Your kind of metal

*cools ur dashboard down*

right now on apple music you can find remastered version of the Planetary (GO!) and Sing (standard edition, not directors cut) music videos.

i don't believe these releases were intentional, as adding the new planetary go video to a playlist will quickly revert it to the old one with the capitalization error.

it was an intentional release, they say so in their email (for whatever reason the new videos aren't on youtube yet. no idea what the bug is abt either) ty to @ilostmysh03 for letting me know

maybe this means we'll get a na na na video on apple music that isn't bass boosted! maybe.

Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf Barbie Giftset from 2008!

Quin never had trouble with them. He told you that he could feel them take effect any time he strayed too far from that narrow path, dragging him back from the edge. You had never felt such a pull, and over time as you trained, you'd failed to manifest a specific ability. You've got the speed, the strength, the regenerative abilities, sure - but every Gifted One has a power they wield that's almost unique to them, their Gift; and yours just seemingly never manifested.

"Here, let's get them off," Quin says, reaching over and grabbing your wrist. He snaps the solder keeping the bracelet closed around your wrist, and the silver piece of metal drops to the ground. Another dextrous twist, and the darker one joins it.

And yet... You feel nothing.

"Can't believe old Williams still believes in that Dark-Light bullshit," Kayla remarks, twirling the steaming contents of her coffee mug around her fingers. "He's gotta be the last Master alive who still believes in ultimate evil and ultimate good."

"We all know how outdated the idea is," Quin rolls his eyes as he sits back down, looking at you across the table. "Feel any different? Any surge of power?"

You shake your head; nope. "Just cold wrists," you tell him, scooping up the bands. Restrictive though they might be, you feel strangely... Naked without them. You guess this is what people mean when they complain about not wearing their smart watch.

"Old men shouldn't be telling us how to live our lives," Kayla rolls her eyes as the liquid falls back into her mug and she picks it up, taking a sip. "Those bands did something to you. I wouldn't be surprised if they've stopped you having a Gift at all."

"That's not how Gifts work, Kay," Quin rolls his eyes as he grabs his milkshake, but even he doesn't sound entirely convinced. It must be your imagination but... Kayla's hair looks darker than before. Huh. Maybe she just got the colour re-done and you didn't notice before.

You're in a small underground-style place but it's a staple for most nightwalkers and Gifteds who run the night shifts. The Sentinel Cafe was set up by Jaymie and Callahan, a pair of vigilantes from back in the days when vigilantes were the thin line between order and lawlessness. Since the Shattering, Gifted Ones have taken their place; individuals infected with the energy that was unleashed in the event. Magicians, some call them. Wielders. "Superheroes" seems to be the most popular nickname, but "Gifted" is considered the politically-correct term - and the one that doesn't conjure up ideas and misconceptions of those with the abilities.

Jaymie and Callahan have kept this place running as a sort of twenty-four-hour meeting place for Gifteds, and they're trusted with all your secrets. You've had Jayme patch you up after minor scrapes and injuries more than once, and Callahan has counselled you through creative uses of your limited abilities. Quin wasn't entirely comfortable about letting them in on your secret originally, carrying old prejudices against vigilantes, but he's started to warm up to the pair.

"The whole dichotomy is stupid," Kayla sounds like she's working herself up into another rant and you and Quin both roll your eyes at each other. She's a good friend, fun to have around, but her insistence on playing fast and loose with the rules has never sat well with you. Of course, Quin's blind obedience to those same rules is a little annoying, too. There's a balance to all things, and you often wonder if those lessons were ever absorbed by either of your friends.

"Kay..."

"No, just listen," Kayla turns to Quin, waving a hand. "We're always told to be careful, don't stray, and some masters still enforce those stupid restrictor bands - but what if that's just because they're afraid of us? They fear what we could do if we tapped into the unharnessed energy either side of the path. Why is there even a path in the first place? What if I don't like where my path leads?"

"The path is a metaphor, not literal," you sigh heavily as you twirl your own drink around in your hands. "Your master should have taught you that much, surely?"

"My master was hardly a master at all," Kayla rolls her eyes, slumping back in her seat with arms folded. "I'm just saying, this whole Good and Evil thing is dumb. Nothing is ever pure evil or pure good. It's all shades of grey."

You blink as you stare at her, then check the ceiling. One of the lights must be dead - something about her seems... darker than before, and you're going to assume it's just the lighting. Maybe they dim the lights now when it hits midnight, or... or something.

You glance around again. Quin looks how he always does to you, an almost-shining paragon of justice and virtue with a skincare routine that makes him almost glow, though... Now that you're paying attention, you notice his hair looks a bit lighter than usual, his black shirt a little more grey. Others around the cafe though...

What the hell is going on with the lights? You look up again, but Call and Jay keep this place in good shape - there's no blown bulbs and everything looks fairly uniform. And yet, scanning the handful of other patrons, some look like they're sitting under direct downlights, others like they've taken up the most shadowy patch they can find. Nobody is exactly the same though - like they're all on a spectrum, occupying different points.

Like shades of grey.

You look back down at the restrictor bands, broken as they are. You don't have many good memories of your childhood, things only started to get better after you were taken in by Master Williams, but you have vague recollections of screaming about bad people, telling your parents they were both evil. You trusted Williams the moment you met him, and you've always had a good sense for trusting people - but you could never figure out why.

But with the bands gone, you're starting to remember.

People have always existed in light and shadow for you. Nobody has ever been perfectly neutral. Deeper shadows, darkened clothing, colouring - or a glowing complexion, lightened colouring. You've always seen people differently; you just forgot about it.

But the bands that restricted you, blinded you to those two sides - they're gone now. You can see.

A figure moves as Quin and Kayla's conversation continues, dipping out of your focus. Pure black, like the shadow of a person but not cast by any singular body you can see. It descends the steps, crossing the room, and leans on the cafe counter to talk to Jaymie. She laughs, the shadows around her face warring with the tiny flecks of light that glimmer across her complexion like stars. You're not surprised by her darkness; she was the first person to console you after you accidentally killed someone, because she knew how it felt to take a life. Now, she moves between the coffee machine and pastry cabinet, arranging an order on a tray that she places in the pickup area and rings a small bell, grinning at the stranger as she returns to the register and taps in an order.

Your gaze remains on that shadow; the person whose darkness is so intense, so all-consuming that it swallows even their features. They look like someone superimposed a silhouette on the world, and the void of their presence makes something twist in your gut. Human; male judging by the shape and the tone of voice he spoke to Jaymie with. He turns, making a gesture that could be rubbing his face or running a hand through his hair, before he stops.

You can't see the eyes, but you can feel them as they land on you. The head tilts, and you wrench your gaze away from him, turning back to your friends.

You know it doesn't stop him, though. Despite trying to dedicate all of your attention to their debate, you hear the creak of leather boots, the soft tread of soles on the tiled floor. A weight touches down on the back of the empty chair beside you as the figure looms over your table.

"You guys need anything else?"

You know that voice.

Ice spears your chest as your hands tighten around your cup, breath catching on a stutter. You've heard that voice in training sessions, identifying your weaknesses, helping you build strengths, reassuring you when you doubt your capabilities, giving advice, consoling you as you lay out every fear, anxiety, and vulnerability. You were raised as much by vigilantes as you were by Master Williams, and you even convinced your friends to trust them.

And here he is, so consumed by darkness that his existence proves all of Kayla's theories wrong.

"We're all good, thanks Cal,"

“Impressive, but… how can you know that was a real instead of a fake?” One of the cops asked, arching his brow at the young man.

“Because if he really was a real vampire, he wouldn’t go near that garlic factory at all, much less not count the grains that were thrown on the ground, part of an old vampire lore I used to read.” The younger detective shrugs.

“… yeah, that.” His friend nodded along, not even getting the slightest hint of what his friend had just said. After that whole conversation they left the rest to the police.

“Y’know, you really gotta stop bringing in the monster love craft stuff every time right?” His friend suggested, making the young detective stare at him like he grew a second head.

“H.p love craft is a very insane and disturbed man, plus the love craftian horrors are bound by no rules. Mythology however-.”

“Yeah, see! That’s the problem man! You are way too deep into this and it’s sort of freaking people out! You need to chill out on that.” The young man rolled his eyes at his friend. “Where the fuck is your sense of wonder you whimsy defiant-.”

“Pardon me.” A heavy accented voice rings out, making the two boys turn to a young strapping man a bit older than they are.

“I do apologise for the disturbance, but I must say you’ve done very well identifying the fake vampire.” He says strangely polite for a normal man. “Eh, well it’s what we do.” His friend shrugs.

“It wasn’t a big deal, me and mark were around and got chased by the ‘vampire’ when we got too close.” He air quotes shaking his head at the many inaccuracies in that costumed maniac.

“It also helped that the mirror I had showed his reflection.” His friend mark, tries to joke earning an annoyed glare from him. “That’s because your mirror isn’t lined with silver.” He told his friend. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.” Him and the man said at the same time. “Silver is considered a holy metal, you need to brush up on your vampiric knowledge like this one.” He says, suddenly, making both him and mark shocked at the fact he knows as much about vampires as he does.

“Still, I’m very serious when I say this. Thank you so much for your services!” He told him, shaking his hand like a sort of heroic figure.

“Take this, that way we’ll know who you are as a person.” He says before walking off quickly while theyre both still very much bewildered. “Hey- wait aaaannnnd he’s gone.” Mark says, shaking his head at the weird man.

“That guys is so weird, right?” Mark gestures, taking note that his friend is staring at the trinket in his hand with a still bewildered look. “Lochlyn?” Mark tries, shaking his nerdy friend gently until he looked at him.

“You good?” He asks, arching his brow at him, “mark… you’re really not gonna believe it when I say this.” Lochlyn says, turning to his dusty blonde friend with a certain sparkle in his eyes.

“That was a real fucking vampire just now.”

“… the fuck?!”

__________________

Okay…. I did another original.

The first are those who hear “unbreakable” as a challenge - the magicians come in droves at first. They clamber over each other in their haste to prove that they are the exception to this curse in hopes of obtaining glory, gold, favour, or simply for the love of the game. These cannot be denied at the gates. They can, however, be vetted. The court magician spends his days now sitting behind a desk as he patiently explains that they have indeed already attempted the Grogsmarch restorative and the Knovict ritual, and yes even sitting in a circle and really really wishing, all to no avail. None leave the office with belief they can break the curse.

The second are those who simply wish to know how the curse came about - some for the love of knowledge, some for the love of gossip, some even who fear the unknown and dread the idea that such a thing could also happen to themselves. These don’t make it past the gates. The guards remind them that this is the palace and that such information is not for their ears. Most disperse after a day. Some, however, want to know if the curse is replicable so they may use such a thing on themselves or on someone else. The second of this kind are quickly identified and interrogated before being confined to the dungeon whilst their target is informed and they themselves await judgement. The former are instructed to a small parlour in the east wing overlooking the gardens where the princess sits with them and after they have resworn their allegiance to the the crown they are told the princess’s own story. Some leave with hope some leave without it, none leave with loose lips.

The final type are the most persistent. They wait day and night and clutter up the palace with their retinues and loud sighs. They sprawl artfully over furniture, they weep in the cloisters about their fates, and on more than one occasion they are found at the base of the princess’s windows yowling their songs like cats in heat. These are the suitors™️. The palace is unsure of what to do with these princes, dukes, and assorted other title-appropriate men who have invaded the rooms like a particularly aggressive mould. The King and Queen grow tired of their petitions of marriage, declarations of undying love, and general floppiness when the princess is mentioned.

The princess refuses them all.

She is perfectly happy with her current fiancée and sees no need to break such a longstanding engagement especially one that was set up by both their parents prior to their birth.

After all, Clarissa and her reached an understanding years ago and them both being women is not going to get in the way of a spouse that agreed to let her keep her pet frogs in the bedchamber (as she can no longer sleep without their ribbits) as long as she agrees that Clarissa gets priority over the blankets and to keep her oboe practice at dawn.

can you do this beautiful woman