Midak Skyblasters generate literal bolts of light for ammunition. The blasters do this by harnessing the elemental light around a wielder and concentrating it into a projectile. These light based projectiles made it particularly effective to wield against beings consumed by shadow, such as the Makuta. Midak Skyblasters can, however, also be modified to function inversely. Vultraz, a rather vile Shadow Matoran, integrated a blaster into his Skyfighter that he altered to generate and fire bolts of shadow.
New Witchy Film From “Studio Ghibli Veterans” Looks Just As Magical As Miyazaki-san’s. 🌸Mary and the Witch’s Flower🌸
Starved Studio Ghibli fans now have something new to look forward to.
At 14. December 2016, Ghibli veterans, under the auspices of Studio Ponoc, released a trailer for a fantastical, Ghibliesque movie called Mary and the Witch’s Flower, slated for Summer, 2017.
Based on Mary Stewart’s The Little Broomstick, in which a girl discovers a magical broomstick in the woods, Mary and the Witch’s Flower will have everything you’d expect from an OG Miyazaki film: a strong, girl protagonist, a black cat, rolling, green hills, magical drama and skyfights against flying, squirmy fish monsters.
“A fundamental part of the Ghibli story is that the heroines’ humanity, rather than any special powers, was always their greatest strength,” former Studio Ghibli producer and Studio Ponac founder Yoshiaki Nishimura told the Telegraph. “You may like it, you may dislike it, but a lot of Japanese animation has a kid solving a problem by getting inside a giant robot. The Ghibli philosophy was different, and I wanted it to be the Ponoc philosophy too.”
From the Telegraph’s interview:
Nishimura describes it as a film for children who are “moving into a 21st century that’s different from the one their parents imagined for them.” He goes on: “I think we all had a vision of what the world would be like, but it’s not the one we’re moving into. So what filmmakers should say at a time when people are losing hope – and what kind of film might help restore it in our children – are big themes for right now.”
Studio Ghibli announced they’d take a break in 2014. Not long after, Hayao Miyazaki claimed he’d go into retirement—a claim he’s gone back on several times. Most recently, in November, Miyazaki said he’s come out of retirement to help with Boro the Caterpiller, originally an animated short that Miyazaki is expanding into a feature-length film.
“Mary and the Witch’s Flower” looks promising and, if you’re a die-hard Ghibli fan, you’re bound to have some feels watching the trailer.
So here is your Christmas eve gift (or just happy Thursday present if you don’t celebrate this particular holiday). Was thinking about mistletoe on my drive back home and realized it would fit this # request from @an-skyfighter perfectly. Hope you enjoy it!
30 | Can I kiss you?
“Aw, come on guys, its tradition!” Cisco hollers from across
the room, tone gleeful and his sentiment backed up immediately by Iris.
Standing sideways in the doorway, Barry has an excellent
vantage point for the sweeping roll of Caitlin’s eyes and the rustling of her
curls as her head shakes at the taunt. Better still, he’s the first (and only
one), to see that tiny quirk of her lips, the spark of laughter that lights her
gaze, before she leans up primly to press her lips against the curve of his
jaw, one small hand pressing into his shoulder for balance. Unruffled, and
hiding her amusement from all but him, she turns back to their gathered family
and friends with one brow raised as if to dare anyone to call her out on
cheating her way through the mistletoe kiss.
Wisely, no one does, even if Cisco groans a little bit into
his eggnog—he’s clearly dissatisfied with the minute reaction but not willing
to press it. Iris waits until Caitlin’s turned to shoot her teasing look to
Barry—but he only half catches it, too busy watching Caitlin’s playful wink as
she glides into the kitchen to do, something…he’s not really sure what (there’s
a good chance she mentioned what she needed before Joe had shouted about
mistletoe, but his brain isn’t really at the point of filtering through that
data right now).
Not that it matters, because she’s back in a minute,
carrying a tray of desserts in the hand that had only moments ago kept her
steady while she neatly and casually imploded a little piece (rapidly growing
piece) of his world with the impatient, throwaway pressure of her mouth against
his skin—this is not how he expected their traditional Christmas eve at Joe’s
to go but there’s no time to contemplate that now, because Cisco has abandoned
his pouting in favor of passing out gifts and Secret Santa apparently commands
the entirely of one’s attention.
(Cisco is, of course, the only one who doesn’t correctly
guess his Secret Santa—it’s nearly as much a tradition as the gift exchange
An hour later, as everyone is littered around the living
room, half asleep and watching Christmas movies, Barry notices Caitlin head
into the kitchen once more and takes advantage of everyone’s distraction to
join her, moving quietly into the other room.
“So I think Joe liked the present,” he starts, quiet from
his place halfway across the room, hoping not to startle her.
He doesn’t of course: it’s been a long time since Caitlin
hasn’t been able to see him coming—he just wishes that in this instance, he
could say the same. “You did good,” she smiles over her shoulder, the soft look
all the softer for the glow of the lights Iris has strung around the cabinets.
It’s an expression that invites him closer, sidling easily to Caitlin’s side to
help where she’s begun to put things away.
“Only because someone gives excellent advice,” he
acknowledges with a nudge of his shoulder against herself, smiling widely and
catching her gaze from the corner of his eye. He sees that eye roll again,
feels the affection it stirs to life in his chest, and can’t resist the urge to
add, “and is willing to rebel against more traditions than just mistletoe.”
It’s teasing but a little loaded; he can feel his heart tug as it slides toward
the edge of his sleeve, seemingly via his suddenly tight throat.
The tightness in his chest isn’t helped by the way she
startles a little, her blossoming grin at odds with the way her eyes open wide
before they find his and then duck down—and especially not by the hint of red
he can just barely make out in the multicolor glow above them. “Well, it’s a
silly tradition—you shouldn’t need to use a sprig of Viscum album as an excuse to kiss someone.”
Barry really hopes he’s not imagining the nearly
imperceptible way she emphasizes the ‘you’ in her statement, the inflection
that says there’s nothing random about the you to whom she’s referring. He
wants to ask, but they lock gazes just after he stumbles through her name and the
question dies in his throat for a long moment. His lungs catch up before his
tongue does, pulling in a stuttering breath that has him repeating her name
just for the grounding feeling it gives him, and the way it causes her dark
gaze to deepen a little more, pulling hope into his every extremity. “Caitlin,
can I kiss you, no mistletoe involved?”
Her smile—half laugh and half bright, warm, affectionate
wonder—fills his whole chest as that same hand finds his shoulder once more though
Barry doesn’t wait for her to drag herself up: his hands curl around her jaw
and he leans into her. It’s a slow, languid kiss, lazy and unhurried but it’s
the kind of easy, back-and-forth trade that leaves him at once satisfied and
yet ready for more. When they draw apart, Barry stays leaned forward, his
forehead presses to hers and nothing but smiles and scant air between them. “Merry
Christmas,” is the first thing he thinks to say, because it is in a way it’s
never been before and he hopes it will be for a long time to come.
“It certainly is,” Caitlin smiles.
There you are lovelies! I’m gonna try and get my family fic up tomorrow, on actual Christmas, but it might be a little late as I’ll be by my grandparents most of the day and I go early to help set up and stay late to clean up, so I’ll do my best. I’ve already got part of it planned in my head, so that should help.
Happy Christmas to those who celebrate! And happy holidays or happy Thursday to those who don’t! You folks are seriously one of the kindest, most wonderful gifts I could have asked for this year–thank you!
“Cait,” Barry whispers into the darkness, blinking
sluggishly and wiggling numb fingers. “Caitlin,” he tries again,
pulling in a breath so deep he can see her rise where she’s sprawled across his
chest. His eyes come into slow focus, honing in on the sliver of moonlight
through his blinds and the barely there glow from the dark title screen, just
in time to watch her curls dance as he exhales in a loud yawn.
He’s not sure if it’s the sound of her name, his movement
below her or the chill of his breath against her skin, but she stirs slightly,
makes a plaintive little mewling sound that tugs a fond smile across his lips.
“Barry?” Her voice is wonderfully thick and adorably puzzled as she
moves against him. “What time is it?“
His fingers wiggle again, pinned uselessly below her and
though she’s still only half awake, she giggles a little as the sensation of
them along her hip. Or maybe it’s the situation itself, because the sound
(light and lovely) carries over into her words (they make her sound far more
awake than she is). "Oh, sorry,” and then she’s twisting a little,
wiggling more toward the back of the couch: a move that still leaves them
pressed close together but does free his hand.
There’s a long moment where he flexes his fingers before he
checks the watch that’s no doubt left some hefty indents on his wrist.
“1:42,” he groans–they both have work in the morning, too bright and
Caitlin groans too, stretches a little bit against his side,
and he figures that ignoring it (the sound, the sensation, the subsequent cause
and effect that both have on his body) is definitely the most heroic thing he’s
done all week. “Was the movie any good?”
Now that Caitlin has moved and now that his fingers are
tingling back to life, he notices for the first time how warm she feels pinned
to him, how easily she brackets herself to his side and also how loath she
seems to be to move. Which is nice because, early morning shift
notwithstanding, he certainly doesn’t mind. “Not sure, I don’t think I
made it much farther then you.”
She twists again, sprawls her weight more evenly over him
and tips her chin up to catch his gaze, smiling and warm, attentive and
assessing even in the faint light. “It has been a long week so far,”
an understatement, for sure. Two crazy meta humans (and one nice one,
surprisingly) plus a run-of-the-mill crime spree at his day job and it’s not
even Friday yet (well, technically he supposes it is now).
“Mhm,” Barry agrees vaguely, holding her eyes and
bringing his hands up–one settles like a natural anchor at her hip, the other
reaches to brush a few stray curls from her face before settling on the back of
the couch. “Rain check on the movie?”
Her eyes roll and her laugh vibrates through both of them.
Already half way there, he joins her and enjoys the warmth that rushes through
him at the way her nose crinkles teasingly. “Trying to get me back on your
couch Barry Allen?”
His answering wink only makes her laugh all the harder and
somehow his other palm finds the small of her back and rests there, steadying. “Caught
He means to say something else, but then Caitlin shifts and
burrows against him–his hands link across her waist and one set of her fingers
bury themselves in the wrinkled fabric of his button down. “I know we both need
to get some sleep but I don’t want to get up–you’re comfy.” This time she
whispers, as if this admission carries more weight then the lighthearted
teasing of a moment ago (and so it does, settling in his chest and the back of
his thoughts in a way the rest of their exchange hasn’t).
Barry takes the quiet moment that follows to appreciate
where they find themselves: tangled together, still very much half asleep, warm
and affectionate and somehow largely uncomplicated (even if there’s a piece of
him that feels terribly complicated, mostly by the fact that he doesn’t want this
to end, ever). "I might be comfortable,” and here he shifts his hips
below her, something that should be dangerous but they’re too caught up in the
moment to realize, “but this couch definitely isn’t.”
It’s barely visible in the pale light, but he knows the cast
of Caitlin’s skin well enough to recognize the flush of red even in the
darkness. Her mouth opens and he knows, by the furrow of her brow and the twist
of his lips, that she’s about to apologize, so he beats her to it, more daring
then he would have imagined possible: “But my bed is and it’s big enough
(It’s innocent and late and they’re too tired to overthink
it: that will come in the morning and the days to follow. For now, they unwind
and shuffle sleepily to his room, and even though they don’t start that way,
end up tangled together just a few hours later).
Just some silly, sappy fun after my crazy day of snow (we got 13 inches and I ended up stuck back home way longer then I’d planned. I wanted to be back to my apartment by noon, 9 pm was closer to the mark).