#(I'm too much of a coward to tag; as stated above)

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

Been seeing a lot of dmc5se art (I'm too much of an anxious coward to tag them, sorry) lately and, some times, they draw Dante (and others) in the style of MLP. So, I thought it would be fun to draw as well! It's been an EXTREMELY long time since I've drawn MLP styled stuff (or drawn traditionally for that matter) so it's a bit rough (and stiff) but *shrugs* it was fun.

Forgive the poor picture quality, my phone's focus doesn't work right-- it's a feisty bitch and I hate it lmfao Also my handwriting is horrible, sorry lmao (Rambling about this idea below because I have been suffering brain rot over this)

Putting in my two cents on the idea, I think that Sparda (and his descendants) would have a white coat and blank flank (which is covered by their coats).

Sparda would obviously be a demon pony. I think that his "human" or in this case "pony" form would be of an earth pony with a hint of batpony. He'd want to blend in the best he can. He's too bulky to pass as a pegasus and would have an odd shaped horn if he tried to pass as a unicorn. The hint of batpony is because of his ears and eyes. Even with this however, he can still use magic and fly--which looks strange to say the least, an earth pony that's able to do other races things... Freaky.

Eva would be a unicorn, curved ribbed horn, hoof tufts, fluffy ears, and a "classic" type tail. (Not much else to say)

Vergil and Dante would both me earth ponies. However, they each would have devil/demon horns--that are the same as their Devil Trigger. Despite not having a unicorn horn, however, they can use magic. (which adds to the "wtf" factor the whole Sparda family has).

Dante would have a set of two (four in total) (pictured above) horns that curve downwards; which he trims/grinds down then covers the remaining stumps with his mane. Before you ask: yes, this hurts. He's grinding down something that has blood and tissue in it (like most animal horns do) but he's stubborn. The youngest twin inherited his father's body type (or well, fake body's type): a thicker more stocky build. The one major thing from Eva he has is fluffy ears. His tail he keeps trimmed close to his flank because it's a disadvantage in a fight (and a pain to take care of).

PRE NELO ANGELO: Vergil has a fully grown set of horns (two in total) that curve upwards and are more developed/tougher than Dante's--since he doesn't trim them. Oppisite his twin, Vergil inherited Eva's body type: long "traditional" unicorn tail, hoof tufts, slimmer build. The one thing he did not inherit from her is the ear fluff, having his father's batpony structure instead. POST NELO ANGELO: Vergil's horns are snapped in half. Unable to grow them back, he keeps them nearly sanded to a smooth edge. His tail is gone, only have a scar where it did attach before. His hoof fluff takes some time to grow back. V: Skinny earth pony that's white with black faded stocking marks. His front hooves have fluff and he has no tail. His ears are normal. V has his tattoos all over his body except his flank. URIZEN: Didn't want to exclude him but there's not much to say. He'd look like a rooted version of post Nelo Angelo Vergil. Maybe he'd look closer to a changeling? Not sure. His design is something that I would have to play with and try out before deciding.

Trish looks almost the exact same as Eva, however, the major difference is her horn has no ribs. It's a smooth curved horn.

Lady would be a hypogriff (Arkam would be a griffon). Again, not much to say.

Nero would be an earth pony with very little different (otherwise it would've been overly obvious that he wasn't normal). His back hooves have tufts and he has a longer--but not extremely long--base for his tail. His ears are fluffier, but not too much (and not bat texture). His devil bringer would be akin to a griffon's front claws; talons and whatnot. POST "Awakening" (learning to Trigger): Nero does have small horns that curve around his ears; just like his DT's (almost like a ram). He also gains the ability to use "magic" and levitate/hover/glide despite not having a horn or wings.

Sorry that was a lot... But it seriously has been just stuck in my head. Might doodle more of this at some point, might not; I don't know yet. This was really odd and strangely comforting to go back to. Most of my art pre-2020 was MLP styled (even though I had lost interest in the show WAY before that. Just got used to drawing it and was, not to pat myself on the ass, pretty good at it... but I never shared like 99% of it.)

okay I'll shut up now lol

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

[seeds-and-sins]

Light My Fire - Part Six

Pairing: Ben "Soldier Boy" x F!Reader

Rating: M (Crude Language, Curse Words, Sexism, descriptions of explicit sexual content)

Description: The Deep and Phoenix are sent to investigate a certain set of twins.

Tagged: @tonixe @chernayawidow, @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites, @ophennie @virgoelf-blog, @my-obsession-spn

Part Five

Sure. Soldier Boy understood you, but that didn't mean he really wanted you. It didn't mean that he would have chosen you over all else. He didn't care about you. When you think back on it, on the memories once lost in your head, now found, you were vulnerable. You allowed him into your heart when you shouldn't have. You knew better than to do that.

And Ben stuck. Ben attached himself to you like glue and you allowed it. Why would you allow that? Ben treated you so poorly back then, why would you allow him to get to you? A few words of sentiment, the exchange of an unsaid promise that was empty and forgotten. You had lived far too long to fall prey to such stupid sweet nothings. When Ben propped his chin on your head, when he wrapped his arms around you and told you that you were safe, you fell for it. How could you?

For years you tried to figure out what happened to him, and when you did Vought fucked you up worse than you already were. Why go through that for someone who didn't even care? Someone who would never choose you?

So, you chose John.

"You're not going to um..." Your droopy gaze shifted in the Deep's direction and the man's words crumbled with his composure. The Deep became a stuttering mess, eyes wide, a hard frown on his lips.

"What?" You breathed, swishing the glass of bronze liquid in your hand before bringing it to your lips for another sip. "Spontaneously burst into flames?"

"Um..." He cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"No. I'm not gonna' do that." Your eyes returned to the massive screen in front of you. The pixelated words had blended together, camera footage and images of Soldier Boy flooded the screen.

"Just making sure..." The Deep began, his adam's apple bobbed as he gulped. "You've been sitting here for a little bit, drinking."

"I can't get drunk so, it doesn't matter anyways."

"Yeah but, doesn't alcohol like-make you worse-I mean-"

"Shut up." You stated firmly, in a dead tone. You hadn't had many interactions with the Deep since you had arrived back at the tower all those months ago. What you did know was that you hated him. You didn't need to know much about him to know that he was a piece of shit. The news and tabloids agreed, but even more so, the way he weaseled a spot back into the Seven made you sick to your stomach. You thought Swatto was bad all those years ago. The Deep was worse. At least Swatto owned up to the horrible accusations, the Deep tried to pretend like nothing happened. Coward. "Can you look something up for me?" It wasn't much of a question as it was a demand. The Deep knew as much when he cast a side glance in your direction.

You kicked your feet up onto the desk, still dressed in your hero suit. You tucked the glass of whiskey in your lap and crossed your ankles.

"Sure-uh-what exactly?"

"Look up me." You stared intently at the screen, not flinching once at the expression on the Deep's face.

"Are you-"

"Look me up now." And the vigorous tapping of keys sounded through a devastating silence. Images of you popped up, old and new, as well as a few files and a short synapsis of information. "Hmm..." You sipped from the glass, calm and collected. "That's my name." You pondered, the Deep squinted at you.

"You didn't know your name?"

"I forgot my name. Last person to call me by it wants me dead." You shrugged, the tip of your finger tracing the lip of your glass. "I want to know something specific." Your voice was distant, you felt like you were hovering above your body looking in.

"O-kayy~"

"Pull up my file for the year 1994."

"1994?" The Deep muttered in confusion, a few moments passed in quiet as he scrolled across the search and clicked through files. He paused with a frown. "It's classified."

"Classified?" You spat, abruptly jerking up from your seat and slamming the glass down onto the desk. The Deep flinched, he held his hands up from the keyboard.

"Look, man, I don't know. It's just classified." You stood fully and crossed your arms, eyes skimming the screen, everything was blacked out.

"Open it then."

"That's not how it works. Some of this stuff needs security clea-"

"You're in charge of fuckin' security! Do it!" You fumed and the waves of heat rolling off of you were enough to send the Deep in motion. He was shaking as he tried to find a way into your information. The Deep wasn't suited for this job, but Homelander was convinced that the Deep was a useful pawn in his quest to takeover Vought. Just then, the Deep accidentally clicked a distant file and a video popped up on the screen. "Stop!" You leaned in. It was Vogelbaum, he was wearing a mask, speaking into a camera, sitting at a desk, your unconscious body was resting on an examination table in the background.

"Day Three. It is approximately eight in the morning, eastern time, on September 23rd, 1994." The quality of the footage was old. Voegelbaum was younger then. The mask muffled his voice, but you knew what he was saying. "After repeated attempts, I have concluded it to be impossible to harvest any cellular matter from Subject 665's body. Her skin is impenetrable to the extent that even the scraping of simple tissue matter is impossible. It is fascinating how the carbon monoxide weakens her thermodynamic abilities, but retains the sturdiness of her cellular structure as a result of those abilities. Attempts at transvaginal ultrasound aspiration have failed, but I have been in the process of creating a concoction that might be capable of targeting the cells in her body, making it easier to harvest the egg follicles residing in her ovaries." You cupped a handle over your mouth, tears peeking at the corners of your eyes. What did that mean? The pills?! You had been taking them for years, only having recently stopped. What did that mean?! "We will keep Subject 665 in containment for a little longer, given that Mindstorm's treatments toward her mental state continue to work."

The video ended.

"More!" You hissed at the Deep and he aggressively began typing away, when another video popped up:

You were sitting at a white table, all too familiar to you. You were dressed in a tank top and baggy sweatpants. Your hair was disheveled and your eyes were sunken and the light inside you was fading bit by bit.

"Phoenix," It was Vogelbaum, sitting somewhere outside of the camera's view, your neck craned back and you chewed anxiously at your bottom lip. "Do you recall where we started off last? Or would you like me to refresh your memory?"

"What do you want?" You whispered, your voice was shaky and you sounded like you were on the verge of tears.

"Tell me what first made you suspicious of Soldier Boy's death." You crossed your arms, eyes frantically looking around the room.

"It-It didn't seem right. Everyone was too normal."

"Your peers didn't seem to like him, so you can't blame them-"

"No. It just wasn't right." You blurted out, jabbing a finger at your chest. "I knew! I knew it wasn't right!"

"Okay, okay, calm down." Vogelbaum urged, you saw his hand enter the frame of the camera from across the table, but he didn't dare touch you and risk burning himself. "And what did you do after that?"

"I went to Nicaragua." You said, releasing a shaky breath.

"And what did you do there?"

"I-I-" Your looked away, hands now rested in your lap, twiddling your thumbs. "I needed to find out what happened."

"Of course," Vogelbaum chirped, "I expect no less."

"The locals didn't want to answer my questions." You lowered your head, Vogelbaum pressed further.

"And what did you do?"

"I killed some people."

"Some?"

"Okay..." You sighed, then timidly admitted, "I killed a lot of people."

"Is there a reason why Soldier Boy's death affected you so?"

"If he could die..." Your breath hitched, "Maybe I could too."

"Interesting." Homelander piped in from his place behind you. You had assumed he had been standing there for a while because he wasn't looking at you the same. You were like a damaged animal and he was your abusive keeper. "I'm sending the Deep and you to go check on the twins." The video continued running in the background, but John didn't seem to care about the images and sounds circulating from the screen.

"Why me?" You snapped, John blinked down at you with cold, steely eyes.

"You think the Deep can fight Soldier Boy head on?"

The answer to that was 'no', everyone knew that.

"I know he can't, but I would rather just leave him to die."

"Wow, that was heartfelt." The Deep blurted out, immediately regretting his sarcastic remark with a hand slapped over his lips.

"Phoenix." John sighed, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, a warning. "I need your help on this. We know Soldier Boy's next marks. This is our chance to get a jump on him."

"If he's half the man he was when I was working with him, we'll never get the jump on him." To anyone else, John was Homelander. To you, John was a boy. He had the same look of fear in his eyes now that he had the first time you introduced him to a crowd. It was overwhelming. You didn't blame John for being scared, but there was something else. There was always something else.

...

You dropped Deep onto the concrete pavement of a lengthy driveway. You were about twelve feet up, he hit the ground with a hard thud and plopped onto his side.

"Fuck!" He hissed, "Was that necessary?!" Phoenix ignored him as she lowered herself, clasping her hands behind her back as she considered the mansion in front of them. Oh, how she wanted to run through it like a knife to butter. These TNT twins lived in luxury after what they had done to Soldier Boy, after what they had done to you, and you would take that away from them first before taking away their lives.

"Come on, sea slug. We got business to take care of." The Deep trotted up to your side, albeit wincing and rubbing at his arm.

"What did I do to you?! Hmm?" He had somehow gained the courage to confront you, when now wasn't really a good time. "I've been good to you."

"You sexually assaulted and raped dozens of woman, and you want to know why I don't like you? That's funny." You said in a dead and even tone that must have sent chills down the Deep's spine because he stopped walking. You approached the mahogany doors, glaring at them, feeling the fire burning in your blood. "You're going to have to do the talking."

"What? Why? Weren't these guys on your team all those years ago?"

"I want to kill them." The Deep gulped, nervously stuttering out nothing before nodding his head and bringing a fist to the door.

"Yeah, I'll do the talking." As you were waiting for the door to open, you couldn't help but get the feeling that you were being watched. The mansion was surrounded by a large plot of land, a sparse tree line bordering it. It could have been nothing, but then also it could have been something. Even with pretty much every part of yourself being 'superhuman', you never had the ability to hear someone's heart beat or see through solid objects. The most you could do in that regard was focus really hard and you might be able to detect nearby heat sources. And that was if you focused really hard. But what you did have was a sixth sense. Your old team used to comment on it all the time. You always had a feeling that something was going to happen before it did. You could always feel when something was off, not right. It was how you knew that Soldier Boy never really died in Nicaragua, it was how you found John in that lab all those years ago, and now, it was how you knew that something was about to happen. Something big.

What if Soldier Boy was here? What if that was why Tommy and Tessa weren't answering the door? Maybe Soldier Boy had already killed them? Your anxiety spiked. You weren't ready. You thought you were, but you weren't. You were anything but ready. What if he was the one that answered the door? What would you do?

You weren't the same person. Neither of you were the same person. He wanted you dead.

"Jesus Christ. Knock again." You crossed your arms, cape swaying behind you, your eyes frantically tracing the tree line once more. The Deep knocked, hitting the door a little harder this time. The door swung open. Music emanated from inside, loud moans and screams of pleasure and booming conversations and-

No. Fuck no. It couldn't be...

They were still doing this shit?

Tommy and Tessa were standing there. Tessa was wearing a leather dominatrix-esque outfit and Tommy was wearing a golden robe and a pair of dirty looking boxer shorts. They both looked aged. Old and worn down. Part of you envied Tessa's wrinkles and Tommy's grey hairs and you wanted that, but it was only a distant thought before you tuned in. They were pleased when they saw the Deep, but the moment their twin eyes landed on you, you could noticeably see the fear blossom in their very souls. Good, you thought, they should be afraid.

"The Deep..." Tommy began, "Captain of the Seven Seas, and..." Tommy choked, eyes wide as he looked you up and down.

"Phoenix." Tessa said cooly, nursing her cigarette. She was as tough looking as she was when you first met her, attempting to put on the persona that made her seem ruthless and brave. But Tessa was terrified, and you knew it better than anybody. You fed off of their fear like a lion did their meat and you were starving for it. "Long time no see."

"Well..." The Deep cleared his throat. "Sorry to drop in like this unannounced."

"Not at all, um-" Tommy froze up again at the sight of your unflinching stare, honed in on him. "We were having a bit of a celebration." He chuckled nervously, clapping his hands together. "You guys are welcome to come on in." Before the Deep could speak, Phoenix piped in:

"You know who started Herogasm?" Tommy glanced at Tessa, they sent each other uneasy looks. "Soldier Boy. You remember him, right?" This smile crept up onto your face, plastered on, hard and sharp.

"Yeah." Tessa snorted, shrugging. "Figured we'd keep the tradition alive. Why not?"

"Hmm." You sighed, stepping forward and scooping Tessa and Tommy in your arms and into a tight hug. Your head was between theirs, they stood stiff like wooden boards. Neither of them were strong enough to protest. "So good to see you guys again." You leaned back, a hand on either of their shoulders and you held them in place, looking between them with that same smile. "I just wanted to let you guys know that I know." Tessa squinted at you, she had dropped her cigarette in fear when you looped them into your death hug.

"I'm sorry?" She whispered with a wince. Tommy chewed his bottom lip.

"K-K-Know what?"

"Everything." Your whispered back as your grin widened. You didn't have to have super hearing to know that Tommy's heart skipped.

Return to Masterlist

[lutethebodies]

3 Things In Common With Your OC

I was tagged by @mogruith (in this post for Coranzan); thank you! As much as I think I know Coranzan by now, I’m unsure if he’ll have patience (or even want to hang out) with your dice-roll-2 result: Zafraia the Bandit. My swashbuckling smuggler would definitely teach him any sea shanties he might not know yet. Anyway, her commonalities (taken from this old ask) with me might be:

1. Organized. You can’t run any enterprise outside the law if you’re too scattered to keep it together. Even if you delegate, you’ve gotta be methodical. Would Nine-Fingers tolerate silliness like that on land? No (can’t have any internal asset losses!), and Zaf wouldn’t do so at sea (can't have any mutinies!). A leader's gotta be organized. Not necessarily hands-on or micro-managey, but not an oblivious figurehead either.

I myself am not a crook (I promise). However, for better and worse I’m a creative person in a capitalist society, so after running a freelance map design career for 5 years (and an event-branding partnership for 3 before that, and a local design non-profit chapter for 7 before that), my organizational skills have steadily ramped up at each of those levels. I feel much better about this than about my semi-shambolic, failed-indie-band-leader days of 20+ years ago.

2. Impatient. Conversely, I’ve always disliked (and sometimes detested) waiting—for any reason. Work-wise, I don’t like waiting for client materials. Waiting for clients to review my work. Waiting to get paid. As a musician it’s almost as bad—waiting in the studio, waiting to hear back about gigs, waiting to go on stage. Come to think of it, Built to Spill has a classic line for this: “You wait for something that’ll make the waiting worth the wait.”

Zaf is much less eloquent than I am about this. “Waiting is bullshit. I never wait if I can help it.” She’ll act on her impatience as soon as she can (and a lot faster than I would). But she’s right: there’s no dignity in being tactful if you get taken advantage of. It just shows how much you can be pushed around or ignored. Nobody will advocate for you if you don’t advocate for yourself!

3. Hard-Working. Well, in certain situations both of us are. In others, decidedly not. But when we’re in the zone, we’re focused and intense, and it’s almost painful to be pulled out of that state of mind.

Like I said above, running or leading anything leaves little time for unfocused effort. Zaf’s role as a ship captain is much more extreme that way than my rinky-dink laptop largesse—because the ocean never sleeps, and it’ll remind you of that as often as it wants to. I'm not (and never will be) a manic "rise-and-grind" weirdo, but there’s a reason that seawater and sweat both taste salty. Umberlee's gotta see that effort, mortals!

Zaf and I are also similar in that when we’re off the clock, we’re really fuckin’ off. For me, the cliché about freelancers never clocking out is absolutely false. Bouts of work can’t go longer than 2-3 hours; I’ve gotta take breaks for lunch, exercise, or even to get up and move around (age is a bastard on bodies, folks).

Tags: Open! The LTB tag cul-de-sac strikes again. If you see this and want in, do it to it and tag me (seriously, I'd love to know which of my mutuals are always down for this so I don't come off like a tag-averse coward).

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 48

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 30. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47 Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

The morning of Elo's trial comes. Too soon, she thinks, but when has time been on her side?

From the court gallery, she's watched some of the minor trials of those who helped Brauma with his art fraud and the movement of weapons into and around the city. None of them have confessed to his end goal, so she supposes she'll never know the exact devilment he planned. But all of them so far have been guilty, and that's something to feel good about.

Now it's her turn, and the car is pulling up to the courthouse entrance. Farren twists from the front seat. "Are you ready?" "We can still pull around the side," Cobbleskater says, looking at her in the rearview, eyebrows raised. The way he's been so cautious in his driving makes Elo think he's more nervy than she is. But he's just being loyal, and she's grateful for it. Her ex-team and a handful of friends were the first to volunteer for this unhappy duty of escorting her to what feels like the gallows. She'd never admit it, but she's pathetically grateful they won't let her do this alone. "Thank you, but no. I won't have them thinking I'm a coward." She takes a deep breath, letting it out with slow control. "I'm ready." "Right-o," says Monday. He climbs out on the road side and makes a signal, as Yates is climbing out the pavement side, pushing people out of the way. Farren reaches in to beckon her out. "Remember," he says into her ear, "you keep your eyes on me, you ignore anything said by anyone that's not one of us, and you do not stop." "I understand." Then they're moving through the crowd, Monday, Yates, Hughes and Komens making a corridor. Elo keeps her eyes on Farren's back, her face empty, and tunes everyone out. There are seven steps up to the portico. Six green marble columns support the portico roof over two large oak doors, dark with age. Brass handles gleam dully with the patina of a thousand hands.

For her, they've pulled out all the stops. The doors are opened, and they're met at the darkened maw of the courts by a masked figure in a robe of claret. Farren states her name and the figure moves back, ushering in her in. Before she passes the threshold, Farren catches her arm. "I suppose it'd be too much to ask for you to stay out of trouble?" "Yeah, a little." Elo huffs out a laugh. "Brother, I'm already chest-deep and sinking in it. But you… You keep your feet dry, huh?" Anxious resignation settles on his face. He cups her face in both hands and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Know that you go in love," he says quietly. On tiptoes, Elo kisses his cheeks. She has to swallow past the tightness in her throat. "Despite all the waters ahead, I will find the bridge that brings me back to you." Farren gives a sharp nod and lets her go.

The masked figure leads her through the dark corridors, pausing to give her an opportunity to use the conveniences. Then she's led into the trial room, to the center of the floor, between twin puddles of light streaming from tall windows, high on the ancient walls.

For all they have clawed out of the dark ages and into civility, adapting and improving what is Law with each generation, for something tantamount to treason, things must be done in the traditional manner. The room is pentagonal. At its apex, towards which she faces, are three stern-looking wooden chairs on a small dias, and above them a small bell. Normally, the Magister would take center place. But today, given the nature of the offence, the Bank comes to the fore. General Strucker sits to the left, and Magister Clayrmantle to the right. Elo's eyes skate past who sits at the center, unable to look at him until bade otherwise. Behind her, without turning, she hears the Advocates enter and take up position. While she knows her defender, she will never see the face of her accuser, as is traditional. The doors slam closed behind them. The court is sealed. Another ancient rite – no one will enter or leave until the matter is settled. Any testimony will be presented in sworn affidavits and auditory recordings. For those present, there will be no rest, refreshment, or other comfort until a verdict is pronounced.

Drakemar clears his throat. "Elowyn of Toreguarde, Constable of Police Precinct Eighty-Eight and Freeman of Toreguard, you stand here today to bear witness as your fate is decided on the matter of the death of Lerrald Brauma, former Master of the Exchequer." Elo struggles to keep her confusion off her face; there is something… wrong about the man's voice. It is as light and benign as many other men's and yet she hears a rumbling beneath it, something that reminds her of old caverns and the growl of a tiger. Her gaze is fixed on the rise of the dias, so she only catches the shadow of his gesture to the Advocates. From behind her, a high, female voice says, "We, the people of Toreguard, claim the defendant is guilty of murder in the first, and move for the punishment to be hanging by the neck until dead." "Your Eminence, we, the defence, claim justifiable homicide and move for punishment to be commuted to community service," says Advocate Yevlyn. And just like that, they are off, like horses from the gate, galloping towards the post that will spell her freedom or her doom.

There are arguments and counter-arguments, and so many counters for the counters that Elo gets lost trying to follow it all. Evidence is brought forward – the book, the artefact, reports, statements and recordings. She listens to it all, numb, as they relive the case, watching the sun twist in the little pools ahead of her, sloping in from different angles as the day wears on. Tries not to feel the tremble in her legs, the pain in her lower back, the tension in her bladder as she shifts her weight again and again, determined not to crumble under the strain of this lengthy judgement.

The sun is little more than twin slivers of gold as the advocates fall silent. Everything to be said has been said. Drakemar stirs. Elo watches his feet shift and is surprised when he stands. There is an odd moment, as he steps down from the dias, where the fading daylight glints off his bluchers giving the appearance of claws. Then his burgundy suited legs enter her gaze and he clears his throat. Whatever comes will come, she thinks. "I have heard much this day," Drakemar says. "But there is one more I wish to hear speak." There's a discontented, confused murmuring from the gallery – because in a trial of this sort, only the Advocates and the Triumvirate are allowed to speak. "Detective, what say you to the arguments presented here today?" Elo finally raises her head – and promptly has to clamp her jaws shut to stop the expletive that wants to roll out of her feckless mouth. Because, just when she was about to write off all her memories of fairytale creatures as hallucinations caused by stress or grief or injury, one shows up here and now of all the places. And not just any old one, no no. This is one that, by all rights, shouldn't be able to physically fit inside the building, let alone this room. The space for his wings alone… It's strange though – none of the others have had this echo of themselves behind the physical front she's seen. If they had, maybe she could have stopped Brauma sooner… Her thoughts must show on her face because Drakemar gives a sly smile and a wink that could easily be the drooping of a tired lid. "Constable," Clayrmantle snaps, "you were asked a question." "My apologies, your Eminence," Elo says, her mouth forging ahead with little regard to her brain. "There have been a great many arguments this day. I would appreciate your exactitude as to which you'd like my comments on." There is a smattering of shocked gasps. Elo thinks that if they're going to send her to the noose, at least she's got five for five leaders insulted on her scorecard. "Of course," Drakemar says, inclining his head with an amused smile and gods dammit all, doesn't he have such long, pointy teeth… "I mean to have your opinion on the crux of the matter. Did you murder Lerrald Brauma, or was it a justified act?" "It was justified homicide. I still stand by what I said to my colleague while in hospital." "That conversation was entrapment–" Advocate Yevlyn starts. Drakemar raises a hand and the Advocate cuts off. He blinks down at her with eyes that nictate like a lizard's. "And what was it you said then?" "That I wasn't going to let Brauma become another Greydown. My job is to protect and serve the people of Toreguard. Unfortunately, in this instance, killing the suspect was the only way to do that. We still don't know why he was smuggling ordinance or what he planned to do with it, and maybe we never will. But at least this way I can rest assured he can't use it for whatever nefarious purpose he intended." "How do you know it was nefarious?" "Why would he have the ordinance if his intentions were pure? Why would he go to such lengths as killing a journalist, trying to kill me, to hide them?" "Apt questions. But not, I feel, relevant to the matter at hand."

Drakemar raises a hand, stepping past her to address the gallery, and Elo has to fight not to turn around, belatedly recalling she must not see the faces of the advocates. "So to the matter at hand, then. There is one fact that springs forth as abundantly clear. This woman, who stands accused of murdering Lerrald Brauma, your Exchequer and my Emissary, was willing to offer the ultimate sacrifice based on little more than a gut instinct to do her duty. "It pains me to say I had heard stirrings regarding Brauma's less than savoury activities and yet had not attended to them, believing I had time… Your protector has done you proud, saving you from what I fear may have been yet more wrack and ruin. This is an act which should be esteemed rather than vilified. "That being said," Drakemar completes his circle to stand before Elo, fingers steepled in a considering manner, "a life was taken, and penance must be paid." Slitted golden eyes regard her. Elo straightens her spine and raises her chin to meet them. "A year and a day of exile, as ambassador to Iceland."

Elo's shoulders sag. Her knees tremble, threatening to give way. She won't be marched to the noose. Didn't she say she would take a sabbatical after this anyway? A year is nothing. Strucker flies to his feet. "A year! Drakemar, I must protest– "Yes, I suppose you must…" "She has duties here! A life and friends–" "As I understand it she had friends in Fangthane as well." "A family who will miss her!" "Not half as much as I suspect she will miss them!" Drakemar rounds on Strucker – who, to his credit, does not back down from the fight. Even against a dragon, apparently. "This is a punishment, General. The defence requested community service, so here it is: service to the community she holds so dear – the whole of the City of Toreguard." "Not quite what I had in mind," Advocate Yevlyn mutters. Drakemar continues, "Commencing one week hence, Elowyn of Toreguarde will not be permitted to set foot on City soil for a year and a day. She will only be permitted to speak to the Triumvirate council, or whomever they assign receive her reports." Advocate Yevlyn clears his throat. Drakemar looks past Elo and inclines his head in acknowledgement. "Full and explicit terms will be outlined in writing before the week is out. She will be released under her own recognisance to appear at the Court jetty on the morning of her exile date." "Is that wise, your Eminence?" asks the Advocate for the People. He looks then at Elo, his smile as sweet as a carnivorous plant. "I think Detective O'Toreguarde can be trusted with this." She dips her head. "I accept my penance as mete and give thanks it was not harsher. I will be there." Clayrmantle rises with wearisome movements, leaning heavily on his cane. "The sentence has been issued, and the matter judged. Do we all find this trial settled?" "Aye," chorus the advocates. "Aye," Drakemar purrs, smiling like the cat that got the cream. "Aye…" Strucker says grudgingly. "Then so it is ended," Clayrmantle says, chiming the bell once.

Elo hears the court doors bang open. Drakemar and the Advocates leave amid murmurs buzzing from the gallery. She starts to turn. Her vision swims. Strucker catches her before her legs give way completely. Then she is outside, in the corridor, with Strucker passing her into Farren's waiting arms. She's given a sugar cookie and water with a salty edge. Yates and Monday keep the crowd at bay as Farren practically carries her out the side entrance to where Cobbleskater waits with the car.

[tache-noire]

things that should be added/changed in Fight Forever, so far.

1: There are certain skills that should REALLY be permanent. All "Action" skills and MOST "Passive" skills should be permanent unlocks, same with signature and finisher slots. Strength, momentum, and movement speed upgrades can all be reset. It's INSANE that every other wrestler has permanent skills but your custom wrestler has to start from scratch in every RTE campaign.

2: Related to the above: add some form of indication for what skills/upgrade levels you have previously unlocked. I FULLY intend to play until I've maxed out my custom wrestler , but it's hard to do that when I don't know what I'm missing without checking in Wrestler Info, which requires me to exit RTE.

3: When I set a difficulty, do not fucking change it. I KNOW you're changing it. At the very least, don't try and be sneaky, just state outright that a certain match is more difficult for story reasons. That would be fine.

4: Make it easier to swap wrestlers' attires. I shouldn't have to google how to access DLC I've purchased. when new attire is purchased it should be immediately usable, instead of making me go and add a new preset to switch to, manually.

5: Visual HP indicator. Somewhere. Why bother having a secret HP stat that affects gameplay, but can't be monitored?

6: At the start of a RTE campaign, an option to choose between a single, tag team, or mixed run would be GREAT. Tag matches are a clunky nightmare and I hate having a 50/50 chance of being forced into a tagteam storyline.

7: Unique dialogue for the story blocks that have interchangeable participants. Having Eddie Kingston and MJF give the exact same dialogue in the tag team story is fucking weird. HIRE ME TO WRITE IT, I'LL DO IT. I WILL WRITE YOU EVERY VERSION OF THOSE SCENES FOR EVERY WRESTLER. OR EVEN BETTER: HAVE THEM WRITE IT THEMSELVES.

8: VOICEOVERS. VOICEOVERS. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD VOICEOVERS. WHY IS IT SO QUIET. NOT EVEN GENERIC VOICE FOR THE CUSTOM CHARACTER? COME ON.

9: 12 different story blocks aint much. I think I've already hit most of them. I really really really r e a l l y hope there's more in the future.

10: SORTING OPTIONS WHILE CHOOSING MOVES. Sort by move type and trigger position!!!!!! Please!!!!!

11: Don't be a coward. Make all clothing unisex. If you're gonna let me have a gay romance with Brodie Lee then let me wear a bunny suit too.

I've left out things that will probably be DLC in the future, like customization shit, more wrestlers, etc.

[nova-streyart]

Hi. I'm a belos "stan". I'm not including Trippy's reblogs, because I want to respond directly to you, and the shit you put in tags.

"I ain't reading all that" what? You could take precious time out of your day to generalize and belittle people, in a post that's nearly as long as the person's post you're responding to, but taking a few minutes to read someone else's response to your bullshit is too much for you? Please. "Yes I'm very anti critical because I don't have a critique on the fact that I want kids to suffer more" ...but nobody's making that argument? You're literally pulling that out of thin air.

I skipped the other reblog, because it's not worth addressing, but this one is. Accusing someone of being a proshipper just because they know the difference between fiction and reality is fucking stupid.

Now, I want you to really read and read carefully. Just because your family calls you a term of endearment you find harmless, doesn't make it OK to call someone else that term, especially if they express that they're uncomfortable with you using it multiple times. According to your bio, you are an adult. If someone (a MINOR mind you) tells you they're not comfortable with you using a specific term, grow the fuck up, and apologize. For the others reading this, I want you to put a pin on this person calling Trippy a proshipper, because it'll be important later.

Again, you wrote a post around the same length as Trippy's. Also, it's really funny you say you're not avoiding criticism, but you choose to make your responses in the tags instead of in post.

Now THIS is the shit that pissed me off enough to respond to you. "I can call people baby without the romantic or sexual implication" it's not about that. It's about the fact that you, a 20 year old (as stated in your bio) made a MINOR uncomfortable. For someone who supposedly wants to protect 'my kids', according to the post above, you're acting really immature, even a bit weird, in front of an actual minor. "Proship remark was clearly a joke since it was in all caps" As you've demonstrated before by calling them a proshipper multiple times now, no it fucking wasn't. DO NOT try to backpedal out of something like that and disregard that with a 'haha it was just a prank bro'. "I was not asking for criticism to begin with I was speaking my thoughts" you chose to post an incredibly accusatory post on the internet. You chose to respond to Trippy. Anyone is allowed to call you out on your bullshit.

You could do 1 of three things: 1) Apologize. 2) Say nothing. 3) Continue to act like a petulant manchild and respond in the tags like a fucking coward instead of owning up to your mistakes. Again, according to your bio, you're 20 years old. Grow the fuck up and act like it.

@vrisrezis

Only saying this cuz Belos Stan’s have been annoying lately (I like Belos myself, but man y’all have terrible takes holy shit)

Like if you like him cuz he’s a good villain, fine. If you’re mad he didn’t get a proper death, you missed the entire point of his death/character but whatever, keep your bias I truly do not care. I like Belos myself, in fact I like this show a lot but I have never and will never let my own bias towards a show or character effect how I criticize a series and how they handle certain things because I like to criticize the things I enjoy.

But the fact that people wanted Luz to suffer more, lose a limb, lose somebody close to her for good, etc. is fucking insane to me she is a 14 yr girl who is going to have lifelong trauma because of Belos. She has literally lost enough. Girl literally thought she deserves to be hated by those she loves and wanted to literally die. All we’ve ever wanted for this poor girl was for her to have a happy ending and she got it!!! This show does a good job at not falling into any bullshit tropes lmfao.

If you didn’t want some cheesy happy ending why the hell are you watching this show? It has been cheesy and bs since the beginning “weirdos have to stick together” like this show is CRINGEY!!! It always has been!!! It’s a Disney cartoon what did you expect!!! Very rarely does a Disney cartoon not have a happy ending honestly amphibia is the only one I can think of that wasn’t completely happy (correct me if I’m wrong???)

The fact people even wanted hunter to go through even more trauma by watching his uncle die???

Like god what is wrong with you. LEAVE MY KIDS OUT OF IT!!!! UR FUCKING WEIRD!!!

For real like I’ll never understand Belos Stan’s because truly they are the only people with this kind of criticism and it’s genuinely so weird you’d want characters, KIDS, that suffered enough to go through even more trauma because you wanted more for your fav who doesn’t even deserve it anyway. Lol. Like “wanted him to suffer more” since when is putting villains through misery any better .. Luz does not forgive Belos but she’s not gonna freakin torture the guy, she’s wants him gone as fast as possible and she isn’t wrong for that. She provided justice for all those that he hurt.

Again idc if you like him, I like him to an extent. But again, you’re weird for wanting the abuser to have a proper way out (something he wanted, something that’s taking mercy upon him and feeds into his delusion) and wanting the abused kids to suffer even more irreversible trauma.

Yes I have my own personal criticisms, I don’t think the way he went out was bad but they did nothing with Caleb and all the others. Not even a moment where they watch Belos die. Just feels like they added that in ep 2 for nothing.

But the whole Luz and hunter didn’t lose enough bs? You’re out of your fucking mind.