Tumgik
#and the armor is by far the best armor ive seen on a woman in cinema too damn
limnsaber · 6 months
Text
Mandalorian Slash Fic Rec List - Volume IV: ArmorKatan, DinCobb, BobaDin, Others
What it says in the title! 💜 means a personal favorite of mine. Volumes I, II, and III can be found at the associated links, as well as Mando Gen Volumes I, II and III. Give your love to our beloved authors, and please enjoy! -Limn <3
Bo-Katan/The Armorer
your hands in the heat by noraelle (Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer, Missing Scene, Gen, 2.5k)
Bo let her gaze drift across the surreal mix of Mandalorians sprawled out in front of her on deck before letting it linger on the Armorer, who was still tending to the wounded, changing medpads. The movement of her hands was quick and skilled, similar to the few times she had seen the other woman forge beskar, telling her this most likely wasn’t the first time she’d been in charge of patching up a group of injured. or: bo has a lot of thoughts, gets teased by koska and the pirates ship turns out to be the perfect backdrop for a heart-to-heart
💜 accidents let the evening in the back door by @swampcowboy (Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Teen, 7k)
They might as well put it in the papers: Former Up-and-Coming Political Spitfire Turned Alleged Domestic Terrorist Found Absolutely Fucking Pathetic, Might As Well Be Dead, Aged 36. Because nobody who found themselves plastered at a fringe Mando bar for the third Friday night in a row had anything left to contribute to the world, obviously. (Or, Bo-Katan Kryze finds herself in the depths of a personal crisis at a birthday party for some asshole she doesn't even know. She makes the best of a bad situation. The Armorer helps.)
why don't you close your eyes and reinvent me by @novasforce (Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer, Missing Scene, Mature, 1k)
But she keeps her helmet grasped between steady hands, keeps her eyes focused and unblinking, and her head held high. She is Bo-Katan Kryze, and she is none of the weaknesses that had once gotten her sister killed; she is forged from beskar in both body and mind, unshakable and impenetrable. Or: a meeting in the Forge beneath Nevarro
DinCobb
how it feels when we fall, when we fold by @ckerouac (Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Missing Scene, Gen, 11k)
“Well… shit, Mando,” Cobb breathed, resetting the safety on his blaster and holstering it. “This isn’t exactly what I meant when I said I hoped our paths crossed again.” Din gave a humorless chuckle and let his head fall back against the wall. “This isn’t how I saw it going either.” Cobb takes in a grieving Mandalorian, who isn't quite ready to accept he's grieving yet.
They got me and I’ll never give up (But I need you to save me now) by @emmeddt (Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, Mistaken Identity, POV Cobb Vanth, Fluff and Angst, Explicit, 33k)
“You planning of making a mess in my town?” The answer is immediate, right to the point. “You planning on shooting me?” Cobb decides to play it safe: he doesn’t remove his hand from the blaster. “Not if it can be avoided.” The stranger’s lips break apart in more than one place when he produces another little grin, a sarcastic twitch, but somehow Cobb knows that the smile is not for him: it’s meant for the stranger himself. “Maybe it can’t,” the guy says after a beat. “Maybe it would be better that way.” -- Or: my take on what really happens after Din is forced to say goodbye to Grogu.
BobaDin
think not, the eleventh commandment by qigiined (Din Djarin/Boba Fett, Ensemble Cast, Family Dynamics, Disabled Character, Moby Dick AU, Mature, 18k)
Boba leaves Djarin to his tracking while he takes deep breaths and tries to convince himself that running screaming into the wastes is not how he is going to deal with all this. He needs to think smarter, not harder. The sarlacc is an enormous motherfucking terror dome. It cannot move far, and it cannot possibly move fast. If it moved, it has to be around here somewhere. Someone has to have felt it or seen it. Someone has to know something about sarlaccs. Someone living. Someone dead. (Boba sets out to hunt his white whale.)
💜 still got it by qigiined (Rex/The Armorer, Din Djarin/Boba Fett, Ensemble Cast, Romance, Drama, Teen, 14k)
Bly points out that it’s a good thing that Boba has found a connection with someone who is so orderly and collected. Opposites attract, he says. “Mando only remembers he exists twice a day,” Fives deadpans. “When he speaks,” Cody corrects. “Guys, you don’t know that,” Bly says. “He could be just as smitten. Rex, you dated a Mandalorian once. Tell them.” All eyes land on Rex. He begins to sink into his chair. (Rex dated the Armorer back in the day and finds her again when he meets the guy who Boba is trying to court.)
Rarepair/Multi
oh you little night by qigiined (Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Boba Fett, Ensemble Cast, Misunderstandings, Drama, Romance, Mature, 18k)
Cobb can’t help smiling wryly and wondering if the Mandalorian has been looking for someone to take home who his mama would approve of. He wonders if the Mandalorian’s knees went weak in the face of Boba Fett’s endless list of successful bounties. He wonders if he stammers when he tries to talk to him. It would be cute if so. Cobb’s jaw has been aching for the last two days. (Cobb Vanth is called down to Anchorhead to investigate a case on behalf of a Tatooine historical society. He leaves having just learned that the Mandalorian he's been opening his heart to has been opening his heart to someone else.)
Everything Else by skywalkers (Han Solo/Paz Vizsla, Background Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Ensemble Cast, Mandalorian Religion, Force-Sensitive Paz Vizsla, Teen, 39k)
The Armorer raises her hand. “The Manda appeared before you, for which you are destined. You have toiled under this dishonor, and now the Gods have shown their favor. But these portents show more.” She takes a moment to gather herself; Paz hears it in the air like a hammer. “You will have your glory and name, Paz Vizsla. And you will betray Din Djarin.” - Paz receives a vision from the Gods promising his redemption—and Din's doom. While struggling with his new connection to the Gods, he and Han Solo, a general of the New Republic, are sent to the planet of Corellia to investigate a covert that's gone missing.
14 notes · View notes
sheepibum · 1 year
Text
Title: a constellation of blood drops
Summary: Tekkadan decides to salvage Gaelio’s mobile suit for spare parts; turns out that the most useful one is the pilot. To the dismay of everyone involved.
i | ii | iii | iv
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
V. ad astra (to the stars)
Naze Turbine is smiling, surrounded by beautiful women, as far as Gaelio can see in the screen. If that is not that man’s idea of a preemptive strike, then Gaelio will eat his family crest for breakfast.
“Ah, so you’re the one who convinced the old man to ground me for the past months,” he says, with a pleasant smile. Gaelio thanks his family for his severe upbringing, not for the first time, as it is the one thing keeping him for showing his discomfort on his face, on the rigidity of his spine.
“That I am,” he answers, instead, his voice a spring of steadiness. “I can explain myself, if you like, but I also have a request to make.”
Naze waves his hand in the air, suddenly casual.
“There’s no need, no need. The old man said enough and I’ve been drawing my own conclusions from Tekkadan’s actions, you know?”
Gaelio knows; Orga and Merribit maintain constant contact with the Turbines and no amount of cajoling would have convinced them to stop, so he hadn’t even tried. The man on the screen suddenly leans forward, lacing his fingers and placing his chin on top, smiling razor sharp.
“I appreciate that you’re looking out for my little brother, even if it meant driving us away from them. But I’ll have you know some of my girls weren’t very happy with that.”
As if on cue, several of the women started voicing exactly how unhappy they were with that decision. A good intimidation tactic, he supposes. Very effective, given the feeling of heat on his ears.
“I apologize if I caused you any strife, Mr. Naze, but it was done with the best intentions in mind.”
“Oh, yes,” the woman draped around Naze, smiles, not sharp with the promise of retribution, but with the knowledge of having seen all of the players’ cards and coming out on top. “If that hadn’t been the case we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place.”
“I... see.”
“Ah, forgive my darling Amida,” Naze smiles besottedly at the woman, a striking contrast with his previous attitude. “She’s become very protective of Tekkadan, you see. But now, I think you should tell us what is this request of yours. I’m sure you know that we’ve been having trouble with certain Teiwaz’ branches, so if you need help with that you’re better off asking the old man or even Orga directly.”
Gaelio is also aware of this, having convinced Merribit of going along with his plans, even those he has kept from Orga. He’s truly beginning to master the art of subterfuge; finally he can see why Rustal Elion is so fond of using such underhanded tactics when they promise victory with the least amount of sacrifices. It’s ironic that he’s about to use that knowledge against the man himself. Gaelio looks directly at Naze, plasters a charming smile on his face and says:
“I need your ship.”
It’s a good plan. He has been perfecting it with McGillis’ help ever since the incident with the Mobile Armor, Merribit and McMurdo both gave him their approval, and even Orga cleared it once he finally told Tekkadan about it, although not before threatening him to never withhold something like that from them again or else. Even Naze was convinced, which is why the plan can be put in motion at all, because he needed the Turbines’ Hammerhead.
It’s a good, solid plan with a decent chance of success. And even if it fails, Tekkadan and the Turbines should have enough sense as to make the best of it to expose yet another example of Gjallarhorn’s corruption. The maximum number of casualties would be two, and one of those would be Gaelio himself, who is already dead for all intents and purposes, anyway.
It’s a good plan, is what he keeps telling himself, as he traverses the route they have purposely leaked to Jasley and his goons, as the sole pilot of the Turbines’ ship with nothing but a very illegal weapon and a very grumpy child for company.
“We’re detecting several Ahab reactor signals approaching,” announces said grumpy child. “It doesn’t look like the JPT Trust.”
Gaelio takes a deep breath.
“No, it’s probably not.”
Aston looks at him, his eyes boring into him with a kind of interest that is trying very hard not to be interested in the first place.
“Gjallarhorn?”
Gaelio allows himself a smile.
“It looks like our plan worked.”
(Aston frowns at the use of the plural, because Tekkadan had very little to do with this plan, but he supposes that Gaelio is mostly part of Tekkadan by now, no matter what the man himself says.)
“We still need them to try to confiscate the Dainsleaf, or to attack us without provocation.”
“Please,” Gaelio snorts, finally having the visual of the insignia ship that looms ever closer to them. “That there is Iok Kujan, I’d be honestly surprised if he opens communications before a salvo of ‘warning shots’.”
Aston opens his mouth to give his opinion and almost bites his tongue at the sudden lurch of the ship caused by, what else, a barrage of shots from the main ship itself. A voice-only transmission is immediately sent to all Gjallarhorn ships and Gaelio has to fight off his smile trying to make his voice sound distressed.
“We request the immediate cease of hostilities! I repeat, we request the immediate cease of hostilities! This ship is carrying dangerous cargo that could easily be set off with an attack. I repeat—”
Gaelio doesn’t get to repeat himself, because their ship is attacked again, and the both of them almost tumble off their seats, even as an elated expression takes over Gaelio’s face.
(‘Space rats’ is a term Aston is unfortunately deeply familiar with, but as he looks at Gaelio grinning with a savage giddiness at the enemy, he can’t help but think of cats. Those creatures are loved by many people, despite their predator instincts and proneness to play with their food, and he can sort of understand why, and here is a man toying with the prey already in his grasp.
It’s a good thing Mikazuki decided they should keep him; it really is.)
“Ha!”
Gaelio cannot believe his luck, he’s going to keep the record of this conversation for the rest of his life and show it to anyone who is ever in need of a definition of idiocy.
“We know exactly what ‘dangerous cargo’ you’re carrying, scum! Surrender the railgun weapon at once or we will take it by force for the glory of Gjallarhorn!”
Gaelio takes a second to school his expression into a stern, affronted scowl before opening a video communication with Iok’s ship.
“Lord Iok of the Seven Stars’ Kujan family,” he booms like the voice of thunder, “what exactly is the meaning of this?”
Aston can see the exact moment they recognize who it is they have been attacking, as half the people on deck turn white as paper, either in shock or disbelief.
“... Bauduin?”
“That is Lord Bauduin to you,” Gaelio hisses with enough venom in his voice to paralyze the entire crew. “And I’m still waiting for an explanation as to why would you attack a civilian ship without provocation, without announcing your presence or intent, or even giving a previous warning, as it is proper to do, or why would you ignore a request for the cease of hostilities for safety reasons, endangering all ships present and their crews, or why would you use Gjallarhorn’s name, legacy and implications to threaten said civilian ship, again, without prior provocation or an adequate excuse.”
Aston raises his eyebrows, reluctantly impressed. Gaelio managed to hiss all of that without seemingly having to pause for breath to not give Iok the time to form a coherent defense. Gaelio preens internally, and then narrows his eyes, a cold, calculating look taking over his face, before he continues:
“Or, indeed, why are you here, Lord Kujan, as I have it on good authority that Lord Fareed asked the families to refrain from interfering in this particular route for the time being, as a most delicate and secret operation was taking place for the glory of Gjallarhorn.”
“My apologies, Lord Bauduin,” a voice cuts into the conversation, another video transmission from a different ship. “It seems young Iok here was misinformed, although I must confess I was also unaware of this secret operation that required you to leave your family bereft of their heir.”
Rustal Elion.
Gaelio doesn’t even have to fake the deepening of his scowl.
“Lord Elion, I was also unaware of your involvement in this incident, and I do not wish to repeat the questions I have already made to your protegee, although I am deeply disappointed to see him behaving in such a manner even under your guidance,” the meaning will be lost on Aston, who seems to be following the conversation with interest, but Iok flinches on screen before the implications that his actions have reflected badly on his mentor and that his mentor has knowingly allowed a behavior that goes against Gjallarhorn’s code of conduct. “As for your concerns, it is my understanding that Lord Fareed suspected that some members of Gjallarhorn have established worrisome connections with certain unsavory characters that sought to acquire a weapon that had been banned, and that I volunteered to retrieve under conditions that would have undoubtedly caused more grief to my family had they been made aware of them. I have been working undercover, as I hope it has been made obvious by now, and you are endangering both my mission and my life as it is by having chosen to ignore Lord Fareed’s request, as I should already have met with his fleet and delivered the weapon were it not for your interference. Which brings me to the question, Lord Kujan, of how exactly did you obtain the information on the whereabouts of this weapon. And please note that this exchange is being treated as an official interrogation, given the circumstances, and is both being recorded and re-transmitted.”
He doesn’t say to whom, but then again, he doesn’t need to. Iok Kujan grits his teeth.
“Please, allow me to explain this unfortunate incident, Lord Bauduin... I received a tip from an anonymous source that a dangerous weapon was being transported across this route—”
“An anonymous source, you say?” Gaelio drawls the words in such a way that it makes them sound more like are you shitting me right now?, something that is not lost on anyone. “And your first course of action was to blast the ship transporting this weapon, without care for the crew of said ship or yours, as you had no way of knowing the nature of this weapon? Or was it because you received information about the weapon itself that you had no care for those transporting it?”
“I...”
“I shall take that as a confession, Lord Kujan. In the future, I suggest you are more careful with the sources you receive information from, as Gjallarhorn is better off without the internal conflicts caused by paying heed to the words of untrustworthy allies.”
“My only intention was to seize the weapon, Lord Bauduin,” Iok looks defiantly at him through the screen. “I was certain that the end justified the means, regardless of whom I received the information from, and decided to act on my own to ensure the weapon did not fall on the wrong hands in order to redeem myself for my past faults and regain my honor.”
Gaelio somehow manages to narrow his eyes even more, leaving only the barest of slits.
“This at the cost of Gjallarhorn’s honor, Lord Kujan?” He asks, in a voice that makes it clear that Iok is threading on thin ice and dares him to take another step. Which Iok immediately does.
“I’m sure my goal is—”
“Personal glory has no place in the noble pursuits of our organization!” Roars Gaelio, making Aston jump in his seat. “If you have no wish other than to make a name for yourself, you should not be hiding behind the name your ancestors have elevated so, scion of the Kujan family!”
“I—” Iok seems at loss for a moment, torn between doing something stupid and something cowardly; self-preservation seems to win at the end, and he offers a shaky bow of his head. “My apologies, Lord Bauduin, it was not my intention to imply otherwise.”
Gaelio turns theatrically (and unnecessarily) to face the video transmission of Rustal Elion, making it clear that Iok has been dismissed.
“I see that this mission has seen you mature splendidly, Lord Bauduin.”
“I have been forced to endure the dregs of society, Lord Rustal. My apologies if I come across as overzealous, but I have found that clinging to the tethers of our civility is the only thing that has allowed me to keep myself separate from them. Now, I suggest you escort your protegee’s fleet and myself to my destination. I’m late as it is, and I would hate for the Outer Earth Orbit Joint Regulatory Fleet to travel all the way here just for a misunderstanding.”
That is a filthy lie, the Outer Earth Orbit Joint Regulatory Fleet must be en route to the JPT Trust ship, having ‘just received’ a tip that they have been spreading false information to Gjallarhorn’s officers with malicious intent. With McMurdo’s permission, of course.
But Rustal Elion doesn’t know that.
“Of course, it would be my honor, Lord Bauduin.”
Gjallarhorn ships accompany them to the rendezvous point where McGillis is waiting and where Iok Kujan is detained for being in possession of several banned weapons while Rustal Elion and Gaelio are received with all the graciousness and honors their host can provide, exulting their bravery. Rustal is briefed on Gaelio’s ‘undercover mission’ and asked to keep the knowledge to himself, as well as to ensure that Iok knows this has to be kept under wraps. And Gaelio thought he was pretty good at acting, but McGillis is a monster on a whole other level. Rustal goes on his merry way adding another tally to Iok’s increasing list of detrimental actions and believing himself to have earned McGillis trust, or at least having information that would be useful for blackmailing him, while Iok Kujan stews himself in another failure inside a cell.
The plan is a resounding success.
Gaelio and Aston agree than they should return immediately to Tekkadan, only stopping long enough to repair the damage suffered by the Hammerhead. It is quiet on the way back, although Gaelio still can feel the blood pounding in his ears. He wonders how is Aston holding up, and is surprised to find the teen looking at him. And Gaelio might be going crazy or perhaps the stress of the situation is causing him to hallucinate, but the boy just might be smiling a little.
“Do all of you always talk so funny?”
“Oh my god,” Gaelio huffs, smiling so wide he knows that’s the stress finally crashing on him, “we really do.”
And what starts as a quiet shared chuckle turns into full-blown hysterical laughter (and hysterical is the correct description, finally realizing that holy shit, their crazy plan worked and they survived) as they make their way back to Tekkadan. Neither of them can stop laughing, not even when Orga opens a video transmission to check if they’re still alive and then has to stomp away because what is it with you and making people laugh like hyenas, and that only makes them laugh harder.
Also, he’s totally going to tell McGillis that Orga thinks he laughs like a hyena the first chance he gets.
He cannot believe it. They’re alive.
They’re lucky enough to arrive while Orga is busy talking to Isurugi about taking in the Human Debris that Jasley had been using and that were captured by Gjallarhorn under Tekkadan’s protection. Their welcome is a small affair, but Takaki is there to make sure that he has kept Aston alive and whole, and Gaelio receives enough slaps on the back and fist-bumps to make up for a life time of deferential, hypocritical bows and back-handed compliments.
Mikazuki doesn’t say anything, just directs his current method of transportation (Eugene) in Gaelio’s direction and holds the arm he can still move towards him, saying nothing as if it were entirely unnecessary; which it is, because Gaelio is already moving.
Fuck his life, is what he thinks, well aware of how the axis of his world has shifted, how he doesn’t even care that such a thing, that would have been unthinkable before and in all honesty should probably still be unthinkable even now, has happened. He knows this and he has decided he doesn’t care.
So he goes. He truly has no choice in the matter, Mikazuki’s name is much too apt and he is helpless to resist the gravity that pulls him toward him.
He almost drops Mikazuki when the boy starts rubbing the sleeve of his jacket on his cheek, trying to wipe out the make-up he used to conceal the scars on his face.
“You look weird like that,” is all he says.
It occurs to Gaelio that he must, at least to him. They hadn’t exactly seen much of each other before Gaelio got his scars.
“Do you dislike it?” He asks, smiling like his teeth are armor. Mikazuki squints at him.
“It smells weird.”
Gaelio laughs.
Mikazuki doesn’t laugh, but the sight of Gaelio carrying him and laughing is enough to stop Orga Itsuka in his tracks, spit out some vicious curse that Gaelio is quite sure he doesn’t deserve (at least not yet), turn around and stomp back the way he had come from.
If anything, it only makes him laugh harder. He has to lean his back against a wall while he shakes from laughter. If Mikazuki takes that chance to pull Gaelio’s face down towards him with his one good arm, Gaelio is certainly not going to stop him.
Gaelio laughs, a muffled sound, made softer by the soft feelings blooming in his chest, and wonders how is this his life now.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Notes: Hello everyone! ヾ(^▽^*)))
Haha, it's been a while but I finally got around writing another chapter for this abomination; special thanks to everyone who read/liked/reblogged this after I had forgotten all about it, since it made me want to get back to it. In particular because, believe it or not, the whole plan concocted in this chapter was one of the first things I came up with for this AU, deep in the throes of denial and despair that was the second season of this series.
Anyway, happy winter holidays and happy new year, here's hoping it's much better than this one! Remember to stay warm (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
16 notes · View notes
selquet · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
ALICE IN WONDERLAND (2010)
Costume Designer Colleen Atwood
5K notes · View notes
macgyvertape · 3 years
Text
Castlevania kinda had a pacing problem
spoilers for all of Netflix’s Castlevania. I haven’t seen much analysis for the show on tumblr, im honestly curious if discussions I had with irl friends mirror what fandom talks about
tldr: Castlevania seems inconsistently paced from season to season, and within season as well, leads to a lot of characters motivations feeling unclear so characters repeatedly explain why they are doing something while they’re doing it
overview of the seasons:
S1 I know somewhat of a test for Netflix but it has good main trio character establishment and sets the scale of the conflict
s2: pretty complete emotional arc for most characters and resolves the plot of killing Dracula while setting up additional characters to continue the story. Isaac, Hector, Carmilla all established with the audience as characters whose story would continue
honestly I would bet this is the most popular season
S3: s2 did a bit of worldbuilding, but this season really fleshed out the world with both a wide range of locations and exploring the question of “what now, Dracula is dead but vampires and night creatures remain”.
There were basically 4 plot threads: 1) Sypha/Trevor investigating the cult & Saint Germain; 2) Hector & Carmilla (also introducing Lenore, Striga, Morana); 3) Isaac’s journey of revenge & self discovery; 4) Alucard sits around the castle and is betrayed.
overall characters roughly feel like they are in the same place if not worse. A big criticism I saw at the time, which hold up after rewatching this before s4 is nothing felt resolved for the main characters
I would say this season is where the pacing issues start to become apparent, juggling 4 plot threads that lack a central theme or even mutual character connection. If there was a central theme it would be “humans are awful to each other”. The Judge doing Hot Fuzz style murders, The Wizard in the tower, Sumi & Taka
S4: it starts with the same 4 plot threads, though upfront it is made clear that the plot theme is “people are trying to resurrect Dracula”, and the progression of the plot works to resolve unrelated plot threads until the main trio reunites for the boss fights. To me and my friends watching it was obvious that the show would reunite the main trio, the question was how and how far into the run time.
Season 4 is why I’m writing this essay, for the past 2 days I’ve been like, yeah that character sure explained their motives repeatedly maybe with some philosophical discussion, but it’s just such a weird place considering where they were in s3
Alucard’s arc:
Where he was left in season 3, it was after killing people he had trusted in self defense and impaling their corpses. It was clearly meant to parallel Dracula’s dislike of humanity. However overall his character lacked a proactive motivating force.
Honestly the most interesting thing I found in s3 was Alucard clearly misses Sypha and Trevor, however they don’t miss him or refer to him
One reason Sumi & Taka betray Alucard is for the secrets and power of Castlevania. After inviting the village including St Germain who Alucard was warned of into the Castle, Alucard makes 0 effort to secure anything, not even his personal childhood room. Guess he really learned nothing
Discussing St Germain, I think it’s funny that they had a several minute flashback sequence for his lost girlfriend (who doesn’t have a name or a voice actor), to remind the viewer of who he is, and to justify how he’s suddenly back and down for murder.
In s4 there is the call to help the village, and the walk back to the castle is a montage of Alucard opening up to Greta and becoming friendly literally overnight. He laughs off the impaling, and basically all of the darker things he went through in season 3, which has me asking what was the point of his season 3 arc then? 
Honestly writing this I realize the biggest parallel he has with Dracula is the call to action from a bold woman with a dramatic entrance speech which then leads to a romance
Isaac’s arc:
in s3, with all the other themes of “humanity sucks” I was always unsure if the townspeople were meant to appear irrational while attacking a larger force instead of letting him pass through an leave, or him not caring about how he’s provoking them is meant to show his insanity
ive seen the discussion elsewhere, curious about the Discourse here
is s4 Isaac has the whole monologue about how he now has agency but him gaining that agency was his s3 arc. In s4 he’s already at the point of accepting it. By the end of s4 he’s one of those who comes the furthest from his first character appearance to his last.
s4e5 where of Isaac attacking Carmilla in Isaac’s 2nd appearance had him resolving like 4 plot threads at once (Carmilla, Striga& Morana, Hector, and Isaac himself).
but i do wonder if Trevor, Sypha, or Alucard even know any of these people exist. I think not
I was honestly confused if I missed a scene from his dialogue about building something and what is inherent nature, to “My plan has evolved, my plan is now conquest” because he only conquests the one castle and the rest is left unclear
Upon rewatch the connection there is “killing [the wizard] felt just ... I liked that feeling”, so the show says that Isaac in the end attacked Carmilla for the sake of justice and not revenge.
Isaac in his last conversation expresses the theme of s4 “build something new on these old bones, where people can live for the future”
however, his arc honestly feel scenes were cut, and then dialogue was written around it. He’s the only living character who doesn’t show up in the epilogue and the sentient night creature “what if I could empty hell” dialogue was some of the most interesting worldbuilding. Night creatures with sentience and possibility of regaining memories!!!!
The Council of Sisters & Hector’s arc:
oh I’ve already seen s4 discourse about Lenore/Hector while searching for character analysis, a chunk of it seems to be rationalizing the absolute difference between how s3 ended with these characters and s4. It was extremely confusing for me and my friends; wondering if 1) was Hector showing more emotional intelligence than before and putting on a facade to cover up hatred? Nope 2) did more time pass than 6 weeks for there to be some kind stockholm syndrome? No, Hector seems fine to let Lenore kill herself
The slave control ring: played up in the climax of s3 and easily solved s4. s3 Lenore says if he tries to harm them, flee, or take it off it would cause crippling pain, in s4 Hector just easily cuts off his own finger.
for a control ring that they take time to show a version being on the Rebus, it doesn’t do much controlling of Hector
also guess the definition of “do harm” just refers to direct action
Lenore in s4: has no purpose in conquest, has that useless remarked on by multiple characters, is imprisoned, then kills herself after a genre aware philosophical discussion. This essay is long enough, but what the fuck happened to this character who ended s3 clearly physically and sexually abusive? Seriously this was one of the biggest writing changes to the point where she was treating Hector as an equal. Compare her last words in s3 “shh the real people [vampires] are talking”. The change in the relationship is actually something I would have taken being shown, or atleast told of what exactly caused this change other than the vague “you adopted him”
Striga&Morana get the best arc of the Council. 3 scenes: the tent argument, Daybreak armor fight & argument resolution, declaration of feelings and turning away. You could argue Castlevania is plot to be connective tissue between fight scenes, but for all the dialogue about human resistance in different seasons it was nice to see it. Overall the scenes were short but had a lot of showing what their relationship is not just telling,
unlike Carmilla. For as much hyping up as they did with her, and as much power as she had, she only appeared in 2 episodes and no other group except Isaac knew about her military conquest.
the map scene where she states her motive for conquest of wanting to take things from old men is the key example of how characterization became tell not show. How interesting was that monologue compared to the past seasons flashback to her murmuring the old vampire lord, or all her repeated insults of men/man-children that shows how she judges people??
That monologue had to carry the weight of justifying the Sisterhood bonds falling apart as well as why her motivation changed from building a human pen from Styria to Braila to world conquest. I think it did so poorly
Sypha & Trevor
really Sypha & Trevor have the main plot in the show. I checked and post season 1 the only episode they don’t appear in is s4e6, which is entirely devoted to the Isaac, Hector, and Council of Sisterhood arc. Their partnership and adventures are the main plot of the show.
Its easy to see what Trevor’s arc was over the show: coming to peace with the deaths of his family, taking up the mantle of being a Belmont, and starting a new family with Sypha.
With Sypha I actually had to scroll through tv tropes for what is her character arc, and I guess hers is disillusionment from adventure and life outside the speakers? My friends joke that Sypha’s magic is what the plot demands to look cool in a fight, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Tangent: the ending of their arc was easy to guess: as soon as Trevor went to fight the final boss alone I literally said “oh i bet Sypha’s pregnant, Trevor’s doing a heroic sacrifice, theyll use the unexplained magical dagger mcguffin, and 60/40 odds that he goes through an infinite corridor to outright come back vs just the implication he might come back”
I guess my final thought of the show, was overall the SUPER Final Boss got my by surprise. It was a good twist I enjoyed. Not that Death appeared, I had guessed that from the heavy foreshadowing, but I was surprised by who it was, because I had thought I thought the characters involved feeling shoehorned into the plot was just more bad writing. The Alchemist who put St Germain on the path or murder for no discernible motive for helping? Sure gotta move the plot along. New Dracula court member Varney who has a whole introduction with almost every character he meets and banter about his smell? Sure thats basically how all characters talk with a snarky and acerbic voice.
30 notes · View notes
chaoticpuff17 · 3 years
Text
Something Wicked
part 4
masterlist
Hello my darlings! Here you go! Enjoy part four! We’re going to see how it works out bouncing between Jin and Yoongi’s stories, but please give me some grace between this and school, I might have to put on on hold. They’ll both get done eventually, but not quite as speedily as ADG. Thanks so much for reading!--- chaotic puff 
Tumblr media
Jin couldn’t have been happier. Granted he didn’t have his darling by his side, but he could be generous. She needed some time after the day before, and it allowed him the opportunity to swoop in and be her knight in shining armor. She was all alone now and so fragile. It was the perfect opportunity. She needed comfort, stability, and Jin was going to provide it. She would officially be his in no time. He’d already prepared the house for her.
He was thrumming with excitement. He would bring her flowers, take her to the ballet. He would woo her. She wouldn’t be able to resist his charm. No woman could, and now there were no obstacles in his way. Everything was perfect. Everything was going his way, until she stepped into his office.
He was thrilled to see her at first, thrilled that she’d chosen to come to him despite him giving her the day off, and then he took note of her appearance. Never once had he seen her in jeans, but there she was in jeans and a flowy top looking as casual as he had ever seen her. Even when he called for her assistance late at night, she came looking perfectly put together. This was new for him. Another point of notice was the dark circles that made themselves at home under her eyes. From the look of it, she hadn’t even tried to conceal them. It didn’t look like she was wearing any makeup at all, and her hair was pulled half back messily strands falling haphazardly into her face. All in all, she looked absolutely exhausted like she hadn’t slept at all, and she hadn’t.
“Are you alright, darling?” He asked rising from his desk to greet her. “You look ill. You should be at home resting.” He swooped in pressing a hand to her forehead that she pushed away gently giving him a stern but tired look.
“I’m fine.” There was no smile. She always smiled at him. “I actually came to give you this.” She turned from him to dig around in her bag to retrieve an envelope, one that Jin knew exactly what was in it. It was a fucking resignation. “I apologize, sajangnim, but I won’t be able to serve you any longer.” She held out the envelope bowing politely and waiting for him to take it.
He was silent for a long terrible moment before snatching it out of her hands and ripping it in two. “No.”
She straightened up looking at him quizzically. “No?”
“No.” He growled glaring down at her.
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders determined to stand her ground. “I’m sorry, sir, but this isn’t your choice to make. I’m sorry for the sudden notice, but I cannot continue to work for you.”
The words were so calm, so clinical. It infuriated him. She wanted to leave him. After everything he’d done for her, she was just going to leave? He’d built her up from nothing, and she thought she could leave? This was not his darling. This was an ungrateful brat, and Jin hated brats.
“And if I choose not to accept your resignation?” 
Of course when she became his, she would no longer work for him. Kim Seokjin’s woman would have no need to work, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she was trying to leave on her own terms, and that simply wasn’t allowed, not when she belonged to him.
“Then I’ll take my leave and pay the penalty for breaking contract.” She responded chin held high though she had the drawn appearance of someone who was tottering on the brink of exhaustion. She looked small and weak, and Jin could only blame the boy for that. He was the reason for her pallor, for her exhaustion, for her defiance. 
“You’re exhausted and shocked after yesterday, unsurprising for someone so delicate.” He ground out trying to keep his cool. “I’ll ignore this as a lapse of judgement caused by the stress of the last few days.”
Y/N was taken aback by that. He was brushing this off as what? The overreaction of a delicate demeanor? She made no attempt to hide how offended she was at the insinuation. 
“Delicate? I do not make decisions based on exhaustion or shock. Min Seok was my fiancée,” she paused taking a breath. “Almost my fiancée. After what’s happened, I would find it inappropriate to continue working for you especially considering I’ll be hiring a lawyer to defend him.”
“What?” The question was breathed out in shock, rage barely in check. She wanted to defend the little bastard? She believed herself that in love with him? No, she was just confused. Jin would help her see reason.
“I don’t believe that he would embezzle from the company, and I’m going to stand by him. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” She bowed again, turning on her heel to leave, but Jin’s far larger hand encircled her wrist tugging her back making her stumble into his chest.
“Mr. Kim.” She scolded pulling herself away.
“I’m afraid I have some terrible news for you, darling.” He cooed the sympathy coating his voice was saccharine and completely offset by the gleeful twinkle in his eye. “Kim Min Seok is dead.”
She paused the entire world standing still for a moment. “What?” The question was barely even breathed out as she stared at him with wide eyes tears welling up in them. “No.” She shook her head backing away. “You’re lying.”
“No, darling. I’m not.” He sauntered over to his desk picking up the falsified file that had been prepared for an instance just like this. “He escaped police custody and died in the attempt to flee.” He held out the file to her. “I have the file the police brought over just this morning.”
He watched attentively as every bit of color drained from her face. “No…” She whimpered. “No, no, no, no, no, no.” Her hands went up clawing into her already messy hair as she tried to make sense of the news. “He can’t be!” She cried eyes wild as she began to hyperventilate.  
“I’m so sorry, darling.” He wasn’t, but the pretense of providing comfort gave him the perfect opportunity to wrap his arms around her gently rubbing his large hands up and down her arms in what was supposed to be a calming gesture. It had the opposite affect though. His proximity. The smell of his cologne. The news. It was all so overwhelming. She felt sick, dizzy.
“He can’t be dead.” She whimpered tears flowing freely now. “He can’t be. He was… he was alive. I saw him. He was fine last night. I just saw him.”
Jin shushed her pulling her further into his arms, wrapping himself around her. “It’s alright.” He cooed. “You’re going to be alright.”
“NO!” She cried ripping herself away from him not wanting him near her, not wanting him touching her. “He’s not dead!”
This man, this man was the devil. How could he tell her so casually that Min Seok was dead? How could he tell her it was alright? What kind of heartless creature was he?
“Darling…” Jin approached her slowly, carefully, not liking the way she seemed to sway on her feet. “Darling, you need to rest.”
“No.” The word was barely a whisper now as her world crumbled around her. “No. He can’t be…he isn’t.”
Jin lunged forward as he watched the swaying grow worse. He was just in time to catch her as her eyes rolled back in her head, and she began to crumple. He gently lowered them both to the floor relishing the feeling of her tucked safely away in his arms. She was still drawn, looking completely wiped out, but she was safe in his arms. He moved a strand of hair from her face lovingly, cooing at how fragile she looked in his arms.
Eventually, he pulled out his phone calling for his driver. It was time to take her home. A hospital would have been more practical, but Jin wanted her safely at home. He could bring the doctor to her.
He scooped her up in his arms carrying her out of his office. It was a spectacle. The employees were all clamoring at the sight wanting to know if she was alright. He brushed them all citing exhaustion as the reason behind it all. She’d be well soon enough. Jin would make sure of that. His darling would have the best care, and she’d soon forget all about her suitor. She had Jin. What need would she have for anyone else?
Tumblr media
Y/N came to in a horribly familiar room. This was not her home, nor was it the hospital despite the IV that was attached to her arm. This was Jin’s home. This was his bedroom. The panic did not set in slowly. It came all at once like an all-encompassing wave. The panic only worsened when she realized, these were not her clothes. She didn’t own anything this fine. She didn’t own nightgowns let alone long silk nightgowns. She preferred the same ratty old comfortable pajamas she had had for years.
She ripped the IV out of her arm uncaring about the pain or the blood. Her only focus was making it to the door and getting the hell out of there. She didn’t know why Jin had brought her there, but she didn’t want to find out. She ran through the penthouse stumbling down the stairs in her desperate dash for the door.
This wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She never came her of her own volition. It was too intimate. Not even Jin’s parade of women would go to his home, and it always made her skin crawl when the called her there.
It was an easy dash. She knew the way. She had been to Jin’s home many times before, but when she reached the door, she found something she was not so familiar with. There was a lock placed there that had never been there before. It was sleek and black, ominous. But still she tried the door even though she was unsure if it would open for her. It did not. She tugged at the handle trying her hardest to open it out of sheer force of will, but it was unyeilding. She tried the keypad as well, tapping in every combination she could think of, but every time, the keypad flashed red telling her she had failed.
“Please!” She shrieked banging on the door. “Please!” She continued to scream and plead banging against the unyielding wood. No one was there though.
Jin lived on a private floor. The elevator opened to a narrow hallway separating the penthouse from the rest of the building. Her only hope would be if someone was coming up to the penthouse and would hear her screams. It was unlikely though. Jin didn’t like anyone invading his space, his immaculate home, and there was no sign of the house keeper that made his home so immaculate. The most likely person to find her was Jin himself, and at this time, he was not someone she wanted to see.
The commotion had summoned him though. He stayed back watching indifferently as she screamed and cried trying to leave, but Jin had planned for that. She wouldn’t be able to get past the lock. He’d allow her out in time, but for now he needed to make her his sweet darling again, his sweet obedient darling. The boy had made her defiant, a brat. Jin wouldn’t put up with that, and it was safer to keep her inside away from harm while she grieved, while she adjusted. Jin would be everything she needed. She’d see that soon enough. She’d realize how lucky she was, how perfect they were together. 
He watched her until she’d tired herself out slumped against the door crying, trembling and completely exhausted before he made a move.
“Oh darling,” he clucked sympathetically coming to crouch next to her crumpled form. “Look at you. You’ve exhausted yourself.” He tutted fussing over her and moving her hair away from her face even though she flinched back from him violently. “Now, now, darling. None of that.”
He scooped her up, ignoring her weak struggles. She couldn’t struggle against him really. She’d used what little energy she had trying to open a locked door. His poor stupid darling.
The doctor had confirmed that she was dehydrated and exhausted. That combined with the shock had been too much for her. She’d be fine after some rest and a good meal.
“The doctor didn’t want you up and about yet. And you’ve hurt yourself, my poor darling.” He fussed looking at the place where she’s ripped out the IV, stubborn girl. There was blood smeared against her arm. She hadn’t been gentle when she’d ripped it out. She’d caused herself more damage than needed.
He could have tied her down, prevented this, but it was better for her to know now that she wouldn’t be leaving him. He was the only one with the code to open the door, and they were too high up for her to consider something as foolhardy as jumping from the balcony. It also helped that she had a decided fear of heights. It was something he’d discovered when he’d brought her on her first international business trip with him. She’d been petrified the entire flight despite their luxurious seats. She wouldn’t be making any stupid decisions like that, and if she did? God help her. Jin would not put up with such disobedience.
“Let’s get you back to bed. Okay, darling?” He asked smiling down at her with a lovesick expression. Everything would be perfect now.
part 5
275 notes · View notes
grumpyhedgehogs · 3 years
Text
those who are left behind (share the grief between them)
Summary: Cody goes to find Rex. Ahsoka finds him first. AO3. Part 2 of “scraps” series. Part 1. Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.
Warnings: Grief/mourning, canon-typical violence.
Cody tries to find Rex.
It’s the only thing he can think of after he manages to get off the Death Star--a feat in and of itself, as he knew it would be. He’d had a couple close calls; he knows he was on the list to be transferred to a teaching job for new initiates, and clones as a whole were kept under close watch. Too many of the vode had killed themselves or disappeared or went berserk and killed their commanding officers. (Cody thinks about those brothers now and wonders how crazy they really were.) He’s not sure if he was under closer observation than most post-Order 66, due to his place at Kenobi's side for years; those memories are hazy, and upsetting besides. Obviously Vader didn’t think he’d be more of a problem than anyone else now, because even with the close watch Cody’d been able to slip security and hitch a ride on a stolen emergency shuttle with little fanfare. The fiasco with the droids weeks earlier taught everyone exactly how much the Empire let slip between the cracks.
The lightsaber was tempting. It still is. But Vader keeps it in his secure chamber, hoarding it like a Krayt dragon. Cody didn’t even try.
So he gets away and goes to find Rex. Rex, who had told him about the chips. Rex, who Cody had dismissed. Rex, who was made commander and promptly had everything else taken from him with Order 66. Rex, who Cody had seen hide nor hair of during his tenure as CC-2224. Cody tries to find Rex.
Ahsoka finds him first.
He's on some backwater planet, somewhere bleak and angry looking; drab grey roads and trees with no foliage against a blood-red sky. The people here live in hovels and call themselves lucky. Cody closes his eyes as he leaves the tiny fishing market on the edge of the docks. The smell clogs his nose and makes him want to retch, but for a moment he can almost feel the weight of Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder. He can picture the exact curl of Obi-Wan’s mouth, the twitch of an eyebrow as he tells Cody to find the beauty in the small things. The people here are born with silver scales lining their cheekbones, their fingers webbed with thin, iridescent skin that catches the light just right and turns to millions of colors. There are children who actually play in the street here. There are no stormtroopers raiding the stalls. Happiness comes in small packages, Obi-Wan would say. Cody exhales the smell of dead fish and wraps the robe tighter around himself.
It was probably too big on Obi-Wan by the end; it fits comfortably around his shoulders, and although Obi-Wan was a little taller, he certainly wasn't wider than Cody even on the best day. He’d slimmed down during the war too; they’d had few rations going around in the hard times--it was always a task getting the general to eat when his men were going hungry. Cody nearly put him on an IV a couple times.
The robe covers what’s left of his stark white stormtrooper armor well enough. He’d stripped the leg armor off immediately, stole some fatigues from a clothesline when he’d landed on the first planet he could find and slipped those over his blacks. He’s been planet hopping for a while, chasing rumors of rebels and crossing imperial battlegrounds. They’re burial sites now. Cody doesn’t know enough about the Force to do more than read the fallen their last rights and ask them to be well as they pass on. Every place is the same; empty, except for bones. The Mando’a prayers spill from his lips easily but his voice is rusty and Cody usually settles for a silent vigil instead. There are so many dead.
After the first graveyard, Cody stripped off as much of the white paint from his vambraces as he could. It’s a shoddy job, but it’s the best he can do. Paint is a luxury he can’t afford. Cody doesn’t have a credit to his name.
He bows his head to the small woman who pushes a package filled with row after row of tiny fish into his hands and chatters at him in an unknown language. Places like this, even as untouched by the Empire as they seem, know hardship. The people here are kind. Obi-Wan would be proud to have met them. Cody tries to be proud too, but his chest is so hollow now. The robe flutters and whips against his knees as he walks away.
He’s outside town limits, thinking about a campfire and shelter, when he hears it. There’s the scrape of a boot on rock somewhere above him in the hills that line the dirt road. He should have gotten off the path into the treeline when he’d had the chance. The hood is good cover from the light rain but it gives too much of the movement of his head away; by the time Cody whirls around, there is no one behind him. He scans the trees anyway and counts how many bolts he has in his blaster. He’d taken out those troopers on Florrum weeks ago. A couple of hunting trips when he couldn’t beg or work for any food in townships. He’ll have to make the shots count.
But before he can do more than pull the blaster from his sleeve, they're upon him. There’s a sound of ignition, one that has Cody thrown years into the past, and then a flash of white. A figure in dark clothes bears down on him with a white lightsaber, and Cody doesn’t mean to react how he does, he really doesn’t, it’s not red but—
But he’s spent years as a slave to a lightsaber wielder dressed all in black and he can’t do that again, not after watching Obi-Wan fall. He can't go back to the Death Star. Cody pulls his blaster and fires a shot, dodging to the left and then feigning a stumble, hoping to get around to the attacker's other side. The other fighter, also cloaked and hooded against the rain, is spry and wiry--perhaps female--and obviously trained. One of those Knights of the Empire they were talking about training? They dodge another bolt as Cody curses and then a second ‘saber lights up and--the handles are the wrong way around.
They’re holding their lightsabers wrong. Cody nearly does trip this time, only just scrambling back from a slice that surely would have taken his head off. As he does, the figure speaks.
“Where did you get that robe?” They hiss, and prepare to strike again.
“ Ahsoka?”
“Wh-- Cody? ”
“Oh, Force,” Cody says, feeling like he did when Longshot knocked all the air out of him during a sparring session. He pushes his hood down hurriedly. Rain splashes down his forehead, rolls off the end of his nose, fills his mouth. “It is you. You’re alive!”
He’d been so afraid of being alone.
Ahsoka, older and leaner and sadder than he’s ever seen her, lowers her own hood. One ‘saber stays in her hand. Good. “Cody. You’re...you.”
“I remembered,” Cody chokes out. It’s hard not to vomit when he thinks about it for too long. “Who I was, before the Order. I remembered.”
Ahsoka’s eyes are sharp. Her mouth is a thin line. “Good men lost their lives that day. Dead men walked among us for years afterward. I--I’m sorry for your loss, Cody. It has been a long time.”
“I’m sorry too,” Cody says. It tastes like ash in his mouth, like the pyre he should’ve given Obi-Wan and never got the chance to. “The vode weren’t the only people lost that day.”
She softens, if only just. The lightsaber is hooked onto her belt under her own robe. “It really is you. Come then, I have a fire.”
They settle around her campsite, small and remote, on a perfect vantage point, before she speaks again. Cody is waiting for her when she does. He unwraps the fish, ignoring the mud splashed onto the scales from their impromptu fight, and lays them out on a flat rock in the fire. They are too small to debone individually; they’ll have better luck eating around the skeletons and hoping for the best. (“If you kill my grandpadawan via choking on a fish bone I will never forgive you,” jokes the Obi-Wan in his head and Cody suppresses a snort.)
“The robe.” Ahsoka murmurs. Her lekku twitch, in apprehension or agitation Cody isn’t sure. The pit in his gut, always there, yawns wider. She’s Obi-Wan’s family. Next of kin. He by all rights should give it to her, but… “It has Obi-Wan’s Force signature infused in it, but I recognized that yours was different. I thought…”
“I’d taken it off his body.” Cody finishes for her. Ahsoka nods, grim. He nods too and flips the fish. “You’re almost right. He didn’t leave behind a body, just his lightsaber and the robe. Vader killed him; it’s what woke me up. Chip’s stopped working, I guess. Too old.”
“I felt him when he went.” Ahsoka’s eyes are far away when Cody snatches a glance at her. She sits, back ramrod straight, unyielding, steely. He thinks Obi-Wan would have been like this in the end; untouchable, almost. He was statuesque, carved from marble, right up until the moment he died. “His light went out; that day the Force got much darker.”
“Wasn’t sure it could get darker.”
“Obi-Wan spoke once to me,” Ahsoka tells him after a long silence. She takes the food offered and nods her thanks. Cody’s heart is dead, has been since he left the Death Star, but he curls his fingers into the robe’s edges and listens anyway. He never stops hurting these days. “Through the Force, I mean. It was right after--right after. Just a fleeting thing, a feeling. He wanted to make sure I was safe, that I knew he--”
Cody doesn’t move when her words cut off. He knows. She knows.
It is like stripping off his own skin with a dull blade when Cody shrugs out of the robe and offers it up. “Here.” His voice is hoarse, tortured, not his own. “I just--you’re his family, but I can’t... please.”
Ahsoka is beautiful even when she cries. The robe looks worn, dingy in her hands, but she holds it close, like a child. She has to work hard to get the next sentence out. “You loved him.”
Cody nods. His face is wet too. “Still,” he whispers, almost inaudibly over the fire. “Still.”
“It’s yours,” Ahsoka promises. “Let me meditate with it, just once, and then--it’s yours. It’s yours.”
Ahsoka goes still; her shoulders stop hitching after a while, her cheeks dry, her breathing evens. Cody does not sleep, but he does drift. He knows she will not mind the salt water on his own face when she wakes. Obi-Wan would tell him to release his grief, perhaps that Obi-Wan is not worth it; Cody holds on almost greedily, bottles up the pain and sorrow and regret and keeps it with him, cold as ice in his chest.
He knows she comes back by the small cry that slips past her lips; she jerks in place, nearly toppling from her meditation pose. Ahsoka straightens again and clenches her hands in the robe, head bowed. “Alright?” Softly, softly. He knew her when she was just a child.
“Meditation is rougher than it used to be,” Ahsoka admits, and, reluctant, passes the fabric over in a bundle. “Thank you.”
“I miss him too.”
“What are you doing out here?”
Cody smiles without real feeling. “Following you. Or the Rebellion in general, I guess. Thought maybe I could find Rex that way.”
Ahsoka raises her eyebrows. “The Rebellion hasn’t been here for months; I’m just here checking up to make sure refugees we helped are still doing alright.”
“You guys got a head start on me.”
Her laughter is quiet, like Obi-Wan’s used to be. Cody looks away, twists his hands in the robe.
Wait.
He knows Obi-Wan won’t mind. He lost so many during the war anyway, went through them like tissue paper. It was a game among the 212th, who could find them on the battlefield first.
Cody looks up, eyes Ahsoka shrewdly. She’s taller, more muscular than she used to be. He’s no seamstress. “Scarf or sash?”
Ahsoka blinks at him. He presses his lips together and nods. “Sash. Won’t get in the way.”
The sleeve comes apart at the seams easily enough. Cody ignores her protest, and tears the other sleeve away too before pocketing one--someone else will want it, someone else who can hold vigil with Cody and Ahsoka both. Then he tears open the remaining sleeve and flattens it, before holding it out to her. “Through the belt loops,” he advises, blandly, like the tears on both their faces don’t exist. Her eyes are the size of dinner plates in her head. “Won’t get in the way when you pull your weapon.”
Ahsoka’s lips tremble when she takes the scrap of fabric. Cody doesn’t watch her loop it through her belt, taking the time to wrap the rest of the robe around his shoulders in a makeshift poncho; the hood hangs down his back still, and the ends of the robe are still long enough to cover most of his breastplate, some of the only trooper armor he has kept. There is a scratch on the shoulder from when an overconfident Jawa took a shot at him on Florrum.
Ahsoka gasps when he looks up. She gestures at his chest. “You…”
Cody splays his hand where she indicates, over the insignia he painstakingly etched into the armor covering his heart. The lightsaber was tricky to overlay on the 212th logo. It took him hours. He has a lot more time on his hands now that he’s not being controlled by the chip, though; it was worth it.
“Yes,” Cody answers. “I--I don’t want to forget again. Never again.”
Ahsoka reaches out and takes his hand over the fire that gutters low in their makeshift hearth. A thousand lives lie between them, and a thousand deaths. Her hand holds his so carefully. Cody squeezes back and feels Obi-Wan smile. “Never again,” Ahsoka vows.
25 notes · View notes
shallow-gravy · 3 years
Text
Tumblr media
Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Ch. 11 / Ch. 12 / Ch. 13 / Ch. 14 / Ch. 15 / Ch. 16 / Ch. 17 / Ch. 18 / Ch. 19 / Ch. 20 / Ch. 21 / Ch. 22 / Ch. 23 / Ch. 24 / Ch. 25 / Ch. 26 / Ch. 27 / Ch. 28 / Ch. 29 / Ch. 30 /
Word Count: ~6850
A/N: Sorry it took me forever to get this bad larry out, for anyone following along. Special thanks as always to my dearest @actuallyhansolo​ for giving it several once-overs and bearing with me as I re-wrote the entire dream sequence.
Warnings: naughty language, mentions of abuse, bad dreams featuring some body horror/corpse mutilation
XXXI. Codeine (Dreams)
                              __________
Well, you hold my hand as I step into the room
And all these people, they’ll all be fading soon
Well, it’s whisper time remembered
Through armored thorns and knives
And it’s all that I’ve got left to hold onto
- Trampled By Turtles, Codeine
                               __________
“The deputy?” Hurk parrots back at the Peggies, glancing over at Jess in confusion. “Even if I did know where she was, I sure as shit wouldn’t be tellin’ it to you all.” 
The lead cultist, the one who’d posed the question, furrows his brows over his respirator and looks back at his companions. 
They all shrug, appearing bewildered at the juxtaposition between what their herald had told them and what Drubman’s just said. 
He turns back, shifts on his feet and nudges the barrel of his rifle in Hurk’s direction. “Don’t lie to us, Drubman. We know she’s here.” 
Jess lets out an incredibly annoyed growl, reaching down to try and retrieve Whitehorse’s service pistol from its holster. “Oh, fuck you!”
The crackling of the Peggies’ radios makes her falter when John Seed’s voice unexpectedly cuts through the static. 
“Brothers and sisters,” he starts, pausing with a grunt as if he’s straining somehow; there’s a clatter of some kind in the background, a slamming sound, and then he’s back. “I’m going to need a contingent to accompany the...package and I to my gate. The rest of you—back to your scheduled tasks. We’re done here.”
                                  .     .     .
“Ah,” John grunts harshly, losing his patience with the nurse currently bent over before him; she’s attempting to pluck out the shards of glass still embedded in the palm of his hand with a pair of tweezers.
“Stop moving,” the older woman scolds, glancing up to give him a stern look.
John clenches his jaw and pulls his hand back, fixing her with his own glare. “That’s enough,” he hisses, tone brooking no argument. “I’ll do the rest myself. Just—check on the deputy and then leave us.” 
“Oh, you’ll do the rest yourself, will you?” she questions just as curtly, straightening up and taking a step back, dropping the bloody tweezers onto the medical tray beside him.
He cocks an eyebrow, following her warily with his eyes as she turns her back on him and moves to the gurney currently occupied by the infamous deputy. 
“I’ve dealt with worse...I can assure you.” 
“Mmhm,” she responds absently, checking Diana’s IV and the fluid level in the bag it’s connected to. “She’s as stable as she was when you made me check fifteen minutes ago. Dehydrated, but the fluids should take care of that. As long as the physostigmine keeps her from seizing again, we can start her on some benzodiazepines tomorrow. Keep her mildly sedated for a few days while the rest of the Bliss flushes out of her system.” 
“Fine,” John responds, grabbing up the tweezers. “That will be all for now, Sister Margaret.” 
The nurse leans down, lifting the deputy’s eyelids to gauge the cloudiness and dilation of each before finishing her business and turning back to him. “John—I’ve been with the Project for a long time, now…”
He tilts his head, casts his gaze back up to her as she comes forward, taking in her graying hair and modest khaki attire. “I remember. We picked you up in Kansas all those years ago,” he acknowledges, framing it almost like a question in order to see her through to her point. “You’ve been a great asset to the Project, to the Father and to me. One of our most devoted…” 
“I know. So...I feel like I’ve got to ask,” she starts, pausing to glance back at the unconscious woman, almost as if she’s wary of the deputy jumping up at any moment to rain fire down on them; like her near-death is just a clever ploy. “What’s happened to us? We knew we needed to prepare for the collapse, we built these bunkers, we brought in as many as we could, but it feels like…” 
John narrows his eyes, wary of receiving criticism even as the image of red on white hasn’t left his mind, almost like Rachel’s still mocking him even in death. She was right; no matter how hard he’s tried, deep down he knows he’s been a disappointment to his brother, to both his brothers, and once this news gets out…
“It just seems like things are slipping, John. This woman...is she really worth all this? I heard we lost the Father’s statue tonight, and the old Jessop place, and Fall’s End—and even before that, she led that attack on the Veteran’s Center, nearly killed Jacob. I know the Father said she was important to us, but-”
“You trust the Father, yes?” John suddenly asks, though he already knows the answer. 
He does not make it known that this is the very first he’s hearing about losing Fall’s End. He’s been away from the valley for one day, doing damage control up north and committing atrocities in order to save the deputy’s life, and now this?
Margaret blinks. “Yes, of course…”
“And you trust me?” 
“Yes,” she nods.
“Then that is all you need, Sister Margaret. Keep that faith strong,” he tells her, unable to keep the weariness from his voice, looking back down at his blood-encrusted hand. He is acutely aware that he does not sound as sure as he should.
“We shall see this through. We will all walk through the Gates together. Even the wayward deputy...” 
Sister Margaret has always been stiff and prudish, giving off the undeniable air of an old school marm even though she’d been a practicing LPN when they’d recruited her. But she looks uncertain now. 
She clears her throat, straightens her shoulders and forces a weak smile, because she knows that’s what the Seeds like to see. “Right—you’re right. Though we may face many challenges, I know that God will protect his faithful.”
“That’s perfectly right,” John mutters, turning his focus on finishing the work she’d begun, intent on that being the end of their conversation. 
None of them know what he’s done, not yet. He intends on keeping it that way for as long as he can. Some of his Chosen who’d been there might put two and two together, but he’s fairly certain no one had actually seen what happened. It could easily be blamed on the Resistance.
She takes a few steps toward the infirmary door before pausing at the threshold and turning back. “After you get yourself cleaned up, you should get some rest—I can have someone come in to watch her-”
“No,” he cuts in before she can finish, yanking the tweezers away from his palm and angling his head to look over at her. “The deputy is my responsibility. Sleep is no less important to you or to anyone else in this bunker.” 
He almost feels bad, slipping so effortlessly behind the mask of selflessness. “This is my duty to the Father...and to the Project. And - between us, Sister - despite my best intentions for her, the deputy has indulged wantonly in her sin. I fear there are those among our flock who have not yet forgiven her transgressions against us.”
Sister Margaret is silent for a few moments, seeming to weigh his words. 
It is true, after all; there are too many members of the Project who’ve lost friends and loved ones to the deputy’s thirst for blood, who’d probably be only too eager for a chance to exact retribution.
Sister Margaret finally gives him one last nod of acquiescence before slipping out through the infirmary’s heavy steel door, finally leaving him in peace. 
John’s gaze immediately slides to Diana. He’d made a point not to look while his followers were present, but now that there’s no one left to put on airs for, he can’t tear his eyes away.
He heaves out a tense sigh, sagging down in the chair, the full weight of his actions finally descending upon him. He’s been waiting with bated breath for hours now for the climactic call from Joseph, for his brother to just preternaturally know; full of quietly righteous fury and disappointment, somberly pounding the final nail into his coffin, condemning him for succumbing to his sin and slaying one of their own in his wrath. 
John doesn’t even notice when he starts grinding his teeth, anger coursing up through him in a sudden and powerful wave. He’d momentarily forgotten about his wounded hand until he impulsively strikes out with it, sending the surgical tray flying from the table beside him to clatter abrasively across the floor. 
“Ah fuck,” he hisses, wrenching his hand back. 
The deputy still does not stir even after that racket, and somehow this threatens to make him even more irate. He focuses on forcing heavy breaths in and out through his nose instead, bows his head, tries to quiet all of the impotent rage. 
He’d tried to play nice. Tried to play by the rules, but Rachel had always been conniving; she became direct competition for Joseph’s affection, and she worked hard to claw her way into his esteem. She was far more clever and surreptitious than people gave her credit for, and the worst part was that she had flourished under Joseph’s encouragement, beaten back her demons while John himself had started indulging his once more. 
He forces out another heavy sigh, as if he can somehow expunge the rot within him with a simple exhale. He takes up the tweezers, flattening his palm to distract himself with removing the last of the glass. 
It hurts, some pieces have dug in deep; but the pain always centers him. 
He’d opened himself to Joseph, laid bare all of his ugliness once upon a time, still riding high off the exhilaration of being reunited with his long-lost brother, of being given a purpose. In turn, he’d given all he had to give to Joseph and to the Project. Endless funding, legal expertise, all the favors he had he’d called in to make sure that Joseph’s vision would come to fruition with as little interference as possible.
But it was never enough. He’s never completely cut out that cancer inside him, as much as he pretends, as much as he demands it from their followers. Joseph knows, said as much on a recent voicemail back at the ranch that John just can’t bring himself to delete, full of expoundings about love and his own sin coming back around to destroy him if his path doesn’t change.
He finally plucks out the last discernible shard of glass and drops the tweezers on the little table, flexes his bloody hand and casts his gaze up at the deputy once more. She is that sin, he knows it as surely as he knows the half-mangled palm he proceeds to douse in antiseptic. 
If only cleansing one’s soul were so simple. 
Jacob was wrong. She is his test, his key to Eden. Somehow he knows deep in his bones that if he fails to tame her, to temper her wrath - and by extension maybe dampen his own - she will kill him; or, more likely, they’ll kill each other. Joseph had said as much. Even if Jacob doesn’t, surely he must understand why John needs her alive. 
They are destined to cleanse each other, to make each other whole; they have to be. God would not have put her here in his crosshairs with such violent perspicuity if it were otherwise. 
John had maybe been hasty in admitting his dalliances with the deputy to Jacob so soon, but does Joseph know the true extent to which they’ve entangled themselves? 
Could the Father be jealous? Is that why he reneged on his fervent assertions that the deputy must join them? All those times he’d preached about the lamb, the harbinger, the seal-breaker, had he been preaching with the intent that she would be his and his alone to break and mold and fill with divine purpose under the yoke of his will and the impending apocalypse? 
The thought that Diana could become another like Faith only serves to fill John with some undefinable rage. Especially because that role in their family has so auspiciously freed up in the last few hours. This, he thinks, might be the true danger now; if Diana does submit, if she pledges herself to the Project, she’ll be pledging herself to Joseph, just as they all do.
But John finds he does not want that. He wants the deputy allied to them, of course, but he also wants her all to himself. Her wrath speaks to him like nothing ever has, touches upon something inside of him, makes him feel ravenous, gluttonous, wild. And though she is loathe to admit it, he knows he’s struck the same nerve within her. She’ll fight and fight, bare tooth and claw all she wants, but when it comes down to the heart of the thing, when she wakes up and realizes what he’s done for her - when the collapse comes, when the time comes for her to finally choose - he sees no other path forward than the one they walk together.
                                  .     .     .
Jess and Hurk don’t take much time to mull over what the fuck had happened with those Peggies; those that had burst in and questioned them had vacated the premises as quickly as they’d arrived, leaving behind nothing but confusion and one hell of a terrible mess to be sorted out. 
They get Whitehorse situated first, dragging him to a cell and locking him up to wait until the Bliss is out of his system. Tracey’s coherent by now; bloody and even more sullen than usual, but determined to tend her own wounds, bidding the others to sweep the jail and assess their losses.
Grace and her small band return not long after, the state of the place quickly leaving them as shell-shocked as everyone else. After the initial panic settles, Grace manages to pull them all together and start them in helping with cleanup, a few even taking it upon themselves to assist Dr. Lindsay with the wounded while Grace checks in with her friends.
“Thank fuck you’re back,” Jess mutters as she pulls the other woman away from the cell block.
“Obviously not soon enough—what the fuck happened here, Jess?” Grace asks, distress evident in her tone now that it’s just the two of them. She’s noticed how rattled the other woman is; even though it’s a relief to see Jess back in action - clearly trying to step up and take charge in the absence of the usual crowd - the small joy she finds in that is not quite enough to cut through the overwhelming feeling of defeat permeating the place. 
The hunter shakes her head, glancing over at Grace ruefully from beneath dirty brown bangs as she pushes open a security gate. “Fuck if I know. They got in somehow - fuckin’ Blissed out freaks - I couldn’t even do shit but watch it all go down until Hurk showed up and let me and Pratt out of those fuckin’ cells-”
Grace’s brow knits, and she stops in her tracks. “Oh, shit—you were still locked up-!?”
Jess glances back, unable to hide an answering sneer as she stops further up the hallway, putting her hand out to rest on the doorknob to the old warden’s office. “Sure as fuck was—look, I ain’t mad about that,” she starts as she turns the knob to walk inside, “I get why you guys––oh, fuck me.”
Grace narrows her eyes as Jess stops dead in the doorway, a fresh streak of panic lancing through her. “What-?” 
Not getting an immediate answer, she steels herself and treks forward, shouldering in through the door beside Jess to see what it is that’s taken her so off guard. 
“Oh...shit,” Grace breathes out, her gaze sweeping across the gory mess. 
Three bodies litter the floor of the small office, all languishing in congealing pools of their own blood. It’s clear at a glance that they’re all quite dead, but the question of just exactly how this happened looms over both women like a heavy storm cloud. 
Grace winces at the sight of Virgil on the other side of the desk, his worn loafers just visible sticking out from behind it before she’d shifted forward another step to see who they belonged to. That federal marshal, Burke - the one Faith had been parading around on tv so proudly - lies on the other side off to their left. And Faith herself, skin graying, eyes open and unseeing, completes the macabre display in the middle of the floor in front of them.
Jess takes a few steps forward, nudges the stiffening body with the toe of her boot. “It’s real. Holy fuck, Grace, it’s really her-”
Grace turns her gaze back to the younger woman, lips pressed tightly together, a thousand different questions running through her head. “Okay. Okay—that’s, this is kind of good though, right? I mean, maybe...maybe Diana did come back here-”
Jess’s gaze slides over. “If she did, then where the fuck did she go? It doesn’t make any sense, I mean—those Peggies came in lookin’ for her, fuckin’ came right up and asked me and Hurk where she was just before-”
Grace shakes her head, eyes inevitably shifting back to the woman on the floor as she reaches up to swipe a hand nervously across her mouth. The scene before them dredges up bad memories from her time overseas, making her stomach start to churn the longer they stay in here. “Before what?” 
“Cougars, you there?”
They both jump, whipping toward the desk at the jarring interruption. 
“This is Dutch. Callin’ for the Cougars. Whitehorse? Minkler? Will somebody answer the goddamn radio!?”
Jess takes a wide, careful step over Faith’s body before leaning over the edge of the desk and swiping up the mic from the ham radio. “Dutch!”
“Jess!? Thank Christ, what the hell is goin’ on over there? I just got word from Jerome and Mary May - they took back Fall’s End - but nobody’s been able to get through to you all since. Is everything okay out there? Is the deputy with you?”
“No, Dutch, we ain’t seen the deputy since before dinner. And everything here is very decidedly not o-fuckin-kay.”
                                  .     .     .
She wakes in the dark to a steady pounding on her bedroom door; heavy, but without urgency. A promise; a threat.
She’s in her bedroom in Laurel and she’s thirteen years old. She just got her first period earlier that day and she has no idea that Mark is drunk and fucking furious that she left a bloody tampon in the trash for anyone to see. 
But his pounding immediately lets her know he’s in a mood to harass her, and that’s enough. Every single muscle in her body tenses. She has to force herself to tear her eyes away from the door, glancing briefly at the window on the wall to her right. It’s the one she always uses to sneak out, the one that opens out onto the roof of the extended porch down below.
She doesn’t have time to consider her escape. The door opens and there he stands, silhouetted against the dim light from the hallway. 
“You disgusting little...fffucking brat,” her step-father spits as he lurches across the threshold. 
Diana exhales the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding onto, an involuntary moan escaping with it. She tucks her legs up, scrambling back against the headboard because her mind has gone completely blank and she can not figure out what to do and so she does nothing. 
“Get up,” Mark demands as he reaches over to flick on the light. 
She blinks hard and fast, trying to adjust her eyes. “But-”
He shows her a sneer as he starts forward toward her bed with that potent air of drunken violence she’s become painfully accustomed to. “You’re gonna look at what you’ve done. I said get up!” 
Diana starts pulling and tugging at her blanket, gathering it up into her lap as if it could ever provide some kind of cushion to the blows she knows are coming. Her hands work to the rhythm of her own fractured breathing; thin, lurching inhales that attest to the panic creeping up and constricting her chest. 
He reaches her in a handful of steps, bending to snatch at her arm and pull her bodily from the bed. 
She can smell the stink of vodka coming off him, and it’s like the cloying odor finally wakes her up all the way. She finally pulls back, lets out a rough little scream. “No!” 
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” 
His grip tightens like a vice. 
And then, from seemingly out of nowhere, a shovel swings into the side of his head like a bat.
There’s a dull, ringing thud when it collides, and then his hand loosens and slides from her arm as he collapses beside the bed.
Diana wheezes, scrambling aimlessly from the adrenaline flooding through her. She only manages to get herself tangled up in the blankets until her eyes finally focus on his attacker, on the intruder to her memory. 
Liliana grimaces and lets the shovel drop to the floor before her pretty, dark eyes flick up to land on Diana. “Hey, grumpy…” 
Diana stares at her in utter shock for a few beats. Her own breath sounds too loud as it moves in and out, her heart feels like it’s going to pound straight out of her chest, and she doesn’t understand how someone she hasn’t even met yet is here, in her bedroom, rescuing her.
Liliana takes a step forward, reaches out her hand. “C’mon. We gotta go.” 
Diana doesn’t hesitate this time. She reaches out for Lili’s hand, knowing the older girl would never harm her. Liliana came for her. She loves her.
She can’t help sparing Mark a single glance as Liliana helps her clamber off the bed, never letting go of her hand once she’d grasped it. 
“I think you just killed my evil step-father,” Diana says in that dopey, too-obvious kind of speech reserved for bad comedies and dreams.
Saying that makes her stop involuntarily. Her head is awash with vague images and memories that compete for purchase, like she’s been through all of this before but the events are too jumbled to make any kind of sense of it.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Liliana tugs at her hand, nods her head toward the door. “C’mon.” 
Diana follows the lover she has yet to meet out into the hallway and down the stairs to the front door. She has a little bit of time to soak Liliana up, quietly and almost reverently as she trails behind, led by one outstretched hand. 
“How did you…?” 
Lili glances back as she opens the door to lead them outside. “What? How’d I find you?” She scoffs softly, shrugs one shoulder with that air of teenage confidence Diana is still struggling to find within herself. “I’ll always find you. C’mon. We gotta beat it.” 
The second they descend the porch steps out onto the sidewalk Diana feels overwhelming heat at her back. Liliana is still pulling her, urging her across the quiet suburban street, but clothed in only shorts and a baggy t-shirt as she is, the searing burst of hot air that assaults her is almost unbearable. She has to look back.
Their house has become an inferno almost instantaneously.
She gapes at the sight, getting stuck in her tracks and forcing Liliana to a stop again, those not-quite memories knocking around the brittle cage of her mind like marbles. 
“Holy shit,” she mutters, because that’s all she can manage.
“C’mon, grumpy. We don’t have much time.” 
Something about that statement makes Diana’s heart lurch almost sickeningly inside her chest. No, she thinks almost automatically, seemingly without reason, we don’t.
When she turns to look back at Liliana, they’re the same height. She knits her brows, looks down at herself. She’s somehow filled out in the last few seconds. Longer legs, and the gym shorts she’s wearing suddenly feel tighter around her hips. “The fuck-?”
“Hey, stay with me, okay? He can’t wait forever,” Liliana tugs on her hand once more and sets them off again while the house burns behind them. 
“What? No, wait-”
They start to pass an ambulance, parked off-kilter with two tires up on the sidewalk, two stretchers standing just outside the back doors. Both are adorned with a body bag, and Diana’s gaze gets stuck on them. She roots herself to the spot as red and white lights flash from the top of the vehicle, bathing them and the street in an eerie rhythmic pulse.
“Liliana, stop! Those-” 
Diana starts to yank herself from the other girl’s grasp, dread creeping up her spine as a powerful sense of déjà vu hits her. Yes, she’s been here before, she knows all about the fire and why that ambulance is there and who’s in the-
She gets pulled, hard, spinning and practically crashing into Liliana, who grabs a fistful of the hair at the back of her head and presses her mouth to Diana’s, holding her firm for a bruising kiss. 
That’s not like Lili at all. 
Diana blinks, taken off guard, fighting the urge to fall into it but it’s so hard when she still smells like that awful, chalky soap they’d had back at Cascade County, still tastes like the bubblegum she always bought from the detention center’s commissary. It’s enough to smother out the alarms going off in Diana’s head.
Until Liliana’s teeth catch her lip and warmth blooms across her tongue, the taste of coppery iron snuffing out that pleasant bubblegum sweetness. 
Diana gasps at the sudden flare of pain, eyes flying open, hands flying up to shove against the other girl’s shoulders. But she is met with much firmer resistance than a teenage girl’s slender collarbones. 
It’s a man who’s tangled up with her now, his beard rasping against her chin before he pulls back with a self-satisfied grin, showing her the blood staining his teeth. Her blood. Bright blue eyes accost her in the flaring ambulance light instead of Liliana’s dark ones, teeming with violent glee. 
“As I said—we don’t have much time, my dear. Though...I could have you right here,” he purrs, insinuating himself back into her space, smoothing a palm down along the curve of her hip and squeezing her ass through the too-tight gym shorts. “At least for a little while…” 
A flare of indignance rises within her at Liliana’s sudden disappearance; at her transmogrification into this man with his slick, silky voice and tattooed hands pawing at her. Bewilderment swells like the tide, dragging rage and fear and an unsought, cloying desire along with it. 
She bares her own bloody teeth at him even as he grabs her by the arm once more and forces her away from the street and the ambulance and the bodies, towards the trees at the other end of the cul-de-sac. 
“You are not a lamb. You do not get the privilege of becoming a martyr for your sins,” he practically hisses, dragging her into the tall darkness of the forest even as she tries to fight back, drag her heels, scream and wail at her abduction. But every movement feels like molasses, slow and sticky and worth far more energy than she can provide. 
“This is for your own good. You’ll see that eventually. You’ll see everything when you just...stop...fighting.” 
She does stop fighting when his harshly bitten words coincide with the scene she starts to make out in the eerie, silent forest when her eyes finally adjust to the darkness. There are bodies up on the trees. People she knows, strung up like deer waiting to be gutted.
That’s where Liliana went, and the sight of her up there summons a coiling inside Diana’s guts like a lively, gruesome parasite. As she stumbles along in mute horror behind him, she counts the others, every one she sees. Every one done up with some kind of horrible pageantry; antlers, chicken wire, bundles of white flowers spilling petals in the breeze. Jess...Grace...the sheriff...her mother, her father...Pastor Jerome, Holly Pepper...Staci, Joey...all of them, everyone from past and present, everyone she’s failed or let down or still has yet to. Whatever monster he’s leading her to took them all, put them on gruesome display.
There’s a light, getting brighter, filtering through the trees ahead of them. It takes a few minutes for the source to make itself known, but then she sees it when they emerge into a clearing; it’s like a window to nowhere, a shape that’s almost reminiscent of an iron cross, but entirely its own design, hovering solitary in the air and filtering golden light down onto a lone figure. 
She winces, withstanding another powerful wave of déjà vu as her eyes lock onto the man who waits in the light. He sits on his knees, shirtless, all scars and tattoos, though not nearly as much ink on him as the man leading her has. 
He looks soft sitting in that light, but the sensation seeing him invokes makes her teeth want to start chattering and her body start shivering, makes her feel as if eels are sliding all around and up the walls of her stomach. She makes another attempt to pull herself free, digs her bare heels into the needle carpet of the forest floor, tries to wrench herself from her captor’s grasp.
He just barks out a harsh laugh before pulling her back in as if she weighs nothing, sucking his bloody teeth and tut-tutting at her so condescendingly it makes her want to shriek. 
Diana doesn’t know these men but she does, has never met them but she has. The knowledge is there but the memories of how and why and when refuse to make themselves known, dangling treacherously just out of her grasp. 
“John—stop playin’ your little games,” a gruff voice calls from somewhere close by; there’s a third man off in the darkness beside one of the trees, outside of where the light reaches. “There ain’t much time.”
John.  
The third grunts as he pulls down on a rope that’s slung up over one of the branches. He’s putting in a considerable effort, which makes sense when figured with the fact that it’s yet another body attached to the other end that he’s hoisting up. A woman in a pretty lace dress, dirty blonde hair obscuring part of her face. 
Diana shakes her head, pressing the knuckles of her hand to her chewed-up lip, partly to smother some of the pain and ground herself.
She turns her attention back to John. She knows his name now, and that must give her some kind of power in this Alice-down-the-rabbit-hole fucking nightmare. 
“John,” she hisses when he starts pulling her in the direction of the man bathed in light. “Don’t. Don’t-!” 
“I don’t have much of a choice, dear heart,” he hisses right back, nearly under his breath as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. 
John shoves her forward, marches her to the other man like an offering and pushes her down to her knees before him. 
Diana can’t help the way she quakes under his scrutiny, even as he smiles so softly and lifts his hands to brush her own bloody one away so that he can cup her face. 
“And behold, I saw a white horse. And Hell followed with him,” he mutters, leaning forward to press his forehead to hers.
“You are so lost,” he continues after a few moments in his slow, quietly emphatic way, one hand sliding around to cradle the back of her neck. “You are lost and you refuse to see the path God has set for you. You refuse to even reflect on the path you’ve already walked. You’ve blinded yourself. But you have to look.” 
His hands fall to her shoulders and urge her to turn around, to look back in the direction John had brought her in from. 
“You have to look at what you’ve done.” 
She can’t stop shivering. When he turns her, her gaze immediately flicks above the treeline to where she can still see just the barest hints of flame licking the sky from the fire, sending oily black smoke billowing up into the night. 
And then a brilliant flash casts the world in daylight for a brief moment, nearly blinding her in its ferocity as the earth shakes beneath them and the flames rise, billowing and inflating with some unholy force to bloom into a perfect mushroom cloud that towers above the trees. 
The prophet holds her shoulders tightly, but it doesn’t matter. There’s nowhere she can go. Everyone she’d tried to help is dead. And there is no escape from this. 
“The world is on fire—and it is your fault,” he mutters close behind her ear. “You can run and run and run—but you can’t change the way it began, nor can you change the way it will end. I will always find you.”
                                  .     .     .
A sound jolts John awake.
He’d never meant to fall asleep, doesn’t even know when it had happened, but his exhaustion pales in comparison to the lance of alarm that shoots down his spine at what sounds like the deputy crying out in pain. 
She’s thrashing, in some kind of episode or fever dream. It’s a good thing the nurses had restrained her hands, because if they hadn’t she’d have probably thrown herself over one side of the bed by now.
He’s up and out of the chair in a moment, glancing around the room instinctively before circling the bed almost like a predator. He watches Diana for a few beats while she gasps for breath like someone in the midst of a panic attack, pulling her wrists against the restraints bound to the bars on either side of her. 
She’s going to jostle the IV right out of her own arm if she doesn’t stop. He bends down, puts his hands on her forearms just above the bands of the restraints, trying to pin her, stop her from struggling so much. 
She gasps, a watery half-sob, and it’s only then he notices the tears trailing down her face. 
“Stop,” she manages before another desperate, choking intake of breath. “Stop—I can’t—I don’t-”
It’s almost enough to make John pull back, taking her broken words at face value as being directed at him. But her eyes are still squeezed shut, and she was struggling long before he’d even gotten near her. He wonders briefly if it’s him attacking her in her dreams.
“Diana!” he barks, a little harsher than intended, voice still hoarse with sleep.
“Lili—please-” 
“Diana,” he repeats, gentler this time, lowering his focus to the restraint closest to him. He lets go of one arm, the one without the IV needle in it, fumbling at the bindings to detach her from the bar at the side of the bed so that he can collapse it.
She thrashes once more, perhaps subconsciously registering the way he moves around her before he finally slams the bar down and takes a hasty seat on the edge of the bed, grabbing up her free arm once more to hold her still. It’s a very awkward position, one that leaves him half-bent over her, so that when her eyes finally open it’s him taking up almost her entire field of vision.
She pants, chest hitching, eyes roving back and forth wildly; they’re no longer covered over with that sickly green cataract-like cloudiness, but her pupils are still blown wide, blackness of a void he can’t fathom overtaking the color of the irises. 
There is silence for a few moments as her breathing finally starts to even out and they regard each other. 
“M’gonna puke-” Diana slurs out suddenly, rolling over and leaning over the edge of the bed away from him with her newfound modicum of freedom, her hand pulling from his grasp to clutch at the bar desperately. She lets her head hang off the edge and groans, long and low and hoarse, before sucking in a deep breath. 
“Diana,” John tries once more. He hears the distinctive sound of her spitting onto the floor and tenses, waiting for the dry heaving to start. 
Somehow, it doesn’t. She only continues taking big, long, loud breaths, looking like she’s in absolutely no hurry to pick her head up from where it still hangs, dark hair falling limp to cover any of her face he might’ve still been able to see. 
John doesn’t know what to do or what to say, really. It’s odd; he usually has no trouble putting on a reassuring smile for their followers, coaxing out a few warm and empathetic words, putting a hand on a shoulder and squeezing in a gesture of brotherly love. 
It’s always been a mask. 
But with her, it’s different. What does it say about him that he lacks the ability to express such simple tenderness, such a trite human expression, when it’s real? When it’s most important? When it actually means something?
“...I—I wanna...wanna confess...”
That grabs his attention, pulls him from his tempestuous thoughts, makes him whip his head toward her like there’s a fish hook lodged in his lip and tugging. 
She takes a few more deep breaths, shoulders rising and falling with the motion, and he wonders if she’s still crying with the way she shudders through it. 
“I’m not...not a hero,” she slurs, the words blurring together at their edges. “I’m not what they think I am…I’m not good…”
“Stop,” John hisses before he even realizes what he’s doing, a sudden panic flaring to life behind his ribs. “Stop talking.” 
“I can’t,” she marches on painfully, “I can’t, I’m-”
“Shut up,” John bites out tersely, grabbing her by her shoulder and forcefully rolling her onto her back so that she has no choice but to face him. He cages her in, pins both of her arms once more, hovering down over her threateningly because that’s all he knows. “I won’t hear it like this, deputy. Do you understand?” 
Diana blinks, face soured up and pursed from the way he’d just handled her, like she’s utterly confused by his reaction.
“I thought—you wanted-”
John huffs out a sigh. “Believe me, I do. You have no idea how badly I want to open you and watch your sin spill out,” he mutters fervently, eyes locked with hers. A voice inside him screams that this may be his only opportunity, his one chance. 
“However, I need...I need you to be lucid when you make that choice. I did not end Rachel’s life just for her to lord one last posthumous victory over me,” he grits out, unable to keep the venom from his voice. 
This is all he’d wanted. And now he’s willfully stopping her from giving it up. Whatever she saw deep in the throes of her Bliss dreams, however voluntary she thinks this is, whatever she’s trying to tell him now won’t be a confession he’s earned. It will only be a result of Faith’s ministrations, and cannot allow such a pivotal moment to be tainted like that. He will not. 
Diana blinks again - sluggish, confused - like she’s struggling to absorb his lofty speech. Before he knows it her face is scrunching up once more, fresh tears spilling from the corners of her glassy eyes. 
“Bastard,” she spits, turning her face away from him, trying to yank her arm out from his grasp and roll onto her side again. “Fucking...asshole piece-of-shit.” 
He sighs in exasperation, not fighting her, even backing off slightly so as to let her roll back onto her side and tuck her legs up toward her chest like a child. “If you were even capable of it, I have a feeling you’d be more inclined to thank me once you’ve sobered up.” 
“You said...said I could be free,” she slurs, half-muffled by the pillow she’s smushed her face into. “Said you’d wash it away...you said that. Liar. You’re just—jus’ gonna hand me over. Jus’ gonna fucking hand me over to him…”
It’s almost reassuring, hearing her address him with such vitriol again. He moves, slides down onto the bed beside her and wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her back against him. An unusually gentle, soft kind of thing, almost like a reward for the confession she’d finally wanted to give. “I did say that, and I wasn’t lying, and there are plenty of my brothers and sisters who would attest to that. No need to throw away your trust before you’ve even given it, my dear. But right now I need you to close that mouth and go back to sleep. Understand?”
“Eat a dick,” she mutters thickly, but it already sounds as if she’s starting to nod off again. 
“Charming,” he replies, cool and clipped right behind her ear. His arm tightens around her all the same.
25 notes · View notes
bookshelf-imagines · 3 years
Text
Chasing Light | Part V
Pairings/Fandom: Lumity/ToH
Summary: More suspense! Odalia, Odalia, Odalia...That bitch.
Warnings: Violence, blood
PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART VI || PART VII
Luz panted from the exhaustion that settled in her bones from fighting the beast in front of her. She had been rolling out of swipes but she had lost too much blood from the first blow to continue much longer.
It was her fault.
When she turned around, Cerberus had brought down one of his gigantic claws across the legionnaire’s chest, following it up with a clamp with its sharp teeth on her right arm, rendering her dominant sword arm useless.
She should’ve seen it coming but she didn’t.
She was trained better than this.
It was the fact that Odalia had mentioned the gods. What would a mere mortal know about divine beings, and a Titan at that? Pluto was struck down to the Underworld to watch the souls of the departed. If Odalia had him in her pocket, Luz didn’t want to think about the possibility of the woman being more powerful than she had displayed thus far.
Cerberus widened his maw and missed its target by less than a hair. Luz had rolled to the side and slid into a crack in the mountain. Her chocolate eyes held a ferocity in them as they scanned the battleground. Her sword was in two pieces on the left side. She couldn’t make it in time and she highly doubted the ability of the steel to pierce the hide of the godlike beast.
However, before she could dive beneath the vicious dog, a yellowish-white light enveloped the animal, causing Luz to shield her vision with her non-injured arm. As soon as it came, it was gone, and so was Cerberus.
Luz carefully dislodged her damaged body from the crack and limped over to her sword while simultaneously searching for what caused the creature to miraculously vanish into thin air. So far, there was nothing. Until-
“You have done well, my child. Come, rest. Your body may be blessed with the blood of the gods, but it has yet to be awakened. You are still mortal. Close your eyes. We will help.” It was an almost ethereal voice. It wasn’t around her, more so echoing within the constraints of her own mind. It bothered her to no end because it sounded like her conscience but...real.
Before she could think too much about it, her knees gave out under her and she fell to the earth, allowing exhaustion to envelope her in darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~ A few moments before ~~~~~~~~~~
“You really should be in bed resting.” Willow informed.
Amity wasn’t having any of it.
“I can’t rest knowing that my...mother,” She shuddered, “Is out there. The things she’s capable of…”
“Amity...What exactly happened over all these years?”
The honey color in the brunette’s eyes had dimmed since childhood. They no longer held the golden speck when she spoke and they looked as if they were constantly in fear of something. Or someone.
“You don’t want to know.”
A rapping at the door broke the conversation. Willow opened the door only for her friend to come toppling through, barely catching her limp form.
“Luz?!”
“Look at her armor - there are blood stains, but she doesn’t seem to be bleeding.” Amity observed before helping carry the unconscious Centurion to a bed.
They laid Luz down and examined her.
There was no blood on her other than her armor. Her sword was missing and her hair had definitely seen better days. She seemed visibly normal in all but one area.
“Did she have that scarring before?” Amity crouched and gently took a hold of Luz’s arm, tracing what seemed to be scars left by enormous teeth.
“Not that I recall, no. What do you think happened to her?”
“Odalia.”
“How would she be able to do this?”
“I don’t-” Amity sighed, “I’m not sure. But we might want to check for any other injuries, just in case.”
“You sure know an awful lot about this.”
Now, of course, as sweet as Willow is, she’s not stupid and neither is Amity. The plant-lover may not have seen her childhood best friend for nearly a decade, but she still cared regardless of what happened. She didn’t blame Amity for it. Though, if she had known that her mother had forced her into slavery, things might have gone differently.
On the other hand, Amity still hadn’t forgiven herself for what happened. When she was ripped from the life she had, all contact to the outside world was lost. That included the only person that stood by her through thick and thin. What did she do with that trust? She grabbed it by its neck and snapped until the last bone was broken. It wasn’t on purpose, and it wasn’t her fault, no, but the guilt was there and the weight bared down on her shoulders more so than Atlas himself.
“The, um…” Amity stood straight but avoided eye contact out of habit, “the other slaves taught me how to properly tend to wounds whether they were deep or shallow. I have experience with...injury.” She trailed off and opted to gaze at the unconscious woman before her.
She had to admit that Luz was...attractive? She also had to admit that that probably was not the correct word. It’s just that Luz exudes confidence. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it was...neat.
“Amity...I’m-I’m so sorry, I never knew.” Willow’s tone drooped as she took a step forward, “Come here.”
Amity was embraced in a caring hug. The problem was that her body tightened as hard as a rock and froze in place as her expression was replaced with confusion.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“I’m...hugging you.” Willow pulled away with worry, “It’s meant to comfort.”
“A..what?”
“You don’t know what a hug is?!”
“Stop...shouting. It’s too bright.” Luz, as disoriented as possible, groaned.
“Luz!” Both of the other females in the room sped over, but Amity took one of her hands.
As soon as Luz could register her surroundings and why there was an electric ache shocking her body, she smirked.
“Holding my hand before the first date, huh?”
“Wh-” Amity dropped her hand and blushed profusely, albeit without knowing why or how. Why was her face so...hot? For no reason? It’s not as though she learned much about...really anything to do with people, so this entire ordeal is new territory.
“Luz, what happened?” Willow inquired.
“Cerberus, Odalia, Pluto. Bright light. Sit down because this is going to be a lot.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Pluto leisurely stepped in circles around the woman currently shackled to the cement beneath her, tugging at her wrists and bringing her further into the Underworld with each struggle.
Odalia was bound to run out of luck eventually, and now she had. She was paying the price of what it meant to deal with a very, very angry god.
The God of the Dead stood in front of his victim and lifted her chin with a slender finger, clicking his tongue three times.
“You disappoint me.”
He crouched down and whispered.
“And you know what happens when you disappoint me.”
A chill sprinted down the woman’s spine as she kneeled motionless in front of the Titan.
A snap of his fingers was all it took before the souls of the damned came crawling from the River Styx, all too eager to feast upon such a delicious morsel.
They weren’t going to kill her, no. Oh, no. Just slightly…
Make her suffer.
23 notes · View notes
ordinaryschmuck · 3 years
Text
Top 20 BEST Animated Series of the 2010s-1st Place!
And now. 
For real this time.
What is hands down.
The Best.
Animated series.
In the 2010s.
Is…
(Pause for dramatic affect)
#1-Adventure Time (2010-2018)
I mean...what else?
The Plot: The magical land of Ooo has many things: A kingdom made of candy, a sociopathic Ice King, and even a self-proclaimed Vampire Queen. Amongst all this chaos are two adventures: A human boy named Finn, the Human, and his magical dog/best friend/adopted brother (yes, really) named Jake, the Dog. These two then go on adventure after adventure, facing against the many oddities that the Land of Ooo offers. What type of dangers? Well...you’re just going to have to watch the show to find out.
Before I start praising the crap out of this show, there’s one thing I want to get off my chest. You see, I hate Top X lists that always end with “the one that started it all.” It comes across as lazy because there is no way the first story tops every other one after it. Case in point: when looking at the best episodes of your favorite shows, how often do you see the first episode making the top ten, hell, even the top five? Not often, I bet. And sure, you can make the argument that “Without X, there wouldn’t have been Y,” but is that even a fair comparison? Sure, Disney wouldn’t have been as big as it is now without Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs being a success, but does that make it right to ignore great movies like Beauty and the Beast (1991), Aladdin (1992), and The Lion King (1994)? Sure, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope is the reason why fans love to hate Star Wars in the first place, but how often do you hear people saying Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back is the best of the franchise. And sure, the Marvel Cinematic Universe wouldn’t have existed without Iron Man being a box office hit, but with movies like Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame, can you really say Iron Man is the best in the franchise anymore? To me personally, if you’re going to pick “the one that started it all,” then it better be something that can outshine “it all.” This is why I chose Adventure Time as the best-animated series of the 2010s. Not because it’s a show that practically sparked the existence of almost every show on this list, but because it really is that good of a series. Unfortunately, with a series that really is that good, there will be people who try to pick it apart. This is why I’m going to do my best to defend against some criticism that Adventure Time seems to face. 
The first criticism I want to talk about is one that hasn’t even occurred to me until I watched JelloApocalypse's video called, “So This is Basically Adventure Time.” In that video, I realized that Adventure Time doesn’t really have a proper storytelling structure. Hell, most episodes don’t even have a conclusion. They just stop almost randomly. But there’s a remedy to this problem, and it's one that I discovered somewhat effortlessly during my rewatch of the show. And that solution is to stop looking at Adventure Time as a series of episodes and more of a series of experiences. What do I mean by that? Well, while watching, you can either have a good experience or a bad experience. A fun experience, or a depressing experience. A philosophically brilliant experience or a randomly stupid experience. All of which can happen separately or conjoined in every episode. Personally, I like this style of storytelling because I’m more likely to remember the experience of watching something rather than the basics of what is being viewed. However, as JelloApocalypse has proven, not everyone is going to be ok with this style. This is fine, as everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Just remember that if it doesn’t work for you, that doesn’t mean it won't work at all. Case in point: there’s a reason that this show got ten seasons.
However, with those ten seasons come the inevitable seasonal rot. Which, in this case, can easily be explained. Halfway through season five of Adventure Time, series creator Pendelton Ward left and made Adam Muto the head showrunner. And where Ward’s style relied on being random and hilarious, Muto took the series in a more philosophical direction. Several fans were turned away from this aspect, but I like to argue that this isn’t seasonal rot and more of a series’ development. Tons of shows on this list went through their own transitions, some subtle and some drastic. Whether or not you’ll be ok with those decisions is entirely dependent on who you are. And personally, I actually enjoyed the direction that Adventure Time took. While I was entertained by how hilarious the original seasons were in Ward’s run, Muto caused me to think more intensely than any other show I have seen in my life. This is why, once again, I would like to point out that just because it didn’t work for you doesn’t mean that it won’t work at all.
But one thing that didn’t work for me, and one criticism that I’m inclined to agree with, were how some characters got treated in later seasons. Now to be fair, most of the characters actually become more interesting as the series goes on (Ice King, Marceline, BMO, Susan Strong, etc.) There are just two characters that got a little iffier compared to others: Finn and Princess Bubblegum. The main reason why Finn’s character seemed to fail is that the writers focused more on Finn's love life (or lack thereof). I genuinely believe that Adventure Time has some fantastic romantic relationships, but that aspect of Finn’s character is easily the most uninteresting. It’s even worse when an episode focuses on his armorous hangups through past...mistakes. I even heard that this decision ruined Finn as a character for some people, which I can totally see why. Luckily the show course-corrected itself, and by season six, it started focussing on an aspect of Finn’s character that is actually interesting: His family. Not to give away any spoilers, but let’s just say that Finn gets significantly more fascinating through this decision. Unfortunately, one decision that never got better was how the show treated the one and only Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum. This character started off as a gentle/playful ruler who was as sweet as her kingdom. Only to evolve into a sociopathic control freak who is obsessed with science. What went wrong is that the show goes so far as to say that she’s always been that way, even since she was a kid. I guess she just was good at hiding it in early seasons. Once again, the writers try their best to course-correct Bubblegum, but all they did was make her bearable than despicable.
But while Bonnie doesn't work for me, do you want to know what does? Literally everything else about this show. One of the reasons why Adventure Time is the best series on this list is because it has elements of every other show that has already been mentioned before it. You see, Adventure Time can have: Hilarious comedy, intense action, superb animation, creative ideas, compelling drama, catchy music, thought-provoking stories, good romantic subplots, gay romantic subplots, great lore and backstory, intriguing mysteries, and, most important of all, bacon pancakes. All of which can be handled in ten to eleven minutes, where most shows struggle within twenty-two.
But one element that stands out among the rest is Adventure Time’s serialized storytelling. You see, there are two different types of storytelling: Plotting and pantsing. Plotting is how it sounds: You come up with ideas beforehand and work your way into making them come to life. Pantsing is where the goal is to basically make things up as you go along and try to make everything connected afterward. The ladder is the route Adventure Time takes. Every single amount of lore, character development, and even surprise twists were thought up almost on the spot. And one might think that this makes things more complicated, but when I rewatched the series in 2019, a solid 99.9% of what’s written lines up. Sure, there are small things that get confusing or downright forgotten. But that’s the keyword: small. It’s the big things that the writers try their best at explaining away, which can be much appreciated. And while I can love a show for creating a well-crafted story, I got to give Adventure Time respect for doing the same thing just by improvising. But do you want to know the real reason why I stuck with this show? And why do all the elements mentioned before manage to work so well? The same reason why any show can work so well: The characters.
And yes, I know I just complained about how certain characters were nearly ruined in this series, but that doesn’t change how good they are. Almost every character that the show focuses on has a level of intrigue to them, and characters that don’t still manage to be incredibly entertaining, to the point where a worm’s butt can carry an episode by itself (Yes. Really). But nothing beats the central duo, and I’m being honest when I say they make the series enjoyable. Finn and Jake not only have such an entertaining brotherly dynamic, but the two of them are just so much fun that I can’t help but smile whenever they’re on screen. They’re easily the best thing about the show, as well as the most entertaining characters in it. This is saying something because Adventure Time has a LOT of characters. One might say too many. In fact, one could argue that Adventure Time suffers from the too-many-characters syndrome, which I can absolutely see. However, every character is so unique and creative that to this day, I still remember the Tree Witch in the episode “To Cut a Woman’s Hair.” From her voice to her design to even Tree Witch's creative and hilarious way to convince Finn to get her some princess's hair.
This brings me to another great thing about the show: Its endless amount of creativity. Everything that Adventure Time does is something you will never see anywhere else. From all the unique ways the show has Jake use his stretchy powers, to also having a vampire drink the color red instead of blood, Adventure Time is always a show that leaves me scratching my head wondering, “Why hasn’t someone else done this before?” And the best part is, no other show can do the ideas that Adventure Time has had. Because there is no way of doing it without coming across as a carbon copy. Which I can appreciate. Believe it or not, I would rather see an idea done once and never again, rather than repeated to the point where it becomes stale. Letting Adventure Time keep its creativity helps the show stand out among the rest and prevents it from being forgotten through time.
Thus, we come to the real reason why Adventure Time is the best-animated series on this list: Memorability. When doing a rewatch of the series, I was surprised by how many episodes I somehow remember. In fact, out of over two hundred episodes, I only manage to forget one (which coincidentally managed to be an episode I hate). I honestly don’t know why so many episodes managed to stick with me. Maybe because the show is so creative that it’s hard to forget. It's probably because the characters are instant icons that their impact just won’t leave me. Hell, perhaps it’s because the show is so gosh dang weird that my brain refuses to forget a second of it. No matter what the reason is, it all still stuck. And I’m not going to lie, I feel as though there are going to be a lot of shows I'll forget over the years. But ten years from now, something tells me I’m never going to forget Adventure Time.
Now that I think about it, there really have been many great cartoons over the previous decade. And we owe it all to Adventure Time. The act of being unique and creative with one’s ideas came from Adventure Time. The idea of being more mature and deciding what should and shouldn’t be for kids came from Adventure Time. The fact that a show needs well-written characters to tell a great story came from Adventure Time. Even certain shows were made because creators worked on Adventure Time (looking at you, Steven Universe). Is the show perfect? No. Far from it, even. But when looking back at the many great series we’ve gotten in the 2010s and the many great shows we’ll get in years to come, I realize that the fun will never end WITH Adventure Time.
(Especially since we’re still getting it with four hour long specials on HBOmax)
5 notes · View notes
moon-ruled-rising · 4 years
Text
as the rain hides the stars
read the full story on Ao3...
iv. if i was a man, then i’d be the man
I’m so sick of running as fast as I can,
wondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a man.
And I’m so sick of them coming at me again, 
‘cause if I was a man, then I’d be the man
-Taylor Swift, “The Man”
“The Falcon is en route,” The bodyguard reported.
Daenerys despised her code name. Falcon. Compared to the other code names of the family, Dragon, Eagle, Swan, and Raven, Falcon was terribly underwhelming. The falcon was a bird people trained to hunt for them. It was a bird for enjoyment, not a bird that commanded respect.
Stepping through the automatic airport doors, her eyes and ears were assaulted. The flash of cameras and the shouts of the paparazzi were much louder than she remembered. After six years in Essos, she supposed she’d lost her resistance to them. 
As the car door shut behind her, the security detail fell in line. Sir Jorah sat in the backseat beside her, with another in the passenger seat and an armed chauffeur. The sirens on the police cars started up and they pulled away from King’s Landing International Airport and into the busy streets.
The airport was located in the new city. An entrancing view of sleek and modern high rise buildings. Business headquarters, vegan restaurants, and clothing stores advertised themselves in the clear windows. The sun was absent, leaving room for the rainstorms that heralded her arrival. 
As they entered the old city, Dany remembered why she wanted to leave so bad. The air still smelled terrible and people crowded the streets. When Dany applied to the esteemed Braavos University, they were more than ecstatic to accept a member of the Westerosi royal family. Dany was just as excited to leave King’s Landing.
Studying overseas was the best decision. People cared less about what was going on in Westeros and weren’t phased when Dany and her security officers were out and about. Granted, there were still a few paps waiting outside her apartment but it was a much needed reprieve from her life in Westeros.
People stopped and gawked at the heavy vehicles maneuvering the narrow streets. Did they know Dany was back, or were they waiting on an official announcement from the crown? She missed being able to smile at people as she passed them and take in the sun, instead she was hidden away under an armored hood and tinted windows. 
She tore her gaze away from the saturated image of the world around her and looked at herself in the rear view. The bags under her eyes hadn’t improved and her skin was dry from the airplane air. She was in no shape to see her family again. They expected a perfect princess and the best she could give them was a tired college student. 
“Everything alright, Your Highness?”
The voice of Sir Jorah brought her back to reality.
“Nothing,” she assured Jorah, “It just feels weird to be back.”
“I know what you mean. A few years of people not giving you a second glance and now everyone’s on your arse.”
The chauffeur coughed to show his distaste for Jorah’s language, to which he muttered an apology. Dany chuckled. They had grown too relaxed while in Essos, too comfortable with each other. That would have to change.
Of course it hadn’t always been like that. When Jorah was first assigned to Dany, he took his duties with extreme seriousness, as they were drilled into him by years of experience. But when she had a breakdown while studying for her Essos Political Science class, he broke protocol and offered her solace. An odd friendship grew between them and soon enough she had Jorah trying to drink her under the table at college parties.
Despite people in Braavos not caring about Westerosi politics, they hesitated to befriend a royal. Probably afraid of the customs and rules that came with it. There was one girl in her Valyrian Studies class that managed to get over that fear, Missandei from Naath. Dany wished Missandei was with her. 
The motorcade came to the front gates of the Red Palace. It had once been a great keep built of red stone that looked over the whole city, but Dany’s ancestors had a great love for the grand mansions in Essos and had the Red Keep destroyed and replaced with a sprawling palace in red marble. It looked even more imposing than the original. Although Dany had only seen portraits of the old keep, she knew the pinkish stone couldn’t have put fear into the hearts of those that would steal it. 
Her ancestors knew what they were doing because the sight of it filled Dany with dread. Years of lessons and protocol, always in the shadow of her older brothers. She tasted freedom in Essos and was now expected to give all of it up to fit the family mold. She took a deep breath in an attempt to control the increasing speed of her heart.
The iron gate opened with the grace and opulence it commanded, allowing the princess through. The cars took their usual arc around the enormous fountain in the front courtyard. A silver scene of three dragons breathing water instead of fire. Come to think of it, Dany hated that fountain too. 
She slid out of the car, trying to move quickly so the paparazzi outside the gates couldn’t capture her dressed in leggings and athletic sneakers. Varys would have her head if even an inch of her body got published in something so casual. She added the dress code to her list of grievances. 
Petyr Baelish met her inside the doors, matching her brisk pace through the cavernous entry hall. Their footfalls echoed in the space, a haunting sound.
“Princess Daenerys, it is so good to see you again.”
“Wish I could say the same to you,” she deadpanned.
Baelish was never her friend and Dany was more than willing to take out her frustrations on him. 
He sighed and continued, “As I’m sure you know, the annual charity gala is tonight. The seamstress has already prepared selections for you to choose from and is waiting in your room. I suggest you hurry there.”
Dany rolled her eyes.
“It would also be in your best interest to know that the King of the North, Eddard Stark, and three of his children will be in attendance tonight,” Baelish reported.
“The King of the North?”
“Yes. And his three children. Crowned Prince Jon, Prince Robb, and Princess Sansa.”
“What are they doing down here?”
The North was an independent country. When Aegon the Conqueror sailed from Valyria he respected Torren Stark’s refusal to kneel, leaving them independent from the United Kingdoms of Westeros, but not without repercussions. The North was cut off from the rest of Westeros, no access to trade or military support. Members of the royal family hadn’t traveled south since the last long winter a hundred years ago.
As far as Dany was concerned they were a boring lot. Their names were rarely mentioned in the tabloids and they never did press interviews. They never appeared on TV and the paparazzi seemed uninterested. The complete opposite of the Targaryen family, whose faces were plastered on every magazine cover and nightly news editorial, who existed to be seen.
“The charity represented tonight is the champion cause of His Majesty, Eddard Stark. The palace extended an invitation to them and they accepted,” Baelish explained.
Dany hummed in acceptance of his statement, but she had the suspicion there was something deeper going on. Rhaegar learned from their ancestors to always have an ulterior motive, to never allow a stranger into your home unless the stranger had something to offer. That philosophy was one Dany lived by, although she employed it specifically for romantic partners.
Another set of footsteps entered the hall. The excited patter of little feet made Dany’s heart lurch. 
“Auntie Dee! You’re home.” 
Her niece and nephew, Rhaenys and Aegon, sprinted through the corridor. She bent down to hug them, giving them kisses on their foreheads. She didn’t want to let them go. The ache in her chest reminded her of just how much she missed them.
“How long are you going to be home this time, Dany?” Rhaenys asked, hope in her dark eyes.
“I don’t know yet, Your Royal Highness,”
“Longer than a day right?” Aegon begged.
“I think I can manage that.”
The children’s governess appeared from around the corner, red faced and out of breath.
“I’m so sorry, Your Highness, they saw your car pull through the front gates and took off. I told them that you’d want to be alone, but it appears they no longer listen to me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dany assured the woman.
“Do we have to go back to lessons?” whined Aegon.
“We’d much rather spend time with you!”
Dany laughed, “I’m afraid your lessons are more important than me. How else can you become the greatest Queen and Prince there ever was?”
The kids groaned, but didn’t protest when Dany took their hands and led them back up the stairs. The whole way back Rhaenys and Aegon filled her in on how well regular school was going and all of the friends they made. And she praised them for their wonderful jobs and promised to see them as soon as she could before handing them off to the governess.
As soon as she turned around, there was Baelish, looking rather upset at the distraction. 
“Your Highness, if you would please pick up the pace. Or you’ll go to the gala half dressed and Gods know we do not need another headline like yesterday.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Of course, she did know. Maybe drinking Red Priestess vodka all night was a terrible idea, but in her defense, she wasn’t buying the drinks. Braavosi custom dictated that it was rude to refuse a drink when someone else was buying. 
“I see. And the naked sunbathing incident with the Khal off the coast of the Summer Isles? That wasn’t you either?”
“What are you implying?”
“Your Highness, your exploits in Essos are not lost on Westeros. People talk and what they have to say isn’t nice.”
Dany rolled her eyes, “So what? Dragons don’t care about the opinions of sheep. Besides Baelish, if there was an issue here Rhaegar would’ve told me.”
She lied straight through her teeth. Of course Rhaegar said something about her behavior. And she was confident Baelish knew too. 
“Of course, Your Highness. Whatever you say.”
Baelish made a gesture for her to walk ahead of him as they approached her apartments. 
They hadn’t changed since her graduation from secondary school. She ran her hand over the painted walls. Scenes of courtyards, gardens, and ancient castles painted like they were straight from a medieval manuscript. She tapped her finger on the nose of a princess engaged in a dance with a prince, as she did every time she passed. The princess was supposed to be the fair Alysanne but there was a surprising lack of a dragon anywhere near.
The plush bed looked inviting and Dany could feel the exhaustion under her eyes. She had too much to think about and doubted sleep would come easily. When she turned the corner she laid eyes on Elia Martell, resting on the ottoman in the closet through another set of archways. She stood and opened her arms.
Dany ran to her sister-in-law, crushing her in a hug. Elia squeezed back and rubbed Dany’s back reassuringly. 
“I’m sure you know all about it,” Dany sighed into Elia’s chest. 
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” she warned, “but Rhaegar was very upset.”
“I figured.”
“Dany, how did this happen?”
“Elia, I don’t know! I wasn’t even drunk.”
The in-house seamstress was well prepared for Dany’s arrival. A rack of red gowns waited for her. Red was Dany’s favorite and she always wore it to important functions, much to the dismay of Varys. He claimed the color was too bold and harsh for a young, unmarried princess.
“Either way, there’s a stinking mess and it’s stressing Rhaegar out. If his hair wasn’t already so light, it would be turning grey. And who was that man you were leaning on?”
Dany ran her hand over the expensive fabrics. Velvets and silks, embroidered with silver and detailed in black. They were perfect for an evening amongst high born and elite.
“Daario Naharis.”
Dany selected the first dress and held it up to her frame. Dark red knit with a shimmer. Shape hugging with a slit up the back and low cut neckline. She stepped behind the privacy screen to try it on, slipping out of her regular clothing.
“You mean the Tyroshi tech millionaire?”
“His father’s the millionaire. Daario will just inherit all of it,” Dany called from behind the screen.
“Why do Rhaenys and Aegon have lessons? It’s summer.”
“I wanted to make sure it was just you and I today.”
The seamstress zipped up the dress and Dany stepped out and onto the fitting platform. As she turned about, her many reflections mimicked her and the sparkling dress she wore.
“What do you think?” she stuck out her right leg to accentuate the slit.
“It’s a little plain,” a voice said from the doorway.
Dany whipped her head around to see her best friend all the way from Essos.
“Missy!”
She hiked the skirt away from her feet and charged at her friend, wrapping her arms around the girl’s slim frame.
“What are you doing here? I thought you had a family emergency in Naath,” Dany questioned.
“That’s just where my flight connected. Elia called me a few days ago and told me I should be here.”
Elia gave Dany a playful glance.
“Well, it’s good you’re here. I need someone to agree with me on everything.”
The seamstress coughed and Dany left her best friend’s arms to try on the next option. A crimson A-line piece in chiffon, dark and flowy.
“Are you sure you don’t need someone to make sure your boobs stay in your dress?”
Elia snickered but Dany rolled her eyes.
“We get it! I made a bad decision and it came back to bite me in the ass. Add it to the list.”
Dany let out a strangled breath as the seamstress pulled the ties tight around her. The dress was supposed to flow, why did it need to be so tight? She stepped back up to the platform.
“I like that one,” Elia offered.
“Too sweet,” Missy and Dany said at the same time.
She stepped down and back behind the screen, the seamstress undressing her again.
The last time she tried on that many dresses was for Rhaegar’s coronation. They were still mourning for King Aerys so everyone was dressed in black. Dany remembered the dress she chose. Strapless, black a-line, covered in dark flowers that turned silver at the bottom. She remembered standing in the front row of the Sept, weighed down with silver jewelry and watching Rhaegar ascend the steps. And all she could think of at that moment was their father and how gaudy and disrespectful it all felt.
The seamstress pulled the ties of the next dress painfully tight and sent her off. The soft red satin pleated around her chest in structured pleats like a seashell. It hugged her hip and gathered into a burst, fanning around her feet. Dany did a few turns and twists, her many reflections copying her.
“That’s the one,” Missy praised.
Elia hummed in agreement.
On her way to change Dany said, “We can figure out the jewels later. We need to discuss my fall from grace.”
She wrapped a black silk robe around herself and walked straight onto the settee at the end of her bed, turned, and let herself fall. The thick duvet and memory foam mattress broke her fall. Missandei crawled up beside her and stroked her silver hair.
“Remember at Galazza’s lecture when she said that there’s no such thing as bad publicity?”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way for royalty. We try to keep our names out of the papers these days,” Elia stated as she appeared at Dany’s side. “The more invisible we appear, the more the public likes us. Although they seem to love when we dress up and spend time among them.”
Her dark hair fell over her shoulder. They used to have girls’ nights where they would watch sappy movies, eat popcorn, and braid each other's hair. They always watched a dated Dornish film about a Rhoynish prince disguised as a Meereenese pit fighter. Dany would always gush about the leading man and Elia said she went to school with him and they dated for a brief time. She wondered what Elia’s life would be like if it weren’t for the arranged marriage between her and Rhaegar. 
“I need a drink,” Dany pouted, sitting up.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Missy asked, the tone in her voice made it clear what she was referencing.
“If I’m going to get through this evening of ass kissers and sticks-in-the-mud, I’m going to need something stiff.”
“I think alcohol is the last thing you need,” Elia said sternly. 
“This is so unfair. If I were a man and that picture got out, this wouldn’t be an issue-”
“Dany,” Elia warned.
“-but because I’m a woman my boob is deemed offensive and-”
“Dany!” 
She looked to Elia, who never snapped at her, with wounded eyes.
“I know you’re upset and that’s understandable. But it’s our lives. So please, do me a favor, and deal with it.”
Missandei watched Elia with enraptured interest. She’d never seen someone put Dany in her place before. But then again, Dany was usually in the right. 
“How long am I going to be stuck here?”
“What?” Missy asked.
“We called Dany home because she needed a time out,” Elia explained to Missandei before turning her attention back on Dany, “And that’s indefinite for right now. You need to tell me more about this Daario.”
“We’ve been hooking up for a year and he wants to make it official.”
“Well I hope you told him no,” Elia gasped.
“Don’t worry about it Elia, he won’t be coming to Westeros anytime soon. And Rheagar would never let me formally date a Tyrohsi.”
“Why?” Missandei asked.
“The monarchy is already in a delicate position because we represent an outdated establishment. Allowing Dany to seriously entertain a foreign millionaire would make us seem unpatriotic.” Elia stroked Dany’s hair and tucked it behind her ear.
“Your Majesty, the hairdresser has arrived,” Elia’s assistant reported.
She sighed and got up, brushing the wrinkles out of her pants.
“I’ll see you two at the gala.”
Dany groaned and Missandei giggled, “You still have to find me a dress.”
2 notes · View notes
smolbeandrabbles · 4 years
Text
Hail To The King -  Henry IV & Reader (The King)
There’s absolutely zero ‘X’ to be had here. & To be used for platonic relationships #AppreciateThePlatonics
Tumblr media
Author’s Note: 🎉🎉YES. I freakin’ DID.🎉🎉 Something else will have to come along and be freakin’ SPECTACULAR to stop this from being my movie of the year. Honestly, everyone involved in this movie should be super proud of themselves. This is an absolute gem. And I’m sure I’ll be raving about it for years to come... AND. If there’s one thing I love, it’s a good song. Especially when it fits the source material! Hail To The King - Avenged Sevenfold
Disclaimer: I do not own any of this apart from the words, which I wrote with mine own hand. I will not take away from the fantastic job David and Joel did. Also, seen as Shakespeare pretty much wrote fanfiction of history... this is like... fanfiction of fanfiction (of fanfiction?) Premise: As the King’s Guard it is your duty to protect him from anything. And you’ve done that well over the number of years you have served. There’s just one problem, what happens when you come face to face with the one thing you can’t protect him from...?
Words: 5371
Warnings: swearing / If you’ve not seen the movie and know nothing of the plays then... uh... spoilers!
__________
Royal flames will carve a path in chaos Bringing daylight to the night Death is riding in to town with armor... Blood is spilled while holding keys to the throne... No mercy from the edge of the blade Dare escape and learn the price to be paid Let the water flow in shades of red now Arrows black out all the light Death is riding in to town with armor They come to grant you your rights
There's a taste of fear When the henchmen call Iron fist to tame them Iron fist to claim it all Hail to the King Hail to the one Kneel to the crown Stand in the sun Hail to the King ---
If you’d ever bothered to trace your family history back, you wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a long line of you that had ended up in the service of whatever royal family was going. You had followed your father, and his father before him, and his before him… All in an array of vastly different roles – sure – but all in direct service to the King. Only difference here was you were female – and happened to have the most physical occupation of them all. King’s Guard. It had probably made sense when he was younger and getting himself into trouble – or dragging you half way across the country onto battlefields for his father and cousin. When you were more friends than anything else… But… When he became King? Shirked was the idea that he should have a woman defend him. But, apparently his thought process was quite the opposite; what kind of woman were you if you were the one charged with defending his life at every moment? Formidable. Worthy of being at his side.  And you were glad for it. You held his confidence, his council and were damn well needed when the realm started their many rebellions – that was before you counted assassination attempts. So when distain was still noted, but had considerably died down, you though you might be owed apologies. Or at least a thank you. No such luck from most of his other advisors. But you didn’t much care for them; you were much more invested now in his children. With his daughters now married into foreign families you had little opportunity to see them. But his four sons, who still liked to practice their swordsmanship, and on occasion treat you like you were still in your twenties and they were still under ten, were fast growing into tough young men of their own. With many responsibilities. Thomas was the one who had taken to this with the most resolve, that was immediately recognisable – and now he too was council to his father. John and Humphrey were content to rest on their laurels, and that made sense – they were likely to never inherit the crown, and you knew that if ever called to such service they would jump at the chance. …Then there was Hal… “Where is that boy of mine-??!” You were snapped from your deep thought, huddled sitting on the wooden steps, by the voice of your King. “Likely in town...” you tipped your head back, eyeing him curiously, he could only be talking about his eldest with a tone like that... “Would you like me to go get him?” It was as much your duty to know the whereabouts of those boys at all times. Henry already looked weary at the notion; “Is that your job?” “Not really.” You stood, brushing yourself down; “But sometimes I do like taking a walk...” He sat back for a second to regard you; “I’ll permit it, but hurry straight back.” You gave a nod of agreement “Your Majesty.” You turned with a smile “Oh-! And Y/N?” “Yes?” You twisted once more, now backing out of the throne room; “Knock some sense into him, would you?!” You gave a laugh “Even when they were younger I always thought it was easier said than done... I’ll see what I can do!” ** You didn’t have to stroll that far and had barely made it out of the castle grounds before you ran into him, looking about as worse for wear as you expected these days. But he was in the company of a man you didn’t recognise; causing your thumb to loosen your blade from its sheath; “Eastcheap no good for tonight then?” Hal sent his eyes heavenward, usually he’d take your snark and give you attitude of his own with amusement. Now it didn’t matter what you said, or how, it would simply be taken as another bout of chiding from his father. Hal essentially saw you as an extension of him now – and he had little patience for either. “…No.” “Well then you best get back inside and cleaned up. I shouldn’t like to send you to your father straight away, but he was asking after you…” and there it was… Hal sighed as if this would be a great effort on his part; “Fine.” You turned you attention from the prince to his companion and drew your eyes up and down him for some explanation. “And you are-!?” “Y/N…” You shot Hal a look to silence him.  “Falstaff, M’Lady…” It was a name you recognised… a seasoned warrior from a previous Kings reign. Although, he didn’t exactly look like that anymore. You wondered where Hal may have dug him up from. But could already jump to obvious conclusions. You folded your arms. “Oh, so you’re the bad influence.” His eyes flicked around the castle walls but didn’t meet your face; “I... don’t know how I feel about being called that.” You turned to Hal, still standing there awkwardly; “Don’t look at me, I’m not the one you answer to, get inside...” “But-!” “Get inside!!” You jerked your thumb over your shoulder, never one for liking repeating yourself.  He sighed, eyes downcast and trudged past you into the castle.  You shook your head and turned back to his companion, who was staring at your armour;  “And who exactly are you?” You folded your arms, eyebrow raised; “That’s a joke right? And not a very funny one...” you walked down the steps to effectively get up in his face - it worked well enough for him to take a pace back “You certainly look like a bad influence.” He smirked gently; “What, and you’re the good one?” You gave a shrug “I’m not here to be either - but seen as he appears a little wayward from time to time I do like to attempt a bit of steering... God knows what would happen if I didn’t.” He surveyed you again; “You’re King’s guard.” “Correct.” “Will you be Hal’s too?”  Part of you wanted to scoff, first it would have to happen – and tension in this family was high enough; “Unless he removes me from service...” you narrowed your eyes at the notion though, “But if I was you, I would have care how I spoke.” One too many strange men appearing on castle grounds got a girl wise to these things. He bent to examine your weaponry “Why? Would you run that through me?” You rolled your shoulders in a shrug; “I can think of worse things to do with my time...” “Surely all that is heavy? Don’t you take a break?”  You raised an eyebrow “It’s... my job.” Not as heavy as the weight of the Kingdom I should think, in its current state. “I see, is that it? Stand around like that all day.” “Occasionally I train Hal and his siblings in combat - which they will obviously need if things continue the way they are. And I advise, on occasion...” you placed your hands on your hips; what it was to him however was beyond you. Still, he nodded his head to the gate that his friend had just disappeared through. “You gonna advise the kid too?” You scoffed this time; “Ha-! Well I’d certainly give him a lot better advice than you.” He gave another smirk “we’ll see about that.”
**
As you expected the ill-feeling continued, and eventually Hal stopped coming around all together. You weren’t exactly surprised, and neither was Henry, which you were glad of. He wasn’t all as delusional as they would call him. However, your King was getting wise to his own mortality. He’d survived a few illnesses so far – but now he was getting older they were getting harder to fight. And today as you looked over the palace gardens his musings caught your attention; “I must call him back.” You were torn between his health as a priority and the knowledge that before something really awful happened, their relationship should be allowed to mend; “Will seeing him not strain you?” “Don’t you ever get tired of telling me what to do?” “I get worried.” You slid off the stone ledge you were sat on, “Now more than ever...” “Mortal life is such...” You lowered your head; “...But I did not expect it to be so sudden... this is my duty, what do I do without you...?” “Continue on.” “If your heir allows it.” “Why should he not?” “I don’t know... children have a funny way of looking at things...” You only began to walk as he did, and slow... you had never been more alert in your entire life - not even when you used to ride the battlefield together and his very life depended on yours. When enemies and weapons surrounded you.
But this was the second time in your life you had felt powerless to stop something. And the first was with his wife. You adored her too, and essentially became her Queens guard. Retaking that oath on their wedding day. It had happened similarly... how were you supposed to protect him from something like this...  And now enemies were on all sides too, what with the addition of Henry Percy to the rebellions. You should have dispatched him yourself over that dinner. You could reprimand yourself over that one later though… Still, in honesty, who would morn beside his father-!? Would you simply be fighting a losing battle? But you couldn’t give up - not on a man that meant so much to you.
*** Similar discussion rolled around again a week later, whilst you were waiting for the servants to finish dressing him one morning. You were the only one in this castle looped into everything. What Henry didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him – what the advisors weren’t telling you, you would gain from those in Henry’s inner most circle – the 4 or 5 of you that held his closest confidence. There was something in your demeanor that made you perfect to stand by his side and defend him, as well as make the right connections to have all the information at your disposal at any one time. Anyone who needed to know it would know in due time. Kindness paid you well, but being quiet and unassuming was twice as powerful. 
“I must speak to Hal, don’t you think? Before this gets worse.” This time your answer was different, if Henry were to listen to reason, he would do it now; “I do believe that wouldn’t go amiss.” He nodded, turning to let them smooth out his cloak ready for another communal day listening to very boring stories where you would try not to roll your eyes. You used to give each other similar looks of distain back in his younger days... Now Henry seemed to make snap judgments that didn’t make him very popular; and it was your duty to stand and listen and accept it. Having said that, if he turned to anyone, it was still to you. “I will summon him, then, lay down the rules. How I expect my succession to go.” “If I may, he only needs some straight and narrow. And giving it to him as laid down should help him with that…” you gave a nod of approval to his suggestion “Firm but fair.” He was giving you that look again that meant you didn’t necessarily believe in your suggestion “…Y/N… The truth from you now.” He dipped his head but kept those piercing blue eyes on you. You breathed a heavy sigh; “…Go easy on the firm…” You gave a gentle smile “…I believe the fair will be what he needs most.” ***
As the meeting was adjourned you allowed yourself to lower your head into your hands; oh, Lord above what have you done? Clearly whatever you had said days previously had gone over his head, been forgotten, or someone else in this room had put other notions in his head. You glared at his row of ‘advisors’ – you could make a fair few guesses. If only you were just allowed to go around and take them all out without some yelling treason and getting you killed. You ground your teeth and excused yourself from your King for a moment. “Tell me this wasn’t someone else’s idea?” Thomas gave a shrug “…I… Cannot say I knew it was coming. But neither can I say it’s a surprise.” “Whether that be Hal or the battle?” “Oh. The battle was set… Why?” “Would you like me to accompany you?” He politely shook his head; “Your place is at my fathers side.” “I know that, but he’s hardly about to fight a war is he…” “You may stay, if I need you I will send for you…” Thomas was always your favourite, you didn’t like the idea that he was about to walk into this on his fathers orders “…You promise?” “I promise.” “Well then you best keep it, if you are to succeed him, then I would expect you to already be utilizing me.” He gave a smile at that, and a confident nod; “Perhaps I shall see you on the battlefield?” You reflected his warm smile with your own; “Until such a time, Thomas! I wish you luck!” It wasn’t so hard to catch Henry after talking quickly to Thomas and even less hard to get him to usher all his other bickering advisors away; “When I said talk to Hal, that isn’t exactly what I had in mind!!” “...What? Do you believe me to have lapsed in judgement...?” “He is your son! I would just expect that...” You held your tongue at the look he was giving you “That boy is no son of mine, do you think he cares? He would sooner see me dead than come to my heed - and he said it himself, he does not seek the crown of England.” You tried to not look so hurt; what had caused such a rift... you had your own ideas... Hal had always been the wayward unruly one... but the eldest. You always thought he would come back, and perhaps he would have. But both he and his father shared a similar distaste for one another’s company that had never really healed. Not even now, when Henry, like it or not was a dead man walking.
 **
  Things declined, and fast. It wasn’t like you could say one day he was fine and the next he wasn’t, he’d been ailing for a while - but you expected it to draw itself out a little longer... but when hour two of you sitting in the throne room alone rolled around you knew something was wrong. And you knew he’d long since lost the strength to wander alone; so he wouldn’t be in any of the places you would have usually found him pondering life. You decided you’d rather be in trouble for not being here when he arrived than leaving anything too late.  And you were right; although when you got to his bedchamber only his doctor was still present. You stood in the doorway patiently, and he spotted you, whispering something to your King he came over; “I fear we are at the end...” It was like getting stabbed through the heart with your own sword, and as expected you couldn’t hold the dread from your voice; “...Is there nothing...” “Y/N I have done all I can... I know this is particular hard on y-” “You have NO idea how hard this is for me!” You spat back a little more venomously than you really meant. You were angry, confused, scared, upset.  Henry had always laughed and told you your face was too emotional, and you always pushed him and told him you were his emotional support. At least you could actually roll your eyes when someone came to him with something stupid. Not that you were supposed to, but sometimes needs must. The doctor looked more than a little taken aback, so your expression softened and you lowered your eyes “Forgive me this is just... after losing her I... I thought I would lose my life before he did...” “Have you not done your job amicably well if he is dying like this?” “In agony? When I cannot do anything? Should the King’s Guard really outlive their King?”  You were met with a silence, before the doctor turned to Henry again; “He will need rest... but you may stay...” “How long...?” “Little more than a week, I wouldn’t hope to expect that...” You swallowed back your tears, and he lay a hand on your arm; “...Y/N... I am sorry...” “...Are preparations made... is no one going to...” “What are preparations now? After Thomas-” You shot him another look “So we need to debate over Hal, now?” “Y/N... until he-” “For goodnessake...” You shook your head; fine. If his other advisors won’t say it, you would. Your smile was a thin line; “Thank you Doctor... I’ll take it from here...”
Those were some of the hardest steps you’d ever had to take, which you thought was pretty pathetic on your part. He’s your King dammit! It doesn’t matter for how much longer, he is NOW! It’s YOUR job to be his strength, while he still has some of his own... But he was your whole life, your whole world, your best friend. And if there was something to go through, you’d probably been through it together. And for all the talk of you supposedly saving his life, you couldn’t count the number of times he’d saved yours. Your eyes flicked to the castle grounds visible from the window, and you were glad they hadn’t left it dark in here. Though if they had you’d have done something about it. Always the rebellious one. You sat on the edge of his bed and sighed gently... if this really was it then you’d never get to walk with him anywhere again, let alone out there. You were starting to wish you’d savoured yesterday that little more. It wasn’t long before his hand took yours, and you were forced to smile. His voice was weak but held that amusement that let you know he wasn’t truly done yet. “...Never thought you’d have to see me like this...” You shook your head, eyes still on the scenery “...this is you we’re talking about... I’ve seen much worse.” He managed a chuckle; “Oh! About to get a collective embarrassing life story, am I?” “I’ll spare you that, your Grace.” “Oh. The honour is mine...”  You laughed, despite the circumstances... “But in seriousness... we do need to talk about what happens next.” “Hal?” Your nod was barely there, unless he was about to offer up a second suggestion; “Who else?” There was a grumble and Henry withdrew his hand, which made you look back to him; “...I didn’t wish to see you lose any of them before your own life... but we can’t pretend it didn’t happen... Henry if you don’t name an heir there will be chaos... even if Hal is the more obvious choice... I don’t trust-” anyone! He sighed; “You never have.” “No. With good reason! Everyone here is here for themselves...” “And you aren’t?” “Thought it might be obvious by my title...” I’m here for you. You folded your arms “And if I have to tell you some home truths, so be it. I’m not afraid to do so.” “...Do you think he’s ready?” “I think he’ll be different.” “That wasn’t an answer to my question.” “How can anyone be ready? I’m not ready, and I’ve been preparing for what happens if I don’t do my job for 20 years-!” “You cannot shield me from this one...” “And how do you think THAT makes me feel-!?” There was sudden silence at the way you’d raised your voice and you sighed again “Forgive me, I...”
His hand reached out again and this time he brushed away the single tear that had escaped; “Do not waste your tears on me... crying is all but useless.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as it graduated to despair; “What am I supposed to do without you..?” “I told you. You will do your duty. And you better damn well do it good - that boy will need it.” You blinked a few times, allowing for a pause worthy of the significance, and raised an eyebrow; “Is that you agreeing with me on this one-!?” He chuckled again, “Come now; I don’t often disagree with your judgement.” “This is a major judgement...” you took his hands back in yours “Henry, it needs to be your decision and they all need to hear you say it...” “And they will, even if it’s the last thing I say...” You sighed gently again with a nod, despite your frustration, even now he wasn’t willing to mend fences. Well. You don’t know why you expected it. “May I stay?” “You may...” he closed his eyes again “... That way you can tell everyone else to leave.” You couldn’t help but grin, even though he couldn’t see it; oh you’d only wanted to do THAT from the second you’d been appointed... You left his bed, and settled in a chair, relaxing; “With pleasure..!” You ended up reading, head propped up in your hand and sword braced against the wall. It wasn’t something you had much occasion to do these days, and you for once gained your enjoyment from being absorbed in books, and not parrying in the courtyard with adolescent males who still hadn’t figured out a way to beat you yet that didn’t involve foul play. You smiled absentmindedly at the memory as you read on; no prizes for guessing which member of the family you ought to be thanking for that. Your eyes flicked up as he murmured something, and everything stilled for a moment. He murmured it again – a little louder but barely enough for you to catch it; you placed a marker in the book and slid it from your knee – leaning forward and focusing on him. It sounded like a string of nonsense – and you realised that he must be lost in dreaming. That didn’t make your approach any less curious. You stopped just short as he mumbled again; “…Mary…" Oh… Henry…  You crouched beside him, lacing your fingers with his. He repeated her name a little louder now, and his fingers closed around yours tighter – as if desperate not to let go. His calling of her more urgent. You bit your lip gently, and attempted to calm him with gentle hushed tones of your own. And all at once you knew. He would have her back, he would get to see her again. You knitted your eyebrows together – was it fair to keep him here, to pray to God few more precious hours as much as you did, when all he’d wanted since she’d died was to see her again? It was like everything was being forced into perspective – and when he relaxed you dropped your hand from his and looked Heavenwards. He was your everything. But you should be thinking about his everything… ‘Forgive me…’ ** Every morning since then you’d been the first one to his room. For a start, there was no way you were letting anyone else beat you to the King’s side, and you wanted to pay damn close attention to the kinds of poison they might be whispering. On occasion you would simply make sure your sword hit something as you moved, to keep them in line. Your concern now was them leading him to something when he had very little effort to fight it off. He’d already made some rash decisions when he was completely lucid... some of the people that came to him had good points-! Even if they went about it the wrong way...  
But, people had been calling him delusional for a little while and you weren’t having that, or anything else, happen now. So you watched them all with a particular form of glower. You’d only left his side to rest. Not that you got much of that done either - pacing the halls outside your room instead. You would wait in his, but, you had to at least act like life may go on. It wouldn’t. You would be just as delusional for thinking so... This morning however, was worse than all the rest. You took the steps 3 at a time and walked that corridor as briskly as you had any other day. But as you turned into his room you knew something was badly wrong. And that made you sprint the rest of the way, to your knees.  His breathing was laboured, and even in taking his hand there was no strength left.  “Henry...” He barely opened his eyes to you; “Y/N...” His voice was just as weak. And for the first time since he’d been bed bound, you didn’t want to cry. Some kind of amicable strength overcame you. “Save your words, My King... I shall gather everyone...” you knew he knew too.  A shiver ran through him that you also didn’t like. Just stay alive... please until Hal is here... stay alive...  You stood, and were about to turn and run from the room once more, but something stopped you. You reached down gently, and tucked his dark hair away from his face. Then you bent - and pressed a short kiss to his forehead. It wasn’t enough, but it was what you needed to say.
** You didn’t know if you were supposed to be running quite this fast in mail; and your sword occasionally banging into you caused a dull pain, but you didn’t care. Everyone you could think that would need to be there you roused from sleep, or any other mundane task they might be doing, in order to be by his side. And by the time you got back they were ready to administer last rights.
You stood in the centre of that room and surveyed it, a slow smooth circle until you were facing him again. Everyone was solemn and quiet. And there wasn’t anyone missing to be doing the task, either. You were about to raise the noise level; “Where is Hal?” “...Why would...” “Are you serious?! Without putting too finer point on it - we will need a new King. An heir to the throne of England. We can’t exactly have the first choice can we - where is Hal!?” “The King has not named Hal as the success-” “Are you JOKING!” You took an intimidating step forward, “Who else, pray tell, will sit on the Throne of England??! Would you like to call the Scots? The Welsh? The French? Hal is the heir and Henry’s eldest son...” “This King has not-” “RETRIEVE HAL FROM TOWN. One of you! NOW!” There was another silence like they weren’t going to heed your words. But within it a second weaker voice; “Hal...” You all turned at the sound of your King “...He must... you must...” You turned to them all with a sharp look; “I believe that is deceleration enough - one of you GO-!”
To be honest if your look was going to do anything it would well have murdered them on the spot, but it didn’t - so William was the one to volunteer to go. And you at least gave him a glum smile of thanks, before taking a deep breath and nodding to the Archbishop. It was time. Like it or not. And you didn’t.
***
You couldn’t stay, you should have been in that room but you couldn’t bare it. Watching his heart break over Mary was one thing too many even now; having him watch yours do the same wasn’t something you could do to him as he died. Instead you stood outside, one foot up against the wall. Your thoughts both equally merciful and selfish. Let it be quick and have him suffer no more... let him linger a while I’m not ready yet... But you weren’t even there, would it matter now. There was sudden screaming from the entrance way that made you look up; “Where is the monster!?” You sighed, Oh...Hal... You were right, fences could never be mended... would they be even now? All you could really be glad of was that he came.
Hal paused as he wheeled around the corner and caught sight of you. And composed himself, solemnly, you wouldn’t trust to hope he would be doing it for any reason other than you. Hal and yourself had never had any reason to not get along, other than the man you served. His walk slowed a little but he understood the urgency. His nod to you meant a great deal more than he would realise. You smiled gently at his interactions. He was like you, maybe that’s what Henry saw that he didn’t like. You weren’t opposed to the shakeup. You and he were two sides of the same coin - Hal and you would become the same side - there would be a lack of balance there - but you had discipline and your nature suited you to your job. There was a point where Henry liked that. Maybe he just didn’t want to see it in his own son. Either way, he was never blaming you for it.
**
You weren’t sure you had ever felt like this. Hollow emptiness, maybe, but it hurt so bad. You’d had weeks and months of this and you all knew what was coming. And yet... When it happened it was unbearable. There was sudden shuffling... and you knew everyone was dropping to Hal’s feet. You were still stood outside. They accepted because why? Because he had said so as he died? Because it was the only way? - if Hal relieved you from duty you could stick around. If he didn’t, you had a feeling he would need you more than his father did. Discord from the outside was naught like fighting something from within. Enemies on all sides once more. In a different way... You were aware of your tears this time and decided that this once you were allowed to not keep them at bay. You were conscious of Hal’s exit from the room and pulled yourself away from the wall. He paused, and turned to you. You took a breath, knowing you were duty bound to kneel to your King. And you would - but before you could even take the step he held his hand out. “You do not need to-” “It would be improper of me to not-” Hal was incredibly soft spoken, and that tone would serve him well; “Y/N - given your standing with my father, I would not have you submit in such a way before I am truly crowned...” he paused, and tilted his head, he saw those tears. And yet you should still be getting down on your knees... “...You will stay... in office?” You opened your mouth, but what to say, of course you would accept, and Henry had asked it of you. But did you risk looking too eager, everyone else would likely be forced, and yet he was giving you the choice. You countered; “If you would wish me to... and permit me to... I will stay.” He nodded in agreement “You are my Kings Guard.” “As you are my King.” There was a clear decision in that sentence that flickered across your face and Hal’s eyes at the sentiment. “...That is agreeable. You served my father well. I am of mind enough to know you shall do the same for me.”  You gave a nod, Henry V... that’s what he would be... your second, and your second term in such an office. You could only hope not to outlive this one, and that he would reign for many a year. You bowed instead, low, so low you might as well have knelt. And when you stood again you were smiling. All hail a new era - maybe one England desperately needed.
“Hail to the King.”
---
Tumblr media
Hope you know I wasn’t resisting at least ONE GIF.
@dennismitchell @happyskywhale @wltz-bby #MendoTagSquad.
27 notes · View notes
crqstalite · 4 years
Text
drabble, rain. [theron && tri’ama]
a little drabble i wrote over the course of two days because i finally finished shadow of revan and rise of the emperor, and i’m in loving theron shan hours. mostly, tri’ama remembering that she’ll never see him again.
written: 11.4.19. word count: 2,628
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
"20. as we huddle together, the storm raging outside"
song file: chains, nick jonas.
character file: tri'ama amarillis & theron shan.
-
tri'ama doesn't like admitting weakness. whether that be in a duel, or out in the jungles of yavin iv, the emperor's wrath is never quick to give up a fight. you can believe she'd much rather die than say someone else or something else conquered her first.
but some armor doesn't always do the trick for the cool and damp nights of yavin as the coalition leaders break off from their meeting, and she can finally rub her temples without seeming annoyed with one faction or the other. she has no problem with the jedi at this very moment, nor is she particularly angry with the sith. a surprising balance, really. but, she is rather upset that the temperature dropped so quickly on the planet.
she tries to avert her eyes from where the republic allies reconvene off to the side, the red of theron's jacket taunting her, as if saying 'come over here'. shaking her head, she tries to ignore the bickering that most likely will erupt eventually between marr and lana. shivering, she figures there isn't much better to do than to go to sleep on the fury and get ready for whatever tomorrow brings.
but quinn was supposed to return from leave today, she remembers as she grits her teeth. the absence of her wedding ring and replacement with her grandmother's still weighs heavy on her mind as she frowns. so maybe not the fury tonight, not with how much it still smells like him and his cologne. there isn't much else to get up to on the outpost, and it's not like she can go forward without official orders from marr or satele. sleeping on the station seems like the best option today.
satele is so terrifyingly calm, it shivers her down to her very core as she picks up a datapad, scrolling through the current mission reports. most of which she herself had submitted, high concentration of massassi near a temple, lots of potent wildlife to keep at least one eye on at all times, and spirits wandering the caverns. nothing new or too concerning, so she's content to wander deeper into the jungle near the meeting alcove, still shivering as water soaks her hair through and plasters it into a near unrecognizable version of her previous style as it hangs down in front of her eyes.
wonderful. it was due for a wash anyways.
hiding under a low-hanging tree and pushing a particularly mischeveous blonde curl out of her face, she continues to scroll past paragraphs and paragraphs of hastily written aurebesh and she tries not to be remembered how cold she is. she's originally gone ahead and believed yavin was a jungle and would be as humid as warm as one, but clearly, she was mistaken because of the emperor's presence everything seemed to change. adding notes where required, she tries not to get too annoyed with the hurried mispellings of field agents and whatnot.
she wondered if the hand would come after her again if she badmouthed the emperor out loud instead of shouting at him every time something bad happened to her because of him. she chuckles, teeth audibly chattering. let them, she'd cut them down and then the man himself.
the light of the moon shines off the pond nearby, and she's happy to gaze into it from her perch nearby. should it not have been so cold, she would've been happy to take a dip, maybe not in the presence of the coalition forces, but swimming had always been a passion of hers. something that the incident on manaan had nearly taken from her, but she digressed. something about being eveloped by water and letting the waves take you or simply being content to sit at the bottom of a pool or pond was relaxing. nearly along the same lines of gathering fury for a fight.
oh ew, she sounded like a jedi now. maybe satele and the barsen'thor had more of an effect on her than she'd thought they had, with all their talks of rationality and actually thinking your problems through before acting. horrible ideas, really.
slicking her hair back into a messy bun, she unclips her respirator from around her jaw and breathes in the rainy air. now unfiltered, the air doesn't smell like the ocean, or really anything she's smelled before. dromound kaas is technically a jungle, but she's spent so much time in the concrete area that the smell is rather new to her. not yet comforting, but still oddly calming. the leaves of the weeping tree above her tickle her head and back as she shifts to a more comfortable position.
she's quick to hear the footsteps that are supposed to be quiet, and the even more recognizable force signature of none other than theron shan. she's sure she's not supposed to know he's coming, but she's also very sure that the man knows just how far her force powers extend, especially as the literal emperor's wrath. he is an sis agent, and her file must be a few hundred meters long and just as thick. out of the corner of her eyes, she can see he has his arms wrapped about him, his product filled hair starting to droop (she knows there's product in there, it's a lot of the same that mal-quinn used, same smell). "darth amarillis."
"what is it, shan? couldn't get on without me?" she asks, finally lifting her head as his surname crosses his lips in that deepy and husky voice of his. he rolls his eyes and she uncrosses her own arms and stands up straight.
"no, i thought i'd just seen you disappear up this way, that's all. wondered why, you usually head back to the station after missions." he answers indifferently.
"stalking me, shan?" she smirks, raising an eyebrow before he realizes what he's said. admitting to knowing her schedule is rather interesting, but he is a spy. he's trained to know these things about people. she smiles on the inside, he cared that much to learn her routine.
"you just...never come up here that's all. wanted to make sure you were alright." he's embarassed now, not meeting her eyes as he shrugs, looking everywhere but at her muscular, if not also short, frame. so confident, yet turns into a mouse when the two of them end up alone together. she'd find it funny, if she and quinn hadn't just ended the only relationship she'd ever been in.
"you don't have to apologize for being concerned, theron." her tone takes on a softer melody, trying to get him to look at her again. "it's more relaxing out here than it is on a hectic station. i didn't wish to fly all the way back to vaiken either."
"yeah, course." he says, in near agreement. she wonders whether this a point where she should press for the real reason he came over here, because if that was the case, lana probably would've wandered up here first or with him. the woman was a wonderful friend to tri'ama, and many had already mistaken them for siblings or distant family. but the nervous energy he has isn't fear, but some other anxiety of some sort. maybe the upcoming fight against revan is getting to him, she knows that's one of the few things racing through her mind.
he's a sight for sore eyes. on manaan, she was still trying to figure out all her issues with quinn, trying to figure whether grass was greener on the other side of the fence, and on rishi? after he'd been captured and interrogated, she was quick to find that she cared for the man, a lot. even if his faction had tried to kill her multiple times, and she'd killed millions of his in return. the heat of her cheeks just thinking about the kiss on rishi is nearly enough to keep from shivering.
he must've noticed because in less than a second he's shucked off his red overcoat and has tried to discreetly put it around her shoulders. the sleeveless armor is quickly forgotten as her neurons nearly stop firing and she sticks her arms through the sleeves. "cold out here, isn't it?"
"definitely." he responds. his shirt is a long sleeve, though is quickly getting soaked through by the rain. frowning, she's already got the jacket on and she is rather warm. giving it back doesn't seem like an option she wants to take right now either, but she also doesn't want to take advantage of his kind heart too much (bleh, light side talking again), so as he moves to leave, she pulls him back and instead puts her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his toned chest. he tenses, obviously, as she puts just enough fury to get her body warm again, and without the cold the blow out the flames, it's successful.
"tri'ama..." he nearly has a warning tone to his voice before visibly relaxing a bit, his heart rate slowing down back to normal as his body warms alongside her own. "you didn't need the jacket after all, did you?"
"i can't exactly generate enough myself when i'm below freezing, theron. so yes, it was necessary." she says smoothly, pulling away just enough to look up at him with a playful if not also dangerous look crossing her eyes. he's quite a bit taller than her, which is annoying enough, but not too much taller that she can't easily peck a kiss to his lips without too much trouble.
which she does, because her middle name is trouble.
he doesn't even move, shock evident before his cheeks turn a dusky pink, looking away as she grows closer again. with his face turned away, she plants another kiss onto the exposed cheek as he turns away again, another kiss on the other cheek. she finds it funny, he doesn't apparently. "would you quit that?" he says, trying to bat her away without success.
"i suppose, if that's what you want." she says, letting go of him immeditaly, he stumbles as she flips the collar of his jacket back up so she can hide her face in it. mostly, to hide her own crimson cheeks. it wasn't unusual that she'd do the same with quinn, if only to pull him away from work for just a moment or two. theron, however, is different from the imperial fanatic. flustering quinn was hard work, getting him away from his datapad was a struggle and a half, but theron? not so much.
her, even less.
the rain is pouring now as the two eventually come to their senses, tri'ama standing rigid under the leafs of the tree, only the occasional drop of rain managing to find it's way to the duo. assignment long forgotten, she tries not to show her interest too well, "after all this, where will you be, theron?"
"wherever the sis needs me." he sighs, as if really thinking about the extent of his job. she wondered what it was like, to not be force sensitive and rely on a secretive job to pay your bills and even possibly kill you in the process. the way his face is marred with bruises and scars, she withholds her hand to caress his face. she wonders where each one has come from, what the story behind each one is. "hard to predict where they send a secret agent."
"yes, of course." thunder claps in the distance as she really processes that after all this she may never see theron again. at least, not on the same side of the battlefield. "of course." she whispers at the end.
"what about you?" he finally asks, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes just barely flashing a verdant green before staring back out at the landscape. "i mean...just where are you going to be posted?"
"i'm posted wherever i choose to be posted. but with the brewing war, i suppose i'll be seeing more rain on dromound kaas than the sunny skies of anywhere else." she says pointedly as she grimaces. what if she does have to fight against theron one day? his squadron, his troops. even him, if worst comes to worst. they'd dueled before, but not to the death. never to injury.
what if one day she has to?
"you uh, really like the sun, huh?" he asks, as he furrows his brow in concern, turning towards while she'd been mentally monolouging. she must've become all jaded again without realizing it. "thought sith could just go anywhere they went, anytime they wanted to."
"i have my responsibilities to the council. once i get back it's going to be 'jedi this', 'sith that', intelligence this or that, the sis...." she trails off, realizing if she kept talking she'd give away more than a few secrets that the council had to an sis agent of the opposite faction, "getting away and working for the coalition was really vacation enough."
"hmph." he says, grunting in response. he shuffles on his feet before standing sturdily in front of her, a serious expression falling over his features, "whatever's...uh..going on between us, you know it's all over when the coalition ends, right? i just, don't want to get your hopes up..."
"i'm rather aware." she deadpans, trying to put too much more thought into it. static buzzes in her head as she considers the matter, frowning. going home to quinn with the stench of another man on her, without another person sleeping with her at night. without the little things, tri'ama wasn't sure she could survive going home to the fury without theron, even with vette, pierce and jaesa seperating the two as much as they could. she'd have to face the fact that the mistakes she and quinn had made wouldn't easily been forgotten, or fixed, "nothing lasts forever shan. as much as we wish they did." she trails off.
"yeah." there's a sense of finality behind that. period, not a comma or a semicolon, the end. "can't holocall, can't send each other anything. won't see each other ever again."
"i'm not a child theron. i was aware of the consequences when i kissed you on rishi."
"i know, i know." he responds, before she grows ever-closer to him. he isn't quick to take her in his arms, but eventually allows her to hug him back. "just, i know what happens to people who accidentally take a sith to bed."
she stifles an eyeroll and a chuckle at the comment. while she's never been one to indulge people's stereotypes about sith, she would admit to knowing quite a few part of the order who'd later killed unsatisfactory lovers, "you've never taken me to bed shan, is that a request i hear?"
"just...you're a real minx you know that?" he asks, as she smirks. pressing a kiss on his lips, he presses back surprisingly before tightening his grasp on her. he's rougher than she expected, but she can be just as rough back. when he eventually pulls away, her still in his arms, she's still smiling, something's that's unusual as the compromising position she's in now.
"if i never see you again, theron, then i'll make what i have now last as long as possible." she says, making to wander away with his jacket still around her shoulders before shucking it off. handing it back to him and picking up her datapad, she kisses him one last time before whispering something so quiet she's sure over the rain he can't hear.
however, she may have underestimated his perception because the poor man's having an aneursym over three little words that have just shaken him to his core.
“i love you.”
7 notes · View notes
cazador64 · 4 years
Text
Electric Lifelike
Emma pulled her old jacket tigjt around her body "it was a diffrent time." She turned the gun over and over in view of Elise. She held the butt of the large pistol to her "kristabelle may be gone but their is still hope" Elise felt the heft of the gun in hands "not many of left aftef Gillette wyoming fell" Emma rolled up her right sleeve "the Enforcers gave me this there." A row of numbers tattooed on her forearm stood out. She tucked the 45. Pistol into her worn pack "what was it like back then?" Emma sighed trying to think back to that cruel time "death,war,fear,families sluaghtered every waking second is all their was." She thrust a yellowed paper at her before the sounds of sirens ecgoed down the alley "go go,you must find Kristabelle!" Emma shoved her throught the make shift door.
She faced the police "suspect 145607 you are under arrest for attempts to harbor criminals." They stepped at her quickly. She tried to deploy her talon guantlets but they had cuffs over her hands before they could. She felt a needle jab into her side then nothing hut darkness.
Elise finally stopped running after a dozen blocks of pale stucko houses "how am i supposed to find her?" The paper clamped in her sweaty hand. She sat on the dirty curb to catch her breath while she unfolded an old map of the midwest. A large faded red area on the map was labled unexsplored "great a map of a place ive never been." The city of Sheridan was labled on the map as an abandonded city. She would start there if she could leave new york without injury or arrest. The sound of the police hover cars roared over head twords the massive complex to the south.
Elise peaked between the boards of a fence too see a small junkyard of old hover cars, a small shack on the far side looked empty, she could cross the lot without heing seen. She slipped between the splitery boards to trip over a fender in the knee high yellow grass "search the lot" she saw a hand full of officers in all black biomech armor. They spread out into a search pattern to find her "search ever car but keep an eye out for homeless." The leader with a rescue shotgun called to the six others. She crawled up against a tipped over parts van "shoo kid!" A toothless woman with sunk in eyes swatted at her from the busted windshield "shhh please!" The woman opened her mouth to yell. In a fit of fear she grabbed the womans throat hard to snuff out her yell "please please be quiet!" Elise pleaded reaptedly as the womans eyes rolled back. She dropped the body then manuvered into the stench filled rear of the windowless van. She lay on a stained matress that reaked of bloody urine "check that van!" A muffled voice yelled. Elise pulled a crusty bug infested blanket over herself "anything?" The swealtering heat made it hard to breath under the squirming blanket "just a dead squater". Their footsteps moved away from the van until the sounds of their cars gave her the go ahead. She wheezed in a fit to get to fresh cool air that didnt sting her eyes "oh god oh god oh god" she struggled not to puke realizing she killed a person. She ran through the rest of the lot into a field running along side the poor drug ridden south side ruins.
Tents,make shift houses, rusted out cars,and massive piles of trash sprawled out farther than she could see, the mass of millions of flies made it even harder. She kept her pack in front of her with her arms tightly wrapped around it "hey baby how much for you?" A man smoking sonething out if a tin car reached at her but she picked up her pace. Ahead stood a few somewhat intact buildings where a cleaner community was established. The trash wasnt as bad in the cleaned up street but flies still swarmed in thick heavy black clouds "welcome to middle south side." A man in a tattered sports jacket greeted her with a blackened smilr as she passed him. The sun was starting to set making people scurry into an old hotel "miss i dont mean to be pushy but please come inside beford it gets dark." Elise noticed the whole of south was either lit by massive bone fires or inside so she jogged in too. The man in the sports jacket closed the heavy door then slide a couple sets of rebar into slots along the door "your not from here so im betting you dont know about them?" She shook her head looking around the lobby "well them are predators that are effected by bright light,they only hunt at night" she follwed him and a few others as they barred the wibdows. He looked at her with sweat running down his nose "they come from any place thats dark with a hunger that cant be filled" he switched on a small collection of fans "they are taller,faster, and the most dangerous creatures on this earth, im glad your inside where its safe."
Something slammed into the door "help us!" A couple begged before a loud yipping drowned them out "why didnt you let them in?" She looked at his finger pointing at the bottom of the door. A pool of blood spread out "them got to them." She numbly sat at the remains of a bar where the children sat. They were watching cartoons on a badly worn out vhs "best we keep them from drawing them in." A woman craddling a bad deformed baby stated with a smile. Elise found it hard to smile back seeing these people lived in crouded dumps with no hope of any comfort.....
1 note · View note
penumbra-rp · 5 years
Photo
Tumblr media
Congratulations Akanksha, you have been accepted for the role of Bellatrix Black!
Her gaze flicked towards the interviewer, and the thin veneer of a post wave feminist boss slid over her skin “— I think it’s really important for me to be seen in this position. It’s rather odd that the fashion industry is catered towards women and yet most executives, and even designers, in the top fashion houses are…men.”
Admin Ash: Akanksha, I absolutely adored that Bellatrix was the feminist force of nature that the fashion world wasn’t ready for but she forced them to accept. You said that Bellatrix was a woman better suited to battle, wearing her skin like armor and possessing the keen readiness to obliterate obstacles in her path in whatever form they took. And as you go through the stages of her life, you can see that she’s in a consistent fight, grappling with numerous battles -- with her mother to take on less upper-class societal norms, with her father to be taken seriously as a business woman, with her volatile nature as it needed to be subdued without the proper outlet to put it. But now that the Death Eaters have given her that outlet, I’m beyond ready to see Bellatrix tap into her nastier self. 
Please check out our checklist for joining Penumbra. 
01. Out of Character
NAME: Akanksha
AGE: 23
YOUR BIRTHDAY: 10/31/1995
PRONOUNS: she/her/hers
TIMEZONE: EST
02. In Character
CHARACTER: Bellatrix Black
CHARACTER’S PRONOUNS: she/her/hers
FACECLAIM: Crystal Reed
CHARACTER’S BIRTHDAY: April 14th, 1988
PERSONALITY:
(+) EFFICIENT – Electricity followed the path of least resistance and Bellatrix was the same way; she saw her solutions in straight lines. Obstacles were removed not circumvented. In the business world, this garnered her praise – she had an uncanny ability to cut through bureaucratic paperwork. In the other matters, this trait was especially welcome. Deliveries were made quickly and discreetly. And those who interfered were eliminated at once, with little time spent contemplating the morality of it all.
(+) INTELLIGENT – Perhaps if knowledge wasn’t such a means to an end, she would have spent more time in academia. Nonetheless, Bellatrix actively sought to learn more, to know more. From languages to stocks, she kept an attentive eye on new trends. Developing a vast and in-depth repertoire of skills was what kept her far and ahead from anyone else, and she aimed to keep it that way.
(+) PROTECTIVE – Bellatrix protected what was hers. She’d learned at the foot of her father, strict but unhesitating when crushing those who would do his family harm. Those outside her family must work much harder to be considered one of hers. But once they’ve earned their place in her shadow, she will do whatever necessary to protect them and more often than not, their mistakes.
(-) VOLATILE – Bellatrix has always struggled to hide what she’s felt. This issue is greatly compounded by her mercurial nature. She went from calm to furious in a breath, and settled just as quickly. This made her rather unpredictable; some days she’d let a mistake pass and others she’d use it as an excuse to indulge in her more violent tendencies.
(-) CRUEL — Perhaps the most offensive aspect of Bellatrix was her particular brand of violence. She didn’t simply eliminate her obstacles, she obliterated them. For any perceived slight, her retaliation was ten-fold. She was quite simply mean, and rarely for good reason. Bellatrix enjoyed being cruel; it slaked some tormented creature inside her that she’d never been able to articulate.
(-) DOGMATIC — At the end of the day, you were either with her or against her, and she would interact with you accordingly. No one could truly be neutral in Bellatrix’s eyes. Her black and white worldview fed into her narcissistic notion that only she knew best. The only complicated relationships she had were those with her sisters; the differences between them were obvious, but there were striking similarities as well. Beyond them, Bellatrix didn’t allow herself the murkiness of gray areas.
BRIEF BULLET POINT BIO:
NAME – Bellatrix was born in the middle of a thunderstorm, screaming from birth. They named her for a constellation, as the Blacks had always done. They named her for a warrior, and it meant something when the Black family gave their daughter a title like that. Bellatrix was born with turmoil inside her, one that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Her skin would always feel stretched tight, like armor, and the first time her mother dressed her up for fun, make-up making a little girl seem older, she knew that femininity would only ever be war paint for her.
MIRROR – It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be a girl. She had no problem with her body, the budding curves, the slimmer face. It was all the expectations that came along with it. She fought her mother because she didn’t want to wear dresses. She fought her father because she wanted to be involved in the family business, not married off. She fought her sisters because maybe if Andromeda stopped being so difficult, maybe if Narcissa stopped being so perfect, maybe then her parents would turn their attention away and she could finally breathe. She wanted to shriek so loud her mirror would crack, and maybe then the jagged reflection would look more right to her than the dark haired, red lipped princess who stared back.
ACADEMIA – She somehow scored the highest marks in her class but very nearly didn’t graduate from secondary school due to the sheer number of transgressions. Her father’s lethal charm, both carrot and stick at once, ensured her graduation and there was something in his eye that told her he was proud of her. On the cusp of adulthood, she finally managed to prove to her father that her mind, her hands were worth far more at House of Black than as a negotiating piece. Bellatrix studied the right courses, spent her summers interning at the fashion house, and graduated from the Slytherin School of Social Science poised to take over.
CAREER – The moment she was initiated into the Death Eaters, the clawing, hungry thing inside her settled. Or rather, it was appeased with the promise of danger, with the deadly games and trades, with the scent of blood. Executive Director of House of Black itched less when it was meant to be a cover and not her reality. She did her job well, better even, once she had an outlet for the tendencies that made her blood simmer beneath her skin until she burned from the inside. For that had always been the struggle of a starry warrior – Bellatrix was fearless and bright, but she was at her best in battle.
OPINION – While Bellatrix appreciated the privileges associated with The Sacred 28, the gendered aspects of the culture grated on her. Being raised in that culture allowed her to slip in, seemingly one of them, but her family always knew better. Only the youngest Black had thrived in those spaces. She preferred The Death Eaters mostly because it was the first place she had been able to be her complete self. For the first time, she hadn’t had to shave off the distasteful pieces of herself to be seen as appropriate. The Death Eaters had provided her a true sanctuary, and Bellatrix would be damned before she let some upstart activists ruin that.
INTERVIEW:
i. How do you feel about your current occupation?
— Bellatrix didn’t bother smiling; she hadn’t been pleased about the interview in the first place. In fact, she distinctly remembered telling her youngest sister that as Marketing Director, Bellatrix expected Cissy to head off any and all journalists. She didn’t have the time or, quite frankly, the temperament. “I enjoy my work, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said, dark eyes still focused on the contract she was reviewing. “It’s a very high energy environment, which suits me particularly well. And—“ her gaze flicked towards the interviewer, and the thin veneer of a post wave feminist boss slid over her skin “— I think it’s really important for me to be seen in this position. It’s rather odd that the fashion industry is catered towards women and yet most executives, and even designers, in the top fashion houses are…men.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “There’s legacy and family here, yes, but House of Black continues to be trendsetting in more ways than fashion, and for that simple reason I could never consider a position anywhere else. I love this company and my job.” She smiled then, more bared teeth than grin — she’d never been able to truly hide the predator in her — and the unspoken for now became clear.
ii. What song would you say describes yourself?
— Bellatrix tilted her head in consideration. Lips curving into a smile that was relatively softer, more knife edge than blatant fangs, she turned back to her computer. Neatly manicured nails (she never bothered with fancy colors sticking to nude or black) tapped her keyboard with ease and accuracy. A click, and a thrumming beat began to fill the office followed by a rich female voice. We wear red so they don’t see us bleed… “Trouble by Valerie Broussard.” She didn’t offer any further explanation.
iii. Does reputation matter to you?
— She leaned back, chair tilting and arms folded across her torso. There was a quickness to her movements, something a little faster, slicker than Narcissa’s stunning grace or Andromeda’s serene gentleness. “Of course it matters, how could it not – businesses are built on reputations; but deals only come through when you have the knowledge, the skill, the competence to back your reputation.” She observes the interviewer for a moment. “I know I match up to my reputation.” Her quick up-and-down gaze seals her assessment and the interviewer can sense her judgement easily; they don’t even have a reputation, none that she’s heard of, so she doubted they had the competency either.
iv. What is your relationship with your parents like?
— It was the first time in the interview that Bellatrix was caught off guard. Everything in her felt jagged for a moment – being off-tilt was uncomfortable for a woman who prided herself on her preparation. But she was a Black. So Bellatrix straightened her spine, shoulders back, chin up, dark eyes even. “I suspect you’re asking due to the nepotism here.” She didn’t mince words, or care to lie. “Family always comes first; that’s how I was raised. My relationship with my parents is complicated and definitely improved once it became a more adult relationship, like anyone else. But I also know, that they will always have my back, and I will always have theirs.” A more honest answer would have been too nuanced for her to articulate to someone who knew her well, let alone an absolute stranger. Her family had been both cage and sanctuary, and her parents had always held the keys to the lock.
v. What languages can you speak?
— Unlike Andromeda, who only spoke a few languages because she didn’t study them further, unlike Narcissa, who pretended she only knew a couple, Bellatrix boasted her five languages with an arched brow and a smug tilt of her chin. “French, Italian, Russian, Japanese,” she listed, each word emphasized with another pointed finger. She added her thumb and gave a cheeky wave. “And of course, English.” There were a few more she could fumble her way through, strictly for business needs, but Bellatrix wasn’t the sort of woman to advertise in which ways she was mediocre. She was the best because to her, there was no other way to be.
vi. If your home was on fire and you could only save one item, what would you choose?
— The question felt rather silly to Bellatrix. She didn’t feel attachment to items, her loyalty was to her family. And even then, the material objects that mattered to her most was almost always kept close to her. “My work bag,” she answered with an artless shrug, angled to gesture the sleek black leather bag. “I keep my laptop, wallet and phone in it – in this digital age, my most valued possessions are all kept safe in cloud storage.” Besides, family heirlooms were more her sisters’ realm.
vii. Which Hogwarts University faculty did you study at? The Gryffindor School of Applied Science, the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, the Slytherin School of Social Science, or the Hufflepuff School of Art?
– Her patience was beginning to thin, each inane question causing her jaw to set. “I believe this is information you can find with a quick search,” her voice was dangerously saccharine, and the nervous stutter she received in response pleased her. “This time, I’ll save you the work.” Don’t let there be a next time, she said, not through words, but through the hardness of her gaze, the line of her neck the slope of her nose. “I completed an accelerated course of study to graduate with both my undergrad and master’s in International Commerce. From Slytherin.” What a quick search wouldn’t tell the interviewer was that in those five years, she very nearly also completed an Industrial Operations Engineering degree from Gryffindor. She’d liked applied sciences well enough, but not enough to fight her father on it.
vix. What is your social media username?
— “Another thing you can easily search, so this time I’ll let you handle it,” Bellatrix responded dismissively. “If you have any other questions, please email my assistant. Had I known what a waste of time this would be, I would have had you do that in the first place.” Her voice was cool and matter-of-fact, and before the interviewer had even stood, Bellatrix had turned back to her work. Fortunately for the interviewer, her username was easily found on her business card;@BellatrixBlack printed in neat font above icons for Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. It was clear upon further research that Bellatrix didn’t run her social media – they were highly curated business accounts. And no amount of research would reveal her extremely private personal tag that she only used for Snapchat & FlooNet: @bellatrixie.
2 notes · View notes
notesfromthevania · 5 years
Text
Brother and Sister
This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remember'd; We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother...
-Henry V by William Shakespeare, Act IV, Scene iii.
RY 717
Mr. and Mrs. Umpleby move to a new house in Fessenburg with their three daughters, aged 10, 7, and 5, and their son, aged 2. Their new next-door-neighbors, Dr. and Mrs. Elenvir, offhandedly remark that they have a boy just the same age as little Fenwick Umpleby.
RY 719
It’s the Umplebys’ turn to babysit, so the two Elenvir boys are in the backyard. The serious Lucius keeps to himself and reads a book, but Marius, loud and scrappy, runs around the yard with Fenwick and plays at being an adventurer. It takes everything Mr. Umpleby has to convince the kids to come in for supper.
RY 723
Now eight years old, Fenwick and Marius are horrified to learn that they are in different classes in school for the very first time. “Well, this won’t do,” Fenwick says simply, and the two boys get to work after school developing a secret code so they can secretly pass notes to each other as they move through the corridors.
RY 727
Some older boys overhear Marius admitting to Fenwick that he fancies guys and jump him in the schoolyard for it. Fenwick does not leave his side. To everyone’s surprise, Marius and Fenwick put up enough of a fight to make the attackers give up and run off. That night, Dr. Elenvir mutters in his native Elvish as he magically patches up the kids’ wounds: “I shall give that school a piece of my damned mind for this...”
Marius grins, mouth still full of blood, and replies in Common: “Ada, don’t worry about it. You should see the other blokes.”
RY 732
War has begun, but Fenwick and Marius are still underage and stuck in school for one more year. Both itch for graduation day and the chance to enlist in the burgeoning rebel army. Opportunity, as it happens, is just waiting to knock. The Arcane Aptitude Exam is administered to students in their final year of public school, assessing their ability to go on to formal wizard training if they so choose.
Marius holds the envelope containing his exam results in shaking hands as the final bell rings and he runs out into the hall to find Fenwick. Fenwick’s envelope is already torn open and he’s positively beaming. “Top marks, Marius! I can’t believe it.” His eyes flick downward. “Why haven’t you opened yours yet?”
“Nerves.” Marius manages a small laugh. “Here goes nothing.” He tears the envelope open and his eyes widen as he reads. “Top marks!” Marius crows, pulling Fenwick in for a tight hug. “Oh gods, we did it.”
RY 733
After saying goodbye to their families and before reporting for duty, Fenwick and Marius sit for their daguerreotype while wearing the crisp, dark blue uniform of the 3rd Fessenburg Battlemages. Looking at the resulting image, Fenwick says something about wanting to lose a bit of weight. An entirely different form of discontent nags at Marius’s mind.
RY 736
Sitting in camp one night, Fenwick is surprised to hear what his best friend says, and yet it makes complete sense. “I-I’m a woman, Fen. I’m a woman and I’d like to be called Miriam.” She watches his face nervously--Fenwick has rarely seen her nervous, as she has always been the bolder of the two. 
He greets the news with a smile and a hug. “Well, Miriam, I’ve always loved you as a brother, but I’m very happy to have yet another sister.” The next morning, Miriam writes to her family and picks up the requisite paperwork to change her name and get a potion prescription from the regiment’s clerics.
RY 740
The 3rd Fessenburg Battlemages go over the top of their trench outside the ruins of Merton, with other battlemage units covering their advance by lobbing spells in long arcs over their heads. From the Royal Army’s trench, the line of soldiers running across no-man’s-land is a horrifying sight in itself, and then the cry goes up along the enemy line, “GAS! GAS! THE BATTLEMAGES HAVE MASKS. PREPARE FOR GAS.”
Poison Spray is a spell that requires close range, so the 3rd Fessenburg Battlemages had not taken up this attack lightly. Fenwick, Miriam, and their comrades brave a cloud of arrows and nearly climb right into the Royal Army trench in order to make the gas attack.
And then Fenwick looks around and is horrified to no longer see Miriam. “Miriam!?”
“Fenwick!” comes the reply from below. Miriam, like so many of the other soldiers, had slipped on the mud and fallen into the trench.
Fenwick jumps down to help her, just in time to see a massive man in the green Royal uniform, perhaps half-orcish, definitely badly injured already, bearing down upon them both with a large battleaxe in his hands. Though he is only a small, poorly-armored wizard, Fenwick jumps in front of Miriam, taking the blow himself. His world spins as his right arm and his side erupt in unimaginable pain. Everything goes black.
Miriam finishes the half-orc with a flurry of Magic Missiles to his heart and, with the help of several comrades, pulls the unconscious, bloody Fenwick out of the trench. As the battlemages make their scrambling retreat across the scarred plain, carrying Fenwick with them, one of Miriam’s fellow soldiers shouts above the noise, “Stupid question, but did we leave his arm back there?”
“Oh fuck,” is Miriam’s only reply.
RY 742
Fenwick adapts to life with one arm and fights to the end of the war. As the 3rd Fessenburg Battlemages make the long march home after the Armistice, he completes the sketches for the prosthetic arm of his dreams. Miriam and a few of the others seem grim, though, when everyone else is celebrating. She complains about the nobles, and though Fenwick agrees with her, he is not nearly as upset about the Republic’s politics as she is.
One morning, he wakes up with a note in his hand.
Fenwick – I hope you can forgive me. I heard a rumor I could not help but follow. Something had to be done. Remember, action is the life of all, and if you do not act, you do nothing. Remember that The Crow Flies At Midnight. Remember that you’re like a brother to me and I love you. I was simply far too restless to stay here like this. Gods willing, we shall meet again in better days. Love, Miriam
And for the first time in a quarter century, he is alone.
1 note · View note
tea-pizzaz · 6 years
Text
here by unpopular demand: an incomplete list of my Thoughts(tm) on peraltiago as the only good and valid romcom (straight) couple in mainstream media now that i am caught up on s5 and have three working brain cells (im very sorry for the complete disregard of proper writing; if that’s an issue feel free to read the unabridged version here with correct formatting and more insightful commentary) ((disclaimer: ive seen very few romcom media outside of this and have substituted senseless drivel with a lot of research into romcom tropes))
- we see their relationship open without a cliche meet cute but they are set up in line with the opposites attract trope: jake’s a clown and amy’s a stickler for the rules. more importantly, this immediately establishes them as peers and complete and individualistic characters
- as jake’s feelings for amy grow, we dont see him overwhelmingly forcing himself on amy. yes, theres the several occasions where he lays things out in the open but it comes mostly from a place of honesty, not because he’s trying to start a relationship
- amy searches for love in teddy: romcom love triangles usually have it explicitly clear what the end game will be and the extra character is flat and expendable. teddy and amy, while not the right match for each other, do take their romance seriously and genuinely (teddy more so than amy) and jake does his best to support amy’s wishes although not with the best results
- jake is kind of what ultimately breaks teddy and amy apart but does he swoop in like a knight in shining armor to declare that he will make things right for amy in a dramatic show of romantic gestures? no; first of all not his style and second of all, amy is a competent woman in her own right and knows what she wants. even before the romantic stage of their relationship, jake shows a remarkable amount of maturity and judgement often lacking in other male romcom leads
- popular romcom relationships hinges on male entitlement and the patriarchy: he asks her out and schedules their dates or else forgets about them all and lowers the bar even further for men. she bends over backwards for him to appear as a competent adult and caters to his every need. oh would you look at that, jake and amy didnt do exactly that. yes, there was the awful first date won on a bet but even that didnt end as bad it was planned.
- following on the previous point, jake and amy learn from each other. jake starts eating better (remember his breakfast meals before and after amy?) and drinking more water and not because amy is a nag but because they both want him to become a better person. amy starts approaching problems differently, she’s still a stickler for the rules but she comes in from a different angle. they learn to change themselves for each other’s personalities and quirks, even as far as anticipating and preparing for the other person (meeting the parents anyone?)
- did i hear someone say something about jake and amy in the work place? something about offers made to amy for a chance to move up the ladder? when amy is offered a position with the vulture’s department, jake fears loosing his partner and a top notch detective on the squad, not his love interest. when amy is offered a chance at sergeant, jake helps her prepare for the exam and later when she is afraid of disrupting their relationship with the shift in work place dynamic, jake tells her not to worry about that and to do what she thinks is best for her first. (look at these good kids being open and honest and communicating with each other)
- hmmm, i wonder what romcom tropes have to say about when couples must be away from each other and tragically pining and worrying about each other? oh, she’ll wait patiently for him to return, however long thatll take, and remain true to him while he’ll fight tooth and nail to be back at her side and maybe not be as true to her? and when they finally reunite everything is picture perfect as easy as that? oh do i see peraltiago come barging in with amy fighting for jake’s innocence/freedom on top of her usual job and jake making the best of his situation and when they reunite its not all that perfect because theyre two independent people who will inevitably fall out of sync with each other because they havent spent time together
- and now for the height of their relationship: the proposal and wedding, the result of years of hard work and perseverance, not a month of fast and heavy drama
- jake spent his time in prison putting together an entire plan to account for the halloween heist chaos and multiple people’s individual plans and twists really show how far he’s come from season 1 and its also a nice show of amy’s competitiveness, seldomly granted to women without some other negative traits
- THE WEDDING OH MY GOD THE WEDDING
- the first wedding that amy spent six months put together is beautiful. like every planned wedding, the day of is a huge ball of stress and anxiety and likely more so for amy due to her character and personality but jake comes prepared for that and anticipates her needs, not to mention his openness about how beautiful and wonderful amy is (repeated in his vows and its beautiful)
- the second wedding that charles pulls together in half an hour is the exact opposite of what amy would ever be prepared for had she not had an immense trust and love for jake as acknowledge in her vows (also, that your butt is the bomb line? never in your life would you have heard amy santiago say that before knowing and loving jake)
tldr: while the vast majority of romcom couples portray romantic relationships as effortlessly perfect and in the favor of men, jake and amy portray a relationship more in line with actual real life relationships, largely through subverting romcom tropes
anyways i have a lot more thoughts but putting together a more comprehensive and well written thing would be an essay so just go ahead and read the actual essay linked at the top and here again for your convenience (note that i wrote the essay during the mid season 5 break so theres no wedding notes there)
153 notes · View notes