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amerricanartwork · 1 month

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Quetzalli on Trafficlights and Birds

Well @toxictoxicities, it has been done! You gave me the chance for me to give my own interpretation on this matter, and I can’t resist chances to add some narrative significance! I decided to make a separate post on it because what I came up with ended up being long (as always with me), and in case anyone else would enjoy these thoughts.

However before I go in with this essay I've put together I have to give a very important note: These thoughts are gonna be primarily based around my personal interpretations and headcanons for Seven Red Suns and No Significant Harassment. I’m generally a person who needs to know exactly what I’m working with to do something well, and as such my ideas about metaphors, symbolism, and greater narrative significance typically depend a lot on me understanding the characters and ship not just in their general dynamic, but various other deeper elements — what their core desires/fears are, what their backstories/histories are, each of their main character traits and why they are that way, then from there what they see in each other and why their relationship benefits each other in-universe, and what other effect(s) the relationship has or could have on the characters in-universe as well as the greater narrative out-of-universe, with the additional optional knowledge of what the main plot of the story they come from is to possibly tie in important moments. Seeing as you probably aren’t going to explain your Trafficlights interpretation completely to this intense of a degree anytime soon (though I’d absolutely enjoy hearing it whenever it comes!), if I’m going to make some metaphors I think the best option is to just use my current character interpretations so I have this background familiarity, especially since I’ve actually been developing these things a whole lot for my own iterator off-the-string happy ending AU!

Also, I want to say to that if some of these idea sound familiar, it’s because I realized I can actually project some of my previous Lilypad ideas onto this Trafficlights portrayal as well. I feel my Suns and Moon are similar enough in their personality traits that many of the same dynamics and significance could reasonably apply. In fact Tox, I’m gonna admit I actually did take some inspiration for my Lilypad portrayal from seeing your particular Trafficlights and drawing my own conclusions about how that dynamic worked, and overall my depiction of Seven Red Suns is largely inspired by your own take on that character, which I found quite unique compared to the rest of the fandom for being the first one I saw to show Suns as being far less imposing and confident internally than they seem in public. So I guess I am once again coming full circle now!

I think this is already more than enough words, but I just felt the need to give those prefaces as context for all of these ideas. With that being said, I hope you like at least some of these!

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Option 1: Birds as Freedom

From what I’ve read, a common symbolism for birds is freedom, which to me is easy to see because of their signature flight ability. Flight can be considered the mode of travel with the greatest freedom because it’s not restricted by landmasses (or even planets, if you include space travel), and because flying is literally defying, or “freeing oneself” from gravity, one can easily associate it with weightlessness and thus being carefree and without worries or negativity.

With any off-the-string iterator story, it’s easy to give going off-the-string a positive significance because it’s literally the puppet “freeing itself” from the limited confines of their chamber, and by extent the limits imposed upon them by the Ancients. This is further supported by how some iterators in canon do appear to perceive their cans as a limitation or cage, as evidenced by the broadcast dialogue. In fact, I've heard No Significant Harassment is one of these very iterators, so I imagine he’d absolutely want to go off-the-string so long as he has a good incentive to.

To relate this back to birds, you could very much use a caged songbird as a metaphor for the iterators; beautiful, brightly-colored creatures “raised” in captivity and trapped in boxes to serve other people, once “singing” out their ideas from within to those people, but now just giving those “songs” to each other. Thus, going off-the-string (perhaps to the Emergence facility in your AU) could be seen as these “birds” finally flying free to be with one another “in the wild”, finally able to fly and live their lives more fully as they were denied for so long. So regardless of any other symbolism, Trafficlights — and any other off-the-string iterator ship by extent — leaving their cans could be seen as them “flying free” together from the restraints forced upon them.

However, I’ve also recently realized another freedom symbolism besides freedom from the Ancients’ restrictions, and that’s freedom from their own. This is something more impactful to my Seven Red Suns, who like Moon, is also someone who hides a lot of his true personality for a more polite, proper, and dignified public persona, shoulders a lot of weight he isn’t always able to handle alone, and puts lots of limits on himself and what he’s “allowed” or “supposed” to do, albeit for entirely different reasons. Now contrast that with Sig, who although he also hides a lot of his true feelings and knows when to dial it down, is someone who is a master at breaking rules and going against convention. In fact, I like to imagine it’s literally in his nature (er, programming) to think outside the box, generating all sorts of different ideas to solve problems that don’t always totally follow outside rules or what’s “typical” for using a certain item.

When you bring these two together, I imagine Sig could absolutely be the one to encourage Suns to let loose more, letting down his proper and and uptight persona to show more of his emotional side and explore things he didn’t allow himself to before (like I said, this is one of the ideas that works with Trafficlights as well as Lilypad)! It’s as if Suns is a bird too used to living in the cage and afraid to truly fly again, and Sig has to coax him out into embracing that freedom. You could even take this with the idea of iterators not being used to romance, a restriction Suns absolutely puts on himself and even others because he believes a “proper” iterator isn’t supposed to have such deep attachments, of which romantic love could be considered the worst because it’s both breaking Karma 3 of Companionship and can directly lead to Karma 2 of Sexual Intercourse, so it’s essentially a double-risk. But again, Sig is willing to explore these new feelings, and now that they’re off the string and can love each other more physically and directly than ever, what better time could there be for Suns to “spread his wings” and fly alongside him?

Option 2: Birds as Passion/Romance

To me, the second biggest symbolism that birds can have is that of passion and general romantic ideas. Technically all birds could have this association because feathers and wings in general are pretty showy, so spreading one’s wings could just as easily be a gesture of great emotion and expression as it could be preparing to be free. In addition though, whereas the previous point was more related to songbirds, this seems to correlate more with birds of paradise especially, who have the most colorful and varied plumage of the bird kingdom, thus making it easy to say they’re “showing their true colors” without fear. Some birds of paradise, particularly parrots/parakeets/macaws/etc. are very social creatures by nature, so it’s even easier to draw the connection between their vibrant plumage and social behavior with being expressive and outgoing.

As for the romance element, to me it seems birds are commonly used as such symbols already; there’s doves and swans being symbols of love often included in some way at weddings, words like “lovebirds” referring to lovers as well as one of my favorite words, “twitterpated”, which means to be very smitten and infatuated and also has a clear bird-based association and maybe even origin. But then there’s the idea of songbirds singing to each other, which I think is a particularly romantic idea which plays into one of my favorite shipping tropes I call, “answering the call”. So far, I like to describe it as when someone is looking for companionship and romance for a while, either openly or as a subconscious desire, but is eventually found and “answered” by someone willing to love with them. It’s such a romantic idea to me because it often includes so much loneliness and sometimes even tragedy before, making that moment where they finally find someone all the more sweet!

Okay, now to bring this back to Trafficlights. Starting with the first idea, I think it’s easy to associate Sig with these kinds of birds, especially macaws and such, seeing as I imagine he can be just as “colorful” both literally and personality-wise, and cares deeply about his relationships in a similar manner. But even then, like I mentioned before Sig can sometimes feel like he needs to hide those feelings because others don’t fully understand him and he doesn’t want to risk creating tension (although hiding his feelings like that kinda does anyway).

To resolve this, I’ve decided to use what I imagine Sig would appreciate and value in Suns that would evolve the relationship past friendship to romance, that being that Suns was one of the first people besides Moon who believed that Sig’s ideas and his dedication to his friends could be something more, something better and used for good. My Suns is defined largely by his perfectionism and endless drive to make things the “best” versions of themselves. In my timeline of events he already helped Sig in that way during a pretty important moment, not to mention it’s just really inspiring how much Suns cares about trying to bring about the “best” for everyone. On Sig’s end, this is how they at least developed a friendship, and in this alternative what would cause that appreciation to evolve to romance eventually. In fact, in my headcanon it was the combined efforts of Moon first understanding Sig’s feelings and Suns helping to perfect his role in his group, with both of them working really hard to help him find new belonging with the Local Group, that was what got Sig out of his “rough patch”. Thus, in a way, Suns directly helped Sig make new connections, “spread his wings”, and “find a new flock”, which can easily be the main reason why Sig would fall for Suns.

Now, what about Suns? Relating him to birds and passion also hinges largely on another pretty crucial headcanon about my Seven Red Suns, which is that he is secretly a huge romantic with a passion for the fine arts. In addition to striving for an “ideal” world at all times, he appreciates art and the deeper symbolism within. However, because of what I said earlier about Suns placing a lot of high standards on himself, he doesn’t actually make art of his own, believing it’s “not an iterator’s place” to do such a thing themselves because it’s not in their purpose. But even then, he can’t help himself from seeing things artistically and drawing his own conclusions about things.

That being said, I imagine Suns could have a strong appreciation for birds in particular; their beauty, combined with their flight, makes them seem as though they’ve already “ascended” on some level above other animals. On top of that, I think Suns would come to see Sig as sort of a bird himself! Maybe a big green macaw with the most beautiful plumes who’s also far more intelligent than others think. But even more so, when it comes to what Suns appreciates in Sig that causes him to fall in love, I imagine it’s how Sig is the only person who sees through his facade for who he really is. Everyone else around him seems to either put him on a pedestal, with their own high expectations to follow, or is intimidated by his grandeur into avoiding much direct contact. Again, however, Sig naturally thinks outside the box and challenging people’s ideas, so it’d be pretty easy for him to break down some of Suns’s diplomacy to show that more emotional side (another idea that I use in Lilypad as well). No Significant Harassment is the one person Suns feels like he can be himself around, helping him realize that even those parts of him he hides make him “perfect” by virtue of being his real and unique self. It’s like Suns is a great eagle, looked up to and feared by other birds as a large bird of prey and thus lonely and pressured to soar above all else, and only the surprisingly smart macaw is able to lower his guard, helping him see he’s just as beautiful and inspiring on the ground as he is soaring high in the clouds.

And then there’s the idea of “answering the call”. I’ve already seen your Trafficlights will probably play out as a slow burn, with Sig and Suns harboring growing feelings for each other for a while but only really acting on it once Emergence kicks in. In this case the dynamic would be mutual, with both of them longing for a deeper connection, but perhaps not realizing it until this timeline. I imagine Sig would be the one more conscious of this desire though, seeing as he openly seeks connection with others, so it’d be as if he’s a lonely songbird wanting to sing out but never getting an answer. And then of course, when Suns finally does respond it’s that much more poetic!

Trafficlights as Rio (spoilers, by the way)

OKAY HEAR ME OUT, I just have to include some words on this because this movie, this freaking movie is not only one of the two that kickstarted my love of birds but is what started this whole Trafficlights-as-birds-symbolism thing for me.

To give some context, if you don’t already know I am someone who not only loves making metaphors and symbolism with my ships, but loves finding associations between them and outside music or stories. I often look for connections to the old Disney animated fairytales, but I really end up doing it to all sorts of animated stories that I believe have pretty universal themes.

That being said, if there’s any association I’d make for Trafficlights as I currently see them, it’s to Blue Sky’s Rio and some of the scenes from that story. Firstly, Blu as a character already somewhat parallels my Suns in that he’s awkward and not the best at interacting with others. Not to mention his inability to fly, which came from him never getting a chance to embrace his emotions before being captured and taken from his home, could be paralleled to Suns’s bottling up his emotions, especially since flight in that film is directly related to feelings of happiness, love, and freedom, so Suns in a way is also “stunted” in his emotions. Meanwhile Sig on the other hand is more like Jewel, someone who at least understands his emotions a lot better and thus “knows how to fly”, and who resists others’ attempts to cage him and tries to get his partner to do the same. Like Blu Suns refuses at first, his logic and desire for a dignified self image getting the best of him being able to let loose in any environment where he isn’t surrounded by close friends.

Then there’s the freaking “Hot Wings” scene, which takes the most responsibility for this association of mine. Largely because the two side-characters, Nico and Pedro, also seem to carry a dynamic with their lyrics that just reminds me of Suns and Sig, respectively, a lot (honestly I just thought about it on a whim one day and I can’t unsee it now…). Not to mention the entire scene is about pretty birds dancing, which given you’ve also made a decent number of drawings of Trafficlights dancing together, I think is just super fitting. And then Jewel’s singing once again brings back this idea of freedom and showing one’s emotions and love, with the remaining question being whether or not Blu can eventually unlock this feeling inside him despite his fears and fly up with her. This is something I think could work with Trafficlights, at least how I see them, for even if Suns can be more emotional around Sig and maybe his friends, he still has trouble doing so in public, not always liking the pressure of being “perfect” but not wanting to risk looking like a fool around everyone who looks up to him.

It works even better with one of the later scenes in the film when Blu and Jewel finally manage to cut the chain keeping them together, which causes Jewel to immediately lift into the sky with the pure joy and euphoria of once again being free to fly as she pleases. However, Blu is left looking up at her as she flies with their friends, and you can tell he’s both realizing again just how beautiful she is and longing so much to join her in the sky, yet still unable to fly. Once again I can’t help seeing Suns in Blu’s place, looking at Sig having fun and being so carefree, loving the feeling of being off-the-string, and him thinking Sig so beautiful and wanting to join him too. And eventually, just like Blu does in a true “answering the call fashion”, he is able to “spread his wings” and they finally can fly away together!

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Okay, I think that’s all I have to say for now on this topic. This essay, excluding the preface at the beginning, is 2498 words! I think that might be a little bit more than my Lilypad essay! I really hope it delivered!

But even then, this was so fun to do! Even though Trafficlights isn’t my main ship and isn’t going to happen in my own AU, I’ve recently been looking to better figure out Sig and Suns’s relationship anyway to understand why they’re at least friends with each other. Of course there are some other factors in their relationship, some of which I’ve edited out for the sake of these ideas because it throws a bit of tension in the dynamic that could compromise its ability to work as a ship, but this was still an important aspect and I’m glad to have gotten a chance to develop it! And then of course, a reason to think about ships as well as shamelessly plug one of my favorite movies ever is also very nice!

This may all sound super silly and maybe none of it works with your Emergence Trafficlights, but regardless this was seriously such a fun opportunity, and I’m glad you gave me a reason to do this! I would love to hear your thoughts on or additions to all this, if you can!

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spotsupstuff · 9 months

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Can you tell us about Orins general ?

A Dagger, Warmed by Polar Night was a fisherman's son living near a different Iterator but still up north. from childhood his ambitions were great and he was always determined to chase them down. that's how he became a Guardian class, a high circle Ancient in Terminus

he had a partner, he had a singular daughter. things didn't work out for whatever reason that was his fault and both his partner and daughter left him behind. he served out most of his work years and just as he started to grey all over, the Polar War broke out and he was called to service as a General, because he was the most experienced of Terminus' guards

so really, he had no business bein a part of the war. who knew how many deaths he could've come back from, with his skin turning ashy

just like rest of the soldiers he didn't think much of Orion. only like... a dispenser of tactic ideas for them to choose from. it was annoying to them all that Terminus' Houses welded a helmet to Orion's puppet, because it felt so fake. the Iterator didn't do anything but safely run through calculations where it was planted in the ground while they were out there laying their lives Multiple times, killing their mental health (and also absolutely destroying their karma). so everytime Orion would show up with his overseers to hand over the newest batch of calculations and such, projecting his puppet's image, they gave him a real stink eye

what ultimately changed Dagger's and other soldiers' opinion on Orion was when one of his overseers came racing to the camp too soon for it to be in the name of the new tactics n calculations and such. he was frantic to be heard out, trying to stop one of the soldiers from going and doing his duty as a scout

he explained, "I saw a child wrapping a letter and handing it to a mailman, crying her eyes out- addressed to her father. I identified her. I know to which one of you she belongs to. I cannot let you go out there and risk being captured and mentally degraded by torture before the letter even makes it to you. Before you will write her a reply. I cannot. I cannot- I cannot I cannot I cannot I cannot- I will do it. I will. I will. I will."

this happened pretty early on! that was the first time Orion was faced with the consequences of war- *right* on his back, too. with the kind of person that y'all know now he is, you can imagine that he couldn't bare it

this caught Dagger's interest immensely. everyone knows that Iterators aren't unfeeling machines or anything, but not many of them would willingly try and go to war Personally because of their empathy of all things. so he asked Orion some things

if he is conscious that as a religious object, he isn't supposed to be here. that nobody in this camp will take responsibility if he will break as a consequence of this. that he will, no matter what, put himself between the army and his own Houses when it comes to taking the blame. Orion agreed

then Dagger asked if Orion is willing to submit to him. as just another soldier to a General. if he will listen and follow through with orders given to him. essentially asking him to tear himself downwards to fall from his pedestal as a mechanical God to the position of a common normal man. it took a little for Orion to agree to that one- mainly cuz he was worried his opinions and ideas and calculations will be disregarded without his holy rank. Dagger reassured him that he does listen to his soldiers. Orion agreed

during the war Ori proved multiple times that he's here as a true ride or die for everyone. no matter how big the toll the war took on him like this, he stuck through it all. he had the initiative for certain things, he treated everyone as his equal, he listened and followed orders and when in dire need of a leader while lost on the battlefield, his overseers would do the best to be just that and guide soldiers back home. all of that brought Dagger and Orion close. a few times, during one of those videocalls when his puppet would be properly visible without any danger present, Dagger would take note of the stress on his face and how close the kid looked to a breakdown and have some peptalks with him. that's where Ori got the whole

in their situations, nobody really could afford to be gentle for too long

ultimately, smth of that father-son bond formed especially when Orion started seeking out Dagger all by himself, though it wasn't Very acknowledged. Dagger has come face to face with Orion's puppet only three times. the first time was very fleeting- during the enemy's siege on Ori's facilities, structure and systems. the goal was to render him incapable of supporting the army anymore, overtake him for themselves and use his presence at the geographical chokepoint to trap the whole Eo army

the enemies got into him and rendered him unable to defend himself. thankfully the Eo army was notified soon enough to make it to him before he could've been completely lost. Dagger went in, got to the puppet chamber and did his best to defend everything in there until Ori's admin managed to get there as well and properly reactivate Ori's systems again. besides the fighting and making sure that the Admin was safe, Dagger didn't linger for any more than giving the puppet a quick nod before going back into the fighting outside of the chamber

the second time was when the war was over. the Houses and other important people including Dagger gathered in Orion's chamber to make the end of the war official. it was mostly only ceremony so they didn't get to talk much or anything

afterwards Dagger went home in Terminus and finally got to have that pension. during the first years he had to attend therapy cuz of course. war is hell. everyone else from the army more or less scattered back home and kept contact only a lil. most of them that originally did live in Terminus also prefered to just kinda... Leave. they had enough of that whole place. only few along with Dagger stayed. Orion kept visiting him with overseers and since the kid was all terribly shook up by the war too (without anyone but maybe the Admin knowing that he attended the whole thing That Much), Dagger offered to sneak an overseer with him to the therapy sessions. so Dags here would be walking in to his doc with a hoodie and an overseer coiled around his body, peaking out from behind the zipper. free therapy for da ittie ✌

the third time Dagger faced Orion's puppet was when they just kinda... were like "hey why the fuck not. why shouldn't i visit Orion." so Orion helped him sneak inside with those old creaky bones all the way to his chamber and finally they had all the time they wanted to talk to each other properly

much to Daggers chagrin and surprise, he found out only then that Orion's puppet is taller than him

they talked for a long while, Dags had some beer, Orion inflicted upon him the "you're my dad!" vine/that meme i first mentioned the General in, Dags had basically a very lowkey breakdown about it (flashbacks to his original family, he ends up telling Orion he isn't sure seeing him as a father figure is such a good idea. he isn't an admirable man.) and they hug it out. rest of Dags' stay is with Orion glued to his side bein all comfy

n das dat! lets leave it on a nice note

#spot says stuff #rw #oc tag #oc: orion's pathway

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deathonyourtongue · 3 years

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Sanguine Nocturnus | 4

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : Sorry this took so long. Hope y’all enjoy it!!

The invitation came just as Lucrezia said it would, the handcrafted card a modern iteration of the same gaudy pomp and circumstance that Henry had come to expect over the years. For a moment, he considered not going, but given everything Lucy had made him privy to, he knew better than to play coy; it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility for the coven’s security task force to show up at his door like a far more sinister Secret Service.

Given the occasion, Henry knew better than to show up in his usual fare, and instead pulled a bespoke number out of the closet. The three-piece suit combined black satin and vermillion brocade, the pattern emblazoned on the waistcoat and the piping of the lapels. With a matching pocket square and two elegant brooches for his tie, he slipped on a pair of black Oxfords and made his way through the ancient streets that were so different, yet still held the same familiarity they had when he was human.

With the moon hanging over the temple of Venus as though the structure itself was holding up the orb, Rome looked primed for a ceremonial changing of the guard, and as he came upon the coven’s high wrought-iron gates, Henry could almost feel the change on the wind.

ID to enter the coven was simple enough; a smile would do the trick, so long as one’s canines were on full display. Like the rest of his ilk, Henry was able to retract his fangs when they weren’t needed, and when they were--whether it was to feed, or simply put the fear of the unknown into a human--his blue eyes would flash as though catching a stray bolt of lightning; it was a trick rarely seen, one only elder vampires seemed to have. Fledglings’ could only make their natural color more vibrant when necessary. While it was equally impressive to humans, it did little to frighten their own kind.

It had long been rumored that the Villa Nocturnus had been designed by Michelangelo, but having been around far longer than many of his cohorts who presently resided in the coven, Henry knew this to be a simple fallacy. The truth was that the Medicis had used the coven’s villa as inspiration for their own, and that their architect had asked for intercession from the renowned artist. It had been another scandalous choice by the powerful family, only because anyone who’d lived in Rome at that time knew the Villa Nocturnus as a place of darkness and ill-repute, a legacy which still lived on, especially among Rome’s older population.

Built primarily out of limestone and concrete, the villa had been redesigned and restored innumerous times throughout history, with facets of contemporary style added or removed as was fashionable. While the exterior underwent regular facelifts, it paled in comparison with how often the interior was reworked. Originally just a place to gather, feed, and sleep in relative privacy and safety, the elders had always sought to improve the villa both in functionality and aesthetic. As technology improved, so too did the comfort of the lowly Roman vampire, and now, with everyone carrying the world in their pocket, Henry could only imagine what changes were in store for him.

Though mostly unchanged from the last time he’d visited, Henry immediately noticed the addition of automation to the property. Doors now opened and closed with sensors, and in the parlor, roving donors had been replaced by a touch screen dispenser filled with every blood type, the machine able to fix a glass to whatever specifications the drinker might desire. The biggest change however, had been to the sleeping quarters. No longer relegated to coffins, those who chose to reside within the coven’s walls full time were able to enjoy the luxury of a regular bed, thanks to a specialized tint on every window and security shutters for extra protection. From what Henry had been told, the place turned into something of a Fort Knox while the coven slept, a peace of mind his kind had not known before.

Henry’s thoughts were pulled away from all the technological changes in the villa by the sound of chanting. Though vampires prided themselves on being far superior to humans, much like their living counterparts, they could never truly shake the traditions of old, and so the changing of the guard went on in the same fashion it had since the inauguration of the coven. The chants accompanied the procession of the departing Elder, the ominous notes setting the tone for the ceremony that would see one vampire set into the earth for at least a century, while another took his place, ruling over the coven with only the former elder’s powers and notes to guide him; it was no wonder they always demanded a tutor.

“Charissimi immortuos, nos congregentur hic hodie ut videre ad transitum de saeculum.”

The fact that the ceremony began similarly to a Catholic mass had never been lost on Henry; just one more remnant of the Vatican’s stranglehold on all. The thought crossed Henry’s mind, fleetingly, that perhaps having a young ruling elder might not be so bad after all; he would shortly possess the power to make changes as he saw fit, with very little input from the rest of the coven. In fact, the only person he truly had to listen to was Henry himself--if he wanted to learn the proper ways of existing.

“We now come to the Veneration. Cassius will open his vein for our new Elder, imparting all of his knowledge and wisdom, his strength and power, to our new ruler. Afterwards, you will all have a moment to bid our beloved Cassius a peaceful rest. The Veneration will now begin.”

Henry could see the starvation in Gregory’s eyes, knowing the fledgling had been fasting for two days prior to the ceremony; while it was par for the course, Henry couldn’t help but wonder if it was in coven’s best interests to starve so young a vampire prior to giving him some of the most powerful blood in the country.

He watched, unblinking, as the titanium blade was swept elegantly down Cassius’ forearm, the cut made just deep enough to allow a free flow of the elixir Gregory so desperately needed, and to prevent the younger vampire from doing any harm to their departing elder. Henry could tell when the first drop of blood touched the fledgling’s tongue, Gregory’s eyes widening as the world was revealed to him. The natural inclination was to close one’s eyes as the swoon came, the warmth and richness of the liquid relaxing the body and the mind without fail.

Almost too quickly however, Gregory’s eyes were open again, and Henry found himself staring at eyes that seemed electrically charged. He wasn’t sure what color the young vampire’s eyes were naturally, but the ice blue that flashed through them was unlike anything Henry had ever seen...In any fledgling...Ever. Blinking, his eyes flashed to the tall windows, looking for any sign of lightning that may have reflected off young Gregory’s pupils. Though he was met solely with a black sky and a smattering of stars, there was no way to be certain that it wasn’t just some trick of the light.

Henry shook off the uneasy feeling as he watched Gregory be pried off Cassius’ arm, the fledgling trembling with need and power. There was no doubt he would have to be fed often and that weaning him down to one meal every few days would have to wait. With age, the hunger, the crazed need for blood, dissipated and vampires as old as Henry and Cassius could comfortably go a few months without feeding, although neither him nor the former Elder were ever in much need to do so. Feeding was now a luxury to be enjoyed, like dining at a five-star restaurant every night simply because one could.

Grabbing a glass of O_--one of the easiest bloodlines to drink--Henry made quick work of finding Lucrezia and Vinicius, his eyes never leaving Gregory. Unlike Cassius, who was ushered into the vaults to begin the process of going to ground, Gregory remained out in public, still trembling as he inhaled glass after glass of A+ to try and take the edge off.

“Well, that was far less tumultuous than last time,” Vinicius commented as he sipped his own glass, eyebrows wiggling in good humor as everyone began to form a line to dispatch Cassius with words of praise; a line Henry and a few others had no intention of joining.

“Last time was a forced coup in case you forgot,” Henry deadpanned, watching as Gregory finally began to calm enough to set his glass down, the fledgling immediately fixing his long, strawberry blond hair, tying it back into a low knot before righting his clothes.

“Yes, well, poor Quintas was never the same after he bit that flu-ridden girl. You know they’re still testing his blood?” Vinicius replied, shaking his head as he remembered the last great pandemic, one which had thankfully left many of them untouched, albeit desperate for clean blood. While disease rarely affected vampires, drinking from those who had been poisoned, had raging infections, or were close to death could all have profound and lasting effects on the immortal body, no matter how powerful.

Henry’s eyes stayed on Gregory, watching as the fledgling made eye contact with Fares. Once a prisoner of war under the Parthian Empire, Fares had leapt at the chance for immortality as a means of freedom from bondage. No longer seen for his worth in labor, but rather his quiet, gentle nature (even when feeding), Fares had lived out his days in the coven’s safety, venturing out only when he had to, and only with those whom he trusted most. Having been only 22 when he was changed, time had not withered away his innocence, or the tender affection he felt for humanity and his fellow kind. It was glaringly obvious as he watched Fares smile shyly at Gregory, the fledgling immediately taken with the older vampire. It didn’t take long before the rest of the room seemed to disappear for the two of them, both men entranced by one another.

“Who do you think will make the first move?” Henry smirked, jerking his chin in the direction of Gregory and Fares, the two barely keeping an inch between them as they flirted and made small talk.

“Why don’t we go find out? I heard the baths were being reserved for our new Elder and a few chosen guests.” Lucrezia answered as she slipped her arms through Henry and Vinicius’, dragging both men behind her as she made a beeline for their new leader.

It didn’t take long for Lucrezia to work her charms on the new Elder, Gregory as taken with her as Henry had been the first time they’d met. The offer to share his reserved bath came quickly after, and before he knew it, Henry was following the small group down the hallways and into the depths of the villa, the floor sloping gently beneath his feet as they approached the massive pool of crystalline water.

Steam rose from the liquid, swirling and mixing with the clouds of incense and oil that burned throughout the room. True to the old Roman style, the baths were lit with hanging lanterns, the flame burning Jasmine-scented oil as it provided just enough light to guide their paths towards the entrance. Sixteen white stone pillars flanked the large pool, the lamps hanging from the very tops of the columns; Henry wondered for a moment how many servants of the house it took to clean the smoke stains from the ceiling. Guided towards the end of the room by two servants, three additional staff bowed lowly, all at the ready to help the group undress.

Henry was the first to wade in, the heat of the water doing wonders for the oft-ignored cold of his skin. Gregory and Fares followed, both still too entwined in each other’s attention to pay much mind to their guests. Their eyes only gazed outwards once Vinicius and Lucrezia had entered the water and Henry had cleared his throat quietly.

“So, prof. How long’ve you been around?” Gregory asked, tipping his chin up towards his new teacher in curiosity.

“Long enough to have served under Caesar,” Henry answered without hesitation, his gaze locking on Gregory’s to enforce the fact.

“Long enough to have served alongside him,” Vinicius confirmed, adding his age to the list.

“Long enough to be painted on papyrus,” Lucrezia winked, her own gaze moving to Fares with an encouraging grin.

“Long enough to have witnessed the Parthian empire first hand,” Fares admitted, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Gregory took a moment, looking around at each face as though he were seeing them for the first time. His mouth opened and closed, one finger lifted into the air as though the question he had in mind had simply vanished.

“And what powers do you have?” He finally murmured, Henry able to tell by sight alone that whatever inquiry he’d meant to make had been put on the backburner for another night.

"You read too many pulp novels, but...I possess the usual gifts. Sight, smell, sound, telepathy, flight..." As though to prove his point, Henry floated high above the pool of water with effortless grace, his arms extended in a pose similar to that of Christ on the cross.

"Impressive." Gregory smiled, although as Henry read his thoughts he could tell the word held more than one meaning for the elder.

Sinking back into the water, it was Henry’s turn to smile as he picked up on Vinicius and Lucrezia’s thoughts, the pair beckoning him over with an offer that would be difficult to refuse under the best of circumstances. His eyes took on a more vibrant shade of blue as he waded over, keeping his pupil in his sights even as he did so.

“What can you teach me that I haven’t just got from Cassius?” Gregory asked, feeling the shift in the room and stretching out his lithe form in reaction to it.

“One can always learn new lessons,” Henry smirked, licking his lips before pressing them to Lucrezia’s neck, his fangs grazing over the tender skin just below where her jaw met her ear. Hands gliding over her body, Henry kept pace with Vinicius, watching out of the corner of his eye as Fares finally made his move, capturing Gregory’s lips in a deep, hungry kiss.

The servants, used to the debauchery of the coven, maintained discretion, providing the only accoutrement necessary for carnal pleasure. Henry continued to busy his mouth on Lucrezia’s body, blindly dipping four fingers into the bowl at the edge of the pool, the ancient and familiar scent of Rose Otto filling his nostrils briefly before his hand sank under the water.

It was Gregory who cried out first. Lucrezia’s sigh of ecstasy followed shortly after as Henry and Vinicius took her in unison, her nails cutting into Henry’s neck as she leaned back against the solid wall of his chest. Mouths melded together like honey left out in the sun, fingers traipsed and danced, and before long, soft moans turned into outright apostasy as all five undead creatures grew closer to release. Lucrezia, accustomed, but never ungrateful for such passions, forced herself down on the two swords she sheathed inside her, neck arching like a swan’s as she offered herself to her lovers. Gregory, making a discovery with every plunge of Fares’ body into his own, drew his elixir as much for comfort as for desire, having never experienced anything even remotely as intense as he felt with the man who held him close. The exchange of crimson never failed to be a catalyst for those who were on the edge, and as they drank from one of Rome’s famed beauties, Henry and Vinicius filled Lucrezia’s vessels in equal measure.

In the corners of the room, the servants readied the sherry glasses, warming them over an open flame before filling them with the coven’s finest and freshest.

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #deathonyourtongueoriginals #sanguine nocturnus

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ev-pierce-writes · 3 years

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The Heir Chapter 2

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9K

Notes: This chapter jumps back in time a bit from Din's perspective, giving us a glance into his crash landing on Mandalore and his first impressions of You. Mostly just a lot of feels (or the suppressing thereof).

---

"Mando."

Where was that voice coming from?

"Mando. Come on, wake up."

The hiss of hydraulics and Din's helmet lifted, forcing him to squint his eyes while trying to make out the face above him. The glare of a hot desert sun obscured its features and the pounding in Din's head made it difficult to focus.

"Help me get him on the speeder."

Arms under his legs and armpits lifted Din and placed him gently on a hard seat. He slouched forward, unable to sit up straight, the pain so great and so extensive it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was broken or bruised. The vehicle took off across the desert with a lurch, spraying sand in its wake.

A hot wind burned against Din's face, further drying his mouth and making it hard to keep his eyes open. He drifted in and out of consciousness, unaware of how long they sped over the sandy terrain.

Maybe only minutes passed, maybe hours. Eventually, the speeder entered one of the large domes that had been visible from space. Inside it was much cooler and darker, a relief after the harshness of Mandalore's surface. Din continued to drift in and out, dehydrated and covered in sand, unable to comprehend if he was safe. He was too concussed to take in his surroundings or catalog his injuries. Finally, exhaustion hit him like a mudhorn to the chest, and Din fell hard and fast into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, his helmet, armor, and underclothes were removed, leaving him nearly naked. Panic seized at Din's throat and he sat up quickly, surveying the situation and already planning his escape route. In this recently awoken state, Din couldn't remember where he was or what he had been doing. His thoughts flew immediately to the kid, his instinct telling him to find the child, whatever the cost. But then he noticed a neat pile at the end of the bed, beskar stacked alongside his clothes and helmet, and the terror eased.

He was on Mandalore. Din steadied his breathing and dressed. This was where he was meant to be. The kid was safe, Moff Gideon was defeated, the Darksaber was his.

The Darksaber. Din prayed to the Maker that it had survived the wreck. Or maybe not. At least that would have rid him of this devastating responsibility. But there it was, alongside his blaster and spear, hooked into its slot on his belt. The little metal ball was there as well, and Din breathed a final sigh of relief.

He was okay. For farrik's sake, he was okay and he could take a moment to reorient himself. Din looked around, taking in the small bed he had awoken upon, the gray walls of the room, the solid stone of the floor beneath his feet. He seemed to be in some type of infirmary. He reached his arms over his head and stretched out his neck, feeling the lingering pain of broken ribs and compressed vertebrae. Thank the Maker for bacta shots; he probably would have died without them. But even now, his age made it difficult to heal. He would be feeling this for a while.

Din lifted his helmet, ready to place it on his head, but he paused. He caught a glimpse of his face in the reflection of the beskar, of exhaustion, worry, and sadness staring back at him. He wasn't used to seeing his own face so much or reading his own emotions, and it felt like a stranger was glaring back, not his own eyes. He felt removed from the man in the reflection, the man with the scar across his nose, still not faded from the fateful day a droid had saved his life.

Was this the face the child had touched with his tiny hands? Could he love this face, truly?

Din shoved the helmet on before he could linger on his reflection any longer and stepped out of the small infirmary.

The dome was even larger on the inside than he had anticipated. He stood on a walkway that appeared to circle the entire structure, and more paths crisscrossed different layers of the dome, making for a giant maze. From this vantage point, Din could look down to the ground level, which was left open to the floors above. It was incredibly quiet. A few people meandered below, looking like ants from this angle, but not nearly as many as he would have expected in such a large structure. The place felt deserted.

Din began to make his way around the circle, looking for an elevator or some stairs to take him to the ground floor where most people seemed to be. The ache in his ribs had not eased and he found walking to be incredibly difficult. Din's hips and legs had taken much of the impact of the crash, making every movement a painful one. He didn't make it far before a voice stopped him.

"Woah, there Mando, you need to sit down."

The voice came from behind him, unmodulated, soft, old. Din turned to find an ancient woman hobbling toward him. White-haired and wrinkled, skin tanned and spotted from the sun, the woman was not what Din had expected from the locals of Mandalore. And yet she was unmistakably a Mandalorian, strong, back straight as a rod, with the signet of her clan sewn into the sleeve of her shirt.

How humiliating, being helped into a chair by someone who was twice his age. But Din did not complain.

"You need to eat," she said, pulling him into a side chamber and sitting him down at a table. "You're going to hurt for a while. Bacta isn't easy to come by around here and we gave you as much as we could afford. The rest of the healing you're going to have to do on your own."

A bowl of broth appeared before Din and then the old woman sat across from him, taking in his appearance and the beskar of his armor.

"It's been many years since I saw that much beskar on one warrior. What is your name, Mando?"

Din set his helmet on the table and took a sip of the broth. He wasn't sure what it was meant to be made of. It mostly tasted like water.

"I am Din Djarin. Clan Mudhorn." Here he paused, hesitating. "Child of the Watch."

Din wasn't sure how much the old woman knew. Did she recognize the Darksaber at his hip, know the history of his upbringing? If she did, she didn't let on, and Din felt it best not to explain any further. Maybe it was best to keep quiet about his claim to the throne for now.

"My name is Yollil Darron, Clan Kryze. You must be searching for answers," the old woman said. "Is that why you have come? That was quite an entrance to make, crashing through the atmosphere like that."

"There was nowhere to land. Is there no port? No shipyard?"

Yollil chuckled softly. "There is no need when no ships come and go."

"None?"

"Occasionally. Rarely. But those can't be the answers you came here for."

Yollil was right. Din finished his broth before he continued, choosing his words carefully. "There are so few people here. What happened?"

"Ah, child, that is several questions all rolled into one."

"I have time."

Yollil smiled knowingly. "I will start at the beginning then," she said. "The Children of the Watch have long been separated from the Mand'alor, but the wars started before them."

---

The Mandalorian's holomessage flickered before you. You'd watched it on repeat four times now. Listened to it again and again in an attempt to decipher some hidden meaning in his words. Even virtually, the man seemed to fill the space, leaving you breathless. Thoughts of how he'd made you feel last night, even though he was entirely in your head, rushed through your brain. But you tamped them down.

"When you see this message, I'll be gone already. I need to make contact with others scattered across the galaxy." Maybe it was your imagination, or the modulation of his voice through the helmet, but this is where his resolve would begin to waver, each time you watched, each time seeming more and more reluctant to have gone.

"You-- I didn't--." A sigh.

"There's still a lot to do. And I can't do it alone. I'm sure I'll need your help." I'm sure I'll see you again. I want to see you again. You needed to stop putting words in his mouth but with each iteration, it seemed even more like the truth.

You scolded yourself for trying to find a reason to get attached, for searching his words for some type of acknowledgment that he felt the same way. Mandalorians were restless beings, travelers with no home. It was irrational and irresponsible to expect anything more from him. You needed to rein in your temptation. And yet--

Finally, you shut the holopuck off, putting it in the drawer of your desk for safekeeping.

---

"There are twelve other domes on Mandalore," Yollil explained as she guided you slowly around in a tour of the structure. "Many are divided by clan. Tensions run high, but we abandoned the fighting long ago though. It's much easier to survive when you are unified as a larger group. Or at least the illusion of conciliation."

As Din had finished his watery broth, Yollil had explained the history of the Mand'alor, how civil war had erupted over loyalties to the Empire, over who would inherit the throne. Eventually, the group of religious zealots, the Children of the Watch, had split, leaving the planet entirely to start anew, recruiting foundlings from across the galaxy and training them in the original way of the Mand'alor. Those who remained warred one another to ruin, eventually destroying what was left of the planet and retreating to the safety of the domes.

It was becoming apparent to Din that his greatest challenge might be uniting the fractured clans.

Yollil showed you the greenhouses, the armory, the living quarters. Most were nearly empty, dormant as an abandoned pollinator hive.

"About four times a revolution we get a shipment of supplies, distributed among the clans. It's barely enough to sustain us but we have little to give in return. It's the best we can do."

"Who brings the supplies?"

"The Queendom of Nhora. Their ships land in the desert, unload and reload, and are gone." Nhora. A sign of hope in the darkness. "The crew have been asking about a certain Mandalorian. Have you heard?"

Din shook his head and Yollil continued. "They say the queen is in search of the Mandalorian who claimed the Darksaber. Perhaps you know of him."

Din stopped dead in his tracks. So much for staying discreet. The old woman gazed knowingly at the helmet before her, recognizing without needing to see the expression on his face that Din was the Mandalorian this Nhoran queen was searching for.

It could have been a trap. Or it could be an opportunity. Next time the ships came, Din would be leaving with them as well.

---

Twenty-six years. That's how long you'd been alive. Twenty-six years today, to be exact, and eight of them spent as queen.

The Warming was arriving in the northern hemisphere of Nhora, signaling the approaching farming season as well as all the celebrations that came along with it. Fertility festivals, diplomatic dinners, and of course, your birthday. Though your focus should have been on supply distribution and preparations for religious ceremonies, your thoughts lingered on the somber face that graced your dreams nearly every night.

You wanted nothing more than to ditch your own birthday party. They were always the same, too much attention trained on you, on what you wore, on who you spoke to. No one was safe from court gossip, not even you, and by tomorrow every woman on Nhora would be styling their hair the way yours was tonight.

You preferred solitude and quiet, which you would not get tonight. Djarin would like solitude and quiet too, you thought. But you suppressed the thought as quickly as it had come.

"Knock knock," Zena called. She had a tendency to enter and then ask for permission afterward. You were laying on your bed, spread out like a star, avoiding getting up to get dressed.

"If I asked you to, would you put on my clothes and pretend to be me for the night?" you asked without sitting up. It was only a half sarcastic request.

"We aren't twelve anymore, Your Majesty. We can't get away with switching places like we used to."

"We could totally do it, Zena. And then I could not deal with any of it and you can be queen for a night." You and Zena had actually managed it successfully before, trading places without anyone noticing. But she was right, that was years ago and you looked too different now.

Zena flopped onto the bed next to you. "This isn't very regal of us is it, contemplating ditching parties and laying in bed instead," she said.

You were silent for a moment, thinking back on the years before your coronation where the two of you had spent your days doing that exact thing. You'd known Zena since the Clone Wars, since before the attack, since before your mother and sister had died. And then the attack had come, and suddenly she was all you had, and it only seemed natural that she would become your most trusted advisor.

And then she was saying your name, your real name, calling you back to your body and pulling you from your reverie. She knew where you drifted in moments like this, to the thoughts of what life would have been if they were all still alive, if you weren't queen, and the world was yours to explore. "Come on, we can do it together."

The party, or parties in this case, since the festivities lasted over a week, usually culminated in a large banquet. It was customary to feed the entire city for free on your birthday, which you didn't mind. You liked that part, in fact, seeing the prosperity and joy of your people, the excitement as temperatures rose and crops were planted.

What you did mind was having to deal with all the suitors who found it perfect timing to come up to you while you were just trying to enjoy some roasted cherfer meat.

You watched as one particularly bold man approached your table in the banquet hall, trailed by what appeared to be several personal guards. You leaned over and whispered into Zena's ear.

"I don't remember inviting him to my party. I'll bet twenty credits he's a prince from Coruscant. Thirty says he'll ask for my hand in marriage."

"Be polite, You Majesty," Zena said, but she was already smiling and shaking your hand. "I'll give you forty credits if you scare the Dank Farrik out of him."

Zena may have been your best advisor, but she was also your worst instigator.

"Your Majesty," the young man bellowed as he kneeled before you. He was tall and barrel-chested, yet soft and pudgy looking. A shock of yellow blond hair was combed across his already balding head. Barely touching his knee to the ground before standing again, he took your hand and pressed a horrifically wet kiss to your knuckles. And yet, despite the averse sensation, your thoughts drifted toward the Mandalorian, kneeling before you as well, head bowed in respect and gloved hand smoothing yours. The comparison happened before you could stop yourself and suddenly you sized up every man in the room against him. No one compared.

Be polite. Be polite. You barely held back a gag as you discreetly wiped the back of your hand against your skirt.

"And who do I have the pleasure of meeting on this fine evening?" you asked sweetly, lacing your words with the saccharine tone that men liked. You would at least have some fun with this.

"Prince Adbel of Coruscant, at your service." You and Zena glanced at one another knowingly. Twenty credits down.

"Of Coruscant, you say? How many princes there must be on that... large, beautiful planet."

Prince Adbel's face fell, but only for a moment. You applauded his ability to pull the arrogant, smug look right back onto his face even as you bruised his ego.

"Yes, Coruscant is charming. But Nhora far surpasses her in natural beauty. I could pass many revolutions here and never tire of her rolling hills."

Nhora was as flat as a bantha's foot. But you had to give it to him, he was really putting on the charm. Prince Adbel was a slick talker.

"What brings you to Nhora?" you asked. "And on my birthday, no less."

"Straight to business," he replied with an awkward wink. "I like that. How joyful a day, and yet how lonely you look upon your throne, with no one to share it."

You pretended to not know where he was going with this line of thinking. "Lonely? I have the best advisors in the galaxy," you said, squeezing Zena's hand tightly to hold back her laugh and yours.

"No doubt, no doubt. But perhaps you are in need of a man by your side, to rule along with you?"

You stayed silent, waiting for him to say the words that would earn you thirty credits tonight.

"What I mean is, perhaps I could offer my hand to Your Royal Highness."

"In marriage?"

"In marriage."

Score.

Now you were upping the game. Those forty credits would be yours. But how to shock the poor man the best. He would need to be punished for his insolence in not researching Nhoran culture before so blatantly proposing marriage to a woman who had no need for it.

"Have you studied our customs, Prince Adbel?" you asked.

The pale man somehow paled even further. "Of course," he lied.

"Then you'll know what such an offer entails. First, you must travel to the plains and retrieve for me the egg of the nhora serpent. It is a difficult journey. Few survive. She will protect her young with her life, so you must bring warriors who are prepared to die for you, otherwise, you will fail." Prince Adbel's guards were starting to look as nervous as him. But you continued. "Then, you must chop off the fourth finger on your left hand as an offering to the Maker. Only then can our union be blessed."

That one got to him. Should you keep going? This was too fun, and Zena seemed to think so as well. "Lastly, you will need to share me with fifteen other men. Are you capable of that? It is tradition to take many husbands in Nhora, and the queen is no exception."

Prince Adbel nearly fainted. He gulped, a heroic attempt to suppress his fear, before taking a step back from you and nearly hiding behind his guards. "Perhaps... I should reconsider before taking such a serious oath."

"Or perhaps it would do you better to understand the culture of a people you so plainly desire to rule over. Nhoran queens do not marry, Prince Adbel. They never have, and they likely never will." You stood from your seat. And though the prince towered over you, he flinched from your hardened gaze. You knew you were probably taking it a bit too far, but you wanted to put the overconfident egotistical man in his place. "Men only distract. They manipulate. They conquer through fear rather than join through peace. I doubt that you are the exception."

And with that, the prince was gone, fleeing from your presence, his guards on his heels. Your words hadn't been entirely true. Plenty of honorable men made of your group of advisors and counselors, but the best of them knew where they stood.

"Best forty credits ever spent," Zena said with a laugh. "Although part of me is worried you're distracted already."

"Distracted? What on Nhora are you implying, Zena?" You knew what she was implying. You knew it was about--

"The Mandalorian has you in a twist, does he not? Any other day you would have at least considered sleeping with him." It was a teasing jab, though not entirely exaggerated.

"I simply look forward to pursuing a trade agreement with him." At least that's what you were trying to convince yourself, laying in bed night after night, thinking of him.

"You look forward to seeing him again, Your Majesty."

You narrowed your eyes at Zena, trying to appear intimidating. It never worked with her. "Hand over my credits, Royal Advisor."

Zena shook her head. You weren't convincing her, or yourself.

---

The royal crest painted across the side of the Nhoran freighter ships proudly displayed her wealth and beauty. They were less than subtle, Din thought.

He had waited several weeks for the starships to arrive, gathering information and gleaning intelligence about what he was up against. But the information varied widely and it was hard to tell what was truth and what was fiction. The elder Mandalorians described a brutal and ruthless ruler, one who controlled her people through fear and projected an image of prosperity to disguise rampant abuse of power.

Based on Yollil's stories, that sounded more like a reflection of Mand'alor history than an accurate depiction of Nhora.

Others, the younger ones, refused to even believe the queen existed. No one ever saw her, they postulated, unless it was at government functions or festivals. They figured she was just some figurehead, put in place to disguise the real government that controlled the trade routes of the mid and outer rims.

It was useless. He would have to find out for himself. And he had a plan.

According to Yollil and a few of the others who lived in the dome, the freighters were manned completely by a live crew. Not a single droid in sight. And while that meant Din could try to talk his way onto the ship, he also couldn't just resort to outright violence and take out everyone on board. He had to be diplomatic.

The plan was this. Sneak aboard during the short period the freighters spent on the ground, loading and unloading, and try not to get caught. But if he did, Din would have to talk his way out of it. He hoped to avoid too much talking.

Getting on the ship turned out to be the easy part. Staying on was hard.

The crew members of the ship he'd selected to hitch a ride on did not hesitate to open fire. He was discovered pretty quickly among the cargo and without giving him a chance to explain, Din found himself ass down in the sand, watching the ship take off. Damn it.

Sure, he could have gone in with a bit more violence, but he was trying to make friends, not enemies. Time for Plan B.

Powering up the thrusters of his jetpack, he shot off into the atmosphere, following close behind the departing freighter. He landed with a thump along the outer walkway of the ship, hitting the side a bit harder than he'd intended. Great, more bruises to add to his growing collection. Din ripped the exterior door open, knowing it would set off alarms throughout the ship. But discretion was no longer his priority.

There couldn't have been that many crew members on this ship, and yet they just kept coming. Din held back, only sending them into a nice temporary sleep with a knock to the head, rather than take them out one by one. He could have. Part of him wanted to. But he reminded himself that these were just people, doing their best, just like him.

Din worked his way toward the bridge, leaving a pile of unconscious bodies in his wake. The ship's upper deck was a jumble of hallways that looped back and forth on one another and he felt sure he made a few circles before finding what he was looking for. When he arrived, one final crew member stood, brave and terrified, before the doors to the control center.

"Open the door and I won't hurt you."

It was worth a shot. No success. The poor man aimed his blaster, the shots pinging off of Din's beskar. Alright, if that's how he wanted to do this. With calculated aim, Din fired his whipcord, wrapping it around the man's legs and hauling him off his feet.

Din grabbed the man around the neck, pointed his blaster at his head, and slammed the door-open button with his foot, ready to face whatever lay on the other side.

Several more terrified navigators and a couple of blasters trained at Din's head. As expected.

"Look, I'm not here to hurt you. Even though I could. I just want to speak to your queen." Silence hung heavy in the bridge. Even the man Din had taken hostage stilled under his grip. "Take me to her and I promise I won't harm you."

The captain of the ship stared at Din as if he'd just asked him to make Arvala-7 into a rainforest. For a moment Din almost thought those young Mandalorians had been correct, that there was no real queen. But then the captain relented.

"Well, you've taken out most of my ship already. And Her Majesty doesn't object to visitors. But you'll have to stay in the cargo hold."

Din could deal with that.

At least he thought he could. And then the trip through hyperspace turned out to be not hours but over a day. He was tired, in pain, and incredibly hungry. The best Mandalore had to offer was weak broth and yellowish vegetables. Din hadn't had a real meal in what felt like months. Though he tried to sleep through his hunger, he was awoken by the painful pangs of an angry stomach. Above him, the crew was probably having a meal, though he doubted they would want to invite up the man who'd knocked them out one by one.

Finally, after a restless sleep, the sound of footsteps and a voice entered the cargo hold to let Din know they were making the jump out of hyperspace and approaching Nhora. "Her Majesty will receive you at the palace. Though I recommend leaving your weapons behind you. She prizes peace above all else."

The ship landed with a jolt. Din hadn't had access to any windows aboard the ship, so this experience of Nhora was his first. As the loading hatch opened, he discovered with awe a cool, lush, and colorful planet. Though his helmet and armor dulled the sensations of climate and weather to his skin, the temperature here was significantly more comfortable than on Mandalore.

Din stepped from the ship, not bothering to bid the captain farewell, and wandered into Nhora's port. At first, he weaved through only ships, big and small. But eventually, it evolved slowly into a marketplace, lined with stalls filled with fresh fruits and vegetables, smoked meats, and beautifully handcrafted items.

Above, the sun was tinged with warmth, indicative of an approaching warm season. But a soft breeze drifted through the market, keeping the air cool and dry. Around him, Din listened to the chatter of people, all species and languages, bartering and negotiating prices, or just holding an easy conversation. It was incredibly calm and peaceful, with the easy air of a people who did not fear for their lives at every waking moment.

Already, Din could tell all the rumors about Nhora had been wrong.

But how to find the queen? That turned out to be an easier job than he expected. Spread across the skyline was a glittering city with one building obviously much taller than the rest. He headed in that direction, pausing only momentarily at a stall that was selling the most delicious food he'd ever smelled. But there was no time to stop and eat.

The walk was short, along a smoothly paved path that crisscrossed over several canals dug through the center of the market. This must have been their main source of transport, and Din watched from the top of a bridge as a small boat floated downstream below him. It was almost too picturesque and he found himself doubting if this was entirely real.

And yet it was. The palace was bustling with people, moving about in small groups or sitting beneath the tall stone columns. They spoke easily and freely, but with a polite hush that suggested a reverent atmosphere. The lower level appeared to function as a library, with books lining floor-to-ceiling shelves and people studying at tables. Free and open knowledge, it was a novel idea.

No guards accosted him. No one asked where he was going. A few people stared as he went by, but the guards stationed at the main doors let him through, though again letting him know to check his weapons at the guard station. He easily avoided this inconvenience, slipping around groups of people and hiding behind a column as another guard passed. Sure, he could have been civil and done as he was asked, but it didn't seem prudent to have to explain that yes, he was a Mandalorian and yes, this was the Darksaber, and no, he couldn't just check it into a locker with a four-digit code.

At last, up a sweeping staircase and the throne room came into sight. This part of the palace was quieter than the rest, having a more serious and somber mood than the lightness of the lower levels. Din stepped in the throne room and gazed up, unable to suppress the urge to gape in awe at the vaulted ceilings and colorful murals that lined the walls.

The queen, however, was not on her throne and not in the reception hall. So Din resigned to wait and stood before one of the grand windows that cast a glowing light onto the marble floors. The view was spectacular, even from behind the filter of his visor, looking out upon the maze of stalls of the market, the glistening blue canals, and the arriving and departing freighter ships. Beyond the bustle of the city Din could just barely make out flat plains under a setting sun, green and lush and reaching farther than the eye could see.

The world glowed.

Din's helmet picked up voices of discussion and he amplified the sounds, hearing the soft speech of a woman along with the footsteps of several other people. The queen was coming, and not alone.

And then he saw you. You entered the throne room and if the world was glowing before it now positively radiated like the sun. You were dressed in lavender and gold and somehow existed on two planes at once, both as natural as the lush plains of Nhora and as otherworldly as the stars that glittered above, tied to the earth but dancing through outer space. Din had never met an angel, only heard stories of their alluring beauty that trapped spacefarers in their orbit for eternity. Now, standing face to face with a pure embodiment of warmth and light, the stories didn't seem so outrageous after all.

This was a new feeling, one he'd never felt before. Oh, Maker, Din's heart was in trouble.

---

The doors of the throne room opened. Zena entered leading a little green head, wobbling atop a teetering body. "Look who interrupted my sparring practice. Nearly got his little hands chopped off."

"Grogu," you exclaimed with a broad smile spreading across your face. You found yourself intensely happy to see the wrinkly alien baby and reached down to place him on your lap. He immediately reached out to grasp at the metal ball hanging from your neck. Something had shifted since you'd met the Mandalorian, and now with the knowledge of their deep bond, your heart softened with tenderness for the child as you recalled his father.

"So, little one, what have you learned since you went away?"

The child looked up at you with a coo and then giggled, sticking his hands out to demonstrate whatever strange mind-bending trick he'd learned this month. What you didn't expect was to see one of your guards slowly go sliding from his post beside your throne toward the windows. You realized Grogu was the one moving him, though not very quickly and with a lot of effort, across the stone floor. With a grunt, the guard bumped gently into the window. It couldn't have hurt very much, but it was probably a strange sensation. He slid to the ground, not sure how to react.

"Oh, Maker, are you alright Ming?" you asked, barely containing a laugh.

Ming held up a hand. "Yes, yes, fine Your Majesty."

"Grogu, we only do those kinds of things to bad people, not people we like."

You weren't sure why you spoke to the child as if he were an adult, but somehow you felt he understand. He looked up at you again but this time with a pout, his bottom lip sticking out and quivering, ready to cry.

"Oh, alright little one, let's not have that now. Here, how about some good news. I met your father. He was here."

That did the trick. The big brown eyes blinked and the giant ears flicked in recognition. Grogu grumbled out some garbled baby talk that sounded suspiciously like 'Din.' It could have been your imagination.

"You met the Mandalorian?" Luke Skywalker entered the throne room, prepared for his departure already. "So that's why you didn't accost me for information as soon as I stepped foot in here."

"I have a good feeling about him, Skywalker. What's that thing you're always talking about, bringing balance to the force? He is balanced. I can feel it."

"So you're a force detector now?" Zena said with a barely concealed laugh.

"He found the child for a reason," Skywalker replied. "The force is not to be underestimated."

That was for sure. A pint-sized kid had just moved a full-grown man across the room with his mind. That was nothing to be played with.

"I worry though, Your Majesty, that he will attract some less than welcome individuals to your planet if he returns. Bo-Katan feels she is the rightful heir to the throne, and I doubt she'll give up on it so easily. If she thinks you're his ally, I doubt she'll be very forgiving."

"Bo-Katan?" Zena questioned. You felt Grogu sink further into your robes at the sound of the name.

"Another Mandalorian. Fiercely loyal to her planet but not so much to those who would dare challenge her or her power. She prefers martial law to pacifism and has a dubious history with the Sith and the Empire. In the end, there's only one thing she wants, the Darksaber."

---

Din's thoughts drifted back to that first meeting as he punched in the coordinates for Corellia, the last planet he had any desire to visit. He wanted to look upon your glittering city, wander through the market, feel the cool breeze creep under his armor. Or even just sit across from you again and listen to you ramble about the things you loved, namely Grogu. Din realized, before you would, that there was a soft spot in your heart for the kid.

As the ship took off from the loading dock, Din watched the Nhoran moons set, wondering if you were doing the same. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need. But he couldn't. Din was a wanderer, a traveler, with no place to call home and no intention of finding one. But you--

Corellia. Right now there was just Corellia. For many years he'd avoided chasing down a bounty on that planet. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to stay that way. The polluted, cloudy, soggy planet was one Din preferred to avoid. The excessive rain made it difficult to track footprints and there was always someone who needed paying off if he was going to get any information. Bounties on Corellia took twice as long to catch, simply because it was so full of crime itself.

Except this time it wasn't a bounty Din was chasing, but a Mandalorian. So three times as long, he figured.

And he was right. The Mandalorian remained hidden, probably because he knew he was being chased. Din passed weeks in Coronet City, tracking muddied footprints here and there. Begrudgingly, he took on some extra bounties, just to make enough credits to keep his ship parked at the loading dock.

Week four came and went. Today's bounty had been particularly flighty, doing his best to remain just out of Din's reach. He caught him, eventually, but not before a muddy chase through the rainforest. Now, back on his ship, Din hardly noticed the flashing red light on his communicator, telling him he had an incoming message. It wasn't until he'd pulled off his mud-streaked armor and sat down heavily in the pilot's seat that it caught his attention.

The hologram flickered to life.

"Djarin, I hope you're well." He almost didn't recognize you without your royal robes, hair loose and drifting about your shoulders. But your voice, though distorted by thousands of lightyears of space, was unmistakably yours. With surprise, Din found himself instantly relaxed, the soothing sound raising heat to his skin. You'd barely said anything but he longed to hear more.

"I'm not sure where you are, or if this message will reach you." You paused, suddenly distracted by something happening out of view and waving your hands to quiet something down.

"Hush, please, I'm speaking," you said off to the side.

You refocused with a deep breath. "Urgent news has reached me through my trade routes. Bo-Katan has landed on Mandalore. She brings an army and is searching for you. I'm not sure how many she's gathered or how she earned their trust. But it won't be long before she traces your path here. There's no need to worry, it would be foolish to attack Nhora but I'm afraid of what might happen if you do return to Mandalore. Bo-Katan will-- for Maker's sake child I'm trying to speak."

You stopped again, bending over to address the tiny hands grabbing at the leg of your pants. A muted voice garbled some indiscernible words. "I know it's for Din. I know. Come here."

You stood again, this time with the child in your arms. Grogu. He was there, with you, in your arms. "Anyways, be careful, please. And send word if you need anything. Or just to let me know you're alive."

Din could hardly focus on your words. The kid was on Nhora, grabbing at your shirt and waving his little hands. "Say hi, Grogu. Say hi to your dad," you said.

Was that his name Din heard? Did Grogu just speak real, tangible, words? And his name, nonetheless. Din's heart swelled with pride and all the frustration he'd felt today, tracking an unfindable Mandalorian on top of simply trying to stay alive, melted away. He realized with a shock of sadness that all this time he'd been intensely lonely without his son. The ship was too quiet, too empty, but now both you and the child were here, even if only as a hologram, and filling the cockpit with a warm glow.

Din blinked back tears. It was time to get his act together. There were only so many places an old Mandalorian could hide.

Fenn Rau was not a man to be trifled with, Yollil had explained before Din had left Mandalore. If he was going to be found, Din had to think ahead of him, anticipate his moves. Rau had to be somewhere in Coronet City. If he'd left, it would have been much easier to find him.

But, as it turned out, it was easy enough to find Rau when he wanted to be found. The first cantina Din stepped in and there he was, sitting alone in a dark corner, nursing a spotchka, having predicted Din's own moves to meet him here. This was not luck, it was on purpose, and he didn't hesitate to slide into the seat across from the Mandalorian.

Neither spoke, each waiting for the other to explain themselves first. Fenn Rau was as stoic as Din despite his age. His watery blue eyes locked onto the visor of Din's helmet and did not flinch. But this was a game Din could play well, that of silence.

"Why are you looking for me?" The older Mandalorian was the first to break.

"You wanted to be found."

"I outran you for a while. But curiosity tends to be my downfall."

Din didn't respond, only unhooked the Darksaber from his belt and placed it on the table. It was an unassuming object with immense power and Rau recoiled from its presence.

"So you are the one who defeated Gideon." His words made it apparent that everyone in the galaxy knew. "I'm surprised Lieutenant Bo-Katan didn't duel you right there for it."

"Lieutenant?"

"We fought together in the civil wars." So that's why Yollil had sent Din to find Rau. He would know what Bo-Katan's intentions were. "The Lieutenant is a natural leader. She rallies her people like no other. But she has lost that damn saber one too many times and never once recovered it honorably. She will come for it and do whatever it takes to regain power."

"She's looking for me now."

"What will you do?"

Din did not answer.

"Don't tell me you're asking for my advice?" Rau said with an exasperated sigh. "Alright, here's what I think. Take what you will from this. Tarre Vizsla forged that saber. He was both a Jedi and a Mandalorian, and the first to unite them. Since his death over a thousand years ago, Mandalore has not known peace. And it never will until a Jedi rules again."

A Jedi and a Mandalorian. If such a combination were to exist, then there must be a foundling out there that was force sensitive. A foundling that Din would find and--

Grogu. That foundling was Grogu. Din stood abruptly.

"Thank you. May the force be with you."

"That's it? You don't want a drink?"

"I'll be on Nhora if you need me."

Din left the Mandalorian where he'd found him.

---

The Mandalorian was returning. You could barely contain your glee. The message had been short, typed out and sent over the comm system. Returning. Must discuss G. and B. ETA 3 days.

You had no idea what G. and B. meant. It didn't matter. It had been over a month since you'd last seen him. You hoped he was everything you remembered, strong, handsome, stoic, honorable--

No. No, you would not think about him like that. You would treat him with respect and cool composure, as the ally he was turning out to be and nothing more.

On the first day of waiting you managed to steady your nerves by focusing on each task at hand. Sector 3 needed the dams opened to flood their fields. Sector 8 required a delivery of vaccines to prevent an outbreak of the Cardooine Chills. By the second day, Zena was watching you pace back and forth across the throne room, wondering out loud what G. and B. meant. She'd plopped herself down in your chair since you had no desire to occupy it, legs slung over one arm and back leaned up against the other.

But when the third day arrived, you found yourself surprisingly calm. You received visitors from the throne you'd refused the day before, listening intently as your financial head proposed tax hikes and tax breaks and explained where every cent was headed.

And yet, despite the serenity of your outward appearance, every person who entered your throne room sent your heart beating faster, though every time it was someone other than the Mandalorian. Finally, the sun set through the windows, darkness fell, and he had still not arrived.

"I'm just worried. What if he got caught up by Bo-Katan or something?"

"Your Majesty, he's hurtling through hyperspace. I think he's fine." Zena was ever the calming presence at your elbow. "Just get some sleep."

You tried. You really did, tossing and turning in bed to find the most comfortable position. But nothing worked. It was late in the night when you finally gave up and left bed, padding softly in your nightclothes down the three flights of stairs to the kitchens. At least you could have a warm cup of hot chocolate.

It was empty and silent in the kitchen as you set a pot on the stove to heat the drink. You leaned against the counter, drumming your fingers, waiting, waiting, waiting--

"Any idea where a Mandalorian can get a meal around here?"

You jumped at the voice behind you. So much for calm, cool, composure. Heat rose immediately to your face as you remembered exactly what you were wearing.

"Oh Maker, Djarin, you have to stop sneaking in like that."

"Sorry, can't help it that your guards are useless."

"Hey, watch it. Or I'll kick you out again." Though you acted annoyed, Din could tell you were glad to see him, an easy smile gracing your lips. It appeared he'd caught you at your most vulnerable, looking tired and restless, whisps of your hair flying in all directions and in only your pajamas. Your slightly translucent pajamas.

He did his best not to stare. Really. But with a helmet, there was no one to notice that he could tell you weren't wearing a bra or any underwear or--

"I expected you earlier," you said, pouring a second cup of hot chocolate without asking.

"I miscalculated," Din said matter-of-factly, though his nerves jumped at the thought of you expecting him. "What is this?"

"The most delicious thing ever. Rare. Skywalker introduced me to it and I can't get enough. But only he knows where to find hot chocolate so I have to settle for waiting for his visits to get my hands on more."

Off came the helmet, and though you'd already seen the face beneath, it still left you breathless. The black eye was gone, the cut on his lip and cheek reduced to fading red lines that probably wouldn't even scar. You watched as he ran a hand through his unruly hair, eyeing the cup with suspicion, and giving it a sniff. Finally, Djarin relented and he took a sip.

"Very sweet," he said, brown eyes narrowed and plump lips twisted into a pucker. "Not used to that."

Oh, those lips. Every decent thought you'd been trying to focus on since the Mandalorian's reappearance in your palace kitchens immediately flew out the window, replaced by very indecent thoughts about his full lips.

You tried to bring your mind back to his words, realizing he probably ate mostly bland food. Hearty, maybe, but not seasoned with the exotic flavors your kingdom traded for.

"Let me get you some food. You must be hungry."

"The Queen can cook?"

"Oh no, but she can reheat pretty well."

Din sat, watching as you sliced a loaf of bread and eventually placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. In the dim light of the kitchen, you'd taken on a different appearance from when he'd first met you. Your features were softer, less angular and commanding, and more tender and delicate. You were young, he realized, and you wore your youth plainly when the opportunity came to relax. You moved with the ease and grace of someone pushed too soon into this position of power.

"What's G. and B?" you asked, sitting across from Din and taking a slice of bread for yourself.

"Not what, who. Grogu and Bo-Katan." Djarin began to eat, and you noticed he kept sipping at his hot chocolate, despite his previous aversion. "Is the kid still here?"

You shook your head. "They only stay for a few hours at a time. And it's hard to know when they'll be back. Skywalker takes every precaution to be untraceable. He'll find you, not the other way around. Is that why you're back? To find him?"

"Grogu is the heir."

"What do you mean? I thought you were the heir?"

Djarin explained his meeting with Fenn Rau, what the old Mandalorian had told him about the Darksaber and its creator.

"And you're worried Bo-Katan will target Grogu and use him against you?"

"Possibly."

"I don't understand. I thought Bo-Katan wanted to bring peace to Mandalore."

"She does. But under her terms. And her rule. That approach never goes over well with a people as divided as us."

You were starting to see his point. But how was a wrinkly green baby going to take over the throne? "Say you hold on to the Darksaber. Bo-Katan backs down, the kid becomes a Jedi. Then what? He'll have to defeat you in a duel to fulfill his destiny?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead.

Of course, he hadn't. Of course he'd rushed back here as fast as possible, thinking only of the child.

"I'll call a council meeting in the morning. Any actions I take they need to at least be aware of. And this time you're staying. Not just for the night."

Din raised his eyebrows at you in surprise. The authoritative tone you'd taken on was impressive, like you had a goal and a purpose and you were going to do everything it took to succeed. And he had to admit, he quite liked the thought of you forcing him to stay, despite knowing he shouldn't.

After he'd finished eating, you led the Mandalorian back up the stairs and through the silent palace to the room he'd stayed in during his previous visit. You lingered at the door, knowing you should say goodnight but having trouble doing so for some reason.

"Don't disappear on me again, Djarin," you finally settled on saying.

Din hadn't been aware of how much you cared for his safety until this moment. Maybe his late arrival had affected you more than you let on. The look on your face was not one of teasing but of genuine worry, eyebrows knitted in concern, unease written in the soft lines of your face. He wanted to smooth those lines, run a thumb across them to tell you everything he didn't have words for. What had been that emotion he'd felt that night on his ship, watching you and the child flicker holographically before him, filling the space with your warmth? He refused to call it home.

Djarin turned toward the door but paused and looked back at you. And then his gloved hand reached out and he ran a thumb softly across your forehead. It was surprising, that soft, leathery touch, but it accomplished what he'd set out to do. Your face relaxed and a smile spread across your lips, bringing the glow back to his world.

"I won't. I promise. And please, just call me Din."

---

The Mandalorian was up early, beating you and Zena to breakfast. He was already waiting for you to arrive, fully dressed in armor, making your heart skip a beat.

"Don't you want to know about everything that's happened since you were gone?" Zena asked, addressing Din with a glint in her eyes.

"I assume you're going to tell me whether or not I want to know."

"Smart man," Zena said with a wry smile. "You missed a very important birthday. You'll never guess how many suitors were ogling Her Majesty from across the dessert table. Although, I must admit the dress was lovely. I would have asked for her hand in marriage too if I was arrogant enough to think I had a chance."

"Zena," you said harshly, trying to shut her up.

"Turned them all down. Even made one of them run to his mother. No one compares to you Mando." She said that last bit with a singsongy voice as if trying to imitate you.

"Zena! Watch your mouth. I never said that." You gave her a little shove to shut her up. It wasn't very appropriate behavior for a queen but you knew she was doing it on purpose. "You're going to embarrass him."

Zena wiggled her eyebrows in your direction before turning on her heel and leaving you and Din alone, knowing her work was done.

"I'm sorry about that," you said.

"Looks like you're the one feeling embarrassed." Though you couldn't read Din's facial expression, his modulated voice was tinged with teasing humor.

Heat crept up your cheeks, flushing a bright pink that did not go unnoticed by the Mandalorian. "Shut up. I don't want to talk about it."

And then the Mandalorian laughed. He actually laughed, a full, whole-hearted laugh that started in his chest and shook through his body until he was bent double, hands on his knees, gasping for air. It was genuine; though sounding unused and in need of practice, it was not strained or tense at all. You wondered how long it had been since the Mandalorian had let loose like this.

"Oh for Maker's sake," you said, exasperated. "I've tried multiple times to crack jokes and that's what finally gets to you?"

Din had finally caught his breath and stood up straight again. "I apologize, Your Majesty. But you were blushing pretty hard."

And you looked pretty when you blushed, he thought. He didn't say that out loud, however, only pressed his fingers lightly against your back to lead you from the room to the awaiting council meeting.

It was already hard enough to focus in his presence. You had no idea how you were going to sit next to the Mandalorian for the next hour without him driving you up the wall. Calm, cool composure, you reminded yourself. Be diplomatic. Be an ally.

It was all about to go down the drain.

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cubesquareddigital · 3 years

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The Art of the Marvel Logos

Something a little bit different for you. Anyone who knows me (even a little) will know about my life-long love of Marvel (the superheroes, not the powered milk). From reading the comics as a child to the TV shows of the 70s and 80s (I’m looking at you Spider-Man and The Incredible Hulk) to the modern day movies that have dominated cinemas for the last 10 years or so, I’m, a life-long member of the Merry Marvel Marching Society.

Whilst the movies, under the stewardship of producer Kevin Fiege, are the epitome of the modern Marvel universe (let’s gloss over the ones that came before or from other studios) and I love them all dearly (maybe not equally, but dearly), there’s an aspect of them that often gets overlooked and that’s the graphic design that went into their logo’s.

Here I want to take a look at some of my favourite logos from the MCU and what I think is so great about them from a design point-of-view. It gives me a chance to geek out a little, tell you what I love about them (the logo, not the film) and hopefully you will come across some details you haven’t seen before that will make you appreciate the design work that goes into something people gloss over. There aren’t many sequels in the list (just adding a ‘2’ to it doesn’t make it any better) but there are a couple of notable inclusions.

Bear in mind this is just my list (in chronological order of release) and my own preferences, so it isn’t meant to be anything other than my own musings! I’ve also tried to track down the person / agency who designed the logo to give them the credit. Apologies if the details are wrong or missing. Once Marvel was bought up by Disney, I imagine they were all designed ‘in-house’ from that point. I haven’t included any of the Marvel TV shows or the Netflix ones either. Not that there’s anything wrong with them (the Luke Cage one is great), but I just preferred to concentrate on the movies within the MCU.

So, let’s start with the movie that kick-started the whole Marvel Cinematic Universe, starting with ….

1 - IRon Man (Released 2008)

It’s easy to forget that Iron Man was the first movie that was released by the then independent film studio Marvel had created. Marvel Studios, before it was bought up by Disney, was a newcomer to the world of cinema, and with the more widely-recognised of their characters owned by other studios (X-Men, Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, etc.), they had to go with what was deemed to be their ‘B’ List characters.

Fast-forward to today and it’s hard to think of Iron Man being anything other than the cornerstone of the MCU, but back in 2008, releasing a movie, their first movie at that, based on a lesser known character was a huge risk. We needn’t have worried.

The Iron Man logo, at least the one accompanied the movie (the logo was slightly different when the initial teaser was released) was created by designer Fede Ponce. As the studios first film, it had to convey not just the title of the film, but a confidence in both themselves and the film itself.

I think what I love the most about the logo is how it manages to combine the aesthetics of the original comic book logo whilst giving it a modern twist. The metallic (he IS Iron Man after all), photo-realistic texture, works perfectly, uniting the past and the present together in a relatively simple design.

Ponce, after reading the script, described the movie as being one of redemption, and he’s right. Tony Stark goes from being the money-focussed weapons dealer and businessman who cares for little except himself but, (SPOILER ALERT) after being captured and coming to see how his weapons are being abused, becomes the eponymous hero we all now know and love.

This redemption is reflected in the logo too, literally. Thanks to the metallic textures and use of sunlight reflecting and breaking through from the bottom of the text, it signifies this rebirth for Tony Stark at the dawn on a new era.

2 - The Avengers (released 2012)

Here in the UK, we had to contend with it being called ‘Marvel’s Avenger’s Assemble’ because of perceived complication with an earlier movie based on an old TV series called The Avengers. Eugh! For the sake of this, let’s just pretend it was called what everyone else was calling in.

Without their ‘heavy hitters’ to call upon, The Avengers brought together Iron Man, Captain America, Hulk, Black Widow, Hawkeye and Thor in a movie that would change what a superhero movie looked like forever, not to mention the culmination of the first real cinematic universe that continues to grow to this day.

The logo for Marvel’s first ‘team-up’ movie is probably the one that most closely resembles the original comic book logo, but that’s not a criticism. If it’s not broke, etc. It’s more of a dynamic refresh, rather than a full reboot of the original comic book design, with the classic Avengers ‘A’ leading the charge.

Within Marvel, this design cue was known as the ‘Big A’, not least because its larger type and the arrow thrusting forward. It was designed way back in the 1970s by designer and Marvel letterer (what a great job title) Gaspar Saladino. Gaspar, who also worked a lot for rival DC Comics, worked most of his life in the comic book industry. This piece of artistry from Saladino debuted in the Avenger’s comic in 1972.

The logo for the movie built on Saladino’s work by placing the ‘Big A’ inside a ring to give it more dynamism. Even the word ‘The’ was italicised to further portray forward momentum, something the studio was also experiencing following the success of Phase 1 movies they had released to great critical and audience response.

As with the Iron Man logo mentioned above, this also features an embossed metallic texture to signify their strength. The sharp edges and corners on the ‘G’ and the tie of the ‘Es’ (notice how the middle of the ‘E’ differs from the top and bottom) also help to define this.

As of writing, we’re now four Avenger’s movies deep and the logo hasn’t really changed that much over the course of those films, other than the addition of a subtitle. A sure sign that they were onto a winner as far back as the 1970s.

3 - Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)

This might seem like a strange addition to the list; a fairly plain logo for a movie based on a team most people won’t have even heard of at the time, but there’s actually a lot going on here. Allow me to explain.

This was another logo that was redesigned following it’s initial announcement in 2012 (thankfully),like the Avengers, the Guardians was going to be another Marvel team-up movie, but one for a group of ‘heroes’ (or maybe space pirates) based on a relatively recent comic book run (from 2008).

Whilst the name had been around in the comics since 1969, this was (mostly) based on the modern iteration by writers Dan Abnett and Andy Lanning.

The movie and its characters were out of left-field for a studio that had, until now, played safe with its choices (albeit limited by rights issues). Guardians of the Galaxy most certainly didn’t. That meant most people, even those relatively familiar with Marvel, didn’t know what to expect, which is why the logo utilises the fundamental style of the logos that came before it, albeit with some fun subtle twists. The metallic texture isn’t as polished and ‘new’ as Iron Man or the Avengers logos were; it’s worn, almost beaten down and looks a little tatty, just the like the team themselves.

Also look at how ‘of the’ is positioned. It’s clunky and off-kilter, placed far left of centre, just like the team in the movie. It also beautifully symbolises the relationships within the team of Star-Lord, Gamora, Rocket, Groot and Drax. We might not have known what to expect when it was announced, but we so fell in love with them when we saw the movie.

4 - Doctor Strange (2016)

Doctor Strange was the movie that took the MCU into the realms of magic, alternative dimensions and the seeded the multiverse. In design terms, it was also the movie that moved away from the metallic, block capitals that were starting to look a bit ‘samey’, but not eschewed it completely.

Doctor Strange isn’t just the character name, it’s literally the name of the protagonist. He IS Dr. Stephen Strange, a gifted surgeon who, following an accident, leaves him incapable of practising. As he searches the world for a remedy, he comes across The Ancient One who opens his eyes to a whole new world of magic, mysticism and martial arts (in the comics at least).

Dr. Strange isn’t your typical muscle-bound hero like we’ve been used to seeing, and the logo reflects this. The narrow, elegant font (it’s called 'Baker Signet if you’re interested) helps the logo stand out from those that came before, just as the hero does. It’s still reflective, but it’s also reflecting itself thanks to the ridged letters, just as the character reflects on himself to find his place in this new world he finds himself.

5 - Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)

For me at least, when I think of Marvel, I think of Spider-Man. Together with the Fantastic Four, he was my ‘go-to’ character when I first starting reading the comics as a child. I think part of the appeal of any superhero character is that, when you see them, you can see yourself being them. OK, even at that young age I knew I couldn’t BE Spider-Man, but I COULD be Peter Parker quite easily.

I loved the comics, I even loved the TV show in the 70s with Nicholas Hammond and I also loved the Tobey Maguire iteration. They were all great, but for me at least still lacking a certain ‘something’; that one factor that would illicit those beloved memories of childhood.

When it was announced that Spider-Man was going to be part of the MCU, I was giddy with excitement. When I first saw Spider-Man: Homecoming in the cinema, it was, I think, the first time that the character I loved as kid in those comic books was truly brought to life on the screen. I loved the film and I loved the logo for it.

Spider-Man’s introduction brought with it a new youthful energy into the MCU. Peter Parker wasn’t a middle-aged white guy with muscles on his muscles, he was a teenager struggling to balance life, school and everything that the teenage years brings with it. He brought that sense of wonder and fun with his wide-eyed, some-would-say naive outlook on the world and the logo illustrates that brilliantly.

Logo’s that came before certainly tipped their hat to their comic counterparts, but were still very much ‘movie’ logos. This one, I think, was the first to fully embrace its comic book roots and not be ashamed of it. The youth of the character is reflected in the curved title and the graffiti-esque uses of the Spider-Man symbol forming the ‘o’ of Homecoming further establishes its younger aesthetic. You could see this logo grace any comic book, now or then. Welcome home Spider-Man.

6 - Thor: Ragnarok (2017)

After the much derided Thor : The Dark World (which isn’t actually as bad as people lead you to believe), the Thor franchise took at much needed twist with the recruitment of the brilliant Taika Waititi to direct the third movie. The logo for Thor: Ragnarok wasn’t excluded from this shake-up, but Taika’s influence is clear. The logo, when the film was first announced, was a much more sombre affair and owed much to the two films that came before it.

Ragnarok didn’t take it self too seriously. It was equally full of ironic wit, self-parody and production design that harkened back to the days of Jack Kirby’s colourful artwork from the comics. The logo epitomises all of this.

It was also part of the continuation of Marvel movie logos that veered away from the typical examples that came before it around this time. This, together with the afore-mentioned Spider-Man: Homecoming and even the Guardians of the Galaxy sequel when announced, all were much more playful in tone and styling.

It might look like a hodge-lodge of retro elements, from its 80s typeset to the jumble of video game colours. In many ways, as a logo, it really shouldn’t work, but it does. It perfectly represents Thor’s latest outing as something different from the masculine, all-too-serious muscle-fests we’d seen before.

7 - Black Panther (2018)

Not content with the first female-led movie coming over the hill (see below), Black Panther was the first Marvel movie with an almost entirely black cast. It proved to be a commercial and critical success and became the first Marvel movie to be nominated for the Best Picture Oscar at the Academy Awards. Many other MCU films had been nominated for the technical categories before this, but not one of the ‘big’ awards. It didn’t win, but it was (and is) still one hell of an achievement for a ‘comic book movie’.

The character of T’Challa was first introduced to the MCU in Captain America: Civil War. For his own solo movie, we got to look at the fictional nation of Wakanda, a mysterious but technologically advance kingdom, hidden from the rest of the world. Black Panther is a logo fit for a king, it’s both regal and dynamic, just like it should be.

You might think it’s asking a lot for a logo to reflect all of these things, but I think this one manages it. The sleek lines matched with the precision of the lettering display the spirit of technological advances Wakanda is known for. The uses of blue and gold, within the 3D letters, ooze majestic splendour. In addition, with the first and last letters of Panther larger than the rest and the elongated point of the ‘N’ gives a static logo a real sense of purpose and movement.

8 - Captain Marvel (2019)

With 2019’s Captain Marvel, we got our first female-led superhero movie. I mean technically it was 2019, but the film itself was set in the 1990s. making full use of the de-ageing technology on Nick Fury, not to mention the logo itself. It’s a nostalgic love letter to the period of Blockbuster video shops and painful computer loading times.

As you would expect for a movie set 20+ years ago, the logo is reminiscent of the the movies of that era. The red and gold colours with the retro (for now, futuristic for then) lettering places the movie in our mind perfectly. Imagine any Schwarzenegger or Stallone film of that time using that same font. Little fact for you; the font is actually called “CaptainMarvel” and was designed by FontStudio LAB.

What I really like about it though is the space between the words. Normally this would be just negative space, but here they have added a glow, an explosion perhaps or a callback to her uniform, but either way it tells us that this is still a superhero movie, with all the crash bang boom you’d expect from it. It’s just subtle enough to let you make your own mind up.

9 - Avengers: Endgame (2019)

Avengers: Endgame marked the culmination of 20+ movies spanning 10+ years in what came to be known as the Infinity Saga. The movie has to hit so many targets but it managed it (just) and the world seemed to agree, making it the highest grossing movie in history. For a movie so jam-packed with heroes, the logo has an almost wistful feel to it which, if you’ve seen the movie, you will understand.

Marvel kept with the classic Avenger’s logo, but by using a more mature colour palette and the aged look of the texture signifies the passage of time (which, again, if you’ve seen the movie, you’ll get) and gives a more sombre feel. Of course, that’s only half the story. The ‘Endgame’ subtitle is also more muted, especially compared to the previous sequels Age of Ultron and Infinity War. You get just a faint hint of a sunset at the top of the lettering. The kern is also wider, more separated, signalling that the heroes we know are closing the curtain on their adventures and finding their own way from now on. Bittersweet maybe, but we love it 3000.

10 - Thor: Love and Thunder (2022)

At the time of writing, we’re still waiting to see this movie (I don’t think it’s even been finished filming yet!) but we know it’s coming with Taika Waititi back at the helm of Thor’s 4th solo movie. Fresh (well relatively speaking) from the success of Thor: Ragnarok and its fantastic logo, we have another retro-tastic entry for Thor: Love and Thunder. It’s also too much logo for one film; its over-the-top uses of bold colours tells us what we can expect from the movie. It’s going to be BIG!

Like many of the latter logos, it’s fun, it’s colourful and reminds me a lot of the Marvel cartoons from the 1980s and 90s in its pomp and splendour. I can't wait to see it when it’s released (if movies ever get released ever again - curse you COVID19)

We hope you’ve enjoyed this little jaunt through the MCU with our graphic design glasses on. This obviously isn’t all of the logo’s or all of the movies so if there are any that I haven’t included that you like, let us know in the comments below. Remind us in 10 years and we’ll do it again. Nuff said.

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legobiwan · 4 years

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I was going through your musician tags the other day and wondered which instruments you think The Lineage would possibly play? Let's make that the extended lineage, from Yoda to Ahsoka, including Rael.

Ohhhhh hahahahah first of all, I am so sorry anyone has to deal with my #musicianbullshit although the first thing about being a musician is bullshit, obviously. :D

I had a post a while back concerning my opinions on what instrument Dooku played, but I can’t seem to find it. Damn it, Tumblr!

Anyway, I’m going to assume non-gffa, real-life instruments because there are a lot of instruments in Wookieepedia and without knowing them, their mechanisms, their history, etc. intimately, I can’t make a sound value judgment (ha! that was a pun) as to how they would or would not fit with our favorite lineage.

Yoda: So the first thing we need to take into account with Yoda is his physical stature. He is not a large being, so he’s probably not going to play cello or any other instrument that requires wide breadth of motion. We need a small instrument, handheld and I think the perfect match for Yoda would be the mbira (sometimes referred to as a kalimba or a thumb-piano):

Hand-held, its range is limited, between an octave (8) and 23 tones. But within these limitations, the mbira can be re-tuned to different sonorities, or modes depending on the type affect one wants with the instrument and if one deals in microtones (not half and whole steps, which are the foundation for the Western classical canon but by no means the only tuning system out there), then the permutations get pretty exciting. In addition, using two hands, there are nearly limitless variations for polyrhythm, for instance, playing a duple with the left hand and triplet in the right. (A simple example.) And I think this fits Yoda perfectly because the instrument itself is so self-contained and yet has so many possibilities that belie its appearance, much like Yoda himself, and I think he would enjoy the challenge of creating new music within the physical limitations of the instrument.

Dooku: So I have no idea where that post went with my original Dooku idea, but what do we know about Dooku? A proud man with a strong connection to his Serennian ancestry and someone who is deeply interested in history. He’s a student of Yoda, so his instrument needs to connect in some way to him, but be distinct, aesthetic, and as non-tangible as possible. So in my mind, Dooku would play the hammered dulcimer.

The hammered dulcimer requires a deft hand, accuracy, and an awareness of the heft and location of each strike of the string. In this way, it resembles the finesse of the Makashi form, and I can’t imagine Dooku playing a “messy” instrument that would require him to use his fingers, hands, or even mouth (Force forbid). In this way, he can create, but keep a distance. In addition, the instruments themselves can be works of art, as shown above, which is in keeping with Dooku’s aristocratic bent and his appreciation for high aesthetics. The instrument itself is interesting, in that it is versatile, like Yoda’s mbira, in terms of the tuning and potential for polyrhythm, but with more strings come more possibilities, overwhelming possibilities, at times, and a traditionally Western-tuned dulcimer never quite encompasses the entire chromatic scale (the 12 notes spanning an octave), which somehow seems to fit Dooku. In addition, it’s an instrument with strong ties to folk traditions in Europe and Asia, but also has quite the reputation in Appalachia. This kind of fits with Serenno’s status in the GFFA, an Outer Rim world with strong traditions. The sound is quite haunting, quite beautiful, and I can imagine Dooku by himself in his large office, moon shining through tall transparisteel windows, playing an ancient Serennian folk tune.

Rael: Ohhh, Rael. Down home country-boy from Ringo-Vinda. I may be playing into some stereotypes here, but I really think Rael is suited towards the banjo.

Of course, many of us associate the banjo with the country, with folk music, which seems in keeping with Rael’s background on Ringo-Vinda and his whole “cowboy Jedi” aesthetic. What I also like about Rael and the banjo is that it is portable, it sticks in the string family in keeping with Dooku, and it is a much more complicated instrument than it is sometimes given credit for. The banjo can be an incredibly virtuosic instrument in the right hands, and I would have no doubt that an older Rael wouldn’t mind showing off to a few people in in the local cantina, all while keeping up his “image” as the displaced, country boy Jedi.

Qui-gon: Qui-gon, on the other hand, doesn’t care about showing off. Because he is the second student of Dooku and had close contact with Rael, I can see him sticking in the string family, but with an instrument both more challenging and more esoteric. I feel like the Erhu would be a good fit for Qui-gon.

Like Rael, Qui-gon would want to play something more visceral, more involved. The erhu is vaguely reminiscent of a violin or cello except that it has only two strings and a more mellow, almost human-voice than most western string instruments. Capable of great slides a wide range of emotions, the erhu easily flits from somber to gay, an all-encompassing disposition which fits well with Qui-gon’s preoccupation with the Unifying Force and all that lies within.

Obi-wan: Unlike Qui-gon, Obi-wan has no desire to play a stringed instrument, likely because he once saw his Master with his erhu and decidedly immediately he needed to pick something else. In fact, a young Obi-wan may not have played anything at all. But we know from A Certain Point of View that Obi-wan does carpentry, so he is good with his hands and, I imagine, quite exacting in what he makes as that would seem to fit his personality. And because of this, I think he’d play some sort of flute (I know, I know, but I swear this isn’t self-indulgent nonsense, hang with me here a sec), as he could fashion one for himself easily from wood, or even bamboo. And I like the idea of Obi-wan playing (and making) a shakuhachi as a) it’s very difficult to make a good one and b) the damn instrument is hard to play well.

There is a long history of breath-meditation in connection with the shakuhachi, not to mention its use by the wandering komusō (“priests of nothingness,” or “emptiness monks”) in Ashikaga Japan, which is very much in line with Obi-wan’s later exile on Tatooine. (Not to mention that some komuso were disguised former samurai and some sources said the bell of the shakuhachi was made thick and heavy enough to be used as a weapon. Again, this feels very much like Obi-wan on Tatooine and I can imagine him whittling away in the Dune Sea, creating some form of this instrument, doing breath meditation as he tries to heal, an outcast monk, now having nothing except his one duty to protect Luke.)

Anakin: Anakin, as we know, grew up a slave on Tatooine. While the cantinas boasted third-rate jizz bands (I will never be over that term), a little slave-boy is not going to have access to any kind of fancy instrument or training. But a little boy’s well-meaning mother might gift him with a small pendant, a piece of desert ceramic, perhaps, with small, weathered holes.

A small, unobtrusive ocarina, sweet little desert sounds for little fingers at the end of a long day.

Ahsoka: And then finally Ahsoka. She’s an interesting case as she would probably have inherited the wind predilection from Obi-wan and Anakin, but a subset of Togruta were accomplished artisans, so I could see Ahsoka going for an instrument a little more complicated and technical than either Obi-wan or Anakin. And, to be honest, I could see Ahsoka having a “let’s start a band” phase at some point in the Temple. So because of this, I think she would play some iteration of melodica.

Perhaps a melodica is starter instrument for the Togruta people, as it is in some countries in this galaxy. Easy to pick up, the melodica is at once strident and able to cross multiple musical boundaries, and I can very see Ahsoka accompanying some ribald vod drinking songs with the instrument, much to the delight of Rex and the others.

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raendown · 4 years

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Pairing: TobiramaSakumo Word count: 5482 Rated: T+ Summary: When faced with death Tobirama performs the impossible and throws himself forward in to the future where he meets two Hatake who end up being everything he was always missing in the past.

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Perversions of Honor

All things considered, he’d gotten off pretty easy. The experiments he’d conducted over the years in his never ending thirst for more knowledge, more progress, had led to some pretty devastating results on occasion. Not every trial was a success. Not every idea was a good one. Since the idea he’d pulled out of his ass this time had only been about half formed and under-researched Tobirama supposed he could be only grateful that it hadn’t ended with his corpse being strewn about the landscape in several pieces, his last moments full of pain and despair.

Under better circumstances he might have even been inclined to celebrate the success of something he’d always assumed would be impossible. Time travel; to think that he had accomplished such a feat boggled the mind even without taking in to consideration how little chakra had been left in his coils, how desperately sloppy his signs had been. He didn’t imagine many would blame him for experiencing a touch of panic with the Gold and Silver Brothers bearing down on him cloaked in the Kyuubi’s chakra and thirsting for his blood. With no other options left, his body tired and old and broken, Tobirama had gone with the first desperate plan that leapt to mind, a half-forgotten idea he never did get around to properly researching.

Looking deeper in to the spontaneous modifications he’d made to the hiraishin would have to wait, however, until he figured out exactly how far through time he had fallen and where he’d landed. The layout of the forest around him looked strangely familiar, like a path he had walked a thousand times before that had changed since last he saw it. Was this the past or the future? Should he know this place?

Such questions could probably be answered by the small body watching him intently from some bushes to his left. Tobirama very carefully did not look round, certain the presence was a child who thought themselves well hidden - and from anyone else they would have been. Whoever this child was they had excellent chakra dampening abilities already. If he were any less of a sensor Tobirama would never have known he was not alone here what with how tightly that small chakra had been pulled in and smothered. He was quite impressed, actually. Knowing he was under surveillance but secure in knowing there was no one else around for at least a mile in any direction, he allowed himself a few moments to simply breathe, to accept the loss of things he might never get back to. Jumping through time once had been a risk. There was no guarantee he would ever be able to recreate what he’d done in a moment of need. Only when he was sure his emotions were settled enough that he could soldier on as he had all his life did Tobirama stand and clear his throat.

“Can you tell me where I am, young one?” He asked. The bushes twitched.

“How did you know I was here?” a small, grumpy voice asked.

Tobirama looked over and resisted the urge to smile. “I always know where everyone is,” he boasted. It was only a slight exaggeration. “Will you answer my question?”

“Why should I? You could be a spy or a missing nin or something. A shinobi should never give information to the enemy!”

Reaching up to trace the shape of his brow, Tobirama already missed the happuri that must have been knocked off at some point. Without it he supposed it would be a little harder to identify himself as a Leaf shinobi but depending on where he had ended up that might turn out to be a good thing. One never knew what sort of grudges might exist in the future or what information he would need to hide from the past.

“I would appreciate it if you at least tell me what year it is, then, young shinobi.”

“Got your head knocked around, huh?” With a quiet snort of derision as though passing judgment on him somehow, the bushes parted to make way for an utterly tiny figure to stroll out.

Messy silver hair and dark eyes both drooped over top of a thin mask clinging to the bottom half of his face, the same color as the Leaf headband he wore on his tiny little head. Despite being clearly decked out for battle his clothing was of a cut Tobirama had never seen before and by his stature he could be no more than five years old. Which was ridiculous. Clearly he must have travelled to an entirely different universe because there was no way any iteration of the village his brother had built, present or future, would ever allow children of this age to become shinobi. Putting a stop to child soldiers was the entire reason they had founded Konohagakure in the first place.

Judging by the pride in the boy’s stance, however, mentioning any of these thoughts was not likely to make him any friends. Best to be polite. Later he could figure out who was responsible for this so he could express his very sharp displeasure to the correct channels.

“I see that you are also a shinobi of the Leaf,” he noted instead. “You show excellent caution. How would you like me to prove that I am a citizen?” That was the right question, he could tell by the minute straightening of thin shoulders. Concealing his indulgent smile took effort as he watched the boy preen with self importance.

“How many brothers did the first Hokage have? Anyone who took history in our village should know that.”

“Four,” Tobirama answered.

The calm in his tone thankfully hid the way his mind had already begun to spin. So he had travelled to the future, it seemed. Not only that but he had travelled so far ahead that his own time had been lost to history books and myths for young children to use as trivia to test a stranger’s identity. Just thinking about it reeled him so terribly he couldn’t even spare a moment to be amused at the disappointed pout that followed his answer.

“Hmph. Guess you’re really not an enemy. Konoha is that way.” The child lifted one arm to point west. “It’s still several miles out. You’re not likely to run in to anyone but patrols this close to home so I would recommend travelling at an easy pace if you’ve got a concussion.”

“You have my thanks. What is your name, young one?”

With a startled look as though he’d never encountered someone who didn’t know his name, the boy answered, “Hatake Kakashi.”

“It’s good to meet you, Kakashi-kun.”

“Right. Whatever, old man.”

“Old...man?”

Before he could even think about any lectures on propriety or respecting one’s elders the boy had already turned around and dashed away through the trees. It was only then that Tobirama finally took notice of the travel dust on his clothing, the dots of blood splashed on the sides of his sandals. Despite his age Kakashi was clearly only just returning from a mission of some sort in which it was very probable that he had taken a life and yet neither his bearing nor his voice betrayed any sort of trauma from such an act. This was not the boy’s first kill.

And that was troubling.

His viewpoint on the situation did not improve in the slightest after he made his way to the village to discover who exactly was in charge and in how many ways his once beloved student had failed him. In the moments before what he thought was his death, only hours before in his mind, he had chosen Sarutobi Hiruzen as his successor because he believed the young man to be a true student of the teachings he’d done his best to impart on the next generation. To be proven wrong so harshly was a blow that he wrapped around his heart to deal with another time. Nearly half a century in to the future and somehow possessed of a body some three decades younger than he’d been only the day before, Tobirama had quite enough to come to terms with already. Time travel was mind-bending on its own as a concept even without all these unforeseen consequences.

It took hours in conference with an ancient man who claimed to be Saru and yet seemed an entirely different person before at last his old student dismissed him with the air of someone attempting to sweep undesirable filth under the rug. Then to add insult to injury the Sandaime Hokage who did not deserve to be such added a parting shot like an afterthought.

“Many years have passed since last you were here and many more things have changed. You’ll need someone to act as a guide, of course. I have the perfect man in mind. To the east of the old Senju district there is a house that sits alone on a street; you’ll find a man named Sakumo there. Tell him I sent you.” Tobirama watched those faded eyes turn away from him, back to paperwork that his own time as Nidaime had taught him could always wait, and hoped that there was something better in this future to convince him to stay.

Leading the village had taught him a number of other things as well. He knew exactly the sort of waves it would make if the ANBU following behind him as he left the tower did not see him go straight to this glorified minder as he��d been oh so subtly instructed. For now it was best he keep a low profile. To make life easier on the ANBU only following orders he made sure to keep himself in plain sight and not simply reach for any of the numerous hiraishin markers he could still feel pulling at him from all over the village. New structures may have sprung up as the population expanded but the foundation remained the same. He could still find his way around just fine.

The last thing he expected to see as he turned on to the street with only one lonely house built on its long dirt stretch was little Kakashi hopping down from a newby rooftop, stopping to turn and look at him with sleepy curiosity in his eyes.

“What are you doing here old man?”

“Your words are as accurate as they are wrong,” Tobirama grumbled at him, taking heart in the confused tilt of a small head. “I am looking for a man named Sakumo.” He was unprepared for the boy to light up with a fierce pride.

“Tosan! Come with me!”

Kakashi leapt forward to grab him by the hand and began pulling him towards the house while Tobirama thanked whatever good fortune allowed him to continue crossing paths with this intriguing little tyke. Together they ghosted in through the front door, not even stopping to kick off their shoes, pattering down the hallways with a surprising lack of noise. Even here in his own home Kakashi was an exemplary shinobi.

Another crime that Tobirama would need to carve out of Hiruzen’s unworthy hide.

When the boy threw open a door that looked much like any other in the house things happened so quickly that Tobirama found himself reacting almost before he had properly taken any of it in. Distantly he registered the room as a study of some sort, automatically cataloguing his surroundings as he would in any unfamiliar territory. His eyes caught the flash of steel at the same time his ears twitched at the horrified gasp from Kakashi’s mouth and Tobirama was flashing across the room to stop the blade in Sakumo’s hand before the door had finished sliding open.

Dark eyes stared back at him with equal parts despair and surprise. Tobirama could see a hundred thoughts racing across the other man’s face as he very gently guided the blade down until shaking fingers released it to clatter against the ground. He kicked it aside without breaking eye contact.

“Nidaime…?”

“Tosan! Are you okay!? Was it a jutsu!? Did someone put you in a genjutsu or something!?” Kakashi hurtled in to the room and threw himself against his father’s chest for the briefest of hugs before pulling away to inspect him head to toe, assessing him for injuries.

“I’m- no, I was not in a- Kakashi, who is this?”

Distracting the boy from what he’d been about to do, that was a smart move. Regret was already there in the lines of his face, gratitude that he had been interrupted, all the signs of a man who did not truly wish to die. Tobirama wondered if there was blackmail at play here or something else but at the moment he supposed it was none of his business. Not yet, anyway. His brother had been the more infamous people person but he’d always been able to ingratiate himself with the people he needed to impress. Sniffing out whatever had driven this man to such a low could wait until later.

Explaining who he was and how he had come to be here was enough of a distraction that both Kakashi and his father seemed to forget entirely about the blade Sakumo had been about to sink in to his own belly before he was interrupted just in time. Answering their questions took hours, asking his own took several more. Sakumo was startled to hear that he had been chosen as Tobirama’s guide, though the surprise in his voice carried a peculiar tone that Tobirama couldn’t quite put his finger on, and he accepted the duty with a strange kind of relief in his eyes. Blackmail was already looking to be the less likely motivator behind what he’d almost done. A close eye would be needed to watch this one.

Luckily, without the duties he had left behind in his own natural time Tobirama was entirely free to watch as closely as he liked. When offered a place to stay in the Hatake household he accepted easily. If it came with the added benefit of making Hiruzen’s teeth grind so hard he could practically hear it across the village, well, he had always enjoyed that old killing two birds with one stone philosophy.

Making a new life here in this village that was so much the same and yet so different as well was easier than Tobirama would have thought. He spent his days dragging Sakumo from one end of town to the other, asking endless questions only for each reply to spawn a dozen new ones, more and more grateful as time went on and his companion responded with nothing but patience. Tobirama watched more than just the man at his side, however. Any shinobi worth their salt maintained situational awareness no matter where they were and even here in the place where he should be safest his eyes and ears were always open. He saw the way people moved to the other side of the street to avoid brushing up against Sakumo, heard the voices that murmured dark thoughts about their own comrade. He saw the narrow glares and heard the curses.

But most of all he saw the way Sakumo quietly flinched away from it all. In the many weeks since he’d been in the man’s company Tobirama had gotten to know Sakumo quite well, enough to build a healthy doubt that whatever put a wedge between this man and the rest of the village had likely not been a purposeful act. At least not on his part. No one who deliberately alienated those around them would cower away from the results like a dog with its tail between its legs. As the days passed and the two of them got to know each other, grew to trust each other, Tobirama did what he could to hold his patience, waiting for the day it would be more appropriate and less of a nosey attack to ask his questions. Watching Sakumo do his best to pretend he didn’t exist in public while also trying not to let his son see him act with shame was almost physically painful. It was something he could not allow to go on.

A man as good as the one who housed and cared for him did not deserve to be tucked away and forgotten about, let alone rejected by those who should have venerated him.

The time for questions came after Tobirama had been living here in the future for nearly five months, any thoughts of returning to his own era long abandoned. Whether it was he himself or the way he lived his life that changed the most was indiscernible. Once he had been a political leader tasked with guiding the village and sleeping barely four hours a night as he tried to carry the weight of his brother’s dreams alone. Now he rose late each morning to enjoy a lazy meal with two sleepy Hatakes and spent his days in leisure. Conversation between him and Sakumo flowed as easily as the river and assisting in Kakashi’s training was as delightful as teaching him how to relax and play. Exploring the village, learning the many ways technology had advanced, and slowly reintegrating himself with the gossip chains, all of these helped the days fly by.

Of course, that wasn’t to say that leisure was all he’d concentrated on. A few months was more than enough time to make a nuisance of himself for the ones he now renounced as his students. The men that Hiruzen and Danzo had grown up to be were not the boys he once trained with such loving care. But that was not what he wanted to spend this second chance at life worrying about, not when he would much rather concentrate on the way Sakumo’s hair turned from silver to gold in the morning light, how Kakashi could express so many emotions with only his eyes and lie with a rarely seen smile, the sound of Sakumo’s quiet rasping laugh when one was lucky enough to earn it. For a lifetime he had watched others around him building families and only now that he had an approximation of the same for his own did he understand the joy of it, only now did he understand how his brother could have been so consistently distracted with thoughts of his beloved wife. For how little time he spent apart from Sakumo it was embarrassing how often his thoughts strayed back to the man.

Lounging on the engawa and sipping perfectly brewed tea, Tobirama looked over at the figure beside him without turning his head. Half a dozen sets of paws bounded from one end of the courtyard to the other as Kakashi chased a number of his recently acquired summons with stern words about bathtime. It was a more peaceful afternoon than he thought he would ever see, one Tobirama was loath to disturb in any way, yet the curiosity that had been gnawing at him for months now had reached a boiling point at last, unignorable any longer.

“May I ask you something?” he murmured, sliding his eyes forward again to afford his companion the privacy of not having his emotions studied like an experiment.

“You ask a hundred questions a day,” Sakumo retorted.

“And you answer them all.”

“Indeed I do; not sure why you think this one might be any different.”

One corner of his mouth quirked with a brief smile before it faded away again. “Kakashi may not see it - the unsuspecting eyes of youth - but I do. What happened to drive you away from your own people?”

“Ah.” Sakumo sighed and even without looking at him one could practically feel the way he shrank in to himself.

Wanting to provide comfort but knowing he was terrible at such things, Tobirama’s hands wrung together in his lap as he debated whether or not to reach out. If he were his brother he would have thought nothing of taking Sakumo’s hand in his own for a gentle reassuring squeeze. But he was not his brother. The very mental image of them holding hands threatened to turn his cheeks to fire even if he knew the only intentions behind such a gesture would be those of friendship and comfort.

Thrown forward in to the future for a second chance at life and still he had the urge to flee at the slightest hint of his own beating heart. He was doomed to be hopeless, it seemed. At least when it came to emotions.

“It must have been about a year ago now,” his friend began with halting syllables. “My team and I were sent on a mission which might very well have ended the war if we were successful. If I had been less foolish.”

“Hard to imagine you ever treating a mission foolishly,” Tobirama said.

“Kind words, though I don’t know if I deserve them. We all swore our loyalty to this village, vowed to do whatever became necessary, but when my team got in to a tight spot I chose to abandon the mission like some genin still wet behind the ears. I disobeyed my orders and in doing so I lost the respect of those who thought they knew me. How could I accept any other missions after that when none of my teammates could trust me to do the job I was sent to do?” Sakumo’s profile tucked in to itself in the corner of Tobirama’s eye. “If I had only continued with the mission...well. I suppose there’s no use wishing to change the things we can’t.”

Something like rage stirred in Tobirama’s breast like an animal waking with hunger in its teeth. “You’ve been ostracized for saving your teammates from death?”

“For failing perhaps the most important mission of my life,” the other corrected him.

“They owe you their lives!”

With a sigh Sakumo shook his head. “How can we know that? It’s entirely possible that they could have survived without my intervention. I could have failed this village for nothing.”

Tobirama had never whipped his entire body around so fast.

“You failed nothing!” he snapped. Sakumo blinked at him in shock.

“I abandoned my mission-”

“No, you chose to protect the lives of your comrades. That is not failure. That is admirable. Am I to understand that the people of this village treat you like some unwanted half-breed cur because you chose to value them!?”

“Saying it like that certainly makes it sound quite pretty,” Sakumo allowed. “It’s just-”

Tobirama cut him off again without even waiting to hear whatever ridiculous point he was about to get wrong. “I won’t hear it! How dare they! If there is anyone who has been failed it is you! Your actions are exactly the sort of thing my brother dreamed of when he first conceived of Konohagakure, back before that name ever existed, when this land was nothing but untamed forest and blood-soaked loam. When he shook Uchiha Madara’s hand they promised that no more children had to die and that every able bodied fighter would give their last breath to protect each other because that is what makes a village!”

Hot tea spilled across the tatami mats as Tobirama surged to his feet, pacing along the ground just beyond the engawa. Sakumo remained on the ledge with fingers curled tightly around his own cup and watched but said nothing. Barks and yips cut the silence that might have fallen, clouds of dust drifting through the air to make a haze between them and the boy Tobirama had come to see as more precious than his own students had been to him. Like a son, if he could ever be as bold as to say so.

Rage burned hot on his tongue, disappointment like a heavy black cloud in his belly. Never in his life had he been glad his last remaining sibling was already dead but now - well. It was good, he thought, that Hashirama would never be cursed to see the pale shadow his dreams had faded to.

Spinning back around sent the sleeves of his yukata snapping out around him. This time there was no hesitation when he reached out to frame his hands around Sakumo’s, feeling the warmth of the tea leaching through pale cold fingers, cradling them with all the support he could never properly offer with words alone. Dark eyes watched him in shock as he stepped forward. Some small part of his mind noted that standing below the ledge of the engawa put him at just the perfect height to bend his neck, creating a small pocket of privacy where the rest of the world did not exist for the moments in which they held each other's gaze.

“I have lived two lives and never known a man better than you,” he whispered. “If it takes the rest of my time here on this earth I swear I will help you believe in all the wonderful things that you deserve.”

“You...know what I was about to do. That day. How can you say these things to a coward like me?”

“A true coward would have run from danger. Not towards it as you did.”

Sakumo looked away, though his eyes came back shortly as though drawn by some inevitable force. “I’m glad you came here to us. Whatever god sent you must have known that you were needed. I...if you hadn’t come Kakashi would be without a father.”

“May I ask - you do not have to answer - even at the time it seemed to me that you didn’t truly want to end your own life. What put you on that path?”

“It just seemed like the only option left at the time. My honor was gone, my comrades no longer trusted me to watch their backs, and Kakashi was still so young. He would come home from the academy talking about all the things he’d learned and how much he looked forward to fighting for Konoha someday and then he came home with his genin headband and I just didn’t want him to grow up with my failures staining the way that others looked at him.”

Breathing felt strangely difficult but Tobirama refused to look away. “You bring to your son, and to all of us, the greatest honor. It is I who should be thanking the gods for sending me to your side. I’m glad that I have this chance to know what a happy life feels like as my brother once had.”

“Ah, but your brother was a married man,” Sakumo murmured. “Surely a wife and a child at home cannot compare.” Such words were a chance he was terrified yet only too happy to take.

“Do I not have you and Kakashi?” Tobirama asked.

“M-me?”

Considering how pale the both of their natural complexions were, it was very probable that the color he could see rising on Sakumo’s cheeks was matched perfectly on his own. Tobirama had never been very prone to blushing. Emotions had always been the sole exception to that, the one true foil he’d never entirely been able to overcome. He never expected to find himself in a situation where he didn’t mind this most embarrassing of weaknesses until he was treated to the sight of Hatake Sakumo blushing like a young maiden. Seeing that was absolutely worth doing the same himself.

He waited patiently for a minute or two and when his first advance was not rejected in any obvious way he felt emboldened to make another, stroking his thumbs across the back of his friend’s hands. The electric feeling in his veins as he watched Sakumo try to suppress a shiver could only be described as triumph.

“I would give many things for the chance to show you how much you mean to me,” he said.

“You have always had strange tastes,” Sakumo retorted. It was a good sign if he was able to crack a joke, although a straight answer would have been preferable. Tobirama supposed he would probably have more luck with a straight question.

“Would you allow me to court you? Perhaps it’s my pride talking but if there is anyone who could help you understand just how worthy of a man you are I think it would be me.”

“Aye, it would be you.” Taking in a shaky breath, the other man swallowed after before finally nodding very slowly. “I don’t feel as though a man like you should be wasting your time on a man like me but I suppose that’s the point you’re trying to make. Kakashi will be fine on his own for an evening; would, ah, would you care to join me for dinner? We could go to that place you like in the market.”

Tobirama had never felt so light without accidentally inhaling the fumes of his own experiments. Every nerve ending in his body tingled in a way he simply did not have the time to pay closer attention to at the moment, not when gravity seemed to be pulling him closer and closer to the quiet smile he’d been falling in love with since the day they met. When their lips met it was soft, barely a brush of skin, not hesitant but unhurried. Sakumo never seemed to be hurried by much. Yet even that small display of affection was enough for Tobirama to wonder if it was possible to expire of sheer happiness.

For the brief moments that it lasted their first kiss was unequivocally one of the best things to ever happen in either of his lives; he still couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but laugh as Kakashi’s voice rang out across the courtyard.

“Gross! Ew! Pakkun, they’re kissing! Make them stop!”

“We may have to wait until privacy is more available to continue this conversation,” Tobirama murmured.

“Pakkun will bite you if you don’t stop!” Kakashi shouted, immediately backed up by a series of sharp barks. The rest of his pack seemed content to stand and wag their tags while they watched the humans interacting.

Sakumo took a long moment to look away towards his son, smile growing only wider. “Will he? That wouldn’t be very nice of him.”

Nodding imperiously, Kakashi scrambled across the yard to push Tobirama aside and crawl up in to his father’s lap, curling as tightly as his growing body would allow. It was adorable enough that Tobirama supposed he really didn’t mind being put off for a while just at the moment that he obtained everything he could have ever wanted. If a little patience was all it took to feel those lips against his own again that was a sacrifice he was very willing to make.

“We can discuss this in more detail later,” he said, knowing that his friend was smart enough to read between the lines. The long overdue blossoming of their relationship was not the only thing they needed to talk about.

“Of course,” Sakumo agreed.

“For now”-Tobirama dropped a hand on to Kakashi’s head and ruffled the silver hair only a few shades of from his own-“how would you like to help me plan a village coup, pup?”

“Tobirama!”

Putting one hand against his chest to profess honesty, he blinked with as much innocence as he could muster. “It’s only a training exercise, of course. Just to see how his studies are coming along. I would obviously never think to depose the ones in charge and reform the entire village back to the original concept it was meant for.”

His friend - partner, now, in every sense of the word - lifted one eyebrow without saying anything.

“I would start by gaining their trust, I think,” Kakashi mused, oblivious to the conversations his elders had been having. When his father heaved a deep sigh he looked confused.

Tobirama could only turn his head away to smile in to the distance, watching clouds of dust swirl and dance in the afternoon breeze. It had taken dying and not dying and leaping through time but at long last he had found the future his precious sibling always dreamed of for him, for everyone. He’d found happiness; he found peace. The first thing he intended to do with this newfound dream was to enjoy it.

After that, well, it was only right of him to pursue Hashirama’s visions of the future and share his happiness with the others in this beloved village. When he met his brother in the afterlife he wanted to carry with him stories of a life lived to the fullest, a family that loved him every day, and courage enough to be better in the future than he had in the past.

#rae writes #commission #sakutobi #tobirama #sakumo #kakashi #fanfiction

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kittywildegrrl · 3 years

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MamaCat Has Been Sick of This Conspiracy Theory Crap Since Before This One Existed

Yea, though I stagger through the final bloody chaotic days of the Trump “presidency,” I shall fear no evil, for the Constitution is with me. Kamala and Joe, they comfort me.

On the real though: scared shitless of the evil.

Rightfully so, for here is the welcome some of our fellow Americans have for the incoming Administration. Almost makes ‘em seem... un-American. May these creeps fail mightily and may Inauguration Day be free of violence.

“‘He has an obligation to them’: Attorney for ‘QAnon shaman’ asks Trump to pardon rioters,” says Politico. “He felt like his voice was, for the first time, being heard,” Watkins said. “And what ended up happening, over the course of the lead-up to the election, over the course of the period from the election to Jan. 6 — it was a driving force by a man he hung his hat on, he hitched his wagon to. He loved Trump. Every word, he listens to him.”

Ugh. There it is. The continental divide between objective reality and Trumpism reality. “Every word, he listens to him.” I saw a classic strongman dictatorship rising, somebody else saw Jesus. I saw my least favorite showman in my lifetime doing his best P. T. Barnum a la Mussolini, somebody else saw the only plausible leader for troubled times.

Perhaps as many as a few thousand of those somebodies attacked our Capitol, and I am not over it. Some more of those somebodies, who knows the actual number, are contributing to online chatter about setting loose further chaos in the next five days.

It’s literally insane, and a lot of it is attributed to the Q conspiracy phenomenon. Two crazy ladies who buy into it have been sent to Washington, D.C., as elected representatives (rollcall.com).

A week after the attempted coup, as the wheels of a second impeachment were grinding over his legacy, the Dear Leader of those who used to watch “The Apprentice” delivered a disingenuous, if carefully-worded, video. In it he denounced the violence. He also employed the No True Scotsman argument, perhaps my favorite of the logical fallacies.

I didn’t buy it, but it wasn’t for me. No, it was for his base, and for his attorneys. Whether he made the attorneys happy is not for me to say. Allegedly Rudy Giuliani is his attorney, and allegedly Rudy’s not getting paid.

No, it’s the latest iteration of Q nonsense on my mind this snowy morning. That video? I saw a beaten man, a would-be Caesar, out of options, doing as he was told for once. Somebody else saw a Q message. Go on over to secondnexus.com and check it out, I’ll wait. You’ll enjoy the screenshotted tweets.

Adding to MamaCat’s recent attack of nostalgia, one learned recently that a former lover, a very bad boyfriend from days of yore, had passed on. Big, strong, handsome, witty, fantastic in bed, cruelly abusive, and possessed of sketchy background, he was champion and nemesis to me in those bizarre days of the mid-90s, when (among other things) I experienced a noticeably short second marriage and met some conspiracy theorists. May he rest in peace. I, for one, am actually relieved. Talk about smart women making foolish choices. I got a million of ‘em. But the mind will cast its glance backwards at such moments.

Wait till you’re old and crochety, kids, your stories may be wacky and bizarre one day too!

So there was this couple, both my late problematic boyfriend and my second husband knew them, so in the course of things I came to know them too. They seemed like a pretty cool couple, we had interests and friends in common. Then one evening at their house, they began to explain, very carefully and for my own good, about Area 51, Ancient Astronauts, and why the income tax is illegal. Why I should read Ayn Rand, become a Sovereign Citizen, and stock up on guns & ammo.

I was insecure enough in the first place, so at the time, it seemed like the polite way to avoid confrontation was just to listen and not argue too much. I was at their place, without my own car, thinking maybe this won’t go on all night, how can I change the subject to Star Trek… but when we got to the taxes portion of the presentation, I just couldn’t stop myself.

“What about the roads and bridges?”

There was a lot of incoherent babbling about per-use fees and private property and so forth. And as I sat listening, politely, hoping my ride was about ready to go, I was thinking, “They don’t understand how any of this works. They’re grown-ass adults, regurgitating faulty reasoning, telling me mad re-interpretations of what the 1st and 2nd Amendments mean, and they really don’t know how little they know. It’s like an alternate reality. I want to go home.”

(Think about it. The Internet barely existed yet. This was mainly spread face to face and via phone trees at the time.)

That friendship didn’t blossom much after that. Nice enough folks on the face of it, but the crazy talk kept returning to the word, “militia,” and I was not a fan. At that time in my life, I was actually a pretty decent shot, with a number of different firearms (not an owner, though). I let go of this friendship, and not long after, I let go of guns. What I couldn’t let go of was the nagging sense that if this sort of conspiratorial thinking were to get out of hand, become somehow mainstreamed, the only logical outcome would be eventual violence. You can’t combine hatred for the notion of government itself, with fantasies about actual extraterrestrials, with disdain for taxpayer-provided goods and services, with guns and ammo and militia identity, without eventual violence.

And for just a moment, late last night, it felt like the intervening 20 -25 years had never happened. In my actor’s imagination, I could see it like a film cut, from the sepia tones of that living room in New Mexico so long ago, to the craziest damned January in American memory. Nonexistent voter fraud, Q, rightwing hate media; these lie along a straight line from that Sovereign Citizen baloney my friends served for dinner that night. A straight, incredibly white, line.

I really, really hope that the Biden administration comes on like gangbusters in the first hundred days. I hope people’s lives improve drastically, quickly, especially for people who think we voted in Stalinism or something. I really hope we can raise the standard of living across the board (below, say, $250k/annum, you $250k+ guys are actually fine up there). I really, really hope we can address the pandemic. I don’t see any way to controvert the conspiracy-based thinking, unless we just take this opportunity to actually govern for a change, and lift everybody up.

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therisingsun777 · 4 years

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Book One; Chapter Four: City In The Sky

“I see…” The man drawled, looking over me with a strange, inquisitive eye, as if he was seeing something I couldn’t.

He tapped the side of his forehead, ‘And you come from the country, I would presume?”

“Umm...Yes,” I said, glancing towards Brice, uncertain of what was supposed to happen next.

He clearly didn’t seem to know either.

“Uhh, d-do I have to demonstrate my abilities, or…?” “Yes...Likely, sorry, I’m a bit caught up in my thoughts, trying to think of ways to introduce a new airbender such as yourself to the tribe, you understand.” The man reflected for a moment, “Is there anything you can do beyond the basic bending?”

“This room is a bit small for it, but yes, there is something I can do, if I may..” The man nodded to me, “Go ahead.”

I wasn’t sure I had enough energy, but I tried anyways. My hands swished, as I jumped, twirling into the air. Energy surged in a circular formation, almost similar to that of a tornado, before turning into a disk just above the ground, upon which I landed.

The airmaster’s eyes widened, and a smile perched against his lips, as he leaned forwards.

“It is an imperfect iteration of Master Aang’s technique,” He muttered to himself, “Would you mind keeping that up for just a little bit longer?” “Sure!” I said through the strain, “It’s a bit difficult, but…” “Yes, of course it is difficult. The mass amount of energy you would have to put into keeping yourself aloft on pure air is unimaginable, even for some of the best airbenders….”

The strain eventually got to me, and I floated back down onto the earth of the building.

“You said something about it being an imperfect technique?”

“Yes, quite, I will teach you the proper technique once you become a proper airbender. Mastery, if you are already at a stage similar to this, will likely not be all that difficult for you.”

“Really?” I replied.

“Really. Now, let us get down to the business of making you a proper airbender, yes?”

---------------------------7

The robes themselves felt, strange. They were really loose on my skin, and a couple of moments would pass by where I’d feel worried that I wasn’t wearing anything at all, or that the robes had slipped off. I had said goodbye to Brice, and was now walking at the top of this strange building, upon a rather thin bridge. The airmaster was beside me, talking about a lot of logistics that I wasn’t too interested in. However, there was something he’d mentioned, something about bison.

According to the airmaster, each child was born with a bison as their counterpart. An animal within the world that was purely adjacent to them, almost as if they were acting as a spirit animal. I, for my part, found it mildly ridiculous. But then again, the spiritual things just didn’t make sense. How could there be an entire spiritual realm that only a few people saw? That kind of thing just didn’t make any logical sense. It was the same as the church claiming that avatars were people possessed with four demons.

They walked along that thin bridge, until finally, they made it to a cliff-edge. The man in front of him stopped, and looked towards the sky

“I have one test for you, before you can join the tribe and commence your learning.” The man said, almost ominously.

“W-what is it?” I asked nervously.

The man pointed towards the sky, “You must fly,”

I stopped, staring towards the man in frank disbelief. I had jumped up a few miles, sure, used air as a canal to push my body upwards, or created my disk to hover a short distance. But this? There was no way I could use my body just to, propel forwards. That was the kind of thing you read in superhero stories, the ones you smuggled from a friend’s house one night. I couldn’t just throw myself into the air like that, and expect the air to carry me, there was no way.

“With this.” The man continued, bringing up a long, staff-like thing.

I walked over and grabbed the staff, feeling at least more than slightly confused, as when I grabbed it, a gigantic wing like thing spread itself out above me.

“D-do I like, hold on, he-” My voice was lost to my screams, as I was pushed off of the cliff towards certain death.

The world twirled around me in a chaotic formation of colors and synapse-firing thoughts. My hands steadied themselves against the rod of wood, as my thoughts began to transmit into the air. All I really needed to do was steady myself out, and then I’d be fine.

Hopefully hopefully, hopefully hopefullyhopefullyhopefullyhopefully. My thoughts rang out into the bowels of my mind.

For a moment, the world stopped spinning, and I evened out just enough to use the air around me. I forced the thing upwards, but, it just wasn’t working. My weight was dragging the entire thing down. Desperately, I looked towards the back, just then noticing the two other extensions. I threw one foot back, managing to hook it behind that one, and struggled with the other, as I span through the open air.

Managing to get my other foot latched on, I looked towards the sky in desperation. All I needed to do now was...Was…

The world turned dark as I closed my eyes. Wind rushed against my entire body. Within this darkness, I was the wind, an eternal source, with no such thing as death to claim me. I focused upon the wind, felt myself as I rose higher, and not towards the ground. I focused upon the amount of force it would take to lift me high enough to go where I wanted to reach, the momentum that would need to push me, for I was a heavy wind, more similar to a frisbee, flying into the sky.

My senses slowly regathered themselves as I opened my eyes. Wind was howling through my ears, pushing me forwards, lifting me into the sky. It was twisting and originating, steadily rising me upwards, and up. I looked towards the fixture high within the sky, one with rock tumbling down below, and I flew with the wind, feeling and utter sense of elation as I flew to meet the buildings above.

I cheered of my success as I got closer, and a few of the people down below looked up to see me. Some of them waved towards me, and I released a few fingers to wave back.

The feeling...This feeling….

As I flew down, down from the fixtures of the sky, and more towards the land of these floating isles, I quickly noticed a new predicament. I did not know how to land, and I was meeting the ground fast. My body slammed slid against the floor, as I let go of the thing I had used to fly, and came to an abrupt stop. Groaning, I stood myself up, and dusted off my shirt. A couple of the people around me were chuckling.

“First time?”

“Yeah.” I replied, to the man that walked by me.

“Next time, take your feet off of the back when you get close to the ground. Use the wind to halt your speed,” He said, before going on his way.

“Uhh, thanks.”

The airmaster came to a halt beside me, “That was Master Araishi, he is famous for recoveringTthe Four Principles of Bending, an old philosophy book from the Era Of Harmony.”

“Oh? Can I read it at some point?” I asked excitedly, the chance to read a new book was always something to have.

He chuckled beside me, “You will find, that every person within the air tribes at large, has gotten a copy. You could even buy one from the local shops below, I imagine if you didn’t get one for free, you would likely do so.”

“I’ll be getting one for free?”

The man looked towards me with a slight smile upon his face, “You do not even know what this book is, and yet you jump at the opportunity to read it?”

“It’s not that difficult to conclude what something is when it has a title akin to ‘The Four Principles of Bending’.” I replied.

“Well yes, I suppose,” The man paused, “We are getting off-topic, aren’t we? You will need a room for the night, until we make accommodations to give you a living space of your own. Come, I believe I know of some people who would be glad to have you.”

We walked throughout the air tribe, him occasionally giving remarks about some of the more ancient buildings. There were places where specific artifacts had been placed, things from a long, bygone era, and others remade after the reformation of Avatar Aang.

This place itself was thriving, so utterly. People were bustling through, on their way to specific places. Others were meditating. Some were moving the wind, dissipating and guiding storm clouds away from the top of their buildings, or even such other things. They all looked so, happy.

As we went along, I felt tears gathering in my eyes again. It was so...Beautiful. People were moving with the elements, responding and using it within their everyday lives. All of this was almost like a daydream come true for me. In only a day, I had gone so far from breaking off those chains with a force of gathered up air….

Eventually, we made it towards a small hut, where a man was working upon a garden.

“Ah, Irashi!!” The man said fondly, “What brings you here today?” He glanced towards the boy, “Have you finally taken up an apprentice?”

The airmasters shook his head, which, mildly disappointed me. It would be rather amazing to be the apprentice of a man who had the ability to be claimed the apprentice of the actual airmaster. Someone who had mastered airbending to such an extent, that they were seen as the tribe’s strongest.

“Rather, I was hoping you might be able to take him in for the night? I will be finding him accommodations first thing within the morning, I promise as much.” Irashi continued.

“Of course! Of course, I’d be happy to help our young new bender!” The man said with a smile.

“That’s great! Might I leave you with him, as I gather the clothes he will wear as part of the tribe?”

“If it is what you see fit to do.” The man said with a bow.

Master Irashi bowed back, and walked off swiftly, seemingly floating with the force of his air.

Whilst Irashi was gone, I did what I could to help the man with his plants, watering some, pulling out the weeds for others, and even occasionally helping him with a larger project that he was doing. His wife was in the house, and it was rather difficult to keep this specific project a secret, so I was doing my best to distract her. That was around the time that Irashi arrived again.

“Ah, Irashi!” Exclaimed the wife of the man that I had been helping, “It is so good to see you! I heard you were here earlier from this young lad.”

“Yes, indeed. I have come back bearing a few gifts for him, in fact. After this, I am afraid I will have to leave early for my tower, urgent business to attend to.”

“This, was custom made for your weight and length.” He handed me a large stick, “I had some earthbenders and waterbenders make it, as well as the stylistic flare of a particular firebender.”

I flicked it open after he taught me how to, and stared at the red and black design. The red came in spirals leading out from the edges, twisting and twirling in great drapes across the black, getting infinitely smaller as they branched off of one another. It was wholly unique and…

“I love it…” I whispered, once more having tears threaten to overwhelm me, “It’s….”

“Now stop, you might make me get emotional as well…” Irashi said with a smile, “Now, here are the robes that you will be wearing,” He turned to leave, but then stopped himself, “Tomorrow you will meet with the Elders of the tribe. They, along with the airbenders looking for an apprentice, will decide who you are apprenticed to. Be there when the sun reaches the middle of the sky.”

I nodded, “T-thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me. Now, I must go,” He walked from the house briskly, and into the light of the steadily setting sun.

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Stargirl: What is Eclipso?

https://ift.tt/2ZMmxp2

This article contains Stargirl spoilers.

“I know you’re in there, Eclipso.”

With these words burgeoning supervillain Cindy Burman has introduced a whole new world and threat to Stargirl. After killing her father and attempting to defeat Courtney and co. it’s clear that the Dragon King’s daughter is keen on getting revenge, which is lucky as she’s just invoked the name of a deep cut character who could be a way of introducing an entirely new supernatural layer to the series.

Get ready to meet Eclipso.

1963 was a massive year for comics. At the House of Ideas, the X-Men, the Avengers, and Iron Man were bursting from the pages, changing the future of comic books and ultimately Hollywood forever. Meanwhile, their Distinguished Competition saw the Silver Age as a time for reinvention, taking classic characters like Green Lantern and The Flash and turning them into legacy characters. That doesn’t mean that new characters weren’t being created, though, and in sci-fi horror anthology House of Secrets #61 Bob Haney and Lee Elias imagined a new type of archetype for the publisher. It was a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde style creation who was both hero and villain and first appeared in the story “Eclipso: The Genius Who Fought Himself.”

After a trip to Diablo Island to take a photo of a solar eclipse, Dr. Bruce Gordon ignores the warnings of the indigenous population and ends up offending a god, Morphir, and then killing him. So basically your average colonizer shenanigans. It’s a surprisingly nuanced take on what could have been some classic comic book racism where instead the blame is solely on Dr. Gordon and his ignorant and arrogant actions.

After killing the god by tripping him over a cliff, he heads back to his homeland to complete his work on the Solar City, a futuristic utopia fueled entirely by the sun. Alas, he is nearly thwarted by the god he apparently killed when an eclipse struck during the ceremony… but the big reveal comes in the in media res opening page when it’s revealed that the villain is none other than Gordon himself, becoming his own literal worst enemy. The split is explained by Morphir cutting Gordon with his black diamond before he falls to his death, and in a humorous twist the villainous side of Gordon always hides his costume and the black diamond he took from Morphir before his good side wakes up.

Though Eclipso’s early adventures are incredibly fun to read, the version of Eclipso that we’re more likely to see came to the DC Universe many years later. From his debut in 1963, Eclispo evolved in the pages of House of Secrets, his powers becoming less directly connected to solar eclipses and expanding to more general light phenomena.

But it was in 1992 when Eclipso was reintroduced in the gem-heavy Eclipso: The Darkness Within event (there’s literally a plastic gem on the cover of the first issue… I know, I own it!) that we get to know the new version of the character who was revealed to in fact be a villainous spirit who had possessed Gordon rather than Gordon himself. That is clearly the version that we’re dealing with in Stargirl, so if you want some idea of where the story might be going in season two then keep reading.

In this iteration Eclipso is discovered by a maniacal and murderous treasure hunter who once again goes against the wishes of the native population, this time in “The Upper Congo.” His quest for riches leads him to a black gem which he kills his partner to possess and then has chopped into thousands of pieces in a London jeweler in the 1800s. Stealing from indigenous people and trying to get rich has bad consequences (shock!), and 100 years later Lar Gand discovers a strange planet where the demon Eclipso has been collecting the pieces of his shard and hiding. We then meet modern day Bruce Gordon who still believes he is to blame for the creation of Eclipso. He soon learns that isn’t the case when he discovers other shards of the black diamond which the spirit is using to possess and control super powered earthlings.

Stargirl Season Finale Ending Explained and Unanswered Questions

By Rosie Knight

This concept of Eclipso as a sentient being that lives in or is connected to the black gem known from here on out as the Heart of Darkness is a consistent part of the villain’s modern lore. That’s why when you saw Cindy pick up the black diamond shape gem in The Wizard’s basement, she referenced the rogue who we could then hear laughing in his shiny prison.

In Eclipso: The Darkness Within, they build on the connection and struggle between the villain and Gordon by adding a motivation that Eclipso wants to destroy Gordon’s solar research as solar power and light are what defeats the villain and keeps him trapped in his jewel shards. We know that Blue Valley and the project for New America was keen on clean energy and there is a likelihood that Eclipso was trapped after trying to stop the Injustice Society and their plan to keep his power. But there’s a different theory that I am far more inclined to believe, and it’s one that would introduce a new teen hero.

It’s likely that Cindy will probably try to harness the power of Eclipso, likely becoming its host like many DC characters before. One of his most formidable vessels was Jean Loring who readers will remember is the ex-wife of Ray Palmer and the superhero murderer in the controversial comic event Identity Crisis. All of that is to say that there is a precedent for Eclipso being a woman, though honestly Stargirl hasn’t been too worried about following conventions in the past.

But whatever route the creative team decides to go with Cindy and Eclipso, there’s a chance that they’ll decide to explore his origins and stray from the somewhat problematic aspect of colonial explorers and the theft of native artifacts to use a story and vision for the character that was introduced during the New 52 era of DC Comics. Excitingly, it’s an arc that ties Eclipso to one of DC’s strangest and most fantastical fantasy spaces: Gemworld.

Stargirl Episode 13 Review: Stars & S.T.R.I.P.E. Part Two

By Lacy Baugher

During DC’s New 52 era, Eclipso was reimagined as Lord Kalaa, an ancient inhabitant of Gemworld who��d turned on his own people and become a tyrannical leader after his powers were sparked by a… you guessed it… eclipse. If this doesn’t sound familiar, don’t worry as it took place in lesser known series like Team 7 and Swords of Sorcery: Amethyst.

The important part to note is that here Eclipso is part of the Gemworld royalty born from the House of Onyx and the House of Diamond who, after enslaving and oppressing the House of Amethyst, was imprisoned in a gem by the then Princess of House Amethyst, Lady Chandra. But he returns and is defeated by Princess Amethyst, but not before he kills her family. Now that Cindy has the Heart of Darkness, there is a large chance that we could see DC finally bring Amethyst Princess of Gemworld to the small screen.

If Cindy unleashes Eclipso it could be an easy way to introduce Amethyst to the DC TV universe. The young Princess could head to Blue Valley in order to get revenge on the creature who killed her parents or simply to trap him back inside the gem for the good of the universe. Either way it seems like a far more interesting route rather than trying to tie it to his early origins, especially as DC Universe played with some similar aesthetics and themes with their recent representation of Rita Farr and the origin of her powers in Doom Patrol.

Whichever route Stargirl goes, this is a very interesting twist into the supernatural for the series. The first season has leaned into an Americana nostalgia that despite featuring giant mechs, superpowered teens, and numerous supervillains felt very grounded. It’ll be really exciting to see what happens now that a totally cosmic and creative new threat has been introduced, especially in the hands of someone as maniacally messed up as the iconic Cindy Burman.

The post Stargirl: What is Eclipso? appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3kLn30e

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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aalin-pace-blog · 5 years

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i. basics

Card: 14. Temperance

Character Name: Aalin Pace

Faceclaim: Morena Baccarin

Age: 38

Gender & Pronouns: Female, she/her

Outside Occupation: UX Designer

ii. character interview

If you could be in charge, would you be? What would you do?

“I’ve been in charge before. I’ve led teams of disparate people, I’ve tried to hold their hands and maneuver them through trials and tribulations, I’ve succeeded and I’ve failed. While there is great satisfaction in a job well done along with the knowledge that you were instrumental in getting there, there are so many drawbacks. The blame, if given, rests squarely on your shoulders. Tempers flare and you’re the one they attack. At times it’s like herding cats. Cats that are on fire and refuse to be put out.”

Her answer seemed to please The World. There was a nagging feeling that Aalin had once known this person, but she couldn’t remember the specifics. It was quite infuriating, if she was being honest. A puzzle she would never be able to solve, not if what The World had told her was true. She would be limited to the stacks of journals held within these walls. Second hand information. It wasn’t the way Aalin liked to learn, but she supposed it would suffice. For now.

Aalin shook her short crop of hair over her shoulder. “Over the years, I’ve learned I like to lead from the sidelines, if at all. My skills are more useful than my leadership, I think. People forget you’re there if you’re not the one standing in the middle of the room shouting your opinion and marching orders, leaving much more room to soak up information. You learn something about the people on your team when they think you’re not listening, more than they’d ever tell you to your face. Not to mention the amount of time I have for my own education. Leading can be so tiresome and time consuming.” She let out an exasperated sigh, remembering all too well how exhausting the launch of Google News was, despite its success.

It was the most Aalin had spoken uninterrupted in years. She liked how The World let her say her peace, even though it felt like every word was being analyzed for some greater purpose. Aalin was used to that, though she was more used to being the one doing the analyzing. A quizzical look blossomed across her face, genuine curiosity in her words. “How does anyone get anything done when they’re in charge?”

What is your favorite part of your power?

When I first came to “The Lair”, I found only a few fellow Councilors, the beginnings of my new family. Immediately, I felt their abilities slamming into my brain and could no longer deny The World and her claims of magic and the Arcana Council. As soon as I felt their powers, however, they were gone. No...not gone...suppressed. Hiding beneath the surface, bubbling under a fog. Had I done that?

The World called it “Power dampening”, but some of my peers called it something far more crass. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t control it yet, but I have to admit it was calming not to have everyone waving their abilities around all willy nilly. The Empress was the only one I really trusted, until a new member came in soon after me. They seemed more grounded than the rest, more willing to keep the balance the world so desperately needs.

No wonder they call me Temperance.

I never noticed before I came here, how much the anxiety inducing meetings got to me back in the “real” world. The men swinging their egos around, mousy women taking anything they threw at them, and the ones who wanted to argue any point with any person who would listen. It was chaos and I just shut it out and went to work. No wonder no one ever noticed me. Even here with all the large personalities, it was a wonder The Lovers even saw me unless I was taking away their abilities.

Read us a journal entry from your first life.

Journaling has always brought me peace. I would have kept one even if The World had not asked us to, though to be honest, it would have contained many different entries, I’m sure. I know some of the others detest the assignment or feel it’s beneath them, but I agree with The World’s idea to keep our lives recorded, and from our own perspectives. How interesting it could be to reread these tomes after centuries away from that point in our lives.

I still find myself coming to terms with my newfound abilities. Magic has and always will be a force of balance, but I find myself off-kitler as I adjust. The Ancients warned us of this, but you never really know a feeling until you’ve felt it. Every time I walk into a room, I feel the others’ abilities as if they were tangible entities I could reach out and hold, and I feel myself softening them until they’re almost indistinguishable. More practice is needed, to be sure. At times the others’ abilities are too overwhelming, even when they’re not being used. I can still feel them, hanging in the air around me. I can tell some of my new companions despise my power. They tend to forget I’m there, until they can no longer wield their powers.

Perhaps that is why I was chosen. To keep the balance.

I’ve never faltered when it comes to balance. I find myself dancing on the precipice of light and dark, “good” and “evil”, chaos and serenity, never tipping one way or the other. My companions seem to have a harder time staying on one side or the other, when they should be toeing the line between. But that is not their strength, and I understand that.

If only they did. If only they learned to lean on their fellow Councillors for their strengths. Perhaps with time we shall grow and harmonize the way the Ancients want us to. I’m optimistic, but I feel the other Councilors’ gifts and can sense how dangerous they would be if used for selfish purposes, if used without the rest of us to balance.

iii. background

Balance. Life and death. A new soul comes screaming into the world as another peacefully fades out of it. This is how Aalin entered this iteration of her life, with the truest sense of harmony and symmetry. On the clear night in December, as a fresh snow was falling over the hospital grounds in Ashland, Oregon, Aalin Pace came kicking and screaming into being, replacing the soul of her mother. The doctors had known it would be a difficult birth, but Nooma demanded to go through with the pregnancy. Aalin was to be her little miracle, even if it killed her. And that she was, even if Nooma wouldn’t be around to see it.

In childhood, Aalin was a calm and obedient child. She was bright, but never tried to outshine anyone. ‘Easy going’ and ‘kind’ were the two go-to words used most often to describe the child who never seemed to have any squabbles. In fact, most people felt so much more at ease around her that whatever argument they were having seemed to falter.

Ever the mediator and with a scholastic reputation, Aalin was picked constantly for group projects, sometimes even when she’d rather work alone. The value of having the smartest girl in class in your group was not lost on her classmates, but more times than not, she was quickly forgotten as the rest of her peers vied for the coveted title of “project leader”. Aalin would simply roll her eyes and put her nose back in her books, all too aware that the “leader” really was more of a figurehead than a contributing member of the group. The rest of her team may wish to fail, but she would not.

It wasn’t until she entered the graduate design program at UC Stanford that Aalin really understood what it was that was missing in her life. She never truly felt like she belonged, never felt like she was seen or appreciated for the talents she possessed. Most of the time she didn’t mind playing second fiddle to the more rambunctious people around her, but sometimes it would be nice to be noticed. Her classmates stampeded over her despite their lack of natural ability, and though Aalin was one of the most easy going people you could ever meet, she wasn’t about to flunk out of school because she didn’t have a backbone. Her mother hadn’t given her life so that she could have one to let it be squandered.

So Aalin but her nose to the grindstone and worked. She worked in the background while her roommates went to keggers, she worked when her best friends dragged her out to bars only to forget she was there 15 minutes after getting there. She worked harder than she ever had, and she gained the attention of more than a few tech companies that were springing up all over Silicon Valley. While her peers were fighting cutthroat campaigns to get job offers from any worthy company, Aalin focused simply on doing a good job. She even helped some of her classmates study, but when push came to shove, it wasn’t her peers who got the holy grail offer.

Google, a new company in Palo Alto, California, wanted her. As it turned out, Aalin picked the best possible study buddies, a pair of PhD students who wanted to branch off and create a new tech research company. They were blown away by her academic achievements and her enduring personality and offered her not an internship but a fully staffed position at their new office. Aalin still wasn’t sure she found her niche, but every day that she walked into the conference room for a morning round up, she felt a genuine smile pop up on her face. Still usually the quiet girl in the back, Aalin listened and soaked up every tidbit of information she could get. The company’s code of conduct “Don’t Be Evil” truly resonated with the young woman and she couldn’t imagine herself in a better place.

That is, until a being calling themself The World entered her life.

It was 2004 and Google had just released their IPO, effectively becoming the future force to be reckoned with, all thanks to Aalin. It was a write up in Time that got The World’s attention, they explained to a very confused Aalin. The existence of magic, of past lives and revoked immortality sent her reeling. However there was a bit that hung in her mind, unwilling to be explained away by logic. The World had called her Temperance and explained that she was the embodiment of balance and compromise. She saw into Aalin’s soul and spoke things no one had ever bothered to ask about or try to see. It was as if she had been truly seen for the first time in her life – in this life – and Aalin wasn’t ready to let that feeling go.

#bio #about aalin

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arcanacouncilrp · 5 years

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“ You have a significant sense of deserved confidence that you shine onto those around you. ”

Upright: Joy, Success, Celebration Reversed: Depression, Inwardness, Negativity Astrology: Sun ☉ Element: Fire 🜂 Power: Light Manipulation

Faceclaim Suggestions: Arden Cho, Harry Shum, Jr., Lucy Boynton, Keith Powers Name: UTP Gender: UTP Age Range: 27-32 Years with Council: 6 Council Role: Combat Trainer

FIRST - Lying on their back in a field, The Sun basked in midday warmth. Sunflowers towered around them and cast them in dappled golden light. This hidden spot was the perfect place to stretch out and snatch a few mellow moments in otherwise wild days. They ought to have been doing their duty—the Council’s responsibilities never ceased—but when has a teen ever done what they are told? Responsibility dragged them down into the darker parts of their own mind, and that was simply untenable. They spent more time planting seeds of celebration all over the globe and then racing through, vibrant banner aloft, as they bloomed into raucous ecstasy. The purity of their heart blazed too proudly for simpler tasks. People from all corners of the world turned toward their light to capture those moments of delight. It was the very reason The Ancients trusted them with their role; they helped people find joy, lifted them out of gloom by reminding them of the light. Someday, when they had a shot, they were going to brighten the whole world.

FROM THE WORLD’S JOURNAL - Few were ever really aware of The Sun’s darker sides before The Ambitious Three’s uprising, myself included. They were hard to pin down at all, but catching them in a moment without celebration? Nearly impossible. Or it was, until the others began to turn. Then the light began to fade. They were practically still a child—young enough to be manipulated, yet old enough to understand the consequences of what they did. I’ve tried to shelter each iteration since as much as I can. It has proven harder than I anticipated; they can be quite difficult to track down, despite how people flock to them like a cheerful shepherd. It takes work to nurture that kind of light in someone, and not every incarnation has been lucky enough to receive that kind of attention. This one is brighter than most, though they aren’t always forthright with what’s really on their mind. I’m just glad I found them when I did. The Council will help, I think—they always do better when they have a team to count on. I hope I can keep their darkness away better than I have with what’s coming for us all…

NOW - You were born ready to run, swim, fly, anything that gets your heart racing. You were a kid with ceaseless energy who grew into a person with boundless enthusiasm. You’re not blinded by your own light, though. You know people don’t exactly think of you as the brightest bulb in the box, so to speak. It’s okay. Maybe you aren’t by their definition, but you have goals beyond championships and trophies. What’s wrong with those in the first place? They are a testament to everything you can do if you set your mind to it. They’re proof of how effectively you used countless hours of training to keep your mind out of its slumps. Now… Now you don’t have that option so much, but you have the Council and your role and the secret little ideas you’ve been watering like private buds in tiny pots. They stave off the dark thoughts, for the most part. Maybe people think you’re too optimistic about taking on the world, and maybe they’re right, but you can’t let that drag you down. You are going to help people. You are going to take off sprinting to lead the world to bigger and better things, a victory flag waving behind you. Just you wait.

Connections

STRENGTH - When you first arrived all you saw was dusty books, antiques, and old furniture; you were certain you’d die of boredom. But it took no time at all to find another you in the mix. You read them the moment they introduced themselves, and from that moment on, you had someone to push boundaries with. Everyone else around this place is all about mental capacity and the woes of magic use, but the two of you enjoy more tangible thrills. You tell them often how grateful you are that they’re around, but other than that, the two of you don’t talk much. You prefer to explore your friendship through feats and excursions, because sometimes that’s just as meaningful.

TEMPERANCE - You have all this boundless energy and they are so, so steady in contrast, and yet, being around them is soothing. Even when their eyes are glued to a screen or it seems like they’re busy, they listen. You noticed it because they remember things you say that even your closest friends don’t always pick up. Lots of people care about you, sure, but few are interested in what you have to say. Them, though? It’s like they can see right into you and they decided they want to see more. It’s kind of thrilling, like the exhilaration of a sprint. You think they’re so cool, like how they learn so many things just by blending in when people don’t think they’re listening. You’ve never known anyone like them.

THE STAR & THE MOON - You all entered the madness of this magical world back to back to back, because fate knew you need each other. There’s a reason you’re all sky folk, right? You were first, and going stir crazy when The Star arrived. They didn’t match your exuberance, at least, not in a conventional way but you clicked with them immediately. The enthusiasm in their cynicism countered your blind optimism perfectly. When The Moon came, your trio was balanced at last. Someone needed to be the voice of logic in your light-hearted schemes. You’d be lost without them, now. It’s nearly impossible to imagine your life before they were in it. While they both roll their eyes at you and tell you all too frequently to calm down or to look before you leap, they do it with smiles on their faces, and usually following you right into what they told you to stop doing.

#lsrpg #new rp #new lsrpg #skeleton rp #supernatural rp #magic rp #original rp #literate rp #the sun #o

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roadjanus · 5 years

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Israel, the Promised Land

ISRAEL...THE PROMISED LAND

From the border we drove by palm grove after palm grove. Obviously planted. In perfect order. Buildings of Jerusalem stone (white stippled stone), new and well taken care of. We can see already that everything is shipshape in this land. Looks like Europe.

Our hotel is a YMCA. It is lovely and welcoming. Beautiful lobby. Rooms are clean and spacious. And we’re in walking distance of the old city. We are right across from the King David hotel, which, our taxi driver tells us, is where all the Presidents and Prime Ministers stay. This is good and bad. Nice neighbourhood, but obviously a target!

We try to plot a plan for visiting this historic place. Too many sites to see. I’ll try to relay the feeling that arises from being in this place. Of course we are interested in the Christian story as we are all Christian, but we also are interested in the story of the Jews as our daughter-in-law and grandchildren are Jewish. And of course the Muslims are in there...making sure that everyone feels unwelcome. It is so hard to sort this out. But to start”

City of David...the ancient city. Where David and Solomon, his son, built a city to bring together the 12 tribes of Israel. You can still see the outlines of that ancient city where the Kidron Valley and the Central Valley meet. From there we hear about the First Temple, and its destruction and the Second Temple and its destruction. So the beginning of Israel’s claim on the land. The history is imbued into the rocks here and one can feel its import.

Of course this site is hotly contested in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. it is built on/by a Muslim neighbourhood with perhaps the purpose of establishing an Israeli presence there, and reestablishing the continuous line of Jewish presence in Jerusalem. Too complicated for me to follow by far. Later, Mount Zion, where we find the tomb of David and the site of the Last Supper.

And here we see the Temple Mount or Dome of the Rock. Now there is a disputed piece of real estate if ever there was one. Ok. So there is a rock there that the Jews, Christians and Muslims (????) believe was the site of Abraham’s meeting with God. The beginning of the world and the place where Adam was created. (Of course Eve was born in a luxurious condominium in the penthouse of the highest building). That place has changed hands several times along the way. The Jewish Temples were built there. But now, in this iteration the Muslims have control. They allow the Jews and the Gentiles to come onto the Mount at a few particular and limited times...but they are unable to go into the Mosque. Of course the entrance to the area is armed and dangerous. Only one gate that the Jews and Gentiles can enter through. The Dome of the Rock is the iconic building in Jerusalem and its history is symbolic of the controversy that swirls through its streets.

Being Christians, We head to the Via Dolorosa and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The most significant places for the Christians. Along the Via we see people carrying the heavy cross, as Jesus did and at each significant place, crowds gather. The Via winds its way through the market. So it is lined with shops, selling trinkets to the thousands of pilgrims that pass by. All of these little shops have the same items...and the shopkeepers are overly friendly until you turn them down...and then they are cranky and aggressive. Bestie and I had a couple of encounters in this market, which winds through all of the quarters. Christian, Muslim and Jewish. If you dare ask the price of something, you’d best be prepared to get haggling and buying because trying to move on enrages them. One ran after my Bestie calling her “cheap” and “rude”. OMG what a gong show. Of course the lanes are overcrowded with tourists, so moving quickly is out of the question. There are steps everywhere, and I almost fell down some when a shopkeeper was chasing me. So angry. I don’t know why but most shopkeepers were of this ilk. A few were more agreeable. We bought from them. That was the deciding factor...who is pleasant.

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre...built upon Golgotha, and the site of the stone upon which Jesus was anointed before burial, and the supposed burial place of Jesus, from where he arose from the dead. So a very important place in the New Testament. It was packed with pilgrims, lining up to prostate themselves or to kiss the cross, or to cross themselves at the tomb. It’s an interesting place because the Orthodox control the site. Just something I didn’t expect. The Catholics always seem to run to the Center of the stage so I just expected them to be in charge there. And of course, everyone is VERY territorial. The church is beautiful. Many many lamps hang from the ceiling. a beautiful mosaic tells the story behind the anointing stone.

We did not wait in line to pay homage to these sites. Because we are all pretty secular this is more a journey of historical interest rather than a pilgrimage. Of course we generally know the story and find interest in the iconic places, but we are not looking for redemption nor forgiveness of our sins. This was true of Bethlehem too. That story was of course an integral part of our youth and even now we know the carols and watch the nativity scenes during the Christmas season. Again, a 2 or 3 hour lineup to go into the manger where supposedly Jesus was born. A silver star with 14 points resides there.We walked around the Church of the Nativity and saw many Orthodox elements. It is a Greek Orthodox Church. I was surprised. Just not thinking I guess.

Back at Jerusalem we also visited the Prison of Christ, where he was supposedly held after his arrest. A dark and evil place I must say. Hard to imagine the type. of person who would treat another so. And the room of the Last Supper. It is close to the tomb of King David, on Mount Zion. The Man had a lot of issue with these sites as it seems many have been reconstructed, and are not original. But of course. Not too much survives intact over 2000 years. Jerusalem has been the Center of violent warfare during much of that time. I think that the razing of the city has also put at risk the holy sites.

We wandered through the Muslim Quarter, visiting St. Anne’s church, which was taken over by the Muslims at some point. The mosques cry out several times of day. Many, many devout men stream towards the Dome of the Rock.

The Jewish Quarter. As we left the Muslims we had to go through a security screening and we come out at the Western Wall, the Wailing Wall. It is of course the iconic site for Hebrews. It is the original wall of King David’s city and is revered. It is divided into parts for men and women and people go to the wall to pray and leave a tiny wish stuffed into the cracks of the wall. When we toured the tunnels (built by Herod to move water about the city- those Romans!) beneath the wall, even there we saw little wishes stuffed into the cracks. People lean their hands against the wall and pray aloud.

Shabbat. The Jewish quarter, as well as much of the new city of Jerusalem, closes on Friday afternoon, about 4:30 and calm and peace reigns until about 4:30 Saturday night. Jews go to synagogue and there are many Ultra Orthodox and Orthodox Jews in the city, dressed for prayer. Not even too many places to eat. We ate on Friday night at the yMCA as their restaurant was open.

Tuesday morning we caught the train and headed to Yad Vashem. The memorial to the Jews who died in the holocaust. What a place. So striking, so hurtful. The museum memorialized the names. The lady told me that not a day goes by where they get another name to add to the almost 1000000 they already have. They are seeking information about those who died during the war. I think their time is coming to an end as those who would know or have the information must be aging as well. It is an emotional tribute, covering the individual camps, the ghettos, the uprisings in the ghettos, the atrocities, through personal stories. Short films of actual moments, interviews with survivors, artifacts, all contribute to the story of pain and suffering of the Jews of Europe. I can’t imagine what visiting Auschwitz will bring. And at the end, the magical Children’s Memorial. A vast auditorium of lights, one for each child lost. Unbelievable.

When you visit Yad Vashem, you have of a sense of why the Jews are so determined to hold Jerusalem and the land of Israel. Like they have been pushed to the wall and will be pushed no further. My heart aches for these people and the road in front of them.

#jerusalem #israel #second childhood #retirement #old city #conflict #muslim #jewish #christian

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libretayatra · 6 years

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Blog Post: On Fan Fiction and Other Storytelling Traditions

When I was twelve or thirteen years old, and even our family finally had DSL internet, I discovered the joys of fan fiction. In case you haven’t been living under the same rock as I have, allow me to explain. “Fan fiction” refers to stories written by enthusiasts of a particular book, TV show, or other creative work. While most “fics” – as my friends and I would call them – take place within the particular universe of the original story, others take known characters and put them in an entirely new setting. (That’s how 50 Shades of Grey was born.) There’s also fan fiction that doesn’t deliberately draw on any work but revolves around real, famous people in imagined situations. (See Graham Norton and Daniel Radcliffe discuss this type on the former’s show.)

The stories that interested me ranged from shorter “one shots” to multi-chapter epics, but most were placed in the Harry Potter universe and nearly all were tales of romance – if you could call it that.

The pairings I read about (and often ‘shipped’ – a verb that comes from the ‘ship’ in ‘relationship’ and means “hoped would bang”) – whether true to canon (i.e. the original books), such as Lily and James Potter, or wildly inventive, such as Hermione and a Tom Riddle to whom she has traveled back in time – usually engaged in the kind of love/hate banter that sends real couples to therapy. The pair would glare at and insult each other (often employing strangely American turns of phrase for a pair of ostensible Brits), their apparent mutual disgust hiding a deeper attraction. For my friends and I, it was riveting stuff.

While I was mainly a Lily/James shipper myself, you can’t talk about Harry Potter fan fiction and not mention Dramione. The fan-invented romance between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger was a tale of forbidden passion, a defiance of Hogwarts housing norms and the mandates of Potter canon itself. Draco did need to be less of a whiny loser to be a deserving match for Hermione, but this could be arranged without too much trouble. In the fan fiction world, Draco was dark and brooding, and he didn’t bring his dad up in conversation quite as often as in the books. Hermione was clever and empathetic, and although she was rarely depicted with less than Yule Ball-level beauty, her looks were not her main characteristic.

Sometimes fan fiction Draco and Hermione fell for each other while at Hogwarts. In other fics, they met again under changed circumstances years after the fall of Voldemort. Then there were the AU fics in which a brilliant young paralegal named Hermione Granger begins work at the firm where successful lawyer Draco Malfoy practices. You get the idea.

Photoshop creations starring Tom Felton and Emma Watson (no credit belongs to me). The purple one in particular has stayed in my memory for years, and brings on a familiar feeling of excitement at all the great content to peruse in the world. It was the banner for a website that allowed fans to nominate and vote for their favorite Dramione fics.

A particularly sexy iteration of the Draco/Hermione story was called Water by kissherdraco. In it, Draco and Hermione are Head Boy and Girl at Hogwarts. Of course, this means that they must live sequestered in their own dormitory, with its own entrance, common room and adjoining bathroom that ensure they see each other in a state of partial undress when the story demands it.

Water was held by many to be the pinnacle of the genre. It had lust and angst in equal measure, executed with a liberal dose of swear words and aggression. Moreover, Water took the common flaws of the Dramione world’s characters and actually explored them, allowing character to drive plot. In the story, Draco is brooding and cruel as ever, but these traits are linked to vicious abuse at the hands of Lucius. This backstory is not seen as an excuse for Draco’s behavior and he is forced to grow and change as the story progresses (although not quite enough, tbh).

I never finished the story, perhaps because my young brain was alarmed by all the hate-sex, but I revisited it with curiosity for this piece. Here is a relatively benign excerpt from the text, although please skip if you’d rather avoid themes of physical dominance:

“You’re crying,” growled Draco, leaning in and flicking his tongue onto her cheek. He tasted salt.

She struggled then, and he brought his hands to her shoulders to hold her still. “Don’t, Granger,” he warned. “I fucking need this. I can’t fucking…” He trailed off.

He never would have noticed before. Not like he did now, at least. Her lips were wet. They were red and moist and magnificently ripened for him. So full of blood. Hot, heated, sullied blood. He couldn’t take his eyes off them.

Other fics situated romance within a larger plot about the politics of the wizarding world. Prelude to Destiny by AnotherDreamer took place in the Marauder era (i.e. the time of Harry’s parents) and focused on the coming-of-age of Lily Evans and her role in the battle against evil. It begins, “Two cultures and a thousand miles from you, there is a castle on a hill…”

Another fave began life under the title Ancient and Most Noble and is now called Druella Black’s Guide to Womanhood. It is about the diverging lives of the three Black sisters — Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa — in the early years of Voldemort’s power. The sisters confront the crumbling of the their easy closeness as they make different choices in a changing world.

”It’ll be a laugh, you’ll see,” Bellatrix whispered into her ear, her breath sweet and thick from wine. They were curled in the cool grass, tangled in the layers upon layers of lace and satin that were their dress robes; it had taken them an hour to get them on right and just ten minutes to unsettle them. Andromeda’s head was spinning: from the liquor, from the heat, from far too much dancing. “It’ll all be just like this,” Bella was murmuring, her lips brushing against her ear. Stars whirled by overhead, maybe close enough to touch. Close enough to try.

“Always just like this.”

—

Andromeda swore as she stepped off the train. From inside the nicely cool travel car, summer had looked so charming, green and bright and gloriously school-free…

I was most interested in these fics, the ones that revolved around the generations before Harry’s. There was something compelling about the knowledge of forthcoming tragedy for many of the characters…Plucked away from the happy ending of the books, these fics became an exploration of why life is meaningful even in its flawed and finite scope.

I look back on my fan fiction experiences as belonging to a beautiful time when the internet was less like Janet from The Good Place* (if Janet were selling everything she knew about us to profit-hungry corporations and belligerent, militarized governments), and more like a library you went to when you felt like checking out a book. Nobody knew what I ate and where I went every minute of the day, because I didn’t put that stuff online, nor did I (to my knowledge) carry a tracking device with me when I went downstairs to play with my friends. At 5 pm, our moms would have to call each friend’s landline to reach us and remind us to stop home for our daily glass of milk or what-have-you.

*Janet is a humanoid presence in the afterlife who holds all knowledge in the universe and can create objects out of the void.

Fan fiction was a commerce-free creative space – devoid of ad revenue and the quick accumulation of likes. Since there was neither money nor social capital to be gained, everyone who participated did so out of pure interest. One did have the hope of raking in reviews from other community members, but these were about more than validation; reviews allowed people to have conversations about a shared passion and often included constructive criticism along with praise. There was little need for bitterness – if a fic was well-written, everybody won, since it meant they got to read it.

Below are some examples from the reviews section of Prelude to Destiny. It’s certainly no Twitter.

Written by rach on chapter #13. (March 28th 2009, 5am) Hey,

So I’ve read your whole story before, and now I’m reading it again, because I saw it spotlighted on the site. And this chapter is amazing. I love the end…I’ve never (well, before I read this the first time) compared Lily to Mrs Crouch. But it’s so true. They both gave their lives for their sons and…this chapter is phenomenal. Just thought I’d let you know

Rach

Written by Smith on chapter #26. (April 29th 2008, 11am)

…If I am to find any fault in the story, then I should say that Remus was rather dull. Not that it was completely out of character, but I imagine him being funnier and also good Lily’s friend. Their friendship is mentioned by Lupin in the third film and, I should think, in the book as well, though I don’t have a copy right now and thus can’t provide a quote. Pity, that. [Given my extensive knowledge of canon, I can tell you that the reviewer is mistaken on this last point.]

Thank you very much for writing this story. Reading it was an enjoyable experience that I might repeat in the future. You’re brilliant, to put it short.

Author Response: Thanks for the review!Yeah, Remus was a bit dull. Actually, I didn’t intend for Lily to be friends with any of the marauders besides James. I just wanted them out of the way. But I know what you mean. After Sirius entered the story, Remus was even duller in comparison. Plus, I wanted to make Peter seem like he fit in, and Remus just fell by the wayside, you know?I’m enjoying writing Gertrude again after taking over a story from my friend who used my characters. Anyway, thanks again!Miranda

For me, too, fandom was a more than a casual hobby. Since I was only allowed an hour of internet use a day, I would spend the time copying and pasting chapter after chapter of fan fiction onto Microsoft Word, allowing me to read all I wanted later. (As you might imagine, Water was not stored on the family computer.) I remember scouring for new fics on fanfiction.net and clicking through page after page of fan art on deviantart.com (both of which retain their early-2000s layouts, unlike Mugglenet or JK Rowling’s official site), very differently from how I scroll through Instagram today. I admired works of fandom the way one appreciates springtime’s first flower, or the décor of a friend’s bedroom – I admired the stamp of individuality they bore and that inspired me to create something myself, to express my joys and sorrows, to be a part of the world.

RIP old websites

When I did put Harry Potter-inspired art out there, somewhere around age fourteen, it was of course in the form of fan fiction, writing being my weapon of choice. I wrote two one-shot pieces, one funny and the other sad — or such were my intentions, though perhaps the results were inverted. While some friends wrote longer stories, I never felt talented or inspired enough to commit, which is a typical self-doubting move of the kind I am trying to leave behind. (I now plan to write no matter how untalented and uninspired I may be.)

One piece was about a character of my own invention, a Slytherin guy with the requisite pure-blood, Dark magic-loving family, and a perky, ponytailed Huffelpuff girl on whom he develops an obsessive crush. It was intended to be a BBC-inspired mockery of the character, taking all the gloomy sexiness of the Dramione universe and making it ridiculous. It was also a thorough exploration of really wanting to make out with somebody sitting in the same classroom as you, not that I’d know anything about that myself.

The other short story was a sincere ode to the books and an exploration of some of their core questions on death and loss. It followed Harry in an imagined scene that takes place (SPOILER ALERT lol) after Dumbledore’s death in the Half-Blood Prince. Harry is climbing the steps to the Owlery with a package in his hand, thinking over his relationship with Dumbledore. As I wrote, I found that I absolutely had to include excerpts from a fairly unexpected source, a chapter in the first and most overlooked of the Harry Potter books. The chapter is “The Mirror of Erised,” whose titular object reveals to the onlooker their deepest desire.

“Professor Dumbledore. Can I ask you something?”

“Obviously, you’ve just done so,” Dumbledore smiled. “You may ask me one more thing, however.”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.” Harry stared. “One can never have enough socks,” said Dumbledore. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.”

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful.

In my story, Harry gazes out at the Forbidden Forest for a little while, wondering who Dumbledore had been behind the mask of calm wisdom and pondering the burden of those left alive and grieving. Harry then ties the package he’s been holding to Hedwig’s arm and sends her off, chuckling a little through tears. In the last line it is revealed that – OMG – he has just sent off a pair of thick, woolen SOCKS. To DUMBLEDORE. Even though Dumbledore is DEAD. Isn’t that profound?

Two years later, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released, and to my complete surprise, it delved deep into some of the questions about Dumbledore that had tumbled out of me, stream-of-consciousness-like, in the story I wrote. The text even includes part of the above excerpt from “The Mirror of Erised”. At the outset of Deathly Hallows, Harry learns that Dumbledore’s childhood was a difficult one, the true details of which remain murky and contested by his admirers and critics. Harry regrets never having asked Dumbledore about his past, but recalls that, after all, the one personal question he had asked Dumbledore was not answered honestly…

While writing my story, I had imagined Harry’s pain and longing to know Dumbledore better. Because fan fiction allowed me to externalize my interpretation of the text, the questions in my mind took on concrete form. Their answers, when the next book presented them, became all the more striking and emotionally impactful. It was as though I had written a letter to the series of books that had shaped me and received, in a way, a gentle but meaningful response.

In 2004, JK Rowling released a statement about the phenomenon of fan fiction. She was flattered by fans’ desire to write about her characters, and her only caveats were that fan fiction should remain suitable for children (unfortunately that ship had already sailed, and Water was truly the least of it), as well as a non-commercial activity so that fans’ creative pursuits would remain unexploited. Other authors have not been as accepting, and have asked for fan fiction based on their work to be removed from popular websites. After all, in our current world, a story is classified as property. A sentence, a verse, a character’s name, can belong to someone the same way as the furniture in their house and the dollar figure in their bank account.

In the long history of storytelling, however, ownership is a relatively recent idea. Bear with me while I make an analogy – in pre-industrial Britain, every town had a commons, an area of land where anyone could gather firewood, take their cattle to graze, or hunt and fish to supplement a year of poor harvest. Storytelling has historically functioned as a kind of commons of ideas, one that anyone could pull from when the time came to tell a tale. Want to warn your kid against going near a well? Tell them about the hungry demon that lives in it. Were you hired to entertain a crowd at a wedding? Maybe you dust off an old poem about a prince and princess who meet one evening in the forest but spend years apart, not knowing each others’ true identity until it turns out they were betrothed all along.

Nobody invented well-dwelling monsters or estranged lovers for the first time – they simply existed in a shared cultural space, available when needed (or when it was particularly enjoyable to use them), ready to be shaped into something new and old at the same time. Even today, no one questions the use of familiar tropes in books and movies; we know that all storytelling involves a certain amount of borrowing and repetition, and we deem this acceptable as long as the storyteller has put an adequately original spin on the themes they utilize. The legal line is drawn once you get to the particulars – character names, or sentences and dialogue. These must be brand spanking new if you want to avoid a lawsuit and getting dropped by your publishers. (Does anyone else remember How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life?)

But for thousands of years, people told and re-told stories of beloved and familiar characters, not just unnamed archetypes – characters like Odysseus and Arjuna, Gilgamesh and King Arthur. The Sanskrit Mahabharata (Maha-BHA-rata) an epicly long, genre-defying story from South Asia, especially challenges the idea of a single, canonical text (much like other ancient story traditions from the subcontinent). It was told so many times by so many people that modern-day folks are not always able to agree on what the Mahabharata even is. The story is like a vast ocean — recognizable to all, but appears different depending on where you happen to be standing.

In the 20th century, some scholars collected Mahabharata manuscripts from all over the subcontinent, extracted the most commonly occurring parts to form a text, and detailed the many variations of each verse in footnotes that turned out longer than the text itself. No one can quite agree whether to treat this resulting (multi-volume) “Critical Edition” as the essential Sanskrit Mahabharata tradition, or as some kind of strange, post-colonial Mahabharata scrapbook. All this so that whenever somebody wrote an essay about the story, there was a single text, pieced together as it was, to use as a point of reference. (My Bachelor’s thesis was one of the lesser works of this scholarly genre.)

The plot of the Mahabharata goes like this: The five Pandava brothers, namely the prone-to-gambling leader Yudhishthira, morally-conflicted archer Arjuna, lovable beefcake Bhima, and something-to-do-with-horses twins Nakula and Sachdeva, along with their badass wife Draupadi, are exiled from their kingdom and forced into a year of disguise after a rigged dice game that Yudhishthira loses, and in which Draupadi is stripped and humiliated before a hall full of men. Eventually the Pandavas regain what they lost through a bloody war that leaves both sides devastated and questioning the point of all this conflict. The End.

Does my summary reflect my biases a little bit? For somebody else, the Pandavas might be perfect heroes, Draupadi a whiny ungrateful shrew who won’t stop yelling at them. To me, she is the moral backbone of the Pandavas, unafraid to call for what she feels is right even as everyone around her takes the coward’s way out of trouble.

Interpretations of Draupadi from various traditions

But it’s not just me who has a take on the story: the Mahabharata itself reflects a range of interacting and conflicting views, which might indicate that people from various backgrounds heard it and were able, in some way, to influence it. For example, although the text generally upholds hierarchies of caste and gender, it also pulls at the listener’s heartstrings with stories of characters who must confront these oppressive norms.

There’s Amba, who is stolen from her future-husband at her wedding and rejected by him when she manages to return; she later chooses to be re-born as a man in order to kill her kidnapper in battle. There’s Ekalavya, the talented archer from a forest tribe who trains with the Pandavas in youth and asks to prove his devotion to his archery guru any way he can; the guru, who favors the upper-caste prince Arjuna, asks Ekalavya to cut off his right thumb. There’s Kunti, who finds herself pregnant after an illicit affair with a god and places her baby, Karna, in a river; Karna is adopted by a lower-caste charioteer couple and goes on to fight against Kunti’s legitimate sons in the great battle that destroys the universe. And there’s Satyavati, whose husband/baby daddy pretends not to recognize her in front of his kingly court but gets completely schooled on how not to be an asshole.

“You know very well [who I am], your majesty; why do you say that you don’t, lying like a common man? Your heart knows the truth, and knows your lie. A man who does something wrong thinks, ‘No one knows me,’ but the gods know. If you do not do what I ask, your head will burst into a hundred pieces.” She discoursed at length on the reasons why a man should honor his wife, quoting the dharma texts.

(from The Ring of Truth: And Other Myths of Sex and Jewelry by Wendy Doniger)

Perhaps, among the traveling bards and indulgent grandmas who told the Mahabharata over centuries, there were some who identified or empathized with the pain of oppression and through whom otherwise-marginalized voices could ring out into the millennia.

The many Mahabharatas, along with the many conversations inside the Mahabharata, illustrate how the human imagination is prolific and messy, not content with merely absorbing information but impelled to remake, to take inspiration, to create, create, create. Isn’t that what happens when we read? We see the world we are reading about in our own way. We make up something in our own head as we go along, and that’s where the entertainment lies. The book itself is but a wonderful tool.

Perhaps if I had a right-wing patron who paid me to tell stories, I would tell the Mahabharata a little differently from how I do here, focusing on how the Pandavas were self-made men or how the ethnic minorities they killed were thieving encroachers. Or if I were telling the story to children, I might leave out anything particularly frightening. In the telling of a story, the will and whims of the teller have influence, as do those of the listener (or reader) and the financial benefactor (or publishing house).

What remains inevitable, however, is that rarely is a story told the same way twice. Even in our post-printing press, post-internet world, where stories are replicated identically again and again, we continue to dissect, analyze, and change them, whether it be through everyday conversations, online forums, or the prestige lens of a critic’s review. (A perfect example is the adaptation of works from one medium into another, be it from literature to film or from film to theater.) Sometimes the authors themselves continue to tweak and interpret their work – Virginia Wolf was known to make changes to her books prior to reprinting, and we all know that JK Rowling can’t leave the Potter universe well enough alone (love you Jo!).

For me, fan fiction is a grand storytelling and textual tradition not entirely unlike the Mahabharata. Fan fiction not only illustrates the malleable, generative nature of stories, it also provides a rare space, in our capitalist global economy, for storytelling to be that malleable, generative thing it has always been. It allows for democratic engagement in the storytelling traditions of our time, free from the boxes of profit and ownership. It lets us expand the possibilities of our collective imagination. Importantly, it allows voices from the margins into the story, where our canonical texts routinely fail us.

I’m also thankful to fan fiction for being a rare space, outside overpriced college English classes, where literary discussion can thrive. When I say discussion, I don’t mean mere binary criticism – like book reviews, or the Goodreads star rating-aggregates that help determine book sales. I mean questions about how a text makes you feel, what it reflects or critiques about our world, the things that literary characters, beloved and abhorred, may teach us about our shared humanity and flawed choices. And yes, some of these conversations involve Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy as co-Heads of Hogwarts, using the same bathroom.

Are you a reader or writer of fan fiction? Have you you dabbled in fan art? Or do you engage in a non-online form of fandom, like a book club? Please share!

Thanks for reading.

#fan fiction #writing #storytelling #early internet #dramione #mugglenet #mahabharata #harry potter #feminism #romance #indian history #draupadi #longform #long post

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gushingaboutgames · 7 years

Text

Sega Dreamcast

I hated middle school. There’s a whole swath of memories I’d rather do without as far as the years 1999 through 2002 are concerned. There is, however, one memory I hold near and dear to my heart during this time frame. After reading about it in magazines and being really excited for it, my mother took me to Toys’R’Us one evening to get me a Sega Dreamcast. We brought that puppy home with a copy of Sonic Adventure, hooked it up, fired it up, and took it all in. As the opening cinematic played on my TV, Mum said “It’s like playing a movie!”

Boy, if we only knew what games would go on to look like now.

The Dreamcast was, and to this day remains, my all time favorite console. It’s the swan song of a company that was perhaps a bit too ambitious for its own good, a marvel of gaming technology many years ahead of its time, and home to some of the best and most unique games to ever come out.

At the time of its release, the Dreamcast was the most graphically powerful console on the market. Sony’s Playstation boasted 32-bit graphics, and the Nintendo 64 had double that, at -wait for it- 64 bits. Dreamcast had double of that: 128 bits of beautiful graphics, thanks to the GD-ROM, a proprietary disc format born from squeezing every bit of memory out of a regular old CD as was physically possible, before DVDs and Blu-Ray became as ubiquitous as they are today.

Even the method of memory storage was unlike its competitors; the standard memory card for the Dreamcast was the Visual Memory Unit (VMU), a cross between a memory card and a Gameboy that let you manage data and download minigames to extend the functionality of many games. The only other thing like it that I can think of being made is Sony’s Pocketstation, and that never saw the light of day outside of Japan. You would not believe the number of button-cell batteries I burned through caring for Chao on the go.

Of course, all of the fancy tech and cool gadgets wouldn’t amount to much if the games on offer weren’t fun at all. Tiger’s Game.Com bragged of being a versatily console and handheld device, but the games for it all stank like a fragrant dog poop laying on the sidewalk on a hot Floridian summer day. Thankfully, fun games were something the Dreamcast had no shortage of, even in the brief few years that it was on the market, a slew of which I’d like to bring attention to.

Sonic Adventure 1 & 2

Maybe they haven’t aged as well as I’d like to think, but DAYUM if these weren’t some fun games back in the day. Sonic has always struggled with 3D, but the first attempts at true 3D Sonic games remain quite novel. The first Sonic Adventure had different play styles for each character, some of which were great (Sonic and Gamma, for me at least), others...not so much (the less said about Big, the better), in addition to, for its time, an intricate plot with each character’s story intertwining and playing out differently depending on which character you’re playing as.

Sonic Adventure 2, meanwhile, streamlined the gameplay and improved upon some of the first game’s flaws, cutting out the non-platforming related stages (aside from the treasure hunting stages, which are a touch better than in the first game). It’s story was also very compelling, being one of the darkest storylines in the entire series; government conspiracies, weapons of mass destruction, fucking murder! Maybe that’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but I think we can all agree that SA2 handled “dark and gritty” a lot better than Shadow the Hedgehog’s stand-alone game.

Both games also featured a mini-game that could prove to be just as addicting, if not more so, than the games proper: Chao Gardens. Chao were little, adorable water monsters that players could raise like virtual pets, their popularity likely owed in part to the ubiquity of other virtual pets like Tamagotchi near the end of the millennium, as well as how easy-going and casual raising a Chao was compared to a Digi-Pet that would not wait for you to clean its shit up: you can enter and leave Chao Gardens freely, and you wouldn’t have to worry of your Chao dying of neglect in your absence. There’s also very deep mechanics at work for raising Chao, with their growth and evolution depending heavily on how well you raise them, what animals you give them, and what fruits you feed them, all so you can have them participate in races. The aforementioned VMU also expanded Chao functionality considerably, letting you raise them anywhere you wanted.

Shenmue

My relationship with Shenmue, these days, is very much that of a love-hate relationship. On the one hand, Shenmue popularized two aspects of gaming today that I loathe; Quick-Time Events, and over-blown game budgets (this game would’ve had to be bought by every DC owner TWICE before it could break even). On the other hand, there’s no denying that this game was a labor of love by Yu Suzuki. The attention to detail in Ryo Hazuki’s hometown of Yokosuka is staggering. Everything you can imagine can be interacted with, down to the last dresser drawer in Ryo’s house. Every resident of Yokosuka was unique from the others and had their own behaviors that they would go through, unlike every other NPC in the town, or other games for that matter. The story may be a tad formulaic, and most of the voice work left something to be desired, but the world of Shenmue was one that was very fun to explore.

Plus, this game introduced me to Space Harrier. If that’s not a good thing, you tell me what is.

Jet Set Radio

I had to convince my mother this game wouldn’t turn me into a graffiti-painting delinquent. It was a hard sell, but it paid off, and boy am I glad it did.

Jet Set Radio is very much unlike other games, then and today even. This was the game that helped to popularize cel-shaded graphics; the thick black outlines around the character models made this game look like an anime come to life, and eventually paved the way for the wicked-awesome graphics we see today from Arc System Works with Guilty Gear XRD and Dragonball FighterZ. The idea of playing a roller-blading hooligan throwing tags around the city and evading the police was also unique, and kept players on their toes as techno music accompanies their shenanigans. The game was a bit on the short side, but was challenging and fun enough that multiple playthroughs were warranted.

Making my own graffiti tags was also quite the timesink.

Phantasy Star Online

I may be a late bloomer to the Phantasy Star series, but it has become one very dear to me for helping me meet some of my closest friends (Hi, Tara!).

Phantasy Star was a series of JRPGs by Sega meant to compete with other big franchises like Final Fantasy and Dragon Quest. The original PSO, on the other hand, is an online multiplayer dungeon crawler that would change the course of the series from that point forward. As interstellar colonists investigating mysterious phenomena on an alien planet, players would delve into unique locals with characters they would create themselves to slay monsters, collect valuable items, and unravel the mysteries of the planet Ragol.

The original PSO is also very notable for its attempt to break the language barrier with a unique conversation system. While good ol’ fashioned keyboards remained in vogue, players also had the option of constructing sentences to transmit to other players in the area or party in those players’ native languages. Using this system, you could send a message saying “Help! This dragon is too powerful!”, and your friend in Japan would read it as “助けて！この龍は強すぎる！” It may not have seen much use, since players are more likely to congregate and play with those that can speak a common language fluently, but it was very kind of Sega to provide the option.

One thing that gets me straight in the feels is something from the original beta trailer for this game: “The world of Phantasy Star Online lasts for an eternity!” It is not uncommon for trailers and developers to hype games up with hyperbole (just ask Peter Molyneaux), but this is a statement that has held true for PSO! Even after the last official server for the last iteration of PSO shut down in 2008, private servers continue to run the game to this day, ensuring that the world of PSO truly remains eternal. Even with a proper sequel Phantasy Star Online 2 proving to be a pop culture staple in Japan, the original PSO remains one of the most beloved and enduring MMOs in history.

Skies of Arcadia

I’ve got friends who would skin my hide and leave me to hang like the Predator if I didn’t mention this.

Just about every console since the NES has a JRPG, and the Dreamcast is no exception. While Phantasy Star shifted towards MMO territory, those hoping for a sweeping single-player adventure still had Skies of Arcadia. As the daring sky pirate Vyse and his motley crew of adventurers, players fought to stop an evil empire from awakening an ancient evil while flying across a world of floating continents in a kickass airship. This game is among the most challenging JRPGs in the genre; a clever mind and strategic acumen are needed to survive battles with other pirates, monsters, and rival airships. The world of the game is also incredibly beautiful; I personally think it has much in common with Castle in the Sky, my favorite Hayao Miyazaki film. The soundtrack compliments the game incredibly, and is a joy to listen to by itself.

---

There are plenty of other games that made the Dreamcast incredible, but this article is long enough as it is, so I’ll have to give those games their proper due later. Suffice to say, though, the Dreamcast is a historical console that remains one of the most beloved in the history of the medium, not only by myself, but by hundreds of thousands of gamers the world over. It may have only been on the market for a few years, but it is said that the brightest stars are the ones that burn out the quickest.

And make no mistake, the Dreamcast is one of the brightest stars there ever was.

#dreamcast #sega #sonic #phantasy star online #skies of arcadia #shenmue #jet set radio #9/9/99

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