#Collect them all to become Mr. Collector!

[narratingvoice]

My sincerest apologies for the radio silence from this blog recently. I know, it's very out of character for me. The thing is, I've been in a bit of a pickle over the past few months. The fiscal year for 2023 didn't end nearly as profitably as I projected, not even with the hype and celebration surrounding

THE TENTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE STANLEY PARABLE (2013)!

Server maintenance isn't free, you know, and neither are infinite holes. And with Unity changing its pricing structure on top of it, well, I really needed to put the old noggin to work finding a way to squeeze every last dime out of my fans provide new and valuable pieces of entertainment that will be worth your money. And that's why I'm thrilled to announce my partnership with the fine folks at I Am 8bit to bring you: The Stanley Parable: Ultra Deluxe: Collector's Edition!

It's true! Yes, I know I did a fake announcement for something similar last year, but this one is for real! A physical product that you can purchase and have delivered to your home, and play on your Nintendo Switch or Playstation 5. And this package involves absolutely no changes to the game itself, which really takes a load off my back. Since I have no presence in the physical world, I have to trust that my collaborators will deliver the finest quality items. And trust them I do. Shall we take a look at all the wonderful bonuses you'll receive?

Stickers!

Just like the ones I slapped onto Stanley's bucket, now you too can slap these stickers on your own bucket. Or anything else that currently lacks stickers on it. You will not receive a bucket to stick them on. We floated that idea, but Mr. 8bit told me he'd rather not have to lug dozens of buckets down to the post office every day. You'd look like a right idiot doing that, I agree. So get your own bucket and enjoy the thrill of sticking!

Oh, and do be aware that whatever object you affix the "Property of Stanley" sticker to, does legally become Stanley's property, and he will demand you send it to him.

More surprises under the cut!

An instructional manual!

"But Narrator," I hear you saying, "didn't you just say you're not giving me a bucket? What do I need this for?" First of all, do not interrupt me when I'm giving a presentation. Second of all, this manual is for the bucket that's in the game. I've noticed many players do not seem to know how to operate the bucket, and treat it like it's a person rather than an inanimate container. With this instructional manual, I will give you a comprehensive guide as to what a bucket can do (such as: prevent water from spilling all over your trousers) and what it cannot do (such as: love you back). I have had some harrowing experiences in the field of instructional manual writing, but I think this one is some of my finest work yet.

A figurine!

Yes, our most requested piece of merchandise is finally here! The OFFICIAL Stanley Parable Ultra Deluxe Stanigurine stands 5 inches tall and is made of durable PVC. And as with the virtual Figustans, that's all there is to it. There's no articulation or any type of toy action. You don't get anything but the feeling of deep satisfaction at owning this collectible. The package only comes with one, so why not buy six copies if you really want to recreate the game in your home?

But wait, that's not all!

If you are an absolute Stanley Parable fanatic, you'll want to supplement your Collector's Edition with even more plastic tat commemorating your favourite game. And you definitely want to support me as much as possible, right? So you can also buy:

The button that says the name of the person playing the game!

For just $10, you too can have a button that says your name, presuming your name is Jim. The button will only say the name Jim and will never say any other name, no matter how often you press it. I found that a lot of players really got into the immersive experience of being Jim, so I decided to keep it that way instead of programming it to say a whole lot of names. Sorry, but there are too many different names in the world. You're Jim and you'll like it.

Vinyl albums!

When you buy the Collector's Edition, you'll get a free code to download the Official Soundtrack in MP3 format. But what if you don't like MP3? What if you're a bit more old-fashioned in your audiophile taste? Well, I've got you covered! With this 2-record set, you can listen to all the office ambience on your gramophone or turntable. Why, you could even DJ a set with it! If you do, please send me your mixtape and I'll give it an honest review. My music taste is impeccable.

An instructional audio cassette!

Yes, this is just a cassette telling you how to install and run a copy machine. Listen, I took some odd voiceover jobs here and there to pay the bills. And I figured, you lot are so ravenous to hear my voice that you'd even pay good money to hear me deliver some boring instructions. At least, that's the impression I get from the more saucy side of the fandom. So that's what you get. Do I do anything funny? You'll have to buy it and find out!

Hold on, Stanley is trying to tell me something. What do you mean, nobody has a cassette player any more? Why wouldn't they? It's the perfect compact audio format! It's got two sides, which is more than you can say for a CD, and it's a lot more portable than vinyl. Well I'm not shipping out cassette players. You can take it or leave it. No refunds.

#the stanley parable #tsp #ask blog #original #gotta be on that grind tbh #((im genuinely extremely excited about this))

[scotianostra]

29th March 1958 saw the death of Sir William Burrell.

In 1876 William entered the firm at the age of 15, and on his father’s death in 1885 he and his eldest brother George took over the management. the firm was already prospering, but under their shrewd direction it reached a position of international standing in worldwide tramping and in ship management.

Burrell was a collector from an early age, buying his first painting when aged only 15, but it was Glasgow’s industrial ascendancy that would allow him to continue financing his passion for art, and the added success of the firm his father founded.

Building and buying ships when world markets were weak, Burrell built up and sold two great ocean-going fleets, providing him with the wealth needed to search the world for art and antiquities. Even better, his global shipping contacts meant he knew where and when certain treasures were being auctioned.

Burrell was far from alone in this passion, and as his fellow Glasgow industrialists grew wealthy, they too invested in art – both ancient and modern – to show off to their friends. Where Burrell differed, however, was that he was no show-off.

He was a serious collector, with wide-ranging interests and passions. By 1900 he had become a respected collector in the fields of late Gothic and early Renaissance European art and late 19th century French art.

In 1901, Burrell was one of the largest donors of artworks to the Glasgow International Exhibition. This was an event which left an indelible mark on the city, with the opening that year of the much-loved Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. In 1927, Burrell was knighted for services to art and for his public work.

But Burrell was certainly no snob when it came to his collection. He was a believer in free education for all and wanted the people of his home city to be able to access his fine collection. It’s for this reason that, in 1944, he donated his entire collection to his home city – a collection that contained more than 9,000 items at the time.

Shortly afterwards, Hector Hetherington, then Principal of Glasgow University, famously said of Burrell’s collection that it was:

“One of the greatest gifts ever made to any city in the world”.

By the time of his death in 1958, Burrell had been collecting for 75 years - and what a collection it is. From Chinese and early Islamic ceramics to Late Gothic and Early Renaissance works of art from Northern Europe, including tapestries, stained glass, sculpture, arms and armour, architecture and furniture.

Burrell’s collection takes visitors on a tour of 6,000 years of world history, connecting them to the people who made the exquisite works and to the people who have owned them down the centuries; making exciting new connections through time and place.

At the time of his gift, Burrell had stipulated that any new gallery must be 16 miles from the city centre. This was partly because he believed that a rural setting would show the works to their best advantage, but also to place them far away from possible damage by atmospheric pollution caused by Clydeside's heavy industries and tenement chimneys. By the time of Burrell's death in 1958, a suitable site had still to be found.

That problem was solved in 1966, when Mrs Anne Maxwell Macdonald gifted her family’s 360-acre Pollok Estate to the City of Glasgow. Although a mere four miles from the city centre, it seemed the perfect location for the vast Burrell Collection.

That said, it took a further 17 years, and an international design competition, before architect Sir Barry Gasson’s £20m building opened to the public.

The combination of exceptional art and architecture set within one of Europe’s largest urban green spaces was an immediate success, described by The Glasgow Herald as ‘a magical mystery tour and an aesthetic event rolled into one’. The Burrell Collection has since been a key driver in Glasgow’s transformation from a place of post-industrial decline to one of the great cities of culture.

In October 2016 the building closed for a major £68.25 million refurbishment. The Burrell Collection reopened today, its greatly expanded spaces promise improved access, understanding and appreciation of one of the world’s most extraordinary personal collections.

#scotland #scottish #history #art collector #shipping magnate #businessman #philanthropist #glasgow

[sjsmith56]

How I Really Feel About You

Summary: Bucky’s writer girlfriend moves into the Tower with him. He questions her about her love for Jane Austen’s novels, specifically Pride and Prejudice. For the next movie night he insists they watch Bridget Jones’s Diary and Pride and Prejudice. His reaction and the reaction of the other Avengers surprises her. First person POV.

Length: 3.25K

Characters: Bucky, unnamed OFC, Sam Wilson, Yelena Belova, Kate Bishop

Warnings: Imagine Bucky walking across the field as Mr. Darcy (sigh), implied smut.

Author’s notes: I love Pride and Prejudice and while watching the movie again envisioned Bucky Barnes as Mr. Darcy. This is the result.

The movers were scheduled to arrive the following day and I still had so much to pack for my move to the Avengers Tower. After a year of dating when Bucky Barnes, current Avenger and my boyfriend, finally asked me to move in with him into a larger apartment, I said yes. He was everything I ever wanted in a man; just old-fashioned enough to treat me with courtesy and respect, but modern enough not to be threatened by my career that took me away every so often on research trips as I flew around the world, becoming familiar with places I would write about in my novels. Sometimes, he even came with me for a time, or met me there after finishing his own mission. There wasn’t much writing done during those times but his presence certainly added to the romance of those locations, which always made its way into my books.

Being drop dead gorgeous didn’t hurt either, as I still couldn’t believe this man with the body of a god and the face of an angel, had eyes only for me. I could spend a lot of time listing off my own perceived deficits, but Bucky didn’t want to hear them from anyone’s lips. In his eyes, I was perfect, beautiful even when I was on a tear while writing, had bloodshot eyes and stringy hair, while wearing my sweatpants that were a little too tight, so my muffin top was visible. Maybe it was part of his being a 1940s man, but he seemed to like a little padding on a woman’s body, and he certainly liked mine.

Right now, he was helping me finish packing for the move, something I had procrastinated about for several weeks as I finished a final draft of my latest novel before sending it to my editor for fine-tuning. He offered to pack my bookcases, filled with my eclectic and diverse collection of books, memorabilia, and knickknacks, doing a good job until he came to the last one.

“How many different versions and souvenirs of Pride and Prejudice do you need?” Bucky asked.

He was standing in front of what I called “The Shrine,” my collection of all things related to Jane Austen’s masterpiece. It included several different collector book editions; a hardcover one, in dark brown leather with gold gilded letters, a cloth bound edition in red with silver lettering, a special illustrated hardcover edition with protective sleeve and my paperback edition that I actually used to read whenever I felt the need to resume my acquaintance with my favourite title. There were DVDs of all the movie and television versions, including the special collector’s edition of the BBC/PBS series starring Colin Firth, and Jennifer Ehle. Then there were the literary texts about Pride and Prejudice, followed by the knickknacks, souvenirs, and the photo album with the photographs of the various actors that I always took with me to comic cons, premieres and any other occasion where I might run into one of said stars, in the hopes of getting their autographs. It was my obsession and until Bucky started packing the individual items into boxes, I don’t think he realized how much I loved the book, the series, and the movies that I couldn’t watch enough times.

“Says the man with a bookcase full of Hobbit and Lord of the Rings books and the DVDs,” I replied from the linen closet. “But I’m fine with that because I know you love them and they’re good books, good movies, and your Gandalf action figure is pretty cool.”

He appeared in the hallway, leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed. His face was so serious and for a moment I wondered if he was offended that I brought up his own obsession. From the floor I looked up at him.

“What?” I asked.

“How come you’ve never asked me to watch any of the movies?” he asked. “I know you’ve seen all of the Tolkien movies. Yet, you’ve always saved your Pride and Prejudice movies for girls’ night. Is there something I should know? Are they like Bridgerton and you watch them for the sex scenes?”

“No, there are no sex scenes in Pride and Prejudice although I’m sure there is a porn version somewhere if I Google it.” I shuddered. “I would hate to think what they would do with it. Have you never read it?”

His eyes rolled. “Of course, I’ve read it, well some of it,” he clarified. “What’s the big deal?”

“What do you know about Jane Austen and the times in which she wrote?” I countered.

“Not much,” he admitted. “Enlighten me.”

I stood up as this required my full attention. “She was born in 1775, one of eight children of a clergyman,” I replied, knowing the famous author’s background well. “Well educated, she was also born into a social structure that saw a woman of her status as suitable only to be the wife of a gentleman, and mother of his children. Most marriages of the time were arranged, although her parents were a love match, and a woman was considered the property of her husband. The only women who worked for a living were in the working class. If a higher-class woman had to work because of circumstances it was seen as a drop in her social status, as governess was likely one of the few suitable jobs for her. Jane Austen began writing as a child but by the time she wrote her first published novel in 1811 it is known she had been engaged once but changed her mind and never seemed to be involved with anyone after. It doesn’t mean she wasn’t; it just was never made public. Yet her stories of life for a woman in her social sphere gave a real insight into the pressure women had to marry well, and not necessarily marry for love. Most of her heroines did just the opposite, marrying for love.”

“She didn’t write about sex at all?” asked Bucky, puzzled.

“She didn’t have to,” I explained. “It’s referred to in very genteel terms. A character in Pride and Prejudice runs off with a man who has no intention of marrying her, and although it’s not said that they did the deed, they refer to her ruination, and how that will affect the marriage chances of her sisters. In another novel, there is a reference to a teenage girl who runs off with a man, is discarded by him, and finds herself pregnant after. Because he’s a gentleman, and of a higher status than her, his standing is considered more important than hers. She’s the guilty party even though he sweet talked her into bedding with him.”

“I would have kicked his ass,” said Bucky, his face set in stone. “Talking a young woman into sex then leaving her behind with his child. Too many guys like that even in my time.”

Running my arms around his muscular middle I squeezed him hard until his face softened and he kissed me. He was my knight in shining armour with his still strong belief in how men should treat women.

“There were plenty that would but rich, handsome men of a certain status in those days often took advantage of sweet young girls that they saw as objects to satisfy their desires,” I replied. “It’s a universal truth even now, and Jane Austen was well aware of it. That’s why there have been so many versions of it in both books and movies.”

“How many books did she write?”

“Six major novels, all of them adapted into movies or TV series. There are many shorter novels, I don’t quite remember the number and one of them called Lady Susan was turned into a hilarious movie called Love and Friendship.” I placed my hand on his cheek. “Would you do me a favour and read Pride and Prejudice all the way through? Then, when I’m moved in with you, we’ll watch the most recent movie together. It’s a good adaptation, although it cuts out a lot, but it brings some aspects to the story that I like, and we can talk about the differences. Then someday, maybe on a rainy day, when I’m not writing, and you’re not on a mission we can binge watch the BBC series. It is the definitive version and delves so well into the characters. It’s what made me fall in love with Jane Austen’s writing, and certainly pointed me in the direction of writing as a career.”

That beautiful smile of Bucky’s broke out and he tilted his head at my admission. Ever since we met, and he found out I was a writer, he had often shared his admiration of those who lived by the creation of the written word. Of course, his favourite author was J.R.R. Tolkien, but he was also open to many others, and we often spent time on the couch reading together. One of us would be on their back with their feet or head on the lap of the other; it was interchangeable who was where. It was one of the many things I loved about James Buchanan Barnes, that he considered reading an important part of his life.

A week later, I was completely moved into the large apartment in the Avengers Tower. We had three bedrooms, one for us with our own ensuite, one for guests, as my family liked to visit New York at least once a year, and one to use as my writing office. We had a large living / dining area with a kitchen, although we took most of our meals in the communal kitchen with the other Avengers, some with spouses and significant others. Sam had just made a big pot of jambalaya, and everyone was crowded around with a bowl, eager to get some of the culinary treat.

“So, movie night tonight?” asked Kate Bishop as she walked away with her full bowl. “I’m feeling like we need some action movies.”

“Pride and Prejudice,” stated Bucky. “I want to watch it and then watch Bridget Jones’s Diary.”

Sam nearly spit out his drink and I threw a kitchen towel at him. He grinned at Bucky, ready to unleash his wit on him.

“You want to watch some chick flicks? The human cyborg, former Terminator, the Tin Man wants to watch a couple of romance movies?”

“Asks the man who hasn’t had a girlfriend in how long? Maybe you’ll learn something.”

Bucky didn’t even look at Sam when he said it. But you know when two guys are sizing each other up in the school yard and they begin with low level insults then one says something that the other can’t respond to? We were at that point. If Sam’s skin was lighter toned, I’m sure he would have been blushing. Everyone watched the two of them to see what would be said next. Bucky looked Sam in the eye, almost daring him to say something.

“Alright, White Panther, we’ll watch them,” said Sam. “I’m sure they will both be very informative on how to get a girlfriend. The bigger deal is how to keep one.”

Bucky put his arm around me and with a shit-eating grin looked at Sam. “I seem to be managing quite well in that department as well. Don’t I, Darling?”

I grinned at Sam then gave Bucky a long kiss. “You’re a wonderful boyfriend. Why don’t we watch the Bridget Jones movie first then watch the source material second.” I looked at all the others. “Everyone has to watch both movies. If I have to watch all of the Fast and Furious movies, you can watch two versions of Pride and Prejudice.”

I have to admit that I wasn’t expecting everyone to laugh so much at the Bridget Jones version. They especially seemed to enjoy the fight scene between Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver, hilariously critiquing the fighting styles. By the time the movie ended even Sam admitted he had been mildly entertained.

“Take it,” whispered Bucky. “It’s likely all he’ll admit to.”

“What about you?” I asked, quietly. “What did you think?”

“I gained some insights into modern dating that I could have used before I met you,” he said, as he gazed into my eyes. “Maybe I wouldn’t have floundered so much. The double standards certainly haven’t changed from the 1940s.”

We kissed as Kate brought up Pride and Prejudice in the TV menu, noting there was a movie version and a series version. As she looked at the series information, she recognized Colin Firth from the Bridget Jones movie.

“Wait, he played Mr. Darcy in two different versions of the story?” she asked. “Maybe we should watch the series.”

“That’s a whole rainy day of watching that you would have to commit to,” I stated. “It’s more faithful to the original book and it’s best viewed with others who want to watch it with you. The movie is a good adaptation and there is a scene near the end that should take your breath away. If it doesn’t then perhaps Jane Austen isn’t for you.”

“Who’s Jane Austen?” she asked.

“The woman who wrote the original book in 1813,” interjected Bucky. “You should read it.”

I wanted to kiss him again for that. With a shrug she queued up the start of the movie and everyone went to the bathroom, refilled their drinks, and restocked their popcorn and candy. Then Kate started the movie and I let myself become immersed in it.

“He’s hot,” I could hear someone whisper, when Matthew MacFadyen first appeared as Mr. Darcy.

“Isn’t she on Yellowstone?” Someone else asked that when Kelly Reilly appeared as Caroline Bingley.

“Shhh,” was the answer and I inwardly grinned.

When Mr. Collins arrived, there were groans at how awkward and clueless he was.

“Reminds me of some guys I grew up with,” deadpanned Kate, then she yelped when Yelena elbowed her to keep quiet as she leaned forward, taking in everything.

There were some comments at the incredible music score, which I had the CD for, as well as a digital version on my playlist. Finally, we got to the scene between Elizabeth and Lady Catherine. There were whispers of “Bitch” at Judy Dench’s portrayal of Mr. Darcy’s aunt. When Elizabeth sent the old woman on her way I settled back, knowing that my absolute favourite part of the movie was coming. Sure enough, there was Lizzie walking in the early morning mist in her nightgown and housecoat. Intellectually I knew it was highly unlikely the daughter of a gentleman would do that but visually and romantically I could feel the emotions in the scene when she turned to see Mr. Darcy walking towards her in the same mist, his overcoat flaring out as he walked, his chest partially visible through the open top of his shirt. His manly stride was just … perfect.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice was loud enough that I almost giggled.

Several audible exhaled breaths showed the scene had hit the mark and I looked up to see Bucky watching the TV screen intently. There wasn’t even a kiss between the characters while they were silhouetted in the morning sunrise, just them touching their foreheads together. It was magic. When the final scene ended, and the credits began to roll I started to turn around then felt Bucky’s face next to my ear.

“That was good,” he whispered. “We’re going to our room right now.”

Before I could respond he pulled me up and practically dragged me down the long hallway to our apartment where he pressed into me against the wall, kissing me feverishly. It wasn’t until we were both laying on the messy bed after, our legs splayed across each other, that he finally said something about the movie.

“I never knew how romantic it was,” he said, then he shook his head. “It’s not even that. They were so constrained by the morals of the time and the expectations to marry at or above your station, but all of their desires just raged under the surface.” He sighed. “That part at the end when Mr. Darcy comes out of the mist. Did you hear all the gasps? Even Sam was affected. I know that it was in the script but it just ….”

His voice trailed off and I lifted my head, propping it up on my hand as I gazed at him, while running my fingers over his chest.

“Do you remember when we met?” I asked. “I was driving all night to get to New York, and I had the flat tire. There I was, out on the highway, in the dark, the fog coming in and not a vehicle in sight. There was no cell service, and I couldn’t even get the first lug nut off the flat tire.” He raised himself to look at me, propping his head up on his hand and gently caressing my arm with his other hand. “Then out from the dark there you were, dressed all in black in your combat gear, your rifle slung over your shoulder. I should have been afraid, but you just strode right to me and looked at the flat tire.”

“It’s not safe for you here,” he stated. “That’s what I said, isn’t it? I remember. Somehow you had suffered a flat tire right in the middle of our stakeout and I just wanted to get you to safety.”

“Every time I see that scene of Mr. Darcy walking through the mist I’m taken back to that night when you helped a lady in distress. You walked me back to the quinjet and told me to stay there until you were all done with your stakeout. When you had your suspects, you changed the tire and strode through the mist just before dawn to get me. It’s how I really feel about you, Bucky. You’re my Mr. Darcy, in the flesh, except we liked each other from the start. We didn’t have to get through our prejudices to find out that we belonged together.”

“That makes you my Lizzie Bennett, doesn’t it?” He smiled. “My beautiful, smart, incredible girlfriend.”

We slept in each other’s arms, secure in the certainty that we were meant for each other. In the morning, after a quick shower, we headed out to the kitchen and found everyone else already up. As Bucky poured us each a coffee, Yelena came up to us and gestured out the window.

“It’s a rainy day,” she said bluntly. “Perhaps we can watch the miniseries of Pride and Prejudice. You did say it is more faithful to the original book.”

I looked at all the others, who had obviously delegated Yelena to the task of getting our participation. Even Sam was there, looking a little sheepish. But she was right. It was a rainy day and the episodes, if we ran them without interruption would take over 5 ½ hours to watch. There were perhaps better ways to spend the day but to me, there weren’t many. Bucky heated up several breakfast sandwiches for himself while I grabbed a muffin, some yogurt, a banana and a coffee. We settled into a spot on the sofa, as did everyone else. Then Yelena started the playback, the lights dimmed, and we all lost ourselves into the life of a Regency family with five unmarried daughters once again.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #sam wilson #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes / pride and prejudice crossover #pride and prejudice

[herblackabyss]

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[Title] 7 Dates, 7 Conflicts [Rating & Genre] [M] 18+, strangers to lovers, Collage AU [Pairing] Jeon Jungkook x Reader (Amaya Bradford) [Trigger Warnings] one little cuss word

[A/N] I'm working on two other fics along with this one, not BTS related sorry besties but I'm super excited about them especially the Mingi one. Rengoku Mingi lives in my soul rent-free 24/7, 365. but anywhoo I hope you all enjoy. I spent tiiimmmmmeeee editing and refining because I wasn't satisfied with the flow but I guess it's okay now... it's actually stressing me lol kmt. Your feedback is always welcomed guys it helps me improve my writing so feel free to critique in a helpful way. Also I named MC because it really helps with my writing but y'all can just replace the name ig <3

[Word Count] 1802

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@btsffreader92 ♡ @tinaluvtae ♡ @natalimurghulia ♡ @grltwin ♡ @hobisstar ♡ @namjoonsthottie

7:48 AM

If there's one aspect of school that I utterly dread, it's undoubtedly these cursed early mornings. Dragging myself out of bed at the ass crack of dawn feels like a form of punishment, a ritual concocted by the overlords of academia. I can almost picture them huddled together, plotting in the dim glow of a single desk lamp, cackling as they birthed this diabolical plan to subject students to ungodly class hours. It's as if they extracted it straight from the depths of a collective sleep-deprived nightmare. Yet, no matter how hard I tried to avoid it, luck seemed to take a vacation during this particular semester. My favourite professor of all time, Mr Moody, and his highly sought-after class turned into the academic equivalent of a rare collector's item. The moment that registration portal creaked open, it was as if someone had fired the starting pistol at a track meet—the slots for Mr Moody's class were filled up faster than a Snapchat story on a roller coaster. So here I am now, faced with the one option that clung to the registration page like a stubborn sticker—an 8 am lecture..

Goddamn it.

It's the first day of the new semester, and I can already feel exhaustion seeping into my bones. Despite my reputation as an academic overachiever, I've developed a chronic allergy to early mornings. The mere thought of tearing myself away from the warm embrace of my blankets before 10 am sends an unbearable itch coursing through my body. It feels like I'm wrestling a goddamn grizzly bear every single morning just to make it to class on time.The snooze button has practically become your best friend—Ahem, sorry, not sorry, Chenle. And let's not even talk about the inner battle that rages on when I have to choose between a few extra minutes of precious sleep or a decent breakfast. Navigating through a labyrinth of corridors, I finally arrive at the lecture hall, securing a seat right in the heart of the middle row. I've always held the belief that my choice of seating speaks volumes about my stance on the upcoming semester. For me, it's all about striking that perfect balance. Front rows are out of the question—too much scrutiny from the professor's watchful gaze. But the back rows are equally unacceptable, a potential vortex of distraction among the Neanderthals. So I opt for the middle ground, a conscious decision to engage without being swallowed whole. As I settle in, I lazily rummage through my backpack, unearthing the recommended textbook for class, a fresh notebook, and that pencil pouch I scored from a Sugar Rush Riot concert during summer break. My gaze sweeps across the sea of semi-conscious faces in the room, hoping to catch sight of any familiar ones. And lo and behold, I manage to spot a few friendly faces. There's Ava, my ethics class companion from last year, Gina, my partner-in-crime for surviving Mr. Hanson's painfully dull physics lectures, Issa and Lucas, the dynamic duo who effortlessly infused Parisian flair into my French class last semester, and, unfortunately, the notorious campus Lothario, Jeon Jungkook.

He's got quite the reputation, you know? A real crowd-pleaser, widely sampled, and utterly disrespectful. Around campus, it's like every girl has her very own "Jeon Adventure" to share, each tale brimming with explicit and intricate accounts of how he managed to leave them a quivering, breathless mess. Frankly, it's rather revolting. The way they flaunt every encounter with him like it's some kind of prized badge, casually boasting about every single detail of their time spent together.

A sigh escapes my lips, and I shake my head in mild exasperation. Jungkook might be popular, but I'm not interested in becoming a chapter in his little escapades. I certainly can't afford a distraction of his magnitude and certainly have no intention of sharing a guy with the entire campus.

Lazing there, lost in thought, waiting for class to commence, my eyes are inexplicably drawn to his striking side profile. Absently, I trace the line of his sharp jaw, observing the corners of his eyes crinkling as he engages in animated conversation with his friends. A subtle twitch of his nose, almost like a telltale sign, triggers a charming smile that graces his lips. His head tips back in response to a particularly hilarious joke, and in that instant, his gaze locks onto mine. His lips curl into a languid grin as he watches me. His sudden attentiveness snaps me out of whatever trance I was in, and before I know it, my face scrunches up into a deep scowl. I dramatically roll my eyes before diverting my attention elsewhere, avoiding any further visual contact.

With impeccable timing, Chenle saunters into my peripheral vision, deftly navigating through the rows of my fellow classmates with two steaming cups of coffee and a pair of assorted bagel boxes from Avery's Baegel Shop. Always the savior, isn't he? Seriously, where would I be without him? He's practically rescued me from the brink of starvation more times than I can count. He seamlessly slides into the seat next to me, placing the delectable breakfast on the desk in front of me. The mouthwatering aroma triggers an intense craving, causing my mouth to water involuntarily.

"What's with the expression?" he playfully teases, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips, noticing the way my brows knit together.

"Nothing," I replied with an annoyed huff, a hint of a smile curling up the corners of my mouth as I popped open the lid of the tempting treasure trove before me. My eyes locked onto the ideal choice—a cinnamon and creme bagel, practically begging to be savored.

As I took a bite, the explosion of flavors enveloped my senses, prompting a contented moan to escape my lips. Chenle chuckled at my reaction, well aware of just how much I appreciated his thoughtful gesture. He's always had an uncanny knack for understanding exactly what I need, even without me uttering a single word.

"I knew that one would hit the spot," he remarked, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"You know me too well," I replied, savoring each delectable bite.

"Oh, by the way, guess who's in this class?" I casually tossed out, locking eyes with my friend and flashing a knowing grin. Chenle and Jungkook happened to share the same major, and they'd endured numerous classes together. Most of my insights about the dreadful experience of sharing a lecture with Jungkook had been filtered through Chenle's complaints. Apparently, the guy had a knack for transforming classes into needlessly complex puzzles.

"You've got to be kidding," he scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically, disbelief etched across his features. I subtly nodded in the direction of the back row, where Jungkook was comfortably settled. I took another heavenly bite of the warm bagel, savoring the exquisite blend of cinnamon and brown sugar that danced on my taste buds. "But hey, don't sweat it too much. Rumor has it that Mrs. Steel doesn't take any nonsense in her class. Maybe she'll be the one to rein him in."

Almost as if on cue, Veronica Steel strode into the lecture hall, exuding an aura of self-assuredness, her car keys swinging carelessly from her fingers. Her lack of teaching materials upon entry suggested that she might not have an elaborate agenda for today's session. Fortunately for me, this was my only class on a Monday, leaving the rest of the day blissfully free.

"Good morning, everyone," she began, introducing herself with a confidence that immediately put me at ease. Her subtle Spanish accent added a touch of warmth and familiarity to her words. "I'm your instructor, Mrs. Veronica Steel."

"I won't keep you too long, given that this is our first class. However, I do have some important information to share." Her words lingered in the air, grabbing everyone's attention. "All the assignments for this course will be completed in pairs, and I've already assigned your partners. You should have received an email this morning containing the list of assigned pairs." The room sprang to life as students scrambled to retrieve their devices and check their emails, myself included.

My laptop springs to life, and I eagerly navigate to my inbox, searching for the email from Mrs. Steel. Hoping against hope that I've been paired with Chenle, or at the very least, with Gina or Issa, anyone who won't make my life a living nightmare. My eyes scan the list, darting over each name with bated breath, and then Chenle leans over and lightly taps the "Ctrl+F" keys on my keyboard. I can't help but feel a hint of embarrassment; it's not like I've forgotten such a basic keyboard shortcut.

With deliberate care, my trembling fingers spell out my name. Dread courses through my veins, fearing the prospect of being saddled with a partner who'd expect me to carry the entire load. With each letter that materializes on the screen, the suspense heightens. And there it is, as I complete the last letter, my partnership materializes on the screen: Jungkook Jeon & Amaya Bradford.

The air seems to vanish from the room. This can't be real. Out of all the potential partners, it had to be Jungkook. And to make matters worse, this partnership is locked in for the entire semester. Veronica's voice keeps rolling, outlining the expectations for the upcoming assignments. "Each pair will evaluate their partner for every assignment," her words hang heavily, driving home the gravity of the situation and the potential impact on our grades.

The idea of spending a whole semester partnered with Jungkook feels like a mental minefield. We're polar opposites, like oil and water, each with a distinct approach to academics and life. Finding common ground for effective collaboration seems an insurmountable challenge, one that's thrust upon me, whether I like it or not.

Mrs. Steel's voice rings in my ears, emphasizing that switching partners is off the table, no negotiations allowed. The pit of dread in my stomach deepens. This is unavoidable, a collaboration sentence I'm forced to endure.

Against my will, my gaze drifts towards Jungkook. Fuck I really can't stand this guy—an infuriating, self-assured grin plastered on his face. He's relaxed, clearly the king of his realm, ignoring the brunette whispering away on his right. His eyes, however, are locked on me, as if I'm the only presence in the room that matters.

As Veronica concludes, she leaves us with a parting shot. "Thanks for showing up, and I can't wait to see the amazing work you all produce. Welcome to COMM101." And just like that, she's gone, leaving me to wrestle with the chaos in my mind.

"Fml," I whisper, my forehead making contact with the table's surface with a resounding thud.

NAVIGATION | NEXT →

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts x oc #bts x fem!reader #female reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x oc #jungkook x female reader #sylo stories

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: An evening with Bill.

Moon Knight afterward from issue #25. 

Truth, I agonized on if I was going to acknowledge this. My business is with the Moon Knight comics, after all… History, development, and personal insight into the comics. You know, me screaming into a dark room about how much I love this comic. 

But where would we be if we didn’t have a little insight into the legend himself: Bill Sienkiewicz. 

Issue #25 was a special double long comic. These bad boys come out once in a blue moon to celebrate the success and growing popularity of a comic! Once a comic becomes top ranking, you’ll start to get Annuals and yearly (sometimes bi-yearly) double longs! 

So here we sit in 1982, just a few years after the creation of Moon Knight and we get our first double! 

But what really makes you pick up a comic in the store in the first place? Especially if you know nothing about the characters. Sure, Marvel (and DC) will splash a crossover event with a popular character across the cover to lure in those that are fans of the one character. They’ll also do variant covers to get the collectors wild (gotta catch ‘em all!). Limited runs? You know someone’s trolling Ebay for that blank cover that gives nothing away. You’ll also get guest artists who do ONLY covers. Fans of the art will collect them just for the covers. 

But all those special things aside, you know that a well done cover piece is what makes you pick it up and go “Neat. I wonder what’s inside.” 

So what makes a cover? To all the aspiring artists out there, this one’s for you. 

Don’t worry people. I’m not going to make you squint. I’ll just type up everything verbatim that Mr. Sienkiewicz has to say. And I admit, I was so pleasantly surprised to find his sense of humor on point. 

I've also added the final cover product so you can really see how the cover ended up laid out in publishing.

A TALE OF THREE COVERS by Bill Sienkiewicz

When Denny and Ralph asked me to come up with a possible topic for the editorial pages in the double-sized issue of MOON KNIGHT, my first reaction was "Editorial? Isn't that your job? I've just finished the art for this issue and the last thing I feel like doing is an editorial page." Then I made some crack about them earning their money and proceeded to walk out. 

"Hold it!" Denny snapped, bringing his riding crop down smartly on the New York Post. I turned, my nostrils filling with the stench of wounded printer's ink, and did some serious reconsideration. 

"Look," Denny began, "I don't want you to get the idea that this is something you have to do," his gloved hand waving the riding crop in what could be construed as a menacing fashion, "But we'd like to give you the opportunity to do something that you'd like to do to get you involved in EVERY aspect of the book, not just the artwork, to tell the readers some of your viewpoints and..." Denny leaned back, crossed his jackbooted feet on the desk. He smiled a wicked smile "...to let the readers know that we're just one big family here at Marvel. My mind raced. 

"Covers." I said. 

"What?" asked Denny, cocking a thumb under the visor of his cap. Light glinted off some odd metallic insignia there. 

"Covers." I repeated. "Unused covers." 

"Go on..." He crossed his arms awkwardly, creasing his holster.

"Well... The covers -the unused one-- we could run them along with the ones that were used, and I could write about the dumb...the uh, reasons that they weren't used, you know, why I did them the way I did and why you turned them down." 

There was a long pause. Very long. Then he smiled again. Only worse than before, and said -- "We'll do it..."

I relaxed. I turned to leave but Denny wasn't finished. "Sienkiewicz," he hissed. 

I cringed. "Yeah?" 

"Don't make me look like the bad guy in this." 

"No. Of course not." I said, then turned I left. 

I returned one week later, armed with the covers and my feelings about each. I walked into Denny's office and snapped to attention. The Post was still on the desk. It had decayed horribly "At ease." Denny cooed. He shot a sly grin at Ralph. 

"What did our little artist friend bring us perchance?" Said Ralph as he woke up, "Our meal ticket?" 

Denny's smile faded. "You can be replaced, Macchio." 

I looked at Ralph. Innocent of face. Stubbly of beard. Ralph. Ralph Macchio. Ralph went back to sleep. There was a smile on his face. 

Denny turned back to me. "What have you got?" 

This--" I replied, and proceeded to show him what a week of coffee, cigarettes and images of a mutilated newspaper had inspired.

"First: Issue #9's cover for The Return of the Midnight Man. I wanted to do a total image, an essence of the relationship between him and Moon Knight. The paintings --the Jekyll and Hyde shots of Midnight Man's face. The target around Moon Knight. Moon Knight's expression of worry and insanity --He was going through a lot back then." 

"That's all well and good--" Denny smirked. "But it's too tall--the paintings would be obscured by the logo. All that we could see would be the two big faces and MK going crazy. And he's been crazy or in a losing position on the past five covers. I wanted to show him fighting, maybe winning. I thought about it. I really did. But you were moving to a studio and couldn't be reached in time to do another. Frank Miller was in the office and drew the cover that was used." 

"Oh," I said. My hand shook as I reached for another cover. Number 12. Morpheus and Moon KNight. Boffo action. "I wanted a closeup," Denny said. "Simple as that. Miller was in again and did it up. Milgrom inked it." 

"That Miller guy again." I thought. 

I turned to issue 13, which guest-starred Daredevil. Frank was drawing Daredevil. Denny thought it would be fun to have Frank draw the cover and me ink it. I agreed. I spoke to Frank on the phone. He said we could do "crossover" covers; I'd do one later for Daredevil. Fine idea. "What are you waiting for, Sienkiewicz, "Denny screamed, interrupting my reverie. Veins showed in his forehead. Big ones. 

"Right," I said. "The cover for issue 13--Frank pencilled, I inked. I really had a good time with this one. It was the first time I inked anyone else's work." 

Denny Scowled. "Except it was too tall. The logo would have obscured the pinball machine's scoreboard. That's why I nixed it. Ron Wilson happened to drop by the same time as Dave Simons did. The deadline was tight. I had no alternative. They did the cover." 

Deja vu. Denny was beating a dead Post. "That will be all for now. And Sienkiewicz--About the article. Flattery will get you nowhere." 

I managed a weak smile, and again turned to leave. As I did so, I glanced at Ralph Macchio, his eyes closed in contented slumber.

—

Ralph Macchio is a comic book editor and writer. He's done a lot of the big ones (The Avengers, Captain America, Ultimate Marvel, Doctor Strange, Thor, Spider-Man...). He retired in 2011. 

Dennis O'Neil (Denny) is the editor for Moon Knight at the time. He also worked for DC back in the day. He tended to write the more mature themes in early comics that were often controversial. Also the creator of notable characters like Ra's Al Ghul, Talia Al Ghul, Iron Monger, Lady Deathstrike, and many others that I have no idea who they are off the top of my head. 

If anything, I am more endered towards Bill after this. The idea of him turning in cover after cover only to have them nixed and replaced by the LEGENDARY Frank Miller, and then being playfully bitter about it is the funniest thing. The notion that these other cover artists just happened to be hanging around only to ruin Bill’s day… 

Also, some of those nixed covers are amazing! The Dare Devil one in particular is amazing! And relevant to the comic! I wish I could see it in color! What happens to these rejected covers? Do they get sold? Trashed? Look at that Midnight one!

Anyway, there are a lot of little afterwards in the backs of the early comics. A lot of letters from fans with author/editor responses mostly. But now and then they include a behind the scenes with narrative from various levels of Moon Knight creators. My favorites are these ones that show the character of the creators themselves. It also gives us a peak at the process of how a comic is made and the art and skill it takes. 

Current comics don’t really include these anymore. You’ll see some fan letters in the backs of some (I’ve been in one! For a Moon Knight of course.), and a few spotlight articles on writers or artists… But you don’t really get the big behind the scenes things anymore. The characters are all established, the readers/fanbase know what they’re in, and there just doesn’t seem to be interest anymore into the creation of the comics. 

Which is a pity. 

I’d love to see more excerpts like this. Imagine getting an aside from Lemier!Jed Mackay! Smallwood! 

What do you think? What afterwards would you like to see in modern day comics? 

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight comics #Bill Sienkiewicz #Sienkiewicz #Analyzing the comics #I fucking love this

[theman-and-themachine]

ALSO FOR HERE I AM REQUESTING SOME LORES ON REMNANT MAYHAPS. And if not maybe then I wanna know who is your fnaf 3 protag is and I want some fnaf 3 hcs :3

*sets Schrodinger's frightguard on the counter*

I do fucking love the idea of both mike and henry being the fnaf 3 guard. There is SO MUCH ideas for both of them.

The awful angst of seeing your partner again, dead and alive and warped awfully into their little fantasy.

And the awful angst of sering your dad again, maybe the only person who had left(even after he lead you to your death), and now he's dead and almost not-there at all.

FNAF 3 HEADCANONS UHUHUH obviously most are about springtrap lol. But phantom puppet is so important to me

And the general idea of fnaf 1 location being left to rot. Fnaf 1 being this massive awful depression. Henry doesn't care anymore..his business is failing. Etcera. He has enough effort to move the fucking puppet corpse thing of his kid into the new location, hope. And then he gives up and everything gives up and Charlie is left to rot. Which leads into phantom puppet. So so interesting to me.

( i know mangle and bb are there but they dont spark my interest in the same way)

ANYWAYS SPRINGTRAP MY BABY THE FANDOMS BABY THE FAVORITE. Well deserved i think.

The terror of these two games' story and then the "finale" and here is THE big bad.

I think springtrap has only become a more interesting character as william afton was developed and further itierations of afton were made.

Anyways i think springtrap wakes up very unaware. He's spiraling in his cloudy mind, slow slow firings of whatever electric-remnant-agony-whatever currents are running through him.

There's some weire "battery" sapping stuff where i think William being in there also gives springbonnie's programming enough energy to run. Therefore Williams sitting in this rabbit suit and having familiar code run directly into his brain. Identity being warped. His very mind is this machine. And it's only more human because of that.

General horror aspects of springtrap, i think its like those horror movie villians that learn VERY fast. Like the first day its basically barely sentient. It hurts to move. It hurts to be, it can't even think about it.

And then it gets used to its body and mind. And gets more active. And more aware. Starts staring at the guard, then groaning, then saying their name, then talking full, monolouging paragraphs.

If fazbear frights was not burned down I think springtrap couldve ruled the world (terrorized and slaughtered the local population. Whos to say it didnt between fnaf 3 and pizza sim.)

But he's still very fucking OUT OF IT the entire time because, i think any dead guy brought back to.life woule be.

Also really rwally fun to imagine was awake like. The entire 30 years. But it was still shut down until finally moved to fazbears and had some repairs and sufh. Idk. Really goos. Go nuts in isolation, bunny manthing.

I ALSO i also have probablg developed fnaf 3 phone dude the most out of any non-emily/afton human character . He's a shitty <1000k subscriber youtuber. He collects fazbear merch and history and stores most of it in a rented extra-storage place because he lives in a small rv. He defiently has beef with Mr. Henry Emily, because the guy's like irl cec and has policies for keeping ALL animatronics within fazbear (not for destruction but for future plans of releasing all the souls.... still annoying for collectors and preserving the history of robotics). He's a(salt lake) lake surfer. He's a looser and my babygirl. His names kelly idk if i said that yet. Anyways his collecting is like 100% geniune interest and NOT shock-value true-crime stuff. He'll make iceberg videos about the incidents at.freddy's but prpbably geniunely doesn't believe in ghost.

#dottxt #fnaf 3

[denimbex1986]

'Tom Ripley used several different aliases in the new Netflix limited series Ripley. Tom, who also acquires many places of residence throughout Ripley, is a master of disguise and deceit. He is drawn to murder once his true identity of being an elaborate con man faces the threat of being exposed. Throughout the thrilling series, Tom has conned his way from a lowly life of scamming and thievery in New York City to becoming incredibly wealthy in Italy thanks to a supposed old friend, Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn). Ripley's cast is led by an exceptionally chilling Andrew Scott (Fleabag, Black Mirror, All of Us Strangers) as the titular treacherous protagonist.

Ripley has received rave reviews from critics upon its April 4, 2024 release exclusively on Netflix. The psychological thriller is based on the renowned 1955 novel The Talented Mr. Ripley by celebrated novelist Patricia Highsmith, the first of her 5-part "Ripley" series that also includes Ripley Under Ground and Ripley's Game. The Talented Mr. Ripley has been adapted several times for film and television, but none have been shot completely in monochrome until Steven Zallian's Ripley. Zallian, the Academy Award-winning screenwriter of Schindler's List, American Gangster, and The Irishman, wrote and directed the entire 8-episode miniseries.

By the end of Zallian's Ripley, Tom has orchestrated a way to frame his murder of Dickie Greenleaf as a suicide, successfully convincing Dickie's concerned girlfriend Marge Sherwood (Dakota Fanning) and a determined Inspector Ravini (Maurizio Lombardi). Ripley brings to light the lengths that monsters like Tom will go to in the name of self-preservation, using chilling methodology and calculation to be seen as significant by means of material wealth and social access. Even after Tom escapes to England and assumes a new identity in the final moments of Ripley, he does not seem satisfied, only aware of what it feels like to wear Dickie's clothes, flaunt his ring, and stare at his artwork while ultimately feeling nothing.

4. George McAlpin

Tom's fraudulent debt collector persona in New York

At the beginning of Ripley, Tom is shown in the thick of his life of petty scamming in 1960's New York City. Under the alias George McAlpin, Tom runs an elaborate scheme of fraud and theft under a fabricated organization he calls the McAlpin Collection Agency. Basically, Tom steals the mail from specific doctors, specifically a chiropractor in Ripley episode 1, that he detects has checks inside of them. These are payments from patients for services done by the chiropractor, which "George McAlpin" intercepts and opens illegally. He then contacts the patients claiming to be the sole employee of a debt collection agency that he has made up.

Tom is forced to destroy his George McAlpin identity once he faces suspicion at a bank when trying to cash the checks addressed to his fake agency. In Ripley episode 1, Tom is dressed in disguise as a serious, traditional-looking businessman of some sort, giving off a very plain and safe impression. He admits he doesn't have an account with the bank but is able to provide identification in the form of a chauffeur's license with George McAlpin's information on it. This is a precursor to Tom's ability to change his identity and acquire fabricated forms of identification throughout later episodes of Ripley.

Once Tom faces heat under his George McAlpin name, he has no choice but to burn all the checks and the fake stationary he had made as part of his scam. This turns out to work out perfectly fine for Tom, however, who is on his way to Italy to meet with Dickie right after destroying all evidence of the George McAlpin agency. Fortunately for Tom, the George McAplin business never came back around to haunt him, but if he had been stuck in New York, it's likely that the bank he failed to convince would have pursued legal action against him. Dickie becomes Tom's saving grace as he leaves George McAplin and his old life in New York behind for good.

3. Richard 'Dickie' Greenleaf

Tom assumes the identity of Dickie in Rome after killing him

Pretending to be Dickie in Rome allowed Tom to justify living so luxuriously and also provided a track record of evidence that Dickie was still alive.

Tom's next big scam and identity theft begins after he kills Dickie on the boat in San Remo. Dickie confronts Tom rather foolishly, on a small boat in the ocean far away from shore with no witnesses around, which reveals how unsuspecting Dickie was of Tom all along. Dickie politely tells Tom that it's time for him to move on with his life and leave Atrani. He also reveals that his father believes that Tom had been taking advantage of him and the generous access to his money while on a mission to bring Dickie back home. Tom immediately sees where this is going and saves Dickie the trouble of having to bluntly tell him to pack his things and leave.

Tom is unwilling to let go of this golden opportunity to live lavishly as Dickie did in Atrani and resorts to murder as the best option for him to keep his fantastical dream alive. The only reason why Tom kills Dickie is so that he can become him, eeiriy wearing his clothes and taking ownership of everything Dickie owns like an insidious parasite. Pretending to be Dickie in Rome allowed him to justify living so luxuriously and also provided a track record of evidence that Dickie was still alive. Checking into hotels, writing letters on his typewriter, and all the other intricate ways that Tom covered up Dickie's murder maintained suspicion for long enough so Tom could buy enough time to get away for good.

Tom murdering Dickie, covering it up, and assuming his identity is the narrative spine of Ripley. It alludes to the main drive within Tom's character that he wished to be someone bigger and better than what he is as well as his lust for material wealth and special treatment that comes with status. Tom is also innately motivated to validate his worth as evidenced by his deep resentment towards his Aunt Dottie, who berated him as a child. By assuming Dickie's identity, and eventually making it his own, Tom could basically shove his wealth and status in the face of his Aunt and anyone else who questioned his significance and ability.

2. Tom Ripley

A shape-shifting and relentless con artist

The true Tom Ripley is hardly seen in the series despite it being named after him. All the audience can gather about who Tom truly is on the inside is a cold, callous, dangerous monster that is out to take everything he wants from others by any means necessary. Tom is deeply hurt by his Aunt Dottie's mistreatment of him, and is, of course, affected by the sudden death of his parents when he was just five years old, which undoubtedly left a dark cloud over the young Tom's head throughout his life. Regardless of his traumatic childhood experiences, Tom is unquestionably a sociopath who views murder as a viable option to acquire what he likes.

Tom Ripley hides beneath the people he pretends to be, even his own personality. The Tom Ripley that he convinces Marge and Dickie to be is certainly not who he actually is. Tom comes off as naively agreeable, innocently forgetful, intentionally vague, and forcefully relaxed, which some people see as strange in the way that it is calculated, as if by design. Tom's own identity is a creation because he hides his the dark monster within him at all times. Tom Ripley is truly a shapeshifter with an unsettling ability to adapt, mirror, and transform himself to fit his objectives, which are typically seedy and dishonest.

What makes Tom Ripley so disturbing is seeing him in the quiet moments when he is alone. He has a reptilian-like coldness about him, as if he is functioning only at a base psychological level of survival. Human emotions are used as tools of manipulation to get what he wants and to make people like him. Rather than simply existing as a human being, Tom crafts attitudes, opinions, interests, and personality traits in order to gain advantage on the path to achieving his goals. Tom's one goal is clearly to be wealthy and to be respected because of his wealth, which perfectly exemplifies how immensely hollow he is at his core.

1. Timothy Fenshaw

Tom's new identity in England

After essentially getting away with the murders of Dickie Greenleaf and Freddie Miles, Tom is able to shake off Marge without killing her, although he was just seconds away from doing so. He also avoids the detection of Mr. Greenleaf, the American investigator, and Inspector Ravini, who have all collectively bought Tom's angle that Dickie must have taken his own life. He also reaffirms the notion that Dickie could have killed Freddie. Once Tom successfully gets all the suspicion off his back, he resigns from using the Dickie Greenleaf alias altogether and allows everyone to believe that Dickie died by suicide.

Tom Ripley, living in Venice, understands that his plan had only worked because of some very lucky circumstances. Remarkably, no one had caught him when he was living a double life in Rome, despite all of the attention from the press. Now out of the crosshairs, Tom was still determined to own everything that Dickie had to do whatever he wanted with it, including the Picasso. Tom leaves Venice and assumes a new fake identity of Timothy Fenshaw with the help of John Malkovich's "art dealer" character Reeves Minot. This new identity allows him to retain all the wealth he has stolen from the Greenleafs and hang Dickie's Picasso with ease under his new Fensahw name.

Tom's preemptive measures end up saving him in the end when Inspector Ravini discovers that Tom had completely fooled him throughout the Freddie Miles investigation. Marge had finished her novel about Atrani and got it published thanks to Tom's sincere notes and sends a copy to Ravini. In the final moments of Ripley, Ravini is stunned to see a printed photograph of Dickie in the first few pages of the book that looks nothing like him. In truth, Dickie looked nothing like Tom, and Ravini was left humiliated. Tom, however, has already assumed the new alias Timothy Fensahw in England and will be much harder for Ravini to find at the end of Ripley.'

#Tom Ripley #Richard 'Dickie' Greenleaf #Timothy Fenshaw #Johnny Flynn #Black Mirror #Fleabag #All of Us Strangers #Steven Zaillian #Marge Sherwood #Dakota Fanning #Inspector Ravini #Maurizio Lombardi #Ripley #Netflix #The Talented Mr Ripley #Patricia Highsmith #George McAlpin #Andrew Scott

[lumiereandcogsworth]

“Inside the castle is also the smallest piece of work made by the set decorating department: Chip’s bedroom — in the kitchen cupboard. Chambre de Chip is a little boy’s bedroom, with the linens arranged to create stairs up to his bed, a miniature armory made of thimbles and toothpicks fashioned after the Beast’s armory (because the Beast is his secret hero) and a stolen tassel from Belle’s bedroom (because he has a crush on her).”

I have some headcanons/thoughts about this quote from the Beauty and the Beast (2017) Official Collector’s Edition magazine that I’d like to share!!!

Firstly, Adam has an armory !!! This is cool. I think it’s 100% decorative and he probably just collected the most interesting and expensive pieces in order to show off, sending his people to auctions just to find the most collectible collectors items. Just to have. Just because he can. I do think he fenced in school (and enjoyed it) so I could definitely see him appreciating swords and such.

But furthermore, Adam being Chip’s hero… I have so many thoughts about this. Because obviously prologue Adam (which is the only Adam that Chip has known so far) is a HORRIBLE person to look up to. But the thing is, Chip probably saw him in such limited capacities that he really had no idea how awful he was.

When they were young, Adam was just sad and quiet and read books. Chip probably just looked up to him because he was the closest to him in age (I headcanon that they’re about 10-11 years apart). And when Adam got older, especially after his father died, Adam stopped engaging with Mrs. Potts as much, (as well as the rest of the staff, of course) and would go to Versailles frequently too. But when he was around, I could see him being sort of neutral toward Chip.

I do think Adam resented Chip sometimes, seeing as he still had both his parents alive, and how they both adored him, but I don’t think he ever scared him or anything. I think Chip was honestly intrigued by him. He saw Adam as a dazzling and interesting young man that he had been lucky enough to grow up observing. Chip saw all the “friends” that Adam seemed to have, how people always laughed around him, how he would travel so much. To chip, Adam had THE coolest life. And since Adam and Chip never really had a conversation, Chip never saw the harsher side of him.

Which makes it sort of interesting how in the prologue, we see Chip has clearly run where he wasn’t supposed to, and Mrs. Potts runs after him, and they come into the ballroom right as the enchantress is cursing everyone. So it makes me think that Chip probably ALWAYS wanted to go to Prince Adam’s parties, but for several obvious reasons, Mrs. Potts never let him. But, because Chip is a beloved little stinker, he would occasionally escape their chambers and make a break for it, just to get a peak at the cool party!!!! and that’s what happened that night!

All this to say, it makes for very sweet thoughts for after the curse is lifted, when Adam is kinder and warmer and actually acknowledges Chip. I absolutely think Adam apologized to Chip individually, for ever frightening him, and for putting him through this at all. And Chip, being the sweetheart that he is, would forgive Adam, and continue looking up to him. And this time it actually means something to Adam, leading to a very sweet and special bond between them. (Mrs. Potts’ two boys!!! Her son and her surrogate son… <3)

And as a bit of a cute ending side note also from the quote, Chip having a crush on Belle is very very very cute. He thinks she’s so pretty and cool, and he’s RIGHT. And the fact that he weaseled his way into her room and nicked one of the tassels from her bed??? to keep it with him????? what a little hopeless romantic this boy is!! We simply have to stan. I’m so glad he gets to grow up looking up to both Adam and Belle. They really become heroes in his eyes, and I think they dote on him quite a bit, as he deserves!!!

#thinking thoughts!!!!!! <3 #i love CHIP! what a boyyo #beauty and the beast 2017 #beauty and the beast (2017) #batb 2017 #batb headcanons #batb meta

[no6secretsanta]

Wellspring

For @a-still-small-vox from @pigeonsimba

As Nezumi crouched in the muddy, thorny brush, he lamented that he might not be in trouble so often if he hadn’t been born so good-looking.

True, it sometimes helped—a man pleasing to the eyes made people more charitable and willing to pay better for even small bounties—but just as often it guaranteed him contempt from overbearing fathers and jealous lovers. In this particular case, it was an overbearing father.

Zelsa Pennythistle’s father’s massive fortune made her an attractive prospect to the mercenary kind but did nothing to improve her in essentials. As is the case with many rich, indolent women, after a lifetime of being spoiled by her father and fawned over by sycophants, Zelsa had cultivated a very high opinion of herself.

Nezumi made the mistake of visiting the Pennythistle residence to offer his services as a hunter and ended up on the receiving end of Zelsa’s feminine wiles. At first, he had laughed. Men and women flirted with him all the time, which usually led to nothing; he never stayed in one place long enough for it to become an issue. But Zelsa was dogged. Nezumi demurred; he pointed out the difference in their stations; he avoided her. All to no avail. Her skull was as thick as her coffers and her willpower just as inexhaustible. He finally reached his limit and told her point blank that he wasn’t interested and never would be. Tears ensued—torrents of them. Also, screaming. Nezumi left in a hurry.

Mr. Pennythistle showed up the next morning with a bag full of money and a ridiculous bounty for Nezumi to hunt down: a pegasus. Nezumi had planned to leave anyway, so he took the money graciously and promised to return as soon as he had the creature in hand.

They both knew it was a lie: the man had paid him before the job was done, after all. However, Mr. Pennythistle’s “Get Lost” mission had a certain appeal to Nezumi, and after a few days on the road with his thoughts, Nezumi decided he would complete the quest. Not for Mr. Pennythistle since he was sure neither of them wanted to see each other again, but a live pegasus would fetch a pretty penny with any collector.

And so, Nezumi found himself crammed into the brush, boots squelching unpleasantly, while he waited for the pegasus to show itself. He had spent a few weeks researching and asking after folk legends and town gossip, and all hearsay pointed to this wood. Nezumi repressed a sigh and scanned the small collection of springs before him. He had felt pretty hopeful when he found the spot; pegasi lore said that they were often seen by springs. Some of the hokier townsfolk claimed that wherever one stepped foot, a spring burst forth from the earth, but Nezumi suspected that pegasi would be a lot easier to find if they flooded woods and villages everywhere they went. But even if pegasi did not have any special affinity for water, all animals had to hydrate sooner or later.

It was a big wood, though, and this was day three of staking it out. He had seen a few lesser fairies, a gnome, and even a naiad who batted her eyelashes at him and pranced off laughing, but nothing remotely horse-shaped. Nezumi wished it would hurry its hindquarters up. He did not enjoy lugging around the tack. The extra weight made him feel slow and that made him nervous.

Patience, Nezumi counseled himself. He ran the pads of his fingers over the knife strapped to his thigh to self-soothe.

An hour later, fate seemed to smile upon him. Movement in the brush across the spring: something large, quiet, and slow. Nezumi made himself stay very still as he stared into the forest and adjusted his eyes to its motley shadows. He parsed out a dark flank and a velvety nose, and then, as the creature took its first step out into the dappled sunlight, Nezumi saw the wings.

They were bright white and thickly feathered, but they were shuttered against the animal’s sides and Nezumi couldn’t admire them as well as he’d liked from his vantage point.

As the pegasus came a little closer, Nezumi thought, It’s brown. I thought pegasi were supposed to be white. The wings are white. And then, The wings seem too small to carry its weight. Just as the thoughts occurred, the pegasus turned slightly toward the deepest part of the spring and dipped its head for drink, revealing a rider.

Nezumi perked up. The person was lying flush against the pegasus’s back and was wearing dark clothes that blended into its chestnut-colored coat, so Nezumi hadn’t been able to see them when looking from head-on. The rider sat up as the horse began to drink and Nezumi identified them as male—young, probably early twenties. His mess of white-blonde hair shone in the sunlight like a halo. Nezumi had begun a lazy appreciation of the man’s face when he noticed the wings flutter and stretch out.

What the—. Nezumi’s mouth popped open. The wings didn’t belong to the horse, they belonged to the man. The horse was just a horse and the man…. Well, perhaps he wasn’t a man after all. Greater fae often appeared similar to humans, with a few otherworldly additions. The rider’s handsome, boyish face and light coloring matched the fae well enough, but Nezumi had never seen a fairy with feathered wings before.

The man stretched his limbs—wings and all—and carefully climbed down from the horse. He petted its flank and murmured. Nezumi listened hard and thought he heard him apologize for being a burden. The horse nickered and returned to drinking water from the spring.

The pristine white of the man’s feathers seemed to shimmer with incandescent light in the midday sun. Nezumi imagined that they might be soft and warm. When the man flexed and shuttered his wings, they rustled like the pages of a book, a uniquely comforting sound for Nezumi especially.

But then Nezumi heard a new rustling, and this one sounded like something trying to creep through the underbrush, which was distinctly less comforting.

The rider heard it too. His head snapped up from its perusal of the shallow water and he took a step back toward his horse. His eyes scanned the trees. Nezumi wondered if he would be discovered, and then considered what he would say if he was.

“Let’s go, Cravat,” the man said. He patted the horse urgently and swung up onto its back, a little clumsily due to the size of his wings, but more gracefully than Nezumi expected.

Nezumi felt a vague sense of loss at the rider’s departure, but he filed it away and focused on his surroundings. His eyes weren’t trustworthy, so Nezumi strained his ears, but the forest was once again quiet. Suspicion prickled his skin. An innocent animal passing through the brush wouldn’t have stilled its movement for more than a minute or two. Only predators knew to stay quiet when they’d startled their prey.

Nezumi heard the whistle of the crossbow too late. He felt the bolt punch through his side, just above his belt, but the pain of it lagged. He didn’t feel it until he looked down and saw the blood seep through his tunic and over his pants. Nezumi coughed once, convulsively, and fell back into the brambles. The bite of hundreds of thorns was nothing compared to the molten sear blossoming in his abdomen. He tried to slow his panicked breathing, knowing a racing heart would cost him valuable seconds, but fuck.

A man emerged from where he had concealed himself in a thicket to Nezumi’s right. He had the roughened, displaced look of a mercenary and Nezumi wondered which piece of his past had come to kill him.

The man smirked and said, “You fucked the wrong nobleman’s daughter, friend. Mr. Pennythistle sends his regards.”

You have got to be kidding me. Nezumi laughed. It hurt terribly and devolved into a coughing fit, but he couldn’t help himself. Of all the reasons for someone to kill him, this had to be the worst, the most ridiculous.

“Fucking Zelsa.” Nezumi clutched his stomach harder and tried to grab his knife off his belt, but his hands were slick and the grip was slippery.

The mercenary shrugged. “Better luck next time.” He aimed a heavy-booted kick at Nezumi’s head.

***

Nezumi had nightmares. Shrieking horses thundered over him and crushed his bones beneath their hooves; his body burned like lava was pouring out of every orifice; he was trapped inside himself, unable to struggle or cry out, and the air grew denser and closer until he could hardly breathe.

He woke with a strangled scream in his throat. His body felt impossibly heavy and it took several minutes for him to pry his eyes open. The light above him glowed in fuzzy silver fractals. It was like looking through a frosted window pane. Was it a window?

Where am I?

Nezumi turned his face slightly and his cheek brushed against something warm and velvety as fox fur. The softness and warmth surrounded him like a fuzzy blanket. Maybe he had died, maybe he hadn’t, but wherever he was now, he was comfortable. Nezumi closed his eyes and sighed in contentment.

“Nezumi? Are you awake?”

Nezumi didn’t recognize the voice. He should have been alarmed, but he was too tired. Nezumi managed to creak his eyes open again. Something moved in his periphery and he shifted to get a better look.

A person’s face was inches from his—a man’s. He recognized the face, but he wasn’t sure from where. It was handsome, anyhow. The man’s eyes were deep brown, almost purple, and Nezumi spent a disoriented eternity staring into them and trying to remember how to talk.

“Who?” he managed.

The man smiled gently and said, “Shion.”

Nezumi had a surreal sense they had this conversation before.

“That’s the 3rd time,” the man said as if reading his mind.

“It’s been a bad day,” Nezumi mumbled.

“I know.” His voice sounded sad. “Your head still hurts?”

Nezumi made a weak sound of assent.

The warm, soft cocoon wrapped tighter around him. Nezumi pressed his face into the material and felt the faintest prickle against his cheek. He grunted and pulled back.

“Sorry. I’ll move.”

The warmth slid out from beneath Nezumi’s cheek. Nezumi watched the fuzzy silver wall rise above his head and retreat behind the man’s back. Wings. He had been wrapped in wings.

Nezumi frowned but his eyes wouldn’t stay open any longer.

***

When Nezumi woke again it was sudden. The memory of the crossbow and the mercenary crashed into the forefront of his mind and he shot up into a sitting position, his heart racing.

“Whoa!”

Something crashed to Nezumi’s left and he turned toward the source. His side twinged at the sudden movement and he slapped a hand over it, hoping to staunch the blood and fight with his free hand. But the skin beneath his palm was dry and smooth. Confusion flared in Nezumi’s mind, but he made himself assess the danger before him.

The stranger stepped back and put their hands up. “It’s just me,” they soothed. As if Nezumi was supposed to know them and be at ease.

Nezumi frowned. He did know the person. It was the man that had been lying by his side when he woke, dazed and confused, last time. Nezumi’s gaze fastened on the set of wings sprouting from the man’s back and a second realization hit him: this was the rider he saw by the spring.

Considering this man had him at his mercy for at least a night and hadn’t finished him off, Nezumi chanced a look down at his stomach. His tunic had been removed and he could see that the skin on his side was healed. The only evidence of the wound was a faint silver divot above his hip.

Nezumi eyed the man again. He had stooped to clean up the shards of whatever he had dropped when Nezumi bolted up from… Where?

Nezumi looked around and saw that he was on a cot and that they appeared to be in a small cabin. Perhaps a hunter’s waystation, open to travelers who needed a dry, warm place to spend the night.

Okay. So I was rescued and healed by this guy.

He couldn’t help but stare. Especially at the wings. They must have spanned twenty feet across. He wondered if they were heavy, or if the bones were hollow like a bird’s. The feathers were startlingly white in the gloom of the cabin. He remembered their downy warmth, how comfortable and safe he had felt with the wings wrapped around him. His cheeks heated.

Nezumi cleared his throat. The man glanced up from the collection of pottery shards he’d heaped in his tunic hem. There was a small puddle on the floor, so Nezumi guessed the casualty had been a cup of water.

“Sion?”

“Shion,” the man—Shion—corrected. He smiled when he said it and a fuzzy memory scratched at Nezumi’s brain.

“That’s the 4th time, right?”

Shion perked up. “Yes! You remembered.” He walked to the far side of the cabin and dumped the shards he’d collected into a metal pail. They clattered like hail on a rooftop as they fell. “Thank goodness. I was beginning to worry I hadn’t healed your head right.”

“My head?”

“Yeah, you had been hit pretty hard.”

Oh yeah. Nezumi rubbed his temples. “No wonder my skull feels like it’s splitting.”

“It still hurts that badly?” Shion nibbled on the edge of his thumbnail. “I knew it,” he muttered around his finger, then dropped his hand and strode back over. “I’ll take you to the nearest fae village and get you checked out. Just as soon as you’re up to traveling.”

Fae village. Nezumi raked his eyes over Shion’s pale, boyish features. “Which court are you from?”

“What?”

“Seelie?”

Recognition sparked in Shion’s eyes. “Oh, no. I’m not a fairy. That’s a common mistake, though. I thought that you were a fairy, too, at first.” He waffled for half a second before saying, “You’re very pretty.”

“I get that a lot,” Nezumi agreed, and knit his brows. If not fae then… “Slyph?”

Shion canted his head. Either he was playing dumb or he had no idea what that was. Nezumi tried again. “Angel?”

Shion blushed. “No.”

“You’re not human,” Nezumi huffed.

“No. Obviously.” He shrugged his wings self-consciously. “I’m a pegasus.”

Shion studied his expression as Nezumi absorbed this information. “I see,” Nezumi said at last. It made some sense: Shion’s pale coloring and brilliant feathered wings certainly fit the general descriptors. If the pegasi looked so human, though, no wonder hardly anyone had managed to find one.

Nezumi leaned back against the bed frame. “Who started the winged horse mythology?”

“No idea. But nearly all of us ride horses, so maybe the confusion started there.”

All of us, Nezumi thought to himself, but aloud he said “I see” again. Exhaustion nibbled at the edges of his mind. He filed away the probing questions for when he had proper rest and a few hearty meals.

Shion stepped forward and pressed his hand to Nezumi’s forehead. He murmured to himself, frowning.

Nezumi focused on the heat of Shion’s palm. He didn’t usually allow people in his personal space, but Shion’s hand felt familiar. Comforting. Nezumi wondered how many times Shion had to have touched and tended to him just like this while Nezumi was recovering from his wounds. The tips of Shion’s fingers brushed the edges of his hairline and for a fleeting moment, Nezumi imagined them pushing forward to run gentle tracks through his hair.

Nezumi pulled back. “Thank you,” he forced out. “I’ll head out in the morning.”

Shion’s eyebrows shot up. Nezumi watched with fascination as his wings mirrored the upward twitch. “You can’t leave,” Shion blurted.

It was Nezumi’s turn to raise his eyebrows. 

“I mean,” Shion said, “you’re not well enough to leave yet. You got hit in the head and that’s complicated magic. I did my best, but I’m not a healer. That’s why I said I’d take you to a professional.”

Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“So we can be sure you’re healed properly.” Shion spoke slowly as if Nezumi’s mild headache had knocked his IQ down a couple of notches.

“No,” Nezumi tsked. “Why are you helping me? Why did you help me?”

Shion’s wine-dark eyes stared back at him, large and bright and deep enough to drink from. There was no guile there, no threat. Nezumi couldn’t understand it.

“I’m a stranger to you. And,” Nezumi said, “I was here to hunt you.”

Shion sighed and turned away, walking toward the far end of the room. “I suspected that. I saw you were carrying tack, but you didn’t have a horse anywhere nearby.” He stared at the saddle, bridle, and other horse-riding gear piled in the corner as though facing down an unpleasant species of vermin. “I had wondered if the man who hurt you took it for himself, but Cravat said she didn’t smell any other horses.”

“Cravat said?” Nezumi vaguely remembered Shion calling his mount by that name. Don’t tell me this guy talks to horses.

Shion shrugged and turned back to Nezumi. “You’re not the first to come looking for a pegasus. But hardly anyone succeeds in finding us, let alone capturing us.”

“I found you.”

“No, I found you.”

Nezumi pursed his lips. Shion laughed and returned to the bedside. “To answer your question, I helped you because you were hurt and alone. No one would leave a person like that.”

Nezumi rubbed his side. “Someone already had.”

“Yes,” Shion growled. His expression twisted with contempt. The anger was too much to be felt only on someone else’s behalf. Nezumi wondered what shadows crowded his past.

“But he was a villain,” Shion said. “No decent creature would leave a person like that.”

“‘A villain,’” Nezumi repeated, smiling a little.

Shion’s anger morphed into self-conscious offense. “You’re making fun of me? He was a terrible human who tried to kill you. What else would you call such a person?”

Nezumi pretended to think for a moment, then said, “A villain, I guess.” He shrugged a shoulder and smiled a little more. Shion’s eyes dropped to his mouth.

The look on his face was equal parts curiosity and caution. Nezumi found himself looking at Shion’s mouth too. His lips looked soft and he liked the uncertain tilt of them at the moment. Nezumi leaned forward slightly. Shion’s eyes snapped up and the spell was broken.

The pegasus screwed his mouth further to the side. “You were easier to talk to when you were semi-conscious. A lot less…” He spun a hand through the air as if trying to conjure the right words, but they didn’t seem to want to be called. Shion huffed and then repeated with emphasis, “You were a lot less.”

The helpless honesty made Nezumi laugh—he abruptly shut his mouth and frowned. He wasn’t in the business of genuinely laughing with strangers. Even if they were cute and obviously interested in him—especially if they were cute and obviously interested in him. He should just stop talking to people in general.

“Alright,” Nezumi said. “We’ll see that healer tomorrow. If someone tries to kill me again, I want to be in fighting form.”

Shion looked relieved at the subject change. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll take Cravat to the nearest fae town and get you checked out. The healer there owes me a favor.”

“Cravat? The horse?” Nezumi wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like riding horses on a good day and the last few days had been very bad ones. “Can’t you fly us?” Nezumi gestured to the large, plush wings on Shion’s back.

Shion’s wings fluttered and clenched behind him. “They don’t work like that.”

“They don’t work like that? Your wings?”

“They’re vestigial. Why do you think I ride a horse?” Shion’s tone was clipped and his expression long-suffering.

Lovely, Nezumi thought. Not only is a pegasus not a horse, but it also can’t fly.

“How in the world have pegasi eluded capture this long? You’re defenseless as a pixie.”

Shion flushed and crossed his arms. “We have our ways.”

Nezumi wasn’t sure if he was referring to how pegasi had escaped notice or hinting that they were in possession of hidden powers. He couldn’t think about it for too long because his head began to throb. He winced and sucked a breath between his teeth.

Shion’s expression softened at once. “Don’t worry; Cravat is a steady girl, and it’s not too far.”

“She better be, and it better not be,” Nezumi muttered.

“You seem tired. I’ll let you get some more sleep.” Shion had the beginnings of a smile on his face, so Nezumi must have sounded as childish as he felt.

The pegasus spent another minute or two fussing over Nezumi’s accommodations, but after Nezumi reassured him he wasn’t thirsty, hungry, in too much pain, or in need of more blankets, Shion finally left his side.

The fading sunlight slanted into the room when Shion opened the door to the cabin. Nezumi watched the rays catch in the pegasus’s white hair and downy wings, setting them aglow. It hadn’t been a trick of the light, then, when Shion seemed to shine faintly by the spring—his body drunk in light and radiated it outward in a blurry golden aura. It was obvious that Shion was made of an old and special sort of magic; he had no idea how he had missed it before.

Nezumi shook his head, settled snugly under the covers, and slept.

#submission #no6 #no.6 #no. 6 #no 6 #nezumi #shion #pigeonsimba #a-still-small-vox #voxiferous #a still small vox #vox

[alokastrology1]

How Rahu in the 2nd house causes behavioral issues?

Rahu, like Ketu, is a shadow planet, meaning it does not exist physically. It is sometimes referred to as the Moon’s North Node. Rahu, the malevolent planet, represents delusion, materialism, and the negative aspects of existence. The 2nd house governs and governs speech, family, in-laws, money, riches, and so forth. As a result, Rahu’s presence in the 2nd House may cause residents to be impolite and harsh in their discourse. Rahu in the 2nd house may cause financial difficulties for locals, as well as relational problems with family members.

Get an online astrology consultation by the world-renowned Astrologer Mr. Alok Khandelwal.

Some homes in our Kundli provide beneficial effects while Rahu is camping, while others produce bad results. Rahu in the 2nd house is said to bring about unpleasant outcomes for the native. Rahu’s influence in the 2nd house is determined by several elements, including:

Rahu’s partner planet in the house – If the planets Moon and Rahu, for example, are in the same house (the 2nd house in this case), the consequences will be unfavourable because Rahu and Moon are enemies. However, if Rahu is in the 2nd house with Mercury (a friendly planet), the outcome will be favorable.

The Zodiac sign impact – Some zodiac signs have a good influence on Rahu qualities, while others have a negative influence. Simply said, Rahu in the 2nd house affects the Taurus ascendant differently from the Virgo ascendant.

Read Also:- What are the impacts of having Rahu in the 4th house?

Rahu's influence in the second house is favorable.

Rahu in the 2nd house usually has a detrimental impact on the native. However, the favorable effects cannot be overlooked. Rahu in the 2nd house facilitates the native’s access to worldly matters. Because Rahu represents materialism, the planet bestows prosperity in terms of riches and treasures. However, you must also learn to control your desire for these pleasures and avoid becoming addicted to them.

Rahu in the 2nd house is extremely beneficial to art collectors. During this period, such collectors will have the good fortune to find the finest discounts on antique art and craft. The native’s speech is governed by the second house, and the presence of Rahu in this region would be beneficial to you. You will be able to influence others with your speech and change their attitude to your liking. People who have Rahu in the first house (at the time of birth) live lengthy lives.

If Rahu is well-placed in the second house, the inhabitants are likely to be wealthy. They will have easy access to the world’s conveniences and privileges. Rahu in the 2nd house locals works hard to obtain money and goods. These treasures can also take the shape of antique collections of history, art, and artifacts, which are not only rare but also highly valuable, according to Rahu’s effects in the 2nd house.

Regardless of their birth status, Rahu in the 2nd house inhabitants depicts themselves as belonging to a favored sector of society. Rahu in the Second House locals likes to associate with intelligent and socially affluent individuals. Besides, these locals may develop a command over languages. They may, however, begin to flee from family values at some point. 

People who have Rahu in the first house are very close to their families. They like spending time with their family and are proud of their ancestors. The locals like being among socially privileged people and are constantly striving to further their knowledge in all areas of life. Natives with Rahu in the 2nd house are likely to acquire an interest in language and musical instruments. They have the potential to achieve in these areas if they work hard enough. And, to be honest, that would be a fantastic addition to your résumé or the bio of that find love app.

Rahu's negative consequences in the second house

Rahu in the 2nd house causes the natives to accumulate more and more. This gives rise to credit problems. Native with Rahu in the 2nd house should avoid taking out loans unless absolutely necessary. Rahu in the second house also indicates problems with the throat, tongue, and intestines. If not treated promptly, many disorders might progress to more severe illnesses. Women with Rahu in the 2nd house may experience uterine difficulties.

Rahu in the 2nd house also causes the natives to spend freely. You may also develop bad habits like gambling, telling lies, and being swayed by short-term bargains, which will add to your losses in the long run. You may struggle to meet your family’s expectations. As a result, it is urged that you keep Rahu at bay by correctly depending on advice and making careful judgments.

Rahu’s presence in the second house will have a detrimental influence on the attributes that the 2nd house represents. As a result, we may witness unfavorable developments in areas such as money, family life, and so on.

The locals will be spendthrifts, meaning they will waste money on frivolous items. A sense of balance or sound financial judgment may be absent. They may also face legal challenges as a result of money concerns. Furthermore, the natives’ rudeness and impoliteness may make them disliked. The locals will face a number of foes, which may add to their problems. When Rahu in the 2nd house is afflicted, the locals may suffer from stammering, speech difficulties, isolation from family, financial restraints, unhappiness, and other diseases.

The presence of Rahu in the 2nd house might lead to suicidal thoughts, various forms of dread, and phobias. They may also be afflicted with cholera, diarrhea, constipation, skin disorders, and uterine enlargement. In severe situations, indigenous may commit crimes like murder or theft, and they may even face incarceration.

Aside from these negative effects, Rahu causes suicidal thoughts, worries, and phobia in the native. You may believe that you are useless in life and that you will never reach success. This emotion intensifies, particularly during the Rahu Mahadasha.

Read Also:- Who was Rishi Atri?

#asttrolok #astrology #Rahu #2nd house #house #behavioral issues #issues

[fruityyamenrunner]

In Autism and Spirituality, Olga Bogdashina offers an intriguing developmental model in relation to the idea of “movie-engineered autism.” Her model has six stages and it’s a bit complicated, and since I want to keep this work simple and straightforward I will try and paraphrase without destroying her subtler meanings.

The first developmental stage is between the ages of three and seven, during which the child develops imagination stimulated by stories (i.e., movies and comics). The child has authentic “spiritual perceptions” but has neither language nor cultural imagery to represent it. Imagination gets together with those perceptions and sense-impressions to create “faith images.” Since culture provides stories (fantasy narratives) during this period, these narratives act like clotheshorses for the child to hang otherwise “shapeless” perceptions and imaginings onto. Hence “the child’s worldview can easily be manipulated by cultural doctrines.” This is also the period in which the child develops self-awareness.

Self-awareness goes hand in hand with a loss of spiritual perceptions as the child’s experience is translated into cultural images, between ages seven and twelve (stage two). In the third stage, from adolescence to adulthood, we start to refer to the past as a way to understand our experience and to make plans for the future. This is the start of continuity, when the “narrative” of identity takes over our awareness. We find our identity by “aligning with a certain perspective … without reflecting on it critically.” We adopt an unconscious ideology based on the cultural images—the narrative or movie—which best match our spiritual perceptions and allow us to function socially.

Like an actor entering into a movie, we become an image, an assumed role, a false identity, created by the script of our received conditioning. It’s an ironic fact that I was escaping into movies—false realities—as a way to try and feel more real, by creating a fake persona that matched the pseudo reality of culture that surrounded me. Movies exist to alert us to the fact that all human existence has been reduced to a movie: a series of frozen images from the past, playing constantly before our eyes, simulating movement, posing as life.

The difference with autistic types is that they don’t adopt cultural images to the same degree or submit to an unconscious ideology, so the “mask” of the false movie identity doesn’t fit them quite so well. One symptom of this is that they tend to overdo the business of cultural imitation, such as “Trekkies” who dress up as Mr. Spock, or my clumsy attempts to remold myself in the image of Eastwood. Autists don’t do instinctive imitation, they imitate the act of imitation, and so they get it subtly (or dramatically) wrong.

In Autism and Spirituality, the fourth stage described entails leaving “the group mind,” which means shedding the fake cultural identity, stepping outside the movie and looking around the theater (or shifting the gaze from the screen to the rear projector). This depends on our becoming conscious of a hitherto unconscious ideology. It implies sorting the seeds of our conditioning to discover which can be planted, and which ones accurately represent our experience, and tossing out the rest. The desired end of this process is relative autonomy—a crucial step towards the ultimate goal of enlightenment.

The book then describes a fifth stage involving “ironic imagination.” The now autonomous individual still participates with collective images (movies!), but now sees them as relative rather than absolute: as fiction. The unconscious submission to external ideology has become conscious and is replaced by “the willing suspension of disbelief.” Ironic imagination means moving from mere passive recipient, or garbage collector, of cultural imagery, to the shaper of culture—from moviegoer to moviemaker, autist to auteur.

🌟

That’s about where this book and its author come in. The sixth stage, I suppose, is the one that corresponds with full enlightenment, whatever that is. But the less said about that the better. After all, that’s life after movies, and you are here to hear about movies.

[starkjoy]

i love how we can track hiatus' effects on our collective pysche by how unhinged our au pitches have become. first we had a band au, now we have tom writing nerosporus fanfiction and transforming into a rat à la beauty and the beast

anyway, here's a list of random au concepts ive come up with, from believable to increasingly deranged

commuter rail au

tom lives upstate with shiv and rides the business class commuter rail into manhattan for work. he becomes infatuated with one of the bumbling ticket collectors (greg) and attempts neurotic small talk with him every day when he passes by to check his commuter pass, much to the annoyance of every other person nearby who just want one fucking moment of peace at 7:00 am

hr au

greg finagles himself a low-level hr role at waystar. the bane of the department's existence is one tom wambsgans, who's never been held responsible for his offensive behavior since he's married to the ceo's daughter (aka greg's cousin). because she's bitter about his nepotism hiring, greg's manager linda tasks him with handling all complaints against tom. greg sequesters tom for a 1:1 to discuss the accusations, but upon their meeting tom becomes strangely enamored with him. tom continues to cause issues, his antics a ruse to spend more time with greg each day. whether it’s boredom or twisted affection, greg develops a totally platonic heterosexual bromantic guy crush on tom. greg starts summoning tom upstairs for even the smallest offenses just so they can spend time together. everyone finds them insufferable, but they’re literally unfireable. linda quits

the met museum au

in a universe where tom followed his passions rather than his pockets, he becomes a curator at the MET. one day he notices a lone, stray beanstalk masquerading as a human (also greg) eating a burrito out of a brown paper bag on the entrance steps. out of morbid curiosity (he's not lonely, thank you very much, he's just acclimating post-divorce) he approaches the younger man. after succumbing to tom's weird prodding, greg explains that he just got disinherited by his grandpa and fired from the chipotle a few blocks away, so he's currently broke and approaching homelessness. in a moment of spontaneous weakness, tom offers him a job as a janitor at the museum. greg hesitantly accepts. over the next few months, tom becomes increasingly infatuated with greg and repeatedly promotes him to new jobs despite the man rarely earning the reward, until finally greg becomes a curator himself. greg knows nothing about art and brings people along for tours saying things like 'picasso, what a guy, right!'

honey i shrunk greg au

everything is the same except greg's bank account isn't looking very solid after dropping 50k on a watch and tom's 'bottom of the top' promise hasn't kicked in yet, so he partakes in a scientific study to earn some extra cash. he negatively reacts to the drug administered, which somehow shrinks him down to the size of a lipstick tube. tom feels responsible for greg resorting to the experiment, so he takes little thumbelina greg into his care. greg finds it therapeutic to be tiny for once. weird sex stuff probably happens idk. i will not elaborate

tomgreg and the multiverse of madness

a loki-esque scenario where tom variant mr. darcy enters the succession universe and falls in love with greg. both vie for the younger man's attention until darcy!tom and succession!tom repeatedly enact overly complicated hijinks to sabotage the other's plans of seducution. meanwhile greg just enjoys the attention and lets them go at it. they end up killing each other

#tomgreg #succession #succ shitposting #shoutout whoever originated those other aus #hope these inspire more shitposting

[thetypedwriter]

The Personal Librarian Book Review

The Personal Librarian Book Review By Marie Benedict and Victoria Christopher Murray 

It happened again. The Personal Librarian is never a book I would have picked up or chosen for myself as far as historical fiction goes. 

Now, I like historical fiction. Anything about ancient Rome or Greece I will absolutely devour. Early 1900’s New York isn’t exactly my cup of tea on the other hand. Through extraneous motivations, I found a copy of this novel in my hand and a requirement to read it. 

Honestly, for a Good Morning America Book Club pick, I expected more. 

The story follows Belle da Costa Greene, born Belle Marion Greener, the second eldest daughter of the first Black graduate of Harvard and a civil rights advocate in 20th century America. 

The story follows Belle as she becomes the personal librarian to the enigmatic, larger than life J.P Morgan, and aids him in his desire to accrue and create a rare book, manuscript, and artwork collection for the Pierpont Morgan Library. 

Of course, this wouldn’t be possible if they knew she was Black. It’s only possible because Belle is living in this racially unfair and hostile world as a white-passing woman with no ties to her father and a made-up story of having ancestry to a Portuguese grandmother in order to explain her slightly darker skin. 

The story begins in the year 1905 and spans all the way until 1924, with the addition of the epilogue that takes place in March of 1948. 

A politically fraught era, Belle lived in a cruel world where the true nature of her identity would never have allowed her to live and achieve the aspirations she was capable of due to bigotry and racism. 

For a book with such an inspiring and capable main character and an incredibly charged environment, you would think The Personal Librarian would be relentlessly engaging, deeply meaningful, and a riveting experience to consume. 

Unfortunately, I found it quite boring. 

From start to finish, the book was droll despite the co-authors attempting to make it entertaining and educational. Belle as a main character was as flat as a board. 

You might find this hard to believe, but I found it to be the case in my reading experience. Other than being a workaholic, shallowly debating the issue of her identity, being in love with rare manuscripts, and seeking a connection, there wasn’t much to her. 

Supposedly Belle’s family was inherently important to her and the catalyst for most of her choices, but we rarely see them and none of them were standalone characters in their own right except for Mama, who came across as harsh most of the time and not very likable. 

Belle’s other driving factors included her attraction and romance with J.P. Morgan himself and another art collector named Bernard Berenson. While Belle found herself attracted to Mr. Morgan throughout her tenure as his personal librarian, nothing of huge consequences happened between them. 

However, the same could not be said for Mr. Berenson, whom Belle gave to herself completely and was destroyed in the end by his non-committal actions, selfishness, and betrayal. 

You would think the romances would be spicy, but they were anything but. Belle seemed to always find herself drawn to white,  powerful men more than three times her age (and I abhor drastic disparities in age and power dynamics) and the romance itself was cheesy and predictable. I knew the moment I read about Bernard that their romance would end in a cataclysmic disaster. I was right. 

A lot of other names are tossed around, but truly, none of them were characterized very well or fleshed out in any important way. I think the authors wanted to include as many historical names and titles as possible, but it meant little to me without a history lesson. Instead it came across as wasted potential and more like name dropping for the sake of it. 

You would imagine that the driving force of the book would be Belle’s identity crisis between her being a Black woman pretending to be a white woman. And while this issue comes up over and over and over again, it is always the same thing every single time. 

Belle fears that she will be discovered. She’s saddened that this is the world she must live in. She essentially forgets about it for the rest of the chapter and lives out as Belle de Costa Greene. Rinse and repeat. Every. Single. Chapter. 

No growth comes forth from this whatsoever. The tension of this secret builds and builds and builds and you expect, as a reader, some kind of eventual reckoning. None ever comes. 

All we get as a reader is Belle reuniting with her father for a single chapter, a man who left her as a child to pursue civil rights, and who essentially tells her that she has the choice to remain white and that it is not a betrayal. It is not a fair choice and that he hopes, one day, that her true background can be revealed without fear of discrimination and hatred. 

I understand that this book is the eventual reckoning. The world now knows that Belle de Costa Greene was actually born Belle Marion Greener, a Black woman, and rewards and cheers her amazing accomplishments. However, in the actual story, we never get this reckoning and it deflates the tension and stakes of the experience overall.

Belle de Costa Greene was a real woman that handled a divided world in the best way she could. The authors took some liberties that make this historical fiction, but as a whole, this story didn’t make for a great book to read. Belle de Costa Greene is amazing, and she should be seen as such, but I think this would have been better as a biography. 

This tale didn’t lend itself well to a full blown nearly 400-paged novel. The book was more of a history lesson on an Italian renaissance painter or a social issue in 1915 than it was a character driven novel on identity, race, and choice. 

Because of this, I found it interesting, but a disappointment story-wise. If it was advertised as a historical account of the life of Belle de Costa Greene with an emphasis on art, history, and politics, that would be one thing. 

But the authors try to squeeze in things like romance, family, friendship, and characterization—all of which falls flat because the history and art dominates everything else in the story so completely. 

As a biography, this book makes sense. If you cut out the liberties both authors take in order to make this a compelling read, the novel essentially follows the formula of a biography anyway. 

However, they thought it would make a great narrative and it just…doesn’t. The story is about an intelligent, competent, successful woman that everyone believed to be white until now. 

But the story itself doesn’t have any particular climaxes that makes this an appealing read. It lacks stakes, tension, real conflict, characterization, and personal development. 

For someone like me, a very character-driven reader, this book was hard to swallow due to its very nature of and the history, culture, art, and politics of the time weren’t enough to keep me engaged until the very end. 

Recommendation: Unless you're a history major that will fangirl over every name mentioned in this book, put it down and just pick up a biography on Belle de Costa Greene instead. It will give you the same delivery without any of the useless fluff. 

Score: 5/10

#the personal librarian #marie benedict #victoria christopher murray #book blog #book #books #favorite books #top books #popular fiction #Popular Books #book review #bookblog bookrecommendations #Book Recommendations #book rec #book recs #5/10 #historical fiction #black fiction #civil rights

[madamelebrunportfolio]

1. "Marie Antoinette in Court Dress"

Title of artwork: Marie-Antoinette, reine de France (1755-1793) or, Marie Antoinette in Court Dress

Date: 1778 | Medium: Oil on canvas | Size: 107.5 x 76 in

About artwork:

I remembered when I was a child my Father once told me, “If anybody was born to be a painter, my child, it’s you.”

And looking back now, I wouldn’t be here without the support of my dear father and mother to professionally become a well-known artist of 18th century France. I believe my relationships have become advantages to my excelling career. Other than growing up with a supportive painter as a father, I married my (ex)husband, Jean Baptiste Le Brun, when I was 20 years old. He was an art dealer and collector, I heard…He was the great-grand nephew of the legendary Charles Le Brun, painter of the past King Louis XIV! It was very kind of Mr. Le Brun lent me most of his most valuable master paintings he’s collected, they were great references to copy and study from that polished my oil painting skills. I believe the other advantage was the excess of self-portraits I’ve painted (About 37 self-portraits throughout my life!). I heard my “pretty face” and beauty gave me some recognition in the public eye and as a woman artist, that’s quite the norm.

Thanks to Mr. Le Brun’s career, I had gained many connections and gained many clients and after two years of my marriage, I was on the grand steps of the Palace of Versailles in 1778. The symbol of ultimate absolutism and home of the newly crowned King, Louis the XVI. What a shocker! I received a once in a lifetime opportunity to paint the new Queen of France; Marie-Antoinette-Josèphe-Jeanne d’Autriche-Lorraine...What an honor. I learned that the Empress of Austria, Marie-Thérèse, urged to have a painting of her daughter, one that is “large and beautiful” to be sent over to Austria. I remember the new Queen told me it was indeed a struggle to appease her mother with a portrait once she was ascended to the throne in 1774. Many portrait painters before me, like François-Hubert Drouais or Joseph Duplessis were unable to capture the Queen’s resemblance up to her standards, she even told me she used to detest painters until I showed up. "The painters kill me and drive me to despair!” She once wrote to her mother. I could understand what the Queen meant…Like…Have you seen it? Have you seen it!?

Nearly none of them were able to capture her virtuous and delicate likeness of a face. When I was with the Queen, we were in fact the same age, yet she was much taller and she presented herself with such dignity with her head held high. She walks across the room better than any other women at the court and having the face of an Austrian with a clear complexion, long slender nose, and small blue eyes with thick lips made her stand out from the crowd. The young monarch's imposing presence had me very nervous when painting her for the first time, but her voice carried so much grace and kindness she alleviated my fear. I believed I had quite satisfied the court once the painting was finished to be sent to Austria. I wanted to represent and illustrate the Queen’s youth, grace, and most importantly pure beauty of her complexion more than any other artist dared to portray her. What an experience, and judging from the 30 portraits I've painted for her, it won't be my only visit to the Palace of Versailles. I was now under Queen Marie Antoinette's patronage and most favorite portrait painter after all.

#portrait #oil painting #marie antoinette #court dress #palace of versailles #queen #french painting #french artist

[maguro13-2]

Demons Unleashed ~ Origins of the Ink Demon Gaiden Pt.23 ~

Sonic : It doesn't feel right about this. I mean, we got the Green Pure Heart that was connecting to the Shinra person, but I didn't know why he wanted to duel against, he was the guy who created Soul World and their author is a weirdo. Well, that's no relief of mine!

Tails : Equivalent to all Seven Chaos Emeralds, this green pure heart was a piece of the purity heart created by the Tribe of the Ancients, a highly civilization that existed within the Paper Mario universe.

Sonic : Paper Mario, that 2D counterpart of himself, Paper Mario had a dark experience from darkest things ever had like Princess Peach becoming evil due to being possessed by the Shadow Queen and of course, that jester had plans of putting an end to all, This was probably some kind of gift from the ohkuboverse before 50% of it's universe was completely destroyed by the Time Eater.

Knuckles : No duh, It'll take weeks to destroy this peasant, I hope that it reminds one thing's for sure. Rouge always had me thinking about the Master Emerald being the center of the seven emeralds I collected. But when Angel Island falls into the ocean twice in the Dreamcast era, I had to gather the missing pieces of the Master Emerald from Station Square, Mystic Ruins, and Eggman's Aircraft. Then I had to collect the Missing pieces of the Master Emerald while that bat girl is collecting them during the Space Colony Ark Incident. I collected those master emerald pieces somewhere in the desert, the spooky mountainous region Pumpkin Hill, Aquatic Mine, and of course, there's one place that is so hard to get Master Emerald pieces.

Tails : What place did you hardly find them?

Knuckles : I believe it was space. (a cutaway show Knuckles at Meteor Herd running around while Meteors fall and crash) Help! Why is it so hard to find those darn pieces in Space! If only going through that Asteroid Belt was literally bad idea of going to the space co-(gets crushed by a meteor, in pain) Rats! (cuts back to the group)

Tails : So you eventually realized that the Death God of Mobius have monitored the situation to tell Shadow that he was the "Wrong" way, it's because that the Space Colony Ark wasn't created to destroy our world, it was created to destroy aliens and any other intergalactic beings. Guess Shadow was so worried about alien leaders being the bad father dudes was their problem.

Sonic : It's Daddy issues, Shadow has daddy issues with Black Doom, that's why they had to make throw him to prison or even Grim had to take his Soul away in order to make up for humanity. Humans in our world had no rights to become an arrogant species, the lore of our universe had never beens this weird, mysterious, and sometimes dark for all of us. (walks over get a cup of coffe) Yeah, right, Mr. Daddy Issues, that's Shadow alright. It's not like that Robotnik is going to be alone with his machine since he never really met his cousin Maria on that day. That's a dark secret.

(Door opening)

Sonic : Aw man, it has to be Nights, Yuji Naka never tells me that is other character would come to meet me for a third game and fans are going to displeased about it. Sorry to disappoint, Nights, but Yuji Naka isn't here so it's best that you will-!?

Knuckles : Eh? Who is this?

Sonic : Where in the world is that Jester? Ulala, did you do something to--

Mysterious Stranger (?) : That Dream Jester, and dancing diva Ulala isn't here, she's at the streets along with the sega chumps. But rest assure you that you would do fine if you'll tell me who or what is the final collector and the winner shall receive this prize.

Sonic : What's going on? What are you on about? What do you do need something that you really want?

Mysterious Stranger (?) : That Green Pure Heart, the one you got it from Shinra. With all seven pure hearts collected from the collectors, now all we need is to find the Eighth and final one.

Sonic : The white one, the eighth and final pure heart is connected to the beloved person that Shinra trust.

Mysterious Stranger (?) : I know it, she's the last of the Eight vessels of the Eight Pure Hearts. It's one the keys that Demon Vibe attempted to open the Door to Darkness itself.

Sonic : Then who are you, supposed to be, anyobdy that I know someone? I know it's Nozomi. It has to be you as the Mysterious racer. Or it could be Shahra that is hidden by the hood of that cloak.

Mysterious Stranger (?) : That's my jacket. With all of the eight pure hearts of the Eight pillars are collected, will finally spread the love out of the darkness and joy to the universe, love will conquer it all.

Sonic : Alright, then tell me who are you? You got a name, strange (the stranger unhoods herself to reveal herself as Miku) Say, I don't remember a girl having twintails like Maka before. or some other twintail girl that is Lenalee Lee. But I can't seem to put my finger on it. What's your name?

Miku : Miku, the name's Miku Hatsune, Sonic. But otherwise in Japan, they call me Hatsune Miku.

Sonic : I knew it! I knew it! I remember you! You were that girl that I first heard about in Cyberspace, you're one of the world's newest virtual celebrities of the music industry of the 21st century, Hatsune Miku!

Miku : Yes, you remembered me on my first concert, Sonic. You were the one who looked upon me after you wanted me to join your company for what?

Sonic : For a special someone, I proclaim that Sega would make you the successor of Ulala herself. Before you were born in computer memory space, Ulala was one of Sega's musical divas, she was one of our company's greatest characters that is powerful to save the galaxy with the powers of dancing and music. They say that Sega is looking for Ulala's successor and that successor is you, Miku.

Miku : So what? I was born within computer memory space. I heard about you, I obverse everything from your and the real world, when I was only a kid. I was modeled after a girl who was struck in a fearsome accident back in the year 06.

Sonic : Huh? Wait, you were modeled after a girl who died in an accident last year? Wait a second, I remember, you were named after a school girl that I just met over a year ago.

Miku : That's right, before I became a singer created from within Computer data, I was a senior at a high school who only wanted to be in the music business, the Vocaloid, they were a group of virtual singers that were modeled after those who died created within computer memory space.

Sonic : Computer memory space. I like the idea of that. So what brings you hear, Miku?

Miku : Someone gave me this message and there four, I found out that it would be awesome to have a personality like this. A man with a top hat gave me this to ya.

(a holographic image of Count Bleck appears)

Count Bleck : Sonic the Hedgehog, there is only one Pure Heart collector left and with that, all eight pure hearts connecting to the eight vessels will be completed in order to make them pure again. So I will think of something that this twin-tailed girl you met is not the eigth and final pure collector. So me and my group will begin our search for the final Pure Heart collector, so best be wisely to find the final pure hear collector, over and out. (his holographic self vanishes)

Miku : So I guess it's not me this time, I forgot that that I was going to give you this old Heart-shaped box that I was going give you this. (gives him a heart-container)

Sonic : This is from Smash, a heart container? Wait, That's Zelda.

Miku : Be my guess. Count Bleck and his group are on a search for the eight and final pure heart collector, something tells me that anyone is the eighth and final collector would be lucky enough to me the man of his or her dream.

Sonic : Sounds like Mario will be lucky enough to find the final and eight collector. More importantly, We're still worried about the missing chao from Blue Coast. I won't let Eggman Nega get away with this.

Miku : Sonic, I know you worried about the Chao, but why would a descendant from 200 years in your world would unleash demons that bent on destroying mankind like it's relative, Iblis?

Sonic : Iblis you say. I didn't know that was the creature, the one we saw during the Solaris Mysteries before the game retconned. But where did you say that about a fire demon eating chao.

Miku : He left the portal. And we warned anyone about using it, so, yep, he's going on to kill us with that evil fire demon!

[How it Started (Ifrit Golem Theme) - Kenichi Tokoi, Runblebee]

Sonic : That mad scientist from the future, he's going to doom us all!

Tails : We have to stop that thing before it's going to real world au!

Sonic : The villains that I faced with have the nerves to bring to deal with a bunch of a demons!

Knuckles : Well I'm getting the Master Emerald whether they like it or not! I just wanted things to the way they were!

Sonic : Alright, guys! It's now or never! If it has the White Pure Heart, then we'll able to know something that what the pure hearts to spread that love to purity! It'll take a miracle to find out whoever has it.

Tails : And, It's okay to be cool when it comes to beating down a fire demon. Let's go take down that ifrit, together!

[the three runs off]

Miku : Don't forget who trusted you to find out who it is.

Sonic : I won't forget that. Alright, guys. Let's go!

"The search for the eighth and final collector of the Pure Begins..."

~ Stage 27 : Diva from the Cyberspace ~

#sonic the hedgehog #vocaloid #sega #sonic team #crypton future media #crossover #drama #comedy #dark comedy #horror #mystery #thriller #supernatural #fantasy #dark fantasy #science fiction #action #adventure #psychological

[yhwhrulz]

Today's Daily Encounter Thursday, November 30, 2023

Great Treasure

I rejoice at Your word As one who finds great treasure.1

William Randolf Hearst was a famous newspaperman and art collector. He proudly filled his mansion with artful masterpieces. One day he learned of a painting that was supposed to be especially valuable and commanded his scouts to search for it. At last, one of them returned and reported that he had located the painting. Excitedly, Mr. Hearst commanded him to buy it! The amused scout replied, "You already own it! It's sitting in a crate in one of your warehouses!"

Hearst valued his masterpieces and always longed for more, but didn't realize that he already held in his possession the one of greatest value. How could he have overlooked having such a grand treasure? The same way we overlook our most valued treasure — God's Word.

This priceless Masterpiece sits in the home of every believer, many times hidden from view and forgotten. We go through life, day by day, seeking guidance and counsel from others when our Ultimate Guide (Ps. 73:24) sits collecting dust in a crate. We search far and wide for the secret to happiness while the Answer to a full and abundant life (Jn. 10:10) lies on a shelf in a dark room. There is no treasure on Earth that compares to the Treasure found in God's Word. We have this Masterpiece within our reach and forget all about it. But our God is merciful and patiently waits for you to remember your Creator and return to Him. God's Word is the timeless masterpiece that holds value and treasure for all mankind. Do you treasure God's Word? Do you keep God's Word hidden in your heart or in a crate somewhere in your home? The psalmist meditated on God's Word and hid It specifically in his heart (Ps. 119:11) to be with him always. Hiding it in a drawer, or on a coffee table or bookshelf will only act as unappreciated art. God's Word impacts your life when it is in you, not near you. When you treasure the Scriptures, reading them frequently and meditating upon them, they become etched upon your heart to be appreciated by all who come in contact with you.

Rejoice in the Treasure of God's Word today. Set aside time to read it—hide it in your heart and display it on the walls of your life for all to see!

Suggested Prayer: Father, I rejoice in the Treasure of your Word and the blessing of finding You in its pages. Will you give me a renewed desire to meet you there daily? I want Your Word hidden in my heart and I want Your love displayed on the walls of my life. In Jesus' name, Amen

.1. Psalm 119:162 (NKJV).

Today's Encounter was written by: Veronica B.

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