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hero2222 · 22 days ago

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Alphys infodumps in a single take

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hero2222 · 23 days ago

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In case anyone wants to friend me on switch!

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hero2222 · 30 days ago

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Gurren Lagann episode 2 post:

I like Leeron, I'm sorry but he's really funny to me.

#gurren lagann

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hero2222 · 2 months ago

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Spread the word.

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hero2222 · 2 months ago

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I have just been informed that the Tumblr Sexyman poll has taken yet another life, so for legal reasons I am here to inform everyone that I did not kill Pope Francis

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hero2222 · 2 months ago

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Post the link!

Could get drum lessons again I guess. but that's.... I mean I guess it evens out to 25 bucks a week.... which doesn't sound *too* bad.... but....

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hero2222 · 2 months ago

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Rough draft for a Epilogue to this:

A few weeks passed, and the kingdom—once fractured—began to slowly stitch itself together. Some still whispered bitterly of the former king, but many heeded Nia’s words and watched with cautious hope as Chisk walked the path of redemption. He worked among them now, not as a ruler, but as a man trying to atone.

The cobblestone streets bustled gently again, laughter rising alongside the scent of fresh bread and blooming flowers. Among it all walked a familiar figure—Frost, the royal bard turned town guard. Her lute still hung from her back, but now it rested beside a sheathed sword. She wore her new role with pride, staying close to the people she had once only sung for.

And on one bright morning, her voice lifted over the streets:

> 🎶There was once a soldier who carried a mighty sword

She now wears her brother's crown, Oh-lei, oh-lai, oh, Lord

Oh-lei, oh-lai, oh-lei, oh, Lord, She now wears her brother's crown, Oh-lei, oh-lai, oh, Lord🎶

As she strolled past flower vendors and children chasing each other with wooden swords, her steps had a bounce to them. She watched as hope bloomed in corners once shadowed by fear.

> 🎶There was once a poet whose weapon was her word

She now guards you with words she sung, oh-lei, oh-lai, oh, Lord

Oh-lei, oh-lai, oh-lei, oh, Lord, He will slay you with his tongue, oh-lei, oh-lai, oh, Lord🎶

A second voice joined her—deeper, quiet but steady. Chisk, no longer wearing the crown, but something softer in its place. His smile was small, worn, but real. The people glanced up, some surprised, others thoughtful, as the former king sang among them.

> 🎶There was once a ruler whose brow was laid in thorn

Now at peace like a little boy, oh-lei, oh-lai, oh, Lord

Oh-lei, oh-lai, oh-lei, oh, Lord, Now at peace like a little boy, Oh-lei, oh-lai, oh, Lord🎶

Then, as if drawn by the melody—or perhaps simply guided by her heart—Nia stepped out onto the palace steps.

She wore no robe of state, no jewels, only a light tunic and the crown resting gently atop her head. Her people watched as she walked down the steps and joined them in the square, her voice rising beside her siblings:

> 🎶Oh-lei, oh-lai, oh-lei, oh, Lord

Now she wears her brother’s crown—oh-lei, oh-lai, oh... oh.🎶

The final note rang out clear and true, floating into the sky like a bird set free.

And in that moment, the square stood still—not in awe, but in something gentler. Peace. Understanding. The quiet beginning of something new.

Three siblings stood together—not as monarchs, rebels, or legends—but as family.

And together, they would protect the world they’d fought so hard to rebuild.

Soldier, Poet, King, part 2: The battle

Nia stood in the throne room, the air heavy with silence. Her brother sat slouched on the throne, shoulders burdened not by a crown, but by guilt, fear, and the years of isolation he’d worn like armor.

“You’re not going to change my mind, Nia,” Chisk said flatly, though his eyes betrayed a tremor of doubt.

“I’m still willing to try,” she replied, voice shaking but resolute. “But if I must…”

She drew her blade with a whisper of steel, each movement measured, aching. She couldn’t meet his eyes—couldn’t bear to see the brother she loved twisted by duty.

Chisk stood slowly, reaching for the massive greatsword leaning beside the throne. His grip was sure, but his expression was hollow.

“Very well.”

Their footsteps echoed like war drums in the vast, empty hall.

“Ready?” he asked, more to himself than her.

She gave a solemn nod.

Then they moved.

The first clash was deafening. Sparks exploded as blade met blade in a furious collision. They circled and struck, steel ringing out with each parry and counter. Chisk's strikes were disciplined, powerful, unwavering—every blow carved with purpose and a need to protect the world from what he saw as chaos. Nia was fluid, reactive, her sword dancing to the rhythm of emotion, her heart guiding her hand.

They clashed again—once, twice—blades grating, their faces inches apart.

“You don’t have to do this!” Nia cried, pushing him back.

“I already have!” Chisk roared, swinging with renewed fury. “You weren’t there when our parents were taken! When mercy came at the cost of their lives!”

Their fight grew desperate. Bookshelves shattered. Statues cracked. The air itself warped under the weight of their blows. Each strike held the weight of years, of love turned to opposition, of a family torn apart.

Finally, in a blur of motion, Nia spun low and drove her blade upward—striking a deep diagonal gash across Chisk’s chest. He gasped, dropping his greatsword, blood blooming across his armor as he stumbled back, cornered at the base of the throne.

Her blade hovered at his neck, trembling.

“Finish it,” he said hoarsely. “Take the throne. You’ve already done what I couldn’t.”

“Brother...” Her voice cracked as tears streamed down her face.

He looked up at her with glassy eyes. “I tried to make them proud. I tried to do what's right...”

Then he reached out—not to fight, but to press her blade into his own chest.

“I’m sorry, sister. May Mother and Father forgive me.”

“CHISK!”

Ping.

A single note resonated like lightning through still water. A gale of magical wind exploded from behind them, sending both swords flying with a metallic screech.

“I’m sure they already have, brother,” came a gentle voice.

A hooded figure stepped from the corridor. The familiar shape of a lute rested across their back, its strings still humming with lingering bardic power.

Frost had returned.

Chisk fell to his knees, the pressure in his chest too much to bear.

“I—” He choked. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know if I was ever right.”

Nia was at his side in an instant, catching him as he collapsed forward into her arms. He shook with sobs, years of pressure, grief, and impossible decisions pouring out of him.

Frost approached quietly, kneeling beside them, her touch light on his back. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

They stayed like that for a long moment—three siblings, finally together again, amidst the wreckage of a kingdom built on too many expectations.

Eventually, Chisk leaned back, eyes red but calmer.

“I wanted to protect it all,” he murmured.

“You did,” Nia said softly, placing her hand on his. “Now let me protect what’s left.”

Chisk looked up at her. For the first time in years, his expression softened.

He nodded.

He stood, removed the tarnished crown from his head, and gently placed it in Nia’s hands.

“I never wanted power,” he said. “The crown laid so heavy upon my head..."

"Then let me take it." Nia offered as she gently grabbed it from his head. Nia held the crown close to her chest, a silent promise in her heart.

Outside, the storm began to clear.

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hero2222 · 2 months ago

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Soldier, Poet, King, part 2: The battle

Nia stood in the throne room, the air heavy with silence. Her brother sat slouched on the throne, shoulders burdened not by a crown, but by guilt, fear, and the years of isolation he’d worn like armor.

“You’re not going to change my mind, Nia,” Chisk said flatly, though his eyes betrayed a tremor of doubt.

“I’m still willing to try,” she replied, voice shaking but resolute. “But if I must…”

She drew her blade with a whisper of steel, each movement measured, aching. She couldn’t meet his eyes—couldn’t bear to see the brother she loved twisted by duty.

Chisk stood slowly, reaching for the massive greatsword leaning beside the throne. His grip was sure, but his expression was hollow.

“Very well.”

Their footsteps echoed like war drums in the vast, empty hall.

“Ready?” he asked, more to himself than her.

She gave a solemn nod.

Then they moved.

The first clash was deafening. Sparks exploded as blade met blade in a furious collision. They circled and struck, steel ringing out with each parry and counter. Chisk's strikes were disciplined, powerful, unwavering—every blow carved with purpose and a need to protect the world from what he saw as chaos. Nia was fluid, reactive, her sword dancing to the rhythm of emotion, her heart guiding her hand.

They clashed again—once, twice—blades grating, their faces inches apart.

“You don’t have to do this!” Nia cried, pushing him back.

“I already have!” Chisk roared, swinging with renewed fury. “You weren’t there when our parents were taken! When mercy came at the cost of their lives!”

Their fight grew desperate. Bookshelves shattered. Statues cracked. The air itself warped under the weight of their blows. Each strike held the weight of years, of love turned to opposition, of a family torn apart.

Finally, in a blur of motion, Nia spun low and drove her blade upward—striking a deep diagonal gash across Chisk’s chest. He gasped, dropping his greatsword, blood blooming across his armor as he stumbled back, cornered at the base of the throne.

Her blade hovered at his neck, trembling.

“Finish it,” he said hoarsely. “Take the throne. You’ve already done what I couldn’t.”

“Brother...” Her voice cracked as tears streamed down her face.

He looked up at her with glassy eyes. “I tried to make them proud. I tried to do what's right...”

Then he reached out—not to fight, but to press her blade into his own chest.

“I’m sorry, sister. May Mother and Father forgive me.”

“CHISK!”

Ping.

A single note resonated like lightning through still water. A gale of magical wind exploded from behind them, sending both swords flying with a metallic screech.

“I’m sure they already have, brother,” came a gentle voice.

A hooded figure stepped from the corridor. The familiar shape of a lute rested across their back, its strings still humming with lingering bardic power.

Frost had returned.

Chisk fell to his knees, the pressure in his chest too much to bear.

“I—” He choked. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know if I was ever right.”

Nia was at his side in an instant, catching him as he collapsed forward into her arms. He shook with sobs, years of pressure, grief, and impossible decisions pouring out of him.

Frost approached quietly, kneeling beside them, her touch light on his back. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

They stayed like that for a long moment—three siblings, finally together again, amidst the wreckage of a kingdom built on too many expectations.

Eventually, Chisk leaned back, eyes red but calmer.

“I wanted to protect it all,” he murmured.

“You did,” Nia said softly, placing her hand on his. “Now let me protect what’s left.”

Chisk looked up at her. For the first time in years, his expression softened.

He nodded.

He stood, removed the tarnished crown from his head, and gently placed it in Nia’s hands.

“I never wanted power,” he said. “The crown laid so heavy upon my head..."

"Then let me take it." Nia offered as she gently grabbed it from his head. Nia held the crown close to her chest, a silent promise in her heart.

Outside, the storm began to clear.

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hero2222 · 2 months ago

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Mini epilogue:

Years later, that quiet day in the artifact shop would feel like a story from another life.

Chisk, once the odd boy who just wanted to belong, would rise to the throne too soon—ruling with precision and purpose. His reign would be defined by meticulous order, laws etched in black and white, and a deep-rooted belief that justice must never waver. In his eyes, mercy was a risk, and compromise, a weakness. The kingdom flourished in structure—but at the cost of softness.

Nia, once bubbling with joy and curiosity, would come to see her brother’s ideals as dangerous in their certainty. She did not fight to dethrone him, but to protect those who lived in the gray spaces he refused to see. She became a shield for the forgotten, a soldier for the silenced—hoping her blade might bring balance to a world Chisk was trying to reshape too perfectly.

And Frost, the quiet soul drawn to music and meaning, would leave without a word. The court, the rules, even the cause—none of it suited her. Instead, she wandered the world with a bard’s heart and a scholar’s eye, seeking lost songs, ancient truths, and the meaning behind the stories no one else was willing to tell. From taverns to temples, her voice echoed not in battle cries, but in verses that warned of kings, rebels, and the price of certainty.

But none of them knew what would come—not then.

Not as children, when a simple melody hung in the air, and the world was still full of wonder.

Soldier, Poet, King. (Short story/Song fic)

It was a quiet, peaceful day for the king and queen—one of the rare moments they could spend simply watching their children explore the town.

“So, where to next, Mom?” Nia asked, her eyes bright with excitement.

“Hm… let’s try the artifact shop,” Naomi replied with a giggle, amused by her daughter’s endless energy.

Frost, Nia’s twin sister, wasn’t nearly as hyper, but her calm eyes lit up with curiosity at the mention of the shop.

“Oooh! More stuff to expand my studies!” Chisk shouted, already dashing ahead—only to be stopped with a hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down, Chisk. It'll still be there when we get there,” Xander said with a chuckle.

Chisk had always been the odd one out in the family, and for good reason. He was an orphan once, a child who wandered into the castle simply because he didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to. Naomi and Xander had been so charmed by his spirit, they adopted him on the spot.

They stepped into the shop, the scent of ancient wood and faint magic lingering in the air. The shopkeeper greeted them with a graceful bow.

“Greetings, Your Highnesses,” Lilac said warmly as the children scattered to explore.

Nia wandered to the back, her attention caught by a dusty lute nestled between polished wands and shimmering staves. She tilted her head, puzzled.

“Curious?” Lilac asked, approaching with a knowing smile. She gently lifted the lute from the shelf. “This is a Bard weapon—a magical instrument that channels spells through music, creating unique effects through your casting.”

She plucked a few strings, then glanced toward Naomi and Xander. “May I?”

They nodded.

Lilac began to sing, her voice soft but haunting as it filled the shop:

🎶 There will come a soldier who carries a mighty sword,

He will tear your city down, oh-lei, oh-lai, oh, Lord… 🎶

As the melody drifted through the air, Nia lost interest in the lute and turned her attention to a collection of enchanted weapons. She picked one up and began to play pretend, swinging it as if in battle.

🎶 There will come a poet whose weapon is his word,

He will slay you with his tongue, oh-lei, oh-lai, oh, Lord… 🎶

Frost stood perfectly still, mesmerized—not just by the music, but by the concept of Bard weapons themselves. The fusion of magic and melody struck something deep within her.

🎶 There will come a ruler whose brow is laid in thorn,

Smeared with oil like David’s boy, oh-lei, oh-lai, oh, Lord… 🎶

And then there was Chisk. He wasn't entranced by the song or the artifacts. Instead, his eyes stayed on Naomi and Xander—his parents, his heroes. More than anything, he wanted to prove himself. He wanted them to see him as someone they could rely on. Someone they could be proud of.

Naomi and Xander didn’t notice it, but in that moment—amid laughter, song, and the glint of enchanted steel—the seeds of who their children would become were quietly taking root.

Each of them, unknowingly, already stepping toward the paths that would one day pull them apart.

___

@lordrose97