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orithereticent · 3 years

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The Song and Tail Left Behind

Crossposted from ao3 chapter 5

Drake didn’t want to lie to Gosalyn, but he also hadn’t wanted to tell her why he was going and that far outweighed the moral implications of lying to his 8 year old daughter.

He had told her that Duckburg was having problems with the Beagle boys the first time he had gone with Gizmoduck.

In reality it was more that someone had broken into a chemistry lab and stolen about 40,000 dollars worth of equipment.

“But that’s not the strange bit,” Scrooge had said, “the robbery happened in broad daylight, and there were no witnesses, even though there were nearly forty people at the scene,” Scrooge paused, “Gizmoduck was one of them, his armour has been put out of commission temporarily, he could do with yer help lad.”

Darkwing dropped Gosalyn off at the McDuck manor. He was still a little worried about the fall she had taken the day before (next time he saw Megavolt he was going to kill him. Just the look in Darkwings eyes after Gosalyn had been thrown had been enough to send the supervillian running). After looking her over, she had some bruises and cuts she had gotten from playing outside, but was completely unharmed otherwise.

Everyone figured that Darkwing and Gizmoduck would solve the case by the end of the day, even with Gizmoduck’s arm and headpiece being the only part of his armour working.

Darkwing woke up groggy, with a mouth that was so dry it was like he had drank salt, and with a headache that pulsed behind his eyes. The way one wakes up after tossing and turning for hours and only getting an hour of sleep, or like he had a hangover. He didn’t remember falling asleep. That might lend credit to the hangover theory. Biggest problem with that idea was that Darkwing rarely drank, and even rarer than drinking was drinking to the point of blacking out. He had Gosalyn at home after all.

Darkwing blinked once, his vision blurred. He blinked again, pain slowly starting to flare up. He reached a hand to his chest and brought it up to examine it. Darkwings fingers were stained red. His suit was torn in the sleeves which were stuck to his arms, sticky with semi-dried blood. He forced himself to sit up. He quickly took in his surroundings. Darkwing was in an alleyway next to a garbage bin. The shadows were long, like it was just getting dark. It didn’t appear to offer any immediate danger. A soft cry made Darkwing jump, he turned around, head spinning at the sudden movement. Gizmoduckー no, Fenton, he wasn’t wearing his suit, dirty and bruised, lay right next to Darkwing. He was curled into a ball, arms covering his face. The suit pieces lay a couple of feet away. Darkwing shook Fenton’s shoulder with his less bloodstained hand. It wouldn’t have mattered as Fenton had some bloodstains of his own, but still.

“Fenton?” Fenton didn’t even move. Darkwing shook his shoulder harder, “get up Fenton.”

“M’ma?” muttered Fenton under his breath. He opened a single eye, then closed it.

“Do I look like your Mom?”

“Sorry…” Fenton started, then he started to trail off, like he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. Finally his eyes fixed on Darkwing, “Drake.”

“Darkwing,” Darkwing grumbled. He was in costume. He couldn’t have his identity getting out.

“Sorry,” Fenton grunted, struggling to sit up, “where are we?”

“Well, right now it looks like we’re behind a dumpster.”

“Oh,” Fenton rubbed his neck, “umm, how did we get here?”

“No idea, last I remember…” Darkwing trailed off, the last thing he remembered was dropping Gosalyn off at McDuck manor… in the morning, it was evening now.

“You’re bleeding,” stated Fenton, snapping Darkwing out of his thoughts.

“So are you,” pointed out Darkwing. They were battered, bruised, and bleeding, but nothing too serious as far as Darkwing could tell.

Fenton reached over for the armour pieces, “It’s dead!” he exclaimed upon further examination, “and where’s the other pieces?”

“Fenton, they’re out of commission, remember?”

“No?”

This was bad.

“What do ye mean ye don’t remember?” questioned Scrooge once Gizmoduck and Darkwing had gotten to the underwater lab, (far away from prying ears, Drake had insisted), “how can ye not remember it was nary even an hour ago!”

Drake opened his mouth to snap back, but instead he pressed a wet cloth to a wound on his chest he didn’t remember receiving. The bright purple cloth had a dusty look to it with some red blood stains for variety. He pulled his cape over his chest.

“I remember getting to the lab today?” offered Fenton unsurely, he rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t quite sure he remembered that much.

“That’s not true,” Gyro said without looking up from where he was examining the Gizmoduck suit, “you haven’t been in the lab today.”

“Oh?” asked Fenton, looking over at Gyro who had coffee in his shaking hand, He seemed surprised by the Gizmoduck suit on the table, “Doctor Gearloose, what happened to my armour?”

Scrooge turned to look at Fenton, surprised but cautiously frowning, “er, lad, do ye not remember what happened yesterday?”

“What day is it?” asked Drake before Fenton could answer.

“Tuesday?”

“No, it’s Saturday,” Drake stated, suddenly sure he was right.

“It’s Thursday,” interrupted Gyro.

Manny turned around and tapped something on the ground.

“Nay, it’s Saturday, Gyro, ye just haven’t left the lab since Thursday morning, speaking of which Della is driving Fenton and ye home after this.”

“I’m perfectly capable of working on this, Scrooge,” Gyro snapped as he tightened a bolt on the suit.

“Hmmm, ‘perfectly capable’ after being awake for the better part of 72 hours? Lad I watched ye drink caffeine like shots,”. Scrooge answered dryly then in a voice that left no room for discussion he went on, “ye are going home to get some rest and that is final,” Scrooge turned his attention away from Gyro’s death glare and looked directly at Drake, “lad, what’s the last thing ye remember?”

“Dropping Gosalyn off at the front door.”

“So ye remember everything up til a few hours ago?”

“I guess so.”

“Intern, what exactly is the last thing you remember?” asked Gyro, now a bit more interested, but he still didn’t look up from the gizmoduck suit, “you said you remember coming to the lab Tuesday. Is that your last memory?”

“I think so, Doctor Gearloose,” Fenton replied nervously.

“Odd.”

“This entire thing is weird.”

“Ah meant that ye lost five hours and Mr. Crackshell-Cabera lost 5 days,” replied Scrooge, “let’s make sure ah have this right, ye don’t remember what ye two were doing when the mechanics was robbed.”

“No sir.”

“Ye woke up a couple of kilometers away, behind a grocers, covered in injuries.”

Fenton nodded.

“Like yesterday,” Darkwing interrupted.

“Exactly like yesterday lad, multiple people who should have been witnesses, and ye two wake like ye have been fighting, with no memory.”

“Are we really supposed to believe that no cameras picked up on what happened at the mechanics?” asked Gyro with an annoyed look, “I find it incredibly hard to believe that no there were no cameras anywhere.”

“Data was wiped, Dr. Gearloose,” explained Fenton, “phones too.”

That had been Fenton’s first question.

“I’ve got nothing,” admitted Darkwing, crossing his arms. There was silence as Scrooge and Fenton said nothing.

“I do,” Gyro said, setting down his wrench.

Manny, who had been quiet, spelled something out with his hooves.

“No, not that!” Gyro pointed dramatically at Manny, “I’ve been looking for an opportunity to test some spyware for a while, this just might provide the perfect scenario!”

“Gearloose, whatever happened, whoever robbed the mechanics, destroyed all evidence. It covered it’s tracks completely. How is your spyware supposed to help?”

“Don’t underestimate me, Darkwing Duck, I know what I’m doing.”

It was decided that Darkwing would come back the following weekend, and test Gyro’s mysterious ‘spyware’.

Darkwing left, driving Gosalyn and himself home quickly. She had a book with her, but honestly it was probably a witch's spell book or something. Just something Webby had given Gosalyn that Scrooge wouldn’t like. There was absolutely no way she was reading a joke book. Darkwing decided he would address the book after next weekend, and promptly forgot about it.

He dropped her off at school the following week and drove back to Duckburg.

It took all day, but just before sunset Gizmoduck was back to fully functioning, and a small tracker had been added to his suit. Gyro had explained that it would also record audio.

With that, Gizmoduck and Darkwing set off.

“Where to?”

“Good question.”

“We could listen to police scanners until something suspicious happens?”

“Sounds good,” Darkwing flipped on the police scanner he had installed in his motorcycle.

A disturbance at a local diner.

A noise complaint in an apartment complex.

Quackerjack was spotted at an electronics store.

“So we’re going to the apartment,” Gizmoduck joked as Darkwing drove in the direction of the electronics store.

“That’s weird.”

“What part exactly is weird?” asked Gizmoduck, who quite frankly thought the whole thing was a bit weird.

“Quackerjack never comes to Duckburg, he barely leaves St. Canard,” Darkwing answered without looking away from the road.

“So you think Quackerjack has something to do with the robberies and widespread memory loss,” stated Gizmoduck, to which Darkwing nodded.

“I have absolutely no doubt about that.”

Darkwing swerve passed a slow car then swerved back in. Then he braked rapidly. Cars had slowed to a standstill. Darkwing pulled the ratcatcher onto the sidewalk.

“What are you doing?” asked Gizmoduck in alarm. His grip on the sidecar tightened to the point that Darkwing was slightly worried he was going to bend the metal.

“This is faster!”

“Buー look out!”

Darkwing slammed the brakes, quickly spotting the problem. There was a person with dark hair laying unmoving on the ground. They were laying on their back with their limbs sprawled like they had fallen quite suddenly. Laying next to them was a woman in a bright sundress. She was laying face first on the concrete with a single arm covering her face. A bit farther away was a man in a multi-colored tank top and neon green pants. Upon further examination there were about half a dozen people slumped on the concrete. Two of them were police officers. Darkwing killed the engine and dismounted.

He walked over to the first person. They were alive, he could see their chest rising and falling. He grasped their wrist to feel their pulse. Their heart was beating slowly, but not dangerously so. Like they were peacefully sleeping. He checked the woman's pulse, same deal. Gizmoduck had gotten to a few other pedestrians and some unconscious people sitting in their cars.

He shook the person’s shoulder, hoping to elicit a response, but they remained unconscious.

He moved them away so that they were leaning against a wall, then he moved to do the same to the woman. Darkwing shook her shoulder as well, and she rapidly sat up.

“Where? What?” she muttered, confused.

“You were unconscious. Do you know where you are?” asked Darkwing in a hurry. He needed to get to the electronics before Quackerjack left, but it would also be uncouth to leave civilians collapsed on the sidewalk.

“No? Is this not Chickago?” she said, pushing herself to her feet and stumbling towards the person Darkwing had already moved.

“No, you’re in Duckburg,” replied Darkwing, glancing over at Gizmoduck.

“I’m not supposed to be in Duckburg until next week!” she said, crawling to sit next to the unconscious person.

“I don’t know, but don’t go that way okay? It’s unsafe,” Darkwing told her, pointing towards the direction of the store.

Then a wall exploded.

“Case in point,” muttered Darkwing pointing his still extended finger at the sky. He turned away from the now screaming civilian.

Darkwing ducked down to avoid the shower of stone projectiles. They struck the ground, parking meters and cars like bullets. Gizmoduck, despite moving quickly, was still hit. Maybe it was just more obvious because every stone made a loud clicking sound as it bounced off the armour.

Darkwing peered over the car he had taken cover under. Out of the debris emerged Quackerjack, something was off about him though, he was wearing a mask that completely covered his face except his eyes, it had a filter on the mouth. He was driving a clown car with no windows and a ridiculous amount of electronics stuffed inside. He also had a gun of some kind. His eyes darted around, settling on Gizmoduck who still hadn’t bothered to take cover.

“Gizzy! I was hoping you’d come! Third times the charm right?” he screeched, laughing as he finished speaking. Darkwing, never one to be outdone, tossed a purple smoke bomb.

“I am the terror that flaps in the night, I am the leaking sink that always drips, I am Darkwing Duー”

“Blah blah blah, shouldn’t you be sleeping?” interrupted Quackerjack, “having some insomnia ducky? Well, I think I can help with that!” He whipped out the unidentified gun and pointed it directly at Darkwing’s head.

Darkwing Duck ducked behind a wall for cover while wondering to himself why he had agreed to any of this. Quackerjack threw something, a yet to be identified something. Darkwing fired his grappling gun at it. That seemed to do the trick and it exploded into shards and blue mist above Darkwings head. Darkwing suddenly hit the ground. Feeling his arms and legs covered in rope. Which had come from his grappling gun.

Gizmoduck was just as lucky or maybe he thought his armour would protect him, either way, the other projectile struck him directly in the head. Gizmoduck fell to the ground in a metallic heap.

Quackerjack stared at them for a second, unmoving, then a slow grin made its way onto his face. Quackerjack jumped back, laughing as he drove away with the stolen goods.

He was gone before Darkwing even got to his feet.

Darkwing swore, searching wildly for… something. Nothing. Quackerjack was long gone.

Gizmoduck hadn’t moved.

“Gizmoduck,” he said, kicking the arm closest to him, which achieved nothing, “fantastic,” Darkwing hurried back to the ratcatcher. He tore open the glove compartment and dug through items such as an old junior woodchuck guidebook, some expired aspirin, some purple hair ties, until he found what he was looking for.

He pushed the airhorn right next to Gizmoduck’s ear, covered his own, and pressed the button.

The loud noise sent Gizmoduck soaring into the air.

“Darkwing! Why?!”

“Huh, I guess Gosalyn was right, this thing did come in handy,” he said, staring at the airhorn in his hand, he threw it back in the glove compartment, “so, I need to test a theory, Gizmoduck, what day is it?”

“Uhhh,” Gizmoduck said, his eyes closed tightly. Darkwing wasn’t sure if he was thinking or the air horn had damaged his ear, “it’s Tuesday? Oh no, did we lose our memories again?”

“You lost your memory, Giz, come on, let's get back before anything else goes wrong.”

#darkwing duck #ducktales #emily windsnap au #Drake Mallard #fenton crackshell cabrera #mermaid au

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chroniclerdl · 3 years

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Seven Fundamentals to Writing Better Yu-Gi-Oh Duelfics

Ever wanted to write a duelfic just as good or better than canon?

Done right, duels are memorable action scenes.

Done wrong, duels shatter the suspension of disbelief. It’s already a big ask to imagine the world revolving around a card game.

You don’t want the tragedy where your readers yank the scrollbar past your duel, or worse, close your tab. Even the small pool of duelfic readers/writers like me will skip huge chunks of your chapters when the duels sag.

By implementing basic storytelling techniques tailored to dueling, you can hook your readers into following the play-by-play.

High Stakes

Consistent Rules

Sneaks Checked

“Balanced” Gameplay

Foreshadowing Victory

Engaging Description

Dramatic Tension

1. High Stakes

When you advertise your story as a duelfic, your first duel tells readers whether or not what you wrote is worth their time.

If your characters duel without a concrete reason to rip the opponent’s throat, readers already know the outcome:

You lose.

Why? The game is pointless. Who’s dropping whatever they’re doing just to read the equivalent of your characters sipping afternoon tea? If you’re introducing the setting and characters, why can’t you introduce exciting threats?

No reader expects your first duel to decide the fate of the world, but your characters still need to bet.

Characters wager life chips.

If your character loses, they suffer death or suicide-inducing despair.

Is it too much to start with life-and-death? No. Think of the life chip as the culmination of hopes and dreams.

As the story progresses, the stakes will rise, must rise. How? Others will entrust the main characters with their own life chips, and/or the life chips acquire additional meaning. Consider this loose analogy: at the end of a poker tournament, gamblers sit at the final table with stacks built from the chips of others.

Life chips mean different things to different characters. Let’s take the Duelist Kingdom arc.

Yugi’s life chip is the hope to save his grandfather (and later, his own soul)

Joey’s life chip is the hope to win the prize money to fund his sister’s medical operation

Kaiba’s life chip is the hope to save his little brother (and later, his own soul)

You don’t even need your final showdown to revolve around the fate of world; it just has to be one or more things that matter to your characters.

Also, make sure to communicate the stakes, or why the characters accept uneven bets.

If you have the chops, you can also play around with disguising the stakes. As in, your character thinks they’re wagering something small, but it’s actually their life chip. However, your readers still need a vague reason to believe that a defeat will devour the character.

Always make sure the characters stake one or more life chips!

2. Consistent Rules

If you watched the Duelist Kingdom arc and tried to understand the moves everyone made, your head exploded.

Ask yourself: will the clever scheme that your hero invented drive readers crazy?

If I write a magic system that requires a wand, this applies to all. I cannot become a genius and suddenly wave my hands to cast magic.

Demonstrate the rules early, preferably in the first duel, and keep them sacred.

If you must make an exception, establish it early. In that case, the exception becomes a well-defined branch of the rules that the readers can anticipate.

Can the players magically draw the card they need, whenever they want?

If you can establish the when and why, by all means. The readers proceed with the understanding that the players can reach into their deck like a glorified toolbox.

For example, Duel Links has a concept called “skills” that function like a player’s special ability. At the time I wrote this, Yami Yugi’s “Destiny Draw” skill lets the player take any card from their deck once per duel after losing 2000LP (and even if they stacked the top of the deck earlier!).

Card should also have the same, predictable effect. If the card prevents attacks, I doubt the text discusses physical properties or mentions holding things in the air. But you knew that, right?

The rules are the laws of the universe.

3. Sneaks Checked

I love duels. I also love getting what I want.

Why does getting what I want have to be through a duel?

If we talk, maybe we can come to an agreement. If I blackmail you, maybe you’ll give in to my demands. If I shoot you, I can loot your corpse. Give the readers a good reason as to why your characters would bother with the hassle of honest dueling and can’t wiggle from the consequences of losing.

Often, the duel takes place in the context of a tournament. Hopefully, the tournament officials are keeping a good eye on the players and cracking down on cheaters.

However, even that’s not a guarantee. What’s the key concept?

Power.

The competitors have equivalent capacity for coercion (usually violence) or have a neutral referee presiding over the match with the most capacity for coercion (shoutout to gambling manga Usogui).

Anyone who enters a game otherwise has lost before the first move.

In Yu-Gi-Oh, magical and sci-fi enforcement are common. The Shadow Realm can trap the loser in a desolate hell. In a digital world, the loser suffers deletion. Or just have good tournament officials.

Be vigilant when your duel doesn’t call upon these tropes.

Your amoral characters won’t mind blindsiding your other characters, and they won’t mind blindsiding you with a plot hole.

If you’re not careful, the readers will ask you why they played uncharacteristically fair.

4. “Balanced” Gameplay

Duels should be fair and fun…for the villain.

Ostensibly, everyone plays a balanced game, designed to give both sides a sporting chance. In reality, the villain tilts the field to their favor with one or more tricks up their sleeves. Why would your villain ever fight fair?

But that’s fine. We love rooting for the underdog and watching the villain get their comeuppance.

Overpowered ability to let the villain read minds? Deck full of unbalanced cards that makes the villain’s monsters invincible with no drawback? Creator who knows every strategy in the game? Readers will turn the page as they wonder how the hero will prevail.

The more obstacles you can throw in the hero’s way, the better.

Got custom cards? No problem, just follow a couple guidelines. After all, some duelists are more equal than others.

The hero’s deck is full of regular cards that have a cost to use. For every play they want to make, their cards insist that they give up their attack, discard to play, etc.

The villain’s deck is full of rare cards that power up their game for free. So long as you can justify why the card made it to print, the villain can play whatever they want.

For every step your hero takes, the villain gets two.

5. Foreshadowing Victory

How many times have you watched a duel where the protagonist comes up with this never-before-seen card that does exactly what the protagonist needs to clinch the win? In the final showdown, no less? It’s like the writers begged to be called amateurs and idiots.

No other genre tolerates such laziness.

However, readers don’t want an infodump of the characters’ decks. Show the cards in action. To cover the deck, you'll probably need multiple duels.

This also implies you have more freedom in how your character defeats their early opponents in the duelfic.

Does that previous statement contradict what I said about never-before-seen cards clinching the win as the mark of laziness? No, because here’s the rule:

Tolerance for the hero’s new cards decreases as the story progresses.

(Notice that I specify the hero’s new cards; your villains exist to make life harder by inventing unfair tricks.)

When you must include new cards for the hero late in the duelfic, at least find a way to make them first backfire.

Now, some writers have lots of knowledge about the card pool and metagame. Can they assume the readers a priori know the hero has access to any of the available cards in a given archetype?

I’d err on the side of caution and properly foreshadow the cards before they appear late in the duelfic. Not every reader is a walking card database. They have no reason to assume something exists unless you show the card.

Take the tolerance rule into consideration when planning your duels. If you know the awesome combo you want to use for the final turn in the duelfic climax, that’s your cue to scatter the cards into the earlier duels.

Plan the last duel first and your early duels last.

6. Description

Every reader wants a front-row seat to the action.

They’re paying you their time, so make it worth the admission: sleek combatants & budget-busting fights. Kaiba invented Solid Vision technology for a reason, so help readers envision your duels.

Who’s fighting? Describe the point-of-view’s impression of the monsters’ appearances. Red-Eyes Black Dragon should be self-explanatory.

What about a decorated monster like Time Wizard?

You could go into detail about how the red clock humanoid has yellow gears that form epaulets and purple, pointy boots and a green mustache made from clock hands and so on, but such a level of minutiae bogs pacing and invites skimming.

Readers just need to hear about a purple-caped, red clock humanoid with a wand to form an image. Their imaginations can handle the little details.

Paint appearances in broad strokes and one or two brief sentences.

How are the monsters fighting? Duel Monsters is a game where the target takes the aggressor’s attack like a champ. That doesn’t mean you can’t spice it up.

For example, my opponent’s dragon attacks my weaker knight with a fireball. My knight, interested in not dying, raises his shield. Unfortunately, he screams as the flames engulf him.

You wouldn’t just stand still with a straight face if someone armed with a knife lunged for your gut.

A fight scene is a string of action and reaction.

Most people also experience life in more senses than just sight.

A dragon’s fireball is a bright reddish-orange, hot, dries the air, smoky, and explodes with a boom on impact. I never tasted a fireball, and I hope I never do, but that’s still four senses: sight, touch, smell, and sound.

Include multiple sensory details.

Let’s spare a moment to talk about the heads-up display (HUD).

In Yu-Gi-Oh, cards have multiple stats and abilities. You’re free to mention whatever you deem necessary. No set formula exists. On one extreme, you can mention nothing to keep the narrative clean at the risk of confusing the readers. At the other extreme, infodumps about the monster’s abilities provide great detail but wreck the pacing. But there’s a cozy middle.

State only what you need from the card.

If your duels occurred before the era of Synchro, you don’t need details about levels. You can just display the basic stats to determine the stronger monster. If a deck has Pendulum monsters, just mention the scale numbers when they're played as scales. And so on.

You can also make an index of new cards at the end of a chapter.

BONUS TIP! Understanding show, don’t tell.

What is show, don’t tell? At its core, this concept refers to immersing your readers in the senses and feelings instead of exposition. Unfortunately, that definition is a bit vague to execute. After writing for a while, I had my lightbulb moment.

Don’t TELL the readers how to think or force-feed them a conclusion.

SHOW your readers the evidence.

Here’s a written example from Joey vs. Rex in Duelist Kingdom. See if you can spot what makes this prose telling instead of showing.

“Joey watched nervously as Two-Headed King Rex stomped Baby Dragon. He messed up his Baby Dragon-Time Wizard combo!”

You can see two failures: “nervously” and the second sentence.

Adverbs like “nervously” and other “-ly” friends get a bad rep because rookies tend to use them as telling crutches (especially beware adverbs after dialogue tags!). “Nervously” tells me how Joey reacts. But what does “nervously” look like? One character might bite their thumb. Another might fidget in their seat. The adverb in this context lacks nuance.

We also have the second sentence: “He messed up his Baby Dragon-Time Wizard combo!” When you’re explaining the “why” to something, you’re telling. It’s like talking down to your readers.

Contrast with the next example.

“A bead of sweat rolled off Joey’s face as Two-Headed King Rex stomped Baby Dragon. He stared at the Time Wizard in his hand.”

The first sentence shows me Joey’s physical reaction. I see him sweating, so I think he’s nervous.

We also see a second physical reaction: “He stared at the Time Wizard in his hand.” This comes on the heels of the first sentence, and I also have knowledge of when Joey used the Baby Dragon-Time Wizard combo in a prior duel. Combined, I think Joey is ruminating about a missed chance.

Readers are smart; they’ll catch your intention if you show the proof.

7. Dramatic Tension

I bet you know what it's like to draw a bad hand.

Imagine: The hero staggers into the arena, and the villain just needs to win one duel to take over the world. The villain draws a bunch of powerups with no monster, but the hero draws a one-turn-kill combo.

Anticlimactic. The readers throw that duelfic straight into the trash.

Don’t just write real-life duels. “It really happened” doesn’t mean it’s emotionally satisfying.

That’s why we have literary structure.

Success and setback pace together with progressive intensity to maximize dramatic tension and emotional payoff.

I’ll spare the nitty-gritty theory detail, but your duels should look like this on a basic level:

Part 1: Villain’s basic threats. Introduces the villain’s deck and style.

Part 2: Villain’s minor strategy. The villain’s first serious attempt to defeat the hero.

Part 3: Villain’s major strategy. The hero’s reversal! But the villain has worse in store.

Part 4: Hero’s imminent defeat. The hero must break through, or else will instantly lose!

Ideally, you’re also integrating the story itself into the duel; themes and duels synergize to create a stronger effect.

You may notice how the format resembles the three-act structure.

Act I is Part 1

Act II until the Act II midpoint is Part 2

Act II midpoint until Act III is Part 3

Act III is part 4.

I’ll use Yugi/Pharaoh vs. Pegasus in Duelist Kingdom as an example.

Part 1: Mind scan. Pegasus can read minds to counter combos.

Part 2: Toon World. Indestructible, cartoonified monsters attack.

Part 3: Shadow game. Toons destroyed! But playing a shadow game weakens Yugi.

Part 4: Yugi passes out. The Pharaoh must find a new way to stop Pegasus’s mind scan!

Figure out each part of the structure for your duels before writing the turn-by-turn plays.

By the way, modern real-life Yu-Gi-Oh duels don’t suit drama because the rules provide weak constraints to creating strong boards. A good modern deck usually establishes a scary turn one board and jumps straight into Part 4, whereas other card games like Magic: The Gathering and Hearthstone force the powerhouse cards to wait several turns until the player builds the mana to pay costs.

You can still write a good modern duel. Here’s a basic outline of Arc-V’s duel between Sora and Shay. Technically, “tragedy” is the structure of this duel, so I’ll make Shay the “hero” to flip it and keep matters simplified.

Part 1: Basic monsters. These clash before a monster appears from the Extra Deck.

Part 2: Frightfurs. They come one after another to crush Shay’s Raidraptors.

Part 3: Sora’s wrath. Rise Falcon survives! But Sora’s malevolent nature comes to light.

Part 4: Frightfur Chimera. Sora chomps candy and summons his biggest fusion horror!

If following the four parts is too difficult for you, that’s okay. They're just logical extensions of one basic concept. Keep the following in mind, and you’ll never go wrong:

The villain’s subsequent threats become increasingly overwhelming.

Conclusion

Much of writing a duel boils down to storytelling technique.

Let’s tl;dr the main takeaways.

High Stakes: Minimum ante is the life chip, worth a character’s hopes and dreams.

Consistent Rules: Everyone plays by the same logic.

Sneaks Checked: Characters can’t skip the duels with violence and coercion.

“Balanced” Gameplay: Villains enjoy advantages.

Foreshadowing Victory: Readers have a chance to predict the winning combo.

Engaging Description: Immerse senses and invite reactions.

Dramatic Tension: The villain makes progressively stronger threats.

As a duelfic reader/writer, I can gauge a writer's ability by measuring their duels with the fundamentals. Many fan writers struggle; even the canon writers struggle.

But writing a duelfic isn’t rocket science. With practice, minding the fundamentals will become second nature.

And don't forget to tag your story as a duelfic. It's a whole genre in fanfic, so sort it properly and help readers from the future find you.

May the heart of the cards be with you.

…

Want to see in-depth examples of my advice? I rewrote the Orichalcos arc to reimagine its untapped potential without the failures of the canon presentation. You can find it on FFnet and AO3.

#yugioh #ygo #yugioh fanfiction #yugioh fandom #fanfic writing #duelfic #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #how to write #listicles

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butterfly-winx · 4 years

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🌍 for Eraklyon?

Oh anon, you know where my mind has been at recently. I have a whole log of designs to share, but for future reference, please send me a character name with these or I can and will go ham as seen below!

So, first of all, Eraklyon appears very French inspired to me with the big courts lavish parties and strict social code and I specifically settled on 1830-60s European fashion as key inspiration. Before you ask, yes it is because of that hideous empire waistline dress Bloom wears in season 3.

Eraklyon fashion designers in my AU would use a lot of gathered fabric, brocades and intricate pattern symbolism, as well as one key element that sets these apart from historical fashion: asymmetry. Eraklyonites go mad for that concept, they believe an imbalance fuels everything in motion and love to incorporate it into their fashion as well.

Sky here is wearing an outfit that is about “everyday fancy” for our prince. The billowing shirtsleeves and ankle boots are top fashion, whereas the colour choice somewhat more traditional, with light saturated colours symbolising youth and virility. The buckle worn on belts is often enchanted to grant the wearer protection from magic or is a straight up shield generator to make the wearer invulnerable to physical attacks. It depends on how paranoid one is really, but Sky having learned his lesson with malicious magic users has it enchanted with a protective spell. Jut in case, you know.

Brandon’s monochromatic outfit is a step up in formality from Sky’s outfit. Capes and capelets are predominately worn by nobility and you wouldn’t necessarily find this design element among common folk. But Brandon is a special case having spent most of his life in the castle either protecting or pretending to be Sky, so he gets away with it without looking like he tries to dress above his class to impress. When he does want to impress he would wear something traditionally “mismatched” like the outfit on the right, fit for a court gathering or even a coronation.

The left outfit is actually a little bit more Indian modern formal wear inspired, but the left is absolutely regency. Corseted looks are very elegant and the asymmetry allows for the corset and the jacket to be shown off at the same time as part of one layer.

Moving on to women’s fashion. Taking note on the passage of time I think Bloom’s empire waist dress was terribly out of fashion, and this dress is what I think Sky could gift her. It would be not too overdressed for a date night or museum visit, but would be still passable for a court event.

Oh the puffy sleeves, how I adore them. They help create the distinct bell-shaped silhouette of modern Eraklyon fashion. This dress is nice, but it’s nothing special put into context.

So, let’s go even further and say Sky commissions her a full court dress, complete with a train, huge puffy sleeves and an asymmetric organic design. The pink though strong would not be offensively outstanding, keeping in mind Bloom is just visiting the court and should not outshine the local royalty. But it is definitely elegant enough to idle bye hanging onto the crown prince’s arm. Bloom would glow up, she would be having the time of her life dressed like a princess from her storybooks.

This dress would fit nice into a royal court, but it definitely says “I’m not the star of the show”. What i’m trying to say is, there is levels of more fancy up from this.

Meaning Diaspro. In a full, hooped, extremely social distancing appropriate skirt. Needless to say any dancing that is done in the courts of Eraklyon is without touching the partner for more than a brush of fingers. This is a very flashy outfit proudly representing the colours of the Duchy of Isis, Diaspro’s home. She would probably only wear this if she was at a function where representing her status was important. Like say when Sky wanted to officially announce who his girlfriend was? Yeah, Diaspro would have probably rocked up to that in her proudest regalia.

But there is also a lot of more muted fashion to go around.

Queen Mother Samara is demonstrating that the asymmetric designs can be as subtle as the difference in pattern of the fabric on the two sides of a dress. The shape here is much more simple and reminiscent of 1820-30′s styles, which are considered more traditional and conservative - generally speaking out of style, but like as if you saw someone older in extreme wide legged trousers, but knew that they were only wearing it because it was the height of fashion when they were young. It would come off definitely a touch of retro if it were worn by someone younger, but is a perfectly modest and elegant walking dress for someone of Samara’s age and standing.

The early 19th century were dramatic times, it feels like no corner of a design was left without imbued intention. There is a lot of colour symbolism going around - bright, bold meaning young, and muted, dark meaning old are just very general things. Add in details like social signalling, colour choice to represent your royal or noble family or pledging your allegiance to someone simply by wearing a specific colour, and you get so much drama just based on clothing. I wanted that represented in Eraklyonite fashion and honestly I was having a field day with it even before this ask popped up.

Hope this entertained you! :)

#asks #winx club #eraklyon #fashion design #ask game #locally sourced art #butterfly fic #technically worldbuilding #Anonymous

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teatraysandtypewriters · 5 years

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The Skywalker Saga Ranked By My Favorite Costume From Each Movie

1. Attack of the Clones, Padmé’s picnic dress

I love this outfit so much. The embroidery, the hair, the sleeves, everything. That fabric is so 2000s and I love it. Also, Attack of the Clones is the first Star Wars movie I remember watching, and little seven year old me thought this was the most gorgeous dress I had ever seen, so there’s a hearty dose of nostalgia to go with it.

2. The Phantom Menace, Padmé's peace celebration dress

This cape is so much fun. There’s a lot of really great Padmé outfits in this movie, but I’m always drawn to this one. It’s pretty and fun and it’s an interesting balance between the ornate formal looks of Queen Amidala and the relatively simpler looks of Padmé. There’s something really satisfying that I can’t quite articulate about having the basics of the makeup that has served to disguise throughout the movie but it still being recognizably Padmé’s face.

3. The Empire Strikes Back, Leia’s Hoth outfit

Definitely my favorite Leia look ever, and by far my favorite costume from the original trilogy, which overall I thought was pretty lackluster costume wise. It’s practical, interesting, and looks great without overly sexualizing her. This is a no nonsense outfit for a Rebellion leader. Also, of all the Leia hairstyles, this is the one I most wish I could recreate on myself.

4. The Force Awakens, Rey’s outfit

I love this look a whole lot. It’s practical, interesting, unique, and fits very well with Rey as a character and her circumstances, especially with the weathering to make it look actually lived in and grungy. It's also flattering without taking away function and has the perfect amount of drama. Plus, a truly great hairstyle.

5. A New Hope, Leia’s hooded dress

A classic. Simple, pretty, memorable. I would totally wear this. (Also, whenever I see this dress, I think of Carrie Fisher requesting her obituary read "I drowned in moonlight, strangled by my own bra” and am reminded of what a freaking legend she was.)

6. The Rise of Skywalker, Finn’s outfit

Okay, so admittedly this movie hasn’t come out yet so I can’t say for sure that this will be my favorite, but I really dig Finn’s look from the trailers. (Poe’s was a close contender as well.) I like the nods to original trilogy costumes (like the striped pants) while also being different and frankly more interesting. It also conveys a sense of Finn’s character and how he looks more comfortable in his role in the Resistance.

7. The Return of the Jedi, Boba Fett’s armor

This is one of the more iconic Star Wars costumes, and I like it even more with the added background of Mandalorian armor we’ve gotten since the original trilogy. Plus it just looks really cool.

8. Revenge of the Sith, Obi-Wan and Anakin’s Jedi robes

To be fair, despite its low ranking, I actually really love most of the costumes in this movie. It’s just that none of them stand out to me as “Oh my god, that’s my favorite!” So I went with the Jedi robes in general, Obi-Wan’s and Anakin’s in particular, because it’s a costume I really like in the prequels as a whole. I think it was a good choice for the Jedi Order, because there’s a lot of uniformity, but just enough slight variation to make it interesting, which isn’t a half bad metaphor for the order itself. And the visual contrast of Anakin’s dark variation and Obi-Wan’s light, more traditional version is very effective. Also the robe is so dramatic, which Obi-Wan makes full use of.

9. The Last Jedi, Leia’s fabulously dramatic coat

The fact that when I was trying to think of my favorite Last Jedi look off the top of my head, this was the only one I could really even remember kind of speaks volumes. It’s not that the costumes are bad--I quite like them. I just didn’t find them super memorable, I guess. (Apart from Admiral Holdo’s look, but to be honest I like her hair way more than her outfit.) But this was a pretty badass look for Leia. The drama! The fashion! That one iconic shot of her looking out over Crait!

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dapper-ships-herself · 5 years

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I wanted to post my drawings for the ball today, but they're not quite ready. So in the meanwhile, here are some ficlets I was going to post with the drawings, but I'll post them here first as like a sneak peak~

@nougatships

(I'm sorry it's not under read more, but I'm on mobile.)

---

Dazai

"Okay, you ready?" Gillian called around the corner.

Dazai chuckled "Yes, belladonna." He adjusted the collar of his suit, running a thumb over the delicate white embroidery.

"Right, okay." Gillian, out of sight, also fiddled with her suit, more out of nervousness than admiration. Sure, they had to dress well for work nearly everyday, but they've never had to dress this fancy before. Plus, she'd worked hard to design their outfits, and she liked how they turned out, but what if everyone else disagreed? She hasn't seen Dazai in his suit yet, but there's no doubt he'll look perfect, he's an asshole like that.

"Daaarliiing?" Dazai's sing song call broke her out of her spiral "The anticipation is too much! Hurry up before I come in there myself~"

"Ah! No, no, I'm coming." She huffed out a breath, patted her hair, and squeezed her eyes shut to steel herself. Before she could change her mind, she quickly stepped into view.

Immediately, the self doubt started to creep back in, but a split second after that there was a shriek across from her.

Dazai had an arm thrown dramatically over his eyes and leaned back "Ah! My mortal eyes can not handle this radiance before me! A goddess has graced me with her presence!"

Gillian giggled, all traces of unease melting away as her boyfriend continued to lament about how he didn't think it was possible for her to get anymore beautiful and yet there she stands. "Alright, you can cut it out."

He paused his speech to cross the room in a few even strides, coming to stand flush against her, wrapping an arm around her waist and taking one of her hands in his. "Oh, but I can't. You've outdone yourself tonight, Gillian." He brought the hand in his grasp to his lips.

She cleared her throat, unable to hold his gaze, but incredibly happy none the less. "You damn charmer."

He laughed, a warm sound deep in his throat, and ducked down to kiss her lips. He took a step back, bringing one hand to his chest a bowing his head slightly, the other hand extended in invitation. "Are you ready to head out? The party awaits."

Gillian took his extended hand, taking a step closer so that this time it was she who could press a kiss to him, right on the cheek. "Yep, this party won't know what hit it. Just got to grab those rum cakes I made. You didn't touch them, did you?"

"What kind of man do you take me for?"

"You totally ate one."

"Just one~"

---

Erza

Gillian hummed, securing the clasp on Erza's dress and fluffing out the silk attached so it flowed elegantly around her figure. "There! Perfect." She took a step back to admire her handiwork, a hand brought up to her chin and a smile on her face. "I think that looks good, what about you?" She lifted her gaze to Erza's face and stopped short.

She had been so focused on getting the outfit perfect, that she hadn't really taken in the whole picture yet. Her blazing red hair flowed past her shoulders in delicate waves, complimenting the blue of her dress. A gloved hand reached up to twirl a finger through the locks, and she saw a slight blush on her cheeks. It probably matched the one that was certainly on her own face.

"It's exquisite, Gillian. Thank you for taking so much care in this."

"N-No problem." She said. She wrung her hands restlessly in front of her. Ah, maybe she'd made a mistake. Erza was just too beautiful on a daily basis anyway, how in the world was she supposed to function at this party?

She cleared her throat and smiled "Welp, Erza, this party is gonna start with or without us, so we should probably get going." She reached for her own gloves on the table beside her and pulled the material on, flexing her fingers to test it.

Erza came up beside her, threading their fingers together and smiling tenderly. "Ready when you are."

On their way out the door, Gillian grabbed the special holiday cheesecake she'd prepared, and they were ready.

---

Shinobu

"Gillian, could you help me with my hair?" Shinobu called over her shoulder. Across the room, her girlfriend was adjusting the belts around her waist. She looked up with a smile at the request.

"Sure thing." She said, crossing the floor and standing behind Shinobu, taking the hair ornament from her hand.

Shinobu faced forward and looked at her reflection in the mirror, taking in the outfit she wore; the cape flowing down her shoulders, the long sleeves that draped past her hands, the wide belt cinching her waist. She hummed, closing her eyes in a smile. "I'm impressed, I had no idea you were so capable with design. Looks like you're good for more than just slaying demons, hm?" She teased.

"Oi, shut it." Gillian mumbles around the pins in her mouth. She takes one out to insert it into Shinobu's hair. The large, fan shaped hair piece is beautiful, but it's size and weight make it difficult to secure. "Isn't it important for a lady to be multi talented?"

"True, true." She said.

There was silence after that, a comfortable one as Gillian concentrated on her girlfriend's hair. Finally, she stepped back and looked at her through the mirror, a grin on her face. "Shinobu, my dear, I think I'm a genius."

Shinobu giggled, standing from her seat. "Yes, you certainly think so."

"Heeey."

She turned on her heel to face Gillian, resting a hand on her cheek and bringing their faces close. "And I agree~"

She slowly leaned in closer, Gillian fluttered her eyes closed.

Just before their lips touched, Shinobu pulled back, hopping in place and clapping her hands happily. "Come along then, we want to get there while the imagawayaki you made is nice and fresh." She skipped past the stunned girl and through the doorway. "Come on!"

Gillian blushed, whirling around "Sh-Sh-Shinobu! That's not fair!"

#yuletide f/o event #self ship #self ship community #self shipper #self shipping #fictional other #f/o #self ship fic #dapper writes #dazian #erzian #shinobian

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kentonramsey · 5 years

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JW Anderson Drew The Coolest Crowd Of London Fashion Week So Far

On the penultimate day of London Fashion Week, JW Anderson’s AW20 womenswear show drew the coolest crowd of the season so far. From the one and only Eve to The End of the F***ing World’s Naomi Ackie and Sex Education’s Ncuti Gatwa via Alexa Chung, a suave Billy Porter and musicians Rina Sawayama and Charli XCX, the front row was testament to the Northern Irish designer’s reputation for putting on a show.

If the success of last season’s balloon-sleeve trench coat is anything to go by, the voluminous looks we saw on the catwalk today will be a surefire hit come autumn. The collection was a masterclass in playing with proportion. Kaia Gerber led a cast of models who floated down the catwalk in expansive outerwear (think mutton-leg sleeves and dramatic collars with gigantic leather lapels), but it wasn’t just the sizeable pieces that spoke volumes.

Knitwear fans will fall for the dress-jumper hybrids, complete with contrasting capes, while those familiar with Anderson’s subtle and sophisticated take on glitz will appreciate the glittering mohair looks and sheer holographic pieces. Fabric was ruffled and gathered on shoulders to create larger-than-life collars, sleeves were fluted and hems were bubbled. Every one of the 41 looks sent down the catwalk focused on movement, inspired, according to the show notes, by “mixed media art…taken from the familiar to the beautifully strange, blowing them up to extreme volumes.”

Anderson has come mighty far since the rubber collars and paisley prints of his very first collection. His LVMH-backed label will turn 10 this time next year, meaning we’ll be celebrating a decade of his ingenious design, from that first foray into womenswear through to last season’s showstopping gold suiting and bejewelled breastplates. How does the designer think his brand has evolved in those 10 years? “I think we’re a bit more grown-up but still have those really essential parts of our DNA that have been there since 2011,” Anderson tells me ahead of his London Fashion Week AW20 show. “I think I keep evolving by staying curious. I love finding things that challenge me as a designer and finding ways to work with them.”

One such challenge is making luxury fashion accessible and relevant to those outside the industry bubble – a barrier he has successfully broken through. For his JW Anderson x Uniqlo collaborations, the fifth of which will be dropping next month, he fuses his aesthetic trademarks (think flashes of bold colour among a muted palette, utilitarian detailing and functional fabrication, plus a smattering of playful illustration) with the Japanese retailer’s high quality yet affordable offering. “I think these partnerships are extremely important,” he says. “Let us be a bit more democratic and reach a bigger audience.” We can expect plenty of spring-fresh gingham and patchwork from the upcoming SS20 collection, as well as a move into kidswear. With gender-defying pieces already central to his label, this expansion will allow anyone and everyone to cop a slice of the brand.

Heading up his own brand and turning out phenomenally successful high street collaborations aren’t the only reasons Anderson is often referred to as the hardest working figure in fashion. He’s also creative director of luxury Spanish label Loewe, works closely with emerging talent (in 2018 he published Your Picture / Our Future, a coffee table book compiling the work of up-and-coming photographers who were shortlisted for an exhibition of the same name) and, most recently, was announced as part of the Moncler Genius 2020 lineup.

Following in the footsteps of Simone Rocha and Valentino’s Pierpaolo Piccioli, Anderson trawled through his label’s archives for the Moncler collection. “It has been such an incredible experience working with them. The craftsmanship and quality is outstanding,” he says of the experience. “We had this concept of an inflated archive. We looked at key pieces from the history of the brand and sort of blew them up for the Moncler collection. There is the ruffled short for instance. Or this giant hat that we did ages ago but is very much in the JW Anderson DNA.”

Leading a brand with such a 360° hold on fashion, I wonder what he thinks the secret is to being a truly global name? “I remember when JW Anderson first got onto Instagram, it was before any of the really big brands were on it,” he muses. “It was incredibly successful for us, but I think a lot of social channels have made it harder for small brands to find their niche. They have to constantly evolve and try new things.”

Speaking of new things, the designer’s Soho store is opening on 13th March. With a design concept of having always been part of the local landscape, we can expect the store to feature classic Soho neon signage and a distinct gentleman’s club feel. “We worked with these architects, 6a, who I worked with on the Hepworth Gallery exhibition, and we decided to keep this idea of two shops with two distinct interiors because the space was originally two different shops that we combined into one.” Why Soho of all places? “Soho is so incredibly diverse,” he explains. “There is the LGBTQI+ element but also so many different ages and ethnicities. It just felt right for us.”

Whether it’s opening up shop, collaborating with the high street, hosting exhibitions or discovering emerging talent, there’s no stopping Jonathan Anderson, the fashion industry’s most prolific powerhouse. For us, though, the collections themselves are still where the magic really begins – just as this season proved.

Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?

The A-List Were The Best Dressed At LFW

Shrimps Brought The Queen To London Fashion Week

Molly Goddard Launches Menswear & We Want It All

JW Anderson Drew The Coolest Crowd Of London Fashion Week So Far published first on https://mariakistler.tumblr.com/

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alaskanna · 5 years

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Love Takes Up The Glass of Time, or more rambling nonsense no one asked for about ‘Anne of Avonlea’ 1987

Miss Stacy has a posh office!

The story about the cruel teacher 🧐

That teacher is certainly having fun painting the set!

I love Pauline’s guimpe that she wears in her first scene.

“My husband never et anyone, dead or alive.”

I feel like Emmaline’s skirts are long for a thirteen year olds

Yeesh!! That piano is terribly out of tune!

Is there a hole in Mrs. Harris’s wheelchair?

Mrs. Harris is already quite bold! No public piano playing needed!

That piano is dusty! I wonder if they had interns to dust the piano, Amelia Bedilia style? And from under who’s couch did they capture the dust bunnies?

‘Tattaling todies’

The costumers did a good job with accessories!

Pauline isn’t wearing enough underwear. She’s missing a shift, and a corset. Camisole is pretty though. The black taffeta dress was boned (and probably terribly hot!) but she should have had a corset for at least that scene.

How would Anne’s dress fit Pauline?

‘And don’t slide down the bannisters!’

Is Emmaline’s sailor blouse the same as Diana’s?

The fall colors are so pretty!

There’s that bird again.

Mr Harris et his wife’s day cap?

Poor Mrs. Harris!

‘This is a degenerate age, Miss Shirley’ They say that about every age!

I like how the girls kick their feet in time with the music.

Pauline’s flowers are obviously fake! 😂

‘Babies are never common. Each one is a miracle!’ - Anne Shirley, a baby loving nympho. 😏

The sheep chase! A couple of the sheep were showing off for the camera!

The Rollings Reliable Baking Powder strikes again!

Pauline’s little cape is so pretty.

Miss Stacy’s tricorne hat!!!!!!!!

So do you think Anne has a bit of a crush on Mr Harris?

Miss Stacy has such lovely costumes. *sighs*

Poor Katherine! I do know her character is based on the book, and I like the fact that the writers pulled out the similarities between she and Anne, and what Anne could become.

Steam train!

So are Mrs Harris and Pauline still in mourning for Mr Harris?

‘We are not hungry.’

Ooh, Pauline’s dress has velvet trimming on the puff sleeves!

I kind of think that most of the skirts don’t have enough oomph to them. Need some starch in them petticoats, and maybe some wee bustle pads!

In another life, Anne must have been a therapist.

‘What isn’t to be, sometimes happens.’

Another bridge...and then after Anne crosses it, Gilbert appears!!

Gilbert and Christine get engaged in this version. Didn’t happen in the books, but I can see why the tv writers chose to do this.

‘I’m so happy for you...’. Anne wonders why her heart is breaking!

‘Don’t forget me’ 😭

Anne doesn’t know what she’s feeling. You love him Anne! Everyone can see!

Mr Harris has multiple cars?

I don’t think Anne had a book published in any of the novels, but oh well.

Anne is wearing Matthew’s pearls again!

Some beautiful gowns at the ball! Maybe not Worth, but still pretty!

I like how simple and innocent Anne’s dress is, but I don’t think cold shoulder sleeves were fashionable then. 🥶

Would Anne be the type to wear a bust improver and pad her hips? That’s actually how that fashionable silhouette was achieved.

Again, skirts need more oomph! Starched and or ruffley petticoats, or skirts were lined with tarlatan or other stiff materials to give them more body.

She kicked him!

For as many books as Anne reads, you’d think she’d be more genre savvy!

Second proposal!

Of course she turns it down.

Pauline just needs to learn to live her own life.

Anne is able to charm just about everyone! Did she ever fail?

I’m happy that Mrs Harris gave Pauline her blessing to marry Isaac.

So I guess this is set 1902-1903

It really is just like Rachel to have fascination with the crime section of a newspaper! All those lurid tales she can gossip about at the Presbyterian ladie’s functions.

Katherine came to Green Gables!

Those flowers are definitely real!

Katherine-with-a-K!

“Does life never frighten you with it’s bleakness, Anne Shirley?”

Oh, Katherine is holding baby Fred!

Scarlet fever instead of typhoid.

“There’s a book of Revelation in everyone’s life. I’ve been so wrong.”

That whistling is eerie. So is the night.

And so she runs off, with her hair all out and looking quite a fright.

There’s the bridge again!

And Christine and Gilbert’s wedding is off.

Since we lack Phil, I think is was a good choice to have Anne go to Gilbert while he was ill; it also make it more dramatic that way.

Apple trees!

Anne must have done Katherine’s hair for her! And she seems so much happier!

Alice Penhallow’s bonfire instead of her wedding. Okay.

More geese!

I am a bit sad that we never got the wild apple tree scene from the first bit of ‘Anne of the Island’. I really like the subtle sensuality of it, and I think it’s so funny that generally genre savvy Anne didn’t see how ridiculously romantic it was! 🤣

The bridge again!

“I don’t want sunburst or marble halls, I just want you.”

Ahh, that hug at the end!!! So sweet! 😍

#anne of avonlea 1987 #shirbert #anne of avonlea #anne of green gables #anne shirley

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ambiguouslyliterate-blog · 6 years

Text

Respawn Point Ch. 7: A Guide to Totally Legitimate Advertising Practices

“I swear to Notch…” Slenda groaned. She tried to push off the ground, her arms wobbling under her weight. San falling on top of her didn’t make it any easier. My mind hazy from the fall I tried to move, only for a stabbing pain to shoot from my leg. The limb was twisted by the fall, my right ankle bent at an odd angle and a crooked angle broken into my left. Fall damage… I thought to myself.

As my body fell into a helpless, sore lull, my eyes began to roam around the walls of our prison. It was a tall chamber with walls carved from ancient sandstone and the ceiling pouring dust around us in a veil. The walls were lit sparsely with torches and lined with texts in a strange language, likely stolen from a desert temple somewhere just to fit the aesthetic, or maybe it was just conveniently in the ground.

We’d landed in a small sandy pit in the center, the light from the surface contained in a small square high above our heads. Our captor stood under two torches in front of us, a golden eye glinting softly from under the tip of his hat. He was thin, his body draped in a blue coat that extended his silhouette, his lengthy blonde hair spilling out from under his feathered hat. The thief looked more at place in an opera house than in an underground lair, especially with the black mask that covered his mouth and nose.

“Please..?” VillainFan42’s quivered. Slenda and I sighed. His voice always broke the façade, “I’d appreciate if you could play my game, I could really use the feedback…”

San rose groggily from Slenda’s midsection, her eyes half-lidded as her hands skidded on the piles of sand, her body rolling over Slenda’s like a drunk slime, “Oh, I have some feedback for you… VF, was it?” San grumbled. Waking up just when you can get your two cents in? I thought, scoffing, Where have I seen that before? She clawed at the sand to pull herself forward, “Let’s start with the visual representation.”

The thief stepped back for a moment, his eye moving amongst the features of the room. Begrudgingly, let her continue.

“Great use of pistons for the drop, visually stunning… But the presentation!” She grunted, pulling her jaggedly misshapen legs out from under her so-called friend, “There was no buildup! No foreshadowing or bait, I felt more surprised than anything.”

Well, you were supposedly unconscious at the time. But go on.

“Two out of five.”

The phantom thief gasped, his eye wide. He looked shattered. The thief pulled his cape closer, his strained expression clear even with his mouth covered.

“B- But, it’s a trap! Isn’t it supposed to be unexpected?”

San waggled a finger at VF. I wondered if she remembered we were his captives. Notch, he didn’t seem like he remembered either, “No no no, there’s got to be some theatricality to it. You can’t just pull the rug out from under a group like that. You need to make them afraid, let them doubt their senses, get them really looking over their shoulders! Then, when they’re at they’re most vulnerable, you wait someone to say something like “It was probably nothing” or “What’s the worst that could happen?” and WHAM!! That’s when you do it.” The thief shifted himself, turning his body just enough to face away from us. He placed a hand on his chin, tapping as he thought to himself. His hand drifted, pulling nervously at his mask. A single eye darted to us and his whole body flinched in response, almost as if he’d forgotten the three of us were laying broken in a heap on his floor.

“O- Okay, that makes sense… But wasn’t it cool when I stole all your equipment and items…?” He muttered in a quiet voice. My arm flinched, my palm patting an empty pocket. Slenda’s eyes grew wide as she reached into the collar of her sweater, her hands grabbing at air as she grew frantic. San nodded, her lower lip out. She stroked her chin, admiring the new facet of our situation.

I slammed my fist in the sand, glaring at VF, “What the Nether did you do to all our potions?! And my pickaxe!”

VF pulled at his cape in an attempt to throw his silhouette, but it just flapped feebly, the thief sighing as it fell at his side. Grumbling, he put out an arm, a ghostly mist curling up from his sleeve. The mist stretched, wisps sharpening into the form of fingers. It was more like a claw then a hand, but it moved fluidly and naturally through the air as if it was a part of him. Like an animal’s tail. He let a miniaturized pickaxe fall from his sleeve, the phantom hand catching it.

“This is my mod.” He said simply, “It’s like a… A ghost hand. It’s kinda useful.” His voice was still low. The situation began to set in, He’s definitely a threat… Not just an RPer or nerd, he’s a real modder, I thought, muscles in my stomach tightening, Though, he really does need to work on his presentation.

Slenda snapped at him, demanding our items back, but he only continued to mutter quietly about his trap, ignoring her. Honestly it was hard to tell whether he was talking to us or the floor, “I’ll try to do better next time. This went way better than my last trap though. I sealed these two adventurers in a tank of rising water where they couldn’t use their weapons--only one of them could swim—I thought it was pretty daring, but afterwards they said it was just so-so… I’m optimistic about my next one at least.”

I sighed loudly, realizing we’d returned to the trap workshop. I looked at Slenda. She was fuming, protesting sternly to a deaf audience. San and VF were too busy discussing traps.

“Yeah, that’d be an automatic zero out of five for me.” San said, laying her head on her shoulder, a confident smirk trying to mask the pain in her legs, “Too much water.”

The thief nodded thoughtfully and thanked San, the creeper girl making a short bow. Slenda coughed, calling VF’s attention. He looked at her in started confusion for a few moments before his eye lit up, his body swinging around.

“Oh! Crapbaskets, I almost forgot!”

VillainFan pressed a button on the wall behind him, the sand around us spilling and shaking as machines moved out of sight. Slenda glanced around nervously, trying to right herself on broken legs so she could run. San beamed, scanning the room, absolutely delighted at the new addition. Before we could run or even know what we were running from, a ring of iron bars rose up from the ground around us, three blocks high on all sides, sealing us in.

Our captor stood before us with a sinister pride, knowing we could do little to escape. I thought of mining my way out, but the emptiness of my pocket struck me suddenly, my heart sinking. Before we could have just broken through and limped away, mined our way out of the underground, but now…

“This isn’t half bad!” San cheered, knocking on the bars. I swear I could see VF blush.

The thief hit another button in the wall that was next to the other one, this one causing the wall behind him to open up, a door-sized chunk of the wall recessing into the sandstone around it. How long was he putting this together?? I questioned, This place is a fully functioning secret base!

The thief turned, his ghostly hand extending from his body, twisting off his shoulder, tossing the pickaxe he’d stolen at the floor so that it planted firmly in the ground. His body began to disappear in the darkness of the doorway, the light of the connected room blotted out. He cast a golden eye over his shoulder.

“No mercy, eh?” San asked, smirking.

VF chuckled, taking a long stride through the door and throwing up the end of his coat so that it flapped dramatically behind him. Crap. It actually worked this time.

“Mercy is for wimps.”

The door slammed, leaving us in the amber darkness of dim torches, the walls flickering, claustrophobic. There was an authentic pressure as he left. I started to feel unsure as I stared around at the walls, my mind pushing escape scenarios that I knew wouldn’t work. I began to doubt that we would ever leave.

“Well, at least he left us alone, maybe he’s not that smart after all…” Slenda said weakly, pulling herself across the mound she laid on, sand spilling around her in small clouds. San shrugged, “I dunno, I thought he was pretty cool at the end there.”

The blocks in the wall moved suddenly, the shape of a hat and a single eye poking around the corner.

“R- Really?” Our captor asked nervously.

Slenda stared, bemused. Her cuddle buddy flashed VF a thumbs-up and he disappeared back around the corner. Slenda’s head fell into her open hands, “We’re being held captive by a loser…”

We surveyed the cage, finding it without cracks or openings, the iron bars freshly made. It would take a while to punch through them… But it should still be possible. I propped myself up against the wall and delivered and swung my first hard at the bars, only for it to softly bounce off, almost like there was a thick padding around the bar. I tried to grip the steel only for my fingers to freeze a pixel away from it, unable to make true contact.

“What the…?”

“Aaand he has a command block active,” Slenda groaned, “Fantastic.”

I stared at the bars, imagining the protective field around them. Command blocks were a thing I’d only heard of, before now. They worked like admin commands, but were on all the time and anchored to a block. Like tiny robotic gods you could keep hidden in the floor. They could teleport large groups of people, give anyone within their field of influence items, and, unfortunately for us, make blocks in their vicinity unbreakable.

San reclined against the bars, “Dang, that ghost boy really turned this whole thing around, didn’t he? I can dig it.”

“Ugh, we could always kill each other. Whoever gets hit will go back to the Sandy Speakeasy and can come rescue the rest of us.” Slenda posited. I shivered.

"Not... A great option?" I squeaked, Slenda rolling her eyes.

I sighed, my mind beginning to skim through scenarios, flipping swiftly through plans and discarding them just as quick, my body sinking into the corner made by two bars. Can’t dig under, can’t climb over, can’t go through… Would rather not die. It was hard to find a truly practical option. I went back to the desert, retracing our encounters, trying to think of what mod I had. Nope… I thought, blowing out a disheartened puff of air, Dusty’s drinks. Not exactly useful here.

Pulling myself vertically along the bars, I got myself back to a sitting position, holding out my hand. I focused, a shiver running through my arm. “That’s right, you still have Dustin’s mod. At least we’ll be able to heal this stupid fall damage.” Slenda smiled weakly. Her eyes were unmoving. “Drinks!!” San cheered, throwing her arms up.

Smoke poured down my sleeve and into my hand. Is it for the glass? I thought, my head tilting. It spun into a round shape, sticking to the inside of my hand but never fully taking shape. The smoke stayed wispy, ghostly. Slenda’s face lit up.

“Cyrus..!”

I turned over my hand, the mist flowing around, following it like a shadow. It began to peel away, taking its own shape. The shape of a hand.

“You don’t have Dusty’s mod anymore. You have VF’s.”

The realization was immediate and electric, as was the smile sparking across my face. My eyes tagged the space on the wall where the phantom thief had vanished, the buttons sat less than a block away. I looked at the ghostly claw shifting gently in my sleeve, tugged at by the air.

With as much dramatic flair as I could muster I threw my arm between two bars, towards the cage button, casting the ghost hand towards it like a hook. The hand flew over to the button, pausing in the air just in front of it and pressing it with an extended index finger, the bars around us beginning to sink into the sand as pistons chugged along in the walls. Adrenaline was flowing through me, my hand clenched in a confident ball, but our escape wasn’t over yet. And our legs were still broken. My eyes flashed to the pickaxe on the floor, then to San. Without words, we set a plan into motion.

Slenda pulled the pickaxe from the floor and San pushed herself up against the wall, crouching just under the buttons. I crawled up next to her, joining my crippled crew. Quick taps of boots on sandstone echoed from the other side of the wall as the thief came to investigate the source of the mechanical noises, mumbling nervously to himself as he went. Inside of a second, the blocks retracted into the wall, VF stepped out, and Slenda swung her pickaxe at his legs, the blade hooking his leg below the knee and sending him to the sandstone where San pinned him, throwing her body on top of his like a playful dogpile.

Like a reflex, his phantom hand leapt from the collar of his coat, sailing for Slenda’s throat. I cast mine out at the same time, my phantom limb snaring his, sending the two tumbling to the ground where they intertwined, both of their forms becoming confused and inert as their masses dissipated into each other. Neither of them were completely physical, but they seemed to be able to subdue each other. I wasn’t quite sure how it worked, but it was good enough for me. Slenda rifled through the thief’s pockets, tossing us morsels of food as she restored her own inventory. The food tasted like sand, but my bones didn’t care. They snapped back into place, healing as good as new, my stomach and health both topped off. VF huffed impatiently.

“How was I supposed to know you could copy mods…?” He griped, “Doesn’t this break the whole foreshadowing rule, San?”

The creeper girl put a finger to her chin, considering it, but Slenda delivered a swift kick to the thief’s side and reminded San not to listen to our captive. The creeper girl shrugged it off, her body falling limp and heavy on the thief once more. As feeling returned to my legs, I stood and stretched, craning my neck into the sandstone doorway. There was light on the other side, and I could see the edge of a chest. VF uttered muffled protests, but with our phantom arms wrestling in the sand, he couldn’t stop me from entering his sanctum.

I stepped out of a raucous hostage situation and into a quiet study. The room was made of sandstone blocks as well, but had walls checkered with orange wool and decorated with frames. Each frame held a small item or tool, most of which were completely alien to our world. A collection of stolen mods. At the end of the room was a command block with a lever atop it, and behind it a ladder that was enveloped in the orange light of the afternoon above. But something else caught my eye.

On a nearby table was another strange, likely modded, device; a box-shaped contraption with a glass lens on the front and a lamp on top. Near it was a frame, likely where VF was about to store it, and a pile of pictures printed on clean white paper. They were clear as if you had seen them with your own eyes, but didn’t seem painted or made by hand in any way. The picture on the top of the pile interested me the most… Because Slenda and Roxxie were both in it. With two others.

"Aren't these weird?" Slenda asked, pulling one off the wall. A few were pinned to the wall with swords and daggers, most depicting interesting locations like ruins or other players’ creations. I tapped my finger against the one with Slenda and Roxxie and her eyes drifted to it, resting on it for a few moments before exploding open. She clawed the photo from the desk, holding it close to her face.

“How did… He get this picture?” She searched the desk for more pictures she recognized, seemingly finding several, her heart practically jumping through her sweater. She lifted up the boxy device likely responsible for the images, turning it over in her hands, “And Penelope’s camera!”

The sound of dragging cloth came from the hall as San stepped in, holding VF by his collar. Apparently San had gotten bored of holding him while we advanced the plot. She didn’t have to do much work to hold him though. No wispy hand extended from his cloak and the shine in his golden eyes was replaced by a half-lidded malaise as he waited for his bad day to end. He looked completely defeated.

“Please don’t be so rough… I’m not wearing any armor, so my health is pretty--”

He looked up at Slenda, then the camera in her hands. His golden eye shined as his face contorted under his mask. I was expecting a yell, a scream, but he only spoke in his same frail voice. “H- Hey! P- Please put that back where you found it..! It’s mine.”

Slenda scowled at him, wrapping the device tightly in her arms. He tried to get to his feet and jump towards her but San knocked him onto the sandstone floor and promptly sat on him. A dry gust of air was shoved from his lungs, his arms falling flat on the floor. I knew how much she weighed… He wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

“You stole this from my friend, I’m taking it back.” Slenda growled, cramming the camera into her inventory.

“That’s fair…” The thief sighed into the stone. Honestly, I felt kinda bad for him. I stepped forward, hands on my hips. “Come on, dude,” I urged, “You’re a desert thief! You say something cooler than that!”

“G- Give that back… Darn it!” He cursed quietly. San looked at me, an uneasy smile on her face. She moved off of him slightly, now just holding him down with her arm. “I’ll settle for split custody… I follow you guys to Giant’s Way, we trade it back and forth. I just like it ‘cause it looks cool…”

Slenda stepped forward, a suspicious twitch in her eye, "How did you know we were going to Giant's Way?" She questioned.

"I was there in the bar." Phantom leered back at her, "How do you think I was able to set up this trap? I mean, if you guys wandered a different direction I'd be--"

San’s eyes lit up, her hand leaving his back entirely. It was strange but, rather than terrified or bemused of the masked dork, I was honestly impressed. I mean, of his trap making abilities of course, not of his combat skills, theatrics, or social skills or… Well you get the idea.

I let out a “Wow” without even thinking. Slenda leered at me.

“You built this all overnight?!” San gleamed. Slenda’s face remained stone, “That’s incredible!! You should join our crew! We’re gonna have to fight this really powerful modder who beat up my girlfriend and got her kicked out of our server. You even know the area so you’d be great for the job!!”

“Really?” VF asked, his voice breathless but filled with enthusiasm.

“No.” Slenda countered, squinting at the pair, "I know Roxxane probably just seems like a monster to you... Or maybe even less... But she's my friend," Slenda gazed into the photo, scanning the image, “And we’re going to try diplomacy first. I don’t intend on dropping her down some sandy death pit… Or blowing her up. And I doubly don’t intend on taking someone who just tried to leave us for dead along for the ride.”

San looked up at her cuddle buddy with puppy dog eyes. The soft eyes behind Slenda’s cracked lenses faltered for a moment, but as her fingers traced the photo her eyes once again became cold, hard pearls. She put the picture in the neck of her sweater, depositing it in her inventory. I put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at first, glaring at me, but her eyes quickly softened. Crouching next to VF, I took a deep breath.

“Do you guys actually want to take me along?” VF asked, his voice pricked with genuine excitement, but dripping with anxiety. I looked at Slenda, who squinted at me. I knew it looked bad, but San was right… At least partially.

“It’d be kinda hard to take you on considering only one of our members actually trusts you...” I sighed, scratching my head, “But I’d be lying if I said you wouldn’t be useful.”

Even if he couldn’t be an ally, he could be our guide. Slenda scoffed, her feet scratching the sandstone. I didn’t look at her. “She won’t let us bring you along, but do you have any information that could help us? Or anything we can use to our advantage? I’d appreciate it at the very least.”

The thief brought himself to his knees, dusting the sand off his pants and coat.

“I have friends in the next server, I could let them know you’re coming and they could help you out. Give you supplies or help you if things get ugly.”

I nodded, clapping a hand against the thief’s back. A cloud of sand sprayed from his mask. He groaned, but continued. His tone was bright, he sounded excited to help out even if he was more of a hostage than anything.

“There’s also a pool of lava beneath Giant’s Way. A huge one. So try to avoid that… And um, there’s a shrine to Herobrine in the center. I know some modders believe in that stuff, so she might be there. It’s in the middle of the big temple part. Can’t miss it.” A breath left the thief as his chest came against the tops of his legs, his body curling up. At least we don’t have to restrain him. It looked like we’d be able to walk out of here without much problem.

I looked at Slenda, thinking about the pictures she so quickly sealed away. The people she was hiding. There was a man and a woman, both around her age, though the man stood behind them all. He had a powerful air about them. Slenda and the others were all smiling, holding each other. It looks like one of the few happy memories Slenda has. How come she’s hiding it from us? I didn’t want our group to have any more secrets, not after the whole San incident, but now didn’t seem like the time to ask. I rose to my feet, a hand on my hip. “Sorry for making this brief VF, but it looks like we’re gonna have to go. Can’t keep Roxxie waiting.”

“O- Okay...” He sighed, “I’m gonna take a nap.” Too bad he wasn’t coming with us. Honestly, looking at his beat-up form curled up on the sandstone floor, hearing his tired voice croak in his chest, I couldn’t relate to anyone more. Just another dork wearing a coat too big in the heat, beat up and given up on looking cool. Oh well… I thought, Maybe next time, when we meet outside of a trap. Maybe we’ll even get along.

“Well enjoy your nap my dude!” San grinned, “We’ll be seeing you!” She delivered a hearty pat to the thief’s back, which apparently took the last of his health.

With a guttural oof, VillainFan42 vanished, leaving only a cloud of smoke and some scattered belongings. The three of us looked at each other for a moment, each face as baffled as the last. San pulled her lips between her teeth. I couldn’t tell if she was cringing in guilt or trying to hold back a laugh. After a few seconds, her hands clapped together. She pointed them towards the ladder

“So uh, Giant’s Way then?” she asked the two of us. We nodded. “Giant’s Way.”

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 6 years

Text

Part of Your World

Chapter 2: a birthday to remember

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 2011

Chapter 2/11 (All chapters)

Summary: It's Prince Basilton's birthday, and he's prepared to hate every second of it.

Read on AO3

AN: I just did my psych exam today at 9am and am currently studying for my history exam tomorrow at 8am (hahahahaha kill me). So one down, four to go. Posting this brightens my day though. Anyway, enjoy this chapter!

Tagging peeps (sorry I forgot. My brain is not functioning, exams have fried it): @ughthatsprettygay @alive-alive-alive

———————————————-

Baz hated parties, he always had. So how Dev and Niall convinced him to have this one was beyond him. Maybe it was because it was on a boat. Didn’t matter, he regretted it. He watched as everyone laughed and drank like the sailors they were, while he was focused on his violin, apparently his only true friend at the moment.

“Ugh Baz,” Dev groaned as he leaned on the rail next to him. “Can’t you play something less depressing?”

“No,” he replied curtly.

“This is your birthday party. You’re supposed to having fun!”

“This is not my idea of fun.”

“It’s everyone else’s.”

“Everyone else is an idiot.”

Dev rolled his eyes over dramatically. Of course that was when Niall decided to flop down on his other side, now mostly empty beer stein in hand.

“Is he still being a stiff, Dev?” He called over, words more than slightly slurred.

Baz glared over his violin at him. “I’m right here, arsehole.”

Niall smiled drunkenly “So you are, Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

“Thank you for the wonderfully creative nickname.”

“Well it’s accurate,” Dev said with a shrug. “You’ve been in an even worse mood since you came back from that trip to meet the Princess of Glauerhaven. Was she really that awful?”

“Or,” Niall dragged out the two letter word with all the diction and enunciation of a drunk man. “Did she have the audacity to even try to speak to the great Prince Basilton and you insulted her?”

Baz took a long pause to glare menacingly at his friend and cousin. They looked back with smug smiles. He finally put his violin down, hunching his shoulders in.

“I hate you both,” he growled as he stomped off to another end of the ship far away from them.

Of course Dev and Niall didn’t really understand. Baz hadn’t told them the real reason for his sour demeanor. There hadn’t been anything particularly wrong with the Princess of Glauerhaven, really. Except the whole “princess” part. Baz had already told his father about who he was and the kind of person he wanted to be with. But Malcolm Grimm told him those feelings were irrelevant to his marriage.

It wasn’t that Baz’s “preferences” were a forbidden or hated thing in their kingdom of Watford. It was that Malcolm wanted his eldest son to “continue the Pitch royal line.” Like his family name was the only important thing about him. His father wasn’t even technically a Pitch, just the widower of the late queen. Maybe he thought he was honouring Natasha’s memory by making sure her bloodline continued through their only son. Even at the sacrifice of said son’s happiness.

Baz leaned over the edge of the boat and breathed in the salty sea air. He felt better out here. Away from his father and all the expectations he put on Baz. He leaned over the edge, looking at the dark choppy waves below.

“Don’t lean too far out, your highness!” Gareth shouted where he was adjusting a rope up the mast. “You could fall in. And if you don’t drown, the merfolk will get ya!”

Baz raised an eyebrow. “You really believe those old sailor tales?”

“Well I’m a sailor aren’t I?”

“Touché.” He leaned a little farther, gazing over the thundering waves. “You really think there are people with fishtails and magic living down there?”

Gareth hopped down and stood next to him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his pelvis pushed forward (for some reason he really liked that position). “To be honest? Yeah. My good friend Rhys saw a merman once. He was big and gruff, with a thick green tail and a massive gold pitchfork. And when he spotted Rhys, my smart friend wheeled away like his life depended it.”

“Are you sure your friend wasn’t drunk at the time?”

He shrugged up to his ears. “I don’t think so.”

Baz made a “pfft” noise, blowing hair out of his eyes. “I’ll be sure to do the same as him if I ever see a ‘merfolk’”

Gareth looked at him deadpan. Which was an expression Baz could easily return. (It was practically his default.) He wasn’t one for stupid childhood fairy tales, and right now was no exception.

“Hey Baz get over here!” Niall shouted. “Come see your birthday present!”

Baz rolled his eyes but still went. He was somewhat curious, which he’d probably regret later.

The crew and the partygoers, Dev and Niall included, stood around a large object draped in a purple cloth. An obnoxious red bow held the fabric in place. The looming thing had been there the whole party and it filled Baz with anticipatory dread.

Baz crossed his arms. “Do I even want to know?”

“Certainly!” Dev said. “You’re going to love it.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Niall grabbed the bow. “We present to you, you!” He yanked it hard.

The curtain fell down, and Baz’s heart seized. It was horrific. In front of him was a giant white marble statue of a young man, standing triumphant with one leg up a giant seal with a large “B”. He was dressed a puffy sleeved shirt and tight pants and a long cape, long sword in hand. The other hand was pressed against his in a fist. It was bad enough that the statue merely existed. But it was worse that Baz’s face was carved on it.

“My god,” he muttered.

“Happy birthday!” Niall said with a shit eating grin.

Baz rubbed his eyes up and down in exasperation. “You are quite literally the worst.”

“Oh don’t be such a downer, Basil. It’s amazing.”

“I can’t believe you actually spent money to have that made.”

“Lighten up!” A crew member hollered. Baz fixed him with a steely grey glare, which the man immediately shied away from. “I-If you want, your highness.”

Baz scoffed, about to throw another barbed word at his so called friends. But the loud thunder interrupted him. Everyone looked up with shock and horror.

“Oh no,” the first mate whispered.

Another roar ripped through the air, followed by a crack of lightning hitting the water less than a mile away. It was like the sky opened up above the ship in an instant, suddenly drenching them in torrential rain.

“Everyone to their stations!” The captain shouted.

The crew rushed into high gear. They pulled ropes and adjusted rutters. Baz helped as well. He may be the prince but he wasn’t useless. The pounding water blurred his vision, and the rocking sea sent him stumbling him back and forth. Standing his ground was becoming difficult. Lightning once again streaked across the grey clouds. It pierced the sail and set it aflame, spreading quickly through the fabric and to the mast. Fiery wood came crashing down on their heads.

“Abandon ship!” The captain’s voice was barely audible over the storm, but everyone knew what to do.

They released dinghies that crashed into the water. People jumped overboard and scrambled to them. Baz was about to dive off himself, until he heard a voice.

“Help!” Gareth shouted. “I’m stuck!”

Baz whipped around. The sailor’s leg was pinned under a flaming beam. Baz didn’t think twice. He rushed to his aid.

“Baz what are you doing?!” Niall shouted from a distance.

He lifted the wooden beam up with a heave and threw it to the side. With an arm around Gareth’s neck, he hoisted him to his feet. The man was limping slightly but could still move.

“Go!” Baz yelled.

Gareth nodded, then limp-ran to dive overboard. From the corner of his vision, Baz saw the fire crawling towards a chest. The chest filled with fireworks.

“Shit,” he whispered.

He ran as fast as his feet could carry him. Just as he jumped, the world exploded around him in a deafening boom and blinding light, hurtling him forward far too fast. Baz hit the ocean with a painful thwack.

Water filled Baz’s ears. Everything became muffled. His vision was hazy at best. The only slightly distinct thing he could see was a flash of shiny blue race above him. And he swore he felt two arms snake around his torso.

But then everything went black.

———————————————-

Simon didn’t know how long he’d laying on the sand, the grains scratching against his skin and scales, just staring down at him. This human, apparently called a prince, couldn’t be any older than Simon himself. Yet he had risked his own life saving another’s. The other humans had called him Baz. It was such a strange, beautiful name. It fit him perfectly.

Baz was alive. Unconscious and still shivering slightly, but alive. It was an absolute miracle, considering Simon had dragged him through the freezing water for hours. Maybe Simon’s strange, uncontrollable magic had protected Baz. (For once it was useful.) He’d pulled the human to the nearest shore. Along the way he’d picked up Baz’s peculiar device, which laid at his side on the beach. Simon couldn’t have let such an amazing thing be washed away.

The sun was rising now, fiery reds and oranges illuminating Baz’s every gorgeous feature. His soaked black was splayed out, a stark contrast to the blindingly white sand. Simon lightly ran a finger down his jaw then cupped his soft cheek. His skin was cold but thankfully warming up.

“Simon!” Penny hissed from in the water, having finally found him after searching all this time. “Simon, we should to go! What if someone spots you?”

“Just, a little longer alright?” He said to her, before turning back to Baz. He pushed some raven hair away from Baz’s face. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Father says you’re all horrible monsters, but how could he think someone like you is a monster? I-I mean, you make beautiful music, and you nearly died saving that man’s life. I don’t think you’re a monster. I think you’re just...a boy.”

“Si, we have to go!”

He barely heard Penelope though. All he paid attention to was Baz’s soft breathing, escaping from his slightly open mouth, and his steady pulse. With every beat, Simon was reassured that Baz had survived. Simon cupped Baz’s jaw and lowered his mouth closer to his ear.

“You’re incredible, Baz,” he said quietly. “I hope you know that.”

Simon pulled back and his breath hitched. Baz’s eyes were slightly open, a half moon of a grey iris under heavy lids.

“Wha...who...?” The human rasped out.

Shit.

“Baz?! Baz are you there?” The other human’s voice wasn’t that far away.

Simon scrambled off the sand and dove into the water. Penny followed close behind.

———————————————-

Baz sat up with a groan. He hurt all over. Probably because he’d been catapulted off that bloody ship. He looked around at his surroundings. A beach, like the one near his family castle. Wait, no, it was his beach, with it’s bright white sand and jagged cliffs. His eyes widened. On his left was his violin, also wet but intact. How did it get here? How did he get here?

Everything was blurry after the explosion, but there were pieces. Faint shades of blue and bronze, the feeling of arms gripping his waist. And one thing was very clear in his mind. A man’s voice right next to his ear.

You’re incredible, Baz. I hope you know that.

“Baz! Guys he’s over here!” Dev jumped down the rocks and ran towards Baz. “Thank god you’re alive!”

Baz held his head. “Someone saved me. A-A man. He said things...his voice...”

Dev kneeled next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I think you must’ve bashed your head against a rock, cuz. C’mon let’s get you home.”

He helped Baz get back on his shaky feet, taking his violin in the other hand. The rest of the crew grinned at and cheered for him from the rocks.

Baz looked back one last time though. And he swore he saw a flash of bronze and blue out of the corner of his eye.

———————————————-

Ah, and so it (sorta) begins. See you all next week :D

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #penny bunce #mermaid #little mermaid #little mermaid au #mysnowbazfic

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latestindianethnicwear · 4 years

Text

Latest Designer Trends in Dresses Available in Mumbai

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1. Gorgeous One-Piece Sets

The year 2020 has been all about comfort and convenient. One of the trending latest ethnic trends is the jumpsuit. Jumpsuits are the perfect excuse to give your wedding wardrobe a much-needed indo-western makeover. With lighter fabrics, they are perfect for lounging on the sofa. However, with some embroidery work on the upper side, they will be a perfect festive addition to your closet.

You can sport this look in pastel and light shades with bright motif prints on the top part. You can accessorize this Indian festival clothing look with classy sandals, chic heels, or the tie-up flats. For a more chic look, try combining classic colors like black and gold with a pop of colors. For instance, a black jumpsuit with gold heels and chunky, colorful bracelet is a look to die for.

2. Blushed Palettes and Rosy Shades

What fun is the season without some blush-colored ethnic outfits? With shades of pinks and blues your wardrobe needs ethnic outfits that outshines. However, instead of a baby or pale pink, the trend is for dusty and hot pinks with a splash of fuchsia. What makes these colors really bring the festive mood out is when they are combined with silver or gold threads.

One of the ways to highlight the blushed colours is to wear ethnic dresses with cape sleeves and embroidered work. The lightweight and flowy fabric ethnic designer dresses are the talk of the town. Pair this with a medium-length heel, and you are ready to rock any occasion. If you have a wedding function or even a puja coming up, blushed designer dresses with minimal metallic work are the perfect ethnic dresses of the season

3. Metallic Works are back in the fashion game

Well Yes! Metallic works are surely making comeback this year and that too beautifully! If you thought sequins and metallic prints were a thing of the past, you couldn’t be more wrong. In the upcoming year you will witness lehenga skirts with subtle and delicate metallic prints and blouses and tops with sequin work. You can also expect Kurtas with foil borders to make a comeback this year.

You can sport this look by having a long Kurti with sequin or metallic works. As far as colors are concerned, pretty much every shade works well with metallic colors, but colors like black, marigold, and shades of pink and green will bring out the best.

4. White Hues are talk of the town

Whites are usually not your Indian ethnic wear color, but warmer shades of white are a whole different story. They look subtle, creating a powerful combination that screams chic. Invest in ivory and creamy colored saree this festive season for a subtle look. These hues look best when paired with golden or silver thread work, even simplistic ones. For instance, an ivory short Kurti and skirt with metallic works and foil bordered dupatta is a stylish party and festival clothing.

Yet another way to sport the white hues is through floral designs. Indian ethnic wear online stores have crop tops, maxi skirts, long Kurtas with floral designs on white or ivory fabric. Together with appropriate simple accessories, these will create the ultimate festive look this year. Aside from prints and works, you can also combine whites with bright colors to brighten up your attire like a strappy ivory tunic with mustard yellow dupatta.

6. Short Cute Ravishing Kurtas

Give some modern cuts to your Kurtas because short Kurtas is back in the season. There are so many ways to play this look during the wedding season. You can wear this Indian festival clothing with smart and flowy sharara pants. Alternatively, you can wear them with a plain, block-colored skirt and dupatta. If traditional Kurti is not your cup of tea, then opt for the strappier ones, especially the ones which are cinched at the waist.

7. Be Dramatic with Bold and trendy Sleeves

The retro-favorite dramatic sleeves are surely slaying in 2021 Indian festival clothing. Whether it is cape sleeves or bell sleeves, all kinds of tops, Kurtas, and jackets will have less than subtle sleeves. They are the perfect way to redefine your wardrobe with not much of a spending. For example you can happily pair an old long Kurtas with a long dramatic-sleeve jacket, making it a perfect style statement.

Another way to re-innovate and stay updated with this festive and wedding trend is by adding ultra-long sleeves or equally funky sleeves like balloon sleeves ethnic dresses. Anarkalis and crop tops with bell sleeves, one-shoulder crop tops with extra-long sleeves and tops with cold shoulder sleeves are some of the Indian ethnic wear online stores like SIONNAH have for you. What’s more? You can even add a dramatic flair to your saree blouse sleeve like ruffles.

Indian ethnic fashion trends are constantly evolving and we love everything it has to offer us, upgrading our wardrobes with the latest trends every year. The above mentioned trends are must-haves in your closet to have the ultimate festive experience for the upcoming year. The flowy dramatic sleeves give us some extra jazz from plain arm styles. Similarly, jumpsuits are absolute comfort as we lounge in our homes as well as during parties and functions. Indeed ethnic fashion trends 2021 are all about comfort, comebacks and definitely here to stay.

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bloodthirstymoonstone · 7 years

Text

𝔸𝕝𝕖𝕒 𝕀𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕒 𝔼𝕤𝕥

Valter’s Long Lost Sibling

(Strong warning for sibling abuse, ableism, and graphic descriptions of violence. ~5.5k words)

Trembling hands carefully adjusted the large portrait hanging in the grand hall. Perhaps one of the maids had unintentionally shifted it askew while dusting or carrying on with her daily chores. It was hard to be upset when he knew how dutifully the staff worked to keep things in order.

The almost life-sized oil painting was of a wealthy couple embracing joyously. They’d probably had it made in celebration of their marriage. They looked so young and happy and healthy there… That was the way he’d like like to remember them. Not as the dreadfully sickly, frail shells that haunted his dreams.

The large estate had been dreadfully silent for years now -- but even still, this was... different. Or maybe it wasn’t? Perception was a powerful lens after all. The quiet, foreboding halls, the hushed whispers filtering through closed doors… Perhaps it was all the same as it had been before. It was just… knowing that they were finally gone -- that nothing his many months of tireless service had been enough to prevent it...

Shamefully, he slumped against the wall, and broke down into muted sobs, his hand pressed against his mouth so he wouldn’t alert anyone else. A hand balled into a fist and quietly thumped against the marbled exterior. Saints above, he missed them. He missed them more than anything. They deserved more than a cruel, lengthy, painful death as their minds and bodies wasted away in front of him. His parents had deserved to live.

“W… Why couldn’t it h-had been me…?” he whimpered, pushing his glasses out of the way so he could rub fitfully at his eyes. Admittedly, his own life was useless, but not theirs. The world had been robbed of two very fine people, and he didn’t see how things could ever be the same without them.

“Master Walter…?” a voice called gently from the bottom of the stairway.

The young lord gasped quietly, and hurried to wipe away at his tears, hoping no one would notice his red, puffy face. He went to stairs to address the elderly butler. “Y… Yes, Richardson? Wh… What is i-it?” he stammered softly.

Richardson, a long time servant of the family, bowed deeply at the waist. “Master Valter has returned from his campaign oversees. He’s at the gate now.”

Walter’s jaw dropped. Some part of him honestly had believed that Valter wouldn’t make it to the wake, due to being such an all-important general. But now that he HAD shown up…

“O… Oh blessed s-saints! L...Let him in right a-away!” Walter cried, rushing to the head of the gallery once more.

“As you wish, sir.”

News that the famed general had returned spread through the staff like wildfire, and within minutes, everyone was standing along the walls of the grand hall to greet him. Walter nervously tugged at the lapels of his shirt and tried to smooth down his short tufts of blue hair. He wasn’t sure if he was fit to greet a general (even if that general WAS his twin brother).

Valter ascended the stairs with all the poise of a commander, and Walter had to subdue an audible gasp at the sight of him. Everything about him seemed so much… grander than he remembered, and Walter found himself feeling much smaller, even though he knew they were the same height.

Valter had filled out considerably due to his training, and was garbed in plates of armor Walter could only guess had seen a lot of action on the battlefield due to the multitude of dents and scratches on them. Despite that, they still looked to be in amazing condition, having been polished until they shined. He could see evidence of scars all over the general’s face and along his arms, as well.

Most shocking was the impressive length of his hair -- he’d been growing it out for years, but Walter had assumed for some reason that they’d make him cut it after ascending the ranks. It flowed all the way down his back in brilliant waves of blue -- the same color as their late father, and Walter could feel the prick of tears stinging his eyes once more.

Valter took a moment to calmly take in his surroundings -- it had been years since he’d been back, after all. For a moment, his eyes came to rest on Walter, and that was all the excuse the grieving twin needed. He burst into tears again, rushing up to give Valter a tight hug and sobbing openly into his chest. “B… Brother… You… Y-You came…”

Valter’s stance went rigid, and he stared down at the man clinging to his torso as if he were an alien creature. “You…” He glanced around at the servants surrounding them, obviously getting visibly agitated. “What are you doing?” he hissed at last.

“S… Sorry…” Walter sniffed, releasing him to wipe at his face once more. “I… I know it’s… not g-good to be s… seen crying, b-but it’s just been s… so hard, and--”

Valter pushed him away coldly. “That’s not what I meant, you blithering fool,” he snapped, eyes hard and cold as steel. “I meant what are you doing HERE?”

Walter blinked, staring at Valter with pure confusion. A small, creeping feeling of dread curled up his spine. “I… I d-don’t…”

“Don’t play stupid with me, simpleton,” Valter snarled. “I know you’ve seen the will. You’re not mentioned anywhere within its passages. I’m the sole owner. You don’t live here anymore. So leave.”

Walter was silent for several seconds as he tried to make sense of the harsh words his brother was speaking. A few of the maids started whispering as the butlers exchanged nervous glances. Tension hung in the air like a cloud.

Finally, Walter gave a small, nervous smile. His heart was racing now, words getting stuck in his throat. “V… Valter, you c-can’t really m… m… m--”

“Of course I mean it,” Valter interjected with a scoff. He turned his back to him, waving him away. “Did you really think I would make an exception for you simply because we’re related by birth?”

“Y… Yes!” Walter cried incredulously. “F… F… For crying out loud, Valter! Th-They were… w-were…”

“Insane?” Valter cut in, whirling around again with a dramatic sweep of his cape.

“... Y… Yes…” came the soft reply. Walter clutched loosely to his chest. It was painful to see them waste away and know there was no way he could end their suffering. To see them slowly forget words for basic items, and even their names.

There was a derisive snort. “I know all about that, fool. I know about a multitude of things. For instance, I also know of your attempted deception and other nefarious deeds!”

He marched up to Walter and jammed an accusative finger into his brother’s chest, pushing him back slightly with every stabbing gesture. “Tell me! Why were you traipsing about and impersonating me, hmm? Were you hoping to put in a good word for yourself? Sabotage my good name in an attempt to claim my inheritance?!”

Walter stumbled back, obviously starting to panic. “Th… Th… That’s not w-what I--”

Valter immediately began mocking him. “Th-th-that’s not w-w-w-what, Walter? Is it not the truth?”

His heart was racing in his ears. “Wh… B-But, I… It-It’s just that--”

“‘Whuuuh... buuuuh... muuuuuuh... !’ Pathetic! Just spit it out already!” That finger kept jabbing at him.

Walter shoved the intrusive hands away with a frustrated scream. “B-Because they LOVED YOU MORE, a-alright?! They ALWAYS HAVE! Th-That’s why I did it!”

He remembered vividly how the elderly pair had reacted the first and only time he’d corrected them about who he really was. The absolute anguish, and even fear on their faces as they shrieked and demanded for “Valter” to come back. Walter was a brainless screw-up, after all. They couldn’t entrust their lives to him. As much as it hurt to carry on the charade, nothing in the world was more important than their happiness. Not even his own.

He sniffled slightly, arms folded defensively across his chest. He had a feeling the spot Valter was poking him was going to bruise, come the morning. “A...All they ever w-wanted… Was a v… visit f-from you, Valter. W… Why didn’t you ever c… come see them?”

Valter regarded the question coldly. “Does it matter?” he grunted. “They were going to die either way.”

Walter was aghast. How could Valter be so flippant? Did he even care? “... W… W… You…”

Valter gave a disgusted huff. “Why are you still here? I told you to be gone, lest I have you removed! OUT!”

“V… Valter, p-please!” Walter begged, grasping onto his shirt sleeve. “Y… You can’t throw me out! I d… don’t got n-nowhere to go!”

Valter yanked his arm back with a snarl. “Remind me again why I should care! It’s your own damned fault, you ignorant piece of trash! While I was off serving my country, growing stronger, and learning how the world worked -- you know, MAKING something of my life -- you were perfectly content to sit on your aft end and have Mommy and Daddy look after you. Now there’s going to be no one left to clean up after your ineptitude, so I suggest you learn how to function in the real world rather quickly if you are to survive.”

“Valter I s… s... stayed home b-because I had to t… take care of our sick p-parents!”

“Yes, and you’ve done quite an impressive job with that, haven’t you,” Valter shot back wryly.

Walter flinched.

“You make it seem as if you were the only thing standing between them and their untimely demise, as if there WEREN’T legions of servants who could do your job but ultimately much better, you dithering nitwit. And what would be your excuse for the many years that our parents enjoyed good health and yet you still lurked amongst these halls like a brainless invalid?”

Walter couldn’t even respond. The words sank into him like daggers. He gave a tiny sniff.

Valter immediately rolled his eyes at that. “Saints... If that was your attempt to draw sympathy from me, you’ll find none. I have no patience for worthless losers, kin to me or not.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’ve already had to ask you several times to leave my property, trespasser. The next time I won’t be so civil. This is your final warning: leave immediately.”

Walter slowly inhaled and then slowly let it out. He stared at the ground, feeling his heart pound wildly in his chest. Maybe… Valter was right. Maybe all this time, he’d just been making excuses for himself… had been hiding from the world while his courageous brother went out and conquered it.

“... Alright…” he whispered at last. “F… Fine. You w… win. I-I’ll leave for now and m… maybe s-stay at a tavern for a f… few nights. Then, a-after the f… funeral, y…” He sighed, trying to calm his racing heart. “Y-y-you’ll… n-never have to s...see m-me again.”

Valter smiled triumphantly, but said nothing. He turned his back to his twin, nervously heading to the staircase leading to the exit of the large palace. Conversation over. The murmuring from the crowd of servants watching with bated breath only grew.

As Walter started down the large staircase, there came a slow, deliberate, “Oh… And by the way…” When Walter glanced back, hopeful that Valter had finally seen reason, a wicked, predatory smirk was all that greeted him. “Don’t even bother showing up to the funeral. You’re not invited.”

Walter’s blood ran cold. That one hand slipped off the railing in numb shock. “W-Wh… What…?”

“I’m quite certain you heard me,” Valter replied, clearly taking delight in the way Walter’s shocked expression fell. “Only family and certain friends are allowed to attend. And according to the will that I now have securely on my person, I have no living relatives.”

Walter could feel his blood rising into a raging inferno inside of his cheeks, even as he urged himself to remain calm. Despite the rising pit of anxiety rising in his stomach, he marched back up to face his brother, clearly incensed. “S-S-So you’re telling m-me that I c-can’t come to s… see my own p-parents laid to rest? R...Really?!” he demanded.

“MY parents. And yes,” Valter replied easily.

“A-A-After I w… washed and fed a-a-and t… took care of them f-for month? YEARS, even?!”

“Yes. If you attempt to intrude on our sacred day of grieving, I’ll have you arrested on the spot.”

“VALTER!” the twin snapped angrily. “D… Didn’t you h-hear me before?! I don’t c… CARE about a-anything else -- you w… win! You can k… keep the house, the m-money -- EVERYTHING! I d-d-don’t care! But you h… have NO R-RIGHT to keep me f-from s… seeing them one last t-time!”

“I have every right,” came the smooth, and utterly self satisfied reply. “As the sole heir, I get the final say on who will be in attendance or not. And, mark my word, you will not be present on that day.” There was a triumphant smirk, for good measure.

Walter’s hands were curled up into tight fists at his sides, trembling as he tried to regain his composure. “You can’t d… DO this, Valter! I’m family too, d-damn it!”

Valter gave a chilling laugh. “My family is dead, Walter. YOU mean nothing to me, just like you mean nothing to the rest of the world. A simple, stammering fool, and nothing more.”

Walter felt the sharp, stinging pain in his hand before it even registered that he had punched Valter in the face. The servants all gasped in horror, a few even making a hasty retreat out of the room for fear of the conflict spiraling out of control. They were right to run.

Walter pressed his hands to his mouth in horror as Valter adjusted his jaw with a disturbing amount of calm. “V… V… Valter, I’m s-so--”

“You all witnessed that, did you not?” Valter called to the few uncomfortable-looking staff left remaining. He unclasped the weighted cape from his back and let it drop to the floor in an undignified heap. “This… trespasser assaulted me in my own home.”

Walter tried backing away, having become intimately familiar with that dangerously calm tone of voice and what would doubtlessly ensue. He would have dropped to his knees and begged for mercy right then if he thought it might spare him. “V-V-Valter, I’m… l-let’s talk about about th-this… I d-didn’t mean t--”

Without any further warning, Valter charged directly at his brother, death gleaming clearly in his eyes. Walter gave a strangled cry, and turned to flee, but wasn’t quick enough to escape the general’s wrath. He was caught by the neck and slammed to the ground so fast his glasses flew from his face and with enough brute force to leave him gasping for air.

Valter gave him no time to recover, though, rolling on top of the man, pinning him down, and punching him until blood was gushing out like a sickening fountain. Walter did his best to wrestle his brother off, but each punch was hitting like a charging wyvern, and it was a struggle trying to keep his limbs coordinated as he struggled in vain to stop the assault.

Panic gripped the halls then -- several of the women began screaming, some scrambled to get help from those that had left, and two butlers began approaching the pair in an apparent effort to split the pair up.

The second Valter felt the pair of hands around his shoulders trying to tug him away, the furious general sprang to his feet and whirled around to face them. “DON’T YOU TOUCH ME!” he snapped, as Walter was left gasping and rolling around the floor with agony.

“But Master Valter, don’t you think that this has gone much too--”

“Yes, that’s right. I’M your master now! And as your master, I’m telling you that if you try to interfere again, you’ll NEVER work another day in your life!”

The two butlers tentatively withdrew.

Valter turned back to Walter, who was now curled up in a defensive ball on the floor, cradling his broken face and sobbing. He could barely contain his disgust as he planted a bruising kick in the man’s side. “Get up, scum!”

“P… P… Please, no more, V-Valter, please… I can’t… I’m sorry… I’m s-so sorry--”

“I SAID GET UP!”

Valter dragged him back up to his feet, only to send him stumbling back again with a series of vicious punches. Walter swore each blow seemed to sap his body of the energy it needed to fight back, or even move -- he tried raising his arms to defend his face, but as soon as he did, Valter would aim those debilitating strikes at his torso and lower body. This was so much worse than anything he’d ever suffered in their teen years, and part of him felt legitimately afraid that Valter would end up killing him.

He slumped against the far wall, panting and exhausted, arms hanging limply at his sides as he waited helplessly for the next blows to come, too exhausted to even struggle anymore. Valter quickly rewarded him with knee in the stomach, that made him double over in pain once again. But Valter, grinning like a crazed man, took a fistful of his hair, and wrenched his head back up, so he could address him eye-to-eye.

“I’ve been dreaming of this day…” he sighed, digging his nails into the man’s scalp. His voice was hushed so that Walter would be the only one who could hear him. “The day where I’d finally be rid of you. Pathetic slime…”

Another punch to the face. Walter’s knees almost buckled, but Valter held him, still standing and pinned to the wall by the arm pressed against his chest.

“I just had no idea that you would make it so easy for me, brother…” he chuckled. “I’ve been working dutifully for as long as I can remember to see you erased from the annals of history completely, only for you to do all the heavy lifting for me... To think that your masquerading in my stead would be the very reason our parents wrote you out of their will…”

He leaned close to whisper softly into the terrified man’s ear, one hand closing around the other’s neck. “I hope you say hello to them once you join them in hell, brother.”

Walter gasped and fought against the intrusive hand around his neck, to no avail. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He kicked Valter in the crotch.

It wasn’t as hard as he probably would have wanted -- his strength was failing as his body struggled to stay conscious, or even alive -- but it got the job done. Valter recoiled with a shocked yelp, cupping himself with a hiss. Walter felt like dropping to the ground and drinking in those precious gulps of sweet oxygen, but he understood that time was short. He bolted for the staircase in as straight a path as he could manage whilst blinking past the blood stinging his eyes from a cut above his eyebrow (which he couldn’t even remember getting).

He didn’t get far. Valter pushed past his initial pain rather quickly thanks to the adrenaline and rage surging throughout his body. He dashed across the large room in under half the time, and tackled Walter to the ground, before he could even get to the winding staircase. Furious, he smashed his twin’s face into the ground, leaving behind a bloody imprint, and dazing Walter yet again.

“You craven little BITCH!” the general spat, clearly angry for the first time during the fight. “I can see now that any sort of honorable fight would be wasted on you.” A growl. “If that’s the way you want to do things, then FINE. The gloves come off.”

Grunting, he rose to his feet, dragging his near-unconscious brother so that he was flush against the staircase, with his legs firmly set against the railing. Walter slipped into darkness for a few peaceful moments, but then--

A sharp scream filled his ears, and it took Walter a few seconds to realize it was his own. Valter was glaring down at him dispassionately with a heavy wooden chair, usually the type one would find at a desk, except now it was smashed to pieces, and Walter’s leg…

Oh, saints… It was bending the wrong way! Just under his knee, where his legs were in contact with the railing, his tibia and fibula had apparently folded forward with the impact, and now the rest of his limb dangled uselessly like a sock filled with lumpy, misshapen rocks. Several shrieks met his own as the servants realized what they were seeing. Several of the women were in tears. One had fainted. Richardson was currently emptying his stomach on the rich, tiled floor.

Valter ignored them, kicking Walter so that he rolled down the stairs and snickering as the lame foot flailed about as he tumbled roughly down the entire way. Maybe, if he was lucky, the imbecile would crack his skull or snap his neck during his fall.

No such luck. Walter was alive by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, sobbing loudly as he was consumed with pain so mind numbingly brutal, he could swear he was screaming himself hoarse after just a few minutes.

Valter grabbed him by the ankle of his good leg, and began dragging the man towards the heavy oak doors leading outside. He was greeted by a fierce looking monster with piercing red eyes and fangs that looked like they could puncture through his entire torso. Fearing Valter planned on feeding him to the creature, Walter screamed. As if taking it as a challenge, the menacing wyvern roared back with twice the ferocity.

As Walter sobbed more and curled tightly in on himself, Valter smirked, amused, and gave his wyvern a fond pat, murmuring softly, “Good girl.” She huffed and stood up a little straighter, head spines pointed forward to indicate rapt attention.

He turned his attention back to his brother, writhing on the ground in agony. “Fear not, Walter. I won’t kill you… This time,” he added with a chuckle. “But take a good look at your surroundings. It shall be the last time you lay eyes on this place.”

He narrowed his eyes, contempt clearly legible in his expression. “But make no mistake, worm. This is the last shred of kindness I’ll grant you. If I ever catch sight of you again, I will kill you. I promise you that, and you should know more than most that I never break my promises.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Understood?”

Walter nodded tearfully.

“Good.” Valter made a quick, short whistle at his mount, and ascended her when she crouched down in a quick, easy motion. “Now get up, you blubbering fool. You have ten minutes to vacate the premises, else Chetak and I will make good on my threat.”

“I… I… W-What?!” Walter gasped. “B-but, Valter… The nearest town is--!”

“Then I suggest you walk -- I’m sorry, hop -- quickly,” Valter laughed, as he casually pulled out a pocket watch. “Or, by all means, take your time. It would be SUCH a blessing to finally end your wretched life.”

He wasn’t joking. Valter NEVER joked around with Walter -- if he was promising death if Walter didn’t comply, he doubtlessly would follow through. Panic seized Walter, and within seconds, he was trying to struggle to his feet, sobbing every time he accidentally jostled his horribly mangled leg. He pulled himself up using the oak door, and began making the slow, agonizing trek across the palace grounds. If he didn’t get to the gate before time ran out, Valter would surely have that beast feast upon his innards. Walter was sure of it.

He stumbled and fell a great number of times, with constant pain shooting up his malformed leg as well as his bloodied face, but he had to keep going. Every time he looked back, Valter was still perched atop his wyvern, glaring back at him with his watch still held up just under his field of vision. None of the staff dared to intervene, but Walter thought he could make out a few faces peeking out from between the curtains. It was hard to tell without his glasses… What he wouldn’t give to be back in his warm, safe bed again…

Finally, he made it to the gate, but just as he was trying to figure out how to open it on his own with his limited strength, a sharp, otherworldly shriek echoed across the courtyard. The wyvern… It was CHARGING. Head lowered aggressively, it powered itself across the ground with its long, powerful legs in a fraction of the time it took Walter to travel. Its wings were splayed out to either side, mouth opened up wide to release a terrible, soul-rending roar. Valter was hunkered down on top of her like a racing jockey, the glinting edge of a silver lance held out to his side.

Oh, gods!

Had it been ten minutes already?! Walter didn’t have any time to consider his options. The beast would be upon him within seconds! Struggling, he pulled back against one of the doors with the weight of his entire body. Then, as soon as the gap was slim enough for him to fit through, he quickly shuffled between the bars and continued scrambling away as fast as he could.

The massive wyvern slid to a complete halt at Valter’s stern command, and he glared after the retreating back of who he’d once called a brother. “Remember what I said, scum!” he called behind him. “IF I SEE YOU AGAIN, YOU’LL BE DEAD BY MY HANDS!”

Walter didn’t look back.

Years later…

The bell hanging above the door to the simple monastery, alerting all those within that a visitor was present. Walter stirred out of his sleep regretfully, giving a quiet yawn and a stretch as he pulled himself away from the desk he’d been working at before he drifted off.

He straightened the spectacles over his face drowsily, and reached for the cane propped up against the side of the tiny work desk. “I.. I’ll g-get it…” he murmured softly, attempting to rise to his feet. What could a visitor be doing coming so late? The bread line had closed hours ago...

One of the clerics hurried over to scold him as soon as she heard his grunts of exertion. Sister Martha -- a caring, but stern elderly woman that had a spring to her step that defied the grey aging her hair. “Brother Walter! I’ve told you a thousand times about being pushing yourself with that leg of yours! You should know better!”

Walter sheepishly withdrew his hand. “I… I know, b-but I was the c… closest one to the door, s-so I just thought I-I’d--”

“Hush, child, I’d rather walk a mile to save you just one step. Your leg still hasn’t stopped swelling from the dinner rush -- I’d advise you not push your luck.”

He sighed. “Y… Yes ma’am…” came the dour reply. He drummed his fingers impatiently as she rushed off to greet the visitor, looking back down at the text he’d hastily scrawled over the pages in front of him. It was just something else he was useless at. He should be used to the feeling by now. As if to add insult to injury, his leg suddenly began throbbing with a dull ache. He whined, rubbing at it as he hurried to take a quick swig of the vulnerary hanging loosely from his belt.

After a few moments of almost hushed whispers, she returned to the back of the monastery, looking puzzled. “Erm… Brother Walter? It’s… a man. He says he came for you…?”

Walter’s heart raced. “Wh… What does he l-look like? D… Did he look like m-me?”

“No, not at all. He’s… much older. Mostly bald? Has a nose that curves down like a claw? Fancy clothes…”

Walter blinked. Could it be…? Without waiting for any further explanation, Walter rose to his feet, careful to balance the weight of his body between the desk and his walking cane. “I… I’ll go see him. W-Wait h… here.”

He had his doubts at first, but as soon as he saw the man, there was no mistaking it. “R… Richardson!” he cried out in shock as soon as he saw the man.

He looked much older, of course. The last time Walter had seen him, he still had some hair, and perhaps not quite so many wrinkles. But it was definitely his old friend. As happy as he was to see him, he couldn’t imagine he’d track him down and come all this way just for a friendly chat.

The old butler gave a soft, sad smile. “Ah… Master Walter…” He gave a little bow, for old time’s sake. “It is such a relief to see you again after… all these years.” His eyes flashed to the cane, and for a moment, his eyes flashed with pain and sympathy, but also pride. Part of him had doubted the poor man would ever be able to walk again after such an injury. He was happy to be proven wrong.

“O… Oh… I-It’ so good to finally--”

A sigh. Richardson held his hand up to stop the younger man from finishing. “I am afraid I have little time for pleasantries, Milord.”

Walter felt his blood run cold. “I… I’m not sure I--”

“It’s your brother,” he quickly explained. “Something happened that stripped him of his title, and now he is living in your parents estate again. He’s gone absolutely mad.”

The younger man let out a pained cry, and grasped his chest. No… Not Valter, too! Biting his lip to stave off the tears, he quietly asked, “H… How long d-do the healers think h-he… has left to l...live?” he asked tearfully.

Richardson shook his head. “You misunderstand, sir. He isn’t plagued with the same illness that claimed your parents’ lives. His is… different. Much worse, certainly, but he himself is in no danger of dying from it.”

A deep breath as he forced himself to calm. “He is suddenly… obsessed with the idea of death and destruction. He hungers for it in a way I’ve never seen before. And, most troubling of all, he now has told us that he plans on finding YOU.”

The butler pressed his lips together sternly. “I’ve come to warn you, Milord. You’ve already suffered through so much… I shudder to think what could become of you if that… fiend were to lay his hands on you again.”

Walter was shaking now, terror setting in like a cold, invasive fog. He couldn’t even bear to think of Valter as inflicting even more pain on him than he already had. His leg twinged in discomfort just considering it.

“B… But… But I-I…” Tears were overflowing now. “R-Richardson, I… I don’t have… n… nothing else! No cash, n-nowhere to go -- nothing o… other than w-what these n… nice people have given m.. me!” He sobbed. “What do I d-do? W-Where do I go now?”

“There’s nothing else for it,” Richardson replied sternly. “You must leave the country. Grado is no longer safe for you. He has connections all throughout this land -- if I could find you, he surely will be able to.”

“But I don’t--”

“I’m sorry. It’s the only way.” Richardson shook his head. “I have… connections of my own. I can safely get you across the border into Renais, but from then on, you’ll be on your own. I’m truly sorry I can’t do more, but I must be concerned for my own safety as well, you see…”

“I… I understand.”

“Pack your things. Time is short, and we must leave immediately.”

The rest of the night went by in a blurred haze of tearful hugs, and heartfelt goodbyes, as Walter had to tell his new family he was leaving, and almost certainly forever. Sister Martha made sure he had some fresh scones to take with him on the long journey, and one of the children gave him a book about plant life native to Renais and her little plushie of a sunflower. Then, with a hastily packed suitcase, he was on his way to the next big chapter of his life.

Hopefully he survived this one, too.

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frangipanidownunder · 7 years

Text

Happy Halloween! Old revival fic follows

We don’t have much of a focus on Halloween where I live but I will be looking forward to seeing all the photos of pumpkins and costumes over the next day or so on here.

This is the first story I ever posted to my blog, in response to a weekly challenge. And I haven’t taken a breath since! Some of you have probably already read it, so feel free to scroll on by. Tagging @today-in-fic and @fictober

Trick and Treat?

He wound down the window and flicked the handful of shells into the street. The frigid air blasted her face and she clamped down the thought that ran through her head. Until he did it again.

“Mulder, it’s minus three degrees outside and I’m not dressed for this.”

He didn’t bother to look at her, and she kept her eyes front and centre, but she knew a smirk lifted his lips. “I noticed.”

She wrapped her arms around her chest and turned to her window, only allowing her smile to flicker once she’d fixed on the dirty streetscape outside. “Why are we here, Mulder?”

“I told you. It’s a stakeout. And I also told you that you didn’t have to come.”

She chuffed. “After all these years, you think that I don’t know your secret language?”

“What?” This time he did turn to face her. A passing car’s lights caught a glimmer in his eyes, casting off the years so that he momentarily looked like the Mulder of their early years. Eager eyes betraying his cool body language.

“It took me a while, but I broke your code, Mulder.” She nodded at him, enjoying the flash of wariness that crossed his face. “You don’t have to come, meant I’m going to sulk for the next three assignments if you don’t come.”

“Take that back, Scully! I never sulked. I am not a sulker.”

She took a sunflower seed and cracked the shell, knowing he was watching her mouth. “You were too. You pouted, you were short with me, you deliberately left your expenses reports until you knew I would do them. That was also code, Mulder.”

“For what?” He took a seed in his mouth.

“I always liked to think it was code for Scully I am so in love with you that you leave me tongue-tied and I don’t know how to say I’m sorry.”

He put his finger on the button to open the window. She smacked his arm.

“Don’t you dare open that again. Spit it here.” She held out her palm. He obeyed, shaking his head.

“I don’t sulk” He shrugged himself lower in the chair, lips pushed out.

She chuckled. “Fine. But you still haven’t told me why we’re really here. We’re a bit long in the tooth for midnight stakeouts.”

“Speak for yourself. I am in the prime of my life, Scully. Fifty is the new thirty.”

“Mulder, you’re over fifty and that qualifies you for discount will-writing services and lifestyle living options.”

He sat back upright, smirking fully now. “So cruel, Scully. I don’t think I’m ready for lifestyle living just yet.”

She leant back against the headrest with a sigh.

“Scully, have you ever played the game, Never Have I Ever?”

“Mulder, cable tv is not good for you.”

“It’s fun, you have to propose a scenario…”

“I know how you play it, I’m just wondering where this is leading.” She wished she’d gone for the bigger coffee. It was going to be a long, scary night.

“So, let’s play. You first. Never have I ever…”

“I’m not going first, I didn’t even agree to play.” Now she sounded shrill. He’d love that.

“Okay,” he said, with a little too much enthusiasm. He had this all worked out, she was sure. “Never have I ever dated two people at the same time.”

She didn’t think she blushed but it was the momentary hesitation that forced the surprised shriek from his mouth. “Dana Katherine Scully! I am shocked.”

She laughed. “No you’re not. You’re impressed. I was young.”

He gave her that throaty chuckle that always caused her stomach to jiggle. “Right. Your turn.”

She sighed. “Never have I ever used my FBI credentials to gain access to a function I had no right to attend.”

His laugh rocked the car. “That is such a Scully scenario.”

She pressed her lips together. “So, what’s your answer?”

“Of course I have. And don’t tell me you haven’t either. Power corrupts. Profilers, spooky alien lovers. Even educated MDs.”

“Mulder, what are we doing here? You didn’t call me out in the middle of the night to play games with me.” She instantly regretted her poor choice of words.

He moved closer to her. She could smell his cologne. “Not word games, no.”

She shuddered. “Then what?” Her voice was barely audible above the drilling rain that was falling against the windshield.

“Do you remember Rob and Laura Petrie?” His breath whispered over face.

“Who?”

“Our alter-egos in that gated community. Please tell me you haven’t forgotten that case, Scully.”

She took a deep breath. How could she forget? His smug expression, his arm constantly round her shoulders, his infuriating personal habits. It had been a little window into how life would be with the man. “I remember the damn stork in the yard.”

“Flamingo.”

“And the pedantic interpretation of the rules.”

“CC&Rs.”

“Pedantry. Come on, Mulder, out with it.”

“What would you say if I told you we were sitting outside the American Association of Illusionists headquarters.” He tapped the glass at the ordinary brick building with an ordinary grey door and narrow grimy windows.

“I’d say that you’re imagining things, Mulder.”

“Very droll, Scully. But people have vanished here.”

“Oh come on, Mulder! This is not funny anymore.”

He held up his hands. “Scully. I swear to you it’s a genuine case. A couple of regular members have gone missing. Vanished into thin air. It’s an X File.”

She shook her head. “It’s a missing persons case at best.” He opened his mouth to respond. She put her hand on his chest. “And I am not entering that premises wearing this outfit.”

“So what did you think was going to happen tonight, Scully? Why did you agree to get in a car with your spooky partner wearing that dress, stockings and a pair of Manolo Blahniks, that, by the way, look perfect on your feet?”

She held her silence, raging on the inside at how she’d been played.

“I’m genuinely interested, Scully.” His good cop voice, that sultry tone that usually got him everything he wanted.

“I thought you were being… I don’t know… nostalgic. I thought you might have remembered…it doesn’t matter. Take me home, Mulder.”

“No, finish. What was I supposed to remember, Scully?”

“Never mind. I’m cold. My toes are numb. I need coffee. Home. Please.”

The door to the building opened and a body tumbled out. Scully went to open the door, but Mulder grabbed her arm.

“Wait. We’re on surveillance, remember.”

The man rolled over, staggered upright and walked right to their car. He rapped on the window and Mulder held her eye for a second, willing her into silence, before he lowered the window a crack. “Can I help you, buddy?”

“They’ve all gone!”

She got a whiff of the alcohol on his breath and chuffed out a hard cough.

Mulder reached a hand over to her thigh, squeezing it gently. She bit back a moan. And was he wearing cufflinks? The one’s he’d worn when…

“Who has?”

“Everyone. Gone. Poof! Vanished.” He clapped dramatically and fell down.

Mulder got out of the car and she had no choice but to follow. She checked on the man, who had vomited spectacularly over the wheels of the car.

“Mulder,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Where are you going?”

He turned round, flashing her an incredulous look. “Inside. Where do you think?”

“We need back up!”

“Not if there’s no-one inside.”

He raised his weapon in front of him, looked at her, mouthed to three and pushed the door. She flew through in front of him, heart hammering, gun still feeling unnatural in her hands. He was there, though. Right behind her, his presence enlarged by that ridiculous black trench coat he’d dug out from 1994. It flapped around him, filling the limited space in the dingy passageway. They checked each room. All empty. He holstered his weapon, and she relaxed.

That was when she saw he wasn’t wearing a trench, but a black cape. “Mulder!”

“What?!” He held his palms open to her. “It’s an illusionists cape. I had to be dressed for the part.”

“Why?” She rubbed at the throbbing pain in her temples. “This was a stakeout not a Halloween party. Oh…”

He swept the sleeve over his face, so that all she could see was the top of his head. “I did remember.”

“Yes,” she said to her feet, “you do seem to have remembered.” Her cheeks burned. “But why all the secrecy, the pretend case? The guy outside, who was that?” Her voice was nasally.

“The guy was just wandering around outside. I gave him a hundred bucks. He must have spent it on booze.”

“Mulder,” she chided. “You’re still a hopeless romantic.”

“Is it hopeless?” He wrapped her in the cloak, the satin tickling her collar. “We are still married, Scully.”

She pulled away. “I can’t believe you tricked me like this.”

“I thought you could break my code, Scully. And it worked when I proposed. Trick or treat, remember?”

“How could I forget? You pretended to be having a heart attack so that I would give you CPR…”

“Fair’s fair, Scully. You owed me.”

“That was a rotten trick, Mulder.” She couldn’t help but giggle at the memory. “And then you said I had to go with you to the hospital Halloween dress up party to get my treat. And you wore an outfit that was strikingly similar to this one,” she said, tugging at the cape. “And you asked me to dress up as a Bavarian beer wench. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head.”

“Allow me to demonstrate again.” He pulled open her coat to reveal the little black she was wearing. Not quite Bavarian beer wench, but she indulged him by pushing her breasts up and forward for him. His eyes widened. “I threw out the costume, Mulder. I’m sorry.” She felt ridiculously close to tears.

“Tell me you didn’t throw out the treat – the ring?”

She sniffed. “Oh Mulder, never. I would never do that.”

He remembered. Of course he did. But he wanted her to know he remembered. She fell towards him, grateful for his warm embrace.

She had missed those hands on her back, that smug expression. “Why go to all this trouble, Mulder?”

“It’s no fun if it’s too easy. You should know that by now.”

She let out a soft laugh. “I’m not sure that I really do know you, sometimes.”

“I’m a dark wizard?”

She picked up the satin cape, and pulled him towards her. “Something like that.”

“I don’t want to do fake marriage anymore. I want to do the real thing again.”

“Like Rob and Laura Petrie?”

“Only if you don’t ever put that green stuff all over your face again.” He pulled her close again.

She snuffled out a tearful laugh against his white starched shirt. “You never did learn how to squeeze toothpaste out of a tube.”

“And we never did make the honeymoon video.”

“But we did spoon like little baby cats. Back in the day.” She grinned against him.

“I’m not sure that baby cats spoon quite like we did, and back in the day is now, Scully. Come home with me. I don’t think you need to be a code reader to understand what I’m saying.”

He held her face in his hands and bent towards her, giving her the whisper of a kiss that promised so much more than a trick or a treat.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #halloween #msr revival #todayinfic #fictober

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