#and that makes perfect sense right

[storm-driver]

yknow, the after the battle version of dearly beloved that plays at the end of kh2 is laced with so much sorrowful nostalgia for me.

there are a lot of memories embedded in KH2 for me, it was my comfort game as a kid. it was the game i turned to after bad days at school, and the game i showed to friends in hopes they understood why i loved it.

it's specifically how id finish the game and think "that... wasn't a happy ending, was it?" Roxas and Naminé disappeared, but Sora and Kairi are together!!! and for a second, you can think "at least they can rest easy..."

but then, that after the battle theme hits. im staring at that last screen with my battle stats shown, and there's something about it that hurts. maybe it's the composition. maybe it's the single instrument. i don't know. but the end of kh2 was always so fuckin sad to me. that music, I think, played a huge part in it.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fifteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: ANGST... that's about the only major warning I can think of

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Jurian and Vassa took the attic and became scarce, but when night and day slid into one another you still heard her painful screams, muffled as they were by the magic that encased their room. It was a feeling more than anything else. A tension that gripped the House until it seemed to be sobbing. At sunrise and sunset without fail, Vassa’s body broke and rearranged itself, flesh turning to feathers and feathers to flesh. Before it had been a painless process where her body came and went in its various forms, but no longer. Now she felt everything alongside an itch deep within her bones that couldn’t be satiated by food or drink or anything else. 

Go to the lake! Her body screamed. Go to Koschei! And then punished her when she didn’t comply. Like a beast had sunk its claws into her flesh, its waiting mouth only inches away from snapping. To stay away was a slow, agonizing march to death. To move close would be swift, but final, and somehow Vassa knew that if she gave into Koschei’s call, she would be lost forever.

You lingered at the base of the attic's staircase, your bare feet sinking into the soft rug until the sounds of cracking bones finally ceased. Three pairs of feet shuffled above your head and you heard Jurian’s faint whispers like a gentle push of air. When the door opened and Lucien emerged, you saw Vassa crumpled on the floor, now a bone-thin woman with dull, coppery hair and skin ravaged by scratches and pockmarks. 

“Shhhh. It’s ok.” Jurian whispered, encasing her in his arms. 

“I can’t,” her voice trembled. “It hurts. I-I-I’m burning.” 

“Y/n?” Lucien frowned. The door slammed shut with a bang and you jumped backwards. You clutched a velvet pouch close to your chest and then slowly held it out to Lucien. 

“It’s for Vassa,” you explained, trying to keep your eyes on his mismatched ones — one russet as river stones, one gold like the sun. He opened the bag and stared in confusion at the fine, white powder within, giving it a tentative sniff. “Morphine. Humans use it for pain.” 

“I know of it.” Lucien’s frown deepened. “They get addicted. Take too much and they die.” 

“She’s already addicted. That’s what’s happening isn’t it? Koschei’s drawing his power away to get her to return to the lake and every day that passes she’s dying.” Lucien tightened his fists around the bag, still skeptical. Vassa had endured enough. He didn’t want to have her endure this either. “The bag is enchanted and will never allow her to draw too much. Just enough to calm her hunger. If we’re lucky it might help her sleep too.” 

Lucien stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists from around the gold drawstring, waiting for Vassa’s cries to cease. But they never did. And there you were standing in front of him, unwavering and expectant. There was a glimmer of stubbornness in your gaze. A sign of the hours you’d spent researching Vassa’s condition and acquiring the strange human drug, and your disapproval if Lucien didn’t accept it. 

“Thank you, Y/n,” he whispered, “But please go. Vassa hates for anyone to see her like this. Even Jurian and I.” 

You swallowed thickly and nodded, disappearing down the stairs as quickly as you could. The next morning when the sun rose over the mountains and Vassa changed, you heard only the House’s usual breathings. 

The House buckled under the weight of the Inner Circle’s secrets and the sheer volume of history that had occurred within its walls and between its occupants. It utilized its magic in clever ways — your door opened with a creak that wasn’t there before so that Azriel would always hear your comings and goings. Lucien would suddenly find his door locked and the curtains drawn on the days when Helion made surprise visits to see Y/n. Nyx would find himself ushered around by a broomstick that swatted his ankles when the adults were discussing private matters. It was all a great deal of work. 

So it was a relief when Rhys and Feyre quietly moved their children to the House of Wind with Nesta and Cassian, and when Mor and Emerie took the final steps in emptying their rooms and went to hide out in their city apartment. It was even more of a relief when Helion returned to the Day Court, but not before throwing a heavy threat in Azriel’s face that if he should ever hurt his daughter again in any way, shape, or form, he’d strip the wings off his back. 

Meals at the House were tense, quiet affairs, something not even Feyre, Elain, and Nesta’s sisterly conversations or Cassian’s light-hearted humor could ease. Elain stayed close to Lucien’s side, one hand always on his arm or resting against his back or brushing against his, but that didn’t erase what the Blood Duel had done to his trust in Elain. He was kind, but guarded, especially when Azriel was in the room. But it was more than she could ask for because it was more than she’d ever given him in the beginning. 

You and Azriel were worse off.

You were speaking once more, but your words were always laced with a bit of apprehension and Azriel’s were always filled with sorrowful hope. Conversations were dull, short, and didn’t even begin to brush the surface of all the things you should have been talking about. You were terrified not of the Shadowsinger, but of his opinion of you. Did he want you so he could fix you? So that he could feel needed? So that you could be another one in a list of females he burned through? 

It never truly seemed like that was the case, but you also didn’t trust yourself when it came to your emotions. You had told him once that you couldn’t imagine having a love like Feyre and Rhysand’s, or Nesta and Cassian’s, and you still meant it. You were a matchstick and he was flint, and you didn’t know what would happen to you after he had lit you aflame. For all you knew, you were already burning and this wonderful thing you’d had with Azriel would live and die with nothing more than the memory of an embrace in Rhysand’s office to show for it. 

But oh how you ached to touch him again. To hold him like you had before and to have him return the gesture just as strongly. 

You stiffened when Azriel’s hand brushed your arm, warmth bursting out from the point of contact. 

“I’m sorry.” Azriel whispered, and he was talking about more than the wine he spilled when he reached over the table.

You spared him a glance, the first real look you’d given him in two weeks. The flagon slipped from his hands, and if it weren’t for his shadows catching it an inch above the floor, the room would have been doused in burgundy red. 

“Does Lucien know?” 

Rhysand looked up from his papers. Missives from the Darkbringer army and Illyrian troops up north clogged his desk, all begrudgingly accepting his orders to prepare for what could amount to another lengthy war. Letters thrown back and forth between the seven courts added to the chaos, all of them war-weary and desperate for a path that wouldn’t lead to bloodshed. 

You took up the center of his room and stood so quietly he hadn’t even noticed you until you spoke. It had been eating away at you for days since Lucien’s arrival. Every time you two saw one another or spoke, you tried to scrounge for clues that would reveal whether he knew he was Helion’s son and whether he might suspect you were Helion’s daughter as well. The other members of the Inner Circle had been tight-lipped about that secret, a skill you now knew they all possessed with alarming dexterity. 

“Does Lucien know he’s Helion’s son?”

Rhysand slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples with one careful hand. Finally he said, “Yes.” 

The answer knocked the breath from your lungs. You’d been expecting the opposite. “Does he… does he know about me?” 

Rhys sighed and shook his head. You didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. 

“How long has he known?” 

“Six years. Feyre was the one to tell him. She was actually the first of us to recognize the similarity, believe it or not. But then, no one ever dared to give weight to the rumors surrounding Helion and Aurelia Vanserra while Beron was alive.”

You rocked back and forth on your feet, breath shaking as it entered your body. “Six years. Six years and you never thought to tell Helion that he has a son? I thought you two were friends?”

Rhysand tensed. “I’m Lucien’s friend as well and he begged us to never speak of it - to live as though we’d never learned that secret. And I keep my secrets. We all do.” 

“You and your family have made that very clear in the time that I’ve been here.” 

“If you mean Azriel—”

“Don’t play dumb, Rhys, you know I’m talking about him.” Tears pricked at your eyes, adding to the humiliation that had coated you like a film ever since you’d seen his memories about Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. “I don’t—” You swallowed thickly, “I can imagine how you must have all been whispering behind my back about Azriel and I. How you must have found it so pathetic the way he charmed me when I was really his fourth choice.”

“That’s not true.” Was what Rhysand was going to say. But he didn’t need to. Azriel said it for him. 

Your face lost all color, any bravado melting away at the feeling of Azriel’s shadows wrapping around your ankles like ribbons of silk. You could feel him in the room and that quiet darkness he carried around with him as inherently as if it were stitched onto his body. 

Azriel was shaking. Shaking. With anger, turmoil, or grief — you couldn’t name it. All you knew is that one moment you were standing in Rhysand’s office, all velvet upholstery and suave, expensive taste, and the next you were in Azriel’s room. 

Everything smelled like mountain air. Maybe it was the gothic windows that stretched into the vaulted ceilings, stained glass opening out onto a personal balcony with deep blue curtains fluttering in the breeze. But you were sure that even with the windows barred it would smell the same. It would smell like Azriel. If you threw open his wardrobe you’d come face to face with a wall of black. Lots and lots of black. Black suits he hardly ever wore. Black fighting leathers. Black leather jackets for everyday. Black trousers. Black boots on the floor. Very practical. Very Azriel. 

If you dug through his dresser drawers you’d find black boxers and socks to match and no shortage of knives and daggers hidden behind wooden planks or in leather sleeves nailed to the bottom of his desk. But at first glance you only saw three weapons in plain view — Truth Teller, blade down and stuck in the wood grain of his desk beside a pile of reports, and two obsidian blades hanging from the wall beside his midnight blue bed in the shape of an “x.” 

The smell — Azriel’s smell — calmed you, at least up to the point where you turned to find him standing less than six inches away, hazel eyes boring into yours. Then your pulse skyrocketed. You were certain that if he only looked down to your heart he’d see it pounding against your chest like a drum skin ready to burst. 

“That’s not true,” he repeated earnestly. “And don’t you dare believe it. Not even for a second.” 

His eyes jumped back and forth between yours and before he could stop himself, his hands were grasping yours in a gentle hold. The leather gloves were soft and supple beneath your fingertips. You wanted to rip them off so you could feel his scarred hands again. 

“You weren’t meant to hear that,” you whispered, suddenly feeling small. That angry humiliation went up in a puff of smoke and left you shy and uncertain. 

Azriel gripped your hands a little tighter and you watched as tendrils of shadow worked their way up your arms and got lost in your hair. “But I did,” he said breathlessly, “And I need you to know that it’s not true.” 

“Azriel—”

“I know—” he was shaking his head, “I know what Helion said and I won’t lie and tell you that I’m perfect or that I’ve made any smart decisions about love in the past — I’ve not make a single one — but… but Y/n you’re not a fourth choice. You’re not something broken that I’m trying to fix or some fantasy I’ve fallen for.”

His hands shook and despite the gloves his hands still felt sticky and wet. Slick with your blood. The burning scent of iron in his nose.

“You’re the most real thing in the world to me. You’re—” You’re my mate. The words crawled up his throat like acid and it just felt wrong. He would say those words to you. He would. But not now. Not like this. He came up with something else. “Y/n, please tell me you believe me. Please.”

And there you were. Falling all over again. Burning like a matchstick on fire. The flames slowly eating away at you bit by bit. You wondered what would happen when you finally hit the ground, or when you ran out of length. Would he still hold you like this? Would you still feel real to him? 

“How am I meant to know, Azriel?” 

You’d always been good at books. You knew the ways in which these stories worked where the themes and plot points had been preordained and written with the purpose of being tied up in a neat package by the final page. People were very different. They were unpredictable and chaotic and they could lie through the skin of their teeth and believe they were telling the truth. And that was the problem wasn’t it? Because you still believed every word that came out of Azriel’s mouth, and his hands still felt like they were keeping you tethered to this earth when sometimes your powers and the memories that came with them made you feel like a whisper on the wind. Weightless and at the mercy of something you couldn’t control. 

“You can trust me. You can know for yourself.” 

He pressed your hand against his cheek and you wanted to cry at the faint pricks of stubble beneath your skin and the sharp curve of his jaw. 

He wanted you to use your power on him. He wanted you to learn all the ways he wanted you. All the ways he loved you.  

But you couldn’t do it. 

Azriel panicked when you remained silent, staring at him and at his hands like you were frightened. All at once he was back on the streets of Velaris, cobblestones shaving away at the skin of his palms as he dragged his way up to you inch by bloody inch, fighting against a body that was too broken to move. 

He couldn’t remember what it felt like when he’d stabbed you through the chest and dropped you on the street. Everything between the moment he saw Andrian’s clear-cut eyes to the moment he saw Rhysand’s horrified gaze was fuzzy and dark. But that made it worse because now in his nightmares he could imagine all the ways he’d hurt you, each version teeming with the same level of horror and possibility as the previous one. 

He let you go and hated himself when you stepped back, your hand slipping away. 

“I won’t… I won’t hurt you again, Y/n. I swear on my life. I’ll-I’ll make a bargain, I don’t care. I would sooner die than let something like that happen again.” 

I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.

“Y/n, please.”

 I am not broken. But I am afraid. 

You fled from his bedroom. 

The air had a bite to it now with winter descending. The snow line on the mountains dipped lower and lower each day, creeping like ivy down a brick wall. 

Elain never wore gloves. Not when she was gardening. It was something she and Ione had in common. She liked the feeling of her strong hands, the callouses on her palms and fingers that she’d earned all on her own. She grunted, slamming her shovel into the soil and feeling the microscopic chips of ice give way when she kicked down on the blade. It was too late in the season to be planting tulip bulbs. If she’d been in Velaris she would have done this four weeks ago. But it was alright with her. She knew the value of hard work, and she had enough hope for the future to believe that even though she was late, she’d have something beautiful to call hers come springtime. 

“It’s time for that conversation I was telling you about,” she said cryptically, as was her way. 

Lucien dropped the final basket beside where Elain now knelt in the dirt, her pale pink dress dirtied and littered with her own handprints. The brown bulbs rolled around like oversized chestnuts, the kind that he’d be roasting over a fire right now if he were still in Autumn Court. Instead he was here, lingering in a Court that had never felt like home. Then again… he’d never felt at home in Autumn, Spring, or the Human Lands either. 

He straightened up and wiped his hands clean on his trousers, golden and russet eyes trailing over the River House’s grounds for this mysterious person he was meant to speak to.

There. 

The faint swishing of black robes behind a dark green topiary tree. He should have known Elain had been talking about you. 

You cracked your knuckles and rehearsed the words you’d scribbled out earlier that day and then set to fire in a maddening loop. You’d been restless with the truth of Lucien’s parentage and you couldn’t believe that the others had held their tongues so readily. As it was, without Azriel’s company to help quiet your mind, you’d dug into this new piece of information like a starving animal and couldn’t let go.

Was this a good time to tell him? Would there ever be a good time to tell him? You had no idea. 

Somewhere in the attic, you knew Vassa was itching to take to the skies like the burning comet she was. Every night she shivered in Jurian’s arms, the morphine barely able to take the edge off the humming in her bones, and every morning she let him lock her away in her cage. It was getting worse and worse trying to keep her from succumbing to Koschei’s influence. Even now you thought you could hear her keen cries whistling from the attic like ten thousand arrows launched into the air. 

Somewhere else, in a secret, hidden place you knew nothing about, Andrian had finally been imprisoned. Andrian with his bent neck and silver, candy-floss hair and bloody little hands. 

You shivered and jumped back five feet when Lucien called your name, kind eyes narrowed in concern. His shirt was loose and open and the sweat on his body rose like mist off his skin. He was his mother’s son first, Helion’s child second, and fire still ran through his veins. The chill did not touch him. 

He tipped his head to the side, red hair spilling out from the messy way he’d tied it up and away from his face. A brutal scar ran through his eye like a fissure, starting at the center of his brow before clawing its way down his jaw like a lightning strike frozen in time. But for all the cruelty he’d been dealt with in life, his eyes were gentle, even the mechanical one that whirred and flashed in the sun. 

They were even kinder when he looked at you. You with your inquisitive gaze and curious nature, like a stray cat that couldn’t help but linger too long at doorways. One foot inside, one foot ready to run and hide. He’d caught you watching him at dinners, and he’d catch himself staring when you walked around the house with a book in your hand, so utterly absorbed that you would bump against doorways and bang your hips against sharp corners. 

“Elain told me about you. Did you know that?” 

You blinked in surprise. “What did she say?”

“Elain… Elain doesn’t always speak clearly. Much of what comes out of her mouth can feel eerie or discomforting. But, she told me before we left for the Night Court that I would be happy I came. That I would never regret the things I learned on my trip.” He tilted his head even further, looking more and more like a fox with each turn of his face. “And she mentioned a bird. A bird with ink-tipped wings and eyes like a crow.” 

You flexed your fingers, well aware that the tips were smudged with ink, the nails bitten down to the quick. 

“Someone clever and cautious who’d been hidden away their whole life and needed to see the sun.” 

You felt stripped bare. That strange vulnerability that comes with being summed up in so few words had you feeling airy. Like one sentence could be enough to carry the weight of the three centuries you’d lived and never buckle. 

“I know you’re Helion’s son. I recognized it the moment I saw you.” 

Lucien stepped back, scarlet brows shooting up into his hair with alarm.

You hesitated, then continued on cautiously. “I recognized it because I would know my father’s face anywhere.” 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

I KNOW IT'S A CLIFFHANGER ENDING BUT I NEEDED TO BREAK EVERYTHING INTO CHAPTERS SOMEWHERE AND I'M GOING TO TRY AND GET CHAPTER 16 UP BY WEDNESDAY SO I DON'T LEAVE Y'ALL HANGING FOR TOO LONG. HAVE MERCY!!!

The good news is that Chapter 16 is already mostly written, I just need to edit it all to make sure things flow smoothly. Also, LUCIEN KNOWS NOW AHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sorry for the Azriel angst... but it's delicious, no?

[pareidolla]

pristine cut broken/damsel content save me... please save me pristine cut...

[anonymous-chicken-was-taken]

So, how rare ARE Ford's extra fingers, anyway?

I'm not gonna lie, at first I was skeptical of Ford's claims that the Weirdness Magnetism had an effect on him. Like, yeah, the whole having six fingers thing isn't exactly common, but it's a naturally-occurring event. Stan describes it as a birth defect, and there doesn't seem to be a noticeably great number of people with those in Gravity Falls. It wouldn't be all that farfetched for Ford to think he was just Built Different, for like, at least 7 reasons, but then you start actually thinking about it.

Polydactyly isn't exactly common. Approximately 1 in 1,000 babies are born with some form of polydactyly. While it's true that postaxial polydactyly (extra digit is past the pinkie) is the most common form, which is shown to be the kind Ford has in the x-ray at the beginning of AToTS, there are several other extreme circumstances.

Extra digits in polydactyly aren't usually found on all limbs. It can occur on hands and feet (and Alex has confirmed that Ford does, indeed, have six toes on both feet) but rarely does it occur on both feet, or both hands, much less both hands and both feet. And even when it does occur more than once on one person, the extra digits aren't usually fully-formed. Oftentimes they don't even have bones. When they do have bones, they're usually much smaller, or barely opposable (if they have joints at all). When they're big enough to be maneuverable, they usually interfere with the structure of the hands/feet in negative ways. All this means that an extra finger or toe which doesn't direly require a surgery to remove the extra digit within the first year or two of life is incredibly uncommon.

And let's remember: that's just for one extra digit. Ford has four.

For Ford to have fully functional polydactyly on both hands and both feet, to the point where it's basically impossible to tell which one is finger x without x-rays... the odds of that are astronomically unlikely. Never-before-recorded, one in a kazillion, borderline medically unfathomable sort of rare.

I think I do believe the Weirdness Magnetism could've affected Ford, actually.

[shadebloopnik]

This is gonna sound SOOO off or smthn but

Was the Perfect Family Harmony planned to be a weapon against the Bergens?

Long post ahead bc brain is rotting

Ok so as we know, the Perfect Family Harmony is smthn that's so powerful that its capable of shattering diamonds. Not just that but its one of the only thing capable of doing so(according to Floyd it was the only thing but giving the benefit of the doubt)

So we know its strong, and we saw it blasting off Velvet and Veneer off their platforms when they performed it, and they weren't even the targets, they were blasted away by just the shockwave that came with using it.

"Its that powerful."

Ok, so its definitely powerful enough to be used as a weapon right? Yeah it was relatively safe enough to use in front of a crowd, else they wouldn't have tried to do it during a concert, but that could just be when those harmonizing aren't targeting anything.

If it could shatter diamonds, how easily could it break cages? What would it do if it was used to target a Bergen? A whole Kingdom of Bergens?

Lets also go back to that concert, to that time John was obsessed with them getting it right. They were in the Troll tree, in Bergentown, a place where any of them could die during Trollstice. The Bergens were a huge threat, something that trolls, at their size, couldn't fight back against normally so they had to run instead right?

But what if they COULD fight back? What if they had a weapon so powerful that it might finally be able to free them? To defeat the monsters that tortured their kind for centuries?

What if John Dory found a way to help make sure nothing would threaten his brothers' safety ever again?

Like, it'd make John Dory's obsession make SOOO MUCH MORE SENSE

Like yea he clearly has OCD and anxiety and some bossiness and that definitely added to it all, but imagine if it was more than that?

Look at him during that performance. He was in deep. He had a wild look in his eyes, a sort of deranged obsession to have everything be perfect no matter what. It wasn't healthy, it was scary, maybe even downright terrifying for his brothers who had to be subjected to it.

But you know what else he looked like?

Terrified

Man was scared out of his mind. His anxiety and stress levels were through the roof. He probably was one wrong tune away from hyperventilating.

What if it was bc it was so much more than the fans? What if he put the salvation of the entire troll-kind on his shoulders?

One wrong step meant they were nothing.

One wrong step meant disappointing the fans.

One wrong step meant letting down the kingdom.

One wrong step meant another troll getting eaten.

Thats why when they failed, John blew up. He took all of that self-hatred of failing to use that weapon to defeat the bergens and poured it all onto his brothers.

"I know we can reach the Perfect Family Harmony."

"What if we don't want to."

John Dory, blind to how and WHY his brothers didn't want to follow his lead, felt betrayed.

To him, all he's ever done was to ensure their safety, everything was for the greater good. He'd done everything he could, his goals slowly twisting him into a crazed obsession. To hear his brothers say they didn't want to help anymore might've struck a cord too much. If you'd noticed he actually looked really sad and hurt when they started bringing up how much they hated being in the band, but it slowly twisted to anger instead. Kind of in a like, "I tried doing everything for these shts and THIS is how they repay me???" way. He was so stressed and stuck in his own head with his failures that he just couldn't see what his brothers were trying to say.

So in a fit of impulsive rage, he left. To him it probably was like that rlly childish way of saying "Yea im leaving, good luck dealing with the Bergens while im goneee." You know? Like how kids runaway from home when they get angry or upset over every little thing but come back when they realize how stupid that was?

"Im not allowed to change."

And he DID come back. Who knows how long, but he did. Imagine how he must've felt seeing their empty pod in an empty tree, with the knowledge that he could've done something about it. The Perfect Family Harmony could've saved them. They could've used it to break the cage, to fight the Bergens. Hell, it could've been powerful enough to wipe out all the Bergens if they do so wished.

"Im the oldest, I have to be the leader."

He and his brothers were the only ones who'd ever gotten close to getting it right.

"Why do you think I moved into the middle of nowhere? So I didn't have to be in charge of anyone."

The village was counting on them. Counting on him. He let them down. He failed.

"Freeing the village Four little brothers is a lot of responsibility."

They could've gotten it. If only John did it right. If only John did it differently.

If only John Dory was Perfect

[aroaceleovaldez]

i stand by that a better, more sensible, and more intriguing plot for TSATS would have been, instead of retconning literally everything:

Bob is dead (because he was very explicitly absorbed/killed by Tartarus Himself in House of Hades, alongside Damasen), and nobody is going into Tartarus to save him. He made his sacrifice and is gone. However. Remember how the Titans, including Bob, were just kind of kicking around for several years? Particularly. On a cruise ship full of mortals. And Bob happened to be kicking around in general for an extra year versus all the other Titans. And he mythologically sometimes has a mortal demigod son who partook in the Calydonian Boar Hunt (Dryas of Calydon). Yeah.

So turns out, Bob/Iapetus leaves behind a demigod (demititan?) child. And because Nico was pretty much his only friend, he named Nico his child's godfather. And while he's not being left in charge of the child, as a son of Hades and godfather to this kid, Nico is duty-bound to fulfill Bob's last will and go find this like 2 year old to make sure they're safe. So Nico has to undertake this very unusual quest (that raises many questions, such as "demititans are a thing?" and "DOES THIS MEAN THERE'S POTENTIALLY MORE-?!" and "SHOULD WE BE CONCERNED ABOUT THIS?") and is kind of freaking out because. He's the son of Hades! He's notoriously bad with living things, and animals, and definitely small children! Even if he does find this kid and assure they're safe, he is the last person who should be undergoing any kind of quest involving even potentially having to babysit. Fortunately, his boyfriend is the human embodiment of sunshine and calmness and good vibes, and also once helped a nymph give birth, so he feels Marginally More Confident in theoretical demititan babysitting and offers to come along on this Epic Journey of Figuring Out What In Hades' Name Is Up With This Demititan Baby Business.

Proceed with wholesome epic shenanigans quest of Nico and Will scurrying around trying to locate this random OP baby while Nico has an existential crisis about the nature of his powers because he doesn't want to let Bob down! Both for Hades Kid Honor Reasons and because Bob was his friend! But what if he's destined to fail this quest just because of who he is? Because he's simply not built for hanging out with the living/mortals? And Will reassuring him that He Will Probably Not Traumatize The Weird OP Titan Baby And It'll Be Fine, and simultaneously getting a peek into the weird other life Nico leads hanging out with immortals much more than the average demigod, which Nico considers his norm. Bonus shenanigans of both of them getting caught off-guard and culture shocked from where each other's respective worlds (Nico's mostly-immortal versus Will's mostly-mortal) cross over and learning to navigate those for each other - Nico finally starting to make some mortal connections and get glimpses at modern mortal American life, and Will trying not to get his brain literally incinerated while Nico's happily casually catching up with some of his old friends who happen to be literal gods.

[wizardnaturalist]

it is of course a silly fun time to make fun of fitz for how much he talks about disliking amber when he so clearly loves her, but I dont think it's all just no-homoing on fitz' part

bcs the thing is that beloved Does use their amber persona to distance themself from fitz. f&f amber Is meaner to fitz, in a way that he isnt accustomed to. because while before, the fools taunts, while often true, were almost never meant to hurt fitz just to hurt him, while many of amber's jabs are.

beloved doesnt slide into amber during f&f just because it's what feels right to them, they become amber specifically because it is the part of them that fitz does not know and is not comfortable around. she does lie and hide things and manipulate, but while on the surface that's no different from how things have always been, before fitz always understood himself to be a Part of it. fitz knew the fool wasnt always honest, but he did always trust him to have a reason, and to be working toward something important. now, fitz is definitively on the outside, his footing unstable. he doesnt know where he stands with amber and, much more disconcerting, he doesnt know that he can trust her.

beloved is still his friend whom he loves, but fitz also feels hurt, and isolated, and used, and it's a difficult thing to reconcile those emotions

[the-sage-libriomancer]

Rewatched Princess and the Frog today and honestly it feels more like a celebration of Disney's 100 years than Wish. A classic fairy tale respun in interesting ways while still being undeniably Disney? Check. A traditional story with modern twists and a (narratively) strong female protagonist? Check. A return to 2D animation in a time when the medium was dying out? Check. Hell, it even takes place in the same time period (1920s) that Walt Disney released the first animated feature film and started a hundred years of magic. There are multiple references to older Disney movies, from classics like Pinocchio and Sword in the Stone to (then) recent films like Aladdin and The Little Mermaid. It features the fucking wishing star! In a more narratively sound manner than Disney's actual 100th year celebration!

And even beyond that, Princess and the Frog feels like it pays tribute to the magic of magic - the power of believing in stories, of having a dream, of working hard to reach your happy ending while never losing sight of what's really important. There is so much effort put into this movie and it shows: the animation is gorgeous, the story is creative and structurally sound, and behind the scenes reveals that the producers put their backs into making sure both the African American aspect and the New Orleans cultural aspect were accurately depicted. It was the first Disney movie in over a decade to return to the Broadway musical format, and they literally had to dust off the abandoned 2D art tools because the company hadn't used them since 2004.

Princess and the Frog was a labor of love through and through, a heartfelt tip of the hat to Disney's legacy while still being its own story. I don't know what could be more celebratory of Walt Disney's dream than that.

[markantonys]

THEEEEE POINT of rand is that, in the end, the reason he's able to succeed where lews therin failed is NOT his power, it's his good heart and the support of his found family. in the end, he's not a warrior hero, he's a philosophical hero. rand's fight in the last battle is a fight of philosophy and ethics, and it's his friends who are out on the frontlines of the physical fighting, leading armies and protecting him.

so people complaining that the battle with ishy was changed from Solo Rand Power Trip To Show Why He Is More Special Than The Other Characters to a moment of all his friends gathering together to support him, protect him, fight with him, and remind him that he is not alone in this and that they're stronger when they're together...............i'm sorry, but i truly don't think you read the same books i did. (and before you come for me, rand is my second favorite character in the whole series after elayne, so don't come in here saying that i Just Don't Get It because i don't love him enough.)

[oceanwithouthermoon]

imo everyone who insists that saikis life was perfect and he was a spoiled brat complaining about nothing are just purposefully ignoring and misinterpreting the whole manga simply because they like other characters better and want to make up scenarios to make their fav seem like a precious little victim in every situation

its hard to explain but i see it happen a lot with specifically people who have dedicated accounts for other characters and constantly misattribute every issue to "saikis such a baby, my character has it way worse!" "saiki hurt my babys feelings once so i hate him!" "saikis such a spoiled brat, my baby has a way shittier life and never complains about it!" "saiki hurt my poor precious fav once so hes an abusive monster!"

and said "shittier life" that they "never complain" about is either the persons headcanons (literally made up) or... the character DOES complain about it and the person takes those words at FACE VALUE but ignores everything else, including things that actually HAPPEN right in front of our eyes

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[thejasontoddarchives]

Batman #650 (2006)

Batman and Red Hood (2011-) #20

Red Hood and the Outlaws (2016-) #25

“Bruce works out so he can carry Jason around like a baby” he is dragging him by the broken edge of the boy’s helmet, knuckles digging into his eyes. He is definitely strong enough to carry him but that’s not the point. He thinks Jason deserves this.

Task Force Z #6 (2022)

Catwoman (2018-) #57

Bruce and his habit of flattening his son onto the ground and standing on top of him like a lion does to its prey, while saying degrading things.

Batman (2016-) #138

And would you look at that. He finally lowered himself to face Jason. After rendering him completely powerless.

[ari-zonia]

Everybody of out the god damn way. You got a hat full of bomb, a fist full of penis, and a head full of empty.

[kinkleydiaz]

ryan was let out of pr jail to serve facts.

“We just got to the point where Buck is having this own personal growth of himself, so it’s like baby steps towards anything and if anything,”

“So I think with all the love that we’ve gotten and all the ideas of Eddie and Buck being together, the truth of the matter is right now that we need to live in this space and showcase this, so the world can see that this is how you handle this situation.”

he said "let's enjoy this important and beautiful ride and not worry about something that may not even happen"

[melverie]

With every day closer to the one year anniversary of Nightbringer, it becomes increasingly hilarious that the only two that got banned from naming days for NB's calendar are Mammon and Satan

[datshitrandom]

Favorite Fanfics (109/?): Leaps and Dives by @annepi-blog | illustrated by @esilher