment and infuse each stroke with the drops from the endless sea of fondness that stirs within me.

I love by using what words exist today in dazzling dances of vocabulary in an attempt to give definitions to words that do not and may not ever exist because no mortal tounge can translate this devotion you inspire.

I love by making sure that even after I have long since shed my mortal coil and the forest that we use to dance in has fossilized itself unto stone that my love for you can still be close at hand for when the days seem painted over with grey and gloom.

I write because that is what someone does when given a glimpse of Divinity, I make holy doctrine and religious texts full of nothing but devotion to a deity I am never worthy of and forever greatful to.

My Paramore I write to and of you because this is how I love and I know no other way that I can show it so truthfully.

My hands cannot make statues or paintings or jewelry or meals with the gusto some can provide. My touch alone cannot convey all to you that I have to express. Only my words have the strength to carry such passion. Each sentence an embodiment of Atlas or Hercules, given the Olympic task of holding a sliver of the love in my heart to you when and wherever you reside when you need them most.

I only ask that you forgive me for the torrents of text and piles of poetry, and promise that one day in the decades to come I will find a way to consolidate my writings if ever possible.

[wittybibliophile]

Happy Sunday!!!

It's new post time, end of the month, last weekend.... Vocabulary day!! *Plebeian - from or connected with ordinary people or people from a low social class *1 ; lacking culture or education*2 *Osteoporosis - a silent disease that can happen at any age, it weakens the bones to the point that they can break easily. Usually happens due to lack of calcium and vitamin D. *Scourge- a person or thing that causes a lot of trouble or suffering ; to punish severely. *Macabre - unpleasant and frightening because it is connected with death. *Fellatio - oral stimulation of a man's penis** *Prometheus - Greek myth : A titan who stole fire from olympus to give to mankind and in punishment was chained to a rock, where an eagle tore at his liver until hercules freed him. *Insouciance - showing casual lack of concern ; indifference, *Citronella - a fragrant natural oil used as an insect repellent and in perfume and soap manufacture. *tutus/ tutu - to protect, guard, care for. / a female ballet dancer's short stiff skirt that projects from the waist. *Larceny - theft of personal property. Xoxo, Ironically Witty!

[brandonwayneb]

Dixie HIGHWAY HERCULES WENDYS FRECKLES

VOC,

VOCABULARY LIBRARY

VAY DIXIE

WENDYS VÉTÉRAN ZENS

[peloponnesianminute]

༝༝༝ ϟ ༝༝༝

One thing that she never got used to hearing was Hades going on again and again. No matter how eternity felt she figured she would never feel sympathetic for the man who whined about everything. Even when he got his way, it wasn't enough, an insatiable taste for the only person she thought was good in the world. Now that she'd gotten to know his nephew, Meg had seen just how special he was and what was still worth protecting. She hadn't cared about anyone like this since her ex, having forced herself to remove those feelings from her vocabulary, and then there was Wonderboy. He changed everything, finally giving her something worth sacrificing her freedom for. "You're going to burn this place down one day," she said plopping herself atop the corner of his desk. As much as she wanted to tell him how she really felt, that wouldn't be doing either of them any favors.

"Yeah, I get it, okay? I'll get it done." It wasn't the entire truth but it was enough that she hoped he would get off her back. Meg needed a moment to develop a plan before she saw Hercules next. Things were getting messier by the minute and she couldn't see a way to get him out of it unscathed yet. "I'll find your healer and deliver them to your front door," the brunette said hopping from her perch and giving him a theatric bow. She was getting closer to the wall she knew was inevitable but it only meant she needed to speed up the process. The truth would be her only option when it got to a certain point. "What if he doesn't have any?"

When he had first brought Meg in to work for him, her quips and comments had done nothing but further fuel his own rage - to a point where he often found himself shooting flames in her direction nearly every time they interacted. But over the years, Hades had learned to control his temper a bit better. Or at least, he got used to her presence and snark - his anger still flared up just as often as it ever had. “I’ll be happy when he’s dead,” he snaps, reiterating once again the entire point of her current task at hand. It felt like he was talking to a child at times, between her straight up disregard and indifference to the mission and then the boys pure stupidity Hades was starting to think it might be time to start taking some matters into his own hands.

“I know he’s a fucking demigod. Even still, it should take more than a few weeks for him to be back walkin’ around after three gunshots in his back,” he argues, his anger spiking once more as he lights another dart aflame and throws it at the picture of his nephew. The truth was, Hades didn’t know how much god blood Hercules still had within him. The potion that Pain and Panic were supposed to feed him decades ago should have made him fully human - but that clearly hadn’t worked out as planned. Now it seemed the kid had far more of his godliness left in him than Hades had planned for - or, he had friends with mightier powers than they realized. “Someone had to have healed him. And you’re going to figure out who. Along with that weakness. You can handle that, can’t you? Or do I need to bring in even more reinforcements?”

[ranminfan]

A temptress in her nature.

I was recently watching Disney's Hercules and I got inspired by this scene hehehe 😏

This scene I swear-

[postersbykeith]

[onwriting-hrarby]

Thank you letter: The End

Image commissioned to @andengeu <3 Thank you so much for this amazing Eren and Mikasa from Rotten Judgement!

If you’re reading this, it means you have wrapped up your reading on Rotten Judgement. First of all, thank you so much. Whether you have liked your reading or not (although I hope you have), thank you for making it up here: to know that you’ve considered my story worth it of finishing, among so other many stories that there are (so other distractions in our daily life) makes my heart flutter and gives me a sense of plenitude.

When I started writing this story, I wanted it to be an amiable rom-com, that kind of fanfiction that people read to disappear from real life. I think I was pulled by the attraction of gaining a readership. However, as the story began forming in my head (in December, 2021!), I realized that these characters and their stories and their problems were much bigger than my not-so-down-to-earth ambitions. Why was I writing, firstly? Did I want to write just for exposure, or did I want to tell something that worried me in my writing? The second won, as you have all seen: I believe that we do not live in a kind world, that we have to fight endlessly, and that everything is politics. Excerpts from Fritz’s speeches were taken from Donald Trump and Santiago Abascal (the chief of the ultra-right party in Spain), although I could have cited many others. The demonstration of the last chapter was inspired by the massive demonstrations we’ve had in Spain in the last few years, too. As I wrote, I realized how important it was to me to show all the love, the friendships and the families in a political context. I won’t pretend I have discovered something new in this fanfiction, of course. If anything, I hope that it was mildly enjoyable, despite being the complete opposite of what I envisioned from the first time. It has surprised me to know the number of people who have read this: mainly because my chapters were long, and dense, and chapter by chapter you were here, commenting. I truly have no words.

This story wouldn’t have been the same without the world of Isayama, of course, but also Disney, and most particularly, Hercules. Without reading, either, since I read all the time, professionally and also in my spare time: I believe that reading takes us places, whatever we read. It makes us more empathetic and sets us up for healthy debate. So, despite the bans in libraries, in books, censorship all over, and morality police, do not stop thriving for books, and do not stop reading.

Some people have been very important throughout this year. In real life, my boyfriend and friends. In the virtual world: Sam, Ris (@liquorisce), KB (@irememberthedark), Jo, Kami, Anna, Hannah, Heart (@heartvu), Rotten (@rottenlover), Rae (@staraesea), Lys (@sunlightandsuffering), Ashley (@r-brauns) Shon (@wlshond), Onigiri (@onigiri-dorkk), Chaos (@chaosisbeauty23), Nuri (@nuri148), Bry (@bryhaven), Sam (@shenanigansam) (I hope I don't forget anyone)—thank you for the beautiful conversations, for giving me a place when I felt disheartened, for commenting on other fanfictions and readings with me. Special thanks to Ro (@dead-dolphins), for being her genius and creating self, full of empathy and altruism and making such beautiful banners for Rotten Judgement. All the covers for the different parts are her doing. And special thanks to Nina (@sinigangsta-ao3): for lending her ears whenever I was wrong, for her interactions with series and books and politics, for her effort in beta-ing some of the parts in this fic and giving me the vocabulary to talk about things I didn’t know how to express, but most of all, for being an extraordinary friend.

I am thankful for a lot of other people, too: especially some of you, commenters, who have been following my stories since I did not live until today, or even those who have discovered me with Rotten Judgement but have, without fail, left a comment someday. I know some of your usernames by heart, but I trust that you all know already who you are. Without your engagement, I would have felt discouraged to write some days. Coming here was a safe haven, and so I thank you deeply. For the ones that read, left kudos I thank you all, truly, for the motivation and encouragement you left along this 500 pages of story.

Some images of this past year and the making of Rotten Judgement. Thank you again.