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averyscarlet-blog · 3 years

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Project Clypse

Hello there stranger! If you don’t know who I am, or you’re too lazy to read my name, I’m AveryScarlet! You can simply call me Avery or Av. And if you know me on fanfiction.net, mostly through my works Mercury Alchemist or Final Fantasy Versus XV, welcome! Now, for a while now, I’ve been wanting to write up my own original story. Issue with me, thanks to college in the past, I haven’t properly developed the mindset to write a full-blown novel. I’ve gotten so used to typing up a chapter or two in a month before publishing them that I can’t properly focus as an actual writer should.

As much as I want to focus on writing some of my fanfiction, I can’t because I’m focusing on studying for NCLEX. So if you’re waiting for the next chapter for FF Versus XV... It’s almost done! It’s just gonna take a while. But as you can see below, I’ve been working on something else. I’m sure you’re confused as to who these characters are in the chat and why I’m pushing so many out. Well. I’ll tell you. This is my way of practicing for a story I’ve been... REALLY wanting to write for a long time. It doesn’t have a definite name, so I’m calling it Project Clypse. Which partially comes from the group my main characters are in.

Now, I thought of writing up their character bio’s but..... I’m not really that good at it as I used to be. I used to for when I was active in RP’s but I’m so rusty that I doubt I can keep up with whomever I’m chatting with. So, I’m just summarizing certain details you need to know about them! Not all of it because that'd be spoiling the story of every character. Now, with all that’s said and done, let me start explaining key points of Project Clypse.

Premise/Background

The story is centered on a world called Avarus, which you can say is sort of like Earth, except it was made with someone else's version of life. Or, it used to be. Avarus is one of the few remaining worlds that has an active patron God, who has chosen to go under the alias Belial. The world was originally created and governed by another, Belial’s younger sister, Soleil. After Avarus’ creation, and the birth of man, she was killed by an unknown assailant. But before she died, she was cursed to experience an endless cycle of death and rebirth into various random worlds. She will live a short mortal life, then die from either natural or unnatural causes.

According to Belial, this curse is bestowed only to Celetials who have performed a dire sin. While there is no definite way to lift the curse, Belial hopes that by locating and retrieving her while she's still alive, or at the very least obtain her soul, then he could find the proper means to spare his sister of her cursed fate and return Avarus's true patron Goddess. Because of her demise, life on the planet started to decay. To prevent its destruction, Belial forced the planet to stop rotating, hoping to delay it long enough for him to find Soleil.

However, there were dire consequences to this act. His actions indirectly causing the world to cease rotating; time became non-existent as a result. This, inevitably, killed off most of the remaining life in the world due to the imbalance of the ecosystem as one half of the planet became stuck in perpetual darkness, and the other being dried up caused prolonged exposure to the sun's light.

The only life that Belial was able to salvage was her sisters creation; humanity. Those that survived after the planet ceased its rotation found themselves unable to age. They can still die, but their bodies will no longer decay. During the first Century since Soleil’s death, the God went through various countermeasures to keep the world and the life still inhabits it safe until he can find his sister.

However, a strange plague began to manifest. Soon, it began to devour most of the remaining populace, creating a dark entity in the process; the Astrals (will explain in a different section).

While Belial was successful in wiping out the infected, the God realized that he cannot keep the last remnants of humanity safe. Not while there are still Astrals lurking about. So he put them to sleep, sealed them in a place that only he knows. However, because of the sudden absence of time and life, the world began to deconstruct itself each time he departed in search for her in other worlds. Realizing he cannot manage Avarus and search for his sister at the same time, he found an alternative. Since his conception, he had noticed a peculiar type of living being popping up now and then in a variety of sentient species. So he sought them out.

Eventually, gathered enough to temporarily replace humanity and trick the world itself into thinking life still exists. At first, he gathered adults since he knew nothing can grow in Avarus once they’ve lived in the world for a certain period of time, but because of their attachments to the worlds they originated from, it was difficult to convince them to remain. Then he thought up of another solution, one which he knew his sister would frown upon. Children. With their young minds, they’ll easily forget their place of origin and can be easily trained in the necessary skill in traversing through different worlds. And, after learning that the Astrals have branched out to those said worlds, learn how to handle their sudden enemy.

Their goal is simple; to locate and, if possible, retrieve Soleil and eradicate the Astrals.

Main Characters

Note: Just in case you did not know... I. Cannot. Draw. As much as it pains me to do this, but I need you guys to have some sort of idea on how they look like. I cannot find the original artists of the artworks; mostly because google imaging is shit and Pinterest tends to... Send you elsewhere. So of you know the artist, please PM me so I can give them credit. If you know they don't want their works republished, I'll remove it and try to figure something out. I take no credit whatsoever on the art! I merely scoured the internet for any references I could use. If you're wondering why I'm not.using actual people... You know how awkward that is?

Anyway, much of these are concepts so expect changes in the future. I tried to discuss as little as possible about each character. And let me tell ya.... That was a lot I had to cut off, so if the explanation is a bit messy, that was from me trying to select what to remove to avoid revealing too much.

. . .

Sound

‘I have to be better. I have to be a better leader. I have to be a better lover. I have to be a better sibling. If I don’t... then I’ll lose everything again. If I must, I’ll sacrifice my identity for a third time if it means protecting them.’

Credits to: T0Q00(?) - Okay, on Pinterest it has the person’s name AND link to their twitter account. The thing is... it’s empty. Their entire page is empty. At least I found the artist’s name?

Also known as the Glutton King, Sound is one of the leaders of his faction, Tunera Clypse and a member of Mythral. He is a first generation Nors. While not as lazy as Noise, he’s not really a fan of getting involved in fights with people. When it comes to killing Astrals; that’s an entirely different story.

Outwardly, he displays laid back, playful, and very concerning outlandish behavior. And by outlandish, I mean his... eating habits. Sound likes to experiment with his stomach. He’ll do absolutely ANYTHING to eat whatever he deems as edible. He also - absolutely - lacks any sense of shame (ex. walking out of the shower and to his room without a towel, slapping Noise’s butt). Although limited to communicate via writing, he makes sure that every single thing he writes is worth reading. Many are even surprised at just how fast he writes his messages. Then again, after years of practice, it’s expected he’d adapt.

Sound is self-aware of the fact that he’s a fictional character and will randomly break the fourth wall, causing much confusion to his friends several times. While not as dark as his previous self, Fell, he maintains some of his views towards life and tends to be as vocal - via writing - of his previous self's beliefs.

As a Cursed Blood, his curse forces him to conceal his face behind a customized Fox Mask. Depending on the amount of facial skin that was exposed, a person can live up to several minutes to several hours before inflicted with sudden death. If a person were to see the entirety of his face, they will die on the spot from unknown causes. He has a Physical Curse as well, which causes him to inflict a certain degree bad-luck to whoever hears his voice. While it’s rarely anything life-threatening, Sound is forced to become selectively mute. Although he tries his best to remain silent, he tends to accidentally let it a few words or sounds slip. Which usually occurs when he sneezes, and when he does, it is immediately advised by his friends to duck and cover.

After undergoing the Ascension Ceremony, he joined the faction Tunera Clypse and then gave up his original name, becoming the next Sound. Unbeknownst to him, his actions later in life has caused him to unknowingly become the Vessel of Gluttony. It is unknown if his eating habits is the reason he became the vessel or it’s the other way around. Either way, he has shown to be fully capable of controlling the abilities that comes with being a Vessel. Sound merely chooses not to use them.

. . .

Ayane Koronashi

“If my brother had left the orphanage that day without me, I would simply smile. If Ulric presented me his latest girlfriend, I’d smile. Smiling is all I can ever do without being a nuisance. I could never show them my pain. I want to cry but my curse renders me incapable of doing so. But now it’s better. I’m better.”

Also known as the Black Fox. Ayane is the younger twin sister of Sound. Like her twin, she is also a member of Tunera Clypse and Mythral; as well as a first generation Nors. Despite being an active member, unless accompanied by her brother, Ayane is rarely allowed to participate in any scouting or combat-related missions. The main reason for this is her curse. While also a Cursed Blood like her brother and some of their friends, the unnatural causes that led to sudden conversion to a cursed blood caused her condition to be unstable. At the beginning, she was unable to retain her original form and would take the shape of a fox.

After some time and practice, she has learned to maintain most of her former human appearance, leaving only a pair of fox ears to replace her human ears and a tail (not by choice) as an extra ligament. Not only that, some of her internal organs remain similar to that of a fox. Because of this, she is unable to eat certain foods that are potentially poisonous to her (or generally unhealthy). She was told that eventually, if nothing is done, she will permanently take the complete form of a fox. She cannot surgically remove the fox parts as they will simply grow back.

Side-note: No, they did not try or plan to remove her fox ears. The curse replaced her human ears so they cannot remove them without indirectly making her deaf.

Her personality is the somewhat similar to Sound’s, but is far more excitable and outgoing than her brother. Just like a fox, she is clever and witty, which she demonstrates many times during combat. She has a tendencyto steal things without her knowledge. While this isn’t necessarily kleptomania, as objects appear in her hands at random, she still tries get over her childhood habit. She does have a tendency to be reckless, though this is stems from her need to be useful as her curse leaves her unable to perform all of the necessary abilities that is required of a Nors.

Another thing to know is her intense hatred towards cats. Which will be explored at a later time.

As a Cursed Blood, she can take the form of a fox. While the size varies, depending on her emotional state, she is commonly seen to change into the size similar to an elephant. If she performs multiple transformations, she will regress to a regular sized fox and sleep for an extensive period of time. She has been recommended to avoid constantly rely on her full fox form as it will hasten the progression of her curse.

After undergoing the Ascension Ceremony, she followed her brother and joined the same faction as him, but unlike him, did not join as a core member so she did not have to give up her original name. Because of the current state of her body caused by her Cursed Blood, her emotions has unknowingly lead her to become thenext Vessel of Envy.

. . .

Reihana Toelle Ur Kamaria

“Why was I born like this... what did I deserve to be cursed like this!? All I want is to hold someone without fearing I’ll crush them. I can’t be the receiver forever!”

Or Rei for short. Is a member of Mythral and is a second generation Nors. As a floater, Rei rotates between the three factions, but she usually works with Tunera Clypse. Known for her terrifying brute strength, Rei is feared by many and is challenged on a near daily basis. Because of her strength and seemingly indestructible nature, she is (much to her annoyance) sometimes used as a human shield. While she is able to take on an army by herself, Rei tries not to go all out in fear of accidentally killing her allies in the crossfire. In terms of mental maturity, aside from Xavier, she is slightly more competent and is level-headed enough to not participate in childish activities. Most of the time.

Rei prefers to ‘punch first, talk later’ when confronted, though the talking never happens as her opponents is either obliterated or immediately knocked out after one hit. While she can be aggressive at times, she merely acts out on this person's due to the rumors that were spread when word of her curse began to circulate. Those closest to her have witnessed her carefree and adventurous nature. She is also cautious and careful of her surroundings, becoming more thoughtful in the usage of her strength as a result.

As much as she loves the thrill and adrenaline that comes from combat, she prefers not to fight too often. Mostly because it usually leads to unnecessary mass destruction. She craves for proper physical contact, but due to her curse, she forces herself to avoid it as much as possible.

Being the physically oldest, next to Percy, she tends to act like the big sister of the group, which Rei has admitted she finds embarrassing. Still, she works hard in trying to act as moral support for her friends. That doesn’t stop her from losing her temper when a certain line is crossed.

As a Cursed Blood, she is cursed with immeasurable strength. Her strength doubles based on who or whatever is the strongest in a world that she sets foot in. That, of course, excludes Celestial’s as the strength of the divinity is almost non-existent. By default, back in Avarus, her usual strength is enough to crumble an entire building. In other worlds, it depends. To help control and regulate her strength during combat, she uses a large amount of Astral Dust to create form-fitting gauntlets around her lower arm. She was meant to become the Vessel of Wrath but was instead changed to be the candidate for the Vessel of Pride.

. . .

Perseus Vlahos

"I used to believe that being a hero will allow you to cement your place in history. But over time, I learned that the farther in time your name is shared in time, you become nothing more than a mere legend. Or worse, a myth. Stories can be altered, changed. If that’s the case, I’d rather not be remembered at all. I didn’t work this hard just to be written off as a bedtime story.”

Christened under the name ‘Percy the Naive’ by his best friend, later life-long rival, Wilhelm, he is the current wielder of the legendary sword; Excalibur, and member of Infernum Poncitator. Grandson of Rayner, Percy is one of the few third generation Nors in Avarus. He is a kind young man and is respected amongst his peers (well, most of them) and superiors, so much so that he has been offered the position of leader of the faction. Percy refuses as not only deems himself unworthy, but out of respect for those that have lived in Avarus longer.

He displays many the ideal traits of a knight, eventually becoming viewed as an ideal knight by others. However, deep down, Percy perceives himself as the opposite. He feels he is a dishonorable fraud and is not proud of his status as Excalibur's chosen wielder. If he was given a chance to do it over again, Percy would immediately abandon his decision never search and locate the sword.

After joining Avarus, in a short span of time, Percy was able to easily establish himself as a sort of leader figure within his faction. While serious most of the time, especially during missions, due to his time with other Nors, has displayed a degree of patience and tolerance towards whoever he is assigned. Still, he never forgets their main objective and takes charge if he deems the assigned leader incompetent. Which happens more times than he refuses to count. He tries to maintain a cool head, but will severely reprimand others if the situation calls for it.

Proficient in the ways of the sword, he garnered the attention of (the then Mongrel) Mitchell. He was very reluctant in taking in a squire. But eventually, Percy relented after the younger boy attempted to fight against an Astral and nearly lost his life. He plans to one day pass down Excalibur to Mitchell once he gains the strength to surpass Percy.

At the moment, Percy is the current Vessel of Wrath.

. . .

Noise (***** Rallus)

“I tried all of my life to give my dad a reason why he shouldn't be treating his body the way he did. I tried all of my life to keep my friend in line so I'd never have to be the one to discipline him. And yet... If only I didn't try so hard, they'd still be alive.”

Author’s Note: Yeah I... legit do not know who this belongs to. There’s the artist’s signature so that’s the good thing. Problem is....

After escaping from the confines of his original world, Eingesperrt City, and, with the help Sound, joined Avarus and assumed the title of Noise. Unlike others that were gathered in the past, Noise is a regular human being. Something only Sound knows. Regardless of the danger, he became one of the leaders for Tunera Clypse, later joining Mythral after adapting to his new lifestyle.

He wears one of the Artifacts in order to copy and use only one ability of his choosing. As long as a piece of original user is within the Artifact, Noise can use it for as long as he wants. However, if its been removed and replaced with something else, the previous copied ability cannot be used ever again.

Since his recruitment, Noise adopted an extremely lazy personality. He’s so lazy that somehow even snoring consumes too much energy. To make sure he’s awake most of the time, Sound forced Noise to set up a sleep schedule, so that when he’s ready, he has enough energy to do SOMETHING. However, no matter where he is, he’ll take every opportunity to take a nap. He doesn’t care. As long as he gets to close his eyes, Noise is fine to sleep wherever, even if it involves napping righ at the edge of a volcano.

He’ll get annoyed if anyone that dares try to wake him up and he’ll be in a fowl mood for the rest of the day. The only exception is the fox girl and his lover. Despite this, he displays a certain degree of kindness. It’s just really hard to tell if what he’s doing is truly an act of kindness or he’s just too lazy to do things such as delivering a ‘motivational speech’. He can be blunt when he has to be, and he tends to come off as a jackass rude because of his personality. However, this is his way of showing he cares. Noise will flat out tell you if he dislikes you.

Another thing to know about him is his crude sense of humor. Combined with his blunt and rude nature towards people, mostly acquaintances and strangers, it always leads to various... Misunderstandings. Worst case scenario? A fight. He'd improve if he could, but he won't.

Look, if you haven't figure out that he's lazy after reading all this, gooood luck.

For reasons unknown, despite becoming the next Vessel of Sloth, it remains dormant within him. They thought of extracting it to learn the causes that led up to its current dormant state, but Sound intervened in time as he knew that extracting it by force will kill the the vessel.

. . .

Michael/Raphael/Gabriel/Uriel/Saraqael/Raguel/Remiel/etc

‘Dragons are raised under the false pretense that they are the supreme species above all others. But that merely obscures the truth; the truth that we’re just as vulnerable as anyone else. There are various ways to kill aside from piercing our hearts with a spear.”

Author’s Note: Just so you know, HE’S BLONDE and has green eyes! This was the only option I have that closely resembles how I envisioned him! There was another because he gives off the same atmosphere when you look at him but... he’s from an otome game. And I only learned that recently so, if the same goes for this one? WELP. Oh and he has patches of dark brown scales on part of his skin.

Neither a Quietus Nors nor a resident of Avarus, Michael is a dragon. His version of his race if capable of transformation, but can only change into the form of the last creature they devoured. Whole. Rather than his true form, in order to remain working in Avarus, chose to work in the form of the former Prince of Edrakon, a world where dragons were enslaved and cruelly treated as mere objects. Despite his appearance not being his own, he maintains an intimidating and powerful aura, which is easily distinguishable even within a large crowd.

Due to the high esteem he holds towards his race and his pride as a Dragon, he can come off as domineering, even becoming critical towards other versions of his race if he finds something illogical or nonsensical in their appearance and their abilities. While he does act this way, he finds it absolutely disgusting to find dragons place themselves in a position of power and abuses their power in controlling another species. Another aspect of him is that he looks down on dragons with physical defects, which is mostly directly aimed as himself due to his extremely poor eyesight. Thus, forcing him to rely on his human form to watch glasses. He also has a very confusing naming system; where he changes his name based on the date, time and temperature.

Micheal held the potential required to become a Nors, but because of his age, he was unable to undergo the necessary steps to fully integrate into Avarus. While others are reluctant to have him join their ranks, several others, for different reasons, allowed him to remain. This eventually allowed others to accept his addition to the organization.

As the one in charge of organizing and handling most of Avarus’ internal affairs, a job the Nors, even the Ex-Anima/Animus, are reluctant in taking up such an important position; he takes his job very seriously. Although he does express some contempt towards humans, this does not extend to the people he works with. He cares about them to a certain degree, which is shown by he constantly reprimands whoever acts risky during a mission.

He is the current Vessel of Pride, something he only learns of later on. Despite the fact Micheal is a vessel, Belial believes this is only temporary. He isn’t particularly close with Belial, but he respects the God enough to follow his orders.

. . .

Ulric Soknawo

'In my tribe, I was considered an outcast. You can thank the unnatural union that birthed me. Now? It hasn’t changed much, but at least I’m no longer considered the runt of the pack.’

Whose other name is Kuckunniwi, is a former member of the Aniwaya Tribe. In their world, his people are Natives who worshipped a guardian Wolf Spirit. According to them, in return for their unyielding loyalty and devoted nature, it granted the people with the power to take the form of the spirit they have worshipped for many generations. So long as they use that power to protect the forest, it shall provide them protection. Ulric is the third, second youngest, illegitamate son of the Tribal chief Tamaska and grandson of Wolfram.

As per tradition, all tribesmen are given two names, one for their human form while the other is for their inner wolf. Despite being allowed to use either name like others of his tribe, he refuses to be use his wolf name due to the meaning behind it. After being discovered by Ayane, she brought and recruited him to Avarus. Ulric is considered to be a Third Generation Nors due the fact his father was (oddly) not born a Nors, or had to potential to be converted into one.

Ulric tends to act like the stereotypical lone-wolf, choosing to remain in solitude and observe from a distance. He likes to spend his quiet time alone, though he does allow others to sit next to him when asked. Many have pointed out that he never smiles, but, as much as he hates to quote Noise, states that if there is no reason to smile, there is no reason to put so much effort in abusing his facial muscles.

As much as he loves being a wolf, he finds certain aspects of his second nature to be... aggravating. Depending on the season and the weather, it deals a the effects his wolf instincts on his human nature. Because of the two separate natures continually clashing, he tends to act irritable and his temper worsens, especially during the night. Ulric holds a strong belief that one’s nature, regardless of your race, should never control a one's personal feelings.

He holds an unyielding loyalty to his loved ones, almost to the point of willing to kill for them if the situation calls for it, but his actions are subtle and tends to be the exact opposite of how he truly feels. Only two people in his life have been able to decipher his behavior, and he cherishes them for it. Ulric has a bit of a temper as well but is able to keep it in check. His temper, however, is what led him to becoming a Cursed Blood. His curse forces him to foresee the deaths of whomever he romantically falls in love (or at least feel an interest) with.

Any attempts at interfering will only hasten their death.

. . .

Xavier Wozwald Hawthorne

'Murderers are dumbasses, always killing because of their unchecked emotions and pented up desires. Hence why most of them clumsily try to hide their crime. Serial killers are more... sofisticated with their craft, but their ego always gets in the way. If they weren’t complete dumbasses, they would have lived a long comfortable life. I should know.’

Note: Yes, this is obviously Vflower. Did I know that before? No. Do I plan to change the art reference? Yes, but only when I find one that’s not a god dang real-life person’s online avatar. XD Seriously, each time I thought I found one... it’s an utaite or vtuber.

Is a member of Mythral and a First Generation Nors. Like Rei, he is a Floater, which allows him to particiate in mission for all three factions. However, he prefers to work with those in Tunera Clypse as, since they mostly handle scouting and recruiting missions. As long as he doesn’t remain in Avarus for too long, he's fine with accepting any mission related to Tunera. Xavier will still accept missions from other factions, but that's merely to fill up his quota.

Despite appearing around the age 12-14; which was not by choice, Xavier is in fact mentally older than most of his fellow Nors. Known for his sharp tongue, Xavier is one of the few known Nors to have been granted permission to travel outworld immediately after undergoing the Ascenscion Ceremony.

Due to the experiences his past life went through, Xavier has a very grim outlook of the world and displays little to no respect towards authority figures. And that includes his current patron God; Belial, which only worsens after being told by the God that he is unable to help Xavier grow into the appropriate intended size. Unlike most Nors, he displays a high degree of critical thinking and intelligent. He is, if not more, level-headed than one of his friends; Percy. Though that doesn’t stop the teasing. While confident in his abilities in terms of combat, Xavier knows the limits of his current smaller body.

In order to compensate, he creates an excessively large scythe as compensation, but he's too proud to admit this.

Because of his level of maturity, he has been labeled as a 'Midget Grandpa'. Which he fails at trying to prove otherwise by collecting certain tthings that are considered out of date by their standards. Eventually, it became a soft of hobby for him to collect such things.

Xavier tends to display a sadistic nature while in combat, choosing to taunt his opponent by constantly pointing our their obvious flaws deficits and toy with them until the last minute. Most times, he will use his child-like appearance to his advantage to further torment his opponent/victim. Comically enough, if his opponent is a cold-blooded criminal, Xavier will compliment and , depending on their actions, congratulate them; much to the annoyance of those involved.

Like Sound, he has both a Physical and Blood-based Curse, but unlike the latter, Xavier was born with both. His Physical Curse has caused severe permanent scarring on his right arm, making it appear similar to third degree burns. If freed from any type of coverage, such as bandages, his arm will painfully be set a blazed, forcing him to conceal his arm at all times. As a Cursed Blood, Xavier has a similar effect of a Siren, except his hypnotic singing forces someone to commit suicide. Every time he uses this curse, he temporarily falls into a coma.

. . .

Succu(bus) Kilmer

Like her name suggests, Succu is a succubus, but belongs to a different version of her species. Due to being a demon, she is forbidden to reveal her true name. Succu is neither a Nors nor a Cursed Blood. She’s more of an illegal immigrant after sneaking her way into a group of Nors when they were scouting for potential recruits. There have been many attempts in trying to relocate her back to her original world, but she is able to seduce her attackers and slip away. Eventually, Belial declared that she will be allowed to remain as a resident, so long as she contributes in their mission to locate Soleil.

While they do seduce those of the opposite sex, her source of food is not as grotesque as several others. She does seduce her victim, but moves her body in a way that her victims find alluring. Succu will then massage certain parts of their body as a means to relax them. To assure that they will not attempt to escape, she will release pheremones that nulls the victims senses. What she devours isn’t the flesh of her victim nor does she devour their soul, she merely devours the emotions she was able to invoke until her hunger is quenched.

Succu is flirtaceous and very... very.... VERY- Well, you get the point. While she doesn’t flaunt her beauty, she does know how to use it to her advantage. However, despite many approaching her, Succu has only eyes for one, and is willing to wait as long as possible for that person to reciprocate her feelings. Succu, although assertive and open with her feelings, is not the type to force them onto someone.

She does like to express herself by getting physical - very physical. Not the way that you’re thinking, you perverts. She finds it more convenient to allow her actions to talk rather than saying things verbally. Since she’s an outsider, she notices several things that not even Pery or Ulric have noticed, and both are outsiders as well considering the fact they grew up outworld before being recruited. Regardless, she remains silent for the sake of remaining by her beloved’s side.

Succu is often mistaken as the Vessel of Lust due to her nature, and, on her part, finds it’s tiresome to prove that she is not.

Side Characters

Tank Mortem

A former member of Tunera Clypse and Mythral, Tank has been assigned to act as one of the engineers in maintaining the Infernian Generator due to his body’s condition and the issues of his mental state. He seldom participates in missions but, despite being given strict orders not to, joins in anyway. Due to the limits of his mental capacity, Tank has difficulty interacting with others. Quite literally.

Beatrix Staccato

Is a researcher and inventor in charge of the tools and weaponry utilized by most Nors and Ex-Animus. Having taken over most of the unfinished projects since the passing of his master, Beatrix has dedicated all of his time in improving the welfare of the world and its inhabitants. However, most of his experiments tend to be a bit... over the top. If he’s not thinking of new potential products that may benefits the Nors, he’ll make whatever comes at the top of his head, and most of the time it’ll lead him to make the most outrageous and unnecessary items. Beatrix prefers to remain in his lab/home at all times, rendering his social interactions with the three factions to be limited via holographic meetings.

‘Nyx’ Pierrot

Leader of Vanidicus Persona, she is one of the oldest Nors - next to Constantine - making her the default leader of her faction. Much about her is a mystery. Even her behavior can be viewed as... questionable. Not outlandish, that’s Sound’s department. Her behavior is so odd that it’s enough to baffle even Belial. She takes her leadership over her faction very seriously, however, as part of her nature, the requirements in joining and maintaining your membership vastly deviates from the original. However, looks can be deceiving. Aside from her seniority, there is a reason why she was given the position of leader.

Mitchell Pierrot

He prefers to be called as ‘Mitch’ after being told, and proven, by his sister how much of a tongue twister his name is if repeated constantly in a single conversation. While he is the younger brother of Nyx, Mitch opted to become a submember of Tunera Clypse upon undergoing the Ascension Ceremony to be in the same faction as his mentor, Perseus Vlahos. Compared to the Nors in his batch, he is viewed as weak by many as he is unable to perform the abilities that is expected of him to develop after becoming a Nors.

Constantine L. Refrain

Nothing is truly known about him except that he’s a chronic smoker. Nobody truly knows who he is, no one even knows which faction he belongs to. It’s nearly impossible to question these things as he is constantly surrounded by a shroud of - barely tolerable - smoke. All that is known is that he’s been around longer than most of the Ex-Animus. Constantine usually frequints the Silent Siren Bar, staying there for hours until he’s either drunk or needs to receive another pack of cigarretes from Beatrix. He says they’re for medicinal purposes buuuuut...

I’m pretty sure black smoke isn’t normal.

Stefan Mal Sorcier

Is Percy’s second pupil. Although, it was more like Percy was forced into taking in another after his continual refusal to become leader of Infernum Poncitator. Outwardly, he is aloof and always appears smiling, which unsettles Mitchell even when they’re alone. His politeness is found unusual by many and causes others to feel wary around him. Even the dragon finds himself is unable to remain in the same vicinity as the young man. Despite being full of many secrets, Percy accepts him as is and tries his best to teach him all he can, which Stefan appreciates.

Kyline Necro

Considered as the mascot ambassador of Avarus, like the soul that was fused with her upon birth, she mostly lounges around and has little participation in any missions in and out of Avarus. This has caused her to be disliked by many, most especially Ayane. The only person Kyline has gotten close to is Noise; mostly because they share the same favored sleeping spot. On a side, she acts a physician, or surgeon if you like to get technical. She has a strange fondness of picking apart and replacing specific limbs with doll parts.

Yu-Yan Chi Ryou

Was once one of the strongest Nors from Xavier’s batch until he was inflicted by an unknown disease during one of his missions. While there is no name for the disease, it has caused much of his bones to undergo crystallization; rendering him immobile due to the pain that comes from even the smallest of movements. Since he is incapable in participating in any activities, Yu-Yan has since been forced to be confined to a wheel chair for the rest of his life.

Anita Eine Kleine

Is the fighting instructor of the Mongrels and a member of Infernum Poncitator. Anita is a highly-skilled caster, able to conjure and manipulate various elements. She absolutely hates the term ‘witch’, even going as far as to cast a minor curse in making a person temporarily mute if they refer to her as one. Which Sound found rather offensive when he found out about the curse, something she deeply apologized for. She participates in some Scouting Missions but only if personally requested by someone from Tunera Clypse.

Victor Stein

Is Beatrix’s (only living) research assistant. He is the sole survivor of the Night of the Black Moon. Although having physically recovered, the damage to his mental state has left a deep scar on his psyche. He fears yet obsesses over the sensation of pain. There is not one instance where he isn’t found sowing over his own intact skin. While Victor knows his addiction found uncomfortable by others, he finds it extremely difficult to control his urges.

Wolfram

Grandfather of Ulric and most of his siblings, he is an Ex-Anima (or retired Nors) and a former member of the original Mythral. As the more experienced and one of the longest surviving resident of Avarus, he acts as a mentor to those who seek his guidance. However, in terms of combat, his skills are very limited as he has become permanently stuck in his wolf form. The only grandchildren he's ever personally met are Ulric and Seeing, who have both ironically became his favorite. While acting as a mentor, he is rather strict, constantly parting lessons in order to make sure none make the same mistakes he committed when he was younger, many of which he refuses to share.

Diantha Anemone

Despite being still a Liberi, Dia still participates in many activities meant to be done only by Nors. She originally wanted to become a part of Tunera Clypse due to the many adventures imparted by Sound. But after having a first hand experience in one, it traumatized her to the point where she wants to merely work as a Librarian, a position many people avoid.

Echo & Yell

Fellow teammates of Sound and Noise. As part of the four heads leaders that overwatch many of Tunera Clypse's activities, both in and out of Avarus. They mostly take charge of delegating the members while the other two take an active role in leading many scouting missions off-world. Contradicting her name, like Sound and Noise, her personality is the completely opposite. Due to her sociophobia, she is extremely shy and is unable to speak when talked to, only whispering her sentences as she talks. Yell, however, is the only one whose personality fits the mantle she inherited. Due to her curse, she has to raise her voice after every two hours. If not, she will fall into a coma, and she can only be awaken by *************.

Important Figures

Belial

Credits to: @airtrees0507 (Again, another artist who... disappeared from the internet. How do I keep finding refrences where the artist is just gone?)

Is a Celestial and the younger brother of Soleil. However, despite his godly status, he does not have any of the expected gifts. Neither a god of creation, life, or death, he has been given the title God of Void by his peers. Because of this, he is incapable of maintaining Avarus by himself, forcing him to use alternative (and questionable) means in preserving the world his sister created. Like his title, Belial is unable to express emotions, giving blank demeanor. He does, however, hold some semblence of emotions within him. Yet despite this, he has little to no understanding of life, death and emotions. Even after centuries since he over his sister’s role as Patron God, he still has no understanding to all living things, almost to the point of coming off as insensitive and heartless.

Belial has a deep devotion to his sister, having gone through great lengths to make sure to maintain her world and willingly sacrifice the lives of many. Despite knowing her distaste towards such acts, he holds onto the hope of one day finding her.

Soleil

Credits: Um... Lucare Eu??? Sorry, I’m just basing it off the signature. Once again, can’t find the artist themself so...

The true patron goddess of Avarus and the older sister of Belial. Aside from her status as the original creator and caretaker of her world and the life that once flourished within it, not much is known about her. While her exact cause of death is unknown, she was cursed to live an endless cycle of death and rebirth in various worlds. In order to restore the world she created and loved dearly, Belial dedicated his life in searching for her soul and freeing her of her curse. As a Celestial, she was said to have chosen to take the form of her first ever creation and first mortal friend.

It is said that, despite having blessed with the gift of creation, she was known to be a lonely goddess. Those that new her describe as someone that’s physically there but is spiritually detached.

The Oracle

Is a title given to those with the ability to commune and guide the spirits to the Empyrean Plain, more specifically Avarus’ residences due to the absence of Soleil. The Oracle acts as the divine anchor on the world to aid Belial in prolonging the world’s existence. They are also the main source of Belial’s divine power; both of which are maintained through her prayers. The gender and species of the Oracle is non-specific, but it if preferred by Belial if they are humanoid and have the ability of speech for the sake of communication.

The current Oracle is Aniela Fischl, who, unlike her predecessors, is able to foresee various futures. She does so by carefully peeking through the leylines and selects various possibilities that solely benefit Avarus. No one is allowed to meet her except Belial and her assigned Seekers.

The Seekers

The guardians, caretaker, and acting medians between the Oracle and the residents of Avarus. Their duty is to ensure that the chosen Oracle remains within the Spiral Tower and that he/she fulfills their duty, even going as far as to grant their wish regardless of the consequenses. Each Seeker has only one desire, and that’s to protect the Oracle at all times.

Races

Liberi

Age Range: Birth or 5 to 10 years

Although that is the official term, ‘Mongrel’ is what they are commonly referred as. It is the used for the for the children taken to or born in Avarus. Mongrels spend most of their young lives training within the safe walls of the Aldebaran Academy. They are forbidden from leaving as, according to Belial, they are the extremely fragile during this point of their lives. Regardless of their age, depending on how well they’ve performed in training, they will be given the right of undergoing the Ascension Ceremony. Those who fail are xxxxxxxx xx.

Due to their young age, their behavior is more sporadic than that of a normal child. Their reflexes are enhanced, almost to the point where it becomes difficult to contain them. Mongrels lack common sense so they tend to act out without fully understanding the impact their actions have. While childish and friendly by nature, Travellers are advised to approach with caution. Those who act beyond the expected norm are called Prodigies.

Quietus Nors

Age Range: (Physically) 14-19, (Mentally) 10 or above

Or simply called, Nors. After their graduation, every Nors is immediately sent to work. Depending on the final results of their training prior to undergoing the ceremony/procedure, each is individually assigned into one of the three factions ; Infernum Poncitator, Vanidicus Persona, and lastly, Tunera Clypse (formerly called Tunera). Those that are assigned to neither of the factions are assigned to more menial jobs alongside the Ex-Animus,

Despite their young minds, they have quickly adapted into their new forms. Due to time becoming almost non-existant in Avarus, Nors age at a rapidly slow rate. Though known to be childish by nature due to the gap of their young minds to their bodies, they dangerously lack empathy and display little to no compassion and remorse towards others. In worst cases, some act selfishly on their own accord. On a positive note, they lack any emotions that may hinder their mission in locating Soleil; such as fear.

Only two of the three current generations of Nors differ greatly from the first:

First Generation Nors - Are those converted or directly born within Avarus with the blood of two Nors. Those born in the first generation share two specific physical characteristics; raven black hair and golden eyes. They all share the same abilities upon conversion/birth, but it depends on the individual which ones they should master. Unless they happen to be a Cursed Blood, they are unable to obtain different abilities to call their own. They are required to undergo the Ascension Ceremony.

Second Generation Nors - In terms of personality, they are considered half as bad as those in the first gen. Unlike the previous, second generation Nors are considered slightly weaker, however, they have a better chance of obtaining other abilities outside of Avarus. Their hair is slightly lighter shade of black but their eyes remain the same. They too are required to undergo the Ascension Ceremony.

Third Generation Nors - While rare, they do tend to appear once in a while. It’s not exact how one falls into this category. The closest is being the grandchild or who has an anscestor that was a Nors. Because of their circumstances, these Nors are far weaker as they cannot use any of the standard abilities. Third Generation Nors are far difficult to locate as their potential doesn’t surface until they are of a much later age, rendering them incapable of taking necessary training to hone their abilities and undergoing the Ascension Ceremony. They do not share the common personality or physical traits of a Nors. One thing every Nors in this generation share are sky blue eyes, which emit a faint glow when in the dark.

Ex-Animus (or Anima for singular)

Age Range: (Physically) 30 to 40, rarely appears in their early 20′s

Are individuals who are retired from their duties as a Nors. Although Nors generally age at an excessively slow rate (due to the effects of Avarus), after a number of cycles (which refers to the number of batches that underwent the Ascension Ceremony), they will be given the order to retire. Regardless whether they are willing to or not, there is nothing they can do once the order has been issued. Once one becomes an Ex-Anima, they are completely cut off from their original faction and are unable to leave Avarus for the rest of their life.

Not only that, they are unable to defend themselves like they used to as they can no longer control Astral Dust and use the abilities from their time as a Nors,Basically. Basically, Ex-Animus’ are left to fend for themselves.

Factions

Every Nors is allowed to join any of the three factions; Infernum Poncitator, Vanidicus Persona , and Tunera Clypse. There is an option to not join any of the factions; they are called ‘Floaters’.

3 notes · View notes

rosesisupposes · 4 years

Text

Skin Deep

Two royal twins, Remus and Roman, alike in almost every way, trained to be military leaders, trained to serve their nation as generals. But in a society that sees any body irregularities as signs of moral defect, one will never hold the same status as his brother. How could he ever be a proper Face of the Nation?

or, What If Roman Was The Unacceptable One?

Word count: 9,203

Main Characters: Remus, Roman

Appearances by: Patton, Remy, Logan, Virgil, Mentions of Deceit

Relationships: Platonic/Brotherly Creativitwins; background Losleep, past Moceit, beginnings of Royality, Platonic Sleepality, Platonic Sleepxiety,

Warnings: graphic descriptions of war/battle; societal prejudice based on appearances; discrimination based on appearances; trauma-induced body modifications; mentions of emotional abuse including forced starvation/food deprivation;

Credit to @hawthornshadow for being my wonderful co-creator in the worldbuilding especially, and to dear @vintage-squid for beta-reading!

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Roman’s muscles were burning as he blocked the attack, catching the down-swinging blow at the hilt. He pushed back, threw his assailant off balance, and swung out his leg to send him sprawling. Without pausing for breath, he followed through, swinging his sword to stop mere inches from the fallen man’s throat.

“I yield,” the man said, chest heaving. “Also, fuck you, Your Grace.”

Roman grinned and sheathed his dull practice sword, offering an arm to help the man to his feet. “My only goal is to help you improve, my dear Toby. By pointing out the weak points in your defense. Repeatedly.”

“Thanks ever so, royal pain-in-the-ass,” Toby said, letting himself be pulled to standing. He stretched, wincing, and picked up his fallen weapon. The other men of Roman’s squad surrounded them, patting Toby’s back with sympathy and slapping Roman with what were framed as claps of victory but were probably harder than they needed to be. Roman brushed his hair out of his face, his bright red curls turned dark with sweat. One of the men tossed him a damp cloth to wipe his face, and he caught it with thanks.

Roman and his men were chatting and planning their next training session when a servant entered the yard.

“Your Grace, your father requests your presence.”

Roman immediately broke off from the group. “Is it an immediate request, or do I have time to make myself presentable?”

“His Majesty is aware that you were in the training grounds, and it is not an urgent matter.”

⁂

Roman, cleaned up and outfitted in his dress uniform, knelt before his father’s throne, waiting to be spoken to. He felt a slight trickle of sweat on his neck, and he spared a moment to hope that he wouldn’t sweat on his face as well. He would hate to have the makeup he’d carefully applied get smeared. Yes, his scars were common knowledge, and weren’t ever fully made invisible even when he caked on concealer and foundation, but he knew his father preferred it to be less noticeable. His father, and most everyone else too.

He wondered, not for the first time, if his brother would continue to require Roman to wear makeup once he ascended to the throne. He was never quite sure how Remus felt about the whole process.

He looked up under his lashes to see Remus inclining his head to speak into their father’s ear, advising him on some court matter. It appeared he’d been to the castle barber today - his hair was neatly shorn and perfectly shaped. Not a single strand blocked the view of his defined cheekbones, round chin, or his smooth, unblemished skin. Ideal, without flaws. He looked just as one would expect him to, the future Face of the Kingdom.

Currently, he was frowning. He looked up and seemed to notice his brother kneeling.

“Roman, thank you for coming. Father and I need your advice on the next advance.”

Roman rose, finally, and walked over to the map spread on the table by the throne.

“We expect the vanguard to be entrenched at the top of the mountain, but we might be able to draw them out with a flank attack-”

“But we’d run the risk of getting pinned down by their artillery and archers-”

The three royals broke into a flurry of strategy and tactics, Roman giving an on-the-ground view from the thick of battle to his father and brother’s eagle’s-eye-view. He noted more than one moment where his father urged bold, aggressive, and risky strategies that made Remus hesitate. But each time, the crown prince agreed with his father’s methods. Through the involved discussion, a battle plan was crafted.

“I expect well of you both,” the king said, nodding decisively. “We will meet on the peak in three day’s time. Gather your men and arms.”

Roman and Remus both bowed to their father. Roman waited a moment to allow his brother to exit the throne room before him, but walked by his side through the hallways leading to the family quarters.

“Are you quite alright, Reme? You seemed distracted in council-”

“I’m fine, Ro,” his brother responded, cutting him off. “It’s just another battle. Good night.” He entered his room and shut the door behind him with a thud.

⁂

“-no need for such theatrics, Your Highness, it’s just another battle.”

Remus stared up at the general, hardly aware of the tears on his cheeks or the vomit still lining his mouth. He was 12, on his first trip with his father to the battlefield. He hadn’t been prepared.

His tutors had spent years stressing the need for the royal line to fight alongside their men. The glory of war was the glory of generals, directing and rallying troops, inspiring hope and righteous fury from the front of the charge. Remus, as heir, must be the generals’ General. Plain in speech, getting directly to the point. Curt. No fancifulness, lest he be distracted. He was instructed on how to be the perfect leader, the perfect soldier, and one day the perfect king.

But what they hadn’t told him was the reality that all soldiers knew: there is little glory on the field of war. There was the Cause at home, of course, a grand narrative that justified sending the troops out for King and Country, a declaration of glorious purpose and righteous smiting.

But on the field?

There had been the initial clash, of course, the charging of lines against one another. But that was where the resemblance to the theory Remus had been steeped in ended. He’d been brought to a battlefield and saw the charge, heard the horns and drums, and at first, his heart had swelled with the glory of which he’d only heard of.

Then he saw the aftermath. He saw the wounded scattered around like leaves after a storm, limbs detached and bloody like some terrible mockery of dolls, the flies buzzing over blown-out heads… he had barely made it out of the command tent before he started to vomit, long and hard, until he was heaving with nothing left to retch.

But the generals, and his father, had merely frowned and scoffed at his immaturity. Why did he dwell on this? It was a fact of life and war. He wasn't to mind it. He was to do his duty.

So Remus cleaned his mouth and pushed those sights to the back of his mind. They were to be expected, as part of the cleanup. No need to think about the wounded and marred.

Roman, the younger twin, was much older when he was brought to battle. He saw small skirmishes first, before the carnage of all-out war. But the sheen of glory faded for him too.

Remus remembered the voices of the public as they brought Roman home on a stretcher. The country’s champions were only supposed to lead, not get hurt. Or if they must be hurt, it wasn’t supposed to be in lasting or visible ways, they were supposed to at most suffer some injury, bravely soldier through, and return home triumphant in a sling. Why couldn’t Duke Roman have been properly injured, those who sat at home in their solars asked. A broken arm. A leg. Something that would heal and look dramatic doing it. Soldiers, especially noble ones, were expected to recover without a mark to show for it. Once the war had left the public consciousness, the injuries should have vanished, too. “Better to have been a martyr than to return home like that,” they whispered.

Not that Roman ever had a chance.

He’d been born with facial markings. Skin that looked almost painted with a pink mark, a wine stain imbued in the tan skin of his face. He looked wrong, the whispers said. Wrong for nobility. Certainly wrong for royalty. Imagine if such a one had been born the elder. How could such a one lead the nation, be the culmination of the bloodline and the clear face of morals that his people needed?

The king and queen had known of the double heartbeat, known that two children were on their way at once. And the nation and family knew, of course, that Remus was the elder, if only by half an hour. What a relief it was to know that the proper heir didn’t have such a deformity. The royals announced them both at once, hadn’t proclaimed each birth separately as was sometimes done. But then, of course, that was surely because of the queen, may she rest in peace. The midwives and servants didn’t speak of that day. Out of respect for her memory. A day of both joy and sorrow. King and country lost their beloved queen. But they gained the sons of the nation. Duke Roman, who served in battle honorably and mostly well. And Prince Remus, who was soft, and smooth, and blemish-free. A proper heir.

And he never returned from battle with injuries so dire they would leave unmistakable scars.

⁂

Three days later, Remus sat astride his charger, waiting for his father’s signal. The army’s flags snapped in the brisk wind, and he heard the creak and jingle of tack and armor around him as the soldiers shifted in place, maintaining formation as they waited.

The horn sounded, and Remus lifted his morning star with a yell and kneed his horse into a charge, soldiers streaming beside and behind him.

The fight was a blur. Remus remembered moments like the new technology of moving photographs, brief clips only a few seconds long. Catching a blow from an enemy horseman on his shield. Swinging his mace low and alongside his mount, catching a footsoldier from behind. Seeing Roman, bright in a white jacket that would soon be stained as he and his force streamed down a hill to join the fray.

It was just another battle. He played his role in the plan well, and their army won. He sat on a bench outside the command tent, cleaning his weapon and listening to reports. The victory was resounding - the only enemy soldiers not killed had been captured. The day was theirs.

Remus looked across the battlefield as one of his advisors continued to report. The ground was churned by the hooves of hundreds of horses, where it wasn’t obscured by bodies or fallen weapons. He found his eye caught on one lone body at the base of the hill from where he sat. An enemy soldier, now defeated. That's all the man should have been to him. Right?

But he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t. The man’s head was bloody, the wound jagged and terrible and... and it matched his morning star. The punctures, the dent, they matched the pattern perfectly. He’d just cleaned it - the blood and mud and matter had taken so much effort to clean. And there was where the blood had come from, that young man’s head, now part of the carnage, lying in a tangle of the fallen like logs ready to be burnt.

Remus’ hand started to shake, morning star still in his grasp.

“Your Highness? Are you alright?” the general asked.

Remus nodded, still shaking, and tried to flash the man a reassuring smile. His mouth split open, but it stretched too wide, too far, too fake. He started to laugh, air forcing itself out of his lungs in staccato bursts. The general’s eyes widened with nervousness, and he looked around them for someone else, anyone else to help.

Remus’ laugh went on and on, humorless and shrill. He couldn’t stop himself.

“Can't think about it, you know!" he cackled between laughs. "Can't dwell! It's a fact of life!"

The general backed away, heading for the other tents that housed the king and the other leaders.

When they returned to the hilltop, Remus was gone, without a trace. All that remained was a morning star, abandoned in the mud.

⁂

Two weeks later, the king paced the throne room fretfully.

“We fear the worst has happened to the Prince,” the king said. “An ambush, perhaps? Some straggler who escaped our forces, desperate for one last kill? Perhaps they recognized him and mean to ransom him, but wouldn’t we have received a demand letter by now? He’s clearly noble, anyone could tell that from a glance, why haven’t we received word? What shall we do without our heir? What will become of our nation?”

Roman stood at attention, silent. He had not heard from his brother either, but from the general’s report, he was far less optimistic that something so simple as kidnapping had occurred. But his father wouldn’t hear of it.

They hadn’t made an official announcement to the public, besides half-hearted excuses. But the rumors had begun, whispers noticing Prince Remus’ conspicuous absence. Only Duke Roman had presided with the King at the victory procession. How could the Prince allow “feeling under the weather” prevent him from attending? What was wrong?

Roman’s fingers beat an anxious rhythm on his sword hilt as he watched his father pace when they were both jolted by the loud slam of the throne room door opening.

In the doorway stood… well, it appeared to be Remus. But Remus had… changed.

His hair was long and straggly, and dyed a sickening swamp green. Metal spikes pierced the cartilage of his nose and ears, sprouting out like a mockery of armor. Studs were embedded in his cheeks. Black tears were inked under his eyes. His lips were painted a screeching shade of neon green, and when he smiled wide, they saw that his tongue had been disfigured, split into two.

They both stared, but Roman was the first to speak.

"Remus?" Roman asked. "I- we were so worried, what happened?"

"Oh I just got my head out of my ass, brother dear! Didn't want to be like all you shitheads anymore!" Turning to the king, the prince grinned lopsidedly "Daddykins, didn't you miss me? Did you have to slaughter children by yourself or did you bring ickle Romeo with you?"

"Remus!" Roman interrupted, shocked. "We don't-"

"Oh but we doooo!" Remus sang. "Me and Daddy do! We do our doody, don't we, Pop?"

The king finally spoke. "What," he demanded flatly. "Have you done to yourself."

Remus fluttered his eyelashes. "Oh I just stabbed my own face! Professionally, of course. almost as professionally as you with your broadsword. Not nearly as much blood, though, I know you'd be disappointed."

The prince approached the throne, heedless or because of the way the king recoiled from him.

"Hope I can still be your little boy, though, Poppy! Hope I can fill your big dick shoes! Can't you just wait for me to take on our glorious legacy? Aren't you delighted to hand off that big ol' crown to you eldest son?!"

"Let you be the face of the kingdom, looking like that? " his father said coldly. "Let you rule, when you have clearly abandoned all we hold dear?” The King rose, pointing past Remus with a finger that shook with rage. “Get out of our sight. We have only one son."

Remus grinned widely, and Roman realized with a sickening start that he hadn’t seen his brother smile this much since they were children.

“Whatever you desire, dearest darlingest popsicle!”

“Out!” the king roared, and Remus obeyed, his cackling laughter echoing back through the halls.

The king breathed deep, chest heaving as he calmed himself.

“Roman.”

The duke swallowed the lump in his throat to answer, “Yes, Father?”

“We name you Crown Prince, sole heir to our throne and fortune. We disown and disname the former Prince Remus. The realm places its full trust in you, our son.”

Roman knelt, hearing the unspoken end of the sentence. Don’t you dare fail.

“I thank you for this honor, father. I will serve to the best of my ability,” he said graciously.

The king took a medallion on ribbon from the wall - the sunburst seal of the royal house, only worn by kings and direct heirs. He placed it around Roman’s neck. “We- I know you will, Roman. I know you will be all that our country needs you to be.”

King and newly-named-prince made eye contact. The king’s eyes blazed, with anger and grief and unspoken warning: Don’t fuck up, like he did.

Roman bowed his head, lest his father see the heartbreak in his eyes.

You were what fucked him up.

⁂

Roman was introduced to the kingdom as the future king. It was not quite the joyous affair that Remus’ coming-of-age had been, not when the king spoke as if the former prince had died, when the announcement of Roman replacing him was practically perfunctory. When Roman had sat at his vanity for a full hour as the artists worked to cover up his birthmarks and battle scars. And for what? It wasn’t as if the kingdom didn’t already know that he was… imperfect. Marred. Flawed.

But appearances, his father told him coldly, must be maintained.

Roman was the heir, unable to be disowned too, not when the king had no more options. He needed the king’s advisors and generals to respect him if he were to ever properly reign. He needed the nobility to support him. He needed to get the ones in power, the Noble Council, to see past his face, to believe in his ability to rule despite his impurities. But he knew they would never be ignored.

Hadn’t he grown up with the whispers? Hadn’t he seen how others who were injured or disfigured be dismissed from court altogether? Hadn’t he watched as the mere rumor of a nobleman’s secret tattoo pushed him out of the public eye in shame? When a pair of clip-on earrings were scandalous just by resembling a body modification, what hope did Roman and his birthmark have to be accepted?

But he smiled, and waved, and spoke with the oldest generals, and accompanied his father to court days, and filled his role as heir. In battle, he was pulled into a higher level of command, no longer directing just his contingent of soldiers, but entire armies. He and his father led the charges still, of course, but he no longer trained with his men. His missed them, as he’d missed the relative privacy of being just a Duke instead of Prince. But it was his duty.

⁂

It had been months since Remus’ disownment when another major battle came to pass. The king brought Roman to the field with him, keeping him involved in the planning for the entire process. Roman was pleased to discover that the generals actually respected his strategic and tactical contributions - it seemed his closeness with his direct force had given him a keener sense of the risks and rewards of maneuvers that the command tent often lacked. That day, though, his father seemed a bit distracted. It didn’t seem to interfere with his reasoning or fighting, though. Not until the height of battle.

And then the King saw him. A young man with a morning star. It was a common-enough weapon for nobility, but... the boy had smooth skin and no scars and no piercings and he fought well, methodically and with only the required level of ferocity. He was a once-familiar sight on the field, one who had been there every battle until now.

And the king just... snapped.

He charged down the hill, ahead of the signal. Alone. It was unwise. Roman saw his father charge, tried to warn him back, tried to call to him and break through the distraction.

The King probably could not have articulated why he charged. It was out of anger, yes, but was it anger at the boy for being a reminder? Anger because of what he lost? Anger at Remus for no longer looking the way the young man did, for no longer being what the king had wished him to be?

He would never get a chance to explain.

The boy saw his danger. So did three of his fellows. The king brought no backup. He fell.

Roman continued the fight. What else could he have done?

The boy had frozen him too, a shadow from the past, one with a smile that Roman hadn’t seen on his twin’s face in years. Remus’ smiles had been growing stiffer ever since they were 12, pasted-on grins that never reached his eyes. And the last time he’d seen him- it had been even more unfamiliar. Manic. Pained. He’d laughed, but with no true amusement.

Even as he performed the steps of his role as heir, Roman couldn’t rid himself of the thought that the lack of genuine happiness in his brother’s face could only have been due to the king himself and the weight Remus had borne as the Crown Prince.

Roman ascended in the wake of his father’s death with that same weight, grown heavier through guilt and shame and the bitter knowledge that none of this was ever supposed to be him.

⁂

Roman had to be king. There was no one else. His father had been an only child. The next closest relatives were two different third cousins who were quite proud to be in the line of succession. If Roman wasn’t king, the country would fall into a civil war of family against family, fighting for the ‘truest’ claim to the throne.

The nobility accepted the necessity of his reign. That didn’t mean they were happy about it.

Whispers followed him through the halls, stopped suddenly as he entered the audience chamber, rumbled around him when he took his weekly rides through the capital city. He wanted to be an accessible king, one his people knew as more than just a bloodied general returning from the field. He even spent a single afternoon hoping that with enough exposure to his face and his scars, the country might grow to see past his appearance.

It was a foolish hope. Prejudices that have been passed down for over five generations don’t melt away because of one king, much less one who gained power under less than ideal circumstances.

And yet, it didn’t change his determination to be a presence in his people’s lives, not just a face seen from a distant castle balcony. After much cajoling and convincing of his personal guard, Roman began spending evenings mingling in the capital city restaurants and taverns. As a commander, he’d learned how best to let his soldiers get used to him, and he used this skill again across town, night after night. He would sit near the corner of the bar, or at a less-traffic corner of the dining room, or at the end of a shared table. He would eat quietly, only speaking when others greeted him, seemingly very focused on his food alone. And slowly, his fellow diners got over the shock of seeing their king among them and start chatting about their lives, their children, their heartbreaks and dreams. He would listen and nod and quietly pay their tabs, then leave before they got too embarrassed or self-conscious. And when it was commoners, it worked well. With the nobility, or the higher classes of commoners that desperately wanted to be nobility, he had to fend off the comments. Usually, it was surprise that his birthmark and scars were really that obvious. Or passive-aggressive comments about how it was “wonderful how cosmopolitan the Noble Council is these days.”

Roman would just grin and bluster and respond, “Royalty’s more than skin-deep, darling.”

It was just charming enough to satisfy most, or at least end that line of conversation, and he could go back to being a silent listener. But when eyes lingered on his birthmarks or traced down the long line of stitching scars down his cheek, he couldn’t help but flinch internally, preparing himself for the darts and daggers of judgment. The sting of disapproval never really faded, no matter how many times he endured it with a smile.

⁂

He risked it, one night, to go to a place he’d only heard about in hushed tones. It was a scandalous place, certainly not one that any self-respecting noble would be caught dead in. But Roman was desperate with hope. So without telling anyone, not even his bodyguard, he slipped out of the castle to visit Au Naturel.

The sign had been vandalized recently, bright red spray paint across it like blood splatters, but what could be expected when a slur was reclaimed with such audacity? Roman hesitated on the threshold, but surely it would be far worse to linger there on the street and risk being seen for minutes versus the seconds it would take him to enter or exit. With a deep breath, he walked inside.

The first thing he saw was a bouncer, a hulking man with navy blue hair and glasses. He stared down at Roman’s identification papers critically, eyebrows barely twitching in recognition of the kingdom’s regnal name. Roman tried to avoid staring, but the man was pierced in dozens of places, with visible tattoos curling out of the collar of the sensible black turtleneck. But he didn’t look distraught or distressed, just cool and collected.

Roman fought back a shiver of excitement as he reclaimed his papers and was welcomed into the heart of the bar with a wave.

He’d expected dim lights, maybe a smoke-obscured room, something out of the speakeasy fictions he’d read about in the edgier forms of media. Instead, there were golden lamps that lit everything well, and bright neon signs that threw off a rainbow of lights from the walls. The rainbows were reflected back off the many piercings in the crowd, off shiny gelled hair, even off prosthetic limbs. Roman had expected a huddled crowd of solidarity, of societal misfits in their one safe space. Instead, he found a party of delight, with faces that were all relaxed and at ease instead of just in temporary relief.

He shuffled to the bar, avoiding eye contact, a bit overwhelmed and unsure how to start mingling.

A smiling bartender greeted him. They had a mohawk, dyed in blues and purples with glitter sprinkled through like stars. They wore a lipstick of a startling bright shade of pink that contrasted with their tan skin. A huge silver hoop dangled from one ear lobe, accompanied by spikes around the cartilage, and they acknowledged Roman’s quiet request for a gin-and-tonic with a wink. As they turned to the racks of drinks, Roman realized with a start that their skin was perfectly smooth, besides the alterations. No visible scars or marks or even freckles, and the mesh shirt they wore meant much more skin was visible than normal. And yet, they were here. As they returned with Roman’s drink, they asked, “First night, hun?”

Roman nodded. “It’s not exactly what I expected.”

The bartender leaned, tilting down tinted glasses to fix Roman with a look. “What do you mean, babes?”

“I- the way people talk, I’d expected the folks here to be much more… I’m not sure. Bitter?”

“If there’s one thing I know about ‘people’, it’s that they always expect and want outcasts to be as miserable as they believe we ought be. But the owner puts a lot of effort into making this more than just an escape. She wants it to be an oasis. And she seeks out newbies to make sure they know it’s safe to just be here. Here, lemme introduce you, I think you’ll like her.”

Roman nodded his agreement, and watched the bartender flit and weave through the crowd, greeting people and they went. They were apparently a favorite, with patrons squeezing their shoulder or kissing them on the cheek as they passed. They only paused once, when they reached the stoic bouncer from the entrance. He was sitting in a booth, apparently on break, ignoring the room, until the bartender touched his shoulder gently and he turned to look at him with a smile lighting up his face. They exchanged a brief kiss, and then the bartender was sliding into a door labeled ‘Employees Only’.

Roman let his gaze roam. Everywhere, there thronged people with piercings and tattoos and colored contacts, and they all looked happy. He even saw others with scars and birthmarks like his own, but no one stared at them or seemed to care. And they couldn’t all be lashing back against trauma like Remus had, right?

“Welcome to Au Naturel, kiddo! I’m Patton, the owner.”

Roman turned to see a bright smile and an outstretched hand. The owner was like no one he’d ever seen. The majority of her skin was a dark, rich brown, but it was interrupted with splotches of pale skin. And where the skin was light enough to see, it was speckled with light brown spots. She was the kind of face that nobility put on dramatized posters of the ‘less fortunate’, those who were born with so many impurities that they clearly couldn’t hope to be any more than the lowest rung of the serving class. But here she stood, bright teeth flashing at Roman in the club she owned, in an atmosphere of pure joy that she’d created. A silver chain around her neck held a ring and a magenta charm affirming her pronouns.

Roman shook her hand gently. “It’s good to meet you, Patton. I’m Roman.”

“Oh, I know! Thank you for gracing my humble establishment with your presence, Your Majesty. I was a bit surprised when Remy told me who was sitting at the bar- I wasn’t sure if your facial marks were really as obvious as the gossips say.”

Roman cringed internally. He’d been recognized, clocked by bartender and owner, and he’d been here barely 20 minutes. The common refrain rolled off his tongue with the perfect intonation of repetition. “Well, royalty’s only skin-deep, darling.”

Patton blinked. “Oh- oh, Your Majesty, pardon me, I didn’t mean to offend.”

Roman faked a smile with practiced ease. “No offense, my lady.”

“No, I- I meant, I assumed they were exaggerating your appearance from just some small beauty mark, because I had assumed anyone who looked like us wouldn’t be allowed to ascend to the throne. I’m delighted that you’re real! And you have these beautiful marks of the gods’ favor, just like me, and you’re our King without having to cover them!”

Roman blinked, started to speak, then blinked again. “Marks of what?”

Patton grinned and sat next to Roman. “Of the gods’ favor, of course! You and I, we were painted in the womb, blessed with more than one color, claimed by more than one patron. Some people get just freckles, a smattering of kisses. Some get a beauty mark, a touch or two. But you and I, they couldn’t bear to refrain, and look at me! I got a whole big hug, from top to toe.”

Roman did look. And he found he got more and more confused by the second. Because here was this woman, multi-colored, a floppy fro bouncing in dark curls with strips of light blonde among them, speckled with freckles along her pale patches of skin. She was everything Roman had been told was impure, imperfect, pitiable- and yet, she was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen.

“I’ve… never thought of it that way,” he said softly. “Particularly with…” he trailed off, pointing to his scars.

“I don’t really trust the gossips on the news- how did you get these, King Roman?”

Roman traced the line on the back of his hand, remembering. “It was a particularly bad battle. A young soldier whose fellows had fallen on either side of him had a knife hidden in his belt. I was arrogant, back then, just foolish enough to believe that the norms of the battlefield would always be respected, that the separations of class meant anything in the melee. So I was caught completely unawares by the blade, thinking the young man was just a commoner and so no real threat. I was lucky, though. I survived.” Despite how the Noble Council reacted on my recovery.

Patton’s eyes softened. “I am glad you survived, Your Majesty. And gladder that the prejudices of some against your tapestry didn’t prevent you from becoming King.”

Roman ducked his head. “Thank you, Patton. And please- call me Roman.”

She giggled. “Oh, how scandalous, little ol’ me on a first-name basis with the King! At least let me comp your drink first!”

Roman felt his cheeks heating up as he watched her laugh, curls bouncing. “Please, I’m sure you pay more than your fair share of taxes already. Let me. Consider it a subsidy, if you must.”

Patton tilted her head, contemplating the royal man sitting in her bar. “If you insist, my liege,” she said with a sly smile.

Roman was sure he was visibly blushing now, but caught the owner’s hand in his. Brushing his lips against it, he looked up into Patton’s wide, blue eyes. “And insist I do.”

Patton was quiet for only a moment, before her face split open in a bright smile. “Oh, I like this one. I think we’ll just have to keep you.”

“Kidnapping a king? Now who’s being scandalous?”

“You can only kidnap someone if it’s against their will,” she replied with a wink.

Roman was saved from having to respond by the bartender returning. “Ooohh, Patty, I knew you had expensive taste, but flirting with actual royalty?”

Patton blew a kiss to her employee. “You would know, Remy.”

Roman realized he’d yet to let go of Patton’s hand, but didn’t feel particularly inclined to change that at this particular moment. Until Remy responded, “If even the absolute disgrace of the Dormions clan can recognize royalty, anyone can, but go off I guess.”

Roman turned. “You’re that Remy? Remington?”

Remy grimaced. “Yes, unfortunately. I was going to change my name entirely but Lo already got it tattooed so…”

Patton smacked them lightly. “No lying to new friends, Rem.”

“Fineee, I like the name if not the fam.”

Roman fiddled with his glass. “I- I’ve only heard the court gossip, but-”

Remy rolled their eyes. “Oh yeah, they love me. Perfect little first son completely wrecks and malforms himself and refuses to fit in the box we made for him! Which, while irritatingly misgendering, is all true. I came here on a dare once, tried to sneak in the back-”

“And then they met Logan!!” Patton interjected, hands cupping her cheeks in delight. “And it was love at first sight!”

“More like lust at first sight-”

“But then it became love, let me have this.”

Remy grinned fondly at their boss. “Yeah, it did. Lo was one of the first times I’d seen a real person with body mods outside of the PSAs and I had no idea how attractive they could be. I met him, we went off to-”

“Have a nice chat,” Patton interjected primly.

“Of course, Pat, I chatted at him for four straight hours,” they responded with a wink to Roman. “And then I had to come back and I started to get to know Patty here and the regulars and well... My parents were wrong about literally everything. Including thinking I was their son. But obviously, they didn’t love having that pointed out to them, so…” they trailed off with a shrug.

“Dramatic disownment, Patton hires you, you get your own tattoos and piercings?” Roman supplied.

“That’s about it, yeah.”

Roman looked around the room, the warm likes and mingling crowds. “I can see why you fell in love with it all so easily, why you wanted to have a place like this to call your own community.”

Patton reached out and squeezed Roman’s hand. “It’s yours too, now, Your Majesty- Roman. Please, feel free to come back whenever you like.”

⁂

The king was still hesitant to return. What if the other patrons hadn’t been as comfortable with his presence as Remy and Patton had been? What if he’d been spotted by less understanding people and they were waiting for his return to catch him in the act? And yet, he knew he needed to go back to Au Naturel. He’d learned so much in just one night, had his mind opened to so many different interpretations of the societal expectations that had plagued him his whole life. He couldn’t bear to never hear that again, to go back to the Noble Council and ignore the echoes in his brain that whispered “marks of the gods’ favor” whenever he looked in a mirror.

So two nights later, he steeled himself and made his way back to the bar. The same bouncer was at the door.

“Logan, was it?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded.

“It’s good to see you again.”

His brow unfurrowed, and he nodded again, this time with the slightest hint of a smile stretching out his pierced lips.

Roman smiled back, and entered the main room.

He made his way over to the bar more confidently this time, but was distracted by the crowd from looking at the bartender as he ordered.

“Oh holy fuck shit heck fuck?”

He turned to see a much younger bartender with dark black hair, bright purple lipstick, and hoop earrings staring at him wide-eyed and a bit panicked.

“Uh, sorry, have we met?”

The young man just stared and continued to swear under his breath until he took a deep breath and called out, “Remy?”

They returned from the far side of the bar and saw Roman. With a wave, they said, “Hey there, Majesty. Gin and tonic again?”

Roman nodded as Remy turned away, arm around the young bartender’s shoulders. It didn’t stop him from hearing their quiet conversation.

“You could have warned me that the actual king might come in-”

“I did!”

“I thought you were exaggerating! Or talking about a drag king-”

“Okay fair, but Patton agreed with me-”

“I thought he was humoring you!”

“Logan backed me up!”

“...he just smiled at you. He does that all the time.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t fully prepare you, Virge. I didn’t know if he’d come back.”

“He’s not going to- we’re safe, right?”

“Look at him, of course we’re safe. And also Patty charmed the pants off him, we’re fine.”

“...literally?”

“I mean, maybe, Pat doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Roman started to blush and realized it was probably time to indicate that their conversation wasn’t secret. “I’m right here,” he cut in. He smiled as both bartenders turned to face him. “Patton is indeed quite charming, but I believe I’ve retained my pants.”

Remy smirked, not missing a beat. “So far, anyway.”

Roman tried not to color further and was saved (or ruined) by the appearance of Patton himself. “Remy, are you poisoning Virgey’s mind again?”

The young man grimaced. “Sorry! Virgil’s mind,” Patton corrected, sliding into the seat next to Roman. “Good to see you again, Roman.”

“It’s good to see you as well, Patton. It’s alright that I’m back?”

“Of course it is!”

“Because if I’m making anyone uncomfortable, I don’t want to take this space away from them-”

Patton laid his hand over Roman’s on the bar. “This space is for you, too, Your Majesty. I think in some ways, those like us born into noble families need it even more. Not to say that anyone has it easy, but…”

“But it’s expected that lower classes are ‘imperfect’,” Virgil said, returning with Roman’s drink. His mouth was twisted into a bitter line. “And when you’re not, you never get to be yourself again.”

Roman looked at him curiously. “I confess, I have only been allowed to mingle with mixed classes in my command. What do you mean, if you don’t mind talking about it?”

Virgil looked at Patton with a question in his eyes. Patton smiled. “He’s safe, Virge. Promise.”

Virgil nodded and reached up to his ears. He removed his hoop earrings, showing that they were clip-ons and that his ears were unpierced. “According to this crap system, I’m ‘perfect’. I don’t have birthmarks or discoloration or even freckles. Which means of course I’ve been banned from getting tattoos or piercings or dying my hair. I keep this stuff here with Rem, because it’s the only place I can wear it without my parents getting… upset.”

Roman frowned. “They don’t hurt you, do they?”

Virgil laughed hollowly. “They never hit me, perish the thought, that might cause bruises. Or scars. But you may have noticed, nothing about this damn value system accounts for things like, you know, mental health. Or being well-fed. As long as it doesn’t go as far as like, hair falling out or jaundice.”

“But why enforce it?” Roman asked. “The families I know, it’s to maintain their status and reputation…”

Virgil clipped his earring back on, fiddling with it nervously. “If I’m being generous, it’s a hope thing. That if I can just look refined enough, I’ll be seen by a noble or someone who wants the status of a ‘perfect’ partner and be whisked up into a life of luxury. If you ask my parents, they’d say they’re trying to help me get a better life.”

“But you don’t agree with that.”

“Not for a fucking second. Sure, I believe they believe that. But they refuse to see how shitty it is in the meantime and explode at me when I object.” He adjusted his hoodie, playing with the zippers on his wrists. “This is the only place I can cover myself up this much. They want me to show off as much ‘perfect’ skin as possible, so I can be spotted. Even in the middle of the fucking winter. And even if I wasn’t freezing, it makes me a target. People hope for that Scarella story even if they don’t admit it. It’s like those people who enter the lottery constantly, hoping that with a fancy enough schedule of plastic surgery, one day they’ll be part of the beautiful people. So when they see someone who’s already smooth… they resent it. And they want to ruin it.” He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering despite the thick hoodie. Patton reached out and squeezed his elbow in reassurance, earning a weak smile.

Roman was quiet in contemplation. Sure, he knew it was the most classic trope in media - someone with a Pure Heart (as shown, of course, by their unblemished skin) was seen among the unclean masses and swept away into the sunset by a generous benefactor. He’d fantasized about it himself when he was younger, that someone would see his worth and help him fix his skin so that his outside could look like his inside. After his injuries added to it, though, he’d given up entirely. But to know that the trope caused such harm to people like Virgil…

“I’m sorry I haven’t done more to fix this, Virgil,” Roman said quietly. “I have influence and power, I should and I will.”

Virgil flashed him a wry smile. “I think you’re doing a lot by just appearing in public without covering up your scars, really. I don’t think it’s gonna change fast, but with your help, it might start changing.”

“But you’re at risk and it won’t be fast enough for you.”

“Yeah, I am at risk,” Virgil said with a shrug. “But I don’t need to be protected. With all due respect, Your Majesty. Rem & Lo keep my stuff for me, Pat makes sure I can still make it here, and I’m earning my own money to get out of my parents’ house. I have a plan to earn my own freedom. So don’t change all this shit for me. Change it for everyone else.”

Roman nodded. “I promise, I will.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I believe you’ll try…”

Roman raised his hand, pinkie outstretched. “I will. I mean it.”

Virgil smiled, but linked his pinkie too. “You swear?”

“I swear.”

They shook solemnly, before both starting to snicker and laugh, Patton joining in too. But none of them doubted Roman’s determination, all the same.

⁂

Roman returned to Au Naturel multiple nights a week for two weeks straight before he finally managed to ask.

“Pat, how did you manage to open this place? And keep it open, despite, well, everything?”

The response was a melancholy grin as Patton fiddled with the ring on the chain around their neck, right next to their pronoun charm.

“I got a loan from my late fiancé, Diego. He was the son of a noble house.”

“Late? I don’t mean to cause you distress, dear Patton, you don’t need to talk about this if it will be painful-”

“No, no,” Patton explained, reaching out for Roman’s hand. “I- I want to talk about him. Because he was a wonderful man and remains a wonderful memory.”

Roman nodded in understanding and squeezed their hand reassuringly as Patton began to explain.

Diego, too, was one of a pair of twins. His brother was named Cedric, and they were identical in almost every way. The one way they weren’t was Cedric’s eczema. Their faces matched, their laughs sounded like echoes of each other’s, but Cee had red scratchy scales that grew and faded but never fully vanished, and Dee had none.

And according to Diego, Cedric was better. Smarter, kinder, more optimistic, a faster friend to those he met. Yet society valued Diego more because of a condition that could only be treated, never cured.

“And so Dee became a huge advocate for us ‘imperfect’ folks,” Patton said softly. “He used his smooth face as an entry into places we’re barred from, tried to use the family money and influence to change discrimination policies. But, well. One man can only do so much.”

Roman nodded somberly, in perfect understanding.

“There used to be underground meetings of people like us, the underbelly of the city. We rotated locations and kept moving to avoid the zoning laws that made it easy to kick us out at anyone’s request. We’d found Cee and invited him, and he brought Dee too. And I- oh, he was the first person who looked at my skin and saw a work of art,” Patton said with a misty smile, hugging their own torso at the warm memory. “And he had the idea of using his name, using their family’s money to establish this place. They couldn’t take the title away from me if it was under his name too, so after only a couple months of dating and falling madly in love, we got engaged. The deed is technically still under his name, which means it’s secure, and the city can’t take it back.

“But then the household draft came through, three years ago. I was safe,” Patton said with a wry twist to their normal smile. “It called for one son per house, and my family doesn’t acknowledge me as a son those times I want them to, much less for the state. Not that they know where to find me anymore. But - their family wanted to send Cee. Because he was more ‘expendable’. And they didn’t tell Dee until he was already gone off to war. Of course, I was scared for them both, but I knew how important Dee’s brother was to him, so when he said he needed to get to the front immediately, I didn’t hesitate. I gave him the money and advice from my friends here who’d survived previous wars. He listened to it all, then went off to go save his brother.”

Patton paused, a tear creeping along their cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Patton,” Roman said gently. “He didn’t make it back?”

“Neither of them did. Dee threw himself in front of a blow to shield Cee, but it wasn’t enough.”

Roman hesitated, then hugged them firmly. “I’ve lost so many of my soldiers, but it never gets easier. I can’t imagine what this loss has felt like to you.”

Patton hugged back. “Thank you, Roman. It’s been years, but remembering-”

“I know. It’s perfectly normal, my dear.”

Patton smiled up, eyes still shining with unshed tears. “Thank you for listening, Ro. It means a lot.”

“Anything you need from me, Pat. I’m here.”

The next day, Roman quietly requested a meeting with the head of the zoning board of the city, and used the royal seal to confirm Au Naturel s deed to not just Diego and Patton but to anyone Patton ever decided to transfer ownership too. A copy of the document found its way, without fanfare, into the files at the bar. Roman never brought attention to it, nor did Patton, but a golden drink was left at Roman’s typical seat that never appeared on his bill, and a portrait of the nation’s first scarred King found its way to hanging among their other icons above the rows of bottles.

⁂

And then, one night at Au Naturel, there was a new customer who most had never seen before. Or at least, they hadn’t seen this face before. But Roman had.

“...Remus?”

The former prince turned. He’d added more tattoos since the last time Roman had seen him, lines of red drops down his neck to his bare arms. His hair was spiked into a faux-hawk and it almost hit Roman as he turned to face him.

“Is that the golden boy? Romano Cheese Man?”

“Reme, it’s been months, I’ve-”

“Stop right there.” Remus interrupted. He held up a finger topped in an elaborately manicured nail. “Don’t you dare say you’ve missed me, Roman Candle. I haven’t been hiding, you could have found me.”

“I looked!” Roman insisted, reaching out to grab his brother’s arm. “I tried to look, at least, but Father and the generals forbid me to leave the castle-”

“Ooohhh, is the royal baby disobeying orders tonight?” Remus asked, eyebrows dancing.

Roman frowned. “Not exactly, not when there aren’t any…” He looked for any flicker of understanding and found none. “Reme. Have you not heard?”

“Heard what, that the country is just sooooo pleased to have just forgotten the embarrassment that was the old crown prince? Didn’t need to check with the town crier for that one, queen bee.”

Roman squeezed Remus’ arm, a lump forming in his throat. “Brother-”

“Don’t you call me that!” Remus snapped. “I’m not in the family anymore, don’t you remember anything-”

“Father’s dead, Remus!” Roman practically shouted. Remus went silent, eyes wide. “Father died and I have to be the goddamn king now, and I’ve been looking for you for months but no one wants to acknowledge you still and you left me to rule alone.” Roman’s voice cracked on the last word, and Remus stopped trying to pull away. His eyes darted around Roman, taking in the signet ring, the badly-concealed bags under his eyes, and the tear coursing down the royal cheek.

“...how did he die?”

Roman took a shuddering breath. “In the field. He charged alone, after an enemy soldier who looked just like you- well, you three years ago.”

“Did you charge with him? Trying to get back that old shell of a royal? It was never real, brother, just a bundle of neuroses wound so tightly they acted like a person-”

“I know that, Remus! You think I didn’t see how much he pushed you? You think I didn’t know what being in the field did to you?” The other patrons of the bar had edged away, giving the brothers space, while Patton watched nervously without moving from her seat at the bar. “Reme - all I ever wanted was to be able to help. I trained so hard in the hopes that maybe you would be able to sit out for a battle or two. Get a break from the violence. But he didn’t want me, didn’t want the charge to be led by this,” Roman said, gesturing at his own face. Tiredness showed in every inch of him as his shoulders slumped. “And look where that got him. He’s dead, I’m leading anyway, and both his sons are miserable.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ro. I’m not miserable. I’m wonderful,” Remus replied. “I can do whatever and whoever the fuck I want to, now. No one breathing down my neck, no one saying I’m improper, no blood on my hands except for what I choose to be there.” He lifted his arm, showing off his tattoo, the line of red drops marching down his bicep and forearm and returning back up the inside of his wrist and elbow.

Roman looked down at the marks, blinked, and looked back up. Green eyes met green, as identical as the day they were born. “Are you really?”

Remus scoffed. “Of course I… well. I’m happier. Happier than I was. Wacky, isn’t it, I think my incredibly violent and restrictive upbringing may have given me some issues.”

“But you’re not just… I don’t know, bursting at the seams, doing whatever you think Father would have hated for the sole sake of knowing he would have hated it?”

Remus paused. “Hey, I didn’t come here to have my someone dig through my head, I only wanted someone to give me head-”

“Reme!”

“What, it’s true!”

“We were having a moment-”

“And I was planning on a different kind of moment!”

Roman frowned at his brother, ready to keep arguing, but instead, he started to laugh, and Remus did too, and soon there were just two very similar-looking men leaning on the bar, wheezing with laughter.

Roman wiped his eyes. “You really are happier.”

Remus smiled. “I really am. I’m… still working it out. What’s terrible by his standards versus the society’s. Which society standards are probably actually shit and which make sense. I don’t understand it all. But I will.”

Roman impulsively flung his arms around his twin. “I believe in you, Reme. Just, please- don’t leave me to do this alone?”

Remus pushed Roman a bit back, holding him by the arms. “I’m not coming back to the palace, Ro. I can’t do that. I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have to. But you’re still my brother. As long as I’m the head of the family, you’re part of it. And I…” Roman looked back at where Patton was chatting to other patrons. “I have a lot to learn about what our society is doing to people. We both have a lot to learn, and unlearn. Can you help me?”

Remus grimaced. “Of course I’ll be your brother, but…”

“It doesn’t have to be official- no ‘advisor’ or any title unless you want one. But dammit, if you don’t deserve the crown’s money after all you had to do in its service- any land you want, any title, any income, say the word and it’s yours, Reme. Just, please... don’t shut me out.”

Remus looked down, and back up. He raised his hand and traced Roman’s birthmark lightly. “Can I get this as a tattoo on my face, too?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Well, twins should match, shouldn’t we?”

Roman smiled, understanding perfectly. “Yeah, twins should match. Scars and all.”

⁂

Taglist: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed

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pavspatch · 3 years

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Hyde United v Burnley — a personal memory

This is my recollection of the Hyde United v Burnley FA Cup tie in 1983 and the events surrounding it. As Lockdown 3 has closed Tameside Local Studies and Archives Centre, I’ve been unable to double-check some of the facts. Even so, it’s how I remember things.I hope you enjoy it.

THE FA Cup first-round match at Burnley is unique in Hyde United's long history. While it was unquestionably one of the greatest events the club has known, it was also the most divisive.

Many supporters remember it as one of the best days of their life. Yet even now, almost 40 years later, there are others who will tell you they refused to go to the game and have never set foot in Ewen Fields since the autumn of 1983.

The cause of the controversy was the Hyde directors' decision to play the home tie at Turf Moor. Some saw it as sound common sense while others looked upon the switch as an act of betrayal. It can still fray tempers.

Perhaps things might have been a little calmer if the board had stuck to one consistent message. While I never believed Ewen Fields was capable of accommodating a tie involving a third division (league one) club — not from the moment the balls came out of the FA's famous velvet bag — the initial signals from the board were that the tie would go ahead in Hyde.

One or two directors may have got ahead of themselves before a final decision was made, and spoken out of turn. Possibly some people, including me, misunderstood. But when it was eventually announced that the game was being moved to Burnley the air was suddenly so full of the smell of burning rubber that it felt as though a handbrake turn had been made.

When Hyde United's journey to the first round began, the club wasn't really at peace with itself. At the end of the previous season the directors had astonished the fans by dispensing with the services of manager Les Sutton. After cryptic messages in the North Cheshire Herald, chairman Peter Pluck stated that Sutton's contract was not being renewed as the directors felt he had taken the Tigers as far as he could.

Many supporters begged to differ. Sutton was a popular figure who had won a stack of trophies including the Cheshire League championship which had led to Hyde returning to the Northern Premier League. They couldn't understand Peter Pluck's reasoning and didn't accept it. They felt there must have been some underlying issues.

Sutton's replacement was Chorley boss Peter Wragg. Maybe it was the fact he replaced Sutton in such controversial circumstances, maybe it was because Wragg had been a Stalybridge Celtic manager, but the Tigers fans never really took to him. When he quit in 1986, Wragg described his time at Ewen Fields as something like an unconsummated marriage. it had never quite worked out.

In some ways, Hyde were underachievers during his tenure. Although there were some very promising moments, including an appearance in the NPL Cup final, and some excellent signings, such as striker John Timmons, they never quite challenged for the title. League finishes were disappointing.

Yet they did reach the first round of the FA Cup for the first time in 29 years and it was at the end of a run that was far from easy and featured some memorable victories.

In the first qualifying round, Darwen from the North West Counties League, were expected to pose few problems and so it proved. They were dispatched 3-0 at Ewen Fields thanks to goals from Steve Johnson, Peter Coyne and Terry Cook. That, however, was as easy as it got.

Hyde's next opponents were Runcorn, then one of the most powerful outfits in non-league football and boasting a very impressive record in terms of silverware. They had been Alliance (Conference) champions in 1981-2; won the Alliance Cup, reached the FA Cup first round and finished fourth the year after; and were on their way to fifth place in the 1983-3 season.

In 1986 they were beaten finalists in the FA Trophy and starting a run of five consecutive Cheshire Senior Cup wins at a time when it was a very strong competition and taken very seriously. Runcorn, Altrincham and Northwich Victoria all played at non-league's top level while clubs like Hyde, Stalybridge Celtic and Witton Albion were ambitious and difficult to beat.

Even many of the the home fans, if they were honest, were expecting Runcorn to win. Yet the Tigers produced one of their best-ever displays to not only beat their mighty opponents, but humble them. It was giant-killing at its non-league best.

The difference between the sides was George Oghani, who rendered the gap in status between the two clubs null and void. Right from the start Runcorn had no idea how to handle him. George ran the game and claimed one of the goals in a 3-0 win, the others coming from David Holt and Peter Coyne. His performance has to rank as one of the greatest by a Hyde player.

And it wasn't only the Ewen Fields spectators who were impressed. George was barely out of the showers before being whisked to Burnden Park where he was signed by John McGovern. The deal would have put some welcome money in the Tigers' bank account but it also deprived them of their best player. That didn't bode well for the rest of the FA Cup.

When the draw was made for the third qualifying round it gave Hyde another home tie, but against Tameside neighbours Stalybridge Celtic whose boss was former Tigers star striker Pete O'Brien who would soon return to Ewen Fields for a successful stint as manager.

Although Hyde were were probably favourites, the Bridge would be no pushovers. There was a bitter rivalry between the clubs and while Celtic had ended the Seventies as the more successful side, the Tigers had overtaken them in the Eighties. It was a big match in every sense of the word and Stalybridge were more than capable of putting in the necessary big performance.

In the end, Hyde won 2-0 in one of the very rare matches at Ewen Fields to be marred by crowd trouble.

The fourth qualifying round put the Tigers 90 minutes from the first round proper, a stage they hadn't reached since 1954 when they lost to a third division (north) Workington side managed by Bill Shankly. It was good to dream but everyone knew Hyde had form for falling at the last fence.

In 1981 they had lost to Horden Colliery Welfare of the Northern League, so even though they got yet another home draw, there was a feeling of apprehension when they were paired with Blyth Spartans.

Blyth had a national reputation as an FA Cup team. In 1978, in times when everyone wanted to win the competition and no one fielded weakened sides, they had almost reached the quarter-finals which was an unbelievable achievement for a non-league outfit. Among their victims were Stoke City.

The Northern League was also something of a mystery. It included clubs such as Bishop Auckland and Crook Town who had dominated the old FA Amateur Cup, but it had remained separate from the newly-established non-league pyramid. It was known for good teams, tough-tackling and unwelcoming grounds.

A big crowd gathered at Ewen Fields to watch the tie on October 29 and there was a belief that the "impossible" might happen when Hyde took the lead through Peter Coyne. In those days, before the ground was redeveloped, the hardcore fans packed into the Tinker's Passage stand behind the Mottram Road goal and on the day the noise was deafening and the atmosphere electric.

But Spartans came back to grab an equaliser and a replay. Two days later it was discovered the winners would be home to Burnley. It was the perfect first-round tie but no one relished the thought of an early-November midweek trip to a ground north of Newcastle and with a small squad affected by injuries. The odds were firmly stacked against the Tigers going through.

As I was a postman and needed to be in work at the old Hyde Sorting Office at 5am, I was unable to go. In those pre-internet, pre-mobile phone days I had to rely on someone to call me with the result.

I fully expected the worst but when the phone rang, Dave Gresty informed me over a crackly line from a Northumberland phone box, that Hyde had actually won 4-2. Even though we only had 11 fit players, and Peter Wragg had been forced to name himself as sub, we had achieved the unexpacted. Wraggy celebrated by pouring the trainer's bucket over himself. Gary Blore, Peter Coyne, Charlie Pawsey and Kevin Glendon were the scorers.

The next morning, wherever I went, I was asked the same question: would Hyde really face Burnley at Ewen Fields? My reply was always that I couldn't see how it would be possible. But eventually I was abruptly told by a director that the tie would be played at home, so that's what I told people and the view that gained general acceptance over the next day or two.

Whether that director spoke for the club, or spoke too soon, I don't know. He may have thought the rest of the board would follow his lead, he may have got ahead of himself or he may have been talking through his hat, but as the realisation dawned that the tie had been switched, disappointment mixed with anger in many parts of the town.

To be fair, when club chairman Peter Pluck spoke to the supporters he made some very valid arguments. Although modernisation had begun at Ewen Fields it was in a dilapidated state. The main stand was made of wood and rather than having seats it had benches. No one was sure how many people could fit into it comfortably. There was no directors box. The so-called boardroom was small and grubby.

Nobody really knew the ground's capacity. Old programmes had given the record attendance as 9,500 against Nelson in 1950, yet the actual crowd that day was 7,200. As Peter Pluck said, if 5,000 tickets were sold but the stadium was full at 4,000, there was little to stop the other 1,000 pushing down a wall or fence to get in.

There was a general lack of manpower and facilities for a game that would attract thousands. There were many safety questions. How would a programme be produced and distributed considering it was usually printed on a hand-cranked duplicator in a garage? And of course the financial implications couldn't simply be ignored. Hyde would make a considerable amount of much-needed money by playing at Turf Moor in front of a much bigger crowd.

Of course these arguments cut no ice with some people and still don't. Even though the supporters club committee only numbered about a dozen, ranging from some who did a great deal to some who did relatively little, chairman Alan Barton was bitterly disappointed by the decision to switch.

The atmosphere became even more heated when Reporter sports editor Martyn Torr weighed in. Forty years ago the paper was required reading for anyone interested in Tameside football carrying columns of reports, news and gossip. In a strongly-worded editorial Torry railed against the Hyde directors and accused them of looking after the gin-and-tonic brigade instead of the ordinary fans. That was taken to be a swipe at Peter Pluck.

A week later, the argument raged on in the Reporter in a way that would be unthinkable now. The newspaper, which was broadsheet in those days, must have had two pages of letters on the subject of Hyde United v Burnley. The town was divided and it seemed there was no middle ground.

Even so, on November 19, 1983, the tie drew the biggest FA Cup crowd of the day — more than 9,000. Hyde United Supporters' Club must have organised at least ten coaches while others made their own way to north Lancashire.

And those who did go witnessed a splendid performance by the Tigers who were in no way intimidated by an expensive side managed by former Manchester City boss John Bond and featuring players like Scotland international Tommy Hutchinson and million-pound man Kevin Reeves. Hyde may have lost 2-0 but they fought every step of the way and Kevin Glendon was so impressive that Bond signed him.

The line-up on that day was Colin Darcy, Tony Steenson, Kevin Glendon, Steve Johnson, Gary Blore, Brian Hart, David Holt, Peter Coyne, Charlie Pawsey, Terry Cook and Barry Howard with Peter Coutts as substitute.

Somehow, for all the tempers lost and cheers raised, for all the highs and lows, for all the emotion expended, everything ended on a comic note.

As it was such a landmark day in Hyde United's history, the directors had decided to have the match videoed, which was quite a radical move for 1983 when affordable VCRs had only just come onto the market. There was one tape, and it was duly given to Peter Pluck to look after.

Some days later, Plucky decided to watch it and pushed the cassette into his machine. The titles flickered up showing "Hyde United v Burnley (FA Cup)" and then there was a bit of a snowstorm followed by some jaunty yet by familiar music. The no-recording tab hadn't been snapped off and Peter's young daughter had used the tape to record Tom and Jerry cartoons.

A great moment in history was lost, but it's probably better to end with laughter than anger.

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madou-dilou · 4 years

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Why The Dragon Prince Season 3 messed up

SO I pRoMiSed YoU aN EssAY about why the third season of The Dragon Prince disappointed me, and as I'm arrogant enough to assume that you are interested in my opinion, I post it here. ;)

*rolling drums*

King Harrow sums up the conflict as a narrative of endless vengeance, wrongs on both sides, that had to be redeemed whatever the cost.When the Dragang finds the egg, they think about the peace that could come.

But when Rayla shows it to Runaan, he tries to kill her, then goes to murder Harrow. He learnt nothing from what happened and is just trapped into that eye-for-eye scheme. At this point, Runaan represents not only Xadia's ideology, but also the whole world scheme. The world is blinded by this narrative of revenge, so blinded that they refuse to considerate peace even at the cost of relatives -and yes, I’m including Viren if “the world”. So there's no guarantee that returning that egg will stop the war, especially that, as far as we know, it was the queen of the dragons herself who ordered this assassination mission.

And Xadians don't stop there. They seem to work actively on kindle the fire. Elves are gathering at the Breach and attack human fortresses. And, just watch the episode where Soren attacks a dragon. Yes, Soren attacked first. But that dragon was flying over the city for days, fully aware of tensions, fully aware that humans were on their nerves after the kingslaying. If he just meant to afraid the people, he could just have left after dodging Soren's arrow; or simply destroy the tower, then leave. But he doesn't. Instead, he destroys the tower, then almost reduces the city to ashes, with the people still inside. When Callum finds out about it, he first doesn't understand why Rayla wants to save this dragon; but she explains him about the narrative of vengeance, that someone has to do something to break the cycle, even if she has to die for it. But she doesn't totally succeed and humans try to kill her, and the dragon gravely hurts a few of them before finally leaving. Even if, unlike Runaan, that dragon finally understood the hope the Dragon Prince was representing for the world (or perhaps he just flew away to warn Queen Zubeia), this doesn't erase the fact that he burnt down a whole city for no reason.

And Viren knows about that. Elves and dragons have exiled humans because they found a way to stop being considered as lesser beings who deserved nothing more than starvation. A quite unethical way, yes, but Elves could just give humans a bunch of Primal Stones if they wanted them to stop Dark Magic. No, instead, the Elves and Dragons exiled a whole people on sterile lands, Trade of Tears/Grapes of Wrath style, then ruthlessly killed all those who dare to pass nearby the border. Maybe the elves see it as a guarantee, a shield which prevent humans from doing unethical things. But to humans, that's just a knife over their throat. When they manage to get rid of that knife, elves and dragons just declare war on them, fully aware that they won't be able to defend.

Viren sees himself as the Jon Snow of the story, he wants to prevent a genocide, but no one is listening to him because they don't feel directly threatened. And the elves, in my opinion, had no intention of attacking the four other kingdoms, since their kings took no action against them (not even Duren). But if we set in Viren's shoes (Viren who saw his friends dying right before his powerlessness because of those damned critches), his point of view makes sense. He is also trapped into an eye-for-an-eye mindset -after all he is the one who murdered Thunder to avenge Sarai, and he is also trapped in a "protect my people whatever it takes." Just as the elves.

“That’s horrible, Viren.” “We have no choice.” “Story of your life in two sentences bro”

The heroes' job is to stop this, to break the wheel. To save lives from both sides -but more from the human side, given how Harrow qualifies this conflict "unwinnable war".**The thing is, in season three, the heroes didn't stop the war.**Well, effectively they did, but because they chose a side over the other. That was quite an easy choice to them, for their enemies were no more humans but soulless monsters. But that's exactly where the problem is.

The narrative brutally decided to caricature the conflict into a good VS bad framing :

Magic creatures are actually super friendly with humans!

“Team Daenerys 4ever”

"Trees to meet you Callum! Yes I know, I was fully OK with my husband and daughter going into a suicide-squad to murder your father and brother, but no, I don't hate you, I think you are a wonderful person and that the world needs to hear a message of peace!" And the human army meets absolutely no resistance from the Xadians, that’s a proof Xadians were absolutely not hostile and humans are mean, racist, awful warmongers invading a land of peaceful rainbowed creatures! And the Dragon Queen is super happy about her baby's return and peace's arrival, so happy that she completely forgets -and so as the characters, that SHE sent those assassins over Harrow, and that her husband spent his whole life killing humans. And of course, the cast, including Soren, totally forgot about that dragon who burnt a whole city down, because dragons are, I guess, way more badass and cool than mere humans...

Viren stops thinking and being sorry about his actions.

“No son, I don’t, I was too busy looking like a random bad-guy and admiring a sexy starry butt”

You might say, it's because he now acts instead of just talking. But just look his attitude when Amaya confronts him back in season 1. He's mad about her insinuating he murdered Harrow and even proposes the throne to her because she is the only one apart from himself, who cares about the elves and dragons. When Claudia asks him about Soren's life, he takes a while before responding, and doing so, his face is definitely not some Ozai's one. Or when he steals the king's stamp. He hears the screaming from the fight -he is traumatized by the elves and dragons. He looks at the family portrait, the family that was destroyed partly because of him, and definitely, has deeply sorrowful features on his face, while no one can see him, so there's no one in front of whom to pretend anything. And this isn't the only example of th- What? Season three? hahaha! no, he's definitely not sorry about imprisoning Ezran and shouting to Soren that his life didn't matter the slightest!

Even if he was quite desperate when he was in jail, because he thought humanity was just doomed, this just doesn’t fit...

Oh, and he lost his brain when he gained the crown, and that was totally ridiculous and out-of-character. I mean, given the little we see from Harrow's reign, it was Viren who just handled the whole kingdom for ten years. The cunning king's shadow, who always had a back-up plan to fix Harrow's stupidity thanks to his knowledge, inventiveness, eloquence; the guy who raised Claudia; this guy is now unable to utter a single idea of his own because of a sexy elf’s butt and voice who gives him some validation? Haha. I don't believe it for a second.

And not to mention how kiling him just solved the entire conflict, like he was the one who caused it in the first place. He murdered Thunder and Azymondias and gathered an army to make his crusade, yes. But he acts this way because there already were massive thousands-years-long tensions before. Viren was a product of those tensions, not the direct cause.

But then I suppose it was so much simpler to have a random Iago/Claudius/Richard III/Scar/Jafar/Rasputin/Melissandre...

Oh, speaking of questionable using of fire.

The Cinder-heart soldiers.

“DRACARYS !!”

When people talk about Dark Magic, they describe it as a shortcut, an easy way, a magic problem-solver that gives a far too proper way to determine what's right and wrong, who has the right to live and who hasn't. Well, with the Cinder heart soldiers, writers do exactly the same. They don't use Dark Magic to address ethic issues as in season 1 and 2, here they use Dark Magic to give the viewer something to thrill about, to draw a neat, clear, proper, defined line between what's right and what's wrong. With those humans turned into soulless monsters, you can say that the elves are right to defend themselves because those monsters are stronger than they are; but you can also say that killing them isn’t such a big deal since they have no soul. Of course, that can be used as a tool to point Viren’s fucked up morality, to point that the greater-good mentality can lead to atrocities. But that just doesn’t work. If they wanted to sum up the absurdity of war, writers could have left the soldiers as they were: humans who think they’re doing the right thing but only lead to disaster.

By making these monsters of those soldiers, by making them Viren’s puppets, by making them extensions of Viren’s will and power, writers frame Viren as the big bad guy who’s fault is everything and who’s death will resolve all the conflict (pretty much how killing the Night King solved the ten-years awaited winter in two seconds).

And if I remember quite well, as illogical, rushed, nonsense, stupid, badly explained and outrageous king Ezran’s abdication was (GOD, that was SO STUPID. Ezran is Harrow's son, no doubts), his goal was to save lives. But at the final battle, he happily jumps over a dragon’s back to burn those exactly same lives down -even far more numerous than the ones he pretended to save His sorrowful look on a single frame is clearly not enough to make me believe he’s sorry. He never addresses or criticizes or points the fact that those creatures were humans, while he is supposed to be the main character of a show about ethics, and while Viren shows doubts several times and justifies his actions which he knows are awful. Kantian Queen Sarai did a whole vegan argument about how killing apparently soulless creatures wasn’t a way to solve problems, and she was presented as right in the long term. Kantian-Rawlian King Harrow rathered die that letting one soldier take his place (but he was bad at math so he didn’t realize how putting 200 guards between himself and invincible assassins threw his calculation down, but that’s another matter.)

“DRACARYS YEEPEEEEE”

Then their son, the main character, the one who gave up his crown to save a few lives, the one who is supposed to carry the whole breaking-the-infernal-wheel thing, this character doesn’t even blink at the thought of lighting a giant pyre out of those people, Daenerys style. And who could blame him? How could anyone blame him? Those weren’t humans anymore. Those were a bunch of soulless monsters who were running at him to slaughter his friends and family. I don't blame Ezran for killing those. I blame the series for making those and not pulling a question out of it. Do you understand what I mean? The Dragon Prince was about ending an absurd conflict where both sides were wrong but had reasons to fight. But turning a whole side into mindless monsters (including Viren and Claudia, one being blinded by power and a sexy elf’s butt, and the other blinded by her love for her father) just threw that speech away. And not to mentions how their deaths are treated on a comic and cheerful mode (I definitely hate this baker).

Did I say “A whole side ?” Oh, sorry. My bad. I kind of forgot about someone.

“A Mary-Sue is never late. Nor early. She only arrives when she was meant to.”

How everyone who ever sided against Viren for whatever reason is automatically a good-guy. Callum, Ezran, Soren, Opeli, Amaya, Aanya, Corvus, Gren, the baker (this DAMNED BAKER !!!) … I mean. When Viren came at the other royals asking them for help to avoid bloodshed, queen Aanya said “I won't send my army to face an unknown danger basing myself on a two-minutes speech!”. Very well, she doesn’t want to risk her people’s life because just one single kingdom messed up. That’s not her problem. I fully understand her choice here (even if she could at least enforce defences because Viren’s arguments were pretty valid). But when Opeli comes at her with pretty similar arguments “We need your army to avoid bloodshed”, she just accepts. Of course, we could explain her choice by strategic issues about how taking down three human armies all at once alongside with the magic army just makes her the most powerful human queen ever, even if that outcome was very unlikely given how unbalanced was the scale (I maintain it, how can mere arrows kill a magma berserk ? and even if she was relying on surprise, Viren's army clearly outnumbers gOoD gUyS's, as it was said several times)... But the season doesn’t address those strategic issues. Instead, queen Aanya just seems like Mary-Sue, like some low-cost Gandalf who has no other reason for being here except helping the good-guys against the oh-so-bad Viren. And as you know, good guys are, by essence, not interested in power (tHeY dOn’T wAnT iT)… So she goes to war right when the narrative is okay and when it helps the heroes. And of course, she arrives right when she is needed, even if, to quote Kronk, “by all accounts, it doesn’t make any sense”. (Kronk, who has the same French voice actor as Viren btw).

And about Ezran... even the series says that Viren was right on this point : having a world-war resting on a eight years old king's shoulders is the worst idea ever. Even if this kid has best intentions ever, no one can take him seriously. Not Kaseef, who's father was just slain. Not Saleem. Not even Opeli -whom "you should have someone you can trust to rule this kingdom, someone capable, strong, dignified, loyal, lawful" scene seemed like the most unsubtle manipulation ever, and should have foreshadowed some nuance or lust for power into her.

And about General Amaya…

“I don’t know why I hate him, but he is so dangerous, so evil, and I hate him so much than I’ll side with the people who murdered my sister and drink my nephew’s blood !!”

Of course, there is only one single guy in the whole human realm who deserves to be called arrogant and rotten to the core. Of course, he is so dangerous, evil and bad-intentioned that she just gets alongside the army she’s been fighting her whole life along, the army whom she believes drink human blood and the army who killed her sister. I mean, even if she distrusts Viren because of how her sister died and how Harrow’s assassination benefits him, don’t forget that she is a human and that Viren is working to defeat elves, just as herself. I’m not saying she’s some awful traitor to her blood or anything, but just that she took her decision far too quickly, and that this decision was far too brutal, too defined, for to be credible for the viewer. But, guess what? She opposed to Viren once! That means she is a good girl, and that everything she does is the right thing, even if she has no reason to do so. And don't make me launched about Opeli...

So, the result of it: it gives the impression that the Sunfire Ordeal of Light was right. Elves aren’t wrong, elves are never wrong because they just have an unmistakable detector for right and wrong. The proof is, it found Amaya to be good and Viren being bad! Because Dark Magic is so bad, you know (sorry to the 100 000 of lives who Viren saved with that magic).

“You thought you were allowed to be a morally grey antagonist in a kids show? Haha, how bold of you, you fool !”

And of course, no important character dies amongst the “good-guys” side. Also on the bad side actually apart from Kaseef (whom treatment by the narrative was just disgusting), but Viren died before being brought back and Claudia was traumatized for life. The good guys? Oh, thanks for asking. All of them are well and safe because they brought peace by crushing that oh-so-bad Viren and his oh-so-evil-and-soulless army. Ezran and Aanya butchered hundreds of thousands of people by fire and arrows, and Viren died without Callum trying anything to save him, but I guess that was the right thing to do to prove the narrative of love and forgiveness. <3

“Bye-bye oncle Scar”

And, on the top of that, the icing on the cake, the cherry on the top, "la cerise sur le gâteau" : getting Azymondias back to his mom just solved the entire conflict in one second.

I know the purpose was about stopping the war. But there, the series didn’t stop the war. The series chose a side and forgets about everything that was established in the first two seasons about the complexity and absurdity of war. The series just threw its whole own speech away by ridiculizing Viren, depicting elves and dragons as nothing but kind and gentle, defining a straight line between magic goodies and soulless baddies, and having a thousand years-long conflict resolved in a few seconds.

Do you remember when Harrow described this conflict as “not so simple”, as a thousand years-long conflict where both sides were so filled with hatred to each other that peace was nothing but a naive child dream? Do you remember when Runaan tried to murder his adoptive daughter when she tried to explain that peace was possible? Do you remember when that red dragon burnt down a whole city for no reason? That's a shame because the series doesn’t <3

And that can be explained very simply: NOT ENOUGH EPISODES. If only Netflix agreed to change the format, this series could have obliterated Avatar The Last Airbender or the Alabasta Arc from One Piece (which has a similar plot, but with some bad guys into it from the very start, and in spite of this succeeds into outstandingly depicting the absurdity of war). If only the TDP series has had more time to breathe, to explain and develop characters, motives, depths, events, (especially Ezran's downfall which didn't make any sense) it could have been LEGENDARY

.But instead, The Dragon Prince just ran straight into the trap it was so brilliantly avoiding in season one and two: Manicheism, black-and-white, goodies VS baddies, Simple narrative.

And I don’t even think a fourth season can fix this.

The final picture was too rainbowed, too happy-ending, too simple to be fixed. Yes, there are still “OH SO SOOOO BAD GUYS” and under-plots to explore (Aaravos’s final plan, Viren and Claudia’s trauma, Rayla’s parents including Runaan, Pip, cohabitation between critches and humans), but the series was about the absurdity of war and how characters dealt with it. Once this war is not only over, but also oh-so-happy-ended, I really wonder what’s left to explore. Even Dark Magic ethic, one of the most interesting part of the show to me, is ridiculed. By rushing, they handled their speech in a very clumsy way, and even worse: hypocritical.

The third season threw the series's speech to the trash by a too fast narrative… And I don’t know if I can forgive this.

Reminds me of GoT season eight, actually. But that’s another problem ^^

Thank you for coming to my TED-Talk.

#tdp #tdp season three #tdp s3 #tdp Callum #tdp Ezran #tdp Rayla #tdp Zym #tdp Viren #tdp Claudia #tdp Soren #tdp aaravos #tdp Aanya #tdp Ethari #tdp Zubeia #tdp analysis #tdp meta #the dragon prince #tdp criticism

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a-marlene-s · 5 years

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I’m a Scholar, Not a Knight!: Pt 1

This is one of two winning story idea of my Birthday Story Giveaway! The sender of this story idea is none other than @amynchan! Congrats!

D/C: I do not own My Hero Academia.

A/N: Unbetaed.

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Fandom: My Hero Academia

Main Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Ochaco Uraraka, Shoto Todoroki, Katsuki Bakugo, Eijiro Kirishima and Toshinori Yagi

Ships: Izuku x Ochaco, Katsuki x Eijiro, Shoto x Momo

Genre: Friendship, adventure and Fantasy. Romance is in the back burner.

Au: Fantasy Au, Sassy!Izuku.

Summary: Izuku knew he wanted to become more than a simple peasant. He plans on becoming a scholar. A simple scholar that is repeatedly being told otherwise. Somehow, he found himself in the company of a retired knight, a squire, a witch-in-training, a runaway prince, a barbarian king, a human/dragon hybrid and a frog shifter... All of whom start to assume he’s the Lost Hero of Legend. Yeah... there goes his goal of becoming a scholar.

Izuku grinned at his opponent, not being bothered to notice how his legs shook relentlessly. He knew he could die fighting against his opponent and shouldn’t be grinning, but that is the least of his worries. Power surged throughout him before he focused it on his sword, his grin grew a green light envelop his weapon.

With a battle cry, Izuku marched forward to face off against his strongest opponent yet. There’s no turning back at this point. To think that at one point in his life, he had thought of doing something safe for the rest of his life… like a scholar!

Yeah… a scholar…

Toshinori knew he doesn’t have long to look for his successor. His power is leaving him since his battle against AFO, his body just has not been able to take on the power of OFA. Even if the battle had ended in his favor, he still ended up losing. Losing organs and the ability to stay in his other form has shortened tremendously, he’s still surprised at the fact he managed to stay alive for this long.

Taking in a deep breath, Toshinori continued walking on a dirt road that leads to a small town where he is to meet with a close friend of his. Nothing out of the norm really, he just wishes his horse didn’t run off on him… again.

“Hey! This is a toll road, old man!”

Toshinori really wished he had taken the backroads; he should have known better than to take the main road. Bandits would often make up toll roads to harass anyone that crosses paths with them. “Could we talk about thi-”

“Either pay up willingly, or we’ll take whatever you have by force. Your choice?” One of the bandits sneered, making a point to placing his hands on his battle-ax strapped to his back.

‘Great…’ Toshinori grumbled into himself. Even if he does turn around and leave, they’ll just going to try and kill him. Either way, he’s a dead man. Ironic really considering he’s already a dead man walking. Still, he still has some life in him and he still needs to find a successor! If it means having to deal with these lowlifes, then so be it. Leaving them alive to only have them harass or even possibly kill others, is not an option. “I would advise to you pack your things and leave… you don’t want to fight me.”

“Oh, like you have the power to fight us!” Another bandit laughed aloud, causing all the bandits, around thirty or so of them. At this point, many of them began to surround Toshinori, drawing out their weapons. “Now, are you going to make this easy for us?”

“Hey! Leave him alone!”

Toshinori turned around to see a young man running towards him, with a sword in hand. He couldn’t help but grin hearing those words. Turning around to see a familiar teen running towards him. “Young Midoriya!”

Izuku Midoriya came racing towards the group of bandits, brandishing his word warningly. “Get away from him! How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of trouble, Mr. Yagi!”

Toshinori twitched at Izuku’s words. Oh, so many times has the young man warned him to stay out of trouble. Not his fault that trouble follows him and what is the kid talking about! Izuku also gets in just as much trouble as himself! “Now is not the time for that, Young Midoriya!”

“Oh, do you want me to say it after you got beaten to death!”

“...Well then…”

-.-

Toshinori laughed awkwardly as he watched Izuku destroy the supposed toll booth the bandits had created. “I see you have been training with your sword, Young Midoriya.”

“Mom wouldn’t let me leave on my own if I wasn’t at least capable of using a sword, Mr. Yagi.” Izuku sassed the older male, with one final push, he destroyed the toll booth. Looking around to see the bodies of the bandits he had to kill off after they refused to run away, he wonders if he should at least give them a proper burial. Or at least take them away from view.

Eh, it’s not his problem, even if he’s the one that killed them they shouldn’t have been doing what they were doing. Highly illegal and Izuku is surprised they managed to get away with it so long considering what the found in the toll booth. That brings him back to reality when he turns around to see Toshinori staring at him… almo- “No. I told you one, I told you a hundred times over, I’m going to be a scholar. I have no plans on becoming a… knight.”

“Why be a scholar, it’s quite clear you have the ability to become a knight!” Toshinori gushed out before he coughs outs blood.

Izuku, mainly out of habit, offered him a handkerchief, before worrying over the fact Toshinori is coughing up blood. “I’m sorry, Mr. Yagi! becoming a knight isn’t in the cards. I’m sure you could find someone better than me!”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask again.” Toshinori laughed after getting over his coughing fit. “The offer will always stand.”

“And I will turn it down every time you ask, I’m afraid.” Izuku laughed uneasily. The offer, as mentioned before, is for the opportunity for him to become a knight. Not just any knight mind you. A Heroic Knights of the Realm. It is something everyone wants to be, what everyone strives to be. An honor and a curse, depends on who you ask really. At one point, Izuku wanted to become a Heroic Knight. He wanted to become a knight just like the Legendary Knight, Sir All Might. Something he at one point, strived to be. It’s one of the main reasons he picked up the sword at a young age… but… things changed.

How could he be a knight if he wasn’t even capable of saving his best friend?

It is better to take on a different path, one that he won’t be afraid to take. Thus, his goal to become a scholar was born. Now if he could convince people that is his actual goal in life, that will swell! Apparently people are still under the belief he’s a knight or a knight in training! That is not his goal in life, thank you very much!

“Young Midoriya, would you help me get to the next town?” Toshinori asks with a deep laugh.

Izuku looked away from him so that he could hide his tears. There’s no way he could leave Toshinori Yagi on his own. The man is a walking trouble magnet. He’ll probably be dead by the end of the day if he leaves him be on his own. On the flip side, this will only give people the impression he is a knight in training! After all, the man was once a knight himself before his health took a decline. People will question his future as a scholar! They will all thing he’s training to become a knight!

“Why is this so difficult!”

-.-

Izuku muttered to himself while he and Toshinori headed into a nearby town to stop to stock up in supplies. Along with the hopes of finding a place to stay for the night. The walk, by far, is uneventful. Sure, Izuku had to dispose of any bandits, mercenaries or anyone that wanted to mug or kill them. Nothing out of the norm.

“Are you sure you’re a scholar?” One random bandit asked as he is being tied up against a wooden sign. “What kind of scholar uses a sword?”

Izuku took in a deep breath through his nose. “Why does everyone ask me that?”

“Because you don’t look or act like one?” Another bandit pipped up, also tied to said wooden sign. “You a squire or man-at-arms? The blonde is your lord right?”

Izuku got really close to killing them before Toshinori managed to pull him away from the questioning bandits. Of course, they assume! What’s the point of telling them that he’s going to become a scholar! Not a knight! He’s not brave, strong, or even capable of doing anything a Knight would do! If he can’t even protect his best friend, what good is he? Being a knight… it requires to be someone that isn’t him. Anyone but him. “I just want to become a scholar! I want to learn history and make sure it doesn’t repeat itself! Is that so much to ask?”

Toshinori couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly as Izuku started to cry as the teen continued to mutter about how no one seems to believe his new path in life. He really can’t blame the kid for his most recent breakdown.

“Mr. Yagi, why do people keep thinking my dream of becoming a scholar is stupid?” Izuku sniffled into the back of his sleeve. “They keep going on and on about me becoming a knight! Or a guard! Anything but a scholar?”

“Maybe perhaps you keep beating everyone around?” Toshinori answered earnestly, this only got him a wail from Izuku. “

“I just want to be a scholar!!!!!”

TBC

Permanent Tags: @mewwitch @runestarchild @souleateralicestein @multishipper1needshalp @mochinek0 @princesskitomi @someone-ev

Unknown Permanent tag: (Those that wanted to be tagged, but hasn’t specified to which one… You are going to be on the permanent tag until further notice.): @vixen-uchiha @unmaskedagain @vivilakitty @poshplumcot @slytherinqueen2432 @actual-disaster-human

#My hero academia #mha #pt 1 #I'm a Scholar Not A Knight #izuku x ochako #katsuki x eijiro #momo x shouto #BNHA #Fantasy Au

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solitarylurker · 4 years

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a critical reflection on the failings of star wars: the rise of skywalker

(Rey's failure on a mythological level)

the surprising twist of Rey's story after The Force Awakens was that she was on a legitimate heroine's journey, which is a journey mostly into the inner world; this was an aspect that Rian Johnson's The Last Jedi nailed perfectly, and it's the main reason that film still works despite its flaws on other analytical levels

the heroine's journey, a tragic rarity now in modern storytelling, requires Rey to confront her animus, to grapple with it, and eventually to incorporate it (or marry it in a more literal sense), all the while overcoming these challenges with wit and love

in TFA, we see her meet her animus--represented by the hulking, shadowy figure of Kylo Ren; in TLJ, she grapples with her animus--her conversations with Kylo Ren transform him from monster to man, and she is forced to wrestle with the humanity within him and the shadows within herself

The Rise of Skywalker should have completed Rey's heroine's journey, allowing her to incorporate her shadow into herself, to triumph over it by using its strength and quelling its weakness, and to marry herself to her animus, a reformed/redeemed Kylo Ren

in a properly formed heroine's journey, the heroine does not reject her animus in the end--she embraces him and accepts that he is part of her as she is part of him; her love, in essence, transforms him from a shadowy monster to a functioning part of both herself and society at large

the heroine's ultimate goal is to mend the bridges between the spiritual realm (the inner world) and the physical realm (the outer world); much like the hero's journey, the heroine must bring something of value back to her community, but the specific thing of value is different from the hero--she's not meant to slay a monster, but to integrate one, defeating it via her own set of skills

the wisdom she gains from the experience informs her as she transforms herself from maiden into matron, completing the first phase of a woman's life cycle

unfortunately, JJ Abrams didn't seem to get the memo on the core element that makes Rey's journey work, and he tries to stuff her into the hero's mold instead

the beats of the traditional hero's journey fall flat in a story like Star Wars, which has always held an element of the inner journey at its heart

even Luke's hero's journey does not end with him vanquishing his foe--Darth Vader; instead, it ends with him offering compassion to his foe, and through his compassion he reforms Vader enough for Vader to complete his own heroic arc and slay Palpatine

Abrams is so focused on making Rey into a super woman type of high priestess character, a woman so pure and moral that despite showing obvious signs of fragmentation and subliminal rage still manages to always make the "correct" decision

Rey in TROS is a Queen of Swords, a harsh woman of sharp judgment and little compassion for anything that doesn't do exactly what she wants when she wants it; these aspects would be fine if we were still in the second film, for this would symbolize her obstacles she'd have to overcome to reach her full potential, but unfortunately TROS is the third film and these are presented as admirable qualities (or, if not admirable per se, then not detrimental)

Rey repeatedly has several run-ins with Kylo Ren, her animus, who continues to open the door to conversation and understanding with her, but unlike in TLJ when Rey allowed herself to soften toward him, she remains hard and implacable in TROS

she draws a hard, sharp line between her fictional image of "Ben Solo" and the shadow of Kylo Ren who stands before her

this comes out most prominently in the scene where she and Kylo Ren fight for the final time--she is snarling with rage and absolutely incapable of conversing with him, despite having cared for him in the previous film

she goes so far as to fatally stab him with his own saber and then has the nerve, after half-heartedly healing him (while she's crying more for Leia than for him), to tell him she wanted to take Ben's hand, the subtext being that she would never take Kylo Ren's hand

lucky for Rey, Kylo Ren magically transforms himself for her because he's so desperate for any human contact that even a woman who avidly loathes him so obviously is better than nothing

however, this is no win for Rey on any genuine level--this is merely her being a creator's pet and receiving narrative benefits she hasn't properly earned

Rey shows no legitimate remorse for how far she's fallen, or for her own lack of compassion for Kylo; she never once in the film attempts to understand Kylo or reach out to him or offer him an alternative, instead continuing to make demands of him without offering anything in return

when she speaks with Luke, she's more worried about her own purity as a jedi than she is the darkness that's caused her to harm someone she supposedly cares for or her own temptation (which is never shown) of joining him as his Empress

in the end, Rey gets her wish and Ben appears before her, rescues her, and dies sacrificing himself for her; while the scene is pretty, it's ultimately hollow because Rey did nothing to earn Ben's love and sacrifice--these are entirely testaments to Ben's character and his own heart than to Rey's, as she is merely the passive beneficiary of a love she neither pursued nor sacrificed for

the enormous gaping hole in Rey's journey falls in her own inability to properly face her own shadow and incorporate it, thus healing her interior wounds and enabling her to reach Kylo Ren; to do this properly, in TROS she should have learned how to accept her own call to the dark side, as well as Kylo's, and accepted them both as having these sides to themselves while offering Kylo a way to move forward without giving in entirely to the dark

her inability to accept her own inner animus and transform it into something of worth to the community is why her journey fails, despite the success of her shoehorned hero's journey--her journey had never been a traditional hero's journey, and killing is never the proper ending for a legitimate heroine's journey; love is always the correct end to a heroine's journey

worse than failing to accept the darkness within herself and Kylo, she fails to understand that the man she loves is the culmination of Kylo Ren and Ben Solo; she is not in love with Ben Solo

Rey does not even know Ben Solo; there is no guarantee Ben Solo would have loved Rey had he met her ten years before

the man who extends his hand to Rey, the man who pushes her, the man who offers her companionship and understanding, is Kylo Ren, the very same one who offered her a galaxy because he didn't understand she only wanted him

it was not Ben Solo's light that drew Rey to him, it was his darkness that compelled her; her desire for his light comes from her inability to accept her own inner darkness, which is merely her ego wanting to remain a "good girl" for her parents rather than properly face the totality of the woman she is becoming

Kylo's darkness calls Rey toward growth and autonomy, but it also represents the danger of temptation and wrath, fatal flaws Kylo himself has fallen prey to

if in TROS Rey had properly found herself, she would be able to help Kylo see he was more than just the darkness, and help him reincorporate his light as she had incorporated the darkness he'd helped her tap into; these could have turned into deep wells of strength for both characters, allowing their bond to become a force (pun intended ;D) capable of taking down whatever villain stood at the end of their journey

but because Rey refuses to accept that the man who has been the one by her side the entire journey is the "evil" Kylo Ren, she can't complete her journey into womanhood and instead retreats into childish fantasy; ultimately she can't have a happily ever after with whatever the Kylo Ren/Ben culmination turned out to be because she never grows up enough to accept such a man (this is further emphasized when she's sliding down the dunes like a child again at the end of her journey, a subtle sign that nothing of relevance has changed)

Rey never comes to the understanding that Kylo Ren is not split from Ben Solo, nor that her own darkness is not split from her light; she never reaches the understanding that Kylo and Ben are one and that her light and her darkness are one

this inability to incorporate the two aspects within herself leads to her failure to accomplish her narrative objectives while her inability to show any form of compassion to either Kylo Ren or Palpatine clinches the deal and renders her character ultimately a sad example of a creator's pet who never achieved her full potential

as far as i'm concerned, the reason this film fails goes beyond poor plotting, poor pacing, and poor characters--it can't even get the basic mythological steps of the final leg of the heroine's journey correct, thus rendering Rey completely ineffective in the only two missions her character had: find belonging with someone and come to terms with herself and her past

it's truly a shame Abrams couldn't stick the landing on this one, because Rey deserved to grow up, learn how to express true love and compassion, marry the man she loved, bring him back into the community as an asset rather than a liability, and bring forth the next generation with him at her side

[7/9]

#tros critical reflection #rey criticism #reylo criticism #sw criticism #sw spoilers #tros spoilers #sw tros

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goblin-gardens · 5 years

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@grimark replied to your post “although she is the only one who is currently a literal goblin, i think there’s actually a strong argument to be made about each member of the M9 being actually more Goblin than Nott is”

if you get the time/inclination i would Love to hear about the goblin energy of the rest of the m9

anything for u grim. and anything to tempt you further into the world of Critical Role. i see you liking my “Caduceus Clay is a twink” posts and the good good fjanart i reblog. i see you.

come. stay a while and listen! read my very long and very scientific essay! i will not be disclosing how long this took me, but there are almost 2500 words under the cut.

okay okay okay so the first thing we need to do in this very serious and scientific endeavor is separate Sam Reigel’s MASSIVE Goblin Energy from his character. that man’s Goblid Quotient is OFF THE CHARTS.

when we look at Just Nott (and Veth, which would be a whole nother section but we don’t actually know anything about her??) does she express clear Goblin Traits at a higher rate than the rest of her party? they are generally a pretty gobliny bunch, or they wouldn’t be killing strangers to take their gold, but do they have true Goblin Traits?

Some key elements of Goblinry: 1) Collection Of Crap 2) Chaos 3) Minionhood 4) Gooey Center 5) Laser Pointer Focus 6) Furious Devotion and 7) Hideous Cackling. what’s that? these seven qualities match up with the seven other members of the Mighty Nein, past and present? what a coincidence!!

1) Collection Of Crap, epitomized by: Caleb Widogast. a fairly self explanatory goblin trait. okay so yes, this is a trait Nott has in spades, and is specifically and canonically an aspect of her goblinhood. Caleb, however has chosen to Collect Crap to be a wizard, filling his pockets with spell components including, but by no means limited to, sulfur, molasses, honeycomb, bits of copper wire, and literal bat shit. it’s all just. in his pockets. being slimy. he has also been Collecting the Crap of trauma in his brain for many years, and no fantasy therapist has been around to help him KonMari some of it into healthier boxes. he has also Collected a whole new family to care about, and in many ways, he views that as kinda shitty. (runners up: Jester, with the animals and haversack of holding, Beau, with her constant wanting to know shit, Fjord, with his balls)

2) Chaos, epitomized by: Jester Lavorre. another Goblin trait Nott shares, but Nott hasn’t built a religion out of chaos. she’s not a high priestess of drawing dicks on things. her magic powers don’t some from a divine mandate to fuck shit up. honestly, i feel unconvinced by the assertion that Nott has a Chaotic alignment, while Jester’s CG status is unassailable. pets also up the chaos meter, though this Collection can be attributed to Laura Bailey and this has been taken into consideration. Jester’s childhood in the Lavish Chateau was sort of like a pandora’s jack in the box getting wound tighter and tighter and tighter past all physical comprehension, and though the lid has been lifted, the spring is only just starting to sproing. we haven’t even reached the Zenith yet! (runners up: Molly, with the egg dick incident, and Fjord, with his need to always....... touch..... things......)

3) Minionhood, epitomized by: Fjord “No-Name” Swordvjore. in CR, goblins will work together to target weaker and easy opponents, but aren’t prone to individual heroism and rarely, if ever, go out of their way to save a friend. in their villages, little value is placed on familial relationships or education, they’re not big team players, and everyone has a terrible sense of humor. what do they have in common with Fjord? NOT A WHOLE FUCKING LOT, ACTUALLY. Fjord shows the other side of the coin, like how tactics that don’t rely on using yourself as canon fodder are more successful, or like how the power of friendship and diverse skill sets makes your team stronger. though he is currently examining the negative aspects of his own Minonhood, Fjord has spent much of his life content to be a minion. on a merchant ship, climbing ropes and battening hatches as he was instructed, and now a minion of a mysterious and powerful creature. however, he’s realized this arrangement no longer suits him, and he is looking for other options (like being a paladin??) (runner up: Caduceus Clay, committed WildMinion)

4) Gooey Center, epitomized by: Yasha Nydoorin. the Gooey Center is protected by a spiky, brittle, intimidating, crunchy, and/or off putting exterior. Yasha is our big, scary, tenderhearted wlw. our giant soft-hearted, angelic, full-of-boiling-murderous-rage, lightning-punching, funeral-not-having runaway who loves her wife and makes us cry. she shaves her arms with her sword. she uses books in non-traditional ways. she vanishes into the night sometimes in a very mysterious and tragic manner. she is our most Romantic player character, and she is super ripped and super queer, which are all aspirational goblin qualities. in practice, most goblins connect with their gooey center by being squished by someone like Yasha, maybe with a giant hammer. (runners up: Caleb, known glass canon with a very crunchy exterior, Beau, puncher of feelings, and Molly, who rudely showed us just how how close that center can be to the surface)

5) Laser Pointer Focus, epitomized by: Caduceus Clay. related to Minionhood, this is the aspect of Goblinry that the leader uses to achieve goals. the dogged focus of a True Goblin is powerful and direct, but can be redirected with the proper pressure or leadership, or lost when a cause or leader is not compelling enough or doesn’t provide adequate payment. the Laser Pointer Focus has an investigatory aspect as well, gathering little bits of info from every which way in moments, though the information gathered is rarely put to use immediately. Caduceus, who sees all but doesn’t always act on it, and is content to support the Nein and follow their meandering path to his goal, checks many of these boxes. (runners up: Fjord, spiritually chasing a laser pointer at all times, Jester, whose laser pointer always points at chaos, and Caleb, a cat)

6) Furious Devotion, epitomized by Beauregard Lionett. also going hand in hand with Minionhood, this is the trait that makes goblins actually willing to die in battle against adventurers and town guards and shit. but it doesn’t require any comfort with or willingness to follow authority, it’s the more feral side of love that is reigned in by Minionhood in true Goblins. this is the part of the Goblin that drive the Collecting of Crap because it genuinely loves all the shit it finds. Beau is a prime example of this trait, especially because as she gets more and more invested in a person or ideal, her willingness to let go, even in the face of likely death, decreases dramatically. see episode 55 for reference, among others. she also has a rather Goblinish inability to effectively communicate the depths of her feelings, though this is sort of an aspect of her defense of her Gooey Center and something she’s actively working on. (runners up: Yasha, very good at using the Fury to pursue the Devotion, and Caleb, even less able to discuss his feelings than Beau)

and finally 7) Hideous Cackling, epitomized by Mollymauk Tealeaf. this is what a Goblin does when surveying their Collection of Crap and the Chaos they have caused. this is how they communicate with fellow Minions in the know, how they react to seeing someone else’s Gooey Center, to catching the Laser Pointer. this is the easiest way to express their feelings of Devotion. the Hideous Cackle of a True Goblin is un-selfconscious and entirely for the benefit of the Cackler. Cackling Hideously is an act of self love. you can find your goblin group by listening to the Discordant Chorus made by Cackling together, and when you’re all reveling in the cacophony, there you are. it’s a little hedonistic and a little punk and a little queer, disregarding conventional expectations of beauty or family or polite behavior, and all about diving deep into the things that you are and the things that make you happy. an extremely Molly philosophy, truth be told. (runner up: Jester, gleeful agent of chaos)

Now lets use a quantifiable rubric to measure these attributes in each member of the M9. these will be X out of 11 because 77 is more of a Goblin Number than 70.

Nott The Brave Collection of Crap-- extremely. 9/11 Chaos-- FLUFFERNUTTERRRRRRRRRR! 8/11 Minionhood-- not really! her love of Caleb is much more protective (of him and his future abilities) than anything else. 3/11 Gooey Center-- ehhh she’s secretive, but her tender spots are other people, not actually her. 5/11 Laser Pointer Focus-- her main goals are all inwardly motivated and have not changed during the campaign. 2/11 Furious Devotion-- her love is extremely powerful. 10/11 Hideous Cackling-- a surprisingly low score due to her great potential for growth in the self-love department. 3/11 total score: 40/77. not a bad score, but not Extremely Goblin!

how does that stack up against every one else?

Caleb Collection of Crap-- keeps everything in his pockets except for his cat, which is in his heart. 11/11 Chaos-- absolutely creates it, but lacks proper conviction and glee. 3/11 Minionhood-- while formerly a Minion, he has developed his own purpose, and is no longer eager to follow authority. 1/11 Gooey Center-- easily smashed by any large or medium-sized hammer, but maintains staunch denial of inner Gooeyness. 8/11 Laser Pointer Focus-- has goal, will travel. difficult to redirect. 5/11 Furious Devotion-- literally willing to break the world for people he loves. 10/11 Hideous Cackling-- this man has not once consensually Cackled in his whole life. -4/11 total score: 34/77. Not Especially Goblin!

Yasha Collection of Crap-- does have a whole book of pressed flowers! Collected Molly and then stuck with the Nein out serendipity/stubbornness. 6/11 Chaos-- she doesn’t really revel in it :/. 5/11 Minionhood-- serves a higher power and follows along the decisions of others in the group, even when not super enthused about them, like going to Xhorhas. 8/11 Gooey Center-- all the Gooeyer for being well protected, and though her emotional walls are not the most formidable in the party, the amount of protected feeling was unexpected 11/11 Laser Pointer Focus-- loyal to two guides, the Stormlord and the M9, though the Stormlord can pull her easily away from the group. 9/11 Furious Devotion-- very very angry. 10/11 Hideous Cackling-- could stand to be a bit more open about it. 4/11 Total score: 53/77 Actually Pretty Gobliny!

Fjord Collection of Crap-- collection is limited in scope and volume, but high in Strangeness. 8/11 Chaos-- a troublemaker, for sure and certain. 7/11 Minionhood-- Literally A Minion right now, summons demonic minions on occasion. 11/11 Gooey Center-- he is a twunk and he is mad about it. 6/11 Laser Pointer Focus-- this man cannot resist pushing buttons, be they physical, emotional, or likely to end the word. 9/11 Furious Devotion-- still figuring out where his passions lie, but he cares a lot about his friends. 5/11 Hideous Cackling-- too self conscious! loosen up! needs to Cackle in his own voice. 3/11 total score: 49/77 a respectable Goblin showing.

Beau Collection of Crap-- wants to know everything, is building a family. some points lost for minimalist monk aesthetic. 9/11 Chaos-- aspiring member of Nott the Best Detective Agency, punches people to learn about them. 8/11 Minionhood-- would destroy me for even suggesting it. -6/11 Gooey Center-- just! wants! everyone! to! get! along! 7/11 Laser Pointer Focus-- has no clearcut Mission To Complete, tries to be a voice of reason. 2/11 Furious Devotion-- JUST! WANTS! EVERYONE! TO! GET! ALONG! 11/11 Hideous Cackling-- doesn’t give a fuck what anybody thinks, but is still learning to give a fuck about what she thinks. 5/11 total score: 36/77 second-least Goblin!

Molly Collection of Crap-- behold the coat. 8/11 Chaos-- he has that certain je ne se quois. 10/11 Minionhood-- the Moonweaver in not a fan of her followers following anyone’s orders. also he has his own minions and doesn’t want them 3/11 Gooey Center-- loves openly and without reservation. and also…………………… 8/11 Laser Pointer Focus-- Molly’s focus is loving his friends and knowing fuck all. 5/11 Furious Devotion-- found a tall sad lady and made his circus adopt her. gives money to orphans. 7/11 Hideous Cackling-- genuinely personified this action for two years. 11/11 total score: 52/77 not too shabby!

Jester Collection of Crap-- while most of her random shit has potential uses, it’s also a whole lot of random shit. some of its weasels. 10/11 Chaos-- spreading discord is a religious mandate for her. Her powers come from chaos. 11/11 Minionhood-- has limits in what she will support, but is pretty devoted to her friends! easily swept up in other people’s excitement. 8/11 Gooey Center-- physically well-defended, she has the luxury of wearing her heart on her sleeve. 6/11 Laser Pointer Focus-- it might seem like she’s easily distracted, but that’s actually because her surface level attention is secondary. her primary goal is actually Fucking Shit Up. 7/11 Furious Devotion-- gets attached and does. not. let. go. 10/11 Hideous Cackling-- the end goal of everything Jester does is Cackling With The Traveler, and she often succeeds. 10/11 total score: 62/77 Pretty Fucking Goblin!

Caduceus: Collection of Crap-- dude has a swarm of bugs living in his staff. 8/11 Chaos-- NOT a fan of stuff that disrupts the proper order of nature. 4/11 Minionhood-- of all the M9, the one with the guiding principles most defined by another being. a bit of a zealot, by word of Taliesin. 9/11 Gooey Center-- encourages everyone else to talk about their feelings, yet doesn’t talk about his own in the same way. very fragile. please protect this firbolg. 10/11 Laser Pointer Focus-- has a well-defined goal, but not a well defined path. constantly looking for the answers. 11/11 Hideous Cackling-- Cackling is a more intense action than thinking something is nice, but he’s on the right track. 5/11 total score: 47/77 more than a little Goblin!

final ranking (out of 77) 34, Caleb 🐱 36, Beau 👊 40, Nott 🏹 47, Caduceus 🐞 49, Fjord 🗡️ 52, Molly 🎴 53, Yasha ⚡ 62, Jester 🦄

now, 40/77 is by no means a LOW Goblin Quotient, but this single, not peer reviewed study shows that Nott is not, in fact, the ultimate Goblin of the M9. as a goblin of science myself, i absolutely invite further discussion and welcome any additional research into this matter. who do you think is the most Goblin?

happy goblining, friends! it’s thursday!

#grimark #critical role #cr2 #the mighty nein #nott the brave #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #fjord #yasha nydoorin #caduceus clay #beauregard #mollymauk tealeaf #meta #a cheesecake shitposts #but scientifically!#cr meta #please read this everyone i swear its worth it

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harrymoots · 5 years

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Unexpected.

The soft hum and vibrations of powerfully evocative lyrics and drums crept through the pale sarcoline wall behind him. That is what pulls him out of his intense strenuous song writing. For the third consecutive time this week he listens as his next door neighbor plays this melodic tune.

Shoving his red cased mini ipad aside on the couch, Harry reaches for his phone in front of him that lays upon his living room centered table. Unlocking the device, the app ‘Shazam’ was already displayed across his screen.

Harry was anxiously prepared for this moment, as dramatic as it sounds. He had this song infused in his mind since Sunday night and it’s been eating away at him to know who’s angelic voice seeps through his neighbors speakers on this unwelcoming cold Tuesday evening. Thumbing at his screen, Harry listens as the tune continues to roam through his living room and awaits as the app tries to obtain the noise as well.

Not being close enough to the sound, the irritated musician groans at the app. Pushing up from the couch below, he stands and walks around to the side of the couch to press his phone against the wall to get a better listen for his phone. Again. Not close enough.

“It’s not even that far.”, he mumbles to himself as he raises his devices higher over his head in hopes to make it hear the song better. “Maybe if I just...” Again. Not close enough.

Still reaching, on the very top of his sock covered toes, he chuckles to himself. If anyone were to see him at this very moment, body pressed against his living room wall right hand straight in the air trying to get a listen of a song he couldn’t get his mind off of, they would think he was crazy.

Harry starts to grow a little disappointed as the song continues to play, closely coming to an end, and soon enough the song altogether comes to an abrupt stop, leaving him in an echoed silence. Standing there frozen, still facing the wall, he groans for the second time this evening. Without thinking he bangs his head against the wall out of frustration causing a loud thud to consume the silence surrounding him. He just really wanted to find out what the name of that stupidly good song was so he can live in peace god damnit!

With sluggish shoulders and a heavy sigh, he made his four step journey back to the couch, throwing himself face down face pressed against the cushions. A few moments pass before an imaginary light bulb suddenly appears above him. Why hadn’t he thought of just knocking on his neighbors door himself and asking them what the title of his new favorite song was? Harry thought he was very good with people. Especially when it came to first impressions, he likes to think he can charm the people he meets with his wholesome kindness and piercing green eyes. His hopes in charming his way into letting his unknown neighbor gift him with the beautiful melody becoming his main goal tonight.

Jumping off the couch, determination written all across his face and ready to acquire his distractive treasure, Harry makes his way towards the door. Strong thuds sound as he starts his way down the mint condition bright hallway, with only just a good fifteen feet between his comfy abode and his destination.

Moving into his basement apartment, located in Douglas County, Colorado, was easily the best decision he’s made in a very long time. Peace and quiet was something Harry always considered a top priority. It’s where he works his best, but sometimes he likes to admit it’s only because of the Tasty House down the road from him.

Harry takes his final steps that leads him to stand in front of a crimson red door, decorated with a beautiful and rather sparkly christmas wreath. The sight brought a small smile to form on his face, already known to the fact that this person has been infected with the christmas spirit and joy that it brings. Lifting his arm to begin his admission, Harry clears his throat in preparation to speak in case his sixteen year old voice wants to make an appearance again.

After a few seconds of silence a voice, of a female he thinks, calls out from somewhere deep within the strangers home.

“Come in!”

Eyebrows drawing inwards, Harry crosses his arms in front of his chest and continues to stare at the door.

‘Is this person crazy? Come in? Why would this person just yell ‘come in’ at anyone that knocks?’, he thinks.

He won’t just walk into a persons home without a proper entrance and greeting, so Harry remains stubbornly standing in the same spot.

“I said, come in!”, the voice calls out again a little louder than the first time. Footsteps, he hears, progress louder towards him from the persons apartment and suddenly the door flys open revealing a brunette female, as he was in fact correct. She stands there, bare feet with an apron covering most of the front of her body, underneath that a solid black v neck. As Harry continues to observe the girl standing before him, with no shame whatsoever, he notices her long and toned thighs and calf’s that seem to go on forever but stop just below where her apron also ends and her very short shorts begin.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare?”, now that he could hear her voice more clearly, sounds that could be explained as red velvet cake and cherry blossom trees engulfed his ears all at once. His eyes wondered still, finally moving to her face and his knees nearly buckled at the color of her eyes. Two vibrant bright green eyes that he could have sworn only belonged to him, stared back at him. They were mesmerizing.

“Um, H-Hi..”, encased by her beauty, harry stuttered the words emitted from him. Harry felt as if everything around him seemed to stop and the only thing that was moving was his pounding heart that he was sure the girl in front of him could hear as well. Clearing his throat to speak properly, his raspy voice filled the tense silence. “M-My name is Harry.”

“I know. I’m Stella”, she appointed narrowing her eyes at the breathtaking pop star. Not just a minute ago, minding her own business, she had been waiting for her oven to finish baking the fresh batch of home-made banana bread muffins. Now, she’s standing in front of her neighbor, the Harry Styles. An artist. An icon. A music genius. Stella knew for a good while who accompanied the residence beside hers. She has imagined many times how her first time meeting him would play out, but this caught her off guard. What also caught her off guard were his wandering eyes. He was definitely checking her out. “Eyes up here buddy.”

Harry’s eyes shot up towards her eyes once again, cheeks starting to stain red and grow warm. “No!”, he paused figuring out how he would explain himself checking out his next door neighbor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I mean you’re very pretty, like who wouldn’t- that’s not what i meant. Oh my god!” Harry began to grow nervous under her heavy piercing stare, now avoiding any eye contact to avoid further embarrassment.

Stella giggled at the stumbling mess in front of her and Harry swears he could listen to that sound all damn day. His objective for the night almost entirely leaving his mind, Harry speaks before anything else is said unintentionally. This really shouldn’t be so hard for him.

“I wanted to ask you..”, Harry paused searching his brain for the right words to stay. He didn’t want to tell her he was eavesdropping and come off as some stalking creep. “...but you don’t have to tell me!” harry quickly interjected.

“Ask me...?”, Stella asked after a brief pause of silence.

“The name of that s-song you were playing? I heard it.”, Harry chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “I guess we have really thin walls.... Anyway, I really liked it, but I don’t know who sings it and its been stuck in my head for a while. So I came here to uh-“

“Do you want to come inside?”, the green eyed goddess interrupted him mid ramble, Stella’s question catching both of them off guard. “I mean- Yeah I can show you the song. I have it on still on my phone screen, but I made muffins!”, the eagerness of the last few words drew an amused smile on Harry’s face. “-Or I can just only show you the song. I’m not even sure if you like muffins- banana bread muffins actually. There really good though! Like insanely good.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Stella’s cheeks feel warm as she realizes that she as well caught herself rambling nonsense. Did she really just offer Harry Styles muffins? Like he would ever want to eat a strangers baked goods.

Harry’s face lit up at the mention of her making muffins, now noticing the whiff of banana and a hint of some type of nut coming from her home behind her. “I would love to! Have a muffin, of course if you don’t mind.”

Both adults mindlessly forgetting the fact that he only really came here to ask for the name of a song, Stella shuffled a few steps aside to let Harry in. Since they do live in apartments, the design of her place matched Harrys identically, apart from the furniture creating a different vibe. Her home felt very welcoming and also very warm. In Harry’s living room you could probably eat a frozen popsicle and not have it melt, but he likes it that way. Shutting the door behind them, Stella led them towards her kitchen, passing by her living room and catching a glance at the heavy duty looking stereo set up. ‘That’s were the music came from.’, Harry thought.

As if she read his mind, Stella commented, “That stereo you see there? That’s how you heard the music. It gets pretty fucking loud when you want it to.” The way the profanity dropped from her plushy heart shaped lips made him start to sweat. How can one swear and make it seem so hot?

As they settled in the kitchen, both of them on either side of her kitchen island facing each other, Harry inadvertently begin to stare at the beautiful woman in front of him again. He could examine her better in this lighting. Now noticing the two medium space buns on top of her head, how could anyone look cuter? “Would you like anything to drink?” Yeah, you.

Harry eyes focused on nowhere but her rosy full lips as she spoke her harmless words, but the thoughts clouding his mind were not so innocent if she could ever hear them. “Some water would be nice, thank you.” Harry’s throat suddenly becoming drier than ever before while Stella turns around to begin preparing him the glass of water.

Watching her every move, Harry pondered. From a different point of view, someone would think that these two people were absolutely crazy. Why would a girl invite some random boy into her home for muffins? And why would some random boy walk into a girls home without knowing her upbringings. Although she did claim to know who he is, Harry thought it was a bit strange that she was quick to invite him into her home. Then again, he did agree without hesitation.

Setting the glass of ice cold water in front of him, Stella watched as he lifted the glass to his mouth and began drinking. It was her turn to observe the man sitting in front of her. He had on a grey oversized hoodie that matched along with his grey sweat shorts. Stella couldn’t remember if he had any shoes on when she invited him in. Harry Styles looked so much more beautiful in person. No argument necessary. He just radiates this natural aroma of wonderful that she can’t explain and right now she feels as if this is definitely all a dream and she’ll wake up in about five seconds.

“Do you live here alone?”, Harry wanted to start a conversation and he thought that was an appropriate question to ask.

“Yes, I do. I like living alone...”, pausing for a second to think, she continues. “I like having my peace and quiet when i’m home.” Well would you look at that? Harry was staring to like this girl the more she opened her mouth and moved her lips.

Especially when she moved her lips.

“Do you live alone?”, Stella asked backfiring his question, a small smile forming on her lips.

It took a moment for him to speak his answer. “I do actually. Love my alone time as well.”, he grinned.

As their conversation sustained, Harry progressively came to know the most eccentric facts about the brunette beauty. Like how every morning when she wakes up she has to scissor her fingers together so she doesn’t fall back to sleep. She also has a German Shepard, Daisy, named after the time when Stella found her in a ditch and proceeded to vomit daisy’s on Stella’s shirt. And she only wears black ankle length socks. Don’t even ask how those topics came about.

“-and so I had to put black tape to cover them up and let me tell how much of a nightmare it was to take them-“, as Harry was in the middle of telling a story about the time he dressed up as Miley Cyrus for halloween, Stella cut him off remembering exactly what he came here for before indulging in each others life stories.

“Unravel me.”

Harry chocked on a ball of air that he magically swallowed. “What?”

“I said-“

“I know what you said.” Did she want Harry to have sex with her? “What do you mean unravel you? I’m not sure-“

“That’s the name of the song, Harry!”, his name rolling off of her tongue was now his favorite sound ever. “The song you heard me playing on my speakers earlier. We totally forgot about that.”, she laughed. Of course, that’s what she meant. Did he actually think she would want to sleep with him? He had to get his mind out of the gutter.

“Oh! Yeah, thank you for that, I uh.... yeah I forgot- we forgot.”

“The artist..”, Stella continues. “Her name is Sabrina Claudio, she’s amazing! Her voice is so soothing and soft, I sometimes put her music on just to fall asleep.... Now that I say that out loud, it sounds a little strange-“

Harry wishes he could sit with her longer and hear Stella ramble on and on about the music and artists she loves out of her pretty rosy lips, but a sudden loud popping sound goes off behind her startling the both of them. Stella whips around and all too fast the oven that had been baking the homemade muffins start spewing out colossal balls of black thick smoke, causing the smoke alarm to sound loudly. Giant flames now growing where the muffins on the tray used to lay.

“MY MUFFINS!”, Stella runs towards the direction of her cabinets but a strong arm reaches and wraps around her hips. Hoisted up into the air by no other than Harry Styles himself, Stella screeches in surprise. “Harry?! What are you doing?! Let me down!”

“We have to run! There’s a fire Stella!” Harry almost manages to run out of the room completely caring the girl in his arms, but she somehow slithers her way out of his grip. Running back towards her kitchen cabinets, Stella pulls out a fire extinguisher from under the sink and begins to spray the giant flames. Harry stands there flabbergasted, staring as Stella puts out the last bit of fire in the sweltering oven. Quickly reaching to switch it off carefully not tying to burn herself, she sets down the fire extinguisher and rushes over to Harry.

“Are you okay?”, she places a hand on his shoulder, searching his face for any signs of sudden maim. Harry looks at the girl as if she grew a second head. What does she mean ‘is he okay?’ He should be the one asking her that question.

“You just played superhero and took down a huge fire! Your asking if i’m okay?”, he accused, voice slightly a little loud. “Who even are you?”

Stella laughed at that question. Suddenly aware of the thick smoke lingering close to the ceiling, she quickly moves around the kitchen opening windows. “I should try and get rid of all this smoke before it stains my walls!”

“Let me help you.”

Both bodies shuffled around the apartment opening all the windows they spotted, when all of a sudden there’s a strong pounding on the door that rattled the knob and soon after another pounding that sounds across the hall. “EVERYONE PLEASE EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY! THE FIRE DEPARTMENT IS ON THE WAY! EVERYONE PLEASE EVACUATE NOW!”

Stella and Harry both turn to look at each other from across the living room. “Is that Micheal?”, Harry asks.

“That’s Micheal.”, Stella confirms easily picturing their landlord screaming like a banshee as he always does.

Making her way towards the door, harry following closely behind, a frown formed on her face and she walked with her shoulders sluggish. Harry took notice and didn’t hesitate to place a hand on her shoulder making her turn towards him. “What’s wrong?”

Stella took in a deep sigh before she spoke. “I was really looking forward to having you try my muffins.”, she admitted with an adorable pout. Harry pushed the dirty end of that sentence to the back of his mind to generate a response for her. “Well, i’m sure those muffins would have been amazing. But look at the bright side, you stopped the fire before it could have gotten any bigger and saved a whole building from burning down.” Harry said the next statement as he looked in her eyes. “My true Super Woman.”

Stella’s eyes widened as she took his words in, while a wave of heat flashed her cheeks. “Oh, stop it.”, she looked down bashfully, causing harry to smirk widely. They made their way down the hallway towards the staircase, finally ending up in the freezing cold thirty feet away from the building alongside the buildings exhausted inhabitants.

The blaring fire trucks propelled up the road, soon stopping in front of the brick building. Everyone watched as the fire fighters one by one piled out of red trucks and began to toil away. One fire fighter in particular grabbed Stella’s attention, speaking out into the air particularly to no one. “Anyone smell banana muffins, or is it just me?”

Harry and Stella found each other’s eyes once again, trying to suppress each others laughter, as some of the other neighbors looked at them suspiciously.

Even though the night did end up a disaster in some aspects, Harry thought contently as it didn’t matter because he ultimately found out the name of the beautiful song from his beautiful next door neighbor.

-My first piece of writing! Ever! Let me know what you think.

#Harry Styles #Harry Styles Imagine #Harry #Harry Styles One Shot #Harry Writing #Writing #Imagine #Harry Styles Imagines

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bookworm555 · 5 years

Photo

Vivian Rand and Antlia Lakefield at age seventeen on the left, and at age forty on the right.

...Notice how Antlia wears her uniform shirt more unbuttoned, and her tie loose. She’s a rebel, XDD (While Vivian wears everything proper, though her collared shirt is a little looser than Antlia’s)

I know I draw them next to each other often, but ugh no way will they be a ship. Antlia bullied Vivian ruthlessly when they were both students, and that affected Viv’s life majorly. And even when they’re practically middle-aged, Antlia still feels the need to verbally harass her. Antlia Lakefield may be one of the ‘good guys’--at least at the start--but she’s, without a doubt, an ass. She’s really fun to draw, but I am not too big a fan of her, character-wise. (Not to mention she later proves to be like President Coin from Mockingjay in terms of her ideals, and how she leads her resistance movement...)

I’m finally getting the hang of drawing Vivian again, especially her face.

Now for some Facts (under the cut):

Vivian facts here and here

Some Antlia fun facts: -She, like the rest of the Patricians, is part of the Neutralization track of study at Nomiya Academy.

-Antlia has a twin sister named Cassiopeia.The two are estranged due to differences they could not settle. (AKA, Cassiopeia embraced her traditional, wealthy lifestyle, while Antlia rejected it.)

-Despite stating that she rejects her ‘harsh, judgmental’ family, Antlia herself is, well, harsh and judgmental. (Especially since her family never mistreated her; at worst, they were overprotective and wanted her to follow their traditions.)

-As leader of Nomiya’s Resistance, her favorite phrase is ‘You cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs’. She does not care who gets hurt or caught up in her plans as long as her goals are achieved. This is something Vivian calls her out on later, as Viv is against this.

-Antlia’s overarching goals for the Resistance are: 1. Continue to keep the existence of Mallowmoor (magical dimension of Earth) hidden from Terram (our dimension of Earth), and 2. Bring down corruption in both the Mallowmoorian governments, specifically the ones in Hargulond and Thoilia (their England and America, respectively), and Terram’s (targeting, once again, England and America, due to her knowledge of their workings). A subset of Goal 2 is also bringing down the wealthy, even if they are benevolent. She was very much inspired by the French Revolution at its bloodiest.

-The Lakefield family has a tradition of naming their children after constellations. Antlia’s father is named Ophiuchus, and his daughters named Antlia and Cassiopeia. Interestingly, Antlia has a cousin named Boötes, though the constellation name is merely coincidental, as he is from her mother’s side, and therefore, not a Lakefield.

- Boötes co-heads Nomiya’s Resistance with Antlia. However, he and many others break away and start their own faction when Antlia’s intentions are revealed, and they are too radical for their liking. Boötes’ incarnation of Nomiya’s Resistance is what the main characters and their allies end up following.

-Antlia’s twin, Cassiopeia, is married to the illustrious Mallowmoorian noble Agapanthus Fairfox, and they have a seventeen year old son, Orion. (In the Fairfox family tradition, offspring are named based on the mother’s family’s own naming tradition. Hence Cassiopeia’s son gets a constellation name, too.)

-Antlia targets Orion as an example of how she doesn’t care if someone is related to her; if they get in the way of her goals, they’ll be taken down. (Even if Orion’s only strike against him was that he’s wealthy.) He’s basically collateral, and to be made an example of to show Cassiopeia and Agapanthus that they are not untouchable because they’re rich. (Spoiler: Orion’s tortured a bit, but he lives X’D) This is the event that causes the Resistance to split.

#bookworm555 #my characters #my art #JNatN #vivian rand #antlia lakefield #okay if this story was an actual published work antlia/vivian would be my notp XD #also wtf antlia is basically katsuki bakugou from bnha now that i think about it #without the explosion powers of course #katsuki bakugou + alma coin is basically antlia #also i am working on her eventual downfall and it'll be pretty satisfying i think #one of viv's worst memories is antlia pushing her off a platform of 20 feet #so when she and antlia have a Big Climactic Standoff near the end of the story she might take a fall too #the scary thing is is that she is still against the villains #but she's such an extremist on the other end that she is almost more terrifying

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merrylittlehogwartsrp · 5 years

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Happy Holidays, Emily! We are thrilled to “invite” Dean Thomas (fc Keiynan Lonsdale ) back to Hogsmeade for a little forced Winter Cheer. We particularly liked how Dean was set up for growth in this application--not necessarily launching a career post-Battle of Hogwarts and still learning about himself. Dean’s roommate is: Harry Potter!

OOC DETAILS:

NICKNAME: Emily

AGE (must be 18+): A grandma in the rp world

PRONOUNS: She/her

ACTIVITY ESTIMATE: I work on political campaigns and there is a race I am starting in January which kills my time immensely, but right now I have ample free time and can lurk/plot the whole time!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

FULL NAME & NICKNAMES: Dean Allen Thomas

BIRTHDATE: October 1st 1979 Dean is a FIRM Libra. “"The balanced beautifier of the horoscope family, Libra energy inspires us to seek peace, harmony and cooperation. The essence of Libra energy is charming, lovable, fair, sincere, sharing, beautiful and hopelessly romantic.“

BLOOD-STATUS: Half-Blood, although he grew up believing he was Muggle-born

* GENDER IDENTITY: Cisgender male (although I would like to eventually explore a world where Dean could be more open to referring to himself as agender or gender fluid)

* GENDER PRESENTATION/PRONOUNS: Fairly masculine, he/him

* SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Dean is bisexual, although he very only recently fully came to terms with this.

* NOTE: this does not have to correspond to canon, or to the temporary pronouns in the bios!

CHARACTER SITUATION:

OCCUPATION: Dean works at a sporting goods store near his house and while it is not his ideal job, it does leave him with plenty of time to focus on his art. This is the main way he copes with the last three years.

HOUSING: He lives in a tiny, tiny flat in Clapton. It’s about a thirty minute train ride to his home, and while he would like to stay at home, there simply isn’t enough room now that the girls are growing. Not to mention, he quite enjoys his alone time away from the chaos of his family occasionally.

SOCIAL STANDING: Dean still can’t believe that he is in The Order of Merlin, First Class, thank you very much. It’s a bit of a wild title, especially for someone that people consider Muggle-born. Dean is known as a friendly face, and will always be a friend to those who need it, but his name usually doesn’t garner recognition. And frankly, he prefers to keep it that way.

CHARACTER CONFIGURATION:

TALENTS/WEAKNESSES +Artistically inclined + Athletic, which made him a great addition as a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team -Potions. He could never get the portions right, not to mention he thought it a dull subject -Not a strong leader

STRENGTHS/FLAWS + Bright; always knows just what to do or say to cheer someone up + Huge empath; keen ability to improve others moods + Loyal like no other person, whether that be to people or sports teams. He is your #1 Fan - Terrible at making decisions, which causes him to go with the flow a lot of the time -Self-less, which can lead to putting himself second and the needs of others first. Also causes a bit of a self-confidence issue

CHARACTER HISTORY:

FAMILY BACKGROUND Being raised by a single Muggle mother, Dean learned early on to dislike his father, Alexander, with every fiber of his being. His parents had married young, and he always blamed their split on that. Alexander was too young, he got cold feet. Couldn’t handle a baby anymore, let alone being a father. While Martha never gave him an outright reason to dislike his father, Dean was the one acting out about it. Looking back, it was probably because he was compensating for his mother’s own nonchalance on the subject. Why wasn’t she upset? Why wasn’t she screaming? He later realized that her spending hours in front of the television set alone was her own version of screaming.

They had been fine. Martha and Dean had built a life together, just the two of them. They lived in a tiny flat and ate tiny meals and wrapped each other in tiny blankets and only each other could feel the warmth. The introduction of Graham Richards into Dean’s life was not a welcomed one. They met at his produce shop, sharing casual flirtations down the turnip aisle. Nothing made her laugh as much as those cabbages.

As Graham started spending more time in their flat, Dean started coming to terms with the idea that maybe he wasn’t all that bad. He had shit taste in sports, sure, but he was a great cook. And he made Martha happy. Damn, did he make her smile.

It took him eight years to propose to Martha, and by that point it came as no shock to anyone. They were already basically married, having moved in together years ago. Graham was basically already Dean’s father, having helped him through a break up and always supporting him in his art projects. Veronica and Bridget were already welcomed additions into the family, and shortly after baby Sam was no different.

Soon his tiny flat became a spacious three-bedroom. His tiny meals became three-course dinners. The blankets became shelters for movie nights and a home for Dean’s stories from school.

Since his father’s death, Dean harbors serious regret for his treatment of the man he barely remembers, mainly because of memories he lost and resentment he held. He wants to tell his father he is proud of him. That he understands all that he did in order to protect his family. That he would have done the exact same thing. While he can’t look back on many memories, he will always wonder what if.

LIFE DURING THE WAR: Not being able to return to Hogwarts for his final year was devastating to Dean. He loved his friends and he loved Quidditch and he loved the charmed sugar spoon that he used each morning in the Great Hall for breakfast. The fact that he was Muggle-born should not have affected his ability to attend school, but he quickly learned it was for his own good. He would stay up late and write letters his father would never be able to read. In those letters, Dean promised he would get through all this. He promised that, eventually, there would be happiness for at least one of them.

Dean wasn’t keen on having to fight in a war in his home away from home, but like a true Gryffindor, he pummeled himself headfirst into the throws of Battle. Finally, he felt welcomed again in this world. Perhaps it was the rush of finally seeing his friends after all this time (physically there, if mentally in pieces) and seeing Harry—his old friend, his sole source of hope when no one would believe that there was a reason to hope anymore—do what’s right that continued to propel him forward after all this time.

LAST THREE YEARS

Dean chose to fully immerse himself in the Muggle world. In the Muggle word, they can’t force him to run away from his friends and family. He loves being a wizard of course, but his last year on the run really took its toll on him. He still wakes up with nightmares when a neighbor makes too much noise. He is constantly afraid of being alone, as he was alone for most of his Final Year. Dean doesn’t want to think about life in terms of goals because, to be quite honest, he really has no idea what he wants to do after Hogwarts. A small part of him didnt even think he’d make it this far. Instead, he has a lot of different interests and ideas, but nothing that is jumping out at him right now. The Ministry of Magic is urging those in The Order of Merlin First Class to follow the career path of an Auror. And there is a part of him that feels he could make a great Healer or Auror, and another part of him that longs to be a Quidditch star, and somewhere inbetween there is his desire to paint and draw for a living. The more he thinks about it the more overwhelmed he gets, so he conveniently chooses not to think about it. His goal right now is a lot simpler than that–if he is forced to come back to Hogsmeade, enjoy this festive Holiday celebration before he can’t anymore.

HOLIDAY DETAILS:

The Thomases were never big Christmas-celebrators in the whole Navity-set-and-going-to-church kind of way, but they do spend copious amounts of time watching Holiday specials that come on the telly and they have a tree with an unhealthy amount of tinsel. Dean’s step-father is a fantastic baker and Dean has a competition with him and his younger sister that involves cooking competitions and ginger snaps. His mother always ends up declaring it a tie because she can’t decide. He always valued coming home for the holidays simply because he recognized the traditions he was making with his half-sisters and knew that he wanted to be as involved as he possibly could. Being away from these traditions is enough reason for him not to want to go back to Hogsmeade, but he felt like he couldn’t say no. They crammed in as many of these traditions as they could before sending Dean off on his own.

OOC SUPPLEMENT:

SHIPS: I will not lie and say that Deamus makes me weep because clueless best friends to lovers hits a little too close to home for me, but I am also open to alternatives! Especially when Chemistry and Drama are thrown into the mix! Also super interested to flesh out Ginny and Dean’s past relationship, as I feel like that was not explored enough.

CHANGES: This is a very tiny tiny change, but I do think Dean will be excited to go to Hogsmeade. I always kind of thought of him as that guy who would actually want to go to a high school reunion of sorts, and I think it’s because he just loves his friends so gosh darn much!! He was robbed of a proper “Senior Year” and spent most of that year on the run. As a result, I think that he is spending a good portion of his life making up for lost time. Also because the kid loves a party, and a distraction.

FACECLAIM: Truly having a tough time debating between Keiynan Lonsdale and Alfie Enoch. I would not be mad with either!

#merrylittleapp

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selenelavellan · 6 years

Text

Fairy AU Part 3

Part One Part Two

Dirthamen, Deceit, Fear, and Turmoil are @feynites

Des wakes before she does.

Beams of light are beginning to stream through the colorful glass holes in their ceiling, his eyes back to their usual gold as he stares at her bandaged arms.

Selene lets out a breath of guilty relief; if he's worried, he's remembered himself. Which makes him much less likely to attack her.

“Did I damage your arms?” He asks with a frown.

“No,” She lies. “I fell into a blackberry bush trying to reach for one I thought might be ripe last night.”

He doesn't fully believe her (he never does), but knows better by now than to try to pull a truth from her she doesn't want to share.

“You should be more careful,” He says instead.

“I'll keep that in mind,” She assures him, sitting up to stretch her arms up over her head. They sting anew with the exertion, and she's going to have to change the bandages every few hours to avoid infection or blood becoming noticeable, but it's manageable. She'll have to see if she can find a needle and thread to pull the worst of the openings back together while she's searching for a cure today.

She takes advantage of the bath Dirthamen has allotted her, carefully scraping dirt from her skin and plucking the twigs and seeds and pollen from her hair. It takes nearly 3 rounds with the shampoo before it finally regains it's natural white color, rather than the dusty grey it had absorbed from so long without a proper wash. The skin on her shoulders has gotten burnt and flaky from too much sun exposure. Selene hesitates before carefully stripping the transparent, uselessly dried skin from them. The remaining flesh is tender and hot to the touch, and she's not looking forward to having to cover them with fabric for the rest of her life.

She wonders if there is any part of her that isn't damaged at this point. She had never realized just how much harm she caused her body on a daily basis before her current condition.

She may have even less time than she had been expecting, at this rate.

She steps out of the bathroom, enjoying the fresh scent of lavender in the towels as she dries and tells Des to take a wash himself.

There is a small wardrobe in the room, filled with various clothing items. She claims a pair of black pants that stops just above her ankles as well as a loose purple blouse that is long enough to tuck in, and cover the fresh bandages wrapped up the length of her forearms. She tops it off with a silver cloak that shimmers when she sways in it. Not enough to be flashy, but it's a pleasant enough effect that it makes her smile.

It's important to enjoy the little things, sometimes.

Setting out for the library, she decides that even here, her best bet is to stick to the shadows. She stays close to the old oak walls, the hood of her cloak covering her face. No one stops her for most of the way, which is for the best, and what she wanted, until she realizes she has ended up in the same foyer for the third time.

Damn spacial magic.

Her best bet then, is to wait for someone to pass her who is already going where she wants to go. Patience has never been her strong suit, even before she had a time limit officially allotted to her existence. Nor is it a part of her that has improved.

Thankfully, it does not take too long for her to find another fairy pushing a cart filled with books and scrolls through the room, and she trails a few feet behind them on their journey. Up hidden staircases that smooth to permit the cart easier travel, down sealed hallways decorated with murals that tell old stories, doors, and over a small creek that whispers and cools her feet while it tries to convince her to drink from it.

The fairy only turns to her once, when she gets too close and accidentally brushes up against the leather of their outstretched wing.

They whip around to face her, eyes narrowing. “You should not be here,”

“Just looking for the library,” She assures them.

“Then you should be taking the main paths.”

“Well, if I knew where those were, maybe...” She mumbles.

“I will find someone to escort you-” They state, turning back to face their cart of books.

As soon as they do, the usual happens.

Selene takes a silent step back, and doesn't bother trying to stop it. They've almost arrived to the library anyways, she's pretty sure.

The fairy shakes their head, mumbles something quietly to themselves about imagining things, and continues their walk to the library.

Selene follows along, more careful now not to draw their attention again.

They finally arrive at two large stone doors, covered in a thin layer of moss towards the top. The doors open inward at their arrival, and someone greets the fairy she had been following-Turmoil, supposedly- while she slips off into the stacks.

She spends several hours pouring through them, nabbing any books that correlate to cures and curses and even a few on the average life spans of flowers.

A few make mention of the curse she has, of people that have cast them. Never the person to bear the curse, of course. Only of the 'righteous judgment' of the royals to cast them on nameless and faceless fae that have 'deserved' it. As though anyone deserves such a fate, she thinks bitterly.

Her research doesn't bear fruit. As she reads each story and record of past occurrences, of potential theories for cures, she can find only one that has ever brought about the end of her curse.

Death itself.

She feels the vines tighten around her heart, and tries not to cry as her stomach goes cold.

–

Dirthamen wakes up feeling as though something in his home is just slightly...off.

It is difficult to ascertain just what aspect of his day has shifted, though his aspects seem to assure him that they can also feel the disturbance.

His routine is the same as he recalls it ever being. His duties are not outside their usual parameters of strangeness, and he even takes the care to ensure he has each of the required nutrients with his afternoon meal, in case of some sort of vitamin deficiency.

Neither Fear nor Deceit report any strange activity in the court. There are rumors of books going missing in the library, but most have been accounted for by the end of the day. Likely some mischievous spirit making trouble for his librarians again.

He is still pondering the matter when the sun has set, and he is returning to his rooms.

There is light, coming from the room besides his own.

...who could be in there?

He stops outside, about to turn the knob and demand to know who would make such a presumption when he recalls that he had permitted a nearly corrupted spirit of Desire to take residence there.

...Though, why he had made such a decision, he can not seem to recall.

He tries to remember if there are any ongoing projects that would require a demon for a power source, but can think of none. Nor any curiosities of his own that would cause him to make such a dangerous decision.

Has he fallen prey to a demons tricks without knowing? That would be very troublesome, and a sign of weakness if one of the other courts were to discover it.

He opens the door, and discovers an unusual fae sitting in one of his chairs.

Not quite a demon yet, he notes with interest. They have horns curling outward from their forehead and a long, pointed tail swaying beside the legs of the wooden chair. Their hair is long and dark and not unlike his own. But their feet end in toes and their hands have fingers rather than claws, and their eyes do not reflect the madness that is often associated with a corrupted spirit.

He recalls attacking this fae yesterday. But he cannot think of why, or what goal he had been trying to achieve by doing so.

“You are feeling better?” Dirthamen ventures. Perhaps the man in front of him does not know that he does not know what either of them are doing here.

“...Yeah,” The man says slowly. “Do I know you?”

“I...” Dirthamen starts, as a woman wanders into the room, arms laden down with the missing books and a few scrolls of parchment.

A hood falls from her head, and all at once, he recalls the previous evening. The sunflower, the Forest of Ash. Her theft, and his oath.

Her name.

“Useless information,” Selene grumbles, books bouncing as she drops them onto the bed he had given her. “Nothing worth anything in here, bloody researchers not bothering to do any actual research...”

“I forgot you,” Dirthamen admits. Not an admission he thinks he should have spoken aloud, but not one he feels should be contained, either.

Selene looks over at him and lets out a soft, nearly pitying sigh. “Yeah.”

“How did I forget you?” He asks as she takes off the mithril cloak and hangs it back in the wardrobe.

“You are going to have a great many questions for me,” She evades with a shrug. “There will be very few that I may answer. I apologize now, but I will not be able to apologize each time, or we will have little time for anything else. You found me in the sunflower fields last night, and followed me when I...”she hesitates. “...seemed to have caught your interest. You made an oath of protection to myself and Des and offered us space in your home and access to your resources.”

“When you stole my mask, you mean.”

She stills slightly, before tilting her head in curiosity. “You remember that?”

“I remember our previous encounter, yes. But I did not recall you today, why is that?”

She chews on her bottom lip and seems almost close to giving an answer before dragging a frustrated fist through her hair and giving him a vague “Out of sight, out of mind.”

“You're the first one to remember her since me,” Des chimes in. “Normally she's erased from minds entirely. She must have made quite an impression.”

“It's probably the oath,” Selene says dismissively. “Power in words. His magic remembers, even when he doesn't.”

Dirthamen frowns, taking a seat in one of the other empty chairs. “I do not understand,” He says again.

Selene rubs at her forehead and begins walking back and forth in a small circle. “For instance, I introduced myself to your worker, Turmoil, three separate times today.”

“When they saw you, you were caught, and when they turned they just forgot,” Des sings lightly while Selene nods.

“So when I cannot see you, I will not remember you exist?” Dirthamen clarifies. “That seems troublesome.”

“Yeah, I'm sure its a real pain in the ass for you, personally,” Des snorts.

“It is a condition of your affliction, then?” Dirthamen asks.

“I can't answer that,” Selene says.

He supposes that is as good as a yes, under current circumstances.

An interesting perk to a curse, he thinks. And for it to affect him, the person who cast it must have been...hm...

Keeping his oath may be more troublesome than he expected.

“I will have to keep an eye on you, then,” he decides, summoning Deceit. The aspect shifts into their smaller fae form to fit into the room. “Deceit, it will be your job to make sure we do not forget again.”

“Will that work?” Des asks, taking a large bite out of a grape.

“We are the same person; it should.”

“I...” Selene hesitates. Likely uncomfortable with the prospect of being watched at all hours of the day, but it cannot be helped. He cannot ensure she is not being harmed if he does not know who she is.

“I will be able to escort you through our home,” Deceit assures her, attempting to ease the situation. “My presence will also permit you to enter places that would not appear without me.”

“You promised me unfettered access though,” She frowns.

“And this will ensure that,” Deceit agrees.

Selene does not seem particularly pleased with the arrangement, but offers no more arguments on the matter. Dirthamen lingers in her rooms, browsing through the books she carried in in hopes of discovering what precisely is the cause of her affliction, but they cover a large variety of topics. It opens as many possibilities as it dismisses, and leaves him only with more questions that she can not seem to answer.

He stares with more than curiosity at the bandages on her arms before he is finally asked to leave so that she might sleep for the night. Deceit remains, taking the newly vacated chair while Dirthamen returns to his rooms.

He does not sleep much himself, mind too full of possibilities and problems and potential with the woman on the other side of the wall.

When he does drift into the dreaming, he finds himself flooded with images of rose bushes growing.

Fragile and dangerous and beautiful all at once.

Flowers blooming from mouths and wounds and cracked skin on an empty face, as the chill of winter settles in around him, leaving him with a vague but overwhelming sense of failure.

A lingering loss of something he never had.

#fairy au #dirthalene #des #selene lavellan

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vizhi0n · 7 years

Text

Sawney - Part 11

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Ahhh I’m so excited for this chapter. It’s probably my absolute fav and I had fun writing it. I hope a lot of y’all are satisfied with it XD anywho, thank you guys so much for sticking with this story! *sends u a million hearts*

Anywho, if you want to be tagged or untagged, lemme know!

Warnings: Negan’s potty mouth and, finally, smut.

@castielwinchester22 @i-am-negan-trash @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash@genevievedarcygranger @kijilinn @ladylorelitanyfanfiction @lucifers-trash-stash @superprincesspea @doyouhaveavacancy @hannibalssweaters @heartfulloffandoms @strangersangel9 @kellyn1604 @crzcorgi @mypapawinchester @my-achilles--heel @moonypetyr @darkangel66a @backseat-negan @vinylmadwoman @embracetheapocalypsewithme @lovingzombiechaos @jasoncrouse @mcnegan @melodicdolls @itstotalyblue @imjustmakingsuffupagain @jeffreydeanneganstrash @gremlinfuck @originalwinchestervamp @negans-network

The moment Negan dismissed the crowd, and Dwight was toted off to see Carson, he went down to the cells.

A million thoughts ran through his mind. He considered punishing Mother by making it a spectacle, a public event. The only downside was that Mother was an enigma. Such an act would only benefit Negan. The others, the rest of the Saviors, they didn’t know.

He was still simmering. He hadn’t spoken a word to Sherry. Gavin had been the one to catch her and Dwight going at it, and from the lack of excuses Sherry gave, he assumed it to be true. Sherry wasn’t the one to be silent. Ever.

Rules are rules.

Negan prayed none of his men had caught the tremble in his hand. He’d done it nonchalantly, almost stoically before. But the internal wounds caused by Mother and Father had yet to close. He was still weak.

You’re not them. You’re not.

He entered the cell. Mother looked up, flashing her crooked teeth. The smile made Negan sick to his stomach, and he knelt, placing Lucille on the ground behind him.

“I heard screams. Did you punish someone?”

“Yes,” Negan answered.

“How?”

“A hot iron to the fucking face. You might be next if you don’t stop asking questions,” Negan growled. “I fucking came here to take one last good look at you.”

“Finally run out of patience?” Mother crowed. She shifted, restraints rattling. Negan’s heart began to beat faster, and he absently reached for Lucille before catching himself, stopping.

No. Not like this.

“Yeah, I fucking have. People like you don’t deserve a fucking trial or a punishment. Your fucking legacy is dead,” Negan leaned forward. “And soon, you will be, too. My Saviors are going to live on, fucking prosper — you had a chance to prosper with us, but you didn’t. Desa is the only one who made the right decision. I thought I’d let you know that she’s alive before you fucking die.”

That revelation caused Mother’s face to contort in rage. She bared her teeth, lunging, cursing, hair billowing like a halo. Negan met her halfway, planting a knee against her chest, both hands around her throat.

She hissed and scratched like an animal, nails drawing blood. Negan, consumed with bloodlust, did not feel the abrasions against his skin. He squeezed and Mother gasped, trying to draw in air as Negan slowly crushed her windpipe.

She thrashed, her kicking legs falling limp, her grip on Negan slackening. He continued to squeeze until his knuckles turned white and he could feel cartilage crunch beneath his fingers, long after Mother’s heart had ceased to beat.

He quickly drew his knife and thrust it into Mother’s head. She lay, a corpse, deader than the people she’d lobotomized.

Negan wiped his hands, standing. When he exited the cell, Fat Joey was waiting for him, a very, very concerned look on his flushed face.

“What the fuck do you want, Joey?”

“It’s her. The girl. The one from the Estate or whatever,” Joey stammered, tripping over his words. But Negan heard him clearly, crisply, and they sent dread coursing throughout his entire body. “She’s gone. She ran.”

You’ve made a gross miscalculation.

Desa followed the main road for miles, the path towards the Estate clear in her mind. She’d set a goal for herself, and she was determined to complete it. It gave her something to focus on. Something to keep her mind off the sound of Dwight’s flesh simmering away beneath a hot iron —

Don’t think about. Don’t.

While she’d been confident at first, she was beginning to realize how rashly she’d acted. She had a knife, no gun, no bag of supplies. The trip to the estate would take her at least two days by foot, and she wasn’t entirely sure if there were any outposts on the way.

She kept walking, anyway. Even as the sun began to set, she continued her trek until she was, finally, forced to stop as a car rolled up behind her, headlights flickering on.

You tried.

“You have some goddamn nerve coming out here. What the fuck could you possibly have been thinking?”

Desa didn’t look at Negan.

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Obviously. Goddamit, Desa. Come here.” Desa still wasn’t looking at Negan. She felt his hand against the back of her neck as he rounded on her, dipping his head to meet her unfaltering gaze. After a long pause, Negan sighed and said, “What’s the fucking matter?”

“Dwight. You burned him.”

“Yeah, I did. He didn’t follow the fucking rules. I couldn’t let that shit go unpunished,” Negan explained softly. “That’s how we do things here, Desa. I don’t like doing that shit, but it has to be done.”

“Why?”

“He snuck behind my fucking back to get with Sherry—”

“I know that. I don’t care about that. Why did you have to burn his face?”

Negan pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing over Desa’s shoulder. Leaves rustled, followed by the soft groan of a biter as it shuffled onto the road. Negan murmured, “Go get in the fucking car.”

“I’m not going back. Not yet. You’re going to take me somewhere, first.”

Negan spun Lucille, downing the biter in one heavy swing. Pearls of blood dripped from the barbed wire, but Negan didn’t seem to care. Letting out a breath, he turned and said, “You’re in no position to be making demands.”

“If you won’t take me, I’ll walk.”

“The fuck you won’t.”

“Then let’s go. Right now. To the Estate, so I can bury Jack,” Desa could tell that she’d struck a nerve as she pleaded, “Please. After what I did, he deserves…something.”

“Tell me why the fuck you’re out here, first.”

“I was scared. The iron…Dwight…all that scared me. I wasn’t thinking clearly, so I ran. I thought I’d put all that behind me. I thought the Sanctuary was different—”

“It is,” Negan stressed, walking quickly towards Desa. He stopped when he saw her flinch away. “I only punish those who fuck up. Not for some sick, twisted fucking pleasure. I can’t just…ignore the rules that I set up to fucking keep people alive.”

“I don’t know how putting a hot iron against Dwight’s face is keeping him alive.”

“I’m not asking you to fucking understand, Desa. I’m asking you to fucking trust me, know that I’d never hurt you. Not like that. You’ve fucking been through enough shit already for me to be worried about serving a proper punishment,” Negan glanced away. “That’s all I ask, okay? Fucking trust. I’ll take you to Jack, and then we can go the fuck home.”

Desa nodded, silently crawling into Negan’s truck. He revved the engine, rolling down the road with a stoic, fatigued expression on his face. Lucille lay in his lap and Desa absently reached out to run her fingers across the smooth handle.

“Like her? She’s saved my fucking life more times than I can fucking count,” Negan murmured. “The only woman that’s ever been there for me in this shithole of a world.”

“The only woman? No one else?”

Negan took a second to reply. “Yeah. Pretty fucking much.”

Desa gave a hum of acknowledgment, resisting the urge to doze off. The drive blurred into a few instances, a few conversations here and there, until finally, Negan was pulling up to the Estate.

The place was still fenced off, having been swept somewhat clean by Negan’s men. Bodies had been yanked from within, struck in the head and tossed into a pile in the courtyard. As Negan closed and secured the fence, Desa immediately rushed over.

No Jack. But she did see Todd. And Allison. Corpses, peppered with gunshots to the head and body.

Shit. They didn’t get the cellar.

She turned to Negan, shaking her head. The older man heaved a sigh, hefting Lucille over his shoulder.

“He’s still down there. I’ll go get him.”

“Not alone.”

“Yes, alone. I wanted to do this. I won’t risk you possibly getting hurt because of my idea—”

“Don’t fucking worry about me. You’re not fucking going alone. Sorry, not fucking sorry.”

Desa rolled her eyes, but tried not to smile. She drew her knife, getting into position and slowly pushing open the front door. No gnashing teeth greeted her — just the blood-streaked tiled floors. and a wall decorated with bullet holes.

She mentally prepared herself, taking a few breaths. She stopped atop the cellar stairs, staring through the open door. Again, there were no biters. Just an eerie silence from below. She knew Arat and the others had gotten the weapons and most likely shot the place up again, but she still didn’t like the feeling. She never imagined herself going into the cellar again.

Yet, here she was, under some delusion that giving Jack a proper burial would cleanse her of her sins.

Behind her, Negan said, “Stay here.”

“Negan—”

“I know everyone down there is fucking dead for good. You don’t need to see it a second time. You said Jack is the only kid?”

“Yeah. He’s got dark hair. Bright shirt. Hard to miss. Negan, you don’t have to—”

He was already gone, stepping briskly down the stairs and into the dimly lit cellar. For five minutes Desa waited, arms at her side.

She nearly wept when he came walking up the stairs, Jack’s body in his arms. He had a solemn look on his face, and Desa rushed to grab the shovel from the utility closet.

They dug a small grave, barely speaking. And when it was time, Desa helped lower Jack’s body into the pit. They covered him, until only a patch in the dirt was left. The physical exertion left Desa sweating, and it wasn’t until Negan let the shovel gently fall against the grass did she begin to weep. The tears came from a place of exhaustion, pain, and sorrow.

Negan let her cry, observing as she fell to her knees. It was only until after the last upheaval that he touched Desa’s shoulder, helping her stand.

“We’ll stay the fucking night, okay? I have a walkie — I’ll radio Simon, let him know.”

They shut and locked the mansions doors. It was now just the two of them, and Desa’s mind became flooded with memories. There had always been noise throughout the building. Residents. Now it was…dead. Dead, except the power. For some reason, the lack of sound made things almost…worse.

“C’mon,” Desa trudged up the stairs, Negan hot on her heels. She was dodging horrific memories, pushing forward until she reached the set of swinging double doors that led to Mother and Father’s room.

It was grand, with a massive bed and bath, intricate paintings and a desk and chair.

“This wasn’t my room, before you ask.”

“I could fucking tell. This art style…doesn’t fucking seem like you.”

“Mother liked art. Father thought all the painting were tacky,” Desa snorted.

“They’d argue about it. Almost like a normal fucking couple.”

“If you exclude the fact that they’re siblings.”

“None of us knew. Some of us suspected,” Desa snorted. “They…they look similar. I just thought they were one of those really well matched couples. Physically, at least. There were other things to worry about, much so that I don’t think many people cared.”

“Why did you want to come up here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to see it because, for the first time, I’m not afraid. Of them. You notice things when you aren’t afraid.”

“What have you noticed?” Negan asked. He was on the other side of the room, hunched a bit. He’d put Lucille against the desk and removed his glove before turning on the lamp, basking the room in a warm orange light.

“I’ve noticed you.”

Negan lifted his head. Desa’s fingers traced patterns against the bedsheets as he approached, more curious than surprised, almost like he hadn’t heard her correctly. He stopped, his breath warm against her cheek.

“At that moment, Desa’s brain reminded her of how sweaty and clammy her skin was. She made a noise in the back of her throat, shifting away from Negan and saying, “I need to shower before I sleep.”

“So do I. And I’m fucking hungry.”

“Mother and Father hid the foods they liked under the bed,” Desa said. “I’m not exactly sure how much variety there is, but it’s food. We can take the rest back with us.”

There was no door to the bathroom. The shower was glass, wide and beautifully tiled.

The bathtub still had her blood in it, dried to the white surface. She quickly looked away, mustering up the courage and forcing herself not to be bothered as she stripped, aware that Negan was staring out of the corner of his eye.

She showered, and then Negan. After, clad in clothes that had once belonged to Mother and Father, they sat on the bed and devoured cans of food. It wasn’t a gourmet meal, but with the moody, dramatic lighting it felt like the closest thing to a date Desa had ever been on in this biter-infested world.

“This was a good idea. Staying overnight.”

“These sheets are softer than mine, goddamn,” Negan felt the fabric beneath his fingers, smirking. After a few chuckles, his face went from mirthful to serious. He shifted positions, a telltale sign of nervousness. Then he said, “Desa, before I went after you…I visited Mother. I fucking killed her. I had to end it right there.”

“You sound like you expected me to be upset. I’m not. I could care less how she dies,” Desa grumbled. She hoped the look on her face didn’t betray her words — she wasn’t lying. Mother’s death was a good thing. A very, very good thing. The fact that they were in her former bedroom, eating food she and Father had once shared, made it even better.

“Now we have one fucking left.”

“If he’s still around. Father is smart. He knows he’s outnumbered. He’ll fall back and strike when its time.”

“Even more of a reason to fucking hunt him down.”

“Hey,” Desa reached out, gently cupping Negan’s cheek, running her thumb across his stubbled jaw. “I’m here for you. I am. But don’t let this get to your head.”

Negan turned his head, kissing Desa’s palm as he murmured, “I won’t. I fucking won’t.”

“Do you see yourself in him, Negan? In Father?” Negan didn’t reply. Desa took his silence as admission, saying, “Because to me, you’re not him. You never will be. I told you I was going to try and understand, and I am.”

Negan nuzzled Desa’s palm, letting out a sigh of contentment. For the first time, Desa initiated the kiss, getting on her knees and dipping her head down to press her lips against his. She was hasty — maybe a bit too hasty, skimming her fingers beneath Negan’s shirt in a subtle hint that she wanted the material off his body. He stopped her, gripping her by the wrists.

“I need to make sure that you fucking want this.”

“I do. Do you?”

Negan nodded. Desa glanced down, toying with the the zipper to his pants. She could feel him, hot and hard beneath the palm of her hand. His breathing was ragged, fingers trembling as he tried to control himself. He leaned forward and gave her an open mouthed kiss, teeth nipping at her lower lip while his hands crept up her shirt.

Desa pulled away, saying quickly, “I don’t know how to do this — I’ve never — I’ve never, done it like…slowly. I’ve never done it like this.”

She kept the explanation simple. She didn’t want to think about her first time with Mother and Father. Negan’s inviting, warm gaze was a comfort.

“We won’t rush. We don’t have to rush,” Negan murmured, continuing to speak as Desa removed his shirt. She traced her fingers across the fading ink on his skin, flattening her palm against the skull on his chest. He added, “Although, I might have to take some fucking time to deal with little Negan.”

“Little Negan?”

“My dick.”

Desa cackled at his bluntness, resting her mouth against his shoulder to stifle her laughter. She wiped tears from her eyes, choking, “You are weird.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have a name for my vagina,” Desa retorted. Negan lightly swatted her ass, before he slipped a finger beneath the hem of her underwear. Desa had opted out of wearing pants — an oversized shirt she’d found in the closet fit just fine. Her attire allowed easy access to her most sensitive parts, and she deftly removed it without a second thought.

“God. You’re fucking soaked,” Negan purred. “Is that all for me?”

Desa squirmed in Negan’s lap, trying to remain stoic as he hooked two fingers, sweeping them across her clit. They felt impossibly large, easing their way inside her. Negan smirked when she gave an audible moan.

“I’ve gotta get you ready for me,” Negan grunted. Desa angled her hips, trying her best not to rock against his fingers. He gave a low whistle, growling, “Fuck. Look at you, riding my fucking fingers.”

He pulled away, leaving Desa half-sated. She reached for him, but he raised his slick fingers, popping them both into his mouth. He gave a satisfied groan.

It was the first time a man had made an effort to pleasure her. Her nights with Father hadn’t been anything but unshared enjoyment, all the pleasure on Father’s side. Desa would just…lay there and take it.

Don’t think about that. Don’t think —

“Negan—”

“What is it, baby?” Negan purred against her skin. He’d pushed his pants and boxers down past his knees before kicking them away. He fisted his erect cock, and Desa fell back against the mattress while he hovered over her, chest heaving. His free hand ripped the thin fabric of Desa’s panties, and in a hoarse voice he said, “Fuck. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you.”

“Good. Fucking good girl,” Negan panted, easing the tip past Desa’s moist folds. She squirmed, whining at the intrusion. It felt foreign, odd — he was bigger than Father. She wasn’t used to being pampered, taken care off. She squeezed the bedsheets, closing her eyes and letting out a soft breath as Negan said, “Shit. Shit, you’re fucking…shit. Does that hurt?”

“A little.”

Negan braced one arm next to her head, thrusting forward abruptly. He leaned down, swallowing Desa’s moans in a kiss. Desa lifted her hips to meet his hard thrusts, mouth open in bliss as he breathily swirled his hips, falling into a steady rhythm stirred on by Desa’s begging.

She clamped around him the moment he snaked a hand around her throat, applying light pressure to her jugular. Beads of sweat dotted her breasts as she came, falling limp as Negan continued pounding into her, pulling out just in time to paint Desa’s lower stomach with pearls of white.

Negan rolled onto his back, raising one knee as he steadied his breathing. The dead silence that followed was enough to nearly put Desa to sleep - her limbs were exhausted, pinpricks of pleasure still jolting through her body.

“That was…good. Great,” Desa turned her head, face flushed. Negan chuckled and she corrected herself, adding, “An understatement, I know. It’s hard to form words right now.”

“I have that effect on people. Or, better yet, my dick has that effect on people,” Negan turned his head, flashing crisp, white teeth.

“I don’t have a reply to that.”

“A laugh would be nice.”

“Those have to come organically,” Desa grinned back, rolling onto her side and facing Negan. “I can give you a compliment, though. You’re handsome. And I really like you, uh, ‘fucking’ me.”

“I like it, too.”

“Can we…do it again?”

“You’re really asking me that?” Negan draped hand across his forehead. “Fuck, baby. You’re gonna wear me the fuck out.”

“Good. You’re just going to have to keep up.”

#vizhi0nw #negans thirst squad

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