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vasilissadragomir · 5 months

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people often use snow’s experiences with lucy gray as an explanation for how he engages with katniss, but i think that the true story of his downfall lies not in how lucy gray and katniss are similar, but rather in how they are different.

snow knew that it was never him that made the games what they are. it was lucy gray, with her scrappy, passionate artistry, that put on the show that kept people watching. more importantly, it was lucy gray that put on the show that kept HIM watching. all he ever did was give her the stage.

ergo, snow recognizes that the person with the power to usurp him is his natural counterpart, someone like lucy gray, who possessed both the charisma and humanity that he sorely lacks. however, in his mind, those traits are not real; they’re performed in order to obtain power. how could he know better, when he’s never experienced them himself, and the only person he ever truly believed possessed them betrayed him?

so snow keeps his eye out for performers, people with gravitas who could capture the heart of the nation, and squashes their spark as soon as he can. people like haymitch. people like finnick.

and that’s where snow goes wrong. he doesn’t see katniss’ similarities to lucy gray from the start, because while they both demonstrate astonishing, intriguing bravery at their reapings, their actions and motivations are completely different. lucy gray is motivated to perform by anger for herself, and katniss is motivated to sacrifice herself by fear for her sister.

but then katniss starts to put on a show for the audience, kissing peeta and being willing to die with the berries at the end of the 74th games. snow starts to see an entirely different side of katniss that resembles lucy gray to a concerning degree. he sees how, with peeta at her side, she could beguile the nation the same way lucy gray had. and, even worse, she was using the poor, helpless boy who had the misfortune of falling in love with her to survive. the moment katniss started performing, he finally sees lucy gray within her. but it’s already too late.

by catching fire, katniss is the spark fanning the flames of the resistance, but snow fails to understand why. as far as he’s concerned, katniss’ star power comes from her connection to peeta. he tries to weaponize their “love” for his own gain, but it doesn’t work, not because people don’t believe that she loves peeta, but because, for the first time, a victor offers their winnings to the family of a fallen tribute.

snow is caught in a catch 22 of seneca crane’s making—if he kills katniss, she becomes a martyr. but if he lets her live, she’ll be a revolutionary icon. either way, she’s the spark. so he has no choice but to allow the spark to flicker, just for a little while. enter the 75th games. snow knows he needs katniss to die a tragic death in the games. more specifically, he needs it to be a brutal death at the hands of a tribute, not the gamemakers, because he understands that as long as the districts see the capitol as the one who ended the life of katniss everdeen, she’ll still be a martyr.

but snow still doesn’t get it. in the quarter quell, the prey does not become predator. katniss’ allies protect her, ensuring she survives until district 13 rescues her. why would they protect this girl, assuming such a steep personal risk? why would they put everything on the line for a revolution they personally stand to benefit little from? he doesn’t know. but he does know that lucy gray katniss is at the center of it all, so he tries to eliminate what makes her look best: peeta.

and that is snow’s fatal mistake. what he, coin, and everyone but haymitch fail to understand is that it was never peeta that made katniss look good—it was katniss, who befriended and put faith in rue. katniss, who recruited mags, wiress, and beetee as allies. she is the source of revolutionary inspiration. it isn’t her charisma or even her compassion, and it certainly isn’t how well she performed those virtues.

katniss becomes the mockingjay because of her solidarity.

lucy gray was charismatic, like peeta, and compassionate, like both peeta and katniss, but she did not demonstrate solidarity. she was never truly “district” in the way katniss is. she showed kindness to jessup, not because he was from 12, but because he showed kindness to her. lucy gray left behind everything and everyone she loved when she left coriolanus, because she was first and foremost a survivor.

katniss was a survivor her whole life, but she survives exclusively to ensure the people she loves are protected. she always does what she can for people more vulnerable than herself. lucy gray couldn’t have sparked a revolution on her own because she lacked the solidarity that makes a hope for a better future authentic to others. katniss is the human manifestation of solidarity, and to a people divided by a common enemy, that’s the most inspiring thing a person can be.

only in the end, when katniss shoots coin, does snow realize none of it was a performance. choking on the blood of his countless adversaries, snow’s final moments are consumed by what he got wrong. what made lucy gray and katniss different ends his reign, but ironically, the final nail in his coffin is an act that both lucy gray and katniss share in their last moments with snow. they both prove, unequivocally, that he is not the center of their worlds like they are his. lucy gray put her own survival before her love for him, and katniss puts the future of her nation before her hate for him. in the end, he simply doesn’t matter. and that’s greater justice than could have ever been achieved if katniss had fired her arrow into his heart.

the greatest enemy to coriolanus snow could only be the person who reignited the embers of a dying revolutionary fire, who demonstrated to a broken people that while one spark alone might not be enough, thousands of sparks uniting in solidarity is an unbeatable force.

and really, he should have known better. after all, even when snow lands on top, fire melts snow.

#tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow #snow #katniss #katniss everdeen #peeta #peeta mellark #coriolanus #thg #thg series #the hunger games #the hunger games trilogy #catching fire #mockingjay #everlark

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thegreenthepeacetheorange · 5 months

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Do you ever think about

Peeta being 5 years old on his first day of school and noticing this girl in a red plaid dress with her hair in two braids that his father points out to him. And then he sees this girl stand up on a stool and sing in front of the whole class and he notices that the birds stop to listen, just like his dad had told him they did for her father.

Peeta being 6 or 7 years old, practicing his cake icing behind the counter of the bakery. And then the father of the girl who wore the red dress comes into the bakery singing a song and Peeta raises his head to see if the birds stop to listen. And they do.

Peeta being 11 years old, standing behind his mother as she yells at that very same girl, looking hunger-stricken and so weak, for looking through their rubbish bins. Watching her as moves just a little bit away until she's behind their pigpen, leaning on their apple tree for support. Hurrying back inside and burning two loaves of good hearty bread, filled with raisins and nuts. Checking over his shoulder as he wills the crusts to blacken faster. Feeling his mother deliver a blow to his cheek with a burning hot tool, falling to the floor. Being told to go out and give the blackened bread to the pigs but waiting until his mother has gone back inside to throw the bread to the girl. Going back inside and watching as she takes it and hurries away. Seeing the girl at school the next day and wanting to catch her eye, waiting and waiting for her to meet his eyes. But the one time she does, she looks away quickly, towards a dandelion, smiles and plucks it from the ground.

Peeta being 12, 13, 14, 15 years old, finding himself constantly sneaking glances at the girl. Wanting desperately to go over to her, talk to her, see if he could make her smile. He sees her watching him back. But then he shakes his head and tells himself to knock it off. Plus she seems to be with that older boy a lot.

Peeta being 16 years old. Staring at the floor until he hears her sister's name. Feels the air go out of him when he sees her push through the crowd and volunteer. Fixing his eyes on her, watching her stand up there, heading far far away from him. Oh, how he wishes he would have talked to her when they had had time. So lost in his thoughts of her that he almost misses his own name being called out. Feels the eyes on him, a pair that must belong to her too, following him as he makes his way to join her on the stage. Shaking her hand and hoping she knows he chooses her.

Peeta being 16 years old, in the games. Deciding that she can win, she can survive, she must live. Letting the whole of Panem know his feelings for her. Choosing to join the Careers to lead them away from her. Choosing to save her even if it means getting his leg slashed by Cato. Finding a place to conceal himself, hoping death comes sooner rather than later. Hoping she's okay, that she's made it. Listening out for cannons and watching the sky, hoping she doesn't appear, as he bleed outs. Hears the rule change one evening and cries, because it's too late now for him.

Peeta being 16 years old and she's found him. She's called out his name and she's found him. And she's helping him. He's struggling and dying and weak, a hindrance more than a help, but she stays by him constantly, watching him closely like she's done for years but now it's up close. And soon she's kissing him and though he's tired and draining all the time, this sets off a spark in him that makes him feel alive. Joking with her, teasing her, sleeping with her curled up against him, hearing her laugh at his jokes, feeling her touch and reaching out to mirror her touches, kissing her. And soon his crush, this care he's felt for this girl, develops into feelings that are stronger, feelings that feel a lot like love. And they talk and they talk. She risks her life trying to get the medicine that will save him and he realises he completely underestimated her.

Peeta being 16 years old and a victor. But he's not the only one. She's right there beside him and he can't believe his luck. Hope. Love. The future lies out ahead of them. But then something is wrong. Haymitch tells them to keep it up until they're back but he doesn't realise there's anything to keep up. Finding out that there was something a bit too shiny and sparkling about these last few weeks. Something not completely real. Feeling something horrible twist inside him. Letting go of this girl and taking a step back, because something hurts deep in his chest.

Peeta being 17 years old, going about his days back in Twelve. Painting, fending off nightmares with a paintbrush, walking by her house everyday, noticing when the lights are on or off in her bedroom. Then they're going on a victory tour and the feelings he's tried to cover up with bakery bread and painted canvases and set alight again because there she is, holding his hand on stage, kissing him at times where he even doesn't anticipate it, smiling up at him in a way that ties his stomach into a million different knots. At night he hears her screaming and runs into her room. Whispers to her til she's conscious, holds her until she's calm in his arms and slips into her bed to hold her until they fall asleep. His own nightmares stay away, their interwoven limbs creating a barrier against them.

Peeta being 17 years old, spending every day in her glow. They're friends now. She might not have chosen him but he can't make himself stay away now, not now that she needs him. Listening to her ideas, wanting to run away with her. Talking to her on the phone. Baking her cheese buns and carrying her up and down stairs. Still holding her while she sleeps. Painting pictures for her family book. Sitting with her in the quiet, feeling her breath close to him. Looking up and smiling at her furrowed brows. Catching her look at him all the time.

Peeta being 17 years old, going back into the games. Making her train, choosing her again. Withdrawing because she has to win. She has to. But seeing her, weary and tired, a mirror of himself, he can't help but open his arms to her, feel her warmth beneath him. And it only furthers his resolve. Fighting, fighting, fighting. Always to make sure she makes it out alive. Feels her mirror his love, his kisses, his touches. And one night, he loses her. He can hear her but he can't see her. And then everything changes.

Peeta being 17 years old, living in a world where shiny images fight their way against other images that are matte in his memory. She's far away now, he's not sure where. But he knows she's alive. Why else would they torture him and the people around him. And he always says he doesn't know, knowing what it will mean. But he'd still suffer those same consequences even if he knew what they needed. Still needing to protect her.

Peeta being 17 years old and here she is in front of him. But his head roars at the sight of her and he doesn't know why. She's anxious and weak and damaged, but the alarms are going off in his head. The shininess takes over in this new setting. And he doesn't know why, but he knows something is very wrong. They take him away then. Try to undo something that needs to be undone.

Peeta being 17 years old, not sure which way is up and which way is down. But he sees her, watches her. And then he's sent off on a mission with her. This girl that consumes his every thought, on both sides of the war that's going on in his head and he doesn't know what to do. The shiny and his memory are still fighting, and it leaves him so tired. Seeing her, hearing her speak brings memories out of the recesses of his mind. He starts to piece together a puzzle that's been scattered in his mind. Feeling feelings that he once felt in his chest. Real or not real? Green. Orange. The colour of her dress. Cheese buns. Lamb stew in their den. Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other. Knowing it's true and knowing he must.

Peeta being 18 years old, coming back to Twelve after the war. For her. Seeing primroses growing and digging them up, bringing them to her house. Planting them for her. Seeing her again, weary and tired and broken. But she's here. And so is that feeling in his chest that was buried under shiny images that he has since ripped up and discarded. Walking with her through town. Having meals with her, making sure she has cheese buns. Seeing her start to smile again. Climbing into bed with her so that they can create that barrier again, the one that holds off their nightmares. Tentatively kissing her and feeling that fire rage again.

Peeta in his late 30s, watching Katniss lay out a picnic basket in the meadow. Seeing the sunlight fall against her hair and skin, making them shine in a way he knows is real. See the dancing girl weave around the items Katniss lays out. Laughs as the boy with the chubby legs tries to keep up. Walks over to them with the freshly baked cheese buns and sets them down in the space she's left vacant. Feels her smile trained on him before he turns his head to see it. Kisses her softly and breaks away laughing as the dark-haired girl covers her eyes and the blonde boy looks between them. Sits down as Katniss lays her head in his lap. While their children eat cheese buns and make up games in the grass, they sit there in the sunshine, taking it all in. Katniss makes a flower crown using the dandelions growing around her while Peeta runs runs his hand through her hair. He looks down into her eyes just as she tilts her head back to look at him. Knowing that they don't need to freeze this moment.

#headcanoning that mrs mellark only noticed katniss was there rummaging in the bins because she caught her son staring out the window #staring out the window with a cone of icing in his hands not moving at all #mesmerised by something outside and when she went over to see what he was looking at #there she saw her #the little seam girl #this ended up being so long #my BAD #it almost read like a fanfic my god #everlark #peeta x katniss #katniss x peeta #katniss and peeta #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #the hunger games

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akallabeth-joie · 9 months

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The Blue Castle, Chapter 25

Good for Abel, staying sober through the funeral. Maybe it's the shock that put him off drinking after Cissy's death, or a sense of responsibility, but this really runs counter the trope of handling strong (negative) experiences/emotion with booze, and he seems to have a bit of a drinking problem in the first place, so it must have been difficult.

I do hope Valancy takes Abel up on his offer to sort out some Stirlings for her.

Montgomery does such a good job of quietly downplaying how she's hiding Valancy's plans until this moment. With her mother Valancy's speech might just be distracted, with Abel Valancy's being a bit cryptic, but the first time I read this, I was utterly blindsided by the reveal of Valancy's plan. I bought the narrative insistence that Barney's pitying Valancy and taking out her platonic-like.

Really, this is just a delightful bit of dialogue:

“I thought I’d run down and ask if there was anything I could do for you,” said Barney.

“Yes, there is something you can do for me,” she said, evenly and distinctly. “Will you marry me?”

It's only topped by this utterly perfect line:

"...while all the dead Stirlings revolved rapidly in their graves and the living ones did nothing because they did not know that Valancy was at that moment proposing lawful marriage to the notorious Barney Snaith."

Even more so than talking about the Blue Castle, sharing Dr. Trent's letter shows how much Valancy trusts Barney. She said nothing to Cissy about it, likely to avoid burdening/worrying her, but Valancy is willing to be this vulnerable with Barney and trust him with her secret, and all the fears and weakness wrapped up in it. Earlier, she sort-of fantasized about having a friend like Barney to comfort her as she dies (just like she did for Cissy), and now she's taking the necessary step to make that possible by telling him the truth. It's a huge risk, revealing this bombshell secret she's kept close for some three months now, but she finds the courage to do it. And other than Abel himself, Barney's really the only person Valancy knows that she could potentially trust with this news.

[Tangent: if Barney wasn't here, who might Valancy turn to in order to avoid going home? Cousin Georgiana's too cowed by the family. Abel might or might not be able to help her out--without a woman in the house, the calculus of her staying with him changes. Maybe the Free Methodists could help her find somewhere to stay?]

Anyway, this is a pivotal moment for Valancy, but Barney goes right back into leaning into the bad rumors about him being possibly true. Which is one way to attempt to dissuade her without actually saying 'no.'

Anyone else always find the juxtaposition of 'don't ask about the things I'm hiding' with 'we won't pretend anything to eachother' jarring? Not talking about something versus lying, sure, but both are inverses of 'telling the [whole] truth.'

Yep, a letter. Delivered by the guy a bunch of people assume must be a murderer. That will go over well with the specific group that assumed Valancy must be both immoral and insane because she took a job keeping house for a former classmate.

"...of course I’m not in love with you—never thought of such a thing as being in love. But, do you know, I’ve always thought you were a bit of a dear." Really, Barney? You never thought of being in love? Not a little? No fleeting speck of interest in this intriguing girl who you know is brave, witty, and compassionate, and who you've regularly sought out? One of the only three people you've bothered to spend time with in the five years you've lived in this area? Ok.

No Stirlings have scored points this round, because (repeating to savor it) "they did not know that Valancy was at that moment proposing lawful marriage to the notorious Barney Snaith."

#blue castle book club #the blue castle #aw yes this chapter

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imagionationstation · 1 year

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Your posts of Donnie12 are my LIFE SAVOR!

Donnie is probs the hardest brother out of the bunch I can get a character grasp outside of smart, sarcastic brother that’s a bit of a simp. I didn’t wanna do him injustice in the fic I’m writing so if it’s no trouble, can you make a list of your head cannons of him pls?

No trouble?! No trouble?!

Excuse you! I love any excuse to spread my love of the purple genius and educate people on why he is a lovable green bean! In reality, I should be thank you for this ask! Thank you!!!

*ahem* *looks through millions of notes*

Hmmm… This sounds like a character development type question? Let’s check out my headcanons for those…

Mhmm, mhmm, mmmmm, ah!

HERE WE GO

DONNIE AND HIS BROS:

Mikey and Donnie have bonded over being the youngest brothers the same way that Leo and Raph bonded over being the eldest. Donnie appreciates Mikey because he’s the one person that he doesn’t feel like he has to prove himself too. Mikey treats him as an equal and he’s the only brother who (somewhat) supports his hopes of winning over April. He gets annoyed with his little brother’s antics like all older siblings do, but that stems from the fact Mikey does many things that trigger his OCD. He forgives him easily. Just like Donnie understands Mikey’s hyperactivity; Mikey understands his brother’s compulsive nature.

Donnie and Raph are brain and brawn, and when they compare one another in that way, they always hit walls in terms of their relationship. Raph will always have a strength that that Donnie can’t tap, which will make him insecure. Donnie has brains that Raph can’t tap, so that makes him insecure. When they can look past this, there’s a lot they have in common. Passionate, strong-willed, and determined to protect their family no matter how it effects their well-being. They’re the middle children, so they know how it feels to have less attention then the heir and baby brother, and when to be there for each other when it counts.

Donnie and Leo are the most mature of the group. While Raph only jokes about it, Donnie truly sees Leo as- in a sense- perfect. He’s a confident older brother who lives up to expectations, never fails when they need him most and never stops trying no matter how difficult things get, carries his families burdens without faltering, acts only in their best interests, can face death without blinking, and can even flirt with the girl that he likes and get a positive reaction in return.

Leo is everything that Donnie aspires to be, but fears that he never can. He’ll do just about anything to earn his approval, and feels like a failure when his inventions or experiments can’t reach his expectations. Donnie’s willingness to complete tasks does lead Leo to push to hard. The team genius does have his limits, and will snap when the pressure gets to much. That’s usually where their arguments stem from. He desires to prove himself, and gets frustrated when anything gets in the way of that.

FLASHBACK TO MIKEY EXPLANATION:

I mentioned that Donnie has OCD. THIS IS CANON. And lemme tell you it explains SO MUCH. What IS headcanon is my theories about what OCD does. So here we go:

-Donnie can’t tolerate people messing with his stuff. Everything has a place and they are set there for good reason. When his brothers come in and touch his things, it risks ruining the order he has for his lab. (It may look messy at times, but he put those things there, so that’s deemed their place, at least for the moment).

-OCD comes with emotional irregulation, which is why Donnie tends to go from calm to high-strung at a moment’s notice. Even though it drives them nuts at times, his brothers understand that him letting it out as an unnecessary shrill rant is healthier than him locking up the stress and fear that could be dangerous to his mental health. They’ll tease him for it, but have never actually pushed him to stop.

-His OCD also gives him a constant anxiety, which he usually chooses to handle by working or studying in order to make the nerves go away. He does his best to keep it under control in battle by focusing on the mission, even if his brother’s constant pushing to “go faster” makes it all the more difficult.

-Because of the intrusive thoughts that come with OCD, Donnie sometimes sees himself the way that humans do; as a monster and a freak. One of the reasons that he got so obsessed with April (after the original crush wears off) was because she was a human who accepted him as he was, and he wanted to prove his fears wrong by winning her over. His compulsive tendencies lead him to do things like stalk her and build questionable gifts. His brothers understand this, even if they don’t approve.

THERE ARE OTHERS BUT I’M MOVING ON NOW-

Donnie can’t handle being sick. He’s no germaphobe and he won’t hesitate to care for an ill family member (if they’ll let him. Raph can be stubborn). It’s being sick itself that he can’t handle. He’s investigated every sickness known to man, and it always ends up being his undoing. He’s terrified that whatever he has is so much worse than the simple fever that his brothers keep telling him it is, and is convinced he’s on his death bed. The only way to keep him calm is company and contact. He’ll continue to irrationally fear for his life, but he takes comfort in knowing that he’ll die surrounded by those he loves.

Donnie has been shocked and electrocuted so many times that his body has actually developed a tolerance to it. He theorizes it has to do with the mutant cells adapting to the abuse. It comes in handy when he’s strapped down during Fourfold Trap.

Donnie would do a lot for Leo. Space Heroes is where he draws the line. He doesn’t understand his fascination with it and can’t go a minute without pointing out an inconsistency in the plot or questioning Captain Ryan’s morals. After a few months, Leo had to start waiting until he knew Donnie wasn’t around to turn it on.

Better safe than sorry.

Out of all his brothers, Donnie is the last one to learn how to talk. Not because he couldn’t or struggled, simply because he chose not to. He read and he could interact with his brothers and father with chirps and churrs. The day that he did choose to talk, he shocked Splinter out of his fur when he calmly used full sentences.

Donnie built Metalhead to assist the team and never stopped trying to make him worthy of Leo’s approval. At some point along the way, he subconsciously started looking at Metalhead like his own kid: Someone to be taught and taken care of. After losing him, Donnie just couldn’t bring himself to make another, because he knew his lil’ buddy was one of a kind.

Everyone thinks that Donnie hates Leo’s wars with the toaster, but in reality, he doesn’t mind. The repairs are never difficult and his older brother always feels guilty for putting something else on his list, so he hangs out with Donnie as he fixes it. Donnie enjoys the excuse for bonding outside of training or missions. Leo even helps Donnie around the lab sometimes, as it’s mention in an episode when someone knocks against the ShellRaiser that Leo “just waxed her!”

Leo’s the only one who knows about Donnie’s nightmares about Slash. Not only is the memory of being sought out and forcefully separated terrifying, but Donnie knows Raph still cares about ‘Spike’ and doesn’t want to hurt him by reminding him of what Slash did. He’s relieved when Slash goes to the good side, but being around the large snapping turtle still makes him nervous.

If I keep going, I will headcanon myself into oblivion- THAT’S ALL, FOLKS

Maybe. Possibly. For now :)

Thanks again for the ask!!

#See what I see TMNT #donnie #tmnt donnie 2012 #donnie tmnt #tmnt donnie #2012 donnie #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt donatello #tmnt fandom #2012 tmnt #donatello #donatello hamato #donnie hamato #tmnt headcanons #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles donnie

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everybody-loves-purdy · 3 months

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Based off of the excerpt, I have a few predictions!

→ Frostpaw’s presence in ShadowClan gives us the ShadowClan POV we’ve been missing since Sunbeam arrived in ThunderClan, though deprives us of a RiverClan POV. I wonder how that will be handled. Will we receive a fourth POV like we did in Night Whispers for Flametail? We’ll definitely catch a glimpse of how life in ShadowClan has been between Sunbeam’s departure and this Gathering. Perhaps Sunbeam and Frostpaw may forge an unlikely alliance to heal Berryheart?

→ Speaking of unlikely alliances, we could also see this kind of alliance between Sunbeam and Breezepelt to help Berryheart. However, I’m not willing to bet that Breezepelt would risk being discovered by his Clanmates aiding a ThunderClan warrior in helping her ShadowClan family. Breezepelt’s little nudge may be all the help he can give her.

→ Wasp and Waffle contrast each other. Wasp is put off by Clan life upon watching Frostpaw’s exile from RiverClan, and finds it difficult to understand deeply-rooted Clan traditions, specifically those exclusive to ThunderClan. However, Waffle still has hope for what Clan life can be like and is eager to learn whatever he can. I believe Wasp may end up leaving ThunderClan. Unlike Waffle, he doesn’t have a confirmed apprentice name, hinting that within the next moon, he’ll decide to search for greener pastures.

→ There may likely be some sort of movement formed against Splashtail. Frostpaw has already put it into Duskfur’s head that Splashtail killed Curlfeather, and Splashtail’s attempt to cover his own tail confirms for her that he isn’t as truthful of a cat as he may seem. Since a large part of RiverClan seems to have accepted his authority, whether out of true agreement or fear (Mistpaw & Graypaw), this may not happen until Splashtail does something that irreversibly damages his credibility within RiverClan.

→ Splashtail said that he won’t receive his nine lives, but I wonder if this is something he’ll stick to. I can definitely see him pulling a Nightpelt, naming himself Splashstar and lying about receiving his nine lives when in reality, he just has the one. What if Splashtail gets wounded in battle before RiverClan has returned itself to its former glory? Will he, if ever, understand the importance of a leader having nine lives?

→ I can see Mistpaw and Graypaw’s lives being in danger now that Frostpaw has so openly spoken out against Splashtail. As of right now, Curlfeather is the only cat we know for a fact conspired with Splashtail, and in turn, he killed her. Splashtail has proven himself to be a cold and calculating warrior who’ll go to any means as long as the ends justify them. He’d absolutely kill Mistpaw and/or Graypaw, or threaten them, to keep Frostpaw quiet about the truth.

→ Adding on to my previous point, Whistlepaw is the only cat outside of RiverClan who has reason to believe the allegations against Splashtail. She helped Frostpaw fake her death and remained silent about what truly happened. I can definitely see Splashtail either launching an attack on WindClan and having Whistlepaw killed in the process, or using Podlight to either kill her or find some way to discredit her. Discrediting her will be easy, especially now that she’s damaged Harestar and Kestrelflight’s trust in her.

→ It’s about time for Mistpaw and Graypaw to become warriors, so I’m thinking their names will be either of the following:

Mistpaw → Mistfeather, Mistheart, Mistflower, Mistpool, or Mistlight.

Graypaw → Grayfeather, Graypelt, Graystone, Grayfrost, Grayclaw, or Graystream.

I think all of these are extremely likely but I feel Whistlepaw will survive this book given that she gives the Ivypool SE prophecy, unless of course she does that with her dying breath in this book which is entirely possible.

A Sunbeam and Frostpaw team up would be such a good way to finally have these girls communicate. Maybe Nightheart will request Frostpaw’s help on Sunbeam’s behalf at first before Sun and Frost then get to know each other?

I think it would be really really funny if Splashtail named Mistpaw and Graypaw after himself - Misttail and Graysplash lol, but for more serious names I do love your suggestions, particularly Graystream and Mistlight.

#acornflower #asc spoilers #wind spoilers #warrior cats spoilers

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chloe-writes · 3 years

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I saw ur a new writer and I already love ur writing style! Can I request an Eren x fem reader where the reader was raised by the scouts and Erwin and Levi are basically her platonic dads. The reader is a cadet and ends up falling in love and dating Eren but the reader keeps it secret from them until one day something happens where someone exposes their relationship. Thank you sm and keep doing amazing! Sorry this specific btw

Protective Dads

[ Eren x Fem!Reader ]

[ Fluff - Canonverse ]

Summary: Eren is left under the intimidating gazes of both his commanding officers, Erwin and Levi, as they discover he’s secretly been dating someone very dear to them.

Content Warning: none

Word Count: 2k

A/N: writing platonic Erwin & Levi was difficult because I’m an Eruri.

Love, of any form, isn’t something you search for; it’s something that finds you and lights your way up through darkness.

Somewhere in a deserted village in Wall Rose stood an old, old house. It was a century old. As old as the godly walls that protected humanity from the titans. Plants would grow out of the floor and walls; the hinges of the door were also creaking from rust. No one could get across the rooms without stepping on shattered glass. But inside the decrepit and dilapidated house was where you lived, a confused little girl, crying from loneliness.

The Royal Government cut their funding on the Survey Corps, which led the scouts to use the abandoned castle in Wall Rose as their temporary headquarters. On their way there, they heard weeping. They didn’t take it as a threat; the voice belonged to a child, a little girl specifically.

Commander Erwin Smith came to a halt, which was a cue for his men to stop behind him. Levi came right after the blond as he unmounted his horse and followed the pitiful pleas of the child. They arrived at the old house and entered—only to see a girl, no older than 5, shedding tears.

Erwin was quick to respond, he cradled the young child in his arms only for his heart to sink when the girl flinched at his touch. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. Where are your parents?”

“I-I don’t k-know!” You responded to the strange man out of fear that he would hurt you like your parents did.

“There there little sweetheart, you’re going to be alright. We won’t let anything hurt you.”

You had nothing to lose, so might as well take the risk and trust the men who offered you safety.

And they stayed true to their promise. In the past decade, Levi and Erwin treated you like a princess. They always gave you time of day. They made you feel loved.

“Levi, finish this part of the paperwork for me.” The commander was tired, he couldn’t finish all the documents that piled on his desk.

Paperwork that dealt with the deaths of his comrades always stressed Levi out, but he knew he had to help Erwin with it. “Tch, after I bid (Y/N) good night.”

“Tell her I said good night too.” With that, Levi exits the office of his commanding officer. This was his routine, kiss his daughter good night. Technically, he wasn’t your father, but he loved you as much as any parent would to their child. He may not show affection as much as Erwin does, but he is willing to walk on fire just for your assured happiness.

Five loud knocks, no response. Normally he would wait for you to open the door for him. He learned to be patient than randomly storming in ever since he accidentally walked in on you changing. But after minutes of waiting, the man decided to let himself in, out of worry that you might be in trouble.

No one was inside, the room was empty.

It was late, quarter to eleven. Where could she be? Did she sneak out? Did someone take her? Was she just in the bathroom? His body moved faster than his mind did. Levi immediately headed for Mikasa’s quarters, hoping his young lady was there.

He slammed on the cadet’s door with force almost enough to break it. “Oi gloomy brat, open this damn door quick.”

Mikasa sighed, she was having a good night’s sleep. Reluctantly getting out of bed and heading for the door, she responded, “Captai-“

“Where’s (Y/N)?”

“Didn’t you know? She went out with Eren.”

“Eren?” That was when it all registered. Lately you would dress up just for ‘no reason’. You would ask his opinion on love. You would look for excuses to skip training and watch the titan shifter’s experiments.

“At this shitty time of the night!? Where did the titan freak take her?”

Mikasa was annoyed by Levi’s little nickname for Eren. “I don’t know, neither does Armin if you’re considering to question him too.”

The short captain was beyond pissed; he didn’t even take the time to thank the young cadet as he headed back to Erwin.

“We’ve got a situation. (Y/N) and Eren sneaked out to go to some shitty date. Apparently, they’ve been dating in secret. Should I send Squad Miche for a lookout?”

The blond man had figured out his daughter’s secret love not too long ago, however, he didn’t want to jump into conclusions without concrete evidence. “Leave them be.”

“Is your head up your ass? She could be hurt-“

“She’s a smart girl. She should know what’s right and wrong by now.”

Levi could only stare at his friend. He didn’t want to admit it, but Erwin was right. His heart was heavy knowing that ypu were now a woman, he needed to let you go.

Meanwhile, on the highroads in the forest, there stood a tall but lonely treehouse, where Eren and you were. And to look across the forest of trees was a pleasing sight. Puffy clouds latched to the never-ending sky. Stars glowed like beacons for the lost souls of this world. The pale moon was like a disc that dipped in the skyline.

“Eren, this is beautiful.”

“But not as beautiful as you are.”

“Sweet, but even my dead grandma could come up with a better quip.” The both of you laughed.

“Why’d you take me here anyway?”

“I just wanted to spend time with you without the risk of someone seeing us flirting in the hallway.”

“The risk of us getting caught not sleeping in our personal quarters is higher though.”

“(Y/N), you know what I mean. Life in the scouts is overwhelming, sometimes I just want to get away for a while, look at the silent night and lose myself with you. Where we could throw wishes into the sky and wait for the stars to catch them.”

That was sweet. You adored the brunet. He made your heart happy. His sweet almond-shaped emerald eyes were the windows to his kind soul; you could find his love for you in it.

Everyone paints him with negative words such as hot-headed, suicidal, and insane. But to you, he was perfectly imperfect, and you didn’t care about what other people had to say.

Eren kept blabbering about the stars, trying to distract himself, because in reality, he just wanted to kiss you. However, he kept putting if off because he was scared of how you’d react.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the boy’s motive. Contemplating on what to do, you took a leap of faith.

His heart beat faster and faster as your face came up to his own and you pressed your mouth over his. His lips were soft, almost silken, and pillowy against your own. You could feel the soft tickle of his breath beneath your nose, fingers brushing through his short brown hair as you breathed each other in.

He felt all the love flood through your kiss as he saw your pure glistening eyes; the way you looked at him made him feel like the most important man alive.

The kiss was short-lived, but was one of the best moments of your life.

“We should probably head home. I don’t want my dads to find out I’m missing.”

Walking back to the headquarters was enjoyed in peaceful silence. The beauty of the majestic trees that towered you comforted your hearts. Twigs were crunching under your feet. It was spirit-refreshing to smell the mulchy mix of the forest’s perfume.

“The commander and captain Levi scare me. What if they don’t like me as your boyfriend-“

Right before Eren could turn the knob, the main door of the Scouting Legion headquarters opened with an abrupt force.

“I already don’t like you brat.”

“Hi Captain Levi.” This was one of your habits. You would call the short captain ‘Dad’, but sometimes you would switch to ‘Captain Levi’ because you weren’t really sure how to address him. The same happens with Erwin as well. They didn’t mind it though. However, given the situation unwrapping before you, you thought it was a better idea to keep it formal.

“Where have you been?” Your other father makes his presence known and walks toward you. His deep blue eyes were piercing through your soul.

It took you a few seconds to form a pathetic reply, only to be cut off mid-sentence, ”Eren and I were just-“

“We’re not talking to you, young lady.” Erwin’s dominance filled the area, the palpable tension between you was so suffocatingly thick.

The titan-boy took it as his cue to speak. “I just brought (Y/N) out to watch the night sky, sir.”

Eren was left under the intense gaze of both his commanding officers. If looks could kill—it was such a nasty glare that was casted upon him. Then, the blond man shifted his stare to your little figure, he looked anything but impressed with his daughter.

“Interesting. And then what? You defiled her? Tch, teen boys like you think with the wrong head.” Eren was taken aback by Levi’s accusation.

“Captain, I would never.”

The tallest of the men decided to lead the conversation. “Starting tonight I wouldn’t want to see the both of you together.”

“But-“

“I didn’t ask for your opinion (Y/N). Go back to your room cadet Jaeger, and get some actual sleep. Hange will be taking you for another experiment tomorrow. As for you young lady, we’ll be escorting you to your room to ensure you don’t sneak off with some boy again.”

The following days sluggishly dragged on. Your high cheekbones were sunken. Your eyes had dark circles staring out with sadness, the usually bright orbs were terrifyingly dim. Rumors about the incident started to spread like wildfire, and Eren was actively avoiding you. There was a sense of being past everything, being past everyone.

It wasn’t fine to see with your own eyes that you were easily forgotten. You felt weightless and anonymous. You felt pain, like a knife ripping inside your gut. To add insult to injury, your dads telling you how disappointed they were in you made your heart heavily sink.

Moreover, what affected you the most was knowing you weren’t allowed to be upset. You brought this upon yourself, and you just have to own up to the repercussions of your actions, just like how Eren is owning up to his.

Sleeping peacefully in your bed, you were cradling a pillow to your chest. The sun was beaming through the blinds causing you to stir. Usually, waking up was a simple task; you were a morning person after all. You groaned when the first beam of sunlight hit your face.

Today was your birthday, but it seemed like any other regular day. There was no excitement uncoiling inside you. You weren’t looking forward to another day of being the subject of gossips. Being avoided by Eren like you had the plague wasn’t a pleasing thought as well. Nonetheless, you let your troublesome thoughts take over, allowing it to numb the pinch of sadness of being left behind.

You walked down the halls, a few of your comrades greeting you. As you opened the door to Erwin’s office, you were taken aback by the view.

“Happy Birthday, (Y/N).” Eren was holding a large cake in his hands. It wasn’t the best you’ve seen, but it sure did look tasty. Judging from the aprons tied to their bodies, you deduced that the three of them baked it for you.

However, that did not clear the visible confusion plastered on your face. “Eren? What are you…?”

“He has our permission to court you,” Erwin said.

“Huh?”

“Brat, don’t act like you weren't gloomy these past days. I told you I wouldn't allow you to date until you're forty-five, but I guess it's better than to see you moping around all day.” Levi was fighting the tears that were threatening to roll down his cheeks. His daughter had grown up so fast, where did all the time go.

At that point you were welling up with tears. Call it dramatic, but you’ve been down in the dumps for the past days. You weren’t expecting such a surprise. It wasn’t about the cake; it was about them getting along to make you happy.

“Little sweetheart, if you cry that won’t be fun for anyone.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just so happy to see all three of you get along.” Once that first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream.

Eren put the cake down and went to your aid to wipe your tears away. “I’m sorry for being a jerk to you, please don’t cry. So are we gonna celebrate or just stand here? Also (Y/N), I think the captain added too much sugar to the cake, so don’t be surprised if it’s too sweet.”

Levi was quick to counter, “If you don’t want to clean the stables for a month then I suggest you shut your yap."

Stories always claim that the only true love we can ever find is a once in a lifetime opportunity. But you were a rule breaker, you found true love twice: in your adoptive parents, and in Eren.

A/N: To anon, writing this was a challenge because it was so specific, and because I've never read nor written an Eren fic before. I know it isn't my best work (I'm sorry) but I hope you enjoy ;)

[ Masterlist ]

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morsking · 3 years

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is shirou a mary sue? the guy is universally well liked, cooks like a pro at 17, has the most op power from all fate (and arguably one of the most cool powers on media), nothing ever happens to him on the true/canon path of each route, he does many stupid things but no one cares 5 minutes later, other times like in salter vs rider he is just a tactical genius out of nowhere

he is not.

shirou is well-liked but he isn't particularly popular. he is known at school for being helpful and handy but otherwise not that many people are aching to get to know him or involve him in their lives. most people only know shirou very superficially. he is not sought after as a person, only as a handy man. there's a really neat scene at the beginning of hf1 where people are talking about shirou in the dojo and see that while he's earnest, hard-working, and talented, he's a bit odd and intense and that makes him a little difficult to approach casually. the only people who really like him are those who sit down and actually spend time with him. apart from the heroines of the story with whom he has time to develop a romantic bond, you don't see other girls falling head over heels for him. in fact, in hollow ataraxia the homurahara trio and mitsuzuri are quick to write him off as someone they are vehemently not interested in romantically whatsoever.

he only cooks like a pro because he had to teach himself to cook since he was 8. it's vital to understand that since kiritsugu became increasingly disabled and was utterly incapable of living as a normal human being, shirou was forced to grow up well before he was ready to take care of his adoptive father. he learned to cook, do the dishes, do the laundry, and clean the house because there were no other real adults in the house. shirou's domestic usefulness didn't come out of nowhere, it's a set of skills he took on out of necessity and came at the expense of his emotional growth.

shirou's power also isn't op. it's stated multiple times in the story how difficult it is for him to tap into it. he's not a natural mage with strong magical circuits, and neither does he have any real "useful" magical alignments that would make it easy for him to use conventional magecraft. every training session shirou has is a life-threatening act where he pushes his body and mind to the utmost limit for the low chance he might succeed at strengthening or projecting something. whenever he grabs hold of an ability that elevates his combat skills, it's either a) done with saber's help in the fate route, b) acquired as his soul inherits experience from his proximity to archer in ubw and receiving mana from rin, or c) obtained at the expense of the integrity of his mind and body as archer's arm starts to supplant his existence in heaven's feel. and even then, there's limits to what he can trace and project. he can't trace divine constructs normally as seen with ea, and his projections eat through his mana. think about what happens in heaven's feel too. every time he projects something with archer's arm he leaps closer to death because he can't handle the strain.

to say nothing ever happens to him in canon is also disingenuous. he doesn't die in a permanent sense, but take a moment to consider the amount of mental and physical pain he suffers that forces him to confront something about himself and change. did "nothing" happen when he faced gilgamesh and heracles with saber? is growing closer to her to find the best way to help her assert her personhood "nothing"? did "nothing" happen when he fought archer? is realizing the truth of your ideals and grasping the resolve to realize them anyway in a healthier and more self-aware manner "nothing"? did "nothing" happen when he fought heracles, saber alter, and kotomine? is saving your loved ones and claiming your life as your own after years of not seeing yourself as a human being to protect those dear to you so they too learn to love and accept themselves "nothing"?

take a moment to consider in what ways shirou is stupid that aren't contradicted by him being smart in others. shirou is socially inept and utterly incapable of asking for help because he is a traumatized teenager who doesn't know what a normal life is. he has few friends. he survived a fire. he is constantly trying to make up for being unable to rescue anyone in the calamity that destroyed his childhood. he constantly jumps in front of danger to save others for that very reason and refuses help because he doesn't want others to get hurt because of him until he learns to overcome that fear of being destroyed and seeing others be destroyed. he is dumb at being a person because he's never let himself be one. he is smart in a fight because he's at least been able to process his stress and trauma in a way that helps him rationalize his way out of a crisis.

i feel the need to stress that a protagonist having special qualities fit for the narrative isn't them being a mary sue. it's them simply being a main character with agency, a main character that is engaging and interesting. how boring do you think shirou and the story would be if he was really a shit-ass mcnobody with no talents, personality, qualities, or meaningful connections to the setting? he'd be no different from every other harem protag the cishet male audience can use as a self-insert. he is supposed to subvert ideas of masculinity by being domestic. he challenges conventional ideas of heroism by showing how his ideals are flawed and how important it is that he self-actualize.

shirou faces consequences for his inaction and inexperience multiple times too. saber gets frustrated because he won't (tell her why he really won't) fight and that causes a rift in their relationship he must fix with honesty and mutual understanding. shirou's inability to protect himself from hypnotic suggestion gets him kidnapped by caster and forces archer to rescue him, and in turn their shared stubbornness elevates their conflict to deadly levels until they're forced to fight to work out their differences. heaven's feel shows you how his unwillingness to forsake who he is to properly scold sakura and save her makes the situation worse when sakura loses faith that shirou will keep his promise to her until he decides he will fulfill it for both their sakes. people do care! saber cares when her master doesn't see eye to eye with her! rin cares that shirou is too willing to throw away his own life for others! archer cares that he is at risk of becoming that which archer can't forgive himself for being! sakura cares because seeing the man she loves come home bruised and bloodied every night is wrong! illya cares because he is her only true family! rider cares because if shirou can't be sakura's ally then she's as good as dead! everyone cares because shirou has to learn to care too, and he does!

i'm going to ask you to try to engage with media without trying to uncover flaws under rigid standards like this because all it does is keep you from properly understanding what is being shown to you. you cannot hope to judge a story and its characters for all their flaws or merits if this is how you approach things.

#long post

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Secrets Kept

Based on this request: “thomas x reader and one of the other people are being rude and they slap her and they get all worked up and mad? (maybe the person is making fun of her because she got attacked by a griever (she’s a runner) and minho had to help, but minho also stands up for her)”

masterlist

You’ve been running in the Maze for maybe an hour, maybe more. It’s not long enough. It’s funny how every morning, you wake up and manage to convince yourself that being a Runner is easier than you think, that you’ll be able to keep moving endlessly and never have a problem with it. You seem to forget how hard your job is overnight, but you’re reminded of it every single morning. To be honest, you’re not sure what you expected when you signed up to be a Runner in the first place, but the constant exhaustion is just one of the side effects.

That being said, you wouldn’t trade this job for anything. A slight grin appears on your face as you look around you, tilting your head up to feel the breeze whipping around the corners of the Maze. Your mind is turning, thinking of ways to remember every hall and corridor that you cross. Beside you, your running partner turns to you, eyebrows raised over your apparent delight. This causes Minho’s attention to be focused solely on you, which is why he doesn’t notice your boyfriend, Thomas, appearing down a nearby corridor.

Your eyes widen imperceptibly. Thomas isn’t supposed to be here, not at all. You joined the ranks of the Runners a long time ago, way before Thomas even showed up here and wanted to risk his neck with the rest of you. That meant that he would be a part of a different pair of runners, one that wasn’t you and Minho, and that he would be assigned a completely different part of the Maze to run for today. Ever since the Gladers discovered that different sectors of the Maze opened at different times, they carefully divided each sector into runnable routes that were parceled out to the various pairs of Runners. Basically, all of this means that you shouldn’t once see Thomas during the entirety of your daily run, yet here he is now.

You think you know why he’s here, though. Your theory is proven when Thomas stumbles to a halt mid-step after realizing that Minho is seconds away from discovering you, and quickly stumbles behind a wall of the Maze for cover. When he peeks out again, he’s got a smirk on his face that tells you that the added danger of getting caught is only making him more willing to risk discovery.

Why is he here, then? Well, it’s probably because you’re dating Thomas, or at least you have in secret. Once you showed up to the Glade and became the first girl to add to their numbers, Alby set in motion a rule that none of the boys could even come near you. They could be friends all they wanted, but the second they looked at you with a desire for something more, they’d be thrown in the Slammer before they could say ‘I escaped the friend zone’.

You’ve been perfectly fine with this rule. There are enough gaping boys in the Glade that make you more than alright that Alby gives any flirting slintheads a death glare. However, when Thomas showed up, you just couldn’t stick to the plan. He was kind to you, and it seemed like he was the first one to truly listen to you for a very long time. When you spoke about anything, when you even so much as sat next to him, Thomas would look at you with this soft smile that made you want to reach over and kiss him right then and there.

You’d been afraid to do something, at first. What if you misread something and suddenly it was you crossing his boundaries as opposed to any one of the Gladers with you? Then, one night at the Bonfire, Thomas had been walking you back to the Homestead when he’d turned to you with this look in your eyes, one that made you shiver slightly despite the heat of the dark hour. He’d asked if he could kiss you, voice low and rumbling in the shadows, and you’d barely been able to nod your head yes from the thrill of it.

Ever since then, you’ve been happy enough to consider him your boyfriend. The problem is that Thomas still technically isn’t supposed to be seeing you, and the only way you can kiss him is if the two of you sneak out to the Deadheads or find time when nobody is around to reach over and wrap your arms around him. These come with an unsurprising rarity, as the Glade is practically overrun with shanks with little to no concept of personal space and privacy, so you have to make do with what you have.

This means that on days like today, when Thomas had been held back from seeing you even into the late hours of the night, he’s willing to stretch some rules and come find you himself. So, you turn to a still unsuspecting Minho, and gesture for him to go forward without you. “Tell you what, I’m going to fix my shoe. I think there’s something in it.” Minho starts to say something about how he’ll wait for you, but you hurriedly wave his concerns away. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. You go ahead and I’ll catch up.”

Minho hesitates one last moment then shrugs, turning to keep running. You watch him go, afraid to make the slightest of motions towards the general area behind you where you spotted Thomas, lest your running partner suspect something and come back to you. Minho’s just disappeared around a corner when a pair of hands descend on your hips, spinning around to come face to face with Thomas, who’s wearing a particularly proud grin at the look of surprise on your face.

You reach forward to smack his arm. “Slinthead. I thought a Griever was sneaking up behind me.” Thomas just laughs. “I don’t think Grievers look this good.” You try to hold back a laugh of your own. “Good to know that your pride hasn’t been hurt by you bending the rules all the time. We could get caught, you know.” Thomas just lifts a shoulder in dismissal. “I’m dating the prettiest girl in the Glade. I’d say that’s worth going behind Alby’s back.”

You fight to keep heat from rising to your cheeks. “The prettiest girl in the Glade? Thomas, I’m the only girl in the Glade.” Thomas smirks. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true. Just accept the compliment, Y/N.” You open your mouth to protest, but you’re effectively silenced when Thomas leans forward to kiss you. Suddenly, all of your complaints are evaporating into the hot air of the Maze.

You allow yourself a few minutes of this before you reluctantly bid Thomas farewell. Despite being able to throw Minho off your tail for a little while, you can only ‘fix your shoe’ for so long before the boy starts to suspect something. When Thomas finally lets you go with a goodbye kiss and you jog down the labyrinthine corridors in search of your running partner, you do so with a smile. How’d you get this lucky?

You find Minho after a little while, who offers up a few joking criticisms about how long it takes you to tie your shoes. You bear these with a smile, knowing that your real reason for being late is something that far outweighs any of Minho’s sarcastic comments. The two of you run for a little longer before heading further into the center of the Maze. It is only there, once you’re as far away from the Glade as you could possibly be, that you realize that something is wrong. It feels as if you’re suddenly not alone, that you and Minho aren’t the only ones lurking in these corridors.

Seconds later, something heavy comes to an abrupt stop in front of you. You and Minho rear back in identical shock, staring at the Griever, the one that’s just jumped down from the walls of the Maze to land a few feet ahead of you. You gaze at it unthinkingly, unable to move a muscle despite all of your body screaming for you to run. “How is it here? I thought Grievers weren’t supposed to come out during the day!”

Minho gulps beside you. “They’re not, but this one’s here anyway. Run!” That’s all the incentive you need for your legs to start working again, and the two of you turn and sprint in unison. Your feet are pounding down the ground, your body focused on the sole goal of surviving. You thought you were tired before, but all of that exhaustion is gone now, replaced by an intense adrenaline rush that leaves you feeling as if you’ve got all the energy in the world.

You race around corners and down straightaways, your breath coming hard in your chest. Despite the fact that you’re running as fast as you can, you almost get the feeling that the Griever is toying with you, not going after you with as much force as it could truly muster. Indeed, once you’re almost to the final corridors separating you and the Glade, it seems to draw back, disappearing into the halls of the Maze once more.

You turn to Minho, gasping for breath after your abrupt sprint. “What was that about? Why did it stop?” Minho shrugs, hands on his knees for any kind of support. “I don’t know. Maybe it wanted to stop us from going too far. Maybe we were going to see something that it didn’t want us to see. All I know is that I’m pretty shucking happy that we’re still alive.” You manage to limp over to him, slapping him on the back. “You can say that again. Let’s go tell Alby that we’re the two unluckiest shanks in the Glade to stumble upon a Griever in the middle of the day.”

Alby is, unsurprisingly, stunned by this news. This contradicts everything you’ve thought of the Grievers and the Maze before today. No matter how strange your living situation in the Maze is, the rules have never changed- Grievers come out during the night, and the night only. No one has any idea what to think now that this has changed, and to be honest, no one really wants to think about what happened. In the end, Alby decides that there’s nothing you can do about it except tell everybody to be careful.

As a result of this, you see a lot of somber faces around the Glade that afternoon. Everyone’s clustered into tight groups, talking in hushed voices about obviously critical topics that no doubt revolve around your little Griever incident. When Thomas comes back from his run in the Maze, you see his face fall in an instant when he hears what happened. He starts to come your way, expression twisted with concern, but you shake your head once. Technically, you’re not supposed to know Thomas that well at all. Let Newt handle him- despite everything, you still can’t blow your cover and reveal to everyone that you’re dating.

Still, the anxious mood persists around the Gladers. Gally eventually gives in and asks Alby for a Bonfire Night, which the older boy approves. This is basically just an excuse to light things on fire and pass around Gally’s suspicious brew, but everyone’s so keyed up over what just happened that Alby decides everyone needs a night to have fun. Once the glasses of amber liquid start getting passed around, though, you begin to think that it might not have been such a good idea after all.

Once fear mixes with Gally’s concoction, people start getting louder, their friendly punches in the fighting ring less charming and more antagonistic. You decide to leave early, already tired of the signs pointing to the fact that this night will not be going well. However, you’re barely taken a few steps away from your seat before one of the more drunk Builders stops you in your tracks.

“Where are you going, Y/N? Running away again?” You raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” The Builder scoffs. “We all know what happened with the Griever. You saw it and ran away. Big bunch of nothing for someone who’s supposed to be one of the bravest Runners we’ve got.” You fold your arms over your chest incredulously. “Then feel free to take my job. I’m sure all of your experience stacking bricks will help you deal with a monster as tall as a house.”

The Builder’s smug smile drops. “Are you calling me a coward?” You snort. “I’m calling you weak. Get out of my way, I don’t want to deal with you tonight.” You move to walk past him, but the Builder just shifts to block your way again. “Like shuck. You don’t get to call me weak.” You stare back at him, feeling anger starting to rise up in your chest. “And you don’t get to call me a coward. You wouldn’t know bravery if it hit you over the head.”

This is probably a bad idea, you know that. This thought is proven correct when the Builder’s hand moves in a blur across your field of vision, and seconds later, your hand is coming away from your nose. There’s a streak of red across your fingers that tells you that he’s hit you hard, harder than he should have for what was supposed to be a friendly bonfire night.

Already, there are outraged shouts coming from around you, Gladers already starting to come to your defense. The loudest one, though, is from the boy who’s already by your side. Somehow, you’re not surprised that Thomas is already here. He probably would have punched the guy already, were it not for the fact that Minho and Newt both are holding him back. “Don’t you dare hit her. Don’t you dare.”

The Builder chuckles, although you can tell that he’s afraid. “What are you going to do? Hit me? We’ll just be together in the Slammer.” Thomas stops fighting against Minho and Newt, fixing the Builder with a death glare that makes the boy flinch. “You wish. Were it not for the fact that I actually give a damn about what’s supposed to happen around here, you’d be on the ground, trust me.”

The Builder raises an eyebrow, trying to add to his tough-guy demeanor in the hopes that it’ll cover up for the fact that he’s slowly trying to back away. “What do you care about what I do? This doesn’t concern you.” Thomas takes a step forward, and the Builder practically shrinks back. “Actually, it does. Y/N’s braver than you could ever dream of being. Do you know what it’s like to come face to face with a Griever? The fact that she’s not dead should tell you something about how tough she is. And yes, this does concern me, because she’s my girlfriend.”

Silence falls around the Bonfire at Thomas’ words. He glances over at you now, realizing what he’s said. “Surprise.” You laugh in spite of yourself. “Well, it was going to come out eventually.” You reach over, slinging your arm around his shoulder. “Come on, let’s let Alby deal with this slinthead. We’ve got better things to do.” Thomas allows himself a grin, moving away with you. “That we do.”

maze runner tag list: secret bestie @underc0vercryptid, @ellobruv

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souichioneshots · 3 years

Text

Grim Reaper 【Souichi x Reader】 (Fluff)

Souichi claims he's been cursed. Now everything he touches dies! However, that doesn't stop him from spending time with you. Can you hold back from touching the boy and dying? Let's find out~~~!! ahahaha

(I think this counts as affectionate!reader but idk lol)

Souichi carefully held onto the drink in his hand as he sat back down in between your legs.

Resting his body against your soft chest, you wrapped your arms around his waist. He was completely engulfed by your love. Although he was a bit embarrassed at first by how affectionate you could be, it had become a habit for him to want to be so close to you all the time.

【And now back to ‘DEATH’S ASSISTANT’】

Souichi took a sip of his drink as the show you two had been hooked on recently started back up.

It was a Japanese drama about a Grim Reaper who had been assigned a foreign assistant. Apparently, they fell for one another as soon as their eyes met. Every day they tell each other how much they love one another, but because of Death’s curse, he is unable to touch his love. The show depicts their everyday work lives. Showing how far they would go for one another to prove their love, but never being able to be truly affectionate. Souichi wasn’t really into these types of lovey-dovey dramas, but the supernatural antics that it included drew him in deeper and deeper.

【Assistant, we cant! You know if we touch, you’ll die!】

【I would risk dying a million times just to feel your lips pressed against mine even just once, Death~.】

“Guuuuu!!!!!!!!!!!”

Souichi laughed as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. The scene was so cheesy and overdone, but you loved it. For a morbid girl, you really were a sucker for love stories.

“You’re gonna miss the show if you don’t look up.” Souichi chuckle and patted your head.

Resting your chin on his shoulder, you continued to watch the last few minutes left of the drama.

“Death really outdid it with his outfit today, huh?” Souichi commented.

In today’s episode, Death had been wearing a bright red suit with a black suit-shirt instead of his usual black suit and black tie.

“I think it really suits him.”

“You think everything suits him.”

“Of course. If you’re handsome, then anything and everything looks good on you.”

Souichi lifted his shoulder up towards his head, squishing your face against him.

“Owwww Owowowow!!”

“What’s so handsome about that old actor?”

Souichi finally released the pressure, allowing you to relax.

Pulling your head away from his body, you rubbed your cheeks.

“Hmm…Well, for one his eyes are absolutely beautiful. Thin, sharp, and the dark circles around them make him look so mysterious. And his dark, wavy hair looks so soft! I just want to run my hands through it as mess it up even more.”

Souichi couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as you described what you found attractive about the ‘dreamy man’ on the television. He honestly felt like you were just describing him. He knew you must have a type, but he didn’t think it would be this similar to him every time. You must have felt like you won the jackpot with him.

“But what I really like is the fact that he’s always wearing a suit.” Wrapping your arms back around his waist, you squeezed him a bit “You can tell his assistant also thinks the same thing because she's always staring at him. She just wants to touch him soooo much. But she knows she'll die if she does! Haa~~ I love it!”

Souichi hummed in amusement as he listened to you speak.

Seeing that he fit all the other conditions you looked for in a guy, Souichi thought of a perfect way he could use this little fantasy you love so much for his amusement.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

When the next night came, Souichi quickly got to preparing himself. He had asked if he could go over to watch a movie tonight.

He usually didn’t pay much attention to what he wore whenever he hung out alone with you. But tonight, he decided to mix things up a bit.

Making sure he had everything he needed in his pockets, Souichi set off to your house.

Creepily excited laughter slipped from the boy’s lips as he walked down the street by himself. He couldn’t wait to see your reaction when you laid your eyes upon him.

Finally reaching your front door, he knocked.

“Good evening~” Souichi greeted as you opened the door.

Before you could greet the boy back, you froze. Your mouth gaped open and your eyes widened as you looked upon your boyfriend.

“S…SS..S-Suit..Suitsuitsuit…” You brought your hands up to your face, unsure where to place them. This was the first time you had ever seen him wearing such an outfit before.

Finally bringing your hands out towards Souichi, you tried to touch him.

“Ah!” Souichi quickly jumped back. “You can’t.”

A look of worry and confusion grew on your face as the boy rejected your touch.

“Remember when I called you this morning and said I might have messed up a curse?”

You shook your head yes.

“Well, it turns out that as a side effect, whatever I touch now dies almost immediately.”

Leaning against the doorframe, you looked at the boy with a smile of disbelief.

“You’re just copying ‘Death’s Assistant’ aren’t you.”

Souichi hated how well you could read him. But that didn’t mean he was going to admit that you were right. At least not right now.

“No! I swear.” Sliding one hand into his suit pocket, he leaned down onto the grass that covered your front yard. “Every time I touch something as delicate as a flower…” Pulling out his hand from his pocket, he placed it over a daisy that had been growing for some time. “Well... This happens.” Moving back up, Souichi revealed that the flower he touched had shriveled up and died.

“No way…” You whispered as he allowed the dead flower to trickle onto the palm on your hands.

“Yeah…It’s a bummer.” Placing his foot over the real flower still planted in the ground, he tried to hide the evidence. “But I’m sure this curse will wear off by next week. 2 weeks at most.”

You quickly moved to the side as Souichi let himself into your home.

“What are you doing? Wouldn’t it be dangerous for us to be together right now?”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. As long as we don’t touch that is.” Giving you a smile, Souichi kicked off his shoes and made his way down to your bedroom.

As the raven-haired boy walked down the hall, he moved his hands close to the wall, just barely coming into contact with the wallpaper. He honestly thought it would be really cool if he could make the wallpaper roll up and crumble into pieces just from touching it. Just like in the drama. Perhaps there really was a curse out there that would give him that ability.

Finally reaching your room, he took ahold of the door handle and gestured for you to go in first. Being in a suit really did make him feel like more of a gentleman. It was kind of fun.

Sitting on your bed, Souichi watched as you set up the DVD player.

He tried to hold back his foolish laughter as he thought about how miserable you were going to be all night from not being able to touch him.

You. The girl who could barely go 5 minutes without at least leaning against his shoulder, was now being forced to keep her hands to herself in order to avoid never waking up again.

This was gonna be hilarious.

“So, lemme ask you.” You pulled the boy out of his own little world as you sat on the bed with him. “Why the suit?”

“The suit? Oh. Umm…” Souichi’s mind froze for a second. He was going to say an excuse that all his other clothes suddenly turn to dust when he touched them, but now that sounded extremely stupid and unbelievable. Especially since he was able to touch your bedsheets with no problem. “…To match the whole ‘death’ theme...”

“Oh~ That makes sense. Always gotta be prepared for a funeral when everything you touch dies, right?”

“Exactly!”

Souichi let out a small sigh of relief as you commented an equally believable reason for the suit. He was glad you were almost always on the same level as him.

Finally dropping the subject, you pressed the button on the remote for the movie to play.

Souichi tapped his finger against the bed in annoyance as you kept a good amount of distance from him. It didn’t seem like you would try to touch him any time soon.

Looks like he needed to take things up a notch if he wanted to have some real fun.

Leaning forward, he swiftly took off his black jacket. You quickly ducked as his hand almost came in contact with your head.

Leaning his arm on your pillow, he relaxed his body. A single nail stayed poking out from between his lips, making it look like he was smoking.

Souichi couldn't help but smile as he saw you take quick glances at him. Your eyes kept moving from his pants to his white suit shirt, and finally to his face. He could see a blush spread across your cheeks as you quickly turned away from him, avoiding his gaze. You looked completely head over heels for him.

Sliding to the side, you leaned ever so close to the boy.

“Does the ‘being killed on the spot’ rule apply even over clothes~?” A blush spread across his pale face as you whispered in his ear, making sure not to come into direct contact with his shoulder. He could see your hand hovering over his suit pants, craving to touch the expensive-looking material.

Did you really not believe him or were you just begging to die?

Moving a bit away from you, he replied. “Probably not a good idea. Haven’t tested that out yet…” He let out a little laugh as he mentioned how awkward it would be for him to have to wake up your family and tell them that he killed you by accident.

Souichi looked from the corner of his eyes as you let out a small sigh and moved back into your own little space. This sudden rule of no touching looked like it was taking a toll on you.

Honestly, he was expecting you to be a bit more excited by this situation. After all, this was one of your favorite fantasies. To love one another, but never be able to touch unless you were willing to die on the spot. You should be spewing cheesy lines like in the drama, not sulking.

Moving the nails against his teeth, he tried to think of a way to fix things. After all, this wouldn’t be fun if you got too sad and decided to stop acting like your usual self halfway through the night.

Moving his arm out towards you, he pulled on the edge of his suit jacket.

“I think it’d be fine if you held onto this though…” He turned his face to the side, trying to hide his blush as you smiled once again.

Throughout the movie, Souichi kept his arm up in the air as you happily held onto his jacket. His body felt oddly unsatisfied from not being properly touched by you. But, this was his own fault for deciding to go through with such a cold prank.

You both stayed surprisingly calm and silent as the movie played on.

Souichi kept the nails in his mouth pressed tightly against his teeth as he kept his eyes on the screen. The movie you chose wasn’t half bad at all. The effects, the props, the acting. All very realistic. To be expected from new foreign movies.

However, this feeling of calmness didn’t last long as an unnecessarily long make-out scene between the main characters had started up again. Another specialty of foreign horror movies. The acting for these scenes just had to be extremely believable as well…

Souichi tensed up a bit as he felt you let go of his jacket, finally allowing him to rest his hand back down near his body.

It wasn’t that he disliked these types of scenes. But something about watching them alone with you always made him feel a bit restless.

Souichi moved his legs closer to his body, trying to get in a more comfortable position. He really regretted starting this whole ‘touch me and you’ll die’ prank now.

Pulling on the black-tie wrapped around his neck, he tried to calm himself down.

“People get really horny right before they die, huh?…”

Souichi noticed you jolt a bit at the sound of his voice. All he got in response from you was a little ‘yeah’ and an awkward laugh.

As the teens on the screen started to undress, Souichi noticed you also start to fidget around in your spot. You looked like you wanted to sit closer to him, but you knew you couldn’t.

Shakily bringing your hand over his leg again, you whispered. “Are you sure I’ll die if I touch you over your clothes?...”

This time he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just moved his leg closer to you, giving you an okay to try and touch him.

He watched as you cautiously placed the tips of your fingers on his knee. You let out a sigh of relief as you realized you were going to die from touching him over his clothes.

Careful not to accidentally touch any part of his body not covered by his clothes, you turned towards his.

Pinching the fabric of his suit jacket, you pulled his hand up. Souichi��s heartbeat sped up as you moved his bare hand to touch your clothed breast.

“Looks like it works both ways. As long as your skin doesn’t come into direct contact with mine, I’ll be just fine.”

Souichi’s eyes followed your hands as they moved back towards his pants once more.

You were really pushing the envelope.

But, if you were gonna play like that, then he saw no harm in playing along as well.

Sliding his hand down from your chest to your waist, he pulled you to come closer to him.

“That means we can’t do anything more than this though…” Souichi whisper as he inched his face closer to yours. “We should stop now before we do something that can’t be undone.” He teased you with lies, practically ordering you to go further.

“You don’t wanna die from one of my curses, do you?”

“It’d be a blessing to die from one of your curses…”

Something within Souichi switched on as he heard you whisper your confession to him. That felt like the most romantic thing you'd ever said to him.

Without saying another word, Souichi pressed his lips against yours. To think he was the one who ended up not being able to hold back from you this time.

Suddenly, pressing your hands against his shoulder, you pushed yourself away from the kiss.

“Agk! My heart!” Holding your hand against your chest, you threw yourself back to lay on the bed. “I…I!!! Gah…”

Souichi couldn’t help but laugh as you pretended to die in an over-exaggerated manner.

You opened one of your eyes, looked at the boy, and then closed it again. Souichi could see you trying your best to hold back a smile as you laid perfectly still.

“You knew I wasn’t cursed the entire time, didn’t you?”

“...Was it that obvious?” You laughed a bit as you finally sat back up.

“When did you figure out I was lying?”

“Hmm~”

You just hummed and swayed your head side to side. Not telling him when you knew for a fact he was not actually cursed.

“If I can be honest, you should have said something more believable for the suit. Then maybe I would have believed you completely." Leaning up against the boy you thought for a second. "Like umm... All your other clothes disintegrated the second you touched them. But because you've worn this suit to a funeral before, it was the only thing that stayed intact."

"Ahh!! I swear I was gonna say that!!"

You let out a hum and looked at the boy once again with a smile of disbelief.

"I swear!"

Getting up from the bed, he put on his suit jacket again.

"Let's restart." He sat back down on the edge of your bed. "Ask me why I'm wearing a suit."

"Okay." You also moved to sit on the edge, next to him. "Hey, Souichi. Why are you--" Unconsciously, your hand brushed up against his. "AGK!" You threw your body back and pretended to die again.

"No!! Y/N!!" He picked you up by your shoulders and forced you to sit back up. "Again."

As his hands moved away from your shoulders, he accidentally touched your neck. Making you jump back again.

"Agggkk!!"

"Stop dying!!" He yelled as you held your hand up to your neck and pretended to choke and die.

Souichi let out a loud groan as you continued to laugh at his frustrated expression.

This prank wasn't as funny as he thought it would be.

#souichi x reader #souichi tsujii x reader #fluff #this is stupid #but oh well #lots of misspells for sure #but i tried man #10 pages of work is a pain to check

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Duty and Responsibility

Pairing: Osamu x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Historical AU, Arranged Marriage AU, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Lactation Kink

Summary: Love can form in surprising places, even in a marriage centered only around duty and responsibility.

You patiently wait beside Daichi, back straight, gaze downcast and demure, the picture perfect example of a soon to be bride. Only if someone watched with hawk eyes, purposefully looking for flaws in your facade, would they notice the way you stand just a tad too close to the head of the Karasuno clan, desperately trying to cling onto any comfort or courage you can.

There’s nothing to be afraid of. At least that’s what Daichi says. And you know he would never put you in harm’s way. You trust him with your life and more. After all, it’s he who’s practically single handedly raised you, saving you from guaranteed death as a street urchin, welcoming you and wholeheartedly accepting you as one of his own. He’s the older brother figure you never had. The one who showed you what family and belonging were.

So if he says that he trusts Kita, the head of Inarizaki, and vouches for Kita’s choice of a future husband for you. Of course you put your faith in his words. But it doesn’t stop the clawing nausea inside of you as you get ready to meet the stranger your life is now forever entwined with.

Inarizaki and Karasuno have never had much of a relationship before, good or bad. You know of the infamous fox clan, the tales of their notorious twins spreading far and wide. But they’ve always just been stories, pretty words that you couldn’t tie to a warm body.

Until now.

You’d be naive to not understand just how prominent Karasuno has become, no longer the laid back humble clan it once used to be. And as proud as you are of Daichi and how his tireless work and dedication have helped the crows fly high in the sky once again, you can’t help but feel a small regretful pang when you remember that carefree life you once had, when you were just a young woman dreaming about marrying for love and finding “the one”.

But that was just a silly girl’s dream. You know what your duty and responsibilities are and you don’t dare shirk away from them now. Not when Daichi has so deeply instilled those firm beliefs and foundations inside of you both through teaching and example. And it’s the fact that you know, with just a word, he’d completely cancel it, call everything off and risk ruining ties between the two clans, that has you gritting your teeth and standing firm, awaiting your future.

This isn’t how you had dreamed your happily ever after would be, but for Daichi, for Karasuno, for your new family? You’d gladly die as a pawn.

And a pawn you are, even if it is a glorified one.

You can still vividly remember the night Daichi had called you into his office, remember how nervous he was as his eyes looked anywhere other than at you, remember the pain he tried to hide in his voice as he proposed the idea to you. He used gentle words, meandering and rambling around the point, but the message was as clear as a knife in the gut.

Sacrifice yourself to solidify the union between Karasuno and Inarizaki.

An arranged marriage with no one other than Miya Osamu.

You remember how your heart had dropped at Daichi’s words, a sinking feeling churning inside of you only worsened by how regretfully brown eyes looked at you, a gnawing of his lips before he blurted out that you could say no even though both of you know it’s not really an option, certainly not the wiser option.

Possibly anger and break ties with one of the most powerful clans in the country over a mere woman?

You knew that an arranged marriage was always a strong possibility. But you had always imagined that it would be with someone you knew from the clans you’re closer with like Nekoma and Fukurodani. Maybe even Seijoh or Shiratorizawa. But Inarizaki? Miya Osamu?

A part of you is glad that at least it isn’t his wild blond twin, someone whose presence spreads like wildfire, loudly crackling and announcing itself, wreaking havoc in its wake. But if the stories are true, Osamu isn’t much better. More of a volcano than an out of control fire, but just as able to burst and explode if provoked enough.

So you’re surprised when you lay eyes on him for the first time as the fox clan enters the room, nothing seemingly fiery or volatile about the handsome man politely bowing in front of you. Instead you’re reminded of the moon and its quiet yet hardened radiance and although you don’t know a thing about your fiance, you think that maybe it’s not the worst scenario, especially as his brother’s voice loudly echoes throughout the chambers, already making a scene not even minutes into your two clans meeting.

Little do you know a silver haired man is thinking the same thing as he carefully scans you over.

Osamu has never thought much about marriage or what his future wife would be like. It’s always just been Atsumu, him, and all the trouble they constantly got themselves into. But as Daichi and Kita pass back and forth polite pleasantries, it’s beginning to feel all too real how planned out his future is. Yet looking at you, he can envision it, the picture perfect couple, a picture perfect house, a picture perfect family. It’s obvious that you’ve been raised well, not that he expects any less of someone Daichi himself has taught and raised from the ground up. And although he doesn’t have hopes that you’ll be the love of his life, for Kita, for Inarizaki, for his family, he can be the respectable husband and father they and you need him to be.

With duty and honor at the forefront of both your minds, you begin to court each other. It’s pleasant, like a well rehearsed performance, both your perfected mannerisms shining and waltzing around each other in perfect grammar, politically correct opinions, and graceful table manners. To any outside eye, the two of you are the epitome of prim and proper, a vision of what an upstanding couple should look like, nothing scandalous or eye catching as the two of you amble around, getting to know each other.

But that’s all it is, a superbly done play and both of you can feel the weight of the falseness heavy upon your shoulders as you keep your smile from unbecomingly stretching across your face, as Osamu bites back his usual snarky verbiage.

You’re grateful for the frequent interruptions from both your rowdy clan members, feeling the pressure lift off of you just a bit when Nishinoya comes racing across the field, not a hint of reservation as he excitedly rambles and shouts about the latest gossip he’s heard, when Tanaka comes storming over and manhandles the shorter man into leaving the two of you alone. And as aggravating as Atsumu can be, Osamu is secretly glad when the annoying blonde takes it upon himself to crash most of your outings together, allowing himself the brief leisure of resting his meticulously crafted mask as his twin yaps on and on unhindered to you.

But his gratitude for Atsumu only goes so far and despite how hard Osamu has tried to keep up appearances in front of you, it was only a matter of time before he lost his composure the more and more his more obnoxious counterpart loitered around the two of you, hogging all your attention to himself.

Osamu isn’t a jealous person, or so he had thought, but his moral compass has always skewed heavily whenever his twin is involved and he can feel his frustration and temper rise when Atsumu’s interruptions become more than a slight reprieve, capturing your attention, not even leaving scraps for Osamu to work with.

And maybe, just maybe, he can admit that he is jealous....jealous of how easy it is for Atsumu to always be himself no matter the situation, no matter who’s around, never a care or worry about what others think of him.

That feeling festers, slowly boiling, temperature rising, until it comes to a full throttle and Osamu can no longer bite back his typical scathing tone he uses with his brother, icy tone ordering the rambunctious man to leave the two of you the fuck alone.

“Last time I checked, ‘Sumu, you’re not the one getting married. So either go find someone who’ll be willing to put up with you or find another couple to third-wheel with.”

Of course that’s not the end of it because God forbid Atsumu grows up and lets Osamu have the last word for once and before he even realizes what’s happening, a body is crashing into his and they immediately begin growling and snarling at each other as they wrestle each other, throwing jabs and kicks, completely forgetting the bystander watching the two men in awe.

But when your roaring laughter fills the air, Osamu freezes, disbelief and curiosity curling inside of him as he turns to see if that uncouth hyena guffaw is truly coming from you, only to be amazed when he sees you practically bent in half, wheezing, face scrunched in giddy lines as you continue howling in amusement. And despite how “unseemly” your appearance is, he thinks you’re the most beautiful like this, something warm growing inside him when he basks in the essence of your pure joy for the first time.

Unfortunately it’s short lived and he hides the pout forming on his lips when you notice his eyes on you, murmuring apologies left and right as you abruptly resume your typical ladylike stance and countenance, no proof of the genuine beauty he had seen just seconds ago other than the embarrassed look on your face. And like an infection your shame spreads and he scrambles to his feet (slightly getting one last kick in and hiding a smile at Atsumu’s whine), quickly brushing himself off and deeply bowing and apologizing for his own childish behavior.

But as he plays the ever perfect gentleman, protectively strolling with you and guiding you back home, the cogs in his mind begin to turn, a determined glint entering his gaze.

You’re clearly not the prim and proper angel he had thought you were and obviously, you don’t mind his more...explosive side, if your mirth earlier as your fiance rolled around on the ground like a fool is anything to go by.

Forget prim, proper, and perfect. He wants to know more about who you really are hidden underneath the elegant layers you’ve been shielding yourself with, reveal his own true nature to you, marry your flaws and strengths together as you build a life even better than perfect, something visceral, something real, something more tangible than the whimsical dreams of fairy tale romances.

He takes the first step, his desire to break down your barriers giving him the confidence he needs to be more vulnerable. But even then, there’s slight trepidation as he bustles around the kitchen, wondering what you would think of his cooking hobby, hoping and wishing for your acceptance and approval despite how uncommon, maybe even looked down upon, it is in your society for a man to be rummaging around a woman’s domain.

But he’s good at what he does. He knows he is. And with that thought, he resolves himself to skillfully molding the onigiri he’s renowned for among his own clan, taking extra pains to make sure each one is perfectly filled, shaped, and decorated, snooping around and subtly asking your clan mates what your favorite flavors and ingredients are and incorporating them. Pleased with the final results, he sends a message for you to meet him in a secluded section of the park the two of you often frequent.

Used to Osamu coming to your chambers and walking with you right from the start, you’re surprised by the request to meet him and your heart flutters when you realize the specific location he’s chosen is one you run away to and use to hide from the world when you just need time and space for yourself, a location you’ve never told anyone about before, a safe haven and oasis you call your own. You’re surprised by how little you care about sharing this secret place with him, something bubbly and warm eliciting a smile on your face as you hike up your skirts and rush towards your fiance, laughing in the wind and ignoring the chiding from Suga and Asahi to “stop running” and “act like a lady”.

But as you near your destination, you do slow down, nervously gnawing at your bottom lip as your fingers comb through your wind tousled hair, smoothing out your skirts and making sure there’s no leftover signs of your delinquent behavior. And putting years of etiquette lessons into practice, you gracefully stroll towards the man you’re here to meet. Only to be startled out of your picturesque poise by the gorgeous spread in front of you.

Candles and lanterns flicker in the soft breeze, encasing and basking the area in their ethereal glow. Luxurious rugs and pillows are artfully splayed out across the floor, turning the grassy lawn into the most wondrous lounge you’ve ever seen and it takes all your willpower not to squeal and pounce in the ridiculously plush field. But what really takes your breath away is how Osamu’s chiseled face radiates in the warm light of the gentle fires blazing around him, a smile dancing on his lips when he takes in your wide entranced eyes, and you can feel your face warm, heart beating a mile a minute when you realize that he’s done all this just for you, a woman he hardly knows. And you quickly make your way towards him, blabbering on and on about how this is over the top, how he absolutely didn’t have to do any of this, how you can’t believe he went through all this trouble for you. Only to be silenced when he cuts you off with a single sentence topped with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen.

“I did it because I wanted to.”

Stunned and still overwhelmed that almost a complete stranger has done something so lavish, so special, so selfless, just for you, you obediently let him beckon you and guide you to a seated position, sighing in bliss when you nestle among the myriad of fabrics, pleased that they feel just as nice, if not better, than what you had imagined. You excitedly watch as he rummages through the picnic basket he’s packed, realizing then just how hungry you actually are, and once again your jaw drops and you wonder if any of this is real, unsure how it’s possible for him to keep on pulling more and more items from the container until pristine glasses filled with refreshing liquids and ornate porcelain plates heaping with the most perfect onigiri you’ve ever seen entirely cover the empty space of the fabric spread surrounding you.

Senses still in overdrive, it’s all you can do to mindlessly grab the onigiri he offers you and bring it to your lips. But when your teeth sink into the delicate layers of seaweed and rice, the taste of your favorite filling slamming into your tastebuds, you’re jolted back to reality and suddenly any decorum you’ve learned is thrown out the window and Osamu bursts out laughing, a pleased flush on his face when you begin raving and practically dancing in your seat about how delicious the rice ball is as you simultaneously shove more bites into your mouth, your cheeks expanding not unlike the little chipmunks he sees prancing around the area. And when you realize just how unrefined you appear as the last bits of the onigiri are swallowed, an embarrassed apology on the tip of your tongue, he boldly reaches out to grab your hand, lacing your fingers with his.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m glad you enjoyed them so much.”

But it’s his turn to be embarrassed when you tentatively sidle up to him, allowing your bodies to touch as you lean into his side, continuing to hold his hand, looking up at him under fluttering lashes as you ask him where he’d gotten the food from. And this time it’s he who quietly murmurs that he had actually made these himself, apprehensive of what your reaction will be to finding out this secret tidbit, only for his own jaw to drop and gape in surprise when there’s not a second of hesitation or judgement as you look at him in awe, begging him to teach you his recipe.

Needless to say, whispers and rumors run amok as Osamu and you hog and hoard the kitchen at all hours of the day and night, some older and more traditional maids and servants looking on scandalously as Osamu rolls up his sleeves and slaves over pots and pans, the majority of your clan and Inarizaki just rolling their eyes with fond smiles on their faces as they watch the two of you in a flurry or chaos, food everywhere, stains on your clothes when the both of you proudly share your finished products that everyone, even those grumpy old naggers, enjoys.

One day, when the kitchen becomes particularly messy as Osamu accidentally spills flour all over you in his attempt to reach for the highly perched bag, there’s a brief moment of tension when you loudly gasp as white powder swirls all around you and your fiance awkwardly stands in place unsure whether to laugh or be mortified about the mess he’s made of you. But just as he comes to his senses and frantically looks around for a towel or rag to help clean you with, he yelps when something collides with his head, shortly followed by a cold slimy trail slipping down the nape of his neck, whipping his head around to look at you in shock.

When he sees the bowl of eggs strategically placed next to you, the broken eggshells at his feet, and the smug grin on your face, he stands at attention, meeting the challenging look in your eyes with his own competitive gleam. And then there’s only a whirlwind of commotion as the two of you scream and uproariously giggle, racing around the kitchen, ducking behind cabinets, finding anything and everything to chuck at the other, only stopping when Daichi and Kita finally put an end to the madness, trying to stay stern as they bite back their own laughter and relief at seeing the two of you get along so well.

The two of you profusely bow in apology, swearing you’ll clean up the mess you’ve made, but the second your two clan heads leave, you simultaneously peek at each other, softly chuckling at how filthy you both look. And as Osamu carefully plucks bits of egg shells from your hair and as you affectionately wipe his face clean of flour, eggs, and everything else that’s managed to get stuck, the two of you feel the stirrings of something more than just duty and responsibility, more than even just friendship or attraction, growing inside of you.

That feeling expands and blossoms inside the two of you, never ceasing to move and swirl inside both your hearts before clamoring into a resounding crescendo on your wedding day. And as Osamu and you both try to fight back tears of happiness and belonging, tears of everything falling into place, tears of life just making sense when you stand beside each other at the altar, the two of you thank whoever’s listening that you’re bound to each other for all of eternity.

The wedding is a joyous and rowdy affair and your stomach aches from laughing nonstop, feet sore from never ending rounds of dancing, eyes and hands unable to to be torn from your husband who is likewise as enamored as you. Both of you just stick out your tongues and ignore the teasing gags and hollering from both your clan mates as the two of you remain glued to each other all night. And as the evening draws to an end and Atsumu drunkenly shouts at both of you to get a room, your face heats and your stomach swoons when Osamu just cheekily smiles back and says that the both of you will do just that before swooping you up in his arms and carrying you out bridal style, wishing everyone farewell as he whisks you away to the amusement of your friends and family, raucous encouragements being shouted in your wake while you hide your embarrassed face in the crook of his shoulder, meekly waving goodbye to the cheering crowds.

But that atmosphere changes when you enter the room set aside for the two of you to spend your wedding night, the first evening of your lifelong union, and it feels like all those moons ago when the two of you first met as slightly trembling hands wrap around each other in a tentative embrace, lips hesitatingly pressing against each other in an inquisitive manner. Fingers brush against buttons, zippers, and ribbons. Fabric rustles as they’re shakily removed and placed aside. And then it’s just the two of you as you are, nothing hiding you from the other as eyes and fingertips gently roam and explore new territory.

It starts off slow as the two of you take your time mapping every line and curve now laid bare for your greedy eyes and hands, tasting each other, revelling in the little moans and grunts that fill the room as pert nipples are teased, teeth nip at the junction where neck meets shoulder, hips languidly grind and rub against each other.

Osamu’s head falls back as your fingers curiously wrap around his throbbing shaft, testing different strokes, and he returns your actions by slipping one long finger inside of you, hungrily staring at the way your mouth unconsciously opens, a tiny mewl escaping you from the delicious intrusion. You try your best to keep up your ministrations, gliding your hand up and down the velvety warmth heavy in your hands, but your movements become sloppy as the silver haired minx on top of you teasingly takes his time, painstakingly prepping you and stretching you out, only adding a new finger when your hips desperately shake and squirm in a silent plea for more.

But even three fingers in, it’s not enough, and you can’t help the petulant whine that leaves your mouth, the wanton begging for your husband to hurry up, eyes practically rolling in your head when he finally presses the tip of his cock against your fluttering and wanting entrance, eagerly awaiting the feeling of his shaft filling your desperate hole. Yet Osamu has different plans and you let out a choked sob when instead he slides the tip of his erection up and down your sensitive folds, patiently watching your building slick coat his mushroomed head, making sure you’re completely ready to take him.

You snap at him, tears beginning to form in your eyes from the denial and frustration, words coming out more demanding and bratty than you had intended as you order him to get on with it already. But you immediately regret your actions, whimpering when dark eyes sternly stare you down, pinning you in place and forcing you to clamp your mouth shut.

“Who knew a virgin like you could be such a demanding whore.”

The demeaning words have no right to affect you the way they do and you only become more agitated, a lance of arousal piercing through you and making you squirm from his tone and choice of phrase. You want him. You need him. And you thrash underneath him, futilely trying to force his cock inside of you, only to sob and submissively freeze at his next words.

“Stop moving or I’m going to tie you up and tease you all night.”

You feel like helpless prey, no fight left in you to resist, your energy spent obeying him, trying your best to stay put, fingers clawing into the rumpled bed sheets underneath you. And Osamu feels pride swell in his chest at how good you are, how perfect you’re behaving for him as he takes his time, fingers curling and gliding against your gummy walls, scissoring as they go in and out of tight hole, not stopping until you’re literally gushing, leaking juices everywhere, salty watery trails leaking from your eyes as your body shivers from pent up arousal and desire.

He can’t take his eyes off of you as his cock begins to breach your drenched entrance, enraptured by every flutter of your lashes, every change in your expression as he sinks deeper and deeper, branding every moment in his memory as you allow yourself to touch him, digging your nails into his upper arms as you come to terms with the sensation of being stuffed full. You moan, sinking into the tender kiss he offers as he finally bottoms out, tongues swirling around each other as you soak in the feeling of being so intimately connected.

But Osamu smirks when you make it known that enough is enough and he lightly bites your lower lip in playful punishment when you insistently rock your hips, hissing when you clamp down on his cock and let out whining sounds, too far gone to even verbally tell him what you want. Maybe next time he’ll be stricter about your bratty tendencies, but he supposes you’ve done well considering it’s your first time together and he relents.

A high pitched keen echoes through the room as Osamu picks up a steady rhythm, neck arching and mouth falling open as his cock drags against your walls with every snap of his hips, drowning in how deep and purposeful every stroke is, panting loudly as his heavy balls slap against your ass. He groans when your legs instinctively wrap around him as he brings a hand to fondle your aroused clit, forcing him closer, deeper, unwilling to leave any space between the two of you. And he’s on the same page as you, his torso leaning down, the new position having him hit new places inside of you that have you gasping, as he takes one of your hardened nipples in his mouth, sucking and watching in dark amusement as your eyes roll back in your head from all the stimulation.

He swears he could die happy like this, his cock enveloped in your tight wet warmth, your delectable tits in his mouth, your face contorted lewdly as pleasure wracks through the both of you. But you have a lifetime together now, endless time for him to play and ruin you any and every way he wants. So he focuses his attention solely back on you, releasing your nipple with a wet plop before leering down at you, a predatory razor sharp grin slicing across his handsome features, internally cooing at how you tighten around him as you nervously gulp.

“Your breasts are delicious, love. Can’t wait until I knock you up and your tits swell with milk. Bet it’ll taste so good. Wonder if there’ll be enough for the kids and me. Maybe we can save some for any more baking experiments we try. Would you like that? Want me to turn you into a pretty cow housewife? Maybe I’ll just keep you in the kitchen with a breast pump attached to you when I’m busy with work. Turn you into just another piece of useful kitchen equipment.”

This time he doesn’t hide his amusement at your expense when you respond by breathily chanting his name over and over again, telling him how close you are between little gasps and mewls as he continues pistoning in and out of your slick pussy, his pace increasing, rhythm beginning to rocket out of control as his own end becomes imminent.

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t wreck you first and he continues his verbal onslaught, low drawl teasing as he tells you what a slut you are for getting off on his humiliating words, praising you for how amazing you feel and look, like you were made for him, like you were made to be used and fucked by him, only him, for the rest of your life-

Your wail cuts him off as you tumble over the edge, half screaming and sobbing as you’re forced to delirious heights and depths of pleasure you’ve never felt before, nails leaving wicked red marks in their wake as you claw at him out of pure instinct as he continues fucking in and out of you, losing any control and restraint he had as he chases his own end. Your pulsating walls milk his cock for all its worth and he groans, slamming fully into you one last time as he spills thick white spurts deep inside of you,

And then there’s only quiet intermingled with the sounds of both your panting breaths as you bask in the afterglow, humming in content as Osamu slowly lowers himself, making your husband chuckle in surprise when you tighten your legs that are still wrapped around him when he threatens to pull out and lay down by your side.

How can he deny that tired pout on your face as you silently nudge him back on top of you?

So he remains buried inside of you, letting himself be manhandled into laying on top of you and merely rolling his eyes fondly as you treat him like an oversized body pillow, your legs and now your arms wrapping around him, holding him tightly against you, uncaring of how the both of you are still covered in your combined messes. And as he watches you fall into a deep slumber, body exhausted, a blissed out smile on your face, he allows his own eyes to close shut, telling himself that he’d just clean the both of you up whenever he woke up, thankful that of all the people in the world that he could have been married off to, fate chose you.

#haikyuu smut #osamu x reader #osamu smut #haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader

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megthemewlingquim · 3 years

Text

someone new.

summary: there's an art to life's distractions.

pairing: eventual hades! loki x persephone! reader

warnings: implied smut, alcohol consumption

a/n: here it is, the first part of foreigner's god. as said in this fic's masterlist, these will not be chapters, but rather short stories and one shots that can be read separately or as one whole piece. it's up to you.

i plan to base each part off of one or two hozier songs. this is inspired by "someone new".

is there a right way to fall in love?

that’s what loki asks himself every day — well, every night — when he spends his free time at bars and gatherings. populated widely with fellow gods, goddesses, and spirits of many colors and passions; these bars are perfect places to find someone new.

being the god of death, however, puts loki at a bit of a disadvantage. yes, the stereotypes are, unfortunately, true. loki is dark, a little antisocial, and very quiet. beautiful in appearance — death is seductive, at least to the willing.

‘the willing’ being many a spirit, many a dryad or goddess or creature who wants bragging rights, or a little nightly thrill. ‘that’s right,’ they say, ‘i had a little dance with death last night.’

loki doesn’t mind the mornings when his temporary partners talk about the nights, but he always cringes when they mention that accursed french phrase — la petite mort. it’s a joke to them. a mockery.

yet, they stay, and sometimes, they come back for another little death.

the spirits and goddesses never make a big impact on him. he is with one for a night, then another for a night, and so on. he falls in love every day with someone new and it’s a bore. a bore and a drag.

dark caresses don’t do much to numb the pain: the pain of loneliness and solitude. the ache in his heart is constant, tearing at his mind whenever it can. alcohol can't do much either — all gods have a very high tolerance. mead was made for them.

so loki is left with no escape besides those that come from the willing. little deaths. they make him feel loved.

no...

no one loves death. some crave him. but they don't love him.

that’s the common theme running through loki’s head every time he takes someone home with him, or goes upstairs with them to the top floors of the inns he’s at, where the bedrooms are. it’s a distraction.

however, the cycle ends when, while pointlessly wandering around his usual bar, he sees someone new one night. you.

you radiate this... this warmth that he’s never felt before. everyone around you seems to be affected by it too - they don’t treat you as the life of the party, but they do gravitate towards you like birds to a nest.

and you’re quite shy, but infectiously happy and cheerful. you’re so beautiful, with your bright eyes that he knows are wide and filled with wonder, and your lovely skin that he knows is so soft. and your smile that he knows is so comforting to all who see it.

to everyone else, you feel like they’ve just wandered into a happy memory, or a sun-lit room that’s pleasantly warm and golden. you feel familiar. ordinary, but lovely all the same.

to loki, you feel... feel like something he’s only experienced in dreams. so, really, he’s never felt it before in his immortal life: something warm and alive and... and anticipatory. like there’s new things about to come up to the surface — flowers, new animals, maybe. you give off a sense of... he can’t describe it well. a slow and joyful awakening something.

and you also feel completely and utterly powerful. unstoppable. he’s terrified of you, and yet he’s drawn to you. you’re so fascinating, strange. not as if you could end the world, no, that’s his own job. but it’s as if you can bring the whole world to life, raise it back up again after the chaos fades.

you feel like spring. like rebirth. like new life.

and that’s when it hits him.

persephone. he’s heard the name passed around before, but before now, he has never seen the face behind the name. something about this sparks some fear in him: how would persephone, goddess of spring, daughter of demeter, react to seeing anyone even remotely like himself?

for a moment, he’s grateful that you’re not looking at him; you’re actually looking at the table, at the drink you’re sipping. there’s a look on your face that isn’t bored, nor afraid. maybe... observant.

people are around you still. not crowding, but not interacting with you either. it’s like you have a bubble around you, keeping everyone from getting too close. maybe it’s your doing but maybe it’s theirs. honestly, you’d think that dryads and gods and goddesses and spirits of all forms and colors and subjects would be more accepting.

he pities you. you seem lonely.

loki takes a few steps forward, betraying his own fear. like the red sea, the crowd parts. some are bold and unafraid, and they give loki varying looks: disgusted, seductive, snarky. you don’t notice him until he sits down in front of you, at the other end of the table.

“hi,” he says calmly. he manages a small smile. “you’re new here, aren’t you?”

your eyes lift to lock with his own. immediately, you recoil just the slightest bit. he knows what you’re thinking: wait, that’s hades! god of death... wh-why is he talking to me?

“it’s alright,” he soothes. “don’t worry. you’ve probably heard of all the stories: gods kidnapping and doing terrible things to goddesses and spirits and dryads. i’m not here to do any of that. i promise.”

with a single, somewhat confused blink, you nod. “m-my mother has told me a lot about that stuff,” you say slowly, as if saying anything too revealing will somehow alert demeter and get you in trouble. “she’s... she’s terrified...”

“what is she terrified of? that those terrible things might happen to you?”

“yes,” you say. “she’s told me that she’s had nightmares in the past. specifically about you. how you’ll kidnap me and take me to hell to live with you.”

he laughs at that - a rich, amused laugh that takes the shivers out of you. “that’s bullshit. overprotective mothers, yeah?”

you shrug. “she loves me.”

“and are you afraid of me, princess?” the last word is whispered. his voice extremely soft - it’s a curious question.

he notices how you lick your lips. “no,” you say. he notices how your eyes flick all over him. “no, i’m not.” and you seem truthful.

“smart girl,” he says with a grin. “i hate liars. there’s not a god on in the world that’s ever been truthful. well, besides jesus. yahweh. whatever you wanna call him.” loki leans back, crossing his hands behind his head and bringing his feet up to the table. “your father, though... he’s the worst of ‘em. having children with other women, including your mother, while hera has to sit by and watch, and then lying about it.”

“we’re gods,” you say. “i'm not trying to justify things but... we’re far from perfect.”

“damn right we are. we’re fucked up. good. we can agree on something. most days, people think us gods are... perfect things. role models. and, maybe some are. but not us. not the gods of olympus.”

he pauses, takes a swig from a beer bottle that was not in his hand a few seconds ago. “i was wondering if you wanted to do what humans do.” loki winces at the awkwardness. “when they're... y'know. interested in someone.”

“you're interested... in me?” you ask, incredulously.

“yeah, i am.” one sip of beer has loosened his tongue. or maybe that's just his confidence soaring now. “maybe this hasn't been the best introduction to things but i would love to take you out sometime. show you things.”

“my —” you swallow. “i'd get in trouble.” you shrink away just a bit.

his smile fades and it's replaced with a sadder, more sincere look. “the best things in life have risk to them. it's time i show you that.”

and really, he does feel sorry for you. it's your first time at a bar, you're lonely. no friends as far as he can tell. an overprotective goddess mother.

“think of it this way. i think you're very pretty and i like your honesty. i would like to help you see the world, and to have a little fun, since your mother has obviously never let you do anything in your very, very long life.”

“i'm twenty—one.”

“and now i'm wondering if demeter actually has you tell people that, as if you're a teenage mortal.” loki shakes his head, disappointed. “that's pathetic. you're a bajillion years old. you're a goddess! you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want, right?”

when there's no answer from you, he sighs. leans forward to sit normally, putting both of his elbows on the table and pointing his hands at you. “alright. i'll roll with it for now. you're twenty—one. i guess. you can drink. you can go out alone to bars and other places. you can meet new people. you're an adult. think about that.

“so, again. i think you're very pretty and i wanna show you around. get to know you. would you like to do that with me?” he raises his eyebrows a little, waiting for a response.

it's an eternity before you can win a battle in your mind. slowly, you nod, giving him a smile. “yeah,” you whisper. “yeah, i would. thank you.”

“don't thank me just yet, sweetheart. i haven't shown you anything yet.” he gets up, pushes his chair in.

before he leaves, he winks at you. “call me loki. it's... not as dreadful... as hades. and... what do i call you?”

you say your name, your voice quiet.

“much better than persephone, i think. it suits you. we'll keep in touch, ok?”

“okay,” you say. butterflies are flying rapidly in your stomach.

loki leaves you there. he'd much rather take you back to your home himself, but that would be too risky for the time being. for now, he walks out of that bar feeling like the king of the world.

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docholligay · 3 years

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The Green Knight: A Ramble Through the Field of Honor

So I talked in an earlier post very glancingly about the line “Why greatness? Is goodness not enough?” and how it fits into the idea that Gawain has no idea what true greatness looks like, and I think, dovetailing into that, we kind of have to talk about how Gawain is...not a great guy.

And I’m not even talking about the way we begin the movie with him in a brothel, though I am going to use that to spring off here and talk about his conduct toward Essel. Knightly stories are full of these ideas of chivalry particularly around women, and I think Lowery is using Essel to make the point that Gawain is not doing that, not even remotely. Essel is a working girl, sure, but she’s also, as its shown throughout the movie, devoted to him, and cares for him far beyond his ability to provide for her. She even tells him that she has his gold, when she asks to be his lady, but she wants very simple things--to sit by his side at the fire, and have his ear, and be his lady. In full fairness to Gawain, I suppose, he never pretends even for a moment that he has any intention of doing that. Gawain is not interested in whatever he might owe her, because in seeking his greatness he utterly passes by this goodness.

We see this again in “A Kindness” where he repeatedly tells the scavenger that he is “Just passing through” when asked if he is a knight, not dodging the question, exactly, but allowing the scavenger to think this untrue thing. The scavenger talks about how he has brothers out there, the wide field of bodies like the fallen trees, showing us the lumber that Camelot is built upon, but Gawain does not have a moment for sympathy or pause. He fails to see this kid as a human being, and the narrative allows us to glance over it too, fixated in the same way Gawain is on the destination and not the journey.

Even when he is given instructions about how to get to the Green Chapel, when it’s been shown he has only the roughest sketched ideas of the way--and we can argue that the instructions may be false, but I’m not sure I think it matters--all he offers this scavenger, this BOY, is his thanks, despite being told he’s lost his family, was almost lost himself. He has to be shamed into offering a single coin, when Excalibur itself was offered to him when he needed the help.

This goes back to the idea of a test, and of Gawain’s repeated failures to have honor, to be great. He can’t see that mercy and generosity are a part of what it means to be a knight, to bear that mantle of goodness that I would argue underlies the knightly ideal.

This is why, when he’s captured and his things taken from him, he asks for the GReen Chapel and is told, “You’re in it.” This is a test as surely as kneeling before the Knight himself, and he’s failed, not only the test of generosity, but of courage, as he pleads with them that he’s not a knight, and he never said he was, and it’s true, that he isn’t, and so he’s stripped of all the trappings that make him a knight--his horse, his arms, his shield--because if he will not behave a knight, if he will not meet the world with the courage and honor he’s meant to have, then he may as well have none of it at all.

Gawain is pretty much a world-class fuckboy until the Tale of St. Winifred, until he truly connects with the natural impulse within him in the form of the fox (More on this in a much longer later post)

The tale of St. Winifred is his chance to begin his redemption, really the first time that he’s been willing to take any real instruction on the nature of becoming a knight--he sure as shit could not be bothered to listen to Arthur--and so this is where he earns back the axe. He earns back the right to even have this quest in the first place.

I don’t know how much the audience knows about the tale of St. Winifred, but the details are changed from the usual telling of the story in order to support the themes of the film. St. Winifred is also, in one sense, a tale of beheading and of virtue. That in upholding her ‘purity,’ she lost her life and her head. This is why I think it’s not actually a foregone conclusion that Gawain is spared at the end--I think Lowery makes the point that sometimes our values must be paid for in blood.

The flexible nature of honor is addressed directly in Winifred’s story. From the beginning, when she tells him not to touch her, that “a knight should know better,” there’s a sort of restarting the clock on his ability to be that knight. He just failed the last test, but as people, we are not who we are in one moment, whether that is terribly virtuous, or terribly cowardly, but the accumulation of who we are in all the moments. Each story is the chance to start again, and that’s why you’ll see so much menton of his being a knight at the start of each ‘section.’ It’s his chance to begin this anew.

In that way of, just tell the audience what’s going on, when Winifred is telling her story, of a man who came and desired to lay with her, and says, ‘Perhaps he was thee,’ that’s not just speaking to the sense of circles and repetition of nature in the movie--though not unrelated--but the idea that Gawain could be that man, could still, in a sense, choose to be that man. That he can always fail this test, too.

“If I go and get it, what will be my reward?”

It takes you aback, just for a moment, when he asks her that, until we realize that we were all asking ourselves that too. Reading into the traditions behind knights and saints, I think we’re used to the idea that a boon will be received for dong the right thing, and Lowery asks us to evaluate all that in Winifred’s reply:

“Why would you ask me that? Why would you ever ask me that?”

Harkening back to when he didn’t give the kid more than just a single coin, and telling him, “my thanks”--does he really have the right to ask for such a thing when he couldn’t manage to reward kindness himself-- but also the idea that honorable tasks should be taken up for their own sake, and not in order to have a reward. Can you truly be said to be acting with chivalry and honor if you’re doing it for a reward, or even notoriety?

Going back to my larger theory that Lowery is trying to bring forth the idea in all of this that there is no such thing as being a “knightly” sort of person at rest, while still holding that the decisions of a moment can cement the sort of person we continue to be, it makes sense that he would ask if we can say Gawain passes this test, if Winifred regards him.

“Now I can see thee,” she says, because this is a baptism of sorts, and being a saint, she can only see a soul in clarity. This is the direct opposite to the moment that Arthur tells him he has mud on his face, this is in direct opposite to his behavior with Essel, this is him doing the right and kind thing for a woman, without a thought to reward, and in that, he is cleaned, and Winifred can see what’s underneath, the sort of man he can be under what he’s accumulated.

ANd this is why he gets back the axe. It gives him leave to continue his quest, even though just a bit earlier, when asked where he was going, he simply said, “home.” But the show of the axe let him know that honor was not yet lost to him, that there was still a chance to be the sort of person he might have been.

WHich, by the way, does not makes things clear to him still. Life is not that simple, and I am very very resolute on my idea that a lot of what this movie is about is about the journey of our own lives to meet death and live with honor inasmuch as we can overcome our own cowardice and shitty behavior to do so, and even at the end of it all, about to meet the Green Knight, asked why he’s doing it, expressing that honor is why a knight does what he does, and then, pressed, says:

“Honor is a part of the life I want.”

This is Lowery pretty firmly taking aim at the old Arthurian texts, wherein honor very often good be a sole raison d’etre, saying that for most of us--and I would argue the whole reason Gawain is a fuck up is that he’s meant to represent most of us--that isn’t enough. There needs to be something more.

I also don’t think, for all I’ve talked about tests, that Gawain’s cowardice with the Green Knight had to be the end of the story. I think Essel’s pregnancy, and his cruelty, was a test. I think lying about what happened in the Green Chapel and accepting a knighthood was a test. I think there are multiple tests in that little interlude, but you see, the problem is, the more you do something, the more you’ll do it. As he makes these choices, this more and more becomes the man he is, as these choices stack up like stones, it gets harder and harder to knock down that wall. This is why his green sash--his cowardice--has become a physical part of him by the end of that interlude, bleeding as he draws it out.

Honor isn’t set, and it isn’t enough. Life is a confusing journey, rife with difficulty to do the right thing with consistency not because of outside influence so much as ourselves. Gawain’s great antagonist in al of this is not the Green Knight, but himself. Such as it is for all of us, as we TRY to be good people, and risk sometimes redefining honor, or greatness, what it means to be “a knight” in order to convince ourselves that it might be true.

“Is this all there is?” Gawain asks, before the axe is laid down, and I want to give Dev Patel a lot of credit here, though I’ve mostly been focusing on imagery and story. I’m not sure this would work as well if he hadn’t made it feel quite as human as it does, when he says it. It’s the question I think all of us ask, as we contemplate our own deaths, our own struggles to even up with what was right. Is there no way of knowing what comes next?

Life is a series of tests. A measure of honor. And what else ought there be?

On Doc and The Green Knight

#Green Knight shit #hi please enjoy two thousand words where I'm still not sure I said all I wanted to

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rachetmath · 3 years

Text

Favorite (Characters)

Ruby: *barges in* RatchetMath!

Me: What is it Ruby?

Ruby: You’re showing favoritism.

Me: Okay. And?

Ruby: You need to stop. Why not draw us for once?

Me: Hm, maybe because I like Jaune more. Hell I like Penny and Neo more than you or your team.

Ruby: Why?!

Me: Because your team is horrible.

Ruby: So is team JNPR!

Me: Yeah, but only because they have to follow you. They have some individuality but we don’t explore that as much. Plus, your team would be dead without them. But you know what Ruby, I would rather draw Yang, Blake or any other character except Weiss than you right now.

Ruby: What?! But I’m-

Me: The main character that barely does main character things. Woman, Salem was in Atlas! Why was she not your top priority? Why was James your problem?

Ruby: Um well…

Me: Ruby, she knows your mother! She might know what happened to her! I get Yang was some levels your mom but shouldn’t learning what happened to your actual mom be just as important? Especially after that dark memory.

Ruby: That is true.

Me: You have silver eyes but you still don’t know how to use them. There was army of grimm around Mantle and that would have been good practice. And a better solution than Ren.

Ruby: But then I be overpowered.

Me: No. Ruby your silver eyes only work on one person. If someone sneaks up on you or doesn’t care about that light you give off then, you’re dead. Maria is proof on that.

Ruby: Um..

Me: Plus, the question that everyone in the audience could have an answer to is whether your silver eyes can even work on Salem. In all honesty, it proves the writer don’t keep track of the characters and their personalities to where they fit together in story. You know what I have been making skits, trying to be funny but… the jokes died. Look guys I-I’m sorry but… let me explain.

1. Ruby and Blake should have stayed in Mantle. Why?

1. Salem is the main villian. She knows Ruby’s mother. You know the same mother who left for a mission and didn’t come back. The same mother, who Ruby knows nothing about while everyone seems to have different perspectives of her. Or has a better clue on who she is, than Ruby herself. Plus wasn’t Salem after her too? She basically would be killing two birds with one stone by kidnapping Oscar and giving Ruby a reason to see her. That way Ruby isn’t assuming what happened to her mother. Let Salem antagonize Ruby. (Question: Can silver eyes work on Salem?)

2. Perfect training for silver eyes. Let’s face it, Ren proved to us he can mask a bunch of people without Jaune’s help. All he needed was concentration. However, Ruby is more effective because silver eyes seem to be able to destroy multiple grimm on sight. And with lives on the line that gives Ruby plenty of reason to start using them.

3. Ren calling Ruby out on her issues. Look I loved how Ren was willing to tell the truth, but him revealing Jaune cheated Beacon was… weak. Reason being it relates to Jaune’s character and Ren still follows Jaune’s orders. However, Ruby, who is supposed to be a prodigy because she came to Beacon two years ahead of her class, has not proven once that she is worthy of such praise. The only reason-The ONLY reason Ruby was enrolled into Beacon was her silver eyes. Ruby even in volume one has been nothing but liability. Initiations, she almost dies from a Stinger. Stake out, she almost got run over by a truck and it ended in failure. First mission, she gets kidnapped and almost destroyed a city block. Roman, a man with no semblance or aura continues to beat her four times in a row. And it gets worse. Ruby almost got her uncle killed. She was the first to get knocked out by Emerald. Almost dies by a robot and Godzilla. And the moment she arrived in Atlas her first move was to lie to James. She didn’t even try to stop Tyrian when she saw him. She had her gun with her too. Ren is not her sister, he might as well tell her the facts so she can do better.

4. Blake is Faunus. Mantle hates faunuses. Why not have Blake help them to prove faunuses are people too? Let Blake represent her people. I mean Velvet and Sun represent faunses more than she does her whole existence. Blake also can relate to Ren’s problem. How? Blake was a part of the White Fang, so there were expectations she had to fulfill. Especially when trying to measure up to Adam. However, she explains the longer she was in the White Fang, the more she found out how messed up and extremely bias it was. Including with Adam to the point she decided to leave. She even states she was lucky that Yang even forgave her after all the trouble she caused her. Blake challenged her bias nature, and it made her stronger for it. Blake would be basically telling Ren the more he tries to live up to someone else’s expectations, without seeing their flaws, the more he loses touch with himself and everyone around him.

5. Oscar shouldn’t have been able break out of Salem on his own: I’m sorry but… Oscar got beat up. Took a magic beam to the chest. Had to switch between him and Ozpin and mind you he had no aura to help him. He should be tired and unable to move. (In my opinion, this kid was given too much screen time. At first I was worried about him but now I’m wondering why was I worrying at all.)

2. Jaune and Yang should have gone to Atlas.

1. Penny is basically Pyrrha in the opposite light. Penny’s special because she’s a robot with a soul, a mind of her own and an attitude to prove it. She is just as human as everyone else, but no one seems to treat her as such. James only sees her as something of a weapon. Pietro treats her like child even though she’s more mature than the rest of the female cast, except Maria. And now with maiden powers, everyone is out casting Penny even more. Jaune is perfect for her because he has experience with this kind of issue. However, he would’ve had to take different route to the situation considering his failure with Pyrrha last time they had discussion on maiden powers or responsibilities (Destiny.).

2. Jaune already has been a part of maiden business since volume three. His reason to be with Penny would be make sure she doesn’t meet the same fate as Pyrrha or Amber. Not just for himself but for others around him. Especially since Cinder was in Atlas and is willing to hunt her down for the maiden powers. And James was willing to turn Penny into a soulless machine to follow his every command. (Actually, Watts is more a fault considering he hates Pietro.). James and Cinder are also opposite to Jaune in some ways. James earned his position and earned respect from his military. Jaune on the other hand cheated, and unlike James might not have everybody’s respect. Cinder treats her allies like tools. And with power she just consumes and gives nothing return. Jaune however treats his allies like family. And instead of just taking power he gives power to others around him. He’s the reason Cinder has maiden powers. So, him making it his personal mission to make sure Cinder doesn’t get more power only increases his resolve to protect Penny. (Especially since he already had to kill her in the canon finale.) In other words, James and Cinder purposed a challenge to Jaune. Can he pervert history from repeating itself? Can he really protect the maiden powers? Is he truly worthy of being a huntsman? What is he willing to risk in achieving his goal? (Also let’s be clear. Hazel beat Oscar down for the password to the relic. James shot the kid and was willing to let him fall to his death. Qrow intentionally punched the kid. I don’t care if it was for Ozpin, he still punched Oscar. Lion before even knowing Oscar was Ozpin reincarnation was already about kill him anyways. All Jaune did was push him to a wall. Yes, Jaune still would have hurt Oscar, but he didn’t. He walked away.)

3. A lot of the situations could’ve been avoided or mattered if Jaune was there. Don’t believe me? Well let me explain. Was Ruby the only option when sneaking pass Central Command? No, because they had Weiss, Nora and Penny. Weiss could have done a freezer burn like in her fight with Marrow. Or Nora could have thrown her grenades and Penny just shoots them before the hit the ground or damage anything. Both causing a smoke screen, so no one sees them. Plus, they were already caught by using Pietro credentials. Did Nora need to get knocked out for the team to escape? No. If she had Jaune with her they could’ve one caused an EMP wave being Jaune has gravity and Nora has lightning. Or two, if Nora still went through with it, Jaune would have healed her immediately. Penny lifting and keeping the arena in place. If Jaune and Weiss were with her then once Amity was in position, Weiss with Jaune’s assistances can keep it place so Penny can come back inside and the whole video could be played. Also, Pietro would know what was going on with his daughter and can properly explain how to fix her. (Better than Jaune healing her.)

4. Nora’s whole character is knowing who she is without Ren right? Then why not just have her lead the evacuation once she’s done with Atlas? Why not have her and Yang work together along with the happy huntress to evacuate Mantle? Especially if their friends disappeared to save Oscar. (And before ya’ll tell me they can’t do it….. Yang, blocked a punch from a mech, held off a Manticore, and has a semblance that literally lets her take damage and dish it back five times harder. Nora who literally crushed Weiss and Yang in a food fight. Knocked a giant horse down on its knee. And knocked Hazel away. Are you seriously saying these girls are not enough to take on a few little tigers? Come on!) If the whole point of Nora’s character development was finding out more about herself then let Nora try something without Ren. Let her call the shots. Let her take charge. Give her a character. (Hell don’t stop there. Have her interact with other characters. Like Jaune. Yang. Weiss. Or anyone other character than Ren. Let them tell her what they think about her. Let Nora be a solution to a character’s struggle. Ya’ll make it sound like Nora has no friends.)

5. All Yang needed was a break from Ruby and Blake. In all honesty Yang should have been the one to see the hounds face and kill it. Why? Well Ruby is Yang’s sister and only reminder of her nonblood related mother. And Blake is her girlfriend. And if we saw the hound’s face, we know it’s not just a silver eyed person. It’s also a faunus. This will give her a reason to protect both her loved ones because by seeing the hound she knows Salem intention with Ruby and want to keep her, and Blake from meeting the same fate of being turned into monsters. Yang should’ve been the 2nd to 4th member of team RWBY to fall. Why? One, a Yang vs Neo fight. Two, Cinder and Neo both wanted Ruby dead. So why not get rid of Ruby first? The fights would have been more thrilling and seeing the character, the show is named after, presumed to be dead would have added stakes and tension to the fight. (Also let me say this. Why is it, that the only great display of the maiden powers I’ve ever seen, was from Amber and not the maidens, as of now, Winter, Raven, and Cinder? The maiden powers are basically magic right? Why isn’t Cinder using any other element than fire?)

6. Weiss was completely useless. Look, as the saying goes, “You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family.” And when it came to Weiss and family, she has little to no clue of what it is nor deserves it. Weiss should have been more of an inspiration for Whitley to do right. How? By simply talking to him. What reason would she have other than Mantle? Simple, he’s her brother and she started off like him. Beacon, she was a brat. She was arrogant. And more importantly a jerk. Blake ran because of her racist attitude. Ruby literally had to impress her to prove she can be leader. Even though Weiss is not leadership martial herself. Plus, hearing May and how she and her family never resolved their issues should inspire Weiss to not repeat that mistake. And guess what, her mom, Willow, the drinker of the family, wasn’t wrong. Both her and Winter left Whitley alone. Klein wasn’t there for him either. All Whitley had was his father. So Weiss, actually acting like his sister and trying to help him allows him to feel less alone. Instead Weiss was complete Jacque through out the entire volume.

And that’s all. Look I know I should have seen this coming but I had to say it. Volume 8 could’ve been good. The problem was.

1. Characters are not placed well within the story.

2. We lost track of who said characters are.

3. The ships are in the way.

4. Being dumb for the plot. (Sometimes it’s necessary.)

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years

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why does jean warn up to mc so quickly? ikevamp makes it clear that jean is a pretty reserved person and doesn't open up or let people in easily but he seems to let mc in quite quickly and it confuses me quite a bit.

Oh boy, where to begin with this one.

Well, I have a lot of Feelings^TM about this, but I'll try to be concise. Essentially, I think Jeanne doesn't recover in the other routes--or the general storyline--largely because he's just a lot to unpack narratively speaking. And without some pretty direct intervention, he has a hard time healing. MC’s direct intervention was meaningful because it was focused, consistent, and adapted to Jeanne’s specific needs. She also doesn’t make light of his experiences which is key; she fully understands that she can’t fathom what he’s been through. There is a very weighty respect and acknowledgement, a seriousness with which she treats his wounds that’s important.

It’s easy to make this a “why is MC nOt LiKe ThE oThEr GiRlS” but honestly that’s just not the sense I get when I look at all the information available to us.

That being said, I also just feel like every person's recovery from traumatic events doesn't really look the same? I mean Leonardo’s cptsd isn’t going to operate the same way Jeanne’s wartime/Inquisition cptsd is going to operate. Some people require very individualized healing, others will often require a large scale group effort to lift them up.

Typically people don't ever just get over what happened to them and never worry about it again, either. It's usually a process of coping; the hope is that with time you find healthy ways to deal with grief and move forward. Therapists aren't magicians, they just help people process painful experiences/thoughts. It's honestly up to individuals to find meaningful ways to implement these tactics.

Tl; dr: My contention is that Jeanne doesn’t open up or choose to stay alive because MC magically heals him, rather his recovery is a convergence of many people’s efforts and hopes that he stays alive. Gilles (he insists that Jeanne must live, asks him to promise), MC (affirms and bolsters that promise), Comte (makes a second life and recovery possible)--and in no small measure Mozart and Napoleon--all make an active effort to buoy him. As people often say, it takes a village to raise a child.

While Jeanne seems to respond most powerfully to MC’s attempts, it feels more like a product of chemistry/compatibility than it does a random cop out. There is no insinuation that only romantic love can heal; after all, MC gets close to him without any romantic intentions at first. They’re just good friends? It’s more that their feelings simply moved in a different direction after a point, which doesn’t necessarily happen all the time. Jeanne is also incredibly moved by Mozart’s love for him as a friend, Comte’s love for him as a father, and even Gilles’ love as a comrade to an extent. If anything, without their input Jeanne’s capacity for romantic love would be questionable at best.

Now, because I can never for the life of me stop analyzing, I have a more large scale outline of my thoughts below. Spoilers for Jeanne’s route:

If we look at Jeanne's life history, he has pretty specific trauma. Most of the harm he endured was a direct result of human rights violations after the war itself. He didn't enjoy fighting and killing people, but he's also very much a man that sees the reality of his position: it's either kill or be killed. His entire goal was to defeat the enemy as efficiently as possible in the hopes of ending conflict, and with his enormous resolve turns the tide. He had no innate interest in inflicting harm, or lack of control when engaging. He isn't pathological about it, and doesn’t dehumanize the other side. He was more "this was an act of necessity, but those are still human beings." So as far as I can tell he has a very strong moral compass and sense of duty, he doesn't show much delusion/confusion in that regard. (Also evident in his conversations with the young orphan boy.) Furthermore, he has been shown to have a sense of humor--cracking jokes with Gilles and boosting morale for his fellow soldiers.

His childhood abandonment is significant (he left his home because he was "not an adequate farmhand and they had no ability to feed all their children") but I don't know if I would consider it a huge trauma point for him. It seems as though he deemed it an act of necessity--not spite. It was simply the way of things, and he couldn't help his wiry constitution. You'd be surprised how common that was once upon a time, tbh... While it's certainly not right or fair, it does appear that in his perception it was the choice he made and he moved on after he became a soldier. Just focusing on what he could do, rather than everything he lacked. For people in his position, they often feel it is useless to linger on what should have been. There’s no time to linger or doubt, life hangs in the balance.

That leaves us with his time under the Inquisition, just before he was slated to be burned alive. I think this is the keystone trauma point for him, because there are a lot of moving parts to his powerlessness here. The first part is that his entire life's mission--ending the war so that people would no longer have to die and/or starve as a result of senseless violence--was just sabotaged. All those years of doing things he never wanted to do (wartime violence) and being forced to leave his family to ensure they didn't all starve, all of it treated like some kind of joke. Like he didn't sacrifice years of his life and sanity to protect a people who were happy to call him a monster and watch him burn alive. The second part is the overt gaslighting and rewriting of Jeanne's personal history (and overall French public perception) for the sake of the King's political agenda. To call him a treasonous danger to the country when he was once lauded a hero. The third portion is the actual physical helplessness of being arrested, starved, and continuously maimed for no reason beyond pure malice. While it's never right to do that to any human being, this was done to a man who prided himself on his stalwart moral code. To abuse and torture him for something egregious that he would never do (at the risk of death) is just another slap in the face to everything he is and believes in.

I just feel like the context clarifies why that period of time would be the tipping point. His entire moral code and life’s work is being called into question and swept aside, as well as his agency? He believes very powerfully in a sense of right vs wrong, what's fair and what isn't fair. Somebody else deciding that for him--and deciding in a way that is openly unfair/incorrect--further makes him lose himself and his sense of reality. A person in that situation begins to doubt if they are good or bad. His belief in god all the more pressing; if he was a good person, why would fate bring him so much suffering? Honorable soldier or not, his blade has drawn so much blood...

People often reference his stilted social skills (and I am of the belief that he is on the autistic spectrum) as a reason why he is so "people-adverse" but tbh? I don't agree. His memories before the onset of this trauma reveal that he was actually a very warm person, and that people were more than willing to fight under his banner. He had friends, and he had comrades--his country loved him. He was the picture of well-meaning civic duty. Just because he doesn’t integrate smoothly into larger social groups or adapt well to socially shifting circumstances, doesn’t mean he just hates people lmao. When people give him the space to exist within his comfort zone and don’t take advantage of him, he thrives. Compounded by that, we also have his actions in the present to further prove what is true and what isn't.

While he is stern with the orphan boy (I'm sorry I can't remember his name, damn it) there is no malice or cruelty in what he has to say. He doesn't punish the kid or do anything out of line. It may not be fair in terms of the adult level of discretion he asks of him, but the kid also didn't have a lot of options realistically speaking lmao. Same thing with MC, she and the orphan boy are nearly identical in how Jeanne treats them. He's a little rough, but the route reveals that his intentions are just a reflection of what he's been through. He truly believes that if a person isn't strong, they won't survive--because his entire life was a series of trying to be strong/reliable because nobody else would. There was nobody to protect him, and nobody to care for him went things went south. It was him and his sword against the world, and even his exceptional skill as a fighter did not protect him from the Inquisition's arbitrary torture. He has lived in a world where good acts can become absolutely meaningless, where following rules and helping people still gets you slaughtered. That's going to take a considerable toll on his mental health: where do you find the will to go on when the next second of your life could mean the devastation of everything that matters to you?

Spoilers: you don't. Or if you do, every minute of the day is a fight to stay alive. That is the point at which we meet Jeanne. Caught in the hellish whirlpool of wanting more, wanting better--but being terrified of the cost. The cost of hoping, only for his entire world to go up in flames again. It's not a small thing, in my view.

If you have any doubts as to whether or not that is the case, I direct you to literally every singular instance in which Jeanne's emotional sensibility goes visibly dark/south. When do these instances happen? When it rains, for one. And when Shakespeare deliberately starts pressing on his sensitivities: about the soldiers he was forced to kill, about the nation that spurned him, how he's truly "wicked" at heart and doesn't deserve to be happy--seconds before flames erupt for the festival. Does that really sound coincidental? I mean lmao. The rain is a painful reminder, but MC transforms that memory into something a little lighter with her bet. He has nothing to lose in her game, all she does is ask for time with him or offers him something if she loses. There's a playfulness there, a restoration of agency and ease that's invaluable to his recovery.

As for Shakespeare's deliberate retraumatization...I can't even begin to explain how damaging that event was. Shakespeare is undermining Jeanne's agency in that he--not unlike the corrupt monarch of Jeanne's era--is twisting Jeanne's beliefs to work against him. He knows full well that Jeanne doesn't feel like he deserves somebody so bright and understanding (we need to remember it's not really a luxury he's had much in life, especially after the war ended). He knows Jeanne has a tendency to impose that strict moral code on himself even more than he does on others. To reaffirm his every worst fear and lurking terror only throws Jeanne into a vicious downspiral. Jeanne doesn't reject MC out of disgust or hate. He rejects her because he literally cannot handle the concept of trying to be happy again, or of burdening her with his constant struggle to move on while he’s in the middle of a bad episode. He knows he won’t be able to stop reliving the past, that every second of his life and breath will be colored by his gruesome memories. He's trying as hard as he can to keep the intrusive thoughts quiet, to move on. But I'm not going to lie to any of you, that is incredibly difficult to do alone.

The next obvious question is, well why can't the other men help him? This isn't to say that they can't--we see how much solace Jeanne finds in Napoleon and Mozart. Even Isaac is gentle with the veteran. But there are limits to how much they can do. Napoleon is struggling with his own wartime trauma, and it's not identical to Jeanne's. Plus there’s a distinct difference in their sensibilities? Napoleon is the type to habitually seek comfort in helping others when he can't help himself, he's not as in tune with answering his own personal feelings and regulating them. (I mean just look at his new ES: he knows what he wants, but it takes a nudge from Isaac for him to go through with it.) He’s very communally reliant in ways Jeanne isn’t; Jeanne is a very private person, and typically prefers one on one from what I can tell.

Mozart is the definition of repression, and if you look at their interactions it's usually Jeanne that's smoothing over Mozart's rough edges. Mozart says as much himself: that he feels like a rotten friend because he knew Jeanne was struggling with a lot of intense trauma, but he didn't know how to unravel it without hurting him in the process. Mozart calls it personal cowardice, but honestly I just feel like they both had too much going on to be able to help each other effectively. (And Jeanne expresses this sentiment too? This idea that he's not angry with Mozart? He knows they're both carrying a lot, he's just touched Mozart cares about him in return.)

Okay, briefly unrelated, but like. Am I the only one that wheezes uncontrollably when Mozart is like "?????? Idk what it is about MC...I don't want her to be scared of me..." in his own main story in the baths. And Jeanne. IS TRYING SO HARD. NOT TO SPILL THE BEANS ABOUT HIM O B V I O U S L Y BEING IN LOVE. THE HILARITY I CAN'T DO THIS. Jeanne was like "yeah....yeah that's rough buddy.......[screams internally, give your boy time Jeanne he's fragile]"

Honestly? That's the thing about Jeanne too--he has incredible self-awareness and hyperarousal-related (I mean the PTSD kind, get your head out of the gutter) awareness to the people around him. He's very, very conscious of the fact that he is surrounded by geniuses when he can't even write his own name. Just because he has the fortitude not to lash out with his insecurities, doesn't mean he never feels stupid or inferior. And it doesn't help when there are people in the mansion who call him--a fucking war veteran from 500 YEARS AGO--nAiVe. He's not naive lmao. He just doesn't know how the world works so many years later, and it's a ridiculously steep learning curve? Leonardo and Comte are nearly 500 years old, but they lived throughout every hour of that time in a linear fashion. It is a big deal to be moved from 1430 to 1890 in the span of a second asynchronously, and then be expected to function without a hitch??? Given the circumstances he adapts well.

That atmosphere--this constant impatience with what he doesn’t understand, his inability to be caught up to speed quickly--is going to hinder his recovery lmao. He feels like a burden most of the time, and agency and freedom are crucial.

Another thing that occurs to me about the mansion's arrangement is that there is a power dynamic, just as any space with people in it has some level of hierarchy (unless you live with miraculously chill people). Jeanne is acutely aware that Comte is the most powerful being in that space, and he is not only hatefully angry at him--but likely afraid too. We have to remember that the biggest betrayal he witnessed in his life was at the hands of a monarch; it was the aristocracy that turned on him and erased the truth. Comte is openly a child that resulted from both that era and that type of lineage, I don't really blame Jeanne for being wary. He intimately knows how willing rich people are to throw normal folks under the bus to suit their ambitions/whims. Comte, while not deliberately threatening, also seems to be painfully aware of this impression he gives off. His "chad persona" as I've mentioned allows him to navigate his life in secret by necessity, but it’s actively damaging to his son. He can't reveal the truth because of Vlad's betrayal, and he's openly unsettled by what it could mean to be honest. Will they wonder about Vlad and find themselves ensnared under his mind control as Charles and Shakespeare are? Will Comte himself be subjected to the mortifying ordeal of being known only to lose them?? That's a risk he isn't willing to take--and that leaves him in a double bind.

What is it that they say, the truth will set you free? This is where MC and Comte come into enormous play when it comes to Jeanne's recovery. One thing to keep in mind is that most of the people in the mansion have their own traumas they're trying to carry, and I feel like a lot of them are unsure how to approach Jeanne. Or if they do, he's very guarded. It takes a lot of consistent effort to get through to him. What does MC do when Jeanne unleashes his harsh worldview on her? She's understandably frightened, but Jeanne isn't malicious (so she chases him around). In fact, he openly avoids and runs away from her--well aware that what he's done is wrong. If anything, he did it on purpose, bringing us right back to Shakespeare's verbal undoing; why does Jeanne attack her in the first place?

LMAO. He attacks her because she essentially says "oh thanks for helping me!" "I am not nice. Watch yourself." "But you seem like a nice guy to me?" "REEEEEE" Does the pattern become a little clearer? When people think kindly of him, his instinct is to shatter that illusion with an impulsive reprehensible act. When people think poorly of him or lash out, what does he do? When that orphan boy starts yelling and screaming, Jeanne is nothing but calm. He explains the situation, and offers the kid a choice, perfectly happy to be the bearer of bad news. This operates on many levels I’m sure, but I have a feeling it has something to do with him being hailed a saint and a war hero only to be tortured and branded a monstrosity (and he probably thinks being a vampire is doubly monstrous). He’s more comfortable being hated because he feels it’s what he deserves in a lot of ways.

Jeanne has a lot of internalized self-hatred because of what he's done, and because of how much harm was inflicted on him outside of his control (he's Catholic and he was tortured, come on this writes itself). If I'm honest, I think that's actually the greater part of why he hates Comte lmao. Comte refuses the very concept of being cruel no matter how much Jeanne lashes out. Sure he lectures him and scolds him, but he never actively limits what's important to him or controls or harms him. Comte fully realizes the tragedy of how Jeanne's life was used by a nation in dire straits, and knows he needs time and acceptance to heal. No matter how dismal or unhappy, Comte doesn't stop--he fully believes Jeanne should have time in his life where he can really live for himself for once. But therein lies the issue, Jeanne doesn't know how to live for himself.

Which brings me to how MC and Comte "heal" Jeanne. I feel like they give him the space he needs to recover, and that's what results in his gentled temperament and happiness. Remember that so much of his main story is MC endlessly chasing after Jeanne. No amounts of his hissing or running or threatening stops her. Even if his refusals are empty of real dislike, they're enough to deter most people. Not MC. She's able to see through to the depths of who he is, and doesn't just use him for her own ends? She actively seeks to teach him (to read and write) to help him settle better in this era, she actively tries to ease his distaste for rain with a well-meaning bet, and she never gives up on him. (Actions mean so much more to him than words in general too, tbh...). Love is more easily defined by work and effort than it is by attraction.

When he has his episode at the festival, sure she's rattled; but that's because she truly believed that he didn't want to be around her anymore. When she notices he really doesn’t want to be followed, she stops like any normal person would. It’s only when she reads his notebook and sees the truth for herself (that he’s given up despite having the same feelings for her) that her determination is rekindled. She doesn't approach him fearfully, doesn't treat him like he's made of glass either. She just wants him as he is--accepts and loves him as he is. Scarred, bloody, exhausted, abrasive, terrified. She doesn't define him by how easy he is to love. That is a huge issue with traumatized people lmao. Because of their maturity, people always just assume they don't need help, or they rely on them to an extent that isn't sustainable. The second they reveal need or that they struggle, people walk away or victim blame them because it’s easier than taking them seriously.

While MC's attempts may be a little more obvious (cherishing his lily field, wearing the hair pin he gave her, careful about his gruesome injury, really listens when he talks about the horrors of his life and accepts that he experienced a level of agony/terror she can never understand, tries to express her feelings no matter his evasion) I think it's also important to consider Comte's large scale effort. I don't say this to undermine MC, I say it because Jeanne's life was defined by a complete lack of security. He left his parents to make their lives easier, he lived in a war that meant life or death any second, and his country's leader branded him a traitor which lead to his endless torture and public execution. Jeanne does not know a life in which safety is the norm. Point blank. He does not understanding going outside and not expecting the worst anymore.

Comte not only understands that level of despair, but treats it with dignity and respect. He fully accepts being hated if it means Jeanne can use that hatred to live on and find a way to heal. And most importantly, when Jeanne begins to move forward with MC and Mozart's help, Comte never once holds it against Jeanne when the truth is revealed. He's not angry, this isn't about reprisal or reparations or revenge. It's just love.

Jeanne doesn't really have a concept of this? His entire life was mostly transactional, defined by strength and efficiency. Nobody gives a damn about your feelings. You either hurl yourself at the problem or die. Nobody is going to help you or carry you or save you. While he may have had a little more support while he was in the military from his fellow soldiers, that support system was ripped away from him during the Inquisition.

One very common sentiment regarding elongated imprisonment and torture is that survival occurs in pairs. It is an undeniable fact that people need others to survive. It is the nature of who we are. Individualism has never proven to be successful, or if it is, its dividends are astronomically minimal when compared to people working together.

What does it mean to be the most reliable, steady person in the room? Usually it just means you don't know how to ask for help when you are no longer capable of maintaining that stance. Napoleon is guilty of it. Leonardo, Comte, and Jeanne all are too. It's part of why MC and Comte's capacity to see what he needs and provide as much as they can is such a big deal. That sort of consistent support (without a constant necessity to beg for help) allows Jeanne to be able to re-integrate into his new reality and find joy. Even if his nightmares and memories never go away, they are now being actively overrun by positive experiences. That's the thing about recovery, really--it tends to be more about drowning out the negative as much as possible and coming to terms with it, than it is about forgetting or never feeling it again. It’s about softening the sharp edges of pain like sea glass.

So is MC magical and randomly got Jeanne to open up? Nah, I don't think so. I think it was a series of persistence and real acceptance of who he is that made him warm up. People really seem to underestimate how deeply affecting understanding is, but that's how damage is undone. Jeanne can't really linger on the idea of his own monstrousness, his unworthiness, a lifetime of misery, when the person in front of him actively listens and cares about him. Makes him laugh and smile and lose himself in warmth for the first time.

If I'm honest, I feel like people also just...underestimate the level of traumatic resurgence that's perpetuated and inflicted by society’s standards in general lmao. This rhetorical structure in which good and bad exist in moral extremes, this idea that people should be able to recover and never experience relapses or periods of sensitivity. The refusal to radically listen to people and their problems, and make active attempts--not matter how small--to mend/ease those hurt feelings. Granted there will always be people in the world who do not want to improve, but I feel like most people want to. It's hopelessness, silence, and stigmatization that remain the true enemies of traumatized/mentally ill people everywhere. And among that population are always war veterans...

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp jean #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp meta #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp comte #sorry i have a lot of feelings about this topic kjahsflkjhsjkghfd #but yes!#i think mc being able to help him was more about her sensibility and the mental fortitude/space to be able to care about him as he needed #i don't think it's necessarily that she's SpEcIaL #trauma is a sensitive subject--especially considering he's a war veteran #but i also think it's simple and complex at the same time #simple in the sense that people really do just need consistent support and love to be able to care for themselves again #complex in the sense that support can come in so many permutations and some of them are very delicate and multi-faceted #and thus must be handled with extreme caution in some regards #anywho not that i'm any kind of expert this is just what i understand and see #also in case it wasn't clear i love him and cry every day (look away comte it's my whoring hours)#though i hope this helps??? i went off harder than anticipated lakjhglkj #thank you for the ask!!! <3333 #asks #rambles #not incorrect quotes

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 3 years

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Fic: What Spring Does To The Cherry Trees, Chapter 6

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Narcos

Ship: Javier Peña/OFC (Eva)

Tags/warnings (whole thing): slow burn, h/c, a bit of violence (nothing as bad as canon), guns, knife injury, pain and suffering, the loss of a parent (both actually), angst, ptsd, javi being a lil prick but also soft!, (safe) piv sex, masturbation (female AND male), fingering, unprotected piv sex (in the words of the Spice Girls: be a little bit wiser baby, put it on, put it on), pregnancy risk, death of an animal, talk of cancer, so much internal conflict, insomnia, killing coyotes.

Summary for the whole thing: Javier Peña has resigned from the DEA and is back at his dad’s ranch in Texas. Life is slow and uneventful, until an unfamiliar face shows up at the local watering hole one night. Eva is retired from the army and lives in her old pickup truck with more than one ghost. She’s looking for ranch work and when her path crosses Javier’s, maybe they can help each other along in their lives?

Chapter summary: Mistakes were made. Things were said. Lives were lost. Eva tries to deal with herself after the terrible events. Javier isn't feeling too good about himself, either.

A/N: This is perhaps a little slow-paced but I figured these two knuckleheads needed a break after what happened in the previous chapter. There are baby cows, though! And I want to take the opportunity to thank everyone who found Cherry Trees just now, and read, reblogged, liked, and commented! You really gave me the last push I needed to finish this chapter. I was so worried about it after the intensity of the previous one, but I think this is just what we all need right now.

Eva does not sleep.

There is no shower in the cabin, and she feels an almost physical need to get clean. Clean from blood, clean from dust, clean from cum. Clean from the guilt. But she can't go up to the house, just can't, it's impossible. She can't see Chucho, won't see Javier.

The water trough outside the stable has a pump. That works better than the tap in the toilet.

She steals across the yard in the gathering darkness and avoids looking at the stable door, unable right now to think about that one empty box. Pumping up cold water, she leans underneath the stream of it, gasping in shock but willing herself to stay despite her body screaming at her to run. It's not enough, so she strips and climbs into the trough. The water reaches up to her knees and it's still warm from having been heated by the sun all day, but the fresh water pumping out of the nozzle is not, and she grits her teeth against the chill. Bracing herself, she splashes her lower body somewhat clean. Shivering, she gets out, steps into her boots, and pulls her plaid back on before hurrying back to the cabin. The cold water started something and now she feels sick. Sinking onto her knees in front of the toilet, she expects to throw up, but nothing comes up. Her stomach is gurgling angrily, running on empty since lunch. She drinks a little water from the tap but it's cold and she feels like she'll never get warm again.

She makes a fire and once it's going, she puts in as many logs as the hatch can take. Soon the cabin is swimming in heat but Eva is still chilled to the bone. Recognizing that her blood sugar is low, she searches her duffle bag for something to eat, finding a granola bar. It tastes like ash, but she forces herself to eat it, pulls on clean sweatpants and a wool sweater, loads up the stove with more firewood, and wraps herself in a blanket before hiding underneath the covers of the narrow bed.

But she doesn't sleep. Sluggish thoughts of self-contempt move around in her aching brain as she beats herself up, over and over, for her stupidity.

There are precisely two men of approximately her age on this ranch, and she had to fuck both of them. And she got the horse of her employer killed, because she didn't pay attention, because she was preoccupied thinking about dick when she should have been paying attention to her surroundings.

You stupid cunt.

She tries to put some of the blame on Javier. Had he not been flirting with her from the moment they met she wouldn't have entertained the thought of even touching him. Had he not been so inexplicably attractive when he finally showed some goddamned emotion, when he finally dropped that act that she got so fed up with from day one.

Had he not been right next to her, ready to provide a moment's comfort, when her heart was breaking from what she had to do to Chucky.

Had he not been such a good kisser.

Had he not been such a perfect fucking asshole who didn’t say no to a fuck but took no responsibility and blamed her when she slipped up this one single fucking time.

It's not in Eva's nature to lose control. She's used to putting a very steady lid on things that could become difficult. But this time, everything is boiling over and the lid has flown halfway to hell. She knows what she should do: she should quit as soon as her truck is fixed - which it should be in just a few days - and hit the road, leave Big River Ranch as far behind as she possibly can.

Another thing that's not in Eva's nature is quitting. The only thing that quitting is going to get you when you're in the army is into a hole in the ground. You grit your teeth, you spit out the taste of blood, you harden yourself, and you carry on and on and on.

When the first morning light breaks through the windows of the cabin, Eva blinks blearily against it, realizing that she must have slept a little after all. Her head and stomach are aching but her body is finally warm, flushed even. A few lingering embers still glow amid the ashes at the bottom of the wood hatch, and she scrapes them apart before closing the air vent.

She has to go up to the house, has to eat something. Has to keep going, apologize to Chucho, discuss what kind of compensation she owes him. Has to face Javier without feeling guilty or punching him in the face. That last part will be the most difficult by far.

The house is silent when she comes in through the unlocked front door. Not even Chucho is up yet, so Eva sneaks around in the kitchen, making coffee and beating eggs for a scramble. She goes out into the back garden for some chives she spotted flourishing in the overgrown garden and when she comes back in, Chucho is laying the table.

"Good morning," Eva says quietly as she puts the chives on the chopping board and brush a few remaining stalks off of her palms.

"Good morning, Eva. I hope you slept well?"

She shrugs, leaning back against the countertop and forcing herself to look at him. “Okay.”

"Won't you sit down?" Chucho pulls out a chair and Eva promptly takes a seat. He sits on the next chair and rubs his mustache; a gesture that echoes of Javier.

"You're not hurt, are you?" he begins, and she assures him that she's not. It's only a little lie: her back is sore but she's had worse. She can take physical pain. Her sense of self, however, has been cut much worse. And she's terrified of what Chucho is about to say to her. She likes Chucho a lot and to be a failure in his eyes feels devastating.

The morning light renders the lines on Chucho's face less deep than they are and make him look younger than his years. Only his eyes reveal the many years he has seen, and when he speaks, his voice has that unhurried circumspection that some older people possess.

“How many times have you been thrown off a horse, Eva?”

She scoffs, amused with the ridiculous question. “More times than I can count?”

“And how many times have you gotten back up on it?”

“As many times as I’ve been thrown off,” Eva shrugs, unsure about what Chucho is getting at.

“And how many things have you learned from being thrown off?” Chucho asks pointedly. Eva gives him a faint smile.

“There’s a new reason each time,” she acknowledges. “I try not to do the same mistake twice.”

Except mess around with two guys on the same fucking ranch…

“We learn for as long as we live,” Chucho nods. “And this was just a roundabout way of telling you that you made a mistake, like we all do from time to time, and I don’t blame you for it.”

“I should’ve paid attention,” Eva protests in a low voice, lowering her gaze to the tabletop, her pointer finger following a grain in the old wood. “I was… preoccupied with something else, and I didn’t look where I was going. He trusted me.”

“And you trusted him. And still, things happen. Why didn’t I tell you that we’ve had gopher problems in that area for years? Why have I been putting off getting rid of them? If I had called in an exterminator last year, like I meant to, Chucky could still have stepped into a hole, unless I filled in every single one.”

Chucho’s large, veined hand lands gently on Eva’s, drawing her eyes back to his.

“We can never tell where our actions, or lack of them, will lead. You were good to Chucky. Remember that.”

The old man pats her hand a little awkwardly before rising to his feet.

“I think café de olla today, don’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, he goes to the stove to fetch the coffee pot. Eva bites her lower lip in an attempt to prevent the conflicting feelings inside of her from flowing over.

“Café de olla would be perfect, thank you,” she mumbles before getting up as well. She’s famished, and there’s scrambled eggs to be made.

“I’ll take care of this,” Chucho dismisses her with a wave of his hand.

“But I – “

“Go take a shower, chica,” he tells her in a voice which tolerates no protests. “You smell.”

The last quip is delivered with a smirk, and Eva smiles back.

“Yes, sir.”

///

A long, hot shower and a big breakfast later, Eva excuses herself and leaves the house, heading to the stable. The horses are awake and eager for their own breakfast before a full day of work.

The emptiness of Chucky's box is more difficult to handle than Eva thought, but she forces herself to face it. The halter is hanging on its hook by the door, and she allows her fingers a brief caress of it before her heavy feet carry her into the box. She can smell Chucky in there, his own unique scent of horse mixed with the smell of hay and manure. The familiarity of the grassy, leathery warmth makes her heart ache.

“You deserved better,“ she murmurs to the empty space. “I'm so sorry.“

She kicks at the hay on the floor and leans against the wall, sighing deeply. Slowly, she sinks down to the floor and wraps her arms around her knees. The other horses move around in anticipation, snorting and trying to get her attention: why is breakfast taking so long?

Working with animals doesn't allow for much time for seated contemplation. Whatever shit you have to deal with; anger, sorrow, grief, you do it while working through your chores. The job must be done.

Eva's father couldn't cut it. He let himself be overcome by emotions, forgetting everything except his dying wife. That is a betrayal Eva still can’t face, but it lulls in the back of her mind, forcing her back up off the floor. Chucky may be dead but there are four other working horses waiting for their oats.

Routines are a comfort. Eva feeds each animal, pats their strong necks, gives Zorro, Chucho’s chestnut stallion, a kiss on the muzzle when he pushes against her neck. Named for the fox, not the rapier-wielding masked avenger, Zorro is playful, quick, and intelligent. His coat shines red when hit by a setting sun, and he is a great horse for mustering cattle.

“Okay, Zorro, I see you, you silly thing.”

Zorro nickers and the sound always makes Eva smile.

“Eat up, there’s a lot of work to be done today.”

When each horse is happily munching away, Eva turns to walk out of the stable and sees a silhouette in the door, standing against the light of the rising sun.

The Stetson tells her immediately that it’s Johnny who’s silently looking at her from a distance. She squares her shoulders, ready to defend herself against his judgment. He hasn’t had one nice thing to say to her since their falling-out, and Eva doesn’t expect him to have suddenly sprouted a conscience.

Johnny comes in, and stops by Stella’s box, next to Zorro’s.

“Mornin’.”

She only gives him a short nod but doesn’t answer, just stares hard at him with her unwavering, military-trained gaze. It has the desired effect: Johnny seems ill at ease, leaning towards the box door and looking in at Stella instead of Eva.

“Chucho told me what happened,” he begins. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Eva acknowledges tonelessly.

“I’m sorry about Chucky.”

Eva blinks before casting down her eyes.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I’ve told Chucho time and again that those gopher holes will get someone hurt!” Johnny snarls, suddenly heated. He looks up at Eva and she meets his gaze, barely able to hide her surprise. She expected a scolding and moreover, she somehow thought that Johnny would know about what had happened between her and Javier yesterday. It didn’t make any sense, of course, but she couldn’t help it. She felt like everybody knew and was judging her for it.

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt, at least,” Johnny mutters, looking down again. “And I’m sorry for the shit I said last time we spoke.”

His apology throws Eva completely and she stares at him, forehead knitted, trying to comprehend what it is he wants by this. It never crosses her mind that he may just want to say he’s sorry and move on. It never is that simple.

“You were really shitty to me,” she points out, but without vehemence.

“I know,” Johnny nods, scraping the heel of his boot to the cement floor. “I’m not gonna try to make excuses.”

“Good,” Eva says cruelly. “’cause I don’t wanna hear any.”

“You’re not gonna have to. Just know that I really am sorry. And I hope we can still work together.”

He makes eye contact and gives her a short nod before leaving the stable. Eva stares after him, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she mutters and closes her eyes, rubbing her forehead. “I can’t deal with this.”

Ten minutes later, she has persuaded Chucho that it would be best if she camped out with the cows in the pastures for a while. She has a tent and a working vehicle, it’ll be fine, she doesn’t mind, she’s done it countless times before. And with coyotes around, it would be good if someone watched over the animals at night.

Eva suspects that Chucho knows her suggestion comes from her own need for solitude, but she doesn’t care. He agrees, and she gets to escape the drama. Get her head on straight, think over her options.

What better place to do it than out on the pastures? Just her and the skies above her, the cows around her?

///

Javier is no stranger to hangovers. He’s had his fair share of them during his years in Colombia, and he is more than capable of getting his job done even with a splitting headache and revolting stomach.

But this one is going to kill him. And it’s not just the all-night bender of whiskey and cigarettes on an empty stomach.

He knows he’s an asshole. He knows he fucked up. Not just with her, but with everything he ever touched.

It’s almost lunchtime when he gets out of bed and drags himself into the shower. Black, strong coffee gets him alive enough to drive out with lunch to his pops and the other workers. After only a couple of miles, however, he has to stop and get out to puke.

Fuck. He gets a bottle of water from the cooler and rinses his mouth, wipes off his mustache with the back of his hand. Spits and pours some cold water over his hand before passing it through his hair. The sun is beating down with July intensity, making his headache even worse.

Serves him right. The thought is like a broken record in his head, one that he desperately wants to throw out but is unable to because once upon a time, it was a tune he cherished. The idea that he was never enough kept him pushing, trying, working. There was always something more he could do, a rule to break in order to achieve results.

It’s not until now that he really starts to think about the people he had to step on and push over in order to get those results. Sure, the death of Carillo still haunts him, that’s on his private rap sheet, but Carillo was still a soldier. He knew the risks. The women Javier used did it for love or money. They relied on him to protect them.

Javier takes a sip of water and returns to the car. He needs to get lunch to the workers. Be useful. Not think.

He sees Eva first when he reaches the herd. She’s riding Zorro, gesturing to one of the others about something. Her dogged face is shut very closely around whatever it is she may be feeling, but Javier gets a sense of her emotions when she comes to take her lunch sandwich from the cooler, and refuses to look at him.

That’s fair, I guess.

Whatever it was they had the day before is definitely gone. Javier finds himself missing it tremendously. It may have just been physical attraction, the simple scratch of a basic itch, but he had a feeling it could perhaps have been more.

Or not. Maybe he is just delusional about her.

He hangs around after they have all eaten, unwilling to return to the ranch where the lonely quiet would just eat away at his brain. He tries to make himself useful where he can. Tries to get close to her.

He finally gets his chance when Eva gets off the horse and hands it over to Chucho. She grabs a drink from a bottle in the cooler and pulls the baseball cap off her head to wipe her forehead with her forearm. Javier makes his way through playful calves to her, resisting the urge to run. She will not evaporate into thin air, he reminds himself.

“You okay?” he asks her in a low voice when he reaches her. Eva is still stubbornly looking into another direction.

“Fine.”

“I… I’m sorry about last night.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Of course not. Javier didn’t expect her to burst into grateful tears and want to straighten everything out with him, but he had maybe hoped for some kind of recognition of his effort. Part of him bristles, wants to rebuff her, tell her not to be such a bitch, he’s really trying. Still, he knows that will lead to no good, so he backs off and lets her be. Eva quickly returns to her work, and Javier slams shut the cooler.

“Fuck,” he mutters, not sure if it’s directed at himself or her.

Something wet and warm touches his hand, startling him. A calf is pushing its muzzle into his hand, whining and grunting.

“I don’t have anything for you,” he says tiredly. This is because Eva has been feeding the animals apples from the truck bed. “Go away.”

The calf doesn’t understand, of course, but catches his thumb in its mouth and starts to suckle. Javier snatches his hand away and wipes it on his jeans.

“Eww. Come on, pequeña, go find your mama.”

The calf looks at him with thoughtful eyes, like it’s contemplating this stupid, two-legged creature in front of it.

“I haven’t got anything for you.”

A snort, and the calf bumps its head against Javier’s stomach. He frowns at the unabashed behavior, but there’s something charming about it, as well.

“You want scritches? Okay, you dumb animal.”

Leaning back against the tailgate, Javier settles to scratching the calf behind its ears. Brown, moist eyes half closed in bliss, the beast treads and shifts before finding a comfortable position, head leaning against Javi’s hip, jaw resting on the tailgate.

“Like that, huh? Is that good?” he murmurs. “Yeah, I can see it is. Good girl.”

The herd is moving away, the cowhands, led by Chucho on Zorro, driving them. Eva is standing on the bed of her truck, watching the animals stir. She looks misplaced with no horse under her.

“She’s much better at this than I am,” Javi says, half to himself, half to the calf. His hand comes to a standstill on the calf’s head, and it snorts in dissatisfaction. Javier sighs, and resumes his petting.

“I know I fucked up, but shekissed me. She was the one who wanted sex. I figured she knew what she was doing.”

The calf moos low, and Javi interprets is as You’re an asshole, but your hands are magic. A little specific, maybe, but there is definitely something hinting at a conflict in the sound.

“Okay, thanks, what do you suggest I do? Can’t keep petting you forever.”

His bovine therapist snorts again, as if finding this not only unacceptable, but also unreasonable. Javier sighs.

“I’m talking to a goddamn cow.”

A loud call comes from the moving mass of longhorns, and the calf calls back before running off, as if never having been interested in Javier’s hands in the first place. He follows it with his eyes until it disappears into the mass of moving bodies.

Chucho comes riding towards him, and Javier busies himself with packing up the truck. His dad has something on his mind, and Javier doesn’t want to get chewed out for slacking off.

“Give Olsen a call,” Chucho tells him, referring to the local pest control guy. “Have him come out as soon as he can to get rid of those gophers.”

“What’s the rush, why not wait until someone else dies?” Javi snaps, suddenly dead tired of being ordered around by his father. He’s been telling his father for a long time that they need to do something about the gophers, but for some reason Chucho has always put this particular thing off.

“Just do it,” Chucho tells him in a low voice before turning Zorro around and joining the herd.

///

The Silverado is parked facing away from the sunset, and Eva is sitting on the back, watching the sky turn red and pink and, eventually, dark and star-spangled. The summer night is warm but she still wraps a blanket around her as she watches the stars. The sounds around her are familiar: cattle settling for the night, crickets playing, the occasional cry of a nocturnal bird.

The moon is almost full and bathes Eva’s surroundings in silver-blue light, rendering her flashlight unnecessary when she finally leaves the truck for the tent pitched next to it.

Out here, she can sleep. The second she lays her head down, she’s out like a light.

The rising and falling yipping howls of coyotes wake her up. A quick check of the wristwatch tells her it’s two-thirty, and when she hears the sound again, she grabs the rifle right next to her, and crawls out of the tent.

The herd is restless, Eva can smell the anxiety. Swinging up on the truck bed, she gazes in every direction, grateful for the moonlight that allows her to see everything almost as clearly as in daylight.

She spies the animal some three hundred meters out. It’s alone, but when it howls, she hears others answer from not too far away.

Lifting the rifle, Eva takes aim. She has no scope, but doesn’t need it. She’s an excellent shot, even with a gun she’s not familiar with. And this one has been used by her only once, on Chucky. That required no aiming.

Her pointer finger is on the trigger and she has the coyote in a perfect line of shot. One little squeeze, and it will be dead.

It’s not her first time killing a living thing. But it’s the first time she hesitates. She never did that before, not even when the living thing in the scope was a human being. She has seven confirmed kills in battle, and remembers each one. A part of her doesn’t even want to forget them. She fears that she will lose something if she forgets. There were others, of course. Faceless bodies of unknown fate, people caught in crossfire, lives she may have ended, but she can’t know. She does her best not to think about them.

Inhale, exhale. Pull the trigger.

The shot startles the cattle, but they stay where they are. A few bellows are heard, but nothing more.

Eva jumps down from the truck and walks over to the target, makes sure it really is dead. When she sees the fallen coyote with a hole in its neck, her throat starts to ache from holding back an unwelcome whimper.

She leaves the coyote where it is. Let that be a warning to the others.

///

The days fly by with Eva sleeping out in the pastures, enjoying her newly found freedom. High summer turns the weather hot and the days long, and there is no more perfect time of year to be sleeping in a tent. She visits the homestead for the occasional shower and meal, goes into town twice to get books from the local library, but other than that, she stays out with the cows.

Javier has duties that keep him to the homestead, and Johnny has gone back to treating Eva like he used to before his tantrum. She once again finds him to be good company when she urges Zorro into a gallop to round up stray longhorns. Being back in the saddle does not scare her; it is a natural part of her that she can’t do without. Chucky is not forgotten, but she doesn’t dwell on his fate.

Her period arrives with unusual intensity two weeks into her camping life. Having no sanitary pads with her in the field, she takes a dirty t-shirt and shoves it between her thighs before jumping into the truck and driving back to the ranch. The t-shirt goes straight into the trash and Eva rummages through her bags to find painkillers but discovers that she has nothing except the codeine prescribed to her back in March. Swearing loudly, she grits her teeth and decides to just soldier through it.

She goes up to the house for a shower. Queasy and bloated, she can’t down anything but coffee and a banana at breakfast, but neither one of the Peñas say anything about her lack of appetite.

After Chucho has left for the stable, Eva tells Javier in a few curt words that they were safe. He nods, a vague aura of shame surrounding him.

“Good to hear.”

Eva escapes the house after that, but she returns to the homestead that night. Another hot shower, a warm meal, and the comfort of the Spartan cabin are enough to pull her back from camping out with the cow, although the two weeks have been wonderfully relaxing.

She curls up on the old leather couch to read a novel she found in the house. The pain, however, has coated her insides and is soaking her brain in discomfort, rendering her unable to focus. Frustrated, Eva sighs and slams the paperback onto the couch next to her, just as there’s a knock on the door.

Tentatively, she gets up and goes to open, not sure what to expect.

Javier stands outside, looking apologetic. He’s carrying a bundled-up blanket in his hands.

”Sorry to disturb.”

She eyes him unflinchingly, waiting for him to state his business, which he does after a moment’s pause.

”I wanted to see if you were okay.”

”I am. Why?”

He blinks at her blunt response before looking down at the blanket like he forgot all about it. He unfolds it, showing her a hot water bottle inside.

”I got you these.”

He hands the blanket with the bottle to her but is left holding them in the void over the threshold, as Eva doesn’t accept them.

”Why?”

He smiles then, like what she said was funny. The lines in the corners of his eyes make Eva smile back, in spite of herself. He really has such a nice smile. If he trimmed his mustache, it would be a little more prominent.

”For, you know… your…” He gestures with the bottle against her mid-section and for a split second she wants asks him if he’s twelve fucking years old, or maybe eighty-seven.

”Cramps?” she suggests instead.

Javier stops gesturing and tilts his head a little, regarding her as if he’s taking measure of her.

”Cramps,” he finally says, his voice low. ”It looked to me like you could need it.”

The muted baritone with which he delivers that last sentence strikes a chord deep within Eva’s core, awakens something in her. It looked like. He looked at her. He analyzed what he saw. He decided to act on his analysis to make her feel better. Eva reaches for the blanket and the bottle, and Javi hands them over. Frowning, she keeps her eyes locked on Javi’s, weighing her options. Never does it strike her to just thank him for his consideration. Javi waits patiently, not put off by her hard stare.

“You have any paracetamol?” she finally asks.

“We might, but it’s probably expired.”

“That’s fine, I can do without.”

“I can go into town – “

“I said that’s fine.” Her sharp tone accepts no protest, but she regrets her tone almost immediately. “Thank you. For these.”

“You’re welcome. Tell me if you need anything.”

She nods, and retires inside.

The bottle, filled with hot water, is of great comfort on her lower belly when she curls up in bed, and she sleeps deeply throughout the night.

#my fic #narcos #narcos fanfic #javier peña #javier peña x ofc #what spring does to the cherry trees

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