so i've been watching Muppet compilations-

Everybody wanna be a superstar

Ellen McLain’s commentary from my trivia playthrough

10,000 Leagues Under Fontaine

Synopsis: The life of a guard of the Fortress of Meropide is mostly dull and structured, until a chance encounter with an otherworldly beast gives you a reason to smile again.

Foul Legacy x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Angst Warnings: Mentions of drowning, acid, burning, very slight mentions of blood

~ * ~ The Fortress of Meropide is always cold. Cold, but never quiet; the underwater complex is unmistakably alive despite being made of metal sheets and grates, the sound of machinery weaving with the chatter of both inmates and guards, sharing their days and gossiping here and there as good citizens of Fontaine always do- rumors spread fast in the Fortress, and there’s not a moment that isn’t exciting or entertaining in some way. Or so you like to imagine. Being one of the top guards of Meropide has its benefits- getting to choose your days off, occasional trips to the surface, even the Duke’s personal trust in your abilities. But with trust comes difficult, often tedious tasks, ones that Administrator Wriothesley only assigns to the most capable workers, and so you find yourself patrolling the space between the main prison and the ocean gates. The room is an odd mixture of metal and screws and a gradual incline towards the sea floor, a shallow puddle transitioning into a passage filled with water that someone could swim in. You keep wondering when Wriothesley will properly fix the gate at the end, and he simply responds that he’ll get around to it at some point. For now, keep watch- it’s almost a straight shot to the ocean, and we wouldn’t want inmates attempting to escape, now would we? And you just nodded, expression steady as stone and twice as unmoving; no prisoners would sneak in on your watch.

Not that they often do. Life at the Fortress is a new start for many and even a step up in comfort for most. Besides, the passage is much too long for anyone without a Vision to swim through without the danger of drowning- you’ve had to haul a few corpses out in the past, and that was enough to dissuade most of the other prisoners, it seems. Good for security, but boring for you, as there’s little else to do but watch water drip from the ceiling and skirt around the jagged bits and edges of metal left on the walls and floor. Occasionally a gardemek going through its initial testing will join you, and you’ll idly teach it to play rock paper scissors- so far, you’ve kept up a 50% win rate against the robotic soldiers- but nothing more. At least it smells of rain here instead of smoke and fire. You’re alone on the day that the noises begin, sitting on a crate and mistaking them for distant ocean waves and the clanging of hammers against metal. They’re simple at first- vague splashes and a faint scratching sound- but as you listen they morph into something else, like echoing cries, or perhaps a song through the sea. Something beautiful, for once, one corner of your mouth twitching up ever so slightly- what few friends you have call this expression your “almost-smile”, and know it’s as pleased as you’ll get. Something close.

Your almost-smile vanishes as your ears pick up the distinct sound of something swimming through water, the water that flows through this small passage, scrambling to your feet and snatching your weapon from its spot on the floor as whatever-it-is turns the corner, the water’s surface rippling. You really should’ve taken up on His Grace’s offer to get you a rifle. You’re expecting the aquatic thing to burst forth from the sea, attacking you first and asking questions once you’re dead, but instead you’re greeted with the sight of two crimson horns poking out into the air, the water stilling if not for slight movements. Slowly, steadily, your gaze follows the horns down as a head rises out of the water, a single crystalline eye blinking curiously and settling on your form. There’s a moment of silence, and then the creature chirps. You can only freeze in place, brows furrowed in deep confusion as the beast- Archons, it’s big- hauls itself onto shore, tilting its head this way and that as it cautiously approaches. The hand holding your weapon tightens, your heartbeat almost painful, and the monster’s eye widens as it pauses, glancing nervously from you to your weapon and back again.

With slow, deliberate movements, you watch as the beast lowers its head to your height, letting out a soft trill. It almost sounds apologetic, hunching its shoulders inward shamefully, and something in your heart, the one you molded and fixed into being cold and quiet, cracks. You lower your weapon, eyes narrowed, and you swear you hear the creature purr. Legacy is its name, his name- Foul Legacy, a monster from beneath your world. But he’s a monster only in appearance, you’ve learned, navigating the ocean with boundless curiosity and a demeanor sweeter than any Fontainian dessert or cake that you’ve ever eaten. Tell me everything, he begs, scratching his claws through the dirt in a language you only vaguely remember from an old book. Tell me anything and everything- about this world, about here, about there, about you. He likes you, you’re kind and caring and gentle, so unlike the countless stars he’s seen before. You try to protest. You’re not caring, or gentle, or kind- you’re a guard of Fontaine’s prison, someone who was stabbed through your spine and constructed walls around your fragile heart, watching the Fortress to make sure that no one could ever be hurt like that again. You’re not soft or loving, you’re not. But Foul Legacy merely chitters, fluttering those sparkling wings that you swore used to be fins and staring at you so sincerely that you’d think he adored you.

And he does adore you, loves you, even. Ah, if only he spoke your language, the language of mortals that his tongue can’t seem to wrap around, if only he could say three simple words and hug you close, showering you in affection. But he can’t touch you. The last time he tried you had clamped your teeth down on your tongue, a drop of blood falling from your mouth as your skin burned like acid, a sickly heat creeping up before you had jolted away, gasping for air. Legacy whined in concern, trying to nudge your seemingly-unblemished hand, but you’d simply shaken your head and stepped away, slightly feverish. Every person in Fontaine is born with sin. No matter how the Nation of Justice holds trial after trial, this sin cannot be absolved. He didn’t touch you after that, merely curling his body carefully around yours during your visits, hanging on to your every rambling word and always parting with the same question- Tomorrow? Yes. You’d return tomorrow, despite your chilly expression and flat words and tone. You always return tomorrow.

The Fortress has been buzzing with energy- not that it isn’t always- but the arrival of a certain golden Traveler has kept everyone on their toes, the dread and anticipation of something happening seeping into your bones, because it’s always something whenever that Traveler and their tiny, floating companion are around. You almost prefer your monotonous routine from before, but a small smile blooms slowly on your face when you watch Foul Legacy happily splash around in the water, shaking his head and cooing as the droplets rain down around him. He chirps at you curiously, your quiet, fond expression reflected back in his sapphire eye, and you just let out a small laugh and wave your hand as he stares at this new facet of you in awe. With a soft plink, a bead of water falls and lands on your cheek, a hiss of annoyance escaping you as you quickly swipe it away, settling between your nail and finger. It burns, and your throat closes up in horror. Not a minute later, Wriothesley’s voice rings out through the building. “All residents, evacuate immediately.” There’s a crackling pop and a split second of silence, before the alarm blares and your ears ring with pain. Until one day, the water levels in Fontaine will rise, and the sinful people will slowly be drowned.

Your hands slam against the barred door, tearing desperately at the metal that mercilessly rips into your fingers and closes off the room you always guard so carefully from the rest of the Fortress- they forgot you. They forgot you. They forgot you and left you here to drown and rot, and your eyes burn with repressed tears, fear enveloping your senses like a sticky, jagged web. No no no- you swore you’d never be this afraid again, that you’d never surrender so easily again, that you’d never cry ever ever again. A soft, concerned whimper snaps your head around, Foul Legacy standing behind you. His wings droop at your damp eyes, claws twitching and curling from the urge to hold and hug and comfort you as is right and proper, banish the panic away because it scares him to see you, normally so composed and quiet, this terrified; instead he shakes his head and trills, hastily beckoning for you to follow him, boots splashing in the water stretching into a long passage. Out. It leads out. It leads out to the sea and the surface, where you can breathe and cry and admire the sun, and your feet move forward before you can even think. You want to live- yes, finally you want to live. You want to live and be able to smile and laugh again, keeping the warmth that this strange, otherworldly monster brought to your life and never let go.

With a deep breath, you plunge into the water, kicking your feet and pushing yourself in the general direction of the path. Foul Legacy guides you with his chirps, now turned to eerie, song-like notes under the waves. His tail and fins- weren’t those just wings?- propel him faster than you could ever dream, yet still he slows his pace and stays behind with you, and your heart feels like it's joining in on his melody. The water swirls around you like oil, lungs burning as a few stray bubbles trickle out of your mouth and you taste salt on your lips. What little you can see in your murky vision flickers black, and Legacy lets out a sudden, terrified shriek. In the end, the people will all be dissolved into the waters, and only the Hydro Archon will remain, weeping on her throne.

It’s just salt in your mouth now, the taste coating your tongue in a horridly thick layer. Your fingers twitch as they burn, pushing through the water with arms heavy as lead. Foul Legacy whimpers and sobs in despair, grasping his claws around your wrist to try to pull you out, get you to the surface away from this sickened water only for the ocean itself to sink its teeth in and hold fast. What’re you trying to do, again? You’re having trouble remembering where you are, what you are, who you are, scrubbing your eyes again and again and swallowing gulps of salty seawater. This is where you’re supposed to be. This feels safe, comforting- you’re going home after all this time, see, somewhere less confining and fleeting. Finally, you’ll be where you belong, free from the bindings that hold all of Fontaine in their grasp. There’s a vague sense that someone has wrapped their arms around you, faint, anguished wails echoing through the depths, and when you finally open your eyes again you see stars dancing across ripples and tides. You return to the Primordial Sea, and Foul Legacy’s talons close on only foam and bubbles. Only then will the sins of the people of Fontaine be washed away.

Been slowly learning ASL over the years for my niece and I might still struggle to introduce myself or express basic emotions, but oh boy do I ever have the sign for every animal she's ever laid eyes on memorized better than my own name.

Since we're sharing youtube comments, I wanted to share this underrated one

proper reupload in the high quality this fantastic segment so deserves; eagle pig and duck bias notwithstanding, this will forever be my favorite variant of the fabled switcheroo (and a reminder that Daffy was first at his own game!) the committal on behalf of both characters--especially the sincerity of Daffy's feigned sincerity--really sets it apart

JO ASAKURA???????!!!!!!!!!

I think I live for Angela Giarratana reactions.

Okay, y'all. I've seen this song used in countless fanvids, but this is the best use not only in my experience, but really conceivable. Everyone else can go home.

I’m going to shit myself laughing my stomach genuinely is hurtinh rn

The hell's up with all these anti-trans men/masc memes lately because I'm getting real sick of it real quick. It's not cute and it was never funny.

genuinely kind of terrified as to what will happen to me when i see bare live in three (three!!!!!!!!) days. i will either go fully insane or transcend mortality or perhaps both. either way i will most likely end up full weeping.

the fundamental basis of a 'sams izzy' for me is that he has to be someone canon izzy looks at and thinks "... i could have had this?"

i dont think everything would have gone perfectly if izzy had gone with sam, but i do think maybe he would have been happier than our izzy is when we see him, and i want our izzy to see that and just... wonder. wonder if he made the right decisions. was he right to go with edward? is he happy with his life?

Kinda feeling some blorbo feelings for spicy Dice Rinne

What being Sarek’s Favorite Child Does to a Motherfucker AKA: Mutiny Specialist

[Comic One Transcript] Michael looks off to the side as she speaks with Spock. They are both children. It is implied that Spock has asked Michael to tell Amanda she loves her. M: Why don't you just tell Amanda you love her? Instead of trying to live vicariously through my humanity. Spock appears flustered, caught off guard by the accusation. S: That's not-! I am simply... You are the only one who can do it, Michael! You are the only one and yet you will not- you will...not...n-not... Michael’s gaze stalls Spock’s tongue. Her expression is impassive with a hint of distain. Real or perceived? Her control is iron clad, unlike her Vulcan brother’s. Spock stops speaking, intimidated and suddenly self-conscious. He has seen this look before.  S: Those eyes...the eyes of Vulcan. [Comic Two Transcript] An adult Michael looks tired and disgruntled, vaguely annoyed. She has wrapped a ratty blanket around herself and she is speaking to Spock, ostensibly out of view. M: Spock, I could have spent every second of our childhoods telling Amanda how much I loved her. Seeking out and receiving hugs, kisses and praise. It would still never have been enough for you. You would still resent me. Because it was never about me and my (real or imagined) distance from Amanda. It was about yours. Michael pulls the blanket tighter around her. She looks remorseful. Her previously iron clad control has softened to a circle. M: ...And I am sorry. I'm sorry you could never say you loved her. None of us could, in the end...I wish I could have said it for you. I wish I could have held her for you. But I think you would have only hated me more if I did. [END]