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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 4 years

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Devil’s Trust pt3

Warnings: Strong language, Moblord styling warlords.

Masterlist

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Chapter 3

He was not in the best of moods. His plans for the evening had been dashed with a single phone call that lasted for only a few minutes. Running his hand roughly through his dark auburn hair he took hold of a fist full at the back of his head and gave it a small tug in frustration. Why summon me? What game is the Devil King playing now? The private elevator gave a small lurch as it came to a stop on the top floor. He smoothed out his dishevelled hair and gave a deep sigh before plastering on an expression of ambiguous origin and entered the Devil’s lair.

The grandeur of the place annoyed him. Penthouse apartment on top of his own building and this is what he did with it? Walking along the corridor past the glass wall that revealed the private garden, a central pavilion past an elegant rock garden, shimmering water of a koi pond and beautifully manicured plants framing the path for walking. He felt himself twitch as an unwelcome thought as to its beauty entered his mind. Who would have thought such a place existed in Hell? There was a heavy-looking sliding door at the end of the corridor, propped open, and he knew without any guidance that that was his destination.

Stopping to look inside before he entered, he couldn’t help but feel the bile in the pit of his stomach churn. This place was really something else. The blend of modern furniture with items of antiquity felt seamless. The glow of the rosewood and lacquered items gave warmth to the contrasting cold metal and supple leather. He did wonder if all the rooms in this place were decorated like this or if it was just the Devil’s office. Knowing Nobunaga and his desire to surround himself with nothing but the best it was probably safe to assume that this level of dedication to all the finer things was abundant throughout.

There was a massive desk at the top of the room in front of floor to ceiling windows giving an unprecedented view over the city. A large sofa with a couple of chairs was in front of a fireplace with a large coffee table. There was even a drinks cabinet that seemed to take up quite a bit of wall space too. The rest of the items present looked as if they saw little use.

“You kept me waiting.” Nobunaga’s low commanding voice reached him from where he was sitting on a chair near the fire. Amber liquid glowed, already swirling in the crystal tumbler he had in his hand the decanter for which was placed on the table in front of him, another glass waiting patiently near it.

“And you are keeping me from my evening plans.” Shingen haughtily retorted and took a seat on the leather sofa without invitation. The sooner this is over with the sooner I can leave.

“You can submerge yourself under females another night. Tonight, I have need of you.” Nobunaga sipped his drink an infuriating smirk on his face as he cracked his mockery. Shingen tensed but managed to retain the composure he was known for. I’ll be damned if I let you break me again Nobunaga.

“As flattering as that is, I’m not interested.” Shingen shrugged and reclined back making a show of it. The leather creaked slightly under his shifting weight almost as if it were sighing at his moving mass.

“After all this time the old Tiger still has the energy to growl and yet all I see before me is a weak little kitten.” Nobunaga leaned forward and poured for himself and his guest. Shingen was making no attempt to help himself which given their history spoke volumes of the level of trust that remained between the two heads of family. In this world you learn that suspicions saved lives. To drink or eat something you hadn’t already seen the other consume was inviting trouble and it was a fundamental lesson to even the less seasoned members of their groups.

“Provoking me will only confirm my suspicions that you are nothing more than a spoiled brat who got in a foul mood because someone took away his candy. What did you summon me for Nobunaga?” Shingen accepted the drink still not partaking of it, he simply held the weighted tumbler on his thigh in his large hand. His black eyes meeting their red counterparts, steel versus flames in this undesirable alliance.

“You still have hold of your own network throughout the city correct?”

“Naturally. Such a thing that has been generations in its cultivation cannot be rendered dead overnight even by your hand. As long as I am still living the bonds of trust are tied, the network remains.” Shingen was first and foremost a trader in information. It was not something he had felt the need to hide as it was widely known among the different factions that that was his domain. In fact, it had served him well over the years. Strategies were only as good as the information held and if you wanted a war with words you sometimes had to get a little psychological with it. Much easier to gain success when the opponent is already panicked that you might know something too juicy to share.

“Good I want you to look into something for me.” Nobunaga nodded happily after accepting confirmation. That familiar entitled attitude did little to staunch the agitated Tiger.

“I am not one of your hounds. Don’t you usually use Akechi for this kind of thing?” Shingen shot out his reply and watched as it hit home. A subtle and almost completely hidden reaction happened. His hand definitely tensed I wasn’t imagining it.

“You might not be one of my “hounds” as you call them Shingen, but you are one of my possessions. It would be a waste to not use every pawn at my disposal on occasion.” Nobu’s voice held an edge to it that was part warning and part dare. The frustrating thing to this almost textbook masking of unspoken issues within the payroll was that Shingen could not deny that there was truth in the devil’s words. Had he been in his position it would be something he would be using to his advantage as well.

“You sit there and just expect me to take your barbs and bidding?” Shingen’s voice rose to meet Nobu’s. I would rather not think of how similar we can be at times.

“I expect you to do your job. Like it or not we are part of a united front and this threat we have on the horizon is coming whether you help or not. I would have thought the great Shingen Takeda would have recognised the importance of going into battle with as much knowledge as possible is preferable to entering a battle with nothing.” He hadn’t so much as moved in his chair and yet there was no denying the shift of his oppressive presence in the room.

“You’re rattled? The Devil King himself is worried.” Shingen held his ground but his gaze had become one of curiosity.

“I am not worried nor am I afraid. I have a dislike for things that are hidden from me. Things that would try to steal what is mine. Now go and find me my weak link. Find me the focus of my attack.”

---

It had taken most of the afternoon to get to the change of location and then unload the van. The neighbours had all begun their series of curtain-twitching and popping out to put items into the outside waste bins to get a look at the new arrivals almost as soon as they pulled up. Mitsuhide chuckled knowing all too well that this was the limit to a lot of people’s subterfuge in the world that was so different to his. It was more innocent and on a level with a child eavesdropping at a door.

“What are you laughing at?” [Name] looked at him curiously as she crouched down to let the cat out of its transport carrier. It gave a small grumpy sounding recognition to her as thanks for its freedom and darted off to explore its new territory.

“Nothing my dear. Nothing at all.” Mitsuhide glanced around the home that had taken on interior design inspiration from a child’s box fort. “So… what are we unpacking first?”

“The kettle. I’m gonna kill someone if I don’t get a coffee.” Casting out a flippant comment she started shuffling boxes around in an apparent search for the correctly labelled one.

“Really now? Well if you should find yourself with such a thing happening, I would hope that you remember to call me about it.” He smiled watching [Name] look over the boxes near her.

“Mobster jokes? Seriously? I was just using a common phrase Mitsu.” She huffed her words used to chastise him lost any negativity in them as she failed to suppress a beautifully happy smile from gracing her lips. Say what you like little mouse we both know you like it.

“And I was just stating facts, my dear. I think the kettle is in this one.” He slid a knife over the tape on the box and with a small popping sound, it opened revealing the chrome coloured appliance. She scooped it up and pivoted her body to go to the kitchen.

They were finally home. He had taken a lot more care and effort in selecting this place than any of his previous safe houses. It was here after all that he would be putting his greatest treasure. It had to be perfect, it had to be safe. He had researched and laid a path of paperwork thick enough to cover their trail linking it to several of his aliases in various ways to lead credibility to it all.

This was a milestone in a relationship even in the normal world. All though they had been living together already back at HQ it didn’t change how pivotal this was. As he mused over a turn of events, he had never thought possible in his life. His smirk softening into a more relaxed smile as he watched [Name] bounce around from box to box looking for cups and other things. I wonder if you know how far I would go to protect you. How far I’ve already gone and how much further I’d be willing to fall just to keep you safe.

---

To say his patience was wearing thin was little more than a joke at this point. His desk was covered in the correspondence that he had had with Esshu since the untimely demise of its former CEO. Each one a polite yet firm refusal to entertain any ideas of a merger. The names signing off on each had been different and each one was added to the growing list he was formulating to try to figure out the design of the inner workings of the beast.

A few days had passed since the Tiger had been set among the pigeons and the lack of enthusiasm to retrieve what he asked for irked him. The fact they simply didn’t just accept their position and dance to the tune specified proved he couldn’t discount Shingen as a possible assassin in this game.

Something else was annoying him as well. “Don’t you usually use Akechi for this kind of thing?” He might have known that Shingen would have spotted the elephant in the room. His once sharp tool that was so quick to cut that the opposition hadn’t even registered the damage until it was too late was now playing house. The blade blunt and discolouring with lack of use. A battle was coming, would his trusted predator still be fighting?

The other company was one thing currently outside of his control. He felt his blood boil as he looked at the rejections. They had no idea who they were messing with. He hated it but there was no changing fact. They say history has a way of repeating itself and he felt the cogs of time rewind to a certain point. If they are not with him, then they stand against him and will be treated like everyone else that had refused his dream. He will crush them, destroy them and take what he wants by force for the greater good. It’s not the first time he would have to come up with a plan for a hostile takeover. But who is he targeting? Nobunaga roughly bundled the papers together on his desk in a shambolic pile and spun in his chair to stare out of his window.

The city below stretched out as far as his eye could see. Pedestrians scurried through the streets making their commute. Traffic lights at each intersection caused the traffic to pulse down the roads of the city in a familiar and predictable way.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Mitsuhide was still performing his duties. All the bases were covered and targets met with precision. Currently, there was no reason to take action to regain his tool. Still, he was not a patient man and he knew there might still come a time when he would have to do something to “correct” the issue. I warned you once before… old friend.

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tkpro-scenarios · 6 years

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April Fool’s Game 7th Scenario: Takamura Shiki (Tsukino Empire + Soulmates!AU)

Original ask | Ending

Takamura Shiki

Shiki lets out a deep breath before surveying the area to see for anything that might be different from the norm, as it was his shift to guard the fortress and keep an eye out for any intruders and whatnot. He sighs as he checks the time and see how long till he would have to call Tsubasa for his shift, when he sees something move in his peripheral vision. He looks at the direction he thought he saw it and squinted his eyes to try and see from the distance he was in. When he saw a slight movement, he quickly called his familiar – a phoenix with purple flames, and quickly headed down from his post and placed a distance between him and the intruder hiding behind a boulder. “Show who you are.” He demanded, readying his familiar, Chabo, to attack.

He took a few cautious steps forward and demanded once more, and this time, you showed yourself with your arms raised, signalling him that you weren’t going to do anything dangerous. “Who are you?” You smirked, “Who knows~?” Shiki frowned as his familiar went closer to you, “I’ll ask again. Who are you and state your business.” “If I said that I just wanted to visit the empire, would you believe me?” “No.” “Oh? And why?” “A visitor wouldn’t try to sneak in. And you’d need a pass that would indicate that you are indeed only visiting.” He explains. “I see… Then, I’d just have to–” you quickly dash towards the gate, surprising Shiki, “–force myself in!” “Wha– Chabo-kun!” He calls his familiar to block your path with its flames. “Just give yourself up.” You frowned at the flames blocking your way as you looked over your shoulder to see Shiki walking towards you, ready to capture you. Taking a deep breath, you took a gamble and charged towards him, a swiss knife in your hand. Shiki saw this and took out a dagger to defend himself. You swung the swiss knife, but Shiki dodged a couple of times before he noticed that you were no longer in front of him. He looked from left to right and just when he was about to check behind him, you had already placed your swiss army knife by his neck and was behind him, locking left arm behind his back. “You’re not as strong as I thought, commander.” You teased. “Oh?” Shiki quickly used his momentum on his left side to swing you to the side and swung his dagger and had made a cut on your cheek. You staggered backwards and placed a disrance between you two, with your hand covering the cheek that Shiki had cut, when you realized something. You uncovered your cheek and looked at your hand, and saw no blood, nor feel any blood dripping down your cheek. Surprised, you looked at Shiki, who had the same kind of reaction on his face. “You have got to be kidding me.” You muttered and just when you thought of running away, another phoenix, this time with yellow flames, blocked your escape path. “Ah~ Ah~ Stop right there. You’re coming with us.” Tsubasa appeared, together with Dai. “Tsubasa. Dai.” Shiki looked at his comrades. “Rikka saw from the survellience cameras and called us over to back you up.” Dai answered his unspoken question. “I see…” Shiki then walked towards you, “Well then, you have nowhere to go, just give it up.” You look at the two summoned familiars and the three men, and sighed, “Fine.” — Rikka handed a cup of coffee to Shiki, who muttered a thanks. “Say Shiki.” Rikka says as he watches his leader go through the reports from Tsubasa, who had interrogated you since the past hour. “Hm?” “What are you going to do about her?” “What do you mean?” “I saw what happened from the cameras… Shiki… She’s–” “–Rikka.” Shiki puts down his mug and sternly looks at his friend. Rikka sighs, “Sorry.” “It’s fine. I honestly don’t know what’s going on myself.” He sighs, “This is a pain.” Rikka chuckles, “Well, what do you want to do?”

Shiki sighs as he remembered his conversation with his pink-haired friend the previous day.

“Eh? You’re going to let her go? But Shiki–”

“–Well, I won’t let her out immediately, if that’s what you’re worried about. But–” he looked down on the reports and wondered why you had easily told Tsubasa everything they needed to know. From who you were to why you tried to get into the empire in the most suspicious way. “–Maybe, I’m just curious about her.” He mumbles, unheard by Rikka.

“Shiki?”

“Anyway, I’ll talk to her myself tomorrow.”

“Oh? Isn’t it the Commander himself.” You said as Shiki arrived in front of your cell, “What are you doing here? Gonna send me to somewhere else?” You said with a condescending tone.

Shiki frowned before bluntly saying, “I’m here to free you.”

You’re eyes widened in surprise, “Eh? Really?”

“Only if you answer my question.” He added, earning a small frown from you.

“Okay? Shoot.”

“Are you my soulmate?”

You blankly stare at the purple haired commander before bursting into laughter, “Seriously? That’s your question?”

Shiki frowns and was about to turn his heel and leave when you called him out, “Wait! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll answer your question.”

“So?” He gestured you to answer as you calmed yourself down.

“I guess we are.” You said with a casual shrug.

“You guess?”

“Well, I haven’t confirmed by harming you now did I? Don’t you remember? One can harm the other, but the other cannot. If you couldn’t harm me, I probably could.” You eye his dagger, “Wanna try it out?”

He suspiciously looks at you, and cautiously back away, “No.”

“Then we’ll never know and it was probably just a fluke that you were able to cut me with your dagger yesterday.” You say casually with a cheeky smirk. Shiki sighed before taking out his dagger and handing it over to you, “Here.”

You smiled as you took the dagger from him, “Thanks. And relax, it’ll just be a scratch.” You say as you gestured him to hand him his hand. You took his hand in yours and you made a small cut on his palm with the dagger, “See. I can harm you. Now you try.” You said, handing the weapon back to him.

“Eh?”

“See if you can place a cut on me.” You say, showing your palm. Shiki reluctantly took the dagger back and made a small cut on your palm, only to have the wound quickly heal back.

“See? Soulmates.” You said, pointing to yourself and then to him.

He blankly stared at the dagger before looking at you, “Why?”

“Hm?”

“Why would you easily answer our questions?”

You hummed at first, thinking of your answer, “Well… When I thought of the probability that you were my soulmate after yesterday’s events… I thought that… I could change my life, maybe?” You said rather sheepishly.

“You…”

“Shiki!” Tsubasa came running in with a panicked look on his face, “Trouble by the walls!”

“Alright, I’ll be right behind you.” Tsubasa nodded as he ran back out to aid Dai, who was with other soldiers battling out by the walls.

Shiki turned his head towards you, still comfortably standing inside your cell, “Well? What are you waiting for? They need you.” You tell him, only earning a reluctant look from the commander. “I won’t be exactly going anywhere. Really.” You urged.

Shiki sighed before taking out the key to your cell and unlocking it. “I promised your freedom didn’t I? You’re free now.” He answered you unspoken question, seeing as it was on your face. He makes a small smile before running out to aid your comrades.

—

Once outside, he quickly called his familiar out to aid his comrades in defending their walls before noticing the few numbers attacking. “Why are there so little members…?” He wondered before Rikka had called him in with his phone, “Shiki! There’s trouble! The prisoner–” before he could let Rikka finish, he turned off the call and rushed back to the prison cell you were in, only to see the intruder using you as his shield.

“Don’t move!” Shiki yelled out as his familiar brilliantly showed his firey wings, ready to attack.

“I heard everything… You can’t harm her, correct?” The guy says, forcing you to move in front of him, making you the intruder’s shield. Shiki clicked his tongue and guessed that the intruder was probably eavesdropping since the very beginning, as it seemed that you were slightly surprised as well by his presence.

Shiki made a defensive stance as he and his familiar stood in front of the only exit they had. “As if you could get out anyway.” He said, only making the intruder smirk before rushing towards you, a dagger at his hand. With his own dagger, he expertly blocked it before entering a melee battle with the intruder.

Wen it was visible that Shiki had the upper hand, the intruder clicked his tongue and as Shiki slowly approached him, there was a sudden explosion, creating a barricade and trapping them inside. “What–” surprised by the sudden barricade, the intruder rushed in for the kill, and as Shiki tried to defend himself at the last minute, you quickly jumped in front of him, and take the hit from the dagger.

“Wh– You–” Shiki quickly held you by your shoulders as you were about to fall into your knees. You weakly chuckled as you held your wound and flinched when your hand contacted the wound. The intruder smirked, “What an idiot. Well, she was merely a pawn anyway.”

Shiki glared at him and just he was about to order Chabo to quickly take hold of him and throw him into a random empty cell. Tsubasa’s familiar came in, together with its master. “Hey, need some help?” The blonde smirked as Shiki smiled, “Yeah.”

“Heh, thought so.” Tsubasa quickly jabbed the intruder by the stomach and then as the guy leaned over, Tsubasa knocked him out by hitting his nape and then proceeded to use handcuffs on the intruder. “I’ll bring Rikka in to help you two out… Dai and I will hand this guy over to Procella.”

“Please do.” Tsubasa nodded as he drags the intruder along, leaving you two alone.

Shiki looks over to you as he pressed his palm on your wound to hopefully stop the bleeding, “Hey, hang in there. You said it right? Your life could change now that we met. So, don’t go anywhere.” He said as you tried to smile.

With hollow breaths, you said, “It sure is nice… that out of the two of us… You were the one… who wouldn’t be able to hurt me…”

Shiki looks at you with worry, “And you will… So you just have to–”

You made one last smile as you shook you head, “Sorry… But thank you… For at least being… my soulmate. At least… I got to know… Who it was…”

Shiki frowned as he saw you take your last breath and brought you closer to his chest. Rikka soon came and frowned as he saw the scene before him and was about to console his friend when, the said person stood up, with you in his arms. “Shiki?”

“Prepare a burial.”

“Eh?” Rikka looked at his commander in surprise but nodded anyways. “Alright.”

Shiki looked at you one more time as he made small smile, “I hope, we meet again. And this time, as proper soulmates… [Name].”

#tsukipro #tsukipro imagines #SQ #SolidS #Takamura Shiki #holiday special #april fools #scenarios

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finestfantasyxii · 6 years

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Final Fantasy XII Character Information

Disclaimer: All information is from official sources such as the ultimanias, merchandise like the official XII pins, and the websites, game guides, etc.

If a character’s age is different in the Japanese version compared to the Western version, the Japanese version will be listed first.

The character descriptions in Japanese can be located here.

Sky Pirate’s Den sprites are ripped by Shard of Truth. Revenant Wings sprites are ripped by Barubary. Pictlogica sprites are from Square Enix Bridge.

This post will be updated over time when we get around to all the ultimanias and such.

MAIN CHARACTERS

VAAN

Age: 17 (XII) 18 (RW)

Height: 170cm or ~5′5″ or 5′6″

Quickenings: Red Spiral, White Whorl, Pyroclasm

Eye Colour: Gray-Blue

Descriptions:

(NA Game Manual and website) "A boy who sees freedom in the skies." Living in the Rabanastre slums, Vaan maintains an air of hope even under the oppressive rule of the Empire. But he longs for more: a life without borders or authority. He dreams of becoming a sky pirate, free to go where he will.

(NA TZA website) Living in the Rabanastre slums, Vaan maintains an air of hope even under the oppressive rule of the Empire. But he longs for more: a life without borders or authority. He dreams of becoming a sky pirate, free to go where he will—though the loss of his family weighs heavy on his heart.

(Itadaki Street Portable) A bright-eyed boy who still dreams of being an airship pirate as his hometown falls beneath the Empire's mighty fist. Even after Dalmasca was taken control of by the Empire, Vaan maintains a positive attitude. His late brother was his only immediate family, so he took to caring for the younger children. Vaan dreams of becoming an airship pirate, flying freely in the sky.

(Piggyback Strategy Guide) He lost his family during the war and is now living as a cutpurse in the Lowtown district of the Royal City of Rabanastre. Even though life under the rule of the Empire isn't easy, the 17-year-old boy looks to the future with an air of hope. He dreams of one day becoming a Sky Pirate, with his own airship to command.

(Bradygames Strategy Guide & PrimaGames) After losing his parents to the plague and his brother Reks to treachery and war, Vaan is now a child of the streets. He's now a leader of a sub-culture of war orphans who roam the slums of Rabanastre.

(Bradygames Revenant Wings Strategy Guide) Vaan has spent most of his young life dreaming of being a sky pirate. Recent remarkable events (chronicled in Final Fantasy XII) have made that dream come true. But a seemingly simple treasure hunt with old allies Fran and Balthier unleashes a mind-boggling chain of events. Vaan loses one airship, gains another, and hurtles skyward with his friends on an adventure to an ancient sky continent.

(Revenant Wings manual) A young sky pirate whose journey throughout Ivalice have taught him so much. At last the captain of his own airship, Vaan travels the skies in search of adventure.

(Tactics A2) Final Fantasy XII's leading man. Tempered by his many adventures, Vaan has matured in the intervening years, but he remains spirited and carefree—some might say careless. Now famous sky pirates, he and his partner, Penelo, even find themselves plagued by impostors.

(Opera Omnia) An orphan from the Kingdom of Dalmasca who dreams of becoming a sky pirate. While he despised the empire for taking his brother's life, he was helpless until a twist of fate brought him and Princess Ashe together. Along with his childhood friend, Penelo, and the sky pirate, Balthier, he sets out on a cosmic journey to free their homeland.

(Dissidia 012) A cheerful youth who skillfully uses a variety of weapons in battle. Confident in his skills, he fearlessly enters any fierce battle.

Misc:

Both Ashe and Vaan were used during the production of Final Fantasy XIII to stand in for unfinished characters.

PENELO

Age: 16 (XII), 17 (RW) ; 17 (XII), 18 (RW)

Height: 160cm or ~5′2″

Quickenings: Intercession, Evanescence, Resplendence, Dance of Rapture

Eye Colour: Honey Brown

Descriptions:

(OG NA Game Manual and website) "Vaan's friend." "A girl who wants peace." Like Vaan, Penelo calls Rabanastre's Lowtown home. She watches over Vaan, trying to keep him from getting into too much trouble. Though she lost her family in the war with the Empire, Penelo is ever cheerful, making her way by doing odd jobs in and around the city. She enjoys the lighter side of life, but Penelo is not altogether unfamiliar with battle. While she remains untested in a true fight, her brothers, who belonged to the Order, taught her the fundamentals of combat. Penelo believes that in perseverance, there is hope.

(NA TZA website) A young woman who suffered the tragic loss of her family during the war, Penelo is Vaan’s friend since childhood and always looks out for him. She is brave and will not lose sight of herself, even when she gets caught up in a conspiracy that will shake a nation.

(Itadaki Street Portable) A girl orphaned by the war. Penelo tries to maintain a good attitude. She knows martial arts, but prefers to dance. Childhood friend of Vaan, born into a wealthy merchant family, but orphaned during the war. Penelo likes to sing and dance, but also knows martial arts - as her brothers had wanted to become knights. Penelo has a cheerful spirit that encourages the people around her.

(Piggyback Strategy Guide) 16-year-old Penelo lives in the Lowtown district of Rabanastre like Vaan, and makes her living by running errands for a respected merchant called Migelo. This cheerful girl acts as if she was Vaan's elder sister,always trying to keep him out of trouble. Despite her youth, she doesn't shy away from combat thanks to the tricks her brothers taught her.

(Bradygames Strategy Guide & PrimaGames) Penelo loves Vaan like a brother. Her own parents, who were lost in the recent war, took in Vaan after his loss and raised him as one of their own. She sees the natural leader in him, even if he doesn't quite see it himself.

(Bradygames Revenant Wings Strategy Guide) She may be the "mother hen" of the group and her cooking may be suspect, but Penelo is an unspoken leader of Rabanastre's subculture of war orphans. Her steady, healing support abilities make her an indispensable member of every battle party.

(Revenant Wings manual) Vaan's childhood friend, always there to lend a helping hand--or a proper scolding. Penelo is ever the faithful navigator, even when Vaan strays off course in new (and alarming) ways.

(Tactics A2) Vaan's steadfast partner, Penelo sometimes gently—but more often severely—keeps him from staying too far off course. Already a famed sky pirate, she is also fast gaining renown as a skillful dancer.

(Opera Omnia) A cheerful young girl taken under the wing of local shopkeeper Migelo after being orphaned in the war. Her concern for Vaan leads to her first encounter with the sky pirate, Balthier, and a misunderstanding which pits her in a battle against Archadia. Penelo learned martial arts from her elder brothers and dreams of becoming a dancer.

Misc:

Originally her hair colour was meant to be a kind of pinkish colour. In the Final Fantasy XII Ultimania Omega, Akihiko Yoshida says he originally designed her with pink hair, but there were problems with the color in-game, it looked washed-out(?), so he gave her blonde hair instead.

There is a translation out there for one of her Japanese character description that says she only has one brother whereas other translations including localized ones say she has more than one. Both say they were part of the Order.

In Revenant Wings, Penelo is said to be a terrible cook at the start of the game. So much so that Vaan and Kytes can’t stomach eating all of it, but do it anyways to make her happy. By the time Larsa joins the group, Penelo has improved a lot to the point Larsa loves her cooking so much, he buys (or upgrades) her diner in the Galbana. By the end of the game, she’s improved substantially.

Basch and Penelo are the only ones of the main cast of characters to not have a Play Arts/Play Arts Kai figure for them.

In the original Japanese version of Final Fantasy XII, Penelo’s kidnapping scene is not present. Producer Akitoshi Kawazu said in an interview, it was because of a ratings issue, and there were similarities between Penelo’s kidnapping and real-world incidents in Japan at the time.

Penelo’s English voice actor, Catherine Taber, also voices Queen Andoria Kaya Tranka Fam Forturio from Final Fantasy Type-0 HD.

Penelo and Vaan’s relationship is developed further in Final Fantasy XII: Revenant Wings. Penelo, also, mentions how she wants their relationship to be like Fran and Balthier’s.

In the Revenant Wings Ultimania and the Final Fantasy XII Scenario Ultimania, Penelo is referred to as Vaan’s girlfriend.

BALTHIER

Full Name: Ffamran “Balthier” Mied Bunansa

Age: 22 (XII), 23 (RW)

Height: 183cm or 6′

Quickenings: Fires of War, Tides of Fate, Element of Treachery

Eye Colour: Hazel-Green

Descriptions:

(OG NA game manual and website) "A dashing sky pirate." He would describe himself as a noble thief, stealing only from those who deserve it. He goes where he pleases, swearing fealty to no one. While roaming the skies of Ivalice with Fran, his viera partner, he still makes time to charm the ladies with his silver tongue and put wrongs to right-grinning all the while.

(NA TZA website) Balthier would describe himself as a noble thief, stealing only from those who deserve it. While roaming the skies of Ivalice, he still makes time to charm the ladies with his silver tongue and put wrongs to right—grinning all the while. And yet he has not entirely escaped from the demons of his past...

(Itadaki Street Portable) A young airship pirate who only steals from those he deems as wicked. His success attributes to his ally, Fran, and his airship, the Strahl. Pilot and commander of the airship, the Strahl, along with his partner, Fran, of the Viera race. Balthier threw away his past and ties to become a self-proclaimed righteous pirate. He smiles fearlessly without panic, even in dangerous situations. Ashe and Vaan meet him a local market.

(Piggyback Strategy Guide) Balthier is exactly what Vaan longs to become: a Sky Pirate. This handsome man, 22 years of age, roams the skies of Ivalice together with his Viera partner, Fran. With a gambler's love for risk-taking and a healthy disregard for the rules, he considers himself to be a good old-fashioned adventurer.

(Bradygames Strategy Guide & PrimaGames) A man of wit, charm and a mysterious past, Balthier owes allegiance to no crown or council. He prowls the skies of Ivalice with his partner Fran in search of treasure and perhaps something else...

(Bradygames Revenant Wings Strategy Guide) Captain of the legendary vessel named the Strahl, Balthier has become the most famous (and infamous) sky pirate of modern times in Ivalice. After reluctantly taking Vaan under his wing, he now faces a new and unsettling menance while teaching young apprentice that things are not always as they seem...

(Revenant Wings manual) Legendary sky pirate who flies his beloved airship, the Strahl, to the ends of Ivalice. He stepped from a limelight at the great war's end, keeping his whereabouts well hidden.

(Opera Omnia) A youthful sky pirate deeply attached to the wide blue yonder who roams the world with his partner, Fran. In an unexpected turn of events, he meets Vaan and gets caught up in a quest to restore Dalmasca. Although a man of charm and wit, he becomes highly sensitive when people bring up his past or father.

(Tactics WotL) A sky pirate who owes allegiance to no man or country. His skills as a machinist and thief are second to none. Balthier, branded a heretic by the Church, is searching for the Cache of Glabados. His path crosses Ramza’s when a false lead intended for him ensnares the young Beoulve as well.

Misc:

According to the Final Fantasy wiki, He and Doctor Cid were meant to have a conversation shown between the two of them during Balthier’s past when he was a Judge; the audio for this is still present on the Japanese version of the original Final Fantasy XII, but has been removed from later versions. However because there is a lack of sources for this, please take this with a grain of salt until someone can retrieve it from the game disc.

There is also a model of Balthier present in the data as a prisoner in Nalbina dungeons. This model was later reused for Basch with a simple head-swap.

Balthier shares his last name with Mustadio and Besrudio Bunansa from Final Fantasy Tactics.

Balthier’s Japanese voice actor, Hiroaki Hirata, is the voice of Captain Jack Sparrow in Kingdom Hearts II as well as Sanji from One Piece.

In The Zodiac Age, Balthier’s hair, earrings, and clothing did not move similar to Basch with his hair. This had been fixed for the PC release.

FRAN

Age: ~23-27 in Hume years*

Height: 187cm (6′1″) without her ears and 216cm (7′1″) with her ears

Quickenings: Feral Strike, Whip Kick, Shatterheart, Gaze of the Void

Eye Colour: Red-Brown

Descriptions:

(OG NA game manual and website) "A master of weapons." A viera warrior, Fran is as much at ease with a sword as she is her bare hands. Her proficiency with a blade is matched only by her skill with a wrench, as she also handles the maintenance of Balthier's airship, the Strahl. The lifespan of the viera is far greater than that of humes, and many secrets lie hidden in her long history. Yet, the divide of race does nothing to diminish the bond of trust between her and Balthier.

(NA TZA website) A viera warrior who forsook her forest home for the life of a sky pirate. Fran's prowess in battle is matched only by her skill with a wrench, as she also handles the maintenance of Balthier's airship, the Strahl. Her silent, inscrutable air belies a strong inner spirit and a readiness to risk anything to protect her hard-won freedom.

(Itadaki Street Portable) A member of the Viera race with a mastery of any weapon. Fran's sharp sense and knowledge of airships are invaluable to Balthier. A female Viera warrior with knowledge in weaponry and mechanics. She is in charge of maintainence of Balthier's airship, the Strahl. Fran is a calm person who makes wise decisions using her sharp senses. She trusts Balthier strongly.

(Piggyback Strategy guide) Fran is Balthier's "business partner". Amongst other things, she handles the maintenance of their airship, the Strahl. Although her age is unknown, she belongs to the Viera, who are distinguished by (among other things) their remarkable longevity.

(Bradygames Strategy guide & PrimaGames) A Viera female with a strong sensitivity to the Mist, Fran is a loyal partner and co-pilot to Balthier. She's quite a formidable warrior and a mechanic to boot. Her adjustment to the greater world since abandoning the forest dwellings of her race is nearly complete. But can one ever completely forsake the voice of the Wood?

(Bradygames Revenant Wings Strategy guide) The beautiful and mysterious viera is the longtime co-pilot and partner of Balthier. Her remarkable connection to the Mist that surrounds all life gives her an almost mystical ability to see the paths that must be taken... or avoided. Ignore her "feelings" at your peril!

(Revenant Wings manual) Mysterious and quiet, as viera are to be, Fran shares a bond of unshakable trust with her fellow sky pirate and partner, Balthier.

Misc:

*The official scenario ultimania lists Jote (the oldest of the Viera sisters) in the Hume equivalent of her 30s, and Mrjn (the youngest) in the equivalent of her late teens, around 18-20. This would put Fran (the middle sister) most likely anywhere between the equivalent ages of 21-29 / 23-27 in Hume years.

Fran shares her Japanese voice actor, Rika Fukami, with Sailor Venus/Minako Aino from the original Sailor Moon anime in Japan.

Fran makes an appearance in the Final Fantasy: Lost Stranger manga.

ASHE

Full Name: Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca

Age: 17 (Beginning of XII), 19 (XII), 20 (RW)

Height: 165cm or 5′4″

Quickenings: Northswain's Glow, Heaven's Wrath, Maelstrom's Bolt, Empyrean's Edict

Eye Colour: Gray

Descriptions:

(OG NA game manual and website) "A princess who had lost everything." The only child of King Raminas and sole heir to the Dalmascan throne, Ashe is believed dead following the invasion. She meets Vaan and the others under the most unlikely of circumstances. Ashe knows all too well she lacks the power to right the wrongs committed against her and her kingdom, but she will not allow herself to admit defeat.

(NA TZA website) The only child of King Raminas and sole heir to the Dalmascan throne, Ashe is believed to have taken her own life two years ago amidst the invasion. In truth, she lives, secretly leading the Resistance with the hope that she will one day reclaim her kingdom.

(Itadaki Street Portable) Sole heir to the Dalmascan throne. Ashe fights alongside her people against the Empire's expanding control. In a small country that connects the Valendia and Ordalia continents, the surviving heir to the Dalmascan throne is the King's only daughter. As the country lowers its resistence to the oncoming threat of the Empire, Ashe feels it is her duty to save it. She is a worriful girl who often feels outright helpless.

(Piggyback Strategy Guide) The 19-year-old Princess Ashe is the only child of the late King Raminas and the sole heiress to the throne of Dalmasca. After the Empire invaded her home country, it was announced that she took her own life. Thankfully, reports of her death were greatly exaggerated. Her goal is now to form a resistance that will be able to reclaim her country's sovereignty.

(Bradygames Strategy Guide & PrimaGames) The daughter of the Dalmascan king and heir to the throne, Lady Ashe first loses her newlywed husband Rasler and then her country to the Archadian juggernaut. The official story is that she took her own life in the aftermath of the Imperial conquest. However, resistance is in her blood, as is the legacy of the Dynast-King.

(Bradygames Revenant Wings Strategy Guide) Heir to the legacy of the great Dynast-Kings of Dalmasca, Lady Ashe now sits on the throne of the ancient kingdom. A great warrior in her own right, she teams with Basch to form a formidable duo of unshakeable allies.

Misc:

Did you know many sources have said Ashe is an only child, but others have said she has at least 8 older brothers?

In the data for Final Fantasy XII, there is a ‘ghost’ model of Ashe among her other models. It is similar to how Rasler appears in the game outside of FMVs.

Both Ashe and Vaan were used during the production of Final Fantasy XIII to stand in for unfinished characters.

Ashe’s menu portrait is taken from her promotional poster, and not her official render like everyone else.

Ashe shares her English voice actor, Kari Wahlgren, with Aranea Highwind from Final Fantasy XV, Shelke from Dirge of Cerberus -Final Fantasy VII- and Ovelia Atkascha in Final Fantasy Tactics: The War of the Lions. Her Japanese voice actor, Mie Sonozaki, voices Jihl Nabaat from Final Fantasy XIII.

In the Final Fantasy XII Ultimania Omega, Akihiko Yoshida says he had many different designs for Ashe and isn’t sure how he came to design(?)/decide(?) on her current one.

BASCH

Full Name: Basch fon Ronsenburg

Age: 36 (XII), 37 (RW)

Height: 180cm or 5′9″

Quickenings: Fulminating Darkness, Ruin Impendent, Flame Purge, Apocalypse Shield

Eye Colour: Blue-Gray

Descriptions:

(OG NA game manual and website) "A loyal knight branded as traitor." A captain in the Order of the Knights of Dalmasca, Basch achieved renown as a gallant and brave hero credited with countless victories on the battlefield. He is a man of justice who cannot abide inequity. Unlike the other captains, who are chosen from the aristocracy, Basch is of common blood and enjoys the love of the people, until he inexplicably murders the King on the eve of a treaty-signing with Archadia. He is led away in chains. What could drive so loyal a man to slay his oathsworn liege?

(NA TZA website) A Dalmascan knight and captain once celebrated as a gallant and brave hero, Basch shocked the realm two years ago when he assassinated his own king on the eve of a treaty-signing with Archadia. Though public records say he was executed for treason, in truth Basch yet lives, imprisoned deep in the dungeons.

(Itadaki Street Portable) A wise warrior of Dalmasca. His prowess and dedication earns him overwhelming support from the people he serves. Warrior of the old Dalmasca Kingdom. His name is known amongst the generals. Once honored as a hero, Basch has been accused of the assassination of the Dalmascan King. After being released two years later, he protects Ashe, the remaining heir to the throne. Basch cares little for himself, believing only in justice.

(Piggyback Strategy Guide) 36-year-old Basch was a captain in the Order of the Knights of Dalmasca. A veteran of many battles, he was considered a brave and valiant knight, until an inexplicable event led to him being branded a traitor to his country. However, there may be more to him than meets the eye.

(Bradygames Strategy Guide & PrimaGames) This great hero of Dalmasca, captain of the Order of Knights, now stands accused of the assassination of his oathsworn liege, King Raminas. Word is that Basch saw the King's attempt to sue for peace with Archadia as a betrayal of the kingdom. But is that word true?

(Bradygames Revenant Wings Strategy Guide) The great captain of the Dalmascan Order of Knights and personal bodyguard of Queen Ashe, Basch is as steadfast and loyal as he is deadly with a melee weapon. His abilities can literally add a shield of protection to any party under siege.

Misc:

In Dissidia and Dissidia 012, Gabranth has an alternate outfit called “Captain’s Gear” which is a reference to the beginning of Final Fantasy XII when he impersonated Basch and killed King Raminas.

Basch and Penelo are the only ones of the main cast of characters to not have a Play Arts/Play Arts Kai figure for them.

In Japan, Basch’s title in the Order is general whereas in the English version, he is a captain.

Basch and Gabranth are twins, and Basch is the oldest and Gabranth is the youngest.

In The Zodiac Age, Basch’s hair is glitched in that it doesn’t move like the other party members. In the PC release this was fixed.

In the Japanese version of Final Fantasy XII during the scene when Reks is stabbed, Basch and Gabranth’s voices overlay leaving an air of mystery about who killed the king, but in the English version, there is no overlay. Gabranth is the one who speaks, not Gabranth and Basch.

OTHER CHARACTERS

REKS

Age: 17-18 (XII)

Eye Colour: Pale Blue

Misc:

Jovy, a seeq in Nalbina, eventually tells Vaan that his hero was Reks and that he looked up to him.

Reks’s Blade can be obtained by Vaan in Dissidia 012.

Reks shares his Japanese voice actor with Cecil Harvey from the Dissidia series and Final Fantasy IV 3D remake.

GABRANTH

Full Name: Noah fon Ronsenburg

Age: 36 (XII)

Eye Colour: Hazel

Descriptions:

(Dissidia) A warrior who swears his life to those he trusts.

(Dissidia 012) The guardian of the law who presides over judgments of life and death, his true strength is realized when he dons his helm.

Misc:

The most expensive piece of merchandise for Final Fantasy XII is a replica of Gabranth’s helmet.

According to Destructoid.com, it was around $1100. Play-Asia lists its size at 360mm.

Square Enix has also made a life-size replica of Gabranth’s armor.

In both Dissidia and Dissidia 012, Gabranth is voiced by Keith Ferguson who voices Basch instead of Michael E. Rodgers who voiced Gabranth in Final Fantasy XII.

REDDAS

Full Name: Foris “Reddas” Zecht

Age: 33 (XII)

Misc:

Reddas shares his English voice actor with Ramza Beoulve from Final Fantasy Tactics.

Reddas is younger than both Basch and Gabranth by three years.

AL-CID

Full Name: Al-Cid Margrace

Age: 27

Descriptions: (

Tactics A2) One of the Margrace family who controls Rozarria. Masters of espionage who travel the world in search of information. They are well known for keeping a woman, or several, in every port.

Misc:

Al-Cid is not seen in Revenant Wings, but is mentioned by Ashe to Balthier that she visited Rozarria and the sunset from the Ambervale is beautiful.

Al-Cid is also in Final Fantasy Tactics A2: Grimoire of the Rift and can be recruited after completing the quest A Dashing Duel.

His job class in Tactics is Agent and he cannot change jobs nor can he use support or reaction abilities.

Al-Cid shares his english voice actor, David Rasner, with Brother from Final Fantasy X and Final Fantasy X-2, as well as Trema from Final Fantasy X-2.

#final fantasy xii #vaan #penelo #fran #balthier #ashelia b'nargin dalmasca #basch fon ronsenburg #reddas #reks #gabranth #al cid margrace #ff12info

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capnjay21 · 6 years

Text

the importance of being idle, 12/12

A/N: aloha! I posted this on AO3 a little while ago, but it has yet to make it onto tumblr. I wanted to say thank you so much to everybody who stuck along for the ride, it wouldn’t have been anymore than a oneshot without you! I’ll ramble a little more at the end, but here it is.

Rating: M

Catch up on: AO3 | tumblr

the importance of being idle get-out-of-my-apartment-(no-really-get-out)-you’re-hot-but-I-got-shit-to-do rock ‘n roll AU. Captain Swan.

Neither the fragrant dispensable hand soap, the superior quality of microwavable goods nor the silent as smoke bathroom door could make living in the Blackbeard’s Revenge tour bus a salvageable experience.

Admittedly, she’d only been there for just over twenty-four hours.

But it still fucking sucked.

After watching the Jolly Rogers drive away, she’d had little else to do except move her camera equipment and her small suitcase onto the other bus. Of course, the only free bunk happened to be right next to Blackbeard’s, but at least she wasn’t ousting any back-line equipment. If she was going to be here for the next month and a half, she would keep her head down and stay out of trouble, collect her money and go.

And try not to think too hard about the band that had driven away.

She spent the entire day in her bunk, alternating between attempting to read and adjusting settings needlessly on her camera, ignoring any offhand remarks sent her way. Blackbeard’s Revenge clearly had their own rhythm, the radio flipped onto some postseason baseball game while they alternated between relaxing and trying to coax a rise out of Emma. There were only so many ‘and how goes our forlorn freelancer, darling?’ she could take before she took a leaf out of Tina and Killian’s book and socked one of them in the jaw, but their every jibe strengthened her resolve. The only small mercy she could think of was the lack of Neal, since he had his own car he’d been using for that leg of the tour.

Eventually, the men dozed off and Emma was left in peace, scrolling idly through her phone. She didn’t text Killian. Her immediate instinct was to wait and see if he texted her first, but remembered too late that they never actually got to a point where they’d exchanged numbers — she only had his because of the note he’d left in her apartment that very first night. Along with his shirt.

(The shirt she had, in a moment of weakness, decided to throw on.

She’d brought it on the tour under the pretext of giving it back to him, and it had sat at the bottom of her suitcase until she could find the right moment — which now, of course, had obviously passed her by. It felt oddly symbolic of her entire relationship with Killian, to her chagrin.)

August had messaged her a string of salsa dancing women emojis, assuring her she’d pull through the other side. In response, she’d merely sent him a tired looking selfie with the book she’d secretly swiped from his bunk; Pinocchio. His reply was scandalised.

I knew there was a reason you said no to my fairytales. ‘Finding your own destiny’ my ass.

<b>that’s not v gentlemanly </b>

They’d bantered for a few minutes before she let the phone lie, a dull ache settling in the centre of her chest. She missed him. She missed all of them.

And before she let the rattling of the bus on the highway lull her into an afternoon nap, she couldn’t stop feeling the phantom scratch of stubble against her temple as a kiss was laid there, a murmur of sweet dreams, Emma, carrying her away.

***

BR had managed to recruit some local band last minute to open for them that night in New York, a city where no shortage of musicians lurked waiting for a chance like that to come along. They’d been okay, the style leaning a little too far into pop-punk for Emma’s liking, but dutifully she took photos and acted much the same as she had on every other night. It was a job, now. Nothing more. Take photos, go to bed. No lingering backstage, no welcome distractions, no banter as the venue was set up — all she cared about was her finger over the shutter release and the thought of getting back to her bunk, Killian’s shirt folded neatly underneath her pillow.

She’d gone back to the bus immediately after the gig. Even with that vestige of him surrounding her, it had been a restless night’s sleep.

They were performing just one more show in New York, and the next morning Emma couldn’t help but let her thoughts stray to the fact that it would be the last time she worked with Neal. If it weren’t for the fact that it left her alone with Blackbeard’s Revenge she would’ve been more relieved, but as it stood Neal was both a buffer and an inconvenience. They both knew it in their unspoken, mutual agreement; this would be the last time they saw each other. There was no use prolonging their association — the past was firmly in the past, Emma had closure. She didn’t know what Neal had, but it sure as fuck wasn’t anything that concerned her, and there was something decidedly liberating about finally setting fire to that chapter of her life, and letting it go up in smoke.

While most of her freedom to decide had been taken from her over the past day, it felt good to still be able to make some choices.

As the hours ticked by into the early afternoon, Emma was flicking through the photos she’d already taken from the last month or so, Blackbeard and Isaac playing cards in the seating area, with Pan listening to music as he lay back in his bunk. Jefferson had disappeared a few hours ago. It was a bitch to get into the city from the parking lot they’d been assigned near Newark, but the bassist seemed to be the only one interested in giving it a try. Emma couldn’t bring herself to give it a go, and it was highly likely the other three had already been before. The precarious peace, however, didn’t last long.

The door at the back of the bus swung open, sunlight beaming through and making Emma blink against the sudden brightness. Assuming it would be Jefferson returning, Emma didn’t spare it a glance — he was easily the most tolerable of the lot of them, but that didn’t make him any less complicit in the reason she was there.

“Ah,” Blackbeard greeted loudly, and Emma reached for her headphones. The least she could do was drown him out. “Jones. You’re late.”

Her head shot up so fast her neck cracked.

To her utter disbelief, Killian Jones stood silhouetted in the doorframe.

It took mere milliseconds for his eyes to find hers, a vivid blue like the glow of a lighthouse scattered on the waves. Although rationally she knew it had scarcely been a day and a half, it felt like far too long since she’d seen him, and she wrenched her gaze away to try and take in the rest of him — somewhat dishevelled in appearance and, if she wasn’t mistaken, wearing the same rumpled clothes as the day before. With his raven hair sticking up at odd angles on the back of his head, he looked as if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.

“Apologies,” Killian was saying to Blackbeard, “this place isn’t exactly convenient to reach.” Blackbeard waved a dismissive hand, before turning back to his game.

Before Emma could even fire off a query about why he was there, Killian cut her off.

“Pack your stuff, Swan,” he said, “we’re going.”

She didn’t move.

“What’re you doing here?”

Killian let out an exaggerated huff. “What does it look like? I’m attempting a dashing rescue.”

“And they say romance is dead,” Isaac hummed in amusement from his spot on the sofa opposite Blackbeard. Emma ignored him.

She didn’t get why everyone was being so goddamn calm.

As if sensing her hesitation, Blackbeard quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “You’re welcome to stay, Miss Swan, if you so desire.” The look he gave her could be described as leery at best. “But he has come all this way, and even I don’t advocate for that sort of cruelty.”

“Time is rather of the essence, love. Cab’s out front.”

Killian was watching her earnestly, and she followed the movement of his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. He was nervous, by now she could read his posture like a map, and something about it suggested to her that his sense of urgency had little to do with a taxi fare.

What the hell was going on?

Cautiously, she reached for her bag, gaze darting between the man in the doorway and those sprawled on the sofas. “You’re saying I’m allowed to just walk out of here?”

Blackbeard spread his hands. “Of course.”

“No invoices in the post?”

“Not even for your pilfering of my vastly expensive soap.”

Emma wasn’t about to wait around for them to change their minds.

She gathered her stuff as quickly as she could, shoving any loose items around the bunk back into her suitcase before carefully disassembling her camera and safely packing away all of the components. After she descended the ladder and made a quick check of the sheets for anything she hadn’t seen, she threw one last look over her shoulder at the three members of Blackbeard’s Revenge. Malcolm was still lying on his bed, eyes closed with his headphones on, not having even acknowledged the turn of events. Isaac and Charles’ attentions had returned to their game.

Emma opened her mouth to try and check one final time that she was in the clear.

“Call,” Charles said mildly, “you really do have the worst luck, Heller.”

“I’m sure my luck will improve once you stop using those two extra aces.”

They weren’t even the slightest bit interested, and she owed them nothing. So, after throwing them the proverbial middle finger, she merely stepped out of the bus and into the early afternoon sun. Killian’s hand was at the small of her back, guiding her to the entrance of the parking lot where two cabs were already waiting. From their brief distance, she could see August, Robin and Smee in one, Tina in the other, with piles of their equipment stuffed in between.

“Killian —?” she started.

“Sorry to press you, love,” he smiled widely at her, before throwing a furtive look back at the bus, “I’m merely eager not to tempt fate.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“You’re going home,” he said firmly, and the heat from his hand just erred on the side of scorching through her sweater. “That’s all that matters.”

“But how —?”

They’d reached the taxis, and all too suddenly the door had swung open to the first and she realised there was an empty seat beside August. Killian brushed a hand over her hip just briefly before he retreated to the other, dropping into the backseat beside Tina. Emma, entirely baffled but not too fond of questioning her good fortune just yet, saw she had no other choice but to buckle in. When she entered the cab it was to a few scattered cheers and August squeezing her hand affectionately.

She may have no goddamn clue what was happening, but it felt good to be back.

***

The Jolly Rogers were going to get signed.

The moment the door to the cab had shut, August, Smee and Robin were practically tripping over each other in order to relay the good news, an energy thrumming through them that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. Apparently, they’d had some incredibly busy twenty-four hours.

From Jefferson’s mansion in Connecticut, it had taken around eight hours of straight driving to get them back to Storybrooke, Merida testing the speed limit at any moment she could — it was a race against time, they’d decided, to see if they could make something of the exposure from the national tour before the news that Blackbeard’s Revenge had dropped them hit the press. There was no telling just how Gold Records would spin the news, and just how much of an effect it might have on any potential labels interested in signing them.

As it turned out, somebody had been waiting for them. Eric Triton had never been the bitter sort, he had confessed to them, but if his time with Blackbeard’s Revenge had taught him anything it was that he far favoured the reward that came with nurturing a band who actually cared about music to playing whatever it took to top the charts. After his departure from Blackbeard and company he had turned his attention to producing, eventually partnering up with the Poseidon Music Group after a providential meeting with the CEO’s daughter on a beach, and had made it his business to constantly be scouting for new talent ever since.

Apparently he had attended their gig at Warehouse 4, the one Emma herself had skipped what felt like a hundred years ago, and he was one of the calls that had Smee’s phone vibrating for days afterwards. You could imagine his exasperation when Blackbeard’s Revenge got to them first.

It was why, he’d told them, he almost felt glad that they’d been dropped from the tour — it gave him a second shot. The moment one of his contacts had alerted him to the disagreement at Jefferson’s mansion he had started camping as near as he dared to the town line, predicting correctly that they would be racing back to Storybrooke as soon as possible. He accosted them as they stormed into town, and the next thing they knew they had an invitation to play before Poseidon himself next week. Which was only a formality, of course. The deal was as good as done.

“Have you guys slept at all?” Emma gaped, and the dark rings around their eyes spoke volumes.

All three of them were giddy, exhausted but exhilarated, and constantly iterating just how glad they were that she was able to share in their good news, but not one of them would say a second word on just how they managed to wrangle her out from Blackbeard’s grasp, insisting that it wasn’t their story to tell. Emma had an inkling of just whose it was, but her curiosity only compounded the longer she sat sandwiched between August and the door of the cab.

It was a couple hundred bucks for the fare, something she insisted on covering once her cheque from Blackbeard’s Revenge came through, but mercifully they wouldn’t be paying for all the way back to Maine. The taxis dropped them off in New Haven, at a trucker stop they'd agreed to meet Merida and her coach at. The driver was offering the trip pro bono out of something she denied was affection, but it did mean they had to work around her schedule — hence why they were cramming most of their equipment between them in the taxis.

“We don’t have anywhere to live,” Robin had pointed out, “and we didn’t have time to find a motel. We haven’t stopped moving since we left you!”

It was here that Emma was finally able to approach Killian. While the others milled around outside, perched atop amps and keeping an eye on the flow of traffic for Merida’s coach in the early evening, Emma watched him slip away and head into a diner, not wholly unlike the one they were abandoned at all those weeks before.

A fluorescent green light blinked in and out of life overhead, and a buzzer went off somewhere behind the counter as she entered — loud enough to draw Killian’s gaze instinctively. He had just finished buying sustenance by the look of it, and once his eyes landed on her a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He held out a paper bag towards her.

“Onion ring?”

Emma took one of the proffered items. “I thought you hated onion rings.”

“You don’t,” he pointed out.

For a moment they chewed in silence, her on an onion ring and he on what looked like a carrot stick, before wordlessly moving back outside. Behind them, the neon light from inside the diner shimmered, casting fluorescent shadows against the crunch of gravel underfoot. From twenty or so feet away Emma watched August stand, take ten paces in one direction, then turn and walk back. Everybody was waiting for something, some new start. Anticipation tickled through the air.

“I heard about your record deal,” she found herself saying, “congratulations.” Although a little stilted in its delivery, the sentiment was earnest. She was still wrapping her head around things but she couldn’t be more proud of the Jolly Rogers.

“Well, nothing’s set in stone yet,” Killian demurred, but she could see the pleased flush working its way up from his collar. “We were just lucky to come across the one person in the industry who might hate Blackbeard more than we do.”

Lord knew Eric had every reason, if what Emma had heard was true.

“Still, it’s exciting.”

“It is,” he agreed.

A few pregnant seconds passed, and Emma waited for him to volunteer the information he must know she was eager to find out — just how the hell she was there, and not back in a tiny bunk on Blackbeard’s bus resigned to another evening of ignoring their jibes as best she could.

“Killian…” she began.

“Carrot stick?”

Emma waved the bag away, along with his futile attempt to divert attention. “How is it that I just walked out of there?”

Killian shrugged, making every effort to appear nonchalant. He almost succeeded. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does,” she insisted. His and the others’ reluctance to discuss it only had her anxiety climbing higher and higher, wondering just what stipulations Blackbeard had latched onto her release. “If you’ve traded your soul to Hades for me then I want to know about it so I can —”

Thank you? Knock the living daylights out of you?

“—make it right.”

The corner of Killian’s mouth quirked upwards, the static light of the diner casting his eyes in an electric blue. Alive, aware. Watching her as closely as he always had. “You’d climb down to hell for me, would you, Swan?”

“If I had to,” she replied neutrally. A fierce truth rang with every word.

“Well, you needn’t worry,” Killian continued brazenly. He finished his final carrot stick as she waited for a response, crumpling up the packet in his palm and letting it drop into the trash can beside them. “My soul is safe and sound. We merely offered to cover the cost of your termination fee and Blackbeard was amenable.”

The declaration caught her off guard; the termination fee was five thousand dollars, that had been non-negotiable. If the Jolly Rogers had that sort of money lying around they would have already offered to foot the bill — she may not have known them long, but she knew that much. They were great people who cared about her wellbeing, and she couldn’t imagine August at the very least permitting the act of driving away from her if they had the means to release her. It was why she spoke her next words with a cautious, amused confidence.

“You guys couldn’t string enough cents for a cardboard box, no less five thousand dollars.”

“That’s the thing about commerce, darling. Money is easy enough to acquire if you have something of value to trade for it.”

He had his guitar, of that she was certain — by the edge of the curb she could see Robin leaning against the familiar case. Killian was avoiding looking at her, reaching a finger behind to scratch at the shell of his ear. Emma’s heart steadily began to beat a rhythm against her ribcage. To her spinning mind, it sounded a lot like Lavender Rose.

“And what was that?”

“Why the Jolly Roger, of course.”

For a moment Emma blinked, lips parted, not entirely sure what he was referring to. For a petrifying fraction of a second she imagined Blackbeard had insisted the band break up for her to be let go, but belatedly shook the thought when she remembered Eric Triton and the record deal that supposedly awaited them in Storybrooke.

His gaze dropped and she followed it, before suddenly realising the silver chain she could usually see peeking through the collar of his shirt had vanished.

This, here, is the Jolly Roger.

His watch.

Killian was still speaking, but her eyes were fixed on the absence of the accessory.

“Did I forget to mention the casing was overlain with sterling silver? An ivory clock face, seventeen jewels — and all natural sapphires, not synthetic, mind. Fetches about eight thousand dollars at retail. One of only fifty novelty Peter Pan watches made in 1955, I believe.”

Emma didn’t care about that, not about sapphires or rubies or silver.

He’d said, he’d told her; that watch was the last thing he owned of his father’s.

“Cruella Feinberg gave me a fair price back in Storybrooke when I went to her. I could’ve probably gotten more if I hadn’t rushed it, but I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to track the BR bus after New York.”

He seemed to notice that she hadn’t so much as murmured a response, and squeaked out the remainder of his explanation. “I, ehm… I was in something of a rush.”

Emma couldn’t wrap her mind around it. This sodding impossible man had found time in between trying to negotiate a deal that would decide the future of his entire career to trade away his most valuable possession, for a girl who had barely been able to tell him that she liked the song he wrote. For her. She was stunned. Fucking mortified. Beyond moved.

Despite your best efforts, Swan, I was utterly charmed by you.

Thank you, she had said, when he’d first shown her the watch. Somehow it didn’t feel like enough now.

She became more aware of the way he was angled towards her, hanging on her every breath. Fuck, she had to say something. She had to say something.

“You sold your watch for me?”

She thought he might turn away, cower from everything she was asking of him — that after all that, she needed to be sure. She needed to hear it, just one more time. She wanted the beat of Lavender Rose thumping through her, the scent of rusted strings on his shirt. He’d already done so much, but she couldn’t let him get away without saying it, not with her heels slammed into the earth the way they were.

Tell me, she begged.

Killian’s vibrant blue gaze met her head on, like he knew — he probably did.

“Aye,” he said.

Emma wasn’t sure which of them moved first — she thought it was her, she hoped it was her — but after several long seconds her hands wound their way around his shoulders and he was dipping his head to meet her. When their lips connected, she sighed; at once familiar, she knew these lips by now. She knew the way he kissed, as he undoubtedly knew hers, she knew the way his hand would curl at her waist to scratch against the leather of her jacket. She knew the way his mouth would part, the way he would breathe unevenly through his nose against the skin of her cheek to avoid breaking away.

She knew his heart.

He would let her pull away, if she wanted to. After everything he would let her let him go.

Not that she would.

Killian’s right hand rose to brush reverently against her cheek and at once they parted. A flicker of what she knew to be trepidation flashed in his eyes, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Something inside of her crumpled, and it felt like only really then that she understood just how many times she had let him down. Knowingly and unknowingly both.

I’m sorry, she wanted to say.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said instead.

Killian’s shoulders lifted in the barest shrug, his finger tracing a line behind her ear to wind its way around her hair.

“I’m done dwelling on the past.”

To his evident delight Emma tugged him back down to her, this time for longer than before. It was only when they broke apart to the whoops and crows of three other, equally delighted, people, that she realised just how not-alone she and Killian were. The other three Jolly Rogers watched from their spot at the side of the road with matching shit-eating grins.

Emma raised an eyebrow at Killian, whose arm had moved around to tuck her closer into his side. “I’ll never be able to get ten minutes alone with you, will I?”

“I could do with a break.” At Emma’s look of disbelief, he shrugged. “What did I say about refraining from kissing me after you’ve had onion rings? I can barely stomach you.”

Merida’s bus pulled into the parking lot to the chorus of Killian’s yelp, with Emma leaving him clutching at his side as she walked back over to the others.

***

"Swan?"

The hoarse whisper hovered just over the low rumbling of the bus, barely loud enough to rouse anybody from sleep —but then, Emma hadn't been sleeping. She had a feeling Killian hadn't been either.

When his face popped up over the edge of her bunk, eyes bright in the dim light, it all but confirmed it. He looked abut as wired as she felt, and she met his gaze warmly. He beamed.

"Mind if I —?" The guitarist gestured to the slim line of space between her and the railing at the edge of the bed, and in response Emma shuffled away to allow him a little more room. As quietly as he could, Killian hauled himself up the ladder and slid in beside her. "Christ," he muttered," these beds weren't made for two — ow." He knocked his head on the tip of the ladder and scowled, while Emma stifled a laugh.

A glance at her watch informed her it was nearly two in the morning. It also made her stomach twist both pleasantly and anxiously all over again when she thought about watches. The accessory had played crucial roles in some of the worst and best moments of her life now.

Killian, meanwhile, had righted himself as best he could, slinging his right arm over her hip and tugging her closer. Emma did not resist, and even nudged her leg between his.

"Hello," Killian murmured, just before their lips met gently.

Emma smoothed her hand up his chest, stopping once it reached the curve of his shoulder. "I'm sorry you sold the watch." She wanted to be a little more articulate than she had been when he'd first told her — it was important to her that he knew that.

"I'm not," Killian replied with the barest shrug. At Emma's disbelieving look he carried on, rubbing a hand down her back. "Honestly, Emma. It was just a piece of jewellery."

"You said it was the last thing you had left of your father."

For a moment he was silent, eyes dropping down to her fingers tracing patterns into the front of his shirt. "My father was not always a decent man," he said finally, although it was clear the words had been difficult for him to get out. "I'm sure he'd be happy to see it go to a deserving cause." Before she could reply he hastened to continue, murmuring her name to cut her off.

As she watched him expectantly, he breathed out an uncertain laugh. "I, erm… forgive me, I have to know. You're not going to get off this bus and change your mind, are you?"

His hand had frozen on her lower back, almost frightful of her response. With his mouth twisted in a wince and his body tensing, he appeared so much like somebody bracing for an impact that she laughed and knocked her forehead into his chest.

She could feel his smile into the crown of her head, but he worked on putting some space between them all the same. "I'm serious," he said, although the mirth in his eyes somewhat belied it, "I'm not sure I could make it through another of your unpredictable tides."

After a moment the laughter subsided, she let herself watch him, truly take him in a way she hadn't done for some time. His eyes appeared a deep navy in the low light, his left eyebrow raised in that barest approximation of hope she had come to see there, lips parted just so like he was waiting for her permission to breathe. Emma touched a hand to his cheek and his eyelids fluttered shut, leaning into the movement. He would let her back away, even now. Even with her in his arms he was offering her that one final chance, and she felt affection surge for him all the more because of it.

"I'm not changing my mind," she promised.

Killian's eyes flew open, watching her carefully.

"I want to see where this thing goes. I'm not saying I'm not terrified, because I am." Like standing at the edge of this unknown precipice, a jump she'd come so close to so many times before with this man — but now she was ready. "I'm petrified."

"I can feel you shaking," he hummed quietly, pressing a kiss to where her neck met her shoulders. "Trust me."

"I do," she murmured. "I want this future with you, and that's what scares me. Does that," she paused, pulling his face back up to meet her eyes, "does that sound crazy?"

Killian shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which quickly morphed into something more confident.

"It sounds like music to this pirate's ears."

Emma laughed, a loud, happy thing, and Killian did his best to hush her by drawing her into a kiss. For a few moments they just lay there, chuckling silently and trading affection, the slant of his lips against her own a welcome feeling. It was just as she felt his hand sliding lower across her back, sending a shot of excitement through as his eyes met hers, his intent clear, that she remembered exactly where they were.

And that they weren't entirely alone.

"Guys, that was adorable, but I swear to God if you have sex on this bus I will never forgive you."

Tina's voice pierced the silence like bursting a balloon — Killian instinctively shot back from Emma, which only led to him smacking his head onto the railing behind him at the edge of the bunk. Emma immediately snorted with laughter, which only increased as he rubbed the back of his head and sent a reproachful look in her direction.

"We'll turn you into Merida."

Robin's voice, too, floated down from further up the bus. Emma was grateful for the dark as she felt her face begin to heat up — it was hard enough laying herself bare in front of Killian, let alone his three best friends. Because she was certain, as much as she could be, that August would also be awake. The damn guy didn't miss a thing.

Tina made a noise of agreement. "Merida specifically said she wouldn't tolerate any funny business."

"Yet somehow," Killian bit back, "she tolerates you lot just fine." After a moment he clearly has no interest in ending, he reluctantly sat up on her bunk and shuffled back towards the ladder. Emma's hand on his leg served as her only protest, and Killian lifted it to place a kiss on the back of it. "I guess I'll have to wait to finally show you a good time, Swan," he winked, "and have you remember it."

Bizarrely, she found herself thinking of one of the post-its he had given her in Storybrooke so long ago. She'd very much like to know how it felt to hear him scream.

"I guess you will," she replied, making her intent clear.

She could tell Killian just resisted letting out a low whistle, before dropping down the ladder.

"Much better," Robin assured them. "No 'good times' should be had on the bus. Only terrible, not good times."

"August, stop reading," Tina urged, "I know you're doing it. Nobody can have fun on the bus!"

A barely distinguishable rustle came across from August's bunk. "Don't bring me into this."

As the teasing escalated into a sock skirmish (thus determined, claimed Robin, by August's tendency to use socks as missiles when disturbed) Emma forgot about her embarrassment. They were good at that, the Jolly Rogers. Helping her forget. Making her feel comfortable even when the only place she had ever felt safe was a hundred miles away. They had driven for hours through the night so that they could get to her, had defended her even when her opponent had been one of their closest friends, had cared for her. Without strings. Unashamedly. Wholly.

Mary Margaret would always be her sister, or as close to a sister as Emma would ever get. But these guys?

They were her family. The one she had chosen for herself.

And the one she would continue to choose, every fucking chance she got.

***

"You ready?" She had asked, a week later, as Killian wiped his palm on the edge of his jeans. To try and get rid of the sweat, she knew, it was practically rolling off of him in waves.

"As we'll ever be."

Emma squinted through the viewfinder on her camera, using Tina fiddling with the height of the microphone as her focus point. Beside her, Killian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, anxiety driving from him. At the other end of the room, Poseidon himself, his executive assistant and Eric Triton were just settling themselves into three large chairs. With their high backs and elaborate deorations around the arms, thrones was the first word that popped into Emma's head when she'd seen them. Imposing, powerful. Intimidating as hell.

Part of the reason Killian was reminding himself to breathe in and out.

"You heard what Eric said," she assured him, "this is just a formality. It's practically a done deal."

Killian looked at her sharply. "Not if he doesn't like us."

"He will."

The activity in the room was slowly beginning to wind down, each party slowly running out of ways to delay the inevitable. Emma gave him a gentle shove.

"Now get lost so I can take some decent photos, yeah?"

This time when Killian smiled down at her, she could tell he meant it. It was one of those goofy, wide smiles she had found he couldn't keep back when she was around. It had a somewhat irritating habit of making her stomach drop pleasantly. He smoothed a hand down her back.

"Such glowing words of encouragement," he mused, leaning to brush his lips against hers.

"Why bother?" she smirked once he pulled away. "It's not like my lack of encouragement ever held you back."

In response he patted his hand against her, and gave her one last amused glance over his shoulder before heading over to the others. His strat, perched primly against the wall, was soon lifted and slung over his shoulder, as he exchanged a few quiet words with Tina and August. Robin was settling himself down onto the stool behind his kit, and Tina then hummed a few quiet tests into the microphone.

Emma, meanwhile, took a few preparatory shots. After deciding the look Killian had sent her was altogether too deliberate, she stretched her arm behind her back — true enough, her fingers grazed something stuck there. Tugging it free, she realised it was a post-it. Some things never changed.

Wish me luck.

—K x.

When their eyes met again, she shook her head with a smile. He didn't need luck.

Soon enough, the low murmur of noise in the room slowly sunk into silence, Eric no longer murmuring into Poseidon's ear and the huge man instead surveying the group of musicians in front of him. Despite herself, Emma felt her pulse begin to thump a little bit quicker, glancing between the two sides of the room.

The twang of August's bass lurched from one of the amps, before fizzling out into nothing as he rushed to still the string.

Poseidon shifted in his seat. Emma's finger hovered over the shutter button. Killian cleared his throat.

Robin lifted his drumsticks to eye-level, pausing before clacking them together —

One, two —

Three, four —

The shutter clicked. The room exploded with sound.

And that was it.

And that’s it, folks! An epilogue will follow sometime in the near future because there are a few loose ends I’d like to tie up and I will always love my jolly rogers. almost as much as I love all of you! thank you so so much for your endless support + patience with my gaps between updates, I’ve loved being able to tell this story in the way I always wanted to.I hope you all liked how it ended, and maybe I’ll see you next time on another project!

peace & love / over & out!

-jay x

#jay writes #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs crew #ouat #emma swan #killian jones #cs au #the importance of being idle #complete #here is the finale!#I really hope you guys like it #it's been quite the ride #so for the final time #enjoy!

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fuse2dx · 4 years

Text

September ‘20

Paradise Killer

Putting it out there front and centre that I know some of the folks involved in creating this, and clearly I’m devoid of sufficient integrity to be impartial. You know, it’s best to get these things out there, with the internet being what it is.

It’s a whodunnit set in Paradise, with your character having been brought back from exile and tasked with solving who’s responsible for the mass-murder of the island’s core council. There’s a clear set up with one guy already due to take the fall, but it quickly becomes apparent that the island’s populous of weird deities - who perhaps have too much time on their hands - clearly have more of a stake in this than they’d like you to know. You’re left to investigate at your own pace, poking around crime scenes and places of interest, but also soaking up the island and its vibe as a whole. Getting reacquainted with its residents is a massive chunk of this, and if their out-there names, colourful outfits, and eccentric behaviours weren’t enough to draw you in, there’s more serious manners such as allegiances and motives to start peeling back the layers of. Titbits of info gleaned will often give you the opportunity to eke more out of someone else, and although the game does a great job of subtly nudging you to where loose ends might best be chased down, you’re given the freedom and ultimate responsibility on when to start wrapping things up at trial.

Given the potential for disorder in its narrative structure, the game’s job in cataloging all of your gathered information is crucially neat in its execution. The free rein that allows you to be as orderly and meticulous as you choose is welcome, as is the gentle push towards the truth of things. But there’s also just enough space to sink into convenient falsehoods - even to present them at trial and make them stick, if you can pass on that conviction - and it’s this freedom that really sets it apart from its contemporaries. Helping this is a fully realised island you can move about in and investigate, rather than doled out chunks of exposition by chains of talking head sequences. More salacious secrets are typically locked behind puzzles or specific items, but there’s also a particularly inviting nature to the architecture that suggests playful acrobatics - dashing, double-jumping and the like - be used to explore out-of-reach areas.

The look is tinged in pinks and blues, giving a suitably welcoming glow to Paradise. It’s warmth is helped massively by the soundtrack that runs throughout it, bringing pleasant, jazzy saxophones and subtle, warm electronics into its city-pop inspired stable. There’s a great voice running through its veins too - one that operates in its unspoken thoughts, the descriptions of its collectables, even the interface and the sub-headers as you enter new areas - just about damn everywhere. It’s smart, it’s cynical, and it’s snappy, and is a regular factor in keeping a smile on your face even in the moments that get closest to being downtime. Bias be damned! I can say, hand-on-heart, that it’s a game that not just nestles in comfortably among its peers, but stands tall among them.

Moon

Cult status can be a double edged sword. For anything cult - movies, albums, games, you name it - there’s that risk that if put under a modern lens, they can be painfully of their time. Cherished by those that were there, perhaps, but impenetrable - or even worse, alienating - for those without that context. Previously a Japan-only PS1 title, Moon has held such status for 20+ long years, but on its return, lets you know very quickly that a lot of what it had to say was timeless.

Its sending-up of RPG tropes is pretty spot on - the game-within-a-game that your character boots up got a big belly laugh out of me almost immediately, and then leads into a montage of a hero’s journey through a world that you’re then later transported into to pick up the pieces. See, the ‘hero’ in the game is kind of a jerk - barging into people’s homes, taking things out of their cupboards, killing all of the wildlife, and so on - and while this likely sounds very familiar, Moon prompts you to remove that filter of normal game behaviour, and instead asks that you try and be a bit more conscionable and pleasant. Acts of kindness to others are repaid in love, a tangible currency that grows your love level, allowing you to spend more time in its world before you need to rest and begin your day’s busy-bodying anew. Observing the routines of the world’s inhabitants is key to making good on its many grievances, and although these are straightforward enough at the start, some of the later challenges relied on some more tenuous thinking - to which, I’ll put my hands up and say that I turned to a walkthrough. These more patience-testing moments might have been a good way to pad things out in ‘97, however it’s a bit steeper an ask today, when I daresay most people will be visiting this as more of a curiosity. Accepting a helping hand doesn’t stand in the way of these scenarios delivering on the charm, surprise, or humour they originally aimed for, though. Labelling it a parody or a spoof might work as a descriptive shortcut, but it’s never mean spirited, and clearly loves the subjects it pokes fun at - there’s a wonderfully self-effacing humility throughout it.

Given Final Fantasy 7 - often cited as a common entry point for many modern western fans of JRPGs - didn’t even arrive in Europe until after this originally released, it’s not hard to understand why it wasn’t considered for localisation at the time. The audience certainly didn’t exist at scale, and simply wouldn’t have had the gaming experience or vocabulary to appreciate it. Not only can we now better appreciate it as the tongue-in-cheek love letter it is, but the message of compassion and thoughtfulness is something that’s more essential today than arguably ever before.

Spelunky 2

This was always on my radar as a likely ‘game of the generation’ contender. I’ve been playing the original game on and off now for around 8 years - it’s followed me as a regular part of my gaming diet across 4 different platforms, and crucially, all the way up until the night before this finally landed on my PS4. Without getting too philosophical about it, it’s a very important game to me. Despite all of the time playing it, thinking about it, talking about it, or even reading the gosh darned book about it, I never once thought to assume I had the answer for what would make a fitting sequel. Thankfully, the team behind it had more ideas, and the faith in their convictions.

All of the crucial components of the original are here in abundance, and added to with a restrained modesty. Its randomly generated levels are more complex, and offer more distinct ways of hiding secrets, all while a subtle but slick graphical overhaul does great work in making them look more organic than ever before. More complex fluid physics allows for more transformative ways of opening up levels, and mounts might add some quirky new dynamics to things, but crucially, things under the hood beside this remain largely the same.

Perhaps more importantly, Spelunky 2 understands the fervent player base centred around the original game, and uses their knowledge and familiarity to challenge them anew with clinical precision. Things are just similar enough: the title screen, the tutorial, many of the enemies, and the stages that you find them in - they’re tweaked, yes, but still familiar. On top though, there’s enough that’s new, or changed in a minute yet specific way that makes it very clear that things are going to be uniquely dangerous all over again, and that your muscle memory is more of a liability than a crutch. The curve of learning the game - understanding and tempering its dangers, and the slow, cautious, pulling back the curtain of its newer secrets - is still pitched in the same utterly compelling way as before, though. Rather than being harder outright, or just more lumped on top, it finds a way to make new players and familiar faces alike to learn to play Spelunky all over again, and it’s a total joy to have that opportunity. It’s everything I didn't realise I wanted in a sequel, and it’s breathed a new lease of life into a game that I wasn’t even bored with in the first place.

Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 1 & 2 Remastered

The original THPS was proper lightning in a bottle stuff; while its countless sequels eventually drained every good idea bone dry, and it left countless half-baked spin-offs in its wake, it’s hard to be mad, or surprised, when the original formula was so potent. Underpinned by a brilliant combo system that called back to arcade-style score chasing, in tandem it also nailed the kind of goal-based mission objectives that became so common after it. This is before you even get on to the way that skateboarding’s irreverence, fashion, and music were curated and presented in such a way that they left a mark on an entire generation. Sports titles are often glossed over from a critical perspective, but there is no escaping the quality and impact of this series.

This remaster tries to capture it at its zenith - and although they’re arguably off by a game or two, depending on who you talk to - it’s generally welcome that some of the ideas from later games are pared back. What it does with these first two games is for my money, the gold standard of what a remaster should do - it makes them look and feel like you imagined they did at the time; smooth, detailed, and responsive. Please, don’t make me go back and look at what the originals actually did look like, because I don’t think my poor brain could take it. The kitchen sink has been thrown at everything surrounding the game, with more relevant and diverse skaters brought into the fold, menus upon menus hiding a wealth of additional challenges, and a soundtrack that celebrates the older, punkier roots of the game, but also shines a light on some musical features that are perhaps more relevant to today’s youth. It’s all handled with a surprising elegance.

It’s a great new way to introduce the series to people, and also a nice outlet for old hands, with my only real criticism being that I had blasted through both of the original tours within a day of dropping the disc in my system. Yes, I could chase high scores endlessly, and yes, there’s a park builder and an abundance of multiplayer modes - but if you’ve finished these games before and just want to revisit them with a new lick of paint, don’t be surprised when it dries out fast.

#paradise killer #moon #spelunky 2 #tony hawks pro skater

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puckish-saint · 7 years

Note

as you said i can request it so... i would like the hanzo and genji s/o inspired by the story of this song, in the case I refer to girl perspective(the name of the song is Muteki no Soldier) feel free to change anything to make easier to fit in the overwatch universe, but i would like if you maintain the principal aspect of this character, the regret of her own blindness for not see that her master dont intent to kill her and her becoming the new "invincible soldier"

Link to the songHanzo

The mind is a strange thing, prone tomaking the unlikeliest connections. The sight of blood doesn'tdisturb you, but left handed people do, always leaving you with anunshakeable hunch you're being deceived. Being confronted with youractions, good or ill, now impose dread never known before. You keepout of the public eye not out of humility but because you fearattention. Few people understand how to live with the constantpressure of thoughts traveling through a scarred network of neurons,getting lost or changed on the way. Only those who've experienced itfirsthand really know the feeling.

The point in all this is that whileeveryone else in the dingy bar remains oblivious, you recognise apanic attack when you see one.

The man sits in a corner booth, anuntouched drink in front of him, observing the other patrons. Nothingappears out of the ordinary, but that is exactly the impression he'strying to give. He moves too little, fears he'll flinch or twitch,stares straight ahead to avoid being seen darting furtive glances tothe exits and the throng of people. As a stranger, and a potentiallydangerous one at that, it would be unwise to approach him, but youhelp in your own way, diverting the attention of the waitress goinghis way and keeping an eye out for trouble.

Nothing comes forward and after a fewminutes he relaxes minutely and makes his way to the restrooms. Lateryou won’t be able to explain why you followed, why even the fear ofa set of piercing eyes on you - caught red-handed, you’re donefor, you can’t match his skill, not yet, you were supposed to havemore time - isn’t enough to keep you in the safe background.

He leans against the sink, handsunmoving under the water. He must have noticed you enter but doesn’tlook up, keeps gazing down at the stream with a faraway look. Fromafar he had an air of nobility contained in a flawless frame but upclose the cracks in the facade show. The clothes he wears must havebeen custom made but the hems are frayed, the fabric discoloured withstains that won’t wash out. He pulled his hair back into a strictponytail but it can’t hide the split ends and dullness that comesfrom a bad diet.

This is the last chance to slip awayquietly, to do the job that’s in front of you - forge your ownpath he said but how could you, with his legacy seeping away into thesoil beneath the fatal wound - and never think of this man, orany other, again. Instead you say, voice hoarse from disuse:“Areyou going to be alright?”

And what a picture this makes, when helooks up at you, startled and wide-eyed like a pup that fears theboot, you trying and failing to appear like you talk to people everyday, like this isn’t the first time you take a chance on someone.Both of you trying, and failing, to appear human.

“Excuse me?” he says, rememberingthe proper thing to do when a stranger approaches you in a publicbathroom, which is to act with incredulity.

“Panic attacks can be draining. Youhave money for food?”

He scoffs, turns off the tap and goesto dry his hands, turning his back to you but watching through themirror.

“Do not insult me.” he says andthere it is again, that layer of nobility imposed on a fragile frame.

“Suit yourself.” You hesitate andwonder why but in the end you give him the address of the apartmentyou’re staying at, giving away information you normally guard likea dragon guards its hoard.

You fully expect the offer to expirewithout ever seeing him again but at half past two in the morning,when you just dragged yourself to sleep, he taps at the window like aspectre come to haunt you.

“I have a door.” you say as you lethim in and suppress a yawn. He looks around, curls his lips in vaguedistaste at his surroundings.

“You don’t have anything. Iexpected better from a person with your reputation.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, tiltyour head towards the balcony with the clear message that you mayhave invited him in but you can invite him out just as easily.

“I inquired about you. They call youthe Invincible Soldier, say you’re the best in the business. All Isee is a lowlife and a squatter.”

It takes something, guts or arrogance,to insult your host while you take advantage of their hospitality,but something tells you he isn’t overly concerned with good mannersanymore.

“A lowlife who’s sleeping under aroof, thank you. You want your burrito warmed up?”

At his questioning glance you point toa paper bag with fast food, gone cold hours ago, a small batterypowered microwave next to it. He shakes his head.

Hanzo, as he introduces himself, eatswith the desperation of a man who has gone without burritos too long.He tries to keep table manners for all but ten seconds before heabandons all poise to shove food into his mouth like you’re goingto take it away if he’s not fast enough.

“There’s plenty of work for askilled marksman.” you say conversationally, surprised at how easyit comes. In a way talking to Hanzo is like talking to a feral dog,there’s little pressure and much gain.

“I may be recognised.”

“People are hunting you?”

He may have hesitated if he stoppedlong enough between bites. A flicker of a glare is all he gives youto work with.

Talking is overrated anyway and you canthink of better things to do than prying into his personal life.Going to bed for example.

He brought his own sleeping bag, whichcounts for something you suppose, and you extend an offer to stay thenight by throwing a spare pillow in his general direction.

Neither of you sleeps much that night,wary of the other’s movement, fearing an attack at any second.

Despite that he stays, despite that youlet him and before you know it you’re a team. Just like old times,a tiny bitter part of you thinks.

You accept the bounties, both of youwork together and share the reward. Weeks, then months pass and Hanzono longer looks hungry all the time and your voice doesn’t crackanymore when you speak. Just like old times, the phrase repeatsitself again and again, often in the middle of the night when you andHanzo watch each other, unable to find sleep.

“I knew an Invincible Soldier once.”he says on one such night, deep in thoughts as if he’s not talkingto you at all. “But he was not you.”“No.” you say softly.“He wasn’t.”

The question stays written on his face,clear and unspoken.

“I killed him.” you clarify,summing up in three words a story that would take a lifetime to tell.

“You regret it.” It’s not aquestion but you nod anyway.

“I do.”

“You loved him?”

“In a way.”

It’s fairer to say that he loved youand it destroyed him in the end, long before you could ask if hislove was that of a father, a brother or a man. Some part of youalways feared the answer. “I killed someone, too.” Hanzosays, offering a little bit of himself for a little bit of you.

“Someone you loved?”“In away.”

The night passes and you rarely speakof it, nor of the things you confessed. You reached some kind ofunderstanding, something that makes it impossible to leave. Forbetter or worse, and some days you’re not sure which, you’re tiedtogether now. Wherever redemption lies, you’ll have to go theretogether.

Genji

You buy him his first drink, yearsbefore he is legally allowed to.

“Perks of vigilantism.” you say asyou toast your lives, free from responsibility and full ofpossibilities. His family calls you a thief and a lowlife and younever dispute it, even when he tries to defend you.

“They’re right, I am athief. The only thing they got wrong is thinking calling me one wouldinsult me.”

Take the insults and choose to beflattered by them, that’s always been your way and Genji adopts itjust fine. Disappointment becomes his family’s problem when he nolonger makes an effort to live up to their expectations. It’s hardto feel bad for failing when you never tried at all.

He wears his heart on his sleeve andshares, over the first stretch of your friendship, everything thereis to know about him. When you get to the kissing part only weekslater he has no secrets left. You make up for it by keeping enoughfor two. That’s the way it should be, the way things work betweenyou. You’re the dashing rogue sneaking into his bedchambers, he’sthe spoiled prince dreaming of freedom. It’s easy to forget thatwith all his naivety and playful attitude he’s also cunning as theycome.

You forget, as he undoubtedly planned,and one day find yourself drunk and sprawling on his bed while he,only slightly tipsy, works to rid you of every story you never toldhim.

“Where’d you get that sword?” heasks, not for the first time, but knowing that now he’s torn yourdefenses down.

“Took it off a guy I killed.” yousay, stroking the fine leather of the scabbard.

“You killed a lot of people?” Hiseyes shine, eager to hear stories of your adventures. He fancieshimself a yakuza boss, despite never having done anything worthwhilefor his clan. He still imagines the world out there to be a story,nothing different from a video game or a comic.

“Sure.” You indulge him, at thatpoint still believing talking is your idea, and sit up to pull himinto your lap. He goes willingly, arches against you, offering youhis perfect body in exchange for a few measly stories. Had you been alittle more sober you’d have known he wants you more than you wanthim, but comfortably dizzy all you know is that the trade seems fair.

“Been a thief all my life. If somepeople fought back I’d kill them and steal their clothes, too.”

He laughs obediently at your bad joke,bats his eyelashes, making you feel like you’re the mostinteresting person in the world.

“And the sword? Who did you kill toget that?”

You shrug, clouding the memory with theusual mist of aloofness.

“Some guy I ran with for a while.Gullible fool, but he wasn’t too bad with the blade. Always went onand on about how I should make something of myself. ‘You’re abetter person than you give yourself credit for.’ Hah. Idiot.Took his sword and his name.” you say, scoffing and waving thememory away. It’s not worth dwelling on.

“Sounds like my father.”

“He was exactly like your father.Couldn’t see the truth if it mooned him.”

Drunken affection makes you plant a wetkiss on his cheek, before you fall back, pulling him with you. Themattress is soft enough to nearly swallow you whole, threatening themost comfortable suffocation death you can think of.

“You and I.” you say, pulling apillow under your head with one hand, holding Genji tight on top ofyou with the other. “You and I are the same. We’re adventurers.They’ll never tame us.”

Waking up with a hangover to match theGods has taught you a lesson or two about drinking in his company,but somehow he still manages to get the odd story out of you everynow and then. Never as personal, as intimate, as the story of how yougot that sword, of how you got the moniker that’s whispered in theright, and sometimes the wrong, circles. Invincible though they callyou, it’s not what you are when Genji finds you one night, out ofbreath and crying. He was the one to establish the rule of noemotional bonding but all the same you give him shelter and listen tohis stuttered report of overhearing the order the clan elders gavehis brother.

Kill your lowlife of a brother, theysaid and it must have been the same voice ringing in your mentor’shead the day he found you stealing. It never would have ended thesame way. Hanzo fights just as well with his left hand.

There’s little to do except run andrun you do, Genji and you, hand in hand and never looking back. Orrarely, anyway.

“Do you think he would have done it?”Genji asks once, when you’re so far away from Japan that speakingHanzo’s name no longer threatens to summon the devil to your home.

You nod. “Pretty sure.”

It’s not what Genji wanted to hearand by now you care for him more than you care for your reputation.When he averts his eyes you gently grasp his chin and make him lookat you.

“But he would have regretted it. Iknow I do.”

He glances at the sword, listens at thepart of the story not even lethal amounts of alcohol could flush outof you.

“He couldn’t live with my blood onhis hands. So he made me live with his on mine. It would havedestroyed your brother having to lift a hand against you. Maybesomeday he’ll realise that.”

For Genji and him there still is asomeday. And reaching it is worth using a painful memory as a lessonso that someday when the brothers reunite they will do it in thislife, rather than hoping for the next, like you have no other choicebut doing.

#overwatch imagines #hanzo #genji #reader insert #overwatch song recs #Anonymous

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mideastsoccer · 5 years

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Civilizationism vs the Nation State

By James M. Dorsey

Edited remarks at Brookings roundtable in Doha

A podcast version of this story is available on Soundcloud, Itunes, Spotify, Stitcher, TuneIn and Tumblr

Many have framed the battle lines in the geopolitics of the emerging new world order as the 21st century’s Great Game. It’s a game that aims to shape the creation of a new Eurasia-centred world, built on the likely fusion of Europe and Asia into what former Portuguese Europe minister Bruno Macaes calls a “supercontinent.”

For now, the Great Game pits China together with Russia, Turkey and Iran against the United States, India, Japan and Australia. The two camps compete for influence, if not dominance, in a swath of land that stretches from the China Sea to the Atlantic coast of Europe.

The geopolitical flashpoints are multiple. They range from the China Sea to Afghanistan, Pakistan, Syria, Turkey, Iran, and Central European nations and, most recently, far beyond with Russia, China and Turkey supporting embattled Venezuelan president Nicolas Maduro.

On one level, the rivalry resembles Risk, a popular game of diplomacy, conflict and conquest played on a board depicting a political map of the earth, divided into forty-two territories, which are grouped into six continents. Multiple players command armies that seek to capture territories, engage in a complex dance as they strive for advantage, and seek to compensate for weaknesses. Players form opportunistic alliances that could change at any moment. Potential black swans threaten to disrupt.

Largely underrated in debates about the Great Game is the fact that increasingly there is a tacit meeting of the minds among world leaders as well as conservative and far-right politicians and activists that frames the rivalry: the rise of civilisationalism and the civilizational state that seeks its legitimacy in a distinct civilization rather than the nation state’s concept of territorial integrity, language and citizenry.

The trend towards civilisationalism benefits from the fact that 21st century autocracy and authoritarianism vests survival not only in repression of dissent and denial of freedom of expression but also maintaining at least some of the trappings of pluralism that can include representational bodies with no or severely limited powers, toothless opposition groups, government-controlled non-governmental organizations, and degrees of accountability.

It creates the basis for an unspoken consensus on the values that would underwrite a new world order on which men like Xi Jinping, Vladimir Putin, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, Victor Orban, Mohammed bin Salman, Narendra Modi and Donald Trump find a degree of common ground. If anything, it is this tacit understanding that in the shaping of a new world order constitutes the greatest threat to liberal values such as human and minority rights. By the same token, the tacit agreement on fundamental values reduces the Great Game to a power struggle over spheres of influence and the sharing of the pie as well as a competition of political systems in which concepts such as democracy are hollowed out.

Intellectually, the concept of civilisationalism puts into context much of what is currently happening. This includes the cyclical crisis over the last decade as a result of a loss of confidence in leadership and the system; the rise of right and left-wing populism; the wave of Islamophobia and increased anti-Semitism; the death of multi-culturalism with the brutal crackdown on Turkic Muslims in Xinjiang as its most extreme expression; the Saudi and Russian alliance with ultra-conservative Christian groups that propagate traditional family values; and Russian meddling in Western elections.

Analysts explained these developments by pointing to a host of separate and disparate factors, some of which were linked in vague ways. Analysts pointed among others to the 2008 financial crisis, jihadist violence and the emergence of the Islamic State, the war in Syria, and a dashing of hope with the rollback of the achievements of the 2011 popular Arab revolts. These developments are and were at best accelerators not sparks or initiators.

Similarly, analysts believed that the brilliance of Osama Bin Laden and the 9/11 attacks on New York’s World Trade Towers and the Pentagon in Washington was the killing of multi-culturalism in one fell and brutal swoop. Few grasped just how consequential that would be. A significant eye opener was the recent attack on the mosques in Christchurch. New Zealand much like Norway in the wake of the 2012 attacks by supremacist Andre Breivik stands out as an anti-dote to civilisationalism with its inclusive and compassionate response.

The real eye-opener, however, was a New Zealand intelligence official who argued that New Zealand, a member of the Five Eyes intelligence alliance alongside the United States, Britain, Australia and Canada, had missed the emergence of a far or alt-right that created breeding grounds for violence because of Washington’s singular post-9/11 focus on what popularly is described as Islamic terrorism. That remark casts a whole different light on George W. Bush’s war on terror and the subsequent war against the Islamic State. Those wars are rooted as much in the response to 9/11, the 7/7 London attacks and other jihadist occurrences as they are in witting or unwitting civilisationalism.

“The global war on terror has become a blueprint for violence against Muslims. When there isn’t a shooting at a mosque, there’s a drone strike in Somalia. When one Friday prayer goes by without incident, an innocent Muslim is detained on material support for terrorism charges or another is killed by law enforcement. Maybe a baby is added to a no-fly list,” said human rights activist Maha Hilal. Scholars Barbara Perry and Scott Poynting warned more than a decade ago in study of the fallout in Canada of the war on terror that “in declining adequately to recognize and to act against hate (crimes), and in actually modelling anti-Muslim bias by practicing discrimination and institutional racism through “‘ethnic targeting,’ ‘racial profiling,’ and the like, the state conveys a sort of ideological license to individuals, groups and institutions to perpetrate and perpetuate racial hatred.”

The same is true for the various moves in Europe that have put women on the frontline of what in the West are termed cultural wars but in reality are civilizational wars involving efforts to ban conservative women’s dress and endeavours to create a European form of Islam. In that sense Victor Orban’s definition of Hungary as a Christian state in which there is no room for the other is the extreme expression of this trend. It’s a scary picture, it raises the spectre of Samuel Huntington’s clash of civilizations, yet it is everything but.

Fact is that economic and geopolitical interests are but part of the explanation for the erection of a Muslim wall of silence when it comes to developments in Xinjiang, the Organization of Islamic Countries’ ability to criticize the treatment of Muslim minorities in various parts of the world but praise China for its policy, Israeli Prime Minister Benyamin Netanyahu’s alliance with a man like Victor Orban and his joining the right-wing chorus that has turned Jewish financier and philanthropist George Soros into a bogeyman or the rise of militant, anti-Muslim Buddhism and Hinduism. In fact, the signs of this were already visible with the alliance between Israel and the evangelists who believe in doomsday on the Day of Judgement if Jews fail to convert to Christianity as well as the recent forging of ties between various powerful Islamic groups or countries like Saudi Arabia and the UAE and the evangelist movement.

Civilisationalism is frequently based on myths erected on a falsification and rewriting of history to serve the autocrat or authoritarian’s purpose. Men like Trump, Orban, and Erdogan project themselves as nationalist heroes who protect the nation from some invading horde. In his manifesto, Brenton Tarrant, the perpetrator of the Christchurch attacks, bought into the notion of an illusionary invader. Muslims, he wrote, “are the most despised group of invaders in the West, attacking them receives the greatest level of support.”

He also embraced the myths of an epic, centuries-long struggle between the white Christian West and Islam with the defeat of the Ottomans in 1683 at the ports of Vienna as its peak. Inscribed on Tarrant’s weapons were the names of Serbs who had fought the Ottomans as well as references to the battle of Vienna. To Tarrant, the Ottomans’ defeat in Vienna symbolized the victory of the mythical notion of a world of inviolable, homogeneous nations. “The idea that (medieval societies) are this paragon of unblemished whiteness is just ridiculous. It would be hilarious if it weren’t so awful,” said Paul Sturtevant, author of The Middle Ages in the Popular Imagination.

Much like popular perception of the battle for Vienna, Tarrant’s view of history had little relation to reality. A multi-cultural empire, the Ottomans laid siege to Vienna in cooperation with Catholic French King Louis XIV and Hungarian Protestant noble Imre Thokoly as well as Ukrainian Cossacks. Vienna’s Habsburg rulers were supported not only by Polish armies but also Muslim Tartar horsemen. “The Battle of Vienna was a multicultural drama; an example of the complex and paradoxical twists of European history. There never has been such a thing as the united Christian armies of Europe,” said historian Dag Herbjornsrud. Literary scholar Ian Almond argues that notions of a clash of civilizations bear little resemblance to the “almost hopelessly complex web of shifting power-relations, feudal alliances, ethnic sympathies and historical grudges” that shaped much of European history. “The fact remains that in the history of Europe, for hundreds of years, Muslims and Christians shared common cultures, spoke common languages, and did not necessarily see one another as ‘strange’ or ‘other,’” Almond said.

That was evident not only in the Battle of Vienna but also when the Ottomans and North Africa’s Arab rulers rallied around Queen Elizabeth I of England after the pope excommunicated her in 1570 for breaking with Catholicism and establishing a Protestant outpost. Elizabeth and her Muslim supporters argued that Protestantism and Islam were united in their rejection of idol worship, including Catholicism with its saints, shrines and relics. In a letter in 1579 to Ottoman sultan Murad III, Elizabeth described herself as the “most mighty defender of the Christian faith against all kind of idolatries.” In doing so, she sought to capitalize on the fact that the Ottomans had justified their decision to grant Lutherans preferred commercial treatment on the basis of their shared beliefs.

Similarly, historian Marvin Power challenges the projection of Chinese history as civilizational justification of the party leader’s one-man rule by Xi Jinping and Fudan University international relations scholar Zhang Weiwei. Amazon’s blurb on Zhang’s bestselling The China Wave: Rise of the Civilizational State summarizes the scholar’s rendition of Xi Jinping’s vision succinctly: “China's rise, according to Zhang, is not the rise of an ordinary country, but the rise of a different type of country, a country sui generis, a civilizational state, a new model of development and a new political discourse which indeed questions many of the Western assumptions about democracy, good governance and human rights.” The civilizational state replaces western political ideas with a model that traces its roots to Confucianism and meritocratic traditions.

In his sweeping study entitled China and England: The Preindustrial Struggle for Justice in Word and Image, Powers demonstrates that Chinese history and culture is a testimony to advocacy of upholding individual rights, fair treatment, state responsibility to its people, and freedom of expression rather than civilisationalism, hierarchy and authoritarianism. Powers extensively documents the work of influential Chinese philosophers, writers, poets, artists and statesmen dating back to the 3rd century BC who employed rational arguments to construct governance systems and take legal action in support of their advocacy. Powers noted that protection of free speech was embedded in edicts of the Han Emperor Wen in the second century BC. The edicts legitimized personal attacks on the emperor and encouraged taxpayers to expose government mistakes. The intellectuals and statemen were the Chinese counterpart of contemporary liberal thinkers.

In a lot of ways, Russia and the Russian Orthodox Church have understood the utility of civilisationalism far better than others and made it work for them, certainly prior to the Russian intervention in Syria. At a gathering several years before the intervention, Russia achieved a fete that seemed almost unthinkable. Russia brought to the same table at a gathering in Marrakech every stripe of Sunni and Shiite political Islam.

The purpose was not to foster dialogue among the various strands of political Islam. The purpose was to forge an alliance with a Russia that emphasized its civilizational roots in the Russian Orthodox Church and the common values it had with conservative and ultra-conservative Islam. To achieve its goal, Russia was represented at the gathering by some of its most senior officials and prominent journalists whose belief systems were steeped in the values projected by the Church. To the nodding heads of the participating Muslims, the Russians asserted that Western culture was in decline while non-Western culture was on the rise, that gays and gender equality threaten a woman’s right to remain at home and serve her family and that Iran and Saudi Arabia should be the model for women’s rights. They argued that conservative Russian Orthodox values like the Shariah offered a moral and ethical guideline that guarded against speculation and economic bubbles.

The Trump administration has embarked on a similar course by recently siding in the United Nations Commission on the Status of Women with proponents of ultra-conservative values such as Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Iraq and several African countries. Together they sought to prevent the expansion of rights for girls, women, and LGBT people and weaken international support for the Beijing Declaration, a landmark 1995 agreement that stands as an internationally recognized progressive blueprint for women’s rights.

The US position in the commission strokes with efforts by conservative Christians to reverse civilizational US courts decisions in favour of rights for women, minorities, members of the LGBT community, Muslims and immigrants and refugees. It is what conservative historian and foreign policy analyst Robert Kagan describes as the war within traditionally liberal society. It is that civilizational war that provides the rationale for Russian meddling in elections, a rational that goes beyond geopolitics. It also explains Trump’s seeming empathy with Putin and other autocrats and authoritarians.

The US alignment with social conservatives contributes to the rise of the civilizational state. Putin’s elevation of the position of the church and Xi’s concentration of absolute power in the Communist Party strengthens institutions that symbolize the rejection of liberal values because they serve as vehicles that dictate what individuals should believe and how they should behave. These vehicles enable civilisationalism by strengthening traditional hierarchies defined by birth, class, family and gender and delegitimizing the rights of minorities and minority views. The alignment suggests that the days were over when Russian foreign minister Sergei Lavrov trumpeted that the West had lost "its monopoly on the globalization process” because there was a "market of ideas" in which different "value systems” were forced to compete.

Similarly, conservative American author Christopher Caldwell asserted that Orban’s civilizational concept of an authoritarian Christian democracy echoed the kind of democracy that "prevailed in the United States 60 years ago" prior to the civil rights movement and the 1968 student protests. Orban’s Hungary epitomizes the opportunism that underlies the rise of the civilizational state as a mechanism to put one’s mark on the course of history and retain power. In Orban’s terms, civilizational means not Christianity as such but those Christian organizations that have bought into his authoritarian rule. Those that haven’t are being starved of state and public funding.

Civilisationalism’s increased currency is evident from Beijing to Washington with stops in between. Trump’s and Steve Bannon, his former strategy advisor’s beef with China or Russia is not civilizational, its about geopolitical and geo-economic power sharing. In terms of values, they think in equally civilizational terms. In a speech in Warsaw in 2017, Trump declared that “the fundamental question of our time is whether the west has the will to survive” but assured his audience that “our civilization will triumph.” Bannon has established an “academy for the Judeo-Christian west” in a former monastery in the Italian town of Collepardo. The academy intends to groom the next generation of far-right populist politicians.

It is initiatives like Bannon’s academy and the growing popularity of civilizational thinking in democracies, current and erstwhile, rather than autocracies that contribute most significantly to an emerging trend that transcends traditional geopolitical dividing lines and sets the stage for the imposition of authoritarian values in an emerging new world order. Interference in open and fair elections, support for far-right and ultra-conservative, family-value driven Western groups and influence peddling on both sides of the Atlantic and in Eurasia at large by the likes of Russia, China and the Gulf states serve the purpose of Bannon and his European associates.

Civilizationalists have put in place the building blocks of a new world order rooted in their value system. These blocks include the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) that groups Russia, China, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. The grouping is centred on the Chinese principle of non-interference in the sovereign affairs of others which amounts to support for the region’s autocratic regimes. The SCO’s Tashkent-based internal security coordination apparatus or Regional Antiterrorist Structure (RATS) has similarly adopted China’s definition of the "three evils" of terrorism, extremism, and separatism that justifies its brutal crackdown in Xinjiang.

Proponents of the civilizational state see the nation state and Western dominance as an aberration of history. British author and journalist Martin Jacques and international relations scholar Jason Sharman argue that China’s history as a nation state is at best 150 years old while its civilizational history dates back thousands of years. Similarly, intellectual supporters of Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) project India as a Hindu-base civilization rather than a multi-cultural nation state. Modi’s minister of civil aviation, Jayant Sinha, suggests that at independence, India should have embraced its own culture instead of Western concepts of scientific rationalism. Talking to the Financial Times, Sinha preached cultural particularism. “In our view, heritage precedes the state… People feel their heritage is under siege. We have a faith-based view of the world versus the rational-scientific view.”

Arab autocracies like Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates and Egypt have stopped short of justifying their rule in civilizational terms but have enthusiastically embraced the civilizational state’s rejection of western notions of democracy and human rights. One could argue that Saudi Arabia’s four decade long global propagation of ultra-conservative strands of Islam or the UAE effort to mould an Islam that is apolitical and adheres to the principle of obedience to the ruler is civilizational in nature.

Islamic law scholar Mohammed Fadel argues that one reason why Arab autocracies have not overtly embraced civilisationalism even though they in many ways fit the mould is the absence of a collective memory in post-Ottoman Arab lands. To explicitly embrace civilisationalism as a concept, Arab states would have to cloak themselves in the civilizational mantle of either pan-Islam or pan-Arabism, which in turn would require regional integration. One could argue that the attempt by Saudi Arabia and the UAE to impose their will on the Middle East for example with the boycott of Qatar is an attempt to create a basis for a regional integration that they would dominate.

The rise of the civilizational state with its corporatist traits raises the spectre of a new world order whose value system equates dissent with treason, views an independent press as the ‘enemy of the people’ and relegates minorities to the status of at best tolerated communities with no inherent rights. It is a value system that enabled Trump to undermine confidence in the media as the fourth estate that speaks truth to power and has allowed the president and Fox News to turn the broadcaster into the United States’ closest equivalent to state-controlled television. Trump’s portrayal of the media as the bogeyman has legitimized populist assaults on the press across the globe irrespective of political system from China and the Philippines to Turkey and Hungary. It has facilitated Prince Mohammed’s effort to fuse the kingdom’s ultra-conservative interpretation of Islam with a nationalist sentiment that depicts critics as traitors rather than infidels.

In the final analysis, the tacit understanding on a civilisationalism-based value system means that it’s the likes of New Zealand, Norway and perhaps Canada that are putting up their hands and saying not me instead of me too. Perhaps Germany is one of the countries that is seeking to stake out its place on a middle ground. The problem is that the ones that are not making their voices heard are the former bastions of liberalism like the United States and much of Europe. They increasingly are becoming part of the problem, not part of the solution.

Dr. James M. Dorsey is a senior fellow at the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, co-director of the University of Würzburg’s Institute for Fan Culture, and co-host of the New Books in Middle Eastern Studies podcast. James is the author of The Turbulent World of Middle East Soccer blog, a book with the same title and a co-authored volume, Comparative Political Transitions between Southeast Asia and the Middle East and North Africa as well as Shifting Sands, Essays on Sports and Politics in the Middle East and North Africa and recently published China and the Middle East: Venturing into the Maelstrom

#China (PRC)#china #xi jinping #xinjiang #Russia #putin #vladimir putin #india #modi #narendra modi #civilization #democracy #human rights #minority rights #turkey #recep tayyip erdoğan #erdogan

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myristicisms · 7 months

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Moral alignments;;

Zack Fair + Genesis Rhapsodos

Zack's moral alignment is Lawful Good ;;

People who are Lawful Good believe that an orderly, strong society with a moral government can work to make life better for the great majority of the people. When the laws are fair and the people respect them and try to help one another, humanity as a whole prospers. Therefore, people who are Lawful Good strive for a social order that will bring the greatest benefit to everyone and cause the least harm.

Lawful Good personalities may sometimes find themselves faced with the dilemma of whether to obey the law or do good when the two conflict. For example, when upholding the law of the land would lead to unfairness or harm or when there is a conflict between two orders of what is right, such as between the ways of their community and the law of the government.

Genesis's moral alignment is True Neutral ;;

True Neutral people believe in the ultimate balance of forces, and they refuse to see actions as either good or evil. True Neutral individuals do their best to avoid siding too strongly with any one force, whether that force is good or evil, lawful or chaotic. For this reason, True Neutral personalities sometimes find themselves drawn into rather peculiar alliances, friendships, and life paths. To a great extent, they side with the underdog, sometimes even changing sides as the previous loser becomes the winner.

Such people often see good, evil, chaos, and laws as simply prejudices that lead to dangerous extremes. Like the Taoist masters of ancient China, they tend to believe that the universe functions best when the light and the dark, the yin and the yang, are in balance.

Tagged by;; @knightfeared (thank u stink)

Tagging;; no 💙

#muse;; zack fair #muse;; genesis rhapsodos #to be a soldier;; musings #the gift of the goddess;; musings #unspoken freedoms;; dash games

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myristicisms · 8 months

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What herb are you?

ft. Zack Fair & Miriam

Oregano:

You are home to so many people and yet you're not at home with yourself. Everyone needs something from you and you desperately try to prove that you're enough but you're never enough, never good enough, never even you despite all of that. Your hands shake but only when you're never looking at them and your smile is so ever-present you can't help but wonder if its fake, wonder how much of you is real. You're a caretaker, but are you even good at that, or are you faking yourself out into believing you're something that you wish you could, someone that someone else needed you to be when you were small and so full of need and hope and fragility? Who are you underneath the need to be someone's home? Who are you when you come home to yourself?

Cardamom:

You're lonely but it's okay. It's okay. It's okay. You've always been okay except you're not and somehow you've made yourself and everyone else around you believe that too. Connection to anyone is harder than you could have ever dreamed when you were young and unloved and invisible to everyone who was supposed to care about you and save you from the voiding hollowness in your chest, in your throat. You smile and say you're okay and you are, or at least you tell yourself you are, but is anyone even worried? You tell yourself that they are or maybe that it's good they aren't. You'll be okay, one day. One day.

Tagged by;; @knightfeared (thank u for hurting their feelings)

Tagging;; Anyone who wants to yoink!!

#unspoken freedoms;; dash games #to be a soldier;; musings #ephemeral files;; musings #muse;; zack fair #muse;; miriam

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myristicisms · 5 months

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𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆

Italics only means the behaviour isn't as prevalent as others; rarely happens or they only tend to happen in specific situations, or are just not as common.

Bold only means it's much more common to see on them; frequency is somewhere in the middle.

Bold & Italics mean that the behaviour is effectively one of their glaring "tells" and can easily be associated with them; guaranteed or almost always guaranteed to happen.

DEFENSIVENESS: arms crossed on chest // crossing legs // fist-like gestures // pointing index finger // karate chops // stiffening of shoulders // tense posture // curling of lip / baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE : hand-to-face gestures // head tilted // stroking chin // peering over glasses // taking glasses off — cleaning // putting earpiece of glasses in mouth // pipe smoker gestures // putting hand to the bridge of the nose // pursed lips // knitted brows

SUSPICION : arms crossed // sideways glance // touching or rubbing nose // rubbing eyes // hands resting on weapon // brows raising // lips pressing into a thin line // strict, unwavering eye contact // wrinkling of nose

OPENNESS & COOPERATION: open hands // upper body in sprinters position / leaning in closely // sitting on the edge of a chair // hand-to-face gestures // unbuttoned coat // tilted head // slacked shoulders // droopy/relaxed posture // feet pointed outward // palms flat and facing outward

CONFIDENCE : hands behind back // hands on lapels of coat // steepled hands // baring teeth in a grin // rolling shoulders // tipping head back but maintaining eye contact // chest puffed up / shoulders back // arms folded just above navel

INSECURITY & ANXIETY : chewing pen or pencil // rubbing thumb over opposite thumb // biting fingernails // hands in pockets // elbow bent / closed gestures // clearing throat // “ whew ” sound // picking or pinching flesh // fidgeting in chair // hand covering mouth whilst speaking // poor eye contact // tugging at pants whilst seated // jingling money in pockets // tugging at ear // perspiring hands // playing with hair // swaying // playing with pointer / marker // smacking lips // sighing // rocking on balls of feet // flexing fingers sporadically

FRUSTRATION : short breaths // “ tsk ” sounds // tightly-clenched hands // fist-like gestures // pointing index finger // running hand through hair // rubbing back of neck // snarling // revealing teeth / grimacing // sharp-eyed glowers with notable tension in the brows // shoulders back, head up - defensive posturing // clenching of jaw / grinding teeth // nostrils flaring // heavy exhales

tagged by: @wizofwaterdeep

tagging: Anyone who'd like to snatch!!

#muse;; miriam #unspoken freedoms;; dash games #ephemeral files;; musings

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myristicisms · 1 year

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What keeps your soul tethered to the mortal realm?

Your dying heart;;

your heart aches at the thought of leaving them behind. all you've ever wanted was for them to be safe; for them to be happy. your purpose is to be there, to protect them, to keep them safe from this cruel world. they will be okay. your need to be needed is keeping you from being free. you love so deeply, you care so much, but who is there to do the same for you? you cant always be there; it's a fact you can't accept, but in order to leave this realm, you need to make peace with it. you deserve freedom. you deserve to be free.

#MUSE;; Zack Fair #//stole this from sol #//honestly ouch because like?? peak Zakkura #TO BE A SOLDIER;; Musings #UNSPOKEN FREEDOMS;; Dash Games

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myristicisms · 1 year

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Assigned love language;;

An undoing influence.

Can someone tell you what to do? You have been carrying so much love within you for so long it is starting to turn into anger (why does it matter, all you see is red anyways) and you have been dragging this body through each day and every night you are split open on your bed and it is so so so lonely. If someone were to walk in while you were on your bed that way and they stitched you back in a new way, lining the seams with their love and kisses, you’d probably find this dreary world a little more bearable. You want someone to turn you over and over until you look in the mirror and see yourself looking back at yourself with a gentleness which has been lacking in you since forever.

#MUSE;; Zack Fair #UNSPOKEN FREEDOMS;; Dash Games #TO BE A SOLDIER;; Musings

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myristicisms · 1 year

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Five songs that remind you of your muse;;

Zack Fair

i. Your Teeth In My Neck - Kali Uchis

Some people worship diamonds and pearls, silver and gold Just to hold it They'd give anything in the world Kill us all off They'd take our worth they pay us dirt Is it worth it? What do I do it for? I've been working so hard just to give you more Gotta get right What do you do it for? Rich man keeps getting richer, taking from the poor You gotta get right

ii. In Your Eyes - The Weeknd ft Doja Cat

You always try to hide the pain You always know just what to say I always look the other way I'm blind, I'm blind In your eyes You lie, but I don't let it define you Oh, define you I never lied When I cried for you And I know you cry too (Know you cry too) You're reading minds Just couldn't deny you do Always hard to say bye to you (And I taught myself to say)

iii. Safe And Sound - Capital Cities

I could lift you up I could show you what you want to see And take you where you want to be You could be my luck Even if the sky is falling down I know that we'll be safe and sound We're safe and sound I could fill your cup You know my river won't evaporate This world we still appreciate You could be my luck Even in a hurricane of frowns I know that we'll be safe and sound

iv. Caustic Prayer - Eidola

I've got a feeling you've been selling me out I never bought it I never wanted for you to be so cynical Your disposition is a foot in the grave We're never honest I never wanted for you to celebrate When you get led astray Talk to me discretely Keep your secrets close There's no one left to trust out here When you need them the most Do you believe everything you're told? Oh, a disciple I was built to walk this earth alone And learn how to forgive myself again You won't win With all your hate and all your lies It will come as no surprise when you get lost (when you get lost) Among (the weak) the weak When you're falling out of reach So tell me now Do you know what it is to fall And get right back up every time? Do you know how to let go?

Burn my effigy I will always stand on my two feet And be unafraid

v. Obsolete - Of Mice & Men

Another frozen frame, another glitch inside my consciousness So I pick my poison and just choke it down until I start to spin And while the world just slowly turns, I fade like fog into the sea While the mighty galleon burns around me, I slowly start to sink Maybe I'm not ready to be set free Maybe these shackles are what I need If you find the answers, come rescue me But I can't hold my breath So can you wake me from my sleep And show me now that this is just a dream? 'Cause I'm a whisper, once a scream And I'm afraid of what's in store for me Becoming obsolete

Tagged by;; @grieverled (ty bestie!!!!)

Tagging;; Anyone who wants to snatch!!

#MUSE;; Zack Fair #UNSPOKEN FREEDOMS;; DASH GAMES #TO BE A SOLDIER;; MUSINGS

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myristicisms · 3 months

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Song Challenge

share at least 5 songs that you associate with or remind you of your muse.

On the Bound; Fiona Apple

Post RE 1, RE 3

A big part of Jill’s storyline throughout the series ( and particularly re1/3 ) tends to have an underlying theme of choices and self determination to some degree, relying on oneself to maintain self security while also still recognizing that she cannot take down Umbrella on her own: Between her desperate attempts to find Chris in re1 due to camaraderie with him to worrying and fretting over a wounded Carlos in re3 after he’d administered the cure to her, a common grounds being that while she is aware she can do things on her own, it’s far better and beneficial to have assistance from those she’s come to trust and care for despite feeling as though her presence alone brings nothing but death and grief.

All my life is on me now / Hail the pages turning / And the future's on the bound / Hell don't know my fury / You're all I need / And maybe some faith would do me good

I don't know what I'm doing / Don't know, should I change my mind? / I can't decide, there's too many variations to consider / No thing I do don't do no thing but bring me more to do / It's true, I do imbue my blue unto myself, I make it bitter

II.

Tongues and Teeth; The Crane Wives

Post RE 1 through the rest of the timeline

Jill is commonly described as a cool headed woman throughout the series both in games and also in the novels, however as the storyline progresses, that cool headed behavior slowly eases into aloofness, she still has a sense of humor but sometimes can be rather cruel in her remarks towards people she isn’t fully familiar with, as seen in her interactions with Carlos both in the novel and the remake of RE 3, meeting him with vulgarities at his playful flirting and being outright hostile towards him, reasonably so. On top of that as far as romances go, whether she reciprocates the feelings of another or not, due to her career and everything she’s been through, Jill is less than inclined to allow herself the privilege of a relationship that goes past strictly platonic.

I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel / It's all that I can give to you, my dear / And when you come in quick to steal a kiss / My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear / And I know that you mean so well / But I am not a vessel for your good intent

Abandon all your stupid dreams / About the girl I could have been, my dear / 'Cause in the night I know you burn with feelings I cannot return, my dear / Oh, my dear / You gotta know that this won't last / Desperation will erase the fact / I'm keeping all of the answers in my cigarette box

III.

Numb; Portishead

Post RE5 / Revelations 2

During the events between the Lost in Nightmare DLC for RE5 and RE5 itself, we know that Wesker’s influence and experimentations had led into the brainwashing of Jill Valentine to turn her into a weapon to use against the people of Kijuju and the B.S.A.A itself without her consent and can be seen that despite not being able to control her own body, she was fully aware of everything she’d been forced to do. A big part of who Jill Valentine was had been ripped away from her during her time in Wesker’s captivity and likely due to all of the lives she had taken while under his control, Jill likely experiences severe grief and guilt alongside blaming herself much the same as she had for the deaths of many others between the events of the Arklay Mountains in ‘98 up to her rescue and can even be seen referencing returning yet still having a part of her identity and agency removed.

I'm ever so lost / I can't find my way / Been searchin', but I have never seen / A turnin', a turnin' from deceit / 'Cause a child, roses light / Tried to reveal what I could feel / I can't understand myself anymore / 'Cause, I'm still feelin' lonely / Feelin' so unholy / I'm foolin' somebody / A faithless path I roam / Deceiving, to breathe this secretly / The silence, the silence, I can't bear / 'Cause a child roses light / Tries to reveal what I could feel / And this loneliness / It just won't leave me alone / Oh, no / And this loneliness / It just won't leave me alone / A lady of war

IV.

Fast As You Can; Fiona Apple

RE 3 onwards

Post Arklay Incident, Jill is consistently in fight in or flight mode, she knows too much and is well aware of the large target that that puts on her head, especially once Chief Irons puts her on a suspension, we can see in RE 3 Remake that Jill is supposed to be heavily medicated likely in part to a mixture of false diagnoses brought on by trying to blow the whistle on Umbrella alongside newly developed symptoms of PTSD and potential depression also brought on by the Arklay Incident given all she’d experienced. On top of that, Jill also masks herself as stern and cold as a means of self defense as can be seen in her interactions with Carlos and even Mikhail to a degree, her inner dialogue also reflects this in the novels as she tries to cope with the loss of many friends and companions as well as severe nightmares brought on from the previous incident as well as amplifying a potential and underlying desire to have been killed alongside those in the mansion, she also expresses in her own internal dialogue that she feels as though she should have died instead of being cured after Carlos administers the vaccine for the virus.

I let the beast in too soon / I don't know how to live without my hand on his throat / I fight him always and still / Oh darling, it's so sweet / You think you know how crazy / How crazy I am / You say you don't spook easy / You won't go / But I know / And I pray that you will

I may be soft in your palm / But I'll soon grow hungry for a fight / And I will not let you win / My pretty mouth will frame the phrases / That will disprove your faith in man / So if you catch me trying to find my way into your heart / From under your skin / Sometimes my mind don't shake and shift / But most of the time, it does / And I get to the place where I'm begging for a lift / Or I'll drown in the wonders and the was

Back to The Old House; The Smiths

Post RE3 onwards / Semi-Shippy

Jill has many regrets in her life one of which being that she’s not remained in full contact with Carlos, in spite of only really knowing the man for a total of three days, there is a mutual respect and even fondness the two had managed to build up together during their time together in Raccoon, and as survivors of the incident, Carlos has the ability to understand Jill in a way that a lot of those she knows cannot. He was the one who saved her life in every telling of RE 3 and was the one who sat her side while taking care of her throughout her fight with the mentioned infection therefore it’s only natural for a lingering fondness to settle in the back of her mind, often she thinks about seeing if she can reunite with the mercenary but typically decides against it, not wanting to possibly disrupt his peace and be unwelcome.

I would rather not go / Back to the old house / There's too many bad memories / Too many memories there / When you cycled by / Here began all my dreams / The saddest thing I've ever seen / And you never knew / How much I really liked you / Because I never even told you / Oh, and I meant to / Are you still there or have you moved away? / I would love to go / Back to the old house / But I never will / I never will

Tagged by;; @valour-bound ( thank u pookie )

#muse;; jill valentine #unspoken freedoms;; dash games #real shocker there's valeria vibes huh

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