#thu challenge

[battlekidx2]

Alastor Episodes 7 and 8 Thoughts

These two episodes really gave us a lot in regards to Alastor and I cannot wait to see where they go with him in season 2. What I find most fascinating about what they established with him in these episodes is how I think this perfectly sets up Alastor to directly challenge the show’s main themes of redemption.

Alastor is the only character in the main cast that I think could effectively challenge Charlie’s idea of redemption by making her face the question of “where the line for who can be redeemed and who is too far gone is?” 

Even Vaggie and her past as an exorcist couldn’t challenge Charlie’s ideals in the same way because Vaggie so clearly wants to be better and is trying to be better. She could only challenge Charlie’s idea of who could be redeemed. She couldn’t truly challenge the line of when someone is too far gone unlike Alastor. 

And to explain this I'll just jump right in.

It’s clear these two episodes were meant to show a shift in Alastor and Charlie’s relationship in some capacity. It’s a bit more of a subtle shift than with the other characters, but I think it’s setting up this future conflict well for the limited time the show has. 

At the start Charlie doesn’t think Alastor cares and calls him out on this. She directly states that she believes he enjoys the suffering. He refutes her idea of him by stating she doesn’t know what he feels. He purposefully hides his feelings behind a smile as a sign of control. (The first shift. It tells her there’s more beneath the surface)

Then Alastor helps Charlie enlist cannibal town and says he wants to mentor her in the song. This is more than the initial indifference and humor he got out of Charlie at the beginning. There’s an interest in seeing Charlie grow and being a part of it that wasn't there before. And, with Alastor helping Charlie here, trust is being built (at least on Charlie's end).

Then Alastor talks to Niffty (who he is clearly fond of) and admits he finds the group enjoyable to be around. He says he could grow accustomed to them after Niffty says she really likes them almost in agreement with her. He's very candid with Niffty and doesn't seem to feel the need to hide his emotions around her. They appear to be on the same wavelength.

And finally, Charlie is upset when she thinks that Alastor died against Adam and hugs him happily when he returns. In Charlie’s eyes Alastor has been helpful and risked himself and his power to protect the hotel. This is a true shift in their relationship on Charlie's end.

This bond is necessary because if (at the very least) Charlie doesn't care about Alastor then he won't be able to truly challenge her idea of redemption and the show implies it doesn't just go one way. It's just obscured.

To explain what I mean I want to look at Alastor's role in the final battle and that moment when he is alone after he escapes.

At the beginning of the battle he felt like the trump card he should have been. He makes the exorcists, before Adam destroys his shield, look like a joke. And he gives Adam a run for his money before he becomes overconfident and lets his guard down. He didn’t expect Adam to bounce back and have that much power left to show. He was caught completely off guard and paid the price. 

And instead of staying to face the end with the rest of the people in the hotel Alastor opts to save himself. He places himself first. When he leaves he seems almost smug, spouting off a one liner and smiling as he sinks into the shadows. It seems calculated and calm, but alone is a completely different story. This moment shakes Alastor and that moment alone puts his fight against Adam and decision to flee in a different light.

In this moment when he's alone he starts to lose it, saying there has to be a way out. This isn’t where things end. He will come out on top. 

He can feel his control over the situation slipping. His power and notoriety has been challenged left and right this season. First Vox, then Lucifer, then the loan sharks, now Adam. It’s one right after the other. And Adam almost killed him.

He’s struggling to grasp onto what little control he has left by forcing himself to keep on his smile and it calls back to the beginning of episode 7 when he says to Charlie that just because she sees a smile doesn't mean she knows how he really feels. His smile is a sign of control. And even in this moment you can see that last bit of control slipping. And it’s left him even more desperate for his freedom than before.

The Radio Demon was introduced almost as if he was an all powerful entity and now he is being brought back down to earth and he’s raging against it, barely keeping it just below the surface. 

But there’s even more to his breakdown than just his pride. The lines “Great Alastor, altruist, died for his friends. Sorry to disappoint that is not where this ends. I’m hungry for freedom like never before. The constraints of my deal surely have a backdoor.” strongly imply that he really does care for the residents of the hotel more than he wants to admit even to himself.

He is freaking out because he got too close to dying trying to protect and help people that he never thought he would care at all about and he’s doubling down on his plans from before. 

His immediate desperation to be free implies he is at the hotel because he is forced to be there, but he’s desperate to get out of the contract because he doesn’t like how it’s changing him. Alastor has always put himself first and here he is almost dying trying to protect this hotel and it's rattled him even more deeply than the blow to his pride.

I feel like they know exactly what Alastor can mean thematically and they want you to know he’s a villain while seeding hints there could be change under the surface (ones that Alastor himself is afraid of and wants to double down against). There’s a balancing act going on with him and it seems they really do want to challenge the idea of redemption with him. Not just Charlie’s, but his own as well.

Alastor is still in my opinion the best written character in the series. There’s just so much to unravel with him and he’s the most fun to try and dissect to me. I can’t wait to see what they have planned for him in season 2.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #the show must go on #hello rosie #charlie #netflix #Alastor is such a fascinating character #he has the potential to really challenge Charlie's views of redemption #By either showing her when someone is too far gone #because he doubled down on his original plans #or actually accepting that he's changing #and finding “redemption” #thus proving that anyone can change #even a sadistic prideful overlord

[dragonpropaganda]

you should talk about your thoughts on rw fanon (looking with huge eyes)

Oh god, there's a lot of major misconceptions have concreted into fanon, mostly around ancient society and ascension.

First things first! Ascension is not death! They are entirely separate things treated entirely separately by the text of the game. I can see where the interpretation is coming from, but it doesn't really align with how the text treats either subject. Five Pebbles may want to remove the self destruction taboo, but from his reaction to the rot it's clear that he doesn't want to die. Conflation of ascension and death only comes up as an offhand possibility that pebbs makes on iterator 4chan, when he's going into the possibilities of scenarios that even the other sliverists are doubtful of! (let me make clear that I am not a sliverist by any means)

Ascension is more of talked about as a form of transcendence, yeah? A Bell, Eighteen Amber Beads talks about their sitution as being "To have grasped at the boundless infinites of the cosmic void…", not as them seeking an end to life.

The beta dialogue goes into more detail, mentioning the "infinities of time and space" and the "boundless fractal planes of spirit and reality...", though this dialogue was cut and it's hard to tell how much it reflects the concept as in the released game.

As for the cultural misconceptions... there's A Lot to talk about, but the first that comes to mind is the common conflation of the five natural urges and the christian concept of sin.

It is true that the negation of urges is mentioned by moon as an alternative method of ascension, but much of what we know about the culture of the people who the fandom calls the ancients (which makes discussion of the depths a mess but that's something for another post entirely) points towards the urges not being seen as shameful.

Even the first urge does not seem to be particularly scorned! Being a warrior is presented as a cause for bragging in the Shaded Citadel pearl, being comparable with being an artist and a fashion legend. The second urge, also does not seem to be suppressed. Multiple sources attribute some level of honour to parenthood! The aforementioned pearl also mentions Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel as being a "Mother, Father and Spouse" without any hint of shamefulness. Nineteen Spades, Endless Reflections expresses pride about having progeny, mentioning it alongside their owned land and esteem among their peers.

After some peer review, an esteemed friend has told me to add a section on purposed organisms as well! This is not so much my area, so I might be a bit off on some things.

As moon says, the majority of purposed organisms were tubes in boxes, and that the primal fauna of the world are almost entirely extinct. A lot of the fandom seems to ignore the first part, and i can't say I blame them, but the evolution of the creatures is so much weirder than people think.

Concept art for the creatures has this interesting quality to it, where the organic parts of the creatures have an almost... melty quality to them.

In the concept art, the flesh appears as if it's almost defying the machinery to form an animal shape. It's as if it's conquering its own artificiality the way the foliage grows over the (stone, brick and concrete, not mostly metal as some think!) ruins.

Of course, it's hard to really tell how much of this reflects the finalised concept, most of the integration is much smoother in the game, in line with a seamless kind of biomechanical design. There was always an intention of biomechanical strangeness, as shown in this screenshot of the devlog before the term "slugcat" even existed!

That said, the melty nature of the concept art shows a level of wild change inherent the biomechanical nature of the creatures, as if they truly are the result of these "tubes in boxes" almost revolting against their own boxes.

and considering centipedes... some tubes may not have had boxes in the first place!

#rain world #rain world lore #rainworld #rw spoilers #please note! my role in downpour development does not make me an authority on what is canon or not! #my domain is entirely within challenge mode and arena which aren't canon anyway #my lore analysis is just lore analysis with no looks behind the scenes of anything vanilla #downpour was made as a fan expansion and the rewrites were just done directly by james #we didn't get any disambiguation on the lore (and thank fuck for that honestly. analysis is the best part) #though the hills ARE made of bricks #this is canon not because i say so but because it is visibly true in some areas of the game. part of the text and thus canon. weep. #i could go into more detail on most of this! purposed organisms aren't my area of expertise tho so i might be a bit shaky on some of that #anyway if anyone has any fact checking to do. please do so #media analysis is a dialogue!

[ssstrawberryflowers]

a very nice person ( @captialluke ) asked if i could draw Gabriel as a harpy and then i got too in the zone, so of course i had to render it somewhat

#gabriel ultrakill #ultrakill #tw nudity #i feel like i draw Gabriel with his arms up a lot #just know that for some reason these poses seem to always fit the situation to me #also it's challenging and thus fun to me to draw that #thas all really #had some fun drawing his wings tho ngl #put em in here because i've started drawing him with three pairs so yk #typical seraphim stuff (i know Gabe's an archangel but seeing how this game's angelic hierarchy goes yknow) #but i do wish i could've made his arm-wings bigger #agh well #this more lineart based style is fun

[starry-bi-sky]

How i envisioned Danny's ghost form/Phantom in my Danyal Al Ghul au (images at bottom of post). His ghost form has some pr heavy influence from the League, because I thought it'd be neat + to kinda show how even after four years, the League still had some kind of impact on who is he as a person. Plus some milder Robin influence in his boots and the cape (which i meant to be split down the middle to have some kind of 'bird wing' silhouette) as a way to indicate his lingering desire to meet his dad.

The pauldron lookin-thing on his upper chest is based off certain Danny Phantom designs I see that give him that white,,, marking,,, thing. I've been calling it the Jedi Chestplate because it reminds me of the clone wars Jedi armor. So like, slight homage to his hazmat suit.

(not pictured: his thermos and his sword)

behold! the judgmental lil shit (affectionate) himself

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dpxdc art #mediocre starry art #dpdc #danyal al ghul au #danny fenton is not the ghost king #older brother danny #i thought about giving him a mask but felt it would make him look too busy #i originally made his scar larger but then i remembered he got that scar when he was five. and thus the scar would have shrunk over time #prolly could've been smaller but. oh well :) #the lack of fenton influence isn't intentional i promise its just that i couldn't combine all three things at once without risk of making #the outfit look overly busy LMAO. ignore his hands they're my weakpoint #'judgmental lil shit' quote goes to the-navistar-carol for being the first thing she said when i showed her the fanart #fun fact the tail of the lightning bolt going behind the P is supposed to be a mockup of the tail of the Robin “R” which is another subtle #indicator of Danny's desire to be part of his father's life and not having it. he's never gonna be robin and he knows it but that doesnt #mean some part of him doesnt still want to. ugh the pants look awful but i dont want to spend any more time than i already have fixing them #because. drawing on mobile suckkkkksssss. starry draw danny with short hair challenge: task denied

[cerise-on-top]

helloooo! how do think Kate and Nikolai would like to get married, like type of weddings and how they’d propose. Also I adore your Kate stuff! there isn’t enought for her!

Hello! I'm not sure I'm the right person to ask this since the last wedding I went to was 17, almost 18 years ago! But I tried, even if I don't know at all what a wedding encompasses!

How Laswell and Nikolai Would Like to Get Married

Laswell: She’d try to find a special date to propose, even if she would preferably choose Christmas. However, if you don’t celebrate Christmas, then she’ll find another date, even if it’s “just” your birthday. You deserve all the good in the world and that she makes sure to give you. Your birthday will be an absolute dream, everything will be perfect and you will be cared for. However, Laswell will try to propose to you when the two of you are all alone, so she’ll either send everyone away, or drive you home and then propose to you on your doorstep. Either way, she wants you to be content and happy so that you can be positively joyful as she proposes to you. Your wedding won’t be very big, however, with only the most important people coming. She’s a CIA station chief, she’s highly sought after, so not the entire city needs to know about your arrangements and possibly get you killed during them. No, Laswell plays it safe and thus keeps it small. Although she would like to have a ceremony to commemorate this special day. Laswell isn’t a very religious person, in fact she’s not religious at all, so she doesn’t need a church wedding. If you absolutely insist, however, then she will plan one. However, she’s content with a ceremony and just a civil marriage. If you’re close with a lot of people, then it’s very likely that a lot of people will come from your side. Laswell doesn’t really have many people she’d invite to her wedding. The people she would invite likely don’t have time, so she doesn’t particularly bother. Besides, those two are very dangerous people as well, so it would likely be for the best if she doesn’t. The wedding itself would be a rather standard wedding, though. Like one you’d see on TV, so nothing too fancy. It doesn’t need to be to show how much you love each other.

Nikolai: He’d be very casual about it, waiting for a good moment to ask you for marriage. Don’t get me wrong, he has a pair of rings he’d use for such a thing, but he won’t openly propose with them. During a mellow moment where it’s evident you both love each other so dearly and are stricken with infatuation, that’s when he’ll ask you if you want to marry him. No getting down on one knee, just him lying on your chest, looking up at you and asking you, hearts in his eyes. It would take him a while to ask you for your hand in marriage, a few years, in fact, but he’ll be the one to ask. It won’t be a special date either, just whenever you’re feeling especially lovey dovey with each other. Your wedding won’t be very big either. He’s the leader of Chimera, so he needs to keep a low profile if he doesn’t want to be found out. No big or fancy ceremony, even if he will marry you in a church. Nikolai wants to have a traditional Russian wedding. One, where he pays ransom for you with the most beautiful sapphire necklace he could find. One, where he finds the most stunning crowns in all of Russia, both of which are yours. One, where he takes you through St. Petersburg to show you all the sights there are to see. Granted, he’ll be speedrunning the tour with you since he can’t afford to have the wedding last longer than two days, but he still wants to enjoy all these moments with you. He’ll tell you about all the sights there are in the city and hold your hand as well, taking pictures everywhere. He just wants to remember the sight of you wearing either a suit or a wedding dress forever, and what better way is there than by taking pictures? Although his memory is phenomenal, and he’ll remember those days forever, he still wants a few pictures here and there as a keepsake.

#cod #cod x reader #kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #cod nikolai #cod nikolai x reader #it's been so long since I've written for Nikolai thank you for requesting him! #Nikolai's rings have been passed down to him by his parents! it's tradition to have those as your wedding rings! #Laswell doesn't really have very many people she's close with so she doesn't have very many people to invite to her wedding #as long as she just gets to see you that's all that matters to her! #Laswell wouldn't take as long to propose. a year and a half at most #but that's only because actually getting with her would take a few years. she's not one for love at first sight in the slightest #once she's with you she's a keeper though. she knows she wants to stay by your side and thus proposes fairly quickly #Laswell would only ever really date someone who she knows she wants to spend her life with #she's too old for puppy crushes and something that won't last #so getting with her is the real challenge here. everything afterwards is a given to her

[confetti-cat]

Twelve, Thirteen, and One

Words: 6k

Rating: G

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)

When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.

—

It’s hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.

The mice notice this—though it happens so often that they’ve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.

When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleep—even they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. They’d found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where she’d held a little chunk of brown bread.

Tonight, she has nothing. They don’t mind—though three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.

A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.

When she stirs, it’s to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.

It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakes—feeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.

They’re all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girl—the Cinder-Girl, they think of her—is gentle and kind.

Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, they’re too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.

One looks up from where it’s discovered a stray pea to check her expression.

A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelms—melts, even—the traces of tension in her tired limbs.

Very slowly, so much so that they really aren’t bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.

The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.

The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.

They decide she’s quite safe. Very friendly.

—

The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.

When both gold sticks on the clocks’ moonlike faces point upward, there’s a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.

There’s a great treasury of old straw in the attic. It’s inside a large sack—and while this one doesn’t have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.

The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesn’t seem to mind what he takes from it. There’s enough more of it to fill a hundred rat’s nests, so he supposes she doesn’t feel the difference.

Tonight, though—perhaps he’s a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.

“Oh.” says the girl. She smiles—and though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. “Hello again. Do you need more straw?”

He isn’t sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.

She’s seemed safe enough so far—almost like the woman in white and silver-gold he’s seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safeness—so he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.

Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. It’s true he doesn’t need much, but the chill of winter hasn’t left the world yet.

The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.

“Take as much as you need,” she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnel’s-width from, and offers him what she holds. “Would you like this?”

He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isn’t the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.

It’s a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down he’d once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.

He touches his nose to it—then, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.

It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.

—

There’s a human out in the gardens again. Which is strange—this is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. She’s not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.

She doesn’t smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.

This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.

She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.

When she begins again, it’s with a sharp WHOP.

He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. However—

A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, there’s a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashing—waster swashing about with little churns and splishes.

It’s not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the garden—they simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.

The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.

Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.

Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leaves—

—and then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.

Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.

“Are you the same one I always find here?” she asks with a chiding little smile. “Or do all of you enjoy swimming?”

When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesn’t go as far as it could, though—something about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what she’ll do next.

The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange sound—a weary laugh, perhaps—and turns back to her peculiar chore.

—

A song trails through the old house—under the floorboards—through the walls—into the garden, beneath the undergrowth—and lures them out of hiding.

It isn’t an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, please—the one who helped you needs your help.

It didn’t require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.

In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.

When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if they’d just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.

As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.

The girl—holding a large, round pumpkin—looks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.

“Set the pumpkin on the drive,” the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. “The rest of you, line up, please.”

Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. It’s natural for them, somehow, to follow—the mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.

“What are they doing?” asks the girl—and there’s curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesn’t believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.

The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.

It’s then—then, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.

“Oh!” exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. “Oh! They’re—“

They’re different.

The mice aren’t mice at all—and suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.

They’re horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.

Instead of a rat, there’s a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.

“Well,” he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, “I suppose I won’t be wanting for adventure now.”

Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.

The girl herself is different, though she’s still human—her hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection is flowers.

“They are under your charge, now,” says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. “It is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnight—when that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?”

“Yes,” says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if she’s been given the most priceless gift in all the world. “Oh, thank you.”

—

The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the castle,” the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. “Father and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.”

“Shall we accompany you in, milady?” asks one of the footmen. They’re all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.

She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.

“I think I’ll go in myself,” she says. “I’m not sure what is custom. But thank you—thank you so very much.”

And so they watch her go—stepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queen’s.

Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyone’s minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.

With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.

—

He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.

“Enjoyable evening, milady?” asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Yes, quite, thank you!” she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. “The clock just struck quarter till—will you be able to get us home?”

The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had already—it couldn’t be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.

“I will do all I can,” he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, they’re off at a swift pace.

They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. She’s fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.

He’s fascinated already. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll remember how to tell time when he’s a rat again—or will this, all of this, be forgotten?

The woman in white is there beside the drive, and she’s already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.

“Well, how was the ball?” she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. “I hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?”

The girl rushes to grasp the woman’s hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.

“It was lovely! I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than they’d ever seen it. “The castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Prince—although hush, he certainly isn’t looking for me—he’s so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.”

The woman laughs gently. It isn’t a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can be—it's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.

“That’s wonderful. Now, up to bed! You’ve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.”

“Yes! Of course,” she replies eagerly—turning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. “Thank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.”

It’s a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girl—and then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though they’ve fallen asleep and woken up.

They’re them again—six mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.

“Please, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.”

“Come,” the woman said simply, “and place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.”

The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yes—but get to bed!

—

The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the family’s carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.

She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understands—or maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the open—and then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.

Ever so faintly, like music, the woman’s laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.

When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.

“Hello, all. So—how do you do it?” she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. “I had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?”

The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. “If I were to explain to you the details of how, I’d have to tell you why and whom, and you’d be here long enough to miss the royal ball.” She waves her hands she speaks. “And then you’d be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.”

The rat misses the girl’s response, because the world blinks again—and now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.

The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.

“Remember—“ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. “Return before midnight, before the magic disappears.”

“Yes, Godmother,” she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. “Thank you!”

—

The castle is just as glorious as before—and the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.

He’s unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a moment—the crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to be—and then returns to the carriage outside.

He isn’t required in the ballroom for much of the night—but he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.

Perhaps that wouldn’t be hard. He’d raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.

Because that was what she was—or, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once she’d entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.

It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldn’t a kitchen-girl become a princess?

The answer was yes, it seemed—perhaps in more ways than one.

She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worried—but she was smiling.

“Did you know the Prince is very nice?” she asks once they’re safely home, and she’s stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. “I’ve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.”

“How is that?” asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. “And if I might ask, how do you know?”

“Because he mentions things first.” The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but can’t quite do so. “And I've shared his thoughts for a long time. That he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that he’s always wanted to go out someday and do something new.”

—

The third evening, the clouds were dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.

“Looks like rain, milady,” said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. “If it doesn’t blow by, we’ll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.”

“Certainly—thank you,” she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond them—but she seems more so with each night that passes.

She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.

Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesn’t seem to show the spots much. Still, it’s hardy an ideal thing.

“One of you hold the parasol—quick about it, now—and escort her inside,” the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. “Wait about in case she needs anything.”

The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until they’re driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.

The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same way—by slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.

From there, he watches.

It’s so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The prince’s attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for many’s lack of trying.

Likewise—more so than he would have thought, though perhaps he’s a bit slow in noticing—her focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.

Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. It’s all very new to her, and he’s not certain it doesn’t show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everything—if he thinks it odd, he certainly doesn’t let on.

They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each other’s eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.

Then, they dance.

Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. They’re in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around them—but not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.

The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.

(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)

The clock strikes eleven, but there’s still time, and he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.

He was a lizard until very recently. He’s not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but he’s not sure he understands how near.

The clock doesn’t quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.

—

Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. He’s soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.

She sees him, notices this, and—with a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyes—laughs softly into her hand.

ONE—TWO— the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.

“Um,” he begins awkwardly. Lizards didn’t have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. “The chimes, milady.”

THREE—FOUR—

Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. “Oh.”

FIVE—SIX—

Like a deer, she leaps from the prince’s side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.

“Thank you, I must go—“ she says, and then she’s racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.

SEVEN—EIGHT—

“Wait!” calls the prince, but they don’t. Which hopefully isn’t grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.

They burst through the door and out into the open air.

NINE—TEN—

It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrents—the walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.

She steps in a crevice she couldn’t see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. There’s noise at the door behind them, so she doesn’t stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and they’re all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.

ELEVEN—

A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water that’s soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.

There’s shouting behind them—the prince—as people run out and call to the departing princess.

TWELVE.

Mist swallows them up, so thick they can’t hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.

The castle’s clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched road—until true midnight strikes a few moments later.

—

She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source of—all the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.

It’s quite the walk.

—

The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The rat—a bit different now—tells them most things are that way to mice, but he’s glad to explain.

The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesn’t want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.

The mice think that’s a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There won’t be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.

The rat thinks they’re being silly and that they’ve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest day’s work for its wages.

Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole they’ve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. You’re being self-interested, if you ask me. Don’t you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where she’d finally have plenty to eat?

It’s hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.

There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.

Cinder-Girl sits on the chair that’s been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.

The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They can’t quite see it from here—poor eyesight and all.

Of course, the girl’s foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.

Evidently, the humans did not. There’s absolute uproar.

“There is no possible way she’s the princess you’re looking for!” declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. “She’s a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.”

“How dare you!” Angry-Girl rages. “Why does it fit you? Why not us?”

“You sneak!” shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. “Mother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes won’t marry sneaks, will they?”

“I think they might,” says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.

The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.

She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.

A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. “Your Highness.”

The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.

The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasn’t really asking anything with his look—it’s already clear he recognizes her—and meets Cinder-Girl’s gaze with a smile. It’s the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.

He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)

“It’s my honor,” he assures her. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? I’d had a question in mind, but it seems there are—“ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. “—situations we might discuss remedying. You’d be a most welcome guest in my father’s house, if you’d be amenable to it?”

It’s all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost don’t hear it, at first—that silent song.

It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.

—

The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:

One—their princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didn’t already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.

Two—they have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?

The coachman said yes without a second thought. He’d always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confided—and this seemed a certain path to achieving that.

The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemed—strange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.

The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castle’s happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.

And three—they are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesn’t wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. There’s no talk of anyone marrying—just discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, you’ll have the finest chicken pie anytime you’d like and I can’t have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and I’ll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but I’d—um, I’d embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)

“If you’d be amenable to it,” she replies—and in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.

“Milady,” the coachman calls down to them. “Your Highness. We’re here.”

The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night they’ve come here—the thirteen of them and the one of her—but midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.

One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. There’s so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they don’t think it matters.

The girl, their princess, smiles—a dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hope—and suddenly, they’re all smiling too.

She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.

With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.

#Well this wasn't my first Cinderella retelling idea that I was excited about BUT - #since that one was turning into a tangle of Too Much Going On (though it's currently at 5k and maybe 70% done; I still plan to finish it) #I tried this one instead! #pros: I think I actually wrote myself out of writer's block? Which is AWESOME #And I feel like I'm starting to notice what needs fixed and mended about my writing; which is very helpful! #cons: due to having the additional pro of a very socially growth-filled few weeks IRL; I did not do much about that fact #please excuse the general lack of editing thus far #I have also learned that I may want to be at least a Level 5 Fairy Tale Reteller #before I tackle stories with hundreds of years of popular retellings and versions? #Although this one came much more easily than my first idea; it still felt more difficult to write than my Nix Nought Nothing story. #So another pro - I learned that I enjoy writing about lesser-known tales the most! Next time I might try a fun obscure one. #All in all this was a ton of fun!! Thanks for running the challenge! Apologies for being nearly late - I had a wonderful time! #I hope you all enjoy! <3 #inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale retelling challenge #love: philia #love: agape #Cinderella #story: complete #basil writes #salt and light

[stardryad]

Rest 🦊🍃

#the new challenge of 'im gonna draw a little animal so this temporary stress will go away' #it worked! #didn't really overthink this one thus why i relaxed #so. ta-da 🎉 #woodcore #cottagecore #mosscore #fox #digital illustration #art #cozy art

[pencilofawesomeness]

Thought of the day

Erza, Natsu, and Gray had not fucking clue what moisturizer was, and were crusty. Until they met Lucy.

Have a nice day.

You're very based for this anon. I think I can take it a step farther, hold on--

Natsu has perpetually dry skin, but not to the point of being crusty or ashy. It's just like leather, thick and resistant. To fire. To moisture. To anything. Lucy thought it was a terrible case of bad skin care but nothing she throws at him puts a dent in it. It's literally like trying to moisturize a lizard. It is Lucy's personal goal to find a combination of products to break through his hide; meanwhile Natsu has no idea why she is so hellbent on it but she's enthusiastic so he lets her do whatever.

Erza tried to have a routine. Keyword: tried. She over-moisturized and at all of the wrong times, and terribly inconsistently. She would grab products based solely on smell and picture and not pay any attention beyond that. It wasn't until Lucy came along that she learned how to use any of it, and when Lucy managed to find a scrub that softened Erza's callouses, she was like a child in a candy store at the possibility. Lucy is Erza's beauty-product senpai now and Lucy greatly enjoys it.

Gray, meanwhile, I think actually did know how to moisturize. He's from a cold region, and having ice magic only makes it worse. Ur might have made them run around in the snow shirtless as kids, but she was still a mom and she made sure both Gray and Lyon knew how to take care of themselves. He never did anything fancy with it though, but he and Lucy unexpectedly bond over it while the team was out on a job, so Lucy foists her favorites on him later and he takes to that instead.

#fairy tail #headcanons #anon #rip natsu he's forever crusty #thus is the consequence of being a fire dragon undead demon #but he can also take hits like a champ so natsu doesn't mind #it is mostly lucy's bane at this point #a bane and a challenge

[bolithesenate]

okay, but do y'all see the vision?

#give assaij a cute girlfriend challenge 2k23 #pluma sodi underappreciated character #and thus naturally ive crashlanded myself once again in ultra rarepair hell #anakin would be so proud of me #another happy landing #random boli thoughts #my art #star wars #assaj ventress #pluma sodi #assaj ventress x pluma sodi #sw rarepair

[snailfen]

teardrop is so interesting to watch each episode. i KNOW girlie was feigning weakness the second she fell outta barf bag

#snowball likes to challenge himself (thus wouldnt take on someone weak) and grassy can be nice and i KNOW my girl knew that #ik people point out that shes got some serious plot armor (which i dont blame the writers for giving her #they kinda had to when they made her a one-man army) but you gotta admit they get creative with it! #not to mention it gives her the opportunity to show real character which was a problem in earlier days of bfdi #she didnt have anything going for her like other characters which im guessing the twins didnt know how to do since shes mute #anyways. i love you teardrop #tpot #tpot spoilers #bfdi #bfdi teardrop #tpot teardrop #mossball.txt

[fictionadventurer]

It's very satisfying to me when the number of Inklings Challenge participants divides perfectly into equal teams. Any new members had better sign up in groups of three.

#i kid i kid #but the symmetry is satisfying when it occurs #year one made 81 one of my favorite numbers #because doing the math made me hyperaware of the fact #that not only is 81 divisible by three #but it's 3x3x3x3 #anyway the team posts are scheduled #exciting moment #can still be updated if any last minute additions but for now they're primed and ready to go #i'm tempted to just post them now and have the suspense over with #but when you have october 1st in bold type on all the posts you'd better post on october 1st #(i could just say i'm posting for ella's time zone that is an option) #(not one that anyone expected and thus against the spirit of the announcement posts but one does consider the temptation) #adventures in the inklings challenge

[dostoyevsky-official]

A little late, but here are my February & March poems, by Benjamin Fondane (1898-1944)

Refus du poème

Les filles du chant sont venues:

-"Veux-tu de nous? Nous sommes nues,

nos lèvres sentent la lavande…"

-Je songe aux ravins de Finlande

où dorment des soldats de gel...

Les vierges de sel du poème

m'ont dit: -"Il est temps qu'on nous aime!

Nous sommes nues sous la peau."

- Je songe aux forçats d'Allemagne:

ils sont maigres sous le fouet...

Les douces mères du sommeil

me choient: "Couche-toi! Les orteils

dressés vers la pointe du somme.

La belle au bois qui dort dans l'homme

ne se nourrit que de baisers…"

-Je songe aux énormes brasiers

qui brûlent autour de la terre...

La vieille édentée de la mort

m'a dit: - "Chaque cheval a son mors.

Ton lot sur terre est la mort lente.

Que ça te déplaise ou non, chante!

Nul être n'a droit au merci...

A quoi penses-tu, ombre vague?"

- O très chère, je songe à Prague !

Je n'entends pas, je n'entends plus

les prières de ses synagogues...

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Je songe au passant qui

Traverse sans hâte la rue.

Que de fois déjà il l’a vue !

Il ne la reverra plus.

Je pense à l’homme qui

Etend dans ses draps une femme.

La vieille chanson que la femme !

Mais c’est pour la dernière fois.

Je pense au poète vieilli.

Voyez : il écrit un poème.

En a-t-il écrit, des poèmes !

Mais celui-là c’est le dernier.

Je pense à l’homme qui

Eteint sa lampe et se couche.

Tant de fois il s’est endormi !

Mais cette fois c’est pour de bon.

Je pense, je pense, je pense

à la vie des éphémères

qui meurent en ouvrant les yeux.

(septembre 1943)

où sont les neiges d'antan ?

#2024 poetry challenge #thank you! #i've only heard the bare minimum about him #these are wonderful #keeping an eye out for the consistent mutuals hitting 3/3 months thus far...

[squuote]

I think the most I can say bout my swap stanley is that he’s definitely way more chill than the narrator. where the narrator would put in so much thought and care and detail into it, swap stanley just goes with the basic thing. like he would not care about appearance in the slightest. he just picked the first draft he made and called it a day.

#crow thoughts #tsp swap au #dude would be more into seeing your reaction to his form than anything tbh #it’s why I’ve just been calling him the observer since I designed him #like I think his whole gimmick would be like. he makes a ‘story’ for human narrator to react to #but it’s not actually a story at all and human narrator gets so pissy bout that #because here the observer is with all this power and abilities to do whatever he wants to bring a story to life #and instead he makes this garbage?? like human narrator basically throws hands at the dude #which then leads to the observer taking that as a challenge. like I’m gonna make so many dumbass things for you to react to dumb fucker #thus their rivalry begins lmao look I didn’t say it was clever #but it’s fun to imagine in my head hehe

[vampacidic]

there's something so interesting about the original 3 eccentrics being completely able to mold themselves to fit the roll that is required of them (rei goes wherever people ask + is what the situation needs regardless of what he wants; wataru desires acceptance above all else so, as an entertainer, he's constantly shifting who he is; kanata was a god and did whatever was demanded of him to fulfill others' expectations) versus the additional two (shu + natsume) who are so completely and utterly themselves they refuse to change who they are... some sort of analysis there. rei/wataru/kanata's arcs rely on them learning that they can be their own people regardless of what others want because they are individually worthy of love VS shu/natsume's arcs which are about them learning that compromising is part of love and clinging to a past that's no longer there is not what love is. man

#shu is so controlling in ! because he's so assured of who he is. and thus he knows who everyone is #natsume isn't necessarily controlling but he's so assured of himself that when someone challenges him he sees it as a threat #(shu does as well) which is why the war particularly hit them harder #vs kanata/wataru/rei who recognized the roles they must play and adapted. i mean wataru most of all #but do you get what i'm saying. am i going insane #sage talks #enstars #yeah this can go in the main tag. fuck it #esp bc shu/natsu were released after wata/kana/rei. Do you see how the message of the narrative evolves

[tripably]

Url song game

Write one song for every letter in your url, and then tag as many people as there are letters in your url you want. Thank you so much for the tag, @starchasersunseeker !<3

T - Tytöt ei soita kitaraa by Vesala

R - Ready To Let Go by Cage The Elephant

I - Ihmisten edessä by Jenni Vartiainen

P - Päästä varpaisiin by BEHM

A - (The) Adults Are Talking by The Strokes

B - Black Treacle by Arctic Monkeys

L - Lista hämähäkkimiehen vihollisista by Herra Ylppö & Ihmiset

Y - Yks kriisi by Arppa

Tagging: @reaching-giraffes @mallstars @fluke-ski-walker @seeingspace @betoning

#i ran out of the letters i and l #i wanted to add so many #also love this #like so much???? the best tag game ever #and thus #let me steal a challenge i've been seeing on ig and make it into a tumblr post lmao

[applewillowstone]

🚪🛏 for established rovickie

ASK FOR BLURB:

🚪-showing up at the other's door, begging for comfort

🛏️- only one bed

—

Robin got jumped scared by the sudden banging on her door. Her mom was gone for tonight and she wasn’t expecting anyone else to come by. Getting up from her couch she hesitated but opened the door to see Vickie standing there in the rain.

“Vickie?” Robin asked confused, looking around and then ushering her girlfriend inside.

“Thanks, I had a bad day.” Vickie said as she hold Robin into a hug immediately once inside.

“Who was the asshole?” Robin asked, thinking it was some bully at school.

“Myself.” Vickie pointed to her head with a soft sigh. “Just a bad mental day.”

Patting along Vickie back, Robin understood how those days could be. “Follow me.” She smiled as she took her hand and directed them both into Robin’s bedroom. Once inside she tucked Vickie into the bed then crawled on the opposite side of the bed and opened her arms.

“Come here.” Robin smiled and gave a little ‘oof’ sound when Vickie somehow charged into her embrace and snuggled closely up to her.

Robin didn’t even realize that within a couple of minutes they both soundly went to sleep.

#anon this was a hard one for me help #I don’t know Vickie well enough sooooo #you get Robin pov 😂💞 #I probably won’t do another Vickie #however thanks for the fun challenge #ALSO HI ANON #are you the same as before #THUS A MYSTERY #rovickie #apple blurbs