glad we live in a world where i’m just a silly little jokester fandaniel is real now
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saw this on twitter but this is theo nly way im describing hermes’s eyes now
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dead! mcr is such a fandaniel song
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soulprofitis:
“Now why would I do that?” Hythlodaeus smiles as cat-like as ever and twirls a few locks of the hair that hangs loose over his shoulder around a finger. The spiked fashion of the Ascians hardly fits him, not as other robes once did, so he’s forsaken his own hood. “Rat you out when you’re following a dream— Oh, have you always thought me so cruel, Fandaniel?”
Such an odd title. It rolls of his tongue strangely, dry and brittle as bones older than this body he has made his own. Ambition is not a trait that Hythlodaeus has ever claimed for himself. He doesn’t waste time endearing himself to their Unsundered fellows —Truly, he’s below them all, though few care that he breathes at all—or spend his days weeping for the losses of years gone by. None of it would do him any good now. What does help him is his watching. However much time has changed, Fandaniel is still a book he enjoys dusting off to read. His disinterest in Rejoinings has been clear as day to Hythlodaeus’s eyes since the start.
“I wouldn’t bother with worry if I wasn’t right,” he scoffs. “What a waste that would be. Perhaps I am cruel, but I’m not a fool.” With another step closer to Fandaniel, he settles his feet as firmly as the sprawling roots of an ancient tree. Hythlodaeus tilts his head curiously. The brightness of his eyes rivals that of his original self / Shining like the insects that once glowed with levin in Elpis. Perhaps the amiable tone to his voice is exaggerated, perhaps it is true. It’s near enough to the real thing to be mistaken as either. “I have no authority or Seat to bind you by, no obligation to enforce, remember? You do make me wonder, though, what manner of chaos might conflict with ours. Sate my curiosity, won’t you? If only in the hypothetical?”
Fandaniel’s expression thins out like smoke and it occurs to him that Hythlodaeus is a weapon. It’s good that he has no interest in turning on him here and now even if in the future they might have to kill one another. But here and now in the dim light, those so7ul-seeing eyes shine brightly and more ominous than ever. Were it not for years of schooling the disgust out of his features, Amon, Fandaniel, whoever he is now, might shudder at this sight.
“No, you’re not a fool.” Fandaniel has to acquiesce that much at least. He’s just -- tired of those eyes looking at him. When Hythlodaeus takes a step forward, it’s all he can do not to step back in exchange. It’s a miracle he manages to muster up a smile of his own in the presence of such danger. “Sorry, but I’d hate to spoil the surprise...don’t you think it would be more fun to watch your beloved Emet-Selch scramble over himself in the presence of oncoming onslaught? He’s always hated not being able to account for every variable...I must confess, even the thought makes me want to announce a premature victory.”
He pauses and something occurs to him. Once again the ghost of a grin flits off of his features. Fandaniel’s hand leaves the inside of his robe sleeve and falls back down to his side. Above them both, the moon slides against the ridge of the skylight, cutting them both into its light. The lip of his hood suspends his eyes back into shadow, two pinpricks of white staring out from void at the other, “Do you remember what happened on Elpis, Hythlodaeus?”
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IF SHE’S YOUR GIRL WHY IS SHE HAVING VISIONS ABOUT ME?
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amon
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follow my nero @egosuperior
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i didnt wanna spend more time on this than necessary but i had to. the vision was there. the vision
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@enavant said: tell me how to make it better. @ hermes !!
“I do not know,” Hermes’ voice is barely above that of a whisper, “I wish I knew. Ah -- I wish I knew... ” How badly his soul longs to have an answer for J’isu; and not just J’isu, but his companions on Elpis. People ask him so many questions, and Hermes feels the answers are never adequate for anyone, least of all him. He can logic his way out of things, push aside his misgivings with talk of duty and love and perfection, but this does nothing to quell the rising maelstrom in his heart. He speaks frankly of it with those who wish to share his heart, but even then he remains unsatisfied, desperate for something that seems ever out of reach.
He doesn’t know anything, so he just has to be miserable. He has become a tomb dedicated to the hallowed visage of his misery and nothing more. This beautiful, lovely, perfect world / on some days, Hermes wonders--and he is always ashamed of it when these thoughts bloom across his mind--what would happen if this world crumbled away? Would his fellow ancients still love their home even if it was ugly? Or would they abandon it in favor of perfection? AGAIN WITH THE QUESTIONS! Stop, Hermes, just stop -- it just hurts.
“...Would you indulge me for a moment?” He swallows, tongue dry, the taste of chalk in his mouth. “I would like to know more about you, J’isu. Have you felt your journey a worthwhile one despite the pain?” He turns to look at them, expression somber. Those neon eyes. He hasn’t slept well in months.
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obsessed w fandaniel btw
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*does a gay little dance that pisses u off*
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fandaniel who has 93 mental illnesses and is banned from most all public spaces
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drachenblood:
𝐀 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐬 suffuses the structure from within. Not the cold of an everlasting winter, but that of the grave reaching to claw life and soul both from the misbegotten wretches to have come so far. A single step and is he certain that he has descended to a hell deeper than any of the seven known to man, his very breath turning as blades through his lungs. At his breast, dangling from the leather cord that he keeps beneath his armor is the trembling trinket gifted to him by the peoples of Thavnair. For how it rattles with such violence the deeper he wanders into the Tower does he wonder if it might shatter as glass beneath the vile power of what slumbers within. ‘Tis only in the power that rests at the very core of the talisman does he draw some measure of comfort, for he carries with him the hopes of yet one of the First Brood and he would not fail their kind. Not again.
Just how he would deliver the poor souls from the clutches of this abomination he’d not considered. For his gift comes in destruction, wrought in violence and bloodshed. Foremost predator of his Order, the spear forged from the fires of rage and vengeance, his salvation is the grace and mercy of a quick and painless death. Thus if it must needs come to such a conclusion, would his be the hand that would send this tower crumbling as a pillar of ash. ‘Tis only a matter of finding the core similar to the one he’d encountered in that accursed contraption in Thavnair.
Three steps within and espying the wretches trapped within their tombs is he brought to a halt at the voice that rings throughout the cavernous hall. Not a voice he knows at all, but by the words alone is he able to determine the source. The shadowed half-creature made known to him by the Warrior of Light. He growls, sinking into stance ready for attack yet all that surrounds him now is but mocking laughter. What good is a weapon with naught but air to strike? ❝ Show yourself and you’ll have more than a dagger through your heart. ❞ His threat is delivered in a snarl, teeth bared as though ready to bite and tear through the very bastard’s neck. Yet he’ll have no such luck. Cravens such as these are wont to hide, scurrying about as vermin in the dark. Presented with one such obstacle he refuses to allow himself to be cowed, even in the heart of enemy territory. He has weathered worse afore, faced his direst foe within his very nest and emerged victorious. Thus would he blaze forward, scoffing at the cowardice as he moves deeper within the tower. He knows the way should this construction of terror and twisted metal be like to the Tower of Zot. ❝ Mock as you will, Ascian. I mean to bring this toy of yours to ruin. Thus are you allowed to watch as I do so. ❞
“Oh, you are a frightening man!” Fandaniel exclaims, grinning all the while, the sarcasm tangible in his voice. He’s not stupid, so he refuses to let Estinien bait him into the light, back pressed flush against one of the fleshy pillars. Concealing his presence is a laughably easy affair.
Fandaniel had foreseen that at least one of the Warrior of Light’s companions would come alone. The Scions and their pride / Fandaniel has been longing to twist it into despair for a long time. If even just one of these untouchable heroes could be corrupted at Fandaniel’s expert hands -- and he has a lot of experience in the art of corruption, call it one of his many talents -- well -- that fear would be all-encompassing. And such despair in the face of the Final Days would be fruitful. Overall it would be a victory for Fandaniel--both for his larger plan and for his personal gain.
So how fitting for fate’s chosen to be the dragoon Estinien Wyrmblood, who has already been felled once before by his ego and lonerisms.
The air around Fandaniel stagnates and flexes all at once, likely a result of the imbalance of aether while Estinien goes about blowing up the “toy” (aptly put, Fandaniel must admit). But if it’s just one of them, Fandaniel can use this strange aether to his advantage, and he still has a few tricks from his time spent as Amon up his sleeve. A hand reaches into the air, chain link of red suddenly materializing in place between his fist.
“You dragoons do so love jumping and dancing all over the battlefield,” Fandaniel muses, eyeing the fetters curiously, dangerous smile playing over lips, the game only just beginning, “It makes one wonder--how will you react when those wings of yours are clipped?” All at once Fandaniel steps out from shadow. His hand shoots forward and with it a group of chains made from corrupted aether keen towards Estinien all at once -- capturing the dragoon would be the most difficult part of Fandaniel’s plan, but the pay-off, oh the pay-off! Fandaniel’s eyes gloss over at the thought, flashing a half-lidded smile in no general direction.
“I’m something of a master at building cages. You’ve been to Azys Lla, no? What did you think?! Wasn’t it wondrous!? Hahahahahahahaha----I get sick just thinking about it!” Twisted facsimile of Elpis / Fandaniel all but hates the place now. “I wonder which will be harder to restrain: the dragons, or the dragoons who slay them? Do you have any insight on the matter? Oh--I forget myself, you are the one who hardly speaks. Well, no matter! You’ll be talking soon enough anyways! Hahahahahahahaha!!!!”
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proveidence:
Inquiry begets immediate confession, to which the daze of half-slumber fizzles into something more attentive as Jahliqai trains his eye upon the man he knew as Hermes (here, and not in this foreign land he dreamed of – barren of sorrow). He chases away the remnant to give him his full undivided attention – an arm braced over his knee as Hermes speaks of his own plight. The confusion is plainly writ on his face, that Jahliqai’s own relaxes as they sit beside each other. It was shared – an understanding neither of them had. A low hum is offered when Hermes’s explanation (or lack, thereof) is given, and Jahliqai looks to the ground beneath them as a means to gather his thoughts.
Here, the soil was trodden and well-worm – blades of grass smothered under the soles of feet who either fought or fleed the war-torn land as it were. Closing his eye, he recalls the blurs in his dreams – the hand that was not his own (one he knew all the same), and the lush of greenery that surrounded him. Beyond the life that thrived, and the face of former foe, of Hermes, of those he’s never seen in his life… Jahliqai, too, knew nothing of this place. Like the Hermes he knew here, now… he was left in the dark – only half-aware through forces outside of them both. Thus, Jahliqai opens his eye, and finds his words.
“ If that’s the case, “ he murmurs – gaze still faraway, “ then there must have been a reason – to forget. “ Another pause, as he tastes the implications for what they were, before finally does realization strike Jahliqai. He turns, suddenly – frost bright with revelation. “ You’re an ancient. “ Ascian, absent from his tongue; Hermes has given his staff to them, and not his brethren – which now spurned new questions to his mind.
Pain blooms beneath his chest. Ancient, Ascian, synonyms for other -- he had never belonged in that dreamlike paradise, and for some reason when Jahliqai says the word Hermes remembers that he doesn’t belong here either. He swallows his dread, eyes sliding shut for a moment. “Yes,” he admits, “although a powerless one in comparison to the ones you have met. I find that my magicks are severely limited. In a way I have also been...sundered.” He pauses, then reaches beneath the dip of the cut of his shirt to tug at a cord, thus revealing a familiar spark of red: the Convocation crystal given to the seat of Fandaniel, the same Fandaniel who had been fought as Zodiark, the same Fandaniel who had been felled but cried victory in the advent of his death.
Hermes doesn’t understand why his soul would choose such a path. The Echo offers him shards of forgotten memory from a time in Elpis but it still isn’t enough -- the gaping hole in his chest yearns to be filled, still, still, still. “Maybe there is a reason. But whatever pain I felt...it must have paled in comparison to his. I--,” hate him / and myself / and I want to get better but without my pain who am I? / “I just want to understand. All my life, I have had a very important question and I could not find the answers for it on Etheirys. I hope I can find it here. On Eorzea. And...if you would permit it--with you and your companions.”
His hands ball in his lap. Hermes feels he might cry if he speaks of it much more. “Knowing what I do now about Fandaniel, I know it is a selfish request, but I pray you indulge it nonetheless.”
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I JUST FOUND A DOLL IN MY DOLLHOUSE — SHE’S YOUNG, SHE LOOKS JUST LIKE ME. / ind. & priv. multimuse featuring original characters, as well as characters from dislyte, kingdom hearts, anime & more. by rain.
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sunhalf:
There is a tendency towards toxicity — whether it’s a personal failing or the result of a life so littered with tragedy ( a child weaned on poison, after all, considers harm a comfort ) aside, the fact remains that neither Ki’s disgust nor Aika’s lack of respect for Fandaniel are enough to keep her from giggling coquettishly and placing her hand in his. As if this is a courtship they’re playing at, rather than discussing the last thoughts of the man that Fandaniel — evicted, as it were, from this form.
“Oh, I can handle dangerous boys,” she replies — it’s even true! — while Ki pretends to gag. His hand feels — well, it doesn’t matter for now, large eyes fluttering closed to listen for any traces of the body’s previous inhabitant. Even Ki presses closer to their skin, seeing if the dead might have an easier time with the dead. After a beat, Aika’s lips twist into a pout, eyes drawing open. “It’s less direct thoughts, but — well, he was definitely angry.” Hateful, Ki supplies, angry isn’t sharp enough. “Not helpful, I know. Also, the toxic gay man vibes are off the charts. And distinct from — whatever’s going on with you.”
Once upon a time Fandaniel probably would have winced at the feeling of hands on borrowed flesh - a body unrecognizable as his own apart from the undeniable fact that when when he moved in front of a mirror it moved with him. He schools this instinct into nothingness, a blankness on his expression instead while Aika feels for that sense of Asahi beneath the surface layer of his skin.
“Oh, right again! Ah, well, I’m not sure about the gay part.” He’d never met the vessel in life, but it was more than probable. Again with the looking in mirrors. Now this body was a twink if he’d ever seen one! “I am glad to know that his essence differs from mine. I would hate for my self to get mixed up with someone like him. From what I heard, he was...ah--thoroughly unpleasant.” Not that Fandaniel is any better, he knows this, but he supposes his flavor of ‘unpleasant’ is vastly different from Asahi’s.
Fandaniel withdraws his hand. “Thank you for indulging me in my whims. I feel I learned something about the nature of the soul. And of the dead bodies they once inhabited.” Seems their aether didn’t disperse immediately after death -- at least not while they were still walking around with someone else in their skin.
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i came up with one i liked it’s @egosuperior now
nero blog just dropped @steelsunglasses url will get changed rules need to be added etc. mostly just made this because fer baited me by saying he wanted to write cid and they are my favorite ship
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