#is for those oppressed people to then turn around and be worse?? sure was something!!!

[leofrith]

putting an agnes obel song over the end credits??? NO that's the thing i'm sensitive about!!!!!!!

[pilferingapples]

this is an invitation to infodump. i would LOVE to hear the thoughts you have on beggars at the feast, should you want to talk about them

AUGH ok ok let's see how well I can articulate...anything

OK so first: In the Letters server lately we've been talking a bit about how , in the book, Thenardier is WAY more the Human Nemesis than Javert is. He shows up earlier than Javert does; he's able to be a threat in ways Javert can't be, and to people Javert can't and wouldn't even try to touch ; he shares a TON of paralleling symbolism and class-blurring roles with JVJ; he's the last Personal Threat remaining in the novel, and the last thing we hear about him is that he's not only thriving , he's committing worse atrocities on a grander scale than anything we saw in the book, and getting nothing but social approval for it.

Thenardier is a nightmare, and he's triumphant, and as such he's a condemnation of society in an equal and opposing way to Jean Valjean. Valjean's story (and Fantine's , and the Thenardier siblings' ,. and the Amis , etc) says "look what we're destroying, look at the actions we punish". Thenardier's ultimate triumph as a literal slave trader flips it around and says "look what we support, look at what we endorse, look at what we elevate and approve." (now within the book I could take this farther , I could point out that the only thing within the novel that breaks any of the miserables free of their oppression to any degree is crime of some kind, be it revolution or theft or Being an Accomplice or exploitation, and the only thing that costs the (relatively) privileged their security and power is to truly ally with the miserables, but !! I'm talking about the musical)

In the musical Thenardier is softened a lot. Like... a LOT. The Thenardiers' exploitation of Fantine is barely mentioned ; their violent abuse of Cosette is turned into a joke; their abuse of Eponine is minimized (and their other kids are either Not Appearing in this Play or not obviously connected to them) ; and that final doomstrike epilogue, Thenardier becoming a slave trader, is gone. He's no longer the primary and most dangerous human antagonist; as in many other adaptations, that's now Javert.

So there's a different arc but it's there : From Master of the House and the Robbery , when he largely comes across as a gross but funny Comic Villain ; to the Attack on the Rue Plumet, where we finally see a bit of danger to him; to Dog Eats Dog, where he is really just acting on the same philosophy we saw in MotH but now doing something most people have a more immediate revulsion to, and the mask is really off; to , finally, Beggars at the Feast. If Beggars at the Feast is done RIGHT, This is Where The Villains Win.

They've gotten knocked around, sure, but they've also just gotten a ton of money, and, if done right, they are either blending in with the society party or, in the best staging * , they end up leading the dance. It's Master of the House all over again, only this time we're not being invited to laugh along with Thenardier's "band of soaks" ; this isn't the dregs of society, an easily stigmatized lower-class punchline.

This is Society, capital S Society, and they're just as ready to go along with him-- MORE ready to go along with him, even, because at least some of his inn customers usually get to be affronted and argue a little, but arguing with him risks some Unpleasantness, and isn't everything in Society so pleasant? Isn't it nice here, at the party? Let's not argue with the openly hateful people singing about how they want to destroy us all; look, they're dancing and singing! Let's just follow their lead. Won't that be nice.

And without getting into modern politics just because it's ALWAYS so current and I could never update the references frantically enough, I'll say that this is where Stage!Thenardier most echoes those Book!Thenardier Napoleon III vibes. Hugo knew what this dance looked like. He fell for it at one point.

(and hey, maybe it even raises some unease in audience members who laughed at MoTH and the child abuse and the Robbery without thinking about it-- maybe some people realize Oh Shit, We Fell For It Too. Not necessarily, but maybe?? ) And so it's fitting that it's this scene that has IMO a very clear sense of the book's incredibly specific political message ("Parisians, France, Please Overthrow Napoleon III, Probably With Barricades" ) , albeit in reverse. The Thenardiers gloat "Clear away the barricades and we're still here!" -- to them, a brag on how they endure all the changes around them.

But also implying: don't clear away the damn barricades. If you don't want the Thenardiers to run the show , help shore up that furniture wall and fight (for a modern international audience, this is probably going to be Not AS Specifically Involving Barricades).

So yeah. I'm not gonna say it's the most important song in the whole show , but it's important in ways I rarely see critics or commenters notice.

...Or it's just a funny musical reprise and you can have the Thenardiers be immediately thrown out of the wedding as frauds bc hahaha the poors thought they could play with their betters, good thing we're all so much smarter and cooler than that in the upper crust. That's fine too.

yes I have opinions; also I'm Correct

[velvetvexations]

Hi this is the partner who said that I think there is some degree of binary "privilege" and I've been reading all these other anons, everyone has such a really good points. I definitely agree that in general the conversation is just. Very clumsy. Yeah it's not quite right to call it privilege, and it IS often that binary trans people are treated with the same exorsexist attitudes that put them into the same harm as those of us who are nonbinary. Calling it privilege isn't right but it's hard without it to describe the ways that exorsexism especially in the queer community can lead to nonbinary trans people being heavily delegitimized in comparison to binary trans people around them. The problem is obviously worse in groups where more people are exorsexist, but the treatment of nonbinary people as either Basically Cis or just On The Way To Being Real Trans is a level of regendering that makes someone wanna tear their hair out. But we ARE all still trans. Where one person is getting regendered by people being awful there is still the binary trans person being degendered in turn. But for every person that knows they cant even think about changing their gender marker to actually match their gender if they want to travel to other countries, there's still someone else who has the relatively small privilege of being able to dream of that change. The few things that benefit binary trans people systematically are only There because the gender binary is something society wants upheld systemically, and many many of them are still barred from it because they challenge the binary just by existing as someone who crosses over to the other side, but for anyone who can never even attempt to fit into it, they are left stranded. As always the true privilege doesn't really go to other trans people, the true privilege is given to cis people and the few scraps of things being easier for some trans people as a result is never going to be enough to call any group of them Actually privileged over the others. This is why I'm glad for the word of exorsexism to begin with, because trying to make the claim that nonbinary people get transphobia but even worse than everyone else is just ignoring other trans peoples experiences to try and be the most oppressed (and i wonder who THAT sounds like lol) and I sure dont wanna fall into that. Unfortunately nonbinary people are just. frequently hurt by the group that should be welcoming to them in a way that targets their departure from the binary specifically, and when binary trans people dismiss it (such as claiming NO trans person can Really be binary bc of how people see them) it's easy to fall into the trap of calling them privileged for it

I'm constantly saying how the English language is so bad at dealing with any of this, it sucks.

[laryna6]

My worldbuilding for how nobles and werewolves happened in Noblesse goes like so:

Nobles are energy/dimensional beings and the first one to achieve sapience, the original Lord, got very bored and wanted intelligent company. So he started looking for other intelligent life: he found other beings like him, but they weren't actually smart because they didn't need to be, they just floated around and existed.

Then he managed to filter signals out of the universal background noise, and found an intelligent species roughly similar to humanity - carbon based, evolved on an earthlikeish world, etc.

Unfortunately, they had developed the ability to modify themselves, and of course the rich and powerful were the ones to benefit and use it to become even more powerful/oppressive, while treating the people who couldn't afford to extend their lifespans like their lives were worthless.

Basically, they were making the same mistake the Union made: not valuing selfhood means losing selfhood when you're an immortal. Kindness, actual intelligence - the species was losing those traits by assholes killing all the non-assholes.

So the Original Lord was like 'shit I found people but I can't use them as a template for uplifting my kind because they're devolving into mindless things that just kill, which is even worse than being mindless things that just exist.'

So he created the original Noblesse to make sure that never happened to him (if he started looking down on his intellectual inferiors too much) or his kind.

Eventually he got sick of being alone, created a child, and then went into eternal sleep (went back to just mindlessly existing) as technically the second soul weapon (the Noblesse being the first).

That Lord was the one who went 'okay, this other species became intelligent from being in bodies on a planet' and pushed the rest of the nobles to manifest bodies on Earth and also put some of the descendants of that species there too in case that helped - which it sort of did, because the species that would eventually become werewolves attacked everything including the nobles, so they had to do/get good at *something* (fighting/self-defense) instead of sitting around like lumps.

After Earth developed its own life, that Lord saw that evolution was a thing and made it a rule that if you couldn't keep your body from being destroyed you had to go to eternal sleep. However even in the present day the youngest nobles are only sixth generation so they haven't had enough time for any real evolution to take place.

Nobles interacted/contracted with more species than just early hominids and gradually started to pick up how to think/solve problems from the minds around them, which accelerated when proto-humans came around and they started cohabitating. The Lord then ordered that nobles had to take human form because human brains were good at thinking.

Unfortunately, the werewolves were modified into chimeras that got the abilities of other species by eating them, and humans obviously objected to being eaten. But if werewolves didn't keep eating humans for their neurons their intelligence dropped back down. Nobles lent humans power so they could defend themselves and there was basically a werewolves vs. nobles/humans war until the Previous Lord figured out enough of werewolf biology that he could make them grow their own neurons and pass quasi-human bodies with brains down to their descendants. This is the result of a ~spell anchored in one of the noble sanctuaries and one of the reasons Muzaka was 'if we fight with the nobles and humans we don't win' when other werewolves were 'why DON'T we subjugate the inferior humans?' because forget fighting, the noble Lord could have turned off the array and lobotomized their entire species. (The Previous Lord did NOT pass any of this information down to Raskreia. None of the awake nobles know how their species originated except Rai, because the Noblesses have some programmed knowledge so they know what their job is.)

The rest of the werewolves didn't know about the array because like the nobles, they lacked any oral history tradition and the older werewolves didn't want to talk about how they once had no choice but to eat actual people because they were ashamed of it. Muzaka was told about it by the werewolf he defeated to become Lord.

So even though there are two other species on earth that are in theory very different from humans, they both think a surprising amount like humans because they're mostly using human brains to do it with, so there's no Lovecraftian 'these beings are so different from us we're just ants to them' and this is enforced because the Noblesse exists and their job is to go 'oh, so you think the powerful have the right to crush the weak? Alright, have it your way' before people who think that way can kill, or worse, influence others.

The concept of superior(gets to abuse)inferior is a predatory meme that already wiped out one sentient species - the modern werewolves are descended from that species, sure, but they're so different from them it would make more sense to call them humans than remnants of that species.

The nobles were confined on Lukedonia because they kept getting attached to humans and then as a species of immortals, not having any healthy way to deal with LOSING generation after generation of humans was really fucking them up. So the nobles still awake were quarantined on Lukedonia until humans became less fragile/achieved immortality and would stop dying on the nobles. The Previous Lord took most of his generation of clan leaders into eternal sleep so that their kids would have tons of problems and would have to get better at thinking to solve them. That's why he didn't want Raskreia to be Lord, because he felt guilty about how his entire plan for noble development was making the lives of the next generation of nobles as hard as possible, with them barely having any idea what they are or how their powers worked and then starting to interact with humans again when humans are predators and humans thinking nobles are shiny isn't necessarily going to end well for a noble once the average human is capable of fighting a noble without a contract.

So the project to uplift nobles is doing pretty well, but they still need to actually start talking to each other and passing on information. Given how good some oral traditions are, certain humans probably remember more about what things were like when nobles like Gejutel and Lagus were young than those nobles do.

The Union/Maduke's fascist 'family' need to be taken out before they do to this planet what happened to the original werewolf species.

Rai's brother tried to wipe out humanity because in their generation there were two noblesse and so their job got split in half, with Rai being tasked with internal threats and his brother with external. Rai's brother decided that humans were causing so many nobles to enter eternal sleep and humans were also possessive of nobles, so once humans evolved to be equal to nobles they'd probably try to subjugate them, so they had to be wiped out. Rai was 'the strong killing the weak is a much bigger danger to nobles than humans are' and ofc genocide is wrong, so Rai had to take him out. Some nobles who lost too many family to humans (those family members choosing to enter eternal sleep instead of staying awake with the noble family who loved them) were making bloodstones to support Rai's brother because of all the nobles who were attacking him to protect humans.

Rai's brother didn't want Rai to die, so the idea was to knock him out until he was done eliminating the humans and then make him eat a bloodstone to repair the damage. Most of the humans Rai's brother killed and the nobles who also died in the conflict were resurrected by the Previous Lord: there's an array that gathers human souls so they don't cease to exist on death that he created. It's powered by the array that drains the Lord's power in the throne room so they don't rip open the Earth's crust every time they lose their temper (see the two large blue crystals). He didn't tell Raskreia that the castle array does anything but protect Lukedonia from her power either.

Gejutel knows about the artificial afterlife but it wouldn't occur to him to tell anyone because talking is a fairly recent concept for him and doing it unnecessarily is being noisy. Raizel knows about it too but assumes Franken knows about it because Franken knows a lot of things. It's possible to resurrect them just like it's possible to wake up sleeping nobles. Unfortunately it doesn't work on werewolves because werewolves have defenses against getting engulfed by foreign energy fields and dragged out of their bodies, so werewolves actually die when they are killed.

[leading-manhattan]

The weather has really put a dent in selling this week and after another day of meager profits Jack and Crutchie decide to call it quits and head back to the lodging house early to get out of the rain. Shame they never make it that far. It turns out that ever since the strike the Delanceys have had a bone to pick with Jack and they're more than happy to take the opportunity to air out their grievances. Crutchie, despite his best efforts, is helpless to do anything but watch.

"It's lookin' worse," Jack tisks, head tilted up to look at the sky with a stiff frown, hands braced on his hips, and a line of tension visible in his shoulders. The weather hasn't been great the past week or so, overcast and drizzling throughout the whole day, and the oppressively dreary atmosphere has made the sparse passersby increasingly unwilling to buy a paper. Crutchie hums a little, carefully making sure his crutch doesn't slip on the wet stones as he hobbles over to Jack. He joins his friend— brother— in looking up at the sky. It looks the same as it has the past many days, a large expanse of gray devoid of even a sliver of the sun trapped behind the thick wall of clouds. Admittedly, it appears that the sky is darkening ominously. It's barely even ten in the morning so Crutchie can agree that it's not exactly a point in their favor.

"Ain't nothin' we can't handle." Crutchie grins, playfully knocking his shoulder against Jack's. Jack shoots him a small smile but it drops swiftly the moment he turns back to the sky. There's a deep furrow between his brows and Crutchie watches as his eyes shutter with something dark and heavy. It's like he has front row seats to Jack heaving the weight of the world up onto his shoulders. "At least we's can still sell back what's left, huh?" Crutchie stares at Jack with a soft, proud smile on his face, fully aware that the older boy could see him in his periphery.

Jack sighs, deflating, and finally turns to fully face Crutchie. His expression melts when he meets Crutchie's eyes, lips twitching upwards when faced with Crutchie's unwavering support. "Yeah, yeah, alright." Jack nods, digging what he's made out of his pocket. Crutchie can't help but wince at the pocket change, it has to be one of Jack's worst turnouts, and Crutchie's pathetic earnings weren't any better. Jack sighs again and shoves the pennies back into his trousers, eyes hardening with a very familiar determination, "Let's head back before yous get sick or somethin' alright?" He sniffs as he slings an arm around Crutchie's shoulders and merrily steers them back in the direction of the circulation gates.

Money's been especially tight recently, what with the weather and all. At first people had been happy to buy all the papers the newsboys had as they sympathetically watched the poor kids get soaked from beneath the safety of their parasols and umbrellas. Those days quickly came to a stop as the freezing rain persisted, inevitably turning the kind customers into snappy strangers who just wanted to get home and out of the wet. Crutchie couldn't blame them, being out in this cold and soaked to the bone again and again he felt like he'll never be able to escape the chill nestled into his very bones. Still, it wasn't great for business. The Jacobs, sweet as they were, had come by with a few big ol' pots of soup just the day before and the newsies of Manhattan have been slowly working their way through the hefty broth to keep themselves fed while they try to make the most of what little they're bringing in. When they got their meager earnings together they could even afford some good bread to go along with it.

Jack's been stressed. More so than usual, even. People who didn't know Jack never thought to look past the confidence he projected so flawlessly but Crutchie knew better than anyone just how much Jack worried. Leading Manhattan isn't something Jack would trade for anything, especially after he truly found his place during the strike, but he had a bad habit of blaming anything and everything that went wrong on himself like it was a result of a personal shortcoming and not something entirely out of his control. Like the weather. Jack's been running himself a bit ragged trying to make sure that everyone was doing okay during this lull in sales. That's the only reason Crutchie was selling with him to begin with, tagging along to keep an eye on their leader before he had the chance to actually run himself into the ground.

Crutchie has to give his crutch extra attention as they shuffle through the streets, avoiding any mud or especially slick stones so he doesn't slip. Jack doesn't even comment on their snail's pace, more than content to drag his feet if it meant sticking at Crutchie's side regardless of how it kept him out under the dull sky just that much longer. Annoyingly Crutchie's bum leg is absolutely soaked, seeing as he couldn't exactly pick it up to avoid puddles, and he was sure the cold would send some gnarly cramps through the paralyzed limb later that night. It wasn't something he looked forward to but it was something he's long since gotten used to dealing with. Honestly, he's been ready to head back to the lodging house for the last hour but he knew if he left Jack to sell by himself the guy wouldn't come back until he sold out and who knows how long that would've taken under the current conditions. Crutchie didn't mind the extra hour out in the constant drizzle if it meant he got to do a little something to keep Jack safe too.

It's not too long before the circulation gates come into view and Crutchie can't help the relief that blooms in his chest. Now that they were heading home his discomfort was really starting to make itself known. His clothes aren't exactly soaked just yet but they're wet enough that every layer is clinging uncomfortably to clammy skin and his limbs are stiff and uncoordinated from the cold burrowed deep within them. He can't wait to get inside and find some of that soup to warm himself up. Jack looks just as eager to get back as Crutchie feels and his heart pangs empathetically. It was a sign that Jack was truly at the end of his rope when he started to get visibly tired.

They shuffled through the gates together, Jack's arm still wrapped securely around Crutchie's shoulders, and behind the counter the Delancey brothers scowl back at them. Jack grunts, slowing to a stop a good few yards away from the counter. He draws his arm back slowly, movements sluggish from his own cold-induced stiffness, and holds out a hand, "Give me your bag. I'll sell the whole lot back and we can get the hell back to the lodging, alright?" Crutchie nods and ducks his head under the strap of his paper bag so he can hold it out to Jack. Easy enough, the sooner they sold everything back the better.

Jack takes the bag and digs out both sets of papers as he walks over to the desk, wearing a shit-eating grin as he hands back the damp papes. Crutchie tries not to laugh, biting his lip to keep his amusement buried as Morris holds the wet papers with open disgust. Oscar grumbles under his breath the whole time he's counting out their money, face twisted into an ugly snarl when he slams the coins into Jack's waiting palm. Jack doesn't so much as flinch, pocketing the cash with a carefree grin, "Pleasure as always boys!" he practically sings as he turns on his heel and makes his way back to Crutchie. "Ready?"

"Definitely." Crutchie nods, allowing himself to be openly miserable now that they're on the last stretch home. "I swear, I ain't ever gonna be warm again," He bemoans. He'd wring out his cap if he could, just to be dramatic, but that would mean having to stop and he had no interest in doing that.

Jack chuckles and Crutchie basks in the warm sound, "Yeah, well, we'll get you under a whole lotta blankets when we get back then. It'd be a real shame if the cold was what did you in." He jokes and Crutchie smiles brightly right alongside him. This was what made life so wonderful. A lot of people didn't understand how the newsies could remain so upbeat. Crutchie's seen it time and time again, confused and pitying glances shot their way when they barreled down the streets without a care in the world. Hell, even Davey had looked at them in their ratty clothes with dirty faces and been flabbergasted by just how happy they seemed. It was easy, if you asked Crutchie, to be so content when you were surrounded by people you loved. Life could be hard, and most of the boys under their roof had suffered greatly, but they found family and joy in each other.

A deep, long rumble tore through the air and suddenly the drizzle turned to rain. Jack cursed under his breath as they quickly went from damp to wet and Crutchie was sure the rain would turn to a downpour sooner rather than later. Jack is still cursing, anger rearing its head at the sheer audacity of the universe, and Crutchie is fine to let that run its course as he continues to trudge forward. Jack is right on his heels, of course, but the bitterness is obvious still even though Crutchie can't see him where he's lagging behind. It's only fair, Crutchie thinks, that Jack be allowed to curse out the weather. He keeps enough under lock and key, emotions and fears and anything else potentially vulnerable wrapped up and kept hidden. He's allowed to curse out the weather.

The rain does, unfortunately, make it that much harder for Crutchie to move at a decent pace. His crutch got worn down and scuffed up at the Refuge and he'd put off any sort of maintenance on the thing for weeks. It had zero grip on the bottom, no cloth or wax or anything of the sort to give it any traction, and with slick cobblestone and mud covering the majority of New York Crutchie was slower now than he's ever been before. "You can go on without me." He tells Jack softly, knowing full well that Jack will decline but feeling better for having offered.

Jack scoffs and jogs up to Crutchie's side, rolling his eyes and laying a comforting hand atop Crutchie's head. They both pointedly ignore the way Crutchie's hat squelches under the pressure. "Like hell. We ain't too far now, we'll be there sooner than you think." He was right, of course, the lodging was just a street over now but it might as well have been in Brooklyn with the speed that Crutchie was moving. Still, Crutchie doesn't push it. He really hadn't wanted to walk alone anyway. Jack ruffles Crutchie's hair through the hat and laughs fondly when Crutchie tries half-heartedly to bat his hand away. He fixes Crutchie's cap before he pulls away and the mood is lightened briefly by their antics. Jack was good at that, cheering people up with smiles, jokes, and warm touches. It was one of the many reasons Crutchie admired him so much. Jack just had a way with people that was unmatched in Crutchie's experience. He connected with everyone, from people with high standing like Katherine Pulitzer to people with hard eyes and scuffed boots like Spot Conlon. Jack saw people with a good heart and he nestled his way in with such sly ease that Crutchie was certain he didn't even do it on purpose; it was just who he was.

Jack freezes abruptly and his eyes widen a fraction. Crutchie knows that face, he's seen it often enough, and his stomach drops. Jack twists to turn around but he doesn't even make it halfway before a fist is flying into his face. Crutchie cries out, startled, and turns around as quickly as he dared to without toppling over. He only catches a glance of Morris Delancey before Oscar is swooping in and pushing Jack forcefully into the nearest alleyway. "What're you doing!" Crutchie yells not because he thinks it'll get the bastards to stop but because he prays there might be some bystander to overhear somewhere nearby. With the way the rain is crashing down Crutchie doubts it but he isn't able to do much else and he refuses to just stand there and do nothing.

"Ah, shut it, crip," Morris sneers, grabbing Crutchie by the arm and pulling him easily along despite how Crutchie slips and stumbles against the quick pace.

Oscar shoves Jack again before he can regain his footing and Crutchie pulls roughly against Morris' unrelenting grip. "We didn't do nothin' to you!" Crutchie snaps, pulling again and only getting jostled in warning for his efforts. Oscar scoffs, slipping neatly behind Jack just as he finally gets his feet steady under him. He hooks his arms expertly under Jack's and pulls, yanking Jack flush against his chest and restraining him in one swift move. Jack's eyes widen, panic flashing so clearly across his face, and he thrashes uselessly in Oscar's grip.

Morris smiles and it's a smile like a shark, evil and sharp and bloodthirsty. "Bringin' back memories, Kelly?" The Delanceys share a cruel laugh and Crutchie can't help but feel like he's missing an important piece of the joke. Jack, for his part, doesn't even look like he caught a single word of the biting remark, still struggling against Oscar's hold like his life depended on it. Crutchie grinds his teeth together and steels himself. He adjusts his grip on his crutch, lifting it off the ground before slamming the bottom down on Morris' foot with all the strength he can muster. Thing is, Crutch is crippled, not weak. Hauling himself around the way he does he actually has quite a bit of upper body strength and he uses all of it to smash Morris' toes. Morris shouts, instinctively shoving Crutchie away and Crutchie, unable to move his crutch back into place in time, is entirely helpless to keep himself from falling roughly against the brick wall of the alley. He manages to catch himself against the wall to avoid hitting the floor but he had to drop his crutch to do so. He can do nothing but watch as Morris kicks his only means of walking out of reach. "You damn cripple." Morris snarls, eyes shining with ruthless anger.

"Don't fuckin' touch him," Jack snaps, panting in Oscar's grip. It's clear he's put a lot of energy into trying to get away. Crutchie feels a bitter satisfaction seeing Oscar trying to catch his breath too, knowing that Jack, while trapped, was still a force to be reckoned with.

Morris hums, licking his lips as he turns away from Crutchie and looks at Jack. "You think you're better than us now, huh, Kelly?" Oscar's lips pull back in a sneer and Crutchie can only imagine the disgusting sensation of his hot breath on the back of Jack's neck. The rain only seems to come down harder as Morris bends down and sweeps Crutchie's crutch up from the floor. Crutchie's stomach drops, squirming uncomfortably, and he stares with bated breath as Morris makes a show of inspecting the old wood held in a tauntingly delicate grip.  

"I am," Jack quips but his sharp eyes are locked only on the crutch. There's something guarded and resigned in his expression and Crutchie is surprised that it's something he can't place. He likes to think that he knows Jack better than anyone but whatever's going through his head right now is something that Crutchie can't even begin to decipher. Somehow that's more terrifying than the situation they've found themselves in.

Crutchie can see how Oscar's grip tightens even through the heavy sheet of rain soaking them all to the bone. He sees how Jack winces as his shoulders are forced back and how he shifts to try and relieve some of the pressure. Morris is still twisting the crutch against his hand, tapping the wood experimentally against his palm. He doesn't look up when he speaks but he raises his voice to make sure he's heard over the cacophony around them, "I guess we didn't beat it into well enough last time, huh? You may have won the strike, Kelly," Morris grips the bottom of the crutch like a baseball bat, winding it back as he widens his stance. "But you're still nothin' more than the dirt beneath our feet." He growls and Crutchie realizes what he's doing just a beat too late.

Morris swings and the heavy top of the crutch slams full force into Jack's stomach. Jack tries to keel over, the air rushing out of him, but Oscar's hold doesn't allow him the luxury. Jack coughs, wheezes, and chokes out a stiff, "Fuck you." Morris repositions himself and swings again.

"Stop!" Crutchie shouts, his hands slipping against the wall and sending him roughly to the ground. He glares daggers despite how the Delanceys ignore him, wincing sympathetically when another blow lands against Jack's chest followed by another and another and another until a choked cry is drawn from Jack's lips. Crutchie looks frantically on either side of him, hoping that maybe he'd find something he could potentially throw to maybe distract the brothers for even a second. A frustrated shout slips out when he comes up empty-handed. "Leave 'im alone!" Crutchie demands uselessly, fists clenched tightly against the gritty alley floor.

The Delanceys don't care for his protests, if anything Crutchie's shouting seems to spur them on. He can't do anything but watch as Morris keeps swinging, a satisfied smile spread across his face as he slams the crutch repeatedly into Jack's torso. He only narrowly avoids smacking into Oscar's arms but Oscar looks more than happy to be in the danger zone, a similar grin plastered across his own ugly mug. Crutchie doesn't know what to do, his desperate yelling hadn't attracted any passersby and Crutchie would be surprised if anyone was even out and about in this downpour. Jack's jaw is clenched defiantly and Crutchie's breath catches in his throat when Jack pointedly meets his eyes. Jack's gaze is hard, determined, but it softens significantly when he looks at Crutchie. This one is a look that Crutchie knows like the back of his hand, this is Jack's hey, look at me, everything's gonna be okay, kid look. It was a very familiar sight with all the trouble Manhattan managed to get themselves into and all the trouble that Jack had to get them out of.

Things change when Morris adjusts his grip and rolls his shoulders, sharing a terrifying glance with Oscar. The brothers share a nod, something dark and excited in their eyes. "What was it you said back then?" Oscar ducks his head and Charlie swears that his lips almost graze the shell of Jack's ear he's so close. He has to strain his ears to catch the words as they crawl slimy and vile out of Oscar's mouth."One unfortunate day you might find you got a bum gam of your own." He mocks in some poor imitation of Jack's thicker accent. Morris' smile is twisted on his face through the heavy rain and the shadowy alleyway barely lit by the light of the overcast day only makes him look even more demented. He reels back the crutch and swings so hard Crutch can actually see the wood cut through the falling rain. The hit lands sharp and heavy to the side of Jack's leg and the howl that escapes him is a sound that Crutchie doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget. Jack screams and Crutchie sees the leg give out but Oscar still keeps Jack unwillingly up on his feet.

"Shame you didn't heed your own warnin', huh, Jackie-boy." Morris coos mockingly, chest heaving with the inherent exertion that came with beating someone.

"Let 'im go!" Crutchie tries again, desperation sparking anew at the sheer violence. This wasn't the first time he'd seen the Delanceys beat on someone, and he remembers starkly how it feels to be beat down by his crutch, but this was a new level that planted something deeply terrified in Crutchie's chest. This was something that he was afraid would kill someone if it didn't come to an end soon. The Delanceys have never ruthlessly and intentionally broken something so sadistically before and Crutchie finds himself genuinely horrified by how things could escalate if they kept going. "Please, just let 'im go!" He begs, all thoughts of maintaining some fragile dignity gone. He couldn't care less if the Delanceys somehow managed to think even lower of him as long as they just let Jack go. 

Morris and Oscar snicker, "You heard the kid, Oscar." Morris chortles. Oscar shrugs, unhooking his arms in one quick movement and watching with obvious amusement as Jack crumpled bonelessly to the ground. Jack groans and Crutchie looks on with worried eyes as Jack's face screws up in distress. Morris leans over Jack and digs his toes roughly into Jack's side. He waits until Jack blinks his eyes open to glare up at him before he speaks, "Learn your place, Jack." Morris snips, smile falling abruptly from his face. "Don't go thinkin' you're somebody just because you got a few extra pennies in your pocket. You and your boys? You're still nothin'." He pulls his foot back just to kick Jack in the side and Jack groans again, arms snapping down to wrap protectively around his middle. Oscar huffs, staring down his nose at Jack like he was some weed growing unwanted in his yard and not a real person they were trying to cruelly tear apart. Something flashes in Oscar's eyes and Crutchie yells wordlessly as he pulls his own foot back and slams his heel angrily into the side of Jack's head.

"Jack!" Crutchie calls, eyes wide as he watches Jack's head snap to the side. Even from a few feet away he can see how Jack's eyes seem to glaze over, growing more hazy by the second. Morris scoffs, pulling himself back up to his full height. The brothers share a smug look over the beaten man laying broken between them. Morris looks again at the crutch in his hands and grins, gripping the base once more, and Crutchie's blood runs cold thinking that the beating still hadn't come to an end. He's wrong, thankfully, and instead he cringes as Morris swings the crutch into the wall above his head with all his strength. The wood splinters and nearly breaks clean in half before Morris tosses it carelessly aside. It lands with a soft clatter barely audible over the roaring storm. Crutchie swallows thickly, forcing his glare to stay in place as he watches the Delanceys saunter off with a sickening sense of pride rolling off of them in waves. He waits a beat and then another before turning back to Jack. "Jack," he calls quietly, concern so strong it nearly chokes him. Jack is staring listlessly at the wall, blinking sluggishly, and nausea churns fiercely in Crutchie's gut. "Jack!" he tries again, breathing a relieved breath when Jack startles and meets his eyes.

"Mm, 'ey, Crutch," Jack mumbles, wincing as he shifts. Crutchie winces right along with him, scanning Jack over as best he can from the short distance. There's a smear of blood at Jack's temple, his cap lost somewhere in the scuffle, and Crutchie hopes that it was just something superficial from the heel of Oscar's boot and not anything serious. Jack grunts, breath hitching, and Crutchie can only watch as he forces himself to just breathe through the pain.

"Hey, Jackie. C'mere, will you?" Crutchie does his best to keep his tone light, trying not to sound too hopeless despite how dreadful this whole situation was. Jack grunts noncommittally. "C'mon, Jack. I need to look you over, okay? Make sure you ain't gonna die on me." He says it with a teasing lilt to his voice but his heart hammers a frightened beat beneath his ribs the whole time he speaks. Jack swallows, eyes screwed shut, and Crutchie sees his throat bob. Jack nods, head lulling against the hard ground. He doesn't move immediately and Crutchie wonders if he's going to have to ask again. "Jack?" he presses tentatively.

"Yeah, 'm comin' alright. Just—" Jack swallows again, lips parting as he gasps weakly for breath, "Give me a second, okay?" It doesn't take long for Crutchie to realize that Jack's trying not to throw up. He knows that isn't a good sign, especially not after a blow to the head like that. He doesn't dare push Jack any further though. He doesn't want to contribute at all to the agony that Jack must be going through and he can handle the extra dash of worry added on top of the mountain already crushing his chest. It only takes a few more minutes before Jack heaves himself up onto his elbows but those few minutes feel like an eternity to Crutchie. He forces himself to focus on muttering soft encouragements to Jack as the older boy drags himself closer on unsteady arms, whining when his knee drags against the uneven alley floor. "Fuck," Jack hisses under his breath, nearly lost beneath the falling rain.

"Almost there, Jackie," Crutchie assures warmly, reaching out when Jack is close enough to grab the collar of his shirt. Crutchie hauls Jack the rest of the way as carefully as he can, frantically mumbling apologies when Jack cries out. It's awkward and ridiculous and Jack squirms a bit more than would've been convenient but they make do because they can't exactly do anything else. "That's it, alright, you're alright." Crutchie knows he's assuring himself more than he is Jack at this point and there's no doubt in his mind that Jack knows that too. Still, Jack lets Crutchie spew meaningless words without even a token protest, a tired smile on his face while he listens to Crutchie ramble.

He gets Jack settled halfway onto his lap, back pressed into Crutchie's knees in a way that had to be uncomfortable but Jack doesn't say anything. It only takes a glance at Jack's leg and a passing thought of oh, knees don't bend that way for Crutchie to avert his gaze. Not good. He has to battle with the nausea in his stomach but he forces the rising bile down with relative ease. He doesn't report his findings to Jack, he's sure that Jack is painfully aware of just how useless his leg's suddenly become. Crutchie knows they can't afford a doctor, especially not with the way business has been this week, but he wills himself not to linger on the implications of that. Instead, he starts prodding at Jack's torso with inexperienced fingers, poking at his ribs and hissing sorrowful apologies every time Jack flinches away from his touch. Nothing gives under his shaking hands and while that doesn't necessarily mean that Jack's okay it certainly means that no more bones are broken so Crutchie tentatively takes the win.

His hands hover hesitantly over the blood dribbling down the side of Jack's face. He knows that head wounds bleed a lot and the excess of rain water is only making it look worse than it is but it still makes his anxiety spike all the same. Jack grins lazily up at him, awkwardly laid across Crutchie's legs the way he is, "It's fine, Charlie," He assures despite how the way his words catch and slur say otherwise. He twists himself around with a series of grunts and winces until he's laying on his stomach and lowers himself down fully on top of Crutchie, completely uncaring of how Crutchie is sat up against the wall in a continuously growing puddle. He crosses his arms neatly atop Crutchie's lap before pillowing his head on them. "It'll be alright." He promises, sucking in as deep a breath as he dared as he made himself comfortable.

Crutchie barks a disbelieving laugh and allows himself the selfish comfort of running his hands carefully through Jack's hair, fingers glancing over the bloodied area as he searches for the wound hidden beneath the dark strands. Jack hums, tilting his head up into the touch, and Crutchie huffs an amused breath despite himself. He feels the warm blood beneath his fingers but fails to find the wound regardless of how long he searches. He found that oddly reassuring. If the wound wasn't even big enough to find then he didn't feel the need to worry too much. Slowly but surely the tension begins to bleed out of Crutchie and with it the adrenaline starts to fall away. Without the rush of worry and panic pounding through his veins Crutchie realizes just how freezing he is. The rain is icy and each droplet feels like a small knife piercing through his already frozen skin. He shudders, shivering starting up and wracking through his slight frame.

"Someone'll find us," Crutchie says, fingers still tangled in Jack's hair. It was already getting later into the morning by the time they were on their way back to the lodging house and Crutchie was sure that a decent chuck of time has passed since then. With weather like this the boys will be out on the streets searching for them soon if they weren't already. Someone would stumble across them sooner rather than later considering the fact that they were only a mere couple blocks away from the lodgings. Regardless, Crutchie knows that the wait will stretch on.

"Mhm," Jack agrees and Crutchie can feel the way he tenses as a wave of pain rolls through him. It doesn't help that Jack is shivering too. He's sure that each shudder is just another stab of agony through his beaten body. Crutchie wants to know what the Delanceys meant when they talked about beating Jack into submission before. He wants to know what horrible memories Oscar had dredged up by restraining Jack the way he did. He wants to know the pieces of the puzzle he was missing. He keeps his mouth shut, knowing this isn't the time, but the curiosity still mixes in with the fear and worry.

Crutchie's eyes fall to his crutch not too far away, splintered and bent and completely useless now. Had his crutch still been in one piece maybe he would've been able to hobble over to the lodging house himself and get help but now he was trapped just the same as Jack. He feels so utterly useless, untouched by the Delanceys but still unable to do anything but watch as they'd taken an extension of himself and used it as a weapon to beat his closest friend. He wasn't used to this kind of helplessness, even with his leg he's never been made to feel so utterly defenseless before. Usually he had a pack of newsies at his sides ready to come to his aid and not a single one of them ever made him feel less than for having a bum leg. He wonders, vaguely, if this is what Jack had felt like when Crutchie was taken to the Refuge. That's another question he wisely keeps to himself.

Crutchie doesn't know how long he sits there, fingers pressed idly to Jack's scalp while they wait. The rain dies down a bit at some point, easing back up into a heavy drizzle. Crutchie pokes at Jack here and there, asking him simple questions or drawing him into a halfhearted conversation just to make sure that he's still awake. Crutchie doesn't know how bad this head wound of Jack's is but he doesn't want to know what'll happen if he falls asleep. Crutchie himself is getting impossibly tired when he hears multiple sets of footsteps rushing down the sidewalks. He jerks to attention, eyes wide, and before he can even consider his next move he's yelling. "Hey!" He cries, cringing when Jack flinches in his lap, "Over here!"

"Crutchie?" Racetrack's familiar voice calls back. Relief slams into Crutchie so hard that tears immediately spring to his eyes.

A wide grin splits his face. "In here!" He shouts as the footsteps rush closer. "Jack's hurt bad!" He warns, a desperate tinge bleeding into his voice. Within seconds a handful of boys come barreling around the corner into the alley, each and every one of them drenched. Crutchie wonders how long they've all been searching.

"Christ," Romeo murmurs when he spots them, wide eyes flicking from Crutchie, to Jack, and then finally to Crutchie's crutch laying broken off to the side.

"Aw, man," Racetrack combs a hand through his hair, wet curls falling into his face. He winces at the sight of Jack, calculating eyes looking them both up and down as he silently tries to assess the damage. Jojo, for his part, doesn't say a word and he swoops in and starts gently gathering Jack up into his arms. It's not an easy feat and Jack makes an absolutely gut-wrenching keening noise when Jojo finally manages to get him settled into a careful bridal carry. "What happened?" Race asks as he comes up to get a closer look at Jack.

"The Delanceys," Crutchie answers with no small amount of bitterness. He happily takes the hand that Albert offers him and only stumbles slightly as he's hauled to his feet. He braces a hand on Albert's shoulder to keep himself upright and Albert slides an arm around his back to hold his steady. "Theys just followed after us. Came outta nowhere. They was gunnin' for Jack, barely laid a hand on me." It wasn't exactly shocking, Crutchie's never been the kind of instigator that Jack is. Jack got a kick out of making fun of the Delanceys and those boys had a shorter fuse than Spot Conlon some days.

"Your crutch," Romeo says mournfully, scooping the poor thing out of a puddle.

"We'll fix it up," Crutchie wasn't really worried about the crutch, all things considered. He was much more worried about Jack.

"Yeah, we will." Racetrack agrees with a curt nod, expression hardening. He carefully lays a hand on Jack's shoulder, looking fiercely into Jack's dazed eyes. "We got you, Jackie. Let's get you boys home, okay?" It was moments like these that made it so easy to see why Race was Jack's right hand. Racetrack was a wild card, full of boundless energy with a mouth that could compete with Jack's, but he was more than capable of getting serious when it was called for. He carried with him a sort of demand for attention that came in handy when his anger flared and he threw himself into a call for action with reckless abandon.

Jack huffs a soft laugh and groans immediately after, head rolling to press hard into Jojo's shoulder. "Sounds good to me." He grinds out through gritted teeth. It's enough of a go-ahead to get them all moving. Albert turns to Crutchie with questioning eyes and Crutchie only nods before Albert scoops him up into his arms. Crutchie would be able to walk fine with Albert's help but it'd be best if they could all get back to the lodging house as quickly as possible. Crutchie certainly didn't want to spend another second outside.

With how close they are the trip back is swift and painless for everyone but Jack. The whole way to the lodging house Jack is trying to muffle the sounds of pain that claw their way out of him with every step that Jojo takes. Crutchie doesn't tear his eyes away from Jack the whole time and Albert, the sweet guy that he is, makes sure that Jack stays in Crutchie's line of sight without so much as a word.

They burst through the doors to the lodging house and immediately rush over to where the rest of the boys are crowded around the lobby. By the looks of it they've all been huddled up down here already, every ratty old blanket they had brought in here so they could bundle up to chase away the cold. The boys all scramble apart once they catch sight of Crutchie and Jack, making a clear path to the center of their circle where Jojo and Albert waste no time in lowering them onto the floor. Albert is already helping Crutchie unbutton his shirt before Crutchie can even attempt to try with his numb fingers, pulling the wet fabric away and tossing it to the side to be dealt with later. Crutchie's undershirt is still damp but they didn't have much when it came to extra clothes so he'd have to make do. His hands are, thankfully, coordinated enough that he can at least take off his own boots and slide out of his trousers without much struggle. The second that he's free from all of his sopping clothes blankets are piled on top of him from all directions. They're already warm from the body heat of whoever was using them before him and he huddles into the warmth without a second thought.

When he looks back in Jack's direction he can see that he's nearly undressed similarly to how Crutchie himself was, down to just his undershirt while Jojo tried to carefully slide his trousers over Jack's busted knee. The thing is already bruised horribly, bright purples and searing reds snaking up his thigh. Jack is trembling violently, eyes squeezed shut, and he's panting where he's propped up against Spec's chest. It's a slow and agonizing process but Jojo does eventually succeed in wiggling Jack's pants off and, just as quickly as Crutchie had been covered, blankets descend upon Jack.

The bodies around them shuffle in, pressing against them and offering their warmth as conversations slowly start to pick up again. It's not as lively as it had been when they'd been interrupted and worried glances are shot in both Crutchie and Jack's direction frequently but the warm and homey atmosphere is quick to soothe Crutchie's nerves. He watches as Jack starts to relax, melting further and further back against Specs as he soaks in the comfort of their friends and family. After the morning they just had Crutchie absolutely basks in finally making it home. He knows that they'll have to get Jack to a doctor if that knee was going to heal right, none of them knew what to do about broken bones like like, and they'd have to worry about the cost of it all. He also knows that without his crutch he won't be able to do anything or go anywhere. Nothing's fixed despite the fact that they're home now but Crutchie has to hold on to the idea that things will be okay. He's never been one to back down in the face of a terrible situation and he's always been an optimist at his core. They'd be able to make it through this the same way they've made it through everything that's come before.

The bodies around him shift and suddenly a bowl of something warm and heavenly is being shoved in his face. He looks up to see Racetrack smiling softly and he reaches up to take the bowl in shaking hands. The heat feels almost like fire against Crutchie's cold hands but he doesn't dare put the food down. Instead he watches as Racetrack offers another bowl to Jack and Jack takes it with hands that tremble similarly to Crutchie's own. Specs watches Jack carefully, prepared to reach forward if he needed to should Jack's grip falter.

Jack raises the bowl to his lips. He meets Crutchie's eyes over the rim as he sips at the warm broth inside and Crutchie quickly follows his lead. The soup is just as amazing as it was the first day Davey brought it over and Crutchie lets the heat from the food flow through him. Jack smiles, leaning comfortably back against Specs, and Crutchie lets the worry bleed out of him for the moment. Right now he was surrounded by the people he loved, chatting happily, and he couldn't ask for more.

[norellenilia]

Damn, I remember the first time I watched FMA 03, when I was 16 or 17, I stayed up until 1 am to finish it, and today, watching episodes 38 through 42 turned me into such an emotional mess that I have to take a break lmao what happened??? My own emotional traumas, that's what happened

I'm feeling so many things again

In episode 38, when Ed and Al are fighting, Al drenches Ed in water and he says "it's going to rain!!!" and I'm like haha no don't try to pull a Mustang on me I know this episode won't make me cry and GUESS WHAT the flashback with Trisha convincing Ed to go and find Al so they can talk things out and Al looking so happy that Ed isn't upset with him anymore it's so cute I CRIED

I need -- no, I DEMAND a spin-off series where Winry and Scziezka solve murder mysteries together (I'd love to write it myself but I know I'm not nearly good enough at coming up with mystery stories lol), they're adorable I'm so happy they totally get together post CoS

Martel's death hits SO MUCH HARDER than I remembered holy shit, she and Al actually got close, we see more of her, her death is so horrific and hearing sweet sweet baby boy Alphonse cry just BROKE MY HEART I never wanted to hug an armor so badly

Scar's brother's last moments, the way he looks so terrified and desperate to protect his little brother from Kimblee and Scar being so devastated when he dies I just-- *clenches fist*

Sloth using Ed's PTSD against him that's so UNFAIR; also I was thinking that I was a bit disappointed that this anime did not include the nightmare that Ed has at some point in the manga where he sees his mom saying "why didn't you make me right" etc but this is it, this is this scene, and it's worse because he's hearing it for real, he is very much awake, he has the real voice of his mom in his ears and she's saying this to him and I'm-- *clenches fist harder*

Rose's story, I'm still so mad, she deserves all the happiness in the world

Speaking of Rose, it's so funny how the moment Al is like "I wonder how Rose is doing" the show just full on goes "Ed/Rose shipper" mode lmao, with Ed blushing while pretending not to remember her, him being so awkward when he speaks to her just before they go on their separate ways and her son just smiling and giggling when he speaks (first time we see the baby laugh, he had only been crying up until then) :') To be honest it feels a bit out of the blue to me but idk

Dante sporting Lyra's white ass in the town of brown people and speaking as if she was part of them just because she's following Rose around to manipulate her is incredibly cringe, but then again, it's Dante, she's the villain and we're already supposed to know something is up with "Lyra". But still.

Very random but Al pulling objects from or putting objects inside his armor from behind the cloth always looks very awkward lol

I used to never really care about Scar but I have learned the errors of my way as I now realize he is actually one of the best characters in this goddamn series, even with the orb of knowledge and the three arm losses, and Mangahood!Scar being much more villainized and ending up working with the military will never come even CLOSE to 03!Scar using his last bit of strength to save Alphonse to honor his love for his lost brother and take his ultimate revenge on those who murdered his people in the goal of protecting oppressed people, all of this while an epic music is playing (honestly it even feels like Ed is made to be seen as an obstacle as he tries to prevent the soldiers from entering Liore lol)

Sorry but Wrath is annoying as hell, I know that I'll probably have a different opinion if I rewatch CoS after that, but for now I hate him

We're finally entering the "Rewrite" era of the show and I had forgotten how much it rocks (Ed's hair animation at the beginning fhjkfhkdhjk)

I only have 9 episodes left but between Lust and Sloth in the upcoming episodes I'm not even sure I'll be able to watch it all in one go lol. Still excited to see more of Winry and Scziezka and remembering how much Hohenheim is absolutely useless in this x)

[mathematical-apprentice]

Back on Tumblr to rant into the void

But it's not just stupid people though, any body when confronted with evidence that they are wrong doubles down, it takes conscious effort to shake off that reaction and accept the fact that yeah, I'm not in the right here, let me step back.

In fact, by this very same logic, Ves is a very very very very very stupid person. Countless times they have warned him against passing through Smiling Samuel, but instead of admitting that maybe they were right, even in the face of the battle against the Ferril Province where he's clansmen died for absolutely no reason, instead of admitting wrong and turning around to do something else, he cause the collapse of an entire state. He doesn't admit his wrongs, but drags countless others to their death in the process of digging his heels in. And this is not the first time.

But that's just a personal gripe with the overly simplistic way Mech Touch presents religious people. As if not believing in God somehow makes you much smarter, as if all the things they blame on religion don't also happen under secular people. Not believing in a higher authority whatever it may be, does not make you suddenly a better human being, or a more logical creature.

It's not just a question of whether their god was tall or short, it is a question of whether he is their oppressor or not. The dwarves fight against the rule of humanity, and having a human god sort of goes against that. How do they explain worshiping a god in the very image of the people who enslaved and oppressed them? Like a colony who supposedly gained independence but still received and follows instructions from their colonial masters, the time required to smoothly integrate the two through philosophy and discourse is not small and such a thing is bound to cause trouble.

And they are conveniently ignoring the fact that Ves instigated the whole thing! They weren't at each others necks until Ves sent those statues. It's like someone causing two people to fight over a girl and laughing at them that they are fighting over a girl. It's just absurd.

However, I'd like to note that, there was literally no need for the fighting, none at all. Though the novel pins it on the lack of separation of church and state, I don't think that's it. Sure qualified people should be the ones to lead, by virtue of being in an environment, your thought process will always be coloured by that environment, which in this case is one's religious background. Secular people have also started wars for less. Mehn, now I'm reminded of Vinland Saga.

Sure, Mr. Narcissist. The end Justifies the Means and all, sir. Oga 'it's okay that we bomb and kill millions and push countless others into poverty and make the lives of people trying to survive a hundred times worse because GDP increase 0.0000001%' We see you on your grind.

Mech Touch out of context, strange choice of words, just saying

[glamphantasm]

OMxWhumptober 14

poor Mammon. I don't know why you're so fun to torment. 💛 he gets a break after this one for awhile (if i'm remembering correctly)

The Devildom was never quiet, not really. There was always something slithering in the shadows, something creeping just beyond the edge of sight. But tonight… tonight felt different. It was as if the entire realm was holding its breath, waiting for something to go terribly wrong. The kind of wrong that Mammon – though he would never admit it – was scared of. He stumbled through the dense, mist-choked forest, heart hammering, chest tight with panic. His mind kept running over the events of the night, trying to figure out how he got into this mess. He should’ve known better. He did know better. But his greed always got the better of him, dragging him into situations where the price was far too high. This time, the price might just be his life.

"Stupid… so damn stupid," Mammon muttered under his breath, voice shaking as much as his legs. The trees seemed to be closing in around him, gnarled branches reaching down like skeletal fingers. Every gust of wind felt like icy fingers tracing his spine. The fog made it worse – made everything worse. It clung to his skin like cold sweat, thick and suffocating. Somewhere behind him, he thought he could hear her laugh. Maddi. The witch. Her laughter had haunted him since he’d left, and that was only hours ago. But it felt like an eternity. She was beautiful. No, more than that. Maddi was the kind of stunning that makes your stomach turn. The kind of beauty that makes you uneasy, like something so perfect couldn’t possibly be real. Like looking at her too long would melt your mind. Mammon had been stupid enough to cross her, thinking he could charm his way out of it, as usual. But this time… she had all the cards. All he had was the creeping dread in his gut, growing with every step he took away from her. The blackmail – shit, how had he thought it would work? A letter, sure, a simple piece of leverage he thought would be enough to get him what he wanted. Instead, she had smiled. That sick, knowing smile. And now, she was hunting him. Not in the way most people would hunt; no, this was something different. This was a game. A twisted, dark game. And he was the prey. A sharp crack echoed through the trees, and Mammon froze, his breath catching in his throat. His heart pounded so loud it was almost deafening, drowning out the low hum of the forest around him. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, expecting – no, dreading – to see her step from the mist at any moment. But nothing. Just the mist curling tighter, the trees pressing closer. He hated this. All of it. The dark, the cold, the oppressive weight of the air around him. Mammon wasn’t built for this kind of terror. Spooky shit? Hell no. He avoided it, dodged haunted houses like they were traps set specifically for him. And now? Now, he was living his worst nightmare. The Devildom’s worst ghost story, come to life, and he was pinned down smack in the middle of it.

Shit shit shit, he thought bitterly, his fingers gripping the pendant in his hand. The damn thing had been the bait, the shiny object that promised wealth beyond imagining - should have paid off every grimm he owed for the rest of his life. But it was cursed, of course it was cursed. He should’ve known the moment Maddi mentioned it. Should’ve stayed away. Should’ve stayed home. The ground beneath him shifted, his feet sinking into the muck. A thick, wet sound squelched as he took another step forward, and Mammon gagged. The smell of briny rot filled his nose, sickly sweet and overwhelming. He stumbled, his vision blurring for a moment, and as he blinked it away, he saw her. Maddi. She stood a few yards away, her figure barely visible through the fog, but unmistakable. That perfect, porcelain skin. Her dark, flowing hair like a night sky. Her eyes… those eyes, wide and knowing, sharp as broken glass. She looked like she belonged there, in the mist, like the forest itself bent to her will. "You’re not very good at running, are you?" Her voice drifted through the air, soft, teasing. That same voice had whispered promises in his ear earlier, when she’d let him believe for just a moment that he might have the upper hand. A joke. Mammon backed away, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Look, I… I didn’t mean for this to get so outta hand, alright? Let’s just… let’s just talk about this." She smiled again. That smile. Like a knife glinting in the dark. "Talk? We’re well past that, Mammon." His heart sank. She wasn’t going to let him off easy. No, she wanted him to suffer. And he was suffering. His skin crawled under her gaze, a creeping sensation that made him feel like bugs were burrowing beneath his flesh. The fog swirled around her as she stepped closer. Too close. Mammon’s chest tightened with the kind of fear he didn’t know how to face. This wasn’t something you could fight, wasn’t something you could bargain with. This was ancient beyond ken. This was primal. And it was terrifying. "You really thought you could blackmail me?" Her voice was low now, almost a whisper. "You thought that letter would be enough?" He couldn’t even form words. His mouth felt like sandpaper, his throat too dry to speak. His eyes locked on hers, wide and wild, pleading without meaning to. He wasn’t used to being on this end of things. He was Mammon, for crying out loud – the Great Mammon. But right now? Right now, he was just a terrified man, desperately wishing he’d never gotten involved. Maddi reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek, cold and soft. A mockery of tenderness. Mammon flinched, but he didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. His legs felt rooted to the spot, as if the earth itself was conspiring to keep him there, at her mercy. "I could kill you right now, you know," she murmured, her breath like frost on his skin. "But that wouldn’t be fun, would it? No… I think I’ll enjoy watching you fall apart first." The weight of her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t breathe. His chest ached, his pulse raced, but his body wouldn’t move. His mind screamed at him to run, but he was paralyzed. She’s gonna kill me. She let her hand drop, stepping back just slightly, enough to give him a breath of space. "Go on," she whispered, almost sweetly. "Run, dear Mammon. Let’s see how far you get." For a moment, he didn’t move. And then instinct took over. He turned and bolted, running as fast as his legs would carry him, the fog tearing at his vision, the trees twisting into strange, unnatural shapes. His heart pounded in his chest, terror pushing him forward, but no matter how fast he ran, he could still hear her. That laughter. It wasn’t loud, but it was there. Always there, following him, chasing him down like a predator toying with its prey. Mammon’s lungs burned, his muscles screamed in protest, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t let himself stop. Not until he was far, far away. But even as he ran, he knew the truth. There was no escape.

He crashed through the underbrush, tripping and falling face-first into the mud. The thick, wet earth swallowed him, cold and suffocating. He scrambled, clawing at the ground, trying to pull himself up, but his strength was fading. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges. He could feel her now. Right behind him. "Mammon." Her voice was right in his ear, soft and gentle, as though she were cooing to a lover. But there was something cold underneath it. Something cruel. He felt her hand grip the back of his neck, and he froze, every muscle locking in place. "Don’t worry sweetheart," Maddi whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. "You’ll get what’s coming to you soon enough." And then, she was gone. Mammon lay there, shivering, his body sinking further into the mud. He was too weak to move, too tired to fight. His heart raced, but there was no adrenaline left to push him forward. No hope left to cling to. The forest was silent again, but the silence wasn’t a relief. It was the kind that comes just before something terrible happens. His vision darkened, the world spinning around him as the cold began to creep into his bones. He was going to die here. Alone. Forgotten. All he had was the regret, cold and suffocating, as Maddi’s laughter echoed in the distance.

[britcision]

So Vivienne’s wonderful and I love her forever

I stan her “well have you considered getting good” approach to literally everything in her life

She is very much still in the stage of “I shall bend the system to my will”, which is an interesting illustration of why she’s the only First Enchanter around right now;

The others have all been at it long enough to notice that the system is designed and built with Vivienne specifically in mind (and others like her)

An oppressive system does not survive decades without major internal dampeners to turn or break every single ambitious star that seeks to rise and make it their own

And it’s already working on her

Kirkwall is the bad Circle, but it’s an outlier; never mind that every single Circle has the potential to become as bad or worse, based only on which templars rise to control it

The ones she’s met are perfectly lovely, obedient little guards, and she has no complaints with her own treatment (which she ensures for herself by being a powerhouse and political goddess, something absolutely anyone could definitely do for sure don’t think too hard about it)

She’s seen the “good” outcome, so she thinks the system works because it’s working for her, and she can play within the bounds of the system… and she’s not exactly concerned with helping up those behind her

The interesting part is that she’s also not entirely wrong in her issues with the rebel mages; most of the other mages aren’t at court, and didn’t see the rising danger in public opinion that Vivienne did

(And they’re all likely a lot more affected by the restrictions than Vivienne, who only goes to the Circle when she wants to and lives where she likes)

She couldn’t understand their perspective on the suffering because… yeah, this was not a great time for the mages to rebel. Right after a possessed mage murdered hundreds?

Vivienne’s right; it makes them look like they care more for their comfort than the lives of citizens, because most of the citizens don’t know the conditions the mages endure

(Most citizens are part of the shitty conditions the mages endure, but again, Vivienne’s not had rocks thrown at her for being a mage)

The thing is that there would never be a politically acceptable time to rebel. That’s why it’s a rebellion, not a polite request

There would never be a single, perfect time that no one would spin to be about the mages being selfish and caring about their comfort over lives

Now is not a good time, but the other mages aren’t choosing it because they’re impatient and don’t want to wait

They’re rebelling now because they have been pushed beyond endurance by the templars (who still have not dealt with their own rogue people wandering around and murdering random civilians, but shhhhh don’t think about that, only mages are hurting the innocent for sure)

Vivienne can’t see their urgency because she doesn’t live that life, and because the system is already busily wrapping her in a shroud of comfort

Her actual view of what she wants for the Circles is still good; a safe place for mages to learn and come together

Magic schools, protected from superstitious populace by the templars (which requires a complete 180 turn of thinking by the templars themselves on if the mages are prisoners or people)

Maybe even some basic fucking protections to stop people from getting possessed, which literally everyone needs anyway because we’re living in wood and thatch houses and every single civilian has access to fire

EVERYONE is dangerous when possessed, mages just scale up faster the more powerful they are, but the more powerful they are the harder they should be to break

Unless they’re broken and mistreated and ground down until they buy into the “us against them” that the templars and citizens force on them, and stop caring if their tormentors are hurt

Which, again, is why Vivienne’s vision for the Circles cannot be realised under the system as it stands

As long as the Circles are a place to lock up mages so they can’t hurt “good, normal people”, someone will abuse it

And the person who abuses it the most, gets their mages the most “under control”, rises to the top on a tower of magic

And the rot spreads

And when you’re on the inside, but at the top? Not being stepped on but treated with respect and reverence? Well, how hard can it be to stay there all the time? Surely they can just wait for a better time to be free

The game’s trying so fucking hard to push its “Not All Templars” agenda but it’s actually only highlighting just how flawed this logic is, and I am FASCINATED with how perfectly they’ve replicated an oppressive system without even meaning to

They so clearly want you to buy the “not all templars are bad like not all mages are good”, but the problem’s right there on the surface:

The mages are dealing with their problems

They don’t want to get possessed either, and nor does anyone else

The templars are pretending their problems don’t exist

That they don’t need to deal with every rogue templar wearing their banner, drinking their lyrium, murdering random villagers and nobles left and right

You’re literally not allowed to even bring it up to the head seeker when he’s off grandstanding

Every mage who tells you “well not all the templars are bad” tattoos respectability politics on the insides of your eyelids because that’s the whole actual problem:

It doesn’t matter if not all the templars are bad. What matters is that the good templars cannot or do not try to stop the bad ones

The bad ones are the ones in power, making the rules

Good people who follow bad rules are complicit

A rotten apple only spoils the barrel if you leave it in there to fester

Anyway Vivienne > Cullen all day every day because

1) queen of Step On Me energy

And 2) we do not blame the actions of oppressors on the oppressed, even when they are propping up the same oppressive system

Also all the templars being mandatory drug addicts is a fucking wild twist and I can’t wait to see where that goes, I am blaming it for Cullen’s weird pinchy redness around his eyes and nose

[akirenhell]

Devilman OC: Azrael, the angel of death

SO AFTER AN UNGODLY AMOUNT OF TIME, I've finally decided to make a post about one of my most developed OCs I've had. (who is also related to Devilman. How surprising.)

Before starting, however, I wanna give a huge shout-out to @missn11 and @amyfartsart for the wonderful drawings they did of my boy. Seriously, go check out their art if you're also a Devilman fan. They're both a joy to talk to. ^w^

As the title suggests, Azrael is the angel of death in the Devilman world, with his main job being appeasing dying souls and then guide them to the afterlife; be it Heaven, Purgatory or Hell. It should be worth noticing that the angel is the "unnoficial" ruler of Hell as well (since he's related to Ryo/Satan), so he also makes sure to keep everything under control in the land of the damned. At least, as much as he can help it.

Despite his gloomy appearance and quiet nature, Azrael is a kind and sweet person. He’s always willing to help people, and he’s quite friendly as well. So much so he's even able to befriend demons of all beings, besides just humans, which makes sense considering everyone is equal in death’s eyes. He’s also incredibly curious, to the point that almost becomes a fatal flaw for him considering it can get him into danger.

However, Azrael isn’t as innocent as he seems. He can be quite cocky when he wants to, and despite being a silent dude, he’s a surprisingly strong angel in battle. So much to the point he became a rather feared fighter for demonkind. He’s overall a rather lovable dork, so long as you don’t get on his bad side.

While his main job as an angel of death is to appease dying souls, he doesn't always gives the same treatment to the souls of rotten, corrupted people. In fact, they might get something worse and more terrifying coming from Azrael before he drags them to Hell with him.

On the same topic, Azrael has a bit of a dislike for “unnecessary death”, especially when it comes to wars or politics that bring more bad than good when it comes to humanity or demons. Even more so if it is something that can be easily avoidable. He also has a strong dislike towards injustice, and will call out those who genuinely oppress someone with their ignorance. He’s not even afraid to be brutally honest with them.

~~Little bit of backstory and fun facts about Azrael in readmore~~

Powers and abilities:

-Being able to fly

-Superhuman strength

-Incredibly quick healing/regenerative abilities

-Can teleport himself

-Invisibility

-Can lend some of his powers to anyone by just handing them a feather

-Cannot die

-Facial distortion

-Shapeshifting

-Telepathy

-Merging with a living being and allowing them to use his powers

Trivia:

-Azrael got most of his fighting abilities thanks to the demon champion Amon taking him under his care.

-While Azrael can fight bare hands, he tends to use his whips most of the time, with one made out of leather and the other made out of silver. (Think of it like something from Castlevania). He also has a scythe, but oddly enough, he doesn’t use it in battles that often.

-Azrael actually has a castle in Hell, which is located in the first circle of Hell known as Limbo. It’s called Pandemonium, and a few demons live there with him.

-He has three demon familiars. A goblin, a pixie and an imp. They're his most trusted allies and they're based on the horsemen of the apocalypse. (Besides death).

-Since Azrael can shapeshift, he can turn into a crow or a black cat.

-Azrael’s bodily temperature is incredibly cold, which not only allows him to travel around the hottest spots in Hell with very little problem, but it also allows him to eat the spiciest of foods you could ever think of.

-Huge video game nerd.

-While Azrael genuinely cares about humans and thinks they’re interesting, there is some stuff about them that he can’t help but find weird. An example would be why they are so obsessed with the meaning of life, why some of them need to follow a religion, things like that.

-He’s a surprisingly decent cook, and has occasionally cooked demon meat before.

-He sometimes uses his whips to fish.

-Azrael possesses the terrifying ability of being able to distort his own face, which he can use to make the most scary of expressions that look like something straight out of the Mandela Catalogue. Some demons are genuinely horrified by this ability of his.

-Azrael keeps a journal where he writes down information about demons. It also has a few silly doodles of demons as well, as some sort of reference picture for each one.

-While Azrael cannot die by any means, the only way that he could be killed would be if it was done by his own hand.

Backstory:

While living in Heaven, Azrael was a bit of an outcast amongst the angels due to his gloomy appearence and quiet nature, with Satan being one of the few who he talked to. The two angels developed a brotherly bond between each other as time went on.

After getting the job of angel of death, it didn't take too long for Azrael to discover the existence of the demons, which was a frightening discovery as he ended up losing an arm during an ambush. Thankfully, it grew back thanks to his healing abilities, and despite the horror that shook him to his very core and the pain inflicted on his body, Azrael's morbid curiosity desired to know more about the demons.

With only his heart and instinct to guide him through, Azrael would continue with his job of reaping souls while living in the brutal world of the demons, gaining allies and enemies along the way. He even encounters Satan once more, who's now the main ruler of the demons, and the two decide to keep in contact with each other.

However, thanks to the violent and raunchy nature of the demons, Heaven's ruler, God, decides to destroy them by sending several angels to Earth in an attempt to hunt them down, with the attacks becoming more and more frequent as time goes by. It gets so intense to the point Satan has to request Azrael if he would join the demons’ side so that he could aid them in the war.

Unfortunately, due to a mix of fear and hesitation of wanting to hurt his divine siblings, Azrael has to decline the offer; and while it pains Satan, he somewhat understands his decision. However, the three-headed demon Zennon (one of Satan’s second in command) isn’t pleased at all by this and angrily declares Azrael a traitor of demonkind, something a lot of demons end up believing as well. Considering he isn’t longer welcome there, the angel ultimately ends up leaving in exile.

While Azrael still doesn’t end up joining the battle and remains neutral to both the forces of Heaven and the demons, he still tries to aid the demons in any way he can by building shelters where the weaker or smaller demons can hide from the war. All while he focuses on collecting the souls of the dead demons, and witnessing just how brutal his siblings have become by mindlessly destroying what was once a chaotic yet beautiful world.

Eventually, Azrael is taken back to Heaven after he has been found out helping the demons, and after a rather heated argument with God, the angel of death ends up being trapped in a void of darkness that leads him to Hell; the afterlife of the demons and the enemies of Heaven.

Once the war is over, and with the demons (alongside Satan) buried bunder the ice to gather strength, Azrael gets free again; still quite affected over what happened. In fact, he barely talks to God and his other angelic siblings at this point, spending more time on Earth collecting souls and even in Hell or the void, for he no longer feels safe in the realm of Heaven.

From here on, the events of Devilman take place. Something Azrael ends up witnessing on every detail, including how the human Akira Fudo became a devilman thanks to his friend Ryo Asuka (who Azrael quickly assumes is actually Satan taking the form of a human), his battles with several demons…And the tragic end of the world by the demons revealing themselves to humanity, driving them insane with paranoia, and with the demons and devilmen going through a war with no winner.

Things would get worse as not only Akira ends up dying, but Azrael eventually finds out about the timeloop God has put Satan through as punishment for what he did thousands of years ago.

Obviously, due to his fear, Azrael at first tries to stay out of this; thinking Satan deserved such a fate upon him. However, the longer the time loop continues, and the more suffering he sees, the angel starts to realize just how utterly cruel this punishment is. It doesn’t help that, loop after loop, Satan starts to become more jaded and emotionally exhausted, to the point Azrael is worried his brother could become an empty shell of his past self.

Once he realizes just how utterly despicable this is, Azrael finally makes his choice: to finally stop God from putting his creation under such a vicious cycle of self destruction, even if it means he has to kill the being he once called “father” to free Satan, Akira, the demons and all of humanity.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for causing the apocalypse in order to prevent all future more minor apocalyptic events?

I (63M) live in a world where plate tectonics are very unstable and every few hundred years, some earthquake, volcanic eruption, or similar event happens with enough force to block out the sun and cause mass starvation for years. Our societies are built around able to survive and not be destroyed by all of this, but the constant preparation has held people back a lot and many people still die during those times. I've done a lot of research into the history of this world and found that it wasn't always like this, but was the result of people many thousands of years ago, who had a more advanced civilization than our own, using their technology to try to harvest energy from the Earth, which unknown to then was sentient and the resulting events of their attempt to do so led to the moon being knocked out of orbit and lost, for which the Earth has been mad at humanity and trying to kill us ever since. It so happened that the moon was going to return very soon.

Now, at this point I was desperate and tired of the endless cycles of violence in our world. It wasn't just what the earth did, but the way the more I learned about history, the more it seemed that oppression of people like me and our ancestors was a constant. I've been discriminated against for my powers all my life and used as a tool by the empire in power. They claim that people like me are the privileged ones, when others with the same powers are often murdered, but I've learned enough to know that's all a lie. They still killed my lover for to punish me for questioning things too much, and forced me to have children who they then lobotomized and forced then to use their powers to prevent earthquakes in constant agony, and when I was able to escape by accident to a place where people with powers like mine were welcome they tried to kill or capture my whole family. And this is never-ending; the very reason we lost the moon in the first place is because the civilization at the time used the people they oppressed to power the machine that did it.

So seeing no other way to break all of these cycles, I realized that I could use the remnants of the magical engine used to take away the moon in order to bring the moon back. But in order to do so, I needed to use it in a way to release so much energy from the earth that I would have the power I needed. This would require me to create a crack in the earth so big that it would block out the sun for thousands of years, creating a disaster far worse than the ones before that would kill everyone on the planet - although it wouldn't have a chance to kill everyone if the moon was returned first. So I decided to do that, breaking apart the continent right where the capital city of the empire was. This killed millions of people immediately, and I could have done it somewhere less populated but I thought the only way to make sure the world wouldn't be rebuilt with more oppression was to destroy the power that was responsible for it completely.

And one more thing that might make me the asshole here; using the power of the remnants of the engine was not something I could do twice, because using it once means you will turn to stone if you ever try to use it again. Therefore I had to hope I would find someone else with the same high level of power as me (which is rare) who would be able to finish the job within the two or three years before the moon came back, or else it would be the end of the world for real. But I saw no way to make the constant horrors of both natural disaster and bigotry end.

[thedevilsruby]

Foe of the Guide (Clierra multichapter fic)

Sierra Rossi's parents died in front of her because of Giovanni Pasini and his family's invention, the Guide. Oppressed by years by corruption and greed, she comes of age to fight against those who have wronged the world she lives in. She just didn't expect to fall in love along the way.

She feels her mother's hand yank her to her bosom, cradling her as close as a mother could her baby.

"No, no, you can't, she's only a child! Please, please-!" A gunshot is all Sierra hears and she feels something warm land on her dress. All she can see is her mother flying to the ground, eyes now dark and lifeless and crimson splattering her once yellow dress.

She screams out for her mother, tears filling her eyes.

"Sierra, baby, listen to me." Her father says, cradling her face in his hands. "Run, run as far away as you can and don't look back. I love you baby, so so much."

"But daddy!" Sierra tries to protest.

"GO!" Her father yells, pushing her away.

Sierra sobs out, running as fast as her little legs can go, before more gunshots ring out and she hears her father's body hit the ground.

She sits up with a loud gasp, clutching her blanket to her chest. She pants hard as she looks around. No blood or bodies, much to her relief.

Sierra sighs, holding a palm to her forehead. That was what, the fifth time this month? The dream has haunted her time and time again since she turned 18.

Her Houndoom Dexel, whines and military crawls to her, calming her down with kisses only a pokemon could provide.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm fine, it was just a dream." She whispers to him, petting him. "A...very bad dream that happened for real years ago."

A knock snaps her out of her thoughts and Houndoom's ears perk up.

"Give me a minute!" She calls out, throwing the covers off her and shivering at the slight chill in the air. She grabs whatever hoodie in nearby and her white pants. She slips them on and walks to her living room door.

"Hey Willow." She hugs the older man upon seeing him.

"Hey Erra, good to see you." Willow replies, hugging his surrogate niece back. "Are you okay? You look-"

"I know, I know." Sierra sighs. "I'm fine."

"You had the dream again, didn't you?" Willow asks, concerned. Ever since she moved into this tiny apartment to be on her own, the dreams of her parents being murdered have been getting worse. He hated to see her like this.

"It's nothing, Will, I'm okay." She decides to change the subject before Willow pushes it. "What's the new plan today? Last plan almost got us found out."

"Not exactly Candela's greatest plan." Willow mutters. "But Blanche has cooked something up and we're gonna try it."

Sierra goes to her coffee pot and brews enough for two cups. "Of course that brainiac made something. What is it?"

"It's something they call a 'drone'." Willow replies, sitting at Sierra's dining room table. "It's a flying camera basically."

Sierra raises an eyebrow. "A flying camera? Like Giovanni won't find that suspicious?"

"It'll be disguised as a Yanma, so it'll be inconspicuous." Willow says. "There are plenty of Yanmas in the city, this one isn't special to him."

Sierra shrugs. "I'll take a look after breakfast, we just gotta be careful with the cameras watching."

Cameras were the normal in the cities. Giovanni's ancestor Armand had the idea to install them in case anyone tried to badmouth the family or Guide in public.

Years ago, the Pasini family invented Guide to try and help humanity, to improve the lives of many. IT was going to help elderly people to their feet when they fell, help movers lift heavy objects, help people who's cars had breakdowns and there were no mechanics around.

Now it was only a tyrannous device, making sure the people stayed in line, beat others if they looked or acted suspicious, report minor crimes and jail people.

Many hated it, but the Pasini family ruled with an iron fist, so there wasn't much that could be done.

Until Sierra's family gave people hope and started a secret rebellion, The Golden Fighters.

The very thing her parents gave their lives for and left for her to continue.

"Well, maybe this time the Golden Fighters actually have a small chance." Sierra sighs, pouring sugar and cream into Willow's coffee. "Let's hope this works."

Willow only nods in response.

-

Can you tell it's been awhile since I've written? I hope I'm not TOO rust lmao hope you all enjoyed!

[deathfavor]

@yeonban​ said: for chrollo and shalnark to spend the night together in a shared room on the whale after the traumatic experience of his and kortopi's unexpected deaths. shalnark doesn't say anything for while, too focused on trying and failing to keep his eyes from changing colors every other second (from green, to crimson, to green, to crimson again) and after a sigh, he raises a hand over his eyes to shut them close altogether. he doesn't mention it, though, preferring to bring up their plan instead. ever rational, whether naturally so or through his sheer force of will.

"chrollo," the blond starts by not using the title that bears responsibility for their deaths in the other's eyes. "do you have any abilities that can erase hisoka's body entirely, or should we rely on blinky and hope it doesn't trigger hisoka's revival?" it's better not to think about the past, even when it still bleeds, and bleeds, and bleeds into his every move. "if he managed to revive himself once, we can't rule out the possibility that he can do it again. machi said he just sprung out when her nen touched him, so shizuku's might trigger it too, but on a ship of this size... even if none of us were to touch him after the fact, someone's nen is bound to. assuming that whatever trick he used only works if there is a corpse, we need to make sure not to leave any inch behind, and preferably erase it at the same second we kill him, to avoid complications."

    It is not abnormal for Chrollo to sit in silence, the calm at the eye of the hurricane that was the volatile nature of the troupe. Perhaps that is what makes him so efficient as the head, how so many powerful and loud personalities can come around him, like the dark rain clouds of a storm that is deadly and violent, yet the eye of a hurricane always seems at peace for a moment. But there is an unspoken heaviness in this silence. Something omniscient and oppressive even against the unyielding head. He does not yield, he does not shatter, but even his head and shoulders bow beneath the weight of it.

   Too often people assume he feels nothing. In many cases he does not. But for those close to him, he cherishes them. He will laugh and he will cry for them. Shalnark is here in spite of death’s jaws ; for that he is grateful. It does not ease the weight. It is one thing for a Spider to die on a mission ( personal or otherwise ). It is another to feel he is responsible, no matter what Shalnark had said. Despite his own cold logic that indicates he never could have known that because no one plans for death to turn traitor to itself. Yet the human heart is not so easily dissuaded from its feelings. It was the dangerous side of emotions.

   “  I still have Indoor Fish.  “  Chrollo answers, his gaze focused ahead with a deadly seriousness.  “  It carries several advantages, but there are drawbacks. “  Hisoka didn’t know the details of Indoor Fish most importantly. Hisoka didn’t know the details of most of Chrollo’s arsenal. Nor did most of the troupe for that matter. Together they would have a good idea, but much like his hideouts, they were scattered facts that always has a level of protection to them. To spill all his tricks would be foolish.  “  It only needs an enclosed space, which is not too difficult to accomplish in current circumstances. They enjoy human meat, it would destroy his body entirely. “  The information eases itself from his chest. Still, he’s never utilized it against someone like Hisoka. It was a thought to consider.  “  We shouldn’t need to rely on blinky. I have a few other techniques that might be utilizable for it, potentially faster, but with the caveat of a higher chance there might be a reaction than Indoor Fish.  “

   Hisoka’s revival is something that he had pondered over. How it was achieved.  “  It will only get worse.  “  He lets the sentence fall like a gavel in the courtroom as he stands, though he makes no move to walk or leave their room for the night.  “  As far as we know, Hisoka has not lost anything for his revival. Which means it was likely through either a condition, or he utilized the intense will and emotion Nen can harbor.  “  It is Chrollo who turns to look towards Shalnark for a brief moment before ahead again.  “  A condition would only make sense if he lived. Something like Kurapika’s. It would also need to be something specific. Thus, he must have utilized the intense emotions that can remain attached to Nen. If he used his texture skill on his body like he did the tattoo, it would explain how it remained centralized to his corpse specifically.  “  His eyes close for a moment.  “  In which case, it was his intense desire towards me in some form.  “  Either for more fighting, or to see him suffer. Potentially both. Hisoka was that sort of devil.

   There is no guarantee to this of course. It is based merely on logic and assumptions, but Chrollo often had a knack for deciphering details others hadn’t yet been able to catch or analyze in such depth.  “  It has not faded but only grown. If this is the case, his potential for returning should his corpse survive is high. Even if we tore him apart limb from limb, someone might try to reassemble him if they came across his parts, unless we ensured essential aspects WERE destroyed. Brain, heart, lungs.  “  He waves a hand slightly, indicating a shared understanding they knew the implication.  “  Although even just a hollow shell, if his Nen and will is strong enough, might utilize it as a vehicle of that desire to kill.  “  Chrollo had never heard of it, a body puppeted by the will of Nen after death, but it wouldn’t shock him anymore. Especially not with Hisoka.  “  Complete annihilation is the only acceptable conclusion, be it through one of my Nen abilities or more common means.  “  

[critrolestuff]

Too tired to make this eloquent, but imo the way the town elder (Abedinna? Not sure how it’s spelled) and her ideology is presented in the latest episode feels kind of…off? Like, they have a good point re: their religious freedom and the oppression coming out of Vasselheim, sure, and you want them to have their freedom and have justice for that, but then the solution they’re gunning for is just…a complete reversal of fortunes? To do to the followers of the Prime Deities what was done to them, but more extreme? I’m not saying they *can’t* be presented that way or that no one would ever feel like that in their position, but it still kinda reminds me of like…discussions on irl colonialism and how a prevailing line of thought among an oppressing class is often that if the oppressed are given back their rights/land/etc, they’ll take the first chance they get to oppress in turn. It’s a very eye-for-an eye idea of what “justice” looks like that is often not actually shared by the oppressed group, but it’s the only thing the oppressing group can really imagine when considering a change to the status quo

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very curious to see where the story goes from here and I like the sticky nature of the dilemma it presented to Team Issylra in terms of balancing their goals/allegiances/etc. But one thing that’s been bugging me throughout the campaign is that even amongst the people fighting against Ludinus and his machinations to seize control, the actual topic of that control never really even comes up at all as an argument against him? Everyone’s like “we don’t want him filling the space the gods leave behind if they’re cast down” or “we don’t want him destroying the world in the process of destroying the gods” but I don’t think we’ve EVER heard anyone bring up the point that like…that’s not a choice you make for other people. Even the “good guys” don’t seem to actually take issue with destroying the gods for any reason other than “the material cost/body count would be too high/we’d get something worse in their place”

And that just seems particularly highlighted to me in this recent episode. Ostensibly you’ve got a community of people who don’t worship the prime deities and want to be left alone to follow their own way of life in peace, but then they (Elder Abedinna in particular) immediately turn around and go “hey, maybe utterly destroying the source of millions of people’s faith without giving them a choice in the matter so we can do our thing isn’t a bad idea!” And just…the hypocrisy of that kind of goes unchallenged

Idk it’s just been a thing that’s kinda felt unsatisfying to me so far in c3. We’ve gotten an abundance of characters who are all varying degrees of “fuck the gods” albeit in their own interesting ways (and granted, it’s definitely interesting to me to see the motivations & actions of characters who don’t necessarily have any love for the gods, but still fight against Ludinus anyway), but…it also feels like a lot of the same thing after a while. This could be such a rich conflict of in-world theology and philosophy and I really feel like there’s a lot of potential stuff to chew on regarding the themes of choice versus force, autonomy vs subservience, etc, but it feels like those things are going unaddressed in a lot of ways (or addressed in a very one-note way, like I was feeling with the latest episode).

Coincidentally, one of my hopes for the combat in the next episode is that we will in fact get to see one or more Judicators joining the fray, but not just as bludgeoning tools for the Flame Guide to wield against the party. According to the lore given, they’re supposed to be - more or less - vessels to carry out the will and power of their gods, so if there actually *is* disconnect between the will of the gods and the actions of the mortal institutions that purport to serve them (as Orym mentioned in conversation with the Elder), it would be very interesting to see that set-up followed through on. I’d love to see the Judicators do…*something* unexpected in this fight, whatever that may be, that complicates the battle lines our cast of characters have drawn up. Idk if we’ll get that, though. They might just end up being used as especially big hammers to hit the PCs with. But I kind of hope not, or at least, that that’s not all that happens with them. If it is, that would definitely have interesting implications for the Judicators’ nature, ie: are they *really* vessels of divine will, or are they just vessels for the will of whatever mortals are at the top of the power structure?

Anyway. This is messy and I’m tired. Send post

[nickleback-fan]

Short Story - "Tom"

Writing prompt: Write a story in which a characters position as an outsider has a major effect on the story.

Shh... Shh... Shh...

Those were the shrill sounds which I awoke to.

After a moment I stirred, and while at first disorientated, I made the attempt to examine my surroundings. The source of this strident noise which still filled my ears I soon discovered, a machine. It stood in the corner of the room, Imposing, almost evil. From it emanated innumerous tubings, each impossible to follow with the eye for more than a second - it's inconceivably tangled mass fooling my vision. An artificial diaphragm working insessently at its head, the culprit which produced the maddening drone. One of these tubes led to a mask, tightly secured to my face, undoubtedly administering some dreadful miasma, to which I owe my current state

For how long I remained in that position I cannot tell you, both mesmerised and terrified by the machine's repetitive motions. I pondered my next move, orchestrating hundreds of plans, yet I did not budge. I'm not sure what possessed me, what inspired me to finally act, but eventually i stuck out at it. It groaned - as if begging for mercy, before giving out. It was then I removed the mask, and surveyed the room. I venture out of the safety of my bedsheets and wander around the space. It is a strange place, although I cannot articulate why. It almost seemed as if it was examining me as thoroughly as I was it, peering from cracks and shadows. There was some distressing familiarity in it, while still feeling truly alien to me. I had seen many like it, it's drab walls, antiquated furnishing, giving a sense of archaic mystery to it. Despite trying my best to avoid doing so, it was at this point I accidentally caught sight of the machine once more. Menacingly, it stared back at me. Redolent of some cacodaemonic cosmic horror, tenticles reaching out in every direction; desperately searching for its next victim. This time however, I had no chance to lose myself in this vile mechanical contrivance, as I was interupted. It was then that the first rhythmic thud sounded at my door. I readied myself for what was to come.

My heart raced as the door opened. The click of the latch, squeak of the unoiled hinges, all building up to the entrance of this visitor. This suspenseful moment shattered as a rather innocuous figure came through the door. Saying nothing, giving no indication of what his intentions are apart from a short grimace towards the machine. He turns, and beckons me to follow. I obey, what choice do I have? With that, I step out into the unknown.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, from the dimly lit bedroom - it's only source of light being what little could pass through the curtains - to the blinding white LEDs of the hallway I had just set foot in. I tried to absorb as much as I could, without falling behind. This place felt unnatural. An endless passage, lined with doors identical to one another; no windows to speak of. The white linoleum floor squeaked beneath my companions feet. Air conditioning whirred, providing the soundtrack to this oppressive scene. After what felt like hours, an end was in sight. An overwhelming sense of dread filled me as we approached the end of the corridor. My imagination ran wild in those seconds, what "they" would do to me, whatever malevolent monster was behind this facility, what inconceivable horrors waited past this ingress.

What I saw was, in ways, worse than anything I had anticipated. Initially, I felt a sense of relief; I saw others. Regular people, like me. Joy washed over me, as for the first time in this terrible ordeal, I wasn't alone. This feeling however, was fleeting. Upon further examination, there was something wrong with these people. At first glance, yes, they seemed perfectly normal, but after a full inspection there was something missing. After my guides indifference towards what I did - so long as I remained in the room - was made clear by his general dismissal of me, I attempted to speak to the others. My greatest fears were realised; my queries were met with confused looks and half answers, as if they themselves couldn't understand what I was saying. I collapsed in a heap of despair. I was lost. Any hope of others like me, of company, lost. Surrounded by people, I was more alone then when I first awoke. An outsider.

I felt a hand on my back. Another, dressed like the man who arrived at my door what now felt like an age ago. He offered his hand, helped me up. Words of sympathy, how he heard I had s mishap this morning (undoubtedly referencing my destruction of the Machine). They felt rehersed, like he had done this one thousand times before. I did not know this man, nor did I trust him and his honeyed words. Nonetheless I did not make a scene, merely remained silent. He rambled about "doctors orders" and "that time of day" but I payed no heed. I saw what he was hiding. In his hands he brandished, beneath a light blue cloth, a syringe. Undoubtedly sedation, what else? What better way to deal with a troublemaker then to nullify the problem. I knew I had to act fast, no time for idle contemplation. I lashed out at him, like I had to the Machine hours before, disarming him momentarily. I felt my bones ache as I slowly attempted to flee. This small triumph however, was quickly thwarted, as my opponent seemed relitivley unphased at my outburst. He easily caught me, and escorted me back to the hall without difficulty. The entire journey, he chastised me, as if I was some misbehaving child who didn't know better. I was a young boy, refusing to eat his greens. I was confused, and disorientated. Why am I being met with such a response? Was I not, for those moments, dangerous assaultant, worthy of sedation? Does he see me as so little?

He ushered me into the bedroom, calling out to me as he shut the door "We will have a chat and try again later, alright Tom?". Upon hearing my own name, I froze. For the first time that day I looked down, and saw my withered hands. I approached the glass of water on my bedside table, and saw one of "them" staring back in my reflection. The lost expression, those empty eyes. I saw myself for who I was. I cross the room, and open the drawer beneath the wardrobe. My muscles ached as I bent - the strain of a long life - as I fished out the photograph. I looked at the stranger in the photo. The man whose memories came back to me occasionally. He is surrounded by people, loved ones, no doubt. I gaze longingly at the image. How I wish I could go back. But he is a stranger to me now, lost to the cruelty of age. I knew, deep down, that this wasn't the first time. And worst of all, I knew it wouldn't be the last. In my anguish, I carefully placed the frame back, and I wept. I wept for what I had lost. I wept for the life I had forgotten, but most of all, I wept for tomorrow. For the days of lethargy, misery and boredom. An outsider in my own mind.

[mjammies]

Can someone come and collect Apsen (the Elite)

rereading the selection series havent read it since probably high school. i am currently reading the elite and here are my thoughts for a couple chapters. new developments as ive gotten older, 1) I hate america with every fiber in my being and 2) apparently im team maxon now. Things that havent changed, 1) grammar and spelling still suck and 2) too lazy to fix those issues previously mentioned. anywho here are my thoughts for the elite ch 11-13

Ch  11

Post rodding incident:

-marlee and carter are together and miss thing is still mad

-doesnt see how canning is merciful over dying 

-Oppression olympics!! Trying to tell the others they would be begging for death over rodding, girl stop

-”im sure ive experienced far worse than you” okayyy heres a cookie miss maam

-now you lunging at people cause they calling your friend names. Okayy i get it but i think this stuff is striking a cord in you. Like was that a personal attack. 

-not the nurses spreading gossippp. Lol not them ready for that girl to get jumped. As i said if it was celeste getting the beating miss thing wouldnt even bat an eye

-celeste out here putting glass in the gurlls shoes omgg

-not celeste out here hitting the help omgggg

-girlll stopp asking about marlee, she did what she did and that is the end of that. No body is moving, marlee is out living her life with her busted man.

-girllllll pick-me pick-me pick-me, you should know by now HEIS NOT LETTING YOU GO 

Like get it through your thick red skull that you could literally jump his father and he would still find a way to let you stay, like give it up unless you decide to go home you will literally be stuck in this palace forever so hang it up NEOW.

-out of all the people you dont trust and its maxon like girl stop

Ch12

-here come aspen, rolls eyes 

-a date?! Are you kidding me. Aspen kys pls, thank you 

- im ready for this castle to blow up 

-”we might get caught” I SURE HOPE SO

-”if you ever want to seek around the palace im the guy to do it with” OKAYYY BOTH OF YALL KYS THEN cause what 

-”i was still worried, but i needed to be comforted so badly” okay so your also a w****

-not aspen tryna sabotage. YOU CANNOT COMPETE WITH A PRINCE, HANG IT TF UP ASPEN

-yall thinking he gon do the ole bait and switch. Start beating on that girl as soon as the vows are read or something

-” i feel so stupid” YOU SHOULD 

-”i couldnt imagine being with anyone else” buttt…… dont you marry her maid so…..

-”im really sorry maxon turned out to be such a bad guy.” HUH! Whatthehellyouisyoutalmbout

When did we decide he was a bad guy, when did the council come to THAT decision 

-”maxons hold on me was slipping away” the hold of a PRINCE is slipping away.. Okay pack it  up ELECTRIC CHAIR for yous BOTH

-brooo they caught yall in a closet plz bffr

-loll they called miss girl a clown thats so funny 

-see now theyre both treasonous talm bout tried to release her during her canning, now youre in last place with the nation 

-”make sure shes worthy” WELL I CAN TELL YOU WHO ISNT! WITH A QUICKNESS TOO

Ch13

-“The king was expecting me to fail” you know what, if i was the king id want you to fail too lmao

-”I ran from the room” -1000000000 aura points, toughen up plzzzz

-”when aspen slid my door open that night” the way i would be standing there waiting on him with a gun cause have you lost your MINDDDD

-”you know who you are dont let anyone try to change you” broo nobody like America BUT YALL

-”all you know how to do is play the piano? Suddenly you’re supposed to know how to do clerical work” bruhhh do yall think sitting at a desk is going to kill you like PLZZZZ -broo what is he gonna do with these pennies

-first pennies now buttons mad face

-oh so it sacrifices what you want, is that it!!! It is cause he has nothing else to give????!!!?!?!?!?

-”Apsen’s generosity was harder to see because it wasnt as grand as Maxon’s, but the heart behind what he gave was so much bigger” SO….. youre telling me that if maxon gave you a STICK then it would mean more to you