#so WHY these people have any kind of clout or trust is beyond me and anyone who pushes his garbage | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

persepholline · 3 years

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I've read that article about the romanticization of the Darkling and while I absolutely understand people who are pissed off/sad and I agree that it's shitty, I find LB's attitude towards Darkles stans very funny in a "girl what are you doing" sort of way because it's so petty like I've never heard of a bestselling author writing a portion of their fans into their books as a crazy cult before, it clearly hit a nerve

I'm new to the fandom but the feeling I get is she wrote something problematic ten years ago and became very embarrassed about it afterwards so she turned on the fans that liked it as a way to absolve herself. Especially since fandoms in general have become a lot more focused on discussion of what constitutes healthy/acceptable relationships to write about. And in a way I get it I had a huge Twilight phase in high school and afterwards I was super embarassed about it because of how problematic and cringe it was. But now with distance and more maturity I'm able to both still see why it was problematic and also why I was drawn to it (mostly the very unhinged representation of female desire) and like...it's really not the end of the world and no it never made me believe that breaking into somebody's room at night to watch them sleep was actually ok in real life lmao. This feels so obvious to me but apparently it needs to be said.

(More under the break this is turning into an essay, I've been thinking of this a lot recently)

And of course it's good to have these discussions about how historically romance tropes have echoed social dynamics of men's shitty behavior being romanticized and excused. But these days they often are so simplistic and focused on chasing clout that they become this weird new puritanism and moral panic about oh now women are reading novels it's going to make them hysterical or something

So you have these weird assumptions that you can't like a character and also be critical of their actions, or enjoy certain parts of a character and not others, or wish they were written differently and like them more for their potential (which I'm sure stings a bit for an author lol) - it assumes that if you like a character it means you would approve of their actions in real life, or that people just stupidly reproduce whatever they see on TV. That tendency to treat fictional characters like real people is the thing that actually worries me, to be honest, because it indicates a lack of distance and critical capacities regarding how stories are used and received. But people - fans and authors - are so scared of being called out as problematic and harassed for it that they're going to shy away from any nuance.

And yeah I think that it's good that standards of what constitutes an ideal relationship are evolving and becoming more feminist and communicative and all that and we definitely need more of that. But not all fiction has to be aspirational! Sometimes you just want to read about fucked up shit, because it's cathartic or fascinating, even healing at times because with fiction you are absolutely in control and can choose when to close the book. Toxic relationships in fiction can have an appeal specifically because they go to extremes of feeling that we don't want to go to in reality, in exactly the same way as horror movies or very violent action movies - which I don't see a lot of people besides fundamentalist Christians argue that they turn you into violent psychopaths (and that feels very obviously sexist). And for women, who are often taught growing up that love is the purpose of life, the "saving someone with your ability to love" can be a power fantasy in the same way that being a buff superhero who saves the day with their capacity for incredible violence can be a power fantasy for men. Still doesn't mean those women are going to fall in love with actual murderers or that those men are going to start beating up people at night. And love is scary, and weird, and weirdly close to horror at times, with all the potential for loss of self and being vulnerable and overwhelming feelings and potential for being horribly hurt and it should be possible for stories to explore that without anybody screaming about how this is going to Corrupt the Youth or something

And I mean I get it LB wanted to write a cautionary tale for teenagers, but it just did not work for reasons a lot of people have already written about - the fact that the Darkling is the leader of an oppressed minority and is the only one with a real political agenda to end that oppression in the first trilogy, the fact that he helps Alina come into her own power while her endgame LI is someone she keeps herself small for, that she's shamed for wanting power after growing up without any, a generally very wonky conception of privilege, and a lot of other stuff with yucky regressive implications to the point where stanning the villain actually feels liberating and empowering which is a surefire sign that the narrative is broken (unless it's a villain focused story lmao). But of course that Fanside article makes almost no mention of the political dynamics, it's all about interpersonal stuff which is an annoying trend in YA, there are those massive events happening in the background but it's made all about the feelings of the hero(ine) ; war as a self-development quest (which is kind of gross). Helnik is kind of an example of this too - I like them, I think they're fun ! But Matthias spends a big part of the story wanting to brutally murder Nina and her kind, and he mostly changes his mind because he finds her hot. Like you don't feel there is some sort of big revelation that his entire moral system and political framework is completely rotten ; it's all better because of feelings now.

As a teenager that kind of sanctimonious bullshit would have annoyed the hell out of me ; I read those books in my early twenties and I found the ending so stupid I wouldn't have trusted any message or life lessons coming from them. And I liked reading/watching dark stuff as a teenager, as a way to deal with the very intense inner turmoil I was dealing with - and I turned out fine ! Meanwhile I've seen several times women in very shitty relationships being obsessed with positive energies and stories ; they were so terrified of their life not being perfectly wholesome they ended up being delusional about their own situations.

Like personally I think the Darkling is a compelling, interesting, alluring character and also a manipulative, murderous piece of shit and that Alina should get to punish him (like in a sexy way) - but he's also the end result of centuries of war, oppression and trauma and reducing that to "toxic wounded boy" feels kind of offensive ngl ESPECIALLY since the books don't offer any kind of systemic analysis or response to oppression beyond "the bad guy should die" and "now the king/queen is a good guy our problems are solved!!!!"

In Lives of the Saints, we see how Yuri is abused extremely badly and almost killed by his father, and so when his father dies when the Fold swallows Novokribirsk, he thinks the Starless Saint has saved him. Later in KoS/RoW he's turned into this fanatic who explains away all the Darkling's crimes. The other followers talk about how the Starless Saint will bring equality for all men. Then the Darkling comes back and actually thinks his followers are pathetic, which feels again like a very pointed message to his IRL stans. Which is absolutely hilarious to me. Like oh no, if he was real he would not like you and think you're pathetic ! Yeah ...but he's not. Real. Damn right he would not like the fics where Alina puts him on a leash. I'm still going to read them. What is he going to do about it, jump out of the page ? Jfjfjjdhfgfjfj

Anyway I think the intended message is "assholes will use noble political causes for their own gain and to manipulate people" and "being abused/oppressed is not an excuse to behave badly." Which. Sure. But that's kind of like...a tired take, honestly ? A big number of villains nowadays are like this ; either they've been bullied as kids, or they're part of an oppressed group, or they have "good ideals but too extreme". This is not surprising because a lot of mainstream heroic narratives present clinging to the status quo as Good and change as chaotic and dangerous. And like sure in real life people often do bad shit because they're wounded and in danger. But if you want to do a story like that, you have to do it with nuance, talk about cycles of violence, about how society creates vulnerable people to be exploited, about how privilege gives you more choices and the luxury of morals, etc. The Grishaverse does not have this level of nuance (maybe in SoC a little bit but definitely not in TGT). So it kind of comes off as "trauma makes you evil" and "egalitarianism is dangerous" and "if you're abused/oppressed you're not allowed to fight back". And ignores the fact that historically, evil generally comes from unchecked privilege.

I guess my point is that there are many things I like about LB's writing, she knows how to create these really exciting character dynamics, and the world she has created is fascinating. But these stories are not a great starting point for imparting moral lessons. And her best characters tend to be, at least in canon, the morally grey ones. I hope one day she'll be at peace with the fact that she wrote the Darkling the way she did and leave his fans alone but in the meantime I'm just not going to take this whole thing seriously I'm sorry

#darklina #the darkling #alina starkov #aleksander morozova

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clansayeed · 3 years

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Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 9: The Arrival

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ⥽

They fled New York with one purpose. Find, hunt down, and return with a way to kill a vampire god. They abandoned their loved ones and survived the City of Shadows; had their trust broken and darkest secrets brought to light. All that... and Gaius still won anyway. But now that they have nothing to lose, Nadya and her friends are finally ready to do whatever it takes to see the King of Vampires overthrown.

They just have to avoid a vampire population eager to gain favor with their new monarch, the ruthless Order of the Dawn, and whatever plans Gaius has that involve Nadya captured and brought to him alive. So... easy-peasy, right? The worlds of both dark and light hang in the balance. The time has come for the Bloodkeeper to embrace her destiny. So if anyone wants to clue her in on whatever that means, now would be great!

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02, @hellyeah90sbaby, @tayab12, @saratustra4, @imnotdonewiththeelementalists, @thepotatobleh,

*join the Tag List here!

⥼ Summary ⥽

It's the night of Vlad's masquerade ball, the most prestigious social event a vampire can attend. An entire ballroom full of faces and names every vampire in Europe knows... and apparently Nadya is going to upstage them all.

content warnings: language

[READ IT ON AO3]

A pretty big chunk of their plan relies on the staff of the Tepes Estate being just as snobbish and uppity as the man they serve.

So thankfully at least something is both easily predictable and surprisingly convenient.

Staff all around, and none of them pay the pair of them much mind. Beyond the fact that they get told by more than one footman that “guests really shouldn’t be back in the staff corridors” and receive multiple warnings about how “the Count has ensured all guests for the evening, (said while looking down the biggest snooty nose in all of Prague no less) no matter their prestige, will receive adequate time to sup on the serving staff,” and that they “really shouldn’t be allowing an undisclosed human on the premises but will look the other way this time,” Nadya and Cadence are pretty much left to their own devices.

Which means scurrying out of sight before any lone particularly loyal member of the Tepes household decides to go narc and everything ends up exploding in their faces anyway.

Because there’s no way on earth these full-face masques of theirs are providing any damage cover should their plans go KABOOM!

Nadya casts another look up at Cadence as they come across their umpteenth fork in the road. Watching him decide between right or left is starting to feel as nerve-wracking as actually choosing which direction they ought to go.

“You’re sure you know where we are?” You’re sure you know we’re going the right way?

“I’m starting to feel like you have less than zero faith in me, Nadya.” He probably thinks the glance down her way is a reassuring one. But the masque over his face is almost too neutral. It’s just a mask but it feels like it’s trying too hard, you know?

“That’s not it at all. This place is just…” A lot.

He barely remembers to reach back and take her by the hand before he chooses left in a hurry. Who knows how much time they’ve wasted just trying to find their way through this seemingly endless castle.

“It takes me a moment to recall the map Serafine showed me before we left, but I’m… ninety percent sure I know exactly where we are.”

“And the other ten percent?”

“Is trying to keep an ear out for party noises. So if you’ll zip it, thank you.”

Admittedly Nadya would have a lot more faith in this plan if it wasn’t just the pair of them, proven stumbling disasters that they are, relying on the apparently flawless memory of a man who literally introduces himself as ‘the one with amnesia.’ She understands the rationale behind it, just as she understands the rationale behind everybody else going through the front door like an entourage of normal party-goers. They have three prestigious faces and what Jax and Lily lack in clout they make up for in being practically invisible as nobodies to this upper echelon of attendees.

But shoving the two bigwigs of their gang — well, the most recognizable face in any room of vampires and the obviously human girl losing her freakin’ mind amid a cluster of the heartbeat-less undead — through the staff entrance with nothing more than simple masks to disguise them and trusting them not to mess up finding their way among the rest in time for some famed big reveal they still don’t know the full-on details of…?

Well if they live through this long enough to chronicle this part of their journey, nobody is ever allowed to even so much as imply via metaphor that Nadya never trusted her friends wholly and completely.

Actually if they’re talking about chronicling stuff, better they leave these more vague and improvised parts of their master quest to the footnotes. That way they can pretend they knew what they were doing the whole time.

For example Nadya isn’t gonna let anyone write down that she got so wrapped up in her thoughts about what may or may not get written down that she walked face-first into a brick wall.

OW.

Not a brick wall, actually.

Cadence turns around and catches Nadya’s mask just before it falls and shatters on the ground. Thank you vampire super-speed.

“Are you okay?” He asks, wide-eyed and worried, hesitant to give her back her disguise to take stock of how she really looks.

That’s such a loaded question though, so Nadya ignores it and rubs the redness on her forehead instead.

“Why’d you stop?”

The vampire takes a moment to look up and down either end of the corridor and even around the next corner. When he’s satisfied they’re alone he pries his own mask off with a groan; practically peeling his flattened hair from where its been stuck to his forehead the moment he put the darn thing on.

“Because,” with pursed lips he blows his fringe out of his eyes, “I’ve been talking this entire time… and even when I ramble you usually have some two cents or other to pitch in.”

That’s fair. Nadya takes back her mask with a sheepish shrug. “Sorry, got distracted.”

“That much is obvious. Care to share?”

“Not really. Care to keep going?” Not like they’re exactly full of free time, here.

He sweeps his arm in an after you motion, but keeps pace with Nadya’s shorter stride. “I can hear the string quartet by now. We’re close, but they haven’t begun the announcements Serafine told me to wait for.” So maybe they have a bit of free time. Got it.

Only now she can’t stop thinking about what will be on the other side of the big grand ballroom doors.

And Nadya without her set of note cards to at least help her through her dumb speech all because her dumb dress has no dumb pockets.

“You know I still don’t get why they wouldn’t budge about you not being discovered.”

“You don’t see me complaining,” Cadence says with a shrug; and actually now that he points it out…

“No, I don’t.”

He doesn’t need to look at her to know exactly why she says it that way, either. It’s not the first time they’ve had this talk. Probably won’t be the last either.

His sigh sags from his shoulders to his fingertips. “‘Surprise warmonger back from the dead’ might accidentally eclipse ‘reincarnation of the vampire Goddess.’ Can’t have that, now can we.”

“Cadence.”

“Nadya.”

They turn another corner in complete silence. Nadya’s ears strain to hear this quartet of his but nope, not close enough for her poor human ears quite yet.

Finally Cadence seems to decide on something. Gathering himself up all the way to his full height while fiddling with the porcelain in his grasp. “Actually… Serafine and Kamilah gave me the option. When they talked about prestige all this week it was largely assuming I might be able to pretend just enough to add to their collective fame. But they gave me the choice as to whether or not I wanted to try.”

“And you said no.”

“Of course I said no. I don’t envy you, Nadya. You have to do this regardless of whether or not you want to. But for the first time it feels like I’m not in that position, and I want to take full advantage of it.”

His face falls, voice going somber. “Surely you can see why.”

She can. She did, in the flesh, and while he’d been useful at the time she can still close her eyes and remember how easily Cynbel had threatened Jax, hurt Adrian and Serafine; how callous he’d been with her life even though she’d agreed with him at the time… Not to mention all the implied things that come with Serafine, always calm and cool and collected, losing her freakin’ marbles every time he ended up a part of the conversation.

He continues. “I don’t think I could have pretended to be him if my life depended on it. And if you think about it, your life does depend on it in a way. I couldn’t risk you like that. Not after how kind you’ve been to me.”

Her fingers brush over his arm. Cadence either takes it the wrong way or chooses to give a purpose to something so small; he bends his elbow and lets her arm slide into his like a proper escort to a proper ball.

“A lot of people’s lives depend on me pretending to…” Nadya can’t quite say it though, so she swallows it down. “I just have no idea what I’m supposed to do when we get there.”

“Understandably.”

“Seriously,” offering him a wry and dry smile, “that’s all the advice you’ve got?”

He mulls it over for a good and proper think. The effort is more than appreciated even if it doesn’t actually yield results. At least this way she gets to vent it out before messing up royally when the time comes.

Cadence stops first — their linked arms jerk her back and to turn and face him. “I wouldn’t call it advice, per se,” gee—great, “but maybe we both suck at pretending because we ought to be accepting, instead. Accepting who we… were. Possibly, in your case. That way we still have the chance to move on.”

It’s a sweet sentiment, but Nadya can’t help the way her nose scrunches up slightly.

“I don’t think that applies to this case, Cade.”

“Fair enough. Can’t say I didn’t try.” And that makes the pair of them laugh, no matter how weakly. Something neither of them knew they needed, nor how badly they needed it.

It doesn’t last long… but it doesn’t need to.

“You’ll figure it out when the time comes Nadya. You usually do.”

Usually.

In wordless agreement she and Cadence don their pretend masques with mutual reluctance. At least he doesn’t have to breathe in his. But it’s easier this time to see what his face really says beneath that neutral doll-like expression.

She smiles at him in return. Like many things these days they can’t quite see it, but the feeling is there.

When they get close enough that Nadya’s ears no longer strain to catch the occasional tittering laughter or melodramatic voice, Cadence diverts them yet again. This time for a staircase he just so happens to catch sight of out of the corner of his eye.

He keeps her close; closer than before. Practically hovering over her like a shadow less than a step behind her the whole way up. She pauses when he pauses, she waits when he waits, and trusts him enough to know her faith isn’t misplaced but some explanation would be swell any time he’s feeling his usual chatty self.

Crouched close to the ground (which is a feat for him, for her not so much) Cadence crooks a finger at Nadya to join him in inching steps along the carpet towards the railing overlooking the main foyer below.

Nadya is, understandably, hesitant. “What if someone sees us?” What if someone smells me, hears me, all-of-the-aboves me?

“Same principle as before.”

“Keep close and your blood will cover me up?”

He nods. Not like she really has any other choice. Well, that and the more snatches of conversation she plucks from thin air the more curious she is.

And when has her curiosity ever not won out?

Cadence’s cloak comes heavy around her other shoulder and all but smothers her. She grabs the edge and pulls it tight while making sure not to jostle it from his shoulders. For some reason she can’t shake the feeling like she’s hiding behind a curtain with her feet sticking out underneath.

But they’re here, so they might as well take advantage of it. So Nadya joins him in peering through the stone balusters to the hustle and bustle happening below.

The foyer had been beautiful already during her visit with Serafine and Jax the other night — Nadya would even go so far as to assume it was nearly completed. That assumption would have been vastly incorrect.

It’s not her contacts; she’s not seeing double. Every bauble and ribbon and glittering glassy gem brought along the entire family. There’s practically no surface without something shiny added in some form or another, and in many cases that shiny thing has a shiny thing has a shiny thing of its own on top.

On their own the decorations probably look gaudy and too-much. But when you fill the room with graceful vampires all dolled up in unique fashions and splendors everything else is lost in the background. Tasteful would probably have ended up the equivalent of a fifty-buck Party Town Supply budget. So at least the Count knows his audience.

She should be looking for their friends… and she is. But Nadya tells herself it’s being a good and thorough secret agent to observe all the other guests along the way. Two birds and all that. But it’s not easy to just sweep her eyes over the assembled masses in search of a few key faces. Not when each masque is a face all its own.

You’d think there are only so many combinations of colors, designs, and styles to make before they start getting repetitive. But that couldn’t be farther from the case. She gets it now, seeing everything and everyone from way up high and afar like this. The importance of not just the masque itself, but having the right kind of masque above everything else.

Masquerade balls are about hiding and blending in; being just another face in the crowd.

Les Visages de la Gloire is the exact opposite. And even that feels like the most watered-down way to put it she can think of.

A gentle weight falls on Nadya’s back and she shudders a gasp. When had she stopped breathing? Not for fear of being caught, but at the beauty of it all that could only be described as—literally—breathtaking.

Faceless in their full face-coverings and headdresses each more ostentatious than the last; not important enough to show who they are but still in competition with each other — still with deeds to announce and reputations to uphold. Half-masks covering the left side, the right side, the top of one and the bottom of another and all of them made uniquely for a single soul and nobody else.

Some vampires have masques that match their costumes. Others clash in a way that can’t be anything other than on purpose. Even from a distance Nadya can see the difference between carefully crafted metalwork and porcelain painted with glossy lacquer; can compare wood carvings with rich varnish and contrast that with the vast rainbow of matte colors on terracotta. Most are adorned with embellishments and jewels heavy enough to make her neck hurt just by looking at them.

Nearly all take full advantage of the fact their wearers won’t end up suffocating on the other side.

And I’m supposed to show them all up without so much as a sheer ribbon over my eyes? Yeah, Nadya’s confidence takes a knife to the gut just thinking about it.

“Over there.”

Not like Cadence’s finger isn’t pointing down to a massive crowd or anything, but that’s exactly the point — forgive the pun.

Though they can’t quite see double doors leading inside the castle from the exterior from their hiding spot, the sudden hush that falls over the idle crowd offers up an equally dramatic entrance.

It’s the kind of arrival that would be filmed in slow-motion. The kind that pans up from the purposeful echo of each expensive step; dragging over the exquisite details of their costumes in one long smooth glide all the way to the big reveal. And what a reveal it is.

Kamilah’s spindly masque may be made of steel but it curls over her sharp features with all the grace of a silken thread. It’s a face covering by only the thinnest margin of definition, with too many gaps in the framework to even pretend to conceal her identity. But after taking in the rest of the crowd… it’s obvious she’s the kind of face — the kind of presence — that simply can’t go unrecognized.

Everything about Kamilah, from her posture to her raised chin to her not-at-all-faked aura of superiority, demands recognition.

On the surface she’s the woman that Nadya knows; that she trusts and cares about so so much. But look beneath, something all too easy to do — like sweeping aside a mist, it’s impossible to miss how she’s so much more.

The Bloodqueen has arrived. And the entire foyer is speechless before her.

Without even moving a muscle the closest groups stagger back several more steps. Dozens of them nearly tripping over themselves and each other in their haste.

It’s no surprise that the space is quickly taken up by the two figures flanking Kamilah’s sides.

Serafine’s masque isn’t so much a mask as it is a scrap of lace just wide enough to earn the collective approval. As if anyone here doesn’t already know who she is regardless. But that’s how she can pull the look off if Nadya is remembering her explanation right.

No one would dare partake in Les Visages without knowing—without introduction—the woman who started it all.

Some final vestiges of their psychic connection tugs Nadya towards her; not physically so much as emotionally. Even without seeing Serafine’s features up close there’s a bittersweet ache in her chest that’s definitely not Nadya’s own.

The vampiress can offer up all the scarlet-lipped smiles she wishes. They are all hollow and fake. The simple act of being here causes Serafine nothing but distress.

And then there was Adrian.

Who, in comparison to Kamilah and Serafine, makes the women nearest him seem positively giddy and gleeful to be here tonight.

He wears his tailored costume perfectly; that wasn’t in doubt. It’s the masque that leaves him stony-faced. Gold rich and dark that catches every little flame on the chandelier over his head that covers his eyes but can’t hide the tension wracking his jaw.

He and Kamilah both wear near-identical rich crimson garnets inlaid just beneath their masque’s right eye. Shared stones for a shared Maker. But along his edges are thin metal spires, short but wicked sharp, that vary from the same gold, to steel, to a coppery hue.

A second glance confirms Nadya’s suspicions; Adrian isn’t the only one with those kinds of embellishments along the edges of their masques. Scouring a few of them from the crowd, the way they carry themselves and mirror Adrian’s ramrod-straight posture answers a question she didn’t know she needed to ask.

If the garnet labels him and Kamilah both as Turned by Gaius, then the spikes are the mark of the soldier. Any soldier; but one worth recognition for their service.

Which is everything Adrian doesn’t want. Everything he had worried over, and was working now towards overcoming in the wake of his past.

Nadya ducks her head hastily to catch her tear before it falls. Thankfully she’s quick enough. If only she could wipe away the reason for it just as easily.

Pull yourself together, girl, she scolds, and it’s just enough to do the trick and pull Nadya’s focus back to everything around them. All the stillness and nothingness and the way a room full of the undead hold their collective unnecessary breath waiting for what will happen next.

Which is exactly the kind of attention-grabbing showstopper the three of them are supposed to be. All eyes turned on the prestigious trio they are together, and away from Nadya and Cadence one floor above.

All focus on who they are, why they’ve come, what they will do; and away from the practically invisible dynamic duo that slips through the crowd towards the closed ballroom doors.

Behind her, Cadence lets out an impressed little “hah” when he finally manages to pick Lily and Jax out of the crowd. “I completely missed them. Did you see them sneak in?”

“No,” answers Nadya, but that’s actually a good thing. That was the whole point.

Without a word Kamilah takes one step forward. Her aura of command acts like an invisible shield that parts the rest; holding them at a respectable distance.

But the sudden shifting of the mass of faces and their masques gets dangerous when it turns right in their direction. If even one wandering eye looks up, they’re done for!

Without a word the vampire pulls Nadya backwards, letting the force of his bulk pull them out of eyesight in the nick of time. That was a little close, huh.

Nadya doesn’t get the chance to thank him though.

The moment she opens her mouth a loud echoing clang rings out below them, followed by the distinct shuffle of something heavy being dragged achingly close to the foyer’s marble floors.

Neither of them needs to risk sneaking a look.

Right on time. The ballroom doors have finally opened, allowing the first wave of prestige to spill forth out to the grand dance floor.

And though the shuffling of boots and sharp tapping of heels fills the vacuum of stunned silence as the attendees start to move, it’s not nearly enough noise to drown out the sudden and familiar exuberant laughter of delight that echoes across every polished surface below. The kind of laughter designed to be projected across adoring crowds; and carefully rehearsed to always seem full of intriguing promise.

What Nadya wouldn’t give to borrow a little of Vlad Tepes’ seemingly endless confidence for her own performance… looming ever-closer and starting to pick up real steam.

“Remember my lovelies! Faceless and no-names, see yourselves inside. New blood and the lucky virginal attendees right beside them!”

Her full-body shiver of discomfort is more than warranted. But Nadya only wishes she could be surprised at his… unsettling word choice.

“I’m suddenly very glad to be up here.”

She snorts at the wide-eyed stare looking out from Cadence’s mask. “You and me both.”

“Yes yes darling, oh you look a treat. And you there — you must tell me the story behind that engraving later, you simply must.” It’s really to their luck and benefit that the Count likes hearing himself talk so much. They can stay far away from the railing and still keep tabs on what gauge of prestige is next to be welcomed into the bal masqué proper.

They just have to wait until everyone—Vlad included—is inside. Everyone but the most prestigious of the lot of them. And when all eyes are (once again) on the Bloodqueen herself… they’ll have no choice but to witness Nadya’s arrival.

Having Kamilah by her side might just give her the kick in the metaphorical pants to do this thing. Not the literal though. There’s no way this practically bleach-white linen getup will survive a boot print, and especially not to the rear end.

Down below there’s a momentary lull; all but shattered by Vlad’s returning laughter now pitched higher than before.

“Why there you are, Serafine! Here I worried I had somehow lost track of your arrival in the excitement.”

His words are followed by two unmistakably wet noises; which Nadya prays are just over-dramatic kisses to her cheeks.

“Surely you jest,” she teases good-naturedly; said with all the humor of someone whose smile can’t possibly reach her eyes, “I see before me you follow the old traditions quite well. Showing the prestigious their due, their arrival witnessed by all who look to them in admiration.”

“Well of course! It makes for the grandest of entrances.”

“Ah, yes,” the elder vampiress croons, “and as the illustrious host yours would be the last, non?”

“Don’t worry darling — I would never claim credit for your centuries of contribution to our dwindling community.”

“Meaning?”

Somehow Nadya just knows Vlad throws his hair back unnecessarily as he laughs again.

“You can enter just before me, of course.”

“Then when, may I ask, might you suggest my blood-kin Adrian and I make our entrance known, old friend?”

Unlike Serafine, who at least pretends to smile while enduring the torture of his conversation, Kamilah’s question is cold and clipped. It rings with all the disinterest of the Kamilah that Nadya had met so long ago — and she’d place good money on the single raised eyebrow hiked high enough to be seen over her masque, too.

But if anyone could render Vlad speechless…

Nadya struggles to hear something, anything, until she catches the faint rustle of stiff and expensive fabric moving with haste. Vlad’s gesture of greeting, no doubt.

Just like she has no doubt that Kamilah and Adrian don’t humor him as long as Serafine has. It certainly explains the flustered, hasty way his next words tumble from his tongue with practically no filter.

“All the best surprises are the ones that sweep one off his feet. My humble gathering of our kind—nay, our family—from the nearest branch to the farthest root is made absolutely resplendent by the honor of your presence!

“Your Majesty, mon cherie —” —a beat, his attention likely shifting to Adrian— “— and Sergeant Adrian Raines, just when I had resigned myself to an evening of only the old and antiquated in renown. Here you stand before me, as handsome as the day we first met.”

Nadya quickly schools her bewildered expression — too long and it might get stuck that way. But that is flirtation if she’s ever heard it. Not good flirtation, but nevertheless.

“Vlad, as… lively… as ever.” Adrian just barely recovers, but now she’s dying to know what he had almost said instead. “Hard to believe it’s been nearly seventy-five years since last we met. Time… flies so quickly.”

“Oh pish posh,” replies the Count, “you wouldn’t know it but for the calendars. My memory of those chiseled features of yours obviously needed a refresh.”

He’s barely finished speaking when he gasps, clapping his hands together delightedly. “Speaking of memory! You’ll have to forgive my fright. As you all know surely, my recollection skills are of world-renown. Yet the sight of you all almost thrust me spiraling into self-doubt.

“And not without good reason! As I could have sworn you — the both of you, that is to say — had… cast aside your former titles.”

It’s just like before. Everything that pops into his head said without a filter all the way up until what he’s saying isn’t as vapid as it was at the start.

It must be so easy to write Vlad Tepes off at first glance. Just look at the public opinion of the guy. Nadya had, she’s humble enough to admit it. But the hard truth is that he is Vlad Tepes; he is Count Dracula.

But whether he’s all the things the myths and legends claim or not it can’t go ignored that he knows what he’s doing (even if it doesn’t seem like it). He knows how to play a crowd, how to stroke an ego. He’s a master of misdirection.

Has nobody pitched a Vegas residency to this guy yet? Seriously?

But if he thinks he’s going to out-wit someone like Kamilah he must have those leather pants on just a little too tight.

She doesn’t address his comment. Brushing it aside proves a much more important point.

“Shall Adrian and I wait patiently here while you and Serafine follow through, then?”

Vlad must be used to playing the ‘host with the most’ card, because he hesitates. But Kamilah wasn’t asking — she was just being polite.

“Yes,” he finally agrees, though surprisingly less strained than Nadya would have expected. “I would not dare nor dream of presuming your prestige. Nor would I separate the grand entrance of the progeny of our King.

“The three of you will have a most celebratory announcement, I give you my word.”

Did she hear that right?

Serafine offers a gentle tittering laugh. “I see no reason why you and I should not enter together, ma puce.”

“We shall.”

Vlad’s words die to the sound of heavy heels across the foyer floor. Too many steps to be one of her friends; but certainly more than enough for them to bring a person across the length of the room to where they are gathered.

Of course something is going wrong. They should have anticipated something going wrong. They had, her brain reminds her, and probably thinks its being helpful by doing so.

She dares to inch just close enough to catch a glimpse down below and spoiler alert — it isn’t helpful at all.

With his head held high, Marc Antony makes a bold statement in taking Kamilah’s hand without it being offered. Then he goes a step further with a half-bow and a kiss pressed to the back — or the ghost of one. He barely manages it before she yanks it from his grasp — in surprise, in anger, that’s not the part that matters.

With everyone fixated on the two oldest vampires in the room, Adrian dares to steal a glance of warning up to the railing. Wide-eyed and with pursed lips, the message when he gives the tiniest shake of his head is clear.

Nadya retreats, practically crab-walking backwards.

Cadence tries to help her sudden shaking panic with an arm over her shoulders. It’s the thought that counts.

“What,” he asks worriedly, “who is it?”

“Antony,” Nadya exhales, and the man goes rigid beside her. “It’s Marc Antony.”

#bloodbound #playchoices fanfiction #playchoices #kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #adrian raines #serafine dupont #jax matsuo #lily spencer #marc antony #oc: cadence smith #vlad tepes #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: new chapter #oblv: bound by destiny ii #; my fics

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piermanwalter · 3 years

Text

Army Swap AU: Luke and Leia

In a galaxy where the Confederacy of Independent Systems went super into biotech instead of mass industrialisation, and the Jedi’s secret deal with the Kaminoans fell through so they had to create a different army, the Republic soldiers are droids and the Separatist soldiers are clones.

Following the Droid Wars, instead of a masterful transfer into absolute power, Palpatine was barely able to scrape together enough support from the Galactic Core to become Emperor. Palpatine embarked on an epic information control campaign, purging data archives all across the galaxy, rewriting maps and hyperdrive computers to erase knowledge of specific planets from existence, and more importantly setting up a series of hypershield satellites blocking off every recorded hyperlane into the Outer Rim, essentially isolating that region from the rest of the galaxy.

It’s not that the hypershield actively blocks anything. It just makes everything passing through it via hyperspace travel very slowly. Most beings would die of old age and holotransmissions would be irrelevant before making it to the other side. Terrible things happen when ships try to drop out of hyperspace while caught in the shield. A taboo on mentioning certain planets was enforced to such a degree that species originating from those planet were eradicated from the Galactic Core. These planets never existed. The Confederacy of Independent Systems invented these names to make their territory seem larger. There is nothing beyond the Mid Rim.

It was under this environment of ironclad facades and overcompensation where Luke Crashburn was raised. His father was an organic Republic soldier who served under Admiral Tarkin. His father died in combat and it was due to Tarkin’s influence that Luke was accepted into the prestigious Sector 1 Imperial Academy. But no matter how hard he studies or how well he fights in the sims, his final grades never improved more than mediocre. As graduation looms nearer, Luke finds himself sidelined into the worst specialisations imaginable.

Research and Development? Supply Line Management? That’s impossible. His flying score was better than anyone else’s in his class, and some of them were sent off to become pilots. Luke knows something is wrong. It seems like everyone is hiding something from him.

If he can’t impress anyone with his grades, he’ll try to get in via connections. Recklessly throwing himself into officer meetings with the vague justification of “Savcus Crashburn was my father. Admiral Tarkin likes me. Please give me a job aboard your ship. Sir!”, Luke finds himself in a world of political intrigue he wasn’t trained to handle. Does everyone actually appreciate his skills or are they using him for clout? Why would someone like himself have clout? What’s going on?

Due to the absolute chaos of the Outer Rim and their tenuous control over the Mid Rim, the Empire lacked the resources to build an entire Death Star, choosing to forgo most of the superstructure. The first Death Star is much smaller than the initial blueprint and the shape of a compass rose, containing only the superlaser, officer and technician housing, and enough starship docks to provide a support escort. It has much less intimidation compared to the original, but its more efficient design allowed it to go on a killing spree targeting the planets most dangerous to the newly formed Empire.

Kamino? Gone. Geonosis? Gone. As more and more planets were destroyed, Separatist worlds began sending huge chunks of their population on reckless colonisation missions. By the time Pure Neimoidia was destroyed, it had less than a hundred million occupants and the Neimoidians of that world had transitioned into obligate spacefarers much like their Duros relatives. The Rebellion tried to use these atrocities to turn people against the Empire, but anti-alien sentiments were at an all time high and most humans didn’t mind if planets got destroyed as long as not too many of their own kind were caught in the way. The information control campaign was so effective that few people ever knew the destroyed planets existed.

Due to a clerical error resulting from insane levels of mutual xenophobia, multi-layered mind games and conflicting information from captured Supertacs, and the Empire’s own pervasive censorship backfiring, Skako Minor, the planet populated by Poletecs used mostly for weapon testing, was accidentally blown up instead of Skako Major, the actual planet where 500 billion Skakoans live.

Using the spectacular failure of destroying the wrong planet as political leverage, Bail Organa was able to gain some support from people who lost trust in the Empire’s ability to protect them. Not exactly the message of unity and respect he wanted to send, but in the meantime let’s go with it. Alderaan, the new hub for Rebellion activity, became the greatest threat to the Empire and was the only planet uninvolved with the Droid Wars to be destroyed. After many humans died, people of the galaxy finally began to reject the Empire en masse.

Meanwhile, in the lawless Outer Rim, the Death Star superstructure without the laser was manufactured by Separatist expeditionaries based off Poggle the Lesser’s blueprint. The Hive Orb was never able to achieve any level of military functionality, but large numbers of people could sustainably live in it.

A majority of the Hive Orb’s occupants are surviving Separatist-affiliated species and battle clones. Most of the rest are Droid War refugees, who see their uncontested ownership of Separatist-made Hive Orb as reparation for all they suffered through. There is also a significant population of gangsters and myriad fugitives. A few surviving Jedi also live on the Hive Orb, albeit under false identities.

Constant fighting between factions only stops when a serious structural flaw or outside threat is discovered, after which everyone calls a ceasefire to fix it, and then start attacking each other again. The most hotly contested area is the bridge, which controls where the Hive Orb goes. You can go to sleep in the Hive Orb and wake up in hyperspace because the bridge was taken over by another faction within the last few hours and they wanted to go to the other side of the galaxy. It is universally agreed upon that the Hive Orb must never be flown into Imperial Space. Pirates and crime syndicates make regular attempts to take over but the Hive Orb occupants crush them with more zeal than they crush each other.

Rumors of a moon-sized giant space station that appears and disappears at random are starting to leak through the hypershield, but for the most part are dismissed by the Empire because the concept is objectively ridiculous.

It was under this environment of wild unpredictability interspersed with unconditional trust where Leia was raised. After failing to arrest Palpatine, only surviving due to Count Dooku suddenly turning on his Master and getting killed in his place, Mace Windu returned to the Jedi Temple to find everyone dead. Leia was the sole survivor. Mace bluntly stated he didn’t read enough of her Temple datafile to remember her last name. They spent a few years running away from the Empire but eventually settled in the Hive Orb because the whole thing runs away from the Empire by itself.

Although Mace decided to be an unaffiliated executor of justice aboard the Hive Orb, Leia threw her lots with The Spires, refugees of the Christophsis Invasion. Mace suddenly stopped teaching her in the ways of the Jedi, claiming it was too dangerous to be recognised. Leia joined The Spires mainly to protect the innocent, but also to have an excuse to travel the Hive Orb in hopes of finding another Jedi willing to teach her.

#army swap au #star wars #Luke Skywalker #leia organa #this is actually fanfiction

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btsarmystan · 3 years

Photo

There are some Youtubers just talking lies and misleading information all the time. They spread misleading things and lies about BTS members just for clout and clickbait. They even normalize the use of sensitive words towards the members especially to Jimin on their Youtube channels. It actually just accentuates the spread of malicious comments towards any of the BTS members. I knew that over the course of BTS' career, Jimin has always fought to achieve perfection on himself, be it performance or his body image. He has been striving to achieve skinny physique, particularly on the group's breakthrough music video "Blood, Sweat & Tears". Jimin wanted to look sharper and hotter on the music video so he would only eat a meal in 10 days. But he eventually stopped because it was detrimental to his health and he passed out during dance practice. Jin saw that and strongly advised him to stop that. We ARMYs definitely see the struggles, pain and stress behind Jimin himself.

However, lately, we have seen more malicious comments that are directed towards Jimin, making offensive and malicious jokes about his dieting routine and some other things, which are beyond disrespectful to the artist. I would not even mention it here. Thank you to Jimin.Bangtan on Facebook here to inform us ARMYs about the disinformation spread by some so-called influencers on social media. They ain't fans and supporters. They just want to grab that piece of pizza. They are doing that for money. We have to be aware that even though we always see the glorious and glamorous side of these Kpop megastars, but we never deeply understand and know what they have been going through inside themselves, off-camera or even before their rise of fame in real life. If you are a die-hard Kpop stan or a BTS stan, you would know how much anxiety, pain and stress in a certain degree that they have been enduring since their debut day. (In this situation, I mean for any Kpop groups, not just BTS.)There are lots of things hidden behind cameras that we would never know until they are revealed by other trust-worthy media or the artists themselves.

Hearing through the grapevine that Jimin actually have seen some of these malicious comments on social media, is actually really heartbreaking to see. I don't know how and what he reacted to that, but I would say that he would just simply brush them off and continue with his work. This is the reason why recently Big Hit has decided to take legal action for BTS and TXT regarding malicious comments to safeguard their own artists. I'm actually glad that Big Hit has taken such action because these kind of behaviors have just gotten out of hand lately. The members definitely have their dark sides. Remembering Jimin talking about his single 'Promise' being a pretty dark piece before the revamp of the song with RM is no shocking to me. I am saying this because I did lots of research on Kpop industry and the members themselves. The time that Jimin wrote the song was probably the time that the boys did not know whether they can still continue to work as a group together or disband. It was probably the time before 2015. It was before the time that they get "big" locally and internationally. It was the unknown time for them and for the group. Even if you get the chance to debut, you still have to make it and become famous & popular. That's the hardest part of it.

BTS has bought loads of positivity and encouragement to the world throughout their career, and especially during COVID, in this difficult time. How come people just can't do the same thing and share love to the members? Just one simple thing, love for one another, within the fandom itself, and to the artists as well. BTS stands for Bulletproof Boy Scouts. We all know that the members are so great at shaking off any hatreds, negative and malevolent comments or behaviors towards them. Their countless number of accolades and their achievements speak louder than those critics and negativities.

As the members always sings in their song, "We Are Bulletproof: The Eternal"

We are bullet-bullet-bulletproof

We faced the negative looks and did it

Bad memories, numerous trials

We bravely blocked them all, bulletproof

As we all know,

Life goes on, Let's live on.

Jimin,

you are perfect and you do deserve more, just shake those haters off your mind. I am sure you will be fine.

You are perfect. Stay gold, baby.

#jiminyouareperfect #staygold #btsarmy #bts #jiminweloveyousomuch #jiminweloveyou

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lavellaned · 4 years

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blunt thou the lion’s paws,

Chapter Six

Summary: The first mission.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were having a party. What gives with my invitation?”

Deacon saunters out from where he was eavesdropping in the hallway, hoping to diffuse the tension between the two women having a stand off in the middle of the room.

Des shoots him a look . He sidles up next to her.

“Deacon, I need intel. Who is this?”

“Woah, newsflash, chief, this lady’s kind of a big deal.” Desdemona gives him an unamused look. “She’s been making waves out there in the Commonwealth. She’s been a big contributor to the Minutemen lately. Hell, most of the new settlements popping up are because of her.”

The woman in question stands in the middle of the dusty stone room, narrowing her eyes.

She seems to have followed his directions well enough. Deacon just hopes that she can keep it up until Des gives the green light.

Admittedly, Deacon’s gut-wrenching confession in Goodneighbor could’ve gone smoother, but, hey, at least no one got shot, and so far she hasn’t given any indication of bouncing out on their little deal yet.

Her head tilted to the side a bit.

“The Railroad?” she asked.

“You heard of it?” She gave a small nod. “Then you know we’ve got a common goal.”

“So you’re vouching for her?” Desdemona says with a hint of suspicion.

“Yes. Trust me, she’s someone we want on our side.” Deacon’s trying his damndest to get Des to let the vaultie in, the whole scheme relying on her to give the go-ahead.

“Well. That changes things.” She returns her attention to the vault dweller.

“Why are you telling me all this?” She no longer had her gun on him, both of their arms hung freely at their sides.

“Like I said, I think we can be of mutual help to each other.”

“Why did you go through all this to find us?” Desdemona asks.

“My reasons are my own,” vaultie replies quickly. Deacon internalizes a wince at her bluntess, but by some miracle Des doesn’t seem too off-put by her evasiveness.

“Alright…” she trails off before continuing her interrogation. “Do you know what synths are, at least?”

She nods.

“But, uh, listen,” Deacon started. “When you do come knocking on our front door, you gotta promise me something.” She remained quiet, watching him intently. “You’ve never seen me before. We’ve never talked. You did what the holotape said and you’ve sought the Railroad out on your own. Deal?”

She keeps quiet for a few beats more.

“Why?”

“Several reasons. They don’t matter. Do we have a deal?”

“Then you know that the Institute’s playing God, denying their creations’ own humanity. They treat them as nothing more than simple machines, drones that they treat as tools to be used for a purpose and discarded.”

“That sounds like slavery.”

“Exactly.” The intensity in Desdemona’s voice is palpable.

Her eyes narrowed, stare intensifying. Deacon’s fingers twitched.

“You don’t even know my name,” she said.

“And you don’t know mine. Even-steven.”

“This is a lot you’re taking on faith,” she continued, “How do you know I won’t shoot you as soon as your back is turned?”

He gave her a wry smile and little shrug.

“I don’t.”

“Well, then. I guess I only have one more question for you, the only question that truly matters: Would you sacrifice your life for your fellow man? Even if that man was a synth?”

The vault dweller waits a few beats before answering, her head tilting to the side so slightly that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t looking for it, and the whole room seems to hold its breath.

“I risk my life for people everyday. Doesn’t matter to me if they’re a synth or not.”

Deacon’s shoulders relax from the tense way he was holding them unknowingly. Atta girl.

Des gives a nod, satisfied with her answers. “We’ll start you off with something basic. Think of it as a test.” She looks over her shoulder to him. “ Deacon will have more information,” she says with intended bite. He smiles cheekily in return. Her eyes remain locked with his, relaying her silent message loud and clear: I know what you’re up to.

Desdemona leaves, followed shortly by Drummer Boy and eventually Glory as well, after she gives the vaultie one more of her best intimidation look-overs. Soon it’s just the two of them left in the room. He claps his hands together and goes down the steps to meet her.

“Well, now that little reception is over,” he says, trying to break the ice properly.

“What’s the job?” she interrupts.

“Right to it then? Alright. It’s a lowkey job, more than I can do myself, but perfect for the two of us. We both know you can handle yourself just fine under fire, but Des doesn’t. So think of this as initiation.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “That’s all you’re giving me?”

“It’s a bum deal, I know, but strategic ignorance has saved our hides more times than I can count. And if you were some hick from the ‘burbs who didn’t know her ass from a rocket launcher, it’d be a different story. As it is now, though, it’s best just to go along with the chief's plan.” She hums, giving a little nod.

“Reasonable enough.”

“Cool beans. So, we’re going to be heading to Goodneighbor. You go on ahead and I’ll meet you there.” She nods again and promptly turns on her heel and slips out into the darkened hallway. Deacon huffs in amusement.

It’s been a while since Deacon has felt this level of anticipation for a job. Ever since Switchboard, it’s been mostly damage control and trying to reign in the loose ends that blew off into the wind once their old HQ was hit. And he’s put so much of his time into this vault dweller side project that he’s found himself completely invested in its success. A hell of a lot is riding on her working out for them, which sends no small spike of panic through Deacon at the thought.

He’s also really looking forward to watching her work first hand. It was one thing, stopping by the few settlements she got up and running, hearing basic stories of her exploits. But, he finds interesting, it wasn’t very well known that she was the General. The only reason that he knows is from being within earshot to hear the Minuteman in Sanctuary call her as such. It’s common knowledge now that the Minutemen are back in business, so, naturally, that means that there’s a new leader, but apparently no one cares enough to think beyond that. Even those living in her settlements talked about her as if she’s just a Minuteman foot soldier. Whether or not she means to keep these aspects from the public consciousness is something that Deacon is chomping at the bit to find out.

It does suggest good things, though. If she can be this careful about what she says and does, then that eliminates some of the risk of her being the one to bring the hammer down on them again.

---------

Claudia finds herself lingering around Goodneighbor. She’s not really sure where she’s supposed to be waiting or what she’s supposed to be doing other than waiting. Having to go off of the bare minimum of information leaves her feeling flighty.

Her and Deacon’s (she made a note to remember the man’s name when it was spoken in the church) first meeting was a real shot in the dark for her. Not only was she having to take the word of a complete stranger (who broke into her room, she might add), but the fact that he knew she was looking for the Institute made alarm bells ring in her mind.

The secrecy of her interest in the Institute was one of her top priorities. It doesn’t take a genius to know that the Institute is a powerful organization, one that has its blighted claws sunk into everyday life within the Commonwealth. She has little to no power within the Wasteland and she knows that in order to reach the fuckers who took everything from her, she needs clout. She’s done better since first leaving the vault, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s still far up shit creek without a paddle. All she really has now are the Minutemen, and that handful of tired farmers are about as helpful to her as a gun with no ammo.

A lot is riding on the Railroad working out. As of now, if she isn’t able to gain their trust to use their resources as well, she has no other options.

A headache starts throbbing up the sides of her head and she has to remind herself to stop clenching her teeth.

Claudia goes and stands to lean back on the brick wall of the Statehouse, out of the way but in view of the gate. She checks her pip-boy. It’s been almost twenty minutes since she left the church and there’s been no sight of Deacon. She lets out an irritated sigh and rubs her face with her hands. Untied sneakers out of the corner of her vision catch her attention.

“Hey, glad you could make it, pal,” a familiar voice calls from her side. She looks up and is greeted by those stupid fucking sunglasses.

“‘Bout time,” she grits out. He gives her a cheeky grin and tics his head to the side, motioning her to follow.

Claudia pushes off of the wall and follows him past the shops. He leads them to the doors of the Third Rail. She never got a chance to check out the place last time she was here, making this extra unknown keep her hand close to her pistol.

Deacon, seemingly not caring or noticing her tension, walks through the door, and gives a nod to the suited ghoul inside. She hears music and sees light come from around the bend where the stairs disappear to, the ambiance of the establishment becoming more clear as they descend deeper into the building.

The first thing she notices is that it’s hotter down here than it was closer to the door. The air is stuffy and almost humid. There’s a slight haze from cigarettes, accentuated by the dim lighting. A woman croons into a microphone in the corner, most of the light in the room due to the small spot lights trained onto her.

Drifters spare them little more than a basic passing glance as they walk across the floor of the bar. Deacon shepherds them to a spot farther away from the stage. He leans his elbows on the bar and crosses one ankle over the other. Claudia follows along, leaning on her side, facing towards him.

She doesn’t speak first, instead, waiting for him to start giving some sort of explanation to what she’s supposed to be doing. At one point the bartender Mr. Handy comes over to take their orders. Claudia waves it off and Deacon gets a Nuka Cherry.

They sit in silence some more. Deacon manages to drink about half of the cola before her already thin patience is finally obliterated into dust.

“Is there any particular reason as to why you’ve led me to some glorified drug-den, or is this just part of your typical hazing?” she all but growls.

And the bastard chuckles.

“I was wondering how long you’d go before you’d say something.”

Claudia swallows heavily, the familiar roiling torrent of rage rising up her throat.

No, she reminds herself, You need this to work. Nate is dead. Shaun is gone. You are alone. They took your baby. Nate can’t help you.

“We’re here to meet a tourist,” Deacon starts explaining under his breath, his voice giving her mind something else to focus on. Claudia can barely hear him over the din of the room. “They should have information that we need in order to continue.”

“I’m guessing a tourist is like a runner?” she asks, trying to match his volume.

“Eh, kinda. Someone who does the odd jobs, but leaves the more sensitive and confrontational ones to the heavies.”

“How do we know who that’s supposed to be?”

He shrugs. “We’ll know. Or, I’ll know, I guess.” He takes another swig. “But right now, all we gotta do is make our presence known. The tourist will find us.”

Claudia takes in a lungful of the smoggy air, accepting his pseudo-answer for the time being.

“Hey, when the tourist does make contact, you do the talking, alright? And no matter what they say, tell them ‘Mine is in the shop.’ Got it?” Claudia nods. “What are you supposed to say to them?” Deacon confirms with her.

“Mine is in the shop,” she hisses. Deacon gives a placating side-mouthed smile and nods approvingly.

“You got it in the bag, firecracker.”

Claudia rolls her eyes at the moniker and the two fall into silence once more. She scans the dive as best she can without seeming like she’s purposefully looking for someone. She makes a point to keep her gaze more so on the singer and to keep the winding tension she feels slithering up her body from showing on her face. She takes this time to try and observe Deacon, now that she’s having to work alongside him.

He seems completely unbothered. There’s no sign of the same kind of antsiness that Claudia is currently battling with. Then again, she reminds herself, he’s probably done this a hundred times. He holds himself loosely, but keeps a slight hunch in his shoulders to keep him from looking too overconfident amongst the rest of the drifters. His thumb taps the surface of the beat up bar in time to the beat of the jazz music pouring out from crackly, ancient speakers, but even that, she has the suspicion, has been well thought out. A man who thinks five steps ahead before he does anything, every action calculated and weighed for its effectiveness and appropriateness for whatever outcome he wants. Every drink of cola, a disguise for him surveying the room. A sniffle disguising his jump at some small noise startling him from behind. A hand scratching behind his neck, an excuse to turn his head to see a different part of the room for a moment. Mundane things. Shrouding his purpose with the expected. She gets the feeling that trying to get a grasp on Deacon would be about the same experience as reaching out into the fog and trying to get a handful of it.

A man sidles up to the bar behind her. Deacon doesn’t react so neither does she. The man orders a drink and Claudia starts to ignore his existence.

“Magnolia’s really on her top game tonight, ey?” the stranger says. Claudia doesn’t realize he’s talking to her, causing the silence that takes up the space between them to just become awkward.

Claudia eventually looks over her shoulder to the drifter, confirming that, yes, he is in fact addressing her. She nods and hums in what she hopes sounds like an agreement that will end this conversation before it starts. She should just know by now that that never works.

“Whatcha drinkin’ tonight?” the drifter asks.

“Oh, uh. I’m tapped out, thanks,” she tries waving him off. He nods over his beer. Claudia tries to turn her attention back to the singer. She can feel both the drifter’s and Deacon’s eyes on her.

“That’s some serious heat you’re packing there, darlin’,” the stranger continues, motioning to the pistol strapped to her side. Claudia would have to agree; the gun was a gift from one of the settlers from the co-op, pre-modded with one hell of a kick. “I’m more a shotgun kind of guy myself,” he says, taking her silence and blank stare as an invitation to continue, “but I can appreciate a nice handgun when I see one. You ever have one that shoots those exploding bullets?”

Claudia is quiet for a few beats more, the drifter looking slightly intensely at her, waiting for a reply.

“Mine is… in the shop,” she manages to slowly get out, hoping that it doesn’t sound like too much of a question. The drifter opens his mouth to start talking yet again, but is interrupted by Deacon tossing back the half drink of cola left in the bottle and bringing it down loudly onto the bartop.

“Well, I don’t know about you, Janey, but I’m beat. Let’s get out of here,” Deacon says. He whips an arm around Claudia’s shoulders before she can catch up and she has to suppress a flinch at the sudden contact. Without any more fanfare, Deacon pulls her away from the bar and leaves the scene as quickly as can be casual.

They trod up the stairs quickly, Deacon taking his arm back as soon as they reach the bend. Claudia fights the impulse to roll her shoulders once the pressure’s taken off of them.

Deacon shoves his hands in his pockets as they leave the Third Rail, the cool evening air making Claudia realize just how stuffy the place was.

“I thought we were supposed to meet them there?” she asks him quietly. A muscle in his jaw twitches. Irritation?

“Yeah. We were.” He starts walking in the direction of the Rexford. “Either they’re not sure we’re with our mutual friends, or they got spooked. We’ll try again tomorrow.” Claudia falls in line with his long strides.

“Is there not a time limit on these things?”

“Ideally?” he sighs as he holds the door to the hotel open for her to walk in, “Yeah. But realistically, there’s a lot of improv that has to happen with these things. Pretty common for people to just not show up, packages that get lost in transit. So we make do.” She sees the twitch in his jaw jump for a split moment as he says this last part.

They drop the conversation at that, walking up to the front desk. The woman recognizes Claudia.

“Back already, huh? That room’s still open if you want it.”

She smiles in return. “Sounds great, thanks.” Claudia takes the caps from a pouch on her utility belt and puts them on the counter with a clatter.

“It’s a bit extra for another person,” the keeper informs her.

Claudia’s face goes slack for a moment until realization hits and she starts shaking her head.

“Oh, uh, no I’m not-- he’s not--”

“I’ll be rentin’ a room for myself,” Deacon interjects, caps already down on the desk. “She snores loud enough to wake the dead.” The keeper chuckles and Claudia levels a glare at the back of his head.

Exchanging the caps for keys, they go upstairs. Their doors on the opposing sides of the hallway from each other. They stand in the middle, meet each other halfway.

“Meet me near the west alley by the statehouse in the morning,” he instructs quietly. She nods and they turn from each other, keys in locks, when a voice from not far where they stand gets their attention nonchalantly.

“Excuse me, do you have a geiger counter?”

The question is just out of place enough to make Claudia pause and turn her head towards it.

A scrawny man, barely more than a boy if she’s being honest, stands with his hands in his pockets, looking expectantly toward her. His face is kind, she supposes, he holds himself casually like he’s talking with an old friend.

Her eyes cut a glance to Deacon who has also stopped what he was doing, hand still on the doorknob. He says nothing, does nothing, but she can feel his eyes on her again as if he’s saying And…?

She looks back to the boy.

“Mine’s in the shop.”

All at once the easy-going mask is gone and is replaced with a seriousness that takes her back slightly, the sudden shift making her mind reel a bit.

“Location’s overrun, opposition onsite. Gen 1s and 2s. Minefield at the front entrance. It’s pretty much all shit.”

Claudia nods her head, trying to absorb the softly spoken information as best she can. “I’d say.”

And just like that, the previous chilled-out demeanor returns as if it had never gone away and he gives her a lopsided smile.

“Well, nice chattin’ with ya,” he says in a normal tone, giving them a little wave. He leaves as quickly as he showed up.

Claudia looks to Deacon but he’s watching the retreating tourist walk down the hallway and down the stairs. He opens his door and holds it open, motioning for her to enter.

She hesitates for only a moment before doing just that. Deacon is right behind her, the door closing behind them, the click of the lock making her spin around.

Deacon rubs his mouth with his hand, the other on his hip. He stands between her and the door.

“Was that the tourist?” she asks. Be pretty bad if it wasn’t .

Deacon nods. “Yeah.” He leans a bit to the side to look out the window. “It’s almost sundown, we’ll head out then.”

“That soon?”

“Like he said, sounds like the situation is a bit less than ideal. The sooner we get there, the better our chances of us achieving what we’re setting out to do.”

Claudia nods and Deacon moves from the door. She all but shoots to the door as soon as he’s out of the way. She’s halfway from leaving when his voice stops her.

“We got a few hours, might as well get some rest until then. Don’t want the caps to go to waste,” he suggests, the usual levity that she had gotten used to in his voice returning. He flops down on the dusty mattress and folds his hands behind his head. Claudia leaves and goes to her own room.

The door shut behind her with a ‘clunk’ and she’s alone in the room with her racing thoughts.

She sits on the mattress, old springs squeaking under her weight. Cold, dying, grey sunlight filters in from the boarded up window to her side and she knows that she’s not getting any sleep tonight.

---------

They left Goodneighbor quietly and promptly, meeting in the hallway as they left their rooms at the same time.

The night got considerably more quiet the farther they got from the city. Distant gunfire, the rasping of dead grass against their legs, and the muffled crunching under their steps constant companions in their travel as Deacon leads her through a winding path to their destination. The night is an inky black. A blanket of stars and the waning moon above them just lighting up the world around them. They get to just outside of Cambridge when she speaks, startling the hell out of him.

“So can I get more details now, or are we still relying on strategic ignorance?”

Deacon slows to a stop. They’re shielded slightly by the wreckage of one of the freeways, but other than that, there’s enough open space around them that he’s pretty positive that there won’t be any eavesdroppers hanging around.

“We’re going to our old HQ to get something that was left behind.” He continues at the sight of a question drawing up her features before she gets a chance to ask it. “It’s under an old Slocum Joe’s, which was pretty fuckin’ sweet before the Institute found us. And if we take the tourist at face value, it changes how we’re gonna do this thing. Did you think he was lying?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Yep. Instinct is a powerful tool in our line of work, sometimes our only one. So?”

She shrugs.

“He didn’t seem to be lying. Not too much information and not too little.” Deacon gives a little nod.

“Yeah, I got that too. So, that being said, looks like the front entrance is going to be short of crawling with baddies. Our best bet would probably be going through the escape tunnel.” She huffs out a brief breath of amusement.

“A coffee shop has an escape tunnel?”

“Pretty cool, right? But seriously, though, thank god for that tunnel.” Deacon turns and starts walking again, the vaultie falling in step alongside him. “It’s just outside Lexington, we’re almost there.”

The old pipe leading to the back entrance sits just as Deacon remembers it. Thorny vines drape over the entrance and it looks just like every other piece of trash, camouflaging it from importance. And as a bonus, it seems that mirelurks have left it alone as well.

Deacon also remembers the last time he was here. He rolls his jaw, trying to banish those memories before they take up full residence.

The door opens with a wrenching groan, the red light from the alarm system hitting their eyes as they enter Switchboard’s basement. With a peek around the corner, Deacon confirms that there isn’t anything going to kill them in the immediate area. He turns back to the vault dweller.

“Alright, what we’re looking for is a prototype of Carrington’s. It may or not even still be here, but we gotta get it back if we can.”

“What’s it a prototype of?” He shrugs.

“Hell if I know. Hopefully we aren’t getting ourselves shot at for Carrington’s fancy coffee maker. The gate ahead is locked, I’ll feed it some passwords, but once we’re through, you take point, deal?”

“Deal.”

The two of them enter, she goes near the grated gate and Deacon gets to work on the terminal.

It’s short of completely fried thanks to the Institutes best efforts, but he manages to get into the core code. He mutters to himself sifting through the mangled lines of code, lightly muttering to himself as he tries to work with it. He’s counting on the fact that the terminal is pre-war, and not the tech that the Institute is used to working with. They always want to make everything so damn complicated for the sake of making things complicated.

With a few more taps on the terminal, the locks disengage from the door.

“Gotcha, you Institute bastards,” he celebrates quietly. The both of them unholster their guns and Deacon follows behind her through the gate.

Deacon takes a centering breath, entering the rest of the escape tunnel. A wave of residual anxiety licks up his ribs as his subconscious takes him back to the last time he was there. Stepping over the corpses of the agents who didn’t get out doesn’t help.

He instead fixes his attention on the vaultie. He reminds himself that this is technically the first time he gets to see her work first hand, and uses that to focus on instead. He half expects her to be like Glory, and to go busting in, gun blazing. But so far, she’s staying low and slow, her solitary pistol held in front of her. She checks the corners before she passes them, and looks both ways down hallways before she crosses them.

When they reach the first synth, a Gen 1, he sees her stop and watch the skeletal facsimile of a human trudge through the flooded tunnel. She promptly takes aim and sends a bullet through the several metal tubes that make up its chest. It would've been a kill shot if the synth was organic, but since it’s not, it quickly recovers and starts firing towards their direction. But hey, it’s all a learning experience.

After it’s dead and they approach, she looks down at it’s sparking wires spitting out around them, yellow eyes looking up into nothing. She gives it a quick once-over, the first Gen 1 she’s probably ever seen, but certainly won’t be the last.

They continue on, the vault dweller taking point the entire time. From his time watching her fight from a distance and now up close, Deacon finds himself getting accustomed to her style quicker than he thought. He’s able to predict where she’ll focus her attention on more often than not and fills in for the spots where she doesn’t. They work off of each other with surprising ease as they fight their way through the synth and turrets spread out through Switchboard, an unspoken system falling into place with each bullet fired.

There is something about her though that gives him slight pause. It’s his job, hell his very survival, to read people. He wouldn’t be alive today if he wasn’t any good at it. And there’s something about her, simmering just below the surface, that raises his hackles a bit. It’s in the tension that she holds in her jaw and hands, in the lethal glint in her eyes as she squeezes the trigger in every fight. He knows she’s a bit of a live wire from their short conversations since they’ve first interacted, but he’d bet money that her fireyness hides something much more volatile and dangerous. Like a bonfire burning over the detonation of an atom bomb.

They reach the heart of Switchboard and Deacon finds it increasingly more difficult to focus on anything else other than his blood-stained memories of the place. The smell of ozone filling up the place at the first shot fired, the thumps of bodies hitting the ground as agents fought back, the widespread panic filling up every Railroad agent scrambling in the onslaught, the choking need to just get the hell out .

Synths walk over the bodies of the agents still laying where they were slain and Deacon calls upon everything he has within him to not lose his outward cool.

Between him and the vaultie, the remaining synths fall to their bullets, systems going offline. It should feel like some sort of retribution, but Deacon knows that for every synth killed 100 more are being manufactured. The only way to get justice for those hurt by them, is to eradicate the Institute completely. But they’re a long way from that, so taking out some of their foot soldiers is going to have to do for now.

Deacon taps her shoulder, making her pause. He motions his head to the side and they arrive at the wall vault that would hold the prototype if it’s still there. He digs around in his pockets for the holotape with the password while she stands watch. Carrington’s voice speaks out into the room briefly and the locks begin disengaging one by one.

“Open says me,” he mutters.

He grabs the door once it finishes unlocking and swings it open. The body inside is the first thing he notices.

“Aw, hell,” he curses under his breath. “Wasn’t sure if Tommy Whispers made it out. Damn.” He looks around the vault, surprised to find most everything intact. Their object of purpose catches his attention and he gestures to it. “There’s the prototype. You hand that to Des and she’s gotta let you in.” The vaultie goes over to it, turning it in her hands. She gives him a look. “Yeah, I still have no idea what that thing does.” She puts securely in her bag while Deacon picks up a familiar gun. He weighs it and his next actions before he turns to her. “Here,” he says, handing it out to her. “It was Tommy’s. Don’t let its size fool you; it’s a pretty legit piece of pre-war tech.” She looks to the hand-cannon and then to him.

“Are you sure? Wasn’t he your friend?”

“He’d want it to go to good use,” he says in lieu of an answer, “and I’m bettin’ you’d do that better than me.” He gives it a little shake of encouragement until she finally reaches out and grabs it. “Alright,” he claps his hands in front of him, “let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

By the time they reach the surface again, she’s tried out the Deliverer on the couple of synths and turrets in their way. She seemed pleasantly surprised, which made him content in return.

The sun sits just above the horizon, their breaths fogging out into the cold early morning air.

“So,” she says once they took out the rest of the opposition, “what next?”

“Next, you meet me back at HQ. Don’t forget to bring the prototype, that’s your ticket in.”

She nods.

“Coolio. See ya later, alligator.” He gives a little wave, activates a stealth boy and slips out and away back to the church, a strange giddiness putting a pep in his step.

---------

As she nears the church, a flicker of hope starts in her chest.

She’s hyper aware of the weight of the boxy prototype sitting securely in her backpack. If Deacon’s word was accurate, then it’s her only chance to get closer to the Institute.

The hope starts to spread at the idea of her finally having a way to get closer to finding Shaun, but she quickly shuts it down before it goes any further than that. She wasn’t even in yet. At the moment, everything was hypothetical, and she didn’t have time to waste on hypotheticals.

She winds her way through the church, voices at the end of the catacombs slowing her steps.

“... new girl patched me up, threw me over her shoulder, and blasted our way through Switchboard.”

Four sets of eyes lock onto her at the same time as she steps into the light. Claudia stops where she stood before.

The faces are familiar from the last time, Deacon up on the top step talking with Des.

“Impressive, right?” he asks in a smug voice.

The red haired woman turns her attention to Claudia.

“Deacon here says that you fought 100 synths single handedly, while also managing to get the prototype.”

Claudia glances over to Deacon who looks back with a placid expression, betraying nothing. She looks back to Des.

“It was certainly a wild ride,” she says, avoiding agreeing or disproving Deacon.

“I can only imagine,” she replies. “Regardless, Deacon has never talked about, or lied about any one so highly before.”

“You’d be insane not to let her in, Des,” Deacon says, driving his point home. She sighs, giving him a near scolding look.

“That being said, let me officially welcome you to the Railroad.” Claudia nods in acknowledgement. “There’s just one last thing. We operate on secrecy. Every agent of the Railroad has a codename. As of this moment, whatever you pick will be how you are known to us.”

“Aren’t nicknames something that are given rather than chosen?”

“Not here. It’s your life, it’s your name. So, what should we call you?”

Claudia thinks for a moment. A chance to shed her old name, her old life, to become the person that can do what’s necessary to take back what was stolen. A chance to separate the past from what’s to come.

She gives a ghost of a smile up to Des who waits patiently before she responds, cementing her future.

“Tempest.”

#deacon x sole survivor #deacon x sosu #deacon fo4 #deacon fallout 4

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wendynerdwrites · 6 years

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"[W]ho is more stupid then Sansa Stark? I read book...one and only cruel in here is Sansa who lied, traitor, and defeat her whole family.”

Find it funny that the same people who go on about how stupid and awful Sansa was for going to Cersei about Ned planning to leave King’s Landing and thus “destroying her family” (because apparently this one mistake was the only mistake ever made by the Starks and is what caused everything bad that ever happened to them. This apparently caused Robb to jilt the Freys, Edmure to drop the ball at Stone Mill, Theon to sack Winterfell, freed Jaime Lannister, made Ned tell Cersei he knew about her children, killed Ned’s guards, killed Jon Arryn, convinced Joffrey to execute Ned instead of sending him to the Wall, made Balon Greyjoy decide to go to war, pushed Bran out the tower window, “destroyed the Stark armies”, killed all those Starks that are still alive... )

Are the same who never bring up that Daenerys took a woman whose home and people were destroyed by her husband, who was gangraped by her husband’s men, and thought “Yes, I must insist that she give my husband first aid.” Who needed the fact of “Your Khal and his men raped me a dozen times and killed everyone and everything I ever loved. NO SHIT I POISONED HIM AND CURSED YOU” SPELLED OUT FOR HER AFTER THE FACT. A decision which totally DOES NOT defy all logical sense, despite Daenerys having FAR more information available to her than Sansa ever had. A decision that TOTALLY DOES NOT involve her actively ignoring the atrocities surrounding her done IN HER NAME and getting her husband and child killed as a result. Nope, nothing stupid, self-destructive, or insensitive about THAT.

Are the same people who never bring up that Jon, without ANY EXPLANATION OF MITIGATING CIRCUMSTANCES OR PROPER CONSULTATION announced to his brothers that he was abandoning a mission Beyond the Wall and break his vows and expected them to follow him. EVEN THOUGH HE KNEW that tons of his brothers already considered him a traitor, a wildling-lover, and a political opportunist.

Who don’t bring up that Robb’s entire strategy towards taking down the Lannisters involved keeping them boxed in so Tywin couldn’t ride for King’s Landing and required Edmure to STAY IN POSITION and not, say, RUN OFF TO COUNTER AN ATTACK ELSEWHERE. Yet NEVER EVEN BOTHERED TELLING EDMURE THAT so he didn’t accidentally let Tywin through by running off to the Mill to protect some people in the Riverlands which is kind of LITERALLY HIS JOB. Or bring up that Robb was told repeatedly NOT to let Theon go to Pyke and did it anyways. Decisions that directly resulted in A) Tywin making it to Blackwater and securing the Tyrell alliance, leaving the Northern armies adrift in the Westerlands with NO RECOURSE and NO STRATEGY LEFT and b) Winterfell being sacked and Bran and Rickon being driven from their homes.

Who don’t bring up that Doran Martell decided to gaslight and evade his daughter for fucking DECADES, secretly plotting to marry her to a Targaryen Prince (because marrying a Targaryen WORKS OUT SO WELL FOR MARTELL WOMEN) without even telling her and instead pretended to consider marrying her off to WALDER FREY and was shocked, SHOCKED! When Arianne ended up deciding she was fucking DONE and plotting something that ended with Myrcella Lannister being maimed and his entire con with the Lannisters nearly being exposed, thus endangering his entire family. AGAIN. And SOMEHOW STILL THINKS PLAYING POLITICAL GRAB-ASS WITH PSEUDO-TARGARYENS IS A GOOD IDEA.

Who don’t bring up how Ned Stark decided that KEEPING HIS DAUGHTERS IN A CITY CONTROLLED BY THE LANNISTERS AFTER CERSEI ORDERED JAIME AND SANDOR TO HUNT DOWN ARYA, letting them wander the city and castle grounds without proper guards or supervision, and leaving Sansa, WHO HE BETROTHED TO A KID HE KNOWS TO BE A MONSTER AND STILL DOESN’T BOTHER EVEN SPEAKING WITH HER ABOUT in the care of a woman who passes out drunk at public events and literally NO ONE ELSE was a thing. But that wasn’t stupid or negligent or ultimately destructive to his family AT ALL!

Who don’t bring up that Tyrion enacted a plan at Blackwater that involved basically burning down a third of the city and didn’t bother putting any contingencies in place to protect the citizens who lived in said third of the city, then was baffled when people hated him and didn’t talk about how great he was for Blackwater. RIGHT TYRION, THE ONLY REASON THE NOW-HOMELESS BEGGAR WOMAN HATES YOU IS BECAUSE YOU’RE A DWARF. THAT IS LITERALLY THE ONLY REASON WHATSOEVER (an yes, I know it’s A reason. I know prejudice exists and Tyrion’s constantly dealing with that, but writing it off as the only reason would be like me saying that the reason I ever get criticized is because I’m a woman/Jewish.).

Or how Tywin, upon being presented with the PERFECT OPPORTUNITY to destroy the Starks’ political clout by merely pressing his suit against Catelyn Stark’s illegal abduction of Tyrion, CHOSE TO UNLEASH THE MOUNTAIN ON THE RIVERLANDS, MAKING HIM LIABLE FOR CRIMES AGAINST THE REALM. A supposed political mastermind, with all information available to him, with GRANDCHILDREN POISED TO INHERIT THE IRON THRONE, with extensive experience in intrigue and law, had the perfect opportunity to sue THE FUCK out of the Starks and completely disenfranchise them politically on COMPLETELY LEGAL GROUNDS at the cost of no more than a ride to King’s Landing and some parchment and ink, instead chose to commit war crimes that accomplished nothing except to a) make everyone in Westeros ready to skewer the Lannisters b) give Ned Stark the perfect opportunity to haul his ass up on charges of mass murder and treason and c) Draw attention to your family’s more illicit actions on a national scale. Or how he disinherited both of his sons and chose to antagonize the son who has proven disturbingly competent to the point of patricide. Or how he wanted his son to endanger the “Key to the North’s” health, reproductive and otherwise by raping/impregnating her at thirteen, thus nearly guaranteeing that their Winterfell meal ticket (and any child she would almost certainly prematurely deliver) would go up in smoke immediately with the deaths of their Stark prizes instead of say, WAITING A COUPLE YEARS WHICH EVEN THE MAESTERS OF THE CITADEL INSIST MUST HAPPEN IN ORDER TO PROCURE VIABLE HEIRS. WHICH WAS THE WHOLE POINT OF THE SANSA MARRIAGE IN THE FIRST PLACE. TYWIN IS A POLITICAL GENIUS WHO TOTALLY BOLSTERED HIS FAMILY!

Or how Littlefinger has literally delivered Robert Arryn RIGHT into the hands of his political rivals without any army or viable property of his own, and in fact ALSO leaves his other major prize (Sansa) alone with the very rivals he himself admits are pretty savvy, for long stretches. Not at all stupid.

And of course, none of the decisions mentioned here might be why the Starks got so thoroughly fucked in the ear. No, it was STUPID, EVIL, ELEVEN YEAR OLD SANSA’S ONE MISTAKE IN GIVING CERSEI INFO WHICH SHE PROBABLY WOULD HAVE GOTTEN FROM HER SPIES FIVE MINUTES LATER THAT IS WHAT “DESTROYED THE STARKS” (Even though five out of the eight of them are still around, barring Benjen’s ambiguous mortal state) and that was it. That’s what caused it all. Because that decision is literally what caused everything bad that happened to the Starks before and after she actually did the thing. Nobody else made any stupid, self-destructive, devastating errors of judgment that contributed to anything bad to themselves and/or House Stark. She’s the only one who made a mistake and it is THE DECIDING MISTAKE THAT WAS BOTH SIMULTANEOUSLY STUPID BUT SOMEHOW ALSO DELIBERATELY CRUEL AND TREASONOUS TO HER FAMILY AND CAUSED ALL OF THEIR PROBLEMS. That she made chiefly because SHE IS TOTALLY THE BIGGEST IDIOT YOU GUYS, in contrast to characters who made destructive choices despite having far more information, means, and experience to make better choices but didn’t. Because it’s an eleven-year-old, gaslighted, traumatized child who is most accountable for everything, ever. Everyone else’s decisions were somehow smarter and more honorable because... They knew better? Or, at the very least, had every possible means to know better and blatantly ignored basic logic? And that makes them smarter than the stupid eleven year old?

Tywin Lannister: political mastermind.... who turned a golden political opportunity into a treason charge and mortal danger.

Ned Stark: Too honorable and good... Who left his daughters unsupervised, uninformed, and unguarded in a dangerous court/city run by the very people who he a) is investigating for murder and treason and b) ALREADY TRIED TO HUNT DOWN AND MAIM ONE OF KIDS and c) (as he discovers about halfway through) ATTEMPTED TO MURDER AND SUCCEEDED IN CRIPPLING ANOTHER OF HIS KIDS.

Daenerys Targaryen: Awesome badass liberator... who saw a woman whose life was destroyed and met mid-gangrape by her husband’s people and thought, “This woman should totally be trusted to put poultices on my husband’s wound. After all, I did stop those guys after the thirteenth rape. WHAT COULD GO WRONG?!”

Jon Snow: Perfect, brave, hero classic... Who practically shunned the company of his brothers once he took command, KNEW that many of them already thought he deserved an execution, and decided to announce his blatantly oath-breaking new mission without any sort of preamble or explanation.

Robb Stark: Tactical Genius and hero.... Doesn’t bother communicating his strategy to his own commanders.

Tyrion Lannister: SUPER GENIUS WONDERFUL HUMAN! ... Who can’t understand that people whose houses he burned down might have some valid complaints.

WHO IS MORE STUPID THAN SANSA STARK SHE DEFEAT HER WHOLE FAMILY.

“Otto West: Apes don't read philosophy.

Wanda: Yes they do, Otto. They just don't understand it. Now let me correct you on a couple of things, OK? Aristotle was not Belgian. The central message of Buddhism is not "Every man for himself." And the London Underground is not a political movement.”

--- A Fish Called Wanda, 1988, directors Charlie Chrichton and John Cleese

#Sansa Stark #asoiaf meta #Daenerys Targaryen #Robb Stark #Tywin Lannister #rape mention tw

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mingyubias · 6 years

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& i know this is ?? like a month late?? idk but !! someone way back when asked me about my hevie/descendants hcs/thoughts so i’ve decided to make a lil list that i’ll most likely add on to as time goes by and i get more info

first of all, i like to completely disregard the sugar coating that disney put on the entire series. for example, their lives on isle would’ve been grittier and much more cruel than what was depicted in the movies ( and somewhat the books ). i personally see all of their parents as emotionally and mentally Abusive ( bc they definitely are?? and melissa’s account of it def made more sense than .. disney’s igvfdn ).

also i like to imagine them? older? because i just cant personally relate to teens anymore so i see them as like 19 in my mind when im reading fics and the like ( especially since the ones ive read have hevie as sexually active ).

i really and truly dislike mal based both on her actions in the first novel and how she behaved in the films ( a lot of people haven’t read the books, but to sum it up, she spent 3/4 of the first novel tormenting evie first in a petty way and then in two (2) seperate life-threatening ways ). this has left me feeling completely cold towards mal and unable to sympathize with her in her tantrum in d2.

now, though i feel this way about mal, i can completely understand why evie wouldnt. it is literally written that evie brought out the best in people ( “The princess possessed a darling giggle that was so entrancing, it brought a smile to haughty Lady Tremaine’s face [...] The ferocious tiger Shere Kahn was practically purring like a contented kitten. And for old time’s sake, Captain Hook bravely stuck his head between Tick Tock’s open jaws, if only so he could make her laugh and hear that lovely peal again. The princess, it would seem, could make even the most horrible villain smile.” ) even when evie ass KNEW mal was planning something and despised her, she STILL did her best to give her the benefit of the doubt i? ? ? ? ?? ??? ? ? a tru queen

i didn’t read rise of the isle of the lost so i’m not 110% sure how harry is characterized in the books, but uhh id die for him ..

and i also dont? think he and mal ever had a thing lol .. just bc thomas and dove are dating that doesnt mean they gotta add in an unnecessary plotpoint ( especially considering how it’s canon in both the books and the movies that mal’s never had a boyfriend before ben .. *eyeball emoji* ) so uhh miss me with that

and i know that hevie is? a crackship? so dont come to me with “hevie aint canon” like huney i know but theres also no canon evidence negating the possibility either

ok so on to the actual hevie hcs .. cos i think about them a lot vfjdnokm

she is 10/10 the one who showed him how to do the scary pirate eyeliner thing ok but in my mind it started out much cleaner so it was just yk liner but then after scrubbing at his eyes so much ( thanks, salty ocean air ) it just became easier to leave it messy

the blue bandana he wears under his hat ? evie’s. kinda like how knights used to wear the colors of their wives/betrothed w/e its like a subtle claim and him making a lowkey gesture and im Weak over it tbh

captain hook ? loves her .. not only because she clearly has Some clout on the isle, espcially since apparently her momma and maleficent are friends now ( ?? idk disney makin shit up ) so hes like ((:: well !! but on the other hand .. evie is just a generally good person and she makes harry happy and shes charming and beautiful and genuine?? ya i see him really vouching for her ( especially since i dont really consider captain hook a real? villain? ig? he just wanted revenge on the immortal brat who literally Sliced Off His Hand and Fed it to a Crocodile ??? ) so !! ya

evil queen def dont approve but uhh what she doesnt know wont hurt her ..

i dont see her getting along with uma like she does so much in a lot of the fics, though, mostly because i feel like uma would resent her at least a little for basically being the person mal replaced uma with, so .. also for snatching half of harry’s time ( cant have a first mate who’s more loyal to someone else than his captain ). i also don’t see harry and uma as a couple, mostly because i imagine she’s at least a few years younger than him .. like everyone else felt older than they were in the movies, but uma def gave off 17 y/o vibes to me ( so did carlos but hes a lil baby and i love him )

that said, she’d get along really well with gil tho cos shes so kind and understanding and i dont see her getting so easily annoyed with him like everyone else does. not to mention she was .. sorta? friends with his older brothers in the first book so vinjdkm. quasi sister for that boi

theres a lot less interference between the vks and the pirates than you’d think? mostly because they keep it a secret from drama queen mal ( cos in my mind, carlos and jay prolly know cos i uhh trust them with info like this ) though i feel like itd especially put a strain on her relationship with jay since he dont like harry and he was friends with mal first so ..

a loooot of quiet moments in his cabin on uma’s ship .. just enjoying each other’s company on his hammock, slowly rocking back and forth, her probably playing with his fingers cos damn

just as many arguments tho cos theyre both hot headed and their personalities clash like a motherfucker honestly like ?? a ton of banter and low-blow comments that end in heated silence until evie cracks and apologizes or harry slowly grins and they kiss and make up wow i love my kiddos

10/10 see him climbing a trellis like a better version of romeo like vbifbhcjndm wherefore art thou, harry hook? bgvfnj anyways ya i see it very vividly in my mind, especially when theyre first getting to know each other .. like they have whispered conversations on her crumbling balcony and in her mind shes like “why does he seem so familiar????” and hes like “wow who IS this girl” and its cute and silly and he teases her the whole time and she teases right back wow !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

deep ass conversations under the stars about what they’d be doing if they were free to go wherever they want .. him talking about sailing the seas as a captain of his own ship and making a name for himself and she realizes as time passes that princes? dont seem very important to her anymore ?? and the more he talks about how wide and vast the ocean is the more appealing it become for her and she begins wishing he’d take her with him sighs

her initiating their first kiss cos uhh pirate or not hes like .. shes a Princess theres no way theres anything between us .. right ?? but obviously she likes him smh silly boy and she rolls her eyes and is like “when are you gonna kiss me?” and he stares at her for a sec before grinning like the roguish pirate he is and doing just that & its surprisingly gentle and uhh reverent BYE

evie willingly kissing him even tho it smear her perfectly applied lipstick ((:: and as an add on to that, evie letting him turn her into a disheveled mess after a thorough makeout session, hair all tangled, lipstick smeared, clothes wrinkled ihbvfnjdm and she lk loves it cos he clearly thinks shes still drop dead gorgeous without all the theatrics her mom ingrained into her mind that she needed to be beautiful ((:: i live and breathe for the acceptance !! wow !!

the angst .. when she goes to auradon .. wow ...... im actually so hurt by it ???? and i def see harry feeling abandoned sighs rip in peace my happy kiddos say hi to pain and suffering (:

doug ? is not a love interest in my mind .. sorry kid .. ur a good friend tho <3 and evie is in auradon watching mal maybe get her happily ever after and evie’s lowkey bitter abt it but obiously doesnt show it cos uhh shes here to love and support her ugli friend !!

harry being a Broody Mess and it making him seem more malicious and vile than before .. easier to enrage, quicker to react .. yk, harry in the movie !

but at the same time !! hes juggling uma’s i-told-you-so’s and trying to find a way to prove himself to his father and wishing evie hadn’t ever left and it being .. no fun at all for him esp with gil muttering about how he wishes evie were around and making the whole situation Worse smh

at the confrontation ohh god !! not the big one with everyone and the wand but before when they took ben ??? damn his eyes RAKED up and down her trying to assess if she was happier without him or if she felt even a little bit of what he did and getting angry when she gets angry over him taking ben i ??!!

evie sneaking away to confront harry personally over it and them getting into a shouting match and leaving things unresolved and WORSE than they’d been before ughhhhh

then ........ few months later boi gets an invite to come to auradon ... color him Surprised over that .. he almost refuses but he thinks of the ship he’s always wanted and quickly packs up his cabin like a second later

evie mentally considering taking harry off the list initially but then remembers that its his only gd chance to get away from the damn isle and out on the sea like he always dreamed & knowing she cant take that chance away from him just cos shes scared to see him again

that got away from me and felt more like fanfic plotting ... but uhh harry being the one who taught her to swordfight cos lbr who else couldve ? jay didnt carry one around until auradon and as far as i know evie didn’t have any sort of fencing lessons ( especially since it was a big deal for lonnie to have been on the team ). so !!

he also taught her a handful of other self-defense maneuvers beyond running and potions that never worked correctly on the isle cos uhh its a shady ass place and hes Worried about her

also he 10/10 calls her princess anyone who disagrees is free to do so but theyre wrong

she repairs his coat All The Time cos boy is always in need of patching up smh BUT she sewed her lil heart with a crown on the inside of his coat right next to where it lays over his heart cos uhh she loves him pce

him bringing her pretty seashells and trinkets he got from the salvage ships .. things like faded gold earrings and necklaces when one time he shows up with this tiny little shard of blue seaglass thats worn into the shape of a heart and she immediately makes it a charm for a bracelet & treasure it above all the other things she has lol !

them being 200% supportive of each other in general and loving one another despite the odds against them??? harry literally willing to risk everything for her ?? her honestly getting tired of hiding him and pretending she doesnt like him and one day just blurting it out to mal and bein like “if you dont like it then that’s just too bad for you” and walking out head held high but deep down freaking the FUCK out bihfnjde and harry being So Proud of her and willing to legitimately fight mal if she gives her shit over it bgvihfnj wow i just .. i just love them so much ..

#hevie #harry x evie #evie x harry #eviarry #???#idk im still working on it #long post #read more cos uhh its .. a lot

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deckspair · 4 years

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Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I Love You, Tomorrow || Neo & Shinobu || MM Trial End

[ TW: Emetophobia, breathing problems, mention of disordered eating. Detailed discussion about suicide, terminal illness, and the right to die. ]

For what was quickly cemented as the worst night of his life to end all worst nights, the fact that it wasn’t over was a disgrace.

Neo had remained silent through the entirety of the reveal and its aftermath. What energy and motivation he had to refute the cynicism of the truth sapped away the moment it was announced that they had gotten it right, and after that, he’d been left dumbstruck and silent, forced to consider that Akira Akatsuki could’ve done this. Shinobu asked all of the questions that danced around the forefront of his mind, and the sickening answers only made the paralyzing agony that much harder to stave off. He didn’t even know where to start, but…

Pointless. Everything just felt pointless. It felt wrong, horribly wrong; he couldn’t believe that his past self would have agreed to something so vile as to live where others were sacrificed. That he somehow would’ve left Haruka behind – and unless she had taught herself to open a window or some kind soul had forced the door open once it was clear Neo wasn’t coming back for her, there was very little to suggest she made it out of their home or even on board any of the other ships. And nothing to say about the kids, those impoverished children and staff in the orphanage who had no money, no clout, no say in their own fate and no way out. It horrified him so badly he retched, dry heaving as the empty contents of his stomach went through his nose, forcing him to put one hand over his mouth while keeping the other on his only remaining family left.

Shinobu… by the gods, they had to be hurting even more. He knew how bad their survivor’s guilt had been after Nonoka, after Junshu, after Akira… Neo wiped away his trembling hand and hugged them closer. Especially when WellnessBot announced their intention to execute him for not voting correctly – honestly, he wouldn’t have minded death if it wasn’t for the fact that it would undoubtedly ruin Shinobu, and if there’s one thing he needs his sibling for, it’s to tell their story even if everyone else would eventually forget it, excise it from their head or just tried to gloss over it like their pain and suffering had been in the service of some plot to make the world a better place. It was an unjust world made worse by the futility of their own situation; and sad to say it, this hell was the only place he could ever have seen himself being happy. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

The pen in his pocket feels heavy. It’s the one he wouldn’t let go even if he hadn’t been given the choice to let go of Nonoka, and as he buries his head in Shinobu’s arms he can feel the fur of Akira’s jacket tickling him. Like maybe he could just sleep, and his next waking phase would see his big sister teasing him for getting a girlfriend before her. That she hadn’t been a cruel person to– no, even now he refused to believe she was a cruel person in her heart. Jean’s death, coupled with the unfairness of the world that moved on without them… He did not know if he would’ve been able to continue either if he’d known the truth. It sucked to be alive when she wasn’t, when their only explanation came from the very robots he detested. They were left to pick up the glass shards that his big sister had smashed on her way out, and he wasn’t even afforded the mercy of knowing what had been going through her head.

Only what went through her heart, and now SpiderBot was dead, and now FrogBot might be. What really was the point of all this? Did they still think any one of them really cared about the robots other than the fact their continued existence could help continue theirs?

What was the point of everything, anymore? Even if they left this vessel, Neo knew that he had already died on board it. Only that his body was refusing to give up, and even then…

“…Niisan?” He breathes out, more a whisper than a voice anymore. His words sound so far away but he has to tell them what he wants to say. He will not let things go without clarity, not when it had been ripped from them so many times before. “Today is just the worst, huh? It sucks so bad… and I’m sorry for what we had to learn. But I… I think they’re still out there, waiting for you to come home to them.” He points out the windows, squeezing their back. “Your parents love you beyond any kind of love I could afford… I’m sure they found a way to wait for you even now. Make the choice you need to and get yourself out of here with the others. I’m sorry though… there’s one more thing, one more choice I have to trust to you. It’s the worst thing I can ask of you right now but… I don’t want to ask it of anyone else here. Because… you’re the only one left that it matters to.”

He takes a deep breath. A thought, circulated and spun around in his feeble mind that persisted even through the labouring breaths and failing systems. “I want you to… to leave me behind here, when you go off.”

Shinobu is finalizing their vote (they would much rather have to deal with the risks of following WellnessBot’s plans than letting V-Tan0va capture everyone) when Neo speaks up, and they quickly drop everything to listen to him, and…

And there it is. There is that other fear that’s been lingering on the edge of Shinobu’s mind for weeks, independent of anything regarding the identity of the mastermind. They have done all they can to support Neo these past weeks as his health, in both body and spirit, has taken a sharp downturn. (Shinobu hadn’t explicitly told anyone the real reason they brought a wheelchair here, but in hindsight, isn’t it obvious now? If Neo is coughing up blood now, there is no way Shinobu would make him run to escape.) But they never dared to speak of what it might mean for the future, or if there even was a future for Neo.

Turns out, he’d already come to his own conclusions. He’d accepted the truth a long time ago, even before Posidonias Atlantica. It was and has always been Shinobu who couldn’t accept the grim reality.

“Wh-what are you talking about…? Why would I ever…? Neo-kun, why would I ever leave you behind!? I told you, I brought medicine! I can get you somewhere safe, take care of you… “

And what would basic first aid supplies do except palliative care, and not even do that effectively? Even if Shinobu had found more doses of clofarabine, Neo’s long past the point where it’d have any meaningful effect on him.

“I-If we… When we find my family, they’ll take care of you, too. O-Or we’ll look for Dr. Muneyuki, because he’ll help you and he’s – you said you’re like a s-son to him, I know he wants you to come home, a-and I – I want you to come home. I want t-to take you to my home, I want to see the sky again with you, I want to be with you for however longer we’ll survive. I want you to stay with me. I need you to stay. Neo, I love you. You’re my brother. I can’t… I-I can’t lose you, too, please don’t make me lose you…”

The tears begin anew. Shinobu swore to themself to always have energy for Neo, and that includes the energy to weep over him. The words that plagued Shinobu this entire trial repeat over and over in their head until they begin to lose meaning: It isn’t fair. It’s not fair that all they can do is pick up the glass fragments left behind and rearrange them to pretend it had meaning. It’s not fair that even on the home stretch, they can’t stop losing people. It’s not fair that after months spent breaking themself upon hardships over and over and over again, this is how Shinobu will be repaid.

They hold Neo even tighter, clutching the back of his shirt, as if he’ll vanish into the ether right this moment if they let go of him.

It hurts, of course. He doesn’t want to leave them behind any more than they don’t want to do the same to him. But deep down, he knows that it must be done, and it must be done now when he still has the consciousness left to tell them.

“I was never long for this world to begin with. And I know I don’t have long left now.”

His hands move up to hold Shinobu’s face. “I just… these past few months, as painful as the end was… the times I spent with you and Nonoka and Akira and everyone on board have been the happiest any dying man could have asked for. I know that I will never be happy again, and I fear that… that if I do go with you… if we even make it on board… I will die before you can get me help, from the ice that runs through my veins. That’s why… that’s why…” Tears stream down his face as he presses his own forehead to theirs. “I want you to… to make the conscious choice to leave me here. So that you’ll never blame yourself for not doing enough to save me from myself. No ifs, no buts, no blame onto you for something that I needed to choose. This whole experience has been one forced decision after yet another morton’s fork. With the time I have left… forgive me for wanting to choose the way I’ll die. With a little bit of dignity and freedom left to watch the beautiful waters of the ocean… to remember the laughter and the tears of the happiness we had to share instead of the deep sadness that can only ensue if I die so close to your freedom.”

Hugging them tightly, Neo sobs openly, and as the coughs wrack his body and force a thin stream of blood to trickle down his chin, he wipes it away to put on a brave, smiling face. “I know that… that you will have to be alone again but… I’ll still be in here.” He gently presses a finger over the space on their back close to their heart. “And mine knows you’re stronger than I ever could have been… the strength I need to make this choice not for me, but for you. Please… let me go this time. After this farce is over.”

“H-Hey, don’t… don’t strain yourself.” It feels surreal, momentarily fretting more about his coughing than about what he’s been saying. But he keeps speaking in spite of (no, because of) the blood, and it forces Shinobu to focus on what’s most important. Shinobu knows they won’t strictly be alone, unless the survivors all part ways after this, but they feel so, so lonely right now. Like there isn’t anyone left who cares about them and their own wishes. “We can find happiness, we will make our own even if we have to tear it out of the dead earth ourselves! Neo, you aren’t just… this isn’t just because of…?”

Because of all the death and betrayal. Shinobu’s picked up on Neo’s ideation, ever since the first defeated utterings began after Nonoka’s death. They’re scared that this isn’t just because of his terminal cancer, but because he truly, absolutely does not want to keep living.

“I-I don’t want to be alone… I don’t want you to be alone. I-I can stay with you s-so that you… that you don’t have to die alone. I’ll stay.”

And that is the singular most stupid thing Shinobu has ever said, more than anything else they’ve said the entire time they’ve been on the ship. Neo is speaking from the perspective of someone who’s spent years trying to come to terms with his inevitable, imminent death – Shinobu is speaking only from sheer impulse and hurt, because they are at wit’s end and can’t comprehend the future. Not because it doesn’t exist, but because they don’t want to think of a future without Neo. Or a future without Nonoka, or even without Akira or Ukiyo-maemi and every other person they had loved and hated and lost.

Shinobu has a future, it’s just that they don’t want to face it alone. In that endless well of self-loathing, Shinobu calls themself selfish, because they know they can’t stay behind now, not after doing so much to secure escape. They know that what they’re really hoping for is that their bluff will make Neo reconsider. They know if it were up to them, they would drag Neo onto the shuttle and into an unknown, hostile world where he’d die slowly and painfully, if meant having just having a little more time with him.

If half the survivors believe Akira was cruel for wanting everyone to suffer and die, what does that make someone who wants everyone to suffer and live?

Their own sobbing is heavy with shame over their own words. If there is an objectively correct choice here, Shinobu doesn’t want to make that decision. They want… For a second, they want this moment to last forever. Safe in Neo’s arms, and him safe in theirs. They want the bombs to suddenly go off early, killing everyone before they what’s coming, before anyone can make any more choices about who lives and who dies. Shinobu wants this moment to last forever.

Time continues.

“I’m sorry.” Like waves breaking against a stony shoreline, Shinobu forces themself to speak through their sobs. “I d-don’t want to go on without you. I… I want so much for you. I wanted better. F-For all of us. I don’t want you to die. If… I had just… done something earlier…”

Done what? Starved themself, retreated back into their darkest days as an athlete, spent all their money not on food but on the gift shop in the hopes of finding more medicine to delay Neo’s cancer?

Killed Ukiyo-maemi to protect Nonoka, then fled into the dying world alone? Attacked SpiderBot just so they could fall upon that sword before Akira could?

Shinobu would’ve done all that and more to save Neo, and perhaps that is the single greatest reason they need to leave without him, though Shinobu will never acknowledge that.

“I love you.” There is not nearly enough time left to say all that they want to say to Neo, and no matter what happens, they hope he knows that he will always be loved. “I… I don’t want to let go. Please stay with me. Just a little longer.” Their unspoken, futile plea is that he never leaves.

The heartbreak in their voice makes this so much worse. But he has to force himself, force it onto them, and he is being irresponsible, he’s being so selfish right now in putting all of this into Shinobu’s hands but… he doesn’t want the alternative to pass. Not like this.

“It’s not just because of that. I was… already dying, a long time ago. I just… want to hold onto what’s left so that… so that I won’t ever force myself to rue you for keeping me alive instead. I’d sooner die than ever… than ever allow myself to resent you, Shinobu-niichan… I love you so much.” He whispers, and in that one moment everything feels all right. Like it’ll be okay, like the waters aren’t threatening to swallow them up and cast them out into the sea.

He doesn’t want to tell them that there’s nothing they could’ve done for him. That even if all of that had happened and more, he might still have chosen to stay because in truth he didn’t know if he could live with himself, knowing those who had died to get them all underwater in the first place. The guilt continues to eat at him, but he staves it long enough to press a kiss to Shinobu’s forehead out of brotherly love.

“I wanted so much for us. For each and every one of us here… I wanted to go on a date with Nonoka so bad… I wanted to meet Akira’s siblings… I wanted to be spoiled by you and tease you about guys and so much more… but the truth is we have to let that go… and you, me go. I won’t die alone… I’ll die free with the presence of the people I loved here. I won’t let you join me though… you need to live and find the people who loved you too. And I’ll wheel you over to the… to the escape ship if it takes me all I have left.”

And that is the truth. Even if it will kill him in the process he will push and push and ensure that his big sibling leaves without the last regrets they most certainly have.

His hands clasp around their back weakly. “But right now… please… please stay… I’m so sorry, and I can’t stay forever… so better now when I still have embers of this happiness… of a day where you and me and Nonoka and Akira-neechan were all happy…”

It doesn’t matter who sees them now. But he’s hoping their loved ones are, from up above.

Shinobu remembers having once shared painful memories of their past, unprompted, in an attempt to regain agency over their life when the robots were taking that away from everyone. Maybe this too is Neo’s way to gain back his own freedom when this day was intent on stealing away everything. And… and as much as Shinobu wants to take him along, they don’t want to be the one that steals away what little agency he has left. They don’t want his last thoughts to be resentful of them.

They stare down at their tablet left discarded on the floor, at the vote they had input and promptly forgotten about. How many people, now, had they condemned to die…? And now Neo will be the latest one. Shinobu can only hope he’ll be the last. The blood from trials and votes will never leave their hands.

Slowly, they pick up their tablet. “…Can I… ask a favor? A few of them. When you… when you see them again…” Shinobu leaves ‘them’ unspecified, not knowing who Neo expects to find waiting for him on the other side, if anyone. Let him draw his own bittersweet conclusions. “When you see them, tell them I’m sorry. That I couldn’t help any of them. I-I’ll… I’ll try to make it up to them. T-To their families, if I can find them. I’ll spend my life making up for… f-for living, when none of you did, so please… please, forgive me.”

They don’t sound like they can forgive themself.

Shinobu pulls away from Neo, still trembling with tears. They gently shrug Akira’s jacket off themself and offer it to Neo. Whether or not he accepts, they walk away, returning with the album of theater photos and their own luggage bag that they had prepared before the trial. One by one, they remove certain items: A few pictures of lost loved ones on the theater stage, in memories no one can recall. A long braid of blonde hair, weaved together because Akira had spoken of the ways her family memorialized each other. A music box, which Shinobu winds up and leaves playing on Neo’s podium.

Regardless of whether Neo takes anything, the message is clear: Shinobu will let go. They’ll let go of the ghost that’s been whispering to them all this trial. They’ll let go of heavy mementos that threaten to drag them deep into the ocean. They’ll let go of Neo.

They know this won’t be enough to sever them from those feelings, and they know they will struggle with their guilt for years to come. And it’s not like they’ll leave empty-handed; they’ll still be taking the rest of the photos and everything else still in their bag. And they’ll try to leave with one more memory.

“Can you… leave a video for me? On my tablet. Just… talking. To me. I-I just… want to be able to hear your voice and see your face again. I don’t want to forget you, Neo.”

Exchanging one set of painful mementos for another. It was lateral progress, but progress nonetheless.

As soon as there is a free moment, Shinobu wraps Neo in another hug and keeps him there, still crying quietly as they touch their forehead to his, brush their lips against his hair, bury their face against his shoulder – every profound gesture of familial love they can muster, every farewell they were unable to give any of those who’ve died before him, packed tight but gentle into such a tiny space of time.

The moment will not last forever no matter how much they wish it would, and they want to absorb what little is left of his warmth and remember it. They want to remember Tsuneo Enjou.

[The video opens quietly, sombrely. The atmosphere is crushing, painful, deep down under.

And yet the blonde faces it all with a weak smile. “H-Hey, it’s… You might not remember me long after this, who knows? But I’m… I’m Neo. I’m Tsuneo Enjou. I don’t… know how long I have to say this but… I just want the world to know I was loved. That even though I tried… tried to push so many people away, I still… found people who loved me… who I loved… And I’m glad that if you’re seeing this, it means that they’re okay. So I’ll keep smiling a bit longer, because that’s just the kind of person I am… I’m Nutty Neo, and that means I’m always gonna smile when the going gets tough. So thank you all for listening… and be good people. Peace out.”

It ends.]

[A second video, more personal, more sincere.

“Shinobu… thank you. I haven’t been… the best little brother around… but you’ve been the sole hope left in this cruel life. I want… I want nothing but the best for you… for you to live so long and happy, even if it hurts now. You’ll be fine… I know you will. You’re the best big brother a silly guy like me could ever wish for.”

He wipes away tears, forcing his voice to hold steady. “The road ahead won’t be easy. I don’t know if there even is much of one but… you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. Let the waves crash against you, build yourself up so much stronger again… When life finds a way to burn us, rise from the ashes like humanity’s phoenix… Heh, I always wanted to say that…”

“Thank you. Thank you for being here in my short life… for touching many other lives and I know you’ll go on to touch so many more. One day, when you’re old and grey and I’m sure you’ll still hold onto this somehow… I hope you’ll remember the good times… that there will always be somewhere you can come back to, once it’s all over. I will… we will be waiting.”

A whisper, so much stronger than anything, “I love you, Shinobu-niisan. Never forget that.”’]

#chapter 6 #trial 6 #tsuneo #shinobu #submission

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