TwiLyghtSansSparkles

Kobold? Remember how I wrote the first verse of a "Fresh Prince" theme song parody on one of your statuses? Well….I wrote the rest. Like I said in the tags, sorry not sorry.

A song about what we currently know of Prof's life, set to the tune of the greatest theme song ever written. Inspired by this conversation, where Prof was re-imagined as a late 80s/early 90s rapper named Jonny Phaedru$. Apologies if you have the aforementioned theme song in your head for days after reading this. Now this is a story all about how The world got flipped, turned upside-down And I'd like to take a minute, just sit there, son I'll tell you 'bout the damage Calamity's done In modern America, born and raised In a classroom's where I spent most of my days Teaching fifth graders inside of a school Equipping them for the next year with all the right tools When a big red star that was up to no good Started shining in my neighborhood I went on a Rending and Tia got scared Said "The sparks, Jonny, it's like you don't even care!" I found Abigail and guy named Mirkwood Formed a team, like superheroes should But the corruption was strong and Abby kinda sucked We parted ways and that idea was chucked I wasn't quite sure just what to do Calamity was 'bout to drop the other shoe When I started a team, made of regular guys Said "Let's take these monsters down before they can rise!" Well, we killed Redleaf and Fortuity Picked up a kid who said "Listen to me, "You kill small 'taters, and yeah they've got to go "But kill Steelheart so your strength'll really show." So I fought Steelheart there on Soldier Field ​Would've died but with the quickness I healed Would've lost my mind, but David won Finished him off and I said "Good job, son." Then Instabam lured us up to Babilar With flowers that looked super bizarre ​Now Regalia's cookin' up some crazy scheme Like corrupting ME? Nah, just a pipe dream!

With the same alcoholic content as a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster—which is to say, all the alcoholic content.

Where does Protector Pug land on that scale?

"Relative cuteness" makes me think cuteness is measured on a scale, like spiciness of peppers or the brightness of brown dwarfs.

I'm not entirely sure. Fairly recently, I think; Kobold's Vondra post mentioning it and your Easter Eggs post bringing up her fan club as a meme are the two references that come to mind, but I don't think there were a lot of references to it before that.

They must know the truth! I pay attention to your guys' reactions to my characters to make sure their intended characterization is coming across okay and that I'm not accidentally giving them traits I never wanted them to have. (Well, except for Autumn's adorableness. I just wrote her, and apparently everyone thought she was super cute. ) And Lightwards' reaction clinched the Aesop. He could've turned it into "Swearing Will Get You Kicked in the Ribs," "Swearing Will Make the Grouchy Man Order the Creepy Guy to Break Your Elbows, Too," or even "Swearing Will Annoy Your Betters and Make them Want to Beat You Into Unconsciousness," but it looks like Lightwards wanted the impressionable children to learn that "Swearing Can Save Your Life."

I don't write the Family Unfriendly Aesops; I just interpret them.

And that apparently, under the right (and very unique) circumstances, swearing can save your life.

Do other Epics call her Icky Vicky?

TWI grabbed POPCORN and CREAM SODA

Unless you do it when Backtrack is in the room. Then he'd panic because he'd think some doorknob-changing Epic was in the room….and he'd be right.

I think Kobold!Calamity and Voidus!Calamity should face off. Send their armies against each other and see who wins.

I like it…. ​Don't you wish your boyfriend existed like hers? Secondary power: Doing stuff. Winter Glass has a very unusual PI, in that when she is in danger, the winds and/or a chariot drawn by mutant eels will appear and whisk her off to a place where she will immediately find something else to do that will keep her out of danger. This activity might be watching her favorite DVD, or it might be assisting her servants with building an Archimedes Death Ray.

Thanks! Yes, so she and Khione can do that "You wore my outfit" thing girls do. Well, if she's supposed to be "the most powerful Epic," then she'd need to be stronger than Khione. So instead of just the ability to create and telepathically control a tornado, she'd probably have the power to create and telepathically control a tornado made of lightning. And swordfish.

If I didn't think it sounded somewhat arrogant to label myself that way, I might consider that for a member title.

I don't think it has to be triggered by a specific event, either. It can be, but that certainly isn't the case with Mitosis, and it may or may not hold true with Newton. It could've been triggered by an event—like when she killed someone—or the trauma could've taken root long before that, with all the little ways her parents let her know she was a disappointment.

And random Khione vs. Wrangler thing posted. Not sure how good it is, but I wrote a thing, so that's something.

Deadhorse, Alaska December 10 Were it not for the oil rig, Khione would have forced Deadhorse's inhabitants south years ago. Power wasn't exactly common in the Fractured States. Even Alaska, with oil rigs like Deadhorse, did without. Fuel was reserved for more necessary endeavors, like bush planes and boats dredging for gold off the coast of Nome. What excess there was Khione sold at exorbitant fees, though few outside her inner circle were fully aware of this. Best for her people to enjoy their rugged lifestyle in ignorance than grumble about it in secret. The oil town's caretaker saluted her arrival. Khione acknowledged him with a nod, then scanned the horizon. She hadn't seen the herd on the flight over—according to messengers, it would arrive from the east. Yukon Territory, much of it belonging to her by virtue of few Epics having the foresight to claim it. Her hunters had been successful there. And now this Epic, this Wrangler, thought to steal from her. Take her caribou and make them into his slaves. Khione's eyes narrowed. He wouldn't dare. And if he dared, he would pay the price. Deadhorse's caretaker shivered in the cold winter wind. Khione scarcely noticed. She commanded the wind. It couldn't harm her. "Are the drillers safe?" she asked. "Yes, Your Majesty." "Good. I won't waste time training more." He fell silent, and after a moment, Khione heard his boots crunch the snow as he retreated. Deadhorse was miles away, but he would wait for her signal. She watched the horizon, wind tugging at her polar bearskin cloak. Then, she saw it: a cloud of powdery snow, growing larger every second. If her messengers had accurate information, the cloud would be a herd of caribou, alive but not in control of their faculties. If she was correct, their shapeshifting commander would be one of their number. The sound of hooves became nearly deafening as the herd approached. Khione bared her teeth, like the erstwhile animal she wore, and raised leather-gloved hands to the sky. The wind obeyed. It swirled before her, growing larger, taller, becoming that funnel cloud generations were right to dread. The approaching stampede did not stop, did not falter, thundered toward her trap. Khione sent the tornado into the herd. Caribou were sucked into it, legs flailing as they bleated in terror. The storm tore through their ranks, lifting animals, knocking them aside, spitting them out when it found a tastier sample. The creatures, made stupid by their master, showed no signs of fright until lifted off their feet. Only one had the sense to flee. Keeping the tornado on a mental leash, Khione summoned a second storm. Thunder boomed, heralding a flash of lightning seconds later. For an instant, the snow-covered tundra was illuminated, the flash sending her an image like a photograph. Caribou, scattered, some dead. One caribou fleeing for the east. Another flash. A tornado doing its work. Two caribou breathing, one trying to stand. Another bolting away from the herd. Khione commanded the lightning, and it obeyed. One strike, a foot away from the fleeing animal. Two strikes, flanking him. A fourth, the last, striking his body, returning him to his true form. Grinning, Khione made her way to the fallen Epic, leather boots crunching the snow. The winds could carry her, but she would rather see his face up close. Floating above an enemy as they lay on the ground didn't provide the view walking did. And this way, he would feel the dread with every footfall that reached his ears. Wrangler dressed much like her people did, though with unnecessary garishness. Where her hunters wore fur-lined parkas, Wrangler wore a leather coat with six-inch tassels. Where her oil drillers wore hoods and caps, he wore a Stetson. He had forgone the chance at good winter boots and snowshoes, opting instead for a terribly impractical pair of embossed cowboy boots. He sucked in ragged breaths through clenched teeth. "Look," Khione said, lifting him by the collar. "Look at your herd." "Not—" He sucked in another breath. "Not—controlling them—anymore." He barked a laugh. "Take more than that to stop 'em." She sent another flash of lightning toward the herd, illuminating those few still standing. "Idiot. What possessed you to attack me?" Wrangler laughed, but it was the crazed, desperate laugh of a dying man. It grated. She finished him with the knife on her belt. Khione stood, illuminating the tundra with another flash of lighting. No caribou still stood. Those that lived would not remain so for long; they lay breathing on their sides or trying and failing to stand. She sent the tornado through their ranks once more, then let it die. Four flashes of lightning blazed through the sky before returning the tundra to its midwinter darkness. Her signal sent, Khione stepped carefully over caribou corpses. Her people would finish them off.

Oh, we're going all LoTR in here?

It is a really nice mobile site. Sorry about the drive; how shall we entertain you?

I don't know what I just watched, either, but I can't get it out of my head. Thanks, Kobold.

I don't know if all parts of Western culture present it as fun; but those parts I'm familiar with do present it as desirable. Movies and TV shows have a nasty habit of presenting introversion as a character flaw, with the person who would rather be left alone usually learning a Valuable Lesson™ about how much more fun it is to have friends. (One awesome exception from when I was a kid was the show Arthur, where the shy and quiet Fern preferred being alone, and was praised not for "being more social" on her outgoing mother's terms, but for using her remarkable storytelling talent to find others who shared her interests.) In my parents' social circles, being sociable wasn't seen as a personality trait so much as a quality anyone could and should cultivate. There's a lot of emphasis placed on "being hospitable," which in this case means inviting a lot of people over to your house, being willing to talk with everyone, and basically being a social butterfly. The ability to strike up a conversation with a perfect stranger is usually seen as something anyone can and should do. I was chided more than once for sitting in my room and recharging when my parents had friends or relatives over. They said I was being rude, but the way I saw it, I had to spend time alone lest I break down in front of everyone.

I actually shamelessly stole it from a hilarious writing advice parody book called Fondling Your Muse by John Warner.

What Kobold said. Fourth person is about as insane as omniscient-future-predictive-gym-coach person ("Somebody's not gonna listen while I'm going over the safety guidelines for handling longbows, and somebody's gonna be crying and it ain't gonna be me. I've got tenure."). And I want more of it.