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diifacto · 4 years

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Saw your post about the hunger games and i completly agree. Anyway you said there wasn't really a love triangle and now I'm curious what you mean with that? I mean like imma start following you anyway now so i won't miss it when you talk about this, but...

I’ve gotten a lot of questions/comments like this one on the statement I made in my last Hunger Games post about the series having no real love triangle, so here’s me (finally) explaining my reasoning.

It was really hard to organize my thoughts in a cohesive, complete way, as I’ve never actually organized my arguement on paper—just verbally, usually yelling (passionately) at my sister—so I’ve split them up into categories based on which aspects of the novels I’m discussing.

First Impressions

Beginning, as all things do, with first impressions. The Hunger Games is, first and foremost, categorized as a YA novel. Now, I love YA. I’ve been reading YA all my life and will probably continue doing so for the rest of it. But there are a ton of tropes/patterns found consistently through just about every YA novel out there, just as in any other genre—sci-fi has spaceships, blasters, and aliens; fantasy has monarchies, dragons, and curses; and YA has love triangles, rebellions, “bad boy” boyfriends, etc. Obviously, this is a gross generalization, but you know what I mean—when Katniss introduces Gale as “the only person with whom I can be myself,” and he checks off the attractive and male boxes on top of it, anyone who’s ever read YA has alarm bells going off in their head: Love Interest Detected.

But, before anything can happen with Gale, we’re heading straight into the Games, where we are confronted with yet another possible love interest. Peeta, Katniss’s competitor—but fake, star-crossed lover? And they have history from back in District 12? We have ourselves a second Love Interest, and therefore we’ve got ourselves a Love Triangle!

(Ignore the Games, of course. The oppressed, impoverished, desperate state of the districts under the Capitol’s control. The children being sent to die for their amusement. The two sixteen-year-olds doing anything they can to stay alive one more day. No, we’ve got some romance on our hands!)

And isn’t that it? Readers go into The Hunger Games, are introduced to these two young, attractive men, who obviously have feelings for Katniss, and whom Katniss depends on (we’ll dig into the significance of that later) in return—and understandably assume this’ll blossom into a plot point. And it does, but not in the way readers are expecting. Suzanne Collins herself never portrays Gale and Peeta as opposing love interests; rather, she uses them to represent opposing worldviews, a huge choice Katniss has to make in Catching Fire. What readers are expecting to happen, though—Love Triangle, Katniss choosing one of the boys, Team Peeta or Team Gale, etc.—can get in the way of how they perceive what Suzanne Collins is really trying to say.

Katniss’s “Choice”

I’d like to present a word to you: juxtaposition. I learned it in English class, it’s fun to say, and it means, according to Google, “The fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect.” I think it describes love triangles pretty well; after all, isn’t a love triangle just two, different people placed in the same situation, each with their respective pros and cons? I also think it describes Gale and Peeta’s characters pretty well; except instead of Suzanne Collins juxtaposing them based on their looks, general atheleticism, and by who remembers Katniss’s birthday, she aligns them with two possible futures for Katniss, and two different beliefs.

A life with Peeta means a lifetime of keeping her head down, following the path the Capitol has set for her, living in fear and suffocating oppression, hoping the spark will die out. A life with Gale means the opposite: taking it to the Capitol, rebelling against the Games, turning the spark into a flame and hoping everyone she loves survives the fire.

This is the choice Katniss makes in Catching Fire. When she kisses Gale after he’s been whipped, it’s not because she’s coming into any newfound feelings, it’s because she’s made her decision—to stay and rebel against the Capitol. And in this choice, a life with Peeta is of the Capitol’s invention, and a life with Gale is only another way to rebel.

That’s all there really is to Katniss’s “choice.”

Dependence

“But Margaret,” you say, “Katniss does have feelings for Gale and Peeta in return.” Oh, sure. I won’t argue there—there’s a reason, aside from them being superficially perfect Love Interest archetypes, that both these boys themselves do appeal to Katniss. But these “feelings,” this reason, aren’t/isn’t inherently romantic.

After Katniss’s father died, Collins depicts how Katniss’s mother fell into an incredibly lethargic state, sick with sadness, and effectively abandoned eleven-year-old Katniss to deal with her own grief and keep the family alive, all alone. Understandably, this experience has kept Katniss from trusting easily or becoming too dependent on people, lest they do the same and leave when she needs them. For the most part, Katniss lives independently, relying on no one for support, not accepting help. But why, when people argue that Katniss does have feelings for both Gale and Peeta, do I have to admit that while I disagree overall, there is something there Katniss doesn’t let herself feel for anyone else? What makes these two boys different from everyone else in The Hunger Games?

Simple: they’re the only two people Katniss (reluctantly) lets herself depend on.

When discussing Gale’s popularity among the girls at school, Katniss mentions that it makes her jealous, but not for the reason people think. “Good hunting partners are hard to find,” she says, 1. acknowledging Gale’s desirability, 2. making her lack of romantic interest clear, and 3. admitting she relies on him as a hunting partner, and feels threatened by the idea of losing him. And of course she does—especially since Collins shows us that it isn’t just Katniss herself depending on Gale; after the reaping it will be Prim, who Katniss describes as the only person in the world she’s certain she loves, and her mother. Without Gale, and with Katniss heading off to the Games, she has no way to ensure Prim’s safety. Thus, Katniss is incredibly dependent on Gale.

Peeta comes later, but equally as necessary; offering Katniss safety through their star-crossed lovers strategy, and, later, an understanding of the Games she can’t get from anyone else. Katniss, someone so scared of depending on people, has ended up depending on these two boys for different things. Gale, to protect her family, her home, to offer her freedom from the stifling nature of the Capitol and the Victor’s Village; and Peeta, to offer her understanding and freedom in a different way, from the dreams, from the arena, from the pressure of keeping everyone alive.

So when people counter my opinion that Katniss never had any romantic feelings for either Gale nor, initially, Peeta (we’ll break that “initially” down, don’t worry), I’ll give them that, yes, Gale and Peeta got something from Katniss no one else did: trust. And trust is, of course, a fantastic base for a healthy, romantic relationship. But it doesn’t become one in Hunger Games. Katniss loves Gale, and she loves Peeta, I can’t argue that. But that love isn’t romantic.

Debts Owed

This will be very brief—just something to think about, to go along with my analysis of Katniss’s dependence.

I need to acknowledge that, while my arguement is that Katniss never had any definitively romantic feelings for either Gale or Peeta, they definitely did for her. And she knew. So, just for a moment, I’d like us to consider the thought process of someone who has never, ever, let herself depend on anyone else—depending on someone who obviously wants something more from her?

Do you think she may feel like she owes something to this person, as thanks? Do you think she might be afraid, if they weren’t to get what they want, that they might leave? Do you think that, even if she didn’t have any romantic feelings for either of the two, she might kiss them, just in case?

I’m not saying this is the case in Hunger Games, but as I was writing up “Dependence,” it occurred to me: what would that really do to a person? And I just wanted to bring it up for discussion. When Katniss made her choice—rebellion—did she have to seal that choice with a kiss? Or was that her way of ensuring that yes, she was picking rebellion, and Gale was the rebellious choice, and yes, this kiss, this promise, will keep him by my side.

Was Gale Ever Really A “Contender”?

Let’s tie the frayed ends of “First Impressions”/“Katniss’s ‘Choice’”/“Dependence”/“Debts Owed” together. If you’ve made it this far, you’ve an inexhaustible well of patience, and I applaud you.

Remember when I added that “initially” when discussing Katniss’s lack of romantic feelings for Peeta? While I’m still firmly on the side of Katniss ending up single—at least for a few years, while the poor girl recovers and figures all the shit you’re supposed to understand in your teens, and when you’ve been through a war, out—of both “choices,” of course she ends up with Peeta. Why? Well.

Despite the “choice,” despite dependence, despite all the evidence laid here on the contrary, despite all that, if you still think there’s a love triangle in Hunger Games, explain to me this: you need two love interests to make a love triangle—and was Gale ever really a contender?

Let’s walk through it. Right from the beginning, immediately after Suzanne Collins introduces Gale, she has Katniss go through the steps discussed in “Dependence”; acknowledge desirability and attractiveness, state her disinterest romantically, and move on. Already, sweeping any suggestion that Katniss may have some unspoken, romantic love towards Gale. Not to say it couldn’t develop—but it doesn’t.

Catching Fire is where the boys are perhaps juxtaposed the most, with Katniss’s “choice” coming into play. Remember what I said about debts owed? Gale continues to push Katniss’s boundaries, confessing his love, pressuring her, even after she’s expressed her disinterest in love right now (amid all this death and rebellion, a perfectly fucking normal sentiment) and confusion around the subject. Not only that, but he insults Peeta, Haymitch, and those involved with the Games (ex. Cinna, Effie, Katniss’s prep team) by lumping them in with the Capitol, and while the latter is a fair judgement, he doesn’t listen to Katniss when she tries to defend them and explain they’re rebelling in their own way, same as him. Gale in Catching Fire begins his “downwards spiral,” as he turns everything black and white, shunning Katniss when she doesn’t agree 100% and accepting her back with open arms after she kisses him.

Peeta, on the other hand, understands the gray area. He listens to Katniss, and although he’s getting exactly what he wants—a relationship with Katniss, a life with Katniss—he takes no joy in it because he knows it isn’t what Katniss wants. Remember after their proposal, on the Victory Tour, when Katniss asks Haymitch why Peeta’s not happy, as this was what he wanted? Haymitch tells her it’s because he wanted it to be real. And that’s true for Peeta throughout the whole trilogy; he truly cares about Katniss’s wants, tries his hardest not to pressure her, and is genuinely a continuous source of support. He rebels, the entire time, in his own quiet, calculated way; with the money in District 11, with the “baby bomb” in the interviews.

Here’s a juxtaposition for you: Peeta’s love for Katniss isn’t conditional; Gale’s is.

For proof, just look at Mockingjay. Specifically, look at—spoilers—Prim’s death.

Everyone knows that girl is the most important thing in the world to Katniss. All of District 12 knows it, President Snow knows it, President Coin knows it—hell, regular, average citizens of the Capitol know it. Everyone knows there is nothing, nothing in the world that could make Katniss put Primrose in danger, even at her own expense. Katniss would rather die than have Prim get hurt, and anyone close to her, who loves her, knows damn well that’s what she’d want.

So when Gale’s bomb goes off, delivering the final blow to the Capitol, at the expense of so many innocent lives, at the expense of Katniss’s sister—there was no love for Katniss there. There was absolutely no consideration, no respect for Katniss. There was just violence, and the hungry, desperate need to win this war, to rebel.

I could never say that Katniss and Gale weren’t a great team. I could never say they weren’t good, lifelong friends—I mean, starting out. They were fantastic hunting partners, further shown in Mockingjay, when they started hunting people instead of deer or turkey or wild dogs. But they grew apart, after Katniss changed in the Games and Gale changed in the rebellion, and there was never, really, the chance of anything romantic between them. Katniss depended on Gale to, above all other things, protect her sister, and he didn’t, so she stopped depending on him. And there wasn’t anything left.

That’s what I mean when I say, even if you think Katniss had real feelings for Peeta—and they do end up together, so even if I don’t agree with it, okay, alright, maybe it was Suzanne Collins’ intention—there’s still no love triangle, because Katniss never had feelings for Gale. And even if, maybe, maybe some would’ve developed—we’re getting into pure hypotheticals here—his character never would’ve been a real option for Katniss. They changed too much, and grew too far apart, and there would have been absolutely no chance for him after Prim.

Conclusion

In conclusion, I’m sorry. I’m more cohesive and intelligent verbally. Most of the time. Promise.

In conclusion, there is no love triangle in Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games. Rather, there are two boys who have feelings for the same girl, and this girl, who never depends on anyone, depends on these two boys for different things, and has to make a huge, horrible, irreversible choice, and somehow it ends up attaching itself to these two boys. And that’s really all there is to it.

#booklr #book blog #opinion #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #gale #peeta #love triangle #it’s not actually a love triangle and here’s why #katniss should’ve ended up alone #fiction #katniss everdeen #suzanne collins #young adult #sorry this took so long I’m an unproductive mess #I swear I’m more cohesive in person #usually whilst yelling at my sister #book review

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geekmedium · 3 years

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Favorite Doctor/Companion Teams

Because I want to spread some Doctor Who good cheer for Christmas. Also, I’m not doing the 9th or 13th doctor because they’ve really only had one team. Anyway...

1. The Original Team

The ones who started it all. They would win by iconography, but even with that, they’re just a lot of fun to watch. This is the doctor at his most curmudgeon; he’s rude, fairly detached, and very much not the hero we’re use to. So they gave him a granddaughter who he cares for, and two teachers who act as the parents and honestly more noble, likable people.

It’s a family dynamic, one which we don’t see often. I appreciate that they were a team who grew to care for each other, but still had radically different approaches to whatever situation they found themselves in. And it is through this team up that the Doctor could mellow out and be a more straight up heroic figure. He learned from them just as much as the reverse.

2nd, Jamie, and Zoe

Where the first team had a family dynamic to it, the second doctor had a more “bro” relationship with his team. He and Jamie are famously close, and if I’m not mistaken, Jamie is still one of the longest lasting companions. They joked around, had each others backs, and were just great pals. While Doctor Who was meant to be a teaching show, I believe these two turned the tone from edutainment into one full of Wonder.

As for Zoe, well I just like her. She was probably the first companion who could be considered of super intelligence. I like the Doctor and Jamie as two bros hanging out, but Zoe can be in there to keep everyone from getting along too well. Her intelligence could lead her to be smug, but she was truly loyal to the Tardis team. And I loved her interactions with Jamie as brother and sister.

3rd and Jo Grant

I kind of like the Doctor with a ditzy companion. Despite not being remembered very well, I think Jo was able to occasionally pull her weight and she worked well with the Doctor. Plus their last scene together, when he says goodbye? Man, you could tell how sad that made not only them, but their actors as well.

4th and Sarah Jane

There were so many choices, but ultimately I can’t help thinking of this one as the best. Not only is Sarah Jane still considered one of the best companions, her dynamic with the Doctor was one of equal love and exasperation. She would often debate with him, grow frustrated with him, but still be with him through some of the most terrifying threats any companion had to deal with. And when it was time to go, she took it with good grace; she would always remember her time with the Doctor fondly, and only asked that he do the same. Magical.

5th, Adric, Tegan, and Nyssa

Here we have the family dynamic back again. I just really like the Doctor acting like a mentor to Adric, with Tegan and Nyssa as best friends who act like the big sisters of the group. I feel that while the first Doctor’s family was a generational thing, with each passing something to the next, the fifth Doctor’s family was a group of siblings. They were kind of equals with each other, and they got into plenty of small arguments, constantly annoying each other, but with a kind of affection that made them want to be together even when they were mad.

I know it’s hard to write Doctor Who with more than 1 or 2 constant companions, but I personally like family dynamics the best. With the 2nd through 4th, there isn’t a ton to say because they got on very well. There were disagreements sure, but for the most part, they were great friends and always happy with each other. A family dynamic, like with the fifth ensured a lot more dynamic back in forth bickering, with everyone's different backgrounds playing off each other in a way unique to Doctor Who, that could bring people from different timelines and planets together.

6th and Evelyn

I’m going to cheat a bit by going off the grid into the audio dramas. No offense to Peri fans, but Evelyn is everything a companion should be. Tough, strongly opinionated, and incredibly empathetic, she provided a good foil to possibly the most selfish Doctor.

But what I loved most about her was that she was elderly. It provided a different dynamic to the Doctor, who occasionally acted the part of student to her mentor, instead of the usual status quo which is the reverse. Even more than that was her role in the story; she wasn’t there to be a young companion who realizes her potential under the Doctor. She was there to show that even if your bones don’t work like they use to. Even if you’re not most people’s ideal of good looking. Even if you’ve lived a life full of joys and sorrows, you’re never too old to start over. To gain new experiences, new joys, new pains, and new love.

I think that’s really beautiful.

7th and Ace

I struggled with if I wanted to add Bernice Summerfield to this team, because she’s great. But then I realized so much of what I like about the 7th Doctor and Ace works when they are a two person team.

The 7th Doctor is believed to be the most manipulative, actively using his own loved ones for the greater good. He can be cold and calculating in a way few other Doctors ever approached. And so that made his relationship with Ace all the more heartwarming. Here was this little delinquent of a girl, who thought she was worthless, and yet she was the only person in the universe who could bend the 7th Doctor to her whim; he loved her like a daughter, and the scenes where they interact is all the more special when you contrast them with the cold Doctor.

Having another companion kind of intrudes on this very intimate bond. I think Ace should be special to this Doctor. The one person who he would sacrifice himself before he sacrificed her. A companion who can be horrified with his more manipulative acts, but nevertheless stuck with him out of a loyalty to the first person who ever took a chance on her. Hurt Ace at your peril; the 7th Doctor will come for you.

8th and Izzy (plus Fey)

Ignore that Izzy’s a fish, she isn’t usually.

This one is pure nostalgia. The 8th Doctor’s comic strip adventures were my first real introduction to the WHO-niverse. So while I’m sure Izzy is probably last on most people’s list (if they know her at all), she’ll always be my companion. She was probably the first pop-culture savvy companion who could offer a quip that stumped even the Doctor with how contemporary it was. She was finding herself on her journey with the Doctor, and had a character arc that I think inspired RTD when it was his time to reboot the series. Plus, from what I’ve read of other 8th Doctor material, he tends to be romantically linked with most of his other companions. Some people might like that, but I think you can tell from this list, I like my Doctor as a more celibate fellow.

Fey is someone who I think of as an intermittent companion. She helps out the Doctor a great deal, and her position within the universe is very unique and imaginative, but I wouldn’t want her in for more than a story arc or two at a time before moving on to another spatial-temporal James Bond style adventure.

10th and Donna

Like the fourth Doctor before him, I had plenty of options. I was even gonna pull a fast one and pick another comic strip companion, the self-centered businesswoman Majenta Pryce. But the 10th Doctor and Donna are special.

Not only is she one of the only companions the Doctor has called his best friend, when you get down to it, she was who he needed at the time. After the last two companions had ended in a sort of tragic romance, the Doctor was walling himself off again. Donna, however, came into his life as purely a friend. Someone to pal around with and banter with. For the Doctor, this must have been a godsend. No drama, no hassle, just true companionship in every since of the word. And she still has possibly the saddest exit for any companion to date.

Goodbye Donna Noble. You definitely lived up to the name.

11th, Amy, and Rory (plus River Song)

The last family companionship on this list, and quite honestly, my favorite Tardis dynamic in the whole series. Why? Because it’s such a glorious mess that should collapse in flames but becomes something that’s just so interesting to think about.

The Doctor was Amy’s childhood crush she never quite got over. She eventually grew to love Rory, but both she and the Doctor were kind of dismissive of him. But does Rory angst and get into a love rivalry with the Doctor? Not really. He grows into himself, faces numerous dangers for them both, and by the end both Amy and the Doctor love the guy to pieces. And then you have River Song, who should turn the whole thing into a kind of Jerry Springer prize winner. I won’t go into spoilers, but what could have seemed creepy is actually a very interesting relationship with the Doctor. Though like Fey above, I think she works best as an intermittent companion who often goes off on her own adventures.

Still, they are the best family and if that’s controversial, it is the hill I will die on.

12th and Clara

The final companions are another friendship. In a lot of ways, this is pretty fun, because the 12th Doctor is an old curmudgeon like the first. But with all that he’s been through, it is interesting to see how they contrasts, especially in their companions. Because while the 1st Doctor was happy to play the cranky grandfather type, 12th had a genuine friendship with Clara.

They didn’t always get each other. They frequently disagreed, and could even be resentful. But when the chips were down, they would follow each other into hell together. The Doctor always tried to be a little more considerate for her than most others around him, and Clara tried to defend him against his critics. And while the end to their companionship could have been handled better, it was still an impactful parting between two friends.

So do you agree or disagree? Who are your favorite teams? I would love to know.

#Doctor Who #friendships

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rainbowwhimsyart · 5 years

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Faedom Week Day One : Alternate Universe

Okay, here it is. A modern au (well, the rough outline for one anyway, lol. Didn't get a chance to write it out fully, but here's a general summary.)

This is for the 2019 Faedom challenge week, which is all about creating fanworks for @not-poignant 's Faetales verse.

Okay, so imagine that modern AU Augus owns a cafe. They make vegan fusion dishes. It's called Balance. Eran is the head chef, specializes in cooking directly over live flame and charcoal in an open - air cooking pit outside. The fact that they even were able to get the licenses for that kind of set up is suspicious. Other business owners in the area joke that Augus must have used some kind of mind- control powers to have gotten that zoning pushed through.

Mosk is homeless and squatting in the area. He meets Mikkel, who is doing homeless outreach for the local community mental health. Mikkel can get him a job, and a bed at one of the local shelters. Mosk doesn't want to stay at the shelter, he's got a system. Gym membership, laundromats for washing clothes, and if he does some sex work, it's nobody's business but his.

Mikkel reminds him that winter will be here soon, and if he works a steady job and saves enough, Mikkel says he can get him actual housing. Mikkel knows some people who are looking for a full time barrista/cashier. Best part? Mosk will eat for free while he's on shift.

Mosk reluctantly agrees. Meets at Balance, Mikkel introduces him to Augus, the owner. Augus talks to him for 5 minutes and is like, yeah fine. He can work for a trial period, we'll see how it goes. $15 an hour plus tips during the trial period, with a raise of he gets hired permanently, which is wildly generous for a barista. Mosk just stares at Augus, wondering if he's going to be expected to blow him for the job.

It turns out that Augus doesn't spend a ton of time on site, he spends most of his time cultivating and caring for the gardens and grounds of the historical manor his husband inherited, that they now rent out for events.

Augus introduces him to Julvia, the manager of the cafe, and then leaves. She shows him how the shop runs, starts training him a little bit, and has him jump on register then and there. Mosk is surprised that they already trust him with the money. But she does, and even stranger, she is kind to him. She doesn't seem to care that he's awkward and abrupt with the customers. Doesn't seem to care that his clothes are worn and a little tattered, that his sneakers have holes in them.

She tells him that Mosk will meet Eran, the head chef, soon. He's on vacation visiting his family, but he should be back in a week or so.

In the meantime, an easygoing and extroverted man named Ash is covering for Eran. Apparently he steps in sometimes to help with large catering orders, and covers for Eran sometimes. At the end of shift, Ash brings up an opportunity for Mosk to make some extra money on the side. Mosk immediately assumes that he means sex, and since Ash isn't unattractive at all and doesn't seem inclined to damage him, Mosk decides that he could use the extra money, and goes for it. It's a painfully awkward moment.

Ash clarifies that there are frequently events that Balance caters at the manor, and they always need servers. If he's interested, he should ask Julvia to put him in touch with Ash, who is apparently August's brother and the hospitality manager of the Manor.

Mosk is mortified but Ash handles it pretty gracefully and even winks at Mosk before he leaves.

Mosk settles in, and is cautiously hopeful that he might be able to get his own place, to grow a new life there. He's saving his money, keeps it on him at all times, changes out small bills for larger bills and keeps them tucked in his shoes.

Eran comes back and Mosk finally gets to meet him. Of course he's gorgeous. Of course he's a little bit of a hipster and his ass looks amazing in those jeans, the jerk. Of course he wears eyeliner (though Mosk thinks, resentfully, that his eyes do look beautiful to a nearly otherworldly degree when smudged with black and gold) .

Even worse, Eran is constantly condescending to him. I mean, isn't it obvious that's what he's doing whenever he is so persistently kind to Mosk? Why else would he be so nice? I mean, the nerve, always trying to feed him and asking him how his day is going and flirting with him. It has to be some kind of joke.

Mosk is flustered and, remembering his awkward encounter with Ash (and assuming Ash passed the story along), is caustic and rude back. Eran's food is 'hippy new age bullshit', Mosk obviously hates it (even though he eats every bite), and Eran can fuck off with trying to feed him that 'rich-bitch burnt grass garbage'.

Eran just laughs it off and keeps making him new dishes, until he finds a few that Mosk 'Doesn't hate, I guess'. It must be a coincidence when those dishes become regular offerings on the menu, allowing Mosk to eat them daily when he's at work.

One day, walking back to where he is squatting, Mosk is jumped and beaten up really badly. They rob him, beat him, and even take his shoes, which means his money is gone. He is found and taken to the hospital, and when they need to contact someone, Mosk gives them Mikkel's number. Mosk's leg has been broken, and several of his fingers.

Unbeknownst to Mosk, Mikkel can't come get him, he's out of town. He calls Augus, who is in the middle of an event at the manor. Ash is there too, and he can't leave either, so he sends Eran.

Eran goes to pick up Mosk at the hospital, Mosk argues. The hospital won't release him without a ride. Mosk finally agrees just so he can get out of there. The hospital gives him crutches which he can't fully use because of his fingers.

Eran takes him to go get his prescriptions filled, and then asks him where to drop him off. Mosk tries to get him to let him out several blocks away, but Eran insists that Mosk let him help him inside. Mosk gets angry and finally agrees, directs Eran to building he's squatting at.

Eran is horrified at the conditions Mosk has been living in, tells him that he's not staying there. Mosk is too tired to argue. They grab Mosk's backpack and Eran takes him back to his house.

Mosk doesn't want to stay there, only agrees to stay until he's well enough to leave on his own. Eran doesn't agree but doesn't disagree (plans on convincing Mosk to stay).

Eran puts Mosk up in his guest room. Mosk is terrified that he's going to lose his job. Admits that he's lost his entire savings when he got jumped. Eran assures him that he'll still have a job.

Augus and Ash come by the next day, and promise that he's not going to lose his job. In fact, in the meantime, Augus has a bunch of electronic files and paperwork that need to be organized, and Mosk can do that remotely and be relatively stationary, yes? He says that, factoring in the tips Mosk would have been making, that would have been roughly $20 an hour, so that's what Augus will pay him. Mosk is stunned. Augus leaves him a potted plant. Ash leaves him his old Nintendo DS.

Cue 'and they were roommates!' / sick fic bits, with Mosk being the WORST patient ever. Of course, Eran and Mosk start slowly bonding despite Mosk's resistance. Eran gets a little black cat, says it's for him but really it's for Mosk. Mosk pretends to hate it but secretly (and then not so secretly) loves it more than anything. Mosk names him Raven, and Eran jokes that Mosk treats him like a little prince. They start calling him The Raven Prince. Eran gets strangely jealous that Mosk loves on the cat so much, wishes that Mosk would pet HIM like that.

When Mosk starts getting a little more mobile, he starts cleaning the apartment, doing Eran's laundry, making his bed in the morning, etc. Eran tries to tell him that he doesn't have to do that, but Mosk seems ready to bolt otherwise, so Eran just starts praising him for it instead. Eran notices how much Mosk loves the plant that Augus brought him, starts bringing him home little succulents and plants. Mosk is flustered but accepts the plants, claiming that 'he'll take care of them for Eran'. Mosk asks Eran to teach him how to cook. Eran does. It's super cute.

Eventually, Mosk goes back to working at the cafe, and starts talking about moving out. Eran tells him that "The Raven Prince would be so sad if you left, he would be heartbroken." (Suuuure, Eran. TRP would be the one who is heartbroken. Suure.)

Mosk decides to stay a little longer, because who would do Eran's laundry for him if he wasn't there? Who would make sure that Eran's bed was perfectly made? Eran surely wouldn't do it for himself, considering the state of his apartment before Mosk came. Mosk is obviously doing him a favor by staying.

One day at work, one of his old clients shows up and gives him a hard time, tells Mosk he's going to show up at closing and fuck him in the alleyway out back. Mosk walks out without telling anyone, just straight up leaves without telling anyone. It is not great at the cafe, and Augus ends up having to come in and run the cash register. He is NOT happy. He asks Eran what happened, Eran has no idea.

Mosk doesn't come home that night, and Eran goes looking for him. Finds him back outside of where he was squatting before, but now that building has been knocked down and construction has started on new overpriced condos (Built by Davix and Olphix Associates, who seem to be buying up A LOT of property in the area. But that's neither here nor there). Mosk is pretty dissociated, but when Eran shows up, he's snaps back enough to be crushingly embarrasses and ashamed at what happened, and defensively lashes out at Eran, like is genuinely mean,and says some truly horrible things to Eran. Eran ends up leaving. Mosk doesn't come back to work. Doesn't go back to Eran's house. Just disappears. Eran lies to himself and says it's fine. It's not fine.

One day the next week, Mikkel comes in and asks where Mosk is. Eran tells him his version of the events as he knows them (which may be just a tad bit colored by his own hurt feelings). Mikkel demands to see the footage (of course there are security cameras. Augus's husband INSISTED on it. ) of what happened before Mosk left. He calls them all idiots for not checking it sooner.

Now they have to find Mosk, but he's not at any of his old haunts. Eventually Mikkel tracks him down to a very shady pay-by-the-week motel. He's almost out of his savings. He's been planning on going back to sex work. Mikkel tells him he could do that, or he could have his old job back. They watched the footage. They know he was threatened.

Mosk is humiliated, because now everyone knows about his history. Eventually Mikkel talks him into going back to the cafe. Mosk ignores Eran to the best of his ability. Eran is apologetic and tries to convince Mosk to 'come home'. He refuses.

Eventually Eran gets him to at least come over and visit with TRP. He cooks Mosk his favorite meal. He kisses Mosk for the first time. Mosk is the physical embodiment of Gay Panic, but he doesn't run. Eran has FEELINGS.

They start dating, though Mosk refuses to call Eran his boyfriend. Eran keeps trying to convince him to move back in, but Mosk refuses. Eran is worried about Mosk's independence, about his lack of protection, but he has to let Mosk do what he's going to do.

When Eran's family has a disaster (plane crash in Alaska, multiple family members killed), Mosk steps in and comes to take care of him. Eran is in a deep depression, is grieving. Mosk is strangely good at holding space for Eran. Eran begs him to stay. Mosk agrees, but won't share a room with Eran.

Eran slowly comes out of the deepest part of his depression, and he and Mosk grow even closer. Mosk gets another raise at the cafe. Eran goes back to work.

Cue some major drama with Davix & Olphix Associates trying to buy up Balance. It looks like all of their jobs are in jeopardy due to some kind of legal loophole. It looks like Balance may have to close its doors forever.

But wait! Mosk remembers some important piece of paperwork that he filed for Augus, and it's the critical piece of information that saves the day! Davix and Olphix give up (for now), and their jobs are safe. Eran tells Mosk that he loves him. Mosk…doesn't run away. Eran thinks that is enough.

Time skip, several months in the future. It's Christmas time, and today, the cafe is closed to customers, because Augus and Gwyn are throwing the staff a holiday party.

They have karaoke. Everyone gets tipsy, including Mosk. Mosk gets up on the karaoke machine, sings a love song to Eran (in a surprisingly sweet tenor). Tells Eran that he loves him. Eran is like, ohhh bby are you SURE you wanted to do this in front of all of our coworkers? And Mosk is like, you're an idiot, who do you think organized this party? And then…

MOSK PROPOSES TO ERAN IN FRONT OF EVERYONE.

ERAN OF COURSE SAYS YES.

Epilogue: Eran is hovering around the food tent at the manor. There's an event that's going on, and he wants to make sure everything is running smoothly. Ash tells him that it is, and promises that he won't miss the ceremony.

Augus comes and grabs Eran and tells him to leave the food staff alone, that he's not allowed anywhere near the food tent again for the rest of the night. It's Eran's wedding, after all. He shouldn't be be working. Eran agrees.

Augus is tipsy, regales him with the story of his and Gwyn's wedding. Gives him slightly - drunken, very TMI advice for his honeymoon. Eran just nods and manages to keep a straight face.

Eran gets ready to walk down the aisle, which is filled with his friends and what's left of his family. He sees his husband to be, and thinks about the life they will build together, about all they've overcome.

Eran and Mosk read their vows. Augus is crying. Gwyn is holding his hand.

They say 'I do' and kiss. And step into their brand new future. Together.

#Faedom Week #Day one: Alternate universe #Faetales #mosk manytrees #eran iliakambar

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curlyjoe7 · 5 years

Text

Forming Your Own Opinions.

First off - major trigger warning for rape, manipulation and abuse. Second off - this is an adult conversation, between adults and only adults. I don’t want any arguments just informed debate. If you don’t know the situation then don’t speak. If you don’t like my opinion, agree to disagree, unfollow or block and move on. Everyone has the right to express their thoughts, all arguing will result in being blocked. Third off - I know this is old and no one wants to hear about it anymore but I just formed an opinion on it which I want to talk about. Sorry if hearing about it bothers you.

For the longest time and still even so now I have had the mentality: go with the popular opinion or just be quiet and you will be liked. Which is very toxic. I am obsessed with being liked, being plastic and letting others control my thoughts. I’m trying to get away from that though and this is my first step. Stating a controversial opinion. A big one. Very big. It’s hard for me, the whole thing has thrown me into a few severe anxiety attacks but I have to do this to get better or I never will. I’m super nervous and I’m ready to be hated or as ready as I possibly can be whilst simultaneously freaking out. So what’s my opinion? That Melanie Martinez is innocent. Just hear me out. Here’s why I think she’s innocent:

I was a big Melanie fan at the time of the rape accusations. At first when I heard it I thought “wow this is terrible, she’s a rapist” and cancelled her. It was really hard but I knew it was the best thing to do. After all it’s better to side with a potential victim than a potential rapist, right? I also knew nothing about the backstory so I had nothing to work off of but the word of someone I didn’t know existed and the statement “she never said no to what we chose to do together.” I as many thought that was a dumb excuse, just because someone doesn’t say no doesn’t mean it means yes. But like I said, I had no backstory so I moved on and unfanned Melanie, as hard as it was for me. Randomly I thought of it again, in the past week, and wondered if there was anything else about it. Looked it up and well... there’s a ton. I want to make a disclaimer that when looking at all the evidence, I took into consideration both sides. I was completely unbiased in this despite my past love of Melanie. Rape is a serious issue and should be treated like that not just excused because you like the person who is accused of it. Though with what I was learning, Timothy’s story seemed fishy with some holes. So I did more digging. First let’s get the story clear of what supposedly happened:

And that’s it basically. That’s the story, coming straight from her Twitter. Pretty horrifying, manipulating and wrong. Makes you feel bad for Timothy. But it doesn’t end there. After she released that statement Melanie released her own:

Many people thought it was her admitting to it and claiming it wasn’t rape because she let it happen. Which had us thinking she was guilty as sin. Until Timothy started releasing more information. Apparently that same day they went to a thrift shop and picked up a game that included a blindfold, handcuffs, and a dice that said things like “lick leg.” Which she never mentioned at all before. Originally Timothy said that Melanie bought it but then later said she herself did. Which is odd since she stated she has been abused before and sexual stuff made her uncomfortable. But whatever she said she thought it would be funny. Now here’s where it gets weird, she never mentioned the game before, right?Maybe she forgot? Sure that’s reasonable. They played the game on June 25th 2015 according to Timothy in an interview:

At Melanie’s house. Melanie’s house is in LA. This is important because with further information, she was in New York performing on stage that day. She even made an Instagram post about it:

And fans have pictures of her on stage. You notice how her hair is blonde and black in this pic? Well to support her cause Timothy posted a picture of Melanie the night it happened:

Her hair is a different color. And on her phone it shows up as May 6th, 2015. She claims it’s because her iCloud is messed up and that pictures of her recently showed up at being in 2011:

I went to Melanie’s Instagram to see her hair color May 6th, 2015 and just look:

On May 2nd her hair was that color in the picture. It’s actually really easy to change dates on your iCloud too. That’s... odd. But there’s even more, I believe she said they stopped being freinds after that but I know she said they stopped being friends in 2016, yet in 2017 she said this:

Okay. Change it once, maybe you forgot but if she changed it twice and still got it wrong? Suspicious. She actually has changed a lot of the story, multiple times. She said originally she didn’t want to go to the cops because she was afraid they wouldn’t believe her then said on her Instagram Live that yeah it’s bad but not murder so she doesn’t deserve to go to jail. So which is true? I mean it doesn’t matter her reason, it’s her decision but why is the reason changing? In Timothy’s original statement she mentioned some of Melanie’s fans became her fans but their loyalty never strayed from Melanie. That’s... irrelevant. But is it actually? Melanie was supposed to release a new album one month later. Which didn’t end up happening and when you went to Timothy’s Twitter at the time she had a pinned tweet for her song. Kinda weird but okay, it was probably there before. But why mention the loyalty of her fans never straying from her? Like I said, it’s irrelevant to the topic but not to her potential motives. They started their careers at the same time and Melanie was more popular too. And apparently started focusing on her music more than her friends so both of these might be the reason why. Seems reasonable. Now of course I wanted to check the stuff on Melanie’s side too but all I found was the original statement and this one:

Which in my opinion does clear up the “she never said no” thing. I think what she was trying to say is, Timothy didn’t say no multiple times like she said she did and that Melanie would never have sex with someone without their complete confirmation. Maybe even she meant she didn’t say no to the game they played. Though it could mean: “She never said no, I didn’t act on when she did say no but pressured her to give in.” And what Melanie says in this statement: “I trusted so many people in my life who took advantage of that trust for their own personal gain” supports the fact Timothy did it for fame. She also mentioned that in her song she released on Spotify called Piggyback that goes:

Trusted too many people while I was still young

Gave them the benefit of the doubt, I was so wrong

I cut them off and they came for blood cause they know

They ain’t getting no more

I’m so done playing piggyback

Swear to god I wished y’all all the best

You’re lying your way to try to gain a piece of me

When you could never come close cause I know my destiny

I worked hard for my shit

Put my love in this shit

Now you’re trying to kill my name for some fame

What is this?

Tried to help you do your shit

Encouraged you to work on it

Was a good friend and you used that to your advantage

Timothy did mention when Melanie blew up that she didn’t have time anymore for her and that she wanted to focus on her fans and music. So it does make sense that she did this for attention, to hurt Melanie. Even so the way Melanie worded her statement originally, doesn’t help her cause. Just made her look worse. The second statement however does clear it up in my opinion. With all the evidence and what Melanie said, it’s 1 point she’s guilty to multiple that she’s innocent. Even if you don’t like her you can’t deny that. There may be more points towards her being guilty as well, I’m not sure but this is all I could find, though there is just too many points towards her being innocent. In reality though none of this is fact, it’s just evidence and even evidence can be fake or twisted sometimes. Here’s a few more things about Timothy though and this story:

She says she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore but yet is willing to keep bringing it up. She dressed up as Melanie in 2016, a year after the rape, why would you put yourself through so much pain and do that? Idk just seems like it would hurt you more but she did love her so maybe that’s why: she was trying to deny the truth because of how much she loved her. She also suffers from BPD (Boarderline Personality Disorder) which I hate to bring up, just because she has a mental illness doesn’t mean she would do something fucked up. Just because anyone has a mental illness doesn’t mean it’s the reason for everything. Mental illness doesn’t equal bad morals but it can lead you to do bad things. Trust me I know, I have depression, anxiety and OCD. My OCD causes me to try to avoid particular things which I don’t always do in a nice way. I hurt people because I don’t want to deal with something related to it. This could be the same situation. The symptoms of BPD do explain why she would do this to hurt Melanie. For example some of the symptoms for BPD are pervasive instability in moods, distaste of one’s self image, insecurity and problems with interpersonal relationships. It seems logical with that info why she would do it if she is lying. Not to mention Timothy has claimed abuse on past bandmates of her old band Dresses where she only stayed cause they needed her voice. She has the history to make claims, I have no idea if it’s true though. She also allegedly molested a 16 year old girl. Also unsure if that’s true but if she did that she might have based the story on what she did since the story is quite similar. Regardless, here’s my complete opinion on the matter:

Timothy made it up for attention because she was jealous Melanie was focusing on her music not her and that she wasn’t as popular, probably a lot being because of her BPD. She knew a story like this would get attention and people would believe with the rising amount of sexual assault victims coming forward. So she posted it and then remembered she knew she had that picture of the game so she started basing it around that, picking a random date and saying it happened at Melanie’s house cause they are in her house in the pic, not knowing what Melanie actually did that day. However though she forgot the picture was dated and tried to blow it off as her iCloud being messed up which she supported by changing the date on recent pictures to awhile ago. And also she can’t remember parts of her story so she makes up new stuff and changes stuff a lot. Then she goes on to social media shading her and posting things about how hard it is to get empathy. Stuff like the picture on her IG story which is her crying (it just looks like she put in eyedrops to me) I would post but I hit the picture limit. She even contacted her friends to get in on it to make it look legit. She hasn’t gone to the cops because she knows they will find it bs and she’ll be revealed as lying. Most juries which are meant to be unbiased would side with Melanie because of the evidence so if it is false that explains why she hasn’t gone to the cops. And if it is real, honey if you don’t remember a part just say you don’t remember, it’s not helping your cause.

But that’s just my opinion, everyone has their own. There is probably even more to this that I don’t know but I shared everything I do. Though regardless let’s remember no side has concrete proof. To me everyone is innocent until proven guilty. You can’t really call her a good or a bad person and say it’s fact because you don’t know the truth. You can however support her by forming an opinion based on your own view of the situation. That doesn’t make you a bad person or someone who is defending rape. And to everyone who believes it: don’t get on the people who think it’s bullshit. You can’t deny there is a lot of holes in the story. And it doesn’t make you look better or woke nor is it siding with a potential rapist, it’s siding with evidence and your opinion. Evidence is better to side with than a potential victim just because they are a potential victim. Some people make stuff up. Even horrible things like that. Also don’t side with Melanie just because you like her, actually do some research and use your brain not your heart. It makes you a horrible person to just support her because “she’s my idol and a true fan would support her even if she’s a rapist!!!” That’s so fucked up. It truly makes me sick to hear delusional stans saying that. People like you are making the situation worse and contributing to rape culture. Delusional stans are also saying if you didn’t believe Melanie from the beginning on this situation you’re not a real fan. Which is not true at all. We are real fans, we just wanted to not instantly believe she didn’t do it because we like her. We wanted to figure out how we see the situation by looking at the evidence before jumping to conclusions. That makes us logical. On a similar note us questioning the situation and trying to find more information on it to form an opinion is also being logical. Not invalidating a potential rape victim. But rather doing the right thing and giving both parties the right to a fair trial. And if any of you are going to say: “why hasn’t Melanie done more about it then?” Would you want to talk about something like this? Something that damaged your career immensely? No, you wouldn’t. If it’s real, I’m sorry Timothy that this happened to you and Melanie deserves consequences. But if it is false, I’m sorry you have to deal with this Melanie and Timothy deserves consequences. Form your own opinion and please be respectful. I’m going to go back to supporting Melanie because I genuinely believe that she didn’t do it. That’s my decision, make your own. And don’t get on Melanie or Timothy, no cyber bullying them. Like I said you don’t know the truth nor do I, only they do. Even if you did being mean gets you nowhere. Now let’s just let this go and move forward from it.

#melanie martinez #timothy heller #i want to say as well i told both my mom and bf about this #i told the whole story and they both think something is up with timothy’s story #they don’t care nor really know about either of them #so their opinion is as unbiased as it can get #and they both think she’s lying #take that as you will #also i want to say i feel so free posting this #like i cut those chains holding me down to perfection #holding me back #not letting me be me #i’m so proud of myself for doing this #it’s a big step towards getting better

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moviestorian · 5 years

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Les Mis BBC final thoughts

Alright, on monday I finished the 6th and last episode of the most recent, mini-series adaptation of Les Misérables. I was slightly hesitant about posting my thoughts (mostly because of the tag being largely dominated by negativity; any effort to post anything else seemed kind of pointless to me), but I eventually decided to go for it. I still wanted the entire show to sit in for a while (I also want to do a rewatch, because I can't guarantee that my feelings remain the same; I might just as well change my opinions completely). But let's begin!

Tldr; Also, unpopular opinion alert: I actually enjoyed it. A lot. I genuinely liked the miniseries. Yes, there were some choices and things I wasn't exactly fond of, but I have the same thing about literally every single adaptation I have seen so far (mostly thinking of the stage musical and 2012 film). Cause you know, you can like something and still see its flaws, and the other way round - you can dislike it and yet admit it is not inherently bad.

Now, the longer "review" comes in. It's gonna be reaaaally long. Also: spoilers.

The negatives/things I'm indifferent about/what could have been better:

- I'm following the popular trend of disliking that font. I care a lot about cinematography and visual parts of films and shows, so I wasn't satisfied with this particular choice. They could do better, honestly.

- For most of the time, the music was a bit meh. Nothing really striking or to hate, but compared to the War&Peace 2016 soundtrack (which was amazing!), this one was very undermining. There were some individual songs I liked a lot, though.

- The overall cinematography was ok. Again, nothing super special, but there were some pretty nice shots, too. I had some minor objections about cgi in a few scenes, but let's that the 2012 film wasn't exactly flawless in this aspect, too... If not worse.

- Ok, confession time & another unpopular opinion alert: I genuinely think the script is not half as bad as some people on this site try to tell everyone and the majority of their issues is either exaggerated to an enormous extent or comes from a huge prejudice. Or a general but pretty clear misinterpretation of certain scenes. Having said that, I had issues with the script, too. Davies did a waaay better job with his W&P, really. Although I actually like some of his changes or narrative choices, there is one thing I can't exactly ignore: how certain scenes were pure exposition. I think it got better in the later episodes, but I spotted at least two(!) examples just in episode one alone. Davies, being the experienced author as he is, should really know that it's not a good way to write scenes, especially in the first episode (which is supposed to encourage the viewers to keep watching). There's nothing more annoying to me than being treated, as a viewer, as a person who needs a straight-in-your-face explaination of what’s happening on screen.

- Another fairly popular trend: the brothel & the wet dream sequences. Even though I expected both of these to be A LOT worse, given what the fandom was saying (exaggerating again), and I don't think they are "out of character" or unrealistic in terms of the setting, I tried to cut these out from the episode (in my head ofc). And I think we could do without them; the brothel scene could remain in the final cut, but I would make it way shorter.

- What I REALLY disliked: a minor thing, but it bugged me a lot. I mean the main dialogue being in English, and the background dialogue in French. Christ, how I hate when they do such stuff in the movies...(thankfully the main characters didn't try to pull off their fake French accent, that would be even worse) Either you do it in French, or in English. One has to be consistent.

- The pissing scene in ep1 was...weird.

- Valjean being mean to Gavroche.

- The timeline was sometimes a bit odd, if not crazy, but could’ve been way worse (nothing can surpass P0ldark and its weirdly ageing children and even more weirdly, or not at all ageing adults)

- Valjean firing Fantine left me with very mixed feelings. On the one hand, I think it makes sense narratively, in this particular adaptation, it’s also not the first one who makes Valjean responsible for Fantine’s misery (to a smaller or bigger extent). On the other one, it’s not a choice I’m super happy about so...

Now, let's move on to the positives!

- Excellent choice in casting. I think all of the actors did a solid job. Obviously they had some veteran, experienced or acclaimed actors like Bradley, Sumpter, Jacobi, Colman, West... You couldn't expect any less from them. BUT there were also some younger and fresh faces, who's interpretations of their characters I really loved - Lily Collins, Erin Kellyman, Reece Yates, Josh O'Connor. Liked Joseph Quinn and Ellie Bamber a lot, too, especially the former. Obviously, I cannot NOT mention David Oyelowo! He was particularly impressive in the last episode.

- You have no idea how grateful I am for the entire Pontmercy storyline, honestly. I have so many feelings about Georges Pontmercy it's not even funny. Also baby Marius!!! Huge props for the Marius/Guillenormand dynamics.

- Fantine's storyline. I love the focus on her in this adaptation, and instead of merely showing her "downfall", we got to see her entire background story and many faces of her character. From naivety and joyful innocent to her determination to survive, and, finally, her desperate attempts to feed her daughter. I love that we got to see a glimpse of her relationship with Cosette. I love that, heartbreaking as that scene was, we got to see the moment of her leaving her child with the Thénardiers. Loved that she was also outspoken at times. I really felt for her in this series. Naturally, I always do have tons of empathy for Fantine, she's one of my favourite characters in general, but I found Lily Collins' version to be particularly relatable.

- Btw: I disagree that Fantine and Cosette were overly "sexualized" or fetishized. And don't even get me started on the supposed "sexual undertones" between Cosette and Valjean, cause this is utter bullshit.

- I actually liked the relationship between Cosette and her Papa, especially when she was little!

- I loved Gavroche in this adaptation. I'm usually not a huge fan of his, but Reece was so charming and impossible to resist!

- All the side characters (good or bad) we finally got to see at least for a while! I already mentioned the Pontmercies, but I also mean: Petit Gervais, Tholomyès and his gang (+Favourite and Zephine), Azelma, Gavroche's little brothers, Mabeuf, even Victurnien. And Sister Simplice, I love that woman. And Rivette. 😁

- Huge thumbs up for portraying the Thénardiers as the evil/malicious people they were (but not one-dimensional, esp. Madame Th.) instead of as some comic relief only.

- Contrary to the popular opinion, I count Les Amis as the positives. I actually think that narrowing down the number of the students to focus on was a good choice (like, excuse me, but giving a few lines to a character in an ensemble song is not enough to give them personality. Even in the book some hardly had one). And guess what? I legit cared more about this Enjolras or this Courfeyrac than in other adaptations. I liked Quinn's version of Enjolras more than I like Hugo's original character. This is obviously a personal preference, but to me personally Quinn's slightly toned down version, sort of a hybrid of Enjolras and Combeferre was way more appealing (I also think Quinn had more innocence and wide-eyedness in his eyes and face than some most popular actors who have played the role. To me, the accurate hair colour is the least sygnificant thing, honestly. Especially that some of the fans' favourites hardly fit the book description in that aspect).

- The Enjolras/Grantaire execution scene.

- Small interactions between Enjolras and Courfeyrac. Especially the ones in the final moments of the resistance. Oh my...

- Overall, the barricade scenes were very good.

- I liked Marius a lot, which is quite a thing! I loved that we got the awkward, but still adorable side of his. I had seen Josh in The Riot Club and I remember him being good but not memorable; I was impressed with his performance in Les Mis, he was so different!

- Erin's Éponine broke my heart. Especially in episode 5, she was fantastic. So many expressions in her eyes; I loved her fidgety hand moves, too!

- I appreciate that they started the show with something other than the galleys/bishop Myriel. That was a nice and quite refreshing take.

What else do I like about this adaptation? That it revived my passion for Les Mis; that it made me want to reread the book (or certain chapters at least), rewatch the 2012 film, listen to songs from the musical, check out other adaptations. That it’s gonna bring new people to the fandom. And, whether you like it or not, it DOES offer new interpretations of the characters and actually does give a fresh take. Every adaptations gives us something new to discuss, this one included. I also don’t believe it’s the worst thing that ever happened to Les Mis or whatever; I happen to think it actually is a good adaptation overall. Is it flawless or 100% accurate in everything? No, because it’s impossible to turn such a huge and detailed book into a 100% faithful adaptation; also it’s really not what the adaptations are for. I too would have added/cut out some stuff from various versions of Les Mis, but this is because it’s my interpretation; the fact that we imagine some things differently does not mean that other people’s interpretations are bad.

Since films and tv shows belong to the visual media, I think that Les Mis BBC could have done better in that aspect - I wasn’t exactly satisfied with it, as I wasn’t exactly over the moon about some choices in the script. It’s not a masterpiece, but I never expected it to be one; neither it is a “piece of shit”. Despite its flaws, I still found the miniseries to be very enjoyable and I will gladly rewatch it in the near future. I feel that it might even become one of my favourite adaptations(I will decide once I’ve seen them all, or most of them!), save for the interpretation of JVJ, which could’ve been better tbh. For me, it’s a nice 7,5/10

#les miserables 2018 #long post #wera speaks #gotta prepare for the unfollows #les mis bbc

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saber-wing · 5 years

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Atone

Fandom: Dragon Age - Inquisition.

Maxwell Trevelyan is under the impression his family couldn’t give two shits whether or not he’d died at the Conclave.

He’s wrong.

“My Lord Herald?”

Maxwell looked up from the letter he was trying – and failing – to write. He had already destroyed several sheets of parchment attempting to find the right words. So far, he hadn't come up with anything better than: 'Dear Mother and Father, I'm not dead.'

This, therefore, was an unwelcome distraction. He scowled, throwing his quill-pen down with a disgusted sigh. A scout stood in the entryway, shuffling his feet.

Max took a breath, making a visible effort to soften his demeanor. His sour mood wasn't this poor sod's fault.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Apologies for disturbing you at such an early hour, Master Trevelyan, but there's a man making a ruckus at the gates. He claims to be your family.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Another one? That's the third this month.”

“Yes, well...” The scout shifted uncomfortably. “This one is rather insistent he be allowed inside Haven. I...thought you might want to be informed, Your Worship.”

These impostors were persistent. Max wished he knew where they were all coming from, so he could tell them not to bother. No Trevelyan would ever waste time and resources coming here – certainly not for anything as unseemly as a 'heartfelt' reunion.

Max gripped the bridge of his nose, heaving a put-upon sigh. “All right, I'll handle it. Thank you.” The scout nodded and fisted a hand over his heart, exiting the room.

Max straightened the collar of his tunic, squaring his shoulders as he strode toward the gates. No sooner had he slammed through them that a distant argument drifted to his ears.

One of the voices was unfamiliar, but the other...

“I apologize for the inconvenience, Serah...”

“Trevelyan. Lord Trevelyan of Ostwick.”

The Inquisition guard's voice was tired and flat – much like a man who'd spent the whole week making the same argument. “I understand you've come a long way, 'Lord Trevelyan of Ostwick,' but it changes nothing. I must clear it with my superiors before I can let you through.”

“I understand you have rules. I'm happy to camp out here with my men until further notice, but won't you at least tell me if my brother is safe? If he is here, you must know of him. He's the Herald of Andraste. Or...so I'm told.”

The guard stood his ground, crossing his arms over his chest. “With all due respect, Your Lordship, if I believed every degenerate who said he was related to the Herald, he'd probably be dead right now.”

Tobias Trevelyan opened his mouth to reply, freezing when he caught sight of Max. His shoulders sagged, as if a weight had been lifted from them. “There you are.” He closed the distance between them in three long strides, wrapping Max in a crushing embrace. “Oh, thank the Maker.”

Maxwell blinked, reeling with shock. He waved off the guards, all drawing their swords against the stranger 'assaulting' their Herald. He allowed himself to be crushed into his brother's plate-mail, too taken aback to protest. The archer wheezed his reply when his brother finally released him. “What are you doing here?”

Tobias scoffed, looking mildly offended. “What am I doing here? I thought you were dead!”

Max snorted. “Give Matthew my condolences, he'll be dreadfully disappointed.”

Tobias pursed his lips, giving Max an inscrutable look, but he didn't correct him, which was all the answer he needed. “Our parents are sick with worry. Tell me you've at least written to them.”

“It's...” Max rubbed the back of his head, grimacing. “On my to-do list.”

Tobias pinched the bridge of his nose. “Max, really.”

The archer at least had the decency to look sheepish. “I'm working on it.”

“How difficult is it to write, 'Dear Mother and Father, I'm not dead.'”

“That's...actually all I've got so far.”

Tobias released a chuckle – one that sounded dangerously close to a sob.

Max stared, wide-eyed.

Max's brothers – Matthew and Tobias – were natural politicians. They could slip into facades as effortlessly as a pair of shoes, and usually reveled in it. For that mask to slip, even for a moment, was simply unheard of. An unpardonable lapse of control.

Max loved his family – despite everything – but he hated those masks. Hated everything they stood for. Toby was the only one who tried to understand. He'd even gone out of his way to defend Max, whenever anyone sought to exploit it. The middle Trevelyan son had a soft spot for Max – one that Matthew continually brought up with measured disdain.

Still, a Trevelyan wasn't emotional. They could be displeased, if the occasion required it. They could be cold, calculating. Maybe even warm, so long as it didn't leave them in a vulnerable position. But emotional? Never.

Toby wasn't being emotional, not over Max. He couldn't be. The very notion was ridiculous.

“Oh, never mind. It doesn't matter now.” Tobias smiled tremulously, gathering Max into his arms again; this time, the younger man returned the embrace. Tears pressed at the backs of his eyes.

The older man pulled away, gripping Max by both shoulders. “Did you really think I wouldn't care?”

Of course not. The proper response sprang to his lips, curling on the tip of his tongue. The words caught in his throat instead; settled there, in a sickening lump.

His brother's face fell, for a split second that – for a Trevelyan – may as well have been an eternity.

Maxwell blanched. “Toby...”

“Don't.” The older man raised a palm, pained. “I've only myself to blame.”

The archer narrowed his eyes. He wanted to unpack that last statement a bit more, but something else caught his attention as Tobias lowered his hand. Green and yellow bruising peppered his knuckles.

“What are those?” Max frowned, gesturing to the marks. “Did you run into trouble on your way here?”

“The odd demon here or there.” Tobias shrugged, as if dangerous fade-creatures weren't a big deal. “But no. These are of a...personal nature. Our dear brother thought I was daft, rounding up enough men to come traipsing down here after you. I disagreed. Loudly.”

“I...” Maxwell blinked owlishly. “...I'm sorry, what?”

“We had a disagreement at a charity gala. It came to blows.”

“...this was in front of people?”

Toby nodded stiffly. He sounded both oddly proud and mildly horrified. “Half the noble houses in the Free Marches had a representative there. Naturally, you were the main topic of conversation. Matthew was rather...callous in his speculation of events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I...may have overreacted just a tad.”

Max couldn't believe what he was hearing. He spluttered, running his fingers through his hair. “Hold on. Let me get this straight. You...lost your shit and punched our brother in the face. At a public event.”

“Yes, dear heart,” Tobias scoffed, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “Please don't make me say it again.”

Dear heart. An old pet name mother used to have for them when they were little. Maxwell's breath caught. No one had called him that since...

He couldn't remember.

“I don't get it.” Max blinked, perplexed. “Why?”

“Oh, for...” Tobias blew an exasperated breath between his teeth. “Because he is a pompous, useless waste of existence with all the compassion of a used chamber pot.” He reached out, caressing Max's chin with a thumb. “And because you are my brother, and when I thought you were dead, little else mattered.”

“Oh.” Max replied, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice.

Judging from the worried expression his brother leveled at him, he didn't think he'd entirely succeeded. There was a lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow, no matter how hard he tried. His breath caught.

No. Nope. This was not happening. Max absolutely, one-hundred-percent was not going to cry. He refused.

As luck would have it, Haven's gates chose that moment to slam open. Ambassador Montilyet glided toward them, immaculate as ever. Her face, however, was a storm cloud as she approached the brothers, dipping into a flawless curtsy. “My Lord Trevelyan, please allow me to apologize on behalf of the Inquisition, for your absolutely atrocious reception.”

“No need. Please excuse my terrible manners. It is I who dropped in on you unannounced.” Tobias took her hand. “Tobias Trevelyan. It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady...”

“Montilyet. The pleasure is mine, I assure you.” Josephine smiled graciously.

Toby inclined his head, slinging an arm around Max's shoulders. “And thank you ever so much for taking such good care of Max for me. I've been positively beside myself.”

Casual words, to an outside observer. They hit Max like a ton of bricks. He cleared his throat as they entered Haven, alarmed when his vision blurred. His chest tightened, breath hitching despite his best efforts.

Panic rose up to choke him.

Oh.

Oh, no.

He needed to excuse himself. Fast.

Josephine offered a tour of Haven, which Toby wholeheartedly accepted. Luckily for Max, they were locked pretty tightly in conversation. It allowed him to draw his arm back discreetly, wiping at the moisture building beneath his eyes.

Breathe, Max. You can do this.

For once, the archer was grateful for his noble upbringing. He engaged them both mindlessly for a time, smiling and nodding at all the right pauses. He managed to keep it together long enough to excuse himself at the first opportunity.

Max ducked into an empty tent, clamping a hand over his mouth as the sobs rose up to choke him. He couldn't believe this. He hadn't wept in years – hadn't dared to, but now, the tears crashed over him like a tidal wave. He fought to stifle the sobs, biting his lip so hard, he tasted blood.

Every impossible event since the Temple of Sacred Ashes all came rushing in on him at once. The Conclave. Waking in an unfamiliar cell—bound, shackled, blades at his throat. Accused of murder, when he'd never wanted to be there in the first place. This fucking hole in his hand, reminding him with every breath he took that he should be dead.

No one would care if he was dead. The Inquisition only did because he could close rifts.

And yet, there had been something in Toby's eyes, in his trembling smile. In the way he held Max, as if he were afraid to let go. He wasn't sure what, didn't have much to compare it to. But there had been something.

Was this what it was like to feel loved?

He had no idea how much time passed as he sat there, helpless tears streaming down his cheeks. Eventually, however, voices drifted in from outside the tent, and he froze, breathless. Terrified.

“Something I can help you with, friend?”

Varric. Had the dwarf heard his cries and come to investigate?

Another voice – Tobias – chuckled, though it sounded strained, even from inside the tent. “I seem to have misplaced my brother. I don't suppose you've seen him, by chance? Answers to Max. Herald of Andraste...or so I'm told.”

“Can't say I have. I'll tell him you're looking for him though.”

“I appreciate that, Serah...”

“Varric. Just Varric, no 'Serah.' Makes me sound too respectable. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Max didn't hear Toby's reply – didn't care, either. A few more moments passed before Varric slid inside the tent, securing the flaps shut tightly behind him.

“He's gone. You can relax.”

Max exhaled shakily. When he'd finally gathered the courage to drag his eyes up to meet Varric's, he found only compassion in the dwarf's gaze.

Varric rested a hand on his shoulder, voice soft. “You okay?”

“I...yeah. Thank you.” He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his tunic. “Maker, you must think I'm pathetic.”

Varric scoffed. “Why, because you were crying? I'm surprised it took as long as it did. I was actually starting to worry.”

Max sniffled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Kid, you fell out of the sky with a hole in your hand, then became the next Andraste. Not crying about that at least once seems mildly unhealthy.”

Max scoffed, accepting the handkerchief Varric offered with a bit of skepticism. He didn't understand how the dwarf could be so comfortable with such a raw display of emotion. If anyone found him like this back home, he'd never hear the end of it.

Varric shook his head. “You do realize you bottle things up tighter than an apothecary, right?”

Max released a watery chuckle. “Where I come from, that's kind of a mandatory skill.”

Varric sat across from him, patting the ground beside him. “Wanna talk about it? I'm a good listener.”

Max hesitated, but in the end, did as he was told – he scooted across the tent next to Varric, wrapping his arms around his torso. The words spilled from his lips so quickly, it was almost alarming.

“I was sent to the Conclave because I'm expendable. I didn't think it would matter much to my family whether or not I died there. They might mourn me in their own way, but behind closed doors. Definitely not enough to come check on me.”

Varric eyed him knowingly. “And now your brother is here: traipsing through demon-infested shit-country to get to you.”

Max nodded emphatically. “Through the mages, and the templars, and...there's a fuck ton of demons, Varric! Why would he brave demons?”

Varric hummed. “Sounds an awful lot like what someone who loves you would do.”

“I know.”

“And you don't know what to do with that.”

“No. No, I don't.” Max's heart hammered in his chest, threatening to burst straight out of it. He was so anxious, he thought he might actually throw up. But some part of him felt liberated, spilling his guts to Varric – to anyone – like this.

“They don't do 'feelings' back in Ostwick, I take it? This must be weird for you.”

Max shrugged. He tried to smile. “What can I say? You have one of those faces.”

Varric chuckled. They sat together for a time, Max struggling to compose himself. When he thought he had a tight enough handle on his emotions again, he turned to the dwarf.

“How do I look – are my eyes red?”

Varric gazed into his face. “Maybe a little, but I wouldn't worry about it.” The dwarf patted his shoulder.

“I'm a Trevelyan, Varric. We always worry about it.”

“Well, don't. You're fine.”

“If you say so.” Max grimaced, worrying his lip between his teeth. “And Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

The dwarf smiled, regarding him kindly. “Any time, kid.”

“And please don't mention this to anyone. Especially Toby.”

Varric mimed locking his lips, then throwing away the key. “This never happened.”

“I guess I should go make an appearance, before Cullen misses me and organizes a search party.” Maxwell winced, standing up and straightening his clothing. “You sure I look okay?”

Varric laughed, giving him a little push toward the entrance of the tent. “Stop worrying! Nobody gets lynched for taking a few minutes to themselves. Nobody has to know what you were doing.”

“Ugh, you're right.” Max blew a breath between his teeth. “This is stupid. I'm going, I'm going.”

Max could still hear Varric laughing behind him as he left. He smiled, shaking his head as he went. Crying made his head hurt, but there was some part of him that felt oddly relieved. That was new.

He made his way through Haven to the Chantry, waving to a few passersby as he went. He figured if everyone was going to gather to fret over him, it would be there. Max stopped just outside the war room, hearing voices issuing from within.

“....and I must again apologize for the way you were treated upon arrival, Lord Trevelyan.”

Josephine's voice, with mild irritation.

“Please don't trouble yourself. I'm relieved your men seem to take my brother's safety so seriously, Commander Cullen. I could have been the King of Ferelden, and your man wouldn't have budged.”

“I stand by my orders, and my soldiers who follow them. There are many who would claim relation to the Herald, only to get close to him. We've had a few such claims of late. It worries me. I've tried posting a guard on him, but he won't hear of it.”

Max rolled his eyes, taking that as his cue to enter. “Cullen, for the last time, I do not need a bodyguard.”

Josephine, Cullen, and Tobias were all seated around the table; the maps had been put away, likely to hide their movements from the stranger in their midst.

“I don't think I agree.” Tobias frowned, looking back at Cullen. “Have there been attempts on his life?”

Cullen crossed his arms over his chest, a furrow in his brow. “Not yet, but it's likely to happen. And without him, we've no one to close the rifts. It makes him a very high-profile target, even without the Divine's murder hanging over his head.”

“I've brought plenty of men with me, I could easily assign some of them to his command, if he'll allow it.”

Max bristled. “No, he will not allow it. And if you could please stop referring to him in the third person, he would very much appreciate it.”

Tobias held both arms out in front of him, in a placating gesture. “Now, now, Maxwell. Don't be daft. We hardly went anywhere unescorted back home. I don't see how this is any different. Quite to the contrary – guards seem more prudent than ever.”

“Just because I'm suddenly important to you, doesn't mean my feelings on the matter have changed! The people who have joined the Inquisition sacrificed everything to be here. I will not be seen parading around the encampment with a personal guard, like some fragile little lordling. You came here to see for yourself that I'm not dead, and I'm not. I'm still alive. You can stop feeling guilty. It's a little late for you to start caring what happens to me now that I've already died once.”

Tobias flinched. A secret, ugly part of Max was pleased by that. Josephine and Cullen exchanged an uneasy glance – this conversation had just gone deeper than talk of theoretical bodyguards, and they all knew it.

Tobias got haltingly to his feet, rubbing a hand over his face. “My...sincerest apologies, friends, but might I have a moment to speak with my brother alone?”

Josephine rose with a grace that Max admired, even under the circumstances. “Of course. Please, make yourself at home, my Lord Trevelyan. And again, welcome to Haven. I will be in my office, should you require anything.” She took Cullen's arm and all but dragged him from the room, shutting the door, and locking it behind her.

Max took a shaky breath, unable to look his brother in the eye. “That...wasn't what I wanted to say.”

“But you did mean it.”

Maxwell's silence was all the answer Tobias needed. He sighed, bowing his head.

“I...know I haven't been the best brother to you, Max, or even a good one, but...hearing what happened at the Conclave...” Toby's voice cracked. “It broke me. I never knew I'd so thoroughly understand the phrase: 'too little, too late.'”

Max jerked his head up, heart in his throat.

“Then I heard about the Herald of Andraste, and I thought I might have a chance to make things right.” He released a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “That sounds rather more self-serving out loud than it did in my head, but it's true. And few things have ever shamed me quite like hearing you'd died, never knowing how much I loved you.”

Max jerked back, as if he'd been slapped. “You can't mean that.”

“What, that I love you?”

Max covered his mouth with his hand; there it was again. I love you. Words he hadn't heard in over a decade. When he dared to glance up at Tobias – vision blurred with tears – the shame he found there was staggering.

“I do. I'm sorry I've ever given you cause to doubt it.”

Max managed to make it to a chair before his knees buckled – he collapsed heavily into it, trembling, head bowed. A Trevelyan was steadfast, strong. They did not break. They did not falter. They did not fall to pieces at their brother's feet over a simple four-letter word.

Tobias crouched in front of him, taking his chin in his hand. “I love you.”

A sob tore from Max's lips – he couldn't help it.

“I love you. I'm sorry.” Toby's voice was thick in his ear as he leaned forward, taking Max into his arms for the third time that day. “I'm so sorry.”

Max clung to him. Part of him wanted to pull away – to run, hide. Find a hole and bury himself in it. The younger, more selfish part, never wanted it to end. How many nights had he hidden under his covers, feeling alone and unloved, wishing for this exact thing? For someone, anyone, to give an ounce of a shit that he was alive? He wanted to be something to someone – something other than the third Trevelyan son, or Matthew's youngest brother.

Now he was. If Tobias was to be believed, he always had been. Didn't Max deserve to bask in that, even just a little?

“Now about those bodyguards...” Tobias said it in all seriousness, though there was a note of teasing in his tone.

Max sniffled, with a watery chuckle. “The answer is still no.”

“All right then, how about this?” Tobias pulled back far enough to gaze into Max's face. “What if I followed you around?”

He blinked. Of all the things he'd expected his brother to say, that hadn't been one of them. “Why would you do that?”

Tobias rubbed the bridge of his nose. “To protect you, dear heart. That is typically what a bodyguard does, is it not?”

Max blinked at him, perplexed. “You can't be my bodyguard. Are you insane?”

“Whyever not?” Tobias sighed. “Humor me, won't you? Let me look after you.” He reached out again, tracing the puckered scar running along Max's jaw. “Might make up for the times I didn't.”

Maxwell winced, knowing precisely which time he was referring to. “That...wasn't your fault.”

“I certainly didn't do anything to stop him.”

The archer smiled hesitantly. “Yeah, but you did punch him in the face before you left, so...we're even?”

“I was tempted to do more than just that, believe me.” Something angry and dark crossed Toby's expression – Max had never seen it there before.

The younger man rubbed his scar. He remembered the event with a bit of discomfort: gritting his teeth, trying not to panic at the sight of his own blood. Matthew, pale-faced and shaken, looking as young as Max felt. True, things had become even worse between them after that, but still...

Max averted his eyes. “I don't think he actually meant to hurt me.”

Toby crossed his arms over his chest. “That isn't at all the point. I'm getting off track, though. Come now, little brother. Let me protect you. I'm good with a sword, no one will think oddly of an older brother tagging along with his younger, and it eliminates the need of that personal guard you're so worried about.”

The argument sounded so earnest, almost pleading, that Max caved, with a little sigh of defeat. “Fine. But you get to tell Josephine. She might actually have a stroke. Cullen will be pleased, though. He's been making the bodyguard argument since I got here.”

“Oh, I know what you're thinking. I'm not father's 'heir,' I'm the spare, it'll be fine.” Another thought seemed to occur to Tobias. He rubbed his chin, pensive. “Of course, I probably can't be with you every second of the day. We'll have to establish a rotation with someone else, for my off hours.”

Max scowled. “Don't push it. I agreed to you, nobody else.”

Tobias laughed. “All right, all right, but I'll convince you yet.” He wagged a finger at Max. “For now, I'll take what I can get.”

Max shook his head, exasperated, as Tobias led him out of the room, one arm behind his back.

All this touching made Max a bit twitchy, truth be told. He half expected their father to round a corner, and ask what the bloody hell they were on about. Public displays of affection weren't a thing Trevelyans did – not even casual ones.

But Max had always wished things were different. Somehow, Tobias realized this. He smiled at Max, if a bit awkwardly, but did not break contact. His heart soared.

They ran into Varric outside the Chantry, looking very pleased with himself. The dwarf inclined his head toward Max, addressing Toby. “Found your missing person, I see.”

“Indeed.” Tobias smiled. “And I won't be letting him out of my sight any time soon, if this Herald of Andraste business is as dangerous as I'm hearing.”

“I'll drink to that. No really, drinks later, 'Herald's Rest,' on me.”

Toby raised an eyebrow. “You have a tavern named after you?”

Maxwell's cheeks grew hot. He averted his eyes. “I asked them not to do that.”

Varric laughed, slapping Max's calf. He turned his head back toward Tobias, a question in his gaze. “You sticking around?”

“So long as he'll have me.”

Varric seemed pleased. “Glad to hear it. He's a good kid – needs people on his side.”

Maxwell huffed. “What is it with you people, and talking about me as if I'm not here?”

The dwarf smiled, shaking his head. He turned his gaze not on Max, however, but Tobias.

Both men were taken aback by the intensity with which Varric fixed his eyes on the older Trevelyan. “I'm a professional younger brother myself, so I know how it feels, not being able to rely on someone who should have your back. Do us both a favor, and don't let him down. I'm an easy-going guy. I'd hate to have to do something about it.”

Maxwell's jaw dropped.

Tobias pursed his lips, regarding Varric with something akin to respect. After a few heartbeats, he nodded, his reply somber. “I will certainly try my damnedest.”

“Good answer. Diplomatic, but honest. I like it. I think we're gonna get along just fine, Your Lordliness.” Varric paused, frowning. “No, not quite. I'll have to work on it.” The dwarf walked back down the stairs toward his customary place by the fire, waving over his shoulder as he went.

Tobias blinked owlishly. “I think he just threatened me.”

“I...” Max blew a breath between his teeth. “I don't know what to say. Varric isn't the threatening sort. I've never seen him do that before.”

“I like him.” The older man nodded decisively. “What combat experience does he have? Do you think he'd be amenable to providing me with a few references?”

“Maker's breath, tell me you're not actually recruiting right now.”

“Of course not, dear heart. I'm wounded you would think so. We settled on myself only for guard duty at present. I haven't forgotten. I'm merely being proactive about the future, you understand. Does he have any guard experience, by chance?”

“Toby!”

Tobias laughed. Maxwell groaned, unable to stop his answering grin. All this fussing over him was jarring, certainly, but...

He could definitely get used to it.

#fanfiction #Dragon Age #Dragon Age: Inquisition #also available on ao3 #working on posting the other parts of this series here #fanfic.net is garbage now so lol #here I am

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coeurdastronaute · 6 years

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Essays in Existentialism: Monarchy IV

Breakfast was a sacred time in the palace. From the table, the large windows opened up to the spacious grounds and garden with the fountains and the flowers. Most of the year, it was all green and manicured, the promise of a great day. But come winter, it was pure magic. Even after the holidays, the lights remained up and the world was untouched and white, al pure, uninterrupted snow.

Despite the chill that remained, even into the new year, it was a paradise that Lexa loved the most. It might have been her favorite winter yet. After months in the desert and two missed holidays and proper winters, it was a whole new level of joy when the first snow came. And it was only made better with Clarke.

The palace was one of the few places that Lexa felt comfortable being open with their relationship. Of course, she snuck moments in public, but being able to be on the grounds, walking through the snow and the lights with a girl like Clarke was very new and very good. She met a doctor in the middle of a war and she fell in love.

“I think this settles it.”

“Settles what?”

“You have to come out,” the queen decided as she folded the paper and set it on the table. “Have you seen this picture?”

All that Lexa could do was stare at her mother, who didn’t seem to notice, only sip her tea with little reaction to her daughter’s surprise. It was all business despite the eggs and toast and fruit that made their breakfast.

Lexa had an entire day planned already. She was going to have Clarke over for movies and recovering from their night out last night. She was going to be sweet and she was going to cook her dinner. It was a whole day on one of those precious days off that she didn’t have anything pressing, and that the doctor of the relationship was free from all responsibilities.

And then her mother.

“Hey, everyone,” the king breezed in a second later. “I have to go to lunch with the PM today. Does anyone want to come? He’s so dreadfully boring. Never laughs at my jokes.”

“Your jokes aren’t funny,” Anya appeared a second late, kissing her father’s cheek before taking her seat.

Still oddly mortified, Lexa looked curiously at her family, as if they were all so normal, and she was suddenly further reminded how she wasn’t sure how to exist near them. Maybe if she didn’t say anything she could leave the room without another plan from her mother. Maybe if she just--

“Oh, Al, kid,” her father shook his head and winced slightly as he picked up the paper. “Seriously?”

“What?” her sister shifted to look at the picture on the front page that her father held up for the table.

There was no escape. Lexa felt her cheeks burn though she focused on mashing up her eggs even more. She wanted to talk to Clarke, to go see her, to see how she was handling it, but she couldn’t move. Instead, she just blushed and avoided the glances of her entire family. She ruined Clarke’s life, plain and simple, and she had such a nice day planned.

“This is why she has to come out. I’m thinking I have Jean set up an interview. Just you at first, and then the family--”

“Hold on, you’re serious?” her sister balked. “That’s no one’s business.”

“I think it’s everyone’s when she’s caught with her mouth on a doctor’s neck,” her father disagreed, frowning as he turned the page to shake the images.

“I thought we were just going to ride this out and ignore it until its normal.”

“Your sister is a tad too gregarious for that method,” her mother sighed and stirred her tea. “Honestly, Lexa. There are things you don’t do in public.”

“I was-- There-- She--”

“I think your mother is right,” the king decided. “Rip off the bandaid.”

“Dad!” Anya disagreed, perplexed by it all.

“Listen, kid, you outed yourself. We all support you, but in order for us to do that, you have to get ahead of it.”

“Which is going to be difficult, since we’re already behind,” Viv sighed and sipped, her disappointment evident. She was never one to be behind in anything, but especially the press, and for the first time ever, Lexa almost appreciated her proactive nature despite what it meant.

“You don’t have to do this,” Anya promised, quickly reassuring her little sister. “Let them talk. You don’t have to make it a thing.”

“I hate saying this. You know I do,” the king furrowed, his concern showing across his Roman features. “But this is for the crown and the country. I know you hate being a symbol, but for us to be behind you, to love you, like you know we do--”

“We are behind you, and that has never been a doubt,” her mother added. “I understand now what simple words or not accepting can mean. You know better than anyone how important it is.”

“You have to give us the opportunity to publicly acknowledge and love you, Al. If the crown supports you, it means we support everyone else.”

The weight of it suddenly slopped onto her shoulders like heavy snow sliding off of a roof. It encompassed her completely, drowning in it. Lexa looked at her sister and swallowed, already knowing full well what she had to do.

Next to her, her sister picked up the paper with the stupid picture, so that Lexa got an even better look at it. It was a hot picture, and she remembered the moment clearly, or at least as clearly as someone who had a few drinks, really could remember something like that. But Clarke was so damn kissable, and she hugged her in the crowded pub, and they were unknown, or at least Lexa thought they were. Now she ruined everything, and Clarke would hate her.

“This is not how I expected my morning to go,” Lexa finally muttered, picking up her toast, shoving it in her mouth and stalking away from the table. It was as close to a confirmation as her mother would get, and she knew it.

“If you’d just gone into the bathroom, like a normal couple,” the king shook his head and tossed another paper with the same image, so it slid down the table, picture side down.

“Next time,” Lexa yelled as she made it to the hall, quite seriously.

There was something different about pulling into the palace for the fifth time, that just really made Clarke sigh and believe she could get used to it. That thought immediately came with the notion that she might have to learn to accept it. That then was followed by the idea that her picture was on every newsstand getting her neck sucked by the person that was third in line for the crown, and it all came crashing down on her.

When the car arrived at her house, she didn’t even question it, but rather got in and let Gus transport her anywhere that wasn’t surrounded by the eyes of anyone who might have recognized the Mystery Girl on the cover of the national magazine.

“I’m so sorry,” Lexa shook her head, waiting at the door to greet her girlfriend. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have--”

“I’m fine. Nothing to apologize for.”

“Still,” she smiled awkwardly before hugging the doctor tightly.

It didn’t take long for Clarke to melt into Lexa’s embrace. She didn’t know she needed something like that until she got it. For a moment, Clarke relaxed into her girlfriend’s arms, welcoming the warmth and the contracting of muscles that held her tight, as if they were keeping her safe and at the same time keeping her locked in place, so she couldn’t leave, clinging to her.

“We’re going to go inside and have tons of strategy meetings with people who want to protect the crown and my family. I need you to know that if it’s ever too much for you--”

“Don’t. Please. I want you and we knew this was coming. I couldn’t leave, even if I wanted to, actually. You’ve got me hooked.”

“I was going to say you have to suck it up because I’m nuts about you,” Lexa grinned. “But I like your answer.”

“I’m scared though.”

“Yeah, me too.”

It was as honest as they were going to be. No one else would know that little truth, about how afraid they were of each other, their feelings, and the world, but they said them together on the driveway outside the palace.

With nothing more than a nod, Clarke patted Lexa’s chest and reached up, tilting her chin so she could kiss the princess’ cheek. She knit their hands together before taking a deep breath and leading Lexa inside.

There were many experts. There were more experts on royal law and public policy and opinion that had to be consulted, than Clarke could ever imagine. There were so many experts about everything that was happening or not happening, that she couldn’t keep any of them straight to save her life.

Instead, she just tried to pay attention and listen to each.

Weirdly enough, she knew that the batch of publicists and important people squawking about, were still better than listening to the news. She was quite certain a blurry image was making its rounds on the evening reports. She was quite certain that many people were saying many things about who she was as a person and who they thought Lexa was and ought to be. Just the idea of it made her blood boil.

“It’s actually a dream couple,” one of the assistants explained. “Princess finds do gooder doctor with great backstory. It sells itself, minus the whole same sex thing.”

Clarke felt Lexa grip her hand a little tighter as they sat there in an office somewhere in the palace. It felt like a more official part than the family quarters. Clarke couldn't focus on much of the words, but she looked around the room and tried to memorize it all.

“Yeah, that pesky thing,” Lexa mumbled and scanned a piece of paper. “This schedule seems really heavy. There’s no way we need to do all of this follow up.”

“It’s heavy because you’re coming out. And we need Clarke to be there the following day, but maybe just in print, get some quotes.”

“Me?” Clarke furrowed and swallowed.

“You have an amazing story. You got a princess to fall in love with you.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“See? That makes it even better.”

Across the room, Lexa eyed her mother as she read through a document. Her father was nowhere to be seen, most likely smoothing over people with personal phone calls. Beside her, Clarke was a good sport, but it was all becoming too much to even handle or think about, and so she did all that she could to swallow it, until she couldn’t.

“We get you a good reporter, one who is in support of this, and we situate you as mavericks on the verge of a new millenium.”

“If that’s what will make this all go away.”

“Honey, this isn’t,” the aide smiled and shook her head. “This will never go away. You both will always have extra phrases and things attached to your name. This might become normal, but it won’t be for years and years--”

“Alright, we’re done for the night,” Lexa stood, objecting to so much of it and finally being unable to tolerate it.

“But we still--”

“I said that we are done for the night,” she repeated, not backing down.

For a moment, all was quiet, the little war room of an office stilled before slowly turning to look at the Queen. Clarke didn’t know where to look, but she thought that Lexa was always the safe bet.

“You heard her,” the Queen waved them off. “She’s done. We sleep on what we’ve discussed and make a decision in the morning.”

“Your majesty, with all due respect, there is not time to waste--”

“My daughter has much to sit and speak with her girlfriend about regarding the years and years of alleged future ignominities they must face. The world out there will not stop speculating, and we certainly aren’t going to rush.”

“Yes ma’am,” the public relations secretary nodded and bowed as he grabbed his folder. “Until tomorrow. But what shall I tell them tonight?”

“Tell them that our family is as unified as ever, and that we know that something as simple as love will not topple an ancient monarchy.”

Clarke smiled at the description, for the first time feeling somewhat at home, or at least, at ease, with the reigning monarch. She felt Lexa relax as well, which was more welcomed than anything else.

“If that fails, remind them of King Duncan and his prince consort, or, I don’t know, most of human history.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded. “Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” Lexa tipped her head toward the group as they left. “I cannot express my gratitude in your service for us tonight.”

“Our pleasure.”

It wasn’t until they left that Lexa flopped down dramatically onto the couch beside her girlfriend, sinking deep into the cushions as she sighed a heavy, laden kind of noise to match the somber mood she felt despite the fake hope she offered those who worked for her.

The Queen didn’t look up from her desk as she read over something, tilting her glasses slightly as she scrolled on her phone.

“How are you doing?” Lexa asked, reaching out to rub Clarke’s back after a moment of catching their breaths.

“That was it? I was expecting much worse.”

A chuckle started from the desk across the room, making Clarke smile despite herself.

“Have I mentioned recently that I like this one, Lexa?”

“Not in the past twenty minutes.”

“I just think you’re dating up is all,” she smiled and paused to read someone’s tweet in support of the rumors.

“You here that? You’re dating up,” Clarke teased. “I’m a catch.”

“You really--”

“Viv, can you call Anya. I need her to set me up a web thing,” the King barged in, with purpose. “I can’t figure out how to do this. I don’t know my email. Do I have an email?”

“I swear to God I have to get my own place,” Lexa said through gritted teeth. “They’re damn embarrassing, aren’t they?”

“Nevermind, this daughter will do,” he shook his head and sat down opposite them, where the herd of people once hovered. “I want to talk to all of these people who are saying such nice things. They even just put pictures. Little pictures though. Lots of rainbows and hearts. I’ll tell you what, we thought the internet was going to go much differently, back when it was a terrifying death trap.”

“I’m not getting you a twitter,” Lexa shook her head and sat up a bit.

“Do I have to do the curtsey thing still, or--” Clarke furrowed.

“What? No. Stop telling people that, Al,” the King made a face before returning to his phone. “How does your mother have a twitter and I don’t?”

“The internet is saying some lovely things, Lexa,” her mother interrupted her father’s annoyed fretting. “I think it’s going to be okay for you to just talk. Give an interview, and then be completely normal. Nothing changes. Things become normal.”

“Do you think Jonathan was right?” Lexa wondered. This time, Clarke's hands wandered to her lower back where they pressed and soothed before wrapping around her hip toward her waist. “That people will talk forever?”

“No. I think it’ll be interesting for three seconds, and then on to the next thing.”

“Unless we get into inheritance law, and then if you decide to have kids,” the king wagered. “That’d spark some intense debates on the floor of Parliament.”

“Alex!”

“Dad, seriously,” Lexa groaned and flopped back again.

“Why don’t we just go on a few dates, and see if we want to uproot an entire constitutional monarchy with potentially illegitimate children later?” Clarke offered, rubbing Lexa’s thigh. “I might not even like you.”

“She’s got a point,” Lexa’s father mumbled as he continued to tinker on his phone.

“If there’s a merciful God, He’d kill me right now.”

“She’s not,” the Queen reminded her daughter.

“Stop whining. We’ll figure it out. It’s not that bad,” Clarke decided, though it was more for herself than for her girlfriend.

“Have I mentioned how much I like this one?” the King grinned and finally looked up at the scene on the couch across from him.

“Just let this be over,” Lexa groaned and shoved a pillow over her own face, willing it to suffocate her so she could escape the Hell in which she’d becoming a permanent resident.

It was only Clarke’s soothing hand on her thigh that made her remember she was alive, and that was enough of a Hell.

On a fifth grade field trip, Clarke once walked through the halls of the palace. It was the part open to the public, and it was nowhere close to where she was now, but still, she remembered the sense of awe she felt. But after the day she had, after being uprooted from her home, spilled across pages and hours of news coverage, the palace itself wasn’t overwhelming anymore, but merely everything it now represented in her life.

But when it got to be too much, she caught Lexa’s eye, and earned a smile, or when she felt her head swirling with regret and missing a warzone with mortar fire, somehow, Lexa just knew, and would touch her, kiss her, or make a joke to lighten it all up and remind Clarke that for some reason, it was all worth it. It felt like it was too soon to ask the question of if it was worth it, because to ask that meant acknowledging a depth of feelings.

Of course, the scariest part of asking that question so soon into their relationship, was that she already knew the answer.

“So this is your room? Or wing?” Clarke smiled as she moved into a living room that was easily the size of her entire apartment.

“A little bigger than an old post office back room, but it does the job.”

It was decorated in all manner of Lexa. Despite where they were, despite what existed out in the hall, the ornate and the velvet and the old and the royal were all left outside, and inside was modern and classic and clean and Lexa.

An entire wall was bookshelves, primarily fitted with old books and movies. Lots of movies. Picture frames and snow globes covered everything else.

“I like it.”

“Should I take you to a guest room or--”

“I can’t believe I’m staying at your place when you live with your parents.”

“To be fair, they’re on the other side of the palace. At least a ten minute walk,” the princess grinned, crossing her arms as she waited for Clarke to finish looking. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get my own house. Maybe if they disown me.”

“No one’s going to disown you.”

“It’d be easier.”

“Your family is fighting hard for you, because it’s important. You’re important. They’re not going to let anything change that,” Clarke promised.

“But it’d mean I’d get my own place.”

“Well, in that case, I should talk to your mother about it right away.”

It took a few more minutes of bickering and bantering before Clarke followed Lexa into the bedroom. She waited for clothes and accepted the extras Lexa offered, even though someone brought a bag of her own things at some point. She washed her face and stared at herself in the mirror after stripping down and pulling on Lexa’s old PT shirt. Looking back at her were tired eyes with the hint of bags starting due to the exhaustion and trial of the day.

Hunching her shoulders there, Clarke sized up her own grit, her own strength, her own ability to weather this all. She had to have it. It was only just beginning.

“I wasn’t sure which side you wanted,” Lexa explained as she stood up quickly when the bathroom door opened.

“We’ve slept together before,” Clarke smiled.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a day, and I’m not sure… things have… I don’t know.”

Nervously, the princess scratched her neck and tentatively looked at the girl wearing little more than a shirt. That certainly didn’t help.

The lightswitch snapped off and Clarke walked toward the nervous princess, not even stopping or pausing to ask permission, but rather just kissed her, right there. She kissed her as hard and as gently as she could. There was a need to it, a heavines with all the little words that got thrown around for hours, a lightness that came with dismissing them. At the very root of it all, was a simple, simple statement, and it was just that Clarke was there, and she wasn’t leaving.

“I’m very sure about all of this,” Clarke promised. “I know it’s soon. I would have wanted to wait, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure about anyone. I want you, Lexa. I fell for you and I don’t care about anything else. We’ll deal with it.”

“How can I be worth losing your entire life?” Lexa saddened, her face softening as she shook her head, afraid of the question she didn’t want to ask.

“You just are. That’s all I know. Life’s too short. We saw enough of it overseas. If this is what we have to deal with to be together, then so what. I’m not scared.” Arms slid around her waist, anchoring her there. She earned a smile. “I mean, I am, but I’m not.”

“I don’t think you can understand how much my family likes you.”

“I like them.”

“Tomorrow, everything changes,” Lexa sighed, leaning her forehead against Clarke’s.

“Tomorrow, everything starts,” she corrected.

“I don’t like being the center of attention.”

“I don’t know if you know this or not, but your family is kind of always in the spotlight. I hope I’m worth imploding an entire country’s history over.”

“You definitely are,” Lexa grinned and kissed Clarke back. For a second she believed that to be true. But none of it mattered. This was the future.

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resurrged · 6 years

Text

AN ANALYSIS OF CHARACTER DECISIONS THE WARRIORS / AND WHY YMIR CHOSE ‘THEIR SIDE’ —

first and foremost, let me just address some incredibly important tidbits on my own interpretation of ymir’s characterization, just because it’ll set the fact that this whole post is pretty ?? against the grain to everything i’ve seen on ymir so far & affects a lot on how i play her.

one : her death was necessary, and she was likely set to die from the start.

this manga is meant to tug at your heartstrings, and ymir’s death, to me, is probably the best one to hit that bullet. no one’s getting a truly happy ending, and ymir’s was beautifully forlorn. the best isa has done in building a character just to crush them in the worst way possible, imo. and i mean, yeah, sure— would it have been NICE to see ymir overcome this and find a happy medium? yeah, totally. BUT THIS ISN’T THAT KIND OF STORY ???? it’s not like she really has the chance to work on it fully & like holy shit y’all we literally watched the main protagonist get EATEN within the first 4 chapters what do you expect ????

two : ymir leaving does not, in any way, “go entirely against her character” by choosing R&B over historia

in fact, it aligns perfectly with every aspect of it — as per isayama’s given outline / point focuses when it comes to her.

as much as she cherishes, supports, and loves the girl, YMIR IS SO MUCH MORE THAN HER ATTACHMENT TO HISTORIA OH mY GoD

THE WHOLE RELATIONSHIP IS LITERALLY A PRIME EXAMPLE OF WHO SHE IS NOT HOW SHE BECAME THAT WAY.

now back to randy with the news

PERSONALITY / ymir had always been looking out for others, with a particular emphasis on historia, sure, more on that later— but we see how someone like reiner was instantly able to clue into how something apparently crass, such as laughing ruthlessly at connie’s “idea”, had been done to look out for him.

she’s clearly close to her comrades, and we see her being physically touchy with both connie and eren without either of them twitching away / reacting like this is strange. even though she’s known to behave boorishly, she has this level of closeness with them, something that wouldn’t be a thing if they were truly on bad terms, as her bluntness would often imply. they seem to all have a comfortable friendship / understanding, one that recognizes she isn’t inherently looking to shit all over them 24/7. even when she had the chance to simply save historia alone during the CoT arc, she went out of her way to ensure she got all 4 cadets that were left on the tower. not to mention she saved erwin despite being right pissed at him at the time, something she honestly had no reason to do. so no, historia isn’t the only person on her mind 24/7.

as much as ymir has said her goal was to live her new life for herself, she was never able to. we see time and time again that ymir tries to be crass, tries to be blunt, gives in to being selfless, and then tries to play it off. she’s trying to force herself to change, but it doesn’t work. at no point in the series had it ever worked. nothing about her inherent character changed, she never received ‘character development’ on that end, but guess what? that’s actually an incredibly realistic development. she realizes & succumbs to the fact that she was doomed from the start. i cannot emphasize enough how hard it is to change something so integral about who you are as a person. it takes a lot to do that. we have an entire section of our brains dedicated to not doing it.

in fact, no character in snk has gone through dramatic change without struggle or major prompting ( levi had to watch his comrades die, mikasa had to break her superior’s leg, and most importantly in this context, historia had to watch her best friend leave her ) . and NONE of these happened in a flash, either. we have a 6-year skip to levi’s current behaviour, which is still crass / cold even if it is more selfless. mikasa needs to be reminded of watching how her attachment plays into her choices during the serum bowl before succumbing, and (listen up this is important) historia only truly listens to ymir’s words of advice when confronting her father. don’t forget that these two had known each other for years before current events, and ymir had been trying to get historia to stop acting the way she does the entire time. WHICH MAKES SENSE. in real life, PEOPLE DON’T JUST CHOOSE TO ‘CHANGE’. it happens naturally, with a shitton of effort and mistakes, if at all. and i’m convinced isayama knows this.

in the end, ymir succumbs to her own state, a doleful ‘i guess some things never change’ in giving herself up for reiner & bertolt to take. she feels indebted to them, and knows she can’t deal with the guilt of it, and she’s done trying. she got her second shot at life and couldn’t ever complete the one task she set out for herself : to just live for her own sake.

she is pathetic, and i think that’s what porco was getting at in referencing her memories in the marley arc. and i think his choice of words are really intriguing here? because he uses “を返し[て]くれ[た]” to refer to ymir giving her his brother’s titan back, with both を返し and くれる being things you typically say about someone who’s doing you a genuine favor, like out of good will. the way he’s saying this aligns heavily with how ymir felt she was indebted to them, despite how he clearly disagrees with her views by calling her straight up pathetic for them lmao.

the last things we hear her say are that it “doesn’t feel so bad to be a goddess”, again emphasizing that she does these things because they are, in essence, what makes her feel nice. she feels genuine happiness in giving herself up. a feeling that goes unmatched by any selfish deed she could ever do. she even mentions in her letter that she has no regrets, likely through finally realizing this very fact and being able to put it into words, as before we see she doesn’t quite understand the behaviour herself. and she mentions she regrets nothing, save for getting to marry historia, as if saying maybe this was the very thing that would have possibly felt just as nice.

so again, i emphasize— she wanted to live selfishly for the rest of her new life, knows she should be happy that way, like everyone else seems to be — but in the end, she couldn’t. not because of stupid plot devices, but because she genuinely couldn't live with herself unless she did. when she apologizes to historia, i’m convinced it’s not just for abandoning her, but for proving she’s been nothing but one huge, fake hypocrite this whole time. after all, ymir’s just like her ; she wants to do good, wants to help others, and can’t fathom the thought of ever feeling worthy enough for a shot at true happiness. really, she was being selfish to the end, as she was chasing what made herself feel good as opposed to what someone like historia might have preferred from her, or what R&B even offered to let her do.

HISTORIA / now another point i feel i should bring up is that ymir was actually going to bring historia with her, but only under the pretense that she’d live a better life.

don’t forget ymir lived lavishly up until she was caught as a false prophet, and she likely assumed that with her royal blood, historia would too. she thought paradis was done for, but when she realized they weren’t, she made the split-second decision to both sacrifice herself for reiner to have something to bring back with him ( thus preventing him from possibly going after historia in place of eren again ) as well as letting historia continue her life as historia, where she was already happy.

at this point, ymir had seen historia finally spit back the words she’d spoken for so long, and was likely under the pretense that she would be fine, that they had finally stuck. she saw no reason to keep herself present in hisu’s life ; she’d finally been able to break through to her. but no matter what, at that point, she had already chosen to sacrifice herself for historia’s sake, and the more she listened to R&B, the more she solidified this idea.

EMPATHY / ymir felt fucking bad for R&B. we get a ton of cutshots to her expression when eren tries to confront bertholdt’s morality, and practically defends him by telling eren he’s being childish for immediately wishing death on him. we see her getting quiet when she brings up marcel, and then again showing empathy for bert’s position in all of this. this is again emphasized when bertholdt asks why she saved him. but the last two don’t even matter, because by the time they begin leaving the forest she had practically already cemented the fact that she was going to go with them in believing she would never see historia again.

of course, we might still get more insight on ymir and her motifs, but for now, this has always been how i interpreted her actions, and i never once questioned them. yes, it would’ve been nice for her to finally set aside that aspect of herself and return with historia, but as i mention in my paradis verse, doing so wouldn’t have cured the innate guilt she feels towards living. especially now that she’s spoken to R&B. she realizes she took this from them and feels undeserving of this second shot at life when she couldn’t even do anything with it. she was supposed to live for herself, and there she is doing everything in her power to save historia instead. i’m sure ymir feels like a failure over that, and i’m sure it really fucks with her psyche, and factors into why she’s so willing to literally accept death by going back with them.

so by having ymir choose R&B over historia, she was going against ‘development’ her character literally never had. every single ymir cut shot / flashback in these chapters literally emphasize just how much she does for others, all while trying to hide it under a mask of false ambiguity for her own sake.

so yeah. i love ymir. she deserved better. thanks for listening to my TED talk.

#long post x #rip to anyone on mobile ig #°﹙ APOCRYPHAL HEADS // ❛ ʷᶦˡˡ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʳᵘˢᵗ ᶦⁿ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˢᵃʸ ?#i have.... a lot of feeligns #this is too many fucking words just ctrl + f your char if you care to Save Yourself The Pain

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welcometophu · 6 years

Text

Not Your Love Song: Chapter 12

Marked Book 2: Not Your Love Song

Chapter 12

[ Previous | First | Next ]

There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground, a few flakes still falling as Rory and Kit walk back to campus. Kit pauses, almost turning, before they reach the end of the block.

“I’m not going to be insulted if you go back for Serina,” Rory says. He digs a hat out of his pocket, crams it down on his head to keep the wind from his ears. He forgot gloves, so he shoves his hands in his pockets and does his best not to shiver.

“She’s closing tonight, so there’s no point. Especially since it’s getting busy.” Kit tries to match pace with Rory, taking an extra half shuffle every few steps. He’s at least half a foot shorter than Rory, which isn’t small, but it means Rory needs to shorten his stride to let Kit keep up easily.

It takes a little experimentation, but they find a pace that lets them fall into step.

There’s something comforting about the measured crunch of their footsteps like a cadence on the sidewalk. Rory taps his fingers against his thigh, testing it for rhythm.

“Are you going to ask her out again?” It’s awkward for Rory to ask about Kit’s relationship, but at the same time, switching topics abruptly would be even more awkward. When Rory’s phone buzzes, he takes it out and fishes it from his pocket, opening the text.

I had a good time yesterday.

Rory smiles slightly. In a strange way, talking to Darrik is easy. He’s not sure if he expects it to go anywhere: Darrik’s mourning, and Rory still has his unresolved soulmark issue. And that’s not even touching the difference in their ages, although Rory does have an understanding of life in the real world, unlike most college freshman. But he likes Darrik. He’s quiet. Knowledgeable. Enjoys talking about history, and the historical interactions between Mage and Clan. And Rory’s definitely interested in hearing more about where Darrik grew up, where the two interacted regularly.

He slows his steps, types as he walks. So did I. Unfortunately the weekend is over.

A small pause before the phone vibrates in his hand. We could do it again soon?

Yeah. Maybe that.

“You didn’t hear a thing I said,” Kit says quietly, a low laugh in his voice.

Rory types back yeah and leaves it at that, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry.”

“Whoever it was made you smile.” Kit shrugs one shoulder, gestures at the phone. “I’m not going to interrupt that.” He pauses before admitting, “And you didn’t miss anything. I didn’t say anything. You were obviously occupied.”

It catches Rory by surprise, and he laughs, his skin warming. “It was just Darrik. We went out last night.”

“He’s the guy you were thinking of developing a ritual for.” Kit tilts his head thoughtfully, pushes forward with one shoulder as if to say let’s walk a little faster, and Rory can’t disagree because it’s cold out.

A stray snowflake lands on his nose, a chill point that drips slowly after it melts. Rory rubs it away. “He is. I talked to him a little bit about it over dinner. He says as long as it doesn’t put Lora in danger, he’s in. Which means I should probably work on getting a group together.” He glances at Kit, but Kit’s looking straight ahead, as if he’s trying not to watch Rory at all. “Pawel mentioned I should probably talk to Dax.”

“Is Dax good at traditional ritual?” Kit asks. “Pawel thought your brother would be a good partner for me because he’s got one of the most traditional backgrounds, and a good handle on his natural abilities as well.”

Rory isn’t sure how much he can or should say about Dax. “Are you trying to get out of working with Thorne and take over my ritual for Darrik as your independent study project?”

Kit flushes. “Depends. Are you doing this because it’s about the ritual or because you’re trying to get in bed with Darrik?”

“I am not trying to get in bed with Darrik.” Rory shudders, shakes his head. “I’m not trying to get in bed with anyone. I like Darrik, though. I think the closure of doing this ritual would be good for him. But I also want my roommate to be safe. Alaric’s a good friend—pretty much family by now—and I don’t like the idea that there’s a thing out there that might still be hunting him.” It occurs to him that he hasn’t gone into detail about the whole situation yet, although Kit at least heard what Pawel had to say at Coven. Rory could explain. Maybe should explain.

“Relationships are complicated,” Kit muses quietly. He tilts his head back, sticks his tongue out to catch a snowflake.

“Serina?” Because now Rory wonders if Kit does want to talk about it after all. Especially if it keeps them from talking about Rory’s potential maybe possible relationship efforts with Darrik.

“Serina,” Kit agrees, the flush still staining his cheeks. “And you and Darrik.”

“I know why me and Darrik is complicated and there are a lot of reasons for that,” Rory says. “But you and Serina? She’s a cute girl and seems interested. You’re a cute guy and you seem interested in her. From an outside perspective, you seem like a love song waiting to happen.”

“You’d think so.” Kit hunches his shoulders, seems to curl in on himself. “I haven’t dated much. For reasons.” One shoulder rises, falls. “And every time I start thinking about dating someone, I have to ask myself: when do you have the serious conversations? Is it a first date thing? Is it a third date thing? Is it the kind of thing that waits three months and then she gets pissed off at me for not being up front about it?”

“I don’t think Serina’s the kind of person who’s going to not date a guy because he’s bi,” Rory says, because it seems obvious that Kit’s gun shy, and had people break up with him over his sexuality before.

Kit stops walking, turns to face Rory. He takes a step back so he doesn’t have to tilt his head as far to meet his eyes. “I don’t need to tell her I’m bi,” he says flatly. “I’m trans.”

Not what Rory was expecting when this conversation started, but okay.

He pauses as well, not looking away. Nods once, slowly. “I’m ace and gay, so I get complicated,” Rory says quietly, and Kit’s posture eases. “Some things are awkward, because you figure everyone’s expecting the typical status quo.”

“Straight, all guys have dicks, and looking to get into bed?” Kit quips, and Rory laughs dryly.

“At least you didn’t say all guys are dicks.” Rory takes a step sideways, rocks on his foot until he’s sure Kit’s going to join him. They walk more slowly now despite the cold, approaching the outer gate leading into campus. “I don’t think there’s an easy answer to that one,” he admits. “I mean, I like Serina. She’s on my floor, but she’s not one of the ones who keeps wandering into my room randomly, like Nik. So I can’t say we’re really close, and I don’t know exactly how she feels. She doesn’t seem to mind queer people, and she didn’t freak out when she realized that Nate wasn’t ever going to be interested.”

“But being trans isn’t like being gay,” Kit says quietly.

“Yeah.” Rory looks up at the sky, the snowflakes falling faster now, swirling through the darkness like a hyper speed special effect in a movie. “Maybe just play it by ear? Go out again. You need to trust her, right?” As he says it, Rory isn’t sure why Kit trusted him with it. “I don’t think she’d do anything bad, but she might feel hurt that you didn’t say something. But I think she’d at least get why you waited.” He glances down at Kit. “Serina’s good people. When are you going to go out again?”

“Guess I need to ask her that.” Kit pulls his phone out, looks at the screen like it’s going to give him answers. “I don’t think I’ve really got time this week. I need to finish that assignment with Thorne, and then there’s Coven on Tuesday, and we meet with Pawel for independent study on Wednesday and Thursday, and by that point, it’s just about back to the weekend. Carolyn’s sorority is sponsoring the Saturday movie. Maybe I’ll see if Serina wants to see that, if I don’t get roped into helping with it.” He hesitates, brow furrowing, mouth slightly open before it closes again.

“What?” Rory recognizes that look. When he sees it on Thorne it rarely bodes well for him.

“When are you seeing Darrik again?” Kit’s gaze narrows. “And is it personal or about the ritual thing?”

Rory licks his lips, huffs out a breath. “Both, I think, at this point. But he doesn’t know I’m ace. There really wasn’t a time to bring it up when he was telling me about his dead boyfriend.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Kit asks. His voice is low again, a soft note in it. Concerned.

“Do any of us?” Rory counters. Love is complicated. Relationships are complicated. He touches the out-of-focus mark on his wrist, because that’s just another complication on top of everything else. “We just go forward until we hit a wall, right? Or maybe we get lucky and it’s the right person at the right time doing the right thing. There are a ton of variables that make the difference between an epic love story and an epic fail.”

“We could double.”

Rory somehow expected a different reaction to his words, something more in-depth. Something more profound. “We could what? Double date? You and Serina with me and Darrik?”

Kit nods, adding a shallow, hesitant shrug. “It adds a buffer. A way to just hang out and not worry about adding in coming out stories. Right?”

That… makes a kind of sense. But at the same time, it adds yet another layer of complication over something that Rory isn’t even sure is a thing at all.

And still, he finds himself agreeing. “Okay, sure. Saturday. For the movie. If Darrik’s willing to subject himself to an on-campus movie when he escaped college campuses a couple years ago after grad school,” Rory agrees. “I’ll ask him.”

A half-smile from Kit. “Sounds good.” He’s quiet for a few steps, staring into the distance, before he asks, “Is Thorne always like that? I didn’t interact much with him our freshman year. He’s—”

“Hyper-sexual? Not as much as he says he is,” Rory says. “But yeah, he got all the sexuality in our family, and I got none of it. Mac’s right, though. If you make it plain that you want him to stop, he’ll stop, no questions asked. He might still flirt, but he won’t touch if you don’t want to, and he won’t be serious about the flirting. Just tell him what level of interaction you’re comfortable with, and he’ll adjust. Consent’s a big thing.”

“Okay.” Kit falls silent again as they pass through the gate. Rory isn’t sure where Kit lives, or even if he lives on campus, but Kit turns in the same direction when Rory does, heading toward Davison.

“Is there something else?” Rory asks. “Seriously, did Thorne make a move and I need to talk to him? Because I will. I love my brother, but sometimes—”

“He didn’t,” Kit says quickly. “I was just thinking that I think it’ll be good to work with him. It’ll put me outside of my comfort zone, which is what I wanted to do. It’ll make me interact with other people I normally wouldn’t, I’m sure, which is also good. I have a tough time reaching out.”

“Because—”

“Because I don’t want to have to explain, but at the same time, it’s hard being honest with people when you’re keeping a secret.” Kit’s voice twists, frustrated and tight. “Not that it’s actually a secret. It’s just me. But other people see it like a secret, and I’m tired of hearing that. That they think I’m tricking them. I’m not. I just want to be taken at face value and be allowed to be myself.”

“Then just be you.” Rory knows it’s not that simple, but he also knows it’s the best advice he can give. “I know that Thorne really doesn’t give a shit. Use him as a practice case for just being you and being exactly who you are, and don’t—don’t come out. Just be you.” He’s usually got better words than this, but he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and this is new territory. “Are you introverted naturally?”

Kit snorts. “Yeah. Can’t you tell?”

“It has to be hard, because again, layers of complexity.” Rory touches his own chest. “I’m in a band full of extroverts, and I’m the only introvert. They keep me in touch with other people. It helps. So… use Thorne and me for a while.”

“Having a buffer seems to be the theme of this conversation.”

“We’re not an English paper in need of a thesis statement, but yes.” Rory smiles slightly, licks his lips. Reaching out has never been his strong suit, either, but Kit’s wariness makes him want to help in some small way. “I don’t want to use Darrik for your project,” he says. “This is personal, for him and for me, and for my friends. But if you want to help, I am okay with that.” It’s a small olive branch.

Kit presses his lips together, reaches up to push his hair out of his face. “I’ll work with Thorne for a grade, and I’ll work with you to help Darrik. That’s good.” The road splits, heading toward Townhouse Row in one direction. Kit wavers, leans in the other direction. “We’ll talk again on Tuesday?” he suggests.

“What’s your number?” Rory could get it from Thorne, but this is easier. He has his phone in his hands, sends a text as Kit lists off numbers. Kit’s phone buzzes faintly from his pocket, and Rory gestures with his own. “You’ve got mine now. I don’t remember if Pawel and I told you everything about what happened with Darrik and his friends, but I can send some things to you that you should look at. You really need to know what you’re getting into; you might change your mind.”

“I’m going to push myself this semester,” Kit says firmly. “So no, I won’t change my mind. Whatever you need, you’ve got my help. We’ll talk Tuesday.” He turns away, raising one hand to wave as he goes.

Rory’s fingers itch, and he’s not sure if he’s feeling a ritual or the words to a song. Either way, he needs to get back to the dorm and write it down. Maybe play a little, let it all spill out.

[ Previous | First | Next ]

#welcome to phu #welcometophu #not your love song #phu marked #marked

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littleweeghost · 7 years

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Healthier Alternatives: Sanji’s Match Made in Heaven

Okay, so my last post personally destroyed my OTP with no reaosn...I'm a monster. But by the end, I did say I was going to make another post on different people who's be a better emotionaly fit for Sanji. Although, I did make a point to emphasize age and maturity play a factor as to why ZORO and SANJI wouldn't work, so for this post, although my opinion stems from how the characters currently are, I am considering how this can affect the long term.

Alright, let's jump right into this. In no particular order: 1. Law 2. Usopp 3. Luffy 4. Violet

Again, in no particular in order, here's my reasoning for each person.

1. Law: If we think Sanji got some emotional baggage, then Law has an emotional train. But that isn't fair; pain and trauma cannot be ranked as "who has it worse". That said, if I'm reading the air correctly, I think there's a calm energy between these two. First off, they're Northies! Two Northern boys with shitty pasts. It's also the fact that they both have calm demeanors, are intelligent and are talented with multiple skills. For example, Law knows swordsmanship but is also knowledgeable about medicine/is a doctor. Sanji is a martial arts expert (practically) and can cook. Furthermore, when it comes to "dreams" or the such, they both like to keep things simple. Law isn't like Luffy where he's trying to reach the top of the top and Sanji isn't going out of his way to be the best cook. In the few times they've had a scene together, Sanji reacts differently with him than he has with other males. They speak respectfully to each other with some slight teasing thrown into the mix. So yeah, if they were to be intimate, I can see the both of them shouldering each other's pain well enough to grow closer and develop a strong bond.

2. Usopp: Usopp is such a treasure and I wish there was more fics about their ship (both romatically and friendly). Honestly, I didn't care for Usopp in the earlier years, but Enies Lobby/Water 7 changed my life. That is my favorite arc because that was not only an Usopp arc, it was Sanji's time to shine. In that arc, the friendship, that I barely even knew existed, shone brightly! During Usopp's lowest point, we were shown how much Sanji cares for him but also how much he understands. And that's important because similarly to Usopp, us viewers looked at Sanji as if he were a superhuman, a powerful man who had strength and will to take on anything. Except no, that isn't the case. Sanji is as human as Usopp with fears and insecurities. Due to Sanji's past, we now know that Sanji worries all the time how he can keep up with the strong while still being able to protect the weaker ones. Usopp would be an amazing partner (if he wasn't straight and into Kaya) for Sanji. Not only is Usopp supportive of anything Sanji likes/decides/will do but he's also sympathetic. Where Usopp is physically weak and needs Sanji's support, he supports Sanji where he's emotionally and mentally weak. They'd have a relationship so normal and adorable!

3. Luffy: This one took me by surprise because I haven't thought of this one until this arc. This past parc has woken me up to realize just how emotionally close Luffy and Sanji are to each other. Granted, one could argue that Luffy is emotionally intimate with all of his crew, but I think he has a special connection with Sanji. My theory on that is that Sanji and Luffy are polar opposites, almost foils one could argue. Kind of Yin and Yang like. On one hand, you have Luffy, who despite being poor, was loved as a child. He had bandits and relatives and pirates alike loving and caring for him. He also developed 2 close relationships, close enough to call them brothers, who would so anything to protect Luffy. Because of all of that, Luffy has such an open and balanced personality. He's not just tough on assholes, but he's soft, sympathetic, and understanding with other people, especially after hearing some bad stories. On the other hand, there's Sanji. Sanji was born to a wealthy (royal) family, also a family of scientists, but he was hated. His family hated him--with the exception of mom and sister Reiju--the servants/soldiers weren't better. Until Zeff, he established no healthy relationships with anyone. Even after Zeff, Sanji only grew up in an environment filled with aggression and violence and men. Of course with Sanji's warped mind, all he ever assumes are that men are barbaric by nature so unlike Luffy, Sanji is emotionally cut off. Although he CAN be sympathetic and friendly, Sanji isn't as confident with his feelins as Luffy is. Which is why Sanji is so instictive in his reactions; he has little discipline in that area. Luffy already has a ton of love for Sanji, but if they were a little older, I think they could develop a loving relationship. Luffy is just so positive and reassuring that with time, Sanji would be more secure in his feelings. And Sanji would forever remain loyal and loving with Luffy. Lastly, they are connected by food. Luffy is always hungry as long as Sanji is around to cook.

4. Violet: Okay, so this is a weak one to be honest but I don't think there are other females in this series that can actually shoulder Sanji's pain. Well first off, I think Sanji would have a difficult time having a relationship with a female regardless, but still, in the short time Violet and Sanji were together in Dressrosa, I saw promise. They were cute and Sanji was certainly protective of her. I figure since Violet was going through her own struggles regarding Doffy and his tyranny on Dressrosa and the fact that she still came on top, I think that showcases that she has mental strength. with enough time, I do believe they would have a solid relationship.

In case anyone is going to roast me, yes, I purposely kept Nami off the list because this list is only meant to include people Sanji could have a HEALTHY relationship with. Asthetically speaking, they look good together but for a romantic relationship, no. Nami has got her own baggage that I could write a whole other post about and it doesn't appear that she's completely "over" it. Meaning, due to her own level of maturity and some other factors, she would be a horrible fit for Sanji. Not to mention how...well...aggressive she always is with Sanji. He already has an unhealthy perception of women and men; she really isn't helping. #sorrynotsorry And as stated above, there aren't more females on the list because quite frankly, there aren't that many females that Sanji has had long term contact with. I would have said Vivi but even with her, I'd have a better chance mentioning the duck. Even Ace almost made the list before her because Sanji, my poor Sanji, attracts more handsome men than women. Still, I see men being more compatible with Sanji anyway but that's just me.

Anyway, that's my list! People who are better fit emotionally and romantically for Sanji. You agree/disagree? Who did I miss?

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quinzelade · 7 years

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By No Constraint: Epilogue

SS x Danse

Chapter List

Thanks to my amazing beta, @waiting4morning, for her wonderful work!

Tumblr has apparently changed its linking rules, meaning I can no longer externally link my FFnet or Ao3 accounts if I want my story to show up in the tag search on tumblr. If you want update alerts, please search ‘quinzelade’ on either of these sites and follow me there.

I released chapter 72 on the 8th. Since I’ve posted this so close to the last chapter, I felt it was only fair to let you guys know there’s a chapter before this one that you might want to read. Check the chapter list above for the link.

Major Brotherhood/Danse spoilers.

Peaceful Futures

“So what makes you think you’re suitable for this position?” Danse said, scribbling down a few sentences on his form. It was uncomfortably hot in his office, and Danse was tempted to close the interview now. He already knew the outcome. But he’d be damned if he put minor discomfort before proper procedure.

By the book. Always by the book.

“As I said, sir, my dad is the best shot in Sanctuary.”

Danse looked up from his notes and raised his eyebrow. “I’ve known Robert almost twenty years now, and he is a brilliant shot. But you aren’t your father. Tell me about you, Duncan. Why should I be putting Sanctuary’s safety in your hands?”

Duncan went scarlet. Danse almost relented there and then, but MacCready had been very specific with his instructions.

“Dunc’s more than capable, but he’s had it easy. Ridden on my reputation. One day I won’t be here, and then what? Make him work for it, Danse. It’ll do him some good.”

Danse stayed silent and waited.

“W-well,” Duncan managed eventually, fidgeting under Danse’s desk. “I, uh…”

“Do you have a tutor?” Danse said, deciding to offer some kindness. “Have you won any competitions or been in any combat?”

“Oh yeah!” Duncan said at once, seizing the opportunity. “My dad taught me! Ever since I was a kid I could shoot! And I’ve every shooting competition in the settlement in the last five years! And—”

Danse let Duncan rattle off his many achievements, holding back a smile. He’d always intended to give this job to Duncan, had been leaning on MacCready for years to let his son leave his cleaning post and move onto the security team. But MacCready was adamant Duncan worked his way up first.

“We all had to do it. It’s the only way he’ll learn.”

Duncan paused to take in a breath, and Danse held up his hand. Duncan stopped, looking worried.

“I’ve heard enough,” Danse said, straightening up his papers and keeping a straight face. He leaned back in his chair and met Duncan’s eye. He hesitated, then said, “You’ve got the job.”

Duncan made a noise of shock, and a wide grin split across his face. “Really?”

Danse nodded, leaned forward, and held out his hand. As Duncan shook it vigorously, Danse said, “I want you at the barracks 5am sharp tomorrow so we can fit you up in a uniform.”

“Yes, sir,” Duncan said, getting to his feet as Danse did, still grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you, sir! Thank you so much! My dad’s gonna be so impressed!”

“Best go tell him quick then,” Danse replied, and smiled as Duncan nodded and hurried from the room. As soon as the office door shut behind Duncan, Danse walked over to the window shutter and cranked it open. Cool air seeped in, and he gave a sigh of relief. He didn’t like having it open when he was interviewing people. Everything in his office was a private affair.

Some affairs more private than others, a mischievous voice said in his head, and he glanced at his desk with a guilty grin, thinking of Quinn’s last visit here. The memories made his heart beat faster, and suddenly he was eager to go home. Danse opened a button in his collar as he walked down the stairs, still lost in his thoughts. He wondered if Quinn would finish early today, but as he reached the door leading out of the building—mumbling some response or other to the guards acknowledging his departure—he remembered they were due to have dinner with Josh and Emily tonight, on top of everything else he still needed to prepare for work tomorrow. Weariness hit him like a ton of bricks.

I’m not as young as I used to be.

If it wasn’t his back twinging every time he tried to lift something heavy, it was his knees aching during his morning run. He was still in top shape, and proud of that fact, but pride couldn’t stop the effects of age. At least he was aging, though, unlike other synths. A blessing compared to Sturges, who only discovered the truth when it became apparent how young he still looked next to Preston.

Not that Preston cared. He helped Sturges through his identity crisis the same way Quinn helped Danse through his, so many years ago.

“Hey boss,” rasped Mordecai, a tough old ghoul who was a permanent fixture in the security team, “so am I fitting up body armour for the kid tomorrow or not?” Danse nodded, and Mordecai grinned. “You were always gonna—”

“Keep your voice down,” Danse said quietly, glancing around. “I don’t want to knock his confidence.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Mordecai motioned zipping his mouth shut.

Danse nodded, glad his friend had some tact. It was for this reason—and also because Mordecai could swing a bat like nobody’s business—he was Danse’s right hand man.

Danse walked on, responding to countless greetings that always accompanied his evening walk home. As head of security, he’d personally assessed each and every one of them before they’d been given a place in the city—ghoul, synth, and human alike. The result was that everyone knew his face.

It was a nice feeling, being known and respected, although it did add an extra half hour onto his journey wherever he was going.

He walked past the Sanctuary branch of the Valentine Detective Agency, the red, glowing sign just as tacky as Nick’s head office over in Diamond city. Danse squinted at the neon sign and grinned. Piper always complained about it whenever she visited, loudly grumbling to the homeless ghouls she often escorted to the city.

People from all walks of life flocked to Sanctuary these days. People wanting to make a fresh start. People who were outcast from their own settlements for not being ‘human’ enough, or for sympathising with the ‘others.’ People who were simply curious about the settlement open to everybody, and decided to stay.

Quinn had been careful, so careful from the beginning. All were welcome, but that would make Sanctuary a target. And yet, aside from a short-lived conflict with Diamond City, no one ever bothered them. Even the Brotherhood kept away, though Danse couldn’t understand why. After a few years, he stopped questioning it, but always kept himself and his men on guard.

The medical clinic came into view, conveniently down the road from Josh’s home. Josh’s tendency to abandon dinner or run out in the middle of the night sometimes caused bickering in his household, but nothing serious. Emily knew what Josh was like.

So did Danse—Josh was as stubborn as Vivian and Quinn combined, something Quinn seemed almost proud of, despite it causing numerous arguments throughout Josh’s childhood. When both Josh and Charlie had dug their heels in together, it was like a bomb being dropped on the house. Although Danse missed the boys when they eventually moved out, he did love the peace and quiet that came with their absence.

Finally, Danse reached his destination. He paused, listening to the muted voices inside, and then knocked on the front door. The voices stopped at once, and footsteps drew near. The door flew open, and a bear of a man stood in the doorway, with long auburn hair tied back in a ponytail, and kind, crinkled eyes.

“Danse!” Josh exclaimed, dragging Danse into a tight hug. Danse hugged him back, smiling to himself. Josh had never called Quinn and Danse ‘Mom and Dad,’ and they had never pushed him.

Danse grinned up at his son as they broke apart, and turned to see Emily standing next to her husband. She smiled at Danse and kissed his cheek, before beckoning him into the house.

It was clean and tidy, as always. Emily’s work—any surface Josh went near inevitably ended up an explosion of doctor’s tools and patient notes, much to Quinn’s horror. Quinn herself was sitting in the antique armchair near the back wall, directly under the display plaque that held Vivian’s old rifle. Seeing the rifle always gave Danse a twinge of comfort and regret.

Brotherhood through and through.

Quinn got to her feet as he approached and kissed him, resting her hand on the back of his neck. “How was your day? And how did Duncan do?”

“Fine,” Danse replied, dropping himself down onto the sofa in the centre of the room. “On both counts. He starts tomorrow.”

“Like there was gonna be any other outcome.” Charlie walked into the room carrying an armful of Nuka-Colas and wearing a smirk. He moved the bottles around and held one out to Danse. “Here, Dad. Glad to see Mom’s not working you too hard.”

Quinn settled down next to Danse with a roll of her eyes as he took the bottle, and accepted a drink of her own from Charlie. “Always the smartass.”

“Of course,” chipped in Josh before Charlie could answer. “Look who raised us—ow!” Josh was interrupted as Emily whacked him across the arm.

“Don’t speak to your mom like that!” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching as she gave him a forced glare.

“Thanks, Em,” Quinn said, not bothering to hide her smirk.

“No problem.” Emily turned back to Josh and pointed to the kitchen. “Go get dinner, Darling.”

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, pretending to be annoyed, before kissing her on the nose and smiling. He left the room as everyone made their way over to the table.

Emily was a fantastic cook—better than Quinn, though Danse would never tell her. Not that she’d disagree, but some things were better left unsaid. Danse ate his stew while everyone else chatted away. He didn’t really talk at meals, preferring to listen to the conversations of the others and join in only when he had something to say. It was a quirk his family accepted, and when they were at the dinner table, it was rare for someone to speak to Danse first.

Quinn and Emily discussed recipes, while Josh and Charlie went over the plans for the clinic. Thanks to Sturges’ tutelage, Charlie was a fine handyman in his own right, and often filled in for Sturges when he was busy. It meant Josh could get almost any addition he wanted for his building, turning the clinic into a place capable of housing a good chunk of the city all at once. With Quinn’s blessing, Josh employed more staff to help him run it, and eventually hired Emily.

Danse glanced at Emily and smiled. Young love. He remembered being that age, and finding the right person. His eyes trailed over to Quinn and he watched her for a little while. Age hadn’t dampened her fire, and she still looked as beautiful as ever. Aside from the wrinkles, the only real difference was the streaks of grey in her hair. Maybe she had changed more than that, but Danse knew he’d never see her any differently.

When everyone finished, Charlie and Josh cleared the plates away, Josh flapping down Emily’s help and insisting she stay seated. Danse raised an eyebrow at this. Normally Emily bit Josh’s head off at being told to sit down and be waited on, but instead, Emily sat. He caught Quinn’s eye, and she mirrored his surprised expression.

Josh came back into the room and handed out drinks to everyone. But instead of sitting down, Josh rocked back and forth on his heels, playing with the label of his bottle. Emily nudged him with her elbow, and he said, “Uh, I have an announcement to make.”

He stood there for a few seconds, getting redder with every passing moment, until Emily rolled her eyes and said, “I’m—”

“Emily’s pregnant!” Josh blurted out.

Stunned silence. Then Quinn jumped to her feet and shrieked, “Oh congratulations!” She hugged Emily and peppered Josh with kisses, while Charlie leaned over the table and shook his hand. Danse did the same as Charlie walked over to Emily and kissed her on the cheek.

Josh still looked nervous, though. He coughed awkwardly and said, “I know I’ve never called you my parents, but…”

The room went quiet again. Charlie glanced from Josh to Quinn and Danse uncertainly, and Emily took hold of Josh’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Josh nodded, took a deep breath and said, “Well...you’re the closest thing I have to parents. And I’d love for you to be my baby’s grandparents, if...if you don’t mind.”

Danse blinked. “Josh,” he said incredulously, “you don’t even have to ask. It would be an honour.”

“‘If you don’t mind,’” Quinn said with a snort, and hugged Josh tight. Danse saw Josh give Emily a look of relief over Quinn’s shoulder. Emily smiled back.

“Does this mean I get to be the cool uncle?” Charlie piped up, grinning.

“Only if you promise not to teach my kid how to make a gun from scratch,” Josh retorted, shaking his head.

“Well that’s boring.”

“I still remember what happened the first time you made a rifle.”

“I kept all my fingers, didn’t I?”

“Any names?” Danse asked loudly.

“Yes,” Emily said quickly, shooting Danse a grateful look. “Cade if they’re a boy, Yara if they’re a girl.”

“Not gonna name them after your mom or dad?” Charlie asked. Everyone looked from Josh to him, and both men went red. Charlie quickly said, “Sorry, I didn't think—you don't have to answer that.”

“It’s alright,” Josh said with a shrug, not looking at Quinn or Danse. “I just...it didn’t feel right.”

“I’m guessing ‘Cade’ after the Knight-Captain?” Danse said, trying to move the subject on. Josh had always been conflicted when it came to his parents and Quinn and Danse.

“Yeah.” Josh stared at his feet. “You know why.”

Danse did know why. He’d always thought that Josh would follow in Vivian’s footsteps, become a soldier or a security guard. Instead, as he hit his teenage years, he began studying medicine instead. One day, Danse asked why.

“I remember what Cade did for my dad. And my mom. I'll never forget that.”

Danse never forgot it either. He shook son’s hand again, gripping a little tighter this time “You’ll be a fantastic father. You’ll make your parents proud.”

“Thanks,” Josh said with a small smile, finally meeting his eye again.

“But more importantly,” Quinn said, eyeing Charlie shrewdly, “when are you bringing home a nice girl for me to meet?”

Charlie went from red to beetroot. “Mom, I’ve been busy. Sanctuary isn’t going to build itself.”

“Sturges can pick up some of the slack.”

“I have different projects than Sturges. Haven’t worked with him for years.” Charlie rolled his eyes. “You know that.”

“Don’t you raise your eyebrows to heaven at me!”

Josh snickered. “Busted.”

Charlie punched him playfully in the arm. Danse smiled at his sons. Josh was a talented doctor, but none of Quinn’s ambitious plans for the city would have been possible without Charlie. Despite being grounded repeatedly as a child, mini-structures kept appearing in the living room, or Danse’s guns suddenly had new, mysterious ‘modifications.’ Finally, when Charlie tried to upgrade Danse’s X-01 helmet and broke it, Quinn shouted herself hoarse at her son, and then asked Sturges to train him and find a new outlet for his uncontrollable tinkering. The result was Sanctuary’s progress jumping ahead of schedule.

Now Charlie ran his own workshop, and spent most of his time designing new buildings and finding new ways to make every resource count. Sturges still did a majority of the repairs, but the two of them shared ideas, problems, and staff regularly, combining their strengths to keep the city going.

The laughter and talk continued, Josh bringing out a bottle of whisky to celebrate the occasion. Only he and Charlie drank, Emily looking on wistfully with a hand on her stomach while Quinn and Danse politely declined. Quinn drank one shot of Bowmore a year from her now dwindling bottle, around the date she first came into the Commonwealth. Other than that, both she and Danse stayed away from drink.

Finally, Charlie staggered out for some fresh air, and when he didn’t come back, Danse offered to check on him.

The night was balmy, the day’s heat still clinging to the air. The road was lit by the streetlights, but still dark enough that Danse had to squint. He spotted a figure sitting hunched over in the doorway to the school, and went over to investigate. It was Charlie, sitting with his head in his knees.

Had he passed out? As a family, they didn’t drink much—alcohol had been banned in their house until the boys reached twenty-one. Danse crouched down and gave Charlie’s shoulder a little shake, and he immediately looked up, his eyes unfocused.

Danse grinned. “Had enough?”

Charlie blinked up at Danse, and then stared at his hands in his lap. Danse felt the grin slip off his face. Something was wrong.

Ignoring the clicking of his joints and the pain in his back, Danse sat himself down next to Charlie. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Charlie swayed slightly where he sat, and then said in a slurred voice, “No, not nothing. Everything’s fucked up.”

It was rare for Charlie to swear, but Danse didn’t comment on it. Instead, he waited for Charlie to speak again.

Charlie glanced at his father, and then back to his hands. “I guess...I’m just wondering what I’m doing with my life. I’m nearly thirty, and I have nothing to show for it.”

Danse raised his eyebrows. “Nothing to show for it?” He gestured to the pre-war street lights Charlie had personally set up only two years ago, to the school he and Sturges constructed together. “What do you call all of this?”

Charlie shrugged. “That’s just work.”

“Important work.”

Charlie shrugged again in response.

Danse shifted in his seat and frowned. This wasn’t right. Charlie had always been happy and invested in his job, and took Quinn’s teasing about being single in his stride. Danse opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words. “I don’t...you always—”

“Josh has a wife and a kid on the way. I have no one.”

Ah.

“I know I can’t have kids. I’ve accepted that. But still…” Charlie bowed his head, shutting his eyes.

Danse glanced over to the house. With any luck, the others would stay inside. He turned back to his son and clamped his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You can’t rush these things. Some people find the right person early on. Others, it takes years. A relationship isn’t the be-all and end-all, and it won’t always bring you happiness.”

Charlie didn’t reply.

God damn it. Quinn is better at this than me, Danse thought. He tried again. “When I found your mother, I thought I was well into my thirties. She thinks she was at least twenty-nine. Just because Josh managed to convince his poor, unfortunate wife to marry him doesn’t mean you’re falling behind.”

This earned a laugh from Charlie, so Danse pressed on.

“And we were friends first. We both went through hell and back before we finally realised we were right for each other. I’d convinced myself that I didn’t deserve her, and she didn’t want to rush me.” Danse gave Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze. “You might have already met the right person, and you just don’t know it yet. Give it time. When you find them, you won’t care how long it took.” He paused. “As for children...I think we’re proof synths can raise a family just fine.”

Charlie looked up sharply, staring at Danse. Danse smiled at him. After a few seconds, Charlie’s gave a lopsided grin back. “Thanks, Dad.”

Danse nodded. “No problem.” Slowly, he got to his feet, wincing as his limbs clicked and ached again. He held his hand out to Charlie and pulled him to his feet.

Charlie staggered, nearly knocking them both over, and leaned on the school wall. “I think I should go lie down.”

“I think you should,” Danse replied, biting back a laugh. “Stay here. I’ll just tell your mother I’m taking you home.”

“I can walk—”

“Stay here.”

Charlie grumbled, but nodded, so Danse quickly ran across the road and stuck his head through Josh’s front door. Josh was snoring on the sofa, while Emily and Quinn were now talking about babies and pregnancy. Emily seemed nervous about the thought of mood swings and cravings. Danse quickly let them know where he was going, and returned to Charlie.

The journey was difficult, not helped by Charlie’s inability to walk straight, and also being half a head taller than Danse. Eventually, though, Danse managed to deposit Charlie through his front door. Charlie mumbled a thanks, and fell face first on his bed. Seconds later, he was asleep.

By the time Danse left the house, Quinn was waiting for him outside. He considered telling her about Charlie’s worries, but then decided against it. The conversation felt private, something Charlie might even be ashamed of. He could confide in his mother later, if he wanted to. Instead, Danse took Quinn’s hand, and they walked through the silent, deserted streets of Sanctuary all the way home.

When they reached it, they both stopped dead, staring at the front yard. Outside the house was a huge mound of dirt, the back end of a brahmin corpse sticking out of it.

“Oh for the love of…” Danse glared at Quinn. “That’s the third time this week! I’m not cleaning this up!”

He knew damn well he would be the one cleaning this up.

Quinn frowned and investigated the dirt pile, before shaking her head. “I think I need to do some more training with Spuds.”

“You think?”

Quinn kissed him on the cheek. “We can worry about it tomorrow.”

Danse eyed the half-buried brahmin corpse with apprehension, wondering how long it would take for it to smell, and then followed Quinn inside.

“I can’t believe Josh and Emily are going to have a baby! I’m so happy for them,” Quinn said when they reached their bedroom. “And I’m going to be a grandmother. Good god.”

Danse nodded, but the night’s good news was driven from his head as she turned her back on him and removed her pants. His eyes trailed to her lips, her neck, where she loved to be kissed. The curves of her waist and hips, only half hidden by her loose shirt.

She began to talk about work and her plans for the settlement, but Danse was barely listening. He was supposed to be preparing for his own work tomorrow, too. He still had to arrange things for Duncan, sort out the change in the shift pattern, let Mordecai know about...

Danse walked over to Quinn as she continued to talk about her duties, and stood behind her. “Work can wait,” he said, and started slowly kissing her neck. Quinn stopped talking at once, tilting her head to the side as he nipped gently at her skin, his hands sliding up the front of her shirt. She leaned back against him and ran her hand along his thigh, but not venturing any further.

“Tease,” Danse murmured, lifting her shirt up and pulling it carefully over her head. Quinn shivered, and then whipped around, pushing him back. He cried out in surprise, his legs hitting the edge of the bed so that he toppled backwards onto it. Before he could ready himself, Quinn was upon him, straddling him and unbuttoning his shirt, pulling impatiently at his belt buckle until he moved her hands aside and tried to do it himself. This proved difficult, as she began massaging his crotch. She laughed when he gave up, leaning his head back, and closing his eyes.

Quinn undid the damn belt, but then took her time undressing Danse, pushing him back down when he tried to sit up and help. The look in her eyes said ‘wait,’ so he obeyed, trying to control his cravings.

She took him into her hands, moving up and down, her tongue trailing after her fingers. All Danse could do was hold onto her hair, wanting to give something in return, but not wanting her to stop. Eventually, though, she did stop, and Danse took the opportunity to drag her onto the bed, pulling off her underwear and slipping his hand between her legs.

Work could wait, Danse thought idly as Quinn’s breath grew heavy in his ear. For one night, it could all wait.

Danse stirred from his sleep. He blinked a few times, staring up into the darkness, and then reached out to Quinn. His hand fell into an empty space, the bed sheets still faintly warm. Danse frowned and propped himself up, squinting. No sign of her. He glanced down to the floor and saw her clothes and shoes were gone. Danse hesitated, wondering if he should just go back to sleep. She’d return. But something didn’t feel right, so he slipped out of bed, got dressed, and headed downstairs. As he suspected, she wasn’t there, and the front door wasn’t locked. There were a few places she might visit without telling him, but only one at this time of night. Biting his lip, Danse picked up his keys, locking the front door as he left, and striding off towards the graveyard.

Since the restructuring of Sanctuary, the pre-war buildings been demolished, including Quinn’s old house. The city’s graveyard stood on the foundations of her destroyed home. Quinn never really said anything about it and avoided the area, except when she went to visit Nate.

The air felt heavy in the graveyard, betraying Danse’s every move. He walked slowly and carefully, weaving in and out of the graves of all those who fell in the battle against Sanctuary. It was pitch black, and the ground was pitted and uneven—one bad step and he could break his ankle. No one would likely find him until morning. With this sombering thought in his mind, he took extra care, heading to the back of the graveyard, where Nate lay.

And Marguerie.

Danse hesitated and shivered. He hadn’t thought about her in over a decade. Old feelings erupted up in his chest, the shame of his failure gripping at his heart. He’d searched for Sarah for months. Years. Went as far as the Glowing Sea and the edges of the Commonwealth, before Quinn finally put her foot down.

“Arlen Glass is no combatant,” she’d said, “and Sarah is a child. If they’ve gone that far, they’re already dead.”

As much as he hated it, Danse agreed with Quinn. And so he’d stopped.

Failure.

He’d promised Marguerie and let her down. Danse visited her grave when he gave up and tried to explain, but it sounded like nothing but weak excuses to his ears. Quinn insisted if Rachel was alive, she’d understand he tried his best. Danse thought if Marguerie was alive, she’d tried to kill him. He kept her holotags and journal, though. Just in case.

Danse shook his head and moved on. Now was not the time to be lamenting over the past. He had to find Quinn. He stumbled and groped his way through the darkness, until he heard the sound of lapping water. He was close. “Quinn?”

“Danse?” she sounded surprised, and he followed her voice until her hand was in his.

“Everything okay?” he asked, squeezing her fingers. Now he was close to her, he could just make out her face.

“Yeah, I just…” She bit her lip and looked down at Nate’s grave. “I had a nightmare about Nate and Shaun, and I just...Shaun never had children. Nate never became a grandfather. And I…” Her voice cracked. “I wanted to visit him. It’s been a while.”

Danse glanced at the grave and back to her. “Do you need to be alone?”

“No.” She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned into him, still looking at the grave. “Stay. Please.”

He stayed.

They stood in silence for some time, Quinn sniffing a little in the dark. Then she squeezed his hand and they carefully picked their way back to the graveyard entrance together. She turned and hugged him, resting her head against his chest. He held her tight, the shaking of her shoulders telling him he should wait. When she pulled away, the street lamps showed the wet streaks on her cheeks. Danse wiped them away with his thumb and kissed her forehead. “Let’s go home. I’ll make you a drink and we—”

In the distance, an alarm sounded.

Quinn and Danse looked at each other. Then, without another word, both of them sprinted to the guard tower. Danse forged ahead, leaving her behind, and raced up the stairs to where MacCready was sat, rifle in hand, Mordecai next to him and peering at a nearby terminal.

“Brotherhood,” Mordecai said before Danse could speak. “They signalled ahead to let us know they were in the area. They’re asking for permission to approach.”

“Permission?” Danse asked, feeling sick to his stomach. Had they been discovered after all these years? The Brotherhood could wipe them off the map without lifting a finger, without batting an eyelid. “It’s odd they’d give away their location to ask us for permission.”

“Permission?” Quinn said as she burst into the room. “Who’s asking for permission?”

“Brotherhood,” said MacCready darkly, returning to peering through his rifle.

Quinn’s face drained of colour. “Brotherhood?”

“They haven’t attacked,” Danse said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “They’re asking to approach. They wouldn’t do that if they wanted to kill us.”

“Well maybe their tactics have changed, Danse!” Quinn snapped, her voice edging towards hysterical. “It’s been nearly two decades since you were with them!”

Danse agreed with her, but he needed to keep his cool. He turned to Mordecai. “How many?”

“Just the one vertibird that we can see,” Mordecai replied.

“Give them permission to land. Let’s see why the Brotherhood wants to visit our city.” Danse picked up a rifle from the gun cupboard, a visored helmet, and made for the door leading to the city entrance. A few seconds later, Quinn was at his side, a pistol and holster in her hands.

Danse glanced at her as he wedged the helmet on, the darkened visor making it difficult to see in the low light.

“I’m their sentinel, remember?” she said, answering his unspoken worries. Quinn put on the holster and slipped the gun into it. “Who better to talk them down than me?”

She was right of course, but that didn’t soothe Danse’s nerves. Once she’d set her mind to something, though, there was no point dissuading her. He lifted the visor up, leaned forward, and kissed her. “Be careful.”

Quinn smiled. “If they try to force their way into our city, we’re going to throw them out on their fucking asses.”

The distant buzz of the vertibird grew louder with every passing second. Quinn stood at the gates of Sanctuary, Danse next to her, her nerves cutting into him like broken glass. She remembered the day the Prydwen left the Commonwealth, and how she’d stood hand in hand with Danse on a bridge into the Boston ruins, watching it go. He’d said very little at the time, and even less afterwards, but Quinn knew what he’d been thinking. His first real home was flying away without him. He had been abandoned. The recovery after that blow had taken some time, even though Danse expected it.

Now the Brotherhood were back, and once again the old pains were returning to Danse’s handsome, weathered face. Quinn stared out into the darkness, hating the Brotherhood. Hating that they could drag up the past with just their mere presence. Danse had worked so hard over the years to get to where he was now, and they could undo it all in just a second. He didn’t deserve this shit.

Finally, the vertibird came into view, dazzling lights scanning the horizon, before settling in a neat spot some way from Sanctuary. Quinn felt herself tense. A figure in power armour got out, landed with a heavy ‘thud,’ and began to walk over, their hands raised in the air. Quinn and Danse glanced at each other. They’d never seen a Brotherhood soldier with their arms held up in surrender before.

As the soldier approached, Quinn recognised the paint work as a paladin’s, which made their behaviour even more peculiar. They slowly put their hands to their head, making sure Quinn and Danse knew exactly what they were doing, and carefully took their helmet off. Underneath was a dark skinned man with a scarred face and a big, bushy beard.

“Sir,” the man said, nodding to Danse. He looked at Quinn with a serious expression. “Ma’am.”

Quinn’s mouth dropped open. “Carson?”

Carson broke into a wide smile and began laughing. “Thank fuck you’re quick on the uptake. I couldn’t keep a straight face for much long—” He broke off as Quinn shoved her pistol into her holster and ran to him, jumping into a hug. He flinched, and then very gently hugged her back, compensating for his armour. “Hi,” he mumbled into her ear.

They broke apart and beamed at each other.

“You look like shit,” she said, tugging at his beard. “Forget how to shave or something?”

Carson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Tom says the same. I think it makes me look manly. Besides—” he carefully flicked at her hair, “—at least I’m not going grey.”

“Tom?” Quinn said, ignoring his jibe. “You’re still with Kapraski?”

“You sound surprised, ma’am!” came a voice from the vertibird. A tall, stocky man stuck his bald head out from the cockpit and waved enthusiastically.

Quinn waved back, feeling like she was in some sort of dream, but then frowned at Carson. “You brought Kapraski with you? But what about Danse?”

Carson shrugged. “Tom’s known about Paladin Danse the whole time. I told him what happened a few days after you left the Brotherhood.”

“You told him?” Quinn hissed, suddenly angry. “What if it had gone wrong? What if you and Kapraski fell out? What if—?”

“You told Elder Maxson about Rachel,” Carson said coolly. “You told him I knew about Paladin Danse. That could have gotten me and Kapraski killed, or worse. I decided if you could trust Elder Maxson, I wasn’t going to lie to Tom about Rachel. I won’t lie to him. Not even for you, Quinn.”

Quinn stared up at her old friend. Time had given him a backbone. He would never have been so decisive when they’d been on the Prydwen together. She smiled. “It seems being an officer suits you.”

Carson grinned back at her, and the tension passed. “Yeah, I think so too. Damn near shit myself when Maxson brought me into his confidence, but I reckon he only did that so he could keep an eye on me and make sure I wasn’t going to spill his dirty secret on Paladin Danse. Except we both realised I was actually competent when left to my own devices, instead of under someone else’s command. He made me a paladin shortly before he left the Citadel.”

“He left the Citadel?” Danse said, his tone full of shock.

Carson glanced over at Danse and nodded. “Yes, sir. Disappeared for a good while, too. Asked me to help keep things in order during his absence, because he said he would return. He just wanted to make sure power struggles were kept to a minimum, and no radical redirecting of the Brotherhood’s agenda.” Carson pulled a face. “Good thing he thinks ahead. Second he left, all sorts of opportunists came crawling out of the woodworks.” He paused, tilting his head. “Not Kells, though, oddly enough. He didn’t care who was in power, just so long as he could keep flying the Prydwen.”

Carson looked back at Danse—who was still wearing his helmet—and said, “There’s no one else in the area, sir, I promise. You’re safe. We made a solo trip.”

“You would need to refuel,” Danse said, taking off his helmet anyway and scowling suspiciously at Carson.

Carson shook his head. “Doctor Li’s been doing wonders with alternative fuelling methods for the vertibirds and the Prydwen, with the help of the integrated scientists you made Maxson rescue from the Institute. Some nuclear shit I don’t understand, no matter how many times Li explains it to me.”

Quinn blinked, trying to take it all in. Carson was a paladin. Li was still with the Brotherhood, and more importantly, so were the Institute scientists. Kapraski was flying again. Maxson left the Prydwen. Did he really take her advice on board all those years ago?

“I think we need a proper catch-up,” Quinn said, motioning for her guards to stand down. “Come on. We’ll go to my office.”

They waited for Kapraski to wriggle his way out of the vertibird and stump over to them. Quinn saw he had a mechanised prosthetic leg, and once again marvel swept over her as he walked freely to them. His pace was a little unsteady, the weight of his new leg obviously making things unbalanced, but he reached them just fine and grinned.

“Would you mind if some of your men just keep an eye on my ‘bird, please, ma’am?” He looked over his shoulder at the vertibird the same way a father would look at his newborn child. “Don’t want anything happening to her. She’s valuable equipment and our only way home.”

“Sure. Danse, would you…?”

Danse nodded and signalled up for two of the guards to come down to the gates. Carson rolled his eyes. “Everyone used to ask if we were ever gonna adopt one of the squires that lost their parents, but the way I see it, we already have a child in the family.” He looked from the vertibird to Kapraski, and the two of them chuckled.

Quinn smiled, remembering how nervous Carson used to be around Kapraski.

Once the vertibird was secured, the four of them made their way to the mayoral office, Danse keeping unusually close to Quinn and glaring at the two soldiers whenever he thought she couldn’t see him. As they went inside the building, she put her hand on his arm and gave it a small squeeze.

“Relax,” she whispered.

“I’ll relax when they’re gone,” Danse muttered back. If Carson and Kapraski heard him, they didn’t comment, following Quinn and Danse in silence upstairs. Carson got out of his power armour, and they all settled into chairs in her office, while Quinn handed out drinks.

“So what happened with everyone?” she asked as she sat down opposite Carson. “How is Casey?”

“Head of the scribes. Proctor Shingler now,” Carson said, leaning back in his chair. He raised his eyebrow at Quinn’s shocked expression. “What, you never suspected she was a high flyer?”

“Well no, I knew she was smart but…” Quinn shrugged. “The last time I saw her she was barely alive. Even when she woke up I wasn’t sure if she’d ever be the same again.”

“She’s kicking ass at her job. Quinlan was right to pick her as his protégée.”

“Is Quinlan still helping her adjust?”

“No. He died about—” Carson paused, his brow furrowing. “—seven years ago. Suspected heart attack.”

“Oh.” Quinn blinked. She hadn’t particularly liked or disliked Quinlan, but the news wasn’t welcomed all the same. “I’m sorry to hear it. What about the other proctors? Are they okay?”

“Let’s see…” Carson began counting them off on his fingers, one by one. “Ingram’s the same, scary as ever. Working closely with Doctor Li, even after Liberty Prime went bust and no one could fix it again. Kells is still running day to day stuff on the ship, but he’s under Maxson’s thumb now rather than the other way around, and Teagan…” Carson trailed off, biting his lip. “Teagan started drinking when we got back to the Citadel. Died a few years later. He was one of Cade’s last patients.”

The news of Teagan stung a bit more than Quinlan’s, but the mention of Cade took priority. Quinn had been fond of the Knight-Captain. “Cade’s last…?”

“Oh, he’s not hurt!” Carson said quickly, flapping his hands, his eyes wide. “I think after Teagan went, Cade just had enough. Stepped down from his position and began training Field-Scribe Haylen to take his place. She pretty much runs the sick bay now, but Cade advises her from time to time, when she needs him.”

Danse sat up straighter in his seat at the mention of Haylen. “How is she doing? Is she well?”

Carson smiled and nodded. “Yeah, she’s doing fine. You couldn’t ask for a kinder doctor. Knight-Captain Cade seems fond of her—very protective, like she’s his daughter or something. He was with her when she got married ten years ago.”

“Married to who?”

“Knight-Sergeant Karl Hewer. We all still call her Haylen, though.”

The name felt familiar to Quinn, though she couldn’t place why. She looked at Danse, who seemed surprised at this revelation. She saw his lips silently form the word ‘Rhys?’ before he gave a little shrug and sat back in his chair again.

“But things have been really moving forward in terms of technology,” Carson said, swigging from his bottle and grinning lazily. “We’re managing to keep all the dangerous tech under wraps, and the tech that can help improve people’s lives—including our own—is being constantly developed. The Institute scientists have been a great help.”

“How on earth did you manage to keep them?” Quinn asked, still not able to wrap her head around this. “And Li, too? She made it clear the Brotherhood pissed her off.”

Carson simply said, “Maxson.” There was a moment of silence, and Carson went on. “He put his foot down and made sure they stayed. Didn’t make them or anything, but basically persuaded them it was safer working with the Brotherhood than roaming alone in the wasteland. Most of them had never survived in the open before, so they were just grateful for a place to live. Doctor Li and Doctor Virgil took them into their care, closely monitored, and began working on approved projects.”

“Bet the others didn’t like that.”

“Oh god no. They had to have trusted guards assigned to them for their own protection in the end. But over time, things changed. Maxson is a force to be reckoned with, and when the scientists began working wonders for the Citadel and the Capital Wasteland, the mood changed pretty quickly.”

“But you said Maxson disappeared,” Danse interjected, looking interested again. “That he left. What happened to the scientists then?”

“They became my responsibility,” Carson replied. “I made sure they stayed safe, just like I was asked. And to be honest, people were more concerned with Maxson’s absence and the power vacuum left behind than a small group of eggheads. He didn’t tell anyone beforehand. Just sent out some scheduled messages saying he was going to do some private work somewhere, and gave a list of people to run the show while he was gone. I was on that list, along with a few others. But people fought amongst themselves, of course.” Carson grinned. “Lucky for you, really. Everyone was so focused on finding a leader, they disregarded the reports of a potential synth settlement in the Commonwealth.”

Quinn went cold. The Brotherhood knew about Sanctuary?

“Are we at risk of an attack?” Danse said sharply.

Carson shook his head. “If you were, an attack would have happened years ago. But when Maxson came back, he was...different.”

“Different?” Danse leaned forward and frowned.

“I can’t explain it, sir. Just...different. He looked lighter. Like some weight had been pulled off his shoulders. And the first thing he did was drag us all away from hunting down synths and treating civilised ghouls like shit. So, naturally, a mini civil war broke out amongst the ranks. All the hardcore Brotherhood traditionalists claiming Maxson was leading us down a dark path.”

“Like when Owyn Lyons decided to help the common wastelanders?” Danse asked, raising his eyebrows.

Carson nodded. “Yeah, like that. Except Maxson has the power of persuasion that Owyn didn’t. Used the Maxson name and influence to his benefit, and pointed out the codex doesn’t say we have to distance ourselves from ghouls and synths. He said he destroyed the Institute, and that the synths were free of being controlled. They could live their lives like normal humans. Without orders, they were no longer technology being used for experiments and weaponry, just people trying to get by.”

“Did that work?”

“It shut a few of the traditionalists up, but more importantly, the neutral majority were convinced, and they kept the more radical people in line. Maxson was careful after that. He went over plans with me, and across the years we’ve been slowly changing things to match Owyn Lyons’ way of thinking—helping out wastelanders and building good relationships with them, y’know? People grumbled, but Elder Maxson convinced them mutual aid were worth the hassle. We protect them, they supply us with food and other things we can’t get ourselves.”

“It didn’t work when Elder Lyons tried,” Danse said, frowning. “Why would now be any different?”

“The change was so gradual, no one really noticed at first,” Carson replied with a shrug. “And when they did, most didn’t care because they were used to it. The ones who protested, Elder Maxson accused of being no better than raiders, stealing from the helpless. He said the Brotherhood were above that: an organisation with a noble cause. But if they wanted to be common raiders, they were welcome to leave.”

Quinn snorted. Carson grinned at her. “Yeah, it’s a load of shit, but sometimes using the right rhetoric works wonders. Our chapter didn’t splinter like Owyn’s, and even the naysayers eventually came around. The only real concern we have left now are the elders in the west.”

“They’ve always been a concern,” Danse said, looking annoyed. “Interfering where they weren’t wanted or needed, causing more turmoil than any other threat in the wasteland.”

Carson nodded. “They’re still an issue, but for the moment aren’t actively working against us. They’re unwilling to openly stand against the last descendent of Maxson, so Elder Maxson is pressing hard on that point to keep things in his favour.”

The news was troubling, but in all honesty, it wasn’t Quinn’s problem. Maxson wasn’t a young man anymore, and the strife within the Brotherhood was his responsibility. The very concept felt liberating.

“And speaking of Maxson,” Carson said, standing up and walking over to his power armour. “He wanted me to give you this, sir.” Carson removed a package and an envelope from the armour, strode towards Danse, and held the package out to him. Danse took it warily, never taking his eyes off Carson. He opened it with great care, and then drew in a sharp breath.

Quinn straightened up and saw a red book and a set of tarnished holotags in Danse’s lap. He picked up the tags, grief rippling through his expression as he held them up to the light. Then his fingers closed around them, and he clutched them tight to his chest, bowing his head. An old memory surfaced in Quinn’s mind like a shipwreck dragged from the depths of a murky lake.

“He kept it?”

Elder Maxson ran his fingers over the deep red book, embossed with peeling silver letters. He picked it up and tucked it carefully under his arm, his expression pained for a second, before a forced blankness took over. Then he took hold of the holotags, glaring at Quinn as she begged to keep them.

“Tags go to the next of kin. These should never have been kept.”

Quinn snapped back to the present as Danse opened the book, the silver embossed letters catching in the low light just long enough for Quinn to read ‘The Tales of King Arthur.’

Danse scanned the page, eyebrows knotted together in concentration as his free hand slowly slid down the open page. Then the his face lit up with something Quinn couldn’t place, and he gave a low laugh before looking up at Carson. For the first time that night, Danse smiled at the Brotherhood soldiers. He closed the book and said, “Tell Elder Maxson thank you, and…” he hesitated, that strange look crossing his features again. “Tell him I have reconsidered. He will know what I mean.”

Carson appeared as confused as Quinn felt, but he nodded and agreed to pass on the message. Then he turned to Quinn. “The Elder has something for you as well.” He held out the envelope to her.

She took it, her confusion mounting, and opened the envelope. Inside were detailed blueprints, far beyond her understanding. She wouldn’t have been able to deduce them at all, if it wasn’t for the fact ‘WATER PURIFIER’ was written across the top in big, bold letters. Quinn blinked, holding them aloft, and looked back to Carson. “I don’t understand. We have plenty of industrial purifiers.”

Carson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I thought you might say that. This is the mother of all purifiers, decades worth of research from Doctor Li, built upon the back of the original purifier in D.C. This baby is efficient, powerful, and most of all, has low fuel consumption for its size. Elder Maxson thought it might help your thriving community stay self sufficient, and benefit the rest of the Commonwealth in the process.”

Quinn stared at Carson, and then at the blueprints. Her chest felt tight, but it wasn’t with fear or anxiety. She remembered Maxson as he was, an angry, sheltered young man with too much grief and burden on his back, oblivious to his own ignorance. She glanced up at Carson and said, “How long has Elder Maxson known about Sanctuary and the people who live here?”

Carson smiled. “Years.”

Quinn and Danse looked at each other, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. Quinn put the blueprints back in their envelope.

Sanctuary was safe.

Paladin Carson and Knight-Lancer Kapraski left not long afterwards. Quinn argued with them, trying to get them to stay longer, but they both insisted they needed to return back to base. Eventually, she relented, hugging them both and telling them to stay in contact. That they were welcome any time.

Danse agreed. He even shook their hands.

Danse stood with Quinn and watched the vertibird leave, their fingers entwined, like the day the Prydwen departed the Commonwealth. Back then, it felt as if a knife had been run through his chest. Now, the wound had finally healed.

When the light of the vertibird disappeared into the darkness, they walked back through the streets of Sanctuary, ignoring the curious faces silhouetted in the windows. The lights went out one by one, and soon the city was asleep again.

Danse turned over Cutler’s holotags in his hands. The book was a treasure, but the tags? After twenty years, he had been reunited with Cutler. The gratitude Danse felt was inexplicable. He had Cutler back.

He had Cutler back.

Quinn stayed quiet the whole way home. She understood. He needed this moment for himself.

When they reached their bedroom, however, she looked at him and said, “I don’t get what you said to Carson. About reconsidering. What does that mean?”

Danse grinned, amused. “Maxson added a personal note inside the cover. Here.” He passed the precious book to Quinn. She hesitated, and then accepted it, opening the book and reading the note aloud.

“Twenty years have passed since we last spoke. Two decades to think over mistakes and regrets, and what could have been. Apologies that were never uttered. Wrongs that were never righted.

In that time, I hope your stance over Sir Lancelot and Lady Guinevere has been reconsidered.

May the rest of your days be peaceful.

Arthur.”

Quinn looked up at Danse and frowned. “I don’t get it. Is he apologising to you?”

“As best he can,” Danse said. When Quinn still looked puzzled, he laughed, taking the book from her and shutting it. “An old joke between distant friends. Don’t worry about it.”

Quinn shrugged and began getting ready for bed for the second time that night, while Danse strode over to the shelf opposite him, where Marguerie’s journal lay. He looked at the old, battered book for a moment, her holotags and Zippo lighter neatly placed atop the worn leather. With the greatest care, Danse set ‘The Tales of King Arthur’ down next to the journal, and put Cutler’s tags down onto the red cover.

Some things didn’t work out. And some things did. Danse hoped wherever Sarah was now, she was happy.

Danse changed for bed and settled down with Quinn, his mind buzzing with the night’s events. He heard her say something about how Hancock was arriving first thing in the morning with his newest bodyguard, but Danse couldn’t focus on the words. He mumbled a response, still wrapped up in Maxson’s gesture, and put his arm around Quinn as she snuggled up to him.

Danse gazed at the ceiling, only faintly aware of the orange shafts of light creeping through their room. His thoughts were a tired, blissful haze. The absence of guilt, it seemed, was a hell of a sedative.

A small, snuffling snort drew his attention back to Quinn. He glanced down to see she had fallen asleep, her breath fluttering softly against his chest. Danse smiled to himself.

“May the rest of your days be peaceful.”

Somehow, he suspected they would.

A/N: And that, as they say...is that.

As I’ve said often, I only ever intended for this story to be ten chapters long. Then it took on a life of its own, and suddenly here we are, a year and eight months later, finally at the end. Some might say I took too long, but I honestly don’t care. I set out to rewrite the narrative of Fallout 4, and I’m damned please with the result, and surprised I managed to actually stick to it.

Thank you to all my readers, especially those who left comments. Without you, I probably would have stopped early on. It’s hard to stay invested and motivated without any feedback.

Thank you to one particular reviewer, who helped me fine tune my research on PTSD. You were extremely helpful.

Thank you to all the people who helped me with other research, such as Spanish translations, American police stories and habits, and general betaing.

But the biggest thank you goes to my consistent beta, @waiting4morning. This story would not have taken the directions it did or be of any good quality without her.

And let’s say a congratulations to one of my reviewers, ‘Dodo,’ who recently had a cute lil’ baby girl called Yara! ;)

And finally, if you’re sad about the end of BNC, then fear not. I have other fanfics in the works set in the BNC universe. They won’t be centred around Quinn and Danse, as their story is now over. But Quinn and Danse will crop up and be alluded to. Just not as main characters.

One fic is going to be based around Nuka World and Gage. The other will be based around Hancock himself. I will be writing these fics slightly differently to BNC, in that I’m going to write out the entire fic first and then update on a weekly basis. This will prevent inconsistent updates and save me a great deal of stress. I will be posting the first chapter of my next fic so that you can ‘follow’ it for updates, and then I will begin updating it when I finish writing it.

I deliberately left a few loose ends in BNC to allow me to explore certain characters without revealing what happened to them.

So without further ado, I present...

Making One’s Bones

Read on...

#Fallout 4 #Paladin Danse #ss x danse #sole survivor x danse #fallout 4 fanfic #by no constraint #story #writing

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fair-fae · 7 years

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You know, I'm not a drama person, I don't like it, but it came up on my dash so much that I kind of had to read it. All of that nonsense could've been avoided if you didn't even take it to the public. Judging people for THEIR characters that THEY made and can do WHATEVER the hell they want with them? Oh woo ho good job, you're so popular for taking the "barrage" of it. No. all it did was prove that you're a D-bag and I've got a nice, long list of people to block now and avoid contact with.

Okay, anon. I haven’t bothered setting the record straight with most of this shit, because I know folks like you will continue to believe what you want to believe and hear what you want to hear, just like you’re doing now. But I’ll bite. You’d think all of you getting onto your soapbox about how you shouldn’t judge or attack others wouldn’t keep talking shit about a situation you know nothing about and/or are terribly misinformed about. So I’ll enlighten you with what actually happened.

A while back, the person in question got into an argument with some people on the RPC, trying to tell them that their interpretation of the lore was wrong. Rather than leaving it at that, when he effectively got shut down there, he proceeded to take a screenshot of the conversation and post it on his tumblr, complete with a rant about the people who disagreed with him, their opinions are so wrong and awful, how dare they disagree with him, etc. essentially playing the victim when he was the one to try to badger them for their opinions in the first place. He also left their names, icons, signatures, etc. in full view.I responded and told him he probably shouldn’t be trying to harass any other people about the lore considering his own character concept (thus, you would think, making my opinion on his character pretty clear). Why? Because it’s fucking true.I don’t give a shit about the lore or whether anyone follows it. Probably every single one of my own characters at least bends the lore. But at least have the self-awareness and respect for your fellow role-players to say “yeah, my character breaks the lore” or not get your jimmies rustled every time someone says “oh, yeah, his character is lore breaking.” You wanna break the lore? Cool. Own up to it. And if you do break the lore, don’t try to force everyone else into following it–especially when you can’t even admit you break lore and instead stretch the lore to try so hard to justify your entirely lore-breaking character concept. Don’t try to heckle people for presumably doing what you do but won’t admit. Granted, these people weren’t even breaking lore anyway, which makes his insistence that they were even more ridiculous.So after some excuses about how he was trying to start some intellectual discussion or something and not just drag these people despite featuring their identities and primarily just complaining about them throughout the post, he admitted he should have at least edited out their names and apologized. Great! You’d think that should be the end of it. I didn’t have anything against him at that point, but also had no desire/reason to associate with him, so I didn’t. A couple months go by. Some post comes across my dash. A girl in the community is doxxing her online ex-boyfriend in a callout post about him for unexpectedly breaking up with her because she “thinks” he was lying to her about serious issues and “believes” he was cheating on her. Because I’m a loud and opinionated person, and because that’s some heinous thing to do, I spoke out against it (via a post on my own blog without naming names, mind you, because I’m not going to hijack someone else’s post with negativity or call them out by name). The girl found it, assumed it was about herself, flipped out, and then of course I was the bad guy for saying doxxing isn’t okay. And then the person in question joins in. Not even to discuss the topic at hand, but to dredge up the old drama about how I was so mean to him and he did nothing wrong, etc. A pretty crappy 180 turn for a person who apologized and made it seem like there were no hard feelings, but whatever. Someone saw that he obviously didn’t like me, and seized the chance to try to talk shit and spread rumors because they knew he’d give them the platform. They sent him some anon about how I hate women (lmao). And of course, he published it, with no skepticism or disagreement, only more commentary about how I’m mean and awful. I went to respond, only to find myself blocked. So I went on about my life because it’s not that big of a deal, but hey. The moment you talk shit about me, especially in a venue where I can’t respond, especially facilitating some lies and BS rumors, especially after leading me to believe we’d made amends–you aren’t off limits. You don’t get spared niceness and politeness. Is that mean and petty? Probably.¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’ve never claimed to be a nice person.Now, to the horrible, awful thing I did to make this “public.” Fast forward to yesterday. I’d kept my mouth shut and left him alone. In a section of the RPC that doesn’t get a ton of traffic, largely because you have to make an account on the website and then manually opt in to this specific forum, several of us were discussing an absolutely awful person which is an unrelated story I won’t get into. Someone asked something along the lines of, “Are you guys talking about Underaged Looking Allagan Voidsent Chimera Demon Guy?” I responded with basically “No, we’re not talking about Underaged Looking Allagan Voidsent Chimera Demon Guy.” And that was it. We moved on with the conversation because he wasn’t who we’d been talking about. His name, tumblr, server info, in game race, class, etc. was all never given. No identifiable information beyond a very brief and tongue-in-cheek description of his RP character comprised of words taken directly from his own wiki, tumblr info, talk of his own character and RP posts.Someone saw the conversation, and based on our intentionally shitty description, was able to accurately guess who we were talking about and send him an anon to tell him about it. You’d think that would be pretty telling about his own RP, and this anon’s interpretation of it. He answered the anon in a long rant about me that featured both my in game name and my tumblr handle. In case you need me to spell this out for you, he went public with it first. I’ll also remind you that I was blocked, so I wasn’t/couldn’t be following him, and I was not properly @tagged in this rant, so I never would have seen it unless someone told/linked me, or someone I follow eventually reblogged it. And I honestly can’t imagine the level of narcissism it takes to write a long personal post full of wangst and victim-playing every time you hear a person had something negative to say about you or your RP character (not even by name–and by picking words from his own descriptions of his character), especially a person you have had issues with in the past and who you openly shit-talked yourself prior. Who does that? Lord knows my blog would be overflowing. Not everyone will like you, especially not people you jabbed at first. Especially not with an off the wall RP concept. Especially not with you trying to pass that concept is lore abiding and just “unusual.” Especially not with you trying to tell other people they’re “wrong” about the lore. Especially not with your character being a squicky, walking fetish and immortal jailbait. And that’s not even touching other things people have told me about this person that rubbed them the wrong way. Move on with your life.However, I found out about the post thanks to the OP himself when he unblocked me just to send me the link to the post and then before I could even read/respond to the post, sent me a barrage of IM’s still playing the innocent victim which is grating enough on its own but also included him straight up lying about ever posting/saying anything about me, insisting he’d done nothing to me, had nothing against me, this was so out of the blue and uncalled for, etc. When I pointed out this wasn’t the case, that I had seen and read the posts firsthand because blocking me doesn’t prevent me from seeing his posts, he began to lie instead about the contents of said posts and pulled some gaslighting bullshit about how I had just “misread” them, all the while either willfully or coincidentally not seeming to understand anything I said to him (I mentioned him publishing the anon about how I hate women at least twice and the response was always “I never said you hate women!!” Well no shit). He kept insisting that I had “gone behind his back” and that if I had a problem I should “say it to his face” despite the fact he’d had me blocked and that I’m not a douchey enough person to try to contact him despite that, and despite the fact that he had “gone behind my back” and not “said it to my face” twice now prior, and had done just that with his post about the folks from the RPC as well.He also insisted that the tumblr post was meant just to innocently “bring the issue to my attention to clear things up” despite me having no way to see it on my own unless by coincidence, and despite him proving to be willing and able to send me IM’s instead, which you’d think could render the need for a public post moot. When I pointed this out, he promptly deleted the post, lest anyone else see through his bullshit to what he was really trying to do.After my initial response to his wall of IM’s, he sent another wall this time with more insults and accusations, and promptly blocked me so I couldn’t respond. So yes, I made a vaguepost, I know, how awful, how dare I. A vague post vague enough that only someone who had seen his post, or who heard about it from him otherwise, would know who and what it was referencing. Until he responded to it himself, that is and unblocked me again to send me more angry messages to which I responded by permanently blocking him instead because this game of blocking and unblocking sure was getting old.Cue his charming friends sweeping in to tell me to eat a dick, making false accusations against my RP partner and I, sending me threats on Discord, telling people I flashed my breasts for money, etc. And the other person? The one who brought him up in the first place who I had only been responding to? Whose name he was given, was aired in the same public post on his blog as mine? As far as I know, she hasn’t gotten any hate, probably not a single message. And I’m glad, because she shouldn’t get any, she doesn’t deserve it. But at the same time, sure seems sketchy that the person who did the same exact thing as me–and who did it first–has not provoked anyone’s ire, not even been messaged. The public post in reply to the anon who named her, even, was aimed 100% at me. Now isn’t that funny. It’s almost like this was an excuse for people who already had beef with me to try to take shots at me and pretend it was justified. It’s almost like all you anon keyboard warriors don’t even know how this started or what actually happened.And now I’m going to talk about something else. You cannot do “whatever the hell you want” with your character. RP is a two-way (or more) street. There is a real person behind each and every character. These people are looking for fun just like you, and are every bit as deserving, and your fun shouldn’t impede on theirs. We are all allowed equal parts of fun.So when people play their weird ass lolicon/shotacon/pedobait characters, who is having fun? What if the other person in the RP was sexually abused as a child and you’re dredging up terrible old memories for them and making light of their pain? What if they’re a parent worried for their child, or worse, the parent of a child who’s already been abused? What if they’re an actual pedophile and seeing you RP this is tempting them, making them think they’re desires are normal and okay? Hell, what if they’re a goddamn ordinary person who finds it creepy and uncomfortable?What if the fetishized, futa ERP avatar is interacting with someone who is trans or nonbinary or intersex IRL? What if it’s triggering them (in the genuine, real sense of the word)? What if the walking affront against the lore character talking about being an Voidsent Half-Primal Garlean Spy in the middle of the Quicksand is ruining everyone’s immersion–particularly when they refuse to play along as others respond realistically IC and try to kill them or arrest them or kick them out? What if the OP af infinitely-stronger-than-everyone-else-around-him character is making the RP unfun for every other RPer involved because their characters can’t do anything but get beaten up or bow to his whims unless they stoop to godmodding or suddenly beefing up their own character?People can and will judge your character. Those judgments are usually best left kept themselves or quietly shared between trustworthy friends. But when your character trespasses on the OOC fun of the role-players around you? Sorry, my guy, people have every right to speak up. And all this nonsense? All this nonsense was a small handful of people who were already pretty nasty showing their true colors and getting told to pipe the fuck down. A pretty good outcome, if you ask me. So, please, block me, anon. My life will be better without idiots like you in it, and the same probably goes for anyone else you intend to block. Your nameless, ignorant, anonymous presence will not be missed–or noticed, for that matter.

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