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noonaishere · 3 months ago

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Music of the Heart [J.YH] - eighty-eight | being kind is punk

Owing to some cola stains in the carpeting - and the carpet color being a color that was no longer used in the offices - the building manager, upon inspecting the room that would become your studio, decided that it was the rare moment in a building manager’s career where he would be able to change a rooms decor without having to inconvenience the person using it by kicking them out for a while. You didn’t mind, the idea of soda sitting in the rug for a while made you worried there might be bugs in or under the carpet, and since the other members of Crom3r were dealing with the emotional residue of their ex-producer, you didn’t want to deal with physical aspects, in the sense of suddenly finding pests in your private studio years down the line. As it was, you and Yujin were beginning your bass lessons in a lesson room you were given use of, until your studio was ready.

Yujin took out her bass and plugged it in and got comfortable in her seat. She watched you as you, bass in your lap, flipped through what you had prepared.

“Ooooookay. Did you go over what I gave you?”

“Oh!” She leaned over and took the folder you gave her out of her backpack. In the time between when you gave it to her, and her showing up for her first lesson now, she had covered it in stickers.

As she opened it to look for something, you read one outloud, red text over a picture of Karl Marx:

“‘Dude, I fucking warned you, I fucking told you bro.’”

“Oh!” She said, realizing what you were reading. “I’m sorry--”

You laughed. “Don’t be. The man was right.”

She laughed awkwardly. “It’s such bullshit that he was right so long ago, and we’re still doing shit he critiqued… or worse.”

“You’re right about that.” You pointed to another sticker, “I also like the Lisa Frank dolphin next to the classic ‘Unionize’ fish poster.”

She looked at it and laughed. “I was going for a theme.”

You smiled. “I like it.”

She nodded awkwardly. “So… I went over the self-test,” she fished it out of the folder.

“How’d you do?”

“Um… I mean, I haven’t been playing that long, so I didn’t get very far.”

You took it from her and looked at her notes: what had been easy, what had been difficult, and the blank expanse of the second half denoting what she didn’t even bother trying at all.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked at her. Her brows were furrowed together in worriment, maybe she felt she had failed you or failed herself before she even got a chance to start. You smiled a small smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Wha-- isn’t it bad that I couldn’t finish it all?”

“Not at all. This was just to let me know what level we were starting at. I never thought you were a prodigy, and even if you were, I’d still have to know so I would know what to teach you.”

She thought for a moment and nodded.

“Okay? This was just for me to know where to start. That’s all it is.”

She nodded again. “Okay.”

“Okay? I’m not mean, I promise.”

She laughed softly.

“I had a really mean violin teacher when I was a kid, and I can promise you: I’ll never treat you the way they treated me, okay?”

Her eyes widened. “How mean were they?”

“Hmm…” How much did you want to explain? “He made me practice scales - at increasing speeds - until my fingers bled. And he made me practice bowing until I had to have an ice pack on my wrist, because the nerves were inflamed.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he was a mean guy.”

“Why didn’t your mom do something about it?”

“Well…” you weren’t sure how much to say without starting a huge conversation. “She didn’t see a problem with it.”

She gasped.

You raised your eyebrows in shock.

“That’s not punk rock.”

You laughed loudly. “I don’t think they were trying to be punk rock.”

“Being mean isn’t punk. Being kind is. Look--” she searched her folder for a moment for a white on black sticker that said ‘Being kind is punk’. “See?”

You chuckled. “Well I definitely agree with that. But, he and my mom were old farts, so they weren’t too concerned with being punk. Or kind.”

She frowned.

“But we don’t have to worry about them anymore. I haven’t seen them in years.”

“Good. They shouldn’t be known, if they treated you like that.”

You laughed. She was very decided for someone so young. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing your younger self, but if that younger self was allowed to be who she was, instead of having to hide. You shook off the feeling; you were supposed to be teaching bass, not getting emotional.

“So, I have something new for you,” you handed her a paper. It was a list of songs you’d be teaching her, along with the techniques that went with being able to play them:

Songs:

--Simple Money - Pink Floyd Back in Black - AC/DC Feel Good Inc - Gorillaz Funkenstein - Parliament Low Rider - War Good Times - Chic Give It Away - Red Hot Chili Peppers

--Medium Come As You Are - Nirvana My Sharona - The Knack Lust for Life - Iggy Pop Can’t Stop - Red Hot Chili Peppers Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division I Want You Back - Jackson 5

--Complex Giant Steps - John Coltrane Roundabout - Yes Hysteria - Muse Wynona's Big Brown Beaver - Primus Killing in the Name Of - Rage Against the Machine Portrait Of Tracy - Jaco Pastorius Playing God - Polyphia G.O.A.T. - Polyphia Hemispheres - Rush YYZ - Rush Schism - Tool 46+2 - Tool

--Slap Bass Fun Zone! Alright - Jamiroquai Higher Ground - Red Hot Chili Peppers Earthquake - Graham Central Station Get on The Floor - Michael Jackson Guerrilla Radio - Rage Against the Machine Aeroplane - Red Hot Chili Peppers Emergency on Planet Earth - Jamiroquai

--Holy Blisters, Batman! Mr Pink - Level 42 Come on My Selector - Squarepusher

--Boy, Do I Love Practicing! Classical Thump - Victor Wooten

Her eyes went wide. “I… have to learn… all of these?”

You raised a brow at her. “Yes, right now.”

“What?”

You laughed. “Obviously not right now. This is for however long it takes for you to learn each song. We’ll start with one, and when you can play it correctly - and confidently - we’ll go onto the next one.”

“Oh…” she stared at the list.

“If there’s songs you like and really want to learn, we can add them too. These are just songs I think are good to learn to help you become a good bass player.”

She nodded, eyes still on the list. You took her silence as meaning you could keep talking.

“So I tried to organize them into easy, medium and hard, but really it’s more a scale of simple to complex? Like the techniques don’t change, but the bassist is using more techniques together or doing them faster or going from one to the other faster, and that makes it a little harder to play.”

“…Why does it say ‘Slap Bass Fun Zone!’?”

You laughed. “Because a lot of people like slap bass, ‘cause, you know, it makes da funny noises. So I added a bunch of songs that were good for practicing it.”

She nodded.

You let her look at the list some more. Did she know all the songs? Was she confused? Should you ask?

“‘Holy Blisters, Batman!’?” She asked.

“Those are really fast slap bass songs. And ‘Classical Thump’, the only song in its category, is a practice song that Victor Wooten wrote and later recorded for an album. It gets complex but we can take it slow.”

She nodded. “Why is there a Michael Jackson song?”

“His bassist, Lewis Johnson, was nicknamed Thunder Thumbs: absolute madman. You should look up concert footage of him when you get a chance.”

She nodded again. “Higher Ground? Isn’t that a Stevie Wonder song?”

You nodded. “Good eye. You're more than welcome to listen to the original, but the Red Hot Chili Pepper cover is a really good instance of slap bass because their bassist, Flea, puts a lot of juice into it. A lot of zest. A lot of… pizazz-- why are you looking at me like that?”

She looked from you to the list quietly. “Do you really listen to all of these groups?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You listen to so many things. I want to be like that.”

You felt like you were going to cry. Other people rarely complimented your wide musical tastes, and whenever someone did, it always made you a bit emotional. Even if you didn’t show it.

“Well, you know,” you started. “Just look for new things all the time, and you, too, can have a music player with a terabyte microSD in it that’s half full.”

She looked up from the list in shock. “Wha-- literally? Half full?”

“Yep.”

“You have that much music?”

“Mhm. Most of them are FLAC files so, you know, bigger than MP3s.”

“Yeah, but they sound so much better.”

You smiled and nodded. “It’s definitely worth sacrificing the space for.”

“Wow… that’s my new goal. I also want to be a person who listens to that much music.”

You laughed. “Let’s start with these songs and you can listen to their other songs, and bring me whichever ones you want to learn.”

She nodded emphatically. “How long do I have to learn each one?”

“How long? What do you mean?”

“I only have so long to learn them, right?”

You looked at her, confused. “Who told you that?”

“Well… we have to learn everything super fast, don’t we? Or they won’t let us debut.”

“Wha-- who said that?”

“Theo’s friend at another company.”

“Oh… at another company.” You nodded.

She looked at you, confused.

“Yujin, Wonderland won’t force you to debut if you aren’t all ready for it.”

“Oh… really?”

“Of course. At the very least, if we debuted you and you hadn’t practiced enough, *we’d* look bad, but I’m sure the CEO doesn’t want to put you all on a stage if he doesn’t think you’re ready for it yet.”

She nodded. “We met him when we signed our contracts.”

“What’d you think?”

“He was nice.”

“He helped me make your lesson plan.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. And if he can take that much care with making sure you’re learning what you need to learn, I don’t think he’ll force ONiiX to debut when you’re not ready. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now… What you really want is to be able to play these correctly and in time, and it’s not weird if you want to practice a particular part over and over.”

“Do people do that?”

Your eyebrows ticked up in concern. “What do you mean?”

“Do people practice a part of a song a lot?”

You looked at her for a second, a small smile snaking across your lips as you tried to suppress a laugh. “Um… Yujin, what do you do when you practice?”

She shrugged. “I listen to a song and try to play it.”

“You play it by ear?”

“Yes?”

You nodded.

“Is that bad?”

“No, if you’re playing the song right then it means that your ability to detect pitch is good.”

“I… it doesn’t always sound good though. When I play”

You nodded. “Why don’t you play me a song you feel you know well, and we’ll see.”

She looked at the list. “Um, I know this one,” she pointed to the list.

“Back in Black?”

“Yeah. My dad likes it.”

“Okay,” you took the paper from her and put it on the table. “Go ahead and play it, and I’ll see what you mean.”

The song itself, if it had been played completely correctly and in time, was a little over four minutes. It took more than that for Yujin to play it as it was riddled with mistakes and her rhythm was a little all over the place. Part of the reason for that was, when she’d make a mistake, she’d become frustrated, yell at herself under her breath, and then trip over herself as she tried to fix it.

You watched, keeping your expression neutral, so she wouldn’t react to you and further become frustrated.

When it was over, she looked at you. “...Yeah.”

You nodded.

“We’re…” she whispered, “we’re going to be able to debut, right? Bibi is a really good singer, and Soul is an expert drummer, and Theo is such a good guitarist… I don’t want to disappoint them if I can’t keep up…”

You smiled softly. “You’re going to debut.”

Her brows furrowed, creasing over the bridge of her nose; she didn’t believe you.

“For one thing, you have me on your side. And you heard me play, so…”

“I guess… Am I really bad?”

You sighed. “You’re not terrible… you’re just a beginner.”

She frowned.

“And I have to say, for someone who’s just starting out to already have a band and a record label?” You whistled long. “Not bad. I wish I could have done that at your age.”

Her frown subsided a little. “What were you doing at my age?”

You guessed you could tell her. “Hiding my bass at a friend’s house and only practicing on the weekends because my tyrant mother wanted me to play violin instead.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “You’re lying.”

You laughed. “I wish I was.”

She thought for a moment. “Your mom sucks. Ah--!”

You laughed loudly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You shouldn’t be, you’re right.”

“My mom says I sometimes talk without thinking. It gets me into trouble sometimes.”

“Well, you’re not in trouble now because you’re totally right. She does suck, that’s why I don’t talk to her anymore.”

She nodded.

“But!” You clapped your hands together. “You’re not me. You don’t have to teach yourself secretly: you have a really cool bass teacher who can get your skills to where you need them to be. Okay?”

She nodded, a little more hopeful.

“So, one of the first things you need to learn is how to practice.”

“How?”

“Mhm. So there’s this guy, he’s a guitarist, but if you want to see a good representation of someone practicing by themself, you can look up Tim Henson from Polyphia - I put a couple of their songs on there - he streams his practice sessions sometimes and you can see how he goes about thinking about what he wants to practice, how he treats himself; he doesn’t get mad, he just does the part again until he finally gets it.”

She took a pen out of her backpack and wrote his name down on the song list. “Just-- over and over?”

“Yep. Breaking it down into smaller parts and working on it until he has it, maybe he tries it slower to figure it out, but then he puts the pieces together and plays it at full speed, and what do you know? Now he can play it.”

She nodded.

“‘Start slow, play it well, then get faster.’ Mark King who has a song in the ‘Holy Blisters, Batman!’ section of the paper said that. Paraphrased.”

“Ugh… I don’t want to play slow though. I hate slow songs.”

You laughed. “Did you come into the world knowing how to use chopsticks and a spoon? Or did you eat with your hands first and learn the other stuff later?”

She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. “I guess you’re right.”

You smiled. You remember being like that, but at least you didn’t have to respond like how your teacher did.

“Slow doesn’t mean boring, though. But the only way to play something really well when it’s fast, is to play it extremely well when it’s slow. You get the pacing of the notes down right when you play it slow, and then you can gradually speed up until you play it at full speed.”

She nodded.

“I’ll get you a metronome from the company and make you some drills so you can get better at rhythm too. As the bassist, rhythm is the thing that you and the drummer do and you have to do it well.”

“I want to do solos sometimes though.”

“And you will, but your rhythm needs to be on point for the rest of the song because, when you pick up the bass, that’s the job you give yourself.”

You tilted your head as you looked at her. She was doing a lot of nodding and quiet contemplation.

“So:” You said with a smile.

She looked up.

“Let’s go over that song again, and I’ll teach it to you.”

previous | main cast | masterlist | next

a/n: Do we like Yujin? Do you know what her name is from? 😏

Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! 🎵 Any comments, reblogs, or asks are appreciated! I love talking with you guys and seeing what you’re saying about the chapters, it keeps me going 🥰

@luvvvx • @iamthehotdemon • @hrts4hanniehae • @rachs-words • @stayatinykatsy • @anythingrelatingtojinyoung

#Yunho #Jeong Yunho #Ateez #Ateez smau #Ateez fic #Ateez au #music industry au #enemies to lovers #childhood friends to lovers #reader fic #ᴍᴜsɪᴄ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

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transbutchblues · 5 months ago

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tagged by @cattus-catos :) thanks

last book i read : The Communist Manifesto by Engels and Marx. it was over a month ago but i’ve been feeling weird so i haven’t been able to actually finish a book since then.

a book i recommend : Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, my favorite book. it’s so beautiful. everyone should read it.

a book i couldn’t put down : so many! i’d say Thistlefoot by GennaRose Nethercott, an absolutely amazing book exploring collective and generational trauma through the presence of ghosts while also being sometimes funny and lesbian. it’s so good i read it aloud to my mother then offered it to my grandparents. as well as Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg, which opened entire new paths for me.

a book i’ve read twice : so many books but let’s say Anne Carson’s Antigonick. one of my favourite ancient greek play translations/retellings.

a book on my tbr : Aristophanes’ plays. i don’t like comedies so i keep procrastinating, but i really need to read them at some point.

a book i’ve put down : The Hera of Zeus : Intimate Enemy, Ultimate Spouse even though i absolutely loved it, because i borrowed it at the uni library and then had to give it back before finishing it. and now said library is closed for the summer. but also some other academic books that are interesting but too tiring to read right now.

a book on my wishlist : @nicosraf’s Angels and Man - i absolutely loved the first book, it’s incredible, it’s one of my favorite queer books, but i still haven’t found the time and money to buy the second one.

a favourite book from childhood : a french book collection on ancient greek myths called Saga of [Hero’s name] : greek mythology in 100 episodes. The ones on Odysseus and Theseus are the very first books on greek myths that i remember reading, when i was about 5 or 6.

a book you would give to a friend : Gideon the Ninth from The Locked Tomb by Tamsyn Muir. this is so good. lesbian necromantic science fiction, absolutely hilarious but also tragic. i should probably have put it as the book i reread because i read it exactly 4 times in 6 months (and did the same with the two following books. before writing a analysis document on it.)

a book of poetry/lyrics you own : Anne Carson’s translation of Sappho’s poetry, If not, Winter. and Ocean Vuong’s two poetry books, Time is a Mother and Night Sky With Exit Wounds. as well as Richard Siken’s Crush. or Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal, the first poetry book that i enjoyed. all amazing works!

a non-fiction book you own : Eros the Bittersweet by Anne Carson (lots of Anne Carson here. maybe i have an obsession), an exploration of love in ancient greece. i read mostly pdfs of non fiction books or i borrow them from the library.

currently reading : too many books…. Lucan’s Pharsalia, Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine by Rashid Khalidi, a french translation and commentary of Catullus’ poems, multiple retellings of ancient plays,…

planning on reading next : the Iliad! i really want to reread it, i keep thinking about it. the first time i read it it only took me 3 days but this time i want to annotate it. also, Female Masculinity by J. Jack Halberstam. and multiple academic books about Antigone.

tagging : @hiemihymni @olympianbutch @khaire-traveler but no pressure!

#books #reading tag #tag game

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withthewerewolves · 1 year ago

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GoldenHeart Fix-it AU

Ok, so I know that everything between Ballister and Ambrosius needed to happen for themes, and parallels, and narrative foils, and all that freestyle jazz. I realize that changing this sort of ruins Ambrosius’s character, and makes Nimona a sidekick in her own story, and such. But consider this-

It made me Sad.

So what if an AU where Ambrosius is messed up by being the direct descendant of Gloreth in a slightly different way, and is a little less hinged as a result.

The beginning goes down exactly as it does in the movie. The sword pommel lights up, the queen dies, Ambrosius swings his own sword. There’s a moment where it all freezes, Ballister still on his knees, gripping the place where his shoulder ends, big brown horrified puppy eyes locked with Ambrosius’s, begging for something (forgiveness? understanding? his arm back?) that Ambrosius can’t pull his scattered thoughts together long enough to give him. And then the jumbotron crashes between them, and when the dust clears, Ballister is gone.

I don’t know exactly how long it is between the Night of Knights and when Nimona finds Ballister. It has to be long enough for him to:

a) find the hideout and equip it with what he needs

b) design and build a prosthetic arm (using his nondominant hand)

and c) heal enough to install said arm.

It also can’t be too long, because:

a) the knights haven’t managed to track him down yet (perhaps this is giving them too much credit)

and b) the story is still all over the news.

I’m thinking this means less than a month, but not very much less.

In the movie, Ambrosius spends this time doing…something unimportant. Crying in his room? Punching training targets until he can’t stand up? Researching survival rates for unintentional arm amputation? Doesn’t matter. In this AU, he spends it spiraling. He starts with one absolute: Ballister wouldn’t do anything bad. He saw the sword kill the queen with his own eyes, from much closer range than his nightmares would prefer. Alright. So why, then, WOULD Ballister do such a thing?

He’s already struggled enough with the pressure to live up to Gloreth’s memory. We see that this sits heavy on his golden shoulders, and that both the Institute and the people put him on a pedestal. He’s seen the way the other trainee knights treat Ballister. We see that it bothers him, that Ballister instinctively holds him back from fighting Todd, as if this has happened before. We know that he knows that Ballister has worked harder than anyone, that he’s the best in their year, and that his lack of noble blood may (will) still ruin things for him. We know that he cares about protecting people, that he considers that to be a knight’s job. We see him choose to protect civilians, clearing the streets, when all the other knights rush to fight the monster. He can't be totally satisfied with the Institute’s training and ideology.

He doesn’t eat (he can still smell the burning flesh as his sword cauterizes Ballister’s arm, even as he cuts through it). He doesn’t sleep (his dreams are nothing but green light and Ballister’s pleading eyes). He reads a lot of anti-monarchy blogs. Maybe he finds some futuristic-fantasy Karl Marx. Maybe there are some activists protesting systemic inequality and they have a website with a list of useful terminology and their definitions. He absolutely does not research mortality rates for unintentional arm amputation. He stops telling himself that has no clue where Ballister might have gone (maybe it's time to give up lying to himself altogether).

He leaves the Institute. He maybe says some imprudent things as he’s leaving ("Bal was right! Any system that allows you (Todd) to be a knight deserves to be brought down! Tyranny never wins for long!”). He sort of wants to leave his sword and armor behind, possibly with some amusing graffiti scratched into them, but he doesn’t know what Bal might be planning, if he might need it, and surely it’s symbolic, to attack the Institute using the tools of its oppression? On that thought, he does make one tiny detour on the way out.

He finds Bal. There was only one place for him to be, once Ambrosius set aside the need to arrest him and let himself remember. I think it has to be before Nimona finds him, because Ballister puts on the new arm right before, and I want him not to be wearing it when he cautiously opens the door to his crumbling hideout to find Ambrosius framed in a shaft of late-afternoon sunlight, hair limp, eyebrow twitching like it used to before big exams, eyes maybe the tiniest bit wild.

“Ambrosius?” Ballister is pretty sure he isn’t hallucinating. Yeah, the initial wound was rough, and the shock got to him, and he definitely had a fever for awhile there. But he’s been lamentably rooted in reality for weeks now, and he thought he was over that little mental hitch every time he heard a noise in the next room and realized anew that Ambrosius wasn’t the one making it.

“Thank Gloreth,” Ambrosius says, because he may not have researched unintentional arm amputation but he does have an overactive imagination, and here Ballister is, upright and maggot-free and wielding a broken mead bottle.

He has a speech planned. He’d recited different parts of it over and over on his way here. There were some good bits in there.

Instead, he sees the gap where Ballister’s arm should be and loses the structural integrity of his skeletal system. “Darkness Beyond, I chopped off your arm.” His voice is mostly air pretending to be sound.

“Uh,” Ballister says. “Yeah.”

“I need to sit down.”

Ambrosius maybe clanks a little as he sits (it’s not a fall if you state your intention before you hit the ground), but it’s ok because Bal is wearing his armor too (except for the right vambrace - nope he can’t think about that or he’ll vomit) and he clanks too when he crouches in front of Ambrosius, filling his entire visual field (the edges will come back eventually, he can still see the important part).

“I CHOPPED off your ARM.”

“Are you here to -”

“I chopped OFF your ARM.”

“You were disarming a weapon -”

“Who even does that? Who chops off people’s arms?”

“You were just following our training -”

“Arm chopping is NOT a LOVE LANGUAGE.”

“Forget the arm!” This catches enough of Ambrosius’ attention to drag him back into himself, because Ballister doesn’t actually get upset that often. He can’t afford to, not where the other knights or their trainers might see. He especially can’t afford to, when it’s just the two of them and Bal has to shove all the anger back down himself.

“I don’t think I will ever forget the arm,” he says, but he smells Ballister’s sweat, like after they used to run miles in heavy armor, instead of roasting meat. He sees confusion and concern in Ballister’s eyes, instead of that horrible entreaty he never managed to answer.

Ballister clunks to the ground beside him, back to the stone wall, missing arm shielded by his body. “No. I don’t know that I will, either.”

Ambrosius doesn’t know what thoughts Ballister is caught in, but he can’t help drinking in his silhouette, familiar and beloved and so much more fragile than he’d ever imagined.

“Can you ever forgive me?” he asks, even though he told himself he wouldn’t.

Ballister turns toward him enough that Ambrosius can see the bitter quirk of his lips. “For the arm? Or for thinking I would kill Queen Valerin?”

The last minutes have been the closest Ambrosius’s mind has been to still since that series of frozen seconds after Ballister’s sword flashed, followed by his own, but now it screeches to a halt. “You….didn’t?”

Ballister’s head swivels slowly to look at him, like in one of those scary movies Bal likes so much.

“Why not?” Ambrosius asks. It isn’t the question he means to ask.

“WHY NOT?!”

“I mean - because the monarchy is an outdated system that prioritizes bloodlines over ability - and the whole idea of nobility is classist - and the other trainees were awful to you just because you grew up on the streets - and why do we even HAVE kids growing up on the streets, do you know how much the Institute’s operating budget is? We could fund a million orphanages! Or -”

“You think I would kill the Queen because some assholes were mean to me?” Bal is not tamping his anger down now. Ambrosius reminds himself sternly that Bal doesn’t like being angry, so it’s rude to think about how hot it makes him look.

“No! I knew you’d have other reasons!”

“The Queen is the one who LET me train to be a knight, even though I’m common born!”

“She shouldn’t have had to let you, you more than earned it -”

“So you thought I would KILL someone?!”

Ambrosius doesn’t have anything to say to that. He’s busy trying to re-sort all the stuff he JUST re-sorted to make room for Ballister killing the Queen, to make room for him NOT to have killed her. Does that mean he should put it all back where it was? How can he, now that he’s seen? He isn’t sure he wants to. He slumps back against the wall. After a moment so does Bal.

“So what…did happen?”

Bal swallows hard, his nervous tell. He doesn’t look at Ambrosius. “I don’t know.”

Ambrosius is running on fumes, and he’s had to reorder his worldview twice in a short period of time, but he does still have a brain under the fabulous hair. “Someone framed you.”

Bal glances at him through the corner of his eye. He’s somehow both more open and more closed off than Ambrosius has ever seen him. “Yeah.”

“Were you the target? Or the Queen?” Yeah, he’s been reading the anti-monarchy blogs, but no one seems to have any specific issues with Queen Valerin. She’s fine, as far as queens go. No one has mentioned assassinating her. Actually none of them seem to have any plans whatsoever. But the activists have plenty of plans, and they didn’t talk about assassinating her either. Isn’t there supposed to be a different internet, just for criminals? Maybe they talked about it there?

“Gotta be the Queen,” Bal says. “Which means the real killer is still out there.”

"Hm," Ambrosius says, because he's thinking about all the stuff people have been saying about Ballister, both online (where he can scroll past it) and in the Institute mess hall (where he cannot). He's wondering if Todd, who is unfortunately not as stupid as he looks, could have pulled off something like this, when he feels a light touch against the outside of his thigh, where his chainmail doesn't cover.

It's the first time Bal has touched him since before the ceremony. It's just the barest brush of the side of his hand, and could've been accidental except for how it's carefully placed so he can feel Bal's body heat through the cloth of his trousers, and how he knows that Ballister doesn't touch people by accident.

Ambrosius can't tear his eyes away from Bal's hand. He's not wearing his gloves (glove). The skin on the back is cracked like it gets in the cold season, unless Ambrosius sits on Bal and applies the moisturizing cream himself. The nails are ragged and bitten close to the quick, and something dark is trapped under them, possibly the same something that's streaked along the base of his thumb.

How's he supposed to clean under his fingernails with one hand? How is he supposed to WASH his hands, for that matter? Ambrosius quickly stops thinking about it. He’s here now. He'll clean them himself.

"Do you believe me?" Ballister asks, and Ambrosius darts his gaze up to Bal's face. It's turned away, as if he can't stand to see the answer to that question.

Bal's chin is scratchy where he hasn't been maintaining his facial hair, but Ambrosius revels in how warm and alive he feels under his fingertips as he tilts Bal's face toward him. "Bal," he says. "Of course I believe you."

Something in Bal's eyes breaks, or heals, or cleaves like a sword through bone. He slumps, suddenly looking like a teenager playing dress up in the huge armor he'd worked so hard for. Ambrosius wishes he wasn't wearing his own, because Bal tips so that his head is buried in Ambrosius’s chest, and that would be so much more satisfying for both of them without a chestplate.

Ambrosius buries his face in Bal’s hair (lank and unwashed, but smelling so much like BAL that he wants to roll around in it) and maybe cries a little. Bal maybe cries a little too. Ambrosius makes a mental note to get them both out of their armor as soon as possible because he needs to hold Bal properly, feel the warm living weight of him, maybe lay down and pull Bal over him like a blanket, revel in the soft puffs of Bal’s breathing, the chill of his toes, the flutter of his eyelashes against Ambrosius’s skin, the physical realness of him. All the little details his imagination could never get right.

Probably he does get to do this. Probably he gets them bathed and wearing fresh clothes (he probably packed a duffel bag from their shared dorm room), and maybe feeds them both some canned beans he finds in Bal’s mostly empty cupboards. Probably Bal shows him the prosthetic arm, which is nearly finished, and lets him marvel over the genius of it. Probably he says that once they’ve got Bal’s name cleared he should become an engineer, what was he doing wasting a mind like that on being a knight?

Probably they get to take a nap, pressed together on the couch. Probably Ambrosius is horrified anyone has been sleeping on that biohazard, let alone someone with a healing wound. Probably he’s too tired to come up with anything better.

If we’re kind, we could maybe give them just this one sleep without any nightmares. They need to be firing on all cylinders, because they’re going to be woken by a loud banging at the tower door.

I personally think it would be very funny if Ambrosius is completely on board with all of Nimona’s plans. He probably pushes for non-violence if possible, and then when that fails, for at least leaving innocent civilians out of it. Nimona isn’t convinced the civilians ARE innocent, but Ambrosius has some ideas for breaking stuff that intrigue her. Bal is horrified by the entire conversation, and has to be talked out of just going to the Institute and explaining himself. It works this time though, because Ambrosius knows exactly how unreceptive the Director is going to be.

Todd is the one leading the search this time, so he probably leads them in completely the wrong direction while our heroes talk to the squire. But if they do have a confrontation, it’s worse. There’s no intention to arrest them unharmed. There’s no chance to explain. No relationship talk over locked swords. He’s got the knights shooting to kill.

I’m not sure how Nimona reveals her shapeshifting. Probably Ambrosius is just as upset as Bal is, but he and Nimona are anarchy buddies. He makes himself take a step back and examine his initial reaction, possibly while narrating his thought process. If he didn’t condemn her for skewering guards on her rhino horn, he can’t condemn her for HAVING a rhino horn, can he?

Maybe the happy ending for them is this AU is different from the happy ending in canon. Maybe after they release the video of the Director, they do set out together to explore the world beyond the Wall, all three of them. But it isn’t because they’re afraid of the kingdom or the people in it. It’s because they aren’t tied to the kingdom anymore. They’ve all moved past the boxes the kingdom would try to put them in. They don’t NEED the kingdom anymore. None of them are going to be alone.

And adventure awaits.

#nimona #ballister x ambrosius #please talk to me guys #I wanna DISCUSS #my writing #not!fic

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dnbcoded · 1 year ago

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HELLO FELLOW DNB SHIPPER MAY I SUGGEST AN IDEA?

King Technoblade and Anarchist revolutionist Dream, are you picking up what i am putting down??

- 🧋🛼

ANON I SEE YOU... I was thinking a lot about this prompt, hence, little drabble. I actually think cTechnoblade would be the most anti-monarchy/autocracy king to ever exist, and it would amuse/confuse cDream, so this has a lot of potential to be fun.

Dream was starting to discover he was less of a prisoner and more of a… undomesticated pet, for the castle staff.

He was followed by the guards, sure, and any attempt of escaping was stopped before it even began. Technoblade’s staff was not only well trained, but truly cared about him, so he wasn’t allowed to get close to him nor leave the castle.

However, aside from general disruption of peace —such as attempting to get rid of Technoblade, again— he was pretty much allowed anywhere and to do anything. If he wanted to eat, he could help himself in the kitchen or get a full meal by simply requesting. He was allowed to train with the guards, and talk to them freely, even though most of them just ignored any plea of being let go, and aside from that he wasn’t quite interested in them. He was let in the library to spend the afternoons he had to waste reading and writing letters. Hell, he was even allowed to send the letters. It’s like everyone had forgotten he was an actual leader of the anarchist movement in the country, that stood against everything the castle had built.

It surprised him. But, mostly, it irked him to not be taken seriously. The wonders of being treated like a pest, at best, lasted for a week, and after that he took to hiding himself in his ‘room’ (a cell filled with pillows and carpets, more like), and wait out his sentence until he was liberated by his allies of Technoblade himself deemed him useless and tried to cull him.

Anyway.

—

“I want you to explain your ideas to me,” Technoblade said, sitting in front of him with paper and a quill ready to write, a pair of thin glasses on the edge of his nose. “The ones about community management.”

“Excuse me?” Dream blinked, shocked into politeness.

“In your speech, you mentioned ‘the people should get a hold of not only the means of production but also the distribution of punishment, thus, the power should belong to the people’. I am interested in how you arrived at this conclusion.”

There is a silence where Dream doesn’t even know where to start.

“... Karl Marx?” He whispers at last. “I mean, I dunno, I think.”

Technoblde raises his eyebrows. “Are you insulting my intelligence? Of course I’ve read him, they’re fine authors with even more enticing theories. But that’s all they are: theories. I want to know how you plan to introduce them into practice.”

Dream considers this opportunity. In all of his life, he’s been told by others that at best he’s an idealist, at worst he’s a child without real purpose. And here’s the king of their country, holding him prisoner with no regard for his own safety —while Dream doesn’t think he’s stupid enough to confront him without a weapon, Technoblade is armorless—, and a genuine intent to learn. From Dream. He suddenly feels misplaced warmth. The only question left is—

“Why?” Technoblade as a ruler has no need to listen to his people. Historically, no ruler has had to worry outside of keeping a general sense of stability so that the people don’t starve and, thus, revolt. But Technoblade’s kingdom wasn’t gearing towards a violent takeover feed by starvation; the reason Dream was gathering both scholars and farmers alike was because he knew the aristocracy wouldn’t listen, and he wanted to step ahead from all their neighboring countries into establishing a democracy. Technoblade’s support could mean everything.

“I haven’t been born into this kingdom as much as I was entrusted with it,” Technoblade says, a little sheepishly, to Dream’s surprise. “I don’t enjoy the autocracy, the lack of counsel. From where I come from, all decisions are given to a certain group of people that, while still privileged, have the town’s best interest in consideration. I would like to establish something similar in this country, but given the sheer amount of people to consider, not even mentioning the nobility that I’m sure wouldn’t be as kind to your folks as I am, I wanted to transition into what the people would like, rather than completely changing the rules overnight and risking an occupation. Am I clear?”

Dream is still a prisoner, and despite Technoblade’s words, he’s distrusting of anyone that was brought up in a golden crate. However, this might just be his chance to do a less-murderous coup, if it ends up working up. Besides, he doubts his team is getting through the guards soon. He has time to kill.

“Well.” Dream stars, tasting hubris in his lips and he licks them. He feels Technoblade’s vacant glare turn pointed, precise. “Since I was a kid, my father taught me that chores are better done in pairs.”

#🧋🛼anon #warrior.writes #warrior.asks #c!dreamnoblade #cdnb

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desultory-novice · 2 years ago

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CW: Serious but vague talk about the complex feelings associated with the loss of a loved one and mourning - both in Kirby and in real life. Some personal stuff and once more for good measure mentions of death and mourning.

I know I don't owe anyone an excuse for my brief absence, but I was completely caught off guard this year when I realized the anniversary of Planet Robobot fell just days before the passing of my own father last year. No surprise I didn't make the connection last year, but it hit me this year and it hit hard.

I know that they're not the fandom's most popular characters ("most hated" may be more like it?) but I feel almost painfully close to the story of Susanna Patrya Haltmann and Max Profitt Haltmann. For I was also a child who was torn between being really mad at my father for his flaws and mistakes while also pining for this idealized parent-child relationship we didn't have, to the point of often spurning the bond we did have because it wasn't going the way I imagined it. I also had to watch close up as he wasted away, his senses going one by one, till he looked more and more like a fading shell of a person.

...You know, I didn't even finish playing PR until last year or maybe the year before? Of course I knew the story spoilers. But I couldn't make myself play it. I finally did because I felt I had to. And I'm glad, even if finishing it left me with a weird sense of sadness. A sense of sadness that finally came full circle a few months later...

I thought I would draw something for the anniversary this year. Something sad, bittersweet, poignant, meaningful. Something akin to a tribute. But my pen just wouldn't move. I don't think I have the words or the visuals to fully express what I felt about it right now. It's why, even though I really do like these two characters, I hardly ever draw them.

It's this closeness that renders them blurry in my vision.

...I suppose I might as well talk about this while I'm here, but I have this ask in my inbox about the Merry Magoland Branch AU. About Joronia and Max and what happens to them after their souls are freed.

'Do they come back to life?'

...God, I've written one thousand answers to that post in my head.

Part of my brain says the "right" answer to give - here on my Kirby blog where every story has a happy ending or at least a chance at salvation no matter how grim - is "of course they come back to life!" The Merry Magoland Branch AU is a sad but cutesy fractured fairy tale of a story where everyone ends up better than they started! Besides, they’re already souls. What else would happen to them? Just quietly go off to rest? That wouldn’t be satisfying!

...

But another part of me looks at "Kirby," a series that has characters who have "died" and come back to life and characters who have died and stayed dead and I feel like, as painful as it is to those such as the Sectaranza shippers and the other fans of of the implied dead cast members...

...they're not coming back. They can't come back. They shouldn't come back. Even in a completely fictional setting, even in a silly AU, it is hard for me, personally, to make myself change what has happened. What has been done.

Don't get me wrong, I've even scribbled out a few "everyone lives!" scenarios but I've never been able to draw a single one... I tell myself that if a miracle happens and one day I'm scouted to make a Kirby comic or animated series or movie, something where I get to retell the world from the beginning, I would not have it so the "dead" characters die, if only because they are unique enough that I would want them around to use for future stories. Like Moretsu Pupupu Hour, with its funny Sectonia who is literally allergic to peace. Or that one manga I haven't read where Susie and her father run some kind of puzzle store??

But again, that would be a Kirby I had control of from the beginning.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm proud of Kirby the series for not being so grimdark “realism” that Marx, upon blowing up, turns into meat pasta and instead comes back with a smile and laugh to kick exploding jester balls at people all because you waved a magic heart-shaped wand.

And I'm absolutely content with letting spunky wizard Magolor mercilessly fight his way back through some sort of purgatory dimension and start life over as a medieval salesperson, building up good karma one microtransaction at a time. I think that stuff is important. (Well, not so much the microstransactions.) But I'm also proud of it for letting some characters... not come back.

Dark Matter Blade is both a badass and strangely attractive (...just me?) for an eyeball made of dark matter but despite the fact that maybe all he wanted was friends, despite the fact that it's implied he rescued Gooey from Dark Matter and hid him on Popstar to protect him from Zero, despite the fact that he should have become a good guy and was instead used heartlessly by Zero like ammunition, losing the few marks of individuality he'd been able to keep thus far (his hair and armor and cape) he's just gone. He'll never join the others on Popstar. Never enjoy the warmth of a spring day or get to be a sibling to Gooey. He'll never even get to explain things to poor Gooey that they ought to know, and he was probably the only one who could.

It's tragic. It's upsetting. It's unfair.

And it's...important, much as I hate to say it.

Dess secret... but I actually get a little mad when people want Taranza to "...hurry up and find a new girlfriend and stop being in mourning all the time" because... I think it's okay for Kirby to have "a character who is in mourning." I suppose there's no real reason he can't be "character who was in mourning who was able to find love again" but I also kind of like that he's THERE as a character for anyone who has lost a loved one and is still sad about it. For those who haven't begun rebuilding their life just yet.

Gooey is the one who lost someone without every really knowing what he had/could have had. Susie is the one who lost someone and also has to get back to work because that's a real thing too.

I didn't really mean to talk about death and mourning in Kirby (for a second time) but I think part of me had to as well. At least if I was ever going to go back to regular posting. I don't even really feel as if I even captured everything there was to say. Like I said, I don't really have the words.

But, yeah, anyway, if you've ever seen me politely push back when someone brings up Susie or Max discourse of the negative variety on my blog, hopefully you have a slightly better understanding as to why I respond the way I do.

#Kirby #Susanna Patrya Haltmann #max profitt haltmann #sectaranza mention #Dess Text Post #Taranza #Gooey Kirby #Dark Matter Blade #cw death #cw personal #cw illness #I left Elfy and Fecty out of this because that was too much speculation #But you could see them as something similiar

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fishtomale · 6 months ago

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i’m not trying to be an annoying “read theory” leftist and i’m not unaware of issues of accessibility. i have very severe adhd and reading is a challenge for me. that being said there are certain issues regarding leftism and politics where if you haven’t read and understood very entry level theory you don’t really have business acting as an authority on that subject and if you want to enter that conversation with some level of authority you need to be familiar with the texts other people in that space are referencing. outside of maybe the bible i have found leftist texts, especially marx, to have a higher volume of freely available accessibility tools available online than any other reading material i’m familiar with. and i’m talking free readings / audiobooks, indexes / glossaries / and additional notes to help you understand difficult or dated language, and just a generally very eager community that wants to help you understand different analysis and applications of these texts and the historical contexts they were written in.

you aren’t the first disabled person to pursue these topics on an academic level and a lot of people have done work to make this easier for us even if this does lead you to other texts down the line that are more challenging to engage with

#mish.txt

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radical-revolution · 1 year ago

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Dear fellow beings,

In yet another of our human narratives, we’ve labelled the old year as finished. And therefore, the old year must inevitably be followed by a “new year”. With those man-made categories, along comes something even more ludicrous called a “new year’s resolution”.

These new year’s resolutions require looking “back” and looking “forward”. When we do that, we see that things in the world haven’t been too easy in the recent past. And from the way it’s all going, it looks like the future won’t be easy either. Ecological destruction is one big reason. Another is that the old lords and masters are so threatened by newbies who want to be just like them and particularly by those who are managing to achieve that.

But we’re caught: How can we stop a billion Chinese wanting to clean their butts on the toilet seat the way a few million Japanese clean theirs? And how can we deny the aspiration of a billion Indians to water their lawns and dry their clothes with automatic dryers the way Americans do? The pain felt by those who were once lords as they watch the rise of subordinates is splendidly captured by none other than the great Satyajit Ray in his beautiful film Jalsaghar.

And if all the wannabes do get what they want, like a billion Indians and Chinese getting their own cars, taking holidays in campervans or on Mallorca and Aruba, and a whole lot more, which they surely deserve as much as those who presently have all that, then what? Surely that will not only accelerate ecological destruction but may well lead to global warfare as the former lords and masters use all their might to cling to their old privilege and control.

So, in the big picture, it’s hard to make an upbeat new year’s resolution for the world from anyone’s point of view. All I can do personally myself, is re-resolve to follow what Gautama taught.

I came to this resolution because the only way I can liberate myself from the delusion of expecting a perfect society is to follow this man Gautama. And because the only way I won’t be caught in the games of the dream is to wake up from the dream, not by adding even more systematic dreams in the name of politics, the economy, science, technology and the rest.

I also want to put effort into letting other human beings know what Gautama taught. I have come to realize that the only reason why people like Gautama, Lao Tzu and Mahavira are not widely known today is because of colonial and neocolonial might that has convinced itself that its own modernity is “the end of history” and convinced the rest of the world that westernization and modernization are one and the same.

That is why Obama quotes Kant and not Mahavira, why Deng Xiaoping quotes Karl Marx and not Gautama, and why people in the larger world only know about Kama Sutra not Arthashastra. I have read philosophers like Aristotle, Kant, Hegel and Marx, though of course not thoroughly. But I have also not read the Buddha’s teachings thoroughly. Still, I’ve so far not found any insight into so-called reality that these western writers have said that the Buddha has not said, and I’ve found so much that the Buddha said that those writers have not even begun to say.

It's one thing for traditions to die out if they are archaic, useless, or harmful like female infanticide, genital mutilation or forced enslavement. But the degeneration of genuine wisdom traditions into nothing more than objects of anthropological interest is a grave and even dangerous loss to humanity.

So I ask those who share my concern and aspiration to join me in this or a similar resolution. May this year bring you wakefulness and cheerfulness. And in doing so, may that bring us confidence and free us from panic and anxiety.

— Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse

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qqueenofhades · 2 years ago

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I kinda don’t get how so many people are so blatantly wrong about how our government works. I also went to American public school which yes is not the best quality of education in the slightest but I feel like there comes a time when you become an adult that you need to do your own work to understand how the government actually works and what Biden can do and what he can’t. The amount of people genuinely livid at him for not doing anything about abortion is just…. how are these people so ignorant? And this is usually the online leftists who brag about reading Marx so I wonder why they haven’t cracked open a book to read about the actual system we have. Not the fantasy one that exists in their idealist utopias, the one we actually have to work with.

You and me both, friend. You. And. Me. Both. Yes, the American public education system isn't great, but a) it generally covers at least SOME introduction to history, social studies, and civics, b) at some point you have gotta take responsibility for filling in the gaps, and c) if you're going to spend all your time positioning yourself as the Ultimate Authority, just spewing bullshit isn't actually a strategy.

As I have likewise said during my many, many posts on the subject: what many Online Leftists want is a left-wing Trump. Aka, someone who just bullies ahead on magically imposing their own way of doing things without consulting anyone else and completely ignoring the rules (Which, by the way, doesn't actually work!) Except America is a (deeply flawed) constitutional republic, not an absolutist monarchy, and it would be terrible for any number of reasons if it was. Plenty of people have decided that what they want is the moral gratification of acting like they're doing something about The Issues, and that they know better than absolutely everybody else (including those who have dedicated their whole lives to working for that change), but that isn't actually doing something. In fact, it is actively and destructively useless, but you gotta get those social media cred points?

(Also, I suspect that they haven't actually read Marx, just the excerpted parts that people post on Twitter, because that's the only way they seem to learn anything. Even if they have, they certainly have never once considered how that philosophy has been actually historically applied and embodied, the legacy of 20th-century old-school communism, and why anybody today might be leery of using those terms, for any number of reasons. So yeah.)

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts

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fattybattysblog · 9 months ago

Text

Friend, Please (Chapter 8)

Fandom: Kirby/Kirby Right Back At Ya!

Gen | Teen

Characters: Meta Knight, Dark Meta Knight, Velka | Arcta Knight (OC)

Summary: They should be used to desperate people making horrible decisions by now, but somehow it always goes too far before anyone does anything about it. A person fell prey to the empty promises of dark, powerful hearts to become Arcta Knight. As they make their mark on Dreamland, Meta Knight grows anxious about the encroaching danger and leaves suddenly to prepare for a duel like no other.

AO3 | SqWA | Quotev

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Swordfighting, Original Villain Character, Gijinka Kirby Characters

@ocappreciationtag

(Cover art done by Dean, edited together by me)

The Enemy

The group hurried into the mess of the throne room, gathering around the throne as Meta Knight sat and pressed the buttons to summon the screen from the floor. He drummed his fingers on the opposite armrest as he waited for the machinery to stop whirring and moving.

A few presses later brought the screen to life. It was a messy spattering of static, a loud hiss escaping the speakers as the flickering lights filled the screen. Meta frowned, flipping the channels until something interrupted the static. The group held their breath. The new images on screen causing them some pause and concern.

The screen had a title card on it. Static and still. A ring of stars with a set of ominous hands cradling the bottom of it. The banner read a very simple message.

“Stay Tuned, We’ll be right Back”

Lining the ring of stars was a repeating string of text.

“— Nightmare Enterprises — NME —“

“All of our other signals are jammed… this one must be for that satellite Dedede mentioned.” Meta Knight mused aloud so the other’s had insight into his thought process. Magolor gave a look of concern, his ear flicking as he turned his gaze aside. Meta attempted to search for any other clear channels, but the screen wouldn’t change, remaining on the title card no matter what. The channel number increased and the screen remained.

“We only got static on Lor. I haven’t seen this.” Magolor shook his head.

Meta nodded absently, trying the other buttons now. Volume? Nothing. Menu? Nothing. Call? Nothing. Everything he tried led nowhere. He couldn’t even get it to turn off.

“Great, well now it’s broken.” Dark huffed. He grimaced and folded his arms, but his levity went unheard. A slight tension pricked at the trio. Marx danced off on his own nearby, unfazed by the ordeal. Finally, the screen flickered and the title card dropped. A face familiar to Meta took over, glasses glinting as he looked down at them, aware of their presence. Dark and Magolor stiffened, looking to Meta for direction.

“Well, well! I’m surprised to see your friendly face.” The salesman chimed as charismatic as ever.

“I’m surprised you never checked in on your best customer.” Meta Knight said. He used the word “best” loosely. If anything, NME was probably awaiting a loan payment from the king. All the more reason to reach out to them. He wasn’t forgetting their refusal to answer them earlier before the evacuation.

“Speaking of, where is triple D?” He mimed looking through and around the edges of the screen. Meta narrowed his eyes.

“… out. How are you bypassing the signal interference?”

“How? Well, we’ll call that a trade secret.”

Magolor squinted as well and tapped Meta’s shoulder before leaving the throne room. He had a plan and Meta understood what he needed from him. The salesman watched as Magolor wandered off, cocking a brow over his glasses.

“Trade secret? What the hell are you talking about?” Dark gestured to the screen, “who is this dork?”

“Just a humble salesman,” he answered, a saccharin grin stretching across his lips, “you got quite the company, MK, what’s the occasion?”

Meta hesitated to answer truthfully. He was never one to trust NME to begin with, and this situation was too suspicious for him to divulge too much information to the salesman.

"Hmph, living under a rock, huh?" Dark interjected, his tone crass and impatient.

"Dark," Meta shot him a stern look, then turned back to the screen, clearing his throat. He knew he needed to provide some explanation to keep the conversation going, especially since Magolor needed the line open. "Popstar was attacked," he began cautiously. "They're here as reinforcements. You’re the only active signal right now, do you happen to know anything about someone called Arcta Knight?"

"Arcta Knight? Hm, that's not a name I'm familiar with," the salesman replied, his tone casual yet calculating. "Odd that you yourself wouldn't know of this Knight. I'd assume you know all Star Warriors." He shrugged, offering an insincere sympathetic grin. Meta tensed, his grip on the armrest of the throne tightening at the salesman's words.

"She's not a legitimate Star Warrior. She doesn't deserve the title of 'Knight,'" Meta growled, his voice low and controlled as he fought to maintain his composure. "But she's stronger than anticipated, and we need all the information we can get."

"Maybe a description will jog my memory," the salesman suggested, leaning back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed intently on Meta Knight.

"Perhaps," Meta replied, his voice clipped. "She wore a harlequin mask with diamonds painted on it. Gold armor, a pale cape. White feather wings and violet eyes. Adept at ice magic." He described Arcta Knight as best he could, his expression grim as he recalled their encounters. A sting in his torso reminded him of her strange demeanor.

The salesman hummed in thought, tapping his chin and rolling his head from one side to the other, drawing out the tension with his deliberate movements. He took his sweet time considering Meta Knight's description, his gaze calculating as he weighed his next words carefully.

"That does sound familiar!" the salesman chimed in, his tone dripping with false enthusiasm. "You're a lucky bunch! You'll be our first esteemed customers to witness the might of our brand new monster. It called itself Arcta Knight, but it'll be in our catalog under AKU-V. Good luck! We have full faith that our product is unmatched."

"What!?" Meta Knight exclaimed, his voice sharp with disbelief. Dark stiffened as well, a rare severity in his widening eyes.

"Yes," the salesman continued smoothly, ignoring Meta Knight's reaction. "NME has decided to end King Dedede's account for good. Congratulations, MK. With any luck, we'll finally be rid of Kirby."

The salesman waved them off with a poisonous smile and the screen went black.

-----

The static reclaimed the screen, casting the throne room in an eerie glow of flickering lights, leaving Dark and Meta frozen in shock. Marx's cackles echoed behind them, amused by their stunned reactions. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his side, Meta rose from the throne, absently wrapping his cape tighter around him.

"This is a bigger issue than... How does it keep getting worse?" Meta's voice was tight with concern, his brows furrowed in frustration. "NME is in league with Arcta Knight."

The gravity of the situation hung heavy in the air, a sense of foreboding settling over the group as they grappled with the revelation.

“What happened? I lost the connection," Magolor said, his voice breaking the tense silence as he entered the throne room. Meta wasted no time in recounting the events, his explanation laden with urgency. Magolor's expression shifted from curiosity to shock, his mouth falling agape and his ears flattening against his head in disbelief.

“NME created Arcta Knight?" he gasped, the weight of the revelation sinking in.

“Cahoots! The Knight and Nightmare are in Cahoots!” Marx's voice rang out from across the room, his tone a mixture of disbelief and indignation.

“That... explains the communication issues a little," Magolor muttered, his expression grim as he adjusted his hood. "I managed to connect to NME's signal, but it's the only active one in this solar system. I think they're the ones jamming all other signals. I couldn't verify that, though." The realization dawned on them with chilling clarity, each word spoken adding to the gravity of their situation.

“This is just great…” Dark grumbled, his voice heavy with frustration. He kept his gaze averted from the group, turning his back to them and bristling with agitation, “well, we can’t sit here forever. Are we going to do something about it or what?”

“Right. We need a plan.” Meta Knight replied, decisive and resolute. Their adversary wasn't the only one with allies, and Meta knew they needed to mobilize quickly. Though a part of him wanted to shield others from the danger, he understood that swift action was necessary to end the threat.

“First things first. We need to check on the Halberd. I want to ensure everyone there is safe. Kirby can handle a lot, but this is beyond his capabilities right now. Dark and I need to find NME. I'm sure Arcta will follow us wherever we go. That is, assuming she hasn't set her own priorities straight."

“We'll conduct a search for them while we're taking you where you need to go. Lor can take all the Cappies to my dimension where they should be safe," Magolor offered, his voice steady as he outlined the plan. "Marx, I think you should stay on the Halberd to teach Kirby a thing or two so he can join Meta Knight and Dark Meta Knight."

“What about the king? He could train Kirby," Dark interjected, with a hint of skepticism.

“He could, but I don't know if he can set his hostility aside for long enough to do that," Magolor replied, his brow furrowing with concern.

“I'm sure Dedede can do it. He can be a decent leader when he tries," Meta Knight sighed, though doubt lingered in his voice as he considered their options. He had little faith in Marx’s ability to mentor… well anyone. But putting an extra fighter on the Halberd would be better for their defenses. “I think Marx remaining on the Halberd is best. It’s best to keep him in this dimension should we need a Nova.”

“Nova? Galactic Nova. The wishing star, the fabulous comet grants milky way wishes.” Marx began to sing with childlike enthusiasm as he balanced precariously on his colorful ball, swaying joyfully. Meta Knight's expression tightened at the mention of Nova. He should have known that bringing up such a powerful entity could complicate matters further.

“I’ll get him calmed down, trust me, he can help us.” Magolor assured as he moved swiftly to gather Marx and gently guide him back to reality. Despite his determination and assurance, Magolor's ears betrayed his concern, twitching with unease as he worked to settle Marx down.

Meta Knight released a heavy breath, the weight of their plan bearing down on him. With a wince, he sank into the throne, pulling tightly on his cape as if seeking solace in its familiar embrace. The ache of his bandaged wound throbbed beneath his touch, a painful reminder of the task ahead. His gaze drifted upward, fixating on the ornate ceilings of the castle.

This plan could work. It had to. He clenched his jaw against the discomfort, allowing the pain to pulse through his torso. It was a stark reminder of the urgency of their mission. Her actions remained a puzzle, their motives shrouded in mystery. But Meta Knight knew that unraveling the why was a luxury they couldn't afford. All that mattered was the end goal: she needed to be eliminated.

(Previous Chapter) | (Next Chapter)

#battyfics #fanfic #oc #original character #kirby fanfic #kirby #tw blood #tw death #fanfiction #ocappreciation #kirby right back at ya #ao3

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cindereleanor · 2 years ago

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I saw @serenity-the-firefly do this “nine books I want to read this year” tag and decided to join in (so thank you for the inspiration Lucy!☺️) - I’ve been getting into reading more recently and this seems like a great way of reminding myself to pick up those books I just keep meaning to get to…

1. Carrying the Fire, by Michael Collins (I borrowed this from my dad to read literally years ago oops, I think I’ve put it off because I’m not generally a fan of memoir-type stuff, but I’m absolutely fascinated by the story so really want to enjoy this!)

2. The Whole Picture, by Alice Proctor

3. Marx for Beginners, by Rius (lmao this is another long-term loan from my dad… he keeps encouraging me to read some political theory whenever we get into debates (not that our politics are really divided or anything, he just thinks it’s good to have some of the context behind stuff, and I agree!) , but even this literal “beginner’s guide” apparently intimidates me oops)

4. Gideon the Ninth, by Tamsin Muir

5. Woman on the Edge of Time, by Marge Piercy (4 and 5 are both kind of cheats in that I’ve read a good chunk of each of them during the past year - loved them both so far, but just didn’t have the time to properly sink my teeth into either quite dense book at those points? I think with both it would be best to just start fresh from the beginning now!)

6. The Left Hand of Darkness, by Ursula K Le Guin

7. The Winter of the Witch, by Katherine Arden

8. Only Human, by Sylvain Neuvel

9. A Closed and Common Orbit, by Becky Chambers (yes those last three are all sequels to books I loved, which somehow I still haven’t gotten round to reading, what about it?😅)

I’m not tagging anyone specifically (I have no idea which of you would want to do this kind of thing!) but PLEASE join in if you feel like it!💕

#tag game #(sorta)#books #reading #nine books one year #nine books one year 2023

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magolandandfriends · 1 year ago

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Hello Magolor and friends, I have been watching your tale play out for a while and its interesting to me. I also brought a gift *place four bags of popeye's chicken in front of them* Its four chicken tender family meals making it 64 pieces of chicken twenty biscuits 20 sauces and 8 sides. I didn't know what you may want so I got 4 sides of fries, 2 sides of mashed potatoes and 2 sides of mac and cheese. Oh right and before I forget I had two questions. First, Magolor are you feeling any side effects from your little heatstroke incident. Second, I saw that Zan Partizanne and Susie are a couple so I was wondering if anyone else among the four of you (sans susie given my earlier point) or other people you know are in relationships. - The Wanderer, Guardian of Omndell

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

[ They’re all happy. Very happy. Certified :D moment. ]

Magolor: No I haven’t been feeling any kind of side effects! It’s been a month since I fainted I’m doing perfectly fine! No need to worry!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

[QUESTION 2 ANSWERED VV]

Susie: That’s oddly specific-

Taranza: Trust me if I knew why I would tell you but- also don’t tell Marx I told you this I’ll never hear the end of it

Susie: oh don’t worry I won’t. I’ll just use this information to mess with him

Wanderer belongs to: @the-omndell-chronicles !!

(…. It’s been. Almost a month. Since I answered an ask. And it’s been. Almost 3 months. Since I’ve gotten this ask. Um. So how y’all doing)

(Anyways HOLY FUCJING SHIT ITS BEEN ALMOST A MONTH SINCE I FED YOU GUYS WITH MY ASKS IM SO DAMN SORRY- like I said before- college started, i had to wait for my new iPad to arrive, I have to do actual assignments now and I’ve been B U S Y, and this ask wAS SUPER LONG- I had to restart it twice because I wasn’t happy with how it was turning out)

(BUT WOWWWWWIE THIS ONE WAS A FUN ONE. EVEN THOUGH I RESTARTED THE SCRIPT DURING THE WORKINF PROGRESSES THIS ONE WAS A FUN ONE AND I ENJOYED IT. I NEED TO PROPERLY PREPARE MYSELF FOR THESW LONG ASKS-)

(AND DAILY REMINDER ESPECIALLY WITH LIFE STARTINF TO GET MORE BUSY FOR ME. YOURE ASKS ARENT BEING IGNORED. NOT ONLY AM I LETTING A WHEEL PICK FOR ME BUT IM SUPER BUSY NOW. This time I’m going to focus on the asks from July before I go back to the wheel BUT hopefully now that this big one is finished they’ll come out quickly- I’ll try to get 1-2 out by the weekends but if not then please forgive me)

(And to those that read my tags on posts that were marx and Magolor focused- where I get extra silly. Yes this is technically a part where it starts to pick up but it’s more of a prologue if anything so do with that what you will)

(Ok anything else I wanna say- oh yes- Magolor isn’t lying he hasn’t been experiencing any side effects that were linked to the fainting incident. But his friends are keeping and extra close eye on him when the weather is hotter than usual. Man I hope something like that doesn’t happen again that would be cra-)

(OKOK ONE LAST BIT IF IMPORTANT INFO- I normally draw characters from the magoverse for silly and fun but this time I tried to draw this askers OC wanderer for fun- I tried goikg based off the text post that was on their profile but if I messed anything up then I DEEPLY apologize- I’ll try to make fixes if I don’t forget-)

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grandhotelabyss · 2 years ago

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Haven’t read it in full since I was a teen. Passages still linger, from both poem—

Now I shall speak of evil as none has Spoken before. I loathe such things as jazz; The white-hosed moron torturing a black Bull, rayed with red; abstractist bric-a-brac; Primitivist folk-masks; progressive schools; Music in supermarkets; swimming pools; Brutes, bores, class-conscious Philistines, Freud, Marx, Fake thinkers, puffed-up poets, frauds and sharks.

—and prose—

“Speaking of novels,” I said, “you remember we decided once, you, your husband and I, that Proust’s rough masterpiece was a huge, ghoulish fairy tale, an asparagus dream, totally unconnected with any possible people in any historical France, a sexual travestissement and a colossal farce, the vocabulary of genius and its poetry, but no more, impossibly rude hostesses, please let me speak, and even ruder guests, mechanical Dostoevskian rows and Tolstoian nuances of snobbishness repeated and expanded to an unsufferable length, adorable seascapes, melting avenues, no, do not interrupt me, light and shade effects rivaling those of the greatest English poets, a flora of metaphors, described—by Cocteau, I think—as ‘a mirage of suspended gardens,’ and, I have not yet finished, an absurd, rubber-and-wire romance between a blond young blackguard (the fictitious Marcel), and an improbable jeune fille who has a pasted-on bosom, Vronski’s (and Lyovin’s) thick neck, and a cupid’s buttocks for cheeks; but—and now let me finish sweetly—we were wrong, Sybil, we were wrong in denying our little beau ténébreux the capacity of evoking ‘human interest’: it is there, it is there—maybe a rather eighteenth-centuryish, or even seventeenth-centuryish, brand, but it is there. Please, dip or redip, spider, into this book [offering it], you will find a pretty marker in it bought in France, I want John to keep it. Au revoir, Sybil, I must go now. I think my telephone is ringing.”

—but I couldn’t say anything more profound about it just now. I do love the world it creates. I don’t love the way its gamesmanship attracts dubious fan theories even from experts (when I was reading it as a teen I also read Boyd’s book about the ghosts of John and Hazel helping Kinbote to compose). Probably best to focus on the beauty and the pathos:

And still Old Pan would call from every painted hill, And still the demons of our pity spoke: No lips would share the lipstick of her smoke....

But then I like a lot of writers our chessmaster and lepidopterist did not: Dostoevsky, Mann, Faulkner. Thanks for the question!

#vladimir nabokov #literature #literary criticism #poetry #postmodern literature

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elodieunderglass · 11 months ago

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Hey looking at the notes there’s a lot more “oh, I’ve been beating myself up over my materialistic impulses, maybe it’s … okay …? to own shoes?” responses than I like to see in you guys, whom I like! Boring long rant under the cut (sorry guys it’s what tumblr is for I guess)

Let’s get it out of the way first; a lot of it is about money, and most people on tumblr have none. There. Done. Moving on.

if you’re a person at the stage of lifestyle where you’re considering whether you deserve things like “a mattress that doesn’t disable you”, you, a material being in the material world, are officially given permission to exist, you, yes, you! you … a material creature with material needs that are at least as valid as a zoo animal or pet. Are we clear on the difference between existing in material space vs. being materialistic? One is a physical condition imposed by having a body; the other is the idea that money and possessions matter more than anything else.

That isn’t being politically bourgeois. Even Marx allows for people to have toothbrushes and “private sufficiency.” Even Catholics own mattresses. Plenty of flawed, problematic, broke humans purchase mattresses every day; witness the continued existence of mattress shops.

Please bear in mind that the little voices criticising you on this are not just your parents; they’re often weird little social media fleas. They’re quite specific to certain social media biomes and definitely not universal. If you post (idk) an expensive pet horse or a fancy coffee machine on some circles of instagram you’ll likely get responses about how nice it is!! but if you imply on some circles of tumblr that you get caffeine in any way except for miserably spooning instant coffee granules into your mouth on the floor of a public bathroom while berating yourself for your carbon footprint, you’ll be reminded that “it must be nice to have MONEY! SOME of us would be grateful for instant coffee and self-hatred in a public bathroom!” Which does, indeed, as intended, make you feel bad. Now ask: What else does it do? What will you mend with that thread?

Please be aware that these fleas are restricted to specific highly sheltered biomes; and most people on Earth, including the truly poor and impoverished ones, would prefer you to pull yourself together and just drink your coffee from a mug. Okay? Because a) it is not doing much meaningfully to improve the material conditions of the people who have less money than you, b) it’s a bit insulting tbh to people who have less money than you that the best activism you can do is “feeling wretched on their behalf”, c) it’s not a great use of your imagination and resources, d) you are taking an interpretation of political economic theory very personally, and worse, you are allowing this influence on your actual living life from people who haven’t even read Marx; e) it’s a very immature view of the world that “suffering is activism, somehow” so in addition to being ill-read, your fleas are naive, if not malicious; f) there is no level of self-abnegation you can drop to that will please the fleas, and no reward for going lower. It isn’t like speedrunning a game or something, where you get the appreciation of an audience if you finally clip through the floor. The fleas will just say, “while you’re at it, it’s awfully bourgeois of you to have a floor. Star-nosed moles don’t have any.” Okay! These are absurd conversations to have, actually! You do not have to do a whole circus to appease fleas. Performing a pantomime of your empty wallet and sad clownface, to solicit the forgiveness of an audience who apparently hate you so much that they wish you were under the floor, is a foolish use of time.

(If you find yourself engaging in flea behaviour, “yeah Greer/Elodie it would be NICE to have a couch but SOME people have only three traumas in a shopping bag!” That’s pretty normal, and doesn’t make you a bad person! I do it myself. I have never had any bloody money at all, and I get mad about it often. One immediate problem with doing this, though, is that someone will instantly tell you that they would be grateful to even have a shopping bag. The conversation does not move forward; and inevitably, if/when you get your own couch equivalent, and express a little pride in it (look how far you’ve come from just having three traumas in a shopping bag!) it will happen to you too (must be nice to totally lose sight of people who don’t even have shopping bags!) and it will be very unclear how anyone’s soul progressed from the discourse. Oppression Olympics, being circular, has no winners and no prizes.)

Next please consider that in the general context of the planet, it’s considered reasonably respectable to have a material existence, and there is a vast gulf between “having a decent couch” and “owning a megayacht,” this gulf being literal orders of magnitude of difference in resource and justice. I, politically, feel the good Earth has resource for many people to own a piece of respectable furniture, even if the good Earth does not have resource for billionaires. Surely the world we are seeking to build is something like the William Morris vision, of everyone surrounded by comfort and beauty and art; small plain humble handmade things, but made well, for everyone. Surely that’s preferential to everyone gnawing coffee grounds on the floor together. Surely the healed world we’re aiming at has room for decent couches for everybody who needs one, right? The equity we’re aiming for is everyone having access to a dignified life, often this including a couch - not having everybody on the floor.

Next, I have noticed that while the actually wealthy can do whatever the hell they like, ordinary accessible people are only forgiven for having ✨luxuries✨if we can write a grant proposal justifying them. People like us may own a gaming console; disabled people are allowed the use of cleaning agencies; people are allowed to own cars if they need them to live. Nobody can reasonably criticise the purchase of a $5,000 prosthetic leg or a £2,000 vet bill to save a pet’s life - they’re aware that they sound malicious and deranged if they do this - but they certainly feel comfortable criticising strangers on the internet for an expensive mattress that allows people to sleep without pain; expensive shoes that allow someone to walk; a mobility aid that helps someone go just a little further; a decent couch; a pet of their own, even if they aren’t wealthy; a child, even though kids are expensive; elective healthcare; a steady table and a room of one’s own -

. Do you see here how it becomes quite problematic, assigning “luxury” status to things that are to be used every day, and deciding who gets to have them, based on whether the person is easy to punch? Reflections to be had, here, on what is luxury, who is allowed to have it; why is nobody like you allowed to have what you don’t have? By what parasocial means do we decide who is allowed to have what? why do people have more energy to criticise people-like-them for finally getting a good couch, but never have any energy to say a single word about Taylor Swift’s frivolous private jet usage? What I’m driving at is how it’s usually people in the same general income bracket (the Poors) criticising each other. Who does this help? If it truly helps for (personal finance/consideration for others/mindfulness/spending habits/the environment/you to feel better) then why is this necessary and effective weapon so rarely aimed at the powerful? Commentaries on materialism are usually quite clear that they are specifically criticising materialism, excessiveness, wastefulness, consumption. How does that get transmuted in our heads to “us personally not deserving usable forks”? Much energy is wasted here, gnawing our paws bare and savaging our poor siblings, while the hand that withholds our food never gets bitten.

On that note: people, fleas and inner critics will allow the purchase of expensive hiking boots for someone who can explain that they hike a lot. I submit the ultimate solution. Purchase expensive hiking boots because you need them to walk across the top part of Spain. This is the assignment I have given you. The trails are safe, accessible, and punctuated with regular snacks; the fellowship diverse and incomparable; the pilgrim hostels can be as cheap as $7 a night; wine is $3 a glass; you can eat communal meals with fellow pilgrims, or save even more by cooking up porridge oats. I am talking about the Camino de Santiago, the famous Way, the great Christian pilgrimage, which even today convicted people in Spain may walk to receive a pardon. It doesn’t matter your faith or lack thereof; if you quest in “an attitude of search” and stamp your pilgrim passport showing you have done the minimum miles, finishing in the great glowing city of Santiago, you will receive the campostela that counts as official absolution. That’s it, the official pardon, the written intercession with God. A pilgrim by the nature of pilgrimage has sought absolution and received it. That’s what pilgrimages are! Yes, even you.

And nobody denies the importance of good hiking boots on the Way. Pilgrimages are supposed to challenge - the Camino is a spiritual hike, and with perfect serendipity and geography it nourishes you with beauty and physical exertion in the great Pyrenees mountains before throwing you brutally to confront your own soul as you march the empty plains of Spain with your own self for company - but the point is, you do them on purpose, and at the end of it, you’re forgiven. While you are doing it, you cost just a bit more money to exist than the medieval pilgrims, and burn hardly any carbon at all.

Materialism is defined as “a tendency to consider material possessions and physical comfort as more important than spiritual values.” When you are battling your fleas of materialism, are you doing it to clear room for your spiritual life? What are you putting in your empty austere inner life? It just feels like if you’re being anti-materialistic for the (very good reason) of focusing on Higher Values, then equal processing time should be spent on the More Important Values, right?

I just thought if we were being Catholic, we might as well get the benefits as well as the suffering. You know? We should also claim the way of pilgrimage, the great journey of attention and intention, at the end of which your slate is summarily wiped clean by God Themselves. You get a certificate with Latin on it, to show everyone. You get a good grade in Pilgrimage. Why not focus on that theological concept for a change: the Way of absolution. A big homework you can do. A literal modern quest with your own forgiven self at the end of it. There’s the spiritual reverse of the materialism-battling coin. If you’re going to torment yourself with spiritual guilt, just go whole hog and work for the spiritual absolution too.

I'm turning 30 this month, and for some reason have become suddenly interested in material possessions. like what if,,,,,,,,my couch was nice. what if my sheets were nice. is this what happens to you??

#I don’t expect anyone to read this but I liked the journey #the pilgrimage if you will #I guess part of what I’m getting here is that virtuous austerity and frugality and criticism #and continually pointing out one’s relative poverty and the existence of poverty #is only half the battle of anti-materialism anyway #the other half being that you’re supposed to be upholding some deeper reflections or higher values or spiritual life or something #it isn’t just pointing out how everyone is failing at hermitage and poverty #you would be rubbish medieval monk if that was your job #NOBODY HERE IS DOING A PERFECT JOB #BROTHER BRADFAEL HAD HONEY!! honey!!!#like yes well done but are you spending equal or greater time in prayer or whatever #helping others perhaps???

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