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dreadnotau · 2 years ago

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This is probably not the post any of you wanted to see.

Before anyone panics, NO, Dread Not is NOT cancelled, and NO, I have NOT given up on it. It’s just being put on another hiatus, though I’m not sure how long this one will last.

TL;DR - when your “passion project” feels less fulfilling as an art activity than your college assignments do, you’re doing something wrong.

As some of you may know one person alone has been working on the art and management of the Dread Not accounts, the server, and most importantly the comic itself. That unlucky fucker is me. Managing it all used to be a lot more exciting, I guess, but nowadays it’s become a looming deadline and a chore. By purely my own fault, might I add. I’ve boxed myself into a lot of arbitrary things and now making this comic isn’t nearly as fun as it used to be, hooray. Coupled with the fact that meowchela, the co-creator of the au, the one who helps write it and spellcheck it (even if neither of us are good at it), and also my moral support and the only reason I started posting the comic in the first place, hasn’t even been into deltarune for the past half year. It all stacks up to a very tired and unhappy Kooki.

Now, most of you don’t give a shit about this melodrama, and that’s valid. You’re here to see my drawings of cute monsters in distress going through several kinds of midlife crises, and also baby Kris, and that’s good because that’s what I want out of this comic too. But right now? I am NOT in the mental state to be meeting my own arbitrary deadlines for a comic a lot of people don’t directly engage with. This isn’t to say that any of you are obligated to care, or reblog or like or whatever. It’s just the way the internet works. It’s extremely hard to engage in a productive or proactive way, and I think that’s why I have more fun with my art college assignments, nowadays. Because the art, whether it be good or bad and no matter the technique, immediately gets feedback both from my professors AND my colleagues!

Some of you who aren’t as involved in art making might not know that negative feedback is some of the most valuable feedback an artist can get back (when it’s given in good faith, of course), and as Dread Not as an art project was set up specifically to help me improve my art, it’s kind of a shame I haven’t been getting a lot of negative feedback from people unless I ask directly. It’s like the internet actually took the idea of “if you don’t like it don’t look at it” to heart, which is great! But not for me and this comic, sadly. Going forward (aka whenever I have the strength to start uploading weekly again), I might drastically simplify the visuals of the comic, maybe even change some style things because it feels like I’ve really stagnated with the art of the comic.

I talked about this with meowchela recently, I had a very specific style in mind when I first started the sketches for this comic, and when I finished the first page, it wasn’t quite what I wanted it to be. The truth is, I didn’t have the skills to execute the style I wanted for the comic, and to an extent I still don’t, so instead of the tedious and not-quite-what-I-wanted current style, I might just change it up to be completely different and less time consuming, because either way it won’t be what I want. (And, for the record, most of this drivel is about the backgrounds, the text boxes, and aesthetic choices, and not about the character art, because I’m decently happy with that)

And to the dedicated readers, I have to stress that this isn’t the end. Dread not is a story I care about, even if its amateurish and was basically made by accident. I WANT to tell this story, if only because I know a past version of me was yearning to tell it but lacked the bravery to even try (again, meowchela is the only reason this comic exists, and I basically owe her a life for getting me to start upload the ludicrous au idea I had so long ago). The story and comic WILL continue one day, just not soon. Call it an indefinite hiatus if you want, but it’ll come back one day, stronger than ever, and hopefully better organized. I feel a strange mix of melancholy and relief finally putting this beast down for a nap again.

If I may go a little bit into the behind the scenes, my creative process is hardly a coherent process at all, and is mostly a hodgepodge of spur of the moment ideas immediately put to paper without much thought. Days, weeks, months, or years later, I have to face the consequences of those split-second decisions, and that’s the process that’s been the status quo for this comic’s creation. Sometimes it’s good, like a core symbol to the story coming from what was originally a one-off gag (a-la early homestuck), but most of the time its bad, with hours spent reformatting and redrawing sketches in order to actually make it look competent, which just results in a lot more time that I feel I’m wasting because it’s hardly a part of the finished page itself.

All in all, Dread Not is my baby, my first large-scale project, and I’m not going to abandon it because of one really bad burst of art block. I’ve had other projects I’ve been slowly chipping away at (most of them deltarune related as well) that’ll also be put on hiatus too… not that anyone will really notice because I hardly upload them. But there’s also a lot of personal projects and OC stories I’ve been meaning to work on but just couldn’t get in the right frame of mind to, so maybe I’ll finally start work on those while I take a proper vacation from Dread Not. This whole hiatus thing, however, also means I’ll stop responding to messages, both on Tumblr and in the Discord server, as frequently. Some of you may have already noticed my decline in activity on both fronts. This break has been a long time coming, I’ve just been in denial about it.

And finally, thank you all, again, for reading and enjoying this comic. You probably enjoyed it more than I have! And I mean everyone, from the people who only read and don’t interact with any of the posts, to the people who reblog nearly every page that comes out (I see you guys, and I love your tags), all of you kept me going and I wish I had more to give for the support you’ve shown. I’ll take my time off to really put myself in the right place mentally and physically to bring you the best comic I can. And hey, if you stick around long enough, maybe you’ll even see the end of it! I know I will.

Stay tuned!

PS - If anyone wants lore to chew on while the comics on hiatus, have this bit of trivia I’ve been meaning to share: the current events that are unfolding were originally (and technically still are) only the backstory for the plot I wanted to tell from the beginning. It’s why Kris is so young compared to their deltarune self, it’s why a lot of locations are bare-bones and placeholder, it’s why we aren’t seeing many characters involved right now even though a lot of characters have appearances planned. What I’m trying to say is, this is only the beginning, and I’d love to see someone try to predict where things will go from here, because this status quo won’t stay for much longer, that’s for sure :)

#dreadnot #dread not #dread not au #dreadnotau #Not Comic #hiatus 3 #i guess? have i really only done 2 hiatuses before this?#it feels like more but maybe thats my guilt talking #for anyone who doesnt feel like reading my drivel it really IS just some melodrama about my own lack of motivation as of late

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no-reply95 · 4 years ago

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So I listened to the Something About the Beatles (SATB) latest podcast today, titled “Dear Friend” with the topic of conversation John and Paul’s relationship in the 1970s. So I was thinking that this would be great because I feel like the primary things talked about when the John/Paul 1970s dynamic is discussed is Lennon Remembers, How Do You Sleep and the PlayBoy interview, maybe they’ll throw in the Lost Weekend for balance if they’re feeling so inclined... I’m obviously exaggerating here but... Firstly, before I start my rant, SATB is a good podcast, they usually have great guests (Erin Torkelson Weber the MVP of course), cover interesting topics and Robert Rodriguez is a good host who’s good at challenging things in the story that don’t ring true.

However, I feel like throughout the Beatles active years and into the post break-up years there’s a narrative that has been established that so many people are wedded to, to the point that it’s part of the orthodoxy of the band. In my opinion the narrative is that from first meeting up until the moment that John died Paul was always doing everything to be John’s BFF, he was always trying to be closest to John, no matter what John said or did, Paul would always be the one to try and mend fences and throughout the 70s he was doing whatever he could to end up back working with John. I don’t think this narrative is completely wrong but I think it’s uneven mainly because, in all this, Paul’s importance to John is completely glossed over and John’s manoeuvring to ensure that he was the most important person in Paul’s life is completely missed. So, I just want to highlight some of the instances off the top of my head where I feel that John showed how much he needed to be prioritised in Paul’s life and how much he wanted to mend fences post break-up, that I feel don’t get talked about often enough:

1) John’s competition with Jim McCartney: There’s a lot of stock put into the John-Paul-Stu triangle but that obscures a weird triangle that, maybe Paul wasn’t even aware of, but I think definitely existed which is John-Paul-Jim. By all accounts Jim didn’t want John around and was against John and Paul’s friendship. Jim had a lot of influence over Paul and had a lot of sway as his sole parent once Mary died and I think John was resentful of that. We all know about the ultimatum John gave Paul when he took the job (that Jim implored him to get) which jeopardised his commitment to the band. In John’s eyes and own words, Paul choosing to quit his job to commit fully to the band was Paul choosing John over his dad. No one (in books I’ve only seen Joshua Wolf Shenk discuss this) discusses how Jim was effectively John’s Stu, someone that obstructed his closeness and ability to influence Paul to the point that over a decade later, post break up, John saw Paul focusing on the band as a victory over his dad. John had a jealously of Paul’s closeness and prioritisation of his family that would rear its head further down the road but, by and large, I rarely see this discussed.

2) John’s jealousy of Paul’s other close friendships: On this front, we hear ad nauseam, about Paul’s jealousy of Stu, which is fine because, even without Paul acknowledging it, it’s obvious from space that Paul was jealous of Stu’s closeness to John but we never hear about John’s jealousy of Paul’s other close friendships. All the Beatles were close to Mal Evans but I think Paul was especially close to him (he was the first Beatle to befriend Mal, Mal lived with him at Cavendish for some time, Mal helped Paul write some songs etc.) which got to John. In John’s own words when discussing Magical Mystery Tour he was “choked” when he found out that Paul had come up with the idea with Mal and Mal’s widow has said that Yoko told her that John had told her (whew Chinese whispers time) that he was jealous of Mal’s friendship with Paul... Then there’s Tara Browne, it’s interesting that despite Tara apparently being really friendly and outgoing John never took to him. Maybe it was because Tara was upper class. Maybe it was because after pestering him for months, Paul chose to do LSD with Tara instead of with John and the rest of the band. Maybe it was because Paul invited Tara up to Liverpool, right after Christmas, to hang out with his family resulting in the infamous moped crash. If I put my tin foil hat on, in “A Day in the Life” when John’s reaction to the death of a man in a car crash is “to laugh” is that meaningful? The song is thought to reference Tara but does that passage give us a glimpse into how John saw Tara? If he’s laughing about Tara dying then it sounds like he really didn’t like him, possibly due to his close friendship with Paul.

3) John’s resentment of Paul’s romantic partners: So this one is interesting... There are quite a few examples to walk through so here goes. We have the incident in Hamburg where Paul is in bed with a woman and John (in the aftermath of Stu’s death and probably high on prellies) comes charging in attacking the girl, cutting up her clothes and basically scares her out of the room, maybe that was just the prellies but there seems to be too much of a pattern to ignore. Then there’s Jane of course, we don’t know a ton about John’s interactions with Jane over the years but it’s interesting that he makes a terrible first impression with her (asking her to describe how girls masturbate) and it seems that their relationship is cordial at best going forward (note how Jane and Paul never go on holiday alone with John and Cynthia in the same way George and Ringo did with their respective partners). Peggy Lipton also tells the story about how when she came to hang out with Paul in 1965, John was really rude to her out of nowhere and asked “what she was doing there” and she seemed to think that John couldn’t understand why Paul wanted to take her to dinner if all he was going to do was fuck her. Then, there’s Linda... John consistently gives interviews in the early 70s when he talks about how in a few years Paul will wake up and leave Linda, according to Ray Connolly John couldn’t believe that Paul was staying faithful to Linda and then there’s other weird occurrences in that late 60s/early 70s period. There’s the fan who claims seeing John about to hit a pregnant Linda before Paul stepped in, there’s John rushing to get married as soon as Paul does (8 days later I think which is WILD to me), there’s John describing Paul’s wedding as a “funeral” in ‘71... What does all this tell us? That John was too busy replacing Paul with Yoko to care about Paul anymore? In my book, it’s John’s fears being realised that Paul would always prioritise his family over him when push came to shove, in John’s mind he had won when he was competing with Jim for Paul but once Linda came into the picture and gave Paul the family he always wanted, I think in John’s mind, it was game over. Maybe if Paul had divorced Linda in the 70s (like John predicted) they would have worked together more, we’ll never know, but in a similar way to Yoko, Linda was a wedge in John’s relationship to Paul.

4) John’s attempts post break-up to reach out to Paul: We hear a lot about Paul reaching out to John in the 70s and not engaging with the feuding anymore, it’s Paul that decides not to respond in kind to HDYS, it’s Paul that invites John to the Venus and Mars sessions, it’s Paul going to the Dakota to see/try to see John, it’s always Paul seemingly who misses John and wants to reestablish their relationship. However, according to May Pang, John was happy to do Bangladesh if Paul was doing it too. According to Ray Connolly, John gave him a letter to give to Paul, in the hopes that Paul would call him. According to Paul and other people involved in the One to One concert, John asked Paul to appear with him during his performance in ‘72. And in the face of the backlash from HDYS, John’s the one going around calling Paul his best friend ,other than Yoko, and sending him Beatles bootlegs for Christmas.

All this is to say that John and Paul did not have this one sided relationship where only Paul cared and wanted them to repair things or where only Paul was looking to manoeuvre a situation so he was closest to John, John also wanted to be the closest person in Paul’s life, he was jealously protective of their partnership (see his angry reaction to Paul not coming to him and only him to help with Eleanor Rigby) he also seemed to fear losing Paul to his family which may have happened in his mind, who knows. Because John’s most famous post Beatles interviews have him bashing Paul and Paul’s had 40 years to talk about how much he loved John, there’s this view that Paul loved John more than John loved Paul or that John loved Paul until Yoko came in the picture, at which point Paul was no longer relevant. If Paul meant nothing to John anymore, why did he even bother writing HDYS, if he was so tuned out he wouldn’t have been bothered by Ram, none of the critics were so why was John all over that album more than a Paul is Dead truther?! Why did Yoko block Paul’s calls to John, they were happy to hang out with Ringo, what was so threatening about Paul? Why, according to Robert Rosen, were John’s diaries full of his obsessions about Paul?? We’ll never know a lot of the answers to these questions but I would love it if more podcasts even acknowledged that these questions exist and acknowledged that Paul was such a huge part of John’s life till his dying day: “we have our ups and downs but I would do anything for Paul and I think he would do anything for me” John Lennon December 8 1980.

Apologies for the rant it seems listening to Beatles podcasts always seems to set me off! But SATB is a good podcast, just feel that there are so many interesting conversations that get missed in favour of the usual narrative time and time again, so close but no cigar!

Thanks to @onesweetdreampodcast and @anotherkindofmindpod for being the only podcast I’ve heard to date brave enough to discuss these questions, I think doing that will give us a much better understanding of the Beatles and how their story unfolded.

By the way most of what I referenced above can be found in @amoralto incredible blog, have fun!

#the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #john and paul #something about the beatles #dear friend #jealous guy #complex relationships #thoughts #my rants

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duckprintspress · 4 years ago

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What is a Story?

When Duck Prints Press put out our call for applicants, we asked everyone to submit “a sample of their work (between 1,000 and 2,000 words)… [that] must function as a short story.” When we reviewed the 100+ samples we received, we noticed many areas where writers commonly struggled. Based on what we learned, we’ve planned a number of blog posts to discuss these challenging areas, and we’ve decided to tackle one of the most frequent issues first. Many otherwise strong submissions lost points on our rubric line regarding “plot and events,” and specifically, they scored a 1 or a 2 because “the story has no plot (for example, is a vignette).”

So, this begs the question, what is a story, and, of course, what isn’t a story?

(note that throughout this post, I use the word “narrative” to refer to any amount of text that may or may not be a story, and I use story only in a more narrow, specific sense.)

What is a story?

The answer is deceptively simple: a story is any narrative that has a plot. But...what is a plot? There are many ways to define a plot, but at its most basic, a plot has a beginning, a middle, and an end, and by the ending, something has changed. If, at the end of the story, nothing has changed, then it’s not a story. However, even if something has changed, it’s still not necessarily a story, because characters and time-frame also influence the definition. A narrative without at least one character is not a story. Likewise, a narrative time-frame, if it’s discussing events at a meta-level (“this happened, then this happened, then this happened”) may show that changes occur, but it’s still not a story - it’s an overview or an outline. The lines, of course, can be blurry - and where any given author, reader, or DPP reviewer draws the line between “this is a story” and “this isn’t a story” will vary.

How is a story communicated to the reader?

To function as a story, the narrative must include characters. Now, character doesn’t necessarily have to mean person, or even require sentience, but there must be some point of view being explored, and if the character is an animal or an inanimate object, writing it as a character will require a degree of anthropomorphizing. The key aspect is that the character has some form of agency - some ability to interact with and influence their surroundings. This character will have a point of view and a perspective that affects how they perceive the story’s setting, and by the end of the story this character should have either changed themselves, or changed their surroundings, or changed their relationships. The circumstances around this character must be different by the end of the story than they were at the beginning - or else it’s not a story.

What is change?

As part of the narrative, one or more characters in the story must engage in some form of activity that results in the world around them changing. Writing advice most oftenly calls this “conflict,” but honestly? I hate that word. The classic couching of “person vs. self, person vs. person, person vs. nature, person vs. society, person vs. fate” as the available types of conflict is tired. Defining the only kind of change as conflict and specifically describing it as “x versus y” is to automatically get a potential writer thinking in terms of antagonism. While antagonism is one available type of change, it’s not the only, and while many pieces of writing advice point out that these “versus” constructions don’t mean enmity by nature...why not simply choose a less confusing construction, one that doesn’t require addenda to explain the existence of narratives that clearly are stories but are less “versus” and more “and” - “person and self,” “person and person,” “person and nature,” “person and society,” “person and fate.” I’ve opted to use the word change, because one of the clearest ways to tell if a narrative is a story or not is to look at the nature of the character(s) are at the beginning, and look at the nature of them at the end, and say - what’s different? Maybe they’ve built something. Maybe they’ve reached a new understanding. Maybe they’ve conquered a challenge. Maybe they’ve altered their perspective. Maybe they’ve learned something. Maybe, they’ve changed the world, or maybe, they’ve just changed a light bulb - but something has changed.

Before some writing snob comes at me and says, “okay, fine, we dare you to come up with a plot that doesn’t fit into the classic five conflict types” ...of course we can’t. That model functions because all stories can be shoehorned into it, as long as very loose definition of “conflict” and “versus” are used. But because it’s described in oppositional terms, a lot of writers get distracted by that terminology and think there has to be, well, a conflict, in the narrow definition of the word. And that’s clearly absurd - many of our favorite fanfiction tropes, for example, are fluffy and comforting and soft precisely because they’re not about conflict, they’re about harmony. Yes, “enemies to lovers” is wonderful, but so is “friends to lovers.” Two people going on a date that ends with a marriage proposal is a story: they started out as a couple and ended engaged. Something has changed - their relationship status. But to call that “person versus person,” while perhaps technically correct, is ludicrous. Now, to keep it interesting, there might be some “person versus self” - “I’m not worthy of this love, omg do they really care for me, oh will society give us problems if we say yes?” which is how it can be shoehorned into the “conflict” model. But be it ever so soft, and their love ever so accepted, and their faith in each other ever so steady - if there really is no conflict, just those two people meeting up and having a nice night and ending in a proposal...it’s still a story. To say it’s not a story because there was no conflict, only an advancement of their relationship...yes, a story like that is borderline to being a vignette or “slice of life” narrative. Certainly, if there’s zero sources of tension, it may not be a very interesting story, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a story.

What else does a story need?

Honestly - not much. Don’t get us wrong - a story is stronger if it has a setting so that it doesn’t just take place in endless blankness. A story with multiple characters but no form of dialog (verbal or non-verbal) may be a little flat. A story where something changes but some of the introduced plot elements aren’t resolved will feel incomplete to a reader. A story without any negativity could be boring. Stories lacking these elements may not be good stories...or they could be amazing, and innovative, showing how a tale can be told without elements we usually consider essential! As long as something or someone has changed, and the story is told in a narrative, descriptive format that includes a character - it’s a story.

What isn’t a story?

Things that aren’t stories fall into two broad categories:

Narratives that have description, characters, dialogue, setting, and other story elements, but nothing changes. Examples of this are “slice of life” narratives and what, in fandom-parlance, would be called an episode coda or canon insert - a chunk of narrative deliberately meant to make a bridge between two established events but in which nothing can change because the surrounding events remain established. (A coda or insert might be a story, it varies.)

Narratives that are either entirely “show” (for example, a vignette) or entirely “tell” (for example, a synopsis), These can also be seen as relating to time - either there’s little or no passage of time (usually the case in vignettes) or far too much passage of time (usually the case in synopses). Narratives like this may or may not include a character, but even if they do, they’re still not stories. Why not? Because any story that is entirely “show” and involves minimal passage of time is unlikely to result in change, and instead will be an extended description of a moment. And any story that is entirely “tell” and depicts a large swath are overviews - there’s no element to actually grab a reader and no reason the reader should care about this dry relationship of events. That’s not a story - it’s a history textbook.

Drawing the lines between these categories can be difficult, and to some extent will come down to taste. Anyone who says there’s a hard-and-fast rule in writing is a liar. Just because a synopsis or a “slice of life” narrative isn’t usually a story doesn’t mean they will never be one. But, in general, if you’re looking at a piece of work and you’re trying to determine if it’s a story or not, there are some signs that will strongly suggest it’s not a story:

There are no characters.

There is no setting.

Nothing has changed between the beginning and ending of the narrative.

The entire narrative is an extended description of a single person/object/setting.

The entire narrative could easily be reworded into a sequence of, “thing one happened, then thing two happened, then thing three happened, then thing four happened.”

The narrative feels like a “pause,” or a “bridge” that takes place between two events that aren’t depicted in the narrative.

A central conflict or issue is introduced or described in details, but nothing is done to try to solve the issue.

Now, for the most important part of this discussion of what isn’t a story: writing something that isn’t a story isn’t a bad thing! Especially in fanfiction communities, we live for self-indulgent narratives that make us happy. We love to see those “moments between.” We live for a thought-out thousand-year history for some setting that didn’t originally have that much background. These kinds of narratives are fun to write, and especially when they’re part of an existing franchise, can be a delight to read. We are not saying that there is literally anything wrong with writing a narrative that isn’t a story.

That said, Duck Prints Press’s applicant call specifically asked authors to submit a writing sample that was a story, with the eventual goal of selecting authors to write short stories for an anthology. Which is to say: there’s nothing wrong at all with writing “slice of life” stories, codas, canon inserts, vignettes, or synopses - it’s simply not what we asked people to submit in this specific case, and we’ve come to see that a lot of people submitted non-stories without an apparent understanding of the difference, and we wanted to explain that difference.

But, to everyone reading this: write whatever brings you joy, in as much detail or vagueness as makes you happy, and share it with whoever you want. Just also understand, that for many types of narratives, if you’re asked “is that a story?” it’s not. That’s not to create a hierarchy - they’re all equal as art forms, they’re just not the same.

Okay I kinda understand this in theory but what do these differences actually look like in practice?

In long-form works, it’s usually relatively easy to recognize what is a story and what isn’t. Almost every novel ever published has a plot, and has things change, and is therefore a story. (though there are exceptions - Wikipedia lists a few longer vignettes and, when done thoughtfully, it can be astonishingly effective.) However, in shorter works, it can be difficult to tell the difference - and, as previously mentioned, the lines can blur.

In the interest of giving an idea of what the differences are, here are a few examples I quickly cooked up to try to show you all, since I’ve done a lot of “telling” so far (this blog post: also not a story, ha!) and very little demonstration. These are each around 150 words, to show that even in a tiny word count, any of these narrative structures is a viable choice. (Sorry these aren’t high literature - I just threw them together for this post, so I’d have something that suited.)

(read more)

A story - a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end, where something changes:

The door slammed open. Looking up from her embroidery, Victoria blinked as Margaret strode into the room.There was an air of expectancy that was inexplicable to Victoria; she grew more confused when Margaret approached and dropped to one knee.

“What are you doing?” Heart pounding, Victoria attempted self-restraint, but she couldn’t rein in her hope, because it almost looked like...it seemed like...but--

“Proposing,” announced Margaret, pulling a velvet-covered box from her pocket and opening to reveal an emerald set in a gold band.

“But you can’t!”

Margaret tilted her head to the side and frowned. “Why not?”

Objections occurred to Victoria, but examining them...she couldn’t think of a one that Margaret wouldn’t demolish with her usual brilliance. “You know what? You’re right. Who’s to stop us? And...I accept.”

And as Margaret slipped the ring onto Victoria’s finger, she knew: there could be no objection. Nothing had ever felt so right in her life.

“Slice of life” - a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end, where nothing changes:

“What a day!” said James, dropping onto the couch with an exhausted sigh.

“I know what you mean,” Tom agreed. He fumbled a hand across the cushion separating them, and James delighted in the simple comfort of threading their fingers together.

A beep, beep, beep sounded in the kitchen, announcing that the microwave had finished nuking their leftovers.

“You getting that?” asked Tom.

“It’s your turn!” James countered.

“But I don’t want to let go of your hand.” Tom gave his hand a squeeze, and a pleased glow suffused James’s chest.

It was Tom’s turn to retrieve their dinner.

But Tom was right - holding hands was wonderful.

“Let’s get it together,” James suggested.

Hesitating, Tom remained still as James sit up and gave a tug on their joined arms, then he broke into a smile and rose at James’s side.

“I love the way you think.”

“I love you, too, darling”

And together - always together - they got their dinner.

“Bridge” scene, episode coda, or canon insert-style fic - a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end, where nothing changes:

Arriving home after the battle, Sandy opened the rough-hewn door and shed her damaged armor. Her dented cuirass had left an aching bruise across her chest; she carried it to the smithy out back for repair in the morning. A gash on her thigh throbbed where an arrow had pierced the straps holding her greaves in places; she brought them to her leather-working station. Nicks and fissures marred her once-gleaming sword blade. All Sandy wanted was to collapse in bed, but resisted the pull of relaxation, because blood limned the damaged places red, and repair to the damaged weapon couldn’t wait. Taking a seat, placed her feet on the treadles that set her whet stone to spinning and set about polishing out every imperfection.

Yes, she was exhausted.

But her sword must be cleaned, and smoothed, and honed, and prepared.

Sandy must be prepared.

There would always be another battle to be fought.

Vignette, a narrative without a beginning, a middle, or an end, which may or may not have a character, and nothing changes and in which the emphasis is on showing, rather than telling (but, as in this example, a combination may be used):

The wind blew chill down the narrow mountain pass. All was silent, save for the rush of the breeze. All was still, save where gusts stirred the tall grasses and the branches of trees that reached, claw-like, toward the sky.

Once upon a time, a stream had carved this cut through the cliffs, forcing its way through soft chalk and hard shale, leaving jagged stones that emerged from the steep pass walls like teeth. The stream was long dry, now, only water-smoothed stones strewn across the ground to show where it had ever been.

Once upon a time, travellers had traversed the dried-up rill bed, pounding down the dirt, knocking the rocks aside, leaving scars where their fires burned. They’d lived, and laughed, and explored, and sought...and left, never to return.

Now, there was nothing: nothing but the storm.

And all was silent.

And all was still.

And the wind blew, chill, down the narrow mountain pass.

Synopsis, a narrative with a beginning, a middle and an end, which may or may not have characters, and where something changes, and in which the emphasis is on telling rather showing:

Emperor Xiang Zhen was born in 9884 to Dowager Empress Luo Zexi and the warlord Xiang Yijun. After his birth, there was a long period of strife. Those who supported Xiang Yijun’s claim to the throne battled those who still supported the Dowager Empress’s deceased husband Peng Zhenya. Eventually, the factions found common ground when Xiang Zhen came of age, and he was enthroned in 9902.

With his reign came peace and prosperity. The arts flourished. Scholarship advanced, and many great Dao masters arose, using cultivation to rid the land of evil’s left by the long war. Xiang Zhen longed to join a Night Hunt himself, but he was trapped by his political position. He didn’t dare risk the fragile stability in the Empire. If something happened to him, the results could be catastrophic. So he studied, and ruled, and adjudicated, and endowed, and endured.

Xiang Zhen did as he must.

But, oh...he wished he weren’t alone.

I know this is long, so we’ll leave this discussion at this point. Hopefully you found it helpful, and please do let me know if you have any questions! Duck Prints Press is always here to offer support to writers, and we love getting writing asks!

#duck prints press #writing advice #original content

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mindibindi · 3 years ago

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Beyond disappointed in Ted Lasso. What were they thinking?!

The writing is a complete betrayal and insult to Rebecca’s character and Hannah’s skills as they’re being seriously underused. It’s also insulting Sam’s character.

Hoping someone pulls Rebecca’s head out of her ass tbh. Sam shouldn’t be getting caught in the crossfire of her looking for romance. I know he showed up at her doorstep but she still should’ve turned him away, and not even messaged him in the first place.

Hey, I'm with you, Anon, though we do seem to be in the minority. Sam is definitely not blameless here, he is also in the wrong. But if one of them is more in the wrong, it is Rebecca. I can't speak to whether her head has left her arse as yet because I have quit watching (at least for now). I hear she called it off with Sam in the most recent ep, though not because of any major crisis of conscience or because anyone in her inner circle expressed any reasonable reservations in response to her bad behaviour. And to be honest, I'm not sure we should need to hope and pray that Rebecca's precocious god-daughter, her slimy ex-husband, or the brutal British press will act as a moral compass on this ill-advised relationship. Both Rupert and the press have been set up to some extent as the villains of the piece. And a 14 year old should never have to school her elders on what is and isn't acceptable. Nora's needs have already been neglected by Rebecca for far too long.

If a moral position is to be taken on this, it needs to be taken by the show (because stance matters) and/or by its characters. But the show has for the most part depicted this relationship as ill-advised but ultimately hot, sweet, funny and romantic. As for the characters themselves, Sam has shown at least once that he has some moral backbone but seems to be adorably clueless when it comes to fucking his boss who keeps trying to set boundaries with him. Meanwhile, Rebecca's whole arc in s1 was about learning not to misuse her power for her own selfish ends. In season one, she misused her power within the club in order to exact revenge. In season 2, we have seen her misuse her sexual power, though I still cannot see to what end. I'm a bit at a loss as to what exactly she gets out of this 'relationship' but then I'm a grown woman so I have absolutely no interest in sleeping with a Harry Potter enthusiast barely out of his teens. I couldn't think of anything less sexy and more ick. I was certainly hoping for better character development for her this season.

As to what the writers were thinking, obviously I was not in the writer's room, but I would guess that they were thinking that any drama is good drama, people are stupid and fan devotion will trump any meaningful critique. In other words, they were thinking exactly how every other television writer thinks, despite the fact that this show posited itself as 'not like other TV shows'. This, to me, is where the blame really lies. Not with the characters or with the actors who are doing their best to sell this ludicrous turn of events. It must be noted, however, that both actors were completely blindsided by this relationship that had supposedly been so cleverly foreshadowed. Newsflash: if the people actually living these stories did not see this coming then you haven't foreshadowed shit. Sure, there were a handful of people that paired Rebecca with Sam but this does not constitute proof either. Fans have free-range to imagine and re-imagine characters. In some cases this may extend to imagining relationships between characters who have barely, if ever, interacted. There may be little to no evidence that these characters have even clocked each other's existence and some fans will still ship it. The existence of a handful of shippers does not legitimise such a problematic and divisive plotline making it onscreen.

But wait!, you might argue, this may not be a case of a popular show seeing just how far they can stretch fan devotion. This may not be a case of fan service to a handful of shippers. After all, the creators mapped out the entire three-season arc of Ted Lasso before they even pitched it to Apple. This was their brilliant plan all along! To which I would say: then maybe they should've rethought their second act based on people's strong reactions to their first. Ted Lasso was touted as the show we all needed in 2020. The writers and creators have all marveled at the chord it struck considering it was conceived prior to the pandemic and all the chaos it wrought. And while there is something to be said for having/sticking to a creative vision, there is also something to be said for being flexible and responsive to your audience and the cultural zeitgeist with which you're engaged. Season 1 of Ted Lasso told its story so gently, without creating distrust, division or unnecessary anxiety. It did not treat its audience like a gaggle of stupid lemmings to be led over a succession of narrative cliffs. THIS is what I mean when I say the show has broken with its brand. And look, this whole dark forest thing would be okay if the narrative arc was as well-crafted as s1. Season 1 gave us meaning, cohesion, comfort, sense in a senseless time. It was an almost perfectly crafted season of television. And I kept the faith for 6 episodes, despite the first half of s2 being pretty damn wobbly. But the follow-up to this stellar debut has been less than extraordinary so yeah, perhaps they should've thought a little harder about what made s1 so special before throwing it all out the window.

But wait!, I hear the faithful say, you don't know how things will pan out yet! Wait until the season is over and everything will make sense! But -- wearily and once again, I say -- we should not need to wait until the end of the season to understand what the hell is happening. By this point (over halfway through the season and show) we should have a v clear idea of the show's themes and the characters' arcs. And tbf, from what I can tell there are some fab things happening in other aspects of the show that I wish I could watch and enjoy. But my biggest fear at this point is that they are going to use Sam to solve Rebecca's childlessness. That, like Rupert (because the parallel cannot be avoided), she will become pregnant with a young fling and the show's attitude to this relationship will ultimately be: oh well, it was a bad idea and didn't work out for them but it was all for the best in the end cos who can be mad about a cute lil baaaayyybbbeeee??!! If they do go down this path then I will definitely be abstaining from the rest of the show. I will simply recall my repeated viewings of s1 with fondness tinged with regret at just how badly they fucked up a good thing.

Ultimately, Anon, I think this may be a case of there simply not being a diverse enough perspective in the writer's room. I am not saying that every single woman or every single person of colour will necessarily object to this relationship. I am simply saying that women and people of colour will be more sensitive to the issues of gender and race that are relevant here but that have not been fully or sensitively acknowledged in the writing of this plotline. Neither am I saying that Rebecca is the first woman to sleep with a man much (much, much, MUCH) younger than herself or indulge in an ill-advised relationship. But the comparison with Rupert both works here and doesn't because Rebecca is not being written like a white woman, she is being written like a white man. Realistically, only a white man can engage in this kind of hugely imbalanced relationship seemingly without any major moral qualms or societal ramifications. Not to put too fine a point on it, but this kind of relationship is reserved for all the Bills and Joes and Brendans and Jasons out there -- not for the Rebeccas and definitely not for the Sams. We are way beyond the point in feminism where we believe that liberation is simply the right for a white woman to behave as badly as a white man. The truth is that whatever wealth, power and privilege Rebecca has, the rules are different for men and women. She will not be treated the same as Rupert if and when this affair is uncovered. She will be treated far more savagely than Rupert ever was and Sam will be treated far more savagely than Bex was. This is not an argument for the equal treatment of these two relationships. It is an argument against how the relationship between Rebecca and Sam has been envisaged, i.e. through the wrong perspective. In writing from a 'neutral' white male pov, the show has invisiblised all the many issues activated by this storyline and revealed a blindspot that was always there.

As much as I loved and still love season 1 of this show, it has definite blindspots when it comes to representations of race and gender. There are at least two moments in s1 that stand out for me as being so obviously written by a man. Not necessarily because of what they do but because of what they don't do: what is missed, absent, unacknowledged. I was willing to overlook such minor failings in a debut season for many reasons. But s2 seems to have exacerbated these minor flaws rather than correcting them. And here I can't help thinking of Tina Fey speaking of the diversification of the writer's room at SNL during her tenure as co-headwriter. This notoriously male-dominated environment only began to shift and produce better work when a greater diversity of minds, voices and persepectives was allowed in the room. In this richer environment, she notes, different jokes played differently. Different sketches made it to air. Different perspectives were represented and different performers were celebrated. I can't help wondering if this plotline would have made it to air if there had been a female writer, a writer of colour or both further up the chain of command to challenge the ideas of the straight white dudes in charge.

One of the reasons I didn't think Ted Lasso was for me was that it centred a straight, white, cis-het, able-bodied man who rose to a position he didn't earn. That is just not a pov I would normally choose for myself, especially now that there is such a rich array of alternative perspectives through which to view the world. But I think the show won a lot of females fans with its first season largely due to its portrayal of Rebecca. She is the first person we meet. She is arguably the protagonist of s1. And while she would have been figured as a villain in previous pieces, the show never took that stance with her (because again, stance matters). Other elements like the depiction of female friendships, all centred around Rebecca, made this show female-friendly viewing. But imo, the major reason this show won over female fans (this one, at least) is because, in this post-MeToo, post-TimesUp era, it stood up and said: domestic violence is not okay, we stand with women and all victims of abuse, we will defend you, we know words can hurt, we know it can happen to anyone, we know all about toxic masculinity, we do not take this lightly and we will support you in your healing. Needless to say, this is how women hope men will act when they speak of their most difficult experiences but it is not how they always do.

The shift away from Rebecca this season has however meant that the white male experience is more centred than it was in s1. Rebecca's journey to recovery, health and happiness has been trivialised and sidelined, reduced to a highly questionable sexcapade. Meanwhile, we get overwrought manpain at every turn. We get Beard wandering around London (no, I haven't seen it and no, I don't need to. We've all been raised on white dudes thinking they're genuises when they have a figurative wank all over our screens). We get NO queer represention at all. And the only other female characters on screen are in care/service roles to men. The father/son, mentoring and toxic masculinity themes are all still there but they're no longer balanced out by ANY other competing perspective. One of the reasons I was okay with Ted failing upwards in s1 was that he used his power and privilege to lift up others. He was the one in service. He used his enormous privilege for good, as anyone with such privilege must. (Admittedly, it could be argued that this is just another version of a white savior narrative).

My point here is that I'm not sure that peeking behind the mask at the sad clown is as revolutionary as some might believe. We love it because it's familiar. But this is a narrative with a long and problematic history. Do I believe in tearing down toxic masculinity in all its forms? You bet. Do I believe that patriarchy traumatises men as well as women and every other minority in existence? I mean...nowhere near as much, but absolutely. Do I believe in men expressing their feelings and going to therapy? Wholeheartedly. But I am also aware that 100 or so years ago, we were in a very similar place with our narratives. Everyone is looking for a recapitulation of modernism and frankly, this might be an indicator of just that. Whenever women and people of colour have demanded rights and recognition, there has always been a resurgence of tales about just how frickin' hard it is to be a white man. Minority genders and non-white people have never in western history been as visible or vocal as they are now. So forgive me (or don't, I don't care) if I critique a show not only for centering fathers, sons, boys and men but for blindly and boldly writing one of its only female characters and one of its only black characters as if their gender and race just do not exist. There are many other power differentials at play in this relationship, including age, experience, wealth and position, but race and gender are the two that patriarchy is most invested in invisiblising. So I don't care how brilliant they think they are, I will not trust the writing of a bunch of white dudes trying to tell me that race and gender are irrelevant.

#ted lasso #rebecca welton #sam obisanya #ask #yeah this one got out of hand

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devonrideauxwritingblog · 3 years ago

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The Antiparallel of Trevor/Sypha and Lisa/Dracula’s Fate

~WARNING SPOILER WILL BE DISCUSSED~

Castlevania, one of the most popular shows on Netflix, released its final season this May on a high note, earning the praise from fans for its journey from start to finish. The show showcased fluid action sequences, engaging dialogue, and memorable characters. The four characters I want to talk about are Trevor Belmont, Sypha Belnades, Dracula Tepes, and Lisa Tepes. Two pair of lovers that share an antiparallel relationship within the show.

Let’s start with looking at the pair whose relationship kicks the entirety of the show - Lisa and Dracula.The first episode dedicates the entirety of its runtime to establishing the relationship of Dracula and Lisa. From the first scene, the dynamic of the two (and Trevor and Sypha) is established. Dracula, a reclusive man who views humanity in a negative light, meets Lisa, a doctor dutifully committed to performing acts of good in the service of the people. Lisa sees the miracles Dracula could perform with his vast array of technology and knowledge. Lisa’s endless faith in the good in humanity - and in Dracula - sparked a change within the heart of the notorious vampire. Through Lisa, Dracula started to venture the world and lived once more among the waking world.

Until the day when Lisa was unjustifiably burned at the stake on the orders of the Wallachia Church. The death of Lisa also marked the emotional death of Dracula. The aftermath of the incident left Dracula as a vessel of anger and grief. So driven by madness that he calls upon the demons of hell itself to lay waste to all of humanity. The fracture in Dracula’s soul persisted until the moment before his death when he slowly realizes that he was destroying the last remnant of the love he and Lisa shared - Alucard.

Now onto the duo of Belnades and Belmont. Trevor started the story in a similar place as Dracula; shunned by humanity and holding an apathetic view towards mankind. The stark contrast between the two men lies within the point of the story they suffer their darkest hour. Dracula suffers his once Lisa was killed during episode one, while Trevor has already suffered his before the start of the show when his family is excommunicated and driven from his ancestral home.

Once Trevor meets Sypha, the Speaker immediately starts to have an effect on Trevor. Her headstrong and positive attitude often overwhelms Trevor’s dour demeanor, prompting him into taking an active stance towards problems post-season 2. Though there were some rough moments in their adventure, Sypha managed to have Trevor soften up and allow himself to be emotionally available to her. By the end of the series, Trevor was able to regain the feeling of loving someone and being loved.

Castlevania started the series with the fall of Lisa and Dracula’s relationship, and the destructive nature of one man’s grief and love lost. And ending with the rise of Trevor and Sypha’s relationship, and the reconstruction of the heroic nature of a once jaded man and his love regained.

#castlevania #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #dracula #lisa tepes #character study #Devon's breakdown

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artxyra · 5 years ago

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How about Damian being a part of Ms Buster's class when he was on a League mission and the class basically becoming a mini cult. They do all sorts of crazy stuff like make go-carts powered by karaoke machines, not leaving the builing when fires start because smores duh, and so much more.When his mission is over there are many tears and the cult disassembles. Years later the class gets a trip to Gotham and the city QUAKES when the cult reforms.Many chaotic shenanigans & crying at the reunion.

Marinette was only eight when her primary school life changed for the better. On that faithful day in Mlle. Gilbertine class, a new student was introduced under the precedent of a transfer from another country. His name was Damian, no last name was given to the teacher nor the students within the classroom. To her, Nino, Chloe, Nathaniel, and Kim, he was an odd boy as Damian stressed for no social relations with anyone. In fact, Marinette had caught several times engaging in lonesome activities when they were all together messing in the field. It was after that, Marinette made it her life’s mission to befriend the emotionless kid.

It was hard at first trying to trick the young man into dance battles, hopscotch, and simple games like red light, green light. He was very much against the idea until one day, Marinette decided on a shooting game with water guns and makeshift go-carts out of bike parts. It was the creation of that game that changed the young group’s lives forever.

Soon newer and crazier games began to take over the classroom of Mlle. Gilbertine. Nino would bring in his CD player and the moment music boomed out of the speakers everyone knew what was about to happen.

One day, when they were in the school pool area pretending to be sea monsters and attacking one another we kickboards and pool noodles, the group was then dubbed the “Premier Chaotique” cult as they were youthful and the stuff they come up with was chaotic than anything the future Hawkmoth could ever come up with.

Marinette and Damian were deemed the leaders as they were able to control and come up with the plans. Chloe, due to her father being in politics, was the person who decided on the locations and what would be the most chaotic method. The rest were their follower who cared much about Marinette.

Mlle. Gilbertine was determined to get the Premier Chaotique cult under control but they were slick and made plans at random, she remembers the day when tons of ice cup somehow managed to cover every one of her student desk and the odd appearance of snow sleds. It is rumored that the mini cult managed to keep their own little snow resort just using ice cream. It was a pain to clean up.

Marinette remembers the days where the mini cult would paint the city red with flowers and chaotic goodness. It is a miracle that the cops never brought their parents into the investigation. Then again with a child as pure as Marinette in the lead, people would fall over when they see her smile.

Their biggest achievement was when the school’s kitchen managed to catch on fire during a lunch period. While everyone else was being evacuated, the group somehow managed to slip through the adults and back into the cafeteria. Kim had brought marshmallows that day and when the firefighters enter to put out the flames, they were greeted with the sight of children with wood sticks eating smores and telling scary stories. It was their greatest achievement and the worst nightmare because only a day later, Damian had to go back to his home country.

Marinette fell into depression along with the others. After a month without Damian, they vowed to never speak of the best year of their life unless they ever meet Damian again. It was no secret that Marinette had a crush on the foreign boy, so the cult disassembles and never mentions Damian ever again.

Years past since that day, Chloe took it upon herself to bully Marinette as those who knew them in their younger days forget that they were ever friends. Marinette took on art along with Nathanial, but she went in the direction of fashion designing while he goes in direction of comic book styles. Nino stayed friends with all but Chloe and found his calling in music production. The name that used to strike fear in the hearts of the Paris citizens, faded away into a false memory.

Little did anyone know, the spirit of the Premier Chaotique cult lives on and would be awoken in just under two decades.

A sixteen-year-old Marinette works her butt off to make this trip a reality. It was not for the approval of her classmates, it was for her sanity. Three years of being Ladybug has put a toll on her and she plans to take advantage of the lack of akuma attacks going on. When the acceptance letter landed in her hands, her parents swear they saw a bolder be lifted off their daughter. She was smiling more and appeared less stressed than she ever been since finding out the school board decided to move teachers with their students as a handful of teachers left Paris, some even left France altogether.

Her closet allies were the first to know about the trip to Gotham before Mlle. Bustier was given the information. They cheered happily before anything bad could happen, dismantling everything Marinette has ever done.

After giving the proper miraculous to Luka and Kagami and convincing Kaalki to come with her to Gotham only to be used as an emergency, Marinette was set to leave Paris France and head to Gotham, New Jersey.

Upon entering the streets of Gotham, a cold chill runs down everyone’s spine aside from the former mini cult members. Too Mlle. Bustier, the chill was all too familiar bringing up memories of those kids that terrorized the streets before Hawkmoth. She looks around to see nothing out of place before promptly calling out her students so they could make it to the hotel.

Everyone who felt that chill had a right to be warry.

For the first day, everything seemed fine, but when you leave the original members of Premier Chaotique alone for a moment, well chaos was sure to happen. Chloe and Marinette had put aside their difference during the Lila era of the class reign took over and managed to stay friends after the liar’s reign ended. Plans were made but not yet enforced, it did not feel right, and they knew why– it was the lack of their leader Damian.

“Dams?” Marinette calls out when she saw the familiar sighting of the boy that was her first love. He hadn’t changed by much; he was still taller than her.

“Mars?” That nickname sent the French-Asian teen running into the arms of the Ice King himself. Time froze in that café for several reasons but the main one was definitely because they just witnessed Damian Wayne hugging someone willing.

“You look nice,” Marinette sways before a mischievous smirk tugs on her lips, “The others are here too.”

This time it was Damian who smirks bringing Marinette closer to him. “Mm, shall be bring Gotham to its knees?”

They share a smirk that was soon ended by an explosion.

Thus, the Premier Chaotique cult was reformed. They decided to meet that night. Dinosaur inflatable suits of various colors were brought. Music blared in the streets of Gotham nears hotel the class was staying out. The members of Premier Chaotique all strutting down in the middle of the streets dancing as Nino holds a boombox over his shoulder.

Jam Jams @crazyforbatsDid anyone else wake up to music and dancing dinos last night?

Kay @gokaykaer [A one-minute video of flashlights and six dinosaurs doing the Cha-Cha-Slide] I swear I just saw @thebloodwayne for a split second.

Twitter was blowing up the next morning with various videos and gifs of the events that happened the night before. The only people who weren’t affected by the popularity was the group who were apart of it.

Marinette and Damian spent the remains of that talking choosing which plan to do next. It would consist of bikes and a zip line from the tallest building to the smallest building possible.

Going to the Wayne household, Bruce could already feel a migraine coming as Dick and Jason plays the video over again in the main room. Damian shames his family members while the oldest complaints about why they haven’t thought of that for a family outing. It’s all about class, Dick, it all about class. Alfred mentally takes notice of the lack of emotions from Damian and the recent purchase from the teens account at a party store.

The next night, began the fears that every Parisian feared would happen.

Nino and Kim were able to find the buildings needed to hook the zip line to while Chloe set up the equipment with the help of Nathanial. Damian had to ditch his family members, and Marinette had to keep the class and others from finding out what they are doing. Once everything was ready, the Premier Chaotique enters their playground wearing hooded leotards (or bodysuits) with a latex match stretched their eyes. Kim went first down the zip line as Damian race down the streets on the bike. Originally, they were going to use the bikes as their way down, but the zip line could hold the bike and the person on it, so they turned it into a race instead.

Their fun ends when someone called the cops and sirens echoed loudly against their music. Gotham’s twitter users weren’t too happy that someone had called the cops on the bravest of things to ever surface on Gotham streets since Batman.

It was during the tour of Wayne Enterprise, that the Premier Chaotique learned Damian’s last name. He was an effing Wayne which then lead to some confusion. Marinette had asked Damian what his last name when they were eight and he replied with something along the lines of not being a Wayne until he was ten.

His brothers, in shock from seeing him interact with teens his age, begged Bruce to invite them over to the manor. This needs to go into the record books.

While it was a momentous occasion for Damian’s brothers, it was reality check for Mlle. Bustier. Her screams echo against the halls of WE as memories of the chaos are awoken. She stares at Marinette in denial, there was no way her prize student was about the cult that did so much damage all those years ago. Then on top of that having the entire crew in her classroom, Caline was beginning to feel faint.

Bruce, unknowingly, invited even more chaos into his household that night. Chloe and Marinette were able to convince Mlle. Bustier to let the five of them stay with Mr. Wayne for the night in hopes of “catching up” with Damian. After getting the approval from Mr. Wayne, she agreed secretly ecstatic that they wouldn’t be in her care for the next several hours.

“I’m bored, let’s play a prank?” Kim randomly shouts when they were all staring out the TV waiting for something good to come on.

“What do you have in mind?” Marinette asks as Damian pushes her off him knowing that she’ll use him as a throne.

“Hey Dams, do you own go-carts are something of a familiar nature?”

Damian thinks about it for a minute, “Tt, father wouldn’t dare let those things in the house. We can prank my brothers though. Scaring them shitless would bring me joy.”

“Well I have a few ideas, we can use.” Chloe states pulling out the book of mischief.

Let’s just say that prank will forever rule the day the Batfamily ever found out about the Premier Chaotique.

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #slight daminette #I still can't embrace chaos #ml crossover #dc crossover

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championofsanghelios · 4 years ago

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Personal AU Story - “You.”

|”YOU.”| PERSONAL AU STORY LINK/PRINCE SIDON (This was written by me, remember...expect typos and errors.) ... "I...wanted you to have something." Sidon says, suddenly arising to his feet as a couple of the Kings aides come into the throne room. Dorephan had left a few moments before, so their presence was rather unexpected. "...a gift of sorts."

Link can't stop the sigh that escapes him when he turns to see one of the aides had a blade to the Prince, who inspects it for a moment. "...you really need to stop giving me things."

"I know." Sidon smirks as he looks over the blades scabbard, nodding a silent thank you to the aides who move over to either side of the throne room entrance. He turns on the spot and holds it in his hands. "But this one was crafted before you enforced that particular request upon me."

Any reluctance to accept the gift vanishes from the Inheritor the moment he sees the blade. Beautifully crafted to someone his size and engraved with a mixture of Hylian and Zoran designs.

"Okay..." he says to himself, letting you a breathy laugh, his right hand coming up and resting gently on the scabbard. "Perhaps I'll make an exception just this once."

"I thought you might." Sidon beams, letting him take it from him. He watches as Link's metallic left hand grasps the grip and pulls the blade slowly from the scabbard. "It's taken Ledo a good year or two to perfect the designs I gave him."

"You designed this?" Link asks, holding the blade up. It was extremely light in his hand, though most blades were for him. After a certain amount of time it became less about weight and more about balance. The Guard was the most impressive part, a large sapphire stone in the middle of it, almost transparent and as blue as the white sea on a clear day. "It's beautiful."

"I'm glad you think so." Sidon nods his head, before breaking into a quiet laugh. "Ledo now owes me 50 rupees."

"Trust you to make a bet over this." Link shakes his head, before slotting the Sword back into it's scabbard. "Thank you...truly. This wasn't necessary, but I can't complain either."

"I wanted to give you something you can call your own." Sidon says. "You once told me you had an interest in Zoran weaponry. What better gift than a blade of your own?"

"You always know how to spoil me, don't you?" Link reaches up with his right hand and bops him on the dark red patch of scales at the base of his head-fin, between his eyes.

...

"...what's this?" Zelda asks suddenly, out of the comfortable silence. "A new blade?"

"Oh that?" Link lowers his arm, the interface above it flickering away. "Yeah. Sidon gave it me...he said it was a gift. For what I don't know."

"It's beautiful." she smiles as she picks it up from. "Custom made too..."

"It's the right size for me." Link comments, standing up and pacing over to her. "And as light as a feather."

He takes it carefully from her and pulls the blade from the scabbard. As he comments on the designs around the grip and the guard, her eyes track to the large sapphire in the center of it. It was expertly cut, and almost totally transparent.

"...my goodness." she breathes. "Is that a Royal Sapphire in the guard?"

"What?" Link glances her way, cut-off mid ramble. "I don't know. I'm not an expert on gemstones. The only ones that have any meaning to me are the currency types."

"Tell me, Link." Zelda tilts her head, realization starting to dawn on her. "Where did Sidon gift you this blade? Were you in private?"

"No." Link shakes his head. "We were just finishing up with that business to do with Tarrey Town, and the King had just left-"

"Were there any officials present?"

"Apart from Sidon himself?" Link asks, eyes narrowing as he recalls the scene. "A couple of the Kings staff...that's about it..."

He shrugs. "Why do you ask?"

"..." Zelda stares at him, her eyes widening slightly.

"What?" he tilts his head this time. "What is it?"

"...look at the stone again." she instructs, pointing to the sapphire. "Do you know what that is?"

"It's a ...Royal Sapphire." Link guesses. "Is that what you called it?"

"Exactly." she nods. "And why are they called Royal Sapphires, Link?"

"Because they are mined and cut especially for the Royal Family, I'd presume." the Inheritor raises an eyebrow. "Unless they stole them off of your ancestors."

"And what are sapphires commonly used as in the Zoran Royal Court?" Zelda asks next. She watches him think for a second. "Come on, I know Sidon has told you about the traditions at some point. He's anything but subtle."

"I think it had something to do with courting?" Link hums thoughtfully. "But that makes no sense considering we're already-"

He cuts himself off a little too late. "...um...forget you heard that."

"Royal Sapphires are brought out on the occasion that a member of the Royal Family wishes to marry." Zelda explains, watching as the realization transfers from her to him in the space of a few words. "A Prince or Princess will usually gift their chosen partners the Sapphire, often incorporating it into something, such as a set of armor, or a piece of jewelry..."

She sighs, gesturing to the blade in his hands. "Or in this case...a blade, the perfect size and weight for the person meant to wield it."

"..." Link stares at the blade, namely the Sapphire within its hilt. For the first time since meeting Avos he was transfixed, unable to take his eyes off of it.

"Whatever is going on between you two..." he snaps out of his daze as Zelda places a hand on his left shoulder. "I think it's much deeper than you first thought."

...

"...that's the last time I ever trust you to take the night-watch with me." Bazz laughs, following Sidon through the palace barracks hallways out onto the plaza. "I've already got problems with my sleep cycles."

"Well you did invite me in." Sidon shrugs, smiling tiredly. "And Tarquin was sharing his mothers vintage. How could I say no to any of that?"

"Any excuse to get wasted, huh?" Bazz reaches over and knocks his left arm. "I should have known it was about the booze."

"I'm not allowed to get as hammered at banquets and official engagements as I do with you boys." Sidon muses. "It's an excuse for me to let my hair down."

"You don't have hair." Bazz laughs again. "You're a guppy, not a Hylian."

"I wish I was a Hylian." Sidon mumbles under his breath. "Would make certain activities much less complicated."

"Speaking of Hylians." Bazz's hand hits him, much more gently this time, on his arm. Prompting him to look up, only to see Link standing there, staring at him. "Oh...what are you doing here?"

Link doesn't say anything. Instead he raises his left hand, revealing the Sapphire from the blade he'd been gifted. Bazz let's out a shallow gasp as he sees it.

"...where in all of Solae did you get that from?" he asks, only to realize it a little too late, and turn his attention to the Prince. "No way..."

"You didn't tell me about the Sapphires." Link says, slowly pacing closer to them. "...about the marriage part."

"I assume you already knew." Sidon's smile had disappeared. "And it was only a matter of time before you realized it and came back."

"Me." Link states, his other hand coming up to his chest-plate, tapping it.

"You." Sidon nods.

"Why?" Link asks suddenly.

"Why else?" Sidon shrugs again.

"I had no idea that you-" Link huffs a sigh, lowering his gaze. "I wasn't aware that you thought anything of this...of our-"

"-I think everything of it." Sidon states as the Inheritor stops in front of him. "Every waking second of my existence is driven by the love you have shown me, and the adoration I feel for you."

He slowly lowers himself onto one knee, and reaches out to take a hold of his right hand. "Against all the odds, and all the trials that this world has thrown our way. I have found myself unable to let go of you...When you quite literally fell into my world a few years ago, Link...you became my world."

He sighs. "I don't know what compelled me to have such faith in you. But I was not proven wrong. When you freed us from the grips of Vah Rutah and slayed the blight that took my sister from me...that faith was sealed, with all of the love and admiration that I feel for you now. You are my world, Link...and it would be the honor of my life, if you were to let me be yours."

Link suddenly looks up at him. "Why would you assume that you aren't?"

"I don't assume anything." Sidon replies, shaking his head slowly. "I just...wanted to hear to you say it."

Without any more words, he reaches up to the Inheritor's shoulder and closes the distance between them, sealing it all with a kiss on the mouth.

"Holy shit..." a voice suddenly startles them both out of the moment. They both come to the realization that Bazz had just witnessed the whole scene play out. "And so ends 3 years of speculation and gossiping."

Link cracks up, whilst Sidon just stares at his old friend, eyes wide.

"I can't tell you how awesome it makes me feel to be the one to break this to everyone." he says, beaming. "Oh I can see Lord Muzu's face already."

And with that, Sidon breaks too, letting out a loud bark of laughter.

...

#sidlink #loz link #prince sidon #princess zelda #bazz #zora sapphires #sidon wants link #link wants sidon #marriage proposals #in a way only sidon could orchestrate.

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96thdayofrage · 4 years ago

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“Yeshua (Jesus) instructed his followers to arm themselves for self-defense and to address the community’s survival needs by providing health care, free meals, therapeutic counseling, and of course spiritual guidance.”

“Black Christians have the ever-present potential to reclaim a pivotal position within movements that challenge police terrorism, mass incarceration, poverty, militarism, and perhaps even the capitalist system itself.”

A recent PBS documentary by Henry Louis Gates about the Black church is a reminder of the vital role the institution has played in the survival and continuing struggles of an oppressed community. While Black Christians have played a vital role in the development of the Black Radical Tradition, the documentary also highlights the sudden, diminished leadership role the Black church played in movements after Dr. Martin Luther King’s assassination. In recent years, there have been repeated comments about the low-profile participation of the Black church in the Black Lives Matter movement.

Notwithstanding recent history, it will be an error to write off the potential of the Black Church to again find its way to the cutting edge of the revolution. That’s because Christianity has been radical from the start. Yeshua (“Jesus”) himself emerged from a poverty ravaged community of brown-skinned folks who daily endured surveillance, extortion, harassment, and violent attacks by white Roman soldier-cops deployed to First Century Palestine. We know from Luke 22:36 that, in response, Yeshua instructed his followers to arm themselves for self-defense. This group also engaged in an extended campaign to address the community’s survival needs by providing health care, free meals, therapeutic counseling, and of course spiritual guidance. The first Christians also had their share of political prisoners. In many ways they were strikingly similar to the radical organization started in Oakland, California in 1966 by a small band of brothers in berets and black leather.

“It will be an error to write off the potential of the Black Church to again find its way to the cutting edge of the revolution.”

Yeshua was betrayed by an informant, and when he was pegged as a revolutionary by Roman imperialists, he was accused of sedition, railroaded through a kangaroo court, and subjected to the death penalty. The Book of Acts tells us that after Yeshua left the Earthly realm, his followers grew in number, established multi-ethnic solidarity with other oppressed communities, and consolidated them into a small nation governed by socialist principles and socialist practice.

Yeshua’s disciples were not the last community of color to embrace revolution. Black Christians have a long history of radicalism, and that should come as no surprise even though slave masters made their best efforts to use the Bible to justify white supremacy and slavery. Kenyan scholar John Mbiti explains why enslaved Africans with a grounding in traditional African religions would certainly have rejected the lies about Christian doctrine taught by slave masters. He said:

“Because traditional [African] religions permeate all the departments of life, there is no formal distinction between the sacred and the secular, between the religious and non-religious, between the spiritual and material areas of life. Wherever the African is, there is his religion: he carries it to the fields, where he is sowing seeds or harvesting a new crop…”

Mbiti goes on to say:

“It is not enough to embrace a faith which is confined to a church building or mosque, which is locked up six days and opened only once or twice a week. Unless Christianity and Islam fully occupy the whole person as much as, if not more than, traditional [African] religions do, most [African] converts to these faiths will continue to revert to their old beliefs and practices for perhaps six days a week, and certainly in times of emergency and crisis.”

“Black Christians have a long history of radicalism.”

Thus, the influence of an African religious orientation naturally led enslaved Africans to embrace Christianity as a weapon for liberation rather than believe claims that the faith justifies slavery. After all, Mbiti points out that “…even if [in traditional African religions] God is thought to be the ultimate upholder of the moral order, people do not consider Him to be immediately involved in the keeping of it.” Consequently, enslaved Africans believed they had to take matters into their own hands if they wanted to be free. Both Nat Turner and Denmark Vesey found in their Christian faith the inspiration to rise against their enslavers. Vesey even organized his insurrection within the institutional framework of the African Methodist Episcopal Church.

Historian Sterling Stuckey described Vesey as “a sophisticated idealogue.” Stuckey wrote: “Vesey promoted the use of radical Christianity and encouraged, through one of his lieutenants, its melding with African religious practices. ‘Beyond a general antiwhite attitude,’ [scholar Robert] Starobin writes, ‘Vesey combined the Old Testament’s harsh morality and the story of the Israelites with African religious customs.’ Indeed, Vesey used Christian radicalism to reinforce and rationalize his call to arms…”

Turner and Vesey believed their white oppressors were as morally bankrupt and as irredeemable as the residents of Sodom and Gomorrah. They likewise believed these enslavers deserved to suffer the same fate as their Old Testament counterparts. Like Turner and Vesey, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was also a radical Christian, but his method presumed the white community retained a conscience that could be pricked and prodded into righteousness through his movement’s non-violent witnessing.

“Both Nat Turner and Denmark Vesey found in their Christian faith the inspiration to rise against their enslavers.”

Because Yeshua was inclined on some occasions toward militant action and on other occasions toward non-violent resistance, we are left to speculate about whether he was in the camp of Turner and Vesey or in that of Dr. King. Perhaps he approved of both, depending upon the circumstances. Regardless of tactics, he clearly favored radical change. Theologian Obery Hendricks explains:

“Yes, Jesus of Nazareth was a political revolutionary. Now, to say that he was ‘political’ doesn’t mean that he sought to start yet another protest party in Galilee. Nor does it mean that he was ‘involved in politics’ in the sense that we know it today, with its bargaining and compromises and power plays and partisanship. And it certainly doesn’t mean that he wanted to wage war or overthrow the Roman Empire by force. To say that Jesus was a political revolutionary is to say that the message he proclaimed not only called for change in individual hearts but also demanded sweeping and comprehensive change in the political, social, and economic structures in his setting in life: colonized Israel. It means that if Jesus had had his way, the Roman Empire and the ruling elites among his own people either would no longer have held their positions of power, or if they did, would have had to conduct themselves very, very differently. It means that an important goal of his ministry was to radically change the distribution of authority and power, goods and resources, so all people – particularly the little people, or ‘the least of these,’ as Jesus called them – might have lives free of political repression, enforced hunger and poverty, and undue insecurity.”

“If Jesus had had his way, the Roman Empire and the ruling elites among his own people either would no longer have held their positions of power.”

Although the Black church has faded from its position of primary movement leader, if Hendricks’ perspective ever resonates with those who have not been bedazzled and bamboozled by charismatic religious charlatans, Black Christians have the ever-present potential to reclaim a pivotal position within movements that challenge police terrorism, mass incarceration, poverty, militarism, and perhaps even the capitalist system itself. Why not? Those who subscribe to liberation theology have played critical roles in Latin American revolutions, and the same can happen in the U.S. Zela Diaz De Porras, a judge during the early years of Nicaragua’s Sandinista revolution explained:

“Faith is the motivation. Politics is the vehicle that carries the motivation. That is to say, if I need to go to Managua, I use a car to carry me. The car can break down or run out of gasoline. There is no comparison…Really, there is no confusion of one thing with the other. Faith is transcendental, and the revolution is like the historical praxis for a transcendental motivation.”

Christian doctrine can always guide the faithful toward a redemptive and fulfilling relationship with God. But that relationship can be substantially enhanced if Black Christians not only take an honest look at how Yeshua and his disciples conducted themselves, but also emulate the first Christians’ active, engaged resistance to oppression. There will be only benefits for movements for justice if the Black church finds its way back to the frontlines of struggle.

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angelsndragons · 4 years ago

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Day 1

Day 1 of the Caduceus Clay celebration week, folks, so you know what that means: I get to gush about my favorite character. I did warn y’all I would word vomit.

So, what does Caduceus mean to me?

Well.

My brother lives in a separate state and has for several years now. We talked on the phone pretty much every day but we still missed each other a lot. One of the last things he did to me in person was introduce me to D&D. I loved it. It gave me a community away from home and a way to meet new people and form new friendships in new areas. I would tell him all about my weekly game shop adventures, he would tell me about the homebrew campaign he was in online. He also told me about this little show called Critical Role. I, like the dumb oldest sibling I can be, pretty much ignored it, outside letting him talk to me about it and engaging with it secondhand. Then, my brother’s party lost one of their players. They were down to four players and no full casters, just a gunslinger, a barbarian, a monk, and a non-healer warlock. Things started getting dicey. Like, really dicey. He worried with me over how close their fights were getting and how he felt it was only a matter of time until someone legit died and they couldn’t do anything about it. So, I asked, “Well, can you ask them if I could play? You’re looking for someone and we’re looking to try to do something together, it could work out.” Two years later, that campaign is going strong and (thankfully) no one has died yet.

I bring up this context because it matters: I rolled up a level 10 Grave Cleric. I had never played a cleric before but I had wanted to before my game shop sessions fell apart. And here I was, willingly thrown into the deep end of one of the most complex subclasses of one of the most complex classes in the game. And initially, I was not happy with it. Not just because there was a lot to learn but because of sheer mechanics. By rote, I could not keep up with the damage that the rest of my party was doing. At all. My high level spells weren’t doing much more damage than my freaking cantrips and I just felt stuck. I wanted to contribute outside of healing but really just couldn’t. I shared my frustrations with my brother, who, being the little troll he is, said, “Well, you know Critical Role has a Grave Cleric now, right?” So, to start this love fest, Caduceus taught me how to be a better cleric and because of that, I will never be able untangle the character from my relationship with my brother. Even if he died tomorrow or went evil or whatever, I would still be fond of him just for that.

I don’t remember which episode of campaign 2 I first watched all the way through. I know I started paying attention around Fjord’s chicken game and was fully on board with the series by Yasha’s loss in the pit fight. What I do remember is Caduceus. I remember being drawn in by this guy for some reason I still can’t articulate.

Caduceus is a complex character who is difficult to fully understand and love. People have said unkind things about him, about how he is a glorified NPC or that he is boring or that there is just no ‘there’ there or that he should just go home already. I have seen people say that they think Taliesin should go back to the drawing board and come back with a ‘better’ character, one who vibes better with the group or something. And the sad thing is, I can kind of see where these people are coming from. Understanding Caduceus and what Taliesin is doing with him requires people to pay attention to him, to actively think about him both when he is and is not in the spotlight. And that is hard. Because Caduceus is that character who aggressively tries to divert attention from himself. So right away, we have this tension, this push/pull when it comes to engaging with him. And I do love me a challenge in my favorites. Also love the polite but judgmental assholes who have Opinions they would never say but nevertheless own.

For me, Caduceus’ arc has been about duty and desire, what duty means, how to prioritize yourself, and how to grow. Caduceus’ interrogation of identity as it relates to duty and his blossoming as a person fascinate me most. What is your duty, really? What does it mean to find balance in your life? How do you take down the walls you built to protect yourself? Where do you end and where does your duty begin? What does faith look like outside a strictly Western/Christian lens? Can we find ourselves in other people? What does it mean to grow beyond your wildest imagination and the people you love most?

Caduceus begins the show as a passive, apathetic shadow of a man who has cloaked those traits in duty in order to not deal with his feelings. He had basically grown up in a literal paradise on earth where the problems of the world couldn’t reach or affect him. Until they did. Until his family left. Until the Nein crashed into his temple. Caduceus makes the choice to basically leave paradise, at the Wildmother’s urging, sure, and experience the world in all its messy beauty and ugliness. It is nothing like he expected. It is hard, it is cruel, it tries to drown him at every opportunity. It is also good, the animals, the people, the experiences he has. Hearing Marion sing, learning of a lighthouse to the Wildmother (which he does not fully appreciate yet, this light in the dark storm). Caduceus spends his first chunk of episodes waking up, seeing life outside of paradise. I love these early episodes because they demonstrate just how far Caduceus has actually come (can’t imagine this guy buying an overly large pirate hat as a prank or helping the Traveler offload some followers through an elaborate ceremony, for example).

The crux of Caduceus’ midgame story right up until he saves his family is this: You’ve seen the world, young cleric, are you sure you want to continue to save it? You can go home and turn your back on all of this, what makes you stay in this imperfect world with these imperfect people? We see this a lot, in the questions he asks the Gentleman, in his insistence they save Yasha, in his newfound appreciation and companionship in Fjord, in making the Xhorhaus a home, in his dealings with the stone giants, in his determination to help Nott and her family. And this is the part that made me love him because Caduceus doesn’t shy away from these moments or tough questions. Like most of what he does, he contemplates them quietly and lets his actions speak for him. Caduceus allows himself to get involved, to become invested.

Caduceus’ new major arc is his realization that he is not just some vessel, some passive thing through which the Wildmother’s will will flow. No, he learns that he has to make choices, that he can affect change, and that if he wants this messy, beautiful world to get better, he is going to have to do something about it. Not just wait for Her to tell him it is okay. Taking ownership of his future and what that means to him have shaped Caduceus these last thirty or so episodes. Caduceus has blossomed so damn much. He continued with the Nein because he wanted to, and that led to the discovery of the Astral Sea City. (side note: Anyone want to take a gander what would be happening right now if Caduceus hadn’t been with them?) He not only felt his feelings towards the Nein, he began expressing them. From the man who refused to Scry or Send to his family to one who has a friend call up his sister and tell her he will be back, from the man who clung so tightly to his need to be useful to the Nein to one who openly declares how much he loves these people and how reluctant he is to leave them, from a man who wanted to save his home to one who is trying to save the whole damn world, from a man who couldn’t articulate his feelings if you threatened him to one who is trying so hard communicate, from a man who needed saving from his own apathy and grief to one who saves others, this is who Caduceus Clay has become and I for one am excited to see how the next 100 episodes influence him.

Also I cannot end this word vomit without mentioning the fact that Caduceus being aroace and so warm, loving, and caring is so damn important. Because it is; there are too many people out there who think aros/aces are loveless robots or fake or whatever. And having this person, this caregiver, this annoying little brother, this compassionate man, to hold up against that kind of hate, ignorance, and indifference means more than I will ever be able to express.

#caduceus clay #cr caduceus #caduceus #caduceus meta #long post #critical role #critical role meta #caduceus clay week #cr campaign 2 #the mighty nein #my meta #it's like fjord said #caduceus inspires me #his arc is there people #he has grown as a person #and i am so dang proud of him

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sophiamargaux · 3 years ago

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝕱𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖕𝖎𝖈𝖊

Hellooo! This is my very first fanfic post and I am incredibly nervous about it lol. I have always shipped Hinawa and Maki so here’s an ode to the HinaMaki ship :) I hope everyone will be respectful and know that you are allowed to ship whoever you want (as long as it doesn’t involve minors, incest, you know the rest).

BTW the story happened when they were both still in the military.

_____________________________________________________________

The military is not for the soft – hearted. Its hard knuckle fights, intense violence of bombs, guns, and devastating destruction stemmed from a shallow and pointless war, is not for those with kind and gentle souls. Takehisa Hinawa only realized this truth a little too late before he joined the army. His motives? It was not worthy of an award – winning speech about being faithful to the country. It was not even an illustration of something as heroic as world peace, or to discover the cure for cancer or aids. Motives that most aspiring politicians or doctors would have. But for him, his motives are as blurry as his eyesight. Maybe the military was the only pillar he could rely on for stability or maybe it was merely because he is a second generation pyrokinetic user. Although he only found out about it when he first held a gun during a range practice in his first days in the military. Whatever his motive was, you can say it was tenacious since it made him stay in the army long enough to become a sergeant.

Hinawa was packing an overnight bag for a mission. The night was silent, and it was the customary time where most of the soldiers are already asleep. The mission was mildly dangerous since it required an assistance from two second generation pyrokinetic users, Hinawa being one-half of the assistance. The higher – ups could call someone from the Special Fire Force Department, but they are afraid that it might be all for naught and it would waste their precious time where they could have been protecting the people from infernals. They also reasoned that if an infernal did happen, the second-generation users will hopefully be able to handle the situation just in time for the Fire Force to arrive. But then again, Hinawa is starting to get used to these situations. Especially since he was recently paired with his partner for these kinds of missions. Hinawa and his partner did not have a great start when they were first paired for these types of missions. It certainly did not help that his partner was under his command as a sergeant. But with the aid of time, they started to work in sync with each other. Things would not have worked out if his friend Tojo did not convince him to offer some help to his partner.

“I’m all packed Sergeant!” A familiar voice rang through the open door.

Hinawa looked back and saw a young lady dressed in the same military gear and uniform as him standing straight by his door in a salute stance. Private Maki Oze, daughter of the commander of the Tokyo Army and the other half of the second-generation user assigned for the mission. His partner. To be honest, he was not exactly fond of her when she first joined in the army. During their first drills, she always came last and had no strength whatsoever. He often found her doing extra practice in training rooms, but he still thought all that effort was for nothing. She got in because she was a soon to be heir of the Tokyo Army, so it is safe to say that their partnership did not start off in the right foot. Maki did talk back to him once in a tone that he particularly did not like, and it ended with the whole section running fifty laps because of her. It did not end there. Maki had to run extra five laps and do fifty push – ups. He was not dubbed ‘Sergeant Hell’ by his comrades for nothing. Hinawa was always tough around them, but it was all for their sake. You needed to be hard and unbreakable for a job like this.

Maki specifically was a different story. Hinawa saw the determination and drive. Anyone can grow muscles and be physically strong but not everyone has the mental capacity of a fighter. But he saw that in her. It was not the same fire that he usually saw in other soldiers. It was brighter. It was like her flames were a loud voice in the dark. So, he decided to heed his friend’s advice and helped her. It took a lot of back – breaking drills and exhausting laps to dash the soldier out of her. No matter how much she improved, Hinawa still thought that he is right. She was not meant to be a soldier. Not with a kind heart like that.

Hinawa zipped his bag and walked over towards Maki, closing the door behind him. He sported his head cap.

“Let’s go,” he said, as they both started to make their way outside where a military truck awaits them.

“What’s the mission this time, Sergeant?” Maki asked.

“We were asked to assist Captain Daichi’s troops in their retrieval for military armor and gear from a burnt down building in the south.”

“So why are we needed?”

“They said there might be some bombs in the building that are still active. Just to be safe than sorry, I guess.”

The cold air greeted them when they made it outside. All they could hear was the deafening noise of the crickets and the soft slow rumble of the chilly air that occasionally passed by. If they both listened closely, some mild snoring could be heard from the military truck situated three feet away from them. The military looked peaceful during nighttime. The gloomy atmosphere of the moonlight shone an agenda of rest for the beaten down soldiers. The green light signaled a temporary respite to put down their armors and shields, offering sleep before a new day starts once again. Hinawa would have loved to wave the white flag of defeat and retire to his bed but for now, he needed to be a soldier.

Upon closer investigation of the military truck, Hinawa’s urge to rest grew further. The truck was an old, rundown shackle with a tarp that not only barely covered the last row but had terrible patch work which meant all the good and comfortable spots were already taken. Maybe it was some sort of universal punishment or maybe it just so happened that the other good military trucks were taken but whatever the reason was, Hinawa was too tired to even make a face of disagreement.

“I know, she’s not much to look at but get on.” The vice-captain who was in the driver’s seat bellowed brusquely.

Maki was first to climb on the truck then Hinawa followed. He looked at his other comrades and saw some of them sleeping while the others gingerly engaged in some late-night idle chatter. Hinawa was on the verge of making a bitter face towards the soldiers who first claimed the spots he deemed were nice and favorable but stopped himself before Maki noticed his sour disposition.

“I guess we should have packed and arrived earlier, huh,” Maki said as she sat down, disappointment lacing her tone, as if she just spoke out loud the exact thing that Hinawa was thinking about.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it.” Hinawa sat down, facing Maki on the opposite side. They were hardly being covered by the old, craggy, and uneven tarp in a somewhat crowdy vehicle, sitting at the very last row. The last row was not the most unfavorable of all places, Hinawa thought. The view could be amazing plus the breeze that you could feel while travelling felt refreshing but considering that it is the middle of the night and he had barely any rest, he was not looking forward to the cold air.

He felt a sudden jolt from the vehicle and after a few minutes the truck started moving towards their destination. Tokyo still looked busy and bright even at ungodly hours, Hinawa observed as he looked at the scenery behind the vehicle they were on. All he knew about the south is that the building was in the middle of a field, a couple miles away from civilization. He guessed that maybe it was to guard territory of the country, but he was not exactly sure. But he was positive that the fields of the south nurtured cows, goats, and other animals alike. If the mission went well, the captain might agree to stop by a nearby farm to gather raw ingredients for the army kitchen. He would not mind having the chance to enjoy rest time with farm animals. Besides, he did grow up in a small town.

Hinawa swarmed in his own thoughts when he felt the forces of fatigue and exhaustion pull him closer and closer to sleep. He crossed his arms close to his chest to combat the cold air. It was not long before Hinawa completely fell asleep.

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Hinawa felt the jostling of the vehicle and the gust of the cold morning air. He slowly opened his eyes to see the sight of his lap. It appeared that he had fallen asleep with his neck facing downwards, and slowly he started to feel the ache gathering at the base of his neck as he tried to look up. Still groggy and dazed from recently waking up from his slumber, he gazed up at the free sky and the rough edge of the tarp that seemed to be falling apart at the seams. The sky was a lovely pool of lilac, pink, and blue. It was dawn at its most beautiful, banned from the shadows and despair that came with nightfall. The horizon painted a muddy picture of black and white, ambiguity brewing anticipation of a stupendous day. But at last, the world was brand new once again.

He looked behind him and noticed that the scenery had changed. Instead of buildings, towers, and a mob of civilians, what beheld him was a beautiful landscape of the countryside. Rice fields, trees, and far-off sights of the forest. It would not be long until he started seeing the fields of the south. He eyed his comrades and noticed that they were still sleeping soundly. Must be nice to not be affected by the cold air, Hinawa judged bitterly. He peeked at Maki in front of him and observed that she too, was still sleeping soundly.

He felt a small tug of his lips at the sight of her small snoring, sleeping form. She had her head rested at her left shoulder and the top of her head was facing the hide of the truck. He could already predict the look of her pained face once the sore on her neck started to settle. It pained him to see her this way, because she looked so lovely, despite the military camouflage clothing and the armor geared with it. She had grown up to be daddy’s princess, and here, a decade and thousands of miles away from that life, here amid the threats of violence from Infernals’ dissolute and unlovely tasks of the army, here was Maki Oze, asleep, raven hair softly dancing with the wind, radiating a gentle glow.

Her eyes slightly wrinkled as the sun started catching up with the moving vehicle. Immediately, Hinawa removed his field cap and gently placed it on her head, careful not to wake her up. It changed everything somehow to see this new facet of her and to be aware of how eagerly she had sought to be a better fighter. It made going through the mission with her a dangerous endeavor. A strange shiver of devotion passed through him and then a corresponding swell of protectiveness. Not that Maki needed much protection.

Hinawa realized that he had been slightly smiling for quite some time, unaware of his blatant stare towards his sleeping comrade. Instantly he dropped his smile and shook his head to be rid of the intricate thoughts he had of his partner. Such fragile, tender thoughts could cause the beating heart to act on its own that might travel beyond logic. Hinawa had to remind himself of who he was and what he needed to be, a commanding officer.

The vehicle came to a halt to signal their arrival. Hinawa stood up and gently shook Maki’s shoulder. Maki still a tiny bit bewildered, woke up from her slumber and looked at the person who woke her.

“It’s time to get off.” Hinawa said, not making eye contact as he immediately went down first. Slowly getting to her senses, Maki realized that there was something on top of her head and upon instant inspection, she noticed that it was Hinawa’s field cap. Or at least it was what she assumed since the sergeant earlier appeared to not be wearing his field cap. She removed the cap from her head and looked inside to find the tag in it beholding the name Takehisa Hinawa. She felt smitten and grateful as she gazed at her walking partner, smiling at his kind gesture.

_______________________________________________________________

The sun had a blinding glow. Its fiery rays cascaded down the fields of the south border. Soldiers from left to right were moving armors. Half – way through the mission, another military truck arrived to compensate for the number of objects they have retrieved. Maki looked at the ash and soot that covered the building with disdain and annoyance. It had been three hours of back – tiring, back and forth slavery, climbing up and down the burnt building, carrying the surviving heavy equipment, while staying alert for stray bombs, and Maki has had enough. She had been sweating profusely and her arms were starting to ache. She had experienced worse, and it mostly involved Sergeant Hell’s drills and punishments.

Three hours had also passed since Maki felt nothing but scorn and spite towards her partner. She knew all too well the merry feelings she experienced earlier were too good to be true for Hinawa was stricter than usual and Maki was getting a little irritated. To think that he bestowed her his field cap only to be treated this way. Maki was certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Hinawa had her whole respect, but he was treading the line between army disciplinary and blunt rudeness.

Maki grunted and carried the large metal bin, making her way back into the building before Hinawa reprimanded her again about her tardiness – even if it was only a minute, no worse, thirty seconds late. Ever since she woke up, Hinawa was… a touch different. It was not a complete three sixty-degree transformation to the point where he was unrecognizable. It was more like a switch was turned on and out came a side of him that she had never met. She should not interest herself in such mundane and small observations, but she could not help but wonder at the baroque changes that Hinawa was making. Hinawa appeared as his perfectly normal self to a random comrade at first sight, but Maki would digress. From the first hour of the mission, he had been barking orders at her with excessive intensity than the usual firm but authoritative tone. Lately, it was always Maki, walk faster! Or Maki, pay attention to where you are going! Not once did he even try to make eye contact with her. No matter how hard she tried to keep up to his orders it she was either a minute late or it was not done in the way he would want it to.

Maki quickly jogged upstairs to where Hinawa was waiting. When she arrived, he already had a pile of different machine guns waiting beside him. She stood up straight and demonstrated her best salute stance while hiding her desperate panting.

“You’re late.” Hinawa said bluntly as he grabbed the bin that she was holding. He promptly dropped the bin and started placing the machine guns inside one by one. Maki swiftly struck her tongue at him when he was not looking, like a little juvenile child.

“Are you helping or not?” Hinawa ordered in firm and harsh tone.

Maki jumped to her feet and started placing the machine guns into the bin as well, scared at the possible return of Sergeant Hell. The mission was already tough on its own, she did not wish to worsen the weight of her burdens. The work was not entirely silent since they could hear other troops outside handling their own retrieved armor. Maki found the background noise pleasant since she could not handle Hinawa’s aggressive aura.

“Why am I always deployed with you?” Hinawa sounded like he was thinking his thoughts out loud after a long time of silence between them. Maki would had given him the benefit of the doubt and assumed the start of his day did not go as great as hers, or he had received bad news, but Maki was not feeling kind after three hours of nothing but boorishness and acrimony from him.

“It’s because we make a good team, you dipshit.” She muttered in her lowest, tiniest voice, silently praying that Hinawa did not catch what she said. She looked up at him just in case, but Hinawa was already staring. Maki’s blood ran cold, and her fingers started to get clammy. It was the stare. It was the look that Hinawa would use that rendered the rest of her comrades meek, frozen, praying for their lives. His face did not contort in any way nor did his eyebrows crease downwards. His face was rather relaxed and devoid of any emotion, but everyone could feel his unwavering motive for severe discipline strongly.

“I-I’m very sorry Sergeant! That will never happen again!” Maki hurriedly stood up and saluted. Without pausing, she picked up the bin and hastily made her way down. The bin was heavy, but she was willing to make that sacrifice if it meant she did not have to witness the wrath of Sergeant Hell. Although, she was fully well- aware that she would face the consequences of her actions when they returned to Tokyo.

Hinawa was left a little bewildered at the sight of Maki scurrying away. He wondered why she would suddenly bolt with the bin knowing very well that it was heavy. He sighed in frustration. He withdrew his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose to release some tension that he had been feeling lately. Hinawa was not known to be someone who was led by their emotions, in fact it was the opposite. He couldn’t even make decent eye contact without getting flustered for remembering her sleeping face. Hinawa felt pathetic at his disposition. It did not help that she was wearing his field cap. He probably scared Maki away when all she ever did was try her best while he was being a pain in the ass. He put his glasses on and went down to catch up with Maki, in hopes of trying to patch the things that he did.

It was not long before Hinawa witnessed Maki dragging the bin with whatever strength she got left. When Maki noticed his presence, she immediately had her back straight and was about to apologize again when Hinawa stopped her.

“You shouldn’t have recklessly carried this all by yourself.” Hinawa said in a calmer tone. An inconspicuous apology. He held the underside of the bin on one side and ordered Maki to do the same on the other, their fingertips briskly making soft contact. In the count of three, they lifted the bin and carefully tread their way down, conscientious of each step they took.

Hinawa cleared his throat and thought of the perfect words to say.

“I apologize for the way I um… acted earlier.” Still struggling to make eye contact he kept his gaze onwards. He felt stupid for struggling over something so regular and casual. Something he was able to do almost every single day. He could even meet eyes with strangers. But Maki was no stranger. She moved past that title long before Hinawa realized it himself. Finally mustering enough grit, he looked at her direction and there she was, looking at him with her bright purple eyes, smiling.

“You’re a weird one, Sergeant,” she said, simply. In her usual sweet, cool tone. Her eyes returned forward and continued to walk in silence with him, her smile not dropping.

Hinawa did not want to overthink. He did not want to interrupt the soft mumbling of his heart. He had been too hard – like granite, that something as soft as Maki made him feel ominous towards all things that are delicate and gentle. He did not want to think of what will become of him in the future when the comfort that she gives, became too serene that he would no longer look for peace in anything or anyone else, but her. But that was for future worries. Hinawa knew that the slope he treaded on was precarious, but for once he wanted to bask in the small joy that he found in this old, burnt, and retired building. When they finally made it outside, it was then that he realized the warm smile he wore the whole way down.

Maki stretched her back and groaned at the pain that came with it. She adjusted her cap and looked at the building. Is that all? She thought hopefully.

A sudden loud boom answered her question. The bellowing noise echoed from the top of the building. Large debris sputtered out with ashes and soot, as the soldiers ducked and took cover. Hinawa looked around, checking for every soldier, hoping that all the troops were present outside, and none were harmed from the explosion.

Hinawa stood up and decided to go inside to check when he felt someone pull his uniform, crumbling to the ground, just in time when a large rock dropped in front of him.

“And to think that could’ve been you.” He heard a familiar voice by his side. Maki had a firm grip on the collar of his uniform and the other on the ground to support her upper body and his weight. Hinawa’s back was pressed against her chest as he lay in between her legs. They took cover when another wave of cinders approached.

Once everything settled, Hinawa stood up and helped Maki along with him. He took notice of the sight that was around him. Everyone seemed fine and no one looked harmed from the abrupt blast. The captain in charge quickly grabbed the megaphone and assured the troops. Orders were made. Everyone gathered around the center and checked. Hinawa could already tell the mission was going to be delayed for another day.

________________________________________________________________

The night was silent. Tents covered the area where soldiers rested after a long tiring labor. Thankfully, no one got hurt from the explosion, thanks to the great Sol’s mercy. Daylight resigned and made room for nightfall. The crescent moon that hung above the clouds were glistening with pride, silently saying good job for a well – spent day. The campfire placed in the center crackled softly as its tiny embers danced in the wind, its serene cacophony bringing peace to the sleeping soldiers.

Hinawa was sitting by the fire, polishing his guns. It was one of those days where sleep did not befall on him, causing him to gun at the blazing fire with thoughts at disarray. This happened once or twice in every two weeks ever since he joined the army. It was the one possibility he was aware of when he signed up. It did not dawn on him that another soldier also shared the same troubles.

Maki had always known that Hinawa had sleeping problems from time to time. It was a speculation she made on their first mission together and confirmed it when she once saw him strolling around the military campus late at night. She did not know why the information stuck with her. Maybe it was because she too, had difficulties with sleeping. Whenever restless nights occurred, the Sergeant would come to mind. The cynosure of her thoughts often sloped to Hinawa on whether he was awake as well. She did not know how this circuitous way of thinking started, but it was a guessing game that she very much enjoyed playing.

Maki got up and went out of her tent. She looked around and noticed Hinawa all alone by the campfire. Maki was right again.

She approached Hinawa with careful posture, hoping not to disturb his deep contemplation. Hinawa already seemed aware of the approaching footsteps, then glanced expectedly at Maki.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Hinawa questioned in a solemn voice while continuing to polish his guns.

“Why aren’t you?” Maki asked with the same solemnity.

“I can’t sleep.”

“It’s the same for me too.” She sat down beside him. Happily warming herself in silence.

Maki would not say it out loud, but she had always loved the silence between them. There was no tension, no awkward air, no rigidity. It was just him. His good old eccentric self. The gap amidst them, in vague estimation, was but a hand’s distance yet for Maki, it was more than enough.

“Thank you for earlier.” Hinawa stopped and turned to her.

Maki was a little surprised with his words of gratitude. It was not every day for her to receive a thank you from him, though still, she replied with a soft small nod. They spent more of their time together in gentle stillness, appreciating the campfire and its warmth. Maki observed his face in her own discreet manner. The mischievous shadows of the fire grazed his features. She suddenly got an idea.

“Sergeant, do you want to play a game?”

“Honestly, you and your games –.”

“This will be fun, I promise.” Maki looked at him with hopeful eyes, prying for a yes. It was late into midnight. Hinawa was tired, and it looked like Maki was in the mood to drop any form of formalities. He had been in this predicament more than once ever since he asked her to play a game of chess with him. From that day forth, she had gradually adapted into the habit of asking. Often a game of poker or go fish. It did not help that his fierce competitiveness would get the best of him. So whenever the chances arose, he’d give in.

Hinawa sighed in defeat.

“What is it this time? Poker?” He set aside his guns. Maki’s excitement increased after his agreement.

“I forgot to bring my deck of cards though. But I have an idea.” Maki’s arm reached out to touch the temple of his glasses. “May I?” She asked politely.

Hinawa tried to ignore the sensation of her fingertips on his face but instead eyed her in suspicion.

“What are you planning?” He asked defensively. When it came to his eyesight, he did not easily trust anybody.

“Don’t worry, I won’t run away with it. It’s a game called How far can Sergeant Hinawa see.” Maki looked skeptically happy for Hinawa’s liking. He raised his eyebrows at the absolute ridiculous made-up game she curated.

“And how is this exactly, fun for me?” He asked, reaching with careful ease to her out-stretched arm.

“You’ll get a chance to teach your subordinate about having bad eyesight? It is all for educational purposes!” Conviction laced her tone. “Well… at least it is for me.” She mumbled her words after, trying her best to convince him, but she knew she was not demonstrating conceivable reasons.

Hinawa stared at her pleading face and considered every possible outcome that could occur if he ever gave in. A bad feeling brewed from the very bottom of his guts, creeping up to his esophagus and felt himself enter an unknown territory.

Maki cowered under his gloomy stare. Her shyness slowly resurfaced like a bad itch, until Hinawa eventually agreed.

“Try to run away and I won’t hesitate to shoot you.” He threatened.

“Yes, sir.” Maki swallowed back her fear.

When Maki detached his glasses from his face, the once bright and brilliant sight of the campfire suddenly shifted to an orange blur. He squinted his eyes on impulse but to no avail. He still could not see. He heard a giggle from where Maki was seated and tried to look at her pointedly, but his eyesight was too cloudy that he could not decipher her face.

“What are you laughing at?” He tried to scold.

“I’m sorry Sergeant, but I can’t take you seriously when you squint like that.” Maki sought an apologetic tone, but she could not control those small fits of giggles that came out.

“If you’re going to laugh at me, I’m no longer playing this ga-”

“Wait, wait, wait! I’m starting.” Maki waved her hands around in compliance.

Maki scooted a few places away from him, not far but far enough that she became a filmy mess of colors in Hinawa’s eyes.

“Can you see me?” She asked earnestly, quietly, a small call amid the cackling of the campfire’s flames. Maki knew what she meant when she said those words, she promised no other message but the literal. And yet the chatoyance of her eyes and the comely warmth of her face begged to differ.

“No, you’re a blurry mess.” He said calmly, with a cool and collected composure that Maki was a little jealous.

So, he is nearsighted, Maki thought to herself. She scampered a little closer as the sound of her rustling clothes melded with the fire. She sat three steps away from him.

“How about now?” She asked once again. The tender beating of her heart elevated. Step by fragile step. A dangerous distance separated them.

“No.”

She moved closer. Two steps away. The sight of his face grew nearer. Her fast pulse teetered amidst a minefield, taking precise steps, yet fully anticipating the eventual fall, his succeeding notice. Nothing went past Hinawa’s strict observation, and yet, and yet! How his keen-eyed nature toppled in the face of sweet blatancy. Tension seized her deliberate advance. She mustered enough courage to ask once more, despite how her heart opposed.

“Can you see me now?”

“Maki, you have to move closer than that.”

It sounded like a small dare. A miniscule challenge to scoot closer, or so it seemed at first. Maki closed the chasm. Their bodies touched. And there it was, the fatal flaw. And suddenly his face was one breath away. She felt her heart tightened at the gnawing clarity in front of her. This was not the game she expected to play. The once dulcet juvenile idea was short – lived and it turned into a diaphanous duel of the heart. Regret dawned when her chest constricted, a great effervescent demise waited at the sight of his face only inches away.

If Maki had been brave enough, she would’ve taken another ghastly risk closer.

“How about now?” She inquired in a supple whisper, wordlessly urging him to say yes.

To her surprise, Hinawa drew his face closer to hers. Their noses nearly caressed. Her pulse drummed. Her heartbeat soared. The campfire’s amber glow resembled his orange eyes, brilliant like the shiny coppers and pennies in a treasure box, kindling a special flame of their own. She marveled in awe, staring deep into his copper pools.

Hinawa’s stare penetrated. Really looking at her. With enough fervor, passion, and blithe to ignite a golden unadulterated cinder.

“Now I see you.”

Maki knew with most certainty what Hinawa meant when he said those words. There was no code or hidden message. But across this labyrinth of newly planted confessions, burning novelties, and undecipherable sentiments, a fine piece of thread guided a way for Maki. And for a moment, her what-ifs exulcerated, paving fresh roads for more, knowing that she may be falling because just for a short second, she felt the whole world disappear. All she could see was the soft glimmer of his tangerine eyes.

Upon sudden realization of their proximity, Maki hastily moved her head and awkwardly laughed.

“Wow, Sergeant you have really bad eyesight.” Maki lightened the mood and placed his glasses back into his face. She shifted and moved herself away to create a tiny distance between them.

“You should have them checked.” She weakly added, her hands covering the reddening of her cheeks, completely avoiding his eyes.

“I already did but there’s nothing they can do about it.” Hinawa adjusted his glasses as he said so.

Maki cleared her throat and stood, feigning a yawn as she stretched her body.

“I’ll be going now Sergeant Hinawa, it was nice talking to you.” Maki respectfully bowed and quickly made her way to her tent. As she walked, she peeked him, hoping to find answers about the earlier endeavor. Maybe it was the night’s illusion or her sleep-deprived mind, but she could have sworn that his ears were a tinge pinker than ever before.

________________________________________________________________

Maki was lying in her tent, unable to fall asleep. She tossed and turned but nothing worked. For the past hour, her mind continually travelled to the glasses game that happened earlier. She wondered if she could ever face him again without being flustered. Hinawa must have been dense enough, right? There was no way he could’ve noticed, not when she had his glasses in hand.

But after her attempted conviction failed, she began to panic at the idea of Hinawa seeing through her façade. That her rose blush had been blatant enough for his blurry eyesight.

Maki groaned in frustration and turned to her side once more. Hinawa’s field cap occupied her vision. I must return this to him, she reminded herself. She took the cap and stared at the tag that held his name. Out of nowhere, Maki felt a smile budding. She had never been more confused in this predicament, and yet she had never been happier as well. Her feelings were still an unresolved puzzle towards Hinawa. She could not even begin to untangle her thoughts about him.

Maybe it was homesickness or a glitch in the mind. She could not care less either way, only a mellow delight seeped through the fabric of her confusion. Surely, one could never be in the wrong disposition when such odd joy triumphed.

And just like that, Maki fell asleep with a smile on her face that night. Whatever it was, whatever her heart whispered that evening, she’d had enough time to worry later. It can wait till then.

#my fic #my ships #fire force #hinawa x maki #maki oze #takehisa hinawa #hinamaki #they're so precious #slow burn #i hope more people will like them lol #i had to write this

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carminite-wyrm · 3 years ago

Text

Hero-of-Kvatch!Nyx AU, Part 2!

aka, Nyx continues to not have a great time in the tunnels beneath the Imperial Prison.

Again, story under the cut.

Part 1

The most ridiculous part of this whole matter, Nyx decided, was not the not-daemons (the creatures had certainly looked the part, but they hadn’t disappeared into a cloud of miasma after he’d killed them) he had encountered in the tunnels as he made his way out of the prison. It was the fact that no one had commented on both his injuries, or his tattered uniform that was very much not fitting the ‘high fantasy novel’ aesthetic he was also wrapping his head around.

Even as the brisk pace that the elderly man – who was apparently Uriel Septim VII, the Emperor of the nation Nyx now found himself in – and his entourage set through the tunnels did wonders for working out the lingering stiffness in his body, (as did the vaguely nightmarish path earlier full of the largest rats Nyx had ever seen), Nyx found his mind starting to spiral off into multiple tangents, trying to process the wealth of information he had already managed to gather.

He had died, that was almost an undeniable fact. And then he had awoken in what he was now absolutely certain was a different universe, to find himself in a cell that he was shortly released from by the Emperor of the land of Tamriel, who was fleeing cultist-assassins who had most likely already claimed the lives of his heirs. On top of all of that, the Emperor (and Nyx, apparently), were mixed up in some sort of shared fate or prophecy, that likely had to do with the gods of this realm if Nyx was understanding things correctly.

Nyx was fervently doing his best to try and ignore how the situation was rather similar to what he had just lived in his own world. It had been almost too easy for him to slip back into the role of a bodyguard and defender of a King, to the point that one of the guards, Baurus, had given him several suspicious looks when he had found their group once again, and introduced himself as Nyx.

He silently cursed the lack of his kukris, the weight of the short sword he had found in the tunnels slightly awkward in his hand, as he fended off one of the strange assassins that were chasing their group, the blade nevertheless good enough to sink through a chink in his opponent’s armour. Even the slightest drop of magic to blast some of them away faster would have been useful, but he was fairly certain that the magic he once had was now gone. Dead and gone, vanished when Regis’ body had-

He grit his teeth, shoving that thought away along with the dead body that slid off his blade.

Even if this Emperor Uriel was supposedly meant to die at some point in the coming future, Nyx would do his best to help him avoid that ‘fate’. Quite frankly, he’d had enough of talks of fate and destiny, and the fact that the Emperor looked about as resigned to his fate as Regis had been-

The group halted as they found the way to the sewers to be barred, and Nyx suddenly had a sinking feeling. He readied his sword, just in time for one of the guards– Blades, the Emperor had called them –to call out that it was a trap. He followed them as they tried a side passage, only to find that it was a dead end.

“Wait here with the Emperor,” One of the Blades ordered, as the sound of assassins entering the previous chamber grew louder. “Guard him with your life!”

And before Nyx could even muster up a shred of disagreement, that perhaps leaving their Emperor with a man who they had previously thought to be a criminal, and also visibly injured even if he wasn’t actively bleeding or burning to death was a terrible idea, the two Blades had rushed off to engage the assassins.

“Well, at least this room is somewhat defensible,” Nyx sighed, readying his sword as he briefly gave the room a once-over to see if there was something he could use to barricade the entrance. Finding nothing, he instead took up a post by the doorway, readying his sword. Once confident that he’d be able to see any danger that would appear, he turned his attention back to the Emperor, only to find an amulet with a bright red gem being held out to him.

“…Isn’t that yours?” Nyx asked, a sinking feeling starting to settle into his stomach. This was starting to look very, very, familiar. “Why-“

The Emperor’s eyes were startlingly clear, and kind, as he explained that this would be where he was to die, and that he wished for Nyx to not only take his amulet, but find his last son, a secret son that only another man named Jauffre knew the location of.

“This amulet…it isn’t just some family heirloom, is it?”

The Emperor shook his head. “It is the Amulet of Kings, and must pass to the last of the Dragon’s Blood.”

“…Don’t tell me this contains some sort of great power that only someone blood-related to you can wield, a power that was granted to you by a dragon god. And that it will help to end a world-ending calamity.”

“That…is exactly it.” The Emperor gave him a curious look. “That is not common knowledge.”

“I…I’m not quite sure how to explain it.” Nyx admitted. “It’s…a long story.”

“Take the Amulet, and then in the little time we have left, I would hear what you can tell of your story. Your fate lies past the moment of my death, I do not worry that you will fall with the Amulet.”

Nyx glanced around the room, finding it still clear of danger for the time being, even if the sounds of fighting had moved ever so slightly closer to them. He slowly took the Amulet, tucking it away in one of the pockets in his uniform.

“So…Would you believe me if I said that I’m not from this world? Or universe, probably.” Nyx began. “And that I had died, then woken up in that cell, and then a few minutes later you and your guards showed up.”

The Emperor’s eyebrows creased in thought, before he nodded slowly. “The ways of the Divines are mysterious indeed. But you are here, as I have foreseen. Your origins, or your past deeds, do not concern me.”

“I’ve already lived through this!” Nyx blurted out, before he realised that probably wouldn’t make sense without some level of explanation. “I mean, the events leading up to my death, are startlingly similar to what’s happening right now!”

He agitatedly twisted one of his braids in his free hand, decidedly not looking in the direction of the Emperor.

“You are afraid.” Nyx snapped around to stare at the other man.

“I-“

“Even though we have only just met, and yet you still care enough to fear the consequences my death will bring.”

“I just. Don’t want to fail to protect another person. I don’t want your guards, your Blades, to also fail to protect someone they swore to keep safe.” Nyx muttered.

“Oh.” The Emperor sighed, and briefly closed his eyes. There was a sudden presence in the room, ever so slight and yet Nyx could sense it, almost vibrating through the vein-like scars on his arm, the feeling similar to the rush of power that he had felt when confronting the old Kings of Lucis when he had put on the Ring.

The Emperor opened his eyes once again as the moment passed, and looked straight at Nyx, his gaze this time almost as piercing as Regis’ had been when he had spoken up for Nyx in front of the old Kings.

“Your kindness, and dedication, is a gift in these dark times. I am honoured to have met you, Nyx Ulric, and to have been granted the knowledge of the weight you bore before you were brought here. I regret the fate that has been passed onto you, so soon after your sacrifice in your old world, but, I have faith that you will not only face it, but also surpass the expectations laid upon you by the Gods. After all, this new life you have gained will not be without its blessings.”

“Wait, what do you mean-“

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a now-familiar flare of red magic, and broke off as he spun around to meet the assassin, the enemy’s mace rattling against the blade he just managed to bring up in time. The two traded blows furiously, moving across the room as Nyx attempted to use his free arm to gesture or herd the Emperor back away from danger.

Nyx hissed in pain as the mace briefly slid past his guard, the sharp edges of the weapon slicing sharp lines through the side of his uniform. The enchantments that had once been imbued into the fabric clearly had not survived his appearance in this world, though that was not surprising, given how they had hinged on Lucis Caelum magic anyways. He stumbled back a few steps from the impact, and ducked as the mace came down at his head once again. This assassin was clearly a cut above the others they had encountered earlier, Nyx thought, briefly eyeing the cracked stone where the mace had hit.

The assassin cackled, and moved to attack again, when Nyx heard the sound of stone grinding against stone. He looked around for the source of the noise, and spotted, in that half-second, a figure in red robes, wearing an even-more ornate set of black armour, a wickedly-long dagger in his hand. And that figure was stepping out of a passage that had just opened up, right next to where the Emperor was standing.

Instinctively, he flung his sword at the assassin, bracing himself for the pulling sensation of a warp. And then he remembered.

He no longer had the ability to warp.

“Shit!” He yelled, now scrambling under the first assassin as he tried to reach the new assassin in time, trying to reach the Emperor before– and why was he just standing there?! – the new assassin struck.

His fingers had just skimmed the edges of the hilt of his sword, other hand outstretched to try and push the Emperor or the assassin out of the way, when he saw the knife sink into the Emperor’s heart.

He watched as the Emperor toppled to the ground, the assassin’s knife dripping blood onto the stones. He heard, more than saw, as one of the guards appeared in the doorway and gave an anguished cry.

And then the assassins were attacking them again, and he had no time to further process the situation as he and the guard – Baurus – ended up fighting back-to-back, a grieving desperation in Baurus’ attacks as together, they managed to kill those last two assassins.

There was silence, finally, as the last assassin slowly bled out on the ground, and Nyx watched with blurry eyes as Baurus fell to his knees next to the corpse of his Emperor.

#ffxv #tes oblivion #nyx ulric #uriel septim #hok!nyx au #ficlet #carminite writes #can we get an f in the chat for baurus #and yes this will be a fixit its just that there is angst first

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