#i was like well i guess i can’t go on my holy crusade to save my soul from certain damnation. and i went to sleep

[wormsdyke]

shooting my phone with a gun for showing me photos from this day in the past years including photos from the worst psychotic episode of my life

[aleximustd13]

I'm a fucking wreck rn I haven't been sleeping for a week and I'm getting some rest from the bullshit factory that is my brain only now, but I just wanted to say that last year for me has been saved by tumblr and all the friends I made along the way.

Before you go below the cut, a special thanks goes to the Bee Movie Anon, who, rightfully, I can't tag so I have to say it here in the hope that they'll see it. Your hunger for chaos made me feel a lot of emotions, and I'd have never in any time or space thought that the Bee Movie would be such a prominent part of my life as it is now thanks (read it with a note of sarcasm) to you. Thank you for providing us an infinite amount of both entertainment and suffering, hell, some of the friends I made were because of YOU. I'm still not sure what was your drive to go and start this absurd crusade for the bee movie in the 80s metal fandom, but I don't know, I don't think bee so, I'm not gonna question your ways.

@arnold-layne being the first in line, you kept me sane somehow in the first phases of quarantine and dedicated a lot your time to talk with me and helped me enormously with creativity. If it wasn't for you, that Cyberpunk Comic That Is Kinda Inspired By The Crüe and Shout At The Devil would've been already down the drain. I would've given up probably, because I didn't know how to exted the concept and have an actual plot. A dream that I've been having for literal years wouldn't even have such cool characters with a rich storyline if it wasn't for you. I know I kinda left it after a month or so of intense brainstorming with you, I was literally drained at that point both physically and mentally, but oh boy I haven't forgot about the characters that WE created. How could I after all? Russ being the wreck of a tormented junkie protagonist that he is, Dylan the happy-go-lucky fuck up that seems to do nothing right but with the best intentions, Frankie the runaway sassy and wary androgynous teenager whose gender is a mystery even to themselves, and the epitome of the found family trope, ex gov agent part Japanese, part Russian, part cyborg Vik, whose story isn't still clear yet but we'll give him a very good one, eventually.

You gave me the curiosity to read fanfiction again after literally NINE YEARS of being distant from that part of the fandom and honestly I don't regret it one bit. In fact, I discovered literally my favorite writer in fanfiction. That is you, Arnold. I don't care how frequently you write, I don't care if sometimes you can't do your best. I'll always be there waiting for the next chapter and I'll always think that your art is sublime. I'll have to admit, I don't read your works as often as I should. But it's because I love them so much that I want to always save for later. It's like a drug, or a delicious cake that you want it to last as long as possible so you can enjoy it for much longer (I should be reading your fic more often either way tho like, at least so I can make more art for it. I'll make sure to change that this year and give you the recognition you deserve 🖤).

Everytime I make art, everytime I make a post, I always wait for your name to pop in my notifs. And fuck if I'm happy when I see it, and I rush to read your tags and it always makes my day. Like seriously, you mean so much to me and I admire how you can still be any amount of sane with all you're going through. You're strong as hell, keep going. 🖤

@i-dont-like-rice dude, how can I explain it. You're my best bud here. You're my chaotic sibling from another mother. The other braindead I share the single braincell I have with. The Nikki to my Tommy. Or the Tommy to my Nikki, I'm still not sure which of us is which (I guess I'm Nikki and you're Tommy? lmao it's ironic how even them are an italian and a balkanian) but you get the point. Every interaction we have, I laugh my ass off till my whole body hurts every time. I think I worried my mother and annoyed my sister at least a couple times for bursting out laughing for five minutes straight out of the blue, especially if it was late at night, and all the times, I swear it was because of you. You are as chaotic as you are kind, and it's always so disarming to see you worry or take care of others when you are definitely in a worse situation. Please, be more selfish, goddammit. For your own sake. And be more confident of your art. Draw shit and post it. Who cares if it's not perfect and you hate it and you don't want anybody to see it, it's tumblr, nobody will ever reblog it or give you the well deserved recognition anyway! So it's worth a try isn't it?

@no-stone-no-bone seriously, I'm so glad I met you. You're like the third element of chaos that holds me and Andi together. All three of us are literally unstoppable. You're extremely sweet too and I wish you the best, and DON'T HIDE SHIT IN THE TAGS GODDAMMIT 😂

@white-lightning-625 @viiinceneil I know we really haven't talked much, and we met through unfortunate times, but I'm so glad that something good came out of the chaos and drama, which is being able to talk to you and getting to know you both better. And the fics. My god, the fics. Frankie, I already told you this but MY GOD. I still find it incredible that I've read a fic about a band I didn't even know what they looked or sounded like and I was HOOKED from start to finish. And Katie, I should definitely read more of your works because I love what you've got going on. You're both very sweet and talented with a very distinct, beautiful way of writing and I can't wait to sink my teeth into the pulp of your work, because I know that by now I only scratched the surface.

@awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands Bruh, conoscere una fan su tumblr the parla la MIA STESSA LINGUA (e che ha pure il mio stesso vero nome lmao cosa sta succedendo)??? Che concetto innovativo!!! Le nostre conversazioni sono sempre disgiunte, ma non importa, adoro ogni nostra interazione. Sei seriamente una delle persone più dolci e gentili che abbia mai conosciuto. La tua creatività stimola sempre la mia. Le tue moodboard sono sempre 👌👌👌 e ogni volta trovo sempre qualcosa che sì, ci avevo pensato, ma mai nel modo in cui lo poni tu, e di solito sono una persona che resta vicina alle proprie idee, ma tu riesci a farmi alterare prospettiva, e trovo questo meccanismo mentale molto affascinante. Ti ricordi lo swapped instruments AU, con Tommy come cantante, no? Giuro che è un concetto a cui penso ancora dopo mesi. Spero di avere la capacità mentale per tradurre quell'idea in arte il prima possibile, perché cazzo, lo adoro troppo

@tattooed-lies thank you for providing the fandom the best gifs in the fucking platform and thank you for giving us the vinikki content that everyone, even if they're not aware, deserves and needs. Thank you for being the only Vince stan that I know. Thank you for being the sweetest person alive 💖

@nbtommylee honestly, I wish I was cool like you. Your sense of humor is impeccable, much like your critical thinking. I have never read something from you that wasn't a valid point. You don't talk shit and that's extremely sexy of you, y'know? And having a "gender dysphoria buddy" to be jealous of our Rockstar Gender Of Choice with is always fun to have, so that's definitely a plus. Can't wait to see (and read!) more of your art, I just love your style so much and you deserve to be Known

@metalmelkor @emometalhead @polka-dot-duff I'm always so happy to see you in my notifs and y'all are oh so very sweet and cool, we haven't talked much but I love every interaction we have, sorry for having the social skills of a stale piece of white bread 🖤

A special thanks goes to @awesomgrlgr8job bc you're literally one of my very first mutuals since I made the decision to make this dumpster fire of a blog and holy shit it's crazy to think about that. I don't even know if we ever interacted that much but it's always such a joy to see you around, ily and I hope you're doing well and thanks for putting up with my clownery for so long 💖

Like seriously, thank you all. I don't even know where I would be without you. Here's to another year of chaos, but only of the good kind 💖

[bowieandqueen11]

Remember When / Hargreeves Imagine

Request: Love ur writing btw!! I have a Great idea for a Diego fic! Can u do his siblings somehow finding tapes/videos from the mental asylum Diego was in and seeing how badly he was tortured and abused. Then he has a panic attack or something at the end and they comfort him. 

I-ugh anon omg - my heart <3

Warning, some strong language, and also some descriptions of abuse, so please don’t read if it will make you uncomfortable!

Comments and reblogs are so so so appreciated, as this took me honestly way to long XD! Thank you!!

‘Way to go. Real Team Zero back there.’

‘Diego, we’ve already been through this. Dad’s a stubborn prick, as he has been, all our sad lives, yada yada, we’re sorry, okay? We should have known he’d still be the same condescending asshole’, Klaus replies, waving his hands in the air as he climbs the stairs back up to Elliot’s apartment. Rubbing his left eye with his hello tattoo, he uses his right to try and fumble a blunt out of his pocket, clenching it between his teeth. As he feels Luther’s footsteps pound up the rest of the way and jog past him to the landing, he can’t quite seem to light it - his fingers are still trembling too hard from the pain of Ben stealing his body in the way he did.

Running up the stairs after him, Diego leaves behind the rest of his shell shocked siblings. Instead he focuses on tucking in the corners of his shirt back into his pants, trying to do anything to stop himself focusing on Reginald and the tears that still threaten to prick at the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t even notice when he walks head first into Klaus, until he has put a hand out and gripped onto his shoulder to stop them both from tumbling back down the stairs like bowling balls and straight into Allison.

‘You, brother, are an idiot. And a fat lot of help’, he smirks, sadly, gently slapping Klaus on his cheek.

‘Rude’, Klaus shrugs, winding his way towards the kitchen and kicking off his shoes in the process, looking for some Vodka to steal.

Allison hops quickly out of the way of the incoming shoes, used to his antics by now, and instead comes to settle next to where Vanya has plodded herself down on the sofa. Fiddling with her oversized jumper, a far away look on her face, Allison places a comforting hand on her bicep and gives her a sorrowful smile.

‘What do we do now?’, Vanya murmurs out as Luther squirms uncomfortably on one of Elliott’s wooden chairs. He ignores the beeping of the machines behind his head, instead swallowing thickly.

‘We, uh... wait for Five, I guess.’

‘No no no, right now, the most important thing we can do to try and change the world, is save JFK.’

‘Ughh we’ve been through this a million times! That’s not how it works Diego!’, Klaus calls from the kitchen, only a cloud of smoke trailing out from behind the wall and filling the room with both a stagnant smell of weed, and a light fog that seems to dampen the small amount of sunlight filtering through the askew blinds, which Elliott had been taking photos through earlier this morning.

‘Look, I get that you’re on some big crusade to prove something to dad, but this is not helpful right now.’

‘We all need to stick together and stop this thing’, Allison chimes in, desperation in her voice.

Luther’s interrupted from his continuing thoughts by a small squeak out of Vanya, following her eyes from where they are trained to a spot on the rug.

‘Oh my god... is that blood? Is someone bleeding?’

‘Holy shit.’

He gets up then, following the trail, beckoning his sisters to stay behind him with his hands until he reaches the dentistry chair at the edge of the landing, grimacing slightly as he turns to swivel it towards him with a squeak. He feels Klaus bump into one side of him, and Diego hit onto his other elbow, a rusty kitchen knife raised and ready, and a look of almost determination on his face, as if he had just been waiting for something awful to happen, just another chain of bad events so he knew his life was back onto its normal tracks.

‘Oh noooo’, Klaus groans, cupping his hands over his mouth as Elliott’s body turns to face them, a knife planted firmly in his eye.

Turning away from the tortured body of his friend, Diego swallows thickly, dropping his knife to the floor and placing an arm over his stomach. None of his siblings really notice, all of them looking over the dead body aghast, wondering, pained that they were the ones who caused something like this. None of them noticed the shake in his hand as he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the bile back down his throat again. 

Klaus, however, did notice something. However, sadly for Diego, it was not the right thing - not the signs of shock, anxiety, or guilt that flashed over his brother’s face - the signs of PTSD he would have been the most adapt at noticing in the room. No, instead Klaus looked past poor Elliot’s head, towards a blinking static screen that kept flashing blue and black on a nearby desk, left abandoned underneath the shutter shots of the rest of them by Five.

‘Hello there, what might you be?’

Leaving the rest of them, he fumbled with the buttons on the old TV, trying to shake it out of his head how eerily familiar this seemed to dear old dad’s surveillance system. Hitting any button he can find in vain, he throws his blunt out of his mouth and flicks it across the room, slamming the control panel with the fist of his palm, until his pointer finger somehow managed to falter and hit play on the tape left inside.

Never before had Klaus noticed how much time is like water, that it can drip by in front of his eyes so slowly, or even freeze with each new frame. The past few minutes had passed by as if he had watched a thousand frames per second, too slow to be normal, so unusual. He turns to try and point to his siblings, but his jaw is still so slack and he finds he can’t move his fingers properly. Shock, that’s what they call it, shock, he thinks to himself, fighting to get his words out so they don’t trail out.

There is a sadness in his eyes, the glass green too glossy when he finally turns to his siblings and manages only to feebly point at the screen.

For the first time, since his mouth had been wired shut as a teenager, Klaus was at a loss of words.

This grabbed the attention of his siblings, who crowded over to join him and peer intently at the screen - all except foe Diego, who stayed hovering at the edge of the group.

The screen lights up again, showing an empty room, one without proper handles, only sheets of smooth metal as makeshift windows for staff to peer through. There’s no bed, no mattress on the cold floor, just emptiness, isolation, silence, for the man who sits in the centre of the floor in pure white. They recognise from the shaggy hair and the wild beard that it’s there brother almost immediately.

'You were in an Asylum? What for?’, Vanya asks.

‘For trying to save the President’, Diego manages to mutter, unable to look any of them in the eye. ‘For doing what needed to be done.’

He’s interrupted by himself, the small version of him on the tape muttering to himself, rocking back and forth. ‘I am not enough, I can’t do it, I’m not good enough. You’ll never be number one, never.’  

The door swings open then. In his intense silence, Diego somehow screamed with his whole body. The eyes wide with horror, the mouth rigid and open, his chalky face gaunt and immobile as the doctor approached him with the needle.  

‘Please! Not the needle!’, he begs and cries. ‘Please!’

Luther’s the first to turn round and look at his brother. The first to finally look, to finally see him, how defeated he looks, for the first time since they all landed in that alleyway.  It's the look that he gives Diego. Those pale blue eyes, probing into his soul, desperately wanting to see what's going on in there. That look, it just tore Diego apart, piece by piece, and although it wasn’t his fault, he found himself deeply unsettled, deeply angry at him, at all of them, so suddenly.

‘W-w-what? What are you looking at a-a-ss-’

An invisible hand clasps over his mouth and stops his words from escaping, an equally ghostly hypodermic of adrenaline piercing his heart, making it contort and expand until it feels just about ready to burst. His ribs heave uneasily, and Allison’s afraid he’s about to pass out, Klaus rushing forward, biting his lips. Diego only wants to run, but needs to freeze. All he can do, instead, is fall to his knees, and allow four pairs of hands to catch him before his face hits the floor.

A single tear slides down from his warm, butterscotch eyes, followed by another one, and another one, until soon, a steady stream of salty tears flowed it's way down his cheek, releasing the sadness and sorrow that has been held inside of him for all this time but still he did not make a sound. His siblings made the noise for him, warm, comforting little nothings, telling him it was going to be okay, he didn’t have to go back, they were going to do it, save the world. Save themselves.

The hand appeared from nowhere and tightened on his wrist, white knuckled, strong, until Luther had pulled him against his chest, and the others had gently fallen to their knees too and placed their arms around his back as best as they could. Klaus was half leaning over Allison’s leg, and Vanya in turn was completely squished, face first, against his chest, but somehow they made it work.

There is the hug of gentle arms that still gives you the space to breathe, like the ones Grace used to give Diego after a mission. Shutting his eyes, he realises he isn’t used to this type, the kind of hug with strong arms that tells everything that your are - body, brain and soul - that they are with you. 

They stay like that for a while, the five - well, the six of them, as Ben places his arms around his siblings as well, even if they can’t feel him. The six of them, battered, afraid, neglected, and yet, not alone. They huddle there together, embracing each other and crying and just allowing themselves to be open, to be vulnerable with each other, to realise their dad wasn’t there and they didn’t have to go through this alone anymore. 

Tears were wiped and sobbing laughs were shared, and even Five, when he blipped back into the room, saw the set of his siblings hugging on the floor and felt a pang of loneliness and love for his crazy family ring out in his heart that he joined them, if only for a second.

From then they weren’t numbers anymore. They weren’t even siblings. They were more, Diego said with a smile. They were Team Zero.

[cowperviolet]

A Fantasy Writer’s Guide to Entremets

Ok - I know that fantasy worlds don’t have to be medieval-influenced. However, most do tend to have historical elements from different eras worked into them; so why not entremets, especially since they have their origins in the feasts of antiquity, and have been deployed through the Middle Ages and Renaissance both? 

If anything, they fit the Rule of Cool. 

So, what are the entremets? To put it very simply, they are the elements of the feast that do not, strictly speaking, belong on the menu. They can be statues, performances, automata (I guess I should put steampunk in the tags), tableaux, even edible-stuff-that’s-just-really freaky. 

Here are some examples (most are drawn from the Burgundian court, because it was the most Extra one):

(Technically) edible stuff:

A lamprey burrowed into a river bottom - that is, a lamprey meat is roasted, then covered in a thick sauce made from combining its blood with spices and vinegar to create the effect of mud.

Cigne revestu - a cooked swan redressed in its skin and feathers.

Doreures - poultry is stuffed with a mixture of pork, bacon, eggs, spices, pine-nut paste, and currants, then roasted; the leftover stuffing is made into balls and roasted as well. Then everything is covered in gold and silver leaf. Because they can. 

Coqz heaumez - a stuffed roasted hen is seated atop a piglet and given a helmet of glued paper and a lance. These should be covered with gold- or silver-leaf for lords, or with white, red, or green tin-leaf, depending on the hen’s station in life, I guess.

Statuary:

The portrayal of the story of the Swan Knight - a wooden box with wheels is constructed; water-filled lead coffer holding a minever-covered parchment boat and a swan sculpture tied together with a golden chain are placed within.A cloth painted to represent water is then attached to hide men who are going to move the box around underneath. 

The Cleveland fountain - an octagonal Gothic tower in three tiers of gilt-silver. Liquid (can be perfumed/rosewater) rises through the central tube and issues from the mouths of the four animals at the top. Then it cascades down each level through spouts in the forms of human and animal faces. The water jets turn a series of wheels attached to bells, making everything whirl and ring.

Something I am going to leave as a direct quote, because I can’t even - ‘At a special table there was a high pillar, on which was seated an ymage of a young woman, nude except for her long blonde hair which covered her back to her waist; on her head was a rich hat; [she was] wrapped, so as to preserve propriety, in a cloth like a fluttering veil with Greek letters on it in many places, beautifully written in violet; and this ymage jetted hippocras from her breasts the entire duration of the supper. And near her, braced against the dresser, was another pillar, not as tall, but a little thicker, like a platform, on which was attached, by an iron chain, a very beautiful and entirely alive lion, as a sign to guard and defend the ymage; against his pillar was written on a charge in gold: Do not touch my lady’. 

A (thank God) fake fire-breathing lion - the sculpture’s mouth is lined with brass-lined mouth, with paper teeth glued within. Camphor and a little cotton are put there, and lit just before it’s presented to the guests.

A ship - such as a miniature anchored carrack laden with various merchandise, with miniature figures of sailors to complete the picture.

Spice-carrying miniature figures of animals -  these could be large elephants carrying castles, dromedaries with large baskets, unicorns, stags, etc. The animals would be bedecked with gold, silver and azure, their coverings decorated with gold thread and silk. Each of them carried the arms of a lord subject to, in one particular case, the Duke of Burgundy, with the name of the town or lordship. But really, any overlord fits. 

Tableaux/mini-plays:

These are highly specific things, tailored to each occasion - whether, political, pious, marital or simply entertaining - so I’m going to describe particular instances that can be, however, easily dismembered into elements:

The entremet of the Holy Church was something presented by Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy at his Feast of the Pheasant in 1454. It began with an armed giant in a long green silk robe with the turban on his head entering the room leading an elephant covered in silk. On the elephant’s back rode a lady wearing a white satin robe with a black coat and headdress (i.e. looking nun-like, but not quite). Addressing the noble company, the lady revealed that she was the Holy Church. As one does, she delivered a long complaint poem to those present, detailing her fallen state after the Turkish capture of Constantinople, and then asked for their aid. In the Ye Olde Photo Op, the Duke drew out a letter promising to aid his fellow Christians and had his herald read it aloud to the assembled guests. Having heard this assurance of aid, the Holy Church blessed him and was led out on her elephant. The evening culminated in the nobles offering immediate written vows to sign up for a crusade. 

The wedding of Charles the Bold and Margaret of York involved a series of carefully staged entremets chock-full of symbolism, given the touchy political nature of their union:

First, a man dressed as leopard came into the room riding a ‘unicorn’ caparisoned in a cloth painted with the English royal arms. The leopard held an English banner in one paw and a daisy in the other. Charles’ maître d’hôtel took the flower and presented it to the groom, saying: “Most excellent, high and victorious prince, my awesome and sovereign lord, the proud and awesome leopard of England comes to visit the noble company; and for your consolation and the consolation of your allies, countries and subjects, makes you the present of a noble marguerite.”

The second entremet was, in turn, dedicated to Margaret. A giant ‘lion’ entered, his covering painted with the arms of Burgundy.  Madame de Beaugrand, the dwarf of Margaret’s new stepdaughter Mary of Burgundy, rode upon it, accompanied by two noblemen. Madame de Beaugrand was dressed in a cloth-of-gold and violet version of a shepherdess’s garb and held a basket painted with the names of various virtues, a Burgundian banner, and a small dog on a leash. Then the ‘lion’ circled the room and sang a song welcoming the “beautiful shepherdess” who is “the source of hope, solace, strength, pride, peace, and safety for all the ruled lands.”

As a last note, possibly just to highlight the lavish and cosmopolitan nature of the court into which she has married, a highly realistic simulated camel saddled “in the Saracen manner” entered the room, with a man dressed in an Eastern fashion and two giant baskets on its back. He opened the baskets and took from them “birds strangely painted, as though they came from India,” and released them to fly around the room. They landed on various tables to the sounds of trumpets.

‘A marvellously large and beautiful stag entered the room, all white with large golden antlers, and covered in a rich covering of green and vermilion silk, as far as I could tell. A young boy twelve years old was mounted on the stag, dressed in a short robe of crimson velvet, wearing a little black slashed hat on his head, and shod in fine shoes. This child held on to the antlers of the stag with both hands. As he entered the room, he began on a song in a very high and clear voice, and the stag seemed to sing the tenor part, without there appearing to be any other person about save the child and artifice of the stag, and the song they sang was called ‘Je ne voy onques la pareille etc.’ [I have never seen her like].’ (Olivier de la Marche’s memoires, 1562). 

‘A watchman on the tower made as if to carry out his watch, and recognising that the tents and pavilions represented towns that were friendly, called for a fanfare of trumpets, which was performed by four boars from the windows in the tower. Then four lifelike goats appeared at the same windows, playing a motet on sackbuts and shawms; followed by four wolves with flutes, then four donkeys singing a song in four parts. For the fifth and last entremets, the watchman asked for a ‘morisque’ dance to entertain the company. Seven lifelike monkeys emerged along a balcony rail from a door in the tower. They found a mercer asleep by his wares and proceeded to play with them. They danced a morisque; then the tables were cleared and the guests danced’. (Ibid.)

[zeravmeta]

fuck it. soma cruz fgo servant profile bc i make my own content

Servant: / Servant Class: Soma Cruz / Alter Ego

Origin: / Region: Castlevania Series / Japan, 2035

Alignment: Lawful Neutral(?) “Yeah, not sure how I classify as Lawful given my past life, but whatever.”

Aliases: The Dark Lord, Dracula, Soma Cruz

Parameters: STR (B) / END (A+) / AGL (B+) / MP (EX) / LUK (A) / NP (???) 

Class Skills: Authority of Beasts (Fake), Core of Chaos (A), One Who Severs Fate (A)

Character Info: “In order for God to be perfectly Good, there must always exist an embodiment of Chaos, a Dark Lord to emerge from the evil of humanity’s hearts.”

For one thousand years, the Belmont bloodline had opposed the terrible night that Count Dracula would bring with his powers. After generations of suffering, the Belmont’s latest mantle bearer, Julius Belmont, along with their generational allies, the Belnades clan and a nameless soldier, had managed to permanently defeat Dracula with the help of the Hakuba Clan’s shrine magics. Severing his connection to his power and sealing Castlevania, the embodiment of his power, within a solar eclipse, Dracula had finally faced his demise in 1999, prophesied by Nostradamus one millennium ago. Thus, the strongest Dark Lord had fallen, his throne empty and awaiting a new master.

In 2035, Soma Cruz had visited the Hakuba Shrine to meet with his childhood friend Mina, unaware of the birthright he would claim.

Skills:

Chaos Ring A: An extremely powerful construct that channels the very essence of Chaos. It can only be found by the one who can traverse and control the Chaos Realm, the Dark Lords personal right. Wearing it grants the unlimited magical power of the Chaos Realm, but actual output depends on the user. If the Demon King’s Ring is the symbol of Dracula and his reign, then the Chaos Ring could be considered the symbol of Soma and his new beginning.

Thematic narratives aside, it’s a very convenient tool for Soma.

“It’s weird, but it feels like…it was made for me. Almost like a welcome gift.”

[5->3 Turns] [Charge NP (20%->30%), Increase NP Gain (10%->25%) (3 Turns), Gain a Delayed buff 1 turn after skill use (Unremovable): [Charge NP (20->30%)]

Armament Master D: Soma is extremely proficient at using any and all forms of weaponry. Due to Dracula’s vast reach, Soma has a vast number of different modern and mythical weapons and gear at his disposal, notable weapons including Excalibur (sealed in the stone), Hrunting, Caladbolg, Mjolnir, and even a Positron Rifle, to name a few. However, one weapon unique to Soma is the Claimh Solais, an Irish sword of light mentioned in many legends and defining the archetype of “Sword of Light.” It provides a great boost to parameters and is surprisingly light weight despite its size. Another unique weapon he wields is the Valmanway, the “Blessed Wind” that is always ‘cutting’ even when still.

(The rank is D because despite his proficiency, Soma has never had any formal training.)

“I mean, it’s just a sword, right? How complex is it? You can just swing it and things die. Though…considering I have ol’ Drac’s memories…sorta, maybe I’m just remembering it?”

[8->6 Turns] [Increase Atk (10%->20%) (3 Turns), Gain Critical Stars (5->15), Increase Critical Star Absorption (3000%) (3 Turns), Increase Critical Damage (10%->20%) (3 Turns), Apply Special Attack against Sky, Star and Beast attribute enemies (20%->40%) (3 Turns)]

Power of Dominance (EX): Soma’s inheritance from Dracula, or more fittingly, the Chaos Entity opposite to God. The Power of Dominance is a unique ability that grants a complete mastery over the abilities of any and all souls Soma can acquire from the enemies he defeats. All the monsters that Dracula unleashed in his crusade against humanity are the countless souls under his domain, even that of Death itself, and their powers rightly belong to him.

Soma can differentiate between the types of Soul Arts he uses, and this reflects accordingly in his Noble Phantasm.

“I never wanted this power, but I guess I’m stuck with it. I’ll always carry the target on my back, but at least I can look awesome as hell while doing it, I suppose.”

[5->3 Turns] [Decrease Enemy Charge by 1 (20%->50%), Select own NP Command Card’s type between Quick, Arts or Buster for 3 Turns. Effect of NP changes depending on which Command Card Type is selected. This skill is immune to debuff effects (such as Skill Seal)]

Noble Phantasm:

Advent of Sorrow – He Who Severed His Fate Against Chaos and God / Anti-Divine, Anti-Self / Rank (???)

A manifestation of Soma’s power truly made his own, separate from the title of Dark Lord and Dracula. Having defeated the Chaos Entity, he managed to sever its connection to his soul, and be saved from his Fate. Even so, he carries the Power of Dominance with him always, and the countless souls and followers of Chaos always wait and offer themselves unto Soma to lead and command them. In his own imperfect way, neither holy nor demonic.

After all, he’s only human.

(Note: If used by the true Count Dracula, this would be considered an Anti-Humanity NP)

[Type: Buster] – [Deals massive damage to a single enemy (1200%->2400%), Chance to Decrease Charge by 1 (80%->100%). Overcharge: Increases own Buster Card Effectiveness (20%) (1 Turn) and NP Damage (1 Turn) (20%) (Activates First)]

[Type: Arts] – [Deals heavy damage to all enemies (400%->800%), Chance to decrease Atk (15%->25%) and Critical Chance (20%->30%). Overcharge: Inflict Curse (5 Turns).]

[Type: Quick] – [Apply Debuff Immune (1 Time), and Restore HP each turn for self (3 Turns) (1000->1500), and Increase NP Gauge each turn for self (3 Turns) (5%). Overcharge: Apply Def Up for all allies (3 Turns) (25%->50%).]

Bond Lines: 

Bond 1: “Heh, thanks for having me! I’m still not too sure about how all this stuff works here, but if you need a monster taken down, I’m your guy.”

Bond 2: “So the rest of those dudes call you ‘Master’? Kind of awkward, but I guess they’re magical familiars at the end of the day. What? So am I? Sorry but, vampiric powers aside, I’m just a normal guy. I was even in University before I got dragged here. I’ll just call you [name] for now.”

Bond 3: “Do you like curry? Arikado said I shouldn’t be using these monster souls for dumb stuff, but they don’t mind. They always talk to me and really want to help me out wherever I am. Except Death, that guy sucks. He’s always breaking into my home and trying to convince me to become the next Dark Lord and to ‘accept my throne’ and stuff.”

Bond 4: “…It scares me, sometimes. Knowing not only what I am, but what I’m very capable of.”

Bond 5: “Y’know…you could always come back with me to my world, if you want to escape. I’ll take you to meet Mina, and Hammer and Yoko and Julius and Arikado and…Hm. Sorry. I know you can’t abandon this world, it’s where you grew up. There’s…a lot of people here who love you. You should always remember that and hold it close. It saved my life when I thought I couldn’t go on, and I know it will also save yours.”

Voice Lines:

(1): “I’m glad this place is a lot simpler than the castle. That place had so many hidden rooms and puzzles that I felt like I was going insane…No, as a matter of fact, DON’T tell me about all the secret workshops here.”

(2): “Hm? What’s up? I’m just relaxing here. Sorry if I’m taking up space. It’s nice to just take a moment.”

(3): “No, no, don’t worry. Even if I could, I’m not the type of guy to just go around stealing souls. I only do that to monsters, and even then, they become complacent once they return to me. I could show you some of the fun ones, like the Skeleton Gardener, if you’d like.”

Likes: “What I like? Curry! Oh, and Mina. She’s been with me for my whole life. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Dislikes: “This is gonna sound cliché, but garlic. It just tastes bad.”

Event: “Whoa, a party! Let’s go, I’m super bored cooped up in here.”

About The Holy Grail: “Wish granting? No thanks, I’ve read a ton of comics and things always go wrong. What? Of course, it’s a valuable source!”

Summon Quote: “Yo! My name is Soma Cruz. I’m just a regular high school student. Um…Where am I, exactly?”

Happy Birthday: “Happy Birthday, [name]! I’m so gonna throw you the coolest party ever! I’ll even invite Mina…If, uh, if that’s cool with you?”

(King Hassan): “D-Death!? Why are you…Oh. Uh, sorry about that. You reminded me of...someone. I’m sure you’re a cool guy underneath all that armor.”

(Vlad/Vlad III (EXTRA)): “Huh. So, in this world, the legend of Dracula is just that? A legend? Well, that’s a huge relief. I’m not exactly the kingly type.”

(Gilgamesh/Gilgamesh (Caster)): “Hey [name], could you give me a hand? This gold idiot keeps saying I stole his weapons, but they’re mine! …Hey! Stay back with those portal things! Someone, help!!!”

(Scathach): “Jeez, I bet Arikado will get along with that slave driver. Seriously, Arikado’s method of teaching me my powers amounted to locking me in a room with monsters and a pocketknife. Huh? She’s stomping over here!? [name], help me!”

(Marie Antionette): “I don’t know why, but…Looking at you makes me sad. I’m sorry.”

(Sessyoin Kiara): “Master, this lady is coming onto me WAY too hard. She keeps telling me to ‘embrace what I am’ and junk. I already get enough of that crap from cultists back home.”

(Sakata Kintoki/Astolfo/Romulus/Romulus-Quirinus/Ashwatthama): “Hey, you’re a pretty cool dude, huh? Finally, someone with some style!”

(Amakusa Shirou): “Ugh, you remind me of Fortner. And stop using rosaries around me, I’m not Satan, you jerk!”

(Mephistopheles): “Please, leave me alone. I’m not evil, nor will I ever be the Dark Lord. Just because I have those powers doesn’t mean I’m defined by them. Also, the alarm clock you gave me exploded, so I don’t think you’re all that trustworthy anyways.”

(Beni Enma): “Aww, you’re so cute...Wait, from the Underworld? A yokai? Guess you’re one of mine, then. If you want, I can loan you some Skeleton Waiters for your chain.”

(Any Avenger-Class Servant): “Hey, you guys are kinda like me! Everyone says you’re evil, but you’re actually really nice!”

(Arcueid Brunestud): “Master, that girl is shooting me some pretty weird looks....Huh? Reincarnating vampire? Oh, I guess I’d look pretty weird in that case. That’s not her fault, though. Maybe I’ll go say hi.”

QQABB Deck:

Buster Card: 2 Hit / -Soma raises Excalibur (still in the stone) and smashes it into the enemy-

Quick Card: 5 Hit / -Soma holds Valmanway in front of him, turns around, and multiple slashes envelop the enemy-

Art Card: 3 Hit / -Soma does two horizontal strikes, then a third overhead strike with Claimh Solais-

Extra Card: 6 Hit / -Soma punches twice, does a spin-attack with Claimh Solais, then jumps back and fires his Positron Rifle-

Level Up: “Whew…I feel so powerful.”

Ascension 1: “Whoo! Good job, [name].” 

Ascension 2: “This…This is just like then…[name], maybe don’t do this anymore.”

Ascension 3: “Please…stop. I don’t know if I can pull myself back this time…”

Ascension 4: “I see. Well…as long as you’re by my side, I’ll never succumb. So please…don’t die.”

Battle Start ½: “Just how many monsters out there!? In any case, let’s do this thing!” / “I’ll carry the mantle and defeat this terrible night!”

Skill ½: “Bullet, set…Enchanted, set…Guardian, set…” / “How about some of this!”

Attack Selection ½/3: “Hmm.” / “Seriously!?” / “Nice.”

Attack ½/3: “Hraagh!” / “Take this!” / “You’re going down!”

Extra Attack: “Let’s see you handle THIS!”

Noble Phantasm Selection ½: “Are…Are you sure?” / “I’ll trust you on this.”

Noble Phantasm: “I will never be the Dark Lord…You, God, and The World will just have to deal with it!”

Noble Phantasm Damage: “I won’t…Submit...!”

Regular Damage: “Gah!”

Defeated ½: “Mina….” / “Julius…our promise…”

Battle Finish ½: “That was a close one…” / “Anyone need some healing? I have some spare spoiled milk…Oh wait, none of you have a Ghoul soul, huh?”

[kshitij1997]

Greetings, people!

Oh, damn I haven't done this in some time.

Well, the life of an engineer is a hectic one and I had written myself into a corner and was blocked for many days as a result. Not anymore. I have decided that I would update this once a week from now on.

We're getting somewhere in this, hopefully you people enjoy it.

All frozen and Tangled characters belong to Disney, all I own is this head-cannon and the original characters.

Let's continue!

Chapter 6: Of children fortunate and not so fortunate

Throughout Europe, the new year was always celebrated with utter pomp and show, what with firecrackers bursting in the city centres and town squares and if there weren't any firecrackers at hand, one could always fire a musket up in the air. Singing, dancing, drunken behaviour, smashing of public property, brawls and general noise. It was comforting to see that even though the major empires were coming up and clawing at each other's throats on a regular basis, nothing would really dampen the typical European spirit even if some drastic changes ever happened.

Which is not to say they didn't have different customs. The Ottoman Sultan for example, would start celebrating three days in advance, binging and drinking while being surrounded by scores of concubines, throwing golden medals and eggs onto the streets for all his citizens to collect. This pious act of charity was ample for the people to forgive the Sultan his misgivings. As for the Tsar, the rumoured massive drinking appetite of the typical Tsar held strong and displayed itself in all its glory during the coming of the new year, singing, jumping on tables, screaming Moktor! a drinking chant he had borrowed from his Arendellian ally, banging a kettle drum while removing his royal tunic and tying it around his forehead, it certainly wasn't a sight the typical Russian nobles would forget easily even as they were busy distributing free beer and bread throughout St. Petersburg. The royal family of the Southern Isles always started as a family dinner but dissolved into everyone getting wasted and threatening to kill each other right then and there. However, for some unexplained reason, they always ended up weeping and caressing each other. One could be forgiven for thinking that it was an Irish wake, unsurprising as the Southern Isles had some sizable Irish ancestry. As for the Duke of Weselton, it was an opium binge, smoking up into the wee hours of the morning. If one made the mistake of asking the duke his plans during such a session, they could be trapped there for the rest of the day and miss the blessed celebrations. Now that his merchants had begun smuggling Marijuana from central America, those plans became more outlandish every passing year as the intoxicant made its way in the duke's habits. The Monarchs of Corona were more chaste and less dramatic in comparison, nevertheless it didn't stop them from holding a quirky national lottery at the end of the year in which save the crown, the state and the Monarchs, nearly everything was for grabs.

It could be a normal brooch, or a kettle, or something outrageous like the ancient Dusseldorf cathedral, or even better, the Munich Palace of Justice. However, short of the royal palace, nothing truly awed the people of Corona as the Mansion, a building so singular and unique in the Rhinelands that it had acquired a legend of its own. How that massive building was built during the earliest crusades in the holy lands, had sheltered thousands of innocents in the mindless massacres which was a hallmark of said crusades, how the same building became a terrible final place for those unfortunates who were accused of witchcraft and found guilty, how said building harboured the Coronian resistance as they battled the Habsburgs for the identity of Corona in the thirty years war. One could see that the Mansion was home to centuries of history both good and bad, a monument to human suffering and human triumph; it was a matter of prestige and honour to those who lived there.

Since the passing of the Patriarch, the Mansion was up for bid for the first time in fifty years. Unfortunately, the Mansion had been burned down, some said it was a careless baker, some said it was a figure as dark as night, yet many believed that it was Flynn Rider, the little boy who cast a gargantuan shadow in all of Rhineland, where some thought he was a hero who avenged someone dear to him and brought down tyranny, while some thought he was a rat bastard, who sold out everyone from his trade to escape the noose and ruined the businesses of the Rhinelands. Ah well, the public could never make up its mind.

Even though the public was upset by the loss of the Mansion, they had to agree that the Monarchs were generally generous in the lottery and accepted the loss with a heavy heart. After all, a cooking pot was much more useful in cooking than an entire monument , no matter how symbolic it was and how brightly it burned into oblivion.

Last but not the least, the kingdom of Arendelle often saw a lot of parades and street performances around that time of the year. Typically the various students who had come from abroad to study would often bring out a procession, banging some drums, beating some cymbals and singing songs in unison in their native languages, becoming a crowd of thousands as they used to go door to door, either offering food and gifts, and inviting those to join them who weren't in severe want. The fact that It always snowed in the final fortnight of the year as if on clockwork never dampened their spirits. The evenings would often see people from all strata of Arendellian society coming together without social barriers. In recent years, the crowds had started becoming rowdier and more rambunctious, but they all settled as the Monarchs addressed them from their pedestal at the Royal Palace, bringing the year to a dignified end and rousing hopes for the new year. The Palace courtyard itself often became a fair ground, with various stalls selling delicacies, trinkets and souvenirs.

Queen Iduna had always enjoyed the fairs at the palace and meeting foreigners in the parades when she was a commoner, and now she loved it even more as she had her husband to share that joy with. It was a common sight to see the royal couple strolling around, meeting the stall owners, trying some exotic foods and relishing them. Now with baby princess Elsa, they had developed a very sweet tooth as well, they had been spoiled for chocolate as the baby girl always went gaga over the sweet. Even though she hadn't yet spoken, by now her parents were well acquainted with sounds of disapproval or enthusiasm coming from her. For example, when Elsa tried to nibble on any sweet, she would always gurgle and moan and form wisps with her tiny fingers, which always succeeded in bringing a smile to the couple's lips. After the exciting parades and stalls of food, the evening had surprisingly become calm as it approached the new year. Princess Elsa had had an active day, and now was sleeping in Queen Iduna's arms in the royal bedroom, her face buried into her mother's bosom.

"I guess Sophia is to take the credit or the blame for this" grinned Agnarr.

"Ha, yes surely. I wouldn't put it past her at all." smiled Iduna "However it's a shame Elsa can't drink the hot chocolate yet. It's getting lonesome drinking it by myself."

"What does that mean? It is OUR drink, right?"

"It was once, but then you got self-conscious about your health and everything." Iduna teased.

"Well, I can't really flaunt my stretch marks for my certification of fatherhood." Agnarr teased back.

"That was rough. Parenthood has changed you for the worse." Iduna laughed after staring at Agnarr for nearly a minute about that comment.

"On the other hand, I think you've become soft, I still remember the day you made the Duke of Weselton shit himself." Agnarr smirked.

"Boo you, I'm with child." Iduna accepted the challenge "I can still drive you around in circles, you know? You remember earlier today, when I made you cook an Artichoke salad for my cravings. Oh god, you were hunched over the damn stove. Good fun. And a story the whole litter would enjoy someday." Iduna finished with a laugh.

"A whole litter? Dammit woman." Agnarr laughed.

"Yeah, better stay in shape." Iduna smirked.

"Alright, I admit defeat. I swear I can still hear the blessed kitchen ladies sniggering." Agnarr backed off "Ah well, another bun hmm?"

"Yes, another bun. Due in early spring, if Dr. Klaus is to be believed."

"I would wager my life under his knife, should the day come." Agnarr said quietly.

"Hush, don't say that." Iduna whispered. "It'll be a new year in a matter of minutes, how can you think of doom at such a precious moment?"

"It's because I know how life can turn out for a lot of people. I tell you Iduna, all things considered we are luckier than most, and I know fate has a way of balancing the scales." Agnarr replied with an inscrutable face natural to kings, but Iduna knew better.

"Look, it's true we have been fortunate. However, we've had our share of suffering as well. We both have lost a lot in order to find each other and come together. You know, I still wake up sometimes looking towards the North, reminiscing what could have been if somehow war didn't break out, and I would have become a herald for the voice, be one with the fifth spirit, who knows? However, I do know that if I hadn't ventured south, I would have never met you. Not to mention the peace we brought together, the people we have allied with, the thousands of opportunities that have opened for the people because we have worked together and a lot more. Sure, we can lament what we were forced to give up, but then we wouldn't have this, and we certainly wouldn't have Elsa." Iduna consoled him.

The king of Arendelle gave a weak smile and continued " That is true, but her abilities do make me nervous. I hope we can mitigate any problems that arise from the fifth spirit's blessing."

"We got some time to figure it out. I know what you're insinuating, no need to say it out loud, anyone could hear us. Look, the key here is proceed carefully, and to make sure she's not afraid of herself. We'll be there every step of the way, and I tell you this, our baby is going to dominate the world." Iduna reassured the king.

"We certainly can't let them do what they did to Rapunzel." Agnarr shuddered at the mere thought of the incident.

"That will certainly not happen, believe me. Elsa's a light sleeper, if anyone other than us dares to take her, she'll shriek and bring the castle down." Iduna tried to ease his worry with some humour.

"Ha, our proud little banshee." Agnarr grinned.

They were interrupted by the fireworks bringing in the new year.

"godt nytt år, Iduna." "godt nytt år, Agnarr." Said the royal couple as they embraced, and Iduna felt Elsa smiling in her sleep.

While Elsa may have been at perfect peace with the world in that moment, another infant was not so lucky.

"Another fucking year gone." Hissed princess Paulina of the former kingdom of Poland, as she tried to rock the five-month-old prince Hans to sleep in his cradle. The baby prince had always had trouble sleeping, but that was to be expected as babies generally need contact to grow properly, however the princess in question didn't believe in it.

"Another year gone to shit, and I am just another windbag for your fucking father, eh kid?" the princess made a point not to join the new year's celebration, citing colic as her cause of worry, but truth be told, she could never tolerate the whole family together at once. She was alone in a strange land, among strange people who didn't think too much of her; Afterall, they had seen many like her come and go over the years. The only joy she found in her life was the one thing or person she could claim to be her own; her infant boy Janus, or Hans as his father preferred to call him.

"Your father professes his love for me, yet betrays me everyday with those loose women that lick his balls all day, his heart condition doesn't flare up then, does it? He doesn't fucking keel over then, does he? Your father promises he'll bring justice to my homeland, and then has the entrails to stab me in the back by sending his fucking lapdogs to participate in the massacre of my poor people?!" She foamed at the mouth. Little did she care that her kid could not console her or understand her yet, her bitter vitriol needed to flow somewhere, and her infant was in the unfortunate way.

"But remember this Janus, someday you will bring glory to all of Warsaw, and bring justice to all of Poland and her murderers." Whispered the princess as she calmed down and reached out to her child. The baby was only too glad for the contact and grabbed it with both hands.

"Good boy" whispered the princess with a smile to her fateful son, but the smile disappeared as she remembered what she had set out to do. The sheer memory of her father's murder by the Russians' firing squad as her family's ancestral home of over three hundred years burned to nothing, made her blood boil to vapour. But she knew better than to make a public display of her misery. No, she would wait, and hold fast as her fateful kid would hopefully bring Europe to heel one day. But for that to happen, the child needed toughening up and foolish superstitions and fancies like love and family had to be quelled before they did any damage to her 'chieftest pearl'. She pulled her hand away from Janus and walked to the window, not caring that the baby prince had started wailing loudly.

"Great, let it out, it's just pain and anguish leaving you, little prince of destiny." Whispered the now inscrutable princess as she witnessed the coming of the new year fireworks and chants from her dark little room.

"Godt nytår, Janus."

More than 900 miles away, a craven boyish figure on a horse had nearly crossed the borders of Corona into France as he approached the city of Alsace, when he decided to take refuge into the chapel two miles ahead of him. The new year celebrations had long ended and everyone had fallen asleep, save for the priest in the chapel. Eugene walked up lead footed and tired from the expedition up to the chapel doors and then he knocked on the door.

The priest opened the door silently and saw the gruff boy and took him in at once. Now, Eugene's week-long ordeal had exhausted him, and anything he could beg for was enough to feed only either him or his horse. More often than not, Eugene chose to feed the worn-out horse. But now, finally some good shelter for both the horse and Rider.

"Comment tu t'appelle?" the priest asked in a language Eugene didn't fully understand. When the priest didn't receive any answer that he could expect, he got up and peaked outside in the direction from which the little boy had ridden in.

"Tu parle Francais? Parlez-vous allemand?" The priest asked.

"Je parle allemand." Eugene replied in the little broken French that he knew.

"Ah, Deutsch." Replied the priest. Then he went in, brought a spare change of clothes and some bread and stew left from the celebration, and a quilt and mattress for the little boy.

"Essen, mein Kind" spoke the priest as her made the bed.

As Eugene bit into the bread, he couldn't hold back any longer, and burst into tears.

The priest patiently waited for him to calm down, then asked him in German "What's your name?"

"Flynn" the kid replied, his voice still raw from sobbing.

"You are far from home, aren't you?"

"I don't have a home, not anymore."

"What happened to your home, your family?"

"It got burnt down, I tried to get help, but it was too late." Flynn lied, fearing what could happen if he answered honestly.

The priest replied "It's alright, my child. Please rest now, you may stay on or leave in the morning if you wish."

"Danke, Vater" Flynn said.

"Frohes neues Jahr, mein Sohn. And don't worry, your horse is safe." The priest smiled and said quietly.

Well, it was a different tempo for me in this chapter, trying to show one day from a lot of different perspectives. I'll just say poor Hans for now.

As always, constructive feedback is always welcome.

[in-tua-deep]

yooo pls give me headcanons on five being an even younger child. unless you're saving them for fics ofc!!

Actual little kid Five or from the one fic idea I have where Five ends up being even younger than 13?? Regardless, I have a lot of thoughts so I’ll do both!

under the cut bc I can already tell this is gon get long

Actual baby Five - 

I already mentioned my headcanon that as a little kid when his powers were just manifesting, his powers sort of? Acted up just a little? Like he’d get little blue sparks playing across his hands constantly but without actually jumping. And, since touching the fabric of the universe is a bit tingly, Five would just chew on his hands to make the itchy feeling go away. 

Someone suggested mittens like the ones you give kids with chicken pox and I just about died so that’s 100% being added to my headcanons as well. And Five HATES those mittens with a passion and would have yelly screaming fits about them and just bash his mittened hands against the floor in outrage. Absolutely terrible.

Five could absolutely not control his powers at first. So he would just. Jump somewhere accidentally. Sometimes it was a kind of wishful thinking type thing like “hmm if i get up on the counter i can reach the cookie jar” and BAM suddenly Five is up on the counter. Other times it was more just “guess i’m gonna fall through the fabric of the universe and end up wherever lmao” and basically what I’m getting at is he gave everyone multiple heart attacks literally all the time

Sneezes. When Five sneezes he jumps by accident. Just ACHOO and a flash of blue light and he’s gone. Bye bye bitch. It’s involuntary and a nightmare when he gets sick.

Five was that little kid who LOVED to draw. Like he would just sit for hours with a crayon clenched in his chubby little baby fist drawing scribble monsters. Of course after a Certain Incident that included drawing on the walls Reginald Hargreeves banned drawing because it’s ‘childish’ or whatever. There’s a part of me that wants to say that after everything he picks up drawing again as something to occupy his hands that isn’t obsessively working and reworking equations

I’m going to go ahead and assign my own childhood bullshit to Five because why not so I headcanon that Five as a small child would DEMAND to be read to. At all hours. I’m talking literally attempting to pry the nannies eyes open and demanding that they ‘wead to [him]’ in the middle of the night. Most of the time he didn’t even actually care about being read to he just liked hearing someone talk so he was just as content just sitting with them while they chatted to someone else tbh (how did my parents not assassinate me as a kid smh)

and now i’m even sadder about him being alone in the apocalypse thanks

Would hide when he was upset. Also very good at hide and seek. Look this is a big ass house and Five can literally teleport out of a room and out from under watchful eyes I’m saying that he must have been the most stressful child in existence to watch over holy shit but yeah when upset crawls into some small space and hunkers down until he’s less upset. Start checking the cabinets you fools. Can and WILL fit into spots you think are too small for him to fit in. If there’s a larger space behind even he shouldn’t be able to squeeze in, he can jump in so don’t discount those as hiding places as well.

Cheated at tag. Cheated at tag so much. They literally have a special version of tag called ‘five tag’ designed specifically to handicap him because even when they ban using powers he still ends up being way too fucking good at tag like holy shit

okay this isn’t even much of a Five one but as little kids before Reggie decided to go on his “Vanya sucks” crusade they would team up against one another and Klaus was caught in the middle bc he was number four. Luther, Allison, and Diego would squad up (back before Luther and Diego were at each others throats I actually headcanon they were close before powers became a thing) and declare war on Five, Ben, and Vanya and then it became a game of trying to tempt Klaus onto a certain team. Klaus usually went with Five-Ben-Vanya but there were occasions that he was 100% a turncoat. Trust me I had an odd number of siblings this would have been a thing.

honestly though these nannies were dealing with seven kids under the age of four like god damn i have so much respect for them. That nursery must have been a fucking battle zone. There are no sides there is only survival. and these kids have SUPERPOWERS. Hell is empty and all the devils are looking at them with innocent eyes like the entire room isn’t completely trashed behind them. Where’s Five, kids? Where the fuck is your teleporting brother? Six put those tentacles away so help me god you will go straight into time out, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred. NUMBER ONE if you don’t put down that cabinet RIGHT NOW - 

Now i’m thinking about the first time Reginald dealt with one of the kids having a screaming meltdown in front of him. I feel like it would have gone very badly for the kid in question :(

and now for not quite a baby!Five

Extremely salty. Furious that he’s so small. Will stab you in the knees to make you get down to his level if you dare condescend to him. Probably stands on counters or tables when talking to his siblings, but has on at least one occasion hit his limit on jumps and been unable to get down without asking for help. Decides that he lives on the kitchen counter now because fuck that noise

Would rather die than be carried anywhere but if he’s the one to climb on someone then it’s okay. Prefers sitting on shoulders because a) taller, and b) they don’t have to hold him up and he can pretend that it’s entirely his decision

A sleepy bitch. Overuses his powers frequently getting to places he can’t easily reach anymore. Sleepy and grumpy. Doesn’t give two shits where he falls asleep and will sleep sprawled out across the floor, had been stepped on or had someone trip over him before and yet still refuses to stop. Honestly it’s a bit of a roulette whether he’ll wake up if they try to put him somewhere else, with just as much danger implied. Klaus produces traffic cones from god knows where and gleefully surrounds Five when he finds in which… is as good a solution as any tbh

His powers are still like,, almost on the fritz? Like when he was a little kid he couldn’t control them. He can now, but also they glitch out occasionally and his hands are all itchy again because they keep pushing at the boundary of the universe without him even thinking about it and it’s the most irritating thing in the world

His pain tolerance is back to being shit which he doesn’t appreciate. However everyone else freaks out way more than him when he accidentally slices his hand open trying to steal one of Diego’s knives, which was pretty funny

Claire comes over and immediately teams up with Five. No one saw it coming and everyone regrets it except for the tiny duo.

She asks him why he’s a kid if he’s her Uncle Five and he gives her the whole story about him growing old in the apocalypse and coming back etc. etc. and that he’s actually a grown up and he doesn’t think she’s going to understand but Claire just says “Oh, like Narnia?” and Five is like “EXACTLY LIKE NARNIA” and she is automatically his favorite

Claire literally tells Five point blank that he’s wasting his potential. How does Five not know all the tricks to being a brat and getting what you want? Puppy dog eyes first and progress into tantrums my friend. Look, Claire is Allison’s daughter and Allison was manipulative as fuck as a child and Claire has inherited at least some of that

Five’s eyes are fucking OPENED and everyone wishes they would be closed again. Five’s puppy eyes are surprisingly and devastatingly effective, especially when he tears up and lets his little lip wobble. Claire is so fucking proud of her protege

Claire rules the house with her tiny iron fist and Five readily follows her lead. Look, he never wanted to be the leader okay he was content to leave that to Luther and he’s equally happy now to leave it to Claire

The first time Patrick came to pick Claire up Five kicked him in the shins and ran off and Patrick was just very very confused about why Allison’s nephew (cover story, Klaus probably gets to pretend to be his dad again or something) has decided to hate him

Five still hides when he’s upset and now he’s tiny literally no one can find him. The first time it happens everyone freaks out and searches the entire house and after a few hours Grace just pops off and retrieves a now sleeping Five from like, the top shelf in the linen closet or something idk

On at least one occasion has had to be stopped from eating some kind of insect or spider off the floor. It’s like owning a cat or something. For the most part they hate it but one of them (Klaus) has 100% pointed out one to Five like “GET IT” but honestly this could be a headcanon for any age Five

[medea10]

My Review of Fushigi Yugi

[dontjudgemepeepswrites]

Flustered - Jack Kelly x Reader

y/n - your name

y/s/n - your surname

--------------------------------

The rally's practically started and Jack's not here yet. No one's seen him since he went to talk to Pulitzer. And that was a few hours ago!

Spot spit shakes me and Davey. This is actually happening. Holy crap.

"Welcome, newsies of New York City. Welcome to my theatre and your revolution!" Medda announces, causing roars of cheers from the newsies.

"Let's hear it for Spot Conlon and Brooklyn!" Davey adds, and rightfully so. I mean, if it weren't for them, we wouldn't have any other newsies.

"Newsies united! Let's see what Pulitzer has to say to you now," Spot says smugly.

"Hey, Davey, y/n, where's Jack?" Finch asks.

"Yeah! We want Jack! Where is he?!" the other newsies ask.

"Sorry, no sign of him yet. Looks like it's down to you two for now," Medda says sympathetically.

"Newsies of New York!" I yell, getting everyone's attention. Everyone shuts up when I get there attention because everyone knows they'll get soaked if they don't. "Look at what we've done! We've got newsies from every pape and every neighbourhood here tonight. Tonight, you're making history." Cheers are heard throughout the theatre.

"Tonight we declare that we're just as much a part of the newspaper as any reporter or editor. We're done being treated like kids. From now on, they will treat us as equals," Davey adds, making the cheers grow even louder.

"You wanna be talked to like an adult? Then start actin' like one. Don't just run your mouth. Make some sense," a voice inputs. I turn to said voice and see Jack. Thank goodness he's finally here.

"And here's Jack!" Davey announces, clearly as relieved as me.

"Jack! Jack! Jack!" chanted the newsies.

"Alright, Pulitzer raised the price of papes without so much as a word to us. That was a lousy thing to do. So we got mad and let 'em know we ain't gonna be pushed around. So we go on strike. Then what happens? Pulitzer lowers the price so's we'll go back to work! And a few weeks later he hikes the price back up again, and don't think he won't. So what do we do then? And what do we do if he decides to raise his price again after that?" The cheers are now nonexistent and everyone is giving each other confused glances, including me and Davey. Where did this come from? Did Pulitzer do something? Fellas, we gotta be realistic. We don't work, we don't get paid. How many days can you go without makin' money? However long, believe me, Pulitzer can go longer." The booing starts. "But I have spoken to Mr. Pulitzer and he has given me his word: if we disband the union--" Now he's done it. The booing gets louder, starting to drown him out. "-- he will not raise prices again for two years. He will even put it in writing. I say we take the deal. Go back to work knowing our price is secure. All we need to do is vote 'no' on the strike. Vote 'no'!" he finishes, but I can barely hear him over the booing and and screaming in my head.

He heads to the wings, obviously overwhelmed by the booing, but I see him take a wad of cash from a man. He looks back at us, making eye contact with me. "y/n," he says, but I run away. I can't deal with this. I run all the way back to the lodging, Jack following me the entire way, yelling my name. I'm concentrating on trying not to cry and yell so much that I subconsciously climb to Jack's 'penthouse', cornering myself. This is when I give up and collapse in the corner, tears racing down my face. I hear footsteps. He's here.

"What. What do you want?" I snap. He take a few steps back, obviously scared.

"I just want to talk," he answers.

"You don't deserve to talk. You stabbed us in the back. You sold us out to Pulitzer! You've ruined everything we made!"

"I had to! I didn't have a choice!"

"Oh yeah? And what was that choice may I ask? Hmm? Was it 'win the strike and everything we've been working for or sell us out just so you can go to Santa Fe'?"

"If I didn't make that speech, they were gonna take everyone to the refuge! They were gonna take Les! Davey! Race! They were gonna take you," his voice cracks during the last sentence, indicating that he was crying.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Ask Katherine! She was there!"

"Why was she there?!"

"Because she's Pulitzer's daughter!"

"Oh... that... ok..."

"Seriously? You're chill with that?!"

"Pulitzer has eyes all over the city, why would he need his daughter to be a spy? I trust her and you should too."

"Why?"

"Because it's my gut instinct. And my gut is never wrong. Besides, together we came up with a plan to finish our revolution! To win our revolution."

"I don't know..."

"You've not even heard it yet. Is it because a girl came up with it?"

"I didn't say noth--"

"This would be a good time to shut up. Being boss doesn't mean you always have the answers,just the brains to recognise the right one when you hear it."

"I'm listening."

"Good for you. The strike was your idea, the rally was Davey's, and now mine and Katherine's plan will take us to the finish line. Deal with it," I say, handing him the poster Katherine and I designed.

"'The Children's Crusade'," he reads.

"For the sake of all the kids in every sweatshop, factory and slaughter house on New York, I beg you... join us," I recite. "With those words, the strike stopped being just about the Newsies. You challenged our whole generation to stand up and demand a place at the table."

"'The Children's Crusade'?"

"Think, Jack, if we publish this, Katherine's words..." I look around and see where he keeps his drawings. "... with one of your drawings, and if every worker under twenty-one read it and stayed home from work... or better yet, came to Newsie Square - a general city-wide strike! Even Pulitzer couldn't ignore that."

"Only one small problem: we got no way to print it."

"Oh come on, there has to be one printing press he doesn't control."

"Oh no," he says after a pause, then letting out some sort of snort/laugh thing.

"What?"

"I know where there's a printing press that no one would think we'd ever use."

"Then let's go!" I exclaim excitedly, starting to climb down. It's strange ho much my mood's changed since I came up. "Wait. No, I need to talk to you about something else."

"Yeah, me too actually."

"You first."

"Um, ok. What's this about? Not the crusade. What's this about? Am I kiddin' myself or is there something..." he asks, motioning to us.

"I don't know. That's what I was gonna ask. So I guess so," I say calmly as if it's nothing.

"Well don't say it like this happens everyday!"

"Ja--"

"I'm not an idiot. I know that guys like me don't wind up with people like you. I mean, I know we're both newsies, but we're so different. And I don't want you promisin' nothin' you gotta take back later. But standin' here tonight... lookin' at you... I'm scared tomorrow's gonna come and change everything."

"Why would it change everything?"

"Cause the world is unfair like that. But... if there was a way I could grab hold of something to make time stop. Just so's I could keep looking at you."

"You snuck up on me, Jack Kelly. I never even saw it coming."

"For sure?"

"For sure," I echo.

"Till the moment I found you I thought I knew what love was Now I'm learning what is true: Love will do what it does The world finds ways to sting you And then one day decides to bring you

Something to believe in For even a night One night may be forever But that's alright That's alright And if you're gone tomorrow What was ours still will be I have something to believe in Now that I know you believed in me," I sing.

"We was never meant to meet And then we meet Who knows why One more stranger on the street Just someone sweet passing by An angel come to save me Who didn't even know they gave me

Something to believe in For even a day One day may be forever But that's okay That's okay And if I'm gone tomorrow What was ours still will be I have something to believe in Now that I know you believed in me," he sings.

"Do you know what I believe in Look into my eyes and see," we sing together, staring into each other's eyes.

He leans towards me and crashes his lips onto mine but he pulls away all too quickly.

"If things were different..." he starts.

"If you weren't going to Santa Fe," I finish.

"And if I wasn't having to be careful with every step I take so Snyder and Pulitzer don't get me."

"You're not really scared of them," I tease.

"No," he says. "But I am pretty scared of you."

"Don't be," I laugh.

"And if I'm gone tomorrow..." he continues singing.

"What was ours still will be," I sing.

"I have something to believe in Now that I know you believed in me," we sing together.

"I have something to believe in," he restates.

"Now that I know you believed in me," we finish together, before being engulfed into a hug.

*after the strike's won (y'all know what I don't fill in)*

"With the strike settled, I should probably be hitting the road," Jack sighs. Katherine, Davey and I move towards him, ready to try and convince him to stay.

"Don't you ever get tired of singing that same old tune? What's Santa Fe got that New York hasn't? Tarantulas?" Davey asks.

"Better yet: what's New York got that Santa Fe ain't?" Katherine asked.

"New York's got us," I say.

"And we're family," the newly released Crutchie adds.

"Didn't I hear something about the strike being settled?" Pulitzer bellows before finally leaving.

"Papes for the newsies. Line up. These papes ain't gonna sell themselves," Weasel says.

"Well, don't just stand there, you've got a union to run. Besides, didn't someone just offer you a pretty exciting job?" I tease.

"Me? Work for Pulitzer?"

"You already work for Pulitzer."

"Oh, yeah."

"And you've got one more ace up your sleeve."

"What would that be?"

"Me. Wherever you go, I'm right there by your side."

"For sure?"

"For sure."

"Don't take much to be a dreamer All you do is close your eyes Now my eyes is fin'lly open And my dreams, they's av'rage size But they don't much matter if you ain't with me," he sings, before pulling me into a long, passionate kiss.

"Guys!" I hear Les say, causing catcalls and whistles to be heard. We pull away shortly.

"Well, Jack, you in or you out?" Davey asks. Jack walks away from me and to Weasel, slamming his 50 cents onto the table before grabbing his papes and dragging me away. I guess I'm selling with him today then.

"Hey, Jack, did you really mean all that?" I ask.

"What d'you mean?"

"When you said that your dreams don't matter if I ain't with you?" I clarify. A red dusts his cheeks. I fake gasp. "Is the Jack Kelly blushing?! Tough guy Jack Kelly isn't so tough after all," I tease.

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll give you a nickname," he playfully threatens.

"You wouldn't dare!" I respond, fake gasping again. The reason that I don't have a nickname is because I didn't want one. It's as simple as that. "But in all seriousness, is it true?"

"Of course it's true. I don't know when I first fell in love with you, but I realised it when we were in the refuge together and I saw how strong you are."

"You love me?"

"I-- um-- I-" he starts, obviously flustered.

"I love you too. And you're cute when you're flustered, y'know that, right?"

"Shuddup," he mumbles, still flustered and blushing.

"Hey guys, have you seen Alb-- is Jack blushing?" Race asks, coming up to us and seeing Jack's flustered face.

"Pfft, no. I'm not blushing," Jack states, trying to revive his tough persona.

"Yes you are. y/n, what did ya say?" Race asks. Jack looks at me in a way that says 'don't tell him'. I know what I have to do.

"Some rando just punched 'im but we managed to get 'im," I lie, deciding to save Jack for now.

"I'll believe you this time, but I'm keeping my eyes on you two..." he says, slowly backing away, glaring at us suspiciously.

"Thanks y/n, if they knew that it was because I confessed by accident, I'd never hear the end of it," Jack says after Race is out of earshot.

"Aha! I'm telling everyone! Also, Jack, you're whipped," Race says before running away. He obviously wasn't out of earshot.

"Dammit."

"I mean, you told him, not me."

"Sometimes I hate you, y/s/n," Jack rolls his eyes.

"Ouch, using the last name, that hurts. And don't lie, we both know you love me," I tease.

"Shuddup," he mumbles, once again flustered.

"You say that a lot when you get flustered, don't ya," I smirk.

"Pfft, no."

[lazywriter7]

to toasts, and schooling

“So I’m stuck there asking the obvious, which is, ‘why do you think you should marry her?’” And Tony’s trying to hold on to the lighthearted tone, he was, but it’s hard to not let sincerity sneak in when you’ve got Peter Parker watching you deliver a toast in his honour, luminescent in his happiness. When you’ve got a crowd of people you love and respect hanging on your every word – and Steve Rogers at the back of said crowd, glass untouched in his hand; gaze undimmed by time, as steady and unwavering as it was twenty years ago. “And Peter answers back, the most assured I’ve ever seen him, ‘Because I want to’.” 

“I’m looking for the groom. Have you seen him?”

The server opened his mouth, and shut it again. Hitched his tray of Captain America themed canapes a little higher, like readying himself to fling it into Tony’s face at the slightest hint of danger. “Uh. This is an anniversary party?”

“Being the organiser slaving after this shindig for ages – I am aware.” Tony parsed out a smile, perilously polite. “The groom?”

The server blinked wide eyes. “I think I saw him near the fajitas?”

“Brilliant, of course you did.” Tony spun around on his heels, ignoring the flinch and subsequent wobble the server and his tray executed. The fajita table was on the far end of the hall, and it took fifteen whole minutes of ducking and weaving (okay fine, the crowds parted before him a la Moses-and-the-Red-Sea, but it still took fifteen darn minutes) to find the man of the hour and creep up behind him. Tony crossed his arms, realised it rendered him incapable of actually drawing said man’s attention, uncrossed them again and tapped the guy on his shoulder, if a bit imperiously.

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

It was still a jolt to the brain, a brief shot of cognitive dissonance on watching him turn – that square jaw, more well-shaved than baby-smooth, a head of hair that had truly outgrown its teenaged-mop phase, the black lines of a suit that didn’t look loosely propped on a wire hanger, but rather like it…fit. Those eyes would always remain the same though – idealistic spark and impossible kindness twinned in dark irises.

Nevertheless, Peter Parker remained a sneaky bastard who wouldn’t answer a straight accusation. Instead, his thin brows went winging to his hairline, eyes flitting up and down Tony’s frame dubiously. “You look…shiny.”

(Agh, the voice shitted him the most. Tony missed that reedy, high-pitched wonder of a larynx, dammit.)

“Needless to say, if tomorrow’s headlines are going to be Unmarried silver fox presides over protégé’s ten-year anniversary , you bet your wedded ass I’m gonna lean into it.” Tony smoothed down the lapels of his own three-piece – dove gray, just a few shades lighter than his hair, with silver pinstripes. Shiny was one word for it. Awesome was another.

“You need to stop saying that.” Peter turned back to his little paper plate boasting a fajita tower of over six inches, easy. Hell, to have a metabolism like that. The last time Tony had indulged in Mexican, he’d been toilet-ridden with gastro for over a week. “Last time MJ misheard you and now she keeps threatening to weld my ass shut.”

Ah, those innocent days when Peter would rather spontaneously combust than use the a-word in front of ‘Mr Stark’. Tony pinched a scrap of cheese from Peter’s plate, the latter barely blinking an eye. “Well, who told you to enter holy matrimony at twenty-one, then?”

Peter stared at him flatly. “You did.”

“Damn right I did.” Tony affirmed with pride, scarfing down the cheese in a single gulp. Mm, cotija. “And still no grandkids for Uncle Tony.”

“Genealogically, that’s an impossibility.” Ooh, big word – though there was a tiny bean-scented burp between syllables three and four. Peter cleared his throat, faintly pink.

There was another tempting little cheesy strip hanging out the bottom fajita, Tony’s fingers were positively itching. To cheese or not to cheese? Gah, who cared, you only lived an average of four times, being a caped crusader. And so through a mouthful of snatched dairy and more than a little beef: “The main thing, and don’t you think I haven’t noticed you avoiding it with your ten-dollar words – you were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“There was a call to Assemble.” Peter replied, perfectly straight faced.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, even as he proceeded to lick up the grease lingering around his fingernails. “I didn’t hear of it.”

“Not sure if they still keep you in the know, but I tend to do the calling these days.” The swagger was nowhere near Stark levels, but unmistakeably present. It was brilliant.

“Was that an ‘old, useless relic’ dig?” Tony approximated a glare to the best of his ability. “And after all I did for you when you were a midget.”

“Nothing like being called ‘Underoos’ to legitimise your identity as a superhero.” Peter was demolishing the tower faster than it had piled up, till only draggly, soggy bits of vegetable remained.

“Fine. I suppose I’ll just have to ask Kamala about this mysterious call to arms–”

“Fine, I misplaced my cufflinks, jeez .” Well-tailored as they were, Peter’s sleeves still flapped with his gesturing, aforementioned cufflinks glinting under the light – blood-red hour glass shapes embossed on plain obsidian circles. “Just because she hangs on your every word with all the fangirling and ‘Mr Stark’s–”

“Golly gee, I wonder who that reminds me of–”

“ Tony .” Mock frustrated as the tone was, Peter was still grinning. Tony could feel his heart swell a million sizes.

Peter commenced tugging his sleeves back over his wrists, straightening them conscientiously, fingers lingering absently on the smoothed curve of the cufflinks. “Speaking of – did Nat say she was coming?”

“With an Itsy Bitsy Spider mug, no less.” Tony cast a last, disconsolate look at the fajita table and turned away. “Also still can’t believe she lets you call her that.”

“Just spider solidarity.” Peter positively beamed, and Tony could have recited the next words in his sleep because it had to be the fifty thousand and seven hundredth time he’d heard them, “She first taught me how to–”

“Fight, I know. What with all the positive word-of-mouth, the Black Widow’s lessons on ‘Strangling: Why use fingers when you’ve got a perfectly serviceable pair of thighs’ have been overbooked for the past decade.”

“Not that I don’t mentally note it down every time you say stuff like that–” Peter straightened up noticeably, smile broadening till it went from charming to no-one-panic-but-we’ve-got-a-DEFCON-5, “but I’m going to have to ask you to save it for the toast. Which you’re making right now.”

“Why do I have to–”

“Because I’d rather not explain to my wife that I was over an hour late to my ten-year anniversary party looking for my lucky Black Widow cufflinks.” Peter was emitting at the rate of approximately five words per second – impressive really. Moments like these, Tony kinda got why they called Peter his spiritual heir. Also – holy shit that was MJ stalking through the crowd towards them, resplendent in red and calmly murderous.

Peter grabbed at the first glass that floated by on a server’s tray and shoved it into Tony’s hands. His fingers curled around the glass stem on autopilot – ooh, Dr Pepper – even as he stumbled a few steps ahead, being not-so-gently-nudged at the back by a certain someone who needed to keep a lid on the super strength, darn it.

“Okay, so we’re apparently having a toast now.” He hadn’t even spoken that much louder than his usual volume, but it was like a ripple effect: the clusters of people around him immediately quietened down, and forty seconds in, Tony was counting, the entire hall was hushed and staring at him. It was scary, almost. Humbling.

“Right, so. I’d have kept you guys waiting, but a certain spider-themed superhero isn’t feeling very heroic right now – so here I am, delaying impending doom with a toast.” Tony lifted his glass a bit recklessly to a now-still MJ, halted in her warpath about twenty metres away. She was smiling though, so maybe homicide wasn’t on the horizon. “To be honest, I’m getting a Terminator-esqe ‘I’m gonna be slaying twenty minutes in the future anyhow’ vibe from his lovely spouse, so this may all have been in vain.”

“Timing ain’t too bad, the press are outside anyway so you’ve skipped the hassle of calling a conference to break news of the divorce.” Tony acceded, and scattered laughs broke out in a sea of shining, amused faces. God, this felt surreal. “See, no, you’re doing it wrong, that pause was meant for the awkward silence. Maaaybe a scandalised gasp. Instead you’re all just smiling at me like I’m some deranged uncle at a wedding, which fair, I am.”

“But you know me. You know me and you know this toast isn’t getting any better from here on out, yet you’re standing there anyway all happy ears instead of booing me off. And that’s…that’s pretty special.” From the corner of his eye, Tony could see Peter quietly creep up to where MJ stood, cufflinks catching the light again as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. Could see MJ’s arched eyebrow, the little quirk to her lips as her fingers slipped into the crook of her husband’s elbow. Tony smiled. “And I guess that’s what we’re all here to celebrate. Something special.”

And then, like it had been perfectly choreographed though Tony couldn’t have dreamt up this kind of symmetry – there was movement by the door. Tony’s eyes flitted over for a single instant, enough to catch the tall figure that had just ducked in; candelabra light gleaming off his favourite blue shirt and grey-blonde hair.

Tony’s free hand reached up to tug at his own lapels, fingers smoothing over the outline of a chain through the silk of his shirt. “Ten years ago, this young little upstart, newest addition to the Avengers, vanishes in the middle of a post-mission clean up. I attempt to track him down, for reasons that have everything to do with a touching, almost parental concern; and not influenced at all by how brain-devouringly boring clean up duty is.”

Chuckles everywhere, though Tony’s gaze went winging back to the rear of the crowd, where a familiar figure had appropriated himself a glass and was leaning against one of the pillars. Prime posing location, right next to one of the biggest candelabras – Tony highly approved. “As expected, I find him hanging out, upside down, from the newly refurbished A on top of Avengers Tower. Goes there every time he has a decision to make, probably thinks all the increased bloodflow to the head is going to make it work better – I don’t have the heart to tell him otherwise, poor lad.”

“It’s there, both of us sitting on the middle bar of the A like a park bench, that he tells me, ‘I think I wanna marry MJ’.” The good-natured laughter so far quietened down; everyone’s gaze redirected to the couple in question – but Peter and MJ were looking at him, soft-eyed and perfect.

“Of course, being the elder, mature adult that I am, my mind immediately flicks to the practicalities.” His tones veered towards something almost serious – for all of three seconds, because he was fooling nobody. “Namely, the location of MJ’s burial place and whether necrophilia is still illegal in the state of New York, though a part of my mind does think that Peter could do better than a moonwalking has-been. I don’t get too far beyond, ‘I didn’t think you even liked Thriller’ before I am summarily reminded of the other MJ, Peter’s cool, alternative-culture girlfriend.” And there she was now, rocking a red jumpsuit and a self-engineered wedding band, with a ‘damn straight’ smirk curling up her lips. Sure, Tony was a spectacular specimen of his time, but hell if this new generation wasn’t something else. “Y’know, in that she doesn’t give a rat’s ass what people think, and believes in a fair, just society and the betterment of human kind.”

“So I’m stuck there asking the obvious, which is, ‘why do you think you should marry her?’” And he’s trying to hold on to the lighthearted tone, he was, but it’s hard to not let sincerity sneak in when you’ve got Peter Parker watching you deliver a toast in his honour, luminescent in his happiness. When you’ve got a crowd of people you love and respect hanging on your every word – and Steve Rogers at the back of said crowd, glass untouched in his hand; gaze undimmed by time, as steady and unwavering as it was twenty years ago. “And Peter answers back, the most assured I’ve ever seen him, ‘Because I want to’.”  

The words were coming slowly, shaped by Tony’s inadequate voice with as much significance, as much unadulterated earnestness as they deserved. “He says, ‘We share things in common, but… it’s more that it already feels like we’re a team, me and her. We don’t always get each other, but we listen. We always listen. We have our fights, but we try to communicate through that and we don’t make excuses.” It all sounded so…inexcusably simple, narrated by a man who knew through time-tested experience how much it wasn’t. And there was at least one other person here today who knew it too. Tony cleared his throat, soft and uncharacteristically unobtrusive. “We’ve lived with the best and worst in each other. And I love her.’”

“And that’s when it strikes me, an honest-to-Thor epiphany right in the middle of this twenty-one year old rugrat prattling to me about love.” A wry, amused sound escaped his lips – memory hazy and rose-toned, but still so vivid. “ ‘Cause you see, I’d been expecting a laundry list of perfections – ‘oh MJ so smart’ and ‘oh MJ so pretty’ and ‘she makes me crack up like a loon’. But Peter didn’t say any of that.”

“Peter wasn’t telling me how great MJ was. He was telling me how great they were together.” Tony’s chest was squeezing on itself, the sheer pride that surged within a little difficult to contain. “And that’s a detail that we long-in-the-tooth, stodgy adults – with all of our realism and all of our practicality – forget so easily. To put it in sporting terms: it isn’t about the player of the match.” And it was the most involuntary thing in the world, to raise his eyes again and meet Steve’s steadfast eyes, that littlest curve of his lips from across the hall. “The love of your life, the most incredible person you’ve ever known. It’s about the team.”

“So I turned to him and said, ‘well, I don’t know about love. But all that other stuff you mentioned sounds pretty fantastic’.” Peter was leaning into MJ’s side now, with all the light of the world in his eyes, while she gave his elbow an affectionate squeeze – Tony blinked rapidly, eyes burning with a curiously sweet sting. “And he goggles at me and goes, ‘you’re the only person I’ve asked who thinks I’m not crazy.’ Of course, cut to ten years and now, we’re gathered here commemorating the occasion solid proof was finally obtained that I’m smarter than the rest of you sane, mature, non-epiphanised people.” And glassy-eyed or no, Tony still toasted the air with more than a slight touch of glee, voice hoarse and delighted all at one go. “I told you so.”

“So while we’re all standing around, let’s also raise a glass to Peter and MJ – who somehow, despite belonging to the same species as the rest of us who screw up on a daily basis – have managed to do everything, absolutely right by each other.” His jaw might have cracked a little, from the ache of grinning at the man who was dearer to him than any child he could’ve ever had – all the while the best guy he’d ever known, who loved him, watched on smilingly from the distance. Maybe it was just the Dr Pepper talking, but this felt like one of the moments all those other moments had been leading up to. “I think you might be what marriage is supposed to look like. And here’s to ten more years of schooling us in being awesome.”

(Extract from a longer fic here )

[hereticalheraldry]

Disney Princesses’ trauma types

IE, definitely the darkest take on Disney I have ever done!

(see this post on trauma types)

Lots of Disney characters have had Adverse Childhood Experiences (death of mothers, to start with!) and exhibit signs of traumatic stress. Below are my guesses as to their chosen coping mechanism.

What 4F trauma type is each Disney character below (Fight, Flight, Freeze, Fawn)

Snow White (dead mother, dead father, abusive and neglectful stepmother, stepmother literally tried to have her killed): It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this, but I’d say it’s Fawn-Flight. She is unerringly sweet. Her immediate reaction when in any form of danger (with a strange man, the huntsman, or the dwarves) is to try to appease, appeal, and make friends. She also has a ton of energy (flight), which she channels into obsessive cleaning, though she doesn’t seem to edge far enough into that to call it OCD. She also literally ran away in a segment that makes obvious how her fear drives her to flight.

Cinderella (dead father, abusive and neglectful stepfamily treats her as a slave): another Fawn-Flight. Unfailingly kind and sweet. So desperate for friends that she befriends the MICE. Also an incredibly hard worker (though tbf, her stepfamily forces that on her). When traumatized by stepsisters yanking to pieces her clothing (both a destruction of her hard work and a physical assault) she literally runs away into the garden to cry. She also runs away from the ball at midnight rather than turning back right there and explaining to the prince that she only got to go to the ball through magic because her family is abusive and probably stole her inheritance. Cinderella gets the wish that many with CPTSD have: that somebody would swoop in and rescue them! She gets rescued twice: by her fairy godmother AND by the prince.

Peter Pan (abandoned in Kensington Gardens and brought up by fairies, who are not the most emotionally stable beings out there): Flight. Classic ADHD: response: runs all over the island fighting, flying, and crowing. (Also literally flies.)

Ariel (dead mother, controlling and abusive father): Freeze-Flight. Instead of trying to please her excessively harsh father, like her hard-working singing sisters, Ariel ditches not only practices but CONCERTS in order to get away from her father and lose herself in her collecting hobby. She has a secret place where she hides in order to fantasize about having a different life in an entirely different place, away from her family. Her friends attempt to persuade her that life on land is impracticable for her. But when her father destroys her hidey-hole, she is retraumatized and resorts to flight to someone she thinks can fix her problems for her by making her human and sending her to the surface: she therefore literally runs away, and tries to get both Ursula and Eric to save her and get her away from her father.

Prince Eric: Surprisingly non-traumatized! I mean, as far as I remember.

Belle: non-traumatized? (at least to start with. I mean, we can always suggest Stockholm Syndrome later...) DOES seem to think she’s entirely different from everyone else around her (a common CPTSD symptom). Maybe traumatized by mother’s death? Bullying from the neighbors? Becoming a parentified child to take care of her absent-minded (though affectionate) father? Unaccustomed poverty? In any case, except for the trauma of her father’s near death and her own imprisonment, she is unusually competent and calm. If she edges toward anything, it’s probably Freeze-Flight: she has a pronounced capacity to become absorbed in fiction and ignore everything around her. When irritated by Gaston’s insulting and bullying proposal, she physically retreats entirely from the village in order to sing about how she wants to leave her poor provincial town for the great wide somewhere. She is fixated on escape, either mentally or physically.

Beast (dead parents, raised by servants who deferred to him rather than parenting him): Fight-Freeze. Hides in his castle; when encounters people is an ASSHOLE. Interestingly, Fight-Freeze types are notoriously hard to treat. Belle might have a future in psychotherapy if she can build better boundaries.

Aladdin (dead parents, has to eat to live, has to steal to eat, ostracized by his community, frequently threatened with death or maiming for theft): feels entirely different from the rest of the world. Flight. frequently in a state of frenetic energy, though a lot of that is because he’s stealing food and escaping the cops. His idea of a great date is to get Jasmine away from the palace: to escape and help her to do the same. intense feelings of shame and inferiority (despite his insistence that there’s so much more to him). He tries to hide from Jasmine the truth of his low-rank identity, though he does eventually recognize the need to tell her the truth.

Jasmine: surprisingly untraumatized (mostly just a healthy assertive), considering what she’s been through (dead mother, parentified child of a nice but absent-minded father who, judging from his looks, is closely related to Maurice; isolated from peers and almost everyone but her pet. I mean, there MUST be servants in the palace, but all you ever see are the guards...) She recognizes when people are treating her unfairly and says so, which makes her unusual among Disney heroes and heroines!

Simba (father died, was told it was his fault, was forced to leave home, almost died in the wilderness, subsequently raised by a couple of irresponsible weirdos): Flight. Literally runs away from his problems instead of facing them. Keeps himself busy with Timon and Pumbaa in order to occupy his mind.

Pocahontas: Non-traumatized! (Dead mother, but strong emotional connection with father and strong emotional support system in her community. Not to mention a maternal figure in the shape of a talking tree in whom she can confide.) DOES feel different from everyone else in her community, though. (Are you sensing a theme?)

John Smith (father died when Smith was 16, he left home, went to sea, served as a mercenary, engaged in piracy, fought the Ottomans): Flight. Constantly on the move: seeing new places, meeting new people, and killing them. Overachiever. Can’t sit still in England. However, he does have some healthy assertive skills and is able to stand up to people in power.

Quasimodo (holy emotional abuse, Batman!): Freeze. Taught that the outside world is cruel and wicked and that he can only be safe inside the cathedral. Daydreams to the point where he almost believes the gargoyles come alive and talk to him. Manages to overcome his Freeze instincts to save Esmerelda.

Esmerelda: Not traumatized, despite apparent lack of living parents and her position as an oppressed social minority. Probably the result of loving parenting while they were alive and strong community support from the rest of the Roma of Paris. Another heroine with healthy assertive traits!

Phoebus: Not apparently currently suffering from traumatic stress (though may have had periods of it in the past: he’s a crusader, after all). Surprisingly well-adjusted.

Hercules (kidnapped at a very young age and taken away from a one life to be placed in another, ENTIRELY different life. Despite strong emotional support from adoptive parents, has been rejected and bullied by his community. Feels he is entirely different from everybody else [I mean, he kind of is]): Flight. Yes, that’s right, flight, not fight. Hercules may be a “fighter” but he is a SUPER non-aggressive guy. Gentleness embodied. Feels he has to achieve something huge in order to be worthy of love and affection from the world (and especially from his divine father, who has literally told him that he has to earn his way back to Olypus by becoming a True Hero). Tendency toward despair when the people whose love and affection he thought he had (Phil and Megara) abandon and betray him. Eventually earns everybody’s love and affection--which is not the greatest lesson ever. Shouldn’t Disney be teaching us that we deserve love even if we never become heroes?

Megara (super traumatic history): Fawn-Fight. Puts the good of the people she loves WAY before her own, to an unhealthy level (sacrifices her own soul in order to save a man, who then abandons her). Seems sarcastic and rough, but heart of gold underneath. Acts like she’s superior, but actually feels enormous guilt and shame, with low self-esteem. Won’t say she’s in love.

Mulan (inconsistent expectations from her family and community. Sometimes her family supports who she is, defends her, and puts up with her unusual behavior; at other times they join with her community in criticizing her [lightly if frequently]. They apparently did not teach her society’s gender roles but then expects her to abide by them in public): she feels entirely different from everybody else and that she has to prove herself. Doesn’t know who she is inside. CANNOT behave the way she has been taught she should; is clearly triggered by a criticism from her father. Flight. Seems almost hyperactive, can’t keep silent when her society tells her she should. Driven to act and to succeed in order to prove her worth and bring honor to her family. Again, EARNS everybody’s love and respect in the end.

Shang: Possible inferiority issues from his relationship with her father. Not enough data.

Mushu (constant criticism; scapegoated by the ancestors): Flight. Has channeled this coping mechanism into ADHD (and humor). Feels the need to prove he is worthy of his spot (I mean, the ancestors TOLD him he did...)

Tarzan (storm and fire killed everyone around him in his infancy; parents had to resettle entirely alone in an alien land; parents were brutally killed right in front of him; he was nearly killed and eaten twice by a leopard; adopted by nonhuman animals; rejected by father figure and much of his nonhuman community): Realistically, I WOULD say that Tarzan should not be able to learn to SPEAK, since he doesn’t appear to have acquired language until his mid to late twenties. However, the film makes clear that the gorillas have a complex spoken language that can convey complicated thoughts like, “Jane will stay with Tarzan”. Feels entirely different from the rest of his community (he is). Scapegoated and constantly criticized for being different. I genuinely don’t know what his style is. lol

The elephant in tarzan: It’s been too long since I’ve seen this film, somebody do this one lol

Cuzco (dead parents, running an empire in his early twenties, nobody has apparently ever taught him limits, appears to have a very emotionally isolated life): Fawn-Fight. Extremely narcissistic, though his character development reveals that he does have a conscience underneath there somewhere. Charming but highly self-centered. Good with words and fast-talking, so may be Flight or gifted. Behavior improves quickly and immensely when provided with the emotional support (and healthy boundaries) of an ersatz family.

Lilo (loss of both parents; being parented by a highly stressed and very young adult who is struggling with poverty and her own trauma): Flight. Gifted, imaginative, ADHD, constantly into everything, constantly in trouble. Sometimes slides into Fight with defiant behavior.

Nani (loss of parents, pressure of having to parent her little sister and provide income for both of them at a very young age): Fight. Her temper gets the better of her when she’s upset, but she’s really trying.

Marlin (loss of his wife and all his children but one): Freeze. Constantly hiding from the perceived dangers of the world and trying to teach his son to do the same. Very nurturing of his child, despite his difficulty overcoming his own trauma. Considering he is a Freeze type, going on a big journey to save his son demonstrates ENORMOUS bravery.

Dori (???): Flight-Freeze. ADHD, constantly on the move, can’t sit still, just keeps swimming, just keeps swimming, swimming, swimming. I include Freeze because her difficulties with her memories may be a dissociative effect of trauma, and dissociation falls under Freeze.

Tiana (loss of beloved father, poverty, traumatizing lifelong experience of systemic racism, somewhat ameliorated by loving and supportive mother): Flight. The classic driven, achievement-obsessed workaholic. Always seems to only be halfway there. Fate helps her overcome these tendencies by forcing her to fail in her quest to become human again (and therefore to open her restaurant), though she actually does succeed soon after anyway. Actually, DID she overcome these tendencies? Like, she toned it down enough to maintain an apparently lasting romantic relationship, but she might still be a workaholic...

Naveen (highly critical parents): Flight. Constantly traveling care-for-nothing that can’t seem to stick to anything. Deep down has low self-esteem about his lack of achievement and how he can’t seem to please his parents. Demonstrates some symptoms of ADD or ADHD. Tiana and Naveen demonstrate how “Flight” behaviors can results in two very different character types!

Rapunzel (holy shit: kidnapped in infancy and raised by a woman who is demonstrably emotionally abusive and negligent and literally is only keeping her alive for her hair. Imprisoned in a tower almost entirely without company her ENTIRE LIFE. Demonstrates painful mood swings between delight and horrific guilt when she finally escapes for the first time. I seriously wonder how long her mental recovery took after Mother Gothel’s death...): Flight-Fawn. Overachiever, constantly doing EVERYTHING, EXTREMELY QUICKLY (cleans the entire place top-to-bottom between 7:00 and 7:15 AM). Literally runs away. Makes friends immediately with almost everybody she meets, including a gang of hardened, violent criminals. Wants desperately to be loved, but believes very quickly that Eugene doesn’t like her after all and has abandoned her. Note that it is not Rapunzel that kills Mother Gothel but Pascal. Rapunzel is so emotionally traumatized that she probably could never bring herself to “betray” Gothel in any real way.

Eugene Fitzherbert (orphaned; raised in an institutional setting, which is notoriously traumatizing. Poverty, social rejection): Flight. Channels his immense energy into complicated and daring heists. Adrenaline junkie. He thinks he wants to rest on a deserted island with an enormous pile of money, but I can guarantee that he would get antsy after a week (at most) and go back to his life of crime in order to distract himself from his pain.

Merida (was in a life-endangering encounter with a bear as a young child; her father was maimed. Has emotional support from her father, but her mother--primary caregiver, especially of a daughter--is highly critical): Flight. Tons of energy, adrenaline junkie, climbs a frickin WATERFALL, overachiever in her chosen hobbies. Greatly dislikes quiet pursuits like embroidery, possibly because they leave too much time for contemplation, and she needs more distraction.

Elsa (almost killed her beloved younger sister by accident, treated by her parents as dangerous and frightening, almost entirely isolated for most of her life): Freeze (HAHA) and Flight. Has been taught to retreat alone from a world that will reject her. Experiences enormous shame and guilt for herself, her gifts, and how dangerous she can be. Classic perfectionist. Attempts to protect herself and others by shutting down all emotions. When she fails, she literally runs away to live entirely alone forever to escape the storm of the rest of the world, because the cold of isolation “never bothered her anyway” (an obvious lie she has taught herself). “Let It Go” sounds like an anthem of freedom, but Elsa is actually literally running from her problems and from any human connection.

Anna (almost died as a small child, which she doesn’t directly remember, but may still cause her traumatic reactions. her beloved older sister SUDDENLY refused even to SEE her, and her parents wouldn’t talk about it, so she probably felt in some obscure way that there was something wrong with HER,  that it was all her fault. Then isolated almost entirely in the palace, and certainly isolated from other children, followed by the death of her parents and the CONTINUED isolation from her sister and anybody other than servants): flight-fawn. she seems possibly a little ADD, a little hyperactive (rides her bike around the halls), impulsive. VERY friendly and sweet to almost everybody she meets, desperate to make friends. Dreams of being rescued through marriage to a prince that she loves at first sight. Desperate to be loved.

Moana: probably NOT traumatized, for the most part. She DOES feel entirely different from everybody else (”what is wrong with me?”) because her instinctive love of the ocean has been criticized and squelched by her father and her society. However, despite her father’s clear struggle with his own trauma from the survivor’s guilt of his best friend’s drowning, this is one of the healthier families/societies we see in Disney! The silence around the death of Chief Tui’s best friend is meant to be kind, but I think Tui probably needs to talk it out more, and while I understand why they didn’t tell Moana about it as a young child, I feel like she SHOULD have been told before her father’s reactions to her hurt her own self-image: he’s actually just projecting his own guilt onto the daughter who is so much like him. She is less traumatized than she might otherwise be because she has both her mother, and especially her grandmother, to confide in. If Moana has a trauma style, I would say it’s Flight: she’s an overachiever who is constantly rushing from one task, one way to help, to another. In a deleted song, she also talks about walking around the island so much that she knows exactly how many steps it is to the ocean. She always wants to get away. All of this is classic Flight. Chief Tui is Fight. he’s not aggressive, but he IS controlling.

Maui (Most of the trauma in this film comes from Maui. he was abandoned as a baby, and probably almost died. grew up with the knowledge that he was not wanted by his parents. grew up away from human society): Flight-Fawn. Has spent the rest of his life trying to earn acceptance, love, and gratitude from humans. Constantly does crazy and death-defying tasks to try to win them over., but It never brings him true fulfillment. He clearly DESPERATELY wants to be recognized, celebrated, and loved for his achievements and his gifts, which makes him into a brash show-off.

[cygnahime]

FFX Reliveblogging Part...4?

I'm grinding in the Omega Ruins in my other save, and mildly frustrated because Tidus has the highest strength in the party but......chocobo racing sucks, so he's capped at 9999 damage. Meanwhile Auron in yellow HP is doing 50k and hit 99,999 with a crit. Just the once, but it got me that trophy. I'm pretty sure Auronlu has already talked a lot about the Luca/Bevelle Crusaders/Warrior Monks conflict taking place in the background of the game. It first really comes up in Maechen's little discourse about the history of Lord Mi'ihen. Notable is that the Crusaders, originally founded as the Crimson Blades, were not originally part of the Yevonite power structure, but were subsumed presumably as an alternative to holy war. (Which is kind of hilarious, considering the our-world history of "Crusaders".) Ahhhh it's my favorite lesbians! And Clasko. I could say a lot of unkind things about the Battle Thongs, but the narrative at least never treats Lucil (and Elma) with less than total respect. Which I guess just shows how...gratuitous the clothing is. It's completely inconsistent with the characters. Bad design. Speaking of outfits, I looooove Belgemine's dress. It's so elegant! I'm pretty fond of her as a person, as well. And not just because she heals our aeons for us. She is a lady. I mean, also an undead, but it's rude to comment on these things. I usually lose this first aeon duel, but I'll give it my all anyway. Yes! I got off two Energy Blasts with a whole 37 HP to spare! Is Belgemine looking for Yuna specifically? Did she maybe meet Braska, either while alive or after death? Or is she just meeting up with all the promising summoners to see if one of them will prove worthy of her sisters? She's so mysterious and cool, I love her. Everyone has to practice their smiling faces when little kids cheer for Yuna bringing the Calm. It's very awkward, especially for Callie's mom, who does know. Now I'm talking to Luzzu and Gatta again, which of course leads me to the eternal question: who shall live and who shall die, who by fire and who by drowning, who by sword and who by beast. It's like the one branching-paths decision we make in this game, which means I think about it a lot. Additionally, when I first played this game I was deep in my Achilles/Patroclus phase and these two gave me feelings. They still do, but now the feelings contain a strong element of nostalgia. This area is just full of NPCs I love. Shelinda is a doormat, but I am fond of her. Even if it a bit rich of her to say, "It's not about defeating Sin!" to a summoner. Defeating Sin is everything to Yuna. And she still goes out of her way to make Shelinda feel better. Yuna is so kind. Auron does not have time for your racist bullshit, Wakka. Also we're all low on MP, especially you, and MP is life. We are not doing the other half of the Highroad like this. Continued adventures of endeavoring not to boost Lulu's affection through the roof. Lu, I love you, and I love talking to you, but please, let me get cutscenes with Yuna. I firmly believe that Yuna asked her guardians not to tell Tidus the full truth, after this scene if not before. She doesn't want him to change how he treats her. (How he treats her: giving her minor crises of faith every time they talk, but in a good way.) She's in a particularly yearning mood here, not least because she's just been recording her will. And here comes Tidus, acting like she has a future... (And all her other guardians pretending not to be eavesdropping.) (Up until Auron can't take it anymore, anyway.) Enter Rin, Al Bhed ambassador (unofficial). At least, he's the one out there taking up space and being Highly Visible, suggesting strangers learn the language, doing all that stuff. He is, however, definitely wearing a kink collar. No, I do not know why. I knocked the Chocobo Eater off the cliff for the very first time! Usually I kill it before pushing it that far back, but with Lulu, Auron, and Tidus all hasted, it didn't get enough turns to push back. This is usually the part of the game where I save the chocobo ride for later and grind for Ability Spheres. With Extract Ability, this will probably take less time than usual, though I also appreciate the extra AP. Plus I want to get Kimahri 'round to Steal ASAP. [Some time later] I wonder what Dona does between getting turned away at the gate and meeting us in Djose. Is there another way around, or does she just wait until Operation Mi'ihen explodes and take the main road? She's quite close behind us. I wonder if she stays to help with the aftermath as well, or if she just heads onward. She definitely got ahead of us at some point (Guadosalam if not before). I find her blend of selfishness and selflessness very intriguing. Seymour's moving on Yuna even here. I wonder if he picked her over Dona and Isaaru because she was the one he happened to encounter, or if it was deliberate: she's younger, more naive certainly than Dona, and certainly seems very devout (liable to be dazzled by a maester's attention), less experienced...younger. But I expect Seymour would have gotten quite a long way with Isaaru, who is after all the most devout of the three - and besides, if Seymour told him what becomes of a chosen guardian, Isaaru might do a lot to keep his brothers from that fate. Seymour says all the right things to and about the Crusaders, even things Tidus thinks (and we are likely to think) are true, but he doesn't mean any of them. He just wants the operation to occur as part of his power struggle with Kinoc, with a bonus of having an effect on Yuna, making her more urgently want to complete the pilgrimage before more people die. I doubt Auron's 100% got Seymour's specific number yet, but he does know he's a maester, and Auron is the founder of Team Fuck Yevon. He knows you don't move up in the ranks without stepping on the people below you. (I mean, also Seymour advocates blatant hypocrisy, which is just the Yevon leadership trademark.) Being asked to perform the sending before people die may be more of a burden than being asked after. That's a heavy emotional burden to place on a teenager. (Although I do think legal/cultural adulthood in Spira is younger than it is for us - life is short no time for childhood.) Fact: the first time I played, I didn't even notice Luzzu and Gatta standing over there and missed the scene entirely. It's a good scene, and really highlights how much Tidus still doesn't understand on a gut level. He sees Gatta wanting to fight, and doesn't think that he could die, and of course there're warring impulses there. God though, the HD remaster takes all the character out of Wakka's face, and I hate it. You know, some people might see saying, "I'll propose when we win the cup," as meaning, "when pigs fly". But I guess that doesn't make sense considering Lulu's behavior. "Being with your girl is good, but keeping Sin far away from her is better." God. Men. I mean, in Spira it's not just men - Lulu went on two pilgrimages to try to keep Yuna alive - but she's also not someone who appreciates being protected. Yeah, Tidus doesn't understand yet why Yuna let Luzzu go, because he doesn't know that she's going to her death, too. And if she feels it right to ignore all the people she loves and who love her telling her not to go, then it's right for Luzzu to do the same. They both think saving the world is more important. Wakka, Wakka no, Wakka don't - see? Racism and religious fundamentalism leads to hurting yourself by kicking a cannon when you're wearing sandals. (I do appreciate the realism though.) I flipped a coin, and it looks like this run, Gatta lives and Luzzu dies. I don't really have an opinion on which is best; it's tragic either way. Though I guess it feels a little more narratively awful to have Tidus naively suggesting Gatta go to the front lines where he gets killed...But the coin has spoken. I appreciate how they give Kinoc character and relationships in so little time. Just his intro - he walks up and hugs Auron, not a huggable person - says something. Auron is still stiff and cagey with him, but that he allowed himself to be embraced says there's more there. Of course, he's also plotting Operation Mi'ihen to break the Crusaders (and, if X-2 is taken into account, setting up the deaths of the Crimson Squad - I think to take out potential rivals), so it's not like he's a good person or anything. But he's less flat. Got the overkill on Gui with ease, thanks to Energy Blast. (And got everyone AP.) Man, Sin's arrival is Lovecraftian as fuck. I like it. The black tendrils snaking through the bay... top creepiness. How Lucil, Elma, and Clasko - how anyone - survived Sin's blast I'll never know. People were disintegrated where they stood! I also don't know how Seymour, a full caster, has the Strength to physically hold off Gui2. It's been weakened, sure, but come the heck on. (His Summon command, which he must have, is also not there. I guess we're not allowed to get a sneak peek of Anima yet.) I appreciate the extra touch of giving Seymour AP, to trick you into thinking he's going to join the party long-term. :C They almost got a shot off on Sin, but unfortunately, horseshoes and hand grenades. Also heartrending: the messages that come up when you check the corpses. Shut up, Seymour, I have another Energy Blast in me. Besides, he could go for Sin at any time; he has his Final Aeon, after all. But he won't. He'd rather destroy the world than save it with his death. And he wants Yuna to feel helpless, so she'll feel like she needs him. Oh no the dead kid who we saw practicing to avenge his sister...no...stop it... Before Jecht came to Spira, his drinking didn't have real consequences to him. He was "still the best", after all. He still had a wife who wouldn't leave him. He hurt other people, but they didn't confront him about it. It took Spira to make him see that it was a problem. Hell of a thing to put on your kid, like, "Hey, son, can I get a mercy kill? Thanks." Though I guess that is...I mean, end-of-life care is a traditional part of a child's duties. Just...not usually in your teens.

[believerindaydreams]

saviour complex

...I think we’re nearing endgame territory here.

(there’s a lot I love about this AU and I bet I could write bits for it forever, but there is a certain through-line to this story right from the first scene, and I think we’re approaching its natural climax sooner rather than later...)

(apropos of nothing, trigger warning for racism. like, that’s kinda most of the scene this time.)

“I saw three ships come sailing in, on Christmas day, on Christmas day...”

It gets dull sometimes, with no one to talk to except his partners. Pablo’s always around but he’s a busy man, and Tuco can’t help shying away from the natives. As quiet and polite as they invariably are. 

So maybe singing Christmas carols in March is sort of an unusual method, to deal with getting lonely; but the point is that it works. And there’s only so many ways to keep himself amused while shoveling snow. There’s a rota for the main walks; but the path to the gatehouse isn’t much frequented these days, for obvious reasons. 

“Please stop,” Blondie implores him. 

“I will if you promise to stop being so terse. There’s no one else here, Blondie, we could chat a while...how is it going, with you and Angel Eyes?” Afternoons at the gatehouse for Blondie, nights for him, it’s a good arrangement. Gives him something to look forward to, after days of uninspired meals and cold rooms. He’s not sure if that’s why things have shaken out this way, but it’s hard enough keeping his hands off Blondie without the added temptation to try out for a threesome; maybe Angel Eyes feels the same...

Caught up in thought, it takes him a while to clock that the conversation’s died. “Blondie. Hey, Blondie! You listening?”

“Sure.”

“Okay then. So how’s you and Angel, then?”

“...he’s not taking me very seriously,” Blondie says. “It’s worrying me no end.”

Yeah, Blondie, I bet it would. He sticks the shovel into a drift and leans on it, breathing a little hard in the crisp air. “Hey, he’s doing what you want, doesn’t he? Staying here, not killing people?”

“That’s true, but...I was hoping he might do more than that.” 

“What, you want him to go save the world? Can’t be done.”

“He could try. Making up for all the wrongs he’s done, god knows there’s enough of those.”

Tuco tuts. “You know who’s a good man? My brother’s a good man, and he stays put right here, looks after his garden. He doesn’t go much of anywhere and that’s fine.“

“Angel Eyes is a man determined not to accept faith,” Blondie says, slowly as if he’s working out a math problem. “But maybe there’s a use for a man like that...”

“So you’re not dumb enough to think you’re James Bond,” Tuco says thoughtfully. He picks up the shovel again, gets back to work lackadaisically. “But you’re dumb enough to think you’d make a good M? You’re crazy, that’s what- and if you think a man like Angel Eyes is going to jump when you say, I don’t want to be there when you try.”

“It could work,” Blondie says, with too much steadiness. “Remember, he is in love with me. And love works miracles...“

Tuco sucks air through his teeth, then yelps when the cold blast hits a nerve. Blondie doesn’t notice, or else takes advantage of the silence, to keep talking, wondering, edging his way towards a conclusion-

“There was that one-armed man down in New Mexico-”

“Stop.”

“He tried to kill you,” Blondie says. “Because a man who spoke Spanish and wore a mustache shot him, he went out to bag somebody answering to that description and didn’t give a damn who it was. You almost died. You would have died, if you’d been any slower diving through that window.”

Tuco spends a satisfying moment, recollecting that escape. Shame about that bubble bath, though. 

“We live in a world where people like that exist. Where I made a living pretending to be one of them, and you made yourself a target...and you’re content to sit here and do absolutely nothing about them? Nothing at all?”

“Sure.”

“Coward,” Blondie says to the air. 

Maybe he would have popped his partner a good one for that, once; but if Angel Eyes has taught him anything, it’s a respect for just what real violence means, and a reluctance to invoke it. “He’s a man, Blondie, not a gun. You can’t point him at people and tell him to kill- and if you did, that’s blood on your conscience. I thought just the idea of that made you sick.”

“I’d work myself up to that, for the right cause,” Blondie tells him. 

For crying out loud, Tuco nearly says; this is so much nonsense. All his partner’s wanted for years is to get away from the big unhappy world, to a quiet bolthole like this where he can be holy and dream in peace; only now they’re here, suddenly that doesn’t seem to mean a damn to him anymore. Maybe Blondie’s one of those people who’d only be happy somewhere they aren’t. 

“Tuco. If there was a trolley-”

“Fucking freshman philosophy, I don’t want to hear about it.” Not least because that’s sure to get into stuff he doesn’t know, just from peeking at the introduction to Blondie’s 101 textbook. “Look, you say this stuff, and maybe I say yes, maybe I say no, but that’s got nothing to do with real life.”

“Suppose Angel Eyes killed me,” Blondie challenges him. “You’d do something about that, wouldn’t you?”

The way he feels just this minute, maybe not a whole lot. “What would that prove? I know you, you matter to me. That’s different than whatever crazy stunt you’re thinking of cooking up for strangers-”

“Well, that’s immoral. Illogical, too. Do you have to personally know a- a lynching victim, to feel sorry for them?“

Tuco grits his teeth, starts shoveling harder. “Yes. You know why? Because anybody who sat down and cried every time someone good in this world died for no good reason, they’d drown in their own tears. Maybe some people, they have that kind of energy. My brother, for one. But maybe I’m not cut out to be like that, you get what I’m saying? I just want to live my own life and do what I want and not get caught in anybody else’s crusade, all right?”

“And if everybody has a view like yours,“ Blondie says, “you’d have been born and bred in the Confederacy.”

“Conquering New York?” Tuco says, lightly. “I don’t see that happening.”

Blondie drops his shovel. 

Not convincingly, either. To make a point. 

“Sonora. You lied to me. You said you were from Sonora.”

“Don’t tell me we’ve been partners this long, without you having a good idea when I’m lying. I thought you guessed ages back.” He picks up the shovel, shoves it back into his partner’s hand. Blondie’s usually better at keeping his cool than this; that steady expression is visibly wavering. 

“Not the point. I thought you trusted me, Tuco. We’re partners.”

Sure they are: but while Blondie’s saying it, a memory flashes across his mind as violent as it is brief. That last hustle they’d pulled before coming here. When he’d found himself sober and curious and in a good position to listen to the chitchat in the back room, before he went in himself- Blondie’s side of the hustle for a change, the part he’s never meant to know about- 

“So? You call me a spic behind my back, I lie to you about where I was brought up, we’re even.”

Blondie looks stunned. “That’s not the same at all, I only said that for the hustle. Which was your idea in the first place. Remember that, how you said that we’d never starve as long as Texas had a border with Mexico?”

He remembers. Remembers too, the nights of pure isolated terror, cut off from his family and church and city, nothing left except the one blonde boy sleeping besides him - and then working out a scheme and hanging on to that for dear life. The cautious way he’d started testing the waters, trading in unimaginative clerical black for colourful fashions and too many hats. Finding it fun even, wondering how much he could get away with assuming, before slowly discovering there was no limit to how gaudy or stupid or comic he could be. None at all. 

His shovel hits a wall, hard; they’ve run out of path. 

“Did you ever stop and think that even for our profession, we picked a pretty ugly way of going about it?”

“It was a clever idea of yours,” Blondie says. “It is. Lying to the marks, they all deserve it.”

"Maybe we do, too,” Tuco says. “Think about that for a while. And don’t go pushing Angel Eyes to do anything he doesn’t want, okay?”

“You told him you were from Brooklyn before me, didn’t you?”

“Now I didn’t even mention Brooklyn,” Tuco says with distant satisfaction. “See, you do know these things...here’s a difference for you. Maybe I trusted better, the man who I know doesn’t itch to put a noose around my neck.”

He’s going to pay for that remark later, he knows that. 

But it does, finally, shut his partner up. 

[tialasnow]

Journey

“I really fucked it up this time

Didn’t I my dear?”

(This is part 2 of the conclusion to Tia’s current arc, part 1 can be found here)

The cold morning air was enough to jolt the bard away from her sleepy haze as she closed the door to her home. It was going to be a while before she returned and it felt almost bittersweet. She had grown to love the little life she’d made for herself. Her friends, her home, her career, hell even the strange brother-sister relationship she had with Mythereal. Looking on it, things where actually good, even if she struggled to feel that through her own self loathing.

The group looked just as worried as Tiala felt. All civilians making a pilgrimage to the Sunwell despite the tense air of war. It was every Quel’dorei’s right to travel to the Sunwell, and the Sin’dorei would not bar one from making the journey, however it wasn’t the Sin’dorei they were worried about. An orc or a Forsaken were a lot less likely to respect Elven customs and were more likely to flay them alive.

Tiala had her own worries. Her journey wouldn’t end at the Sunwell, in fact, she would never make it to that island. And as they set off in their small caravan traveling North she couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to go that far. Would she even want to? She was so far separated from the holy light that it would probably lash out and try to destroy whatever shadows lurked within her.

(Warning this is my longest writing yet)

The journey itself went without event. Most was spent flying on gryphons northward with a few stops for eating and rest between. It was on one of those that Tiala crept away into the darkness of night. She was well into Sin’dorei territory at this point and getting caught risked nearly certain death if she couldn’t take care of them.

A noise caught the woman’s attention as she quickly glanced around at the darkened forest. A footstep? A twig breaking from something. She wasn’t alone that was sure.

“Show yourself.” The woman called out in Thalassian her now green eye’s darting around the clearing.

The footsteps grew closer as a blue and white armored woman with golden eyes stepped from the trees. “Tiala it’s me.” She smiled at her twin her eyes looking the bard up and down. “Light… you really were just hiding yourself…” She stepped closer a hand reaching up to touch the skin of her sisters face.

“Y-yeah I was foolish about it.” She rubbed the back of her head her eyes fading back to their natural blue color. “Hid everything about myself even from you Val.” She sighed avoid her sisters gaze. “So… let’s finish this then?”

The pair walked in silence the rest of the way. Each had their own worries that they didn’t want to bother the other with. Tiala knew only part of the darkness that plagued the Snowdancer family and Valyaris knew all to well what that darkness was capable of. Both stuck close to the other afraid to be apart. They were sisters, and even though their paths diverged they were always close.

Something was off about the Snowdancer spire, the gate that used to be closed was left ajar. Looters most likely or perhaps the army commandeered the abandoned home for use. They were south of Silvermoon and a bit out of the way. In its prime the spire was gorgeous, build on the mountains with a view of all of Eversong. But now it felt dead.

The pushed through the gate and up the cobblestone steps. It was nearly the anniversary of when it happened. When Tiala lost herself and killed the entire Snowdancer family, Valy being the only survivor of that night.

“Are you ready Tiala?” Her twins voice broke the silence. She was staring at Tiala wiith a firm look on her face.

“No, I’m not. But I have no choice.” The bard returned the glance her own face twisted with anxiety and fear.

“Well neither of you will make it much farther.” A male voice interrupted their conversation. A voice familiar to Valy but all to known to Tiala.

Arcanist Corim Wyrmsong stood in front of the two suddenly. A small shimmer of purple arcane fading from his body. He held a smirk on his lips as he looked over the twins. In one hand a staff the other a bolt of flame that had already been prepared to strike at one of them.

“Now I was surprised to find out that my wayward wife was going home along with her traitorous sister but... I guess that means I can kill two Snowdancer’s with one fireball.” He chuckled taking a step forward down the old cobblestone. “This is unless Tiala, you give up your little charade and join me back in Silvermoon. I can clear your name, give you a life again. None of this running, none of this crime. You do look much better with your real skin color now don’t you?” His voice was like knives to the bard.

“Don’t you dare touch her.” The Crusader spoke up pulling her greatsword from it’s scabbard. “My sister is not yours to take!” Valy’s gaze tightened on the man her fingers gripping the hilt of her blade as it flared up in a golden holy light.

A flash of arcane flew towards the two striking Val in the chest a grunt coming from the woman as she buckled over. “Calm down Valyaris, I have no intentions on harming my wife.” He grinned lowering his hand and looking towards the helpless Tiala.

“Valy!” The bard yelled quickly running to her sister and grabbing at the woman’s waist to help her steady herself. “Corim! I thought I made it clear last we met that I was done with our little game.” She hissed glancing up towards him.

“Tiala, Tiala... our last encounter just proved to me that you’re a slave to those shadows of yours. I intend to free you to bring you back. To give you the life you lost.” He grinned another bolt of arcane fire flying at Valyaris striking her again.

Her sister’s pained cries were enough. Enough to flip that switch inside Tiala. She snarled lurching forward towards Corim. In their last fight she was forced to hold back, both out of fear and the wards that were dampening her power. But not this time. She lunged at him a blade appearing in her palm as she did so swinging towards him intent to finish what she started.

Her blade met thin air as the mage vanished in a blink of arcane. “Now now Tiala, don’t be so rash. You know you can’t beat me in a fight like that.” His voice came from behind.

Tiala turned quickly in time to spot the bolt of flame that flew striking her in the chest. She didn’t make a sound, she didn’t flinch. “Corim... you have no idea what I’m able to do.” Her voice was low, primal. “This time you’ll die... I’ll make sure of it.” She lunged forward again a second blade appearing in her other hand as arcane flames licked at her exposed arms from a second bolt of flame.

“Tia...” Val’s voice was weak as she struggled to fight whatever spell was making her limbs heavy. “Tia you c-can’t fight him like this.” Her golden eyes closed slowly as she took a slow deep breath.

“Listen to your sister Tiala, you can’t hope to win like this.” He laughed dodging another swing with a well timed blink and throwing a mote of flame at the bard in retaliation striking her in the chest.

“Shut up!” Tiala’s voice was harsh, different. As if it wasn’t her alone speaking. A second more sinister voice had added itself to the woman’s words. She could feel it, something building inside her, something granting her the same power she had felt that night.

A blur of shadow followed as she swung both blades at Corim again her eyes following him to were he appeared after his blink. With another blur she was gone the bolt of flame sputtering away on the ground. She had struck true as her blades cut through the mans robes and into his skin. She was beside him now, somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be, not that fast.

He coughed falling to the ground from the sheer force of her swing. His eyes wide in terror as he looked up at the woman now bathed in dark twisting shadows that stood over him.

Valyaris watched in horror as the blade cut into him ending his screams with a quick strike. It was the same sister that she watched cut down her family, the same power that had changed their lives forever. She steadied herself slowly the arcane fading with the man’s life looking towards Tiala, her blade ready to defend herself. “Tia...”

The shadows faded as fast as they came as the bard glanced back over to her sisters “Valy... I’m sorry, I never thought I’d have to use that again.” Tiala rushed over hugging her sister tightly. “I could feel the voice in my head but... I was able to push it away.”

Valyaris caught her sister in her arms happily accepting the embrace. “Tiala it’s okay I’m happy you’re in control.” She smiled tightening her grip as she lost her balance falling forward onto her sister the man’s spell still seemingly in effect. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fight at all today if we have too.” She smirked steadying herself on the blade that dug into the ground.

The inside of the spire was dark save for the light Tiala held up to light their way. The building had been untouched in nearly a year, the last being Valyaris herself as she locked the door after her family was taken away for funeral rites. The two traveled side by side occasionally stopped to tend to Valy’s loss of balance. Tiala herself was hurt, very hurt at that. Burns had formed on her arms and her chest below her armor. But she pressed on ignoring the warm pain coming from her body.

She led the two into the basement, down the dusty spiral staircase that led them into the darkness that plagued the Snowdancer bloodline. They made their way deeper, down to the secret place Tiala learned to use her magic.

“I was never allowed down here, mother told me it wasn’t for me.” Valyaris glanced around at the darkened cellar. “Not that I had any interest in a dusty basement.” She looked to Tiala.

“It’s more than a basement.” She sighed walking over to a dresser. Placing her hand on it the shadows of the room bent around her causing the dresser to fade from existence revealing a second staircase deeper into the spire.

Valyaris’ eyes were wide as they walked down into the subbasement of the home. Even after a year it was lit, the walls adorned with torches that gave a dim, dark blue glow of shadow magic. “Mother would bring me here to train... told me it was my duty as the first born daughter.”

They pressed on entering the large room where Tiala had been taught. It was rather bland if you ignored the glowing torches and strange alter in the back of the room. The altar was where Tiala first gave her blood, and where she continued to do so throughout her training.

“Look around the room Valyaris... mother must have kept notes or something.” She glanced to the altar “I want to try something.”

Valy gave a worried look before doing as she was told and rummaging through whatever containers she was able to find. Tiala, however, was focused. She walked up to the altar running the palm of her hand against the cold black metal it was crafted from. Closing her eyes she conjured a blade in her hand. It was clear to her what she had to do. She pulled the blade quickly against the palm of her hand causing warm blood to flow out and onto the altar.

“It is about time you returned.” The voice of her mother echoed through the room though Valy didn’t seem to notice. “I have been waiting my child.” A shadowy visage of her mother stood in front of Tiala on the other side of the altar her hand on her daughters.

Valyaris jumped seeing her sister fall to the ground. It had only been a few moments yet the bard was unconscious, cold to the touch but still breathing. Her body was covered in new wounds. Her arms, face, and who knows what else was bloody, covered in small lacerations almost as if whipped by something. As her eyes slowly opened to look up at her frightened twin, Valyaris could see the milky haze that took over her otherwise blue gaze.

“Tiala what... what happened.” Valyaris looked around desperately pulling her sister up to sit. “It was only a few moments!”

“I found my answers Val... c-can we leave this place... forever?” Tiala coughed blood spattering into her hand as she did so. It seemed her wounds went deeper than just external. “I need to... I need to get home. I can’t loose another to this thing... I can’t have another Ally.” She muttered softly trying her best to stay awake.

“Who... who is Ally?” Valyaris blinked looking over her sister.

“My fiancee? Ally Flamereach.” Tiala glanced back confused, Valy certainly knew Ally, she was invited to the wedding.

“Tiala... you were engaged to Tayla Bloodbrook.”

“I...” Her mind rushed through memories, memories that didn’t exist up until now. She was engaged to Tayla, an arcanist yes, though the bad, the pain that was caused by Ally. Was that all fake? She closed her eyes “I think I was further lost than I had originally thought.” She couldn’t help but chuckle as she stood up slowly. “Now Valy... shall we finish this?”

Valyaris nodded giving one last glance to the room. “On your command.”

The bard took her sisters hand as she focused. The shadow flame from the torches began to ignite burning ever brighter as the flames began to overtake the room and the rest of the spire. The two vanished through the void as they were pulled away to outside the spire a good distance down the mountain trail.

[randomnameless]

Final Chapter - Dozel to Freege!

Seliph continues to liberate the land of his grandfather, and settles down the feud the Chalphyians had with the Freeges for 3 generations.

AND WE SEE THE RISE AND FALL OF OUR HERO - SCIPIO OF JUNGBY

You had men out there? I forgot. I was focused on, you know, the Master Knight with a Holy Weapon.

I hope you’re calling your men cowards, not the Dozels! Or is it another way of Kaga to pile shit on the Dozels, even from within their side?

Yeah, once and for all given how you’re one of the rare bosses to run away and not to die when we defeat you.

A plan?

This is a way to warn the player of what kind of backup units/mechanics are going to happen, so we won’t be going “WTF” at, idk, ballistaes popping up after the 10th turn in a defense map, but it defeats the plot purpose!

there’s no surprise here, so of course Hilda’s plan doesn’t work. If we knew in FE5 that Dastard Jr was going to blow up the bridge after we sent units to cross it, then to send Reinhardt and his pals on us, it wouldn’t have the same impact - we would curse Saias less, but his “tactician” gimmick wouldn’t be translated into the game

Hilda means to fight to death. Well, this is the final map so...

The Gelbenritter, or what’s left of it looks menacing! Hopefully Arvis gave Seliph the Tyrfing in the previous chapter, else Seliph wouldn’t have been able to plow through those guys like Ares does on a regular basis - welp that sounds wrong doesn’t it

What do you mean, random? Is this not a holy war on its own, us having to fight against Loptyr himself?

HE ASKS US TO SUMMON THE TRIFORCE? SUMMON THE POWER OF THE HYLIAN GODDESSES SELIPH!

?? To this day, I still don’t understand what the fuck are those trails. Julia and Seliph? Leif and Seliph? Julia vs Julius? (one good light vs one evil light?)

At least he gave us sufficient funds to repair our HWs.

“slow down you jackass you have a horse now !”

“remember you’re weak and i have to protect you, the usual routine” “hey i have my holy weapon now”

? You’re scared now, but when we were fighting in Thracia you weren’t? OTOH this is the end of the journey, and during Siggy’s end everything burnt, so maybe Larcei’s afraid of that, or she knows that if she manages to rekt Julius before, now he is stronger.

IDK, maybe having your WIFE and not only her BLADE at your side?

Larcei’s supposed to find this romantic, or she’s pissed, idk.

Finally someone’s going to sing something good about the Crusdaders, Neir and co!

smite the devil with a demonic blade? Like in Pokémon when ghost attacks are very effective against ghost types?

Odo and Hezul hated each other guts or something? One is a saint, the other wields a demonic blade...

Apparently Baldur is only remembered as very pious, or something? the Tyrfing shines in the dark?

WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER CRUSADERS DAMN IT

and Baldur “shines a light” but Heim “prays”? I mean, if something should be shiny and have a “light” imagery, it should be the Book of Naga, not the Tyrfing but...

Ooh!

So Heim prays to the white dragon who destroys the shadow dragon, that’s why praying is important and Heim’s reserved stuff!

So the white dragon means light? Baldur and Heim were cosy enough to share their attributes, or Baldur did something awesome to be called the holy knight with a sword that shines light?

Well, wait 60 turns and see.

for we have the power of savestates at our disposal?

OTOH, if Seliph and Julia die here... We can only pull a Manfroy with Linoan, and hope for her Naga-grandson to continue the fight

Children will finish what their parents started, the game is called Genealogy after all!

or he is talking about the power of savestates

MMH

Never lost? The Barahra family nearly went extinct because someone only had eyes for a married woman who ran away!

You believe in Lester, who’s only following us?

I believe in Linoan too, even if she isn’t in the game. Or by light you meant people who want to fight against Loptyr?

You raised more questions than answers, but this song makes me understand what the randoms in Granvalle are really thinking (or what Finn thinks they’re thinking^^) - only the sword crusader counts and that irks me a lot!

Stop swarming us from the rear damn it genealogy of the rear attack : the holy innuendo

Scipio is into dubious kinks

more seriously, who compares himself to a snake? That’s not a noble animal!

DERMOTT NO - he managed to dodge this

Hilda knew Tailte had another child? She must have heard about how Tine defected to join her brother and made 1+1.

She can dirty them around killing randoms, but not by killing Hilda? It doesn’t make any sense :’(

!

Hilda’s aware that she’s going to hell? Or that, whatever she is/was doing, she knew it was something that no one could condone?

HOW’S THAT “WHAT ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE”

You’re being rude to your street urchin of a cousin Scipio!

the sprites beg to differ, but again, to Scipio and everyone around his age who grew up in the empire Siggy and pals, even Briggid were traitors!

Family bonding time :)

ULSTER NO

YOU RUINED THEIR FAMILY BONDING TIME :’(

Maybe he felt conflicted by hearing that he is the son of Jamke and how the Empire and the Jungbies never gave a flying fuck about his country

Fee remembered that Arthur’s dad was the guy who berated Arthur’s mom for wanting to kill her own dad, Arthur mustn’t slay his relatives! So she’s the one to kill Hilda.

Farewell Hilda, at least you’ll join Blume and you’ll live happily ever after together, with your daughter joining you in the next update!

Come on i’ve seen this before

Try to be more inventive next time, would you?

Finally, we settle things with Freeges! By seizing their castles!

Seliph thinks of the children :)

Felipe ex machina

Oldvis had an aide? With Aida dead, he maybe wanted to share his dastardly plans to someone, or maybe he wanted to talk to anyone who wouldn’t trashtalk him unlike his son(s?)...

OMG OMG OMG

Even the ones from Thracia?

THEY’RE ALL HIDING!!!!

Which raises several issues, how can they all fit, how many were they, how come no one noticed that no children were in Belhalla and reported it to Julius, etc...

Remember that Hilda was the Queen of Miletos, so she spent the majority of her time there!!

And Freege isn’t Hilda’s city, but the Ducal seat of Blume and the Tordo royals!

and here the Ishtar gambit is revealed!

So Ishtar has wrath in her skillset? I never noticed

Hm... You haven’t met a lot of people.

She and Oldvis were really getting along then! We could glimpse it in their convo, too bad it ended in, well, you know. Loptyrpocalypse ruins everything.

Oh, so the children signed their presence sheet, then skipped the “i will sacrifice myself for the sake of Loptyr, our God and Savior” classes.

It still doesn’t make any sense, but why not

They’re going to gie you armorslayers and vulneraries, ask Leif!

Thank you revealing crucial elements of caracterisation the game couldn’t offer us in some other way

“Some results” is the reason why so many people joined Seliph’s quest, and the symbol of the Empire’s tyranny, but whatever

But yes, the real job awaits.

Dead is the only logical conclusion, but the game isn’t logical. And how’s that the only option? Master draconic tactician can’t guess that Loptyr murdered the only one who can kill him before she could hold the tome of Naga?

Or is he desperatly clinging to the little shred of hope he has of Julia being alive not to think about his own naivety of letting her get captured when she is the only one able to save the world?

That’s not what you told us in Chapter 6, you said only Seliph’s destiny was “to free the world from this evil grip” as the “one true heir of Saint Heim”

Freeing the world from the evil grip means getting rid of the idiot sitting in Belhalla, right?

Hopefully even this guy doesn’t contradict the game’s lore. At least one positive point I found about you, yay!

“what about you, you raised her for years?”

“i only fed her wild berries and gave her a roof - i spent more time training Arthur in wind magic than talking and being a relative to Julia, remember how i dropped her on you during your Isaachian campaign without any tomes or staves?”

Hopefully, Julia dosn’t need to be convinced by those dolts, because it’s her destiny as a Falchion to slay an evil Dragon!

[vera-invenire]

VnC Liveblog - Chapter 7

.All chapter liveblogs are linked HERE.

Hey, note for people following along: the last two chapters (5 and 6) didn’t show up on the main Vanitas no Carte tags because Tumblr filters out any posts that have outside links in them. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But they’re done and the links for them are right up there. ^

Now, on to chapter 7!

Methinks MochiJun is running out of art for the chapter covers. That’s okay, I like this guy’s face.

OH MY GOD ARE WE GETTING WORLDBUILDING I AM EXCITED

So. Paracelsus. Famed physician and alchemist, called the Luther of medicine. He’s got a wikipedia page that I’m not gonna link to here *shakes tiny fist at tumblr* but probably the most interesting thing about him (if not the most important, in this context) is that ‘Paracelsus’ was his pen name. His real name?

Theophrastus von Hohenheim. Yeah. That von Hohenheim. Or at least the original one he was named after.

More pertinent, I think, is the fact that Paracelsus was a doctor, like our main character. He had a reputation for disdaining conventional medical thought (as this was the 1500s, this was not unwarranted) and for prioritizing practical experience over unproven theories preached by people with silly titles. Going by Vanitas’ fight with Orlok, I think he would have liked Paracelsus.

With Paracelsus involved, we now have a timeline for Babel -- it occurred sometime during the first half of the 1500s, creating vampires, astermite, the border, and, apparently, a number of disasters.

(the sudden appearance of vampires among the human population might have been disastrous enough, but I wonder if there were other things that were thrown out of wack.)

I don’t...quite get this formula business yet, so I’m gonna wait to comment on that until it’s more clear.

Nice job breaking it, Hohenheim.

This is like the tenth time the church has been mentioned, when are they gonna show up?

Hello, Creepy Teacher. Still without eyes, I see.

But not all coal and not all humans were altered.

And what is that on Teacher’s lapel, a clock with wings --

...time flies. You think you’re clever, don’t you.

...he’s planning on using Noé, the last Archiviste. Noé is key to something. What are you planning, Creepy Teacher.

Memoire 7 Bal Masque

Night of Sneering Masks

Lord Ruthven has a real swanky place, don’t he.

On the one hand, I want to go to a ball like this. On the other, it is full of vampires. Who, admittedly, seem like fairly decent people on average -- when they’re not losing their minds and going on murderous rampages.

Kinda looks like the Charlatan parade, though, no?

Hm, Domi is a bit shorter than Noé than I thought she was.

...wait, wait, wait, hold up. let’s zoom in here.

that’s Domi??? that looks like Unnerving Boy. crap, is she Unnerving Boy? i was joking about that before.

Glad I’m not the only one making that connection. The narrative wants this decadence to remind us of Charlatan. re: we shouldn’t trust it.

Domi: That guy’s gonna keep a low profile, right?

Vanitas: *seducing ALL the ladies at the ball*

Y’all knew he was an unrepentant grandstander. What did you expect.

(note: Vanitas knows sleight of hand)

(note: vampires can smell humans)

Hahahahaha, “I don’t understand how vampires define ‘friend’“ is my new favorite line, right along with “several different kinds of unfortunate”.

So my question is, can he only see the memories while he’s drinking? Or can he revisit them whenever he wants?

Vanitas adapted to the usefulness of that collar real quick.

I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN, I KNEW THAT DUM-DUM WOULD LEAVE THESE TWO ALONE AND SHIT WOULD HIT THE FAN

this is gonna be good

So spoketh Dominique de Sade. Never has a character been more aptly named.

(yo, is that Ada’s iron maiden. and a tortured stuffed white rabbit in the corner, too. the spirit of Vincent is alive and well.)

Meanwhile...Noé has found a new toy.

precious cinnamon roll, too pure, etc etc

ohoho, I think we know this kid.

HI, LUCA. And Jeanne can’t be that far away.

These guys are bodyguards, or retainers? Dressed like plague doctors, nice touch.

Luca (Lucius?), this is the man who held you hostage, why you lying.

Uh-oh. Something is clearly wrong with Jeanne.

...you might even say, she should probably see a doctor. *baddum-ting* (I think she’d prefer to die of consumption)

But it seems to be something she’s suffered from before? Is it her breathing or her throat?

Likely the same sister who lent Domi the collar and chain. Sister has interesting hobbies.

“I was all excited!” Yeah, this game is gonna be called Ha Ha, Surprise, I’m Kinkier Than You.

Point, Vanitas.

But Domi rallies nicely.

This is where we start getting real; Domi doesn’t fuck around when it comes to Noé. But does she really need to threaten to carve out Vanitas’ eye with a knife??

...throw more knives at him, Domi.

This is why you need to learn to keep your mouth shut, Vanitas. (also check the misogyny, I don’t want you to turn into Vincent, please)

She brings up some very good points.

Ooo, and it looks like something she said hit home. ...or one of the knives stabbed him. Nah, the black border means a brief flashback of some kind.

...Vanitas hates the Vampire of the Blue Moon. Well, well.

So why did he take his name?? And his Book???

(omg, did he steal the Book)

He’s cracked. He’s gonna do something stupid and/or reckless.

HE’S GONNA THROW HIMSELF BACKWARD OFF THE BALCONY. 

Well, he did say he was gonna get their attention.

(”you’re worried about Vanitas? you should be worried about me.” “no, wait, i mean, i’m here to save vampires. yes. out of the goodness of my bitter heart.”)

The chandelier’s made of bones, it’s a vampire ball, why wouldn’t it be.

Poor Domi’s like, ‘crap, I pushed the punk too far.’

The cajones on this kid.

Like, seriously, isn’t he supposed to be hiding the fact that he’s human...?

This is revenge for always wandering off and disappearing, Noé.

The gloves are coming off again and this time it’s not a bluff.

Holy crap, that’s a lot more extensive than I thought it’d be. Looks a lot like the moon and spider-webbed sky above Altus Paris, doesn’t it? And this mark is lower on his arm than we saw earlier.

Actually, let’s go back and compare. This is from chapter 4 --

So in chapter 4, we saw marks on his left arm. But...is it the same kind of mark? And how many marks does he have?

Branding is something you do to livestock.

The eyes look like the moon look like the brand. (ha, how much you want to bet the moon over Altus Paris is red and Vanitas’ mark is blue)

And the hourglass is front and center once again. He wears that thing for a reason and that reason is connected to the Vampire of the Blue Moon.

So was he really granted some kind of power, or is this another bluff? Then again, the power could be the ability to use the Book.

I’m starting to think the Vampire of the Blue Moon isn’t the only one who hates vampires...

(”fighting monsters is best left to other monsters”)

I would not trust a doctor who looked at me with a face like that, i’m just saying

And now this crusade to save the vampires makes much more sense.

In doing this, not only will Vanitas get the pleasure of having the vampires he’s curing at his mercy, but with each vampire he saves he sticks it to the Vampire of the Blue Moon.

This was never a charitable cause. This is a fuck you to the entire world, the original Vanitas in particular.

Everyone: “oh shit, this guy’s even crazier than we thought.”

Did he...not mean to say that part out loud...? Or did he see something in the crowd?

Guess we find out next chapter! Which is -- HERE.